Non-fluffy Advent fic
Dec. 2nd, 2013 12:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omi_ohmyHello there! I've had a bit of a break from LJ recently but I'm back. And, er, somewhat coincidentally I finally submitted my erised. *coughs* *waves at everyone*
I've decided to write an advent fic this year. I haven't posted a WIP in ages, but er, I think it's manageable (and some is already written, thank goodnes!) It's a non-fluffy tale of heartache, love and Christmas cheer.
I won't post every day - the story itself will explain why, but there will be 24 parts of varying length to read by the time Christmas day rolls up. And it's going to be unbetaed, as I will probably only finish writing each section about five seconds before I hit 'post'! I will probably return to tidy it it all up at some point, so if you notice any glaring errors please feel free to send me a pm. If I get ahead of myself with the writing (I do have it all planned out) I will see if my betas have time to help out, but as Christmas approaches I think that the answer will be 'no'. They already think I'm mad for doing this in the first place. :D
Um, I have spent an hour on coming up with a title and still nothing. I will think of one, promise.
Summary: Harry has almost forgotten what it is to be happy in love and life, until Draco gives him twenty-four chances to remember.
Word count: ~2,500
Rating: G (Probably will be NC-17 overall. Yeah, baby!)
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
1.
Draco was hovering, standing just behind his chair, and Harry had to resist the urge to bat him away. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, hoping that he could calm down a little before saying something he would regret later. When he glanced over at Draco, his heart clenched at the way Draco was biting the corner of his lip, waiting, and looking utterly vulnerable.
“Okay, I’ve finished now,” Harry said, pushing away the Auror report he had been working on. It wasn’t ideal, bringing work home, but there just weren’t enough hours in the day. “What do you want to show me?”
“Come and sit with me,” said Draco, pulling Harry towards the sofa. “Come on.”
Harry let himself be pulled. He felt guilt, a rolling sickness deep in his gut, at how quiet Draco was being. There had been a time when they would both get home from work in the evenings, and talk or fuck or fight for hours – sometimes all three – until they fell into an exhausted tangle of limbs and drifted off to sleep clutching onto each other. Now he would work late, or Draco would be on a late shift at St Mungo’s, and they barely saw each other, let alone spoke .
They sat by side, silent and awkward. Harry’s mind strayed back to the cursed Muggle toasters that had recently flooded the wizarding world. He had seen one bite an Auror’s hand off that morning, and it was still painfully fresh in his mind. He had spent the day interviewing a variety of irritated witches and wizards, and it had been—
“Harry.” Draco sounded like it wasn’t the first time he’d said his name, and when Harry looked up and caught his eye, the look of disappointment was enough to make him turn away. “I just– I want to–“
Fuckit, thought Harry, he wants to talk. But Draco stopped, and didn’t say anything more. The silence built, a familiar pressure all around them. Harry knew that they should talk, but he didn’t want to: he was terrified that if they did, it would turn into The Talk, and he couldn’t bear the idea of that. He slid a hand towards Draco, and found his fingers. After a heartbeat, Draco squeezed back. His skin was cold, and a little clammy. Harry didn’t need to be an Auror to know that this was a bad sign, and his heart began to beat a little faster, a tight ache in his chest. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.
“I want to show you something,” said Draco, his voice sounding over-loud as it broke the silence of the room. “I know that things have been—“ He broke off, and rubbed at his eyes. “Merlin, things have been fucking awful. We never see each other anymore. And when we do—“
“We’re just so tired.” Harry’s weariness seeped into his words, but they had sprung from somewhere deep inside of him. It was the one truth of his life. He was tired, all the time. “It… it shouldn’t be like this.” He ran his thumb along the back of Draco’s hand, trying to let him know what he meant. His words were just so inadequate at saying what he wanted – no, needed – to say to Draco. So he usually chose to say nothing at all, rather than mess it up.
“No, no, it shouldn’t,” said Draco. “When was the last time I saw you smile?” Harry felt his level of panic rise. It sounded like there would be a ‘goodbye’ in this conversation. Damned, stupid, useless words. He wanted to make Draco happy, but it was too late. Torn between love and regret, Harry offered him a sad, half-hearted attempt at a smile, which Draco returned, then shook his head.
If they couldn’t smile or laugh anymore, it didn’t matter how much he ached to touch Draco or how right it felt to sleep beside him at night: maybe they had been right, all those naysayers who had told him it would never work, that this was a relationship doomed to failure. But deep down, no matter how touched by bitterness, Harry couldn’t believe it. What did they know about him, or Draco? His eyes never leaving Draco’s face, Harry hated how lost Draco looked. He missed the biting laugh of old, the whispered fuck and get a move on, Potter as they took and licked and pulled and moved in a glorious, messy, thrilling rhythm.
