Henrietta Potter || Draco Malfoy

52 - The End Of It All

"Henrietta Potter is dead."

The outside entrance of the castle was deserted, all except for the lonely figure crouched on the top step; head in hands, broken, and void of all hope.

Draco Malfoy slowly looked up, his heart thudding in his chest. It was light now and, at the very edge of the forest, he could see a mass of black cloaked figures appear. It was the exact same spot where he had watched Etta disappear as she walked out of his life and out of his heart forever. He had not moved since.

"We bring you her body as proof that your hero is gone."

No. Draco shakily stood up. The mass drew nearer and now he could see that Voldemort was leading the procession, the great snake coiled proudly around his shoulders.

Survivors from inside had started to file out and gather around him, filling the front steps to see the truth of Etta's death for themselves.

And, as the Death Eaters drew nearer, Draco could see the unmistakable figure of the gamekeeper, Hagrid, staggering and sobbing over something in his arms. No - not something, but someone.

At the exact same moment that McGonagall let out a loud, terrible scream, Draco's whole body jolted violently in pain.

It was her; it was Etta. And she was dead.

He could not breathe, for his lungs had turned to lead. He could not see, for the white lights flashing before his eyes. He could not hear, for the roaring of blood in his ears.

She had done it. She had actually done it. And for what? It had all been for nothing. Voldemort was still standing, waiting to rule above them all.

All Draco could feel was hurt, bitterness and pain. She had never loved him. How could she when she had chosen this over him.

As the Death Eaters came to a halt, all standing in a line, facing the front door, Draco heard his father call out to him.

He did not know what to do.

It was his mother who persuaded him in the end. She was all he had left.

So, he went to her.

"She saved your life!" Ron Weasley spat poisonously in his face as he passed the angry red head.

Draco faltered, stung. But then on he continued, hanging his head in shame.

He could not bear to look at the baleful glances. He could not bear to see where she lay.

As soon as he reached his mother, he kept his eyes firmly on the ground, wishing he were dead - just like Etta.

*****

Earlier

"Does it hurt?"

The childish question fell from my lips before I could stop it.

"Dying? Not at all," Sirius said. "Quicker and easier than falling asleep."

Well, that was easy for him to say, all he did was topple through a veil.

I turned, instead, to my parents, hoping for a little more enlightenment.

"We'll be with you the whole time," my father answered unhelpfully.

Great. As if the pain I had just suffered from my broken teenage heart was not enough.

Ugh. Life sucked.

By the time I reached Voldemort, I was not in the mood for niceties, I was having too much of a shit day. So, I stuck my middle finger up at him and let him blast me with his wand.