Draco Malfoy falls to his knees.
He falls because seven years of bitterness entwine to crush his soul, and he can't bear the weight anymore.
He falls because he is sick of standing, because his bones are tired and weary, and because defeat is something he knows in every line of his body.
He falls because on the forest floor before him, Harry Potter lies motionless, his face bruised with dirt, and his lips cracked and parted. Peaceful, pained, maybe he is sleeping.
But Draco knows.
He knows because he's been fighting in a war for his whole life, and the burning smell of blood and death is still thick and fresh in the air around him.
He knows because he still clutches his wand in his hand, and because his knuckles are white and he is shaking — tremors which he can't control, tremors which tie knots of steel in his windpipe and make him gasp and sob.
He knows because the boy he has watched behind venomous words and snark and smirks since he was eleven years old is no longer replying to his taunts, no longer looking at him with a withering glare which Draco has always wished was want, and not contempt.
But Harry Potter's eyes are rimmed with red, and Draco thinks there might have been tears before everything stopped, before the boy lying in front of him took his heart away.
Draco lies down beside him, feels bark and twigs scratch into his skin, hears screams and faraway footfalls.
Somewhere, a battle rages on.
He takes Potter's hand, and it's still warm. His own are sweaty and slippery and still violently shaking. One grips Potter's, because he mustn't let go, because if he does everything will be broken, everything will fall apart. The other holds his wand over the place where a heart used to beat, the place where Draco wishes he could have been treasured.
Somewhere, someone else dies.
"Potter," he whispers, and his voice wavers. It's far off, distant.
It's just the two of them, the intricacies of time holding them together. And Draco thinks he will tell the whole world if he can, that he was in love with Harry Potter, and that he will kill anybody who comes to try and take him away.
He shivers because it's cold, not because something sharp and intense and frightening is threatening to swallow him, to drown him in his own tears.
"Harry," he tries again, and it's perfect.
He shivers because he is in love with a dead boy, and he has never felt so alone.
A/N: Well that was short and tragically unnecessary. Inspired by the song 'I fell in love with a dead boy' by Antony & The Johnsons, and a need to outlet some angsty Drarry feels. *weeps* Thankyou for reading!
