Fading Into One, Falling Into None
Fading into One, Falling into None
As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden haze over Draco’s apartment, it became clear that he wasn’t going to get anything more out of Daphne that night. She had withdrawn into herself, quiet and exhausted, her eyes glassy with fatigue. Though he tried a few times to coax her into talking—offering tea, blankets, even sitting beside her in silence—it was no use. She was spent, her body and mind clinging to whatever fragile threads were holding her together.
Eventually, he guided her into his bedroom. She didn’t argue or protest, just followed him with a dazed compliance, her limbs heavy with weariness. He helped her onto the bed, tugging the covers over her without a word. She didn’t even bother to undress—just curled into the blankets, her face half-buried in the pillow, and was asleep before he had even left the room.
Draco returned to the living room and collapsed onto the sofa with a sigh. He ran a hand over his face, scrubbing at the weariness clinging to him, but sleep came slowly. The image of Daphne—fragile and trembling—lingered in his mind. When he finally drifted off, it was with one ear tuned for the sound of her stirring.
But she didn’t.
Sunday morning came and went, and Daphne remained unconscious. She slept through the weak morning light and the bright afternoon sun, never stirring, never moving. By midday, Draco had started to worry. He checked on her repeatedly, each time placing his hand lightly on her back, watching for the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. She was still alive, but so still that he had to linger for several beats just to be sure.
He debated calling a healer. Maybe he should take her to St. Mungo’s—have someone check her over, make sure nothing was wrong. But each time he hovered over her, considering it, he felt his hesitation settle like lead in his chest. Maybe she just needed to sleep. Maybe the heaviness of her exhaustion was simply her body’s way of catching up after everything it had been through.
He resigned himself to leave her be. Just until Monday morning.
The grey light of dawn crept in through the thin curtains, and Draco was still on the sofa, though he’d barely slept. His limbs were stiff from the awkward position he had contorted into, one arm hanging over the edge, the blanket twisted around his legs. He stirred slightly, blinking against the morning glare, when he suddenly became aware of a presence hovering over him.
He cracked his eyes open.
Daphne was standing above him, her face pale and drawn, dark circles bruising the delicate skin beneath her eyes. Her hair was tangled from sleep, and her clothes were rumpled, but she was awake—though her expression was distant, slightly disoriented.
“How long was I out?” she asked quietly, her voice rough from disuse.
Draco pushed himself upright, the blanket sliding off his chest. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “All day yesterday,” he said, watching her closely. “You must have needed it.”
She gave a small nod, but her eyes flicked toward the door. She glanced down at her wrinkled clothes and smoothed them with trembling hands, clearly fighting the urge to retreat.
“I suppose I should be going,” she muttered, already taking a step back.
Draco was on his feet in an instant. He reached for her wrist—gently, but firmly enough to stop her.
“Wait, Daph.” His voice was low but steady. He held her gaze, refusing to let her slip away so easily. “Clearly, you’re not well.”
“I can’t miss work,” she said quickly, her tone almost defensive, as if clinging to the notion of normalcy would somehow hold her together.
“Fuck work.” The words came out sharper than he intended, but he didn’t care. His hand was still around her wrist, his grip steady. He softened his voice slightly, meeting her eyes. “Let’s just take the day, yeah? We’ll both take it off. Give ourselves a chance to figure out what’s happening. Okay?”
For a moment, Daphne seemed caught between two opposing instincts—flight and surrender. Her entire body was tense, her eyes wide and darting briefly toward the door as though she were considering making a run for it. Her lips parted slightly, her breath hitching as though she were about to argue. Draco could see it—the urge to retreat, to push him away and escape into whatever familiar isolation she had been clinging to.
But then she stilled.
The tension in her shoulders loosened by a fraction, and her eyes—wild and uncertain—found his. She searched his face, as if hoping to find some tangible proof that he could keep her anchored. Stability, perhaps. Safety. Something to hold on to.
“Okay,” she whispered at last, her voice barely louder than a breath. The word sounded fragile, as though it might shatter if spoken any louder.
Draco didn’t push for more. He simply gave her hand a light squeeze before letting it go.
