A/N: Please read and review.

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Chapter Five: The beginning of the end

I awoke with a start. I was disgruntled by the odd dream and became aware of it immediately, and took a few moments to calm down.

And after, I took a quick shower to wipe away all traces of the cold sweat that had formed through the night. I went down to breakfast, where everyone was solemn and silent. No buzz of the usual silence, and everything seemed to be draped in gray and black. And I couldn't even try to forget anything.

The dream, nevertheless, unnerved me for a while, but I didn't think much of it then.

The school was still quietly whispering on about the attack in hurried hushes, and all was still in chaos. Many were left in the hospital wing, and Ron and Hermione had grim looks on their faces. No one dared count how many were dead, and who had been lost, but indeed there were many tears found on the faces of the student body. Classes were no more, for a few days.

Much blood had been spilled, they said. And at meals, when I looked at the face of each who had fought, I saw what had changed. It was so obvious, yet so stealthily replaced that perhaps, the look had been there all along. Maybe each one of them had their own share of secrets and horrible memories, and maybe each one could relate to me and what I was going through. I pushed the thought away.

And so my eyes came to Ron and Hermione. Affected, but they were ok.

It was Harry that startled me. He stared blankly off into space all the time, and where had once been life in him, in his very skin and the way he walked and in so many other ways, now everything about him was weary and tired. Like he had walked too many miles and seen too much blood and cruelty. I felt sympathy, alright, but it wasn't as if I could do anything.

His skin seemed more gray than anything else, and he seemed thin and weary.

He would rarely eat or speak. But no one did anything about it, if Hermione and Ron had noticed. They just went about their own business, and let him be.

Ron told me things would get better, and that life would become normal again. I was eager to believe him.

But the gray clouds in the sky never lifted, and they were no longer mistaken as storm clouds. Those were the smoke clouds dotted with the bitter and metallic smell of blood that had spilled on Hogwarts grounds days ago and now the blood on the grass had begun to dry, and they would be remembered forever. The first war, but certainly not the last. It was all false hope, in my view. A feeling that told me that from here on, the climax was to come, and things were no where near over. Peace was far. It was ironic, the whole idea. A paradox. To be united as one, we had to fight divided. To bring happiness and joy to the world, many lives had to be lost. It didn't make sense. There were times when I wanted to crumple down to the floor and cry until I drowned in my own tears, because that would be better than this—not knowing what would happen next, yet knowing that there was no way out of this.

I was on the point of destruction, because such a big part of me was affected by the war, and the victim right in front of my eyes; Harry. Haunted by his glass eyes that was only a part of a stoic stone statue. For only a day, I let myself wonder just what had happened out there, just how horrible it was, how traumatizing it had been. I couldn't start to imagine. But then, I stopped thinking about such things, or tried to. And because of that, I found refuge in the library.

All day I stayed in the library, doing whatever I could to distract myself. I searched not for the answer as to why things seemed so wrong, especially about Harry, but for the easy way out, to avoid everything and to get lost in a wonderful world of amazing fantasies, where the wind never blew too cold, and every day the tide rushed in softly at your ankles.

And someone was always there, holding your hand to break your fall.

And it was that second day, when I sat alone in the library, that I saw him. Harry Potter, and finally alone with him, to question him, to look at him as long as I liked. The same sickening look of gloom was on his face—it had not left. He sat down across from me, but his motions were almost robotic, and I admit, he did frighten me. I was hesitant, but I just couldn't bring myself to ignore him. I wanted to sympathize with him and I was thirsty for knowledge.

"Harry?" I called out, smiling as cheerfully as I could manage. He looked up vaguely, and did not acknowledge my presence.

For minutes, he sat quietly, staring off into the air as if some wonderful image was displayed on it and he was mesmerized and unwillingly drawn to it. He didn't move, and I couldn't even tell if her were breathing. I, myself, gazed at him for long, trying to peer through his stone eyes and see for myself what was going on in that mind of his.

But nothing for seconds…then minutes. And so, I ignored him, sufficing to his presence with a lamenting sigh, and turned back to the book.

In the old times, when it was still of some use to wish for the thing one wanted, there lived a king whose daughters were all handsome, but the youngest was so beautiful that the sun himself, who has seen so much, wondered at her beauty each time he shone over her. Near the royal castle there was a great dark wood, and in the wood under an old linden tree was a well. When the day was hot, the King's daughter used to go forth into the wood and sit by the brink of the cool well. And if the time seemed long, she would take out a golden all and throw it up and catch it again, and this was her favorite pastime.

