Night Sky

He had written his woefully short story in the darkness of nights. This night was the final chapter.

Many a times, strangling oneself seemed much better than coming back. Their insults, their jeers, their pranks... It was sickening.

"Death Eater," they chanted in a ceaseless manner.
It seemed as if those two words had become his life. Stuck on him like his (now) infamous surname.

He should have never come back and he should have hidden in his home like the coward he was, he thought. Everything he was familiar with had been distorted irreparably. The hunter had become hunted; the bully had become the meek victim. What shattered him was the fact that all of his tormentors were right when they viciously remarked, "You deserve to die, you Death Eater scum."

He had have enough of this miserable existence. At first, it had been like a dream come true - at sixteen years old he had been Voldemort's youngest Death Eater and he was about to do something great - kill Albus Dumbledore. Albeit, the circumstances that had led him to this opportunity had not been great, but still, Draco was proud that he had been chosen to carry this out. Slowly, the dream had become a hellish nightmare. How the hell had he been supposed to bring in a horde of Death Eaters into the Castle? How was he to repair the unrepairable vanishing cabinet? His family had been at stake.

They would never understand...

His fellow schoolmates (everyone of them, really) were doing their best to make him shrivel up and die everyday. A few bystanders sent him sympathetic looks from the corners, but they knew better than to interfere and become known as 'traitors'. So tonight, under the cloudy and unlit night sky, he was going to end it all. His plodding led him towards the high Astronomy Tower slowly and steadily.

They could never understand what he had gone through. How could they? They were children of happy and unbiased families. Not that he wanted to help them understand. They did not listen to him anyway. The cold night air pressed on him as he hugged his robe tightly around himself. It was a long walk. It was his last walk.

He thought of a certain girl he used to torment a long time back. Is this how she felt - useless, depressed and alone when he insulted her? Fierce brown eyes and wild, bushy hair filled his imagination on his lone walk up the stairs. Secretly, he had used to like her courage a lot. However, appearances had to be kept and he could not have done a single good thing for her. Now he had lost his chance of talking in friendly tones with her forever.

His life was tragic game and he was a mere pawn in a shameful scheme.
The steps to the top were dark and damp. The sound of his steps echoed and reverberated throughout the passage, reminding him of the time he had been last there. He had climbed the steps fearfully, not wanting to do it at all. His mind had screamed an anguished last cry to turn back. But he had not.

Now he was climbing with a heart full of golden hope and not fear, for he was sure that whatever lied after falling from that height was better than his miserable present. He was going up the stairs almost pleasurably - for it was a treat for him to jump down his death.

As soon as he reached the top, various memories invaded his mind. The cold night air was further forcing him to remember some of the most fateful days of his life. He remembered the night when he had received the condemned mark.

He saw the night he had been assigned to kill. After viewing that one, he was lost in the memory of the night when the Boy Who Lived had cut him up. He should have died right then, he thought sadly. His life was written in vivid nights full of nasty scenes. At last he reached the edge. The night which had led to his present abysmal state played in him front of him.

He had grabbed his wand weakly, trying to mutter the unforgivable killing curse. He saw himself stuttering, eyes bloodshot, body appallingly weak. The old man in front of him had been anything but fearful.

"Good evening, Draco," Dumbledore had said, sounding as calm as the night air surrounding them. He clearly remembered himself replying, "Don't you understand, I have to kill you, or he's going to kill me!"

That night seemed faraway. He should have let himself be killed. Anything was better than being endlessly taunted for a thing he had not willingly carried out. Anyone had never cared to see his inner light. So lost was he in his sorrowful dwellings of his past, that he never noticed the dull sound of pattering footsteps that had been following him for sometime now.

This night, the brilliance of the sky was hidden behind a thick curtain of dark clouds. Even the moon was nowhere in sight.

Just like my life, he remarked internally.

He peered down and saw the unfathomable dark depths that awaited him. But he only saw the promise of a white light beyond them. For it was his firm belief that once he jumped past that veil of dark, he would be able to live amongst goodness. He thought - no - knew that none cared whether he was gone or not.

"No one cares," he said aloud, his voice wavering and full of turmoil and anguish.

"You're wrong. Someone does care," a very familiar voice said from somewhere behind him.

He turned around, startled. "What are you doing here?" he asked, aghast.

The Honorary Prefect of Hogwarts didn't answer him directly and a strange silence reigned for over the two of them for quite some time.

"Looking out for someone," she said at last.

"I don't need your pity Granger. Leave me be," he told her in a voice which he hoped was not betraying his emotions.

"I am not pitying you. I am just saying that I know you're not a great pretender, at least not any longer." She neared him.

"You think you know everything? Eh, Granger? Do you know what it feels to be me - "
"I..." she cut him off but could not continue.

So he quickly continued. "Do you know that someone longed for euphoric happiness for so long that he would rather die than live to get it?"

She stayed silent, not clueless but shocked nonetheless.

"Do you know what it feels it be left alone? No, you don't Granger. So leave my pathetic self alone," he spat.

"Don't do it Draco. I just wanted to say that. For your friends. For your mother, at least. I don't know what it feels to be you or any of the things you mentioned but I know one thing - you're tired silly of pretending." Hermione started to turn away, ready to go.

Something clicked inside him.

"Don't go. Stay."

She stopped. A wry smile graced her lovely face as she faced him once again.
And for once, he swore he saw a faint glimmer of milky moonlight through the dark and thick clouds.

Maybe this night wasn't the final chapter after all.

. . . ...

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