Disclaimer: Don't own it. Just don't sue me.
Warnings: This is not meant for anyone who doesn't ship D/H completely. It just starts when their relationship is there. Also, I edited this myself for lack of a beta at the moment. Editing is not my strong point. If anyone knows someone who might be willing to beta for me that would be very much appreciated.
The blonde collapses on his knees in front of the tombstone. Placing a black flower on top of the white grave, he clenches his jaw.
"I hate you. God, I hate you. I always have. I'll never stop hating you." He shudders and inhales deeply.
"Why do you always have to be the bloody hero? It killed me to watch you sacrifice yourself for the bloody cause. The other deatheaters were cheering when you fell. You probably would've liked to see Bellatrix's face. She was still laughing when Neville killed her. You like irony like that. I didn't believe you were actually gone. The Boy-Who-Lived. They called you that in the prophet the next day. I laughed; I wanted to kill the stupid reporter. Oh God." Tears begin to form in his gray eyes.
"Who do you think you are? Leaving like that. It's not fair. It looked Granger and Weasley were about to die themselves. It isn't fair they're allowed to grieve and I'm not. You always said after the war was over we would tell everyone and piss them off." He pauses and closes his eyes, his wet pointed features contorting into something that is almost a smile.
"You know how much I love pissing people off. I haven't enjoyed it much since you left. You were always to most fun to piss off. Your left eye would open wide, while your right glared. You looked like a…. frog… or something. The war is over now…. I still haven't told anyone. I know you want me to shut up. I can't. I'm not like you. I like having you just be mine sometimes. Call me selfish. I don't care. God, aren't I pathetic. Talking to a corpse? Like you could hear me…. I hear you sometimes, laughing at me, yelling at me. I know it's wrong. But, I like hearing these voices sometimes. I want you to come back so bad. I― need you Potter. I'm just like another fool who depended on you― who killed you." Tears are now streaming down his face. He begins again haltingly.
"The night before… you said you loved me. I didn't say anything back. Because you were being an ass again. I was mad at you." He pauses. "You knew, oh God, you knew. You knew. You knew you were going to fucking die. You knew and you didn't tell me." He breaths in sharply his breath raged. He hits the grave screaming and sobbing until blood comes from his pale knuckles.
"You selfish bastard. It would be easier for you that way. Did you ever think how much harder it would be for me? Of course not. You didn't have to deal with that, because you were dead. Do you know what my last words to you were? I told you to go save the bloody world. I told you I didn't care. I. Hate. You. Do you realize I never said I loved you back? I was lying. It was okay though, because I figured we would come back from battle and fight, but it would be okay. We would fight, we would kiss, we would shag―, and it would be okay. It wasn't this time. I didn't even get to say goodbye. You fell, your followers crowded around…. and I? I― as soon as Crabbe was cursed― I ran. I guess looking back on it; I should have stayed. Let myself be killed. I was mad. And scared, I guess I wasn't as ready to die as you were. I stood and listened to the two sides fighting even after both their leaders were dead. I listened and I kept seeing you dying over and over again. That night was terrible, but it kept getting worse. You continued to affect me even when you were dead. I don't understand how you can do that to me. Then again you have always had a large effect on me" He stops to halfheartedly smirk, though tears are still coming steadily out of his eyes.
"You… make me want to die. You not being here, you not telling me I'm an asshole, you not being a conceited prick—kills me. I don't understand myself around you. You always made me question the world that seemed so clear to me. You made me hate myself because I couldn't understand. Even now I can't figure out how you make me hurt to the point where I will cut into my skin just to see if there is still a type of pain that can be healed with a charm." He shivers and grits his teeth, his stomach convulsing in sobs as he holds them out of his throat.
"I went to your funeral. I stayed in the back hiding, and hating the people who were crying so openly. Who were aloud to cry like that. How did they know you? People spoke out you— how wonderful you were. I hated them. They still made you the bloody hero. No one talked about how human you actually were. No one mentioned the things that really make me love…" He stops, frozen by his words. He stares at the grave. He shakes, closes his eyes looking furious.
"Yes, you caught me okay? I love you. I love you. Happy now? I fucking love you. I love you. I hate myself for it. I thought maybe if I didn't actually love you. Maybe if I could convince myself it was just some weird infatuation. Maybe then the pain would go away maybe then I could move on and not have to spend every bloody second of my life caring." He breathes heavily and pounds his hand down on the stone again.
"But it didn't work. Everyday got harder. Every time I tried to forget, there you were. I hate you for making me love you. I hate you for loving me. I hate you for leaving me. You just keep leaving me Potter. Everyday I become more alive and you continue to rot. Parts of you are slowly going away from me forever. I can't remember what you look like when you wake up in the morning, or the exact number of secret freckles on your left— or your right--- leg. I miss these pieces of you so much. Nothing will bring them back. You're dying more and more each day. You are just going to keep fading until I can't even touch you in my dreams anymore. I can't let you go. I can't stand living. But, I'm not strong enough to die. Don't tell me I didn't try—because I did. I tried to so hard." He squeezes his eyes shut and bites his cracked lip.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe things would be better if I told someone. I'd be able to move on the smallest bit, let go some more, and push past this state of insane grief which has been…. all of me since you left. I do want it go away—I think. Potter, it's been six months to the day since—since you died. Nothing has gotten easier. It's gotten worse. I guess I came here hoping you'd tell me what to do, or some small piece of you would be here waiting for me. But you aren't here at all. Just your stupid worshiped bones." He tears up three flowers that had been planted by the grave and flings them at the stone.
"Bye." He turns and stomps away.
He bows his head and clears the tears from his face. He nearly stumbles into four figures. He tries to duck out of their way and continue when he feels a fist against his face.
"What the hell was that for?" He looks up to see a tall man with flaming red hair. His eyes are filled with hate and his face is subdued with grief, even his freckles look pale.
"What the hell are you doing here? The Ministry let you off because Snape said you were a spy with him. I know you weren't, and I'm not going to let you go so easily. You stay away from his grave. I won't let you… desecrate it." He raises his arm to punch Draco again, but Draco has already hit him in the stomach.
"Big word, Weasley. I'm impressed."
Ron submits a blow to his face again, and is about to repeat the action when the woman by his side steps forward.
"Ron—stop it. Not today. Malfoy, just tell us why you're here."
"Sorry Granger it isn't going to happen. I let you get on with your little hero-worship." Draco sighs heavily and walks away.
Only the girl with feather like blonde hair and the wide deep eyes noticed the tear stains on his cheeks and his red eyes. Only she saw the grief seeping from his pores. She smiled to herself and whipped her own tears silently from her eyes.
The title is the name of a Buffy episode which is the main reason I used it. It was thought of by the lovely closetdramafreak.