A Kiss Before Dying
A Harry Potter Fanfiction
By Jewel

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its characters were created by JK Rowling and are copyrighted to their rightful owners. There is no copyright infringement intended by this fanfic.

Rated PG-13 for themes.

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A Kiss Before Dying
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In twenty years he had accomplished nothing that the world would remember him for. He had nothing to his name besides charges of crimes against humanity and an ugly, obscene tattoo branded into his forearm.

After he died, after the green light cleared and the auror turned his attention to another Death Eater, Warrington would be dead and no one would notice, let alone care.

Even he wasn't sure why he did it. At least, he had thought at the time, he would be dead and would never have to account for it. Maybe there wasn't any rhyme or reason behind it. Maybe it was just impulse, instinct. Maybe it was because he knew he'd be dead in a few hours and the fact had made him brave. Fearless. Reckless. Stupid.

He argued with the remaining shreds of his conscience that it wasn't his fault alone. He wasn't the only person to blame.

She had left the Ministry alone that night. The world was torn beneath a never-ending war, and she left the Ministry by herself, walking alone late at night.

If she'd asked, he might have lied and said he was following her to make sure she got home safe. That she wasn't harmed.

In truth, he was stalking her. He had been for the last two years. And tonight, just hours away from his impending death, he was tired of lurking. Of hiding cowardly.

If she'd protested. If she'd begged, screamed, cried, pulled out her wand and tried to hex him, he would have let her go.

Honestly, he would have.

But his arms came out of the darkness and snatched her into the shadowy alley, and she struggled at first but then went limp. When he pinned her against the wall she breathed his name and he knew he was lost. In more ways than one.

If she'd said in scorn, if she'd spat it out like in the old days when they were merely Quidditch rivals, he would've been okay. It would have involved both their bodies still, but his heart and emotions he'd long thought himself incapable of; they would never have entered the picture.

He touched his lips against her. Punishing even. But she melted against him and returned the caress softly.

And before he knew it, he was cradling her in his arms, and he had apparated them back to his small apartment in London. She was clinging to his shoulders by this point, panting and beyond thought.

When it was over, she fell asleep. Long, black hair lay strewn against his chest and pillows as he gazed up at the dark ceiling. His arms were folded behind his head, the ugly brand hidden from her. In the dark, he knew she had not seen it. Knew she didn't need a visual confirmation to know what he was.

After some time he finally fell asleep, listening to her even breathing.

He woke up to the brush of her lips against him. It was soft but insistent. He thought felt like years of emotion and repression poured into one kiss. When she pulled back, he opened his eyes. Saw her wand pressed against his throat. And whispered the words even as she whispered hers.

- END -