(Harry Potter) 1-2-0-7-0-3
Title: 1-2-0-7-0-3
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Gen, some Draco/Blaise
Warning: Some sexuality
Date Written: May 13, 2005

17.

They have cast silencing spells on the cemetery. The neighbors complained at the screaming; the raw, wrenching sobs; the wet slosh of mourner’s feet.

Luna Lovegood folds the newspaper to fit the frame of the bird cage. The albino magpie inside flutters, treading over the emblazoned triumphant headline 12 SUSPECTED DARK WIZARDS LYNCHED IN SOUTH LONDON SUBURB!

She drinks her milk, bulging eyes fixed on the adjacent cemetery. A blonde widow sets a white lily upon a muddy grave; the only sounds is that of scaly feet on newsprint.


16.

Ginny taps the white parchment with her wand. A seal appears: a crude, patchy imitation of the Dark Mark.

Guilty as charged

A white stone angel, in her mind, with her mother’s name carved at its feet. Ginny remembers with all her might as Hermione shuffles out of the courtroom.

Alas, for the casualties of war.


15.

Harry has come to enjoy the colour white.

Hermione’s hand is on his, her eyes glossy and urgent like magazine covers. Don’t you understand, Harry? Don’t you understand what’s happening?

Her words are colliding with the quiet whisperings of his mind. Harry curls up into a fetal position and covers his ears with his hands.

In a rare moment of lucidity hours later, Harry realizes she is gone.


14.

Blaise tightens the knot of his white tie. His reflection is immaculately dressed— hair cropped and combed; features stone, stone.

Cleaning a fleck of dust from the reflective surface, Blaise wonders when exactly it was he died, and how long it will be before his coworkers notice he’s the living dead.


13.

Luna’s gaze flickers towards the pale magpie, who is reading its cage lining furtively. Quickly looking away, the creature feigns innocence.

No need to pretend. I know who you are. she says Why else would I have bought you?

Draco’s small, beady eyes flash, and he stretches his snowy wings nervously.


12.

Hermione’s hands are tied behind her back with white twine. At her side is Rita Skeeter, glasses askew, similarly bound. The auror reading the formal charges has a thin and reedy voice; Hermione does not listen.

You? she asks simply.

Article on the Ministry’s invasions on the right of the press. You?

House elf liberation. There were some protest gatherings.

Their gazes meet for a brief instant, then a row of four aurors lift their wands, and with a rush of air overhead –-


11.

At the door, Blaise places his wand in the craggy hand of a white-haired man whose name he shall never know.

Access number.

1-2-0-7-0-3.

It is the date of his first kiss.


10.

Ginny lives in a house upon a hill. Her sheets are white satin and there is a snapshot of Harry Potter beneath her pillow.

Minister?

Her cook – a squib with the greenest eyes she has ever seen (except his).

Yes?

My mother … there’s been an urgent owl. She’s dying.

White stone angel. White stone angel. White stone angel.

Go.


9.

Hermione’s blood lies congealing on the white concrete from where her head hit, her brilliant mind leaving nothing but a dark, hand-sized splatter.

As Draco looks down from a windowsill he realizes there is no difference between her blood or his own when both can be spent so easily.

Too late.


8.

Harry hates the mediwitch with the wide mouth.

She pulls on his hair, pinches him, and when no one is around, presses her hands against his throat until he cannot hear, cannot see, cannot breath, cannot—

And the whispers do not cease in their accusations.

Harry watches her adding white powder to his potion and wonders how slowly it shall kill him.

And the whispers do not cease.


7.

Ginny hands Blaise a stack of pristine white parchment. Execution orders, each for “Dark-Related Activities”. He peruses – one, a woman believed to sell ingredients for potions involved infrequently in torture and commonly in abortion. The next, an 18-year-old black poet accused of inciting disloyalty amongst ministry employees. Third, two prominent male wizards from Glastonbury to be executed for “deviant behaviors contrary to the cause of the Light”.

As he files each, Blaise feels a part of his soul rot. When he is done he quietly darts to the loo and is sick.


6.

Luna looks out the window. The blonde widow is back, with another colourless lily. The white magpie on Luna’s shoulder takes flight, flapping frantically, a few white feathers falling unnoticed to the floor.

Your mother is crying again.


5.

1-2-0-7-0-3

Blaise drapes a spare white sheet over the hall mirror.


4.

Harry prefers the colour white to all other things.

Ginny is kissing him on the mouth. He does not move. He does not speak.

She hits him. She cries. She threatens to have him thrown in Azkaban. She touches him beneath the flannel of his hospital gown.

He does not speak. He does not move.

In a rare moment of lucidity hours later, Harry realizes she is gone. He wonders if Hermione is dead yet.


3.

Backstage, on the rickety wooden stair, Draco is fucking Blaise, hard, against a wall.

Blaise’s pressed trousers are bunches around his ankles, and the buttons of his white shirt undone. His tie is wrapped up in Draco’s white grip, pulling, pulling.

The crowd roars and cheers and applauds as Ginny delivers a speech on hope and the end of the war.

There are tears in Blaise’s eyes. He hates Draco for loving him, for making him feel, for reincarnation by lust.

Draco wrenches his head back, fingers twisted in Blaise’s short hair. He bites the smooth, taut junction of his neck, possessive.

At the moment of the crescendo of patriotism, Blaise orgasms hard onto Draco’s stomach.

He doesn’t want to die.


2.

We have won the war Ginny proclaims, her arms thrown wide, embracing the vibrant energy of the crowd. There is a small white ribbon pinned to the lapel of her robe, symbolizing peace But there is still much work to do

Fool Luna mutters from the back of the stadium.


1.

Draco has fallen to his knees atop a barren patch of wet earth. He rolls up his sleeves and smears the dark, slick mud over his white forearms, shielding his skin, making himself impenetrable.

NO. Draco shouts as Luna reaches for him IT’S MINE. YOU CAN’T TOUCH IT. YOU CAN’T HAVE IT. YOU CAN’T KILL IT. IT’S MINE.

He presses the cold mud to his chest, over his heart. The silence is too heavy with knowledge. Draco knows and YES, Hermione is dead and YES, Harry is too, and YES, Blaise, even Blaise. Even sweet-faced Blaise with his cold fingertips and that thin veneer of hope.

Luna tries to comfort him, but Draco is not listening. Draco is beyond listening. He smears cold mud over his arms, unfocused eyes searching out the ruins of his once-home. There are no silencing spells to censor his pain.

They will find us here. We should go. Luna warns.

Draco covers his ears with his muddy hands, but the white nose doesn’t cease.


0.

Narcissa Malfoy notices, on her way to Lucius’ grave, a new addition to the cemetery. On a freshly dug rectangle of earth lies a dead albino magpie.

The gravestone reads ‘1-2-0-7-0-3’


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