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Chapter 2 : Location: Unknown.
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"3 degrees Celsius." He whispered, slightly confused. As he propped himself onto his elbows he still remained unaware of his whereabouts. He looked around again, trying to recall how he arrived here, but the only memories he had was of a flash of green light and piercing red eyes, a bad dream maybe?
"Where the fuck am I?" Draco asked himself aloud, his voice weak for unknown reasons. The bed he lay upon felt and looked as though it was made from layers of cardboard covered in an untarnished soft sheet, a firm laundered pillow supported his head whilst the rest of his body, with exception to his bare feet, was covered in a thin white blanket.
After analysing the room and unable to find any potential dangers, he felt it safe to venture out from the uncomfortable bed he had rested on for what, judging on the stiffness of his back, was days. He walked cautiously to the tables and peeked inside the white bucket. He was right, metal tools that you'd expect to find in a hospital were thrown carelessly into the bucket. He shuffled to the right where he found a silver sink, lacking the shine most sinks of that material would have. Opening the cupboard located underneath the sink he was shocked at the amount of sterilizers and bottled substances crammed in the rectangular space. Shutting the door hastily Draco scrunched up his forehead, where was he? This place gave him the chills.
He turned around warily to the direction from which he had just come, however the scene that welcomed him caused him to freeze instantaneously. What lay before his eyes left him in disbelief, the quiet room echoed his accelerated heartbeat. His momentarily pause felt like a life time as he came to terms with what he was faced with. Once the paralysis left him, he sorely shuffled closer to the corpse that lay in front of him. His own corpse.
"Shit." His voice was barely a whisper. His stomach knotted and he found himself grasping onto the metal bars of the bed for support, the strength in his leg muscles had abandoned him and his stained open shirt was soon dampened from the cold sweat that had taken over his body. He looked down and gasped as he saw a bloody Y-shaped cut down his torso, stitched together with inky thread. He let out a sob of confusion, what had happened to him? Where was he? Despite being almost 18, Draco longed for his mother's comforting touch, for her to explain that all of this was a twisted joke Voldermort was behind. Where was she? Where was his mother?
His mother. Her face flashed in his mind, but not with the loving smile he was use to, but instead he face was wet with tears, she was mouthing something to him "Everything's going to be okay." and then he remembered, the torturing pain of the crutiatus curse, the feel of the chains suffocating his body, and the flash of green light. Draco had been murdered.
He stared down at himself, his face haunted with purple bruises and his immaculate skin even more deathly than usual. After a minutes thought, he reached up and gently pressed on his bruised left temple. Draco had not fully known what he was expecting, maybe to feel the pressure he was putting on his corpse? But he was sadly disappointed as he felt nothing, just the numbing after effects of the paralysis slowly wearing off. In his disappointment he dropped his head, catching a glimpse of something resembling card, tied to his big toe with a piece of string. He carefully bent down, ignoring the pain that rippled through his body, surely being dead ment that this pain would of disappeared? He untied the knot and picked up the cardboard that read;
Name: Draco Malfoy
Time of Death: 21:54pm
Autopsy performed by: David LeBoufe
Then it all made sense to Draco, this place he was in. It was a morgue. He couldn't bare to look at himself for much longer, he rummaged through the cupboards before he found a black bin bag with a sticky label with his name on it, he looked down to see that he was only in his shirt and boxers. He teared open the bag to find his trousers and pulled them on, he buttoned up his shirt and made his way to the arch way he presumed was the exit, not looking back at the corpse once.
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