FIC, Flash, D/H, R
Title: Flash
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: Soft R
Summary: Even when he was dying, Harry was beautiful. Draco/Harry.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
--Robert Frost, “Nothing Gold Can Stay”
Even when he was dying, Harry was beautiful.
His hair was as black and unmanageable as ever, and with his skin so pale and his angry pink scar and all that thick-syrupy blood hot on his lips and teeth and chin-welling up over his abdomen (his worn white shirt was absolutely wrecked: slashed and wet-sticky red)-he was a study in contrasts, in extremes.
In that instant, Harry looked like something from a painting: like something that wasn’t and couldn’t ever be real, and that seemed wrong to Draco-that seemed so grossly inappropriate when Harry, dying, was the most real and terrifying and ugly thing that Draco had ever seen, had ever experienced.
Twitching on the ground-sliced-up incurably-with his green eyes glazed and rolling, Harry’s kind of beauty was the most pointless, and the most devastating. Draco felt as if his heart was being ripped directly from his chest.
What good was it, being a Wizard, when the person most important to you was going through this, and the only thing you could do was kneel down beside him and wait for it to end?
How could you stand it, being suddenly as helpless as any Muggle, as any squib, as any powerless thing you’ve ever hated, because Voldemort didn’t have the dignity to die before casting one last curse?
Draco didn’t know. Draco couldn’t think about it, even, because Harry, Harry was dying; his Harry was dying.
He wasn’t even eighteen yet. He hadn’t lived long enough-he hadn’t lived near long enough, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t-
Of all the people in the world, Harry deserved this the least. But that had never mattered to anyone before, and it didn’t matter now. Not to anyone important, anyway.
But to Draco, it did. It meant more than anything.
“Is he-” started Harry, and he gurgled when he talked.
“Yes,” said Draco, voice strained and mangled like an improperly-tuned violin. “He’s dead, now. You did it.”
“I didn’t mean for this-” said Harry, and coughed, and coughed, and Draco held him up against his chest so he wouldn’t choke.
“I didn’t-” said Harry.
“Quiet, don’t talk,” said Draco. He blinked, hard. His hand shook where he touched it to Harry’s face.
“I’m sorry,” said Harry.
He already looked distant. It wouldn’t be much longer, now.
“You just saved the whole fucking world,” said Draco. His throat was in a knot and he was blinking fast, but he didn’t want it to show. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“You know what I mean,” said Harry.
“Yes,” said Draco. A tear leaked out onto his cheek, but he scratched it away. “I know. I know.”
“Good,” said Harry. He was looking up, up, at the sky.
“Harry, I-” said Draco. His voiced cracked, and he swallowed. “I love you,” he said.
Silence.
“Harry?” he asked. “Harry?”
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: Soft R
Summary: Even when he was dying, Harry was beautiful. Draco/Harry.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
--Robert Frost, “Nothing Gold Can Stay”
Even when he was dying, Harry was beautiful.
His hair was as black and unmanageable as ever, and with his skin so pale and his angry pink scar and all that thick-syrupy blood hot on his lips and teeth and chin-welling up over his abdomen (his worn white shirt was absolutely wrecked: slashed and wet-sticky red)-he was a study in contrasts, in extremes.
In that instant, Harry looked like something from a painting: like something that wasn’t and couldn’t ever be real, and that seemed wrong to Draco-that seemed so grossly inappropriate when Harry, dying, was the most real and terrifying and ugly thing that Draco had ever seen, had ever experienced.
Twitching on the ground-sliced-up incurably-with his green eyes glazed and rolling, Harry’s kind of beauty was the most pointless, and the most devastating. Draco felt as if his heart was being ripped directly from his chest.
What good was it, being a Wizard, when the person most important to you was going through this, and the only thing you could do was kneel down beside him and wait for it to end?
How could you stand it, being suddenly as helpless as any Muggle, as any squib, as any powerless thing you’ve ever hated, because Voldemort didn’t have the dignity to die before casting one last curse?
Draco didn’t know. Draco couldn’t think about it, even, because Harry, Harry was dying; his Harry was dying.
He wasn’t even eighteen yet. He hadn’t lived long enough-he hadn’t lived near long enough, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t-
Of all the people in the world, Harry deserved this the least. But that had never mattered to anyone before, and it didn’t matter now. Not to anyone important, anyway.
But to Draco, it did. It meant more than anything.
“Is he-” started Harry, and he gurgled when he talked.
“Yes,” said Draco, voice strained and mangled like an improperly-tuned violin. “He’s dead, now. You did it.”
“I didn’t mean for this-” said Harry, and coughed, and coughed, and Draco held him up against his chest so he wouldn’t choke.
“I didn’t-” said Harry.
“Quiet, don’t talk,” said Draco. He blinked, hard. His hand shook where he touched it to Harry’s face.
“I’m sorry,” said Harry.
He already looked distant. It wouldn’t be much longer, now.
“You just saved the whole fucking world,” said Draco. His throat was in a knot and he was blinking fast, but he didn’t want it to show. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“You know what I mean,” said Harry.
“Yes,” said Draco. A tear leaked out onto his cheek, but he scratched it away. “I know. I know.”
“Good,” said Harry. He was looking up, up, at the sky.
“Harry, I-” said Draco. His voiced cracked, and he swallowed. “I love you,” he said.
Silence.
“Harry?” he asked. “Harry?”