Something Else Out There
The moonlight splashed across the waters of the lake, cascading its bold image upon the dark waves. He stood at the very edge, his shoes imprinted roughly in the soil surrounding the massive body of water, housing in it, mysteries beyond anything he could ever dream of. Though Draco did not care for any of that.
The smallest of waves lifted every so often, flirting with the tips of his shoes, and then surrendered back into the blackness. He didn't notice. Not once had he mimicked the moon, daring to stare into the dark pool, granting his reflection to stare back at him. No, he didn't do that. No, he couldn't.
Instead, his head was pointed to the sky, and he couldn't help but find it strange that it was an identical copy of the dark lake before him (though he knew it was really, the other way around, but he hadn't the patience for theory at the moment). Though unlike the water, the sky never once distorted the image of the moon, of the stars. It stayed solid, sharp, there. He never once turned his head, but he did not need to do so, as the vastness of the dark above him seemed to envelope everything around him, everything in its reach, everything of him. His mind wandered as he continued to stare into nothingness (or was it everything?) that the dark sky provided.
Stars splashed across the black, bright, bold. How many were there? Draco had learned enough in his education to know that the exact number of stars in the universe was impossible to count, millions upon millions, was the closest knowledge. But it didn't stop him from counting every speck of light above him. He figured it would make him forget, to lose himself in the vast sea of stars, and then surely, he would drown.
To the right of the milky moon, he started to count.
One,
It was strange, in the stillness of the night; he was the calmest he had felt in a long time. All anxiety was absent, and his chest seemed to lift higher than ever before, as he breathed in the soft, light smell of sea salt, lingering the air. The hammer that so often crashed upon his being, seemed to have disappeared, or merely taking a break before smashing down on him, harder than ever before. Draco didn't care to think of that. For he could breathe, and could feel his lungs expanding wider than ever before, taking inhalations that he so often never dared to take.
Draco couldn't risk breathing most days.
He turned his head absentmindedly, his eyes grasping for the sight of every single star in the sky.
The castle was visible in the corner of his eye, but he did not turn away from the specks of light to fully focus his gaze upon it. Not like he needed to. Six years he had been at that school, six years he had spent in the corridors, in the great hall, in the classrooms, and Draco felt that he had not learned a single thing. Sure he knew how to transfigure a book into a wine goblet, and nobody could deny his strength at brewing nearly perfect potions, but Draco was as empty of knowledge as ever.
He didn't know how to act, didn't know how to fight. He was hopeless, he already knew. The dark path he had been forced upon was as winding, and treacherous as ever, and the thought of it offering any kind of mercy was now absent from his mind. Upon every step he took, the burden of the greatest evil, fell harder and deeper onto his being, and he knew that soon, he would surely collapse from the weight of it all. He knew it, but never had he let the idea slip into another mind. He couldn't risk that. He was chosen. Those chosen could not dare to feel fear.
Was that what he was? Afraid? As hard as it was to admit such a thing, it was impossible to deny the burning, empty feeling that had occupied his chest for much too long. His body felt hollow, bare, as if even the tiniest of things could puncture his being, and he would fail. He knew he didn't even need such a thing protruding into him for him to see that succeeding was utterly impossible. Every attempt he had made already had failed with the feeble acts of effort surrounding it.
But if he were to really try, could he do it?
He didn't know. He was scared to find out. But time was running out, for how long did he have left? Months (He wished)? Days (hardly)? Hours. Mere hours were separating him from the utter test of everything he was, and everything he was going to be, in the last attempt Draco would ever make. His mind drove away from that notion, forcing him to think of something else, anything else.
How often he had thought of what it would be like if he hadn't been chosen for this task, if his father never failed, if no good or bad separated everything they knew. What it would be like if Voldemort just never fucking existed. He was shocked immediately by the harshness and bitter tone of his thoughts, and persisted to fight against them, tried to force them from his mind, and surely make it seem like they never existed. He felt wrong, so wrong. Because he was never supposed to think that, ever. He tore his eyes away from the dark sky, forgetting about light, forgetting about the stars, and stared into the weak imitation of what he had lost
himself in only moments ago.
