Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the associated milieu belongs to J. K. Rowling and various publishers. I'm just borrowing the characters and the world for my own fun.
AN: This is quite different from what I've written before, much darker, and actually I'm not expecting many to like this. This is also unedited (except for few minor typos) because I didn't have heart to change anything...
He was walking alone the dark corridors. He could have been with his friends, and he wanted to, but knew that he couldn't. The merry company would have been too stark a contrast to his own feelings of late; he knew his fate.
No. This was the time of mourning for him and he preferred to do that alone. The seven years of friendship he had experienced had taught him that he would be missed by many, and they'd have their time of mourning too, mourning for him when he'd be gone. But now was the time for his.
He could have felt bitterness at his fate—his time in this world hadn't been the best—but he didn't. All he felt was immense sadness at having to leave it all behind and having to cause his friends so much pain. He didn't even feel scared, just some excitement at soon meeting the great unknown.
Turning a corner, he was surprised to meet someone else, and even more surprised when he noticed who it was—the unmistakeable bush of hair giving away her identity. She was the last person he would have expected to meet in the dark of the night, roaming the castle.
She seemed surprised too, at first, but it quickly disappeared as she saw the darkness reflected by his piercingly green eyes—the same darkness he could see in her. He was the one to speak first.
"You can feel it too?" he asked simply.
She hesitated a bit before countering with a question of her own. "Which one?"
The question struck deep inside him, the darkness he felt, increased, but the question also aroused something deep inside him, something strong enough to penetrate the immense darkness and make itself known; hope. "Both?" he asked, his voice not betraying the shift in his feelings.
But she could feel the change in him, because she felt the very same thing in herself—the feeling conveyed more than words or gestures ever could. Her demeanour didn't reflect any of the change as she simply nodded. For a moment neither knew what to do, they could just look at each other, an immense pain crushing their souls, despite the hope they felt. She took a hold of his hand and together they started walking the empty corridors. They both wanted to mourn alone, and they had found someone to be alone with.
Each night from then on they walked together, hand in hand, aimlessly around the ancient castle. They never spoke a word, but they were comforted by the presence of the other, and they knew that the other was feeling more or less the same things as they felt themselves. The days they acted normally and no one noticed a thing, but the nights were time for them to mourn, time for them to feel what they really did.
One night, a few weeks from their first one, they knew that it was their last night—the last time they'd walk the corridors of the dear old castle.
"I'm scared," he admitted, breaking the silence.
"I'm not," she answered simply and truthfully. "I'll hold on to you," she added, strengthening her hold on his hand.
The next day their bodies were found on the battle scene, lying next to each other hand in hand. There was not a speck of dirt or blood on the bodies and for their appearances they could have been sleeping.
The scene told of many things but sadly none of it was understood by anyone who witnessed it.
AN: Yes, they were Harry and Hermione, and they died in the final battle.