the girl who lost it all [d.m]

forty three: manere

manere: stay, linger, remain

———

DRACO couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so warm.

Even after he'd left Elara curled up in his bed and headed down to make himself some coffee, the warmth that spread through him was one that had him in unusually high spirits. Even without Occlumency, he didn't feel the usual need to compartmentalise everything—to stop feeling.

Because what had happened last night had convinced him he wanted to feel every single thing possible—only when it came to Elara.

Magic automatically filled his mug with coffee as he stepped into the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck as he did so. He'd slept better than usual—although he'd stayed strictly on his side of the bed. Even when Elara had shifted in her sleep, curls brushing his shoulder, he'd curbed his desire to wrap himself around her and slid further away. He didn't know how she'd feel when she woke up, didn't know if she'd regret what had happened last night.

It had been a long day and going through a near death experience first thing in the morning tended to cause lapses of judgement—but no matter how many times Draco told himself he shouldn't have overstepped that boundary with her, he didn't regret it. Not one bit.

As soon as she'd showed up at his door, in nothing but that thin blue nightgown, and looked at him with that fire in her eyes, cheeks staining pink, he'd known that tonight would be different. That if they went there, there would be no one to stop them this time, no distraction they could turn to to diffuse the tension.

So for a moment, he'd told himself he should let her leave. He'd tell her he was tired and that he'd speak to her in the morning. But then she had smiled and he'd found himself inviting her in instead, his heart beating so fast he was surprised it didn't beat straight out of his chest.

And then to have her be so close, her fingers moving through his hair as she cut it, tilting his head this way and that to get to the back and the areas behind his ears...It had been the closest thing to torture. He'd had to curl his hands over the lip of the bathtub in an attempt to keep himself from pulling her closer as soon as she stepped between his legs.

But then she'd smiled that damn smile again—when he'd told her about his mother—and Draco's breath had gotten stuck somewhere in his lungs.

After that, it had been a losing battle and no matter how hard he'd tried, he hadn't been able to stop himself from sliding his hands up the backs of her thighs and yanking her to him. Hadn't been able to resist brushing his nose against hers, teasing her, daring her to kiss him—even though he'd been sure she wouldn't.

And then she had—and after that, he'd been consumed by her. She'd tasted like vanilla ice cream and just that fact had gotten rid of every shred of self-contol that he'd possessed.