Harry Potter 1. Black Day

~He stood~  
  
Disclaimer: No money. No castle. Not mine.  
  


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This day's black fate on moe days doth depend; This but begins the woe that others must end.  
-Romeo & Juliet  
  


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~Chapter 1~  
  
He stood there, staring at the tomb. 1986-2004. Only seventeen years, it wasn't right, she deserved much more than those seventeen years, much more than the sadness that filled it, much more than a death like that, much more than him.  
  
He'd loved her; with a feeling stronger than any he'd ever known. And much to his surprise, she had loved him too. They were so happy together. They'd kept their relationship secret because she said it was too special to have other people carelessly gossiping about. So they met at night often, by the lake. He remembered those precious nights, with a bittersweet nostalgia; for one of those nights had ended in her death.  
  
It was an accident. How could life be so fragile as to end with the simple misreading of a label? She had told him she had a terrible headache and he had offered to get her a pain-relieving potion. He searched through the shelves in the dim light and picked up a small bottle that said Headache. Perfect! He ran back out and gave it to her; she smiled, gave him a kiss and took a sip.  
  
After her body had gone cold, he stared at the bottle in shock. What he had read as headache in the bright moonlight, now said heartache; but even then, how could it cause this? He shattered the bottle; it's contents dripping into the lake, the bits of glass sparkling dimly through the grass several feet away. Later he found out that the heartache potion was a powerful potion, it made the drinker relieve all of their saddest memories, until that's all they knew and they lost their will to live, their heart simply stopped working. It worked quickly and was nearly undetectable. It was generally illegal, however it was used in education like Veriserum. It used to be used in the execution of criminals.  
  
He'd been in such a state of shock that he didn't even know how he'd gotten back to his dorm. When he woke up, his knuckles were raw from pounding the wall and his face was stiff with tears and all he could remember was shattering the bottle. He dazedly made his way to the shower, falling into routine without thinking. He must have gotten up late again, for most of the boys were gone. He felt the cold water dripping down his face, along with his own salt tears and he punched the wall. How could he have just left her there!? She was dead and there could be no help for her, but she deserved more than being discovered by some first year student all alone. He turned the shower off, changed, and rushed out towards the entrance. As he passed the Great Hall, he was disturbed by its silence. It was filled with most of the students, yet none were eating their food or talking with their friends. They all stared at Dumbledoor with looks of horror, shock, or grief.  
  
He turned towards the doors; he'd figure all that out later, right now, he needed to be out there with her. As he reached towards the knob, he heard her name being whispered. He walked back towards the Great Hall and caught snippets of whispered conversation. "murder" "poison" "death-eater." He walked towards his table and sat down as Dumbledoor spoke once more.  
  
" I know this is shocking, but I assure you, we will discover the culprit. You need not fear for your safety, an investigation is already under way. There will be a memorial service for Miss Chang this afternoon. As it is, classes have been canceled and you are all to stay inside the castle until we have this sorted out."  
  
The rest of the day was a blur for him. He wondered through it with one thought chasing through his head. In two days it was her birthday and he'd already bought her present. While he pondered the weight of this one thought, the rest of the situation eluded him. And thus it came, that evening Dumbledore reported the culprit caught and the grounds safe. He wondered how this could be, here he sat and not once had they spoken to him. Perhaps, they wished to hear him say it himself. He was on his way to Dumbledore's office when he was met with a sight that equally haunts his mind. A boy his age was being restrained by two aurorors as a third snapped his wand. The boy struggled, protesting his innocence, but his captors merely laughed. The boy pleaded to speak with his parents who he was certain could fix this. "They've disowned you, boy. They didn't come to the trial and they certainly aren't launching an appeal. You're just lucky we didn't have enough evidence to convict. As it is you are forever banned from the wizarding world." The man paused, smiling the other two, "It's about time we got rid of some mini death-eater trash." They put a silencing spell on the boy who now had tears streaming down his face.  
  
Back in the cemetery, the man wondered from the grave of his long-dead love, to the grave of the second person whose life he'd ruined.  
  
