» Title: Like Breathing Under Water
» Author: [icefire_lioness] & [email@example.com] & [My HPFF Page]
» Fandom: Harry Potter
» Rating: R (to be safe)
» On Going (WIP)/One-off/Series Name: One Shot
» Classification(s): Citrus
» Warnings: Angst, FPS, Language [Mild], SLASH
» Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
» Author's Notes: Well, this is my first fic to be posted on noire.sensus, but it's actually my first ever slash. :D I've changed it a few times; here is the end result. Hopefully you'll like it, and if not, tell me what I can do to change it! (And tell me if you like it, too. That's always nice.)
» Summary: A midnight walk will leave Draco at a loss. Harry is confused, but does that give him the right to use someone the way he uses Draco? Even if it is only Draco Malfoy?AN: I realise it may seem like Draco and Harry have switched personalities, but I think in a situation like this, it would have been like I have written it. Draco hasn't had much of a chance to work out what love is supposed to be like, so he would be quite awkward at first. Anyway, I hope you like it, and please review, as always.
Footsteps on the cold floor, the only thing that lets me sleep at night.
Thoughts running through my mind as I pace up and down the corridors, dark as the night outside, the only light a small beam of solid magic, emitted by my wand.
Looking out of a window, the rain beats heavily down, darkening the already black window.
The window seems crystallized by the rain, an indigo gem stretching across the wall, leaving tear streaks against the pane.
I rest my aching head against the glass, letting it cool and moisten as I stare out into the night. I can see stars outside, glimmering faithfully in the pallid clouds. They remind me of him.
My forehead has calmed, my raging mind becoming placid as I let the sound of shadows wash through me.
I stand tall, stretching upwards, pulling my arms out until the rigid muscles settle into a more comfortable place, and then I walk.
I stop outside a classroom when I hear voices coming from within. Or, at least, one voice, trying to be quiet. I can almost recognise it, but the heavy wooden door alters the sound until it can only be recognised vaguely as a deep male voice. I lean closer, my curiosity overwhelming my desire to be alone and silent.
There is a loud noise, heavy footsteps. I disappear into the gloom and watch as an unfamiliar girl darts out of the room, a sob wrenching through the hands that cover her face.
I go to step into the light, but I hear another noise and shrink back once more. The door opens again and I realise who the voice belonged to.
A boy stand in the doorway, looking at the girl as she hurries away, a hand automatically reaching to his untidy black hair and running through it, leaving it to fall pleasingly over his face.
My heart flips in an unaccustomed way and I have to stop myself from reaching out to push his glasses back over those green eyes that flicker in the light. I cannot, however, stop myself from stepping from the shadows.
He looks my way as he hears the noise and his eyes, soft from emotion; grow hard with cold fury as soon as he sees me. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?”
His voice is rough. It sounds as though he has been shouting and then crying, for a long time. His voice slips a little as he says my name and my heart beats faster. My cheeks grow red, and although I have no idea why they have, I am glad for the cover of near darkness in these hallways.
He will not look at me. It makes me feel so beneath even contempt that, feeling as I do, I cannot help myself. The action is instinctive, although I have never done it before.
I step closer and put my hand onto his cheek, forcing it around so that he is face-to-face with me. I had misjudged. He is much, much closer than I had anticipated. His lips graze my cheek as his face is forced around. He is taller than me. Just. He has to look down the slightest bit to make his green eyes come into contact with my grey.
I shiver a little at his gaze. He is very powerful, I can see that. I suppose I never really noticed him as anything more than The Boy Who Lived, but, no. He is so much more.
Silver and green. The colour of the moon in the Lake. Perfect.
I did not intend to, but I say the last word. A purr, which is fitting. A low growl onto his cheek.
He shudders a little at the feel of my breath on him, but does not break my gaze. I look closer into his eyes and it is as though I have fallen. Over and over, I am being pulled into his eyes.
My hand is still on his cheek. I can sense it there, rather than feel it, where his skin is in contact with my skin. Warmth radiates from the place, but all my other skin is bitterly cold. He has a small amount of stubble there. It scratches my hand softly, and I move my fingers gently over it.
Without warning, I see his eyes darken a little with something, although I cannot tell what. He pulls me toward him and I look up into his eyes quickly before I am cut off by his mouth.
His lips on my lips. This is my first male kiss. I hope it is not my last.
His lips are so soft, but he does not use them softly. I can feel a hunger there, as he seems to drink me in. It is all I can do to keep kissing him at the same pace as he kisses me.
