White Horses

Jackie Stevens

Story Summary:
[COMPLETE] They say that there are no white horses - those that we think of as white are really just a faded and deceiving grey. Names can be misleading, and definitions can be false, and yet through the maze of artifice and deceit, we might just find something true. When Harry returns for his last two years at Hogwarts School, he will find that boundaries are shifting and not everyone is who he thought - including himself. He will have to learn that change is like those elusive white horses: swift, beautiful and irretrievable.

Chapter 36

Chapter Summary:
What will happen after the break-up? What
Posted:
05/27/2005
Hits:
4,420

"WHAT?"

Hermione's angry hiss echoed across the empty common room. It was only six-thirty on Saturday morning and none of the other Gryffindors would be up for hours. "Ron, how can you act so obtuse? This has nothing to do with you!"

Ron frowned mightily, his arms crossed defensively in front of him. He wouldn't have been up this early on a Saturday morning either, but he had stayed the night in Hermione's private Head Girl room, and that meant getting up whenever the workaholic girl did.

He retorted darkly, "Nothing to do with me? Right, sorry, of course not - I'm only your boyfriend after all. Why would you want to share any of your decisions with me?"

Hermione rolled her eyes in the face of his sarcastic rhetoric, "Oh, please." She jabbed a finger in his direction and snapped, "Don't even start with that. Ron, you know that my education is the most important thing to me right now. If I don't go on to university, it'll put my whole future in jeopardy. And if I'm to go to a magic university, I have to leave the UK."

"But why couldn't you just do an apprenticeship here, like everyone else does?" Ron asked, sounding truly at a loss to explain why his girlfriend wasn't satisfied with what 'everyone else' was doing.

It was an argument that they'd been having for weeks and it was never resolved. It wouldn't be resolved that morning either because just then - before Hermione could snap back at her boyfriend again - Harry stumbled into the room.

Hermione and Ron turned to look when they heard the portrait swing open. Ron's mouth fell open, while Hermione took an unsure step toward the boy who had just walked in.

The skin around Harry's eyes was glaringly red behind his glasses, as if he had rubbed acid in them, and the irises looked painfully green in contrast. They blazed in his white, puffy face and his bloodless lips pressed tightly together. There were traces of blood around his face, as if he had tried to scrub it away without a mirror and not quite succeeded. His jeans were also bloody and torn.

"What on earth...?" Hermione sounded scandalized. "Did you and Malfoy..." she faltered wordlessly for a moment and finally asked weakly, "...fight?"

The boy struggled for a moment, then said, "Well... not in the way you're thinking of."

His friends stared at him in bewildered alarm. They hadn't been able to find him again last night after he had run past like a bat out of hell, but he certainly hadn't looked like this in the brief glance they'd gotten in the hallway; he had only looked like he was in a fierce rush.

"What on earth, Harry? Where were you running to last night? Did something happen again? Did someone do this to you?"

Harry flexed his jaw and swallowed hard. He seemed to be having difficulty speaking. "I suppose you could say something happened. Uh... Malfoy and I split up."

This time it was Ron who breathed in surprise, "What?" Hermione couldn't make a noise and was simply staring mutely at Harry, who stared straight back with rapidly filling eyes.

"We split up," he repeated, his voice cracking painfully. "Draco broke up with me."



DRACO WOKE UP SCREAMING. HE lay unmoving on his bed, as if paralyzed by the desperate beating of his heart. He hadn't believed it was possible to wake up screaming - it seemed like one of those things that only a fragile, disturbed heroine in a poor novel might do. But this morning, the breathy scream that had erupted from him had been the only thing that could jolt him from his nightmare.

Still lying perfectly still and staring at the dark wood panelling which covered the ceiling above him, Draco kept seeing the images from his dream appearing there, as if they had been burned permanently into his retinas.

In the dream, he'd been a dragon. He'd had such dreams ever since he had learned what his name meant as a child. Normally they were pleasant dreams, filled with the freedom only found in flight and the joy of his own body's strength. This time had been different, though.

