HP - Saved
Title: Saved
Rating: all ages
Characters: Draco
Genre: general
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1070
Summary: A short songfic from Draco's point of view. Inspired by Commander by Girlyman.
Saved
He sat in the darkness alone, his exhausted mind buzzing with half-formed thoughts. He wasn’t sure what he was doing or how he had come to be sitting in the common room this early with only the faint glow form the embers in the fireplace to light the room around him. It could only be maybe five in the morning. Possibly earlier. He was sure that he must have been having nightmares again; the dull ache in his bones and the itching in his eyes told him that he’d been asleep, or very near to it. Raising a hand that felt like it was weighted with lead, he touched his cheek softly and was surprised to find that it was damp. So he had been crying, had he? It wasn’t surprising.
He sat for a while more, not really thinking about anything, just staring into space. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there until he heard soft music coming from the other room up the stairs. So she’s awake... he thought detachedly. So it must be, what, six then? He thought to himself. He really should get up and try taking a shower or something to wake himself up, but his body wasn’t listening to the half-hearted attempts his mind was making at ordering him up the stairs. So he just sat in the near-dark a while longer. The faint music came drifting down to him as he listened to the rain that had been falling for days. It was impossible to tell if the sun was rising; the rain had been falling hard and cold for a week, and it wasn’t going to let up anytime soon. It suited his mood perfectly.
As he watched the dark clouds in the sky, his mind wandered back to his conversation the night before. She had asked about his past, about his childhood. He had told her a part of it, but not everything. There were some things he was still trying not to think about. He remembered everything he told her as the soft music drifted down the stairs and reached his ears.
Was it all there before you in a dream
Was it something that only you could see
Was it gold, or even better
Was it weapons-grade metal
Or a glimpse of your god?
Was it whispered right into the bones of your ears
Did you hear what you wanted to hear
Did they take you and make you believe it was clear
When they made you commander and you couldn't be it?
Then she had asked why he had changed, asked what had happened. And he told her. He told her nearly everything he could. He talked about his parents and about his friends; he told her what he wanted for his life, what everyone else wanted for him. He told her the things he wanted to do before he died, the things he never wanted to do ever or again. More and more the music reached him, softly and subtly easing the memories that plagued him so gently.
Were they all there before you just waiting in line
To include you in their crudest design?
You were bad fruit, they knew you wouldn't ripen on the vine
And they made you commander when you couldn't be it
You couldn't be it
As for Jesus, you never felt much, but you prayed
Cause you needed to believe that you could be saved
He remembered telling her how he had always felt like a pawn, never able to make his own plays; his every move had been orchestrated for him. He had played along with the game for so long that he nearly believed it. But something in him knew better. He had told her that as she sat beside him, quietly letting him lay his feelings down bare for her to see. She had just sat there, listening and prodding him, encouraging him, never saying more than a few words, a simple question. He had meant only to tell her a tiny bit, but he found that he could not do so without spilling everything. He had thought that she would judge him with harsh words, but she remained quiet and still, sitting with him even when he wanted to rage and scream.
Now in private you don't cry but you have doubts
It's just better if you never let them out
Was it all there before you in a dream
Was it something that only you could see?
Cause it's right there before you when you close your eyes
You would kill it with a pill but it would still rise
It's the pain of a great love you cannot deny
And you may be commander but you don't believe it
You don't believe it
You don't believe it
You don't believe it
He sat still, staring out the window, letting the sound of the rain outside wash away his thoughts and his emotions, at least for the moment. He gazed at the black clouds and heard the wind dashing the raindrops against the window, but he paid no heed to it. He felt like the rain and the wind and the clouds were a mirror; while he sat here, his face carefully blank and void of expression, inside his mind, his thoughts whirled and spun out of control before settling into a steady rhythm, and then lashing out again. The music had ceased and he heard a door open as though from far away. Slowly he tore his gaze from the window and looked up to see her standing in the doorway looking at him in concern. He smiled slightly and stood. She descended the stairs slowly and came to stand by him. He could see the question in her eyes, the question she did not want to ask. Are you alright? He smiled at her again and drew her into a hug. He knew she had seen the gratitude in his eyes and he knew she was pleased that she had helped him. He drew back and looked at her again. She was smiling hesitantly at him, but he could see the relief in her face that he was no longer drained and upset as he had been the night before. He knew of no words to thank her, so he said the only thing that he could think of.
