The Dragon Games

It was one of those moments, when you lose sight of everything but the one most important thing in your life. Harry fell to the ground with Draco in his arms, as Voldemort's screams of pain and horror were shut out from his mind.

"Draco!" Harry screamed, trying to wake the boy. He placed a hand on either of Draco's shoulders, gently but firmly trying to shake him awake. But Draco didn't wake; his body was stiff, his eyes closed... his heart not beating.

Harry cried out, screaming "no!" Screaming it a thousand times, every head turned away from the destructing Voldemort and onto the screaming boy.

"Wake up," he cried, wet, hot tears streaming down his face. His throat burned, a lump forming there, trying to prevent further speech. His stomach was knotting and twisting simultaneously, and his hands were trembling as he clutched Draco's shoulders.

He couldn't be dead, because he hadn't told him goodbye. Couldn't be dead, because he still had so much to tell him. Couldn't be dead, because Harry couldn't endure that.

"Please!" His body shook as he held onto Draco. "Wake up! Goddamn you, wake up! I love you, dammit. Do you hear me? I love you! Wake up!" he shouted. "You weren't supposed to leave me... Wake up... Come back to me, Draco," he whispered, finding his throat raw. As he sat there, clutching Draco to him, he almost forgot to breathe, to blink... to do anything but cry.

Draco couldn't die for him. That's not how it was supposed to happen. Draco was supposed to live - live and be with him. Draco deserved so much more than this, more than to die at the hands of his enemy.

Harry was startled out of his thoughts when he felt a pressure on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Aiyana's fallen face was looking down at him, eyes grim and worried.

"Harry," she said.

But Harry ignored her, ignored everyone. Draco was dead, and everything lost its meaning. Aiyana wasn't the woman with answers; she wasn't the great man, Albus Dumbledore; nor was she the old man Dumbledore, who he had been so angry at all those times ago. She wasn't the Dumbledore he cried over for months, and she wasn't the one who brought him back to Hogwarts. She was just a shapeless being, an annoyance in his mind.

A century could have passed, and Harry would not have known the difference. His sadness stopped everything and everyone. Aiyana left his side. He didn't know when she did, but she didn't come back. And Harry didn't move.

The voices in the background were just hushed murmurs, all gibberish, all pointless.

A shadow fell over him, but he didn't look up.

"Harry." Ron's voice was filled with sorrow and terror.

Ron spoke again, but this time, he spoke in silence, because Harry chose it to be so; he didn't want to hear anyone tell him it was going to be alright, because they were lying.

Everything replayed in Harry's mind, over and over as if stuck on repeat. The words that Draco uttered before hurling himself into death made deeper wounds in him than the Dragon had ever made.

The words, the words. Of all the things Draco could say as his parting words. Those were them.

When you die, you want your last words to be memorable, and oh yes, Draco's would stick with him for the rest of his life - the words he had never managed to tell Draco himself, the words he should have said when he had the chance.

He never told anyone those three words - never in his lifetime; but never before had they hit him so deeply before. He loved Draco, loved him with all his heart, and he'd never ever be able to speak the words to him.

The only person he ever truly loved was gone.

No one spoke to him again, or if they did, Harry didn't know about it. He sat, hugging the boy's body, as if he could bring life back into it by sheer will.

The air breezed through Harry's hair, and quite literally, everything stopped moving. Everything, that is, but Harry. A low hum was emanating from his pocket; he frowned, looking down, and reached in and pulled out the Mortuus Sermo. The golden jagged ball was glowing, bright and blinding. Harry blinked a few times, wondering was it was doing.

The Mortuus Sermo turned hot in his hand as it started to flash on and off, faster and faster. Harry dropped it, and it sunk into the dirt, still flashing like mad, but Harry couldn't look away.

The humming grew louder, and still nothing in the background moved. A bright light became focused around the center, forming a ring around the strange object. A loud cry sounded as a blinding flash of white sprayed out across the land.

Harry blinked frantically, trying to see again. He lifted his head, and his tear soaked jaw fell open.

Draco was standing in front of him.

But it was not Draco... It was a faded version of him; he had color, but everything was so faint he looked almost gray, almost transparent.

It was looking down at him, looking worried, and honest, and good.

Nothing happened for a moment; neither he nor the figure moved.

"D-Draco?" Harry finally sputtered out. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Draco nodded, assuring Harry that it was him. Then he turned out towards the war field, eyes scanning the scene, before looking back to Harry.

"Harry, love," Draco said. "We won."

Draco's words were soft and empowering, but they didn't affect Harry.

"You're dead," he said, tears filling his eyes again as he looked down at Draco's lifeless body.

"You're alive," Draco countered softly.

"Why?" he croaked. A moment of silence, before Harry looked at Draco directly. "I can't do this on my own."

"Can't do what, Harry?" Draco asked, his translucent body sitting down next to him. "Can't live?"

Harry didn't answer.

Draco shook his head. "What did I die for, if not for you to live?"

Harry still was silent, closing himself up.

"Harry, please," Draco said. "Don't go away from me."

His eyes flashed over to Draco. "You went away from me," he said. This felt like a dream. Everything was so lost, so wrong.

He heard Draco's sigh.

"I don't know what to tell you," Draco said. "But you can't lose yourself; you are everything to me."

And Draco was everything to him, but that everything was gone. The Draco he was looking at wasn't really alive; wasn't breathing, wasn't flesh.

"You're a lie."

"No, I'm a memory," Draco replied. "I'm Draco in essence, soul - everything but my physical body."

Harry glanced down at Draco's body, and back up.

"You're going to be alright," Draco murmured softly.

