A/N - Written for the the Dramione Drabble Halloween Challenge

Prompts : Broomstick/Mummy/Lantern

Title: In The Still of The Night

Rating: PG13

Word Count: 1131

Warnings: Nothing but craziness.

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On a cold, foggy night of All Hallow's Eve, an old man shadowed in darkness, limped on. It had been a tiring journey; one where he had crossed great lakes and high mountains, unfriendly foes and treacherous lands. But still in the still darkness he took one step at a time, his body ragged and his limbs aching.

The graveyard he entered hadn't been visited in years. Too isolated, it was, from those of the living. But the old man was comfortable with the nervous prickle of his skin as he winded through the marked graves of all those who had walked the earth before him, all the while armed with a lantern that shed an orange glow eerily around him.

The moon was out and the stars, none. On and on he went, each step a painful jab against his hip and his lungs burning with need of air. But he must continue, for it was the only way.

The deeper he treated into the lands, the more difficult it was to walk. Pulling out a sharp, short blade he hacked at the weeds that had grown entangled, each swipe a hurtful throb against the bone of his wrist while his breath came out in short gasps of pain. It was with great trepidation that he reached the large tomb standing tall in the middle of the lands, its black marble shining with a polished glow from the silvery moonlight.

The old man searched through his haggard black robes for a large key, one that was rusted for lack of use but will prove effective enough. He slipped in the key easily, the large clanging an unwelcome sound for when the tomb was unlocked.

In, the old man went, his limp more pronounced as he went down the marble steps one step at a time. The large tomb was filled with riches that no mortal could ever imagine, yet, he only wished to release the one treasure that was lying in its own black casket in the middle of the room. Limping forward, the lantern was placed down beside him and the sleeves of his robes rolled up. With a grunt, then a heave, the old man pushed against the marble. At his age, it took more strength, more determination to shift the heavy casket lid; yet, with a final prayer to all things good, he succeeded.

With his work done, he let out a long sigh and stepped back, his eyes falling on the moon as he waited. It took barely a few moments. A dark cloud passed by and the moonlight fell on the casket, its silvery glow marking the time and place. Bony, dead fingers clawed out and circled the open lid of the casket before it pushed away the cover easily, the scraping of marble against marble the only sound to pierce the silence.

Once there was sufficient room, another hand made its appearance, pushing out the inhabitant slowly. The rotting corpse that stepped out moved painstakingly, its limbs heavy and its movement slow. Once it stepped out, it smiled though if it was a sneer hidden in disguise the old man couldn't say. The man had visited this corpse regularly for years, bringing ointment to rub on its rotten flesh and bandages to keep its limbs from falling. After many a year of such visits, the corpse was more cloth than bone and skin; strips of thin, white, cotton cloth wrapped tightly around its arms, its legs, its torso, its chest, and even its face.

The old man did not wait before he picked up the lantern and limped up the stairs, trusting the corpse to follow slowly and painfully, while his bones creaked. They crossed the graveyard together, making an odd pair before they reached another tomb, one less lush but just as giant. With shaking hands and hope tightening his chest, the old man repeated it all, step by step, the key, the limp down the stairs and the shoving of marble.

Together the corpse and the man waited as green fingers circled itself around the lid of the casket before revealing a creature that climbed out slowly, the movement of the limbs lithe, flexible and almost human.

Together, the corpse and the green witch stared at each other.

"Granger."

"Malfoy."

The old man waited sat down on the cold steps and waited.

The corpse stepped forward, its eyes blazing with pain. "Finally ready to apologise?"

The witch snorted, crossing her arms across her chest. "No. What about you? Are you ready to apologise?"

"Why would I need to apologise? This is all your fault!"

"I didn't start it. You were the one who cursed me first!"

"Only because you wore that hideous costume in the first place."

"This," she sneered, gesturing to herself, "is a classic. Everyone knows the Wicked Witch of the West is a proper costume for Halloween. What you wanted me to wear was red, short and lacy."

"I should have dropped a house on you when I had the chance," the corpse muttered darkly.

The witch gasped. "You take that back."

"Only if you take back the curse you put on me."

For the first time, she smirked. "It's your own fault for dressing as a Mummy in the first place. How is it, living in bandages?"

"Bloody itchy, that's how. Listen here, Granger, you're going to take off this curse right-"

"I wonder where my broom is." She looked around.

"Why? To fly off?" the corpse cackled.

"All the better to beat you with, my dear."

"So I would finally give in and lift the curse?"

"No," the witch said with a humourless smile. "To make myself feel better."

"You do look awfully horrendous."

"As do you, my love."

"If you don't lift this curse-"

"And let you prance around human while you let me stay green and warty? If you think that I would fall for that one..."

"You are being selfish."

"And you are being a jerk!"

"Fine. Then go back to sleeping for three hundred and sixty four days until next Halloween."

"Fine. I will," the witch huffed before she turned on her heel and climbed back into her tomb. "Good luck falling to pieces."

"Oh, I'll enjoy it. I'll revel in it while you stay ugly forever."

She pulled at the casket lid. "Fine. Enjoy it."

"Fine. I will."

"Fine," she said finally before she lied back down and closed the lid over her.

"Fine," the corpse snapped before his glance fell on the old man calmly. "Shall we?"

The old man rolled his eyes and stood up shakily, the lantern still in his hand before he started limping back out, the corpse at his heels.

Maybe next year, he told himself. Maybe next year.

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