The Place of Utter Procrastination

Until I know

2007-08-08T23:57:34Z

Title: Until I know

Author: HeerJade

Rating: PG-13

Summary: He loves her. But he hates himself. And he nothings me. I smile because only 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.

I don’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. Married to the Weasley now, with one child and another on the way.

Then why did his mouth twist in that way, as if indicating to me something that 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 even days, weeks, months later he always said, “curiosity”, his eyes always hard. But his skin was smooth, soft against the touch of my fingertips, my eyes avoiding contrasting eyes, always wondering what I wanted to see in them instead. Now they were just a gate, an unopened one that kept me out of the unknown. His touch was rough, as if he had had it with all the kindness in the world and wanted only hatred. Maybe that is how he kept me distinct from his wife. Not a difficult feat.

With me sprawled on a bed, my pale skin again satin sheet, my silver locks sliding across the pillow: not exactly a Weasley am I? Not a difficult feat at all. Yet, he struggle, especially on days that he casually pointed out that I was “nothing like her.” An insult, never a compliment. His tone is light, but lines around his mouth tell me that he 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 know what that truly means. But he is here, with me every night, even if only for a while.

In this hotel room, always the same room, a standing hold over it under the name of Malfoy. Risky, it is yes, but who would care to look. No one cares enough. So every night, the satin sheets are fresh, which crumple every night under our weight, and new soaps that dissolve to scrub his body clean, and bright towels that fall to reveal his body as he moves to put on his clothes, only for a moment. It is always the same. He is hesitant when he enters the room, the key held tightly in his fingers even though he has entered many times before, but his departures are hasty, with an air of assurance that the rest of his actions lack.

“You don’t want to be here,” I said to him one night, as he had me pushed up against a wall, his mouth stopping over my neck as he let the words sink in.

“I wouldn’t be here if I did not want to be,” he said, his eyes as hard as ever as he met mine. ‘Can you see me from behind that wall,’ I thought of 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.”

I felt the absence of his hands from my hips immediately, and watched as he violently grabbed his cloak and disappeared through the door. And I noticed that it was the first time he hadn’t scrubbed the hint of my kisses off his lips before leaving my side. Progress, you could call it. So love is not the opposite of hatred after all.

I remember the first time I met his family, a month later. Probably motivated by what I had said. A friend, he had said, when he introduced me, the red-headed mother welcoming me easily, the little one smiling at me from her hip. Sitting awkwardly, I looked at him, to know why. Why?

Then seeing the way his wife was seated beside me, I realized that he needed to know, to see, that we were different. Not the same people. And therefore, we couldn’t mean the same to him.

After that 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 wait by the door as the toddler gave his father a big hug and a kiss. I would watch as he would lean in to kiss his wife and newest baby. The look 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 just the villain of the story. I was the Grinch, who out of anger at my own happiness, went to steal another’s. To rid them of it as well. When he looked up, ready to leave for the ministry, I saw the quality of his eyes change and I wondered if that is how he sees me: as the one who steals his happiness. Maybe that is why he brought me to his house so often, to see what I was robbing him of, of what he had always wanted, and I would never be able to give him.

And even after all this, I still let him in my bed at night, always waiting for the moment when he wouldn’t need to anymore. But also waiting for that 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 become human, no longer greater than life, no longer enemies. For now just lovers. And I smile for the only time in the day, and he draws just a little closer to me at the sight of it on my lips, and he leans in to kiss it, claim it, and keep it as the only cause of it.

He isn’t surprised when we are caught, his face as emotionless as the moment before, his hands moving efficiently to pull on his discarded shirt. We had become reckless, and if we actually ever talked, I would have asked him to take me anywhere but to his own bedroom. Sitting on the bed, the blanket pulled to protect the fragments of my dignity, I felt the numbness take over, as I barely heard the words that his mouth constructed. 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 hold it between my fingers. A nasty habit I had picked up, trying to pass the time, waiting for him to come, just like I wait now. He has to choose. That was her decision, not mine. Since the war, I have learned to be less demanding. His presence or lack there of, he had said, would indicate 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? I don’t have answers. I don’t know if he will come tonight, but my eyes linger on the door. And, I won’t leave until I know.

Lines of Mortality Chapter One

2007-08-04T23:02:16Z

Title: Lines of Mortality
Author: Heerjade
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Summary: Fear drives us to do many things. For Harry it means to redesign his view, forsake his principles and thus feed his need for companionship. Afraid of death, he is tempted for the one thing that he has been deprived of, love.Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine
Possible Spoilers:1-5, not DH or HBP compliant
Warnings: Slash
Archive: Anyone, just let me know

“I’d like a room, please,” I say, as I step up to the counter. Tom, the inn keeper of The Leaky Cauldron smiles at me and nods. He insists on taking my trunk for me up.
“How long will you be staying, Master Potter?”, he asks, setting Hedwig down on a table, while I survey the shabby room.

