moonlite_tryst | A Bitter Pill to Swallow

Beware small black cats *points to icon* that have a penchant for cosying up to flat screen monitors when one is trying to edit a post - and deleting the bloody thing instead!!

Title: A Bitter Pill to Swallow - Epilogue
Author:

lusiology
Pairing: HP/DM
Genre: Angst, Romance
Warning: None! No body dies.
Disclaimer: No ownership, no money
Word count: 2381
Betas: Many thanks to

dacro and

jamie2109 for their support and contributions.
Summary: They say time can heal old wounds, but are some wounds too deep to allow for a reconciliation?
Concrit is welcomed and appreciated

You can read the main fic here.

For fourteen long, grief-stricken days the Order members waited to retrieve their dead comrades – or what was left of them. It appeared that the Death Eaters had finally grown tired of waiting to see if anyone would return, and abandoned the ruined base.

Knowing that they could return at any moment, protective wards were set up and sentries posted at key locations throughout the ruins thus allowing the grim business of searching the wreckage to begin in earnest. Harry strode purposefully toward the rear of the building, Hermione just behind him.

“Harry, I really don’t think you should.”

Harry briefly glanced down at Hermione’s hand, fingers curled tightly around his arm in restraint, and scowled. Impatiently, he shrugged her off.

“Why? Don’t you think I’m up to it?”

Hermione took a step back. “No! That’s not it at all.” She sounded hurt, wounded. “No one here today doubts your strength or your courage.”

“But?”

“I just think it would be better for you if you let somebody else do it. It’s not… Well, it’s not going to be pleasant for you.”

Harry snorted and looked away. “Pleasant? I’m not expecting it to be pleasant, Hermione, but it’s what I need to do.”

Hermione sighed and gazed across the burnt out shell of the rear lobby, toward the location of the concealed entrance. “And if he’s…”

“Then I’ll know, once and for all, won’t I?” Harry closed his eyes and took a slow, steadying breath before murmuring, “And I’ll bring him home.”

~ * ~

Draco glanced at the clock on the bed side table and scowled in annoyance; five more minutes of peace until the doctors arrived for the weekly progress meeting with their mystery man. Sometimes he felt like little more than an animal on display, a prize specimen for all to gawp and wonder at.

That said, the capability of the Muggle medical staff had surprised him. They had been remarkably proficient in their care and he’d come to realise that he had complete faith in them – now that had been a revelation.

He hadn’t spoken to any of the doctors or nurses yet, despite the months of treatment for his extensive burns. It wouldn’t do to be in a position where he had to try to explain who he was, where he’d come from, or how he’s seemingly just appeared inside the Accident and Emergency department of the hospital. Draco snorted softly to himself; they would think he was deranged, or on a secret supply of some Muggle mind altering substance.

Draco knew he had to play the game a little longer. He would be convivial when they came into his room, play the tragic but grateful patient. He wasn’t ready to leave the safety of the Muggle hospital just yet. But soon, very soon, they would come and he would be gone.

Where? Draco wasn’t sure, but he knew it couldn’t be to Harry if the war was still ongoing; there would be too much hatred and suspicion from the likes of Lupin and Granger – maybe even from Harry himself.

As for returning to Voldemort… Draco had no desire for a long and painful death.

~*~

Harry quickened his pace.

The urge to reach out, to touch, was almost overpowering; his fingers trembled with long denied want. Summoning all the self control he could muster, Harry forced his hands deep into the pockets of his winter coat, out of harm’s way.

Weaving his way through the milling crowd of late afternoon shoppers, Harry kept his eyes glued to the back of the blond-haired man ahead of him, swathed in black, searching for something, anything that seemed familiar.

There had been too many false alarms over the years; too many mumbled apologies to bewildered strangers on unfamiliar streets, to risk being disappointed yet again.

His quarry stopped suddenly before a toy shop. On the pretext that he too was browsing a window display, Harry hung back and studied the back of the other man.

As he watched, a pale hand emerged, reaching out to the window of the shop front. Long fingers touched the glass, slowly tracing the length of a witch’s broom standing at the forefront of a Halloween display.

