C'est La Vie
That's Life
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I never will.
A/N: This story came to me, and it's a little weird but... I liked it, and I hope others will too. (Though I can tell you it's gonna be a little dark...) Well, if you're bothering to read this, and know, this plot took me a while to hammer out.
Warnings: Draco/Harry (One-sided), Slash (obviously), Language, Violence
Dedicated to Cap'n Binky, because she's my muse and a dear friend, and Mina-Chan, because she will always be Draco's tiniest fan.
He cursed.
Now that he was out in the pouring rain, miles from home (for he walked the whole way, all night) and soaked to the bone.
Was it really miles he had walked? It didn't feel like it.
That's what he felt like until he took the opportunity to stop, and lean against a tree. Without anytime to brace himself, his legs collapsed under him, and he lay crumpled at the tree's trunk. Bitter sobs escaped his throat, and tears streamed down his cheeks, mingling with the rainwater. He felt so hopeless. But of course he would feel hopeless; he'd just up and left his home with no intention of ever going back. Know that he'd been gone for hours, he realized how stupid it had been to leave. And there was no way in hell he could ever go back now. He was too proud.
But what was he going to do? All his stuff was back in his room on Private Drive, and he probably didn't even have his wand! Scratch that, he had his wand. He remembered pointing it at Uncle Vernon while they fought. He didn't remember about what, as his mind was shutting down. The cold was getting to him, and hunger gnawed at his insides. Had he even eaten today? He didn't remember. His legs were sore, too. And he was surprised he hadn't walked holes in the soles of his shoes. He wiggled his toes, felling blisters stretch. Yes, he was sore all over, mentally and physically. It was almost like self mutilation, in a way.
He smiled bitterly, and used his soaked sleeve to wipe his face.
It was a pointless gesture, but it calmed him all the same. The sobs he had been emitting softened before silencing all together. Tears still streamed down his cheeks, or were those just raindrops? He couldn't tell anymore. All he knew was that he was sore, tired, and hungry. His eyes flickered shut, and even though there was a root digging into his side, this was probably the most comfortable place he'd been all night. More then willingly he slipped into sleep.
He was standing alone in that room, the one with the great stone dais. The clothe blew silently, calling towards him.
'Harrrrry..." It whispered.
The clothe reached toward him, shifting in such a way it was as if it was trying to morph into a hand. Without thinking, he stretched his hand out in return. His fingers brushed against the soft fabric, and it was as if all his woes faded away.
'I can save you,' it whispered, in such a sweet (yet eerie) voice, 'Just take my hand...'
'What hand?' he asked, startled.
This time, the clothe did morph into a hand, grabbing at his wrist and pulling him closer. But it was no longer a clothe, but a young blonde haired male, eyes hidden behind his long bangs. He was pulled closer, and felt the strong arms wrap around him, soothing words reaching his ears.
And yet...
Something didn't seem right. The dais told him that. The great stone dais that was towering over him, and the blonde... What was with him to dream of a blonde male? Let alone one who said loved him. He pushed the blonde away, watching as he fell down.
And he blinked. It was no blonde, but a simple white clothe, once elegant, now lying on the dirty floor. He shook his head. Was he imagining things? No, it was a clothe, and always had been. (But what about the strange warmth...? No, it never existed.)
The dais, once again, so majestic, towered over him.
He'd seen it before.
But where?
'Sirius...' he breathed.
A strange light emitted from the stone, as if the stones themselves were glowing. Red, he noticed, they were glowing red.
Every where the lights hit, blood spilled from. The walls, the floors, even the steps surrounding the dais. And the blood filled the room so fast. In a matter of seconds, he was up to his ankles, and half a minute later it was up to his knees. But he couldn't move.
He was petrified.
And a scream filled his ears. A loud, agonizing, pain filled scream.
Harry fell to his knees (now up to shoulders in blood) and clutched his ears. His own screaming mixed in with those emitting from the giant ring. He coughed. He couldn't breathe!
The blood filled his nostrils, and he opened his mouth to gag and it flooded down his throat. The bitter copper taste flooded his senses, and he struggled to stand up but something clawed at his legs and arms, pulling him down. His eyes stung as they were splashed by the warm blood. He clenched them shut, and struggled to breathe in the thick liquid.
Within a minute, he died.
Slowly he opened his eyes. Warm sunlight met him, and he blinked in confusion. His back ached, as if something were digging into it. Birds sang their morning songs, and the trees around him whispered their secrets to the world. And he blinked again.
Why was he outside? What had happened to the dark room, where he'd been surrounded by blood? What the hell was he doing sleeping outside?
And as if the light summer breeze told him, the memories slowly creeped back into his mind. And the pain hit him seemingly tenfold. He sat up, stretching out his tired limbs, and hissed when his spine suddenly popped. This was the last time he was going to sleep out doors.
"Well, since I'm out here..."
Harry sighed, and bitterly wondered what warm meal was cooking at the Dursley's house.
He dug into his pockets and found his wand. Peeling his soaking sweatshirt off, he stuck his arm and wand out and summoned the Knight Bus.
He only had to wait a moment for the large purple triple decker bus to appear, and climbed on happily.