Warning: character death
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He looked into the dead, unmoving eyes of his father. The malicious glint in them had disappeared. It struck him only now that they had the exact same pair of eyes, except that he had seen beauty while his father had seen only wealth.
Sighing, he touched the face at the temples and closed them forever.
Chapter-8:The Dreaded Dawn
Draco felt a hand on his shoulder pat him.
"I'm sorry," Harry confessed. "I really am."
"Don't be," said Draco getting up from the road. He watched the rain drops splattering on Lucius's face, and looked up to the sky. "Come on, the rain's just going to get worse. We've got to destroy the stone-"
He put his hands into his pockets and felt its cold, hard surface. The Stone of Eternal Life, it was still safe in his pockets…it had to be destroyed before Voldemort could find it. But how?
Hermione, pondering over the same, came up with a little something to ease the situation: "Its destruction was never told of anywhere in books or manuscripts," she said with a thoughtful air, "all that was known of its powers was that it held the gift of eternal life and the one in possession of it had ultimate control over the universe."
"And that shouldn't be the Dark Lord," interrupted Draco.
"Exactly!" said Hermione, snapping her fingers.
Harry looked at her curiously for a second. "What do you mean 'exactly'?" he asked her.
"It can't be Voldemort, Harry! Lord Voldemort cannot possess the stone," said Hermione, "Because the stone of eternal life is a source of positive energy. We found it in the river of pure goodness, meaning it is pure and has a good purpose. Voldemort trying to posses the stone would not work or would have a counter effect as he's evil and the stone cannot be possessed by evil."
She looked at both their faces.
Drawing in the blank expression on their faces, she continued, "Think about it, a dark wizard trying to possess the stone of light, an evil sorcerer trying to possess an object of purity. It's like love and hate trying to coexist. Or peace and war abiding in the same house. Don't you see? They're opposites. One will destroy the other!"
"That's your theory?" asked Draco, giving her a strange look.
"Yeah, well, I've been thinking about it…–see, the stone is a part of nature, and in nature, good destroys bad! That's how it goes! So if Voldemort tries to claim his power over the stone, it may destroy him instead."
"But what if he could possess it, Hermione?" asked Harry tensely. "What if it doesn't work the way you said it would?"
"And why would the Dark Lord try so hard to find it, if it would end up destroying him?" commented Draco.
"Oh, I don't know…ancient magic isn't the most predictable thing in the world, but what else have we got?"
Hermione sighed and gave a halfhearted shrug.
She looked over her shoulders at the sky above the housetops. The rain had stopped and the clouds had thickened into a dark, black mass, swirling like liquid. Flashes of green light appeared around it, indicating the gaining power of Lord Voldemort.
Her heart dropped to an all-time low, knowing that they hadn't an answer to the question so as to how to destroy the stone. All they'd come up with were theories of nature, which most probably were too old and unrevised to be applied in this case.
But then, she remembered the time near the river, where she could have sworn the water fairies had brought her back to life.
There, the goodness of the river warded off even death! It forced her to believe that nature did have same sort of unexplainable magic within it that may elude humans.
The ancient magic that remained in the river restored her sight and consciousness.
In her heart at that moment, arose a flood of faith, blinding her to the war and everything else in the world.
Good destroyed evil. That was it!
The three got ready to aparate to the spot of the war, Draco trying his best to enjoy each and every breath he took, for he didn't know which was his last.
The same thing played on Hermione's mind and before she aparated, she took his hand and said, "You'll be okay, Draco."
There was a lot of vagueness clouding her voice, he couldn't really figure out why she was saying it. She knew he was a goner, then why these little lines about being okay? he'd told her everything, about the bond he shared with Voldemort and the fate of all deatheaters.
So she knew his definite end. Why was she trying to reassure him?
Because she cared?
Her words filled his ears, sounding unreal and otherworldly.
He gave her his trademark smirk, assuring her that all was well with him.
But on the inside, he was frozen.
Hermione returned a smile and turned to Harry, who nodded. She let go of Draco's hand, and aparated.
Harry followed suit and soon, the street was empty except for him.
Draco scanned the long, empty road, strewn with logs of wood and broken parts of furniture. Wind whistled through, sending dead twigs and leaves flying into the air. Papers flittered over the pavement, and the street lamps creaked.
The place seemed eerily quiet though…
Draco, feeling a little creeped out, took one last look at his father and prepared to visualize the cul-de-sac.