This morning's dream had been something he couldn't control - he'd been something he couldn't control. The first thing he'd been aware of was the powerful spread of his wings. He had then recognized the extravagant gardens of Malfoy Manor below him, but just as he began to enjoy his flight, floating his lithe body upon the faintest of air currents, he felt a horrible, searing pain through his right wing.

His great serpentine head wrenched to the side, and he could see the gaping hole in the thin membrane of his wing, which was causing his graceful flight to falter. The draconic side of him was in control as he wheeled back in the direction where the shot had come from. In a desolate grey field, littered with sharp stone protuberances, there were two figures.

His Draco-mind realized that the couple in the Malfoy family graveyard were his parents, but all the dragon-mind could feel was angry hatred. He landed hard on that grey field, several of the stone markers crumbling to pieces beneath his great body.

The blond woman screamed without restraint, but his predator's instincts knew in an instant that this wasn't a cry of fear - it was pain. There were words in those raw screams that were tearing the woman's vocal chords apart and deep inside the dragon's body, Draco could still understand them: "NOOO! My baby! My beautiful boy!"

With a great effort, Draco forced the dragons head down to find a third body, which he hadn't seen from the air. It was his body, his human body. He stared through the dragon's gigantic, jewel-bright eyes at the broken blonde under his clawed feet. He could see the boy's blood seeping into the ground and as he felt that fragile heart stop throbbing beneath his foot, he heard the woman give one last cry:

"ALEXANDER!"

What had he done? Had he picked up the boy earlier? Was that why the older man shot him down? That blonde man was approaching again, his face pale and tight, and his wand shaking with rage, "Give me back my son!" Fiery red sparks shot from the wand and the dragon dodged away from them, dragging the dead boy trapped in its claws over the broken headstones.

The man howled in pain and hate, throwing curses at the Draco-dragon as fast as he could complete them. The dragon easily dodged any that might actually hurt him and the rest he let break harmlessly on his thick skin. Draco struggled for control but the dragon's body was no longer listening as it toyed with the older blonde, baiting him with the body of his child and then lashing out any time the wizard got close enough to reach his murdered son.

Blood was flowing rapidly from the older blonde and the dragon could recognize the smell of heartblood. The man would die within minutes. Ignoring the stumbling wizard, the dragon turned onto the thin woman who was lying, sobbing, against a stone mausoleum. Draco was trying to scream but the sounds couldn't be produced with a dragon's larynx. He couldn't make a sound and he couldn't stop himself as his wide dragon jaws unhinged, prompting a roiling pressure in his multiple stomachs.

The woman never even looked up. She didn't move a finger to protect herself when the flames erupted from his mouth and poured down upon her. Small tendrils of the fire flickered at his nostrils as the energy continued to pour from him and though the woman's prostrate form had been visible for the first second, she quickly disappeared into the flames - and still his fiery breath didn't abate, until the stone mausoleum itself had cracked from the heat. There was not even ashes left of the woman, nothing but a black patch of scorched earth.

"Draco!"

The dragon turned at the new voice and - incongruous as it should've seemed - there was Harry, standing in his family's graveyard. The boy recoiled from him, horror and fear pouring from every cell in his weak body. "You... you killed your..."

Harry somehow seemed to know that this dragon was Draco, even though his twin's mangled body would've seemed easily mistakable for him.

Draco tried to cry out to the boy, begging him to run. He struggled desperately against his gigantic body, but the dragon was continuing to stalk toward his new prey and not a sound could escape from Draco. From where he was trapped inside the beast's mind, he screamed and screamed and screamed...

It was then that - for the first time - Draco's dreams had spilt over into reality. His scream had rent through the silent morning and as his heaving gasps quieted, he thought he could hear quiet breaths next to him. His eyes fell closed, shutting out both the wood panelling and the horrors of his dreams as he listened to Harry breath. The sounds of slumber reassured him that Harry was alive and his dream had meant nothing.

