Battlefield

[heerjade.livejournal.com]

Title: Battlefield
Author/Artist: HeerJade
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Summary: God help us, Potter, if we are to meet on the battlefield
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, only the plot.
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-6
Warnings: Slash
Archive: Anyone, just ask
Notes: One-Shot. Very short.

 

 

 

 

“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.

 

Feedback is welcome.

Inspired by Muse’s newest song, Maps of the Problematic

Comments

[lokifan]

*sniffles*

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

That got me right in the chest.

So Sad!

[jameslogan.livejournal.com]

*sniffles* That is so sad! Harry loved Draco so much that a bit of him died inside when he killed him.

*grumbles a bit* Why'd Harry kill him? Couldn't he have just stupified him or something? *whimpers and bursts into tears*