(no subject)
Title : One More Left
Author :
bluemonkeyz8
Warning : Multiple Character Death, Angst, AU, postwar!fic, some language
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5009
Disclaimer : I do not own nor make money off of this project or the characters within it.
Summary : With one curse, a dead man took away the five people who meant the most to Harry. Four years later, four of them have died… and there’s only one more left.
A/N: This is based on a true story, but events and names have been altered. Comments and feedback are appreciated. Also, congrats are to
catsintheattic for the beta'ing awesomeness.
Have you ever watched a person die? I have. I am, right now. Now, as a thought-reading quill scratches everything going through my head onto a piece of parchment at home, I am here, in Malfoy Manor. I am watching him die. He's the fifth one, but he'll be the last. He doesn't see me, his vision is already taken by the disease. Voldemort's disease. That bastard managed to utter one more curse before I killed him, and now it's taken four of the people he thought meant the most to me. Oh, we knew about his whole fixation with the number seven. But after my parents, I suppose he thought it fit to make the final five suffer more, to make up for the quick pain they endured. A slow death… full of blindness, starvation, and horrid pain. Nothing I can do about it, either. Because that's how Voldemort wanted it to end. It's been four years, and he's lived through it all. He's seen them pass before him, but now it's his turn. Part of him knows it, too. I think that's what hurts the most.
As I stand in the chilly room here in the Manor, I think back to those who have gone before him. The first was Hermione. It was maybe a month after Voldemort's defeat that she fell ill. We watched as her hair thinned and her eyes dulled, and one day, she was gone. Where she died, exactly, no one knows. Her body was never found, no magical traces left behind, she was just... gone. We think that Ron may have taken her out and hidden her safely, so she could die in peace. Perhaps he killed her himself, to end her suffering. That would explain a lot, but he died before we could ever find out.
Yes, Ron was next. He took Hermione's departure hardest, and everyone thought it was for a different reason. I thought he had something to do with the disappearance, his guilt driving him to the edge. Ron was definitely not the scared little redhead kid from school anymore. He had grown up immensely, and it hurt him more than it helped. His death didn't take as long, either. He stopped eating, as if in preparation for what was to come, and then he stopped talking. It wasn't a gradual thing, no, it was like he woke up one morning and decided never to say anything ever again. About two months later, his body was discovered in a Muggle hotelroom. An owl was waiting for me when I got home from work that evening. Said that the funeral was going to be the following Monday. They buried him next to his wife's empty coffin. I found out later that Molly had been the one to find the body, covered in blood. There were no marks or injuries of any kind on his body, and the blood had no traces of magic. I had a feeling I knew whose blood it was, however. My trip to Egypt had come up with a spell to remove such evidence, and Ron was one of only three people who knew about the discovery. My only remaining question had been and still is why he had chosen to spend his last day here soaking in her blood.
The third death was Severus, about eight months later. How Voldemort saw him as someone who meant something to me is beyond my knowledge. Unless he thought it would hurt me because the death would hurt Draco. And hurt Draco it did. I spent most of my time on the computer, focusing on work to get my mind off of my friends' deaths. Draco was focused on his mentor, who was withering before his very eyes. His black hair was going grey, something I never could have believed to happen. His magic faded and failed, especially when he tried to brew potions. They never came out right, always blowing up or causing side effects never before thought of. Draco hated seeing his godfather like this. It was heartwrenching for him, something I should have noticed but overlooked. I hate myself for that. It wasn't until this very moment, watching him die, that I realised how he must have felt then. Especially when Snape finally died. I was the one who found the body, not Draco, and that probably stung him the most. Not being there in his final moments, when Draco was all the man had left to consider family or friend, had to have been hard. I found Severus in his quarters, slumped against the wall. Draco was at the Manor, while Severus had chosen to stay at Hogwarts. The body was warm, but it held no signs of life. When I pulled him forward, the head lolled back, nothing to support it. His robes clung to his corpse more than they ever had to his living body. I told Draco first, knowing that it would have hurt him worse otherwise. While he tried to keep his voice steady and remain calm, all I could manage was a short "I'm sorry. Good night," before I went off to bed myself. Snape's memorial was held in the most elaborate wizarding fashion Draco could muster. He wanted everything to be just right. I felt dumb throughout the entire thing. Despite whatever Draco had said, I knew that things had never changed between Snape and me. There was always going to be hatred there, grudges from school that we could not lay to rest. Snape wouldn't have wanted me there. But I had to be there, for Draco. He cried that night, sobs that hurt me because they hurt him, just like Voldemort would have wanted. I didn't know what to do, I was still so numb from Ron and Hermione, and Draco had been there for me through that. It’s just death, it’s just death, it’s just death was the only thought I could grasp, as I held him and rocked him to a fitful sleep.
