Dragons exist only in fairytales
Part 5
By Altricial
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. J.K.R is God. Don't sue, I'm broke from watching the movie 7 times already. I plead temporary insanity.
Author's note
I'm on a roll. Woo hoo! My muse is back! And I made full use of it, I've a feeling it'll be leaving very soon so don't hold your breath for the next part anytime soon. I need to get a reliable muse. As always, dedicated to all at #malfoymanor and everyone who has taken the time to review, means a lot. Thanks. :) Next chapter will be a final flashback scene of their big break up. *sighs*
Dragons exist only in fairytales
Part 5
By Altricial
The rain just wouldn't stop. I squinted through the relentlessly pelting drops at the apathetic pedestrians shuffling along litter-laden roads, dodging their fellow soaking passersby on their way to wherever the day's itinerary had installed for them. It must be nice. To have somewhere to go. To have someone expecting you.
I briefly pondered the possibility of a welcome party when I die. Will I walk towards the light and into the arms of my deceased parents? Where are they? In heaven? What if the white light leads to hell? Or am I destined to be a ghost, like Peeves and The Bloody Baron, subjected to drift between worlds and never really wanted anywhere. I just wished I had somewhere to go.
For now, I'm on my way to Malfoy's Manor, just off Vauxhall Bridge, near to a place I have no intention to be, only because it's where I was supposed to be, so many years ago. I drove on. Listlessly watching the car wipers laboriously scrapping away at the assault of raindrops that are threatening my focus, blurring the edges between what was then and what was now.
The reflection of the stormy-eyed passenger in my rear mirror brought back too many memories. It's surreal; to meet the one person you'd give up your entire existence for. Kind of like Christmas coming early. Nobody is ready. Christmas without presents. Happy without ever knowing why.
Have you ever wondered what happens if you choke a puppy? If you wrap your fingers around its little hapless neck and squeeze your grip so tight that it can't breathe? It will still look to you for help. That is what life becomes when one refuses to let go of the past. Choking and searching for release in all the wrong places. The puppy will die. Unless you let go. I have to let go. Let go. Just let go, Harry. I can't.
I won't.
"What were you doing in London, Draco?"
"Buying a bloody mobile phone for Arthur. It's his birthday this weekend."
"Excuse me?"
"Arthur Weasley, World-renowned Muggle lover. Ring a bell?" He smirked, apparently pleased about getting the desired reaction out of me.
"Yeah, but-"
"I'm shocked. Considering he's been wondering for a decade whether his 'Dear Harry' is still alive."
"But-"
"Things changed, Harry. Fred and George destroyed Voldemort. Tricked him into eating one of their dreaded Canary Creams then squashed him like the maggot he was. The Weasleys received enough gold as reward to last them several lifetimes-"
"Ah, so they are finally rich enough to be associated with the Malfoys?" I couldn't help the snide remark. Draco on first names basis with the Weasleys. Draco buying gifts for the Weasleys. Draco belittling Voldemort. Draco sitting in the backseat of my rundown Muggle cab. Where the fuck have I been? Oh yeah. Wallowing in seclusion like the pathetic bastard I am.
"If you'd let me finish." Ignoring my agitation and his own, he continued, "My father and Arthur were childhood friends, Harry. Both Snape and my father were working as spies against Voldemort. He has been feeding the Ministry with information via Arthur for years. Nobody knew. Not even Dumbledore."
"And I suppose almost getting Ginny killed was an extracurricular perk for Lucius?" I spat, unable to register the implications of his words. Lucius being the good guy all this while. So I was wrong about him. No, I'm not. Lucius was the reason Draco left. Fighting for good or bad, Lucius will always remain the target of my hate.
Because I need someone to blame.
"My father had to keep up the act, Voldemort isn't half-witted. The Riddle diary incident was one of his diversions. Risky yes, but ingenious." A sneer touched the corners of his mouth, "He knew you well enough to expect you to try and play hero to Ginny."
After all is said and done, Draco is still Lucius son and he'd defend his honour with his dying breath. I respect that, but I'll never understand it. And I hate him for it. I hate that I'd always be second best. I hate that I didn't have a father to defend. I hate that I lost him to the one person who will never need him like I do.
Nobody needs him like I do.
I gripped the clutch tightly and came to a screeching halt at the red light, knuckles showing white, hammering back the irrational wrath coursing through my veins. I gritted my teeth and snapped, "Lucius doesn't know jack shit about me."
