the power of goodbye

the power of goodbye

a H/D slash!fic by Abaddon.

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Oh, you could come home,

And you would know that

All you want is right here in this room – all you want

And all you need is sitting here with you.

~All you want, Dido

If you gave me just a coin for every time we said goodbye

Well, I’d be rich beyond my dreams – I’m sorry for my weary life

~I’m no angel, Dido.

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I leant against the bar, nursing my vodka and orange and avoiding the glares of the barkeep.  It was, after all, the only drink I’d had all night, and I think that I’d moved beyond ‘paying customer’ into ‘bastard nuisance.’

If I didn’t do something soon, he was liable to signal the bouncers, and I would be out on my feet.  Amazing really, when you think about it.  Me getting kicked out of a club.  But I guess that was why I’d gone to the Muggle end of town; the thrill of losing myselfamongst the crowd, of being one with them, and being treated no different.

I wasn’t exactly doing the ‘oneness’ thing tonight though; it didn’t just feel right.  Or maybe I liked being all Mr Dark-and-Broody Billowing-Coat-of-Pain too much for my own good.

The crowd throbbed around me; quite a lot of people my own age, that is, late twenties, but most were younger, sometimes by a good five years or so.

I grimaced into my drink and felt old.  They all seemed to be having fun, with their technicolour bright curve-hugging clothing and designer drug smiles, the incessant beat of the music driving them to further depths (heights?) of ecstasy and catatonia.  Big yip.

It all seemed so petty, really.

I had seen darkness and death and despair, and they had touched me all, touched me with their colours and the colours stuck.  Even vengeance had lost its thrill once attained.  What was another body amongst the millions?

I scanned the crowd idly, not really looking for anyone or anything – just killing time; I wasn’t the type to be hunting for possible one night stands.  I nearly dropped my drink (by now just over half empty – I was proud of my self-control) when I saw him.

Bloody demon that he was, bloody laughing demon with a chain around my neck: laughing in the centre of a group of teens (barely legal ones at that), strutting around in these vinyl pants, jade shirt and leather jacket – the kind of combination only he could get away with.

And by Merlin, he did.  Looked like a peacock, and a posing one at that – but damn, he was a sexy peacock.

Our eyes met over the crowd, and his expression settled into the smug, self-satisfied smirk it always did whenever he saw me.  I could have been forgiven to think he showed surprise (and dare I dream it?) real joy at my appearance, but all too quickly it was gone.  He snapped his jacket back on, having had it peeled half way down his arms and around his back as he did moves that would make a Muggle bar movie proud, and abandoning his new found friends, strode through the crowd, joining me at the bar, all hyped up, like a giddy child who’s eaten too much candy.  He sidled on next to me, and asked for a drink from the barkeep, flashing a twenty in the man’s face and telling him to keep the change.

I didn’t comment; he always had liked to show off his money.  Even during the War, with generous donations to charities and the like.  Swirling around with a cat’s grace, so his back now lay against the bar, his arms spread-eagled back over it, every muscle in his body screaming just how much effort it took to look so relaxed, he finally treated me to a quick grin, and the oh-so-familiar raised eyebrow.

He took a sip from his drink, presumably to regain his composure, and I noticed he too was holding a vodka and orange.  We’d shared the same taste in drinks.

But then, we’d shared the same taste in a lot of things.

“Mentally undressing me with your eyes, were you Potter?”  The trademark drawl sent shivers down my spine.  I hadn’t seen him in four months, but it seemed the game was on again.

I tried for the tested ‘act like it doesn’t matter’ gambit.  “Nah, Malfoy, considering how tight your pants are, I’d need a mental crowbar.”

He grinned and gestured with his drink.  “Or another couple of these, eh?”

We’d left the club together, and caught a black cab back to his flat, a penthouse apartment in the whole Canary Wharf development, overlooking the Thames.  Even in Muggle money, it must have cost a fortune, but I’d been here enough times by now for the shock to wear thin.

We’d sat in silence for about five minutes in the cab; the only sound uttered being Draco’s curt instructions to the driver, and the driver’s grunt in response – even he knew not to disturb the atmosphere that lay heavy between us, born of things neither of us wanted to consider.

I looked out the window, not really noticing the people and buildings that passed.  London was London, would always be London, despite war and recession and crisis.  It was even fashionable again, with New Cool Britannia parading itself along the world’s catwalks and in the world’s CD shops.

The world was rebuilding after the War, and had figured that if it could survive that, it could survive anything.

After a short spin, Draco had reached across the battered seat and surruptiouslybent over, unzipping my trousers with his hands and sliding my stiffening cock out, quickly enveloping it with his smirking little mouth, sucking greedily.  We might have been discovered by the cab driver of course, but that was part of the thrill for Draco; the chance of discovery, of openly, brazenly, flaunting his sex life to all and sundry if he had to, or if couldn’t, the challenge to lie his way out of it.

There was always the chance I could have stopped him, or said something to alert the driver, but Draco knew I wouldn’t.

