DEATH AND THE DRAGON, - a dark, hard and soft draco malfoy love story.

d e a t h

I didn't want to see him today, so I'm at the Gryffindor tables waiting for my friends.

"Quibbler?" Luna came facing the entrance, glaring at me, a bunch of papers in her hands, her funny dreamy glasses at the top of her head, impossibly long wavy hair.

I smile weakly, "Um, no, thank you, Luna."

"I really like that on you." Luna smiles gently, glaring at my head. It took me a few seconds to realize she was speaking about my blue hair, "I always thought you'd look marvelous with blue, although," she gives me an apologetic smile, "you seem quite sad. Do you want to talk about it? I have chocolate frogs, if that serves you any odd confort."

"Thank you." I give her a weak grin, moving my hair awkwardly, "Its okay, Luna. I do not want to talk about it. But, well, maybe I do want a Quibbler...?" I say, grinning - though I'm just pretending, trying to appear cheerful.

"It's alright to be sad sometimes." says Luna, moving foward to sit in front of me, by the window, "I am sad from time to time, too."

"Oh." I look down, she hands me the Quibbler, I stare at the moving pictures, reading a few words to avoid her eyes, but my mind is a broken record. I can't help but wonder. I should trust her today. "How do you deal with it?" I ask. I need to know, I want to know how she's done, "With the pain? Of losing your mother, how was it?"

"It was very sad." she replies evenly, careful glare, "She was an extraordinary witch, but you should know people aren't gone forever. Only their physical body is gone," she grabs my cold hand, warming me with words of consolation, as if we weren't born to face this haunting war, made by the lust for power by evil men. "they really aren't. They will always watch over us. I dream about my mother sometimes. I don't believe the world is as sad as people tell us to be."

A tear started to form but I haven't cried, I can't cry, I can't let that happen right now, I don't want to lose it again. I have to keep pushing, "Do you really believe that?"

I'd really like that, to believe.

Someone clears their throat.

Her and I angle our faces.

"Couldn't miss the Quibbler." she says, her fiery hair in a ponytail, bright smile, wearing a white shirt, bright eyes, "What you two chatting about? Have you heard what happened at the Garrick Ollivander's shop?"

I have been pretending to not know what has been happening; as if poor lonely families weren't desperate to live - collecting the few shoes they had because they couldn't afford anything else; that their shoe laces have been gone for months now, used to tourniquet a wound others had caused. Then, they'd go to the rest of the curtain's material planted above the old windows, cutting strings to replace something as simple as a shoe lace. To keep their feet protected. Warm. Normal.
Their baths colder than ice, their home's walls were empty, vague, anything would come through. At any time - they weren't powerful enough to face otherwise.
The tragedy of war has been implanted on the ground for a while, the roots are too well ingrained in the earth's soul, no hero could mend it to their will, or cut the fever away. It could only grow bigger. We are humans, not Gods.

Perhaps if we were, it would've been worse.

I know what happened. I don't know why I delicately demand such awnser. "What happened." I don't ask. I just say.

"Death Eaters destroyed the whole place," she says, "along with a bridge, things are out of control-"

"Hey, hey girls," Cassie pops up, curly black hair, brown happy eyes, though I think she's pretending today, "oh, yes, gimmie the Quibbler."