Draco shifted slightly in his seat. I knew the unspoken tension was finally getting to him. Silence engulfed us, the gulf from the past making its presence known, waiting to be bridged but perhaps it was too late. Years past but the vibes remained. The very same vibe that extended its hold on two lost souls once upon a time, bonding us together in a love beyond reason, promising the sweet deceit of eternity.
Promises meant to be broken.
I felt a pang of despair as I noticed him drumming lightly against the ashtray compartment. That's another habit of his no one knew about. Draco drums his fingers when he's upset or nervous. And it hurt; to know that the Draco I knew didn't change. If he did, I could try to move on and bury it all to yesteryears. But he didn't. My Draco didn't change. My Draco. My Draco. Mine.
He lighted up a cigarette. I welcomed the second-hand smoke, much like second-hand pain. He sucked on the menthol-flavoured cancer stick and drew a deep breath before meeting my eyes in the mirror. "Who really knew you, Harry? The people who thought they did haven't heard from you for over a decade."
The lights turned green and I drove on.
Thoughts passed behind my eyes like shadows burdened with guilt. Ron and Hermione. They stood by me through my days of despondency, relentlessly force-feeding me with hope to lift my head up again. 'You're strong, Harry. Don't let one set-back get you down.' I can still hear their desperate calls. But they were wrong. I'm not strong. And it wasn't just a fucking setback. I lost everything when he left. Couldn't they fucking understand that? Potters love with their life. So I shut them out. Without a word of thanks, I disappeared. Moved and changed my name. I missed them, I still do. They used to tell me how they missed the Harry they used to know.
Quite frankly, I miss him too.
I asked the inevitable, "How's Ron? And Hermione?"
"Married three years ago. Two kids. Harina and Viktor. Bushy, red hair. Quite the sight."
I laughed. Fancy Ron agreeing to name his son "Viktor", after throwing that dramatic fit in 4th year, when Hermione went to our Yule Ball with that "git with one eyebrow". And "Harina", that was an inside joke among the Gryffindors.
During our 5th year at Hogwarts, Hermione realized, albeit a year late, that there was a reason why Ron had the tendency to blush stupidly around her, and much to my relief, she reciprocated the feelings. Somehow or another, I became their therapist, listening to them whine about each other in private while they danced around in public like some denial mating ritual. One unfortunate day, Hermione decided to display her gratitude to me by flinging her arms around me during breakfast in the Great Hall and proclaiming me as "the best girlfriend a girl can have". Seamus never let me lived that down. From then on, I was referred to as "Harina" in the Gryffindor common room.
I smiled wistfully. Those were the good old days. I wish I were there for their wedding. To have the chance to tease Ron for being a hen-pecked husband. To watch in exasperated amusement as Hermione attempts to teach her little ones all the text books before they turn 5. I'm glad they are happy and together; nobody deserved unthreatened bliss like they do. I just wish I were there to share the important moments of their life. Just like they had been there for mine.
"Send them my regards and-"
"Do it yourself." Draco cut me short, his voice brimming with reproach and challenge.
It warmed me up inside to hear Draco jumping to their defence so instinctively. He was looking out for them, reproving me for not being the friend I should be. And in a way, that was enough. Draco proved to be a better friend for them than I am. And there really wasn't anyone on earth I would trust Ron and Hermione's lives with than Draco. Sirius and Lupin perhaps, but the former had died in the war and the latter soon followed in grief.
It was no big news that Draco Malfoy had settled his long-standing enmity with "the mudblood" and "the weasel". It'd happened at the end of our 5th year. Draco and I had been dating exclusively for about three months when Neville had the inopportune luck to chance upon a deserted classroom where we were engaged in a rather compromising situation. Specifically, I had my pants pooled around my knees and Draco had his mouth very snugly wrapped around my erection. I was in the midst of screaming, "Fuck Draco, I'm going to-" when the poor boy came bursting into the room. Needless to say, I never got to complete my sentence and Neville never recovered from the trauma.
To make a long story short, Neville ran screaming like a girl back to the dormitory and by breakfast the next morning, the whole school knew. Hermione was the first to ask me about the authenticity of the rumours, only because she just wanted to confirm her early suspicions. There wasn't much anyone can hide from the cleverest witch in Hogwarts. Ron confronted me soon after. He was predictably upset with the turn of events but what surprised me was that he had no issues with whom I was dating; it was the fact that I had kept him in the dark for so long that offended him. Ron may be a hotheaded impulsive boy who hardly ever looked before he leaped. But that also meant once you're his friend, he would trust his entire being in you and he expected no less from me.
That was the last time I ever doubted Ron.
