A Night Devoid of Stars

Draco's silver eyes were wide, staring out into the empty air of a cloudy night. He didn't cry, he felt he would never cry again, there was no point it seemed when there was no one to wipe the tears away. He didn't feel the grief now that he had felt when he had first known he was really gone, the grief that had made him double over, dry sobs racking his body, crumpling him to the floor. No, now he didn't feel anything. But there was an emptiness inside him deeper than the sea.

Somewhere in that night, farther than his eyes could see, he knew that Harry waited. But now he was out of reach to Draco, and always would be as long as he lived on this earth. Harry had loved him, the only one to ever do so, and now he was gone. Memories that seemed to be from a far off time, another life perhaps, flashed through Draco's head. Harry had been the first one he had ever shown his poetry, the only one Draco had ever really wanted to write for. As he stared out into the cloudy night, devoid of stars and blank as his soul, lines to a new poem that would never be written drifted through his head.

Life will never love me, tears will never be the same,

Because no one will answer when I call out your name,

For me the sun will never shine if not to light your inky hair,

And never will I shiver beneath your emerald stare,

I know that you still love me and I know you'll always care,

But it's hard to say I love you to a face that isn't there,

Never will I feel your skin, feel you whisper in my ear,

Because words of love it seems, are not for me to hear,

I knew for me to have you, was too good to be true,

I should have known you'd go when you said you loved me too,

I never have deserved you, and it seems the heavens knew,

They will keep you to themselves now, an angel such as you.

Draco's hand never moved towards the quill, no reason to write these words, there was no one to read them, and there never would be. So they floated out of his head to drift away with the cool breeze, soon forgotten and never to be heard. As Draco let the last line drift out of his head, the tears he had sworn would not come finally did. They flowed freely down his cheeks, but no warm fingers wiped them away. Instead they continued to roll down his skin, down his chin and neck to soak through his shirt. The cool breeze made him shiver as it blew against his wet clothing and skin, but still he cried, he cried until he had no tears left to cry. Harry was dead, Draco was alone. He had died a hero's death. But now Draco was left to live this wretched life without his hero. I will never love again, he thought.

And he never did. Draco lived his life alone, and he died alone. But when his empty soul finally left his body, it soured joyously to the heavens, finally to join with its other half. It was met with equal joy, and the two souls were entwined together, mending the pain that one alone could not. And Draco once again had his Harry in his arms, and he always would.