He had always feared his father, which was an almost embarrassing feature upon his pale face, even at childhood, the lines of utmost panic, that would since deepen as he had grown. He tired to mask it, but had it worked, he didn't know. Malfoys never show fear, they never feel it. At the age of five, Draco had already failed his father. It was tragic, and twisted, how it had worried him so much, to be seen as a failure in Lucius' cold grey eyes, a letdown of the perfect son he so fought to be. All because the weakness he had shown centered from the one who had forced this belief on him, only to have a five year old boy break it, in fear of his own father. Draco's eyes soon shone of determination to prove himself, Lucius' glared of expectant disappointment, and it was not long after that Draco swore to himself to remove that look from his father's pale features forever.
Tonight was his chance. Tonight was all he had.
He had gone over the plan hundreds of times in his mind, reviewed and revised, corrected and perfected, until the plan was no longer a list of tasks he must do, but rather a second nature in him, something that coursed in his veins, and controlled his actions. He no longer needed to think about it, no longer wanted to. The quicker it was all over, the better. It was hard to think of after now, he had never gone past before in his plans, and what must happen after what he must do, was almost as frightening as the burden that he must commit.
He began the ritual of reviewing the plan once again, staring deep into the dark waters of the lake, his eyes piercing into the waves, doing all that, but seeing nothing at all.
Let in the Death Eaters… proceed to the astronomy tower… where the old man will be at his mercy… flick his wand and say those two words… His throat immediately constricted at the thought. Those words floated in his mind, he could see them everywhere, a constant reminder, a torturous taunt of everything he had worked for.
And it was just too hard. Suddenly, Draco had never felt so much like a low, failure than he did after that thought had entered his mind. Shouldn't this come easy to him? He suddenly thought stupidly about when he had first gotten the mark branded along his forearm. He had hoped against all hope, as the almost too sharp wand dug into his pale, white skin, releasing the darkest black he had ever seen against his forearm, that having the mark of evil upon him would aid him in doing equally evil things. How naïve he had been. The mark had never helped him once, rather it was almost as heavy a burden to hide than the one before him. He couldn't afford revealing himself could he now?
He absentmindedly raised his right hand, slowly pushing back the sleeve of his button down on his other arm. His eyes moved to the revealed mark, and his forehead immediately furrowed. He had never been able to change his clothes in front of anyone, never could roll up his sleeves on hot days, nor go around prancing with his left arm naked of any covering. He realized that he had barely ever looked at it. He had an excuse for it, however. Draco always had excuses didn't he? He could never reveal his mark, even to himself, for what if someone were to walk in on him, expose to the school what he had become? He couldn't have that, could he?
In truth, Draco was more of a coward than he had ever thought. It was strange fearing something upon one's self, to be scared of the sight of something he had let be branded on his skin. Though he had hidden it skilfully from others (and himself), he could not deny the fact that he could still feel it. Feel it throb under his robes in class, almost as if it were slithering through his bones, coursing through his veins, only having to hide his left arm further underneath the tables to mask the mixture of fear and almost pain he felt.
And so, seeing it now in such an open space, free of covering, naked of excuses to be hidden, filled his body with a sudden surge of anxiety, sparking throughout every nerve ending in his being. It was an almost thrilling sensation, as if he had broken a law, and managed to roam free.
He lifted his right hand, and placed it gently on the Mark. A shiver went through his body and it was a haunting feeling. As soon as he realized what he had done, he swiftly jerked his head side to side, his eyes wide in alarm and fear. Had he just summoned The Dark Lord? When he saw no one around him, his heart slowed to the anxious beat it was so used to, and he laughed mirthlessly despite himself. He was going insane wasn't he? He knew that to summon him, he had to be willing to. And Draco felt the pure opposite of that. He was going to have to face him sooner of later (he wished later), and it was the thought that sent Draco deeper inside of himself. His body housed the constant cabinet of fear and anxiety that threatened to overcome him with every breath he had managed to breathe. And he was about to break. He was sure of it.
