"Only A Moment" - Harry Potter - Harry/Draco.
Title: Only A Moment.
Author: Keija.
Fandom: Harry Potter.
Pairing: Harry/Draco, not explicit.
Rated: 13+ for the odd naughty word.
Author Note: 1000 + a paragraph but I figured I'd post it anyway because it's been quiet here. For #40, unbeta'd. I might revise it at some point.
---
It doesn't take long to realize that things aren't going as planned. It's growing steadily more apparent with each victim that falls, until one in particular catches Harry's eye and steals the breath from his lips. It doesn't matter that this particular victim is cloaked in Death Eater robes, he knows who it is and moves instinctively, automatically, crossing the battlefield with a single point of focus.
He steps around his still-fighting colleagues, avoiding stray curses by sheer good luck, to kneel at Draco's side, grief rising as the battle rages around them. Draco's hair is mussed, the way he remembers it from the mornings they woke up together and his eyes, while full of pain, are warmer than they've been in years.
He'd never been able to convince Draco to walk away, to break free of his father's hold and to fight with him instead of against him. He'd tried but he'd failed and he's never regretted that more than he does now, in this minute that he wishes will end soon and never all at once.
'No thanks, Potter. I prefer the winning side.'
Draco's last words to him and he'd stormed away from the amused smirk that accompanied them, ruing the day he ever got involved with a Slytherin. He'd refused to see the pain that lurked underneath the amusement and couldn't admit it was Draco's lack of faith in him that destroyed his own.
"It wasn't supposed to be this way," he whispers now, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat, ignoring the tears that sting his eyes and blur his vision. His fingers are soft against Draco's cheek, the pale skin slick with blood under his touch.
He looks at the face of the first boy he'd ever loved -- the only, if he's truthful, but definitely the first to touch him, to make him scream in pleasure -- and doesn't see the blood or the bruises this battle has inflicted. He sees his Draco: the grey-eyed boy who would laugh as his lips ghosted across sensitive skin, the boy who was always ready with a sarcastic comeback or put-down, whose upbringing and need for acceptance had overwhelmed the kind-hearted soul underneath.
His Draco. Not the man who'd chosen the wrong side.
"It was--" Draco coughs, gasps in air and spits out blood, fighting to get his words out with Slytherin determination. "Was supposed--be this way--maybe…" He lifts a hand, clasps Harry's wrist and squeezes with all the strength he has left, digging his nails into Harry's skin, demanding his attention. "Harry."
Harry lifts his eyes and sees the fire that still burns through Draco's, the fire that Harry once thought would burn him before it did and he liked it; the fire he hasn't seen since That Day, when whatever they had fell apart under the weight of their differing feelings and the demands laid upon them from birth. When he speaks, even though the words are near-silent, an identical fire roars to life in Harry's heart, blazing deep into his soul, growing hotter with each passing minute. His blood scorches through his veins, his skin suddenly too confining and hot to the touch.
He knows what Draco's going to say before he says it.
"Kill the bastard."
Or maybe he doesn't.
Draco's words are a hiss and his eyes shine brighter than the stars Harry stared at last night, when he'd begged the uncaring skies for more time or another option.
"Kill the bastard, Harry, I know you can."
At Draco's words Harry feels something inside of him snap, unleash. Because everyone has a breaking point and today Draco is his, Draco's life too high a price to pay.
There's a power greater than any he's ever known surging through his body and every experience he's ever had is flashing through his mind in the space of a single moment, darkness and light interweaving to leave him with a single-minded focus and determination that resonates to the very core of everything he is.
He'd thought that this fight was about protecting the generations to come and protecting the wizarding community but he was wrong. This fight is about his parents, Neville's parents, Dumbledore, Cedric, Sirius and now Draco; anyone who'd ever fallen to Voldemort's desire for supremacy or his sick, sadistic pleasures. This fight is about everything he's ever been put through and anything he's been made to endure.
It's about revenge, pure and simple, and he wants it.
