faynia
in
hd_falling
(no subject)
Title: Blossom
Author: faynia
Rating: PG
Length: 732
Warnings: Highlight for warnings *Implied Character Death*
Prompt: May 11th photo prompt
Summary: What happens when you're stuck under a tree with your enemy?
Notes: Written for the Merry Month of May fic fest at hd_falling. Beta'd by lesyeuxverts00. I really wish I have an explanation for this...but I don't.
Lungs contract. A burn starts and travels up his throat to his mouth, and Harry can’t breathe. His eyes shoot open, watching the light pink blizzard. The burn lessens, replaced by a dull ache and he spits out what’s blocking his mouth. Pink falls from his lips to his lap, and he stares, dumbfounded. With great reluctance, he lifts the silken petal between his fingers.
“I’m dead.”
Harry looks around to find the source of the voice and sees Malfoy lying on the ground buried beneath the soft, pink petals.
“Funny sort of afterlife than,” Harry tells him, flicking away another petal that falls from the sky.
“Potter?”
Harry snorts. “Who else?”
Malfoy moves into a sitting position, thin petals falling about his face from his hair. “I must be dead. I would never be caught alive sitting beneath a tree with you.”
“You keep telling yourself that, Malfoy.”
Malfoy shoots him a withering glare that amuses Harry. He doesn’t care if he’s dead or alive, only that he’s at peace. Peace seems like a funny word when he glances over at Malfoy. The blond huffs in irritation and moves to stand, but finds that he can’t.
“What the hell is this then?” Malfoy snaps, batting away another falling petal from the tree above.
Harry tries to move as well with no more success. “Do I look like I know?”
Malfoy’s eyes narrow as he gives Harry a critical look. “You might. I certainly don’t recall seeing this tree before, and you were awake when I woke up…”
“Malfoy, quit trying to point the blame at me and just help me figure out where we are,” Harry sighs, struggling once more to stand, but failing again. He shifts in the tall grass and looks about himself. Nothing is familiar, except Malfoy. “Do you remember what you were last doing?”
Malfoy opens his mouth, but no words pass his lips. He stares unseeing across the grass, and Harry follows his gaze, astonished when he sees nothing. No, he sees white, brilliant white with no depth or shine to it. Harry is suddenly glad that he cannot move.
“I was at home.” Harry’s head whips to the side at Malfoy’s quiet words. “In father’s study, I-“
“You what?” Harry urges, hoping that whatever Malfoy remembers will help them figure out where they are. Malfoy’s earlier words ring in his head, condemning them. He doesn’t want to believe the words, but he is beginning to realize the truth to them.
“I poisoned myself.”
“You what!” Harry yelps, sliding further away from the blond. He pauses, slides again further and tries to stand, but can’t. Giving up, he settles for glowering.
“I committed suicide,” Malfoy states with alarming calm. “I did die.”
“Oh no, no. No!” Harry denies it, pointing a quivering finger at him. “We are not dead!”
“Potter-Harry.”
Harry snarls at him. “Who gave you permission to use my name?”
Malfoy doesn’t appear contrite, but he does look subdued, and that is almost as frightening. “How’d you die?”
“I’m not dead!” Harry rages, struggling with all his might to stand. He pulls at the green grass around him, and beside his legs. “I’m not!”
Malfoy slides over on the giving grass and Harry attempts to scoot further away than before, but it feels like he is hitting a metal wall. He stares at Malfoy, pleading with him to stay away. He doesn’t want to be reassured or comforted.
“I’m not dead. I’m not,” Harry repeats in a whisper. “I’m not.”
“Harry.” Malfoy touches his shoulder. His fingers sit there, barely noticeable. “You can’t remember?”
“There’s nothing to remember because I’m not dead,” Harry repeats, bringing his gaze up to meet Malfoy’s. Something pitying in Malfoy’s gaze breaks him, and he chokes. Malfoy’s fingers feather across Harry’s cheek in a gentle caress, and Harry hates himself as he leans after them.
“Harry,” Malfoy says again, moving even closer, until he bumps his forehead against Harry’s.
“Voldemort,” Harry murmurs, eyes downcast. “Cast the killing curse.”
Malfoy pulls away, staring at Harry’s scar. He lifts his hand and caresses the lightening bolt, and gooseflesh raise up Harry’s arms.
Pink petals fall about them, obscuring their vision of the whiteness surrounding them. Soft lips press against chapped ones with infinite tenderness.
“You’re right, Potter,” Draco tells him, grey-eyes sparkling. “Funny sort of afterlife.”
