(final rest)
(F i n a l r e s t)
death.
Heavy rain pelted down upon them, making it impossible to see where they were going. The ground was slippery and more than one had already fallen and not gotten back up. Still, they could not stop. Not now. Not yet.
Hadrian ignored his burning lungs and aching muscles, his crumbling stomach and pulsating headache. His water soaked clothes dragged him down and his boots were covered in mud. A sudden, by him unnoticed slope, pumped his adrenaline up some, made him loose his footing for but a moment before he continued running. He’d twisted his ankled, but the pain of that was the least of his worries.
The air was getting thin and his gaze hazy, dark dots appeared in his vision that, no matter how many times he blinked, just wouldn’t go away.
That wasn’t good.
Something rushed past him, barely brushing against him, just enough to have his magic snatch at it. It was another Magical. Good.
Returning once more to its own, Hadrian’s magic coiled tightly around him, like a second set of skin he had never been aware of; tight and close by, but ready to lash out at a moment’s notice.
Hadrian had noticed it doing that more and more often as the months passed. Or maybe it had always been like this and he simply hadn’t noticed. It might have freaked him out if he hadn’t lost his wand — like so many others, too many — and was now unable to use his beloved magic. Now, instead, the magic did it all by itself.
Hadrian couldn’t be more thankful for it. Most of the time anyway.
His short pants quickened when his ears picked up the unmistakable rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun.
Fuck. He’d thought they weren’t near a Muggle base. Or really anything.
Ignoring the blinding rain, Hadrian took a sharp turn and continued on forward, hopefully away form the Muggles.
His aching legs were getting heavier by the second and he felt like he breathed more water than air.
Hadrian kept on running, kept on breathing, his magic kept on propelling him forward.
The rat-a-tat-tat rat-a-tat-tat’ed in his head.
Step step step.
Breathe.
Rat.
Step step step.
Breathe.
Tat.
Step slide flail step.
Bre— cough.
Tat Tat.
Step step step.
Breathe.
Rat.
Step st— Hadrian went down like a stone. His mind blanked.
Excruciating pain spread through his body, originating in his chest and paralysing every limb down to his fingers and toes.
In vain, Hadrian tried to fight through the fog quickly taking over this thoughts. He needed to… he needed… Move… Quick!…
It was useless. He could not move, could not ignore the pain that kept him down, could not ignore the sudden silence the world had fallen into.
Rain still pelted his face and his hands found nothing to hold onto, only slippery mud and blood. His blood.
He could not breathe. Blood filled his lungs and water his mouth.
The black spots danced in front of his vision, growing and growing and enveloping the world as he had come to know it.
At last, his heart came to a stuttering halt.
xXxXxXx
When Hadrian came to again, he only had enough time to take in the bars surrounding him before he succumbed back to the darkness.
The second time he was lucid enough to question his lack of clothing and feel an overwhelming hate for the Muggles at keeping him in a cage like a wild beast.
The time after that, he realised that they did not keep him locked up, but rather conserved, as every other cage in the room held not people but dead bodies. Some already partly dissected, their intestines lining their cage and the room. Luckily, Hadrian lost consciousness before he could empty his already empty stomach.
It was the fourth time that he looked for a way out, but with his magic depleted and his wand gone, this fruitless endeavour ended with him once more slipping into unconsciousness.
The fifth time he awoke, he became aware of how lucky he actually was to not have been taken apart already, as that would have majorly sucked. Instead he thanked his magic that the Muggles had not realised that he was still alive and that he looked so unremarkable, so muggle, so unlike some magical creatures they had here (it was horrible, but not as horrible as being dissected alive).
He knew it was only a matter of time until they realised their lucky shot to his chest had vanished and his heart beat once more. Still, Hadrian saw no use in wasting precious energy trying to break out when he had already established it impossible. Maybe some Magicals would raid this place soon.
In the meantime though… Hadrian looked around himself. There was nothing to do here but wait in his cramped little cage; he was barely able to move as it was.
Breathing shallowly, Hadrian raised a shaking hand to his chest. A little whole was still there, but the pain had already lessened greatly to when he had first woken up. He could also breath easier, no blood in his lungs would see to that.
His fingers were wet with blood. Looking at them, a mirthless laugh rumbled in Hadrian’s chest.
