A/N: This fic is rather dark. It takes place in either Harry's
6th or 7th year (for age reasons), and it's from Depressed!Sub!Harry's POV.
As you will find out, Draco's the aggressor, because I can't seem to
write any other slash besides D/H. -.-* This is a songfic of Fuel's
'Last Time', which, in my opinion, is a beautifully sad song. So go
listen to it. :p
Warnings: Slash, heavy references to sex (some possibly non-con), and mentionings of SIB.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry, Draco. They're Rowling's, lucky girl. The lyrics (in italics) belong to Fuel. I do, however, own Harry's depressive tendancies. Well, at least for right now. :)
And You'll Just Laugh...
Daylight slices through the divide in my bed curtains like hot knives. It is morning, and I must face the world. It is morning, and I must face myself.
Last night... what went on is still hard to think about. At the time, it was wonderful, but now...
I'm not the first you sucked down
I drank your pleasure slow
Now remorse is creeping through my veins, much like the adrenaline did last night. I am very cold.
I exit the portrait hole and make my way to the Great Hall. It is early; I suspect that I will be relatively alone. My footsteps echo back off the stone walls, the many returning steps sounding like two hearts beating. No, I tell myself. Two hearts could never beat that much in time with each other. At least, not if you're one of the two.
Then stumbled out from your veil
Still I've come for you tonight
I feel ashamed; of myself, my need, my weakness. How am I supposed to protect the wizarding world when I cannot protect myself from you? It is a cruel thing, this... this love? Not quite, I make myself believe, not quite.
Choke my faith and stab my pride
And tell myself that
I ask myself how this could have happened, how we could have happened- enemies since day one, cursing and stinging each other at every opportunity... and now this not-quite-love, which burns just as fiercely as the hatred we had before-- still have? Maybe that is all it really is, hatred taken to the next logical step. Just another way to bring each other down...
This is the last time
This is the last time
This is the last time now
I feel so horribly empty, as if I'm nothing more than a shell, the facade of a living, breathing thing, when really I am dead. And oh, how I wish that were the truth. Some nights, I think, as you are hating me to the edge of that reckless oblivion, that death would be a welcome escape from this. But my infamous courage seems not to stretch as far as to make that a reality.
And so I am content with bleeding.
I'll bleed for you
It's almost as if by being with you, I'm protecting myself from something, and yet by doing so, I'm exposing myself utterly to all kinds of pain. Is this normal? Do all those at times like this, with people like you, feel the same?
Ah, a voice in my head says, what other times? And what other people like you?
Truthfully, there are none- our... relationship, let's call it- is entirely unique, even in our strange world. Unique, so I do not know what can stop it, if anything. But do I want it to stop?
Preservation or predation
As I'm reeling I don't know
I reach the Great Hall, to find it mostly empty; few are awake at this hour, as I suspected. I find that I'm not really hungry, so I turn my back on the aged, oak doors and set off back down the corridor. Soon, I am wandering, not knowing where my feet are taking me, and not really caring either way. That is, until I find myself at our meeting place. Images from nights in the past- particularly last night- flash before my eyes as I pass the empty, and 'unused' classroom. I can feel your breath on my neck, your whisper in my ear, your delicate fingers running trails across bare, heated skin. I feel pain. I feel...
Crumbled I spill out of your hand
I want to fall
And you see it all
You know, of course. You know what I think of our situation, my doubts, my self loathing, my remorse.
And yet you find it hard to care, because none of it matters when you have me pinned down against cold stones, driving me to that sweet, hated edge again and again. None of it matters when you take your anger out on me; it only serves to spur on your efforts. None of it matters at the end of the day, as we meet in this darkened, empty room; the room where I lost my innocence, and learned how to hate the prospect of your 'love'. It only matters when I am alone, feeling bolts of pain shoot through me like electricity, as I run my hands over the very stones that have pressed into my back night after night beneath you.
Of course you know. How could you not?