Slowly, he furrowed his eyebrows and concentrated on drawing his fore finger slowly up his foreman, towards his palm, tracing the intricate and obscure lines of pure evil upon his skin. He hadn't noticed that his hand was shaking terribly, that his breath hitched horribly, and that his heart had shot up into his throat, throbbing against his tongue. He could see the blue and purple veins running through his arm, even more apparently against in milky bask of the moon upon his pale skin. The Mark circled around those veins, as if capturing them, as if imprisoning them. He had given up the ownership of his life when the too black ink sank mercilessly into his skin, as The Mark held captive his veins, his life, and Draco could not do anything about it.
He continued to trace The Mark, careful not to press too hard, for it still caused physical pain, that throbbed his arm in such a way that he had never felt before. It was utterly painful, and he thought himself not to touch it early on. Well, his life was ending soon, wasn't it? He didn't have to follow any of his childish rules now.
As his finger reached the skull head, he couldn't help but stare at the horrid emptiness it carried. Death. That was what was on his arm. And Draco had to kill. Could he utter those words? The curse beyond all others, the one that would take all life from those at his mercy, leaving them just as empty as the skull upon his arm. He would never befall that fate on anyone if he had the choice. But choices were foreign to him.
He opened his mouth slowly. If he could say them now, it mustn't be a problem to utter them in the most important time ahead of him, with his wand pointed, aimed. His throat refused to open, not only words trapped in it, but breath, and he thought that soon he could suffocate from all this. The weight, the demand. He had to do this.
Draco had given up choices a long time ago.
He cleared his throat, a deep rumble from inside him softly escaped, but his throat did not loosen around the curse he must say. He took a breath, exhaled a shaky shot of air, and let his tongue loose, and yet the words would not leave his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut, then tried again, and then again. But nothing came from his throat, and Draco could feel the oh so familiar sensation of desperation claw at his insides, and he could do nothing to stop it. He clamped his eyelids down harder, his hands balling into clenched fists, and tried with all his might to utter that retched curse.
Why couldn't he just fucking say it?! He had to, he had no choice! His breathing sped up, his chest heaving up and down, taking and releasing hectic breaths of anxiety. He squeezed his fists tighter, his nails digging into his pale skin, daring to break the surface of his skin. His knuckles turned a pale white, almost matching the bold moon above him, reflected in the dark waters. He tried one more time, physically feeling a crack slowly ripping through him, and tearing him apart.
He strained his throat, he stretched his body, and stressed his mind, forcing those two words to flow from him.
This time, something did leave his lips, but it was not the two words haunting his soul, but rather, an harsh sob, clawing its way from his throat and finally out of his body. He did not open his eyes, feeling his chest heave as more sobs escaped from the deep, embarrassing vault inside of him. He couldn't believe this. His body finally gave, and his dropped to the dirt-ridden ground, not a worry about ruining his trousers coursed through him. He brought his knees up to his body, and wrapped his long arms around the top of them, needing some sort of comfort, but no one could provide that for him now. Malfoys were strong. But Draco Malfoy was weak.
He dropped his head onto his arms, burrowing the shame of everything he couldn't do, from the world, from his reflection, and begged for it to be hidden, where no one could ever see. A tear formed at the edges of his stormy eyes, filled with much more than his father's traits, and then fell onto his cheek, soaking through the thin fabric of his button down. His pale face contorted, as more tears streamed from his eyes, and more sobs tore through his throat, and it was then that Draco had never felt more pathetic.
Then he sobbed, harder and deeper, than he had ever let slip out his throat. Letting out all the pent up anguish that coursed through his veins into the stillness of the night. His throat was sore, but the raw sobs did not stop. Raising his head slowly, he let out every cry of agony he could muster out from his being, into the darkness, and wished, with all his might, that it would forever be banished from him, lost somewhere in the stars, where it could not reach him.
