Writing - Fic - Harry Potter 'Verse
That icon? Totally describes this (by 'this' I mean the fact that I actually wrote something after resolving to do just that the other night).
There is fic! And it is...slash? Oh Lord.
Title: Entwined
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Time-frame / Spoilers: After Deathly Hallows, way after Hogwarts.
Wordcount: 1'509
Rating: PG-13 (for suggestiveness, minus any actual sexual intimacy)
Description: A rare moment of closeness depicts the impossible distance of a chasm. Dark-fluff fic.
Disclaimers: All the characters depicted herein are the intellectual property of someone else. There is no money being made off this. The events are simply the delusions of a hopeful fangirl and in no way represent any canon reality. This is m/m slash fic. Don't like, don't read. Easy, right?
"Where does she think you are?" His head was resting in the nook between his chest and shoulder.
"At the Ministry, working." The sensation of a hand playing with the curls of hair on his stomach was sending little bolts of lightning through his spine.
"Does she really?" Stopping, the hand rested down, light and slender. The question stopped his immediate answer as it sank in. A bit of the old school-boy drawl tinted the words with sardonic disbelief.
"Probably not." Sighing, Harry turned his head and pressed a kiss to the other man's light blond hair. Silver had streaked it at the temples, but it was almost unnoticeable in the platinum strands. "What about yours?"
Draco shifted against him, the hand on his stomach trailing down to the thicker locks of hair on his abdomen. Harry lifted his own hand to place it gently over those wandering fingers. Draco stilled his hand and looked up with a slightly petulant pout. Unable to keep himself from smiling, Harry did just that before kissing those teasing lips. "Well, you asked first. Only fair you answer as well."
"Oh, all right. She probably thinks that I'm banging Pansy. Or some other chit." Stretching his fingers out, he entwined them with Harry's, the motion feeling so natural and oddly tender. They were rarely like this afterwards. Usually, they would share a gaze, then one of them would get off the bed and head to the shower, or don a robe and go out on the patio for a smoke, or otherwise let the 'afterglow' die in some emotionless manner.
This was a very rare occurrence. Harry wondered about it as he rubbed his thumb over Draco's protruding knuckles. He was still so thin. Fit, certainly, but thin. Almost gaunt, as if something was eating him up from the inside.
"Does she, really?" He breathed the word softly into Draco's hair as the other man rested his head back down. There was no sarcasm in the question. Just soft curiosity. So unlike the question he had been asked, even though the words were exactly the same. He felt Draco shrug against him, squeeze his hand. Long lashes flicked against his chest, then swept down as he closed his eyes.
"I don't care anymore." Softly, the words broke a pensive silence. Harry felt the huff of breath against his skin as Draco sighed. He did not answer, somehow sensing that there would be more. "I know...I know I must learn to care. Again. For my son's sake. For the sake of your sons and daughter. For the sake of everything."
It wasn't a flood of words, but it was the most that he had heard Draco speak of what they were now calling The Situation. It wasn't a relationships. It wasn't a partnership. It was just a...Situation. Something to ponder about and figure out and work through. Like a case file at the Auror's Office. Something impersonal, something without emotion attached to it.
The Situation had started shortly after Draco had started working at the Ministry. Despite the affiliation with Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters, the Malfoys had proved themselves and Draco was allowed to continue the Malfoy legacy on the school board and in other stations. Harry remembered the shock of that revelation and seeing Draco smirking at him when he was informed. Lucious, of course, had retired 'honourably' after everything, withdrawing to Malfoy Manor and a quiet life of pulling strings from the background. Never would the Malfoys give up their scheming and meddling.
Ambition was a key characteristic of Slytherins.
"Nothing to say, then?" There was a bit of hurt in the drawl. It had taken Harry years to read the bricked-off emotions in the cadence and tone of Draco's voice.
"Too much, I think," he replied softly and closed his eyes, hiding the draped canopy behind heavy eyelids. "You've called me selfish before. I think you'd be right in doing so just now, for where my thoughts are going."
