Hey everyone. Lousy attempt at a first HP fic. Hope you like it. Please R&R!
Poetic Tragedy3790
"Tainted"
Draco stared down at the landscape before him. He was cold and tired. The wind ripped through his black robe, making it billow behind him while his dark jeans and top served as little protection against the cool, dark night. He was so alone. Voldemort was gone and, surprisingly, he had helped defeat him He watched his father executed by aurors and screamed as his mother hung herself from his parent's balcony. He was so cold and tired. He hugged himself. These past few months had been hell…he betrayed Voldemort, he gave up his life and now, he had no one left. Sure his former enemies had been very kind to him, so kind in fact that they had become his friends, but he still had a hole in his heart, a hole that nothing seemed to be filling.
The night was old, the stars were beginning to fade and the moon was falling from the sky. The blanket above him was changing from black to purple as the first rays of Apollo entered the sky. Morningstar…it was here. The cliff he was on painted for him a beautiful view of Hogwarts, the castle that had been his home for six years, a castle that held both good and bad memories. He missed it all, though. He watched as Crabbe and Goyle were totured with the Cruciatus curse for hours until they finally gave up. He killed Marcus Flint- a direct order from Voldemort. He held Pansy as she bled to death, becoming a corpse in his shaking arms. He fought beside Blaise against his aunt, watching as his friend's life was stripped from him in a flash of green light. Finally, in the last battle, he lost his soul…it had fled him while he watched his Uncle Severus die.
Tear fell down Draco's cheek. He was so tired. He was so fed up with living. He sighed. The wind blew colder against him, a sure sign that winter, the season of death was approaching. Fitting that he should falter now, on the brink, the time between life and death when all life seems to give up and rest, even if just for a few months.
Draco looked around. The quidditch pitch was to the far right, the forbidden forest below him. The lake glistened in the early morning and he could see the faint light bouncing off the early morning frost making the grounds sparkle as if made of diamonds, a wondrous sight. Too bad the beauty was lost on him. Nothing held any beauty anymore. Nothing. He could still hear his mother singing those sweet lullabies to him, as she did when he was little. He could still hear her voice calling to him, begging him not to take the Dark Mark. He could still hear her screams as Lucius, his father, was dragged off to Azkaban. He could still hear the strangled cries as she received news that Moody had killed her husband, execution style in the prison. He could still hear her gasps for air as she hung from the balcony.
He closed his eyes and let the tears fall. He had to end this. He wasn't living anymore. He was dying, slowly. He knew he was. He felt it in his bones. He felt older than he was, older than eighteen years old. He wanted it to end.
Draco turned around and looked to the cliff wall in front of him. He had killed many people, their names he could never remember, some he didn't even know, but faces, those God awful faces of death, those he remembered vividly. He never enjoyed it, but he became a drone and continued on. Killing all who stood in his lord's way and, when part of the Order, all those who tried to hinder the destruction of Lord Voldemort.
He was ready for life to end. He needed it to end. He let his mind wander to all his happy times and tried to hold onto them, but there were so few and they were so far between that there were barely any to grasp onto. Draco took a breath and whispered to the wind, "I am ready."
He closed his eyes, heard the faint murmuring of the words "Avada Kadavra" and then knew no more. Draco Malfoy was now just a memory and another casualty of war.
Harry Potter, the boy who, lived and one third of the trio that killed Voldemort, stood above the body of the young man who killed and hurt so many, yet, in the end, destroyed evil. Harry sighed. He knew he had to kill Draco, on orders from the Order, for they could never forget the blonde's past crimes even if he did aid in killing Voldemort, but that didn't mean he liked it. He was now the only one left of those who were there at the fall of Voldemort, the Dark Lord. The other, Oliver Wood, he had died that night at St. Mungo's from blood loss. Draco was now dead. Harry let a tear roll down his cheek. HE scooped up the lithe body into his arms and carried him down the cliff so he could be given a proper burial. Newspapers would read "DRACO MALFOY: DEATH BY SUICIDE" but Harry knew the truth. The Order wanted Malfoy…Draco…dead because they couldn't stand that a former death eater had aided in the destruction of Voldemort and they wanted him out of his sight. There would be barely any news of his death or his final deed, but they would all remember his past and judge him harshly. Harry hated the injustices of the world, but there was nothing he could do but bring his friend down from the cliff and remember him like a hero.
"I promise, Draco" Harry whispered to the form in his arms, "I will never forget what you have done. No one will forget what you have done."
And Potter carried Malfoy down into the sun where only light would shine upon the savoir of all.
PS don't forget to R&R!
PT3790