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Soul and body. Are these tied to one another?
Death. When he'd imagined death, he imagined frizzed winter. Body against satin silk, pure white; nothing but the ghost of his wrong doings at the foot of his last resting place.
A brief childhood anecdote for you.
Sometimes death came to him in the bottomless stare of his father. Only to realize the same expression mimicked on his own face in the mad eyes of his senile aunt. Sometimes death came to him in the unyielding touch of his mother, firm with a sense of solace. Sometimes death came to him in the face of his empty room.
Sometimes…death came to him in the silence of his own home.
And when death finally arrived, it came with a resounding strike of thunder.
***
He watched his own hand creep up his abdomen, shirt soiled with blood. He watched his own face struggling to form an expression in his clouded mind. Without realizing, his eyes water. The heavy clumps of his eyelashes bat against the roof of his cheeks, dusting them with droplets of tears.
The glass held in his grasp moments ago, clatters to the ground and shatters into millions of pieces; he staggers, feet struggling to find solid ground. A warm palm slides up his waist to his shoulder and finally his neck; gripping the back of his hair tight- it pulls hard enough to leave him dizzy.
"M-mhm…Harry?"
In a confusing mix of events, he soughts for the comfort of his lover. As if to respond to his question, Harry noses at his collarbones before kissing the singular beauty mark that adorns his neck.
"Yes, Love?"
It takes him a moment to catch upto his tongue and he wills his mind to focus.
“I feel faint."
There's almost a certain childish innocence to the way Draco half mutters and half slurs at his words, slumping further against his hold. And the confusion only blazes a brighter fire in his belly. He uses the hold he has on his hair to jerk his head back yet again and kiss him full on the lips, moaning low when Draco gives him easy access despite his body succumbing to the blood loss.
He feels it in the tremore of his hands, feels it in the half lidded eyes of his, feels it in the way his limbs start to go limp that he uses his own hip as a leverage to pin the other man down- groaning when the bulge of his pants flit against the other.
His lips twitch at the sight of Draco struggling against his mind: struggling to stay breathing.
"Harry…".
The dilation of his irises leaves a sliver of gray while the rest is consumed in a never ending abyss of darkness. They were glassy and sheened over and Harry watched the life trickle out of them drop by drop. He gave an indulgent hum, mouthing at the other's neck.
The scarred skin of his chest catches on Harry's tongue as presses the flat of it against his sternum. There was a certain thrill pricking in his veins as he willed his body forward. Although old, the memories were etched onto his brain. Forever burned in his mind. Of Draco, of him, bleeding out in the first floor bathroom.
It's ironic, he thinks. A wizard capable of casting curses fatal enough to kill you…opts to use something as simple as a knife. Neither flinch as it clatters to the ground and lands in a bloody heap of glass.
A blink. A second one. And then, eyelids flicker shut. Snowy lashes brushing against the pad of his cheeks one last time before sliding close.
The high of his adrenaline rush slowly fades down and the other's body is completely at his mercy. He gently lowers them both, mindful of the shards of glass scattered.
He's light with his finger as he brushes it across Draco's cheek, just under his eye. Kisses each of his eyelids, once, twice and finally presses a soft kiss to his forehead.
Makes sure to drag his lips on the faded mess of the dark mark on Draco's arm before mouthing:
"So beautiful, Draco…so utterly beautiful."