Title: Alive

Author: Lupusdragon

Author's e-mail: lupusdragon06@hotmail.com

Author's webpage: http://www.livejournal.com/users/lupusdragon/

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters.  Only this perversion of a plot is my own.

Pairing: Draco/Harry

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers/Warnings: Contains slash, Ron bashing, and violence

Summary: When Harry is hurt by one closest to him, it will take someone unexpected to lift him from the ashes.

Author's notes:  Ron is an easy target.  Forgive my abuse of him, but it makes the most sense in my twisted mind.

Archive:  If you ask, I’ll not say no.

 

/Say good bye to mister right

Lock the door; turn out the light

Pack your bags; leave this trap

Run away; don’t look back

See another day in each new sun

Your life has just begun/

 

He could not suppress the sob that was wrung from this throat as the once gentle hand left an angry red mark across his cheek.  Backing himself into a corner, Harry tried to get away from the heavy hands and feet that were trying to connect with his face, his stomach, his groin.  It was easier that way.  Think about the parts, not the whole.  Never think about the person hitting him.  Never think about himself as he took the abuse.  It was just easier that way.

 

“You fucking slut!”

 

Harry cringed as another blow, this time a solid fist, slammed into his abdomen.  He tried to relax, knowing deep down that it would hurt less if he accepted the blows instead of tensing against them.  Even if he could stave off the physical pain for a few moments, it was nothing compared to what he would face when he finally decided to confront the truth.  Maybe that is why it had not happened yet.

 

How do you face the fact that you have been betrayed by the one person who should care for you more than anyone?

 

Your best friend.

 

Your lover.

 

When Ron finally passed out from sheer exhaustion, Harry took down the silencing and barrier charms from around the bed curtains, gathered his Invisibility Cloak around himself and snuck out of the dormitory as silently as possible.  Sneaking through the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry passed the few students still awake at this hour, studying desperately for midterms.  He paused, hoping beyond hope that someone was talking about him, worried about Ron’s sudden anger.  But, no.  No one noticed, no one noticed because Ron was too careful.  Any mark made that would be visible was immediately healed.  It would not do to be accused of abusing The-Boy-Who-Lived.

 

Choking back the tears that threatened to fall, the boy who never asked for this fate carefully gathered his magical energy, focusing his emotions in a more controlled version of the wandless magic he had inadvertently called upon so often while with the Dursleys.  ‘One of the perks of being one of the most powerful wizards in the world’ Harry thought as he whispered a well-practiced charm that affected only one’s short-term memory.  No one would remember the portrait that opened itself.

 

Sometimes he wished he could just Obliviate himself and be done with it.  No more Voldemort, no more Ron, no more war, no more pain, no more Boy-Who-Lived, there would only be Harry Potter.

 

Not knowing exactly where to go, Harry resorted to more or less aimless wonderings of the halls of Hogwarts.  It was too cold to venture outside and he could not go to the library, not with all of the memories of late night escapades that it held.  Finally, he found himself before the doors of the Great Hall.

 

Feeling strangely drawn to this place, Harry tested his luck with the door, and found the heavy oak swung open quite easily.  He bypassed the Gryffindor table and seated himself at the far side of the Slytherin table.  For a moment he allowed himself to wonder what things could have been like had he not begged the Sorting Hat to keep him out of Slytherin.  He probably would not be in this mess.  With a small whimper, he realized that he had spent too much of his wizarding life listening to Ronald Weasley. 

 

It was certain traits common to those of the Slytherin House that made its witches and wizards turn to the Dark Arts, not the House itself.  That much was proven once the war started in earnest.  Many parents of Slytherin students began to pull their children out of Hogwarts once it they realized that the school was completely committed to the Light side.  However, many upper Slytherins, fifth, sixth and seventh years, chose to defy their Death Eater or Voldemort loyal parents.  Too many battles had seen him fighting side by side with Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape for him to believe any longer that Slytherin equalled Evil. 

 

 

Draco Malfoy was restless, unable to find peace in deep slumber, unwilling to induce it artificially.  To seek a remedy would be to admit a problem, and Malfoys did not get insomnia.  He was simple restless.  So in a last ditch effort to calm his frazzled nerves, the backbone of Slytherin was creeping to the kitchens for a mug of hot cocoa.  No one noticed his exit from the Slytherin Common Room, not that there was anyone to notice.  Most of the first through fourth years had been yanked out as soon as Professor Snape’s true position was revealed, proving that all of Hogwarts opposed the Dark Lord.  The remaining Slytherins were forming a new image of the Serpent House.  The students were still intelligent and cunning purebloods with a passion for the Dark Arts, however, now those inclinations were being put to better use, excelling in Defence Against the Dark Arts.  It was Slytherins that formed most of the defensive forces in battle.  Not that Salazar’s students were cowards, but self-preservation was ever a Slytherin instinct.  Just as it was instinct for Gryffindors to rush in where angels feared to tread. 

