Expomise
- Binds objects together -
HE FOUND HIMSELF AS HE DID EVERY TIME - sprawled on the floor with a raging migraine and no idea to where he was. Shards disseminated as if he had swallowed pieces of glass. His body was aflame with propane and doused in shivers.
"Stay... awake."
His eyes were under oceans of salt and sticky balm that clung to his lashes. Colors daubed across his retinas and faded with concentration.
Who am I?
"Draco Malfoy." He sputtered.
"I am eighteen years old. I am the Malfoy heir. I can't... fail-"
The ceiling groaned in reply.
"The war is coming soon." He hated how small his voice sounded against the silence.
"The war..." a retched cough squeezed the remaining saliva out of his throat, "it's... coming-"
He felt it in his bones. All he had worked for climaxed on this future alone. He heard the secret hushed whispers at a young age of war, and the end of chaos. Now that he was older, he knew that he would play a part to it. Had there ever been a time he had not been fighting? Every breath he took was a replica of his Fathers, and each internal monologue was a controlled string resisting the urge to waver. His hands were tired of massaging the ropes in his mind. Yet again and again they captivated him with millions of doubts he could never fissure.
"I am.... The... graveyard boy...- in charge of the bodies. If my Father allows me, I will be officially in charge of Granger and... I will... be regarded highly by Lord Voldemort..."
I will carry on the proud legacy of my Father. I will be allowed to live.
"I-... I have to... do these things... I can't- fail. Not again. I can't-"
Fail.
He curled in on himself and waited for his limbs to remember how to function. The finite cracks in the ceiling peered at his form. He traced their mountainous curves and imagined he was rising above the hills and valleys into eternity.
God. He needed a quick broom ride. He could not recount the last time he had the chance to fly. There was not enough leisure time to fly- and when he did, the sarcophagi of bodies surrounding the trail to the Manor were unavoidable to get into the woods truly. Sometimes in his dreams he soared above the clouds, but only before falling back down to Earth. They all ended in nightmares and suffocating blankets.
A stray house elf whipped around the corner with a platter or wine glasses and crushed cigar butts. It almost tripped over Malfoy's flaccid legs. He wobbled around drunkenly before noticing Malfoy's misshapen form.
"Master Draco!" It shrieked.
Malfoy clamped his fingers over his ears.
The house elf spluttered wearily as if winding up a jack in the box before bulbous tears leaked over the edges of his eyes. Malfoy groaned. How pathetic- the elf was crying, and he was not even injured. It truly had no mind at all.
"Stop crying- Help me stand up."
"But sir- Master-"
"It's an order," he forced out. He applied pressure to his abdomen and pulled himself up against the wall.
YOU ARE READING
crybaby
RomanceHe would kill her. It was his task- his destiny. He despised her. He'd killed hundreds and dragged their corpses to the pit. She would be another tally marked; another body tossed aside. But her words haunted him even as she lived. "You need me."
