Dawn

Chapter 7 : If you could see me now

IF YOU COULD SEE ME NOW

Here they come
Every night the same
Silent stars
Light from a distant flame
Just like the memories of you
That I hold inside
I see you touch
But all the warmth has died

Empty rooms
Crowded by the past
Time is my enemy
Days keep moving faster
But the nights alone can be
An eternity
That never heals the scars
Of foolish pride

If only you could see me now
Goodbye is not so easy now
The freedom that I walked away to gain
Is nothing but these chains
That you alone can break
And you would free me now
Your heart would come undone
Just looking at me once
And my love would bring you back
If only you could see me now

Here I am
Stranger to a smile
Trying to fight the tears
Missing by a mile
I'm not the one who laughed at you
On that yesterday
When you warned me not to throw your love away

If you could only see me now
Goodbye is not so easy now
The freedom that I walked away to gain
Is nothing but these chains
I know your heart would break
If you could hear me now
Your heart would come undone
If you could hear me once
Hoping love will bring you back
If only you could see me now

Like the lonely moon
You see above
That sails the dark alone
Forever
I have no light of my own
Other the love we've known
So long ago
Together

If you could feel me now
Your heart would come undone
If you could touch me once
I know love will bring you back
If only you could see me now

(Céline Dion)

~*~

Draco forced himself to open his eyes. He looked up at the stormy sky and the branches' green foliage above him. The snow was gone.

"Greetings," said a steady voice from behind him. The Slytherin whirled round, fast as a snake.

"Gods...." he whispered. He stopped abruptly, realizing his remark's involuntary humor. The tall man in front of him smiled. He was very simply clad in brown leather, and his eyes were deep pools of gold, similar to the Spinner's. His skin looked uncannily like bark, but the most surprising were his horns, two large stag's antlers. As if he was a part of the forest.

"You can call me the Hunter."

"Hu'Gadarn?" said Draco, astonished. "The Horned One?"

"You remember your lessons well, child."

The Slytherin pinched the bridge of his nose, in a vain attempt to alleviate his burgeoning headache.

"Where is the Spinner? She and I should have a talk, I think."

"Arianrhod already played her role in your destiny."

"The hell she did... She bloody killed my mother!" he cried, filled with sudden rage.

The Hunter's smile disappeared, and he gazed gravely at him, his strange eyes twinkling. In amusement or irritation, Draco couldn't tell.

"You forget yourself, child of Llewelyn. Stop whining."

"My mother just died. Balor's deadly eye, what did you expect?" His bewilderment was obvious.

"An adult behavior. You're just a spoiled kid in an grown-up body."

"How very sympathetic of you," Draco managed to say, despite his painfully tight throat.

"You're exuding so much self-pity you hardly need more," replied the Hunter peacefully.

Draco shivered and wrapped his arms around himself as tightly as he could, his gray eyes never leaving the God's. He didn't even try to force back tears.

"You're not mourning over your mother, but over yourself. Admit it and go on."

The Slytherin realized with a pang of guilt that he was right. He grieved less from Narcissa's loss than from the impression of ever actually having had a mother.

"What do you want of me?" he said eventually.

The Hunter smiled sadly. "Child of darkness and light, man and wolf, believer and sceptical... You are more than most humans, and yet, you are still less than you should be. The Wheel of Life has turned, lubricated by your mother's blood, and a new dawn will arise." The melancholy in his eyes darkened the wisdom earned by eons of existence.

"The Spinner told me I was free. She didn't say the price would be so high," replied the young man, feeling a well-known bitterness overcome him.

"No mortal accepts everything of his free will. Especially sacrifices."

"It was my choice... it's my fault." The brutal honesty of the statement surprised the god. Unlike most of his kin, he actually liked the little creatures. Hu'Gadarn couldn't understand the raw emotion in Draco's eyes, but seeing the mortal struggling to survive through his harsh destiny stirred something in him he had thought buried forever.

"Yes." For the first time in ages, he felt a pang of pity cross his immortal being. Yet, the Hunter offered him no comforting lies. "Had you known the price, would you have done it anyway?"

His gaze slightly unfocused, Draco seemed thoughtful for a moment. "Yes," he said simply. Tears flowed freely and silently on his pale cheeks as the sudden and excruciating realization finally hit him.

"Chained, life continues. Broken, it's freed. You made your choice."

"And choices lead to consequences."

"To you or to those you love."