He wants it with a desperation he can only think comes from his Slytherin qualities, the ones that lurk behind his 'foolish' Gryffindor courage,, and he regrets that he ignored that part of himself for so long after his break-up with Draco. He lifts his head, looks into the curse-lit sky and calls upon all the magic he can feel around him, all the forces he's ever known. Beneath his feet the ground starts to tremble and a roaring sound fills his ears.
He's vaguely aware of Draco's slightly-awed and yet somehow knowing expression; smug, even as the light begins to fade from his eyes. His skin tingles, electricity dancing across the surface and his blood is fizzing in his veins. He has to move, has to find a way to release this power he's somehow absorbing before it destroys him.
His eyes, reflected in Draco's now-sightless ones, glow with the fire he's never previously been sure he possessed. Pure green. Electric green. Killing curse green.
He hears Hermione gasp and hopes she's unhurt, hears Ron call his name in concern and knows she is. He's aware of the tension in the air, aware of the stillness that's falling over the battlefield, but all he sees is the creature standing in front of him saying his name.
Kill the bastard.
Draco's words give him focus.
I know you can.
Draco's faith gives him faith.
And everything he's ever known gives him the reason. There'll be nothing left when he's done, he knows it the same way he knows just how much power he's containing within his skin. His side will be left standing. Voldemort's won't.
He could scream the words but he doesn't. He doesn't need to.
He raises his wand, eyes and scar burning, visions of everyone he's ever loved and lost for this cause searing themselves into his memory one-by-one, dancing in front of his eyes. He takes a moment to revel in Voldemort's sudden look of uncertainty and takes another definitely-Slytherin moment to watch the uncertainty blossom into pure, blinding fear. It's a good look for Voldemort, he likes it.
The words ghost across his lips and power explodes, channelled by his own force of will, blinding him with its brightness and driving him to his knees under its force. He'll later swear that he could hear Draco's delighted laughter ringing in his ears, even though those who are left will tell him that it wasn't possible.
In the end, it only takes a moment to change the world forever.
A purely-Slytherin moment but only a moment.
Author: Keija.
Fandom: Harry Potter.
Pairing: Harry/Draco, not explicit.
Rated: 13+ for the odd naughty word.
Author Note: 1000 + a paragraph but I figured I'd post it anyway because it's been quiet here. For #40, unbeta'd. I might revise it at some point.
---
It doesn't take long to realize that things aren't going as planned. It's growing steadily more apparent with each victim that falls, until one in particular catches Harry's eye and steals the breath from his lips. It doesn't matter that this particular victim is cloaked in Death Eater robes, he knows who it is and moves instinctively, automatically, crossing the battlefield with a single point of focus.
He steps around his still-fighting colleagues, avoiding stray curses by sheer good luck, to kneel at Draco's side, grief rising as the battle rages around them. Draco's hair is mussed, the way he remembers it from the mornings they woke up together and his eyes, while full of pain, are warmer than they've been in years.
He'd never been able to convince Draco to walk away, to break free of his father's hold and to fight with him instead of against him. He'd tried but he'd failed and he's never regretted that more than he does now, in this minute that he wishes will end soon and never all at once.
'No thanks, Potter. I prefer the winning side.'
Draco's last words to him and he'd stormed away from the amused smirk that accompanied them, ruing the day he ever got involved with a Slytherin. He'd refused to see the pain that lurked underneath the amusement and couldn't admit it was Draco's lack of faith in him that destroyed his own.
"It wasn't supposed to be this way," he whispers now, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat, ignoring the tears that sting his eyes and blur his vision. His fingers are soft against Draco's cheek, the pale skin slick with blood under his touch.
He looks at the face of the first boy he'd ever loved -- the only, if he's truthful, but definitely the first to touch him, to make him scream in pleasure -- and doesn't see the blood or the bruises this battle has inflicted. He sees his Draco: the grey-eyed boy who would laugh as his lips ghosted across sensitive skin, the boy who was always ready with a sarcastic comeback or put-down, whose upbringing and need for acceptance had overwhelmed the kind-hearted soul underneath.
