(no subject)
It was only a kiss
II: You don’t care about - us
You’re too complicated - we should separate it
It’s your age - it’s my rage
He had been sick all night. After an hour of horrible tossing and turning he had forced himself into the bathroom - put a silencing spell on it and threw up. He had to get all that was wrong out of his limp body. He couldn’t put up with it all anymore. Luckily he did feel psychically better after all substances had been removed from his stomach. Very tired, unhappy but not nauseated anymore, he crawled back into his bed.
The next morning he couldn’t bring himself to go to breakfast. Why would he occupy himself with such meaningless activities as eating when he felt as if his heart had just been ripped out of his chest? It didn’t matter anymore - nothing at all.
He told Ron he had a nightmare and wouldn’t attend classes. He had asked him and Hermione to leave him alone for the day. He’d tell them eventually - one day, when he could talk about his misery without feeling actual pain all over his body.
After lunch he took a quick shower and threw on some random clothing to go out. Although he knew he should be writing to Oliver about the current tragic circumstances he tried to survive, he was decided on running. He needed something that wouldn’t allow him to think - something to make him drive himself further away from his life.
That was what running had done for him in the summers when he was stationed at the Durleys. Whenever they were close to pushing him over the edge, he put on some old sneakers of Dudley and just ran away from his problems. When he’d then arrive late in night he felt satisfied and at peace - plus the Dursleys had gone to bed. All the adrenaline and psychical exhaustion would make him feel whole and fullfilled.
In his worn-down shorts, grey t-shirt and newly purchased sneakers he ran down the stairs, through the hall and out onto the fields surrounding Hogwarts. A couple of laps around the lake would do.
Soon enough he realises how hard he was panting. It wasn’t the running that had already worn him out, but the last couple of days had been heavy. Draco. It had been Draco. From beginning to the very bitter end. Sweatdrops fell from his hot and reddening forehead. Run, run, as fast as you can. You can’t catch me. But Draco had already caught him. Harry as the deer caught in the headlights.
As soon as he returned to the castle he was dragged into a deserted classroom. Forced to look into those pale silvery headlights - they were questioning.
“Potter, damn, what’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Harry bit his lip.
“Oh, come on, you’re not going to tell me this really has something to do with - me?”
“Why couldn’t it?”
“Fuck, Potter - it was only a kiss!”
“No.”
“Are you still going on about that?”
A gasp. “But - you did feel guilty.”
A sigh. “Harry.” Hands softly brushing against dark locks of unruly hair. Irregular breathing of someone trying to compose himself.
“Please.” A barely audible whimper. “Don’t.”
“I don’t understand you.” A hungry mouth whispers against needy lips. “Why does it matter?”
“You don’t care.” Harry turns his head away. “About us.”
“Us?” A subdued chuckle. “There is no us - Potter.”
“But - please?” Voices don’t beg, but his did.
“You don’t know - not at all.”
“What don’t I understand? That what you’re doing is wrong?”
An angry hiss. “Why are you so eager to condone my behaviour?”
“It - is - wrong, Draco.”
“Just because you’re the victim? Poor little Potter’s heart shattered?”
“No - yes! But - you, Draco - you!”
“I am just fine.”
“But - don’t you ... feel? Feel - it?”
“No. It’s just your rage talking.”
“Please?”
He shakes his head, mouthing ‘no’. But he steps forward, bends closer to Harry - his blonde hair loosely dangling around his head.
“Bye,” he whispers against Harry’s mouth - leaving a soft kiss on his red lips.
- - - -
It was one of those nights again. He knew they were going to bed. How they would undress themselves. It was all in his head - but it was mentally taking control. He was swimming through his own sea of horrible thoughts.
How the older man would touch Draco’s chest. How he would help him get rid of his blouse. How he would pull the Slytherin tie from his neck - forcing his lips upon Draco’s. How the blonde wouldn’t hesitate and kiss back with the same hunger Harry’d experienced.
How after their activities Severus would sit on the edge of his bed, smoking a cigarette. Smile casually, as if he’d just done his grocery shopping. As if it didn’t matter to anyone - but it did.
He wished he could let go. But he had to look, every time again.
Every time he told himself he wouldn’t go, but every time he found himself with his invisability cloak in his hands. He had to - even if it was all in his head. He had to know what happened. It was killing him, taking control over his mind and body. Bloody jealousy.
Every night it happened, he was there. Sitting a dark corner, being invisable, with invisable silent tears running down his cheeks. Draco never knew he was there, he never knew how much Harry did care. He and his tears would be gone in the morning, but the memory would keep haunting him. He never wished it had to be this way.
He had no choice. And he wanted to. Some part of him kept hoping.
It started out with a kiss, but now he wanted it all. He needed to have it all.
He didn’t have plans or special ways of approach. He just sat out those nights. Knowing they would never end, hoping with every fiber of his being they would. That one of those nights, Draco wouldn’t be in those chambers in the dungeon.
Open up my eager eyes
Because I’m mr. Brightside
- - - -
A/N: as some of you have noticed, the second dialogue in the first chapter isn’t about Harry and Draco’s kiss. After this chapter it must be very clear between whom this kiss was shared and why Harry and Draco were discussing it. (The why will be explained further.)