Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. Unless I become obscenely rich and somehow buy the patent to HP...but that's all a long time from now ;)
A/N: Oh my goodness, did I just start a multi-chaptered fic? I think I did.XD
For anyone who is familiar with my writing, that is a big, big thing; the maybe three multi-chaptered fics I've started are currently on a very long hiatus. Ahahaha. This was supposed to be a oneshot, a la Second, but I'm just to lazy to finish it in one go. Unbeta'd.
the (stupid) games we play
I. The Beginning
What he and Draco had, Harry thought, was too rocky to be called a relationship; too intense to be called a fling; and they were in too deep for it just to be 'a little experiment'. It was a weird, almost relationship-kinda-a-fling-not-quite-a-schoolboy-crush. It was a little of all three, now that he thought about it, because they were always together, generally, although there were certainly times when they fought and broke up. But even when they weren't dating or seeing each other, everyone knew that they weren't available for anyone else but each other.
And it wasn't a fling because, what fling lasts 18 months—and what kind of fling could stir up as much emotion as the two of them always seemed to bring out in each other? No one ever fought as explosively as they did, mourn together, or even be happy together, certainly. So it couldn't be a fling, because that would be only a step further than a one night stand, and probably all for sex, and that wasn't all they had. At all.
A schoolboy crush was silly, a passing thing, almost a shallow imitation of—for lack of better word—infatuation. That they certainly had, but there was nothing silly or passing about it. Call it obsession, call it rivalry, but the fact of the matter was, the two boys couldn't stay away from each other ever since their first year (and, if their numerous scuffles were any indication, they couldn't keep their hands off each other, either). So it was a little of each, and because it was a little of each it wasn't quite one thing or the other—or the other.
But Harry needed to call it something, even if just in his head, because what would he say if someone asked him out? "Oh, I'm sorry, but I'm already seeing a hundred-night stand."? And he needed control over the relationshipwhateveryouwannacallit, because he was not going to let Draco Malfoy get into his heart, but it was too late for that anyway, so he was going to make sure that Draco Malfoy didn't know how much Harry felt. For him. Draco was too unpredictable, too careless. What did Harry mean to him? He could just go into that phase of his, where his eyes seemed to harden and his voice became as sharp as a knife; and anyone who knew him would've gotten out of there, fast. A regular Draco was sadistic, bullying, and arrogant, but an angry one was indifferent, cold, and untouchable.
So he decided that it would be a game. It was all a game. Every time something major happened—good or bad, stupid or worse, he'd take it into account. Draco's family disowned him. I love him. Ron finally accepted them. I love him not. Hermione and Draco bonded over Hogwarts, A History. I love him.
Back and forth, it'd keep going, and no matter what kind of occasion, it didn't matter. As long as something happened, then he would alternate. They fought so much that the game was always in session, in his head. I love him. I love him not. The foundation of their relationship, based on a lover's superstition; a game. If Draco had known, he'd have sneered and said something like, "Why don't you just use Monopoly? It's just about the same thing, isn't it?"
It was silly, and it was stupid, but he was already in too deep. Harry had learned to keep his feelings in check, to base his emotions and hide them under the cloak of the game. On an 'I love him' day he was sweet and cuddly and romantic; on an 'I love him not' day he was tough and rough and mean. Monotony, that's what it was, but cleverly disguised so that Draco would think it was actually real. He hoped.
Because Draco was already a master of his emotions, and he didn't need a game (a reminder) to help him hide them. Harry wouldn't let him know that he may have been in love with him—madly, deeply, terrifyingly in love—because what if he didn't love him back? No, better to hide, to hide and wait and stay safe. Safe and sound inside his lies. Someday, he might have told Draco the truth—'I love you'—but then he'd chicken out and see the cold gray of Draco's eyes, steely and unfeeling, and he'd change his mind in a flash; I love you not.
Years passed; events flew by; he and Draco went through so much that Harry eventually had to keep a list. It was messy and unorganized, his writing barely legible, but every time something he deemed as worthy occurred, he would dutifully write it down. A habit, he supposed, though something that had to be kept secret. Draco never knew, or at least that's what Harry thought.
He almost wished, sometimes, in his darkest hours, that Draco would find the little notebook filled with a thousand I love yous and I love you nots; and hoped, in the tiny part of him that still believed in miracles, that Draco would mostly see the I love yous. The blond was really clever, in his own way, and maybe he would have guessed why the whole thing started and he'd smile and say—no. Draco hardly ever smiled. He smirked. He twitched the corner of his lips. He snickered and he chuckled and sometimes laughed, but smiling was something he rarely did. It would never have worked.
Harry kept up the lie, for his own sanity, and so that if Draco ever left him, he wouldn't know anything about the state he would leave Harry. Harry wanted it that way, because, well, Gryffindors had their pride too—and especially Gryffindors who were in love.
