Rating: probably Pg:13 might get up to an R
Pairing: yeah id b really surprised if you didn't no by now (especially since its in the summery lol) yup HARRY/ DRACO all the way baby
Main characters: Harry P, Draco M
Summary: it's 7th year and two people are in love, but neither know it. They both have one last chance. Will they take it?
Feedback: plz plz plz plz plz plz plz if you read it tell me what you think???? I REALLY need the encouragement =P thanx muchly
Thanks to: Shadowslight, Fanny_chan (arigato. Fanny chan wa totemo kawaii desune. – sorry my romanji is truelly horrendous =P), Kristina, Emma and JadeDragon, who all reviewed my first chapter. Enjoy – I hope J
A/N whoa this was turning into a long-ass chapter so I split it up . .but hey that means u get 2 chapters for the price of one – lucky you J . . .hmmm and there a whoooolllee lot more to go . . hmmm
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~ A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words ~
Harry lay in his enormous bed all alone, alternately staring blankly at the ceiling and tossing and turning, taking out his pointless frustration on his hapless pillows. But nothing would help, he already knew what the problem was, his mind was alive and jumping all over the place, chasing its own tale around inside his head, obsessed with an idea. An image. A person.
Ahhhhh Draco. My love. My secret. My shame.
Resignedly Harry turned on the light and propped himself up against a nice bank of pillows. If he was going to be awake and thinking all night, he would rather not do it in the dark. Sighing, Harry gave in to his insistent, obsessive thoughts and tried to get comfortable.
. . . sunlight creating a bright halo around hair pale as moonbeams . . .
Draco was simply the pinnacle of perfection, like a fallen angel, as cold and bright . . .and as distant, unattainable . . . as the moon. What man was crazy enough to fall in love with the moon? He might as well give his heart to the chair; it would be as welcome and probably get the same reaction. Draco was beautiful, a tall, lean sculptured physique, an almost feline grace, an agile mind, a courageous soul, as pale and pure, as cool, calm and mysterious as the heavenly body Harry glimpsed through the open window. What would a creature like that want with a scrawny, confused and flawed boy, with glasses, hair with a mind of its own and just an average intelligence? . . . nothing . . . maybe a toy to laugh at, to play with its fragile emotions . . . but perhaps that was better than nothing.
. . . ice blue eyes, quicksilver alive with intelligence and mischief, sparkling with the sweet thrill of a challenge, dancing with hidden laughter . . .
Harry saw those rare moments, perhaps because he was the only one who really looked, he saw when the real Draco shone through, he glimpsed the emotions broiling behind those implacable silver orbs, the laughter, the intelligence, the interest he hid from the world, he understood that Draco was really two very different people, the person who went out to meet the world, who protected his true self from everyone and everything that might dare to touch him.
. . . a young boy reaching out the hand of friendship only to be cruelly rebuffed . . .
Harry still remembered that day so long ago now, they day that had really changed his life so much. He was glad that he had friends like Ron and Hermione, but he would probably always lament Draco's lack of anyone to confide in, to trust, to love and be loved by, he still wished that the events of that first day had not transpired quite as they had, wished for some sort of third choice, where he could have Draco *and* his other friends, even as he knew it was futile. He just wished he could have been there for Draco for all the times he was hurt, to stop him all the times he tried to pull a little more inside himself, to share every joy and success, to love him as he deserved to be loved, to just . . . be . . . with him for all those moments that no one remembered, the moments that were really non moments, just sitting companionably before a warm fire, swimming in the lake in summer, whispering and giggling at midnight in the dark of a dorm room, he wished with all he was to just be with him for the past, the present and the future . . . forever.
. . . cold shutters drawing closed, shinning blue eyes growing dull and distant, an almost visible mask dropping into place, thoughts and feelings forever hidden from the callous world and all the people who could hurt him . . .
Every time Draco turned away from the world, Harry felt the pain as his own, a dull throbbing in his chest, a tightness in his throat and a strange burning behind his eyes, every time he saw Draco die a little, take another step from the path to his own greatness and let the darkness in just that little bit more, every time that Draco closed in on himself and Harry was powerless to change a thing. He was so useless, everything he did only caused problems, everyone who got close to him got hurt . . . there was nothing he could do.
. . . fierce concentration, the single minded focus, the dedication to anything he set his mind to . . .
Harry saw that dedication in everything Draco did, dreamed of a day when that focus would be directed at him, when he could be foremost in Draco's thoughts . . . and then he woke-up . . . to the cold reality where Draco never spared him a thought and his feelings mattered about as much as a house-elf's. Sometimes he let himself dream that they could have a chance, that Draco might feel the same way . . . but that's all it was . . . foolish dreams.
. . . growing, changing, evolving in the face of adversity, struggling to find a sense of self something to be his and only his, when every one saw exactly what they wanted, not caring who he was inside . . .