They both wrote their letters, excusing themselves from work. Draco claimed he was struck down with a stomach illness, while Daphne wrote that her mother had been involved in an accident. He watched as she signed the letter with a trembling hand, her script messier than usual.
Afterward, Draco rummaged through his mostly barren fridge, scraping together what little he had into a simple breakfast: scrambled eggs, some slightly stale bread that he toasted anyway, and a bit of cheese he found in the back. It was nothing special, but he didn’t want her going another day without eating.
Daphne sat at the kitchen counter, looking pale and drawn—barely there. She stared at her plate but made no move to eat, her fingers loosely curled around the edge of her mug, the tea long since gone cold. The sunlight filtering in through the window made her look even paler, almost spectral, as though the warmth of the light couldn't touch her.
She broke the silence without looking at him.
“I’ve already been to a healer,” she said flatly, her voice devoid of emotion. It was the first thing she’d said that morning about whatever was happening to her. “I know you’ll suggest that, so I just thought I’d tell you.”
Draco paused, halfway through buttering his toast. He set the knife down and turned to face her fully, leaning slightly against the counter. “Okay,” he said carefully, keeping his tone even. “And what did they say?”
Her eyes flicked toward him, dull and hollow. Her fingers tightened slightly around the rim of her mug.
“That my mind is shattered,” she replied, her voice brittle, almost matter-of-fact. “And that they knew a spell to stop it from splintering more.”
Draco’s brow furrowed. He straightened slightly. “This was at Mungo’s?” he asked, hoping against hope that she had gone to a reputable, certified healer.
“No,” she said softly, barely above a murmur, her voice laced with a faint thread of shame. Her gaze lowered to the table, unable to meet his eyes. “It was a healer who used to work for the Ministry. He worked on the severance spell—the original tests. He was…”
Her voice trailed off.
“He was…?” Draco prompted, his stomach already knotting.
She exhaled sharply through her nose, then muttered the word under her breath, almost too softly for him to hear.
“Fired.”
Draco’s fingers curled into a fist against the countertop. His eyes narrowed slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.
“Okay,” he said slowly, the sharp edge of sarcasm creeping into his voice. “So let me get this straight—some healer, who was fired by the Ministry, told you he could fix your shattered mind with a spell that, I’m assuming, he’s never used on anyone before?” He let out a bitter laugh, his voice dripping with disbelief. “Yeah, sounds brilliant. Top-notch medical care. Why don’t we send him an owl, invite him over, and let him really have a go at you? Maybe if we’re lucky, your head will just pop like a fucking grape.”
“Draco…” Daphne began, her voice strained, pleading.
“No, Daph,” he cut in sharply, his voice louder this time, frustration coloring his words. “It sounds great. I mean, why not? Let’s just roll the dice and see if the spell leaves you completely comatose, or maybe just brain-dead. Sounds like a fantastic gamble.”
Her eyes flashed briefly with pain, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she pressed her lips together in a thin line, as though bracing herself, and said softly,
“He’s already done the spell.”
The words cut through the room like a knife.
Draco’s breath caught. His entire body stilled. He stared at her, his expression momentarily frozen in disbelief, before a flash of anger flickered in his eyes. “What?” he asked, his voice low, almost hoarse with shock.
Her hands tightened around her mug. She didn’t look at him.
“He did it Saturday morning,” she admitted quietly.
“Saturday,” Draco repeated, his voice flat with incredulity, like he was trying to process the word. He let out a short, disbelieving breath, raking a hand through his hair. “Merlin, Daphne—why would you—”
“Because I couldn’t do it anymore,” she cut in suddenly, her voice sharp with raw desperation. Her eyes finally met his, wide and unguarded. “I couldn’t keep flitting in and out of different minds—different versions of myself. I was losing track of which one was me.”
Her voice cracked slightly on the last word. She pressed her lips together and inhaled sharply through her nose, as if trying to keep herself steady.
Draco stared at her, stunned into silence. He could see the exhaustion in her eyes—the haunting fragility beneath her carefully maintained composure. The weight she had been carrying was laid bare, raw and unfiltered.
The fight drained from his face.
“Daph…” he said softly, almost brokenly, running a hand down his face.
