Black Truth [READ DESCRIPTION]

chapter eight

Chapter Eight: Flight at Midnight

Lucius stood at the window in Dumbledore's office, watching the rain pelt down mournfully against the glass.

"Nature knows what is coming. It anticipates the death of a Veriae, and it prepares to mourn." Dumbledore's voice came softly from beside him. The Headmaster's gaze followed Lucius's across the grounds of Hogwarts, towards the Forbidden Forest. "You knew they were destined to be together, did you not?"

"I did. I was acquiring Draco's schoolbooks when Draco was being fitted for his robes for his first year here. I returned before Narcissa and happened to see both Draco and Potter were being fitted in the same room, my son chatting away as usual, both surrounded by auras so similar it scared me. While my son did not recognize the fabled Harry Potter, I did. I knew the Dark Lord would stop at nothing to return, so I feared for my son's life. It seems my fears were more correct than I wished them to be."

"You told your son to befriend Harry."

"Yes. But that did not happen. I hope Ronald Weasley is happy with himself today, for at midnight Draco dies. His father's grudge against my family can then be finally put to rest."

"Lucius, your son and your grudge played a large part in Harry's decision."

"But out of the two families, it is the Malfoys who will regret it."

Lucius turned to leave, his face impassive, his emotions only betrayed by a single crystal tear that fell to the plush rug of Dumbledore's office.

"Can you not help him, Lucius? Draco is strong; he may be able to live through it... even if no Veriae ever has."

"Draco ran to the forest when he woke. I could not even begin to fathom where he has gone."

"So you will give up that easily, Lucius? You will let your son die?"

"Consider my options, Dumbledore, before you condone my actions. Suicide is unbecoming of a Malfoy." Lucius spoke gravely. "If I were to find him, Draco would ask me to kill him."

Harry woke, gasping. Voldemort was pleased, and for the first time in weeks, Harry had felt every painful moment. There was no reassuring blackness, no voice to whisper sweet words, and no wings to shelter him from the pain. Had that... had that actually been Draco, as the book had said? Harry's eyes shifted over to the clock that sat on his bedside table. 11:30.

That was bad. Wait, why was that bad? Why did Harry feel so empty inside? Like something important was slipping away from him... something he desperately wanted to hold on to.

Almost on an impulse of their own, Harry's arms reached for the book that he'd insisted to Hermione that he read, but he had put down after realizing what it was telling him. Something was wrong, something which he had ignored when Hermione had tried desperately to explain to him, and now he wanted to find out what.

His eyes hurriedly scanned the headings, to find the page that he had lost when he'd slammed the book shut. Finding the page number, his fingers dove through the pages, almost as if they knew he had to hurry. As his emerald orbs picked up the paragraph about mates, they widened as the truth of the situation hit. And it hit harder than a Crucio ever could have.

Draco. Dead. At midnight. Wait... Why did he care? No more Draco, no more insults, no more underhanded Slytherin pranks directed solely at him... no more competition at Quidditch... no more... just no more.

Draco had wronged him... many times in fact. Yet, Draco had been the first wizard he had ever come in contact with that didn't acknowledge the fact that he was... well, different. Draco had extended a hand of friendship to Harry, albeit rudely. But... he hadn't really been rude to Harry... just to Ron.