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The raindrops fell heavily to Earth, telling a sad story as they fell.

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Dark clouds loomed overhead, using the raindrops as their messangers to describe the bloodshed they had just witnessed.

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A scent of gloom lingered in the air, almost overpowered by that of blood and death, so thick that you could easily taste it.

Then, through the gloom flew a red and gold pheonix, singing its last lament to those who had fallen.

The bedraggled-looking bird flew once more overhead before disappearing into the night, watched by two figures standing alone among the graveyard that Hogwarts had become.

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Through the rain and gloom, everything stood still.

Until one of the figures moved.

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The young man with blonde hair dressed in Death Eaters' garb closed in on the raven-haired teen sitting on his trunk in the middle of everything, a white owl by his side.

The blonde smirked.

"Why you still here, Potter?" he asked in his usual taunting voice. "Why haven't you done the honerable, idiotic, Gryffindorish thing and commited suicide, just so you can be reunited with your loved ones?"

The teen stared purposely ahead, still dressed in his school uniform.

"Owl got your tongue, Potter?"

The emerald-eyed teen shook his head.

"Why would it matter?" he whispered to the blonde quietly, yet still loud enough to be heard over the downpour that surrounded them.

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The blonde scowled. "Are you playing games with me, Potter?"

The young man with the Gryffindor crest smiled.

"Life is a precious thing," he responded. "So common yet so easily taken away. Once your one chance is taken, you never have another shot at it. Why destroy one of the few things I have left just so that I can see them a few decades sooner? No, they can wait."

A moment of silence passed between them, akward but not unwelcome.

Malfoy glared at him before asking, "Why don't you kill me, Potter? Why don't you kill the last Death Eater standing, if just to finish the job for good?"

He turned on his seat to look Malfoy straight in the eyes.

"Why don't you kill me? I killed your master, didn't I?"

Malfoy looked taken aback for a moment.

Why don't I kill him? he asked himself. He's sitting right there, just watching me. His wand is clearly on the ground beside him yet mine is in my hand. I could easily kill him. But...

...why don't I?

Draco considered for a moment longer, trying not to shiver at the intensity of the cold emerald eyes staring at him, waiting for him to respond.

It can't be because I feel any remorse for him. I've lost just as much as he has, perhaps more. If I were to pity him I would have to pity myself, and I do NOT self-pity. Malfoy cast another look at his surroundings. Maybe...

"...Maybe neither of us kill the other because we are the only ones left," Harry finished his thought. "Maybe because neither of us wish to be alone in this cold, dark world."

"But there are others, Potter," rebutted Malfoy. "There are others out there who would be more than happy to take in the famous Boy-Who-Lived. Sure, there's nothing but muggles left in England, but there are plenty of wizards in other countries. You'd live in comfort for the rest of your life if you went to one of them, even if you were broke. Why me?"

To Draco's surprise, Harry threw back his head in a haunted laugh.

"Of all the years we've known each other, Malfoy," he said, "has it truly taken you this long to figure out I despise fame and politics?"

Malfoy stood still.

"Besides, there would be no familiarity in it all. But you, Malfoy, you are familiar. I've known you for seven years. Much as I want to run from my past, my memories, and just forget everything, I can't bring myself to kill off the only reminder of my past; of what I once had. And you, Malfoy, you choose to keep me alive for the exact same reason, don't you?"

Malfoy scowled and leveled his wand with Harry's forehead, in the exact same spot his scar would continue to rest for all eternity.

"I could just kill you now, Potter," he spat.

Harry smiled.

"But you won't."

They stood there for a long time, not moving except to breathe. The rain had at that point soaked them to the skin, the dark sky overhead letting in no sun to warm or dry them. Perhaps seconds, minutes, or hours passed before the stillness was broken. Exactly how much time passed, no being will ever know. All we know is that the stillness was broken by Malfoy letting his arm drop, his wand fall to the ground beside Harry's, and began laughing.

"You're right, Potter," Malfoy gasped out hysterically. "I can't kill you! I won't kill you."

Harry smiled at him again.

"You and I are two of a kind, Malfoy," he whispered. "The last ones standing in this god-forsaken spit of politically-trashed land, surrounded by nothing but ghosts and memories."

Malfoy smiled ironically. "Indeed," he agreed.

Still smiling, Harry stood up, shrunk his trunk to put it in his soaked robe pocket, then beckoned Hedwig to perch on his shoulder.

"Potter?" Malfoy inquired, gazing absent-mindedly at the spot on his left arm where the Dark Mark once stood.

"Mm?"

Draco faltered.

"If- If we had perhaps been born to different families, or at the very least been sorted into the same house, do you think we might have been friends?"

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating the question he wasn't sure if he had known was coming. Would we have been friends...?

"Maybe," he finally admitted. "It all depends on the circumstances."

"Hm."

And with that, they began their journey. To where, neither of them knew.

"I still hate you Potter," Malfoy mentioned offhandishly as they exited the gates surrounding Hogwarts.

"And I you," replied Harry, still smiling. "But we're the last ones standing."

And so they walked away into the murky depths of the air surrounding them, letting this one last lesson Hogwarts has to offer sink in; allowing themselves to understand one more thing.

Even the survivors eventually fall.

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