The polluted air left by the great large windows of the manor. Draco observed how the smoke scrolls ascended and disappeared in the dark night from the window where he was. The chimney was dimming, like everything in that house, in his life. Like him. He thought it was cruel.
The war was beginning, but it seemed that it had been years since it started. Deep inside, Draco knew that the last battle would be the definitive one, it would count big, and would have redeemed him in everyone's eyes, but he would no longer be there to see it. Luckily, he would die before dawn. That was what he wished, what he deserved. There was nothing left for him but death. Or perhaps not.
He had failed at everything. Before Dumbledore, he had been unable to finish his assignment. He had fled. scared of severe consequences, but too late had the Malfoy realized that he wouldn't be punished like Death Eaters were. Months later, he had reappeared at Grimmauld Place, destroyed, hurt and desperate to find a reason for the madness that with his stupidity he had helped to arise. And he had welcomed him as if nothing had happened. As if he had not glided to kill the Headmaster throughout a whole school year. As if the previous years, full of hatred and resentment between them, had not existed. And he damned the boy just for all of that.
Harry was a good person. He didn't deserve what his destiny had set to him, not in the slightest. Even during school, he wondered how he lived through it. And nevertheless he accepted it without fear. Draco envied him for that reason. And he loved Harry. He loved Harry with all his soul, but his past returned forcefully whenever he wanted to tell the Boy Who Lived about his feelings. Although Harry said he loved Draco, he had sent him to a certain death. And that was all that was left of Draco to do. Die.
"Draco?" A questioning voice asked, the voice filled with confusion and comfort.
"Shouldn't you have already left, Harry?" The boy replied question with question, trying to keep the angry venom from his voice. It was Harry, he told himself, only Harry.
"I wanted to know...I mean, I wondered--oh, nevermind." He stumbled over his words.
"No!" Draco exclaimed. "Tell me."
"Do you love me, Draco?" The question made his insides clench and reel like a dry blender. "Have you ever loved me?" Truthfully, Draco loved Harry more than anything. He couldn't let the boy know that, though.
Even if the circumstances weren't as tricky and difficult, Draco's stubborness wouldn't allow him to confess to the dark-haired boy. Draco's breathing became heavy with resolution, but he shook his head no. He had to let to him go, to accomplish his destiny. But Draco knew he couldn't live without him.
Draco didn't dare turn around; blasted Harry could read every lie from his eyes. "No, I don't love you, Harry." He felt tears encase his clear grey eyes. "I've never loved you, now get out of my house." He said acidly. His heart shattered as the door closed, and Draco didn't need to follow Harry to hear his sobs after his departure.
When the new of Harry's triumph over the Dark Lord was heard, Draco became happy, until the other side revealed the boy had risked his life, telling the Order members, "I have nothing to live for anyway, why not just deal a trade?" Draco felt grief rise in his stomach at the words.
"I love you, Harry." Draco's raspy voice was often heard in the library as the Order members listened on sadly. Too late. Draco was never one for precise timing, but in this case, he wished to hell and back that he was. Now, he couldn't be late. If he was, it didn't matter. He had an appointment that was impossible to skip.
While the library door was closed, the glow of a bright green light could be seen dancing across the floor, and a shadow fell, the light stop. There was no life there, in the library, because Draco Malfoy was too late for death as well.