"They'll see," protests Draco.
"They won't," Harry reassures him.
And, sure enough, he pulls his Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and draws it over them both. The crowd moves back like a river flowing around a rock. Harry and Draco remain solid in the center of the current, Potter's arms tighten around Draco's chest. He presses their foreheads together, still smiling, looking deep into Draco's eyes. Relaxing, letting Harry in as far as he wants to go, Draco opens himself up--no Occlumency, no defences at all. Harry won't judge him, won't hurt him.
When their lips finally meet, Draco melts. He's liquid in Harry's arms, warm and relaxed. Harry's strong arms keep him steady. His mouth is hot, hands insistently pulling Draco closer. Their hips grind together; Draco can feel how excited Harry is and little constant shocks of pleasure shoot through his body until he feels faint and dislocated. Nothing matters. Nothing matters except Harry. There, alone with Harry, hidden beneath the Cloak, Draco has everything he will ever need.
As the Charm dissipated and the soft weight of his blankets heralded the return of reality, Draco rolled onto his side and curled up. Arousal beat though his body in time with his pulse, hot and painful, made more intense by the burning shame brought about by his complete inability to continue to deny the obvious truth any longer.
It was Potter. It had always been Potter, yes, Draco had to admit that to himself now. Even when he'd hated him, he'd wanted him. He was fascinating and, really, thinking back he'd clearly been fascinated by Draco, too. During their sixth year Draco hadn't been able to turn round without seeing Potter trailing along behind him, brooding, his eyes dark and accusatory--fascinated.
He could still feel him, smell him, taste him. The Charm had been that powerful.
It could happen just like Draco imagined if he played his cards right. Potter must want Draco too, and P-- Harry, if Draco was going to think of him this way then he might as well call him 'Harry.' And then Harry would pull him close, press his lips to Draco's. He'd be warm and rough and smell of sweat and victory.
Draco was nothing. It was the truth; he may as well accept it. His father had filled him with empty air. Harry was full of passion. He could fill Draco with it, too. His hand slithered down his chest, fingers wrapping around his cock and moving as he continued the daydream in his imagination. The Charm had been money well spent, even it did go to a Weasley.
It had been so simple once Draco cracked it.
The Charm was complex, but easy enough to understand and, more importantly, manipulate. He'd merely deconstructed the magic, extracted certain elements and replaced them with scraps of his own memories.
There were a couple false starts in which Draco found himself trapped in what was more like a nightmare than a fantasy -- a fraught ten minutes spent dodging across the Puddlemere United Quidditch pitch, fleeing from an overly amorous Oliver Wood. There was also the time where the fantasy wasn't complete enough, and Draco found he couldn't differentiate between the dream and reality and ended up stumbling through the manor, crashing into walls and furniture, whilst Squeekle shrieked in horror in the background. Eventually, the elf was able to immobilise Draco with a petrifaction charm, but several very expensive vases were damaged in the process. Mother was not pleased.
Once he got the knack, however, it was like sinking into a blissful dream. Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so happy and at peace. When the Charm inevitably ended the world looked stark and grey in comparison.
He determined to see Potter again. Fantasies were nice, but Draco's time would be better spent on making the things he wanted real.
He arrived thirty minutes early and found himself unable to sit still at the table and wait. His knees jumped. His fingers thrummed. He fidgeted like a child. Finally, swearing to himself, he stood and stormed out into the small garden at the back of the pub.
It had taken Harry several days to respond to Draco's Owl, but once he did Draco immediately bathed, pulled on some robes, and went downstairs to get Squeekle to make him some toasted cheese sandwiches. The food cleared his mind and gave him resolve. It was going to be okay.
On the night of their meeting he dressed carefully, not wanting to appear to be putting too much effort into things, but still wanting to look... good. He settled on some simple but exquisitely cut grey robes. He slicked his hair back, mussed it to look more natural, and then slicked it back again. He spent far too long staring at his reflection in the mirror. There wasn't anything he could do about the shadows beneath his eyes or the thin, sharp look of his face. Harry wouldn't care. He would look beneath the surface; Draco was sure of it.
The minutes passed slowly in the garden and Draco was cold. Finally, exactly five minutes past the time they'd agreed to meet, he went back into the pub.