Ignoring the churning in his stomach and, more importantly, common sense, Harry moved closer, unable to stop himself from reaching out and touching the nearest shoulder to gain the other person’s attention.

“Draco?”

The bile of disappointment rose in Harry once again, dissolving the words of greeting on his tongue. Before the stranger could speak, Harry turned and angrily pushed his way back through the crowd, desperate to get away so he could Apparate to somewhere quiet and let go of the rage he felt building inside him.

~*~

Loneliness ate away a little more of Draco’s soul as each year passed, like a Dementor’s kiss slowly sucking out all memories of joy - leaving him numb, hollow within. There were times when he was driven by the sheer want of human company to venture out into the night seeking some form of solace to fill the emptiness, if only for a few hours.

A hard, fast fuck was a poor substitute compared to the memory of making love slowly and gently to Harry – their hands caressing and lips exploring each other, bringing ecstasy in their wake. Draco would deny it if asked, but his subconscious always made his selection for him, searching out any willing man with a lean frame, untidy black hair and hazel eyes one or two shades away from green.

Tonight was no exception.

Shoulders digging into the rough bricks of the alley wall behind him, Draco's back arched and his hips thrust forward again and again, driving his needy cock down the throat of the eager stranger before him. Finally, thighs aching and knees trembling, he pushed the emptiness away for just a moment.

Draco stumbled out of the alley without cleaning himself up. Once he was no longer visible he Apparated back to his flat knowing full well that on nights such as this, when he smelt of sweat and back alley sex, he would dream of Harry - and he welcomed it.

In sleep his body moves, responding to phantom touches until finally his hips jerk violently and milky threads of come spatter the sheet tangled around his legs. A strangled cry of “Harry” pierces the silence of the flat.

Draco rose from the rumpled bedding and opened the bedroom window, the cool air soothing his heated skin as he stared blankly out into the night. He used think he didn’t deserve someone who would care about him; someone who would reach out to touch and kiss his scars with the utmost gentleness, but it was time to stop fooling himself. The want, the need for Harry had not diminished during the years apart.

Now was not the time for Slytherin caution, but for that Gryffindor quality Harry had in abundance - risk taking. It was time to put away his demons: his guilt for those who’d died in that dawn raid so long ago, and his fear that Harry would confuse memories of love with pity and feel obligated to stay with him if they resumed their relationship.

Time indeed, he thought, to send that owl.

~*~

The cool interior of the tiny village chapel provided much needed respite from the incessant heat outside.

This was Harry’s favourite time of day, a time when he could sit with his memories of those long dead without being disturbed by the hustle and bustle of life.

He gazed at the shimmering flames of the small votive candles before him, smiling briefly to himself. They reminded him of tiny sparks of hope burning brightly in the darkness.

Harry hoped for absolution.

Exhaling slowly, he stood and walked across to the candle stand, picking up the matches to light his daily prayers for forgiveness.

One candle for those who suffered or died during the war.

One candle for Draco.

~*~

Draco checked his watch again. Four hours and ten minutes had passed since he had plucked up the courage to send an owl to Harry - not that he was anxiously counting, of course. He’d sat for most of the day deliberating the possible folly of this action, until he finally decided that he could no longer live his life in limbo.

Was it possible to have some sort of future with Harry?

The cold fingers of a sudden gust wormed their way through the folds of his cloak and tugged at his hood, whipping strands of blond hair into his eyes. Draco shivered and turned his back to the wind, drawing the thickly woven fabric tightly around his body for extra warmth. He could cast a Warming Charm but the chill of the night air would help to keep him alert throughout his vigil.

From his position on the hill top, it was easy to see the shadows lengthening across the rolling farmland below as dusk crept silently over the land, bringing with her the inky blackness of night.

Over the western horizon the darkening sky was ablaze with brilliant hues of vermilion and gold from the setting sun. How fitting, Draco thought, that fire should once again mark a turning point in his life.

Settling himself against the gnarled stump of a tree, he continued to wait for Harry's reply.

