To a Land Far Away

To a Land Far Away

A tall dark figure moved among graves like a straying ghost, treading slightly on crisp autumn leaves so as not to disturb the dead and not to make a noise that would betray him. His step was light and careful, his body stiff, gripped in fear. They were all around him and although still far away, he knew that he was outnumbered and stood no chance. The night's coldness was silently creeping under his crawling skin and candles flickering on the graves made the cemetery look like enchanted.

Black hood covered the man's head, shadowing his nearly translucent skin, which was as white as a frail petal of rose. If one looked closer, he could notice a glitter in the silver moonlight - tiny drops of water, pear-like, tears, which glistened before taking their path down the cold cheeks. Hot they felt on his frosty skin, burning him and the man wondered why weren't they made of blood, but of water - clean and pure, yet too weak to purify him. Had he known how cruel the war would be... no, he was lying to himself again, there was only one regret he had.

Hesitantly his long, elegant fingers touched a gravestone closest to him. Bitter, bitter was the pain as a fierce pang of it shot through him. He crouched down, bowed his head and a waterfall of long, whitish hair fell out of his hood. In the moonlight it appeared as silver as a silver skull clasp adorning his black cloak. A delicate flush of pink came into his cheeks and he quivered, reading the name on the stone over and over again. A pale hand he reached out, dressed in fine, silken gloves, and traced the engraved letters of his dead friend's name. Again his eyes filled with tears as memories of dark satin eyes began to dance around him, mocking him with cruelty. He gave a pained moan and embraced the cold stone of that part of him which had already died. They had been inseparable and yet separated - by sides, by war, by death.

Suddenly a light coldness settled on his shoulder, a feathery touch of death. His chasers were nearing, but death was closer than them. Lucius turned his head slightly and his grey eyes widened at the sight of a pale hand resting on his shoulder. A hand with a familiar ring - grey now - with a silver "s" letter gleaming in the night. The candles on the grave flickered and went out and the Death Eater whispered,

"Come forth, my friend, if you're here."

An unearthly wind sent the colourful leaves dancing and through them a silvery figure glided slowly. Before Lucius he stopped, his face whiter than alabaster and his eyes, which had been empty once, smiling in gentle sorrow. He crouched down to him and framed his face in his cold, ghost hands.

"Lucius," came his low voice, unchanged by death, soft and silken, "you stand no chance against them. They want you alive to throw you to Dementors, you're the last."

"Which cruel beast have brought you to this state?" asked Lucius in a half-sob, trembling in the presence of his dead friend. His eyes traced a silver scar on the ghost's cheek like he had traced the letters of his name. Why was he here? Why didn't he go on? "Oh, Severus, I want us to be children again, staying awake at nights in our beds and talking. I want the time to stop before everything goes so very wrong. I want Voldemort never to be born."

The ghost cast down his eyes, hiding a gentle smile. "Even a Malfoy cannot have his every wish granted. They won't kill you, Lucius."

"Yes, I know, the Dementors..."

He shivered, his heart squeezed by fear. To what a bitter end they had come! He didn't want to get caught (but Aurors' steps could be heard in the distance), he didn't want to, he wanted to live or at least not to be given the Kiss. "Help me, Severus, help me out of here!" he pleaded desperately, his shaking hands clutching at the ghost's robes. Don't let them get me like this, I beg you... save me, my friend!

"There is only one place I can help you to, Lucius," spoke Severus sadly, "To a land far away and unseen, with our souls over-laden, to the grave."

The Aurors were within the sight now, their wands glowing in the bright night. Lucius's eyes closed tightly, fighting away the traitorous tears. I want peace, only peace, I want to have a chance to have my soul saved. He took a deep breath, in an attempt to clear his heart of fear and sorrow. Chilly fingers touched his, silvery but material, unlike the Hogwarts ghosts and he understood.

Something warm washed over his chest and then something cold as Severus blew softly onto his cheek, drying the tears. Lucius smiled at him and took his hands into his. "I am prepared, Severus. You have come for me, haven't you?"

"I've come to save you."

§§

The Aurors and the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix stopped not far from Severus Snape's grave. Astonished, they stared at two silvery figures walking lightly among the graves, away from them, treading so lightly their feet were barely touching the earth and not a single leaf stirred as they walked by. Only candles flickered when their unearthly presence brushed them. One of them, the one who led the other, turned to glance at them one last time and Harry's wand fell to the ground with a soft thud when he saw him smiling. Then he wrapped his arm protectively around the Death Eater and soon both were gone and the candles came back to life, giving off a warm light, which seemed brighter than the light on other graves.

The world went motionless but for Harry who approached the professor's grave to look at Lucius Malfoy, the last of Voldemort's Death Eaters, lying there lifeless and smiling. His pale face gleamed in the moonlight like a face of an angel, silvery hair spread on the earth beneath him. The clasp in the form of a Dark Mark had fallen from his cloak and lay half-hidden underneath the autumn leaves.

The light side won.

The End.