AN: This story is based on a song. I love this song and the idea for this story came to me while listening to this band that I love endlessly. One-shot. The pairing is Draco/Harry. Don't like, don't read. Takes place during Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.
Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, just borrowing the characters. Don't own the song "Wake Up, Open The Door, And Escape To The Sea" by Blaqk Audio.
Warnings: Boy love. Possibly sad, depending on how sensitive you are. Personally didn't think it was that sad, but as the writer, how can I possibly be objective?
The Suffering Created
Please catch me now, I'm lying
You taught me how
How it can feel like love
Just catch your breath, we'll dive in
And our descent
Will somehow feel like life goes on
The pain was unbearable. He clearly recalled the feeling of his skin slicing open, the tissue separating, and the muscles tearing as the blood spurted out like some sick cartoon. There really was a lot of blood. The Sectumsempra Curse was not to be taken lightly. Harry hadn't known the extent of its destructive force when he'd unknowingly cast the spell on Malfoy. . . But the damage had been done. Draco lay in the hospital wing, his pleasant features marred by the wounds on his face and body. He didn't know which hurt more; the curse or the fact that Harry had seen him crying.
He'd told the world he could carry out the task that had been assigned to him without breaking. Or rather, he showed them. Draco refused to be weak. However, he was breaking slowly. The task in its entirety was gradually, painfully devouring him from the inside out. And as he leaned over a stone sink, contemplating his fate and weighing his options (although in truth, he knew there were none), taking comfort in the presence of a lonely ghost not unlike himself. . . he cried. He knew, just as he knew the task would split his soul, that he couldn't carry it out. All there was in his world of hate, misery and confusion, was his glimmer of warmth: the love he thought he felt for Harry Potter. This "love", so destructive, that should have been his strength, was making him human. In the Dark Lord's eyes, this was not strength, but weakness. Emotion was pantomime. Humanity was weak. Draco couldn't afford to love Potter. . . it would be his downfall, whichever way he sliced it. Perhaps it was a good thing Harry had cast that spell upon him. For a while he could at least physically feel a pain reminiscent of the feeling in his heart. He was sinking. And so it went on.
Oh, my, my, you're oh so sly
Let's leave unsaid, what's left unspoken
There was so much he needed to tell him; so many things that Draco needed Harry to hear, but words escaped him when he tried to speak. Harry had been to his bedside, held Draco's hand, even cried in remorse for what he'd done, but never expressed what he too, wanted to say. The two sixteen-year olds wondered how they could have gotten to this point. In love, in danger. Unwilling to admit, reluctant to allow the feeling to spread. To Draco, this "love" was poison. The only problem was that the venom was already coursing through his veins. How could something so utterly agonizing, be so agonizingly wonderful? To love another was a miracle. The Slytherin hadn't thought himself capable. Not like Harry, who'd had the love of friends and an ever-widening circle of trust to seek solace in. Yes, Draco knew he needed to tell Harry, needed him to know. . . But how does one explain what one can't even understand?
Please hold me now, I'm freezing
God tell me how we ever got this cold
Harry was suffering. His own mind was his prison and his own thoughts his punishment. He deserved to be punished, he told himself. How could he have hurt the one person who held so much intrigue? The one person who held his interest and held his heart, however unknowingly? The person he loved. Somewhere between an insult that he didn't mean and a look that he didn't miss, a hatred crossed that thin line and turned to love. Harry didn't know when he'd begun to care, but as he sat by the bedside of his Slytherin "enemy", Harry wished with all his heart that he could not care. Caring hurt too much. Seeing Draco suffer in the pain Harry had created. . . it was too difficult to bear. Harry scorned at his own thought. How could he claim to care, when he hadn't even seen the suffering that was going on before he'd cast the spell? The laceration in Draco's soul was far more life-threatening than the ones on his body. And Harry hadn't known. . . not until he'd walked into a bathroom to see two ghosts: one a long-dead girl and the other, a shadow of a human being. Alive but a wreck. Harry hadn't seen the suffering until he'd seen tears fall.
Now he longed to show Draco the comfort he'd needed before Harry had injured him further. Harry wanted only to protect, but he held back him comforting arms. He held back because he knew that he'd done this. He'd caused the pain, he'd shed the blood. And the only thing he could do was to allow himself to suffer as punishment, by holding back the love that he so desperately wanted to give. The love Draco so desperately needed.
But oh, my, my, you're oh so sly
Let's leave unsaid, what's left unspoken
And oh, my boy, you're oh so coy
Let's just pretend that nothing's broken
And so it went on. The leap was never taken, the love never spoken of nor acknowledged. Never knowing that they could have spared each other their individual pain, never indulging in a love that could have been beautiful. Harry suffered always, loving from afar, believing it to be true that he didn't deserve for his love to be reciprocated. Draco's wounds healed, eventually. Well, the physical ones did. He too suffered, endlessly, too afraid to face his feelings. Having been taught love was wrong, and love was weak, he chose what he believed to be the lesser of two evils; he chose to walk his path in darkness, striving to do what the Dark Lord had orders, pushing aside the love that was strong enough to have saved him. Nothing had changed.
We'll censor the ending, for me
And so it went on.