Prologue
Everything was on fire. All the screams and shouts and spells were burnt up and muddled together in a cacophony of ashes as it burned; as Hogwarts burned.
The stone walls bled, covered in rain and magic. The magic that was weaved into the very walls of the school were coming undone as each curse hit the bricks and broke them up. The school was bleeding and trying so very hard to scab over but the fire kept burning.
He was dressed in black; he always wore black now days. The color green hurt too much. The color red taunted him. Yellow was ridiculous. Blue. Blue made him feel things he can't feel. If he wore blue he wouldn't be able to do what he knew he must.
It's because of her, it's for her. It was always her.
A loud bang breaks through the burning and everything is now very real and very, very fast. He wants to look down as he runs but he doesn't. He looks up and dodges spells and casts his own as he runs with hell on his heels.
His chest is splitting open and then slamming shut. This is the heaviest breath that he's ever had and yet he can't get enough air.
"Krosprillies!" The ground blows up underneath him in a flash of terrible orange light and he's flown into a wall.
"Urrhurhg," the walls won't stop spinning and not in the way they normally do. The white of his hair is tattered in red. He doesn't know where his wand is, and if he's honest he doesn't know anything is, except that damned sword. He picks it up by the wrong end and slices his hands as he staggers into a stand.
The sword is in his hands the right way now as he stumbles past all the fighting into a dark corner. A corner that's untouched somehow and of course it is because she's there.
All blonde and beautiful. Her silver eyes always so curious and knowing, her wand is shaking in her hands, because she knows what's going to happen, but he doesn't; all he knows is that he loves this girl. This girl who is all strange and caring and beautiful and smart and bleeding. Bleeding.
He doesn't remember shoving the sword into her torso but there it is. He's done it. What he had to do. He pulls it out and throws as far away as possible.
It's like a great light has left her body and she crumples to the floor. He doesn't catch her.
Then somehow, a miracle he thinks, she's in his arms.
"Please don't die, please, please. PLEASE!" he vaguely recognizes the voice as his own as his hand slams shut over the part of her that's broken. She's smiling though labored breaths. She smiles that, small, off-putting, wonderful smile of hers.
"I have to," a hand comes up to touch his face and it's so her so he leans into it.
A rough crying noise left his throat as he rocked her. As he cried and she smiled.
"Hey?" He shook his head and shut his eyes.
"Hey?" He voice was stronger, but it was trembling now. He forced himself to look at her.
"Tell me the story of us."