From behind a birch bark, two eyes watched him. Red and blood-shot, narrowed to slits. Its jaws were hanging open, displaying two layers of sculptured, white teeth, sharp enough to cut through bone. Globs of saliva drooled through and collected on the ground next to two long, clawed feet….
The werewolf emitted a low growl, sharpening its teeth as it did so.
(xxx)
Hermione tried to ward off two adamant deatheaters, yelling hexes and throwing jinxes at them with her skilled wand. Howsoever, they managed to escape every hex and every curse she sent their way and were quite intent on fighting her down, expecting surrender.
"Why you insolent, incompetent, gnarly little fool-!" she shouted at them as one of them uncovered her nickname at school: buck toothed beaver girlfriend.
She tried to see who the men under the hood were. One was shorter than the other and had stubby fingers. A little on the podgy side too. He had definitely studied with her at school, that's why he could so clearly remember the mortifying nickname that had been chosen for her – she remembered it'd been chosen by Draco's cronies and every time she used to pass them, one of the half-dead croons would shout it out.
Old times made her heart ache. It was like a vivid reminder of what she was fighting for.
In the minute that followed, they had sent her multiple hexes, and unable to ward all of them off, Hermione was hit straight in the chest with a spell and was pushed back with the energy.
Quickly, without wasting any time, she caught her breath and continued fighting.
"You're Crabbe aren't you?" she asked the one who hit her, but he didn't respond.
"What? Are you afraid to reveal yourself even when your master is at top power?" she sneered. "You're a coward then."
This angered the other deatheater and he sent a flash of red light her way, which hit her arm. The patch of skin there began to smear and burn. The face of a snake was slowly forming on her right arm.
The death eaters hissed another spell and she fell on permanent bind.
Hermione gasped as she hit the cold, hard ground. The bind had caught her strong this time and as she tried to wiggle on the ground, it grew tighter, suffocating her and further pressing against her burn mark.
The two deatheaters came forth before her. She could hear one grunt.
Oh, that is so definitely Crabbe…she thought sardonically, trying to kick herself up. She put her entire strength into her feet and tried to push it up, but the bind was too strong, disabling any sort of movement.
Was this how it was to end? She asked herself a million times, looking around for help.
Was this how she was going to die? She didn't think so…
She could see the fight between Dumbledore and Voldemort take place at the centre of the cul-de-sac. Dumbledore was growing tired, though still fighting. Lord Voldemort looked inhuman, his whole blue body glowing uncannily. His wand movements were like that of a gliding feather, effortless and free, unchallenged….
A time came when Dumbledore received a forcible blow on his left arm, disabling it from further movement. It swung at his side, as if it were a piece of rubber attached to his shoulder.
She returned her gaze to the deatheaters, and startled, as one of them had bent down close to her.
The man brought one hand to her jaw and held it lightly. The dark blue eyes sparkled like jewels underneath the hoods.
Hermione turned her face away, breathing hard as the fingers trailed her jaw and disappeared into her hairline. He pushed back a few dark brown curls at the side and whispered, "What a pity you'll be dying so young…"
The other deatheater smirked down at her, relishing the frustration written over her face.
Suddenly, there was movement in the bushes at her side.
Something was coming. Raspy panting reached her ears.
Hermione emitted a startled cry as a large black form jumped up from the bushes in the left. She could catch only a glimpse of its wolverine face before it sprang from the bushes over her body to her right. It was holding something in is mouth.
In its spring, its legs knocked back the deatheater leaning over her and in the second she got, she called for Ron who was fighting nearby, to undo the bind.
She looked back at the deatheaters. One was looking in the direction of the werewolf, and the other was slowly getting up from the ground, holding a hand to his head.
"It's got the stone…." hissed one of them, pointing towards the black form bounding towards the centre of the cul-de-sac. "Crabbe, our time has come!"
He looked at Hermione and pointed his wand at her. "You, girl, say goodbye…"
Hermione's eyes widened and she called for Ron again, her heart beating painfully in her constrained chest. Thoughts flew through her head; she couldn't remember a single spell! Her wand lay a little away, but her hands stayed glue onto her sides under the force of the bind.
(xxx)
The werewolf bounded up to its master, stone in its mouth, sniffing the blood-soaked air. It growled with relish calculating the flesh on the human dead bodies waiting to be eaten…
Lord Voldemort had uttered his final duel curse. He smirked at his tiring opponent who was on the ground, breathing hard.
