Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. I can assure you that if they were you'd have never heard of them, for I'd have them locked up safe for my own pleasures, and not writing fanfiction about them.
Title: Final Letter, Final Evening
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Unrequited Draco/Harry
Summary: A letter to Harry from Draco, his secrets and desires, as well as his intensions, revealed.
Warnings: Angst, Unrequited Love, Slash.
Author's Note: This is for the amazing C. Adrien Cummings, whom I had promised to write something for. It may not be the pairing he'd asked for, but it seemed appropriate that it be dedicated to him. A couple random lines popped into my head last night as I was thinking of his oneshot "Swallowed By Pain" (check it out if you haven't read it already), so I guess you can say that this was inspired by it.
You shove me away from you as we pass in the corridor, confusion on your face when I don't react, curiosity in your eyes when you see the sorrow in mine. Curiosity, but never concern.
I wish you would ask me what's wrong, cupping my face and forcing me to look at you when I try to avert my gaze. I can almost imagine how your hands would feel, strong yet somehow soft. I can almost feel the callouses born from gripping a broomstick and clutching your quill too tightly, the warmth of your palm sending shivers down my spine. I can almost hear the worry in your voice as you inquire about my sorrow, wondering how you can comfort me.
But the truth is you never will. Never will I feel the strength in your embrace as I tell you of the death of my parents. Never will I hear words of sympathy coming from your lips, trying to soothe me, to prevent me from reaching hysterics.
No soft lips will ever press against me, reassuring me of your presence and of your love.
None of this will happen because you'll never see me, never know me, for who I am. We're just two players in a war where things can only end in heartache. A war where no side will ever truly surrender.
I can almost imagine the look on your face when you read this. I ache to think of what you might look like, what you do look like, and I ache to think that I'll never see you again.
But there can be no victory for me. Not now, not ever.
Whether you laugh at this or not is entirely up to you. After all, why shouldn't you? I'm just a fool, yearning for your friendship, your love, your acceptance, even after all these years.
Somehow though, I don't think you will. I'd like to think that this is because you feel the same, but not yet am I starved enough with desperation and lonliness to trick myself into believing that.
Many will be shocked at my decision to end my life, however indirectly I am ending it. Somehow though, I know you won't be. That curious glance in the corridor was enough for even you to understand that my will to live has run out.
Why, after all, suffer needlessly, hoping and praying for this war to end, for you to love me, to have my parents back, when it's all in vain anyway?
It is the sixth of June as I am writing this, the Eve of my seventeenth year. You may have known that, but I wouldn't hold my breath.
This letter has been charmed to find it's way to you once I've gone. I understand that your everlasting hero-complex will urge you to try and find me, but I assure you that this mission will be a lost cause before you even begin. Just do me one favour, call it my dying wish if you will; keep yourself safe, a near impossibility for you, I know, so I'll add "for as long as you can" to the end of it.
You may not have known it, but I've been on your side for longer than you probably could imagine.
So I beg you to fufill my dying wish, and know that even when my heart has stopped beating, it'll always be yours.
Your rival even in death.
With a final sigh, Draco sealed the letter. He then finished the final incantation for the charm, and begin to prepare for that evenings activities. His last evening.