emptiness and wanting
He watched them through narrowed eyes. It was cold outside, snow covering the ground under his feet, and Draco Malfoy found himself wishing that Harry Potter would throw a snowball at him. Why should the Mudblood and Weasley get all the fun?
Besides, then he could throw a snowball back and it was so rare that Malfoy had the opportunity to throw things at Potter and not get in trouble for it.
He could hear their laughs and screams even from where he was, he could see the looks Granger and Weasley were exchanging. Harry seemed oblivious, mind, but his sidekicks seemed oh-so-interested in one another, looking back and forth with little smiles at every opportunity. He sneered at that- oh, wouldn't it be fun when Potter was left alone once the two of them bothered to do something about their crush.
Leaning against the tree he was hiding behind, he stared out at the clear blue sky and fumbled in his coat pocket for the pack of cigarettes he'd taken along before leaving. Found them. Then he pulled the pack out and opened it with his slim fingers, removing one and lighting it with the lighter that he kept in his trouser pockets.
His father would be furious if he knew, smoking was such a stupid Muggle thing to do. But then, Lucius's disapproval was part of the fun for Draco. He lit the cigarette, fire meeting ash, and with a bright flicker and a slight crackling sound, it was lit. He brought it to his lips, took a deep haul and shut his eyes. The haze permeated his brain, making him feel sleepy and a bit drifty, all his hostility of a moment ago gone. That would be his second favorite thing about smoking- it made him mellow.
His eyes were drawn to Harry again, who was lying on his back in the snow as his friends continued to run around and shriek like children. Were they really in their fifth year at Hogwarts? Draco thought bitterly, They never bloody acted it. He took a long drag, feeling the- what was it called? Nicotine? Not at all an attractive name, he would have to find a better word for it, but for now he'd have to use the ugly term- nicotine- as it sunk into him.
What was he doing here, watching Potter and his fan club like he was some jealous little twit... It made him sick to think about it. So, with a defiant toss of his cigarette into the snow, he started to head back to school, by way of where his three schoolmates were enjoying the weather.
Hermione noticed him first, freezing in her tracks mid snowball-launch. Ron, who had been waiting for the attack so that he could retaliate with his own, saw her upset expression and turned, following her gaze with his own. Malfoy. It suddenly felt even colder outside, like Draco controlled the weather himself.
"Harry," Ron said gently, but Harry knew his tone and got to his feet instantly, brushing away cold snow from his back.
As always, Draco was smirking. "Fancy meeting you here, Potter." He was at it again, spitting out Harry's name like it made him want to vomit, like it was the most vile of medicines.
"Charming as usual, Malfoy."
Hermione and Ron's eyes darted between the two of them like they were watching a game of Wizard's chess. Malfoy's turn. Their eyes fell on him expectantly.
Draco kept walking, didn't look back, had no reply.
"Well that was quite the let-down," Ron commented as all three of them watched the blond Slytherin's retreating back.
Hermione nodded. "I was hoping for something good, honestly. You know, something ending with Harry kicking Malfoy's arse."
Harry's eyes remained trained on the other boy. "Next time, then," he said but his voice was flat.
Harry couldn't sleep that night. There had been something different about Malfoy, a sense that he'd been watching them for much longer than they'd initially realized. And there was something else, something tangible underneath Malfoy's usual lazy drawl and way of saying Harry's name like it was a disease that was too horrible to be spoken of.
He hadn't looked at them. Usually Malfoy was all about eye contact. He could express smugness, defiance, and challenge them all with one glance. But he'd carefully avoided Harry's gaze this time, his eyes fixed on something far beyond the Gryffindor. What could possibly make Malfoy even more guarded than usual?
And then he realized that this was Malfoy he was thinking about, Malfoy, and so why should he care really? So he rolled over one final time and willed his breathing to slow, willed his mind to go blank, and then he was asleep and there was nothing else to think.
You never notice anything, Potter.
Crabbe and Goyle were chattering to him but he heard none of it. Draco's gaze was fixed on the dark haired Gryffindor who was always in his thoughts.