He looked down at the man, fixing him with his cold, cruel stare.
"Tired already?" he sneered at Dumbledore, who stood up shaking. "That's the problem with you mortals. You depend on unreliable sources for your energy."
"If you think depending on the Stone of Eternal Life will keep you alive to surpass death, you are free to use it and channel its energy," said Dumbledore huskily. "After all, isn't that what your pet dog has brought you?"
"What are you saying?"
Lord Voldemort turned abruptly to his side when the werewolf dove into him. "Fenrir!"
The werewolf stepped back and looked into his master's eyes. It made a low, hound-like sound and bared the stone in its mouth.
Voldemort's face changed, darkness overshadowing his features.
"The stone…"
His voice was dry and parched with greed and reverence.
He held out his hands and the animal dropped the stone into them. He then, closed his hands over it and brought it up to his chest in prayer position.
The skies cracked with thunder, the rain ceased to fall. The clouds formed a whirlpool in the sky.
An eerie glow surrounded the Dark Lord who rose a few feet above the ground.
Winds picked up from nowhere and currents that were never passed this side of the country, blew strongly through the empty streets, howling through broken wood and making trees scream in despair. It came from all directions, ignoring every rule of its nature and circled around the unearthly figure.
The Dark Lord raised his hands over his head, still cupping the stone.
"All the power in the certainty,
All the ancient magic I have thus known,
I command you to your abandon throne,
And join the forces of the dark…"
The winds blew in faster and faster, whipping through every infrastructural form. It carried with it broken leaves and twigs and even tiny splinters. The sky gave a loud crack and the very centre of the earth seemed to shake.
Every other form of magic died into the uncertain air. Wands dropped to the ground, faces turned.
The two deatheaters turned towards their master, head bowed with reverence. So did every other deatheater stationed around town.
The Dark Lord was demanding them to give up their powers to the ultimate force in his hands.
(xxx)
Hermione quickly scrambled out of the bind and got to her feet. Wind whipped through her robes, freezing her legs.
Well aware of the fact that Voldemort had now got the stone and was all set to rise into power, Hermione, holding onto to every fleeting second, moved into the bushes.
She ran through the backyard of a stone house, scanned the road behind it for any signs of familiarity, and then took a left turn to the end of town.
(xxx)
"All the power in the certainty,
All the ancient magic I have thus known,
I command you to your abandon throne,
And join the forces of the dark…"
Chanted the Dark Lord repeatedly, raising his head to the skies and looking straight upwards.
A field of indestructible energy had formed around him like an electric shield. Lightning struck the earth from above, attracted by the shield.
Dumbledore could see the fear in the eyes of every auror out there. Their inability to taunt and work without magic caused them to stand gaping at the Dark Lord, who was snatching away all magic from the land through the wiping winds.
But there was magic that he couldn't snatch away, Dumbledore knew. There was also a crack in his master plan that perhaps he didn't know how to patch up.
In silence, in bold defiance yet humble humility, Dumbledore waited for the time to come…
And at the dawn of that moment of weakness, he'd command every source of good to break free of its restrains and fight like there was no tomorrow.
(xxx)
Hermione found him unconscious against an old, broken fence line. Her thoughts at seeing him with his eyes closed like that slapped hard against her mind and she found herself not breathing until she was able to detect a pulse.
"Draco!" she called him, holding his shoulders and shaking him. "Draco, come on! Wake up!"
His head slanted on the peg, revealing a bloody wound at the back.
Oh god. He's injured…
Hermione recollected the image of the black werewolf jumping over her when she was under the bind.
The same werewolf might have attacked Draco after she and Harry had apparated – and it did its job: it got the stone and knocked Draco unconscious.
Hermione knew of spells that would bring one back to conscious, but since magic didn't work at present, she had to resort to muggle methods of waking him.
And the wound – it had to be healed lest he should be left here to bleed and die.
Sighing, Hermione looked at his pale, white face, for a second wishing she could be as peaceful as him, completely unaware that the Dark Lord was gaining power. Also, it struck her that she was looking at someone who wasn't going to be around for very long, who was to rest his mind, body and soul in the lap of a defeated Lord soon.
There wasn't much life in him already. What were the chances that he'd survive the war, let alone a single fight?
Hermione dismissed all such evil thoughts that plagued her and touched Draco's face.
