Azkaban

I Am Not Afraid

It was a small thing, and still, Amarea's heart filled with dread. She cradles the small white bird in her gloved hands, the limp body already feeling heavier than it should. The Vanishing Cabinet seemed to loom over the two figures in front of it, the door still wide open. Neither moved, their breath slow and their minds racing. It came to no surprise to Amarea that the small life they had offered in the cabinet, and sent to it's sister in Borgin and Burkes, had come back with no life at all. It was without a doubt, foreshadowing the fight to come. She only hoped the white of the birds feathers lacked connotation, signifying the inevitable.

Turning to the white-haired boy beside her, she whispers, "The time is coming, Draco." She's met with silence, so heavy in the Room of Requirement it seemed to be suffocating them both. "You have to..." Small droplets catch her eye, rolling down the boy's cheek, and she silences herself. She knew it wasn't what he wanted; it wasn't what anyone wanted. But the fact was, Dumbledore must die. And Draco, to all of his knowledge, believed that he would have to be the one to do it. A part of Amarea wished that he would go through with it; that he would save her from having to kill a dear friend when he would lack the will in the end to do what must be done.

She slowly tugs the boy toward a velvet couch, sitting them both down and rubbing his shoulder. "I can't do it," Draco sobs, tears flowing freely. He stares at the Vanishing Cabinet, a haunted expression on his face. Amarea's heart clenches as she searches his face, trying in vain to find any sort of hope. "I can't kill him...I can't kill, I can't...I can't kill."

Grabbing his shoulder gently, she turns him to face her. "I know, Draco...I know." He lets out a fresh sob, his body hunching as he pushes his forehead against the top of her chest, effectively pushing the both of them further down onto the couch. She sighs but doesn't protest, letting the taller body cover hers, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and sliding up and down his back comfortingly. She lets him cry, not saying a word, letting her soft breathing slowly lull him.

They seem to stay like that for hours, Amarea just rubbing Draco's back as he slowly quiets down. Eventually, the boy croaks out, "Thank you." She continues to rub his back slowly, hands trailing up and brushing against the nape of his neck before sliding back down. He shivers.

"Sorry."

"Your gloves," he explains quietly. Amarea takes her hands off of him, holding them up and staring. Debating. "You won't hurt me."

She swallows thickly, replying, "You don't know that."

Draco sighs, "If I don't go through with this I'm dead anyways. Might as well sleep up the process." She rolls her eyes at his attempt at a joke, not finding the slightest bit of amusement in it.

Her heart beats quickly, and the boy's head perks up slightly as he listens to the sound of it. More noises fill his ears; her laces being untied, and then the sound of leather sliding off skin. Moments pass, and he briefly debates turning his head. Warmth. Warm hands rest against his back, so shockingly different from before that he could feel it through his vest. She lets out a heavy sigh underneath him, chest rising and falling. His hand moves to her bicep, sliding down her arm until he got to her wrist, right where her sweater ended. "Draco..people are afraid to touch me for a reason..."

He doesn't respond, and her breath hitches. He can hear her heart skip in her chest as his hand slides off her sweater, onto the pale skin of her wrist and hand. His hand easily dwarfs her, cupping the back of it as his thumb rubs across the pulsepoint on her wrist. Moving further, the pads of his fingers slide across her palm, so slowly he seemed to be mesmerizing her palm lines and fingerprints. Everything that made her, her. Looking up, he meets her eyes, words passing between them, unspoken but heavy with meaning. And then, with conviction, his fingers thread through hers, and he whispers.

"I am not afraid."