hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-10-01 10:45 am
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-10-01 10:45 am
HP - H/D - The Greenest Eye
Yesterday was ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fearlessdiva's birthday. I would only do this for her.
Harry Potter
Harry/Draco
The Greenest Eye
It’s not merely jealousy.
That would be too easy.
It has to be complex.
He dropped the glass for a reason.
*
The voice in Draco’s dreams is plaintive and harsh. It begs and demands at the same time. The more he attempts to ignore it, the louder the voice gets, flaring in his ears until Draco thinks his eardrums will rupture and bleed and then he will never hear anything else in his life.
Notice me...
Notice me...
When Draco awakens in the middle of the night, there’s sweat dotting his brow and plastering his hair to his head, but his skin is as cold as marble. Crabbe’s snoring isn’t enough to drown out the hammering of his heartbeat, and he looks around wildly in the darkness, but there’s no one else there.
There never is.
Draco hates this.
*
If it were a matter of something as simple as sheer hatred, Draco could deal with that. He's a Malfoy. He's a Slytherin. He knows what it is to be hated simply for what you are, who you are, for everything you represent and everything you hold dear. What’s important is that Draco knows how to revel in that hatred and make it into something serviceable. He knows how to leech strength from those around him who would say they're his equals, his mates, his - whatever - in order to make himself strong. He is strong in his own right, of course, but it never hurts to have something extra. A reserve of some sort to draw strength from. His father has it, his mother has it, and Draco has it, or will have it soon enough.
He does not need recognition from anyone to make himself worthy.
*
He can see the glass in his dreams. It’s clear and flawless. It’s him. Except it’s not, because Potter’s reflection in it is as clear as one of a Professor Trelawney’s crystal balls.
*
If he were ever to pity someone - actually no, Draco would never feel something as pointless as pity so there’s no point in going down that road. Malfoys are independent in and of themselves, they need no friends.
Malfoys need nothing.
No acknowledgement. No recognition. Nothing as common as feeling.
There is no flaw in Draco’s breeding.
There is no flaw in him.
*
Except.
If there were no flaw, then there would be no nightmares.
There would be no dreams.
And there would be no hate.
Because the opposite of hate isn’t love, it’s indifference.
And the opposite of flawless isn’t just flawed, it’s substandard and imperfect and inadequate.
It’s lacking.
Draco can’t lack. He can’t be without.
He has nothing he can replace the defective parts with.
Notice me, because I’m worthy, damn you.
*
He torments the younger years by rote and snarls at the other houses because he can. He has the best of everything. He is first in all his courses, except for the ones he shares with that blasted Mudblood, but Draco’s not jealous; he’s driven.
He has what everyone else wants.
He knows this.
There’s no room for doubt.
*
When Draco dreams of the glass he dropped during his O.W.L.s examination, the glass falls in slow motion over and over again, catching non-existent lighting and reflecting rainbows prisms on every surface it passes: Draco’s fingers, the examiner’s robes, the walls of the Great Hall, before shattering on the floor. The sound of the glass shattering is like the crescendo of a particularly loud opera, and a shard finds its way through the folds of his robes and the thickness of his jumper to lodge itself in his heart. When he touches his chest, his blood flows green and bright, like ink.
He hates it when his clothing gets ruined.
When he looks up at Potter, his back is turned.
How dare he have the audacity not to notice what he’s done.
*
Draco’s not envious of Potter and his coterie of minions, because he has minions of his own and to acknowledge something as plebian as jealousy would mean that he could feel something as coarse as emotion.
That would never do.
This will never do.
Draco has money and power and position; he has Blaise and Pansy for his every physical want. Draco has everything any one could want; it’s just not enough. Which is why Harry Potter will have to die -- because Draco doesn’t want Potter dead for the sake of his father and his family name, he wants Potter dead, so the voice will stop.
-end-
Improv: marble, prism, flare, crescendo, glass
Betas byserialkarma and lalejandra.
fearlessdiva's birthday. I would only do this for her.Harry Potter
Harry/Draco
The Greenest Eye
It’s not merely jealousy.
That would be too easy.
It has to be complex.
He dropped the glass for a reason.
The voice in Draco’s dreams is plaintive and harsh. It begs and demands at the same time. The more he attempts to ignore it, the louder the voice gets, flaring in his ears until Draco thinks his eardrums will rupture and bleed and then he will never hear anything else in his life.
Notice me...
Notice me...
When Draco awakens in the middle of the night, there’s sweat dotting his brow and plastering his hair to his head, but his skin is as cold as marble. Crabbe’s snoring isn’t enough to drown out the hammering of his heartbeat, and he looks around wildly in the darkness, but there’s no one else there.
There never is.
Draco hates this.
