I've kind of started to notice that I have a fondness for killing off Draco. My apologies. My writing has always tended toward the dramatic and extreme. I'll try to make happier fics in the future. Hopefully ones where Draco doesn't end up dead.
Meanwhile, here is another sad oneshot, written because I feel sad. HAHA. Think of it as a boy version of "A Few of My Favorite Things." Knock yourselves out.
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Petals. That's all that arrived on his doorstep. Charred, smoking petals, enveloped by the red material he'd chosen to wrap the flowers in. He knelt down and picked up a handful, and they crumbled between his fingers. Charred, smoking petals.
They had found her.
He ran out the door and past the magical boundaries, crushing the remaining petals under his feet. As soon as he had reached the street, he turned and disappeared.
xxxxx
He ran inside the apartment, calling her name. Denial is such a strange emotion. He never understood why humans tried to smother their emotions so much, why they obsessed with pretending they thought or felt otherwise, why they found it so hard to own up to something –up until now. Now he refused to accept the idea that she could be –probably would be- dead. There was still hope, if he was just there on time…
And then he heard it. Her voice, calling his name. What's wrong? She appeared at the top of the stairs, her hair a mess. Without replying, he ran up the stairs to the loft, took her in his arms. Not dead. Not gone. Real. Tangible. For a minute he simply held her, inhaling her essence, relieved. Then- What's wrong? She was unrelenting.
Nothing. Just –paranoia. You know me.
They won't find me. You know that.
No, no I don't. Nobody does.
I'm safe-
He pressed his lips to hers. Shh. He tightened his hold around her, drawing her closer to him. Your heart's pounding, she noted, her voice muffled against his scarf.
That's because you're here.
Very funny. She laughed. His heart melted. He pulled her to the bed.
xxxxx
From between the sheets- I really am safe, you know. He raised himself on his elbow, looked at her. She had such faith in him.
Burned flowers on your doorstep didn't indicate safe.
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He hadn't wanted to leave that night, but she had made him. She'd be fine, she had reasoned. She wasn't in any danger. He leaned against the front door of his house. It was all so hard, so hard. She didn't deserve to be cooped up like that. The cleverest witch of their age, the voice of reason behind The Boy Who Lived, and they had locked her up. For their own good, those people claimed. She needs to be protected. And he hated it.
His protection wasn't enough. He wasn't strong enough, wasn't smart enough. Wasn't good enough.
He sank to the floor amid the ruins of the flowers meant for her.
Had they found her? Did they know that he –that he loved her? That he had sworn, once the war was over and Light had triumphed, that they would marry? That she was the reason he was such a mess; that she was all he could think of, day and night? That he would give up anything, everything, for her?
Dammit! His fist slammed against the door. It wasn't supposed to end up this way. This wasn't how things should have been. But too late, too late for that now. He loved her, irrevocably, completely, and he'd be damned if he didn't keep her alive.
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And damned he was.
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No. No, no, no.
Yes! Manic laughter erupted around him, pushing inside him. It threatened to overwhelm him, push him down to the ground, expose him for the weak, loving fool that he was. The sound of her laughter echoing in his memory was the only thing keeping him up. How long ago? How long ago had he last heard that laugh in this room? A laugh that promised she would be alive the next time he saw her, that there would be more laughter to return to. But her laughter was being pushed out by this other one, this manic one, this terrible and hateful one. He shook his head.
Finally, I have killed her! I have killed the girl. They thought they could hide her from me! Me, the most powerful wizard alive! More laughter, echoed under masks and inside his heart. Only I can cheat death, my dear. Bone-white fingers stroked that lifeless cheek. Lifeless. He had sworn he would marry her. She had sworn she'd be fine.
Where were their promises now?
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He returned to the apartment, much later, after the morbid celebration. It was dark and it was quiet and amid the shattered remains of their shared peace, her body lay unmoved, unmoving. They hadn't moved her. Maybe they didn't know yet. He knelt down next to her and touched her hair, her cheek, her fingers. He had already bought a ring but hadn't given it yet, locking it away in his closet for the future. The future. Where was it now? Their future together, after the war; waking up to her smile, cooking for her, raising a family. He choked back a sob.
Wake up. Of course there would be no response. But he couldn't help it. Denial is such a strange emotion but he couldn't help it. Wake up. Please, wake up. He shook her gently. Wake up. Not so gently. Emotions broke through his carefully cultivated walls and he broke, sobbing into her hair, her dress. Where were their promises now? Empty, so empty. He never should have listened to her that night.
Creak. He barely noticed the sounds around him, too absorbed in his grief. Creak. How could she be gone? After all their promises, their talks of the future. Creak. How could he have let her go? Creak. How, how…
CRACK.
He whipped around and his eyes widened and before he could call out any spell, any word, a flash of green light erupted before his eyes. His arms tightened around her and before the rush came he buried his face in her hair and thought, this is how it should be.
A rushing noise.
Silence.
A word, spat out to fill the void. Filth. Footsteps.
Two bodies, unmoving, on the floor. It was dark and it was quiet and amid the shattered remains of their shared peace they lay together. No more unanswered questions, no more unfulfilled promises. As it should be.
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Fin.