𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑

the one with dumbledore's will

"War doesn't determine who's right or wrong. It determines who's left."

•

AUDENTIS FORTUNA IUVAT.

Audentis Fortuna Iuvat.

Novissima Inimica Morte Victa.

These words floated out of the pitch dark in my nightmare this time, as I stumbled in the pitch black trying to find the source of the voice.

Fortune favours the Brave.

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death.

I don't know how I know what they meant. I just did, and it bothered me that I did. While the second statement was what was written in James and Lily Potter's graves, the first statement rang within my heart and rattled my spirit despite me having never heard it. While the first statement was spoken by a man with a smooth, sly, dangerously sweet voice, the second sentence was spoken by a woman, fierce and strong. I was determined to find out this time who it was but-

"Get up!"

"Get away, Hermione!"

"It's Harry's birthday!"

"No, it's not."

"It is," she laughed. I opened my eyes begrudgingly and noticed Hermione, bright and away, her bushy hair all around, her honey-colored eyes sparkling, and she smelled faintly like the autumn breeze. I sighed. I sat up and threw my feet off the bed, immediately standing and stretching.

"Where is he?"

"Still asleep, I presume," she groaned. "I was just packing."

"Oh," I said, suddenly awake, and the dawning of them leaving looming like a dark black cloud over my head. They're leaving. I got out of the room quickly and went into the shower before the hot water finished. With this many people in the Burrow, privacy was hard to come by. Although I wasn't disappointed when I saw a bed-haired Draco half asleep in the bathroom, washing his face. He looked at me, his eyes puffy from sleep and blanket lines on his arms.

"Good sleep?" I asked. He came hear me and hugged me, nuzzling his face into my once-again-red hair. I squished him back.

"MmHmm," he muttered, and I thought, he's really made of kittens and cotton candy. A distinct image went last my mind of him Imperiusing Yaxley to kill Dolohov and the idea that my boyfriend was anything delicate popped out of my mind like a bursting bubble. I flicked my wand and the door shut magically.

"Show me your scars," I stated as he pulled away from the hug. He looked at me and without a word, lifted his shirt over his head. And staring at me, blatantly accusing me of my sin to forget, were long white lines across his chest, like the branches of a barren tree in winter. His skin was pale, so pale that if it wasn't for his flush, he'd have appeared a ghost. In the moment I realized how grey-scaled Draco was. Mostly, his eyes were light grey, unmoving and headstrong. When he was angry, they'd dissolve into a stronger, darker molten steel, when he fought the Death Eaters. They'd be a dark grey when he was focused or attentive, furiously taking notes in class at an inhuman speed. And when he was extremely joyous, laughing like the seventeen year old boy he was, there'd be unmistakable specks of blue, like cool glaciers, in his constant grey eyes.