Something Unrepeatable
Author: Ria
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine. Obviously.
Spoilers: General
Pairing: H/D. Duh.
Warnings: Slight cross-dressing, make-up overtures
Summary: When Draco finally gains wisdom out of the reach of anyone else, he couldn't have imagined what else it could lead him to understanding.

Written for Dorrie's birthday.

Something Unrepeatable

It was nothing.

That was what the war was, Draco realised. Nothing. It was just an excuse for people with a lack of sanity to proclaim their ideals and use them as an excuse to slaughter other people. It had no real meaning at all.

He felt like he'd gained a certain wisdom the day he realised that. It felt like he was higher up than everyone else, now, more superior than them since he understood something that they still had to grasp.

It was also a little bit frightening, since Draco now knew that knowledge was power. He'd always been told that, but now he fully understood what it meant. And for a moment, Draco fantasised about what could be, as he now realised how dangerous real leaders – leaders with intelligence and knowledge – could be.

He now understood what he had, and what the Dark lord lacked.

He didn't like Harry Potter and he certainly didn't love him. He argued with him – and occasionally kissed him. Okay, he kissed him a lot more than occasionally. Maybe daily… or hourly.

It wasn't so much habit as familiarity. Kissing Harry was warm and wet and arousing. He liked the way that Harry grazed his teeth along his bottom lip, how he liked to nip and lick. He especially liked how Harry ground against him.

Neither knew how they ended up having sex, but they usually did if it wasn't the completely wrong time. They didn't do anything foolish like call out each other's names when they came, but they did moan and yell a lot. Did that count?

Though there were times when Harry's eyes flashed in a certain way, or his jaw set, and suddenly Draco realised that they were more similar than they realised. It was then that he knew that Harry understood the person he'd become.

Not that he'd tell him that, of course.

It was an uneasy truce.

Draco had been raised on many of the Malfoy ideals. He suspected that if any of the Gryffindor Trio Twits discovered these ideals, they'd be horrified. He didn't care what they thought of him, to be honest about it.

He knew that the Malfoy tradition of being faithful to one's family had been twisted to having pride only in purebloods. He couldn't remember any of the Malfoy line being anything except pureblood, and if there were any who weren't, no one knew or spoke of them. According to Granger, this pureblood business was the reason that his family were all a bit mad.

He wanted to tell her that his family had always been a bit mad, and it had nothing to do with their blood.

Muggle-born. Huh. What did she know? ('Mudblood' was now permanently erased from his memory, since people around here tended to hurt him quite badly if he used it.)

He now realised that she was also standing beside him, hovering nervously with her tray in her hands. By sheer irony, he was the only one here whom she knew.

"Oh, sit down, Granger," Draco snapped irritably. "And don't take all day about it, either."

She sat.

Sometimes, when they had to kill and too many people that they knew died, Harry and Draco lost a bit of their sense. They were the only ones who knew about this, since they told no one else and, thankfully, no one had walked in on them yet.

When things got bad, they curled up in bed, arms and legs and bodies wrapped around each other, and Harry reached for a mirror. They spent ages tracing the other's features on the mirror, ending by tracing the other's mouth over and over again.

Then Harry reached for the lipstick.

The application was very careful until it was perfect and then Harry would look at him, his mouth ruby-red, glistening and marvellous. Then Draco would kiss him until all the lipstick was off, licking and nipping. He was surprised to learn that the stuff actually tasted nice, not like the lipstick worn by Patsy and the others, and that it didn't smudge.

A part of him whispered that this wasn't quite normal, what they did, that guys didn't get their significant other to put on lipstick and then enjoyed kissing it off.

The rest of him wondered what it would be like to fuck Harry when he was dressed in a dress and heels.

When Draco found them, Harry was alive and the Dark Lord was dead.

Well, Harry was barely alive and he was shivering because it was raining. Water splattered over them both, making his already pale face appear dead white. In some ways, he was like a porcelain doll, cold and emotionless.

There was blood on Harry's lips, staining them a deep scarlet, but when Draco kissed them, it wasn't like kissing away the lipstick at all. Instead, a strong copper-like taste filled his mouth and coated his tongue.

It took him a while to realise that he was crying, but he blamed it on the rain.

Then Harry moved, moaned, and his eyes fluttered open. He stared up at Draco for a moment, then smiled, the action almost immediately disappearing because it hurt too much.

"Silly," he managed to croak out after a while, as rain pattered down around them, "I told you that I wouldn't leave you, even when you wouldn't believe me." He paused, coughed, then asked, "So, do you think this is love, now?"

Draco sniffed, called him several unrepeatable things, then kissed him again.

Finis