So cold…as if in death…
Her heart suddenly ached with emotion. It appeared full and twisting and she felt her face grown hot with a mix of anger and hopelessness.
Why was fate so unfair? Why did he have to die like this?- she wanted to ask herself a million times, but no matter how much she pressed on the question, no matter how hard she tried to reason with laws of magic, she couldn't figure out another way for him.
"No," she said, shaking her head. He was not dead. Just unconscious.
She looked around the wreckage - A sprinkler tube lying sprawled across the street caught her attention.
She fumbled with its fittings and turned it on. A thin tail of water seeped out at the end.
She rushed to it and cupped as much of it as she could in her hands and splashed it at Draco's face.
His eyebrows crinkled in response to the cool water.
Glad to see conscious movement, Hermione kneeled down beside him and called his name a few times.
Draco opened his eyes, feeling the back of his head. It was hurting like hell.
"Ow!" he said, touching the wet wound near his ears. He brought his hands to his face and stared at the blood on his fingers.
Hermione lowered his hand in silent acknowledgment of the pain. "I think you got that fighting off the werewolf," she said.
He looked at her for a long piercing second, as if to see if she was real. His mind seemed a little foggy and he could see her form double and triple.
"Hermione, what're you doing here?-"
He closed his eyes and rubbed them, clearing his vision.
"We'll talk later," she cut in impatiently. "The Dark Lord's got the stone and there's nothing we can do about it…"
She showed him the rising form of Lord Voldemort hovering above the housetops, the field of sparky energy hazing around him.
"He's gaining power," she said, her eyes filling up with fear.
"I can feel it," said Draco, touching the wound at the back of his head again.
He got to his feet unsteadily, holding onto the fence for support. Voldemort had now risen right in the line of his eyesight. He could see the tormenting winds circle him and the sparky energy crackle across his body.
The scene looked all too familiar to him, as if he'd somehow always known this was coming. He looked more closely at the screaming trees at the verge of being uprooted and the housetops bring threatened dangerously by the winds, bricks and boards flying off into the air.
Destruction was all around him.
Then, he remembered a narration his father had told him, about the rise of Lord Voldemort: "the trees uprooted and lifted off the ground, severing many a head and several a bone as it shared the path of the raging wind. Houses melted under the fury of the Dark Lord…"
"Hermione," he called out to her, never once taking his eyes off the ghastly figure.
"I think I know what to do…"
(xxx)
Lord Voldemort could feel the hot white energy fill him up. His whole body was rising and rising, growing more and more powerful with every passing second.
"All the power in the certainty,
All the ancient magic I have thus known," he chanted repeatedly, "I command you to your abandon throne,
And join the forces of the dark…"
"I need more power!" he shouted to his deatheaters, "give me more power!!"
The energy swirled faster and faster around him, concentrating in his core.
He knew that his time had come when he began to feel only power. Power in his veins. Power in his blood.
His possession of the stone was almost complete…every bit of magic from the stone surrendered itself into his hands.
White streaks of energy began to flash across the sky. The gods of war and destruction rose from their throne and sent shards of lightning down to the earth.
It struck the ground heavily, bursting with light and sound. The aurors skipped in their places to avoid the harsh lighting bolts, but the deatheaters staying true to their master, remained stationery with bowed heads, devoting themselves to the purpose of the stone.
Lightning from all around struck the dark figure in the sky, but the electric field around him defied its entry, making it bounce back into the clouds.
Suddenly, there was a loud roar in the clouds.
Dumbledore and his aurors looked up to find that the swirl in the clouds was slowly disappearing and the darkness in them began to lighten to a pale grey with x-rays of thunder cracking through them.
Lightning which struck the field of energy around Voldemort merged with it instead of bouncing back.
Voldemort opened his eyes and observed the stone in his hand, it was glowing red. He saw his reflection on its surface, pale and white, inhuman, except for his livid eyes.
His image smirked back at him, then, disappeared.
Voldemort didn't understand. The lightning was penetrating through his field. He commanded it to stop and strike the ground instead.
His red eyes began to grow wide with anger and confusion as the orb of energy around him vanished into the air.
"Something's wrong! It's not working! He snarled.
(xxx)
"Get ready," communicated Dumbledore to the minds of the aurors. This method of communication was most efficient and safe in case of passing such information. It was sort of like telepathy and helped to link himself to the minds of wizards all around the world at any time.