He looked on with so much pride, more than Draco's own father probably felt, he watched as Draco struggled against his destiny, tried to become a good person, someone who could hold their head up high and have pride in his achievements. Harry watched, and he despaired, for how could someone like that settle for a person like him?
. . . a look burning hate and fury gradually changing to one of cold indifference, shadowed, haunted, by something . . . more? . . .
Those first few years, the hate had wounded him, every time those angry eyes looked into his own, he saw the hurt little boy inside crying out for someone to help him HELP HIM! And he felt as if someone twisted the knife into his heart just a little bit more. Those first years had hurt, but the following had almost killed him. No emotion, no anger, no pain, just a blank, impenetrable façade, that little boy locked away somewhere deep inside. Every now and again Harry would get a strange feeling, he would turn and find himself face to face with his love and, if he was lucky, he might see something, a wisp of some stray emotion, something that momentarily burned in those silver eyes a warmth like a physical caress, and then he would shake himself and be left with just a cruel smirk and dead eyes, left with just a memory to keep him warm.
But the question that tormented Harry day and night, the only thing that really kept him going was . . . did, *could* Draco return his feelings? Did those fleeting looks mean something? Was Harry in fact damning his own love by denying it? Was Draco actually thinking the very same thoughts as himself? Every time Harry kept his silence, did he hurt Draco a little bit more, could he be destroying the one he loved just because he was so very spineless?
Harry could no longer live in this constant state of confusion, it was tearing him apart, and people were starting to notice . . .
. . . "Are you sure you're alright, Harry? You don't seem yourself at all." . . .
But that was just the problem, he was acting too much like himself, his true self. He had to know how Draco felt, he had to tell Draco how *he* felt. Maybe he could . . . show Draco how he felt . . . he had to find a way to show Draco how he felt, without putting his heart on the line . . .
Harry made a passable imitation of Ron's derisive snort and fought the urge to slap himself, How was he supposed to convince Draco, the most distant person on earth, to show his feelings, when Harry himself didn't have the guts to take a little risk.
He would do anything to get Draco. He would even embarrass himself in front of the whole school if he had to, if he had to look like a git to get his point across then so be it . . .
. . . " What ponce would be caught dead entering an art competition? He'd look like a right git wouldn't he, 'Arry?" . . .
If anyone had walked into the room at that moment they would have been in for quite a surprise. The famous Harry Potter sitting in his huge bed, rumpled covers in disarray around his waist, Chudley Cannons zooming all over his bright orange P.J's, his eyes wide with shock, his mouth gaping like a fish.
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Draco sat in his equally lonely bed on the other side of school, way past the point of even attempting to get any sleep. In fact Draco really hadn't got any solid sleeping for years, since the arrival in his life of a Mr. H. Potter, brave, intelligent, beautiful, loyal and all around good guy. Draco sat at his desk, as he did most nights, writing yet another lovelorn Journal entry (yes! Draco Malfoy had a journal. J.O.U.R.N.A.L *not* a diary, only girls had diaries, thank you very much) Draco had long ago come to terms with his obsession and accepted that unless totally exhausted he could not sleep, that's why he had started his journal, a way to tire him without letting everyone in Slytherin know that he was an insomniac. Well, that's how it had started, but now he found himself relishing the dark hours, the only time when he could indulge his fantasies and his dreams, when he could accept that he was in love with the Great and Powerful Harry Potter, saviour of the world and the only time when he could allow himself to picture what it would be like to be loved in return. All this he wrote down on paper, like a ritual, a cleansing of the soul, purging himself of his weak emotions.
. . . Walking down a lonely, cold corridor, feeling the tender brush of fingers against the back of his neck, turning to find a pair of shining emerald eyes, wordlessly imparting comfort, trust and love before a cheeky smile appears and is followed by the teasing brush of soft lips, a joyful, carefree laugh, a whispered "I love you" . . .
Harry was an angel, a pure soul, someone who loved and trusted instinctively. How could he ever be satisfied with the twisted shell that was all that remained of the real Draco Malfoy. But, he hoped, if anyone could bring that person back, it would be Harry, maybe some of that perfection would rub off on him and he could once again inhabit the world of the living, could once again call himself a human being and be worthy of the name. Every word of love, of encouragement spoken from those lips would heal him and in return he would love to the point of obsession, he really was deluding himself if he thought he wasn't already at that point, he would do anything and everything in his power to give Harry a life of happiness, he would change, he would become a better man, he would become anything that Harry needed, if only he could have that light in his life, the love he so desperately needed.
