Black Truth
Chapter Eight: Flight at Midnight
Lucius stood at the window in Dumbledore's office, watching the rain pelt down mournfully against the glass.
"Nature knows what is coming. It anticipates the death of a Veriae, and it prepares to mourn." Dumbledore's voice came softly from beside him. The Headmaster's gaze followed Lucius's across the grounds of Hogwarts, towards the Forbidden Forest. "You knew they were destined to be together, did you not?"
"I did. I was acquiring Draco's schoolbooks when Draco was being fitted for his robes for his first year here. I returned before Narcissa and happened to see both Draco and Potter were being fitted in the same room, my son chatting away as usual, both surrounded by auras so similar it scared me. While my son did not recognize the fabled Harry Potter, I did. I knew the Dark Lord would stop at nothing to return, so I feared for my son's life. It seems my fears were more correct than I wished them to be."
"You told your son to befriend Harry."
"Yes. But that did not happen. I hope Ronald Weasley is happy with himself today, for at midnight Draco dies. His father's grudge against my family can then be finally put to rest."
"Lucius, your son and your grudge played a large part in Harry's decision."
"But out of the two families, it is the Malfoys who will regret it."
Lucius turned to leave, his face impassive, his emotions only betrayed by a single crystal tear that fell to the plush rug of Dumbledore's office.
"Can you not help him, Lucius? Draco is strong; he may be able to live through it... even if no Veriae ever has."
"Draco ran to the forest when he woke. I could not even begin to fathom where he has gone."
"So you will give up that easily, Lucius? You will let your son die?"
"Consider my options, Dumbledore, before you condone my actions. Suicide is unbecoming of a Malfoy." Lucius spoke gravely. "If I were to find him, Draco would ask me to kill him."
Harry woke, gasping. Voldemort was pleased, and for the first time in weeks, Harry had felt every painful moment. There was no reassuring blackness, no voice to whisper sweet words, and no wings to shelter him from the pain. Had that... had that actually been Draco, as the book had said? Harry's eyes shifted over to the clock that sat on his bedside table. 11:30.
That was bad. Wait, why was that bad? Why did Harry feel so empty inside? Like something important was slipping away from him... something he desperately wanted to hold on to.
Almost on an impulse of their own, Harry's arms reached for the book that he'd insisted to Hermione that he read, but he had put down after realizing what it was telling him. Something was wrong, something which he had ignored when Hermione had tried desperately to explain to him, and now he wanted to find out what.
His eyes hurriedly scanned the headings, to find the page that he had lost when he'd slammed the book shut. Finding the page number, his fingers dove through the pages, almost as if they knew he had to hurry. As his emerald orbs picked up the paragraph about mates, they widened as the truth of the situation hit. And it hit harder than a Crucio ever could have.
Draco. Dead. At midnight. Wait... Why did he care? No more Draco, no more insults, no more underhanded Slytherin pranks directed solely at him... no more competition at Quidditch... no more... just no more.
Draco had wronged him... many times in fact. Yet, Draco had been the first wizard he had ever come in contact with that didn't acknowledge the fact that he was... well, different. Draco had extended a hand of friendship to Harry, albeit rudely. But... he hadn't really been rude to Harry... just to Ron.
Ron had started it...
Harry blinked. Ron had started it all. Harry had fallen into the same pit that he accused Draco of being in... he had taken Ron's opinion of Draco as the black and white of the situation. And Ron's interpretation of Draco had come, not from analyzing Draco, but from what he had heard from his father about Lucius. Draco was not Lucius. Lucius was not the Malfoy who had saved Harry from the wyverns, nor was he the Malfoy who had fainted after Care of Magical Creatures... where he must have heard Harry's words to his friends somehow, nor was Lucius the one who had the same aura as Harry.
What did Harry really know about Draco?
Nothing. Except that Draco knew how to retaliate, and had a fierce sense of pride. Harry had treated Draco... in the exact same way that he had treated Lucius when Lucius was acting the Death Eater... a part which, from what he had seen of Lucius in the two classes Lucius had taught, had proven an incorrect assessment.
But could Harry piece anything together about Draco? The younger Malfoy did not really judge by appearances, as he had not even noticed Harry's scar unless he was in the middle of the public eye. In First Year, Draco had been paired with Harry for detention in the Forbidden Forest, and had actually held the lantern... even though he outwardly complained that the whole thing was "servant's stuff". In Second Year, Draco had stolen a small present that was obviously meant for another student, yet he had first asked Crabbe and Goyle (or who he thought were Crabbe and Goyle) if the present was theirs... thus implying that he wouldn't have taken it had it been theirs. And on through the years... Draco had protected his own image in Fifth Year (imagine the scandal if a Malfoy was found to be anything less than a model student by the Ministry) with that horse of a woman, Umbridge. That had been his worst act against Harry, yet he hadn't been the one to bring the information about the DA to Umbridge either.
