Hello there!

Well, I just wanted to bring this quick oneshot —  a short story for all of you. I've had this saved on my hard-drive for a while and decided it was time to upload it and share it with all of you. I hope you like it. (:

P.S. The song's from 30 seconds to Mars. (Which is written in Italics )

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                                                                         I believe in nothing

                                                                Not the end, and not the start

It was funny how things changed — how something went from being right to being wrong.

He remembers watching her board the train. He had found her amusing with her excited expression, button-like nose practically sniffing the air in with a thrill, and her bushy brown hair becoming all he could see as she lost herself among the other students climbing into the train too, even as he tried to follow close.

That had been the first moment he saw her, the first time he ever thought nothing bad about someone; the first time he just smiled dimly as he had watched her go from compartment to compartment looking for some blasted toad that shouldn't have mattered but it somehow did.

But that was until someone said in a tone that resembled the one he spoke with, the tone that everyone around him spoke with said so dryly, "seems like Longbottom has already gone and befriended trash," he looked away from the view of that bushy brown hair, finding a boy he knew as Marcus Flint looking thoroughly disgusted, "if that Mudblood comes in here, I will curse her teeth in."

And just like that, not even without a warning, not even without a moment to redeem itself, he looked away from that girl with the brown hair and brown eyes; a part of his brain that was automatic started hating her without a second thought.

                                                                      I believe in nothing

                                                            Not the earth, and not the stars

He was gazing out towards the stars, watching without a noise, without a whisper, without his breathing interrupting as the little specs of lights up above gleamed and twinkled.

There was something majestic about them, he knows; something that made them seem so unreachable, but that always had millions of men trying to leap themselves towards them. It was the way they looked so small, he reckons, the way they glow like jewels, how unimportant sometimes people think they are, but that they're strong points of power even if they're diminutive.

And with the thought of small but intense points, his brain thinks of a pair of brown eyes that glared time and time again at him. That almost toasted-honey color in them that shine in the candlelight, that become even more golden in the sunlight — but that was always frowning at him with her own share of muted disgust.

"…you'll be next, Mudbloods," it repeats in his head once, twice, three, four times as he inches closer to the edge of the Astronomy Tower.

How could he have said it? How could he have mustered all that hate, all that judgment in one swift moment and throw it at her like a rock from the ground? He thinks about it some more, narrowing his eyes at the blanket of midnight blue that is the sky.

But just before his thoughts could turn one way or the other, he hears footsteps; heavy ones at that and he already knows who it is. Not bothering to turn and give them his attention as he could hear them take a moment to breathe in, probably contemplating on how much in a bad shape they were for such young boys.

"We just heard that the Mudblood was attacked," Goyle says in a throaty grunt, still trying to catch air, "petrified, she is."

"Or dead," Crabbe adds with a nasty chuckle.

He says nothing, he still doesn't turn, all he does is look out towards the sky and those faraway points, wondering how lifeless and blank those brown eyes look in their frozen state.

                                                                          I believe in nothing

                                                                  Not the day, and not the dark

They were all standing in that hilltop; all of them so wrongly there by the rules that the school had created. But all of them — good, bad, devious, or perfectly perfect kept their feet firmly on the grassy ground. All of them looking at one another with scowls and their hatred towards the opposing ones exploding out as the sky brought clouds of grey over them.

The feel of the air itself was already thick and gloomy, already tensed and fuming with the Dementors floating somewhere nearby, somewhere hidden, but their essence lingering above them like wind from the trees. And all those students, all with their own rage made the atmosphere worse.

And with all of that going on, with his fellow house-mates teasing the others, with his own cruel words lingering in the air, he doesn't expect it when she inches closer towards them. It was that tiny second that he got distracted, distracted in the fact that she was so close, that he could smell almost this aroma of lavender coming from her brown curls that surprise him; that make his senses fly away with the leaves of the ground as she pulls back her fist and punches him squarely on the face.

He takes a stumble back, silver eyes wide and glancing at her with a confusion as the air becomes more tense; every side wondering what was about to happen now.

But what can he possibly do when the sting of that punch mixes in with the whiff of lavender she gave out and he feels his insides swirl and twirl?

He makes a run for it, naturally, because her scent starts fading from the air where he is standing and he is afraid he'll march over to her and reel her in; wanting her essence to stay permanently around him; breathing her in.

