"Will not, Would not, Could not, Did"
By: Evangeline Henri
Rating: R
Summary: Our doubts and reservations define us. Can we really let go of them in the
hope that something infinitely better will come along? Slash
Archives: Do, please, but tell me so I can visit it.
A/N: This is my first foray into Harry Potter, brought about by a waste of a Sunday and a
mix of Poison.
Dedication: Atalanta de Lioncourt, if most of my fics are written for you, does that make
you my muse? Just wondering.
*****
I will not be a pity fuck. No matter what happens, I will not be degraded and
defiled into that category. I will not let myself sink so low that I fall into that
deep, dark pit populated by every elfin waif that has ever crossed his path. Never.
I see him with them all the time. He attracts them, these strange creatures. Like
fallen angels, they always are- cherubic, ethereal, and not of this world. With their
strange piercings and torn clothing, and that same look in their eyes. "Take me," it says.
"Take me now, because we are of the same breed, you and I. Night wanderers both. We
belong together."
And take them he does. One, two, three a night. Sometimes at the same time.
One after another, in a long, glittering line of gorgeous misfits. I can remember each one
(and treat each with equal servings of hate), though I doubt he can. I wonder how he
even has time to learn their names. It's all over so quickly. Wham, bam, thank you
ma'am. Or rather, sir.
In alleys, in hallways, in abandoned classrooms when everyone else is at supper.
There's just enough time for a rushed blowjob or even a fast fuck before Mrs. Norris
comes skulking in. Apparently, he's never been caught, for all he flouts their authority.
That's something I'd like to see- that spindly, nosy little worm of a cat coming across
him with one of his toys. Bet it would make those ridiculous eyes bulge out even farther.
I know he'd like to take me into one of those classrooms. He'd like to make me
scream his name, and hear it bounce off the dust-caked walls. He'd slam me into the
blackboard, and we'd fuck, hard and rough. My hands knotted in his hair, our hips
pumping in time with one another, our school robes in a heap on the floor. He'd do
things no one has ever done to me before, things that only occur in my dirtiest of dreams.
And I'd probably love it.
But what would happen then? After that lazy afternoon, where we'd do things
that would make the Dursleys drive me out of their house for good. What about
afterwards? What would we do?
We'd probably part, to go back to our respective common rooms. Me, to the
lion's den, and he, to the lair of the snake. Back to our lives, back to the parts we've
created for ourselves, neither of which truly captures us. What we are is some shifting,
amorphous entity, something we lost long ago. Something that we can recover only
briefly by ravaging each other with reckless abandon.
In any case, there'd be no post-coital tenderness or solemn vows of devotion.
That would be too messy. There are too many little quibbles there, too many loose ends
to tie up after one sweaty, writhing encounter. If we let it, this would drag too many
questions to the surface. And answering them couldn't be done with sex; we'd have to
actually try and understand one another, something neither of us is ready to do just yet.
So we'd leave it as that- two teenage boys just experimenting with their bodies. No
mention of love, of hate, of anything consequential.
I want him. I want him in every classroom we can sneak into, in every corridor,
from the highest tower to the lowest dungeon. I want to wipe that smirk off his face, and
replace it with a completely different expression. I want him to thirst for me, to ache,
pine, and yearn in the same way I do for him. I want to feel his downy-soft skin beneath
me, feel his body shudder with the twin shocks of pleasure and pain. It'd be the best he's
ever gotten.
But I'll never let him have it. My parents died to give me life, and I would never
sully their memory so. No, not by loving him; it's too late for that. I was his from the
very beginning. Ever since that encounter in Madame Malkin's, he's been the only one.
I cannot bring myself to believe that it's immoral. Love saved me from Voldemort; love
shaped my destiny. Love can never be wrong.
Yet, to reduce myself to just another notch on his belt.... That would be a real
disgrace. More than anything else, to belittle myself into just another of his one-night
stands would be the worst thing I could possibly do to dishonor the Potter name.
He struts into the dining hall, wiping his mouth. I can just imagine where it's
been tonight. Behind him trails a sixth-year Ravenclaw. Admittedly a pretty thing,
willowy thin with big blue eyes. Now his eyes are glazed, probably still under an
orgasmic stupor. Kevin is his name, I think. He stumbles back to his table, giving Draco
a dazed smile before disappearing.
