The Shadows of the Night

Shadows of the Night

"When there's lightning - it always brings me down
Cause it's free and I see that it's me
Who's lost and never found
I cry for magic - I feel it dancing in the light
But it was cold - I lost my hold
To the shadows of the night."

~ "Rainbow in the Dark" by Dio

About halfway through the war, one of the wizards of the Ministry had struck upon an ancient, forbidden spell that sapped the joy and the energy, the very memories and the strength, from the caster's enemies. Why not, the wizard had reasoned, use this to replace the Dementors, who had long since joined You-Know-Who's side? And so the spell had been cast upon any Death Eater confined within Azkaban.

The cells were filled with the murky essence of the spell, the curse falling upon the prisoners like dirt. It coated their manes, their skin, their tongues. The effect was immediate. The prisoners lost their will to live, curling up and whimpering much like they had in the presence of a Dementor. The prisoners became as gaunt as before, as hollow-eyed, as broken, as lost.

Then at last the war was over, and the survivors could rejoice. After the overwhelming joy had begun to ebb, however, the Ministry realized they had a problem. There were hundreds of Death Eaters still languishing in the cells, and the Ministry needed every Knut for the rebuilding of the wizarding community. So what to do?

It was that same wizard who had found the spell that thought up the perfect plan. There had been a few Dementors that had survived the war, so why not use the Kiss upon the prisoners and let them die? A normal death was too good for them, and their soulless forms would die of starvation, a good way to save money.

The Minister of Magic seized upon the idea eagerly. And so, one by one, the Death Eaters were given a "trial" and immediately given the Kiss after their sentence. Soon the numbers of the living, un-Kissed prisoners had dwindled to mere dozens. Now it was time for the major surviving Death Eaters to be tried - Peter Pettigrew, the man who had betrayed the Potters and killed young Cedric Diggory; Antonin Dolohov, who had killed the Prewetts and the Lovegoods; and of course, the Death Eater who had attacked Hogwarts and led to Dumbledore's death, Draco Malfoy.

~*~*~

He looked at his hands, although it was an extreme effort to even shift his vision away from the wall. He had used to admire his porcelain skin, Draco remembered in a vague sort of way; his paleness had reminded him of the majestic Malfoys of the past. Now his pale skin was gray, with hints of blue where his veins pressed against his sagging skin. His muscles had vanished after the first week of having the spell cast on him, and now, after a few months of seclusion, his pale coloring had become ashen.

His father would've been disappointed in him. A sickly Malfoy, on trial for his life? He would ruin the immortal Malfoy image.

Draco closed his eyes, trying to picture his father's face. But not even a memory of his father scowling darkly could be summoned, and he sighed. His mother's face had been the first to slip from his memory, of course, but now even his father had vanished from his head. Damn the spell, and damn the man who'd found it This was far crueler than the Dementors. At least the Dementors had let them keep the sad memories. Draco was lucky to even remember that he'd had parents!

It was...so hard to remember anything at all, really. He clung to the few memories he still had - of a faceless Snape crumpling to the blood-soaked earth during that final battle, of the Dark Lord using the Cruciatus on him for not killing Dumbledore himself, of Hermione Granger slapping him across the face, of Harry Potter refusing to shake his hand on that first train ride.

The door opened, but he didn't look up, still staring at his hands. A soft voice filled his ears, but he still stared at one of the large blue veins that pulsed in his wrist. How long would it take for that vein to stop pulsating after he'd been Kissed? "Malfoy?"

Draco swallowed, and tried to speak, though his voice had been swallowed up by the spell for so long that the words came out scratchy and faded. "Time...for the...trial?"

"Not yet," came the soft response, and then someone was suddenly holding his hands. "Have you had anything to eat today?"

The blonde stared in bemusement at the freckled, long fingers that pressed against his skin, trying to savor the warmth of the touch even as the spell began to take the memory from him. "Eat? I...." The days had fused into each other until they were all a blur. He could've eaten twenty minutes ago or three days prior, and he wouldn't have been able to tell this person who was holding his hands. "You're touching...me."

Silence, and then a soft murmur of something that sounded like a spell.

Draco blinked, and then cursed as his eyes stung as though someone had thrown dust in his face. Squeezing them tightly shut, he felt the tears well up and gasped. How long had it been since tears had formed in his eyes.... Eternity? "What...."

"The spell's gone from this room." Those hands tightened around his. "Steady, the memories are going to hurt like hell--"

And then the agony hit, a thousand forgotten voices screaming in his head, and Draco screamed back, throwing himself against the wall of the cell, trying to wrench his hands from the person's to claw at his head and make the voices with their faces and memories stop-

"...There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few..." The soft silky voice of Professor Snape as he stood before the terrified first-years, his dark eyes straying to Draco at the final words and making the eleven-year-old feel a rush of pride for being already thought of as one of the 'select few.'

