H/D fic part 1
Title: Just For Tonight
Warnings: H/D, slash
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but the songs are mine.
Ships: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG- for this chapter
Summary: Set after book 6, with alternate ending. Harry does manage to push away Ron and Hermione and stays at school. All Harry wants are things he can't have.
Wanting What You Can’t Have
It hurts to want what you can’t have, what can never be. Watching the object of your obsession is worse. Every day I am forced to stand and watch as he goes about life oblivious to the agony he causes me with his every look and jeer; his very presence is like a slow poison destroying me from the inside out. What can I do but watch; he is so beautiful, an inhuman angel, ethereal; unattainable. Gods, but I want him. I am like a moth drawn to the candle flame, burning myself again and again on his radiance. I am the stargazer who looks to the heavens, wishing to soar into the celestial world from which I am ever barred. I’m pathetic in my neediness and I hate him for it. I hate him, even though he does not know. And for this I hate myself. Every now and then, the sound of whispering and the feeling of being watched interrupt my musings, and more than anything I want to disappear. I should be used to it by now, but I’m not. I don’t think I ever will be. I didn’t ask for this it just came to me like everything else, like my eye color and unruly hair, like my talent for attracting danger and death like carrion. It clings to me like my skin; I could no sooner rid myself of it however much I want to. I wish I could just wish everything away, but I can’t. They say misery loves company; they’re delusional. Misery loves breaking things, wearing away at the soul. Misery loves seclusion where it can spread unfettered by the outside world. It closes you off from everything around you leaving you with precious little world. Then it constricts even more and fills the room with a tangible thickness, coating you until you drown in tears. Alone, you fall all the faster and you never rise back up. My thoughts have been dark for some time now, ever since I realized the liability I have become and walked away because I couldn’t be responsible for another death. Nobody should die for me. I’m can’t be the impossible idol they have imagined for themselves. I’m not perfect. Don’t treat me as if I am. I can’t play God. I cannot and will not deal out death and judgment. So, I did the only thing I could I walked away. Away from the dreams they dreamed for me. But, trouble is I can never run far enough away to escape completely from the world; a world that thinks it owns me. I sit here on the grounds and watch the world around me. I feel so isolated. I watch a play for which the world is the stage, a never-ending tapestry of comedy and tragedy. A pity, they never realize the fantasy. The puppets never notice that others pull the strings. I pity them, but in a way I envy them their naivety. They are so innocent, so carefree. Would that I could shield them forever, but ignorance is just as dangerous as truth if not more so. Ignorance is the seed of which hate and misfortune are the fruits. Such is life: a pile of impossible questions with contradicting answers. How much more do I have to lose before the fates cry, “Enough”? My life? Everyone I love? Must I lose everything and be made to watch, to linger on alone, a relic frozen in time by unthinkable horrors? How much longer can I go on? I am so tired, so very tired. I’m tired of war and death and pain. I’m tired of uncertainty. And, even more, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of dying, but more afraid of living. I’m afraid because, if I live, how will I go back? Living in memories would be bad enough. Reliving pain and the death of all those I loved would be a living death. Autumn leaves swirl around me, obscuring all but a black form, eyes burning. I am silent and cold; it’s the only way I can carry on. I shut off all emotion; I’m little more then an animated corpse, simply waiting for my grave. I inspire fear now. If I were to actually walk among them, I would smother conversation like the plague. If Voldemort’s followers are Death Eaters, then I am just as surely a Death-Bringer. I attract the Death Eaters and feed them. Death follows in my footsteps, the Death Eaters follow Death, and I follow the Death-Eaters, a never-ending circle of torment and death. It never stops; the torture subsides for now, but the pain lingers on. What I want most is to be free of my destiny of war and death. To once and for all, be rid of the fame of being The-Boy-Who- (Did this or that). I just want to be me, to follow my dreams, to live my life according to my rules. And for the second time in as many days, I hold my head in my hands and cry. I wake up as I do every morning. I stare at the ceiling and wonder why I’m not dead yet. Sometimes I think it would be better to die than to play this waiting game. Death cannot possibly be worse than the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that at any second I could cease to exist. I don’t believe in hell; hell is living like this. And always when I think this existence has gotten as bad as it can possibly get, something else happens to me. I’m almost at the point where I’m going to walk out into a field and yell at Voldemort to take me. If it weren’t for those who would suffer, I would. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday at lunch.
