For the Thousandth Time

For the Thousandth Time

In my place, in my place,

Were lines that I couldn't change.

I was lost, oh yeah...

And I was lost, I was lost...

Crossed lines I shouldn't have crossed...

I was lost, oh yeah.

London was unnaturally quiet, still, serene...the streets were empty, the light was dimming, a fog was caressing along brick and tree. Eyes as grey and cold as the low, brewing clouds watched the scene, finding little comfort - no comfort in it. Even less so as the rain started falling...even less so as the tears started falling. A hand rested on a slightly misted window, a bit of paper within it that had been crumpled for the hundredth time...smoothed for the thousandth...cried over for the millionth. Over...all over. Over...over...over...

Yeah, how long must you wait for it?

Yeah, how long must you pay for it?

Yeah, how long must you wait for it?

(Oh for it)

A smooth brow touched the window pane, leaving a mark as platinum gold hair cascaded forward to cover white temples, high cheekbones, delicate brows...Over...over...over. The second hand joined the first and a silent, violent sob shook broad shoulders, strangled smooth throat, made full lips quiver. A whimper, a mewl...and more tears...more tears joined the rain, the rain. Bitter pain clenched a smooth chest, made the hand with the paper come to it and rest against it, pressing the paper closer...closer...yet never close enough. The last shred...the last tendril of memory, existence. Bitter pain, so bitter...bitter...bitter. Sweet, though, for having grown used to it, it fills the hole...fills that empty hole, that endless hole which he was so prone to falling into. Falling, and wanting to die, to die...just to make it end. Scars covered his left arm, for pain...pain was better than the hole. Pain was better than that eternal emptiness.

I was scared, I was scared...

Tired and underprepared,

But I wait for it.

Fear of that place enveloped him, made him cut, bruise, bleed...bleed sweet blood onto sheets of white...white...that had to be thrown away afterwards, so that the elves would not wonder, would not suspect. They knew, though...but he was too prideful to show evidence. Too prideful. Prideful...And that is what made it happen, that is what made...what made him leave, go there...to do...What? Get revenge? End it all? Oh...it was over. It was over. And where was he now?

If you go, if you go,

Leave me down here on my own,

Then I'll wait for you (yeah)...

Gone...gone as so much rain water spilled down into gutters, streaming off into drainage pipes...and then to the sea. Yes, yes gone...gone...And now he had to wait. To wait. He has waited for him for...how long? Another sob, sinking him to his knees, pressing to the window that reached far down...Pillows beneath his knees turned colours of twilight...it was over. All over. A year? Two? Three it had been...and still, he waited, still he had a shred of hope...a tiny shred of hope. 'Missing in Action'...dead. Dead...dead...It was a whisper, an insidious voice, drawing him towards the hole, the ravine, drawing him closer, closer...to get away from the pain, to get into a numb...deep...feelingless place. He hated it...always so full of passion, so full of emotion...he hated that place. Hated it as much as he hated his dead father..vanquished Voldemort...all of that...his old life. Except...Except for him...except for Harry. And now...

Yeah, how long must you wait for it?

Yeah, how long must you pay for it?

Yeah, how long must you wait for it?

(Oh for it)

More tears, fingers digging into the white flesh of his chest, pressing the paper closer still for the hundredth...thousandth time. Unable to look at it these days, he was...unable to see it, for then he would fall again. He had to go on, they said...he had to make it through this, they said. What did they know? Who were they...when they felt not what he felt...feels...What were they to say that to him? Did they know...? If only they knew, if only they knew the half of it, they would understand. They might understand...they might...they might feel what he felt...feels...Years..three...years...gone. Gone..Haunting him all this time, sweet memories haunting him, sweet memories burning him...burning his soul, burning...scorching...killing, killing...killing slowly. Fingers curled against the glass, leaving streaks as a delicately soft cheek rested against the cold glass, listening to the rain, the rain...the tears of the Gods, the tears of heaven. Crying with him...crying for him...

(Sing it) Please, please, please.

Come back and sing to me,

To me, me.

