Maybe in a different time, when things aren't as they are; maybe when the sky isn't so grey, when the rain isn't falling; maybe then we can love. Maybe then I can tell you how I feel.
I'm walking down the streets of London, the Muggle London that eluded me for so long, the part of London I was never allowed to enter lest I inadvertently let on that I'm a wizard. It's about nine in the evening on October the thirteenth, which I think is a Saturday night, judging by the drunkenness of most people my age are. I'm not drunk, though it would probably do me good to take my mind off my life for now. Tonight is reminding me too much of that night. The one I've been trying to tell myself was all a dream for nearly six years now. The night that changed my life's path.
It's raining, which is probably the thing that reminds me most of that night. Rain always used to be my favorite weather. Sun blinded me, snow froze me, wind chilled me, but rain... rain soothed me. It always reminded me of showering, which was my favorite time of the day, because it was the only time I got to let down the facade life mandated I wear at all times and revel in the privacy of the stall. I always took showers earlier than any sane person would in the mornings, just so I wouldn't have to share the shower room with anyone else. The water would fall in sheets against my naked skin, calming my nerves, melting real life away and allowing my soul to heave a sigh of relief. Which is why I liked the rain. It reminded me who I was.
But then, it was raining that night. We were standing in the rain, screaming, shouting, shoving, throwing punches, and spitting at one another. Water hit me, stung my face, my hands, as his words hit me and stung my heart, my soul. I wanted to rip him in two with my bare hands I was so angry. He was denying everything, depriving me, shoving everything I'd given him right back in my face. I told him I hated him, I told him that I never wanted to see him again, to get out of my sight. And he did. I hated him for it.
I just wanted to love him. I just wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. I gave up everything I had ever known to achieve that, and what did he do? He told me it could never be. I don't believe that. Given half a chance, I know we could have overcome everything. There was a lot to overcome, true, but we're both stronger than that. Together, we could have been stronger.
God, I have to sit down. There's a bus stop a few paces from here, I'll just go... shit. It's him. I didn't know he was in London. I thought he moved to Amsterdam after Hogwarts, working on new Dark arts defence or some such. What is he doing here? I think I'll just hide in the shadows before - shit, shit, bugger, and damn! He's seen me. He's squinting at me, as if he can't see through the sheet of rain. I shoot a glare at him, and he sits up straight, instantly recognising that look of disdain. Truth be told, I haven't glared at anyone like that since that night.
Shit, he's standing up. He's coming towards me. What does he think he's doing? Standing in the rain, under the soft beam of the lamplight, I see he hasn't changed much. His face is a little more defined, finally having lost that baby fat that rounded out his face when he was still eighteen, but he's still far from being a Greek god. He's grown, and I worry that he's taller than I am now. I straighten to my full height, folding my arms in front of me. Damn, off by an inch.
"Draco," he says quietly, those regrettably green eyes glimmering. Rain falls on his head, flattening out that infuriatingly messy hair, beads of water sliding provocatively down the side of his face. I lift my chin in a defiant gesture to straighten myself further. I will not, under any circumstances, allow myself to focus on any part of him but his eyes. Otherwise, I might be forced to run away, which would significantly change the dynamic of the conversation thus far.
"Harry," I reply simply. It's been so long since I've used that name that it feels awkward falling from my mouth. The damned aspiration at the beginning of his name frustrates me to no end, because it often makes me sound breathless just by pronouncing it. 'Potter' was always so much more succinct, much more dignified. I could always sound detached from that name, whereas 'Harry' can manifest itself in any exhalation these days.
"It's been a while." Five years, two hundred and seventy-nine days, five hours and, oh, about twenty minutes, but who's counting?
"It has."
"What are you doing in London?" Waiting for you.
"I could ask you the same thing."
"I'm on holidays." Would you like to come home with me?
"Visiting Granger and Weasley, I assume."
"No, they're living in Paris now. Hermione got a job with the French Ministry, and Ron went with her. I think he's going to propose this week." I've got a proposition for you...
"How sickeningly romantic."
"Don't be like this, Draco." Okay.
"Like what?"
"Can't we be just civil to one another?" Civility's my middle name.
"We've never been civil to one another, Harry."
"I don't want to fight with you any more, Draco." Make love, not war!
"Then stop being such a dick."
He opens and closes his mouth as if he were about to rant on in righteous indignation but thought better of it. He lowers his eyes and I smile to myself. That shut him up.
"Look, I'm sorry, Draco." I'm sorry, too! I love you, I've missed you, come back to me you silly fool!
"So you should be."
"Why are you making it so difficult for me to apologise?" Because my mouth hates me and doesn't want you to know I should be the one apologising.
"Because you're a prat who has no idea what he's apologising for."
"I'm sorry for leaving you just when you opened up to me, for throwing your efforts to the side. I'm sorry for causing you so much pain." I forgive you, it's immaterial to me now, just tell me you love me.
"What makes you think I care?"
He looks stricken, and I regret my last statement. Rain is falling down his face, but I could swear teardrops are forming in his eyes. I shift uncomfortably on the spot but maintain eye contact with him, unable to move my eyes from his emerald ones. He purses his lips and swallows, a sure sign of anger. I've seen him angry before, and he always tries to swallow it before acting upon it. He always had an awful lot of restraint.
"Because you'd have told me to fuck off by now if you didn't care." I love you.
"Fuck off."
I've never really known what makes me say the things I do. I just know that speaking before thinking has never served me well. Most of the time, people warn against this because the assumption is that you'll say something you mean, and that you never intended to tell the person. I, on the other hand, have the opposite reaction built in. I have always, through my father's influence probably, to say exactly something biting and mean. It takes a hell of a lot for me to confess my feelings to anybody - the only person I've ever confessed something personal to has been Harry.
He looks at me, tears quivering in his eyes obviously now, and I know he feels exactly what I felt that night. Even though the rain is pouring down on him, drenching him, wetting every molecule, nothing comes off. The words I've said, the history behind us, none of that dirt can be washed off with rain. The feeling of relief will never come.
He raises his chin in what I can only assume is one final blow. I mentally steel myself for whatever words he has for me; my only solace is that he's already broken me once.
"I love you."
I blink once. Twice. Three times. The next thing I know, his lips are on mine, his hand is resting on my cheek, pulling me closer. Sweet Merlin, I haven't been kissed like this since... that night. If I had half a mind, I'd push him away. How dare he come back after six years, expecting me to fall right back around his little finger with a little 'I love you' and a kiss! What nerve! What cheek! What... what a good kisser I left behind.
I've conveniently forgotten how to process thought. My mind is blissfully blank. I know nothing but the feeling of his lips against mine, the delicate sensation of his tongue nudging my lips open. I love him. That's all I know. That's all I care about. He wraps his arms around me and I fall into the embrace I've been longing for these past six years. It feels so natural, so simple, so... right.
The rain falls down on our embrace, the skies cracking open in bright bursts of light, and I feel relieved.