With a smile tugging at his lips, he rolled to the side to wrap him arms around his boyfriend. But his arms fell on empty space. Only then did Draco remember that Harry wasn't there. Harry would never be there again.



GINNY AND HERMIONE WERE SITTING" on the edge of the Head Girl's bed, whispering urgently to one another. On the other side of the room, Ron was perched in one of the few chairs. He had a quidditch magazine open in his lap, though he wasn't looking at it. Rather he was watching the girls converse, though he didn't dare intrude upon those fervent whispers.

In the middle of all of them was Harry. The dark-haired boy was lying face down on Hermione's bed, as he had been for nearly two hours now. In all that time, he hadn't said a word to the others.

It was midmorning and Hermione had roused Ginny after Harry had first shown up in the common room. She had explained to the girl what had happened, knowing that the Sixth Year girl was the most likely to help comfort Harry. Not that Harry was responding to any of their comforting. He hadn't moved since Hermione had bundled him up to her room for privacy and he had collapsed on the bed.

Ginny glanced over at the boy, her arms crossed protectively over her blossoming chest, and continued her hushed comment, "I just can't believe it. I know that everyone thinks that I'm a bit flighty and, well, easy. I don't exactly have a track-record of serious, long-term relationships, but... I don't know," she shook her head and her auburn curls tumbled across her shoulders, "I just always thought, you know, if a couple like them could make it, that there was hope even for someone like me."

Hermione bit her lip. She understood what Ginny was saying but still had to scold the girl softly, "Ginny, I don't think that's what Harry needs to hear right now. He needs to believe that there is still hope after this." Even Hermione didn't sound like she believed it, though.

They both looked worriedly at Harry, but they needn't have been concerned. He wasn't even listening to anything they said.

Ron's glance shot from the two girls on the bed, to his friend lying next to them, and finally to the quidditch magazine lying open in his lap. He wasn't even sure what he was doing here: he had no idea what to say to Harry. He didn't even dare to open his mouth, knowing that he would just cock things up by saying something phenomenally stupid, like, "Well, now you can get a girlfriend, mate."

Grimacing at the thought, the ginger boy turned back to the magazine in his lap, flipping the pages aimlessly. The girls' whispers suddenly broke off and Ron looked up guiltily to find them glaring at him, shocked that he could be so callous in the face of Harry's plight. He shrugged, and let the magazine fall shut in his lap, leaning further back in his chair to continue his silent watching.

Noon came and went, and still Harry hadn't moved. At nearly half-one, Hermione and Ron finally headed down to the Great Hall to scrounge some food. They arrived at the nearly deserted Gryffindor table, where only a few scattered students were still picking at their food or studying.

Hermione quickly gathered a fair mound of picnic-style chicken and cold lamb sandwiches. She noticed that Ron wasn't paying any attention to the plates which she was piling into his arms and was instead looking over at the Slytherin table. Hermione followed his gaze and was shocked to see Malfoy sitting at his house table.

She placed the last of the food into Ron's large hands and gave him a slight push, telling him, "You go on up ahead, and take these to Ginny and Harry. I'll be there in a second."

He shot her a doubt-laced look, which was clearly telling her, This is not a good idea. But he started back to the Tower as she had told him to. Waffling for only a moment, Hermione strode over to the Slytherin table.

It was no wonder, really, that she hadn't noticed Malfoy before Ron had. After all, he didn't look like Malfoy any longer. The boy that Ron had recognized was wearing thin-framed silver glasses and, most notably, had his once-white blonde hair shorn closely to his head.

Hermione had never seen the boy without his long, silvery tresses. He'd always taken more pride in his hair than most the girls at Hogwarts. (Probably because he had better hair than most the girls at Hogwarts.) But the Head Boy who was currently sitting alone at the Slytherin table had hair barely a centimetre long, and it appeared darker with all the bleached, white growth shaved away - though it was still a remarkable blonde for adult man. With his short hair, professorial glasses and serious expression, he was an entirely different person.

