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tsukinofaeriiWell, Florida's going about as expected. (sigh) I love my family, but jays, it's one big southern soap opera! About the only good thing that came out of it is that Zena, one of their Shih Tzus, has become permanently attached to me. She hardly lets me out of her sight! But I've probably got a better chance of surviving in the heart of the sun than I do of convincing my ever-selfless Aunt of letting me take her home. (sigh) I've got to try though. (shrugs) In the mean time, I dug out an old HP exercise, in case anyone wants to read it. It's H/D goodness (of course), in honor of the new movie that comes out tomorrow. ^^ Enjoy!
Unspoken 1/1
By![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tsukinofaerii
Rating: SNUG
Generic/Romance
Warnings: Male/male
Spoilers: No spoilers
Series: Harry Potter
Pairings: Harry/Draco(Harry)
Summary: The story of how words aren't said. Unbeta'd and random. Complete short story.
This story is a work of transformative fiction, such being defined as a work which incorporates characters and situations which have been created by other authors/artists. No infringement of copyright is intended and no profit is being made from the creation or dissemination of this work. Harry Potter was created and is owned by J.K. Rowling. It is used with respect and admiration for the work.
***
It was Love. Beyond that, it was True Love. That kind of thing just didn't happen every day. In fairy tales, it just popped out of nowhere at the first meeting and that was that. Instant happily ever after.
Draco couldn't imagine a bigger lie. Lust, now that appeared out of nowhere on the first meeting. True Love, though, that took work. It had to be pounded and molded and stretched to the breaking point and then pounded some more. It needed to be glued back together and patchworked into something bigger and denser and oh so much stronger than it had been. And then it all had to be done again and again and again until it was two collars and a single leash, hooking two people together by the soul until they couldn't imagine not being chained down and held back.
True Love took lifetimes to build. But lifetimes could be as short as a single breath.
It had started with glares and hatred. They had been a Hogwart's standard of measurment before the end of their first year.
"First Hogsmeade weekend of the term! I'm going to have so much butterbeer—"
"How much?"
"More than Potter hates Malfoy, man!"
Like having an all-consuming hatred at the ripe old age of eleven was something to be proud of.
It didn't stay hatred forever, but that makes sense. Forever is a very long time.
***
They never talked about it. It had just happened. They'd never so much as exchanged a civil word, but they had thought. At least, Draco assumed Harry had thought. He knew he had. He'd lain awake nights sometimes and just... thought. Worked out the scenarios, the possibilities, discarded the ones that led places he didn't want to go, twisted what was left until everything was worked out and there was only making it happen left to do.
It would have to be sudden. Sudden and public. If they did anything in secret, it would all be over before it started. Draco knew that if they snuck around, what happened when they were found out would be much, much worse than it would have been otherwise. Harry's friends would be hurt, maybe beyond their own breaking point, and there would be accusations of Draco leading Harry into a trap...
So it had to be public. And sudden so no one had time to stop them. There were too many people that it would threaten, even discounting Weasley and Granger.
And they still never talked.
Time went on, and the unspoken words stayed dammed up inside them. Glares turned into looks, glances so loaded with meaning that pages could be exchanged in a single glance across the crowded Great Hall. Every move, meeting, argument... They didn't plan it, they couldn't plan it, but it was all calculated. Both of them worked things out on their own, and then meshed it with the other's plan so seamlessly that it seemed like... Well, like magic. Their confrontations escalated into violence, into harsh words screamed in loving tones that no one else could hear, to punches landed with brutal caring and tenderness. Split lips and blood and blackened eyes... All done with the precise goal of seeing how much their hatred could stand. They had to push it, and themselves, to the utter limit before they could fall off the edge, before they could fall in love. Hate was something no one could understand, but passion... Passion was another thing altogether. And they gave it to them. In barrels.
And then they stopped. Hogwarts never knew what hit it.
One morning, Draco had been eating breakfast when Harry had entered the Hall, still bearing the bruises of yesterday's arguments. Weasley and Granger waved at him from the Gryffindor table. Harry had paused, then quite deliberately stode over to the Slytherin table.
The entire Hall had fallen silent.
Draco watched him approach and felt the Moment click into place. They hadn't discussed any of it, but the time had come and surely they could discuss it later. Harry had sat down, Draco had kissed his cheek, and that had been that. No fanfare. No fireworks. Just a brand new routine started with the same simplicity that came with everyday things. People had wanted to protest, to drag one or the other away, but hadn't been able to. The shock had been too big to wrap their minds around, so they just shut down and went on as if it were normal.
By the time the shock had worn off, it had been normal.
