A/N - I'm so sorry about the wait for this chapter! I now share a house with two practically dead computers. The only times I've been able to type anything up has been when I've been at my parent's house - which is where I am now. Pretty much the whole of the rest of this story is written in my notepads, I just need to spend a good chunk of time sitting at a computer putting it all together. Unfortunately most of the time I'm at my parent's house there are also several other people also wanting to use the thing… Anyways, I hope everyone enjoys the chapter. Please leave me a review!
Disclaimer - Still not mine.
Chapter Fifteen
The sudden flood of harsh, unnatural energy through his body did little to speed Sirius' return to consciousness. The darkness that shrouded him was unwilling to recede. He didn't want it to recede. He wanted to hold on to it. It was safe. It was pain free.
"Ennervate!"
Energy again coursed through him, clearing away some of the fog and allowing awareness to begin flowing slowly back.
"Wakey-wakey, Sirius," an amused voice sing-songed from somewhere above him, echoing hollowly in his ears.
He knew that voice… Who's was it? He knew he knew it…
"Come on! Wake up, Black!"
He felt like he was wading through treacle.
"Fuck this. Stupid brat." Muttered curses sounded as something connected heavily with his side. The fresh assault spearheaded an avalanche of agonising sensation over his entire body. He would have cringed away, tried to escape the pain, would have cried out - but his body felt leaden, too heavy to move in protest.
Footsteps receded. The pain slowly retreated into a dull roar, allowing other feelings to creep slowly back.
He could, he realized, feel heat. A pleasant warmth upon skin that had been chill for too long. He could also hear the distinctive crackle and pop of an open fire. But... Why was he near a fire? He doubted either of his parents had suddenly relented and ordered one to be lit in his hearth. That just seemed... unlikely. He cautiously cracked open his heavy lids. Only to wince and quickly let them fall as bright light blazed, searing into his eyes. Green flames danced behind closed lids.
Green flames...?
Where was he?
Mindful this time of the glare, he again eased open his eyes, carefully shifting his heavy head to turn his gaze away. He blinked slowly, forcing his swimming sight to still. Regulus' room… What was he doing in Regulus' room? The last thing he remembered he'd been waiting for his father in that entertaining room... How had he gotten to here?
Flashes of remembrance hit him in a rush. The potions. Voldemort. Regulus. He had been about to take the floo to James' when his father... And Malfoy! He had stunned his father, but then Malfoy had arrived!
Oh shit.
The floo! He had seen green flames... The fire held an active connection!
Barely even thinking about his actions he began to push himself painfully to his knees. He good hand, he realised, was still clenched into a fist, trapping grainy floo powder in his grip. That might be useful, he thought blearily. He wasn't sure how much longer the current connection would last for. A sharp voice drifted to his ears, a shout whose meaning was banished by his foggy brain but which spurred him into sudden action. Giving up on any attempt to regain his feet, he lunged forward into the emerald flames.
He barely had his head and shoulders inserted when a hard hand caught hold of his foot. He kicked out, straining to dislodge the persistent grip as he felt the stifling, ash-heavy warmth surround him.
"Godric's Hollow!" he croaked hurriedly.
He squeezed his eyes tightly closed as his head span within the network of fireplaces. The world still seemed to be spinning when his eyes reopened to the sight of the Potter's empty living room.
He had time, however, to do little other than frantically shout James' name before a second hand joined the first, dragging him back through the whirl of the network and out of the fire, tossing him into a heap on the floor. Darkness momentarily descended within the wave of pain that the rough handling sent through his abused body, but, unfortunately, oblivion failed to fully claim him as he was overtaken by a fit of harsh, painful coughing. He curled on his side, barely able to prevent either his broken arm or his damaged shoulder from taking the entire weight of his body.
Gasping still for breath, he finally collapsed onto his back, his eyes flickering half open, only to find Lucius' Malfoy's ominous presence looming over him. Sirius, still struggling to free his mind from the insidious tendrils of unconsciousness, felt a wash of panicky fear at the sight. Caught as it was in shadows cast by the fire behind him, Malfoy's face seemed transformed into a hideous mask. The sneer that twisted his mouth did little to disperse the image.
