Looking around, Harry surveyed the familiar dungeon. He'd been here a thousand times, with Draco. But now, Draco had gone to be with the Dark Lord, a necessary move on the Slytherin's part. Harry, however, didn't see how he could keep dating the blonde, knowing that sooner or later, Draco would be ordered to kill the Gryffindor. Once Draco got those orders, he couldn't say no and live. No one did.

Rummaging through the Potions cabinet, Harry pulled out the beaker of Sleeping Drought. Glancing around to make sure he was completely alone, he also withdrew a dagger from his bag. The hilt was encrusted with rubies and emeralds, not unlike the colors of Slytherin and Gryffindor. 'How fitting,' Harry thought, holding it up to the flame, watching it sparkle in the light.

Setting up red and black candles, Harry lit them one by one. If he was going to do this, and he was, he wanted it to be just the way he pictured it. Stepping inside the circle of flame, Harry swigged the Sleeping Drought until it was empty. Feeling the effects begin to take place, Harry got impatient. He wanted to speed this up so that if Draco did come back, there would be no way for the Slytherin to save the brunette. Not this time.

Picking up the dagger, Harry positioned it at his stomach. Inhaling deeply, he plunged the blade into his abdomen and retracted it, watching the blood drip from the tip onto the stone floor. The dagger was so beautiful now, glistening in the candlelight, coated with the Gryffindor's blood. Slumping over, Harry had one last thought cross his mind before he died. 'If he finds me, I hope he knows that it's because of him I'm dead.'

The next morning, Draco raced down the the dungeons. There had been talk that a student had committed suicide; he wanted to see if he was right in his thinking. If it was Harry, then he would know that everything he had fought for, everything he had fought against would have been in vain. He had only to glance at the brunette to know that it was Harry. Kneeling down beside the deceased Gryffindor, Draco began to weep. He couldn't believe it. Harry was supposed to be his constant, the one thing that was always there, that would never die. Yet here he was, looking down on the dead man.

Draco cradled Harry's head in his lap, cursing himself. He should have been there for Harry, been able to see that his future was slowly killing his lover. Now, it was too late. Draco would never again see the sparkle in the brunette's eye, never hear the melodious laugh, never wake up beside him again.

Now, all Draco would have were a funeral to attend, many sleepless nights, the guilt that he had led to Harry's death, and the fact that as much as he hated Voldemort before, he now loathed the Dark Lord. After all, if it weren't for him, Harry would still be alive.

The most important thing in the blonde's life had been taken away from him, and there was nothing he could do about it. How was he supposed to go on leading a normal life without his soul mate, his lover, his best friend?