Chapter 3: Desolation of Tragedy

The sound that emerged from Harry's mouth was a cross between a laugh and a scream, one that easily gave away his position as Draco spotted a familiar black mop among his mother's marigolds. A sound that went on longer and louder as he tried to run over to the base, which was the pool house, using all the speed he had in his little legs to get away from Draco.

He was fast; there was strength in those knubby knees of his. But Draco was faster. When he was sure the distance was right, he tackled his friend to the ground, weakening his resistance with his tickling fingers.

"No, no, no! Stop!" Harry demanded. He was laughing so much; his eyes were swimming in tears.

Draco smirked above him. "You know what you have to do, Potter. Surrender now and your defeat shall be merciful."

The ever-stubborn lion refused to yield. The sly serpent refused to accept. Draco spared not one inch of skin, tickling every spot his fingers could reach. He could tell from the loud laughter and the flood of tears raining down his cheeks that his best friend was close to surrendering. He could practically hear the sweet words of defeat traveling up his throat, right on the tip of his tongue.

Before he could hear the sweet surrender, a voice called for them from inside the manor. At the sound of the call, the smiles fell. The owners of those fallen smiles understood what it meant.

"I wish you didn't have to go." Draco whispered.

"Me too." Harry whispered back.

James was the first one to notice the long, downcast faces when the boys came inside the house. "Hey now. Perk up boys."

"Why should we?" Draco couldn't contain the cheekiness in his voice. Harry was leaving. There was nothing worth perking up about it. Draco always hated departure time, but now it was different since they both started magical lessons with different tutors, with Harry being taught by his mother and another one of his father's friends, a Remus Lupin at Godric Hollow while Draco was being tutored by Father and Uncle Severus at the manor, taking time away from play time. He went from seeing Harry nearly everyday to now two to three times a week.

"Because," James wrapped his arms around their shoulders and bent down slightly to whisper "I have a special day planned out for us tomorrow in Diagon Alley. At a certain Quidditch shop."

Quidditch shop? There would be no reason to go there. Unless-

Harry's mouth dropped. Draco would have called the man on his bluff if his mouth weren't too preoccupied grinning so brightly.

"Are you serious?" Draco demanded making sure that his voice was lowered to a whisper.

"But how?" Harry asked.

James' reply was a sly wink.

Draco found himself breaking one of his father's rules once again. He was regretting. Again.

This time his regret wasn't just based off a few words, but for not saying enough words. Not taking enough action. He regretted that he didn't tell Uncle James how amazing he was, that he was one of the few adults in the world who didn't talk down at him like he was a stupid child but treated him like an equal. Like he was his son, too. He regretted that he didn't hug Aunt Lily extra tight and tell her that she was his favorite aunt, that he wished she was his actual aunt. He regretted that he let go of Harry too easily. That he didn't hold him tight enough, that it would've been nearly impossible to pull them apart. That he didn't keep Harry locked in the safety of his room where no harm could get to him. Where hurt and pain couldn't reach him.

Most of all he regretted ignoring that strange, almost-sickly feeling that pricked his stomach when the Floo was set and the Potters disappeared in the flames. An odd but unmistakable feeling that something bad was going to happen.


At seven, Draco's perspective of the world had changed.

He learned that life wasn't fair. It wasn't as wonderful and bright like the story-books portrayed it. It wasn't as great as he originally believed; going by his father's philosophy that life was just for those born for greatness, particularly those lucky enough to be born a Malfoy.

Except it wasn't. Life wasn't fair. It was mean. It was nasty. And it could be absolutely cruel to people. Good, innocent people who didn't deserve such unkindness.

If life was fair, then he would be allowed to eat all the sweets he wanted without being scolded for ruining his appetite.

If life was fair, then he and Harry would be learning exciting spells instead of going over the boring beginners' basics.

If life was fair, then his best friend-his sweet and caring best friend, one of the greatest people he knew, someone life should never be awful to-wouldn't be an orphan.

