Guy Fawkes

The night was cold, and I saw the rain beating outside my window. It was truly frightening and melancholy. But I sought comfort in it. Like always, I loved the shadow. I turned over and tried to shut my eyes and drift into slumber. But somehow for over two hours, I could accomplish anything more than drifting into a light sleep, still aware of everything happening around my physical body.

My body and mind was aching for a deep sleep from which I hoped I would never awake. That had been my dream for over a year now. I squirmed uncomfortably under my covers, even though the weather was abnormally cool, I was breaking out in cold sweat.

I could not stop my mind from drifting toward the incident. Anyone could have been him, but he, it was always him, had to be the only one. His life was always that of sorrow. And when our lives had taken a turn for the best, he had to go. I was merely an inch away from him as he fell… and today was the anniversary of that day.

I let out a cry of anguish and forcefully shut my eyes, pushing myself into unconsciousness. The last thing I heard before wandering into rest in my small studio apartment was the twelve chimes of the world's most famous clock tower…

-------…-------

I was in this cold place. In a grey stone room, small it was. There was only one route out, an iron-wrought black staircase. There was no way down, I can only go up. I took a hesitant step toward the stair; it seemed that my feet were weighed down with lead, for every step I took needed a herculean effort.

The black stair gave a loud aching groan as I rested my weight on it. Tilting my head towards the sky, I could see nothing but the sky you see when rain falls like the heavens just released their dams of tears. There was not a drop of water, but the fog that surrounded me was thick enough to conceal a knife even if it was a mere inches away from my neck.

I could spot my target immediately. It was but a black silhouette less than a few yards away from me. With every footstep, it got colder, wetter and mysterious. I was barely a few meters away and the rain that had started was beating against my back, soaking me to the bone.

My hair clung to my face, and my clothe to my skin. Instead of feeling scared or frightened, I felt an immense wave of joy. He was there, right there. And right then, I knew the perfect thing to say.

"Remember, remember, the fifth of November,

The Gunpowder Treason and Plot.

I know of no reason why the Gunpowder Treason,

Should ever be forgot…"

My voice carried over the wind to him, I was sure he heard for, he made a small movement with his head from which only I could understand.

He was shot. Draco was shot. And not even with magic. He died in the hands of a muggle weapon. Not magic, but efficient. The bullet from the barrel of a gun was released in a flash of a second. It knocked him squarely in his chest.

The light had won, but at a deadly price. The Death Eaters were loyal still. Even after the battle from which Lord Voldemort fell, they killed countless of lives after before they were finally rounded up. Their targets were traitors. And Draco was one of those traitors. They considered it beneath them to kill him with the killing curse. After the fatal bullet, about a dozen more hit his lifeless chest. I was hit in the side with three bullets. It was only by chance I survived; I did not want to survive. My friends knew it, I knew it.

It was his favorite verse, commemorating Guy Fawkes' failed endeavor, and yet it was still on this day when he failed too. He likened his life to Guy Fawkes. I saw as he turned, his black cape still covering his body, he dipped his head, and took of his Guy Fawkes mask, from which he loved to wear.

But still, I could not see his perfect features. His hat shielded his countenance that he wore often from my sight. I longed to see him, even if it was through the heavy rain and fog that still continued. He lifted his head much to my hope. And while he did, he took off his hat that he wore.

I saw his ruffled platinum hair lined with gold appear, then his strong angular features. His grey eyes seemed to observe me. His lips displayed a smirk worthy of a Malfoy, it seemed to mock me and yet welcoming me into his arms.

It was then when I let my tears flow. I had kept them bottled up. I never cried when they buried him, I never cried when they handed me his death certificate, I never even shed a tear till now. My strong façade was broken. It hurt so much! It hurt so much compared to the numbness I felt for a full twelve months. It hurt. But pain was good, pain meant that I could still feel. Pain meant that I still cared. And pain meant that I was glad that he had fulfilled his last promise to me.

I regained my pace and again, started going toward him. His smirk was now not on his boyish jaw. His face displayed sadness, regret but perhaps the most prominent one was of the opposite. It was joy.

I had stopped, his feet an inch away from mine, his face an inch away from mine. I studied his features, his lanky frame. His hair that kept swaying and covering his eyes as he walked; he opened his arms and welcomed me into his embrace. Warmth I had not felt for a long time.

He placed his lips close to my ear and whispered, "I promised you I'll come back for you." It was creepy yet comforting to hear him say that. "And you would die trying to fulfill your made promises," I quoted. He smiled, as I craned my head to look at him.

He had me trapped. I could never get out of that cold hell from which I was imprisoned in. And to be serious, I do not think I ever want to get out.

-------…-------

A body struggling in the dark London sky suddenly went limp. Her icy body went to rest, her breath stopped. Her thrashing in her bed had stopped. Her face had formed an expression of peace and happiness.

Hermione Granger had found peace at last.