If I Lose Myself

by EMPG22HoPe

Trigger Warning: Chapter includes mention and sight of blood. Caution is advised if you're uncomfortable reading such.

Chapter Eighteen: Draco

May 1997

Just when he had thought he had it within his grasp, it disappeared between the slits of his fingers like running sand.

Draco was certain the Vanishing Cabinet had done well in the past month, but certainly not enough. Apart from the cabinet suddenly having mood swings of its own by suddenly not being able to work for whatever reason, he had resorted once more to thinking of other ways to kill Dumbledore. He had hope that the cabinet would be enough, that someone else would do it for him—but the impending threat of the Dark Lord on his family and himself grew stronger every day. Sometimes, he felt as if the Dark Lord could read through his mind, wind through his dreams. But it couldn't be possible, and he can only hope it wouldn't be—or all of those precious times at Hogsmeade being tortured by aunt with Occlumency will have been all for naught.

As if the pressure of the cabinet wasn't enough for Draco. Fate, it seemed, had a funny way of making his life incredibly miserable now. And for a moment, he was slowly regretting every transgression he's ever done if it meant to be safe from the desperately anxious way his life had winded up to now.

Katie Bell had just emerged alive and well from St. Mungo's. It didn't take much for Draco's guilt to resurface. It was blooming the moment she entered the Great Hall. And he overheard things, of course. He overheard Katie's conversation with Potter. And it struck him, nervously, how her eyes shifted towards him for a moment as if she knew what he had done.

And thus here he was once more, sobbing himself senseless in the boys' bathroom where, not surprisingly as of late, Moaning Myrtle seemed to be waiting upon his arrival.

Over the past month, he had come to find some bit of solace from the ghostly girl. They spoke of the same challenges, the same "bullies" that made their life miserable. But if only Myrtle knew that his bully wasn't just some petty teenage girl out to play mean-spirited fun at another girl. His was much worst; and it pained him to know that nobody that he wasn't related to knew the gravity of the situation he was in.

He wished someone knew. He wished he could tell someone. But who? He certainly couldn't tell it full to Blaise, who Draco had long abandoned asking for help since the scuffle at Hogsmeade with the Greengrasses and Nott. He couldn't tell Pansy, who would—he assumes—otherwise would encourage him to do it rather than give him any sort of comfort. He already knows that if he were to tell anyone he knew—perhaps aside from Blaise—about it, they'd only tell him to do what was necessary. That they would tell him to be proud, just like his aunt has.

Perhaps a small part of him wished someone could tell him he didn't have to do it.

Then he thought of Astoria.

Astoria, who was compassionate and carefree, and wouldn't judge. She was the girl who so openly sought to help him, who didn't care what he had done, who only cared deeply for his well-being. And yet she was also Astoria, who was innocent, young, and too put together to be pulled into this madness. Draco could not live with himself if he ever subjected her to his own cursed life. He knew, as much as anyone else does, that she deserves better than him—better than anything terrible in this world. For Astoria was so good, so kind. How could that kind of light illuminate the dark that he's hidden himself into?

His body wracked with sobs as his thoughts diverted into things he couldn't have, the freedom so harshly taken from his grasp. It was turning him weary, his worst fears coming to light all of a sudden. How could he ensure his parents' survival if he couldn't even ensure his own?

His pale hands clutched the edges of the sink harshly, digging his nails into the basin as if to hope it would injure him—make him feel any pain other than the one that consumed him.

"Don't," Myrtle warbled. "Don't cry, Draco… tell me what's wrong… I can help you…"

Myrtle had been under the illusion that she could, perhaps, find a way to help him with the Vanishing Cabinet; as he had so openly discussed with her over the past month. But not even a ghost whose past long and has known the castle's secret for many years could help him. Despite all the books she's read and all the advices… It seemed that no one is able to give him the assistance he needs.

"No one can help me," Draco whimpered, every nerve of his body shaken by the very thought indeed. He was all alone. "I can't do it… I can't… it won't work… and unless I do it soon… he says he'll kill me…"

Though before another set of cries could escape him, he looked up furtively into the mirror and was taken by shock at the sight of Harry Potter staring at him through the glass. Before he knew it, he had his wand out and immediately sent a hex to his back.