“When was the last time I heard you laugh?” Harry said, echoing Draco’s words as he reached up to touch Draco’s face. There was a tightness around the eyes that he hated to see there. Draco closed his eyes then turned away, and Harry's hand fell down by his side as he swallowed back the sting of rejection.
“We can sit here being miserable all night, or I can show you this… thing,” said Draco.
Harry raised his eyebrows. “You want to show me your thing?”
“Oh, shut up, you idiot,” said Draco, but a smile pulled at his lips, a real one this time, and Harry relaxed a fraction. “I’m serious. I know that we have been ridiculously busy, so I’ve… actually, I think it would be easier to just show you.”
Harry was confused now. This was a strange way to break up with him, and a moment ago he had been sure where this was going. Now, he wasn’t so sure, and hope flared. He looked again at Draco, who was again biting the corner of his lip. What was making him so nervous? Wild thoughts raced through his mind, his secret hopes and wishes given a rare voice. Would it be a letter of resignation? A change in job?
Harry took a deep breath. “What is it?”
Draco summoned a shallow, wide box from the other side of the room. The wood glowed, with the kind of polish Harry normally saw on the furniture in the Manor. Draco handed it to Harry.
“I don’t understand,” said Harry, looking back up at Draco.
“Open it.” Draco pointed at a small brass catch at the front. Harry swallowed again, and popped it open. When he saw what was inside, he nearly dropped the box. There were four rows of six bottles. Tiny little bottles, each one containing a swirling silver mist.
“I don’t understand,” whispered Harry again, looking down at the box of memories Draco had given him. He hadn’t seen a memory like this since… his mind returned to the desperate moments in which he’d finally understood the truth about Snape.
“They’re for you. We never have enough time for each other, and I wanted to show you…” Draco broke off and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can find the words for this. Would you…?”
“We don’t have a Pensieve,” said Harry, knowing that this was an empty protest: if Draco could find twenty-four memories for him to look at, he could manage to locate a Pensieve too. Sure enough, Draco flicked his wand again, and a small marble Pensieve drifted through the air and landed on the coffee table in front of them. An elaborate ‘M’ was gilded on the side.
“I borrowed it from the Manor,” said Draco. “Although we can probably keep it: there’s a much bigger one in Father’s study.” Harry clung onto the ‘we’, and tightened his grip on the box.
“I—” Harry didn’t know what to say. He felt a little ambushed.
“Oh, I knew this wasn’t going to work,” said Draco, and he buried his head in his hands. “It’s too much, isn’t it?” The words were muffled, but Harry could still hear the frustration in them. Seeing Draco like this, seeing how much he had invested in this idea, gave rise to a wave of affection. Warm and yet gut-wrenching at the same time. Draco always did get overly caught up in his desire to make dramatic gestures.
“It’s just… twenty-four memories is rather a lot,” Harry said, as gently as he could. “I don’t think I can just sit here and watch them all, especially with you… worrying away next to me.”
Draco looked up. “They’re not all for today. Don’t you know what today is?”
“Sunday?” said Harry, suddenly doubting his ability to remember what day of the week it was.
“Yes, it’s Sunday, but it’s also the first of December.”
Harry looked down at the box again. He couldn’t see what it being a Sunday, or December, had to do with a collection of memories. Wait. Twenty-four…. A memory of Dudley, eating the chocolates out of two calendars, while Harry watched from the hallway, rose in his mind.
“Is it an advent calendar of some kind?”
Draco gave Harry a pointed look, but a brief shadow of relief also passed over his face, and he nodded. Harry bit down the urge to tell Draco that he wasn’t stupid, and looked back and the memories. If Draco had gone to all this trouble, Harry couldn’t see how he could say no, really.
“Okay.” Harry picked up a bottle and rolled it between his thumb and his fingers. The glass was cool, and felt solid, not fragile at all, beneath his fingertips.
“Okay?”
“I can look at one each day.” Harry hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Do you want me to look at one now?”
“Yes.” Draco’s eyes were clear, and added a silent ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. “Start at the top right, then move across each row. Like you’re reading a book.”
“Um. I don’t know if I can, not with you… watching me.” Harry was aware of Draco sitting beside him; he could hear the huff of each breath as Draco looked between the Pensieve, the box of phials, and Harry.
