Nothing At All

A/N: I randomly get inspired by songs…this was inspired by Alison Krauss’s “When You Say Nothing At All”. I know I posted it under HP/SS, which is what I planned on it being, but…it could be HP/DM as well, which I realized as I was writing it…from Harry’s POV. There’s a twist at the end…what do you think of it? Hope you like it! Please rate and review…they truly make my day! ~ FA

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To My Love,

I don’t know much about love. I guess you’d know that, if you’d ever bothered to really listen to me when I talk. Family is supposed to love you, right? So are your friends. I know that. Mine just…well, they were different. Or maybe I’m different.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I know the Weasley family cares. I’m not really a Weasley, though, and I’ll always be an add-on to them. The famous friend of their youngest boy; the first crush of their daughter; the twin’s benefactor…so many things, but not really, truly family. That’s why I’ve never told them about you; about us. It’s not that I’m ashamed, as you so often accused in the beginning. It’s also why I barely speak to them anymore.

Hermione…loves Ron. She does; truly and deeply. I envy that. I always have. Imagine that, the Boy-Who-Lived, jealous of his best friend’s girlfriend, then fiancée, now wife, loving him. I’m not petty, though. I walked away and left them to their happiness, didn’t I? The same way I left my family to their “normal” life, away from me.

Yes, that’s right, my family. They never loved me. Quite the contrary; they hated me. I was locked in a cupboard and starved and smacked around. I know, I know…boo-hoo…poor Potter. His family didn’t treat him like royalty. I didn’t want them too, though…I just wanted them to love me! Even just a little. Even just for one moment in time, I wanted them to love me.

So I don’t know much about love. And I don’t trust the words, because so many screaming fans and mindless sycophants and spineless beaurocrats profess to love me and I hate it. They don’t love me. They don’t! They don’t even KNOW me!

That’s right, my dearest, I hate my fame. I hate the spotlight. I hate every single person who ever wanted to talk to me, or be friends with me, or date me because I’m the Boy-Who-Lived. Hence, you. Well, initially anyway. You never saw me as some sort of idol to be worshipped. You couldn’t stand me! For that alone, I would have loved you.

The first time you screamed at me how stupid I was and then shoved me against a wall and kissed me…I was terrified. Terrified you’d decided that me being the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry-bloody-Potter, really did matter. The next time you issued a sarcastic, nasty remark, I was more relieved than I’d thought possible. You still hated my fame. You could, and still can, list all my faults and all the times I stumbled or fell or made a huge mistake. You point out all the times I’m stupid.

And nothing could make me love you more, because you truly see HARRY. I know you’ve never said the words, though I feel your arms tighten around me, just before I drift off to sleep, when I murmur that I love you. I see the flash of emotion in your eyes when I say it after opening your Christmas gift to me, or over dinner when you’ve cooked my favorite food, or when we’re making love and I feel like I’m burning up from the inside out with everything you make me feel and it’s the only coherent statement I can seem to make anymore.

You say it so many ways. It’s in the way your mouth finds mine, hot and wet and slick and seeking, always seeking, more. It’s the way your tongue traces the line of my jaw, and my collar bone, and my spine. It’s the sharp, bittersweet feeling of your teeth sinking into the skin at the nape of my neck as you struggle not to scream, your body thrusting almost viciously into mine. It’s the slide of sweat-slicked skin and the way I’ve never felt as whole and happy and wonderful as I do when you’re inside me.

It’s in your voice, low and sultry and dangerous, as you purr obscene things in my ear while you fuck me until I can’t walk, can’t talk, can’t even remember my own…until the only thing that’s left is you and me and us, together, as one.

“What would the Wizarding World have to say about this, Potter? What would they say if they could see you sucking my cock?”

I’ve always wondered that and when I think about it long enough, I can come up with one answer…only one. They would call me depraved. I must say, I agree. I am, surely, depraved, to love you. You, who throws insults at me even more frequently now that we’re lovers. You, who has backhanded me across the face, more than once I might add, for a smart-ass remark. You, who has reduced me to tears more times than I can count. You, whom my friends despise and whom I could never admit to fucking, let alone loving. And yet, I do.

