My first HP fic in over three years, which makes it something I'm terribly (almost ridiculously) proud of. Written for the March issue of The Quibbler Set directly after THE events of HBP. Seriously right after.

Gently Into Goodnight
BY Jonah

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

"Close your eyes."

Draco bit back the protest that formed in his mouth and did as he was told. It was fear, and a tinge of old respect, that kept him from doing as the tiny voice in his mind screamed and run as fast and far as way as possible. Snape had long since grabbed a hold of the edge of his collars, tugging impatiently as they weaved their way through the thickets of the Forbidden Forest to a destination the Potions Master seemed keen on keeping hidden.

By that point, the moon had risen high above their heads, casting an eerie blue glow that filtered through the treetops unto the backs of Draco's eyelids in a pattern of cobwebs and lace. Draco followed blindly, stumbling over the occasional stray root but more often than not over his own fear and panic. They walked for what felt like hours, Snape's grip never once relaxing.

"P-Professor?" Draco called, his voice coming out in a hitch. He wanted so desperately to open his eyes; he felt so helpless, so vulnerable, so unlike anything he ever wanted to feel and Snape, as if anticipating this, tightened his grip and tugged.

"Keep your eyes closed," he ordered waspishly.

Draco swallowed the bile rising in his throat and squeezed his eyes as tight as possible. Soon, Draco felt the pressure of a fist against his chest and for a wild moment he thought he'd been hit, only to realize Snape had stopped.

"You can open your eyes now," Snape said darkly, and Draco did.

They were in a house. It was the type of house that generated adjectives like 'quaint' and 'homey' though Draco doubted Snape would appreciate such words. A quick, panning glance was all it took to take everything in; the tiny sitting room hardly looked large enough to accommodate more than a handful of people. Tall and looming bookshelves surrounded the room on all sides, giving Draco the sensation of a caged animal, while a sofa, an armchair, and an old wooden table gathered around a dim pool of light that came from a lamp hanging down the ceiling. Dust and faint chemicals mingled in the air around the room, stifling.

Draco looked on in bewilderment. "Where are we?"

Snape gave no reply, his face pulled into a tight scowl. Quickly, he crossed the short distance from one end of the room to the other, stopping in front of a bookshelf to pluck an unlabeled book out. He tossed the book open in one hand, using his other to flip through the dusty pages with an inhuman speed, only to replace the book and take out another, then another, flipping through each just as impatiently as he did the last.

Draco remained by the door, his mouth agape and his limbs heavy. It was only then, in the silence of the tiny home and the empty night, that he allowed himself to finally take it all in: the wardrobe, the locket, the wine, the Tower...

The Tower...

"Oh— hell."

Hastily, Draco stumbled towards the closest corner, a hand pressed to the wall as he hunched over and released whatever meal he may have had last. Snape cast him a brief, distasteful look before returning his attention back to the book in his hand, even as Draco groaned and fell to his knees, indifferent to the mess he just made. His hands rose to cover his face, the tips of his fingertips digging into his eyes to try and erase the horror that kept replaying itself in his mind.

This can't be happening, this can't be happening, this can't be happening...

It hadn't been so long ago that Draco once believed if he wished something hard enough, it would come true.

He'd been so stupid then— still...

Had it all been a lie?

Had it really been that easy, all this time?

He never knew. No one ever told him he had a chance...

Slowly he turned in his place, quietly bringing his gaze towards the other man in the room, his expression troubled.

Did he know?

Maybe... Thinking back on the look on the older man's face, right before it had all gone to hell, Draco thought that maybe Snape had known for a long time now...

But too late. They were all too late...

A loud, tight snapping of a book jolted Draco out of his reverie. Without warning, Snape turned, his wand raised. Draco yelped, falling backwards as one hand instinctively flew up to shield his face.

"Scourgify."

Draco watched in muted shock as the mess he'd made earlier vanished before his eyes, and, almost dreadfully he glanced up at the older man, his look a mix of guilt and shame.

Snape's expression, on the other hand, had not changed at all.

"I'm so—"

"Get up," Snape snapped immediately, and Draco did so, without any pause for hesitation, scrambling up to his feet in his haste to prove his loyalty. The older man strode forward, grabbing Draco in a firm grip by the upper arm before moving them both out of the tiny home, his steps hasty, desperate.

Familiar.

Again Snape made no attempt to inform Draco of their destination, but this time Draco didn't need to know.

They walked until the house was no longer visible behind them, nothing but dark, empty sky at their heads and endless pastures all around them.

Snape said not a word, not even when Draco had turned to him, his expression inquiring but patient. The ex-Professor had turned his gaze towards the skies, his eyes dark and clouded, expression carefully crafted not to betray a single emotion.

Draco turned away, sensing the moment was a private one.

"So this is it," Draco finally admitted it, his eyes wide but as clear as ever staring out at the endless space before them. "This is the end."

Snape actually smiled.

"That we could be so lucky."

This time, when Draco closed his eyes, all he saw was black.

Tell me what you think.