Captured

Chapter Twenty-Two: Permanent

Draco stood in the freezing air outside of the manor, dragging great lungfuls of breath into his body. Bright lights from the curses being sent back and forth were still imprinted on his eyes, green silhouettes that blurred his vision as he stared at the inky black sky above, blinking desperately as he tried to make them disappear. He swore the tangy, metallic scent of blood had followed him , though it was considerably more manageable away from it all.

The town however... it had been everywhere. It had felt as though the streets had been running red.

He had tried. Had tried to do what he could, but by the time he had been called in, most of it was already done. The rest was for sport... He gagged again, doubling over as blank stares from the faces he had stumbled past swam to the surface with the memory.

He didn't want to know what the rest of the locations looked like or how they had gone. He had left as soon as he could. Once the triumphant cackles of Voldemort's servants had replaced the last of the dying screams, he had left.

The thought of celebrating that...

He heaved into the bushes to the side of the path, though nothing left him. He had already emptied the contents of his stomach after apparating back to the manor. He had only been able to help Blaise, and one other family. After leaving Blaise's home, he had run house to house, praying that he would make it to at least one before the other Death Eaters did.

And he had. Just one. One, lonely, solitary house on the edge of the town that hadn't been ransacked yet, though they were making their way closer. There had already been two Death Eaters at the house next door when Draco had burst through the doors of that last, dark home. He had searched until he found a mother and two young children upstairs, trembling and hidden in a closet. She knelt in front of the kids, protectively, one shaking arm holding out a wand towards her. He looked like the enemy.

It had taken a quick disarming charm, and rushed, terrified pleas and explanations but somehow he had managed to convince them that he was trying to help them. He had apparated them to the edge of the forest at the nearest village to theirs, getting them as close to safety as he dared, before quickly apparating back. He hurriedly smashed a few things, tossed a couple curses around the empty home to make it look searched, and then came lazily swaggering down the stairs as the two Death Eaters from the next house over rushed in.

"Gone," he had explained to the confused duo, "Must've run when they heard people arriving. Too bad your lot wasn't fast enough here."

He had let out a cold laugh then, mostly to hide the small quiver in his voice, "I'm sure the Dark Lord will be happy to know who failed him."

He had strode purposefully past them, though internally he just wanted to get away as fast as possible. Every moment spent surrounded by them with his control breaking down was a dangerous one. All it would take was a suggestion that Draco had been untruthful and the Dark Lord would rip into his memories. He had searched every house after that under the premise of looting like the others, but had really been searching for any signs of survivors. None. None that weren't loyal to the Dark Lord.

He had left as soon as possible. The others had been so consumed with their celebration that they hadn't noticed him walking shakily to the edge of the town before leaving.

He could have used an endless supply of fresh air at that moment, but the dementors, enticed by his oozing torment, had been slowly hovering closer and closer. By the time he finally stumbled through the doors of the manor, they were practically reaching for him, and his breaths of fresh air were replaced by choking wheezes as the terror and pain that accompanied nearby dementors had set in and made his throat close up. He rushed through the dark halls of the manor, desperate to get to his room so he could pull off the stained Death Eater uniform he wore.