After a while, I had an urge and decided that I could make this a fantasical love story. Special thanks to platypuslattes for requesting that I continue my story, and I hope that request continues for all. So here's to the next chapter. Enjoy. And don't forget to review.
I also don't see the point in disclaimers since it's in the Harry Potter category and I obviously didn't write those but in case you reeeaaaally insist, this is my disclaimer. Cha cha. it is done. But this plot I shall lay claim to. You know, the extra stuff. the Loooove story part~ ;)
For Nate.
He stood on the balcony of the library, grey eyes piercing the sunset and wondered if she, too, was watching. Her name he did not know, but as the time neared for him to return to the school he never really embraced as a home, the feeling of being drawn there grew ever slightly more in his heart. Now it was time to make Hogwarts as somewhat of a home once more, and the feeling had grown to the point of it becoming rather overbearing.
The young man bowed his head, looking down at the way the dimming purple vanilla twilight reflected off his emerald castle. It was practically his now. He and his mother repaired and renovated it in honor of the people encaged and entrapped in their home a little less than a year before. They had never planned for it to have gone that far. His heart hurt desperately for his classmates he had seen upon the floor of the study that once. It had been all he could do to deny the boy's true name. He had cried that night, for the girl he had seen tortured in his home: the girl who had now seven times spared his life. That was another feeling he felt now in his heart: hurt coupled with loneliness and gratitude. And regret.
He regretted that he had not been strong enough to say something before his father had taken things too far. He had been too afraid and only wished now that he could have soaked up his pride enough not to push the Gryffindors whose bravery he coveted so far away from him. He'd known he had been wrong, but it was school. It was just school to him. His life was a fairytale, something out of one of those cliché muggle movies. But in reality, it was life, and he had been forced to watch as it burned before him because of the naïve choices he had stupidly made in desperation to prove his worth to his father. That was where hurt found its place. He had recently visited his father whom was in the recovery and rehab facility in Azkaban. The man had nearly gone mental from the thought that he had lost his only son, his most prized and cherished possession – no, not a possession any longer – his sole pride and joy – because of his childish beliefs. He was a changed man, and had, in the end, fought against the Dark Lord in a sense of sabotage. The family had vacated the premises as the battle was cornered with knowledge of the inevitable demise of the side they had once housed.
The hurt came from the fact that he had never had to prove his worth to his father. His father had been a man who was incredibly proud of his son, only either not able to or prevented from being able to show this to his son because he cared too much of appearances and status, things that had been wiped away in their minds and beings now. The loneliness followed with the knowledge that his not-so-distant-anymore father would not be able to spend this new found loving moment with his family on the cause that his past earned him a living that was in the very least suitable for his previous actions.
The war had been a humbling experience for them all. Thus follows the gratitude. He was grateful for the turn of that last battle. Had he known the whole story, he would have helped that goody trio himself. Nevertheless, back then he had found that ignorance was bliss. He hadn't wanted to know. It had secretly torn him apart inside to know deep down that what he had been doing or trying to do was indisputably and undeniably wrong. After seeing them in his home, he made a vow to do whatever he could to help them without getting himself killed, for he knew that when it was done, it would fall upon him to mend from that side of the outcome. His mother's unconditional love had shown him that. And for that he was ever grateful. Both of his parents had, in the end, thrown aside all predispositions to save him. From this he found a little courage to press on. He knew now he had to face his fears and restore not just honor to his family but a sense of self to all of those who lost something left in the outcome.
As for his heart, he would find her. In his thoughts he had hope, another blessing in disguise from that time of darkness, that she would have all the qualities he found he cherished: strength, humility, bravery, hope, understanding, and love. He prayed that she be witty and so forgiving it may make her blind. That would truly be a girl worth living for.
The young man raised his head, watching but not really seeing as his somber and determined eyes followed the retreating light. Part of him wanted to smirk at the thought that he still wanted to control who he ended up with after all he'd been through and all he'd found out about himself. It was true, the natural instinct of what he was would have probably disagreed enough to not allow his conscious mind to form the previous thought if it didn't contain some truth or hint of who it would be in the least. He sighed. Ironically, it was only after everything he had been through that it wouldn't allow him to take the opposite, or someone anything less than what he wanted, what he secretly yearned for. He would rather let his body slowly and painfully wither away because of his magical heritage than to allow his nature to bring him to be with someone who couldn't love him for who he now was, for who he wanted to be, and someone who wouldn't understand why he wanted those things. That was nonnegotiable. After all, he was still born into his family name.
Soft steps were approaching him from behind, a sound he noticed he'd never before been able to hear quite so clearly. He let them come. He knew to whom they belonged. As she approached him, her footsteps slowed and came to a halt moments before he expected them to. Out of curiosity, he turned to meet the owner of the footsteps and then eyes of her gaze. His expression softened at the sight of her, "Hello, mother."
The woman smiled back at him. She had seemed to age many years in the time after the war. But even in her tired state, she looked breathtakingly beautiful and glamorous still. She hesitated, seeming to wonder something, before returning his hello, "Good evening, my son. What, may I inquire, were you pondering? Forgive me. You seemed so deep and reminiscent in thought that I cannot help but wonder…"
He grinned and strode toward the woman whom he now towered over, took her soft, delicate hands into his gently, and kissed her forehead, "No worries. You weren't intruding, Mother. I was only remembering the day Father bought me my first real broom and took me flying over the towers and parts of the grounds I'd never seen before."
"The lotus garden," his mother stated, recalling the joyous memory. It was hers and her husband's special place. It brought a little sorrow to her eyes as she fondly smiled.
He nodded, "Yes. And you stood just here, on this balcony, cheering and fearing for my life at the same time. That was the best day of my life. It was simple, lovely, and beautiful. I only wish I could have been able to respect it as much before. It's funny how the little things become so important in times like this, after tragedies."
"Yes," it was his mother's turn to nod. She added a small sigh, "We seem to remember them most in our wounded times. I believe they help us to heal so that we can grow in and through the hard times we'll no doubt encounter on the road ahead and for that, we'll be stronger."
"I do enjoy your words of wisdom, Mother. I hope whomever I am fated to be with is as wise and open as you," he resolved. With one last kiss to her forehead and an endearing hug, the young man summoned his suitcase and additional belongings he would be taking with him, "Auf Wiedersehen, Mother. I'll owl you. Be the strong woman I know you are, and I will make you proud."
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"
He shook his head, waving her off, "No, I'm sure I can handle a train station well enough on my own. I'd best be going now. I love you, Mother."
He lumbered to the very edge of the balcony with his things in tow. His mother stood at the entrance, marveling at the young man who stood before her. He had changed. Just before he disappeared, she whispered, "You've already made me proud, my son." Something let her know inside of her that he had heard it, and even still, she knew he was determined to change not only himself but everyone and everything he possibly could. She stood, shaking her head and praying for the best as the last of the fading sunlight shone upon the spot he had stood just moments before, and sighed, for she knew he was strong-willed and at times, thick-headed. But he was her son. Her pride and joy. Her everything. Her dearest boy. Her Draco. And she knew he would return and remain, changed today and every day. He would show the world, and he would make a difference.
