Don't Let Me Die Alone

I hear him coming before I see him. I lick my lips, savoring their cracked feel and the taste of blood. The stress of the war has everyone running themselves ragged, even those who dare not show it. And those like me, who cannot afford to show it. But the salty tang on my lips reminds me that I, too, can bleed, that I, too, am not immune to pain. Not that I need any reminder.

Ah, here he comes. I sneer, an expression of bitterness that comes so naturally to me, that twists these cracked, bleeding lips without any trace of effort. Coolly, I flip the hair from my eyes as I watch him approach.

"Potter," I say, lowly. I raise a brow. "Alone?" He nods. For a moment, I forget to breathe. Gods above, he is beautiful. "How long has it been?"

"Not long enough, Malfoy," he not quite snarls. I chuckle under my breath.

"Three years, maybe more." I don't tell him the truth, of course. It's been three years, nine months and fourteen days. I have been keeping track of every moment that's passed by ever since I left. I held an image of him in my head ever since, and now I realise what I have missed all these years. He is the very image of perfection, even the scar does not mar his features in ways that make them unpleasant. Time has only heightened his every tribute and grace-- no longer is he a gangly, awkward child. He stands there now like a bizarre statue of ebony and jade...how striking he would have been in the colours of the Serpent House! We could have been great together, you and I, Potter. We could have had the world at our fingertips, our every want and desire filled. But no use dwelling on what might have been.

"What do you want?" he demands, knowing I must have sent the message for a reason, most likely to discuss the events that would take place tomorrow. "I have no time to banter with your ilk. Say your piece and get out of here, so that I may take my leave."

"Why, Harry!" I say, knowing how my use of his first name must gall him. "That's no way to treat an old friend--"

"We were never friends, Malfoy," he snaps, cutting me off. "We were never even rivals. If I had my way, I'd have had nothing to do with you. You and I are a world apart, there is nothing, nothing that we have in common."

You say those words with the intent to hurt. I don't know yet whether or not you've succeeded. But there's a fire in your eyes, now, burning like sparks inside two flawless emeralds. I can hardly tear my own eyes away.

"That hardly matters now, does it?" I say, affecting a lightness I in no way feel. "Not with everything that will be taking place tomorrow. You are aware, of course?"

He nods, slowly, reluctant to give me even this small bit of information. I almost laugh-- as if it would make a difference. "Dumbledore gave us word of it last night."

"Good." I watch him carefully, though pretending to close my eyes, leaning back as if I had not a care in the world. Through slitted lids I watch as his own eyes narrow with suspicion.

"Why did you call me here, Malfoy?" He is persistent, this one. "What do you want of me, so close to the end? Are you afraid? Is that it? The war begins in earnest as the sun rises tomorrow, and with it comes the end of your Lord and everything you hold dear. Not that a snake like you could ever care for anything."

I smile lazily, amused by this verbal parrying. "How's your pretty wife?" I ask, changing the subject. It throws him off guard as I knew it would, but he recovers quickly. I open my eyes again, taking in his momentary surprise, savoring it before he swallows it up in a mask of stoicism. "I know about her, of course. Dear Mrs. Hermione Granger Potter." I smile thinly. "I know everything about you, Harry. I've been watching you, tracking you. Tell me, how does it feel to lose everything you hold dear?" I ask, turning his own words back on him. "To know that your friends are all dying, one by one. Hagrid was first, wasn't he? He made an easy target-- there was no way for him to hide. Then your precious godfather. I remember that one personally, though it was not my hand that did the deed. The Weasley brat was next, then sweet Professor Lupin. And then our very own Severus Snape." I raise my brow in mock surprise. "Oh! You didn't know about him, did you? Well, then might I have the honour of being the first to tell you. He died just hours ago. He should have known that no traitor could escape the wrath of our Lord. He died screaming, a fitting death for a man who lived a coward's life. I'll spare you the grisly details, but rest assured that he took a long time to die--"

"Shut up." His voice did not rise, but it had enough force behind it to stop me in midsentence. "You bastard." His hands were balled into fists at his side-- it seemed I had struck a nerve. Good. Feel the heat of rage in your blood, Potter, savor bitter taste of hate like bile in the back of your throat. Fight for each breath you take, feel the acid tang of each word that you speak in contempt. You despise me, good. Let the heat of your loathing burn every cell in your body, bask in its radiation and maybe, just maybe you'll understand what hell I have been living these past three years.

"Is this why you called me here? To mock me, and throw my own words back in my face?" Now his voice rises with every word, until he is nearly shouting. "Yes, they're dead, they're all dead!" he screams at me, flecks of spittle striking my face. I make no move to wipe them away. "They're dead because of you and your damn kind. Is this what you want? To know you've hurt me? Is this what you've called me here for? So you can report back to the damned thing you call Lord and let him know that Harry Potter can be hurt after all?" I wait in silence until he has shouted himself out, until there are no more words to say. Only then do I speak.

