hallucinate.
Draco Malfoy was standing with his back to the door, his hands clutching either side of the sink, his white-blonde head bowed. It was too much- too much and he'd never been so frightened in his life. He was coming apart at the seams- he couldn't do this. He couldn't and he would be letting everyone down--
“Don’t,” It was the ghost. Moaning Myrtle. God only knew how many times he had fled to this particular bathroom, with nothing but phantom whispers to soothe an ache he couldn't speak of. “Don’- tell me what’s wrong - I can help you -”
“No one can help me,” Draco gasped. His whole body was shaking. “I can’t do it- I can’t- it won’t work- and unless I do it soon- he says he’ll kill me-”
Draco didn't cry very often. At least not liket his, every sob wrenching his gut, tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin. He gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into the cracked mirror, and saw someone staring at him over his shoulder.
It didn't register at first who it was, fear and anxiety and stress and panic- Draco wheeled round, drawing his wand. It was all reflex, instinct, and he wasn't even sure which hex he threw at Potter, but it missed by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall beside him instead. Everything was blurred and hazy around the edges, and while he had the presence of mind to block Harry's spell, his hands were shaking when he raised his wand again-
“No! No! Stop it!” Moaning Myrtle was screaming, her voice echoing loudly around the tiled room. “Stop! STOP!”
Everything was happening too fast, explosions and panic and for the love of Merlin why now why now-- and Potter just kept coming at him- then the cubicle exploded and water was everyone and Potter was down and Draco had to stop him. Draco's heart wrenched, his gut lurching, he could taste hatred and fear in his mouth and he had to stop this boy-
"Cruci-"
“SECTUMSEMPRA!”
Heat.
Searing heat and his face- chest- split open like a Death's scythe cutting him down. It crashed around his shoulders like an anvil, knocked the wind from him and he was seeing crimson but that wasn't just him, was it, cause he could feel something warm and sticky running down his face, throat, chest, stomach-
His wand dropped from limp fingers, staggering, legs giving out to land heavily on the floor and blood in his fingers and arms and the water was supposed to be clear not red--
“Don’t,” It was the ghost. Moaning Myrtle. God only knew how many times he had fled to this particular bathroom, with nothing but phantom whispers to soothe an ache he couldn't speak of. “Don’- tell me what’s wrong - I can help you -”
“No one can help me,” Draco gasped. His whole body was shaking. “I can’t do it- I can’t- it won’t work- and unless I do it soon- he says he’ll kill me-”
Draco didn't cry very often. At least not liket his, every sob wrenching his gut, tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin. He gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into the cracked mirror, and saw someone staring at him over his shoulder.
It didn't register at first who it was, fear and anxiety and stress and panic- Draco wheeled round, drawing his wand. It was all reflex, instinct, and he wasn't even sure which hex he threw at Potter, but it missed by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall beside him instead. Everything was blurred and hazy around the edges, and while he had the presence of mind to block Harry's spell, his hands were shaking when he raised his wand again-
“No! No! Stop it!” Moaning Myrtle was screaming, her voice echoing loudly around the tiled room. “Stop! STOP!”
Everything was happening too fast, explosions and panic and for the love of Merlin why now why now-- and Potter just kept coming at him- then the cubicle exploded and water was everyone and Potter was down and Draco had to stop him. Draco's heart wrenched, his gut lurching, he could taste hatred and fear in his mouth and he had to stop this boy-
"Cruci-"
“SECTUMSEMPRA!”
Heat.
Searing heat and his face- chest- split open like a Death's scythe cutting him down. It crashed around his shoulders like an anvil, knocked the wind from him and he was seeing crimson but that wasn't just him, was it, cause he could feel something warm and sticky running down his face, throat, chest, stomach-
His wand dropped from limp fingers, staggering, legs giving out to land heavily on the floor and blood in his fingers and arms and the water was supposed to be clear not red--