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* * *
Today was my very first day in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In the train I came across this boy, whom I had met for the first time earlier, in the robeshop of Madam Malkin. The boy was incredibly stupid.Who does he think he is, talking to me like that? He seems to think he looks cool and convincing in those clothes, wearing his hair like that. He looks like an idiot. And sounds even more like one. He is extremely rude, on the top of it all. His kind are such an embarrassment.
* * *
He thinks he’s so special – strutting around the school, his stupid lackeys surrounding him as if he owned all Europe. He probably fell on his head as an infant. I’m going to make sure he doesn’t snatch the House Cup. They doesn’t deserve it.
* * *
We served a detention in the Forbidden Forrest tonight. I had to roam around with him. I can’t stand his company. The way he speaks is so irritating. And of course he had to act like being in there wasn’t upsetting at all. Because he’s so tough and used to all kind of situations. Some people have a valid reason to be on the alert in the darkness. I’m sure he would piss himself if caught off guard. He’s not as almighty and untouchable as he lets on. He’s just a stupid git.
* * *
What he’s smiling all nasty for? Our quidditch magician, with his shiny little broomstick and his infamous almighty daddy… Better than everyone else.
* * *
He’s always sneaking around with his cronies and their mischievous little plans… Because why would standards apply to him? He’s an attention-seeking git, that’s what he is. Sometimes I’m so angry at him I thought I could burst. My housemates think it’s a little odd. They don’t like him either. They hugely dislike him. But my dislike towards him is beyond boundaries.
* * *
He doesn’t understand how this world works. He think he does, living in his shiny little utopia. But I know better. And someday, his walls are going to crash, his little clever expression is going to falter.
* * *
He gets some sick pleasure of making me squirm. The sod. He sickens me.
* * *
I was at the Shrieking Shack today. He was there too. As arrogant and ever. It resulted in thrown balls of mud and swearing. Merlin, he just makes my blood boil. Does he think he won our little match at the end? I don’t think so.
* * *
What was he gabbling to me about the match today at the lunch… He thinks he’s such a big man. I’ll show him and his nitwit sidekicks! I’ll beat him and his overgrown ego.
* * *
Quidditch is about tact and grace and skills. He has none. Never has had those things. Only thing he knows is babbling, as if people will fall on their knees and kiss his golden toes. The prick. Born with a silvery spoon in his hissing snakemouth.
* * *
His hair was a little different today at the Great Hall, I noticed. I wonder why does he not wear it like that all the time? It favours his features. And it brings out his eyes. They are a rather rich colour. Not that I’ve been staring at his stupid eyes. It’s not like I can ever even see them properly, the way he narrows them every time our gazes meet… There’s a challenge, always a challenge in those irritating eyes.
* * *
He’s standing there, surrounded by his mighty circle… I’ve never really noticed how soft his hair looks. And how shiny it is. The sun makes it gleam, kind of.
* * *
The thing I hate most about him is how he’s always expecting some kind of special treatment from other people. Why would they bow to him and close their eyes as he goes around, doing his illegal stuff… And then there are still those stupid admires fawning over him. Merlin, he could use a good punch into his cocky excuse of a jaw!
* * *
How dare he speak about my mother that way?! I’ll make him sorry, that pompous, crass arse!
* * *
Teacher’s little pet. Perfect valedictorian with his exemplary attitude and witty remarks and nasty grin he always flashes at me after ”besting” me at something as useless as this… Everybody knows that excuse of a professor only favours him because of his house and intolerable personality traits that they share.
* * *
We fought today after quidditch. I felt more alive than ever. Hitting him felt like a relief. Getting hit was exhausting. My blood felt like it ran faster inside me, somehow. And some poured onto surface too, of course. Every time we get our hands on each other, everything else kind of blurs. There’s only him, above me, underneath me, around me, everywhere. His blazing eyes and bruising skin. Every trace of foreplay, smugness and viciousness, has gone away, there’s only the squawking and groaning in pain and the scent of pumping veins and pouring blood, and I cannot tell whether the blood is pure or mixed – it reeks only of hatred, and hatred knows no boundaries.
* * *
The incredible brewer, wonder of the potions class… Why won’t he stuff that slop into his stupid face and stop gloating about his sublimity for a while? That git of a professor’s personal kiss-arse. They sicken me, both of them. This class is nothing but useless rubbish.
* * *
That stupid fool of a girl is again sniggering and slinking around him… Does she really think that’s attractive? As if it were some kind of priority to coo around in that arrogant arse’s lap? What’s so special about her anyways? Why would he even have her?
