"Harry Potter is dead!" Exclaimed The Dark Lord with a flourish.
Every nerve in Draco's body lit up, then shut off. So that's who Hagrid was carrying, stiff and a little too peaceful. Harry Potter is dead.
The phrase resounded through Draco's mind, making a home there and taking root. He began to shake with terror and fury. So many things left unsaid, so many questions left unanswered... there was no hope left for any of them now.
Draco instinctively looked to his mother and saw his own worry reflected there, but she seemed calm somehow. He'd underestimated her resilience. How she could stare evenly back at him, as though trying to communicate something, was earth-shatteringly impressive.
Not him... anyone but him. Why did I bother to save him if he was destined to die? Thought Draco. The answer fell into his blank mind, echoing there. Love. He'd never meant to fall for Harry, but he never was in control of his emotions. Now, the only person he'd ever truly cared for, the only boy who haunted his dreams and nightmares was dead. The sickening eloquence and irony of the situation befuddled Draco's mind, tied up his tongue.
He resisted the urge to run to Harry, to rip him from Hagrid's arms and hold him, hold him like he'd so wished he could. His feet were rooted to the ground, but his heart was with Harry, weeping for all that had been lost. All that had been fought for. All that could have been.
He can hear conversation around him, but he doesn't take in a word of it. He only has eyes for Harry.
"Come, Draco." Says his father. His mother reaches out a hand, as if she could touch him where he was standing. He numbly walked over to his parents, accepting his fate to serve The Dark Lord for the rest of his days. He couldn't bear to look at Harry any longer. He buried his face into his mother's soft embrace, wishing he too were dead. Maybe Harry was the lucky one.
Then, quick as lightning, Harry sprung back to life once again. Draco saw him fall to the ground, but he was up and running before Draco had time to think.
"Potter!" He yelled, the word bouncing readily off of his lips. He threw his wand to Harry, The Boy Who Lived, the boy he loved. Harry caught the wand effortlessly (the seeking git) and shot red sparks behind him as Voldemort gave chase with a mighty roar. Draco could swear there was a mischievous glint in Harry's eye before he turned away. The thought sent sparks shooting through his gut. The ranks dissolved into distressed murmurs. No one knew what to think, or feel. No one but Draco. He felt hope racing through his veins, sharp and cold. Something shifted inside Draco.
To him, Harry Potter was not The Boy Who Lived, but the boy he lived for.
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Not my best.
Time of completion: 10:19am
Word count: 506