"...You see, as honorable as your intentions were, you too were out of bed after hours... You will join your classmates in detention..." The sharp, almost gentle voice of Professor McGonagall, looking down at his astonished face as he'd been given detention along with Potter and the other Gryffindorks.

"Does it hurt terribly, Draco?" The simpering, concerned voice of Pansy as she practically molested him after the hippogriff had attacked him out of pure spite.

"Stop!" he moaned, the word becoming almost a mantra. "Stopstopstopstopstop...."

"Couldn't kill him, Draco? You'll want to hide that from our Lord when we report our mission. You decided to allow me the honor of killing Dumbledore, understand? I wanted...I wanted to kill the fool...that old, that stupid, that...fool...." The soft, silky voice of Professor Snape, the man's voice suddenly going hoarse and desperately angry towards the end of his tirade, as though he was trying hard not to cry.

"Oh, Draco, you wouldn't really kill me. You have free will, and I know you care about me." The soft, wheedling voice of Pansy as she smiled disarmingly at him, her hands still red from Nott's blood, just before he used the Killing Curse on her for deserting the Dark Lord.

"You miserable git.... I hope I live long enough to spit on your grave! You and all the damn Death Eaters!" The fierce, determined shout of Longbottom as the Gryffindor looked scornfully at Draco, just before Longbottom launched himself at Bellatrix Lestrange, towards a duel to the death that he knew he couldn't possibly win.

"I suppose you've learned more about the Dark Arts than I could ever have taught you, Draco." The quiet, gentle murmur of Professor Lupin, his tired eyes smiling at Draco even as he leaned against the corpse of Fenrir Greyback and died.

"Draco? Try to survive, if you can. You were the best at Potions, after all. I need someone to continue my experiments." The soft, silky voice of Professor Snape just before the man gathered his robes around him and threw himself between the Dark Lord and Potter, taking a Killing Curse meant for the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Stop!" he sobbed. "Stop!" So many faces, all of them dead. McGonagall had died defending Hogwarts in the second attack. Longbottom had actually managed to kill Bellatrix, but had only had a moment to savor the victory before the Dark Lord had killed him personally. Who would have thought? Longbottom hadn't been forgetful or clumsy then. Even when he had fallen before the Dark Lord, his sprawl had seemed almost elegant.

"Malfoy?"

The voices were quieting down, and he finally opened his eyes to stare at an all-too-familiar face. For a second, Draco just stared, and then summoned up a smirk. A weak, trembling one, but it was a smirk nonetheless. "Enjoy my fit, Weasley?"

Weasley just stared at him for a moment. His long, thin face had the hollow, pinched look of someone who hadn't slept more than an hour per night for years, and those blue eyes that had once been so often inflamed with rage were now dulled and tired. "Your trial is tomorrow, by the way."

It took Draco a moment to realize what the hell Weasley was talking about. "Ah. And then I'll receive the Kiss?"

Weasley shrugged, and the blonde stared at the redhead's elegant robes. Where had Weasley's tattered hand-me-downs gone? "Everyone else who've stood trial has. Today was Pettigrew's trial." He noticed Draco staring, and looked away. "Harry...left all of his possessions to me." A bitter smile curved his lips. "I'm now absolutely loaded."

"Potter's dead?" Draco had figured as much, from what snatches of conversation between the guards. When Weasley didn't answer, Draco tugged his hands away from the redhead's, and tried to rub circulation into his blue-tinged fingers. "I'll bet Granger took that hard."

Weasley covered his face with his hands and made a sound almost like a laugh but more like a sob. "Hermione never knew. Pettigrew got her from behind two minutes before Harry started to duel with Voldemort." Now he did laugh, and it was a hollow, dead sound. "I didn't think I'd be the one to live, you know. I always thought I'd die, heroically throwing myself in front of Hermione or Harry. I had it all planned out - I'd even made up a will. And I'm the one to live!"

Draco just stared at him. Granger, dead? Of the three idiots, he'd expected her to outlast the two. His stomach twisted at the thought of Granger, the Muggle-born who simply by existing and excelling had planted doubts of the Dark Lord and his father's truth in his brain.

After a long moment, Weasley looked up at him, expression bleak. "Everyone's dead or...gone. My family...god, my family's not even my family anymore. Mum was the one who held us all together, and when Lucius--" He cut himself off, but the hatred in his voice was obvious.

