the girl who lost it all [d.m]

sixty eight: ruina

ruina: ruin, destruction, collapse

———

ELARA was overworked.

Granted, it was her own fault—but it didn't change the fact that she was completely and utterly exhausted.

Every day blurred into the next, a whirlwind of books and words and diagrams. Her wrist ached from taking notes, her fingers cramping every time she curled them around a quill.

Her eyes burned from the late nights and she frequently woke up with headaches, no appetite and weariness in her bones.

Regardless, she worked—and at least, because of her exhaustion, she usually passed out when it came to sleep. That meant she had considerably less nightmares.

But today, even she couldn't find it in herself to drag her body out of bed. She was conscious of Draco's arms draped loosely around her, his chest rising and falling steadily against her back, his cheek pressed into her hair. Peppermint, teakwood and home. She burrowed deeper into him, savouring the warmth and build of him—steady, strong, firm.

He'd always been there for her—every night she needed him. He'd stay up with her and read or stretch himself out on the sofa behind her and doze off, needing to at least be close to her. When she'd fall asleep over her notes, he'd scoop her up and bring her up to their bedroom. Slide into bed with her and gather her up against him.

She'd never thought of herself as clingy—but now, with Draco, she found it close to impossible to stay away. She'd pick him out in every room and immediately make a beeline for him. Wander through the house, searching for him and upon finding him—either discussing with the others or sparring with Demetrius, Blaise or Jasper—she'd sit down to watch him with a book in her lap.

He always acknowledged her—never shy, never embarrassed. Even in the midst of a sparring match, he'd wait for the round to end and then jog over to her to pull her in for a kiss, sweat glistening on his bare chest. Would smile and make some snarky comment about how she looked absolutely fuckable on this fine morning.

But she knew for all his help and encouragement, he didn't truly believe there was a cure for Magda. He just didn't have the heart to tell it to her. If anything, that should've spurred Elara on further—because she'd always been eager to accomplish what other people thought she couldn't.

But Draco was one of the most intelligent people she knew—and if he didn't think there was any use even looking for a cure, she knew there was a high chance he was right.

Yet, she couldn't find it in herself to give up. To accept defeat and throw down her weapons. Leave Magda to die.

So eventually, despite her muscles screaming at her to rest, Elara disentangled herself from Draco's arms and dragged herself out of bed. With a heaviness in her bones, she showered and emerged, feeling a bit fresher.