Requiem

Requiem

Written in the Stars

Harry had never dreamed how difficult it would be, to be in love with Draco Malfoy. He had never imagined Draco would be able to hurt him so easily. Draco was all right angles and sharp edges, and whenever Harry so much as brushed against him he got cut. He had never imagined love could be like this. He had thought it would be all flowers and candy and puppies and holding hands; instead it was bruises and nightmares and harsh words and burning.

He was fairly sure that Draco was a large part of the problem; it seemed that Draco had been somehow damaged irreparably, by his childhood or the war or Blaise´s death, or by his years in exile, or by some combination of those things. Draco did not like to be touched--more specifically, he did not like Harry to touch him. He did not want to hold Harry´s hand, or for Harry to take his hand; he did not want to be kissed good morning, good night, goodbye; he did not want his hair stroked or a casual pat on the shoulder or a hug. Harry, raised without human contact, had always believed touch was an important part of love.

Draco did not like any kind of touch at all, not even a mouth on his collarbone, a hand sliding down his stomach. Draco could take or leave sex, and Harry was more than a little afraid that had he been given a choice he would have preferred to leave it. The one thing Draco wants--to take Harry--is the one thing Harry is not sure he can do. They have only done that once, and though Harry enjoyed it, he is very much afraid that it is wrong, is queer. Hermione, trying delicately to make sure he is being safe, has emphasized that it is natural, that wizarding laws are dated and wrong. Draco has no problem with it, of course, but Harry has come to realize that Draco is not always capable of distinguishing right from wrong where his own interests are concerned.

Tonight, while Draco is sleeping, Harry and Ron are meeting in the tiny hotel bar. It is ironic considering Ron´s drinking problem that lately they seem to meet in bars or clubs almost exclusively, that always they are in places where it would be awkward, even difficult not to drink. It as if somehow, in Harry´s head, Ron has become inextricably mixed with the taste of neat vodka, so that now he cannot seem to picture one without the other. Ron is there before him, of course, nursing a large rum and coke in the darkest corner booth.

Harry slides in across from Ron, and takes an appreciative sip of the drink Ron ordered for him. He opens his mouth to say hello, but all that comes out is a thousand complaints about Draco: how cold he is, how selfish, emotionally distant, cruel... Ron stares at him as if he´s grown a second head. "Sorry," Harry manages, weakly.

Ron has reached that perfect state where he is just drunk enough to say what he thinks, and not too drunk to make sense. "Merlin, Harry," he responds now. "What do you expect from him? This is Draco Malfoy; he practically came with a warning label. The Malfoys are bred to be selfish and cruel and emotionally distant."

Harry, defenceless, croaks, "But--."

"But, nothing." Ron pokes Harry rather hard in the chest with a blown glass drink stirrer shaped like a fish. "Harry, has it occurred to you that what you´re doing with Malfoy is wrong?" Harry shakes his head, defeated. Ron jabs him again. The waitress comes by to top their drinks off and Ron sends her away.

"Look, Harry," he says tiredly, his voice starting to slur but his eyes sad and sober, "You´re my oldest friend and I´m meant to be on your side, and I am--but hasn´t it occurred to you that Malfoy´s emotionally distant because he´s emotionally not in the same place as you are? I mean, he kissed you back, once, ten years ago. You don´t even know if he´s gay, much less if he´s interested in you! What you´re doing to him--it´s borderline rape, Harry; he can´t stop you and he wouldn´t dare say no. He can´t fight you without a wand, and if he did take you out they´d give him the Kiss so fast even the Dementors´ heads would spin. What you´re doing--you take away all a man´s options, Harry, it isn´t fair. If he were a woman they´d never have let it go this far, but some of them, and Merlin help us but I think Dumbledore is one of them--they think that any man who would do it voluntarily, deserves whatever he gets. They´re using you, Harry; they´re hoping you´ll destroy each other."

Harry shook his head. "It´s not like that," he insisted, and hoped that it was true. "It´s not like that between Malfoy and I, not anymore."