Draco could swear he heard thunder. Not rolling in the skies above Hogwarts, but instead creating a horrible symphony inside his head. A symphony of imagined voices, ideas, accusations, pressing against his thoughts. Fear was awaking in his mind, guilt following closely.
Depression was suddenly gripping him, accompanied by fear. And Draco hated it. His mind was afraid, his actions suddenly felt heavy… but he knew it couldn't be happening. He couldn't be weak in this way. He couldn't break down: not now. He was finally becoming more powerful, had finally spoken with the Dark Lord, had finally gotten the dark mark upon his arm. He was so close to destroying Potter once and for all, while securing his place in history.
So why did the future seem so hopelessly dark for him in that moment?
The feeling had been rising like bitter bile in the back of his throat for so long, but now it erupted into the present as he watched Potter converse with Katie Bell in the great hall. He stood stalk still in the center of the tables, watching. Harry was obviously asking Katie if she remembered who had cursed her. Draco saw her shaking her head, eyes sad and filled with remorse. Fear. Like she understood she had started a whole new mystery.
Harry lowered his head, disappointed, and Draco felt a surge of irrational anger that did not match his motives at all. Katie had been through terrible, horrible times, and yet, all Harry cared about was who cursed her? All he cared to ask was who had hurt her? That stupid Potter was no better than Draco himself. Draco clenched his jaw. Katie looked past Harry's shoulder, and fixed eyes with him for a second.
Fear burst through Draco. He stared back, eyes wide, pleading for her to not alert Harry. But it was too late: the cursed boy had turned and saw Draco. Draco felt his breath leave his chest, and suddenly he had to get away. Turning, he pushed past a gaggle of first years. The room began to spin around him.
Had to escape. Had to get away. Had to be safe.
He reached the outside of the great hall, and was relieved that no teacher stood out to stop him. His feet took him faster and faster. But the echoing of footsteps behind him told Draco that Potter was following.
That horrible, horrible boy.
Draco walked faster, urgency in his steps. Just leave me, Potter. Leave me alone. Draco wanted to turn and shout those words at his pursuer. You aren't meant to save the world, you rubbish boy. Let someone else come after me. Just leave me alone! Draco's cardigan was tight over his chest. He turned a corner, welcoming the dark winding passages of the inside of Hogwarts. Maybe, just maybe there was a chance he'd lose the boy.
An empty birdcage swung from the rafters as Draco passed. His eyes flitted to it, jealousy fueled towards the bird that had the chance to escape from its confines. Draco wanted so badly to be free, but here he was, running from Potter. He bit into his lip so hard he could taste blood. Clenching has hands tight, he turned another corner.
Potter's footsteps faded to barely audible. Draco burst into the bathroom, the mirror in front of him reflecting the image he hated with all of his being: his face. His trademark sneer, pale white hair: all of it offended his heart. He was such a hideous creature. Powerful! Yes! But hideous.
Bending over the sink, he felt rage boil inside of him. He reached back, pulling his overshirt over his head with such force it wrenched his neck. He struggled with it for a moment, anger fueling his erratic movement. When it came over his head, he threw it to the ground, biting into his lip.
Rocking back and forth, he stared into the eyes of his own reflection. Strands of hair hung down over his forehead: the opposite of his usually upheld image. Fear felt like it was the only thing that kept his heart pumping. He clenched the sink, wishing he could let it shatter in his hands. Maybe the force of glass in his skin would give him an excuse to hurt.
As he stared at the mirror, images of what were to come flashed through his head. He suddenly began to realize: there was no way he could make it through this. He suddenly wished he could just be like everyone else. Blissfully ignorant. That he could go back down to the great hall, finish his food, and have the most of his stress amount to Quidditch tryouts. But he was stuck in his cycle that he had been thrust into against his will. Did he ask for this? Did he ask for death eater, parents? Did he ask that the Dark Lord gave him this task? His mother had said it was an honor to give his life in service, but where was the honor in being used like a coin? Being tossed to the side as soon as he was worthless.
Draco wished, then, that he could be normal. That he could turn from his ways. But it was too late for that. Far too late. If he turned now, he'd be murdered specifically. He was sure Voldemort did not take kindly to traitors.
So all he could do was cry. And for the first time, as Draco stood sobbing over the sink, he wished someone would comfort him. He wished that someone could come to his rescue. The wizarding world was focusing so heavily on those the Dark Lord hunted, and Draco wished they could see that some of the biggest victims were Voldemort's closest friends. He wished someone would tell him it was okay.
I can't do this. I can't do this. I'm scared, I'm so scared. The words relayed in his brain. Scared. I'm such a weakling, but I'm scared. I just want to breathe easy again, but I'm scared. I just want to feel the sun, and soak in the moon, but the only future I can see is death. Death killing those who have not wronged me.