Draco
Draco didn't know exactly what or why he was doing what he was doing. His legs seemed to move on autopilot, carrying him like heavy baggage with no real purpose. He felt like an empty shell, filled only with the efforts of his body to keep living; existing; present.
He turned a corner in the stone corridors, the box of chocolates slipping from his fingers, providing extra weight for his mind to focus on. The hallway ahead ended with the room everyone at Hogwarts knew well, its tall and dominant doors granting access to the hospital wing.
Black hair suddenly emerged from the room, making Draco freeze in place and turn toward the frame of one of the large windows beside him, pretending to observe the landscape ahead.
A girl with long dark hair tied in a ponytail and her small group of friends exited, whispering to one another, worried expressions dominating their faces. As they passed Draco, he noticed they were all from Gryffindor.
“Do you think she'll be okay?” one of the students asked the girl with the ponytail, glancing back toward the infirmary's double doors.
“Madame Pomfrey said she'll wake up soon, so I think so.” She responded with a voice that seemed confident, though Draco noticed a hint of fear.
“I hope they find whoever cursed her soon,” said another student, anger evident in her voice. “Whoever it is, I’ll make sure they feel what she felt.”
Draco swallowed hard and focused on the items in his hands again. He was trembling now.
The girl with the ponytail sighed, her shoulders slumping tiredly. “It... it’ll be okay,” she said, trying to smile at the other two.
When the group turned the corner, Draco felt something in his chest lighten and realized he had been holding his breath until then. He turned toward the entrance of the hospital wing, now moving with an unjustified caution, and slipped through the doors as though interrupting one of his father's meetings.
He silently thanked Merlin that the room was empty; Pomfrey was likely in her potion room. Draco slipped across the room, passing by rows of empty beds and their partitions. The space, so bright thanks to the tall windows, felt ghostly, with its thin curtains fluttering from the breeze.
He scanned the room, searching for the hospitalized Gryffindor, and finally saw her in one of the beds near the end.
Katie Bell lay covered by the white sheets, her hands, still a little pale, resting lightly on either side of her body. Her chest rose and fell in a calm rhythm, absorbed in a deep but peaceful sleep. Draco wondered how it must feel to sleep like that again, without nightmares haunting what should be restful.
He approached hesitantly, eyeing the door at the end of the hall where Madame Pomfrey was likely restocking her potions, and placed the small box of chocolates on the bedside table among other gifts she had received. He adjusted the red ribbon holding a piece of parchment with elegant cursive that simply read, “Get well.”
Draco glanced at her again, feeling his hand on the box start to tremble and his chest knot in almost-painful tightness, so he stepped back, averting his gaze from her serene and gentle face.
His eyes then fell on a vase of flowers at her bedside, which he hadn’t noticed before. The flowers drooped, wilted from neglect. He pulled out his wand, giving it a simple flick, and the vase filled with water again. The daisies perked up, as though waking from a refreshing sleep.
Daisies, Draco thought, so out of season, yet they seemed perfect for the dwindling snow melting outside. As if, upon waking, Bell would bring spring with her, casting a new ray of hope over them all.
His eyes stung, and Draco decided not to linger on the thought any longer. Avoiding Katie Bell’s face, he finally stepped away, leaving the curtains that separated her from the other beds.
He looked around once more, ensuring no one would see him, almost as if he were sneaking to the Room of Hidden Things on one of his late-night missions. He made his way back down the hall, but a creaking noise behind him stopped him in his tracks.
“Mr. Malfoy? What are you doing here?” Madame Pomfrey's unmistakable voice froze him in place, and Draco cursed mentally every swear he knew.
He turned to her, dressed in her customary nurse attire, and straightened his posture, scrambling for any excuse to explain why he was there in the middle of the day.
Pomfrey approached, raising an eyebrow, and Draco could only swallow nervously, praying she wouldn’t connect his visit to a comatose Katie Bell.
