The Darkest Day

Harry looked down the length of the pitch to the far end where the goals sprung from the earth. Following the long length of the posts, his sights were drawn up to the bright cloudless sky. The blue reflected off his eyes, mingling with the luminous green and causing them to dance and sparkle like jewels. The smell of grass wafted through the air, light and cool as he breathed in deeply. He had been lying there on his back in the middle of the pitch for the past twenty minutes, enjoying the morning and the sky. He would be up there soon. Where he wanted to be, where he belonged. To think about it made him dizzy, in a very good way. Just two more hours.

The year was looking up for Harry and his friends. Ron had finally come into his own, playing Keeper for Gryffindor. Normally awkward and gangly on the ground, it was remarkable how useful those long limbs were when 50 ft up in the air with a Quaffle rushing towards your hoop. He got good coverage and a good reputation and respect, which is all he ever wanted really. His prefect badge would shine brightly on his chest as it should after the numerous polishings he gave it every week. Harry would laugh at how Percy-like it was and make his friend blush and scowl at him. But it was all in jest. Ron got congratulation enough from everyone. He deserved the attention and Harry was proud. Hermione too had matured into a fine young lady. No one had expected any less when she was chosen to be Head Girl. No longer the bossy know-it-all, but a compassionate, responsible, and above all else intelligent individual. Somehow she had managed to go from friendless first year to one of the most popular girls in her class. Though it should not have been surprising considering how likable she was. Ever wanting to excel and always caring, she spent much of her time tutoring others and organizing school and house events. Her Gryffindor post-final camp out was a great success last year, creating memories none of them would soon forget, strengthening house ties, and raising revenue for new Quidditch equipment. Nothing made Hermione happy like having a project. And she was pretty too.

Harry felt someone’s eyes upon him. He sat up and looked towards the stands to find Draco Malfoy staring down at him. The blond boy stood and made his way down the isle steps to the pitch. Harry’s brow furrowed and he too stood, dusting the center circle chalk marks and bits of dried grass from his robes.

Draco walked across the pitch at a casual pace, letting his feet drag in the soft blades of groomed turf. He had taken off his shoes and left them in the stands, and he never wore socks in the spring so he was barefoot. He let his arms swing at his sides and hummed himself a tune he vaguely recalled from last year. Harry crossed his arms over his chest and scowled as the boy approached and stopped before him. Draco stood looking at his feet as he distractedly dug his toe into the soft clay from which blades sprung to blanket the pitch in green.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

Harry’s voice was little more than a hiss. He’d had a slight bout of laryngitis from the lingering spring cold he’d had for the past week.

Draco looked up at him with his large grey eyes and smiled.

“Just came to say hi. And wish you good luck.”

“I don’t need luck. Not against you.” Harry narrowed his eyes at the blond.

“Well that’s certainly not a very sportsmanly thing to say. I really did just come to say hello you know. I saw you sitting here by yourself and figured that you might like some company.”

“What makes you think that yours would be appreciated? It never has been before.”

Draco shrugged. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? It’s going to be a good match.”

Harry nodded. “That it will be.”

“Sit and chat for a bit? We’ve still almost one and a half hours until we need bother getting ready.”

Curiosity got the better of Harry and he sat down eyeing Draco suspiciously.

“So what did you want to talk about? Aren’t you going to sit down? You’re making me nervous.” Harry’s annoyance was apparent, as his brow furrowed and his lips pursed to a shallow line.

Draco sat down swiftly, crossing his legs Indian style as his robes splayed out elegantly about him. He swept the curtain of blond hair, slightly frazzled from the morning moisture, from in front of his face and leaned back bracing his arms behind him. Harry couldn’t help but notice how ethereal the boy looked. He was quite fuzzy around the edges, light reflecting off his platinum hair like a beacon in a sea of green, his skin glowing softly as if it were that of some heavenly being out of a dream. Harry had neglected to put on his glasses before he’d left the dorms so he couldn’t quite make out the features…but there was something very pretty about them all…melded together, smooth, soft…it was very nice. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed before. But then he would never spare the Slytherin even a glance if he could help it.

“It’s a pretty morning, isn’t it?”

“You’ve said that already.”

“But it really is lovely.”

Harry started to roll his eyes but only got so far as to stare up at a small bird flitting by, high in the atmosphere. “Yes, it is. And it’s going to be a good game and you wish me luck. We’ve gone over this already. I could be inside talking with Ron right now you know, if you haven’t anything more to add.” He lowered his gaze to Draco once more, a frown crawling back onto his face.

