How Soon Is Now?

How Soon Is Now?

PROLOGUE

Hair is grey and the fires are burning

So many dreams on the shelf

You say I wanted you to be proud of me

I always wanted that myself

- Tori Amos, Winter

Beside a desk in a huge mansion a middle aged man sat quietly, going through some papers. His white blond hair had a few grey streaks that only seemed to give it a more silver look. His thin, cruel lips curved slightly in a small smile as he noted that the sun had almost set. His lover would soon return to him, as the darkness more often that not seemed to drive him in from his gardens by nightfall. More, he suspected, because of his fear of the dark than of his inability to work in it. Indeed, there had been a number of times where he had to seek him out himself in the night and later got the explanation he had been so caught up in his work that he had not noticed the dusk and then been too afraid to leave the greenhouse.

Ah... he thought as he heard the footsteps near his office. He could always recognize that sound. It was as shy as the person himself, he used to think. Lately though, he had come to associate it with gentleness. The knocking on his door made him smile briefly.

"Enter," he said sharply, as if he didn't know who stood outside his door, cringing at his tone of voice and hoping he wasn't in a foul mood. The man who entered had for once remembered to change his clothes after working all day with his plants, but his soft green eyes searched Draco's face for signs of a bad mood. He ran his fingers through his honey blonde locks before meeting Draco's eyes hesitantly.

Draco let him hang for another few seconds before giving him a warm smile and scooting his chair back a bit. Neville recognized the invitation immediately and walked over. He placed himself in Draco's lap. They sat there for a while, holding each other, breathing in each other's scents.

"I've been thinking about us today... what a miracle it was that we ended up together at all," Neville began quietly. "Do you remember Hogwarts? It seems like a dream to me, well, a nightmare really, but that distant. Do you ever wonder how on earth we got together?" Draco tightened his hold of him.

"Yes," He confessed at last. "I remember Hogwarts as clearly as I remember hurting you. I remember how I started to fancy you and how horrified and furious I was. I recall the feeling of wanting to fuck you senseless and rip you to pieces every time you walked by. Merlin, I hated that." As he spoke he felt Neville shiver slightly at the violent feelings he spoke of. He had never himself harbored such violent passion towards someone. His feelings for Draco had crept up on him, emerged slowly through a sea of confusion and fear. Now his presence calmed him and he looked up at his lover.

"Bed?" he whispered and Draco nodded. He picked Neville up in his arms, an act that always meant passionate but gentle lovemaking. Neville's heart still fluttered at the thought and to his embarrasment he felt himself blush. Draco, on the other hand was determined to chase away what ghosts from the past haunted his lover tonight. The best way, he decided, was to be gentle and patient in a way that he never was back at Hogwarts. As he laid Neville down on the huge bed he stopped and watched him for a while.

The full, rosy lips slightly parted and bright eyes wide in confusion. His body had lost it's baby fat around the age of fifteen, which had left a rather small and slender boy. All in all he didn't look that different from the boy he fell in love with at Hogwarts. A few more lines in a soft round face, hair slightly longer than before. He looked like an angel.

"What is it? Is something wrong?" Neville asked and tried to cover himself as if to hide from the intense grey eyes. Draco shook his head slowly, a seductive smile creeping over his sharp features.

"Nothing's wrong, love. Take off your clothes and let me see you."

Both of them naked now, the mirror on the other side of the room reflected the two lovers, busy in the oldest of joinings. In the corner of the mirror a photograph was edged in between the frame and the glass, showing two laughing boys, age seventeen, eyes forever glittering, blonde hair moving endlessley in the wind. The shorter boy leaned back into the other boy's arms and the taller had his arms wrapped securely around his waist.

As the grown men on the bed moved, the taller blonde bent his pale face and whispered something into the other's ear. And, just for a moment, the past and present seemed to be able to meet for a fleeting instant, as the young men on the picture watched their future selves, and smiled.

¤¤¤