He was sure he was about to get physically sick from staring at that vanishing cabinet. The feeling as if his stomach was going to leap out of his throat erupted from his body. Shaking, staggering, and overwhelmed in his entirety, Draco Malfoy dashed out of the Room of Requirement, not even caring if anyone was looking and dashed down the stairs.
Everything was blurring, foggy, distorted. Draco felt distorted and could only thank that this hallway was empty enough for no one to confront him of his newfound sickness. He slammed the door, finally shocking a scared, crying Myrtle before rushing to the nearest toilet to empty his stomach contents.
He ended up dry-heaving as well, taking note that he didn't have breakfast or lunch today.
He tried to cough away the burning acid feeling in his throat but it only made it worse. As he sat there for a while, it was then that his mind could wander.
Back to a time when things were simple. When his goal was to get the statement "I'm proud of you son," out of his father's lips and maybe even a hug instead of a black cold cane and even the more chilling and torturous disappointment.
He had given up on wanting anything from his father anymore. Not when he had wasted sixteen years of his life trying to earn something he could never have… Not when a pale white monster with gleaming red eyes that branded him both inside and outside ordered his father to torture what was left of his son.
Draco tried and failed to choke back the tears as the denial faded away and the realization hit him. His father didn't even question, didn't hesitate, didn't even blink.
And now Draco was being punished again for his father's fuck-ups. Now he was either going to have to destroy what was his second home, or allow his mother to die by the hands of that monster.
It was Hogwarts or the Manor… Two welcoming places he cherished with all his being, and now he had to decide what would be destroyed utterly.
The thought started to make him sick again so he brought himself back to reality, dragging his exhausted limbs to the sink to rinse his mouth and wash the sweat off his face.
And Myrtle had either found the courage or lost the patience to confront him.
"What's wrong Draco?" she asked, and Draco could hear the concern in her voice. The worry and the compassion that he could never find in his own parents.
"Go away," he replied, hating that his voice was cracking. He sounded so weak and desperate. He would've been beaten by the cane if his father heard him now.
"I could probably help," Myrtle began, reaching for him with her vaporous arm. He could feel the fire, the spark of rage that Myrtle even tried to help when she couldn't listen to his first request. "Or at least understand what's going-"
"No!" He barked at her angrily, and it felt better to be angry, to forget what he was forced into doing. "You won't ever understand! No one can help me!" He shouted the words that had driven him into this crazed isolation, this punishment he had to go through, and now Myrtle was simply in the way.
"Get out!" Draco screamed, and felt like he was four again, with his enraged tantrums, his stupid silly reactions to his father's neglect. "GET OUT!"
Myrtle obeyed meekly. Floating away, leaving Draco to his despair. And finally, after holding it in for so very very long, Draco gasped and sobbed, using the sink as his support for his weak legs as he sobbed loudly into the sink that could accept his tears.
He was crying, uncontrollably. He couldn't remember the last time that had happened, not after his father had repeated to him over and over again "A Malfoy never cries." And finally he could feel as if he wasn't crying just for this moment, but for every moment in his life when he felt lost and alone and had no one to help him. He was beginning to realize just how lost and alone he had become over the course of his life.
Through the tears and the haze of his sadness he managed to lift his head to the mirror to look at his bloodshot eyes, his gaunt, pale and sickly face. He wanted to scream at how ugly he had become, until his eyes were drawn towards the reflection of the back of the room.
He almost wanted to laugh hysterically at the sight of his arch-nemesis, standing behind him. That feeling died quickly as the horror and shame and embarrassment that Harry Potter was standing there and watching him break down like this.
He could hear his Aunt Bellatrix's words in his brain as she taught him to defend himself against various spells. "You dropped your guard, now it's time to pay the price."
He wheeled around, wand instantly at his hand picturing the hex clearly in his mind and saw that Potter could only draw his wand before the spell had nearly grazed his ear. Draco wanted to curse his own aiming ability, but he had panicked, had rushed the spell in a blur, and was more surprised on his reaction time and how close he did manage to get to hexing Potter.
However, he only had time to feel the adrenaline rush through his veins and dodge the blast of a spell from Potter's wand. Dashing to find cover in the bathroom stalls. He could hear the footsteps against the hall, following him to the other side of the bathroom.
Draco acted quickly, casting a spell on the other side of the line of stalls. Potter drew back just enough to avoid it. He took a breath against the wooden doors before realizing that his feet were exposed. He dropped down, only before his enemy could, before picturing the words "Everte statum" in his mind.
The spell missed Potter once more as Draco dashed to the end of the bathroom. Frustration pounded at his brain as he realized that Potter had faster reflexes than his aunt. A plan formed as he rushed to the end of the bathroom. He was cornered, but an unforgivable wouldn't be heard this far in the bathroom, and perhaps a little torture would slow his enemy down.
He only had a moment as the question came up in his mind. Could he really torture Harry Potter? He could torture animals, and perhaps even muggleborns like he was trained to, and would even admit he hated Potter enough to do it.
But as Potter appeared before his vision and he lifted his wand, he could only meekly mumble "Cruc-" before hesitating, the feeling in his stomach making him sick again. He couldn't do it. He couldn't torture Potter and he couldn't kill Dumbledore.
Potter, apparently, had no problems killing Draco.
"Sectumsempra!"
The curse hit him straight in the chest, and he could only see his own blood spurt from the wound before pain struck his body and he collapsed onto the wet ground. He could feel the water soak through his back as blood seeped through his chest. He gasped, coughing, blood filling his lungs.
"No," he could hear Potter whisper. And suddenly his soon-to-be-murderer was at his side, his face appeared in his sight. "Oh God," Potter suddenly spoke, and his voice sounded just as weak and just as terrified as Draco's had.
"Don't die!" Draco somehow heard his sobs through the deafening pain. He could feel arms support his neck and legs and suddenly realized that someone was actually touching him, holding him, and crying over him as he heard Potter beg some imaginary force out there for him to live.
He once again wanted to laugh hysterically, because never once did his father or mother ever hold him like this. It was all he wanted in life and he was finally getting the affection he so craved at his death. He was finally being held. He was finally being cared for. His wish was granted and now more than ever he wanted to simply die in peace, in Potter - no - Harry's arms like this.
He could hear Harry scream now. He could hear him screaming for help, calling for anyone to spare his life. But Draco wanted to die, wanted it to end so he didn't have to torture and kill and hurt anymore. Harry was screaming for him and holding him and comforting him and he was dead and free and didn't have to worry about anything anymore.
The illusion had suddenly faded as Harry was ripped away from him. A wand was at his chest and he could hear his godfather almost singing as the blood on his chest disappeared and he was able to breathe properly again. He was still staring at Harry, watching him cry quietly into his hands, and Draco wanted to return the affection he was once given. He wanted to hold and comfort Harry and wipe away those tears and tell him it was all okay.
He hadn't died. He felt reborn. He had opened his eyes and realized that his father was wrong all along, and that Harry was the one. He had to be the one to save him from everything. From his predicament, from his father, and from the monster that had invaded what once used to be his home.
Snape had dragged him out of his life-altering realization. Made him get up on his feet, as cold hard reality slammed into him like a heavy weight once more. He was leaving Harry, his comfort, his savior, as Snape guided him out of the bathroom, and through the halls towards the hospital wing.
He looked into his godfather's eyes and spoke in a whisper, hoping only Snape could hear him.
"I can't kill him." Draco spoke. He was suddenly surprised how completely convinced he was by his own words. Snape nodded grimly, hearing him finally, and understanding exactly what he meant.