Sorting Priorities (a Romione/Dramione Fic)

Chapter 18 • Just Close Your Eyes

Sparse, dead grass pressed into Draco's back, every dip and spike in the cold dirt sticking into his spine, reminding him of every blade an ally had stuck between his shoulders. Gently lapping waves hit the shore of the lake softly to his left, as if each small wave was a hand reaching out, begging him to join them. And oh, how he did want to join them, to hide in their depths, to never face his demons again.

A cold breeze brushed against his cheeks and scratched at the cracking branches above him, causing the tracks his hot tears had burned on his face to turn to ice. The branches clacked and whined as they rubbed against each other, a discordant symphony of dead and dying wood, the dried out sticks barely clinging to their brothers and sisters.

Velvety blackness stretched as far as he could see above the branches, pinpricks of stars twinkling benignly so, so far away. So far away. The fathomless distance, trillions upon trillions of miles; miles that Draco's existence didn't affect; millions of insignificant lives stacked one atop the other, the bemoaned failures of every human presence on this earth--every malicious emotion and every saddened thought all barreled together to hit Draco in his chest. Again and again. Every second, Draco's pathetic, worthless, infinitesimal reality cannoned into his abdomen, bringing with each new arrival a fresh flood of tears.

He had been lying beside the grasping hands of the lake; below the wailing branches of the tree and the inconceivable miles of the night sky and above the stabbing knives of the earth for what felt like every eternity since the beginning of time. But however long he had really been settled there, he had been given plenty of time to recognize his harrowing position.

He had lost the only person he had truly felt for and cared about in a long time. Her beautiful face, soft hair, softer skin, and independent personality that had resolved his love for her in the first place were all gone. His life was gone. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing. Not his abhorrent family, not his school, not even his friends. Nothing really mattered. He'd let go of any likelihood of a real career once he'd been forced into the Dark Lord's service.

Maybe that was all he had left.

Draco tried to pick himself up from the cold ground, but his failure hit him again, bringing on more tears. Finally, he made himself let go of the pain. He shut his swollen eyes, cutting off his view of the branches and the sky. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. He'd count to three and let it all go. One...Two...Three....

He opened his eyes and shakily stood up. Clouds had rolled over the sky. The branches were still. The lake no longer seemed to be beckoning him into its depths. He took a cleansing breath of air, erasing the plague of doubts. He picked up his wand. Nobody could stop him. He had nothing left to lose anymore.

Draco stormed through the castle with an air of purpose and reckless abandon, taking deep, forceful breaths to keep himself focused. He didn't allow himself to think about what he was about to do; he didn't want to turn back. As he passed busts of witches and wizards, suits of armor, and portrait upon portrait, he finally came to the seventh-floor tapestry. He stopped and began to pace.

He took slow, measured steps and gathered his thoughts. When he passed the blank wall the third time, a door began to form. Stone turned to wood, and wood to iron. Finally, the door was ready. Draco reached out and turned the knob, opening the door to a room cluttered with books, cabinets, and various other illegal memorabilia.

He passed a seven-legged deer. Turn left. He caught sight of an old Greek column topped with a smattering of pink mold. Second right. Landmarks told Draco which turns to take, and he eventually came to the old vanishing cabinet. He took another cleansing breath and set to work, telling himself again that he had nothing left to lose.