Disclaimer: Not Mine
Note: Shit. Yes, shit. This is the story talking, not the author. So remember that as I respond to your reviews.
sak: Thank you, sak. It's nice to have readers that are so supportive and serious. It's nice to hear something other than 'oh my god, only one chapter?' like with one of my other fics. Thanks a million.
CassandraRaven: Thank you; You're welcome; yes; yes; I'm not telling; of course I'm continuing it; Oh, okay; I see, yes.
Pazza: I love you . . . Thank you. For everything. And, please, babble all you want. It's fun to read.
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This may never start.
I'll tear us apart.
Can I be your enemy?
Losing half our year.
Waiting for you here
I'd be your anything.
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No. No. NononoNoNoNONONONONO! Draco could see that pleading look in Harry's eyes. Those beautiful, bright eyes were begging to be taken back. As those lips issued a barely audible question, they pleaded to be kissed; to be crushed and crumpled under Draco's. Harry's hand was, almost of its own volition, slowly reaching out, asking quietly to touch him once more.
Love me. Please, please love me. Love me again. Harry emanated this.
It wasn't that Draco didn't love Harry. It's that Harry didn't love Draco. No, no, he never had. He'd wanted Draco, though. He was just a selfish child. He might not love his toys, but he still wanted them. Well too tough, Harry! Not everyone was cut out to be a toy.
The world wouldn't wait for him, damn it! Draco couldn't do that. Draco just couldn't do that. He couldn't sacrifice everything. He couldn't sacrifice himself. Not to someone he wasn't sure even fucking cared. Harry would get other stupid toys. He'd get toys that would wait on him hand and foot. He'd get toys that'd soak up every word he said. He already had one, the whore.
"You know damn well it does, Potter. It was just a fling that went too far. Get over yourself. Suck it up and be a man already, won't you? You've got a girlfriend already, right?" Draco spat. "Somehow, that doesn't make me think that you cared too much." He watched with gut wrenching satisfaction as Harry's eyes widened, then hardened instantly. "See, it's nothing. You made a big mistake if you ever thought our little 'relationship' was worth a thing. We're exactly what we've always been, now. It was an intermission from the inevitable, Potter; but now things are exactly what they're supposed to be."
"Yeah." It was angry and threatening in the quiet way of vengeance. "Yeah, just like they should be. I guess you're just a stupid Slytherin after all. I should have known you weren't worth my time."
And then there was no Harry. The invisibility cloak he must have had with him was thrown back on and a loud rushing noise told Draco that he'd fled. Good. That was exactly what Draco had wanted. Exactly. He and Harry simply had to remain enemies. He had to insult Harry and his parents and his friends at every opportunity. Harry had to hate him. Harry had to want to haul off and knock his lights out. They had to desperately want each other dead. They had to. No, really, they had to.
But if so, why was Draco on his knees, tears running silently down his face?
It wasn't supposed to happen like this . . . Draco wasn't supposed to fall in love, much less with Harry Potter; much less with the-boy-who-would-always-live-even-without-him.
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There was just over one month until school ended. It had been six months by then . . . Six months. Six months without Harry's kisses, without Harry's touches, without Harry's body next to his on the bed at night. Six months of 'don't let me wake up to this'. It was just over one month until he was graduated. Just over one month until he was on his own in the big wide world that was ready to chew him up and spit him out, cold and alone. Just over one month until it was infinitely easier for Harry to avoid ever laying eyes on him again.
Draco went to pieces after every verbal spar with Harry, though Merlin forbid anyone ever found out. It was easy to ditch whatever useless housemate tried to follow him. They had all taken him back when it was let loose that he had broken it off. After every class with Harry he'd have a breakdown in a bathroom stall with nothing but the dark stones to comfort him. Nothing but the immovable, unchanging stones to stand as silent witnesses to the crime of psychological torture he committed upon himself each and every day. Boys didn't stick around in the loo like girls did.