II. Draco
He thinks it's just a game, Draco thought. Or at least he thinks I think it's just a game, and his misplaced Gryffindor pride is making him do the same. Why, Harry. How incredibly Gryffindor of you, to immediately assume the worst of me, and then not even admit it. Too bad you're terrible at keeping secrets.
He started that whole ridiculous 'system', or whatever he calls it, to try and hide what he feels; if he hadn't, I could've told him myself that I loved him. But now he's made it all complicated—I don't know whether to be annoyed, or pissed off. Possibly—or probably—both.
Really, though, the nerve of him to distrust me like that, when I'd already turned away from my family, the Dark Lord, my whole way of life, for him—if that's not love, I shudder to think what he'd expect me to do if he did believe I was a lovesick fool. Bring him a cool drink whenever he was hot, perhaps, punishing myself, apologizing profusely whenever I hurt him. Hmph. I think he forgets that I am a Slytherin, or I was, and I have my pride. I already gave up quite a lot for him, and not that I wouldn't do it again, but—dammit, what else does he want? My bloody soul? Would that be enough to convince that stupid prat that I cared—or possibly even loved?
He walks over to me, an icy, forced smile on his lips. So it's one of his bad days, then. What a surprise—and right after Weasley and Granger announced their engagement, too. Don't know why he'd be in such a bad mood; I promised him I'd behave at their party, and I did. I was nothing but smooth and gracious, and I even managed to congratulate them—though I admit it did come out a bit strangled and they may not have understood most of it. Anyway, the point is, I tried, and shouldn'tthatbeenough? Enough to convince him I care? But no, he's got to keep up that stupid little act of his, changing his moods so erratically even I can't decipher them. Either that, or I'm too pissed off at him to even try to understand.
Bloody Gryffindor.
IV.
I walk in, already equipped with all matter of convincing lies; it's an 'I love you not' day. Ron and Hermione's engagement is probably something I should be celebrating, but love—and for that matter, lust—doesn't listen to reason. So I figure it doesn't really matter, because the whole point of the game is to be mysterious; mysterious and distant and unreadable. I hope.
He sees me, and already his sneer is in place—see what I mean about his emotions?—and says, "Nice to see you're finally up."
"Yes, well, I had quite a bit to drink at Hermione and Ron's party last night," I reply just as coolly.
"Hm." Noncommittally, he turns back to his paper and reads, having already forgotten about me. My heart clenches briefly, but I suppress it, with a lot less difficulty than before; it seems I've gotten quite good at that lately. Maybe this whole thing is finally starting to pay off, in a roundabout sort of way. Because either way, whether I reveal my real emotions or not, I'm going to end up hurt; whether or not he'll get the satisfaction of seeing me broken and alone depends on me, I guess.
Though from all the tension and furious silences between us lately, I'm starting to wonder if I've made a huge, huge mistake.
V.
Harry and Draco are still together, although just barely; they live in the same place, but that's pretty much all they share. Their lives, their thoughts, even their meals are separate. Around them, the war rages on; aside from the assignments—missions—they go on every few weeks, and aside from all the fighting and chaos they go through, they still face the same problems, go through the same trials and tribulations. The only difference it that now it's harder, because on top of all of it they have the war and their friends' lives to worry about.
The gap, the unbridgeable chasm, is still widening between them. But. Life goes on. Ron and Hermione got married, with Harry as the best man; Draco had not attended, claiming to be 'working on an important case'. Harry knows that it's just a ruse, an excuse, to get away from him and all of his crap. He wishes he could stop, he really does, but he's in too deep and the longer it goes on the more desperate he is not to let Draco know; know…anything. Know that Harry loves him, so so much, loves him like he's never loved anyone before; won't let him know that Harry wouldn't know what to do if Draco left, only that he couldn't let him know how horribly pathetic he was without Draco.
He wouldn't; it was too painful, and Harry wonders where his Gryffindor bravery has gone, and why it hasn't been able to convince him to come out and say it already.
Sometimes he wishes the whole thing had never even started, because the game was only making things more difficult. If he stopped, then he'd have to face Draco's wrath and pray that it all worked out; if he didn't, then their relationship would fall apart anyway, and the only thing intact would be his stupid pride. And Harry had discovered quite recently that pride was not the most important thing in the world, despite what many men may say.
In the middle of the ceremony (and Ron and Hermione had just finished their I do's), he makes a split-second decision to makea decision. He corners Hermione in the middle of the reception (apologizing as he did so), and tells her everything, right then and there. He goes through all of it, from all his insecurities in the beginning and into the collapse of the whole tupid plan. Some parts make him blush a bit, and a lot of the time he won't look into her eyes as he says it; somehow, though, he gets through it.