Draco scowled momentarily and sighed letting his face slip back into impassivity.

“You know, you don’t sound so good. Have you gone to the infirmary? Maybe they could help, and what have you done with your glasses?” asked the Slytherin.

Harry eyed him suspiciously as the uncharacteristic comment slipped from Draco’s pale lips. “I left them in the tower. I don’t need them to sit on a pitch. And I’m fine. It’s just a little cold. If you think that I’m about to commit myself to the bench because of a sore throat—.”

“No, no…of course not. I know you better than that, Harry. You’re much too determined for that sort of thing.” He tossed his wrist absentmindedly, effectively disposing of Harry’s comment as preposterous.

Harry crooked his head to his shoulder, working out some early morning stiffness in his vertebrae. He yawned and leveled a tired scowl at his nemesis. “Oh really? What else can you tell me about myself then since you seem to be such an expert.”

“Well. You don’t like to lose.”

“Who does?”

“True. But we’re alike there. We both hate it. Not like other people. More.”

“I’m nothing like you, Malfoy,” rasped Harry.

“Maybe. And you’re a good friend.”

Harry sat dumbfounded. “Why are you saying this? Are you trying to throw me off my game?!” he accused, heat in his voice as he quickly grew irritated with the conversation. “Because it won’t work! I don’t trust a word that comes out of your mouth. I never have and I never will.”

“I know. But it doesn’t make what I say any less true, does it? This isn’t a game, Harry. You know better than to make it into one.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?” He breathed a tired sigh, “I’m not following. What’s not a game?”

“Us, Harry. This thing we have is not a game—.”

“We don’t have anything Malfoy. Past house competition and your obnoxious pranks and comments, anyhow.”

“Is that all it is to you? A competition? A game, then?” asked Draco. He frowned, not slightly surprised, but mildly perturbed nonetheless.

“Why, is it something more to you?”

Draco let the challenge hang in the air a moment before turning from Harry’s gaze.

“Maybe.”

Harry frowned. His confusion shone across his face like a silver cloud. Draco disregarded the Gryffindor’s bewilderment as he continued his list.

“And you’re a caring person. You will sacrifice yourself for others. You’re modest. You’re smart. You’re powerful.”

“I’m not. Dumbledore is powerful,” insisted Harry. “I’m just another wizard.”

“See? Modest. Only you would say things like that. But I know you’re powerful. No matter how ashamed you are of it. Others know it too, you know.”

Harry shook his head. “Whatever.”

Draco paused a moment twirling a piece of hair in thought. He looked up at his Gryffindor counterpart. “Have you ever thought about what it might be like to lose, Harry?”

Harry snorted. “I’m not interested in hearing your fantasies right now, Malfoy. I’ve better things to do.”

“But really, have you ever wondered what it would be like? Of course I would know what it’s like,” he admitted, surprisingly without rancor. “But you. You haven’t ever, have you? You don’t think about it?”

“Malfoy, the game starts in an hour. I really don’t want to talk to you about this right now. Or ever.”

Draco shrugged and shifted in the lawn so that he was sprawled out on his stomach, his chin resting in his hands. His hair had fallen back over his right eye once again but he ignored it. Harry couldn’t help but wonder when the Slytherin had become so carefree, like some kind of child of summer, a wood sprite, so unlike himself. No one who had a mind even half as evil as Draco Malfoy should have been allowed to be so blithe.

The curtain of platinum locks annoyed Harry to the point of wanting to reach forward and brush them back for the boy. He ignored the compulsive urge and settled for running his finger through his own unruly hair instead. Draco shifted onto his back and turned his head to the side to watch Harry through half lidded eyes. Harry picked at the grass, pulling up small clumps and piling them in a small mound.

Harry hadn’t any intention of continuing the exchange, but the silence was starting to prick at his nerves. Silence and Draco Malfoy, as a rule, never made good bedfellows. It meant that the Slytherin was thinking, most assuredly of nothing good at that. “First year. I thought about what it might be like to lose first year,” said Harry lightly, surprising himself somewhat.

He continued to concentrate tending his small patch of land.

Draco raised an eyebrow lazily.

“Why’s that?”

“I thought everyone would hate me if I were shit at being Seeker. I thought I’d let everyone down.”

“I can understand that. I know how you feel.”

“Maybe,” he raised one of his own eyebrows at the blond. “And in fourth year. During the tournament. And I actually did lose then.”

