The Darkest Night

Chapter 5: Shaky Ground

How would that look on his gravestone? Draco Malfoy, Werewolf Extraordinaire: killed by rampaging porlocks.

Well, it could be worse. His great uncle Thaddeus Malfoy, in an attempt to hide, had transfigured himself into a log of firewood when he had been caught in a compromising situation with another man's wife. Unfortunately for him, that same log of firewood was accidentally burned on the evening fire. At least he had been cremated, right?

It's funny how your mind wanders when faced with mortal peril.

He raised his head slightly. Parvati silently sobbed into his chest, fingers grasping the folds of his robes in a death grip. Draco coughed, but did not let go of the shaking girl. His lungs burned, partly from exertion, and partly from the amount of debris that hung in the air.

Shouts could be heard outside the fence, and small bursts of light shot through the cloud.

What's happening? He couldn't see the porlocks anymore; he could only see vague shapes on the ground. They didn't move.

The dust slowly settled. Parvati had calmed slightly. Her sobs had turned to hiccups, but she still clutched him tightly. He awkwardly placed a hand on her back and moved it up and down in what he could only assume was a comforting gesture. The Slytherin even tried a few soothing words. He grimaced. Hopefully, the other students had either been trampled or were too far away to see his actions.

Heavy footsteps sounded against the hard-trodden earth, and a large shape became clearer. Draco squinted, and craned his neck for a better view of the approaching figure.

The form of what was unmistakably Hagrid came into his field of vision.

"Hagrid," he coughed. "Over here!" His voice sounded hoarse and scratchy, like he'd been screaming at the top of his lungs all day. Draco shifted his arm out from under Parvati, and used it to flag down Hagrid. The giant ran towards them, earth shaking underfoot, looking slightly fearful and relieved at the same time.

"Are yeh OK?" he asked breathlessly. He knelt down beside the pair, and put a hand on Parvati's shoulder. She turned her head and looked into up at Hagrid's kindly expression, allowing Draco to fully see her tear-stained and dirt-streaked face. She nodded, but still kept quiet. Thankfully, she had released her death grip of Draco's robes, and had pulled away from him somewhat.

Draco pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, and handed it to the still sobbing girl. She took it gratefully and then proceeded to ruin the 20 galleon silk handkerchief, embroidered with the Malfoy family crest.

He watched the scene with disinterest. All he could do was sit on the ground, elbows to his knees, and head in his hands. He knew he looked dazed. In fact, he still felt like he was viewing the world through a dirty window, watching the action take place, but not actually participating.

Maybe it was the glassy look, or it could have been the fact that his mouth was hanging open ever so slightly, but whatever the reason, something caused Hagrid to give him another look.

"Malfoy?" the giant questioned cautiously. Draco looked up. His eyelids fluttered, but he snapped them open again, and tried to focus on Hagrid's face.

Hagrid's beetle-black eyes grew large, and he swore softly. He turned to look behind him. Where the porlocks coming back? Was something wrong? Hagrid never swore. None of the teachers did. Well, except for an occasionally irate Snape, but that was nothing to worry about. Unless you were on the receiving end, that is.

"Come on boy. Can yeh stand?" Draco nodded mutely, and closed his eyes once more to clear his spinning head. He didn't feel right. His adrenaline was pumping, or at least, it had been. Now he felt drained, like a leech had attached itself to the back of his head and was sucking out his life energy drop by drop.

He pushed himself to his feet, barely managing to stifle a groan. He was sore in a dozen places, but he stretched his body just the same. Where was his personal masseuse when he really needed it? It was a shame that only students could attend Hogwarts. Couldn't they make a few exceptions every now and then?

Draco watched as Hagrid lifted Parvati as easily as if she were a child. The giant began to walk, indicating with a nod of his head that Draco should follow. Some students began to pile out of Hagrid's hut, while others still gathered around the fence. Most just looked like they wanted to leave, and as soon as possible. Many had torn their robes, or suffered small cuts and bruises. They didn't look happy.