She glanced away sharply, as though she couldn’t bear to look at him. She exhaled shakily, her fingers trembling around the mug.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the faint clink of Draco setting his knife down on the counter, the tension in the room thick and suffocating.
Without a word, he turned away and walked to the sink. He braced his hands on the edge of the basin, gripping it tightly, his knuckles briefly turning white. He stared down at the sink, trying to collect himself.
And then, finally, he turned back around. His voice was quieter now, the anger dulled, replaced with something softer—wounded concern.
“Did it work?” Draco asked quietly, his voice barely louder than a breath.
Daphne’s eyes lowered slightly. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing with the effort. She hesitated, searching for the right words, but they didn’t come easily.
“I think so,” she murmured at last, though her voice was uncertain. Her fingers twisted slightly around the edge of her sleeve, worrying the fabric. “Or… it’s at least beginning to.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and he could see the faint glimmer of confusion in them, the slight pinch in her brow.
“I can remember things from… down there,” she said carefully, her voice quieter now, almost unsure. She exhaled sharply through her nose, as if frustrated by her own words. “But it’s like I’m watching someone else’s memories. Like they’re not mine.”
Draco’s frown deepened slightly. His hands curled loosely around the edge of the counter.
“What are we doing down there?” he asked, his voice low but steady.
She let out a soft, humourless laugh—a brief, brittle sound.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, shaking her head slightly. “But I don’t think we know when we’re down there. We’re just… ” She inhaled sharply through her nose, pressing her fingers lightly against her temples. Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment, her face tightening. “Oh, I don’t know. My head just pounds.”
Draco didn’t hesitate. He reached for the glass of water he’d poured earlier and held it out to her. “Have a drink,” he said gently, offering it with a small nod.
Her hands trembled slightly as she accepted it. She took a slow sip, and then another, the cool water seeming to soothe her raw throat. She exhaled softly, her breath shaky as she set the glass down on the counter with a faint clink.
For a moment, she was quiet, her eyes unfocused, staring at the faint condensation sliding down the side of the glass. Then, her voice came again, soft and fractured.
“It’s like…” she started, struggling for the words. She wet her lips slightly, frowning in concentration. “It’s like I’m coming back together. Like a shattered vase—and someone is gluing the pieces back.” Her eyes narrowed faintly, her gaze distant. “I’m mostly there. I can see the shape of myself again. The outline.” She gestured vaguely with her hand, tracing the form of an invisible figure. “But there are still pieces missing. Tiny, jagged fragments.”
Her eyes flicked toward him then, hollow and unguarded. Her voice grew quieter.
“And someone’s trying to pour water into my head,” she whispered, “but it just keeps spilling out of the cracks.”
Draco’s chest tightened slightly. He stared at her for a long moment, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat.
He felt a sharp, instinctive ache in his chest.
Without thinking, he reached out. His hand settled lightly over hers where it rested on the counter. His thumb brushed the back of her knuckles, a slow, gentle motion, grounding.
“You’re still here,” he said softly, the words steady, deliberate. “You’re not spilling out, Daph. You’re still here.”
Her eyes met his, wide and startled for a moment—raw with something unguarded. For a fleeting second, it looked like she might pull away. But she didn’t. She let out a slow, uneven breath, and her hand relaxed slightly beneath his.
Her fingers turned slightly, curling loosely into his palm. Clinging, just a little.
She swallowed hard, the tension in her throat bobbing slightly as she tried to steady herself. “I hope so,” she whispered, the words barely more than a breath, fragile and uncertain.
Draco’s chest tightened faintly at the sound. He squeezed her hand once before slowly pulling away, giving her space.
“Why don’t you have a shower?” he suggested softly, keeping his voice light. “Might help clear your head.” He offered her a small, reassuring smile. “I’ve got some clean clothes I can lay out for you.”
She nodded without argument, though her movements were slow, almost sluggish, as if she were wading through something heavy and invisible. He stood and guided her down the short hallway to the bathroom. The light overhead flickered slightly as he switched it on.
“You can take as long as you want,” he said quietly, lingering in the doorway for a moment. “I’ll be right out here.”
Her eyes flicked toward him briefly, searching his face with a strange sort of quiet vulnerability. She gave him the smallest, almost imperceptible nod before stepping inside.