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	2. The Friendless

  
  


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Here I stand before the men  
Who will soon decide my fate  
The room is cold, despite the heat  
They glare at this dirt below their feet  
The good, the brave, the righteous  
Calling, lusting for my blood  
I plead my case, but now I'm tired  
No one cares, no one ever did  
They could never see the truth I hid  
Now, when the time has come,  
I ask for their trust and mercy  
They have none to waste  
On anyone like me.  
  


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~Chapter Two~  
  
Draco Malfoy. 1987-2004. Sixteen years old. He too had died mere days from his birthday. Unlike Cho's funeral there had not been inconsolable weeping family members. There had been no shocked friends, confronted with the reality of death. There had been no one at all.  
  
He remembered the day after Malfoy had been cast out. He had wanted to go and tell them that they'd been wrong, that it was all an accident and it was his fault. He hadn't though, he'd been too afraid. He'd been afraid of loosing his friends, afraid of hurting his family, afraid of ending up like Malfoy. He too had never been to the muggle world; he knew he'd never last. And so he had kept silent. He was unworthy of his house.  
  
A four years later the final war had begun. Many had died, many of his friends and many of his enemies. And many people who he thought were enemies, but helped win the war. Harry had died defeating Voldemort, as he always knew he would. Dumbledore had died soon after, having spent all of his energy helping make that possible. Snape had been discovered and executed. His father had been killed along with many other ministry members. So many deaths, one forgotten boy meant little.  
  
Somehow Dumbledore's pensieve had come into his possession. He had looked at it curiously and found himself falling into a memory. It was Malfoy's trial. He watched as they dragged the blonde boy in and sat him before the gamit. He shivered under their cold gazes.  
  
"Draco Malfoy, you are being charged with murder in the first degree. How do you plead?" A tall dark haired witch inquired.  
  
"M-m-murder?" The boy repeated unbelievingly. "But, I never did anything like-I couldn't-" He broke off, unable to think clearly.  
  
The woman frowned. "How do you plead?" She repeated impatiently.  
  
"I, uh, i-innocent! I'm innocent!" He declared loudly, and then started as if the volume of his reply startled him.  
  
"Indeed. Mr. Tiggle, will you please present the evidence?" The witch addressed a small, balding man who nodded and stood up.  
  
"Exhibit Number One" He pulled out the mediwitch's report. "Cause of death, consumption of a deadly poison, namely heart break potion. This is a very difficult potion to brew; only someone very skilled at potions could brew this. Mr. Malfoy at the top of his class in this particular subject. He is very capable of brewing said potion."  
  
"Exhibit Two, time of death" He said indicating it upon the report. "Mr. Malfoy's dorm mates report that he was in fact, not in bed at the time."  
  
" Other evidence includes the well-known animosity between Mr. Malfoy and Harry Potter. Due to several articles in the Daily Prophet, Mr. Potter's infatuation with the deceased is well known. It is highly plausible that Mr. Malfoy killed this poor girl in an attempt to wound Mr. Potter emotionally."  
  
The small man having presented his evidence took his seat. Another man stood up. This man had close cropped coal black hair and a frown upon his face that seemed to indicate he was not happy to be here.  
  
"Exhibit One is moot. No one saw Mr. Malfoy brew the potion and the ingredients have not been discovered in his possession. There are also several others with the ability to brew this potion; Professor Snape the potion's master, Madame Pomphrey the school nurse, and Hermione Granger close second to Mr. Malfoy in the class."  
  
Mr. Tiggle's counter to this was that Snape testified to not brewing the potion in years, Madame Pomphrey's potion knowledge generally ran to healing brews and antidotes, while having extensive knowledge of harmful brews, she herself has never made one; and Hermione Granger had an alibi and has been the perfect student for six years.  
  
" Mr. Malfoy though in possession of a slightly troublesome record has never physically attacked anyone."  
  
Mr. Tiggle brought up the incident in which he had brought out his wand to curse Harry in his fourth year, conveniently leaving out the fact that he was provoked.  
  
The trial continued, all his past altercations with the Trio were brought up. The fact that it was childish rivalry was not important to Tiggle. The fact that he had been rather subdued this year was also ignored. In the end, the evidence had been too circumstantial and no conviction could be made. However, Tiggle had argued that there was enough suspicion that he should be expelled from Hogwarts. The gamit had agreed whole-heartedly, eager to weed out this troublesome death-eater spawn. They chose a much stronger punishment. Banishment.  
  