"Class dismissed fer today," he called to the waiting crowd. "And five points ta each of yeh that helped me stun the porlocks. Harry, Hermione, Ron." He nodded in their general direction. The trio nodded back, cast a quick questioning glance at Draco, and reluctantly turned to follow the rest of their classmates back towards the castle.

A worried Blaise stayed a bit longer than necessary too, but eventually left Draco to be tended to by the giant when his shouts went unheard.

Draco trudged after Hagrid, completely oblivious to the stares of his fellow students. His blank gaze fell on no one.

It was certainly a day to go down in Hogwarts: A History. Student's talked about it for years to come. Draco Malfoy's hair was mussed! It was more than mussed. It was in complete disarray! Dirt and grime smeared his face, and his usually pristine robes were now torn at the sleeves and the hemline. Shoes: scuffed. Trousers: wrinkled. It was practically sacrilegious!

Let them look. Let them talk. At the moment, he was anything but the picture of elegance, but for the first time in his life, he didn't care.

Draco smiled, a real smile, and calmly followed Hagrid to his awaiting hut.

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Draco trudged wearily into the cabin and flopped into a massive overstuffed chair, one twice the normal size of any other. Even at his respectable height of 6 foot 1, his feet dangled over the side. He was completely exhausted, and let his limbs hang lifelessly over the edge.

"Stay put," Hagrid whispered to the Slytherin, and walked over to place Parvati in a chair. Draco arched an eyebrow in surprise, and prepared a snide reply, but he swiftly changed his mind. Hagrid's glare would have had Snape leaping to his feet to give a standing ovation.

Just who does he think he is anyway? Doesn't the giant have any respect for his betters? Ordering me around like he owns the place or something. Oh, wait, he does own the place.

Ignoring the sheepish feeling that suddenly washed over him, he instead took a second to look at his fellow student.

Parvarti's lips still trembled slightly, but she was much calmer than before, and had gained some semblance of composure by now. She let her entire upper body fall onto the table, head resting on top of her folded arms, not even acknowledging that there indeed were other people in the room. Even as Draco watched, she closed her eyes, as if she could block out the entire day's events in that one simple gesture.

He felt sorry for her, he really did, but he wasn't going to let anybody catch onto that detail. He turned his attention away. He didn't like those feelings. Feelings for another person, no matter how insignificant they seemed, had always put him on edge. Hate he could handle, but not sympathy. Sympathy implied that one was caring, kind, and compassionate. Draco was none of these things. But he did understand other emotions. Hate didn't confuse him. In reality, it usually made his problems easier. He would find a single outlet to vent his frustrations upon, which usually ended up being Harry Potter, and everything would be just fine.

A bit of friendly rivalry was always good. Okay, okay, it wasn't friendly, per say, but it was the game that made for the excitement. But this led him to another thought, one he extremely disliked: jealousy. Jealousy was an emotion that he had battled with for a long time. He understood jealousy. Jealousy raged inside a person for years, but it made them stronger, in the long run. It pushed a person to do their best and inspired them to do their worst. Sympathetic feelings, on the other hand, made life a lot more complicated, and it was always easier to focus on your own problems than another's. It could get a person killed, and in Draco's life, that was certainly a possibility.

Draco watched Hagrid as he continued to bustle around the kitchen, much like a mother hen clucking over a newly-found chick. He occasionally sent a soothing word in the girl's direction, which surprised Draco somewhat. The giant scraped together the loose makings of an afternoon tea and placed it onto the rickety table, all the while keeping a wary eye on the boy.

Hagrid would probably make a pretty good house elf if he wasn't so large and hairy. Of course, the mental picture of Hagrid in a ripped pillowcase pouring afternoon tea would make anyone change their minds about that idea. Draco shuddered, and desperately tried to think of something else. Some things were best left to their own devices.