The door clicked softly shut behind her. A moment later, he heard the rush of water as she turned on the shower.
Draco exhaled slowly, scrubbing a hand over his face as he made his way to the bedroom. He crossed to his wardrobe and tugged it open, digging through the bottom drawer. He found a pair of pale joggers—ones that had belonged to an old hookup who’d left them behind. He tugged them out, along with a soft, worn Slytherin jumper, faded slightly with age but still thick and comfortable.
He laid the clothes out neatly on the bed, smoothing his hand over the fabric without thinking. His fingers lingered briefly on the sleeve of the jumper. The sight of it brought back flashes of old memories—long-forgotten moments from Hogwarts—but he pushed them aside quickly.
Turning, he padded back toward the living room, giving her space. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly, trying to release the weight in his chest. The flat was quiet except for the distant sound of the shower running.
And then he heard it—a sharp, startled cry from the bathroom.
His entire body stiffened.
“Daph!” he called sharply, already moving. He reached the bathroom door in two strides, his hand flying to the handle. He twisted it, but it didn’t budge.
She’d locked it.
“Daphne!” he called again, louder this time, panic rising in his throat. His hands pressed flat against the door. “Are you okay? Let me in!”
He heard no response at first—just the steady patter of water against the porcelain. His pulse quickened, slamming against his ribs. He was about to consider forcing the door open when, finally, he heard the faint click of the lock being turned.
The door creaked open an inch, and Daphne appeared on the other side. Her hair was damp and clinging to her temples. She had a towel wrapped tightly around herself, water still beading on her shoulders. Her face was slightly pale, and there was a faint tremor in her hands.
But it was the thin, angry cut on her upper arm that made his breath hitch. Blood was slowly seeping from the shallow wound, dripping down in thin rivulets toward her elbow.
“You should invest in a good bath mat,” she said weakly, forcing a laugh as she pressed her hand over the cut in a weak attempt to stop the bleeding.
Draco’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t call her out on the deflection. Not yet.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low but steady, his eyes locked on hers.
“Yeah,” she breathed quickly, her tone a little too casual. “I’m fine. Just—” She gave a breathless chuckle, but it was hollow, almost manic. “Had a headache. Slipped.”
Her eyes wouldn’t quite meet his.
For a brief moment, Draco said nothing. He simply looked at her, his gaze calm and searching. The faint tremor in her hand. The slight crack in her voice. The deflection. The way she clutched the towel so tightly around herself, knuckles pale with the effort.
He knew she was lying. But he let it go—for now.
He forced a soft exhale, offering her a small, reassuring smile.
“Do you want to get dressed?” he suggested gently, his voice careful. “Then I’ll try and heal that for you.” His eyes flicked down to the cut on her arm. “Just a warning though—” he added lightly, offering her a faint smirk, “healing magic was never exactly my strong point.”
The corner of her mouth twitched slightly at his attempt to ease the tension, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Sure,” she mumbled softly, clutching the towel closer to her body as she turned and padded back toward the bedroom.
Draco watched her go, his smile fading the moment her back was turned. His eyes lingered on the faint drops of blood she left in her wake—the tiny crimson beads marring the wooden floor.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw tight. Something about her story didn’t sit right. It clung to him like damp fog, heavy and cold, lingering in his chest.
But he didn’t push her—not yet. Instead, he turned toward the kitchen, already rifling through drawers for his wand and a salve for her wound.
She needed time. And for now, he was willing to give it to her.
By the time Draco returned to the bedroom, Daphne was sitting on the edge of his bed. The clothes hung slightly loose on her, but they made her look smaller, softer. Her damp hair clung to the back of the jumper in tendrils.
Her posture was slightly hunched, and her hands were twisted together in her lap, fidgeting absently with the hem of the jumper’s sleeve. She stared down at the floor, her expression blank, distant.
Draco slowed his steps as he approached, watching her carefully. She didn’t look up until he knelt down in front of her.
“Hey,” he murmured softly, his voice low and steady, pulling her attention back to him. “Let me see.”
She blinked once, slowly, as if waking from a dream. Then she shifted slightly, extending her arm toward him. Her movements were slow and hesitant, almost reluctant.