Draco and Harry fell into each other's routines easily, without talking about it, just like they'd done everything else. They joined up for the few minutes between classes, sat together when they shared classes and even took up evening chess games played in the Library without ever mentioning a meeting time. It was the way things were meant to be, all of a sudden realizing that it wasn't and falling back into place to make it a was.
Ron and Hermione, as they had become to Draco, never had a chance. They'd put up some hearty arguments, but had given up when they'd learned that there was no conspiracy or agenda, that nothing had really changed. It had just been flipped. Even Hermione found it hard to argue against something that existed simply because it did.
They'd been careful for months after that first breakfast. There had been no more kisses, no dark corners in the hallway or whispered secrets. Every moment was something that could be stolen if they weren't carefully aware of the suspicion draped over them, and they guarded those moments like the precious things they were. Eventually the watchers gave up and went away. Then some of the moments became stolen, hidden treasures punctuated by soft lips and warm skin, wonderful counterpart to the shy smiles and casual touching of the cooridors.
Draco's father, when he had found out, had been the most confused of them all. He had used yards of parchment, writing, asking what Draco thought he was doing and the meaning behind it all. Draco had been told that Lucius had nearly passed out with rage when he'd receieved Draco's reply.
I'm living.
Eventually, even he gave in.
They graduated, as most students generally do, and moved in together. As with all things, they had just done it, much to the horror of everyone assuming to offer one or the other of them Malfoy Manor or what was left of Godric's Hollow. Voldemort was dealt with by trained professionals with only symbolic help from Harry, and Draco had stood quietly on the sidelines to watch it all unfold. After, they'd had a quiet celebration with just the two of them.
Now, Draco watches his lover snooze in the late afternoon sunlight. Harry's grown older, with a few gray hairs here and there, and smile lines around his eyes. Draco has the same, but the warm golden sunlight doesn't show the faint streaks in his hair where white-gold meets silver. Their hands are entwined on Harry's hip, cladaughs clinking together. He can see Harry's heart beating, right through his chest. It's easy to see, since Draco's using Harry's other arm as a pillow. The beat is soothing and steady, and Draco can feel his own matching it. And Harry dreams. He dreams of blue skys and Draco and vague flashes of parents he barely remembers. And Draco knows, because he always knows. Because what they have is Love that they've hammered and pounded and stretched with hate, then patched with bits of themselves, until they'd used all they had and it was True. Because True Love doesn't need words anymore than True Hate does; they only get in the way of things that are going to happen anyway.
Draco and Harry always made a point not to speak about important things, because they had never spoken, and words would only get in the way.
Owarimasu
Unspoken 1/1
By
tsukinofaeriiRating: SNUG
Generic/Romance
Warnings: Male/male
Spoilers: No spoilers
Series: Harry Potter
Pairings: Harry/Draco(Harry)
Summary: The story of how words aren't said. Unbeta'd and random. Complete short story.
This story is a work of transformative fiction, such being defined as a work which incorporates characters and situations which have been created by other authors/artists. No infringement of copyright is intended and no profit is being made from the creation or dissemination of this work. Harry Potter was created and is owned by J.K. Rowling. It is used with respect and admiration for the work.
***
It was Love. Beyond that, it was True Love. That kind of thing just didn't happen every day. In fairy tales, it just popped out of nowhere at the first meeting and that was that. Instant happily ever after.
Draco couldn't imagine a bigger lie. Lust, now that appeared out of nowhere on the first meeting. True Love, though, that took work. It had to be pounded and molded and stretched to the breaking point and then pounded some more. It needed to be glued back together and patchworked into something bigger and denser and oh so much stronger than it had been. And then it all had to be done again and again and again until it was two collars and a single leash, hooking two people together by the soul until they couldn't imagine not being chained down and held back.
True Love took lifetimes to build. But lifetimes could be as short as a single breath.
It had started with glares and hatred. They had been a Hogwart's standard of measurment before the end of their first year.
"First Hogsmeade weekend of the term! I'm going to have so much butterbeer—"
"How much?"
"More than Potter hates Malfoy, man!"
Like having an all-consuming hatred at the ripe old age of eleven was something to be proud of.
It didn't stay hatred forever, but that makes sense. Forever is a very long time.
***
They never talked about it. It had just happened. They'd never so much as exchanged a civil word, but they had thought. At least, Draco assumed Harry had thought. He knew he had. He'd lain awake nights sometimes and just... thought. Worked out the scenarios, the possibilities, discarded the ones that led places he didn't want to go, twisted what was left until everything was worked out and there was only making it happen left to do.