I pull on a shirt and jeans and make my way into the Great Hall. I sit off to one side and busy myself with orange juice and oatmeal. I keep me eyes downcast and try to remain as invisible as possible. I tell myself: If I don’t look up, no one will speak to me. If I don’t make a sound, they won’t notice me. If no one notices me, they’ll forget about me. I tell myself this, but even I don’t believe it. No amount of silence can quiet the gossip. No amount of stillness will make me invisible. I think about how people treat death as some juicy piece of gossip and I find my oatmeal no longer appetizing. I push it away in disgust. I guess that’s another meal I’ll be skipping. I eat so little now, that you can see my ribs through my shirt. At first, everyone was concerned about me, saying, “ Harry, you’ve got to eat.” And “ Harry, how are you ever going to be strong enough to face Voldemort if you don’t eat.” I ignored the false concern. It grated on my nerves. How can someone say awful things about you one minute and the next be all concerned for your well-being? People are so false, so self-serving. They will say whatever, do whatever it takes to further their ends. They just honey coat the poison, nothing more. Hearing footsteps, I look up preparing to tell the next falsely sympathetic nursemaid off and find myself meeting a pair of haunting silver eyes filled not with false worry, but with antagonism.
I glare back summoning all the turmoil I feel and converting it into one emotion: hate. “ What’s the matter Potter? Got no friends?” Draco taunts. “What’s the matter Malfoy? Got no nerve?” I goad back. ”What?” he shrieks in surprise. “I was there; I saw you. You didn’t even have the guts to follow orders when your life depended on it.” “I’ll…I’ll…” he stammers. “You’ll do what? Sneer me to death? Not so brave without your bodyguards, are you? Go to hell Malfoy.” I stand up and walk away.
As soon as I’m out of sight I slump down against a wall and hold my head in my hands. Why do I have to react? Why do I always have to react? It’s not even real anymore. I look at him and all I can think about is what it would be like to kiss him, just once. I want to wrap my arms around him and feel his heartbeat alongside mine. Instead, I respond with insults. Brilliant move, Potter, now he’ll really love you; he’ll be more likely to curse you into the next century now, than kiss you. Get a hold of yourself. It’s not like that would have ever happened anyway. You’re the idiot who rejected him immediately. You’re the one that started this whole mess. Don’t think about it now. Pull yourself together.
I stand, replacing my agony with a mask of cold disinterest. I’ve become so used to hiding that it doesn’t require much effort anymore. When I first started masking my true self, I found that eyes were always the hardest. They telegraph every emotion with frightening clarity. I guess that’s why they’re considered windows to the soul; you can look into someone’s eyes and see it the depths.
I don’t know myself anymore.
I thought I knew a long time ago,
But I’ve come to realize that dreams often lie.
I’ve the lost the understanding in my life.
I thought I knew what I was looking for.
I thought I knew where I was heading for.
And now I’m not so sure.
I hid from the world, but most of all
I hid from myself.
I slowly came to realize that I was being used,
that others controlled my destiny
on a path where I had so much to lose.
I ran away from the world that didn’t want me.
I ran away from a fate I didn’t choose.
But now I’m lost on a path with no direction.
I lost my soul when I tried to find myself.
And I can’t go back to a cause I don’t believe.
And I won’t go back to a way of life that I cannot conceive.
Where am I going?
Is my soul just make-believe?
I go through the day, hardly noticing what’s going on. I manage to make it through my classes, though how I do I cannot imagine. At the end of the day I drag myself to bed and stare out the window, watching the sky become an inky purple in the twilight. As the stars begin to appear, I wonder how different my life might have been. The night sky always holds a melancholy beauty. The stars have seen everything since the beginning of time. The world is filled with so much pain and death, it is a wonder that the stars do not weep. Stars are so constant, yet I feel I am caught in a whirlwind of misfortune. In a way, I blame the stars. If fate is written in the stars, then their fixed positions are responsible for my troubles. And looking up at those stars I realize just how alone I am. There are so many stars. The stars can never be alone. And I find myself wondering who else is looking about at the same stars feeling alone in the vast void of space. I don’t sleep at all tonight but remain staring out the window, losing myself among the stars.
Author’s Note: (change to Draco’s point of view)
I stand on the Astronomy Tower’s roof and lean against the railing, letting the wind blow in my face. Sometimes it almost seems that the wind is a spirit, offering guidance and strength. I had to get out of the dungeons, for a while. After a while, the walls seem to be closing in on you. That’s when I come up here. Up here the wind speaks of freedom; the sky is filled with whirling chaos, liberating in its openness. I feel as if I could fly away from my problems; go to the ends of the earth and find a measure of peace. Nights like this persuade me to believe that there is still peace in this world. I only wish there was someone I could share this feeling with, the feeling of absolute freedom.
