We heard a rumour last week that Voldemort fell. Supposedly, on the one year anniversary of Harry's death. Turns out that Dumbledore hadn't told the truth when Harry died. He had said that Harry fell because Voldemort did. Turns out he was trying to protect everyone. If we thought the Dark Lord was dead, it was out of mind. He was right. But Harry was not out of mind, not ever. Harry had died, Dumbledore said, in attempts to help out the side of the Light. So much for attempts.

A whole year Harry's been gone, and to me it seems like a lifetime. I miss him so much. It hurts.

I went to Dumbledore once, desperate to find out why, if I loved Harry so much, I didn't die when he did. I was positive that I would have felt Harry's pain as he did. We were just that much in tune with one another.

He, of course, was not much of a help. Always speaking in riddles, and he couldn't just give me a straight answer.

He said something about "Only when Harry is truly dead, will you die too." And smiled with that sparkle in his eye.

I guess he meant that Harry would always be alive in my memory, in my heart, and so has not truly died. Not for me, at least.

I didn't bother to ask what in hell he was talking about. It only hurt more to discuss it anyway.

This morning at breakfast, Dumbledore stood up and confirmed the rumour. Lord Voldemort was, indeed, nothing but a memory and rotting corpse. Well, he didn't say that rotting corpse thing but I thought it needed a little flair.

And I walked to Potions, silently wishing that Harry hadn't ever gone on that mission. It seemed that whatever it was he did, it didn't help. Well, I don't really know that for sure, I guess.

Now that I am sitting here in Potions, I can't help but wonder if Harry is watching over me. And when someone calls my name I snap my head up, obviously not paying attention.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape was saying, "Please go see the Headmaster."

It was like deja vu, walking up there out of Potions. Just like the day when...Harry...was gone.

Right now I am sitting in the seat, facing Dumbledore. He is looking at me intently, and appears to be reading my mind. I hate it when he does that.

"I am sure you are wondering why I have called you here." Dumbledore stated.

"Well, yes." I reply, not exactly in the greatest of moods for a chat with the Headmaster.

"I know you have heard the news about the Dark Lord, Mr. Malfoy, and I am pleased to tell you that there is someone who would like to see you." Dumbledore said.

The first person that comes into my head is my father, but Dumbledore wouldn't be pleased to tell me he was here. He didn't exactly like Lucius Malfoy. And this confuses me.

"Who?" I ask, unable to hide the look of puzzlement on my face.

"Draco," a familiar voice.

It can't be. If I turn around, there will be no one there. It's not possible.

But he's there, the hand on my shoulder is real. Flesh. Living flesh, warm, soft.

Harry.

I think tears came to my eyes. Tears of happiness, or surprise, of confusion. It didn't matter. Harry was alive. And then he embraced me, and it felt like a piece of me was being put back into place, a lost, lonely puzzle piece that leaves the puzzle nealry finished, but not near enough.

I was whole again, and I knew nothing else except that Harry was alive and with me. And he loved me. And I loved him.

And when we die, we won't be afraid. We have each other.

And when we die, we will lie together and share our last breath.

And when we die, they will find out bodies facing each other, arms around each other.

And when we die, our lips will be locked in one final kiss.

And when we die.