Devouring Sunsets
Draco
The biting wind whipped at their faces as they perched precariously on the edge of the cliff, the vibrant hues of the sunset painting the sky before them. Draco and Hermione sat in silence, the weight of another fruitless day searching for the castle heavy on their shoulders. They had decided to rest, to steal a moment of peace before the daunting trek back to camp.
Draco shifted, his muscles stiff and aching, and attempted to stand. But a gentle hand on his arm, surprisingly strong despite its owner's obvious frailty, pulled him back down.
"Can we stay a bit longer?" Hermione's voice was barely a whisper, her gaze fixed on the fading light. He could detect a tremor in her voice, a hint of the sadness she tried so valiantly to hide.
The cold was relentless, seeping into his bones, but he hardly noticed. He draped his arm around her, drawing her closer, and she leaned into him with a sigh. He could feel the sharp angles of her shoulder blades beneath his fingers, the alarming prominence of her ribs, and a wave of despair washed over him. He had lost track of how long they had been lost in this unforgiving wilderness, a month at least, maybe more. Time seemed to blur into an endless cycle of searching, scavenging, and shivering through the long, dark nights.
He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment the fierce animosity he'd once felt for the witch beside him had transformed into something else entirely. He felt a desperate need to protect her, to shield her from the harsh realities of their situation. Perhaps it was the ever present shadow of death, the constant reminder of their own mortality, that had stripped away the layers of hatred. Maybe it was the shared intimacy of their struggle, the way she looked at him with those expressive brown eyes, filled with a mixture of fear and unwavering determination. Or maybe, it was because she was impossible not to adore and admire.
The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into an eternity, those feelings had gradually given way to something softer, something he couldn't quite define. He found himself captivated by her quiet strength, her resilience, her courage. He watched her, fascinated, as she identified edible plants, built fires with her bare hands, and tended to his wounds.
She wasn’t at all like other Mudbloods. If they made it out of this alive, he would certainly be diving into her lineage.
He still thought about fucking her, of course. Almost constantly. When she left to forage, he would wank to thoughts of her. He dreamt of her at night, he daydreamed during the day. It was exhausting, relentless. The desire hadn't diminished, but it had evolved, intertwined with a deeper longing he had never experienced before. He also wanted to make her smile, to hear her laugh, to chase away the shadows that haunted her eyes. He wanted to protect her from the cold, from the hunger, from the despair that threatened to consume them both.
He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the core, that he would be long dead if it wasn’t for her. She was their lifeline, their only hope. She was brilliant, and kind, and far too good for him. She was constantly covered in grime, her hair wild, and still she was the most beautiful person in the world to him. With her big doe eyes, and pouty mouth. The light smattering of freckles across her nose, the adorable facial expressions she made when she was cross, when she was excited.
He felt her shiver against him, and he tightened his hold, wishing he could offer her more than the meager warmth of his own body.
"Are you scared?" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the wind.
"No," he lied, forcing a smile. "I still have every confidence that you will get us out of this mess, Granger."
But it was a lie. He knew, deep down, that their time was running out. They were starving, weak, their bodies slowly succumbing to the relentless onslaught of the elements. The fallen pears were rotting, the blackberries withering on their vines. He was sick, wracked with a persistent cough that rattled his lungs and stole his breath. Some days they were too weak to even leave the shelter of their tent, spending their time huddled together for warmth, sharing stories and whispered confessions. She knew him now, truly knew him, in a way no one else ever had. He had confessed his darkest secrets, the shameful acts he had committed during the war, and she had listened without judgment, her eyes filled with a compassion that made his heart ache.
The truth was, he was terrified, but he couldn't bring himself to extinguish the last flicker of hope in her eyes. He clung to the desperate, selfish hope that if they were going to die, he would go first.
He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb her, and leaned over, pressing his lips gently against her forehead. Her skin was icy cold, despite their close proximity, and a wave of fear washed over him. They should head back, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He lingered for a moment, savoring the feeling of her soft skin against his lips, before pulling away and turning his attention to the spectacle unfolding before them.
The sky was ablaze with color, a fiery display of orange, gold, and crimson, as the sun dipped below the horizon. The clouds, tinged with shades of purple and pink, reflected the dying light like mirrors. The wind had died down, leaving an almost eerie stillness in its wake, as if nature herself was holding her breath to witness this final act of the day.