His Draco. Not the man who'd chosen the wrong side.
"It was--" Draco coughs, gasps in air and spits out blood, fighting to get his words out with Slytherin determination. "Was supposed--be this way--maybe…" He lifts a hand, clasps Harry's wrist and squeezes with all the strength he has left, digging his nails into Harry's skin, demanding his attention. "Harry."
Harry lifts his eyes and sees the fire that still burns through Draco's, the fire that Harry once thought would burn him before it did and he liked it; the fire he hasn't seen since That Day, when whatever they had fell apart under the weight of their differing feelings and the demands laid upon them from birth. When he speaks, even though the words are near-silent, an identical fire roars to life in Harry's heart, blazing deep into his soul, growing hotter with each passing minute. His blood scorches through his veins, his skin suddenly too confining and hot to the touch.
He knows what Draco's going to say before he says it.
"Kill the bastard."
Or maybe he doesn't.
Draco's words are a hiss and his eyes shine brighter than the stars Harry stared at last night, when he'd begged the uncaring skies for more time or another option.
"Kill the bastard, Harry, I know you can."
At Draco's words Harry feels something inside of him snap, unleash. Because everyone has a breaking point and today Draco is his, Draco's life too high a price to pay.
There's a power greater than any he's ever known surging through his body and every experience he's ever had is flashing through his mind in the space of a single moment, darkness and light interweaving to leave him with a single-minded focus and determination that resonates to the very core of everything he is.
He'd thought that this fight was about protecting the generations to come and protecting the wizarding community but he was wrong. This fight is about his parents, Neville's parents, Dumbledore, Cedric, Sirius and now Draco; anyone who'd ever fallen to Voldemort's desire for supremacy or his sick, sadistic pleasures. This fight is about everything he's ever been put through and anything he's been made to endure.
It's about revenge, pure and simple, and he wants it.
He wants it with a desperation he can only think comes from his Slytherin qualities, the ones that lurk behind his 'foolish' Gryffindor courage,, and he regrets that he ignored that part of himself for so long after his break-up with Draco. He lifts his head, looks into the curse-lit sky and calls upon all the magic he can feel around him, all the forces he's ever known. Beneath his feet the ground starts to tremble and a roaring sound fills his ears.
He's vaguely aware of Draco's slightly-awed and yet somehow knowing expression; smug, even as the light begins to fade from his eyes. His skin tingles, electricity dancing across the surface and his blood is fizzing in his veins. He has to move, has to find a way to release this power he's somehow absorbing before it destroys him.
His eyes, reflected in Draco's now-sightless ones, glow with the fire he's never previously been sure he possessed. Pure green. Electric green. Killing curse green.
He hears Hermione gasp and hopes she's unhurt, hears Ron call his name in concern and knows she is. He's aware of the tension in the air, aware of the stillness that's falling over the battlefield, but all he sees is the creature standing in front of him saying his name.
Kill the bastard.
Draco's words give him focus.
I know you can.
Draco's faith gives him faith.
And everything he's ever known gives him the reason. There'll be nothing left when he's done, he knows it the same way he knows just how much power he's containing within his skin. His side will be left standing. Voldemort's won't.
He could scream the words but he doesn't. He doesn't need to.
He raises his wand, eyes and scar burning, visions of everyone he's ever loved and lost for this cause searing themselves into his memory one-by-one, dancing in front of his eyes. He takes a moment to revel in Voldemort's sudden look of uncertainty and takes another definitely-Slytherin moment to watch the uncertainty blossom into pure, blinding fear. It's a good look for Voldemort, he likes it.
The words ghost across his lips and power explodes, channelled by his own force of will, blinding him with its brightness and driving him to his knees under its force. He'll later swear that he could hear Draco's delighted laughter ringing in his ears, even though those who are left will tell him that it wasn't possible.
In the end, it only takes a moment to change the world forever.
A purely-Slytherin moment but only a moment.