The Pain of a Dead Love

Ron told Harry the news. Harry, upon hearing the words, went white and sunk to the floor. Ron helped him up gingerly and hugged him. Harry started crying, slow tears dripping down his cheeks. He hadn't expected that it would come so soon; he thought that at least he would see him again.

"Harry, mate, I think you'd better go lie down, you look terrible."

"Yeah... yeah, I'll do that..."

Harry stumbled up the stairs and into his room, slamming the door behind him. He dragged himself over to the bed, and sat down, holding his head in his hands. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he made no effort to wipe them away. Slowly, he took off his shoes and socks, and then unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them off too. Harry yanked the tee - shirt off over his head. Then, he stood there, in the cold room, shivering in nothing but his boxers.

Eventually, he climbed into bed, and drew himself up into a ball, his knees bent up by his chest. Harry wrapped his arms around his legs, and lay there, beneath the covers, still crying. He couldn't quite believe he was gone.

I could follow.

The thought hit him, almost bowled him over. He could almost feel the pain of that thought as it rolled across his brain and resounded loudly, shouting to be free, shouting to follow through the idea, wanting to be dead so that he could see his beloved again.

His beloved. With grey - blue eyes and that wonderful hair - so blond it was almost transparent; almost white. He loved to run his fingers through that hair - it was so soft, so smooth.

Like his skin - that was soft and smooth and pale too. Harry had traced patterns on that skin, with freezing fingers. Draco would gasp when his hand dipped too low; too close to his hip bones that jutted out sharply. Harry wasn't that thin. He had slightly more flesh, but he was how Draco liked him. Draco could lie on him and kiss him slowly; kisses starting on his mouth and then slowly moving down to his neck, then to his chest, past his nipples, towards his stomach and then below that too, when he himself would gasp with the pleasure - pain that Draco made his speciality.

Harry had loved the pain. It had reminded him that he was alive. But now, now that Draco was gone, he'd never feel his gentle touch again, he'd never get that pain back... he was overwhelmed again, quite suddenly, but the feeling of loss. Harry didn't want to be alone - he wanted to be with Draco, he wanted to feel the warmth of his body on him, in him again.

Then follow him.

That dammned thought again. Harry both loved and hated it. He wanted to die, to be back with Draco, because eh felt like he couldn't carry on without him. But if he died - the pain that he'd cause everybody. The Weasleys, Hermione, Luna, Neville, Dean... all these people that he'd make cry for him, cry needlessly.

In one way, Harry wanted them to feel sorry for him, to feel the pain that he was feeling then, because perhaps that would lessen his own pain. But then again, if he was living in pain, was life worth living? Was his life worth anything without Draco? Harry knew he could never, would never love again... not even if he tried his hardest, could he find another that would make him fall like Draco had.

Draco had been his saviour. Draco had been his rock song, his high, his feel - good, his lover, his best friend, his life. And now, he was gone, dead, killed in the last battle. Harry remembered the last battle with startling clarity then. He remembered all the screams, all the yells of curses, all the dead lying around, people dying slow, horrific deaths... and he'd been fighting Voldemort until the last moment, when he's finally defeated him.

Afterwards, Harry had searched the battlefield for Draco. He couldn't find him anywhere, and nobody knew where he was. Then, now, a week later, his body had been found by the Healers looking for survivors. Draco had died quite recently, it seemed. He bore wounds similar to those of torture. Harry blamed himself - why hadn't he found him? He could have saved him.

Nobody could have saved him.

Harry hated these thoughts. He hated the way his brain responded to Draco's death; shutting down and making him feel suicidal. But it was what he wanted. He wanted to feel the coldness that was death, he wanted to fall behind the veil in the Department of Mysteries. Harry couldn't think of a reason to stay alive.

He pictured Ginny's face; Hermione's tears, Ron's anguish. They would be in pain, the same pain of loss that he was in. He cared, but he just didn't want to go on. Nothing could ever be the same without Draco, without his love.

Harry was plunged into a memory.

The curtians of his bed were closed, and behind them he and Draco sat, naked, kissing slowly, their fingers intertwined and their bodies close enough to feel the heat from each other. Draco slowly pushed Harry down, kissing him gently, kissing him slowly. Harry detatched his hands from Draco's, and ran them down over his muscular body, feeling each bone and ridge of muscle beneath Draco's pale skin.

Draco broke the kiss suddenly, and looked Harry in the eye. Harry understood the question without it being spoken. He nodded and Draco kissed him again, slowly easing himself in, kissing Harry as he did so. Harry could have screamed. But slowly, the pain dimnished, and Harry realized what bliss it was, to be totally connected to Draco. He gasped and kissed Draco violently, pressing himself down onto him as much as he could.

"Love... you..." he murmered

"And you... love you too," replied Draco.

Harry found himself clutching his wand, looking at it and knowing it would be the last thing he saw. Slowly, he pressed the tip to his temple, and thought of Draco, thought of their love, thought of their passion, them.

He was sure, so sure.

"Avada Kedavra."

*

Ron found him hours later. There was a state funeral, and Harry was meant to be burried in the Hogwarts grounds, near to Dumbledore's tomb. But Ginny, forever the loyal friend, intervened. She found where Draco was burried, and asked the Malfoy family if Harry could be burried next to Draco. His only remaining relative was Narcissa, who had been widowed when Lucius was murdered by Voldemort. She said that they could, so Harry was eventually burried beside his one true love.

Their headstone read thus:

Diligo Semper, Una Semper Eternus Sileo