Snapshot [HP, H/D.]

Inspired by furiosity's latest fic, Nothing Else Matters, and a lot of The Verve. Hmm. When all else fails, I go back to H/D. Does it seem post-HBP-y? Cause it's meant to.



They stand, in the small dingy room. Facing each other, in stark opposition, they are a study in contrasts. Harry merely looks vaguely bored, tension and passion flickering across his face before it is gone and the blankness returns. In time, he has learned to be still; he has learned to be quiet; he has learned to keep it all in. Besides, he would hardly open himself up to someone he favours with pity-and-contempt, so he shutters his face and gives little away.

For all that Draco is good at guarding his thoughts, his emotions have always gotten the better of him, especially when Harry Potter is concerned. He leans forward, arms crossed, sneer twisting his face into something less than pleasant.

"Fancy meeting you here," Harry says, "you always hang around disused storerooms, do you? Maybe you were going to cower in fear for when I came along."

"You're not that tough, Potter. But I thought this kind of room-" he glances around, making it clear he's refering to the dust and dirt "-would be perfect for your entrance."

"You knew the wards were thinnest here."

"I knew the wards weere thinnest here," Draco says, and gives a little bow.

Harry claps, mocking and slow, and Draco's face turns an ugly colour as he straightens up.

"I could kill you where you stand," he threatens, holding out his wand.

"And yet I notice you doing a distinct lack of doing so. Trouble with the follow through was always your problem, Draco," mutter Harry, and takes one long step out with his left foot, his body soon catching up with the rest, and he's that much closer. "How's life under the Dark Lord? All puppies and kittens?"

"Only when we get to drown them," snarls Draco, and holds his wand at Harry's neck, but Harry doesn't blink.

"I'm sorry about your Mother. I know she cared a lot for you."

Draco's hand falters for just a few seconds before it steadies. "Mother was...weak," he says, sounding like he's trying to convince at least one of the people in the room. "The Dark Lord isn't creating a world for weak people."

"And so she had to go."

"Yes."

"Do you miss her?" asks Harry, softly.

"Yes," Draco chokes out, gritting his teeth. "Of course I do. Shut up! You don't know her! You know nothing about her!"

"I knew her cousin," Harry continues, in that soft, gentle voice. "And if she had half the heart that Sirius did-"

"She was nothing like that traitor mongrel of yours."

"Then I hope she rots in hell!" Harry yells, and jams the wand against his neck with an outstretched hand. "Why don't you do it? C'mon Malfoy, put your money where your mouth is!"

"I used to be in love with you."

Harry just looks at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"I used to be in love with you. Don't worry, I got better. Stepping on someone's face tends to remove their appeal."

"...Parkinson told us before we...before she died. But I always thought she was lying."

"So good of you to disregard the words of a dying woman."

"Why should I have cared? She was on the other side."

"She was my friend!" Draco bursts out, and curls his hand into a fist so tight his nails break the skin, and little red crescents well up.

"So? They were my parents, and my godfather, and my headmaster, and my friends! Your lot has done nothing but take and take and take!"

"And it was my father and my mother and my aunt and my friends!" Draco yells back, getting right in Harry's face, the wand forgotten, and Harry grabs him by the scruff of the neck and kisses him, hard and harsh and hungry, lips pressed together and teeth grating to the point where it's almost painful. Draco squawks, eyes wide and shocked, and he's even more shocked by the roundhouse that comes out of nowhere and clobbers him to the side of the head, so hard that he tumbles to the ground.

Harry stares down at him, composed, a little weary, and shakes out his fist.

"What did you do that for?" Draco yells, voice about an octave higher than normal.

"First lesson: never let your guard down. This is war. You seem to forget that."

"I know what this is," Draco hisses, enunciating each and every word as he picks himself up and dusts himself off.

"I will kill you if I have to. I don't want to, but I will."

"I suppose I don't deserve to live, being a Slytherin."

"Don't be so fucking self-centred, Malfoy. I have lost too many people not to win, to make their deaths mean something."

"No death can ever mean anything," Draco mutters, and scrubs an inky stain on his coat sleeve.

Harry freezes at the words and looks at him, pensive and appraising, before he raises his wand in a duelling salute. "Not that bad a kisser, Malfoy."

He disappears with a pop.