He watched the sunset with a strange mixture of awe and melancholy. He had witnessed countless sunsets in his life, but this one felt different. The knowledge that it could be one of his last, that the darkness that followed might swallow them whole.
He thought of all the sunsets he had taken for granted, the countless days he had wasted, blind to the fragile beauty of the world and the people around him. Now, faced with the very real possibility of oblivion, he saw everything with a clarity that was terrifying.
The chill of the evening air seemed to cling to them as they crawled back into the cramped confines of their tent. With numb fingers, Draco coaxed a reluctant flame to life. They had dragged their makeshift bed of moss closer and closer to the fire with each passing night, desperate for its warmth. Tonight, it was practically nestled against the embers, a reckless proximity that made him uneasy. He pushed aside the worry, exhaustion overriding caution.
The firewhiskey had long since run dry. Their meager rations were dwindling with alarming speed. Even the nightly ritual of rinsing in the icy stream had been abandoned, a small concession to the ever present threat of hypothermia. Still, they clung to the remnants of civility, meticulously washing and drying their soiled clothes before bed.
He had seen Granger in her underwear so often at this point, she had never been shy about her body, but it never got old. His eyes wandered across her smooth golden skin stopping at some of his favorite parts. The moles that made constellations on her back, the two dimples at the base of her spine, her long legs, the curve of her waist. He loved her hair, her smile, things that he used to relentlessly bully her about in their younger years now made his chest constrict.
He cock was rock hard constantly, but she never commented on it or teased him about it.
She seemed restless tonight, unable to get comfortable. She moved, her ass rubbing against him and he hissed.
“Stop wiggling.” He growled.
In response she pressed her ass back further and ground against him.
He froze. He had never had a problem with stamina, or at least he hadn’t had any complaints, but it had been so long and he had never desired someone more in his life. He knew if she kept wiggling, he might possibly make a mess in his shorts.
“I mean it…” he warned.
Her shoulders were shaking lightly and he could tell she was laughing.
He hadn’t made any advances since she had denied him. Since she had made him beg. But she had to know how badly he craved her, all she had to do was smile at him and his dick would jump to full attention.
He reached out with both hands and gently grabbed her hips, stilling her. A deep exhale escaping his lips.
Her laughing subsided and she turned to face him, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
She reached out, her slender fingers seeking his. With a gentle insistence, she intertwined them. Then, with a playful tug, she drew his hand closer, nestling her head against it as if it were a pillow. It was a habit of hers, one he secretly loved. It offered him an excuse to caress her face, to trace the delicate curve of her cheekbone with his thumb.
Sometimes during the night, his hand would grow numb, the blood flow restricted by the weight of her head. A tingling sensation would creep up his arm, a dull ache settling in his wrist. Yet, he wouldn't dare move, wouldn't risk disturbing her peaceful slumber. Instead, he would lie there, frozen in time, savoring the feel of her soft breath against his skin, the weight of her head a comforting reminder of her presence.
“How old were you the first time you had sex?” She asked curiously.
WHAT?
He loved the turn this conversation was taking. They had talked about almost everything, but they typically didn’t talk about sex. He would make jokes about fucking her, but she would usually just laugh and the conversation would turn to something else.
“I was fourteen, how about you?” He asked curiously. It had been at Hogwarts, in a supply closest with Pansy Parkinson, who he still fucked occasionally if he had no other options for the night.
“It was just last summer.” She replied.
No doubt with the weasel. He knew they had dated briefly. He tried to mask his disgust.
“What’s with the face?” She asked, a ghost of a smile on her lips.
“Nothing…I’m just doing my best to pretend that the last cock you had wasn’t attached to a weasel.”
“Dont call him that,” she reprimanded, “and…he wasn’t my last…”
His eyebrows raised slightly, his curiosity piqued.
“Please, do tell…” He said with a smile.
“I don’t want you to judge me.” Her cheeks flushed slightly.
How adorable.
“Granger…be serious. You can’t possibly think that I, of all people, would judge you.” He had been with so many witches at this point, he had lost track years ago.
“Well…after Ron and I broke up…I was curious. I slept with a lot of people over the summer, tried a lot of new things…to figure out what I liked.”
“What did you try? What did you like?” He asked, trying not to sound too eager.
