A/N: A sad chapter. Enjoy it. Cry. I know I did. More than once. –guilt-
Ahem. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I am not lucky enough to be as smart enough as to invent these characters myself. They are not mine. Too bad. –pout-
The Stone Speaks
Chapter Fifty-Four: Tears
DRACO
One last horrendous, tortured scream of the utmost pain rang shrilly as Lord Voldemort died, haunting everyone in the wizarding world. Terrible black flames licked the roof of the church, and then darkness spread out like a visible disease.
Everyone was hurled backwards. Where the Golden Quartet went, Draco did not know, but rather suddenly he was thrown backwards, and he had an awareness of crashing through pews and stools and altars. Nothing hurt, however. He came to an abrupt halt, smashing the back of his head against a wall, but made no sound. Past the pain, Draco forced his eyes open, and the last thing he saw was Ginny's lifeless and terrifyingly pale figure before all went dark.
…
Ow.
Eyes… open.
Blue fluttered open. Light. Bright. Ow. Draco squeezed his eyes closed again, before reattempting to unlocking his eyelids from each other.
His hands hurt. He felt thick blood on them – a lot.
The harsh, sudden contrast of light compared to the darkness of the backs of his eyelids from when he had previously been passed out still was sore, but Draco squinted past it.
The sight that met him was astonishing. Had there been some sort of explosion? The church was falling apart, more than ever. The Golden Quartet were distributed oddly around the walls; Harry and Luna, in each other's arms, were in the fall corner; Hermione was up against the wall, curled up tightly in her unconsciousness; and, more peculiarly, above her was Ron. He was halfway up the wall, draped inelegantly over a wooden carved statue of a angel in flight.
The rain was still falling, heavier than ever, but it was evaporating when it hit the wooden-boarded floor, or collecting in puddles around the cooler parts. Spread over the ground was a thin, fine, black sparkly sand that sunk into every nook and crevice. In the heart of it was Ginny, pale, limp, and sprawled out in the thickest area of sand, so that it was sprinkled across her clothes.
Draco's heart lurched painfully. What happened?
Suddenly it hit him.
Stone of Montol.
"I hate you."
Explosion.
Raw magic. Blood on his hands.
A piece of stained-glass.
Darkness.
"GINNY!" he shouted, and instantly was sprinting over to her. "Ginny, please, no-" Draco skidded to a halt, hitting a pew – that's going to bruise in the morning - and then he was on his knees beside her.
She looked so small and fragile that it hurt him, and Draco clenched his hands into fists so tight that he felt blood in his palms. "Don't you dare die," he whispered fiercely to her, "or – or I'll never forgive you. I swear." Fighting back angry and grieving tears, he took one of her hands. She was frighteningly cold.
"Wha…?" someone mumbled. "Whazzgoinnon?"
"What happened?" someone else shrieked.
"Why. The hell. Am I up on a statue?" Ron's voice said in surprise.
"Ginny!"
Hermione levitated Ron down, and, taking his hand, they hurried over. Her wrist was badly broken, and he had terrible scratches all over him. Harry and Luna followed, more slowly – Luna seemed to have a broken leg, and Harry looked extremely stiff. They all crowded around Ginny, looking worriedly down at her.
"Is she alive?" whispered Luna fearfully.
"Of course she is!" snarled Draco.
She's not dead. She can't be. She is alive. Why wouldn't she be?
Maybe because the Stone exploded on top of her. I'm surprised that she hasn't been torn to pieces.
Shut up!
"Check her pulse," said Harry urgently, turning to Hermione.
She blanched. "H- how?" she asked nervously.
"Just do it!" Draco screamed at her. "It's not that freakin' difficult, is it? I thought that you were smart, now – now do it!" He grabbed Hermione's hand roughly and pushed it towards Ginny's neck. He would do it himself, but in case she was – she's not– he didn't want to be the one to feel the lifeless neck, to feel the total lack of anything throbbing through her veins.
There was a pause.
Then: "I… I can't find anything."
"Look – harder!"
Draco felt a lump growing hard in his throat, and he swallowed hard. He stretched forwards one hand, the one not holding Ginny's hand, and curved around her cheek. It was so deathly cold, and still, unmoving. He smoothed the freckled skin, still refusing to cry, and pushed a strand of vibrant red hair behind her perfect little ear.
Suddenly his forearm burned, and he tore his hand away from her, gasping out in a cry of pain. Something felt terribly wrong – not in his heart. In his arm. Harry, Ron, Luna and Hermione were staring at him, wide-eyed. "They're… they're coming," Draco said. "The Death Eaters. I can feel his death – they can, too. They'll be here soon."
