Not a death fic, you'll see why I say this momentarily.

Disclaimer: Not mine

I found this on a disk and thought why not.

Not Beta'd

Sweet Surrender

Why can't things be simple? His side, my side, good, evil, right, wrong, fucking, making love, left, right, black, white, gray.

My uncle once said nothing was certain, but death and taxes and even death was debatable.

So even here, where I'm hiding from death, I can expect the Inland Revenue to come knocking.

I think the blood loss is going to my head.

It's funny, but I swear the more blood I lose, the more of my warmth that seeps unto this floor, the clearer my thoughts are. Now, I wouldn't recommend anyone go out and get mortally wounded, but this the clearest my minds been since this all began. I can see now it doesn't matter, none of the shite matters, not the angst, not the pain, none of it. I can bloody guarantee you, when you're lying on a floor, and pretty damn sure you have very little time left, you figure out pretty quick what matters. Dying, let's you sort out the shite in your life.

I know what matters now and it's so bleeding simple, I love him. That's it, no great talk about his needs, my needs, or the greatness of love. There's no greatness in love, he really does want to see me crawl. Pride, the righteousness, and conviction of my own beliefs demand to see him crawl.

So here I am, dying in relative peace and taking a while to do it I might add, as I romantically think of my true love. It's Romeo and Juliet's fault, if it hadn't been for them this wouldn't be the least bit romantic.

Have you ever wondered why the priest just didn't simply go to Romeo's house?

I have a feeling this would mean so much more if he were here to listen. All this clarity is being wasted on me.

He's liar, a schemer, and he knows just how to touch me. Unlike me though, he always knows the name of the game. The first time I saw him I thought he was beautiful, the second time breathtaking, and from there, it only gets worse. I had his attention though, in a world that bores him, I was, and I bet even now, am his focus. At first it was because of who I am, then it became personal.

Who I am led to fights, insults, and a passionate hatred that I'm sure will still be talked about long after we're gone, after I'm gone surely. Personally, it led to wall banging shagging that still curls my toes.

Even if the last time any shagging took place was over a month ago. On Dumbledore's desk, it isn't my fault he has the only working floo safe fireplace. Believe me when I say Fawkes wasn't the only thing burning in that room that night. Though the darn bird, friend that he is, sure did make a lot of noise about the whole thing.

The time before that, let me just say, I'd bet my new broom that my lover has to use every particle of his pose not to grin like a fool every time Vorte sits on his nicely padded throne.

People, if they're kind, say our 'relationship' is complex. The more truthful sort say "obsession, bordering on madness." That last bit is a direct quote. Snape is the honest sort.

"Potter, Potter, are you down here?"

I must have dozed off and the cavalry's arrived, about damn time to. I was sick of dying on this floor. I try to call out, but can't force my voice to work. I see the light and weakly raise my hand.

Snape's wand blinds me with it's light. "He's here. Potter can you hear me?"

The room glows with more lights as others enter the room. "Harry, oh god is he alive?" Hermione sounds so concerned, I must look worse than I'd thought. If I had died, this would have been one dramatic picture.

Hermione kneels next me, her hands are so warm and I can just see under my lashes as Snape turns towards the door. "Yes, he's still alive, Weasley call the others in here. The Death Eaters are gone. We'll have to apparate. He won't make it otherwise."

"Oh Harry," Hermione mummers, as she stokes my check, "you'll be alright." Her face fills my vision and I have to blink to focus. "Tell us who did this Harry, which one of those bloody bastards used a knife on you and we'll hunt him down."

I cough and I can tell by the horror that crosses her sweet face, that it isn't spit running down my chin. I smile and it's all the answer she needs, she shutters, and drops her face from mine.

He left me to die, again, with the understanding that if I lived, I would retaliate. This is the only evidence of us now, the fact that one day one of us will get it right and free us both.

Hermione, Ron, none of my friends, or even Albus can understand just how he and I are so often able to trick, kidnap, and ambush each other, and I can't tell them without losing my last hope in my truest love.

This time we almost succeeded, moments more and my next visit to him would have been as a ghost. This time I tasted death and found something else.

I love him and there's no greatness in that alone, but it's so simple.

Week's later; I am recovered, with only a scar on my chest to show where his knife loved my skin. I touch it often and wish Snape hadn't destroyed the knife it would have made a lovely gift to him.

"Come to retaliate?" His voice is hopeful and weary. I'm tired too, so tired. He doesn't struggle against the bonds, but seems surprised to still be within his own rooms. "Have I wakened before you could apparate me to the scene of my death? You know I have to scream and bring the guards now."

I shake my head. "Go ahead, call them. I'll wait."

His eyes widen in the first sign of surprise he's shown. He struggles against the bonds now and hisses. "Leave, you git, only I have the right, only I can kill you. I won't allow Voldemort that."

I nod. "I know," I stroke my robes over my newest scar. His silver eyes follow my movement and momentarily mist. "Draco," The sound of his name pulls his eyes to mine. "I have the sense to recognize, I don't know how to let you go." I reach into the shadows behind me and pull out my suitcase. "For you, I'll do what I have to do. It's so simple, all I have to do is be near you, love you and beyond that nothing else matters."

He stared at me, then my suitcase and back to my face. "You want to join Voldemort?"

I shake my head. "I want to join you."

"I'm Voldemort's right hand." He says.

"I know." I return, as I sit on my suitcase and fold my arms.

"I've been poisoning him for months, and in days, he'll be dead Harry. And I didn't do it for the side of right and good. I did it to take over. I did it because I could care less about the muggles, or their world, let them have it. I did it because I have to keep on living, because you refuse to die, but most of all, I wanted the fight to be on my terms. I wanted ME to be the focus of your fight not him." Draco's venom doesn't surprise me it revives me.

"I know," I stand and walk towards him. I kneel before his chair, and look into his eyes and brush thick strands of blonde hair from his face. "I love you and besides being with you, I meant it, nothing else matters."

"You'll stand by me," He whispers so softly, so desperately.

"Always," I lean up and seal the promise with a kiss. He arches his neck towards me, still bound to his chair. Soon, Voldemort will be dead and the wizard world will take a deep breath of relief. Perhaps, I can talk Draco into letting them have a moment's peace, before we take over.

His side, my side, good, evil, right, wrong, fucking, making love, left, right, black, white, gray.

One of us had to fall. One of us had to crawl- it's that simple.

The End; thank you for reading, Sang

I don't expect much feedback for a one-shot, but it'd be nice.