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Realization	By : SilverRising Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 2840 -:- Recommendations : 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.

Chapter List
- 1-Realization
- 2-Ch 2
- 1
- 2
Author: Silver Rising
Author Email: Silver_Rising@hotmail.com
Title: Realization
Chapter 1: Realization
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Draco feels things he never allowed himself to feel before. Draco/Harry
A/N: Finally! A new story that actually has CHAPTERS! *grins*

I don't hate you. How can I? When I feel your mouth on mine, when your hands are pumping me, when I'm fucking you so hard we both shake.
I don't hate you. Not when I'm biting you and making you gasp and moan. Not when I'm sucking you. Not when I make you cry out my name as you come.
I don't hate you. I taunt you during the day, saying hateful words, relishing in your anger and sadness. I crave to see you broken. But I don't hate you. I know later I'll be screwing you, and so do you, and it helps.
I don't hate you. But you hate me, when the tears fall and I laugh, and you want to leave but you can't, and I always know that you'll come back for more.
I don't hate you. It takes too much effort, and frankly, you're not worth it. I enjoy the fucking - don't get me wrong. I enjoy you sweaty and panting and digging your nails into my skin.
But I don't hate you. To hate you is to feel for you, and that is something that I will never be able to do.
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You cried one night. It filled me with glee. You didn't want to, but your eyes turned red, and I could see them glistening. You turned your head but I grabbed your chin and I forced you to look at me, to let me see you break down. And in that moment you hated me. You let yourself feel the rush of emotion that I could never be bothered with.
You cried one night. I saw the tears stream down your face, I watched as you bit your lip and drew blood, and I watched as your hands shook. I listened to your quick intakes of breath, and I realized that you hated crying, and you hated me, and you hated being forced to cry in front of me.
You cried one night. It was the first time I'd seen you cry. If I had emotions I would have been startled, but I don't, and I wasn't. You shouted that I was a bastard, that I was a coward, that you hated me.
You broke down and cried harder than before, when I told you that I didn't care enough to feel for you.
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Weasley wants to kill me. He has since before he ever met me. Old disagreements filter into modern rivalries and we play the part we're supposed to play. We're supposed to be enemies, we're supposed to snipe and argue, and one day, one of us is supposed to kill the other. But we're not supposed to be involved with one of our best friends. We're not supposed to hurt them as we pleasure them.
Weasley wants to kill me. Every time I insult him, or his family, or his mudblood girlfriend, or his pathetic hero. I can see the hurt that flashes in his eyes when I spit acidic words at him. I can see the anger that follows, when Granger cries or you take a step forward and glare. I can see the pain that my words evoke, the refusal to accept the truth, the fear that I may be the one to awaken him.
Weasley wants to kill me. He wants to prove himself in a world that's uncertain. Few things can give him satisfaction, and to see me fall would be the ultimate high point in a life of poverty. He would like nothing more than to be the one to thrust the sword in, and he would like nothing more to twist it as he does so, just so he can give me as much pain as he possibly can.
Weasley wants to kill me because I hurt all that he's close to. He wants me to feel the pain I so effortlessly give out. He wants to avenge his friends and his family, and show that I am nothing but filth. He wants to kill me to show Granger that she is better. He wants to kill me to get me back. He wants to kill me to end the cycle.
Weasley wants to kill me because I broke your heart.
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I lie awake and look at the full moon. It glows brightly, spilling light onto my body as I lie in my bed, the curtains open. Sometimes it's blinding, and I can't see, and I feel that if I were to shut out the light it would be too late, and I would be forever cursed with darkness.
I lie awake and look at the full moon. My head is pounding and the reassurance of the moon eases the pain. I can stare at it for hours and it will remain the same, ald ald and far away as ever, like myself. It's unmoved and it's untouched, and no one can mar it's beauty. It's too cold to be burned by the heat of emotions.
I lie awake and look at the full moon. It's beautiful in it's simplicity, like an unbroken heart that gives you hope. It reminds you that there is something good in the world. You said before that you loved full moons. You say they inspire you. You've always fallen for the untouchable.. You've always wanted that which does not love you - cannot love you. You've always wanted the impossible.
I lie awake and look at the full moon, and I think of you, and in that moment I hate myself.
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You're hurt. Yet you brush by me and ignore me, and refuse to send a glance my way. You act as though you never cared, and you act as though your heart wasn't torn from your chest, wasn't broken into pieces, wasn't ripped carelessly by someone you loved. You act as though you never felt my body along yours, on top of yours, underneath yours.
You're hurt. Yet you try to deny the images that you see when you close your eyes. You pretend that it doesn't feel incredible to fuck and be fucked, to hold me and use me and be with me. You act like you're not empty, like there is no hole in you. You pretend that you've never writhed under the touch of the one you're supposed to hate. You pretend that you've never experienced ecstasy.
You're hurt. I can tell in the deadened look your eyes give off, in the paleness of your skin, in the shadows that haunt your eyes. I can see the pain and the anger, everything that I have given to you.
You hurt and I don't care.
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I'm scared. I've never been scared in my entire life. Not when my father hit me. Not when the Dark Lord pressed his wand to my arm and forever scarred my skin. Not when I watched friends fall. Not when death was upon me, I naI narrowly escaped. Fear was something foreign to me, something that was weak to associate myself with.
I'm scared. There have been whispers, I've heard them. You wanted to die. You wanted to throw away your life and drain your blood, and watch as the world collapsed around you. You wanted to escape the pain and the suffering and the pressure and close your eyes for one final time. You wanted to forget about me and what I did to you. You didn't want to struggle. You didn't want to fight back when they grabbed you and took you away and thrust their wands into youroat.oat. You didn't scream because you couldn't be bothered to. You didn't fight back because you wanted to be enveloped by death, and you wanted to show me that I would have nothing left to live for.
I'm scared. This should not have happened. You weren't supposed to fall in love, it was wrong and you knew it and yet you threw yourself in headfirst. I warned you and I hurt you but you wouldn't listen. And look where is got us. You were hurt by me and because of me.
I'm scared. I shouldn't have felt that flash of terror, shouldn't have felt my knees give out, shouldn't have had to be sick in the bathroom. I shouldn't have felt fear, shouldn't have wanted to save you, shouldn't have been hit with grief and guilt and self loathing.
I'm scared. I almost lost you.
I'm scared. I had never told you my secret, had never found the courage to admit what I could never tell myself. I had never cried and never been forced to feel.
I'm scared. I never told you I loved you.
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