About Two Boys: Fourteen
About Two Boys is a series of drabbles linking Harry and Draco's lives, a moment from each year starting with their births.
Previous parts: Birth - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Nine - Ten - Eleven - Twelve - Thirteen
Fourteen
“He’s back. He’s back. Voldemort.”
The words carried to where Draco sat, the listening spell his father had taught him executed perfectly. A shiver of what he couldn’t decide was fear or excitement ran down his spine.
Voldemort back?
His heart was pounding. His mouth suddenly dry. Hadn’t his father told him something incredible was going to happen tonight?
Voldemort back?
He squinted down to where Potter refused to let go of Diggory’s body and he wished he’d learned to do the sight spell properly as well. Was Diggory really dead?
But Voldemort?
He turned away and was physically sick.
*
Harry sat in his room in Privet Drive.
Scattered around him where the things that marked him out as different from everyone in the surrounding houses.
A wand. Wizarding robes. Spell books. Quill instead of a pen. Parchment rather than paper.
He should clear them away but somehow he didn’t have the energy. All he could think about was how it felt to hold a dead body and what it was like to look into the red eyes of a mad man.
Suddenly he wanted none of this. No wand. No quill. And no scar that hurt all the time.
---
Fifteen
Previous parts: Birth - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Nine - Ten - Eleven - Twelve - Thirteen
Fourteen
“He’s back. He’s back. Voldemort.”
The words carried to where Draco sat, the listening spell his father had taught him executed perfectly. A shiver of what he couldn’t decide was fear or excitement ran down his spine.
Voldemort back?
His heart was pounding. His mouth suddenly dry. Hadn’t his father told him something incredible was going to happen tonight?
Voldemort back?
He squinted down to where Potter refused to let go of Diggory’s body and he wished he’d learned to do the sight spell properly as well. Was Diggory really dead?
But Voldemort?
He turned away and was physically sick.
*
Harry sat in his room in Privet Drive.
Scattered around him where the things that marked him out as different from everyone in the surrounding houses.
A wand. Wizarding robes. Spell books. Quill instead of a pen. Parchment rather than paper.
He should clear them away but somehow he didn’t have the energy. All he could think about was how it felt to hold a dead body and what it was like to look into the red eyes of a mad man.
Suddenly he wanted none of this. No wand. No quill. And no scar that hurt all the time.
---
Fifteen