The cut was still bleeding slightly, a thin crimson trail sliding lazily down her pale skin. The sight of it made Draco’s stomach tighten faintly, but he kept his expression calm.
He tugged his wand from his pocket and carefully set a small jar of salve down on the mattress beside her.
“Hold still,” he instructed softly, wrapping one hand gently around her wrist, keeping her arm steady. His fingers were warm and firm, his touch careful but unwavering.
Daphne’s skin was cold beneath his hand.
With a slow, measured breath, Draco pointed the tip of his wand just above the cut.
“Vulnera Sanentur.”
His voice was soft but precise, the words sliding off his tongue with practiced ease. A faint golden glow bloomed from the tip of his wand, spilling over the wound like sunlight filtering through water.
Daphne’s breath hitched slightly, her eyes widening faintly at the sensation. She winced for the briefest moment, her fingers twitching slightly in his grip.
“Almost done,” he murmured quietly, his voice steady and reassuring.
The glow gradually dimmed, leaving the skin beneath it smooth and clean. The wound sealed itself slowly, the edges knitting together with delicate precision until only a faint pink line remained.
Draco exhaled slowly, lowering his wand. He loosened his hold on her wrist but didn’t let go completely. His thumb ghosted gently over the faint scar, feeling the smoothness of her skin beneath his fingertips.
“See?” he murmured with a small, self-deprecating smirk. “Didn’t botch it too badly.”
Daphne let out a short, breathy laugh, but it was weak—barely more than an exhale. Her eyes flickered down to her arm, her fingers grazing over the pink line. Her lips curved into a faint, tired smile. “Looks like you’re better at healing than you thought,” she murmured softly, her voice still slightly hoarse from fatigue.
Draco let out a low breath, smirking faintly. “Beginner’s luck,” he quipped lightly, though the usual sardonic edge in his voice was dulled—gentler, almost tender.
She let out a breathy, fleeting laugh. It was barely there, but it was genuine. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” she teased, her eyes momentarily brightening.
He arched a brow, intrigued by the sudden shift. “Oh?” he drawled. “What do you mean?”
Her smile widened slightly. “Beginner’s luck,” she clarified. “You’re always going on about it. Like when you categorised more files in your first week at the Ministry than anyone has since.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed faintly. The warmth of the previous moment cooled slightly. “Categorised files?” he repeated slowly.
The shift in his tone made her pause. Her brows knitted faintly, and she blinked, momentarily disoriented. She stared at him, as though trying to figure out what she’d said wrong.
Then, slowly, her expression faltered.
Her eyes dropped, and she swallowed hard. “Sorry, Draco,” she murmured softly. “I’m sorry… I—” She let out a shaky breath, pressing her lips together briefly before continuing. “It’s just… with all the different versions of me in my head… sometimes I get them mixed up. I’ve got… multiple pasts tangled together, so it’s hard to ground myself in the present.”
She let out a short, bitter laugh. “And the relativity’s all messed up, too,” she added. “My first day at the Ministry feels as far back as my fifth birthday. It all blends together.”
Draco’s gaze softened, watching her carefully.
She rubbed at her temple lightly, her voice dropping slightly. “But he said it would get better.”
His eyes narrowed faintly. “Who’s he?” he asked, his tone sharp with suspicion.
Her lips parted slightly, then closed again. For the briefest moment, she considered lying. But she was too tired.
“The healer,” she admitted quietly, her eyes flickering downward.
Draco’s jaw tightened slightly. He exhaled sharply through his nose, leaning back on his heels. His hands slipped from hers, the warmth between them suddenly gone.
“Daph…” he said slowly, carefully, keeping his voice measured. “Look, I’m more than happy for you to stay here. And I want to help you. I do. But…” His voice lowered slightly. “What do you actually want from me?”
Her gaze lifted sharply, startled by the directness of the question. She blinked, once, then again, her lips parting slightly.
“I…” she stammered, briefly caught off guard. Her hands tightened faintly in her lap, fingers clenching around the fabric of the jumper. “I thought you might do it too…”
Draco stilled. His expression didn’t shift immediately, but he felt his stomach drop faintly. “Do what?” he asked, his voice low and wary.