Harry was leaning on his elbows against the bar, wearing his usual casual Muggle-style clothes. Draco didn't mind. They looked good on him. When he saw Draco, he smiled and nodded. Draco swallowed his nerves, and closed off the part of his mind that threatened to make him hyperventilate. They got drinks--ale for Harry, Firewhisky for Draco--and sat down together at a table.
"So," Harry began. "What's this about, Malfoy? I don't believe for a second that you really want to be an Auror."
Well. It was true, and Draco couldn’t deny it, even if the implied assumptions of Harry's remark stung. He'd had time to think, however, and had planned exactly what he was going to say.
"No, I don't suppose I do really want to be an Auror." He slid his eyes down so that he was looking at the tabletop. He laced his fingers together and licked his lips. Draco knew exactly what he looked like. He'd practised in front of the mirror all afternoon. Looking back up again, he met Harry's eyes and paused, letting his gaze linger. "I did want to speak with you, though." So intense. Harry's eyes burned into him, and Draco realised he was already getting hard.
The carefully planned speech about his fervent desire to help and change puffed away like so much steam. Draco felt like a puffskein in thrall, pinned in place by Harry's cool, green gaze. His chest tightened and his pores opened.
Then Harry reached out and took his hand.
"I... I'm willing to leave the past in the past if you are, Malfoy. We're living in a new world now. Things are different. I believe you've changed." He gave Draco's hand a quick squeeze, leaving Draco completely devoid of the ability to speak, and then released it. Draco's hand padded down flat against the tabletop. His palm and fingers tingled and hummed. Harry leaned back and grinned. "You were a nasty, arrogant, evil little shit when we were in school. I'm not saying you weren't. But... well, I think there must have been a decent bloke lurking underneath. Somewhere." His grin grew wider. "Buried deep."
His hand still burning, Draco had to take several long moments before he could actually register what Harry had said. During this time, Harry's smile wavered and a crease appeared between his eyebrows. Draco knew he had to respond, and respond in kind, with wit, some equally jesting insult--but he had nothing. The memory of Harry's hand holding his completely overwhelmed his senses.
Finally, he managed to force a smile. "I'm glad," he said, and swallowed to remove the waver from his voice. "Yes, I think we can move beyond the past. I want to. I learned things during the war. About myself. About the ideals with which I was raised. I'd like to make up for it. If not by being an Auror, then some other way."
Potter's smile grew warm. He lifted his glass and tipped it towards Draco. "Step out of line and I'll have you all the same, Malfoy. Just so you know."
Draco took a large swallow of his Firewhisky and leaned back. "I have no doubt. If anyone understands the consequences of inciting Harry Potter's wrath, it's me. And I've got the scars to prove it."
Harry actually blushed--it was beautiful. Draco drained his glass and called for another, motioning for the barmaid to refill Harry's drink, too.
Soon, they were both pink cheeked and discussing their school days as if they hadn't despised each other. Had it really been hatred, though? It had certainly seemed so at the time, but now Draco wondered. All that anger, all that passion. Could you really hate someone so much without having it spill over into... something else?
His eyes sparkling, Harry said, "Remember that time I hit you with the Furnunculus Curse in fourth year?"
Draco did. "Remember that time I Petrified you and then smashed your nose?"
"Yeah, I do," said Harry, not looking quite so amused any more.
Draco had enjoyed that. There was no denying it. Smirking, he rolled his eyes. And then Harry burst out laughing. Draco joined him. He felt giddy. He felt alive. He wanted to grab Harry by the collar of his robes, pull him across the table and bite him, lick him, taste him right there and then.
"Let's get out of here," he said instead.
"Yeah? Where will we go?"
"Let's... Let's go... I don't know. We'll see what happens." He stood and was tugging Harry out his seat after him. Harry looked bemused, but rose and stumbled after Draco.
"What're you playing at, Malfoy?"
"Just come on! You're not scared, are you?"
"I'm not scared of you, that's for sure."
And then Draco didn't even need to lead him anymore. Harry followed him right out the door, right into the alleyway. They were alone in the night, bathed in golden lamplight. It shone bright on Harry's flushed face, making his skin look translucent. His hair was sticking straight up along the right side of his head; he let his shoulder fall against the wall, before straightening his glasses and giving Draco a crooked, happy grin. A wave of affection and longing tightened over Draco's ribs and shoulders. He stepped forwards, slowly, cautiously, prickles of sweat and terror forming on the back of his neck.
He wanted Harry so badly. He'd never wanted anything so badly in his life.
