Title: R.E.M. Category: Angst, Romance Timeline: Post-second war Pairings: DM/HP, CC/HP Rating/Warning: R. Serious, serious, serious, angst. Stop reading right now if you are uncomfortable with that or male/male pairings. Feedback: Questions, comments, criticism, ramblings, death threats, marriage proposals, gifts and cards are always welcome.
Note: The idea for this story came partially from a non-HP fanfic I read (although I can't remember the author or the title) and a really bizarre dream I had not too long ago. Therefore, the story deliberately changes scenes and timelines within itself quickly, and no, that's not just to confuse you. Anyway, at the end, everything should make some sort of vague sense.
Italics = thoughts /... .../ = flashbacks/dreams/other random events/etc...
A big thank you to my beta readers Chris and Matt. My stories would be nothing without you guys.
R.E.M. by: LadyDraco917
The air was balmy, and a light breeze billowed the curtains of the bedroom.
A figure stirred and twisted beneath the sheets. Harry Potter's lips curved into a small smile. His eyes fluttered open, and he slowly pulled himself up. The air smelled like eucalyptus and spearmint [1]; the scent was familiar and cloying. His lidded eyes scanned the room and settled on the curtains.
"Draco?" he called.
A soft laugh drifted through the air and settled on Harry's skin like a cool breeze. He squinted and a dark figure by the window became apparent. The curtains shifted in the wind again, and a slim boy stepped out.
"Little prince." Draco Malfoy never tired of his old pet name for Harry.
"What time is it?" Harry asked, confused. His eyes were blurry, still unaccustomed to the light; they couldn't focus enough to see the clock.
Draco walked over and knelt by the bed. "It's late, prince. Why are you still up?" One of his hands wove itself into Harry's hair, his fingertips stroking the fine raven strands.
"I..." Harry gave his lover a bewildered look. "I was waiting for you." He managed a weak smile. "It's hard to sleep sometimes, when...when you're not here."
There was the whisper of a sigh, and then a limber body crossed over him and under the crisp sheets. A tentative leg rubbed against his. He heard a rustle of cloth, and then a pair of bare arms twined themselves around his neck and shoulders. A knee prodded him gently in the thigh. Draco smiled against his mouth.
"My little prince. Sleep."
One of his hands trailed down Harry's shoulder, prickling the skin of his arm. Harry could feel the warm frame of Draco's body pressed against the thin cloth of his shirt. He closed his eyes hesitantly but stayed awake until he heard the other boy's breathing lapse into the smooth, continuing waves of slumber. He pressed his nose into Draco's hair and took in the scent of eucalyptus and spearmint.
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Harry awoke with a jerk. He was trembling violently and his head ached. The window was open, and the air was chill./The click of the gun announced that the safety was off.
"So this is how it ends." The musical voice seemed bitter and distant. "Goodbye and so long." There was a slight slur that accompanied the stench of alcohol. The angled face was stained with tears, and the pretty blond hair was matted.
"Don't." His voice was small and desperate. It seemed like a hallow plea from a man already resigned to his fate.
There was an ugly bruise over the cleft under his nose. His lips were swollen from the cut on the upper lip that was still bleeding. The gun looked out of place next to his face; the gun was shining and new, and the face was so weary. It nuzzled his cheek for a moment before it was inserted into his mouth. It almost looked obscene. Draco gave him a wink, and his lips twitched for a moment around the barrel of the gun.
He walked toward Harry with a twitch in his hips. The gun popped from his lips. "It's been real."
Before Harry could do anything, the gun was shoved back into Draco's mouth and—as the boy slumped to his knees—he/
walked into the room.
Harry shot up in his bed.
"You look like you just saw a ghost," Draco stated.
"I had a bad dream," Harry whispered. He shook his head. "I need to get up."
"You do," Draco agreed. "You've got a meeting at ten. There's a representative from the German Ministry of Magic: Auror Division with the new 'Joint Act' policy. There's a man you don't want to piss off."
Harry was already up and sliding into the bathroom. "What's after that?"
