Title:  To Your Love(Love Ridden 8)

Author: Romie

Archive:  anywhere.  In fact, I'd appreciate it.  Let me know if it's

convenient.

Rating:  PG

Pairing:  prelude to Harry/Draco

Spoilers:  none

Disclaimers:  Rowling is God.  Title courtesy of Fiona Apple.

Warnings:  Features a non-explicit same-sex romantic pairing.  Bigots beware.

Summary:  Harry ruminates.  There's another version of this scene out

there, but it's not the official one because I didn't like it - it

was out of character.

Feedback:  is a thing most devoutly to be wished.

Notes: This ep's a bit interesting, because there are two totally different versions out there.  The original I *hated* and rewrote immediately after posting - although it had some nice moments, it wasn't true to the characters at all.  If I remember correctly, I ordered everyone to forget that it had ever existed and threatened to garrote anyone who brought it up again.  This version is better.

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I'm tired of being Harry Potter.  I know that's an unworthy, ungrateful thought - my parents died for me.  Sirius risked his life for me; so did Dumbledore, and Hagrid, and Professor Lupin.  Being born Harry Potter insured an advantage in the wizarding world shared by few others; my introduction guarantees a second look, a deeper consideration.  Even if people don't like me, they automatically respect me.  I imagine I could get a high-paying job on the weight of my scar alone.

 

I hate it.  Well, not usually.  I don't ordinarily think about it, and it's certainly better than life with the Dursleys.  But sometimes I feel as though my smallest action is sifted and analyzed by Colin Creevy and others like him, my briefest glance the grist for gossip mills everywhere.  That's probably not true; I *couldn't* be that important.  It just seems that way.

 

As you can tell, it's one in the morning again, and I'm awake alone.  That's the only time I get this maudlin, when there's no one up to snap me out of it.  My ruminations are ridiculous; do I really think Colin sees me that way, or Seamus?  Or Dean?  I'm an arrogant son of a bitch if I believe that I'm better than they are.

 

I'm just edgy about Draco Malfoy.  He wants to be my lover, even if he's unable to ask me straight out; it's *obvious* once you look for it.  And it is *me* he's interested in, not the reputation.  He has one of his own, after all, especially in light of the furor over his refusal to join Voldemort.  No, he wants me on an individual, visceral level.  It's a powerful feeling, a riptide of the senses.

 

I wish I could give him the same courtesy - view him independently of name and circumstance.  I *want* to; it would make everything so much simpler.  But this is a case where my fame definitely works against me.  Say I was to pursue a relationship with him.  A physical one.  I'd be a fool if I thought it wouldn't make the news somewhere, and when it did, it would be embraced by the gay community.  I'd become a symbol, (the thing I'm trying to escape in the first place,) an ambassador for same-sex unions.  If we ever fought, (which we would - this is *us*,) it would be a disappointment to all the homosexual couples who *don't*, and could even be used against them.  If the relationship ended, (could it ever hold up under all that pressure?) I'd have to follow Draco with another man, or else no one at all.

 

Let me clarify; it's almost mathematical in its simplicity.  If the relationship after Draco were with a woman, it would invalidate what came before.  It would make Draco a mistake, gay relationships a mistake, non- standard partnerships a mistake.  I don't even know whether I like guys!  But I don't have the luxury to experiment in a "safe" environment - I'm too well known, too public.  I know that Hogwarts is considered a haven but I'm not so naive to think the rest of the world is this accepting, and graduation is approaching fast.  Anything I choose to do now irrevocably sets a course I may not want to follow.

 

All this assumes I can even get Draco to acknowledge his feelings.  He might not.  I don't know if he's ever thought of men that way, consciously; until recently, he was dating Pansy Parkinson.  Of course, I have the feeling he's considered it, considered *me*, but that could be my arrogance talking again.  I have to watch that.  Perhaps the glance I caught was a fluke, the shouting match this morning motivated by hatred instead of desire.  Maybe I'm only seeing what I want to.

 

Sobering as that thought is, it makes one thing abundantly clear: that *is* what I want to see.  I want Draco to want me.  I want to think he dreams of me when I'm not there  and ardently hopes I'll return his feelings.  Because if it truly is hate . . . what a waste.  And how crushing to throw my world into this upheaval for *nothing*.

 

Do I want him?  I don't know; I haven't allowed myself to consider it yet.  How absurd - it would seem to be the crux of the matter, and I've completely avoided it.  Am I truly preoccupied, or just afraid of what I might find?  Being loved by *anyone* is enough to make you regard them favorably.  As if that weren't enough, it's easy to become infatuated with the idea of bedding my rival.  What if that's all this is?  A passing fancy?  It would be so cruel to have him, to embrace him, and then to decide it wasn't real.  Where would that leave him?

 

Would it be more acceptable if it were a secret?  Could I love him and not tell anyone, or would it look as though I was ashamed?  I *hate* the idea of having him only in private, but I don't know whether it's because I want him in my life or I want a conquest.  Nasty idea, but this might be an issue of *winning*, of showing the world and Hogwarts that I came out on top in more ways than one.

 

Do I love him?  Do I even know him well enough to make that distinction?  Until yesterday, he was a characterless enemy, indistinguishable from any masquerade devil.  (Is it possible that only two days have passed?)  I've reached a new paradigm, but I haven't had a chance to explore it yet.  Moreover, I have no one to talk to, and my one source, Draco, is *totally* unreliable.  I'm skating on deduction and intuition, and the ice is thin.

 

My thoughts are running in circles.  I'm more awake now than I was twenty minutes ago, and I'm never going to get anywhere without more information.  Suddenly, I can't stand being in bed, being closed up in this tiny space, bound down by linen sheets.  Even though it's forbidden, I *have* to leave the room, the tower, and go wandering.  Since my mind can't seem to travel, my feet must.