Another one of those stories that I absolutely adore, but have never posted because... well, there's always room for improvement, right? Anyways, don't own, blah blah, please enjoy!
Forever Hold Your Peace
There is a gulf between his heart and his mind. A sea. An ocean. A rift so wide, that no one would ever be able to see that his heart lay with her. Sentiment can only get him killed, here. He buries his emotions deep, deep inside.
It has been so long since he's seen her that he cannot recall her face without a picture. Unaided, her hair is a halo of red, her smile blurry. The feelings he experiences, however, are the same. Love, and loyalty, to her alone. He does it all for her. So, no matter how much turmoil he encounters, how much he hates everything he must do, his façade remains firmly in place. He will never betray himself to the Dark Lord.
Sometimes, though, he wishes he could escape. In his mind, he will retrace his steps, undo his wrongs, and then he will dream about what his life could have been.
Severus hisses in another breath, a snarl set on his features as he stalks through the hall. "Damn that boy," he mutters to himself. "That insolent fool."
It would appear that Draco Malfoy has made another pathetic attempt to take the Headmaster's life. A necklace, this time. The gift never arrived on the desk of its intended recipient—as if the old codger would willingly handle something that reeked of Dark Magic in the first place. "That idiot!"
There are only so many hiding spots that the boy could find in Hogwarts with his dull imagination. Severus heads to the most obvious—the facilities that the young ladies refuse to utilize due to the presence of Moaning Myrtle. The Bloody Baron had informed Severus that Draco seeks solitude there regularly.
It is not surprising, then, to find Draco crouched on the floor inside, head between his knees. His figure trembles, entirely unaware of the surroundings.
"Mister Malfoy?" Belatedly, he sees how deep the boy's pain runs. The red scratches from the boy's own nails are stark against the white skin of his neck, but Severus is more alarmed when Draco lifts his head to reveal desperate tears. Severus belatedly regrets speaking to him at all. At the same time, he knows that it is too late to pretend he has seen nothing. "What has happened?" he inquires, aloof.
As soon as Severus finishes the sentence, Draco's tears have dried.
"What do you mean?" the boy asks stiffly, jerking his face away. He sits regally, as if that had been his intention the entire time—to lounge on the floor of the girl's loo. The boy's voice is steady, but the angry scrapes on his neck linger.
"You know what I mean."
A moment passes in silence. Finally, the boy turns, and though his eyes are red, he manages a haughty glower. "Nothing has happened."
"Draco," he presses.
The boy's conviction visibly folds, as his entire body does—shoulders stooping, head bowed—but he says nothing.
"I have been sworn as your protector, and yet you insist on using pathetic attempts to finish this matter. Did you stop to think of what could have happened if you had, by some miracle, succeeded? Your Obliviate charm on that girl could have been overcome—would have been overcome. You would have been on the train to Azkaban right now." Besides a flinch, Draco gives no sign that he is listening. Severus raises his chin, arms crossed. "You won't talk then?"
His silence says everything that he cannot.
"I see. You leave me no choice, then—I'll pull the memories out myself."
"No—" the boy begins, but Severus has already taken hold of his thoughts during this moment of weakness.
Not many appreciate the skill of Legilimency because they do not understand it. A skilful practitioner can not only obtain the memories he needs quickly, a challenge in itself; he can also understand the inner-workings of another's mind well enough to piece together the meaning behind a series of seemingly arbitrary images. So when Severus sees flashes of memories, all wildly different, it takes him a moment to pull out the connecting thread.
He immediately wishes he hasn't.
With reluctance, he releases the boy's mind and stares down at him, gauging the effect of his mental violation.
Draco appears nauseous, his thin face drained and nearly translucent. "How… how dare you…." He moans the words, and then buries his head in his hands. Severus allows the boy a brief moment to collect himself. And he needs the time, as well. He had never expected to see this; it shakes him to the core. No, it cannot be, his mind whispers. Not for him. He is too—
"How long?" Severus demands, much louder than he intended.
The boy shakes his head without lifting it, and a sob breaks through.
"I need to know." Without hesitation, he crouches to kneel next to this broken figure. "How long have you loved her?"
"I don't," he chokes, partially lifting his head. "I don't love her. I don't even fancy—" His words garble, and he bows his head again, trembling.
"I saw, Draco!" He seizes his shoulders and forces him to look up, to meet his eyes. "I saw everything."
He nearly howls in pain. "Please Professor," he cries openly. He plants his hands on Severus' shoulders as well, and stares imploringly into his empty gaze. "Please don't tell. I didn't mean to. She's a mudblood;"—Severus flinches—"she means nothing to me. I won't disobey him. I swear!"
"I need you to tell me how long!" the man interrupts. His fingers are digging into the boy's bones, but Draco does not even seem to notice. Bewildered and hopeless, the boy's pale eyes search his face for solace. Severus watches as impassively as he can manage, but this revelation hits too close to home. Lily… oh Merlin, what has this boy done?
Draco must be satisfied with what he sees, for he admits softly, "Since the end of third year." A long time to keep a secret like this, surely. The man sets his jaw, wondering what he can do now. Finally, he sourly intones, "I will not speak of this. Nor will you, Mister Malfoy."
