Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters, unfortunately, do not belong to me (you would be seeing a lot of ambiguous homoerotic tension between the male characters if Harry Potter belongs to me). The poem Dejection: An Ode belongs to Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Warning: Nothing at the moment, but there'll be some pre-slash DH, as well as dark and somewhat disturbing scenes. So be warned. And also, I'm trying to keep to the British way of spelling as much as I can, so don't be alarmed when you see some oddly spelled words.

When the Black Veil Flutters

Prologue: "'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep." (1)

Within the walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where snide teacher and sneaky caretaker stalked the corridors at night, where a few reckless young witches and wizards bravely ventured out for a nighttime adventure, Draco Malfoy was one of the few occupants who were very much awake in the early hours of this Hallowe'en morning.

His private room was where we found Draco, sitting crosslegged on the floor, inside the Magic circle he had copied from a book. Assortment of items scattered around him: pieces of parchment; a raven-feather quill; a small bottle containing dark red potion that Draco concocted the day before; a sharp dagger of plain design that was evidently forged for practical use than for decoration; an elegantly made pocket watch with a well-polished silver cover; a heavy, ancient book laid open; and Draco's wand -- eleven and a half inch, made out of elder wood (2), containing dragon heartstring at its core.

The room was dark, with only several candles scattered throughout the room, along with a small fireplace, to provide some lighting. There were no windows -- he lived in a dungeon after all. The room was not large, but its simple furnishing conveyed an aura of classical charm.

Draco gingerly made a small cut on his fingertip with the dagger, and collected the blood drops into the half full ink bottle. As soon as blood fell into the liquid, the potion sizzled, and turned into a shade of deep crimson.

With his bleeding finger, he wrote the symbol he knew by heart on the stone floor before him, and winced when his injured finger scraped against the rough floor. But this pain was nothing compared to what will lay before him should he fail.

After healing his wound with a simple flick of his wand, Draco picked up the raven-feather quill, and with extreme care, wrote his grandfather's name on a piece of parchment with the blood red ink. The elegantly cursive words on the parchment glowed with a sinister gleam, as if the parchment was bleeding the words. Draco drew in a long breath, before he picked up his wand, and whispered the incantation of the Evocation. The incantation was long and difficult, but through stubborn perseverance he was able to recite it without making a mistake. Gods knew he had been memorizing the incantation for weeks.

As the last syllable left his mouth, the parchment was instantly engulfed in flame. By some invisible force, the ashes shaped itself into the same symbol as the one Draco drew with his own blood.

The message had been sent; the only thing Draco could do now was to wait.

Conjuring up one's dead grandfather was hardly a clever idea; but Draco was seriously in need of counsel from a wise elder. Sadly, neither his father nor his mother was able to help him, for he was beyond their help now that the situation was quickly deteriorating. The only other person who might be able to help him was his grandfather, who passed away before Draco was born. As his situation became more and more bleak with every passing day, Draco was growing increasingly desperate, so much so that if he must summon his deceased grandfather's spirit to the land of the living for guidance, then so be it.

Although, Draco thought as he threw a careless glance at the book laid open on the ground, I would not have come up with this crazy idea if I hadn't found this book.

The book came into his possession when he discovered it amidst his father's extensive collection of dubious volumes by accident. The book was ancient, and written in a hand that spoke of great intellect. It spoke of the dead and the Underworld, the folklore and traditions surrounding Death, and the Veil that separates the world of the living and the world of the dead. But nowhere did the book mention the name of the author -- not that Draco was mindful of it.

The book did not mention the Dark Arts per se, and the Evocation ritual was hidden away neatly amidst a bunch of theoretical jargon. With some clever disguise, Draco was able to pass through the new security check imposed on the students without much fuss -- several of his fellow Slytherins were not as lucky. However, he was never quite certain why he took the book with him in the first place; perhaps it was one of those little whims Draco could not resist indulging in.

According to the book, the Evocation ritual, or, the summoning of the departed spirits, should be performed on Hallowe'en if the wizard desires a greater chance of success. And today was Hallowe'en, the only time of the year when the Veil that stands between the world of the dead and the world of the living was at its thinnest (3). Draco was not going to let such a great opportunity go to waste, no matter what warnings that persistent voice in his head was shouting at him. Driven by desperation, he was willing to attempt the ritual and consequences be damned.

Draco nearly dozed off while he was waiting, when the candlelight suddenly went out, leaving the hearth to provide its feeble light. Startled, Draco's eyes roamed about the room, frantically looking for any sign of his grandfather. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, but it did not quench the disquieting feeling growing within him.

A gust of wind came out of nowhere, and extinguished the only flame left burning in the room, plunging the room into complete darkness. Even Draco, who was accustomed to the dimness of the dungeon, could not prevent cold fear from creeping into his heart -- he knew all too well the consequences of a failed Evocation ritual.