He fumbled for his wand behind him.
"Get ready to bring down the Dark Lord," he said, "hold your wand straight, for you are getting back your stolen magic. Remember the reason you are fighting for and utter a single curse of utmost power and he will be done…."
(xxx)
The stone burnt red hot in the Dark Lord's hands, glowing in such a strong blaze, it looked like a piece of hell cupped in his hands. The heat scathed his flesh, burning and searing it.
"What is this madness?" he cried as his hands caught flame. He lashed it around frantically and turned towards Dumbledore, "is this your plan?!"
"It was never my plan to watch you die like this," replied Dumbledore, raising his wand.
Voldemort's face was livid with fury. He felt the energy drain from him and was reduced to a mere form in the sky, devoid of life and true spirit. Then, he realized, he didn't exist without power.
"Finally…you got your chance?" he asked, surprised at the weakness in his voice.
"Yes I did," said Dumbledore, "and I'm afraid the flame of fire you hold in your hand will never suit a darker purpose…"
Voldemort dropped the stone from his hands and watched it fall to the ground, still glowing bright red. "No…you tricked me…"
"Now!!" shouted Dumbledore.
Jets of green light erupted from all around the cul-de-sac.
"Harry! Take the stone and throw it to me!!" commanded Dumbledore.
Harry made a quick dive from his fighting spot and grabbed the stone and threw it at Dumbledore, who caught it and chanted,
"All the power in the certainty,
All the ancient magic I have thus known,
I command you to your abandon throne,
And join the forces of the good…"
He then, got to his feet, looked piercingly at the dark figure and shouted out the single curse of permanent death.
(xxx)
Draco could feel himself crumble inside. Nevertheless, he canalized every bit of hatred into his wand and forced it out in the direction of the unearthly form.
Come on, you miserable wormy traitor! Die! Die! Die!
The streak of light from his wand was so pure, it was white, not green. White with hatred, he didn't know, but it was like the glittering sky he was under when he'd seen the grim back out in the forest. White and sparkling.
Beside him, Hermione was fighting too, her wand held so tight, her knuckles were devoid of colour. The steady, determined expression said it all. She was fighting for her loved ones, and nothing was bringing her down!
With every new spell being uttered, Draco could feel himself lose life little by little.
The power of good was immense, he now understood. It was capable of washing over even the foulest of creatures and the darkest of men and redeeming them. It was capable of fighting off any hell written down in fate, any hell that blazed inside the human conscience, any hell that rested in the hands of the world's darkest sorcerer.
He believed in the power of good.
The jet of light from his wand brightened like the sun in the early morning, blinding him and everything else in its pathway. It shrouded the darkness of the night with pure light and washed over the entire sky…
"Draco…"
He just heard her voice, only her voice, and he was propelled to a stratum of faith he didn't even know existed.
"You're going down, my Lord!"
And he shouted the single most powerful curse he knew…
The clouds rumbled a deafening crack; hell opened its gates under the earth, and the Dark Lord descended into its burning furnace, vaporizing in form and spirit.
And with a loud clap of thunder, the gates closed forever…
The wand dropped from Draco's hands, and he fell motionless onto the ground.
"Draco, no-!" screamed Hermione, reaching for him. Her hand grabbed thin air.
(xxx)
Rain began to pellet down from the sky, thunder echoed in the distance. The lights from the wands vanished and the winds died.
Hermione kneeled down next to him in the rain, tears trickling down her face.
Her heart suddenly felt like it was being wrenched out of her rib cage.
"Draco?" she called out.
He was dead, and she couldn't do anything about it. He was really dead. As dead as every force of dark magic out there…
Her eyes trailed down his face, down his eyes, down his pale, frozen lips… and unable to control herself, she put her hands around him and brought him into an embrace.
"I – I-"
She struggled for words.
Then, she realized, she didn't need words. He may have known it already….
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A/N: I have no idea how many hearts I've broken by killing draco in this chapter, but I'm really really sorry. I know it won't give u much relief now that he's….u know….dead, but let me just tell u, it broke my heart too. When I reached the part where I had to kill him, my heart was just being wrenched out of my body and I could feel – like – physical pain!
I'm really sorry again. Please don't boycott my story as there's one more chapter remaining. And that chapter may just end up being what u've always hoped for.
Luv u, thanks for reviewing!
-elixirgurl
Next chapter: funeral march?