Five Conversations That Should Never Have Been ; HP/DM
Title: Five Conversations That Should Never Have Been
Author: thevignette (myself)
Summary: Sometimes all it takes are five conversations to change the course of your life. Harry/Draco.
Warnings: Slash, don't like don't read.
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Note: This is dedicated to dahhlingg who makes the funniest noises, has the most hilarious laughter and shares my ardent love for slash. For you, darling.
Five Conversations That Should Never Have Been
one. the beginning
The sunset is red, orange and pink, painted across a sapphire sky and you turn your face up into the warmth. Spread your fingers apart. Try to touch the burn welded into the blue dome. Squint. Block out the light. Blink.
The grass smells like rain, new beginnings and life. They haven’t been cut for a long time and are so long they tickle your face when you recline backwards. The Burrow is bustling with energy, laughter, but somehow, however much you know the Weasleys accept you, it’s not the same. They’ll never be yours, entirely. Not the way a family is.
A shadow falls, distorted over your face and you are blinded by the sudden change of lighting. Malfoy’s silver hair glints in the light and the sun haloes his silhouette so the edges of his body look golden and everything is dark and smudged.
“Potter.”
“Go away.”
Malfoy throws himself down onto the grass next to you, much to your irritation.
“Are you deaf as well as a git?” You say crossly. You like your alone time and now Malfoy is ruining it.
“I’m not disturbing you,” Malfoy says coolly. “Just do whatever it is you do and pretend I don’t exist.”
You stare incredulously at him. “You can stay if you shut up,” you say condescendingly.
He doesn’t answer and you don’t ask for once. You sit; stare as the sun creeps down and disappears into the horizon, dying the sky navy.
When Mrs Weasley hollers that dinner is ready, neither of you move, you glance sideways at Malfoy, at the Horcrux he’s wearing around his neck- the locket- and see him looking back, painful silver eyes.
When you get up, brush the grass off your trousers, he stays on the floor, arms wrapped around his legs. You don’t tell him it’s time to head in, it’ll start to get cold out soon. You don’t tell him the Horcrux is not the only reason you’re not killing him. You don’t tell him anything.
two. the reckoning
The Horcrux won’t come off, no matter what you try. Malfoy’s neck is red and swollen from all the fiddling you and Hermione have done. Various spells and hexes don’t do the trick, neither does tugging at it so hard Malfoy screams bloody murder, you realise.
“Fuck you, Potter,” Malfoy snaps angrily, rubbing at his neck.
You shrug noncommittally. You won’t pretend to be sorry. You are not.
“Tell me,” Malfoy says scathingly, leaning forward so hot breath fans across your face. “Do you care about anything else besides getting this necklace off me?”
You look into his eyes, meet his angry gaze. You want to say, I care, I care about everything. I care about Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, I care about my friends, I care about Sirius, Dumbledore, my parents, and you want to scream it at him. You want to, but you don’t. “I don’t need to explain myself to anyone,” you turn away; stare out of the open window. “Least of all to you.”
Even without looking you know he’s sneering.
Outside the window, the sky is oddly clear of clouds. Maybe it’s an omen. You hear Malfoy settle onto his bed, making a lot of noise, probably in an attempt to disturb you. You wish Hermione was here and not downstairs helping with lunch. It’s awkward. It has always been awkward.
“Potter,” Malfoy’s voice is startlingly soft. “I need to see my mother.”
You turn around slowly and see that for once Malfoy’s eyes are clear and open, and honest. “What?” You say as though you haven’t heard.
“My mother, Potter,” Malfoy says hotly.
“What good will it do?” Your voice is distant, and you wince inwardly at how you sound. “Why should I let you?”
“She’s my mother, Potter, I love her,” Malfoy says, his voice surprisingly even. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” The spite is missing from that comment, and Malfoy only sounds tired and resigned.
three. the awakening
A flurry of motion, the scrape of chair against ground, and Malfoy’s hands are at your collar, breathing hot, fast on your mouth.
He stares, just looks for a moment and then mouths crash, and there’s tongue and saliva. You don’t know what to do, just stand there and let your nemesis kiss the living breath out of you.
