As Midnight Slips Away

Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed, declaring it to be 12 AM.

It was a grey, foggy midnight, with a few stray raindrops making their way through the rectangular slat that passed for a window. It was the kind of night that Draco liked best, and so he sat, his eyes the same color of the sky, watching their fall. He was surprised that he was able to glimpse anything of the outside world -- one would think that one of the Ministry's secure cells would be down in a dank dungeon instead of at ground level -- but Draco was oddly pleased. Perhaps the Ministry had a human side to it after all. That, or there were twenty-three different curses and alerts that would be set off if his hand so much as crossed the threshold that separated government and populace.

At least he had a nice view.

A drop of water splashed on his cheek and Draco moved his hand to brush it away; as he did so, he felt the dried clumps of blood that matted his hair. Lucius. The boy winced as he thought about the visit his father had paid earlier in the day. He remembered the cane he'd used with it's glinting diamond snake eyes; and the words that he'd gritted in his ear, unveiled threats about how he was going to get his comeuppance for having the nerve to face up to his father, shaming the family name, and daring to do what he did, especially when it involved him....

Draco's eyes darkened at the thought and his posture tensed. He'd been at the trial today, although he didn't testify. The trials were just a formality, really. When an unforgivable curse was used on someone of Lucius Malfoy's prominent standing, it was nearly guaranteed that one would get a visit from a Dementor as soon as dawn had kissed the horizon with her deadly rays of violet and crimson. Never mind that Lucius himself had been in Azkaban for the same crime less than two years ago and had gotten out merely a few weeks afterwards. 'Funny that, the more money that changes hands, the more things one seems to forget,' Draco thought.

Even Dumbledore couldn't save him, but Draco hadn't put all his faith in the headmaster anyway. That was Harry's job, while Draco's was to play the part of the eternal pessimist, who kept the two of them somewhat grounded, and turned a deaf ear to the protests of how unimaginative he was being. Not that anybody called him unimaginative anymore; not when they now had a much wider range of choices.

" 'Traitor' seems to be the most popular at the moment," Draco mused aloud, a hint of bitter humour in his voice. "Funny. I do the right thing and now everyone that matters is against me."

Well, not everyone, but Draco refused to think of that, and closed his eyes instead.

The moment he did so, a barrage of images flung themselves at him all at once, flashing across his eyelids like different slides of film in a Muggle movie he'd seen once. The four dozen jury members glaring down at him, angry because he either betrayed their Dark Lord or was just another rotten Death Eater; Professor Lupin twisting his hands together nervously; Dumbledore's calm voice; that silly cough from fifth year's Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher; and finally Lucius, refusing to look at him.

But worst of all, the cold presence emanating from the back row, who didn't speak, but didn't have to. His eyes said it all.

"Fantastic," he said to a mouse that was in the corner of the room, searching in vain for a scrap of food. It squeaked and ran under the bench the moment it noticed Draco eyeing him. "After all that has happened, and he's mad at me over a little thing like this? Okay," he relented. "Maybe not little - but how could he be mad at someone with this arse? It's like it was chiseled out of a rock...though right now I wish it'd been chiseled out of a chesterfield, 'cause this bench is killing me."

Draco pulled off his jumper and balled it up, then maneuvered so that he was lying down with his makeshift pillow under his head.

"They should fire whoever it is that cleans this place," he said sleepily, "as their dusting leaves much to be desired. The amount of pollen in here is horrifying."

His eyes shut mid-blink. Sleep overtook him, and as he slept, he dreamt.

He didn't dream often; his life had already been so full of colour that he'd never had to look anywhere else. The blood, money and tears that he experienced on almost a daily basis more than made up for anything he might be missing in the dream world. He was grateful for that, for he didn't think that he could tolerate a full twenty four hours of vibrancy, of colours that hurt his head.

If he'd been awake and in control of his own thoughts, he would've been startled to realise that nearly everything was in black and white.

Draco was standing in front of a sea of people, some he knew, some he didn't, on a platform of some type. He looked down at those who were staring at him, some with expressions of pity, some with anger, some with plain curiosity. His mother was at the front of the crowd, her body coloured in tones of sepia, except for her nails, which were bright pink, and polished to a point. Her lips were pursed, her features set in an indescribable expression. Next to her, looking very frumpled, was Mrs. Weasley. She was crying, her tears a faint tinge of blue, her hands twisting and gathering her too-short robes around her fingers. Ron stood only a few steps behind her, his hair the colour of the sun right before it disappears over the horizon, and Dumbledore was next to him, his pink lips curved in a smile of defeat. Draco looked from face to face, noting each different characteristic, and wondered why some things were yellow while others were grey, then it dawned upon him that perhaps, perhaps that was that person's most distinguishing character trait, the glue that held the pieces of the puzzle together. He looked down at himself curiously, but everything was neutral.

A sudden movement towards the left caught his attention, and he turned his head to see Harry fighting his way to the front, shoving past a gawking Dean, who was chewing popcorn, and moving past Narcissa to the edge of the platform, where he rested his palms on the surface. Draco steadily looked him over. It took a moment to register that there wasn't a trace of grey to be found on Harry.

"Nice jacket," was all he could think of to say.

Harry blinked. He looked down at his red jacket, then back up at Draco.

"It reminds me of you, you know."

Draco opened his mouth, but before he was able to respond, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"What?" he turned to face whoever'd just touched him, a scowl on his face.

Professor Lupin was standing there, holding a noose in his hands.

"It's over," he said, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"What's over?"

"You," was the response, and before Draco could even put up a fight, the noose was around his neck, and Lupin's hands were on his back, pushing him over the edge of the platform into a black hole that had suddenly opened up. Draco went flying past Harry, Harry's mouth open in a little 'O' of surprise, his green eyes blinding Draco as he fell.

Draco jumped awake and was barely in time to catch himself from falling off the narrow bench.