“I was excused from Transfiguration class,” he lied, puffing out his chest to exude confidence. He hadn’t attended McGonagall’s classes in longer than he’d care to admit, and the thought pained him a bit. “I told Professor McGonagall I had a terrible headache, and she sent me to see you.”
She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him from head to toe, as if Draco were one of her potentially spoiled ingredients.
Perhaps he was.
“Very well, then, have a seat.” She gestured to the nearest bed and pulled a wand from her apron, checking her potion tray. “How do you feel?” she asked, raising her wand toward Draco’s face, making him lean back slightly.
“With a headache,” he replied bluntly, looking at her as if it were obvious, and Madame Pomfrey’s lashes drooped with an expression of boredom.
She sighed, turning back to the tray, and Draco could swear she rolled her eyes behind her head. The thought almost made a playful smile curl at his lips, as though he were eleven again.
The smile faded with the memory.
“Since...?”
“This morning, as soon as I woke up.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie; he’d been having severe migraines throughout the school term, and the bottles of calming potion scattered by his bedside table bore witness to that, in a way he wasn’t proud of.
Pomfrey frowned at him, her eyebrows drawing together in a way that suggested his explanation didn’t quite fit.
“And you only came to me now?”
“I thought it would pass,” he shrugged, looking out the window beside the bed. There were many first-years enjoying their free time in the courtyard below, and Draco felt an urge to smile.
A long moment of silence passed, one Draco didn’t realize they were immersed in until Pomfrey finally broke it.
“Have you been having trouble sleeping, Mr. Malfoy?”
Draco turned to her, his face forming a scowl that was ready to snap back a curt and unfriendly reply when she cut him off before he could start.
“You don’t seem well-rested, considering your state,” she said, holding two vials of a clear, shimmering potion that swirled in tiny eddies. “If it’s because of the upcoming tests, rest assured you’ll have plenty of time to prepare, Mr. Malfoy.”
Draco’s scowl softened as she extended the two vials toward him, and he took them with long, slender fingers.
“Thank you,” he murmured, staring at the potion in his lap, which shimmered with an almost hypnotic white.
Pomfrey raised her eyebrows at him, though she lowered them quickly, avoiding making her surprise too obvious. Draco felt something twist in his stomach.
“Very well, you may go,” she said, turning back to the tray as Draco got to his feet. “Two doses should be enough to regulate your sleep again, but if you need more, feel free to come to me.”
Draco nodded at her, watching as she waved her wand with the grace of a dancer, tidying her workspace with a quick flick.
He turned on his heel, heading for the exit, only to be stopped again.
“And remember, Draco,” he turned his face back to her, “if you ever want to visit a patient, there’s no need to sneak around my infirmary. Just speak to me first.” A sweet smile appeared on her lips as she finished her organization.
Draco felt his legs give out for a moment, a shiver running up his spine and into his head as Pomfrey disappeared back into her office, eyes wide and fixed as he processed what she had said.
He blinked several times as Pomfrey closed the door to her room and quickly walked out, legs shaky and somewhat dazed. How she knew, Draco had no idea. Katie Bell had certainly received numerous visitors, mainly from Gryffindors, but everyone at Hogwarts knew she and Draco were definitely not close; they had never even spoken until...
Until the Three Broomsticks.
Draco shook his head almost frantically, trying to push the thoughts away as his legs once again carried him on autopilot to the dungeons. The corridors of Hogwarts, empty during class hours, echoed with his hurried footsteps, and he forced himself to focus on the rhythm of his shoes on the stone floors. His rapid breathing barely kept up with his speed, but he only stopped when he reached the common room, his chest aching from the lack of air. He rushed to the dormitories, a sudden desire to isolate himself from everything making his hands tremble once more. As soon as he saw his bed, he collapsed onto it, feeling suffocated, and kicked off his shoes, tossing the sleep potion vials onto the bedside table, which wobbled slightly from the impact.