The latest death was Neville. I think it's strange that he was nominated for my job, my position in the wizarding world, and while I defeated Voldemort, Neville would die at his curse. Out of all four, I remember his most clearly. I felt bad for not being there for anyone else's, so I decided to wait beside him then. It was so horrible. His voice was weak, he struggled with every breath. After all his brave attempts, all his achievements, everything he had done for me and our side in the war, this was what he got in return. He got to die. After everything, all that he had done, he was going to die. But it wouldn’t be a simple death, no, it never was. It was always painful, hateful. I vowed to be there for him, like I am now for the last of them. The night before he died, Neville shook terribly. He couldn't breathe, couldn't take a simple breath in and a simpler breath out. The Healers kept him clean, nudging him to keep him awake and fighting. It was obvious to me, as I watched him, that he wanted to sleep. Each time a Healer would try to help him out, he would raise a very shaky hand, wave them off, then collapse onto the bedsheets. When I tried to hold him up, trying to convince him to stay awake and eat or do something, anything, his head would roll back. His fingers would grasp at my hand occasionally, but I never knew if that was ever anything more than a muscle spasm. It reminded me so much of Severus that I couldn’t stand it. That night, late into the night, I left Neville alone. I made the mistake of falling asleep. I sat in a chair beside his hospital bed. I would wake every few minutes to check on him, make sure he was still breathing and still living, despite how much it hurt him and it hurt me. They said it wasn’t my fault, but I fell asleep and in the hour or more I dozed, he died. I awoke to find a stiff corpse in the hospital bed beside me. Neville was dead. I helped to remove the remains from his room that evening, feeling completely empty inside. For the next few days, I was annoyingly clingy to Draco and crying all the time. I felt like a total arse sometimes, but then there were times when all I could think about was who would be claimed next by this horrid curse, and how I had known it would be him all along.
He, who had loved me and stayed with me for six years, who had been faithful to me and carried me through things I couldn't handle on my own, was dying. The boy who had been my arch nemesis in school and my lover in adulthood. Yes, him, Draco. I peer through my coverings to him. He lies in a bed in his home, looking so peaceful he has to be asleep. I know better. I know it's not real sleep he's getting, but a strong coma he's been placed in. When I came home from work at the Ministry seven months ago, I found him in the bed, unable to do much of anything. I took him to St. Mungo's, but his father had him brought home almost immediately. Here he has been ever since. He wouldn't eat, but he lasted so much longer than everyone else, a year and a half to be exact, that I was certain he would survive. I tried to visit my partner many times, but Lucius or Narcissa always found a reason for me to leave. I think Narcissa wanted me there, knew Draco wanted me there, but she followed orders from Lucius, and he said no. Thus, I was forced into taking my Invisibility Cloak and convincing the house elves to grant me entrance. I was almost afraid to do anything but stay at home. Wait. That's a lie. I wasn’t almost afraid. I was afraid. I, Harry Potter, was petrified to think that I would enter that room, all alone, and see my beloved dead. I couldn't take that. Still, I decided to face my fear and go anyway.
And so here I am. I’m so tired, but I don’t want to sit or go to sleep. I have to stay awake, no matter the pain it causes me. He is in so much more pain, so I must stay awake for him. Now, I have to stay awake. I have managed it this long, I can make it a few more hours. I could make it a few more days, if needed, just to know that he isn’t gone when I wake up. I have failed before, and I won’t let it happen to him. I have to stay awake.
It may not do him a bit of good, for me to go without sleep. If he was able to talk, he would scold me, make fun of me for being so stupid. But he knows I won’t back down. I wasn’t there for Hermione, I was at work when Ron was found, I wasn’t there for Snape, either, and I fucking fell asleep when Neville died. I failed them, but I won’t fail Draco. I refuse.
I refuse to sit because I know that will only make it easier for sleep to claim me. I continue to think about random things, imagining that quill as it transfers my thoughts onto the parchment. My eyelids are heavy, but I refuse to let them fall shut. I focus on a lamp in the room, hardly wanting to blink, despite how dry and raw my eyes do feel. I turn to Draco occasionally, making sure he is awake but not paying as much attention to him. Maybe I should, but it’s just one of those things I find hard to do right now. His breathing is very shallow, but it’s even, which is a good thing. His body seems to spasm as well, just like Neville’s. There is a twitch in his arm, then a little while later in his leg or neck. My heart seems to stop briefly every time I see it, because I am certain it means his death is closer. I know tonight is his last night. I don’t want it to be, I should be optimistic and I should know better. I could just tell myself that it will be alright. Months from now, he will have survived and we can live on happily. We always dreamed of getting through the war and getting married. We were going to have children, whether they were our own or even adopted. His father wouldn’t have been happy with the thought and would have disowned him right on the spot, should he ever find out about it. But it wouldn’t have mattered, since I would have spent every last Knut given to me to make sure Draco lived the life Voldemort was about to take away from him. I know it’s selfish, but I wish someone else had to die. Anyone but my Draco. Maybe I could die instead. I would, as long as he didn’t have to. Anything to let him live. Anything to let him get through another hour, another day. But no. Voldemort had to take it away from me. Everything I’ve ever loved, everything I’ve ever wanted or desired, he has stolen. My family, my mentor, my friends, and now the love of my life. The love of my life. As those few words roll through my mind and over my tongue, I try to imagine life without him. Up until now, I haven’t given it a thought. There was no reason to. If I ever did, I pushed it away, because surely Draco would be strong enough to get through it. I couldn’t lose Draco. But now I have to think about it. It might actually happen.
No, I can’t think about it. It’s not because it’s too morbid, or because I don’t want to, it’s because I know that life without Draco doesn’t exist. There will be no life without him. My life ends with his.
