A/N: Three cheers for the shortest chapter so far, at a mere 818 words! (Bearing in mind they usually range from 2500 to 5000) *cowers behind laptop* I was going to write more but I felt it was a good place to stop. Reviews on any chapter would be much appreciated as I love to hear your thoughts on not only the story, but also my writing style! Thank you for reading, and now on with the chapter :)
Chapter 15
It had been a month since Draco had lost the friendship with Potter and his companions: a long month. Luna had kept him sane, strangely, but she was often busy revising for her OWLs with Ginny, who most certainly didn't want him around; the reminder of her brother's near-death experience constantly hanging over her eyes whenever they came in contact. He had been forced into hanging out with Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy and Blaise again, but their constant talk of the Dark Lord and their favourite torturous spells led him to want to slowly rip apart the art of conversation.
On one such morning, after an abhorrent discussion about murder and mudbloods, the visions started. The night before, Draco hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep, knowing it was nearing the end of the year and that if he didn't kill Dumbledore soon, his family would be dead by the time he set foot on the polished marble of the entrance hall of his house. What had followed this realisation was a fitful oblivion of sneering nightmares, seemingly trying to inflict as much pain as possible on his writhing subconscious. It was on this morning (Saturday, straight after breakfast) that he completely lost it, and someone else did too. The last person you would expect to do what he did.
Draco was suddenly plagued with a whirlwind of images of Fenrir Greyback snarling his name as he refused to capitulate to the foreboding stone walls of Azkaban; telling him he was going to kill him for what he did; growling barbarous threats which involved a lots of blood and pain and suffering. Draco clutched his head, hoping to steady the nightmares which were leaking into daytime. He decided he needed to get away. He must have looked a state, with a dangerously pallid face and clutching his head as if it were the only life raft in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. He forced his heavy feet forwards, breaking into a run as he headed towards the familiarity of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, desperately hoping the vexing ghost wouldn't be occupying the room which now bore her namesake.
As he flew through the door, making tiny splashes on the wet tiling as he ran, tears began to fall down Draco's face. It had been months since he had been in here. It had been months since he had cried. It had been months since Luna had found and comforted him, making him feel okay again. He castigated himself, crying was for children; he was a 16 year old death eater! But even this inward berating couldn't stop the oncoming rivulets which somersaulted down his cheeks. His vision was still blurred with nightmarish delusions: the half-wolf face of a man who was more like an animal.
He heard footsteps enter the bathroom. Greyback was here for him. Slapping his hand over his mouth to stop himself from calling out, Draco turned around to face the mirror; it was an advantage to be able to see his attacker without them knowing exactly who he was. His chest was still heaving and his breaths were shallow, but he was prepared. The voice of Myrtle rang through the air, making him jump. He knew she was trying to be soothing but her tone seemed more like a cruel parody of comfort. "Tell me what's wrong…I can help you." She cooed.
The frustration was palpable in Draco's voice when he spoke. "No-one can help me. I can't do it…I can't…it won't work…and unless I do it soon…he says he'll kill me…" The confession of his fears of Voldemort came instinctively. All Draco wanted now was for Myrtle to shut up, Greyback must be close now. He saw a flicker of movement behind him. It was quickly snuffed out, as if mocking him. The werewolf was going to kill him at any moment.
The footsteps were as close as they would ever be. Draco swivelled around and drew his wand. He momentarily lost his vision, but then he saw the figure in front of him. Greyback was towering over him, snarling and rasping, a rictus tearing across his face. The hex Draco tried to throw at him missed by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall next to him. That would surely be fatal. Sure enough, there was soon a flick of Greyback's wand, emitting a curse which Draco quickly blocked. Another one came at him, which he dodged, slipping as he did so. As he fell he began to say the cruciatus curse, but a louder voice interjected with a deafening bellow. "SECTUMSEMPRA!"
Pain consumed him. It was all he could feel, think about, remember, understand. Gashes were tearing his skin apart as if it were cheap fabric. Blood was spitting out of the wounds, swarming over the skin that was still sewn together. He staggered backwards and fell to the ground, limp and lifeless. The last thing he saw before he was plunged into unconsciousness was Harry Potter running towards him, his wand falling from his hand as he slipped across Draco's blood.