Cessation

Cessation

There was something truly beautiful in this final cessation, Draco muses to himself, staring at his bloodied hands. It is so very fragile, this final splintering of life, so tremulous and slow that it seems that the whole world is slowing down for a few minutes to give Draco Malfoy an extended swan song. And he can almost hear it, his swan song; it is a melody made up of mournful cellos that sing of always being second and never meeting anyone's expectations -- his mother's, his father's, his supposed Master, or his own. He half-closes his eyes for a moment, just listening.

"Draco?"

He keeps staring at his hands, weary beyond belief. It would be so nice to just lay back and close his eyes and dream his way into death, and so he ignores the soft voice that calls his name again and again. He ignores the even more tender hands that take his chin and force him to look away from the crimson stains. He even ignores the gentlest pair of hazel eyes that stares into his.

"Draco."

He opens his mouth, but he is beyond words now, and all that comes out is a soft sigh that bubbles a little as blood trickles from the corner of his lips. He sees the pain in those mild hazel eyes, and summons the last vestiges of a smile.

"Draco, we won." One hand keeps cupping his chin, but the other hand tenderly rubs away the blood that is trickling from his mouth. "We won, so don't even think about dying on me."

Words come to him then, and Draco almost laughs as he murmurs, "When have I ever done what you've wanted, Longbottom?"

A shaky laugh, and then Neville whispers, voice quivering, "Fine then, die to spite me. Just...the war's over, Draco, the war's won." He speaks as though that will stop this cessation, and for a flicker of a moment, Draco almost believes that Neville's voice will stop this swan song that is made up of his ragged gasps and soft, bubbly sighs and the soft cellos that he is certain are only in his head. But then the weariness pierces him again, and he remembers that not even the gentlest voice in the world can stop death.

He tries to lift his hands, remembers they are bloody, and let them lie in his lap. The words bubble up with the blood in his throat, and the sentences burst once they are out of his mouth. "Can you hear it, Neville? It's such a...melancholy song, full of...failure and loss." He tilts his head and smiles crookedly. "I lost everything, until there was nothing left but you."

Neville just watches him for a moment, and then whispers, "I suppose I wasn't a very good substitute for everything."

The crooked smile stays, and he hears a trace of his former cockiness, an underlying douse of sarcasm throb in his wrecked voice. "Oh, no, Neville, why would I want your love and soft words when I could have had my father's disdain? Of course I'd choose him over you." The smiling wearies him, but he struggles to keep it on his lips as he whispers, "Sing for me?"

"Sing?" Neville's free hand brushes strands away from Draco's face, strands that only then does the blonde notice had been obstructing his vision. "I...I don't know many songs."

"Sing any song you like." Draco gathers the last vestiges of strength he has, drawing it in like one final breath, and reaches out to wrap his arms around Neville's neck and press his cheek at the base of Neville's throat. He feels the trembling that wracks the other boy's frame, and whispers, "Just sing."

There is silence for a moment, and then Neville begins to sing a soft, pleasant tenor.

"Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby:
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,
You are care, and care must keep you;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby."

Neville stops singing, but that is all right, because Draco can hear the slight change in his swan song, and that the violins have come in, playing an underlying melody of sweetness that must be playing about love. "Beautiful," he breathes, and tightens his grip on Neville's neck. "Again?"

And so Neville sings again, voice trembling, and Draco just listens as darkness begins to replace all other senses, and even the odd, bubbly sensation every time he swallows fades and is lost to the blackness. He closes his eyes, still listening to that shaky, beautiful voice, and dreams his way to death.

So when he opens his eyes to the familiar sight of Madam Pomfrey's infirmary ceiling, he is both bewildered and astonished. "But I was dying," he says, hearing his hoarse voice crack on the last word, and wonders why he's objecting.

"You certainly thought you were," a soft voice says, and then Neville is leaning over him, smiling brilliantly. "This may make you protest even more, but you now owe a Wizard's Debt to Hermione Granger." Neville laughs at his horrified look, and then reaches out a trembling hand to stroke his cheek. "If it helps, she owes a Wizard's Debt to Professor Snape."

That does indeed help, for Draco smirks and immediately begins to make plans as to how he can rub that in Granger's face. He sits up, surprised at the lack of pain and the silence in his head. He finds he almost misses the swan song, but then remembers that soft tenor voice, and turns that smirk on Neville. "You never told me you could sing."

Neville turns a rosy red. "I...I really don't sing. Gran didn't think it was appropriate."

Draco is tempted to say 'tell your gran to sod off' but knows better, and so just looks smug and says, "Well, you'll be singing a lot from now on, since I like your voice and want to hear it again. And we all know what I want, I get."

The other boy laughs at that, loudly and almost desperately, and Draco just smirks at the others in the infirmary who sit up and stare, and feels a certain sort of pride well up. Everyone might think his relationship with Neville Longbottom was...odd...but he knows better. Now he has claim to something no one else could ever have: Neville Longbottom's heart. And so he keeps smirking, and murmurs, "Close the curtains and sing another song for me?"

"But--" Neville sighs as Draco just looks at him and smiles until Neville smiles himself. "What you want, you get." Taking in a deep breath, he closes the curtains and begins.

"Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago, long, long ago,
Sing me the songs I delighted to hear,
Long, long ago, long ago,
Now you are come all my grief is removed,
Let me forget that so long you have roved.
Let me believe that you love as you loved,
Long, long ago, long ago.

Do you remember the paths where we met?
Long, long ago, long, long ago.
Ah, yes, you told me you'd never forget,
Long, long ago, long ago.
Then to all others, my smile you preferred,
Love, when you spoke, gave a charm to each word.
Still my heart treasures the phrases I heard,
Long, long ago, long ago.

Tho' by your kindness my fond hopes were raised,
Long, long ago, long, long ago.
You by more eloquent lips have been praised,
Long, long ago, long, long ago,
But, by long absence your truth has been tried,
Still to your accents I listen with pride,
Blessed as I was when I sat by your side.
Long, long ago, long ago."

And Draco smiles once more, clasps Neville's warm hands in his, and dreams his way to...dreams.