Oh...oh, what they used to share. What they used to share. How they laughed, how they laughed...how they loved. How they loved...In his bed...every night, he remembered. Sweet flesh moving against flesh...moans, lusty moans..words...groans...moans...touches, kisses, teeth grazing...bodies molding into each other...molding...molding...melting as their souls melted into each other...sweet words of love..devotion...release. Oh! what release...what sweet release. And tears...there were tears, and there were harsh words, too...but always, always there was peace after. Love...kisses...peace..And now...

Gone...all gone...How could he recover? How could he let go? No matter what anyone said...he could not let go. Fate? Fate?? What was fate? Fate was him..them..together. Fate was togetherness...fate was life, love, passion. And yet...they said fate was this, this. Emptiness, pain, death...that was fate. The fools...they did not know what fate was. They could not fathom what fate was, them and their perfect lives, them and their children, their joy, their careers...They did not know, they did not understand this. Hurt? Oh...they hurt...but they did not bleed, they did not cry each night, each day...they did not drink themselves into a stupor each night they remembered. They did not hear the screams, they did not imagine the pain, the pain...they did not...could not..ever know what 'fate' was...

Come on and sing it out now, now, now.

Come on and sing it out now, to me, me.

Come back and sing it now...

Sobbing bitterly, he curled up on the pillows, leaning his side against the window, wishing somehow, desperately, that the window might melt...just melt away and that he may fall...fall....fall to the ground, never to get up again. What was there? What was left? What was there to life? Nothing...nothing but the darkness that threatened to consume him with every breath he took, with every tear that fell...with every tear of blood that his heart cried. A finger traced along the note pressed to his chest, the paper crumpled and starting to disintegrate already - but he did not have to see the words, he did not have to see them to know what they said. They were burned into his mind already...'October 29, 2000. Harry James Potter is missing in action, presumed dead. His heroic actions paid off when he vanquished Voldemort, but there has been no sign of the young hero.' Beside that was a picture of him graduating...a picture that moved, smiling and waving cheerily.

He was anything but cheerful now...he could not look upon the face of his beloved anymore, it was too much for him...too much...too much. Staggering to his feet, he moved over to a desk shakily and supported himself on his arms, tears straining his face, wetting the white poets shirt that he wore. An old shirt...an old shirt, with memories attached to it. The first shirt that Harry ever took off him...the first shirt that ever lay beneath them as they -

In my place, in my place...

A spasm of sobs shook his body and he whimpered, closing dead, grey eyes tightly and leaning against the desk, trying not to fall...trying not to fall to the ground. Quivering, he managed to hold himself up, taking a bottle off the table and pouring a generous amount of liqueur into a tall, crystal glass. Looking at the glass, he smiled wryly, no warmth, no hope within that smile..no warmth, no hope within his eyes. The bell rang downstairs in the townhouse, a door opened, slammed shut. Picking the glass up, he let out a breath...well...someone here again..to bother him, to lecture him, to tell him to get over it already. It's been three years, for crying out loud...And oh, oh how he cried out loud...how he cried...but he could not forget.

Steps thundered up along the stairs, though he could not recognize them...not Hermione...not Snape...who? Oh...they sounded so much like...like his. They sounded so much like his. Light, light...for the boy was light...but sure...sure of themselves...Maybe a worker for the Ministry? Come to tell him that he's dead...dead...body found...Tears rolled down his stained cheeks and he lifted the glass to his lips as the steps reached his room.

Were lines that I couldn't change...

The door slammed open suddenly, striking the wall - but he did not care, for his eyes were riveted on who stood there. Stood there...panting...panting, thinner...gaunter...a scar on his cheek...and eyes...eyes sparkling, hurt, tired...but...love...warmth...oh, warmth, warmth.

"Draco..."

"H - Harry..?"

And I was lost, oh yeah, oh yeah...

Somewhere in London, a crystal glass shattered as it fell onto wooden floors...drink spilled...bodies melted into each other, grasped, kissed, clutched. Cried...cried...hearts bleeding...yet whole. Hearts torn, yet sown back together. Hands caressed, eyes spoke, mouths kissed, moaned, caressed...for the hundredth time...

...souls knew completion once again...for the thousandth time...