Usually when Draco saw her coming, he would stand and meet her between tables, since he didn't want to talk near the Slytherins who would be trying so desperately to overhear any snatch of conversation. But today he was so abstracted that he didn't even noticed Hermione until she was close enough to tap on his shoulder. At that touch, he spun quickly, a surprised expression on his face.

She spoke neutrally, "Malfoy, if I might have a moment? I have a few concerns regarding the winter holidays."

Draco nodded shortly but didn't make a move otherwise. Feeling incredibly self-conscious, Hermione sat down gingerly on the long bench that ran alongside the Slytherin table. There was no one near them, as everyone seemed - justifiably - wary of this new Malfoy.

Hermione let her voice soften a bit and asked seriously, "Are you all right?"

He looked at her blankly, "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, I see." And she did, so she smoothed her hands across her lap and explained much more briskly, "Well, I've really only a minute. I've got to be getting back to... well, I've got to be going, that is. But we should meet sometime to discuss the holidays, if you're going to be here at Hogwarts, or if you are not, then we'll need to discuss divying up our responsibilities."

The blonde nodded mutely again and Hermione wrestled with the idea of patting him on the shoulder or some other gesture, but such a move seemed impossible when he was denying that anything was even wrong. Instead she gestured at his new hair-style and said, "Nice. You almost look like an adult now, ferret-boy."

For the first time, Draco showed a hint of a reaction, and his lips twitched into the faintest start of a smile.

Hermione stood up and shook out her robes, and as she turned to walk away, she said, "Oh, and if you ever want to get together - you now, to work on arithmancy or whatnot - just let me know."

This time the small smile actually surfaced on his gaunt face, and Draco said in a surprisingly gentle tone of voice, "Thank you, Granger."

She smiled back for one quick, embarrassed moment, then turned away and left the Great Hall. She felt a bit sorry for the boy. He may have broken her friend's heart, but that didn't mean she should automatically shun him. They had been something like friends for several months now and she knew that Malfoy was going to be cut off from the few 'friends' he had, by breaking up with Harry. But that had been the boys' own decision, of course.

When Hermione arrived back at her private room, she was surprised to find Ron standing outside the door. His hands were empty and so it seemed that he had already dropped off the food, and was simply waiting for her. She looked at him questioningly, as she arrived at the top of the stairs, and he looked down at his feet.

The ginger prefect muttered, "Ah, Hermione. You see, I know that this is a difficult time and all... but, well, I really have to go."

Hermione blinked in surprise at this statement from Ron, but was truly blown away as he continued, "We have quidditch practice. We're up against Hufflepuff tomorrow, you know."

His girlfriend stared at him in disbelief and he finally dared to look up, giving her back an unapologetic stare, "What?"

A short puff of sarcastic laughter escaped her, "'What?' Well, Ron, I've got to say that I'm a little less than impressed that quidditch is the most important thing to you - even over your best friend."

His eyebrows came down over his deep blue eyes, and Ron spat back resentfully, "Well, Hermione, I've got to say that I've been a little less than impressed that your education is the most important thing to you - even over me."

She flinched as he used her earlier words against her and before she could retort that this was not at all the same thing, he continued on sarcastically, "Look. I'm real sorry that I can't stop my life, too, for Harry's little drama. But what can I do for him? Nothing. It's just like last year, when he though Malfoy was dead. Just give him time, he'll get over it."

Hermione shook her head and asked, "Can't you see how different this is? This is not the same as last year. Last year he didn't - he - augh!" She broke off, unable to even articulate her frustration. She started again, "You know what, Ron? Fine. You go play quidditch - your sister and I will stay with our friend."

Ron looked truly uncomfortable as he had to point out, "Uh... actually, Gin has to come, too. She's our Seeker."

The last look that Hermione gave him before disappearing into her room was not very reassuring to the boy. He hoped he wasn't going to lose his relationship over the loss of Harry's. Heading down the stairs, he muttered to himself, "Honestly. He's just gotten dumped. He'll get over it."

