You never knew that one look could hurt you so badly. That one glance could tear your heart out, and stomp on it. That one gaze could make you want to die. But it can. And your world stops as your eyes fall onto his body, limp and vulnerable. He's dead. And you want to be too. But you can't. He died for a cause, and now you have to finish what he started. And you hear screaming, and you realize that that's you. That horrible, awful sound is you. You hear screaming and crying and wailing, and you just want it to stop. And you try to run out to him, but somebody's holding you back. And you want to hold him, to kiss him one more time, to revive him and have one more shot. One. More. Chance. To hold him, and marry him, and have three children, named after the people you love most. That one chance. And it's all slipping. And you look over at Ron and Hermione, and you realize that they had no idea. That he slipped out into the forest to meet them because he's so damn noble, and you wish he hadn't been. But it's too late. And as you realize that Neville's been talking, he's disappeared. His body's gone. And you feel a shred of hope, and rush into battle. And suddenly, he's there, alive. And suddenly, you're complete again.
He's gone. And you're yelling his name. Again. And again. Because he can't be dead. And you're clutching Ron's arm, but you don't even care. Because Harry Potter cannot die. Not after all you've been through to save him. You've fought a freaking troll, and gotten Petrified, and traveled back in time. You've helped him learn Accio for the TriWizard competition, and never once doubted that he didn't put his name in the goblet. You've fought dementors, and Death Eaters, and- damn it, he can't die, not after all you've been through together. And then Neville's starting towards the Death Eaters, and you're terrified that he's going to switch sides, but he doesn't. He starts talking about how much Harry did, and how even if he's dead, Voldemort will die. And he will, if you, a common Mudblood, has anything to do with it. Because even if Harry's dead, he would want revenge. And you, sweet, book-loving, will do it for him. Because Harry was your friend. And he didn't judge you. Ever. And it's the least you can do. So you pull out your wand, and dive into the battle. But then you realize that Harry's body is no longer in Hagrid's arms, but rather in the Great Hall, roving around and around. And he's alive. In mortal danger, yes, but when is he not? The important thing is that he's alive again, and somewhere, a part of you is, too.
Your best mate. Dead. Your last hope. Dead. The Chosen One. Dead. And you bellow his name, again and again, and again. And Hermione's gripping your arm, cutting off your circulation, but you welcome the pain because it takes your mind away from the evidence that's right there. And you remember all the times when you doubted him, when you walked away, when you weren't there. In second year, when you stayed back with Lockhart. In third year, when you hurt your leg. In fourth year, when you thought he had put his name in the goblet for fame. And just this year, when you walked away from him and Hermione. When they were doing things for the greater good. And maybe, you wish he weren't so famous. You've let him down so often and this is just another time. But you can't redo. He's dead. Because he was just so noble like that. And you wish he wasn't. Because then he'd be alive. But maybe he is. Because as you fight, his body disappears, and suddenly you see him, and it's not possible. But he is there, and he is alive. And suddenly your worry disappears because even if Harry is in danger, he'll come out on top. Because he's fighting for the right side. And everybody knows the good side wins. Always. But this isn't a story, and you know that. But even so, he'll win. Because he's Harry f-ing Potter, The Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived.
You can't believe your eyes. Harry can't be dead. You can't lose him, too. Not after Fred. And granted, Harry isn't your son. But he's been as good as, ever since Fred and George brought him home. Ever since Ron befriended him. You've practically loved him ever since he asked you how to get to Platform 9 ¾. That poor parentless boy. So polite too. And he's saved so much of your family; Ginny, Fleur, Arthur, Ron, and now, everybody by fighting You-Know-Who. You had so much confidence in him. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One. But none of those names really fit him except Harry James Potter, the boy who never knew what he had done, who didn't know a thing about wizards, who'd never been condescending to your family because of their wealth, or rather, lack of it. And he's saved you already, when he was only a little baby, who triumphed over You-Know-Who. And now he's dead. And You-Know-Who is stronger than ever. But then you realize that Ginny's fighting Bellatrix, and you're already there, dueling- "Not my daughter, you bitch!"-and as Bellatrix falls backwards, the ghost of her last laugh still etched upon her face, you see him. Alive. And the hope is revived, and you feel almost light-headed because he's alive. The Chosen One lives.
You've already lost Fred. Goddammit, you've already lost Fred. And you don't deserve this. First your twin, now your brother. Practically. That's all you have to give. Only one brother. And your mouth is moving and everything is in slow motion, and you just want it to go away. And after this war- because it has to end someday- you just want to go away somewhere and curl up and mourn. But you should only have to mourn one brother and if Fred has to die, you'll be damned if you lose Harry, too. And suddenly, you're in battle again, and if you have to fight and fight for freedom, then goddammit, you will. And suddenly he's there, and it's like something in your heart lets up, and you're not afraid, because if he can cheat death twice, he most definitely can cheat death another time for you, his family and friends.
