Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter but copies of the books and the movies, and I quite enjoy them.
BECAUSE
"I know we've never been friends, but after the war I thought we could at least… not be enemies. So, I have to tell you something. I'm a Veela. Well, part-Veela. Well, we all have mates. People we're supposed to be with. If we don't find our mates, or if they reject us, we die. And, you're it. Mine. My mate. I know this isn't something you wanted, but it might not be so bad. Well, it will be bad at first, but hopefully we can work through it. Who am I kidding? You hate me and I understand. You don't have to say anything. I'll just go. Is that alright with you, Harry?"
Harry, lost in thought, had only caught the last few words. "Sorry? Yeah, sure, Malfoy. That's fine."
Draco left the classroom. He didn't go back to his dorm to gather his effects, he didn't really need them. He didn't leave a note. The people who would care that he was gone would know why he left. Crossing the grassy field outsides the gates of Hogwarts, he entered the Forbidden Forest. He walked until he found a nice patch of moss under a tree, and settled in to wait.
It didn't hurt. There was some discomfort from hunger and thirst for a while, but then he didn't feel it anymore. The moss was soft, sometimes the sun shone down on his face, one night it rained, and he couldn't stop himself from drinking a little of the cool water that ran down his face.
A centaur came upon the boy, threatened him, kicked him. When the boy didn't respond, not even in self-defense or fear, the centaur left. Draco wrapped an arm around his broken ribs and breathed, quietly, in the forest. Veela die with dignity, and it hadn't been that bad.
No one missed the boy. Despite his efforts during the war he was never trusted by some. When he disappeared, most people thought he was dead and were glad, if they didn't say so out loud. Some few people thought he might be alive, living far away where he wasn't Lucious Malfoy's son anymore, but his own person. Maybe they knew better, but it helped to have some small hope. One man knew what he was, if not where. Severus Snape lit a small white candle for Draco's soul every night in a quiet corner of his chambers. It smelled lightly of lemon and cedar.
Harry went on with his life. He played professional Quidditch for a while, then went back into the hero business as a Auror for a while. Then he traveled, everywhere. He saw cities so full people couldn't take a free step in any direction, and areas so barren of life he could fly over them for hours on his broomstick without seeing anyone.
He had relationships, with men and women. Some of them were scandalously short-term, some longer. He almost got married once.
He lived a life of average duration. He didn't die tragically young, but he didn't live to Dumbledore's years either. One day he had a heart attack, and was gone before anyone found him.
He died with the feeling that something was missing. Something had always been missing, but he never knew what it was.
(Lesson learned.)
Love stories don't always have happy endings, or happy beginnings. Sometimes they never even occur, and it happens every day.
Author's Note: This is actually my first Harry Potter fic, but I've been reading a lot lately and the bunnies just hop up. I have a few more ideas I'd like to write, so if you liked this, please review. Not that I have low self-esteem or anything, but I need the encouragement.