"You loved him, didn't you?" I ask quietly, in tones that border on respect. "Professor Snape. It's true. There were rumours, but no one knew for certain--"

He glances up at me, now, eyes bright with unshed tears. "What right?" he demands, slowly. "What right have you to even speak that man's name? He is a better man than any of you scum will ever be! Don't you dare speak his name, you have no right!"

"Harry, Harry!" I grab him by the arms, holding him tightly as I catch his emerald gaze with my own. "Harry, please! I loved him too! Listen to me, Harry, I loved him too. I know, I know!"

He stares at me now, with shocked, hollow eyes. I can scarcely believe what I have just said. And yet, every word of it is true. "I loved him too," I repeat as tears of my own sting my eyes. "And though it is small comfort, I was there for him in the last. I stood at his side-- he wasn't alone when he died, Harry. He wasn't alone."

He falls to his knees, heedless of the dirt grinding into his somber robes. The tears flow freely down his face, now, as he weeps for a man so few could even bring themselves to pity. For this small gift, I thank him. It eases my mind to know that he had at least one ally in his lonely world. I want to weep beside him; I have not yet had a chance to mourn for the death of what is perhaps the last of the truly great men of this world, and the grief at his loss still weighs heavy on my chest. But there is no time for that, now.

"Why did you call me here?" he asks from his place on the ground. His voice is empty, now. Thin and weak, like the voice of a child. "No more games, Malfoy. Tell me true. Why did you call me here tonight?"

"Because I am to kill you tomorrow," I reply, with a frank honesty that sounds foreign to my ears. I see him tense, on hand already reaching reflexively for the pocket where his wand is kept. "We received our final orders tonight, after Severus' death. Mine were to seek you out and destroy you using whatever means possible."

"Why are you telling me this?" The hollowness of his voice cuts me to the quick. I want to throw myself to the ground beside him and wrap my arms around his neck. I want to comfort him, to feel his body close to mine. Mentally, I damn this war and the man who dares call himself Lord. I damn this world for creating such a rift between we two that can never be repaired. We are worlds apart, him and I, and yet that distance only sharpens the pain of my desire.

"I don't know." The time for lies has passed. All there is now between us is the bare truth that can hurt worse than any physical pain. I've wielded this weapon before, but it feels strange to me. I realise that I have seen to much pain, too much suffering for this one lifetime. "I'm tired, Harry. I'm tired, and I'm sick. If killing you tomorrow means that I can finally rest, then I will not hesitate." I turn my eyes on him, knowing the look of supplication that I must be giving him, but even that fails to shame me now. "I love beautiful things, Harry. I loved Severus, and I love you. But I am destined to see the things I love destroyed. And that is why I must kill you tomorrow."

"No."

I don't know where she came from, the only warning I had was that one word before a dull roar filled my ears. I heard a voice scream something in Latin, but it may have only been my imagination. Then something hit me, something heavy and blunt, like a mace, or a bludger. I turned in mute shock, my mouth agape like a fool.

Hermione stood there, wand in hand, standing over Harry like some demented guardian angel. I took one step forward, then faltered and fell, hitting the dirt with a grunt. My limbs had already started to grow numb. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered what curse or hex she had hit me with. Whatever it was, it was effective.

I licked my lips with a tongue that felt thick and heavy. The taste of blood cut through my consciousness, giving me the strength to crawl forward those few inches that separated us. As I came closer, she readied her wand again, but Harry stopped her. I finally reached him. There was just enough strength left in me to reach up and brush the side of his face with my hand. I smiled shakily at him, feeling a terrible cold seeping into my bones. "Don't-- don't let me die alone," I whisper, knowing he can hear me. I see his jaw clench, then he nods. Weakly, I motion for him to come closer. When he is near enough for me to smell the scent of his skin, I raise my head and kiss him.

Was it anything like I had imagined? Maybe, but probably not. All I remember is the softness of his lips against my cracked ones, and the taste of blood. But none of that mattered. I fell back, smiling as I looked into his stricken green eyes.

"Thank you," I say, loud enough for the Granger girl to hear. "Thank you for doing what I had not the strength nor the courage to do myself." I cough, feeling the numbness spread. "Don't-- don't hate him for what happened between him and Severus," I tell her, feeling the first delicious traces of sleep wash over me. "He was a good man."

She nods, her eyes sparkling with tears. Or maybe it is just my imagination again. "The best," she whispers, clutching her husband's hand tightly in her own. I had known she would come. I told Harry to come alone, to bring no one else with him. But I knew he would not be able to leave her behind. I had counted on it, in fact. After all, isn't that what love is all about?

The two of them meld into a haze of softly blurred figures. Sounds seem to come from a long ways away, and I can barely see now. I smile again, feeling my limbs fade into a cold void. But it is not an unpleasant cold. I am tired, so tired, and sleep is near. For once, the first time in many, many years, I will be able to sleep easy, with a clear conscience. The cold creeps over my bones, lulling me into an easy slumber, one without dreams or nightmares, without pain or fear. I have been waiting for this for a long, long time. Goodbye, Harry. And may the gods keep you safe tomorrow.