“You won.”

“A person died because of me. I didn’t win. I wish I hadn’t.”

“You won, Harry. You should be proud of yourself. Ah, but then...modesty. Really, Harry—.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” he asked abruptly.

Draco watched the other boy closely as he continued to demolish the turf. “It’s your name.”

Harry shook his head in frustration. “I know, but why do you keep saying it like we’re friends?”

“Well, I had hoped we would be at one point. Maybe even still. But you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Harry’s head jerked up and he blinked at the blond in wonder. Slowly he shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“You know, I forgive you, Harry.” Draco let his head fall back against the grass as he stared up at the crisp blue sky.

“Forgive me? For what?”

“For everything you’ve done. I’m not one to hold a grudge.”

Harry snorted. “That’s a laugh. I didn’t ask for your forgiveness. For what reason would I ever need it?”

“Well, this, for one thing.” He turned onto his side and reached forward, ghosting a finger over the angular scar on Harry’s forehead. Harry flinched back and scowled at the boy lying before him, receiving a small frown in return. “Don’t you think you’ve intruded into my life with this? That you’ve meddled where you hadn’t the right? Things like that change people’s lives. I think you changed mine for the worse, I’m afraid. But I forgive you.”

“I’d do it over again a thousand times.” He straightened defiantly and stared the other boy down.

Draco smiled. “I know. And I forgive you for that too. You don’t know any better. I forgive you for stealing what should rightfully be mine every year too. I forgive you for being a perfect seeker and a perfect wizard. I forgive all the times you’ve proven to be better than me and all the times you’ve embarrassed me.”

“Malfoy—.”

“And I forgive you for the punishments I got for letting you get the House Cup every year. And I forgive you for denying me all the things that should have been mine. I forgive you for choosing Weasley and for betraying your pureblood heritage. Forgive it all, Harry.”

Harry paled slightly. He could feel the hairs at the back of his neck prickling at this strange display. “I don’t want you to. I didn’t ask you to…I’ve done nothing to you!”

“And I forgive you for this, Harry,” he pressed his finger to the shiny Head Boy badge pinned to Harry’s robes.

“I earned it. I deserved it,” he ground out, letting any modesty fall to the wayside as he attempted to defend himself from the blonde’s irreverent absolutions. “You get what you deserve in this world.”

Draco nodded and smiled slightly. “Do you want to know what else I forgive you for Harry?”

“No.”

“I forgive you for being born and being you.” He sat up and pushed himself off the ground onto his feet. Harry mimicked his movements and stood dusting the grass from his school robes.

“What are you, my priest?! I didn’t ask you to forgive me. You’re insane. You’ve snapped. Come undone. You’ve lost what little sense you possessed Malfoy. And I’ll not stand here and expose myself to your inanity.”

“But Harry, there’s no need to run away. I’ve forgiven you.”

“Well I don’t accept your forgiveness. If anyone, you should be the one asking mine for everything you’ve said and done to me and my friends.”

Draco’s mouth twisted slightly into something of a grimace. “If you’ve not done anything, then neither have I. Everything I’ve done…it’s been the only recourse I’ve had, Harry. It’s been the only choice I got. I’m not saying it’s your fault, but you forced me Harry and I’ll not apologize for something I couldn’t help. I’ll not ask for your forgiveness until I need it.”

Harry glared at the boy and turned to leave.

“Harry wait!” Draco ran forward and grabbed Harry’s shoulder spinning him around.

“What is it Malfoy?”

“I forgot to tell you one last thing. I didn’t have a choice before, but now I do…and…I forgive you for being so bloody beautiful and making me want more than I could ever possibly have.”

He pulled Harry forward harshly by the front of his robes. Harry was shocked a moment later to find his lips firmly planted against the Slytherin’s. He gasped as Draco grabbed the back of his head, pressing the both of them together with more force as he parted his lips. Draco’s warm tongue against his own drove something of a jolt through Harry as he came to his senses. He pushed against Draco’s chest, shoving him away, ending the kiss abruptly as he stumbled back ward and landed on his arse in the grass.

Draco stared down at him as Harry’s jaw hung open and the shock refused to leave his green eyes.

“Forgive me, Harry?”

* * * * *

As Harry climbed through he portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, Ron greeted him cheerfully. Hermione, too, came over from her place in front of the fire and stood next to Ron.

“What are you doing back Harry? You still have half an hour. Got sick of the outdoors, eh?” laughed Ron.