The boy nods fervently. Then, without warning, he speaks again. "I think… I think that I…." He almost seems on the verge of a confession, one that Severus would rather not hear.
"Don't say another word," the Potions Master commands, and the boy's mouth automatically clicks shut. "Do not talk about her if you want her to survive her sixth year. Do not even speak her name. If your father inquires about her or her friends, you do not know the answer."
"But what about—"
"Not a word!" Severus hisses. "You have no idea what kind of influence even you possess." The blond frowns uncomprehendingly. "Believe me when I say that by throwing in with this lot, you can become a shield for her. Use it, Draco. Use it to help her."
The words comfort him briefly; the man can see it. Then another flash of grief crosses the blond's face. "Merlin," he moans again and burrows his countenance. Through his tentative hold on his shoulders, Severus feels the child's body resume its tremors. "What if he finds out? What will happen to her?"
Dead. He finds her dead, lying beside a crib that contains a wailing child. His knees give out, he cannot hold up his wand. He is astounded that his heart has the strength to beat without her. Silently, he brushes her hair away with a trembling, gentle finger. But there is no warmth in her face, and her open eyes are faded—
"You mustn't lose yourself in possibilities," he asserts. To his horror, his voice breaks at the end of the sentence. He takes a moment to regain control, then adds, "She is clever."
"A fat lot of good that'll do!" Draco pushes his hands away and is suddenly on his feet, pacing. "She is nothing. Filthy girl!" He runs his hands through his hair absently, and appears to have forgotten that Severus is even there. "I'll do it. I have to do it!"
"Draco—"
The boy whirls. "I hate her!"
His proclamation booms around the room, from the cavernous ceiling to the marble floor, until it fades to nothingness. The pair watches each other, one bursting with emotion, and the other simply observing. The boy is the first to look away. "I don't have a choice," he states to the floor.
"There is always a choice. Don't make the same—" His voice stops working, purely out of self-preservation. He has said more than he has ever wanted to say, to a snot-nosed brat that cannot control himself. He amends his words: "Don't make a mistake."
But now the blond is watching him, cool calculation plain in his furrowed brow. Severus inwardly flinches. The boy has always been too quick for his own good. He is, at heart, a Slytherin. "The same mistake, you mean? Same as you, sir?" Draco spits the last word as if it were an insult, setting Severus' teeth on edge.
"You are treading on thin ice," he grits out, wand hand clenching.
But Draco's face has become oddly impassive. Stoic. "Where is she? This girl of yours?"
The question brings more pain than Severus can bear. It does not show on his face, he is sure, but the seriousness of this sixteen year-old, this child, tears him far back into the past, fifteen years ago, a time he prays that he can forget—
—and before he can tell himself it is a terrible idea, that someone could be coming at any moment, he drags her lifeless form into his arms, and he cradles her the way that he has longed to since his childhood. His sobs are not enough, but they are all he has left to offer her—he has failed her in every possible way...
"She is dead."
His voice is steady and simple. It is merely a statement of fact, nothing more. Draco does not move; he doesn't even blink.
"She was bright, as well," Severus continues cautiously. "Brave, and… and unfailingly kind. She was also in Gryffindor." Here, he pauses. It is so hard to continue. There is patience in the boy's eyes, though. If he can only get him to understand, to impress the importance…. Taking in a deep breath, he begins again. "But I stood aside and waited, like an imbecile, trusting that she would be safe without my help. I did nothing." He takes a sudden step forward, causing Draco to flinch, but Severus ignores the motion. "You still have time to stop yourself from going too far." The boy clutches at his own left arm and seems on the verge of arguing. "Never mind that," Severus cuts him off. "Never mind what anyone else says. Fight for those you love. Even if you can't say the words. You must fight."
"I—" Draco begins. But the noise was seemingly involuntary—his voice hitches, and he falls silent. There is a glimmer of hope in his eyes, though, Severus thinks. A hope that will stay alive, however small it seems. A sudden burst of ire quickly fills the boy, and a frown mars his face. "If you say a word—" he tries again, but the fire leaves him as quickly as it came. He seems almost afraid that he has spoken.
"You may trust in me," Severus confirms, though he hardly feels the need.
The young boy clears his throat, awkwardly. Then, in a subdued tone, he murmurs, "I have to go, sir."
"I should not have to inform you that you should speak to no one of this."
It is as close to open begging as Severus will ever get.
A pause, then a clipped, "Of course, sir." There is no sarcasm in his voice, only comprehension.
"Go, then."
Severus does not budge as Draco self-consciously straightens his robes and shuffles past him to leave. He simply watches an unremarkable patch of floor, eyes focused on something that his mind has conjured.
After a long while, the door closes behind him. It is only then that Severus brings a single, quaking hand to his brow.
If you've read me before, you know from the get-go who Draco's talking about... but no names mentioned, so hey, it could be some random character that was never in the book! Yaaaay. Anyways, I'm way too into male/male friendship and male/female friendship right now, so expect more things like this.
Did you like it? Did you hate it? Please, share your thoughts and review!