Daphne hesitated, then looked at him with raw, open vulnerability. “Unsever,” she whispered softly.
He stared at her, disbelieving. For a moment, he didn’t speak. He simply stared, trying to process what she was asking of him. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
“Woah, Daph.” His voice was firmer now, more certain. “No. I’m not going to unsever.”
She sat up straighter, frowning slightly. “You don’t want your memories back?” she asked, incredulous.
Draco’s jaw tightened. He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face before looking at her again. “No,” he said firmly. His voice was calm but resolute. “I don’t.”
Her frown deepened. She stared at him, confused. “But…” she began, her voice faltering. “But you—”
“Look, Daph,” he cut in gently, though his voice was firm. “Not to be an ass or anything, but… you don’t really know me anymore.” His voice softened slightly, but there was a weight behind his words. “I’m not who I was at school.”
Her eyes flickered, a brief flash of pain crossing her face at the reminder.
Draco’s gaze remained steady on hers, unwavering despite the tension building between them.
“And severing… it helped me,” he said quietly, his voice deliberate and measured. His tone was calm but there was an edge of finality to it, as if he were anchoring himself with the truth. “It gave me a clean slate. I could finally breathe again.” His eyes softened faintly, but his expression was resolute. “I’m not looking to go back.”
For a brief moment, Daphne was silent. She stared at him, her eyes searching his face. Then, slowly, she drew in a shaky breath.
Her voice was quiet, but firm. “What if you found out that what you’re doing down there is killing people?”
Her words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and sharp.
Draco’s brows furrowed slightly. His jaw tightened, and he stared at her for a long moment. Then, calmly, he asked, “Well… is it?”
She swallowed hard, glancing down at her lap. “I—I don’t know,” she admitted softly. Her voice cracked slightly, frustration bleeding into it. She lifted her gaze, her eyes pleading now. “But that’s the point.” She leaned forward slightly, her hands tightening in the sleeves of his jumper. “Look, I think I found something down there,” she said, her voice low but urgent. “That’s why this is happening to me. Why I’m splintering.”
Her eyes burned into his, wide and imploring. “I think there are people down there who don’t get to leave.”
His frown deepened, confusion flashing briefly across his face. “What, like they’re… chained up?” he asked, his voice laced with uncertainty. “Prisoners or…?”
“No,” she cut in sharply, shaking her head. Her eyes darted toward the window, paranoia flickering briefly across her face. She dropped her voice lower, barely above a whisper. “We can’t talk about this here,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “They might be listening.”
Draco blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in her demeanor. His eyes narrowed slightly, watching her carefully.
Her fingers curled tightly into the cuffs of the jumper, and she glanced toward the door as though she expected someone to burst through it.
“Daph…” he began cautiously, trying to steady his voice, trying to keep it level. “I know you’ve been through a lot, but… I think you might be a little paranoid.”
Her head whipped around sharply, her eyes narrowing. “You think I’m crazy,” she said flatly.
There was no accusation in her tone, just dull certainty—as though she had already accepted the conclusion.
“Daph…” he started softly, his voice almost pleading.
But she shook her head, cutting him off. “No, it’s okay,” she said, her voice hollow. She pushed herself up from the sofa, slowly but deliberately. Her expression was distant, almost resigned. “Marcus thinks I’m crazy too.” Her voice was barely above a murmur. “I’ll just go home.”
She turned away, moving toward the door with slow, tired steps.
Draco’s chest tightened sharply, his stomach sinking as he watched her retreating figure. His throat bobbed faintly, and he clenched his hands into fists at his sides.
“Daph, wait,” he called softly, his voice firmer now.
She didn’t stop moving, didn’t look back.
He took a step toward her. “Daph.”
Her fingers brushed the edge of the doorknob.
“Stop.”
His voice was steady but insistent, and finally—finally—she stilled.
Her hand lingered on the handle for a moment, her knuckles pale with tension. Slowly, she turned back to face him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, glassy with the threat of tears, and her expression was blank.
He took another step toward her, closing the distance slightly.
“I might not understand everything you’re going through,” he said softly, his voice low and steady, his eyes locked on hers. “But what is clear…” He exhaled slowly, his gaze unwavering. “Is that you’re not well.”
