Angel's Guard
By Moste Piratical Ursh
Chapter TWO 2
- Yellow-
Draco is entirely alone for the first time in his life.
His mother is dead.
Draco wanders down a small footpath near the river and gazes aimlessly around him.
A stark whiteness on the other side of the river. Riverside apartment blocks of the rich sit like broken jagged teeth against the craggy black gums of the city.
The stench of the Thames fills his nostrils. A musty pervasive scent riddled with moisture that seeps its way into his bones.Sniffing and snuffling, he would have a full-blown cold by the end of the night.
His legs are aching beneath him. He comes to an open expanse of mud, scattered with housing bricks and exposed pipes and pauses for a moment to gather his bearings. A footpath runs along and across it. Draco continues his lonely way, not caring.
He has been wandering since the early hours in a dazed shell shocked state although he knows that he will have to think about his situation sooner or later.
It is hard to see through the cloying darkness here, where the streetlights don't reach, but the waste ground seems to be closing in and taking on form.
Frost sparkles across to either side, covering the ground around him like a magical moss, reflecting the light of the orange night sky.
A large pond or a small lake is over to his right, and dark forms float on the surface, possibly sleeping ducks.
The tip of Draco's nose feels very, very cold. Standing in the middle of this park he realises how tired he is. His entire body aches and there is a tense weight across his shoulders. His head, nose and throat seem to have been bunged with clay and a deep throb is pulsing from between his eyes.
Staggering over to the coverage of some low lying shrubbery in sight, he slumps down, feeling oddly like a sack of rags but lighter, and does his best to wrap his cloak around himself. Then Draco sinks into unconsciousness.
Shining. An arch strung with pale yellow buds and curling green stems beckons. A weak, warm orange sunlight falls in dappled patches across a circular garden. A strange garden: it has the feel of a cathedral, as though it is extended far above, higher than can be seen. Solid, immovable and sacred.
Tentative steps through the arch. The ground beneath bare feet is warm and soft and springy. It seems to invite toe wriggling.
A pleasant scent of grass and a strong flowery oriental perfume characterize the curious space. The very air around is sparkly haze of gold-yellow particles, as though the air is infused with magic. Magic…
Soft laughter, musical, strings out from the centre of the garden. Draco walks slowly towards it. Hoping. He can feel it in his bones; she's there.
In the centre of the space is a small raised mound- covered in the same springy turf. A trickle of water is spilling from a slight muddy rut on his left. Bubbling water winds round the green mound becoming clearer, cleaner and widening as it goes, flowing off towards his right and draining away to somewhere unseen.
A surrounding wall of impenetrable golden fog marks the boundaries of the circular place.
He steps gently over the running water. Towards the centre where the same sparkling fog hides something. Something he wants very much.
The memory of laughter is strong in his ears.
A shining figure is sitting cross-legged in the centre of this garden. It stands up moves towards him in a swish of hair. The luminescence of the garden seems to cluster around the figure, as though every golden particle is straining to get closer to it. It obscures and lights the figure up in a warm glow…
Draco smiles weakly…
Draco wakes feverishly and stiffly, to a grey still sky and the uncomfortable sensation of being prodded with a large stick. The warmth of his dream evaporates in an instant.
He feels grit crumble away from his eyes as he opens them. Two stark figures loom over him, dressed in black.
Oh well, not unexpected. No need to brace himself for death since he's only half awake.
Draco shuts his eyes a moment before opening them again. The pain of breathing the frosty air through his raw throat and dry nose is affecting his thinking.
At last, he registers the fact of people and makes the effort to work out who they are.
What at first seemed like Deatheaters is something completely different. Two muggle …policemen… are leaning over him, trying to move the unusual tramp along before the park sees any of the public. The male of the pair is frowning, holding a baton as he looks down on this strange young man. The woman looks on wearily from a few paces behind, stubby fingers pulling a black jacket closer over a regulation vest. The chill is sharp for autumn.