“Fine,“ Draco said after a minute. “I’ll go make us a cup of tea. Just– be careful, those are a part of me ok?”
Harry nodded to show that he understood, and Draco got up with his usual feline quietness, and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
Looking back down at the box, Harry blinked, as the grey mists moved in front of him. Gingerly, he unstoppered the first bottle and poured its contents out into the marble bowl of the Pensieve. He took a deep breath, then lowered his face.
He found himself in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, shying away for a second from the din of all the school eating breakfast, mountains of eggs and bacon and toast on each table. The hall looked strange for some reason, and then Harry realised that it was because he was standing next to the Slytherin table. And there was Draco, sitting, quiet and unhappy-looking, amongst the bustle of his friends.
It was a shock to see Draco as he was in Sixth-Year. There was no doubt about the timing: the drawn look on Draco’s face and dark circles under his eyes would have been confirmation enough, even without Dumbledore, Snape and Slughorn at the teacher’s table. It was difficult to see so many of the dead scattered around the hall, laughing and grumbling and tucking into their breakfasts. Even Crabbe, loyally flanking Draco, was hard to face; the last Harry had seen of him he was falling into Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement.
Harry looked back at Draco: he was so young. His face, no matter how tired and stressed, looked unfinished to him, still boyish, and his heart ached for the loneliness and desperation he knew Draco had experienced at that time. For someone young, Draco looked wounded, and Harry found his mind wandering to the familiar pale scars across Draco’s chest. He had no idea if this was a memory from before, or after, and he had no idea why Draco wanted to show him this.
And then it happened, and he knew. Draco looked up, over towards the Gryffindor table. Harry didn’t need to follow his gaze to know who he was looking at. Something in Draco’s face changed as he caught sight of Harry. It was… longing. It was only there for an instant, before Draco closed his face down into harsh lines, and turned away. The breath caught in Harry’s throat. He was so used to their intimacy, the intimacy of lovers and friends with many years shared between them, yet here he felt that he was trespassing. This was a different type of intimacy altogether. Before he could say or do anything, the scene faded, and he was once more sitting above the Pensieve.
Draco was standing in the doorway to the room, a guarded expression on his face and a cup of tea in each hand. “You saw it, then?” He asked, his eyes wavered with uncertainty.
Harry nodded, a low arc of his head, his eyes never leaving Draco. “You were so young. We both were.”
“I had hated you so much, and then I realised that there was something else…. The night before, I’d had a dream. You had a starring role. For a moment, when I saw you, I wanted something I thought I’d never have.” A wry little smile turned up one side of Draco’s mouth. “I really never thought it would happen. To be honest, I didn’t know if I’d make it to my next birthday: I certainly didn’t– couldn’t think about an after to it all.” Draco crossed the room and put the tea down beside the Pensieve, a jarring note of domesticity beside the grandiose Malfoy gilt-work.
“A dream?”asked Harry, realisation dawning. “The dream?”
Draco looked suddenly shy, and nodded. Harry turned this over in his mind: the dream was part of their story together – the moment it had all changed for Draco.
“I didn’t see….” At school, Harry had never seen anything other than Draco being up to something.
“I know,” said Draco. “You were too busy being the hero and dreaming of your ginger girlfriend—“
“Hey!” said Harry, taken aback by Draco’s bitterness. In the early days of getting together, Draco’s insecurities about the differences in how they felt about each other had been a real sticking point. No matter how Harry had tried to explain, Draco never seemed able to accept that it didn’t matter when Harry had fallen for him, only that he had, and hard. Harry had thought that these worries were long behind them, but maybe he was wrong.
“Sorry.” Draco curled his fingers over Harry’s for a second, and Harry squeezed back. “I’m just… I can’t do this with words.” He sounded miserable, but Harry still pulled away his hand, unsure about how he felt about everything and needing a moment to try to figure it out.
Harry picked up at his tea, sipping at the too-hot drink to avoid having to speak. He was too tired to think clearly, certainly too tired to deal with the mess of their relationship. But maybe it was time to try.
Before either Harry or Draco could say anything a silvery cat, the Patronus of Healer Brown, appeared and informed Draco of an emergency at St Mungo’s. Harry was left with half a cup of tea and a box of memories as Draco Flooed away. He finished one, and pushed the other one away. It could wait, for later, another time. It would have to.
>> Part 2
I've decided to write an advent fic this year. I haven't posted a WIP in ages, but er, I think it's manageable (and some is already written, thank goodnes!) It's a non-fluffy tale of heartache, love and Christmas cheer.
