𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒽 | 𝒟.𝑀.

76 | ﴾ High Horse ﴿

The City of London had grown quite silent only an hour after being attacked by a Creator of the universe, save for the roaring and groaning of demolishing buildings and the blistering hum of an endless, continuous sea of fire. Most of the beautiful and timeless architecture from the ancient Norman era had since collapsed into rubble, and those few individuals that were still alive had effectively made the effort to simply hide and recoil under dilapidated structures or in subsiding cellars.

No one in the muggle world had any explanation for the absurd presence of what was previously believed to be simply creatures of mythological designation, now flying through the sky with sharp talons, shiny scales and piecing fangs.

The ferocious dragons had lived up to exactly a description that might be found in a Medieval entry regarding their callous attacks on mortal establishments. Half eaten human carcasses lay abandoned in the cobble streets, strewn like rejected French fries that had gone cold too soon before the consumer was finished.

Down under the Earth, below the brick laneways and the meters of sewers and utilities, a final battle against the wicked deity that had started it all was unraveling. Two young boys with a rich history between them, both of whom had been alive only a microscopic degree of her time in existence, had been pitted against one another to dual for her grace; and so they would fight.

Draco stopped rotating in place as tears fell down his face, forced to clamber over hot and meaty skeletons in his circumvolution while still holding his arm strongly out a ninety-degree angle.

His mind reeled with Dumbledore's poetry - the only time the professor had ever favored him with advice - and his voice came out strained as he looked into the vicious and empty gaze of Theodore Nott across the way, "I thought you were my friend once. At the same time I mistook someone else as being my enemy. I finally understand that the complete opposite was true all along."

Nott only pulled his face to the side meagerly with a half-hearted reaction, "You and I were friends Malfoy, but not for long; you simply possessed the luxury of consistently expunging the bitter moments you put me through for years like they meant nothing to you. It was always a competition, a matter of relentless condescension; you knew you had it better than me and yet you felt the need to shove it down my throat."

Draco faltered, shaking his head, "You can't be serious. What competition?"

A sad interaction was occurring, in which one boy was finally expressing deeply rooted ache, and the other felt side blinded by the information, struggling to compute his fellow peer's pain. Draco had always had unrivaled tenacity and assurance on the surface; yet if he had only paid a fraction of attention to others around him he would realize that Theodore had envied him while Draco had taunted the boy with what he thought was acceptable teasing. It sadly had struck Theo's nerves like lightning for years.

Theodore ran his free hand through his thick locks of luxurious hair, laughing darkly, "From the moment I met you I knew you were revoltingly weak, I just didn't consider you to be incognizant. You've extraordinarily found ways to look down on me from your moral high horse and you've received popularity and praise for such putrefaction. I wish I'd killed you in your sleep at Hogwarts, Malfoy. In fact, I should've killed you in the Malfoy gardens when you were a useless child."

Evidently, whatever pain Theodore felt Draco had inflicted on him was far beyond repair. Draco was astonished that Nott considered he of all people to be on a judgmental high horse; if anything, after all of the sinful acts he'd carried through with, he should've been looked at as riding on a donkey with no legs.

Draco's eyebrows hardened as he channeled his inner soldier, realizing that the young man before him was not available for persuasion or forgiveness.