Rain beat against the windows, dark clouds blotting out all traces of the moon and dousing the world an inky darkness. Candles flickered in an otherwise lightless room, their flames reflected in the mirror beside a ghost-like boy. His eyes were shadowed and red from tears shed for the loss of his love.
Her words echoed in his mind, full of blame and matched with her condemning brown eyes. "He's dead, Draco, and it's your fault. You pushed him."
Draco hadn't meant for this to happen. He hadn't meant to drive Harry to the point of suicide. He loved him. He wanted to be with him. Harry had been the one. Now he was gone. Hermione was right. "It is my fault," Draco whispered, the tears flooding his eyes again. He sobbed, gripping the sink basin tightly. The white porcelain was cold in his hands, like ice against his skin.
The world would be forever cold now. Harry was his warmth. Harry was his everything. Harry was dead, and so was Draco's heart. He was alone, trapped in a world of ice and snow--no chance for happiness again. Voldemort would win the war and the world as they knew it would end. There was no hope for victory without Harry.
Death would bring him back to Harry. Death would give them a new beginning, an eternity in each other’s arms. Death would be a blessing.
Draco closed his eyes and opened them again. Harry was there beside him smiling, as real and as beautiful as Draco remembered him. Draco smiled, too. Harry turned and slipped out the door. Draco followed, his steps sharp against the stone floor. He looked around him, caught sight of Harry disappearing around the corner. He followed, walking as quickly as he could. He was here. Harry was alive. Hermione had been wrong.
He followed Harry up two flights of stairs, around another corner and down a long corridor, up more stairs. They were in the astronomy tower. Draco stepped out to the open balcony, leaned against the railing. He and Harry had met here so often over the past year. This had been their sanctuary.
The wind picked up, ruffling his hair. The rain had stopped and the clouds began to thin out, parting to reveal the full moon. Something moved in the darkness, heading right for him through the sky. It was Harry, soaring through the night on his Firebolt. The wind blew his hair back and his eyes sparkled with the strange light that always filled them when he flew. It was the only time Draco saw him truly happy.
"Come flying with me, Draco," Harry called. He held his hand out to the blonde. Draco reached out to him but he was too far away. He called out to him, stretching his hand out through the open air. He stepped onto the railing. It shortened the distance between them, but not by much.
"I want to fly, Draco. Come with me, love."
"I can't! Harry, help me! I can't..." Draco started to cry once more-- heavy, desperate sobs. He climbed up higher on the rail, reaching farther out across the open night air. A few more feet, just a few more and he would be able to touch him.
"Come fly with me, Draco, and we'll be free." Draco stepped up to the top of the rail and onto the other side. He stretched his arm out farther--just another inch or two. He could just touch the tip of Harry's fingers. His a went out farther, his foot leaving the railing. He lept out into the air, wrapped his hand around Harry's, and he was flying again.
They found his body the next morning at the foot of the astronomy tower. His silver eyes were closed and a small smile graced his lips. Those who saw him agreed that he looked peaceful, even happy. He was free.