“I haven't decided yet,” I say looking out of the window into the streets of London. “Tally up my tab and I will pay at my departure.”

“Very well, Sir.” WIth that he bows himself out of the room.

In the silence of the room, I look at the time and wonder if the Weasley’s have woken up yet to find my bed empty of me, but replaced with a badly worded note stating my need to disappear for a while. I wonder if the Leaky Cauldron was an intelligent choice for such a purpose. I shrug and pull my shoes off to disappear into the sheets of my bed. It seems like it’s been ages since I last slept a decent sleep. I close my eyes and draw my sheets closer to my body and wonder if I have dealt with what is really bothering me so I can finally fall asleep. I guess not, I decide after laying awake for three quarters of an hour. I look at the time and it is is ten minutes to seven. I push myself out of bed, put my shoes on and head down for some breakfast. Over a bowl of hot porridge, I sink lower into my chair, and flatten my hair over my scar as curious eyes look at me from the rest of the tables. But the stares continue. Annoyed, I push my chair back, throw my napkin and leave. “God forbid that I can have breakfast in peace,” I mutter under my breath.
“Tom, bring me lunch around noon. If I’m asleep, don’t wake me and just leave the lunch and go.” I make my way to my room before he has the chance to nod.

My head is pounding, and my eyes are tired and I think back to my time in the burrow. On my 17th birthday, I had deserted the Durseley’s before they could say “Get out, boy.” But my time at the bustling household of the red heads had been short. Something was bothering me, but I’ll be damned before I admit it to myself. When my lunch was rolled into my room, I pretend to be asleep. Somehow fooling a stranger that I was asleep made me feel that nothing was wrong. I got out of bed a few minutes later and unveiled a hot meal, only to realize that I don’t have an appetite. By night time, my condition hasn’t improved if not worsened. I wish to drown my sorrows and engage in the first activity that comes to my mind.

“Bartender, give me a glass of your strongest fire-whiskey.” I can see the mockery in his eyes, as he willingly hands over the glass. I frown slightly at him before I take the glass to table and mentally prepare myself for a night of debauchery. Truth be told, he had never broken his liver into the feel of alcohol carousing through its walls. Well today was the day. Suddenly with a jerk I lift the glass to my lips and take a swig. I sputter immediately as hot lava makes its way uncomfortably down my throat. I cough some more and rub my hand over my chest, annoyed that I had drawn the attention of the other customers, some who were sniggering.

“What are you looking at?”, I ask one of them. “Never seen a boy choking after taking the first swig of alcohol in his life before? Do you know who I am?”

The man shakes his head still smiling.

“Well neither do I,” I say into my glass, lowering my head. I take a sip this time. Baby steps. In two more gulps the glass is empty. Sick of people still staring at me, I stand up noisily and head to the bar. Apparently, firewhiskey is stronger than muggle alcohol since I feel the effects almost immediately.

“Barman, give me the whole bottle.”

“Add it to my tab,” I say, as I snatch it from his hand and head up stairs to me room to drink in silence. Apparently, a person can’t even drink himself to death in peace anymore. On the stairs, I am stopped by a strong hand on my arm.

“My Potter, you sure have a knack for attracting a lot of attention wherever you go.” The hold on my arm is painful, and I realize it tightens as I sway a little.

“Malfoy?”

The slight light coming in from the bar reveals to me his face. I notice that his eyebrows are drawn together as he looks down at me from a higher step.

Suddenly he leans in closer and takes a whiff.

“Are you drunk, Potter?”

“Not yet, I’m not,” I say, brushing of his hand and attempting to move up the stairs. He holds my elbow when I say again.

“I’m fine. Just buzzed.”

He continues to aid me. At the top of the stairs I turn towards my room. I fumble with the keys momentarily, and am surprised to find Malfoy beside me.

“Can you open this door?” I say, handing him my keys. He nods.

“Why are you still here?” I ask, opening the bottle in my hand and taking another large swig from it.

“Opening you door,” he says, before I start coughing violently.

He helps me into the room, even though I don’t need it.

“Why the hell does this stuff taste so bad.”

He laughs and sits me down on a chair. “People don’t have this stuff for the taste.”

He sits down opposite me, and I look at him closely.

I take in his appearance. He is wearing expensive robes, his hair sleeked back, as neat as ever.

But still, something was off, He was here, in Leaky Cauldron, in an Inn.

“Why are you here?”

“I don’t know. Thought you needed some help.” He looks and sounds nervous. But I shake my head.

“No, I mean, why are you here. Why aren’t you home?”

“Why are you here and not at the Weasel’s?”

“How do you know about that?” I can feel my last drink hitting me. My head is swaying.

