To Be Loved

Opening His Emerald Eyes

Harry's eyes shot open. He immediately discovered his vision was blurry, and he attempted to search for something out of the ambiguity his vision had caused. The first image that his eyes found was a bushy-headed girl with large brown eyes and an anxious expression standing over him. Her mouth was moving, but her words were not audible to him.

He turned his head to find a tall, rather handsome boy standing across from the girl; his flaming red hair was ruffled in a disorderly fashion as if he had been pulling at it with worry. The red headed boy's blue eyes were not looking at Harry, but off to nowhere in particular.

Harry's entire body was wet, as if he had fallen into a lake. Though, when he regained his sense of smell he discovered that it was his own sweat, with a bitter odor at that, which had drenched him.

He fluttered his eyes as he awoke more. He was in the hospital wing, lying upon one of the comfortable beds, with the curtain halfway drawn. There appeared to be no one else besides the two students by his side.

He shook his head from side to side meekly, with each shake regaining his hearing more and more until he heard a girl's voice squeal: "Harry! You're awake!"

He looked up, "Mm, yes, what happened?"

The boy spoke now, "You passed out after the game."

Harry's eyes squinted, his brows clenched together, as he attempted to remember what happened. "Did I? Huh. Did we win?"

The girl's eyebrows tilted up, her eyes became swarming with tears that began to overflow. She brought her hand to her cheek and whimpered, "Oh, Ron, he doesn't remember. I can't tell him, I don't have the heart."

The girl removed her hand from her cheek and placed it on Harry's forehead, softly brushing away his stray hairs.

Harry gave a small smile, "I really need to speak with Draco, wh-where is he?"

"Oh, Harry," her eyes began to leak immediately, large tears appearing from them and quickly rolling down her cheeks. She raised her hands to her eyes, to wipe away the tears, as she frantically shook her head. "I can't, Ron, I just can't," she blubbered as she walked behind the curtain and disappeared.

Ron released a sigh, and gazed down at Harry with some pity. "Do you not remember anything?"

Harry made a face as he attempted to remember, lasting several long moments, until finally shook his head.

Ron gave him a slanted smile, and then sat down on the bed, next to one of Harry's legs.

"I don't know how to tell you this, Harry. We had a Quidditch match today, earlier, a few hours ago actually. It was Slytherin vs. Gryffindor. Well, you and Draco were both going after the Snitch, and you were brilliant, Harry, you really were. You and he both flew so well, everybody said they had never seen either of you fly like that! Anyways, so you both went high above the stadium and you were both neck and neck nobody knew who was going to catch the Snitch, you both extended your arms and then-"

"Draco caught the Snitch," Harry interrupted, in somewhat of a trance, as the previous events of the day began to play in his mind.

"Yes, and do you remember what happened next?"

"Draco killed himself," he said flatly.

Ron looked taken aback by Harry's statement. "Killed himself? N-no, Harry, he fell."

Harry shook his head solemnly, "No, Ron, he committed suicide."

Harry's expression was odd. He looked as if it were all surreal, as if he were expecting Draco to waltz in through the doors to the hospital wing, march right up to his bed and plant a kiss on his forehead. But he didn't, he was dead.

"Harry, you'll get through this, I promise."

Harry's emerald eyes were distant, gazing straight forward, through the curtain, the walls of the castle, to a thousand miles away. He didn't want to move any more. He had no desire to eat. No desire to sleep. No desire to even breathe. He no longer wanted to exist, he felt so incredibly helpless and pathetic and broken. Without Draco, Harry was no more.

Madam Pomfrey burst through the curtains, "Oh Dear, good you're awake," she exclaimed. Her face seemed to be a bit contorted, as she too had been worrying over Draco's death.

"Can I go now, Madam Pomfrey?" Harry whispered, his voice lacking emotion.

"Go?" She seemed to not like the idea of him leaving. "Well, yes I suppose now that you are awake there is no more need for you to remain here."

With that Harry sprung from the bed and quickly began to collect his garments and redress. When he was fully clothed he opened the curtains and made his way to the door, but before he could exit Madam Pomfrey caught his wrist and reeled him around to face her. "If you need anything, dear-"

"See you?" he interrupted, "Yes, I know, good day."

