"Three Sisters", Harry Potter, R, DM/HP
TITLE: Three Sisters
AUTHOR: ZS
RATING: R
WARNING: death
FANDOM: Harry Potter
PAIRING: DM/HP
DISCLAIMER: The characters of HP aren't mine, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please don't hurt me!
SUMMARY: Clotho spins the thread of life; Lachesis measures it and assigns its destiny; Atropos cuts it. Written for the contrelamontre "Sliding Doors" challenge in 60 minutes.
You are lying on your back in a field of flowers. It is twilight, and cool, and petals brush your cheek. The earth against your skin is soft and smells like dark, open places. It is quiet and peaceful.
You lie where you have fallen, head turned towards the sun. Your wand is just out of reach; you can’t move. Your back is broken and you are dying. Each breath is an effort and your will is slipping away like dandelion seeds caught by the wind.
"They’re coming," Draco says, the fingers of his out-flung hand closing around your wand. He too is lying where he has fallen. He is bloodied and dirty and his legs are broken. The fading light frames his body. "Any last requests?"
***
"Don’t go," you say. "Please don’t."
Draco pauses in the doorway of your bedroom.
"What you don’t understand," he says, "is that none of this matters. My path is laid out before me, and it’s been like that since before I’ve been born."
"That doesn’t mean you have to walk it. Please. Stay here with me."
"I’m sorry, Harry."
The door closes behind him.
***
"One," you say. "Make it quick."
Blood trickles out of his mouth onto the white petals by his face. The spell you cast that smashed the bones in his lower body must be causing him excruciating pain but he gives nothing away. He’s always been strong.
He nods. "I will."
He casts the final spell with clinical precision.
The last thing you see is Draco’s expressionless face.
+++
"Don’t go," you say. "Please don’t."
Draco pauses in the doorway of your bedroom.
"What you don’t understand," he says, "is that none of this matters. My path is laid out before me, and it’s been like that since before I’ve been born."
"That doesn’t mean you have to walk it. Please. Stay here with me."
"I’m sorry, Harry."
The door closes behind him.
***
You are lying on your back in a field of flowers. It is twilight, and cool, and petals brush your cheek. The earth against your skin is soft and smells like dark, open places. It is quiet and peaceful.
You lie where you have fallen, head turned towards the sun. Your wand is just out of reach; you can’t move. Your back is broken, and you are dying. Each breath is an effort and your will is slipping away like dandelion seeds caught by the wind.
"They’re coming," Draco says, the fingers of his out-flung hand closing around your wand. He too is lying where he has fallen. He is bloodied and dirty and his legs are broken. The fading light frames his body. "Any last requests?"
"One," you say. "Make it quick."
Blood trickles out of his mouth onto the white petals by his face. The spell his father cast that smashed the bones in his lower body must be causing him excruciating pain but he gives nothing away. He’s always been strong.
He nods. "I will."
He casts the spell with clinical precision.
The last thing you see is Draco stretching his fingers to touch your cheek.
+++
AUTHOR: ZS
RATING: R
WARNING: death
FANDOM: Harry Potter
PAIRING: DM/HP
DISCLAIMER: The characters of HP aren't mine, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please don't hurt me!
SUMMARY: Clotho spins the thread of life; Lachesis measures it and assigns its destiny; Atropos cuts it. Written for the contrelamontre "Sliding Doors" challenge in 60 minutes.
You are lying on your back in a field of flowers. It is twilight, and cool, and petals brush your cheek. The earth against your skin is soft and smells like dark, open places. It is quiet and peaceful.
You lie where you have fallen, head turned towards the sun. Your wand is just out of reach; you can’t move. Your back is broken and you are dying. Each breath is an effort and your will is slipping away like dandelion seeds caught by the wind.
"They’re coming," Draco says, the fingers of his out-flung hand closing around your wand. He too is lying where he has fallen. He is bloodied and dirty and his legs are broken. The fading light frames his body. "Any last requests?"
***
"Don’t go," you say. "Please don’t."
Draco pauses in the doorway of your bedroom.
"What you don’t understand," he says, "is that none of this matters. My path is laid out before me, and it’s been like that since before I’ve been born."
"That doesn’t mean you have to walk it. Please. Stay here with me."
"I’m sorry, Harry."
The door closes behind him.
***
"One," you say. "Make it quick."
Blood trickles out of his mouth onto the white petals by his face. The spell you cast that smashed the bones in his lower body must be causing him excruciating pain but he gives nothing away. He’s always been strong.
He nods. "I will."
He casts the final spell with clinical precision.
The last thing you see is Draco’s expressionless face.
+++
"Don’t go," you say. "Please don’t."
Draco pauses in the doorway of your bedroom.
"What you don’t understand," he says, "is that none of this matters. My path is laid out before me, and it’s been like that since before I’ve been born."
"That doesn’t mean you have to walk it. Please. Stay here with me."
"I’m sorry, Harry."
The door closes behind him.
***
You are lying on your back in a field of flowers. It is twilight, and cool, and petals brush your cheek. The earth against your skin is soft and smells like dark, open places. It is quiet and peaceful.
You lie where you have fallen, head turned towards the sun. Your wand is just out of reach; you can’t move. Your back is broken, and you are dying. Each breath is an effort and your will is slipping away like dandelion seeds caught by the wind.
"They’re coming," Draco says, the fingers of his out-flung hand closing around your wand. He too is lying where he has fallen. He is bloodied and dirty and his legs are broken. The fading light frames his body. "Any last requests?"
"One," you say. "Make it quick."
Blood trickles out of his mouth onto the white petals by his face. The spell his father cast that smashed the bones in his lower body must be causing him excruciating pain but he gives nothing away. He’s always been strong.
He nods. "I will."
He casts the spell with clinical precision.
The last thing you see is Draco stretching his fingers to touch your cheek.
+++