Disclaimer: I don't own the characters (what a shame), J.K. Rowling does. I do, however own the plot. The song
'One' is by U2 and is, if I may say so, one of their best. It can be found on the 'Achtung Baby' album.
Author's Note: Don't take this fic too seriously, I don't. It's one of my first that I recently found and I can't believe
how dumb it sounds. I was trying to make my writing sound more mature... well, that backfired, didn't it? Never
mind. Please review. Oh, and if you don't like m/m, slash, yaoi PLEASE TURN BACK NOW. Don't waste
everyone's time by flaming me, 'cos I have warned you. :-)
I tried not to make this fic not too depressing... that didn't work either.
Hi to KT, Nenni, Noshi, and all you other groovy people!
One
~~~~
--------------
Did I dissapoint you?
Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
You act like you never had love
And you want me to go without
Well it's too late
Tonight
To drag the past out
Into the light
We're one
But we're not the same
We get to carry each other
Carry each other
One.
Have you come here for forgiveness?
Have you come to raise the dead?
Have you come here to play Jesus
To the lepers in your head?
Did I ask too much
More than a lot
You gave me nothing
Now it's all I got
We're one
But we're not the same
We hurt each other
Then we do it again.
One love
One blood
One life
You got to do what you should
One life
With each other
One
One.
--------------
Harry ran down the corridor in the dungeons and felt the tears streaming down his face. He didn't even know why
the hell he was crying. He leant against the wall and gasped to get his breath back.
What had he been doing down there anyway? Had he come to see him? He didn't know. He didn't mean to go
down to the dungeons, but it was as if something had led him there.
He hated his life in the Gryffindor tower, pretending to be interested in Ginny, laughing with Ron about Hermione
and eyeing up Parvati and Lavender as they walked up the stairs. He hated his friends for making him be
something he wasn't, even though it wasn't their fault. He hated the stone walls of the tower for confining him into
a false existance and for making him deny the very essence of his life.
For if they knew the source of that essence and existance, he felt sure that he would be cast away as a freak of
nature, or forced to live life as an outcast, something which would be made more unbearable by being denied
his chance to observe the object of his passion.
For the object of his passion, exquisite in every detail, was all that kept him alive. His life as 'The Boy Who Lived'
had long since grown tiresome and even hateful and he longed for a slice of normality. But was normality to be
found in the unrequited love of a forbidden treasure? When, upon rising in the morning, he felt that life held
nothing worth living for, he would be set on finding away to end that wretched life, to do away with his troubles
and his pain. But then, on spying his love walking the corridors and halls of the school, or sitting and staring
stonily at the opposite wall in breakfast, he was reminded of the light shining at the other end of the tunnel, the
reason for living, even if that reason was untouchable.
Of course it seemed obvious to Harry that his love was unrequited. Why would the most good looking guy in
school, always the one the girls draped themselves around, have feelings for him? Especially as they hated each
other and even more especially as they were both male.
For the object of his desires was desired also by at least half the school, and Harry knew he was out of reach. It
was as if his love was locked in a gallery of fine art, surely a place where a thing of such beauty belongs, sealed
behind a wall of glass through which he could be seen and wondered at silently, but never touched, and never
informed of his divinity. And Harry's view through the glass was obstructed by a veil of hate, a mist of anger, that
kept them even further apart. Instead of even being able to speak civily to his love, Harry was trapped into a
world of sneering and insults. Although, he sometimes reflected, this could be counted as a blessing, as there
could therefore never arise a situation where Harry could let his intentions and feelings spill out unchecked as
they would never spend time in each others' company.
Harry also felt that, being the object of his disgust and anger and hate, it would give him someone to blame for
the obvious sadness and pain he was feeling. Harry felt that even to be a scapegoat to him would be better than
to be nothing to him. All he wanted was to be near him.
Harry closed his eyes and pictured his love, bringing forth every detail he had memorised from observing him
endlessly in lessons and at meal times.
He knew the exact way that his middle length wavy blonde hair, almost white as the hair of an angel, sometimes
fell across the finely chiseled features and had to brushed away hurredly with a hand. And how Harry wished it
was his hand that could brush away the hair. He knew his features as if they were his own, and could draw them
blindfold, his thoughts lingering on the high cheekbones and aquiline nose. He knew, from the brushes in the
corridors, the exact smell of the angel-hair, the soft, spicy aroma that wafted from it and beffuddled Harry's mind.
