#drarry breakup

[slytherinnbitch]

Day 32: Tender

Boy, y'all not ready for this one *evil cackle*

If anyone was ever asked, how would you describe Draco Malfoy? There would be so so many answers: rude, obnoxious, posh, git, pointy, and numerous more. What they would never is: tender.

There was nothing tender about Draco Malfoy, everyone knew that, everyone confirmed that, everyone who wasn't one Harry Potter.

Harry had seen the tender side of Draco Malfoy, in one of those stolen moments when he thought no one was looking. Harry was always looking.

How he had silently healed a small wound of a Muggle child in the park because they were sobbing profusely. Harry had pretended not to notice, preoccupied with the icecream he was purchasing for the two of them while Draco stood little afar because Muggles might not be inferior but that doesn't mean he wanted to interact with them.

Another time, they had been walking side by side on the pavement and there had been a old woman sitting a bit far away, Draco had inconspicuously taken out some notes and had stopped exactly infront of the woman to tie his shoes, Harry had pretended to be bothered while he looked ahead. When he looked back, the woman was smiling at them with a bundle of muggle notes in her hands.

Once, Harry found him smiling at some kids, playing with a ball- one with the Malfoy crest perfectly clear on it, when Harry had brought his presence to Draco's attention the smile was gone but so was Harry's heart.

If he looked back, it were exactly these tender and precious moments of selflessness that made Harry fall in love with Draco Malfoy.

Fate didn't like it one bit, when has fate ever liked Harry's happiness?

Because when Harry finally confessed his feelings, Draco had laughed. It was so cruel and full of viciousness, something he hadn't witnessed since they were in school.

Potter, you must be out of your mind, he had said between laughs. Yeah, Harry was. He was out of his mind in love.

I'm serious, Harry had been adamant that Draco understood this.

Draco had stopped laughing then, looked at him for a long time, then finally said, Don't be, Harry. Save yourself for someone who deserves it.

That was the first time, Harry had seen Draco Malfoy being tender towards someone who actually knew him. The first and the last time.

He had tilted his head slightly and raised his slowly to his cheek but stopping just before they touched.

He had looked at Harry then his hand, given a slight shake of head and a tight smile before he took his hand away.

Have a good life, Harry. Don't approach me ever again. Have a good life, love someone who could actually love you back. Be happy, Harry, and I would think of it as your gift to me, he had said at last before standing up and slowly disappearing into the sunset.

Harty had sat there, in their place in the Forbidden Forest for a long long time. Shredding tears endlessly, unless he had none left and the sun had begun to rise again. He had avoided everything else then. Everyone chalked it up to Voldemort or some other thing. He couldn't care any longer.

Then the war had happened and Draco Malfoy had saved his life and Harry had done the same. They hadn't exchanged any words then but their eyes had produced a million of letters.

He had married Ginny afterwards because that's what everyone wanted. So he did, but he invited Draco to the wedding because Harry knew Draco wanted him to.

He had come that day, earlier than most, congratulated Harry and had asked him if was happy. At Harry's nod, he had thanked Harry for his gift and left the venue altogether after that.

Harry never found Draco Malfoy again, not even a glimpse. Not for as long as he lived.

Thus, he couldn't ever prove that Draco Malfoy was actually the epitome of tender and selflessness where it actually mattered.

Some love stories didn't even have a beginning to begin with....

Day 31: Unashamed || Day 33: Death

[unlimitedhearts]

Letter(s) To Burn

I heard a song today. It was called "Missing" and that seems appropriate because something is missing. Something has irrevocably gone, but the lyrics were off. They said "I miss you like the deserts miss the rain," and that didn't sound quite right to me. The deserts are removed from the rain. They are hot and dry and barren because there is no rain. It seems like a foreign concept to the desert. The deserts cannot miss the rain because the rain is ineffectual, it means nothing to them. It happens once in a blue moon, and not for very long. You will miss me like the deserts miss the rain. Which is to say, not at all, unless hallowed be my name upon your lips. It's there because you were reminded, not because you missed it. The rain, however, will always miss the desert. The rain remembers when there used to be vibrancy and water in this barren wasteland. The rain remembers when its droplets touched upon hot sand, staining it before being fizzled out by the oppressive heat. The rain remembers when it would pour buckets and the desert would drink from the silver cup of luxury. Each new drop a kiss to be shared between two equal and opposite forces. The rain remembers when the kisses were endless and thick humidity, created from heat and moisture, mingled together to create something intimate. When "I need you's" and "I love you's" were spoken and implied with every splash. The rain remembers the beauty that was created, the oasis' where there was safety in this place of death. That is how I miss you. The suffocating lump in my throat when I think of what we made, however impossible it seemed. It's gone for you. It meant everything to me. The deserts forget. The rain remembers. This will not find you and I hope it never ever will. I don't want to be the reminder, because somewhere in me I want to hope that though you have forgotten, you will miss me anyway. Sincerely... -