Jaw tightly clenched, Draco held the God's golden gaze, forbidding himself to weaken. "Another sacrifice?"

He received no answer. The Hunter had disappeared.

~*~

"Draco..."

The Slytherin started violently. He wasn't in the forest anymore. Instead, he was kneeling in front of his mother's grave. A hand gently shook his shoulders.

"Draco. Look at me." Baffled, he did as he was told. A wave of relief overwhelmed him as he saw Hermione sitting by his side, in the snow.

"How..."

"Shh," she replied in a calming voice one used to soothe a wounded animal. She leaned towards him, and with surprising fierceness, hugged him. Draco stiffened automatically; then, feeling appallingly awkward, he relaxed. He held her tightly, seeking comfort in their now shared heat.

"How did you find me?" Draco said at last, strangely reluctant to let her go. However the girl had no such scruples, and she fully intended to stay in the Slytherin's arms as long as she could. For one, she was awfully cold, having left the castle in a hurry, and thus forgotten her cloak. Trust a Gryffindor to rush at a friend's side without thinking twice, and to die halfway, chilled to the bones, she mused with a trace of acid, getting a sudden and unwanted understanding of the rest of the world's exasperation towards her House. But above all, she wasn't sure if Draco would ever allow her to do so again. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't even have let me put a finger on him. But then, last weeks weren't exactly what one could call 'normal circumstances'...

"I found the letter, at the Entrance Doors. I figured you would be there. Well, you see, that's what I would have done, had I been in your situation," Hermione explained, before stopping abruptly. "I'm sorry," she said lamely, a heartbeat later. "I'm babbling."

The resignation in her voice amused him. He nodded. "Dreadfully."

Hermione looked up immediately, mouth slightly parted in silent indignation. "It wasn't a question," she reproached.

Draco smirked impishly. She crossed her arms under her breasts, looking very much like Professor McGonagall as she shot him a stern glance. Before she began to lecture him, however, the Slytherin swiftly wrapped his arms around her back, and drew her against his chest. He buried his face in her brown hair, catching her unique, feminine scent. He had never realized before that she smelled of cherry and hazel trees. It was common knowledge that the Animagus kept some of his animal form's characteristics after the first transformation. The wolf's heightened senses were slightly unsettling at first, although once he would have come to terms with them, they would most definitely be useful.

"You speak too much," he said, his voice muffled by the bushy mass. After a few seconds, they slowly broke apart. "Ogmios Sun-Face himself would bow before you, morwyn." The irreverent spark in his gray eyes unnerved Hermione and she flushed profusely. There weren't much people on Earth who could embarrass her, but Draco obviously was one of them.

"Knowing you, I'm sure I shouldn't take it as a complement," retorted weakly the witch.

"Fair enough."

They got up without haste. Draco stared at the glistening marble tombstone for a long time, his expression unreadable.

"Are you coming? Draco?" asked Hermione expectantly. The Gryffindor was waiting for him at the graveyard's large iron gates.

"Yes," he said eventually. "Let's go home."

He turned on his heel, and followed Hermione out the cemetery without a backwards glance, the rustle of his boots on the snow echoing in the unnatural silence.

Perhaps one day he would be able to forgive himself.

Then again, maybe not.

~*~

The great beast stretched lazily on the stone. Dilwen the Green Welsh liked the sunlight, which provided a little warmth to her cold-blooded body in the winter chill. At the bottom of the hill, in the valley, hatchlings were learning to hunt, under the approving and often bemused eye of the older dragons. It was quite amusing to see them run around wildly, trying to chase a mere hare. The poor animal fortunately died quickly of heartstroke.

Her eggs were carefully protected, in the numerous caves the mountain provided.

Thanks to Lady Dara's many efforts, the Ministry had agreed to use Llewelyn's territories as a national reservation. Dilwen's tribe had lived on these lands for longer than any human minds could ever remember; and, she had to admit, the agreement they had made with the wizards was extremely profitable for both parties.

With an almost imperceptible sound, a stern old lady appeared out of thin air next to her. Dilwen eyed her without apparent surprise, a faint glimmer of pleasure in her dark eyes. Only very few people could Apparate in the reservation, mostly Dragon Keepers and Llewelyn wizards, for it was highly warded and very controlled.