Shortly after the Potters had left, he was put into bed by the elves but was too anxious to fell asleep. He kept thinking about Uncle James' promise of taking them to the Quidditch shop, of finally getting actual brooms. Then, just as his mind was starting to sink into unconsciousness, a loud gasp cut through the silence like a knife, jarring him awake, coming from down below.

It sounds like mother.

Determined to get to the bottom of things, Draco snuck down to the parlor room, where his parents usually resided after dinner for a glass of wine. He kneeled down and pressed an ear against the door.

Though the sound was muffled, he heard more than enough for his perspective of the just world to become undone.

James, Lily dead. Harry attacked but alive.

Uncle James who hours ago promised to take them to Quidditch shop. Who had taken him under his wing and taught him the secrets and tricks to the ultimate pranks. Who turned a blind eye whenever their adventuring turned mischievous, letting them have their fun. Whose hair ruffling he always complained and grumbled about but secretly loved.

Aunt Lily who always had an extra warm hug and kiss for him. Who was stern about them learning the basics of magic first before moving forward to the advanced set but would occasionally steer them over to an advanced spell that was exciting and fun. Who called upon her two baker helpers whenever she needed extra sets of hands for her double chocolate-chip cookies or peanut-butter brownies, smiling from the across the counter as the two helpers would eventually go from pouring flour into the bowl onto each other. Sometimes watching them with a smile, other times joining in on the fun and winning each time.

Two incredible people that he loved. Two people he saw as a second pair of parents. Both gone. No longer living. Dead.

Draco didn't realize how horrible the word sounded till now. So simple, a four-letter word, yet one that carried such weight. Such finality.

And Harry…his sweet Harry. His boy. Hurt. Harmed. Attacked.

Draco gripped onto the wall, needing its support as his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, his knees buckling from the heavy drop.

Harry injured. Harry hurt. Harry attacked.

Draco saw nothing but red.

Charging straight into the room, steering his parents' attention from each other to the doorway, he demanded "Where is he?"

His father was not pleased by the interruption. To say that his he was annoyed would be putting it lightly. "Care to explain to me why you are out of bed?"

His father must as well be speaking to the wall because his words fell to deaf ears. He couldn't focus on them. He couldn't focus on anything other than the fact two of the greatest people he knew were gone. Caused by a gruesome event Harry was forced to witness and barely escaped from.

One which resulted in him getting hurt. Attacked.

And alone.

"Where is he?!" He nearly screamed.

"Mind the way you speak to-" His mother intervened before Father could finish his rant. She gave him a long, sharp look, one which caused him to pause and to be silent. She rose up from her chair and walked over to him, dropping down on her knees and taking his hands in hers.

"Calm yourself, Dragon," she said gently. "Try to relax."

Calm himself? Relax? Relax? How could Mother ask him to something so…idiotic? So pointless?

"How can I calm down when Harry's hurt? When Uncle James and Aunt Lily are-" He didn't dare finish that sentence. He couldn't.

Mother stroked his cheek and confirmed his fears with a slight nod of her head. Her light-blue eyes were glossed with tears. "I'm so sorry, Dragon."

Draco stared. And stared and stared. He stared until he realized too late that his cheeks were damp from the tears that were leaking from his eyes. Till his stomach plunged to the deepest parts of his body.

"How?" His voice sounded so soft, so small.

"By He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Father answered. He poured himself a full glass of bourbon that was finished before he placed the bottle back on the table.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You-Know-Who.

The empty spot where his stomach once was being filled by the lashes of fear creeping into his body. Deep, full-body-shaking, heart-stopping, needing-air-for-the-sake-of-his-oxygen-deprived-body fear.

You-Know-Who. The Dark Lord, an incredibly powerful wizard whose very name made Aurors quiver in fear, whose madness was as great as his power, whom his father have been fond of for his power and legacy, a legend he previously believed was nothing more than a folk-tale story meant to scare children. That very same man came to Godric's Hollow because the Potters had something that he wanted, something he desperately needed for him to pay them a visit himself instead of sending one of his followers.