Do you ever think about why we're so obsessed with each other? Five years later and, still, you're oblivious. Five years of duels and bickering and petty- although incredibly witty- banter and yet it hasn't crossed your mind that two people who claim to hate each other shouldn't spend all this time analyzing one another.
Harry was talking to Ron, who was gazing past him at Hermione but still nodding his head every once in awhile. Harry was oblivious to this though, blah blah blah-ing himself blue in the face. Had he stopped talking even once since Draco had first started watching them?
Then Neville, who had been listening intently as well, broke in and said something and they all laughed, Draco could see Harry's green eyes sparkling even from where he sat.
This isn't normal. I shouldn't spend so much time watching you.
And then he glanced around the room and his eyes rested on Draco. A puzzled look came over him, replacing the smile of moments before, as he noticed Draco had been watching him.
And Draco, unnerved under the other boy's scrutiny, mumbled to his friends that he was leaving and got up.
Ciggies, need a ciggie.
He walked out of the room and outside, went back to the tree he'd stood at only the day before and, with trembling fingers, pulled out his package of smokes and lit one. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the bark of the tree, breathing in and out deeply.
Lately, not just yesterday but for weeks now, it had been occurring to him that maybe, just maybe he felt more than just hate for Harry Potter. He'd been trying to ignore it, make excuses, but as he'd watched them yesterday it had really, harshly struck him that he would give anything to have been in that snowball fight with Potter, to not be on the outside for once.
He'd spent so long consumed with anger and dislike for Harry and his friends, he hadn't even noticed that something else had been building in the pit of his stomach. Desire for Harry's attention, envy at the trio's friendship, loneliness at his only real companions being Goyle and Crabbe. When he'd been younger it had been fun to know everyone feared him, hated him. It was something, after all. Better than at home, where he just moved invisibly from room to room, barely noteworthy unless useful to his parents in some way. Five years ago Harry had rejected him for Weasley- he had liked Harry when they'd in the shop that first day, but Potter's refusal had shut him down, stopped him cold, helped him forget that. Public humiliation did that to a Malfoy.
And if Malfoys knew any emotion they knew hate, but Draco was beginning to realize that what he felt about Harry wasn't his usual thing.
Besides that, it wasn't like Draco had anything to compare what he was feeling to. He'd never been in love before, he'd never been in like before. He'd been in Well He's Not That Bad before, or It's Him or A Sock Puppet before, but this wasn't really either. It was just, well, strange.
He heard the crunching of boots in the snow but didn't open his eyes, he'd spent enough time watching Harry's every move to be able to sense him. It was a rumbling in his stomach, a dull ache in his head.
As Harry approached he was struck by how easy it was to spot Malfoy. The long, silver hair that Draco had long since stopped gelling back and now hung in his face like a strangely-shiny mop. The way he stood, like everything was always a giant pose. And the cigarette smell that hung in the cold air... Harry'd never seen anyone else at school smoking, it wasn't very popular in the wizarding world.
"What are you doing out here?" asked Harry, his voice weary and curious.
Slowly Draco opened his eyes and let his cool gaze roam over the other boy. Harry hadn't even bothered to put on a coat, he'd just run out in his robes and quickly tied a scarf around his neck. Draco felt almost flattered. How nice of Harry to be so concerned, he thought, sarcasm etching itself into his thoughts.
Draco blew smoke at him, causing Harry to look down and cough, then glare as he looked back up at him. Draco rolled his eyes. How did Draco manage to make everything look so distant and aloof? Even his smoking seemed superior to everyone else's. "I'm having a smoke, Potter. What do you think I'm bloody doing?"
Harry was silent for a moment. Why was he even there? Then, quietly, "Can I have one?" It was weird, this whole thing, lately each time he looked at Malfoy the boy seemed more...well, vulnerable. Instead of his usual smugness and distain, there seemed to be other emotions buried underneath it all. And although Harry had always thought that he would do a little jig on the day Malfoy started to feel what he'd made other people feel, this wasn't pleasant. He wasn't enjoying his revenge like he should have been.
"No."
"Why not?"
"They're bad for you."
