This work of fanfiction is slash (male/male relationships). The characters do not belong to me.
Call it what you will
Call it what you will, Harry dear; Love? Do you remember when you whispered that word to me? Sitting in a tiny pub on the bank of the Thames, we were but young then. and I still believe we had it. It was real and it felt good. You said it so suddenly, putting down your pint and leaning forward with a smile. Right into my ear, the slightest breath and it meant so much.
It had been a mad rush of events, a flash of momentary stills, which made my head rush in happiness. We hadn't spoken in years, you and I. A mutual silence through the last period of our education. Only the weekend before our graduation did we talk and just to say goodbye. Things had changed so much. We weren't the enemies we used to be; no name-calling or threats in the corridor, no cold glances or gossiping behind closed doors. It was just as if I had never known you. It was indifference, and it made me realise slowly that in the five years of seeing you on a daily basis, we had never really known each other.
It was the goodbye that made me think. You inexplicably seem important for a moment. How could we be indifferent? How strange to know you, Harry, and not know you at all. We would be parting that week and you suddenly seemed like unfinished business. How could I leave and never have a conversation with you once- the boy I hated for so long. We were merely seventeen at that time, young and headstrong. I treated life like a map, you treated it like an adventure and we both treated it with a sense of freedom. Talking to each other was nothing. It had no consequence. How naïve.
It was, in reality, a long time before we became friends enough to converse with each other at ministry events, about the weather, about politics. Not a whirlwind friendship; it started from the beginning, determined to progress steadily through the course of things. Although a drop in time, it was an age before our first social meeting that had nothing to do with formalities. There were a whole group of us: your work colleges from the Resistance Front and mine from the Ministry of Magic. It was after a long and stressful business meeting about the uprising of the Dark Lord that we finally flooded into the Ministry bar, deep underground the official building. It's quite a classy place if I remember rightly; sounds of jazz through the mild smoke and dim lighting.
That was the beginning and there were many times more before we used to go out in smaller groups. I'm sure you remember the first night you introduced me to your new-found girlfriend. We were walking through the park together when it was lit with firework light and alive with childish laughter, going to a party, you led me through a maze of streets before we reached her house. She was lovely I recall, a quiet and thoughtful girl, hair long and blonde, eyes dark and intense. You were always seen together after that. She was the small figure standing with you at parties, in her long flowing dresses and immaculate make up.
I was sure you'd settled for life, and even when we met alone after work in the Ministry bar, I could sense her on you. I knew you loved her and I was happy for you although there was a niggling feeling that I could not place. You didn't get married in the end. Four years to that day you came to me on a warm July night and wept on my shoulder for the life you had lost. You did it to yourself, and that hurt, didn't it? It was you that forced her to break up, you that lied and you that loved someone else behind her back. Who knew that it would be good old Lee Jordan who helped with the ruining of something so good? Maybe you wanted to be found out. Some people do.
It ended after that. Like the years gone by, your relationship had gone and you were once more the bachelor living alone in the centre of London, going to work by day and going out clubbing by night. No life for a respectable wizard, but it was acceptable to live a muggle life for you. You had become a high-ranking leader of the Resistance Front and you could take liberties. For me it was different. I was working my way up to Head of the Ministry and each wild night was a risk. We were twenty-four before we started on our really mad outings out on London's streets. How we got into it is still a mystery to me now. Do you remember the night we ended up sleeping in Hyde Park or the time we got drunk on a bench in Covent Garden? Then of course there were the other nights. Relaxing under the stars on my mother's barge, floating along the Thames in Ham.
I was joined to you then. We would be joined forever, just like you and Ron, just like you and Hermione. And we had this wonderful thing. You knew it, as did I; we were friends, sleeping in the same bed when we stayed in the motel abroad, sharing cheap ice creams on the beach in Brighton and leaning on each other for support. Our first kiss was nothing. It's weird to think about it, isn't it? You would think it should have shocked us a little to find ourselves in that position. That was late in January. We were twenty-seven and sitting huddled in our usual bar on the outskirts of Ham. Twenty-seven and all I could do was buy us another round. That was pure contentment.
We have a wonderful thing, Harry, call it what you will. I think of you as mine and I am yours. I'm sorry it has to be like this. Who could predict my father's death so suddenly at the hands of the One We Love? All I see when I close my eyes is his thick, dark blood oozing down the Morris covered walls. He was tortured you know. I saw his carcass as deformed as carrion, hanging from our own dungeons. His hands were severed, sinews and ligaments scattered like dust on the floor. Bruised skin lies in chunks, bones fractured and scratched. I found his fingers on the dining room table. They say he died from a heart attack. Mother sits unblinking before me now, rocking like my grandmother used to. Back and forth, trapped in her own mental prison.
I had power over you Harry. I now have power over the Ministry and power within the Dark Circle. He Who Must Not Be Named has given me more than I've ever dreamt of. I want you to know it was I who put you in Askaban. I told you it could be done Harry Potter, scar and all. I remember that you laughed at me. It did sound ridiculous. You bet me a large butterbeer and you owe me now.
I'm with you always, dear, and now I bid you farewell, for all the time we spent together, for all happiness you gave me and for our spirits joined forever. I'm writing from my father's estate, now mine. My owl will send you this letter as I seal it with a kiss. Enclosed, find a copy of your death warrants signed in my own hand.
I miss you.
I love you.
And some things never change.
Draco
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