A/N: I am homebound this entire Spring Break, and so I decided I had best
get as much of this out while I still have time. I was just sitting up in
my room reading (I've got loads of unread books) and an idea just popped
into my head. Sadly the idea is for Chapters 6 and 7 so I need to get this
one out so I can write those. Not that this is filler. Anyway, I sketched
the idea and tried to go back to reading Wreaththu by Storm Constantine,
but it's turned into a full-blown nag. I'll probably be up 'til it's
tomorrow getting all this stuff down. Thank you all for the support. It
makes me happy knowing that people actually want to read it :o) Now let's
see if I can get this chapter done without mishap.
Volion: Thanks! And I'll update as fast as my fingers can type!
Graffiti Decorations: Thank you! I hope chapter 4 sorted all that out tell me if I need to go back and revise the explanation.
Michelle W: I'm glad you like it. I'm not too fond of the flashbacks, but didn't want to just write loads of exposition from every character's perspective. How each person viewed the final battle was, in my opinion, very important. I couldn't see how something so huge could not affect them. There shouldn't be much, if any, more of them.
"Mione wants to know if we'll go with her to Hogsmeade tomorrow." Harry told Draco one Saturday afternoon, it was now one week into their winter vacation and Harry and Draco had fallen into a sort of comfortable companionship. Draco knew people thought of them as together, if only in the platonic sense. "She says she needs your help shopping and wants me to keep Sam out of everyone's hair."
"Huh," Draco said looked up from his writing and smiled, "Sounds fine to me, Harry." Draco had known about the trip already. It had been his idea. He was very confused about what he should get Harry for Christmas, and Hermione desperately wanted to go shopping without Sam, so they had decided to help each other out, and keep Harry and Sam in the dark.
"Alright, I'll just go tell her then, and talk to Sam about where she might like to go" Harry got slowly from his seat and stretched himself out before leaving the room.
No more than five minutes after Harry's departure Dumbledore's head appeared in their fireplace. "Hello, sir" Draco said, positioning himself on the couch as to get a better view of the Headmaster.
"Hello, my boy, I'm afraid there's been some news. I thought, perhaps, you'd rather hear it from me now than the Daily Prophet in a week." Draco just nodded for the Headmaster to continue. Whenever Dumbledore looked like he did now, rather diffident and regretful, Draco always felt like student again. He was going to get news, and what ever it was it wasn't good, maybe it wasn't bad either, but he knew it wasn't good.
"Draco, they've found the remains of your mother. Yesterday a group of Aurors found the secret keeper for Voldemort, and they were able to get into Riddle mansion. She was there, in one of the bedrooms. It looks as though the mansion was sealed before the final battle and no one was able to get in or out as the people who sealed it had died. The secret keeper was Peter Pettigrew if you can believe it. Which leads me to something I must speak to Harry about."
Draco nodded again, "Would you like me to send him down to your office, or would you like to wait until he comes back?"
"I think I'll just wait if that's alright with you." Dumbledore said. If Draco had been able to focus on any one thing he would have noticed that twinkle in Dumbledore's eye. ~The remains of my mother, gods. ~
"Of course, but I'll just be in my room if that's alright."
"Certainly, this is a lot to digest, I understand." Dumbledore said, not smiling, but this time even Draco saw ~Damn twinkle, I swear, the man needs to get that checked. ~
With a glance around the room Draco grabbed hold of his writing and rushed into his room. As he collapsed into his bed the emotions he'd held in check broke, and the tears began to fall.
Time passed and Draco paid his soaking pillow no attention. He had no idea why this affected him so much. It was total reaction, with no logic behind it. As his body began to fold in on itself, trying to warm on the outside a cold that existed internally. As he began to despair of ever feeling warm again, two strong arms wrapped around him, and the chill started to leave his body, settling in a dull ache somewhere around his midsection.
Those arms seemed to be attached to both hands and a body. They began to situate Draco onto a lap. Before he even looked up Draco knew they belonged to Harry, but he couldn't bring himself to see the piteous gaze he knew would be there. Just as he thought he could simply be held, avoiding both pain and those eyes, Harry defied Draco's will and grabbed his chin pulling Draco's face to look at his. Reluctantly Draco dragged his eyes up to look into Harry's.
What he saw there he would remember forever. Never had he seen eyes so green, or so full of a mixture of determination, understanding, and sympathy. Sympathy, mind you, not pity. Not "You poor pathetic weakling" but a gaze that said, "I know how this feels, let's face it now, before it haunts you any longer."