The hex shattered uselessly, missing Harry by a hair. A flash of light emitted from Harry's wand, and before it could hit him, he hastily blocked the spell wordlessly.

Everything seemed to be a blur of missed hexes and jinxes. He could hear Myrtle crying for them to stop. Every bit of weakness and sense of self-doubt left him the moment he set eyes on Potter. His hatred for him fueled in a way that it has never done in so many years. It had always just been petty hatred, but now—it was utmost indignation unlike any other.

The burn in him fueled considerably, and thought long and hard in the midst of the scuffle before attempting, "Cruci—"

But his voice was immediately overpowered by a spell he has never heard of. Draco felt his skin open up, and the burn from inside resided into his cheeks, his neck, his arms, his chest—he looked down before staggering backwards in both pain and shock. He was bleeding everywhere. He was then knocked back, slipping onto the waterlogged floor and hitting his body against the ground with a loud splash.

It was pain unlike any other. Immeasurable. It was not like the Cruciatus curse, but he could bet anything this came just as close—only more physically, more vividly. His vision swam as he heard Harry's voice and Myrtle's wails. Then he heard another set of footsteps splash into the room.

His eyes flitted for what little he could see left, and was met with the greasy-haired Professor Snape. He chanted a spell in a song-like notion, and at once, he felt his wounds close up—but they seared impenetrably, as though they would scar. But that mattered little to him. There were worst things than scars.

Draco felt himself hefted up by the arm, making his head spin as he stood up weakly on his feet. He could hear Snape speak to him, but only managed to catch a couple of words.

Hospital wing… scarring… dittany…

Although before he could process it, he was already being dragged out of the bathroom. He did little to slacken in Snape's hold, but made his best effort to move his aching feet. It felt as if every step was a taste of the Cruciatus curse on random parts of his body.

There were several gasps as they passed corridors, and for a moment—he thought he heard Astoria and Pansy's cry as they passed, but Draco was practically sightless at this point; focusing merely on his feet as they took one painful step after the other.

The last thing he heard, before he last saw himself flanged against a hospital bed were resounding, hasty footsteps and the voices of two girls crying for his name before all went black.

For the most part of May, Draco had been immobile. After the curse that Potter had sent him earlier in the month, he had been stuck in the hospital wing mending his wounds. As it turns out, there was some definitive scarring. Whenever Madame Pomfrey wasn't standing over him like a tittering Cornish pixie, he finds himself glimpsing the white scars that had formed across his chest, abdomen, some parts of his arms, his legs—and Merlin forbid he was ever aided with a mirror during his unfortunate stay to look at his face.

During such time, he was visited by a number of people. First, there was Pansy—who came in the moment word spread that he'd awaken from his week of having been out. Then came Blaise, who had been company, but was otherwise far too distracted in other things to worry much about Draco's condition. To his utter surprise, however—the only company he deemed the slightest bit comforting was Crabbe and Goyle—two of the people he least expected to feel any semblance of care for.

They updated him, mostly, on what's been going around at Hogwarts. They didn't question him just as much as they did since he started using them as look outs from when he was mending the Vanishing Cabinet. The two thick heads even managed a joke or two; and a weak laugh would come from Draco every now and then for their humor.

But was it really much of a time to reconcile? A time to show remorse when he had been so close? A month has passed and it's been wasted staying in the hospital wing, when he could have spent all those days in the Room of Requirement doing what he must to ensure the back up for his mission—for he was truly running out of options.

On the night before Draco's release from the hospital wing on the morrow, Pansy visited him again. She made it quite a habit to visit him on a daily basis that it was almost impossible for some of his visitors to come across him alone. Like every other day, she carried green pansies with her to replace the ones she had brought from her last visit on the white vase next to his bed's table ladened with gifts from his mother and friends.

Pansy frowned as she clutched the bouquet of pansies in her hands, her eyes boring holes into what appeared to be an already filled white vase.

Draco hauled himself up all of a sudden. The vase had been discarded of the green pansies and was now replaced with an assorted color of vibrant asters. They seem to be in full bloom and danced happily, despite the lack of wind within the room, as if charmed to stay that way. His mood lightened considerably, though, when he looked at them a little longer. It brought a bit more light in the coming dusk.

