Hero
Chapter One: Regret
By Evan
I could hardly see; it was if night had descended upon the cloudless midday. My legs were trembling with shock after I cast the final curse he would ever hear, the last words he would hear at all for that matter. Collapsing bonelessly in the ground, I didn't care that Voldemort was gone or that my supporters had rounded up that last of the Death Eaters. I didn't care that all my enemies were dead or captured.
My eyes couldn't blink away the hazy fog that clouded my vision, nor could it remove the image of his fair face from my mind. He fell before my eyes, his body falling into the mud. His normally perfectly kept hair became stained with the cool, damp earth. His pale grey eyes went instantly dull and I bit into my knuckle, realizing what I had really done. His body was a shell; it was empty of a soul, of a heart. He wasn't there anymore.
He was gone.
The world darkened around me as I fell down. The last thing I could remember was his face, the first real person I had ever killed. He was only person I used that dreadful curse upon willingly. Darkness covered my mind and I couldn't think, so I just closed my eyes and let myself get carried away into a deep sleep.
My dreams were strange clips from my life. A flash of the dark insides of cupboard, A snippet of seeing Ron for the first time, his blinding red hair blowing in the slight breeze, Hermione being her usual know-it-all self, And then there was him, an image of a smirking boy holding out his hand.
The first thing I registered when I woke the next day was that I was warm. My eyes fluttered open to see a distorted world. A sharp girlish cry came to my ears and I winced. Immediately, fuzzy shapes bent over me, poking and prodding in an annoying fashion. I tried to move away, not wanting to be touched, but my body wouldn't move. In motionless agony, I tried to get my limbs to function to no avail. I felt paralyzed by some nameless charm Pomfrey most likely used on me.
Glasses were placed roughly on my face, allowing me to finally see exactly who was standing over me. Hermione and Ron both looked ecstatic, and Hermione was crying tears of joy as she was wrapped up in the redhead's arms. Dumbledore was there as well, with that damnable twinkle in his crystal blue eyes. I frowned as I looked over a smiling Lupin, grumpy Snape, and the overly enthusiastic Weasley family.
Hermione and Ron were pushed aside and Madame Pomfrey came bustling over. Following her movements, I listened half-heartedly to her lecture.
"You are very lucky, Mr. Potter. You quite worried us." She smiled as she concluded her lecture and pointed her wand at me, "Finite Incantatem."
My limbs were suddenly free from their bonds, and my legs could move. I wiggled my toes experimentally, testing them out. A small smile grew on my lips, the corner of my mouth lifting. I was distracted from the burden of emotional pain for a few moments, relieved that I could move. A small bit of normalcy went a long way for me.
I pushed myself slowly off the bed, sitting up and looking around me. My friends and teachers, not to mention the many gifts surrounded me and flowers piled up upon other beds in the infirmary sent from admirers and friends. My stomach dropped and a sickly feeling crept up my chest as I looked up. My eyes flickered around the room; purposely dodging the concerned gazed from the people.
"Harry, I am so glad you're okay!" Hermione cried, clasping my hand in her own. I stared for a bit at her slender fingers, the nails painted in some shade of lavender. A golden ring fit with diamonds on her ring finger glinted in the light. I frowned, my eyes falling closed. I winced a bit as images now burned into my memory flashed before my eyes.
I blinked, looking up at her, though not seeing her, my vision haunting my open eyes with startling clarity. I opened my mouth, aware that she was eyeing me in a concerned fashion, preparing to respond. My unused voice only allowed a reply in a hoarse voice.
"I guess." I pulled my hand away, feeling a bit of déjà vu wash over me, making me nauseous. An image came to me of him releasing my hand and giving me a small smirk, his hair glistening in the sunlight above us as he turned about. He walked over to his friends after insulting me as he normally did.
Dumbledore smiled at me gently and patted my hand. I flinched, not liking the thought of people touching me. He noticed and the small twinkle in his eyes disappeared for a few moments. He sighed deeply, clasping his hands below his long beard.
"Shall we let Mr. Potter rest now?" He looked around, taking a few steps towards the door. The group slowly followed him out of the infirmary. I felt like an animal, a strange and rare beast that people view with curious gazes. Their eyes focused on me as if they believed I, the animal, would disappear and would never be seen again. For some reason, I really wished I could disappear.
