A Word from the Author: This is a very old piece of mine, which I dug out from somewhere (read: the bowels of hell, or rather my computer) and was like, Waaah! This takes me back! Not that I'm that old, mind you. This also means that this was written, if I recall correctly, just after the Prisoner of Azkaban.
It was also the first time I ever attempted to write smut. How nostalgic!
The title is a reflection upon what inspired me to write this, all those years ago: Aerosmith's Don't Want To Miss A Thing.
Disclaimer: Neither the song, nor the characters depicted herein belong to me. Alas.
Don't Wanna Miss A Thing
Draco Malfoy, collected and sophisticated, epitome of everything Slytherin, very rarely lets down his mask of indifference. The times he does so, few and infrequent as they may be, are usually only ever because of the waif-like creature, fragile and yet so strong, lying on the bed before him. His Harry.
It is almost time to leave, to go forth and meet their fate, but Draco wants to let Harry have his rest, to give him these few moments of peace while he is sleeping so contentedly. Eyes shining slightly, Draco's pale aristocratic fingers reach out, tracing Harry's delicate, slightly tanned, features. Draco slowly closes his eyes, and with only the use of his fingertips, he etches the image of the most beautiful visage he has ever seen into his heart, his soul, his memory; remembering it, like one remembers who they are. A soft smile, creeps onto his face, overlaying his usually sneering countenance, replacing it with an expression of pure love and adoration for this man, who Draco has the privilege to call his own. These are the kind of moments, above all other moments Draco cherishes, that he believes heaven would be made of.
The extent of his love for Harry he can never express in mere words. This feeling within him simply reaches that far beyond the plane of verbal acknowledgement. This is why Draco plans to be there for Harry, his beautiful, innocent Harry, who has endured so much, in his hour of need and desperation. No sacrifice is too great, and Draco is more than willing to give anything, everything, to see Harry through the approaching darkness.
The time for fighting is, indeed, nearly upon them, but Draco still doesn't want to leave this haven, this achingly unfettered moment of fulfillment in which he is basking. He breathes a deep breath, drawing in the sentiments evoked by the present nearness he shares with his love, holding this moment close to his heart like a treasured possession.
It is here, the Final Battle. Draco is separated from Harry by a line of imposing shadows, Death Eaters surround him. Fighting with the desperation of a madman, Draco summons his love for Harry, translating it, converting it, into a physical force of magical energy, to strike down those who are attempting to stop him from reaching his other half. The backup team of aurors has finally arrived, just in time to be of assistance, and Draco is now able to run towards where Harry is battling the Dark Lord.
Draco draws his wand, preparing to curse the Dark Lord into oblivion, even if it costs him his life in the process, but before he can utter a single, solitary syllable, a sibilant whisper echoes from the area ahead, Pertificus totalus.
Draco falls, unmoving, to the sloshing wet earth, made of red soil, reminiscent of blood, perhaps foreshadowing the events to come. Draco can only move his eyes, but he knows, had known as soon as he had heard that voice, that it is Harry himself who is preventing him from fighting the good fight.
No! Draco's heart screams at Harry, begging to let him help, declaring that they should be doing this together. But Harry doesn't seem to hear Draco's heart calling to him, that or he simply does not heed Draco's unspoken, heartbreakingly anguished cries. Draco looks on, unblinking, as Harry faces the Dark Lord alone, his heart breaking at the fact that he is incapable of fulfilling his promise of protecting Harry, disregarding the fact that it is Harry himself who wishes to protect Draco from this 'darkness'.
A soul shattering sob escapes Draco's tightening throat as he hears Harry's whisper, silent, unspoken, caressing his heart, For you...
All is silent on the open field, the barest touches of dawn sweeping along the English countryside, vaguely illuminating the three motionless bodies that lie among the otherwise empty plain, amidst the further bloody carnage of the Final Battle. Draco's still body fights against the magical bonds, desperately needing to reach Harry... but he can't move... and if Harry is gone... then what does it matter? If Harry isn't with him, then there is nothing in this world worth moving for, worth living for. Tears fall, heedlessly, down wind-chaffed alabaster cheeks, as darkness, after long moments, engulfs him.
