Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns all of this empire, luckily for me though- I'm her long lost daughter willing to inherit all. (I really am.)
Note: This was written in response to Lady Silver's "A Glass Window" challenge. I did it in under 500 hundred words and it's even a G/H. Score.
His body was a dark blue, the color of the deepest depth of the ocean. It was shuddering, convulsing as the dying usually do. The boy had once been a vibrant, youthful expression of life and love. Now, with a fire headed girl beside him, the hero was fading.
"This war..." A voice called, forcing his attention from the window he was watching the scene and to the prim lady behind him. "This war is too much, it never should've ended this way. Not with him dead, he was so innocent... so alive." Tears betrayed the woman as she sunk into the floor and sobbed.
The man nodded, "It was required- his death will end this." With a glance to the woman, he turned himself back to the window.
The girl had now collapsed against her lover's body. It withered with agony. She was inconsolable, and no one wanted to.
A crowd had gathered from beside them, watching and waiting. They were dumbstruck with the utter fascination of watching this dying legend disappear. He was nearly gone now, even from being in the topmost tower, the man could see the life floating from him. The girl knew it too, she threw her hands about him as if holding him back from the thing wanting so bad to take him away.
He saw her lips open to converse, tears sparkled on her wind blistered cheeks from the morning sun. With much effort, the boy's lips also part. His chest rose and fell heavily in order to compensate for the horrible challenge of speaking back to her. She nodded and lowered herself onto him, kissing his eyes and cheeks before resting on lips frostbitten with death. With one more seizure, the boy collapsed onto the ground completely.
He was gone.
The moment after the boy's death, a silence swept the world. Peace had finally settled in the waking of the boy's ended existence. It was as if everyone on the planet knew of what had just been snatched from them and stood silent in order to remember him- the world was making a tribute to a seventeen-year-old boy.
It ended as quickly as it started; a blood-curling scream erupted from the center of the volcano of destruction, covering everyone's ears with a piercing sound. The girl lost her control, dancing a mournful, uncontrollable dance in the middle of the crowd. The boy's body was left on the cold floor as his lover insanely grieved beside him.
"We best get down there," said the man from beside the window. "She'll be needing us."
The lady held out the door for the man in the half-moon spectacles as they walked down to the lawn where the students and the fire headed girl waited.