His therapist had told him it might be a good idea to write a letter. Get his feelings out, experience catharsis, and burn it. Cleanse himself of whatever he poured in. But parts were missing. One small letter didn't encapsulate everything he felt. As he read it, it felt complete for now - but it wouldn't in the near future. He would need to add more. It wasn't enough. At least that's what he told himself. In his heart of hearts he knew, this was his last attempt to keep himself tied to Harry. Even a little.

Draco folded up the note he'd written, the tears that were falling down his face having dried up somewhere between the starting sentence and the unfinished signature. Fat lumps had fallen on the parchment, and the ink ran. It bled into the edges and somewhere Draco thought that brought it character. The letters were incomprehensible in places, but he knows what it says, and his eyes will be the only ones to see it so it's not like it mattered too much. There's not a snowball's chance in hell he would have ever told Harry these things in person, though he wanted to. The next time he saw him, he hoped it'd be the last or the first of many. There is a never-ending battle in his heart. Part of him wants to be caught up again in Harry's arms like he never left. Part of him wants to never have to think about him ever again. Both parts want to be Obliviated of their thoughts. He's played the night that everything ended over and over again in his Pensive. Harry does not. He knows he does not. Harry's moved on and Draco has to deal with seeing his stupid face on every morning's Prophet like the sting never left. "You're not still thinking of leaving are you?" "I am." A long argument followed, and every time Draco wants to recall the words he's unable. But the next bit he remembers so clearly. "We can stay friends, can't we? I can compartmentalise! I can do that, I can be friends with you!" "You can. I can't." After that closure had been given, things were in order once more, at least they were for Harry. And while Draco didn't cry every day now, and he could ignore the ache in his heart for days on end, Harry remained in the back of his mind. Scenarios in which they'd meet that Draco would fantasize about. Idealised versions of what might happen. Snapping up one of Harry's friends in front of him. Just to get a rise. Just to see the look on his face. Seeing someone, unwittingly running into Harry again. Doing all the things that made him fall in love with Draco in the first place for someone else. Hoping he would be angry. Hoping he would be jealous. Hoping he'd slam Draco up against a wall, pin his thin frame to bathroom tile and ask him what he thought he was doing. Hoping that whatever killed Harry's love would spark again in a moment, that they would kiss again. That Draco would leave whatever rebound he'd suckered into this position the second Harry would pull him in for that signature heated kiss. That their ebb and flow never left. That the push and pull that drove them apart would once again bring them back together. But he knew it would never happen. They're different people, and Harry made it clear. He feels nothing for him anymore. There might be some spark lying deep deep down inside him that Draco might foster. But that spark was Draco's hope that this separation might end, and it was quickly dying. Blaise still spoke to Harry. Blaise assured him the interaction is business only. They talk of nothing personal, they do nothing personal, that the only time he's ever brought him up to Harry was when he was worried about him. But Draco's mind ran. That Blaise had taken his place. That those nights of passion, whispered words, reassurances meant only for him, were now being shared with Blaise instead. Logic rarely leads those blinded by love. Draco had hoped Logic would take over again soon, but it seemed a slow go tonight. The night had decidedly moved into territory that was generally considered unwell by society to still be awake. The clock in the corner of Draco's office ticked with the softness only gears could give. Echoing over the room, the only sound he was comfortable being near because everything else reminded him of the man who broke his heart. It wasn't always, he could listen to music, he could watch the telly, but in these moments when Harry ran across his mind like it was his job, there was no solace in melodies and rhythms. There was solace in silence and the uncomfortable feeling of sleeping on the sofa rather than his bedroom. The bed always felt so empty in times like these.

He looked at the folded letter once more, leaving it in the top drawer of his desk for easy access, though he did manage to have enough sense to stuff it in the back. It was all he had to say for now, but there would be more, he knew there would be more. Efficacy, that was his excuse. Made more sense to burn one big long letter than a million tiny ones. As he laid down on the sofa, the tufts catching him though they didn't give as well as springs, and pulled the blanket he'd brought over him he felt lighter. The knot of anxiety and hunger in his stomach had faded, warmth took over his body. Though it was stiff, it still felt good to be laying down and letting his exhausted eyes slip shut.

