Papillon

18 - l'obscurité

C H A P T E R 1 8

Down by the foot of the tower, where Wizards and Witches gathered with their wands pointed upwards at the sky, laid a man whom all grieved deeply. Little lights like stars, a bright lumos from every tip to let a soul pass on, to the life that laid beyond the current. A boy, green eyes filled with tears, kneeled by the man's side. More stars, this time on his cheeks sliding down upon another, drifting off into that which most called the unknown.

Draco

A golden wand he didn't recognize as his own anymore was pointed in Dumbledore's direction. A pale hand with bony fingers holding on to it and trembling as if every gust of wind had the power of a thestral. 'I wish there was another way,' Dumbledore admitted, and Draco couldn't help but cry. He wasn't able to contain his grief any longer; his sadness for having to let a man pass to the other side whom he adored so much. He remembered the time they had spent together in that secret room at Beauxbatons; Dumbledore knitting socks in the evening by the fire-place, not worried at all that they might be discovered by the Ministry or Draco's father. His laugh, when hearing one of Draco's silly French jokes.

Yet the man didn't seem frightened at all, already appeared as if ready to die — not even that far away from the afterlife without having a wand pointed at him. It confused Draco, of course, but there was no time to be confused. He took a step forward, tried to make himself do it even though there was nothing else he wanted to do less — but the words just didn't want to roll off his tongue.

And then, the voice of a professor whom Draco knew was called Severus Snape. Walking in with his black robes flaring, an expressionless look upon his face. He didn't draw his wand, only greeted the headmaster like he always did — like friends, like colleagues. But Draco had seen something; he had seen Dumbledore sigh very softly — as if out of relief.

Snape drew his wand at last, confused Draco even more, and casted the curse Draco himself was supposed to say. Avada Kedavra. In shock, Draco didn't know what else to do then to run towards the old man, try to save him from damage that had already been done. The headmaster fell down, over the balustrade of the tower and down into the darkness of the night. Swallowed by it.

Draco didn't get a lot of time to look, to see where that darkness was taking the headmaster, as he heard another voice shout a spell he had never heard before — followed by a stinging feeling all over his body. He turned around, grabbed for his stomach as it felt as if someone had stabbed a knife into it. It was suddenly hard to breath, especially when he looked up and saw those shiny green eyes of Harry stare back at him in the most terrified way. He reached out towards that same boy, his hands covered in blood coming from scars he couldn't feel quite yet. And just when he thought he was going to be greeted by that same darkness that had swallowed Dumbledore, Harry's hand pulled him back, into his arms and onto the floor.

And there he laid, staring at Harry whom became more of a haze by the second. 'H-Harry', Draco stammered. 'I'm not feeling so well.' A nauseous feeling and that of a pain he had never felt before overcame him, made him cry out loud in a terrifying way. Was that even his own voice he heard?

He could feel the color drain out of his face, his body — blood covering everything and everyone. Was he getting ripped apart by a curse? What curse had it been? Who had casted it? Did Harry cast it? Snape's face appeared above him, even more blurry than Harry's and a whispering of spells followed — healing spells, if Draco was correct.

His mind slowly started to malfunction, and he suddenly couldn't think straight anymore. Where was he again? What had happened? Who were these people around him and why were they whispering evil-sounding Latin words? Closing his eyes, Draco felt himself drift away into a terrible, terrible nightmare.