His body convulsed as his cries shook his whole being with its force. He did it, again and again. Pouring every ounce of what he was, who he was, into the verbal release of his fucking soul. He wanted every feeling he felt to leave, tear from the insides of his body, and just out! He was breaking apart from the shell he had moulded around him at the beginning of the year, and it was tearing in the most awful of places. His emotions could no longer be strained to express nothing, while all he could feel was everything. He felt fear, and anger, and anxiety, all contorted into a ball of agonizing pain. It left a whole in his chest, that he knew could never been filled, for the edges were raw, flesh torn apart unwilling. Nothing could fix him now. He was too far gone, and yet he felt as if he had the longest road still awaiting him. And at that thought, the stinging tears intensified, sliding down his pale reddened cheeks, landing in whichever place they claimed.
Suddenly, he caught sight of movement in the corner of his eye. The all familiar sense of panic surged through his body, rendering him alert, and fucking scared shitless. He immediately reached into his pocket, searching for his wand. His body turned swiftly, and he was on his feet, pointing his wand at the person he least expected to see.
Her eyes were wide in alarm, from the sight of him, with tears sticking to his cheeks, or the fact that he was aiming his wand at her, a curse at the ready, he did not know. He did not move his wand, and she did not make any movement to retrieve her own. Still, utter terror ran through his body, more out of habit than of the situation. As they stood in near darkness, bodies tense, and breathing ragged, he spotted something that irrevocably broke his demeanour into shards. In her eyes, those muddy brown eyes, he could see his own terror, his own fear, reflected back at him. It was impossibly clear, and heartbreakingly horrific, that she did not seem to hold any fear of her own, and that he, with his wand still pointed at her neck, was the one terrified beyond anything. At that moment, Draco never felt so ashamed, so embarrassed, and most of all, so tired.
He dropped his arm suddenly, as defeat coursed through his wilting stance, and lowered his eyes on the ground beneath them. He turned away from her, and did not bother to look for her reaction to his uncharacteristic actions, and fell. He crashed back onto the soil, barely a foot away from the edge of the dark waters, and there it was. The fall of Draco Malfoy.
Silence enveloped them immediately, and all that was heard was the simple sway of tree branches, soft brushes of the wind against their beings. The moon above them still shone with bold intentions, and he realized that he had lost count. He lifted his right hand, and rubbed with all this might, the loose tears still sticking to his cheeks.
"Draco?" Her voice was soft as it floated into his ears, and it was rather strange to hear his first name fall from her lips.
He did not turn.
"Draco," She said again, this time, the ruffles of her cloak warned him of her actions, and suddenly she was sitting amongst the soil, sitting beside him. Close, but not enough to touch.
He was too weary to move away regardless.
"Why are you here?" The words were out of his mouth before he realized he had thought it.
"To count the stars."
"Why?" He turned his head to her, curiously brewing in his being, and saw that her eyes were piercing back into his, but were turned upward to face the blanket of darkness above them. The glow of the pale moon washed over her features, and he found it impossible to look away. The shadows created upon her skin was utterly breathtaking, and he could no longer think of anything else.
"Do you ever think that there's so much more out there than we can see?" Her voice, so quiet that had he not been sitting so close to her, her words would've been lost in the soft breeze.
He turned his eyes ever so slowly away from her, and looked, too, at the dark, night sky above them.
"Or do you think that this is all there is? I mean, what if maybe this is all there is? That there is nothing else in world that is different, that there is nothing else in the world that is better."
Her words floated with ease into the air around their beings, and with every breath he took, the meaning of them would slowly fill his body.
"That would be horrible, wouldn't it? I've spent countless nights, thinking. Not about tests, or exams, homework or classes, but actually thinking. About how different everything could be, that something better could come along and save us, you know?"
He knew, how badly he knew.
"There has to be something that we can't see in the world; that is invisible. Something that could change everything, something that could help us. Because, this can't be all there is. It can't!"
Her voice suddenly raised, and he turned, yet again to look at her. Her eyes were still on the darkness above them, but in them, he could see the glistening of tears layer upon her brown orbs. She seemed be so lost in her words, in her thoughts.
He slowly pondered her words, and immediately he wanted to shout at her, yell countless insults at the daft, and stupid Mudblood beside him. Because in the midst of war, how could someone possess those thoughts? How could someone feel that glimmer of hope still in their hearts? How could someone still believe that the world held a hidden greatness, when darkness was on the verge of consuming everything that they knew?
