April 1998

The Second Wizarding War was only weeks ahead, the Death Eaters were on edge — Harry Potter was no where to be found.

Hushed whispers in the mile long hallways of the Malfoy Manor, the dining room completely occupied by the Dark Lord himself.

Draco has been on edge too. He can’t recognize the house in which he grew up. The whole demeanor of the Manor seems even colder than before. If that’s even possible.

His Dark Mark wasn’t itching anymore, well knowing that the reason for it was housing a floor under his own bedroom, doing merlin knows what with his stupid snake. His own father had sold them out. His mother is completely frightened by the people and creatures taking over her home, Draco himself had to do things no seventeen year old was supposed to do.

He grits his teeth while walking faster into the West Wing of the Manor.

Hell, he’s supposed to play Quidditch outside with his friends, tease the younger students, go to partys. Maybe he should have had chucked himself from that tower last year —

Draco opens the door to his bedroom. All of the thoughts are gone. His room is dark, the outlines of his furniture only illuminated by the moon shining through the open window.

How could she sleep with an open window?

His gaze falls on you, sleeping under his sheets, tucked up to your chin. He had a reason why he didn’t jump that day.

Draco closes the door behind him, locking it with two spells before closing the window, locking that too.

After stripping off his black suit and taking a shower, he slips into bed next to you, sitting against the headboard. Draco can’t sleep. Since the war has begun his insomnia has been kicking bad. But he can keep an eye on you.

And on the… the thing.

That’s what you two have been calling the thing cooking inside you since this December.

Another reason why he hadn’t jumped from that tower last winter.

Even though he was dying inside, he had to protect you two.

No matter what.