4.1 | Draconian ✓

44 | legilimens

  

A/N

Weekend update, just like I promised. Thanks for the reminders — whether it's on my board or inbox on twitter/instagram, you guys sure find interesting ways to remind me!

Just out of curiosity, how many of you are still here with me? I can't believe you have the patience to sit through fifty chapters of this, but thank you for bearing with me! I hope you're enjoying this.

x Noelle

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4 4

l e g i l i m e n s

Allows the caster entry into victim's mind.

IT WAS UP to Blaise to lead 17-65 on the next few missions. Shacklebolt had given them some manageable ones this time - siphoning information from people, patrolling other bases, recruiting people to fight on the Order's side, protecting Neville when he gave more public speeches.

Draco wasn't surprised when Hermione insisted on joining because she'd always been stubborn as hell and there was no changing her mind once she'd made her decision. So all he could do was to wait. Hear the cracks of disapparition as the rest of 17-65 left on their mission. Watch as his phials lit with arbitrary messages. Play with Teddy as the others risked their lives outside.

And Draco soon realised that there was something absolutely terrifying about waiting. There was none of what he felt out on the battlefield - the adrenaline rushing through his veins, the twisting and turning as he closely evaded Dark spells, the mantra kill or be killed looping itself over and over in his mind. Instead, there was just silence, time ticking as each second dragged to a slow crawl, and the war seemed infinite.

When it came to waiting, there was nothing else necessary but hope. And Draco, being the ever-realistic cynic of a Slytherin that he was, had never depended on hope to win the battles for him, but he now found himself needing it more than ever, especially on those nights when Hermione didn't return.

The sleeping draughts that Andromeda forced him to take made him unable to stay awake for long, of course. So there were nights when Hermione returned, her hair still damp after a quick but thorough bath, only to find Draco fast asleep, a perennial frown glossing his forehead every so often. She'd smooth the lines away and curl up right next to him, pressing her lips to his chest gently when his arms instinctively wrapped around her.

Other nights, the pain from his Sectumsempra wound became almost unbearable and she'd find him tossing and turning, writhing in both the physical agony of his injury and the nightmare that seemed recurring. She knew they were repeated ones because, in between the murmurs of her name - he always called her by her first name in his sleep - there were two other things he said -

The first was: "I have to kill you. Or he's going to kill me."

And the second: "You deserve to die. I regret nothing."

She woke him up on one of the nights when his nightmares seemed worse than ever. The moment she touched his cheek, his eyes flew open and he bolted upright. He had already summoned his wand to him without her even realising, pressing the tip of it against her throat with lethal purpose. His eyes were cold, the look on his face almost feral and he seemed to be acting based on pure killer instincts alone.