The Dark Is Cold

Chapter One – Know Thine Enemy

Harry

Sirius is dead, and I as good as killed him. Anyone and everyone can tell me that over and over that it wasn't my fault, but I can see they don't believe a word of it. They need someone to blame, and it might as well be me, seeing as it was my idea in the fist place. Even if it's only in their minds. Maybe that's worse, somehow.

Especially when it's Ron and Hermione. I wish they'd decide on their opinion: support me or blame me. But they linger somewhere in between, cautiously polite, sidestepping the issue. I need them more than ever now, but it's my fault they aren't here. I pushed them away, safe, and now they don't have to deal with this mess. This mess that is all I am now.

I don't feel anything much. Quidditch isn't fun anymore, but an unwanted reminder of how thing used to be. I don't live life: just watch it, like a muggle video. People are dying, and I witnessed the deaths of two of them. It's hard to worry about essays or house points when they seem so trivial. Nothing makes sense anymore, and I don't care.

Malfoy doesn't matter. He isn't my nemesis, my best enemy. I can't feel hate for him like I used to, but then, I can't feel anything. Except a desire for vengeance, against he who took my parents and she who took Sirius. What is it they say, 'revenge is a dish best served cold'? Well, I'm cold. So cold that my heart has frozen even as I stare at ice I can feel on my fingers, which isn't really there.

I haven't spoken for days, nor had a conversation in weeks. There are things I'd rather keep to myself; layers of thoughts best kept hidden. And I'll conceal them, and maybe one day I'll face the world again. Like I ever could. And so, I probably won't.

Hermione

I can't remember the last time I talked to harry. He isn't talking to anyone, I don't think. He doesn't do his homework, or say anything in class, or even care about the points he loses because of it. He never responds if someone says something to him. The last phrase I recall him saying was 'fuck off'. It broke Ron's heart the day Harry said that to him. That's what he's all about now. His whole demeanour is always telling people to go away, 'cause I don't need you'.

But that's the thing, because he does need someone. Someone who doesn't hold with all the Boy-Who-Lived rubbish; he hates that. Everyone wants the Boy-Who-Lived to be a saviour, but he can't save everyone, and he hates himself for it. I understand that, and Ron does too, on some level. Ron and I could give him that, and everything would be all right again. The three of us, the trio, the dream team, best friends…wishful thinking, Hermione. Well here's some more: I wish it was that simple.

I know I'm missing something. Harry's dark, no other word for it – he broods, and sometimes I see anger or hate in his eyes, so strong it is frightening. Beyond that, he is a mystery to me, my best friend. I, Hermione Granger, have failed. I cannot help a best friend: none of the knowledge I have, about spells, or potions, or magic, can help now.

I should say I will not give up. But I cannot see a way forward, or even a chance, a hope, something I could do or try, and it frustrates me. Harry does not want my help, and even I can see I am of little use, so the best I can do is leave him alone. Leave him alone, and hope he can deal with something I cannot possibly understand.

Ron despairs at me. I said, all we can do is wait and hope, and let him know we are there. I told Ron that we would be there for Harry when it is over and everything is back to normal. What have I become, to lie to my best friend? Because I don't know if everything can go back to normal, if there is even a chance that Harry will come back to us. Maybe we have lost him forever, maybe not. The fault is mine, because I cannot help my best friend. And I have no right to fail a friend.

Draco

Potter's been strange this year. Sometimes I try to act like nothing's changed: like he's still the ever-noble Gryffindor against me, the Badass Slytherin. But, I don't think he hates me anymore. He's turned the tables on me, become darker that I ever was. He walks down empty halls alone and speaks to no one, his shadow-bound demeanour like a statue of ice, cold and hard. I haven't seen him at a meal for days, and he's never with Granger and Weasley. I see them sometimes, watching him, worrying about him, but I don't think he cares.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that it has something to do with Black's death. My father told me…that Black meant something to him.

"Sirius Black deserved what he got, you know," I announced to the deserted corridor. Well, deserted apart from Potter. His presence is like a ghost, and a sure sign there's nobody else for miles, so deserted it is.

He stopped, and turned around slowly. I'd spoken quietly, but I knew he'd heard me. Some people think he's lost to the world, just because he doesn't acknowledge anything they say or do, but I can see him watching and listening, sharp as he always was. He was angry now, for the first time in ages. Not red-faced with clenched fists like he used to be, when he did not bother to hide anything. Now he just stood, and fixed me with his cold stare, the same one that he's worn for weeks. It was his stance, the way he stood stock-still and silent, that was how I knew he was angry. I know him well - I watch, just like he does, and five years of trying to know my enemy has become a force of habit.