Harry watched him approach, still smiling, raising an eyebrow quizzically as Draco drew close to him. Licking his lips, Draco put one hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry turned his head to look at it, his smile wavering a little. As Draco's hand brushed up Harry's thigh, Harry's head snapped back to look at Draco's face.
"Malfoy?"
Draco leaned in. Gently, he brushed his lips feather light across Harry's, and when Harry spluttered and pulled back from him, Draco slid his hand upwards, firmly grabbing hold of Harry's crotch.
Harry froze. Draco rubbed at him, feeling him stir beneath his hand, and the rush of joy almost took his knees out. He pressed his body forward, pushing Harry back against the wall and kissed him, hard and wet, his left hand lifting off Harry's shoulder to slide into his hair.
Gasping, his body still and tense, Harry remained motionless while Draco explored his mouth with his tongue. Draco rubbed at him, feeling his erection take form beneath his jeans, and then snapped open the buttons of Harry's fly.
Harry's body shifted, became fluid, his hands pressing urgently against Draco's shoulders. Taking it as a hint, Draco fell to his knees and quickly pulled Harry's jeans and boxers down his hips. Harry squeaked, his hands in Draco's hair, tugging at him.
The intensified smell of him, the salty taste, the soft-hardness of his cock on Draco's tongue--Draco was in a haze.
"Oh God. Malfoy, what are you doing? God."
Draco moved quickly, sucked hard, drawing as much of Harry into his mouth as he could manage. Harry's thighs were rock hard and quivering beneath Draco's fingers. He was making noises, little whimpers and gasps; Draco's mind was aflame, his skin and muscles hummed.
"Ah!" said Harry, and jerked forwards, fingers twisting against Draco's scalp. Draco swallowed, trying not to gag, his mouth flooded. His throat contracted and he pulled away, panting, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
He looked up at Harry, dazed, happy, and wanting, wanting, wanting.
His eyes closed, Harry trembled against the wall. Draco stood and put a hand against his cheek. Harry jerked away from it, ducked and slithered to the side. His lips trembled and his eyes shone too brightly as he backed away. His spine curved forwards and he did up his jeans with shaking fingers. "I'm sorry," he gasped, "I'm so sorry."
Draco took a step towards him, arm outstretched.
Harry turned and ran, almost falling in his haste, feet slamming against the pavement. Watching him go, Draco shivered, elated and horribly fearful at the same time. He could still taste Harry in his mouth, still feel the silky warmth of him against his lips, hear his gasps, feel his hands pulling at his hair...
He could still hear the sound of his footsteps as he'd fled.
Draco turned to the wall, leaned his hands against it and vomited on the ground.
Silence. Thick, heavy, silence, like smoke, like the fumes of a potion gone wrong.
The first owl he sent was calm and reasonable. He apologised for the misunderstanding and requested a further meeting in order to put things right.
But the only response was silence that seeped into Draco's veins, thicker with each passing hour, burning and toxic.
The next owl had slightly more urgency. Draco wrote 'please' and 'sorry' and reined in the desperation that threatened to gallop out of control.
More silence. It was as if he were Petrified, his limbs heavy; it took all his force of will to sit up and move.
Draco couldn't actually remember what he'd written in the third owl. It had been in the early hours of the morning and his hand had been shaking. He may have written 'need.' He may have written 'just once, just a minute or two.' He didn't beg, though. He was almost certain that he hadn't gone so far as to beg.
He ignored Pansy's owls, and lay on his bed smoking his cigarillos. He held the smoke in his lungs until it started to burn and then exhaled long snakes of smoke in the shape of lightning bolts.
It was surprisingly easy to ignore his father. Draco stared up at Lucius as he spoke, watching his lips move and his eyes flash. The words trickled from his lips, evaporating before they reached Draco's ears. He was able to take some comfort from his mother's arms, but refused the food and potions she tried to force on him.
The Charms were so real. They blurred the edges of the caustic disappointment and gave him a chance to breathe and refocus. It wasn't too late. Draco could fix things. He just needed to make Harry give him one more chance.
Draco's fourth and final owl mentioned his surprise and dismay at Harry's behaviour. He was the saviour of the wizarding world; he'd destroyed Voldemort. It wasn't possible that such a person would be too frightened to meet a friend for a simple drink. Draco had thought they were becoming friends, and if Harry didn't have the bollocks to face him again, then maybe he wasn't quite as valiant as everyone thought he was.