Malfoy had pleaded with them. He told them he was in the library at the time. But as he'd snuck in after curfew without any witnesses this was cast aside. He told them how he'd matured this year, he hadn't had one fight, and he hadn't even called anyone a name this year. That was all schoolyard squabbles. He'd never given anything they couldn't take and they'd always gotten him back. He was no different then their precious Gryffindors. These claims were all met with derisive laughter. They had dragged him out protesting all the way. And that was where the memory ended.  
  
The former Gryffindor shook his head. All of Malfoy's claims had been true. He really was not much worse then they had been. They'd never treated him as anything better than scum and he'd acted that way. Years later upon reflection, he had realized the Malfoy had acted as he did for a reason. He'd mirrored his father in hopes of winning his love, but upon discovering his father had no love to give, he had grown a bit nastier in his fifth year. After that summer though, with his father not present he had been given time to think for himself apparently. In fact, he had seemed to mature quite a bit that year, he wasn't running out to play big brother to first years or anything, but he'd defiantly mellowed.  
  
Truly, though, it was not right what they had done. Hermione was just as good at potions, but she was not even suspect. They had found Malfoy and stopped looking even before they found any kind of 'evidence.' They would have never been so close-minded with a Gryffindor, or a Hufflepuff, or even a Ravenclaw. Slytherin however, was a different story. All the students in that house were nasty, vile, and cruel. That's why all the other houses tried their best not to associate with any of them. Now he realized that this treatment is exactly what made them act the way they did. People looked at them with disgust without getting to know them. Who wouldn't be bitter? He didn't even know what most of them were really like; he'd never even tried actually talking to a Slytherin. He frowned sadly thinking of the spies who'd put their lives on the line. Voldemort had never even suspected, most of the Order hadn't either. He remembered the agonized cries that had floated through the air towards their camp one night as Voldemort had tortured one of these traitors to the dark. They had to die to get the respect of the good guys.  
  
If only they'd listened sooner, they could have spared more lives. They could have converted more lost souls. Their prejudice had blinded them. It was far too late for ifs.  
  


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A/N : Thanks to my one reviewer : ) I hope this is much easier to read, it certainly wasn't one block paragraph when I wrote it. I'm still trying to figure out format on FFN. This poem's by me, it's temp. title is "Blood" Please don't copy cause it's my shortest poem yet and I'm really proud. : ) 


	3. Rationalization

The most effective way to silence our guilty conscience is to convince ourselves and others that those we have sinned against are indeed depraved creatures, deserving every punishment, even extermination. We cannot pity those we have wronged, nor can we be indifferent toward them. We must hate and persecute them or else leave the door open to self-contempt.  
  
- Eric Hoffer  
  
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~Chapter Three~  
  
He had kept his silence for most of that year. Safe in his rationalization that Malfoy'd had it coming. Now he was just one less enemy to fight. However, nearly eight months later, after school had broken for the summer he found himself in a muggle park. The same exact park that the Daily Prophet reported was where Malfoy had seen the last of the wizarding world. He sat on a bench, without a clue as to how he got here. And looked around the place where the righteous had cast his enemy.  
  
He stood up and started walking towards the city. Soon he found himself in the crumbling district of the downtown. He gazed down the street, curiously watching the muggles going about their daily routine. Cars rolled slowly down the street, a man jogged while talking on a cell phone, and a helicopter whirred above the skyline. He watched this all in fascination.  
  
As he walked, the buildings became even more cramped and dilapidated. He saw several scruffy drunk men sitting on the curb, eyes glazed over. He saw two boys in an alley with straws stuck up their noses as they sniffed a sugary white substance. He saw young men and women with forced smiles, wearing tightly fitting clothes that left little to the imagination. Some were very young, teens and preteens with the gaudiest make-up in a poor attempt to cover their age. He frowned; these are the kinds of things you'd find in Knockturn Alley.  
  