I won't post every day - the story itself will explain why, but there will be 24 parts of varying length to read by the time Christmas day rolls up. And it's going to be unbetaed, as I will probably only finish writing each section about five seconds before I hit 'post'! I will probably return to tidy it it all up at some point, so if you notice any glaring errors please feel free to send me a pm. If I get ahead of myself with the writing (I do have it all planned out) I will see if my betas have time to help out, but as Christmas approaches I think that the answer will be 'no'. They already think I'm mad for doing this in the first place. :D
Um, I have spent an hour on coming up with a title and still nothing. I will think of one, promise.
Summary: Harry has almost forgotten what it is to be happy in love and life, until Draco gives him twenty-four chances to remember.
Word count: ~2,500
Rating: G (Probably will be NC-17 overall. Yeah, baby!)
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
1.
Draco was hovering, standing just behind his chair, and Harry had to resist the urge to bat him away. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, hoping that he could calm down a little before saying something he would regret later. When he glanced over at Draco, his heart clenched at the way Draco was biting the corner of his lip, waiting, and looking utterly vulnerable.
“Okay, I’ve finished now,” Harry said, pushing away the Auror report he had been working on. It wasn’t ideal, bringing work home, but there just weren’t enough hours in the day. “What do you want to show me?”
“Come and sit with me,” said Draco, pulling Harry towards the sofa. “Come on.”
Harry let himself be pulled. He felt guilt, a rolling sickness deep in his gut, at how quiet Draco was being. There had been a time when they would both get home from work in the evenings, and talk or fuck or fight for hours – sometimes all three – until they fell into an exhausted tangle of limbs and drifted off to sleep clutching onto each other. Now he would work late, or Draco would be on a late shift at St Mungo’s, and they barely saw each other, let alone spoke .
They sat by side, silent and awkward. Harry’s mind strayed back to the cursed Muggle toasters that had recently flooded the wizarding world. He had seen one bite an Auror’s hand off that morning, and it was still painfully fresh in his mind. He had spent the day interviewing a variety of irritated witches and wizards, and it had been—
“Harry.” Draco sounded like it wasn’t the first time he’d said his name, and when Harry looked up and caught his eye, the look of disappointment was enough to make him turn away. “I just– I want to–“
Fuckit, thought Harry, he wants to talk. But Draco stopped, and didn’t say anything more. The silence built, a familiar pressure all around them. Harry knew that they should talk, but he didn’t want to: he was terrified that if they did, it would turn into The Talk, and he couldn’t bear the idea of that. He slid a hand towards Draco, and found his fingers. After a heartbeat, Draco squeezed back. His skin was cold, and a little clammy. Harry didn’t need to be an Auror to know that this was a bad sign, and his heart began to beat a little faster, a tight ache in his chest. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.
“I want to show you something,” said Draco, his voice sounding over-loud as it broke the silence of the room. “I know that things have been—“ He broke off, and rubbed at his eyes. “Merlin, things have been fucking awful. We never see each other anymore. And when we do—“
“We’re just so tired.” Harry’s weariness seeped into his words, but they had sprung from somewhere deep inside of him. It was the one truth of his life. He was tired, all the time. “It… it shouldn’t be like this.” He ran his thumb along the back of Draco’s hand, trying to let him know what he meant. His words were just so inadequate at saying what he wanted – no, needed – to say to Draco. So he usually chose to say nothing at all, rather than mess it up.
“No, no, it shouldn’t,” said Draco. “When was the last time I saw you smile?” Harry felt his level of panic rise. It sounded like there would be a ‘goodbye’ in this conversation. Damned, stupid, useless words. He wanted to make Draco happy, but it was too late. Torn between love and regret, Harry offered him a sad, half-hearted attempt at a smile, which Draco returned, then shook his head.
If they couldn’t smile or laugh anymore, it didn’t matter how much he ached to touch Draco or how right it felt to sleep beside him at night: maybe they had been right, all those naysayers who had told him it would never work, that this was a relationship doomed to failure. But deep down, no matter how touched by bitterness, Harry couldn’t believe it. What did they know about him, or Draco? His eyes never leaving Draco’s face, Harry hated how lost Draco looked. He missed the biting laugh of old, the whispered fuck and get a move on, Potter as they took and licked and pulled and moved in a glorious, messy, thrilling rhythm.
“When was the last time I heard you laugh?” Harry said, echoing Draco’s words as he reached up to touch Draco’s face. There was a tightness around the eyes that he hated to see there. Draco closed his eyes then turned away, and Harry's hand fell down by his side as he swallowed back the sting of rejection.