Harry knew the way the dark robes hung off the slim form and accentuated the figure gotten by years of
Quidditch playing. That body made Harry squirm. But most of all, Harry knew the icy blue-grey eyes that seemed
harsh and unfeeling, but that once he felt passionately about something, or was involved in an argument, would
blaze with cold fire that entranced Harry. When the light shone on those wonderful eyes, you would catch
glimpses of violet and crystal blue, sparkling amongst the silver-grey. Those were the eyes that could make Harry
melt, the eyes that made him go weak at the knees.
At first, when Harry first started to become tongue-tied when his love entered the room, he had dismissed his
feelings as childish and hidden his embarrasment with sharp insults and jibes. Now, though, as he had become
quietly resigned to the fact of his love for his worst enemy, he had sat back, avoiding eye contact, and letting Ron
handle the confrontations, (usually with quite serious physical consequences for Ron as Crabbe and Goyle
stepped in to defend their master), keeping his eyes to the floor.
As he grew more used to the feeling of desolation and wretchedness, and got used to the idea of being 'gay', he
had become easier with the fact that keeping quiet and merely observing his love could provide, even if it could
not satisfy and locked his feelings inside of him. He had thought he was getting over his 'crush', as he learned
to supress his feelings, but he had finally snapped earlier that evening.
He had entered the Great Hall and sat to eat dinner, keeping his eyes off the Slytherin table, and keeping them
on his own plate (which, being covered mostly in mashed potato, was not very interesting). Things had been
going fine until he had allowed himself to glance over at the Slytherins and seen a girl lean over the table and
kiss him. He had pulled away from her, but he was smiling (something highly unusual for him) and Harry had felt
his heart crushed and trampled upon by a thousand hippogriffs. He had suddenly felt an urge to be sick and had
rushed from the table, much to the worry of Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.
Later that night, frustrated with the endless noise and laughter of the Gryffindor common room, he had wanted to
find a place where he could sit and cry, and feel completely miserable, without people asking him pointless
things like 'are you okay?', and trying to comfort him. He WANTED to feel miserable, he WANTED to cry. He
just wanted to sit in the dark and hate the world.
Whatever had possessed him to walk to the dungeons was beyond him, he just felt a force pulling him there, and
found to his discomfort that watching the one he loved would make him feel better. Covered in his invisibility
cloak, he had followed him all the way to the Slytherin common room, only to find that when he reached the
entrance, he turned and said calmly,
"I know you're following me."
Harry had looked right into those silver eyes and run away down the corridor, letting the tears fall down his cheeks
and praying that he wouldn't be followed. How could he face it if he found out who had been following him for the
past months?
As Harry leant gasping against the damp wall, trapped in a dead end, he didn't realise that he was being
followed. The owner of the silver eyes crept silently into the corridor behind him and peered warily into the alcove,
or rather, fake doorway, that Harry stood in. Seeing nothing, on account of Harry's cloak, he decided to step into
the doorway. He knew perfectly well who had been following him, because there was only one person that he
knew of in the school that could become invisible. And what scared him was that being in the same close vicinity
with that person made his pulse quicken unexplainably.
Harry heard footsteps behind him and froze. He hardly breathed, fearing that the person behind him would hear
his fast breaths and that he would be discovered. He prayed under his breath that the person behind him would
give up and go away.
"I know you're here, Potter." Came the familiar drawl which, unbeknownst to Harry, Draco used as a cover for the
tone in his voice, which, if detected, would have given his deplorable feelings away.
Damn, Harry thought. He sighed and slowly turned, fixing a sneer on his face, and removing the invisibility cloak.
"What're you doing here, Malfoy?" He sneered.
"I think you'd better answer that," Draco said, "As this is my prowling ground."
"I'm here to paint the walls canary yellow. You?" Harry asked sarcastically.
"No need to get sarcastic, Potter." Draco frowned.
"Oh, get lost, Malfoy." Harry sighed, turning away.