The bed shifted as Draco lifted himself off, propping himself on an elbow. "What do you mean?"
Their fingers remained entwined on Harry's abdomen. He felt a soft catch in his chest, long denied emotion bubbling out of the fracture that honesty and closeness chiselled into the walls around his heart. "Nothing. Nothing, Draco." The fracture, even though there, was too small, too shallow to allow for anything.
Not that night. Not any night.
A gentle squeeze of his hand made him feel like the world was opened up beneath him, adrenaline building a vertigo not unlike when he performed the Wronsky Feint. "Please."
Draco never begged, for anything. He was too proud, too stubborn, too scared. Harry knew that. The small word, spoken with such vulnerability, such trust on it made him open his eyes. Draco was looking at him, brow furrowed ever so slightly to create a crease between light eyebrows. His eyes, usually mirror reflections which would never allow emotion through looked oddly open. As if there was depth in their grey pools that had previously looked like shallow puddles.
"God, Draco, don't do this. Please, don't. We talked about it, agreed about this...it's nothing. This," Harry lifted their joined hands, but could not allow himself to let go, "is nothing." It hurt to say the words. It always hurt to say the words, and he had built up enough shields, enough internal protection to say it more and more easily each time. Like a wound that had been opened, left to scar over, opened again, scarred over, opened - it was so tough and numb, so damaged that no sensation could get through.
Except for rare nights when he could almost pretend to believe that Draco did feel something, after all.
The furrowed brows drew further together, thin lips compressing. Draco's nostrils flared ever so slightly, which they tended to do when he was frustrated and yet stubbornly unyielding. Harry knew the expression, had become somewhat fond of it. It meant a sparring session of words, intellect, and sometimes even wands.
But their hands still remained joined, and Draco's lips relaxed, brow smoothed. He cast his eyes down, then looked up again for a moment and Harry felt a part of himself break with what he saw.
"Sweetheart," he couldn't help himself, feeling the urge to jump up, get his wand, recite every blood-staunching, bandaging, healing spell he could think of. Lifting his free hand, he cupped Draco's cheek and brushed his thumb over a fine, raised cheekbone. "Please..." It was his turn to utter the word, knowing how helpless he sounded. There was no bandaging the damage he had seen. "Please. You know we can't, you know we mustn't. Think about them..."
Draco shook his head against Harry's hand and closed his eyes tightly, looking as if he was fighting to breathe. "I do. Every time. And I'm still here, I still come. Like some...some dog. Called, beckoned, trained so God damned well." There was anger in his voice, a low-burning rage, coddled and held dear for so long that it was a part of his being. But there was also resignation. The knowledge that being angry didn't help, had never helped. And neither would being sad or happy or anything else. "I'm still here, Potter, and I hate it. Every single time, I hate it."
The words struck Harry like no hex ever had. He was stunned, unable to remember how to breathe.
"I hate it," Draco whispered, without anger now as he looked back up. Silver and emerald locked, entwined, unable to let each other go. "I hate it...and I need it. So desperately. I think about it, and I dream about it. How do you think I feel when you go on a raid? How do you think I feel when there's no word for days? And they don't deserve this. Neither of them - not yours, not mine. And it kills me, every time, but I can't stop myself. This," it was his turn to raise their still-clasped hands, giving Harry's fingers a squeeze, "is everything."
It was Harry who looked away first, gazing down at their hands. His other hand had fallen to rest beside his head on the pillow. He felt Draco's fingers stroke over it, the contact of skin warm and comforting, despite the conversation.
"I know," he replied softly after what felt like a few minutes, even though he knew less time had passed. "I know. It is for me, too."
An exhalation of breath, sounding as if it had been needed for a long time. Draco rested himself back down again, touching his cheek to Harry's, then turning his head and pressing a kiss to it. "So what do we do?" There was no hope, no solution. The question sounded entirely rhetorical. There really was no answer needed to it. They were no closer to an answer now than they had been sixteen years ago. But the same answer had always been offered.
