Okay guys. I'm fishing this story in record 5-7 chapters. Buckle up. I've been working hard on this. It really needs to be finished. This is one of the best things I've ever written. I'm not letting this go to waste.
Also, starting off with a rather shorter chapter than usual just to get the rhythm going.
Draco remembers shaking.He remembers screaming.
He remembers his throat getting dry from all the yelling.
He remembers his skin burning, like an branding iron is pressed hot against his forearm.
He remembers seeing faces behind his eyelids. Faces that showed death and desire wrapped up together in a bothersome duo.
He remembers wishing for it to stop. He calls out Hermione's name but his throat is closing up on him, he can't speak, can't force a word out of his mouth.
She's there.
She is shaking him by his shoulders with a force he didn't quite know she possessed. Judging by the movement of her lips, she is screaming his name, a perfect o leaving its mark on her mouth in a stressful aftermath. He is being pulled down and down, deep knot a void of nothingness that doesn't fail to slap the truth in his face— that he is falling and nobody is going to save him. That's what was left if Draco Malfoy; a pool of nothingness, a hallow pit for him to toss in his own worries, nightmares and thoughts.
He's falling.
His limbs feel detached to his body. He feels light, like a bird in a free sky, unchained by the shackles of what his parents taught him, what the forced him into. Free from the manacles of the rest of the gruesome people who have guided him all his life, guided him to evil. Of all th things he possessed, his heart, dear God, feels the heaviest. Till almost a years ago, he had constantly told himself that he didn't posses a human heart for he was too driven by his own actions and ideas. For a boy who had always wanted to bring out the worst in others and himself, if was the only truth Draco had believed. He had conjured up his own ideas, seeding them deep into his mind until he had grown to shape his life around those affirmative principles. He had constantly told himself, over and over, time and again that this was, indeed, who he really was— cold, manipulative, sadistic and selfish.
He never wanted to be this way, no.
All he had ever wanted was acceptance.
The chance to be told that he did not need to put labels on himself, to term himself to demeaning adjectives and that he was fine the way he was.
Fine.
Not grand, not extraordinary, not extravagant nothing, just fine. He had longed to be called normal, but when a little child does not get what he wants to hear, he goes astray.
Draco is the prime example of what you get when parenting goes terribly wrong.
And he accepts it.
Because what started from bad parenting has had him go through hell and back for the sake of his own self.
Look at him now.
How pitiful, one would say.
Consumed by his own thoughts. Too weak to put up a fight. Driven to the brink of insanity from past events. From to fits and nightmares thanks to trauma.
Is this was life, he did not want it.
All too fast, he's falling, deeper and deeper. He waits for his back to hit the ground, hopes to hear the sound of his bones cracking, wishing to just fucking die.
But.
A ghost of air passes through his throat and he latches onto it like a maniacal predator.
It's his lifelines, it's Hermione.
A minute follows and he's already opening his eyes in the midst of all the haze and dizziness that surrounds him. He's about to stand in a frenzy but is pushed down by a soft hand on his chest. Soft warm eyes meet him with tears, swollen lips that indicate she's been the one to bring him back to life.
Part of him wants to cry that he's just not dead already, but a bigger part of him is extremely happy for he gets to see the love of his life once again.
Seconds become minutes, minutes feel like hours as they try to catch their breath, trying to control their trembling selves and align their thoughts from being too clustered.
And then, she reaches for his hand, wrapping her index finger around his thumb in an attempt to make physical contact. "Are you—" she can't finish the sentence and it breaks her heart knowing that he was the one to inflict this pain on her. Draco's hands come up to cup her cheeks and then, his lips, up to her forehead. He forces himself to press a chaste kiss to her skin, tears rolling down his cheeks and hands shaking. Too shaken to nod, he tells her that he's fine with a nod.
Before he can bring himself to speak, Hermione's eyes have already widened for the second time in five minutes. Something tells him it's not a good thing.
"Draco, your arm—" the attention was brought back to the pressing matter at hand.
Hermione came up to sit next to him, her fingers wrapping around his in a gesture of comfort and relaxation. It did wonders to calm him down. His breathing stabilized and so did his erratic heartbeat. Both two pairs of eyes were focused on his pale skin now.
Three words were scrawled in bright red, a disturbing contrast against his porcelain skin. Draco looked at Hermione and then, down back at the words.
The Manor, Alone.
"But when?" Hermione voiced the obvious.
Just as the words left her mouth, the writing shifted yet again. This time, however, it didn't burn even as fraction bit as much as last time. His best guess had to be that his body had already adjusted to the pathetic pain, the mark serving as an insignia of valour against his skin.
Hermione and Draco watched in utter horror, yet fascination as the writing churned. Forming letters first and then, complete words. It made the two wonder if the culprit could hear them.
Or worse.
He was watching them.
Dawn.