 

Draco had been a keystone for his House’s support of Dumbledore.  Many of the upper class students who picked Hogwarts over Voldemort still looked to Draco as their leader, more so even than Professor Snape.  If he were not so sleep deprived, the blond young man would have chuckled at the hero worship he was receiving from his Housemates.  No wonder Potter hated it so much; it was a real bother. 

 

Swiftly and silently, much like a snake himself, Draco wove his way through the enchanted castle.  He dodged fickle staircases and snuck past sleeping portraits.  Not knowing exactly how to get to the kitchen, the slate-eyed boy assumed there would be a way to his destination through the Great Hall and thus worked his way there.  Passing through the immense room, Draco almost did not observe the dark figure slowly rocking at his usual seat.

 

Cocoa forgotten at for the time being, in light of something more distracting, Draco approached in silence, hearing the distraught noises grow louder with each step he took.  Standing just behind the pathetic figure, something inside of the blonde clicked.  That unruly mass of black hair, even the voice, as nearly incoherent sobs and whispers lurched from an obviously abused throat, was familiar. 

 

“Potter?”

 

 

The soft voice, a velvety baritone, devoid of any discernible emotion except confusion, brought the weeping boy out of his miserable reverie.  Turning his head to meet cool slate eyes, Harry immediately regretted his action.  The look of shocked horror that passed over the usually controlled features was enough to make him realize that no healing charm had been preformed tonight.  Gods, he must look awful.

 

He could not stop the flinch that was his conditioned reaction, an automatic response when he was caught off guard or too tired to erect his façade, as one graceful hand brushed some wayward strands way from his face.  The gesture was surprisingly gentle and the look that accompanied it was enough to make Harry crumble once again.

 

“Wait here, I’ll get you something for that.”

 

Delicate fingers caressed his swelling cheek, evidence enough of the black eye that was sure to follow.

 

 

Normally Draco would not have resorted to muggle ways of doing things, charms, however, were not Draco’s forte.  He could do them well enough, and could probably have healed Harry straight away, however, he seemed to remember from a muggle first-aid course that a cold compress would reduce swelling.  Since he was going to the kitchen anyway, Draco decided to test the theory.  Besides, he did not know if the wounded boy would even let Draco perform the magic on him.

 

A few minutes later, Draco returned with two mugs of hot coca and a baggie of ice wrapped in a soft terrycloth dishtowel.  Settling himself down on the bench beside Potter - beside Harry - Draco carefully pulled the brunette down so that Harry’s head rested on his lap.  From there, he set the icepack over the swollen eye with a gentleness that any mediwitch would have envied.  One hand stroking soothingly at the wild raven hair, Draco sipped his cocoa with the other.  Patiently he let the other boy cry himself out before beginning any form of questioning. 

 

When Harry’s breathing finally returned to normal, Draco stilled his hand and looked down into one emerald eye, shimmering with lingering tears, the other eye still hidden by the towel.  He was shaken to the core by what he saw there.  Pain, fear, despair and desperation.

 

Chapter 2

 

“It is Weasley, isn’t it?”

 

The utter certainty of that question, more of a statement really, startled Harry out of his contemplation of the enchanted ceiling.  It was a declaration that needed no affirmation, and Harry did not know if he was entirely comfortable with Draco knowing so much about him.  The stars really were relaxing, though, almost as good as actually being outside.  For a moment, he let his mind wander back, wondering if enchanted stars could tell the fate as well as real ones.  Would he have been able to see this coming if he had only paid closer attention?

 

Blinking his eyes hard to keep the tears from falling again, Harry nodded, finally confirming Draco’s assessment.  His throat was too sore, raw from sobbing, to answer vocally.  As if sensing this, the blonde helped him rise and offered the second mug of hot cocoa.  Gingerly, Harry sipped at the hot beverage, the warmth easing his ravaged throat.  The drink went far to relieve his tension, nearly as much as the hand gently rubbing circles on his back.  Finding his voice, Harry related as much as he dared to Draco, trusting him more now than he did even when they had fought side by side.

