A Dying Flame

"Dark and difficult times lie ahead. Soon we must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy."

Albus Dumbledore

^*^*^*^^

Her lungs burn with the scorch of desperate breaths. It's all too much—the heartbreak, the helplessness, the betrayal. The fear . 

The forest surrounds her, wraps her in its cold and shadowed arms, branches slashing like sharpened claws. Their laughter echoes, merciless and loud, swallowing her own strangled sobs. She stumbles, tears streaming as fast as her frantic steps. Her resolve splinters as she waits for the searing blow, the sickening impact of a curse she can't outrun.

Pansy's vision is blurred, a smeared mix of tears and terror. Her heart hammers, a frantic drum, and every beat is another moment she can't let go of, another moment filled with pain. Her mind can't focus, jumping between memories and what she knows is inevitable. 

She sees his face, his trusting eyes, and stifles a cry. Her own tears taste bitter as they catch on her lips.

The forest feels endless. Trees loom like specters in the dim light, twisting paths that lead nowhere. Every shadow is a taunt, every rustle a promise of what's to come.

Footsteps crash behind her, so close they feel like they're inside her chest. She tries to block them out, to force herself forward, but she's drowning in their sound. Their mocking laughter bites worse than the winter chill, a cruel edge that slices through the thick, oppressive air.

Pansy struggles to see past her despair. She can't understand how it all fell apart so quickly, so completely. The betrayal crushes her, and each step feels like an act of defiance against the inevitability that looms over her. 

He was everything, everything . She chokes on her own grief as she remembers the hope they held onto, the promises they whispered.

The ground is uneven, roots twisting like cruel traps. Pansy forces herself on, the ache in her chest sharper than any branch tearing at her skin. She's sobbing, half-formed cries escaping in choked breaths. Her tears and pain blur into one, a single relentless force trying to drag her down.

Her thoughts return to betrayal. How could it all turn against them so completely? Her family. His family. She did everything for them, only to be cast aside. A fierce, jagged cry escapes her lips. She's running from more than curses—she's running from a truth she never wanted to see, a truth that shattered her heart before it could take shape.

Pansy feels them closing in. Voices separate from the cruel chorus: menacing, taunting, laced with venom. Each name they hurl at her is like a lash. She can't see them yet, but she knows they're there, knows it as surely as she knows she can't escape. Her foot catches on a root, and she crashes to her knees, raw despair filling her. For a moment, she wants to stop, to let it happen. But then she hears his voice, his laugh, sees the way he looked at her as they ran, and forces herself up.

Every second is agony. She remembers his eyes shining with trust, how even in their darkest moments, he believed. Her chest is on fire, an inferno of pain and heartbreak that consumes her. Her mind shuffles through memories of Henry, and she feels the fresh sting of losing him all over again.

There had been hope. A fragile, delicate thing they dared to touch. Now even the memory of that hope is tainted, overshadowed by the reality of betrayal. Pansy remembers holding him close, promising him they would be free. She chokes on her own lies, her own dreams that now mock her with their emptiness.

Her body screams with fatigue. She wants to surrender, to give in to the pain and the despair, to accept the ending that rushes to meet her. But she sees Henry, the warmth of his smile, and a fierce, desperate longing overtakes her. She wanted so much for him, so much for them both. She's still running, still forcing herself forward even though every step feels like a step deeper into the dark.

She stumbles again, her heart tearing with fresh loss. The life they imagined together—a life without fear, without betrayal—vanishes like a cruel illusion. They are right behind her now, and she knows she can't keep going. It's all been for nothing. It's all been for everything. 

She won't escape, but neither will she let them win. She'll meet her end thinking of Henry, of his light and his love.

With one last, ragged cry, she throws herself forward. Their laughter echoes as her body hits the ground, her last thoughts a silent wish for release.

 *^*^*^*^*

"You know what this means, right?" His eyes are bright and steady as he looks up at her.

She's at a loss for words. She wants to shake him, to wrap him in a cocoon of safety, to pull him away from this path that seems destined to destroy them both. 

Instead, she lets her heart shatter. "You're too young for this, Henry."

His smile is small but full of defiance. "You sound like you don't think we can do it."

