Disclaimer: Not the characters. Not the universe. Only the idea.
A/N: This is a companion piece to Chapter 8 of "And You Will Have Me Live".
Draco awoke with a jolt. His heart pounding in his chest.
Breathing hard, he tried to collect his thoughts. Trying to figure out what the hell had woken him up. He hadn't been having a nightmare but a rather pleasant dream involving black silk sheets, melted chocolate, strawberries, Astoria...
"Pansy!" he yelled sharply.
Draco couldn't move fast enough trying to get out of his bed. He ended up becoming so tangled in the sheets that he fell flat on his face. Into the floor. Ripping the sheets, in a desperate attempt to free himself, as he continued to move to the door.
Finally free of the sheets, he yanked open the door and ran up the stairs two at a time. His heart pounding frantically. He didn't break a stride as he hit the door to her bedroom hard and crashed through, spilling onto the floor.
He could see her in the dimming light from her fireplace. There was still enough light to pick up the unnatural blueness in her wavy, black hair, causing it to glow in the darkened room – a glowing halo. Her sheets twisted around her, while the duvet lay in a heap on the floor. Sweat covered her face as she squirmed in the sheets. Struggling. Grasping.
"Wake up."
She moaned softly.
"Wake up."
Her voice becoming more distinct. More firm. Abet more desperate.
"Please mummy."
She begged. Her voice cracking.
"Please wake up."
Draco found himself not able to get to her fast enough, stumbling to her bed. Crawling into her bed, he did as he had done so many nights before, pulled her shaking, trembling body up into his arms and onto his lap as she still cried for her mum to wake up. In English. In French. In Spanish. In so many different languages. Before she started to repeat herself.
But always saying the same thing.
"Wake up."
Begging her mum to wake up.
Draco rocked her as he whispered her name. Telling her to wake up. Begging her, actually to wake up. To reach out to him. To let him help her.
Glancing at the clock, he made a mental note of the time. He knew he had ten minutes to wake her before he would be forced to call her father and the others. And he didn't want that. Because he didn't want to explain why the youngest Weasley boy was in the flat. Obviously staying the night.
He had to protect her. That was his responsibility. Even if it was to protect her from those who loved her as much as he did.
"Come on Lizzie," he whispered, tears burning his own eyes. "Please wake up. Please Princess. I need you to wake up. Come back to me."
He continued to rock her as she pitifully begged her mum to wake up. While he begged her to do the same. Both fighting the tears.
He brushed her hair aside and watched her face. Looking for any sign that he was getting through to her. But he wasn't. The lines on her face kept getting deeper. The creases around her eyes and lips increased with the frustration she was trapped in. Her grip on his arm growing tighter. Her nails cutting his skin. Tears were trickling down her face as others had dried. Draco was scared.
He could usually see her start to pull out of the nightmare within minutes of comfort; of him rocking her and begging her to wake up softly and gently. He should be seeing that now, the fading of the lines, the loosening of her grip, instead of her holding on to the nightmare of her mum dead before her with spells shooting all around. No one should have to experience that, especially not someone only four.
He couldn't understand why she holding on to the nightmare of the night his father took everything away from her, locking her in her prison of iron and glass. A prison all had been powerless to break.
He could see tears starting to roll down her face harder as she continued to beg and plead with her demons. To bring her mum back to her. That her mum couldn't leave her.
"Help me," she cried, grabbing onto Draco tighter. "Please help me."
In that heartbreaking moment, he realized he wasn't enough anymore, as he watched her struggle. He felt his own tears start to roll with that epiphany. After years of being her everything: her friend, her confidant, her protector, her boyfriend, her lover. After years of defining himself in terms of her: his sun and his north. After all they had been through, he simply wasn't enough anymore.
And though it was painful, his heart reminded him that it was okay. Because he wasn't alone anymore. There was someone who cared enough about her to not have her be the center of his universe but for him to be the center of hers. To ground her as others lifted her up. Someone who had proved that so many times in so many subtle ways as Draco watched.
They needed each other. They wanted each other. They were each other's everything. Whether either one was ready to admit it or not. Draco would bet his prized Bugatti on it. Well, at least his AMG Black.
Feeling like he was saying good-bye, he whispered, "I'm going to go get help." Before placing a kiss on her sweaty forehead.
Gently moving from under her still trembling form, he ran to the doorway. Leaning over the banister, his voice cracked as he yelled, "Weasley! Get your arse up here now!"
Getting no response he yelled again, "Weasley! Answer me!"
"Malfoy, what are you..."
Draco didn't let him finish, "It's Pansy."
Suddenly, the sound of Ron running up the stairs two at a time was the only sound that echoed through the flat.
Draco found some comfort in that moment, when he saw Weasley's face with panic and pain etched in his blue eyes. The Weasel was what she needed. He would love her in spite of herself and her demons. Draco was going to have to let her go. Whether he wanted to or not – or if he was ready too. Which after years of wanting that, he knew he would never be able to fully let her go.
In that moment, Draco signed his death warrant for his Princess, whispering, "I need your help. She's having a nightmare...And I can't wake her. I need you too."
