Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, etc.
`Harry looked up at the sound of someone entering the room. It was not the person he was hoping for. It hadn't been that person for over three months, but Harry kept hoping.
He smiled despite his disappointment. He was always glad to see Ron. The red haired man looked haggard as he smiled back at Harry. They were all barely twenty, but the war had aged them so much more. Harry had begun to think of them all as men and women the summer he turned sixteen. That was when the twins had died in battle. That was when the reality of the war had finally hit home. They had suffered many more losses since then, washing away all of Harry's innocence. Harry himself had been lost to the battle. Even wizard's magic had not been able to save his legs, and so he was trapped in this bed, guarded by wizards who were needed in battle. Merely because he was the boy who lived.
"Hermione?" Harry questioned Ron about his fiancée.
"Struggling up north, but doing fine."
"And your family?"
"They're pulling through." Ron said sadly. He had lost yet another brother. Bill had died in Egypt, bravely leading his troops into battle.
"Good. Send my love to your mother."
"I will. But Harry." Ron began, and suddenly Harry didn't want to be talking to his friend anymore. Didn't want to hear what Ron was going to say next.
"No." He turned his head to the window. Hoping Ron would go away. Hoping it all would go away.
"He went bravely."
"No." Weaker this time.
"Fighting his own father. He showed no signs of weakness."
"No."
"They managed to recover his body. There'll be a service when they can manage it."
"No." Harry said again, succumbing to the tears. Ron moved to sit beside him.
"I'm so sorry, Harry." And he was. Harry could see that Ron was crying, too. Something Harry hadn't seen him do since the twins. Harry knew Ron was crying for him, for his broken heart.
"Draco didn't deserve to die." Harry finally managed to say.
"No. He didn't." Ron said simply. What words could he offer?
"I'd like to be alone now." Harry said, squeezing Ron's hand to let him know that he would be okay.
"I understand." Ron got up and went to the door. "I'm so sorry." He said again, and then he left Harry with his thoughts.
Harry had known that this was a possibility. Had thought about it all these months while he had lain in this bed. With Draco out there fighting, he had known he might be left alone. It was a reality all couples faced in war. But now that the truth of it hit him, Harry knew he would not be okay.
His mind wandered to the feeling of that beautiful, silky blonde hair as he ran his fingers through it. To the intensity in those gray eyes the first time they had said "I love you." To the way he always seemed to smell of cinnamon. To the way he felt in his arms. No, Harry would not be okay. Would not recover. He was alone.
That night, Harry left his room. He was able to move short distances by levitating himself. But it took more energy than it was worth, most of the time. No one immediately guarded his room. They were all posted outside the building, where they were needed most. And so no one say the eerie figure of Harry Potter floating down the hall to the supply room in the dead of night. Harry knew what he needed and took it quickly. He did not want to be caught.
Back in his room he mixed the ingredients. As he swallowed the draught he thought about what he was doing. The forces had lost him when he lost his legs. They only guarded him because they felt he was a symbol for the cause. But Harry refused to be a symbol any longer. Not when he was alone. He had stopped being any good to them months ago. And now he would stop being anything to them.
He lay back on his pillows as the potion set in. A small smile played on his lips. He would get to hold Draco again. And so the great Harry Potter passed on in a cold little hospital room by his own hand. And Voldemort laughed.
`Harry looked up at the sound of someone entering the room. It was not the person he was hoping for. It hadn't been that person for over three months, but Harry kept hoping.
He smiled despite his disappointment. He was always glad to see Ron. The red haired man looked haggard as he smiled back at Harry. They were all barely twenty, but the war had aged them so much more. Harry had begun to think of them all as men and women the summer he turned sixteen. That was when the twins had died in battle. That was when the reality of the war had finally hit home. They had suffered many more losses since then, washing away all of Harry's innocence. Harry himself had been lost to the battle. Even wizard's magic had not been able to save his legs, and so he was trapped in this bed, guarded by wizards who were needed in battle. Merely because he was the boy who lived.
"Hermione?" Harry questioned Ron about his fiancée.
"Struggling up north, but doing fine."
"And your family?"
"They're pulling through." Ron said sadly. He had lost yet another brother. Bill had died in Egypt, bravely leading his troops into battle.
"Good. Send my love to your mother."
"I will. But Harry." Ron began, and suddenly Harry didn't want to be talking to his friend anymore. Didn't want to hear what Ron was going to say next.
"No." He turned his head to the window. Hoping Ron would go away. Hoping it all would go away.
"He went bravely."
"No." Weaker this time.
"Fighting his own father. He showed no signs of weakness."
"No."
"They managed to recover his body. There'll be a service when they can manage it."
"No." Harry said again, succumbing to the tears. Ron moved to sit beside him.
"I'm so sorry, Harry." And he was. Harry could see that Ron was crying, too. Something Harry hadn't seen him do since the twins. Harry knew Ron was crying for him, for his broken heart.
"Draco didn't deserve to die." Harry finally managed to say.
"No. He didn't." Ron said simply. What words could he offer?
"I'd like to be alone now." Harry said, squeezing Ron's hand to let him know that he would be okay.
"I understand." Ron got up and went to the door. "I'm so sorry." He said again, and then he left Harry with his thoughts.
Harry had known that this was a possibility. Had thought about it all these months while he had lain in this bed. With Draco out there fighting, he had known he might be left alone. It was a reality all couples faced in war. But now that the truth of it hit him, Harry knew he would not be okay.
His mind wandered to the feeling of that beautiful, silky blonde hair as he ran his fingers through it. To the intensity in those gray eyes the first time they had said "I love you." To the way he always seemed to smell of cinnamon. To the way he felt in his arms. No, Harry would not be okay. Would not recover. He was alone.
That night, Harry left his room. He was able to move short distances by levitating himself. But it took more energy than it was worth, most of the time. No one immediately guarded his room. They were all posted outside the building, where they were needed most. And so no one say the eerie figure of Harry Potter floating down the hall to the supply room in the dead of night. Harry knew what he needed and took it quickly. He did not want to be caught.
Back in his room he mixed the ingredients. As he swallowed the draught he thought about what he was doing. The forces had lost him when he lost his legs. They only guarded him because they felt he was a symbol for the cause. But Harry refused to be a symbol any longer. Not when he was alone. He had stopped being any good to them months ago. And now he would stop being anything to them.
He lay back on his pillows as the potion set in. A small smile played on his lips. He would get to hold Draco again. And so the great Harry Potter passed on in a cold little hospital room by his own hand. And Voldemort laughed.