They refused.

Those who dared to do such a thing hardly lived to tell the tale.

Except for one.

Harry.

"What?" Draco croaked.

"Vol-" Shivering, Mother started over, unable to say the full name. "The Dark Lord threw a curse at him, Dragon. A deadly one. Harry should have been killed but somehow he managed to survive it."

"And threw it right back at him," Draco looked from his mother to his father. Only his father wasn't looking at him. He was looking into the dancing flames of the fireplace as if they held all the answers. "To be able to do such a thing is…incredible." The last word came out in a breathless murmur. He poured himself another drink but didn't take a sip. He focused on its contents, a strange look flickering in his eyes that was dazed and focused at once. A strange look that harbored an unsettling spark. "The boy is more powerful than we realized."

His mother stilled. Then sucked in a breath, a very sharp breath.

It was rare to catch his mother off guard, to see her so stunned. However not as rare to hear a compliment-an actual compliment-fall from his father's lips. Draco supposed he should have looked more into it, questioned it, demanded to know more about Harry's power, but he didn't. He didn't because he didn't care about that. He only cared about his best friend.

He stayed with his parents most of the night, seated on his mother's knee, requesting cup after cup of hot chocolate and sending it back when it became ice in his hands. He was too distressed to drink, but repeatedly ordered it because he needed to do something than bloody wade through the time that dragged and dragged like a death march.

Each tick-tock from the clock moved in a pace that was slower than a snail. It went on and on until finally the sound of the door opening and closing cut through the thick, long silence.

Harry. Draco jumped from his mother's lap and raced down the hall, his parents close by.

He was glad that they were near otherwise he would have fallen flat on his back if Mother hadn't caught him, stunned by what greeted them.

Severus had always had a pale complexion. It was why his black hair was such a vast contrast to his skin. It was why he preferred dark clothes. But tonight it was as if all the blood and color had been sucked dry from his face. Draco had never seen him so pale. So stunned. So haunted.

Haunted. That was the perfect word to describe the look on his face. He looked as if he had haunted by horrible, terrifying ghosts or had his mind probed and played with by Dementors.

He looked like he was seconds away from collapsing if it wasn't for the bundle he was carrying in his arms, one whose back was covered with his cloak and turned to them. The only thing it seemed that was keeping him steady.

"Severus-" He cut his mother off with a shake of his head.

Cupping the back of the boy's head, he whispered soft words into his ears, words that Draco couldn't hear. His godfather petted the boy's head, unwrapped the cloak, and set him down.

All Draco could do at the moment was get a single breath of air into his lungs as all the oxygen deflated from his body.

Unlike Severus who looked like he had gone through hell and barely survived the journey, Harry looked almost perfectly normal, standing tall and steady. Almost as if nothing had happened and it was all a big misunderstanding. Draco would have liked to think that was the case. Would have wanted that to be truth more than anything. If it weren't the blood splattered across his blue-striped pajamas that were torn. The mark on his forehead that resembled a lightning-bolt, embedded so deep and thick in his skin Draco winced inwardly. And his eyes, his eyes that were too entirely clear, that carried a single look in his eyes that drained Draco's body of warmth.

It was a look that was bare. No light, no warmth, no anything.

Harry.

Draco wanted to take him into his arms and never let him go. Say that he was sorry over and over again even though he knew it wasn't enough. Knew that it could never be enough. Erase all traces that he was touched by Dark Lord. But those dead, blank eyes pinned him where he stood, taking away his ability to move or speak.

Thankfully his father wasn't suffering through the same problem, immediately calling for an house-elf.

"Dobby!"

The house-elf appeared in a flash, bowing low. "Dobby is here, sir. Dobby is ready to serve. How can Dobby-"

His mother stopped his rambling, her icy-toned voice a few degrees below zero. "Do not stand there like an imbecile. Give Harry a bath."

