𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍

❃ children of war

*TW, aftereffects of r4pe* (mentions cutting, bruises, etc)

❃

𝑵𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒗

"Fuck."

Maybelle groaned as she saw her paintings sprawled out all over the floor. The shower water abruptly stopped.

She could barely remember last night; all she felt was an immense hangover in her bones.

Draco walked out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, water dripping from his blonde locks.

"You're getting water on your floor."

He stared at her in silence.

"What? No snarky comment?" She passed him, walking into the bathroom dizzily where she took her toothbrush from a top drawer.

He sighed as he dried his hair with a quick spell. "Do you remember what happened last night?"

"Not entirely. I sure as hell know I had a run in with some alcohol," she grumbled, brushing her teeth, returning to his bed, hugging her knees to her chest as he quickly got dressed. "How did you get these?" she pointed to the canvases.

"You showed them to me. You told me a lot of things, Flower," he sat down across from her, enough to give her the distance she craved. "Why didn't you tell me, love? I could've helped you. I love you," his tone was desperate, enough to break her from the numb state she had enclosed herself in.

"I don't know," she whispered.

Maybe it was the underlying feeling he would've gotten mad. Pushed her away as he did the first time.

"I'm sorry," she squeezed her eyes shut in attempt to block out any tears.

"There's nothing to apologize for, and there's nothing to be ashamed of either," he scooted closer to her. She allowed him to invade her space. "Can I.. see? If not I understand, I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable-"

She nodded. This was something she needed.

He slowly approached her, like a tamer to a lion, her body immediately tensing as his fingertips met the hem of her t-shirt.

"Flower, are you sure?" he asked, unsure if she was prepared to bring someone so.. close.

She nodded once again.

"Mulciber is still working on an antidote. We don't know what spell he used. I can't remember most of what happened. I was under a calming draught. He told me despite the draught the mind tends to block out traumatic experiences."

He slowly peeled the shirt from her body, his mind met with absolute abhorrence. Thoughts could only form in his mind; none of which could be spoken. Rope abrasions. Bruises. Teeth marks. He let out a short huff of air as he examined her wrists. She'd begun cutting again.

"Please say something," she pleaded, sitting cold as he examined her injuries with only his eyes.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted, running a hand through his hair.

"Touch me."

He looked at her confusedly.

"But you said-"

"Please. I need him off me."

Every word she spoke tortured his already broken heart. In ways it hurt him more than the cruciatus curse ever would.

His warmed hand met her frozen cheek.

She no longer relished in the feeling of the dark mark upon her forearm; she relished in the feeling of his fingertips upon her skin.