He threw open his bedroom door and stared down the corridor. Craig’s padlock was rattling, the links of the chain clanging against the worm-eaten wood of the threshold. He hadn’t seen him yet - there was still time to get out.
A fevered sickness crept over him, his eyes blurry when trying to focus on the front door to the flat. He clutched at his stomach, and, not for the first time since he had escaped from Hogwarts, he reached into his pocket for his wand. Shaking fingers gripped the slim stave as the boy fought back every temptation to scream hexes at Craig’s door, to silence him, then to simply vanish into thin air.
Over the past few days he had been wrestling with the idea of using his magic to disappear, to alter his appearance so that he could not be recognised and then apparate to Canada or Australia, or some remote island far away. But the newspaper proved that the Ministry of Magic was searching for him, or at least, Voldemort was. And what did they say that night… that group that were fighting for - for -
“Oi!” The chain had finally been broken. “What you up to?”
He didn’t stay to give an answer, but dived past the growling man to the end of the corridor, ignoring his shouts and curses, and slammed into the wooden panels with a crack. His head spun violently, and he clutched at his temples before heaving himself to his feet. He glanced behind him, willing his vision to force itself into focus, and saw Craig cock his head to one side, his square chin sagging to the stained material of his shirt. He blinked his beady eyes stupidly, then turned and plodded into the kitchen.
Draco gulped, feeling his clothes sticking to the sheen of cold sweat coating his skin. He was shivering now, his teeth chattering together so loudly he felt he could hear nothing else. The bite on the back of his neck itched again, and he slapped a hand feebly at the tiny lump.
The carpet itched between his toes and he suddenly realised that he was not wearing any shoes. No shoes… how could I have forgotten? No shoes…
Someone was banging on the front door.
“Can you let me in? There’s something wrong with the keys… I can’t shift the door!” It was Alice’s voice, right on the other side of the wooden panels, though Draco heard her as though she was miles away. “Craig! Craig are you in there?!”
No, no I can’t let her in! …The story... the picture… No!
The banging on the door was growing fainter and fainter as Draco continued to stare at his bare feet shuffling awkwardly on the ruined carpet. No shoes… how could I have forgotten..?
Something gave a great shove at the front door, and Draco found himself being heaved forward, toppling onto his side. He blinked upwards, his face contorting in the terrible agony overwhelming him in short, sharp bursts. He saw a mass of dark hair lean over him, Alice’s inimical stare softening as she uttered a stifled gasp. She was shouting something, but the boy could no longer hear her.
Sprawled on the uneven nylon carpet of the flat’s hallway, he closed his eyes.
“What the Hell’s going on?! What have you given him?!”
“Nothing…”
“Nothing? Nothing! I’m not stupid, Frank!”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Oh very funny! We’ve got a dead boy in our house and he’s making jokes!”
“He’s not dead!”
“Well, he bloody looks like it…”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“That’s what I just asked you! Bleedin’ Christ - what the Hell are we going to do?!”
“Take him to hospital?”
“Oh, yeah, right - and how’re we going to get there? Carry him through the flamin’ streets of London?! Besides… I don’t want anyone else to know about this. They might ask questions…”
“They’re going to ask questions if we just leave him here.”
“Too right.”
“Will you two shut up! I’m trying to think…”
“Here, what’s that?”
“What?”
“That newspaper article… I thought you weren’t s’posed to take ones from your shop.”
“What the bloody Hell has it got to do with you? Anyway, it’s hardly important now, is it?”
“Well, I don’t know - why’re you holding it?”
“Look, Craig, will you just shut up.”
“Sorry…”
“That really isn’t helping… Oh God I think he’s waking up! Drake!”
“His bleedin’ lips are blue…”
“Shut up. Drake! Drake, mate, are you alright?”
There was an unintelligible gurgle from the boy lying on the floor. He had managed to open his eyes but could barely see a thing, a hazy blur hanging across his vision like a net curtain. Every bone in his body was searing with an incomparable pain. He tried to move his mouth to say something, and found his lips felt almost numb.
Alice was shouting, her tone verging on hysterical. “You two - get some water or something!”