Narcissa walks into the room, causing another light to come on. I watch her as she moves to her son’s side, careful not to make a lot of noise. She wants what I want. She wants him to live. Like me, she would give her own life for him to live. I wish I could tell her that I understand what she is going through, but part of me says she already knows. I see her lips move as she mutters the spell to wake him from his coma. I watch as his breathing returns to gasps and wheezes, his head coming off the pillow with all the energy he can muster and then falling back, because he is too frail to hold it up on his own. His hand moves, my gaze following every tiny motion of his delicate hand. I hear Narcissa whispering to him, telling him about her day and her plans for when he gets better. Narcissa lifts a damp cloth, charmed to stay warm, and slowly cleans off his forehead. She is so tender, softly pressing it against him, talking the entire time. I figure it makes her feel better, being able to discuss her thoughts with him. Whether or not he has the ability to hear her does not matter, being able to get it off her chest to someone helps.
Her hand hesitates above his mouth and nose before slowly returning the cloth to its original resting place. I know what she is thinking. I have thought the same thing on more than one occasion. How easy it would be to take the life away from him, stop the pain before it kills him. Take away a small portion of it. But something always stops us. I have killed one person in my lifetime, and that was enough. I don’t know what it is that keeps me from taking his life, but I cannot bring myself to do it. For this I am grateful. Imagining life without Draco is bad enough, knowing that I am without him because I killed him would only be worse. I suppose the same must be true for Narcissa.
Draco’s eyes are now open. I can see them, wide and blank, staring into space. I wonder if he sees little things, or if he has lost sight completely. Draco tries to move, but Narcissa holds him back lovingly, telling him to remain still so he can heal faster. She tells him that she hates seeing him like this, and she knows he probably hates being like that, but it’s how it is and he needs to just stay so he can get better. Then, she launches into another story of what is going to happen once his health has returned. Because he is only a little sick, in Narcissa’s mind, he is nowhere near death. In a few days, he will be up and moving, like nothing ever happened. This will be in the past, another memory in his Pensieve.
Denial is a bitch.
Part of me wishes he would die already. Get it over with. Those who love him can’t kill him. If he would die on his own, I could go to sleep, I could start life without him. Now that I think about it, it would be tough, but it wouldn’t be so bad. I could get along without Draco. We would mourn, there would be a funeral, but in the end, we knew it was coming all along. Ever since Voldemort cursed him, we knew eventually it would happen. We should be more prepared, and I think I can handle it without him. It’s just another death, another loss. I’ve been through several in my life, I can go through another one.
What am I thinking? Of course I can’t live without Draco. How can I be so selfish as to think he should just croak so I could get some sleep? I don’t need sleep! I’m goddamned Harry Potter, cursed to live as the others around me die. I shouldn’t want him to die. How crazy of me! Draco is all I’ve got, without him I’ve nothing. I am nothing.
Narcissa leaves the room. I had forgotten she was there, I was so wrapped up in my horrid thoughts. I feel unclean, as if wanting sleep was a sin. But I do need it, I can feel my body craving it. I want to crawl up beside him and sleep. If he dies tonight, so be it. I hope Draco makes it, but I must be prepared for the worst. He wouldn’t want me to stay awake over this.
No, I won’t. I have to stay awake. As I watch his muscles convulse, I scold myself once again for being so damned self-centered.
Somewhere in the Manor, a clock chimes twice. I have yet to move from my spot, not even to eat or use the toilet. I cannot leave his side for anything as unnecessary as that. He must come first. And he does. He always has. He is all alone on the sheet in front of me, and I want to reach out and let him know that I am here. I want to touch his face, feel his heartbeat beneath my hand. But I won’t. I couldn’t bare to sense how cold his skin must be, how his heart is dwindling, the pulse shallow. Now his breathing is no longer regular. It comes in quick intakes, followed by a long exhale and a pause, as if somewhere inside he is fighting to remember how to breathe again. I don’t want to watch, but I can’t look away. The minutes pass as I stare at his pale form.
I realise how much I hate Death. I wouldn’t let it take him, I would fight the Grim if he showed up right here and now. I know I am afraid of it. I don’t care what I said earlier, I hate it. I know everyone does. I’ve feared Death all along. He’s taking everything from me, just like Voldemort. Even I had a fear of Voldemort, I’ll say it. I. Was. Scared. Of. The. Dark. Lord. A man who could make people piss themselves with a single look in the eyes. Those who claimed not to fear him were lying to themselves. I fought him because I had to. I know plenty of people who wanted to run away and hide from him, and I was one of those people. But I couldn’t. Where was I supposed to go?
I will fight Death, just like I fought Voldemort. I won’t let him claim my Draco. I respect Him fiercely, I respect Death. Voldemort may have been able to curse a few people and tell others he has the power to determine when they die, but he hasn’t. Death does have that power. If Voldemort really had that power, I would have died when I was one year old. But I didn’t. And no matter what I say about either of them, neither will take Draco. I won’t fail him like that.
I slowly walk over to him, daring myself to come closer to the body. I need to, because eventually I will have to do it when he will be in a coffin. It’s bullshit, really, that I think I can fight Death. Lack of sleep must finally be catching up to me. I want to laugh at the thought of me trying to fight something like Death, but someone will come and find me. I lean over his petite body, careful not to breathe too hard or too loud. He’s still, and there are flecks of blood on his lips. It scares me to see that. I look at the spots of dark fluid on his lips, slowly drying with each breath that passes them. I’ve seen blood before, I’ve seen his blood, in fact, but this small amount, those miniscule bits, they nauseate me. I have to leave. I walk out of the room, trying to stop my shaking as I open the doorknob.
