Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition for the pairing Harry and Draco.

Prompts Used:

4.) word- history

6.) word- gruesome

7.) quote- "Life is life, fight for it." Mother Teresa.

Explosions were in harmony with the inhuman shrieks that filled the air. The shine of spells hitting each other and soldiers that were hardly teenagers let alone adults. There was no one else to fight though, so they did. Some were of legal age, and some just said that they were. There wasn't time to confirm anyone's ages, so there were children as young as 13 in the thick of the battle though they were dropping like flies. The stone that used to make up the castle's walls was now scattered across the ground. Bodies collapsed onto a blood painted floor, couples kissing for what they thought would be their last time from each side. Limbs were strewn around the area in a careless fashion. Mangled flesh surrounded the fighters, wizards falling back onto the skin, blood splashing onto them in bright artwork.

"This day will go down in history," murmured a dark haired teenager to a light haired one who was shifting between two feet. The latter was biting his lip and glancing in the other direction as if he were waiting for the striking spell that was sure to come. Hands were clasped tightly together. One arm had the gruesome symbol of the Dark Lord, and the other's hand was smooth skin marred with I must not tell lies scratched into the surface.

"I know it will, Harry, but how will it go down in history? Will it be in the textbooks as a minor battle that caused the death of Harry Potter, or will it be known as the one battle that ended it all? Perhaps it might be like the others. Battles with nothing won and everything lost." The boy looked desperate in the way he looked at Harry. As if his whole world would come crashing down at any minute, and Harry was his only hope. Which he probably was. "You could leave now. No one would know the difference until it's too late to stop you."

Harry shook his head. "I can't do that. This is my fight. This is my war," he said in a strangled whisper, fingernails pressing into his own wrists to make little red half moons. "I have to fight for this. To fight for all of their lives. The prophecy is for me, and I can't run away from it forever. I'm going to kill Voldemort, Draco, or die trying."

"They aren't your responsibility!" Draco said harshly, leveling him with a glare as he spoke. "This might be your so called destiny, but you can choose if you want to go along with this prophecy. They can't make you, Harry James Potter! You're only 17. You're too young to die!"

Harry glared right back though his seemed halfhearted compared to that of the other boy's. "I'm not young. At least not compared to the other people fighting I'm not. There are 13, 14 year olds out there who are ready to die. They weren't forced to be heroes. They chose to be, and they're much braver than you or I will ever be. If I don't have the guts to fight someone I've been fighting since I was 11 now, and I'm not willing to die for what I believe in I don't deserve to be a Gryffindor. And I certainly don't deserve to be called my parents' son."

Draco fell silent at that, looking away and wincing as he watched a girl who was certainly young, certainly younger than him, fall to the ground from being on the wrong end of one of his dear aunt's curses. If they were brave enough, at the age they were, to stand and fight. To face Voldemort with no training, no preparation. He should be brave enough to stand against his parents. He should be brave enough to tell the world how he felt and how he felt for Harry. After all, he loved him, didn't he? Why wouldn't he want the whole world to know that?

Harry heaved a sigh, fingers messing with the dull watch that hung loosely from his wrist. "Draco, I love you, and you know I do. I have to fight though. It's what I do. It's what I've always done. You can't expect me to lose my hero complex overnight just because you don't find it convenient."

A curse flew by their ear, singing the top of Harry's overgrown mop of inky black hair. He whipped around to watch it knock a woman down to the ground. He could have sworn he heard the thud of her body hit the ground, and thoughts of how her heart suddenly stopped beating, how her breathing suddenly ceased just because the caster of the spell was too far away to hit him properly filled his mind. It wasn't fair. Not to anyone. Harry was the reason that so many were dead after all, and no one could find it within themselves to hate him. At least not those on the side of The Order of the Phoenix. It was pity he supposed, and he wasn't quite sure what he thought of it. After all, he didn't want to be hated, and if pity was the only thing that kept everyone from hating him in the first place.

Shards of glass were scattered across the floor in small fragments. Crystal balls were crashing down from the North Tower as Professor Trelawney directed students on when and where to drop them to smash them on the Death Eaters. Professor Sprout's normally cheerful smile was gone and replaced with a noticeable frown and a scratched and bloody face. "Longbottom! Direct the students to use the plants. I have faith in you. I'm going to fight." She gave him a weary smile as he nodded confidently, far more confident than he had ever been in his younger years even though he was currently in a war that he might die in. When he looked around, Harry could see Professor McGonagall, his old Head of House herself, fighting Voldemort himself of all people. She was close to falling when others stepped in to duel him along with her.

Professors that he never could have imagined would duel, let alone duel to the death, were out for blood. They wanted death, and murder hanging over their head didn't bother them in the slightest. Students who never would have spoken an ill word about even Snape were sneering and dying and killing all at once. War changes things, he realized. War had changed him, and it had changed Draco.

"Draco, I'm going to fight." He tucked blonde hair behind his ear with a soft smile. "I love you, and if I don't make it back to you never forget that. I'll be with you in here…" Harry pressed a hand to his heart gently. "You can fight or leave. For any side you want. I just can't leave them to do this on their own. I have to save lives. Life is life, and I can and will fight for it."

Draco wrapped him in a bone crushing hug before running off, teary eyed with Gryffindor colors shining on his face. "I love you," he mouthed as he turned around briefly only to find that Harry had already left, had run off to join the fight. He had left to die with the others.

He was in love with Harry Potter, and the fairy tales were a lie. Love didn't fix everything. All love did was hurt and complicate things. It clouded judgment, and it often left you feeling more alone in the world than you had before. You couldn't tell if you hated the person because you loved them, or if you loved them because you hated them.

He couldn't hate Harry though. Not really. He hated love.

Why? Because love is what drives people to make days that will go down in history.