He looked at the other boy in disgust. If your worst enemy won't aid and abet in the blackening of your lungs, who will? Harry snorted and then replied, "And yet strangely healthy for you?"
"Sod off." He looked back, Ron and Hermione hadn't followed for once. Lowering his arm, he held the cigarette at his side. "Where's your fan club? Aren't you afraid your sudden disappearance will cause mass suicide? The Famous Harry Potter, gone!"
"Do you always have to be such a prat?" Harry continued, his voice sounding furious. How did Malfoy do that to him, make him care and then- wait.
Since when do you care about Malfoy?
These were not thought that Harry was prepared to deal with. Besides that, the chill in the air had begun to wrap itself tighter and tighter around his body, and he was pretty sure that in a moment his nose and several of his fingers would be falling off. So he turned and walked away, hoping that his exit was as dramatic as Draco's always seemed to be.
Malfoy lifted the cigarette to his lips again. His hands were still trembling.
It hadn't stopped snowing in days. Small white flakes fell, tumbling and gliding down from the heavens with surprising ferocity, covering the ground, the bare trees, everything that it touched with a pure white coating.
It was beautiful to look at, and day after day Harry sat by any window he could find and just watched the snow fall. Hermione and Ron seemed distracted anyhow, he tried to act like he didn't know but really he'd never been much for blindness.
He'd been blind for a long time and was started to realize that. How many times had he caught Draco staring at Harry and his friends? How often did Malfoy have to challenge and bother Harry to get some sort of attention? Why hadn't he noticed all this? He was noticing it now, he was noticing a lot of stuff about Draco now. Like how his hair was often used to obscure his face from other people, how when he sat with Goyle or Crabbe he seemed to not even be listening, always looking off into the distance as if imaging something better.
He'd realized that Draco wasn't even cruel to anyone other than himself, Ron and Hermione, and when he was it was much less obviously. He didn't run around trying to get them in trouble anymore, he just watched them and pouted glowered glared frowned or scowled. So, since Draco had backed off so considerably, this whole arch-nemesis type way they always saw each other in, it was ridiculous. Why are we still doing this?
He hoped that Ron and Hermione hadn't minded his disappearing after classes were over, but he'd figured that going off on his own gave them the alone time they seemed to be craving. He was fine with that, he wanted them to be happy. Besides, it was nice to get away from people sometimes, and everyone knew not to bother Harry Potter when he was having window-contemplation time.
It was like an unspoken rule.
Which of course, was destroyed by Ron and Hermione, who came running up to him with widened eyes. He looked down at them calmly.
"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione said, her tone hurried and annoyed.
"Up here. Where have you been?"
She rolled her eyes and continued, "It's the day before Christmas. You were supposed to meet us an hour ago to wrap gifts." She frowned. "Neville got all frightened and was sure you'd been kidnapped, he's running around right now searching for you."
He blinked at her. How late was it? He hadn't even given thought to the plans the three of them had made. Not that he'd been noticing all that much - except Draco, and that my best friends are falling in love, and that this time of year really can be depressing , he reminded himself- lately, but still. With a sigh he jumped down and the three of them started down the hall.
He would have expected it to sneak up on him, these feelings, lurking about the shadows and scrambling back and forth from wall to wall until finally it couldn't wait anymore. Instead, one day, Draco was having one of his usual rants...Mudbloods...disgrace...Harry Potter...Dumbledore...and Crabbe and Goyle were, as usual were trying to appear both interested and as though they had the slightest idea what he was talking about. And then, mid-rant, the realization that all he was sprouting was merely habit and conversation filler clunked him about the head.
This was very displeasing.
Crabbe and Goyle were leaving for the holidays in a few hours and he wanted to get as far away from them, from all the Slytherins, as possible. Most of his house would be going home to their rich families for Christmas, he was the rare exception. Lucius seemed to enjoy Christmas much more when his son wasn't around, so he'd stopped going home. Fine with him.
But then he stopped, stood still, realizing that he had nowhere to go. And so he turned and headed back, realizing then that this was his fate. Crabbe and Goyle and all they represented, all he himself represented, was how it was always going to be.
How many hours until left until I can go to sleep?
He felt sick.
