The impending Second Wizarding War brings two people from opposite worlds together. She, of grace and gentleness, her life torn apart by a tragedy. He, who has only known hatred and spite, tasked with an impossible mission.
Her, caught between loya...
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Dark nebulae are clouds of interstellar dust so thick they block light from objects behind it such as stars or reflection nebulae. They are irregular and often take on serpentine shapes, obscuring brighter backgrounds such as the Milky Way.
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I did not remember anything after that. I was only told.
The next time I opened my eyes, I was in my bed back at the manor. My parents loomed over me, told me I had been calling her name in my death-sleep.
Where is she? I had demanded to know.
My darling, the Dark Lord has lost the war. We have to lay low.
I had not cared about that. All I knew was that she was not by my side, and I wanted to see her.
She's dead, Draco.
No. They were lying. They had to hold me down as I screamed and kicked. Where is she? Where is she?
Dead. Sacrificed her life for yours, our beloved son.
They told me I had betrayed Voldemort. In a desperate, final display of loyalty, a young Death Eater by the name of Barnabas Abigor had tried to kill me for it. He was only fifteen.
They told me she must have seen it from over my shoulder. At the last second, at my last step, she had swung me around.
They told me it happened too fast. It was over in a beat of a hummingbird's wings. The girl barely had half a second to think.
They told me all of this, and they were lying. I knew it, because I knew Angel. And my Angel thought about absolutely everything. I knew that in the single, atomic moment it had taken for the curse to travel from Abigor's wand to me, she did think. And it was exactly this I could not live with.
I did not leave the room for months after that.
At first, I waited. For what, I did not really know. Perhaps a letter, or a some sort of sign that what they had told me was not true. I penned letters of my own. To Angel, Hannah, Harry, anyone; inking my desperation onto parchment before crumpling them up and tossing them aside.
It took two whole weeks of crushing silence before it finally sank in. I was reading a book on Magical Creatures in the library - a chapter on unicorns. In between the words 'golden' and 'hooves', it hit me out of nowhere. Angel was dead. I was alive, and she was not.
First, the earth folded in on me.
Then, the tears came - sudden, and in torrents. I cried and cried and cried, until my lungs emptied of air and my eyes were red and raw.
It was like no one even cared that she was gone. The sun still rose and the pale moon shone as brightly as ever. But that was the real world.
Mine? Mine was plunged into darkness. Obliterated, like a glass cup shattering onto the floor. The stars that had burned with her fire were extinguished, snuffed out like candle flames. The sky she had painted for me now opened up into a chasm, swallowing the colours and leaving me in grey monotone.
