Conquering the Darkness

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Conquering the Darkness

Chapter 4: The Decision

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Dusk loomed over the castle grounds. The great golden orb was now beyond the mountains that skirted about the Hogwarts property, causing the building and its surrounding tributaries to be cast into shadow. The students, who had been out on the ground while the sun shone now made their way back to the comforting warmth of the great halls.

One such person, who diligently fell into line behind the others, was none other than Harry Potter.

It was unusual to see him out and about without his right and left hand, Ron and Hermione.

His shoes were covered in a thin layer of mud caused by the rain the previous week.

He would be the last person to admit he actually felt guilty regarding Draco's sudden illness which had caused him to be stuck in the infirmary for the past week. Today, finally, the boy had awoken, and, from what he had heard, his foul temper had not returned along with him.

His eyes, dark and brooding, scanned the grounds in search for his two friends, hoping he could avoid them and get to the common room in piece and quiet and actually attempt to get some sleep tonight. He quickened his step.

As he did so, he berated himself, although with not much success.

I did everything the directions told me to do, even Draco made sure of that! The boy knows that I'm horrible when it comes to Potions.

His brows furrowed together, and he sighed. This wouldn't get him anywhere.

Noticing that his stomach was grumbling (and had, in fact been doing so for the past hour) he redirected his route so that he could swing by the back kitchens to find some food without actually having to go into the Great Hall and socialize with everyone as they ate, pretending everything was fine.

The corridors were dark and deserted, and Harry presumed most of the students (including Ron and Hermione) were now down in the Great Hall feasting upon turkey and ham and treacle tarts and pumpkin pie.

Turning left on his heal, Harry sighed and reached up as he began to tickle the green pear and watched in fascination as it began to turn into a doorknob. It never ceased to amaze him these elements of magic. He had been in the magical community for six years now, but it still held that innocence to him which made it so amazing.

Opening the door he was greeted by a flood of scents, including that of roasting ham, apple pie, and mashed potatoes. His mouth was watering by the time he actually managed to find a house elf that he could tear away from making food and his stomach was grumbling with even more painful gurgles.

"Um, Excuse me?" he questioned, leaning over the small creature that looked up at him with great beady eyes, a slight sweat shining off his brow.

"Yes, sir, is there anything Thibbly the house elf could for you, sir?" His hands were covered in a mixture of flour and cinnamon.

Smiling nervously, Harry continued, "Well, I was wondering, is Dobby about?"

Thibbly's great eyes blinked and became slate gray and he replied in a stiff, strained voice, "We house elves do not speak of Dobby today. Dobby, sir, has taken a...," he paused, and gulped, and continued in a whisper, his eyes darting, "a day off."

Thibbly flashed an apprehensive glance towards the fireplace where Winky was sobbing in the ashes, her face smeared with soot and tears.

Flushing, Harry shuffled about, and continued, "Well then. I, erm, I see. Could it be possible if you have any leftovers?"

"Leftovers? But Mr. Harry Potter needs more than leftovers! We must make him food especially!" Thibbly exclaimed, setting off towards the backrooms where Harry noticed a great burst of flame emit from a frying pan.

Following him, Harry exclaimed, "No! No, really it is alright! I just need a bit of food; you don't have to cook me an entire meal! Just a Shepard's pie and a flask of pumpkin juice will do!"

Thibbly paused, and looked back over his shoulder, "Are you sure, Mr. Potter? It would be no trouble, no trouble at all!"

"No, no, no! Just a Shepard's pie will do, I don't want to cause any trouble." Harry persisted reaching for a pitcher of pumpkin juice and searching about for a flask in the cupboard, much to the other house elves amazement. After all, it was unheard of that humans would do such a thing.

"But, Mr. Harry Potter!" Thibbly exclaimed, coming out of the backroom, his arms full of a Shepard's pie and a large piece of chocolate cake. He began to wrap it in a clean green napkin and tucked it into a small basket and handed it to the Gryffindor who dropped a flask of pumpkin juice into it as well.

"I don't want to trouble you," Harry insisted, beginning to regret coming in the first place. House elves almost made him terribly nervous, and they were just too helpful and often times he couldn't figure out whether to be grateful or very, very irritated.

All the elves in the kitchen were now watching him and nodding and trying to find his way back to the door, he smiled nervously as he stumbled through the exit, and once again back into the cool loneliness of the corridor.