Harry just looked at him, eyes deadened. Draco was lying. There was no way he was going to be alright.

"I need you to be alright."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He looked away from Draco to the cheering victors. They were all so happy. He saw Ron with Hermione; they were standing in the distance, holding each other. They were in love. All the sights captivated Harry, awing him that these people could be so happy when he was so miserable.

"I know what I should have told you," Harry said, tears burning trails down his cheeks. "I should have told you a long time ago."

Draco whispered something in another language, something strange but hypnotic, the language Draco had spoken the first time Harry had kissed him.

"I love you, Draco."

Draco paused for a moment, taking in the words. "I know you do."

"No you don't," he said, shaking his head profusely. "I never told you, and it's too late."

"It's not," Draco said. "You just told me right now."

Harry breathed in the chilly air, hoping Draco forgave him for not telling him when he was alive.

"Harry," Draco began, "it had to be me - it wasn't time for you to go."

"It wasn't time for you to go, either!"

"I've done a lot of horrible things," Draco said. "It was time."

"No!" Harry shouted, refusing to believe.

"Please," Draco said. "I don't have a lot of time on this plane of existence. I want you to believe me; know that this wasn't your fault - there was nothing you could do. Know that I love you, and I'll love you no matter what happens in your future."

Harry's heart swelled as Draco spoke, and he had the sensation that he had just jumped out of an airplane. He felt like he was freefalling.

"I believe you," he said.

"Good," Draco nodded, putting an arm around him.

But the horrible thing was, Harry couldn't feel him. He couldn't even feel the ice cold sensation that happened when he passed through a ghost, because Draco wasn't a ghost. He was a memory.

There were two Draco's in front of him: One who couldn't move, and the other he couldn't touch.

Everything was horribly off, but with Draco, even if only superficially by his side, it was okay for the moment, and Harry embraced it for the time being. He knew that it wasn't going to last long.

Harry wanted to tell him everything. Tell him what he'd always wanted to, before he would never see him again. A pang of hurt jabbed him, but he forced himself to keep strong.

"I thought I would be with you forever," he said softly, not looking at Draco, though knowing he was listening intently. "I thought we'd grow old, be a family, be in love... forever."

Harry paused a moment to glance up at Draco, who was watching him closely.

"I thought I could finally love someone - tell them everything, believe in them. You would love me back, believe in me, in the same goddamn fairytale way."

"Like happily ever after?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded.

"No such thing," Draco said. "There's just happiness, and that always comes with sadness; without it, we'd never know what true happiness is all about."

Harry listened to Draco's words, pulling them all in. Even now, he couldn't understand how Draco always saw everything with two sides. Voldemort was dead, and that meant no more terror. But Draco was dead, and that meant life was never going to be happy again for Harry.

"I'm going to miss you," Harry said slowly. "I don't know how I'm..."

How I'm going to keep on living.

"...How I'm going to cope."

"One day at a time. I'll always be here for you, no matter what," Draco told him.

Even if that were true, he'd never be able to hold him again, touch him again, kiss him again, or even smell him again.

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Harry, did you know your scar is gone?" Draco asked calmly.

Harry reached for his forehead. "What? How?"

"Actually, it's my doing," Draco said guiltily.

"Huh?"

"I casted a spell on you that would heal your scar when Voldemort was destroyed, it will be gone forever. I did it so that when he was destroyed, you wouldn't be the Boy Who Lived or the Boy Who Saved the World; you'd just be Harry - like you were with me."

Harry stared at him, loving him more and more, his heart aching from wanting to kiss him.

"You could blend in, be invisible if you wanted," Draco whispered. "I hope you're okay with that."

"It's the best gift anyone has ever given me," Harry replied quietly, his eyes filling with tears again, feeling forever grateful. He couldn't even begin to comprehend what having no lighting bolt scar on his forehead would mean to him.

"I didn't do it to the X on your chest," Draco said slowly. "I couldn't because Voldemort wasn't directly connected with it."

Harry didn't care; no one would see the scar on his chest. It would be a part of him, connecting him with Draco forever.

"It doesn't matter," he told him honestly.

Draco smiled at him, and he realized this could possibly be the last smile he'd ever see Draco do so again.

"Harry, could you do me a favor?" Draco asked seriously.

"Anything."

"Bring me back for my funeral."

Harry paused, unsure if he correctly heard what Draco had just said. "What?"

"I want to see who comes."

Harry couldn't help but to laugh, even through the pain; Draco was the only one who could joke even through his death.

"You know," Draco said, eyes turning towards his body, "I really am stunningly handsome."

"God, yes!" Harry laughed, eyes stinging from crying.

Draco smiled, and Harry watched him, captivated in his beauty and grace. A few moments passed as they silently looked at each other.

Draco sighed and said quietly, "I have to go."

Harry didn't say anything. He couldn't because he'd beg him not to go. He'd get himself worked up again, when there was nothing he could do. He just nodded his head as Draco kissed his forehead, and he felt nothing.

There was another bright flash, and Draco was gone. Time unfroze; everything was moving again. Harry began to look for the Mortuus Sermo, but it wasn't on the ground. He blinked hard, but it still wasn't there. He reached into his pocket and found it inside. Bewildered, he pulled it out, staring at it.

Harry froze. Was everything that had just happened an apparition, a figment of Harry's lost mind? An illusion to fill the hole that was created in Harry's heart? Did it matter?

He stared at Draco's body, and he heard Ron's advancing footsteps.

Harry gently laid Draco on the ground, and, exhausted, pulled himself to his feet, facing Ron.

"Harry-" Ron started, and then his mouth fell open, staring at Harry's forehead. "What happened to your scar?"

THE END