Back up in her room, Hermione had closed the door behind her and kicked it several times with her heel, imagining it to be Ron's thick skull. Ginny looked up from where she was sitting in the middle of the bed, absently stroking Harry's back. Hermione gestured at the girl, tossing her head back in that universal sign for, "Leave."

"Your captain requests your presence at quidditch practise."

Gin watched her girlfriend silently for a moment, wondering if she would be comforting the Head Girl next. But she got up to leave before Ron would make an even bigger fuss. Giving Harry one last pat, she whispered, "Buck up, mate. I'll be back to visit." She slid off the bed and walked toward the door, but she turned and threw a quick hug around Hermione, and for that one moment, Hermione clung to her as well. Then she pushed the younger girl away and Ginny knew it was time to go to practise.

She left the two old friends alone, and Hermione heaved a weighty sigh. She dropped onto the bed, grumbling to herself, "It's not as if they've won a bloody game since you quit, anyway."

There was still no reaction from Harry. Adopting Ginny's earlier position and placing one tapered hand on his back, she asked softly, "Still nothing, then, Harry?"

There was still nothing. She sighed again, although it was resigned this time, and then pushed herself off the bed. The mattress sprung back after her slight weight was removed and Harry continued to lie facedown, with his head pillowed on his folded arms.

Hermione took her spot at her desk and spoke to him from across the room, "Well, I am going to work on my revision then, Harry. But I'm still here. And if at any time you decide to talk, or eat, or anything... just let me know." She continued to watch him for a moment, and then finally succumbed to the books in front of her.

HERMIONE HAD LEFT HARRY ALONE, when she had gone down to dinner. She felt bad about leaving the boy by himself, but he didn't seem to need her presence either way and she, at least, needed to get some more food. She'd left the plate of cold chicken and lamb sandwiches next to him, untouched.

Down in the Great Hall, Ron and Ginny, and the rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team, still weren't back from practise. Hermione ate quickly, sitting by herself and not talking to any of her housemates before retreating back to her room.

In the half-hour that she had been gone, Harry still hadn't touched the food or visibly moved. She sighed and went back to her studies.

Nearly an hour later, there was a timid knock at her door. She pulled it open a crack, not sure if it were someone she would trust to see Harry in here, or just a Gryffindor looking for help. It was Ron. She wasn't sure if he fit into either of those categories.

The boy asked, "Can I come in and talk to you for a moment?"

She continued to stand in the doorway and answered him, "I'm really not sure, Ron. That depends on what you want to talk about."

"I want to apologize, Hermione."

She left the doorway, leaving it a bit further open to allow him to slip into the room. He stopped when he saw Harry still lying on the bed and turned back to whisper close to the girl's ear, "Harry's still here?"

She nodded, thinking the answer obvious enough by the boy's figure on the bed. Ron took her by the elbow and pulled her farther away, continuing to speak as softly as he could in his deep voice, "Hermione..." He floundered, "I mean, you've got to send him back to his room. He can't sleep here."

Hermione looked up at her boyfriend, "Why not?"

Ron blinked in surprise. "Why... Why not? Well, Hermione, you can't sleep with another boy in your room."

A small crease appeared between her eyebrows as she stared at him in consternation, "He's not just 'another boy,' Ron. He's Harry. He's our best friend and if you can't trust that, then how about the fact that he's gay?"

Neither of those reminders seemed to reassure Ron and she continued softly, "How about the fact that I am your girlfriend. Can't you trust that? Can't you trust me?"

He knew that he had gone too far and if he tried to push this Hermione would blow up at him in a fight that he wouldn't forget for, well, forever probably. He had no choice but to weakly agree, "Of course I trust you, Hermione. It's just... well, what if people found out? They'd talk, you know."

She walked over to the door and pulled it open, not saying another word.

"Hermione!"

The Head Girl shook her head mutely and that was her only response, and so Ron left her room.

Feeling tears prickle at her own eyes, Hermione looked over at the stacks of books and open notebooks on her desk. She turned away from them and laid down on the bed instead, still wearing her day-clothes as she curled up against Harry's still figure to silently cry herself to sleep.