Hermione was a lost cause, he told himself. She believed that something was out there, behind the layers of stars, behind the bold moon, behind all of that, something had to be hiding, and he could tell that even at this moment, she was searching with all her might. And suddenly, a wave of feeling crashed over him, and it was the most unfamiliar emotion to wrap around his heart that he swore had gone. It was sadness. Not his own, for the failure that he knew would happen, but was for something different entirely. For the first time in his life, he could feel the agony of someone else's sadness, and it was the most painful, anguishing feeling he had ever felt. Her sadness, her hopelessness, lingered in the air, transferring from her being to his, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He didn't want it, for how could he even feel anything from this filthy Mudblood?! As soon as that thought entered his mind, it was diminished, like a puff of grey smoke, and was gone. Because who was he to put himself superior to her anymore. He was Draco Malfoy, a pureblood, son of Lucius Malfoy, but with the ever growing prospect of war lingering much too close to him, he realized, who the fuck cared. He decided unexpectedly that he wholeheartedly did not give a fuck, to which side won.
"Do you think there's something else out there, Draco?"
The sound of his first name upon her lips, broke him free of his heavy thoughts, and brought him back to where he was sitting. Her eyes were no longer facing up into the night, but pierced into his with such an intensity that he found it impossible to look away.
As their eyes connected, they each saw things in the other that they were never meant to see. Her fear, and his fear. And Draco found it exceptionally hard to answer her. He refused to think that he did not want to reply was because he was afraid to hurt her feelings, but rather was scared to discover what he really thought. Something else out there. Something that could help him, something that could save him. How perfect would that be. But in his world, nothing worked like that. Because he was Draco Malfoy, a pureblood, son of Lucius Malfoy. Because he had the task to kill. What could possibly help him? What could possibly save him? Nothing. His spirits were absolutely broken, and in turn, so was he. Nothing could save him. It was a sad conclusion, but really, had he ever thought anything different? The world was not meant to help boys burdened with impossible responsibilities. Especially those of his kind. It just didn't work that way.
His lips parted, and as he was about to answer, he spotted something in her eyes that he did not see before. It was something he had wanted for so long, something so impossible that it was considered shameful for him to yearn for. The words that would make all this pain, all this anxiety, all this agony, go away, even if just for a little bit. Things will get better. How badly he wanted to hear those words himself, and he found another pang of sadness spear into his chest. It was as if she could read his thoughts. The tears were clearly visible now, and before his eyes, he could see them brim over, spilling onto her flushed cheeks. It was probably the most devastating sight he had ever seen. The breaking of another person's spirit, right in front of him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He furrowed his eyebrows in frustration, as the familiar sensation of helplessness gnawed at this insides. His lips parted once again, and his words wreathed from his throat with a vulnerability he was never allowed to show.
"I hope so. I really do."
At his response, a sad smile appeared on her lips, and for the first time, Draco felt his heart expand. He had invoked happiness in another, no matter how miniscule, but he could tell that that was enough for her. At that, he felt the corners of his own lips tug slowly, into the saddest smile, mirroring hers.
Slowly, they both turned away, and raised their eyes to the darkness of time above them. The milky moon, still shown with reckless abandon, not a single grey cloud to block its radiance. The stars, millions upon millions, still sprinkled against the blanket of black, and he could feel his mind drift back to when he first came to this spot. Maybe it was not just the freedom, the open space of the edge of the lake that drew him in. Maybe he had not been counting stars like he had intended to keep his mind off the task he had to perform in mere hours. Maybe, and his heart beat thunderously in his chest at this thought, maybe that he had been just like her. Somehow, it was possible that deep within him, he wanted to search for the something else out there that would help them, that would save them, that would make things better.
And so, as Draco Malfoy sat beside Hermione Granger, at the edge of the dark, vast lake, they both looked beyond the moon, looked beyond the stars, looked beyond the dark, and searched with all their might. Because there had to be something else other there, and together, they were both determined to find it.