Nightshade
Still
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Universe in which he frolics. That's JKR's job.
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Harry sat at the edge of the lake. He hugged his knees to himself and rested his head on the backs of his hands. The top of the lake glistened as if there were a thin film of gasoline coating it. He liked the dizzying lights, bouncing off the surface of the water; it was distracting. And of course he would never go into the lake. His body was foreign, it would shatter the precious vision of serenity.
He liked this…this quiet. He liked it best when the moon shone directly over the lake, casting brilliant ribbons of gold his way. Perhaps it was enchanted… maybe the lake…or the moon.
He had come out here in secret whenever he could find the time to get away from the confines of the castle. This was his place after the sun went down, or at least he had liked to think so.
There would always be students coming outside, looking, perhaps, for the same kind of solace that Harry sought. A month ago, he would greet them, speak with them and laugh when he wanted to, but he realized that they didn't come out here for his reasons. They crushed the reality of the lake. After they had begun to expect to see him here, to seek him out, he had gotten sick of it.
He never came out here without his invisibility cloak now. For the most part, he was alone with his lake, alone with his thoughts and alone - just alone. Then there were the times that they would come and make noise and disrupt the tranquility. At these times, he would bristle under the cloak. He would wish them away with the utmost loathing, and they would never stay for too long. Never, because they didn't understand the water and the forest and the grass.
Tonight, though, nobody came. Tonight was perfect. The moon was glowing overhead, the water was shimmering in it's vibrant splendor, and Harry was falling asleep.
He slept out here often, but never for too long, never after dawn. He would wake up with the early morning dew coating his invisibility cloak, with the moon only just about to set, and he would study the first rays of morning.
Someone didn't agree with Harry's intentions. Draco Malfoy walked toward Harry's invisible form at a slow, lingering pace. He was only half asleep when Draco had passed, causing just enough noise to pull him from the edge of consciousness.
Harry shook off his sleepiness and watched Draco in the moonlight. It was eerie the way it bounced off his hair, his skin, and made him glow. No, but Harry wouldn't expose himself. Not in this place, where the water was still placid and the trees would never stop shimmering. He watched Draco, studied his movements and behavior, as he had done with everybody else visiting the grounds at night.
Often, Harry would observe him at mealtimes or during classes, with nothing so much as curiosity but with awareness. Draco had seemed so elegant, his movements precisely calculated, but he wasn't acting very much like himself at the moment. It would be difficult to recognize upon casual observation, but Harry was never the casual observer.
He was pacing, back and forth, looking for all the world as if he were about to implode upon himself. Harry examined this behavior with a detached amusement. There was something endearing about watching him panic and worry like they all did.
Draco picked up a smooth stone from the bank and stared at it for a long while. He looked out at the lake and seemed to be debating whether or not to skip the stone. He examined the water again, and Harry watched as the tranquility, seeping into the boy as if through his skin, engulfed Draco's body.
He sat down, looking out onto the lake and perhaps realizing, as Harry had, that it was the epitome of beauty. Harry watched, interest piqued, as Draco bent his head down into his hands and cried.
It wasn't audible, Harry couldn't hear a thing even if he'd been straining his ears. He only had the sight of him; what could make a Malfoy cry?
Still, he didn't move, as the now resolute boy had got up from his spot next to Harry and the lake. He dusted himself off and stared yearningly into the water once more, before leaving the way he had come.
Harry smiled despite himself, into the sleeve of his cloak. Sleep was overcoming him again and the preceding events had seemed so much a dream.
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The owl had come at dinnertime. He hadn't opened the letter until he was alone in the dormitory. It was rare that he received letters from his father. Lucius Malfoy was, after all, hiding from the ministry.
He shook from trepidation. What did his father have to say that was so important?
He untied the lace that held it closed and gingerly opened the thick parchment. Several Nightshade flowers tumbled from the open parchment. Nightshade. Darkness, sorcery, and truth.
Draco stared at the dark, purple flowers in his lap. So she was dead. She was dead and he would have to go to his father. There was no longer anything protecting him from Lucius or from Lord Voldemort, who he feared more than anything.
His mother was never affectionate or particularly kind, but she loved Draco. There was an oath, something of which Draco knew nothing about, taken between his parents. His mother fought for Draco's freedom from Voldemort, a freedom that neither she nor Lucius would ever be allowed.
It was too late now.
And that thought had sent him into a rage. Rage because he had no choice, he never had a choice, and rage because he was handing over his life to something that he didn't even know.
His mother was dead.
He fled the common room, where the Slytherins had sent up inquiring gestures. They would succumb to this, too, he thought morbidly.
No, but he couldn't stay in the castle. The walls were slowly encasing him, they were suffocating him and he had to get out. His mind barely registered that it was past curfew. He ran through the corridors of the dungeons and didn't stop until he found himself right outside the front doors. The dark castle towered menacingly over him.
A walk was good, a walk to anywhere but in that building. The cool night air immediately calmed him; he could breathe again. And he had left the flowers up there, on his bed; the Slytherins would see it and know.
He closed his eyes and breathed heavily in and out until he felt his lightheadedness disappear. When he opened his eyes, he was at the lake. He ventured further, nearing the edge of the water.
He saw curious little stones at a shallow spot in the water. He felt them, and they were smooth, cold and, he thought with a laugh, nothing like himself.
But then he looked up and really saw the lake. It was breathtaking at night. There were little lights all around the surface, and they looked like echoes.
Mine wont be like this he thought, feeling suddenly more miserable than ever before. He cried: for his mother, for himself and for whoever got in Voldemort's way.
Pitiful, pitiful. Just defy him, can't you? Seek refuge in the castle, talk to Dumbledore.
His mind nagged at him, constantly and relentlessly until he was so tired that he didn't even realize the walls were caving in on him. He was back in his room, back with the Nightshade, and to nightmares of his father.
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Hey everybody. This one was giving me brain-ouchies so I had to put it on paper. Please leave a review (they keep me going) and constructive criticism is appreciated. This fic will be fairly long, possibly novel length, depending on 1) my patience and 2) some other things that I don't remember.
Thanks very much!
Tara