The Fly Trap

He felt cold.
Not cold like the dead body in front of him.
He was cold on the inside, like something dead.

Something rotten and vile.

"Well done son!" Lucius said clapping his son on the back. Draco was too busy. He was too busy staring at the black fly on the corpse's eye. It was as though that small fly had been magnified a thousand times.

Draco's breathing started to become haggard and restricted.

His father grasped him by the shoulder and shook his shoulder gently. Lucius was speaking but all Draco could see was a mouth opening and shutting. It was suffocating him.

This room with its bloodstained walls.
The blood covering his hands.
That fly...that fly buzzing in his conscience and eating away the warmth.

It was terrifying.

Shaking off the one who had forced him into this crime he ran out of the building with shouts and screams coming from the present alive and the dead past. Screaming at the coldness of the rain on his blood soaked hands he stared as the blood washed away.
Nothing could wash away the stain which bled through his self though.

Although the physical blood washed away, all the young man could see was the endless sea of red on his hands.

He turned his frightened face towards the night sky and was met with red.
The colour of blood was his world's new colour.
Draco screamed into the night as he was dragged away. The dead haunted him.

He was trapped.

Trapped like a fly in a spider's web.