With his eyes not leaving the blurry features of the older boy, Sirius quickly sought to scamper backwards, struggling to get his feet under him and push himself upright. Defiance began to mingle with his fear. He didn't like appearing - didn't like being - so vulnerable before Malfoy. He cast a weakly rebellious glare at the other pureblood, only to receive a look of smug amusement in return as his legs yet again gave way. The clatter of metal upon hearth tiles echoed unnaturally loud in his ears as his erratic movements caught against the small companion-set, sending pokers and shovels clattering to the floor. He ignored the noise, ignored the shards of pain shooting through his body. His eyes remained fixed upon those of the young man who towered over him as he retreated as far as he was able. All too soon his back rested against the wall.
He shook his head blearily as the tableau drew a hazy memory unwillingly to the fore of his mind. His father and his potions. And Voldemort. Voldemort... who he had been to forced to kneel before... He remembered very little of that evening, with only small snippets of information slipping through the pain-filled murk, but he remembered...
He remembered kneeling before the Dark Lord, with a cruel hand in his hair, pulling his head up. He remembered brown eyes, glistening with a blood-red sheen, boring into his own. He remembered the feeling of a mind pressing against his; an unwelcome touch rifling through his thoughts, his memories. He remembered... He had automatically begun to fight back against the intrusion - it was a style of attack, after-all, that he had encountered many a time before. But this was far harder. Especially with the insidious effects of his father's potions twined around mind and body, pain flaring throughout, and... And Voldemort was far stronger than his mother. He had been able to do little other than withdraw, shielding only his deepest secrets from the Dark Lord's gaze. He had rarely before felt such relief as when Voldemort withdrew, eye contact broken.
Voldemort had also asked to be given him.
Had that really happened…? Yes… Yes, he thought, it had. Everything was unclear - distorted and lost within the haze of his father's potions - but those words stood out against the blurry background.
Voldemort had asked for possession, and his father had refused.
"He is mine." Sirius almost shivered, despite the heat of the fire, as he remembered hearing his father utter those words.
"Sirius, Sirius, Sirius," Lucius Malfoy's silky voice tutted, breaking through his hazy recollections. "I wouldn't be doing that, if I were you. Daddy dearest is wanting a little word with you." The was a cruel, nasty glint in the pale eyes as they stared avidly down at him.
Despite Malfoy's immediate, imminently threatening presence, however, it was the figure that Sirius could just glimpse standing behind the older boy, the soft voice that just barely carried to his ears, that caused terror to flood through him. Any defiance that he may have earlier felt was swiftly swept away. It was his father.
His father…
Who he had stunned...
Who would now…
He couldn't take this anymore. He had been so close… So close! He had so nearly been safely away! But it had all been useless. He was still here, still trapped, still in his father's power. He didn't want to have to face the man again when he was angry. It was bad enough - worse than bad enough - in 'normal' circumstances, but when he was angry… The last time he had seen his father with less than perfect control over his temper had been the day after he had destroyed the lab... He couldn't face that again. He just couldn't.
His hands clenched spasmodically, setting pains shooting from fingertips to shoulder along his injured arm, as he felt a heavy blanket of despair settle over him. It was only then, however, that he realised that a fine, gritty powder was still trapped between his fingers. The floo powder, he realised. How he'd managed to keep hold of even a small amount of that was beyond him, but a small amount was all he'd need. All it took was a pinch... He cast a quick glance up at Malfoy's hovering presence. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to use it yet.
Moving slowly, carefully, desperate not to draw Malfoy's attention to the motion, he slipped his hand into his pocket. If he could just be left alone in a room with a fire - even if only for a bare minute - he could still get away. He wasn't giving up yet. He wasn't!
"Are you looking for this?"
His movements hastily stilling, Sirius looked uneasily up, blinking as his sight swam unpleasantly. Malfoy was smirking down at him, twirling a wand between his fingers. "Regulus', is it not?"
Regulus' wand. He hadn't even thought about it, actually; had barely even registered that it was absent.
Regulus! What had happened to Regulus?
Tearing his gaze away from Malfoy's, struggling to ignore the older boy's malicious chuckle, Sirius glanced around the room. His eyes automatically fixed upon his father, his ears straining to make out the man's words. He blinked again, drawing an unsteady breath, as the world reeled around him before snapping suddenly back into sharp focus. He couldn't see his brother, but he could, he realised, hear him - the quiet, scared voice of the younger boy was almost drowned by their father's angry lecture.
