Title:
Author: Rosgrana
Rating: PG13
Chapter: 3/4
Disclaimer: Everything recognisable is stolen, mostly from J.K. Rowling.
Spoilers: None
Feedback: Oh please! Praise will be gratefully welcomed; criticism will be carefully considered; flames will be ignored or mocked, depending on the recipient's mood at the time.
Archive: I'd be flattered, just let me know.
Author's Note: Thanks to Azeem, Amythyst Angel, Eien, Scap, Remy, MOI, and Bondagechic and Gryphon again, for the reviews. I LOVE reviews!
Harry thought about those last weeks of school. He'd gone through them in a kind of trance, trying to pass his NEWTs, make the most of his final days of childhood, and hide the fact that his heart felt as if it had been crushed in a vice. Ron and Hermione had asked no questions, but closed ranks around him, supporting, trying to cheer him, and reminding anyone who wondered why Harry wasn't himself of his home situation, and that he was effectively on his own once he left school. Harry wouldn't have made it without them, not for the first time.
****************************************************************
"What do you mean?" he asked, aiming for the impression that he'd forgotten their last meeting. Draco's "Don't give me that" expression told him he'd failed.
"Well... as the next kiss I get looks like it's going to be from a Dementor, I thought it would be pleasant to kiss you again first."
//How can he be so calm? Talk about his own death as if it's a minor inconvenience?// Harry was hard put to keep himself from trembling at the thought of the horror that was the Dementors, administering the Kiss to his former love, even though he knew it wouldn't happen. He sat down clumsily.
"Don't be ridiculous. There haven't been Dementors here since Fudge resigned as Minister. You know that."
"Really? That's true then? I assumed it was just propaganda - show how humane you lot are. Still, whatever happens to me is unlikely to be much more pleasant, is it?"
Harry couldn't look at him. Anyone who saw them would think their positions were reversed, that *he* was the all-but-condemned prisoner, nervous and inarticulate; and the self-contained, mildly amused blond opposite him was the one who could walk out of the cell when he chose.
"Sorry," said Draco, not sounding at all as if he meant it. "Forgot you've got a bit of a thing about Dementors. Shouldn't have mentioned them. Change of subject.
"Here we are, then," he went on. "The Auror and the Death-Eater. Just as so many people expected us to end up. The only question was who would be the prisoner and who the captor. It's nice to have these things settled, isn't it?"
Harry ignored the mocking bravado. "What happened? I didn't think anyone was captured when the wards fell. You don't have to tell me if you'd rather not," he went on hurriedly, as a shadow came into the silver-grey eyes, "but I... wondered."
"Yes. I've done some wondering myself." There was anger in Draco's voice, though he tried hard to keep his tone even, and something else. Regret?
"I wasn't in the House when the wards went down. If I had been I'd've Disapparated along with everyone else. I was away, on a... job." Harry had no wish to know what the "job" had been, although the interrogation team would be very interested. "For some reason, no-one made contact to warn me about the situation," //That's why the anger, then.// thought Harry. "So I walked straight into a bloody Ministry patrol that was guarding the place. They were rather surprised, but not, I'll admit, as surprised as I was. Anyway, someone recognised me pretty sharpish, and that was it. Here I am. Nothing too nasty's been done to me yet, ignoring the odd kick and shove, but I'm not counting on it lasting."
He stretched elaborately, feigning unconcern, and his sleeves slid back to reveal his too-thin forearms. And the Dark Mark. Harry stared at it, revolted and fascinated, the visible sign of evil on what he'd once thought was perfection. Draco's eyes followed his, and there was something that looked like pity in his face when he met Harry's eyes. "What's the matter?" he asked softly. "You knew it was there."
"Why?" The question seemed to come without any input from Harry's mind. He needed to know. "Why did you choose... *that*? And don't give me that crap about being born to it."
"You really are terribly arrogant, you know, Harry." Draco was still perfectly calm, and slightly patronising. "You don't think anyone but yourself has any honour or standards at all, do you? It never even occurred to you that I might have made the same choice you did, for the same reasons - to join the side I thought was the right one, and fight for what I believed in? That never crossed your mind, did it?"
"No," said Harry, stunned into honesty, his mind turning over a possibility he'd never even imagined before.
"And of course, you're quite right; I didn't."
Draco grinned. Harry wanted to thump him. //He always did know exactly how to push my buttons. Wanker.// Then Draco was speaking again.
"So, why? Greed, I suppose. For power, influence, whatever. And fear, too. The Dark Lord's reaction to people who don't do as he expects is not something I'd experience voluntarily." He became serious suddenly. "You just don't understand the fear he can engender. Even after all your encounters with him, you still aren't really afraid of him. I don't think you have any idea how unique that makes you. Or," grinning again, "how much it pisses him off. And, of course, I thought we were going to win. That's probably the most important reason. I chose the side that gave me the best chance of coming out on top. Looks like I may have slipped up a little there."
