He lay restless, the covers of his bed feeling as though they would suffocate him. He stared up towards the roof of the hospital wing, the barrier between him and the second floor, having given up his hopes of sleep. A thousand reflections replayed themselves, over and over, inside of his aching head.

"Come on!" He had said, brandishing the carved stinger of a Blind Worm. He held it at the ready, as he had practiced, waiting for the wolf to charge at him. Despite his stance and posture, the wolf's bolt still managed to catch him by surprize. A yelp escaped him as it latched itself onto his arm, growling as a beast would, taring and shreading his tender flesh. He managed to push it off, giving it a good jab with the stinger. Then it was back on his arm, opening a clean hole in his main artery. Before he knew it, he was on the ground, surrounded by a pool of his own blood...

He suddered as the dominate reflection passed. His right arm, still bandaged and tender, throbbed in subconcious self-pity. He sighed softly and adjusted his position, rolling onto his side. He closed his eyes and attempted to fall into a restful state. Such a state was denied.

He gasped as the older student pulled free a long, elegant sword. However, a quick glance in Roibo's direction calmed him. He would be safe beside his friend, no matter what it was that the angered Tyln did. His fellow Hufflepuff approached him. Roibo suddenly seemed much further away, Tyln suddenly seemed so much larger.
"Nngh!" He groaned, the steel of the sword pressing into his small, fragile body. Like heated metel would drive through a hunk of ice. He grasped at his stomache, feeling a thin trail of blood flee his lips. The sword was jerked free from his chest and stomache roughly, causing him to try and cry out; but no sound came. He sunk down to the ground slowly, again face first in his own blood.

The image caused him to burst up into a sit, tears rimming at his eyes.
"Oh, God," he clutched at his stomache with his healthy arm, trying to contain himself. He was drenched in sweat, his hair slick with it, his sheets damp. "Why was it me? Why? I... I was the weakest, the most harmless. But he chose me? Why was it me?" He babbled to himself, feeling along the scar with his fingers. It stood up over his softer skin, so bitterly obvious when he hadn't donned a shirt.
Half of an hour later, Sabastion had sunk back into sleep.

"Whatever. This is a waste of time." Tyln's voice echoed. A powerful, enchanted weapon was thrust into Sabastion's body-

Again, the boy was sitting and panting. He attempted to prevent himself from crying, but he simply wasn't able. His head turned skywards again, his eyes staring to the ceiling, unseeing. He wandered, 'Why had Tyln hurt him? What had he done that was so horrible, so evil, that it warrented his death? Sabastion hadn't died that day, but he often found himself almost wishing that he had, for the suffering it still caused him. Almost. Eventually, his mind began to wander. Thoughts both unwelcome and uncomfortable playing themselves in the child's exhausted mind, something ilk to a very bad movie.

Like crows, they swarmed about him. It felt like icy tendrils being wrapped around him, pulling. Sabastion had never believed in the soul until now, he had always thought it was just myth. Now his own was slowly been sucked from him. The Dementors had surrounded the prone boy, letting only small gapes of light pass by them. Helpless, they fed off of him. He felt every blissful memory burning away. A feeling that could only be described as pure saddness washed over him, trapping him, dragging him further down...

Sabastion fell back, lying on his bed again. Unable to fight the memories from his head, he found that all he could do was suffer through them.

A seemingly endless maze. Dark, twisting, empty. A thousand questions. Lost and alone, he wandered on. Hungry, tired, desperate...

Sabastion was crying without control now, all of it simply too much to bare.