What Would You Do with the Sun and the Moon?

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WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH THE SUN AND THE MOON?

Gold-Snitcher

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I hate those pathetic romantic sap-heads.

I hate how they just melt so easily into each other's arms, and float around in some surreal light. As if clinging to each other will keep the evil of the world away.

I hate how they make those moony eyes at each other, and kiss in that sickeningly sweet way.

I hate how they move with each other. Everything seems exaggerated. Everything seems fake.

And I hate what they say to each other.

"I'll love you forever."

How can they be sure? Do they know how long forever lasts? Are they so certain?

"I love you more than life itself."

All utopian and fine until their life is on the line. And then I'd wager they'd plead with the Dark Lord to take their lover so long as they were speared. Life is precious. Don't make promises with something you don't understand.

"I'd give the sun and the moon for you."

How sweet. And sickening. Really, what does this mean? What would you do with the sun and the moon, anyway? Of course you'd give them away. I'd suspect that prior to this fine opportunity, you'd been trying to pawn them off on someone else. I mean, what do they do? Sit there in you living room, taking up the full expanse of your perfect little coffee table? Float around aimlessly continuously blinding you? Of course you'd give them away! What the hell were you doing with them in the first place?

And I hate how they make everything so cheap. So cliche. So that when you are in love, you can never be certain of anything. After all, if these sop-heads could fawn all over each other and actually convince themselves and their loved-one that it is all real, then how can you possibly say anything to your lover, and know that they knew you meant it?

I have often watched him, when he had fallen asleep in my arms, and felt quite confident that when the time comes, I would really stand between him and the Dark Lord. And I know, somewhere deep down in a place not appropriate to speak about at most dinner parties, that forever could never be enough.

It troubles me that, though there is no suspended light that shines on us when we are together, sometimes, time does stop for us, and I feel as I am lost in his eyes, and could never possibly get out. Even if I wanted to.

And though I would not have anything to do with the sun and the moon, I would sacrifice everything that I own, everything that I am, just to keep him safe and have him happy.

But only because I am selfish.

I know, unlike those fool romantics, that this is reality. Forever, though it may not even be long enough, may not last.

Especially with him.

Especially now.

Because at any point, forever could be taken from us, and I don't know if I would be strong enough to take it back. That was one of the risks I accepted when I fell in love with Harry Potter. Time was just that much more uncertain. But that made it that much more precious.

I know that where some say they would give anything, I have. I have no family, no wealth, no real identity, because so much of who I was was bound in the fact that I was a Malfoy. I sacrificed my friends and all the plans I had made as a child, because those depended on a series of beliefs that I had found, in one shocking moment, to be complete bollocks.

Where some say they may willingly die, I mean it. And I know he understands, because when I told him, he looked at me with sad, sombre eyes that held a silent plea in their depths. As if, though he would never argue with me, he wanted to.

I am sick and tired of his Gryffindor tendencies towards self-sacrifice.

But here I am, completely prepared.

Just so long as it isn't him, marching off with the world on his shoulders, thinking that he's the only one that can make a difference.

I wonder if he thinks I yell at him because I envy him. He probably does. I've never told him about the fear that rises in me when he gets that look in his eye, as if Voldemort is his problem, and every time something bad happens, it's his own fault. As if the Dark Lord was somehow Potter's puppet. I don't think I will tell him. I may have lost my identity, but certainly not my personality. I'm not exactly going to kiss his feet .... well, not metaphorically anyway.

So I sit here, watching him sleep. Hating those hair-brained romantics for using-up all the sentiments about love and making them all seem trite and cliche. Making it all seem like a lie. Forcing me to sit here, watching him in silence instead of being completely honest and letting him know where we stand. Sometimes even 'I love you' seems like a lie.

He never seems to mind as much as I do.

When he first told me that he loved me, I had felt the world drop-out from under me, and I was falling. Falling into something and I prayed that I never hit the ground.

I had asked him 'For how long?'

He said forever.

What a lie.

But it seems like the truth when I lie beside him. When I feel his fingers glide across my chest, skimming over my nipples. When he smiles at me. When time stops for us. When I feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat because I'm pressing him so close to me.

And however long we are together, I know forever can never possibly be enough.

I brush a strand of his hair away from his face, frowning at the scar, a brutal reminder. But then he sighs and shifts against me, green eyes opening slowly, and suddenly I realize that I am still falling, and will probably never stop.

He smiles at me and my breath catches.

I believe every word he has ever said to me. Because unlike those romantics, I know we both mean it. And he looks at me, luring me deeper into those jade depths that promise me paradise without saying a word.

And I don't care how long it lasts.

Because every moment is a small miracle.

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The End

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