And you'll just laugh when I say
This is the last time
This is the last time
Soon, the sounds of happy talk and banter can be heard from the Great Hall, a few floors below where I stand. So many oblivious people, who have never felt what it's like to love their own hatred, to beg and bleed at the feet of a boy made of shattered glass and mercury. They don't know what it's like to associate love with blinding pain; to have every sacred thing ripped violently away in the dark of night; to have no hope. And yet you are among them, safe behind your mask. No one knows the real you. No one but me.
This is the last time now
I'll bleed for you
Your cruelty was always just a front for your true feelings. I didn't see it at first, but now, of course, I do. I see it in each expression, each insult, each turn of phrase. It's so burning and obvious in your gaze from across the hall each morning, I'm surprised no one else can see it. But I've always had a way with seeing through people, haven't I? I learned that from you, you know. In return, you learned all my secrets, my thoughts and my feelings... yes, in return you took me, mapping out my every little intricacy, as if your life depended on it. And maybe it did, I don't know. For you never speak in the depths of the night.
You only scream.
And everything I feel I know you know
And everything that heals I know you know
You could stop this; you're all that can. Nothing else has the immense power to break what breaks me, and you like that, don't you? You love the power you have over me, how you can make me twist and moan and die inside with one subtle movement, and you take advantage of that. You take advantage, taking me, over and over until the sun breaks free over the grounds.
And you are taking what is rightfully yours.
And everything that steals I know you know
And everything that kills you know
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear the bell that signals the start of lessons. I ignore it; I can't face you right now. Not again, not... not after last night. I can't stand sitting across the room from you, knowing what you're thinking, knowing that when the sun goes down and the world sleeps, we'll be back in this room, behind this closed door, against these harsh stones, ripping away my soul yet again.
I slide down the wall and weep bitterly, not caring if anyone finds me here, not caring if the world came crashing down around me. For it already has, love; it already has.
And tell myself that
This is the last time
Every night, as I sneak down the shadow blackened halls to this secret place, I tell myself over and over that I'll end it tonight. I'll tell you that I've had enough, that it's all wrong, that this is not love, as you say it is. I tell you, every night. And you just laugh.
This is the last time
You then stake your claim on me once more, branding me eternally yours, tightening the chains on my soul so I can never even hope of getting away... and I begin to see your meaning of love. I see it, and I cry.
This is the last time now
~fin
Warnings: Slash, heavy references to sex (some possibly non-con), and mentionings of SIB.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry, Draco. They're Rowling's, lucky girl. The lyrics (in italics) belong to Fuel. I do, however, own Harry's depressive tendancies. Well, at least for right now. :)
And You'll Just Laugh...
Daylight slices through the divide in my bed curtains like hot knives. It is morning, and I must face the world. It is morning, and I must face myself.
Last night... what went on is still hard to think about. At the time, it was wonderful, but now...
I'm not the first you sucked down
I drank your pleasure slow
Now remorse is creeping through my veins, much like the adrenaline did last night. I am very cold.
I exit the portrait hole and make my way to the Great Hall. It is early; I suspect that I will be relatively alone. My footsteps echo back off the stone walls, the many returning steps sounding like two hearts beating. No, I tell myself. Two hearts could never beat that much in time with each other. At least, not if you're one of the two.
Then stumbled out from your veil
Still I've come for you tonight
I feel ashamed; of myself, my need, my weakness. How am I supposed to protect the wizarding world when I cannot protect myself from you? It is a cruel thing, this... this love? Not quite, I make myself believe, not quite.
Choke my faith and stab my pride
And tell myself that
I ask myself how this could have happened, how we could have happened- enemies since day one, cursing and stinging each other at every opportunity... and now this not-quite-love, which burns just as fiercely as the hatred we had before-- still have? Maybe that is all it really is, hatred taken to the next logical step. Just another way to bring each other down...
This is the last time
This is the last time
This is the last time now
I feel so horribly empty, as if I'm nothing more than a shell, the facade of a living, breathing thing, when really I am dead. And oh, how I wish that were the truth. Some nights, I think, as you are hating me to the edge of that reckless oblivion, that death would be a welcome escape from this. But my infamous courage seems not to stretch as far as to make that a reality.
