Vonne: WOW! I got SO MANY reviews for the last chapter. Even though it was mainly from one person (LivelyMcBrighten) reviewing every single chapter up to the point we're at now, I couldn't be more happy. Thank you all so very much and, as promised, I am submitting yet another chapter to all of you! I'm so serious about wanting to get caught up as soon as possible and it looks like all of you are wanting to get caught up as well. Thank you so much! I can't say that enough, apparently, but really, I am so flattered and amazed.

LivelyMcBrighten: First I wanted to start with you because of all eight reviews you submitted to me, making my inbox fill up like crazy. AH! Thank you so much! All your reviews weren't annoying at all. In fact, they made me excited about updating this for the people like you out there. I am so overwhelmed by all the feedback, I feel like I'm getting more of it this time around than from the first time around. So, with that being said, thank you so much! Anyway, your suspicions about Galler and Beevis could be right... I think you're someplace on the right track with either of the feelings you have in your gut. I mean, you've got a 50/50 chance either way you go, so after a while, tell me where you still stand. I'd be curious to see what you think about Beevis and Galler. I like keeping their "goodness/badness" a mystery until the very end.

Linda: I can't wait either, apparently. I've been updating these chapters like a crazy person.

LeCandeh: Oh, good! I'm glad you liked the last chapter. I was fond of the way it played out, but I'd always felt that it might be a boring one to read, so I'm glad that it wasn't.

Kitty Meadow: You don't have to tell me at this point, no. :) But I'm glad you do.

Leroy Up: Yes, sir! :)

MCLanna: Oh good! You and Psychic City both got the notification of this from your phones, huh? Looks like I need to get a more updated phone. My doesn't even go on the internet and I barely have text messaging. I guess that's what happens once you move out. HA!

Carl: Yeah, I was worried that it was too short, but this chapter is a long one I think, so that's always good news, isn't it?

Psychic City: Now it's YOUR turn to update, isn't it, girlie? :)


Chapter Eight:
No Good Deed

Two lonely and slumped figures sat in the large waiting room under the orange light above them. The figure to the right had maintained what was a considerable speck of perfect posture during the entire duration of his visit in the room. He'd sat with his back straight and his hands in his lap, only his eyes deviating from perfection as they watching his companion to his left. The other shadow, however, proved to be the exact opposite. Fidgeting with his fingers in his lap, he nervously glanced around the room and occasionally stopped twitching only in time to whip the trickling sweat off of the front of his face. Nonetheless, the calmer of the two slouched forward, nudged his friend feverishly, and proclaimed boldly, "straighten up. You've done this before. What's with you?"

The shaking man glanced upward, breathing out one long shaky sigh. With his face turned into the slight light, it was obvious that very much had been going on in his mind. However, despite his strangeness, the man smoothed back his blond mess of hair, stuffed his hands between his knees, and brought them forcefully together. Draco Malfoy was, all things considered, practically hysterical. "The last time I was here," he said, looking hastily over his shoulder, "I was attacked by a lunatic, Goyle, thank you very much."

Pressing his head to one side, Gregory Goyle considered the circumstances. "Okay," he said before readjusting his own figure on the seat, "and what are the chances that that's going to happen to you again?" Malfoy did not get Goyle's joke. Instead, he huffed miserably, took hold of his throbbing temples, and buried his face in the front of his palms. "This is good for you, Draco," Goyle continued, watching Malfoy closely, "you've just got to... to commit to it. Go every so often, put yourself out there a little. You're not the only messed up person in this world, you know."

Good for him? Draco scanned the room through the tiny slits in his separated fingers. Perhaps he, Draco, was looking at the situation from an entirely different perspective than Goyle. Still, all Malfoy could see was the massive waiting room that belonged to his therapist, Elaine Galler. Not in a million years would he have ever have imagined himself to end up in a therapist's office. He would have laughed if such an absurd thing would have been suggested to him. But now the situation was, after all, completely different. He was not the golden boy anymore. He was not his rich father's prize possession nor the chosen one for Lord Voldemort. He was only the left behind, the ex-Death Eater- he was seeing the walking corpse of the man he'd once feared more than anyone in the world. However, instead of focusing on the obvious, Malfoy managed to focus completely on Goyle who, if Draco wasn't mistaken, had just insulted him. "Oh," Malfoy said, with his face still pressed up harshly against his palms, "I am officially 'messed up' now, Goyle?"

