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Into the Ocean by A H

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Story Notes:

This oneshot, very short and un-betaed, was written initially for SPEW 007, prompt 'Open'. For some reason, though it was finished before the deadline, I never submitted it.

The lyrics within are Into the Ocean, by Blue October. A very beautiful song I'd recommend you give a listen. I do not own the lyrics or any right to them, nor do I own Draco or the Malfoy Manor, or the ocean. I do love them all, however.
I'm just a normal boy that sank when I fell overboard


The waves were coming in faster and harder than before, and Draco couldn't breathe for the water in his lungs. His eyes wide open, he kicked his arms and legs wildly around him, hoping that he could just keep his head above the water long enough to take a breath. The harder he tried the less the monstrous ocean let up, and all too soon he was pulled beneath.

Coughing and spluttering, Draco shot out of his bed, taking gulps of air so deep his entire body shook with them. He looked around blearily, clutching at his throat, still thrashing in his bedcovers. Even though his eyes told him with certainty that he was in his bed, his heart still raced with the fear of the black ocean pits.

"Damn it," he said aloud, his hand still rubbing his throat. The pale morning light shone brightly on his arm where a serpent and skull was burned on his skin; the sight sent a different kind of choking sensation through his body, and Draco quickly stood, stretching, turning his mind to the day ahead of him and away from the sinking feeling of the recurring dream.

After showering Draco made his way to the sitting room; there was an owl waiting for him on one of the low windowsills. He sighed heavily and untied the parchment from its foot, setting the letter down without reading it. Both of his parents had tried to write since the end of the war; Draco didn't know what to say to either of them. Lucius had killed so many, and Narcissa sat obediently by as the Dark Lord ruled their lives. He thought of his parent's as sparingly as possible, though the nearly-daily letters did nothing to help this decision.

The sunlight warmed his face as he left the manor, distractedly shooting a spell over his shoulder to lock the door. He didn't care if someone broke in, be it enemy or thief. He had nothing of importance, and money was needless spare for food, and he had enough of that in vaults at Gringotts. Without truly knowing where he was going, Draco set off down the long-winding path that led out of the Malfoy property.

Now floating up and down
I spin colliding into sound
Like whales beneath me diving down
I'm sinking to the bottom of my
Everything that freaks me out
The lighthouse beam has just run out
I'm cold as cold as cold can be


As Draco walked along a quiet neighborhood street, he realized that he had never, in all of his childhood, ventured directly outside of the Malfoy Manor. He'd played briefly in the back yard (which was, incidentally, more of a field than a yard) once, but his mother had made sure that he never got the chance again: Outside was too dirty and common for a Malfoy, it seemed. Instead, he had kept to the large house, venturing out only when his parents did, and only under their supervision. They had always controlled everything about his existence: Where he went, what he did, who he associated himself with—everything. And once it seemed that he was growing old enough to dispute their control, the Dark Lord swooped into their lives—their home. Not a move was made that wasn't under his scrutiny, and every move had to be good enough for the Dark Lord.

The soft, consistent song of a bird made Draco turn his head upwards. The sun had moved to hide behind a wall of bright white clouds but the air was still warm around him. Draco shoved his hands deep in his pockets and followed the sidewalk, averting his eyes from the houses around him. He'd never asked, but he could only assume that it was a Wizarding community; his mother and father and relatives before them would have never settled for a home in a common village.

The winding sidewalk ended and Draco looked up, surprised. He found himself staring out at a large moor, blocked off by a high fence and barbed wire. It stretched as far as he could see and he thought, distantly, that it possibly stretched around behind his manor. Draco turned and looked behind him, contemplating going back to his house to sit in the silence as he had done for several months. It didn't take him long to decide which way to go: Draco jumped on the first bar of the fence and hurtled himself over, carefully avoiding the barbed wire. When he landed on the ground he heard a loud ripping noise and looked down to see that he hadn't been quite as articulate as he had thought: His jeans were ripped from the knee down, in one straight line. He shrugged to himself, and started walking through the high, marshy grass.