"Are they working for the Ministry now?" I glanced up at the rear mirror at Draco's reflection. He snubbed out his cigarette and lit another. "No. Hermione is teaching at Hogwarts, tormenting the new batch of students with multiple trips to the library to research on her impossibly aggravating mountain of homework. Ron is teaching Quidditch to undo the mental damages caused by the suffering clutches of his wife."
"They haven't changed, have they?" I chortle slightly. It's nice to know some things will always be the same.
"Not a bit. Unfortunately." He replied in mock sarcasm. He wouldn't have wanted them any other way.
Getting my best friends and Draco to co-exist in the same room without Hermione having to research on counter-curses proved to be no easy feat. But we were young and in those days nothing was quite impossible. Eventually, they softened towards one another, each coming to the same conclusion that their past hostility was merely due to ancient grudges of their ancestors. It was decided that it was a rather trivia reason to stop Ron from finally having a worthy chess partner and Hermione from having Snape's favourite pupil to discuss the finer details of potion making with. And Draco, he was in love. With me.
Nothing is impossible for one in love.
Draco's inclusion in the infamous Gryffindor Trio sparked off even more rumours and wild speculations in the Great Hall and on Christmas Day everything came to light. Draco had swaggered in for the festive feast in his typical Malfoy fashion and stopped right next to me at the Gryffindor table. I had no idea that what was about to happen in next few minutes would forever be imprinted in Hogwarts' history as the biggest scandal of all time. If I did, I would have chickened out of the hall very hurriedly and ducked for cover.
I recalled staring up at Draco, questioning him with my eyes. "What the hell are you doing here?" I had hissed through my teeth, attempting to look like I wasn't about to pee in my pants in panic. Draco had looked back at me in a seemingly intimidating manner but the glint of amusement in his eyes had unnerved me even more.
'So Potter,' I remembered the way he had announced more than said. 'Have you heard the rumours? Apparently we're frolicking under the sheets and bonking like bunnies.' A whimper was heard from the general direction where Neville sat and before I'd thought of a suitable reaction, Draco had bent over and kissed me full on my lips. I responded instinctively and a deathly hush befell the Great Hall.
Ron came to the rescue when he laughed out loud, breaking the shocked silence reflected on the faces of the entire Hogwarts cohort. Most of the students had cheered us on while the Slytherins appeared to be plotting 'Potter is a lousy lay' buttons. And I remembered wishing I'd had a camera with me to capture the priceless moment of Snape spewing pumpkin juice out from his nose. My fiery-haired friend had proceeded to detach Draco from my mouth and sat him down between him and myself. 'Good one, Malfoy. Here, Merry Christmas.' Ron had shoved a hastily wrapped parcel on Draco's lap. I had a sneaking suspicion what it was and Hermione was already shaking uncontrollably with giggles.
I recalled that look on helpless Draco's face as he poked warily at the present, which had a card on it addressed to 'The humongous git', and then ripped the wrapping paper apart. It was a Weasley sweater. Green with an enormous silver letter 'D' stitched neatly on the front. Hermione was in hysterics by then.
I vaguely remembered biting hard on my lips because I had a feeling if I'd started laughing I might never stop. Draco had opened and closed his mouth several times towards Ron, not trusting himself to speak. He'd been touched, no less, but horrified. He looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. To engulf Ron in a suffocating hug or to think of burial grounds for the sweater. Ron had petted the gaping blonde on his back with a very well chosen, 'You're welcome.' And once again, I really, really wished I'd had a camera.
Indeed, those were the good old times.
Gone too soon.
It's still raining, I noted, as I shoke my head free from reminisces. The memories kept coming, like the raindrops beating ceaselessly against my car top. Drip. Drip. Drip. A bleeding heart still beats. I sneaked another glance at Draco. He was looking blankly out of the window into the storm, drifting away in thoughts, like he'd forgotten where he was. I turned towards the troubled skies and a streak of lightning split the heavens in two. Like a spectacular burst of fireworks, gone too soon.
I love watching fireworks, especially the fancy displays during Bonfire nights in London. Love can be very broadly categorised into two groups. The first was just like the flowery fireworks, the ones that blossomed slowly in the sky, extending their illumined glory gradually in the dark and finally a gush of colourful sparks, outlasting all the rest till the end of time.
The other type of love belonged to tragic interludes of star-crossed lovers. Romeo and Juliet. These are the fireworks that shoot rapidly high up into the darken skies, surpassing all others in their unbreakable heights only to explode into an earth-shattering climax of sparkly acid white sparks, showering the heavens with mesmerising glittering lights. And before one had the time to savour and soak in the gripping display of such breathtaking beauty, it was gone.
Short changed by fate but forever embedded in memory.
And I remembered the day my glitter died out.
