AN: Warnings are disturbing images. First attempt at a song fic and feel that there's not another one that could quite descibe this better. Lyrics from Room of Angels.

The battles were over. The silence was damning. Only the souls that couldn't part with their body remained to watch as he walked through the fields, head hung, vomit dried on his shirt lapels mixed with the deep red of the blood, (his? He wasn't sure anymore. Could have been anyones.) making his already uncomfortable shirt stiff. No stiffer than the hundreds of corpses he stepped around, (around and on, it was impossible to avoid all of the body parts that had long been drained of the blood they needed to be useful.) As a crow screeched somewhere in the distance, probably bringing it's feast of flesh home to its children, he found the very person he had been sent to confirm the death of.

You lie silent there before me

your tears they mean nothing to me

the wind howling at the window

the love you never gave

I give to you

"Hello, Father," Draco kicked the corpse over onto it's back, wiping his shoe off on the damp grass below to rid it of his fathers filth. His body ripped from the grass' frost since he had long ago lost the ability to produce his own heat, (as if his cold blooded heart had ever once been warm enough to keep him from turning frigid, enough to even keep his marriage luke warm.) His mother had been attractive, hell he knew several of his friends had wet dreams about her, and Draco was half tempted to find out what had kept her around for so long. He watched the maggots swarm across the grass underneath the body he had onced shyed from the strength of. It had rained since the battle. The clothes they rested in were damp still, decompisition would happen quickly.

Draco squatted down, pulling his cloak out around his knees and leaned up close to his fathers head. He pictured his skull, now quiet inside, no thoughts of murder or vengance, of finances and social status. He saw the hair, so similar in color to his own, matted with blood and mud and now a faint reminder of his most distinguishing feature. Draco ran a finger through his hair, already stiff , never again to retain it's glossy shine that his father had cared so much to maintain. "Hmm...Pathetic." Draco stood, his legs becoming numb and stared into the listless eyes before stooping down for one last time.

"I just wanted you to know, I fucked that mud-blood Granger, and the little Weasley girl," he waited for movement, an ultimate test of his fathers demise, and when nothing changed he continued, "and I loved it." He stood, making great care to kick his fathers ribs as he stepped over him, enjoying the snap of the bone and sinew seperating from each other after a lifetime of holding on. Draco felt his own body seperate as he left his fathers corpse in the mud and, after a lifetime of holding on, he too was free.

He had completed his job, (his self dedicated mission) and now found that his life had very little meaning left. His cowardice is the only thing that seperated him from the piles of bodies strewn about him. It was Armageddon, and he had been left behind. Surely he wasn't the only one left on the earth, millions of people miles away would be sleeping, snug in their beds, unaware of the massacre that lay before him. They'd probably never know, ignorant muggles, unless he felt them worthy of hearing it, (which of course he never would). The thought of being left alone with muggles, perhaps the most powerful person on the earth left, made his stomach roll with the sick that he had only just learned to keep down. That's how this happened. Power. Fuck it. He pulled the flask from his hip, nearly emptied of it's contents and took a long dreg, nearly exhausting his only escape from the reality he had just stepped in.

He noticed a glint of blonde in the distance and looked nervously over his shoulder, sure he had been walking in a circle. No, this was different, still luminous. His hands felt the tingle of that shine he had wrapped around his tiny hands in his childhood and felt a pang in his heart, almost like mourning. Of course, she had changed, become more like her spouse, forgotten the little boy that cried into her shoulder when the horrors of the night found him. She hardly remembered she had a son, but his memory of her remained nearly painfully.

Really don't deserve it

but now there's nothing you can do

so sleep in your only memory of me

my dearest mother

He brushed a kiss against his fingers and drug it over her cold cheek, knowing that she would not feel his small gesture but hoping that her spirit might have seen the attempt to remain her little boy.

"You're free. He can't hurt us anymore." Nothing more needed to be said, (could be said) and Draco continued his walk without hardly breaking stride. His flask was emptied and then roughly discarded and as the heat of the dark amber liquid faded, he began feeling the cold in the nights air tearing through his clothes. No one stirred, no one felt the cold, the pain, the anger that he would continue to feel. (You ran away you prick. Left them to die. Watched them die. You were thankful to be away. Now what. You're alone. Always will be.)

So insignificant

sleeping dormant deep inside of me

are you hiding away lost

under the sewers

maybe flying high in the clouds

perhaps you're happy without me

so many seeds have been sown in the field

and who could sprout up so blessedly

His thoughts wandered with his feet until he wasn't sure where he was anymore (did it matter you've got no where to go). His feet saw more of the journey then his eyes which were only open in habit taking nothing in of his surroundings. It was all the same anyway. Death. As far as the eye could see. (Great place to set up a honeymoon resort, 'where your husbands not the only thing that's stiff') His ears picked up the loud crunch of glass and snapped his brain away from his hotel plans. He looked down and saw a familiar item. Something that enraged him just by sight. From the first time he had seen the dark green eyes shinning from behind them. Glasses, or what was left of them, crushed under the grass beneath his shoe, unusuable to anyone even if the owner did still need them. He bent and picked them up, now with a new mission in mind. He could at least return his glasses. After all, he was the only reason that he still walked. (It's his fault you're alone. He could have just failed, let them find and kill you, then you wouldn't have to worry about his fucking glasses)

If I had died

I would have never felt sad at all

Potter. His body contorted unnaturally in the grass ahead, just where he had fallen after the exhausting battle had met it's peak. Voldemort's body, only a few feet ahead, had fallen first. Potter had won, if not only but for a second. The hatred that each had held in for so many years blatantly obvious on each mangled corpse. Pieces of flesh seered off in the heat of battle made Harry's face nearly unrecognizable. Plus with his glasses off (I don't think I've ever seen him without them), but no, it was him. Draco had seen him fall. And this was the exact spot he had taken his last breath. A scream that still rang through the empty field. The pain must have been incredible. If he had not killed Voldemort first, he would be coming after Draco next.

You will not hear me say I'm sorry

(Who knew, Potter. Did you know that you would save my life one day? That all the time we fought, the hatred and the pain, that you would have to lay down your life and that I would remain. Had you hoped that I would die. That I would be left behind. That I would have no one to care for or care for me. Is that how you planned it to be?)

Where is the light

wonder if it's weeping somewhere

He threw the glasses down on Harry's split chest and listened to the sick thud as they hit. He looked down on his body, unable to say something, not sure that there was anything to say anyways, for what seemed like an eternity. No where to go. Nothing to do. Draco lay down in the grass, the wind sweeping through him slowing his heart rate to an uncomfortable rythem. (I'll just lay down until it picks up) The grass was stiff with frost. (no where to really go anyhow). Harry's hands where just in front of his face, blue with the blanket of death and wrapped around his wand. (No one left who cares) His heart beat in his ears, slowly, slower. (let it stop) It didn't matter anymore.

As the morning sun broke the dawns horrible gray over the field, the single tear that had frozen to his cheek melted, leaving no trace of it's presence behind.

Here's a lullaby to close your eyes good-bye

it was always you that I despised

I don't feel enough for you to cry oh well

here's a lullaby to close your eyes good-bye

good-bye