Fears Realized

"Fears Realized"

By Professor Mary

He tried to get out of tonight's patrol. But Pansy pulled out the "cramps card"- and really, once she said that, he didn't stick around to hear any more. So Draco Malfoy found himself wandering the quiet halls of the fourth floor.

Only his soft footfalls can be heard in the corridors. He hasn't seen anyone else- not even Peeves- in over an hour. He pulls out his pocket watch. The heavy gilded hands tell him that it's nearly midnight. He could have returned to his room at half-past eleven. But he enjoys the walk- enjoys his solitude.

It's not that he doesn't usually feel alone- he does, even though he's always surrounded by people, at least by day. That's why he's relishing his lonely sojourn tonight- it's a relief to be alone without the distraction of other people who might trick him into thinking that he's not.

He turns a corner, his wand gently illuminating the corridor before him. It's empty and quiet. Even the dozing portraits are silent in their slumbers. He walks towards the next corner. At the spiral stairwell that leads up to one the smaller towers, he pauses, thinking he just might have heard something.

He keeps very still. He has the feeling that someone or something is there with him. He whispers and then his wand gives off much more light. Still the portraits sleep. There's nothing- no students, no teachers, no house-elves, not even a ghost.

Draco sighs. He silently curses his own skittishness. Gone are the days that he feels safe just walking around at night through the old castle. After more than six years of attending school with Harry Potter, Draco has seen more than enough violence within these walls. No student is truly safe anymore- and Draco knows that includes Slytherins and it definitely includes the son of a Death Eater, killed by his own Dark Lord.

He sits down at the bottom of the stairs. If something is there with him, he'll wait it out. More than likely, it is some joke of Peeves'. The poltergeist has had it out for Draco all year.

However, if there's anything else with him- anything more sinister than the poltergeist's tasteless pranks... Draco doesn't really want to think about that. But if there's something there, lurking in the shadows all around him, then he's certainly not going to let it sneak up on him from behind.

After a few minutes he feels restless. Peeves wouldn't have kept him waiting this long. And neither would a Death Eater, he thought ruefully.

"I know there's something or someone here. You can either show yourself or move along," Draco says into the seemingly empty hall. A portrait stirs across from him, opening a sleepy eye before nodding off back to sleep.

Draco waits a few more minutes. Nothing. Maybe his lack of sleep is merely catching up with him. He stands slowly and looks up the spiral staircase. He can't even see the top of it- the darkness is overbearing. Briefly, he considers returning back to the comfort of his four poster bed in his hard-earned private room. But he shrugs off that thought and proceeds up the stairs.

Whatever it is, it's on the move again, he thinks. He hears nothing. But he trusts his instincts. And thus, he knows he's not alone. As he slowly ascends the stairs, he realizes that he's not afraid. He doesn't welcome death, by any means. He's always valued his own life. But whatever it is that's with him no longer seems threatening.

Of course, Peeves isn't threatening either, he reminds himself. But he feels assured that whatever is with him isn't Peeves.

A loud series of bangs cuts across the heavy silence. Draco hears a sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind him. It's the most damning evidence yet that he is, indeed, being followed.

Draco reevaluates his thoughts about his unknown companion. He is a bit surprised to feel comforted by the other's presence. Whatever is with him could have hexed him- or worse- many times over now. But it hasn't. It's merely accompanied him down the darkened corridors and up the steep spiraling staircase. And now, he knows that it is still with him despite the rather loud and terrifying noises that seem to be coming from the top of the Tower.

Hesitantly, he slows his steps as he comes to the end of the stairs. The door into the Tower room is cracked open, letting through only the faintest glimmer of light. Draco knows it is merely from the moon, shining through the open windows.

He takes a deep breath and silently thanks his anonymous escort for staying with him this far. Clutching his wand firmly in one hand, he softly pushes open the old wooden door. The battering noises suddenly cease though the eerie quiet isn't at all welcoming.

The room is empty. He looks around to find the source of the banging. There's a set of old cabinets against one wall and a few desks under the windows. He steps into the room and feels his companion there with him.

He walks over to the open windows and looks at grounds now bathed in the pale moonlight. Nothing could look more peaceful. And nothing could be more deceptive, he decides. He stands there for a few minutes quietly contemplating his situation. Clearly, something benign- even comforting- is with him in the Tower. And yet- there is something else here, too. Something that is not benign at all. He once again finds himself in a position to wait until whatever it is decides to show itself. This time he says nothing.

