"Draco!" Shelby's heart-wrenching cries were enough to make Draco stutter, his footsteps uneven as he stumbles between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables. Laughing like a maniac, the woman in black kicks over glasses and cutlery, shattering dishware against her boots. We reach the door and Bellatrix's hysterical laughter makes us turn, and I'm so sorry that I do, because in the next moment we're watching the Great Hall explode with noise and shrapnel.
"Draco," Shelby says again and I turn to chase her out to the hall.
He stops and I can sense the anger and fear radiating from him in waves, like heat from a fire.
"Please." Shelby's words are so quiet and soft I feel like it's an invasion of privacy for anyone but Draco to hear them. "Please, Draco." This quiet plea seems to me like it holds the weight of the world in its syllables. It seems to me like this quiet plea is an unspoken promise. Even I believe in her when she utters, "Everything will be okay, just…just stay."
I've never seen Shelby and Draco's relationship as anything more than children hating children, but now it seems like I know nothing. I have no idea of the truth that lies in either of their hearts. But I believe, in this eerily still moment, this lull amongst an inferno of terror and violence, that they are each other's halo of peace in this world.
And for a brief moment, Draco believes it too. I see it, the fires of hope dancing in his eyes, as he looks at Shelby. His expression is unguarded and I believe he sees a place he can be safe with her. I believe he sees a home.
But hope dies inside of fear, like fire drowns in water, and the light leaves Draco's eyes. It's bitter when he turns away and continues up the stairs, and Shelby whimpers, "Wait," and then she screams it, "Wait!"
He doesn't.