"Who sent you those?" Pansy asked accusingly, snapping the stems of the flowers she brought; though she didn't seem to have realized she'd done it. "Awfully disgusting set of… whatever on earth are they, anyway?"

"Asters," Draco answered dismissively now, tearing his eyes off the set. "It's probably the matron's idea. She's annoyingly maternal."

Pansy sneered, brandishing her wand to levitate the asters out of the vase. But it appeared that whatever spell she tried, the flowers did little to leave the home of the white vase. It danced happily still, as if mocking Pansy for even trying.

"Ugh, they're repulsive. I'll have her take it down before dinner." Pansy scoffed, having no choice but to settle her own flowers on top of the mounds of gifts and sweets. Even in comparison, the asters seemed more bright and cheerful than the now dreadful-looking pansies, much like the girl who was named after them. "Honestly, asters…"

"What do you want now, Pansy?" Draco asked firmly, leaning back on his sheets. "I don't reckon it's to give me hugs and kisses."

Pansy's attention wavered to him this time. "Well, perhaps, but…"

A tired sigh escaped Pansy's lips. All of her visits had been mostly to check on his condition, coo over him like some kind of child having just discovered a new toy, and berate him endlessly for being reckless—as if he hadn't gotten that much berating from his mother. It would have been less painful for him if his mother and Pansy had just sent him a howler instead of the constant, everyday scolding.

"Look, I know you don't want to tell me what's going on with you; as with Blaise," Pansy started, looking down at her hands as she fidgeted with them. "But if you could just trust me, Draco. Whatever it is. I want to help you."

"You can't help me with this one, Pansy." Draco replied plainly, as he's had about a thousand times over every time Pansy visited to tell him the very same sentiments repeatedly. "No one can. I have to do it alone. I can't involve you, or Blaise, or anyone else directly."

"But you'd let Astoria do it." Pansy mumbled, meeting his gaze this time with a conniving look in her eyes. "You'd let little Greengrass do just whatever with you."

Draco was affronted. Pansy had never mentioned Astoria ever since the incident at Hogsmeade. Like Daphne, they avoided the younger Greengrass's name like the plague as well. It had worked a great deal for Pansy, who was more than delighted to talk of other things like their impending wedding after they graduate from Hogwarts or other matters. Until today.

"I haven't spoken to her since Hogsmeade." Draco said indifferently.

It was a white lie. He has spoken to her, though it's not as if it was a particularly active conversation. When Astoria had been confined in the hospital wing after collapsing in the Headmaster's office, Draco made discreet work of scheduling his visit to her. He had only ever visited her once, and it was moreover in the dead of night—after a tiring evening from the Room of Requirement.

He had given her a box of chocoballs—the sweet she first offered to him at the Black Lake—and a vague "get well" note. Then he talked to her while she was asleep, for she had been that way for the majority of her stay in the hospital wing. He told her what he's always wanted to tell her: the truth. With the help of a silencing charm around him, he poured out everything he wish he could have told her—about the Dark Mark, You-Know-Who, the threat on his family, killing Dumbledore.

For a moment, it felt as if the weight had been lifted off him. Then he took one glimpse at Astoria and remembered then how she was asleep, how she couldn't have heard him. And suddenly, that weight returned almost instantly. But it gave him some courage—looking at her then, how peaceful she looked despite all the residue spots from her rumored Spattergroit. Even in sickness, she still looked an angel who was undeserving of him.

"Will you be honest with me?" Pansy asked him, snapping Draco back to the present. He had expected her to be mad at him for drifting off, but it seemed she might have done just that too. Draco nodded his reply, unsure of what to say.

Pansy let out a deep breath before looking weary. "Do you still want to be with me?"

Draco was rendered speechless. He hadn't thought about this moment in a long while. He had been hoping to avoid the conversation, avoid Pansy by all means. He had hoped that his distancing himself would have sent the proper message. But it seemed that while Draco was terribly gifted with the penchant for being as insulting, he knew that even Pansy deserved some bit of truth from him.

