𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎, 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 | DRACO MALFOY

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲. should have known better

She dreamt of flashing lights. The beautiful dancing lights lining in the long rectangular room in the Department of Mysteries. Like the sun reflecting off the Great Lake on a warm Sunday afternoon. Or the night sky stretching across the expansive Scottish countryside surrounding Hogwarts. Greatly beautiful things. Then there where the shorter darker flashes. Bursting from the tips of wands. Cutting through the still air. Flashes of green and red ricocheting across the room. Pain. Horror. Screaming. Silence. "Crucio!"

She dreamt of death. Death was not kind; it was not welcoming; it was not embracing. Death was not kind. It snatched people in the middle of the night, unaware and unassuming. It didn't pretend to care, it didn't pretend to distinguish. The hooded vale of death hung over the world for a long time, always threatening. A mist, with silent steps. Creeping up behind those not ready to leave the living. Meredith always wondered where she'd go after death. The skeleton with a scythe. Heaven or Hell. Reincarnation. Or maybe she'd join one of the Ghosts and stalk the hallways of Hogwarts forevermore. "Crucio!"

She dreamt of platinum hair and steel eyes. Hair woven from silver strands spun with the starlight above. Eyes of smokey grey, stony and dead. A mask, carved in the harshest of black. Billowing robes that blended into the night sky. A cold unfeeling voice echoed through her head, "Now, who may you be?", blasting from all corners, seeping into her every thought. "Crucio!"

But when that ended, the screaming would begin again. A fresh new horror every time. Ripping open wounds before they healed. Leaving permanent scars upon her soul.

Meredith awoke the as the sun broke through the hills, head thrumming and skin prickling, to the sight of a beaten down but smiling Harry Potter. She couldn't help but smile back despite the events of the night before. Despite the horrors that lingered in her mind. Because they were safe now. Safe from the Death Eaters. Safe from the fighting. Safe from the darkness. Safe from Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Hey." She managed to croak out, reaching up to touch her throat which ached slightly, "We won, did we? Beat them up real good?"

He smiled gently, the golden morning light dancing on the tips of his dark hair, "Yeah. The Order came just in time and we managed to stop the Death Eaters but..." He trailed off, expression suddenly darkening and smile fading from his lips. Meredith knew that look; They'd lost someone that night. Someone whom Harry had loved dearly. Loved. She wouldn't pry into it yet, as she knew that it took time for a person to process another's death, the simultaneous pain and numbness that followed, but she squeezed his hand comfortingly, sending across the clear message: "I'm here for you."

"Oh, Meredith! You're awake!" Another voice joined in as Meredith propped herself up a pillow, preparing for more oncoming visitors. Neville, dressed in a fresh set of clothes and arm put in a bandage, hurried over. The swelling in his nose had decreased noticeably and his voice was back to normal.

"You were out cold for so long from the...we almost thought that we..." He trailed off, staring uncertainly at her. The three Cruciatus curses she had endured. Meredith winced, massaging her ribs although there was no physical remainder of the horror inflicted on her the night before. But that pain she felt, the immense and excruciating sense of hopelessness that consumed her for what felt like hours upon hours...would haunt her for the years to come. Like it did in her restless sleep. But she smiled brightly anyways, plastering on a fake grin, causing his face to light up in response, "I'm alright, Neville."

He looked better than ever, a few splotches of red and purple battering his face, but very much unharmed on the outside. She admired him greatly at that very moment. He had gone through the same torture as she did. And yet here he stood, well and proud, while Meredith couldn't find it in herself to be on her own two feet and had to be put on bed rest. Weak, she scolded herself bitterly. Weak and pathetic, Meredith Darling.