eighteen

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cw : graphic descriptions of
blood, descriptions of death.
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BLOOD GUSHED FROM HIS mouth as he coughed. Red was splattered around his lips, contrasting his deathly pale skin.

"This is all your fault," he spoke, glaring at her even as he doubled and coughed out more blood.

He stood up again, one hand pressing against the wound at his side. She could see his flesh as blood poured from the deep laceration in his side. With his other hand, he wiped the blood from his mouth, the red liquid sticking to the rings on his fingers.

"But I—"

"I am so sick of your goddamn excuses," another voice said, appearing at the doorway of her dorm.

In the light of her darkened dorm, she could see his bright white hair. Though, now it was streaked with red. He had a long gash from his brow to cheekbone, yet he appeared to be in no pain.

"Look at that. That is all your fault," he gestured to the other bed in the room.

She swore it had not been there moments before, but there it was. There, lying on her bed, was Pansy's lifeless body. There was a slash along her throat, cutting straight through her artery. Blood tainted her school robes, splattered against the wall, dripping onto the bed.

Celestia ran forward, trying to do something, anything. She touched the wound around her neck, as if she could stop her from dying all over again. It didn't help. Placing her hands on Pansy's face, her bottom lip began to tremble. She wanted her to laugh, to giggle, to sit up and say this was all some big joke. But it wasn't. Pansy's body was limp in her hands.

She was pulled back forcefully, causing her breath to leave her in a big woosh. Bloody handprints were painted on Pansy's face where her hands had been only moments before.

"You don't deserve to touch her," growled Theo. "You couldn't save her."

"You should have saved her. Saved us," hissed Draco.

Then she heard a scream. It was so loud, so full of pain that it cut straight through Celestia as if it were a wound itself. It could only belong to one person, the only one not in the room.

Blaise.

She stumbled towards the door. She had to do something. She had to help. He was in agony, screaming, begging, sobbing. He was asking for her, yelling for her. Draco stopped her before she could get out of the room.

"Why help him now? It's too late. He's down there because of you. It's your fault," he snarled.

"I have—I've got to help him. I swear I didn't do anything—" pleaded Celestia.

"You're right, you didn't do anything," glowered Draco, gripping her by the nape of her neck and forcing her to look at Pansy's lifeless corpse. "You didn't save her. You weren't strong enough. You failed her. You failed Blaise. You could've done something, but you didn't. You weren't powerful enough."

"Draco, please, I just—" stuttered Celestia, tears streaming down her face.

"Look at the blood on your hands. Look at Theo," Draco commanded.

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