Several of the older ones looked at his strange apparel in curiosity, but turned their attention to other prospects quickly upon seeing the frayed edges of his robes. However, a young boy and a girl sidled up to him hopefully.  
  
The girl, smiled up at him, her short brown hair stiff with hairspray and her teeth yellow for lack of a toothbrush. "What's you're taste, luv?  
  
She asked putting her hand on his arm while the boy did the same on the other side. The young wizard gaped at her, unsure how to reply his disgust mixed with pity and confusion. He looked at the boy and started, even he was wearing the same gaudy make-up and his hair stuck up in stiff spikes. He tried to shrug them both off. They clung on with tenacity not willing to give up quite so soon.  
  
"Look, kids, I'm not interested. In fact, I'm actually kind of lost. Could one of you tell me how to get back to the park?" The two preteens frowned and jumped away as if burned.  
  
"Oh, I see, just come for a little sight seeing have you?" The boy spat at him angrily.  
  
"No, I just-"  
  
"Go away! Get out of here, we don't want you charity or your pity!" The girl interrupted equally angry.  
  
Disturbed by their out bursts and the threatening looks he was getting from the other locals he turned, trying to get away as quickly as possible. He was in such a hurry; he didn't see the other person until it was too late. He slammed into the slightly smaller form, knocking them both sprawling.  
  
As he picked himself up, he heard one of the two voices that had haunted his dreams for most of the year.  
  
"What the bloody hell are you doing here?!"  
  
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A/N: I wasn't really sure if I should leave it here, but I don't want my chapters too long, so... Thank you all for your reviews, I am so thrilled. * blushes * I wanted to get someone to beta it, but she was busy, so I hope ya like that rest of the story. 


	4. Blind

Tell me, why are we too blind to see, that the ones we hurt are you and me?  
  
-Coolio, Gangster's Paradise  
  
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~Chapter Four~  
  
He remembered gazing at his former classmate in shock. Draco Malfoy stood glaring at him indignantly. His blonde hair was now short, it looked a little uneven as if he'd taken scissors and cut it himself. He was thin and gaunt and had a look of hunger in his eyes that so many others in this area displayed. His cheeks were flushed with what could be exertion or fever.  
  
"Come to gloat did you? Well, where are the rest of your goody-goody friends?" Malfoy dusted off his ragged muggle clothes. It was almost laughable seeing the pureblood in a pair of patched jeans and a loud Hawaiian with no buttons over a ripped black turtleneck. However, his much too thin form left little room for laughter.  
  
"I-I'm lost. " He replied rather dumbly. He didn't know why he was so surprised, after all, isn't this what he had been hoping for? Why else would he have come to the park if not to look for Malfoy?  
  
"Lost." Malfoy snorted raising an eyebrow. " Still as bright as ever, I see. Well, are you going to get your jollies or just stand there catching flies? Figures, you Gryffindors can't even kick a man when he's down with any kind of finesse."  
  
" Oh, but you're great at it, I'm sure." Said Gryffindor answered finally finding his voice.  
  
"According to people like you, that's all I'm good at." Malfoy answered mockingly.  
  
"That and being Daddy's little lap dog." He sneered back at the former Slytherin, then immediately regretted it as hurt flashed in Malfoy's eyes. How could he say that after the way Malfoy's parents had abandoned him like they had?  
  
"I don't have time for this." Malfoy whirled around and started walking away.  
  
"Wait, I'm sorry!" He yelled, running after Malfoy.  
  
Malfoy turned.  
  
"You are saying sorry to me? Did I hear right? Have I been some how transported to an alternate dimension? Have I been in a coma for six years and now my grasp on sanity is starting to slip? A Gryffindor apologizing to a Slytherin, oh, and not just any Slytherin, the bitter childhood enemy of Harry Potter the bloody boy-who-will-save-the-world. Why the very epitome of evil himself-" Malfoy broke off from his dramatic tirade and sighed. " You know, I really don't have time for this. Go play your little practical joke or do your little good deed for the year somewhere else. I don't need you hassling me and I certainly don't need any of your misguided pity."  
  
"I didn't come here for any of that." Malfoy just turned to leave, and glared back with anger and frustration when he was pulled back to face his most current pit in the cherry bowl of life.  
  
