𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

The morning light crept through the heavy velvet curtains of the Slytherin girls' dormitory, weak and grey. A single ray fell across your pillow, illuminating the sheen of sweat on your brow.

Draco Malfoy

voice low, careful Sweetheart? You awake?

The door creaked open. Draco's head appeared first, his usually immaculate hair tousled, dark circles under his eyes.

Theodore Nott

pushing past him Move, Malfoy. She's sick, not blind.

He crossed the room in three long strides, dropped to his knees beside your bed. His hand found your forehead, cool against your clammy skin.

Theodore Nott

face softening Merda, principessa. You're burning up.

Behind him, the others filtered in. Blaise leaned against the doorframe, a paper bag in his hand. Mattheo stood at the foot of the bed, chewing his bottom lip.

Mattheo Riddle

voice rough Brought you something. holds up a bag of salt and vinegar crisps Haven't touched 'em. They're yours.

Lorenzo Berkshire

settles on the edge of your bed, gentle Alright. grins softly We're here now. So you can stop being stubborn and let us take care of you, yeah?