Red.
It was the last colour he wanted to see right now. Not when everything was red.
Red, like blood.
Red, like the Cruciatus. The Muggles would surely love that curse.
Hadrian wiped the blood off of his hand, unbothered by the fact that it was his leg that was now coated in this colour. It wasn’t like it was that noticeable in all the black and blue and green of his thigh.
It looks like those squiggly runes Hermione was always on about. A line here, another there, none holding any meaning to him.
Hadrian snorted.
“Oh, I’m so dark,” he muttered to himself. “Using blood to draw runes. Ohh, dark magic, ohh. You shall heal me.”
He rolled his eyes. It all seemed so… ridiculous, looking back. Dark magic, Light magic, what else? Grey magic? Pink magic? It was all just magic, wasn’t it? So what if a Muggle died? It’s not like there weren’t others that… still… lived…
Hadrian stared, transfixed, at his leg. The blood he could have sworn he had so artfully wiped off there was gone. Not a single speck remained. Neither did the black, or blue, or green.
His skin was unblemished, his thigh not causing any pain. It had healed. His magic, his blood, his… what?
xXxXxXx
Hadrian stared at the Goblin incomprehensible.
He opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally let an eloquent “what?” fall from his lips. Because what?
“I’ve seen that bomb take ye apart, laddie,” the gruff Goblin repeated, much more graphic than before. “Saw yer head an’ body an’ brain sep'rate. Ye were dead.”
“But I’m not dead.” He wasn’t… the bomb — it had missed him, hadn’t it? He’d been far enough away from it to really actually kill him. There was no way he had been… that he was —
“Obviously,” the Goblin quipped. But there was something else in his eyes, something that was neither bloodlust nor sarcasm. “Ye best practise dodging and hiding. Tis cannot be comfortable for ye.”
The Goblin hobbled off, his bloody axe lying lazily on his shoulder and leaving Hadrian rooted to the spot.
No. The cold settling in his stomach had absolutely nothing to do with anything the Goblin had implied. He was just cold. Yeah. Cold. It should be slowly getting closer to winter, shouldn’t it? He must just be cold.
xXxXxXx
The bomb got Hadrian this time.
He could see it, he had accidentally stepped on it, after all. Hadrian froze for a moment, before a relieved smile light up his dirty face. Finally. Finally he would escape this hell. Finally he would get to hold his son again. Finally he would see all his friends and family. He would miss Draco… but finally.
The bomb exploded and ripped Hadrian to shreds with it.
He was dead before he could process the pain.
He was free.
— He was alive and he could feel the pain.
He was not free.
Out of the corner of his eye, Hadrian could make out little Teddy’s blue hair and smiling face, his tiny hands holding tight onto the Wolfsbane and Hortensia.
Tears of pain and frustration and fear distorted the view of his beautiful son. His lovely little flower.
Lying there in the crater and staring into the grey sky, his body was repaired part by part, atom by atom. Every time he fell unconscious — died — he woke up again. Every time his body was a bit more whole. Every time his soul shattered a bit more.
Why could he not die? Why?
All the while, Teddy was there next to him, holding his flowers and smiling at him. Like an angel. Like he was waiting for Hadrian — for his daddy — to finally join him.
And Hadrian wept as he tried and tried and could not.
Time was meaningless to Hadrian right then, but somewhen, the Goblin who had warned him joined Teddy, his gaze holding that same emotion as when he had told Hadrian. The emotion he had not been able to place then but could now. Grief.
The Goblin was grieving him. Hadrian grieved with him.
xXxXxXx
A second bomb did not kill Hadrian either. Neither did a hundred bullets. The gas made him lose consciousness. Falling felt like flying with a squash at the end.
A rolling head did not allow him to join the Headless Hunt, a dragon’s flame hurt as much as Fiendfyre. Hadrian awoke from the Fey’s sleep and had an allergic reaction to all kinds of poison.
He tried to drown himself once. And he drowned. And drowned. And continued to keep drowning. (He kept away from water after that.)
Somehow, the Muggles had taken a back seat to everything going on. Sure, they were dangerous, and creative, and would burn — and they did — but it’s not like there was anything left to safe. In the end, they would die.
(Why would they get to die when he didn’t? How was this fair?)
Sightless, glassy eyes stared into the moonless night.
