Written for Quidditch League, Season 9

Kenmare Kestrels Seeker

Prompt: apocalypse

Thanks to my captain for beta'ing!

Warnings: gross illness descriptions, character death, implied suicide

This was not the way a Malfoy was meant to die. Draco refused to believe it. His name was worth more than being like everyone else, than being just another victim. He deserved dignity and honor, not this…

But then again, maybe it was fitting. Maybe this was exactly what he deserved.

"The first sign of infection is a bright red rash. Current reports suggest the redness appears most commonly on the neck and chest before spreading to other parts of the body," the reporter said grimly, her features schooled into a careful mask so as to not incite panic.

"Must we watch this crap?" Draco snorted, rolling his eyes and waving a dismissive hand. "You know what it is, right? Dumbledore is hoping to get re-elected as prime minister. Father said so."

Astoria gave him a look that silently said, You really are an idiot, before shaking her head. "Daphne said one of the girls she works with has it. This isn't a joke."

Draco laughed. Astoria was precious, really. She refused to see what was so clearly in front of her. His parents said she was a little too radical for their tastes. They expected Draco to marry someone like Pansy Parkinson, a good girl from a good Conservative family. Instead, he had fallen head-over-heels for Astoria at university. Sometimes he felt like Astoria was a bit too smart for her own good, but she lacked critical thinking and just consumed whatever scientists told her.

The reporter continued to drone on, listing the symptoms, each one progressively worse than the last. With a scowl, Draco grabbed the remote and turned the television off with a click of a button. Before Astoria could protest, he silenced her by pressing a kiss to her lips.

"Asshole," she grumbled.

"You love me anyway."

The mirror was broken and cracked. A thin layer of grime obscured his reflection ever so slightly.

Draco could still see it. Even in the dim light of the bathroom, the rash on his neck appeared two days earlier, and it had spread rapidly and without mercy. Angry red spots littered his pale skin. Here and there, the skin gave way to lesions, and something wet and foul-smelling glazed his left forearm.

"Not like this," Draco whispered. "Please, God…"

"Canceling schools? Are they out of their bloody minds?" Draco demanded. "Do they know how much money I pay for my son to attend the most prestigious boarding school in London? And they want to just cancel?"

Astoria winced and offered him an apologetic smile, like it was somehow her fault the virus couldn't be contained. "Well, they can hardly let the boys stay there," she said calmly.

Draco scowled but said nothing.

The television droned on, the reporter talking about the death toll and how the virus had spread to four other countries.

"It can't be that bad," Draco muttered. "I hear it's like chicken pox."

"I have to go." Astoria pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. "I'm going to be late for my shift."

Draco nodded and said a quick goodbye. If Astoria was still going back and forth to work, that was all the proof he needed. If this virus was so bad, there would be a major change in the hospital's protocols. As it happened, Astoria continued her career as a nurse without any major incident.

Everything was fine.

He was hot. So bloody hot. Draco couldn't remember how high the fevers were supposed to get, and he couldn't remember the last time he even saw a thermometer. Things like that quickly became like gold. Having anything medical-related, no matter how small, was like announcing to the world that you were a god.

Draco slid to the floor of the bathroom. He wishes the taps still worked. He would kill for fresh water (and, in truth, he had once, on a terribly dark day when he thought there might still be a chance), but all he had was a bucket of rainwater that had a little too much rust in it to be satisfying.

"Tori," he whispered. "Tori…"

One day, Astoria didn't come home from work. Draco was on the phone with the school, trying to figure out exactly when they were sending Scorpius and the others home. Before, it had seemed like such a sure thing, but with the virus mutating and becoming more and more dangerous, the school didn't seem keen to break their isolation. Maybe Draco understood, but he needed his son back.

He was in the process of reminding them who his father was and how much hell he could cause, when the other line beeped in. Draco noticed the hospital's name on the caller ID and, for the first time, realized his wife should have been home nearly two hours ago.

He switched lines. "Tori, where the hell are you?" he asked with a laugh.

"Mr. Malfoy?" The voice wasn't Astoria's, wasn't familiar at all. "Is this Draco Malfoy?"

"Who's speaking?"

"I'm Hannah Abbott," the woman said. "I work with Astoria."

Draco didn't like this one bit. Astoria wouldn't just have some stranger ring him. It didn't matter how swamped she was with work; she always let him know if she would be a little late. "Where's Astoria?"

"She… Well... We have her in a quarantine unit," Hannah told him. "She was exposed while treating a patient."

"She's going to be okay, isn't she?"

Silence. Draco hated that.

"Isn't she?"

"We're taking good care of her, Mr. Malfoy. I promise."

Hannah Abbott had a kind voice. On an ordinary day, that might have been enough to reassure him. But not now. Not this time. No amount of warmth in her voice could melt the block of ice that settled into his stomach.

"You were right, Tori," he said, his words slurring. "Is that what you wanted to hear? You were right!"

He should have listened, should have been smarter, should have been better prepared. So many should-haves swirled in his feverish brain, and all he could do was laugh. It was his fault he was here. It was his fault he was going to die in a pool of his own piss and shit, just like so many others.

All his life, Draco was raised to believe he was special. Now, as chills gripped his body and sweat beaded his clammy forehead, he understood. There was nothing special about him. The name Malfoy meant very little when the world had fallen to shit.

A month after he buried his wife, everything went silent. The television turned on, but there was only static. Phones didn't work. The wireless made no sound.

Draco felt his stomach twist itself into knots. Things had been in chaos for quite some time. The store closings came first, but those were a mild inconvenience, little more than annoyances. It was when people started dying in the streets that Draco realized how hopeless things were. The hospitals couldn't house the sick anymore.

And now everything was silent, and it wasn't the sort of peaceful quiet that came with getting away on a nice holiday. This was the sort of silence that came in the eye of a storm. It was only a matter of time before destruction hit like they had never seen before.

Once, not long ago, Draco had still been hopeful. Even after Astoria died, he just knew a cure would be discovered, and things could go back to normal. Now, he realized it was the end of the bloody world. There was no going back from this. Normal was a thing of the past.

All he knew was he had to find his son. Scorpius was the only thing he had left, and he knew he had to keep him safe.

Draco Malfoy realized he was a failure. He had failed to keep his wife safe, and now she was dead. He had failed to find his son, and now Scorpius was out there, God only knew where. He didn't know if Scorpius was safe or even still alive; his son couldn't even come home for Astoria's funeral.

Maybe that was for the best. The school could do a better job protecting him than Draco could. In the end, Draco knew he was a little too much like his father before him. Lucius Malfoy was a damn good businessman, but he was not a family man. Draco wanted to believe things could be different, but Scorpius was always a little too much for him to handle.

Draco doubled over, vomit spilling from his mouth and pooling around in front of him. In the back of his mind, he tried to recall the symptoms. Rash, fever, vomiting… He couldn't remember beyond that. Maybe blood was involved. Maybe… something else.

All he knew was it would only get worse from there until it was finally over. He would suffer for a long time. It took Astoria over a week to finally succumb to the virus.

Draco didn't want to go out like that. He didn't want to be just another victim, just another common person dying in such a common way.

His eye rested upon a razor on the bathroom floor. He didn't know who it belonged to before, only that it was old and the blades were not clean. A laugh bubbled from his lips. Why should he worry about cleanliness? Tetanus was the least of his concerns now.

Body weak, he reached out. His trembling fingers curled around the razor.

"Astoria," he croaked, "I'll see you soon."