Wearing traditional blue silk robes under a black, finely woven woolen cloak, the stranger bowed deeply before the Green Welsh. A thin silver diadem circling her brow held back her raven hair, tied in a large plait, and Llewelyn's crest was emblazoned on her mithril cloak pin.The fine rapier hanging on her left hip gleamed briefly under the winter sun. The proud matriarch stared at the ground with humility, palms turned to the sky in sign of peace. The strict draconic decorum commanded her to wait for the dragon's acknowledgment of her presence before even daring to look at it.

"Greetings, Llewelyn ilharess. May the wind under your wings leads you where moon and sun meet," said Dilwen finally.

"And may the wind carry you higher than the white clouds," replied Lady Dara, relieved. She looked up slowly, meeting her friend's beetle black eyes for the first time in months.

The whole exchange should have been spoken in Draconic, but humans' limited throat couldn't pronounce it properly without great and often painful efforts. Dilwen had thus greatly honored her guest by speaking her language. After the rather rigid custom salutations, the witch and the dragon relaxed slightly.

"My friend," declared Lady Dara, smiling. "It's always a pleasure to..."

The elder witch's composure was as usual perfectly measured. The nervous grip of her hands on the weapon's hilt, however, and her slightly unfocused gaze told the Wyrm otherwise. Dilwen had seen too many Llewelyn wizard not to understand that she was mentally conversing with her blade. If she was preoccupied enough to do so while in a Dragon's presence, her visit definitely wasn't one of courtesy.

"I know you only too well, malla abbil, and your heart is plagued by worries and fear. Do tell me the real reason of your visit," cut Dilwen bluntly.

Lady Dara snapped back to reality. With an heavy sigh, she sat down on a nearby rock. "I believe you know the world is in war?"

"Your world," corrected the dragon absentmindedly.

Of course, she was aware of the turmoil Voldemort was causing in the wizarding world. Even the Other Realm was worried. The Elven Council had already gathered in Elvanshalee, and sent messages all over Istovir. The Dark Lord concerned them more than they were comfortable to admit... He was a madman, and thus a threat to the world's balance as well as to the Elven lands' security. The dwarves stayed silent, absolutely not feeling implicated. Having realized centuries ago that this kind of isolationist policy would one day be fatal to them, the Elves had decided to use the Dragons as their eyes and ears. Not that Istovir was hidden from the wizarding world, far from that. Most Ministries simply choose to ignore the Other Realm, already having more than their share of issues in their own. Given the very limited number of Gateways on Earth, Dilwen had to admit that it was easily understandable

"I did heard rumors about the iblith who is rising up bloodthirsty followers against the wizarding community," she added carefully.

"We need your help to protect Hogwarts," admitted Lady Dara, opting for a straightforward approach.

Judging from the offended look Dilwen shot her, the human had achieved the rare exploit to surprise her.

"And why, pray tell, should your war concern the Dragons?" hissed the Green Welsh, faking astonishment. During the War of Dusk, Dilwen had come to respect the little mortal who once had the nerve to fight by their side, next to the Elven King's followers. Both proud, merciless and placing their clan's needs before their own, they were very much alike, and it was probably what had motivated their friendship in the first place. As a leader, the Wyrm understood and accepted that Lady Dara would sacrifice anything to protect her world, including their amity and Dilwen's tribe. That doesn't mean she had to like it.

"We used to fight together, my sister, if I recall correctly," she pleaded. Lady Dara knew she was playing a dangerous game. Dilwen wasn't known for her patience, and to irritate a mature and extremely powerful dragon leader wasn't exactly wise.

"Nindyn vel'uss kyorl nind ratha thalra elghninn dal alust," retorted Dilwen haughtily. She tended to slip back into her native tongue when distracted or angered.

"Raewulf's tribe joined Voldemort," Lady Dara pointed out with a meaningful glance to the dragon. Raewulf had been Dilwen's mate for over three century, before leaving her without apparent reason. As much as she hated manipulating her friend's feelings, it was her last chance, and too much lives were at stake.

The cruelest cut of all, mused the Wyrm pensively. The witch had played her game with her usual subtlety. Fine and piercing as her rapier, she had known exactly where to strike to hurt the most.

After a few minutes, Dilwen's bitter laughter echoed through the silence. "You won, rivvil. Lil alurl velve zhah lil velkyn uss. My warriors will be at Hogwarts in a week. Tell your wizards to be prepared. The Green Welsh clan is entering the war."

The dragon leader turned away, and took off abruptly in a rustle of wings.

