You Can Breathe Now
Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine. No profit is being made.
AN: Thank you to the wonderful people who reviewed the previous chapter, and for those who added to their favorites and alerts, thank you as well. Some rather disturbing imagery ahead. I blame Neil Gaiman. Suggestions and constructive criticism are much appreciated.
Chapter Two: Stay the Night
"Snakes swallow their prey whole," Marcus Flint says. They're in his room, and Draco is sitting at his desk, examining the green-and-silver poster on the wall depicting the emblem of Slytherin House, while Flint lies sprawled on the bed and outside the adults mingle and sip wine and talk of uninteresting grown-up things.
Draco arches a disbelieving eyebrow at the older boy. "No, they don't."
"S'truth," Flint declares. "Baddock's got one, we feed it mice an' everything. It opens its mouth real wide, like so---" He stops his narrative to give a passable, if comical, imitation, and Draco's lips twitch in a semblance of the smirk that would be his trademark in later years. "Bye bye, mousie. It doesn't even chew or anything."
"What are the fangs for, then?" Draco asks, still not willing to let go of the suspicion that Flint is pulling his leg.
"That's where the poison comes from," Flint explains authoritatively. "The snake bites its prey to knock it dead, then it starts the swallowing. Only, sometimes, the mouse isn't completely dead, so you can see its leg or its tail twitching as it goes into the snake's mouth." He grins, eyes shining with malicious pleasure. "It's awesome. Tell you what, Malfoy, next time we'll go to Baddock's place and you can watch for yourself."
"Yeah, all right," says Draco. He tilts his head as he ponders this new information.
Finally, he says, "All snakes?"
"Yeah," Flint replies. "All snakes."
Except it's not true, except Nagini's different. He watches in horror as the serpent tears into Charity Burbage, ripping flesh from bone with razor-sharp teeth as blood gushes out and spatters everywhere. His right fist is clenched, nails digging into his palm, and he tries to concentrate on that pain to prevent himself from screaming and falling into further disgrace. Voldemort's high, cold laugh mingles with the jeers of the other Death Eaters, and all that Draco wants is to flee the room, but he's so terror-struck he can't move a single muscle.
Nagini stops, raising its head and staring at the mangled remains of its dinner. And just as Draco thinks it's over and is about to inwardly sigh with relief, the snake dives down to Burbage's face and gouges out an eyeball with its fangs, chewing viciously, and Draco realizes that the other eye is looking straight at him, and unable to hold it in any longer, he screams and screams and screams…
Draco Malfoy woke up with a strangled cry, bolting upright in bed.
He couldn't see anything, and the dream was still so vivid in his mind that he half-expected Nagini to be lurking in the darkness, waiting to strike.
"Moseley!" he yelled, pulse racing.
There was a loud crack from somewhere at the foot of his bed, and then a squeaky, subservient, "Master Draco has called?"
"Open the windows," Draco ordered. "And light a fire."
Gradually, the darkness was dispelled as curtains were drawn aside to let in the moonlight and flames danced merrily in the hearth. After pushing one last log into place, the house elf faced Draco and bowed.
"Is Master Draco needing anything else?"
Draco shook his head. "That will be all. You may go."
Moseley leaned forward, pointy ears twitching, eyes wide with concern. "Master Draco is sweating. If Master Draco is unwell, Moseley will get a cup of hot chocolate or fetch the Mistress---"
"I'm fine," snapped Draco. "Go on, out of here."
The house elf hesitated, then bowed once more, bade him good night and disappeared. Draco sat up in bed, listening to the rhythm of his own unsteady breathing and the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Every time he blinked, he saw Nagini devouring Burbage's corpse on the antique table in the drawing room.
I am going out of my bloody sodding mind.
He reached for the wand lying on his bedside table. Two silvery creatures erupted from its tip (he grimaced, as he did every time he used them, not caring much for the form they took) and disappeared.
Smugly satisfied, Draco replaced the wand, and waited.
Fifteen minutes later, a section of the wall swung open, and Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle stumbled into the room, looking like they had just rolled out of bed. Which was probably the case.
"What took you?" Draco demanded.
"Folks set up Anti-Apparition Field at my 'ouse," Crabbe grunted, rubbing his bleary eyes. "Had to walk a bit."
"Me, too," Goyle rasped, stifling a yawn.
Even in his current troubled state of mind, Draco once again marveled at the sheer miracle that had caused Crabbe and Goyle to pass their Apparition tests.
They plopped down on the carpeted floor just as the secret door swung shut, and fixed dull gazes on Draco.
He looked back at them.
There was an awkward silence.
Crabbe was the first to speak. "Right. What's this about, then?"
Oh, nothing, I just had a nightmare and I felt like I was going to claw my own face off if I didn't talk to someone as soon as possible..
"I couldn't sleep," said Draco, trying to sound nonchalant. "I got bored."
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged long-suffering glances.
Three A.M. found the boys feasting on scones and hot chocolate brought up from the kitchens by Moseley, whom Draco had sworn to absolute secrecy under pain of death. Crabbe and Goyle munched away more or less happily on the floor, while Draco remained in his bed, sparingly taking nibbles and sips. Last night's events had robbed him of an appetite he was not sure he would ever regain.
"Draco," said Crabbe, "been wonderin', you ever told anyone besides us 'bout the secret passage?"
Draco frowned. "Do you think I'm stupid? Of course not."
"Even your dad?"
"If he knew about it, he would have had it sealed back when all that fuss with the Ministry started. And he's the last person I'd tell."
"Aren't you worried, though?" Crabbe asked. "Someone might figure out You-Know-Who's using your 'ouse as a base, then they'd find the entrance by the lake an' then where're we all goin' to be?"
Draco dismissed the grim possibility with an elegant wave of his hand. "No one's going to find out, as long as you two keep your mouths shut."
Not that Goyle ever had a problem in that area, he reflected, his gaze flickering over the other boy who was stuffing his face with scones and had, unsurprisingly enough, contributed nothing to the conversation.
But Goyle startled him a while later by speaking. "Draco, we gotta go pretty soon, our mums'll throw a fit if they wake up an' we're not in our beds."
"'E's right," said Crabbe, already starting to get up.
The panic rose inside Draco once more. He couldn't bear this empty, silent room, couldn't bear the thought of returning to a world of blood and fangs and nightmares. "No!" he bit out. "Stay right where you are."
Maybe they were just accustomed to obeying him, even in the face of imminent parental disapproval. Maybe they could sense the desperation he tried so hard to conceal (for they had been with him since childhood, and although they could never claim to understand him, there are things you just know, after a while).
Whatever the case, they stayed with him until sunrise.