Warnings: Non-graphic sex, cursing, character death, insanity, sort-of-dark!Harry, slash
They only ever meet at night, only by the stars and the moon, secreted away. The light is soft, and that's exactly what they need, thinks Harry, because everything about Draco Malfoy is so harsh. His face, all sharp angles and planes, beautiful in the way a sword is beautiful, until it cuts you wide open. His voice, all insults and derision, wrapped in pretty words that hurt you deeper than anything else. His body, all hard edges and firm muscle, enticing and intoxicating even when he's throwing his fists against you.
Draco Malfoy isn't good for him, and Harry knows it. The boy cuts like steel and burns like fire. But everything he does leaves a mark on Harry, and he can't help himself around his enemy.
He feels Draco slip, slide, and roll underneath his skin. He feels Draco scorch and smolder inside his veins. He turns to ashes with a touch, and he is nothing but dust on the floor, and the boy Harry is disappears with the wind. And it feels better than anything he's ever felt; the heat is ready to consume every part of him, and he feels alive.
He is wild and raw, rutting against the body on the floor like an animal. Skin against skin, teeth clanging together inside their mouths; Harry can taste blood, and he can't tell if it is his or Draco's, and he doesn't care either way. What he wants is to consume the other boy, to make him feel what Harry feels, to burn him away and let him disappear with the wind.
Harry shouts; he screams and moans and grunts into the skin of Draco's neck. Iloveyou, Ineedyou, Staystaystay. He whispers into Draco's ears, knowing the other boy doesn't listen, and Harry doesn't expect him to. He says everything and anything he doesn't mean, because this is so impossible, he thinks, and it doesn't mean anything.
Draco doesn't make a noise. Not when Harry's on top of him, inside him, around him. He doesn't close his eyes, or gasp for breath. He is quiet, laying his hands across Harry's shoulders, arching into every touch. He kisses fervently. But he doesn't say a word. When they are done, he picks up his clothes and puts them on, and he walks away without a glance back.
In the daylight, Ginny looks at him with bright eyes. Honey and sweetness in her gaze as she pulls her hair behind her ears. Somehow, Harry thinks, it feels wrong. So he kisses her, he touches her, hoping it will feel right again.
It doesn't. She's too soft, too pliant in his hands. She kisses him sweetly, her hands on his face and she gazes tenderly into his eyes. He sees her hair, splayed across the pillow, long and red. He feels her skin, pressed close to him, tanned and freckled. She whispers to him, sighs out into the air, moans against his lips.
He doesn't touch her again.
He begins to wonder what Draco looks like in the mornings, hair mussed up and eyes dreamy from sleep. He begins to wonder what it would be like to kiss him without the blood running from their mouths, to fuck him into the mattress instead of into the floor.
Harry tells Draco to stay the next night, and Draco does. When he opens his eyes, he feels the bed shift underneath him, and he looks to the body beside him. It is every bit as beautiful as he thought it would be. Blonde hair in disarray, eyes softer. Harry is mistaken. Draco waking up in the daylight is the best thing he now doesn't need to imagine. And so is Draco in the daylight, splayed on his bed, mouth open, underneath Harry as he moves. Harry whispers those words he's always said. Iloveyou, Ineedyou, Staystaystay. There is something different about the way he says them, because now it isn't impossible, now that Draco is with him and everything is different about them too.
In the daylight, Draco sighs and moans and answers back. Foreverforeverforever.
But Draco leaves, eventually, taken away along with the rest of Slytherin. It causes chaos as a fourth of the school disappears, spirited away on some moonless night, unseen and unheard. Draco leaves him and Harry wants him back.
He works harder, learning spells and enchantments until he's nearly choking on the words even as he reads them. At night, he dreams of the day. He dreams of the sunlight spilling around Draco's shoulders, he dreams of the smile on Draco's lips that steals away the air in his body, and he wakes up trying breath through a shout of his name.
He tries to sate those memories with anything and everything. He wants to capture that moment again, to relive it, but he knows that he cannot if Draco isn't there, so he settles for the next best thing. Just about anyone will do, for him. Even if their hair isn't the right color of blonde white blonde not wheat or dirty or dark. Even if their eyes aren't the same shade of grey like a storm clear and beautiful a tempest untainted. Even if their skin isn't the same pallor white and smooth and silky to the touch as if he's kissed by starlight. He never tells them to stay in the mornings, and he doesn't whisper those words to anyone. Idon'tloveyou, Idon'tneedyou, Don'tstaydon'tstaydon'tstay. He tries to convince himself of that, but it doesn't work.
Nothing works. Nothing can purge him of Malfoy's—Draco's—that bastard's—that liar's—touch. It still burns him, hotter than ever as it lingers in his blood. He is still ashes and he still scatters with the wind and the boy that is him is still lost. The only difference is that no one is there to catch the ashes anymore. Not when Draco is gone from his life. liarLIARLIAR.
He's slowly going mad. Or maybe he already is. Harry can't tell, because time passes so quickly in his body and so slowly in his head. Youtoldmeforeverforeverforever. Liar. Everything about Draco Malfoy is sharp. His face, his words, his body. Everything about him cuts and burns. Everything about him leaves a mark on Harry, tattooed inside his heart. He wants the boy with him, against him, around him. He wants to grind their bones together, until their marrows mix and they are one. He never wants to part from him again. Because Iloveyou, Ineedyou. Please staystaystay.
"You're a liar," he says to Draco, who swims in black and hides behind silver. "You said forever." The lights around them make it neither day nor night. It is only the sounds of battle that are prevalent, the standstill of time as he sees Draco once more.
"You should have known better, then." Draco looks at him and smiles, his hand still and pointed downwards, wand in grasp and yet so calm. "You mean nothing to me."
"I love you."
"I hate you." Harry understands. There is green light everywhere and Draco falls with a smile on his face, welcoming death with his eyes. Too late does Harry realize that it is from his own wand and he's already clutching the blonde in his arms and crying.
"Liar. You made me believe. Why? Why?" He asks but Draco doesn't answer. "You would only tell me more lies."
When he defeats Voldemort, he takes Draco's body and sits in the snow covered floor of the forest. It is neither day nor night and the lights around them are the lights of the fairies fluttering in and out of trees. Draco is beautiful, even in death, and softer still. "I love you." Harry says, and lays beside him, closing his eyes for the last time and seeing only grey.
We'll remain forever secret.
We'll hide here, where its neither night nor day.
We'll stay suspended in twilight.
You won't have to lie anymore.
Gardenia: Secret love
A/N: Another one shot that makes little sense. I seem to be pouring out a lot of those. Don't understand? You could always ask me and I'll gladly explain. But, as of now, make of it what you will.
Thanks for reading, and please review. Good, bad, questions, comments, flames, etc. :) I'm up for anything.