This is a slightly edited version of my Original story, titled the same. Written some time last year. I'm not sure when, exactly. But I did have it archived on my LJ...
Well, here goes.

Warnings: Rated for Violence. One-sided Dm/Hp. Character death (main character.)

Disclaimmer: Belatedly added. I don't own anything in this story except for the plot.

The light of your wake

It had always been Harry and would always only ever be him until the end of Draco Malfoy's days. For that, Draco held to with certainty.

A slight chilly breeze whipped up around Draco's finely robed form. Disturbing the leaves that were discarded from their boughs with the prelude of winter. Many more tiny blazing fingers still clinging for life to their respective trees' branches. A sign the summer's festivities were over. Signifying the end of the new week-long holiday in dedication to Harry Potter and all those who perished to save the wizarding world.

It was hard these days to not wander around any part of Wizarding London (as well as other major parts of the wizarding world) and miss the great bronze and marble monstrosities erected in honour of the boy hero. How someone could put so much effort into something so very bland was beyond Draco. Sure, they were realistic in appearance, going so far as to have charms in place that made Harry's hair blow in an ethereal breeze but all displayed him as the hero, none caught the true essence that was Harry Potter.

Ignoring the small whirlwind that whipped around his ankles, with it sweeping up the fiery carpet of leaves, Draco took a step forward. Eyes fixed on the face of one of the sculptured monuments before him. This was the closest depiction of what the real Harry was. Tears formed unbidden in his eyes and Draco shed them in silence.

This past summer celebrations was the fifth since Harry's triumph over Voldemort. Taking place in the summer that would have been his seventh and final year at Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry, that is, had the school remained open. Instead, it had been closed that year due to Voldemort's sudden vicious attacks on both wizard and muggle alike, prompting Harry to take action of his own.

Draco and his mother had sought sanctuary within the Order of the Phoenix. It had taken some time, months of the two being on the run, hiding, seeking all the members out, until at last, they were accepted into the head quarters for further questioning.

It had hardly been smooth sailing from there onwards. Taking months more to earn any trust. Gaining approval by helping Harry, Ron and Hermione in their seemingly off tasks and searches. Finally, forming a friendship with the boy who he had deemed his rival since his friendship had been declined those long years ago. It had stayed like that for a while until he realized one morning, that Harry was more that just a friend. In his eyes at least. Harry had stepped beyond that line and was something far more important to him. That he'd die for Harry. He'd die if Harry went out one day and never came back.

Unfortunately, he didn't have long to ponder these newfound feelings or announce them to the person in which they centred. That day was to be the last he'd ever see that mass of unruly sable locks. Those blazing polished emeralds for eyes, silently determined features awash with uncertainty but hope and a refusal to submit. Harry hadn't smiled. His mouth had been set in a grim, hard line.

Draco had only been allowed grudgingly by the other Order members, to take part in battle. Harry hadn't been for or against the idea and Narcissa, Draco's mother, tried to forbid it but had relinquished once she saw her son would not yield. The look in his eye as his gaze flickered to Harry. The look that had ghosted his eyes until that moment, filled with a certainty, understanding and acceptance.

Draco remembered leaving the sanctity of his home and headquarters at 12 Grimmauld Place and Apparating to a few different locations before their final stop. Godric's Hollow.

Never, had he imagined it would end that day. He had expected it to last longer, with many smaller battles (which there had been, just not like that day's) leading to the climax and the final topple of Voldemort. The battles that day were long and gruelling. With a sprinkle of ruined bodies, limbs and pools of congealing blood. The puppet master watching the bloodshed, occasionally offering a hand with a quick and gruesome hex.

Perhaps it had been his downfall, or maybe that was just the way things were meant to play out, but Voldemort's defeat would follow a hex that had been meant for Draco. Harry seemed to have foreseen such an act and had promptly knocked Draco clear from his feet and away, thus avoiding his grisly, premature demise.

He woke a few moments later to find Voldemort and Harry in a face-off. Neither able to gain ground. The battle field still rung with the cries of those duelling, others' moaning as agony racked their bodies. And Draco silently congratulated the members of Harry's little party of Students he had taught in fifth-year. Their skill was evident in the way they had little to no injuries despite duelling known murderers.

Somewhere in there, Draco had lost his wand but his attention was on the boy facing down death. The power radiating from both in the midst of battle was overwhelming and he knew he had to help Harry somehow. Discarding all second thoughts and uncertainties. The murmurs that were sure to follow, should they live, were nothing as Draco came up alongside Harry and rested a hand on the other's wand arm. "I believe in you." Was all he said and closed his eyes, willing his magic to join with Harry's.

The sensation was weird but he welcomed it, as long as it did as he wished. Small waves of power surged through him and rushed out and joined with Harry's own. Causing a sharp shift and Voldemort's magic faltered. Falling back.

Neville was the next to join with Harry and Draco. The boy's face by now was bloodied but settling an unsteady hand on Harry's other arm. Vaguely, there was a recollection of foul words directed at all those assisting Harry, but soon Voldemort was too focused on his own dwindling power in comparison to the jewel-eyed boy.

Something like shock took Harry for a moment, Draco remembered him shudder before forcing all his energy onward, toward their task. The next thing he knew, there was a brilliant white light engulfing them and Harry had thrown him and Neville back as a much hated voice boomed throughout the air, "You shall never be rid of me!"

"It's over Voldemort. You have lost!" Harry returned, equally as loud but filled with a passion. The undeniably voice of the victor. The brightness was soon too much to bear and a loud explosion ripped through the air. Shockwave followed shockwave and all went black.

Draco had woken roughly a month or so after that, in St Mungo's. His room was shared with Neville, of all people. But for once he didn't truly mind. Merely relieved at waking to find he was with someone he knew, instead of those dreams where he was missing something, forever searching and always alone.

Despite the whole repression being lifted, Draco could detect the unease whenever someone, came to visit, such as those of The Order. All were professional in manner, not betraying what they felt or thought. They had offered their words of thanks, though mostly Draco had felt they weren't meant. The few people who did mean their words of gratitude had looked at Draco with such pity in their eyes.

It wasn't until he had the privilege of Granger, almost crushing his windpipe in one of her renown hugs, that he discovered why.

Harry had been killed.

The only thing saving Draco and Neville had been when Harry threw them back and managed a small shielding charm with what had remained of his strength.

A numb sensation had permeated through Draco. His heart twisted in unbearable knots, stomach filled with a laden weight. His mother had arrived with Granger and shooed her out to avoid the awkwardness that was sure to follow that announcement, for which Draco was grateful. Unable to hold back the fat droplets of sadness, longing and nostalgia, he had cried himself to sleep.

They said things got better, time was a good healer. Draco had to disagree. For him, it did nothing to ease the pain. Part of himself had died with Harry's passing, unknowingly. He felt it in his unconscious well before becoming aware of it in his waking presence. At least now, he could hold off crying until alone.

A sad smile played his lips as he glanced up one final time at the statue. Many regrets filled his mind. Many years devoted to the torture of his one true love, a waste of the little amount of time they had shared together. Even if it were one sided, Harry at least thought of him as a friend. Draco could have lived with that. Anything. Who knows, Harry may have returned his feelings and now, Draco would never know. Never have the privilege. Never see what Harry felt or how he might have reacted to Draco's declaration of love. And so, Draco had only regrets and memories.

One memory he would cling to, until his dying day, was that of a boy. A mass of unruly sable locks, blazing polished emeralds for eyes, silently determined features awash with uncertainty but hope and a refusal to submit. And an ethereal light that he left in his wake, in place of a shadow.

Finite

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