This was written shortly before the release of DH as a sort of beginning of a grieving process. It was a hard one, but a lot of my emotions concerning the end of Harry Potter is contained in this story. Enjoy.

This isn't how I thought it would end. I thought there would be something that would change my life, something that would drastically alter my outlook on the world, but there wasn't anything. There was just the unsatisfying crumple of Voldemort's body as it fell to the ground and a relieved look from an injured Draco Malfoy. He collapsed, pressing a hand to his bleeding ribcage as his pale face flushed even paler, and I rushed forward, trying to stop him from hitting his head. Malfoy was shaking and I looked around to see if there was anyone who could help me, but there wasn't. I was alone, and Draco Malfoy was dying in front of me.

I let go of him and tried to catch a breath, but no amount of gasping would allow me to do so. A fear that I had never felt before gripped my stomach and all I could think was not another one. Please don't let another one die because of me. I muster up my strength and Apparate away from the smoking battlefield, and it is one of the first times in my life that I don't know what I'm going to do.

The thought terrified me.

He slept for a long time. I could see his eyes moving rapidly beneath the paper-thin skin of his eyelids, and I was scared that he wouldn't wake up. His wounds were inflamed and infected, and there were no more spells I could try to heal them. I researched magical wounds, and all signs pointed to a werewolf attack. As I looked at the massive, seeping wound I felt as if I was going to vomit, because no one deserved this. Not even Malfoy. I couldn't help but think that it might be better if he dies, because at least that way he won't have to live a cursed life.

Not for the first time, I felt sorry for Malfoy.

He groaned in his sleep, his drenched bedclothes wrapped tightly around his feverish body. I rose quickly to fetch a cool towel to put on his forehead and even though I knew it couldn't make much difference, I laid it there. He whimpered a bit and stopped squirming, and I let out a little sigh of relief.

One more day passed, and he was still alive.

He awoke after a week, and I watched from the doorway to my bedroom as he brought a shaking hand to rest over the large bandage that was covering his bite wound. It needed changed, and I stepped into the room before he peeled the stained gauze away from it. I didn't want to have to watch him discover just how much he has lost alone, which wasn't very sound logic, but it was logic nonetheless.

"Potter," he said, and his voice was like spun glass. I refused to notice that he had tears in his eyes. "You let me live. You…let me live?" He sounded betrayed, and I know all too well why. He remembered what happened to him.

I simply stepped forward and carefully pulled away the bandage, folding it up so he couldn't see the gore on it before throwing it away. By the time I returned to his bedside he was staring at the yellow, infected wound and openly crying, his hands curled into tight fists. He was angry, so angry, and I couldn't find it in myself to blame him.

I picked up a well-used tube of Muggle ointment, as it seemed to be the only sort that makes any difference. I unscrewed the lid and squeezed a bit out onto a cotton swab to begin the delicate process of reapplying it to the still-open wound. He was very quick to bat my hand away, twisting in the process and hissing in pain as he stretched still-sore wounds. "Don't fucking touch me," he said in a hoarse tone just short of a sob. "You've done enough."

I laid aside the ointment and watched as a fresh trickle of blood drips onto my crème-coloured sheets. "I was just trying to help you," I whispered even as I feel the burning glare of fury and disappointment he was giving me.

"You could have," he spat before letting out a strangled cry. "YOU COULD HAVE KILLED ME!"

I left so I didn't have to hear the defeated sobs, but I could anyway.

He cried until he didn't have the energy to do it anymore. I went back in after the sun had set with a tray of food and a sombre face.

He was curled on his side, his stomach covered in transparent, red discharge and the sheets hopelessly stained. "Would you like a bath?" I asked softly as I set the tray down. He didn't reply so I circled around so I could see his face. His eyes were glassy and distant and he was staring at the faint sliver of the moon. It was a long moment before he acknowledged me, and he did so with no emotion.

"It doesn't matter," he sang.

"It does," I replied, surprised at the firmness in my voice. "I'll help you get in. Surely you must want to get cleaned up."

He had gone back to staring blankly at the night sky, and I set off to the bathroom to run some water for him. I returned and he allowed me to lead him to the bathtub, where he stood like an Inferi until I pull off his pants and guide him into the water. His slow climb into the water was painful to watch, but he eventually made it. His entrance turned the water pink very quickly.

When I was sure he would be fine I left so I could strip the bed and put on fresh sheets. I wadded the soiled pair into a ball and carried them into the kitchen, where I planned to burn them when Draco was sleeping again. I paced outside of the bedroom until I heard the sound of urination and I knew that he is done. He emerged from the bathroom looking exhausted, but clean. I found him new pants to put on and helped him dry his body, carefully patting around his wound, as he dressed.