And so I am content with bleeding.
I'll bleed for you
It's almost as if by being with you, I'm protecting myself from something, and yet by doing so, I'm exposing myself utterly to all kinds of pain. Is this normal? Do all those at times like this, with people like you, feel the same?
Ah, a voice in my head says, what other times? And what other people like you?
Truthfully, there are none- our... relationship, let's call it- is entirely unique, even in our strange world. Unique, so I do not know what can stop it, if anything. But do I want it to stop?
Preservation or predation
As I'm reeling I don't know
I reach the Great Hall, to find it mostly empty; few are awake at this hour, as I suspected. I find that I'm not really hungry, so I turn my back on the aged, oak doors and set off back down the corridor. Soon, I am wandering, not knowing where my feet are taking me, and not really caring either way. That is, until I find myself at our meeting place. Images from nights in the past- particularly last night- flash before my eyes as I pass the empty, and 'unused' classroom. I can feel your breath on my neck, your whisper in my ear, your delicate fingers running trails across bare, heated skin. I feel pain. I feel...
Crumbled I spill out of your hand
I want to fall
And you see it all
You know, of course. You know what I think of our situation, my doubts, my self loathing, my remorse.
And yet you find it hard to care, because none of it matters when you have me pinned down against cold stones, driving me to that sweet, hated edge again and again. None of it matters when you take your anger out on me; it only serves to spur on your efforts. None of it matters at the end of the day, as we meet in this darkened, empty room; the room where I lost my innocence, and learned how to hate the prospect of your 'love'. It only matters when I am alone, feeling bolts of pain shoot through me like electricity, as I run my hands over the very stones that have pressed into my back night after night beneath you.
Of course you know. How could you not?
And you'll just laugh when I say
This is the last time
This is the last time
Soon, the sounds of happy talk and banter can be heard from the Great Hall, a few floors below where I stand. So many oblivious people, who have never felt what it's like to love their own hatred, to beg and bleed at the feet of a boy made of shattered glass and mercury. They don't know what it's like to associate love with blinding pain; to have every sacred thing ripped violently away in the dark of night; to have no hope. And yet you are among them, safe behind your mask. No one knows the real you. No one but me.
This is the last time now
I'll bleed for you
Your cruelty was always just a front for your true feelings. I didn't see it at first, but now, of course, I do. I see it in each expression, each insult, each turn of phrase. It's so burning and obvious in your gaze from across the hall each morning, I'm surprised no one else can see it. But I've always had a way with seeing through people, haven't I? I learned that from you, you know. In return, you learned all my secrets, my thoughts and my feelings... yes, in return you took me, mapping out my every little intricacy, as if your life depended on it. And maybe it did, I don't know. For you never speak in the depths of the night.
You only scream.
And everything I feel I know you know
And everything that heals I know you know
You could stop this; you're all that can. Nothing else has the immense power to break what breaks me, and you like that, don't you? You love the power you have over me, how you can make me twist and moan and die inside with one subtle movement, and you take advantage of that. You take advantage, taking me, over and over until the sun breaks free over the grounds.
And you are taking what is rightfully yours.
And everything that steals I know you know
And everything that kills you know
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear the bell that signals the start of lessons. I ignore it; I can't face you right now. Not again, not... not after last night. I can't stand sitting across the room from you, knowing what you're thinking, knowing that when the sun goes down and the world sleeps, we'll be back in this room, behind this closed door, against these harsh stones, ripping away my soul yet again.
I slide down the wall and weep bitterly, not caring if anyone finds me here, not caring if the world came crashing down around me. For it already has, love; it already has.
And tell myself that
This is the last time
Every night, as I sneak down the shadow blackened halls to this secret place, I tell myself over and over that I'll end it tonight. I'll tell you that I've had enough, that it's all wrong, that this is not love, as you say it is. I tell you, every night. And you just laugh.
This is the last time
You then stake your claim on me once more, branding me eternally yours, tightening the chains on my soul so I can never even hope of getting away... and I begin to see your meaning of love. I see it, and I cry.
This is the last time now
~fin