In the bathroom down the hall, where the light has been left out so that no one awakes, I stare at the image of myself, as best I can see it, in the mirror. I can’t believe I just left him in there… what if he dies while I am gone? He will be. I’ll walk in and he’ll be dead. I have to go back!
No. I can’t. That blood. I can’t see that again. Another minute, I need another minute to do something besides looking at him. But everything in here reminds me of him. I have to go back. I have to be with him. What if something happens? I have to be in there.
So I go back. I walk over to the bed, and my greatest fears are confirmed. I feel my breath, my heart, everything stops as I see his still chest. I scream inside for him to start breathing, but it stays still. Or does it? Was that a breath? Did he…? Yes. A second one. His torso rises, then falls, assuring me that he has not yet taken his last breath, and not when I was out of the room. I let out the breath I myself was holding. Part of me was thinking that it’s only going to be worse since he is still alive - he should have died when I was somewhere else - but I know that it is worse either way. I would have felt guilty for not being there, but I am guilty for wanting him to stay alive any longer. He needs to be free of pain, I shouldn’t want him alive. But how can I want him dead? Why? The thought sickens me. Everything sickens me.
I must have made some sound, because the door creaks, and I move quickly to the wall. I stand there as Narcissa walks in, checking on her son. The clock chimes once, a sign that half an hour has passed, and I feel the fatigue tug at me. But I won’t go to sleep. Instead, I watch as she walks over to his bed, feeling his too cold forehead, adjusting his coverings. I listen as her hand moves over the fabric, her fingers play with a strand of his hair, and her voice as she whispers good night and leaves once again, assured that he is doing okay. She is just as worried as I am, maybe worse, and I can’t help but feel responsible.
I wonder what would have happened if I had listened to them. My friends, when they said that Draco was a person I should have nothing to do with. He tried to kill Dumbledore, for Merlin’s sake, Ron told me. But I didn’t listen. I knew that Draco couldn’t have killed him, and he didn’t. My friends. Their voices haunt me sometimes, remind me that it’s my fault they are dead. It has always been my fault. I was the one that dragged them into that stupid obstacle course, I was the one who brought into a dark chamber we knew nothing about. If I hadn’t gone into the Department of Mysteries, Sirius would be alive. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I had never been born. What if my parents never got together?
I wouldn’t exist. My parents would be alive. Sirius would be alive. Cedric would be playing professional Quidditch. Dumbledore would be walking among Hogwarts with a twinkle in his eye. Hermione would have had children with Ron, who would be an Auror at the Ministry. Snape would be making potions, and Neville would work on a better version, using Herbology instead. Draco would have found someone better in his life, not me. Because I wouldn’t be there for any of it, and life would have been much easier.
I hate myself sometimes. Everyone is cursed at birth, cursed to die. But me? I managed to curse everything around me. From birth to death, I can never have a love life, I can never be loved or know what it is like to find a soulmate, because they will die first. I want to die, but I can’t. I have to live to find out whose death I am responsible for next. Whom I will disappoint next.
I find myself beside his bed again. I wonder what he is thinking of. Is he thinking? Is it of me? Does he hate me? Of course he does, how can he love me after this? After what I’ve done to him? Is he scared? What is he afraid of? Is he in pain? Where does it hurt? I wish I knew. I wish I could help him.
I wish I had someone here. Someone to talk to, to hold, to hold me. Someone to tell me everything is alright. I had always been the brave one. I held him when it was Snape facing Death, even with Hermione, I held him. I told him it was alright, but now I have no one. I was by myself when Neville got sick, but I didn’t feel alone. Because Draco was there. Now I do. I feel like I have no one now. I am truly alone now, empty. I want to reach out and touch Draco, talk to him like Narcissa does, but I can’t. I want to, but I fear the result. I know his skin is cold, I see how she reacts to touching him, and I couldn’t bear to do that. Watching him is unnerving in and of itself, but it’s all I can stand to do right now. So it is all I will do.
He is twitching more often. Different places, yes, but it is still something I don’t want to see. I don’t want to see his muscles convulsing underneath the skin. He is losing control and that only leaves a few more steps before he is gone.
My mind is begging me to go to sleep. I have never gone so long without it. But my heart is saying that I have to stay awake for him. The voice in my head, the one fighting for sleep, it sounds like him. I want to say no, but I can’t say no to Draco. I want to be here when he goes on, but I want to crawl up next to him and sleep away the last few moments. He’ll choose the moment when I am most at peace to go, and that’ll be when I’m sleeping. I don’t want to. I wish I could stand here for the next week. The next month, even, just so that I am here when he goes. But I’m so tired… so weak… so sick of this.
I want to hold him close. I can do that much without falling asleep. I just want to be beside him. Part of me knows that he is going to make it, so lying here beside him may help it along. That’s all. Careful not to hurt him, I crawl into the bed. I snuggle under the covers and wrap my arms around him. He’s so cold. Why is he so cold?
I promise myself I won’t fall asleep, but it’s so hard. He looks peaceful, but he’s still cold. Maybe when he’s warmed up. I don’t want to risk harming him, so I won’t use any magic. Just body heat. I’ll just lay here and hold onto him. I won’t fall asleep. I love him. I won’t …. I love you, Draco… Love…
Author :
bluemonkeyz8
Warning : Multiple Character Death, Angst, AU, postwar!fic, some language
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5009
Disclaimer : I do not own nor make money off of this project or the characters within it.