It finally dawned to the pitiful creature that Harry was still, eerily still. And that the crimson color splashed on his clothes wasn't merely decoration. His eyes widened in shock. "Mister Harry. Oh Mister Harry. Are you alright?"

"Does he look alright, you idiot?" His father had taken the words right out of Draco's mouth.

Dobby flinched from the harsh demand, but wasted no time. "Come Mister Harry. Dobby will take care of you. Dobby will make sure you're okay."

Dobby stuck out his hand. After a long minute of staring, Harry accepted the hand. The elf led him upstairs, keeping him close by. Draco watched them go.

Harry didn't look back once.

As soon as Harry was gone from sight, Father led the adults back to the parlor. Draco stayed close behind them, needing to hear the whole story.

It took three glasses of bourbon for Severus to open up. Three full glasses, one right after the other, quickly consumed then refilled, which would have turned to four if Mother hadn't stepped in.

"Severus," Her voice was soft but firm. "What happened?"

Severus stirred his glass even though it was empty. He then lowered it. He balled his hands into fists so tight, the knuckles were pure white. The hand holding the wine glass was clenched so tightly Draco could hear skin cracking. Yet somehow it was better off compared to the fist lying on the armrest, shaking so badly his entire arm was vibrating.

"Severus."

"He promised," The words slipped out, chipped and low, filled with great depth of shock and anger that was barely contained. Draco could sense the fury underlining his godfather's words. "He promised that they would be safe."

Someone had been entrusted with the Potters' well-being? Someone who guaranteed their safety? Someone who knew they were in danger but didn't do anything?

Draco was trembling, and it had nothing to do with the chill going through the air.

"What happened?" Father questioned.

Severus, for once in Draco's entire life, looked completely utterly lost. Shocked, yes. Haunted, yes. Angry, yes which was building in fury as each second went by. But lost, a look he had never seen before in his godfather's eyes before this night. He looked so lost, as if the one thing that had kept him strong and balanced in the world was taken away, crippling him.

"James was on the top of the stairs," he spoke the words so quietly yet they bounced around the walls as if they were loud screams. "He was gutted like a pig, bathed in his own blood. His eyes were wide open. Looking at me."

The stairs? The same stairs attached to the staircase where they ran up and down countless times during indoor tag? Where they often slide down the banister instead of taking the steps? Where they tossed their plush animals down the steps to see which one would reach the bottom first?

Draco felt sick to his stomach.

"And Lily?" Mother asked her words tight.

The glass in Severus' hand exploded in a bang, breaking into a million pieces. Draco jumped at the sound. His father lost his composure for a split second, his attentive eyes widening just a bit. A hand was placed against his mother's agape mouth as she noticed the blood running down from the man's hand, pouring from his wounds.

Severus paid no mind to any of them. He stared at the fire, looking more lost and haunted as the flames flickered and danced.

His silence spoke volumes to Draco; painting horrible scenarios of what he had seen in that house, each one more horrifying than the last.

"Do you know where I found Harry?"

He didn't wait for a response. "In his room holding his mother's hand. Staring down at her body."

Draco's heart froze to pure ice, chilling every vein and organ it could reach.

His mother swallowed, a task that looked difficult in that moment. "Harry stayed…with the body?"

"It must have been two or three hours before I finally reached the house. I found James first. Lying on his back, looking up at me with those dead eyes. Then I found Lily and Harry in the room. The door was blown right off its hinges. Lily was lying on the ground, pale, motionless. Dead," Uncle Severus choked on the word. "And Harry was right besides her holding her hand, staring down at her body. He saw his mother die right in front of him and he stayed with the cold husk that was once her. Staring at it, holding her hand, covered in her blood. Completely still like he was dead. I almost thought that he was."