He lay on his back, unbuttoning the first buttons of his shirt with the desperation his chest demanded, and then dropped his hands, one on his chest and the other at his side. His lungs screamed for a long inhale of air, and he tried to calm down, blonde bangs sticking to his forehead.
Since when had he started sweating?
He needed to calm down, needed some way to stop his racing mind. He raised both hands in front of his face, veins standing out more prominently as his pallor had increased, the sight reminding him of a ghost, and they still trembled erratically. Draco swallowed hard, lowering his hands and staring at the canopy of his bed.
The pattern on the ceiling suddenly annoyed him.
His gaze then fell on the bedside table, where the two vials of potion shimmered white. He grabbed one without thinking, holding it in both hands so it wouldn’t slip from his sweaty palms.
He opened it with difficulty, the trembling making it hard, and soon brought the contents to his mouth, tipping the vial back and swallowing it all at once.
His throat protested from the burning sensation, and he spilled some on the sheets, but it didn’t matter—not now.
Tossing the empty vial in any direction, he lay back on the mattress, closing his eyes and hoping the potion’s effect would soon take him to a dreamless land.
Eventually, his breathing calmed, as did the tension he held in his eyes, and only silence lingered in his mind, leaving nothing but darkness.
***
When the approaching spring made the last remnants of snow almost entirely vanish, revealing the renewed greenery, Draco couldn’t have felt worse.
Everyone was in a state that oscillated between excitement for the upcoming season and the exhaustion and desperation brought by end-of-term exams. Yet none of these emotions offered Draco any comfort.
But, of course, it did for his friends.
Avoiding Pansy’s incessant questions had become easier. She had finally left him alone after the incident on the train with Potter, and this lifted an annoying weight off Draco’s chest. However, it also left a new burden in its place, one he stubbornly ignored. A nagging itch that whispered maybe pushing her away had been a mistake.
Blaise was another story entirely.
He hardly made an effort to spend time with Draco outside of classes—and even then, only when they happened to be in the same one. All Blaise did was watch him. The irritating weight of Zabini’s stare burned at Draco’s ears. It was the look of someone who had something to say but kept quiet, always turning away whenever Draco confronted him. The frustration of seeing Blaise do that, again and again, made Draco’s temper flare in ways he didn’t think possible.
Still, Blaise never said anything, never accused him or pestered him with inconvenient questions. Even his constant observing had become less frequent. Yet the same heavy feeling he associated with Pansy returned whenever he caught sight of Blaise in the common room or dormitory.
As always, Draco pushed the thought so deep it became hard to recall it again.
That was, until the day he realized everyone had gone to Hogsmeade without him.
It wasn’t that he cared about the village as much as he used to, of course, but invitations usually came his way, typically from Crabbe and Goyle.
The pair had also drifted from Draco. Not that he cared much—they had become more of a hindrance than anything else, especially when he had to sneak off for more of his shifts in the Room of Requirement, desperately trying to fix the cursed Vanishing Cabinet that haunted him every day.
His progress was excruciatingly slow but getting closer to completion. Draco clung to this thought to soothe his restless nights. The mission was almost done.
Almost.
A small, insidious part of his mind whispered that he was stalling, that he’d never finish it, that he was a coward—a child playing at being an adult. And each day, he found himself more and more inclined to believe that voice, which had started to resemble his father’s.
But he had to do it; he had no other choice.
"Are you crying again, poor thing?"
Draco jumped, startled, and turned abruptly. Moaning Myrtle was staring at him with her wide, transparent eyes behind her round glasses. Her ghostly hands were clasped behind her, and she hovered closer to Draco.
Automatically, Draco's hands flew to his face, damp with tears he hadn’t noticed. He had been sitting on the window ledge, watching the students happily make their way to Hogsmeade. Blaise’s dark, shaved head stood out among the crowd as he walked with a girl by his side, chatting with Theodore Nott. Both of them seemed carefree, laughing as they strolled toward the little wizarding village.
