I've been on Holidays for quite a while, so this took me forever, sorry. I'm not sure how long this story is going to be but I don't think it'll be particularly huge, considering it was only meant to be a one-shot. Anyway, I love reviews and the like. Hope you enjoy. x

What He Wanted

Draco's footsteps cracked loudly against the stone floor,echoing from the walls and down the deserted corridor. His heart was in his throat, and though the searing pain in his chest threatened to bring him to his knees, he pushed forward, heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

"What do you think you're doing, Malfoy?" Crabbe's voice rang out behind him, strangely distant, as though he were yelling through a glass window. "Isn't this what he wanted? Isn't the whole point of what you're doing, meant to be so Potter dies?"

Draco froze on the spot, staring directly in from of him, blood still thrumming through his veins with vicious intensity. The words repeated in his head, Isn't this what he wanted?

His skin prickled uncomfortably, his hands shook by his sides, and the gash that ran the length of his chest clawed violently at his ribcage. This was what the Dark Lord wanted, but what about Draco? This wasn't what he wanted, not at all. Without Harry, he would have no chance, he was dispensable, unimportant. His fingers tightened around his wand, his grey eyes glittering with a sudden surge of bravery, he turned to face Crabbe, who stood stupidly in the middle of the corridor, staring straight into Draco's eyes.

He hesitated for barely a second, "Petrificus Totalus!" Crabbe's body froze instantly, he teetered on the spot for a moment, before toppling forward and onto his face, the echoing crack as his nose broke against the flagstones sent chills down Draco's spine.

"I've had it with what he wants, he's going to kill me in the end anyway." With that, Draco spat on the ground in disgust, leaving his fellow Slytherin frozen and bleeding on the floor.

He continued on into the silence, pressing a hand to his chest in an attempt to dull the pain that seemed to be seeping into his muscles, his bones, and shooting through every nerve in his body. He didn't have much time, with every step he could feel the blood beginning to drain away from his already pale face, his breathing quickening as his chest seemed to constrict around him.

Damn Potter, none of this would have been a problem if he hadn't been poking his nose around where it didn't belong, Draco would be able to walk properly right now, and Potter wouldn't be bleeding to death on his own. Why did he have to be so damn stupid? Why did he have to get in the way?

Draco shook his head in an attempt to rouse himself, his vision was clouded, and his hands seemed to be shaking uncontrollably now, but he was so close. That blank stretch of wall was only around the corner.

Whatever blood had still been colouring his face drained away in an instant when he rounded the corner, his eyes widening in horror at the scene that presented itself. He felt sick, horribly, and violently ill. He stumbled back, his wand slipping from his fingers with a clatter, before dropping down onto his knees and retching at the sight.

The corridor was empty, but for the tapestry that hung opposite the wall concealing the room Draco had spent much of the year inside. But it was very different to it's usual bland grey appearance. There was blood, painted across the floor, bloody hand prints scattered over the wall, footprints surrounding the one distinct drag line that ran along the stone floor and into the wall, it glowed crimson, reflecting the stark sunlight that filled the hallway.

It was everywhere, that glistening red. Draco could hardly breathe. What had they done to him?

He suddenly found his strength at the thought, dragging himself to his feet and snatching his wand from the ground. He heaved a steadying breath, the dull sting in his chest being pushed to the back of his mind, before stepping forward into the bloody scene.

He hadn't realised until then that he was barefoot, the blood sticking to his feet making him inhale sharply, hissing at the horrible feeling between his toes. But he had no time, there were bigger things now, bigger than a little blood on the floor.

He reached the wall quickly, squeezing his eyes closed and pacing in front of it's bloody expanse. I need to get to Harry! Let me help him, he's my only hope. Take me to Harry! He only opened his eyes as he completed his third passing of the wall, and wooden door, as equally crimson as the floor, stood waiting for him.

He practically threw himself at the handle, turning it clumsily and pushing the door open.

The room was small and dark, and smelt of an odd mixture of mould and the metallic stench of blood. Draco lit his wand, heart thumping in his chest as he raised the shaft of silver light towards the centre of the room, where that crimson trail in which he stood seemed to lead.

And there he was.

For a moment he looked as though he was simply asleep, untouched. Draco stepped forward cautiously, holding his wand high, raking his eyes across the crumpled form of Harry, until he finally found the source of all that blood. His skin was paper white, his shock of black hair sticking to his forehead. It ran along his jawline, rivers of it. Dripped from his chin and flowed down the back of his neck in earnest. It pooled around the cheek pressed to the floor, dirtied the lenses of his glasses and stuck to his hair.

Draco was at his side before he even knew what he was doing, he stared at the weak pulse fluttering in his neck, mouth hanging agape. Harry was dying, he had to be. But he couldn't, not now, not when Draco so desperately needed him to stay alive.

It was at this moment that both boys' lives hung so precariously in the balance. This was Draco's moment, to do what he had never been brave enough to do.

It's short and annoying, I know. But I really need to put a lot of emphasis into the next part of the story. Forgive me.