Author's Notes: Any and all flames, (a.k.a: "constructive criticism") are welcomed and appreciated. Got a suggestion for a story? I'll take that, too. J
Disclaimer: It's obvious that my name is not J.K. Rowling, isn't it? I own nothing.
Warnings: one-shot, implied slash (HP/DM), character death.
Summary: I never noticed his frail form go limp in my grasp, but when I looked down at his youthful face and did not see those emerald orbs staring back, I knew he had gone.
..…
I came upon him by accident, stumbling through the masses of decay and destruction left behind by our glorious battle. The others had long since parted, and though in doing so previously I had promised myself never to return, I felt compelled to, for a reason I could not understand. The place was a graveyard. And yet, the heavy silence that encompassed this area, like some kind of desolate fog, seemed almost welcoming, as if to whisper, 'you're getting warmer…' It wasn't long before I heard him gasp.
It was a rough, startled sound, but I knew by his breath that it was him. Harry had always breathed so gracefully, the very act testifying his assurance of one's right to live. I was certain, again without knowing why, of his condition.
Harry was dying.
I saw his hunched figure at the base of a willow tree, slumped to one side in what I assumed was unconsciousness. As I came closer I was able to hear him clearer. He whimpered slightly, and I sprinted.
It was an effort not to be startled by the sound of my own raspy voice calling his name. He looked up at me through his heavy lids, and I felt the power radiate from him the way a dying lion would radiate authority. Ridiculously powerful, I had once called him. The green of his eyes had been brighter then.
"D-Draco?" he whispered, a gasp of pain following. I kneeled and took his face in my hands, ignoring the cold of his skin as I tucked a stray lock of unruly raven hair behind his ear. Harry's face was an unnatural grey color, only aiding in the trance-like affect of his wide eyes. His beauty in that moment was of the most pointless and devastating kind. "How did you… f-find me?"
For a moment, I wondered if he thought we'd given up that easily; that in a moment of uncertainty we would've forgotten the boy - no, the man - who had saved the wizarding world. It was with fervent authority that I answered him.
"We've been looking everywhere for you, Harry. We hadn't given up." I searched his expression for any signs of doubt, and found instead a small, tired smile. My heart broke again as he shivered. I didn't notice my usage of his first name.
Sitting next to him, I placed a careful arm on his shoulder and the other at his wrist, which was clutching his bloody side in a distinguished sort of agony. He took a sharp breath. "Let me see," I whispered, not meeting his gaze. He tried to get mine, but I refused, knowing I couldn't take his pleading eyes.
"Mmm, 's no use," he breathed, involuntarily convulsing with the cold I could not feel; the kind of cold reserved for the dying. "Draco, I-"
"Don't." I knew what he would say, and I was not ready for last goodbyes. "Don't talk, we're getting you out of here." The twitch of his lips then both saddened and infuriated me.
I had known death before; had been told the stories and trained for the day when I would follow in my father's heavy footfalls, and I refused to believe in denial of such things. But at that moment, with him in my arms, shaded from the moonlight by a wild willow tree, Harry wasn't dying. I could feel the frequent shivers of his small form, and with them the gasping breaths, but these were signs of life. Life was all Harry had.
His bloodstained hand squeezed mine before I realized I had been holding it. A wave of tingly-warm comfort flowed through our connection, as he spent a little more of himself to care for me. This time there was no fury. A tear ran down my face, and I fought not to cry. In my flurry of emotions I had forgotten his unnatural empathy.
There was nothing I could do for him.
"Draco, p-please listen… I," He breathed through a dose of pain. "Tell them, I- d-didn't want… this," He looked at me again, and I saw, with a twinge of fear, that he had become even paler. A distant, regretful look had come over him. I both feared and hoped that it wouldn't take long.
"I - they know, Harry." I gripped his hand tighter.
He pressed harder on his side as a distended cry slipped from him. Without realizing, I had moved closer to him and hugged him to me. My warmth would be enough, I thought irrationally. He coughed with the next breaths.
I felt he was preparing himself for the last words he had; words I would never be ready to hear. He controlled his breathing, then, before piercing my gaze with his electric green eyes.
"I - I love you," he gasped.
It was the one thing I thought he'd never say. I hugged him so tightly to me that I wondered if he could hear my heart melting. How many years had we wasted as rivals, when Harry, my beautiful Harry, had loved me? We had woven such a tangled web, when all along we knew where the strings led.
By the time I found my voice, I realized he had taken my shock as disapproval. He turned down his eyes from mine, though he still leaned into my touch. It was all so tragically beautiful, and I found myself shuddering.
Repetition was really never my style, though that had been the last thing to cross my mind before I kissed him. It was soft and light, but the magic of the moment sent me reeling. It would be our first and only kiss. When we parted, just as gently as we had begun, I only held him closer.
There were no more words after that. His wounds seemed a distant concern, and as I saw my Harry looking up through the swaying branches of the willow, he looked simply at peace. A faint grin had softened his pain-ridden features. His head tipped back, the stars caught his mind's attention for the moment… one of his last.
I never noticed his frail form go limp in my grasp, but when I looked down at his youthful face and did not see those emerald orbs staring back, I knew he had gone.