Now it happened one day that the golden ball, instead of falling back into the maiden's little hand which had sent it aloft, dropped to the ground near the edge of the well and rolled in. The King's daughter followed it with her eyes as it sank, but the well was deep--so deep that the bottom could not be seen. The she began to weep, and she wept and wept as if she could never be comforted.

"I want to die, you know." He said suddenly, abruptly, and his voice was strangely deep, clear and annunciated.

I looked up, and the book closed, my eyes narrowed and quite flustered at him. I was undoubtedly surprised at the subtlety and bizarreness of what he had told me, and it took such a long time for it to even sink in to my mind still swimming with images of princesses and princes. I looked up and smiled, trying to figure out if he were just joking. Being cheerful, jovial, compensating for all the time so far he had been acting odd. But my teeth clenched as I saw his face—stern and certainly aged and in a way hardened and guarded because of the cruelty he was going through-- and saw that he was serious.

"What do you mean, Harry?" I asked lightly, hands trembling as they reached for his. I had on a calm façade—but oh, I was shaking inside by the tumultuous words he spoke.

He glared at me fiercely, and his dull eyes seemed to suddenly flash with energy.

" I deserve to die." He answered firmly, as if it were wrong and a crime to differ from his opinion.

Sending millions of tiny, skin piercing chills up my spine in an endless circle. I leaned forward, staring straight into his eyes relentlessly, straining to keep eye contact. My eyes watered at how luminous his eyes were, but he didn't see me. They were unfocused and far away and unreachable.

" Why're you saying this, Harry?" The silence that ensued was too long, and in the moments in silence, we gazed at each other.

He didn't answer. He only stared ahead of him, like a beautiful, cold statue. I grasped his hands tighter and shook it slightly, jolting his body, hoping for a reaction.

"Answer me!" My voice cracked and became shrill with panic. My stomach churned, my mind was beginning to grow hazy, and I was worried, because this wasn't the Harry I had known before.

"I…deserve to die…" He repeated slowly; monotonously, as if trying to figure out exactly what he meant himself. My eyes were wide and they searched his blank face repeatedly, but there was nothing I could understand from the frightening revelation. Slowly, his eyes turned on mine, and he looked through me. I felt his confused state of mind, and realized for the first time that Harry Potter was indeed, deeply troubled.

I deserve to die…

Something hissed at me, something nasty and horrible…and it was reality, and all the things I had ignored before came thundering back to me…

" Harry--" My hands left his, and my mind snapped back to my world, his eyes unfocused again. I took a deep breath, my mouth feeling dry. "I-I have to go." I whispered hurriedly, grabbing my things with urgency. He didn't answer, nor did he shift in relief or protest.

I left quickly, my small feet carrying me far. The walls around me I did not care to look at, and I didn't care where my legs lead me.

But then again, I suppose I did know where I was going, perhaps there was some intuitive sense empowering me, because I found him quickly and unexpectedly, my mouth forming an o shape as I saw him standing by the lake.

He looked oddly solemn and forlorn. The wind blew fast outside, and I struggled to get to him, red strands of my hair lashing out at my face, stinging my cheeks and eyes. I breathed a sigh of relief as I reached the spot underneath the tree, the place we had met the last time, when he had been wounded. It seemed like a normal place to meet, somehow, though in my years at Hogwarts, I had rarely found myself there.

" I thought I'd find you here." He said quietly, looking off into the horizon, wind blowing his usually well-kept hair in all directions.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him.

" Thinking." He replied easily. I nearly laughed at his answer.

"Thinking? Wondering? Being philosophical?" I mocked him, leaning against the tree—feeling almost relaxed for the moment. His presence suddenly soothed me. He turned to me suddenly, though, and his gray eyes disapproved.

"Something troubles you deeply, though you choose to deny it, and yet you still find room for laughter and mockery?" He asked irritably, lips pursing. I stood silent for a moment, blinking in disgusting stupidity. I knew what he meant. But still I underestimated him and just how obvious he was going to be with me, and still I was naïve and stupid.

"W-What do you mean?" I stuttered, brushing my hair back behind one ear.

"You know what I mean, Virginia." He murmured, his voice suddenly soft and wondering. "So for god's sake…stop denying yourself the knowledge your heart already knows, and be content." His hands cupped my chin, and his eyes were hooded, a pair of chipped ice staring down at me, making me rigid. I pushed him away with disdain, however.

"It's always about you, Malfoy." I started, face red with fury. "Always about getting what you want, always about cutting straight to the chase, and being too realistic and being too much of a smart ass for your own good."

"Can't we ever talk alone about nothing at all?"

But he only smirked down at me; as if he knew something I did not know, and he ignored anything else I had said.