* * *
Why does he keep messing with my mind all the time? Why is it that no matter where I am, he’s always there, like he wants to make me paranoid?
* * *
Everyone thinks they know me so well – I, who am exactly like my parents, who have my place in this war, who wear a permanent mark on my skin – a mark, who makes me their soldier. I wonder if he thinks that too. If he believes it like all the others... They don’t know me, not truly. They haven’t seen me breaking down. Being afraid of losing those who I love. Witnessing that lunatic torturing and killing. Lurching in the shadows of the war like the child I am.
* * *
The curse that fled from his lips in the bathroom… I didn’t think he had it in him. That kind of magic is highly illegal. I wonder if he planned on using it long ago… If he truly wanted me to hurt that much. I know we’ve always hurt each other, but still…
* * *
I am chosen, whether I want to be or not. I guess it was always meant to be that way. This shouldn’t be my fight, there should be another solution. But life is cruel, and it has had its cards played a long ago. And I cannot back down, cannot fail. They have put their faith in me, and I cannot let them down. I have to do it, I have to rise my wand and walk towards it without fear. That’s how it should be. Or else, I will lose everything, watch everything falling apart.
* * *
I have to stay strong. My mother stayed strong, even when she thought everything would end. She was so scared for me, she even went and defied the one who could kill everyone we love tomorrow, whose name only few dare to breathe out loud. She gave her everything to keep me safe, and I will make sure it was not in vain.
* * *
I’ve always thought he hated me… And yet he saved me, when I thought it would be all over, everything I had hoped for and kept close to me in order to keep going, keep breathing and not stopping, even when I was terrified… He saved me, he showed me something else was more important than the rivalry and hatred and crude words through all these years. He proved me wrong…
* * *
Our eight and last year in this school started yesterday. It was our first day of school after the war. And the very evening he cornered me. Asked – no, demanded me to tell him what were those looks for… Those glances I ”kept swinging into his direction at every awakening moment, making his head squirm and stomach drop”. I found myself both horrified and ridiculously amused; after all those years of getting to each other’s skin and throwing around all kind of glares and nasty slurs… I couldn’t get my head around it, couldn’t force a cheeky face on and rise to his hilariously absurd bait. I wanted to scream at myself for being so obvious and at the same time grab his face and, I don’t know, perhaps smash it into the wall beside, or much rather closer to my own. But he saved me the trouble by yanking me forward by my robes and crashing his brilliant mouth against my own famished, long-denied and more than willing one.
* * *
We started seeing each other in secret, at first. I knew that there were people – lots and lots and lots of people – who wouldn’t embrace us. They thought we weren’t meant to be. Of course they did. Potter and Malfoy dating? A wizarding world had met its end.
* * *
I’m not sure his friends would approve. We are from completely different worlds. It’s not only about Houses, but everything we have believed in and stood by. My friends have never been getting along around his. There are grudges, scars. Those kind of things run deep. I guess… In a way, people close to me would think that I am betraying them somehow. Or that he’s using me for his purposes, perhaps for a revenge. In their eyes two of us are too different to work out, too hurt by one other.
* * *
He kisses me like he knows me. Like he knows every path around my heart, every tear shed and unshed, every regret and every glimpse of pride and joy. Everything I’ve come through. I kiss him back just as enthusiastically.
* * *
We fought today. We had not for a very long time, not really. There was time when we used to get it on at every possible moment. Of course we’d bickered lately, that’s in our blood, most likely. But this was a real fight. A hurtful fight. It was as if we really wanted it to hurt, like all those countless fights all those countless days ago. We screamed at one other. We talked about death. We talked about all those who were gone. We said things about choosing a side. It was total bullcrap, all of it. As if either of us had a choice. We screamed about things we had lost and things we were afraid of yet losing… Somewhere along the way I said I still hated him, hated like the spiteful little brat he was – the one I had despised with all my young, foolish heart. The one I had saved. The look on his face, the silently dying light in his blazing eyes felt like a killing curse, ripping through my ribs.
* * *
That night we slept so close together that not one spot on our limbs remained untouched. I gathered him in my arms, sobbed silently and thoroughly, pouring hot tears into the crook of his neck. I inhaled the wondrous scent of his hair and repeated in whimpers how sorry I was, how terrified I was of him coming to his senses and leaving me, going to someone who deserved him. He twirled my trembling fingers around his own, gave my knuckles tender strokes, sending shivers all over me, and brought my hand to his mouth, kissing. He told me that I should stop blaming myself for everything, and he kissed me like everything would be okay. Perhaps he thought it would be.