“It was cold outside. I didn’t want to make my throat any worse.” Harry tried to clear his throat dramatically but found to his surprise that it had miraculously returned to normal. Fresh air could do wonders. “I think I’ll go take a nap now.”

“Are you okay, Harry? You seem a bit off kilter this morning. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the infirmary?” asked Hermione.

“No I don’t want to go to the bloody infirmary how many times do I need to repeat myself?!” He pivoted on his heel and stomped up the stairs to the boy’s dormitories.

“Well. I wonder what his problem is.”

“It’s a Slytherin game. You never know what to expect with those bastards. He’s probably just stressed.”

* * * * *

Harry buried his face and fingers into the soft down pillow sitting at the end of his bed. He did not feel like sleeping. But neither did he want to get up and do anything else. He flipped onto his back and hugged the pillow to his chest. He brought a hand to his lips where Draco Malfoy had kissed him.

There were a lot of things he could make of it. Malfoy was messing with him. Or he might have been genuine. He sounded genuine. Harry scowled at the red velvet hangings of the canopy above his head.

“I don’t want to be your friend Malfoy.”

He didn’t trust Draco Malfoy. Not at all. But if the boy had meant what he’d said…

He thinks I’m beautiful.

His hand traveled unconsciously to his lips once more.

Maybe we could be friends...

He turned over and closed his eyes, exhaustion of the emotional kind getting the better of him.

“Had a good nap, Harry?” asked Ron as the dark haired boy made his way down to the common room once again, half an hour later.

Harry nodded. “Fabulous.”

“Ready to kick some evil Slytherin arse?”

Harry nodded and grinned devilishly at his friend.

Hermione shook her head at them in disapproval, nevertheless walking to Ron and slipping an arm affectionately around his waist.

* * * * *

The game was to start in a matter of minutes. The stands were full, no one stayed behind. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin games were always a spectacle, as their rivalry was ageless and always entertaining. Even if you hated Quidditch, were sick with grindylowe fever, and had a fifty-scroll term project due the next day, it was worth failing and fainting and boredom to be able to say you saw Harry Potter beat Draco Malfoy at Quidditch.

It was the sort of thing that you could tell your grandchildren about. And they all knew what was coming with the war…the lines were already drawn. And to be able to say you had seen that rivalry when it was still young, when it was still just Quidditch, just a game…well that was something else. Because they all knew what was coming. And they all knew Harry Potter would win.

Hermione ran down the pitch and threw her arms around Ron kissing him good luck on the cheek. He blushed, though he still would have preferred something a little more substantial. But Hermione was a modest girl. He caught her quick wink however, before she’d rushed up to the stands and was gratified by the promise of the pleasant little private victory gala that awaited him after the game.

* * * * *

Draco found Harry lurking about the Slytherin locker rooms. He hadn’t known that Harry could be so careless. Well he had, but it still surprised him to find the Gryffindor there.

“You know you shouldn’t be here. It looks bad.”

Harry jumped and turned to face Draco with a sigh of relief. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why don’t we go to the broom shed? It’s safer.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

They walked to the shed with Draco leading the way. He drew open the door and held it for Harry. Harry entered nervously, giving Draco a lingering look over his shoulder. Draco followed the raven-haired boy inside and closed the door behind them. He sat down on an old tarpaulin covering some dirty practice equipment. Harry remained standing, shuffling his feet.

“Nervous?”

Harry looked up, startled for a moment. He nodded slowly. “A bit.”

“What’s got Harry Potter so nervous then?”

Harry looked down at the Slytherin, watching him as he fiddled with a strand of blond hair. He looked so different. So much sharper, so much more angular than before. Paler. Colder. Meaner.

Gone was the softness, the blurred lines. Gone was the warmth, the inexplicable glow of smooth satin skin. He seemed wary, harsh. All well-cut features, oddly delicate, strangely brittle. Somewhat untouchable.

But he was still very beautiful. Still very attractive. Harry assured himself he still wanted this. He wanted this changeling of a boy, this impish demon. It was odd to think about what he was doing here with Draco who he had hated for so long, to put all that behind them. It had to be some kind of milestone, the end of an era. Harry chuckled inanely as he made the observation.

“What’s so funny?”

Harry shook his head. “You look different when I’ve got my glasses on. Rough cut…erm…dirtier.”

Draco frowned. “What an odd thing to say. I assume you didn’t bring me here just to insult me?”

