Disclaimer: JKR owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Length: 526 words
Summary: Safety is an illusion.
Note: Originally written for a contest at hogsmeade_elite; the prompt was to write about a dream, using any character but Harry.
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.
Draco was falling.
He didn't know where he had fallen from or why, but that didn't make the whooshing in his ears or the swooping in his stomach any less real. Underneath the swirling confusion in his mind, there was a faint whisper, like leaves rustling in the wind. It told him he was
Draco hit the ground but didn't stop falling; he kept hurtling through layers of damp earth, rock, and then darkness so complete that it burned to keep his eyes open. When he closed them, he heard his mother's soft voice. Somewhere in this darkness, Narcissa Malfoy was crying: a pitiful sound, like that of a little girl lost in the woods, alone.
Draco opened his eyes and saw her standing just a few feet away from him, surrounded by a green-white nimbus. Her hands were crossed in front of her chest as though to ward off some unseen menace. Her eyes were open, white as a burial shroud.
"Mother?" Draco's voice was no more than a whisper, but he wanted to tell her that she was
He knew he would be lying.
Narcissa smiled, revealing a toothless, gaping hole in place of her mouth. There were swarms of black bees raging inside her, forming a column that gleamed in the ambient green-white light. The bees were buzzing, and their pitch rose higher and higher until Draco felt his ears pop. Warm, viscous liquid slid down his neck as the world fell silent. He touched his neck; his fingers came away slick with blood. At least he wouldn't hear the buzzing anymore. There was no pain, he was
Everything was a lie.
Lucius Malfoy came out of the darkness ahead of him, his face like a melting wax mask. There was a butcher's axe embedded in his forehead. He was smiling, too, but black blood streamed down his chin, staining his white robes with a hissing noise that formed into yet another whisper. "There, there, Draco. My only son. Come, stand by me. The Dark Lord will keep you
A pitiful moan Draco vaguely recognised as his own jolted him awake. He sat up, clutching the tatty, dusty blanket to his chest. There were tears streaming down his face and his heartbeat was loud in his ears. His back hurt in several places from sleeping on the lumpy sofa.
Spinner's End. A memory of the previous night's conversation with Snape floated to the forefront of his mind.
"I will give you a choice, Draco. Either you help me spy on the Dark Lord or you lose recollection of this conversation and go on as before. You have until tomorrow evening to make up your mind."
Snape had told him it would be
Draco bit down on the knuckles of his right hand and fought the hysterical laughter that had risen in his throat. Safety was an illusion; he understood that now. He also knew there would be no safety for him with the Dark Lord, not ever.
Tomorrow, he would take Snape up on his offer. Maybe someday he would at least feel safe again.