Fic - From a Distance

[kjp_013]

Title: From a Distance
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2,100
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. It's a shame, but it's true.
Beta: wendypops 
Summary: From a distance, it looks like everything is fine; normal even. We know different.
A/N: AU 6th year, written in the 1st person. I blame this on Nanci Griffith and the tiny Draco who wouldn't let me go to sleep until I wrote this down.

 

From a distance, it looks as if everything is fine, normal, even.

Children and teenagers chat over breakfast; discussing their classes and homework. Teachers sit at the top table, surveying their charges and hiding small grins as they overhear gripes about essays and assignments. The newspapers report gossip; who’s been seen out with whom and which politician is covering up which scandal. Quidditch goes on; Arrows are top, Cannons are bottom. People discuss in detail the chances of England finally winning the World Cup.

But we know different.

We sit at our respective tables, surrounded by our friends. We talk about classes, gripe about essays and debate the news of the day. But we know. I can tell. That faraway look in your eyes as Granger tries to force a study schedule on you; the forced smile on your face as Weasley attempts to talk to you about the latest Cannons’ seeker. I know. I wear the same looks.

Blaise tries to engage me in conversation about the latest goings-on at the Ministry, and I just nod. Pansy attempts to include me when gossiping about our classmates, and I can barely bring myself to turn in her direction.

You’ve heard me use the word ‘Mudblood’, and you can probably guess what my stance on Muggles is. But you don’t know why. I hate them, yes. But not because some madman tells me to. I hate them because they’re free. They don’t have to deal with all of this. They don’t have the insane madman living in their house, telling them to do unspeakable things. They don’t have their scared parents cowering in the corner and bowing to his every whim. They don’t have a stupid scar on their foreheads that tells them that they are the only one who can save everyone.

They don’t have magic; so what. That just means they don’t have this.

Mudbloods have a choice. They can choose to be free; to be ignorant of what is going on. But they don’t. They come here and they discuss classes and talk about the last Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. They gossip with their friends and eat their bacon and act as if they were free.

We are not free. We know that we are not free. We won’t be free until we are freed; until you free us.

I look out over our peers, and I don’t see fear. I don’t see the acknowledgement of this hell. They’ve eaten their breakfast and they’re getting up to go to their classes.

We’re left behind.

Our shoulders are heavy with the burden placed on them by people who should be caring for us. Our friends tap us on our laden shoulders and we stand up and go to class like we are expected to.

We’re expected to do a lot, you and I.

We’re expected to pass our NEWTs and leave Hogwarts. We’re expected to get jobs; me as some high-up official in the Ministry, you as an Auror. We’re expected to marry young and procreate. We’re expected to fulfil our destinies.

Bull. Shit.

I don’t want to. I don’t want to do everything my father tells me to. I definitely don’t want to do everything the insane madman wants me to. I don’t want to leave Hogwarts; it’s safe here and there are no madmen living in the east wing. I don’t want to get married and I don’t want children. Who would bring children into this mess? I don’t want to work in the Ministry. And what fucking destiny? To get through this – that’s my destiny. Or dream, whatever.

What do you want, Harry? Do you want all that? Do you want to leave Hogwarts? Do you want to marry and have children? Do you want to be an Auror?

Do you even believe in destiny?

I see you in class, working. You’re partnered with Granger and you’re allowing her to take over most of the work. It’s okay; I’m doing the same thing with Theo. They want to do it. They care about school work.

We don’t.

We have other things on our minds. I know what you’re thinking. Why the fuck would we need, or want, to learn how to make a potion to cure boils? We have other things to think about; to worry about. Like living under the same roof as a madman and scars that tell us we are the only ones who can fix this.

I see you get notes; little slips of paper from different students. But I know. I know that they’re from Dumbledore. I see the way your eyes flicker almost imperceptibly towards the headmaster whenever you receive one. What else does he expect you to do? What more can you do? No-one else notices; they’re too busy talking about Quidditch and laughing at gossip. But I notice you. I notice everything about you.

Do you notice me?

I see you walking around the castle. Sometimes going between classes; sometimes simply walking through the corridors. I push you; I budge you with stray elbows and shoulders.

I’m sorry.

I don’t know why I do it. Is it because you know? I say things to hurt you. Again, I’m sorry. I think maybe I do it because you make it real. You do, you know. I see you, and I see your face. And I know. I know that you know; that someone else knows and that makes it real.

You tell me to ‘go away, Malfoy; leave us alone’. But I know you don’t want that. I’ve seen you; I’ve seen you watching me. You want to know what I’m doing.

I want to tell you.

I do. I want to tell someone. I want someone to share this horror with. The only person I can even comprehend telling, is you.

Would you even listen?

