By Aria DC al Fine
Synopsis: The death of him brings the death of the world
Disclaimer: HP belongs to JK Rowling. The statements 'the last day of forever' and 'for you, Draco, I will kill the world,' belongs to someone else too, though I can't remember who. I'll find out soon.
A/N: A drabble, written as a response to the many good angsty fanfictions I've read out there.
It's mad, madness to the very end, madness till the last day of forever. Lunacy runs rampant beyond unlimited horizons. Everyone can't stop screaming, they laugh hysterically and cry and tear their hair out of their scalps, raw and pinkish and bleeding and pulling their eyes out of their sockets and they were in so much pain, unbearable, eternal pain, with no relief – not in their days, nor in their nightmare-haunted nights – there are so many crystalline tears and crimson blood; it's mad, mad, madness to the very end. Everyone was reliving their mistakes, every single sin, every single regrets, every single sufferance and painful experience they wanted to forget. Hell brought upon earth. World succumbed to total darkness. No escape. No salvation.
And in the middle of it all, the least sane of all sat, cradling the dead body of his lover, who still decayed despite the preservation charm that had been cast on it, when he was shaking and unstable. Half of the corpse's face had rotted away, one eyeball, with apparent silvery iris that would have been beautiful when it was gleaming lively, falling from its socket, attached by only a thin string of decomposing muscle tissues, leaving the other half of the face intact in its cold beauty, the picture of an innocent angel sleeping on the lap of the Wizarding World's fallen Saviour. Parts of the body of the corpse too, like the face, had decayed, but the heart remained, held tightly in his slimy and muddy hand, and there were so much hair, long white blonde hair so white you cannot tell it apart from the bones it was covering futilely. The fallen Saviour's other hand was cupping the intact cheek with such tenderness, cradling it like it was the only thing he had, and while his dead green eyes, which was so dark they looked almost black, stared unfocusedly at the chaos in front of him, his lips trembled and his throat vibrated. His last words were much too soft for everyone to hear.
When the wind carried the empty, hollow whisper, it sounded, "For you, Draco, I will kill the world."