Harry's note was concise--a ragged scrawl telling Draco to meet him at the Leaky again that evening.
He was already there when Draco arrived, sitting at a table in the back. Stiff and staring straight ahead with blank, tired eyes, he nibbled absently at a fingernail. His thatch of hair looked even wilder than usual, and before he knew it, Draco was walking quickly towards him. He'd fix it. He'd make it better.
Then Harry turned and saw him, and Draco stopped short, heart pounding. The hot loathing in Harry's expression made his stomach clench. Of course. What else would Harry think? Given who Draco was, what would anyone think?
He sat down opposite Harry, looked him in the eye and said, "It's not what you think, Harry."
"Don't call me 'Harry.' Just tell me what you want."
The furious eyes and sneering lips were the same eyes and lips from Draco's Charm dreams. They were so familiar, so precious, and, Merlin, he wanted Harry so much he thought he'd die if he couldn't have him.
Eyes starting to sting, Draco whispered, "I just want you."
Harry glared, refusing to soften or yield.
"It wasn't a trick," Draco continued. "I know it looks that way from your perspective, but I honestly wanted you, I swear. I'm not going to Rita Skeeter. I'm not going to tell a soul. Just..." Draco's hand slid across the table top to grasp Harry's. "You liked it. I know you did. And we've always been connected, Harry, you and I, there's always been this thing between us, even when it seemed like we hated each other..."
Harry's eyes widened and his lips parted. He stared at Draco, a feverish red blush slowly creeping across his cheeks. "I..." He swallowed and gently, but firmly, removed his hand from Draco's grasp. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. Really sorry. I didn't mean to make you think... I'm with Ginny. You know that. I'm in love with Ginny. We're together. We'll be getting married in a few years."
It was small at first--just a thin line of pressure between his ribs, only warm, hinting at heat. Harry straightened and leaned back against his chair. His mouth was closed now, lips pressed tightly shut. His eyes were fixed on Draco's, hooded, watching him. The bar of pressure increased and began to burn. Draco's scalp and forehead were tingling as if he were wearing a hat that was too tight.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "She's just a girl. It can't be real. It will never be as good with her as it would with--"
There was a horrible screech as the legs of Harry's chair scraped across the floor. He pushed away from the table and stood, looking down at Draco, blinking fast, eyes pure and cool and the only things that could keep the heat and pressure creeping over Draco's skin from crushing him. Harry took a step back, and Draco's stretched out an arm to stop him, grabbing Harry's wrist.
"Please. Please, Harry."
Harry snatched his hand away and held it to his chest as if it had been burnt.
"Good luck with everything, Malfoy. I'm sorry if I... I didn't mean to..." He squeezed his eyes closed and opened them again. "I've got to go."
Draco watched him walk away and the world seemed to tilt and throw him off balance. His ears were filled with the sound of rushing air and he was falling, crashing down, being swallowed up into nothingness.
Her hair swung from side to side as she skipped down the street, head thrown back in laughter. Draco didn't recognise the young witches on either side of her--one had dark hair and the other was dirty blonde. He didn't look at them more than was necessary to determine that they were still there. The girl wasn’t yet on her own. The yellow light of the street lamps made her hair glitter like copper wire. Draco pulled the hood of his cloak further down his face and quickly but quietly pattered after her.
He could do it. He knew he could do it. He hated the girl, hated her with spiky heat that fizzled through his veins and made his teeth ache.
What did Harry see in the creature? She bounded onwards, coltish, inelegant. Coarse. Mother would have been disgusted. And this girl was a pure-blood. Pure-blood girls were supposed to be refined, to have manners, to walk instead of trot. She was an abomination.
"I never loved her," says Harry. "Not like I love you, Draco." Harry slides his fingers over Draco's jaw, cupping his cheek and--
Draco shook his head to clear it.
Yet this, supposedly, was what Harry wanted. This was what stood between Draco and happiness--this ridiculous, gaudy little girl. Harry couldn't really want her. He was better than that, deserved better.
Once she was out of the picture, Draco's path would be clear.
Eventually, the girls hugged, and then the two extras Apparated away. Ginny was alone, neither witnessed nor protected.