He’d never wanted to be the Boy-Who-Lived. Never.
Maybe he should have boarded the train in the forest that day.
He felt so alone, even though he wasn’t— He wasn’t! He wasn’t alone! He had—
xXxXxXx
Draco regarded Hadrian with tired eyes. Merlin, he was so tired. All he wanted was to hold Hadrian — his incredible Hadrian — and fall asleep.
It hurt. Merlin did it hurt to look at this bright soul in front of him, knowing he would always awaken again. Knowing he would never stay asleep, as he should, as he deserved.
“I need you to Avada me.”
‘It won’t work,’ Draco wanted to say. ‘You know that. It won’t. It never will. I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, Hadrian. I’m sorry.’
Draco blinked back the tears and swallowed the lump in his throat. Instead he nodded.
“Okay,” he said. Hadrian gave a firm nod and finally allowed himself to relax a bit.
He would be free. Any minute now. If anyone could do it, then it was Draco.
Hadrian stepped closer and held out his hand. Draco grasped it in a firm grip.
The soft skin Hadrian had always related him with was long since gone. He was sure that whatever Draco had once associated with him was also nothing but a distant memory anymore.
A second, a breath, a wish and —
It was a beautiful light, the Killing Curse. Bright like a magnificent follower after a long winter, the first speck of color in a desolate wasteland.
That’s what it was. Beautiful. Only it wasn’t winter, and this wasn’t a flower.
When it hit Hadrian — a boy no older than a child, a boy who had seen this spell too often, a boy who used to shy away from it, a boy who was a boy no longer — he smiled.
He looked at Draco and smiled.
He looked at the boy — a boy no older than a child, a boy who had seen this spell too often, a boy who used to shy away from it, a boy who was a boy no longer — he smiled.
He looked at the one he loved, at the one he wanted to have a family with, who became his family, and fell in love all over again.
Hadrian smiled.
The Killing Curse — so many years bitterly hated and demonised, but now sought after and cherished — reflected in Hadrian’s brilliant eyes.
When the curse finally landed, Draco thought that he had never seen a more horrifyingly beautiful sight. It stole Draco’s breath. It shattered his heart.
Hadrian glowed from within, seemed to come alive through the spell that took souls. Kept them safe.
Draco’s throat constricted around the sob that wanted so desperately to break free. But, by Merlin, Hadrian’s eyes… Circe, his eyes shone with Death.
(They always did.)
When the Killing Curse hit Hadrian, the boy continued living, just like he had always done.
A tear rolled down gaunt cheeks.
xXxXxXx
“I want to get bonded.” It was a bright night, explosions lighting up the sky like fireworks. Draco and Hadrian were together for once, not separated as they so often were nowadays.
Hadrian whirled around at the sudden question, the water basin in which he’d tried to get the most dirt out of his few remaining clothes immediately forgotten. Draco smiled at his dumbfounded expression.
”Will you be mine as I will be yours?”
“What?”
“I want to get bonded.” Draco repeated himself, shrugging, as if it were that simple. Hadrian’s mouth hung open as he could only stare at the blond. “I want to bind my life to yours.”
The implications of that whirled through Hadrian’s mind. Being bonded, being bound so intimately to another person you wouldn’t be able to know where he ended and Draco started, being loved so dearly another being would even consider the thought of such a notion.
Hadrian felt faint. Unbridled joy stretched his lips into an effortless grin. His heart was bursting with the love he felt for the blond in front of him and his magic sung in ecstasy; it reached out and played with Draco’s, his familiar magic easily dancing with Hadrian’s own.
He wanted to say yes, wanted it this simple desperately, wanted to scream it from the rooftops and whisper it into the night, but —
“Why?” Asked Hadrian incomprehensible, the reality of the situation, his situation, dropping on him like a bucket of ice water. He forced his magic back, away from Draco and towards himself, needing it to shield him from the one he didn’t need shielding from. “Why would you—? With me—? But you know that I— and then you—“
It didn’t matter how hard he tried or how understanding and sympathetic Draco looked — his hands twitching as though he wanted to reach out to Hadrian, to hold him and never let go — Hadrian could not make sense of Draco’s beautifully stupid wish.
“Why would you throw away your death like that?”
Draco only smiled.
