When skies are gray
Hermione (present)
The stone floor was cold and unforgiving beneath her bare feet as she sprinted through the echoing darkness, each ragged breath tearing painfully at her lungs. Shadows danced and twisted along the ancient stone walls. She knew these corridors intimately, every twist and turn, but tonight, they felt alien, filled with a desperate energy that set her heart pounding like a drum. Ahead, their archway loomed, its iron door blocking the faint golden light spilling from the chamber beyond. She didn't hesitate as she slammed against the door. She expected the impact to break her bones, but she felt nothing.
Bursting through the door, she blindly reached out, desperate to find him. Her fingers grasped at empty air, searching for the comforting warmth of his skin, the silken texture of his pale blond hair. But there was nothing. A wave of dizziness washed over her, the room, the place where they had shared stolen moments, hundreds of times, dissolved into a swirling vortex of shadows and despair. She was falling, plummeting into an abyss, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped hummingbird. She had to find him, had to reach him, to tell him that she knew, she understood everything now.
With a jarring thud that rattled her bones, she crashed onto solid ground. The impact knocked the wind from her lungs, but as her vision cleared, she realized she was kneeling on soft grass, the oppressive darkness receding, replaced by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the leaves. And there he was, his silver eyes wide with alarm, his familiar features etched with a newfound depth, every line, every subtle imperfection shown with new significance. This was Draco, the Draco of her dreams, merging with the Draco of her reality, the realization was so overwhelming that she swayed on the verge of unconsciousness.
His eyes darted back and forth between hers, but neither of them spoke. Tentatively, she lifted her hand, her trembling fingers tracing the outline of his cheek. He closed his eyes and gently leaned into her touch. His skin felt real and warmth beneath her touch. She poured all her love, all her anguish into that single gesture, tears blurring her vision, each drop conveying the depth of her feelings. His eyes remained tightly closed, as if he couldn't bear to witness the raw emotion on her face. He looked terrified. He had always been there, her anchor, her best friend, a steady light in the darkest corners of her life. And now, the truth was laid bare, the weight of his sacrifices, his silent suffering, crushing her with its intensity.
"It's you," she choked out, her voice thick with tears, the words barely audible above the pounding of her heart.
His eyes shot open, his body rigid with shock, his expression a mixture of disbelief and a pain. A strangled sob escaped his lips, the sound tearing at her soul, a raw expression of grief that nearly split her heart in two. He squeezed his eyes shut again, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
"It's always been you," she whispered, her voice was raw, her words catching in her throat. "Draco…look at me..please.." she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.
He opened his eyes, and they were brighter than she had ever seen them. The shadows that usually clouded them were gone, the barriers he usually erected stripped away, leaving him fully exposed. But the pain was still there, etched into the lines around his eyes, the tightness of his jaw, the tremor of his lips. His gaze darted from her to the figure lying motionless between them.
Arys.
Reality crashed back in, sharp and brutal. Fear gripped her heart, a cold fist squeezing the breath from her lungs, as she looked at Arys. His face was ashen, his eyes dull, but he was still alive.
"Are you angry with us, Hermione?" Arys's voice was a faint rasp, barely audible.
She saw Draco flinch.
"Of course I'm not angry," she said, her voice firm despite the tears streaming down her face.
Draco's tears flowed freely now, his gaze flickering between her and Arys.
With a trembling hand, Arys reached for theirs, his grip weak but insistent, drawing their hands together, entwining their fingers in a final gesture of love and unity.
"I love you both so much," he wheezed, his eyelids fluttering closed, his voice fading into the stillness of the night.
"Arys…please..don't leave us," she cried, her grip tightening on Draco's hand.
Arys's hand went limp, his breathing ceased, his chest still.
Her world tilted, her senses reeling, the ground beneath her feet seeming to dissolve. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Draco's anguished cry, a sound of pure, unadulterated grief that tore at her soul.
A new voice cut through the haze of despair, sharp and commanding.
"Out of my way!!" Lucius’s voice, filled with a frantic urgency. He dropped to his knees beside Draco, pushing him aside, his face etched with a grief that mirrored his son's. Draco seemed lost in shock, his eyes vacant, he looked numb with despair.