Draco made his move. "Stupe--"
She spun and blocked the spell, her face vivid and creased in anger, and shot a Stinging Hex back at him. He ducked to avoid it, and cast a Jelly Legs Hex. Her feet went out from under her and her wand went flying as she hit the ground. Draco was on her instantly. He grabbed her beneath her arms and dragged her quickly into the shelter of a nearby alleyway. She kicked and squirmed, shouting like a banshee, so Draco pointed his wand at the entranceway to the alley and said, "Muffliato!"
The alley was empty. No windows looked down upon it. They'd be left perfectly alone.
He dumped the girl towards the back, stepped away and began to gather his courage. He was determined. He could do this.
She glared up at him with big brown eyes, body vibrating, hands in fists.
"This is about Harry, isn't it?" she said. "You've got some kind of sick crush on him."
Draco's shoulders heaved; spit flew from his lips as the words flew out unbidden. "Why should you have him? What are you? Nothing! A filthy traitor to your kind, not fit to be called 'witch.' You don't deserve him."
"Oh, and you do?!" She laughed again. "You actually believe he'd ever want you in a million years? Merlin, Malfoy, the rumours are true. You've lost it. Mad as an uprooted Mandrake."
"You just shut your mouth, Weasley!"
"Harry despises you. He thinks you're pathetic, the way you've been sucking up to him since the end of the war. He doesn't want you. He feels sorry for you."
"You know nothing!" Draco shrieked. "Silencio!"
Her fingers flew to her mouth. Draco smiled, his lips twitching, and took another step towards her, his wand pointing towards her chest. "Mad, am I? What's to stop me then? I could carve you up. Give you scars to match the ones he gave me. Then Obliviate you so you couldn't tell tales."
She sneered, bared her teeth, and then spit at him.
Draco wiped it off his face with the back of his hand. "Actually, I think I'll just kill you. That was my original plan, after all."
She swallowed, starting to tremble. Draco clearly saw the fear beneath the fire in her eyes. He wouldn't toy with her any more. Make it quick; get it done with.
His hand was shaking so badly he thought he'd drop his wand.
He hated her.
He really did.
Tearing his gaze away from her white face, Draco followed the point of his wand to stare at her chest. Maybe if he didn't look at her eyes...
It didn't help.
His jaw throbbed from the force with which he was grinding his teeth. Unless he killed this girl, there would be no Harry. And he needed Harry. Without Harry, there would be no life.
Yet, he couldn't do it. Couldn't make the words come. The magic was there, shimmering in the darkness of his gut; it steamed up through his throat, tasting of bitter bile, and beams of memory sliced through his mind--high laughter, rib-crushing fear, the vicious burn of an Unforgivable Curse pulsing through his arm as he was forced to make yet another family friend writhe and scream at his feet.
Finally, he whispered two words, but they weren't the words he'd intended to say.
"Finite Incantatem."
The cool evening air chilled his wet cheeks. He lowered his wand arm.
The girl gaped at him, her lips parted, and she exhaled. A shudder ran through her body, and then she scrambled to her feet. For one long moment her eyes were locked on Draco's. They held a curious light that wasn't quite warmth. Pity, maybe. Probably.
Then her head shifted, and she lunged, pushed past him. Draco spun to watch her, and what he saw made him cold and dizzy.
The flickering Muggle light of the alleyway left Harry mostly in shadow, but his form was unmistakable. The girl threw herself into his arms and he grabbed her back, held her tight. His face was clearly visible, though, green eyes bright, lips curled, cheeks flushed--familiar, enticing and horrible.
He whispered something to the girl and she pulled back, violently shaking her head.
"Go home," Harry said, his voice tight yet wet.
"No!" she shouted, pulling away from him. "I'm not leaving you alone with him."
"Ginny, please. I'll sort him out, I promise. Just... trust me, okay?"
"If you're not back in twenty minutes, I'm coming after you."
"Fine." He pulled her close and kissed her forehead; then she left.
And once again he and Harry were alone together in an alleyway. Once again, Draco wanted to be sick.
He took a step forwards. "Harry... I... I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"
And Harry runs to him, takes him in his arms. Draco collapses against him, leaning into his strength, not caring--
Draco swallowed, his eyelashes fluttering.
Harry stepped closer. His wand was out, pointed at Draco. "If you ever come anywhere near Ginny again, so much as breathe in her direction, I'll have you thrown straight into Azkaban."
So much fury. So much passion. So much life. It smacked against Draco in a cacophonous wave, tuning his yearning to a frantic high-pitched hum. He couldn't think, could barely breathe.
