Draco stared up at the empty crisp white ceiling from within the secure velvet walls of his canopy bed. He was in complete silence as he listened to the wisp of the wind outside of his window. His white gold hair tickled the back of his neck as he lay, but his stormy grey eyes were filling the silence.
However much he thought he hated it, Draco still managed to crawl back into his bed that night with one face firmly burned into his mind. Potter, the very same one who had declined his friendship in first year, the very same Potter that had got him beaten by a bloody hippogriff, the Potter who was annoying, arrogant and fun to tease because of his short temper. The Potter who he'd nicknamed scar face to annoy him, and called his friend a mudblood because they were associated.
And now, well he was just so bloody confused! Even if he could admit that the idiot was hot, and that this hot idiot was obviously interested in him, it was a matter of sheer principle, which meant that he couldn't abandon everything he'd stood for or done just because he looked better! Draco had tossed and turned that night to the extent of breaking his shoulders and rolling off the bed, but even the thought he'd given it couldn't make it any easier.
Potter was hot and Potter was interested, but Potter was still a Gryffindor, still an idiot and however much he begged, Draco would under no circumstances abandon his past work just because of those two reasons. Easier said than done, huh.
Draco shut his eyes and frowned into the darkness, from beneath his sheets and the walls he should have felt secure, comfort, but he couldn't sleep. Whenever he shut his eyes two brilliant glowing emeralds lingered in the darkness, seeming to draw nearer the longer he looked, and he had to open his eyes again.
What in the name of Merlin was happening? Nothing like this had ever happened to him, he'd dated or been with half of the school already and many more out of it, and there had been people just as hot as Potter, but these feelings, they were so- out of place. Why did he shudder whenever Potter got near? Hell he even shuddered when he wasn't there! Maybe he was ill, hopefully it was contagious and Pothead would catch it and die.
His frown deepened, throughout all of the years he'd wanted nothing more than to see Potter suffer, why now, of all times, was he dreading the thought? He rolled onto his side to stare at the velvet separating him from the rest of the world, shielding him from the idiocies he was hiding from and sighed.
He really was going soft, next moment he'd be playing those stupid muggle games with the bloody Hufflepuffs.
Right, it was official, he wasn't going to get any sleep without magical aid, and he wasn't going to go spoiling himself with sleeping drought. He carefully peeled back the covers and slipped out through the velvet curtains, feeling himself shiver as they brushed his bare face and arms.
Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end from the darkness of the common room, making the skin on his arms flourish in goose bumps. Every time he'd closed his eyes he was haunted by the one thing he could have, the one person so perfect yet just out of reach.
He heard the creak of floorboards through the door on the other side of the room and his heart almost stopped. Quickly and silently he rose from the chair he had been curled on and sunk into the shadows.
Draco padded across his room as he pulled on a black tee shirt, as he hadn't previously been wearing anything to hold back the sudden rush of cold. His green satin pyjama trousers flowed like water as he walked to put on his slippers and yawned into his hand. So now he was tired suddenly, why couldn't his sleep patterns just be normal?
Oh, he knew why he was still awake at such an ungodly hour. He remembered the times he'd stayed awake so that he could hear his father come home drunk so that he might have a chance to get away. He remembered the fear he lived in as a child, a small boy cowering in his bed in fear of the very person he was supposed to feel safe with. He remembered his mother's screams and cries and his father's curses, and the wounds felt as fresh as the day they had been made, even though they had healed years ago.
Harry was hit with a wave of icy dread, and knew instantly what had caused it. He frowned but waited patiently on the chair hidden in the darkness, he felt a tingle as though an egg had just been cracked upon his head, and suddenly felt sure that he wouldn't be seen.
Draco walked over to his window and drew back the curtains to stare out into the pitch darkness that seemed to make his shadowed room seem bright. There was no moon, and the stars seemed like insignificant pin pricks on the canopy of black that spread over the dark silhouettes of the trees in the forest, the only distinguishable shapes he could see. He frowned, having never liked dark nights in the fear of what he could not see, and shut the curtains again.
His silver walls glittered in the darkness like fairy lights and he felt his aching heart ease a little in the sight. His room was basking in silver, the outlines of his furniture comforting in comparison to the uniform black looming just outside of his window. He ran a hand through his hair and tied it at the back to keep it from his eyes, but one small piece fell into his face and wouldn't go back.
He walked smoothly across the thick carpet by the fireplace and picked his wand out of his trunk, before making his way toward the door.
Harry's ears pricked up as he heard the click of Draco's door being opened and once more he was basked in warmth like sunlight in the darkness. He'd been up for about half an hour already, trying to sort out his thoughts, but all he ended up doing was daydreaming. Now his daydreams could be reality, even if he couldn't touch it, and that thought alone warmed his aching heart.
Draco felt a tingling sensation run through him as he let go of the handle, and assumed that it was something to do with the wards again. He was wrong, but his ignorance shielded him from the shadow sitting in the corner watching him with longing eyes.