* * *
We made love for the first time. I was afraid something would go horribly wrong. That I would hurt him. I never wanted to hurt him like that. In all our spiteful years, I could not wish that on him. I wanted it to be sweet, I wanted to caress and care for him. And I did. He called my name into night and tangled into me. Then he rose above me, took my feet and kissed my calves. He hold my gaze while sliding forward, as if it were the only purpose of his very being. I thought nothing could feel as flawless – and then I did something to him, as some indescribable pleasure reflected from his brilliant, shiny eyes all of sudden, and I felt myself becoming complete.
* * *
Sometimes we make homework together. Sometimes we go to pitch and chase the snitch without a care in the world. He catches it, and rays of setting sunset catch his windblown hair and brilliant, smiling face. His very being is glowing with joy and triumph. I have always thought his smile looks magnificent. He is a mesmerizing sight in his bellowing robe, casting a long shadow onto Autumn crass, red and golden sun behind him. My beautiful warrior, my sunset and sunrise.
* * *
He did beautifully on Transfiguration today. I watched him in secret. He performed the spell successfully, and the brightness on his face set me faltering. How come I never saw how brilliant he looks when he is truly happy? I guess the years we lived through were too dark.
* * *
Merlin, he makes my blood boil sometimes. Bloody git. What’s he looking all arrogant for? And his cronies snickering with him. Do they want me to feel like a idiot? Dear Morgana, he’s coming over. Has he told them about us?! Why is he looking like that, all glowing and annoying? I thought his inner circle pretty much wanted me to bite the dust? It’s almost as if they… Were waiting for us to announce our relationship.
* * *
I was in a really bad shape today. I had a dream about my parents. It wasn’t a pleasent dream. He noticed at class. Of course he noticed. He has always noticed me. He looked at me with a question in his eyes. I shook my head. I did not want to cause a scene. I should have known better. He came to me instantly after the class. Wanted to know what was wrong. Nothing, I said. I’ll be fine. Of course I would be. I hated telling people about my nightmares. I hated talking about the war in board daylight. It made it more real, more truly happened. He kept pestering. ”No, you won’t. Stop sulking for a second, you oaf. Let me help.” Good gracious, sod this git! Always sticking his precious nose into my personal space! ”Why don’t you go rescue some other scarred little boy? I’m a little busy reliving my finest moments. All those people who were killed. Those who almost died. Those who matter to me.” He kept my gaze for a while. Then, he stepped closer, brought his hands onto my face right there, in the middle of a hallway, and said, fond but firm voice dropping an octave: ”I didn’t. I won’t. I’m still here. And I’ll stay by your side.” How I loved him at that moment, the reckless and foolish and pompous arse he was. Beyond a reason, that one.
* * *
Someone said something nasty to us few days ago. We were walking through a corridor, hand in hand, on our way to class. Some bloke passed by. I don’t remember what he said. Something about a filthy Death Eater and a traitorous fag. I had spun around faster than I had formed a thought and pointed my wand at the face of the arsehole. Some words escaped me before I noticed it. The hex left him with nothing grave, but I still got to scrub floors in one of the classrooms all evening. When I returned to my dormitory, he was waiting for me there. He said that I was an idiot. I shrugged and told him he was one if he, after seven and half years of knowing me, expected me to let some brat walk over me. He shook his head in bafflement and came chest to chest with me with his brilliant, hard muscles and quick fingers and incredibly heady scent, and holy hell, kissing him was like drinking more life into my soul.
* * *
Slytherins hadn’t really bothered us so far. The dungeon was a calming place for a snog. Something happened on the other day though. We were in the Gryffindor Tower, in front of the fireplace. The flames were warm and shooting, but his hands in my hair were more so. He leaned in, tasted my lips, devoured them with the tip of his clever tongue. I opened up to him, letting my eyes slid shut. He caressed my cheeks with his nose, and I could feel his lashes stroking my jaw. My hands traveled upwards, sinking into that glorious hair that I had grown to love more and more each day. His hair was so different from my own, and I loved exploring it with my fingers. It was my favourite activity of the day. I remembered thinking how stupid his hair looked. Like he was trying too hard to be the incredible sod he was. No I’d come to realize how attractive part he actually bore. His hair was beyond imaginable. And he was letting me run my fingers through it, tuck even, if I wished to. I did, and he gave a groan. ” Bloody hell… You’re wearing too much clothes.” I’m wearing only as many clothes as you have donated”, I answered sweetly and received a little inhale above me. ”You lithe minx of a man...” he purred and started opening the buttons of a pajama, that I had got from him, with his teeth, the show-off. And that’s how none other than Hermione Granger found us a moment after, budging inside. ”Harry, do you – oh.” I wanted to tell her to kindly fuck off, but she wanted to have a last word. ”You might want to take that elsewhere. The fireplace is pretty common area. Bye, boys.” She was gone before I could silence her. And then all I could do was moan.
