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phineasjoneswhee! i wrote something. something schmoopy and drabble-ish. it's totally a songfic. ahaha. huge geekerific points if you know which song. whew, i've almost cheezed myself out doing this.
i have written precious little h/d and i owe some to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
camillafarfalla. so this is dedicated to her - who i miss and love.
How It Goes
Draco had thought about it. He'd thought about it long and hard. He knew the day would come and he had to be ready for it. Like he was ready for everything else.
He knew how he wanted it to go.
He wanted a sunny day. A sunny Sunday, in fact, would be best of all. He always liked Sundays. But he would take a Saturday too. Preferably after a Quidditch match. Preferably with the snitch still in his hand.
Or just outside on the grounds. That would do. He loved the lake on a cold, crisp day. As long as it's quiet. As long as there's no long, drawn out conversation. As long as Harry doesn't get that pitying look. As long as there's no shouting.
He hates shouting. When Harry leaves, he wants everything else to be going his way.
Last night - after the party where they had been drinking, when Draco had insulted the weasel and Harry had been so angry - their raised voices had echoed off the bare dungeon walls. Harry had stormed out, slamming the door closed behind him and leaving Draco to think No, no, not like this.
And in the morning, there had been an owl. Draco almost didn't unscroll the parchment because no, that was not how he wanted it to go either. Not in writing, not from a distance. He read it anyway, and breathed in relief.
He almost turned back to the dungeons on his way to breakfast in the hall when he saw Granger striding toward him purposefully. But all she said was, "Have you seen Harry? He didn't come down to breakfast."
No, he hadn't seen Harry, not yet. He opened the doors to a quintessential autumn day. Clear, cool and sunny. The tops of some of the trees in the forest were already tinged with golden orange.
When he found Harry sitting on the flat rock by the lake, his chest tightened ever so slightly. Harry motioned for him to sit and he did, glancing nervously away, unable to speak.
Harry spoke instead, "I'm sorry I shouted last night. I didn't mean what I said. Really." He paused. "And there's something I've been wanting to say to you."
Draco braced himself. This was exactly how it was supposed to go. He was ready. He had the sun and the lake and the turning trees on his side.
"I think... I don't know." Harry paused again. "I think I might be in love with you."
i have written precious little h/d and i owe some to
camillafarfalla. so this is dedicated to her - who i miss and love.How It Goes
Draco had thought about it. He'd thought about it long and hard. He knew the day would come and he had to be ready for it. Like he was ready for everything else.
He knew how he wanted it to go.
He wanted a sunny day. A sunny Sunday, in fact, would be best of all. He always liked Sundays. But he would take a Saturday too. Preferably after a Quidditch match. Preferably with the snitch still in his hand.
Or just outside on the grounds. That would do. He loved the lake on a cold, crisp day. As long as it's quiet. As long as there's no long, drawn out conversation. As long as Harry doesn't get that pitying look. As long as there's no shouting.
He hates shouting. When Harry leaves, he wants everything else to be going his way.
Last night - after the party where they had been drinking, when Draco had insulted the weasel and Harry had been so angry - their raised voices had echoed off the bare dungeon walls. Harry had stormed out, slamming the door closed behind him and leaving Draco to think No, no, not like this.
And in the morning, there had been an owl. Draco almost didn't unscroll the parchment because no, that was not how he wanted it to go either. Not in writing, not from a distance. He read it anyway, and breathed in relief.
He almost turned back to the dungeons on his way to breakfast in the hall when he saw Granger striding toward him purposefully. But all she said was, "Have you seen Harry? He didn't come down to breakfast."
No, he hadn't seen Harry, not yet. He opened the doors to a quintessential autumn day. Clear, cool and sunny. The tops of some of the trees in the forest were already tinged with golden orange.
When he found Harry sitting on the flat rock by the lake, his chest tightened ever so slightly. Harry motioned for him to sit and he did, glancing nervously away, unable to speak.
Harry spoke instead, "I'm sorry I shouted last night. I didn't mean what I said. Really." He paused. "And there's something I've been wanting to say to you."
Draco braced himself. This was exactly how it was supposed to go. He was ready. He had the sun and the lake and the turning trees on his side.
"I think... I don't know." Harry paused again. "I think I might be in love with you."