"Don't go giving me orders, Potter." Draco growled, moving closer to him, "I can easily go and get Snape."
"Look, Malfoy," Harry snapped, spinning round to face him, and jumping in shock at how close Draco's face was
to his, "I'm not in the mood, okay? Just leave me alone."
"You make it sound like I'm asking you to sleep with me." Draco said dryly. He noticed Harry's red eyes. Had he
been crying? For some reason the thought of Harry crying made Draco's stomach contract with sadness.
Harry turned away slightly to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks.
"Sod of, Malfoy."
Draco tried to think of a suitable comeback, but decided that he didn't want to become involved in a slanging
match. He raised his hands in exasperation and Harry braced himself for a cutting remark. It never came. Draco
turned and marched out into the corridor.
Harry raised his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes. Sighing loudly, he slid down the wall and sat with his
head in his hands, feeling tears well up. All he wanted was to speak normally to Draco, but instead he always
ended up arguing with him. It hurt him so much to say the things he did, but after seven years of insults and
sneers, it was a reflex action. He felt his shoulders heave with the first sob, and gave in to his feelings, letting
himself break down, safe in the knowledge that Draco was gone.
However, while in the corridor, Draco had stopped striding away and leant against the wall, also feeling bad
about what he had said to Harry. He never felt remorse for insulting people, it was his duty as a Malfoy to
hurt people. But just then, seeing Harry's bloodshot eyes, knowing that he was feeling bad, Draco felt that he
shouldn't have said anything to him. Suddenly, he made to do something he had never done in his life. He
went to apologise. And if it wasn't for the mark newly imprinted on his arm... no, no, Draco. Don't think about it.
He hadn't wanted to 'become' one of them. He had fought the strong hands that held him as the mark was
branded into his skin, making him cry out in pain. But then his father had hit him, and when he woke later, the
mark was there, against his skin. But that didn't mean he had to be attatched to it, even though it was attatched
to him.
As he neared the little fake doorway, he stopped, his heart in his mouth, at the sound he heard. Harry was crying.
Sobbing, actually.
Draco peered around the corner. He saw Harry, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands, his shoulders
shaking with tears that had been bottled up for seven years. What shocked him most was that in Harry, he saw a
reflection of himself. He saw Harry's lonliness shining around him like a halo and realised that this was exactly
what he himself needed desperately to do. He needed to cry out his pain. He needed to cry out the rejection he
felt from his father, and he needed to cry out the feelings he'd locked up for so many years. Feelings for Harry
that went far beyond anything he had previously considered.
"Potter?" He asked softly.
"What?" Harry sniffed miserably, not bothering to lift his head.
Draco walked forward and Harry felt him slide down the wall beside him.
Harry expected Draco to gloat and make some sarcastic comment about him, and in a way, he wanted him to
so that he could hit him and in that way vent his anger. But Draco just sat, watching as Harry tried to control his
tears, sniffing and wiping at his eyes.
When Harry finally regained control, he raised his face to Draco's to meet his gaze.
"Go on." He said.
"What?" Draco asked.
"Make a comment. Laugh."
Draco cringed as he realised that Harry thought that was all he was capable of.
"Is that what you think I'm like?" Draco asked.
"It's what I know you're like."
"You don't know me at all do you?" Draco asked sadly.
"Malfoy, just get lost." Harry moaned, "I'm not in the mood for your stupid games."
"Fine." Draco said, getting slightly annoyed, "So much for Malfoy-The-Sympathetic."
"You?!" Harry scoffed, "Sympathetic?! You couldn't manage to be sympathetic if someone paid you!"
"And who are you to judge me?" Draco asked Harry sharply. "I'm a Malfoy, you're almost a mudblood."
That was it. The final straw. Harry's patience snapped.
"Bastard." He hissed. He turned, and before Draco had time to move, he hit him. Hard.
Draco fell backwards and clutched his face. He took his hand away from his nose and saw blood.
"You..." He hissed, "You.." He was unable to say anything to justify his hatred of Harry at that moment.
"Me what?" Harry asked. "What about me do you find so horrible? What about me is so wrong?"
"I told you, I'm a Malfoy, I hate everybody. It's what I do!" Draco shouted.