Draco couldn't bear to hear anymore. He raced up the stairs, to his wing of the house, needing to see Harry. He came to his room to find that Harry wasn't there. Stunned, he searched for Dobby. He found the house-elf at the other side of the east wing, coming from the guest bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him, a serious frown turning usual-grinning lips down. He marched straight to him.

"Where's Harry?" he demanded.

"In the guest room, Master Draco. Dobby and Misty gave Mister Harry a bath like Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa ordered. Dobby scrubbed him clean, he did. With lots of soap and bubbles, just the way you two like it-"

Draco wasn't interested in listening to the stupid creature drawl on about bath preferences. He was stuck on the fact that Harry was placed in the guest-room as opposed to his room, where he usually was and where he should be. "Why is Harry is in the guest-room instead of mine?"

Dobby winced at the sharp tone, shrinking himself as if he expected a hex to be threw at him. "Master Lucius requested it, sir. Mister Harry needs his rest. Dobby put him in the nice guest-room that's right across from Master's Draco. That way the Master and Mister can be close to each other-"

"Make yourself useful and get two hot chocolates." Draco was already running down the hall to the room.

Someone already beat him there.

Severus and Mother were already inside. Severus sitting with Harry, speaking to him in low tones as he stroked his hair. Mother standing close by the bed, smiling softly at the boy who didn't acknowledge the gesture.

A pang slit through his chest as he saw that smile. It reminded him too much of Aunt's Lily's smiles.

Severus presented a special drink to Harry. "Dreamless Draught," he said. "It will help you sleep."

Harry took the drink without question and swallowed it down, returning the glass to Severus just as his body was going limp, his eyes closing.

Mother came forward to drop a soft kiss on his forehead. "Goodnight, dear."

Severus rose from the bed and accepted Mother's arm as she guided out of the room. They found Draco by the door.

"You should be in bed." Mother reminded him.

"No," He shook his head. "I should be here."

Her smile became slightly more bright and sad at the same time as she nodded, accepting his words. She kissed him on the forehead, wishing him goodnight, and took Severus away.

Draco watched them go and turned back to the bed, where the sleeping boy was lost in the sea of sweet unconsciousness. He took slow steps towards the bed and watched him sleep.

If there was one thing Dobby managed to do right, it was giving Harry a good bath, scrubbing all traces of blood and grim. Changing him out of his torn, bloody clothes, which Draco hoped were destroyed, and into a fresh set of nightwear.

Too bad soap and water couldn't scrub away the memories of what happened any more than they could make the lightening-bolt mark disappear.

Harry's chest rose and fell with each breath he took in. His face looked so peaceful, as if he were having sweet dreams. The only thing that ruined the close to perfect illusion were his hands that were balled into tight fists.

"He saw his mother die right in front of him and he stayed with the cold husk that was once her. Staring at it, holding her hand, covered in her blood."

His godfather's words echoed in his head, causing Draco to swallow down a hard lump. He felt bits of his ice-chilled heart breaking, his stomach churning by various pictures those words caused raced across his mind.

Harry watching his own mother die right in front of him. Harry nearly dying at the hands of her and his father's murderer. Harry left alone with the body, unable to do anything more than hold her hand and keep her company.

"…covered in her blood."

Draco crawled into bed, his arms entwining around Harry's waist. With his left hand, he brought each fist to his lips, dropping a light kiss on them. He pulled Harry against him and kissed his forehead, right on the lightening-bolt, not shying away from the dark magic he could sense lingering on the skin.

"I'm so sorry, Harry." He whispered.

I hate putting one of my poor babies through such pain. I hate it more anything. But as we all know fluffiness can never last enough. At some point angst has to kick in, and it's far from over in this story. Thanks so much for the reviews, the favorites, and subscriptions. You guys rock. I promise the next chapter will be done and posted soon. Course it could be posted a whole sooner if I see sweet reviews. I'm really dying to know what you think of the story so far.

Also to the reader who pointed out that I was spelling Narcissa's name wrong, thanks so much.