Retirement

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, and all other characters from the popular series are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling and like all other authors, I\'m merely borrowing them for my own satisfaction. Enjoy.

It’s a feeling you get. Regardless of what people say. When the end comes near, you feel it. And when it grips you, there’s no chance of escape. I won’t pretend to know the way of the world, or the complexities derived from the Powers that Be. I haven’t the option. After all, we’re all pawns.

To see yourself grow is often a startling thing. You never notice it happening, and therefore, can never truly be at fault. The smallest ideas can grow to bring you harm and the greatest of loves can bring the walls crashing down about your head.

I’d thought I’d left this all behind me. It’d taken so long to build these walls and the intricate labyrinth which guards my heart in its center. Cold and off putting, that’s where I am in life. And I’m happiest here. Still, I’m reminded at every opportunity it seems, how very fragile even a single breath can be.

I never liked Potter Sr. and Potter Jr. is no different. They’re arrogant and confident and know far too much than one ever should. It’s never been about them, but more about what made them them. I have hair as dark as both, but never was it unkempt. My eyes may not be as expressive, but how many people are born with eyes that glow with the light of one’s soul? How many people have such flawlessly untapped potential? And how many can sport olive skin that takes so easily to sun?

On the contrary, how many people have skin as pure as newly fallen snow? A color so pure it puts alabaster to shame? And a head so fair that not even the sun, in its greatest attempts can ever hope to radiate as beautifully?

Yes, I have never much cared for Malfoy Sr. and Malfoy Jr. is no different. They’re arrogant and snobbish. With perfect, unending poise and complexions Angels would war over. They have power and ideals, and epitomize the word Pureblood.

And at every turn, I’m at a crossroads.

I’ve never had the chance before, to prefer one to the other. As a child one side tormented me, and the other was none kinder. So it was a lesser of two evils, and I sided with my own house.

I don’t expect the juniors to know how their seniors gave their reactions light. Don’t expect them to understand why the treatment they receive is such as it is. Don’t expect very much from them at all. Except perhaps the besting of one to another. The lesser of two evils. Always the less
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When suppsupports one side, the key to success is to initiate the downfall of the opponent. I have tried my best, and glorified in its byproduct. And yet, with each day that passes, I feel the end drawing nearer. And it will come soon.

I’m unsure of what to feel, or how best to view its coming. Do I greet it with open arms? Do I accept it as my fate? Do I fight with all I am and cling to what is left? Shabby and tattered and worn though it remains.

I don’t suppose it fair, to consider you have a choice, when in actuality there is none.

It comes one day, with all the subtlety of a blue moon in August. I am powerless to stop it, and unsure of whether I really wish to. A long wait, an endless eternity, and it’s finally come. Yet, still I see no reward in store for me.

I don’t lay claim to what I came upon that night. I cannot. To do so would be egotistical and unrealistic, and I have never been either. But, I will not lie. I wanted to.

Like two forces of nature they arere are and Ice perhaps. Dominating, all encompassing, forceful and there. Existent, despite any argument to the contrary. Pushing and grinding and melting together. Can two forces be this compatible, when so inherently opposite?

They’re ravaging and battling, yet surrendering at the same time. I wouldn’t guess to know how this will end, or why it came about at all. Two young bodies, so opposite, so basely adverse…That their union be so cursiso bso basic, so raw and real and yet so very right, the very seams of reality bend and recoil to accommodate. That their coupling seem so heady and flawed, and appear so natural and essential, as to be shaken to one’s vcorecore.

I’ve seen those hands hold quills and measure ingredients. I’ve watched those mouths curve in anger, those necks crane in opposition, and those shoulders set in stubborn indignation. I’ve seen all this, and the gentler sides too. But, I’d never tht Iht I’d see them come together. To hear the breathless sighs, and bone deep moans. To watch willowy limbs surround and cling, see seekers hands trace pale lines across another’s flesh.

So careless they are, so wanton. Pressed up against the dungeon walls, breathing in the air they’ve just exhaled, made pure by the other’s lungs. The sweet scent of danger, one can only produce this close to an enemy. And the heavy coating lust, that comes along with it as well. Yet, somewhere, between the tastes, the rampant flavors of youth, a single melodic note is formed, which will encompass both their futures, for better or for worse.

A certain pleasurable note, a guise of indifference, that notes the way their bodies tangle, and the soft biting of lips and tongue and cheek to keep the sounds at bay. The hint of what’s to come, in one word, different from my own.

They push and grate and muffle cries against one another’s skin. The stones are cold beneath my feet, but warm as their passion spills over. And so careful are they not to injure one another, even if they’re so ravenous. There is the sound of bodies greeting, of stone against skin, as one is pushed firmly against the wall, legs parted anckedcked at the ankles, knees high against his rival’s ribs. Of arms draped about a neck, and hands that force movement. The tugging of hair and the shedding of clothing and glasses, and whatever has managed to survive the exodus.

The gall! The arrogance! The need to be so buried in her,her, that the idea that anyone can pass and view is so far driven from your mind as to be nonexistent. And they push and arch, and throw insults, and it’s not so different from when they are on the field. Except the dress has changed, and the goal is different. Thrusting, thrusting into a mindless future. Where loyalty is paid to the heart and anything is possible.

They’ve managed to warm the entire corridor now, magic as drunk and saturated with the pull of another as their bodies. And forceful, yes, still forceful. Until one moment. One single warning moment. And the next movement is slow. Eyes close, a fair head tips back as a darker one moves forward. Then fingers are grappling at the base of a skull, and teeth puncture a shoulder. Necks strain, the muscles and veins crying out for salvation as release is found.

They sink to the ground after, enveloped in one another. One can’t help but think they’re unconscious of what they’ve bec the the damage they’ve done. There’s petting and anything but cooing, and soon they stand and dress mechanically.

The encounter is over, and they must return to their lives, and all their names entail. There is a moment where they look at one another. For the first time they look about them, and I press against the wall. If they see, they do not comment. And the next moment finds them within one another’s arms, mouths hot against each other, the passion surfacing just once more.

They part with jarring words, their eyes flashing and spitting. Yet, the feeling is returned. And they go theepareparate ways without a sparse glance back.

The next morning they’re caught tearing one another apart before the great hall. Passionate still, emblazoning secreted sins with the mark of darkness. All red blood and hate and they’re pulled apart and sent to separate dooms. Yet the next night, again they can be found in the dark, cold halls of the dungeons. Where sec secrets dwell. And the clock ticks on toward retirement.