The room is too quiet, every creak of the old manor echoing with tension. She struggles to match his certainty, the calm way he accepts what they're about to do. He's only a child, she thinks. He's everything. 

"I just—" Her voice cracks, an ugly tear through her composure. "You don't have to come with me."

"Then who would make sure you don't get into trouble?" he says, the jest only half-joking. The resolve in his voice pierces her.

"Henry." She wishes she could transfer her fear to him, her desperate need to see him safe. Instead, it crushes her. "If we get caught, if they find us—"

"They won't." His faith is unshakable, a solid wall against the trembling inside her. "I trust you, Pansy." The words should fill her with confidence. Instead, they break her heart all over again.

It's not the Death Eaters that she fears most; it's losing him, watching that spark extinguish in his eyes. "You can't trust them," she says, frantic, trying to make him see. "They'll never stop looking. Not for you."

His small hands, so like hers, find her fingers. She can't look at him without tears. "Then we'll just have to run faster," he says, and she hates how much she loves him, how much he reminds her of herself.

Outside, the wind howls like a warning. Inside, they are cocooned in their own fragile world of whispered promises and hurried plans. "We should leave now," she says, her voice trembling with urgency.

"Is everything ready?" Henry asks, practical even now.

"As ready as it will ever be." She tries to sound sure, to give him the reassurance she herself lacks. "Are you scared?"

"No," he lies, the slightest tremor in his words. "Are you?"

"Yes." The admission is raw, pulled from somewhere deep inside. She can't bring herself to say the rest: that she's terrified for him, that she'd rather face anything than see him hurt. Instead, she lets him see it in her eyes.

"I'm not leaving without you," he says. His certainty burns through the chill of fear that grips her. "We're doing this together."

Together. The word is both a balm and a knife. She wonders how she'll ever forgive herself if she loses him, if her need to protect him leads them both to ruin. "Alright," she says, resigned to the plan she can't bear to follow through on. "Together."

The weight of the world presses down, but Henry stands unbowed beneath it. His belief in her should be empowering, but it's terrifying. It's everything she wants and everything she fears. The clock ticks down to the moment they'll step out and run, and she tries to burn this image of him into her memory: brave, foolish, wonderful.

A crash in the distance sends a jolt of urgency through her. She looks at him, his small face set with determination, and her heart aches with the impossible task of keeping him safe. "We need to go," she says, a note of panic creeping in.

He nods, his resolve steadying hers. "Then let's go."

He holds out his hand, a simple gesture that shakes her to the core. She takes it, squeezing tightly as if her grip alone could anchor him, could keep him from slipping away. It feels like a dream—a terrible, beautiful dream where she can never quite touch the things she loves.

She watches as he gathers their few belongings, and the ordinariness of it is almost surreal. This should be an adventure. It should be an exciting escape. Instead, it's a frantic scramble away from everything they know, and her fear of the unknown twists with each hurried breath.

As the noise of the outside world grows louder, so does her desperation. Every second feels like an eternity and a blink, and she can't stand the thought of losing him before they've even had a chance. "We'll be alright," she says, trying to make it true.

"Of course we will," Henry replies, his voice a beacon in the dark. "We've got each other."

It's his innocence that undoes her. She wishes she could see the future, see him safe and whole, see them both beyond the reach of what hunts them. But all she sees is now: his brave face, his unyielding faith. "I love you, you know," she says, her voice rough with emotion.

"I know." He grins, a flash of brightness in the dim room. "And you know I love you."

With trembling hands, they unlock the door to their future, a future she's afraid to believe in. Every sound, every shadow is a threat. Every heartbeat is a countdown. She hopes he can't see the fear in her eyes as they slip out, as they leave behind the only life they've ever known.

Pansy's chest tightens with the knowledge that she might be dragging him toward destruction instead of salvation. But his faith in her never wavers, and it gives her strength even as it breaks her. They walk hand in hand into the night, into the unknown, into the wild gamble of their shared fate.

*^*^*^*

His trust is suffocating. It wraps around her like a heavy cloak, stifling, inescapable. She can't outrun it. She can't outrun anything. With each step, with each ragged breath, the memories crash in—an unrelenting tide of guilt and desperation.

