Death's First Kiss

Pairing: HDr
Rating: Ehh... Well, I suck at ratings. I think, around G?
Summary: He never knew that the rules of the book were not, and were never going to be followed.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter—mine? Hah.
Auth's Note: I wrote this as per request of my friend (Michelle), and I'm not used to writing HP, so sue me. By the way, this is coming from an anime-fanfiction writer. Expect results. BTW, this is a bit figurative, and also very predictable. Oh well.

Version:First, unbetaed

He felt something he knew that was not, was never existent in his vocabulary, and he knew that he should be afraid.

Since when was he afraid? He was sure that at most times, he was not afraid, and yet now, his perspective seemed to change.

Fear in his eyes, that much was true, and he could feel something else he did not know... His heart was pounding fast, yes, fast and yet steady, it threatened to rip through his ribs, and he does not know why he still feels happy in the back of his mind. He rushed to her and took her in his arms, and for a moment, he couldn't help but smile.

It was his fault that this all happened. It seemed quite apparent that he was supposed to save her--

Except he did not. And he continually hated himself for that.

Her face was paling, as was her lips, and he was almost sure that if her eyes were closed, he would assume her dead. Ah, those eyes, it held up what but a desire, and they were intently staring at him, as though blankly, but he was still sure that there was life in those eyes—it held an intention.

He felt blood, warm blood, running through his hands, as he touched her blood-covered arms, her dirt-covered shirt, and here he wonders why still, she looks stunning.

He never knew that the rules of the book were not, and were never going to be followed. He always thought that he would be the one in this situation, that he would be the one to face him, and yet no. She was the one who had bravely saved him, and for whatever reason, he still does not know.

She tried to speak, and yet nothing came out. He then takes up this opportunity and pulls in closer to her, and kisses her there and then. He knew that this was not the time to do so, but he could not help it—if she were to disappear, and if she were to die right now, he might as well let her know his side of the story, otherwise, he was sure that he would regret it in the future.

He never knew that a kiss with someone like her, a mudblood, of all people, would feel so... Ecstatic. A few seconds, and he pulled back, still looking at her eyes, and he was sure that he heard her say something, almost, a fragmental succession of I's, and you's, though he was not sure still.

Her eyes were still opened when he no longer heard her breathe. He slowly checks her pulse, and for a second, he had hoped.

He somehow knew this would happen—the rain's foreboding, the situation—yes, it was bound to happen. He slowly touched her face, made its way to her eyes, closed it, and he was sure he saw her smile.

A few days later, a funeral was held, and for a while, Harry and company never thought that he, of all people, would come. And yet he did not cry. He knew that he had to be a Slytherin still.

By the end of the day, only a rose and an unseen teardrop remained atop her tomb.