Title: Acknowledging
Author: Lorielen ([email protected])
Rating: R
Category: Angst, Drama
Summary: Sequel to a role-playing session. Draco has confessed his feelings for his Father and found that they are not returned. This consists basically of Draco coming to terms with what has happened, and what is to come.
Disclaimer: don't own, though I really, really should.

AN: I wanted to make a copy of the RP accessible, but un(?)fortunately none of us has kept the whole of it. Which is partly good, because it�s really depressive, and partly bad, because it�d do wonders for someone trying to fully understand this work. But you�ll be able to read the fic if you accept without questioning everything that Draco says, for all important facts are covered. The choice of writing style is owed to Switchknife, the setting is to be blamed on Aimee's Luc, the inner Angst is my own. *bows*

Acknowledging

fic�s theme song:

Love Of My Life � Queen

Love of my life you've hurt me
You've broken my heart and now you leave me
Love of my life can't you see
Bring it back bring it back
Don't take it away from me
Because you don't know
What it means to me

Love of my life don't leave me
You've taken my love you now desert me
Love of my life can't you see
Bring it back bring it back
Don't take it away from me
Because you don't know
What it means to me

You will remember
When this is blown over
And everything's all by the way
When I grow older
I will be there at your side to remind you
How I still love you I still love you

Back hurry back
Please bring it back home to me
Because you don't know
What it means to me
Love of my life
Love of my life
Yeah

-*-

First Part � Draco�s Bedroom

You sit morosely, back against the head of your bed. You still look elegant, although relaxed. Your face and body language are blank. Your eyes are dull.

You still can�t believe half of it. That you have � you run a languid hand through your hair, the move seemingly devoid of any sort of stress � have actually put it into words, to your Father no less. To the object of that hurtful and torturing, forbidden longing no less.

It wasn�t worse than your current state.

Yes, it was downright horrible and your mind will be getting back to it later, but now, oh now. Now you�re stuck with the cruel truth that IT HAS NOT MADE A DENT OF DIFFERENCE. When you first considered telling Lucius, you were afraid of the consequences. Afraid he would push you away, scorn you somehow. For you, it�d be either that or being reciprocated. But not this. Never this. Never the current nothingness. Your Father is neither mad at you nor in love with you; he isn�t even there for that matter. He has other things to see to.
You�re entirely sure that...

It hits you that you aren�t sure of anything anymore. Your Father�s love for you was what you always held on to, and with it gone there isn�t much left.

You know it not to be extinguished, per say; there was pain in Lucius� eyes as he said, with words and eyes and all of him, �I�m sorry, but I can�t do this.�

It is extremely rare that Lucius will deny you anything, and you more than respect his word should that happen. But it wasn�t that way. You did many things you�d never thought you would: talk back in an angry tone, raise your hand to him, tell me man in his face that he was not a good father. You did all of it, although you didn�t mean any of those things. You alternately loved and hated the man before you AND NOTHING HAPPENED.

�I�m sorry, but I can�t do this.�

A lot happened, in terms of facts. The two of you argued. You used the Memory Charm on your Father. You bordered insanity. You kissed him, confessed your love and heard that it was returned.

You were told to go to someone else.

�I�m sorry, but I can�t do this.�

You said things you felt and things you didn�t. You backed away from your memory-altered, wanting Father. You learned that it is not in your power to make it better.

�I�m sorry, but I can�t do this.�

You were told that it isn�t your fault, doesn�t have anything to do with you. That anything you say or do won�t change it. Your Father has said that he wants you as well, but there are too many drawbacks.

The only true obstacle you can see is Lucius himself.

You tried to override your Father. �I�m sorry, but I can�t do this.�

It had been years since you were touched by him with anything different from affection. And yet you drove Lucius into shoving you inside your room, at the heat of the argument at the Music Room.

�I�m sorry, but I can�t do this.�

Facts are scrambled in your mind without any sort of order. You distinctly remember everything that happened, but can�t, for the life of you, make out a logical sequence.

�I�m sorry, but I can�t do this.�

Too much happened, for no result. There is no approval or rejection, just acknowledgement. No steps taken.

