𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 - 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲

24-The Greatest Loves of Them All

Strangely and recently, he felt the strong urge to hold her against him and study all her features. He regularly traced her face with his eyes whilst she spoke and rambled on (which he did not mind, no matter how long she spoke for) whilst still listening to the sound of her voice. The sound of her would never dare to transform itself into something eerie and high-pitched, or simply white noise that was as convenient as the noise of a flickering candle. But he knew he could not just hold her. He could not reach his arm out to her and embrace her as he pleased. It was more difficult than just that. It was clear her boundaries were thick and nearly impossible to tear through. She would almost always flinch whenever he would bring his hand up to comb away his tangled (and now essentially long and wavey) hair. He noticed, she did not. No one could notice such fast movements- he counted them, they were three; the 2 blinks of her eyelids that came so fast, they essentially were four: and her head snapping back in one motion so her neck was used as a shield. 

"You have a very strong gaze tonight, Cordelia. Do you think I am handsome?" He chuckled as he watched her face heat up as red as her lips. Her unspoken words were squirmed and flustered

"I'm merely an observer, Draco" Her stubbornness was hidden beneath her brow bone as she lifted and uncovered it.

"You are also merely blushing, Cordelia" And the flush spread, from the apples of her cheeks to her forehead and chest. It was like watching someone fall slowly. He found it incredibly amusing but also took pride in the effect he had with his simple syllables 

"What happened to your hand?" She changed her tone, subject, and gaze as she studied the white cloth that had messily wrapped his hand. Lying suddenly felt harder than usual. He had lied to his friends (or endeavored) although, he (firstly) saw it difficult to even find a credible and believable fictional tale to outweigh any suspicion- and secondly, he scorned to see the look on their faces that he had plastered and painted onto them: the look of guilt, pity, any emotion to hypothetically resolve he just made his injuries feel worse. 

"I hit a glass painting" He mumbled, scratching the back of his head as he tried to extenuate his violent words into something minimal and small. She blinked two times and snapped her head back so her neck folded into two. The realization that he had just uncovered the wrath of intimidation overcame him completely until she visibly flinched. 

"It wasn't like that- It was only an accident" Which was true, he had no idea where his fist had lunged into the night before. His eyes weren't shut but he felt like they were with embarrassment. He wanted to hide behind the dying tree across him and wither away to dust like its roots. Without warning, she grabs his hand (gently despite the 'grabbing') and pulls it in the palm of hers. His body slightly rocked at this when she did. He watched her as she studied it, gingerly tutting as she did. She looked almost disappointed at this-'This' he could not figure out in his head; Was it his maladroitness and immaturity? Was it how he messily wrapped the offwhite gauze a tenfold around his thumb instead of the actual injury, or how the blood was seeping through the cloth, and the material would feel sticky and wet if she dared touch the grotesque red dye oozing from him? He was more surprised when she did. Her fingertip had a thin layer of plasma to prove so.

Although her finger had been evident of her touch, he did not feel the sting of pain, the lighting of nerves, or the itchy cloth rubbing against his wound as she touched him. Instead, he felt a strange feeling of heat that spread from her forefinger to his entire body. It felt like he was being flooded with hot honey, everything felt incredibly saccharine and euphoric. When the heat emitted from her, it was not like regular heat that would burn at first but then subtly fade into normality. This heat did not fade and did not burn. His skin was still raw with cold, but his bones, blood, and tissues were melting as he thinks. All from a simple touch made through a bandage. He wondered what would happen if it were more than just touch with a barrier of fabric, but he quickly dismissed that as he studied the concentration marked on her face. Her features were burning rapidly and were radiating a gold light. Her features did not glow metaphorically as the honey did in him, they were genuine and of raw authenticity. Her hair glowed like a candle, the light around it reflecting warmth into the semi-cold atmosphere. Her eyes became two jewels discovered on a planet yet not discovered. And her skin could not be compared to any living thing.