Merlin knew he deserved worse than this. But her hands wouldn’t obey. Her magic wouldn’t stop pouring into his broken body, stitching together sinew and sealing ruptured veins.
She’d taken an oath, hadn’t she? She had sworn to heal. Even him. Even this.
“You’re wasting your strength,” he
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She’d taken an oath, hadn’t she? She had sworn to heal. Even him. Even this.
“You’re wasting your strength,” he
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The air between them seemed to tremble, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths and unanswered questions. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the wound, though the pull of his gaze was relentless. Malfoy. Death Eater. Murderer.
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And yet, here he was.
Not a monster, but a man. Broken. Dying. His silver eyes—those damnable silver eyes—refused to close.
“Why are you here?” she demanded. “Why fight for him?”
A bitter laugh escaped his lips,
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Her silence was deafening.
His gloved hand moved, slow and tentative, brushing her wrist. The touch was light but enough to make her freeze, the warmth of it startling against her clammy skin. His strength was waning. She could feel it in the fragility of his
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“I didn’t choose this,” he said, his voice cracking. “But you—you’ve chosen to stay.”
Her throat tightened, and for a moment, she hated him—not for his sins, but for the way he forced her to confront the shadows in herself.
“Stop talking,” she whispered. “Save your strength.”
“Granger,”
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His words were a warning. A plea. And she knew then that she wasn’t saving him. He was saving her, even now, from the truth she refused to acknowledge.
They were both too far gone.