Standing there for a moment, Harry paused and listened to the wind beat against the glass windows. It was a very different world he had just returned to--not one of pots and pans and sauces and deserts, but back to one that was mystical and magical, but also strangely dark in ways that he could never truly comprehend.

But then again, he supposed, perhaps no one could understand magic.

Tucking the basket beneath his cloak, Harry set off for the common room, hoping he wouldn't run into anyone, like Flich, Mrs. Norris or worse, Snape.

Quickening his pace, Harry bounded up the stairs two by two, and by the time he reached the landing he was out of breath and sweating somewhat. Gasping for air, Harry welcomed the physical sensation--for the past couple of days he had been a daze; he had not really noticed anything except for hunger and exhaustion.

Mumbling 'sarsaparilla' as he climbed in through the picture of the fat lady, Harry found that the common room was empty, except for a crackling fire. Debating whether or not he should eat in the common room or on his bed, he decided for the latter, incase he should fall asleep.

It was a nice night as it was, and he could look at the stars as he finished off the pie. It was relaxing looking out at the world, the great expanse, and knowing that he was so small compared to it. It made him feel insignificant, something he often longed for; when he could not even walk down the halls and people who had known for years would still glance at his scar.

Settling himself by the frosty glass pane, Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cold and let his thoughts drift again.

He wasn't surprised when the marred face of Draco Malfoy surfaced again, but with a concentrated effort he suppressed the instinct and opened his eyes to look up at the moon. It would be full come tomorrow, and then, after tomorrow it would wane. That was why he always enjoyed the 14^th day of the cycle, because there was still hope, still hope for something else, before it threatened to fade, grow weak, and eventually vanish.

Smiling sardonically, Harry drained the rest of the pumpkin juice and tossed the flask onto his bed. Watching it as it fell onto the crimson and gold down, he sighed. In reality, he wasn't all that tired, but at the same time, he was ill at ease, despite being alone. For some reason, he couldn't shake off this guilty feeling.

I didn't do anything, he swore. But by now, that mantra had fallen upon deaf ears. Of course he knew he hadn't done anything wrong--but that truth certainly didn't make anything better. It just made him doubt himself more, something he had become quite good at.

Hoisting himself off the cold stone surface, he made his way back to his bed and flopped down upon it, looking up at the four posters that surrounded him. The curtains were pulled back so that he could look about the rest of the room, and watch the moonlight as it speckled its way across the floor from one side of the expanse to the other.

At eight o'clock the students began to filter in through the portrait hole, and turning on his side and throwing his blanket over him, he pretended to be asleep. Ron and Hermione were the first ones to enter, and a slight pang of guilt echoed through him as he heard their hurried footsteps throughout the tower, and Ron coming up behind him, and then quickly leaving.

A moment later, a soft whisper called out, "Its okay, Hermione. He's in here."

There was a sigh of relief and the bushy-haired girly answered, "Thank goodness...he had me really worried there. He has been acting so strange lately; I am beginning to worry whether or not..."

"Don't jump to conclusions," Ron finished heavily, and Harry could almost imagine Ron as he massaged his temples in frustration, "It will work itself out. As soon as Malfoy is up and running and being his usual ass, Harry will snap out of it."

There was a long silence, until Hermione interrupted it by remarking, "But don't you find it strange how hung up Harry is on all this? I mean...the two hate each other, don't they? And yet...here he is practically moping over the fact that his rival is shut up for a few weeks."

Ron chuckled, and their steps echoed throughout the tower. They were heading down to the common room and in a few seconds they would be out of earshot. The last thing Harry heard before their voices faded was, "I don't think Harry is moping over Malfoy, Hermione. If that was to happen..."

Almost wishing to get up and follow them, Harry held firm to his bed and closed his eyes shut.

He was NOT moping over that prat Malfoy. He was just afraid that points would get taken away from his house.

Yes. That was it.

Steadying his breathing somewhat, he listened to the gentle hum in the common room as the students filed up for studying after supper.

After a while, the drone began to lull him asleep, and before he knew it, he was entering the land of dreams, but not as peaceful ones as he would have wished...

***

It was dark, but that was nothing new when it came to his dreams. He was used to the dark, but soon enough, it would become light, this he knew. If it was to be like other nightmares he had before; there would be Dementors coming at him, their long spindly fingers pulling away at their tattered gray cloaks, ready to perform the kiss.

Somehow, he would manage to escape them, usually by running so fast that it took him nowhere.