Thankfully, he did not dream of Harry.

[slytherinnbitch]

"I'm sorry."

It echos in the otherwise quiet room.

I look at him, eyes full of unshed tears. His eyes are glistening as well and it hurts so much to do this. But I know he is doing this for the both of us, that this is the right thing to do. But still I can't help but feel the deep ache in my heart that gets worse as one of the years at last fall from his eyes.

"You shouldn't be." I try to keep my voice from wavering, from showing how much this hurts but he understands, he always does, doesn't he?

He comes closer for that one last kiss that we both ache for, but I shake my head. No, it can't be. If he kisses me then I'll break and break and I won't be ever able to mend again.

"For what's it's worth-" he starts but I shake my head. I can't hear all of that, not now, not ever.

"Please don't." He presses his lips together to stop himself. I feel my resolve giving away as the tears fall , staining my cheeks.

He lifts his hand, it hovers over my face. I know he is itching to wipe them away but he doesn't understand that this is just the beginning of many more to come.

He lightly wipes them away anyway and slowly cupsy cheek and I let him, even though I know it will come to haunt me later. Because after all this is the boy I've loved since I could remember. The boy who had saved my life, the boy who had turned my life when I first met him.

I close my eyes as the tears keep falling, there is no use I can't control them, not today.

I place my hand over his, feeling his touch for the last time, trying to memorize the feel of them against my face for the last time. I release a shaky breath that I had been holding unknown to my knowledge. I need to control now, I had allowed myself a moment but no more. I shift my fave slightly and kiss his hand in a faint peck, I couldn't stop myself from that last indulgence. I open my eyes and looks into those emerald eyes.

It is time.

"I would love you forever, my love." I whisper for the last time and take a deep breath.

"Draco I-" I put my finger on his lips and shush him. I give him a small smile, even though my eyes are tear streaked.

"Goodbye, Harry."

I apparate away, directly to my bedroom and allow myself to sob the heartbreak I had been feeling for the last hour.

[justthingsfromsarah]

sixty-three days, four hours, and a handful of minutes have passed since draco went back to being malfoy and harry went back to being potter and life went back to how it was before whispered confessions, heartfelt promises, and kisses that would haunt their daydreams for the rest of their lives. before stargazing, giant squid feeding, and before the last first either of them ever wanted to have.

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt — as it was

[justthingsfromsarah]

apologies at a wedding

“I was foolish. I…” Draco trails off, watching the couples twirl across the dance floor. “I thought I could love somebody else. I thought we would move on.”

He turns to look at Harry, eyes begging him to understand. “I thought you could forget me, but I couldn’t forget you.”

day fifteen and maybe i should try something not sad tomorrow?

words: 50

day fourteen

[justthingsfromsarah]

we aren't in season anymore

“I can’t smell oranges without thinking of you and that February you were obsessed with them,” Harry shrugged, taking a drag from his cigarette. “You left me but the memories never did.”

Draco grimaced, “I should have stayed.”

“You should have done a lot of things,” Harry said. “Like apologize.”

opps. a rather late post for day ten on my self imposed microfic challenge.

words: 50

day nine

day eleven

[justthingsfromsarah]

Draco Malfoy was in desperate need of a fresh start and he repeated this fact to anybody who would listen.

His mother thoughtfully offered her villa in France. It only took a brief second to decide that wouldn’t work. It wasn’t a fresh start if Harry had been there.

His reluctant chess partner suggested taming dragons on some remote Egyptian sand dune. As if Draco needed to burn to a crisp shoveling dung. He was already suffering enough, thank you very much.

Lucius repeatedly suggested he go to hell. Draco thought he might already be there. Ginerva was almost as much help as his father with her insistence that he was simply being too dramatic. As if a Malfoy could be accused of such nonsense — and from somebody with freckles no less.

Hermione listed reason after reason why he should reconsider. Luna said he should just listen to Harry’s side of the story. Draco had heard enough of her reasons and Harry clearly didn’t want to share his side of things if the fifteen unreturned owls were any indication.

Pansy, his only real friend, helped him procure an illegal transatlantic portkey.  Six thousand two hundred forty two kilometers and twelve seconds later, Wiltshire was a thing of the past.

Yes, Draco Malfoy needed a fresh start and if it took putting an ocean between him and the idiot that turned down his proposal, so be it.

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt — fresh

[ifdrarrytexted]

Draco lies so Harry will realize he is too good for him.