Knew I couldn’t.

I just bit my lips and sat there while he made me feel like a God, one hand on the armrest, fingers digging into the fake leather, the other hand ruffling through his silver-blonde hair to rest on his neck.  He always had the softest skin; I once joked that he must have bathed in dragon’s milk or something – he wasn’t amused at the time.  As the pressure built, I closed my eyes, and tilted my neck upwards, finally arching my back briefly at the moment of release, sinking back into the seat.  My entire body felt like it wanted to melt into the fabric, and my brain certainly wasn’t working – a casualty of Draco’s…abilities where I was concerned.

He merely made sure he’d gotten every last drop, before straightening up, smirking as always, and taking a moment or two to fix his clothing and hair.  He licked his lips then, looking directly in my eyes, one hand sliding up my arm to play with the hair at the nape of my neck.  He could have almost purred, and I was stuck by a hideously ironic Muggle phrase – he looked the cat who’d just eaten the proverbial cream.

He didn’t need to say anything – but talking had never been our strong suit.

The cab pulled up outside the lobby to his apartment block, and he’d slid out, pouting on the sidewalk while I paid the driver.  Then he’d led me by the hand through the lobby to the lifts, and inside.

The moment the lift doors had closed, I was on him, my left leg pressing oh-so-nicely between his, his body up against the wall of the lift, my hands reaching up and under his shirt, the pale soft flesh of his neck shivering under my mouth.  I’d never been able to help it; he always brought out this beast in me, this fire.  Not that he was complaining of course, but the intensity startled me, as always.  You’d think after ten years I’d be used to it, wouldn’t you?  Used to him.  That perhaps the passion might be relented, become familiar, mundane even.

But dreams of suburban bliss, of a house, two point four children and a family dog were not quite what the Powers That Be had in mind for Draco and I.

The lift door shuddered open onto his penthouse: Draco must have somehow typed the code into the lift while I wasn’t noticing.  I was a little ashamed that he’d been able to do such a thing while I was…doing my best to disturb his concentration.

We rolled out into the apartment, the lights automatically accommodating for the presence of two people, raising to a soft half-light, casting everything into shadow.  I almost careened into a display case (with priceless Ming vase) before Draco grabbed my tie and hauled my body into another trajectory.

“Bed,” he moaned, when I finally gave him a chance to breathe through his mouth, and we staggered down the hallway to his bedroom, hands all over each other, crashing in the bedroom door and somehow managing to land on the king-sized four poster.

After that, well, there wasn’t really any time for thinking.

When I awoke, dawn was already streaming through the window.  Draco was looking out at the Thames, buttoning a fresh shirt (that I presumed) he had gotten from his closet.  He turned back to look at me, whatever emotion he was showing replaced so instantly by his usual mask of arrogant indifference that I didn’t know if I had imagined it or not.

He quickly crossed to the wardrobe (walk in, of course, and bigger than my entire room), tapping on the foot as he did so.  “Wake up, Potter,” he chorused, in the tone of the infinitely suffering, and turned back to try on various ties in his mirror.

I groaned, and rolled over.  I could feel Draco’s amused glance on my neck.  “Fine, then”, he patronised, “stay here.  I have to go to a meeting.  You can let yourself out, I’m sure.”

He had work, of course.  Draco had taken his disturbingly large inheritance and promptly bought shares in various Muggle companies, rising to control all of them.  He liked the Muggle way of business, mainly because he got more money as a result.

He was about to say goodbye, and leave.  Like we’d done every time since we’d started this, back in seventh year.  We never went anywhere, or did anything together besides fuck.  He never even called me Harry, just to make sure we understood the boundaries.

I realised I didn’t want that anymore.  I wanted to mean something more to him, because he meant more to me.

I didn’t want to say goodbye.

“Well, Potter, as always, it’s been fun,” he said, smirking, now appropriately attired in an Armani suit, “but I have places to go and people to see.  You know how it is.  Good-”

I sat up in the bed, the sheet pulled up around me.  “Don’t,” I pleaded.  “Don’t say ‘goodbye.’”

A silvery eyebrow was raised.  Draco found it amusing that I was telling him what to do.  “Why the hell not?” he asked, somewhat sulkily.

“Because it’s bloody pointless,” I reasoned.  “We keep pretending that every time is the last time, but it doesn’t happen that way.  We’re drawn to each other.”

He sat on the bed, and looked at me.  “What do you suggest then?”

I tried not to stammer.  “Uh…why don’t I take you out to dinner tomorrow night?”

Draco nearly fell over due to the laughter that was pouring out his mouth, wracking his body and forcing him to tears.  “You?  Take me out to dinner?  I suppose this is your idea of a date, huh?”  Wiping the tears from his eyes he looked askance at me.  “You do know I could buy the ruddy restaurant if I wanted, Potter.”

That was it.  The final straw.  I hit him over the head with a pillow.  “I am so sick of you calling me ‘Potter’, Draco, as if we were still back at school!”

