No set of rules could salvage me
We just watch the waves crash over
xXx
There is a Hell, believe me I've seen it
There is a Heaven, let's keep it a secret
No one needs to know
xXx
Are you saying that you can save me
Don't hope to ever find me
And I'll say that you forgot.
- Crucify Me
She was still there, at the Manor; her presence set him on edge. He wanted her to go, didn't know why he hadn't made her leave. And yet, for all that he felt about it, it seemed to make her happy. So terribly shiny. Did she think something had changed between them? The thought struck him hard. Had something changed? It was just a one-off, wasn't it? She'd said so—"just this once." Nothing about them would change; nothing about them could change. Their mess was perfect—like rain pounding on the roof in the midst of a sleepless night; like foggy gloom on the days when you knew you couldn't possibly face the sun. He needed it to stay. He needed—.
He cut off that thought abruptly, turning his eyes to her carefree form. He watched her from a distance, the idea of being close to her was painful, and he wasn't sure why. Perhaps because she was bursting with joy; a full expression of all the things that he dimmed in her. The heavily dewed petals were her loving audience, and the half-risen sun her spotlight. And she was beautiful, just as she had been, laying in his arms, beneath six feet of sheets.
He didn't know—couldn't admit?—what this feeling was, as he watched her dance through the Manor garden. Something inside him wanted to run, to flee the sight of everything he might destroy. But another part of him wanted to catch her, to kiss her, to claim her as his for all of eternity. And this wasn't that strange, for she was his. She would always be his, his perfect drug. The aspect of the urge so alien to him, so terrifying, was this tenderness inside him. Because Draco Malfoy wasn't capable, he knew, of such sentiment and softness. But maybe, for all that he fought it with every iota of his being, maybe he wanted to love her. Maybe he wanted to let hope burn in his chest once more.
But she couldn't save him. No one could. And so he just watched her as she flitted beneath the trees, and bent to smell each flower, and basked in everything that she thought life was. So damned naïve. So free.
He looked upon her with envy. Desire. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. It wasn't for him to want it. To crave it. It was much safer to crave her. And she beckoned to him, offering him a world of salvation in so many forms, but he couldn't take what she couldn't give. And so love bites were rushed down her neck, her hands slipped beneath his shirt, and his forbidden thoughts were forgotten in the face of forbidden acts.