“Well…I was with both wizards and witches, sometimes at the same time..”
Merlin help him. He was going to explode in his shorts.
“And what did you like?” he hedged.
“It was all pretty fun.” She said with a shy smile that made him melt. “I think I just like trying new things.”
The things he could show her.
He was lost in thought, fantasizing about her with other witches, when her voice, soft as a whisper, pierced through the fog of his thoughts. The words she spoke, words he had never dared to dream he would hear, shattered the silence and sent a tremor through his very core.
“Malfoy, will you touch me?”
Woah. What.
Time seemed to freeze. He stared at her, eyes wide, his breath caught in his throat. For a fleeting moment, he felt a strange detachment, as if his soul had been ripped from him and was hovering somewhere outside his body, observing the scene with detached wonder. His mind sputtered and stalled like an overloaded circuit. It was as if someone had pressed the reset button on his brain, forcing it to shut down and reboot, struggling to process the impossible, the unimaginable, the utterly breathtaking reality of what she had just said. Every synapse fired in confusion, every thought a jumbled mess of disbelief and elation.
“Granger, don’t fuck with me.” He growled.
“I’m not.” She responded earnestly.
His gaze darted between her eyes. He half expected her to erupt in laughter at any moment. He searched for any sign of deception, any indication that this was a cruel trick of his imagination, but found none. The intensity of her gaze held him captive.
His mind was racing, he honestly didn’t know where to start. He had dreamt of this moment for so long.
He brushed the back of his finger over her side and goosebumps blazed across the trail he made on her skin. He paused when he reached the hem of her underwear and began slowly tracing his finger beneath them.
He was touching her. Fuck. She was letting him touch her.
He ran his fingers down her outer thigh and then flipped his hand, placing his palm against the warm skin above her knee. He spread his fingers, and began inching his hand up her inner thigh ever so slowly. She let out the most beautiful sigh he had ever heard in response. When his hand reached her center, he began tracing a line lightly over the fabric.
When she whimpered at the touch, he quietly rose and settled his body between her legs, pushing her onto her back. He slowly began to kiss up her inner thigh, tracing the path his hand had just made a moment ago. He stopped when he reached the hem of the fabric with his mouth and made his way back down the other thigh, leaving trails of kisses and soft bites. He was going to take his time.
He pushed her legs apart and she moaned in response. He stared up at her and slid his tongue over his bottom lip. Her eyes darkened with lust, her hands curled into fists at her sides. His hands latched onto her upper thighs and he roughly pulled her down towards him and forced her legs wider.
He allowed his eyes to trail down her body and focused on her center.
His words came out almost unbidden, closer to a growl than an actual sentence.
“I’m going to fucking devour you.”
He slowly licked over her underwear, then his mouth closed over her, enveloping her through the fabric. Her head fell back, her mouth falling open.
He hooked his finger through the crotch of her underwear and yanked them down. He took a moment to look at her, to appreciate every inch of her, before he allowed his tongue to break through her fold. A high pitched noise slipped from her throat. It was deep, feral. A sound he would never forget as long as he lived.
He wrapped his arms under her legs, reaching up to hook around her thighs and hold her in place as he buried his face between her legs.
She was so wet already. She tasted amazing. His head was spinning and he almost felt dizzy.
He was ravishing her with his lips, his tongue, his teeth, and she was arching into him. Begging for more, her breaths gasping, her moans growing louder. He pulled her clit into his mouth, and wrapped his lips around it, sucking hungrily and rolling his tongue against it.
He felt euphoric, his whole body burning as he watched her squirm beneath him.
He kissed every inch of her. Traveling down, then up again, then back down until she writhed beneath him and dug her nails into his scalp. Her chest rose and fell with every heavy gasping breath.
He shifted his body, pulling his arms out from under her legs. His hand traveled up between her thighs until he was tracing her opening with his fingers. He coated them in wetness before dipping one inside of her slightly.
“Fuck Granger, you're so wet for me, so fucking tight.”
He pushed his finger in to the knuckle and she gasped at the same time he hissed.
She was grinding and twisting against him, pushing herself against his hand for more. He reached his free hand up and placed him palm on her stomach, holding her in place.
“Is there something you want?” He asked, his voice deep and husky. “There is, isn’t there?”