“Because I love you,” he said, as if it were that simple.
The wounded noise that left Hadrian at that was a bit too close to a sob for him to be comfortable with. He couldn’t afford to be so emotional, not now, not here, but — Draco.
“I love you too, you idiot.” Forcing his lips into a smile, even as his heart shattered as he once more lost the last of his family, Hadrian stepped back, away from his love now reaching for him. “And that’s why I don’t want to get bonded. Not to you.”
He turned away as Draco’s sweet façade crumbled.
His heart wouldn’t be able to recover if he had to watch this. And… he might say something he would regret later.
This, Hadrian knew, he wouldn’t regret; denying Draco, not getting bonded.
If it kept Draco from having to live in this hell, if it kept him from dying over and over again without all the benefits of actually dying, then it would all be worth it.
“Hadrian… Harry…” Hadrian flinched.
He didn’t want to be called that. He was Hadrian, the soldier, the killer, the death. He could not — would never be and didn’t want to be — that little boy; that little boy had had dreams and wishes and such an innocence Hadrian would never get back, didn’t want to get back. Because with that innocence came pain and confusion and trust where there shouldn’t be any.
That child had died when Teddy had. (He would not return.)
“Don’t call me that.” His voice was sharp and clipped. It was Draco who flinched this time. (And it took all of Hadrian’s will to not take it back, to not apologise, to not take Draco into his arms and promise him his soul, over and over again.) (As if it didn’t already belong to him.)
Hadrian took a deep breath.
“I won‘t get bonded.“
Draco just stared at him with far too much understanding in his grey eyes.
“Why not?“ he asked. “You love me, you said it yourself. We are each other’s future.”
Hadrian turned away and swallowed heavily. “There is no future. Not here. Not for us.” His voice was heavy as he said it, he was barely able to speak around the lump in his throat.
His jaw set, Draco stared at Hadrian intensely. “There is,” he stated firmly. “We both know it.”
Hadrian could feel his resolve starting to crumble as hot anger burnt in his stomach. His eyes stung.
Why did Draco have to make it so difficult? He didn’t want to get bonded, damn it! He didn‘t!
“Why can’t you leave this alone?!” Hadrian snarled at him and whirled around. Undeterred, Draco stood his ground. “Why don’t you leave me alone!”
Draco looked at him with heated eyes, his chest heaving with every breath he took. “Because I promised!” He nearly screamed, his voice breaking halfway through. Tears glistened in his gorgeous eyes. “I promised,” he repeated once more firmly. “I told you I would not leave you, not like everyone else, be it by choice or by death. I won’t. And if you don’t want to get bonded that’s alright, I’ll just find another way to stay with you. But I will not leave you.”
And Hadrian knew that Draco meant it, that he wouldn’t leave, not matter how much he may push and how many insults he would hurl at him. Draco would stay. (He had always stayed.) Still —
“No.” Hadrian shook his head. “That’s not fair.” But Draco didn’t back down. Teary eyes continued to bore into Hadrian’s heart.
“Draco.” Draco still did not leave, did not make to say anything. Everything that needed to be said, he had already voiced.
Hadrian clenched his jaw, his aching eyes blazing. ”I will kill you,” he threatened. “Don’t think I won’t! But I will not let you do this to yourself!”
Finally, finally, Draco reacted. He narrowed his eyes.
“That’s not your decision.” His voice was as hard as steel, his resolve just as unbendable. ”I know what I want and I am more than willing to do it.”
“But you can’t!” Hadrians voice broke, his desperation finally seeping in. “If we get bonded, then you can’t die, so that would mean… then… then you… they’ll hurt you!… They will!—”
No more words were spoken as Draco stepped silently forward and took the shaking man into his arms. He could feel hot tears soaking through his dirty shirt, could feel the tremors wracking through Hadrian’s body and the desperate way his hands were fisted into his bulletproof vest, holding him tight and pulling him in, a sharp contrast to the words that had been spoken by Hadrian mere seconds before.
Soothingly, he ran a hand through Hadrian’s long locks and rubbed his back in small circles.
“It’s alright,” he said softly. It was a lie, they both knew it. Nothing was alright. Nothing.
Hadrian did not react, he just continued to cling to Draco, silent and unmoving; not even the deafening whistles of deadly bombs and the shaking of the earth were eliciting a reaction.
