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barely breathing on the ground
you left my body to be found
“Sectumsempra!”
The spell hit Draco directly in the chest. Pain bloomed over his body and he faltered in his steps as he backed away from Potter. The water from their previous hexes hitting the sinks caused him to slip, and soon, the blond was on his back, staring up at the high towers of the bathroom. He tried to move, but found he couldn’t. The spell – whatever it was – caused slashes to form on his body and he realized he was weakening.
He was dying.
Draco tried to gulp in air, tried to take oxygen into his body, but sharp pain spread over him. He turned his head and saw his wand laying across his palm. His attempt to grip it was done in vain; his muscles wouldn’t listen to him. Or perhaps, the better phrase would be that they couldn’t obey.
Footsteps splashed through the water, fading away. Potter had left, then, Draco thought. The idiotic Boy Wonder fled from his actions, probably unable to watch his enemy die.
Coward.
The water around him took on a pinkish hue. Blood. Red blood. Pure blood. Leaking from his body. Slipping from his veins. Taken by a Half Blood who couldn’t even stomach watching it happen.
He could hear more footsteps now, voices yelling for help. He heard a girlish scream and wondered if it was Pansy or Daphne who might have seen him. And then a figure appeared, a tall shadow who looked at him in shock, in horror, in pure realization.
There was fear in Snape’s eyes, fury and anger, but onyx-colored eyes stared down at his student. The light was fading around him, Snape and some students blurring from Draco’s view. He opened his mouth to try to say something, but nothing came out, not even a moan or whimper.
Snape began to chant as he waved his wand over Draco’s prone body.
“Vulnera Sanentur.”
The blood, swirled in water, began to make its way back to Draco, seeping in through the cuts on his chest and stomach.
“Vulnera Sanentur.”
Cold, bony fingers swept over the miniscule cuts on Draco’s face. The young man gasped as he felt his skin begin to stitch itself back together again.
“Vulnera Sanentur.”
Draco shut his eyes, welcoming the darkness, as a new pain erupted in his muscles, in his bones. He wasn’t sure what was worse – being hit by the unknown spell or being healed from it.
i’ve been to hell and back
picked myself up from the ash
The school sent him home for a week to recuperate. It wasn’t protocol but Narcissa Malfoy was a force to be reckoned with, especially when it came to her only son. He slept the first two days, his body healing from his Head of House’s healing. On the third day, he sat up in bed and allowed his Mother to fawn over him, ate the soup made by the house elves, and moved slowly to take a shower for the first time in days.
On the fourth day, he walked through the Manor until he found his aunt in the drawing room, spinning and brandishing her wand in a mock-fight with only ghosts as her enemies. Draco watched her, eyes focusing on her arm movements.
“Aunt Bella,” he finally called.
She froze, her back to him, before she spun to face him. Her eyes were still crazed as though she were still fighting invisible wizards, but she pointed her wand to the ground. “Draco.”
They stared at each other for a beat, two, three, and then Draco walked toward her. His footsteps echoed loudly in the room, but every step brought a new emotion to the surface.
Annoyance.
Anger.
Determination.
Rage.
“Teach me,” he said. The two words were half command, half plea. Bellatrix lifted her chin and tilted her head. Her lips parted, first in awe then in amusement as she smiled. A giddy laugh left her mouth. “He needs to feel this pain, too.”
Bellatrix walked around him, brushed a hand over his shoulder, and made him want to squirm. But he stayed motionless. “Draco. How I’ve waited for this day.” She stood in front of him once more. “Your mother coddled you. Your father focused on the wrong things. But I – I can make you great.”
Draco shivered. This time, it was in anticipation.
a thousand blows are not enough
to keep me on my knees
“Again” Bellatrix said harshly.
Draco was on his knees, the air taken from his lungs from his aunt’s last spells, a hex that spun him through the air like a tornado and a slashing spell he’d never heard before. Though he managed to raise a protego, the force dropped him to the floor. From the edges of the room, Rodolphus and Rabastan laughed cruelly.
Though his body ached, he rose to his feet. Bellatrix stared at him, a smile forming when Draco shifted his attention to the other two men in the room. Their laughs tickled his brain, their presence an absolute nuisance. For some reason, they enjoyed watching his training and often poked fun at his lack of experience.
Not anymore.
“Crucio.”
He kept his voice low, barely a whisper, but soon, he would be able to cast the Unforgivable silently. It hit Rabastan and though the man dropped to the ground, Draco frowned. He knew it wasn’t as strong as it could be; he was stuck using his mother’s wand, lest the Ministry find Dark Magic on his own.
Rodolphus crashing into him was unexpected, the older and unhinged man tackling him to the ground like a common animal. They rolled, over and over, until Draco intoned “Expelliarmus” in a deadly voice. A wand flew into his left hand and he crossed them over Rodolphus’ neck.
“Nephew,” he croaked out.
Bellatrix stood behind Draco, pet him like a puppy, but she laughed. “Lovely, Draco. That was lovely.”
But the rage inside of him didn’t feel lovely. It was an inferno racing through his veins. It was the triumphant crowing of besting someone with more knowledge of spells, even if he’d been in Azkaban for far too long. The pride grew as Bellatrix pulled him back up, whispering to him that he would be ready soon, ready to begin a new age of destruction for their Dark Lord.
from fire buried deep
a soldier’s heart inside of me
Draco took the final step to the top of the Astronomy Tower and found Dumbledore standing by the window. Suspiciously, he looked around, knowing he’d heard the old man speaking to someone. The headmaster feigned stupidity, so as he began a slow pace back and forth, he twirled his wand and thought of the spell Dolohov had taught him, the one to sense hidden objects and things.
There.
A glance down the staircase showed empty space at first but then there was a slight movement and the toe of a sneaker appeared. Draco let a small smirk play on his lips as he turned his attention back to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore, who spoke of forgiveness and sides of a war. Dumbledore, who offered to help the young man. But it was too little, too late. Where he once would have groveled for assistance or refuge earlier in the year, Potter had changed all of that when he’d almost killed him.
“I don’t want your help,” Draco said simply. “I don’t need your help.”
“You are confused, my boy –”
“I’m not your boy . I never was, never will be.”
As though he could sense the torrent of Dark Magic in the boy, Dumbledore raised his wand. Draco whipped his wand up; without a word, Dumbledore’s wand went through the air, landing in Draco’s palm. Immediately, a surge of magic raced up his left arm.
A familiar cackle echoed in the tower just then. Bellatrix appeared, eyes bright with power and excitement, especially when she caught sight of the second wand in her nephew’s hand. She leaned into his ear, crooning, “Do it, Draco. Do what the Dark Lord has asked of you.”
Draco transferred his own wand to rest alongside Dumbledore’s in his left hand. Almost casually, he tugged up the left sleeve of his shirt until the Dark Mark could be seen. It undulated over his pale skin, as though it knew what would happen next. As if it knew this young man would do something that would allow him to rise in the Death Eater ranks.
“You do not have to do this,” Dumbledore told him, eyes sad. His gaze shifted. “Severus.”
But the Potions Professor merely stared. “It is out of my hands.”
“Enough of this,” Draco said in a growl. He took Dumbledore’s wand in his right hand, thinking it a bit of beautiful poetry to use the old man’s wand against him. He raised his arm, steady and sure, and spoke in a clear voice.
“Avada Kedavra.”
when you left me for dead
should’ve finished what you started
but instead you made a hero