Summary : With one curse, a dead man took away the five people who meant the most to Harry. Four years later, four of them have died… and there’s only one more left.
A/N: This is based on a true story, but events and names have been altered. Comments and feedback are appreciated. Also, congrats are to
catsintheattic for the beta'ing awesomeness.
Have you ever watched a person die? I have. I am, right now. Now, as a thought-reading quill scratches everything going through my head onto a piece of parchment at home, I am here, in Malfoy Manor. I am watching him die. He's the fifth one, but he'll be the last. He doesn't see me, his vision is already taken by the disease. Voldemort's disease. That bastard managed to utter one more curse before I killed him, and now it's taken four of the people he thought meant the most to me. Oh, we knew about his whole fixation with the number seven. But after my parents, I suppose he thought it fit to make the final five suffer more, to make up for the quick pain they endured. A slow death… full of blindness, starvation, and horrid pain. Nothing I can do about it, either. Because that's how Voldemort wanted it to end. It's been four years, and he's lived through it all. He's seen them pass before him, but now it's his turn. Part of him knows it, too. I think that's what hurts the most.
As I stand in the chilly room here in the Manor, I think back to those who have gone before him. The first was Hermione. It was maybe a month after Voldemort's defeat that she fell ill. We watched as her hair thinned and her eyes dulled, and one day, she was gone. Where she died, exactly, no one knows. Her body was never found, no magical traces left behind, she was just... gone. We think that Ron may have taken her out and hidden her safely, so she could die in peace. Perhaps he killed her himself, to end her suffering. That would explain a lot, but he died before we could ever find out.
Yes, Ron was next. He took Hermione's departure hardest, and everyone thought it was for a different reason. I thought he had something to do with the disappearance, his guilt driving him to the edge. Ron was definitely not the scared little redhead kid from school anymore. He had grown up immensely, and it hurt him more than it helped. His death didn't take as long, either. He stopped eating, as if in preparation for what was to come, and then he stopped talking. It wasn't a gradual thing, no, it was like he woke up one morning and decided never to say anything ever again. About two months later, his body was discovered in a Muggle hotelroom. An owl was waiting for me when I got home from work that evening. Said that the funeral was going to be the following Monday. They buried him next to his wife's empty coffin. I found out later that Molly had been the one to find the body, covered in blood. There were no marks or injuries of any kind on his body, and the blood had no traces of magic. I had a feeling I knew whose blood it was, however. My trip to Egypt had come up with a spell to remove such evidence, and Ron was one of only three people who knew about the discovery. My only remaining question had been and still is why he had chosen to spend his last day here soaking in her blood.
The third death was Severus, about eight months later. How Voldemort saw him as someone who meant something to me is beyond my knowledge. Unless he thought it would hurt me because the death would hurt Draco. And hurt Draco it did. I spent most of my time on the computer, focusing on work to get my mind off of my friends' deaths. Draco was focused on his mentor, who was withering before his very eyes. His black hair was going grey, something I never could have believed to happen. His magic faded and failed, especially when he tried to brew potions. They never came out right, always blowing up or causing side effects never before thought of. Draco hated seeing his godfather like this. It was heartwrenching for him, something I should have noticed but overlooked. I hate myself for that. It wasn't until this very moment, watching him die, that I realised how he must have felt then. Especially when Snape finally died. I was the one who found the body, not Draco, and that probably stung him the most. Not being there in his final moments, when Draco was all the man had left to consider family or friend, had to have been hard. I found Severus in his quarters, slumped against the wall. Draco was at the Manor, while Severus had chosen to stay at Hogwarts. The body was warm, but it held no signs of life. When I pulled him forward, the head lolled back, nothing to support it. His robes clung to his corpse more than they ever had to his living body. I told Draco first, knowing that it would have hurt him worse otherwise. While he tried to keep his voice steady and remain calm, all I could manage was a short "I'm sorry. Good night," before I went off to bed myself. Snape's memorial was held in the most elaborate wizarding fashion Draco could muster. He wanted everything to be just right. I felt dumb throughout the entire thing. Despite whatever Draco had said, I knew that things had never changed between Snape and me. There was always going to be hatred there, grudges from school that we could not lay to rest. Snape wouldn't have wanted me there. But I had to be there, for Draco. He cried that night, sobs that hurt me because they hurt him, just like Voldemort would have wanted. I didn't know what to do, I was still so numb from Ron and Hermione, and Draco had been there for me through that. It’s just death, it’s just death, it’s just death was the only thought I could grasp, as I held him and rocked him to a fitful sleep.