When his hand clutched the smooth wood of his wand tightly, he was somewhat more reassured, though not by much. With an unspoken "Lumos", a bluish white light like will-o'-the-wisp ignited at the tip of the wand, illuminating Draco's face with its ghostly paleness. He nervously looked about the room; but nothing seemed amiss.

Hesitantly, Draco asked, "Grandfather? Are you here?" Inwardly, he scolded himself for sounding like a terrified child, but he could not help feeling apprehensive about what he might have unwittingly unleashed.

A sudden chill brushed against his lips like a ghost of a kiss, and everything became nothing but a hazy dream. As strange fog clouded his mind, he felt himself falling backward into nothingness...

High up on the tower where young Gryffindors dwell, a tiny light could be seen shining through from one of the windows on the lower level. It was where we found Harry Potter sitting by the open window in the deserted common-room, lighting white candles with a simple wand tap. On the window-sill sat a small white plate, and within it sat four white candles that were burning ever so brilliantly. The flame brightened Harry's face and softened the creases on his forehead, but it did not warm his heart.

"For you: Mum, Dad, Cedric," Harry paused, as pain flashed within those shining green eyes of his, "Sirius."

The flame in the fireplace had since burnt itself out. Cool draft came in through the window, caressing Harry's cheeks with its gentle touch, but Harry hardly felt it. Candlelight wavered ever so uncertainly, casting foreign shadows on Harry's face. Wearily he lay his head on the sill beside the plate of candles, and stared intently at the white tear-drops slowly sliding down the length of the candles.

Harry supposed he was being stupid. What was the point of lighting a candle for the departed if they didn't know about it? But he would rather sit here like an idiot than lie in bed, waiting for sleep -- which had proven to be very elusive as of late -- to come over him.

The gaping hole left behind by his godfather's -- Sirius Black's passing did not hurt as much anymore. He was able to think of Sirius without feeling tears welling up in his eyes; but hearing Sirius' name spoken aloud still brought a pang in his chest. Even his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, trod carefully whenever the topic of Sirius came up in a conversation. At other times, they avoided talking about Sirius altogether.

Life at Hogwarts was as it always was. In between the lessons and homeworks and Quidditch practices, the unexpected and the bizarre sprang up on the students and the teachers like a mischievous pixy -- a normal occurrence when one resided in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Within this comforting sanctuary, Harry could almost pretend there was no war waging beyond these castle walls -- if the Daily Prophet had not been reporting daily on sudden disappearances, mass destructions, and gruesome murders. A number of students had left Hogwarts because their parents feared for their children's lives, even though Hogwarts was a relatively safe place to be, thanks to Hogwarts' esteemed headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

Many months had passed since Harry broke down before Dumbledore after the disastrous event that resulted in Sirius' death. At last Harry found it in himself to speak to the headmaster in mildly friendly terms. After all, Harry knew in his heart that the blame did not fall entirely on Dumbledore, but it did not make the weight settled in Harry's heart any lighter.

Mesmerized by the dancing candlelight, he slowly closed his eyes, and allowed his mind to drift off to happier times that had since become distant memories--

He found himself in a long, narrow corridor. There were no doors or windows, just bleak walls staring back at him. The ceiling hung low, and the walls appeared to be slowly closing in on him. But he felt no panic at all as he pressed on without a backward glance.

At the end of the corridor was an archway, where a painfully familiar-looking black veil was hung. And yet it was not the same one that had been haunting his memory. There were no wear or tear marring its shiny smooth surface, not even a thread stuck out from the fabric. It fluttered ever so slightly, as if someone was blowing gently at the black cloth from the other side. He could hear the sound of soft whispers, like the rustling of dry leaves on a breezy autumn day.

He anxiously wanted to grab the veil and yank it aside, to finally see for himself the forbidden mystery hidden within. But someone from the other side beat him to it. As he watched in morbid fascination, a hand as white as bone grasped the veil from the other side, and with painful slowness, pulled the veil aside--

A particularly chilly breeze jolted Harry awake. With a cold shiver, he opened his eyes. But all he could see were darkness blanketing him and the dim starlight coming from the heaven above. The candlelight had died.

Somewhere in the blackness of the woods, a raven sounded its harsh cry.

To be continued...

1. Chapter title comes from a line in Coleridge's poem Dejection: An Ode.

2. Elder is associated with death and rebirth, as well as the Underworld. In the Celtic calendar, the Elder month runs from 25 November to 22 December. It is said that the Elder month contains the darkest days of the year.

3. I tweaked the time a little. Supposedly, Samhain falls on the evening of 31 October, right up to 1 November. But for the purpose of my story, Samhain, or Hallowe'en if you may, begins in the early morning hours of 31 October.

A/N: This fic is another of my entries to the 30kisses challenge, and it is meant to be a semi-tribute (I do not dare say a full tribute since I'm hardly on par with the other great masters and mistresses of gothic literature) to the gothic literature. The whole thing is already written, so you don't have to worry about any hiatus (at least not until you get to the end of the fic; there'll be a sequel after this, which I'm currently working on). Anyhow, please tell me what you think.