“We can sit here being miserable all night, or I can show you this… thing,” said Draco.
Harry raised his eyebrows. “You want to show me your thing?”
“Oh, shut up, you idiot,” said Draco, but a smile pulled at his lips, a real one this time, and Harry relaxed a fraction. “I’m serious. I know that we have been ridiculously busy, so I’ve… actually, I think it would be easier to just show you.”
Harry was confused now. This was a strange way to break up with him, and a moment ago he had been sure where this was going. Now, he wasn’t so sure, and hope flared. He looked again at Draco, who was again biting the corner of his lip. What was making him so nervous? Wild thoughts raced through his mind, his secret hopes and wishes given a rare voice. Would it be a letter of resignation? A change in job?
Harry took a deep breath. “What is it?”
Draco summoned a shallow, wide box from the other side of the room. The wood glowed, with the kind of polish Harry normally saw on the furniture in the Manor. Draco handed it to Harry.
“I don’t understand,” said Harry, looking back up at Draco.
“Open it.” Draco pointed at a small brass catch at the front. Harry swallowed again, and popped it open. When he saw what was inside, he nearly dropped the box. There were four rows of six bottles. Tiny little bottles, each one containing a swirling silver mist.
“I don’t understand,” whispered Harry again, looking down at the box of memories Draco had given him. He hadn’t seen a memory like this since… his mind returned to the desperate moments in which he’d finally understood the truth about Snape.
“They’re for you. We never have enough time for each other, and I wanted to show you…” Draco broke off and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can find the words for this. Would you…?”
“We don’t have a Pensieve,” said Harry, knowing that this was an empty protest: if Draco could find twenty-four memories for him to look at, he could manage to locate a Pensieve too. Sure enough, Draco flicked his wand again, and a small marble Pensieve drifted through the air and landed on the coffee table in front of them. An elaborate ‘M’ was gilded on the side.
“I borrowed it from the Manor,” said Draco. “Although we can probably keep it: there’s a much bigger one in Father’s study.” Harry clung onto the ‘we’, and tightened his grip on the box.
“I—” Harry didn’t know what to say. He felt a little ambushed.
“Oh, I knew this wasn’t going to work,” said Draco, and he buried his head in his hands. “It’s too much, isn’t it?” The words were muffled, but Harry could still hear the frustration in them. Seeing Draco like this, seeing how much he had invested in this idea, gave rise to a wave of affection. Warm and yet gut-wrenching at the same time. Draco always did get overly caught up in his desire to make dramatic gestures.
“It’s just… twenty-four memories is rather a lot,” Harry said, as gently as he could. “I don’t think I can just sit here and watch them all, especially with you… worrying away next to me.”
Draco looked up. “They’re not all for today. Don’t you know what today is?”
“Sunday?” said Harry, suddenly doubting his ability to remember what day of the week it was.
“Yes, it’s Sunday, but it’s also the first of December.”
Harry looked down at the box again. He couldn’t see what it being a Sunday, or December, had to do with a collection of memories. Wait. Twenty-four…. A memory of Dudley, eating the chocolates out of two calendars, while Harry watched from the hallway, rose in his mind.
“Is it an advent calendar of some kind?”
Draco gave Harry a pointed look, but a brief shadow of relief also passed over his face, and he nodded. Harry bit down the urge to tell Draco that he wasn’t stupid, and looked back and the memories. If Draco had gone to all this trouble, Harry couldn’t see how he could say no, really.
“Okay.” Harry picked up a bottle and rolled it between his thumb and his fingers. The glass was cool, and felt solid, not fragile at all, beneath his fingertips.
“Okay?”
“I can look at one each day.” Harry hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Do you want me to look at one now?”
“Yes.” Draco’s eyes were clear, and added a silent ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. “Start at the top right, then move across each row. Like you’re reading a book.”
“Um. I don’t know if I can, not with you… watching me.” Harry was aware of Draco sitting beside him; he could hear the huff of each breath as Draco looked between the Pensieve, the box of phials, and Harry.
“Fine,“ Draco said after a minute. “I’ll go make us a cup of tea. Just– be careful, those are a part of me ok?”
Harry nodded to show that he understood, and Draco got up with his usual feline quietness, and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
Looking back down at the box, Harry blinked, as the grey mists moved in front of him. Gingerly, he unstoppered the first bottle and poured its contents out into the marble bowl of the Pensieve. He took a deep breath, then lowered his face.
