Cliché

Chapter 30: Goodbye

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Dayton whispered, clutching a bottle of Firewhisky.

"I'm so sure." The blonde grinned. His eyes were heavy and dark bags hung from under them. His body was morphed now. His skin was tight across his ribs, and his muscle had deteriorated from malnourishment. His blonde hair seemed grey in the torchlight outside of The Three Broomsticks.

The young, smart and athletic boy was gone, and a brainwashed goul had taken his place.

"Draco, this is not a good idea." Dayton's expression was heartbroken, as he shook his head and stepped backwards, "This is destroying you. Everything you had was gone. Maybe you can get better? M-Maybe I can fix it! Maybe I can just-"

A psychotic grin took over the blonde's face, "It will get better when I go back. Hand me the bottle, before I break your skull with it."

Dayton took another step backwards, "N-No! You can't have it. I'm taking you to Saint Mungo's and you're going to get better. I've done enough damage and now I want to fix it. Now I have to fix it."

Draco's expression softened, and his eyes trailed down to the snow, "Okay."

Dayton closed his eyes and with a sigh of relief, he grinned, "I knew you'd come around!" But when he opened his eyes, the smile faded, "D-Draco! NO!"

Draco grabbed the bottle out of Dayton's grasp, and smashed it down on the Gryffindor's head.

The bottle shattered as Newman's skull fractured into nothingness. Draco caught him, and held him against his body, and whispered into his ears, "This could all have been so simple if you had just handed me the bottle. You would've never known what hit you. But they never listen, do they?"

He threw the body in the snow and watched as the crimson substance gushed out of Dayton's head. It turned the snow a bright, uneasy shade of red. You couldn't mistake it for anything except blood.

Draco picked up Dayton's bag, and pulled out the extra bottle of alcohol. He knew that the one the boy had been carrying was a sleeping draft, in hopes of knocking him out to take him to Saint Mungo's hospital. He was a smart boy, and that's what got him killed.

As the Slytherin trudged through the snow, he left a body, broken bottle and a pool of blood and alcohol in which the snow had absorbed.

No one had heard Dayton's last cry for help, and it wouldn't be for about a day before someone would find his body, and by that time, more snow would've fallen, covering the body, and masking any evidence of a crime scene.

Draco made it to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and chugged the whole bottle of Firewhiskey. It burned his lungs, and throat to the point of it feeling like it was burning and bubbling acid in the back of his mouth. Not that he cared. It would all heal when he got back.

He felt the alcohol hit hard. He was glad he spent that much time in the Library or he never would've found that old dusty book hidden on the top shelf, about drinking spells. He'd found one about how to make the drink in question hit especially hard, especially fast.

As he felt the forest start to spin, he picked up his Slytherin ruffle bag he'd hidden in a tree trunk near the edge. With that, and Dayton's satchel, he entered the wood.