Warnings: H/D, slash
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but the songs are mine.
Ships: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG- for this chapter
Summary: Set after book 6, with alternate ending. Harry does manage to push away Ron and Hermione and stays at school. All Harry wants are things he can't have.
Wanting What You Can’t Have
It hurts to want what you can’t have, what can never be. Watching the object of your obsession is worse. Every day I am forced to stand and watch as he goes about life oblivious to the agony he causes me with his every look and jeer; his very presence is like a slow poison destroying me from the inside out. What can I do but watch; he is so beautiful, an inhuman angel, ethereal; unattainable. Gods, but I want him. I am like a moth drawn to the candle flame, burning myself again and again on his radiance. I am the stargazer who looks to the heavens, wishing to soar into the celestial world from which I am ever barred. I’m pathetic in my neediness and I hate him for it. I hate him, even though he does not know. And for this I hate myself. Every now and then, the sound of whispering and the feeling of being watched interrupt my musings, and more than anything I want to disappear. I should be used to it by now, but I’m not. I don’t think I ever will be. I didn’t ask for this it just came to me like everything else, like my eye color and unruly hair, like my talent for attracting danger and death like carrion. It clings to me like my skin; I could no sooner rid myself of it however much I want to. I wish I could just wish everything away, but I can’t. They say misery loves company; they’re delusional. Misery loves breaking things, wearing away at the soul. Misery loves seclusion where it can spread unfettered by the outside world. It closes you off from everything around you leaving you with precious little world. Then it constricts even more and fills the room with a tangible thickness, coating you until you drown in tears. Alone, you fall all the faster and you never rise back up. My thoughts have been dark for some time now, ever since I realized the liability I have become and walked away because I couldn’t be responsible for another death. Nobody should die for me. I’m can’t be the impossible idol they have imagined for themselves. I’m not perfect. Don’t treat me as if I am. I can’t play God. I cannot and will not deal out death and judgment. So, I did the only thing I could I walked away. Away from the dreams they dreamed for me. But, trouble is I can never run far enough away to escape completely from the world; a world that thinks it owns me. I sit here on the grounds and watch the world around me. I feel so isolated. I watch a play for which the world is the stage, a never-ending tapestry of comedy and tragedy. A pity, they never realize the fantasy. The puppets never notice that others pull the strings. I pity them, but in a way I envy them their naivety. They are so innocent, so carefree. Would that I could shield them forever, but ignorance is just as dangerous as truth if not more so. Ignorance is the seed of which hate and misfortune are the fruits. Such is life: a pile of impossible questions with contradicting answers. How much more do I have to lose before the fates cry, “Enough”? My life? Everyone I love? Must I lose everything and be made to watch, to linger on alone, a relic frozen in time by unthinkable horrors? How much longer can I go on? I am so tired, so very tired. I’m tired of war and death and pain. I’m tired of uncertainty. And, even more, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of dying, but more afraid of living. I’m afraid because, if I live, how will I go back? Living in memories would be bad enough. Reliving pain and the death of all those I loved would be a living death. Autumn leaves swirl around me, obscuring all but a black form, eyes burning. I am silent and cold; it’s the only way I can carry on. I shut off all emotion; I’m little more then an animated corpse, simply waiting for my grave. I inspire fear now. If I were to actually walk among them, I would smother conversation like the plague. If Voldemort’s followers are Death Eaters, then I am just as surely a Death-Bringer. I attract the Death Eaters and feed them. Death follows in my footsteps, the Death Eaters follow Death, and I follow the Death-Eaters, a never-ending circle of torment and death. It never stops; the torture subsides for now, but the pain lingers on. What I want most is to be free of my destiny of war and death. To once and for all, be rid of the fame of being The-Boy-Who- (Did this or that). I just want to be me, to follow my dreams, to live my life according to my rules. And for the second time in as many days, I hold my head in my hands and cry. I wake up as I do every morning. I stare at the ceiling and wonder why I’m not dead yet. Sometimes I think it would be better to die than to play this waiting game. Death cannot possibly be worse than the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that at any second I could cease to exist. I don’t believe in hell; hell is living like this. And always when I think this existence has gotten as bad as it can possibly get, something else happens to me. I’m almost at the point where I’m going to walk out into a field and yell at Voldemort to take me. If it weren’t for those who would suffer, I would. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday at lunch.