"Once again, Virginia—you disgust me with your blatant ignorance of what lies so obviously in front of your very eyes." He muttered. "I never waste my time with idle talk, because there is no time. And yet, I find myself doing just that whenever I talk to you, just because of ignorance. Open your eyes, Virginia, and see all the chance, all the opportunity, glory, hope, valor you should receive--if only you would accept the reality and embrace who you were always meant to be."

His words scarred me, somehow, in someway I could not place, and I spat spiteful words at him.

"I don't think I was meant to be anything, Draco. And I'd like it if you stopped judging me."

"Just like Potter was never meant to defeat the dark lord? He just got awful lucky, didn't he?" He countered dangerously, eyes flashing with contempt and uncontrollable malice. I turned away, choking back words that I knew I would regret.

"I don't know." I answered, hands trembling beneath me as I looked at them.

"Don't be a fool." He growled impatiently. "No one gets lucky that many times." He paused, taking a moment to take a breath.

"But fate is a fickle thing. It shifts as easily as the wind does, and it can make time slow so that your lifetime is a life of a star, or fate can let time loose, slipping through your fingers like sand. No one said life was fair, or good. It's only about power. And Potter--he'll fall soon."

I looked up at him, frowning heavily.

"And how would you know?" I scoffed at him. " What, you can tell the future?" I continued looking at him, but he looked away. He looked towards the sky, avoiding my glance, and took a moment in silence—perhaps to collect his thoughts.

"Don't you know?" He half laughed, albeit bitterly. " Don't you know how it's going to be?" I shook my head rapidly, urging him to go on, because I had to know, because though his words were vague, I couldn't suppress the slight feeling of panic growing in me.

"Potter finally obtained a brain. Realized that the only thing the dark lord wanted was him. His dead body surrounded by a pool of blood. And he'd do anything to get what he wants. Including war, bloodshed, and the last breath of many people both innocent and guilty. The fields of grass that once shone only with the morning dew will now shine with thick blood of those who had died in battle. Realized that he wasn't worth the trouble, realized that he couldn't handle the pressure--he didn't want to. Being dead would be better, because when you're dead, it's the end. Existence will be nothing but a word that you had known an eternity ago, and darkness will engulf you. When you're dead, you don't have troubles. When you're dead, who cares about what happens in our world?" His face loomed near my trembling face, his eyes fixed on my own eyes brimming with tears, and he smiled dryly.

"Mark my words. Potter will take his life, and it will all end quickly and without a flaw. And when Potter's gone, who then will lead the foolish to their dreams of victory against the greatest dark lord of all time?" He asked—and his voice was deadly, and so full of bitterness and…his words were true.

Tears flew down my cheeks at his words, at his premonition, imagining the world in havoc, and darkness flooding what once was light. But I wiped my tears away, and thrusting my chin upwards, I pried my lips open and dared to protest.

"It isn't true—Harry wouldn't do that." I said weakly, forcing the words out of my mouth.

"So ends the great saga of Harry Potter. In the end, he dies, just like the others." He whispered, eyes glinting and laughing at me, laughing at my pathetic attempts to stand up straight, to make him see that he is wrong.

Join him now, and you will live and be honoured forever.

My eyes fluttered shut, and I could hear clashing of swords in the background, smell the scent of metallic blood spilling over the pure, barren ground, and beneath my closed eyelids, I saw Harry Potter lying dead.…alone in the drafty room, lips of crimson closed, eyes of green never to see the world again.

"No!" I flailed out at the empty air, and upon opening my eyes again, I only saw Draco Malfoy staring at me, only felt the cold wind against my skin, only smelt the clean air.

Lying dead…all alone…

With a violent jolt that came from no-where, I was filled with irrepressible panic, and I looked around, panting, gasping for breath.

As fast as I could, I fled the scene, ran away from him and flew in the great doors. I ran up the long flight of marble stairs that seemed to stretch on forever, and then I halted at the portrait hole, because my heart dropped low.

The portrait was gone, leaving only a vast opening for anyone to step in.

I ran in.

And I saw a pair of brilliant green eyes, eyes I had fallen in love with many years ago…and saw the glint of metal beneath his neck.

"Harry!!" I screamed shrilly and loudly, and the walls around me shook and trembled, but nothing changed. I saw his hands tighten around the ruby-encrusted hilt, his knuckles turning white from the effort. And everything made sense.

The dream. Harry and Draco.

I reached for him, but I was too slow, and too scared and this world was just too real. In this world, things never went the way I wanted it to. And so I watched silently as it plunged into his heart…

He looked at me one last time, eyes wide, lips curling up into a bright and reassuring smile that left me in a heap on the ground.

He said good-bye.

He fell, and his eyes closed forever.

And I sat beside his limp body, drenched in tears and Harry Potter's blood.

To be continued…