Third Person:....... blackened fingers gripped and pulled. Pulled him down, held him down... kept his body restrained no matter how he fought. The black liquid rose and morphed, sliding over his body as he was pulled down further and further by those hands. Already his legs were bound. He opened his mouth to scream...
Draco rose up, his body running on instinct. His hand found his wand as he did so and his arm flung out with his wand pointed dangerously at... nothing. His mouth was twisted open in a silent scream, sweat pouring off him.
Another nightmare. It took him a moment to settle down. He forced his grey eyes closed and dropped his wand onto the bed next to him. He lifted a shaky hand to push his pale blond hair up and out of his face. The remnants of the nightmare faded, but the oily feeling of the blackness and the hands the hands gripping at him lingered hauntingly, lingering as a haunting presence. He knew if he tried to return to sleep now he would only sink into the nightmare once more.
He kicked off the sheets that, through the thrashing, had tangled around his legs. Then he was up and out of bed, striding tensely across the cold marble floor, stalking past the the hearth, the glowing embers from earlier in the evening now dead, on to the french doors leading out onto the balcony. The cool autumn night chilled him, but still Draco pushed on and let the chilly air hit his bare torso and cool his skin.
He hated these night when he was here, in the Manor, forced to remember things best left in the past. Forced to relive his every wrong and horrid choice. It was nights like this when Draco almost wished he had been sentenced to Azkaban. With or without Dementors, he would have welcomed the insanity incarceration likely would have brought compared to this. But such thoughts only appeared briefly on nights like this, when he stood out on the balcony and lit up a cigarette; which his mother would lecture him for indulging in... if she ever caught him.
He smirked cruelly out toward the perfectly manicured landscape. The wizarding people cursed at him, said he got off lightly, tried to hex him, spoke of many ways in which he should have been punished. "Too bad they don't know my mind and this damn manor punishes me more than they ever could think of to wish on me." He took a slow drag of the cigarette and let it out in a silver cloud of smoke. "Then maybe they would be satisfied."
{ [CANON] Draco Malfoy || Harry Potter || reserve || 3 of 3 }
Draco rose up, his body running on instinct. His hand found his wand as he did so and his arm flung out with his wand pointed dangerously at... nothing. His mouth was twisted open in a silent scream, sweat pouring off him.
Another nightmare. It took him a moment to settle down. He forced his grey eyes closed and dropped his wand onto the bed next to him. He lifted a shaky hand to push his pale blond hair up and out of his face. The remnants of the nightmare faded, but the oily feeling of the blackness and the hands the hands gripping at him lingered hauntingly, lingering as a haunting presence. He knew if he tried to return to sleep now he would only sink into the nightmare once more.
He kicked off the sheets that, through the thrashing, had tangled around his legs. Then he was up and out of bed, striding tensely across the cold marble floor, stalking past the the hearth, the glowing embers from earlier in the evening now dead, on to the french doors leading out onto the balcony. The cool autumn night chilled him, but still Draco pushed on and let the chilly air hit his bare torso and cool his skin.
He hated these night when he was here, in the Manor, forced to remember things best left in the past. Forced to relive his every wrong and horrid choice. It was nights like this when Draco almost wished he had been sentenced to Azkaban. With or without Dementors, he would have welcomed the insanity incarceration likely would have brought compared to this. But such thoughts only appeared briefly on nights like this, when he stood out on the balcony and lit up a cigarette; which his mother would lecture him for indulging in... if she ever caught him.
He smirked cruelly out toward the perfectly manicured landscape. The wizarding people cursed at him, said he got off lightly, tried to hex him, spoke of many ways in which he should have been punished. "Too bad they don't know my mind and this damn manor punishes me more than they ever could think of to wish on me." He took a slow drag of the cigarette and let it out in a silver cloud of smoke. "Then maybe they would be satisfied."