She's running. She's always been running. From them, from herself, from the reality that she was too weak to face. How did it come to this? How did everything spiral so far out of control? Henry's eyes are there, in her mind, bright and steady, full of trust she doesn't deserve. He's counting on her, and the weight of it is crushing.

Every choice she made was for him. Every lie, every terrible alliance was an attempt to shield him, to protect the only person who ever loved her. But now she's alone, the bleak and shadowed forest swallowing her in darkness and regret.

Her past unfolds like a twisted tapestry. She remembers their expectations, the way they pulled her in, promised safety in exchange for obedience. Her parents, so cold and convincing, telling her it was the only way to keep him safe. She thought she could play their game, thought she could pretend and placate and survive.

She thought wrong.

The trees loom, sinister and uncaring, as she pushes through the underbrush. Her breath is jagged, her vision clouded with tears. She stumbles, catches herself, keeps running. Every step is a reminder of how far she's fallen. Every painful gasp is an echo of her failures.

Pansy can't stop thinking, can't stop remembering. How she watched him, her brother, the only light in her life, as he grew to trust her in ways she could never deserve. How she lied to herself, convinced herself it was worth it, that she could protect him from the very darkness she invited in.

The more she runs, the more her thoughts consume her. Desperation gnaws at the edges of her resolve. Her need to shield him led her here, and now it's killing her. It's killing him.

A sharp pain cuts through her, but she doesn't know if it's from the branches or her own breaking heart. She hears their voices behind her, the Death Eaters drawing closer, and the fear sinks in deep. Henry's face swims in her vision, the way he looked as they planned their escape. Was it all in vain?

Her mind spirals back, back to the days she joined them, thinking she could save him, thinking she had a choice. She remembers the way it felt to follow orders she didn't believe in, the bitterness she swallowed like poison. All for him. All for nothing.

More memories flood in. She remembers her reckless decisions, the lines she crossed in the name of love, the doubt that crept in when no one was watching. Her chest heaves, her breaths short and painful. She's dizzy with it all, with the choices that bind her even now.

Pansy recalls her parents' warnings, their threats, the way they told her what would happen if she tried to leave. But she thought she could handle it. She thought wrong.

Every thought is a dagger, twisting, turning. Her love for Henry is a double-edged sword, both blessing and curse. She wants to keep him safe, to keep him, to keep breathing.

The memories blur together, sharp and searing. Her fears, her failures, the impossible weight of being the one he trusts. And through it all, she keeps moving. She keeps running.

The laughter of the Death Eaters haunts her, taunts her, tells her she can't escape. It mixes with her own inner voice, the one that's been telling her she'll lose him no matter what she does.

Her thoughts grow more chaotic, more desperate. Each one a breath, each one a step. Each one a memory that cuts deeper than the last. She's losing him. She's losing everything.

Was she doomed from the start? Did she ever really have a choice? Her heart is a wild thing, thrashing inside her chest. Her love for him, her despair, her impossible desire to be something more, something better than she was.

The forest is a blur, her tears a torrent. She knows they're close, knows it as surely as she knows she can't keep going much longer. Her emotions tangle, twist, wrap around her like the very darkness she tried to flee.

Even now, with the dread settling in and the memories sharp enough to tear, she can't stop. She can't stop running from her choices, from her life, from the world that never let her be what she wanted most: free .

*^*^*^*

His warmth was a shield against the chill that now seeps into her bones. How is she still alive when he is not? Her sobs are ugly, hollow sounds, trailing behind her like ghosts. Nothing is fair. Nothing has ever been fair. The world didn't deserve him, and she can't bear the cruel, empty void his absence leaves behind.

Her tears are relentless, a never-ending flood that drowns her reason but leaves her agony intact. She feels like she's breaking apart, like she's already broken, like every piece of her is shattering in the absence of him.

Henry.

She thought she knew heartbreak. She thought she knew pain. But this—this hollow, gnawing void is more than she can bear. It was supposed to be them, together, forever. They promised . And now she's alone, more alone than she's ever been. It's unbearable. She's unbearable.

He was everything, and now he's nothing. Now she's nothing.

His warmth, his laughter, his love—everything he was wrapped around her like a shield. Now she is exposed, raw and empty, and she doesn't know how to survive without him. She doesn't want to.

