𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑

the one with the ressurection stone

“Only those who stand
out of the frame see the
full picture.”

•

THE FIRST FEW seconds, Draco didn't feel anything. As he stared at the Death Eaters he and Skylar had taken down, all he could feel as the adrenaline drained from him, was exhaustion and fear. The thought that Skylar might have been right when she said to let them win was dawning on him, as did the fear of losing his parents who were in the Manor with Voldemort. The first few seconds, all Draco felt was anticipation as he felt like someone drew a cold blade across his skin, and the pain hadn't set in yet, but it was about to.

The next few seconds however, he was kneeling on the ground, ripping his sleeves apart, as he screamed with pain looking at the blood gush out from his Dark Mark as if it wanted to drain him completely. The pain was more than he could've ever imagined. The pain was of all the Cruciatus he was hit with during Christmas Break, all combined together into one big jar of brutal torture.

The next few minutes were the worst. He was hurled up by someone huge- probably Rubeus Hagrid-and all the time he was being carried to the hospital wing, he clutched his arm, screaming in agony, as the blood drained out. By the time he was in the Hospital Wing, he was scratching with his other arm at the Dark Mark, trying to peel it off, rip it apart, anything to stop the pain.

Someone grabbed his arm when he was lying on the hospital bed, next to Bill Weasley-he didn't know what had happened to him, but he looked mailed and decapitated. He heard a lot of voices shouting on top of each other. He heard Harry Potter narrating the events of how Draco had fought off the Death Eaters, how Draco told Dumbledore he'd keep his vow even if Dumbledore died, how Draco faltered when Dumbledore asked him to do it, how Draco had jumped in front of Skylar to protect her from the Death Eaters. How Draco had knowingly sold his life away. Nothing mattered anymore, Draco thought. Nothing could stop what was happening. He didn't even know what was happening.

His free arm was held aside by someone-Ron Weasley, he saw through his tears-to stop him from ripping his other arm off. He shouted as something sizzling and cold was lathered on his bleeding Mark. He screamed as it only antagonized the wound and didn't stop the bleeding.

He heard Skylar running in, pushing everyone aside, tears in her blazing eyes. He saw as she whipped out her want and climbed on top of him, straddling his waist.

"Give him blood replenishing potions!" she shouted at Madam Pomfrey who, deeply shaken up by the death of Dumbledore, shakily ran to her inventory. He thrashed against his bed, to no avail, as Skylar, Ron and Theo-when did Theo come?-held him down. His throat hurt but it was nothing compared to the pain in his wrist. If he could, he would exchange anything for this pain to stop.

"It's going to be okay," Skylar said, her tears falling on his neck. "Just a little bit more."

Something cold and bitter touched his lips. He swallowed it immediately and felt the weakness from the loss of blood go away. And then it came back, as the blood drained from the wound again. More Potion was fed to him as he unwittingly drank them all.

And then, Skylar pointed her wand at his wrist and said, in a sold incantation, her voice breaking as she choked and cried for him, "Desdemorae!"

A blinding red light, like a million urns of sunlight, poured out of her wand, and caressed his Mark, filling around it like orange rivers of ancient magic, and filled him with warmth and serenity. The pain dulled infuriatingly, and, with one last wail of agony, he fell back to his bed, and darkness swallowed him whole.