"But why, for God's sake?" Harry shouted back, "Why are you like this?"
"Because I am!" Draco yelled, standing up and turning his back on Harry.
"Don't turn your back on me!" Harry yelled, also standing, "I'm sick and tired of arguing with you! Why can't you
just stand and yell back instead of walking away?! It makes me so angry when you just ignore me!" Harry
grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him round to face him.
"You want me to yell at you?!" Draco yelled, "Fine! Anything specific you'd like me to say?!"
"No! Anything! Just shout for God's sake!"
"Why?!"
"Because I can't take all your insults and your snide remarks anymore!" Harry cried, his eyes stinging with tears
of frustration, "If you've got something to say, say it now!"
"Fine!"
"Go on then!"
"I will!"
"Good!"
Draco stood and glared at Harry. They could pretty much feel the electricity between them.
Suddenly, Draco stepped forward. He paused uncertainly, then stepped forward again, but quicker, and closed
the gap between them, pinning Harry against the wall.
"I'm sorry." He whispered.
He leant forward and kissed Harry gently.
Harry jumped in shock and pushed Draco away.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" He hissed.
"I thought... I thought you..." Draco began. He blushed and backed away, "Sorry. I'll go." He wiped his mouth self
conciously and Harry tried to ignore the pain in his eyes. He turned, about to go.
"No, wait." Harry said. What the hell had he been thinking? This moment was what he'd been waiting for for six
years.
"Why? What's the point?"
"I don't know."
Harry stepped forward and placed his hand on Draco's cheek. Draco lowered his eyes and avoided Harry's
gaze.
Harry leaned forward haltingly and raised his head to Draco's and pressing their lips together. Draco stiffened,
but relaxed against Harry and responded to the kiss as Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's neck. Draco
pulled Harry closer to him.
Ten Minutes Later
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"So tell me, what are you really like?" Harry asked, leaning against Draco as they sat on the floor of the corridor
against the wall.
Draco looked into Harry's eyes and noticed just how green they actually were. Just like emeralds in the sun, they
shone with sadness and pain. How had Draco ever thought that Harry was happy? He had always hated Harry
for having everything. Friends, people who loved him, fame. He had always hated Harry for being happy. Now,
though, he saw that Harry carried even more grief around inside of him than even he did.
And equally, by seeing the depth in Draco's eyes, Harry understood what he went through and why he acted like
he did. He understood how painful it was to Draco to be misunderstood and to be judged because of his name.
He saw how the name 'Malfoy' hung over Draco's head like a dark cloud.
Now that this new plane of understanding had been reached, Draco lifted a hand tentatively and brushed Harry's
scar with his fingertips. Harry shivered and Drcao shrugged off his cloak, wrapping around Harry's shoulders.
"You're cold." He said softly.
Harry shivered more as Draco brushed his hair. Draco pulled Harry nearer to him and held him, wrapping his
arms round him. Harry didn't even think about moving away, just buried his head into Draco's robes.
"Why do you cry?" Draco asked.
"Why do you?" Harry murmured.
"Don't know." Draco whispered.
Harry felt so secure in Draco's arms, he felt safer than he had done in years. How could he feel so normal when
he was sitting in the arms of his MALE worst enemy?
He felt tears trickle down his cheeks, the happy feeling was too much for him.
Draco felt his eyes begin to fill up as he glanced down at the boy curled up next to him.
He closed his eyes and smiled, thinking about what Snape would do if he came across them.
"Aaagh!" He gasped in pain.
"What?" Harry asked, sitting up, gazing at Draco worredly.
Draco turned his head away from Harry and clutched his left forearm.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
Draco panicked and tried to stand up, avoiding Harry's eyes.
Harry pulled him back down.
"Show me!" He told Draco.
"No!" Draco tore his arm away and made to get up again.
Harry grabbed his sleeve and pulled it up, revealing an angry red mark.
"No!" Harry gasped, backing away, "No! You're one of them!"
"I'm not!" Draco said desperately as Harry backed away from him, "I'm not!"
But burned into Draco's arm was the skull, complete with snake coming out of it's mouth. Draco was branded
with the mark of Voldemort.
To Be Continued....
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