fresh sarcasm in response was ….. welcomed. Natural. Something manageable to work with. He can breathe. He had been bracing himself for a lot: mostly more fire in his day, but this was ice on burns. So were her eyes. Funny how much a stone-cold expression coming to life was — he didn’t exactly have a word, but it was another thing that made shoulders relax.
you’re not alone, blue-eyed girl, he can’t recognize his voice, either.
Her first question is less manageable. He knew a fraction of who was dead from the ones carried past him or the ones he witnessed with his own eyes. He knew the living by the ones who were carrying them. He knew those suffering from the ones around him in this wing. And her. He knew she was alive ; and for a few hours, he stalled panicked thoughts by caring about hers alone. Still, he was troubled.
What had become of his family? The ones most important to him?
Maybe he hadn’t left because he was too scared to find out. Coward. Where would he even start to look? Where could they be? This castle was a broken maze.
HE WAS TEN SECOND TOO LATE TO SEE THEM RUNNING THROUGH THE CASTLE, WANDLESS, IN SEARCH FOR HIM.
funny. Time. Every second counts. You never realize this till it’s too late.
Like these seconds that pass when he can’t answer her question. Each one passing is making things worse. He dampens his chapped lips, and stares with wide eyes. In the end, he’s glad he didn’t answer. The commotion inside the room is heightened by dropped knees and a cry that tore through it all. Her words were jumbled and he found him staring at the girl in question. Daphne Greengrass.
For some reason, he feels robbed in his relief. Should he leave?
the silence is deafening. in a matter of seconds, she becomes acutely aware of the rushing in her ears and the unsteady beating of her heart. either he doesn’t know the answer, or he’s too scared to admit the truth ------ and neither of those options brings her any comfort.
until she doesn’t need draco to comfort her. blue eyes rip from his haunting expression, adrenaline surging through her body at the sound of her sister’s voice. a sound she knows better than any; a sound she’s never been so happy to hear. body sagging with relief, astoria lets out a choked sob. emotion not easily shown, but necessary in this moment of chaos.
she can count the number of times they’ve hugged on one hand, yet she reaches for her sister instantly. pulls her close, eyes squeezing closed against an onslaught of tears. death could have taken anyone, anyone from her ---- her mother, her father, the few acquaintances she’s made in slytherin ---- but never daphne. never the one who shielded her from their father’s wrath, who taught her how to block out the screams, who never breathed a word of astoria’s wavering loyalties.
daphne’s alive, and surely everything will be okay.
the confusion doesn’t come until daphne has thoroughly checked her wounds, gentle fingers brushing along scrapes and bruises. doesn’t come until they’ve finished whispering back and forth, gazes locked and steady. doesn’t come until astoria breaks contact, eyes skirting left to find him.
draco, still resolutely at her side.
she starts to introduce them, but remembers they’re of the same year. they already know each other, which is evident from the sudden look of concern on daphne’s face. like draco shouldn’t be here, or something isn’t quite right. like maybe astoria herself should be concerned, or ------
❛ why are you here? ❜ daphne’s question is blunt and straightforward ( much like every question she asks ), but not entirely unwarranted. astoria herself doesn’t even know how he came to rest at her side, so she turns her weary gaze on him. yeah, draco. why are you here?