Expression melting, Goyle rolled his eyes, contradicting Malfoy with a simple huff of, "don't be a prat, you know what I mean."

However, Draco wasn't entirely sure, truth be told. Sure, he'd acknowledged the fact that Goyle particularly did not consider him to be a complete madman- but Draco was not entirely convinced of it himself. With the previous night being the only peaceful night he'd had in a while, he was beginning to suspect that his time of misery was only just around the corner. But going back to Galler's office, he'd figured, was just another baby step forward, a fraction of a million little steps he'd have to take in the near future. And maybe his last visit had not gone quite ideally, but there was no sense in continually putting the therapy trips off. Because in the back of his mind he'd known that he'd truly needed them, Draco figured that waiting was only the more passive way of existing. Thus, he'd allow the woman to ask him what she'd wanted and he'd tell her whatever it was she'd wanted to know. As long as the nightmare would be just that much closer towards ending.

His progressive attitude did not, however, stop Goyle from voicing his approval towards the situation. Continually, the large man would lean in towards Draco and whisper words of encouragement before falling backwards again, only to return with something else later. True to his new reputation of Draco's own personal motivational speaker, Goyle scooted himself back towards Malfoy, nudged him lightly, and said, "besides, if you spend enough time around this place I'm sure you can meet someone nice. Perhaps a girl or two, huh?" Laughing teasingly, Goyle crossed his legs over one another, smiling to himself, "you sure as hell need other company besides me all the time."

"I've got other company," Malfoy contradicted, lifting his face out from his palms.

"What?" Goyle said again, looking back at his friend. The two had been sitting in the waiting room for quite some time and petty talk was the most they could opt for. "What? You mean Granger?"

Responsively, Draco slumped back down in his chair. "Yes," he said, "I meant Hermione." Nonetheless, he decided not to press the subject. Despite the fact that he'd known Goyle was only jokingly mocking him, he was not entirely comfortable with letting Goyle know the entire story of his relationship with Hermione. How funny the word 'relationship' sounded to him, even when spoken to himself through his thoughts. The idea of such a bond was almost incomprehensible and yet desirable all at once. For a moment Malfoy counted his blessings, though few they were, and wished he hadn't upset Hermione so recently.

But to Malfoy's appreciation Goyle had dropped the subject as well, taking the initiative to make himself comfortable and focus back on the door. Though the two weren't given much time to relax; just as Goyle found the strength to readjust himself, the office door broke open and Elaine Galler's tall shadow stood within the frame of it. "Hello, Draco," she said with a smile, though there was sympathy behind her soothing voice. Se turned her head curtly and nodded to Goyle before stepping aside and extending her arm into the darkness of her office. "Whenever you're ready," she said simply and stood there waiting, as if there truly was such an option. So, groggily, Malfoy took to a stance, walked past Galler and slunk within the dark shadows of her office.

"How have you been, Draco?" the woman asked him softly, and she seemed strongly concerned. As the door shut behind her, Malfoy could no longer see the outline of Goyle and the feeling of loneliness hit him rather hard.

But to Galler's rather obvious question, Draco Malfoy answered, "fine." And his answer wasn't exactly that much of a lie, considering that, despite his constant anxiety, he was doing fairly fine. He managed to keep the obvious stress out of his tone.

"Fine?" Elaine repeated, motioning for Draco to take his seat on her couch. She watched him sit down nervously and assumed her spot at her desk. "Okay," she continued finally, "fine is good then, isn't it? No more nightmares?"

Malfoy shrugged, saying honestly, "none that I remember."