Draco tries to speak but the words come out as a strange string of mumble.
"Come on, Mate. Up." He raises his eyebrows in exasperation.
Draco stagers up, looking around him. He's standing in a small frosty park, closed in by railings. A pond nearby reflects a steely grey of morning and last nights ducks float quietly on the surface in the shape of drinks cans and wrappers.
The man points at the exit to the park, the end of the footpath he had been following the night before.
"Come on, out."
Draco coughs and splutters some phlegm away, and tries his throat out again. This time managing to speak in a feeble rasp. He feels shivery and weak. Weaker than last night.
"Do you know where I can eat? Food?" he asks, looking from one horrified face to the other, wondering vaguely what they're gaping at. It hurts him to talk to these people. Filth.
He looks down at what they are staring at. His cloak has fallen open at the front, exposing his dirt encrusted clothes. His white shirt is caked in the unmistakable red-brown of dried blood. Narcissa's blood. Oh, that.
The police go to take something out of the holsters at their hips, but Draco is quicker. He brandishes his wand at them.
They stand still. Statues. They don't know what the wand is, but they see something about the blond haired, black caped man that alarms them. Perhaps it is the red sparks flaring from the end of his wand like damp fireworks.
He doesn't want to kill. Not innocents. Even muggles. There is enough pain and anguish in the world. He runs as fast as he can towards the park entrance, leaving two stunned police behind him.
Bolting through gardens, hedges, alleys, along quiet, deserted back roads and ducking along main roads, hood up, cloak tightly wrapped around him, hoping fervently that none of the people in these ridiculous roaring, speeding muggle contraptions would stop him or recognise him.
A lone figure trudging along in the gutter, sinister and furtive, face averted from the teaming rush hour traffic.
Where to go? The daze of yesterday, the depression, was wearing off and a cagey fear was gradually rushing in to fill the vacated space.
Hogwarts? Not a chance. They wouldn't have him back, not now. A danger to other students…
The Deatheaters? He had left their ranks forever. The truth of what they did… his mother… He knew better now.
A single idea was forming in the murky bottom of his mind. He didn't dare take it out and examine it yet for fear it would dissolve away like so much smoke beneath his fingers. At the centre of the unformed idea was one person. Memories of the night on the astronomy tower flashed painfully into his mind.
Dumbledore grasped the battlements weakly, slumped half over has though the life force was being slowly drained from him... Standing, foolishly brandishing his wand aloft. Waiting for Dumbledore to tell him he was consigned to a life of damnation and attack him with a force of fury. Waiting for the end that would surely come.
But infuriated Dumbledore had looked on as he stuttered and failed. Offered him a way out. And then watching as he went over the edge. Fell to his death.
He had been weak, but not now.
The whipping of a cape. Harry Potter materialises…
And after those vague, blurry recollections, a strange dark rush of faces and blitzed scenes, fragments of memory scattered to create random sequences of imagination and reality.
Draco, dazed, exhausted, ill, knew exactly what he must do. He must find Harry Potter…
With these thoughts chasing one another like litter round his head he sank into a fitful sleep, full of the feverish dreams of illness.
Emily the fantastic beta. All praise her greatness. bows down
felicitousmomento: Glad you liked! Well, here is chaptwo- tell me what you think! hint,hintwink,wink
s.halliwell24: voila- it had to be a muggle hospital, it means he can't say good bye and contributes to some of his, erm... spiritual... episodes (don't worry he's not going insane- there's a reason!)
Nanie-san: I'm a bad, bad author.starts beating self with lamp, dobby style I'm a terrible updater. But I really like how this fic is going so I got the next chap up fast. Please review and tell me what you think!
hotaru: here you go- now did you like this chap or not?
Icypanther: Wow! Thanks- though I did start writing this before HBP, I've decided to modify it (slightly) to fit the plot line. Anyways, thanks for the compliments and keep reading!
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