Draco awakes in the Infirmary at Hogwarts, his heart breaking all over again as his mind forces him to relive the memory of Harry falling, falling, falling and finally lying motionless, like a beautiful broken rag-doll, while he himself lies helpless, unable to do anything. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying desperately to block the memories, dim them, shut them out, and perhaps then, he wouldn't feel like an empty husk of a man, his soul having been ripped out, and torn into a thousand soiled shards while the empty shell of himself remains living, but not. He has lost his humanity, and all that is left is bestial. That which makes him human is ever so gradually fading; it disappears like sand in an hour glass, slowly seeping into the inaccessible void below, more and more being lost as moments pass. He tries to return to being 'Malfoy', calm, cold creature that he is, in the hope that he might gain some semblance of sanity. There is a huge gaping hole, black and sinister, consuming all feelings of goodness from within. It is almost like a Dementor now resides where his heart used to be. All that exists now is cold, deep, deep cold. Perhaps his heart has simply frozen.
Dumbledore comes in to see him, eyes still twinkling despite all that has happened, and Draco cannot help but scream and rage, shriek and sob out his pain and indignation at the hand he had been dealt.
It's not fair! He cries. It's not fair! I was meant to be with him! I was meant to protect him! That was my purpose... How could he leave me... How could he?!
His body shaking because of the strength of his emotions, Draco, fists clenched tightly shut, holds onto the pure, white sheets of his deathbed. His deathbed, he wants to call it, simply because, it is the first place he will ever remember being with the knowledge that Harry is gone from his life... Perhaps if Draco could will enough energy to move himself, he would be able to get to Madam Pomphrey's medicinal store and...
Seeing the wild, crazed look in Draco's eyes, Dumbledore decides to intercede and distract Draco from his wayward thoughts, to tell Draco the reason he came down here to see him in the first place, but before doing so, he asks that Draco calms down. This request, however, does not go over well, and Draco becomes more agitated, until Dumbledore gently, yet firmly, interrupts his mental spiel…
He isn't dead.
Draco freezes though all the while his heart is melting.
Feeling tired beyond his years, Draco closes his eyes, for a moment's respite, content to be this close to his consort. Draco lies carefully alongside his longtime lover. Pale blond head placed upon a chest where a slow, but steady, heartbeat sounds. His heart's heart.
Here, with his Harry, he feels at home, at peace. Here he feels a calmness only ever induced by the unity he shares with this person who is so different from him. But Draco knows, in his heart of hearts, that somehow, despite their differences and their sometimes petty bickering, their souls are sort of the same and that the love they have is as true as any other. A slow blinking of silver speckled-blue eyes as tears mist them over, Draco watches the stunning scenery before him become slightly hazy. He prays, to all deities ever known to man, for he doesn't know what else to do.
Tracing Harry's features again, like he did that time, but a night that seems an eternity ago, Draco contemplates the happiness gained from a single smile upon his beloved's sweet, oft-chapped lips, the aching tightness in his chest that he feels whenever he sees disappointment shimmer in those deep jade depths. Though it wasn't often that Harry ever needed to reprimand him, it, nevertheless, struck him deep, and made him, truthfully, want to become a 'better man', as they say.
Pale, elegant fingers pause in their exploration of silk-covered hills, valleys and plains, as Harry's eyes flicker beneath his eyelids. Draco smiles a smile filled with warmth as he watches one of Harry's dark brows quirk whilst he dreams. He shifts slightly from where his leg is cramping for having stayed in the same position for such a long period of time on end. Draco moves the previously exploring hand from Harry's rose-tinted cheek, to link their hands together, fingers intertwined intimately, just like the love Draco feels between them. This adoration that they share comforts Draco like a warm, familiar blanket. He rests their joined hands over Harry's fiercely beating heart... He leans forward...
Eyes still closed, Draco savors the taste of Harry's fresh skin upon his lips. Finally, he opens his eyes to discover a pair of vibrant jade jewels regarding him curiously. Draco's eyes moisten and at last he knows what it is to cry from joy.
Harry and Draco share a secretive smile between them. A month has passed since, what many scholars of the Wizarding World, namely Hermione, call, 'The Final Triumph of the Light'. Harry is on his way to a full recovery, though much time and effort is required on both their parts to ensure that everything goes smoothly.
The two lovers have pooled some of their money together to purchase a small French Chateau-Maner not too far from Godric's Hollow, which is currently being renovated for Remus and Severus. Many are surprised by some of the more unlikely pairings that have been born during the hardships of the practically guerilla warfare against Voldemort and his supporters. Harry and Draco, of course, are not among these 'many', having been one of these 'unlikely pairings', themselves.
Nonetheless, the seeds of happiness that were planted in the times of darkness were ready to blossom, now that the Light had finally prevailed and the soil was still fertile, undoubtedly due to the numerous sacrifices that had been made on both sides...
Draco and Harry share a tender kiss, a few more months have passed since the purchase of their home.
All this time they have been serious in their feelings towards one another, but apparently Harry has waited long enough to reach a point where he was deemed 'recovered'. As soon as this status was obtained, Harry cornered Draco in an arranged romantic setting that he had created for another of the moments Harry wished to treasure.
