tick-tock | a drarry tale

XXI.

Harry was restless. As his roommates slept peacefully, he was wide awake, staring up at the ceiling. He was too afraid to fall asleep, with what happened last time when Voldemort was fiddling with his head. It pained him to think this, but he couldn't trust himself. Voldemort was after him, and Harry wasn't planning on playing his game.

He rolled to his side, and curled himself into a fetal position. To keep his mind drifting to the Dark Lord, Harry decided to think about Draco.

Draco...

Just thinking his name sent shivers down Harry's spine. He last saw him earlier in the day, leaving him behind in the corridor. He had no idea how to think of their situation: Draco stuck in some sort of agreement, doing what, Harry didn't know; Draco's dad being the one who made him agree; Draco possibly perishing. Harry was both angry and curious. The anger, he understood, but his curiosity? Why was he curious about Draco's predicament? He was worried for Draco's health. Telling Harry that he could die from whatever vow he made was very unsettling and nerve-racking.

Why would he make a vow that could cost him his life? Harry thought irritably. It didn't make any sense.

He touched his scar gently with his fingers, tracing the pattern; he knew what it looked like by now. It was a daily reminder of his parents' death and of the Dark Lord. Harry wasn't very self-conscious about it, but it still made him grimace whenever he thought of it or when someone would bring it up. Okay, maybe he was a little.

A rush of warmth flooded through him, causing him to shift and shudder. His heart was beating at an abnormal rate, and he could swear he heard it pounding in his chest. How could any of his roommates still be asleep? He was sure he was making a lot of noise.

He added more pressure to his scar, which started to burn.

Please, he thought, scrunching his eyes shut. Not again.

He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness. He rolled over onto his back and gazed up at the ceiling. As he stared into oblivion, he tried to close his mind.

Close out all emotions, memories, thoughts. Think of empty space. Be in space. Put a barrier between you and the threat. He closed his eyes, fidgeting slightly.

But the threat was stronger.

It was like he was enveloped in whiteness, as if he fell through a hole and all around him was the color of snowfall. His ears popped, his stomach twisted and churned. Then he was flying forward, flying fast through oblivion. His speed increased, and he heard the sound of hollowing wind. He squinted his teary eyes, trying to make sense with what was happening. But he couldn't think. In fact, he couldn't do anything. His body was limp as it soared into nothingness.

Then everything came into focus. He abruptly stopped, his whole body whiplashing. The white disappeared, and in its place was a dim hallway, leading to a door. Harry's stomach dropped; he knew that door. His feet carried him towards it and he slipped inside.

"What's going on?" he tried to ask aloud, but nothing came out. He tried to stop his stride, but his legs had different plans. His vision became cloudy. It was like he was watching something from a movie; he couldn't control a thing. All he could do was watch.

He went through a couple more doors, then entered what looked like to be a very large storage room, which contained endless mounds of glass orbs. His body guided him down the nearest aisle, knowing what it's doing. Harry tried to dig his heels into the cold, hard flooring, but he wouldn't stop.

There was a soft groan, causing Harry to slow down. The groaning turned into cries for help. They were soft and inaudible; Harry, on the inside, couldn't place a face to it.