I remember the first time you kissed me. It was back when we still acted as though the air between us didn't flow thickly with desire. I wouldn't admit it because I couldn't stand being any more different from my peers than I already was – the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the one with a destiny to fulfill, the fag. I couldn't bear standing out, at least that's what I told myself. The truth was that I was afraid everyone close to me would abandon me. Luna told me I had abandonment issues because in my subconscious, I felt that my parents had abandoned me when they were killed. Maybe she's right, but I couldn't see how anyone could look at me the same when I was so abnormal.
It was different for you. You didn't care if people judged you for what you were, or if people hated you for it. No, you were afraid of losing control. With girls, you could enjoy a physical relationship without drowning in the waters of emotion. You wouldn't feel something so intense that your judgment was impaired and your entire life seemed to revolve around one person as long as you could keep pursuing a false love. You knew you were gay, you always knew because you understood yourself like that. I was in deep denial and you could see through it the second we first met. You could tell what I felt: you felt it too. I saw your neck bone rise rapidly with a sharp intake of breath, I noticed the way you drew your eyes away so quickly it was as though the sight of me burned them.
So you recoiled from me. We were enemies without a reason, just how you hated Mudbloods for no reason, how you looked down on the poor for no reason. Your convictions were not your own and you weren't entirely comfortable with the amount of hatred they bore, so you exaggerated them. You hid behind your self-created hyperbole and glared at me with disgust every time we crossed paths.
At night, you lay awake and imagined how my lips would feel on your mouth, your neck, the small of your back. You guarded your thoughts so intensely that sometimes you feared that other people could hear them, because that is the nature of desire. You desired secrecy in your own mind, and since you had it, all you could do was fear that someone else would shatter it and intrude on your thoughts. Every time you thought of how my tan skin would look dappled in the morning sunlight, you furiously pushed the vision from your mind in paranoia. When you told me about this as we lay at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, you spoke with halted effort. It was hard for you to confess the deepness of your infatuation with me – your infatuation. We called it that because we were too unsure, too afraid to call it by its true name: love. We knew a deeper love than I will ever know again, and we wrote it off as a mere physical infatuation because we couldn't accept that what we had was miraculous.
When you told me about your paranoia regarding your personal thoughts, I realized that you weren't anywhere near as confident as you seemed to be. Normally when girls revealed to me that they were insecure, it annoyed me and I was repulsed from them. But I found your vulnerability endearing, even attractive. Now that I've had a chance to look back on our time together, I think of that moment as the moment I truly was in love with you, not that I knew it back then. We were stupid, we were young. But that's no excuse. We should have known. We should have realized, we shouldn't have diminished it at all, Draco. We should have told the entire world that we were made for each other and we should have sworn to each other that we would always stay together.
But then, things didn't work out. It was your seventeenth birthday when your father found us on your bed, our bare limbs tangled with serene smiles playing across our faces. Lovers' smiles. Lovers' eyes. If he couldn't tell from the smell of love suspended in the air or our bare bodies pressed softly together, he would have been able to tell from the way we were looking at each other. We could have appeared to be strangers in a train station, and he would have been able to see that we were in love because of our eyes.
Rage burned across his face, and he grabbed me by my arm and thrust me onto the floor. So this is what your family means to you, Draco? This is what your family means? Look at you, you disgusting shit. Look at what you're doing! Going around and fucking the Boy Who Lived. Emphasis on the "Boy".
Father, I…
His wand was suddenly sticking into my face, pushing the skin of my cheek down.
Are you going to kill him? You sounded desperate, frightened. I realized you were begging for me, and discomfort caused by sudden closeness washed over me. I would beg for you, I would die for you, but I never realized that you felt as intensely as me.
Your father laughed, his voice cold. My heart quickened, and I looked at you with a mixture of fear and sadness.
He didn't kill me, though.
He turned to you, his wand raised confidently at chest level, and I lay where he left me, suddenly conscious of my nakedness. The feeling of nudity intensified my deep helplessness until I felt like it would swallow me. He grasped your right hand firmly in his own and pressed the tip of his wand against your joined hands.
Will you, Draco, never have physical relations of any sort with Harry Potter again?
You shook your head furiously. You can't make me—
Say yes or I will kill the boy. His head jerked maniacally and he glared at me. I don't care about leaving him for the Dark Lord, if you ever… if you ever go near him again, I will kill him. I'll kill him right now.
You looked over at me, your eyes laced with deep despair. I—I will. I won't ever get near him again, just don't kill him!
Your father grinned, deeply pleased. A livid, red tongue of flame wound around your hands. It was all he needed. The flame glowed softly, casting your hands in a deep shade of orange, such a little, thin rope binding you forever to a destiny that couldn't be mine.
I saw you again throughout our seventh year, but we couldn't even touch for fear of breaking the Unbreakable Vow. Neither of us were sure what was meant by "physical relations", and I wasn't willing to risk your life because of our hormones.
They aren't just hormones, Harry. This is love, this is everything, you had told me, and I started crying. We had finally admitted our feelings, but I knew it was far too late for that. All I could think about was how I wanted to collapse onto your chest and feel your arms weave their way softly and protectively around me, and how much I wanted to know that there was no life outside of the one we had made for each other. It was then I told you that I couldn't see you any more. It hurt too much for us to be around each other if we couldn't truly be with each other.