She can't see past her own tears. The forest is an indifferent blur, a smear of darkness and light that doesn't care about her, about him, about the unfairness of it all. He's gone, and it's like the universe ripped out her heart and laughed in her face.

Pansy is running, but she doesn't know where. She can't see. She can't breathe. The pain is too much. She trips, stumbles, gets back up. Keeps going. Her own voice echoes in her mind, a desperate, hollow sound: Why? Why him? Why not her?

Her heart feels like it's bleeding out. She wanted to keep him safe. She wanted to keep him, period. She failed. She failed him, and the universe took him, took him and left her behind in this awful, empty space.

How can she go on without him? She doesn't know how. She doesn't want to.

She remembers the goodness in him, the way he always brought out the best in her. It makes the pain sharper, makes it unbearable. Henry, with his unwavering love, with his pure heart. It should have been her. It should have been.

Her thoughts turn inward, twisting into bitter knots. Her own failures loom large and dark. She curses herself for every choice, every misstep that led them here. She hates herself for surviving when he didn't.

Her tears won't stop. They blur her vision, blur the world, but they don't blur the truth. The truth is stark and cruel: she lost him. She lost everything that ever mattered.

Henry was the light, the only light, and now she is left with this terrible darkness. She is left with herself, and it's a bleak, terrible thing. She wishes she could turn back time, wishes she could trade places with him. She wishes she were the one gone.

His absence is a gaping wound, raw and festering. She doesn't know how to heal. She doesn't know if she wants to. Without him, life is a punishment. Without him, she's not sure life is worth living.

Her memories are ghosts, trailing her, taunting her with what she can never have again. Her own cowardice glares at her, ugly and undeniable. Her flaws are so obvious now, without his light to soften them.

He was good. He was too good. She doesn't understand why he stayed with her, why he loved her, why he sacrificed himself when it should have been her. Why, why, why?

Pansy is caught in an endless spiral of grief and blame. The universe feels like a cruel joke, and she is the punchline. How can she keep going? How can she stop?

The bitter truth is she's not enough. She's never been enough. Not without him. Not without Henry.

Her sobs choke her, but she doesn't care. The pain, the bitterness, the awful emptiness crash together, and all she can do is keep running. She has nothing left but this: her own hollow self, echoing with loss.

*^*^*^*

Hope was a fragile, dangerous thing. They clung to it anyway, too stubborn or too foolish to let go. 

Didn't they know? Didn't they see? His shadow stretched across the world, and nowhere was safe from the dark.

The wizarding world teetered on the brink, and everyone knew it. Families were torn apart. Schools emptied. Shops closed. People disappeared. Voldemort's power was rising like a terrible, unstoppable tide, and the few who dared to resist were dragged under. They whispered in the shadows about a war to end all wars, about the unyielding reach of his wrath.

Pansy felt it creeping into every corner of her life, every breath she took. The world was going dark, and she had never been so afraid.

But Henry—Henry believed they could make it. He believed in the escape plan she had concocted, in the flimsy, hopeful promise of freedom. They were too young to fight. Too smart, too determined, too stubborn to stay. That's what she told him, what she told herself, over and over again as the darkness closed in. Maybe it was true. Maybe it was all a lie.

His hand in hers, their hearts in their throats, they thought they could outrun it. But Pansy knew better. She knew how long his reach was, how vast his ambition. They were small. They were insignificant. They were one tiny flicker against a rising sea of shadows. What chance did they really have?

Still, they tried. Still, they ran.

She remembers the sound of their footsteps echoing in empty halls, the fear pounding in her chest. We can do it, he had said, his eyes bright with determination. But she knew the truth, the terrible truth that shadowed everything: nowhere was safe. Not in England. Not across the ocean. Not anywhere in the world.

The war was a monster with an endless appetite. It devoured all who stood against it. It didn't care about their plans, their dreams, their fragile hope.

They weren't even supposed to be a target, just two children, just trying to escape. But as the darkness spread, the stakes changed. Voldemort demanded loyalty or death. Those were the choices. Henry's blood wasn't enough to keep him safe; it was never enough. And when it became clear that Pansy wasn't as loyal as they thought, the danger became more than she could bear.