He found himself in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, shying away for a second from the din of all the school eating breakfast, mountains of eggs and bacon and toast on each table. The hall looked strange for some reason, and then Harry realised that it was because he was standing next to the Slytherin table. And there was Draco, sitting, quiet and unhappy-looking, amongst the bustle of his friends.
It was a shock to see Draco as he was in Sixth-Year. There was no doubt about the timing: the drawn look on Draco’s face and dark circles under his eyes would have been confirmation enough, even without Dumbledore, Snape and Slughorn at the teacher’s table. It was difficult to see so many of the dead scattered around the hall, laughing and grumbling and tucking into their breakfasts. Even Crabbe, loyally flanking Draco, was hard to face; the last Harry had seen of him he was falling into Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement.
Harry looked back at Draco: he was so young. His face, no matter how tired and stressed, looked unfinished to him, still boyish, and his heart ached for the loneliness and desperation he knew Draco had experienced at that time. For someone young, Draco looked wounded, and Harry found his mind wandering to the familiar pale scars across Draco’s chest. He had no idea if this was a memory from before, or after, and he had no idea why Draco wanted to show him this.
And then it happened, and he knew. Draco looked up, over towards the Gryffindor table. Harry didn’t need to follow his gaze to know who he was looking at. Something in Draco’s face changed as he caught sight of Harry. It was… longing. It was only there for an instant, before Draco closed his face down into harsh lines, and turned away. The breath caught in Harry’s throat. He was so used to their intimacy, the intimacy of lovers and friends with many years shared between them, yet here he felt that he was trespassing. This was a different type of intimacy altogether. Before he could say or do anything, the scene faded, and he was once more sitting above the Pensieve.
Draco was standing in the doorway to the room, a guarded expression on his face and a cup of tea in each hand. “You saw it, then?” He asked, his eyes wavered with uncertainty.
Harry nodded, a low arc of his head, his eyes never leaving Draco. “You were so young. We both were.”
“I had hated you so much, and then I realised that there was something else…. The night before, I’d had a dream. You had a starring role. For a moment, when I saw you, I wanted something I thought I’d never have.” A wry little smile turned up one side of Draco’s mouth. “I really never thought it would happen. To be honest, I didn’t know if I’d make it to my next birthday: I certainly didn’t– couldn’t think about an after to it all.” Draco crossed the room and put the tea down beside the Pensieve, a jarring note of domesticity beside the grandiose Malfoy gilt-work.
“A dream?”asked Harry, realisation dawning. “The dream?”
Draco looked suddenly shy, and nodded. Harry turned this over in his mind: the dream was part of their story together – the moment it had all changed for Draco.
“I didn’t see….” At school, Harry had never seen anything other than Draco being up to something.
“I know,” said Draco. “You were too busy being the hero and dreaming of your ginger girlfriend—“
“Hey!” said Harry, taken aback by Draco’s bitterness. In the early days of getting together, Draco’s insecurities about the differences in how they felt about each other had been a real sticking point. No matter how Harry had tried to explain, Draco never seemed able to accept that it didn’t matter when Harry had fallen for him, only that he had, and hard. Harry had thought that these worries were long behind them, but maybe he was wrong.
“Sorry.” Draco curled his fingers over Harry’s for a second, and Harry squeezed back. “I’m just… I can’t do this with words.” He sounded miserable, but Harry still pulled away his hand, unsure about how he felt about everything and needing a moment to try to figure it out.
Harry picked up at his tea, sipping at the too-hot drink to avoid having to speak. He was too tired to think clearly, certainly too tired to deal with the mess of their relationship. But maybe it was time to try.
Before either Harry or Draco could say anything a silvery cat, the Patronus of Healer Brown, appeared and informed Draco of an emergency at St Mungo’s. Harry was left with half a cup of tea and a box of memories as Draco Flooed away. He finished one, and pushed the other one away. It could wait, for later, another time. It would have to.
>> Part 2
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Date: 2013-12-02 07:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-02 08:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-02 11:52 am (UTC)A lovely, angsty start to December, can't wait to read more <3
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Date: 2013-12-02 07:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-02 06:04 pm (UTC)Lovely lovely job. <3
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Date: 2013-12-02 07:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-02 08:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-02 08:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-04 07:45 pm (UTC)So excited to continue reading. I love the start.
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Date: 2014-01-04 07:48 pm (UTC)And I'm glad you enjoyed the start!
*returns to perusing all my own open tabs*
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Date: 2014-01-04 07:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-04 07:56 pm (UTC)