Warning: I have rated the story an R because of an implied Harry/Draco
slash pairing. So please avoid this fic if you do not like the idea of a
same sex romantic pairing.
Disclaimer: Everything is the property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just a humble dog not even worthy of dusting her shoes.
Life in months of midnight
I can hear the Unicorns screaming as a fat and contented moon rises to the cloudline like a balloon, high above the Forbidden Forest. I've pulled my gloves off, leaving my fingers free to snap the cold and their numbness is an odd proof that I'm still alive. So I'm back here again, with the edges of my robes getting soaked in muddy snow, trying to unearth memories of you and ripened berries gone soft and black under the perfect light of summer.
'Will you be here in winter?' you had asked once, watching the warm May wind stirring unsettled dust through the woods. The blue sky reached down through the branches as I reached down to cup your face in my hands for the first time, and found you not as beautiful as in my thoughts. You were far too busy counting my vows to notice the musky scent of blood rising from the earth. I forgot to keep an eye on the trail ahead -
and August arrived soon, hot and heavy with a demand for flesh. The blood had already began to trickle from the tree leaves but by then we had found new paths to follow, your teeth against my jugular, my tongue writing long promises on your wrist. We rubbed ourselves sweet with resin and snagged countless little twigs from the ground to texture our robes and hair. 'Will you remember the way back in winter?' you asked again and I was still there, (wasn't I?) doing my utmost to answer to your summer green certainty that there would be a way to put things right.
You walked ahead of me through thick wings of mist, your trace scentless in the mornings of November. I watched you, as you paused to touch some thorny scrub, a mossy tree trunk, claiming them as though your own, just like the leaves dropped down for you to crackle as you stepped. 'Will you come to me in winter then?' I asked. You turned to my gaze but said nothing at all. As we walked back in diminishing light I found the first dead Unicorn, sucked dry, the corpse half hidden behind a blanket of new-fallen leaves.
And today I'm back here again, walking in endless circles around the Forest, trying to catch a glimpse of your reflection in the Hogwarts lake. The mirror of the surface is deceptively calm, bearing the memory of rainless, cloudless days.
Is this what it comes to in the end? These brief months, swelling with words of promise are gone and now the brutal honesty of your absence leaves me mute and tongue-tied. What I wanted, what you wanted, all of this washes past me. But finally I have found the perfect branch of the right tree to dangle from, three feet above our past shadows that are still lingering, hopelessly tangled, on the ground. Killing myself again for you, my face smeared with Unicorn blood.
The end
Disclaimer: Everything is the property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just a humble dog not even worthy of dusting her shoes.
Life in months of midnight
I can hear the Unicorns screaming as a fat and contented moon rises to the cloudline like a balloon, high above the Forbidden Forest. I've pulled my gloves off, leaving my fingers free to snap the cold and their numbness is an odd proof that I'm still alive. So I'm back here again, with the edges of my robes getting soaked in muddy snow, trying to unearth memories of you and ripened berries gone soft and black under the perfect light of summer.
'Will you be here in winter?' you had asked once, watching the warm May wind stirring unsettled dust through the woods. The blue sky reached down through the branches as I reached down to cup your face in my hands for the first time, and found you not as beautiful as in my thoughts. You were far too busy counting my vows to notice the musky scent of blood rising from the earth. I forgot to keep an eye on the trail ahead -
and August arrived soon, hot and heavy with a demand for flesh. The blood had already began to trickle from the tree leaves but by then we had found new paths to follow, your teeth against my jugular, my tongue writing long promises on your wrist. We rubbed ourselves sweet with resin and snagged countless little twigs from the ground to texture our robes and hair. 'Will you remember the way back in winter?' you asked again and I was still there, (wasn't I?) doing my utmost to answer to your summer green certainty that there would be a way to put things right.
You walked ahead of me through thick wings of mist, your trace scentless in the mornings of November. I watched you, as you paused to touch some thorny scrub, a mossy tree trunk, claiming them as though your own, just like the leaves dropped down for you to crackle as you stepped. 'Will you come to me in winter then?' I asked. You turned to my gaze but said nothing at all. As we walked back in diminishing light I found the first dead Unicorn, sucked dry, the corpse half hidden behind a blanket of new-fallen leaves.
And today I'm back here again, walking in endless circles around the Forest, trying to catch a glimpse of your reflection in the Hogwarts lake. The mirror of the surface is deceptively calm, bearing the memory of rainless, cloudless days.
Is this what it comes to in the end? These brief months, swelling with words of promise are gone and now the brutal honesty of your absence leaves me mute and tongue-tied. What I wanted, what you wanted, all of this washes past me. But finally I have found the perfect branch of the right tree to dangle from, three feet above our past shadows that are still lingering, hopelessly tangled, on the ground. Killing myself again for you, my face smeared with Unicorn blood.
The end