Blue Skies
Blue skies.
They were supposed to be happy things. They were supposed to say things like 'this will be a good day' or 'today you don't have to worry, go have fun!' but to Harry they always spoke of deception.
He remembered when he went to school with Dudley, the day he ended up on the roof, there had been blue skies. When he got back to the Dursley's home that night, with another letter from his teacher clenched in his hand. His uncle had hit him then, given him a black eye. He hadn't gone back to school for a week while it healed.
On the day he and Dudley were attacked by Dementors, it had been a gorgeously, blue skied day. He had spent the day in a fit of depression and the stiflingly hot night fighting off dark creatures.
The day of the final battle, he had woken to the painful false hopes of blue skies, cheerful and fake. They had won that day, won the greatest and most terrible of wars. So many had died that day, both from the ranks of the righteous and those of the wicked; all of them to be forgotten in light of him saving the wizarding world.
Then after the war, blue skies won him over, he had been fooled by the force of their deception. He had grown to think that they were truthful, they were to be trusted. How wrong he was.
For many years blue skies had brought him good tidings. For years he had lain under their comforting presence with the man he loved. For all those long years he had believed that they were safe.
Then came the news that would end his life as he knew it. His love was dying, and what was worse, he was dying of cancer. A painfully muggle disease, one that wizards on a whole did not fear. It was rare for a wizard to get, yet here they were, on this beautiful blue skied day being told by a muggle that Draco had but two months to live, if they were lucky.
They returned to their flat that night, knowing that their days together were numbered. And the number was so incredibly small.
ooOoo
Draco could no longer stay at home; he had to be monitored constantly at Saint-Mungo's. It had only been one month, but it didn't look like he would last through the second. Harry was by his bedside as the blond slept. Staring out the window at the blue sky and it stared back in mockery.
He looked down at his sleeping love and cursed the skies, the gods and anything else that was listening.
Six days later was their anniversary. Draco was too weak to sit up. On that day it rained, as if the skies meant to apologize to the young couple, but it was too late. Draco's numbered days were almost up and there was nothing anyone could do to lengthen them.
Two days after their anniversary, another depressingly blue skied day, Draco died. He had held on for hours longer than the doctors had thought he would, but that was all he could manage. Enough time to say goodbye to his love and his friends, and then he died with a smile on his lips.
ooOoo
The day of the funeral was all sun, blue skies, and fluffy white clouds. Harry wore blood red mourning robes and carried a pure white rose.
Throughout the ceremony Harry sat and stared into space, thinking of all the time he had spent with his love and all the time he was missing out on. He looked up at the blue skies as he stood to look in the coffin, at the face of his love for the last time, and glared.
Be it some curse Harry was under, some bad luck on his part, or the twisted will of the gods; whatever it was, to Harry blue skies represented misfortune. As he lay the white rose down on the coffin of his true love he thought of the day they had got together;
it had rained bitterly that day, and Harry had never been happier.