Chapter Five
In Which Draco Malfoy Dies
They'd given him a mirror.
Oh well.
His entire right side was burnt raw like his hand, the skin whorled and lacerated where it had been struck by flying shards of glass, splinters of wood. His right eye was dark and swollen and his lip curled down on the right side, locking his face in a permanent and lopsided scowl. His wrist and elbow clicked strangely when he moved, and the bones felt sore and new. The black haired pudgy witch, the one called Hestia, had given him a worried smile and told him about how he was in bad shape when Lupin had brought him to -- to wherever "here" was.
He'd ended up chasing her out of the room.
He spent the next few days eating almost nothing and mourning the loss of his good looks in the dark.
Damn it.
Damn it, he'd been beautiful once!
But there were still decisions to make.
They probably think you're dead.
He was free, whether he liked it or not. His mother... it would be the death of her. But how could he help her by going back to die for his failure? No reason. No reason.
And then there was always going to the Ministry. But for what? His dark mark tattoo would probably get him sent straight to Azkaban. And he'd still have failed...
Failure.
Is that what he was? A silhouette in the dark, nothing to anyone.
He... he was important, once upon a time! Not... not that important, but Crabbe and Goyle had, had looked up to him and Pansy... and Pansy... and Pansy had, had been a girl at him, and it made him feel important and so he was important.
Now what?
A pawn on someone else's chess board.
He wanted to play the game, he wanted to make checkmate, he wanted to--!
He wanted to be something other than he was.
He could do it. He knew he could, if he, if he just made the effort. It was ridiculous to think on it, but... but he had to do something. Something. Anything. Everything!
Nothing.
No!
He was discontent as this failed thing. He was important once... he could be important again. He had to go back, go back to where he was once. He was something once! He made decisions and stuck with them! He... he was Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.
But was Draco Malfoy him?
Draco sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and clutched at the sheets. Draco Malfoy is dead, he thought. Long live Draco Malfoy!
How long had he been in this room...?
The door to the room opened, and light streamed in. "Draco?" said a woman's voice, worried in the dark. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Draco Malfoy is dead," he replied. "Long live--!"
Stop.
He couldn't have the same name for two people. It would get woozy and messy and confusing, like his head was feeling right now.
"Long live Slinkback Malcontent," he murmured, and passed out on the bedsheet.