To the Grave

To the Grave

The ancient Greeks believed that three old crones, the Fates, determined everything that occurred, and not even the gods could or dared to change what they wrote. They never thought it was fate but something else, something stronger than fate, something like will.

Many heroes lived through the ages, but only the greatest were remembered. And to the ancient Greeks, those greatest either spent their afterlives in the Elysian Fields or were placed in the stars by the gods to forever watch over mankind. Only the stars knew.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were never stupid. Emotional, maybe, impulsive, yes, but never stupid. They understood the risks and knew them before they went in, but the graveness of the situation never deterred them because they had long drowned in it before they even began.

They had both been jealous of each other. Draco was jealous of Harry's fame, how everyone practically worshipped the very ground he trod upon and how leeway was always cut for him because he was the great Harry Potter. And Harry was jealous of the fact that Draco had a family who cared about him. Though many looked after his well-being, Harry didn't have a family that he could call his own; the Weasleys may treat him like a family member, but they weren't his family. And somewhere along the way, envy became obsession, and that sort of obsession could only progress into a twisted sort of love.

It was never just pure lust. Neither of them were particularly good-looking. Harry's hair was too wild, frame too lanky; Draco's chin was too pointed, features too sharp. Even at the beginning, there was some sort of emotion that each could only attribute to the other.

They never even meant for it to start. One minute, Harry's fist was hovering above Draco's face, Draco's hand trying to push it away, and the next, they were kissing on the Quidditch field, grabbing and clawing and biting. Only the stars saw.

Their love was needy and greedy and desperate, and the risk were high. Harry and Draco knew it, knew what it could mean for them, but they were both in too deep to stop. Once it started, they knew that they could never escape, and maybe they didn't mind it at all.

They were extremely careful. Meetings were arranged in exact detail, and neither ever showed any signs. Harry and Draco didn't look at each other longer than usual, didn't enter common rooms rumpled and flushed. They knew much too well what they could and couldn't do.

It continued throughout their lives, even after both were married. Harry and Draco needed each other because no one else understood like the other, and they had drowned with each other long long ago, before they even knew they were drowning.

Only the stars knew of them, but not even the stars knew the extent of their relationship. Harry and Draco loved each other, loved each other so much that they could never put it into words, loved each other so much that they never had to tell each other because both automatically knew; no one but them knew, and that secret was taken to the grave.