The Last Midnight

The Last Midnight

"This is it," they tell us, "the end, this damned war stops now."

You're afraid, I can see it in your eyes, not afraid that you'll die, but afraid that I will, afraid of losing me when we've only just found each other. I know you are because I'm afraid, too, I fear the very same thing.

We had a funny beginning, you and I; we denied everything for so long that, when it finally became time to do something, all the fear was gone. I still remember the first time you said that you loved me; I remember how wonderful I felt. God, I felt like the luckiest person alive in that moment. Still do, as a matter of fact. Even though it is unlikely that I will live to see the dawn, I still feel fortunate. After all, 'it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all'.

I hear your voice, quiet and faintly sad, "The last midnight,"

I know that you're not sad about the war ending, you're sad about the ones who will die this night, us included. I love you all the more for it.

They turn to me, "Do you have anything to add?"

"No," I shake my head, "Everything that could be said has been said; there's nothing more to add."

"All right, if you're sure."

"I am, let's please get this over and done with, I'm sick of fighting, sick of war. I want this all to end."

"We all do, we all do."

"Then let's move, we can surprise them, they know the casualties we've suffered as well as we do, a frontal attack will be the last thing they're expecting. Considering how few of us there are, we can't risk the wait, the element of surprise will work in our favor."

"That's madness!" one shouts, I've long since stopped making distinctions between them; they're all the same in my book, "At the last count, they outnumbered us four to one, we won't stand a chance!"

"True, at the last count, but remember, that count was two and a half weeks ago, the odds have shifted in our favor. They now outnumber us by only two to one."

"I still say that it's mad." That one used to be a Gryffindor, I do believe, I wonder what happened to the famous (or infamous, depending on your view) Gryffindor courage. Did this one simply never possess it or did five years of war destroy it? At the moment, I really couldn't care less.

"It's survival," I say, "plain and simple. There's no other way, we have, unfortunately, exhausted our options."

You agree with me, "Come on, people, let's just go out there and give them what we've got. There isn't anything else to do."

That's that, most agreed with me from the start, the ones who didn't are quieted by your agreement. They must think that if we both think something's a good idea, than it must have some merit.

We leave the briefing room for what we hope will be the final time. I glance at you, you meet my gaze, we let the others get a little ahead of us.

"Well, here it is, the end of the story," you say softly, words meant for my ears alone.

"Yes, finally." I agree, my voice just as soft.

"We're not going to make it, are we?"

"Probably not, but that's all right, I'm not afraid of death. I will welcome it with open arms."

"I'm just glad we've made it this long."

"Agreed."

You chuckle softly, a low, reassuring sound. I love your laugh, I've never told you, but I do.

"I will see you there." you breathe, your voice a gentle caress. I smile slightly at you before turning away.

We catch up with others, content with the universe. We say nothing else because it's all been said several times over.

They are surprised, just as I knew they would be; this knowledge gives me no feeling of triumph. I'm cold; I shed no tears when the first of ours fall. The death of my comrades in arms has ceased to faze me by this point in the game.

I kill several, evening out the odds a little more; I don't even blink at the useless loss of life. This has gone on too long; it has to stop.

It's over.

"We won!" someone shouts, "I don't believe it, but we've won the damn war!"

I freeze, feeling the beginnings of joy, something I have not truly felt in so long. I look for you, wanting to share this feeling. But you're not here. You didn't make it.

The elation is gone; I feel tears prickling at the backs of my eyes. I blink them away; you always hated it when people cried.

I see your body, several feet from me; I walk over and gently kiss your forehead one last time. A single tear escapes and falls gently on your cheek, a pearl sparkling on the now ashen flesh.

"Farewell, my beloved," I whisper, "I will see you there."

~Finish~