Directly on time, Elaine's quill and paper rose into the air and Draco felt instantly embarrassed. Despite it being his third time in the woman's daunting office, Draco couldn't help but permit the rush of humiliation. "Draco," Galler said, for she'd said every time, "relax, Draco. Please, you're okay."

Laughing nervously, Malfoy ran a hand through his hair. Still, he managed to say bitterly, "well, considering the last time I was here..."

At once the hovering quill and paper froze. Motionless, they simply bobbed up and down by Galler's ear. As if she had been slightly put off by his last comment, she bit down hard on her bottom lip, concentration lines showing up darkly on her face. "Yes," she said timidly, breaking her gaze with him for a moment. She grabbed for the glasses on her face and held them softly in her hands, readjusting herself at her seat. "I'm very sorry about that, Mr. Malfoy," she said, "I had no idea that Leory Beevis was wandering around my office building and, if I had, I assure you... such an incident would have been avoided." Then, noticing Malfoy's silence, she added, "he's been brought back to the institution. He's... he's been put away for a long while."

"He's not well," Elaine continued, placing her glassed back up on the bridge of her nose. Moaning, Draco ran his hands back over his face and swung his shoulders forward. "Are you sure you're alright? You can tell me how you're feeling."

"I don't know how to explain it..." Malfoy said groggily. "I can't really..."

"Here." There was a slight squeak noise of Galler getting up from her seat. With his face in the front of his palms, Malfoy could hear her light little heels cross the carpet towards him. "If you don't mind, Draco, I'd like to know what you're thinking... do you mind if I use Legilimens?" The look about Elaine's face was hopeful, though Malfoy wasn't much for her optimism. In fact, he'd considered actually declining her request, but decided against doing so; in the long run, he really did want to do whatever it took to be deemed sane. Nonetheless, he swallowed his pride and leaned back, his shaky hands up on his chest, his eyes pressed shut for effect. And while Galler made no effort to be vocally gracious, she smiled sweetly and stepped slightly back. But with Galler whispering only slightly, Malfoy felt a slight pressure and then nothing.


It was sometime five years ago, just before June when the weather had started to warm. In the basement with his head slightly lowered, Draco Malfoy sat in a slump against the back wall. A slender and attractive brunette had placed herself sloppily up against him, her hand on his trousers moving in little circles. However, she seemed not to notice the boy's obvious discomfort and was perhaps even further divulged in her cup full of yellow liquor. She fanned herself off, for the heat even in the night had finally started to get to her, and glanced up at Draco, who was not paying her much attention at all. Huffing, the pretty young girl glared messily at Crabbe, the large black lump in the corner, and said out loud, "alright, your turn."

The game that had been going back and forth was not much of a game as it was an attack. Pansy, with her hand on Malfoy's knee, asked the one question that had sent most of the group off in tangents of their own personal fantasies. "What," she would say, slowly as if the following question was perhaps the most sought after desire in the world, "do you want to do once we win the war?"

For the most part, the majority of answers had been fairly obvious; Pansy had wanted a large home and a plethora of emeralds. Blaize, who spoke in a quiet hush in the corner, perked up at his chance, saying determinedly that he'd wanted in on all of the Death-Eater's plans, straight off the bat. But since Pansy and Blaize had been only truly talking of dreams, for they had never actually been part of the Death-Eaters, it was only Goyle, Crabbe, and Malfoy's answers that really mattered. And with the war so close in their midsts, the three truly had been feeling the pressure. They shifted slightly in their own personal ways, nervous and anticipating quietly to themselves. When Crabbe heard Pansy mention his name, he stiffened and his eyes locked in straight with Malfoy's.

"When the war is over," he said steadily, "I will see to it that all those against us will soon see their last day."

Pansy took a sip from her glass, her eyes shinning with the early effect of it already. "Meaning?" she asked, swallowing the remainder of its contents in one heart-felt gulp.

"Meaning," Crabbe continued, "I can tell." His eyes remained locked in with Draco's, who could feel his heart beat thunderously in his skeleton. He could almost see the anxious little twitches in Crabbe's devilish little smile, "I can tell when people are really loyal or not."