�I�m sorry, but I can�t do this.�

Going nowhere. All you did, said and felt has not changed anything in the scheme of things.

It should be expected; if you can�t make it better there�s no reason you�d have the power to make it worse. There�s nothing in you that can reach your Father.

�I�m sorry, but I can�t do this.�

You were straddling the man, in a moment of sweet, deceiving acceptance on Lucius� part. All the more pain for you later, when you were pushed away.

Even as you think those things, you know them to be untr-

Who has any proof that they are untrue? Who can say Lucius made any effort to lessen the pain?

What does it matter? Won�t be affecting anything. He gave his son, you, a firm and apologetic �no� and that was it. Acknowledging.

�I�m sorry, but I can�t do this.�

Many more things were said. According to Lucius, there was no way out of it and he didn�t want to see his son hurt or unhappy.

You aren�t crying. You aren�t angry. You aren�t repressing and about to snap into madness, either.

There were no consequences.

So it was back to the hurtful, unwanted love you can�t do anything about. You know you can�t.

And neither can your Father.

�I�m sorry, but I can�t do this.�

You don�t think of rejection. There wasn�t one. It was acknowledging. Lucius was informed about the situation, expressed his thoughts on the matter and� nothing else. No indication of what should you do, how would he be acting towards you.

Your guess is that your Father would ignore the incident. Treat you casually, and perhaps be a little cautious of how and where to touch his Heir. �Twas all.

�I�m sorry, but I can�t do this.�

Lucius was rational throughout it all. Not calm, but rational. Extremely nice at all times, but rational.

You learned that your love or suffering can�t awake true emotion on your Father.

Thinking back on it, the older man had been nice. He had been understanding, had tried to soothe you. Had repeated time and again that he was sorry and didn�t want to see you upset. Put up with all forms you found to express your despair.

He stated, time and again, that it wasn�t your fault, any of it.

That burns. You wish it was your fault, that you were the one behind, the one responsible, the one to be blamed. The one who could make things happen between you and your Father, any type of things.

No consequences.

You are pretty sure your Father isn�t thinking about YOU right now. The man has a lot on his mind. Previously, you�ve done or restrained from doing a number of things on behalf of your Father, either to please or not to worry/anger/disappoint the older man.

Pointless, you know it now. There�d be no consequences, simply acknowledging.

You aren�t too sure where you stand now. Lucius has said you are to spend more time together. You wonder what the hell will you do with that time.

You know you won�t be nasty to the man. It�s just that it now seems as though you don�t have anything left to say. Anything you want to say.

I hate you. I love you. Let�s go get some fencing. Is there a difference?

�I�m sorry, but I can�t do this.�

You can�t either. You can�t carry on with life as if it�s finished. You can�t bare the idea that it didn�t matter. And above all you don�t want to resent him, which you know you�ll end up doing. You don�t blame him for what happened. He�s not obligated to return your feelings; actually he isn�t even supposed to. It�s your own weakness.

He�s got a lot to worry about already.

-*-

Second Part: The Music Room

You make it downstairs soundlessly. The stillness is unusual at the Manor and you know that it resents you. It is resentful on account of the disturbance you caused, the injuries against its Owner. It looks after you as well in an ordinary situation, but you stroke against its Master.

The very air of the Music Room is heavy. The door creaks in a complaining manner; it is protesting against your entrance. Normally you�d beware those signs, but if it were a normal day they wouldn�t exist in the first place.

Not even the loose platinum strands in front of your face move as you cross the room towards the Piano. You�re careful but determined as your hands slid over the painted wood, revealing the keys and moving the stool for you to take a proper seat.

The first ever note you play comes out as if disjointed; so do the following ones, in spite of your absolute certainty of the order and time you�re hitting them, the song is not the one in your mind.

It cannot be, for you and the Piano are out of tune in regards to one another.

Both your hands relax the pressure, and your hair is now a silver curtain before your eyes. You�re biting down your lower lip and your voice is a whisper of surrender.

�I _know_ I�m not Lucius.�

To say his name hurts.

You carry on with the song, your lips hang parted. The music is inside your mind rather than coming from the instrument, and as such it isn�t hard to understand exactly why a murmur has started to leave your throat. You�re owner of an extraordinarily deep voice, regardless your slim appearance. And you are � have always been, just like him � talented with it.