They exchanged glances. "What do we do?" Ron asked, speaking for the first time since he had since Ginny. His voice was very choked-sounding.
"We should… we should take her away," Harry decided.
As everyone made murmuring noises of agreement, the main church doors slammed open, creating a gust that swirled the dark sand everywhere; Draco squinted to protect his eyes. There stood the Death Eaters, all looking angry and prepared for war. Each was drenched in blood – their own and belonging to others.
"It's true!" shouted Peter Pettigrew, livid, pointing a stubby finger at the black sand. "My – my Lord!"
The Hogwarts army burst in behind the Death Eaters; they had followed. "What's going on – oh my," said McGonagall, who looked as though she might faint. "The… the Dark Lord is dead?"
THUD. She went down, and Professor Sprout ducked to heal her.
"MY LORD!" howled Pettigrew. He narrowed his beady brown eyes at the Golden Quartet, Draco, and Ginny. "They have murdered you, nasty vermin, I shall avenge you, I shall kill them all, they will all suffer," he muttered under his breath, very fast.
Harry stood, his face contorted with rage. "There's been enough suffering already," he said darkly. "It's over, Pettigrew. It's all over. You've lost."
"I – have – not!" Pettigrew retorted, flushing red with anger. "We – will – not! I SHALL CONQUER ALL! I SHALL AVENGE ALL! I SHALL-"
"Oh, put a sock in it," sneered Dean Thomas, and then green light flew. Pettigrew never finished his sentence. And he never avenged Lord Voldemort.
Hermione gasped. "You-Know-Who is dead… that means – the Death Eaters are easy prey! They cannot defend themselves!" she grinned triumphantly, before pointing her wand at Mulciber's heart and crowing, "ATTACK!"
An echoing, fabulous cry of "Avada kedavra!" rang out, and every Death Eater simultaneously fell.
A silence fell, before all broke into cheering. It transformed as Mrs. Weasley shoved her way through the crowd, and screamed, "Ginny!"
Almost instantly, the entire Weasley family was crowded around the only girl, crying and shouting and refusing to admit their sister's death.
Harry, and Hermione were swallowed into the mass of tears, but Luna and Draco did not belong. They found themselves on the outside, staring at where they had last seen beautiful Ginny before she was surrounded by an impenetrable wall of family – those who knew and loved her best, excluded.
"It doesn't seem fair, does it?" said Luna softly. She looked up at Draco, tears shining on her face, and seeing her grief so openly expressed nearly made him crack and break down.
He however did not answer, and did not break down. He avoided her gaze. He did not want to talk to anyone – the only person he wanted to talk to, or to be with, at the moment… he could never have again.
Luna, seeing that Draco was a hopeless case, sighed heavily. "I'm going to go and tell Neville about Hannah. I think it should come from me," she said, more to herself than to Draco, and disappeared off into the bustle of people.
Draco stared at the ground. Slowly, the Hogwarts army were pouring past him to marvel at the sand that Lord Voldemort had become, but no-one tried to comfort him. Hardly anyone even acknowledged that he was there.
Finally, at the end of the Hogwarts army, someone stopped in front of him. Draco did not look up. He saw the mini-skirt and the shiny chestnut-coloured hair.
"Sad, isn't it?" Sanchia commented. She reached out for Draco's shoulder, but, unable to take any more, he moved away, hitting her shoulder with his own to send the message he wanted – get lost – and then left the church.
The graveyard was empty. No-one was around for miles, save for two people in the far distance, talking in the town square and looking at the wreckage of the buildings around it. The rain was now positively bucketing down. The weather suited the seventeen-year-old Slytherin fine – it matched his emotions.
"I rescued you from that god-forsaken castle, and nearly got myself killed for it! And everything that you said, everything that you did, afterwards, was all just a big lie! I hate you!"
"No," groaned Draco, kneading his forehead with hands. He couldn't think about that. Before he knew anything else, he found that tears were flowing freely down his face now, encouraging by the rain disguising them. Tears, tears and tears. It filled his head, filled his heart, filled his eyes, and he wanted them all to go away, now, and never come back, because if he was empty, then maybe it wouldn't hurt so much.
Tears.
"No…" he sobbed. "No…"
A/N: Yay! A longer chapter! No! A depressed Draco. He will be donating tearful, but very sexy, hugs to anyone who cares to pay a fee of one review. Going once, going twice…