"May I put a bandage on this?" I asked, afraid that Draco would ignore me again. Instead, he nodded once and lay back against the stack of fresh pillows, staring out the window once more. I set about dressing the wound and he tried his best to hide his flinching when I touched a particularly sensitive area. My stomach churned when I realize I could see a bit of a rib bone; stark white surrounded by a rainbow of red.

After packing the wound and covering it with a bandage I gathered his tray of food, laying it across his lap. He didn't look at it. "You should eat," I said softly.

"Why didn't you kill me?" he asked, and for a long moment I didn't know what to say. I stared at the moon too. When I finally returned my gaze to him he was staring at me, his eyes wide and molten silver.

"Enough people were dead," I replied, my voice steady. "I wanted at least one person to be alive because of me. Enough had died because of me."

Draco's eyes froze before he looked down at the clear glass of water on his tray. "I'm not alive," he said in a tone steeped in bitterness. "I'm not even human."

I smiled grimly before saying, "You're more human than I am."

I left, and I could feel his curious gaze following me.

He stared at me. I was eating my sandwich in the corner of the room, and he was watching me do it. After deciding I wasn't paying any attention he tried his best to subtly scratch his side.

"Quit," I toned before lying aside the rest of my lunch.

He huffed in disappointment before letting his hand fall back into his lap. "You don't have to stay in here all the bloody time," he said in a snarl.

I looked up and he was squirming, trying to generate friction between his bandage and his slowly healing wound. "I do, or else you're going to claw at that until you start bleeding all over again."

I could tell he was annoyed but he didn't say anything. Finally he lowered his head a bit and said, "It's…the full moon in a few days."

"Three actually," I added, crossing my legs. "I've worked out where you can go. I've come across some Wolfsbane if you want it, I'm not…"

"I can't stay here?" he asked, and I couldn't look at him. I was sure he didn't want to sound frightened, but he did.

"There's a cellar behind the cottage," I said, and it almost sounded like a question. "I…well, if you want to take the potion I can…I'll check on you, if you want. I mean…"

He blushed, and all at once I understood that he's scared of having to go through it alone. Terrified. If Remus Lupin was still alive I would have asked him to come and help Draco, but he wasn't. "That…that's fine," he whispered, and I knew for sure that it was not fine. He was absently scratching his side again.

"Quit," I toned as I stood up, and he furiously slapped his hand back down into his lap. "Would you like some tea?" I asked, and he nodded grudgingly. I gathered up our plates and toss, "Don't scratch while I'm gone" over my shoulder, and even as I did I knew that he would.

"I'm ready." I looked up and he was sitting on the edge of the bed, wringing his hands together in his lap and staring blindly at the floor. Even the itch in his side wasn't distracting him from the night ahead.

I pulled the small bottle of Wolfsbane from my back pocket and handed it to him. "You should take this. You'll probably want to…err…well, I don't want you to ruin the clothes, so you might not want to…I mean…"

"Articulate as always," he said with a laugh before taking the potion from me, downing it quickly with a grimace. "I'll wait until I get to your cellar to strip if you don't mind."

"I was going to let you stay here, that is if you want to," I said, and curse that I was still stuttering. "As far as I know you…retain your mind throughout the transformation. You shouldn't be a danger to yourself or…"

"You," he finished with a grim smile. He sat back down on the bed and cast a wary eye to the setting sun. "If you don't mind, would you…" he blushed before finishing. "Stay with me? Just for the first part. I don't know what to expect, and if anything goes wrong…"

He stopped talking, and I slowly walked over to sit beside him on the bed. "Of course. I'm just surprised you haven't tried to kill me yet, considering I won't let you scratch."

"I do it anyway," he replied with a tired laugh. He looked back at the setting sun and stood, walking behind me and judging by the rustle of fabric he undressed. I felt the bed shift again and he cleared his throat, signalling it's safe for me to look.

As I turned around the sun sank behind the horizon and we were plunged in darkness. He closed his eyes and his breathing sped up a bit, but he had not yet changed. It was only when the moon shone brighter than the fading sunlight that he let out a gust of air.

I couldn't sit there and watch the pain he was going through. Hearing his moans brought back unpleasant memories of blood-soaked battlefields and the sharp smell of magic-thickened air and I stood, walking over to the corner and trying to pretend that I couldn't hear the agonizing whimpers from the bed.

After a time the whimpers morph into something more animalistic. I ventured turning around see that the change is over, and Malfoy was lying in the middle of the bed, his sleek head lying on his paws as he stared up at me with blue eyes that the human Malfoy didn't possess.