In the corner opposite Crabbe, Goyle gave a slight little hiccup. He had been, perhaps, the most focused on his drink the entire night. Though, he'd stuck to saying almost nothing for the entire duration of the evening, he froze slightly, said with a shaky voice, "you mean," he asked meekly, sounding more like a mouse than a human, "you know? You just... know?"

There was not a single flinch in the daunting figure of Vincent Crabbe, whose fat little body was dressed in a proper black coat. His short hair was slightly slicked back and he smelled nice for the calm little evening. Despite the fact that Malfoy had not seen him in months, he couldn't help but notice the ample cluster of lines on his chubby face. They ran across the bulk of his skin, adding stress to his already perplexed complexion. Had he truly aged so noticeably? For a boy of only seventeen, it seemed almost entirely impossible and yet, obvious. But with Crabbe's eyes locked fiercely into Draco's, the boy, who looked so old, said to Goyle's question, "I can tell." Snarling slightly, his mouth twitched upward, back into his almost infamous cocky smile, "I can just see it in their eyes."

Though he was under, Malfoy could feel the pull of something harsh at the back of his mind. He felt the surge of nausea rush vibrantly through his body and he tried desperately to lunge forward. His efforts, however, proved unsuccessful. There was a twist in the pit of his sick stomach and he could feel his eyes roll back farther in his head, unwillingly. He gagged slightly and, through his despair, the scene morphed instantly around him.

The image of the basement rushed by him like a speeding train, loose on its tracks. The faces of both Pansy and Goyle melted away from him, as if caught up in a brilliant fire. Crabbe's face, however, remained ever so slightly present, his eyes burning into Draco's unconscious vision harshly. Even as the shadows took away almost every one of his physical features, it was Goyle's eyes that remained ever so piercingly present.

Pansy and the basement disappeared completely and Draco's vision of himself against the wall faded away in the oncoming black mist. His haziness seemed inevitable, taking over his focus entirely, blending in with every one of his visual surroundings. There was no more sparkling liquor, no more weight of Pansy in his lap. Her hand seemed to slip away from his knee, as if she were being dragged. And finally, when the scene was no more, Draco Malfoy could only see Crabbe's golden eyes.

Then a new shade of blackness set in, thrusting Draco into someplace new. Crabbe's eyes twinkled before Malfoy's vision once more and he wondered if he could tell. But before they could strike him all-knowingly, they sparkled for one last time, forming instantly into two white stars that took place in the night of the brand new scene.

"It's so close," said a single voice over the rush of the wind. "The war. It's so close, I can almost feel it."

Such a statement was, in fact, one of the few that could cause the same chill to run up every one of the midnight walker's slouchy spines. Shaking themselves off from such a dauntingly horrifying thought, the three men paused, thinking silently to themselves cautiously. It was sometime around twelve in the morning and the night sky was as dark as physically possible. Above the three shadows, the stars shone bright, white through the blackness of the tree tops.

They had been digging for quite some time, and Draco scanned the new vision around him. He remembered this moment, this scene in which he'd hoped to have forgotten. The moment was, however, strange to begin with and he, Crabbe, and Goyle had been standing in the clearing of the woods, digging a single deep hole in the muddy ground. Tired and exhausted, they been woken from their sleeps and given an order that they couldn't refuse. And though their meeting in the woods had been almost anything but typical, neither of the three opted to protest; nonetheless, they'd met each other in their pajamas at the last step of the Malfoy Manor, spotted the discarded corpse at the end of the living room floor, and found the three shovels perched up against the elegant wallpaper.

Malfoy had felt a twist in his nauseous stomach and out of the corner of his eye he could see that Goyle's face had drained of any visible color. At Gregory's other side, Crabbe had not even flinched. Nonetheless, they'd been shoved forcefully out of the mansion, each of their grips tight on their wands; and the floating body bobbed up by their ears, a fourth shadowy figure in their night. They'd said not a single word to one another as they stalked through the clustered trees, just barely managing to keep a steady pace through the brush. Draco could hear Goyle mutter nonsense to himself, a thick sweat pouring from the top of his head. As Draco squeezed his eyes shut, he unsuccessfully willed the scene away.