"Stupid boy, stupid selfless boy," Lucius murmured, his fingers searching for a pulse in Arys's neck, his voice thick with emotion. "So much like your mother," his voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes.
"Hold onto me!" Lucius barked, his voice regaining its authority, a desperate attempt to take control, to do something, anything. Hermione clung to Draco's hand, reaching for Lucius with her other, her fingers intertwining with his. The world dissolved into a dizzying swirl of colors, and they were gone, apparating away from the meadow, leaving behind the stillness of death and the echoes of heartbreak.
The world shimmered and dissolved, and they materialized in a dimly lit room, the air thick with the scent of unknown potions and decaying herbs. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with dusty books and glass vials filled with strangely colored liquids. Lucius tenderly laid Arys's limp body on a sturdy table in the center of the room. Draco remained by the door, his face ashen, his breaths shallow and rapid.
Lucius, his face etched with a frantic desperation, began tearing through drawers, tossing aside vials and instruments recklessly. Glass shattered against the stone floor, the sharp sounds echoing through the room. Cobwebs clung to forgotten cauldrons, their contents long dried and crusted. The room had an air of neglect, like no one had been here in a long time.
"Lucius, how can I help?" Hermione asked, her voice strained with worry. "Where are we?"
Lucius didn't answer, his focus entirely consumed by his frantic search, his movements driven by a desperate hope that she hoped wasn’t futile. Her gaze swept over the room, taking in the subtle feminine touches – the delicate silver hand mirror resting on a cluttered desk, the tapestry depicting a graceful ballerina hanging on the far wall. Her eyes fell upon a leather bound journal, its gold lettering gleaming in the dim light, "Narcissa Malfoy". This must have been Narcissa's private study, a hidden room within Malfoy Manor, a place where she had likely sought solace and pursued her own magical studies.
Suddenly, Lucius froze, his hand clutching a small vial retrieved from the depths of a drawer. The vial contained a few drops of a crystal clear liquid. He rushed back to Arys's side, his fingers pressing against the pale skin of his neck, searching for the faintest flutter of life.
Sweat beaded on his brow, each drop tracing a path through the lines etched by years of worry and regret, as he pulled another vial from his pocket. This one was different, filled with a swirling, smoky black liquid that seemed to writhe with a dark energy, so much different to the crystal clarity of the first. He held the two vials side-by-side, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
His gaze fell upon Draco, who had crumpled to his knees in the corner, his face pale and drawn, his eyes vacant, his body trembling. A wave of anguish washed over Lucius's face, his usual composure cracking, the mask he had worn for so long fully crumbling. He took a hesitant step towards his son, the vials still clutched in his hand, his expression a mixture of fear and desperate hope.
"My son..." Lucius's voice trembled, the words catching in his throat. He drew a shuddering breath, his composure crumbling completely. "I am so sorry. So terribly sorry. I failed you, both of you. I wasn't the father you deserved." Tears welled in his eyes now. "I loved you and your brother from the moment you were born, more than words can express. But I was weak, a coward. The fear of losing another person I loved consumed me, twisted me, turned me into a shadow of the man I should have been."
He knelt beside Draco, his voice barely a whisper, the words raw with emotion, completely stripped of his usual formality. "I closed myself off, pushed you both away, hoping that by keeping everyone at a distance, I could avoid the pain of loss. But I was wrong, so incredibly wrong. It only caused more pain, more suffering, a gaping wound in our family that could never truly heal." He reached out a trembling hand, wanting to touch his son, to offer comfort, but he hesitated.
"Draco, my son, I love you with every fiber of my being. I love you and Arys more than life itself." His voice cracked, the words heavy with regret, each syllable a painful admission of his failures. "I am so sorry I won't be there to show you, to prove it to you. I am so sorry for everything." He choked back a sob, his shoulders shaking with grief, the once proud and stoic Lucius Malfoy reduced to a broken man, consumed by sorrow and remorse.
"Please, Draco," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation." Tell Arys...tell him I am sorry. Tell him I love him. Tell him I regret every moment I wasted, every harsh word, every cold gesture. Tell him I wish I could have been a better father, a better man." He bowed his head, tears streaming down his face.