"I'm sorry, Father... I didn't mean..."
"What were you thinking, you stupid little fool? Have you any idea what the consequences would have been had he gotten away? He could have ruined us all! Is that what you want? To see your family in ruins? Have you been around that blood-traitor so much that you've lost sight of what's important?"
"No! I… I… He made me," Regulus was crying. "I wasn't helping him. Not really. He… You know what he's like! He had my wand. You saw that! I didn't have any choice. He made me do it, Father!"
That's it, Reggy, Sirius thought bitterly, letting his eyes fall closed, blame it all on me. Why should this time be any different to any other occasion during their childhood? Not that he really blamed the boy… Not really. It was the only sensible thing to do in the circumstances. After all, he was already in the shit; there was no point in Regulus being tossed into it as well - but that didn't stop his brother's rejection of him from smarting. For a little while it had seemed like he actually had Regulus on his side. Listening to the other boy now, though, simply brought back memories of other such incidents - all the times when Regulus had gotten himself out of trouble by pushing Sirius deeper into it.
He was tired. So tired. All he wanted was to be able to close his eyes and have it all disappear - but that wasn't about to happen. The heavy toe of a boot tapped at his side, causing him to give a moan of pain as it landed on flesh that was already bruised and broken.
"Wake up, Sirius," Malfoy said, emphasizing his point with another light kick. "We can't have you going back to sleep on us now, can we?"
He opened his eyes in time to see his father's hand lash out. The sound of a fist connecting with flesh, swiftly followed by his brother's small cry of pain, told him that, for this short while at least, he was not the target of his father's rage. But that fact did little to make him feel better. Regulus was being punished for helping him. Yet again he had managed to bring harm to someone who was trying to help him. Just like he had with Tibs…
"What is going on here?" Silence fell as all eyes turned towards the doorway at the sudden voice that sounded. Sirius felt his heart sink even further as his mother entered the room. "I was looking for Regulus... I had not expected to find such a gathering."
"Mother, please!" Regulus wept, scurrying quickly across to clutch at the hem of the woman's robe. "I didn't mean to. I didn't! Why won't he believe me…? Mother! I wouldn't. You know I wouldn't. Please make him stop."
"Be silent, Regulus! What's going on, Arcturus?"
"The brat was trying to escape and this one was helping him!"
"I wasn't!"
"Your mother told you to be silent! Do as you are told, Boy, or you'll end up in the same state as your brother."
"He was trying to escape!" their mother repeated, incredulous.
Sirius flinched back, his heart lurching in his chest as she cast a look of hate-filled madness his way. With a muffled whimper he drew his knees higher, his cracked lips pressed against the sore flesh of his wrist. He stared up at the other occupants of the room through a tangle of black hair. The sardonic presence of Malfoy continued to stand over him like a guard whilst his mother turned to glare up at her tall husband, Regulus grovelling still at her feet. Sirius was forced to listen as the woman launched into her tirade.
"This just goes to prove it," she snarled. "I've said it before and I'll say it again - you cannot let him live! He's a danger to the family. How can we trust him not to reveal everything he knows to his little Gryffindor friends? We can't! He is a traitor to everything that we believe in. He is a traitor to his blood! Family loyalty means nothing to him." She paused, her gaze moving between Sirius and his brother before returning to her scowling husband. "And you seriously think Regulus would help him?"
"I know what I saw, Woman."
"Regulus - what happened?"
"I... um... I... I went up to his room. I don't really know why. He was lying on the floor. I thought he was out cold but he grabbed my wand when I leant over him. He made me do, Mother. He made me help him! I didn't want to!"
"I find that hard to believe," their father interrupted. "I know what state he was in when he was returned to his room. There's no way he could have done anything of the sort."
"He did!"
"Leave Regulus to me," their Mother said. "Seeing as you insist Sirius is yours..."
"What on Earth is going on in here?"
Yet again all eyes turned to the door as another unexpected voice sounded. This time, however, the figure that stood framed in the doorway was one that Sirius was far more pleased to see. The thin, darkly clad, frame of his Great Uncle Alphard looked almost insubstantial in the dim light, only his shock of white hair making him stand out against the darkened hallway.
