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Entry tags:
The one and only... "Poison"
Title: Poison
Author: H. Savinien
Pairing: *wince* Um. Draco/Harry. Sort of. The plotbunny made me!
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Good lord, they're not mine. I don't even like Draco. Rowling is welcome to him.
A/N: I don't do Harry/Draco. I don't see it, can't understand the logic to it. Nevertheless, after Deathly Hallows, I was bitten by a plot bunny and to prevent it gnawing my leg off... This is the only way I see Draco/Harry. So, I figured I might as well share it with the internet at large.
Warnings: Angst, mention of character death.
Word count: 181
There's a sweetbitter taste of poison in hate deferred. What I think I must think I should think derailed in doubt and...grace. Hate survives because he's not perfect, not some angel, even one sootblackened by the fire the screams. (Never heard, but felt bone-deep, still ringing across a decade and more.)
One step at a time and ignore him, still visible, though quieter now, hiding behind his side-kicks' shine and press and working still. Hate's no longer alone. It cedes ground, makes room for something grudgingly other. 'Attachment,' spits my proud-tall-idol-ideal, 'is weakness.' Later, groveling, broken like his wand, shattered, lost, but still MINE.
He's not often seen in public, which makes it easier. Death would separate us now, but death sought is cowardly. And, he is brave. How can one of the lineage I bear be any less? Hah. And yet, perhaps. Not for me. That's lost long ago. For the others, for MINE, because he's made a world where that's enough. Being brave, caring, holding, attachment can...protect.
A little grace of poison is so sweet. A little taste might...heal.
Author: H. Savinien
Pairing: *wince* Um. Draco/Harry. Sort of. The plotbunny made me!
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Good lord, they're not mine. I don't even like Draco. Rowling is welcome to him.
A/N: I don't do Harry/Draco. I don't see it, can't understand the logic to it. Nevertheless, after Deathly Hallows, I was bitten by a plot bunny and to prevent it gnawing my leg off... This is the only way I see Draco/Harry. So, I figured I might as well share it with the internet at large.
Warnings: Angst, mention of character death.
Word count: 181
There's a sweetbitter taste of poison in hate deferred. What I think I must think I should think derailed in doubt and...grace. Hate survives because he's not perfect, not some angel, even one sootblackened by the fire the screams. (Never heard, but felt bone-deep, still ringing across a decade and more.)
One step at a time and ignore him, still visible, though quieter now, hiding behind his side-kicks' shine and press and working still. Hate's no longer alone. It cedes ground, makes room for something grudgingly other. 'Attachment,' spits my proud-tall-idol-ideal, 'is weakness.' Later, groveling, broken like his wand, shattered, lost, but still MINE.
He's not often seen in public, which makes it easier. Death would separate us now, but death sought is cowardly. And, he is brave. How can one of the lineage I bear be any less? Hah. And yet, perhaps. Not for me. That's lost long ago. For the others, for MINE, because he's made a world where that's enough. Being brave, caring, holding, attachment can...protect.
A little grace of poison is so sweet. A little taste might...heal.