𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒 | Draco Malfoy

FIVE | amor

Blair wakes to find Draco seated on the side of the bed, staring out of the window— at the night sky.

She rubs her eyes, making sure it isn't part of a dream, blinking once, twice, and then staying utterly still as she looks at him. He doesn't know she's awake yet, so she uses that advantage.

He's leaning his elbows on his thighs, his shoulders are sagged and he looks like a whole different man for a moment. Not the intimidating shadow she knows so well, but a man. Instead of his power hovering over him like it usually does, there's a sorrowful, heavy energy surrounding him.

Blair feels her chest tighten, her breaths coming short. She's felt glimpes of this Draco before, but he'd always changed the subject or brushed it off. But now, when he thinks no one is watching, Blair can hardly stomach the look of his sorrow.

Selfish— she's been selfish for so long. Thinking about her own pain without ever wondering about anyone elses. She's thought it many times, wondered if the reason of his violence isn't because of who he is, but because of something that has been done to him, something out of his control. It would explain the tattoo, the uncontrollable rage—

Her eyes water. She's grown up to tolerate a lot of pain, forced herself to bear most of it, but the sight of this— whatever this is, she can't handle it.

"Draco.." Her voice is so soft, so gentle, something that's been unlike her for some time now. She doesn't feel soft anymore, and she wishes she did.

His head turns to her at once, and he straightens himself, that sorrow leaving his eyes in a split second. It's too late— Blair's already seen it, and Draco knows that, judging by the look on her beautiful face. She knows him too well.

"I'm sorry for waking you," He says, clearing his throat. "Did you have a bad dr—"

"Why are you sad?" Blair asks, pulling the sheets off her legs and moving closer to him. She sits close enough for her knees to graze his side, her teary eyes staring up at him with hope. Answer me, please. Show me that I'm not the only one in pain.

Draco keeps his face straight, even though his pupils dilate as he looks down at her. "I'm not," He says, raising his hand and tucking a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. "You should go back to sleep, it's very late, sweetheart."

Blair ignores his suggestion. She grabs his hand, and brushes her fingers over his Death Mark. Draco winces at the sensitivity, tingles spreading over his flesh. "Blair—"

"It's ice cold— your skin," Blair whispers, gently tracing her warm fingers over some of the markings. Flowers. A lily, she recognizes, and a rose right next to it, a black rose. Draco whispers her name again, but Blair won't listen to his protests or changes of subject. She wants to know him, even this.

The stem of the black rose fades into the hilt of a sharp dagger, and from the tip of the dagger drips black liquid that Blair immediately recognizes is symbolizing blood. The blood drips into a small pool, and next to that pool is a flame inked, one that flickers brighter at her touch.

Blair becomes lost in the ink, curious to find out which parts of his soul are visible on his skin. Her eyebrows furrow at the sight of strange words just on the front of his wrist. "Cede potestati, mors sit tibi amicus, occide quod vocat nomen tuum, si manet in fine amor, frangetur maledictio."