By The Light Of A Dying Flame ~ Drarry Fanfic

Chapter 33: Draco

In the wake of Voldemort's message, the Death Eaters seemed to have bled from the castle. As Draco carved a path through the corridors, he found them nearly empty; even of bodies.

The Death Eaters had likely disappeared to join their master in the Forbidden Forest as the Dark Lord waited for Harry to face his death—which he wouldn't be doing if Draco had anything to say about it. Hogwarts was eerily still, as if it stood beneath the eye of a hurricane; waiting with bated breath for the carnage and chaos to descend once more, knowing the reprieve was an illusion. Even if Harry faced Voldemort, gave himself up as the Dark Lord had demanded, that didn't mean the bloodshed would end. The Order and everyone else in the castle wouldn't just stand down. Harry was the Chosen One, yes, but that didn't mean he was a linchpin for the resistance.

He didn't really expect to find Harry lingering in the hallways—he would likely be in the Great Hall, where Draco had overheard someone say they were gathering the fallen. Regardless, he still stuck his head into classrooms and alcoves and stairwells as he made his way down to the first floor. Even among the burning urgency screaming in his head to find Harry, he found himself stalling, searching every corner of the castle for him even though his gut told him to go to the Great Hall. If he were honest with himself, he didn't want to know which of his schoolmates and professors had died. He was terrified to see any of his friends' lifeless bodies, their eyes unseeing. It would undo him. He also, selfishly, did not wish to appear on the threshold and see his own stupid mistakes reflected back at him in the glares and cold expressions. It was not as if he'd had time to publicize his defection from the Death Eaters, to convince the students he had once terrorized that the Dark Mark carved into his flesh didn't mean anything to him. They would only see him as a Slytherin, a Death Eater, the foolish kid who'd tried to kill their beloved Headmaster.

Draco felt like a ghost as he wandered aimlessly through the corridors. There were a few stragglers, but mostly he was alone amongst the debris. His pale skin flickered in the fires that burned around the castle as his feet reluctantly pulled him down toward the Great Hall. He lingered outside the massive doors, a fevered hum of wailing, of reunification, of prayer spilling out onto the stone floor. He watched from the shadows as people hurried back and forth, lugging bandages and vials, food taken from the kitchens. When he didn't see Harry among the throng, he pushed himself off the wall and crossed the threshold, his eyes widening as he beheld the chaos.

The House tables had been shoved to the edges of the room and were being used as infirmary stations, injured witches and wizards lying or sitting on the benches and table tops as Madam Pomfery and volunteers saw to their wounds. Others milled about the massive Hall, checking on their friends, consoling those who grieved, searching for their loved ones. And in the center of the room, lying in rows like a grotesque field of flowers, were the bodies of the fallen. The sheer number of them cut through Draco like a scythe, and he gripped a notch on one of the doors to keep from sliding to his knees, people flooding around him as if he were nothing more than a stone in a riverbed.

He could not bring himself to search the faces of the dead. He was struggling enough as it was to remain sane in the face of this gore and loss, and he needed Harry—to know he was still alive, and to ensure he remained that way. Draco glanced around the room, keeping his gaze from trailing down to the rows of bodies, looking for a familiar pair of round glasses, for Granger's curls, for the glint of Weasley's hair. There, in the far corner—a group of red-haired people. Draco took a few hesitant steps forward to join them, when he noticed the way they were curled inward, like ribs stretched around a heart. They clutched at one another, and even from this distance Draco could see the grief stamped across their faces. Weasley turned in Draco's direction, his own face contorted in a sob, and Granger appeared beside him, pulling him down against her shoulder, her hand rising to cradle the back of his head.