"And that's it? You figured the odds and chose the most evil force that's ever existed, just like that?" //You threw me away for power and safety?//
"Harry... I'm not like you. Good - evil - they don't matter to me. All that matters to me is me. Remember that."
"And I didn't matter to you, either, did I?"
A long silence.
"Yes. That's the part I've never understood. People *don't* matter much to me - and it looks like it's mutual, from the lack of interest my colleagues took in preventing my capture. But you did. Even when we were sniping and fighting, it mattered what you did, what you thought. We were... connected. And the time we were together, that was the happiest I've ever been. Seven weeks and four days. Giving it up was the hardest thing I've done; and I've done things you really don't want to know about." He shook his head, looking down at his hands with a self-deprecating smile. "Sorry, I don't usually get sentimental. Put it down to impending death."
Despite the mockery, Harry had seen the honesty in Draco's face when he talked of their connection. He had felt it himself too. Love him or hate him, he had never been indifferent to Draco. And he still wasn't.
They were each completely focussed on the other, their world reduced to the two of them, and they both jumped about a yard when the voice of the guard came from the doorway. "Errm... I can only give you five more minutes, Harry. Sorry."
Five minutes, to end a cycle of hate and love and hate again that had lasted years, and meant more to Harry than he'd admitted even to himself. He didn't need to think, just stood up, and met Draco's gaze. He smiled. "One more kiss?"
Draco stood too, and they moved into each other's arms as if the last few years had never happened. The world narrowed again to a circle that enclosed only this place, this moment. There was no right or wrong here, no past or future, and Harry tried to imprint every sensation on his memory, to hold the kiss forever. It wasn't nervous and furtive like their first kiss, or urgently passionate like so many since then. It was a sad, sweet completion, their lips gentle, their tongues twining and stroking, their hands sliding over one another's bodies to learn all the changes since they last held each other. It was... //coming home// thought Harry. //Coming home at last, and knowing I have to leave, and I'll never be here again.//
It could have been seconds or years later when the apologetic cough from the guard forced them back to reality. They moved reluctantly apart, and Harry started to speak, but Draco put his hand to Harry's lips.
"Don't. There isn't anything to say. Just... goodbye."
To be continued.
Author: Rosgrana
Rating: PG13
Chapter: 3/4
Disclaimer: Everything recognisable is stolen, mostly from J.K. Rowling.
Spoilers: None
Feedback: Oh please! Praise will be gratefully welcomed; criticism will be carefully considered; flames will be ignored or mocked, depending on the recipient's mood at the time.
Archive: I'd be flattered, just let me know.
Author's Note: Thanks to Azeem, Amythyst Angel, Eien, Scap, Remy, MOI, and Bondagechic and Gryphon again, for the reviews. I LOVE reviews!
Harry thought about those last weeks of school. He'd gone through them in a kind of trance, trying to pass his NEWTs, make the most of his final days of childhood, and hide the fact that his heart felt as if it had been crushed in a vice. Ron and Hermione had asked no questions, but closed ranks around him, supporting, trying to cheer him, and reminding anyone who wondered why Harry wasn't himself of his home situation, and that he was effectively on his own once he left school. Harry wouldn't have made it without them, not for the first time.
****************************************************************
"What do you mean?" he asked, aiming for the impression that he'd forgotten their last meeting. Draco's "Don't give me that" expression told him he'd failed.
"Well... as the next kiss I get looks like it's going to be from a Dementor, I thought it would be pleasant to kiss you again first."
//How can he be so calm? Talk about his own death as if it's a minor inconvenience?// Harry was hard put to keep himself from trembling at the thought of the horror that was the Dementors, administering the Kiss to his former love, even though he knew it wouldn't happen. He sat down clumsily.
"Don't be ridiculous. There haven't been Dementors here since Fudge resigned as Minister. You know that."
"Really? That's true then? I assumed it was just propaganda - show how humane you lot are. Still, whatever happens to me is unlikely to be much more pleasant, is it?"
Harry couldn't look at him. Anyone who saw them would think their positions were reversed, that *he* was the all-but-condemned prisoner, nervous and inarticulate; and the self-contained, mildly amused blond opposite him was the one who could walk out of the cell when he chose.
"Sorry," said Draco, not sounding at all as if he meant it. "Forgot you've got a bit of a thing about Dementors. Shouldn't have mentioned them. Change of subject.
"Here we are, then," he went on. "The Auror and the Death-Eater. Just as so many people expected us to end up. The only question was who would be the prisoner and who the captor. It's nice to have these things settled, isn't it?"
