The Sugar Quill
Author: Frodo Weasley  Story: No Going Back Part I: Siege  Chapter: Chapter 1: Through The Eyes of a Snake
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No Going Back

No going back

Part I: Siege

Chapter 1: Through The Eyes of a Snake


Disclaimer: I own nothing of this. I have merely borrowed a few of J.K.Rowling’s excellent characters and will return them in good condition will all limbs remaining. The initiative and imagination is fueled by The Books and wonderful fanfics out there. You guys rock!



Fire, screaming, shouting, barking, laughter…numbness, ice-cold fear.


He put his head in his hands and stared at the walls of his dungeon.




Pacing restlessly for hours on end trying to fathom the confusing whorl of thoughts going around his head.


Emerald light, whooshing in a fountain of gushing water. Like a torrential green flood sweeping past, rushing…roaring. Falling…




Shaken from a stupor, it’s not over yet.




Thrown down steps. Wand in your back. “Move.” Running, running, running. Echoing footsteps all around. Swooshing cloaks; cloaks of darkness, of a black menacing hunger pulsating in the air. Bodies…


I did this…


Tripping. Face to face with a mangled body. Ripped and contorted into a grimacing slash of a smile.




Sick, pale, clammy. Death swooping over on black wings through this black night.




Pulled up roughly by the neck of your robes, half-dragged, half-shoved onwards. Along never-ending passageways and eternal stairways reaching into the gloom of the abyss, a yawning hole devoid of all emotion.


Heart beating wildly. Footsteps in hot pursuit. Claustrophobic, cornered in.


Guilt, a leaden weight that plummets through the icy waters. Breaking through the frozen lake until hot tears flow freely. Blinding, blurring…faint. Rubies spilling like flows of blood.


It wasn’t meant to be like this.


Then cool night air on your face turning hot rivulets and streams into stinging icicles. Freezing gasps ripping at your lungs. 50 yards… 40 yards. Run, faster! 30 yards. ‘Stupefy!’ Ducking, falling. ‘Run Draco!’ Picking yourself up on muddy knees, robes torn. Trainers slippery with blood. Retching at the sight, scrambling to your feet and grabbing your wand. Turning and watching the two figures dancing in the flames.

A crazed voice yells out to the stars and crescent moon.  The smaller figure is thrown to the ground but a huge winged shape rises up and screeches banshee-like. ‘Run Draco!’ a hand grabs your elbow, and then the world turns dizzyingly as you are spirited away into the night.


Head in his hands Draco Malfoy wept.

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