This is SLASH, which means Draco is talking about his boyfriend. :)
Hit the back button if this disturbs you
Title: High And Dry
Author: Laura
Rating: PG
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Archives: Anything, just ask.
Warnings: The usual. Slash and mention of gory deaths.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling created the Harry Potter universe and the characters
mentioned here.
Feedback: Anything and everything.
Summary: SLASH. Draco, during the war.
Notes: First foray into the genre, and I'm afraid it's not very good. I try,
anyhow. :) The style may be a little confusing, but bear with me.
You'd like to believe the last thing you said to him before he left was something worth remembering, perhaps even something meaningful, but it wasn't. You tugged on his sleeve, and said, 'Don't go,' and then he left anyway, but you said nothing, and stared at the grey sky.
And it's different once he's gone. He left you here, and you could never stand being bored – he was, after all, your favourite diversion, even in those days when you only met to quarrel. And later on, when threats hung in the air, and you smelt the scent of war, he somehow decided that he could trust you, and you laughed derisively and waited to prove him wrong.
You only realised when you and he were lying in that confined space, and you had nothing to hold on to but each other. You realised, then, that there was nothing you could do to prove him wrong, because he was right, somehow you couldn't betray the trust he had in you. For a little while you hated him for it, but time was too short, and you had to accept it.
You lay awake many nights, wondering, trying not to wonder, where he was, and what he was doing, and who he was with. And you thought of praying, like he did so many times when he was lying beside you, the words whispered into your hair. But once your hands were clasped and your eyes were shut you couldn't think of anything to say. Ask for your father's death, your master's defeat? That was the only thing that would keep him alive. It would be silly to even consider a compromise – that he be kept alive, although your side would win in the end. You know it would never be the same for him. Or for you.
He stopped asking you whether you loved him after a while, and he used to tell you that he hated you, but you knew what he meant. You still dream of it sometimes, and wake with his name on your lips. 'I hate you, Draco,' he says, his eyes wide and green. 'I hate you,' and at this point he always used to kiss you, but you wake up before even that can happen.
Sleeping with the enemy, they used to say, before the war, and some of them thought it was glamorous, the whole concept of this forbidden love. You knew it wasn't. It tore people apart. It was everything, and it was horrible. To them it meant dark roses and beauty and promises. To you, it smacked of blood and bone and broken promises, and people who left you because you were on the wrong side.
Along with a whole lot of other old habits, you've also given up lying to yourself. I don't want him back, you used to say. Now you know you do, but you're not quite sure how much you're willing to give up for him.
So you do what you have to; everyone does, in the end. You kill when you must (the first one gave you a shock, disconnected the stream of words from your mouth, as you stared at the blood and the hollowed body and the face, but you got used to it), the wrong kind of spells find their way to your lips so easily. You're very loyal, very obedient. Only you think of him, sometimes. And you dream. They don't know that, never will. You're waiting for the war to end, like you always have been, but now you're not so sure that you'll meet again once it has.
It's not so bad, really.
Harry Potter is only the best you ever had.