They left and I was alone in a world of red and yellow blossoms and of colorful and happy cards. The world of clashing, overbearing and bright colors were currently giving me an awful headache. I turned over slowly, my head resting on my hands as I closed my eyes. I tried to think of anything else besides him, but my mind had other ideas. He was cold; his icy fingers forever imprinted on my hand where his own slim hand had held mine in its freezing grip for a few precious moments.
I remembered how annoying he was, always criticizing my every failure, my every achievement. The boy's lips were always curled up a small smirk. He was a coward and he was cruel, but he was pure in his imperfection. And he was beautiful. His cool grey eyes could make you feel as though his gaze could slip through your physical body, as though he could tell what your were thinking. His pointed, aristocratic nose led down to his lips, which were pink and smooth.
I beat him in Quidditch. I refused his hand of friendship during our first year, thinking him a spoiled brat, which he, indeed, was. I mocked his spoiled attempts at causing me trouble and his fear of the Forbidden Forest. I looked down my nose at him, and I was just as cruel as he was to me.
I had killed him.
As I looked back now, it was I, from the very beginning, which took his life. It was not a quick and painless curse, a flash of green light that had really killed him. My own fingers had held his heart and crushed it. My own hands pushed him away from his father's favor; it was my fault he was unpopular. My hands had shattered his soul in a matter of seconds.
Yes, he was snobby and unkind, but he was innocent. Now that I think of it, he was perfect, so much more untainted than I was. He was purely selfish, entirely rude. He grew up as he had been taught; he was born of his father's own desires. He became who he should be; he killed whom he should, and he was cruel to my friends. In his heart, I'm sure he just wanted his father's love, he wanted the love of a callous man who would never return his feelings.
In his search for approval he gave up his own beliefs and ideas in exchange for something he never did end up receiving. I can still remember that battle, I still remember hearing the old man's hideous words.
I had sneaked out in my invisibility cloak as usual, taking my nightly round outside the school. At that time, it was still summer. It wasn't cold at all outside and I went down to go wading in the lake. On my way down, I heard hushed and furious voices. I walked down quietly and to my surprise, Draco Malfoy and his father were the makers of the noise.
i A gloved hand came down hard against his cheek and I covered my mouth in horror as he was verbally and physically, abused by the man whom he loved more than any other person in the world.
"Father, I'm truly sorry. I didn't mean to mess up," he said in a soft, terror-filled voice.
"Hmph. You deserve this punishment, you have failed me!" The cruel slippery voice responded.
The boy slid down to the ground, "Yes, father, punish me. I deserve it." A soft whimper sounded and I turned away, unable to watch. /i
Tears came into my eyes at the unbidden thoughts that flooded my memory. I opened my eyes, looking around silently. I pulled my knees up to my chest, my body warmed by the thick blankets covering me. That night, I had seen his mark. I had seen the tattoo on his forearm and I knew he had taken the last step. He had almost completely slipped out of my grasp, I couldn't save him anymore and I also knew he wouldn't become a spy like Snape. He was a Death Eater to the end.
It was only a few weeks later, in that last battle, which I realized I could never have persuaded him to turn from his father. No matter how much he might have looked upon me with irreverent awe on me as a child, no matter how much he might have wanted to be free from the life he had forced upon himself, he would never have betrayed his uncaring father.
I turned onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow as the visions came again. I curled up, a soft whimper escaping my parted lips, as my body soon wracked with silent sobs. I could feel the pain of remembering his last moments pierce my chest. Guilt flooded my mind as, like a movie, those minutes flashed before my eyes.
i He stood before me and pointed his black wand at me, his lips forming a spell. I beat him to it, my voice loud and strong.
"Avada Kedavra!" /i
I gasped, covering my mouth. I hated this memory, but it hadn't ceased to haunt me.
i His eyes had widened, the silver orbs filled with shock as he was engulfed in a light greener than my eyes. The emotion I saw in his eyes, fear, sorrow, regret and hurt flashed quickly before his body fell, no longer filled with his soul. His beautiful, distorted soul was gone. /i
My fingers gripped the shabby blue pillow, my knuckles turning an unusual shade of white. I gave a small cry in agony, trying to get the overcast sky and the rain out of my head. The flashbacks of screams and curses flying overhead as I had fought were too realistic. I grabbed my head, gasping at the almost physical pain these thoughts gave me.
It was the ultimate betrayal of my heart; of his heart. Draco Malfoy had ceased to exist, and he would never exist again. I had completely and irrevocably destroyed the essence of him, his soul. He did not go to heaven, nor was his soul received in hell. He was gone, and I had erased him as casually as an eraser running over a chalkboard. Killing him was my worst sin.