~*~

Raucous cries echoed through the once silent woods. Ravens burst from the skeletal tree tops into the pale blue December sky, disturbed into flight by the crack of Harry’s Apparition.

He stood on the path that emerged from the trees at the foot of the hill and surveyed the landscape before him. Apart from the Muggle conifer plantation encroaching on the mountainside beyond the wood, little had changed since the time he’d shared this remote Highland cottage with Draco.

Snaking its way across the open stretch of land between the woods and the distant sea, the brook shone in the winter sunlight like a sinuous silver ribbon. Some thoughtful soul had provided a rope bridge to assist in crossing it but, buoyed by the fact that Draco had chosen this particular location for the first meeting since their parting, Harry chose to risk the stepping stones, hoping that he wouldn’t slip and land in the freezing water.

The whitewashed cottage stood in splendid isolation, ringed by the same rickety fence and gate. Even on their first visit it was clear that the gate hinges had long since rusted away. Harry smiled briefly as he stepped over the fence rather than risk touching the fragile structure, recalling how Draco had said it was part of the charm of the place, much to Harry’s surprise.

Swallowing nervously, Harry looked at the faded green front door, its paint cracked and peeling from the salt laden wind that blew almost continuously across the exposed landscape. His feet refused to move any further forward. This was what he had longed for since receiving Draco’s owl, but he suddenly felt uncertain, not sure how to proceed in case he fucked it up. He wondered if Draco was already inside the cottage, watching him dither like an idiot.

There was a sudden scrape of wood on stone, and Draco was there, standing in the doorway dressed in smart charcoal grey trousers and a burgundy high neck sweater. Harry took in the familiar features of his face - older yes, a little sharper around the cheekbones and jaw, but just as beautiful in Harry’s eyes.

“Draco,” he breathed.

“Harry.” Draco replied in a neutral tone, stepping to the side to open the door wider. He quirked a brow at Harry and gestured to the dark interior. “Shall we?”

Harry stepped over the threshold and into the wood panelled sitting room, made all the more cosy by the logs burning in the grate and the numerous candles scattered throughout. Glancing around, he could see that it hadn’t changed. Unbidden, images tumbled through his mind; images of the two of them fucking on or against almost every surface in the room. He was unprepared for such an onslaught and felt completely overwhelmed.

He needed to focus on something else, so he looked toward the window and began to talk - the words spilling from his mouth. “The weather is glorious today, isn’t it? This place hasn’t changed one bit. It looks just the same, except for the rope bridge over the burn of course. I climbed over the old…”

A light squeeze on his forearm stopped him mid flow; Harry looked back at Draco. “It’s good to see you too, Harry,” Draco said.

Harry drew in a deep breath and willed himself to relax. “Yeah,” he replied shooting Draco a quick grin.

Draco released Harry’s arm. “It’s been a long time. I wasn’t sure that you’d come.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” replied Harry.

Draco shrugged. “There was always the possibility you’d change your mind, or someone would talk you out of it.”

“What I do is my own concern, Draco. I…” Harry licked his lips and took a deep breath before blurting out, “I’ve waited for this moment for a long time. Nothing would’ve stopped me coming here today.”

“That’s good to know,” said Draco, flashing Harry a genuine smile of pleasure. Harry revelled in it. Relief flooded through him; anxiousness and uncertainty gave way to the heady feeling of anticipation.

Harry watched Draco walk over to the long oak sideboard and retrieve two champagne flutes. Wordlessly he held one out to Harry. Their fingers brushed as Harry took the proffered drink and Draco instantly locked eyes with him. He knew that he’d blushed; he could feel his cheeks burning under the intense gaze of those storm-grey eyes.

Draco smiled briefly and raised his glass. “To new beginnings.”

Harry, not breaking eye contact, touched his glass to Draco’s and grinned broadly. “To new beginnings.”

After taking a sip of his champagne, Draco led the way to the sofa and Harry followed, sitting close enough to reach and touch him should the opportunity arise.

Harry wasn’t sure what this meeting would lead to, and maybe friendship was the best he could hope for, but at least today they’d finally made a start.

~*~

Fin

Current Mood: hungry
Current Location: Tearing one's hair out.