Written By: Sinistra-san
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warning(s): sexual situations, angst, reference to death and self-mutilation, slash/yaoi
Genre(s): angst, drama, romance, songfic
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I own the song "Missing". Those are property of J.K. Rowling and Evanescence, respectively.
Summary: Dark songfic. For Harry, love and pain were juxtapose feelings… Given time both created feelings of rapture. HP/DM
Author's note: This story came to my mind late one night while I was reading a rather angsty Harry/Draco fiction. There is light at the end of the tunnel, but I warn you: it's a rather long tunnel… But don't let it shy you away from this or the rest of my stories. I just had to get this one out of my system.
It had taken Harry days to get up the courage just to approach the Headmaster about it. He'd had the idea sometime ago, but now with the war drawing so near… How could he leave things the way they were? He couldn't; he knew that if he were to die in his fight with the Dark Lord, then he would die with one single regret.
He'd die knowing he never admitted to telling Draco Lucius Malfoy that he loved him.
It wasn't something Harry had planned on doing. Falling in love with the fair skinned Malfoy heir was, perhaps, the biggest shock Harry had had in quite sometime. He'd figured out that he did, indeed, love the insufferable prat sometime during his third year. He found himself think of the small blonde constantly, and anytime the boy would be within his line of sight, Harry would just stair at him as if he were going to disappear. As much as it hurt to know that Draco would never love him back, he didn't regret falling in love with him.
Harry believed it was this line of thought, perhaps, that had lead him to start cutting in the first place. At first, it was with whatever he could find at the time; a small blade, a sharp piece of glass. Whatever it too to feel that exquisite pain that let him feel that if he could feel like that forever, life would be perfect.
Keeping his love to himself was one regret Harry refused to die with. One night as he sat on the floor of the bathrooms in the sixth year boys' dormitories, his limp arm covered in blood as it pooled on the floor while his other hand held a butterfly knife - a gift from Sirius for his 16th birthday that he had found in Grimwald Place a short while after his godfather's death - he came up with a plan.
The end of the year ball was coming soon, as well as the end of his sixth year at Hogwarts. He planned to sing to his love, a particular song that was currently popular in the muggle world even if it was by an underground group from the wizarding world. Everytime he heard the song, thoughts of Draco would fill his mind. It was heart wrenching and soul bearing, exactly what Harry needed.
That was how Harry wound up standing outside of Dumbledore's door, guessing what flavor candy the old man had made the password to his office. He'd already gone through every candy the wizarding world had to offer, so he moved on to muggle candies, his first guess being "peppermint patties".
The gargoyle sprang to life and jumped out of the way, granting Harry passage. He followed the stairs up, letting his feet guide him down the familiar path to the office door as his mind wondered to dream up what could possibly come from his plan. Draco would either be horribly disgusted and try to hex him or he could actually return Harry's feelings and pounce on his as soon as he got done singing.
Harry firmly believed it would be the former, but decided it was still worth the risk.
"Well, Harry, do come in." A familiar voiced called from the other side of the office door, snapping Harry out of his thoughts.
He pushed open the door to see Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, Fawkes resting upon his shoulder. When the phoenix realized Harry had entered the room, he took flight, circling the room several times as Harry walked up to Dumbledore's desk before landing on Harry's shoulder. Harry smiled at Fawkes, petting his neck.
"Fawkes is still as fond of you as ever, Harry." The headmaster commented, a twinkle ever present in his eyes.
"I noticed. If he keeps it up, he'll make Hedwig jealous." Harry sat in one of the chairs, continuing to pet Fawkes as if he had nothing on his mind.
"Harry…"
"Hm?" Harry looked up into Dumbledore's eyes. He was greeted with a small smile from the older man.
"Did you need something? …Or is this just a social visit?"
"Oh, I uh… have something I need to ask you, sir." Harry fought back a blush only to turn a pale pink color.
"Well, go ahead." Harry looked at him in horror. He laughed to himself, making sure Harry could not hear.
"I was wondering if… well, that is if you don't… what I'm trying to say is…" His voice trailed off as his free hand began to toy with the blade in his pocket.
"No need to ask Harry… I know how hard this is for you." He answered with a hint of laughter in his voice.
"Y-you do?"
"Yes. It was just as hard for another young Mr. Potter to ask me if he could sing at his fifth year ball to one Miss Lillian Evans." If it were possible, Dumbledore's eyes seemed to twinkle more.
"So, you'll let me?"
"Be my guest Harry. You of all people disserve a chance to be happy before the war begins…"
Harry stood, his hand still playing with the blade simply out of habit, and Fawkes took this as his cue to take his leave of Harry's shoulder. He'd given up sometime ago trying to figure out how the Headmaster seemed to know everything about anything, he just did, and that was all that mattered. "Thank you sir."
"No need to thank me Harry. Now, I must be off. I have a meeting with Fudge."
Harry nodded and walked out of the Headmaster's office, petting Fawkes one last time before leaving. He walked down the stairs and passed the Great Hall calmly, but broke out into a dead run once he's passed the double doors of the Entrance Hall. He didn't stop until he'd reached the boys' bathrooms.
He ran in and threw open a stall door, fumbling with the lock for a moment before pulling out the blade in his pocket. He sank to the floor and ran his finger over his wrist, removing the glamour charm that blocked the scar marring the skin there from view. He pulled the knife out of his pocket and flicked it open, bringing the blade to his wrist and tracing over the scar there like he had so many times before. He had to make sure it was real, that things were actually going okay so far and it wasn't all a dream like it had been so many times before.
He stared at his arm for hours, watching his crimson relief run down his wrist to land on the cold, unforgiving floor beneath him as he cried, occasionally choking out Draco's or Sirius' name. There were other, smaller scars that had only been cut once or twice, but the one on his wrist was the one Harry used most. Nothing felt better then feeling the skin there rip apart and the veins there shred as he slid through them with his butterfly knife as if he was sliding a dull knife through soft butter.
Harry did as always, healing the wound to the point that it would stop bleeding, but he never healing the scar that marked his otherwise perfect skin. He liked having it there, to remind him of the hardship that was life. It served as a reminder for Harry, a reminder of Sirius and of Draco. Of his parents, of Remus, and of everyone else who had been hurt simply because he existed.
He left that bathroom and let his feet guide him back to the Gryffindor Common Rooms, unaware that he was being watched by a pair of haunting silver eyes that shone with unshed tears…