Title:Letters to You
Rating: PG
Theme: August/September - # 9: Author's Choice
Genre: Angst/Songfic/AU/Slash
Pairing(s): Implied Draco/Harry
Warning(s): Slash. That is a relationship with Draco and Harry. Squicked? Don't read it. Also mentions of blood and battle.
Author's Notes: This is a shortened version of a fic that I am going to write (I will, soon, I swear, I'm just a horrible procrastinator), so if it's choppy then I'm sorry. The first time I heard Letters to You by Finch I immediately just pictured this, so I recommend listening to the song afterward.
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The camp is near empty as the battle rages in the field below. Every tent is dark, save one. Inside a young man sits on a lavishly draped four-poster, out of place in this battlefield. It is wizardry at work. He is tall and fair, with platinum locks falling loosely around his face. The Prince, they call him. The Heir, they call him. The Dark Lord next, they call him.
Only one still calls him Draco.
His eyes are red-rimmed, lack of sleep or perhaps excess of tears that make it so. He is writing on a long piece of parchment, with other similar pieces strewn about his bed. His quill writes furiously, and the ink splotches in places where his tears have fallen.
Can't you see that I want to be there with open arms? It's empty tonight, and I'm all alone. Get me through this one. Do you notice I'm gone? Where do you run to so far away?
I want you to know that I miss you. I miss you so.
---
Across the field, through the battling hundreds and more empty tents, another person lays awake. He is alone in his camp as his friends and loved ones fight the real battle. The Savior, they call him. The Chosen One, they call him. The Hero, they call him.
Only one still calls him Harry.
He sits at his own bed, modest in comparison to its dark counterpart. He is not allowed on the final battle, as he is to face the Dark Lord himself at dawn. He does not understand the whys, the hows... all he knows is himself and his magic. He too writes, but in a small black notebook which has seen many of his late-night awakenings.
I'm writing again. These letters to you aren't much, I know. But I'm not sleeping and you're not here. The thought stops my heart. Do you notice I'm gone? Where do you run to so far away?
I want you to know that I miss you. I miss you so.
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Ivory hair is hidden within a black robe, and Draco steels himself. He is to travel with his father, his aunt, and the Dark Lord to face Harry Potter. He has already been warned of treachery, penalty of death. He walks.
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Harry wears muggle clothing. It is out of place and yet oddly fitting. The original guard is dead. He will be going with Remus, Hermione, and Kingsley. Ron will wait in hospital. Harry will hope that the Prince of Darkness will not be where he is going.
---
The battlefield is red with spilled blood, and still the bodies are fresh. Remus has taken Hermione to spend the night next to Ron, and Lucius has fled. The rest lay in crumpled heaps, yet two sets of eyes are blind to the scene.
They face each other, mirroring the expressions they each wear of sorrow and hope.
No more looking, I've found home.
