Blight: Prologue: Follow You Down
by Vahn Thorren (The Ugly Cheerleader) and RedHawk

Warnings: H/D slash. An interesting' bit of violence and the introduction of character
death. Some awkward flash back scenes. Nothing major yet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He leads me. I took his hand, realizing just how sweaty my palms are a few
moments too late. He doesn't seem to take any notice. He pulls me forward a few steps
and spins around, facing me, grabbing my free hand. I take no notice of the scenery, he
steps backwards pulling me forward once more. His hair is mess, crooked in the back and
sticking up on the left side of his head as if he just rolled out of bed. He leans forward, his
lips brush against mine for a brief moment. I feel him smile against my cheek.

my whisper hangs in the air, impossibly loud in the silence. He looks up
and I can't help myself stare back at those unnaturally emerald eyes. Relief is a warm
haze like that feeling I get from the vodka I've started to drink since you... That's when I
notice it. A fine thin slit divides the iris, then another forming a lopsided x'. The blood
begins to seep out and pool at his lashes like tears. I jerk back in fear and disgust. That
innocent joy I saw so clearly a few moments earlier is gone, obscured and blurry. Harry
covers his face with both his hands, ashamed. My own hands feel so ...empty?

He said he loved me... A almost indecipherable groan escapes him as he falls to
his knees.

I remember where I am again. Who he is and worst I remember his fate.
His head jerks back up at me at an inhuman speed. They begin to reappear, countless
scars. Like lace' he had cried one distant night as I had traced my finger across his chest.

He said he'd always love me... The wounds began to reopen, he hugs himself and
wails, his head bowed once more. I wrap my arms around his collapsed frame, knowing
they'll offer little comfort. I hesitate, realizing just how easily the blood has seeped
through his clothes. He wraps his arms around me. For a moment it's perfect again, the
security of our embrace and the smell of his skin, his voice inside me.

Then he burns, his grip tightens and I feel his fingernails dig in to my back. I'm
thrown back a few feet. Flames explode around his feet, spreading around in waves. It
looks like grass somehow, a field. Somewhere. They crawl up his legs, wrapping around
his waist like a possessive lover. The blaze masking the ruined flesh. He lunges,
struggling to speak. No words can escape him, his mouth is melting. He hugs me so
fiercely, I cry out as my skin catches flames, as I make contact with charred palms. In my
desperation I strike the top of his head with my fist, using more strength then I thought I
had. It makes a sickening crunch as my fist sinks in to the boiling mass. Hands reach my
face, entrenching me in fire and a vice like grip. Talon like fingers wrap themselves
around my neck, serpentine and vicious. The digits find purchase in my throat, puncturing
fragile veins, now limp beneath him.

Is this what it was like for Harry? The thought distracts me for a second. With
sudden fervor it reaches eye level with me. I feel what's left of his lips press against mine
once more. Finally after such absence, I think to myself, my brain blinded by the pain. His
mouth pulls itself open after much difficulty. I feel it's tongue enter my mouth, it's
tangible for seconds as it enters. And then it's gone. Liquefied and flowing in a cascade of
searing, bitter flesh. It's inside me, and all there is to see and feel is utter pain, heavy and
black. Smothering me, I feel my body try to repel this poison as it chokes on the burning
grease. I can't breath, no air, consumed by the raging flames that cover me like a funeral
veil. My eyes, boiled in their sockets by the intense heat, see nothing. My mouth, I have a
mouth no longer it long since dripped in to my scarred esophagus. I have one ear left. Voices echo
and memory blends.

* * *

I wrap my arms around you, the blood a surreal vermilion cascade. I let it fill the spaces
between us. It is the seal, the pact, the final kiss. My skin is hot, nerves burning, I cry
tears of blood, just like you... The knife is slippery, I'm light headed. It dances across
the flesh like my hands on your skin. It paints me red.

* * *

"You'll tell me you love me..."

* * *

"Draco...don't go..."

* * *

I'm intact, that's the first thing I realize. Second, that I'm alone, in my bed in my
dorm. Alone, the word hits me first, solid and fatal. The open window, an indifferent
moon glares back at me from where I lay.

He's dead now, save yourself the trouble. He's gone and there's nothing to say
about it. My personal mantra, said more out of habit than it's actual potency. I say it with
an unconvincing shake in my voice. It's a lie, there is so much more to his death than
they'll ever know.

How could any of us know? The ceiling has no answers, it never does.


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Well, you lucky people at Snitch Fiction/F.F.Net get the special revised version of Blight,
which'll hopefully involve better character development than that of earlier Blight drafts.
Check in ever so often as preexisting chapters will be systematically revised, reorganized
and replaced. Please drop me a line at Pinochio_Syndrome@juno.com, remember no
flames but I'm open to constructive criticism. Feel free to point out any errors in spelling and
grammar as I'm practically plebe'ing at this late hour. You can be a little mean if you want to,
as long as you're witty and far more intelligent than I. (If you didn't just get that joke, forget it.)
Anyway, I'm happy to be back.