Draco sauntered over to the bathroom and watched as Harry undressed. "You have lunch with the Minister of Magic."
Harry turned and put on an air of mock fatigue. "Does it ever end?"
Draco smirked and pulled Harry in for a quick kiss. "No. What would you ever do without me?"
Harry stepped into the shower and turned on the water. "I honestly don't know."
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He walked down to the kitchen in nothing but a robe. Someone was behind the refrigerator door, fumbling around. He sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee.
"What are you looking for, honey?"
Cho Chang stuck out her head and smiled. Harry had to smile back at her. His wife was so beautifully disheveled in the morning. "I was just getting the margarine for your toast, dear."
Harry looked dismayed. "But we have butter. I know we have butter, somewhere..." He narrowed his eyes. "Unless you threw it out."
Cho took a fastidious sip from her own cup of coffee and set the margarine down on the table. "Butter is bad for you." She said primly, sticking out her tongue for effect.
"I am twenty-five."
"It starts young." "I want my butter."
"We have some nice margarine."
"Butter."
"You can have some with a slice of wheat bread," she said cheerfully.
Harry threw her a disgusted look, gave up, and sat down by his wife. She gave him a quick kiss on the top of his head and made an approving sound.
"Mmmhmm?" Harry added a little cream to his coffee and looked up.
A little smile graced Cho's face. "It's nothing. You smell nice this morning. Like eucalyptus and spearmint."
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The voice droned from the speakers, monotonous. The heavy white robes made his shoulders slump. His lackluster hair fell limply over his face.
His wrists were strapped into the arms of the chair; they curled into tight fists. A high-pitched whimper tore loose from his throat as the first locks fell. There was an efficient snip of scissors, and another section of his hair parted from his head.
Tears stung his eyes.
He loved my hair. He loved my hair. He loved my—
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"I had the weirdest dream last night," Harry said. He dropped into the chair and opened his menu.
Ron gave him a quizzical look. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Harry took a sip from his water. "It was one of those that kind of...continued, like it was actually taking up time."
His redheaded friend laughed. "They do take up time."
"Well, I mean, it went on into the morning. I got up in my dream and everything was the same. Like I had woken up inside the actual dream."
"Oh?"
"It felt so real." Harry's voice was wry. "I could smell the eucalyptus and spearmint on him."
"Ah. Draco."
A waiter approached their table, and the two men ordered. The drinks soon arrived, and Harry broke the silence again.
"You know, the strangest thing is that Cho said I smelled like eucalyptus and spearmint this morning."
Ron's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "Harry? Didn't you say that Cho was in France for the week?"
Harry gave him a blank stare. "I...she is." He blinked several times. "Oh." Harry laughed unconvincingly. "I think I might be going crazy. I remember going down into the kitchen this morning and she..."
"You're overworked, mate," Ron interjected. "But that's pretty bizarre, Harry." He took a sip of his drink and nodded his head. "Pretty damn bizarre."
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"Hi"
"H-hi." Cho sounded surprised. There was a slight buzz of static in the phone line, just enough to pleasantly distort her voice. Harry could hear her smile as she asked, "How are you?"
"When are you coming back?" He cradled the phone and chewed on a fingernail. "I miss you." His voice was warmly nagging.
"I miss you too. I'm just wrapping things up with Brown here. I should be on a broom home tomorrow. You'll see me tomorrow night, probably."
"If you promise to hurry I'll make you dinner. We can have it by candlelight."
She chuckled and responded with a sly voice, "If you promise to leave out the veal and butter that you're fondling in your mind and replace it with tofu, I might just hurry."
Harry knew she was teasing. After a moment, Cho's voice came back over the line, "You've been sticking to our diet, right?"
"When have you known me not to?" he responded. "Besides, these things start young."
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/"Please. God, please, don't."
He was still muttering it. She could see him, curled into a corner of the room, trying to hide from the blinding glare of white.
"Please. God, please, don't."
There was a beep, and a tired voice said, "Inmate #91701, you have a visitor." There was a buzz, and the door opened.
She took a deep breath and/
stepped inside.
