It Wasn't Supposed to Happen.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, all hail J.K. Rowling.
Chapter One: The snitch goes up, the snitch comes down.
A snitch flies up in the air, thrown by an abnormally pale hand. Gravity clutches the golden snitch in it's heavy grasp and throws it back down. The ashen hand makes another appearance, already open and waiting for the trinket to land where it has landed numerous of times before.
The action repeated four more times before a knock on the door interrupted the pattern of the snitch. The hand disappeared a moment before it was to catch the momentum, and instead it landed with a-
Plunk!
-on the hand's bed.
"What is it?" A voice hoarse with disuse called through the door. A cough from the outside, a shuffle of feet.
"It's almost time for dinner," a familiar voice replied- Blaise Zabini. "Wanted to know if you'd like to join the rest of Hogwarts tonight?" His voice was raspy with sleep. Probably just woke from his beauty nap, the thoughts of the boy were nearly as hoarse as his own voice.
"No, I'm not hungry." The voice stated firmly. The same pale hand from earlier came to rub his sore throat, yearning for a drink to wash away the pain.
"Alright, Malfoy. I trust you know where the Great Hall is, lest you die of malnutrition." Blaise's voice joked. Only his best mate could pinprick the disappointment in his voice.
"I'll be fine," Malfoy said. "Don't go pretending like you care." The fact of the matter was, Blaise wouldn't be here if he didn't care. He wouldn't be knocking on the door, asking if he wanted to go to dinner. Draco Malfoy was his mate and therefore worth keeping alive.
"You know where I'll be if you change your mind." Blaise's voice was drifting away, he was already walking away, leaving Draco to his thoughts once again.
It was October the second. It was October the second, and Narcissa Malfoy was dead.
The snitch goes up, the snitch comes down.
She had been dead since before school started again, before his father had been sent to Azkaban for life, before the war was over. And who killed her? No one other than herself.
Well, maybe that's not the whole truth. Her sister was the one who ended her life, but she'd brought it upon herself. Riling Bellatrix up, words of hatred to the "lord" she sold herself to.
Draco hadn't taken that well, but he never got the chance to take his revenge. The mother Weasley- Molly Weasley her name was, she killed his deranged aunt during the invasion of Hogwarts.
The familiar stabbing ache in his stomach returned for another round and he held his breath and waited for the nausea that came with it to pass.
He rubbed his bare abdomen absently, as if the soft circular motions would sooth the pain away. It was Sunday evening. He had stayed in his room, hadn't left since Friday evening after dinner. He never ate on weekends, just moped in his room. Sometimes he tried to study, but it was nearly impossible for him. He could never focus on what he was reading and whenever he tried a new charm or spell, they often turned out like Seamus Finnegan's, the bloke in Gryffindor with an affinity for explosions.
His marks had fallen dramatically since the war. He struggled through sixth year, dealing with the vanishing cabinet in the Room of Requirement. He then skipped his seventh year, but now that Hogwarts had been re-built, he was back to get his education. He wasn't doing very good at it.
It had gotten so far as McGonagall stripping him of all extra curricular activities such as quidditch. She had apologized and suggested he look into getting a tutor.
So, he'd spent his evenings in the library, thinking being around books would help him somehow, but it didn't. He only ended up staring at the words in the books, not seeing them at all.
The snitch goes up, the snitch comes down.
He would go eat breakfast tomorrow like every other student at Hogwarts, he just really didn't feel like leaving his room right now. Or ever, he added mentally. He knew he would, though. He had to.
"Can I sleep tonight?" He asked the room, only to hear the echoing silence around him. He looked around at the dorm. It was almost intimidating how large it was with just one bed instead of the customary seven. But numbers had gone down at Hogwarts severely after the war, and nearly everyone had their own dorm.
The answer to his question came a while later, as he felt his eyes drooping. For some reason, he fought the sleepiness, even though he knew it was what he wanted.
Maybe it was instinct- to stay awake when you feel threatened. Come to think of it, he did feel rather threatened at the moment, like he should be remembering something- preparing for something.
The snitch goes up, the snitch- flies across the room and into the wall?
"Draco Malfoy, you are in so much trouble!" An enraged voice roared from the place near the doorway. The Head Girl was aloud entrance everywhere, it seemed, even his bedroom.
Well, fuck.
"Hello, Hermione." He greeted almost sheepishly, a hand covering his face.
Hoped you liked it! I update every week, so please review! (:
-GirlWithAHeart-ShapedScar