"I don't know."
There is fic! And it is...slash? Oh Lord.
Title: Entwined
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Time-frame / Spoilers: After Deathly Hallows, way after Hogwarts.
Wordcount: 1'509
Rating: PG-13 (for suggestiveness, minus any actual sexual intimacy)
Description: A rare moment of closeness depicts the impossible distance of a chasm. Dark-fluff fic.
Disclaimers: All the characters depicted herein are the intellectual property of someone else. There is no money being made off this. The events are simply the delusions of a hopeful fangirl and in no way represent any canon reality. This is m/m slash fic. Don't like, don't read. Easy, right?
"Where does she think you are?" His head was resting in the nook between his chest and shoulder.
"At the Ministry, working." The sensation of a hand playing with the curls of hair on his stomach was sending little bolts of lightning through his spine.
"Does she really?" Stopping, the hand rested down, light and slender. The question stopped his immediate answer as it sank in. A bit of the old school-boy drawl tinted the words with sardonic disbelief.
"Probably not." Sighing, Harry turned his head and pressed a kiss to the other man's light blond hair. Silver had streaked it at the temples, but it was almost unnoticeable in the platinum strands. "What about yours?"
Draco shifted against him, the hand on his stomach trailing down to the thicker locks of hair on his abdomen. Harry lifted his own hand to place it gently over those wandering fingers. Draco stilled his hand and looked up with a slightly petulant pout. Unable to keep himself from smiling, Harry did just that before kissing those teasing lips. "Well, you asked first. Only fair you answer as well."
"Oh, all right. She probably thinks that I'm banging Pansy. Or some other chit." Stretching his fingers out, he entwined them with Harry's, the motion feeling so natural and oddly tender. They were rarely like this afterwards. Usually, they would share a gaze, then one of them would get off the bed and head to the shower, or don a robe and go out on the patio for a smoke, or otherwise let the 'afterglow' die in some emotionless manner.
This was a very rare occurrence. Harry wondered about it as he rubbed his thumb over Draco's protruding knuckles. He was still so thin. Fit, certainly, but thin. Almost gaunt, as if something was eating him up from the inside.
"Does she, really?" He breathed the word softly into Draco's hair as the other man rested his head back down. There was no sarcasm in the question. Just soft curiosity. So unlike the question he had been asked, even though the words were exactly the same. He felt Draco shrug against him, squeeze his hand. Long lashes flicked against his chest, then swept down as he closed his eyes.
"I don't care anymore." Softly, the words broke a pensive silence. Harry felt the huff of breath against his skin as Draco sighed. He did not answer, somehow sensing that there would be more. "I know...I know I must learn to care. Again. For my son's sake. For the sake of your sons and daughter. For the sake of everything."
It wasn't a flood of words, but it was the most that he had heard Draco speak of what they were now calling The Situation. It wasn't a relationships. It wasn't a partnership. It was just a...Situation. Something to ponder about and figure out and work through. Like a case file at the Auror's Office. Something impersonal, something without emotion attached to it.
The Situation had started shortly after Draco had started working at the Ministry. Despite the affiliation with Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters, the Malfoys had proved themselves and Draco was allowed to continue the Malfoy legacy on the school board and in other stations. Harry remembered the shock of that revelation and seeing Draco smirking at him when he was informed. Lucious, of course, had retired 'honourably' after everything, withdrawing to Malfoy Manor and a quiet life of pulling strings from the background. Never would the Malfoys give up their scheming and meddling.
Ambition was a key characteristic of Slytherins.
"Nothing to say, then?" There was a bit of hurt in the drawl. It had taken Harry years to read the bricked-off emotions in the cadence and tone of Draco's voice.
"Too much, I think," he replied softly and closed his eyes, hiding the draped canopy behind heavy eyelids. "You've called me selfish before. I think you'd be right in doing so just now, for where my thoughts are going."