Harry raised his head sleepily. "Hello?" His eyes opened, and he stared at the candles. They had burnt themselves out. The food was cold on the table. "You're late."
"I'm sorry, little prince." Draco sat down across from Harry and took his hand. Kissing it, he murmured, "Moody called an impromptu meeting. The entire Auror staff had to report." He pulled a face. "Chang got back from France with her reports on the conference. There's something about dark magic in one of the satellite nations, and Moody wanted to assemble a team to go investigate. Longbottom and Finnigan pulled the short straws."
Harry poured himself a glass of wine. "Cho Chang." He looked at Draco fondly. "I thought I was in love with her, you know. God."
"You just hadn't discovered me," Draco purred.
"Just imagine. If I hadn't met you, I might have actually married her."
"I love you, you know," Draco blurted out suddenly. His bright eyes met Harry's; they were piercing and sincere. "I love you like nothing else."
They held hands and watched each other's faces in the dark, silent.
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He woke up crying.
"He loved me!" A choked sob rose in his throat. "Oh, God...he actually loved me..."
A pair of delicate hands steadied his shoulders. He turned and curled against the welcome body, still weeping.
"It's okay. Shhh...it's all right now."
He hiccupped and shook his head miserably. "It's not all right. I...I..."
Cho kissed Harry and held him tightly against her chest. "It was just a dream..."
"He was there. I could see him, I could touch him. I...I..."
"A dream," she said firmly.
He quieted. "I dreamt that I was in a cell," he whispered. "And then I dreamt that I woke up, and Draco was there. And he said he loved me. Why...why did he...why?"
"I don't know," Cho sighed. "Just...shhh. Go back to sleep, Harry. Please. You have a long day tomorrow. Go to sleep."
Harry closed his eyes, but his grip on Cho's nightgown never faltered.
The curtains billowed silently. The air was warm.
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"I've been having some trouble sleeping," Harry said. "I was wondering if I could get a sleeping potion."
Hermione Granger walked up to Harry, penciling in various information on a sheet of paper. "What's the trouble, exactly?"
There was a long pause, and then Harry offered reluctantly, "I've been having dreams."
"Come on," Hermione said worriedly. "We're friends, Harry. You can tell me. Besides, I work with the ministry—I've heard it all."
The last comment only brought the ghost of a smile to Harry's lips. "Just...really, really weird dreams. They seem so real. Lately, I've been having these weird dreams about living inside a mental institution. And I just feel so
/alone." His hands shook. "I am alone," he repeated. His eyes were wide, and he barely even noticed when the nurse injected a needle and drew blood.
The doctor wrote notes to himself on a pad. "Patient: #91701. Sex: Male." He turned to the nurse. "Chronic insomnia, among other things. The institute has requested to have him put on a sedative." He walked over to a cabinet and opened it. Drawing out a rack, he selected one of what must have been hundreds of multicolored glass vials. They were all sealed and neatly labeled. This one read 'C01-85.'
The nurse smiled sweetly at the shaking boy. "This won't hurt a bit."
There was a smudge of lipstick on her teeth. It looked more like a smear of blood. Easily puncturing the seal of the vial, the clear liquid was transferred from the tube to the syringe. After a few preparations—one shaking arm quickly swabbed with alcohol—the sedative was quickly injected.
He jerked fiercely for a moment before completely slumping over. The nurse/
turned to Harry and said, "By the way, you're due for another flu shot today."
Harry grimaced. He hadn't told Hermione about his newfound fear of needles, but he dutifully rolled up his sleeve. Hermione quickly retrieved a long syringe and a vial. After dabbing a little rubbing alcohol on Harry's upper arm, poised the needle to draw the liquid out of the vial.
Harry's eyes glanced over the black letters on the vial: C01-85. His hands began to shake.
"Now," Hermione said, "this won't hurt a bit." She smiled, and Harry could have sworn that her teeth looked red.
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"You have an appointment with Hermione Granger in forty minutes," Cho said. "I'm going to take a shower, and then I'll drive you over."