"Sirius!" the old man exclaimed as his gaze fell on him before turning to Sirius' father. "Arcturus - what is happening here? What has been happening to that poor boy?"
"That's not really any of your business, is it, Old Man?"
"It is if I decide to make it my business!"
"Not this time, Alphard."
From where he continued to cower in the corner, lacking the energy to move towards the sympathetic presence of his Great Uncle, Sirius could clearly see Lucius Malfoy lift his wand towards the elderly man. He didn't even have a chance to cry a warning. Barely a fraction of a second passed before Malfoy uttered his charm.
"Obliviate!"
The old man was knocked back a step as the memory charm struck him unawares. A blank expression descended over his face.
"You have neither seen nor heard anything here," Malfoy said, stepping closer to the old man. "You have not seen Sirius. You will return to the party where you will make your farewells before departing." All eyes remained fixed upon Alphard as he woodenly turned to move off down the hallway.
"Muggle loving old fool," Sirius' mother muttered derisively.
Sirius flinched back as he found himself suddenly caught within the thoughtful gaze of his father. The man gave a small, sly smile as their eyes briefly locked. He froze, barely even able to breathe, his heartbeat abruptly racing. That was a smile that promised misery. Even after he was released from the icy contemplation as his father turned back to Malfoy, he found himself unable to calm. Oh Merlin - he couldn't take this any more!
"My thanks, Lucius," the man said.
The silence that fell was broken as his mother turned back to her husband. "I've had enough of this," she snarled. "Just kill him, Arcturus! Get it done. Get him out of the way…"
"No."
"If you don't want to do it yourself," Lucius' lazy voice interjected, "I'm quite happy to do it for you."
Sirius couldn't stop himself from shrinking back as Malfoy's malicious gaze met his own, causing the older boy to give a smirk of satisfaction.
"No," his father repeated, his voice soft, dangerous. "He is mine."
"We cannot let him live! You know this as well as I do!"
His mother's harsh voice sent a shiver running through him, but it was his father's drawl that managed to chill him through to the bone.
"Yes, I know it," the man answered, "but I'm not finished with him yet. He's mine until I say otherwise."
"And what will we do when people come here asking after him? You know they will!"
"Tell them he ran away. They'll believe it - especially if they know what the brat's like. Besides, why should they question us? We are Blacks."
Sirius pressed his forehead against his arm, squeezing his eyes shut. They were probably right. Everyone would buy their explanation. Why should anyone bother to question it? They would all probably be quite glad that he was gone.
"Now - it's late, Spica, and we have guests to bid farewell. We can deal with him later. He's not going anywhere, after all. Are you Sirius?"
Sirius said nothing; didn't even open his eyes as a sense of despairing numbness settled further over him.
"Fine. Whatever," his mother snapped. "But if anything happens it's on your head!"
"Nothing will 'happen'."
"Regulus, get yourself cleaned up and back downstairs. You've been absent for far too long. And find Kreacher. Someone's got to get that brat back upstairs..."
"Forget the house-elf. Allow me," Malfoy's silky voice suddenly broke in.
Sirius had almost forgotten the older boy's continuing presence. He was beginning to drift, darkness creeping over his conscious thoughts, the lure of unconsciousness dragging at him. He barely heard as a levitation charm was murmured. The following few minutes passed in a blur.
He blinked groggily as he felt himself tumbled onto a soft surface. He was, he realized back in his room, only this time he'd actually been returned to his bed. A blurry face slowly shifted into focus as Malfoy leant closer to him. The older boy's soft voice sifted through layers of confusion as mocking words were whispered into his ear.
"Sweet dreams, Sirius."
A derisive laugh haunted his descent back into nothingness.
His eyes flickered open. Daylight filled the room. A face, with pale skin and lank hair, was leaning over him. The mouth moved and words were spoken, but he had no understanding of their substance. His mind was trapped still within the coils of unconsciousness. The words became a meaningless snarl as a hand caught hold of his hair, drawing his head back, but his eyes had again fallen closed. Only to reopen a moment later as the now familiar sensation of a glass vial touched upon his lips.
