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The Rivalry	By : Pseudonymous_Entity Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 4959 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: If you recognize it from the Harry Potter books, I didn't come up with it. I'm not making any money off of this story nor do I intend to. It's purely for entertainment.

Chapter List
- 24
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- 26
Life is such an unintolerable hell solely because it is sometimes beautiful, even if by a bystanders observations.
The moment Potter threw himself into Draco and clasped his arms around his middle Draco felt a sharp pain, a searing dagger to the chest. It was a staggering, unexpected pain and it managed to be utterly delicious all the same. The searing penetration and his own icy shields melded together to form an anchor holding him in place. He'd never felt more appallingly awake. Draco had a half second to process the thought when he was hit with a wall-like wave of emotion. Fear of rejection. Hope. Affection. Hurt. Potters emotions slammed into him, through his defenses, gouging a hole inside of him and then filling it until he was certain his ribs would begin bowing outward to make room for all of it. Was this how Potter felt all of the time? How could anyone feel so much? Draco swallowed, breath catching in his throat. Such emotions weren't shared with him. Not willingly. Indeed they were protected from him if their owner knew better. Potter certainly knew better, he had to have his suspicions by now. He knew Draco was not human.
Guilt flooded him then and panic and horror. His own.
If only he could be numb or at least miserable, all of the time. If there could be no such thing as love or beauty or hope, if he could be absolutely certain that his understanding and involuntary attachment to Potter could never be returned - how simple his life would be again! He could continue with his plans, trudging through it with his chin up and his eyes narrowed and his walls firm, never to be bothered about such superfluous things as happiness or hope.
...but he couldn't quite stop the myriad of tiny cracks in his mask, or from reaching out tentatively, hoping, believing, wanting.
No. No he was not so miserable or detached as it would be wise to be.
Arms smaller than his own clung tightly to him, the body they connected to pressed against his own firmly in an obscenely committed sort of way. It was a horrifying thing to Draco. How could Potter open himself up to danger like that? Didn't he know what he was?
What he could do?
No one touched him. No one shook his hand or offered to, no one patted his back or attempted to. He was certainly never hugged. Hell his parents didn't touch him. The majority of his peers did not know what Draco was but they could sense it, in the hairs on the backs of their necks and the whispers of fear up their spines, they knew it as if by instinct. DANGER.
His silver eyes gazed down at the Gryffindor who'd so thoroughly attached himself to his person and he quite abruptly lost the ability to breathe.
The closer he was to his victim the stronger the connection. And here the golden boy was, wrapped around him, not even air between them. He could shred his soul and there was nothing the smaller boy could do about it. That Potter trusted him in spite of this froze him in place, unwilling to let himself come into anymore contact with the other boy than he already was. He could not encourage this. Draco broke things. He twisted them and tarnished them. He didn't know how to do anything else.
He stared at the boy and felt a growing, oily piece of possessiveness he'd successfully pushed back, until now. It rose within him, mixing in with the mess of Potter's emotions and his own feelings of panic and it bent and twisted and something happened. Draco knew then he never wanted the world to see Potter the way he saw him. Large green eyes flickering red filled with melancholy and mischief, lush hair held on end by the static of his magic, blood dripping from his shirt, open brokenness barred before him like a wolf baring its neck to another alpha in hopes of being accepted into the pack and protected. It was a horrific sight in its shattered loveliness and he knew he could never let the world see it. He couldn't compete with the world if it ever decided it actually wanted Potter rather than wanting to play with him. But it was the world its self which had given Potter to him and he'd be damned if he let it have him back.
He hurt too much. Potter hurt in ways nothing else could and for this sort of pain Draco found words lacking. He felt that there ought to be audible, visible cries and cracks and snaps of lightning and fissures and the spurting of blood and flashes of light. Something to show for it. The feeling was far too immense to be so easily held within himself, to be so life altering and eye opening and still so invisible to the outside observer. He had to have Potter, he had to keep him if only because no other pain could match it and nothing but pain ever made it through Draco's ever present numbness to the world. And even then the pain had always been rather muted, not this clear low tone bell rolling its echoes through a castle of glass. This was something entirely different and he found that this pain quite suited him.