But once they'd reached the clearing, there was no turning back. Crabbe waved his wand around conclusively and the body fell from the sky with a flop, landing just before the seventeen year old Goyle, who stumbled back with a slight gasp. But Malfoy kept his eyes pressed shut, unwilling to look at the bruised and purple body before him. He could smell the rancid stench before him achingly and behind his tight eyelids, he could even still see Crabbe's shadow slip instantly into action.

"Well," Crabbe said, shoving his foot under the body of the disgusting corpse, "they sure did a number on this one, didn't they?" Draco's arms were plastered to his side and he avoided eye contact with the dead figure altogether. He could hear Goyle stammer slightly, as if trying to suddenly decide upon something suitable to say. Nonetheless, Crabbe seemed to be having a hay day. The meek worries that had obtained him back at the manor had vanished; alone without the presence of the other Death-Eaters, he was as confident as ever. He tossed his fat little head back, his mouth open wide, enjoying the moment in general, "well," he said encouragingly, "look at her!"

Neither Goyle or Draco managed to oblige. Malfoy hadn't been able to focus on anything else but Goyle, for that matter. The boy had been fidgeting ever since he'd been woken up for the night. However, Malfoy knew that the body burying had been a new thing for Goyle. It was something that he, Draco, had been ordered to do quite often and, while he'd been eventually able to do the job without much of an episode, it never got any easier. He knew immensely how Goyle had felt at that very moment, sick and fretting and horrified; he knew and he did nothing to ease his terror. Instead, he stood like a statue, gripping his wand and his shovel so tight that his knuckles turned a ghostly shade of glowering white.

"Goyle!" Crabbe shouted, perhaps a bit too amused by his friend's nervousness, "Goyle, look at this! Look, she's hardly got any teeth left in her!" With that, Crabbe advanced forward, seizing Gregory Goyle by his thick shoulders and swinging him forward. However, at the sight of the mangled body, Goyle's body slopped forward, his face turning a slight shade of sickening green. But Crabbe was instantly amused; as Goyle gripped his stomach forcefully, he raised a large fist and smacked Goyle's arched back. His yellow teeth seemed almost visionary in the lack of light. "Oh, come off it, mate!" he howled, a yell mixed with excitement and anger alike, "she's just a Muggle!"

Choking, Goyle blinked out the tears from his red eyes. He looked up at Malfoy, whose eyes were pressed shut, who hadn't move a single inch from his frozen spot in the soil. "It's," Goyle coughed, lifting his sausage fingers to wipe away at his eyes, "i-it's j-just t-the smell! It... it smells like it's been dead for w-w-weeks!"

Shrugging, Crabbe let the body flop back down on the mud. "Maybe she has been," he said simply, "it doesn't matter now, though, now does it?" Crabbe was wiping away tears of his own, though he felt not an ounce of sympathy for the young girl on the ground before him. He watched Goyle stagger to a more stiff posture and readjust himself. With shaky hands, he smoothed out his shirt and sniffed slightly. With Crabbe's eyes watching him, all he could do was act the part that he was expected to. Still, Crabbe did not seem to notice Goyle's burial jitters. He ran a massive hand through his hair and smiled loosely. "About time, too," he continued, "the more of these dead Muggles, the better off we are."

Goyle straightened himself up. He glanced back at Draco and said aloud, "c-can we j-just get this over with?"

"What's the hurry?" Crabbe snapped, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

An icy chill ran down Goyle's spine. "No hurry," he said defensively, "I'm tired, mate. I haven't slept in... in days."

