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He likes to watch the moon, she knows. After he thinks she's gone to sleep, he'll sit by the windows with the curtains pulled back, thinking. Like he's waiting for something. Or nothing at all. And she knows he can feel her watching, but months pass before she can find the courage to speak.
"Why do you love the moon, Draco?" Whispers echo, and she's afraid to have broken a rule left unsaid. There is no reply. She knows there never will be. But pauses pass, and he's rising to turn. A painful, open expression sears his eyes, in a way she's never seen. Then it's gone and his face is coarse, hard, like it was before she healed him. The words that follow aren't his.
"I don't love the moon, I hate it." Lies.
"You are not your father." She slips away without a sound.
In the morning, they pretend it never happened.
Weeks pass before she dares to speak again.
"Why is it that you say you hate the moon?" She goes to him this time and sits beside him. He is beautiful in the moonlight. So is she, but doesn't know it. He does not answer, and will not look at her yet. So she takes his clenched fists in her hands and kisses them.
"The moon is beautiful," she whispers. "Glowing, innocent, full of radiance..." His fingers fall apart. She can feel them trembling in her palms and clutches them tightly. They are silent for a moment.
"Alone," she adds finally. "She'll always be alone but never realize it."
His eyes fill with the wounds that she'd glimpsed once before. Broken, hollow. And he finally turns to look at her, but is seeing someone else, and she knows the kiss following is not meant for herself. But it is she that loves him.
She waits until he's sleeping before slipping from the sheets. The window only creaks a little as it opens, and the breeze is cool against her flushed skin. She raises herself to the open sill, and she can feel her nightdress billowing around her ankles. The moonlight consumes her, it eats at her soul. But she can stand being someone else, if that's what he needs.
Astoria is dead
Whispers echo in silence, and she can feel him watching.
In the morning, they pretend it never happened.
Lu·na /ˈlunə/ noun
The ancient Roman goddess personifying the moon, sometimes identified with Diana.
"Why do you love the moon, Draco?" Whispers echo, and she's afraid to have broken a rule left unsaid. There is no reply. She knows there never will be. But pauses pass, and he's rising to turn. A painful, open expression sears his eyes, in a way she's never seen. Then it's gone and his face is coarse, hard, like it was before she healed him. The words that follow aren't his.
"I don't love the moon, I hate it." Lies.
"You are not your father." She slips away without a sound.
In the morning, they pretend it never happened.
Weeks pass before she dares to speak again.
"Why is it that you say you hate the moon?" She goes to him this time and sits beside him. He is beautiful in the moonlight. So is she, but doesn't know it. He does not answer, and will not look at her yet. So she takes his clenched fists in her hands and kisses them.
"The moon is beautiful," she whispers. "Glowing, innocent, full of radiance..." His fingers fall apart. She can feel them trembling in her palms and clutches them tightly. They are silent for a moment.
"Alone," she adds finally. "She'll always be alone but never realize it."
His eyes fill with the wounds that she'd glimpsed once before. Broken, hollow. And he finally turns to look at her, but is seeing someone else, and she knows the kiss following is not meant for herself. But it is she that loves him.
She waits until he's sleeping before slipping from the sheets. The window only creaks a little as it opens, and the breeze is cool against her flushed skin. She raises herself to the open sill, and she can feel her nightdress billowing around her ankles. The moonlight consumes her, it eats at her soul. But she can stand being someone else, if that's what he needs.
Astoria is dead
Whispers echo in silence, and she can feel him watching.
In the morning, they pretend it never happened.
Lu·na /ˈlunə/ noun
The ancient Roman goddess personifying the moon, sometimes identified with Diana.
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This was amazing. I love how you made the parings unclear until the end.