Happy Birthday, [livejournal.com profile] lillithium

May. 29th, 2008 11:16 pm
aoifene: (happy bday)
[personal profile] aoifene
Title: D E S I R E
Author: Aoife Malfoy [livejournal.com profile] aoifene
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17 for dark themes (Fluffertons, turn away! *laughs*)
Beta: My lovely [livejournal.com profile] jamie2109
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Set in the E R I S E D Universe. It won’t make much sense if you don’t read that one first.
Dedication: This is written for the wonderful, [livejournal.com profile] lillithium. Happy Birthday, honey! She requested a scene wherein E R I S E D’s Draco is set free.
AN: I hope Chuck Palahniuk doesn’t mind the summary. *laughs*
Summary: The one we love and the one who loves us are never ever the same person.

“ And so will the world end, a victim of love rather than hate. For love’s ever been the more destructive weapon.”

-Stephen King, Dark Tower VII




One


Two


Three


Four


Draco closes his eyes as he tries to breathe deeply and focus his attention on the task at hand. When he opens them again, his grey eyes are as clear as ever. He is so close, he can almost taste it. Almost feel the rush of triumph in the grip of his hands. Almost see that door opening with little prodding from a wandless Alohamora, strengthened now that he can actually cast the spell out loud, all the while refusing to acknowledge the price that it has cost him. The knowledge of Professor Snape’s death is shoved in the back of his mind within an already too cramped space filled to the brim with unpleasant memories like his old Hogwarts trunk that he’d always had the devil’s own time trying to pack every year.


No no no


Not down that road. Hogwarts, and the Manor and thoughts of Mum. He can’t or else he’ll shatter and break and there are only so many pieces of him left. He knows he can never be whole but he still wants there to be something left of him to put together. He has to focus! Keep counting, steady on the mindless drone of numbers lining up on the tip of his tongue.


Five


Six


Seven


A rush fills his chest, one stronger than the one several moments previous. Oh he’s never made it this far before! He always stumbles and trips and succumbs. His legs too shaky to carry him forward and his heart too weak to make it just that little bit more. He is sure of it now. His spine straightens and the trembling in his hands eases slightly.


Eight


Nine


He can hardly believe his eyes. Aged dark wood meets his disbelieving gaze. From this vantage point, he can see every chip on the course surface quite clearly. It does not take much to imagine the rough texture that would be beneath his calloused fingertips. His eyes dip down and elation seizes his heart that’s been beating madly like the wings on a snitch. The ancient brass handle awaits his touch and his clammy hands are already itching to cup it and twist it eagerly. To snatch up the freedom he has long been waiting for. Just a few minutes more, he’d be insane to give up his concentration this late in the game. He forces his mind to complete the exercise. It takes ten long steps to reach that door. He would only need one more.


Te-


His chapped lips have already begun to form around the word; it would only take half an exhalation, an echo of a sound to finish it out. He’d be a fool to turn away now; a complete and senseless idiot to let anything or anyone keep him from this.


But Harry’s not just anyone and he isn’t anything to Draco.


He’s everything.


And it’s already been a long established fact that Draco is a fool.


The tapping that has been there at the cottoned edges of his consciousness thumps loudly against his throbbing head as his concentration splinters. His nine measured and hard-won steps are dashed into one hurried stride as he hastens to answer the call because suddenly he can’t stand be this far away.


He presses his wet face against the cold glass, his hands stroking the surface in sweet devotion. Unable to help himself, he mouths his apologies over and over again. His tears staining dry lips, as he murmurs the same chorus.


I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.


The figure in the Mirror only smiles and he puts a finger to his own lips which immediately quiets Draco’s own hysterical sobbing. Green eyes twinkle happily behind black-rimmed spectacles as he raises one hand against the pane. Draco nearly trips over himself as he brings his shaking palm over the very same spot.


And suddenly everything in the world seems right. Perhaps not particularly sane or even remotely normal but right in a way that has Draco beaming like an idiot as he stands there with his hand reaching out and his fingers splayed against cool glass.


Sometimes he stays like that for hours until his arm finally falls numb. The smile never slips though.


It’s the only time that he can believe he’s happy. The only time where he can forget about things; his family, his past, this war. Here there is only the two of them and what was he doing, anyway, trying to leave this paradise like a daft sod?


He shakes his head, chuckling low at his own stupidity and even then he doesn’t break away from the hold of those green eyes. He lets the warmth in Harry’s expression overwhelm him, nourishing him as his body relaxes under such tender regard. Not even that mouthful of food from last week’s rat trap had felt as good as this.


In the light of that smile everything else darkens. Memories fade. The background grows faint and the silence is welcomed. Reality is held at bay. Professor Snape isn’t dead. Mother is safely tucked away in France and his father is fighting diligently at the Dark Lord’s side.


And Potter? He was just here yesterday.


Draco’s grin never falters even as his shoulders begin to shake. The tears on his tongue are a lot saltier, acrid in a way that makes it hard for him to breathe. For this is also the only time he bows to a truth he’s known all along, something he hides from in the few times when grey eyes are clear and focused.


It isn’t freedom that he wants.


At least not anymore.



D E S I R E D
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