                                                                          I believe in nothing

                                                                      But the beating of our hearts

Getting away with rule-breaking seemed so easy lately; especially if one wanted to stay up past curfew or sneak out of their dormitories. In a way, all of the students at Hogwarts — well, the ones who were more on the side of breaking the rules — were thankful that Filch was very disapproving and had no faith in the guests of the school that year. Always thinking that they would try and ruin something, something that he would have to end up fixing.

And though there was something perhaps a little more exciting to do, he sneaks his way expertly, carefully, towards one of the aisles of the library; eyes squinting by the dim moonlight that entered from the windows of the place. He doesn't know what he is exactly looking for, or why he was up at all, even, but there he is; almost on his toes as he looks at the second-highest bookshelf.

He's about to grab a classic from the shelf when, "…oh, come on," he hears someone snap in annoyance.

He takes a step back, trying to blend in with the darkness, somewhere where the light of the moon doesn't touch in his aisle, when he sees the shadow of a figure through the gaps of the books on the shelf; someone one the aisle after his.

"…It's a bloody egg," he recognizes that voice, even as it sounds so frustrated and confused, "how hard can this be?"

He hears her sigh, take in a giant puff of air in, let it out in a frustrated sigh again, and then can sort of see her stand on her toes; stretching towards one of the higher shelves, her figure becoming a little more visible as the moonlight graces her. He can see the glow of her pale skin, the shine of golden threads in her brown hair, and he also spots her very loyal ruby and gold scarf around her neck; keeping her safe from the cold of the night.

With a little jump, with a "…uff," that she gave out as the book hit her on the forehead as she brought it down, choosing not to mutter a spell in case anyone could overhear her, she sits on the ground of the aisle, flipping open the thick book and squinting at it.

He stays at the corner of the darkness for a few seconds, contemplating this very moment with everything he has, because there were confusing voices in his head that pull him left, right, up, down, side to side. She's doing something for him, for her best friend, he knows as she whispers a sentence of the book aloud; no doubt something to do with the challenge that's about to come in a few weeks. (And who is she but not someone who prepares ages before?)

With an ease, he takes a step forward, carefully and soft; waiting to see if she reacts at all. And when she didn't, when her eyes were still focused on the pages of the book, as her back was turned to him, not even flinching once as he approached, he takes a seat across from her; his back separated from hers by the bookshelf.

It's daring, it's quiet, it's something odd, but he sits there, knees brought up to his chest and blending in with the darkness. He could hear her breathe, he could hear her turn the pages gently, he could hear her mutter a word or two, but all he can really pay attention is to the rhythm of her heartbeat and the way it sounded along his. Both perfect and in sync; both of them in a moment of peace that they've never been allowed to have before.

                                                                              I believe in nothing

                                                                    One hundred suns until we part

It was coming, everyone knew that. There was no longer denying it, no longer playing pretend with one another, no longer the need to hush down whispers of rumors because the rumors were no longer whispers. This was it, the cry of battle had broken out loud and clear for the world to hear, for all of them to know that darkness was approaching; that it was already looming over the heads of some without choice, without will or word.

He was a few feet away, trying to blend in with the trees and the passing figures as everyone headed towards the same entrance, to that train that would take them all home for a few weeks. He hid because he had to, he hid because that's what he did; but this time for something more grander, for something without explanation that was already awaiting for him.

But even as he did this, fear living underneath his skin in a slumber, he could see her up ahead with her famous companions; a group of loyals following behind them, enthralled in every word the chosen one spoke with. And even though he could just see her figure, the back of those once-upon messy brown curls, he knew her pale face was probably gleaming in the sun with allegiance, with hope, and with faith.

Emotions that were never ending with her; emotions that were already tied down to her as characteristics. Because that's who she was, he always knew, that girl with a fierce, fierce noble heart.

And from the shadow the trees gave him, he could see her climb those steps to the train, boarding already and never sparing a look back; not bothering to see if there was someone in the distance that was prepared for the encounter that would separate them even more. Even if she didn't know, even if she never even wondered what days were for him.

                                                                        I believe in nothing

                                                                Not in Satan, and not in God

Slowly, but very clear and apparent to the others, he was washing away with the traces of shadows that everyone was leaving behind. That's where he was living now, everyone knew, walking between walls, walking between closed and open spaces, floating in the unseen like a ghost as time past them by like the quick breeze of the day.

But though he was slowly fading, even though he was secluding himself, he was not immune to the whisperings of others; of the words that traveled from student to student like a viral disease.