He moved his finger deeper and she tried to grind against him, but he held her firmly in place with his hand.
Oh Fuck. She felt so good.
“No, no,” He chided. “Be a good little slut and beg me.”
Her eyes widened at his words, before they darkened further, clouded by lust and need.
“Please, Malfoy.” She whimpered.
He had died. He has died and gone to heaven. He was falling. He was flying. He felt drunk.
She placed her hand on his head and tried to push him back down. He let her, but paused right before his mouth landed on her again. She tried to tilt her hips up, but he pressed her down again to hold her in place.
He laughed.
“Adorable.” He cooed as he finally kissed her sensitive spot again. She cried out in response and he savored the sound. He began to pump his finger slowly inside of her. He was moaning too now, he couldn’t help it.
He threw one of her legs over his shoulder and pushed his finger faster, harder.
“Fuck, you taste so good. I love it,” he murmured against her clit.
Granger Granger Granger
“Malfoy! Malfoy, please! She cried, grabbing onto his hand on her lower stomach.
“Beg me to make you come.” His voice was deep, commanding. He could tell she was close.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
“Please, please Malfoy, don’t stop!” she said quickly, she sounded desperate, frantic.
Her legs shook, her hips jerked, but he held her down. She looked half wild.
“Oh please, please PLEASE!” She begged.
“Please what?”
“Please make me come.” She gasped.
“Good girl. Such a sweet little pussy.”
He added a second finger and pressed into her, curling them and pushing them in and out as he continued to devour her.
“Fucking come, Granger. Come for me.”
She shattered with a glorious scream. Her whole body convulsed as the orgasm ripped through her. Every muscle in her body was taut as her cunt clenched and rippled around his fingers. He didn’t stop. He kept licking and pushing, until she was whimpering and trembling. He slowed and softened his tongue against her, but didn’t stop.
She pushed lightly on his head, but he pushed her hand away.
“No.” He growled.
He didn’t want to stop. He never wanted this to end. Her big brown eyes sparkled as they met his, lighting up like burnt cinnamon.
“I am going to make you come again. And again, and again. I am going to make you come until you’re crying for me.”
******
The next morning, the biting wind seemed to mock their frail bodies as they embarked on what Draco feared might be their last scouting expedition. Each step was a battle against exhaustion and the gnawing hunger that had become their constant companion. The cold, relentless and unforgiving, seeped into their bones, making every movement an agonizing effort. Draco found his mind wandering to the night before constantly. If he did die, he would die a happy wizard.
He trailed behind Hermione, his gaze fixed on her as she navigated through the towering grass, its frosted blades shimmering like icy swords in the weak sunlight. They were heading towards a massive oak tree. He wasn't sure they had the strength to climb it, their bodies weakened by weeks of near starvation and exposure. But Hermione had convinced him to try. He would literally do anything she asked at this point.
They reached the base of the tree, its bark rough and unforgiving against their frozen fingertips. Using the deep cracks and fissures as footholds, they began their slow, arduous climb. The frost covered branches were brittle and treacherous, snapping with alarming frequency under their weight. They moved with painstaking care, each movement deliberate and measured, their breaths forming small clouds of condensation in the frigid air.
They clung to the tree like fragile insects, their bodies pressed against the rough bark, drawing what little warmth they could from its ancient core. Every few feet, they would pause, their lungs burning, their muscles screaming in protest. They moved as one, their bodies instinctively attuned to each other's needs.
An hour crawled by, each minute an eternity. Draco's limbs were numb, his fingers stiff and clumsy. He knew Hermione must be suffering just as much, if not more, but she never complained.
Finally, they reached a height where the tops of the grass were visible. Draco edged out onto a thick branch, ignoring its ominous creaking. He fought the urge to look down, focusing instead on the horizon.
"Malfoy, please be careful," Hermione's voice, laced with anxiety, reached him from behind.
He didn't reply, his gaze sweeping across the landscape. And then he saw it. A glint of sunlight reflecting off stone, a silhouette against the horizon. Hogwarts.
"Granger… " he whispered, his voice hoarse, pointing towards the distant structure.
He could hardly speak. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight. It wasn't too far, perhaps a day's journey, maybe less. Even if they didn't find help immediately, they could seek shelter within its walls, escape the clutches of the deadly winter.