“Why didn’t you go to Hogsmeade with your friends, Draco?” Myrtle’s syrupy voice broke through his thoughts. She floated over to sit beside him on the windowsill. “Am I that much more important?”
Draco glanced at her without moving his head, her wide eyes blinking back at him with false shyness.
“I’m just tired,” he sighed, turning back to the window, and Myrtle rose into the air again.
“Tired and lonely, you mean!” she laughed, the sound echoing unpleasantly in the tiled bathroom. “No one would rather spend time in a damp bathroom with a ghost unless they have absolutely nothing better to do.”
“Maybe I prefer it,” Draco replied with a scowl, glaring irritably at the window. He wished he could hex Myrtle, but she was, unfortunately, a ghost.
“Oh, but you have so much to do, Draco, so much.” She drew nearer again, her high-pitched, nasal voice filling the room as she contorted her eyebrows into an exaggerated, tearful frown. “I know you’re trying to kill Professor Dumbledore.”
Draco froze, his eyes lifting from the nearly empty courtyard to his reflection in the window. Myrtle's faintly translucent form was just visible behind him, also staring through the mosaic glass.
Draco didn’t realize he was clenching his arm until the cuff buttons of his shirt threatened to dig into his skin. He spun to face her, terror evident on his face, his mouth opening to speak, but his trembling jaw made it impossible.
After all, there was no hiding anything from ghosts, was there?
“I-I…” he stammered, unable to say more as he rose unsteadily to his feet. His hands were as pale as the dead girl before him.
Myrtle drifted closer, her expression now pitying, which only ignited Draco's fury. He turned away, unconsciously clutching his wrist in a desperate grip.
Myrtle’s eyes filled with understanding.
“So you really received it, didn’t you?” she asked gently, reaching out as if to touch him with a translucent blue hand.
Draco couldn’t look at her.
“It’s not like I had much choice,” he muttered, releasing a heavy sigh and focusing on the cuff of his well-buttoned sleeve. If someone looked closely, they could make out the shape of a snake coiled beneath the fabric.
“I know,” Myrtle said simply, and Draco finally met her eyes. “You’re not like him.”
He stared at her, eyes trembling, analyzing every part of her transparent face, which twisted into a sad smile of comfort. Tears stung his eyes.
All he wanted was for it to be over.
“He said... he said he’d kill me and my parents if I... if I…” Draco swallowed hard, unable to finish, but Myrtle seemed to understand perfectly. The only thing he could manage was a whisper: “I don’t know what to do... The drink didn’t work; of course, it wouldn’t on him... And the necklace, that damned necklace... Katie Bell might never wake up.”
He sank back onto the window ledge, hitting the stone arch with his back, and drew his knees up, letting his shoulders slump as he hugged his legs. His sobs filled the room, echoing off the walls.
He felt Myrtle’s cold presence beside him, and though she couldn't truly embrace him, he allowed himself to empty his sorrow into her ghostly touch.
Time passed, though Draco wasn’t sure how much. He only knew it was nearing dusk when the orange sunlight touched his face. Moaning Myrtle was gone, and the bathroom felt even more desolate in her absence.
Draco rose, aching from sitting in that position for so long, and made his way to one of the mirrors, bracing his hands on the sink. He looked terrible—dark circles shadowed his eyes, which were red and sore. His hair was a blond mess, the disheveled strands vaguely reminding him of Potter’s.
Shaking off the thought, Draco pulled his wand from his pocket, aimed it at his reflection, and muttered a spell with his eyes closed.
When he opened them, the dark circles had faded, and the redness in his eyes diminished. His hair was smoothed down, though his skin remained ghostly pale. It wasn’t the effect of a beautifying potion, but it would do to avoid attention.
He examined the wand still in his hand, turning it over. He could feel the magic coursing through his body and gathering in his fingers, a familiar tingling sensation he had known since the day he and his father had bought it from Ollivanders.
