Draco is hopelessly lost between what he is supposed to do, and what he wants to do. As the pressure from his father to follow in Lucius' footsteps grows heavier, and Draco's feelings for Harry grow stronger, Draco finds himself at a fork in the road.
Chapter 12
Chapter Summary:
Draco finally corners Harry and spills his heart, but is only burned. What will he do now?
Posted:
12/04/2002
Hits:
428
Author's Note:
Sorry this took so long! My complete and total fault. I should be shot.
“You said in a dream you’d always love me
I wept with joy at what with joy you said.
My sadness was not there. It was so lovely.
. . .I saw the truth of it within your eyes
And blessed the dream that ends but never dies.
”
- Nicholas Gordon “You Said In a Dream”
That night a new dream played in Draco’s head. He awoke beside Harry, who was sleeping quietly on a soft bed. Alarm rang in Draco’s stomach while he worried for a moment, but Harry stirred and opened his eyes and smiled when he focused on Draco.
“Hey,” he whispered, rubbing his eyes and propping himself up on his elbow. He reached out and Draco froze as he touched Draco’s face. Then he leaned in and pressed his lips against his.
Draco knew it was a dream, because of the absurdity of being in a large, elegant bed situated in the middle of nowhere, but to feel Harry’s lips against his was his heaven and he gladly kissed back. Harry traced Draco’s lips with his tongue, probing for entry, and Draco let him in. One of Draco’s hands seeped beneath the voluminous covers to Harry’s naked chest, as Harry’s free arm playing with Draco’s hair.
As the kiss deepened, Harry slowly inched backwards so Draco could lie on top of him, only sheets separating their bodies. The kiss grew more and more desperate, as if something was going to stop them at any moment, but at the same time it was sensual, and sweet, and time seemed to stand still while they moved until they were completely in tune with each other’s bodies.
Finally, Harry pushed Draco onto his back and straddled him, and looking deep into his eyes as he whispered in a husky voice satiated with desire, “I love you, Draco Malfoy,” and went to kiss him again.
But, instead, Draco found himself awake, and very alone, in his real bed. With a stifled moan, he touched his lips, and tried to remember how it felt to have Harry’s welcome weight on him. There was an absence in the air around him as he wished the boy was next to him, or underneath him at that moment.
A shudder ran down Draco’s spine as he swallowed the intensity of the truth of it. He was having fantasies about Harry Potter. He, Draco Malfoy, son of Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, was having fantasies about Harry Potter, defeater three times of the most powerful Dark Wizard in over fifty years.
But it felt so right. After hearing many a tirade of Lucius’ wish to rid the wizarding world of all Mudbloods, fags, and anyone who opposed the Dark Lord, Draco knew he should despise his feelings, but he couldn’t imagine feeling any other way.
And he couldn’t imagine going another hour, day, week, month without telling Harry, but the idea scared him. His heart wanted to believe Harry returned the feelings, but his mind knew it wasn’t possible. For hours Draco would stand in front of a full length mirror, criticizing everything about himself, pointing out reasons why Harry would never like him.
But there was one reason that Draco knew Harry couldn’t love him.
Draco was a guy.
He sighed and poked his chest glumly. It was probably the only time in his life when he briefly wished he was Granger, because then he’d have more of a chance.
Fragments of the dreams, precious as diamonds, lingered in his mind, and he closed his eyes and pretended he was there on that bed again. He didn’t know if it was wrong to dream about these kind of things, but he didn’t care anymore. The euphoria the dream had given him was unmatched by anything he’d ever experienced in life so far, and whether it was right or wrong was inconsequential.
So lost in his fantasies, Draco didn’t notice Blaise enter the room, but he noticed when Blaise stood beside him for a few moments. He yelped in surprised and when he realized who it was, anger rose in his heart.
“Don’t do that!” he said crossly. Blaise chortled and went over to his bed.
“Happy Halloween,” he said casually as he looked through his trunk. Draco started and turned to him.
“It’s Halloween?”
“Uh, yeah,” Blaise said, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Draco. “Didn’t you notice the decorations at breakfast this morning?”