Without thinking, carried by panic alone, he jerked away, his hand moving to knock the threatening item away. The vial fell to the bed covers, its contents spilling.
He saw no more than that, however, as pain exploded through his arm. His broken arm, that he had just used.
Darkness descended.
When he finally, fully awoke, the room was again cast in shadows, the only light that of the distant streetlamp. And he was alone. For a short time he merely lay, straining his ears in the darkness for any sound from the rest of the house - but nothing reached him. He could have been the only person still in the building for all he could tell.
His mind drifted. What time was it, he wondered hazily? He had no way of knowing... Except he did, he realised, suddenly remembering Andromeda's gift. Gingerly turning his head, he carefully shifted his arm to catch a glimpse of his watch. Four o'clock. The next question had to be - what day was it?
If, as he had a vague memory of, he had earlier awoken to daylight... that meant it now had to be the second of January. He had slept through practically the whole of New Year's Day. If he did remember truthfully.
Despite the chill of the room his skin felt inexplicably heated. That wasn't good. He knew what that usually meant. He was getting feverish. The last time that had happened, he had seen things. Had he been delirious again earlier? He didn't know, but he suspected not.
If it was the second of January, then today was the first day of term. Would anyone realise that he was missing? If they did - would anyone care?
Was there any way at all for him to get out?
His hand slowly slipped into his pocket, running pensively over the gritty powder that was caught along the seam.
His fireplace was, he guessed, probably still connected to the floo network. Every fireplace in the house was and he doubted they would have thought to disconnect his. They may have, but he doubted it. Not that that helped him particularly - he had some powder and a connection, but he still didn't have a fire. And he didn't have any means of lighting one. Muggles, he knew, had numerous different ways of lighting fires - matches and lighters and things like that. He had even heard tales of people using pieces of flint to start one! He, however, didn't have any of those things.
All he had was a few grains of floo powder - floo powder that was completely useless without a fireplace to use them in. Completely and utterly useless.
If only he had thought of it while Tibs had been with him… She could have lit his fire with ease. In fact, he remembered, she had done so. He should have just asked her to get him some floo powder. If he had they could have both been out of here… But had he thought of that? Of course he hadn't. He'd been too stupidly fixated on getting his wand back, hadn't he? It would have been even easier, of course, if he'd brought his own pot of floo powder home with him. As with his two-way mirror, though, he just hadn't seen the point. The thing he usually used it for while at Grimmauld Place was to keep in contact with the other Marauders. This time though… They didn't want him to contact them. They hated him. The floo powder, along with the mirror, had remained at Hogwarts.
He sighed and allowed his fingers to wander through the few other items that filled his pocket. There wasn't much there, but what he did find was more than welcome. He had forgotten that he had kept them, though he recalled doing so now. He was too hungry to turn his nose up at the few hard crusts of bread and pieces of fluff-covered, rindy cheese that he had retained from his last meal, despite the unrest in his stomach from the many potions he had been forced to down,
Potions! His father had tried to give him another potion, he suddenly remembered. That was what had been happening when he had woken up earlier! And he had spilt the thing, had knocked it out of his father's hand. He slowly turned his head. There, on the bedspread, was a fresh stain - it's sticky, bluish tinge telling him that it's creation was almost certainly the one he recalled.
With an exhausted sigh he lay back in his bed. What was his father planning on doing to him now...? No. No, actually - he didn't really want to know. He blinked slowly, his gaze fixing upon the ceiling above his bed as he lay prostrated, struggling to fight against the pain that raged over his entire body. He breathed deeply.
What had happened to Regulus, he wondered. Knowing what their father was like, he couldn't help but fear for his brother... but, then again, Darling Little Reggy was under their mother's protection, unlike Sirius. Not that that meant he'd be getting away scot-free, though. Even if their mother did believe his story, he would still be punished in some way just for being stupid enough to allow it to happen.
Regulus may have been annoying at times, but this time his brother had tried to help him, and it was because of that that he was now in trouble. He just hoped that their mother's protection would be enough. He wouldn't wish his father's attention on even his worst enemy. And, besides, they had never treated Regulus as badly as they did him, anyway.
