Author's Note: Hey all! This is my first fic since Revolution, correct? Eh, who cares. I've been trying to leave ffnet slowly anyways. I really love this fic and I hope you do, too.
Disclaimer: Woo buddy, so do not want to get sued by JKR and all them big wigs. They'd probably take my whole town. Anyways, I don't own anything. Well, I mean I do, just not the characters in this story.
Armed guards stood outside the room. The body of Harry Potter deserved only the best. At the present moment they looked slightly baffled. They wanted to know how he had found out the location of the body and how he had managed to convince them to let him in.
Inside the room there lay a black haired man on a stark white bed, crucified before his time. Next to him knelt a blonde, whispering things into his ear. If anyone had been observing the two, from the passionate look on the blonde's face, they would guess he had come to mourn, like so many others would in the days to come. But this man did not come to mourn he had a different story to tell.
Draco's lips brushed lightly against Harry's cold ear as he told him the things that he had been too coward to tell him in life.
"I couldn't- didn't want to- believe it when they told me. Maybe if they told me you had died in battle, or if I had been the one to deliver that precious Unforgivable. That would have been poetic. I suppose you never noticed it was the same color of your eyes. I did. I practiced it many, many times, and each and every time I thought of you. But no, you had gotten pneumonia and died. I had to look up what pneumonia was. If you weren't so stubborn you'd still be alive. Any mediwitch or wizard could have made you healthy with a basic spell. But no, you had to keep fighting, not show any weakness, you refused to get any medical attention and so here you are. So completely unresponsive and at my mercy. I could do anything I want to you right now Potter. I could cut you into tiny pieces, curse your body and make it dance…fuck you.
"Would you like that? Would you like someone to control you? I know you can hear this. People believe that you could walk on water. So why not raise yourself from the dead? You're pathetic, really you are. It was your own stupidity that you died, that was my responsibility. Didn't you know that? I was supposed to be the one to kill you, the only one. Not even the Dark Lord would get that honor. But you fucked it all up because you're so STUPID!" Draco breathed deeply, listening for any signs that the guards would ride valiantly to their savior's rescue. When he spoke again, his voice was back to a quiet whisper.
"It all started when you refused my hand on the train. That stung, but of course, true emotion hadn't touched me since I was very small and Father burned all my toys, telling me it was time to start becoming a man. I was only eight. No, I'm not whining. I'm just telling you my story because you never had the decency to listen when you were alive. Now we've got all the time in the world and you're going to lay there like a good little doll and listen. I know you can hear this. Why did you refuse my hand? You chose a mangy weasel over money and power. I don't care how good everyone thinks you are, I just can't wrap my brain around that. Maybe you were just too much of a coward to take a chance." Draco's laugh came out short and harsh, and he looked shocked for a moment, not used to anything related to a laugh, derisive or not, coming from him.
"Look at me, calling you a coward when I'm the one confessing to a dead man. Is this a confession? I don't know what I'm confessing. Probably your importance to me. You were you know. Important to me. I don't think I would have survived the summer without knowing you were out there somewhere, loathing me. When my father would punish me for something I didn't do right and tell me that I didn't matter, that I was nothing, I would think 'Harry Potter hates me. That makes me someone.' Ah, that sounds weak doesn't it? Yeah Potter, even I depended on you for something. I wonder how you stood it sometimes. Is that why you never got medical attention? Was it not stupidity, but suicide? Cheers if you had the guts, mate. I don't blame you of course. Anyone that did would be lying."
Draco leaned back in his chair and glanced at the time. He put his cloak back on and gathered his things, "Well Potter. It was lovely chatting with you. I think I told you more today than I ever told anyone else. Probably more than you have the right to know. I must go now. There's still a war to fight. I'll send flowers." He sneered at the man laying defenseless on the bed one last time before sweeping out the room and past the still baffled guards.
Ten days later Draco Malfoy was killed by Ron Weasley who received an Order of Merlin Second Class after the war, for his bravery on the field. His widow, Hermione Granger, keeps it on prominent display, and tells the tale to anyone that stands still long enough and pretends to listen.