Voldemort would appear then, his green snake-like eyes peering down at him, the red smile, dripping with blood, and then...the green flash of light that tore through every muscle and bone in his body until he felt weak and sickly and then nothing.

And there would be Cedric, crumpled to a heap on the ground like a piece of clothing, and there would be Voldemort laughing over Harry's own, dead body.

But it was not that dream. The gloom had yet to lift, and the Dementors had not appeared.

He waited, what seemed several hours, but they did not emerge. There was only the obscurity.

Harry did not know whether or not it was the darkness that was more terrifying or the Dementors and Voldemort...

Suddenly, just when he had given up on anything happening whatsoever, a strange glow appeared before him that steadily grew closer and closer.

There was a terrible splash, and then he heard it, the tortured screams, and he was in the darkness once again. The screams surrounded him, the voice echoing through his heart, with each painful note after the next.

Hands covering his ears, Harry glanced about nearly going insane from the sound, and saw a motionless figure lying before him. The form was dead, covered in a bath of blood, flowing like a great rainstorm from his eyes, and covering him and the space around him in a blanket of deep scarlet.

It did not take him but a second to recognize who it was.

"Draco!" Harry called in his dream, collapsing to his side and feeling there was no pulse.

But the figure moved nonetheless.

The thin, pale lips moved, and formed the words, "You...it was you..."

***

Harry awoke with a start, breathing heavily, his body covered in a thick layer of sweat. Nervously reaching out for his glasses in the dark, he closed his eyes and swallowed. What was that?

More so, why did he call out Malfoy's first name? He had never called the arse 'Draco'.

Shuddering slightly, he rested against the bedpost and exhaled an amount of pent up breath. The quiet rhythms of the breath of the fellow students surrounded him, and even in the warm and cozy atmosphere, he still shivered apprehensively beneath his heavy down covers.

Fingering the material nervously, he tried to sort out his thoughts. Malfoy's eyes surely couldn't be that disfigured--he had seen the boy himself right after the accident.

Perhaps, somehow, his case had worsened.

But no, that was silly, he insisted. He was just letting his imagination take over. Draco Malfoy was perfectly fine in the hospital wing, asleep, and recovering nicely. Sure, he was acting a little strange, but this was expected, being all alone in the wing. Wasn't it?

He had been in the hospital wing for a period of time during his second year while he had grown out his bones, and he did have to admit it became very lonely and even scary during the night hours.

Looking out the window he found the position of the moon to be hanging over the western expanse of the sky. The blankets were pushed aside, and finding a pair of slippers and invisibility cloak, he slipped into them and found his glasses so that he could better view the stars positions.

Harry didn't want to admit it. He wouldn't. He was just going to go for a walk, to clear his mind. Yes, that was it. He was still upset from his dream, or nightmare, whichever he chose to call it. His steps were light and intentional as the raven haired boy made his way across the room, glancing nervously over his shoulder to see if Ron had woken up.

All students were quiet and sound asleep, at least as far as he could tell. Smiling softly, he walked down the stairs and into the common room where the fire still crackled merrily. Half expecting Hermione to be doing some late night studying, he made his way across the empty room, and through the portrait hole, out into the beckoning night.

I'm just going for a walk; he told himself, placing one foot in front of the other, I just need to clear my head.

But he was only fooling himself, this he knew. Harry had been doing so for years; he had become so good at saying, "I'm fine", or "I'm okay" or "Don't worry." He was the master of the masks, more so than anyone he knew. Harry Potter was expected to save this world; it would bring the collapse of so many things if the truth was ever found out.

The great oak door loomed before him, and almost instinctively, he pushed his way through the entry way, already within the dragon's den. Silently swearing to himself, Harry turned back to look at the grainy piece of wood. It would be so easy to escape the hospital wing, it would be so easy to escape, and no one would ever know he had been here.

Madame Pompfrey wouldn't have a clue, let alone Malfoy for that fact. What was the point of this entire excursion?

There was none.

That is a lie, he argued with himself. There was a reason. There had always been a reason.

Harry had to see. He had to see if Draco was alright, for whatever reason, pity and anxiety hung on his heart, and he had to quiet his fears, if not only for his selfish sanity. After all, what was sanity? It was all relative, he supposed, looking down at the cool marble floor that glinted in the moonlight.

His emerald eyes, finally lifting from the ground, took in his surroundings, and widened as he saw for the first time the object which had been on his mind for the past week. There in the farthest corner of the room, bathed in a gentle wash of silver, lay the dragon.