He heard her footsteps behind him, cautious but quickening with excitement. He looked over his shoulder to see her standing behind him, her eyes shining with tears, her face illuminated by a radiant smile.
She reached out, her arms circling his waist, her face buried in his back. He turned, gently but urgently, pulling her into a tight embrace. They stood there, clinging to each other, their bodies trembling with relief and exhaustion. Their salvation awaited them. But for now, in this moment, all that mattered was the warmth of their embrace, the hope that they might actually survive.
A small crack jolted them from their moment. Their eyes met, wide with fear. Another crack, louder this time, followed by a groan. They were frozen in place, their bodies rigid with terror.
Slowly, they turned their gaze towards the branch beneath them, their hearts pounding like drums in their chests. As quickly and as carefully as they could, they moved toward the trunk, their boots scrabbling for purchase on the rough bark. They were so close to safety they just needed to get off the branch before it gave way.
A loud CRACK! echoed through the silent woods, the sound like a gunshot shattering the stillness. The branch gave way, splitting in two with a deafening crash. The remaining piece that still held them suspended began to sag.
They were running now, their legs pumping furiously. Draco's heart hammered against his ribs, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could hear Hermione's panicked gasps echoing his own from ahead of him.
Suddenly, his shirt snagged on a jagged piece of bark. He stumbled, his momentum thrown off. His fingers desperately clawed at the bark to free himself from its hold. After a moment of struggle, he ripped his shirt free and continued his sprint.
Hermione was nearly off the branch, but he trailed behind. Another loud crack echoed through the woods. He watched in horror as she stopped and turned to check on him.
"Go! Don't stop! I'm right behind you!" He screamed.
She didn't reply, her gaze fixed on the branch beneath his feet. It was bending now, the wood creaking under the strain, and he knew it wouldn't hold for much longer. He watched in helpless terror as she began to run back towards him, her face etched with fear.
WHAT THE FUCK. NO.
She reached for his hand just as the branch snapped, the sound like a thunderclap. She pulled him towards her with all her might, spinning him around in front of her just as the branch began to plummet towards the ground.
He braced himself for the freefall, but it never came. Instead, he felt a searing pain in his back, a force that sent him flying through the air. He landed within a large crevice of the tree trunk, his body wracked with pain. He lay there for a moment, dazed and disoriented, trying to understand what had just happened.
Then he heard a scream, a sound that ripped through the silence like a knife. He scrambled to his feet, his vision blurry, and turned towards the direction of the blast. His blood ran cold.
Hermione was falling. Plummeting towards the ground.
Draco had seen and done a lot of awful things during the war. He had tortured people, watched them die in front of his eyes, begging for their lives. But nothing could match the horror he felt in that moment as he watched her fall.
He let out a scream that tore from his throat, a primal cry of anguish and despair. Her body hit the ground with a sickening thud, the sound echoing through the silent woods.
He raced down the tree as fast as he could, his legs burning. They had climbed so high, it took him what felt like an eternity to reach the ground. He could hardly breathe through the panic that was rising in his throat, his lungs constricting with each ragged gasp.
When he was close enough to jump without breaking his legs, he did. He landed hard on the ground, rolling onto his side but he hardly felt the pain. He jumped to his feet and ran towards her, his heart pounding in his chest.
He fell to his knees beside her limp body, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch her. Her skin was cold to the touch, her eyes closed. He frantically ran his hand over her face, searching for any sign of life. He checked her neck for a pulse, his fingers shaking as he pressed them against her skin.
"Granger?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with fear.
He shook her gently. But she didn't respond. She didn't even flinch.
A wave of despair washed over him, so powerful that he thought he might drown in it. He buried his face in her hair.
"Granger! Wake up! You stupid, stupid witch! Why would you do that?!" His voice cracked, a raw scream tearing from his throat.
She had saved him, again . The selfless Gryffindor, throwing herself into danger without hesitation. He was almost certain it had been a wandless Knockback Jinx that had propelled him from the branch, a last ditch effort to save him without a thought to her own life.
His hands trembled as he struggled to catch his breath, the adrenaline coursing through his veins making him lightheaded. He knelt beside her, his eyes frantically searching for injuries. His gaze landed on her leg, and his blood ran cold. A deep gash marred her thigh, blood gushing from the wound, staining the forest floor crimson.
