Freshly Unsorted || A Drarry Story

One: Darkness

Harry knelt on the ground next to Draco's body and sobbing, his salty tears running down his face onto Draco's winter robe, his hands shaking terribly. Oddly, Draco looked paler, as if he was drained. There were no other sounds aside from his sobs because the fighting had stopped. The witches and wizard had been apprehended and Ministry officials had come to retrieve their unconscious bodies.

Theo, who had been preoccupied with a deep cut on his upper arm, which was still bleeding, noticed Draco on the ground and asked innocently, "Does Draco need something?"

Harry sobbed harder and Hermione whispered, "He got hit with a Killing Curse."

Theo stopped and clenched his jaw. He felt his throat tighten as he watched Harry sob, seeing that Draco's sleeve had come up a bit, his Dark Mark somehow gone. He turned his head, seeing Blaise pressed against Neville, tears flowing freely.

Theo snarled and grabbed Draco's limp body, shaking it roughly and asking, "Why, Draco? You were supposed to . . .supposed to be my friend . . ." he trailed off as a sob ripped at his guts, his forehead on Draco's chest.

There was a moment of complete silence before Theo cried out, "There's a heartbeat!"

Ron, who looked shaken up, said sadly, "It's okay, Theo. He's dead."

"No, Weasley!" Theo said. "I can hear it."

Harry placed his hand over Draco's chest and gasped, "He's right!"

Blaise looked at Hermione, his eyes swollen and red. "We have to get him to the castle."

Hermione nodded and told Harry, who was shaking, "We need to levitate him, Harry."

Harry nodded and stepped back, trusting Hermione. He and Blaise walked near Draco and were ready to catch him if anything unexpected happened. Theo, however, shuffled behind.

Draco had his knees to his chest, his hands pressed against his ears, and his silver eyes shut tight. He didn't know where he was or how he got there. One of the only things he remembered was him jumping in front of Harry to shield him from a Killing Curse.

He opened his eyes and saw only black, though it was soft. He couldn't explain that, though. It was fitting that he was alone.

Draco, feeling a sharp pain in his arm, cried out loudly. As tears stung his eyes and as he bit his lip in pain, he rolled up his left sleeve, marvelling at the now perfect skin. No mark . . .

"I heard something. I'm sure of it, " a male voice, deep and kind, said. "I did!"

A woman's voice asked, obviously frustrated, "And, James, what do you think you heard?"

"A voice crying out, " the person named James clarified.

Another male voice, this one deep and rough called out, "Oi, who's there?"

Silence, for Draco was too frightened to speak.

"See?" yet another male voice said, this one much younger sounding. "Nothing."

"I want to check, " another said, and Draco recognized it as Remus Lupin's voice, the Defense against the Dark Arts professor in his third year. But Lupin was dead, wasn't he? He was Teddy's father. Teddy Lupin was an orphan.

"Oh!" Remus exclaimed. Draco seized. "I see someone!"

Draco bit the inside of his cheek and looked upon the face of Remus John Lupin, who was supposed to be dead. Then again, Draco was also supposed to be dead. Where was he?

"Draco?" Remus asked quietly, looking at him in a puzzled way. "What are you doing here?"

Draco said nothing but covered his mouth, his shoulders slumping as if they were trying to consume him.