Coughing, he woke up to ash and dust all the same. Another cough and it swirled around him, tumbling off the fabric of his dark cloak and from the blonde locks of his hair. The remains of smoky ash from the fire was painting the side of his pale face that was cuts on random spaces from when the glass exploded. Grey and crimson was what tainted his hand as he tried to wipe it off. One more cough—one desperate, almost wheeze–and Draco Malfoy was shakily attempting to lift himself up to his bruises elbows. Silver eyes flickered around but it was all a blur.
The world was a blur. H
e didn’t even know what he was fighting for anymore.
..what he believed in.
Heavy breaths only made his ribs hurt even more as dry coughs continued out of him from the ruins he laid in with a broken posture and his lungs were filled with the product of the fire. [ The fire. ]
Blinking his eyes once, he saw a deep red then a flash. His ears rang endlessly and it wasn’t because they popped—it was because it was the last sound his friend made.[ No! Not friend. T r a i t o r. ’Who cares what you think? I don’t take orders from you any more. Uou an’ your dad are finished.“ —damn him! DAMN HIM TO THOSE FLAMES!] The git…the damn git had made his own death! He brought this to himself–!
Looking around wildly, stiff muscles were forming like a machine. He saw Goyle sitting there…breathing…barely. The prat seemed to not have the energy to get up and the entire being of Draco wanted to storm over there, bring back his leg, and give him a good kick to the face till blood prayed from him and spluttered to half-consciousness. A wave of betrayal tattooed itself on the blond’s heart….years of having Thing One and Thing Two, only for them to mock him once the tables were turned. They both should have died in the fire!
[Or maybe it was him who should have.]
War. War was going on around him. He couldn’t have time to ponder what should or what shouldn’t have happened. He needed to act and act fast. One look out a broken window that littered fragments of glass showed the sky being as deadly red as the blood being spilled on enemies and comrades alone—-if…he had any comrades. Oh hell, he had failed again….Where was his wand? WHERE WAS HIS WAND?!
A curse came flying past his head and with a >>CRACK<< it bursted the pillar beside him, noted with wide silver eyes as his cloudy vision was clearing up.
”—fuck.“ he breathed before he began to race off. He wanted to go in one direction, to try and find a Deatheater that would recognize him as the Malfoy heir—maybe spare him. Maybe. But no….no…bad idea. The multiple colour lights blinded him and even if he had a wand, it didn’t look like a great idea.
Then, suddenly…he heard a rumble around the corner. Beneath his retreating feet to find somewhere away from it all, it grew. Candlers began to rattle and there was an inhuman scream as cracks started appear in the floors and stone walls alike. Dark Magic was being played with….and it was going out of control every chance it got. How soon would it finally end him? He didn’t even bother with Goyle—right now there was a war
and he needed to s u r v i v e.