Chapter 13
The Last Sign
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"Draco?"
I look up at the sound of my name, slightly alarmed by the distress in her voice.
"I don't feel so well." She collapses limply onto the crimson carpet.
I bite my lip, as I rush over and pick her up gently. Her eyes are closed as though in a peaceful and dreamlike sleep. Don't do this to me.
I knew it would come, but not like this. I didn't think the fates would be so cruel. I was wrong.
As I bring her over to a bedroom, I say a short prayer, praying to anyone, anything, who happens to hear my pained distress.
I lay her down gently down on the bed, softening her head with a nearby pillow.
I look down on her. She seems so pale. Don't think about that. Don't allow yourself to think about that. She needs your strength. Don't show your weakness. Do you remember nothing you have been taught?
I brush a few strands of wavy brown hair away from her eyes. They manage flicker open and they look at me with a misted expression.
"Are you okay?" I ask softly.
"I feel so weak." Her voice is almost a whisper as she makes out the words. A pang of guilt settles down in me. Don't leave me, not now, not ever.
She opens her mouth to say something else, but I hush her and comfort her with, "Everything will be all right."
Though she gives me a look of disbelief, she closes her eyes.
~~~~
I wanted to say, "Fight, please, fight for me, for everything we could have together," but I couldn't. I wanted to tell her that, "We'll be together always," but I wouldn't allow myself. I wanted to lie to her, but I wouldn't be able to bear the burden.
What will happen, will happen.
She doesn't deserve to leave the world with pain, with the struggle on her face, as death takes her away, no, I wouldn't allow it. I deserve that pain. I deserve that struggle. I don't deserve her. She doesn't deserve me.
She deserves to go without any pain. She should go peacefully, savoring the last moments.
I couldn't tell her that we would be together for all time. I didn't even know it was possible, despite the words I've said long ago. She doesn't deserve to be lied to, even for comfort.
I look away from her. I can't take it. Every breath, I feel the shameful satisfaction of her being mine, for one more moment. I want to hold her tightly. I want to feel that last breath, but I wouldn't allow it. The very beating of my own heart, gives me a frigid coldness of guilt.
She's struggling for me. She doesn't want her to go. She doesn't want to though. I wanted to scream, "Don't, I'm not worth it," but I couldn't. Every weak breath she takes in and lets out pains me to the core, as though it were my own. I wanted to say, "Don't do this to me," but I knew I couldn't bother her with my heavy conscience.
"Draco?" I hear her wavering voice behind me. The light rasp in it makes me cringe.
I turn, not wanting to, but I have to, I should. She looks so peaceful, except for that pained expression I placed on her face. I wish with the world that I could take it away, but I'm too much of a coward to ask. I except a cruel, blaming comment.
"Hold me." I might have felt better if she had.
I sit down on the bed, beside her, bringing her close to me. I pull the covers around her, keeping the warmth in. I hold her tightly. Her skin is cold to the touch.
She lays her head on my shoulder. Don't, please don't, don't torture me so. With her in that position, I can hear every single breath getting weakened by death itself. The sound alone will haunt me to the last of my days.
I look down at her. She doesn't deserve my coldness.
Her eager eyes stare up at me. She looks at me as though I am a saint. She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it from the frustrating weakness.
I tighten my hold on her, not wanting her to slip away.
She gives me one last look, before closing her eyes. I feel the blood pulsing weakly in her. She takes one last breath and lets it out ever so slowly. Her heart stops beating.
She is gone.
~~~~~
The bitter rain pours down, without a hint of stopping. It is as though the weather agrees with the despondent mood surrounding me.
I stand here, alone. There is no one here who would dare comfort me. No one cares about the lone man who stands far from the group. No one cares about the isolated and lonely one without any friends.
The atmosphere here is utterly depressing. Everyone is dressed in the mournful black. They're huddled together, categorized by friends, under large black umbrellas. I can see little of what is happening from where I stand, but it doesn't matter. Nothing does anymore.
Time passes on as I wallow alone in my emptiness. I do not allow myself to feel any emotions. I am too afraid of the effect. I'll reflect, when I can, but not now. I wouldn't be able to take it if I did.
She doesn't belong under the cold soil, alone. She shouldn't be trapped in the horrid darkness far from the sunshine.
It is your fault she'll have to be down there. Stop, don't rub it in. You know it is your fault. Your stubbornness has led to her downfall. I know. Then why don't you face the truth, like you have been taught. I don't want to. Is that enough of a reason?
Why won't you allow yourself to show your emotions like everyone else here? It shows weakness. If you don't, they'll view you as a cold, ungrateful jerk forever. They will curse your every memory. I know. I like the solitude. It is cold and unforgiving. You are doing this because you feel like you should. No, I am doing this because I deserve to.
~~~~~
The once full crowd slowly disperses away. I wait. I wait until the last of them is gone, far away. Finally, the cemetery is empty, except for myself.
I stand here for a few moments, as though honoring the unforgivable silence, before taking my turn in front of the grave.
Cold and wet by the falling rain, stands a pink granite headstone. On it, is carved in graceful elegant letters, "Hermione Granger."
I kneel down to get a closer look. My fingers trace the name. Her name shouldn't be here. This is supposed to be my grave, not hers.
From the inside of my cloak, I take out a flower. It is a single rose. It is perfect and delicate like the one I gave to her before. I set it down gently on top of the rest of the flowers gathered at the base. It stands out, contrasting against the soft pastel colors.
It is black.
Black like death itself. Black like the emotions that are felt towards me. Black like the emptiness in my life. Black is a solitary color, empty, cold, and alone.
I look weakly at the stone, as to confess something, but I don't. She shouldn't be bothered by my conscience's unrest, even in death. I stand up, giving it one last glance, before walking away.
I cannot even explain how hard it was for me to walk away. It was as though I was walking away from a part of myself. A part that I couldn't possibly live without, but still, I walked away.
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Cold, cruel and bitter is fate.
When she died, she took a large part of me with her to the grave. No one ever loved me, except her. Now, she is gone forever, buried under the ground far away from her loved ones, the ones who loved her. Her death was my fault. It was a consequence of my foolish stubbornness and my naïve personality.
How do you feel now? I frown as the horrible rational voice in my head asks yet another self-degrading question. It is not worth it. You do not have to. You think you do because you feel guilty. You shouldn't feel guilty. Is your life worth this little to you?
I shake my head, hoping to knock out the questioning voice. I fumble with the small glass in my hand, examining it in disgust at the silvery liquid that flows inside.
Do you dare to? I have nothing left to live for. Is that enough to take your life away, just because you don't have a particular goal? I can't live with myself. It is irreversible. I know. Once you give it up, you cannot take it back.
I know.
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