It was the most painful year I had ever lived through. Dumbledore was dead, and you were so near to me, but so unattainable. But I couldn't go back to you, and we both knew it. I couldn't bear to be responsible for your death, but I also couldn't bear to be away from you. I started following you around under my invisibility cloak just to hear your voice. In a way, it was just to make sure you were in as much pain as I was. I know that's childish and selfish, but I needed to know there was something there beyond what I felt. I've always been insecure in that way.
A few weeks after Christmas break, rumors started flying. Talk of a battle was on everyone's lips; it was to be the first battle of many in a war that would ravage the entire wizarding world.
You came to me at night, and I couldn't bring myself to protest after I saw the way the moonlight cascaded softly off your sharp features. I was groggy and confused, and I was only aware of how close your soft lips were to my ear. I could feel your body heat despite the small distance between us, and I shivered involuntarily.
Harry, I can't be in this fight.
I understood immediately. We had always understood each other without need for words. You told me how, even though you hated Muggle-borns, you hated Voldemort's rule more. You hated how he would have killed your father if he hadn't wanted to torture your family, hadn't wanted to test him with impossible tasks. You loathed how he was loyal to no one but himself; how could someone like that possibly lead the pure bloods he had liberated?
Yet you couldn't bring yourself to fight against Voldemort: the man who your father followed with blind loyalty, despite the fact that he thought of your entire family as disposable, the man whose ideas you agreed with wholeheartedly, the man who brought your family the riches you coveted. You couldn't fight on the side of Mudbloods and half-breeds and blood traitors.
So you were alone. You had nowhere to go for safety, and both sides would kill you eagerly. You knew for a fact that if you didn't show up to fight alongside Voldemort, he would send Death Eaters immediately to have you tortured and killed. Such was the nature of his anger at your father. And if my side found you, they would kill you with no questions asked. Such was the nature of war. We both knew you didn't have chance of making it through the year alive.
You faced this fact calmly, but I couldn't bring myself to acknowledge it. I frantically fought to rid myself of this unspoken truth, and I had almost convinced myself of its veracity.
There's no way I'm going to survive this war.
I shook my head quickly, but you silenced my wordless protests.
Harry, we both know it. There's no way around it. You were calm because you knew there was no way avoiding this. The way you saw it, there was no point fearing the inevitable.
Draco, I—I don't know what to do for you.
You smiled faintly. I'm going to kill myself before they have the chance.
You—you can't!
What else is there to do?
We both knew you were trapped, and I reached to my bedside table and fumbled for my glasses. As I put them on, I asked, How are you going to—to— I couldn't say it. I couldn't bring myself to, and a sadness beyond expression through tears forced its weight on me.
You smiled sadly, and said, I want to be with you one last time.
The Unbreakable Vow. The Unbreakable Vow. My heart skipped a beat, and Hermione's voice filled my head. The Unbreakable Vow, nonconcisus fides, is the strongest promise a wizard can make. A witch or wizard is forever bound by a promise – this is sometimes carried out by a third party, called the Bonder, but strong wizards can Bind their own Vows – and if the Vow is broken, the witch or wizard dies instantly.
My eyes met yours. Draco, you wouldn't…
There's no way I'd rather spend my last breath than screaming your name.
I laughed softly. How could I possibly kill you? I scanned your fair face for emotion, but it was blank.
Harry, please, before I die, I want to be with you one last time.
I nodded slowly and couldn't help think that my desire was the main reason behind my agreement. How could I be so selfish to kill you with my passion? But you wanted it. I couldn't live my life without being with you one last time, but how could I live with knowing I killed you? I would have to, for you.
And suddenly, you took my hand in yours and months of longing washed over me at once. I didn't even think twice about what I was doing as I pulled you toward me.
Our lips met, and I could feel the pulse beating gently in your mouth. You held my hands above my head, and I could feel the warmth in your rough palms. Your steady hands fluttered across the buttons of my pajama shirt, and our clothes had settled on the floor so quickly that I barely realized it.
We rolled lustfully around in my crimson sheets, sparkling with sweat, our veins thickened with desire beneath the clear, pale moon. My legs tangled with yours and the soles of our feet met. We traced soft paths along each other, leaving tingling paths of kisses. Some compassionate divine force had let you live longer than you should have, and I was eternally grateful to hear your heartbeat among our soft, muffled cries.
It was beautiful, our love, more beautiful than the star-dotted sky and more beautiful than the farthest ocean. Nothing, living or dead, to ever grace the earth with its presence was ever or would ever be as beautiful as the feeling you left me with. My hands wandered across your smooth skin, and your full lips opened.
I love you, you sighed, and I know you meant it.
That was the last breath to ever cross your lips.
I lay numbly next to your lifeless body and picked up your limp hand in both of mine. I pressed it to my face and felt how quickly the warmth had left your body. My sweat dried cold and clammy on your skin, and your eyes had clouded over with the shadows of death. You would never be there to live another day with me.
Dying is easy. It's living without you that takes all my courage. I wish I was born into a more simple life, where I didn't have a prophecy to fulfill and I could run away with you and we could die together fighting your battle. I don't know why I didn't suggest this to you; why hadn't I given up everything to make sure you were alive? But no, I knew there was nothing I could do now, there wasn't even anything that I could do then.
I will never know anything close to love ever again. To think that I had a lifetime supply of happiness when I was only 16! I would give anything just to touch your face one more time, and I would die ten times over if I could just make you laugh again.
I love you. I love you too, and I always will, as long as the sun still rises. We live in a dark time, and there is no time left for love. Still, I could never regret knowing you, and I give a silent prayer of thanks for every memory you have graced me with.