promise

a love destroyed

trigger warning: miscarriage

Draco knows something is wrong the second he steps into the flat.

The day had been going well enough — he'd cracked a couple important Curses at work, met up with Pansy and Theo for lunch and had gone to visit his parents' graves. He'd stayed there in the cold air for a good hour before he'd turned and headed home, his shoulders tense with the weight of the past.

He thinks about them every day — his parents. He doesn't think it'll ever get easier, doesn't think there's much he can do to heal — except promise to be better to his own child. The thought somehow brings a small smile to his face; Elara is five months along and although her bump is still small, she complains every day about how he won't love her anymore now that her body is changing.

He proves to her every night that nothing about him is less attracted to her. He doesn't tell her he thinks she's never looked more beautiful than she does carrying his baby — all pink cheeks and sparkling eyes, her hair wild and thicker than ever.

Just the thought of her made him quicken his steps up to their flat — but now that he's crossed the threshold, his every nerve prickles.

His chest tightens. "Elara?"

He shrugs out of his trench coat, hanging it up on the hanger in the hallway. He can't hear her in the kitchen and the television isn't on in the living room.

His pulse begins to pick up. "Elara."

He strides right over to their bedroom and pushes open the door, finding it empty. Frowning, he steps in and glances out into the balcony — no sign of her there either. He spins towards the dishevelled bed. "Ela—"

Her name dies in his throat. He has to do a double take — because dread has suddenly wrapped a tight noose around his neck and nothing makes sense for a minute.

Red. Red. Why is there—

His breath catches. He swears.

There's blood on the sheets.

Draco's reflexes kick in and he's ramming his shoulder into the bathroom door a second later, his heart pounding. The lock splinters and breaks — and Elara is there, kneeling on the tiled floor, drained of colour.

He freezes in the doorway, nausea sweeping through him like a wave threatening to drown him.

She doesn't even look at him. She just stares at her hands and the blood staining them. More blooms on her cream-coloured dress — one of his favourite colours on her.

It's now soaked with blood.

Then, she raises her eyes to his, confused and broken. Her voice is so quiet, he can barely hear her. "Draco?"

He understands several things at once. First, she's in shock and probably doesn't realise what's happened. Second, he needs to take control of the situation. Third, her life is in danger, judging by the amount of blood she's lost. And fourth —

Fourth, she's had a miscarriage.

He jolts into action, gripping her shoulders to haul her up and hoisting her into his arms, his body on autopilot. She's shaking, trembling like a leaf in a storm, her hands slick where they grip the front of his sweater.

"Breathe," he tells her, worry clogging his voice as he rushes out into the hallway. "Breathe. You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay, alright? You're gonna be fine. Just—Just stay with me."

She's weak, her teeth chattering, eyes squeezing shut in pain. "I—Draco, it hurts—The baby—"

His eyes sting. "I know. I know. You're going to be okay. I'm going to take care of you. I promise. I promise—"