anyway, my fabulous beta readers, thrihyrne and the lovely ms. a, have done their job, and so i have for y'all a little ficlet. it is essentially my musings on the nature of love. take a gander and tell me what you think.
love lasts
by:![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif)
snottygrrl
rating: G
paring: harry/draco
disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
author's notes: recently i've been having discussions with some good girlfriends re:love and its nature...this is my ficlet summary of those musings. huge thanks to my marvelous beta readers, thrihyrne and the beautiful phenix_tears.
eta: this has now been remixed into the most gorgeous story, shriven
During the darkness, the fear would sometimes catch him unawares. Leave him gasping for breath, his heart squeezing painfully and then frantically beating against his ribcage like a trapped bird.
It had taken Harry a while to recognize what this particular fear was. There were so many fears, all jumbled together, clawing at each other in the cramped space of his mind. But this one would wrench its way free at unexpected times. Sneaking up during the quiet moments when Harry thought he had everything in control.
So he had grabbed it and turned it over and looked at it from all sides in the belief that examining it rationally would dissipate its power over him.
Harry had done that with his other fears; fear of death; fear of Voldemort; fear of failing everyone; fear that he wasn't good enough. Oh, they were all still there, pacing around his brain, waiting to pounce. They would rush to the forefront whenever they were given the chance, but he could recognize them when they did. He would use the adrenalin surge that came with them, knew how to direct them, how to make them useful.
So he took this unidentified fear and set out to categorize it, label it, to see what made it tick.
And then he wished he hadn't.
Because this fear made him feel hollow. This fear made him long to crawl into a corner and cower. This fear made him want to give up.
This fear murmured to Harry that after they'd made it through all the horror, after they'd made it through all the agony and death and both come out on the other side, Draco wouldn't want him anymore. That the passion that woke as the war neared, the fingers fumbling against clothes, lips finding skin, gasping breaths in the midst of the battles and the dangers, would fade. That this intense love they shared in this darkest of times would crumble in the bright light of peace.
It wasn't that he doubted that Draco loved him, that he loved Draco. No, it was the persistent fear that Draco would resent him when it was all through. Resent that he no longer had a family. Blame Harry for making him choose. He knew that he hadn't asked him to choose, knew that Draco knew that too, knew that Draco had chosen before they had even kissed.
It doesn't matter, the fear breathed, even if he doesn't resent you, in the end, when Draco has time to think, when you aren't always fighting to stay alive, when the biggest battles are what to get at the grocers, what to cook for dinner, whose turn it was to do the laundry, in the end, Draco will realize that he doesn't need you anymore. He'll realize that love and passion are passing fancies. That you are really boring.
Your love and passion, the fear told him with a wicked sneer, will not be able to survive the day to day of life. Love never does.
When the fear spoke, Harry wondered if they ever would have managed to come together without the war. Without the fear of death. Without that fear for the other that put to shame their own petty fears of rejection, of embarrassment. There was no time to hide, to be coy, to think of excuses. No chance to hedge, no place for gray. Everything was black and white and blood red. Everything mattered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the hell Voldemort had created they were laid bare and raw, cut through and wrenched open to each other. Afterwards, in the deceptive maze of peace and happiness, people were shuttered and protected and there were polite walls all around. Walls that kept you on the outside of others with smiles and handshakes and quick, stiff hugs. Walls you had to navigate around.
Harry and Draco had their walls. Walls they had carefully rebuilt once the horror had abated to protect their battered, fragile, inner selves. But there were no walls between the two of them. Draco wouldn't allow it.
Not that Harry hadn't attempted to build them. When the darkness had waned, his fear that their love would follow, fading until it was unrecognizable, grew and stretched and sharpened its claws. It teamed up with his guilt, whispering that he wasn't allowed to be happy anyway. Reminding him that love didn't last, that passion was fleeting.
So he had started to shut Draco out, allowing his fear of rejection, of looking silly, of being wrong to cover up his love. But Draco's love was not so easily barred. When Harry criticized, Draco didn't judge. When Harry ranted, Draco didn't respond in anger. When Harry stumbled, Draco caught him. Draco acknowledged the fear and soothed it away with caring and compassion. Held him when he thought he didn't deserve it. Melted the walls with kisses and caresses.
And Harry finally realized that, despite the fact that their relationship had crystallized in the darkness and fear, that it, itself, was not made of these things and did not need these things to survive. It was made of attraction and openness, respect and admiration, compatibility and consistency. It was made of love. And love, Harry had discovered was more powerful than anything else.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And now, years later, Harry stands in the golden summer day. As he gazes hungrily at Draco bent over a potion book, Harry smiles to himself and wonders at his fortune to be given a gift so precious. Soft, lilac-scented breezes ruffle straw-blond hair, a frown of concentration creases pale, aristocratic features. Harry thinks he had never seen anything more beautiful.
Draco has taught him that, with a little attention, passion can thrive in the day to day.