Draco leers at him, and finds his seat. His eyes are already scanning the crowd
for his next plaything. He finds me, and his eyes light up. He smiles wickedly, no doubt
seeing the blush that is rapidly staining my cheeks. I feel like he's undressing me,
leaving me naked in front of all these people. His gaze is playful, yet I can sense the
underlying hunger. He wants me.
I lower my head, staring at the food on my plate. I push my food around, still
conscious of his eyes on me. I force myself to ignore him, to focus on something,
anything else. I study my carrots, turning them over and over again with my knife. I
have to keep myself occupied.
I can't do it; I look up. He's still staring at me. Now, however, he isn't nearly as
cocky. His expression has changed; it's lost its haughtiness. That has been replaced by
something different, something... pleading? Could he, Draco Malfoy, actually be
begging for me? I'd laugh the idea away, but I can't dismiss what I see with my own
eyes. And what I see is him, looking almost desperate.
I try to explain to myself why I shouldn't succumb to him. He's no good for me;
he doesn't really care. All he wants is a pretty face, someone to screw and then forget.
No commitment; no caring.
It's different this time, though. I can tell. For once, he's being sincere. He looks
lost, as if he can't quite figure out what to do now that he's let his soul bare. He's
just as confused by all this as I am. The sheer honesty of his emotions is making me
want to gather him up in my arms, and never let him go.
Then again, it could just be my subconscious, rationalizing this extreme desire. Maybe
there's really nothing different, and he's giving me the same come-hither stare he
always does. Maybe he's doing it to mess with my head.
Draco is mouthing something to me. I squint, pushing my glasses up further
against my nose. What is he saying?
"I need you."
What the hell kind of game is he playing? I look around to see if anyone else is
watching him. Nobody is, though. They're all too concerned with the petty squabbles of
their existence to even notice his presence. What is he trying to pull?
Suddenly, I realize that he's not trying to fool me. He's not being manipulative,
or cunning, or anything of the sort. Those emotions I see are undiluted. He genuinely
needs me like I need him.
The thought frees me. I stand, and walk out of the dining hall. Past the long
banquet tables, past the professors dining on the dais. Out the door and into a side
corridor. Without looking, I know who'll be following me.
Draco stops me, and whirls me around to face him. We embrace. As his lips find
mine and his hands begin to tug at my collar, doubts fill my mind once more.
What am I doing? What-
Oh, fuck it.
-The End-
By: Evangeline Henri
Rating: R
Summary: Our doubts and reservations define us. Can we really let go of them in the
hope that something infinitely better will come along? Slash
Archives: Do, please, but tell me so I can visit it.
A/N: This is my first foray into Harry Potter, brought about by a waste of a Sunday and a
mix of Poison.
Dedication: Atalanta de Lioncourt, if most of my fics are written for you, does that make
you my muse? Just wondering.
*****
I will not be a pity fuck. No matter what happens, I will not be degraded and
defiled into that category. I will not let myself sink so low that I fall into that
deep, dark pit populated by every elfin waif that has ever crossed his path. Never.
I see him with them all the time. He attracts them, these strange creatures. Like
fallen angels, they always are- cherubic, ethereal, and not of this world. With their
strange piercings and torn clothing, and that same look in their eyes. "Take me," it says.
"Take me now, because we are of the same breed, you and I. Night wanderers both. We
belong together."
And take them he does. One, two, three a night. Sometimes at the same time.
One after another, in a long, glittering line of gorgeous misfits. I can remember each one
(and treat each with equal servings of hate), though I doubt he can. I wonder how he
even has time to learn their names. It's all over so quickly. Wham, bam, thank you
ma'am. Or rather, sir.
In alleys, in hallways, in abandoned classrooms when everyone else is at supper.
There's just enough time for a rushed blowjob or even a fast fuck before Mrs. Norris
comes skulking in. Apparently, he's never been caught, for all he flouts their authority.
That's something I'd like to see- that spindly, nosy little worm of a cat coming across
him with one of his toys. Bet it would make those ridiculous eyes bulge out even farther.
I know he'd like to take me into one of those classrooms. He'd like to make me
scream his name, and hear it bounce off the dust-caked walls. He'd slam me into the
blackboard, and we'd fuck, hard and rough. My hands knotted in his hair, our hips
pumping in time with one another, our school robes in a heap on the floor. He'd do
things no one has ever done to me before, things that only occur in my dirtiest of dreams.
And I'd probably love it.
But what would happen then? After that lazy afternoon, where we'd do things
that would make the Dursleys drive me out of their house for good. What about
afterwards? What would we do?