It hurt in a refreshing, thrilling sort of way, making him dig his nails into the palms of his hands, bite his teeth into his lip and lock his knees as if to withstand a great a blow from a too strong opponent. While less fear inducing to the eyes, Potter affected him no less fiercely. Just when it occurred to him that he had been quiet for far too long and he should say or do something Potter moved against his chest to look up at him with those wide fractured eyes and blinked. Draco blinked back, somewhat bewildered.
Seemingly satisfied Potter cuddled back into his chest, eyes closed.
He knew the right thing to do would be to push the smaller boy from him and strengthen his sharp frozen edges against, to make it clear such things weren't to be apart of the relationship, whatever sort it might be, twisted as it was. He should tell him now in front of an audience, he should be all pointed tongue and bruising words scattered in carelessness at the Gryffindor's feet. He should end this now before it could begin. Draco Malfoy was very selfish by nature and he found he could not bare to let this pain recede now that he'd felt it. The sheer anomaly of feeling anything at all and feeling it so much and it all being Potter's fault...he couldn't let it go. Draco also knew a better person than him would take greater care of Potter, he would handle him far gentler than Draco cared to and he would fix Potter's brokenness and then let him out to save the world as many expected him to do. To go out and die for it. Draco was not so noble nor so naive. He liked Potter just the way he was. He liked that he was so battered up and jagged along the edges that his affections hurt so completely. There was something so honest and pure about it that drew him like a moth to flame. A moth who wanted very much to burn.
Draco was utterly speechless. How could Potter be so happy when all Draco had done was not push him away or demand him to quit his assault on his body? He wasn't even returning the gesture. Feeling foolish, horrified, oddly pleased and borderline panicked, Draco slowly looped his arms around the boy. It was much too tight if the slight gasp Potter gave was anything to go by.
He had always felt that there was something wrong with him. Something in him missing that made him undesirable. Some important something that kept people from wanting him enough to brave the danger that came along with him. His parents and his peers had done nothing to rid him of this belief. But now. Standing here with the tarnished boy savior wrapped around him, a boy as convinced of his own unworthiness as Draco, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something wrong with everyone else. How could the ginger push something like this away? How could the world yank him around like he was nothing? Potter was everything to him in that moment. And he realized, startled, that he was more than the momentary escape from his life he'd thought himself to be for Potter, he was everything to him as well. He should have realized. After the blood ritual he'd certainly suspected. But how could anyone ever want a monster?
The very idea was fantastically, wildly improbably, but like most fantastically, wildly improbable ideas it was at least as worthy of consideration as a more mundane one to which the facts had been strenuously bent to fit.
Fact. Life tears everyone down. It trips them and kicks them in the teeth and rips them apart piece by piece. It was a fact. Life is cruel. He had a thought though...a thought without any real facts to back it up...he was considering the possibility that people could perhaps be mended. Not fixed, not put back together, but held together. Draco tightened his arms around the boy, smiling at the slight squeak it invoked when he did it just a little too much. Maybe they could mend each other? Maybe they could hold each other together and make it through it together? Maybe his father was wrong. Maybe he didn't have to be alone.
"I have a feeling," He whispered, "that staying close to you will be the end of me."
Potter tilted his head up to look at him questioningly. The boy didn't have a clue the power he held over Draco and Draco couldn't find it in him to do something about it.
A throat cleared. Draco glanced over at the twin gingers, raising an eyebrow, daring them to say anything about them...not killing one another. He'd be more than happy to send off a letter to the mother weasel informing her of her sons' predicament. They'd be forcibly separated in a day.
Widened eyes proved his message got across. Good. It wouldn't do for them to be fooled by this...display. They were not Potter. They could be destroyed.
"Are you finished fighting then?" One of them asked warily.
Draco grinned, teeth showing. "Oh that wasn't fighting." He said.
"It wasn't?" They exchanged dubious expressions.
"No. It was foreplay."
Potter pulled back and smacked his arm, green eyes flashing, "You've got to stop saying things like that!"
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The Rivalry