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'My heart is heavy, unliftable.
I talk with angels.'
[Marcel Proust]
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"I don't want to leave you, though," Harry said softly, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.
It was the last week of June, and Addie struggled to keep her eyes open as he spoke from the edge of her mattress. He was supposed to be going with Dumbledore to find one of Voldemort's Horcruxes, but he was more than reluctant to go, as any day now could be her last.
"It's okay," she said quietly, smiling a little to reassure him. "I'll be okay. C'mere."
He leaned closer, and she kissed his forehead.
Harry squeezed her hand lightly. He was already a couple of minutes late from when he was supposed to meet Dumbledore, but he couldn't find the will to leave her lying there; pale-skinned, dying, vulnerable. Addie recognised this reluctance merely through his eyes, and her voice was a whisper as she said, "I'll be here when you get back."
Harry still hesitated, but eventually stood up; already missing the feeling of having her close enough to touch. Sparing one last look at her, he made to finally turn away, but she tugged his sleeve and he stopped.
"Be careful," Addie said. "I mean it."
The pieces of his breaking heart warmed. "Don't worry about me," he said softly, and stepped back to Addie, pulling the blankets further over her cold figure. "It's you that needs to be careful. Rest up, okay?"
"Don't worry about me," she reused his words, smiling a little, and he kissed her cheek.
When Harry had finally left, and the grand wooden doors to the hospital wing had closed behind him, Addie waited a few seconds until it became unbearable to hold back her coughing for any longer.
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Adeline didn't know how long she'd been asleep, but she was more confused than ever as she woke to someone roughly shaking her shoulders. Delirious in wavering consciousness, Addie thought the sensation was part of a dream, but as she comprehended someone frantically whispering, "Wake up! Wake up!" into her ear, Addie opened her eyes.
She instantly knew something was wrong when the worn face of Draco Malfoy met her gaze.
Outside, the sky had grown dark; overcast with shadowy storm clouds. His pale face seemed even paler in the dim light streaming in through the window, and his eyes were wide and empty. He seemed horrified, and his hands on her shoulders were shaking.
"Draco?" she said quietly, but it sounded more like a question, and he retracted his hands as she sat up in her bed. His chest was heaving up and down rapidly, hair uncharacteristically messy; his uniform dishevelled and beads of sweat lining his forehead. "What—"