His tongue is in my mouth. He pushes me up against the wall. My back is being cut into by something but I do not feel it.
His hands are over mine, soft, soft, so gently.
He pulls them down, still covering them with his own, so that they are on his waist.
I break away for a second, gasping for breath. He looks at me impatiently.
“What?” he asks, and then shakes his head as I open my mouth to speak.
“Quiet.” he purrs, before closing the gap between our lips once more.
My heart is beating to the sound of his and as his tongue moves inside my mouth I feel as though I am about to explode, but would that that moment came sooner!
My hands are moving of their own accord, and I reach myself up that few centimetres to be able to put my arms around his shoulders, and my lips to his cheek.
I kiss him softly and he looks sideways at me, his lips quirked.
Leaning up again, I kiss the small curve of mouth, and with wonder and delight, feel him shiver against me.
“So gentle…” he whispers.
He puts his hands on my shoulders then pushes me savagely against the wall so that my head slams against the stone.
I can feel hot blood in my hair, but I forget it quickly as he reaches one hand around to caress my neck, his other combing through my matted locks. I look up at him, hunger in my eyes. I can tell he sees it, because he lets out a low growl and pushes me against the wall once more.
He is not gentle.
I can see, every time I come up for air, his impatience, his determination to continue in haste.
His eyes have lost any softness and he looks like an animal, which is producing a definite tightening in my pants. It is not the tailoring.
I place both hands under his shirt, feeling his muscles contract with pleasure.
Black hair falls softly over one eye; lending him an innocent look which is slightly belied by the way he is looking at me.
His glasses have a crack in one lens.
I reach up as he stops for a few seconds, and take the glasses off him. I place them in my pocket and caress the soft skin around his eyes.
He closes them and murmurs appreciatively. “I think…” he says, in a low voice that I have to strain to hear “I think I might, possibly, really like you, Draco”
I lean up and kiss the worried look off his face. He smiles down at me and I smile back.
“Never mind, Harry. I think I might, possibly, really like you too.”
I say it mockingly, but smile to show that I am joking.
He kisses me tenderly once more and then turns his head.
“I have to go.” he says quietly, and reaches around my waist. I feel his hand near my waist and gasp in surprise. Then I realise he is just retrieving his glasses from my pocket, as he holds them in front of my face and shakes them at me with a smirk on his face.
He turns on his heel and walks away, never looking back. But as I see his cloak whip around the corner, I could swear I hear him say “Or maybe, I might, possibly, love you.” and I sink to the floor, a stupid grin on my face.
I fall asleep there and wake up early in the morning as a ray of light touches my face. I nearly cannot believe it happened at all, but as I put my hand into my pocket, a piece of glass from his broken glasses pierces my finger. I stare at the blood welling up on my finger and feel something very strange swelling in my chest.
My back leans against the biggest branch of the tree and my eyes close. As the breeze drifts around me, I relive last night. Every moment, every touch is fresh in my mind.
I can feel the muscles in my body relax and I realise that I have never quite felt this alive.
He has made me.
A noise below startles me out of my reverie and I look down. He is below me, walking to my tree. He leans his back against the trunk and his eyes close.
He may have his eyes closed, but unlike me, his face is not peaceful. Frown lines crease his forehead and his eyes are closed tightly as though he is trying hard to forget something painful.
I jump down from the tree and stand beside him.
His eyes open in surprise and he stares at me as though he does not know who I am. I sit down beside him and lean my back against the trunk also, copying his position.
He shifts away from me, although I am not that close.
I look at him, but he avoids my eyes.
“Harry.” I say, my voice quiet.
He looks at me finally, but still does not look pleased.
“Go away Malfoy.” he whispers harshly, “I can’t be seen with you, you know that.”
I am a little shocked at first, but that feeling is replaced quickly by relief. He is just worried about what people might think, he does not actually not want to see me.
I allow myself a small smile in his direction, but he does not smile back.
I stand up quickly, but as I do, I say quietly, “Meet me tonight?”
He looks up at me, and then the frown lines reappear.
He looks at his feet and shifts his toe in the dirt. I cannot take my eyes off the line he has drawn in the earth. My heart is beating faster.
“Well?” I ask. I am impatient by nature, I always have been.
He looks up and catches my eye again.
“Last night.” he says, and he seems a little furtive, looking anywhere but at me.
He struggles for words and then finally, he says “Last night was a mistake, Malfoy. Surely it didn’t mean anything to you?” he gazes at me, an almost pleading look in those eyes of jade.
I look down at him questioningly and he sighs. “Malfoy, I was confused. My emotions were all over the place, and I just…I just needed some kind of warmth.”