He absorbed the git with characteristic self-restraint, his face refusing to give anything away.

“You can hardly be anything else…I do have a fiancé you realise.”

I resisted the temptation to snort.  Astrid Johanssen, the daughter of a near-ancient magical family, the toast and scandal of Scandinavian wizardry.  It wasn’t difficult to understand their…relationship, although it certainly wasn’t due to any form of mutual affection.  The Johanssens’ had basically wasted all their money over successive generations, with larger and more grandiose extensions to the family estate, planning for a tourist windfall that never made it.  They were now basically destitute, but with a pedigree most would kill for.

Enter Draco Malfoy.  Rich, handsome, the sole beneficiary of his father’s estate, and due to his actions during the War, he had gone someway to rehabilitating his family’s reputations.

He was also having to deal with his own personal reputation.  A series of girlfriends had come and gone (while we kept fucking quietly in the background), and of course, the gossip columnists had chattered and chattered over possible reasons the eminent millionaire playboy couldn’t hold down a relationship.

An arranged meeting or two later, a few dates specifically designed for public consumption, and the ‘happy’ couple announced their engagement with a front page story on the Daily Prophet.  I had read the paper, and chucked it aside.  None of Draco’s other girlfriends had gotten in the way before; I didn’t expect this one to be any different.

As I pointed out to the silvery-blonde.  “Actually, when you think about it, I’ve lasted longer than any of your so-called girlfriends.”

“Your point being?”

I had always found his engagement with Astrid hilarious, having met her at a society function.  I worked freelance now, occasionally helping out the Ministry as a ‘rogue Auror’, sometimes filling in at Hogwarts as a temporary teacher.  She was a cool, no, icy blonde with exceptional manners and a personality that made Draco look warm.  They suited each other, certainly, if you wanted a marriage in which the participants were too arrogant to talk to one another.

I decided it was time for a little bit of needless honesty.  “Please, Draco.  You must keep coming back to me for a reason – and it can’t be just because of the good sex!”

He laughed, silverly, and clearly amused.  “Oh, so you’re telling me how I live my life now?”

“I need you.”  The words came unbidden out of my mouth, but I didn’t exactly have anything left to lose.

“Need?”  A glint came to his eyes.  “That’s a dangerous proposition there, Potter.  Exactly how do you need me?”  He was enjoying this, I could tell.

“I feel more alive when I’m with you, even when all we do is flirt.  That despite the fact I’m probably deluding myself into thinking we can be anything more, I still want us to be.  And…I love you.”

“Love…?”  He looked clearly shocked.  I’d blown it obviously.  I got out of the bed and started dressing, without talking.  Time to get back to my life, to move on, to deal with an existence without Draco.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his lip curled in a smirk.

“Home,” I offered, simply.  He was in front of me before I could move.  I sighed.  “Please, Draco, let me go.”

He stood there, clearly thinking.  “I told you once I wouldn’t ever let you go,” he said, softly.

“As I recall, it was solely for your own good.”

“Hmm,” Draco murmured, running his hand along my arm, before looking up at me wickedly.  “I’m just thinking how long it would take for you to move in”, he proffered, nonchalantly.

Now it was my time to be shocked.  “Wha?”

He wrapped his arms around me.  “Now, Harry, if you think this means chocolates and flowers every day, you’re sadly mistaken,” he said, nipping my earlobe.  “I am not some kind of sentimental prat.”

“Of course”, I agreed, still not quite believing.

“But I must admit, I am quite…fond of you.  In my own way.”  The cheeky bastard played with my shirt collar, straightening it, smirking all the while.

“What about Astrid?”

He snorted.  “Please.  She doesn’t know me half as well as you do.  Besides….Draco Malfoy-Potter sounds a hell of a lot better than Draco Malfoy-Johannsen, don’t you think?”

I laughed.  “You live to tease me, don’t you?”

Draco grinned.  “Of course.”  His face softened, and he kissed me gently on the cheek.  “I’ve got to go to work.  Another boring meeting.  You will be here when I get back, won’t you?”

It wasn’t quite a question.

“Course.  I wouldn’t miss the creature comforts here for the world.”

He picked up his business satchel near the door and turned to leave, but stopped and looked back at me.  I was suddenly aware of how vulnerable he looked, of how vulnerable he’d always looked; if you knew where to look, that is.  I only just realised I did.

“Tell me again,” he asked, his eyes pleading.

I smiled softly, and told him.  “I love you.”

“Yes,” he said nodding to himself, stepping back into the passageway.  “That definitely has its appeal…”  Draco smiled at me; I’d never seen him smile before.  “I’ll see you later then.”

I raised an eyebrow.  “Not ‘goodbye’?”

“Not ‘goodbye’, Harry.  Never ‘goodbye’.”  Draco left for work, and I decided to fix myself some breakfast.

It’s funny, really.  I never knew the hold one little word had over me, until I was released.