He looked up at Draco, his eyes filled with a pleading that tore at Hermione's heart, a plea for forgiveness, for understanding, for a love that he had denied for so long. "Please, son. Forgive me."
Draco sat frozen, his eyes wide with shock and confusion, his mind surely reeling from the sudden outpouring of emotion, the raw vulnerability of his father's confession. Hermione, too, struggled to comprehend the meaning behind Lucius's cryptic words, his sudden outpouring of emotion, the despair that hung so heavily in the air. What had he meant by "not being around"? What was he about to do?
Lucius turned away from Draco, his face hardening with resolve, a decision made, a path chosen. He walked towards Arys's lifeless body, his movements deliberate and measured, each step heavy with finality. Gently, he brushed the dark hair away from Arys's face, his touch surprisingly tender, and kissed his forehead. With a trembling hand, he uncorked the vial containing the clear liquid, tilting Arys's head back and carefully pouring the precious drops into his mouth.
He glanced back at Draco, a sad smile gracing his lips. It looked like a silent farewell. Then, with a resolute expression, he raised the vial filled with the swirling black liquid. His gaze drifted upwards, his lips moving in a silent incantation, the words barely audible. Then his eyes fell upon a framed photograph on the desk, a picture of Narcissa, her radiant smile frozen in time.
"See you soon, my darling," he whispered.
With a finality that chilled Hermione to the bone, he tipped the dark liquid into his own mouth. He closed his eyes, a final tear escaping and tracing a path down his cheek. A soft golden light, like the dying embers of a fading sun, enveloped both Lucius and Arys, their bodies glowing with an ethereal radiance that faded to a gentle pink at the edges, as if life itself was clinging to their forms before surrendering to the inevitable. Lucius collapsed to the floor, his eyes still open, staring blankly at the ceiling, his face etched with a peaceful serenity that death had finally brought him. The light faded, leaving behind an eerie stillness, a silence so profound that it seemed to scream with the finality of loss. He was gone.
Hermione and Draco sat in stunned silence, the weight of what they had just witnessed stealing their breath and crushing their spirits. What had Lucius just done?
Draco slowly rose to his feet, his movements stiff and mechanical, like a puppet with its strings cut, his gaze flickering between his father's still form and his brother's lifeless body. Hermione joined him, her hand reaching out to touch Arys's chest, desperately seeking any flicker of warmth, any hint of a heartbeat, clinging to a hope she knew was futile, a desperate denial of the truth that lay before her. But there was nothing. Only the cold, unyielding reality of death. Draco looked at her, his eyes filled with a desperate hope that withered as he saw her expression, the confirmation of his worst fears reflected in her tear-filled eyes.
He stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall, vials and jars clattering to the floor around him. His eyes darted around the room, wild with panic, the horrifying reality of the situation crashing down upon him, the weight of his loss threatening to crush him beneath its unbearable burden. They were both gone. His father, who had finally revealed the depths of his love, and his brother, who had sacrificed himself for them, were gone, leaving him alone in a world that was suddenly devoid of warmth and light. Whatever Lucius had attempted hadn't worked. He was alone.
Hermione's heart ached for him, the sight of his sorrow tearing at her soul, a mirror of the grief that threatened to consume her. She wanted to scream, to cry, to collapse under the weight of her own grief, to succumb to the darkness that threatened to swallow her, but all she could think about was Draco, his pain eclipsing her own, his suffering consuming her every thought. She moved towards him, her arms wrapping around him in a gentle embrace, offering him the only comfort she could. He buried his face in her neck, his body wracked with sobs that seemed to tear him apart, each sob a fresh wave of agony washing over them.
They clung to each other until their bodies slumped to the cold stone floor, the chill seeping into their bones.The room was silent except for Draco's gut-wrenching cries.
She held him tighter, rocking him gently, desperately trying to offer some comfort, to ease the unbearable pain that devoured his body and soul, to share the burden of his grief, to be his strength in this moment of horror. Finally, her voice broke the silence. She began to sing softly, her voice a trembling whisper.
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray..."
Draco's grip tightened, his sobs growing louder in response to the familiar melody.
"You never know dear, how much I love you..."
He was shaking so violently in her arms that it took all her strength to hold him, to keep her own tears at bay.