You love me too, though you’ll never admit it. Not today, not tomorrow…maybe not ever. I guess I’ll never know, will I? Well, that’s how it’s got to be. But you see, I know that you do. You’ve saved me, you see, in a way no one else ever could. With you, I knew love. It was there, in the way you held me close while we slept. It was there in the rare and ever-so-precious smiles you would bestow upon me. It was there in the way you helped me pass Potions, a class I’ve never understood until your careful, guided instructions made it all seem so simple.

I thank you for that, by the way. Teaching me Potions, I mean. It has come in handy. I don’t want you blaming yourself, though. I know enough people will blame you; I don’t want you to be one of them.

I know you need me. And for that, I’m sorry, because you’ll still need me and I won’t fulfill that need anymore. I know you wouldn’t have ever left me, no matter how many times you swore you would because I’d done something unforgivably and unimaginably stupid once again. For that, I’m sorry as well, because I’m leaving you. It wasn’t ever supposed to be this way.

I know you’d catch me every time I fell…you always have, haven’t you? I know that if I went to you, you’d try to fix this. You’d try to make it better and, in the end, you’d only make it worse. So please…be kind enough to let this go. To let ME go.

I know you’ve never said the words, but you see…that’s how I know you mean them. It’s all those people who say it over and over again that I don’t trust. Its indefinable what’s between us…it simply is.

You, with all your darkness, with your tainted soul and your jaded heart, you took me from the darkness that was my life and made it light again. In your arms is the only place I’ve ever felt safe and protected and sheltered. In those moments, I wasn’t “the Boy-Who-Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World”. I was Harry. And I longed, so very much, ever since I found out who I was, to be just Harry. You gave me that and I’ll always love you for it.

So I’m sorry. Truly, deeply sorry to be leaving you this way. I guess I’m just being a selfish little boy again, aren’t I? But I killed Voldemort, didn’t I? I saved the whole bloody world and they still asked more of me. More than I can give. So I have to go; I have to leave you because this is the only way, no matter what you and everyone else might say.

I’m sorry and I love you. I swear it, with all my Gryffindor courage and honor. And with every ounce of the Slytherin side of me, I swear that if you do anything other than let me go…I will hate you for the rest of eternity. Please…let it go. Let what we had be what it was, but let it end…let me end it. Let me end all of it. Don’t hold so tightly to me and what we had that you destroy it. Cherish it, as I do, for everything it was, to the both of us. Kiss me goodbye?

And please…give Sirius and Narcissa my love. Let them know that this wasn’t there fault any more than it was yours; I just had to go. You, of all people, know it pains me more than I can say to leave them. Almost more than it pains me to leave you. Almost.

Goodbye, my love.

With All of My Heart, (every single last little shattered piece of it)

Just Harry

He shook his head, his eyes dark and hollow with grief. Those gathered before him stare, stunned. They hadn’t known. Not one of them had known of his relationship with Harry and it seemed fitting, somehow, that they were told this way. After all, they could never bother him about it, could they?

Slowly, the others filtered past and left, some murmuring soothing words, some muttering darkly under their breath, others completely silent. It made no difference to him; he wasn’t listening anyway. At last, they were gone.

He turned, a tall, slender man in dark robes, and stared down at the twin marble angels kneeling before him. Their cherubic faces were nearly identical, both upturned towards the sky, their hands pressed palms together and held before them in prayer, their eyes closed and their mouths partly open as though reciting a prayer. For peace, he supposed…peace for the man he had loved.

He knelt himself and brushed his fingers over the marble stone the angels guarded, one on either side, facing each other across the engraved words.

“Harry James Potter” then the dates of his birth and his death and then the spiteful epitaph he’d had carved there in the first moment of his grief.

“Loving husband and father, whose act of suicide will forever scar the hearts of those who truly loved him. May he rest in peace, never knowing the pain he caused to those he selfishly left behind.”

He winced, then sighed and rose, turning away. He reached out as he walked away and two small hands grasped his. Narcissa and Sirius, his twins. The children Harry had carried and born, with great difficulty, for him. His last links to the man he had loved with all his heart.

“We love you, Daddy.” They whispered in unison and he didn’t know to which of their fathers it was intended, but he prayed it was to him. After all, those who said it to Harry never truly meant it.

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A/N: So...what did you guys think? It's not quite where it was originally supposed to go, but I still think it flows nicely and went fairly well. What do you think? Please go the extra three inches to rate and review...they really make my day! ~ FA