Cruel and Beautiful World

Chapter 50: Here Comes the Sun

Draco laid very still as soft music continued to play in his ears. While his hands remained firmly by his sides, he could not feel any floor. It was almost as if he was floating. A bright light shined behind his eyelids, forcing him to keep them closed. But then there was a click, followed by the familiar smell of cigarette smoke. Someone inhaled, then breathed out slowly. He was not alone.

Draco was slow to open his eyes, the bright light blinding him for a moment. He blinked several times, his hands clenching and suddenly grabbing sheets. Those had not been there before. Draco turned his head and saw a man sitting on a windowsill while his eyes gazed at something beyond the glass, but all Draco could see was a blinding white light. The man turned. He smiled.

"Rise and shine, mate."

"Bronson ... where are we?"

Bronson shrugged. "Dunno exactly." He looked back out the window. "But it sure is bright."

"What happened?" asked Draco. "Where's Hermione?"

"Not here, thank Merlin," answered Bronson.

Suddenly, so many things were flashing through Draco's mind. The Dark Lord. A war. Potter. A spell. Hermione. And a pain. A horrible, horrible pain. Draco brought his hand up to his chest. Nothing. There was no pain, no wound.

"Bronson ... where are we?" he asked again, tears filling his eyes as he looked desperately at his friend.

Bronson turned back around but he did not answer. Just took another drag of his cigarette.

"Where-are-we?" he demanded.

Bronson sighed. He motioned straight ahead. Draco looked, his tears spilling over as he saw it for the first time. There, right in front of him, was an archway covered by a tattered black veil. The Veil.

"No!"

Draco leapt out of his bed and took several steps away from it.

"I ... I've been here before," he suddenly remembered. "I saw my mother here. She said it was not my time. She promised it was not my time."

And then Draco stopped. Frozen. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

"Bronson ... I remember why I'm here, but you ... why are you here?"

He heard Bronson sigh deeply. "Because I died, mate."

Draco's throat felt like it had been stripped from the inside out. He gulped to try and release the tension, but it only made it worse. His heart ached as he stared at Bronson with wet eyes. "How?"

Bronson stood up from the windowsill. "Theo's father got me."

"But that's impossible. Hermione went to—"

"She didn't get there in time. She tried, and so did Theo and Quigley, but the man wanted me dead. S'alright though. Theo avenged me, and he looked damn sexy doing it." He smirked.

"It's not funny," said Draco. He drew his eyes down to Bronson's cigarette. "Where did you get that?"

Bronson looked down at it and shrugged. "I don't know. I just kind of thought about how nice it would be to have one and poof! There it was." He brought it up to his lips and took another drag. "Oh, sweet nicotine."

"How can you be all right with this?" asked Draco, suddenly feeling angry as he stood there watching Bronson smoke. "This wasn't supposed to happen. You were supposed to make it. You were supposed to be there for Hermione when I died! You were supposed to take care of her, you fucking bastard!"

Draco meant to lunge forward and hit him, but his knees felt weak and collapsed to them instead, cradling his arms around his body and crying hysterically as he thought of Hermione somewhere out there. Alone.