A low creaking noise comes from behind him. He turns to see the cabinet doors move ever so slightly. It's unnerving. He stands his ground by the window, deliberating his next move. After all, anything could be skulking in an old set of cabinets at the top of a deserted tower in the middle of the night. He wonders what his silent companion is thinking.

And not for the first time, he wonders why he didn't just go back to his room.

One of the doors suddenly snaps open. Draco takes an involuntary step back. He can make out a rather large shape of something stuck in the frame. He realizes that the cabinet is actually an old wardrobe. The shape doesn't appear to be moving yet he can hear a slight rustling of material. Another loud bang rings out, causing Draco to shudder and his wand arm to shake a bit. The wardrobe itself seems to be making the violent noises as it slams back against the stone wall.

Inanely, Draco speculates that it's just trying to dislodge whatever hulking thing is stuck inside of it. He suppresses what would have been nervous laughter at his own crazed thinking.

The wardrobe heaves itself again, making another ungodly crashing noise. This time Draco doesn't shake or wince. Rather he holds his breath because the darkened shape has shifted just a bit. He feels sure that one more thrust from the wardrobe will free the mass. He thinks the wardrobe hears his thoughts.

It seems to pull from inside of itself as if it could purge the form. In one loud motion, the wardrobe claims its victory and the shape slowly begins to crumble out of the space.

Actually, Draco notices, the material on the thing is what crumbles. Whatever is within that rustling material seems heavy and stiff and unable to merely collapse onto the floor.

It seems to take an age for the thing to finally fall. And when it does, Draco is overwhelmed with a number of sensations. Not the first of which is a vile and putrid smell. The fabric has fallen away from the shape now and he knows that whatever is on the floor in front of him is a body. The stench alerts him that it's decomposing, at that.

He stifles the urge to vomit. Drawing his robes over his nose, he takes a few steps towards the body. He's surprised to find himself noticing the familiarity of the velvet robes. He knows them to be of the finest quality. He gets a bit closer. With a sinking heart, he begins to recognize the decaying features of the corpse... the matted white blond hair and the strong cheekbones and jaw line, of which he can now see the sinews that once gave them such prominence. He can't pull his eyes away from the face- or what's left of it- the one he so loved, the one he worshipped, the one that he had ultimately betrayed.

He kneels by the corpse of his dead father. He doesn't know how long he stays like that. His legs feel numb and there's wetness on his cheeks.

He knew that Voldemort himself killed Lucius. He could tell that it had been with the Killing Curse- there appeared to be no other damage on the body. Draco felt relieved that it had been quick. His nightmares had long been of the many protracted ways that the Dark Lord would have tortured and ultimately killed his father.

Dimly, Draco begins to think about why he's kneeling in the old Tower by the decomposing body of his father. He stands up, teetering a bit on his numb legs. He looks at the open wardrobe and then down at the body. He steels himself and realizes that he is drawing on the comfort of his unseen companion.

"So this is what I am scared of?" he says aloud, breaking the silence of the moonlit room.

He takes a step away from the body, closes his eyes, and vainly tries to think of something that would banish the Boggart in front of him. But the image of his father's glassy and rotting dead eyes refuses to go away from behind his own eyelids. He takes a deep breath but finds that it catches in his throat.

He wishes his companion would lend him some strength. But his nightmares are upon him now.

He sifts through the horrible images of his worst fears and desperately tries to find something that will take the vision of his dead father away from him.

"Riddikulus!" he shouts, aiming his wand at the corpse. He feels dizzy as something seems to be invading the recesses of his mind. He doesn't realize he's fallen to his knees until the pain jars him. He opens his eyes.

Lucius is still there. Only this time he is standing before him, giving all appearances of being alive and well. Draco feels a swell in his heart. He reaches for his father just as the older man grabs him, pushing him roughly to the ground.

"Get down, you fool!" he rasps in a voice that is almost the same as Lucius Malfoy's.

Draco then hears the cursed words though he can see no other person in the room.

"Avada Kedavra!" an icy voice hisses. Green light shoots out across Draco's body, coming from the absent Dark Lord, and hit the elder Malfoy squarely on the chest.

