Red Dementia

Red Dementia

He ignored the crunching sound his boots made as he stepped over the various pieces of debris that littered the ground. In fact, he sneered with annoyance as his foot sank into something... 'squishy'. (That's a word she'd use, he thinks with a smirk.) Annoyance, not revulsion, for he was used to the scene before him. This picture had been the one he painted, and quite pleased with it he was.

The sky was red. So red, it hurt. Red like the blood that pooled about on the ground before him. ("Red at night..." he remembers that phrase she told him. It's going to be a nice day tomorrow.) The sunset gave a strange glow the dusty battlefield, which was now almost empty unless you counted the scattered bodies. There were few others who stood in that vast field. Too few left to bother fighting. And too tired. So they just waited.

They wore gray clothes and cloaks bearing the faded sign of phoenixes that had once been vibrant and bold.

Draco straighted his black robes, held his black cloak around him tighter. With nightfall the wind was picking up and screaming in their ears.

He did not raise his wand to any of them as he passed. They just stared, hollow and defeated. And Draco, in turn, just laughed in an echoing, dismembered way. What? He had an image to uphold, he did. And the looks on their faces...

Crunch. (Bollocks, not again! he swears.) It seemed as though he'd just stepped on someone's head. Pity. Ginny wouldn't let him step foot into the manor if he had chunks of gray matter on his shoes. He'd hose it off later...

He had to find her first.

So few people were standing.... How could he miss her? Was she there? No.. you couldn't mean... It couldn't have...! She wasn't... was she? No, of course not, he reassured himself. She couldn't have been killed; she was too powerful and too careful for that. He would have known it is she died. He would have felt it inside; he would have felt empty.

But he didn't feel empty. On the contrary, he felt like laughing. So he did. And he knew that Ginny must be close by and ready to celebrate as well, for she'd wanted this as much as he had.

In fact, she'd wanted this much, much, much more, which was a tad odd considering their histories. But only a tad.

He finally saw her, round the corner of a hill that had been blocking her from view. (How could anyone so beautiful be blocked from view? The world should see her. The world should bend for her. I will make the world bend for her.) And she was beautiful. The breeze pulled wisps of hair from her face, and it's color blended in perfectly with the scenery...

Red.

(It's my red.)

And she was smiling... (She's so beautiful when she smiles, he thinks.) He smiled in relief, even though he'd known not to bother to worry, and ran towards her gathering into an affectionate embrace. He looked over her shoulder and understood why she was smiling.

On the floor was strewn that bloody Mudblood, Hermione Granger. And bloody was meant literally, for she had fingernail scratches all across her face, and parts of her scalp where bare and shiny, and Draco wasn't sure.... But it looked like one of her eyes was missing. And next to her, in life and now in death, was Ron. (My brother-in-law, comes his giddy thought.) His eyes were bulged out. He was crouched over, curled, holding his stomach...that he no longer had. It seemed as though a hole had been blasted right through it.

(Ouch.)

And behind him, oh how Draco knew it too, was the best part. It was Harry Potter. Alive. Cowering on the floor. His once lively green eyes now mirrored only pure terror and revulsion. He shook, oh Merlin, how he shook. It was the best thing Draco had ever seen in his life.

All the while, Ginny had been watching him. Draco. Been watching his reaction just knowing how pleased he would when he saw her work. With one last superior look at his childhood nemesis, Draco shot a sly grin at his wife.

Ginny giggled in her typical, school-girlish way. Draco laughed, and Ginny followed. They kissed passionately and then, they laughed some more.

"Demented..." Harry muttered as he stared at them, his eyes deadpanned, hollow, and defeated. His gray cloak was no comfort. "You've both gone mad..." Those were the last words he ever said.