"I didn't do anything." He forced the words out, his voice high, childish. "Harry, please!"
"What do you want?" Harry cried, his fists in his hair. "What do you want from me, Malfoy? Whatever it is, I can't give it. Please. Just..." He shut his eyes tight and bit down hard on his lower lip, trembling for a moment. Then, he lowered his arms and looked at Draco directly, his eyes wide and earnest. "Just let me be, Draco. Leave us alone. Go on with your life. Please."
It was final. It couldn't be. Harry didn't want him. He had to. Draco had lost. There was no way around it, nothing Draco could do to convince him or change his mind. Oh, god, Harry, please, please, please!
Sliding swiftly through his guts and curling serpentine in his chest, the anger slithered through him, irrepressible, icy, and consuming.
"You liked it," he said, his voice carrying cold and quiet through the still night. "You wanted it."
Harry's face blanched, just the way Draco had intended it to, and his shoulders curved sharply forward. "I was drunk," he whispered. "You made me. I didn't want..."
"The darling of the wizarding world getting sucked off by a former Death Eater in a sleazy back alley. What would people think? What would your pretty little Weasley think, eh, Potter?"
He was so easy. Baiting Harry had always been easy. His face had gone red and miserable, but his eyes gleamed, locked hard on Draco's.
"You haven't changed at all."
Draco said nothing. There was nothing more to be said.
Harry remained, staring, for one long last moment, then he turned and walked away. The alleyway light spluttered. Harry moved beyond it and disappeared into the darkness.
Draco kept still, cold creeping up his sleeves, tightening around his neck and scalp. If he didn't move, if he didn't breathe, then time wouldn't move forwards and he wouldn't have to face this.
Draco hated himself.
He really did.
Drawing his knees closer to his chest, Draco hunkered down. Each thump of his father's fist on his bedroom door reverberated through his body. He felt bad for his father. His voice didn't sound right. It was too high, too frantic. It made Draco's stomach hurt.
He fell back against his pillows and cast the Charm again.
The moon was too bright when he awoke and his stomach hurt even more. He supposed he should eat something. His mother's fingers felt cool and soft against his forehead and in his hair. She whispered, a soothing blur of sound, something about Healers and she loved him and everything was going to be okay. Draco didn't open his eyes. He could feel the Dream returning even though he hadn't touched his wand.
"You've always had such a beautiful smile, Draco," said Mother.
Sometime later, as the sun turned the horizon pink and misty, Draco climbed out his bedroom window and Apparated away.
The sun is so bright it burns Draco's eyes, so he closes them and leans further into Harry's kiss. Harry's bare skin is cool against his own. The sun bakes their backs; the grass tickles their ankles. The vast field sounds of wind, birdsong and their sighs as they delve into each other's mouths. It's fresh and peaceful, and the sweet slide of Harry's skin against his own is a blissful oblivion. Nothing exists but Harry. Nothing else matters and nothing ever will.
The wind picks up, growing warmer, teasing at their hair and whipping at their backs. Harry's arms tighten around Draco, pulling him closer...
The Dream ended, and cold pain slammed back into Draco's body, making him twitch and curl up in a ball. The movement sent fresh sizzles of agony through his joints and bones. He should get something to eat, but doing that meant moving. It was easier just to begin another Charm. He never felt hungry or cold or sad or frightened during the Dreams.
Forcing his stiff limbs into a stretch, Draco rolled to his side to find his wand. It lay beside him on the narrow bed, swimming in his blurred vision. He tried to grasp it, but found that his arm was shaking too badly and he couldn't tell which of the wands swimming in front of his eyes were real and which were not.
He decided to get something to eat. It couldn’t have been that long since he'd had food. He barely felt hungry at all, just cold and weak and aching.
…a hard swoon trembled through Draco's body as Harry teeth dug into his shoulder. He was so strong, yet gentle. Draco arched his neck back, breathing into the mild pain. Harry smelled good--delicious, it made Draco's head spin...
He blinked and found that he was leaning against the wall of the kitchen, staring into the breadbox. Nothing but a mouldy crust left. Back to bed then, if he could make it there; another Charm would have to do.
…moving together, hot and frantic, the ecstasy building, growing until Draco feels airborne. Their fingers are entwined as Harry twists above him, their kiss unbroken, even as...
