A Beautiful Beginning

*Chapter Seven*

  Word count if anyone cares :) —2481
  Chapter written by Clarissa

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      "They can't help me," spat Harry. Then, venomously, he added, "and neither can you."
  He stood swiftly and stalked off, heading in the opposite direction of the castle, leaving Draco alone on the shore. The boy with the silver eyes gazed forlornly at the other boy's receding figure until he disappeared, swallowed by the mist of the lake.
  Draco sank slowly to his knees on the sand, soiling the fabric of his trousers. He'd only wanted to help, but it seemed he'd only made the Gryffindor boy angry at him. Why couldn't he get it right?
  He stared down at his hands, his platinum blond hair hanging over his left eye, until they no longer felt like his own, looking strange and foreign to his eyes.

  Draco didn't know how long he knelt by the water, but by the time he awakened from his trance the sun had sunk low on the horizon, casting a bloody reflection onto the surface of the Black Lake. His face, hair, and clothes were cool and damp from the fog coming off the water. It took him a moment to realize that he was supposed to have been helping remove the rubble at the battlefield, and once he did he felt guilty. The one thing he could do to help, and he had skipped out on doing it. Everyone else must think him dreadfully selfish and lazy.
  He rose carefully, every muscle and joint stiff and sore from staying still too long. He thought back to his brief conversation with Harry earlier, and he chided himself for not going after him. What if Harry had done something stupid? Of course Draco had no idea where the other was now. He could have gone anywhere in the time that Draco had spent by the lake. Deciding that Harry was more important than what everyone back at the castle thought of him-- they already hated him. What could skipping his work towards the rebuilding really do to damage his image further?-- he headed in the direction that Harry had gone. It was as good a place as any to start looking for him.

  Draco roamed the edge of the forest for about half an hour, scanning the area for anywhere Harry might have gone. He was just about to turn around and search somewhere else when he heard the sound of hooves and a quiet, gentle voice.
  "Yeah, people just don't understand you," the voice cooed, "You're just like me."
   Peeking out from behind a tree, he glanced around and saw a small clearing, the ground covered in wet leaves. In it were skeletal black horses-- thestrals, Draco knew. He'd seen plenty of death during his times at the Manor. And there, in the center of the area, was the Gryffindor Golden Boy, sitting cross-legged on a large tree stump and stroking the head of a baby thestral. He looked peaceful, content. Draco didn't want to disturb him, so he turned and strode away, satisfied with his knowledge that Harry was safe.

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  Days came and went rapidly, and the reconstruction was now well underway. Draco stuck with his group and did his part, levitating fallen stones, sweeping away dust, Scourgifying blood off of cobblestones. He had not spoken to Harry since their interaction by the Black Lake, but he had seen him. Only from afar, but he still saw him, with his unruly shock of black hair and his emerald eyes. Harry was surrounded by friends constantly, and he seemed to take pleasure in their company. Draco saw him with the She-Weasel a few times, and that ripped him apart inside, but he kept working and tried not to look.
  Harry wasn't the only one Draco hadn't spoken to in days. He hadn't talked at all, to anyone. He wouldn't look up, either, or let anyone touch him. He was terrified of everyone around him. Not just because he thought they would hurt him-- although he was a little afraid that some would very much like to-- but because people in general were terrifying. This was nothing new to him. He had known since he was young that trusting people was dangerous, that letting anyone too close was dangerous. He had trusted Father, and Father had hurt him, changed him, destroyed him. He hadn't trusted anyone else, except Mother. Loving and trusting Mother had been a mistake, too. The Dark Lord had power over him only because he loved her, and the Dark Lord could hurt her. Loving and trusting not only put him and others close to him in danger, but it made him vulnerable. He hated it. People hurt you if you let them in, that's what people did. Draco assured himself that he would not let anyone in again. Not even Harry.