I'm so sorry that this took so long, I had a pretty severe run of writers block and had to rewrite the chapter about six times. Even then I don't think this is as good as it could have been, so sorry, again. Please review, it means the world, especially when I'm having such a hard time with this story. Thanks, hope you like it.


The Anti-Chosen

The sound of the blast made the entire school come to a roaring halt. Students stopped in their tracks, staring in shock at the ceilings in silence, the teachers froze mid-conversation, and even peeves became motionless for a moment, halfway through pelting chalk at a group of horrified first years.

It was the kind of sound that could make blood curdle, it echoed loudly down the stairwells, it traveled through the stone walls as though they were made of air, it shook the high windows, and sent chills down your spine.

The sound that followed shortly after it, however, was only heard by the small group of Slytherins gathered on the fifth floor. The sharp crack as the back of Harry Potter's head met the floor.


Draco's eyes flew open in an instant, the sunlight stinging as he blinked his vision into focus. Where the hell was he? And more importantly, what the hell was that sound?

He stared at the ceiling for few moments, waiting for the disorientation to subside, before he finally tried to heave himself into a sitting position. He ran his fingers across the scratchy white sheets lying across his body, they felt so cheap, it was disgusting. He laid his hands flat on the bed, and began to push himself away from the warmth.

The pain that hit him was phenomenal.

It shot across his chest in a long burning line, running up the side of his neck and sucking all the air from his lungs. He collapsed back into the pillows within a second of attempting to sit, his flesh stinging as though someone had pressed a long, straight branding iron right across his ribcage.

He gasped for air, gripping at those cheap sheets like a lifeline, as he waited for the pain to slowly subside. It took an eternity.

When he finally heard the sound of movement from within the room, he turned his head ever slightly to the left, only to see Madam Pomfrey bustling around the large room with several bottles clutched in her boney fingers. The hospital wing, of course, how could he have expected any different. He turned his face back to the ceiling, glaring at it as he thought hard.

How exactly had he ended up here? He brought a hand up to his chest, where the skin still throbbed painfully, running his fingers across the flimsy fabric that covered his body, and feeling the thin, raised section of skin that ran from the underside of his ribcage, across his chest, and up, all the way to the pale skin that stretched across his neck.

And then he remembered, the memory rushing back to him like a train on a track. Potter had done this to him. He should have known that nosey git would get in the way somewhere along the line, he had always managed to go looking for trouble, finding some new stupid way to act the hero, and have all the students at this pathetic school kissing his shoes.

But never, in his wildest dreams, had Draco ever expected Potter to know magic like this. He ran his fingers up and down the long scar that branded him absent-mindedly, Potter had always been so intent that nobody should get hurt, not without reason anyway. So why start now? Draco had steered clear of him all year, he never had the time nor the energy to waste on bullying Potter anymore.

In fact, Draco hadn't really had much time to spend on anything of late. He spent hours cooped up in the Room of Requirement, trying desperately to fix that stupid cabinet. At every opportunity, he would disappear into the room, becoming increasingly frustrated with himself. Why would the stupid thing not work? It had to work.

His life depended on it.

He had no choice but to keep trying now, to keep pushing forward without a glance backward, because one moment of doubt, would be all it took for the Dark Lord to end Draco's life. And the thought of that terrified him. He had to get that cabinet fixed, because there was no other way to escape anymore.

The Dark Lord wanted Potter, and the only way he could get to him was if Draco killed Dumbledore, that was simple enough to understand, but the idea made Draco's stomach clench uncomfortably, and a cold sweat break out on his brow.

What if the rumours were true? What if Potter really was the only one who could end him once and for all...

He was scared. Absolutely terrified, of what as going to happen to him, of what was going to happen to his family. He had made the ultimate sacrifice for his father, to get him out of azkaban, to get back the respect his family had been so used to, but now, he was starting to think it was very much the wrong decision to make.

This Death Eater business was beyond frightening.

All of a sudden the colour drained from Draco's pointed face. How much had they seen? Did they know? They must have seen it!