When he woke up the next morning he seemed to be on autopilot. He didn't feel cold, he didn't feel lonely, he didn't feel anything. Got out of bed, brushed his teeth, got dressed, and then as he started to leave he realized that he couldn't remember doing any of it. He stepped out of the Slytherin main room and, since he'd been blankly, sleepily staring at the floor as he walked, he noticed a tiny wrapped box-shaped gift on the floor.
Christmas, he thought with a shock. It's Christmas.
Malfoy was written on it and he bent down, picked it up and unwrapped it carefully, expecting it to be a joke gift left by one of his many non-fans.
It was a pack of cigarettes with a small note on top.
Malfoy, it said. You should quit smoking. Until then, merry Christmas. Harry.
Narrowing his eyes, Draco slipped it into his pocket and headed for the Great Hall. Bastard.
He walked quickly, impatient to reach Harry and give him a good long yell, and when he got there he didn't even notice the floating candles, Christmas decorations or excited, jabbering students around him. He headed right for Harry, who was seated next to Weasley, and then dramatically threw the cigarettes down in front of him.
"Outside, now." He said coldly and threw the crumpled up note as well, then turned away with a flourish.
Harry watched him go and then turned back to his friends, who looked expectant. Ron seemed ready to jump to his feet but Hermione was watching carefully, her lips pursued. She reached out to still Ron and said softly, "No," as she shook her head.
Harry, embarrassed, picked up the pack and mumbled apologies to his friends. When he got out of the doors of the common room he froze, though, and looked around. What was he doing?
Hermione, meanwhile, reached for the note and uncrumpled it, reading it carefully. Her brow furrowed as she tried to understand it's meaning. Ron was leaning over, trying to read it as well, but she snatched it back away from him.
"What?"
"It's none of your business, Ron Weasley!"
"But it's yours?"
She made an indignant sound and turned back down to the food on her plate, sticking the note on the bench next to her where Harry had been sitting. Ron, mouth set in a thin line, watched her.
She took a bite of the green apple she held in her hand and then put it down and stood up, smoothing down her skirt and grabbing the note. "I'll be back," she told Ron and left, breaking into a run.
Ron just stared at the empty seats his friends had been at. Neville sat down in their place and smiled at him weakly, picking up Hermione's uneaten apple.
"Merry Christmas," he said, to which Run grumbled.
Harry was still trying to decide what he should do, clutching the cigarettes, when Hermione burst through the doors after him.
"Thought you'd gone," she said, somewhat breathlessly.
"Nope."
"And why not?"
He looked at her blankly.
"He's waiting for you," she urged. Was he daft?
"But you hate him. He calls you ÎMudblood'. He lives to taunt you."
"No, Harry. He lives to taunt you. He just does it through Ron and I. And the reason he lives to taunt you so badly is because he's desperately envious." Harry said nothing. "But you like him."
"How do you-"
She rolled her eyes. "I've always known. Us girls run on intuition you know, and my intuition says that you want Draco Malfoy quite badly." She moved closer to him and looked carefully into his green eyes. "Love is...well, you don't get to pick when it happens and who it's with. So even though Malfoy is a bratty, insolent little bugger who stinks like cigarettes, you should go to him."
"Are you really Hermione?" Harry asked, peering down at his best friend through his glasses. "Because this is quite out of character."
Chuckling, she reached out and pulled Harry into her arms, hugging him tightly. He hugged back, his arms tight around her small body, and when she pulled away a small smile had teased up the corners of her lips.
"Now sod off," she said, pointing down the hallway. She gave him a gentle push. "Go."
And he ran, down the halls until he reached the doors to outside where he knew Draco would be waiting.
He wasn't by his usual tree, though, he was standing in the middle of the yard, his face tilted up towards the falling snow, his arms wrapped around his shivering body. And he looked, well, captivated really, or at least he did until Harry came up to him, interrupting the moment Draco had been sharing with the snow.
He didn't know how to approach the other boy, what to say or do to bring Draco's attention to him. But it turned out that he didn't have to, as he looked at Harry as soon as the dark haired boy had gotten closer and it was just like old times, his beautiful face fixed in a sneer. "Biding your time, were you?"