Now he was lying flat on his back in the landing. Shivering, Draco stared blankly at the grey ceiling. Odd. The words to the Charm were hazy in his memory despite the fact that he'd used them so many times. He felt funny--light in mind and body. The pain was still there but had faded to a distant ache. It didn't seem important. Neither did the Charm. Why fantasize when he could have the real thing? Harry was his; it was written in the stars--
Harry's fingers dig gently into Draco's shoulder as they stare up at the clear night sky. Draco turns his face to nuzzle Harry's neck. The view from the Astronomy tower is perfect, and the constellations are spread out endlessly above them in...
Floating down the pavement the world flashed by, there and gone, jittering. The sun was shining; it hurt Draco's eyes. Strange how he felt so cold when the sun was so big and bright in the sky. He clutched the iron railing to keep himself standing, using it to drag himself forwards, towards Harry. He'd be there soon and Harry would take the cold away and make him warm.
…drenched with sweat as the flames rose higher, turning his skin crispy and he screamed, reaching out, Harry approaching like a green-eyed demon, flying towards him, smilingsneering and Draco wants to beg, please, please, please, don't let me die like this…
Harry was emerging from the doorway of his flat. The Weasley girl was with him, of course. They swept down the stairs leading to their door, arm in arm. Draco stared at Harry--he looked so vibrant, so solid, and full of life where Draco felt empty as a husk. Surely Harry had some to spare; surely he wouldn't turn Draco away yet again.
When the girl saw him she gave a little scream and grabbed Harry's arm. He turned to her, brow creased, and then followed her gaze. As his eyes found Draco, the colour drained from his face and he seemed to crumple inwards. His mouth fell open; he looked Draco up and down. "Malfoy, my god," he said in a small, shaking voice.
Draco stared at him, as if he were a miracle, as if he were life itself. He felt his cheeks pull into a smile. It was all right. He wanted to tell Harry that it was all right, to make that expression leave his face. He stepped forwards, arms extended.
Harry shuddered and cringed away from him. It was the girl making him do it; she was pulling at his arm.
Draco made his smile bigger. It was going to be all right. Harry was here, finally, and everything would be all right.
"I had no idea. I swear, I really had no idea. I wouldn't have let you..." Harry sagged and rubbed at his eyes.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "So, so sorry, Malfoy."
Draco moved closer, almost floating, as if the air currents rather than his legs were moving him towards Harry. Once he was near enough, he wrapped his arms around Harry's back and rested his head against his chest. Harry shook against him. His hands trembled against Draco's back. Draco closed his eyes. He smiled and smiled and smiled.
Harry's strong arms closed around him, supporting him, keeping his wobbling legs from letting him fall to the ground. He was shouting something towards the Weasley girl, something about owls and his mother. It didn’t matter. Draco wasn't listening to anything but the staccato beat of Harry's heart against his ear. It didn't matter what Harry was saying.
Everything was going to be fine.
"Draco. Draco!"
It was Pansy's voice. She sounded upset. Draco tried to open his eyes, to lift himself up and show her that he was okay, but vine-like tendrils of dream curved greedily around his mind and pulled him back down.
"Draco," says Harry, his voice warm and tender. "Come lay down next to me."
"Don't leave us, Draco. Please. We're here, Blaise and I, and your parents are on their way. Please come back to us. You're in St. Mungo's. You're getting help. It will be all right."
"Shhh. Just here. That's right. Let me run my fingers through your hair. Everything is going to be fine."
"Of course it is, Harry. We're together. I know you'll keep me safe. You'd never let anything hurt me, not in a million years."
Draco wasn't worried. He wished he could tell Pansy and Blaise not to worry, to tell his parents not to worry. He was fine. Harry would come soon, and everything would be fine.
Draco didn't mind waiting. Harry would come.
Pansy's fingers laced through his hair, rubbing against his scalp. It felt good. Draco closed his eyes, the tendrils of a dream creeping up to claim him.
Harry's robes flap around his body like dark wings, cutting through the billowing smoke as he bends determinedly over his broomstick. Draco raises his arm, reaching towards him, pleading with his eyes, begging forgiveness for all the years, all the sins, for everything he's ever done. Harry reaches out in return, giving Draco his hand, his green eyes gleaming like spring, like life, like hope. Draco takes his hand and grips it, resolving to hold on tight, as tight as he can, and not let go for anything.
-- The End