Rating:
PG-13
House:
The Dark Arts
Ships:
Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Remus Lupin/Sirius Black
Characters:
Draco Malfoy
Genres:
Angst Slash
Era:
Other Era
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix
Stats:
Published: 10/07/2007
Updated: 10/07/2007
Words: 803
Chapters: 1
Hits: 502

December Sun

NoScrubs12345

Story Summary:
Years after the war has ended and with Voldemort long since dead, unlikely companions mourn their losses.

December Sun

Posted:
10/07/2007
Hits:
502
Author's Note:
Title taken from "Brother's on a Hotel Bed" by Death Cab for Cutie; ignores HBP and DH.



Neither has lived. Neither has survived. It is a simple fact that haunts even Draco's most pleasant dreams. The war is over, the Dark Lord defeated, and the Boy Who Lived has become the Boy Who Died.

A part of his own soul, Draco thinks, died with Potter that day as spells had rebounded and a hero became a martyr.

Three years later, he still relives those memories when the city lights flicker to life outside, shining like tiny, misplaced stars, and the liquor flows freely between him and the werewolf.

Draco doesn't know why and can't remember when they started this monthly ritual--meeting at one's cheap flat, the visitor always bringing with them alcohol stronger than the last month's, and they try to drown the sorrow and the memories with a cool liquid that burns like fire. They never say much, just sit by the window in an almost complete silence, Remus looking heavenward while Draco studies the contents of his glass.

They are unlikely companions and ragtag brothers-in-arms. Both have lost at Voldemort's doing, both have been left behind to mourn a lover lost. Both know the pain the other feels.

Revelling in the memories of two dark-haired men, one a saviour and one a victim of circumstances beyond any other their control, they sit in a companionable silence and drink away the pain, occasionally topping off the other's drink before it even drops below half-full or breaking the silence with a well-earned world-weary sigh.

Tonight, the rain beats down on the lone small, dingy window of Remus' kitchen, obscuring the light from the Muggle street lamps and blocking out the slowly waning moon behind dark grey clouds. Draco watches Remus trace the rim of his glass, a far away look in his eyes and he thinks of warm skin against his and a pair of eyes he won't see again. He wonders what Remus is thinking, what thoughts wander through his head that cause him to sigh and take a long drink. Draco has a million different questions to ask the old professor and a thousand different emotions are battling for control of him tonight as they sit together, only half-aware they aren't alone.

Draco is barely surprised when the tears start to fall from his grey eyes. He feels empty, alone and old before his time.

His voice cracks when he asks Remus, "It never gets any better, does it?"

The werewolf glances up at Draco and, in the feeble darkness, looks old beyond his forty-one years. His voice is tired and rough when he answers and Draco vaguely wonders how long ago the moon was and if they are getting harder as each one passes.

"No. It doesn't. You just learn to get out of bed each day because you have to get on with your life."

From his tone, Draco can tell the werewolf doesn't quite believe what he's saying.

Draco asks him how long it takes to move on, running both hands through his hair through his silver-blond hair and trying desperately to hold what's left of him together. Remus smirks wickedly, downs the last of his whiskey and tells Draco he'll let him know when he finds out.

Draco tries to smile, but fails as the tears he rarely allows himself flow. He doesn't look up when he feels Remus' hand on his shoulder or when he says "I know, Draco. I know," just lets the tears fall as the rain pours down outside, soaking the city below. When he dares to look up at his companion, he sees the pain in those eyes another grey-eyed boy found captivating. Remus looks away with a wince and shifts in his chair, allowing Draco to catch sight of his reflection in the window. He starts and stares in horror, barely recognising the gaunt and pale man, a mere shadow of the boy he used to be, staring back at him.

The rain washes over his reflections, distorting the mother-of-pearl trails that stream down his cheeks and Draco feels as if he is drowning. Drowning in sorrow, drowning in pain, drowning in despair as he wishes for another day with Harry. Just one more day--one more day to be able to touch him and say the things they both had left unsaid. But he knows wishes never come true, at least not for him.

Starting, somewhat unsteadily, from his chair, he manages to choke out an excuse to Remus and hurries from the cramped flat. Stumbling outside, he lets the rain wash over him, drawing in deep breathes and revelling in the charged stormy air. As thunder rolls over London skies and lightening strikes in the distance, he realises neither he nor the werewolf have many moons left as two hearts pine for loves who left too soon.