Drarry Oneshots

23| Alive

Sleep is a nice notion. It helps you refresh your mind, recharge your internal batteries, and helps you forget about the day-to-day.

That is, unless it starts to torment you when you're indulging in it.

I jolt upright, the covers shift along with me. I feel as if I can hardly breathe.

Using my palm, I swipe sweat from my forehead. It's three-fifty in the morning.

Why do I feel hot and cold at the same time?

The dorm is jet black. I keep my eyes open wide until the black fades to a grey and I can make out the things around me.

Blaise's legs are visible, hanging out from under his blankets, one lump in the four poster to the right is Crabbe, and the other lump is Goyle.

I paw around my nightstand for the tin of anxiety suppressors that Madam Pomfrey gave to me.

I wasn't the only one who had gotten them, not after all we've seen last year.

My clammy hands wrap around the cool metal tin and I pry it open as quietly as I can.

The pills were tiny, barely as long as a finger nail. I pop two into my mouth without bothering to drink water.

Which I regret.

I start coughing and choking, those tiny pills feel like they're scraping every wall of my throat as they go down.

A light flicked on and Blaise stood in front of my bed, comforter wrapped around him like robes.
"Are you alright Draco?" He asks.

I screw my eyes shut and cough one last, rattling cough. The pills go down, leaving the feeling that there is a lump in my throat.

"I'm just peachy," I say sarcastically.

"I'm only trying to help," he says back.

My head bows slightly. "Sorry,"

"Why were you taking the pills?"

"I wasn't taking them," I frown.

All of the Slytherins had made a pact to not take anything that Hogwarts gave to us, not after everyone blamed our house for the War, for bringing Voldemort here. Anyone who cracked was seen as weak.

I guess this makes me weak.

"I heard the case you were opening," Blaise points out.

"You heard no such thing, I inhaled dust or something," I insist, "that's all,"

"Inhaled pills, more like it," he mutters and shuffled back to his bed.

I sit and watch the lights fade back to black. It's quiet for a beat.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" I ask finally.

Blaise is silent.

"Blaise!" I hiss.

"Of course not," he says and I hear him roll over, ending the conversation.

I wish that I could roll over and forget about the dream that I just had. My bed suddenly feels like a box and I have to get out.

Without bothering to be discreet, I get up, shrug on a sweatshirt and leave.

I walk to the edge of the Forest. My shoes crunch the ground softly.

It's a moonlit night so I can see almost everything around me.

I remember being so scared of the Forest. But after last year, the only thing that scares me at this point are my dreams. I guess that translates to myself, however, because I'm the one who's making those dreams.