Harry had entered the dragon's den indeed.

Closing his eyes, Harry grumbled. He would just go make sure that the damn Slytherin wasn't having convulsions, or drooling uncontrollably, and then leave. He had a test in Potions tomorrow, after all, and he needed to get a good nights rest.

He stepped forward, one foot in front of the other, slowly, softly, quietly--but the steps, they echoed, over and over and over, until he could no longer imagine the room in the silence.

I feel so guilty.

It was after visiting hours.

***

Whoever it may have been was very noisy about the whole thing. To begin with, they had slammed the door to the wing, causing him to wake up in the first place, although not with a start. It was nearly impossible for him to be startled, especially when being roused from sleep.

His dreams hadn't been very pleasurable either. Mostly filled with blood and the like, but he was used to that and had learned how to get a restful night's slumber.

But now, whatever it was clomped down with such heavy steps against the marble that he almost wanted to reenact his antics he had preformed early that day and throw something at it.

It was human, that much he was certain.

But the question, the question was who.

Remaining still, he waited and listened, until the steps stopped right before his bed. He was after all, the only bloody patient in the entire room. There was a soft and shallow intake of breath, and then the sound of a chair being fetched from somewhere or other.

The rustle of fabric; the person must have sat down.

There was silent for a number of minutes, and idly wondering how long the person was planning on staying, Draco finally roused himself by asking coolly, "Who's there?"

A sudden intake of breath whispered throughout the room, and almost wishing he could roll his eyes, Draco waited patiently, or at least as patiently as he could manage, for an answer. Why was the person so surprised? Let alone, why wasn't the person answering? It was rather obvious he was awake now, and there was no getting around the fact that Draco knew someone was sitting close to his bed.

There was once again the sound of rustling fabric, smooth and almost silky sounding; the shuffle of feet against the marble floor. Whoever it was had moved closer, so close that Draco could actually feel the warmth being emitted from the body.

Compared to the coolness of the hospital wing, it was almost pleasant. The blankets they gave were so damn thin...

The breathing from the person seemed to sing in his ears, and Draco, clearing his throat rather abruptly, began again, "Who is there?"

Another pause, but it was interrupted by a fumbling reply of, "Err...no one."

Almost wanting to laugh, but suppressing the instinct, Draco pointed out, "It certainly does not sound like no one."

Harry flushed and looked down and studied Malfoy's hands subconsciously. He had very long and very pale fingers, something he had never consciously noted before. But, for Malfoy, it seemed fitting.

The situation was extremely awkward, and glad that Malfoy had obviously not recognized the voice, he thought about his answer for a moment. He was trying to reply in as few words as possible, reasoning that eventually Malfoy would figure out that it was him. After all, how many people would come and visit him in the middle of the night and lie about who they were?

"Have you ever spoken to no-one?" He finally decided upon, realizing the comment sounded extremely absurd and lame. He flushed in discomfiture, even though there was no one watching him, except for the unseeing and bandaged eyes of Draco Malfoy.

Draco's lips turned up in enjoyment, even against his will. Good lord, this was all amusing. Obviously, the person didn't want him to find out who it was. It sounded like a man, but then again, girl's voices nowadays could be so low he couldn't particularly tell. Perhaps it was some Hufflepuff girl come to see him; he had heard a rumor that one of them fancied him.

Pursing his lips, Draco replied curtly, "...No..."

Of course he had not heard 'no one' speak!

The reply was quick this time and almost mocking in its return, "Okay then."

Not knowing whether to grin or frown, Draco decided on remaining impassive, and reached out for the glass of water on the side of his bed, making sure he had a firm grasp on it, so that he would not embarrass himself by dropping the contents as he had done early in the day. As the liquid fell down his throat, he murmured, "Well, if you're planning on being here all night, might as well sit back on the chair."

There was a long, stiff silence.

Harry was unsure of what to do, but finally, and with great hesitation, he made his way back to the uncomfortable metal chair.

But somehow, though he was cold and uncomfortable, he felt somewhat better. At least Malfoy hadn't lost his irksome and moody nature.

Not knowing whether not to be relieved or disappointed, he looked out at the moonlight, aware that for the first time in a week he didn't feel terrible or depressed, and for reasons he couldn't quite understand, a smile rose to his lips.

But as soon as he realized it, he wiped it off his face, and remained impassive, like the silver-haired boy who lay before him.

***

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