DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author notes: Please read and, if you have the inclination, review!  My companion phoenix will gratefully accept any flames that I receive.  This is my original work and has been around for a while but I just thought I'd chuck it on the site and see what reaction I get.  Thanks to my mates; Danica, Kate, Sam, Tix and several others for their encouragement and inspiration.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco forced the silvered blade through the flesh and bone between Harry's shoulder blades and twisted it. Blood spurted from the gaping wound and pooled over the cold stone of the dungeon floor, flecks of splintered bone floating in the death-milk. He drove the knife home a final time and Harry slumped to his knees, the blood soaked ends of his raven-black hair flicking into his eyes. Not that it mattered; his empty eye sockets were locked in perpetual darkness.

Even as Harry felt the blood rise in his throat and gradually begin to drown him, he rasped, "Attack...a man...from behind. Just like you...Malfoy. Just like...a...a Sl...-"

Draco kicked him to the ground and stood over him, fists clenched and teeth gritted. "Say it Potter. It's the last thing you'll ever say."

Even though a bubble of warm scarlet fluid choked every syllable, Harry whispered, "Just like a Slytherin...coward. You're...weak. Cowards die...a thousand times...but a warrior...dies only...once."

Suddenly Harry jerked. His spine arched horribly and his eyes widened in sudden terror. Then his tortured body became still for the last time. Draco knelt in the blood that surrounded the lifeless body of his sworn enemy, and with a shaking, pale hand touched the flesh that would soon lose its life-warmth.

Then he began to laugh, a terrible, mocking laugh that ricocheted off the dungeon walls and filled his whole being. Draco Malfoy laughed at the fleeting image of Death. Then he choked and the maniacal laughter turned to hollow, grief-filled, bone-racking sobs.

*****

Harry slammed his fist into the stone wall of the Hogwarts dungeons, just outside the entrance of the Potions room.

"Bloody Slytherin bastards!" he grunted through his clenched jaw, as a burning pain throbbed through his grazed knuckles. He pressed his injured hand tightly against his chest as he stormed down the hallway.

Had he been in a more observant frame of mind, the expressions on the faces of all the students would have been almost amusing in their distinct diversity. The seventh years and his fellow sixth years regarded him with eyebrows raised in scepticism, the more obnoxious of them even dared to smirk at his outrage. The fourth and fifth years followed his outburst with mild to intense curiosity, and the third years downwards looked quite alarmed and did their utmost to move nearer the walls in order to escape the wrath of the infamous Harry Potter.

As Harry approached the staircase of the Gryffindor tower, he felt a delicate hand being placed on his shoulder.

"Harry..."

He violently shrugged it off and continued to stomp up the winding flight of stairs, hating the world more intensely with every step. He could hear the Fat Lady trilling, "Oh my, we are in a temper, aren't we dear?"

Some miniscule logical section of his brain told him not to retaliate because any comment he made would hardly be less that a threat. So Harry barked, "Norwegian Ridgeback", roughly assisted the Fat Lady's opening and slammed her portrait behind him (mainly to escape her indignant shouts of "How rude! You obviously weren't Sorted for your charm!")

He invaded the homey scarlet-and-gold common room, sank into one of the squashy red velvet armchairs and gazed into the enchanted flames, conjured by dutiful house elves earlier that morning. He channelled his rage into the fire, willing it to consume his enemies and reduce them to unidentifiable charred corpses.

*

Hermione stood in front of the portrait of the Fat lady, fidgeting nervously. She desperately wanted to be with Harry, talk to him, comfort him, feel him fall into her arms with love and trust the way he used to. But...

Hermione subconsciously ran a hand over her left eye, where only a faint blue mark betrayed the fact that a week ago, that eye had been blackened and swollen shut. He's changed, she told herself. I guess we all did. Hagrid's...crossing (she couldn't bring herself to say death, she never could bear the finality of the word) affected Harry more deeply than the rest of us.

I mean, besides Sirius, Hagrid was as close as Harry ever got to having a Dad. Hmph, Sirius, she thought (a little spitefully). Sure, the bloke blames himself for what happened to Hagrid, but so does Harry. Sirius hiding from the world won't help hold Harry together. And then it struck her as it had several times before. That's my job.

But still she hesitated before finally giving the Fat Lady the password.

