White
By: Luca
Warning: Angst
Word count: Just over a thousand
Type: One-shot
Summary: Draco gets thirsty and wanders to the kitchen for a drink
Feedback: Is muchly appreciated
Draco crept down to the kitchen for a drink. Even if he was a Prefect, he still didn't want to get in trouble for anything. It would have been fun for him though, if he could catch a Gryffindor out of bed and turn him or her in. There'd be some nice points right there. It was all just a competition anyways. Potter had won last time. Draco couldn't accept that.
At the moment however, he didn't worry about the Gryffindor. Silent as a snake, he edged down the hallway, passed sleeping portraits toward the kitchens.
The cold hallway had goosebumps mapped out along his pale skin. He rubbed his arms and froze.
Was that someone behind him?
Holding himself still, he strained his ears to catch any sound around him. He came back with nothing but dead noise ringing in his ears. Heart thudding dully, he continued on and found the kitchens.
The Slytherin pulled his thick cloak tighter about him, trying to trap in the heat. The blond arrived and entered. He groped out and flicked the light switch so the room was flooded with light.
Raiding through the cupboards, he found a glass.
He then proceeded to pour himself some juice and parched his itching throat. He grabbed a roll and nibbled on it slowly before deciding to return to his room. Draco padded across the cool floor, wishing he had worn socks or something to shield his feet from the invading cold.
Perhaps he should have held on tighter to the glass. A muscle spasm, and it slipped and fell to the floor. The glass shattered with a clear sharp sound. The only good thing was he had finished the drink, so there wasn't much juice on the floor. Hundreds of shards spilled across the floor, glittering like diamonds.
The Seeker uttered a curse and knelt. He pulled up his sleeves, so not to get any glass caught there and on his wrist gleamed that mark. So many people considered it a flaw; ugly and disgusting. Yet Draco liked it. It set him apart from the others. He closed his eyes for a moment, traced the mark almost absently, reverently. Carefully, the blond reached out and picked out a few of the shards. He wished he had thought to bring his wand. Depositing the glass in the garbage can, he returned and picked up another sharp, large piece of glass.
Draco flinched when he felt it slice into his hand. He quickly pulled his hand away and dropped the shard. Turning his pale hand, he saw the neat, thin line where he'd hurt himself. He watched as a thin line of crimson welled up.
The scent of blood filled the his nose. It pooled in his palm, bright and gleaming. He couldn't stop staring for some reason. It was an attractive colour, so vibrant and alive. Especially against his pale skin. White on red. Snow white, blood red.
There was a scream. Draco's head jerked up, silvery-grey eyes gone wide. He stared at the figure in the doorway of the kitchen, uncomprehendingly.
Suddenly, he found himself surrounded by people. They dragged him up and away from the glass. Words, all jumbled together, a range of loud and soft, some aimed at him, some not.
Draco was confused. He demanded to be let go, arrogance in his every word.
The grip on his arm only tightened, painfully so.
He felt someone inspect his palm. He tried to jerk his hand away but found his wrist in an unbreakable hold. He glared for all he was worth, declaring he'd only gone to get a drink.
He was promptly ignored. His wound sterilized and bandaged quickly.
Before long, the blond found himself back in his room. He heard a click of the door, heard the turn of a lock.
Immediately at the door, he pounded on it. How dare they? They had the gall to lock him in! He was a Malfoy. No one got away with treating him thus. The school was his oyster, his for the taking. He shouted at them, threatened them. No one treated him this way at Hogwarts, no one. His father would hear about this.
The woman outside the door, Marta, shook her head. "I do feel sorry for the poor boy."
"I know. That was too close this time." The other woman, Jessie, agreed. "At least we caught him this time. I don't know how he got out. Someone must have forgotten to lock the door."
Marta frowned. "He was getting so much better too. But tonight...relapses happen, I suppose."
"Aye. He was going on about magic again at lunch. Something his wand and these Quidditch games of his," Jessie ducked her head sadly. "Threatening people with potions of some sort."
"He does rather have a fanciful imagination, doesn't he?"
"They usually do. He was talking about Harry again too," Jessie pulled her jacket on.
Marta looked indescribably torn, sadness marking her face and eyes, making them shadowed, gaunt. "He can't get past that, can he?"
"We already lost Harry. We were too close tonight. Too close..." Jessie trailed off before shaking herself out of her melancholy. "I'm off shift now. See you in the morning, Marta."
"Good night, Jessie. Take care."
The brunette left the large facilities. The iron wrought gate closed behind her as she drove away from Bedlam, hospital for the mentally ill.
Draco slid down and sat on the cool floor. He stared off into space, looking alone and lost, like an unwanted puppy.
"They slipped this time," he murmured softly. "I was so close. So very close. I'll make it next time. They can't keep us apart forever."
He traced the mark on his wrist again. A single pale line marred his wrist, even paler than his own skin. A tiny smile crossed Draco's lips as his eyes slipped shut. He knew exactly what his mark looked like. Almost four inches long, right on his left wrist. He lifted his hand in the air, eyes still shut.
"You beat me to it. You always do, but I won't be left behind," he promised.
The blond reached out. He touched something, fingers curving slightly as though conforming to a cheek. He smiled ever so slightly, pale mouth turning up.
Two last words left his lips.
"Hi Harry."
FIN