He hadn't shown his face in any Wizarding villages in the months following the war, and though he had only ventured into Diagon Alley once or twice since then, he could still feel the glares on his back. His family name was rubbish to them, to everyone. The further into the moor and away from the pristine establishments of the neighborhood behind him, the more unobstructed he felt. The wind his only companion, there were no accusing stares, no one expecting him to grovel and beg for forgiveness for his past.

Lightning broke the sky and Draco jumped, swearing. He looked upwards to see that the bright white clouds had quickly turned into a fat, pregnant black and he regretted his choice to wear nothing but a t-shirt and now-ripped jeans. The rain began to fall before he'd even taken his gaze from the skies. Only slightly perturbed, Draco shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and trudged on through the mud.

It didn't take long for his clothes to become completely soaked. At first he found the tingling sensation of the damp cloth on his skin annoying, but after the rain had thoroughly penetrated every piece of fabric and every single hair, the wetness was welcomed. There was no one here, no properties—nothing. Draco felt more at peace with himself here than he had in a long time. Somehow the consistent pounding of the rain and grumbling of the thunder helped him sort through his thoughts, see through the memories. When he'd gotten so far into the moor that he couldn't see anything but wide open space on all sides, Draco fell backwards onto the ground and into the mud, looking up into the intimidating clouds.

I want to swim away but don't know how
Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in the ocean
Let the waves up take me down
Let the hurricane set in motion...
Let the rain of what I feel right now come down
Let the rain come down


Draco was nearly floating after an hour of lying in the field. The rain hadn't slowed or stopped, only shown indecision as it sped with the pull of the winds. It was only when he could see thick walls of black clouds forming above him that he stood, drenched in mud and water. He turned towards the direction where he knew his home was and stared, his body beginning to shake with the coldness of the speeding winds. Without consideration, he turned on the spot, thinking of only the place in which his dreams had been taking him for several weeks.

When the suffocation subsided, Draco's eyes widened in shock at the sight around him; beneath the rock he was standing on was the ocean, nearly black for the lack of sunlight. It was exactly as he had dreamt it, and as he stood there, dripping water onto the already-slippery rock, he could see the scenes inside his head just as he had seen them every night.

Taking one last gasping breath of air, Draco jumped.

Into the ocean, end it all


The crashing waves around him were more real than he had ever felt, and the spine-breaking cold was more penetrating than he could have dreamt. He was pushed by the current into the air before being raggedly yanked back down, beneath the suffocating walls of water. His body ached with the cold and his eyes burned with the salt. Every part of him was being jerked in different directions, as if the ocean couldn't decide what it wanted to do with him.

Draco kicked at the water, attempting to push himself towards the top for air. His lungs were closing, burning, screaming for breath. As the current pulled him down further he opened his mouth to scream and felt the water moving through him, stinging his insides.

Where is the coastguard?
I keep looking each direction
For a spotlight, give me something
I need something for protection


Blackness swelled in his vision, but Draco refused to sink. The bones in his arms felt like they were hanging on by mere threads but still he kicked; thrashing in the water, willing it to move for him.

I'm treading for my life, believe me
How can I keep up this breathing?
Not knowing how to think
I scream aloud, begin to sink
My legs and arms are broken down
With envy for the solid ground


Through the water he could see light. Draco kicked with all of his force, throwing himself into the current, willing it to bring him up with it. The pull of the water was so strong that he was thrown several feet into the air before crashing back down into the black. For the first time Draco felt fear stronger than the pull of the ocean. There was no more air to breathe, no current to push him out, no one to save him.

I'm reaching for the life within me
How can one man stop his ending?


A flash of light and the woman fell from the invisible ropes, lifeless onto the table. Green light and Albus Dumbledore fell from the tower, Draco's one last chance to escape the madness. Screams from the chamber; his classmate tortured by the hands of the rat. Bodies everywhere; blood; fallen warriors. They circled him now, souls of those that the Dark Lord had taken with him. They screamed at him, blamed him, hated him. He deserved to die—deserved for the ocean to pull him apart like the Dark Lord had broken them.