“Hawthorn wood, unicorn hair core,” Mr. Ollivander had said with a kind smile. “A fine wand. Go on, give it a try.” And eleven-year-old Draco had levitated all the shopkeeper’s enchanted bottles, beaming at his father, who looked on with pride.
From that day forward, he had felt invincible with it. The power coursing through him when he held it.
He wished he still felt that way.
“There are rumors that unicorn-hair wands might break if you cast the Killing Curse…” he had heard Ravenclaw students whisper in his third year during Care of Magical Creatures, and he had examined his own wand in wonder, just as he did now.
He still wondered if that was true.
His eyes shifted back to the mirror, where his own exhausted reflection stared back at him.
Always so tired…
He pushed away from the sink with a shove, tucking his wand back inside his school robes as he made his way out.
From the corridors, he noticed the Gryffindor Quidditch team returning, spirits high and cheering as they hoisted their brooms and protective gear. Draco couldn’t recall a match taking place that day. He watched curiously from the second-floor railing, observing the triumphant Gryffindors climbing the stairs. Behind them, the Ravenclaw players trailed dejectedly, consoling each other with pats on the back. It was clear they had lost.
Weasley’s flaming red hair caught his eye, and the team lifted him onto their shoulders, his face lit with a bright grin—redder than ever, if that was even possible.
Further back, a bit removed from the jubilant crowd but still smiling, was the tousled black hair of Potter. A surge of anger flared in Draco’s chest, and, as if sensing it, Potter’s head turned almost instinctively. His grin fell immediately, morphing into a deep, unfriendly scowl, and the anger in Draco twisted into an indescribable anxiety. It was as if Potter could see right through him, sense how trapped Draco felt; as if he were prey desperately trying to escape a predator.
Yet Draco didn’t break eye contact, and neither did Potter, even as the others carried on around them.
It wasn’t until Weasley nudged Potter, breaking his focus, that Harry moved along. He followed his friends, a shadow over his previously bright expression, leaving Draco with a racing heart and an ominous feeling as the Dark Mark on his forearm tingled like a painful reminder.
He knew Potter was meddling, somehow snooping into his affairs. What terrified him wasn’t Potter’s knack for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, but rather how much he might have already discovered. Did he know about the Vanishing Cabinet? And if he did, had he told Dumbledore?
If he had, Draco wouldn’t be here, still free, still unchained, without a one-way ticket to Azkaban.
Draco continued to stare after Potter, ensuring he wouldn’t turn back and kill him on the spot. Only when Blaise called his name did Draco snap out of his daze, realizing he was still frozen in place.
“Are you coming?” Blaise asked, and Draco blinked, trying to process the question.
Just as he opened his mouth to reply, a Slytherin girl with brown hair and scattered freckles stormed up to Blaise and slapped him hard across the cheek, making Zabini’s head snap to the side.
“Don’t you ever speak to me again!” she spat, storming off in tears to join a group of friends, some of whom glared at the boys—except for one Hufflepuff girl, who smiled flirtatiously at Blaise.
He smiled back, one hand still resting on his freshly slapped cheek, and she turned back to her friends.
Draco’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, but he followed Blaise as he started walking.
“Girls…” Blaise said with a grin, looking back at Draco. “I got her name mixed up with another Slytherin’s when we were at the Three Broomsticks. She threw butterbeer all over me,” he grimaced, as if the memory pained him. “Pansy and Theo couldn’t stop laughing when she left.”
Draco let out a quiet, breathy laugh, picturing the scene, and Blaise glanced at him through his lashes.
For a moment, as they entered the Great Hall and sat at the Slytherin table, Draco felt like just another normal student. For that brief instant, he was like Theo and Blaise, just another teenager trying to finish his education, going through adolescence, and growing into a real wizard.
For a moment, he forgot that a genocidal wizard was threatening his parents at home, making him tremble at the mere sight of him. For a moment, he forgot about the mission given to him by the same genocidal maniac. In that fleeting moment, the weight of the Dark Mark on his forearm vanished.