If it were a matter of something as simple as sheer hatred, Draco could deal with that. He's a Malfoy. He's a Slytherin. He knows what it is to be hated simply for what you are, who you are, for everything you represent and everything you hold dear. What’s important is that Draco knows how to revel in that hatred and make it into something serviceable. He knows how to leech strength from those around him who would say they're his equals, his mates, his - whatever - in order to make himself strong. He is strong in his own right, of course, but it never hurts to have something extra. A reserve of some sort to draw strength from. His father has it, his mother has it, and Draco has it, or will have it soon enough.
He does not need recognition from anyone to make himself worthy.
He can see the glass in his dreams. It’s clear and flawless. It’s him. Except it’s not, because Potter’s reflection in it is as clear as one of a Professor Trelawney’s crystal balls.
If he were ever to pity someone - actually no, Draco would never feel something as pointless as pity so there’s no point in going down that road. Malfoys are independent in and of themselves, they need no friends.
Malfoys need nothing.
No acknowledgement. No recognition. Nothing as common as feeling.
There is no flaw in Draco’s breeding.
There is no flaw in him.
Except.
If there were no flaw, then there would be no nightmares.
There would be no dreams.
And there would be no hate.
Because the opposite of hate isn’t love, it’s indifference.
And the opposite of flawless isn’t just flawed, it’s substandard and imperfect and inadequate.
It’s lacking.
Draco can’t lack. He can’t be without.
He has nothing he can replace the defective parts with.
Notice me, because I’m worthy, damn you.
He torments the younger years by rote and snarls at the other houses because he can. He has the best of everything. He is first in all his courses, except for the ones he shares with that blasted Mudblood, but Draco’s not jealous; he’s driven.
He has what everyone else wants.
He knows this.
There’s no room for doubt.
When Draco dreams of the glass he dropped during his O.W.L.s examination, the glass falls in slow motion over and over again, catching non-existent lighting and reflecting rainbows prisms on every surface it passes: Draco’s fingers, the examiner’s robes, the walls of the Great Hall, before shattering on the floor. The sound of the glass shattering is like the crescendo of a particularly loud opera, and a shard finds its way through the folds of his robes and the thickness of his jumper to lodge itself in his heart. When he touches his chest, his blood flows green and bright, like ink.
He hates it when his clothing gets ruined.
When he looks up at Potter, his back is turned.
How dare he have the audacity not to notice what he’s done.
Draco’s not envious of Potter and his coterie of minions, because he has minions of his own and to acknowledge something as plebian as jealousy would mean that he could feel something as coarse as emotion.
That would never do.
This will never do.
Draco has money and power and position; he has Blaise and Pansy for his every physical want. Draco has everything any one could want; it’s just not enough. Which is why Harry Potter will have to die -- because Draco doesn’t want Potter dead for the sake of his father and his family name, he wants Potter dead, so the voice will stop.
-end-
Improv: marble, prism, flare, crescendo, glass
Betas by
serialkarma and lalejandra.
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::spreads
dracofic out on floor and rolls around in it::The sound of the glass shattering is like the crescendo of a particularly loud opera, and a shard finds its way through the folds of his robes and the thickness of his jumper to lodge itself in his heart. When he touches his chest, his blood flows green and bright, like ink.
He hates it when his clothing gets ruined.
NNNNGGGH!
::repeats process::
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Oh, Zahra.
This is raw and powerful and perfect.
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*cracks up*
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Yay for Diva & her birthday!
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Poor, poor Draco, always suffering so beautifully at your hands. Your handiwork is lovely, as always, and I thank you very, very much.
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Also, Happy Birthday, sweetie :)
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How dare he have the audacity not to notice what he’s done.
Yes yes yes! I can see this all unfolding and I can feel the ... hollow of his anger, his pain, his insecurity. He's masked it with hatred and tied it up nicely with ribbon, but it's still not enough to convince him. Gah, I'm not making sense. I enjoyed this quite a lot. Thank you.
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*winning smile*
this story is lovely. i long ago ran out of things to say to you, but you know what i mean.
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but everyone is okay. so good.
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Arigatou.
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I'm not really here, so I can't write more, but. *loves*
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How very Radiohead of you ;)
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Gorgeous. Oh my various gods, it's wonderful. I love Draco, the clueless, anxious, flailing boy that he is in this fic. Flawless and so beautifully imperfect.
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Well, that's the heart of the H/D dynamic, isn't it? Sigggggh. So good.
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*collapses, panting frantically*
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loved it.
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Nice.
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Unless your Draco, being written by Hackthis! As always with your work, the atmosphere is as much a character as Draco, Harry or anyone else. You manage to write physcholigical drama without any of the quotidian nonsense of rote, Hollywood, blockbuster cliches. You have an eye that sees, a brain that understands and a quill that captures beauty, ugliness and every emotion that can be roped to convey the two on the back of a rearing dragon for your readers pleasure.
BTW, nice restraint on the not killing anyone thing! ;)
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