Reflections in Velvet
By Leeanah
Rating: PG
Pairing: Harry/Draco. My first, so play nice.
Summary: He choked back a gasp at the view, for there in the soft velvet curtain, his reflection stared back in awe and confusion.
Disclaimer: Not mine, and the idea was inspired by Lisa's penname.
Dedication: For Lisa on your birthday. I love you forever, and I hope you enjoy my first attempt at Harry/Draco, and my first published slash. Happy fifteenth.
A/N: Special thanks to Gillie and Lillilan for betaing.
Draco sat alone in the large room, knowing that the house was deserted. He was alone here, but it would be over soon. His parents were gone, had abandoned him in hopes that he would come after them.
He wouldn't. He didn't love them, nor they him.
His life was so changed since the beginning of this year. At the start of term, he would have never been able to conceive his life so altered in so short a time.
He stood and walked to the window, heavily shielded by velvet curtains, which fluttered slightly, not with wind, but with magic, with power. His power, and his lover's, which resided deep within his essence. He went to draw them aside, to let the sunlight into the dreary room, lit only by torches along each wall, but froze at what he saw.
Childishly rubbing at sleep-addled eyes, he peered intently into the deep green fabric, and choked back a gasp at the view, for there in the soft velvet curtain, his reflection stared back in awe and confusion. Silently, he reached towards it, watching his counterpart mirror his actions. Fingers touched velvet, and he lost himself in memory, feeling the tears he'd suppressed for an age reach the surface and spill over.
He watched, transfixed, as his mind relived the terrible days of the war as if it were one of those muggle "movies". He watched his own story, saw his father, his friends, his "lord". He saw once more the wand tip pointed at his forearm, ready to bestow upon him the highest of honors, a Dark Mark of his very own. He watched as the Dark Lord fell to the ground in pain, hit by an Avada Kedavra from Draco's once concealed wand. He saw himself run, the Dark Lord stand once more, his father suffer for it. He then saw himself again, running straight into the safety of Harry's arms, and all else faded, unimportant, into the background.
He contemplated the other boy's features, then so soft and forgiving. They weren't like that now. Time and war had changed him physically, and he now bore the face of one who had truly lost. He looked alone.
He wasn't. They had each other now.
The blonde watched the scenes the velvet showed him, watched the rejection on Ron and Hermione's faces the day they found out about Drac, watched the pain in his lover's eyes as they saw the dead and dying forms of friends and foe, many of them former classmates, all there because of a prophecy and him. His lover and the prophecy, and the adversary, the evil that had taken his family's love.
He lost himself to tears and memory, to love and loss. When Harry had left to fight the final battle, they had both acknowledged and accepted the consequences of his actions, and though he was more relieved then he could ever say that Harry had won, the comatose form of his lover was hardly a convincing argument that Harry'd survived the struggle. Draco could only hope that he'd awaken soon.
Tearing his eyes from the reflective curtains, he collapsed on the hardwood floor, unfeeling.
He was alone until his lover awoke.
If his lover awoke.
If either of them did.
He fell into a deep slumber there on the floor, dreaming of happier times with Harry, with his family. He rested happy, and when he woke, the weight of remembrance crushed his soul, his very being.
He looked once more into the curtain, shocked that it did, indeed, reflect the room in a green tint, shocked that he was not insane. Shocked that he had lived through his rest to see this unlikelihood once more.
And then he saw movement. Someone behind him, becoming clearer and clearer as they approached, and now he saw the black hair, and he refused to believe, and he saw the green eyes, feeling his own stormy grays fill once more with tears. He felt the soft hand on his skin, lighting him on fire, and he slowly turned, shock and hope shining in his eyes.
Throwing his once impossibly heavy arms around his lover, his Harry, he fell into him, shaking with relief and love.
And as Harry whispered sweet nothings into his ear, he found he was not alone.
He was not alone.
And the world in the velvet slowly faded away, until all that was left was Draco and Harry, holding each other for dear life.