It was cold. It was dark. Black clouds started to accumulate over his head. Slowly drops of rain started falling. First they were small, hardly noticeable. Suddenly they became richer. Like a symphony they started off with soft delicate tones to change to a full orchestra. All the objects surrounding him became instruments. Huge drops of the water stored in the sky made the world sway to a music only a few were allowed to hear. Standing right where he was left, he was one of them. His light white hair started to glue itself to his head, but he didn't care. In his hands he held a letter. The black ink started to flow away together with the water coming from above. He didn't care. He already read the words that were fading now. They were not what he had expected. Not what he had hoped for.
His hand reached for his coat buttons. Starting to undo them he continued staring into the dark depressing street. Shabby buildings surrounded him. Out of the inner pocket of his coat he took a tiny flacon. Inside of it there was a shimmery nearly transparent fluid with a slight shade of purple. 'How odd that something so pure and beautiful can be so harmful. Then again,' he thought 'wasn't it always like this?'. His eyes filled with tears, on his face a slight frown. He was prepared, knew this was the only way. The only way out of this hopeless situation. Determined he opened the flacon and set it to his lips.
He heard the noise of their arriving echoing through the streets and flashes of blue light going through it, creating a magical ambient. 'Now' the blonde man thought, opening his mouth and letting the fluid enter it. It had a strange taste of vanilla and patchouli. He swallowed the whole content in one and sank to the ground.
"Draco, don't", he heard a familiar voice crying. The voice of him. 'Too late'. Then everything went dark.