The latest death was Neville. I think it's strange that he was nominated for my job, my position in the wizarding world, and while I defeated Voldemort, Neville would die at his curse. Out of all four, I remember his most clearly. I felt bad for not being there for anyone else's, so I decided to wait beside him then. It was so horrible. His voice was weak, he struggled with every breath. After all his brave attempts, all his achievements, everything he had done for me and our side in the war, this was what he got in return. He got to die. After everything, all that he had done, he was going to die. But it wouldn’t be a simple death, no, it never was. It was always painful, hateful. I vowed to be there for him, like I am now for the last of them. The night before he died, Neville shook terribly. He couldn't breathe, couldn't take a simple breath in and a simpler breath out. The Healers kept him clean, nudging him to keep him awake and fighting. It was obvious to me, as I watched him, that he wanted to sleep. Each time a Healer would try to help him out, he would raise a very shaky hand, wave them off, then collapse onto the bedsheets. When I tried to hold him up, trying to convince him to stay awake and eat or do something, anything, his head would roll back. His fingers would grasp at my hand occasionally, but I never knew if that was ever anything more than a muscle spasm. It reminded me so much of Severus that I couldn’t stand it. That night, late into the night, I left Neville alone. I made the mistake of falling asleep. I sat in a chair beside his hospital bed. I would wake every few minutes to check on him, make sure he was still breathing and still living, despite how much it hurt him and it hurt me. They said it wasn’t my fault, but I fell asleep and in the hour or more I dozed, he died. I awoke to find a stiff corpse in the hospital bed beside me. Neville was dead. I helped to remove the remains from his room that evening, feeling completely empty inside. For the next few days, I was annoyingly clingy to Draco and crying all the time. I felt like a total arse sometimes, but then there were times when all I could think about was who would be claimed next by this horrid curse, and how I had known it would be him all along.
He, who had loved me and stayed with me for six years, who had been faithful to me and carried me through things I couldn't handle on my own, was dying. The boy who had been my arch nemesis in school and my lover in adulthood. Yes, him, Draco. I peer through my coverings to him. He lies in a bed in his home, looking so peaceful he has to be asleep. I know better. I know it's not real sleep he's getting, but a strong coma he's been placed in. When I came home from work at the Ministry seven months ago, I found him in the bed, unable to do much of anything. I took him to St. Mungo's, but his father had him brought home almost immediately. Here he has been ever since. He wouldn't eat, but he lasted so much longer than everyone else, a year and a half to be exact, that I was certain he would survive. I tried to visit my partner many times, but Lucius or Narcissa always found a reason for me to leave. I think Narcissa wanted me there, knew Draco wanted me there, but she followed orders from Lucius, and he said no. Thus, I was forced into taking my Invisibility Cloak and convincing the house elves to grant me entrance. I was almost afraid to do anything but stay at home. Wait. That's a lie. I wasn’t almost afraid. I was afraid. I, Harry Potter, was petrified to think that I would enter that room, all alone, and see my beloved dead. I couldn't take that. Still, I decided to face my fear and go anyway.
And so here I am. I’m so tired, but I don’t want to sit or go to sleep. I have to stay awake, no matter the pain it causes me. He is in so much more pain, so I must stay awake for him. Now, I have to stay awake. I have managed it this long, I can make it a few more hours. I could make it a few more days, if needed, just to know that he isn’t gone when I wake up. I have failed before, and I won’t let it happen to him. I have to stay awake.
It may not do him a bit of good, for me to go without sleep. If he was able to talk, he would scold me, make fun of me for being so stupid. But he knows I won’t back down. I wasn’t there for Hermione, I was at work when Ron was found, I wasn’t there for Snape, either, and I fucking fell asleep when Neville died. I failed them, but I won’t fail Draco. I refuse.
I refuse to sit because I know that will only make it easier for sleep to claim me. I continue to think about random things, imagining that quill as it transfers my thoughts onto the parchment. My eyelids are heavy, but I refuse to let them fall shut. I focus on a lamp in the room, hardly wanting to blink, despite how dry and raw my eyes do feel. I turn to Draco occasionally, making sure he is awake but not paying as much attention to him. Maybe I should, but it’s just one of those things I find hard to do right now. His breathing is very shallow, but it’s even, which is a good thing. His body seems to spasm as well, just like Neville’s. There is a twitch in his arm, then a little while later in his leg or neck. My heart seems to stop briefly every time I see it, because I am certain it means his death is closer. I know tonight is his last night. I don’t want it to be, I should be optimistic and I should know better. I could just tell myself that it will be alright. Months from now, he will have survived and we can live on happily. We always dreamed of getting through the war and getting married. We were going to have children, whether they were our own or even adopted. His father wouldn’t have been happy with the thought and would have disowned him right on the spot, should he ever find out about it. But it wouldn’t have mattered, since I would have spent every last Knut given to me to make sure Draco lived the life Voldemort was about to take away from him. I know it’s selfish, but I wish someone else had to die. Anyone but my Draco. Maybe I could die instead. I would, as long as he didn’t have to. Anything to let him live. Anything to let him get through another hour, another day. But no. Voldemort had to take it away from me. Everything I’ve ever loved, everything I’ve ever wanted or desired, he has stolen. My family, my mentor, my friends, and now the love of my life. The love of my life. As those few words roll through my mind and over my tongue, I try to imagine life without him. Up until now, I haven’t given it a thought. There was no reason to. If I ever did, I pushed it away, because surely Draco would be strong enough to get through it. I couldn’t lose Draco. But now I have to think about it. It might actually happen.
No, I can’t think about it. It’s not because it’s too morbid, or because I don’t want to, it’s because I know that life without Draco doesn’t exist. There will be no life without him. My life ends with his.