That the one thing that isn't fleeting, is love.
-fin
feedback is always appreciated.
love lasts
by:
snottygrrlrating: G
paring: harry/draco
disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
author's notes: recently i've been having discussions with some good girlfriends re:love and its nature...this is my ficlet summary of those musings. huge thanks to my marvelous beta readers, thrihyrne and the beautiful phenix_tears.
eta: this has now been remixed into the most gorgeous story, shriven
During the darkness, the fear would sometimes catch him unawares. Leave him gasping for breath, his heart squeezing painfully and then frantically beating against his ribcage like a trapped bird.
It had taken Harry a while to recognize what this particular fear was. There were so many fears, all jumbled together, clawing at each other in the cramped space of his mind. But this one would wrench its way free at unexpected times. Sneaking up during the quiet moments when Harry thought he had everything in control.
So he had grabbed it and turned it over and looked at it from all sides in the belief that examining it rationally would dissipate its power over him.
Harry had done that with his other fears; fear of death; fear of Voldemort; fear of failing everyone; fear that he wasn't good enough. Oh, they were all still there, pacing around his brain, waiting to pounce. They would rush to the forefront whenever they were given the chance, but he could recognize them when they did. He would use the adrenalin surge that came with them, knew how to direct them, how to make them useful.
So he took this unidentified fear and set out to categorize it, label it, to see what made it tick.
And then he wished he hadn't.
Because this fear made him feel hollow. This fear made him long to crawl into a corner and cower. This fear made him want to give up.
This fear murmured to Harry that after they'd made it through all the horror, after they'd made it through all the agony and death and both come out on the other side, Draco wouldn't want him anymore. That the passion that woke as the war neared, the fingers fumbling against clothes, lips finding skin, gasping breaths in the midst of the battles and the dangers, would fade. That this intense love they shared in this darkest of times would crumble in the bright light of peace.
It wasn't that he doubted that Draco loved him, that he loved Draco. No, it was the persistent fear that Draco would resent him when it was all through. Resent that he no longer had a family. Blame Harry for making him choose. He knew that he hadn't asked him to choose, knew that Draco knew that too, knew that Draco had chosen before they had even kissed.
It doesn't matter, the fear breathed, even if he doesn't resent you, in the end, when Draco has time to think, when you aren't always fighting to stay alive, when the biggest battles are what to get at the grocers, what to cook for dinner, whose turn it was to do the laundry, in the end, Draco will realize that he doesn't need you anymore. He'll realize that love and passion are passing fancies. That you are really boring.
Your love and passion, the fear told him with a wicked sneer, will not be able to survive the day to day of life. Love never does.
When the fear spoke, Harry wondered if they ever would have managed to come together without the war. Without the fear of death. Without that fear for the other that put to shame their own petty fears of rejection, of embarrassment. There was no time to hide, to be coy, to think of excuses. No chance to hedge, no place for gray. Everything was black and white and blood red. Everything mattered.
In the hell Voldemort had created they were laid bare and raw, cut through and wrenched open to each other. Afterwards, in the deceptive maze of peace and happiness, people were shuttered and protected and there were polite walls all around. Walls that kept you on the outside of others with smiles and handshakes and quick, stiff hugs. Walls you had to navigate around.
Harry and Draco had their walls. Walls they had carefully rebuilt once the horror had abated to protect their battered, fragile, inner selves. But there were no walls between the two of them. Draco wouldn't allow it.
Not that Harry hadn't attempted to build them. When the darkness had waned, his fear that their love would follow, fading until it was unrecognizable, grew and stretched and sharpened its claws. It teamed up with his guilt, whispering that he wasn't allowed to be happy anyway. Reminding him that love didn't last, that passion was fleeting.
So he had started to shut Draco out, allowing his fear of rejection, of looking silly, of being wrong to cover up his love. But Draco's love was not so easily barred. When Harry criticized, Draco didn't judge. When Harry ranted, Draco didn't respond in anger. When Harry stumbled, Draco caught him. Draco acknowledged the fear and soothed it away with caring and compassion. Held him when he thought he didn't deserve it. Melted the walls with kisses and caresses.
And Harry finally realized that, despite the fact that their relationship had crystallized in the darkness and fear, that it, itself, was not made of these things and did not need these things to survive. It was made of attraction and openness, respect and admiration, compatibility and consistency. It was made of love. And love, Harry had discovered was more powerful than anything else.
And now, years later, Harry stands in the golden summer day. As he gazes hungrily at Draco bent over a potion book, Harry smiles to himself and wonders at his fortune to be given a gift so precious. Soft, lilac-scented breezes ruffle straw-blond hair, a frown of concentration creases pale, aristocratic features. Harry thinks he had never seen anything more beautiful.
Draco has taught him that, with a little attention, passion can thrive in the day to day.
That the one thing that isn't fleeting, is love.
-fin
feedback is always appreciated.