I have to do this, don't you see?
He'd been scratching at it all day.
Red welts raising up starkly on pale skin. Faintly tanned skin. The face that looked back at him in the mirror was a stranger. Hair turning golden, his skin darkening subtly, he looked more beach bum than Malfoy.
Sitting on the closed toilet lid, he stared down at it, fading to almost nothing. One day maybe it would be gone, the poison washed from his system, swirling in rivulets of black ink down the drain. It and everything it stood for, flushed like the foul sewage it really was. Tracing the edge of the serpent with one thumbnail -- his manicure was in serious disrepair -- he snorted out a bitter laugh, shoved angrily to his feet and stormed dramatically out of the bathroom stall.
It itched. It burned, and he wondered hysterically if he could have it removed. Bleached, seared, cut away. There had to be someone whom he could bribe into doing it. But he was distracted, thankfully, by the package sitting lonely on the bathroom counter.
A package wrapped in brown paper, water-stained and wrinkled. It sat there, mocking him, and even though his mind screamed at him to walk away, to leave it be, he stepped toward it anyway.
Inside, was a familiar black leather satchel, tasteful but not extravagant, and though he already suspected what was inside, he pulled back the flap with numb fingers, shaking the parcel gently until the necklace tumbled out into the basin with a clatter.
Draco let out a startled yelp and stumbled backward, his spine colliding jarringly with the metal partition behind him. It was innocent enough. An opulently lacy gold necklace, tarnished black with age and inlaid with dozens of impressively large blue opals. It was innocent enough, but it had nearly killed a girl, just a pretty trinket with a flimsy death curse locked inside.
Pushing off the wall, muttering to himself, Draco paced the floor of the basement bathroom, the soles of his shoes squeaking on every turn. Turning one last time, he caught his reflection in the mirror, his hand slamming against the glass hard enough to make it clatter loudly, but not break. He yowled with pain, with anger, and slumped against the sink, staring down at the necklace crumbled around the drain.
Someone -- an idiot, he didn't care which one, took that moment to interrupt.
"Don't you know how to knock?" he roared. His eyes were puffy and red, but it was allergies. Nothing more.
[[He's found his second item, in the level 3 (psyc. office level) bathroom. This post is open to all, but he's much more vulnerable than usual, so don't expect him to be anything but hostile. Friends, if he has any, are most welcome. ST/LT also a-okay.]]