After a moment, Draco looked at her tiredly and said, almost like a whisper, "No, Pansy. I don't. I haven't in a long while, and I think you already know."

If his parents knew what he had done—breaking an engagement sealed even before they'd been born—they would have disowned him. But his father was in Azkaban, and his mother was under threat. Breaking an engagement seemed the very least of their problems right now.

He feared to look up to her, but he did—and he was surprised to see her smiling. While it was a somber, almost mournful kind of smile; it was still a smile, nevertheless. It terrified him in the slightest. Pansy rarely smiled in the way she did now. The last time she did, she had been telling him about her father being imprisoned for attacking a muggle.

"I suppose I deserve that," Pansy nodded, pursing her lips briefly—the smile melting off. "What I don't deserve, however, was waiting this long to get a proper answer from you."

"I just…" Draco trailed off, trying to string the right words. "I just think that this hasn't been a very pleasant year. I have things I need to worry about that I don't want you getting involved in. If you were, if you truly knew, he'd—something unpleasant—"

"Is it the Dark Lord?" Pansy asked boldly. "You've boasted about him in the train how you were chosen. For a moment, I thought you had the Dark Mark until I realized it must be. Blaise told me."

Draco grunted. "Of course he did."

"Whatever he's asking you to do, Draco, you must consider it an honor." Pansy proclaimed this time and Draco flinched. "If not an honor, then something you should take to heart, something to take seriously."

"You think I haven't been doing that?!" Draco yelled at her all of a sudden, everything in him ignited by sudden hatred. It was as he had predicted about Pansy. She wouldn't have understood. "You think I've only been moping around, just considering it and not doing anything? You have no idea the lengths I went through to do his bidding, the risks I had to take! You know nothing about it! About whatever honor you want me to have!"

"Then do it!" Pansy shrieked at him, standing up. "For your life, for your safety! Do it, whatever it is! I don't care what you have to do, or who you have to hurt to do it. Nothing else matters anymore, Draco! Do it, please! Or he'll kill you!"

Draco laughed humorlessly. "I think I already know that threat by heart more than you do."

Pansy breathed heavily as she stared at him. "You are a coward, Draco Malfoy."

"Is that all?" Draco asked her testily. "Shall I hear the rest of your little bitter speech? If you want my job so badly, why don't you go up and ask him? I hear he doesn't mind using anyone these days if it means getting what he wants."

"The Dark Lord could be the start of something extraordinary for wizard kind." Pansy said as she wheeled around to trudge towards the double doors of the hospital wing. She cast him a last angry, but moreover concerned look. "And if you don't want any part of it, I suggest you drop dead before he does you a number, Draco. Your cowardice and hesitance will get you nowhere."

Draco opened his mouth to say something, but was continuously interrupted.

"I've little care for our engagement now." Pansy's voice croaked this time, the worry overshadowing the anger in her features. "I only care for your life. Please, just do what you must and you'll be free of him. Do it and I won't have to worry about you again."

Before he could try to get a word out once more, Pansy had already hastened out of the hospital wing. Draco ran a frustrated hand through his hair, trying very hard to process what had just happened. He turned to the asters illuminating the dark hospital wing now. It danced and swung gracefully, as if trying to give him some comfort.

But not even some pretty flowers were going to help ease his discomfort.

Maybe it was easier to just drop dead. Then again, when did Draco Malfoy ever learn to give up on his family?

A/N: I am deeply sorry for the late update! I've had a very busy few weeks since the last chapter and haven't had the time to properly right until yesterday. Still, I would love to hear what you think of this chapter. How did you think Draco handled his "breaking up" with Pansy? Who do you think sent Draco those asters (hint hint, it's already obvious, haha!). Please leave your thoughts on the reviews page and please favorite/follow for more updates on the story! I truly hope you enjoyed it despite the late update.

PS. I have just released a new Draco/Astoria fanfiction entitled "Blissful Oblivion". It is an A-Z series of Drastoria one-shots in different timelines with a few AU's to boot. You can read the first chapter: AUROR by finding the story in my profile. I hope you'll enjoy reading that series just as much as you've enjoyed reading If I Lose Myself.

See you all next week,
EMPG22HoPe