Drifting into the Void

prologue

Prologue

The dark expands and contracts like lungs gasping for breath around Draco. His throat is vengefully dry and every intake of air makes his chest shudder and fall. Pain sinks into his left side, the curling finger tips of comfort the only thing he can make out as the darkness ensnares him once again. His body is splayed out on the familiar dank stone floor that has become an unexpected familiarity to him. Silence. Pain. Cold. That is what he knows, that is what keeps him here.

Sanity is a very careful thing to navigate. He seems to have kept whatever piece of himself that likes to talk because the thoughts that overtake his brain are never ending and constantly berating as if it were actually her speaking to him. He knows she is not real, at least not physically here with him. She is real somewhere -- somewhere far away and much safer than where he is. She has been inside his damn head since he could hear her high pitched cries seeping through the iron door that locks him in. The first sound in ages. Her screams were tortured, obviously not being treated kindly in his home.

Since her tone infiltrated his brain, it has been the only sound he can hear above his own thoughts, which now to think they are not actually sounds but just a consciousness somewhere in his slowly decaying head.

His breathing shallows. The pain can be ignored eventually, he's used to it. Used to being used and then dumped back into his cage like the fucking animal they treat him like.

Going to run off and tell Daddy about it?

Her snarky voice pierces the silence as if she had just said something out loud. He swears the sound waves vibrate off the stone walls as if she were real, but he knows. He is present enough to still keep reality from his insanity. He knows.

Can't do that anymore, hm? Daddy is dead isn't he? Dead because I killed him.

His heart rate spikes with sudden rage at the voice in his head. Of course the one person he could not stand to be around, the one person who is the cause of all this fucking bullshit is the one he is stuck with. The one living in his head. A fucking pest. An invasive parasite living in the very front of his mind. He knows she is a way to stay sane, but at the same time he'd rather just loose his mind than have conversations between himself and his made up version of Granger.

Shut up!

He hopes she'll just leave him alone this time. She is always stronger after he's been out. After he's seen her in reality. Alive, strong, fighting. But his hopes seem to always be crushed by the same eternal, fake weight.

Oh, it seems I've struck a chord. The big bad Grand Army General still hates his Daddy? Or is it that you still blame him? I know all about that brain of yours Draco, all the twisted little stories and sad endings. It's a shame you don't just blame yourself for your position. Your father's death meant nothing: nothing to me and nothing to Voldemort. You are the reason you are here, your torture is your own damn fault!

He heaves. His ribs hurt with the struggle to drag in a deep enough breath. The cage is smaller than it was two seconds ago, a moment of contractions before expansion. Merlin, fucking expand already!

Still talking to yourself Draco? You know I'll always be here. Talk to me.

He's at his brain's own mercy lying paralyzed by pain on the stone. One moment she'll be his subconscious bringing up his past to haunt him and the next she offers relief. She can be nice, but it only ever happens when his mind is so hazed in pain that his figment tries to soothe some inner ache.

Granger. He needs Granger to say nice things. He needs her calm voice, not her vicious one. Her voice mummering gentle soothing words can ease the tell tale sign of his impending unconsciousness. Just ease him down into the mass of darkness inevitable after a battle. Ease.

Alright, I'll be nice.