But, as with everything, the moment shattered when he met emerald eyes across the hall. Eyes filled with determination and hatred. And suddenly, Draco's sleeve felt suffocating, and he desperately wanted to run, to hide.
***
Draco hadn’t managed to sleep all night, and his sunken eyes and weary expression made that painfully clear.
To his slight surprise, no one bothered him—not even Theo, who was always “subtly” trying to initiate conversations.
Now, in Potions class, Draco fought to keep his fatigue from showing as much as he felt it. The window beside his desk displayed a Hogwarts nearly drowning in the spring green, and the Whomping Willow stood tall with renewed leaves.
“Draco!” Theo called, drawing his attention to the bubbling cauldron, the contents overflowing in a sticky mess as Draco stirred absentmindedly.
“Careful, Nott.” Slughorn suddenly appeared beside their table, smiling in amusement at the mess on the floor and cutting boards. “Always stir counterclockwise, Mr. Malfoy, unless you want to flood the whole room.” He patted Draco’s back with a force that nearly sent him toppling forward.
“Yes, Professor,” Draco replied dully, waving his wand to remove the spilled potion from Theo’s book, which Theo regarded with a queasy look.
Draco sighed, seeing that the potion was in a dreadful state.
He used to be good at this.
“Well, class dismissed! Don’t forget the essay on snake venom properties is due Friday!” Slughorn announced, prompting the room to erupt in the sound of bags opening and books shutting as students hurried toward the door.
“How did you manage this?” Theo asked while packing his supplies, his mouth drawn in a grimace as he eyed his book, as if the sticky potion still coated every page.
Draco’s face twisted in irritation.
“I don’t know, Theo. Maybe if you weren’t so useless in this class, you could’ve saved the damn potion,” he snapped, angrily shoving his books into his bag.
Theo opened his mouth, ready to argue, when Blaise interrupted.
“Can we go now?” he asked impatiently, approaching the table with Pansy trailing behind, giving Theodore a pointed look that made him roll his eyes.
“Let’s go,” Theo muttered, trudging out, followed by Pansy, who cast Draco a vaguely worried glance before leaving.
Draco stared at the gooey cauldron, noticing that Blaise lingered.
“You don’t have to wait for me,” Draco said bluntly, still organizing his things, now calmer.
“I don’t want to deal with you and Theo cursing each other the second I look away,” Blaise replied, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder and slipping his hands into his pockets.
Draco almost wanted to laugh at that.
As he closed his bag, he noticed Slughorn approaching again. The room was empty now, except for the Golden Trio whispering at a distance, making Draco’s lips curl in annoyance.
“Mr. Malfoy, a word?” Slughorn requested, turning to Blaise with a polite smile that all but asked him to leave.
Blaise glanced at Draco, who gave him a nod toward the door, and Blaise left, rolling his eyes.
“Professor,” Draco greeted, setting his bag back down on the table. “How can I help?”
“Oh, well, I took the liberty of borrowing one of Madame Pomfrey’s Calming Potions and… well, refining it,” Slughorn admitted, glancing around as if offering Draco something forbidden. He held out a vial of shimmering white liquid.
Draco took it hesitantly, looking confused as he glanced back at the professor.
“Sorry, sir, but why would I need this?”
“Well, you see…” Slughorn laughed nervously, smoothing his clothes over his rotund belly, looking embarrassed. “I’ve noticed you, Mr. Malfoy, have had some trouble keeping up this term,” he cleared his throat, forcing a smile at Draco. “And I wouldn’t want one of my potentially brightest students to be undone by a taxing week of exams.” He gave a knowing wink, and Draco’s expression darkened at the intrusion.
“I appreciate it, Professor, but I’ve already told you I’m not interested in joining your… club,” Draco replied, glancing sideways at Potter, who was now waiting alone at the other end of the room, looking impatient. He turned back to Slughorn. “And I’m sure I don’t need this.” He held the potion back toward the professor, who refused it, raising both hands.
