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Prologue: Enter Madness
'Come back...'
Hair heavy with sweat and grease fell against his eyes, blinding him as he ran.
'I just want to talk!'
He could barely hear her over the heavy panting of his own breath. He stumbled forward, further and further away. Through the trees, he kept running, ignoring the sting of nettles and leaves as thorns tore through the delicate, pale flesh of his cheeks and hands. He barely noticed as thick crimson trickles soaked into the remains of his black robes.
'Come back!'
Those thin trickles of blood seemed like nothing. He still couldn't banish the image from his mind. Would it remind there, forever burned into his memory?
They were so small...only first years. They looked so peaceful from a distance. I thought they were playing...or maybe sleeping..I never thought anyone would take this madness seriously...
'Please! You have to.'
He had torn off his tie and house crest by the third day. It had quickly become apparent that none of them were safe, regardless of house alliances and friendships.
'Don't leave me alone!'
Doubling over, hands resting on his knees, he allowed himself a moment of rest. Eyes slipping closed, he tried to block out her faint pleas.
Don't you dare go back. It's just another trick. No matter how innocent they look, they are all after the same thing. It's not worth the risk.
Forcing himself up, he took a deep, steadying breath.
I won't be caught out again.
Slim fingers searched through his pack. He frowned, lifting the small metal flask from within its' depths.
'Shit!'
The last trickle joined the rest of his canteen, flooding the meagre contents of his bag. Hot tears stung his cheeks. He wiped at them roughly with his sleeve.
It took two days to find safe drinking water; who knows how long it will take this time?
Unwilling to stop and risk discovering whilst trying out his bag, instead, he reached into its' soggy depths, pulling out a small, wrapped bundle from one of the many side-pockets within.
At least I don't have to worry about food yet. That's some small mercy.
Chewing on the stale poppy seed roll, he lent back against the rough silver bark.
Why did this have to happen?
He could still smell it. The thick, sickly stench of blood. If he listened too closely, he could swear he could still hear the overwhelming buzzing of the flies, feasting on their remains.
We're all still only students, for Merlin's sake. I haven't seen a single person over the age of eighteen since this all began. Why us? Why now?
Mind wandering, he didn't hear the tell-tale crack of a twig breaking under a careless foot. Lost in his memories of the horrors, he didn't hear their approach.
'Wha-' He gasped, wand grasped in one hand, the other clinging to the fist pinning him by the neck, back against the tree.
Started emerald met scared silver-grey.
'Mayfoy?'