Bitter Wonder of Life

Shun all, need all, love all.

Draco watched as Harry Potter and Voldemort dueled for the future of the world. He watched as each exchanged curse after hex, constantly blocking the other's death spells. He watched from the ground, as Harry was subjected to the Crucio curse one last time. He heard the Dark Lord's growling laughter echo through his numb mind. He felt the blood seep through the slash wound on his side. He sensed the thousands of other bodies lying in heaps where they fell in battle. He heard the battle still waging on.

His head hurt, oh so much. If only he could close his eyes and rest, if only he could stop the pounding in his skull, the squeezing of his lungs, the aching of his heart. But he couldn't. Harry was kneeling on the ground, gasping for air, his wand held loosely at his side as Voldemort stood over him, yelling and laughing in one hysterical tone. Harry looked utterly dejected, his hair fell about him in a dirty mess and sweat and blood covered his entire figure. His scar, Draco could just see, was an angry red.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving more violently as he vainly tried to breathe. The Dark Lord was saying something, something important, something pointless, but Draco couldn't hear it. It was as if the world had been switched off, and his senses were lost to the infinite darkness.

But no, they were more alive than ever. He could feel every beat of his erratic heart shudder through his frail frame; he could smell the coppery scent of blood and the overwhelming decay. He could touch the dead body of Ernie Macmillan lying sidelong near his waist, he could see the world at its worst and wished to be dead, if only to block it all out.

But Harry was still alive, Harry was still fighting.

He silently begged for Harry to stand up, for Harry to curse Voldemort, kill him and end this fucking battle. He longed for some action from Harry, but none came.

Go Harry, go, stand up, use your wand, kill the bastard that ruined your life, that killed your parents. Kill him Harry, for Ron and Hermione, for Lily and James, for all those that are dying and sacrificing themselves so you have a chance to end this terror. Kill him for us Harry, kill him for everything, for anything, that you have ever loved about life.

Harry was suddenly staring into Draco's eyes, and if Draco could have gasped, he would have. Harry's eyes were as dull as if his soul had been sucked out through their color. All the warmth, all the anger, all the intensity that defined Harry alone was gone. It was heartbreaking to see this hero, this incredible man who was really just a boy, become nothing; and it was all so fucking unfair, that Harry had to endure his life for so long, that he had to be the hero, was forced to be the savior, and in doing so, become infinitely lost to life and all its potential.

Harry kneeled there, an empty shell.

Time slowed to a standstill as Draco stared back, saying everything with his gaze he could never say again. Those lifeless eyes looked back, holding no meaning, holding no depth, no emotion. Pain ripped through Draco, and he realized he was forcing himself to sit up. Ignoring his body's actions, he continued to look at Harry, trying to instill some confidence in this boy who longed for death.

Harry shook his head so slightly, Draco would have completely missed the wisp of movement, if he had not been staring so intently.

What was he saying no to?

Was he saying he couldn't go on? That he couldn't fight anymore, no matter the consequences, no matter death?

Harry's pale face was hollowed and more dead-looking than Draco had ever seen, and even from this distance, he could see the violent hues of purple smudged underneath the other boy's frightening eyes.

Was he saying goodbye to Draco, wishing it could have ended up so much better? Saying no to all the years of promised affection, promised love that must be forgotten?

Harry's hand tightened on his wand, the muscles clenching tightly, the beautiful fingers spoiled by blood and grime curled around the chipped wood.

Was he saying fuck it all and let me finish this already, let me kill this enemy so we can finally get on with better days?

Was he saying farewell?

As Draco kept eye contact with Harry, he vehemently shook his head in response to the implied statement. Not sure why, but he knew that was right, and that Harry had to believe no hope was lost; he had to believe in himself. And if that wasn't possible, he had to believe in Draco. Harry's eyes didn't widen in surprise, didn't narrow in rejection, but seemed to grow in life.

His eyes were becoming...alive. The emerald was rushing in with swirls of hue, the emotion was sharp as an unsheathed dagger, the bittersweet beauty was overwhelming, and Draco sank to the ground.

A single tear rolled slowly down Harry's cheek, perfect in nature, and spilled onto the ground, shattering into a thousand lonely fragments. Draco stared at it, not comprehending what was happening, not wanting to realize what Harry had committed himself to do. Looking back up into Harry's face, he stared at the slightly open mouth, a desperate gap wanting, needing. He stared at those perfect cheekbones, and the hollow of his cheeks. He stared at those eyes, which were trained on his own. Draco wished he could stare for all of time, to hold this moment in suspension of reality so he could hold on to Harry forever, but instead, he let go.

Suddenly, the world was pushed back into focus and time, and the sounds of battle hit Draco's ears like jackhammers. Harry abruptly tore his eyes away from Draco and grabbed hold of Voldemort's arm, his eyes brimming with pain and Draco's heart tearing in two, again. The Dark Lord shrieked with anger and pulled Harry to his feet, jabbing his wand at Harry's chest. Harry brought his other arm up and brought his own wand crashing down on Voldemort's, both snapping into splinters. Harry yelled some indiscernible words, and placed his hand over Voldemort's heart all in one instant. Draco, for that moment, thought back to all those months ago and ached to be back there again, in the warmth of his bed, with the love of this boy. But instead, he was lying on this battlefield, not dead yet, watching as vivid emerald light tinged with red flew from the still airborne splinters and drove sharply into Voldemort's body. Voldemort was shrieking again, but this time with pain as the splinters drove into him mercilessly; Harry's hand was shaking and glowing brightly against the darkness of the Dark Lord's robes. Finally, Voldemort fell back with a last screech and hit the earth with a deep tremor.

It was over.