Every corner held a threat, and every moment was borrowed time.

Their only chance was to run. And so they ran.

The world around them collapsed in slow motion, a domino effect of despair and destruction. His name echoed in empty streets, and terror stalked every whisper, every word. It was only a matter of time before they were found out, before they were pulled into the storm and ripped apart.

We'll leave, she had said, her voice full of conviction she didn't feel. But he believed her. He always believed her.

Pansy remembers the urgency in his eyes, the hope she didn't dare voice. How could they escape when there was nowhere to escape to? How could they survive when the darkness was everywhere, growing stronger, growing nearer?

Voldemort's demands were clear. Join him or die. Fight or perish. Every witch, every wizard, every magical child. Henry didn't stand a chance. Neither did she.

The noise of the world closing in, the fear at their backs, the terrible, haunting certainty that the end was just around the corner. Pansy's need to protect him was a fierce and consuming thing, an impossible task that drove her forward. She thought if they left, if they ran fast enough, far enough, they might slip through the cracks.

We'll go to Asia, she had said, desperate, wild with the idea of getting him away. They'll never find us there.

It seemed so simple. It was anything but.

Her parents' whispers of danger, of the ever-growing reach of Voldemort's power, rattled in her mind. They had nowhere to hide. Nowhere to be safe. But she couldn't stop trying, couldn't stop running, couldn't stop hoping against hope that they might be the exception.

And so they ran.

They ran from their home, from their lives, from the shadow that grew longer and darker with every passing moment. His laughter echoed in their minds, a haunting reminder that he was everywhere, that the dark was closing in.

Pansy remembers the weight of Henry's hand in hers as they fled. She remembers the fear and the urgency and the slim, flickering hope that fueled them. She remembers the rising darkness and how close they came to escaping it.

All it took was a single misstep. A single moment of hope. Then he was there, cruel and leering, dashing their dreams with a single, savage grin.

They thought they had done it. They thought they were safe. The forest closed around them, silent and secretive, their breaths misting in the cold night air. But hope is a fickle thing. It turns on you when you least expect it. Pansy sees him first, the wolf-man, the monster in human skin. Her heart plummets. Her world collapses. The fragile dream of escape shatters with one cruel smile.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice is a snarl, a promise of pain.

Beside her, Henry gasps, the shock and terror twisting his small face. Pansy's mind spins. She doesn't understand how he found them, how they are so completely outmatched. She only knows that the plans they made, the whispered promises and stolen moments, are dust.

" Run! " she cries, her voice sharp with fear.

They bolt, the underbrush a wild, tangled mess beneath their feet. Pansy's heart is a relentless drum, her breaths short and desperate. She can't think. She can only run, pulling Henry along, knowing it's not enough, knowing it's already too late.

The fear is immediate, raw. It claws at her, sinks its teeth into her soul. They know who he is, what he is. Fenrir Greyback. The name is a death knell, a shiver of dread. Pansy can barely keep herself together. Her only thought is of Henry, of the danger, of the awful, impossible task of keeping him safe.

Her voice is a frantic plea. "We have to move! Faster, Henry!"

His eyes are wide, trusting, full of a panic she's never seen in him before. "But how did they—"

"No time!" She can't let him see her terror, her disbelief. She has to be strong. She has to save him.

Their feet pound against the forest floor, each step an echo of the inevitable. She thought they had escaped. She thought they could make it. But now—now it feels like they're running in circles, like the dark closes in from all sides.

Greyback's laughter chills her blood. "The Dark Lord wants you alive, boy!" His voice is a taunt, a curse. "But me? I'm not so picky."

Pansy doesn't look back. She doesn't dare. She knows what he wants, knows the horrible fate he has in store. A monster's fate. A fate Henry doesn't deserve. Her protective instinct flares, a wildfire inside her chest. She will not let them take him. She will not.

"We can do this," she lies, breathless, the tears almost choking her. "We have to."

He doesn't answer, his small hand clutching hers as they run, as they flee from the nightmare they can't seem to escape. She thought it was just Greyback, thought they had a chance. But more voices join the hunt. More shadows close in. The forest itself seems to conspire against them.

She wants to scream, to cry, to fight. All she can do is run, even as the last flicker of hope starts to fade.

