AU: Beck and Jade after the Battle of Hogwarts. Both are pureblood. While not as Draco like, but they're not like the Weasley family either. And, idek, the song is In My Life, from Les Mis. I thought it fit, kinda? Idek. I also wish I knew how to write first POV without using "I" as the first word in every single sentence. #thestruggle

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So many things unclear;
So many things unknown.
Does he know I'm alive?
Do I know if he's real?
Does he see what I saw?
Does he feel what I feel?

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I couldn't think. There was too much to think about. There was so much screaming—and oh, my... he's dead. He's gone. I can hardly imagine it, this new world we'll have. A world without this war hanging over our heads.

The war. Oh God, it's all over. He's down. Voldemort's gone. I'm laying on the ground; I can feel the cracked concrete against my body. I wonder how much blood is staining my skin. I'm focusing my mind on something—someone else. Beck, Merlin, where are you? Please... just be alive.

Vaguely aware of the people around me, I get up, my body shaking. My hands are covered in scratches and cuts, blood caking my nails. I shake my head. People resorting to Muggle violence... My breath hitches as my eyes take sight of the once beautiful grounds of Hogwarts. Bodies litter the ground. I watch silently, my eyes threatening to spill over, as people find friends, family... lovers. I wonder if I'll find any. I try not to think too much about that.

I shudder as people connect with hands of the dead. I wonder how close they were, how horrible they feel to find someone dead. I can feel my throat tighten as I watch the Weasley's find Fred's—or is it George?—body. I wouldn't wish a thing like that on anyone. I watch my feet, not wanting anyone to notice my tears. The

War is a terrible thing. I don't want to imagine to scars I'll have. Some won't be visible, that I can tell you right now. I want to erase myself of all pain.

I am desperate at this point. Where is Beck? I don't let myself think the impossible. Would I know if... if he died? Isn't that the legendary fixed idea in all stories—feel what your love is feeling? I have no idea, and it's tearing my heart apart.

I don't know. I'm scared. Scared of losing Beck, scared of finding him dead. In fact, I don't even think scared is a word that can describe the feeling I'm feeling.

I can feel my hands clenching into a fist, nails digging in the skin of my palm, forcing out more blood than was there before. As the blood of my own mixes with the blood of the anonymous, I set my face to an emotionless mask, concealing any feelings anyone could see. I don't want anyone's looks right now, the judgement I'll see written in their eyes.

Especially because of my house. Wrong house on this side of war.

I begin to fear the worst. He hasn't tapped my shoulder or curled his fingers around mine yet, like he always does. I keep glancing around, in case he's just messing with me, in case he's right behind me. Unless... unless, he really is dead, and I'm just oblivious to his death.

I shake my head once more. He's alive, he has to be. Beck promised me he wouldn't die. He promised! He doesn't ever break his promises... that's who he was. I chuckle, surprising myself, and earning myself a glare. I always knew he should have been in Gryffindor, not Slytherin. Too brave, too Goddamn happy.

I once again tear my eyes from the ground to the horizon. Searching for the only person I actually want to find my eyes blur before focusing on a man with matted hair and a sly grin. I twitch, and wonder if I'm hallucinating before realizing it's real. It's him.

It's Beck. I break into a jerky run, being careful of the bodies. He holds his arms out, witch are clear of blood, making me wonder if he cleaned up. I laugh. Such a petty thought for such an important time.

Beck is walking forward towards me, and reaches for my waist, holding as tight as he can. I am certain there will be bruises later. I don't really care. He's alive and that's the whole point.

Beck is smiling, stroking my hair. I want to curl up and sob in his strong arms, but I don't, instead, I choose to stabs his hands with my fingernails, as if I'm assuring myself he's alive. I try to imagine a world without Beck.

It's a horrid moment when I stare him and realize without him, I would be incapable of loving again.

I want to whisper a million things to him. I pick only one. "Don't ever let me go again."

"I won't. I love you so much."

I want to tell him I love him, too, but I don't. I show him, curling my dirty fingers around his clean ones, stroking him hair, holding him tight, because now is now, and I don't want now to end.