It was almost disturbing to see a creature so large and uncultured tend to another in such a caring manner. It went against everything Draco had ever learned about giants, and it was hard to change those views. Then again, it was almost absurd to think of Hagrid stomping around like his giant ancestors. He couldn't even hurt a flobberworm without bawling over the thing's demise. Maybe it was hormones or something. That could explain the constant emotional rollercoaster ride that Hagrid seemed to forever occupy. Then again, Hagrid wasn't exactly at an age where something like that could change that much. Oh well, chalk it up to one strange personality then. It was embarrassing, though why Draco himself was embarrassed would be anyone's guess.

It was much easier to classify Hagrid as a freak of nature, an oddity, an exception to a rule, instead of actually considering that some giants were fairly civilized, to use the term loosely. So Draco treated him as the freak he thought he was, and his father had approved greatly. If his father approved, then it must be the correct thing to do. Treat the inferiors in an inferior way, and everything turned out fine, because everyone knew their place in the world, and they stayed in their place. Yeah, right. The mudblood Granger: example number two.

He watched as Hagrid picked up a dainty tea cup. Everything about the man was an oxymoron! How can you compare a man to human standards when the man himself isn't entirely human? Then again, Hagrid showed more signs of humanity than many Deatheaters that Draco had met.

Yes, his life had been so easy, so simple then. And then he had been a complete moron and gone into the Forbidden Forest, alone, on the night of a full moon. Bad Draco, bad! No wonder the house elves always hit their heads against heavy blunt objects. If they did it one too many times, they would become unconscious and forget any transgression that had just been committed. Head trauma did have a tendency to produce such effects.

Even though this action was appealing, Draco restrained himself. After all, it might muss his hair; one can be neither play the proper villain nor the hero with untidy hair.

He unconsciously ran a hand back over his platinum locks, just in case. One mustn't forget the flashing and brilliant smile either. It was just a rule. Heroes and/or villains must have at least four of the following: money, power, minions, good looks, fan girls, the ability to incite fear and obedience (considered to be more evil than good in most cases), and a vast knowledge of weaponry and ancient spells. OK, so he was working on the last few. Just give him time.

Draco took a second to glance around the room. Various odds and ends littered the cabin. Rusted keys hung on even rustier nails. Fang sat in a corner, quietly munching on a rather large bone. Occasional slurping noises followed his actions. Animal traps of various sizes cluttered the corners of the small room, although, as Draco noted, none looked lethal in any way. He quickly thanked whoever listened to his prayers that Hagrid had not taken a leaf out of Filch's book and used more deadly means of capture. What if that was him in a trap one night?

That thought had been buried in the back of his mind all day, and every time he started to think about it, he would push it away again. It was becoming a trend. He wasn't ready to think about the future, not in that way. He didn't want to think about the darkness that he was sure would engulf him, like a black wave washing over his entire body. It was like drowning, gasping for breath and rising to the surface, only to realize that the surface is covered in a layer of ice, and escape is impossible. To be so close to escape, only to become trapped once more. That was what he felt like. It was a somber thought, and not one that he liked to linger on. He pushed it away once more.

Light filtered through the grimy and smudged windows, playing upon the particles of dust that lifted and flew into the air every time Hagrid took a step. Really quite beautiful, if one stopped to think about it.

The bulky but shaky table before him had certainly seen better days. Large chunks of wood were missing from the corners, and what suspiciously looked like teeth marks were gouged into the sides and legs. There was no telling, and Hagrid wasn't about to divulge the information about any more illegal pets that he had smuggled onto the Hogwarts grounds. The table appeared to be one enormous stain accumulated after years of constant use with absolutely no cleaning in between.

He had only been in the cabin for a few short times, all of which included distinct memories that had involved either running for his life or fearing for his life. He wasn't particularly fond of the place either. It was no better than a garden shed, in his opinion. Some would have called it rustic. Draco just called it plain repulsive. It was dirty, for one thing, and an odor pervaded the room, something acrid, old and musty; one that he couldn't place, but daren't ask. Maybe it would come to him later.