Harry watched his wife disappear into the bathroom. He felt numb. Something tickled at his mind, but he couldn't quite discern it. His head hurt. He walked over to the mirror and checked his appearance: there were dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't slept in days.
There was an amused laugh from the doorway. He turned just fast enough to see a flash of pale blond hair. Draco called, "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I shall be too late!"
Harry ran out and saw him disappear down the stairs. His voice drifted up, mocking. "Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting! [2]"
Rushing down to catch up, Harry rounded a corner and saw Draco dart into the library. Following, his mind a torrent from the confusing events, he entered the dim room and almost choked on the reek of alcohol. He stared at Draco who stared back at him bleakly, his eyes pink. His fist was around a bottle of whisky, and he took a long chug.
His other hand rested on his lap clutching a handgun. His fingers clicked the safety off.
"So this is how it ends."
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She walked into the room and stood by the door. He was still cowering in the corner, muttering. His cropped hair was set against the whiteness of the room, of his clothes, of his skin. He hadn't seen the sun in five years. The air smelled fetid, recycled, and it tasted synthetic.
He moaned, "It was just a dream."
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"Goodbye and so long." His own voice sounded distant and muted, strange to his own ears. Harry looked stricken.
And I hope she was a good fuck, he thought bitterly. I hope she was a damn good fuck.
Harry finally spoke. "Don't"
He slowly slid the gun into his mouth. It was cold against his tongue, and the metal clicked against his teeth. He walked towards his former lover with a deliberate swagger to his hips. A lock of his hair swept across his face in front of an eye. Draco removed the gun for a moment. "It's been real."
The gun popped back in, and he fell to his knees.
"Please. God, please, don't," Harry whispered. It sounded like a prayer. There was an irony to it that Draco might have appreciated a long time ago.
A moment passed, and Draco's finger remained poised on the trigger. Harry walked towards him and slid to the floor slowly. His hands crept up to Draco's and brought the gun from his lips. The metal pressed against Harry's cheek, sliding against the hot tears.
"Did you always love her?" Draco's voice was like that of a small child's; pleading and lost.
"I don't know." Harry's reply sounded honest.
"Did you ever love me?"
"Yes."
The gun righted itself, and Harry found himself looking straight down the barrel.
"I love you, you know," Draco said brokenly. "I love you like nothing else."
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She could see the hollow of his pale neck from her vantage point. The black numbers, 91701, stood clear against his skin.
"Hi," she said awkwardly.
He stopped rocking his body and his mumbling and looked at her. "What are you doing here?" His voice was hoarse.
"I don't know." She stuck her hands in her pockets. "I just...I don't know."
"You're still angry."
Her black-brown eyes were furious. "You shot him. You...you shot him, point blank. You loved him, and you killed him." Cho took a deep breath. "Yes, I'm still angry."
"I'm still angry with you too," Draco remarked.
"Why?"
He shrugged. "He was always yours. No matter how many times I kissed him goodnight or how many times we...we..." Draco blinked back tears. "I've had five years to think about how many times your face must have been superimposed over mine when we were together. It's a long time."
She rubbed her temples. "You've been petitioning for a death sentence."
"I'd like to die," he said simply. "It would be a relief . It would be better than dreaming."
Cho's voice was surprisingly gentle. "Do you dream too, then?"
He nodded, his hair brushing against his gaunt cheekbones. "I dream every night of what might have been. What should have been." His eyes closed.
The voice came over the loudspeaker again, droning and bored. "Visitor time for #91701 is over."
Only his lips moved now. "Thank you for visiting, Ms. Chang. Sleep well."
Cho exited through the doors. She stopped to look through the thick glass as the lights faded in the cell, swallowing Draco in darkness.
She turned around and left him to his dreams.
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The End
[1] Bath and Body Works makes several products with the eucalyptus spearmint scent. It's what I imagined Draco would smell like.
[2] Line yoiked from Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.
Points of possible confusion:
-Yes, Harry was dead all along
-Yes, all the dreams within dreams within dreams were Draco's dreams
-The only event that took place in "actual" time was the very first "flashback" and all the scenes in the mental institution.