"Look!" Malfoy shouted with exasperation. " My life is miserable. Is that what you came looking to hear? Well, you can leave now and laugh with all your friends at how I make barely enough money to eat, singing and selling drawings like some circus reject. How I spend my days dodging pimps who think I'm "sweet looking."How I spend my nights in an abandoned warehouse hoping no cops come looking for squatters. How my one and only friend, yes friend, has been missing since last night and I don't know if she starved to death, od'ed, or got picked up. So you can go back to Hogwarts and tell them all about how much my life is hell. How this finally proves how much better than me you all always knew you were. Meanwhile, I have to go find the one person in my life who ever had the courage to take a chance on me."  
  
As Malfoy walked away from him, he could only watch while one dumb thought echoed in his head. "I didn't know Malfoy could sing."  
  
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A/N: I know the whole Malfoy as a street busker may may sound kind of funny, but he has way too much pride to be a prostitute or into drugs unless it was the ultimate last resort, plus he has no marketable jobskills, so.... Also, someone mentioned that the canon birth dates are more 79/ 80ish, but I changed it cause otherwise they seem too old to me, especially for a story that hasn't ended yet. So sorry if that bothers anyone. I hope you liked this chapter. : ) 


	5. Burning Guilt

We never see the pain we cause  
  
Until the moment has passed us by  
  
And it's far too late to dry tears  
  
As inside-  
  
We both die.  
  
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~Chapter Five~  
  
Back in the present the man stared sadly at the barren grave. He almost wished he could put some flowers on it, to make up in some part, for what he'd done. He couldn't though, the act seemed so hypocritical it was an act of desecration, after all, it was his fault there was a grave at all. In more ways than one.  
  
After Malfoy had walked away from him, he'd been determined to go and apologize or something. No one deserved a life like that. Especially when it was neither his fault nor his choice. However, as he had steeled himself to go after the blonde boy, a hand had reached out to grab him.  
  
"How in the world did you get here? You father and I have been worried sick! Honestly, to find you in a place like this." His mother shuddered as her eyes roamed the crumbling buildings lined with the dredges of muggle society. She pulled him into an alley and with a pop they were back at home.  
  
When he had gotten home he had been lectured and grounded. That night he lay in his room thinking about Malfoy. He kept remembering his final angry words. Malfoy had really thought that he'd come to laugh at him. To have so little faith in your fellow men is terribly tragic. And then the bit about a friend. He was right. None of them had ever taken a chance on him. The very first day of school they'd judged him by his name and he had little other strength at that age but to let it shape him.  
  
Now that he really though about it, Malfoy was much stronger than they'd ever suspected. To have lasted so long in an unfamiliar world with no skills, no money, and basically no clue was amazing. Especially after the emotional damage he must have suffered. His parents throwing him to the side like he was nothing and being banished for a crime that he hadn't even committed, that he hadn't even been convicted of; this all would have completely shattered the weak useless snob they all thought he was. There must be a lot about Malfoy no one ever knew, a lot he'd never shown, never been able to show.  
  
Thoughts like these filled his head all night and he got little sleep. The next day he had tried to sneak out, intent on finally admitting the truth and clearing Malfoy's name. He'd been caught though, receiving another lecture and dish duty by hand. Several attempts, several lectures, several chores, and a magically sealed bedroom door later; he finally gave up for the day. He settled himself down on his bed and tried to make up for the sleep he hadn't gotten the night before.  
  
Disturbing images quickly found their way into his dreams. Heart-wrenching images of Cho dead. Bittersweet images of Cho's last kiss. Recurring images of a wand breaking. And guilt laden images of a ragged Malfoy. It was when the image turned into both Cho and Malfoy lying dead that he woke up with a gasp.  
  
He sat down to write a letter, feeling he shouldn't wait. As he sat there though, no words came to him. How does one explain something like this? He finally decided after three hours of staring at a blank sheet of parchment that this was far too complicated and far too important to just mail to somebody.  
  
Several weeks later, he was finally released. The first thing he did was make his way to the Phoenix head quarters where he knew he'd find Dumbledore. As he entered he heard Dumbledore in mid conversation.  
  