He sniffed in distaste, and attempted to assume a more comfortable position in the overly fluffy chair. Each time he shifted his weight, he slid to one side, which left him fighting to gain ground to the other. It was a losing battle. He finally settled for the right side of the chair, the closest to the crackling fire that Hagrid had lit moments before. The boy prepared himself for what he could only predict would be a long, dull afternoon.

"Now, now, no need ta thank me. You just need to calm down a bit." said Hagrid, especially emphasizing the last sentence as he handed Draco a cup of steaming tea. Draco lifted an eyebrow slightly. Ha, that was a laugh. Draco wasn't about to thank anyone, much less a blundering giant. Still, he was grateful for the pleasant calming effect of the tea, and took it without hesitation.

Hagrid, on the other hand, grew continually anxious. He kept glancing between Parvati and Draco, as if one of them would fling themselves towards him at any moment. Finally, Hagrid settled himself into the last remaining chair, placing it directly between the two students.

Parvati seemed to have regained her poise. She attempted to straighten herself, to reclaim any sense of dignity she still retained. She fussed with her clothes, trying to brush them free of as much dust as possible, and continued in much the same fashion for another minute or two. The girl ran a hand through her tousled hair, and tried to wipe away the tears from her red and puffy eyes.

"I'm sorry," she finally sighed. "I just needed a second." She absently tucked a wayward strand of dark hair behind an ear and glanced at Draco. "I don't know how I can ever thank-"

But Hagrid was already shifting his massive form to block them from each other's view. "Would you like a rock cake Parvati?" he cut in jovially. "Made 'em meself."

"Huh?" asked a clearly puzzled Parvati. "Uh, no, thanks Hagrid." She turned to face Draco again. "If there's anything I can-"

"More tea!" boomed Hagrid, who grabbed the kettle and started to refill Parvati's half full cup.

Parvati, startled, recovered herself quickly. "Thanks Hagrid. I'm fine, really I am. In fact I-"

"Yer completely right. Of course yer fine," he said quickly, and practically shoved her out of her seat. "Let me show you to the door." And he ushered her out, urging her forward.

Parvati, tea cup still in hand, was a little flustered. She nearly lost her balance as Hagrid put a calloused hand on her shoulder to steer her towards the oak door.

"But I-"

"Yes, don't worry, I'll write ye a note fer yer next class. Have a good day, and make sure ye visit again." Hagrid paused, momentarily ceasing his urging. "That is, a visit at a much later time, not today I mean."

"But I don't have another-" continued Parvati, who kept throwing suspicious glances back over her shoulder as she was pushed forward.

"Good, good. Plenty of time ta catch up on homework," interjected Hagrid, who didn't seem to realize that it indeed was a Friday night.

"I'm not stupid you know," said Parvati, eyebrows furrowing. "There's something going on h-" and Hagrid shut the door in her face, eliciting a loud bang that shook the entire cabin and shifted dust that had not been moved in years.

Draco had been watching the entire proceedings with a sort of mild shock. Why was Hagrid so jumpy?

The said giant now turned back to the blonde, a look of relief spreading across his ruddy face.

"Sorry 'bout that," said Hagrid, glancing at Draco as he walked back to the fireplace and checked the tea pot. "I thought she'd never leave. Not that I would ever turn a student away, but there are more important things to talk about. I had a notion that we'd need some time ta ourselves." Hagrid had begun to whistle a lively tune, and strode over to make his own cup of tea.

Draco shifted uneasily in his chair again, which is when he realized something that filled him with dread. He, heir to the Malfoy family fortune and prince of Slytherin house, was alone, in a secluded house, out of hearing distance of the entire castle, with none other than a half giant who seemingly had some sort of bipolar disorder. With a giant that wanted to "spend time" with him. Only God could save him now.

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The Carpathians were lovely at this time of the year, glazed in ice and covered in a freshly fallen powder of snow. It was one of the few places that had remained unchanged, looking the same as it had a thousand years ago. No ski slopes dotted the snow-covered peaks that seemed to reach higher than the eye could see. And the only sounds that came to ear were of birds and animals, and the cracking of the ancient trees and the whistle of the wind through the icy branches that stretched and spidered their way heavenward.