The blonde found he couldn't quite bring himself to care that Weasley hated Lucius Malfoy. Let people hate his father. His father was dead. It didn't matter. He swallowed, suddenly aware that he hadn't eaten in days. "I suspect everyone I know is dead," he murmured at last, trying to sound nonchalant but instead he just sounded tired.

"Yes." Weasley looked at him, an expression of resignation on his face. "Pretty much everyone, yes. A few managed to convince the Ministry they were under Imperius, but only a few. Blaise Zabini, for one."

"Blaise?" Draco managed a slight smile at that. "Did he really? I always knew he had a silver tongue."

Weasley made a face. "Actually.... He didn't use his silver tongue. Instead, he bargained. We found another spell, you see, that will seal a wizard's magic away completely. Blaise offered to give up his magic and live in the Muggle world, as long as he could live and not be Kissed."

He stared. Give up magic in exchange for life? No true Slytherin-- The protest died half-formed as his stomach rumbled and he remembered the times he'd been so hungry for food that he would've done anything. No, that sounded exactly like something a Slytherin would do to save his skin, Draco thought ruefully. "And they agreed to that?"

"Yes. And offered that to quite a few Slytherin and even a few shell-shocked wizards who needed to escape to the Muggle World and just...forget about magic for a while." Weasley looked down and then held up his arm. A silver band that was shaped like a phoenix entwined around his wrist. "It'll be activated once I leave here. I'm...going to Australia, for good." He laughed, brokenly. "It seems like the only place Hermione never visited."

"You're giving up your powers?" Draco found himself staring again, his eyes watering from the effort. "But...you have no reason--"

"They're dead, Malfoy They're all dead! Harry! Hermione! Mum! Professor Lupin! Neville! Dumbledore! McGonagall! Even Colin fucking Creevy's gone, for Merlin's sake! What's the fucking point of staying here?" Weasley shouted at him, voice thick and fierce and angry.

And then, like that, Weasley was calm again. Pale, but calm. "The deal with the Ministry is simple. I give up my magic and assimilate into the Muggle world. If I marry a Muggle and my child has magic potential, my child will end up at Hogwarts when he or she turns eleven. If I try to tell Muggles other than anyone I marry about the wizarding community, I will be found and killed. I will end all contact with everyone from the wizarding community, unless otherwise allowed by the Ministry. I--"

"You're going to marry a Muggle?" Draco didn't flinch when Weasley leveled a glare in his direction. "I knew you were a Mudblood-lover, but not a Muggle-lover." But now there was a certain level of disgust directed at himself, and at the fact that his voice hadn't had one ounce of venom in it.

Weasley smiled crookedly. "I don't plan on getting married. That was just part of the agreement." He looked down at the bracelet, studying it for a moment. "I am allowed to correspond with my family, and Dean. Dean's gotten the bracelet too. He's going over to America to play professional football."

Draco rubbed at his eyes, tired and hungry and sore from sleeping on stones for the past few months. Needless to say, he didn't have much patience for the redhead telling him about all these pointless rules that didn't apply to him. Blaise had gotten the deal, but he was Lucius Malfoy's son. "Why are you telling me this, Weasley?"

Weasley looked away from his bracelet at that, and Draco stared as a timid, awkward smile formed on the redhead's lips. "Well, er, I thought you could come with me." Before Draco's expression could even shift to disbelief, Weasley swallowed and plunged forward. "I mean, surely even staying in the Muggle world would be better than the Kiss, and I have more money than I know what to do with, and all your money got confiscated by the Ministry, and...well, I just thought you'd be glad for the freedom, even if it was without magic, and Percy's not so much of a prick now and wheedled the Minister into offering you the chance to take the bracelet."

Weasley was still smiling that timid, hopeful smile, and Draco was bewildered at the sensation of deja vu. When had Weasley ever looked at him like that? "Oh, and because Snape left this letter for you." He fumbled in his robes for a moment, and then extended a black envelope that had 'Draco Malfoy' penned in silver across the front towards the blonde.

He took it, hands trembling as he turned it over, recognizing the silver and green Slytherin crest. "For me?"

"Seeing as it says Draco Malfoy...." But Weasley's voice was soft, and he was flushing a little, as though embarrassed by something.

Draco shot him an odd look. What had Weasley's knickers in a twist? But the letter from Professor Snape was far more intriguing than Weasley's blush, at least at the moment, and so he slowly opened it, reading each word carefully and hearing the man's silky voice in his head.