Draco forced himself to drag his wounded body over the ground and through the maze of corpses to Harry's side. The-Boy-Who-Lived was lying sprawled out on his back, and both arms spread eagled around him. Draco grasped one of the cooling hands and brought it to his face, holding it against his bloody cheek as he whispered tidings of victory in Harry's ear. Draco fixed Harry's collar fondly and closed his eyes, all the while murmuring to Harry, breathing his love. He kissed Harry's lips with distressed concern. His hands were flitting over Harry's face, touching a cheek, cooling a brow, resting on pale lips.

He was still sobbing when the Medi-Wizards dragged him away.

A breeze blew through the cemetery, ruffling the dying leaves on the many trees, causing some to fall to the ground to lie upon the masses of red, gold and brown foliage. The sun was about to set in the distance, causing rays to creep across the sky, matching the fading trees with brilliant color.

He crunched slowly through the dead leaves, winding through the ancient tombstones, the elegant tombs, the simple headstones. He stopped to pay his respects to those worthy of remembrance. Dumbledore's grave was surrounded by golden poppies, waving in the slight gust. His father's grave was devoid of any flower, and the grass that lay there was long dead from being hidden under masses of lifeless leaves. The stone was cold and the inscription plain. Harry Potter's grave was surrounded by every beautiful flower that ever grew. The amazing colors were breathtaking, and the contrast startling. The tombstone held a single inscription:

To all those who lose faith, lose the wonder of life.

Draco Malfoy outlined the words with his fingers, smiling softly with remembrance. Not that there was much to remember of them together. The only time they had been really together was that night, that one night when Harry had popped into existence on his bed and where it had all come out. All those times when his life was creeping in about him, when the world seemed to want him miserable, the one face he turned to had been Harry's. He had comforted Draco, though he could only see that now, at the time Harry had been an outlet for his anger and frustration. All that passion they had shared over the years, the sudden fistfights, the blazing duels, their emotions had been brewing right under the surface, and all it took was a few words and the opportunity for them both to realize and finally see the beautiful world that existed on the other side of the glass.

Draco had dreamed of Harry, dreamed of the day when they could once more be reunited after the war. They would have lived in a house out in a remote spot somewhere, where nothing would have existed but the two of them and the beauty of the surrounding world. They would have been away from all those that would scorn them and those who would endanger them, they wouldn't have had to suffer through hard times alone, quietly crying and cursing at the world. Draco would have held Harry tightly till all his troubles went away, and all that was left was the two of them, able for once to rejoice in life.

He fell to his knees heavily in front of the tombstone, his eyes not taking in the gray granite anymore. He could feel warm tears running their course down his cheeks, and could feel his heart beating weakly in rhythm to his heaving lungs.

The world was so fucking unfair. Harry deserved a life so much better than the one he had; he had known nothing more than pain and suffering, loneliness and guilt, all seventeen years of his life. No one deserved a life like that. Draco had walked the streets of London after being let off from jail on the plea from Hermione and McGonagall who had vouched for him, convincing the Ministry he was helping them throughout the war. He had walked down the alleys and through the market, watching everyone scurry on with their business and their lives. He had felt hollow, knowing he had been given a second chance at life, to love and savor all that life had to give him. His hand had felt achingly empty without the grasp of another, without the slight swinging of their arms as they would have walked through the streets of London together.

But no, this was Harry's final resting place, not in Draco's arms, not in some peaceful house that would now forever be empty, not walking down streets, happy to just be alive. Harry was finally reunited with his family, his real one, and Draco hoped he had found solace in them.

Draco leaned his forehead against the cool granite, and sensed the sun finally slipping behind the horizon. His hands clenched the sides of the tombstone, and he sucked in breath sharply.

"Harry, Harry I can't do this. I need you here."

He breathed deeply and clenched his eyes tightly shut.

"Why, why did you leave?"

He hit his head softly on the stone.

"God dammit Harry! Why did you fucking leave. Why?"

Draco slid his forehead down till his head was cradled in his hands on his knees. He rocked back and forth, tears flowing freely now and his breath broken.

"Goddammit Potter, I love you." he said softly, whispering into the palms of his hands.

Draco didn't move for a long time, but sat there at the foot of the tombstone, remembering the way Harry would pick at his food with a fork, the way his hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck, the way his calloused hands had held Draco's face one time, the fingertips pressing against his temple so perfectly. The way his once beautiful eyes had looked staring into nothing, glassy under the influence of death.

A hand rested on his shoulder lightly and Draco jumped, twisting around to see Ron and Hermione through his bloodshot eyes. Hermione held his wrists and pulled him up. Draco stood for a moment, staring at them, his mind painful with memories and the ones he'd never have. He fell into their arms and hugged them tightly, his head burying where their shoulders met. Hermione rested her head on his shoulder and whispered soothing words into his ear and Ron patted his back awkwardly.

Draco spoke into their shoulders, apologizing for everything that had ever happened between them, apologizing for all the deaths that had pressed down on them, apologizing for never seeing till it was too late.

"But it isn't too late Draco." Hermione said quietly.

"We all have our lives ahead of us, to do what we please with. You didn't see anything too late; you saw it just in time. Harry knew you love him, and he loved you back so much, so strongly, it was that intense emotion that he lived off of and fed off of. You saved him Draco."

Draco shook his head helplessly, his fists grasping the fabric on their backs securely.

"You did Draco. You were the light in his life, and when he died, he not only died for humanity, he died for you, so you could survive, so you could continue to love and live. You saved him Draco, and he'll never forget that."

And as Draco stood there, in the embrace of the two that had stood by him for Harry, that were his family, he thanked Harry for giving him something he could never repay, and would never forget: everything.