"What's your problem?"
"This gift of yours, another snide reminder that the good and pure Harry Potter is willing to give a gift to his arch nemesis. You think that you can show the school how wonderful you are, forgiving and accepting but I know your game, Potter. I know what this is about and-"
And it's not about me.
It's about you, about how great you are. Why is it never about me?
Why can't you look at me and see the person I've become, the person underneath all these layers of hurt and pain and darkness?
Harry remembered that day that Draco had been watching them as he and his friends had thrown snow at each other. ...And the reason he lives to taunt you so badly is because he's desperately envious... Well, if he wanted to be treated the same way Harry treated Ron and Hermione... So Harry bent down, scooping up a handful of snow and walked right up to Draco, who had stopped his yammering and was watching the dark haired boy curiously.
As Harry lifted up the snowball and dropped it on Draco's head.
Draco sputtered and then gaped at him, unable to form any coherent thoughts. Except, possibly, the tried and true, "Bastard."
He was cold and he was wet, and Draco was quite certain that his hair was ruined. This was really very upsetting to him.
Harry moved back, a smirk on his face and picked up another clump of snow. Draco quickly recovered and grabbed one of his own, and the boys faced each other.
"I-" Draco began and Harry took this opportunity to throw another ball of snow at him.
Draco gasped and ducked, then looked at Harry again in wonderment.
"You need to shut up, Malfoy," Harry said, his voice calm. "This is a snowball fight, not an exercise for you to practice your talking skills."
Angrily, Draco threw his snowball, missing Harry, who ducked and grabbed more snow in a quick, fluid motion.
Oh wow.
And it continued, them throwing snow back and forth, ducking and running, swearing at each other.
Draco, who was getting the worse end of the deal, couldn't help but admire how Harry had managed to avoid almost everyone of his shots. His smoking wasn't doing him any favors, sixteen years old and out of breath from a snow fight. Must give that up. Really.
And he was shivering very obviously now, Harry realized as he raised his arm to throw again. So he dropped the snowball and went towards Draco, who immediately looked down at the snow-covered ground. He could hear Draco's teeth chattering.
"Next time," Harry said, his tone amused. "We bring coats."
Draco's face tilted upwards, towards Harry's. "Next time?" he asked. And somewhere, underneath his usual dry tone, Harry could hear a tinge of hopefulness, an undertone of longing.
And that was it, the hidden emotion in Draco's voice, the look in his gray eyes, Harry had lost the ability for coherent thoughts. Pretty, was all he managed. And, wonder what he tastes like?
Harry reached and brushed the snow out of Draco's hair. His hand lingered, though, and then gently brushed the blond's soft cheek. Draco flinched slightly, not enough to move out of Harry's grasp, but enough to let Harry know that he was getting to him.
"Potter, stop."
"What?" Harry asked, his voice innocent but his hand still cupping Draco's cheek.
"I'm not-" Draco began but stopped. He shook his head, causing Harry to drop his hand at his side and look forlorn. Draco couldn't stand that look on him, made Harry look like a puppy who'd just been kicked. With a sigh he admitted, his voice so soft that it was barely more than an expulsion of breath. "I'm not supposed to love you."
Harry couldn't help it, he laughed. He knew that he was being rude, but he seriously doubted that Lucius had sat his son down one summer and said, ÎDraco, you are not to fall in love with Harry Potter. I see the looks that the two of you exchange and I am here to tell you, no. Just no.' "Who says?" he asked.
"I do."
"Well, then, if it's no one important..." Harry said and moved in close again. He pressed his lips to Draco's quickly, not giving the blond a chance to argue.
They kissed and it was fantastic, much better than either would have expected it to have been. Yes, Harry bit down a bit too much, but it didn't matter because it was Harry, and it was Draco, and it was kissing, and by those three factors alone it was good. It was like every good holiday rolled into one, like reading a really terrific book, like everything coming together at once, it was like completion, and all of their senses felt heightened intense confused. Harry felt himself thinking that Draco tasted like cigarettes and tea, and felt warm and soft but strong and right, oh so very, wonderfully right. As they kissed he sunk into the rhythm and stopped biting, just pecked and licked and nipped back, following the more experienced boy's lead. Draco, who was much too hazy for such coherent thoughts, found himself wondering how Harry knew how to kiss so good.
mmm...
