A/N Set in the future. You should be able to guess the rest.

Blood on my Hands

It's been years. It's been forever, since I last stood in this place and watched him
walking down the stairs with his friends.

I run my hands over the stone walls, unyielding, cold and damp. They never used
to be so old. It was enchantment that made them stand tall and strong for so
many years, flown by in an instant. Gone in a flash.

Yet here's a darker stain.

When the Death Eaters kill, they leave no blood. In a way that makes them all the
more terrifying, all the more deadly. For without blood, it simply looks like sleep.
That's what I thought he was doing.


And when the boy who lived died, everyone gave up hope. What we didn't realise
then was that he'd not given up…was simply fighting the battle somewhere else.
He destroyed Voldemort from the inside out, and then it was over.

How many had slept? We still don't have exact numbers. All I know is that those
who mattered to me most were gone. I could list their names, you know. I only
survived through sheer luck at the crucial moments and my own skill in between.

Once I read Shakespeare.

It wasn't required by Hogwarts, of course. Shakespeare was a Muggle and
nothing more…but my parents advised me too. I didn't need asking twice. I
wanted to know everything, everything I could. I am Lady Macbeth.

There is blood on my hands, and they will never be clean.

For I am not a Death Eater. I killed him with cold steel and hate, and when he
died, the blood pooled around his body like a blossoming flower. I have slain a
dragon, and I'm not proud. In fact, I cried. He looked so beautiful. In all those
years, I never really looked at him before, and now I wish that I had.

High cheekbones and piercing blue eyes, the silvery white hair suited his angular
face. It had been rather pointed when we were younger, but age had given him a
stronger jawline, made him handsome. Made him perfect.

I am a murderer.

He didn't deserve to die, and I shouldn't have tried to kill him. I still see his face,
every night in my dreams he comes before me. Sometimes he laughs. Mostly we
sit together under a tree and talk. Soon we can be together again.
Falling backwards, I stifle a scream at the sudden pain. Tears spring to my eyes
and breath catches in my throat. He is there, in the shadows, stepping forward,
shining bright. The dragon offers me his hand and I know that whatever happens
the guilt is gone. I am free and light, shining as he does.

I try to take hold of him, but my palm slips from his and he shakes his head
before leaving.

There is blood on my hands once more.