They crash through the trees, the sounds of pursuit growing louder, the reality of their situation closing in. They are outnumbered, outmatched. But she can't stop. Not when it's him. Not when it's Henry.

His breath is ragged, uneven. She looks at him, sees the fear, sees the trust, sees the love. It cuts deeper than any curse.

Pansy's mind spins with frantic thoughts, a storm of desperation and fear. This isn't how it was supposed to be. This isn't how it ends. She won't let them make him a monster. She won't.

But it's all falling apart. It's all unraveling.

Her voice is hoarse, a desperate cry in the night. "We're almost there!" She doesn't know if it's true. She doesn't know anything except the awful weight of her love for him, the unbearable thought of losing him.

Henry stumbles, and her heart stops. For one terrifying moment, she thinks they've caught him. She thinks—she doesn't want to think. She pulls him up, her hands trembling with fear.

"We can't—" he gasps, but she cuts him off.

"Yes, we can." She doesn't know if she's telling the truth. She doesn't care. She just wants him to believe, to keep going, to survive.

The world crashes around them, the sounds of their pursuers loud in her ears, the hopelessness of it all suffocating. She clings to him, to the last shred of hope she has, and runs.

It feels like an eternity, like a single, endless moment of fear. Pansy's heart is breaking, but she can't stop. She can't let go.

The forest is alive with shadows, the dark closing in. The portkey is just ahead, just beyond reach. They might—they might just make it.

But even as she thinks it, she knows it's a lie. The certainty of capture looms large and terrible, and Pansy doesn't know if she can bear to see the end.

*^*^*^*

His resolve was fierce and beautiful, an unyielding flame in the dark. Her desperation couldn't match it, couldn't match anything. His last breath was her name, a final promise she could never keep.

The world blurs around her, frantic and unyielding, and every breath feels like it might be her last. They are so close. They are so far. Pansy's thoughts are a wild, tangled mess, and the only thing she knows for certain is that she has to save him.

They push forward, their feet pounding against the forest floor, the world collapsing in around them. Every step feels like an eternity, a single, desperate gasp for life. They're almost there. She can't let go. She won't.

The portkey shimmers in the distance, their last hope, their final lifeline. She thinks they might make it. She thinks—she can't think at all.

Pansy looks at him, at Henry, her heart breaking with the weight of love and despair. She can't lose him. Not like this. Not ever.

But the reality of their situation gnaws at her. The inevitability of it all is a suffocating force, a dark and terrible thing that chases them as surely as the Death Eaters.

"Don't stop!" Her voice is a frantic plea, a desperate promise she can't hope to keep.

His small hand clutches hers, his eyes full of trust, of fear, of something so bright and pure that it cuts her to the core. They were supposed to make it. They were supposed to escape. But now—now she doesn't know.

The curses fly past, bright and deadly, and her heart is a relentless drum, a chorus of panic and loss. She thought they could do it. She thought they could outrun the dark. But it's closing in, and she doesn't know how to save him.

Their breaths are ragged, their pace frantic. Her love for him is a wild thing, a painful thing. She can't lose him. She can't.

And then—then he stops . Her heart stops. The worldstops.

Henry's eyes are fierce, a blazing light in the dark, and Pansy knows, she knows in that awful moment, that she's losing him. The green curse flies toward her, and she can see it, see it all in terrifying clarity.

His resolve is beautiful and terrible. It breaks her heart and saves it all at once. He steps in front of her, in front of the curse, in front of everything.

His name is a raw, desperate scream, a hollow echo of her breaking heart. He looks at her, his eyes full of love, full of the final promise she can never keep. And then—then he is gone.

Pansy falls to the ground, the world a blur of agony and tears. Her scream is a ragged tear through the night, a haunting, hollow sound that echoes through the forest. 

How is she still alive when he is not?

His sacrifice crashes down on her, the weight of it unbearable. His last breath was her name. His last act was saving her life. He is gone, and it's all she can do to keep breathing.

The forest spins around her, and she can't see past her tears. She can't see past the empty space where he used to be. His love was fierce, stronger than anything she could ever hope to be. And now—now it's gone , and she doesn't know how to live with it.

