A Throne of Blood and Stars

Chapter Forty-Three

"Wow."

Draco ignores his best friend's bored tone, opts to shuffle through his trunk instead. He doesn't remember why he left the door open for Blaise to come in here and annoy him.

"Wow," Blaise says again, more pointedly. "Wow."

"What," Draco snaps frustratedly. "What is it?"

"Two days. Two days, Draco."

The blond turns, disregarding him, and starts moving the stuff around in his trunk again.

"You gave him the upper hand, he..."

"I had no choice," Draco roars, pushing his trunk so it slams shut against his bed frame. "I need him, Blaise. I need him. I have needed him since before I knew what was going to happen. And he needs me, too. I can not...survive. Without him. Not anymore."

"So you're moving in with him?"

"It is for the best."

"It's been, like, two days! And you fought for one of them! Draco," Blaise rushes forward to take his best friend's wrists to make him stop moving and face him. Draco's eyes are empty, emotionless, and it makes Blaise's heart hurt. "It is not safe for us to be separated. What am I to do, alone, during the night? And what of you? Do you think Potter will be able to keep you safe?"

Draco snatches his hands away, upset that Blaise is trying to keep him away from his mate. His mate. The person that he will spend the rest of his life with, that will keep him safe no matter what because it's his only reason to live.

He's not thinking, not really. He's just blinded by pure rage as he forces his left arm forward and shoves his sleeve back, revealing his arm.

And the Dark Mark.

Twisting and curling in his skin, itching just under the surface. It makes Draco cringe and he wants it off.

So he takes his pointer finger and stabs it into the middle of the Mark, his nail digging painfully into his skin, and he twists.

The burn is the least of his worries. It hurts, an excruciating singeing of the perimeter of the ink, but what's really bothering him is the voice in his head, the voice screaming, "Stop, stop, stop!"

It sounds disgustingly similar to Voldemort.

Blaise is watching him with an expression between shock and horror, his eyes flitting from his determined face to his arm.

The Dark Mark is twitching, buffering underneath his fingertip, as if it's in pain and doesn't know what to do.

Draco is shaking. There's sweat gathering on his forehead and his blond locks start sticking to it. He clenches his jaw, making his teeth hurt from how much he's trying to hold his screams in, but he keeps going.

He keeps going when the head of the snake starts to dissipate. The skull is churning from side to side, but the snake is curling around it, tightening, so it has nowhere to move. As it's vanishing, the color of Draco's skin starts to grey, and his eyes grow tired and sink into their sockets.

"Draco, stop!"

Blaise tries to move forward to make Draco cease, but he stumbles upon a barrier and he can't get through. He bangs his fists against it, his eyes locked on his best friend's shaking body. He sobs.

"Draco, please. Please, stop. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

His shivering makes his hairs stand up, and he looks down, mildly surprised at what he's doing. Most of the snake has disappeared, leaving a charred space of skin behind, and the more Draco presses his fingertip into it, the more the snake curls around the skull.