Warnings & Disclaimers: This is SLASH. Consider yourself well and truly warned, saying it twice should be enough. All standard disclaimers apply; none of these characters are mine, all situations are fully fictional and probably not even possible in the universe they were created in. This is just for fun.
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The dark was all around everywhere-everything, crushing what little space he had imagined around himself... Like molasses only no sweetness here, only the bitter taste of sharp winter night on his tongue, in his brain...
His feet could not find purchase, everything was slipping, sliding, frantic movements, scrambling for what seemed like little patches of eternity and never going anywhere. Every step attempted forward took him stumbling backwards, down and away... Weakness suffused him, was him. His limbs were useless, sluggish at best and impossible to maneuver more often then not.
Blundering forward, through the dark, both away and towards the darkness and blood and madness and terror. Away again, only to return once more... His faltering steps would again tattoo a circle, but he had to TRY. Merlin knew, there was nothing else for him to do.
The only thought on his mind, beyond even the blood and pain and ever-present horror, was escape. So simple it had seemed before, to just put one foot in front of the other and walk away, just walk away... Just slide, stumble, trip, fall, fly away from the madness. It was never that simple. Never could be that simple. His father might kill him, he knew that now, but it didn't concern him, somewhere apart from his animalistic brain (stumble, pain, run, trip, up up up get up, pain, more pain, away, get away, move forward) he knew he wasn't long for this earth, knew that his father would find him.
He couldn't bring himself to care.
The earth was sliding away from him even as he hit it full force, his cheek against the dirt, a thigh aching from the tree root it had been so ruthlessly slammed into. Not for the first time since his journey started, he considered not rising. Just letting them find him here, broken and bloody, lying on the forest floor, ready and willing to die. But it wouldn't be that easy, no it would never be that easy, it was too late already, he knew that now and if he had been himself he would have cursed his own stupidity, his ineptitude. To dangerous to live free, to important to die. He had trapped himself in this; he was the only one to blame...
Even though he tried so hard to save me...
The first coherent thought in kilometers, but he brushed it aside. Groaning and whimpering he rose, palms aching where they supported him from the ritual slashes dug deep into the flesh, he could feel the dirt coating the gashes and knew he'd have scars, terrible scars, but he didn't care. He deserved it. He welcomed the pain as he crawled back to his feet, clutching to the very tree whose roots had made him fall. He drank in the sensation of his screaming nerves, reveling in agony.
Footsteps...
Don't turn, you'll only fall.
Forward—
No escape now, coming closer—so stupid—truly thought—no escape, never...
Good try, though, bloody good show...
He stopped.
Exhausted, battered, and thoroughly alone, he slid down to the ground once more to wait. Wait for the approaching footsteps, wait for the end, wait for the pain to begin again.
Without warning—he was inspired.
One last try... One last trick up my sleeve... Please...
He searched his robes with numb, bloody fingers and found what he was looking for. The footsteps were running now, they must've used a search spell, must know where he was. Didn't matter. This would only take one second.
He pointed his wand at himself and whispered one word, then disappeared.
If he had been feeling himself, he may have stopped to think that apparating off grounds was impossible, that there would be spells to trace him. But he couldn't even remember where the grounds he'd lived all his life ended anymore, had no way of knowing if he was on common land, no way of knowing what wards were here. There was no time, no distance for him anymore, only the thought of escape. If he was in a normal state of mind, he might have stopped to see who it was that followed him.
But as it was, Draco Malfoy was not feeling like himself, and never thought to pause.