Title: Unspoken
Rating: M
Words: 933
Warnings: Male/male, unbeta'd, main character death.
Pairing(s): Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Summary: What do you do when there's not enough time to say all the things you want.
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter is obviously not mine, nor are the characters.
Author's Notes: Something that creeped into my head and I needed to get it out.
He wasn't prepared for this.
How could you be prepared for the end? Was there a way to be prepared for losing someone? Did you plan it, did you count on it? No one ever mentioned it. There would always be more things you wanted to do, more people you wanted to meet, more miracles you wanted to discover.
And there would always be things left unsaid.
How he wished he had said these things before. But he thought there would be more time, that there would be loads of opportunities to clear the air and to talk.
Except that there wasn't.
The only thing that was left was a grave. A cold, hard stone, that was now wet because of the rain. Just as he himself was, actually.
"No one ever said you were allowed to die, Potter." He whispered to the stone, his voice thick with tears and pent up feelings. He clenched his fists and swallowed loudly.
It was pretty stone, he had to admit that. He should have known that, because nothing was good enough for The Boy Who Lived.
Except that he didn't live anymore.
One single tear fell from his cheek as he sat down next to the stone.
"I love you."
He had never said it out loud. Not once in his life. Not to his mother when he left, not to his father when he was about to die. Not to his friends. Not to his first girlfriend. Not ever.
He didn't regret that. He only regretted not having said them to Harry, because that was the only person he had ever wanted to say these words to.
It was surprisingly easy. Just three small words. Yet they had never come over his lips.
He had first thought of saying them right after they kissed, but that seemed stupid. No one declared their love for each other after a first kiss. So he hadn't said them.
The second time the thought had crossed his mind, when after their first hand job. But that also seemed inappropriate, because it might make Harry feel as if Draco felt obligated to say it. Which he didn't, but he didn't want Harry to think that he did.
The third time was when they were in Hogsmade, and it was snowing, and they were standing hand in hand. An utterly perfect moment, but it was ruined by the announcement of Death Eaters showing up, and they were forced to run.
That night, they had sex for the first time. Harry was a mess of feelings, and it seemed like the only thing that would ease his mind. Draco didn't care about Harry's reasons, he had his own. He wanted Harry to be his first.
And Harry had been his first.
And it had been perfect, their bodies pressed together, the feeling of skin against skin.
And the next day, Harry was gone. Death Eaters had attacked the castle, and everyone was running around. Fighting. Protecting. Hiding.
And Voldemort himself has shown up, and Draco had known this was the final battle. It was now or never.
Harry had killed him, but the price he had to pay was high.
The price had been his own life. Weakened from all the fighting, Voldemort's last spell had hit him.
Draco had been screaming, and right before Harry's body touched the floor, their eyes had met.
In that moment, he regretted all the things he had never said.
And the life was gone. The green eyes were no longer burning, his cheeks were no longer flushed and his heart was no longer beating.
There was chaos in the castle.
The next thing he could remember, was his funeral. And although he couldn't remember any of the speeches, he knew a lot of people had said something. Never in his life had he seen so many people crying in one place.
He had run away before it ended.
And now he was here. Sitting next to his grave, with noting left but a dull heartache and tears, and the unspoken words between them.
"I love you."
He repeated it, just because it felt good. It felt nice to finally say the words. His chest contracted almost painfully, but he choose to ignore it.
"I love you."
He did. He had loved the brunette. He still did.
He loved the way his hair was a mess. He loved his lack of patience, and his disinterest in school subjects, and his hero complex.
He loved how he closed his eyes every time he was turned on, and how he shivered when Draco kissed his neck, and how he would blush when Draco would compliment him.
He loved how he cared for everyone but himself, how he struggled with the weight of the world on his shoulders, how he fought for what was right and never gave up.
"I love you."
More tears, but it had stopped raining.
"I love you. I love you I love you I love you." He rambled, now openly sobbing. He didn't care who saw.
Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy – the Death Eater – was crying at Harry Potter's grave.
And he hated himself.
"I love you."
He curled himself into a ball and lied down, the wet grass pricking against his cheek.
He wasn't prepared for the stream of feelings that fought to come out, and he almost had to throw up, but he stayed where he was. Laying down on the grave of his lover, trembling badly, with nothing left but words he wished he had said sooner.