You�re not singing misery; you�re expanding on your own soul and everything that clouds it. From hurt to confusion, acceptation, longing, rebellion, self-destructiveness, helplessness. But above all you speak of your unrequited love and its aches. You sing no words, there aren�t any words. Your lips are merely uttering the contents of your mind, the volume increasing considerably. You�re focused in the effort to articulate it, then you�re deep into it and there�s nothing else. You�re surrounded by your pain, the notes of which you�re letting out.

It takes you some time to realize that the Piano isn�t out of tune anymore. That you stopped playing.

And yet its music fills the room, in harmony with your own. The keys press by themselves and you don�t play any part in it other than the setting of the theme.

You know not why, but the acceptance of the Piano makes you feel a whole lot better and you leave the room with a flickering smile in your eyes.

-*-

Third Part: Draco�s Mind

You�re behaving nicely and normally. You�re somewhat less talkative but it isn�t something telling in itself. You�re giving your best. Just like you always have, for him.

Did that buy you being needed? Wanted?

No, it didn�t.

... dear, perhaps?

To that you can nod firmly. You�re dear.

Not much else is clear or certain to you anymore.

Should Lucius set any other course of action, such as not seeing each other or discussing further what happened or even ignoring each other, you�d follow obediently. But he hasn�t. He has not taken any attitude in regards to what happened.

Acknowledging. No consequences.

So it was up to you to choose a path, and you opted for doing it the way you think he would. Silently.

You have not yet cried. Your eyeballs are reddish but that�s due to lack of sleep.

You haven�t slept, either.

Instead, you sit up, hug your knees and stare at them. You�re not seeing them, or your knuckles, just as you can�t see a way to deal with this.

You�re special to him and you know it. You�re his mirror front, his immortality, his pride, his Heir. He has told you so and you believed; you believe him.

�I�m sorry, but I can�t do this.�

Therefore, your behavior is flawless, as is your attitude. You�re the Malfoy Heir, in all the glory of the title. No one can spot you grumpy late at night as your eyelids are heavy and the last thing you�d be doing is the loathed and useless Astronomy homework. No bitterness, resentment, sadness, hurt, anger, sarcasm: no foul emotion dirties your words and actions. You�re not known to have cried.

You wouldn�t, not even under your covers, curtain closed, door locked. Not even in so low a murmur that you�d have trouble listening to yourself.

Your own mind isn�t stable or safe enough anymore.

You can�t crawl out of its darkness, it�s with you wherever you go. Even in the presence of the one who would be the source of all light and happiness itself, prior to� all of it. You find him, and you wait quietly until his attention shifts from whatever it is that he�s busy with these days, Ministry paperwork perhaps, to your person. Only then you ask, and your voice is no different from what it once was when you addressed him.

�How did it go? With him, I mean?�

The hesitant smile and the concern in your voice are sincere. You want to receive a luminous smile and hear that yes, everything worked out, and then he could expand or not, whichever he thought better. You want to know that he�s no longer troubled.

There�s no selflessness here; it�s just that knowing he�s happy lifts from your heart the weight of helplessness.

As you stand there smiling you�re vaguely aware that he might look at you with sorrowful eyes and say, in a weak voice, that you are to go to your room. Or maybe he�ll grab your shoulders and shake you, and let out in a pained voice that you needn�t do this, that you must stop thinking of him and go life your life. He could also tell you that it�s cruel and masochistic of you to be asking and that he won�t play along.

Or he could talk in detail, answering your question. It�s the slim chance of the last option coming true that makes you ask at all; you know that if it were you, you�d be dying to tell. And you don�t know any other but yourself to whom he could, or would, confide.

And then you learn something. No, it�s not learning. It�s acknowledging, for it has rested in your soul for a long time.

You know that it doesn�t matter if your love is not wanted nor reciprocated; you�ll offer it freely. Because it�s not yours, in the first place.

It�s his.

�I�m sorry, but I can�t do this.�

Neither can you. But you will.

-*-

End. I live for feedback, [email protected].

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