Dear Draco,

If you're reading this, then it means you survived the final battle, and I did not. First, let me congratulate you for managing to keep your skin. During your years as my student, I often had my doubts about your survival skills. But it seems you have survived and I have not, and therefore I have a confession to make. I took something from you, something very precious, and for that, perhaps I am as cruel as Voldemort, and I apologize.

Draco paused, blinking. Stolen something from him? What was Professor Snape talking about?

For you see, boy, what I stole from you is something infinitely precious. I took away your hope, and in doing so, made you a beast of prey. To hope is to live, and you have been in a state of not-living for years now, since that night I took that glimmer of hope away. You are probably quite confused now, and so I will enlighten you. You had the hope of love, or at the very least friendship, Draco, and I obliviated your memory of it. Memory is such a fragile thing, almost as fragile as hope.

Ronald Weasley had offered you hope and joy and perhaps even love in the kindness of a kiss- Draco almost dropped the letter at that -and I destroyed your memory of it, because it would distract you from the task at hand.

Over the years, I have seen how that was a disservice to you, rather than a kindness. Ronald Weasley, for all that he is a Gryffindor and a hot-tempered fool and most of all a Weasley, had offered you friendship and perhaps more so, and I took that choice from you. Of course, you had used a Memory Charm on Weasley to make him forget he'd kissed you, but who's to say you wouldn't have regretted that later and tried to reconcile with him?

I am dead, Draco, and if I am dead, then I suspect Lucius and Narcissa are as well, and so you are alone. Therefore it is time to return to that hope that you held in your hands for the briefest of instants in sixth year, and accept Weasley's friendship. He may be a fool, but he is a loyal one, and he will never betray you. Gryffindors (with the exception to the rule being Pettigrew, of course) never do. Just don't hesitate to hex him if he does something stupid, because he will most assuredly do astoundingly stupid things over the course of your friendship.

You were one of the select few, Draco. Don't forget that.

Severus Snape

Draco wasn't aware that tears were streaming down his face until strong arms wrapped around his frame and pulled him close and a soft voice whispered, "Don't cry, Malfoy. You're the sort to get all swollen-eyed and red-nosed. I can tell."

But now he could feel the tears on his face, taste the salty liquid on his lips, and the tremors began to rack his frame. "God, he's really.... He's...." And suddenly he was angry, more furious than he'd ever felt in his life. Grabbing desperately at Weasley's expensive clothes, he buried his face in the redhead's shoulder and just screamed, a sound of rage and despair that escaped into the hallway and echoed through Azkaban. He could feel Weasley flinch, but the Gryffindor didn't pull away, even after the scream had succumbed to bone-rattling sobs.

"He wanted me to take over his experiments," was all Draco said when the tears and sobs had finally ceased.

He felt hollow and weary, almost as much as he had when the curse had choked his memories from him. But without the curse, there were plenty of memories to crowd his mind of Severus Snape, his professor, his mentor, the only man at Hogwarts to truly give a damn about the Slytherin.

"They were going to be destroyed, but I smuggled most of his papers to Blaise, and some to Bill." At that, Draco looked up and half-sneered, but Weasley looked amused and said, "Bill was one of Snape's best students. He had to be, to become a Gringott's Curse-Breaker. You need to know how to break curses in that job, but you need to know a lot of healing potions as well if something goes wrong. Bill is going to continue some of Snape's research."

Draco summoned up a snort, but it was a half-hearted one. Snape had mentioned William Weasley in passing as being 'one of the few Gryffindor and probably the only Weasley with a brain in his red head.' From the professor, that had been high praise indeed. "He'll be researching the cure for lycanthropy, I presume?" he drawled. Pointless, really, because Snape had been searching for the cure for Lupin, and Lupin was dead, but Draco wouldn't say that aloud. "So I won't be able to continue his experiments." When Weasley shook his head, he managed a bitter smirk. "Good thing I didn't swear I would then."

He was only then aware that Weasley was still holding him, and gazed at Weasley, who noticed his obvious staring and flushed, but looked a little defiant and stared back. A smirk toyed with Draco's lips. "So we kissed, apparently," he drawled, and resisted the urge to laugh when Weasley turned purple. "And both got our memories obliviated."

"That's what Snape's letter to me said," Weasley mumbled, licking his lips, and then burst out into another rant. "Look, I did sort of fancy you in sixth year. You were so quiet and tired and sad-looking all the time, and it made you seem almost human. But I liked Hermione too, and she was human and, well, not a boy and not a Slytherin. And then you were gone, and Dumbledore was dead, and the war was on. And now Hermione's dead and I can never kiss another girl without thinking about her and I just want to get away from all this stupid, stupid magic and pain and--"

For a moment, Draco fancied Professor Snape's voice whispering into his ear, 'You really should hex him, Draco.' Smirking, Draco did better than that. He reached out, grabbed fistfuls of Weasley's hair, and smashed their mouths together.