He walked out of the hospital wing at a rapid pace, with Hermione and Ron trailing.

They walked a ways in a deafening silence, until Ron finally called out, "So, um, Harry, do you want to go to the Great Hall? It's supper, are you hungry?"

Harry didn't answer, he just continued to walk.

"Harry," Hermione said, "You have to eat, come on, I know it's hard but-"

"You two go ahead, I wish to be alone for a bit," Harry said in the identical eerie emotionless voice he had before.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone now."

"Hermione, just let him be," Ron hissed in an attempted hushed voice.

Hermione stopped walking and so did Ron, however, Harry continued at his hurried pace. "Fine. But Harry if you need to talk about it..."

"I know," he called without turning around; he turned a corner and disappeared from their sight.

Harry continued to walk. He walked through the cold castle, hurrying down several flights of stairs, ambling through many long hallways, until he finally reached the doors to the outside. But he did not cease his quick pace. He threw open the doors, exposing the moonlit sky. He ran down the damp lawn, stumbling through the grass, further and further until he reached the Quidditch pitch. Here he stopped.

His breath became slower. He inched his way out onto the field, remembering the feeling he had doing the exact same action only a mere few hours before. The cheers of the crowd still echoed in the stadium.

He raised his head to the sky, and he remembered watching Draco fly, and admiring his technique. He remembered the gusts of wind, and how they blew Draco's silvery hair to the side gently. He could still see Draco's soft expression as he looked down at the crowd below.

Harry felt a knife stab into his heart at the realization that he will never be able to gaze upon that face ever again. His emerald eyes became glassy; he lowered their gaze to the ground below him, where he found he was standing in the direct center of the Quidditch field, precisely where Draco had landed.

"Accio Firebolt," Harry whispered, with his arm extended toward the castle. In a mere matter of moments, his Firebolt came soaring towards him, until it flew right into his extended hand.

He straddled himself upon the broomstick, and took off into the air. He flew directly vertical, gaining more and more altitude by the second. He felt the sweet midnight air brush against the side of his face and body. The wind whistled a song into his ears. He closed his eyes and smiled.

Then he stopped. He was high above the stadium, as high as he was when Draco had caught the Snitch. He saw Draco's expression, his surprise at finally grasping the Snitch when playing versus Harry. Harry remembered his mouth moving as he called out something unknown to Harry.

Harry tried to remember what he had said; he wanted to know, for those words were his last spoken. Harry remembered the corners of his mouth as they moved to form the words, as his lips bent and curled. And then he realized what Draco had said. He could almost still hear him calling it out in his cocky voice: "You're slipping up, Potter!"

Harry snickered, just like Draco to use his last words as an insult.

Then the image of Draco's hands releasing from the broomstick became vivid, and Harry too lifted his hands from his own broomstick. He closed his eyes, and smiled as he tilted his body back, and plummeted to the earth.

****

Miles away, and months before, a boy lay in an ordinary bed, in an ordinary house. He slept quietly, as the sun began to rise over the mundane roof tops. Until it poured its light through the boy's window, interrupting his serene slumber.

His eyelids flicked open, exposing a beautiful emerald that rested beneath them. His dry lips opened, revealing his pearly white teeth. His eyebrows creased, as he began to recollect where he was.

From outside his window birds chirped cheerfully. Singing familiar songs, reassuring normality. Their songs will always remain the same, no matter any tragedy of life, their recognizable tunes remain.

The boy lifted his hand to his head, and pushed his messy black hair from his eyes, exposing a rather oddly shaped scar for a quick moment. His other hand stretched over to the table adjacent to him and grasped a pair of glasses. He brought them to his face and set them over his brilliant colored eyes.

His face seemed to be calm, and tranquil, something had relieved him of stress.

His lips spread across his face into a slightly curved line, creating creases extending from his nose down past the lower corners of his mouth. His eyelids fluttered, and he released a long sigh.

Under his breath, hardly audible to any other creature, he whispered, "I choose."

Finis.