Title: Tant que je vive

Author: The angelic vampire

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Draco decides whether it's all about strength or weakness.

Warnings: Intenseness.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Tant que je vive, mon cueur ne changera

Pour nulle vivante, tant soit elle bonne ou saige

Forte et puissante, riche de hault lignaige

Mon chois est fait, aultre ne se fera.

Careful nips at the junction of his neck, pulse licked and felt. Strong arms cradling him and a sense of peace permeating through his body. He's never felt so at ease in his entire life. Something is niggling at him, something is trying to break apart this wonderful euphoria.

He's so tired though. In ecstasy but oh so weary. A pair of callused hands stroke his sides and that can't be right. Not the sense of belonging nor the calluses. He's never let anyone with callused hands touch his body. He's never let all that many touch him, not even those without calluses. Magic is singing to him, though, and that can only be a good thing.

Mother told him tales of wizards and witches bonding. She spoke of their magic humming and being lost without their second half. He didn't understand because how could anyone survive without being whole. His mother told him he understood perfectly. He pretended that he knew what she was talking about and was grateful when his father snapped at her, he didn't like talks of magic he couldn't obtain either.

Pleasure erupts and lights explode, clouding his vision even though he's almost certain that his eyes are closed. He can't quite remember where he is, doesn't know who he's with and it doesn't matter at all. All he knows is that he is so very lethargic. He minds his indifference, though doesn't concern himself with it exactly. It's as if he knows that what he's feeling is the most important thing right now, as if it won't even get as good as it is in this precise moment.

He's surrounded by sharp angles and strong muscle. There is even more magic in the air. He can smell it just so. It also leaves a hint of bitter on the back of his tongue. He doesn't care about that. All he cares about is just being.

There is a trail of wetness trailing down his face. He hadn't noticed it before, but the euphoria is dimming and things are taking more shape. Everything is clarifying in spite of wanting to sleep, just sleep and never wake up. He opens his eyes and emerald eyes are staring down at him. That can't be right. It can't be right because father would kill him if he ever showed weakness before anyone, especially those eyes.

He would never show weakness, but maybe he did because those eyes are staring at him with such intensity and commitment. The magic is screaming now and he flinches slightly.

Callused hands smooth back silver strands, his hair has always had a will of its own.

Such weakness, his father would hate him. A glimpse of something, a scream, pain blossoming and he closes his eyes again. He thinks his father might already know. Maybe not weakness then, but something else. The air is vibrating around them and he has a feeling that he once knew what the explanations were. He doesn't know if he wants to be told, despite the fact that he knows that he's forgetting something important.

Because all he knows is this feeling and it just isn't fucking fair. He belongs with family crests and blood, mother's kisses and father's grey eyes. He shouldn't feel so at peace in seeker's arms and in the gaze of emerald eyes.

So tired though, too tired to protest and while he knows he shouldn't belong here, he can't deny that he does. The magic has gone beyond screaming now, he doesn't have words for it anymore. He opens his eyes again and it is so hard, so very hard. He doesn't understand but those emerald eyes never waver from sight, that reassures him in a way he can't remember, but it feels so familiar and right. So maybe it really isn't weakness after all.

"Tired." He speaks.

The trails of wetness increases and Draco faintly realises tears are dripping from those emerald orbs. That should worry him, shouldn't it. Yet matters such as inquiries about blood and explanations vanish, leaving only the slightest coveting for the annihilation of the issue of weakness.

"I know, love." A hesitation. "You can go to sleep now."

Broken and ragged and certainly not inferior or weak for being so. Not at all, he realises.

It's comfort, reassurance and devotion. Fingers stroking are his wet forehead now.

Draco decides that ultimately it might all be about strength.

He likes that. He could live with strength. He'll sleep now though. He's never felt as safe as he does now and he couldn't think of a better place to drowse off into that promising silent welcoming darkness. His lips quirk slightly as the magic quiets.

So silent.

Long as I live, my heart will never vary

For no one else, however fair or good

Brave, resolute or rich, of gentle blood

My choice is made, and I will have no other.

The End

A/N: I hope you all liked it.