And Hermione listens. And she consoles, and she comforts, and, best of all, she scolds. When Hermione scolds, Harry knows that she has a plan. Harry asks her what to do.
"First of all, Harry, I just have to say that I am amazed at how idiotic you were," she says, though with no real contempt. It's as if she's only pointing out the obvious, which Harry had somehow or other managed to miss.
"Not only in deciding—and actually going through—with that little 'plan' of yours, but by the reason you chose to do it." She is looking into his eyes now, her eyes holding the kind of intensity he often sees when she is going through a particularly challenging book.
"You were afraid Draco didn't lo-care for you, right?" She continues to stare at him with that intense gaze, and Harry finds that he can't look away. It feels almost ludicrous that he's taking advice on his love life from Hermione when she's the one getting married. But she had always been the caregiver, the one they turned to when they needed help; Harry guesses that even now that she's married, at least that wouldn't change.
She sighs as if she was wondering what in the world to do with him. And she speaks.
"Harry," and Harry recognizes that tone; the tone she always used when she was explaining something that she felt everyone should have known already, "all you had to do was ask."
Harry stares at her for a moment. "Hermione, did you not hear what I just told you? The whole reason I started the game was to preserve my pride—though now I know better—and asking would kind of defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?"
She rolls her eyes. "It would if he said no, which is probably the worst that could happen."
"Oh yes, and that would've been a really fun conversation, wouldn't it?"
"No, Harry, it wouldn't, but it wouldn't have been the end of the world. Or even your relationship."
Harry gives her a look that says, plainly, explain.
Hermione sighs impatiently, and Harry has the odd feeling that at that moment, she considers his emotional capacity to be even lower than Ron's. It is a somewhat scary revelation.
"Let me break it down to you simply, Harry: if you had asked him if he loved you, he might've said yes—and he might've said no. But if you asked him if he cared for you, even only a little, then the answer would most definitely be yes. If he were telling the truth, of course, which I doubt he will, but…well, that's what Veritaserum is for."
Harry blinks at her, momentarily ignoring the bit she said about the Veritaserum. After all, it was Hermione. "And you know that how…?"
He still doesn't get it, she thinks.
"I don't get enough credit for this…" she mutters under her breath. Exhaling slowly, she sits down on the floor, patting the ground next to her to indicate that Harry should do the same.
If this is what being unhappily in love does to him, she thinks, I almost don't want to know what he'll be like when he's happy
"Okay. Think of all the things he's sacrificed for you, and for your relationship. He's switched to our side, he's renounced his whole family, which up until this point had been his whole life, and he's even tried to be nice to me and Ron." .
Harry nods slowly. "Wait…what do you mean, he's been nice to you and Ron? Every time he sees you guys, he makes fun of you!"
"Yes, Harry. That would be called 'teasing'. Haven't you noticed that whenever he makes fun of us, he's grinning instead of smirking?"
This boy, she sighs silently.
"And even at our engagement party," she starts quickly, before Harry can interrupt her, "he was very polite. He even tried making small talk with the Weasleys, and he went up to us and said congratulations."
Okay, she admits, it was more like he muttered it, and I don't really think Ron knew what he said…but he was trying!
"Well, he wouldn't have done all that if he didn't at least have some feelings for you, would he? I mean, maybe he could've had other reasons to switch, and perhaps his family was bugging him, but...He wouldn't have just woken up one morning and decided to be friendly with us, would he?"
Harry feels a slow smile threatening to overcome his face. "Maybe not, but suppose he was just trying to gain you and Ron's trust? Or mine?"
Hermione looks as is she is about to explode, now, but relaxes when she sees Harry's grinning face. Unconsciously, she feels herself start to smile too. "You're impossible, you know that, Harry?" But there is fondness in her voices as she says this.
"Not as bad as Ron, though, right Hermione?" Harry gives her a quick grin.
Hermione sighs solemnly. "No, and Draco had better be grateful he's got you. At least he won't have to wait six years just for you to admit you might have a bit of a crush on him."
Harry laughs.
"Anyway, Harry, let me just tell you one more thing: now that we've established that Draco cares about you, don't go around expecting him to go around shouting declarations of love. Even if he weren't, well, him, no one in their right mind would do that. I knew Ron cared about me, and it took him five years just to say those three words. So don't go around moping anymore, just because he isn't as transparent as you are, okay?"
She gives him a teasing grin. Apparently finished, she hugs him tightly, pecks him lightly on the cheek, and goes to leave.
Just as she's about to disappear around the corner, however, Harry shouts out, "Hey, Hermione. Ever consider a career in psychiatry?"
She smirks at him.
xx
Heehee. Don't you just love Smirking!Hermione? XD