"HARRY!" You tried. You yelled and struggled against your binds and warned him not to. But he was a noble git, and now he's dead. You saw it, the flash of green light, his lifeless body toppling over, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named falling over, and his followers swarming him. You saw it! He was your last hope. You took him from the rubbles of the house in Godric's Hollow, you fetched him to get him his letter, and you see him now, dead. DEAD! "No, not Harry." You're sobbing. And you've got him in your arms, his body so limp, not yet cold. Like he's simply sleeping, but he's not. He's dead. And you shuffle before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and you hear the gasps and you see the battle play out before you and chaos erupts. And somehow, you look down, and Harry's not there. And you know nobody would have the chance to sneak him out of your arms, and anyway, you would have noticed. And somehow, a tiny- tiny!- smile cracks on your face as you realize he wasn't dead. And the smile grows as you see him battle He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and when he wins, the smile's so big. You always knew that that scrawny, little boy living in those pigs called Dursley's home would achieve great things.
When you see his body lying in Hagrid's arms, you hear yourself shouting his name, so distraught. He's continually shocked you. He was a Gryffindor, after all. He was so much like James, though not half as much of a troublemaker. And you haven't even realized how proud of him you were. And you were just as strict with him as any other student. Of course you were! You were like that with all your Gryffindor's. And if deep deep down, you weren't half as strict with him as you would have been with other students, well, what nobody knew wouldn't hurt them, right? And anyway, nobody got into as amazing trouble as he did. You don't know if you could stand the shock if somebody else did. But now he's dead, and a small part of you dies with him, the Golden Boy, the Chosen One. But before he was any of those, he was Harry James Potter. You taught his parents, you saw him left at the Dursley's- you really didn't trust Albus on that- and you never ever ever thought of him as the Boy Who Lived or any of the other names. You never did believe in nicknames, anyway. You contemplate that quickly, then turn to duel. You will win this. For James. For Lily. For all who have died for the cause. And when Harry miraculously turns up to kill Voldemort- god, you can't get rid of that shudder!- you yell his name just as loudly as any of his friends. After all, you are his Head of House. And after all, Gryffindors stick together.
Potter's dead. Potter. Funny, you always thought you'd die before he did. Granted, you did hate him all those years. You don't really know when you stopped. Probably around Dumbledore's death. But a Malfoy can't admit he was wrong. Even your father didn't, and he was a Death Eater. For the longest time, you thought that being a Death Eater was right, that power was all that anyone could want. After all, what was money? You had tons of that. But now, after you've actually achieved that, became a Death Eater, it's not all that it's cracked up to be. Actually, all that's stopping you from backing out now is the death penalty. You really don't want to go the same way as Karkaroff, or Regulus Black. That's the only reason you didn't tell Mother that it was Harry right away when they came dragged to Malfoy Manor is because you didn't want to do this anymore. Not because he was weak. Not because he was afraid. A Malfoy doesn't feel fear, and doesn't show weakness. And if maybe you gasped when you saw Potter's body, well, nothing can be proved. Nobody paid attention, anyway. And if when your mother found you in the chaos that erupted after Longbottom denied the Dark Lord- really, Longbottom. Who would have thought?- and told you that Potter wasn't dead, if you were relieved deep deep down, nobody has to know. And with that handy piece of information, if anybody had looked at you when Potter uncovered himself from that useless cloak of his, they would have seen a smirk. That is the Malfoy's signature look, after all.
Dead. You had thought he was dead. You had sent Narcissa Malfoy to check-she'll pay for lying to you, that little bitch-and she had said he was dead. You had triumphed. You had had him put into that half-giant's arms, and paraded his dead body in front of everybody who had believed in him. You had been merciful, given all of them a chance to surrender and come to the right side. And that Longbottom brat had openly defied you-you hadn't expected great things from him; after all, he was practically a Squib. And then he killed Nagini. The locket-Regulus Black had paid for his misdeeds with his life. The diary-damn Lucius and his arrogance. The ring-Dumbledore had always been a meddling fool. And then battle erupted from his insolence and three of those pesky Order of the Phoenix had begun dueling you-as if they could even touch you. You, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who, Lord Voldemort! And you blast them out of the way, and suddenly he's there again-why won't he just stay dead? You're yelling the Killing Curse, and he's casting the Disarming Spell-what a stupid boy. You can't believe he defied you yet again, because you're Lord Voldemort, and nobody bests you. And he's talking, talking, talking, and suddenly, it's all over.