Please see first part for disclaimers and warnings.
Notes: This part took much longer than usual, partly cuz of real life, but mostly because Draco was being really, really difficult _ I don't think I'll ever be really satisfied with the Draco that I came up with – he's an enigma :p Whining aside, this is going to be the last part, though some people might not agree.
I shift restlessly beneath the covers as a faint tapping draws me reluctantly from my sleep. Groaning, I bury my head beneath the pillow, hoping in vain to bask a few more endless moments in remembered warmth, the scent of spice and rain.
But the external sounds grow insistent, and the desperate memories fade. Poking my head from underneath the blankets, I see a familiar-looking owl with snow-white feathers hovering at my window, threatening to break the glass if I don't get up soon enough to let her in.
I stumble over to lift the pane, and am rewarded by a peck on my hand for my efforts. Bloody creature! I glare at it as it settles on the back of my chair, preening its feathers and fixing me with a gaze so insolent I can only recall receiving it from one other person.
But what else should I have expected? Like master, like owl.
Warily, I reach out to untie the message around the bird's leg, ready to hex her if she decides she has to take another nip at me. But she prudently remains still, probably sensing instinctively that the new-found truce between Potter and I is still too fragile. Any provocation, even one as slight as a few feathers off the wings of his owl, and it would crumble into dust.
The hollow feeling that's begun to grow ever since I returned to the land of the waking engulfs me as I scan quickly through the note. It's from Hermione Granger, unsurprisingly. Potter still won't talk to me – he hasn't since the day he and Hermione crashed into our house, when Ron had— Since that day.
I don't really begrudge him for that. I don't think I'm ready to face anyone just yet, him least of all. Everything's so finely balanced, and I can practically feel myself poised on that knife's edge.
I let go of the note, letting it flutter where it may. The contents are brief and succinct, merely the date, time and location of where the funeral will be taking place. The thought suddenly tips me over – and I can feel myself descending into an abyss of panic and grief.
I crawl once more into the shelter of my bed, wrapping the covers tight around me in a pathetic attempt to simulate an embrace that's forever gone. Stubbornly, I cling to my thoughts of Potter, our long-running feud and my resentment of him, because ironically, it's the only thing that can keep me from drowning in the hysterical anguish that's constantly circling the outskirts of my mind.
I know it shouldn't be this way, that he— he…
No.
I should be strong enough to say his name. I _am_ Draco Malfoy, after all.
Draco Malfoy who loved— _loves_ Ronald Weasley.
Right, where was I?
I know it shouldn't be this way, that h— that that was the very reason Ron decided to cast that spell upon himself. It seems so unjust that he gave up his life for something that may never happen.
It's just too hard, setting aside my differences with Harry Potter. Just the thought itself is an effort, the thought of doing anything at all, when he's no longer with me.
But the reality… a small voice that sounds inexplicably like Ron's makes itself heard over the chaotic turmoil in my brain. The reality is that when Ron was with you, it would have been impossible to make peace with Potter. Because he was the very reason, the ultimate root of all the enmity between the two of you.
I shut my eyes, ignoring the voice, and attempt to sink back into my dreams instead, but instead, I jerk back awake moments later, the horrific image of Ron throwing himself at Voldemort years ago haunting in its intensity.
Damnit! Even in my dreams, he has to come between us. And I resent him for it.
I resent that apart from myself, there's another who had such a great hold on Ron as well. Enough that he would not give a thought to his own life, if giving it up could save theirs.
And in return, I'm fully aware that he's never forgiven me for 'taking' Ron away from him. What he doesn't seem to realise, the prat, is that I never took anything. Ron came to me, just as I went to him, because there was actually, no other way. No other way for it to be so perfect, if we were not together.
Yet I would be a saint if I don't admit that there was a perverse sense of satisfaction at seeing Potter for once helpless in his rage, finally coming up against a wall he could not breach. That is, until I saw how much it was tearing my lover apart, that Harry Potter would not accept, or even try to understand, what was going on between us.
The worst night of my life, or what used to be the worst night of my life, was the night they brought Ron back after the fight with the Dark Lord. It was the closest I ever came to hating the fact that I was a Slytherin, son of a Death Eater, destined to follow in my father's footsteps.
Seeing him lying there in the sick bay was one of those moments. One of those times when you're on the verge of a decision so crucial it would affect you and the ones around you for the rest of your life. I remember wondering how I could ever bear it, if something like that happened again, only the next time it would be because of me. And I thought then, that maybe it would be worth it, worth disappointing my father and incurring his wrath, to defy him and take another path, as long as Ron was going to be there with me.
Life's greatest regrets are when you had the chance right there in the middle of your palm, and you brush it aside so carelessly.
Just as I was standing there wracked with my indecisions, he appeared from behind a curtain, followed by Madam Pomfrey. He looked barely marked, just a couple of bruises and scratches.
And I knew I really, really hated him.
My pride reasserted itself, and that moment of epiphany was over, for all the good it did me…
Somehow, I've managed to make it into the bathroom, and as I stare at my hollow reflection, an insidious thought creeps its way inside, asking me how much longer I want to blame Potter for all that has passed. Am I truly so weak, that I can be so easily swayed?
For an incredible instant, I seem to glimpse another image in the mirror behind me. He comes up behind the image that's me, arms going around my image's waist. Then he rests his chin on mirror-Draco's shoulder, and looks up at me. I see the trust, and the belief, that's in his eyes.
The tears begin to fall for the first time since the day he died.
I shall go to the funeral.
I shall face my ex-nemesis.
And after that…
Fin
A/N: Right, this is it! This story is officially finished! *breathes great sigh of relief* As I said before, after a great deal of thought, I feel that it's best to just end the story here. But I'm aware that a lot hasn't been explained, esp between Draco and Ron, and I do have quite a few ideas running around my head, which I'll probably put down in writing in the indefinite future. Please do tell me if you're interested in reading it – it might motivate me to write it sooner ^_~
Thank you so much to all the people who reviewed: ailsnjiin, Kal, Tamantha (I'm glad u think my fic fits in with the mood of the HP soundtrack ^_^), InTheVast, Lady Ev, Sly, Kaylin, Kaiyo no Hime, Gii, Noceo, and especially to Mamalaz, for all those regular, really sweet reviews!
Also thanks to "Bad Day" by Fuel, and "My Sacrifice" by Creed for the inspiration :p
All the best!