the girl who lost it all [d.m]

forty seven: domus

domus: home, house, abode

———

DRACO entered his mother's private hospital room and stopped short.

She'd been recovering over the past week and a half—ever since she'd woken up. She'd been incredibly weak, too exhausted to talk or move out of her bed. She'd just lain there, tucked under the white sheets, her chest rising and falling steadily, watching Draco talk and update her on everything that had been going on.

But she'd never said a word or made a move to stand. Sometimes, she even drifted off to sleep, midway through his story, still holding his hand.

But now, Narcissa was standing by the window overlooking the hospital courtyard, dressed in the hospital gown, her hair streaked with more white than she'd had before she'd fallen.

She didn't turn as Draco entered but he knew she saw him in the reflection in the window.

"Mother," he said, a tone of surprise in his voice. "You're up."

Narcissa's shoulders were frail, her face haggard as she twisted her head to look at him. "I've been up since yesterday."

Draco blinked, his mind whirring. Yesterday? Hadn't he visited her yesterday?

The guilt hit him straight in the gut. No, he hadn't. He'd stayed at the safehouse after Elara had emerged from the meeting room, looking like she'd gone through hell and back. He'd only caught a glimpse of the room behind her as the door swung shut—and the cracks in the window and dents in the wall were evidence enough of how destructive her magic had been.

She hadn't said a word as she sidled past him, eyes downcast, her face pale and drawn. He'd wanted to reach for her—but he hadn't thought she was in the mood to deal with him in that moment. He deserved it, of course. He'd hurt her—but it didn't change the ache in his chest when she hadn't even looked at him.

"Where have you been?" His mother's voice jolted him out of his stupor. "You didn't visit yesterday."

Draco winced and took a few more steps into the room, the door shutting behind him with a click. "I'm sorry. I got busy."

"Busy where?" she inquired, swiveling to face him fully. Her arms crossed over her chest, the lines in her face taut.

Draco knew that face—had seen it many times as a child when he'd misbehaved.

He waved his hand, dismissively, trying to change the subject. "Unimportant. How are you feeling?"

"Weak," Narcissa responded, one hand reaching to rub her temple. "Exhausted. Where's my wand?"

"At Orion's," he answered, stopping by her bed. "I'll bring it for you tomorrow."

She heaved a sigh, looking back out the window, her eyes cloudy. Draco didn't like that look. Didn't like it at all.