Even with those eyes, and that open face, Draco bridled against the idea that anyone understood. This was his pain. Not anyone else's, and certainly not Harry's. He had just readied a snapping rebuff, when Harry kissed his forehead, then sat back just a little and waited. As Draco's brain processed again having those lips against his face the words began to fall from his mouth.
"I'd known she was dead, it's just the conformation. It's official now. I'm not even sure why I care. She was just like him. I know, the biographers made her out to be some sort of battered woman, but she wasn't" Draco was no longer able to face those eyes. Both hands fisted in Harry's shirt he leaned his head on Harry's chest, and let the tears continue falling. He felt his heart beat in time with the hand Harry was running over his head and through his hair. As if functions once unconscious became dependent upon this other man.
Draco let Harry hold him as he worked out his feelings in his head. Maybe someday he would tell Harry how cold his parents had been to him. How the only thing worse than his what his failures had earned him (that snidely cold disdain) was the apathetic praise he would get. How the letter he had gotten a few weeks before he was to get the Dark Mark telling him how "proud" Lucius and his mother were of him had torn him to pieces. He had done all he could for them, surrendered to them his very soul, and all he would ever receive was that brief recognition that, like a performing dog, he had once preformed to expectations. He had gone that day to Dumbledore and asked to be a spy. Even with that purpose he had felt empty, and as he looked back on his life he realized he had felt full again only that night in Harry's arms. Harry filled that void inside him. Briefly he wondered if he should avoid these situations, avoid spending time with Harry, but as Harry held him he knew he would always welcome the embrace, and no one else's.
It was then that Draco realized that Harry's mere presence had torn his thoughts away from his mother, dead these ten years, and on to Harry. It never failed to astonish him, but he wouldn't take it back. Objectively he could see how his current situation paralleled with what Harry had done to comfort Hermione, and it made the ache grow somewhat larger, but he wouldn't send the embrace back either. He knew that one broom ride on a cold starry night had sustained him for ten years, and he relished every second of this, just in case it had to get him through the next ten.
And so they drifted in to dream land. Each holding on to the other, both hoping it would never end.
A/N: So how do you like them apples, eh? As far as Lucius and Draco's mother go, well, it's a mirror image of my parents. You write what you know, and that's what I know. Besides, I didn't want to write another fic with Lucius utilizing tined Crutacius curses, or the like. Personally I envisioned some sort of preoccupied apathy with brief recognition for progress or lack there of. Like I said before, though, it's what I know, and I didn't know how else to put it. Anyways; the next chapter should (I say should, don't trust me, though) be longer than all the others. It's divided into three parts, if I read the chapter sketch right (with my handwriting, you never know...). I'll be writing it and the next chapter tonight and into tomorrow morning (I've had enough diet coke today to keep me up for ages!).
Volion: Thanks! And I'll update as fast as my fingers can type!
Graffiti Decorations: Thank you! I hope chapter 4 sorted all that out tell me if I need to go back and revise the explanation.
Michelle W: I'm glad you like it. I'm not too fond of the flashbacks, but didn't want to just write loads of exposition from every character's perspective. How each person viewed the final battle was, in my opinion, very important. I couldn't see how something so huge could not affect them. There shouldn't be much, if any, more of them.
"Mione wants to know if we'll go with her to Hogsmeade tomorrow." Harry told Draco one Saturday afternoon, it was now one week into their winter vacation and Harry and Draco had fallen into a sort of comfortable companionship. Draco knew people thought of them as together, if only in the platonic sense. "She says she needs your help shopping and wants me to keep Sam out of everyone's hair."
"Huh," Draco said looked up from his writing and smiled, "Sounds fine to me, Harry." Draco had known about the trip already. It had been his idea. He was very confused about what he should get Harry for Christmas, and Hermione desperately wanted to go shopping without Sam, so they had decided to help each other out, and keep Harry and Sam in the dark.
"Alright, I'll just go tell her then, and talk to Sam about where she might like to go" Harry got slowly from his seat and stretched himself out before leaving the room.
No more than five minutes after Harry's departure Dumbledore's head appeared in their fireplace. "Hello, sir" Draco said, positioning himself on the couch as to get a better view of the Headmaster.
"Hello, my boy, I'm afraid there's been some news. I thought, perhaps, you'd rather hear it from me now than the Daily Prophet in a week." Draco just nodded for the Headmaster to continue. Whenever Dumbledore looked like he did now, rather diffident and regretful, Draco always felt like student again. He was going to get news, and what ever it was it wasn't good, maybe it wasn't bad either, but he knew it wasn't good.
"Draco, they've found the remains of your mother. Yesterday a group of Aurors found the secret keeper for Voldemort, and they were able to get into Riddle mansion. She was there, in one of the bedrooms. It looks as though the mansion was sealed before the final battle and no one was able to get in or out as the people who sealed it had died. The secret keeper was Peter Pettigrew if you can believe it. Which leads me to something I must speak to Harry about."