Her lips parted slightly, and something in her expression cracked faintly—some small, fragile thing she was barely holding together.
His voice softened further. “Just… stay here,” he said quietly, imploring. “At least you’ll be safe.”
She stared at him, motionless, her breath catching slightly in her throat.
“And we’ll figure things out,” he added softly. His voice was calm but certain, steadying like an anchor. “Okay?”
For a moment, she didn’t move. She just looked at him, her eyes flickering over his face—searching. And for a fleeting second, he saw it—the spark of trust, of longing, of desperation for someone to simply stay.
Her fingers slipped from the doorknob. Her arms, still hanging limply by her sides, slowly came to rest over her abdomen as though trying to hold herself together. She gave a small, shaky nod.
“Okay,” she whispered brokenly.
Without another word, she turned away from the door, moving back toward him. She hesitated only briefly before lowering herself back onto the sofa, her movements slow and heavy with exhaustion.
Draco released the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. His chest loosened slightly, but his pulse still thrummed faintly in his ears. Without hesitating, he crossed the room in two long strides and sank down beside her on the sofa.
The cushions dipped slightly beneath his weight, and for a fleeting second, neither of them moved. The only sound was the faint, uneven rhythm of her breathing—shallow and slightly unsteady.
And then, before he had time to register it—before his brain could process what was happening—her hand came up to his jaw, tentative and trembling.
She leaned in.
Her lips brushed against his—soft, hesitant, and fleeting, like the quietest of confessions.
Draco froze, barely processing the warmth of her mouth against his. His breath stilled in his chest, caught somewhere between surprise and uncertainty.
Her kiss was featherlight, brief enough that he could have convinced himself it hadn’t happened at all. But the faint, lingering sensation of her lips against his lingered—warm and disarming, like the remnants of a dream just before waking.
And then, as quickly as she had leaned in, she pulled away.
Her eyes widened slightly as though only now realising what she’d done. Her breath hitched softly, and she dropped her hand from his face, drawing back.
“Oh—” she stammered, her voice a startled rasp. Her cheeks flushed faintly, her eyes clouded with something that looked like regret. “I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely. Her voice cracked slightly, almost breathless with disbelief at herself. She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “I—I shouldn’t have done that.”
Her voice was small, barely more than a whisper, and threaded with self-reproach. Her hands curled tightly into the sleeves of the jumper she wore, as though she were trying to physically hold herself back. Her shoulders hunched faintly, bracing herself for whatever rejection or awkwardness was about to come.
Draco stared at her for a moment, still dazed, the feeling of her lips still warm against his. His brain barely managed to catch up with the moment. He opened his mouth slightly, scrambling for a response, but nothing coherent came.
Finally, he cleared his throat faintly, glancing away for the briefest of moments before looking back at her. His voice was low, almost hoarse. “That’s, um… okay,” he murmured, the words clumsy and halting.
Her eyes flicked back to his, searching his face, uncertain.
He wasn’t sure why he said it. He didn’t know if it was okay. She was vulnerable—fragile and fraying at the edges, barely holding herself together. He knew that. Knew she was clinging to the closest thing she had for stability. And that closest thing happened to be him.
And yet, despite the chaos still swirling around her, despite the weight of her fractured mind and the storm she was carrying inside her chest, he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away.
Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, her eyes dropped to his mouth, as if she were about to say something—but she didn’t. She only stared at him, her breath uneven, eyes wide with uncertainty.
His heart pounded steadily against his ribs, too loud in his own ears. The distance between them felt paper-thin—barely there.
Slowly, her fingers loosened in the fabric of his jumper. She exhaled shakily, her gaze dropping to her lap as if trying to compose herself.
Her voice was barely a murmur when she spoke again. “I’m sorry,” she repeated softly, her words brittle and fragile, barely holding together. Her voice caught slightly on the last syllable, as though it might splinter entirely.
She glanced at him again, her eyes glassy and filled with a flickering apology, but something else was tangled there too—something raw and conflicted, torn between guilt and longing. Her lips parted slightly, and she exhaled shakily, as though unsure whether or not to keep speaking. But then, with a wavering breath, she did.
