[167.] Nobody could take your place
Title: Nobody could take your place
Author: felixfvlicis
Pairing: Harry / Draco
Rating: PG
Word Count: 365
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury / Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Unbeta'd. Written for hogwarts365's prompt 167: Portus. Title comes from 'ILYSB' by LANY.
Summary: Draco is sick of the taunting -- he just wants some peace. Turns out he's not the only one.
Draco was in the Great Hall all of five minutes before venomous whispers settled against the black fabric of his shirt. He clenched his hand around the spoon to keep it from shaking in his grip. He was tired. Though this was his penance, he longed for peace, nothingness.
He pushed his plate away with shaky hands, invisible marionette strings pulling him toward the exit. Eventually, Draco settled against the brick wall of the astronomy tower, knees to chest as he watched morning give way to afternoon, the sun illuminating his already pale skin. Warmth attempted to seduce him into rest. He slouched, releasing his legs from the hold of twined fingers, watching as they collapsed with a muted thud. He was so close to letting go.
A heavy hand on his shoulder pulled Draco from warmth’s grasp.
“Malfoy,” Harry whispered, his voice low against Draco’s ear.
Draco opened his eyes, still hypnotized with sleep.
“Hi Harry,” he breathed, a slow, lazy smile forming on his lips.
Draco’s tone startled Harry, the way his name sounded tumbling from Draco’s mouth, laced with reverie, intensity.
“What are you doing up here?”
“I could ask the same of you, Potter.” Draco huffed, now fully awake.
“Just looking for some peace, I suppose,” Harry confessed quietly.
Draco nodded. He recognized the anxiety etched on Potter’s face, the crippling fear that simply remembering could be one’s undoing.
Harry shifted, his body pressed against Draco’s from shoulder to toe. Draco said nothing.
“So,” Harry began, “it’s ‘Potter’ now, huh?” blush coloring his cheeks.
“That’s your name, isn’t it?” Draco mumbled, his response laced with much less animosity than he intended.
Harry leaned, resting his head on Draco’s shoulder. Pieces of unruly black hair tickled Draco’s neck. He smelled like peppermint -- sharp, distinct, alive.
“Draco,” Harry hummed, “I wish you’d call me Harry.”
Before he could talk himself out of it, Draco whispered Harry’s name, placing a kiss in the nest of his black hair.
Harry sat up, pulling the golden snitch from his pocket.
“Portus,” he whispered.
The blue light’s glow illuminated their faces as youth’s melody circled their bodies, providing the tangible sense of peace they both longed for.
Author: felixfvlicis
Pairing: Harry / Draco
Rating: PG
Word Count: 365
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury / Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Unbeta'd. Written for hogwarts365's prompt 167: Portus. Title comes from 'ILYSB' by LANY.
Summary: Draco is sick of the taunting -- he just wants some peace. Turns out he's not the only one.
Draco was in the Great Hall all of five minutes before venomous whispers settled against the black fabric of his shirt. He clenched his hand around the spoon to keep it from shaking in his grip. He was tired. Though this was his penance, he longed for peace, nothingness.
He pushed his plate away with shaky hands, invisible marionette strings pulling him toward the exit. Eventually, Draco settled against the brick wall of the astronomy tower, knees to chest as he watched morning give way to afternoon, the sun illuminating his already pale skin. Warmth attempted to seduce him into rest. He slouched, releasing his legs from the hold of twined fingers, watching as they collapsed with a muted thud. He was so close to letting go.
A heavy hand on his shoulder pulled Draco from warmth’s grasp.
“Malfoy,” Harry whispered, his voice low against Draco’s ear.
Draco opened his eyes, still hypnotized with sleep.
“Hi Harry,” he breathed, a slow, lazy smile forming on his lips.
Draco’s tone startled Harry, the way his name sounded tumbling from Draco’s mouth, laced with reverie, intensity.
“What are you doing up here?”
“I could ask the same of you, Potter.” Draco huffed, now fully awake.
“Just looking for some peace, I suppose,” Harry confessed quietly.
Draco nodded. He recognized the anxiety etched on Potter’s face, the crippling fear that simply remembering could be one’s undoing.
Harry shifted, his body pressed against Draco’s from shoulder to toe. Draco said nothing.
“So,” Harry began, “it’s ‘Potter’ now, huh?” blush coloring his cheeks.
“That’s your name, isn’t it?” Draco mumbled, his response laced with much less animosity than he intended.
Harry leaned, resting his head on Draco’s shoulder. Pieces of unruly black hair tickled Draco’s neck. He smelled like peppermint -- sharp, distinct, alive.
“Draco,” Harry hummed, “I wish you’d call me Harry.”
Before he could talk himself out of it, Draco whispered Harry’s name, placing a kiss in the nest of his black hair.
Harry sat up, pulling the golden snitch from his pocket.
“Portus,” he whispered.
The blue light’s glow illuminated their faces as youth’s melody circled their bodies, providing the tangible sense of peace they both longed for.