sparks~drarry

Aureum: Part One

Description: (in world AU) the war between purebloods and partial muggles is in full blast. On one side of the battlefield, a pureblood in a group known to the world as "The Knowing" prepares hesitantly to be wed to a fellow pureblood, while on the other, a half blood with a skill in defense and a special standing within the half blood, muggle born, and squib group called the Aureum is getting ready to invade the Knowing headquarters, Scio Manor, with his crew.

Song: Everybody Knows by Sigrid

Warnings: none

Length: 1.7k words

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Third Person

Draco slicked back his hair in the mirror. Even he could see how the flame his parents constantly attempted to quell had finally disappeared, making his eyes fade from the silver stars they used to be to emotionless stone. He averted his gaze and shrugged on his favorite coat, the one that was itchy and gray, but nonetheless comforted him.

He rubbed his chapped lips together, coughing as his throat begin to dry. The mirror had to be warped. Did he really have tears streaming down his face, little rivulets against the snow of his skin? No, it couldn't be. But when he touched his cheek, it was wet, and his heart went colder.

- - -

The wand Harry held was absent with the life that usually curled like dragon's flame within the wood. He twisted it, glared at the strange vines that curled up the side. No. It wouldn't do. Making a noise of irritation in the back of his throat, he threw down the wand and picked up another, his heart aching as the second sparked duly when he attempted to wield it.

The Knowingsmen that had destroyed his original wand had had hair that fell down his back like an icy waterfall, but Harry didn't know whether the peculiar color was due to age or genetics. His eyes had been flecks of dull, gray stone set into his face, and the sneer that marred his delicate features had made Harry's stomach drop with anxiety. However, he was trained to deal with the anxiety disorder that affected his every move and action, so it wasn't a problem... usually.

The noise that flickered in his throat like a dying flame brightened to a roar, and he threw down the wand, flinching as it hissed and spat like it was a living thing. Which, apparently, it was. Harry retreated slowly, eyeing the wand before placing his hand blindly on a box behind him.

Ah. The object, whatever it was, buzzed against Harry's hand, and a warm feeling engulfed the boy as he glanced towards it. To his surprise, it wasn't a wand, but rather a strange looking sword carved with familiar, yet unplaceable, runes. The blade was polished well enough that he could see his appearance. Despite being only seventeen, he was surprised to see that he appeared older, his tired eyes marred by bruise colored rings and his lips set so it made his face look sharper. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, feeling silly for noticing his appearance. But still, no matter the tiredness and general feeling of war that painted his face like makeup, he couldn't help but recognize the spark that danced in his lively, though exhausted, eyes.

- - -

Draco jerked away from the mirror, and stumbled to the window beside his bed, his hand sliding against the bitingly cold marble of the windowsill. Outside, a soft, silent snow fell upon the grounds of Scio Manor, making the garden look like something from a dream. But Draco knew that it was truly anything but.

His watery eyes drifted to the tree at the center of the garden. His tree. He pictured it as it was during the spring, emerald leaves sprouting from branches as white as bone and blossoms like the sunrise blooming from those leaves. He pictured it as it was during the autumn, the flowers faded to a gorgeous white and the leaves turning a fiery orange, unlike the rest of the garden, which eternally stayed green and luscious under the orders of his mother.