"What did you say?" His voice was hoarse, cracking from lack of use. Bloody hell, he really hasn't spoken in weeks. We both knew what I'd said, but I said it again for good measure, and because we had to pretend that this was just another

Potter/Malfoy duel of words, like always, even though always is a dream of the distant past.

"You'd better take that back," he said, dangerously. It was a definite threat, but a cold, calm one, as if he was just informing me of a fact. It almost was a fact: I knew there would be trouble if I didn't take it back. Trouble was what I wanted. He walked towards me, and suddenly I noticed that the movement was noiseless and lithe, qualities that I knew he hadn't possessed before.

"Why?" I said. "No, I meant it. What, have I struck a nerve?" I hoped so. But his next reaction was fast, and so unlike him. He hasn't got angry at me (or anyone for that matter) in ages, so I didn't expect him to hit me. Especially not that hard. It hurt. He had grown; with all his lurking in the shadows I hadn't noticed, but grown he had. He stood taller than I did, stronger, and older than I remember. I thought there might be a reason why he looked older.

"Your father was there, Malfoy. At the Ministry when Sirius was killed." His voice cracked a little.

"But it was Bellatrix who…" Shit. I'm…not supposed to know that.

"Yes, Bellatrix Lestrange, formerly Bellatrix Black. Sirius' cousin as well as his murderer, and your mother's sister. Tortured Neville too. Though it was Dolohov who cursed Hermione. I suppose Bellatrix had done enough damage." He spat. He hit me again, while I was still trying to get my head round what he'd said. That's not fair, that's a Slytherin thing. But I got up and hit him back, in the mouth. His lip started bleeding, and he seemed surprised. Then he ran towards me and picked me up, raining blows. I struggled, and got in an uppercut and a blow to his stomach, but he didn't seem to feel it, though I could see blood on him. He fought, almost without looking at me, like it was someone else he was trying to fight. 'My fucking fault,' he said, perhaps unintentionally. I was bewildered, and I tried to read him. I thought I saw…guilt, for a second, before it passed as quickly as it had come. Then I realised exactly what he meant.

"Holy fuck," Did I say that? Or just think it?

There was a strange look in his eyes, a kind of intense, merciless hatred that was beyond any I ever felt. I got the feeling that it wasn't for me.

I tasted blood, and it filled my mouth. I hit him again, and blood trickled from his nose, but he just wiped it away, as if he could feel no pain or felt too much already.

My worldview went from fuzzy red to grey, and I knew he had dropped me.

"Tell your Aunt Bella that I'm going to get her back for what she did to Sirius. Tell her that this time, I can cast the Cruciatus curse."

I never told them who it was, and god knows I deserved it anyway. But I couldn't imagine what had turned him like that. And I got the feeling I had only scratched the surface of his darkness.

Ron

A lot of the time I wonder where my best friend went. I wondered, and asked Hermione, but she knows little more than I do. She said that she didn't know what to do, and I know it upset her more than she would let on.

Harry's so distant, he hasn't spoken in weeks, and the last thing he said was 'fuck off'. And it was to a Gryffindor, maybe a friend, and not to somebody who deserved it, like Malfoy.

I don't think Harry hates Malfoy any more. Maybe he never really did, but now there's people he hates much more. Hates really bad, like that look he gets sometimes when he thinks no one can see, like he could cast an unforgivable. It was scary, that. That was when I knew I couldn't do anything. When I stopped believing in what Hermione said, that we'd be there for him when he came back. When I stopped believing that things could ever go back to normal.

That's like life, when something happens, or something changes, there's no going back, no erasing what happened. Once you're grown up, you're grown up for good. I look at Harry, and wonder if it's the same with a person; whether some things can leave scars that never go away.

A while ago, Harry suddenly changed the status quo. I was a minor shift, but it meant something. It meant there might be a way forward, even if there was no going back. He looked at me yesterday. Still with that cold stare he practised to cover everything so well, but it was a little different. It didn't say 'fuck off and leave me alone' so much as 'stay out of this'. I think it meant that he didn't want us to get involved, maybe for our own sakes. I think Hermione was a little right; that Harry could do best on his own, and he thinks so too.

I wondered what he was trying to protect us from. It was so like Harry to do that, but this time we wouldn't overrule him and come anyway, maybe this time we couldn't understand it anyway. Maybe I'm lucky I went crazy, that time at the ministry, cause it didn't leave so much of a mark on me. I don't know if I could've handled what Harry had to; but if there's anyone who can pull through, fight on and make it back, then it's Harry. I'm just gonna pray that when he does, he'll still be a little of the Harry we used to know.