“The Weasley’s were by earlier, looking for you. The Innkeeper told them he hadn’t seen you.
Stuffed his pockets, haven’t you?”

I smile.

“Don’t feel like being found?”

I think for a moment.

“Not by others, no.”

He nods, but I wonder if her understands.

I open the bottle and drink some more. Then I look at it. The bottle is almost half empt, but being a small bottle as it wasn’t, that wasn’t exactly an impressive accomplishment.

“That stuff is going to hit you pretty hard in about ten minutes,” Malfoy says, pointing at the bottle.

There is that expression. He looks worried.

“Know a lot about liquor do you?”

He shrugs, but continues to hold my gaze. Uncomfortable, I open the bottle again, but he takes it from me.

“No more.” He is on his feet. “If you drink more, you’re going to be on the floor throwing up.”

He puts the bottle away on a dresser, as I get up shakily stand up and make my way to the bed. I collapse unceremoniously. The vague silence that we fall into allows me to rest my eyes. But my head seems to be moving, and fast. I groan, and wonder how affected my thoughts really are, because something tells me that Malfoy wants to ask something of me.

“What isssit?”, I ask, my speech slurring, but I keep my eyes closed.

“I’m wondering why it is that you do not wish to be found by your friends. Why did you leave?” I
pay close attention to his voice. It is softer that before, and lacking the dangerous silkiness it usually possesses.

While dissecting his voice I give my answer no thought. But then my mind slows down and tells me to think and answer this question truthfully.
~`~
In the morning, I wake with my head thudding, my mind attempting to break from my scull and escape. My body is aching from the awkward position I am in, the sheets sliding across my naked form. I turn to eye the rest of my bed, my hand coming up empty in the search for the expected naked form by me, as does my gaze. I lie back in realization and try to connect the dots.

Later in the afternoon, I descend the steps, fully dressed and in search for the Inn Keeper.

“Did see a boy, about my age, with blonde hair, today?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter. He was staying here. He left this morning.”

“Oh. I see.” I am distracted for a moment. “Thank you. And will you tally up my tab? I will be leaving in about an hour.”

“Very well, sir.”

~`~

“Harry! You’re back,” comes a familiar voice of Hermione, as I step out of the fireplace. “I’m so relieved. You’re okay. Are you okay?”

Ron is smiling beside her clapping a hand on my back.

“Where were you mate?” he asks. “We came looking for you.”

“Yeah, why did you leave?” Hermione asks, disconnecting herself from my form, and I am reminded of the question Malfoy had asked me the night before.

I pause a while before answering simply, “I needed sometime on my own.”
~`~
More to come.

My Significant Other

2006-08-29T08:19:54Z

Author: HeerJade
Title: My Significant Other
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters nor do I use them for profit.
Summary: “I wonder why I never saw it coming.”
Length: One shot 947 words
Notes: Slash. HP/DM, One-Shot

I don’t know what I was expecting. Down, deep down in my heart, I always knew the truth. I knew it since the second the problem began. It’s…it’s funny how I convinced myself over the next few months that nothing was wrong.

He was never home. The house was empty without him. Without my lover. My—our bed was empty without him. Without my lover. It was always meetings and work. Those were the only explanations I received for the late night returns and the early morning disappearances. They were soon easy to justify in my heart. The business trips, however, were difficult. He would disappear for days on end and return only to plant a dry kiss on my cheek and whisper an equally dry “I missed you.” No proper kisses. No hugs. No smile. When my significant other was away the house was cold and lonely. When he was home, it was colder and lonelier. And yet, I refused to accept that there was a problem.

A serious one at that.

It was in Hogwarts, after the end of the war, that we had found each other. It was never love at first sight. But the war had changed our positions as men. And suddenly the two of us found that dropping our immature childhood rivalries was easy and facing each other as equal partners in a relationship even easier. The laughter rolled past our lips as we learnt to be together, as did the proclamations of love.

Marriage was inevitable and came to bind us together for eight priceless years. Eight years of happiness and laughter. Eight years of love and devotion.

Funny how it all changed in the span of merely a few months.

My significant other was away on a business trip to New York and thus, first thing in the morning, I faced an empty bed and a quiet house. We lived on the outskirts of London, which constituted of pleasant mornings with the house bathed in a pale sunlight, and stirred by a slight wind. As I sipped my tea out in the back yard, I could not help but wish that my significant other was with me.

I don’t know what convinced me to go to town that day, but I suppose I had a wish to see the crowds of Diagon Alley again. I drove up there calmly, telling myself that I was going for no other reason but to have a comfortable day in the city. As I walked down the magical lane hours later, holding a ice-cream in my hand, and a bag full of books in the other, I smiled at the feeling of peace; I, of course, ignored the prickling feeling that intruded upon my senses ever so often. It was nighttime when I decided to return home. I was starving, however, therefore, changed my mind, deciding to eat at a fanciful restaurant and then heading home. Dinner was magnificent and after I had attended to my duties as a customer I decided to take a small walk along the road.