Gently, Draco placed a light kiss on Hadrian’s forehead.
“It hurts, I know. Watching the person you love beg for death, willing to try everything if there is even a slim chance for success, hurts. I know that. But do you know what hurts more? Not being able to be there for you. Not being able to be next to you and instead having to watch you wither away, disappear from a distance.”
Hadrian shivered as a piercing pain spread through his body, guilt turning his stomach.
If he were to open his mouth now, he would never be able to stop crying.
“Let’s try this bond, okay? It’s a soul bond, it would connect our souls and make us one. My parents always warned about this specific one because —“ it is forever, there is no dissolving of the bond, never, “— if one dies — if one part of the soul dies — the other dies too. You would be unable to live without me. You would die. You would finally be free.”
Slowly, Hadrian raised his head, his red rimmed eyes searching Draco’s face for a lie, any kind of trick that he knew the blond would pull if it got him what he wanted; if it meant Hadrian would be safe, would not be alone.
But he found none, only love and understanding and sadness and grief were swirling in those beautiful grey eyes.
Nibbling on his bottom lip, Hadrian resigned himself. He nodded.
Draco was right, he didn’t want to be alone, not anymore. He had already been alone all his life and he was tired of it. And if bonding meant Draco would be with him in life and in death, forever, then he would do it.
Draco could die, and if he could, then Hadrian could too. Finally.
xXxXxXx
Hadrian looked around himself. He let his eyes slide over the fallen rubble and the collapsed towers, over the caved in ceilings and broken belongings. Instead he focused on the colourful flowers growing in the destruction, their delicate nature a stark contrast to the harsh reality the world has become.
Hogwarts was still marvellous. And just as awe-inspiring and welcoming as it has always been. Now, however, it was no longer a school. Instead, it resembled the most wast, most beautiful flower field Hadrian had ever seen.
He wanted to scream. To shout and yell and hurt —
Familiar warmth surrounded him and returned life to his frozen insides. It filled him with longing for a time long gone, when his worst horrors were Tom Riddle and his little cult. Oh, what a time that had been.
Hogwarts’ magic enveloped him in her hug, giving him all the love and security she had surely also given everyone else in the castle.
Hadrian closed his eyes for a moment, just a second, and enjoyed that feeling of safety and home Hogwarts had always given him. It was a last goodbye. He and Draco needed to move again, and even if he were to return someday, he doubted the magic that made Hogwarts would still be there.
Over a thousand years had she stood proud, secure and defiant in the face of war after war after war. She had been a home to millions of kids, had watched them grow up and into their own.
There were no kids left for her to protect. And this war would be her last.
The flowers that graced her ancient halls, they, too, would be gone soon. But for now, let them have this, let them bloom and grow and paint this grave in the most beautiful colours; let them liven up these deaths.
A rough thumb traced the velvety petal, painting the vibrant orange a deep red.
The finger halted.
Slowly, as though in a trace, Hadrian raised his hand. He watched the red pearls glisten in the poisonous morning sun, the warm sun rays leaving angry blisters on his exposed skin.
Pushing the sudden, unreasonable rage that swirled up inside of his down, down, Hadrian sighed. He wiped his bleeding hand on his pants, trying to get rid of most of the blood, before putting on his ripped gloves.
Hadrian’s eyes surveyed the ruins of Hogwarts around him. A few feet away Draco was incinerating the last of the children’s bodies, letting what tiny magic still clung to them color the white daisy Hadrian had conjured for him, a deep lilac. They had done it for all the kids. Each and every one of them. It was the least they could do.
Draco turned and their eyes met. He nodded.
With a last look around, the two of them took off and stepped securely into the confusing maze that were Hogwarts’ dungeons. After all, there was one last thing they still had to do.
xXxXxXx
Hadrian and Draco were severely underdressed for an occasion of this renown; their clothes dirty and ripped, too loose in some places and too tight in others.
They were kneeling on the ground, sticks and stones digging into their shins.
The silence was all encompassing, the darkness pressing against them. Only a lonesome candle spared them some feeble, flickering light.
Hadrian took a deep breath before forcing shaking fingers to loosen the clasps holding his vest closed.
Click. One open.
Click. The next.
Click. Click. Click.