I pull on a shirt and jeans and make my way into the Great Hall. I sit off to one side and busy myself with orange juice and oatmeal. I keep me eyes downcast and try to remain as invisible as possible. I tell myself: If I don’t look up, no one will speak to me. If I don’t make a sound, they won’t notice me. If no one notices me, they’ll forget about me. I tell myself this, but even I don’t believe it. No amount of silence can quiet the gossip. No amount of stillness will make me invisible. I think about how people treat death as some juicy piece of gossip and I find my oatmeal no longer appetizing. I push it away in disgust. I guess that’s another meal I’ll be skipping. I eat so little now, that you can see my ribs through my shirt. At first, everyone was concerned about me, saying, “ Harry, you’ve got to eat.” And “ Harry, how are you ever going to be strong enough to face Voldemort if you don’t eat.” I ignored the false concern. It grated on my nerves. How can someone say awful things about you one minute and the next be all concerned for your well-being? People are so false, so self-serving. They will say whatever, do whatever it takes to further their ends. They just honey coat the poison, nothing more. Hearing footsteps, I look up preparing to tell the next falsely sympathetic nursemaid off and find myself meeting a pair of haunting silver eyes filled not with false worry, but with antagonism.
I glare back summoning all the turmoil I feel and converting it into one emotion: hate. “ What’s the matter Potter? Got no friends?” Draco taunts. “What’s the matter Malfoy? Got no nerve?” I goad back. ”What?” he shrieks in surprise. “I was there; I saw you. You didn’t even have the guts to follow orders when your life depended on it.” “I’ll…I’ll…” he stammers. “You’ll do what? Sneer me to death? Not so brave without your bodyguards, are you? Go to hell Malfoy.” I stand up and walk away.
As soon as I’m out of sight I slump down against a wall and hold my head in my hands. Why do I have to react? Why do I always have to react? It’s not even real anymore. I look at him and all I can think about is what it would be like to kiss him, just once. I want to wrap my arms around him and feel his heartbeat alongside mine. Instead, I respond with insults. Brilliant move, Potter, now he’ll really love you; he’ll be more likely to curse you into the next century now, than kiss you. Get a hold of yourself. It’s not like that would have ever happened anyway. You’re the idiot who rejected him immediately. You’re the one that started this whole mess. Don’t think about it now. Pull yourself together.
I stand, replacing my agony with a mask of cold disinterest. I’ve become so used to hiding that it doesn’t require much effort anymore. When I first started masking my true self, I found that eyes were always the hardest. They telegraph every emotion with frightening clarity. I guess that’s why they’re considered windows to the soul; you can look into someone’s eyes and see it the depths.
I don’t know myself anymore.
I thought I knew a long time ago,
But I’ve come to realize that dreams often lie.
I’ve the lost the understanding in my life.
I thought I knew what I was looking for.
I thought I knew where I was heading for.
And now I’m not so sure.
I hid from the world, but most of all
I hid from myself.
I slowly came to realize that I was being used,
that others controlled my destiny
on a path where I had so much to lose.
I ran away from the world that didn’t want me.
I ran away from a fate I didn’t choose.
But now I’m lost on a path with no direction.
I lost my soul when I tried to find myself.
And I can’t go back to a cause I don’t believe.
And I won’t go back to a way of life that I cannot conceive.
Where am I going?
Is my soul just make-believe?
I go through the day, hardly noticing what’s going on. I manage to make it through my classes, though how I do I cannot imagine. At the end of the day I drag myself to bed and stare out the window, watching the sky become an inky purple in the twilight. As the stars begin to appear, I wonder how different my life might have been. The night sky always holds a melancholy beauty. The stars have seen everything since the beginning of time. The world is filled with so much pain and death, it is a wonder that the stars do not weep. Stars are so constant, yet I feel I am caught in a whirlwind of misfortune. In a way, I blame the stars. If fate is written in the stars, then their fixed positions are responsible for my troubles. And looking up at those stars I realize just how alone I am. There are so many stars. The stars can never be alone. And I find myself wondering who else is looking about at the same stars feeling alone in the vast void of space. I don’t sleep at all tonight but remain staring out the window, losing myself among the stars.
Author’s Note: (change to Draco’s point of view)
I stand on the Astronomy Tower’s roof and lean against the railing, letting the wind blow in my face. Sometimes it almost seems that the wind is a spirit, offering guidance and strength. I had to get out of the dungeons, for a while. After a while, the walls seem to be closing in on you. That’s when I come up here. Up here the wind speaks of freedom; the sky is filled with whirling chaos, liberating in its openness. I feel as if I could fly away from my problems; go to the ends of the earth and find a measure of peace. Nights like this persuade me to believe that there is still peace in this world. I only wish there was someone I could share this feeling with, the feeling of absolute freedom.