miracle (miracle) wrote in harrylovesdraco, @ 2007-08-08 01:15:00 |
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Title: Until I know
Author: HeerJade
Rating: PG-13
Summary:He loves her. But he hates himself. And he nothings me. I smile becauseonly I know what that truly means. But he is here, with me every night,even if only for a while.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters
Warning: Slash, Spoilers for DH, be warned. Spoilers for 1-6 as well.
Notes: Constructive Critiscism is welcome. Just know that the change in tense is intentional.
Idon’t know what made me feel that he wanted me. Not that I was wrong.But he was quite happily married, obviously, as was I, apparently. Yet,there was that need. Not a thought, but a feeling. Not in his eyes, no,they were hard, cold, as they always seemed to be towards me. Marriedto the Weasley now, with one child and another on the way.
Thenwhy did his mouth twist in that way, as if indicating to me somethingthat I needed to know? A game, a joke. He was always said to be cruel.By me, mostly. And to me, mostly. When I asked him, “why” then or evendays, weeks, months later he always said, “curiosity”, his eyes alwayshard. But his skin was smooth, soft against the touch of my fingertips,my eyes avoiding contrasting eyes, always wondering what I wanted tosee in them instead. Now they were just a gate, an unopened one thatkept me out of the unknown. His touch was rough, as if he had had itwith all the kindness in the world and wanted only hatred. Maybe thatis how he kept me distinct from his wife. Not a difficult feat.
Withme sprawled on a bed, my pale skin again satin sheet, my silver lockssliding across the pillow: not exactly a Weasley am I? Not a difficultfeat at all. Yet, he struggle, especially on days that he casuallypointed out that I was “nothing like her.” An insult, never acompliment. His tone is light, but lines around his mouth tell me thathe wanted to spit the words at me, or maybe at himself. He loves her.But he hates himself. And he nothings me. I smile because only I knowwhat that truly means. But he is here, with me every night, even ifonly for a while.
Inthis hotel room, always the same room, a standing hold over it underthe name of Malfoy. Risky, it is yes, but who would care to look. Noone cares enough. So every night, the satin sheets are fresh, whichcrumple every night under our weight, and new soaps that dissolve toscrub his body clean, and bright towels that fall to reveal his body ashe moves to put on his clothes, only for a moment. It is always thesame. He is hesitant when he enters the room, the key held tightly inhis fingers even though he has entered many times before, but hisdepartures are hasty, with an air of assurance that the rest of hisactions lack.
“Youdon’t want to be here,” I said to him one night, as he had me pushed upagainst a wall, his mouth stopping over my neck as he let the wordssink in.
“Iwouldn’t be here if I did not want to be,” he said, his eyes as hard asever as he met mine. ‘Can you see me from behind that wall,’ I thoughtof asking him.
“If you don’t want me here,” he continued, when I didn’t respond. “Then don’t try to push it on me.”
“I do want you here. I always have. I just wish you didn’t bring your family along.”
Ifelt the absence of his hands from my hips immediately, and watched ashe violently grabbed his cloak and disappeared through the door. And Inoticed that it was the first time he hadn’t scrubbed the hint of mykisses off his lips before leaving my side. Progress, you could callit. So love is not the opposite of hatred after all.
Iremember the first time I met his family, a month later. Probablymotivated by what I had said. A friend, he had said, when he introducedme, the red-headed mother welcoming me easily, the little one smilingat me from her hip. Sitting awkwardly, I looked at him, to know why.Why?
Thenseeing the way his wife was seated beside me, I realized that he neededto know, to see, that we were different. Not the same people. Andtherefore, we couldn’t mean the same to him.
Afterthat it was always work. No longer anonymous meetings in a hotel room,he would have me come over to say that they had to work. I would waitby the door as the toddler gave his father a big hug and a kiss. Iwould watch as he would lean in to kiss his wife and newest baby. Thelook on his face familiar, but his eyes, well that was the difference.That was what red hair, and two children meant to him. And I was justthe villain of the story. I was the Grinch, who out of anger at my ownhappiness, went to steal another’s. To rid them of it as well. When helooked up, ready to leave for the ministry, I saw the quality of hiseyes change and I wondered if that is how he sees me: as the one whosteals his happiness. Maybe that is why he brought me to his house sooften, to see what I was robbing him of, of what he had always wanted,and I would never be able to give him.
Andeven after all this, I still let him in my bed at night, always waitingfor the moment when he wouldn’t need to anymore. But also waiting forthat one moment in the deep night when everything slips away, his eyes,his face, his scar, my hair, my name, my mark, and we both becomehuman, no longer greater than life, no longer enemies. For now justlovers. And I smile for the only time in the day, and he draws just alittle closer to me at the sight of it on my lips, and he leans in tokiss it, claim it, and keep it as the only cause of it.
Heisn’t surprised when we are caught, his face as emotionless as themoment before, his hands moving efficiently to pull on his discardedshirt. We had become reckless, and if we actually ever talked, I wouldhave asked him to take me anywhere but to his own bedroom. Sitting onthe bed, the blanket pulled to protect the fragments of my dignity, Ifelt the numbness take over, as I barely heard the words that his mouthconstructed. I just waited, like I am now, back in the hotel room.Where it all began. The cigarette on my lips quivers and I move to holdit between my fingers. A nasty habit I had picked up, trying to passthe time, waiting for him to come, just like I wait now. He has tochoose. That was her decision, not mine. Since the war, I have learnedto be less demanding. His presence or lack there of, he had said, wouldindicate his choice. So I wait, reminiscing about the time we’ve had,prepared for them to all fade into a distant memory as the years pass.After all, it’s not often a man picks the other person over his wife,kids and over all happy life. Then why pick me in the first place? Idon’t have answers. I don’t know if he will come tonight, but my eyeslinger on the door. And, I won’t leave until I know.