He brought his left arm up in front of his face, eyes wide and fearful as he looked at the white cloth sleeve that covered the mark. They had to have noticed it, he had been so careful for so long, but now... how long had he been unconscious for?

Fear welled up inside his chest, his heart hammering against his aching ribs. He had to get out of here. He whipped his head around to look at Madam Pomfrey again, her back was turned, and she seemed quite immersed in whatever useless task she was doing. Now might be his only chance.

He brought his hands back to his sides and pushed up quickly, hissing as the pain erupted across his torso again, bringing tiny white stars to his eyes and making his arms wobble ominously as he tried to support all of his weight. He gave another quick glance towards Madam Pomfrey as he heaved himself into a proper sitting position, and brought his hands around to toss back those cheap, scratchy sheets.

In that moment, the doors to the hospital wing burst open to reveal a triumphant looking Crabbe, his chest heaving as though he had run all the way up here. Draco stared at him in shock, what the bloody hell was he so happy about? He looked him up and down, noting the wild look in Crabbe's eyes as he stared back at Draco, and the blood on the bulky Slytherin's hands.

"What on Earth do you think you're doing?" Madam Pomfrey's voice was shrill though hushed, as though Crabbe had just burst into a nursery of sleeping children.

He shoved his bloody hands into the pockets of his robes roughly, "I'm here to talk to Malfoy, that's what I'm doing," he gave her an icy glance before returning his gaze to Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy is-"

"Perfectly fine." At the sound of Draco's cold drawl, she turned to face him, her eyebrows knitted together in concern.

"when did you wake up?" she asked, her voice high in shock, or fear, he couldn't really tell.

"Not so long ago, now if you wouldn't mind-" Draco pointed towards her office and cocked an eyebrow expectantly. Whatever news Crabbe had to share, it definitely wasn't for the ears of the staff. "-I would like a little privacy." he laid thick emphasis on the last word, indicating that the conversation was very well over.

She glared at him for a moment longer, before turning on her heel and closing her office door behind her with a sharp click. Draco waited a few moments longer, the pain in his chest giving a particularly malicious stab, before he turned his attention back to his fellow Slytherin, who slouched towards him with that stupidly happy grin still plastered on his face.

Draco simply stared, waiting for whatever it was he had been so eager to tell.

"We got him"

"Got who?"

"Potter, of course." Draco felt the blood run away from his face, turning his gaze to Crabbe's robes, gaping at the crimson smeared across the white of his school shirt.

"What the hell did you do to him?"

Crabbe's smirk widened, his watery little eyes glittering with what looked like a sick kind of pride. A million scenarios ran through Draco's head, but the only coherent thought that came to mind, was that whatever they had done, would have done just about as much damage as Potter had managed to inflict on him. Slytherins had a rather notable reputation for revenge, and Draco had no doubt that this had been completely merciless.

"Where is he?" Draco's legs had swung out of the bed before he even knew what he was doing. He cringed as the pain in his chest clawed at his insides, but dropped to his feet all the same. Potter couldn't die, he was his only hope.

"What does it matter?" Crabbe actually laughed at this point, "Let the scum rot, I say."

Draco snatched his wand from the tiny bedside table, pointing it straight into Crabbe's stupid face.

"Tell me. Where. He. Is."

He grabbed at the front of Crabbe's uniform, pulling him close and holding the wand barely an inch from his face. He could feel the blood rushing back to his face, could feel the burn of the slash across his skin, could feel the rage boiling inside him as he stared straight into the eyes of the one person standing between him, and survival. It seemed to work, Crabbe was faltering, fear flashing in his eyes as he swallowed audibly, never breaking eye contact with Draco, as if the very act would cost him his life.

"You know I'll do it!" Draco jabbed the wand into the boy's cheek, "I've got nothing left to lose!"

"The Room of Requirement! Ask for him! He'll be there!"

And with that, Draco stormed from the Hospital Wing, hand clutched to his chest and silver eyes burning bright in the dim corridor.


Gah, that was disappointing. I'll have the next chapter up in a few days. It'll be better, I promise. Don't forget those reviews? Maybe.