Work Text:
Abraxas Malfoy lit up the cigar, while his legs were dangling from the high window on the attic of Malfoy Manor. The smell of cigarette was one the Malfoy heir was well acquainted with, how couldn’t he be? All those late nights in abandoned classrooms with the Knights, smoking, drinking alcohol and scheming how the new world would look like when it was reigned by Him.
He took a drag and looked up at the stars, they shined the same way they did on top of the Astronomy Tower, where they walked to when the rest of the Knights went to bed or to fuck their future wives and they stayed by themselves. The leader and his right hand against the world.
“I am not capable of loving, Abraxas.”
He had been warned.
This did not make the departure hurt any less.
Abraxas looked down at the Malfoy grounds, he could see Him crossing the threshold out of the wards and apparating away to the outside world, away from him and the cold quiet manor where they had resided all these summer months.
It had been just three months that they had lived together, but he already regretted it. How could he have wasted it on a man that would never know his sorrow?
He looked down at the diary that he had given him for safekeeping.
‘As a last act of love, I shall give you my heart and you will protect it, because it’s already yours.’
What the fuck did that even mean? Tom Marvolo Riddle did not have a heart, it was a fact known by all Slytherins, yet he had been fool enough to try.
Even at the end, when Abraxas was on his knees, begging for Tom to stay for him, to be brave enough to try, the man spit out sweet lies, known to caress the blonde’s tender heart.
What could Abraxas do to not feel this hollowness, this necessity to be alongside him, like he had for so many years, back when Tom was a bullied mudblood and he was his only friend.
He should have known that it’d be a bad idea to associate with someone who never learned the caress of someone who loved them.
He foolishly thought that his caresses would be enough.
He does have a tendency to make you feel like the only person in the world, that you somehow won his adoration against all odds. Abraxas had let it slide over and over again, telling himself that he was special, that Tom did not trust the others like he trusted him.
“BLOODY HELL!” Abraxas snapped, grabbing his wand and crashing a very valuable chinese vase against the wall. But it was not enough, it’d never be enough.
Tom was his everything, his very soul, his very heart. Every bone in his body and every tendon attached to them, now he was gone, never to return. Lord Voldemort took his place, and Abraxas refused to be in love with a monster.
With a confringo he set fire to countless decorations that adorned the wall, valued over a thousand galleons each, but he did not care, how could he? Tom was dead, and he resented him for it.
He fell to the floor in the middle of his havoc, the distinct smell of smoke attaching itself to his clothes and bones, filling every crevice that Tom had emptied with his leaving.
He sobbed, cried in a way that he hadn’t in so many years, when his father had killed himself and the only one by his side was Tom.
He’d never see him again, never talk, never touch.
Tom was immortal, but he was dead, and Abraxas had been left with his heart and memories that he’d treasure forever, even if he did not want them.
A bond, once held so strong, now distant, as if it had never happened at all and it was all just a memory, wrapped around layers of nostalgia.