Slowly, he let his vest fall down onto the ground, his ripped pullover following suit. Opposite him, Draco did the same, their eyes never leaving those of the other, until both were naked from the waist up.
Black and blue spots graced their abdomen and arms, barely healed scars were almost everywhere and dried blood was painted all over them. The candle sent shadows flickering over their skin, enunciating their sunken in stomachs and gaunt cheeks.
Hadrian could not imagine a sight more beautiful. Because this was Draco, the one who sent his heart raising and who knew him better than anyone, better even than he himself sometimes. He was the one who, even now, still looked at him as though he was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
Wordlessly, Draco held out his hand. Hadrian grasped it. Immediately, their magics surged down to their connected hands; they swirled around and with each other, feeling, judging, connecting.
“Hadrian James Sirius Grímr,” Draco intoned. His voice was quiet, but it felt like it had an echo to it that to filled the room; like there was a purpose in Hadrian’s name, spoken by Draco, that had not been there before, like he was speaking directly to his heart.
Hadrian took a shuddering breath and rightened his thoughts, then he spoke.
“Draconis Lucius Severus Malfée.” As the magic in the room built up, an unbidden memory rose to the surface, of the time he’d first found out his name had not been Harry James Potter. How betrayed he had felt, before someone explained it to him.
“They didn’t know any better,” they’d said. “Because you don’t tell people you don’t trust your real name. People not your family.” He had not really understood it then, but — oh Circe, did he understand it now.
They could feel the sound reverberating in their blood, in their magic; this mystical force building up and around them, charging the air with joy and bereavement, with love and loss, with forever and never and always. It sunk into their skin, into their hearts and souls.
Around them, the rune circle, drawn in their blood, lit up and their heartbeat got trapped in the air. A sound wave of brilliance tore through their hearts and minds, whispering long forgotten promises into their ears.
Hadrian took a deep breath and then picked up the rusty knife in front of him. For a second, he hesitated, but when Draco just nodded, his tiny smile barely visible in the dim lightning, Hadrian set the tip of the knife against Draco’s chest and let his magic guide him; guide him in carving elaborate swirls and lines, never before seen runes and ancient pledges.
Hadrian carved his pain and hurt, his grief and loss and love and happiness and let it bleed out of Draco.
Blood pooled out and down white skin, over scars and bruises and scraps. Never once did Draco and Hadrian separate.
Unflinchingly, Draco reached up and dipped a finger into his own blood. His lips were painted a blooming red when he kissed his fingers before he lifted his hand and touched Hadrian’s forehead and cheeks, his mouth and nose with it.
His bloodied fingers reached out and clasped the dripping knife out of Hadrian’s steady hand.
Grey eyes met death green ones. Shadows danced around them; their smoky limbs caressed their wounds and glided over their skin. These shadows — they lingered at the edge of their vision, tempting them to look, just a bit closer, just a bit more, but Hadrian — he only had eyes for the Life in front of him.
His skin opened easily under the sharp edge of the knife, his blood flowed freely.
Hadrian felt no pain. Not when new air filled his lungs and he could finally breath for the first time, after suffocating his whole life.
Every cut, every line, every drop of blood reverberated with Draco’s pain and hurt, his grief and loss and love and happiness. He led it bleed out of Hadrian freely, and he let it happen willingly.
Hadrian was not aware of why he lifted his hand and dipped his fingers into his blood, why he brought them up to press a single, desperate kiss to them. He only knew he needed to do it; needed to trace Draco’s forehead and his cheeks, his mouth and nose with it.
He needed it as he needed air to breath and blood to live.
Hadrian could not stop when he could feel Draco’s skin cracking under his finger’s reverent touch; his body not as resistant to Basilisk venom as he had grown to be — neither of them cared.
They did not flinch when the old knife cluttered to the floor.
Panting, Draco used his blood stained hand to dip his fingers into Hadrian’s chest, mixing their blood together until there was only their blood.
Something tightened then.
Panting, Hadrian used his blood stained hand to dip his fingers into Draco’s chest, mixing their blood together until there was only their blood.
And it continued to grow tighter.
Their hands slid together and held on.
It festered and grew and —
Their lips touched, their noses, their foreheads rested against one another, glistening tears rolled down their cheeks.
