25 HarryxDraco Drabbles
By Yiji
Drabble 5 : At Last
At last… My love has come along…
He stared intently into the darkness beyond his paltry excuse for a shelter. There was no doubt about it, now. This was war.
…My lonely days are over…
"What
are you doing?" he had asked, during the golden days before the
war.
"Listening to music." The other had replied, eyes closed
and that smile that he cherished, he loved so much, playing slightly
on his lips. "This is my favourite song." The muggle woman
continued her crooning on the radio, accompanied by the slight sway
of scarred hands.
And life is like a song…
The continuous crouching on the brittle ground made his legs scream for rest, but he knew that he could not afford to let his guard down. The Order was counting on him more that ever, especially since the fighting had begun in earnest. The pitch sable of the evening almost taunted him, trying to lull him into a sense of security that he didn't have.
…At last… The skies above are blue…
"Your muggle singer doesn't know what she's singing about." He'd mocked, his sneer more playful than malicious. "The sky is blue because of light refractions, not because she's in love."
The sky hadn't been blue for so long, these days. It was grey with ash and smoke from fires, and oft punctured with the tortured screams that usually accompanied battles. In essence, the sky hadn't truly been blue for him ever since he'd left the one place that made him feel welcome and happy. When was the last time he'd seen the sun, golden and warm, instead of tainted red with the blood of battle?
…My heart was wrapped up in clover… The night I looked at you…
"Dance
with me, Draco!" Harry had laughed, stretching out his arms and
enveloping him in his gruff, affectionate bear-hug.
"You're
completely mad, Potter!" Draco laughed back, hands buried in the
moth-eaten jumped of the taller boy, face tucked against the skin of
his neck, breathing in the scent of sandalwood and apple liquorice
and wind.
Of course, the Dark Lord had immediately taken him in like the prodigal son he was supposed to portray. That hadn't stopped him from showing his disappointment, though, at failing to kill the old man. Now he was positioned near the front-lines, ready to be flung into the next battle. But Draco had strict instructions from the Order. Open up a passage amongst the Death Eaters, crumble their defences from within. The lives of hundreds, maybe even thousands, depended on his actions in the upcoming days. And he had to make sure he didn't fuck this up.
…I found a dream that I could speak to… A dream that I could call my own…
Words of tenderness and longing murmured, as the two swayed in unison to the slow melody. The hand pressed against his back was a completely new sensation to him. Instead of cold and commanding, as all the others had been, it was warm and supportive and wonderfully loving. And all he could do is flatten himself deeper into the verdigris sweater and wish that the golden afternoon would never end.
Damn, it was cold. Even the stars and the moon seemed to be hiding from the epic battle that would ensue in the near future. He gave a small smile, more an upturn of the corners of his mouth than anything. Harry and he used to gaze at the stars back in school, in the secrecy of the Astronomy Tower. He'd held Draco's hand on the pretence that it was cold and needed warming up. Potter had never been good at excuses. Back in the days when they were still innocent, and he'd just begun to learn how to truly smile…
…I found a thrill to press my cheek to… A thrill that I have never known…
He'd never told anybody that he was afraid. Malfoys weren't supposed to be afraid. They were the pillars of bureaucratic society, and it wasn't in their blood. But that afternoon, he'd pressed his cheek against Harry's, and whispered his dread and of the nightmares that plagued him each night. Of the fear that they would be parted, and never see each other again. Harry had held him closer, placed tender kisses on his eyes and temples, and had assured him that in the end, not even a pack of rabid Hungarian Horntails could keep him away from seeing Draco again. And instead of anger, those words had brought him comfort, something he'd found in plenty while being around the Boy Who Lived.
The night was getting blacker, if that were possible. Suppressing a tired moan, Draco unfolded his legs and sat stiffly on the rocky floor, wand drawn at the ready. During the few skirmishes, he'd fooled his fellow Death Eaters that he'd used the Avada Kedavra with no spoken word, instead of placing well-aimed full-body binds and subtly tying white ribbons to their ankles. The Order would find the ones he left alive, and their numbers didn't diminish as much as the Dark Lord would think. Strategic planning that was damn good, but then again, Dumbledore had never failed them yet, had he? Except… how much longer would this last? Would Harry remain unscathed through the entire thing, knowing his pig-headed Gryffindor pride to go barging through the thick of battle headfirst? Would a fellow Death Eater discover what he'd been doing, and the plans crumble? And would he ever see Harry again…?
… You smile… You smile… Oh, and then the spell was cast…
His eyelids itched. Well, that couldn't be expected, days without showering were unavoidable in wars, and he was covered in ash and dirt from head to toe, constantly irritated. It was when the itch moved from his eyes down his cheeks, landing on shaking hands gripping the scarred wood of his wand, that he realised they were tears. He must look a sight, filthy and tear-streaked. But that mattered little, for when the battle began, he had to do his part. And then, only then, he would be one step closer to Harry Potter, the one destined to end the war, the one who had kissed him in the empty, sunlit apartment and announced himself as The Boy Who Loved Him. He'd never replied, but Harry had known, smiling that glorious smile and emerald eyes flashing. He had known. Damn it, Draco was determined to live through this fucking mess of a war and tell Harry once and for all what six years of shy glances and secret meetings had developed, and what war had made him truly realize. And perhaps, once that was said and done… they would listen to that song again together, and find each of those words to ring utterly true.
… And here we are in heaven… For you are mine at last…