Summary: The war is finally over. Much of the pain and suffering left in its wake has dissipated, although nothing can completely repair the broken hearts trampled by the ravaging of Wizarding Britain. However, there is one man who still suffers. And not because of the war, so much as another thing. But why is Harry Potter still suffering, and what does Draco Malfoy have to do with it? Alive!Sirius,Remus,Nymphadora,Severus
Pairings: HPDM, RLNT, SBSS, RWHG
Warnings: Slash and Het (not too much graphic), Violence (mentions of, graphic memories), Abuse (mentions of)
Note: I've had to change some birthdays.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. No money is made from the writing of this story. No copyright infringement is intended.
.:oOo:.
He would not stay for me, and who can wonder?
He would not stay for me to stand and gaze.
I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder,
And went with half my life about my ways.
by A. E. Housman
.:oOo:.
Tore My Heart in Sunder
Prologue
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The snow was pouring down in sheets. The little white crystals fell from the sky, coating everything below it in a blanket of white. The night air was so frigid that many a Muggle would need to be soon replacing the thermometer they kept outside. The sky was covered in a grey haze of clouds, stacked up as a castle with turrets higher than the eye can see, and yet, by some coincidence, the moon was the perfect spot to be seen just through hole in the clouds, its full, vigilant gaze sweeping the Earth for people who had recklessly stayed outside.
Despite all the harsh beauty of the night, easily observed from the safe confines of a warm house, a man stood, his black t-shirt a stark contrast to the bright sheets now covering the the land, as in a feeble attempt to put the land to sleep.
As the man stood there, he watched. As the trees surrounding his figure leant him their obscurity, he watched the manor in the distance. And, he waited.
He paid close attention as, one by one, the lights shining out the windows of the manor slowly began to fade as the candles emitting them burned the last of their wick. All of a sudden, the last one died, and the manor and its surroundings were plunged into near abject darkness, illuminated only minutely by the small moon that reflected only a little of the sun's magnificence.
The man waited more, maybe seconds, maybe minutes, hours. Who could tell? If no one was to observe its passage, did time pass at all? And how fast?
Alas, we cannot know such as thing.
As it was, the man waited until he finally heard the even breathing of all the houses inhabitants. Finally, Morpheus had taken them, if temporarily, from their mortal coils and allowed them a brief respite in the land of Eternity and Nothingness.
As the man heard this, he finally began to move. Slowly, he made his first step, the cold not having affected his limbs despite the hours he had spent with few layers protecting him from the frost. His steps, eerily silent, as though he had no effect on whatever he stepped on, began slowly, then picked up to a run, faster than anything anyone has ever seen, yet still eerily silent. One, had they been there, could not even be sure he had been there as he passed them, a silent blur, almost as though the moon's mischievous light had tricked yet another person.
Finally, the man came to a stop. The manor, what had once seemed a mere shack in the distance, now loomed over him, its large columns and sturdy walls standing a vigilant guard over its inhabitants. As he approached the door, the man once again saw the familiar sight of the family's motto engraved above the door. Sanctimonia Vincet Semper it read, the large, imposing letters declaring the former beliefs of the Malfoy family.
Ridding himself of his ever-persistent awe at the magnificence of Malfoy Manor, the man stepped up to the door. Standing there, he waited a few minutes. He stood there, thinking about how his life would have been if he was allowed to enter.
With a sigh, he set the twelve roses he had been carrying down tenderly on the steps, careful not to crush their delicate petals. He also left there a small package, a little box wrapped in silver and red paper.
As the man stood up prepared to apparate, he let his eye linger on the tag on the box. Unknown to him, a single tear was shed from his eye, and made a path down his tender, loving face, melting the frost that had collected there without his notice. He apparated.
The tag had read: To my dear Draconis.
.:oOo:.
A/N: I know it was short! Fear not, it will be continued. I just wanted to have a Prologue that left off somewhere that was evil. Because I'm an evil person.
What happens next? Review PLEASE! Thanks!