So many times . . . so, so many times Draco wanted to run up to Harry and cling desperately to robes, begging to be forgiven. He wanted to scream over and over again that he hadn't meant it. He wanted to tell him that he loved him until his voice was raspy and his throat was sore. He loved him so much. Day by day Draco slowly inched closer to the edge of what one soul can take. Night by night Draco wandered aimlessly hoping to any and every deity that Harry would be there again, with his eyes begging to be taken back, and night by night he lost hope. It became glaringly obvious that Harry didn't want to bump into him like that again.
Gradually he was reaching a point of wretchedness. Bit by bit, he was beginning to think that he didn't care whether or not Harry loved him. If Harry acted like he loved Draco, and Harry kissed him, touched him, and held him like he loved him, what was the difference? What were three little words, anyway? It didn't matter. He needed Harry's arms wrapped around him. He needed Harry to ask him if he loved him as dawn spread a bloody light along the horizon. He needed Harry in every way he could get Harry.
But Harry still held that anger. He didn't want to be around Draco. Harry didn't love him. Harry didn't even act like he loved him. Harry was exactly like he was before that night in the Owlery. He was angry and argumentative. He spat out hard words. He raised he wand and threw nasty curses. Harry had that gleam in his eye that said he wanted his hands wrapped around Draco's neck.
And, little by little, Draco began to convince himself that so long as Harry noticed when he was breathing, it was okay. He began to feel that, as long he was in Harry's thoughts, everything was fine. Draco still consumed Harry. Draco was still the main thing that kept Harry's thoughts away from that final battle and everything that went with it. Even if it was negatively, Harry was thinking more often of Draco than of anyone else. Even more than the girls he dated. More than any of those airhead girls. Draco was indispensable as an extreme for Harry's emotions. Sure, he wasn't the lover any more, but even as an enemy, he had much more control over Harry's emotions than any of those girls. He still knew more about Harry than any of those girls.
Those girls . . . Harry might screw those stupid girls, but eventually Harry dumped them and hardly looked at them again. Harry looked at him every day. Harry thought about him every day. Harry was lit up with complete and total passion, a passion that made even the Sun shrink back, about him every day. Sure, it wasn't the same passion it used to be. It wasn't a passion that made them kiss and roll in thick blankets of Harry's bed, but it looked like it enough. Harry's eyes sparkled and got darker. His face flushed. He made a lot of noise. It was a lot like it.
Sometimes, as Harry hovered over him, about to make a retort, Draco felt the craziest urge to kiss him, because they weren't in a hallway, and they weren't arguing; they were in Harry's room, and the were on the bed. Sometimes, he managed to feel that nothing was wrong.
Sometimes Harry pinned him to a wall, bristling and angry, doing his very best not to smash Draco's face in, and Draco was home. Home because Harry wasn't angry, he was anxious. Harry didn't want to hurt Draco; Harry wanted to toss him on the bed. For a minute, they were where they were supposed to be, if only in Draco's mind.
Even when Harry was yelling at him, even when Harry was telling him how pathetic he was, Draco was delighted inside. Somehow, even though Harry was calling him the most horrible things he could think to call him, Draco felt loved. As long as Harry was thinking of him and nothing but him for at least a moment, Draco could believe that, if only for that moment, Harry loved him. Who cares how he was thinking of him?
He riled Harry up day after day just to see him flush, just to see the green eyes deepen, just to be everything to Harry for a minute or two. He'd do anything; say anything, hit below the belt, just to get that feeling deep inside. If it made Harry forget the weather and the people around him, it was enough. If Harry was forgetting everything but Draco, it was enough; it was love.
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Note: You know, I do these updates quicker than any others. I have to work really hard to get into it, but then I really get into it. I am the story. I think I'd kill anyone that tried to take this story and post it as their own . . . I now understand what it is to live in a story. You don't just live in the story; you live as the story.
Now excuse me as I kill that fucking squirrel that's chirruping outside my goddamned window . . .