An explosion of ecstasy. Fire traveled their veins and ice touched their minds. Air filled their lungs as new live grew within them and they were crying in earnest.
There was so much. So much. It left them drunk with not want to be sober. It left them drowning with no want to be saved. It was all encompassing and it was everywhere and nowhere.
It was too much. (It was just enough.)
Around them, the rune circle had vanished, the magic evaporated.
The candle was extinguished.
xXxXxXx
He wasn’t quite sure when the shadows receded or when their magics calmed down and draped itself over them, but at some point they did, and Hadrian opened his eyes to Draco staring back at him, tears in his eyes and on his cheeks, an equally overwhelmed expression on his face.
“Hey,” he managed, the sibilant hisses flowing from his tongue.
“Hey yourself,” Draco answered, his voice equally as drained and…
Hadrian blinked with tired eyes. “You… understand me?” Draco nodded, an astonished smile playing on his lips. “Can you…” feel me?
“Yeah,” he breathed. And he could. He could feel Hadrian’s heart beat in unison with his, could feel his magic as though it was his own. Weird shadows loitered in the corner of his eyes he did not want to think more about and his chest was filled with love and contentedness and belonging, he did not know how he could have lived before — how bereft he had had to live.
Distantly he could hear a near silent whistling and something nagged at him, but he could not bring himself to care. Not now. Not with his precious soul held securely in his arms. Not with Hadrian holding on just as tight.
The nagging turned into screaming. And Draco smiled and closed his eyes. He cradled his lovely Hadrian in his arms.
“I love you,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over Hadrian’s.
“I love you too,” Hadrian answered as he closed the distance between them.
The earth trembled as the bomb they’d both known had been coming destroyed the last remnants of Hogwarts.
The explosion made the rock walls begin to crumble down onto the floor and the already few remaining windows rattle and break, sending shards of sharp glass raining down on them.
Hadrian and Draco crashed into the rubble, their heads colliding with the cold stones with a dull thud. The loud and echoing boom was the last thing either of them heard before a high pitched ringing filled their ears.
Hadrian’s back flared with pain and his head pounded something fierce. He faded in and out of consciousness, barely aware of the fire the explosion had sparked licking at his already broken skin.
It didn’t take as long as it maybe should have for his body to grow accustomed to the pain; he laid there panting, his face streaked with tears as Death denied him once more.
Hadrian resigned himself to it — to a deathless life, and he closed his eyes as —
Wet, rasping breaths filled the stifling silence the world had fallen into. But Hadrian — his chest did not hurt, his breathing wasn’t hindered, so where? —
Draco.
Draco was alive.
Hadrian’s eyes snapped open as his magic immediately reached out to its counterpart.
His sight was hazy and everything hurt as he forced his arms to free his leg from under the collapsed wall. The sharp spike of pain brought tears into Hadrian’s eyes and had him gasp for breath, before he shoved the pain and all the other unnecessary feelings deep, deep behind his Occlumency shields.
On unsteady legs, he stumbled over to the broken figure his magic guided him to. Hadrian knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was Draco. His bonded. His soul.
And when he laid eyes on him and finally registered where this tugging and pulling in his magic came from, when he realised that it came from Draco, he fell to his knees.
Hadrian wept. He wept and grieved, cursing himself for building up his hopes, for his naïveté and tendency to lose and hurt everyone he held dear. Not even the notorious, unbreakable bonding had done its job: make two souls into one and kill both when one dies.
A wet gurgle.
But Draco did not die. Not when his chest caved in and his lungs filled with blood. His soul remained in the living world when his heart finally gave out and stuttered to a stop, when blood stopped gushing out of his body because there was nothing that kept it flowing.
Draco remained alive.
“No. No, no, no, no!” Hadrian cupped Draco’s rapidly cooling cheek, while his bonded looked at him with still eyes and his magic clung to his. “No, please, no… I hold your soul,” he gasped, the horrific revelation freezing his insides. “I hold your soul!” But you don’t have a body…
A sob tore out of his raw throat. “You are unable to die because of me. You will live!”
Draco did not disagree, did not argue or take him into his arms. He did not do the things he had always done for him, because he could not. Draco had a soul, his soul, but not a body.
Hadrian screamed and in the darkness of the room, brilliant, golden flames erupted and enveloped his beloved’s body.