 

“I – yes, it was Ron,” Harry finally admitted vocally.  Still, despite the admission, he could not bring himself to blame the redhead.  He should have not flirted, knowing how possessive Ron was.  “He is not usually like this, though.”  He begged, as though trying harder to convince himself than to convince Draco.

 

It was no secret that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were an “item.”  They had flirted damn near shamelessly for two years before finally getting together over the summer between fifth and sixth years.  For a few months, everything had been bliss.  At first, Ron had had a sort of sweet possessiveness that had made Harry feel appreciated.  As the relationship evolved, however, the possessiveness had become extreme jealousy and suspicion.  Harry, who had always tried to be friendly with his housemates, especially the other boys in their year, had suddenly found himself under attack for those same actions.  Ron had not like Harry talking to anyone else.  Without that distraction, Harry had sunk completely into his own troubles.  Soon he was practically prohibited from even speaking to the other Gryffindors.  Laughing with Seamus or Dean had been met with consequences comparable to when Neville used to blow up potions in Snape’s class, violent overreaction.

 

Which is more or less what had happened that evening.  Harry explained to his companion that he had been playfully flirting with Seamus, who, for a straight guy, was taking it all rather well.  Harry would say something so flagrantly gay that it verged on insulting, and Seamus would just start laughing.  They had not been touching and there had been the space of the table between them.  There had been obviously no threat, since the Irish lad was not at all interested, but Ron had not seen that.  All he saw was his boyfriend laughing and talking to someone else.  He had worked himself into a red-hot rage and then taken it all out on the emerald-eyed brunette.

 

It was little conciliation that Ron never became sexually abusive with Harry; the physical abuse was more than enough.  The brunette was never quite sure exactly what injuries were done, not that he ever passed out after the first time.  He was just always too involved trying to minimize the damage that he did not have time to actually pay attention to what damage was being done.  It got rather difficult trying to protect all of his vital organs.  One could not protect the stomach and kidneys at the same time.  It took most of Harry’s magical abilities to cushion some of the blows.  Afterwards, Ron always charmed away anything that could not be attributed to clumsiness or Quidditch.  Since his wand had been repaired, Ron had become quite good with charms.

 

 

Harry recounted the evening and through it all, Draco remained silent, offering nothing but the comforting hand on his back and a handkerchief when the depression over came him.  Surprisingly, when he was finished, Harry felt better than he had in weeks.

 

 

Draco was not really surprised by the surge of sympathy that coursed through him.  Since his supposed betrayal of his father, Draco found himself drawn to the charismatic teen, seeking a sort of companionship that was unsatisfied by his usual company.  The closer they worked together, the more Draco discovered that he actually enjoyed spending time with Harry.  It was not long before the Slytherin stopped seeing the Boy Who Lived and stared to see the frail boy who was the true Harry Potter.  And to his utter shock, he felt the urge to protect that suffering creature and a fondness for him that was most un-Malfoy.

 

The boy frowned as he noticed a subtle change in the atmosphere of the Great Hall but could not place it.  When he realized that he was still stroking the soft midnight locks, he discovered that Harry was falling asleep.  Torn between the desire to let the exhausted young man sleep and the knowledge that sleep might not be the best thing for him as injured as he seemed to be, Draco opted to escort the inadvertent hero back to his dorm as soon as they took care of his injuries.

 

“Harry”

 

Draco gently brought the brunette back to full consciousness, being careful not to shake the fragile boy too roughly. 

 

“Harry, do you want to go to Pomfrey or would you like me to perform a healing charm?”

 

The stricken look on Harry’s face did not indicate which fate he thought to be worse.  Personally, Draco wondered if he was not daft to even ask.  Why would Potter trust him to perform the charm?  True, he knew how to cast them effectively, being well versed in emergency field first-aid.  It was also true that they fought on the same side now, but years of suspicion and animosity do not just disappear in a matter of weeks.  So, he was uncharacteristically surprised when Harry practically begged him not to tell Madame Pomfrey that he was hurt.

 

A sad smile flit its way across Draco’s lips, understanding that Harry was still, despite everything, trying to protect the Weasel.  ‘Stupid loyal Gryffindor.’  The pale-haired teen gave a low groan when he could not find his wand.  After a brief moment of panic, during which he went through all of the possible catastrophies that could have occurred while he was unarmed, he calmed enough to remember where it was.  He had left the instrument by his bed, expecting only to be out for a few minutes.

 

“Harry, do you have your wand?”