Silently he shut the door behind him so that he wouldn't wake anyone up and break his time of peace and solitude, as the person he least needed to see was Potter. Just the thought of him was strange, he was fighting with himself all of the time not to switch to first names or even think about him at all. It was like he'd been bloody brainwashed or something, it was ridiculous.
He shook his head and scolded himself, soon he'd be handing out sweets to children and helping old people across the street, and this needed to be nipped in the bud before it escalated out of control.
He stopped walking as he reached the centre of the room by the window, and was greeted with the same impending darkness he had seen moments before. He barely saw his own reflection from the darkness of his room, but the face that stared back at him was hardly his own. His eyes were tired and drawn and he didn't wear the same perfect mask that he plastered on every day to shield himself from life. His face wasn't hidden behind his hair, held behind his neck, and his shoulders were folded forward like wings as he dropped his perfect posture in a moment of weakness.
He was far too young for this, far too young for Voldemort, and far too young for these strange feelings. He had a life to live, he had people to ditch the day after and new experiences to have, and yet he suddenly felt as though he'd been alive a thousand years.
He reached out slowly and ran his fingers along the window to find the curtains in the near darkness to pull them over and hide the outside world. As he folded them carefully over each other to cover the glass completely the darkness that met his eyes was not harsh and cold, but soft and safe, and he smiled in contentment before he slid down to the floor.
That tapestry, the trees gently swaying, their branches making no sound as their leaves ripped and soared through the woven sky, was the only thing he could make out. Their woollen trunks bent but never snapped, and the leaves flew through the air as though they didn't have a care in the world. He wished he could submerge himself in the still picture forever and just disappear, but in turn that thought made him wonder what he'd leave behind.
Not his father, not his mother.
Not his 'friends', or his lovers.
What would he truly miss, would it be the riches? He doubted it. What he'd miss he never even knew, if he were to leave the one thing he'd miss would be the love he never had, and he would hand his fortune over for just a taste. But there was something there, deep down, that he thought he'd miss. What it was he wouldn't know, but someone else did.
But suddenly he was very tired.
Harry watched sadly as the blonde tipped his head back and leant against the wall, letting out a long breath that he felt Draco had held for a long time. He looked so beautiful in the darkness, but Harry could make out every patch of skin from his shadowed hiding place, through his emerald eyes.
Slowly he rose from his chair and made no sound as he walked across the cold wooden floor, just a little closer. His heart was trying to break from his chest to reach out and touch his glistening hair, his soft skin, but he held back in respect.
So bloody tired, you'd think he'd be able to sleep in a bed but no he sits down on the bloody floor and suddenly he wants to drop dead. Bloody Potter, its all his bloody fault I'm still awake and now cold, damn him, he thought dozily.
Draco fought to keep open his eyes, as a cloud seemed to blanket his mind and he was strongly reminded of his history of magic classes. Binn's drone suddenly filled his ears and once more he felt as though he'd been hit with a stunner. His head lolled a little to the side and he picked it back up again only to have it go the other way.
Harry kept by the wall as the centre of the room was far too bright and he may show up against it, but all the while made no sound at all. Draco was fighting with sleep, and he couldn't help but let a smile curl the edge of his lips as he saw his persistence and the strange place he'd decided to sleep in. Normal people sleep in beds, but it was soon becoming apparent that Draco was by no means normal, and he loved it.
He loved everything, he loved that hair he just wanted to touch, that skin that seemed as fragile and perfect as porcelain, his fingers that moved like cream coloured spiders. He loved the way he walked, the way he moved his hips and the way he swept back the one strand of hair that never stayed in place. He wanted to curl that strand around his fingers and tell Draco that he shouldn't always try to hide it. He loved his voice, the way words came so fluently that they flowed form those lovely lips like a siren's call, and most of all he loved those stormy eyes that he had wanted to lose himself in for days, but that had always been pointed the other way.
He loved everything, he loved Draco.
He flickered his eyes open again and yawned as he slipped a little further down and stretched his arms. Damned sleep patterns, but the wall seemed extremely comfortable, and the cool floor was enticing.
Bloody Potter, he thought as his eyes closed and he slowly slid down the wall and onto his side.
A shadow moved in front of the dim glow of the tapestry, and had Draco been awake this is what he would have seen.
A silhouette, as black as shadow and solid as flesh, but wispy like thick fog so submerged into the darkness that it was barely seen. But it was recognisable as a person, the shadow looked just that- a shadow. It was tall and lean with a neck covered in the darkness of its hair, fog branching off to arms and legs that seemed to be real, yet were barely there.
Hmm… Harry thought as he held up his hand and turned it over, seems the name's more literal than I originally thought.
In the darkness the shape moved gracefully over toward the stooping figure, and could swear that the floor was sending tingles up from his toes the closer he got. His heart was drumming in his hardly visible chest and he felt his stomach flutter as a shudder moved down his spine.
On the floor Draco stirred as the hairs stood up on the back of his neck, and curled up a little to keep the warmth that he was suddenly losing.
