A/N: Believe it or not I saw this little thing (whatever this is) in my sleep. It was awful. Terrible, I tell you!
Disclaimer: I am NOT Joanne Rowling in disguise. *readers gasp* I own nothing. *readers faint*
Details: Story is set on "Malfoy Manor" chapter, directly from when Bellatrix and Lucius ask Draco to identify Harry up to the Trio's escape with Dobby.
Warnings: M mostly for implied violence and generally dark themes. ΝΟΤ a slash-fic.
Important: I want you to picture it. Work with me on this one. I want you to put yourself into Draco's spot, and try to imagine these words like you were there and these are your thoughts. They are floating around and inside your head; haunting you, torturing you.
Nothing else to see up here... go ahead, I dare you.
"I can't be sure."
Liar.
Yes. Yes, you can be sure. It's him.
But, you can't say it. You can't. You will not.
Why? Why do they always try to taint your hands with blood?
Dumbledore's blood. Potter's blood.
Why do they put lives on your hands?
Dumbledore's life. Potter's life.
"Look closely, Draco."
You don't have to look bloody closely. You know Harry Potter. Seven years seems like a lifetime right about now.
And you're scared. You're afraid to cross the line to a place where you could say "I used to know Harry Potter."
The Boy-Who-Lived(To-Die-When-Draco-Malfoy-Chose-For-Him-To). Yes, there is something terribly wrong with that phrase.
Why can't you simply not get involved?
Granger is screaming, and you never want to hear her voice again. Never. Never. Never.
Merlin.
Stop Bella.
Just stop or kill her.
Anything to shut her up, because it hurts your guts.
You're going to be sick all over the carpet, any moment now. And you don't even care that it's the Persian one, and that it costs 4,000 galleons.
It won't matter, when it'll be stained with Granger's filthy blood and your vomit.
Potter is all shiny and new again, and Bella is holding a knife against the Mudblood's throat, and- oh Merlin, Morgana, Salazar, someone.
Just get them out.
Get them away.
Because you never want to see them again. Never. Never. Never.
Potter got your wand. The bastard left you defenseless.
Not that you would dare to point the thing at the Dark Lord.
But, you hate that you'll have to be healed the Muggle way. Bloody hell, you hate it!
Maybe Potter will fight the Dark Lord with your wand. Maybe he'll win with your wand. And, damn it, what a stupid and Gryffindork thing to wish for!
But you do -wish for it that is.
And then...
The Dark Lord is there.
The Dark Lord is wrathful.
And everything dims black.
A/N: Well, any thoughts? Tell me all about it!
Thank you for reading. :)