“I do love Marcus,” she whispered hoarsely, almost as though she were trying to convince herself. Her voice wavered slightly, the words so faint she seemed afraid they might break apart in the air.
Her gaze dropped to her hands, which were clenched tightly together in her lap, knuckles pale from the tension. She swallowed hard, blinking once, twice, and then added, in a fractured voice, “It’s just hard… when a huge part of me doesn’t even know him.”
Her eyes flicked back to Draco’s, brimming with quiet desperation, as though she were searching for something she couldn’t name. Her words hung between them like something fragile, unsteady—balancing on the edge of confession and regret.
And Draco felt something in his chest tighten. He knew what she meant—knew exactly what she was trying to say.
That the part of her that did love Marcus—the part still tethered to the present, still rooted in her real life—was now forced to share space with fragments of herself from the past. Fragments that belonged to an entirely different lifetime, one in which Marcus had never existed.
It wasn’t just memories she was carrying—it was entire versions of herself. Versions that didn’t know Marcus. But both versions knew him.
He didn’t need to hear her say it. He could feel the weight of it in her voice, could see it in her eyes—the quiet torment of it. The fracture between her loyalty and her confusion, between her love for the man she had chosen in the present and the familiarity of the boy she had once known in the past.
Draco’s throat tightened faintly, but he kept his voice steady.
“I know,” he murmured softly.
Her eyes searched his face, wide and uncertain, as though bracing for some kind of judgment or dismissal. But she found none.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock somewhere in the corner of the room and the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of their breathing.
Daphne’s eyes lingered on him—on the faint crease between his brows, the slight parting of his lips, the steady calm in his expression.
And she hated how familiar he felt.
How safe.
How easy it was to fall back into the simplicity of this—of him, of them—before everything had been ripped apart and severed.
She closed her eyes briefly, breathing out slowly through her nose, trying to will away the rush of feelings closing in on her chest.
But she couldn’t.
The air between them felt too close. Too heavy.
When she opened her eyes again, she found his gaze still on her. Steady. Patient.
And without thinking, without meaning to, she reached for him.
Her fingers brushed faintly over his wrist, hesitant at first, as though testing the reality of it. Her touch was light, almost feather-soft, but it grounded her. She curled her hand around his forearm, her fingers barely pressing into the fabric of his shirt.
Draco didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. He let her hold on, let her anchor herself there.
And for a moment, it was enough.
He let out a quiet breath, barely more than a whisper of air, and slowly—hesitantly—he turned his hand over beneath hers.
His fingers curled lightly around hers, gentle but certain. He didn’t grip or squeeze—just held. Steady.
Her breath caught faintly, and her eyes flicked down to their joined hands.
She could feel the warmth of his skin beneath hers—the faint, steady beat of his pulse under her fingertips. The solidity of it. The realness of him.
And she clung to it, if only for a moment. Her thumb absently traced over his knuckles, the motion slow and aimless, as though testing whether he was still real beneath her touch.
She closed her eyes again, her forehead dipping forward slightly until it almost brushed his shoulder. “Stay,” she murmured softly, barely more than a breath. “Just… for a little while.”
Her voice was hoarse, frayed at the edges—filled with something quiet and aching.
Draco’s throat tightened slightly, but he didn’t hesitate. “Okay,” he said softly.
He shifted slightly, leaning back into the sofa, and without thinking, without needing to think, she followed the movement.
She pressed into his side slowly, cautiously, as though unsure whether or not she was allowed to. But when he didn’t pull away, she relaxed against him, her body curling faintly into his.
His arm came around her automatically, without thought or hesitation. His hand settled lightly on her shoulder, fingers barely brushing against her upper arm, the touch warm and steady.
And she exhaled.
Just one slow, shuddering breath.
And then another.
She didn’t cry. Didn’t say anything. She only breathed slowly against him, eyes closed, her body still trembling faintly from the weight of everything inside her.
And Draco let her.
He held her—quietly, wordlessly—without expectation.
For once, she wasn’t trying to piece herself together or fight against the fragments still splintered inside her. She simply let herself be held.
And for the first time in days, her breathing slowed.
For the first time in days, her hands stopped trembling.
And for the first time in days, she felt still.