“No! I didn’t mean to say that, it came out wrong…I mean I wasn’t trying to insult you! I’m just nervous. I wanted to…about your offer this morning.”

“My offer? I don’t recall offering you anything.”

Harry paled momentarily. Draco was obviously not about to make this easy for him. But then when had he ever made anything easy for Harry? “Well, you said you wanted to be my friend. And you…well, you know.”

“Yes I know. Are you saying you want to be friends?”

Harry swallowed and nodded. “If you meant what you said.”

“I did. But Potter, the thing is I never said I want to be your friend.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he though this over for moment. “But…you did. You said you had and you still wanted…it.”

“Hmm…I think you might have misunderstood. I said maybe I wanted…er…it as you say. Why do I have the feeling you aren’t talking about simple friendship anymore?” He smirked.

Harry swallowed again. “I’m talking about whatever you were talking about.” His stomach dropped as if he’d just pulled out of the Wronski Feint. He decided instantly that this had been a bad idea. He shouldn’t have come. “But if you don’t want to anymore then I’ll just go now.” Harry moved to rush past Draco but stumbled back as the Slytherin stood abruptly and caught the back of his Quidditch robes.

“Now, I never said that either. I could, perhaps I should, turn you down, refuse you like you refused me on the train in first year.” Harry was moved to flinch, though he didn’t understand why he should have been. Draco continued softly. “But like I told you before. I don’t hold a grudge. I’ll be your friend, Potter. If you’ll be mine.”

“Yes…er, of course.”

Draco gave Harry a beguiling smile and turned to unlatch the door. He threw it open and took a step out into the bright day. He stopped to look over his shoulder when Harry didn’t move to follow him.

“Was there something else, Potter?”

Harry stood once again nervously shuffling his feet and looking at the floor.

“Umm…I thought…” The words he couldn’t bring himself to say faded on his lips into unintelligible mumbling.

Draco turned and walked back to him.

“Sorry. Didn’t quite catch that.”

Draco smirked at the Gryffindor. Harry looked up at him, and that awful sneer melted into a small smile. The kind of smile that only those sad green eyes could ever evoke.

“I just thought maybe we should…er…shake hands or…something. You know, something to seal it, something…umm…friendly-like?” Harry blushed terribly as he struggled to get the words to come.

Draco walked to Harry and lifted a hand to his cheek. “Friends then, Harry?” Harry nodded slowly. “Good.”

Draco leaned forward and pressed his lips to Harry’s. Harry let it happen. He closed his eyes and tried to memorize this feeling of Draco’s lips. And then his tongue and his teeth and his face and his neck and his chest and his hands as they moved everywhere at once. He could feel the pulse against his fingers as he drew them along the Slytherin’s neck and the muscles that writhed beneath his skin as they kissed. His hands moved lower to Draco’s shoulders, his chest. He hadn’t in his seventeen years experienced anything close to this, experienced anyone like this before. The Quidditch uniforms they both wore were made of light airy material but even that suddenly seemed to Harry as if it were a woolen overcoat. He yanked on the buckle at the hollow of Draco’s neck in an effort to get where he wanted but found that the damn thing wouldn’t give.

* * * * *

“Death Eaters!”

“How—.”

“Run! Everyone to the castle!”

“Harry—.”

“Hurry everyone. Inside NOW!”

“Behind the stands—.”

“There’s more…they’ve port-keyed in!”

“Dumbledore, the wards—.”

“HARRY!”

It was a massacre. Bodies lay strewn across the pitch and even more in the stands. Most were mangled or burnt with combustion spells, not beyond recognition but all the more horrible for it, though some bore the marks of a simple killing curse. Like Hermione. Her body lay lifeless in the stands, half on the steps and half on the landing, her arm hanging limply through the bars of the railing, eyes wide, staring and still tearing at the corners. Ron’s left leg had been seared through to the bone, yet he had somehow managed to land his broom and limp to her before he fell to a simple stupefy charm, leaving him unconscious to bleed to death. One could tell where the line was drawn by who was left alive and who had been killed or whisked away and sealed up tight inside the castle.

Draco walked about the pitch swinging his arms gaily, stopping every few meters or so to examine the handy work of his compatriots. His father had promised him a show that afternoon, and this was most definitely less than disappointing. As he passed the armless body of one of the Gryffindor chasers, he couldn’t recall the name at the moment, Daniel or Dennis something or another, he spotted what he had been looking for for the past five minutes. He smiled and trotted over to Harry. The boy sat hugging his knees with his eyes closed, forgotten and passed for harmless. He rocked back and forth as he sucked on his bloody bottom lip.