Barely three feet away, and Harry was having trouble controlling his sudden urge to wrap Draco in his arms and never let him go, to feel the lines of his lips against his own, that skin and hair he'd always wished to touch. He smiled as Draco stirred and took another two steps forward and swallowed hard, Draco looked like a fallen angel.
Slowly, he closed the gap; the invisible hook in his heart tugging as though he'd caught a fish, as his heart drummed like the fast percussion of a song. Another shudder crept through him as he bent down on one knee and looked at the apple of his eye as though an exhibit on display.
His legs were tucked up together as though they had been placed that way, and his beautiful mouth was slightly open as he breathed slow and steadily, his long breaths moving his perfect figure up and down in rhythm beautifully. He was envious of how he could be so peaceful even though the expression on his face suggested otherwise, his breathing steady, whereas his was becoming harsh.
Another shudder went through him and he ignored it, completely absorbed in the moment.
His fingers hovered inches away from the unconscious form because he was scared that if he touched this wonder it would simply disappear, maybe it was just meant to see from a distance. His shadowed emerald eyes danced in the wonder of this beauty, skirting across Draco's length, in hope that he could map out the image forever. He reached out again but his fingers began to tingle and he pulled back and frowned, on looking back the frown was replaced by those dreamy eyes and he worked up the courage to try again.
This time the tingle didn't stop him…
He felt his core explode and a burst of warmth and power made him silently gasp as he reached out and touched the side of his face. His skin was so smooth and soft to touch; it was so perfect and fragile. Draco moaned quietly, and Harry pulled away as he rolled onto his back but once more Draco quietened and lay motionless and he swallowed hard and reached out again.
Harry lowered his other knee and slipped to the side to tuck his legs beneath him as he gazed longingly at the person he'd known for years but had never truly seen. His golden hair was hanging over his face a little, while most was still tied, and he reached out to touch it. His hair was so silky, and he brushed his fingers over it, barely touching it. He lifted up a strand with his finger and put it behind Draco's ear, smiling as it fell back down again, as it always did. His hair was like strands of spiders' silk, so fine and delicate yet magnificent like a lion's mane against his beautiful face.
Slowly he ran his thumb across Draco's cheek, and his eyes fluttered a little before he settled again as Harry felt the same tingle with his touch. He wanted to do so much more but he knew that Draco wouldn't take kindly to it, and it hurt him to think that the only way he could touch him was when he wasn't aware of it.
But as Draco shifted uncomfortably on the cold floor Harry knew that this moment couldn't last, and that his Draco needed to be in bed.
He felt his insides lurch as he leant forward and slipped his arm beneath Draco's legs, surprised when he didn't even stir. He was cold but warmth pulsated off him like magnetic attraction, and Harry smiled upon knowing that Draco would never let anyone do this if he were awake. He carefully lifted his shoulders and slipped his other arm beneath, and Draco folded as though he fitted and rested his head against the shadowy chest. Harry smiled and once more that strange feeling washed over him as he carefully raised them both from the floor.
He wasn't necessarily light, but Harry felt that he would have struggled had he not received his new physique over the summer. Thinking about the times before then, he could hardly imagine them happening, and even though he remembered every moment it was like he was looking through someone else's eyes. Those feelings he had felt before, the pain and the heartache, seemed like a distant memory, and he was astounded by how he had not realised the beauty around him.
He looked down and smiled as Draco nuzzled against his chest- like this beauty. This innocent, beautiful, perfect being had been right under his nose the whole entire time, and he'd never realised it. How could he have been so ignorant?
He pushed the curtains back a little with his elbow and was no longer aware that the sparkling walls were shining off his dark form giving him a silver outline. Draco moaned as Harry gently placed him back down on the bed and the blonde frowned in his sleep at the loss of the warm body. Harry wanted nothing better than to hold onto him forever, but the night wouldn't last forever.
He pulled the covers over and watched Draco snuggle against them, but the frown still showed in his perfect eyebrows and he couldn't help but smile. Reaching out, he brushed the hair from his eyes and gently removed the hair band that had been holding it back, watching as with a small movement of his head Draco's hair had fanned out into a halo around his face.
So perfect…
He ran his hand through the liquid gold that sparkled with the silver walls and smiled to himself, his heart wining for more contact than he could allow himself. Draco's face softened as he brushed the back of his hand over his cheek and once more the tingling sensation enveloped him, and Draco shuddered and smiled.
The first smile he'd ever seen Draco give, he realised, and it was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.
He had begun leaning forward without thinking of the consequences, and as his lips brushed those underneath him something inside of him seemed to burst. He pulled away to see Draco's eyes flutter open a little, and his insides froze with the thought that he'd been caught. But Draco merely blinked dozily before his eyes brushed closed again; his blonde lashes interlocking to hide those beautiful stormy eyes as he fell asleep again with a small smile to his lips.
Harry frowned as he leant forward and kissed his forehead, before raising himself from the bed, pretending that it didn't hurt to see Draco moan at being left alone again, and closed the curtains behind him.
He had left the core of his being, in the name of love.
The hairs on the back of the sleeping form's neck settled again as the curtains were drawn, and he frowned in his sleep.