So did Harry want to let Draco die? No, not really. Yet, did Harry love Draco? Not Draco Malfoy, just Draco. The same Draco whose feathers turned from sharp to satin when Harry touched them. The same Draco who'd stood in-between Harry and the triad of wyverns from the Forbidden Forest with only those wings and his forming bond with the magic patterns around him for protection. The same Draco who'd told Harry that Voldemort's aura was pink just to make conversation. The same Draco who had, perhaps inadvertently, stood between Voldemort and Harry with only his wings every night in Harry's dreams... except tonight... because Harry was killing him. So did Harry love Draco?
Harry himself didn't know... yet somehow, something inside him said, "Yes."
As Harry swept from the dormitory with his Firebolt in hand, his clock said 11:50.
Draco's eyes seemed clouded by his aura, as he stumbled forward, wings fluttering violently to help him keep his balance. It covered him now, his aura... it would suffocate him. He just knew it. The darkness would suffocate him and he would die, and by now he truly didn't care. Pain lanced its way through his limbs, as his body protested against any movement. But Draco didn't want to die here. It had been a mistake to run to the Forest. He couldn't escape what was happening now. If he'd stayed at Hogwarts at least he could have begged his father to finish him quickly. Now that would be fitting. For Draco to die the way Harry's parents had, the last remnants of happiness that Harry could have held on to swept away with that same beam of green light... the color of Harry's eyes.
Wise eyes watched Draco intently, as the Veriae's aura started to become visible and the pale boy fell to the ground. These eyes were quickly cast up to the heavens and with a horrified start, galloping hooves began to make their way to the castle.
Why has Dumbledore not seen it? Firenze thought frantically. How could he have let things get this bad? Once Draco dies, Harry will soon follow... the stars tell so and they do not lie. What use was it, teaching Dumbledore to read the cosmic signs, if he does not use the skill? Draco must be saved. Or else, the world will crumble under darkness... a darkness that was fittingly the same color as the fated aura that now is threatening to destroy Draco.
A boy on a broomstick zoomed down the halls of Hogwarts, his thoughts whirling. Draco's not here. WhereisDracowhereisDracowhereisDraco?
The broom was pulled to a sudden stop at a large window, its view overlooking the grounds of Hogwarts. Wait... what was Firenze doing outside of the Forest-
The Forest!
Glass exploded outwards as the boy guided his broom out of the castle, pocketing his still smoking wand as he did so.
"Harry Potter!" Firenze's voice carried upward through the pelting rain. "You must hurry-"
"Where's Draco?"
"In the Forest! You must find him before he dies!"
"I know!" Harry screamed through the rain as he hurled forward towards the looming trees, hand falling back to his wand. "Point me!" his voice shrieked through the rain, raspy and hurried.
Following the direction given by the wand, boy and broom entered the Forest.
"Draco!"
Clouded eyes opened slightly. What?
"Draco!"
Why would someone call his name? Darkness surrounded him... so sleepy.
"Draco!"
Go away; darkness feels no pain. Draco didn't want to feel pain anymore.
"Draco!"
Orbs of black laced with silver blinked. "Harry?" came the startled whisper.
"Draco!"
Harry landed ungracefully on the ground next to the fallen boy. One could hardly see Draco, cloaked as he was in an aura of ebony. It'll suffocate him! Harry thought frantically as he dove into the clouded aura.
"Don't die, Draco," he muttered, as he fought through rain and aura to get next to Draco. The wings seemed to hear what the boy did not, as they began to beat at the aura, working as if to push it away.
Harry managed to grasp Draco as the aura began to disappear. He paled slightly as he saw eyes blink slowly at him, normally a silver, now an ebony black.
The darkness was going away... why was it going away? Was he dead now? No... but that's Harry - blink - Harry's not dead yet.
"Why are you here?" The voice--was that his voice?--spoke low and slurred.
"Draco, I don't want you to die. Don't die!"
Die? Was he not dead already? No... the darkness was gone now. He was not dead.
"I'm not dead," the voice spoke again, in that same low and expressionless tone. And the boy's eyes began slowly to change colors, the silver working its way through the black, as Harry smiled.