Why couldn't they have ever just accepted him the way he was? That was all he had wanted throughout his entire childhood. But he had never been good enough for them. Whatever he'd done, whatever he'd tried - and he had tried - he'd only ever been criticized in return. Tibs had been the only one who'd ever praised him, the only one who'd ever given him any sort of encouragement or positive attention. The only times he had ever drawn his parents' notice had been when they'd been criticizing him... Which was something, he supposed, that he had in some ways brought on himself.
He had always wanted their attention. Regulus had gotten it, so why couldn't he? He liked having attention. He had quite early on discovered that the only way to get it from his mother or father was by angering them. Even negative attention was better than none at all. He had learnt to walk the fine line between inviting their critical attention and inviting violence - until he had left for Hogwarts. With his sorting into Gryffindor everything had gone swiftly downhill.
Why couldn't they have just treated him the same way they did Regulus? Why couldn't they have loved him as much as they did Regulus? What was so wrong with him that they couldn't feel any sort of affection at all? He was their son as well, for Merlin's sake! He sighed, gingerly pulling his blankets tighter around his shivering shoulders as he shifted onto his side, curling himself into a ball. In truth they had, in most ways, been just as hard on Regulus as they had on him. Their standards had been exactingly high for them both. The difference, he supposed, was that, unlike him, Regulus had constantly striven to meet those standards. His brother had worked his hardest to be everything that they wanted him to be. He had striven to be the perfect son, and as such he had set himself as a contrast to his trouble-making older brother - and Sirius had suffered as a result.
Tibs had been the only one who had ever cared for him and, in return for her love and loyalty, he had caused her death. There were times when he found understanding Tibby's feelings for him just as hard as he did understanding his parent's. What had he ever done to deserve her loyalty? All he had ever brought to her was hurt. And, ultimately, death. His actions had always rebounded on her. Each time he had displeased his parents, Tibs had been forced to deal with the aftermath. As far as his mother could see, his lack of proper manners had been the fault of incompetent nursemaid.
His eyes drifted back closed. He must have slept again, though he wasn't aware of the transition. The next time awareness returned, so too had the daylight, thin rays struggling from an overcast sky. He was still alone. The time was nearly ten o'clock. Which meant that, if it was indeed the second of January, in only an hour's time the Hogwarts Express would be leaving from platform nine and three quarters - and he had no way of getting to it.
Minutes slowly ticked past, and still he was left alone. In some ways, he thought, it was almost worse. The anticipation. Sitting there, waiting for the man to return…
It was time for the Express to be leaving now. Eleven o'clock. He had missed it. Regulus would be on his way back to Hogwarts - but not him. He was still here. Sirius lay on his side, his broken arm cradled to his chest, throbbing almost unbearably in time with his heartbeat; his knees drawn as high as possible.
He had still had, he seemed, lingering hidden at the back of his mind, the tenuous thought that it would all come to an end with his return to Hogwarts. Even though, consciously at least, he had known that this time was different. After all, most of his holidays passed with him counting down the days until the Express left on it's journey back to the school. That was something that he had always in the past been able to count on.
Not this time though.
His earlier burst of strength and resolve had almost completely faded now. Last night, lying before his brother's fire place, he had thought that he would not give up. He had, until now, managed to grit on through. He had always had the hope, even if it was buried deep inside, that things would ultimately improve. He had always been determined to make his escape.
But why? What was the point? Really? Why did he keep up the struggle? He wasn't going to get out. He had to accept that. There was no way he was going to get out. And, even if he did, his future looked bleak. He was hated by everyone and… and everyone would be far better off without him in their lives. It was over. It was time for him to stop fighting it.
There was only one way for him to escape now.
With a pained groan he gingerly rolled to his back, his left hand - still sore from its encounter with scalding potion over a week earlier - supporting his right. From there he somehow managed to push himself up until he was sitting, his back pressed against his headboard. For a moment he merely slumped there, his head hanging as he fought against the darkness swirling at the edge of his vision. He had never felt so completely weakened in his entire life. He really couldn't take this any more...
Biting down on his lower lip he carefully pushed up his sleeve, revealing the bandage, now looking rather ragged and grimy, that Tibby had bound around his injured, swollen limb. It seemed so long ago… The time since she had last been with him seemed to have dragged on forever, stretching out to fill his entire existence. Seven days. That was all it could have been. Seven days since he had last seen Tibby. Ten days since he had destroyed the potions.