“No…not really…” Draco said, leaning against the wall. He hadn’t looked at a calendar in so long. He was probably the only fifth year dreading Christmas Holiday. Blaise found what he was looking for—his pack of Famous Witches and Wizards cards—and made to leave. He paused and flipped open the packet in front of Draco and pulled out a card that had been shoved carelessly in the back.
“Look at this,” he said in disgust, handing the card to Draco. Draco turned it over and was delightfully surprised to see Harry looking up at him. “It’s one of the newest cards, it arrived a week ago. Can you believe that?” He shook his head before saying, “I’m going with Crabbe to get some more Chocolate Frogs from that sixth year who sells them. Could you…I don’t know…burn that for me?” Draco nodded.
“Burn it and eat it,” he replied, turning the card from side to side as Harry smiled at him. Blaise pointed at him.
“Exactly.” Once the fellow Slytherin had left, Draco closed the dormitory door and sat against the wall on the floor and read the card.
Harry Potter, the boy who lived, is famous for his mysterious connection
with the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,
for his award for Special Services to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,
and for his winning of the newly revived TriWizard Tournament.
He currently attends Hogwarts, and is the Seeker on the Gryffindor House team.
Draco sighed and turned the card over to look at the picture. But he noticed a difference between the picture and what Harry looked like now. The most obvious was that Harry had grown over the summer. However, all Draco noticed was there was no haunted look lingering behind the boy in the picture’s eyes. It had obviously been taken before the Triwizard Tournament, certainly before Diggory and Voldemort…
Definite stabs of sympathy went through Draco as he thought how much Harry had been through in only 15 years. Aware of only the card in his hands, Draco rested against the stone wall of his dormitory for hours, gracious that there was no school on Saturday.
His stomach notified him of the Halloween feast, and he slipped the card into the pocket of his robes, and went downstairs. As usual, the Great Hall, already filled with students, was decorated with almost all the Halloween related things possible. Real black cats slinked around the aisles, Jack-o-lanterns grinned toothily from mid-air, while the ghosts of the school had gathered to sing haunting songs.
Draco slid into place between Crabbe and Goyle on the side of the Slytherin table where he could watch his fellow schoolmates. Or, more importantly, he could watch Harry. Weasel was talking to Harry, and Draco could just make out the spread of Famous Witches and Wizards cards in front of him. Wondering whether or not Harry had seen his card, Draco fingered the corners of the card in his pocket.
Obviously, most of the Slytherins knew about it, undoubtedly told by Blaise, because it was a heated topic of discussion. Blaise was talking forcibly that the Ministry needs to stop eating out of the palm of such a Muggle-lover, until an older student interrupted with, “Oh, goodness, get over yourselves! The ‘I’m-so-bad-because-I-like-Voldemort’ attitude is so passé and cliché it’s disgusting.” Blaise fell into a sullen and embarrassed silence, and Draco was pleased to note that the conversation got substantially more interesting. It mostly centered on Quidditch and things like that, until Dumbledore stood and gave his usual speech and started the feast.
Despite his general dislike for Hogwarts, Draco had to admit the castle and its inhabitants knew how to throw a party. A young, blonde witch who had spent her early life in a Muggle orphanage and now had a deep distrust for any and all Muggles and Muggle-borns, recounted some stories Muggles told on this holiday. Draco found himself delighted to hear of the hysteria that circled people like him.
At the end of the feast, the plates filled with candy and sweets, and people shoveled the candy into their school bags, glad that their loads would satisfy them for awhile. Draco made sure to grab as many Chocolate Frogs as he could, hoping that he would get more Harrys. The rest of his bag was made of hard sweets, since he had a habit of occupying himself by sucking on quills whenever he was thinking. If he had hard candies he would have to buy quills less often.
As he was exiting the Hall, eager to get back to his dorm before the mad rush at curfew bell, he noticed the Fabulous Trio leaving as well. To entertain himself, he pointed his want at Weasel’s bulging bag of sweets and whispered, “Diffindo!” But at the last moment, Harry stepped in front of Weasel as a joke, and the spell hit his bag instead. Draco paled and paused as Harry started laughing and sealed the bag with his own spell and began to scoop the spilled items back into his bag. Weasel whispered something into Granger’s ear and she giggled flirtatiously, and Harry gave them both a knowing look.