It would have to be sudden. Sudden and public. If they did anything in secret, it would all be over before it started. Draco knew that if they snuck around, what happened when they were found out would be much, much worse than it would have been otherwise. Harry's friends would be hurt, maybe beyond their own breaking point, and there would be accusations of Draco leading Harry into a trap...
So it had to be public. And sudden so no one had time to stop them. There were too many people that it would threaten, even discounting Weasley and Granger.
And they still never talked.
Time went on, and the unspoken words stayed dammed up inside them. Glares turned into looks, glances so loaded with meaning that pages could be exchanged in a single glance across the crowded Great Hall. Every move, meeting, argument... They didn't plan it, they couldn't plan it, but it was all calculated. Both of them worked things out on their own, and then meshed it with the other's plan so seamlessly that it seemed like... Well, like magic. Their confrontations escalated into violence, into harsh words screamed in loving tones that no one else could hear, to punches landed with brutal caring and tenderness. Split lips and blood and blackened eyes... All done with the precise goal of seeing how much their hatred could stand. They had to push it, and themselves, to the utter limit before they could fall off the edge, before they could fall in love. Hate was something no one could understand, but passion... Passion was another thing altogether. And they gave it to them. In barrels.
And then they stopped. Hogwarts never knew what hit it.
One morning, Draco had been eating breakfast when Harry had entered the Hall, still bearing the bruises of yesterday's arguments. Weasley and Granger waved at him from the Gryffindor table. Harry had paused, then quite deliberately stode over to the Slytherin table.
The entire Hall had fallen silent.
Draco watched him approach and felt the Moment click into place. They hadn't discussed any of it, but the time had come and surely they could discuss it later. Harry had sat down, Draco had kissed his cheek, and that had been that. No fanfare. No fireworks. Just a brand new routine started with the same simplicity that came with everyday things. People had wanted to protest, to drag one or the other away, but hadn't been able to. The shock had been too big to wrap their minds around, so they just shut down and went on as if it were normal.
By the time the shock had worn off, it had been normal.
Draco and Harry fell into each other's routines easily, without talking about it, just like they'd done everything else. They joined up for the few minutes between classes, sat together when they shared classes and even took up evening chess games played in the Library without ever mentioning a meeting time. It was the way things were meant to be, all of a sudden realizing that it wasn't and falling back into place to make it a was.
Ron and Hermione, as they had become to Draco, never had a chance. They'd put up some hearty arguments, but had given up when they'd learned that there was no conspiracy or agenda, that nothing had really changed. It had just been flipped. Even Hermione found it hard to argue against something that existed simply because it did.
They'd been careful for months after that first breakfast. There had been no more kisses, no dark corners in the hallway or whispered secrets. Every moment was something that could be stolen if they weren't carefully aware of the suspicion draped over them, and they guarded those moments like the precious things they were. Eventually the watchers gave up and went away. Then some of the moments became stolen, hidden treasures punctuated by soft lips and warm skin, wonderful counterpart to the shy smiles and casual touching of the cooridors.
Draco's father, when he had found out, had been the most confused of them all. He had used yards of parchment, writing, asking what Draco thought he was doing and the meaning behind it all. Draco had been told that Lucius had nearly passed out with rage when he'd receieved Draco's reply.
I'm living.
Eventually, even he gave in.
They graduated, as most students generally do, and moved in together. As with all things, they had just done it, much to the horror of everyone assuming to offer one or the other of them Malfoy Manor or what was left of Godric's Hollow. Voldemort was dealt with by trained professionals with only symbolic help from Harry, and Draco had stood quietly on the sidelines to watch it all unfold. After, they'd had a quiet celebration with just the two of them.
Now, Draco watches his lover snooze in the late afternoon sunlight. Harry's grown older, with a few gray hairs here and there, and smile lines around his eyes. Draco has the same, but the warm golden sunlight doesn't show the faint streaks in his hair where white-gold meets silver. Their hands are entwined on Harry's hip, cladaughs clinking together. He can see Harry's heart beating, right through his chest. It's easy to see, since Draco's using Harry's other arm as a pillow. The beat is soothing and steady, and Draco can feel his own matching it. And Harry dreams. He dreams of blue skys and Draco and vague flashes of parents he barely remembers. And Draco knows, because he always knows. Because what they have is Love that they've hammered and pounded and stretched with hate, then patched with bits of themselves, until they'd used all they had and it was True. Because True Love doesn't need words anymore than True Hate does; they only get in the way of things that are going to happen anyway.
Draco and Harry always made a point not to speak about important things, because they had never spoken, and words would only get in the way.
Owarimasu
no subject
Date: 2004-06-04 05:15 am (UTC)