Macchine da Guerra

As the night proceeded through its natural course, the unlikely pair haltingly conversed about various subjects that had no direct bearing on anything emotionally weighted. There was an unspoken agreement between them to avoid anything that would make them think of the war, Hogwarts, or the atrocities between the past and present. The agreement kept them both in the dark about the other which was beneficial, prudent, polite, and filled the air with a tenseness that was so viscous that Draco swore his breathing was being impinged.
Yes, its the conversation Draco, you great prat! It couldn't possibly be that every subtle movement Potter makes has you ogling him like some idiotic, pining high school girl. Draco grimaced as the thought presented itself.
Who cares if he had just told Potter about his life in Prague and the song he used to twitter while he on the way home from the pub. Merlin, they were just words. Harry didn't seem to be phased by it anyway. His eyes feigned interest in whatever it was that Potter was prattling on about; his thoughts were in another place far away.

The air had been particularly chilly that autumn night. Draco was a bit buzzed, but nothing more than normal. Stepping out of the heavy door, he lit a cigarette and began his long walk home. Prague had always intrigued Draco. He loved the ancientness of the city and the wealth of history it held for those curious enough to look into it. The cobblestone street's uneven plane could be felt through his leather soled shoes and the smell of wood fires provided a small town feel that was unachievable in London.
As his walk progressed his thoughts began to wander into the past; a very dangerous place for him to recall. There were whole years of darkness and fright. So full of pain and suffering, betrayal and hate. Physical and mental abuse had been the only constant in his few years. His lips instantly hardened into the well worn scowl that had sullied his face during Hogwarts. He hated the past. Stumbling a bit in his carelessness, he turned into the nearest market and bought a bottle of cheap Scotch. Sitting down in a park adjacent to the small store, he proceeded to drink. Trying to forget everything to do with the past.
The tears started leaking down his cheeks as he thought of the only thing he missed from the past. The only person he ever dared to care about. Potter. Sobs escaped his lips as this last little thought overwhelmed his tolerance. He shook as the weeping overtook him. The running, the dying, the deceit. It all was too much. But hardest part was the regret. He never had time to be honest with Harry. He was never brave enough to just be himself in front of anyone; let alone himself.

"Draco? Are you in there?"

His eyes found a very blurry face barely inches away from his own. When did Potter get so close? The smell of Potter's skin was all around him. He blinked trying to clear his vision and found that there were tears on his cheeks.

"Draco?"

How long had he waited to hear that voice say his name with such compassion? The void in his chest gave a lurch as if something was trying to claw its way out of the inside. So many emotions flew around his head in a flurry of confusion causing his mind to stall.

Kiss him!

Throwing caution to the wind, his hand came up and touched the other man's shoulder. Slowly, his eyes looked down at his hand then back to Harry's face to see any sign to continue. The tenuous grip on his longing was cast off when he realized that Harry was holding his breath, gazing at him. His hand began to creep up the firm shoulder and around the back of Harry's neck. Brushing his fingers through the thick, unruly, black hair he inched closer to those soft lips. Lips which had kissed the glass of liquor he now held in his other hand. Lips that looked so soft and inviting. Harry's eyes closed as he relished the feeling of Draco's hand in his hair. Draco finally closed the gap between the two and their lips met. The world stopped as they slowly melted into each others arms.

Draco's mind was finally silent; the light caresses of Harry's lips calmed the raging storm his mind was often engulfed in. The pain, the war, the loss; it all poured out of him as he deepened the kiss. Years of unrequited passion heightened by separation and jealousy were conveyed through subtle moans of pleasure and disbelief. Nothing else mattered to Draco right now, except this one moment with...Harry.

After a few moments, Draco drew back a few inches and opened his eyes. His mind darkened as the possibility of rejection leaked in. His vision was still blurry; he could not make out the face in front of him. His hand left Potter's neck and wiped the tears from his eyes. His gaze tentatively reached Harry's face again, but the face was still blurry. Merlin, I'm turning into a blubbering mess. Then he felt the smaller man's arms around his waist as he was pulled into Harry's chest for an embrace that was passion and protection perfectly blended into one. Draco felt Harry's hard chest against his back as his breath blew across Draco's neck. The shivers were unavoidable, but they chased away most of the butterflies. Lips began kissing his neck in a maddeningly slow line around to his mouth. Potter...no Harry he reminded himself, was kissing him. His hands reached up to hold onto Harry's elbows as he pivoted around to face him. Draco's knees trembled as he leaned down to capture his lips in another time altering kiss. Slowly, they lowered to the ground and sat gazed at the other across their embrace. Draco's breath hitched as he realized that the old fire burned in Harry's eyes. Passion...passion for him. He leaned forward and recaptured Harry's lips.

As the kisses deepened Draco's mind slipped away. Draco reveled in the feelings arching through his mouth. Harry's lips were soft perfection; firm, yet gentle. They seemed hesitant and unsure at times, but they coaxed more and more out of Draco until he was sure that if they ever let their lips separate the pain would be intolerable. Draco didn't care anymore. He knew that this can't last; this already was more than he ever hoped for. Pushing the thought from his mind, he felt the muscles of the Harry's back and chest. Harry's hands rested on Draco's shoulders as he allowed the blonde access to roam his torso.

Finally Draco felt what he had expected from the start; pressure on his shoulders, pushing him away. Not violently...not yet. His eyes clenched shut as if to steel himself for the coming hurt. He heard Harry's voice railing at him in his mind. What are you fucking doing, Malfoy? You bloody kissed ME! The ire would build and then...