He looks impatient now, as though I am wasting his time by talking to him.
“I don’t understand” I say, my voice shaking a bit.
He glares at me and then says in a slow, condescending voice “Last night. It didn’t mean anything to me Malfoy. You don’t mean anything to me.” He keeps glaring at me as he says this last sentence in a ruthless undertone.
I feel like he has picked up a huge, iron hammer and hit me hard in the stomach.
My breath gasps outward in a shot, sharp huff and my eyes fill up with tears that I don’t, won’t, let fall.
“Oh.” I say. If I let out the words I want to say, I am ruined.
I cannot, cannot let him hear them.
They are the only remnants of my pride that I am still in possession of.
His gaze drops, and I wonder what he really feels.
“Oh.” I say again. I turn to walk away, wishing that I might feel his hand on my arm, telling me that no, he didn’t really mean any of that. It was all just a lie.
It was all a lie.
No hand on my arm, as I walk further away. No voice calling me back.
No Harry, no Harry.
There is a room, down in the dungeons, where nobody goes.
It is dark, and quiet, and no-one can hear you scream.
I walk there quickly.
With the door closed behind me, I sink to the floor, trying desperately not to relive his words. But there is no stopping them. It is as though he is standing in front of me, the same cruel look on his face.
He punches me to the ground as he says “It didn’t mean anything to me, Malfoy. It didn’t mean anything to me. You don’t mean anything to me. It was a mistake. I lied, you’re stupid. You shouldn’t have believed me. Why did you believe? You’re so stupid. No-one loves you. No-one. Stop pretending.”
I put my hands to my ears in the timeless gesture, curling into a ball and wailing as my heart breaks.
“NO. No, no, no!” my head is in my hands and my eyes are screwed up. I am trying my hardest to erase every word he has said, the words my heart says, adding to my pain, but it just isn’t possible. They pulse in my mind, huge red words behind my eyelids.
Thump, thump, thump go the words. And crack, crack, crack goes my heart.
“You don’t mean anything to me, Malfoy.” He says, kicking me in the ribs. I curl tighter, trying desperately to disappear into the cracks of the floor.
“Absolutely nothing. Last night meant nothing.”
His voice is taunting me, no matter how loudly I cry.
“No, it’s not true!” I shout, opening my eyes and letting my hand fall to my sides in absolute misery. It doesn’t make a difference. He stands there, that demon Harry, and says “Nothing. You mean nothing.”
“You can’t say that! Don’t you know what it meant to me?” he is blurring before my eyes, his smirk transforming into a smear across his beautiful, horrible face.
“I have never loved. I have never been loved before.” I whisper to him, my voice cracking.
“What happened last night…it could have changed me, you realise that? It could have changed me and I never would have…” I can’t say any more. I can’t let myself hear it. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. I don’t matter.
My hands move to my face as the tears fall. I look at him through hazy eyes and see his demon face harden.
My tears feel like ice on my cheeks, and I feel a sense of calm run through me. It is a shock, but it is nothing to what he has done to me.
All the misery, the love, is replaced by pure rage. No-one can do this to me. Not to me.
My cries stop and I stand tall, my hands trembling.
I look him in those devil eyes, so full of rage and hate.
“You don’t know what you have done, do you Harry?” my voice is ice cold and I wish I could have told him this in the flesh, but I know it would never have worked.
But, still, his image stays, hardly wavering.
I lean down, so that my face is right in his.
“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a Malfoy scorned. You will pay, Potter.” I spit his name in his face and he has the nerve to disappear.
It isn’t over. I know I will cry tonight. I know it will be the first of many nights. But I have anger on my side, and that is the first step.
I turn quickly on my heel and wipe away the remaining tears on my cheeks. They feel like shards of ice, and they pierce the backs of my hands.
But it is not pain compared to what I have just felt. It is the only time I have, and ever will, let myself love.
For what is hurt and what is rage, when you compare it to a broken heart?
AN: Did you like it? Friends of mine who read it said they got a lump in their throat when he started to cry...I hope you did too! I realise that it may seem like Harry was more the Malfoy in this than Draco, but I have a feeling that when it comes to love, Draco is a very sensitive person, and Harry would have ended up being the controller of the 'relationship' . Anyway, just so you know, I think that Harry probably is in love with Draco but doesn't want to admit it to himself, let alone anyone else. I'm not going to do a sequel to this because I don't think I can do anything, but I am definitely going to do some more slashie fics! Review!
Like Breathing Under Water
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