He Doesn't Know
She softly runs the back of her fingers over his cheek as he slowly falls back to sleep.
The salty stains on his pillow are evident enough of his nightmares, even without the screaming.
Numerous times he has told her that he's not a good person, how he's a vile creature, how he should be kissing the very ground she walks on, his angel.
He just doesn't get it, though, how she's been at fault too. He's aware that she is not in any way perfect, but sometimes he just worships her like she was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. "It's true," he murmurs into her silky hair, "I would have killed myself hadn't you been there." He sighs into the crook of her neck and softly whispers, "I love you."
"I know." She responds.
He doesn't understand that he is a wonderfully sweet person. She once tripped up the stairs, hurrying to the bedroom to find her wand to prepare dinner; he looked broken at her fall and promptly swept her off her feet and carried her up, and laid her gently on the bed. He eventually made a candlelit dinner for two by himself.
He can't see how funny he is; his silliness and laughter is contagious. But it is a disease she is more than glad to get. His childish games are so innocent, which he doesn't believe himself to be. He may not be now, but he has retained some of his youth in his attitude.
He has never truly comprehended how handsome he truly is. She can't understand why he can seem so confident about his appearance, yet not be at all. His hair, best worn down and without gel, is the softest she's ever felt; she could run her petite hands through those locks all day. His eyes are the key to his soul; they speak a language even she cannot decipher at times. A deep ocean azure with flecks of gold, fringed with thick, long lashes, they are the most beautiful things about him. They reflect the pain he has gone through and still does, the love he has for her, the sincerity of his words, the hope he has for the future. Lanky as he is, he can disorient her by merely walking in the room with simple pajamas. She can't but look away when he does, he is but an Adonis walking without any clue what he is doing to her. He is the perfect everything for her, and yet he continues to be unsure.
However, she isn't one to talk. Her thick curls and very lanky and petite frame have no appeal about them. Yet, he is always the first to tell her that she is the most beautiful woman in the world. Not true, she knows deep down, but it's nice to hear it anyhow. He looks at her with such longing that it stuns her to her core. How could a man like him ever want anything to do with some Ravenclaw? She will never know.
His mystique, his deep thought process, his isolation, it all drew her to him, but it was not what she loves about him. She loves the scared boy deep within him, the boy who is scared to face her when he thinks he's failed to love her with all his heart, but is not afraid to face the imminent death he has faced before. The complex paradox that is him is hard to unravel, but the treasure that lies within is the most precious thing she holds to her heart.
And yet as his breathing now becomes calmer, and his heartbeat less erratic, she is relieved. He's gotten through another night.
She won't let him fall if she can help it, "My Draco…" she softly whispers as she too, looses consciousness and slips into sweet sleep.