Nico di Angelo
Would Bianca have wanted this, Nico?
Don't be clichéd. (Draw your sword, Nico. Who cares what she wanted?)
But would she?
I don't care. (That's right, draw your sword, Nico. Remember why she died.)
Draco Malfoy
Nico lunged at me, and I dodged, but my own shadow winded around my leg, and I tripped, crashing to the floor. The other boy stood above me, glaring down with his teeth clenched, and I shivered when I caught sight of his eyes; dark, cold, and emotionless.
I knew a different boy once. One who used to play hide and seek with me. Dark eyes that filled with mirth, ones that I could constantly feel on my back, as I searched for what felt like hours without any success. Laughter at my fruitless attempts that seemed disjointed, that somehow never led me back to its owner, that was gleeful and never mocking.
But Nico isn't that boy anymore. And I guess I'm not who I used to be either.
It's easier to think so, almost. Easier to think that it was someone different that fell hopelessly, childishly in love with Bianca di Angelo, that it was someone different who ran through the streets of Italy with Nico di Angelo, pretending to be warriors and heroes and soldiers.
Easier to pretend that someone else did all those things with them. Someone else who died in the accident. Someone else who they mourned for. Someone else who died and stayed dead, and never paid a price that was far too high to come back.
Better to pretend that there was a world where Julian Cambelle, dead and desperate and selfish, never betrayed his best friends.
Above me, Nico snapped his fingers and the shadows forced me into a kneeling position, my hands twisted behind my back so that I couldn't reach my wand.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached for his ring, like he was savoring the moment, and I felt something inside me wrench painfully.
This isn't the Nico I remember.
A glint of black steel flashed in front of me, and I closed my eyes.
They say that you can see your entire life go past your eyes before you die.
Maybe that's why I saw Bianca's face.
My fault.
All my fault.
I loved you, Bianca. And I'm sorry.
So this is how I die the second time.
"Was it worth it, Malfoy?" Nico sneered.
Nico. My best friend. My executioner.
I'm sorry, Nic. I didn't know.
Was it worth it?
My eyes still closed, I whispered back, "No."
I heard the sound of his sword cutting through the air as the blade fell.
And then-
Then, the door opened.
"That's a pretty sword," a voice said. "But it isn't the olden times anymore, and beheading your friends is usually quite frowned upon."
Luna Lovegood
The classroom wasn't empty today.
I always come in at least twice a day, ever since I spotted lots of wrackspurts in there once, to make sure they don't pester anyone. Ginny always tells me not to bother. She says that it's only me who ever goes into that classroom anyway. But it's always good to check.
And this time it wasn't empty.
There were two boys inside, one who was on his feet, with dark, dark, dark eyes, and a dark, dark, dark sword (I couldn't decide which looked more deadly), and one who was on his knees with light, light, light hair, but the look on his face made me almost completely certain that his heart wasn't as light, light, light at all. And not because it was dark, no. It wasn't that kind of "not light". It was the kind of "not light" that means that a heart feels too heavy and oh-so-hard to carry. In fact, both of them look like something made both their hearts very, very difficult for their chests to hold. It's always very sad when that happens.
I was sure that someone must've told me who they were once. But I couldn't remember anymore. Maybe the wrackspurts did catch me after all.
They looked like friends, I decided.
I wondered if the dark haired one knew that you're not supposed to behead your friends.
Not even if your sword matches your eyes. Even though the matchy-ness does make you look more put-together (but he won't be PUT-TOGETHER if you bring that sword down, Mr. Dark Eyes).
Not even if it's with the prettiest sword I've ever seen.
"That's a pretty sword," I said, more to the sword then to him, to make sure it knows it's being complimented, since I somehow doubted it got many compliments from its owner. Not that I thought it was Dark Eyes' fault. He looked like he was too busy drowning in all that dark-dark-dark to even think of doing such a thing, which really was a shame.
"But it isn't the olden times anymore," I continued, looking up at him this time, "and beheading your friends is usually quite frowned upon."
I wasn't very sure if I'd said it aloud until the dark haired boy looked up at me, startled. He must've been very caught up in his would-be execution.
He snapped his fingers, and I didn't realize that there were shadows holding Light Hair down on his knees until they released him. Curiouser and curiouser. The shadows responded to Dark Eyes the way a pet responded to its owner. I wondered if shadows were any good as pets. Maybe I'd have to ask him someday.
I didn't even notice that Dark Eyes had moved until he was right in front of me. Huh. I wondered how he'd gotten there. But then again, I was always not noticing things. Maybe he had just walked over while I'd been busy thinking.
Dark Eyes raised his hand, and I stared at it. His skin was deathly pale, even up close. A silver skull ring glinted on his middle finger. Behind him, Light Hair got to his feet shakily.
He snapped his fingers, and I wondered if the shadows were going to grab me. But then he spoke, and his voice sounded echoey and distorted.
"You didn't see anything," he told me. "When you opened the door, the room was empty, and you don't even remember why you wanted to come in. So you're going to walk back out, and carry on with the rest of your day as normal."