“…what?”
“I don’t know - a towel, cloth - water! Get him some bloody water!” She put a hand on Draco’s forehead and flinched backwards almost instantly. “Christ, he’s freezing. How long has he been like this? Drake! Drake wake up!”
The sound of heavy footprints leaving the room sent thudding vibrations along the hall carpet to Draco’s ears. He forced his vision into focus, attempting to move his arms and legs but finding that he could not. “Alice…?”
“Yeah, Drake. What is it? What’s wrong with you?”
Now he noticed the newspaper she was holding in her hand.
“Alice… please, you can’t tell anyone…”
“What?” She looked down to what he was staring at, and unfolded the article to reveal the smirking portrait. “Oh… so it is you?” She seemed to move ever so slightly away from him, as though suddenly frightened of what he might do.
“Alice, you’ve - ah! - you’ve got to believe me -” the back of his neck was aching unbearably, spasms of pain shooting down his spine with every effort to breathe or speak. “- Alice - I didn’t do it! -”
“It’s alright, it’s alright…” On seeing his agony her relapse of fear seemed to fade, and she leaned forward again. “But it is you? So, the police are looking for you?”
“Yes! But -”
“Shh!” she hissed, as Craig rumbled from the kitchen back to his bedroom. “Get me a bloody towel!” she called after him, then dropped her voice to a low, urgent whisper. “Look, Drake, I don’t care what you did - or didn’t - do, but we can’t just leave you here. There’s something seriously wrong with you. Now, you’ve got to tell me, did you find any bags or anything lying around here? Any powder or… anything green?”
Draco gave a loud cough, at which Alice screwed up her nose. “No,” he croaked. “Nothing. I’m fine - look, you’ve got to let me go -”
“Shut up, you’re not going anywhere. You can’t even bloody stand…” she placed her index fingers underneath his jaw and began tilting his head from side to side, examining the skin around his nose and eyes. She took hold of his shoulder and rolled him halfway onto his side, as though to get a better look at his ears, then -
“Jesus! What have you done to your neck?!” She continued to mutter obscenities under her breath, while cautiously prodding at the tangled mess of blue veins and blood that was visible beneath his skin. “Oh, Christ… I don’t know what this means except - I think we can safely take you to a hospital, mate. Sheesh…”
“No!” Draco spluttered, clawing at her arm which was still holding him by the shoulder. “Someone will recognise me… you can’t! The reward!”
“Reward? Oh, yeah… that.” Alice was not really listening to him, still too preoccupied with the infection that had sprawled out from where a tiny bite had been before. Something clear was seeping from a pin-prick pore on his skin, which was purpled like a bruise. “Will you stop worrying about that! I told you, I don’t care, and those two are too bloody thick to notice, so -”
“You can’t take me out there! Someone will recognise me!”
“Alright, alright!” She let go of his shoulder so that he slumped onto his back once more, large yellow circles now winding round eyes that were glaring almost fearlessly into the strip light above them.
He took in a deep breath. “What does it look like?”
“You don’t want to know.”
I am going to die. All alone, in this Muggle house, injured by something I can't even see. With no magic to save me, no parents beside me… Draco turned his head so that one side of his face was resting on the floor. As though lulling himself to sleep, he began examining every tiny nylon thread that was branching out of the intertwining carpet, every speck of dirt that clung steadfastly to the floor as though terrified of being moved elsewhere. Would it be so inconceivable for him to apparate now? To just disappear, return to his mother’s house and be instantly restored to full health? Not to lie here, amidst the filth that he had been brought up to despise, choking and spluttering while poison poured through his veins…
Alice seemed undecided about what to do. She was watching him with a mixture of anxiety and terror, and he could see her eyes constantly flicking to the raised lump on his neck. She began tugging at her hair, long, straggly streaks of black knotting round her pale fingers.
Suddenly she stopped, her eyes fixed on one of the strands held loosely in her right hand. Then her gaze moved to focus on Draco, just above the clammy whiteness of his forehead. “I have an idea,” she said.
Another Note: If this seems in any way unrealistic or ridiculous to you, please let me know.