Pansy's heart shatters, a million jagged pieces that cut and twist and turn. She doesn't know how to survive this. She doesn't know if she wants to.

The depth of his love and the cost of his sacrifice leave her breathless and broken. His absence is a gaping wound, a raw and festering thing that she doesn't know how to heal. She doesn't know how to be without him.

The only thing left is the pain, the terrible certainty that she lost him, that she lost everything. Her grief is infinite, a vast and empty space that swallows her whole.

She is so consumed by loss and despair that she doesn't hear the Death Eaters retreat. She doesn't hear anything but her own ragged sobs, her own hollow screams.

With one last, agonizing cry, she stumbles away from the place where she lost him. Her breath is painful and shallow, her heart a terrible weight in her chest. But it still beats. It still beats, and she hates it for that.

She keeps moving, her mind a fog of grief and disbelief. He is gone. He is gone , and she doesn't know how to be without him. But she keeps moving, her body as relentless as the pain.

Pansy is left with the awful certainty that he's never coming back, that his love saved her life but left her hollow. And so she runs, even when there's nothing left to run from.

*^*^*^*

His grief must have been a hungry, howling beast, consuming everything in its path. But he was brave, her teacher. He was strong . Maybe, she thought, maybe even stronger than her. She tried to imagine him with a broken heart, and it gave her hope. It made her wonder.

How did he do it? How did he keep going when everything they took from him was all he had? Pansy's respect for Professor Snape is a flicker of light in her otherwise dark world. It isn't enough to stop the hurt, but it makes her pause, makes her think. She didn't know him well, but she knew enough.

His love was everything. And then it was nothing. They left him alone with his pain, alone with the bitter ashes of what might have been. But he kept living. He kept breathing. His heart was as broken as hers, maybe even more. If he could do it, why couldn't she?

The thought is a strange and comforting thing, a small balm against the rawness inside her. It lingers, softens the sharp edges of her despair. He was strong. He was brave. She tries to imagine him with nothing but loss, and it gives her a sliver of hope.

How did he survive it? What gave him the strength to continue living when every moment must have been a fresh reminder of what he lost? She wonders if he felt like this, if his pain was as consuming, as endless, as hers.

Henry was her world. Lily was his. And when they were gone, what was left? Pansy didn't think she could survive it. She didn't think she could breathe past the gaping wound in her chest. But Professor Snape did. He lived on, even when living seemed like the cruelest thing of all.

What was it that kept him going, that kept him alive? She wishes she could ask. She wishes she could understand. Maybe, then, her own heart wouldn't feel so hopelessly empty.

Others have felt this. Others have lived through this. It doesn't make the pain any less. It doesn't make her loss any smaller. But it offers a flicker of something other than despair, something she hasn't let herself feel: hope .

She remembers his sharp voice, his fierce gaze. She remembers how he looked at her brother. She remembers, and she knows: his love was strong. As strong as hers. She thinks of the ache he must have carried, the hole they left behind. She thinks, and she wonders if she could be like him.

Her respect for Snape grows, and with it comes a bittersweet sense of kinship. Did he grieve like this? Was his pain as infinite, as unbearable? Her own heart feels so raw, so utterly broken. But maybe, just maybe, she could live through it.

The more she thinks about it, the more she sees him in a new light. He was brave. He was strong. He was everything she is not, but wishes she could be. His love was consuming and impossible and just as fierce as hers. And when he lost it, he lived on.

Pansy imagines his heartache, his terrible, endless grief. She imagines the way he must have felt, alone with the awful certainty that his happiness was gone, never to return. She imagines him strong and stoic and sad and fond, and her admiration is boundless.

He was supposed to be in Slytherin, like her. Cunning, ruthless, pragmatic. But she sees him in Gryffindor now, braver than any she's known, and it makes her pause. It makes her stop and think. If he could do it, why can't she?

Her reflection on Snape is a brief escape from her own despair. It doesn't last. Her grief is too vast, too consuming, too unbearably real. But it offers a moment of reprieve, a small, fragile light in the dark.

She feels closer to him than she ever did in life. He is the only one who might understand, the only one who has felt what she feels. The bitterness is still there, the awful hollowness of losing Henry. But for one small moment, it doesn't seem so completely hopeless.

