Dead and Alive (Drarry)

Chapter Three

Draco was awoken by the soft breeze against his face. Binking awake, he opened his eyes to an unfamiliar brick room. He began to panic before the memories came rushing back. He remembered breaking into the hospital, being attacked, and then following Potter back to his room.

Draco sat up, raising his arms towards the ceiling and arching his back. He let out a large yawn and fell back down. He really didn't feel like getting up at the moment. There were too many thoughts running through his mind at the moment, scattering his thoughts across his brain.

Finally giving up on his useless thoughts, he stood up and walked to the window. Looking out onto the dark and dreary courtyard sent shivers up his spine.

Ever since the outbreak, it seemed the sun had disappeared. Every day was bleak, dark storm clouds littered the sky, blocking out any light. Days were nights, and night were days. Perhaps it was on purpose, a sign that time was irrelevant, they would all be dead soon anyway.

Draco sighed, inhaling the tainted air in the atmosphere. It smelled of chemicals and garbage, the strong scent causing his nose to burn.

A soft rustling to his right caught his attention. There on the floor beside him was a small bag. He reached forward, grabbing the strings and pulled. Inside was a few small note books of all sizes and colors. Sitting down, Draco pulled one of the smaller books from the bag and opened it.

Written within the pages were what looked like notes from multiple people. Each page had small paragraphs switching from neat handwriting, to slightly messy, and then to barely legible.

Draco realized the different people were communicating with each other.

Turning to the first page, he began to read.

Harry, you'll never guess what happened today. Dean and I were racing on the rooftops, and Dean suddenly tripped and fell. And landed into a fountain below. It was so funny, you should have been there. He was all soaked and wet! He looked like a drenched puppy!

That sounds great Ron

Hey what's wrong?

Nothing

Are you still caught up in what happened yesterday?

I just can't stop thinking about it Ron. It was a child. I killed a child. I just-

Potter's sentence cut off and Draco could see wrinkles in the paper were tears once fell.

I know, but you can't think of it like that. It was an infected nothing more. If you didn't take that shot, Neville would have died. You saved his life. That thing was not a child, it may have looked like one, but the virus ate away it's conscience. It was only a host for the parasite, so don't feel guilty

I know. You're right. Thank you Ron, you're a good friend

Ha ha I try to be. But you know that I will always be there for you, you just got to say the word

Thanks mate. I'll see you in the morning

Alright, goodnight

Ron Weasley. Draco recognized the boy who was known for being the best kicker on the team, and Potter's best mate. Draco had hated him almost as much as Potter, and made fun of him whenever he had the chance. He remembered all the horrible things he said about the poor boy's appearance and family. He was pretty sure he even wrote a terrible song about him.

However, he knew why he did those things. Yes now he regretted it. But at the time he thought his actions were perfectly reasonable. He had seen Weasley and Potter smiling and laughing, and he felt jealous, because that's all he'd ever wanted. To belong. To have friends. One's that would always be there for him. To make jokes with and laugh. It took him almost six years to realize he would never have that.

Which is why he moved on. Went into hiding, away from everyone, even his parents.

Although it was difficult to hide when he had a father that was part bloodhound.

He found Draco after a few months, and brought him back to one of their facilities that he had build shorty after the virus. Draco had lived there for almost six months. After Draco's mother fell waste to the virus, it took a long time before Lucius had trusted him enough to send him out on supply runs, even going as far as putting a tracker on him for the first few weeks. But of course that didn't stop him, and he had tried to escape a total of eleven times. Every time his father would lock him up in his room like a child and tell him to think about what he'd done. It was by the seventh week that he finally snapped out of his rebellious phase.

He started following orders, helping out whenever he could. In his mind it was almost like a fresh start. For once in his life he was doing something for someone other than himself.

One day his father spoke to him about leading the supply runs. And that day, when Draco had come back with triple the amount of supplies than their usual run, his father had given him a look of actual pride.

That look was what kept him going. Without it, he probably would have given up a long time ago.

He sighed running his pale fingers through his hair, and turned towards Potter's still form.

He watched as his chest slowly rose and fell, the soft rhythm of his breathing filling the otherwise silent room.

He shouldn't be here, he thought.

You don't belong here

The voices were back. Softly whispering into his ear. Their world cut like knives, drowning him in his own blood.

He tried to quiet them. Had taken every pill, every drug. But nothing worked. They always came back.

Pathetic

Worthless

Disappointment

Selfish

They screamed at him. Awful things. And as their words rooted themselves into his already cracked mind, he began to believe them.

What was he doing here. He should leave.

Grabbing his bag, as well as his jacket from Potter's lap, he walked to the door.

He reached the door, his hand hovering above the handle.

Turning back around, he gave Potter one last look.

"Thank you," he whispered.

And then he was gone.