Title:
Ironic
Author: Miz Thang
Characters/Pairing:
Draco Malfoy, HP/DM
Rating: FRM
Word Count:
805
Warnings: Slash, obviously. Angst.
Underage sex. Character Death.
Disclaimer:
I don't own anything but the little story's idea. Everything else
belongs to who it belongs to.
Summary: Life was
ironic that way, you figured as Nymphadora Tonks helped get you
from under Harry with teary eyes. Very, horribly, unfairly ironic.
For January 18th-life was ironic that way.
August 12, 1996.
Harry Potter, Chosen One, Boy Who Lived, Perfect Potter, one-third of the Golden Trio, faces Voldemort and wins. Lucky for you, as the only Malfoy with any sense, because you were standing behind said Boy Who Lived when Voldemort keeled over and cries of triumph reigned on the field just in front of Hogwarts.
-
You wonder, really, if the Ministry, if Potter, if everyone thought that the Death Eaters would go quietly once Voldemort was killed. Harry Potter killed Voldemort, such as the damn prophecy said, but the war continued to rage on outside.
It's hot at night, maybe eighty or ninety degrees, but you feel cold inside, hiding from Death for just a while longer.
-
Hermione Granger, Parvati Patil, Terry Boot, Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot are all dead. You don't know which camp they were holed up in, but you do know that they were all killed, simultaneously, within seconds. They never even knew what hit them.
Weasley and Potter sit around the camp, looking for all the world as if they'd lost their best friend (which they had), and since you were reluctantly made third in command, you plan an ambush on the Death Eaters, resolving not to sulk.
-
They ruined the Ministry, just hours before your attack went ahead and decimated their numbers by at least a quarter percent. You figure that the Ministry will understand the need to send more Aurors out, being attacked and all.
You organize for the team to move camp before you all can be found out and, just for old time's sake, make Weasley and Potter angry enough to come back into themselves-by calling Granger a 'dead mudblood.'
Your jaw aches and you're sure you'll soon have a black eye (Potter and Weasley don't look much better), but your mission is accomplished.
-
Potter decides that he wants to be enlightened as to why you choose this side. You tell him that you didn't choose sides; you chose to live. He seems to wonder if you'll snitch on him and you sneeringly reassure Precious Potter that choosing a side is very final. He's stuck with you, whether he likes it or not. He leaves you to wonder at why the hell he's smiling.
-
You're getting tired of being dirty. And, so, you complain. A lot. Loudly. For long periods of time. Potter, of course feels it is perfectly within his rights to call you Princess, just because you like having good hygiene. Half blood wanker.
Weasley looks at you as if you're both insane and that's the first time you realize that something between you and Potter has changed.
-
Potter kissed you. It happened well over ten minutes ago, but it's burned into your brain and isn't very likely to go away. You lie in your bed for hours, just remembering, because it's all you can think about. The feel of his lips against your. Firm, chaste, but there.
You roll over onto your side in your bed and close your eyes. You can see him, replaying in your head the moment he titled his head towards you before kissing you. You think, maybe, it was possible, just a little, you may have liked it.
-
Ten days, dozens of heated kisses, four frisky hands, and a disrobing of clothing later, you have sex with Potter. Amazing how this never figured into you life plan.
His hands are strong, sure as they roam the length of your body, as sure as his mouth on your skin. You arch into his touch because it feels good. You're only sixteen, and you think that you could stay there forever, under Potter, in the throes of passion while a war rages outside.
-
November 14, 1996.
A day forever to be immortalized, you think. The day the war ended. They were finally found, their camp attacked, their people killed, all of them, and you…you were saved by a stupid love sick boy with a scar on his forehead that had the nerve to jump in front of you.
Aurors rush the scene, a bit too late in your opinion, and you can' t move because he…Harry's lying on top of you, pinning you to the ground (because somehow dead bodies become infinitely heavy) and your mind is racing as you think about everything that's happened since the day Harry decided to smile at you.
You almost want to cry.
Life was ironic that way, you figured as Nymphadora Tonks helped get you from under Harry with teary eyes. Very, horribly, unfairly ironic.
You switched to Harry's side before you could be branded, because you wanted to live. And somehow, in a matter of two weeks or so, Harry took everything left of your desire to live, right along with him.
. e n d . s t o r y .