It wasn't exactly the most graceful or romantic of kisses, but it certainly shut up Weasley (well, Ron, he supposed, since he figured that you had to call someone you snogged by their first name as a requirement to be allowed to keep snogging them). The redhead kissed desperately back, his lips chapped and dry but warm.

Draco found himself clinging to the redhead like a frost-bitten man would try to embrace a fire. Only Ron's hair didn't burn his fingers to ashes, and so he tightened his grip on the strands to pull the other wizard closer, ignoring his lungs as they begged for air.

It was Ron who pulled away, panting and flushed. The redhead just stared at him for a moment, and then smiled lopsidedly a grin that lit up his entire face and made his hollow face seemed fuller and stronger. "I suppose you'll be going to the Muggle world with me, then?"

Go the Muggle world, where there were...well, Muggles? He tried to imagine himself wearing Muggle clothes and talking into one of those telleyphones, and sighed. Adjusting was certainly going to be interesting. "I suppose. But on one condition."

The redhead immediately eyed him, looking wary. "What condition?"

"That my bracelet be a snake twining around my wrist, not a sodding phoenix. I'm not a nancy Gryffindor, I want a snake that looks--" He stopped at Ron's sputtering laughter, and looked indignant. "I'm not wearing a bracelet of a bird!"

Ron kept laughing, though there was a hitch in his laughter like he was trying not to cry. "Git," was all he managed to say.

"Arse."

"Bugger."

"Plonker."

"Bastard."

"Pillock."

"...."

Draco raised an eyebrow, another insult on the tip of his tongue, but it was Ron's turn. "Well?"

"Oik," Ron said at last, and scowled when Draco laughed at him. "Oh, sod off, you blimey prat!"

"Ponce," said Draco immediately, and kissed him again until they were both breathless.

"Poof," gasped Ron when the kiss had ended, and then drew the blonde into a bone-crushing hug that made Draco wonder if perhaps Ron had a bit of giant blood in him like Hagrid had. The redhead rested his head against Draco's shoulder and whispered, "You can have the snake bracelet instead."

"And we'll be going to visit other places around the world, of course, aside from Australia."

Ron blinked, raising his head. "We are?"

Draco cast him a scornful look. "You think I plan on staying in one place and never traveling to see exotic places, Weasley?" Damn, he'd meant to say Ron, but somehow Weasley rolled off his tongue almost tenderly and had become a pet name. "I am a man of refined tastes. I will show you exactly how to spend all of the money that's burning a hole through your pockets."

The redhead laughed, and buried his face in the hollow of Draco's neck once more, murmuring, "We're going to be penniless by the time you're through, aren't we?"

"I shall have you know Malfoys never go broke," Draco informed him haughtily, and ignored the disbelieving laughter in his head that again sounded suspiciously like Snape. "Well, except for Great-Great Uncle--" As Ron began to laugh, the blonde added hastily, "But he was an exception!"

Ron just laughed some more, and then looked up at him, his world-weary features light and almost carefree. True, there was still a bit of grief in his blue eyes, but Draco suspected that would always remain, as a scar of the war. "Let's go to Australia, Malfoy," he said, and too turned the blonde's last name into almost a pet name.

"Very well. After you, Weasley." Draco swept an arm towards the door and smirked.

"Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"I lied. You have to get a phoenix bracelet. It's required."

The blonde stared, unable to keep a look of horror from forming on his face.

"Just kidding!"

He felt an evil grin spread across his face, one that made his cheeks ache but sent a strange euphoria through him nonetheless. "Your wand still works, Weasley?" he inquired, with a raised eyebrow. "Let us give it a final hurrah, then, by hexing you to Australia. I'll catch up with you there. Maybe the hexes will have worn off by then."

"C'mon, Malfoy, learn to take a joke--hey, that's my wand!"

"Incendio!"

"Not my brand-new fucking robes--Malfoy!"

There were the soft words of the Extinguishing Spell, and then even softer laughter that echoed through the empty corridors of Azkaban, laughter that was almost desperate but at the same time exhilarated.

"Malfoy?"

"Do you want to be cursed again?"

"Let's go to Australia."

".... All right."

"Walk the dark path
Sleep with angels
Call the past for help
Touch me with your love
And reveal to me my true name

Oh how I wish
For soothing rain
All I wish is to dream again
My loving heart
Lost in the dark
For hope I'd give my everything."

~"Nemo" by Nightwish

"Take hope from the heart of man, and you make him a beast of prey." ~Quida