Not for the world
I loved him so much sometimes that it hurt. Physically hurt. But the sad thing is I mean the really sad thing is that I still wouldn't have given him the world, though he asked for it. I couldn't. He didn't understand. He left.
We were never supposed to be. Him and me. We were too different. From different worlds. Walked different paths but we could never leave each other alone. They say that when you are indifferent about somebody is when it really hurts, but hate works to.
Sometimes his words hurt me. Though I'd never tell him. I just put all the hurt into my next barb, my next quip or my next punch. I always liked getting physical with him. I told myself it was simply a normal boy thing. But nothing was ever normal about him. Or me. Or us.
I think I always loved him. I'm not sure. It's hard to say. What's love to an eleven year old? How was I to know it was real? Was it real? I don't know. I wish I did though. Things would've been easier.
I didn't realize that the line between love and hate had blurred and I loved him until I was fourteen. Though the entire year I was scared to death for him. I watched in panic masked by scorn as he out flew a dragon. I had to hide my face when he didn't show up at the top of the lake until the last minute. And after I heard about the trophy being a porkey…I had nightmares for weeks.
I wanted to kill him. Kill him for making me worry. Kill him for making me care. But most of all, I wanted to kill him for making me feel.
I had already resigned myself to a life of servitude. Knew that it would be kill or be killed. Had steeled myself against the inevitable. I had managed this long living the way I did. But then he came along and ruined it all.
Right off I knew that Voldemort would lose. The man underestimated the boy. He just didn't know what he was up against. But I did. I had seen him survive. Not the attacks or the near-death experiences but life.
I saw him fight when no one else did. He was a broken and flawed boy. Human like us all but all anyone else saw was a hero. A saviour. They never saw what I did. They didn't see the hollow look in his eyes. They didn't see the cracks in his mask. But I did. Maybe it was that that made me love him.
I fell in love with Harry Potter, the messy haired, compassionate, glasses-wearing, mediocre student. Not the Great Harry Potter, boy-who-lived, saviour of the wizarding world, and Quidditch star. That Harry I scorned and hated. The other fascinated me.
It was in fifth year that I told him I loved him. Actually I mumbled, gurgled and choked out the words. But what the words didn't tell him, my lips did. Yes, I, Draco Malfoy, Death Eater-in-training, bad ass and ice prince of Slytherin, kissed Harry Potter.
And you know what, it was good.
Not the kiss, exactly. That was rather awful. Our teeth bumped painfully, my lips were too puckered and there was too much spit. But the feeling was good. The intense sense of belonging. For as horrible as the kiss was mechanically it was the greatest thing I've ever felt. I felt whole, complete and it felt …right. I knew from that moment that I loved him. Truly, deeply loved him.
It was in that moment that I pledged my life to him. I had forsaken my father for a boy with messy hair and glasses. I signed my own death warrant for this boy, this man. I knew I would willing give my life for him. Not for what he'd do for the world but just for who he was and how he made me feel.
I pulled away from the kiss feeling dazed and stupid. Surely he was going to rebuke me. Surely he would use my feelings as black mail. But as I stared at him glassy-eyed with a goofy grin on my face, I just didn't give a shit. Never did I think that he'd do what he did, though.
"Oh, Draco," He breathed and captured my lips with his. Our second kiss was better than the first. Our lips melded together. The caressed each other, moved against each other. Like a dance. A beautiful, amazing, incredible dance.
A jolt of electricity shook my nervous system when a slick tongue swiped across my bottom lip. I gasped and the tongue entered my mouth. Every one of my nerve endings were on fire as his tongue explored my mouth. But they exploded when his tongue and mine touched. Sparks flashed behind my closed lids. I was in complete bliss.
As cliché as it sounds, I saw fireworks. I saw them, smelt them and for damn sure felt them. My entire body was basked in the heated glow of them and my eyes were blinded by the dazzling colours and spectacular display.
The need for air caused us to part. And I nearly cried from the lost of contact. My heart hurt. It felt like someone just tore a piece of me away. But then his hand curled around mine and I felt whole again.
We were an out and proud couple for two years after that. But than the war started and everything changed. We were both always out on high priority missions. If it wasn't one thing it was another. When we were together we made love almost desperately. Begging for anything that would drive away the pain and horror. Needing all the physical pleasure the other could provide. Needing it beyond words. Beyond anything but roaming hands, heated skin and anxious mouths. Our bodies joined but our souls drifted.
One night he didn't come home, or the next night or the night after that.
A week later he showed up completely pissed. He smelt of cigarettes and cheap perfume. I asked him where he'd been. He told me it was none of my business. Then he locked himself in the bathroom.
A few hours later he came out sobbing. He cried and told me he was sorry. That he loved me and he had made a horrible mistake. I told him it was ok, that'd we would get through it.
He got angry, then. Told me it wouldn't be ok. That nothing was ok. I was confused and I asked why not. He said because it just couldn't be that way anymore. I asked him what I could do to show him how much I loved him.
"Give me the world, Draco." He said softly, his soulful green eyes shimmering with tears. I looked away.
"I can't," I whispered. He cried, I cried, and then he left.
For three months I saw him only during meetings at headquarters.
I cried myself to sleep. I did love him. So much. But I just couldn't explain to him. I couldn't get it through to him. So I gave up.
Now it's been six months since I've last seen him. I threw myself into my work. Into the missions. So much so that I think that I got reckless.
Now I am lying on the ground, blood pooling around me and my body going cold. I think I am hallucinating because I see Harry. His beautiful face, eyes shining with concern. I try to reach for him but I can't. It's as my arm is being weighted down.
I say his name. I say it over and over. He tells me that he's there. That everything will be alright. But it won't, I tell him, because it just isn't that way anymore. He starts to cry and tell me he's sorry.
I try to tell him to stop but I begin to cough. My mouth is full of the coppery taste of blood.
Once the coughing stops I take a deep breath and try again.
"I am sorry, love." I whisper. "I didn't give you the world." Tears prick the back of my eyes. He cries harder and tells me that it doesn't matter, but I know it does. He has to know. "No, no love, I wouldn't give you the world if I could."
He looks shocked, he didn't expect me to say what I did, and he asks why.
"The world is not good enough for you. You are too pure and good. The world is a cruel and terrible place." I say choking the words out as more blood and bile rise in the back of my throat. "If I could, I would've given you the stars."
With that I breathed my last and went to join Orion amongst the black canvas of the sky. To shine brightly and always look down on my beloved with all the others.
I watched as he cried over my broken body. I watched as he mourned my death. I watched as he spoke about me at my funeral. I watched as he grieved. I watched as he got better. I watched as he moved on. I watched as he fell in love. I watched and watched and watched until he lay on his death bed, an old man who's lived a full life.
"Hullo, love." I say looking down at him. His skin is wrinkled and faded, his hair gone save for a few wild, wispy white hairs, but his green eyes still shone brightly.
"Draco," he said, his voice weathered and rattled.
"I've come to give you something." I say to him. He looks at me.
"And what is that?" He asks closing his eyes, too weak to keep them open.
"The stars," I whisper as he takes his last shaky breath and joins me by my side looking as he did the day I died. "Ready?" I ask, he nods and we take our place in the heavens. A blinding star with a silver glow beside one of emerald green.
No, I couldn't give him the world but I did give him all that I am. And in the end...it proved to be more than either of us knew.
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(An: I know this is odd and weird but it just popped in to my head and I was a mite depressed…so here lol)