The War | The Sister Book #4 | Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter Eleven

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Draco's POV

He was there. He was there.

We could have brushed shoulders, made eye contact, and I wouldn't have known. They say it was some rescue mission for some muggle woman, though I doubt that's the truth. Why would Harry Potter do that? Even he isn't that heroic. The papers keep calling it a choreographed escape of a dangerous muggle, orchestrated entirely by Harry Potter. It seems they don't tell the truth these days.

My bed feels cold, and as I sit here, hands numbly holding a black sketchbook as if the pictures will just fall from my mind to the page, I realise I haven't slept on the right side of the bed all year. I haven't even sat there.

It's nothing. Move on.

I look down at the blank white page and fiddle with the pen I'm holding in my right hand. I bite my lip, shaking my head and closing it. Placing it beside me.

I want to draw her like I remember her, like the bright, happy, cheeky Slytherin girl with messy black hair wearing my oversized shirt. Who used to pester me while I read. The girl who would come into my room at 2 in the morning, whisper a few muffled words of explanation and then curl up against me, but every time I try to draw her face I just see her pale and empty, laying on cobblestone, blood leaking from her skull, tiny, gentle hands limp and cold.

I shake my head, wiping my nose and standing. I walk over to my dresser, pulling out the top drawer and laying it on the dark wood floor. I lift out the neatly folded shirts, white collars and one green Christmas sweater until there is one left. I lift it up, holding it gently in my hands. The white t-shirt she always stole. I press my face into it, breathing in a faint, faded smell of chocolate and lavender, as tears damp the fabric I curl forward.

I killed her. I killed her. I left her dead and cold and alone and I killed her. I loved her and I killed her. I ended that precious little life. Taking a breath, I refold the shirt and put it to one side, glancing at the three books that lie at the bottom of the drawer.

The second and third Lord of the Rings books, and the Hobbit. I brush my fingers over their ornate covers, reaching for Return of the King. The book falls open in my hands, showing one small photograph, movement flickering through it, from when Theodore stole his father's Polaroid camera. I can see us grinning at each and then the camera as she leans back into me, her slightly wonky teeth and big eyes and messy ponytail and how she looked at me. She loved me.

I swallow a second bout of tears, slowly putting everything back where they belong. I have to move on. I can't grieve her forever.

She loved me and I killed her and I'm so, so sorry.

xxx

Clara's POV

I limp up behind Hermione, watching as Harry places the locket on a mossy log ahead of us, opening it and stepping back. He glances at me, and as I turn my attention to the small trinket I hear it screeching at me, clawing at my brain and taunting me from across the clearing. I hear the dry autumn leaves crunch beneath Ron's feet as steps up beside me, and I ignore him, not turning to meet his gaze.

I raise my wand, nodding at Harry as the ticking screaching noise gets louder.

"Dissendium!" I yell, watching as the locket merely spins in place,

Harry swallows, "Incendio!"

The locket bursts into flames and burns for a moment before snuffing itself out.