Draco screams out "Riddikulus!" and then shuts his eyes again and tries to block the invading presence in his mind.

He wonders where his invisible companion is and why he hadn't come forward yet. But Draco has already started to doubt that there ever was anyone else. After all, who could make him feel safe? As he lays there on the floor, unwilling to open his eyes, he ponders that question. He knows who...

He pushes himself up. His eyes are opened but he has yet to look at whatever new horror is undoubtedly awaiting him. He stands, his head still hanging low.

"Where are you?" he hears his own plaintive voice lingering in the stillness of the Tower.

A shuffling sound makes him look up. Before he can register relief that his father is no longer in front of him, he recognizes who is.

Harry Potter.

Dead.

And not from anything as kind as the Killing Curse.

A howl escapes from his mouth- from his entire being. His wand clatters to floor and he rushes forward to the mangled body.

He scoops up the other boy and holds him tight to his chest, not heeding the blood. And there is blood--everywhere.

"No," he whispers, over and over again, into the dead boy's shiny black hair. Unruly even in death.

His sobs are threatening to overtake him now and he is having trouble breathing. Somewhere deep in his mind he is sure that there is something he must do-- but he can no longer remember...

"Enough," a hoarse but strong voice says. Draco hears it as though it's coming from very far away. He pulls the broken body closer to him.

"Riddikulus."

The body suddenly disappears, leaving behind something wispy and silvery in its wake. Draco's arms fold in on themselves as they cannot hold this noncorporeal version of Harry Potter.

A clear laugh cracks into the silence. The ghostly figure seems to shudder before it implodes into a fine smattering of smoke.

Draco looks down into his hands- stupidly turning them over again and again.

"There's no blood," he murmurs.

He sits there and wills his mind to process everything.

"The Boggart. It was the Boggart," he says to himself.

He tries to stand. He's suddenly exhausted. But his body isn't quite ready to cooperate. He loses his footing and braces himself for the fall that doesn't come.

Strong arms catch him. Strong arms are steadying him- holding him up- pulling him into an embrace.

He gives in. But he closes his eyes even as he leans onto the chest- even as he smells the familiar scent. He's afraid that somehow this is just a trick of the Boggart. And he doesn't think he can survive another round right now.

"Draco," the voice whispers into his ear.

"You're not real," he breaths, nestling his head into the crook of the neck before him.

Draco revels in the squeeze that he gets in response. The strong arms do seem real, he concedes to himself.

"I'm as real as you want me to be," the voice says, a familiar teasing edge barely surfacing in the tone.

"Have you been with me?" he asks, avoiding the other's implicit question.

"Yes," was the response.

"Why did you wait?" Draco wanted to know.

His companion didn't reply right away. Instead he leaned his head down, resting his cheek against the back of Draco's head. Draco could feel his warm breath on the back of his neck. It was so soothing yet he was still unwilling to accept the reality of it.

"You've needed to work through some things. And I've been waiting for you- but I couldn't let you think," his strong voice croaked and faltered. "I couldn't let you think that I wasn't here - or worse, that that could ever be your fault."

Draco says nothing in return. He bites his lip to ensure that he's not dreaming.

"Do you trust me, Draco?"

Draco takes a deep ragged breath and nods his head, feeling traitorous, though to what, he's not sure.

"Yes."

"You are not responsible for any of that. You have to believe me or this is going to make you mad."

Draco feels the arms pull him closer into the embrace. He feels secure. He wants to believe those words are true.

"Will you at least try?"

Draco thinks about this from his current position of comfort and safety. This is something that he can do, he decides.

"Yes."

He opens his eyes, feeling determined to start trying right now. He pulls away from the embrace, curious to see if all of this has really happened.

Bright green eyes, full of concern- full of love- are looking back at him.

He notices that he just see the other boy's face, chest, and arms.

The invisibility cloak is real, then, he thinks.

The green eyes seem to be watching and waiting for something. Draco tries to remember what this might be. He doesn't want this moment to be left unresolved. It's been too difficult a journey.

He remembers.

"I do want you to be real, Harry," he says, using the other boy's given name for the first time aloud.

This is obviously what those green eyes have been waiting for because he watches as they seem to ignite with sudden brilliance. Draco smiles as he is pulled back into the embrace.