I see you again in the Great Hall. I see you sitting there beside your friends, wearing that same forced smile.

Sometimes I see that look on the faces of others; on the faces of some of teachers, and even some of your friends. But they only wear that look occasionally; it’s just a passing thing for them. The look fades and they go back to talking about classes and gossiping amongst their friends.

I see you walking by the lake, kicking stones from the path into the inky water. You’re alone. Why are you alone? It’s getting late and it’s dark. It’s so cold, and yet you still sit on the ground. I want to sit on the ground, too. I want to sit down with someone else who knows. I want to sit with someone who isn’t going to try and talk to me about essays or Quidditch or the gossip in the newspapers.

So I do.

I sit beside you on the cold, hard ground. You look surprised for a second before asking me what I want.

I simply tell you that I know and you nod. We sit together in comfortable silence – just two people that know what it’s like to have to live with an insane madman or scars that tell us that we’re supposed to mend the world. We sit in silence until you suddenly stand, gift me with another nod and walk away.

We continue to sit at our respective tables and force smiles for our friends. We talk about classes and homework with our housemates. I continue to push you in the corridors and say nasty things to you and your friends.

I’m still sorry.

And I still come up and sit down beside you on the cold, hard ground in the dark by the lake. I know that one day soon, you’ll speak to me.

You do.

It’s only a simple greeting, but it says so much. ‘Hello, Malfoy’, you say when I take my seat beside you. ‘Hello, Harry’, I reply. I don’t want surnames. Not with the only other person that knows. We sit in silence for a while until you get up and walk away without a word of goodbye. It’s okay – I know your nod says it, and so much more.

We continue to live day-to-day, and I live for the evenings.

‘Hello, Draco’, you say as I take my seat beside you and my heart jumps. ‘Hello, Harry’, I reply as I fight to keep the smile off my face.

We still sit in silence, side by side. I don’t mind; I find I like it. I’d rather hear the silence than the gossip. Your hand brushes my hand as you get up and walk away.

Is that your goodbye?

We continue to sit at our respective tables with our friends. I look around and see couples, or people trying to become part of a couple. I see you looking at people. Do you want to be part of a couple, Harry? Or are you just looking because we’re expected to be looking?

I sit down with you on the cold, hard ground beside the lake and you greet me and I greet you. We sit in silence. It is comfortable. You get up, you say ‘Goodbye, Draco’ and my heart jumps again.

I push you in the corridors and insult your friends. I don’t want to do it, but I must.

I’m sorry.

We attend classes and learn things we have no need for. Granger tries to get you to study with her and you force a smile. Weasley gets you to fly with him and you do smile. I know it’s not real, though.

It doesn’t reach your eyes.

We eat dinner and discuss essays and gossip with people that don’t know. They still don’t know what it’s like to have the madman and the scar and it hurts us.

Is it the evening yet?

I reach the lake first and sit down. I wonder where you are and if you’re okay. I do care, you know. About you. I do. As you know, you’re our only hope.

That’s a lie.

You are our only hope, but that is not why I care. I don’t know why. Maybe because you know? I look at your face and I see that you know. I know what that feels like. I wish for you to arrive, soon.

You do.

You sit beside me and greet me. There isn’t silence. You talk, and you talk. I listen. Then I talk. And you listen.

It’s comfortable.

There’s no idle chatting or talking about classes and Quidditch. We talk about the things that we know.

It’s nice. And it’s a relief.

Every evening we talk. We talk and we listen. I want to tell you. Can I tell you? You tell me I can, and I do. My cheeks are wet when I’m finished and you wipe them with your sleeve.

Thank you.

Your hand brushes mine as you get up to leave. I want to stop you leaving; stop you from telling. Why did I tell you? But I can’t. I can’t hold you back. You have to do what you have to do.

I sit at my table in the Great Hall and wait for the Ministry to arrive. You’re not here. Why aren’t you here? Why aren’t they here? I see you in the corridor and I don’t push you; I don’t insult your friends. Weasley attempts to bait me into saying something. I have to rush off at your ‘leave it, Ron’, lest they see my smile.

You make me smile.

Did you know? I haven’t smiled for so long; not properly. And now I catch myself smiling again.

Thank you.

I see you by the lake and I sit beside you. I greet you and ask you why. You simply smile and brush my hand with yours and my heart jumps.

You talk and I listen; I talk and you listen. It’s comfortable and it feels right.

You get up to leave and you hold your hand out to me. I take it and we walk. We walk hand in hand through the corridors. I don’t push you or barge you with my elbows; I don’t insult you or your friends. People gossip amongst themselves.

I smile. And you smile.

We’re going to be okay. You’re going to fix this as your scar denotes that you should and there will be no more madmen living in the east wing. And we’re going to be just fine.

I know.