“Good morning, Hermione.”
Rating: all ages
Characters: Draco
Genre: general
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1070
Summary: A short songfic from Draco's point of view. Inspired by Commander by Girlyman.
Saved
He sat in the darkness alone, his exhausted mind buzzing with half-formed thoughts. He wasn’t sure what he was doing or how he had come to be sitting in the common room this early with only the faint glow form the embers in the fireplace to light the room around him. It could only be maybe five in the morning. Possibly earlier. He was sure that he must have been having nightmares again; the dull ache in his bones and the itching in his eyes told him that he’d been asleep, or very near to it. Raising a hand that felt like it was weighted with lead, he touched his cheek softly and was surprised to find that it was damp. So he had been crying, had he? It wasn’t surprising.
He sat for a while more, not really thinking about anything, just staring into space. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there until he heard soft music coming from the other room up the stairs. So she’s awake... he thought detachedly. So it must be, what, six then? He thought to himself. He really should get up and try taking a shower or something to wake himself up, but his body wasn’t listening to the half-hearted attempts his mind was making at ordering him up the stairs. So he just sat in the near-dark a while longer. The faint music came drifting down to him as he listened to the rain that had been falling for days. It was impossible to tell if the sun was rising; the rain had been falling hard and cold for a week, and it wasn’t going to let up anytime soon. It suited his mood perfectly.
As he watched the dark clouds in the sky, his mind wandered back to his conversation the night before. She had asked about his past, about his childhood. He had told her a part of it, but not everything. There were some things he was still trying not to think about. He remembered everything he told her as the soft music drifted down the stairs and reached his ears.
Was it all there before you in a dream
Was it something that only you could see
Was it gold, or even better
Was it weapons-grade metal
Or a glimpse of your god?
Was it whispered right into the bones of your ears
Did you hear what you wanted to hear
Did they take you and make you believe it was clear
When they made you commander and you couldn't be it?
Then she had asked why he had changed, asked what had happened. And he told her. He told her nearly everything he could. He talked about his parents and about his friends; he told her what he wanted for his life, what everyone else wanted for him. He told her the things he wanted to do before he died, the things he never wanted to do ever or again. More and more the music reached him, softly and subtly easing the memories that plagued him so gently.
Were they all there before you just waiting in line
To include you in their crudest design?
You were bad fruit, they knew you wouldn't ripen on the vine
And they made you commander when you couldn't be it
You couldn't be it
As for Jesus, you never felt much, but you prayed
Cause you needed to believe that you could be saved
He remembered telling her how he had always felt like a pawn, never able to make his own plays; his every move had been orchestrated for him. He had played along with the game for so long that he nearly believed it. But something in him knew better. He had told her that as she sat beside him, quietly letting him lay his feelings down bare for her to see. She had just sat there, listening and prodding him, encouraging him, never saying more than a few words, a simple question. He had meant only to tell her a tiny bit, but he found that he could not do so without spilling everything. He had thought that she would judge him with harsh words, but she remained quiet and still, sitting with him even when he wanted to rage and scream.
Now in private you don't cry but you have doubts
It's just better if you never let them out
Was it all there before you in a dream
Was it something that only you could see?
Cause it's right there before you when you close your eyes
You would kill it with a pill but it would still rise
It's the pain of a great love you cannot deny
And you may be commander but you don't believe it
You don't believe it
You don't believe it
You don't believe it
He sat still, staring out the window, letting the sound of the rain outside wash away his thoughts and his emotions, at least for the moment. He gazed at the black clouds and heard the wind dashing the raindrops against the window, but he paid no heed to it. He felt like the rain and the wind and the clouds were a mirror; while he sat here, his face carefully blank and void of expression, inside his mind, his thoughts whirled and spun out of control before settling into a steady rhythm, and then lashing out again. The music had ceased and he heard a door open as though from far away. Slowly he tore his gaze from the window and looked up to see her standing in the doorway looking at him in concern. He smiled slightly and stood. She descended the stairs slowly and came to stand by him. He could see the question in her eyes, the question she did not want to ask. Are you alright? He smiled at her again and drew her into a hug. He knew she had seen the gratitude in his eyes and he knew she was pleased that she had helped him. He drew back and looked at her again. She was smiling hesitantly at him, but he could see the relief in her face that he was no longer drained and upset as he had been the night before. He knew of no words to thank her, so he said the only thing that he could think of.
“Good morning, Hermione.”