His silvery hair was ashen, his knuckles were scratched, and dark rings marked the skin underneath his stormy eyes. Draco Malfoy had begun to take a step into Parvati's room by stopped at her words.
"Go away?" he echoed in disbelief. Reflexively, his hand curled into a fist and he his chest heaved. Muscle memory. He was just so used to yelling.
And yet the sight of his wife, so small and fragile-- so small and sad, so broken, silenced him.
He took a step into the room.
"Parvati," he said steadily, reaching out to her. His face was unreadable.
He fell to his knees at the side of her bed. Exhausted, he looked up at her.
"Go away?" he repeated, the disbelief gentler this time but very much alive.