A second and then two, and you react, violent and angry. You shove and push until he’s off you. You’re both standing, across from each other, panting and flushed. Your hands shake when they rake through your hair and you try to ignore how your mouth is burning.
“What the hell was that for?” You finally hiss.
He lowers his gaze, and then lifts his chin nonchalantly. “I don’t have to explain myself to anyone,” he parrots. His gaze softens without warning and he leans back against the table. “I don’t have anyone else,” he says.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You ask through gritted teeth. It’s not an answer. It’s not.
“It’s always been just you,” Malfoy’s voice cracks with uncertainty. “There has never been anyone else.”
You don’t understand, and probably never will but Malfoy is stepping closer now and his hands are on your wrists, his eyes on your face and he’s not smirking or sneering or anything like that. He’s just there, in front of you, and before he leans in to kiss you, he tells you that there never will be anyone else but you.
In the night, Malfoy tangles himself into you, knotting in a way that you can never undo, and on Mrs Weasley’s kitchen table, with the moonlight streaming in from a window, you bend over, tongue snaking into the shell of his ear and tell him that he’s yours, it’s all he’ll ever be and when he says yes, oh God, yes, Potter, your world implodes, shaping the alphabets of his name into the hailstorm in your head.
There’s blood on bruised lips and Malfoy licks it away, a single stripe that paints a rainbow across your mind’s eye, his grey eyes dark with storm and when he reaches for you, it’s all you’ll ever want.
four. the discovery
In hindsight, you should have run away. Ran as fast as you could when you realise Malfoy is calling you by your first name.
Just like everything else, it becomes routine, a habit, and Malfoy is one now. He curls next to you at night, and you’re too used to the rhythm of his heart against yours. He sits opposite you during meals, passes you the salt when you ask for it, and he sits with you to watch the sunset in silence.
“Harry,” Malfoy says, peering at him closely. “What do you reckon? Do you think Snape’s with my mother? You think he’ll keep her alright?”
“I don’t know,” you say.
“Well, you don’t know anything,” Malfoy snorts. “I expect one day Weasel will know more than you.”
“Don’t call him that,” you say halfheartedly. Everything is different now. You can sense it. You don’t know if it’s for the better or the worse.
“Fine,” Malfoy says, without a fight. “Weasley then. Honestly, Harry, just pull yourself together, you’re supposed to save us all.” He smiles when he says the last bit. “Be the hero,” he adds, bends over to kiss you absently on the cheek before going back to his toast, lathering it with syrup.
“You know what they say about you,” Malfoy continues. You stare at the golden syrup as it slides off the toast onto his fingers. Malfoy makes an irritated noise then sets the bread down, licking the sticky concoction off his fingers carefully. “The Boy-Who-Lived-To-Save-The-World, the Chosen One, the Destined Saviour, you have a lot to live up to. You are Harry Potter,” Malfoy says dramatically, biting into the toast.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” you argue. “I want to be me, without any additional labels.”
“We all have our labels, Harry,” he shoots you a look. “You’re too thick to figure it out.” He smiles anyway and when he kisses you again, he tastes like toast, and syrup and something else like hope.
five. the other beginning
“You won,” Malfoy tells you, grinning so wide you’d think his face would split. “I’ve always known you would.”
“Really,” you smile, disbelieving.
He nods sagely, and continues in a grim voice. “Ever since the day I saw you ride a broom,” he says in a low voice, as though confessing a secret. “I knew you’d defeat Voldemort.”
“Oh come on,” you laugh. “Stop it.”
He breaks into a big smile, clasps your head between hands and plants a sloppy kiss on your forehead, trying not to crush your bruised ribs. “You were such a hero,” he whispers. “I watched you. I watched you the whole time, I couldn’t bring myself to look away.”
“I know,” you say.
“You think it’ll be a better life?” he asks.
“I know it will be,” you tell him and he smiles back at you.
You are drawn to him like a bloom to the burgeoning strength of his smile. He touches your face, tells you he loves you.
Finis
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