Rumor was the chosen one's sidekick had found himself a girlfriend. Even when it seemed impossible to him and others of his kind — but the juiciest ounce of that rumor was that the know-it-all was crying from corner to corner for him, for that redheaded waste of space.

He had heard it once, he didn't even flinch about it; he heard it twice, his crowded head wondered if it were true for a second; he heard it a third, his silver eyes narrowed in a flicker of annoyance and anger; he heard it a fourth, he was sure he felt jealousy, as oddly as that sounded to him; but then he saw it the fifth time. Surely like word had it, there she was, that girl with the brown hair that was tainted with the smell of lavender, with big brown eyes that could warm up any soul, crying her eyes out in misery and heartache.

Instead of doing what was right — what was like him to do — he turned on his heels as soon as her faithful, bespectacled friend approached her cautiously. And as he did so, as he could her the echoes of her sobs, he felt hope disappear faster than a snitch flying from the seeker trying to obtain it.

His arm burning with a deed he was now required to do with every unknown step he took away from her.

                                                                     I believe in nothing

                                                                Not in peace, and not in war

They were dragged into the once prestigious manor like common trash, the prodigal three. All three of them in a worse manner than the other. All beat and bruised, bloody and wounded.

He had watched from a corner, a little frighten and nervous, as things progressed the way they had to. And when they had called for him, ordered him to identify them with a tone that sounded like a plead, something he was not used to from the voices he heard since he was a few months old, he shook his head and took a step back. He didn't know anything, he felt nothing, he wasn't sure of anything because he believed in nothing now.

But one thing he hadn't counted on, even though he should have seen it coming, was on the wrath and anger his aunt had in her system; of that evil and fury that lived in her veins.

He was watching as they mangled her, as they tortured her, that girl with the brown hair; that girl that carried that aroma of something spring-like that he had almost forgotten about. He saw the way her brown eyes, the same flicker of gold in her eyes that he recalled from his memory, glazed over and she shed thick tears; pleading, pleading, pleading, and totally innocent. He knew that — knew it the moment she was tossed like an animal to the ground accused of being a thief.

She fought and stood for peace, for what was right — but nothing was right, was it? Not now, not then, not ever, he knows.

The girl screamed over and over again. Her cries echoing off the walls of that room with a haunting vibration, with a sense and torture that was always going to live on the ceiling, on the walls, on the floor, on the carpet, on the very presence of the room for as long as it stood.

He grits his teeth, sure that his complexion is full with anguish, but he still remains in his spot.

Because there's no left and right, there's just what there is — a whole lot of grey.

                                                                          I believe in nothing

                                                                   But the truth and who we are

There was nothing to define, there was nothing to explain, nothing to be said. Because that's what it was now, nothing.

Nothing existed everywhere now, because nothing had been left behind by what everything used to be. Everyone knew that, it just wasn't him with that idea.

Things sprouted from nothing, however, but it still wasn't what everything was before. Nope. It was just something, but nineteen years had gone by and things were okay with that something. The surviving people were okay with something.

He was standing there with his child, with his wife, all three of them huddled together for a few last moments before it was time for his boy to leave.

"…and behave, alright, Scorpius?" he thinks he heard his wife whisper, but he wasn't too sure because in a moment he took to blink, a memory of waves of brown smacked him on the face. "You're going to do brilliant, my love, I'm sure of it."

There she was — that explosion of brown and tiny sprinkles of gold.

And almost like by a twist of nothing, she flashed her eyes towards his direction with the others she was with; with people who she had stuck to when everything was over, with those somethings she had gotten after trying to rebuild the nothing they were left in.

For a tiny second, for the smallest second that was impossible to even be considered a fragment of time, he swore he saw her give him a tiny smile. Then those flashes of brown and golden specs in her eyes brought back the memory of her smell, of that faraway fragrance of spring and lavender he had to always be content with.

And before he knew it, after she had looked away with the others, that redhead with an arm draped around her shoulders in claim, moments passing faster than he could even blink, he saw his son and her daughter head towards the entrance together; the boy allowing the little redhead girl access first.

The girl with her brown eyes and his boy with his silver ones.

And almost like he had been taken back to the past in a blur, almost like he could see his outline watching as that bushy brunette girl board the train all those years ago when he still had some innocence left, Draco Malfoy hoped that the wrongs he had created turned into rights for his son and he found something good in brown eyes.