Harry's hand was like ice on his face. Was his face so numb he could feel the blow? No. A burn-calloused thumb brushed across his fair cheek, wiping away Draco's tears. In stunned disbelief, his eyes shot up to Harry's to see for the derision he was sure would be there. Harry's green eyed smile made him thank the heavens he was already sitting because otherwise he would have collapsed. Those green eyes were framed, as always, by the unruly hair (a bit more mussed due to Draco's hands) and his skin flushed a very healthy pink color.

"What's wrong Draco? Why're you crying? I know I'm not that bad of a kisser." The joke eased some of the tension from Draco's shoulders and he let out a small laugh. The Boy-Who-Lived-To-Make-Draco's-Heart-Race beamed down at the response his self-effacing joke had on the poor Slytherin.

"I am not crying." Draco tried to summon that old mask of Malfoy stoicism, but the best he could muster was sounding confused. And, in truth, he was. He didn't want to think about anything more than Harry. His past was something that did not include Harry and therefore was nothing more than pain. He was a Malfoy. Malfoy's did not walk around like star struck lovers spouting odes to their beloved and carrying on like the subject of a Shakespearean sonnet. Clearing his throat, he rose to his feet and made to gather his things. He could feel Potter standing behind him. Oh so he's back to just 'Potter' now? Crickey, but you a stubborn git!

A shaky voice interrupted the silence.

"So that's it then. You're just leaving?" Harry voice sounded dead. Draco paused. "Well for what it's worth, I think that I'm not mad at you anymore. It was nice seeing you...Draco." That voice had felt more pain than any other Draco had heard. But it also sounded grateful. Grateful for the temporary relief from the torment and nightmares the war had scared him with. Harry could forget it all because of Draco, no matter that the moment was passing and his fears were still there to haunt him. Draco scrunched his eyes shut, as if that would ward off his thoughts.

There was a soft pop and Draco spun around, but it was too late. Harry was already gone. He broke into a run; the bottles crashed down the steps as he ran through them. Reaching the top of the stairs he searched up and down the street. To his left were the same quiet shops shuttered against the night. The river lay behind him and there was nothing but flats to the right. The street was empty. Why hadn't he stopped him when he had the chance?

Pieces of their conversation flashed through his head as he felt the despair build. Did you just follow me here to pester me? The anger was forced upon him as if Harry expected to be hurt and that's exactly what Draco had done. I don't want to fight either...ever! I no longer have the nerves for it. The duality of Harry's voice had startled Draco, just as it startled him now. He wanted be left alone, but he needed someone to care for. Did Harry know that? Draco knew he didn't but he swore it would be him and no one else to be there for Harry. He owed him that much, didn't he?

One comment kept circling around his head like a record. Never heard of it, but I would love to sometime. The thought of Harry's ignorance to Puccini was not that surprising to Draco. He had wanted to share that with Harry. His most personal secret would have been so easy to lay bare. He realized he wanted to tell Harry everything...he needed to. Those few moments of tenderness were too good to let it go because Draco was a bleeding dolt or because Harry had come to expect people to take from him what they needed and leave the rest like a jalopy in a junk yard.

"Nessun dorma! Nessun Dorma!" The word slowly crept out of his chest as if brought out by the ache of longing that thoughts of Harry had always left. Only this was worse. He had touched him, held him, and...so much more. His lips tightened against the pain as the low whisper began to funnel the pain into the world. "Tu pure, O princepessa, nella tua fredda stanza, guardi le stella che tremano d'amori, e di speranza!"

Gaining strength as it sang the very familiar aria, Draco's voices natural timbre was resonant against the water and stone. He tried to sing so that Harry, no matter where he was, would hear him and come back.

"Ma il mio mistero e' chiuso in me; il nome mio nessun sapra! No! No! Sua tua bocca lo diro quando la luce splendera!" The sadness of the words hit him, leaving him gasping for air, just as they always have. Remembering how much he had wanted Harry, how much he still wanted Harry, and to have him disappear, it was almost too much.

Powerful emotion filled Draco's body as he began the next verse. All the pain began to temper from iron hot to despair to cool contemplation. He would not give in. He would find Harry...his Harry! Regrets and missed opportunities were no long important now. Opening his eyes a bit he saw what his mind had deemed to be an illusion. The shadow of a head peered out from an alley between the shops. Draco's song never faltered as he began to walk slowly toward the shadow. Awe struck and bewildered, the shadow's eyes looked at Draco with unbridled hope, but there was still pain. Those eyes poured into Draco searching for solace or respite from hell. Locking his gaze with Harry, he sang into those pools of jade.

"Ed il mio bacio scioliera il silenzio che ti fa mia!" Dilegua, o notte! Tremontate, stella! Tremontate, stella! All'alba Vincero! Vincero! Vincero!

Harry's shoulders quivered. Unspent tears glistening in his eyes as Draco's song surpassed language barriers and making him tremble. Those words, so beautiful, but impossible and unrealistic. Says who, you are such an pessimist. Anything is possible with Harry around.

Darting forward, he grabbed onto Harry's jacket before he could run again and pulled him close for a kiss. His mind moaned in ecstasy...at least he thought it was his mind. Pulling back and looking at Harry straight in the eyes he began talking.

"I don't deserve you as a friend, let alone a lover. I've done so much and ran so far trying to escape a war that you fought for all of us. You are perfect Harry Potter and I just want to be with you as long as you'll have me. I could never hope to make up for all of the-"

Harry put a finger to his mouth to silence him. Holding Draco in a tight embrace, he just whispered over and over. "I don't care. You're here now."