For a moment, Crabbe seemed to consider this bitterly. However, once he'd managed to digest Goyle's suggestion, his anger seemed to instantly subside. Lunging forward to his shovel, Crabbe thrust the tip of it into the ground and planted his foot on top of the metal. Grunting, he started the first dig, tossing aside the brown dirt with a quick motion. Gulping, Goyle took instant note of his aggressiveness and watched from a distance, his palms sweaty on his own shovel handle. "Anyway," Goyle was saying as he plunged the shovel into the ground for a second time, "like I was saying before... I can feel it. This war... this war is just around the corner. It's going to happen before the Wizarding World can even anticipate it."

Nearest Malfoy, Goyle slowly started forward. "You mean," he asked as he lifted his shovel, trying to put on the same strength as Crabbe, "you really think that it's that close?"

"I know it is!" Crabbe snapped, his eyes watching the hole as it deepened below him. "There's no question about it. Besides," he added, his voice lowering with extreme secrecy, "I've heard the others talking at night. I've even heard your dad, Draco." A smart smile spread across Crabbe's red face, "he talks about it a lot." Despite the desire to lunge at Crabbe, Draco swallowed his pride and started forward, plunging his shovel into the ground with a new fit of harsh aggression. He looked up warningly at Crabbe and then shot his eyes back down, forcing the cluster of dirt away over his ankle with a rush of extreme bitterness.

But Crabbe's smile did not drift. "Aw," he said mockingly, "what was that, Draco? What's the matter, hm? Daddy issues?"

Malfoy didn't move a muscle. His eyes back on the hole in the ground, he could feel his pulse speed up. The redness behind his otherwise pale face took on an instant shade of bitterness. But Goyle was far too smart to not notice such an exchange. He paused in his digging and offered lightly, "come on, mate. You know Draco hasn't slept in..."

"Bullshit, Goyle!" Crabbe hissed, leaning back from the spot harshly. How funny it was to see Crabbe's mood shift so suddenly. He seemed to have forgotten all about his joy and, simply shrugging it off, he managed to regain a more hostile aroma. "Draco spends more time unconscious then the lot of us and you know it! Ever since he bailed on that whole Dumbledore deal... the Death-Eaters have made quite sure of that. I, for one, think it's better that way. You say some critical things in your sleep, you know, Draco."

The rush of anxiety rose through Mafoy instantly. He could feel the numbness swell through his body and he resisted the urge to spit harshly in Crabbe's chubby face. But Goyle seemed almost all too aware. He shoved himself further into the circle the three had made and thrust aside the an excessive amount of dirt forcefully. He avoided Crabbe's eyesight completely, not feeling confident enough to say a single word. Still, the sound of the scraping dirt seemed to imply that the silence was necessary and, to Goyle's amazement, Crabbe slunk back with a steamed grumble.

Under the white moonlight, the three boys took back to their constant scraping. And as the moments dragged on, the hole grew deeper and deeper. But Malfoy could feel the oncoming stress. As he dug, the soreness seemed to dwell deep into his muscles. His heart thudded with horrible aggression. In the back of his mind he knew what these symptoms were; a collective list of pain that he'd managed to acquire after an ample amount of Cruciatus Curses. And he was sure that the awful pain was going to last for the rest of his life, something he still hadn't quite come to terms with.

Aching as the first hour passed by, Malfoy's head remained pitched down, his teeth grinding against one another stressfully. A cold sweat dribbled down from the top of his forehead, making his blond hair greasy with the passing time. Hot flashes blinding his otherwise hazy vision.

"Shit!" Crabbe grumbled as he pushed himself back away from he now deep hole. The smile he'd worn before was once against prominent on his face. "Finally!" Conclusively, he pressed his back against the tree trunk behind him, the handle of his shovel positioned just underneath his chin. He looked down at the body at the floor, slumped to the ground floppily and rest his skull backwards. He seemed almost as proud of the hole as he did with the Death Eaters for their work on the dead girl beside him. Pink in the cheeks, his glassy eyes watched Goyle as he moved back next, smiling with eagerness; he was almost perhaps too excited to get back to bed. However, staggeringly, Goyle fumbled back towards a new close by tree, breathed out, and slumped down to the floor, as well.