“How about you too…go ahead?” he said. They both gave him dirty looks, but linking hands and walked away, laughing and whispering to each other. Draco watched them walk away, wondering if he and Harry could ever walk down the corridors holding hands and whispering nothings to each other.
Probably not.
Stepping forward so he was standing over Harry and blocking him from view of the trickle of students going back to their dorms, Draco asked, “Need help?”
Harry’s face froze and his replied gruffly, “No, thanks.” Still Draco crouched and picked up some of the articles and dumped them into the bag. They worked in silence for a few seconds before Harry asked, probably as a matter of civil duty, “How are you?”
Melting inside, Draco steeled his expression and answered, “Better. You?”
“Fine.” They finished and stood at the same time. “All right, then, thanks,” Harry said, about to set off, but Draco stopped him.
Suddenly the speech that Draco had been rehearsing in his head constantly went all to hell, and he found himself stuttering and stumbling over his words like a child. Harry looked at him expectantly, and lost his patience.
“What, Draco?” he demanded. Draco pointed off into the shadows of a closet.
“Can I talk to you? Alone?” he asked. Harry sighed and discreetly slipped his hand into his pocket, no doubt reaching for his wand.
“I suppose,” he conceded warily. They walked over there and when Draco was sure they were both in the closet, he closed the door and lit his wand.
“Harry, I have…I have to tell…” Draco had no idea how to start of the admission that he was falling in love with Harry. Harry furrowed his eyebrows and glared at Draco. The light from the wand illuminated the small closet dimly, but it reflected brilliantly off Harry's eyes.
“If you have to say something, spit it out. Ron and Hermione are going to start looking for me soon, and I don’t feel like getting caught in…” Draco couldn’t interrupt Harry for fear of his anger, so instead did the only thing that could aptly convey what was tearing him apart.
He leaned forward and kissed Harry mid-sentence. The kiss was quick, closed mouth, and nothing near as beautiful as the kiss Harry didn't know Draco dreamed about constantly. Stunned, Harry tumbled backwards, dropping his bag and spewing the contents once more. Draco bit his lip and dropped his head, ready for the rain of insults on his weary head. But seconds passed…then minutes…and all there was in the closet was silence, save the soft clatter as the pile of whatever Harry had stumbled into began to fall apart.
Finally giving in to curiosity, knowing his whole life had led to this point, Draco raised his head. Harry was sitting on the floor, looking at Draco in bewilderment and suspicion and confusion and hatred all at once.
“Harry, I—“ Draco tried to say something, but Harry closed his eyes and held up his hand, saying harshly, “Don’t. Say. Anything.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply and muttering to himself. “You just…” He shuddered and stuck out his tongue, and Draco felt himself even more attracted to him. “You just kissed me,” and with these words he did a sort of dance, mimicking trying to get the words to roll off him, lurching and turning pale.
“It’s what I have been trying to tell you,” replied Draco meekly, clasping his hands and wringing them. Harry stood, taking care to stay well away from Draco.
“Don’t touch me,” he said coldly, his voice dripping with hate that had bloomed from somewhere deep in him. Draco felt tears burn his eyes and he turned away. There was some movement and Harry was gone, and Draco was alone in the closet. He reached out and numbly pulled the door shut, sat on the floor amid sweets and rusted bedpans, and wept into his hands. How could he have been so stupid? What had possessed him to talk to Harry? It had come out of nowhere! There was no building action, there was no rebuilding of any sort of relationship between the two.
He had actually kissed Harry Potter in a closet on Halloween and had been cruelly and soundly rejected. Without knowing it, Harry had effectively reached inside Draco, pulled his heart out and thrown it among the spilled candy.
Moreover, there was no doubt in Draco’s mind that Harry would tell, with shuddering and sharp-edged detail, everything that had gone down between them to Granger and Weasel, who, no doubt, would tell everyone else.
Draco’s sobs intensified as he sat the closet floor, nursing his broken heart and knowing that within days, or worse, within hours, he would find the whole wizarding world against him.