Author: faynia
Rating: PG
Length: 732
Warnings: Highlight for warnings *Implied Character Death*
Prompt: May 11th photo prompt
Summary: What happens when you're stuck under a tree with your enemy?
Notes: Written for the Merry Month of May fic fest at hd_falling. Beta'd by lesyeuxverts00. I really wish I have an explanation for this...but I don't.
Lungs contract. A burn starts and travels up his throat to his mouth, and Harry can’t breathe. His eyes shoot open, watching the light pink blizzard. The burn lessens, replaced by a dull ache and he spits out what’s blocking his mouth. Pink falls from his lips to his lap, and he stares, dumbfounded. With great reluctance, he lifts the silken petal between his fingers.
“I’m dead.”
Harry looks around to find the source of the voice and sees Malfoy lying on the ground buried beneath the soft, pink petals.
“Funny sort of afterlife than,” Harry tells him, flicking away another petal that falls from the sky.
“Potter?”
Harry snorts. “Who else?”
Malfoy moves into a sitting position, thin petals falling about his face from his hair. “I must be dead. I would never be caught alive sitting beneath a tree with you.”
“You keep telling yourself that, Malfoy.”
Malfoy shoots him a withering glare that amuses Harry. He doesn’t care if he’s dead or alive, only that he’s at peace. Peace seems like a funny word when he glances over at Malfoy. The blond huffs in irritation and moves to stand, but finds that he can’t.
“What the hell is this then?” Malfoy snaps, batting away another falling petal from the tree above.
Harry tries to move as well with no more success. “Do I look like I know?”
Malfoy’s eyes narrow as he gives Harry a critical look. “You might. I certainly don’t recall seeing this tree before, and you were awake when I woke up…”
“Malfoy, quit trying to point the blame at me and just help me figure out where we are,” Harry sighs, struggling once more to stand, but failing again. He shifts in the tall grass and looks about himself. Nothing is familiar, except Malfoy. “Do you remember what you were last doing?”
Malfoy opens his mouth, but no words pass his lips. He stares unseeing across the grass, and Harry follows his gaze, astonished when he sees nothing. No, he sees white, brilliant white with no depth or shine to it. Harry is suddenly glad that he cannot move.
“I was at home.” Harry’s head whips to the side at Malfoy’s quiet words. “In father’s study, I-“
“You what?” Harry urges, hoping that whatever Malfoy remembers will help them figure out where they are. Malfoy’s earlier words ring in his head, condemning them. He doesn’t want to believe the words, but he is beginning to realize the truth to them.
“I poisoned myself.”
“You what!” Harry yelps, sliding further away from the blond. He pauses, slides again further and tries to stand, but can’t. Giving up, he settles for glowering.
“I committed suicide,” Malfoy states with alarming calm. “I did die.”
“Oh no, no. No!” Harry denies it, pointing a quivering finger at him. “We are not dead!”
“Potter-Harry.”
Harry snarls at him. “Who gave you permission to use my name?”
Malfoy doesn’t appear contrite, but he does look subdued, and that is almost as frightening. “How’d you die?”
“I’m not dead!” Harry rages, struggling with all his might to stand. He pulls at the green grass around him, and beside his legs. “I’m not!”
Malfoy slides over on the giving grass and Harry attempts to scoot further away than before, but it feels like he is hitting a metal wall. He stares at Malfoy, pleading with him to stay away. He doesn’t want to be reassured or comforted.
“I’m not dead. I’m not,” Harry repeats in a whisper. “I’m not.”
“Harry.” Malfoy touches his shoulder. His fingers sit there, barely noticeable. “You can’t remember?”
“There’s nothing to remember because I’m not dead,” Harry repeats, bringing his gaze up to meet Malfoy’s. Something pitying in Malfoy’s gaze breaks him, and he chokes. Malfoy’s fingers feather across Harry’s cheek in a gentle caress, and Harry hates himself as he leans after them.
“Harry,” Malfoy says again, moving even closer, until he bumps his forehead against Harry’s.
“Voldemort,” Harry murmurs, eyes downcast. “Cast the killing curse.”
Malfoy pulls away, staring at Harry’s scar. He lifts his hand and caresses the lightening bolt, and gooseflesh raise up Harry’s arms.
Pink petals fall about them, obscuring their vision of the whiteness surrounding them. Soft lips press against chapped ones with infinite tenderness.
“You’re right, Potter,” Draco tells him, grey-eyes sparkling. “Funny sort of afterlife.”