He didn't say it out loud, but Goyle's face was glowing with relief. Their digging had finally come to an end.

But Draco could hardly find enough strength to even fall backward. He could feel the boiling tension fill up in his aching chest. Something knotted in his stomach and he could sense he oncoming rise of bile clog his dry throat. But Goyle looked up just in time, his relief draining at once. "Draco?" he asked quiveringly, "Draco? What's going on?"

Malfoy shook his head, his blond hair falling past his clammy forehead. "'M fine," he said, lifting his hand from his stomach.

Though Goyle did not take Malfoy's blatant lie for an answer. Instead, he whisked himself up from the ground, his arms outstretched. Tired, he stumbled towards Draco and took the shovel out from his grip. "Hey," he said, turning back to Crabbe, "hey... something's wrong!"

"Nothing's wrong with him!" Crabbe shouted, though he pushed himself up again. "Oy! Draco, decide you can't handle..."

"Crabbe," Goyle cried out, his face flushing heatedly, "seriously, I don't think... hey! Draco hold still!" Malfoy slumped away from Goyle's grip submissively, shaking his head as if to feign away his soreness. However, he staggered away from the hole and took over a new tree, leaning against it as if he'd just run an entire mile.

Crabbe was up in hysterics. "See!" he roared, thrusting out a finger, "he's fine, Goyle. Just because he can't handle such a job doesn't mean you have to get all worried." He started for the girl's body, lifting her up from the ground with such disrespect that her head lulled forcefully to one side. His smile widened at the dead girl's expression and he cocked his head towards her thin and limp little corpse. "Come on, Goyle, let's burry her."

This was the moment. With Draco up against the tree trunk, Goyle seemed to realize that he was all alone on this one. A new wind of uneasiness swam through him. He fumbled with his sweaty fingers, wiped them messily on his pajama pants. "I-I d-don't think..."

"No one's asking you to think!" Crabbe hissed, looking up at Goyle with just his eyes. His large head did not move and two two yellow globes seemed to force Goyle to freeze unwillingly on the spot. But when Goyle did not move a muscle, he turned back to the girl, thrusting his foot once again underneath her limp chin. "What?" he said, tossing his hands outwards, "what? Is it this? This body? Is that what you're scared of?" He then took a knee, taking hold of the girl's cheeks with his grimy fingers. "She doesn't look to harmful to me, Goyle."

Draco looked up despite the swollen feeling in his skull. Something invisible seemed to stab him in his stomach and still he looked down at the girl, a swell of immense sympathy sweeping through his body. He wanted to rip Crabbe's head square off of his thick shoulders. As Crabbe took hold of the dead girl's pale face, he seemed to enjoy watching her expression morph ever so slightly. "See?" he exclaimed, still looking at Goyle, "she's dead!"

From his spot against the tree, Malfoy choked through clenched teeth, "stop toying with her and get on with it!"

His hands still holding the girl's jaw, Crabbe's head snapped up. "Oh!" he said defensively, "getting a little soft, are we, Draco?" His fingers loosened around the girl's face and her head fell lifelessly backward, colliding to the ground with a harsh thud.

"I said, 'get on with it!'" Malfoy hissed.

For the first time in the night, Crabee had been knocked off his high horse. He titled his head to one side and readjusted himself, straightening out his jaw. "I don't give a damn what you said, Draco. Your word is no longer my priority!" And to Goyle's horror, Crabbe was advancing himself forward. His hand held the end of the big shovel tightly. "You see, once this war is said and done with, only the most loyal will survive." With a shrug, he added, "I'm not sure what happens to the others, but I can assure you, Draco, it won't be pretty. But I can tell you one thing... you and your father... the two of you should sleep with one eye open."

Malfoy pushed himself up from his spot against the tree. The pain in his side grew stronger, but his sight was set on Crabbe and Crabbe alone. "Don't you dare talk about my father-" he started, but stopped, raising his wand threateningly.