I blinked.
"It was very cool what you did with your voice," I smiled, not sure why Dark Eyes began to frown. "Can you show me how you did it?"
Light Hair watched him warily. "di Angelo?"
di Angelo.
Was that Dark Eyes' name?
di Angelo. di Angelo. di Angelo.
di Angelo.
The Angel.
That's what Dark Eyes' name meant! The Angel.
I blinked again, staring at him. "di Angelo," I breathed. Or maybe I didn't. Maybe I said it in my head. I don't know.
He kind of looked like an angel, I thought. A very tired one.
"Are you an angel?" I asked, and The Angel looked surprised by the question.
"I-" His frown deepened. "No."
So it was a supposed to be a secret, then. "Okay." I winked at him, as solemnly and seriously as I could, to show him that I could be trusted. "You don't have to tell me. It's alright. I promise I won't tell anyone."
The Angel stared at me like he wasn't sure how to respond.
"di Angelo," Light Hair repeated, sounding a bit panicked, and I looked at him.
It's no wonder Light Hair was friends with an angel. There was an aristocratic look about him. Something polished and refined, like an intricate sculpture of glass or diamond. I wondered if Light Hair was an angel too. But no. He looked far more human, and at the same time, almost as ethereal as The Angel. Maybe he was some sort of spirit, the kind in the ghost stories that weren't meant to be scary, who lived amongst the living, without once realizing they were dead. Then, my eyes caught sight of the wand sticking out of his robes. So he was a wizard!
"Shut up," The Angel hissed at Light Hair, and my eyes wandered back to him.
He looked like one of the angels who fought for God in those Muggle stories, I decided, with that beautifully wicked sword, and those ancient, haunted eyes. An avenging angel who fought against evil creatures, who was brave and fierce and strong.
But he was here on earth now. Why was that?
Maybe he'd fallen. Maybe he'd lost his way.
"Why isn't this working?" The Angel muttered. He snapped his fingers again, watching me intently, with dark-circled eyes. "You didn't see anything."
"I'm very sorry that whatever you're doing isn't working," I tell him sincerely. "Maybe you should try something else next time." An idea struck me and I said, excitedly, waving my hands around wildly, "You can Obliviate me if you want! Or I could just pretend I haven't seen anything."
"I could...what?" The Angel asked.
I slapped my forehead. "Of course you wouldn't know what an Obliviate is! You're an angel, and I bet your finger snappy thing usually works, so you wouldn't need a silly spell." Silly Luna.
"An Obliviate makes your forget things," I explained. I pointed at Light Hair. "He's a wizard. Maybe he could do it."
The Angel glanced at Light Hair. "Malfoy?"
Malfoy?
Malfoy! Of course! Light Hair was Draco Malfoy!
I'd heard of him before. Draco Malfoy from Slytherin, with the rich family, the light hair, and the nice gray eyes.
Draco Malfoy reached for his wand, and it struck me that he looked very, very sad, and very, very guilty.
He stepped forward. "I'd say I'm sorry for this," he sneered, but his voice shook. "Except I'm not."
That malice hadn't been real at all.
Why was he so sad? I started to count the Nargles around his head.
Was it his family? No. Too many Nargles.
His friends? No. The Nargles were floating too close to him.
Draco Malfoy raised his wand.
Then, it clicked.
"You're sad about a girl." I realized. "You loved her, and now she's gone."
They both froze.
"I'm really, really sorry for your loss," I murmured.
"What?" Draco Malfoy stammered, his wand lowered.
I turned to look at The Angel, and he quickly erased the pained look from his features, but I caught it anyway. "You're sad about her as well."
He didn't say anything, so I cleared my throat and kept talking to fill the silence, so that the wrackspurts wouldn't descend on us. "You loved her too. But not in the same way that he did." My voice caught in my throat as I stepped closer to him. "You were related to her." I shook my head sadly. "I'm so sorry."
The Angel turned away.
"I'm sorry," I said again.
"Malfoy." The Angel said it like a command, but the other boy didn't move. "Malfoy!"
Draco Malfoy stood still, as white as a sheet and stiff with shock.
Perhaps the wrackspurts had gotten into his head.
The Angel gave a bitter laugh that didn't quite sound right coming from a heavenly being. "Fine," he spat, in a tone that sounded far too harsh and impatient. "Let her remember. See if it saves your skin, Malfoy."
Malfoy didn't respond, but his eyes followed The Angel, as the dark haired boy spun on his heels and stormed from the room.
What happened to him? I couldn't help but wonder.
It must've been something terrible, I was certain. Something tragic and unspeakably awful.
What else could've turned an angel so cold?
I stared at the door he'd left through, remembering the darkness that had clung to him, and those eyes that had burned with dark fire.
I wondered if that was what it looked like when an angel goes through hell.
Hi again, guys.
Here's another chapter, as a peace offering for disappearing for so long.
So how do you guys feel about Luna? (Anyone else thinking they'd probably mistake our boy for an angel too?)
Let me know what you think.
I'll be back very soon.
Charlie Loletta