𝗦𝗔𝗟𝗩𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 | 𝗗. 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗙𝗢𝗬

3.5

Carter

*    *    * TWO WEEKS LATER *    *    *

"Are you two getting on the train or what?" Pansy yelled out of the window just as the train was about to leave.

Headshaking, Carter started to walk faster and stepped on board while  Draco was following him.

He had barely eaten during the last few weeks. He wasn't hungry, like at all.

Was he sick?

Carter touched his forehead.

No, that wasn't it, then why, besides the whole dark lord situation, had he felt so depressed?

The black haired took a seat next to Draco in the compartment and remained quiet. He wasn't exactly in the mood for lovely chitchat about how their summer was.

He knew Draco was thinking the exact same thing.

No one could know about their tasks. Not even their friends.

The train started moving, but still, Carter decided to not say a single word.

Suddenly, the expected question came.

He stared at Blaise for a moment. "What do you think it's been like Zabini?" He spat, looking deep into his dark blue eyes.

Several memories came back once again.

And he hadn't been prepared for it.

Leyla dying.

Blood, lots of blood.

And more death.

Carter closed his eyes and turned toward the window.

He wasn't able to recall everything, he must've been in too much of a shock during that moment.

He wished to forget about it all.

"Having funerals during my vacation has to be the most amusant thing and on top of that-"

A hand instantly grabbed his arm, making him look down.

"We'll be right back," he said and with that, pulled Carter out of his seat and slid the door open.

The two Slytherins walked hand in hand to the back of the train.

It were the hands both of their Dark Marks were branded on. Meanwhile, Draco was holding a black suitcase in the other.

He wondered what was in it.

"Are you alright?" Even though he was worried, his tone sounded cold and tired.

The raven couldn't reply and weakly nodded.

"Carter I'm being serious."

Once, again, images of that day came back, but this time heavier.

Out of shock, he bumped against the wall. His eyes directly went to his hands.

He remembered it. The blood on his hands. They were trembling, Carter slumped down the wall.

"I killed her didn't I?" He whispered, thinking back.

"Leyla died because of me."

That was why he had been depressed lately, not Voldemort, not his mother.

But Leyla.

Laughter escaped his mouth, and he could instantly tell it wasn't the good kind.

Storm-gray eyes appeared in front of him, shaking him out of whatever it was that was happening.