Through the fire came a hand. Someone willing to save him; pull him away from the depths of the ocean and into the light that danced on the water. The lightening-shaped scar burned bright as ever in the orange flames, and Draco's eyes flew open one last time before the currents pulled him down.

There was a flash of light in Draco's mind; a signal that he was loosing the battle. He couldn't see anything through the burning of the salt. His heart had slowed to a faint staggering. He thought fleetingly that he always woke up before he reached this last step, the last moments. There was no one to call for—no one's face to be the last he would think of. He had never known love, never known life outside of the boundaries that were set for him. The boundless ocean had no limits. His heart raced with fury as a new wave of determination pulsed through his blood and Draco kicked at the water, ignoring the screams emanating from his bones.

It felt as if with every wrenching kick, the ocean itself kicked back, willing him to give up. All Draco did his entire life was give up. His parents wanted him to associate with the Parkinson girl because of her family, and even though he fancied the pretty Prewett girl, he chose Pansy. Draco wanted to flee from the Dark Lord, and yet the Dark Mark was still burned on his skin. Draco wanted to go to the private Wizarding school, but the Malfoy family had all attended Hogwarts. Draco wanted to live, and the ocean wanted him its victim.

With every aching push, Draco thought of his father, of his mother, of the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters who had infiltrated his home, gleefully reveling in their latest ventures of torturing. With one last excruciating kick, Draco came gasping and spluttering into the crisp air. Before he could even think well enough to properly breathe he frantically looked from something to hold on to, something to keep him up. The current was still pulling him down, begging him to forfeit, admit defeat once again like he had his entire life.

The rock he had jumped from was too far to reach; the current had pulled him too far away. His arms felt broken down but he pushed with all of his might towards it, breathing through the crashing of the waves, screaming through the pain in his limbs. He was pulled down again by the water but he thrashed himself back upwards, taking gasping gulps of air as he bobbed up and down, into the water and into the air, his legs hitting bits of rock as he drew nearer to the protruding bit of safety. When he finally reached the slippery stone he threw his arms on the jagged pieces, cutting his palms so that they leaked blood into the demanding ocean. With every painstaking pull, Draco drew himself out of the water until he was finally completely out of it; as he reached level ground his hand slipped and he fell, his ankles converging into the water again. It was only when he gave one last, painful pull that he came clumsily onto the surface, coughing and spluttering and gasping for air.

Despite the aching in his body, the burning of his lungs, and the stings playing along every inch of his skin, Draco stared idly into the sun, a small grin grabbing the edges of his lips. He could hear the waves crashing below and the distant call of the seagulls: He could see the sun here, shining brightly amidst a clear grey sky. Once he felt as though he could sit without falling, Draco propped himself up and gingerly took the mangled, wet clothes off so that he was left lying on the rock in nothing but his underwear; the weight of the clothing gone, Draco could breath easier and soon enough he could feel his heartbeat finding a somewhat normal pace. The salt in his mouth was beginning to become unbearable, and everything but fresh water was pushed out of his thoughts. He didn't know if he had enough energy to apparate, however, and so he lied back down on the rock, coughing slightly through the dryness beginning to form in his throat.

Draco lied there for several hours, his thoughts less bitter than they had been throughout the day—throughout the last months. He had woken every day since the end of the war, the fall of Voldemort, to disturbing dreams of the black waters of the ocean, the silent scream of the serpent etched in his skin, the blazing light of the lightning bolt shaped scar that had, despite the six previous years, pulled him from his certain demise. There had always been someone there to save him, someone who would either finish what he had started or save him at the last moment. There was someone there to make his decisions, someone to fix his mistakes, set his goals and his boundaries. His life had never been in his hands. Until now.

Draco almost wanted to laugh. He could see himself standing just feet away from where he was now; he could almost watch it in his mind as he had seen it in his dreams. He had fought the pull of the ocean; he had taken himself from the hands of certain death and into the grasps of life. He had saved himself.

Into the ocean, end it all.
Chapter Endnotes: Reviews make my heart grow.