"What are you going to do, Draco, huh?" Crabbe laughed, "couldn't even kill Dumbledore! You'd be lucky if you-" But Malfoy slashed his wand more harshly than even Goyle could have anticipated. In an instant, Crabbe was thrust from the ground, his wand flying out from his grip. Crabbe's body flew from the brush and came to the tree trunk with a harsh aggression. But Draco was breating aggressively, his chest rising up and down with a mixture of both bitterness and anxiety. Momentarily, Crabbe sat in silence, almost too stunned to move a single muscle. He blinked, dumbfounded, touching his lip and feeling the blood trickle out of his newly split lip. Then, he stumbled forward. He did not have a wand, but he found his shovel in an instant. "You son of a bitch!" he cried, swinging the shovel in front of him and just about missing the girl in the process.

And his swinging came to good use, too. The first swipe of his shovel across the air came in to Draco's side with full force. Nonetheless, Malfoy managed to throw himself forward, ignoring Goyle at his side, who shouted against their fighting. But both Crabbe and Malfoy were far too enveloped in their anger. Malfoy lifted his wand again, but his shot missed Crabbe's figure by merely inches. It was Crabbe, however, who seemed to have the last say in the argument. He lifted his meaty arms and swung the metal shovel across the dark sky and the end of it slammed hard into the side of Malfoy's skull.

Draco's body flopped forward unquestionably. The flop of his slender figure came almost too instantly, landing lifelessly next to the girl and a new trail of crimson blood trailed out through the corner of his blond head. Heaving, Crabbe's shoulders mounded up and down, his outline rising and falling in the nighttime. As the dark scene drew away, he could hear Goyle yell out, lingering just along at the moment to see Goyle flop down beside his friend. And Draco could feel the rush coming on again, the intense pull of the horribly fading memory.


Malfoy's eyes snapped open with a harsh wind of terror. His breath sputtered out from his lung as if he'd spent hours under water. The room around him was dark and black and the twisting feeling in the pit of his horribly nauseous stomach was just beginning to subside. He blinked rapidly in the darkness, flinging his body forward and gripping his stomach tightly. But new hands were on him and Galler's voice was saying over and over, "Draco, Draco! Please, you're alright! You're okay, please!"

She was right. Back in Galler's dimly lit office, Draco could see that the moment he'd relived was only a memory, a moment in the past that could no longer harm him. Though his breathing did not soften and his body did not stop shaking. All the while, Galler's hands smoothed back Draco's hair. She pulled her wand up from the ground and lunged forwards to bring towards him the glass of clear water. She made quick aggression for the hovering thing and held it out towards Malfoy pleadingly, though Draco did not take the drink.

"You're alright," she told him again, watching his chest slow. His hyperactive breaths made Galler almost exceedingly nervous.

But Malfoy swallowed, his eyes glassy with tears. "I don't feel well," he told her, ill.

"That's normal," Elaine assured him, looking horrified as Malfoy yanked himself back up from the couch. His hands fidgeted with his tie and his face was red. "Draco, please, you shouldn't be-"

Though Malfoy was loosing her inevitably. His mind was rather elsewhere and all he could think of was Vincent Crabbe. Vincent Crabbe, the boy he'd grown up with, the boy he'd known his entire life. Vincent Crabbe, holding a massive shovel and squeezing the dead girl's rotting and pale face. What had happened to them? What had happened? "I've got to go," he told the woman, making sharply towards his coat and pulling it back on his shoulders. Shaking, he felt the radio in his pocket, a reminder of a safety blanket he had at all times.

Galler's face drained. "Please, Draco," she begged, "have some water. Rest a little. You shouldn't be up and walking around so quickly!" But there was nothing she could say that would change Malfoy's set mind. He stumbled by her, thanking her sickly for the session, and promised to be back. Still, he grabbed for the door anxiously and stumbled out of her office, his hands back on the radio, twisting the knob of the speaker quick with whole-hearted desperation.

And despite the reminder of the memories he'd once lived, he stumbled out of the building and tried to forget.