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XII

Draco had been staring at the ceiling ever since he woke up. He felt almost numb, as if every emotion in his body had washed away with his tears. The bed sheets were coarse and wrinkled from his night of tossing and turning. Draco had made sure to stay up through the night so that when Madam Humphrey left for breakfast he could slip inside the Critical Condition Wing and see her. He quickly shut his eyes as he heard Madam Humphreys clicking heels go down the hallway and out the door, making sure he appeared fast asleep.

Then as fast as he could he ran through the infirmary and to the room in the very back that was only lit by the early rays of morning. A familiar face was sitting next to y/n's bed, with dark brown hair and rounded shoulders that leaned over.

"Pucey?" Draco asked stepping near the bed.

"Malfoy, how have you been?" Adrian smiled.

"Obviously not well." Malfoy said gesturing toward the stained shirt and y/n.

Pucey stood up and handed Draco a pair of balled up green and grey cardigans, the new design from this year for the Slytherin quidditch team. He must have had them made for Draco and her before he found out that they weren't returning. It was a small gesture, but a thoughtful one nonetheless. At least Draco would have something to gift her if she woke up—no when she woke up. Draco who still couldn't muster the courage to turn and look toward y/n focused himself focusing solely on Pucey and grabbed the sweaters from his hands.

"It's too bad." Adrian sighed standing from the small wooden chair and frowning toward Malfoy.

There was an unspoken pity, Draco could tell Adrian felt quite bad for him. And this feeling wasn't new to him, it didn't matter that today he saw Draco in a stained shirt, with dark circles under his eyes staring at his girlfriends limp body. Pucey had always pitied Draco.

"What's too bad?"

"She got her wings clipped before she ever really started to fly. I mean her parents death, the mark on her arm, and now this."

Draco turned white and his eyes widen in fear—Pucey knew they were Deatheaters? Adrian who was one of the kindest Slytherin's gave Draco a half smile and shook his head, discontinuing any assumptions that he would tattle on either of them. There wasn't a point, she laid in a coma on a small hospital bed and Draco stood in front of him as a tormented boy—Discerning them as horrid people seemed wrong.

"Relax Malfoy, im not blind. I know that there's a war brewing out there— I just wish she could've had a real choice as to which side she picked." He crossed the room and neared the exit before looking up at Draco. "That goes for the both of you."

Draco didn't spin around to watch Adrian leave the room, instead he listened for the sound of faint foot steps and the slamming of the door. Taking a moment to set the Quidditch sweaters down on the small table next to the bed he let out a deep breath and looked over at her. Covered in a wool blanket that went just up to her neck laid y/n, her hair rippled out in wild patterns across her pillow and her lips remained partially opened. Draco thought she looked pristine, as if she was made of wax and belonged inside a museum. If it wasn't for the rising and falling of her chess he would fear that she was dead.

"I'm sorry." He said barely audible.

He hoped that she would just pop up and smile "It's okay." She would say taking Draco's hand in hers. But when he spoke she laid still, the same long breath in and out of her lungs. It pained him so strongly to see her here, and to know that it was his fault. It made him so unbelievably furious at himself, he knew that this could've been avoided. He should've listened to her, they were in this together after all— like she said, their arms burned and their hearts broke but at least they did it all together.