Narcissa walks into the room, causing another light to come on. I watch her as she moves to her son’s side, careful not to make a lot of noise. She wants what I want. She wants him to live. Like me, she would give her own life for him to live. I wish I could tell her that I understand what she is going through, but part of me says she already knows. I see her lips move as she mutters the spell to wake him from his coma. I watch as his breathing returns to gasps and wheezes, his head coming off the pillow with all the energy he can muster and then falling back, because he is too frail to hold it up on his own. His hand moves, my gaze following every tiny motion of his delicate hand. I hear Narcissa whispering to him, telling him about her day and her plans for when he gets better. Narcissa lifts a damp cloth, charmed to stay warm, and slowly cleans off his forehead. She is so tender, softly pressing it against him, talking the entire time. I figure it makes her feel better, being able to discuss her thoughts with him. Whether or not he has the ability to hear her does not matter, being able to get it off her chest to someone helps.
Her hand hesitates above his mouth and nose before slowly returning the cloth to its original resting place. I know what she is thinking. I have thought the same thing on more than one occasion. How easy it would be to take the life away from him, stop the pain before it kills him. Take away a small portion of it. But something always stops us. I have killed one person in my lifetime, and that was enough. I don’t know what it is that keeps me from taking his life, but I cannot bring myself to do it. For this I am grateful. Imagining life without Draco is bad enough, knowing that I am without him because I killed him would only be worse. I suppose the same must be true for Narcissa.
Draco’s eyes are now open. I can see them, wide and blank, staring into space. I wonder if he sees little things, or if he has lost sight completely. Draco tries to move, but Narcissa holds him back lovingly, telling him to remain still so he can heal faster. She tells him that she hates seeing him like this, and she knows he probably hates being like that, but it’s how it is and he needs to just stay so he can get better. Then, she launches into another story of what is going to happen once his health has returned. Because he is only a little sick, in Narcissa’s mind, he is nowhere near death. In a few days, he will be up and moving, like nothing ever happened. This will be in the past, another memory in his Pensieve.
Denial is a bitch.
Part of me wishes he would die already. Get it over with. Those who love him can’t kill him. If he would die on his own, I could go to sleep, I could start life without him. Now that I think about it, it would be tough, but it wouldn’t be so bad. I could get along without Draco. We would mourn, there would be a funeral, but in the end, we knew it was coming all along. Ever since Voldemort cursed him, we knew eventually it would happen. We should be more prepared, and I think I can handle it without him. It’s just another death, another loss. I’ve been through several in my life, I can go through another one.
What am I thinking? Of course I can’t live without Draco. How can I be so selfish as to think he should just croak so I could get some sleep? I don’t need sleep! I’m goddamned Harry Potter, cursed to live as the others around me die. I shouldn’t want him to die. How crazy of me! Draco is all I’ve got, without him I’ve nothing. I am nothing.
Narcissa leaves the room. I had forgotten she was there, I was so wrapped up in my horrid thoughts. I feel unclean, as if wanting sleep was a sin. But I do need it, I can feel my body craving it. I want to crawl up beside him and sleep. If he dies tonight, so be it. I hope Draco makes it, but I must be prepared for the worst. He wouldn’t want me to stay awake over this.
No, I won’t. I have to stay awake. As I watch his muscles convulse, I scold myself once again for being so damned self-centered.
Somewhere in the Manor, a clock chimes twice. I have yet to move from my spot, not even to eat or use the toilet. I cannot leave his side for anything as unnecessary as that. He must come first. And he does. He always has. He is all alone on the sheet in front of me, and I want to reach out and let him know that I am here. I want to touch his face, feel his heartbeat beneath my hand. But I won’t. I couldn’t bare to sense how cold his skin must be, how his heart is dwindling, the pulse shallow. Now his breathing is no longer regular. It comes in quick intakes, followed by a long exhale and a pause, as if somewhere inside he is fighting to remember how to breathe again. I don’t want to watch, but I can’t look away. The minutes pass as I stare at his pale form.
I realise how much I hate Death. I wouldn’t let it take him, I would fight the Grim if he showed up right here and now. I know I am afraid of it. I don’t care what I said earlier, I hate it. I know everyone does. I’ve feared Death all along. He’s taking everything from me, just like Voldemort. Even I had a fear of Voldemort, I’ll say it. I. Was. Scared. Of. The. Dark. Lord. A man who could make people piss themselves with a single look in the eyes. Those who claimed not to fear him were lying to themselves. I fought him because I had to. I know plenty of people who wanted to run away and hide from him, and I was one of those people. But I couldn’t. Where was I supposed to go?
I will fight Death, just like I fought Voldemort. I won’t let him claim my Draco. I respect Him fiercely, I respect Death. Voldemort may have been able to curse a few people and tell others he has the power to determine when they die, but he hasn’t. Death does have that power. If Voldemort really had that power, I would have died when I was one year old. But I didn’t. And no matter what I say about either of them, neither will take Draco. I won’t fail him like that.
I slowly walk over to him, daring myself to come closer to the body. I need to, because eventually I will have to do it when he will be in a coffin. It’s bullshit, really, that I think I can fight Death. Lack of sleep must finally be catching up to me. I want to laugh at the thought of me trying to fight something like Death, but someone will come and find me. I lean over his petite body, careful not to breathe too hard or too loud. He’s still, and there are flecks of blood on his lips. It scares me to see that. I look at the spots of dark fluid on his lips, slowly drying with each breath that passes them. I’ve seen blood before, I’ve seen his blood, in fact, but this small amount, those miniscule bits, they nauseate me. I have to leave. I walk out of the room, trying to stop my shaking as I open the doorknob.