"Hermione..." His voice cracked, his face buried deeper into her neck.
"Please don't take my sunshine away," she finished, her warm cheek pressed against his, her tears finally flowing freely, mingling with his.
"Draco, I love you so much," she whispered, "I'm here. I'll always be here."
******
Arys (present)
He sat in the garden, the air around him a balmy caress, the sky was the most brilliant, joyous blue today. Flowers bloomed in a riot of color, a blast of fragrance and life that, oddly, filled him with a sense of unease. A nagging feeling tugged at the edges of his awareness, a whisper of something vitally important that he couldn't quite grasp. He idly plucked velvety petals from a daisy. Leaning back, he let the sun bathe his skin in warmth, trying to lose himself in the simple beauty of the moment.
But the sensation of being watched persisted, a prickle of awareness that drew his attention. Slowly, he sat up.
“Hello,” a woman's voice, melodic and warm, washed over him.
She was bathed in a soft, golden light, and seemed to shimmer with an ethereal glow. Her hair, a cascade of spun sunshine, flowed down her back, each strand glittering with a thousand tiny points of light. Her eyes, the color of a summer sky after a storm, held his gaze with a depth that made his breath catch. Her skin was flawless, radiant, and her smile, a gentle curve of her lips, radiated a love that reached into the deepest corners of his soul. A flowing gown of purest white, almost translucent at the edges, draped her form, its simplicity accentuating her otherworldly beauty.
He felt a warmth bloom in his chest, a sense of recognition that transcended words. “Hello,” he responded, a smile mirroring hers.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked, her voice a soft caress, her hands clasped delicately in front of her.
He searched the depths of his memory, a frustrating sense of almost-knowing teasing him. This felt like a dream, a hazy recollection just beyond his grasp. “I think… I think I do,” he stammered, "but the words... they're lost."
“May I sit?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her eyes as she gestured to the marble bench he sat on.
“Yes, of course,” he replied, scooting over to make room for her.
With an effortless grace, she settled beside him, the movement as fluid as the whispering breeze. He turned to face her, drawn by an inexplicable force, a yearning to be closer, to be enveloped in the warmth of her presence. He wanted to be held, cradled, reassured...
As if reading his thoughts, she reached for his hands, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through him. The love shining in her eyes, so pure and unconditional, threatened to overwhelm him. Tears pricked at his eyes, though he couldn't understand why.
“Oh, Arys,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, “what a spectacular man you have become. I am so very proud of you.”
He leaned into her, drawn by an irresistible force, and she wrapped him in an embrace that felt like coming home. A word, buried deep within his subconscious, rose to the surface.
“Mother?” he mumbled, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
He felt her nod, a gentle movement against his cheek. Tears, now flowing freely, were a mixture of joy and a sorrow he couldn't comprehend.
“You can’t stay here, my sweet boy,” she said, her voice laced with a profound sadness.
He pulled back, confusion clouding his features. “I don’t understand,” he pleaded, searching her eyes for answers.
“It’s not your time, my love,” she explained, her hand gently rubbing circles on his back.
A faint sound, like a whisper on the wind, reached his ears. It grew steadily louder, resolving into a mournful melody. Someone was singing in the distance, a woman's voice filled with grief.
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...” the voice echoed through the garden, each note a tug at his very being.
Arys felt a strange pull, a distortion of gravity itself. He was being drawn backward, away from his mother, toward the source of the singing. He clung to her, desperation clawing at him.
“No, please! I want to stay with you!” he cried.
“We will meet again, my love,” his mother said, her voice breaking as she released him.
He was lifted from the garden, drawn upwards as if by an invisible thread, the world receding below him. He saw his mother, a figure growing smaller with every passing moment, turn towards the towering oak tree. From its depths, where shadows danced and sunlight dripped like liquid gold through the leaves, an older man with pale blonde hair emerged. He seemed woven from the very light itself, his form solidifying from the shimmering rays. Arys knew him, he was sure of it, but his name remained out of reach. The man smiled, a radiant expression of pure joy, and caught his mother as she ran towards him. He lifted her, spun her in a circle, their laughter echoing faintly through the tunnel of darkness that was closing in around Arys.
Then, the world went dark.