How he longed for a love like that. A love that was so strong it showed itself in every thing one did, every decision a person made, a love that became that became the backbone of your existence, that touched every part of your soul and lit up the dark places, chased away that insidious darkness and left in its place only warmth and light. The kind of love that lasted for eternity, that went down in history, the stuff of legends. The kind of love that Draco Malfoy could never have. The kind of love that Harry Potter embodied. The kind of love that could never eventuate between a Potter and a Malfoy, would be doomed forever, but the kind of love that might be heaven on earth for Harry and Draco.
. . . A bright little house, somewhere surrounded by peaceful glades, rolling hills, swaying trees and calm lakes, a warm, cosy room, plenty of comfortable chairs and a roaring fire. He and Harry curled around each other sharing the overstuffed couch, talking about everything, sometimes sitting in silence for hours on end, calm and content in each other's company, sometimes sharing warm kisses and whispered words of love. Happy. Peaceful. Loving and being loved in return . . .
He really didn't care if Harry saved the world, only wished he would save Draco, so that Draco could be the person to save the saviour. The person to be there when Harry needed someone to confide in, someone to support him, someone to protect him from the danger in life and show him all that was good, perhaps they could discover it together. Draco wished he could be everything Harry needed, and knew that Harry would be the same in return.
Draco dreamed of a future where those moments where frequent, where he was confronted with evidence of love and happiness every day, the moments that every true romantic treasured. The quite moments when you realised just how much you needed this, needed the love, needed the lover. The moments, the kisses, the endearments that just made you fall a little bit more in love every time. A future where falling in love even more only made you happier, only serve to cement your relationship instead of engendering this strange, twisted mixture of fear and disgust that he was faced with, a lonely hopeless kind of feeling that made him want to die, made him want to cry because he was so powerless to change anything. Every time he fell in love a little more, a part of his soul shrivelled up and the darkness crept closer, for with no hope of being returned, this kind of love could kill him, but he wouldn't change it for the world.
. . . Two old men wrapped in each other's arms, smiling fondly as they reminisce about their long lives together, about the joys and the sorrow, happy because they shared it all together. Watching the sunrise and thanking the gods for another day spent together. Content if they were to die tomorrow because of all the beautiful yesterdays they've had . . .
Draco blinked his eyes slowly, crystal tears falling from his burning eyes to run with the ink, making tiny rainbows of colour swirl amidst his heart rending words on the parchment. This was a sacred dream, something he could never have but would be forced to spend his eternity of a pointless, miserable, despairing life yearning for. The ultimate goal. The ultimate reward. A life of love and happiness, ultimately unattainable.
Harry could never love Draco, and so he could never know how much he was loved.
If Harry ever found out how much Draco loved him, there was no telling what he would do, he could go mad, he could get violent, he could tell the world . . . . .
. . . He could return the sentiment . . .
Draco paused, his quill hovering over the parchment, an idea occurring to him. He had never even thought about it before, the possibility that Harry was just as scared as he was, just as unsure, that Harry might be hiding just like Draco, hiding the same secrets somewhere deep inside. Draco almost tore the page to pieces in frustration.
How was he supposed to know?????
But how was Harry supposed to know his every thought and feeling, to know of his eternal love. How was Harry supposed to know if Draco couldn't tell him, if he couldn't show him that he was safe, that he could his trust his heart to a Malfoy, at least this particular Malfoy, and come away unscathed?
It was all very well to hypothesise but how was he supposed to *show* Harry how much he loved him? He couldn't just walk up and say "Well, well, well Potter it seems its your lucky day. You have my heart now what are you going to do with it?" . . .
"yes, im sure *that* would gain me his undying love" Draco thought with a self deprecating smirk.
Sighing he lay down his quill and prepared to climb into bed for yet another restless night. Putting away his journal in the secret compartment in his desk, he stumbled over to the green-silk-covered monstrosity that was his resting place, his heart as heavy as lead in his chest and his legs dead weights beneath him. Reaching for the covers, a small . . . pink . . . piece of paper caught his eye. (Pink??). Curious despite himself, Draco snatched the offending parchment and flopped, in a very un-draconian move, down onto his bed.
With eyes round and owlish, and an idea slowly forming in his mind he read –
"The First Annual Hogwarts Art Festival" "All participants welcome""Grand prize of 100 house points"
Charitably putting aside his plans for eviscerating the unfortunate fool who had dared to enter into his sanctuary, Draco cleared the way for one of his most brilliant plans to date. His silver eyes glowing with hidden fire, the parchment clutched victoriously in one fist, a slow smile spread across his porcelain features . . .
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. . . . . . Two different rooms . . . . . .
. . . . . Two different bodies . . . . .
. . . . Two different minds . . . .
One rapturous thought
"It's perfect!"
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TBC – the inspiration
A/N thanx muchly – R/R I LOVVVEEE U
A/N2 – that was a very depressing chapter to write mmmmm teary eyed me . . . .so im gonna go looking for some happys soon . . . I promise . . its around here somewhere . . .soon . . .=D dw!