In the bathroom down the hall, where the light has been left out so that no one awakes, I stare at the image of myself, as best I can see it, in the mirror. I can’t believe I just left him in there… what if he dies while I am gone? He will be. I’ll walk in and he’ll be dead. I have to go back!
No. I can’t. That blood. I can’t see that again. Another minute, I need another minute to do something besides looking at him. But everything in here reminds me of him. I have to go back. I have to be with him. What if something happens? I have to be in there.
So I go back. I walk over to the bed, and my greatest fears are confirmed. I feel my breath, my heart, everything stops as I see his still chest. I scream inside for him to start breathing, but it stays still. Or does it? Was that a breath? Did he…? Yes. A second one. His torso rises, then falls, assuring me that he has not yet taken his last breath, and not when I was out of the room. I let out the breath I myself was holding. Part of me was thinking that it’s only going to be worse since he is still alive - he should have died when I was somewhere else - but I know that it is worse either way. I would have felt guilty for not being there, but I am guilty for wanting him to stay alive any longer. He needs to be free of pain, I shouldn’t want him alive. But how can I want him dead? Why? The thought sickens me. Everything sickens me.
I must have made some sound, because the door creaks, and I move quickly to the wall. I stand there as Narcissa walks in, checking on her son. The clock chimes once, a sign that half an hour has passed, and I feel the fatigue tug at me. But I won’t go to sleep. Instead, I watch as she walks over to his bed, feeling his too cold forehead, adjusting his coverings. I listen as her hand moves over the fabric, her fingers play with a strand of his hair, and her voice as she whispers good night and leaves once again, assured that he is doing okay. She is just as worried as I am, maybe worse, and I can’t help but feel responsible.
I wonder what would have happened if I had listened to them. My friends, when they said that Draco was a person I should have nothing to do with. He tried to kill Dumbledore, for Merlin’s sake, Ron told me. But I didn’t listen. I knew that Draco couldn’t have killed him, and he didn’t. My friends. Their voices haunt me sometimes, remind me that it’s my fault they are dead. It has always been my fault. I was the one that dragged them into that stupid obstacle course, I was the one who brought into a dark chamber we knew nothing about. If I hadn’t gone into the Department of Mysteries, Sirius would be alive. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I had never been born. What if my parents never got together?
I wouldn’t exist. My parents would be alive. Sirius would be alive. Cedric would be playing professional Quidditch. Dumbledore would be walking among Hogwarts with a twinkle in his eye. Hermione would have had children with Ron, who would be an Auror at the Ministry. Snape would be making potions, and Neville would work on a better version, using Herbology instead. Draco would have found someone better in his life, not me. Because I wouldn’t be there for any of it, and life would have been much easier.
I hate myself sometimes. Everyone is cursed at birth, cursed to die. But me? I managed to curse everything around me. From birth to death, I can never have a love life, I can never be loved or know what it is like to find a soulmate, because they will die first. I want to die, but I can’t. I have to live to find out whose death I am responsible for next. Whom I will disappoint next.
I find myself beside his bed again. I wonder what he is thinking of. Is he thinking? Is it of me? Does he hate me? Of course he does, how can he love me after this? After what I’ve done to him? Is he scared? What is he afraid of? Is he in pain? Where does it hurt? I wish I knew. I wish I could help him.
I wish I had someone here. Someone to talk to, to hold, to hold me. Someone to tell me everything is alright. I had always been the brave one. I held him when it was Snape facing Death, even with Hermione, I held him. I told him it was alright, but now I have no one. I was by myself when Neville got sick, but I didn’t feel alone. Because Draco was there. Now I do. I feel like I have no one now. I am truly alone now, empty. I want to reach out and touch Draco, talk to him like Narcissa does, but I can’t. I want to, but I fear the result. I know his skin is cold, I see how she reacts to touching him, and I couldn’t bear to do that. Watching him is unnerving in and of itself, but it’s all I can stand to do right now. So it is all I will do.
He is twitching more often. Different places, yes, but it is still something I don’t want to see. I don’t want to see his muscles convulsing underneath the skin. He is losing control and that only leaves a few more steps before he is gone.
My mind is begging me to go to sleep. I have never gone so long without it. But my heart is saying that I have to stay awake for him. The voice in my head, the one fighting for sleep, it sounds like him. I want to say no, but I can’t say no to Draco. I want to be here when he goes on, but I want to crawl up next to him and sleep away the last few moments. He’ll choose the moment when I am most at peace to go, and that’ll be when I’m sleeping. I don’t want to. I wish I could stand here for the next week. The next month, even, just so that I am here when he goes. But I’m so tired… so weak… so sick of this.
I want to hold him close. I can do that much without falling asleep. I just want to be beside him. Part of me knows that he is going to make it, so lying here beside him may help it along. That’s all. Careful not to hurt him, I crawl into the bed. I snuggle under the covers and wrap my arms around him. He’s so cold. Why is he so cold?
I promise myself I won’t fall asleep, but it’s so hard. He looks peaceful, but he’s still cold. Maybe when he’s warmed up. I don’t want to risk harming him, so I won’t use any magic. Just body heat. I’ll just lay here and hold onto him. I won’t fall asleep. I love him. I won’t …. I love you, Draco… Love…