Memoria

Title: Memoria.
Author: Carrie DeMarchi ( carriedemarchi@hotmail.com ).
Website: ( www.phobetor.net/fiction ) and ( www.livejournal.com/users/carriefiction ).
Fandom: Harry Potter.
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter.
Genre: Angst, established relationship, character death.
Rating: R.
Status: Complete, 1,278 words.
Series: No.
Spoilers: No.
Warning: Character death.
Archive: All mailing lists posted to, otherwise, ask, please.

Disclaimer: The characters and their portrayal within this story belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. Studios, and this story is based on these and related works done by these persons and/or organizations. The situation, story line and interpersonal relations between said characters in this work belong to the author. No monetary exchanges occur for this fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Notes: I\'m not a huge fan of Nirvana, but I really like this song, Come As You Are, that I also stole the title from as well as using some lyrics. This is partially inspired by Maeglin Yedi\'s \'Say Hello To Heaven,\' and my apparently insatiable need to kill my favorite characters in any way possible. This is also dedicated to Dani, who loathes Nirvana.

Summary: Harry has a few more things to say, whether he\'s too late or not, and he\'s too oblivious to realize he\'s being watched, or maybe he just doesn\'t care anymore.

It\'d been less than a week since the last time he\'d been there, but it felt like so much longer to Harry. Many months had passed just the same for him, and it still felt like yesterday was the day that he\'d been only a minute too late. It had stopped raining as he\'d walked to the cemetery, and he passed through the gates just as silent as the rest of the trip had been. Without looking to the familiar spot the man was sure to be found at this time of day, Harry gave a small wave to the groundskeeper, who didn\'t even bother to do much more than shake his head slowly and sadly at the boy walking down the center path to the same place he always went.

y fey felt like it took an hour alone to get to the plot from the gates, but he knew he\'d just slowed his pace. He didn\'t want to be there; he didn\'t want to have to be there in the first place, but things didn\'t always turn out how he would have liked. There was a bench nearby, not a meter down the path from where Harry stopped, not even letting his eyes meet the words on the headstone, and stood still for a long moment before settling himself in the moist grass in front of the grave.

He didn\'t feel the dampness seep into his thick cloak, and if he could have spared his attention for that, he probably wouldn\'t care anyway. Harry sighed, watching the faint puff of his breath in the cool air, and he reached a hand inside his robes. His fingers were cold, as he\'d forgotten his gloves at home again, like he did on every trip he made here. They worked to wrap themselves around a piece of parchment and an ink pen. Harry set them on his lap, holding one in each hand, and he looked up to the stone in front of him.

It always surprised him how simple it was, large and grey, with dark lettering etched to mark a name and dates. There were no other words written, and he was almost glad for that. He knew they were lacking for probably entirely different reasons from his own, but he never would have known what to say. As it was, it\'d taken him eight months to pull his thoughts together to remember to bring what he now held in his hands. He didn\'t plan these trips, but it was the only place his feet would lead him anymore.

He closed his eyes as he took the lid from the pen, and opened them, poised to write over his knee. The words he\'d finally gathered flowed from him freely, not haltingly as he\'d expected. It had taken two months alone to even think the words to himself without tears threatening, and now he wrote them down without an expression on his face than the blank sadness that he\'d carried for almost a year now.

Harry looked down at his words and tightened his jaw at the pain they made flare inside his chest. He knew they\'d never reach the person who he wanted to hear them, but this was as close as he\'d ever get, he thought, as he signed the note with his initials. He shifted onto his knees, leaning beside the grave he sometimes felt like burrowing into and covering it back up with dirt, burying himself alive and slowly running out of air. It would have been a better and quicker end to what his life had become when his lover died.

He placed the note against the headstone, slipping it between a few untrimmed blades of grass at the base, and then moved to stand. A lump had formed in his throat, and Harry couldn\'t even whisper goodbye before he had to turn from the grave and head back down the path. He hardly realized that he\'d almost bumped into another man on his way, or did he know that man stopped and turned around.

He\'d seen the boy perched at the familiar spot, and he wondered why it\'d taken so long for the two of them to arrive here at the same time. Lucius didn\'t call the other man\'s name, and doubted Harry would have heard him if he said it loudly, straight into his ear. He hadn\'t quite expected to be brushed by so swiftly; had he known, it would have been a testament to the difference in pace Harry applied when walking into the cemetery as opposed to when he left. The groundskeeper watched Harry pass by, and he went back to his chores, but Lucius kept watching until the other man was out the gate.

He\'d not spoken to Harry more than twice after the funeral and even those times it was kept to a minimum. Then, more had been said by the look in their eyes than from their mouths; the perpetually empty look on the young man\'s features, emphasized by his eyes, and would not stop haunting him as he walked to the grave. Lucius stared down at the stone, reading the words over and over, hoping this was just a bad dream, the he could wipe them off and everything would be as it should. Then, perhaps, he\'d be the one lying under the cold ground.

He never stayed long when he came, not able to withstand the many regrets passing through his mind for longer than a quarter of an hour, and it made him feel like he\'d let down one of the people he\'d loved, as well as himself. Ultimately, he supposed he had, from not being a better father, to not saving such a precious life before it was too late. As he lowered his eyes further, Lucius caught sight of the parchment in the grass, and he didn\'t have to think twice to know who had left it there.

It would have been impossible for him not to bend and pick it up, to try and understand more, even by grasping at other\'s thoughts. Lucius held the parchment gently, and focused his eyes sharply on the softly written script in ink before him. They were smudge ertiertical lines from the dew dotted grass, but nothing worse enough to prevent him from making out the words.

Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be, as a friend, as an old enemy. Take your time, hurry up, the choice is yours but don\'t be late. Take a rest, as a friend, as an old memory.

- HP

Lucius swallowed as he finished reading the words, followed by the simple initials left at the bottom of the note. He tensed his jaw as he leaned down to set the small piece of parchment at the bottom of the grave where Harry had placed it before. He brought his hand back and used the other to pull the leather glove off, grasping it tightly in the other hand as the first was lifted to his face. Lucius brushed two fingers over his cheek briefly, then pressing a kiss to his fingertips before placing them to the ground, over his son\'s body.

He held them there a moment, almost as if he wished he could feel some sort of pulse start it\'s thrum through the ground, bringing with it something he really did wish he hadn\'t lost. Lucius stood slowly and exhaled just the same as he started walking back towards the gate, putting his glove back on as he went, though he could still feel the dampness of his fingertips inside.

The End