Pansy clings to the thought, clings to the flicker of hope. Her teacher did it. He survived. He lived on when his heart was breaking, when his love was gone. He lived with his pain. If he can do it, maybe she can, too.

*^*^*^*

Pansy runs, but she doesn't know why. She doesn't know how. Her thoughts are a vicious, spiraling storm, each one another reminder of what she lost. Another reminder of how she wasn't enough.

Why wasn't it her? Why did she get to live when he didn't?

Why him? Why them? Why not her?

She thought she was doing the right thing. She thought she was keeping him safe. But she failed, she failed, she failed. It should have been her.

Every choice feels wrong, every path a dead end. She looks back and sees nothing but cowardice. Nothing but herself.

How could she think she could ever protect him? How could she be so blind? So selfish? She took the easy way, the dark way, and now she has nothing. Now she is nothing.

Her thoughts spiral to Harry Potter, to the impossible nobility of his sacrifice. To the way he reminded her of Henry, of her brother's bravery, of his reckless courage.

The world lost them because she was never brave enough. Never strong enough.

Pansy regrets every choice, every moment that led her here. Her mind is a loop of failures, her heart a chorus of loss.

His sacrifice was a hollow echo of everything she didn't have. Her own inadequacies glare at her, undeniable. Unbearable.

She wishes she could turn back time.

Rewrite her story. Be more like him. More like them.

Lily, Harry, Henry. They did what was right, always. She took the easy path. She lost them all.

Pansy curses herself. Her cowardice, her fear, her failures. She wishes it didn't hurt so much. She wishes she were more like them.

Her grief is a constant, suffocating thing. Her guilt is a relentless companion. She's haunted by her own mistakes, by the choices that cost her everything.

She is full of ghosts, full of regrets, full of everything she never had.

Why wasn't it her? Why did she get to live when they didn't?

The thought is a cruel echo, a terrible, endless refrain. She is so consumed by it, so consumed by loss, that she can't see a way out.

Pansy is left with the feeling that she'll never be free. Not from them. Not from herself.

*^*^*^*

The world collapsed around her in a burst of green. The release was quick, sharp, final. It caught her by surprise, and her last breath was a wish. A wish for liberation. A wish for light. A wish for everything she never was.

Her end came fast. Faster than she thought it would. The finality of it almost took her breath away. Almost. But as the curse struck, she felt something she hadn't felt in a long time: relief. It was over. It was all over.

Her body hit the ground, and with it came a strange, unfamiliar sense of peace. Was this what freedom felt like? Was this what it was to be free of her pain, of her ghosts, of herself?

The world around her blurred and faded, and all that was left was her and her thoughts. Her and her regrets. She felt herself slipping away, and instead of terror, there was release. She embraced it, welcomed it.

Maybe this time, she wouldn't be alone.

Maybe this time, she wouldn't fail.

The dark closed in, but it didn't feel as dark as before. It felt lighter, softer, a gentle pull away from the life she never wanted, from the life she never had.

Her last thoughts were a raw, desperate wish. For Henry. For another chance. For redemption. She missed him so much, it tore at her heart even now.

Pansy thought of him, and it filled her last moments with both longing and regret. If she had been braver, stronger, more like him—maybe he would still be alive. Maybe they both would. If she had chosen differently, maybe she wouldn't be here, caught between life and death, full of failures.

The end was swift, but her thoughts weren't. They clung to her, as consuming as ever.

She vowed that if she got another chance, she'd do it all differently. She wouldn't choose the easy path. She wouldn't let the darkness swallow her whole. She would be noble. She would be brave. She would be something other than this .

Specific memories flashed by, vivid and unyielding. Every wrong turn. Every mistake. Every moment she wished she could rewrite.

She let them wash over her. She let them go.

The release grew stronger, more comforting. The sense of liberation filled her, pushed out the hurt. Her thoughts were sharp and clear and full of a longing that was both painful and sweet.

Pansy knew she was out of time. Knew the end was here. But she didn't mind. She didn't fight it.

Her last thoughts were a wish she couldn't let go of, a wish she couldn't escape. A wish to be free. A wish to find him again.

The world faded. Her pain faded. And with a final, desperate breath, she faded, too.