He crunched through the forest, sinking slightly at every footfall, raising his knees higher to clean a path through the winter wonderland. Clad only in threadbare robes, he instead decided to occupy his mind with the thought of a blazing fire and a cozy cabin. He didn't increase his pace, for fear of sweating too much. True, it would warm his body if he were to exert himself more, but years of experience on the run had taught him that a layer of accumulated sweat could easily freeze, creating a sheath of ice over one's body, almost ensuring hypothermia. And out here, in the distant wilderness bereft of human life, hypothermia meant death, even for him.

The cabin lie in the distance, and smoke still smoldered out of the chimney from the remains of that morning's glowing embers.

He smiled a relieved smile. It has always been a handsome face, even more so on a rare occasion that he actually did smile.

The villagers especially seemed quick to discuss this new stranger who suddenly appeared not a few months before. He was quite friendly when he came to town for supplies, although that had only happened two or three times since his arrival. He looked young, still in the prime of his life, but the eyes always told a different story. The man seemed haunted, perhaps by the loss of a loved one, or maybe simply by past actions that have since been regretted? Whatever the cause, the citizens of the local village thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie. No one wanted to make trouble, not when certain rumors about the man's identity were circulating.

He was strange, always too thin and a bit on the sickly side, but strong-willed and intelligent. What was he? Nosferatu? No, one of those hadn't been seen in years. So they watched from their houses as he passed, pale faces peering from behind dark curtains to catch a glance of this strange new visitor. He came then left, then everything would be back to the way it was before, with conversations about the new harvest or how many pigs Mr. So and so had.

He continued to trudge, wrapping his arms around his body to trap what heat remained. Just as he was picturing a steaming cup of tea accompanied by a nice nap by the hearth, he stopped and squinted into the distance.

A black dot appeared on the horizon, making slow progress but moving nonetheless. He squinted into the distance again, his puzzlement evident. If that's what he thought it was, and by this time he was positive, then it must be very important to come this far. Nearly 3 weeks had gone by without any communication to the outside world, which is exactly why he had chosen a little town near Transylvania as a place of rest. So why, after explicitly leaving instructions to not be contacted, would they send him an owl? Because that's what it was.

He had reached the front yard of his house just as the bird swooped into the clearing. It circled him impatiently and hooted noisily, disturbing the silence of the pristine wood.

"Alright, alright. I'm coming. You, down here!" He lifted an arm, allowing the owl to land gracefully and perch there. He grimaced faintly when the owl tightened its grip with its talons. That would leave a bruise, especially at this time.

The man accepted the letter, and trekked uphill the last couple of steps to his rustic little cabin, chinked together with a mixture of wood and mud. He passed his pile of firewood, which he had been hoarding to protect against the impending storms. To his left was the well, dating back much farther than the actual cabin. On the coldest mornings he had to chip the ice from the top of the rain barrels, which he used when even the well was completely frozen over.

Once inside, he quickly rekindled the fire. It was clearly the centerpiece of the house, and for good reason. He liked nothing better than to stare into the flames and watch as it licked and danced against the sweet-smelling wood.

The owl accepted its treat gratefully. Then, without warning, he lifted once again into the air and sailed through the cabin window, which he quickly shut behind it.

The man opened the parchment carefully, his eyes lingering on the Hogwarts crest as a rush of memories filled his mind. Not all of them were good, but he wouldn't trade them for all the gold in Gringott's.

He read the letter, kind face hardening as his brown eyes traveled downward. After reading it the first time, he reread the letter twice more, hoping to God that he had misunderstood or skipped some vital sentence that would nullify the previous lines. When he was sure that he was correct, he placed the parchment on the kitchen table in front of him, and gripped the edges for support, knuckles whitening. The man hung his head and closed his eyes as if in prayer, and remained this way for nearly a minute.

"Not another one. Dear God, not another one," he whispered at last.

With a shuddering sigh, he raised his head, steeled himself, and went to pack his few belongings.

He was going back to Hogwarts.