He was a magnificent creature. His fur was so white that it was almost silver, and he was smaller than I remembered Professor Lupin being. I wondered if he wasn't fully grown yet. He whined again, inching forward closer to me and continuing to stare up at me in a mournful way.

I couldn't help but smile a bit and step over to the side of the bed, carefully sitting down beside him and gently petting between his ears. Malfoy whined again before laying his head in my lap. I pet him slowly, surprised by how soft his fur was, and he let out an uncomfortable bark when I got too close to his side. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

He closed his eyes and soon was asleep and it wasn't long before I was drifting off as well, lulled by the steady breathing of the silver wolf in my lap.

I woke up to find his head still in my lap, one of his hands resting on my knee. I laughed lightly when I noticed my fingers still carding through his hair.

"Stop picking at your bloody scab!" I said for what felt like the millionth time as I shoved his shoulder lightly. He wrinkled up his nose and returned to his sandwich. He had sandwiches for nearly every meal, as it was the only thing besides cereal I knew how to make, but he didn't complain. He no longer wore a bandage and had traded it for one of my threadbare grey tee shirts.

He smiled into his plate before he said, "Oh leave me alone, will you? Picking my scabs is one of the very few pleasures in my life." I laughed and watched him for a moment before returning my gaze to the carrot sticks on my plate. He stole one of them and munched on it a little too happily, and I knew that he would prefer more protein, especially since he was recovering from the full moon. He seemed tired but happy, and I couldn't help but think he was relieved that he didn't have anything to dread anymore.

Without thinking I blurted out, "Would you like to go somewhere? We could go to the beach, or to London and do touristy things if you want…we can do anything you want."

"Harry…" he said in a tone that suggested that he was going to say no. He drew up his legs and bit his lip before looking up at me. "People don't want to be around me. I'm…dangerous, in more than one way. I don't want to impose my presence on anyone. Besides you, of course."

"It's not like you are constantly on a quest for blood," I scoffed, and pain crossed his face. I wasn't quite sure what else I could say to him, so I decided to say the one thing that I hadn't told anyone. "When, I killed Voldemort, something happened. Something no one could have expected."

He looked up at me, the same curiosity on his face that he held when I mentioned that he was more human than I was. He placed aside his lunch before I continued. "When…when Voldemort tried to kill me when I was a baby, he formed a link between himself and me. So when he died, instead of his powers dying with them, they transferred over to me. I couldn't use magic anymore because I couldn't control it. If…if I hadn't stopped using magic, I would probably have become the next Dark Lord. In essence, I am the next Dark Lord, I just don't act on the impulses I have."

"Is that why you don't see any of your friends anymore?" he asked me softly, his hand gently touching mine as they lay next to each other on the mattress.

I bit my lip before replying, "Either that, or they're dead. Ron's dead, and Hermione is scared of me a bit, I think. She's the one who sent along the Wolfsbane, seeing as the only other person I knew who made it was…"

"Professor Snape," he finished gravely. "And he's dead as well."

We were both silent for a long time, staring at the other's hands and thinking about how very much life has changed. "So you're scarily powerful," he finally asked, looking up into my face with a strange glint in his eyes.

"Potentially," I replied a bit warily.

He shrugged. "Well, I can't deny someone who could kill me with a look, can I? Let's go mingle with some Muggles."

And we did.

Nursing Draco Malfoy back to health also allowed Draco Malfoy to nurse me back to health. We became good friends, both of us relating to the fact that we had something dark and terrifying controlling us but we were able to face it because we were together.

It wasn't until one morning after a particularly hard full moon when he woke up wrapped in my arms, his head lying over my heart, that I realized just how very much he meant to me. He looked up at me and I could see the same warm eyes of the wolf and he just kissed me like it was the only truly natural thing to do. My hand slid across the feverish skin over his shoulders and nothing felt as right as waking up to Draco Malfoy every morning.

There were times that I would have nightmares and he would wake me up because books were hurling themselves across the room violently and an anger that terrified me every time was flooding my body, and it was only his soothing hand along my spine that would calm me back down. He would vaguely mention that when I got like this my eyes would turn red, and I tried to make it a point to keep them closed when I felt the irrational anger and hate well up inside of me.

Sometimes I can control it. Most of those times, he is beside me.

I often think about all that we've lost. Friends. Family. Normal lives. When I vocalize these thoughts he tosses a chip at me (because he finally decided we should have fish and chips because he's tired of sandwiches) and says, "We could never be normal in the first place. We should just be thankful for lives at all."

I know this is as close as a thank you I'm going to get, but he is thanks enough. We saved each other. That's more than enough.