Authoress Ramble: Oh, just a short ramble. Maybe it's nothing. Don't hold your breath.
WARNINGS: This is SLASH, good people. It is rated above 13 because of SUICIDE.
… But it's too late
I'm here now, holding your cold hand in the western corner of the Astronomy Tower. Yes, here I am. Your hair tickles my neck and you look sad. I know that look and it hurts that there's nothing I can do about it. Your eyes are cold and distant and you stare into space like it would have become solid in front of your eyes. It doesn't matter if I go or if I stay, it doesn't matter if the sun shines tomorrow or if Quidditch is cancelled.
You close you eyes and I wonder why I didn't see this before. I didn't see you hurting this bad, yet I was the only one that saw you at all. Your head falls forward to rest upon your knees and I do not miss to notice how thin you are. When did you stop eating? When, when, darling? When did you begin hurting so bad that they cannot reach you? I have seen Madame Pomfrey give you potions and I have seen Dumbledore talk with you. I have seen you sit quietly at your house table, not bothering to watch anyone or speak. I have seen Snape try to make you open up and I have hear the distant sound of Professor McGonagall's voice when she told you that you should eat more. I have seen them all begin to avoid you, not watching you, letting their eyes pass you like you would be some sort of stonewall. Maybe you are, though. What would it matter?
We sit like this every night now, not speaking. What would we say? What would I say that could make you break out of that jail that you have created? Your hair feels soft under my fingers when I touch it, your skin still as smooth as before. There's no pretending about what we are, The Boy Who Lived and The Son Of A Death Eater, there's no walls. There's nothing to shield you from my eyes and yet it hurts so bad when the only respond is my face mirrored in your eyes.
I don't know what has changes when I feel your shoulders shake, I only know I am there, suddenly whispering in your ear with my softest voice, telling you that I'm here now and that everything will be okay, if you just tell me what's the matter. I promise you I'll curse anyone that may have hurt you with the strongest curses I know, I promise I'll never taunt you again, I promise that I'll be the best boyfriend you've ever had, if you just let me know what's wrong.
When I walk into the bathroom two weeks later, there's nothing I can do. You lay cold and dead on the tiles and I can't see how you died. I bend your fingers open and unfold the letter you have clutched in your hand, reading without letting a tear fall.
Nothing will be all right, it can no longer be defeated. It's been like this for too long and I can't hold on anymore. You know me. Now I ask you to dance on my grave. Dance without sleeping, dance 'till you're numb. You're here now – but it's too late.
Then I reach for your hand, pat it for hours until Professor Filtwick finds us there. When they pry me away from your hand – I cry.