“Oh, no, no, Draco, keep it; we all need a little help now and then.” The professor looked genuinely concerned, offering a smile that bordered on pity. Draco pressed his lips together, his scowl deepening at the use of his first name. “And as for my student gatherings, I’m sure your friend, Mr. Zabini, would love to have you there.”
Draco placed the vial in his bag, shouldering it with a clear intent to end the conversation.
“Thanks again, but no.”
A throat cleared behind them, and they both turned to see Potter, looking even more impatient. Merlin, Draco just wanted to leave.
“Oh, yes, Harry! I nearly forgot about you. Well, we’ll chat later, Mr. Malfoy.”
Draco forced a smile at Slughorn and quickly made his way out of the now stifling room.
He wandered through the corridors, slowly heading to the Great Hall, glancing around, though he insisted to himself that he wasn’t searching for Blaise. Many students roamed the castle, some in the courtyard, some sitting on the archways of the first-floor columns, others lounging on the grass, sharing homework or catching up on study notes. The afternoon was drawing to a close, around four o’clock, and the sky had taken on a golden hue. Sunlight filtered through the arched columns, casting a surprisingly calm atmosphere over Draco as beams of light played across his profile.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the serenity of the late hour fill his lungs and soothe his mind, imprinting the feeling in his memory.
“She’s awake!” A girl ran past, accidentally jostling his shoulder as she rushed toward another girl, her voice brimming with excitement. “Katie! She finally woke up!”
It was as if he had been stunned by a spell. Draco froze, all the blood draining from his hands. His breath quickened into shallow gasps, and he felt an overwhelming need to escape. His vision blurred as he turned sharply toward the Great Hall.
He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, loosening his green and silver tie, and ran a hand through his hair, his forehead breaking out in a sweat. What would Bell say now that she was awake? The question had haunted him every day since she fell into that magically induced coma. He didn’t know which was worse—if she woke up or if she didn’t.
Stumbling into the hall, his disorientation only grew when he found it filled with students. His eyes darted around, blinking rapidly as he searched for something he couldn’t identify.
Then his gaze landed on a girl with sunken eyes and thin cheeks.
Katie Bell was awake, standing, and the mix of relief and terror threatened to drown Draco. His breathing became ragged, desperate, his mouth gaping as his chest heaved. Bell was speaking to someone—a boy with glasses, perhaps—and Draco saw only a blur of green before he was running again, seeking the only place where he knew no one would be.
If you didn’t count ghosts, that is.
He didn’t stop running until he reached the prefects' bathroom on the second floor, where he threw off his school robe and tie, letting them fall atop his bag on the damp floor. He fumbled with the tap at the sink, his trembling hands barely able to twist it open, and splashed cold water onto his pale face.
He tried to avoid his reflection in the grimy mirror, then slid to the ground, leaning against the wall beside the sink and drawing his knees to his chest, hugging them tightly.
He broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, his hiccupping gasps wracking his body. His shoulders shook violently, and he swore he would shatter. If he cried hard enough, maybe the pain would drain from his body and take him with it, slipping out of the shell that called itself "me."
Desperately, as if a light had switched on in his mind, he reached into his trouser pocket, still sobbing, tasting the salty tang of his endless tears.
He looked at the wand in his pale hand, clutching it so tightly his fingernails turned white. Lifting the tip to the side of his head, he pressed harder than necessary, his lips parting to utter a spell.
But no words came. His mouth hung open, his jaw trembling, and the words caught in his throat, suffocating.
His arm fell limply to the ground, and another wave of anguish consumed him, leaving him hugging his knees tighter, sobs racking his chest.
After everything, he was still just a…
“Coward!” Bellatrix’s sibilant voice rang in his mind, making his sobs grow louder.
Until he heard footsteps splashing through the puddles. He raised his head abruptly, meeting bright green eyes that reminded him of the spring grass outside.
That familiar clash of blue and green made his head ache and spin.