I'm not supposed to love you.
Draco repeated to himself silently. He smiled against Harry's lips. If he thought smoking would upset Lucius, imagine what kissing Harry Potter would do. His body was shivering, from nerves and from excitement, but mostly from the cold, and yet he found that kissing Harry was wonderful, it made warmth start in his toes and travel up his whole body. It was better than cigarettes, it was certainly better than all the kisses he'd ever had before, it was better than anything else he'd ever experienced. And it felt so unreal, because Draco had been wanting this for so long, craving it like a cigarette. He was so used now to being envious of Harry, of hating him, of wanting him, of watching him and wondering why he always had to be the villain of the piece, and now how would he manage to deal with having that taken away from him?
I don't even know how to be happy.
But he wanted Harry to teach him, wanted to not be the villain for once. He didn't care if he was supposed to love Harry or not, because he did and that was all, it was done and there was nothing that could make it stop.
Ron, who had gotten tired of Neville, had decided to get up and follow his friends. Hermione had still been out in the hall, sitting on the floor and thinking about how to handle this if the boys managed to fuck it up. And then with a nearly Draco-ish flourish, Ron had stormed through the doors and marched up to her. He'd demanded that Hermione let him know what was going on and, so, with a shrug she had led him outside to see for himself.
He hadn't expected this.
Ron was gaping at them, while Hermione stood beside with arms crossed. A smile was teasing up the corners of her lips, and she really felt very proud with herself.
She glanced at Ron, who was still gaping, and then looked back at the other boys. "Close your mouth, Ron," she said, gaze fixed ahead of her.
He did as he was told. "Uh..."
And then something occurred to her and she spun to face him, eyes wide. "You won't make a fuss, will you Ron?" She looked at him hopefully.
He returned his gaze to the two boys, the kisses had stopped and Malfoy was in the middle of lighting a cigarette, cupping his hand around it to block the wind. It didn't appear to be working because he had to keep at it, and then Harry leaned in and cupped the cigarette for him. Ron took a few steps forward, trying to see better. Maybe Dumbledore had slipped something into his juice that morning? Could this be a test?
Harry was watching Draco with a look on his face that Ron had never seen before. Harry was in love, he realized with a start. It was no spell. He knew Harry well enough to be able to tell him moods and, well, well. Not much else to say or think, really. Then he looked at Hermione, who he knew was manipulating him with her pouting and her big doe eyes, but he didn't care. He shook his head and said, with a sigh, "Merry Christmas, Hermione."
She appeared startled that it had been so easy. But she smiled, as it seemed her work there was done, and thought about hugging the redheaded boy. Would it be appropriate?
"Bloody hell!"
The whirled around to find Neville standing there, even more shocked than Ron had been. Hermione glanced at Ron in irritation. So he quickly stepped in and put an arm around Neville to lead him away.
"What did you get for Christmas, Neville?" he asked. Hermione watched them go, decided that Ron was wonderful and absolutely deserving of a hug, then turned back to the boys. They had been watching them, she realized, and both boys waved at her. Blowing a kiss at Harry and then sticking her tongue out at Draco, she then turned and hurried after her other friends.
Draco took a deep haul on his cigarette. "Why do I get the tongue-sticking-out bit?"
"You have to ask?"
Draco nodded. "True." He made a face. "Still, when we go inside, I think that I'll kick her."
Lovely, Harry thought, very mature. "Do you like your present, Draco?"
He smiled. Never before had his name sounded so wonderful. "Oh, yes. Except I think I may be giving up smoking."
"And why's that?"
"I have other ways to relieve stress now." He wiggled his eyebrows at the other boy. But then his expression fell and Harry tensed up, what was wrong?
"I have no present for you, Harry."
Harry. For the first time, hearing Draco say it without any venom, without sounding like the name made him ill.
He smiled. "Yes you do," he said, and kissed Draco again.