Draco lay on the cold ground, defeated.
His breathing was slow and rough, tired both physically and mentally. He was just done.
He had failed the Dark Lord, resulting in his current situation, abandoned, seriously injured, and with nothing else to live for.
And besides that fact… he was probably going to die.
His head throbbed and blood trickled out of his mouth and into the snow. A large gash went across his abdomen, causing episodes of radiating pain that would course through his body and creating a pool of his own blood around him. Agony. That's all he could think of. Complete and utter agony.
Slowly, his world began to disappear. His vision became fuzzy and he could barely feel the warm had that touched his shoulder. By the time he was safe, in a warm house, he was out cold.