[Fic] Untitled [HP] [Draco]
When he wakes, panting, in the middle of the night he clutches at his chest and breathes deeply, waiting for his racing heart to slow down. Slowly, his hands slide down over his pajama top over his torso, until they finally rest limp in his lap. He squirms, sighing in frustration. He hates the sensation of pain that isn't really pain.
It's more like.. the memory of pain. It's a faded ghost that leaves him unsure of what it is exactly that hurt. Eventually, he lays back down, absently rubbing at the faded scratch he got from Buckbeak, if only because he can't figure out what else could hurt. In the end the whole bothersome episode just reassures him that he's no wimp to run from anything that might bring pain.
All of his life, as far back as he can remember, there's been a small voice in the back of his head reminding him that pain is horrid and that he should do everything in his power to avoid it .. to run .. to .. to something.
That is why Father is making sure that mangy beast of Hagrids can never hurt him again.
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It's not fair how quickly his good times are ripped away from him. Just when he's about to get some peace of mind by watching the beast who attacked him be killed, the golden trio makes it's appearance.
Just like that he's forced back into the dream. This is going to hurt. There's going to be pain, and he can't even stand the thought of it, screwing his face up, clenching his eyes shut tight and hyperventilating. He's whimpering, and he knows he must sound pathetic, but what does it matter. She's got her wand pressed tight under his chin, and whatever she does is going to hurt and he's scared.
He's scared enough to feel the tiniest bit grateful that Weasley is telling Granger 'No.'
He's even relieved when he feels the wand at his throat being pulled away.
He's ready to crack a joke, call them cowards and saunter off, but there's that little voice in the back of his head telling him he's foolish. Foolish to trust .. Foolish to feel relieved.
Foolish to think he can get away, and it doesn't even shut up when pain radiates from the fist smashed into his face.
The second he's able, he's up and running. Let them laugh. Let them say what they like, he'll get them back later. His face hurts, and there are tears in his eyes. He wants to curl up until the pain goes away. Later he can curse them. He'll insult them, and their parents until they cry.
At least they get to cry. Father's voice in his memory calmly reminds him not to cry. It doesn't look good and it just begets pity and morbid curiosity.
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It hurts. All across his chest, it hurts and he can't think beyond that. He can't even form words. He just lays there in a pool of his own blood, eyes wide open, and hoping he just dies. Death is the end of pain isn't it? Someone is screaming and he wonders if it's himself. It certainly hurts enough to make him scream.
Except.. he's too scared to scream. Mortified that he won't bleed out fast enough and that'll mean more pain. More and more pain until he dies. He tries to will himself to die faster, but doesn't know if it actually works or not.
God damn Harry Potter. Damn him over and over.
God damn his horrid, wonderful, evil, great sense of timing.
No more cabinets that won't work. No more stress. No more anything. All thanks to Harry Potter. Savior of the Wizarding World.
Draco damns him to hell, because he never wanted to be on the list of people Saved.
Who wants to be saved by a boy who won't even accept an offered handshake?