6
Charlie sat in deep silence beside Draco’s bed, his forehead lined with worry. He had been through many difficult moments in his life, but nothing had struck him as deeply as what lay before him now. Draco, pale and motionless, seemed trapped in a world Charlie couldn’t reach. Even though the healers had assured him that Draco would recover, there was still that relentless knot in his chest. It felt as though he could barely breathe. Why do I feel this way? Charlie thought, though he knew exactly why.
Draco’s face was almost as pale as the sheets he lay on, and the faint movements of his chest were the only signs that he was still alive. Alive…, Charlie thought bitterly. Life seemed so fragile, so fleeting in these moments. He kept replaying the moment when Vulcan had attacked them. The deafening roar of the dragon, the shimmering flames that had wound through the air like a living nightmare, and then that moment – when everything could have ended. But it had been Draco who had saved him. It should have hit me, the thought shot through his mind again. The idea was like poison gnawing at his soul.
Draco had saved him without hesitation, and now he lay here. Could I have done more? It was a question that wouldn’t leave Charlie. Could I have protected him?
Suddenly, the heavy silence of the room was interrupted by a noise. The door flew open, and Leaf rushed in, his eyes wide as if he bore news that would change the world. “Charlie!” he called, breathless and red-faced. It was rare for Leaf to lose his composure like this, and that alone made Charlie’s stomach churn.
“It’s Vulcan. He’s dead.”
The words hit Charlie like a blow. His head snapped up, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. “What?” His voice sounded hollow, as though someone had pressed the air from his lungs. “What do you mean – dead?”
“He just collapsed,” Leaf explained breathlessly, his hands shaking uncontrollably. “It happened so fast. No one could do anything. We tried to stabilize him, but it was too late. He… he’s gone.”
Charlie stood there for a moment, unable to react. Vulcan… dead? It made no sense. Vulcan was an ancient force, a dragon who embodied legend in flesh and blood. How could such a creature simply die? Dragons didn’t just die. They were indomitable, powerful, shaped by the world itself. And yet… he was dead.
Before Charlie could respond, the silence of the room was broken again. This time, however, it wasn’t the door but a soft, almost imperceptible sound. A groan. Charlie whirled around and saw Draco stirring beneath the sheets. It was a tentative movement, barely more than a tremble, but it was enough to give Charlie a glimmer of hope. “Draco?” he whispered, his voice now gentle, filled with unspoken emotion.
Draco’s Perspective:
Draco fought his way through the thick fog of his consciousness. Everything felt foreign, as if he were no longer in his own body. His head throbbed, a dull, aching rhythm that prevented him from thinking clearly. The world around him was blurry, shadows and light merging into an unclear picture. Yet the pounding in his head reminded him that something had happened – something terrible.
He could remember the dragon. Vulcan. And… the dream.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking against the dim light of the room. Everything felt strange, as though he had been thrown into another reality. He felt the pain coursing through his body, a constant, dull ache that refused to fade. What happened? His thoughts were scattered, like leaves dancing in the wind, unable to find a solid place.
A voice pulled him out of his trance. “Draco?”
He turned his head to the side and recognized the familiar figure sitting beside him. Charlie. His face was filled with concern, his eyes slightly red, as though he had been watching over him the entire time. Something about that sight made Draco’s chest tighten. Why is he here? he thought fleetingly. But before he could ponder it further, he felt the scratch in his throat. “Charlie?” His voice sounded foreign, fragile, as if he hadn’t spoken in days – maybe weeks.
“What… what happened?” he asked softly. It was as though he had to force the words through dense fog, they felt so heavy.
Charlie hesitated, as though unsure where to begin. His eyes searched Draco’s before he finally spoke. “You… saved me,” he said, and his voice was so soft it barely carried the weight of the words. “Vulcan hit you. You were so close… but we managed to knock him out. You saved all our lives, Draco.”
The words echoed in Draco’s mind, but they felt like distant echoes, too far for him to grasp. His brow furrowed deeply as he tried to remember. “Vulcan?” he whispered.
Charlie nodded, but his eyes darkened. “He’s dead.”
Draco felt his heart skip for a moment. “Dead?” he repeated, incredulous. How could Vulcan be dead? “But… how?” The thought of the ancient dragon, who had delivered that final, devastating blow, was still fresh in his memory.
“We don’t know,” Charlie replied, shaking his head slightly, as though trying to make sense of the incomprehensible himself. “He just collapsed. The healers are examining him, but they have no answers.” His voice grew quieter, almost reverent. “You showed incredible courage, Draco. Without you… I might be dead now.”
Draco felt the words bouncing off him. They seemed meaningless, distant, as though he weren’t really present. Instead, his thoughts returned to something else. The dream.
He could feel it again – the flames, the heat, the roar of the ancient dragon. He had spoken to him, in a language Draco was only now beginning to understand. The words echoed over and over in his mind: The gift. Something ancient, something lost had awakened in him when he had looked into the dragon’s eyes. But what did it mean?
“Draco?” Charlie’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. His eyes were filled with concern, full of unspoken words. “I… I’ll let you rest now.” For a moment, Charlie seemed unsure, as though he wanted to say more, but then he only nodded and slowly stood up.
Draco watched him as he left the room. What does all this mean? His thoughts crashed over him like waves breaking against a fragile shore. Why am I still alive? Why didn’t Vulcan kill me?
When the door closed behind Charlie, the room was quiet again. Draco lay in the darkness, and the soft throbbing in his head grew louder once more. But deeper than the pain was the feeling of confusion raging within him. The memories of the dream, the words of the ancient dragon, all of it had seared itself deep into his soul.
The gift has awakened in you, the dragon had said. A gift that has been lost for a long time.
But why had he been chosen? What had connected him to the dragons? These questions burned within him, but even more unsettling was the sudden realization that he felt drawn to Charlie – in a way he didn’t fully understand yet. Charlie hadn’t just been a friend. There was something deeper, something Draco couldn’t grasp, but it stirred him inside. What was that between them?
The silence in the room seemed oppressive, and Draco felt himself slowly slipping back into an uneasy sleep. But even in his dreams, he found no peace. The images of dragons and burning flames haunted him, and again and again, he heard the words of the ancient dragon that wouldn’t let him go.