We'd probably part, to go back to our respective common rooms. Me, to the
lion's den, and he, to the lair of the snake. Back to our lives, back to the parts we've
created for ourselves, neither of which truly captures us. What we are is some shifting,
amorphous entity, something we lost long ago. Something that we can recover only
briefly by ravaging each other with reckless abandon.
In any case, there'd be no post-coital tenderness or solemn vows of devotion.
That would be too messy. There are too many little quibbles there, too many loose ends
to tie up after one sweaty, writhing encounter. If we let it, this would drag too many
questions to the surface. And answering them couldn't be done with sex; we'd have to
actually try and understand one another, something neither of us is ready to do just yet.
So we'd leave it as that- two teenage boys just experimenting with their bodies. No
mention of love, of hate, of anything consequential.
I want him. I want him in every classroom we can sneak into, in every corridor,
from the highest tower to the lowest dungeon. I want to wipe that smirk off his face, and
replace it with a completely different expression. I want him to thirst for me, to ache,
pine, and yearn in the same way I do for him. I want to feel his downy-soft skin beneath
me, feel his body shudder with the twin shocks of pleasure and pain. It'd be the best he's
ever gotten.
But I'll never let him have it. My parents died to give me life, and I would never
sully their memory so. No, not by loving him; it's too late for that. I was his from the
very beginning. Ever since that encounter in Madame Malkin's, he's been the only one.
I cannot bring myself to believe that it's immoral. Love saved me from Voldemort; love
shaped my destiny. Love can never be wrong.
Yet, to reduce myself to just another notch on his belt.... That would be a real
disgrace. More than anything else, to belittle myself into just another of his one-night
stands would be the worst thing I could possibly do to dishonor the Potter name.
He struts into the dining hall, wiping his mouth. I can just imagine where it's
been tonight. Behind him trails a sixth-year Ravenclaw. Admittedly a pretty thing,
willowy thin with big blue eyes. Now his eyes are glazed, probably still under an
orgasmic stupor. Kevin is his name, I think. He stumbles back to his table, giving Draco
a dazed smile before disappearing.
Draco leers at him, and finds his seat. His eyes are already scanning the crowd
for his next plaything. He finds me, and his eyes light up. He smiles wickedly, no doubt
seeing the blush that is rapidly staining my cheeks. I feel like he's undressing me,
leaving me naked in front of all these people. His gaze is playful, yet I can sense the
underlying hunger. He wants me.
I lower my head, staring at the food on my plate. I push my food around, still
conscious of his eyes on me. I force myself to ignore him, to focus on something,
anything else. I study my carrots, turning them over and over again with my knife. I
have to keep myself occupied.
I can't do it; I look up. He's still staring at me. Now, however, he isn't nearly as
cocky. His expression has changed; it's lost its haughtiness. That has been replaced by
something different, something... pleading? Could he, Draco Malfoy, actually be
begging for me? I'd laugh the idea away, but I can't dismiss what I see with my own
eyes. And what I see is him, looking almost desperate.
I try to explain to myself why I shouldn't succumb to him. He's no good for me;
he doesn't really care. All he wants is a pretty face, someone to screw and then forget.
No commitment; no caring.
It's different this time, though. I can tell. For once, he's being sincere. He looks
lost, as if he can't quite figure out what to do now that he's let his soul bare. He's
just as confused by all this as I am. The sheer honesty of his emotions is making me
want to gather him up in my arms, and never let him go.
Then again, it could just be my subconscious, rationalizing this extreme desire. Maybe
there's really nothing different, and he's giving me the same come-hither stare he
always does. Maybe he's doing it to mess with my head.
Draco is mouthing something to me. I squint, pushing my glasses up further
against my nose. What is he saying?
"I need you."
What the hell kind of game is he playing? I look around to see if anyone else is
watching him. Nobody is, though. They're all too concerned with the petty squabbles of
their existence to even notice his presence. What is he trying to pull?
Suddenly, I realize that he's not trying to fool me. He's not being manipulative,
or cunning, or anything of the sort. Those emotions I see are undiluted. He genuinely
needs me like I need him.
The thought frees me. I stand, and walk out of the dining hall. Past the long
banquet tables, past the professors dining on the dais. Out the door and into a side
corridor. Without looking, I know who'll be following me.
Draco stops me, and whirls me around to face him. We embrace. As his lips find
mine and his hands begin to tug at my collar, doubts fill my mind once more.
What am I doing? What-
Oh, fuck it.
-The End-