How long has she been here? She knows not anymore. Days, weeks. Hell, it could even be months. But somehow she doubts it. She would be dead by now. And she has yet to see that white light that she so craves.
But, a little voice in her head pipes up (The voices have gotten so much louder lately). Who's to say the light is white? Who's to say there is any light at all. Perhaps death feels just like life. Perhaps death, too, is just a never ending darkness. Like floating in space, but there are no stars.
Maybe she is dead right now.
She moves her fingers to the pulse point on her neck. The movement is more difficult than it should be. Her limbs feel so heavy. But she has to know. She has to know if she is dead.
There is a pulse. It's slow, and almost nonexistent, but it is there.
Damn.
It's so dark. The room is so dark, and so silent, and so bare. When she had first heard The News, she had lost control. Her magic had gone haywire, like it used to when she was little and found an animal dead from a Muggle gunshot wound. The lights had flickered and flickered and finally a fuse had blown and they had gone out completely. She hadn't the will to cross the room and light a candle.
But, of course, I am a witch, she thinks suddenly.
She summons the candle to rest beside her and uses another spell to light it.
The small light is hardly comforting. If anything, the atmosphere is even more eerie than before.
Of course, he always thought candle light was romantic.
And maybe it is. With someone to share it with. But she doesn't have that luxury.
She sighs and feels the familiar pressure behind her eyes that tells her tears are coming.
God damn it. Stop thinking about it. He's dead. DRACO IS DEAD. And it's nobody's fault but his own.
"Yes," she says out loud. "No one's fault but his. . . And mine."
fin
Author's note:
I DO plan to write a prequel, or make this a prologue to a chapter fic. When the inspiration hits. I know people are gonna wonder what happened to Draco. And you will find out, so be patient.