Eighth Year (Drarry Fanfic)

No Ordinary Morning

The weekend passed in a muddled haze for Draco. The reunion with his mother had been bittersweet; his father's forthcoming execution and the sudden summons from the Wizengamot putting a damper on what would have otherwise been a joyous occasion.

Draco had left Hogwarts with nothing but his muddied Quidditch kit, the change of clothes in his rucksack, and his wand. He hadn't been able to return to his room to pack, notify his friends, or even leave a note for Harry. The Head Auror had bluntly refused to allow him to return to the Eighth Year Dorms, citing the risk of further attacks from antagonistic students. The situation had spiraled so completely out of their control that Draco was left reeling, standing on a precipice, overlooking the vast unknown of his future. Perhaps, the only way to fix the situation was to simply cut out the source of the dispute—himself. If he removed himself from the equation, there would no longer be a need to solve the problem. Everything would just cease to exist then.

Draco shivered, despite the Warming Charms and the now ill-fitting cloak that draped loosely over his slender shoulders. His mother had been unhappy about the fact that he had lost more weight. It was understandable, Draco supposed, given the number of meals he had skipped throughout the School Term. He would have ate even less had Harry not been around to forcibly drag him to the Great Hall or the kitchens.

Draco exhaled, numbly watching his breath curl and twist in the chilly air. It was still dark out. The sun had yet to rise, but he and his mother were already awake. They stood, huddled together on the balcony of an unplottable villa that rested atop a steep cliff overlooking Saltburn-by-the-Sea, a small Muggle town and seaside resort. Sleep had evaded them both the entire night, so they idled and watched the stars fade as the darkness of night slowly turned gray; the sea reflecting the stormy hue of Draco's blank gaze.

It was Monday morning of the second week of December.

And come sunrise, Lucius Malfoy would receive the Dementor's Kiss.

Following that, Aurors would be arriving to escort Narcissa and Draco to the Ministry for their appointment with the Wizengamot.

The sky was beginning to lighten. Glimpses of orange streamed just along the horizon, struggling against the oppressive gloom of the early winter sky, turning the clouds burnt-red. Draco watched, detached from it all, as the North Sea ebbed and flowed; the murky waters slowly catching prisms of colour as the sun began its steady ascent.

Draco was suddenly reminded of Harry; his only source of light and warmth, chasing away the shadows that constantly tormented him. It was a poignant reminder, but Draco could no longer afford himself such luxuries.

Narcissa was silent, stoic. She faced the rising sun with quiet dignity and acceptance. Draco held her hand, fingers entwined as the blinding orb of light blazed over the horizon, washing the dull, overcast sky in sweeping strokes of orange, yellow, and red.

"Its time." She whispered.

Draco nodded, squeezing his mother's dainty hand.

Narcissa released a soft exhale as the morning grew increasingly brighter. Her lips moved ever so slightly, soundless; her eyes fluttering close. Draco remained as he was. He had said his goodbyes a long time ago.

Lucius Malfoy was no more.

After a moment, Narcissa opened her eyes and smiled softly, gazing up at Draco; her gaze beautifully clear and finally at peace. "Tea, darling?"

Draco smiled back, pressing a soft kiss onto his mother's perfectly coiffed hair. He led her through the glass double doors, throwing one last glance at the breathtaking scene behind him: the gorgeous sun illuminating everything it touched, breathing life into the shadows—dazzling, warm, beautifully intense. Like Harry.