Harry ignored the mocking bravado. "What happened? I didn't think anyone was captured when the wards fell. You don't have to tell me if you'd rather not," he went on hurriedly, as a shadow came into the silver-grey eyes, "but I... wondered."
"Yes. I've done some wondering myself." There was anger in Draco's voice, though he tried hard to keep his tone even, and something else. Regret?
"I wasn't in the House when the wards went down. If I had been I'd've Disapparated along with everyone else. I was away, on a... job." Harry had no wish to know what the "job" had been, although the interrogation team would be very interested. "For some reason, no-one made contact to warn me about the situation," //That's why the anger, then.// thought Harry. "So I walked straight into a bloody Ministry patrol that was guarding the place. They were rather surprised, but not, I'll admit, as surprised as I was. Anyway, someone recognised me pretty sharpish, and that was it. Here I am. Nothing too nasty's been done to me yet, ignoring the odd kick and shove, but I'm not counting on it lasting."
He stretched elaborately, feigning unconcern, and his sleeves slid back to reveal his too-thin forearms. And the Dark Mark. Harry stared at it, revolted and fascinated, the visible sign of evil on what he'd once thought was perfection. Draco's eyes followed his, and there was something that looked like pity in his face when he met Harry's eyes. "What's the matter?" he asked softly. "You knew it was there."
"Why?" The question seemed to come without any input from Harry's mind. He needed to know. "Why did you choose... *that*? And don't give me that crap about being born to it."
"You really are terribly arrogant, you know, Harry." Draco was still perfectly calm, and slightly patronising. "You don't think anyone but yourself has any honour or standards at all, do you? It never even occurred to you that I might have made the same choice you did, for the same reasons - to join the side I thought was the right one, and fight for what I believed in? That never crossed your mind, did it?"
"No," said Harry, stunned into honesty, his mind turning over a possibility he'd never even imagined before.
"And of course, you're quite right; I didn't."
Draco grinned. Harry wanted to thump him. //He always did know exactly how to push my buttons. Wanker.// Then Draco was speaking again.
"So, why? Greed, I suppose. For power, influence, whatever. And fear, too. The Dark Lord's reaction to people who don't do as he expects is not something I'd experience voluntarily." He became serious suddenly. "You just don't understand the fear he can engender. Even after all your encounters with him, you still aren't really afraid of him. I don't think you have any idea how unique that makes you. Or," grinning again, "how much it pisses him off. And, of course, I thought we were going to win. That's probably the most important reason. I chose the side that gave me the best chance of coming out on top. Looks like I may have slipped up a little there."
"And that's it? You figured the odds and chose the most evil force that's ever existed, just like that?" //You threw me away for power and safety?//
"Harry... I'm not like you. Good - evil - they don't matter to me. All that matters to me is me. Remember that."
"And I didn't matter to you, either, did I?"
A long silence.
"Yes. That's the part I've never understood. People *don't* matter much to me - and it looks like it's mutual, from the lack of interest my colleagues took in preventing my capture. But you did. Even when we were sniping and fighting, it mattered what you did, what you thought. We were... connected. And the time we were together, that was the happiest I've ever been. Seven weeks and four days. Giving it up was the hardest thing I've done; and I've done things you really don't want to know about." He shook his head, looking down at his hands with a self-deprecating smile. "Sorry, I don't usually get sentimental. Put it down to impending death."
Despite the mockery, Harry had seen the honesty in Draco's face when he talked of their connection. He had felt it himself too. Love him or hate him, he had never been indifferent to Draco. And he still wasn't.
They were each completely focussed on the other, their world reduced to the two of them, and they both jumped about a yard when the voice of the guard came from the doorway. "Errm... I can only give you five more minutes, Harry. Sorry."
Five minutes, to end a cycle of hate and love and hate again that had lasted years, and meant more to Harry than he'd admitted even to himself. He didn't need to think, just stood up, and met Draco's gaze. He smiled. "One more kiss?"
Draco stood too, and they moved into each other's arms as if the last few years had never happened. The world narrowed again to a circle that enclosed only this place, this moment. There was no right or wrong here, no past or future, and Harry tried to imprint every sensation on his memory, to hold the kiss forever. It wasn't nervous and furtive like their first kiss, or urgently passionate like so many since then. It was a sad, sweet completion, their lips gentle, their tongues twining and stroking, their hands sliding over one another's bodies to learn all the changes since they last held each other. It was... //coming home// thought Harry. //Coming home at last, and knowing I have to leave, and I'll never be here again.//
It could have been seconds or years later when the apologetic cough from the guard forced them back to reality. They moved reluctantly apart, and Harry started to speak, but Draco put his hand to Harry's lips.
"Don't. There isn't anything to say. Just... goodbye."
To be continued.
