Hello. If you're a reader of my previous stories, ah, hope you don't hate me. If you're new - first time writer for Harry Potter, long (l.o.n.g.) time reader. (I couldn't just choose one title, so I went with two) (also please I'd love constructive criticism, this is the first thing I've written in almost a year, I'm trying to get back into it)
He Could Forget, or Obligations
Harry James Potter lived in a little green house on a long street in London, England. He lived there with his fiancee, a bright, vivacious young woman named Ginny Weasley. Whom he loved, dearly, even if he didn't always feel it. But he could pretend - he was a master at that, by now. He could pretend to love her, and pretend to be happy. He could pretend that his past was behind him, that all he cared about was his future. He could pretend. And, more than that, he could forget.
He could forget his childhood, the scars that remained permanently imprinted on his psyche. He could forget why he loved to cook anything but breakfast (especially bacon, with the fat sliding around the pan, waiting to be dumped on Dudley's plate, or, now, Ginny's).
He could forget the sharp feeling in the pit of his stomach when he spurned one potential new friend, for another. But Ron was first, and it would be wrong to abandon a friend. But maybe he could have tried harder, forged a friendship between Ron and Malfoy, too. He forgot his guilt over lost chances, as well.
He forgot Tom Riddle, staring at him like he knew a secret about Harry, one he didn't even know about himself. He forgot the way his breath left his chest when Tom Riddle whispered in his ear, sliding a finger down his cheek. He forgot his reassurances to himself that this was simply because his best friend's sister was in danger. He forgot that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that there was something else, something that made him even more different than he was. He forgot the way Tom looked at him almost sympathetically, another shared trait between them.
He forgot the way Sirius hugged Remus when his innocence was proven in the shack, the way that his throat tightened as he saw their grasping hands. The way their foreheads pressed together, their eyes stared into each other, as if looking away was purely unbearable. He could forget the stone that sat in his heart when he realized everything. He forgot it all, because it made the rest too unbearable to forget.
He could forget the bright yellow insignia on a plain charcoal cloak. Staring at the badger, refusing to meet the eyes of the boy encased in the cloak. He forgot the way he asked, stuttering and stumbling over the words, scarcely daring to meet Cedric's eyes. But Harry was a Gryffindor, brave and bold, even if he didn't feel like one. Then, a soft sigh of recognition, like suddenly Harry was laid bare.
"Harry..." Cedric's eyes were kind, as always, as he told Harry that he'd already agreed to go to the Yule Ball with Cho. Perhaps, he suggested, Harry should ask Cho too - then he could claim to be dateless due to her - not really a lie, Cedric had said with a sly smile.
He could forget that, and the soft kiss stolen, sneaking away from Parvati, to where Cedric leaned up against the wall. He could forget the feeling of fine dress robes, the scent of Cedric's hair gel. He could forget the soft-hard kiss, trying to pretend that he wasn't tasting Cho's lip gloss. Trying to pretend that this wasn't just a glimpse at what he could have.
He could forget the trying to forget, as he watched Cedric fall to the ground. He could forget the moment before that, the press of the sharp brambles against his back, the words whispered against his lips. The smile they sent each other as they raced towards the cup. Maybe not forever, but certainly not never.
And of course, he could forget watching as the entire school flocked to comfort Cho. It was, after all, her boyfriend who'd died. And it was Harry who had gotten him killed.
He could forget a too-wet kiss with Cho the next year. He could forget their disastrous date, the entire time his brain chanting that even though she tasted like Cedric had, once, didn't mean she could replace him. She was soft where he'd been hard, and Harry felt like he could break her. They'd broken up, because of Cedric, but it wasn't her attachment to him that had been the problem.
And now, as Harry lay in bed, Ginny beside him, curled on one side, her arm looped through his even in sleep, Harry could forget even more.
He could forget Sixth Year, running into a bathroom, grabbing a sobbing, grey eyed boy. He could forget biting words, shoving, growling, turning to kissing, grasping desperately. He could forget sitting underneath a sink, holding someone so close it was as if they were an extension of each others bodies.
He could forget meeting the day after that, and after that, and after that. He could forget the time they tried to stop it -
Sitting, under the sinks, protected by the taboo of the haunted girls room. Fingers almost-touching, breathing still fast, lips swollen from stolen kisses. An argument, quiet and hushed, somehow gentle even in its ferocity.
"You don't understand," Draco's voice was ragged, as he swiped at an imaginary stain on his pristine black slacks, "I have... obligations."
"Obligations." Harry's eyebrow skated upwards, and as Draco caught sight of his face, he burst out laughing. Draco laughed, not the harsh, bitter laugh of his guilt, or the pointed, mocking laugh of his facade. But a sudden, falling-dishes laugh. Because who knew obligations better than The-Boy-Who-Lived.
Obligations, like Draco's promise to kill Dumbledore. Harry could almost gladly forget that omission, that concealment. Obligations, like the Dark Mark that marred Draco's lovely porcelain skin. Obligations, like Harry's (stupid, prophecy-driven) quest to kill Draco's Dark Master. But no, Harry couldn't forget, not Draco's master. Draco was too independent, too... Draco, to have a master. But Harry had to forget. He had to forget Draco's willful independence, his refusal of Harry's offer of asylum.
"Like the Order of the Bloody Phoenix would ever accept a Malfoy" he said, sneering his name. But they would, Harry had insisted, if he asked. And he would, he would do anything to keep Draco safe. But Draco had refused. And Harry had to forget that, had to forget the way he kissed Draco then, hard and rough, because if he couldn't protect Draco, if he wasn't going to be allowed to, then he might as well enjoy him while he could.
He could forget all that, and forget the biting teeth and scratching nails, the tentative kisses down each others necks. He could forget the luxurious hours spent in the Prefect's Bathroom, most of their time spent half-dressed, blowing perfumed bubbles at each other. He could forget Draco's laughing grey eyes, the way his hair looked when it was wet, and falling into his eyes. He could forget the way it felt to chase Draco around the room, capturing him and throwing them both into the water. He could forget kissing him beneath the bubbles, uncaring that their clothes were going to be utterly ruined.
He could forget the night it all ended, the grey-eyed boys beautiful eyes flickering with the flames, as his voice wavered, "I can't". He could forget Severus Snape, taking Draco's place and killing Albus Dumbledore. He could forget the way Draco's head hung, never suspecting that Harry saw - and forgave.
He could forget chasing after him, fueled by rage for the murderer of his mentor, but for the abductor of the man he... well, of Draco. Simply... Draco. He could forget the last glance, over Draco's shoulder, the mouth open as if to say something - a curse, or kind word, he would never know.
He could forget the endless trials, after it all, watching as Draco drew in on himself. Lucius Malfoy, stripped of his name and fortune. Draco, suddenly head of House Malfoy, no longer heir to a fortune, but the owner of it.
He could forget that an heir can abandon his post without too much dramatics. He could forget that a head couldn't do the same.
He could forget the betrothal, the dating, watching their faces splashed on magazines. A dark haired boy and a ginger girl. A pale blonde boy and a golden girl. He could forget the plastic happiness reflected in his and Draco's faces.
Harry could forget all that, because Ginny Weasley was his perfect match, and more than that, her family was his perfect family. And when they ran into Draco and Astoria, they nodded politely and moved on. And Harry would forget, as Draco clearly had, all the feelings he'd thought would be free. Because he was the Boy-Who-Lived, and the Boy-Who-Lived, the Boy Who'd Destroyed, the Saviour of the Wizarding World... well, he didn't have a past that hadn't been splashed in the tabloids.
Because, like Draco, he had obligations. And those obligations were to forget.