* * *
A week before Christmas we were standing beside the frosty forest, casting Patronuses together. Silvery light shone out of his eyes as he petted his and sent it diving into the blue dusk of the woods. He was brilliant with his wand, smooth and artistic. His charms glowered with warmth in the cold of December. He asked me to come and spent Christmas with him. Sleep until noon and be kissed and devoured under the blankets and drink hot chocolate before the very fire. Yes, I said. I did not tell him how I wanted that for much longer than one Christmas. I did not want to break the spell. He gave a dazzling smile and smashed me with a snowball. I had become distracted. The arse. I attacked him, and we wrestled on the ground, laughing and throwing snow. Afterwards we kissed. The air was cold, but he was warm against me. Warm and real. ”What memory did you use?” I asked breathlessly. He brought his lips against mine and hold his solid, gentle hand behind my neck. ”The one where you saved me”, he whispered. And how much more beautiful the winter was around me then, how much warmer and whiter and bluer. And our silverwhite patronuses romped around in the snowy woods, a dragon and a stag.
* * *
Even after all this time, we still have nightmares sometimes. And we still have scars that we are ashamed of, that we want to forget about. I have one in my left arm. A dark magic put it there long ago. It is from defeated enemy, a cruel person who wanted to rule over my will. It is a mark of my failure, my surrender. Sometimes I can still feel the dark force carving it into me. I feel the fear, the rage, the shame. The itching. But his hand runs around my side, closes around the ugly thing, and strokes it with his fingers. ”You won”, I hear him whispering in the dark of the room. ”You fought, and now you’re free.” And I am. I am free of that corrupted world, that cage. I have something stronger, something greater. I turn around and listen to his heartbeats. Or perhaps they are my own.
* * *
We leave Hogwarts in May. We walk through the corridors one last time. We take pictures and we laugh soundly, and we raise glasses. Hermione gives a speech about winning wars and winning inner demons and becoming a person that she is today. She wishes that younger students care for the school and unite as one. Blaise whistles loudly, and Ron smacks him – and they both laugh. Someone passes Pansy a galleon, and she walks onto the dance floor and brings her hand towards Ginny, who gives a delighted grin and lets herself loose in her companion’s arms. We have fun the whole evening. And when the sun is setting, we go to the graveyard and bring flowers. And we all light our wands. I light my own and take the hand of my beloved. He sheds few tears, and I do as well. And we all are a little more alive than in years.
* * *
It’s been five years since we got together, and I still can’t wrap my head around how much I hate him sometimes. He’s an insufferable thing, that he is. It was an ordinary Tuesday and we were in the robe shop at Malkin’s, and he just kept lashing out at me, wailing about sleeping terribly. And apparently I was the most difficult person to be around… What was the purpose in all this?! Why would he ask me to come into this blasted shop? And how could I help it if he slept poorly… What did he have to be nervous about? The pompous git, as if the world kept spinning around because of his very existence. I was not in the mood for this. Why did he keep running his hand through his stupid hair? Why had he forced me into this? ”Merlin forbid me, what’s your problem?!” I groaned at last. ”Why do I have to put up with this? What are we doing here? I assure you, I have more important matters, such as, I don’t know, sleeping, and yet you insist on dragging me here just to fidget around like a daft troll –” ”FINE!” he bellowed, and I backed down from the outburst. ”Merlin forbid me, I am TRYING TO propose to you, you arrogant, lousy, oblivious, idiotic piece of a dunderhead, but you have MORE IMPORTANT MATTERS, SUCH AS SLEEPING – mphh!” I’d never kind of loved kissing him more like I did at that moment. It lasted for a long time. "Now”, I said, with as much dignity as I could muster after we parted, ”do you plan on making us Potters, Malfoys, Malfoy-Potters or Potter-Malfoys?" He looked at me for a very long moment and let out a horrified laugh. ”A Potter-Malfoy? Our children would never hear the end of it.” I tilted my head in childish excitement. ”Our children?”
He just smiled.
* * *