𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑¹⁸⁺ | 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

48

[ CW - Talks of suicide, blood, aggression. ]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | "𝐍𝐨."

ϟ

I'm drowning in my own thoughts, endeavoring to ascend to the surface for a simple taste of oxygen. Scenarios and unrealistic schemes are yanking me down, wrapping its anguish around my ankles.

My eyes snap open.

I'm awake.

"Oh," a deep voice contributes to my absence of knowledge. "You're alive."

My clothes have been changed, dried to a crisp. A pair of grey cotton shorts with loose threads strung at the hemmings and a soft white tee.

The couch on which I have apparently slept on is brown, its material consisting of the tacky type of leather. It reeks of alcohol and unidentifiable foods— the hazardous smell crawls into my senses, causing a slight scrunch in my expression.

The organ of my brain pulsates as if it has been hand squeezed of its brainy-fluid. All I recall is pacing away from Draco, meandering around in the depths of the woodland areas, and sitting beside an enormous tree stump— crying, of course.

"Where— where am I?" My throat feels as though someone had rubbed sandpaper over my diaphragm, the muscles of my tongue drying like fragments of salt.

"Um," the man speaks, but I'm excessively caught up with gazing at the pale shade of my hands to utter my words. "My fucking building? Where else would you be?"

My eyes shift to the sound of the voice, "I was just asking, there's no need to be rude—" The progression of my voice plummets to the core of my stomach.

Theodore Nott's appearance has not altered in the slightest since I had last spotted him. Perhaps a change in the styling in his hair and a tweak in the length of his bodily height— but every other feature was identical to the boy I saw plastered all over the Daily Prophet. My god— I recall how everyone at Hogwarts clung so tightly to their copies of the newspaper.