Learning to Live
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
18,791
Reviews:
94
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
18,791
Reviews:
94
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Pureblooded Grief
Chapter 3: Pureblooded Grief
“Draconius son, you will never believe what has happened.” Narcissia Malfoy had a sadistic, pleased grin on her aristocratic face. She sat in the conservatory of the Malfoy Manor with her son, eating breakfast and reading the Daily Prophet. “ I quote: ‘Is the Boy-Who-Lived Dying? Early this morning, Harry Potter, the boy renowned for being the only person to escape an attack by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the only recorded person to survive being attacked with the Killing Curse, was rushed to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. One witness at the scene said: “He was naked and covered in blood! It looked like he had been in a terrible battle.” Is this the result of a fight with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Is the Dark Wizard of the century finally dead? Upon questioning, medi-witches refused to comment on the extent of his injuries. The boy is under constant watch, not only by hospital staff, but also by the great Albus Dumbledore. (See page 12 for more news on The-Boy-Who-Lived)’ What a load of rubbish. The Dark Lord isn’t dead you nitwits! But this business about Potter being all torn up and bloody... I’m fairly sure that no attacks were planned on him. Hmm...”
Draco’s mother stood, still holding her newspaper under her nose, and walked into the house, disappearing into the constant dark and gloom. Draco watched her fade into the darkness, and thought about what she had said.
When he and Harry had first gone to school, in their very first year, he had offered the small, dark-haired boy his hand in friendship, only to be rejected. His father had told him to make the offer, thinking that they might come to control the boy through it. But that was not the real reason why he had done it.
Draconius Drusus Black Malfoy was no stranger to attention. With his illustrious family and connections, he was a boy used to being in the limelight. He knew how lonely it can be, how utterly blind everyone around you can seem. He had offered his hand to young Harry because he wanted to protect him from the searing lights of fame. He had wanted the boy to have a true friend. Even at the tender age of eleven, Draco had been hardened by his father and his father’s associates. He knew what strife lay in store for the boy. In effect, he had wanted to be able to be there for him, to comfort him.
When Harry had turned him down, Draco had been a tad bit heartbroken. His motives were not completely selfless. He had wanted to have a true friend too. He had instinctively known that the boy would not be blinded by his family name or the amount of gold in his family’s Gringott’s vault. He had wanted to comfort the boy and be comforted by him.
And now that urge to comfort, to protect him from the harshness in life had turned to something more. Draco now had only want, only urges, urges he couldn’t control. He had watched the boy he wanted for a friend turn into a man. Harry had aged before his eyes with the pain and blood of war in him, with the deaths of family and friends on his soul. Draco so wanted to take away the hurt, the pain, the lonesomeness. He was intimately familiar with being alone, with the sweet agony of blood and pain. After all, he was a Malfoy.
And so he sat in the sunlight streaming into the conservatory, his breakfast sitting cold on his plate, while he grieved for the man he had come to love.
***
It was late August, with only a week left until the beginning of school, his last year. His mother thought he was in town to get the last of his supplies, which was true, but only partially. He came to see Harry.
As Draco entered St. Mungo’s, he wondered what had happened to hurt Harry so badly. It hadn’t leaked to the news, but Draco had found out about his condition. He had picked up the information network his father had built. He knew that Harry was in a coma, and his wounds refused to heal. And so he wondered and worried.
He swept along the halls of the hospital as if he owned them, and in a sense he did, after all the contributions of his family. He knew exactly where he was going. He looked quite like his father as he swiftly walked past everyone, his robes billowing out and his long hair swept back. His eyes counted rooms and hallways, waiting to get to the side passage leading to the intensive care wing.
When he saw it, irritation flashed through him. There was a wizard posted at the door. Draco decided to act as if he didn’t exist, and just walked past the guard and through the doors. It worked, the wizard merely nodded at him. He walked past the nurse’s station and directly to Harry’s room. No one saw him. ‘So much for security.’
When he saw the beaten and bruised form lying on the bed, Draco’s knees became weak, simply refusing to hold him up any longer. A soft moan escaped him to float in the stale hospital air. His nose and eyes burned, urging him to cry, but he refused to do such a thing in public, too much his father’s son. But small whimpers left his lips and prayers raced through his mind, pleas to an unknown deity.
With trembling fingers, he pushed the dark hair off his forehead, exposing the jagged, ugly scar. He placed a soft kiss on that scar and smoothed his fingers over the pallid skin of Harry’s cheeks. With another soft prayer, he left.
Too bad he didn’t see the jade green eyes open.