Draco nodded again, "Would you like me to send him down to your office, or would you like to wait until he comes back?"
"I think I'll just wait if that's alright with you." Dumbledore said. If Draco had been able to focus on any one thing he would have noticed that twinkle in Dumbledore's eye. ~The remains of my mother, gods. ~
"Of course, but I'll just be in my room if that's alright."
"Certainly, this is a lot to digest, I understand." Dumbledore said, not smiling, but this time even Draco saw ~Damn twinkle, I swear, the man needs to get that checked. ~
With a glance around the room Draco grabbed hold of his writing and rushed into his room. As he collapsed into his bed the emotions he'd held in check broke, and the tears began to fall.
Time passed and Draco paid his soaking pillow no attention. He had no idea why this affected him so much. It was total reaction, with no logic behind it. As his body began to fold in on itself, trying to warm on the outside a cold that existed internally. As he began to despair of ever feeling warm again, two strong arms wrapped around him, and the chill started to leave his body, settling in a dull ache somewhere around his midsection.
Those arms seemed to be attached to both hands and a body. They began to situate Draco onto a lap. Before he even looked up Draco knew they belonged to Harry, but he couldn't bring himself to see the piteous gaze he knew would be there. Just as he thought he could simply be held, avoiding both pain and those eyes, Harry defied Draco's will and grabbed his chin pulling Draco's face to look at his. Reluctantly Draco dragged his eyes up to look into Harry's.
What he saw there he would remember forever. Never had he seen eyes so green, or so full of a mixture of determination, understanding, and sympathy. Sympathy, mind you, not pity. Not "You poor pathetic weakling" but a gaze that said, "I know how this feels, let's face it now, before it haunts you any longer."
Even with those eyes, and that open face, Draco bridled against the idea that anyone understood. This was his pain. Not anyone else's, and certainly not Harry's. He had just readied a snapping rebuff, when Harry kissed his forehead, then sat back just a little and waited. As Draco's brain processed again having those lips against his face the words began to fall from his mouth.
"I'd known she was dead, it's just the conformation. It's official now. I'm not even sure why I care. She was just like him. I know, the biographers made her out to be some sort of battered woman, but she wasn't" Draco was no longer able to face those eyes. Both hands fisted in Harry's shirt he leaned his head on Harry's chest, and let the tears continue falling. He felt his heart beat in time with the hand Harry was running over his head and through his hair. As if functions once unconscious became dependent upon this other man.
Draco let Harry hold him as he worked out his feelings in his head. Maybe someday he would tell Harry how cold his parents had been to him. How the only thing worse than his what his failures had earned him (that snidely cold disdain) was the apathetic praise he would get. How the letter he had gotten a few weeks before he was to get the Dark Mark telling him how "proud" Lucius and his mother were of him had torn him to pieces. He had done all he could for them, surrendered to them his very soul, and all he would ever receive was that brief recognition that, like a performing dog, he had once preformed to expectations. He had gone that day to Dumbledore and asked to be a spy. Even with that purpose he had felt empty, and as he looked back on his life he realized he had felt full again only that night in Harry's arms. Harry filled that void inside him. Briefly he wondered if he should avoid these situations, avoid spending time with Harry, but as Harry held him he knew he would always welcome the embrace, and no one else's.
It was then that Draco realized that Harry's mere presence had torn his thoughts away from his mother, dead these ten years, and on to Harry. It never failed to astonish him, but he wouldn't take it back. Objectively he could see how his current situation paralleled with what Harry had done to comfort Hermione, and it made the ache grow somewhat larger, but he wouldn't send the embrace back either. He knew that one broom ride on a cold starry night had sustained him for ten years, and he relished every second of this, just in case it had to get him through the next ten.
And so they drifted in to dream land. Each holding on to the other, both hoping it would never end.
A/N: So how do you like them apples, eh? As far as Lucius and Draco's mother go, well, it's a mirror image of my parents. You write what you know, and that's what I know. Besides, I didn't want to write another fic with Lucius utilizing tined Crutacius curses, or the like. Personally I envisioned some sort of preoccupied apathy with brief recognition for progress or lack there of. Like I said before, though, it's what I know, and I didn't know how else to put it. Anyways; the next chapter should (I say should, don't trust me, though) be longer than all the others. It's divided into three parts, if I read the chapter sketch right (with my handwriting, you never know...). I'll be writing it and the next chapter tonight and into tomorrow morning (I've had enough diet coke today to keep me up for ages!).