~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco lay on the sterile 100% cotton sheets of the standard issue hospital bed. Moonlight was flowing through the paned windows and casting harsh shadows against the walls and floor. Harry thought Draco looked like an angel, all pale skin and silvery tendrils pressed flat against the pure white pillowcase, his body covered with a pure white sheet and a pure white blanket. He looked like he was sleeping, still and peaceful. The sheets were smoothed and tucked under Draco's arms, every fold precise and presentable. The slight haze the invisibility cloak provided only added to the ethereal effect of seeing Draco's body on this unremarkable pyre. Draco's body, lifeless and soulless, emptied of all the fiery emotions and convictions that once coursed through those veins.

Just a body, a vacant shell.

Draco's parents would be here soon. Harry had heard a rumour that Narcissa, in her denial, was refusing to come. They would be met at the main doors by a sombre and sorrowful Albus Dumbledore, then led to this secluded and blocked off portion of the hospital ward. They would walk up to the generic metal frame of the bed, look down upon their only son, and only his Mother would shed tears. Draco's father would only give a cursory glance to his heir, then devote all attention to his broken wife.

Harry couldn't cry anymore. He could only stare. Stare and remember.

Professor McGonagall had gathered everyone in the Great Hall at an especially early hour to stand in front of the students and announce that Draco had died in the middle of the night. She offered up no cause, no reason, no explanation. Just a pair of sad and weary eyes trying to convey comfort to those that cared enough about the blond to need it.

Harry had stood in between Ron and Hermione when the verbal blow was delivered. He had expected to hear news of Death Eaters. News of Voldemort or Pettigrew. As soon as the words left McGonagall's mouth, Harry felt an icy hot wave of disbelief wash over him. He looked to Hermione on his left and felt his head spinning. His legs were about to give out on him. He had to sit down, and so he let himself collapse onto the stone floor. Hermione and Ron knelt down beside him, frightened by their friend's intense reaction to the passing of his supposed nemesis.

Draco was gone. Just...gone. He wasn't going to walk through that door ever again and glance over at Harry's spot at the Gryffindor table. He wasn't going to secretly laugh at Harry's stupid jokes, or pretend to still hate Harry. He wasn't going to meet him later that night in the restricted section of the library. He wasn't going to help Harry perfect that kiss that they had both fumbled nervously through just six hours earlier. He was never going to hear Harry say how sorry he was for pushing Draco away for so long; for failing to notice that all Draco ever wanted - needed - was Harry's heart and soul. There would be no `happily ever after'.

Harry didn't hear the gasps and shocked whispers that traveled throughout the crowd; didn't notice the wet cheeks of some of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff girls as the students filed out of the Great Hall to return to their respective dorm rooms. It was then that he noticed that none of the Slytherins were present. Of course, they would have already known. A few people glanced down at Harry as they walked around the trio that had now settled on the floor. Their looks of commiseration only served to make Harry nauseous. He felt like he was going to be violently ill. Ron and Hermione grabbed him under his arms and tried to pull him up. Harry stood, knees buckling once more as his friends supported his weight, and vomited.

Harry now stood mere inches from Draco's bedside, his cloak pooling up along the side of Draco's mattress. Harry could see faint blue veins lining the surfaces of Draco's eyelids, could almost see through the thin flesh to the stormy irises that lay beneath. He let his eyes travel to the lips he had kissed for the first time just one night earlier. Lips that were once full and pink were now thin and pale. Harry bent down and lightly brushed that mouth with his own, feeling the cold through the thin, silvery fabric. He let his fingers trace along the silky hairs that formed the widow's peak on Draco's forehead, then along the side of his face and down his neck. So cold.

Harry didn't know how Draco had died. He didn't care right now. All that mattered was that he be with him now. He had failed Draco for so long; he couldn't leave him here in this medicinal chamber all alone. He would stay with him until the last possible second, until his body was entombed in the Malfoy crypt at the Manor, invisible to the family that hadn't given Draco anything more significant than a surname. Harry couldn't see past that moment in time. Couldn't see past the closing of the massive steel door bearing the Malfoy family crest. He might stand next to that door forever, keeping vigil. Harry thought he might just let himself whither away, leaving nature to do its work on his own body so that he could be with Draco once again. Share a smile with him and feel Draco take him by the hand, leading him into whatever exists beyond this lifetime.

Harry curled up on the bed next to Malfoy, draping his cloaked arm across the still chest of the one he was supposed to spend the rest of this life with, and buried his face into Draco's chilled shoulder.

"Wait for me, Draco."