A/N: the reader/reviewer inspired chapter is coming up next, but I\'m a bit nervous about it. WARNING TO ALL OF YOU QUICKLY SKIPPING AHEAD: THE NEXT CHAPTER CONTAINS EXTREME VIOLENCE. Hence my nervousness. (My first time writing such a graphic scene)
“Draconius son, you will never believe what has happened.” Narcissia Malfoy had a sadistic, pleased grin on her aristocratic face. She sat in the conservatory of the Malfoy Manor with her son, eating breakfast and reading the Daily Prophet. “ I quote: ‘Is the Boy-Who-Lived Dying? Early this morning, Harry Potter, the boy renowned for being the only person to escape an attack by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the only recorded person to survive being attacked with the Killing Curse, was rushed to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. One witness at the scene said: “He was naked and covered in blood! It looked like he had been in a terrible battle.” Is this the result of a fight with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Is the Dark Wizard of the century finally dead? Upon questioning, medi-witches refused to comment on the extent of his injuries. The boy is under constant watch, not only by hospital staff, but also by the great Albus Dumbledore. (See page 12 for more news on The-Boy-Who-Lived)’ What a load of rubbish. The Dark Lord isn’t dead you nitwits! But this business about Potter being all torn up and bloody... I’m fairly sure that no attacks were planned on him. Hmm...”
Draco’s mother stood, still holding her newspaper under her nose, and walked into the house, disappearing into the constant dark and gloom. Draco watched her fade into the darkness, and thought about what she had said.
When he and Harry had first gone to school, in their very first year, he had offered the small, dark-haired boy his hand in friendship, only to be rejected. His father had told him to make the offer, thinking that they might come to control the boy through it. But that was not the real reason why he had done it.
Draconius Drusus Black Malfoy was no stranger to attention. With his illustrious family and connections, he was a boy used to being in the limelight. He knew how lonely it can be, how utterly blind everyone around you can seem. He had offered his hand to young Harry because he wanted to protect him from the searing lights of fame. He had wanted the boy to have a true friend. Even at the tender age of eleven, Draco had been hardened by his father and his father’s associates. He knew what strife lay in store for the boy. In effect, he had wanted to be able to be there for him, to comfort him.
When Harry had turned him down, Draco had been a tad bit heartbroken. His motives were not completely selfless. He had wanted to have a true friend too. He had instinctively known that the boy would not be blinded by his family name or the amount of gold in his family’s Gringott’s vault. He had wanted to comfort the boy and be comforted by him.
And now that urge to comfort, to protect him from the harshness in life had turned to something more. Draco now had only want, only urges, urges he couldn’t control. He had watched the boy he wanted for a friend turn into a man. Harry had aged before his eyes with the pain and blood of war in him, with the deaths of family and friends on his soul. Draco so wanted to take away the hurt, the pain, the lonesomeness. He was intimately familiar with being alone, with the sweet agony of blood and pain. After all, he was a Malfoy.
And so he sat in the sunlight streaming into the conservatory, his breakfast sitting cold on his plate, while he grieved for the man he had come to love.
***
It was late August, with only a week left until the beginning of school, his last year. His mother thought he was in town to get the last of his supplies, which was true, but only partially. He came to see Harry.
As Draco entered St. Mungo’s, he wondered what had happened to hurt Harry so badly. It hadn’t leaked to the news, but Draco had found out about his condition. He had picked up the information network his father had built. He knew that Harry was in a coma, and his wounds refused to heal. And so he wondered and worried.
He swept along the halls of the hospital as if he owned them, and in a sense he did, after all the contributions of his family. He knew exactly where he was going. He looked quite like his father as he swiftly walked past everyone, his robes billowing out and his long hair swept back. His eyes counted rooms and hallways, waiting to get to the side passage leading to the intensive care wing.
When he saw it, irritation flashed through him. There was a wizard posted at the door. Draco decided to act as if he didn’t exist, and just walked past the guard and through the doors. It worked, the wizard merely nodded at him. He walked past the nurse’s station and directly to Harry’s room. No one saw him. ‘So much for security.’
When he saw the beaten and bruised form lying on the bed, Draco’s knees became weak, simply refusing to hold him up any longer. A soft moan escaped him to float in the stale hospital air. His nose and eyes burned, urging him to cry, but he refused to do such a thing in public, too much his father’s son. But small whimpers left his lips and prayers raced through his mind, pleas to an unknown deity.
With trembling fingers, he pushed the dark hair off his forehead, exposing the jagged, ugly scar. He placed a soft kiss on that scar and smoothed his fingers over the pallid skin of Harry’s cheeks. With another soft prayer, he left.
Too bad he didn’t see the jade green eyes open.
A/N: the reader/reviewer inspired chapter is coming up next, but I\'m a bit nervous about it. WARNING TO ALL OF YOU QUICKLY SKIPPING AHEAD: THE NEXT CHAPTER CONTAINS EXTREME VIOLENCE. Hence my nervousness. (My first time writing such a graphic scene)