"I am very sorry Severus, but I have some terrible news for you."  
  
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A/N: I'm sure everyone already knows what that news is. * cries * I hate bad news, but that's all that Snape ever seems to get. Poor, poor Snape, he has the makings of a tragic hero. Oh, and the poem at the top is mine and someday I will make a vast fortune off of it mwhahahahhaah...not. 


	6. Ends v Means

A change is slow in coming  
  
My eyes can scarcely see  
  
The rays of hope come streaming  
  
Through the smoke of apathy  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ May the spirit never die  
  
Though a troubled heart feels pain  
  
When this long winter is over  
  
It will blossom once again  
  
-Loreena McKennitt, Breaking the Silence  
  
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~ Chapter Six~  
  
His heart still burned remembering that conversation. It was the only time he'd ever seen the potions master show any emotion besides bitterness and disdain.  
  
" It has been reported that Draco Malfoy dead. It appears he had a friend who had a problem with drugs. When she had no money to pay her dealer off... Draco died trying to save her."  
  
Dumbledore's words were gentle and the last sentence was spoken with a sense of wonderment.  
  
" This is all your precious arurors' faults. I told you. I told you he was a good boy deep inside. He was better last year, even Potter's little gang noticed. Just when I thought I might have a chance to save him, you self- righteous bastards cast him out based on house labels and childish behavior."  
  
Snape's voice was choked with sorrow and anger.  
  
" Severus, a girl died, we had to do something. He was the most likely suspect at the time."  
  
"But you never proved it!"  
  
Before Dumbledore could make any further comment, the now slightly trembling student, gathered his Gryffindor courage, finally, and walked in. Both professors stared at him in surprise, but Snape was the first to react.  
  
"What are you doing here?" He shouted, intent on spending his anger on the intruder, even as tears glistened in his eyes.  
  
" I came to fix it, but...I came too late." He answered sadly.  
  
" Is there something that you wish to tell us?" Dumbledore asked as gently as he could.  
  
"The truth." Soon he found himself telling them all about himself and Cho. How Harry had grown disinterested after fifth year. How she had changed, become less sad and more interested in the future. How he had charmed her in his clumsy way. How happy they'd been. Then he told them about The Night. He stared at his hands, as he talked, unable to look them in the eyes.  
  
Snape had exploded. He'd never been so enraged in his life. Dumbledore tried to calm him.  
  
" Nothing can be done yet, Severus. We need everyone working together right now and something like this will cause a scandal. It'll loose us the trust we've just been gaining from some of the younger Slytherins."  
  
" So what, the end's justify the means?" Snape snapped back his voice heavy with emotion.  
  
" I'm afraid so, we need everyone together, we need the Slytherins, we need the houses working together. And we need Harry, with all his friends together to support him. I'm sorry but we cannot do anything about it yet."  
  
"So he just lies in a muggle graveyard, forgotten and with his name walked all over like that, while his murderer gets off scot free?"  
  
"Not free, I know his guilt will do little to satisfy you, but I promise you, as soon as the war is over, this will be rectified."  
  
It hadn't though. Both Dumbledore and Snape had died, heroes of new myths and legend. The rest of the world was too busy trying to reconstruct a whole society to bother with one ruined life in the midst of so many. No one had even noticed when Draco's tombstone had appeared alongside the rest of his perished classmates. He'd done that much for him, though he knew it'd never be enough.  
  
"The ends justify the means"  
  
In the end they had all been children who'd died too soon, who'd never truly had a chance to live. Here he stood, living but wishing he were with all the ones he'd loved. He knew no matter what side you were on, that in the end, it was really just... the end.  
  
For him too, this was the end, he wished much better for the future generations. He turned and left, his slightly graying red hair glistening in the fading sunlight like crimson blood.  
  
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A/N: Wow, the end. It turned out a little different then I expected. See, this is why I write poems instead, less opportunity to ruin the end. Obviously, Ron is the narrator, which is funny, cause I actually started off thinking it was like Seamus or a less main character. Oh, well. Um, hope it's not too bad. Thanks for the reviews. : ) 


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Harry Potter, Angst, Tragedy