“Harry?”

Harry stopped rocking instantly and looked up at Draco. His eyes were red making the green seem to blaze only more fiercely. Harry retched and swallowed a small sob, burying his face back against his knees once again.

“Harry.”

Draco spoke softly once more and crouched next to the raven-haired boy. He reached his hand forward and raised the boy’s chin until he was looking into those sad green eyes, the ones that made him smile like he never did. The blond leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

“I know it hurts to lose, Harry. I’m sorry. Forgive me?” Harry looked blankly at the Slytherin. “Forgive me.” Whispered Draco against Harry’s lips as he pressed another soft kiss there.

Harry closed his eyes and let himself be kissed. He didn’t know what else to do. There was nothing left to do. If he had been in his right mind. If he hadn’t just watched his friends be terribly murdered, if he didn’t feel his own life ebbing away slowly from the large fleshy gash across his gut and running up his side, the bright crimson blood mingling with the red of his Quidditch robes, he might have tried to do something. Push Malfoy away. Stun him. Kill him. Avenge his friends. Be Harry Potter. Save the World. But he could not. All he could do was lose himself to Draco’s demanding lips and the airy light feeling in his head, slowly pulling him from consciousness. Draco drew away and the oxygen filling his lungs brought Harry back to awareness, as foggy as it was, for a few moments more. Someone was talking to him.

Draco pried the snitch from Harry’s hand. The feathers were scraggly and bent, and the ball itself was moist from the sweat of Harry’s palm but remained free of blood. It glistened like gold and pleased Draco. He slipped the scarcely fluttering thing into his pocket. He unbuttoned Harry’s robes and slipped his hand into the folds running it over Harry’s chest. His fingers finally found what they sought and wrapped possessively about it. He yanked and plucked the Head Boy badge, dull copper with dried blood from Harry’s shirt, and picked the flaky bits off until it glittered dully. He pinned it to his own robes and turned his attention back to the wounded boy before him. Surprisingly Harry’s glasses had remained intact. Draco brought his hand up to his bloodless cheek and caressed it softly. He removed the glasses and slipped those too into his pocket.

Harry could see Draco, dreamy and blurry around the edges and not all together there without his glasses. The Draco that had seduced him so covertly on the pitch. The one he couldn’t see clearly, that had made him fall in love in a day, in a moment. The one that tricked him and used him. The one that thought he was beautiful. It brought to mind the warm holidays, catching gnomes in the Weasley’s backyard, watching the Twins at bludger practice, lying about with Ron, no cares and worries. But things had always been clear and vibrant then, not blurry and fading like they were now. He blinked owlishly as Draco hovered before him, threatening to flit away into the growing darkness like a firefly in the summertime. And again the voice came to him.

The blond boy leaned forward and once again planted a sweet kiss upon Harry’s lips. “Harry, I forgive you for denying me. I have what I want now though. Don’t be sad. I’ve forgiven you. Do you forgive me, Harry?”

And that voice. Forgiveness? Someone was asking for forgiveness. Was it him? His voice? Yes he wanted it. He wanted to be forgiven. Forgiven for loving the boy, for not thinking, for not understanding, for underestimating…there were so many things, letting down his parents, Dumbledore, for spending his last hours with the Slytherin on the pitch when he should have been with his friends, for betraying his house, for neglecting to close his fingers around that supple neck to end the pulse that had thrummed against his fingers, for kissing him, for liking it. He couldn’t save them. He couldn’t do anything. How could he have ever thought that he would live. How could he have believed it would be alright…

“I forgive you Harry…forgive me,” a voice came softly to him, a hiss, so far away but somehow tickling his ear just the same.

“Yes, forgive…” Harry spluttered as blood coagulated in his throat.

Draco smiled and Harry died.

E/N: To all you Harry lovers out there, I’m sorry for killing your precious Potter. You can send your flames to Hell because that is where I pick up my mail from now on. Thank you. PS—where’s Dumbledore? Why didn’t he save Harry? Why is Harry’s death so pointless? Why is Draco’s love so pointless? Three scrolls on why I will never be a literature major, due when Dumbledore holidays in Majorca with Voldemort, and fifty point to your house (only if you’re a Slytherin). This is just sick, sick, sick! Did I mention J.K. Rowling makes me nervous?