Dropping to his knees, Harry looks up into the stormy eyes of the one person he can honestly trust with his life, and asks. Draco Malfoy, keeper of my heart, seeker of my soul, join with me in holy matrimony, forever and ever more?
Draco, shaky with emotion, veritable tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, beams breathtakingly, after saying the one word he feels he has been waiting all his life to say.
Yes.
Their wedding day is a momentous, entirely joyous occasion for all Wizards and Witches. The Wizarding World is back on its feet, and more than ready to celebrate its Savior bonding with the love of his life.
The vows are said, by both parties, with quiet dignity, the true extent of their love, for those who doubted it before now, evident in the way Draco shyly meets Harry's eyes, in the healthy flush present upon both of the young men's faces, in the slight, almost subconscious way that Harry and Draco's limbs touch every so often, as if for reassurance that the other is indeed there beside them. Those present solemnly stand witness to the event, appreciating the difficulties both brave young men have endured to have come this far.
But now that they are here, they have their whole lives in front of them.
Having left their wedding reception a bit early, they were after all eager and young; they retired to their now joint chamber, as newlyweds.
This is the first time, since the night before the War, all those months ago, that they have made love. Draco believed that Harry had to physically regain his strength and he was most definitely unwilling to risk taxing him overly. So Draco asked Harry if it was alright if they refrained from anything too heavy, because he was worried that Harry would relapse into a coma after such magical drainage that seemed to occur each and every time they climaxed together. Instead, they had kept themselves to chaste, gentle, tender affection; embraces, kisses, linked hands, sometimes simply soft, sweet smiles. Even though Harry had regained enough of his 'good-health' back to partake in the pleasures of the bedroom, just before he had proposed, they had decided to abstain until their wedding night.
And so, tonight is the night, their night, the time at which they can freely let their bodies become reacquainted, after having patiently waited for this moment for months. This moment where they would once again know one another as intimately as they say any two people possibly could.
Draco smiles against the succulent skin of Harry's arched neck. He, as he is oft wont to do, moves both hands gently across Harry's cheeks, over his brows, caressing the path of lightning as nimble fingers move into Harry's hair, remembering. Draco slowly leans in, claiming the mouth of his lover, but this kiss isn't the same as any other they have experienced. This kiss is the true embodiment of everything they swore today, in front of the massess; to love, and to care, no matter the circumstances, to simply be... together, which is, in both their opinions the greatest gift they could possibly ask for.
Staring deeply into vast endless pools of sensual devotion, the two young men start to remove articles of their pure white formal wear. Their motions are quick yet delicate; both Harry and Draco treating the other as if they might break. They both know they will, it is just that neither wants it to happen before their promises are made, promises created in their passion.
As darkness and light are revealed, touches swiftly follow in their wake, softs gasps, slight hitches in breaths. But apart from this, there is silence. Reverant silence, for wordlessly they worship.
Gently, Draco lowers his love towards the mass of pillows. Sweat-slicked skin, soft as the silk it is splayed upon, slides as the two of them slowly thrust, synchronized. Before they lose themselves to their impending climaxes, Draco quickly flips Harry over, grabbing for the vial of scented lubricant, a present from Severus, so that there will be no pain, given how long it has been. Once he deems Harry sufficiently prepared, which is at about the time that Harry starts to threaten fate's worse than what he gave the Dark Lord to his mischivious Slytherin of a Husband, Draco does himself the same favour, smearing the sweet smelling oil onto his passion.
Entering Harry, Draco almost cries at the beauty of it. This perfect fit, as if God made them for this single purpose, to display their desire in a union of nuptial consummation. A bitter sweet feeling pervades Draco's soul, simply because he knows that once they fulfill each other, they will, inevitably, separate. How he has missed this, the act of simply, sweetly experiencing in a tangible form the sentiments that reside in both of their hearts.
Moving faster and faster, they climb to the pinacle of their quest. The stars are theirs for the taking, and Draco plucks one to place upon his lover's brow, healing the pain that has been caused by the lightning resting there.
This time, when tears fall, heedlessly, down passion-blushed alabaster cheeks, it is Light and not Darkness that engulfs him, and he sobs at the perfection of it all. Because this time, Harry is there to catch him, and hold him, as they come apart, together, at the seams.
Now they lie in each other's arms planning to just stay here in this moment for all the rest of time. Holding Harry tight to his chest, Draco sighs in utter contentment.
True, he didn't want to miss a thing, not now, not ever and it seemed as if this wish would, without a doubt, come true.
Finis.