Painkiller - A Drarry Fanfiction

Part 010

Dying.

Through the silence, there's a consistently sharp beep in my ear—the sound of a flatlining heart monitor.

I've never been told I'm dying before. I don't consider it a common experience for anybody. It's a good thing that it isn't common. It should be uncommon. Someone telling you that you're dying faster than normal should be very uncommon.

Dying.

Dying? Just the word sounds off. It's very off. It's off because I'm not dying. How could I be dying? Why would anyone say that I am? Why would this wizard say that I am? Am I going to flatline?

Dying. Dying. Dying.

"No, I'm not." I hate how my voice cracks.

The wizard holds his hands in front of him firmly. He looks into the faces of everyone at the table, eyes soft yet precise. "I think you are."

I swallow. Why do I feel a laugh coming? "I'm not, though."

The wizard is looking straight at me now. "I'm sorry, but—"

The laugh arrives in a breathy chuckle. I throw down my fork. "Sorry for what? I'm not—" I turn to the Dursleys. Three wide-eyed faces look back. "I'm not dying! Look at me! Doesn't look like a dying person! It's pretty damn insulting you would say that and you would even consider that!"

The wizard takes a beat as if I needed a moment. "Do you ever get—"

"No!" I cut, coughing on another laugh. "No, no, no. Stop talking! You're wrong. I'm not magical, or dying."

"Please, H—"

The chair falls back as I stand from it, going down loudly. I kick it out of my way. "Don't you fucking start," I say, heading for my room. "Maybe you feel lied to, caseworker, but for all I care, you're the only liar here. If you think I'm going to believe a single word that comes out of your magical-ass, you're so delusional."

/////

I wonder how much harder I'm going to have to slam that door for it to break down. I'd say it's almost there. I lock it, but don't trust it again—the lock's apparently already there.

Locked in, soggy gray air on my skin, and heart pounding, I lay on my bed. Every bit of me touches the mattress as I spread my limbs out. I can feel the blood rushing from my toes to the cut on my finger. Another breath fills me—a laugh.

It's so insane that it's funny. Of course a wizard would assume someone's death—out of the blue, unprovoked. It's the perfect freaky thing for freaky people to say. Insane. Freak. Lies.

I sigh. Very funny.

Then, click. The door swings open. I told you I don't trust that—

The wizard stands in the doorway, his magic stick raised. His cheeks flush pink and fingers tense around the stick, he seems—trying to hide it, but—clearly frustrated. No more pretending to be a gentle social worker enchanting their way through to people's hearts, I suppose. Slowly, I sit up, eyes on the weapon he's pointing at my face.

"Don't walk out again," the wizard says, tone sharp. "Please."

I ignore him. "Put the stick down."

He ignores me. "I want to help you."

"I said, put the st—"

"You need my help."

Fuck this.

I stand, walk up, snatch the stick from the wizard, and toss it. The wood hits the floor's wood, clattering noisily. I hoped it would break, but it didn't. I hoped the wizard would back down, but he didn't. It's like the guy's unshakeable—not a blink from his magical silver eyes. "You need my help," he repeats, not calmly, but firmly.