The bed shifted as Draco lifted himself off, propping himself on an elbow. "What do you mean?"
Their fingers remained entwined on Harry's abdomen. He felt a soft catch in his chest, long denied emotion bubbling out of the fracture that honesty and closeness chiselled into the walls around his heart. "Nothing. Nothing, Draco." The fracture, even though there, was too small, too shallow to allow for anything.
Not that night. Not any night.
A gentle squeeze of his hand made him feel like the world was opened up beneath him, adrenaline building a vertigo not unlike when he performed the Wronsky Feint. "Please."
Draco never begged, for anything. He was too proud, too stubborn, too scared. Harry knew that. The small word, spoken with such vulnerability, such trust on it made him open his eyes. Draco was looking at him, brow furrowed ever so slightly to create a crease between light eyebrows. His eyes, usually mirror reflections which would never allow emotion through looked oddly open. As if there was depth in their grey pools that had previously looked like shallow puddles.
"God, Draco, don't do this. Please, don't. We talked about it, agreed about this...it's nothing. This," Harry lifted their joined hands, but could not allow himself to let go, "is nothing." It hurt to say the words. It always hurt to say the words, and he had built up enough shields, enough internal protection to say it more and more easily each time. Like a wound that had been opened, left to scar over, opened again, scarred over, opened - it was so tough and numb, so damaged that no sensation could get through.
Except for rare nights when he could almost pretend to believe that Draco did feel something, after all.
The furrowed brows drew further together, thin lips compressing. Draco's nostrils flared ever so slightly, which they tended to do when he was frustrated and yet stubbornly unyielding. Harry knew the expression, had become somewhat fond of it. It meant a sparring session of words, intellect, and sometimes even wands.
But their hands still remained joined, and Draco's lips relaxed, brow smoothed. He cast his eyes down, then looked up again for a moment and Harry felt a part of himself break with what he saw.
"Sweetheart," he couldn't help himself, feeling the urge to jump up, get his wand, recite every blood-staunching, bandaging, healing spell he could think of. Lifting his free hand, he cupped Draco's cheek and brushed his thumb over a fine, raised cheekbone. "Please..." It was his turn to utter the word, knowing how helpless he sounded. There was no bandaging the damage he had seen. "Please. You know we can't, you know we mustn't. Think about them..."
Draco shook his head against Harry's hand and closed his eyes tightly, looking as if he was fighting to breathe. "I do. Every time. And I'm still here, I still come. Like some...some dog. Called, beckoned, trained so God damned well." There was anger in his voice, a low-burning rage, coddled and held dear for so long that it was a part of his being. But there was also resignation. The knowledge that being angry didn't help, had never helped. And neither would being sad or happy or anything else. "I'm still here, Potter, and I hate it. Every single time, I hate it."
The words struck Harry like no hex ever had. He was stunned, unable to remember how to breathe.
"I hate it," Draco whispered, without anger now as he looked back up. Silver and emerald locked, entwined, unable to let each other go. "I hate it...and I need it. So desperately. I think about it, and I dream about it. How do you think I feel when you go on a raid? How do you think I feel when there's no word for days? And they don't deserve this. Neither of them - not yours, not mine. And it kills me, every time, but I can't stop myself. This," it was his turn to raise their still-clasped hands, giving Harry's fingers a squeeze, "is everything."
It was Harry who looked away first, gazing down at their hands. His other hand had fallen to rest beside his head on the pillow. He felt Draco's fingers stroke over it, the contact of skin warm and comforting, despite the conversation.
"I know," he replied softly after what felt like a few minutes, even though he knew less time had passed. "I know. It is for me, too."
An exhalation of breath, sounding as if it had been needed for a long time. Draco rested himself back down again, touching his cheek to Harry's, then turning his head and pressing a kiss to it. "So what do we do?" There was no hope, no solution. The question sounded entirely rhetorical. There really was no answer needed to it. They were no closer to an answer now than they had been sixteen years ago. But the same answer had always been offered.
"I don't know."