Would You Like A Hand?

17 | let's not

When Draco woke up on the sixth day, he had been startled awake by his parents haunting his dreams.

He saw Lucius turning his back to him and Narcissa; Draco saw his father wave them away as he shot spell after spell at all the undead that had suddenly come upon their little area.

And then Draco saw Narcissa, clasping his hands together in desperation as she told him that was the bravest thing she'd seen Lucius do. But she turned into an undead monster soon after and reached up to claw at him angrily.

He woke quietly, eyes flickering open and blinking away sleep. Rolling over on the floor (the kid had taken the smaller couch, Maria the bigger one, and the two men the floor), Draco pushed his blanket off his body and sat up.

He was hot; his back felt slightly damp from sweat, and the morning air felt cool on his face. He stretched as he got up and then ran a hand over his face, trying to rid himself of the bleariness that had set in overnight.

Don had been the last one on guard duty, and Draco saw him sitting on the floor a little ways off from the sleeping group. The older man looked over to Draco, sensing a waking presence, and smiled tiredly.

Stepping over rubble, Draco made his way toward Don and sat with him.

"You're up early," the man commented. Draco didn't think it was that early; dawn was upon them as far as he could tell. He shrugged uncaringly in response.

A comfortable silence settled over them until Maria and Kyle got up.

Over the last few days, Draco learned that this family liked to stay in one place for a few days at a time, unless some circumstance prevented them from doing so.

If they followed the same pattern, today would be a day to stay in. There was still some edible food they could eat in the pantries of this house, and there hadn't been any undead nearby that they could hear.

It had only been two or three weeks since the Dark Lord unleashed the undead on the world; Draco wondered how much of the earth had been taken over.

It didn't matter though; lives had already been ruined beyond repair.

He wondered what that meant for the survivors if the Dark Lord was ever defeated and the undead finally keeled over and stayed dead.

He didn't know how the muggles were handling the problem, but last he heard, the wizards were in a state of chaos all over the world.

Whether or not that information was false was another matter entirely.

Now, though, he went through the day slowly, routinely, and huddled with a family he didn't belong with.

It was a slow day; they woke up, ate a small portion of found foods for breakfast, played some muggle games with their hands that mostly involved clapping at each other's hands (Draco had to be taught, of course), and Don told stories to the boys afterward.

Even though Draco had been traveling with them for almost a week, he could hardly believe how unhurried and relaxed they went about their life and current situation.

Of course, they still had their guard up and did night watches and such, but it was during the day when they merely spent time with each other that almost fooled Draco into thinking that nothing was wrong with the world.

He had been lucky, stumbling upon a family like this.

It was that night, when Don and Kyle had fallen asleep, that Draco had asked Maria about why they didn't seem worried at all.

In her usual, quiet way, she had told him (a slight accent of some sort colouring her words), "There is no point in worry. We will live and adapt to this world as if it were 'normal', and if everything ever goes back to the 'normal' without monsters, then we will readjust. But why worry when we have no idea how long this will last? It might last forever, or only a few more days."

And the Slytherin boy realized that Don and Maria had accepted this might be the end of the world, so they lived like there was no tomorrow.

But in his case, he knew of the Dark Lord and the possibility of the monsters going away.

If only someone could get rid of the Dark Lord.

Draco wondered then, for the first time in a long time, about what happened to his school mates and more specifically, where Potter was and whether he was out there trying to defeat the Dark Lord still.

But let's not worry about Potter, of all people, he frowned to himself.

The hardest part about their world was the lack of news. No one knew what was going on, and there wasn't even a faulty, rumour-spreading magazine or newspaper.

For all Draco knew, he was the only living wizard left.

He doubted it, though. He figured Potter would be the last one living, if their school adventures had anything to say about it; the git had come far too close with death on too many occasions.

Even Draco wasn't that stupid, wrestling with death as if it were a game.

Then again, Gryffindors weren't usually known for being smart or cunning.

One witch crossed his mind in contradiction, but he didn't dwell on it. He wouldn't be seeing her anytime soon anyway, right?

How wrong he was.