Just like that, the writing disappeared before they could make out anything more of it. Hermione was sure if it had stayed a little longer, she may have been able to put a name to whose writing it actually was, with help from the journal. It would've taken them leap ahead in their own war.
"We need to tell McGonagall." Draco spoke for the first time in the evening. His words were steady, though Hermione could see the fear behind his grey eyes. It a housed a complete room of fear and anxiety, threatening to come out of the shackles any time now.
"Yes, we do." he agrees with her.
As they run through the halls towards the headmistressʼ office in their night overalls hand in hand, all Draco can think of is how he just wants this to end, wants this fiasco to finish. He doesn't care if he is on the losing side once again, if he loses again, so be it.
At least the pain would end.
—————
Minerva McGonagall looks like she has seen a ghost for the millionth time in a series of just a few days. Bad news after bad news graced her ears. It was making her head spin. She had always been a calm and composed woman, someone who knew how to handle her emotions but when you throw tragedy after tragedy at someone, even the strongest of the lot are bound to lose their courage somewhere in between.
Now, as Hermione explained her everything about what they had just witnessed in their head dorm, Draco could see the slight tremor shaking her hands ever so slightly. If he looked closely, and he meant real closely, he could figure out much more violent shaking in the left hand. He was thankful that Hermione was the one talking, had the job been up to him, he was sure he would've fallen to his knees rather than trying to explain things he was feeling, things that plagued his mind, things that didn't let him sleep. As time was slipping through their fingers, Draco couldn't help but notice how he was a mere pawn in this game between evil and good. The death eaters were using him to their own agenda, his best guess that they were unaware that their ruthless soldier had fallen in love with the Gryffindor princess. They did not know he had switched sides ever since his heart surrendered over to the girl before him, exactly why they were calling him back. Little did they know, he wasn't on their side anymore.
He was Severus Snape all over again.
All his life, he had despised Potter for being the center of attention for everyone, the one name on everybody's lips, the greatest hero they had had who took down not only Voldemort but also his dangerous minions like Bellatrix and Nagini, albeit, not directly, but serving as the driving force who had pushed people towards the light, towards the right thing— to kill these things that didn't belong in a righteous world.
And now.
It was him.
The center of everyone's attention. The one name on everyone's lips, the one who would either destroy them or make them emerge victorious in this fight for what was right and what was wrong. All his life, he had envied Potter for it. But now, when he was in his shoes, it made him want to throw up. Potter had it hard, he realised then, growing up without the luxury of parents and then, being raised up as a pig for slaughter by Dumbledore just so he could save the world.
He didn't envy Harry Potter, no, he pitied him.
"We can not let you go alone, Draco. What if—" McGonagall speaking breaks him out of his train of misery.
"I'll go with hi—" Hermione is up ok her feet but she's cut off.
"Either I..." Draco clenched and unclenched his fists, focusing on counting to ten in his head to align his thoughts. "Either I go alone or not at all. I am not risking anyone's life in case this doesn't work out." the horror etched on Hermione's face combined with repetitive shaking of her head so her caremel curls bounce over her shoulders clearly indicate that this is not what she was hoping to hear.
"You are not in your right mind, Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall sighs as she rubs her aching temples. "We can not let you walk in on what seems to be a minefield. You know these people, they would not care if you were hurt or worse, dead in their pursuit of power." while he agrees that she is right, it is still not enough of an enlightenment to step back from his original plan.
"Professor, I understand what you're saying but they called upon me and me alone. While I regard you highly in my mind, I still do not think you know exactly what these barbaric bastards are capable of. If they see someone has mended with their plans, someone uninvited, someone out of their circle of misery, it's bound to end in death after endless torture. I've seen it with my own eyes and I would never, ever, in any way wish to see that kind of pain being inflicted upon the people I care and love." his eyes cut to Hermione who flinches at his words. In an attempt to calm her nerves and his, he reaches for her hand, delight washing over him when she holds it tighter.
"If I get to them," McGonagall is listening intently at his words. She might as well be considering the plan. "I might be able to find out more than what that journal could be telling us."
Hermione wants to scream at him. She wants to tell him to back off and not put himself in jeopardy. For once, she hates how courageous and brave she has made him, for once, she wishes he would go back to his cowardice self so he can sit this out, so he won't get hurt, so he will be alright but the determination in his eyes makes her realise that it's too late for that.
"Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?" McGonagall takes the liberty to close her eyes and then open them again, this time, a glossy sheen covering her pupils. No one talks about it, no one points it out.
"Yes. I could get killed, I am perfectly aware." Draco coughs into his other hand, "But it is far less dangerous than putting the lives of the people I love at risk." when his eyes land on her, she knows he had already made up his mind and that nothing she will say or do, will make him reconsider.
All she can do is cling onto the thin rope of sanity and desperately pray that he doesn't hurt himself, it worse,
Surrenders over to death.
————
We are going to the Manor again. Buckle up, bitches.
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