Lady Dara's blue gaze followed Dilwen's silhouette until she disappeared behind the pure white clouds, forcing back with all her might an irrational urge to weep.

~*~

They walked back to the castle in silence, the fine gravel screeching under their boots' soles. Hogwarts stood in the distance, imposing and solitary figure on the desert moor. The sinister shadow of the Forbidden Forbidden contrasted bizarrely with the snow's aggressive brightness.

As an icy draught ran over her spine, Hermione shuddered for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Her lips almost blue, the chilled Gryffindor wrapped tightly her arms around herself, in a pathetic attempt to regain a little warmth. Nobody to blame but myself, I guess.

Next to her, Draco stopped abruptly. He winked, then, on impulse, undid the delicately decorated clasp of his heavy mantle. Refusing to meet the witch's curious eyes, the silver-haired wizard draped the loose material across her shoulders. Without a backwards glance, he dashed briskly on the path, leaving behind him an incredulous Hermione. She knew better than to run after him to thank him, and instead found herself gazing pensively at his back, shaking her head in silent disbelief. Boys.

"Come on, Granger! I'm starving," he called, without even turning to her.

"Hermione," she barked, irritated. Draco gracefully whirled round, a dazzling smile dancing on his lips.

"Hermione," the Slytherin rectified mockingly in a high-pitched voice. "Get your ass up there, young lady!" he added a second later, his smug grin soon fading when he received a round projectile square in the face. After a few disbelieving seconds, he hastily wiped the snow from his face.

"What was that for?" he asked, half indignant, half-bemused. Hermione strolled negligently past him.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" When she failed to answer, Draco grabbed her arm. "Listen to me!"

"Make me," the Gryffindor teased playfully,

"Fine," Draco retorted, not missing a beat. Cupping her softly round face with a hand, he leaned towards her and pressed his lips hard against her own. As they broke apart, he had the satisfaction to see her speechless. Before he could add an adequately embarrassing comment, however, a loud call made them both start. His heart leapt in his chest. Gregory?

"Ah, Draco! Here ye are! Everyone is lookin' for ya at the castle. I thought ye might be out for a walk," commented Goyle with a shrug and a not so subtle glance to Hermione, who squirmed uneasily. Noticing the Malfoy insignia on her cloak, he gaped at her for a long time, unable to decide what to make of it. If the Goyle family was perfectly familiar with the traditional wizarding customs, being Malfoys' vassals, Hermione logically wasn't, and thus couldn't fathom the significance of Draco's gesture. He had granted Hermione protection and respect, and every pureblood in the school would understand it as such.

Draco cleared his throat. "Greg, I believe you know Hermione Granger? Gryffindor, Head Girl, Insufferable Snow Woman?"

Catching the hint with the ease of years spent in the Serpent's den, the other boy nodded towards the obviously ill-at-ease witch. "Ma'am."

"Pleased to meet you," offered Hermione. A uncomfortable silence set in.

"Well, it's pretty obvious you two have pressing matters to discuss." She stood on her tiptoes to plant a light kiss on Draco's cheek, before promptly turning away and rushing to the castle at a nimble pace.

"That girl is driving me crazy," said Draco thoughtfully, his gray gaze following her retreating form.

Gregory eyed him with all the enthusiasm of someone who had just found a Blast-Ended Skrewt in his bath. "I see no difference," he stated dryly, caricaturing Professor Snape's trademark sneer in a refreshingly Slytherin way.

Draco considered neither laughter nor tears as valid options. Without a word, he hugged the other Slytherin. Quite unsettled by this unusual display of affection, Gregory awkwardly patted his back before they broke apart.

"Weren't you supposed to be at home for the holidays?"

"Yeah, but ye were here, mate. So I came," replied Goyle peacefully. "Caused quite a commotion, ye did." He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Didn't your father object to your coming back to Hogwarts?" returned Draco, effortlessly dodging the trap.

Gregory dismissed the matter with a gleeful wave of his plump hand. "He was. Not that I care, 'nyway. Turned eighteen yesterday. What were you doing with the Gryffindor girl?"

Although used to Goyle's rather abrupt changes of subject, Draco winked. "Well..."

"What about a lil trip to the kitchens, then? Ya could explain to me everything I missed while eating a bit. "

"Greg, it's an awfully long story."

"Bah! While ye'll explain, I'll eat," Gregory assured confidently, a sudden light coming into his dark eyes.