"You came."

The sound of footsteps, softly, lightly.

"Hello, yourself."

A baritone, soft, husky, drawling.

It was dark in the room, dusty and old. They had come there for a short moment of silence, of catharsis. It was over, over, over. There were no windows, none of the finer things. No beds, no chairs, nothing to make the atmosphere romantic or beautiful. Just the two young men, one, fair of hair and skin, taller, broader than the dark haired child who was to save them all. A young man of waif like structure from a childhood spent in a dark cupboard.

"Indeed."

The taller one appraised his companion, whose lips were shut as if he hadn't spoken. Lost in a sweater and jeans that were far too big, looking seven instead of seventeen.

"You almost lost." A statement, short, abrupt, to the point.

"But I didn't." The shorter one now turned to look at this poor excuse for company.

"I could have killed you."

"But you didn't."

The blond sighed in a sort of meaningless exasperation, and he with the dark hair smiled, lightly, as if in on some privet joke. The verdant colour of his eyes swam like the depths of a murky pond, and as he turned his body completely, the taller boy was aware of the blood seeping down from his companions hand.

"I see."

"I've not got much longer, you see, and I felt it was only fitting for you to be here when it ended, your own personal catharsis, I guess."

"Not like this…" The blond murmured, making a fast motion with his hand to cup the diminutive boy's cheek. "Never like this."

The dark one smiled, sadly, as if he alone knew what path he had to take. And as he smiled, a lone crimson tear, the tear of the dead, fell down onto the lighter one's hand. He allowed himself this, for no one but Draco was there to see the Boy Who Lived being anything but heroic.

"He bled into me, Draco. The only way, I suppose to be rid of him forever, and 'I'll accept it, sir, with diligence of spirit.'"

"So it ends."

Harry nodded, and touched his lips, briefly, to Draco's, as a remnant of what things could have been.

"I'll be seeing you."

This time Draco laughed.

And as The Boy Who Lived took his last breath, Draco thought about the horrible irony, that he who defeated the dark succumbed to it in the end. For death is the ultimate darkness, or so they say.