He gazed pensively down at his wrist, at the network of pulsing blue and purple veins and arteries that stood out against his swollen flesh. It would be so simple. So easy. A final defiance. And then he would be free. He wouldn't be missed. No one would even care that he was gone - they'd all probably be quite glad to see the back of him, in fact.
The empty glass sat still beside the plate on the floor near his doorway. How he managed to make his way across the room to it he'd never know - the last straggling remnants of his will-power he supposed - but make it he did. After what seemed an eternity, he finally collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving as sweat dripped down his heated skin.
He barely even thought about his next action. With a single movement the glass was smashed against the door-frame. He cringed, half expecting to hear footsteps upon his stairs - but none sounded.
If someone had told him a few months ago, a few weeks ago even, that he would contemplate taking his own life... He would have laughed in their face. But now... now it was an action that seemed unquestionably appealing. What other options did he have left? He had always seen suicide as being the coward's route - and maybe it was. Maybe he was just a worthless coward. Completely worthless...
He should never have been sorted into Gryffindor.
He lightly trailed the sharp glass over his exposed wrist, leaving behind a thin trail of red. The shallow cut stung but, compared to the many other hurts he'd recently felt, it was nothing.
At least, he thought, with suicide the pain would all end. And... and he would regain control over his life. He was not his father's property. He belonged only to himself. He was going to die eventually. Probably sooner rather than later. He would rather it be at his own hand, under his own terms, than at the hand of the man who sired him. And this... this was a hurt that he had caused to himself - which helped make the pain more bearable. He was in control here. Not his father. Not his mother. Not Voldemort. And definitely not Lucius bloody Malfoy.
He cut again, deeper this time. His wrist was soon coated in a wash of red blood, steadily dripping from his pale skin to the carpet below. The nearby bandage was now adorned with a steadily increasing stain of rich crimson. His hands were unsteady, refusing to obey his commands as he pressed the glass over into his right hand
His fingers felt numb, lifeless, and he almost dropped the glass as he sought to grip it between them. Within seconds the shard was slick with blood, making his hold even more insecure. Each movement sent pain shearing through him. But soon it would end. Soon it would all end.
He pressed the glass to his wrist... but was unable to place any sort of pressure. Drawing a ragged breath into his lungs he tightened his grip, resting his arm across his unsteady knees, and again touched the sharp edge down. With a single, sudden brisk movement he tore through the practically unmarked skin. More blood began to flow - a rich, vibrant red - and he stared, transfixed, the glass tumbling from his fingers. Gryffindor red, he thought, as the liquid gathered in the palm of his hand before dripping to the floor. Not that he was much of a Gryffindor…
His sight swam, a haze obscuring his vision. Red. Like the blood that pooled on the floor before him. His blood. His life.
Footfalls sounded on the stairs - distant, and yet... not, echoing strangely in his ears. Were they even real? He couldn't tell any more. He didn't care any more. A door swinging open. A voice. Words that were faint and indistinguishable. He blinked up at the blurry, red-tinted view before him from where he slumped against the wall. His brain barely managed to register the sight of a figure leaning over him before it shut down on him completely. Consciousness finally left.
A/N - I'm not going to reply to everyone's reviews today, I'm afraid - quite simply because I have only a limited time on the computer and I think you'd all rather I spend my time typing up Chapter Sixteen than review replies. That's not to say that I didn't enjoy reading every one. Twenty three! That's the most I've received yet! Thank you so much. But there are a couple of people I want to reply to…
Allacaya - At least your computer didn't decide to stay on strike! As you see, some of the powder did fall into the fire… Um. He's still not away though. I'm so glad someone picked up on the shoes comment. That's probably my favourite bit of the chapter too! As for the rape - I know what else is going to happen in this little series. Having a rape theme in addition to the abuse wouldn't work. I do use rape in other stories I'm writing and I feel it to be an issue that needs to be central to get it's full import.
DarkHiei - Thanks for your comments. The only thing I really have to say is that I'm English, so please don't expect me to spell like an American.
IshTara - It's not that I'm 'drawing it out' so much as that I need certain other things to happen to him before he escapes in order for the next story to work. Don't worry - he will get away. Eventually.
