mahogany ; d.m

68 - then forever

The fresh scent of the eucalyptus trees that dotted around the chalet clung rich to the air, filling the soul with mild tranquility.

They'd apparated just beyond the lake. The sun was stark in the sky, radiant amidst the early summer morning. The light bounced off of the ripples in the water, and as they trudged along the low grassy bank, the smell of the lake was more prominent under their noses.

Draco's arms held Athena, still entrapping her in his safety, despite their current location. But she didn't fight his hold. And as they stepped through the doors to the chalet, both exhausted an unhealthy amount, they were silent.

Draco went as far as sitting her down on one of the dining chairs, making a big fuss over her. She shook him off as his hands wiped the blood smears and scrapes from her face, muttering protest.

He was trying to distract himself from thinking.

"I'm fine—look—stop," she said, swatting his hands away. "Sit down."

They both needed to rest, him more so than her if anything. His arm was mostly healed, except for some scarred tissue and ragged skin shafts, but the mark was gone. The jet black ink no longer tied him down.

He complied to her command and collapsed onto the chair beside her, letting his evidently painful arm fall onto the wooden table top.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, clearing the silence.

"A little. It's fine," he frowned, glaring at his arm.

Athena shifted forwards in her chair, reached into her bag and pulled out some of the potions and supplies she'd had on her during the battle.

She poured a small amount of Dittany onto one of the cloths and lifted it to Draco's face, intending to heal the gashes and scrapes over his skin. There was one fresh wound on his cheekbone, one minor tear on his forehead and a few stinging grazes over his chin.

But he shook his head repeatedly, huffing disapproval and clasped his hands over her wrists, pushing her away.

"Let me, Draco," she snapped. He gave up and allowed her to dab the cloth onto his wounds, wincing as they came into contact.

She despised how distant he felt from her in this moment, although she didn't expect anything less than this. She took a brief glance at his eyes, assessing their whereabouts. And he was somewhere else entirely.

She could see the impact of the Unforgivable curses he'd repeatedly used only moments ago. They'd inked his eyes with nothing but jet black despair.

She finished healing his face and surveyed his arms, taking them in her hands. His body sculpted to her touch like clay.

She could see the end of a nasty wound which tethered up his collarbone, the rest of it concealed underneath his shirt. Her eyes watched his face as she approached the buttons of his shirt.

She expected him to stop her, but he did nothing. Just sat there, the same expression marking his face as before.

Athena pulled his shirt from his torso, peeling it from his back and arms. Her stomach clenched at the sight of the gash, but she set her jaw, turning the reactive part of her brain off, and sorted through her supplies to fix it.

The wound ripped down to his abdomens from his collarbone. Whoever had given him this had made sure for it to hurt, because when her cloth dabbed over the skin to clean it, his body lurched forwards and he growled in pain.