Choices Made
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,488
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,488
Reviews:
1
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.
Choices Made
A/N: This is a companion piece to Dream Lover, told from Draco’s POV, set in between Chapter 13: A New Day and the Epilogue. To see Lucius’ POV, please go to: http://www.cipher-wotr.com/fanfiction/viewstory.php?sid=1493. ‘I, Lucius’ was written by my good friend and fellow author, VL Red Reign, and her insight into Lucius is simply devastatingly real. I will never be able to equal her ability, but she was kind enough to allow her beautiful fic to be associated with Dream Lover, enriching it by countless degrees. Thank you so much, VL.
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 Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
I watch him watching me. I see the loathing in his eyes at what I’ve become, and I want to ask him why. Why does he hate so much? Why does he hate me so much? Why could he never love me? Why did he make me work so hard to earn his respect and acceptance, only to withhold them time and again?
I came to this place today to watch him die. No child should have to watch their parent die, especially not in this manner. I thought if I came to see him, if I spoke to him, that I would see some glimmer of the man he could have been. Instead, I see only the man he became. A man so full of hatred that he had no room for anything else.
I shudder to think that, if not for the actions of a crazed young woman, I might have become the man I see before me, hard and bitter and cruel. Instead, I have love. Unconditional love. What truly boggles my mind is that the love that I have been shown comes from more than one source. People who should have felt only hate for me have shown me compassion and understanding. I still don’t quite know how to feel about that. I think, to a certain extent, my upbringing will always make me hold back just a bit of myself.
I try not to remember my childhood because looking at it from the perspective of an adult, I realise that all I saw as good and right in my life back then was merely another way to warp my young self into the image of what my father wanted me to become. Birthday presents were not merely presents, they were subtle reminders of who I was: a pureblood. A Malfoy. And Merlin help me if I ever did anything to cast a taint on the Malfoy name.
My father never laid a hand on me, or, as is commonly thought, his ever-present cane. I was his Heir. I was the hope for the future of the Malfoy line, the only hope since Mother was unable to carry another child to term. He would never do anything that might harm me, because I was the future of the Malfoy name. I want to laugh bitterly at that thought, as, I’m sure, does he.
I finally break the unbearable silence. There are questions I need answered. I want to scream at him, I want to rail, but I am a Malfoy, so when I ask, my voice is steady and calm. Was it worth it? Was it worth throwing everything away? Was it worth the cost? Was it worth his family, his life, his very soul? I look for a spark of remorse, and all I see is disdain and a disgusted snarl. That’s it, then. I knew, in some small part of me, that there was truly no hope for him, but that curve of his lip speaks in ways no words can, not that he’s bothered to speak any to me.
I turn away, rejected by the one man whose acceptance I’ve never been able to win. I am rejected, but not defeated. Because I have love. With dry eyes, I knock to let the guard know I am done here. There is nothing left of the father. There is only hatred. But not for me.
“I love you, Father,” I say softly, just before I step out of the room.
I will wonder forever if, had I looked back, would I have seen something other than hate in that instant? The reason I don’t look back is because I could not bear it to be otherwise, and I know too well what drives Lucius Malfoy. And it is not love.
I walk out into the waiting arms of my lover, comforted by his presence. Steeling myself for the moments to come, I do the only thing I can think of that might comfort my father in his final hour. I hold my tears inside.
Because Malfoys never cry.
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 Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
I watch him watching me. I see the loathing in his eyes at what I’ve become, and I want to ask him why. Why does he hate so much? Why does he hate me so much? Why could he never love me? Why did he make me work so hard to earn his respect and acceptance, only to withhold them time and again?
I came to this place today to watch him die. No child should have to watch their parent die, especially not in this manner. I thought if I came to see him, if I spoke to him, that I would see some glimmer of the man he could have been. Instead, I see only the man he became. A man so full of hatred that he had no room for anything else.
I shudder to think that, if not for the actions of a crazed young woman, I might have become the man I see before me, hard and bitter and cruel. Instead, I have love. Unconditional love. What truly boggles my mind is that the love that I have been shown comes from more than one source. People who should have felt only hate for me have shown me compassion and understanding. I still don’t quite know how to feel about that. I think, to a certain extent, my upbringing will always make me hold back just a bit of myself.
I try not to remember my childhood because looking at it from the perspective of an adult, I realise that all I saw as good and right in my life back then was merely another way to warp my young self into the image of what my father wanted me to become. Birthday presents were not merely presents, they were subtle reminders of who I was: a pureblood. A Malfoy. And Merlin help me if I ever did anything to cast a taint on the Malfoy name.
My father never laid a hand on me, or, as is commonly thought, his ever-present cane. I was his Heir. I was the hope for the future of the Malfoy line, the only hope since Mother was unable to carry another child to term. He would never do anything that might harm me, because I was the future of the Malfoy name. I want to laugh bitterly at that thought, as, I’m sure, does he.
I finally break the unbearable silence. There are questions I need answered. I want to scream at him, I want to rail, but I am a Malfoy, so when I ask, my voice is steady and calm. Was it worth it? Was it worth throwing everything away? Was it worth the cost? Was it worth his family, his life, his very soul? I look for a spark of remorse, and all I see is disdain and a disgusted snarl. That’s it, then. I knew, in some small part of me, that there was truly no hope for him, but that curve of his lip speaks in ways no words can, not that he’s bothered to speak any to me.
I turn away, rejected by the one man whose acceptance I’ve never been able to win. I am rejected, but not defeated. Because I have love. With dry eyes, I knock to let the guard know I am done here. There is nothing left of the father. There is only hatred. But not for me.
“I love you, Father,” I say softly, just before I step out of the room.
I will wonder forever if, had I looked back, would I have seen something other than hate in that instant? The reason I don’t look back is because I could not bear it to be otherwise, and I know too well what drives Lucius Malfoy. And it is not love.
I walk out into the waiting arms of my lover, comforted by his presence. Steeling myself for the moments to come, I do the only thing I can think of that might comfort my father in his final hour. I hold my tears inside.
Because Malfoys never cry.