And then, as simply as that, I caught sight of him.

I wonder whether I was so shocked that I actually dropped the bag of books I held. Or whether my mouth fell open aghast. But truly, now that I think about it carefully, I did none of those things. The smallest shocks may cause us to react in such expressive manners, but when you feel your heart shatter and fall apart at your feet, no form of physical manifestation can do it justice.

We had been married for eight year. Been together for nine. And there stood Harry Potter kissing another man, just merely feet away from me, Draco Malfoy.

I wonder why I did not see this coming?

The end of a Love

The beginning of a Divorce

Battlefield

2006-08-24T21:59:43Z

Author: HeerJade
Title: Battlefield
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, only the plot.
Summary: God help us, Potter, if we are to meet on the battlefield
Length: One shot 947 words
Notes: Slash.
Challenge or Stand Alone?: Stand Alone

“God help us, Potter, if we are to meet on the battlefield.”

He had said this many months ago, and since then so much has happened. So much has changed. But I fully understand the statement only when he stands at the mercy of my wand and I at his in the middle of barren land. I don’t know what makes me think of his words even before I have torn the mask off of his face. I don’t know what prompts me to unmask him, since his face is just as unfamiliar now as the façade. I have killed many death eaters tonight, not having bothered to know of their identities before or after they have fallen. Nor have I wondered if any of them was the person that stands before me.

And yet I bother now.

His words continue to resonate within my flesh and I wonder why either one of us would call upon God to answer a question as simple as this. His face is white and his eyes wide and I cannot stand his surprise. Neither of us should be surprised by this moment.

This is how it was suppose to be. There never was another way. There were only ways to make this more difficult. Ways to pretend that this wouldn’t happen in the end.

It is with a jerk of my arm that I swing at his body, which crumbles to the floor as a result of the violence rather than the force.

The tip of my wand follows the path of his dissent and my foot comes to put pressure on his wrist. The muscles beneath me struggle for a few seconds before they relax and allow the wand to slip away from his fingertips. His face is pale, and his chest heaves violently, as he struggles to breath. The dark shadows, that mingle with his expression, allow my mind to think back to the last time I had seen him this way: on his back and gasping. There had been a smile on his face then, even though that sort of physical pleasure could never be defined by a smile, but when there were so few moments to be happy, taking any form of advantage of the situation was necessary. I remember also the sudden feeling of laying the pressure of my weight on his body as my hips jerked in rhythm to his cries of pleasure. Hardly cries, since his body never allowed that sort of honesty, yet an expression that left me without any doubt of his thoughts. After, his face closed slowly behind a wall, which came up brick by brick, as his clothes came on button by button. The only form of bridge between the man who sat fully dressed before me and the one I took every night so carefully in my bed, was his quiet voice and steady gaze as he answered my nervous question.

“I do. I may never say it. But just know that I do. Very much.”

Now, barely months after that moment, I hardly see any resemblance between the two. Which is what makes this easier. But also, I continue to the repeat to my self that truly this is how it is suppose to be.

The slight surprise is still in his eyes even after I wipe his face blank. And I hate him for not expecting this.

I take the pressure of my foot off of his wrist and it remains still. I move away to face my next and last opponent. And I see Draco fall again as I see the red light within Voldemort’s eyes fade. I drop my wand. I have no need for it now.

The funeral is nothing like the war itself. It is ironic because I would have felt that the effect would have some semblance to the cause. The cemetery is large and as his coffin is lowered into his grave, in the background I see the magnificent Malfoy Manor. The sever rift caused by battling side seems to have faded away. His parents stand in mourning, their heads bowed, their robes bearing heavily the Malfoy crest to honor his memory. Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall stand not too far off.

When Lucius Malfoy raises his head finally, it isn’t to look upon the grave of his son, but instead to look at me. There is no accusation in his eyes. Only a sense of indifference towards my existence. If I were still alive, I would have shivered at the gaze.

I walk towards the wrong direction when it is time to leave. I sit down by the freshly replaced earth and watch the tombstone as if it were the face of my lover. And I speak.

“Don’t hate me, Draco. Even though you have every right to. I love you…very much. Enough to know that I died on that battlefield along with you.” My voice is hollow. I have no sincerity left. Just like I have no soul left. It is broken, scattered, lost. “I am leaving. I am going far away from everything around me. My purpose here was to kill the man who murdered my parents and now I am going to disappear into the deep crevices of old books and tales of death and violence. I was always merely a name. And now I will preserve its full meaning by taking away from the world anything that makes Harry Potter human. Just like I took you away.

“I will look for you always. And until I find you, I will be nothing but the echo that I am now.”

~`~

The End.