Lost

Chapter Twenty

Nobody of Consequence

Sweeping his hand through the darkness, Draco lit up the room. Turning his head away in disgust, he said, "To what sin do I blame this hideous karma of mine that I'm cursed to look upon this-this-THING?"

The insult was directed at the man standing before him; how ludicrous it seemed that someone so hideous could once have been human; a human with a name: Tom Riddle. Harry gave Voldemort a grim stare, before falling weakly to the floor, his hand to his forehead. Throwing a concerned glance at Harry, Draco stood guarding the Gryffindor, facing Lord Voldemort.

Sneering at the seventeen year old, Voldemort took a step forward, rasping, "Step aside. This boy deserves his fate: to be killed by me once and for all."

Shaking his head vigorously, willing himself to glare back into that dark tunneling gaze, Draco shouted, "Over my dead body, you hell spawn son of a bitch!"

As soon as Voldemort made a threatening gesture, Draco's hand sprung forward, spilling forth magic unlike any ever born, and the combat began. Feeling hot adrenaline and anger coursing steadily through his veins, Draco dodged and feinted, swerving around the spells, forming as heavy a shield he could afford energy of around Harry. Always the target, never did he let himself be hit by the Cruciatus or Imperius curses, for one he was familiar with and the other he knew he didn't stand much of a chance against.

Shouts of cruoris, impedimenta, reducio, exardesco, and trilustralis imobialis rang through the air, as the cave was demolished bit by bit. Spells, both simple and complex, were repeatedly used, neither Summoner truly gaining the advantage over the other. After some time, fatigued, Draco leaned against the cave wall, glancing worriedly over at Harry. The Boy Who Lived lay on the ground, bathed in sweat, wincing at occasional stings of pain.

Gaze becoming soft, Draco walked to kneel by the other boy, brushing his fingers against the hot forehead, murmuring soothing words. He wasn't sure how much longer he could take it: having to fight for everything and anything against Voldemort, while seeing Harry in bad condition. Breath hitching, the Slytherin stood up, and brought his eyes to stare squarely at Voldemort, his gaze determined and yet pained. Unknowingly trembling all over, he brought his hand up to wipe his mouth, and was surprised to see blood on it. Astounded, he gazed at the crimson liquid for a few moments. Then, he turned back to his enemy, gaze lowered to the floor as he heard the man say, "You fool. You are a simple boy, impudent, unbeknownst of how to truly use that power. You are nobody of consequence."

Fury unlike any he'd ever felt thrummed through Draco, incensing him. Senseless with rage, his pose feral, that of a tiger ready to pounce, he yelled, "Nobody of consequence? I'll give you consequence, you bastard. Show me you can survive magic born of love and then you can call me anything you damn well want to. Otherwise, I'll be glad to tell you that you can burn to ashes for all I care."

Draco knew, deep down, what Voldemort wanted. He wanted to kill Harry. Summoner or not, Harry was the cause of much of Voldemort's misery, and the reason for his first fall from power, thus, the wizard wanted revenge. Draco also knew that Voldemort was planning to cast such a spell that his Summoner powers would be sucked into Voldemort, and then Voldemort would kill him. Knowing that giving up fighting would mean letting Harry go, he fought regardless of fatigue and energy loss. Any magic he now used he would use for the sake of his love for Harry.

Suddenly, the ground shook, and the cave rumbled. The trio soon found themselves a few feet lower, now standing precariously on their broken bit of rock, forming a cliff. With a sound that was wicked and heartless to the ears as the shriek of a banshee, yet simultaneously pleasant as the silence of a love filled day, Draco felt his blood freeze. Stifling a scream at the pain, the terror of it all, and the knowing that this hurt only because of his inexperience, Draco lifted himself from his physical body, his outline now formed by dust. He didn't even take one look at his physical body, which was now surely slumped to the ground and useless. It was, after all, fatigued from so much spell casting. However, this form of his now, his spirit self, was fully fueled with power.

Glancing down at his spirit self, he grinned, and then lifting up a hand, began to summon all the power and magic he could. Verses of a language ancient and pure formed on his lips, spilling forth, and as a gigantic ball of power shined from his hand, he chanted the mantra:

Deur e'neh limur

Keh'ne tao Kui-tuur

Gordani Shilao Mat'da

Sabh Vkaarni jern

Then, all was silent.

Smiling, Voldemort nodded, as if impressed, and said, "Well, well, well. So you do have a bit of challenge in you, then. You have a few options, Draco. I will name them. First of all, you could sacrifice your dear Harry, and thus save this world and yours. Secondly, you could give up your power and Harry, giving yourself in to the OtherWorld's seductiveness, and leaving the world you live in to continue without you. If you release that spell, you will destroy not only yourself and both the OtherWorld and your home world, but possibly Harry as well. I don't think you want to do that, give it all up. It's your choice, Draco." The slit pupil eyes glanced at Harry, and then back at Draco, saying, "This time, you're the hero, Draco. Don't let Potter influence your decision. It's all up to you."

Alerted of danger at Harry's wordless groan, Draco looked behind him just in time to see that Harry, his beloved Harry, was on the verge of falling off the cliff. Glancing back at Voldemort, he saw the dark lord was smiling, and knew without having to say it that this predicament was the enemy's fault. He lunged just in time, one hand tightly grasping Harry's, elbow pressed against Harry's other hand to keep the fall from happening.

Looking down into Harry's eyes, Draco was on the brink of insanity, desperate. Trying to convey only the good emotion in his gaze, that of the intense love he felt for Harry, Draco tried to act as if they were in their own world, standing safely, as if Harry wasn't hanging off a cliff. But he couldn't. It was too hard. Frantically, he whispered, "What should I do? I'm not used to this role; I realized something. You were right, as always. It sometimes isn't great being the hero. I don't know what to do, Harry...help me decide, please!"

Gazing back at Draco, Harry said solemnly, "Don't accept any of Voldemort's options. None of them are beneficial, and he cheats. What you need to do...is...figure out a way that our scars can touch...we're linked, after all. Once our scars are touching, my forehead to your collarbone, make the spell in your hand turn into a spell that unites the power of our scars...give the scars your power, and I just know that something will happen then, and it'll be alright."

All of a sudden, as Draco blinked his eyes, rage, fear, and determination coursing through him, his control faltered...and he let go. The spell blasted forth from his hand, furious and destructive, and as he closed his eyes, cursing his accidental release of such power, everything became black, and he felt weak...but he knew if he let go again, the very person he held most dear would be lost to him forever. Draco clung to his last bit of strength, desperately, but then he was thrown backwards by the power that pulsed through the air...And Harry's hand dropped from its lock with his...

"No, Harry, not you, I can't lose you again, no-"

He closed his eyes, lashes framing a pale face of one who was burdened by many things...He felt as if everything was rushing forward, but he was slowly slipping backward, down...down...down. Then all went dark.

-----*-----

Draco didn't know whether he was dead or alive, and didn't care either way. Light, brilliant and bright, blasted at him with full force. How ironic, he thought, if I didn't know better I'd almost think this was heaven...but of course, it couldn't be...Apprehensive, he slowly attempted to open his eyes--although he wasn't sure if that was possible, if he was dead.

Somehow, he heard it, music, piercing through the darkness...He felt like he was in a nightmare, being consumed by it, feeding himself to it, dying. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be able to do, say, hear anything...after all, nothing felt real...

How long would he have to wait before answers arrived?