*

Harry barely noticed the light footsteps approaching his armchair. Hermione stopped, and sought for words that would alert Harry to her presence. She was spared by a grunted, "What do you want?"

She flicked her eyes to his face, but his gaze was still firmly fixed on the fireplace.

"Harry, what happened?"

"Nothing."

Hermione fought to control her frustration. "Harry, don't treat me like an idiot. I saw what you did after class, damn it, I almost felt it. Now, just talk to me. Please."

Harry stood up so fast that Hermione shrank back.

"You want me to tell you what happened? I thought you would have been able to figure it out for yourself, Granger the Wonder-Bitch. If you had ears you couldn't have missed Snape's wisecrack about, and I quote, 'Hagrid's unfortunate but perhaps not altogether unintentional demise'. Oh, the Slytherins enjoyed that, didn't they?"

Every Slytherin attending that Potions lesson had cracked up laughing at Snape's sarcastic remarks directed with extreme malice, every one of them knowing Harry's sensitivity over his failure to protect Hagrid from the Death Eater, Vincent Crabbe Senior. As he had a-thousand-and-one times before, Harry replayed the events in his mind. Or rather, the events replayed themselves without his tortured mind's consent.

Once again, he saw the battlefield strewn with the dead and the suffering, his ears filled with shouts of rage, explosions and screams of pain and fear. Harry stood back to back with Sirius, both fighting to hold their own against a rising tide of Death Eaters. At that moment, Hagrid's burly bulk towered over them all and, swinging a massive broadsword, managed to hack a path to Harry and Sirius.

Once they had some breathing space, Harry looked up to Hagrid, flashing a weary but grateful grin. But then in the corner of his eye, a black-robed, hooded wizard removed his wand from his robes and...

"No, Hagrid!" Harry roared.

Both Harry and Sirius hurled themselves at Hagrid, then a screamed "Avada Kedavra!" echoed in their ears. Harry felt his elbow shatter as he crashed to the ground, forced backward by a rush of green light. Winded, he lay gasping on the cold, barren earth. Then the sound of a sob momentarily shocked him. He'd never heard Sirius cry before...

With a scream like a wounded Centaur, Harry scrambled on his knees to where his friend lay.

"No Hagrid, you're not dead! Don't leave me, you can't! You can't..." he sobbed brokenly. Then he became aware of Sirius gripping him roughly.

"Slytherin bastard," said Sirius, his voice cracking. "Got him from behind. A coward's murder. He'll die a thousand times, Harry, but a warrior dies only once. Hagrid's a warrior, Harry."

Tears choked him then, and two dark heads were bowed over the body of the greatest warrior to die that day.

"Harry?"

Hermione saw Harry's shoulders seem to crumple and his silence scared her.

Harry shook himself slightly and turned away from her.

"Harry, what else happened in there today? I know it wasn't just Snape."

Harry was still for a moment, leaning on the back of the armchair, then he said quietly, "Hermione, you have no idea what it's like, seeing that scum Malfoy near you, thinking he's Merlin's gift to women. And what's worse is seeing you let him be close to you."

Hermione was startled. Draco had just been asking her how many stewed Hippogriff scales were required for the intricate Extroviteum Potion.

"Harry, it's not like that. You don't-"

"Don't what? Understand? I think I understand a lot better than you. You fancy that prick."

"What?! No-"

"Shut up, Hermione." Harry kept his back turned to her.

My God, he's actually serious, Hermione thought with a sudden icy stab of fear.

"But..."

"I said, SHUT UP!" Harry whipped around and backhanded her across the jaw. Hermione collapsed to the floor, face down. Harry stood by her, frozen in horror. Then he swore and dropped to his knees.

"Oh God, Mione! Please, I'm sorry, oh God, I'm so sorry." He ran his hands over her silky hair and stroked her pale skin in sudden panic. "Mione, please say something!"

Harry gently grasped her by the shoulders and turned her body over. He realised with a shock how light she was. He heard a faint sob and he almost laughed with relief as he picked up her limp body and pressed her to his shoulder, wrapping his arms around her.

"I'm sorry Mione, I didn't mean to hurt you. It'll never happen again, I really mean it. I love you. I love you so much, you know that, don't you?" he choked as he tried to wipe her tears away.

"I know," she whispered.

They sat on the crimson rug for a long time.

*