He pressed his hand against the gash, the warmth of her blood seeping through his fingers. He ripped off his shirt, his movements frantic, and tied it tightly above the wound, hoping to stem the flow. He ran his hand through his hair, his face smeared with dirt and her blood, then returned his attention to her injury.
"Granger, please, don't leave me," he choked out, the words barely audible.
He cradled her face in his hands, resisting the urge to shake her, to will her back to consciousness. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, his lips brushing against her cold skin.
"Please, please, please. What do I do? Tell me what to do, Granger!" he screamed, his voice echoing through the trees, his gaze lifted towards the uncaring sky.
"Well, you can start by lowering your voice," a weak voice replied.
His eyes shot down to hers. She was awake, her gaze meeting his, seemingly coherent despite the pain etched on her face.
"Granger!" He pulled her into his arms, squeezing her tightly, ignoring the groan that escaped her lips.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he mumbled, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes. "What were you thinking?"
She didn't answer, her face contorted in pain. He gently lifted her from the leaves and dirt, cradling her close, and turned back towards their camp.
He burst through the tent flap, laying her gently on the ground. She grunted with the movement, and his heart clenched.
"We need to wrap your leg better, you're losing a lot of blood," he said, his voice shaking.
She looked pale, her eyelids fluttering, struggling to stay conscious. He removed his makeshift bandage, wincing at the sight of the wound. It was deep and still bleeding, though thankfully less profusely. He carefully unfastened her pants, sliding them down her legs, trying his best not to disturb the injury.
He grabbed his flask, which they had been using for water, and poured it over the wound. She hissed in pain, but he didn't stop, rinsing away the dirt and debris as best he could. His shirt was soaked with blood, so he pulled hers over her head, ignoring her weak protests, and used it to wrap the wound tightly.
He watched, his breath catching in his throat, as the bleeding slowed. The white fabric of her shirt stained red, but not as quickly as before.
Once he was satisfied with his work, he gently lifted her and carried her to the bed. He propped her up, making her drink some water, then set about building a fire. He was covered in her blood – his hands, his face, his hair – but he didn't care. He just watched her, thanking the universe that she was still conscious, still looking at him with those beautiful, expressive eyes.
He cradled her in his arms all night, refusing to sleep. He watched her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, his own heart aching with every labored movement.
He took care of her the entire next day. She still looked pale, but her spirits seemed surprisingly high. He foraged for food, forcing her to drink water even when she protested, cleaned her wound with meticulous care, and kept the fire burning. She winced with every movement, but the bleeding had stopped.
"Malfoy?" she whispered into the darkness as they were falling asleep, her voice weak but steady.
"Hmmm?" he replied, exhaustion tugging at his eyelids.
"You're going to have to go back without me and get some help."
"You're quite funny," he chuckled weakly. "Please, tell me another joke."
"Malfoy," she said, her voice firm.
"There is no way I am leaving you like this," he said, his voice laced with determination. "We will wait it out until you are well enough to leave. I will carry you there if I have to."
She rolled her eyes, a flicker of her usual spirit returning. But he could see the fear in her eyes, the knowledge that their situation was dire. He squeezed her hand, offering her a silent promise that he wouldn't leave her side, no matter what.
******
The days blended into one another, marked only by the slow, agonizing return of Hermione's strength. Hope flickered as they resolved to resume their journey the following day. But as dawn broke and he held her close, a wave of dread washed over him. Her skin radiated an unnatural heat, her cheeks flushed a feverish crimson.
"Granger?" he whispered, his voice thick with concern.
A low groan was her only reply.
"Granger, I need to look at your leg," he insisted, his fingers already frantically working to unwind the wrapping.
The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold. Angry red streaks, like venomous serpents, snaked up from the wound, now oozing a viscous, cloudy fluid that had not been present the day before. Infection, unmistakable and merciless, had taken root.
"What's wrong?" she murmured, her voice weak and raspy, her body seemingly devoid of the energy to even rise and see for herself.
"Nothing," Draco lied, his voice a strained whisper, "Everything is fine."
"I don't feel so good," she croaked, her words punctuated by a sudden, violent retching. Her body convulsed, wracked with nausea, as she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the cold, unforgiving floor. Draco's heart clenched in his chest; fear, cold and sharp, pierced through him. He was losing her.