The Dark Arts
Draco Malfoy Harry Potter
Angst Romance
Multiple Eras
Published: 06/17/2003
Updated: 06/17/2003
Words: 1,324
Chapters: 1
Hits: 2,925

"Of All the Things I Lost"


Story Summary:
Draco looks back on the worst mistake he ever made, and what that mistake cost him. Can you miss something so terribly that it takes a part of your soul? Of all the things Draco has lost, what does he miss the most?

Author's Note:
Some people have asked if this is intended to take place sometime after "Eclipse," the slashfic I have on Schnoogle. The answer is "not necessarily" as that wasn't my intent, but it could. As always, enjoy!

"Of All the Things I Lost"

I stared into pools of green fire, and I drowned in them.

Guided only by the pale glow of moonlight, Draco walked into his private study the east wing of Malfoy Manor.

His were eyes that had once burned with passion and hope, a love of life and a lust for so much more. Those eyes were windows that had finally allowed a scrap of light into my cold existence. They both gave and received, unlike the harsh vacuum of my father's pride, always taking.

Draco tiptoed to the cabinet where he kept his potions supply, one of the few proud things he still possessed. He had always been so good with potions. The door of the cabinet came open with a faint squeak. He lifted a small box from the bottom shelf and turned away, not bothering to close the cabinet door.

Memories of escaping for casual games of Quidditch, watching as the wind whipped his already unruly black hair into an even bigger mess. How afterwards, he would stride over to me and ruffle his hands through my sleek platinum locks, demanding to know how the hell I could keep it neat while riding a broomstick. I would laugh and whisper in his ear that it all depended on which broomstick I was riding. Those were the days, however brief they were. And oh, the nights were even better.

Small glass bottles clinked together as he placed the box on his writing desk by the window.

He was as intense as I was, and the power struggle of our youth became an even more powerful fascination. I never considered the future, wrapped in the forbidden pleasures of the present. Forgotten were the destinies we were to fulfill, the fates that had us bound tightly long before we could possibly understand them. The fox and the hound are not supposed to be friends.

Draco's slender hands searched the contents of the box and selected one of the bottles.

When faced with the decision of my own life or death, the choice to join my father and the Dark Lord or die, I turned coward. I admit it. I turned coward and I left him, the only person who had ever made me feel alive. I had reached up slowly, removed his glasses, and used my thumb to wipe away the tear that was beginning to form in the corner of his eye, even as I blinked back my own. I brushed my lips against his forehead in farewell, then looked into his naked eyes for what I thought would be the last time. Now, how I wish that were true.

He held up the bottle to the soft light streaking in the window and read the label. With a shake of his head, he replaced it in the box.

I had been chosen to lead the attack. To prove my loyalty, so the Dark Lord said. Doors crashed and windows shattered. Children screamed, professors yelled, flesh burned, and blood flowed freely, drenching the ground and my hands.

He extracted a second bottle from the box and checked the label. He greeted this choice with a tight-lipped nod.

I never thought it would come to that. When I found him, he was running out of a burning classroom with a small girl, probably a first-year, lying limp in his arms. I was going to turn my back, pretend I had never seen him, when an explosion ripped through the corridor, knocking him to the ground and sending me staggering. The Dark Lord stepped through the dust and debris like some grotesque apparition.

He slowly unscrewed the cap from the bottle he had selected.

My stomach twisted into a hard knot as I realized what I was about to witness. The only real friend I'd ever had, the only person who had been able to touch my soul, was about to die at the hands of the Dark Lord, and I would be made to watch. If only I had been so fortunate.

Draco reached across the desk and pulled his pewter goblet close. It had an intricate dragon design on the stem he'd always loved, a gift from his most beloved friend.

The Dark Lord's eyes glittered like crystallized blood through the thickening smoke. He smiled at me, and it was the most horrid thing I had ever seen. He pointed one long finger at the young man on the floor who was struggling to raise his head, then uttered three words that froze my veins. "Prove your loyalty."

The potion appeared black in the shadows as he poured the full bottle into the goblet.

I only vaguely felt myself walking towards the prone form of my friend-no-more. It was surreal, and I would have believed it to be nothing but a nightmare had the smoke not stung my eyes and throat so fiercely. I passed the Dark Lord and came to a stop maybe two meters away from my assigned target. My fingers found my wand and pulled it, trembling, from my robes.

Draco looked straight ahead out the window as his fingers undid the belt of his night robe. The rich green silk fell to the floor, and he stood bathing in the moonlight.

I leveled my wand and prepared to utter the Curse when he finally managed to lift his head. A trickle of blood flowed across his scar from a cut beneath his hairline, and his skin was streaked with grime and smoke. His glasses had fallen off in the explosion, and once again, his naked eyes locked with mine. The passionate emeralds now burned with a new fire. Hate, pain, and worst of all, betrayal. It was a glare that could wrench the soul of any lesser man, as it did to me. My lips parted as I gasped, trying to comprehend what I was about to do. My eyes started to sting with a new ache, which raced down my neck and into my chest, choking me far more effectively than the smoke. I think he saw it. I know he saw it.

Still not looking down, his hands wrapped around the stem of the goblet and lifted it, running his fingers along the shape of the dragon carving.

I couldn't do it. I just couldn't, but then, I heard the Dark Lord take a step closer behind me, and I could feel terror begin to take hold. I was weak, I was a coward. As I looked down the length of my wand into his eyes, I saw the worst thing of all. He stared up from the floor, back into my own eyes, and I saw him accept the fact that he was about to die. The strongest man I had ever known had given up. God, I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn't. I watched as the curse hit him. His head fell back to the floor, tipped sideways at an awkward angle.

Behind me, I could hear the Dark Lord's words of approval, but it didn't matter anymore. None of it mattered.

Draco raised the goblet to his lips, feeling the smooth coolness of the pewter.

As I walked away through the rubble, following the man I had foolishly decided to call "master," I glanced back over my shoulder at the man I had once loved. I could see his face. Beneath his familiar scar, his eyes were still opened, but the brilliant fire that had burned in them was gone.

In a single swift motion, he tipped his head back, throwing the bitter contents of the goblet down his throat, marveling in fascination at the peculiar pain that began to spread through his body.

Wherever that fire went, I'm going to find it.

From his still fingers, the goblet rolled away across the floor and came to a standstill, the dragon frozen in the moonlight.