 

 

Harry shook his head slowly, black hair mussing even more than usual.  He had not thought to bring his wand with him when he left the Gryffindor Tower.  Really, he had been too injured and out of sorts to even think about the possible consequences.  Snape would have called him cocky.  After all, he had is invisibility cloak to hide him and could perform any minor magicks wandless.  Long ago he had learned not to rely so much on the cloak and his spontaneous magic.  Yet, dazed as he was, he had not even bothered to consider that, without his wand, he was extremely vulnerable to an attack.  Although he could, in actuality, do magic without his wand, it was much easier to focus when the small wooden object acted like a lightning rod for his magical energies, concentrating and directing them.

 

 

“Huh.”  Draco sighed, vacillating between amusement and horror at his thoughtlessness.  "Quite the pair we are.  After everything we’ve been through, you would think that we would know enough to bring our wands everywhere.  You especially.”  The blonde gave a half smirk that conveyed nothing but mild disappointment, disappointment at his own failing, in Harry, or in the situation in general, he did not know.  “If Snape knew about this he would kill us both.”

 

“Now, Mr. Malfoy, that would hardly do any of us any good.”

 

The slate-eyed boy jumped at the sudden appearance of the man in question.  ‘What is the saying?  “Speak of the devil…”’ The brunette in his lap, however, gave no indication that he recognized the presence of the third party, as he was slowly drifting into unconsciousness once again.  Eyes wide with concern, Draco gently shook Harry awake for the second time.  With a pleading look at his professor, Draco entreated the sombre man to help them first and chastise them later.

 

He sighed with relief as the Potions Master, shaking his head, glided toward them, withdrawing his wand.  There was pity in his voice as he whispered the charms that would prevent any permanent damage that had not already been done.  Patiently and compassionately, Severus tended to the various contusions and lacerations, frowning with the knowledge that there were most likely internal wounds that he could not heal with all of the wand-waving.

 

 

Harry was barely lucid, as physically and emotionally exhausted as he was, but he followed the muffled conversation enough to whimper pathetically when Snape suggested returning Harry to the Gryffindor Tower.  He did not notice the sorrowful expression on his professor’s face, nor the angered one on Draco.  They changed direction, and the hushed voices continued to lull him.  Every once in a while, when he was letting go of the last vestiges of awareness, he was urgently roused back to the highest level of control that he was capable of achieving… and it was really starting to annoy him.  Could the not just leave him alone to embrace the comforting darkness?  Dimly Harry felt the air grow cooler and more damp, vaguely recognizing the dungeons, the Slytherin quarter of the castle.

 

On most days it was considered an unfortunate side effect of the war that many students, especially affluent Slytherins, were able to have private rooms, however, at the moment, Harry was not complaining.  Dazed as he was, the emerald-eyed teen felt himself laid out onto a very large bed.  Instinctively, the injured boy curled around himself as protection against the vulnerability of being so exposed.  Nothing good happened when one left oneself so open to attack.  Whimpering at the loss of comfort coming from the arms wrapped around his shoulders and waist, Harry did not hear the strangled sob come from one of his supporters.  Nor did he hear the blonde boy run to the lavatory to vomit.

 

 

Once Draco returned, albeit ashen faced, but more or less composed, Severus hurried to his office and returned a moment later with a potion for Draco’s stomach as well as several different restorative draughts for Harry, some of which would be put to use healing internal injuries.  Once again, Draco was thankful for the discretion and vocation of the head of his House.  There was no one he could trust more than the Potion Master, both with aiding the ailing boy and with keeping this incident, and Draco’s reaction, confidential. 

 

The silver-eyed boy paced nervously as Severus administered the potions to a shivering Harry.  The sight was heartbreaking and doing nothing for his frazzled nerves.  He was so preoccupied with worrying about the maddeningly fragile boy, that Draco did not notice that his pacing was slowly driving the Potions professor insane.  Luckily, the head of Slytherin House was in a particularly forgiving mood, understanding, and in fact, sympathising with the concern for the incapacitated young man.

 

“Mr. Malfoy!  If you do not cease that ridiculous pacing, I will be forced to put you in a full body bind.”  Forgiving, perhaps, but no more tolerant than usual, the professor’s harsh voice immediately halted the frantic movement of the hapless blonde.  Despite the spoken threat, Draco could hear the ragged quality of that steady baritone.  Deep onyx eyes that usually held some sort of gleam were flat, emotionless with fatigue and a desire to hide the truth from a potentially unstable student.

 

“Please,” Draco pleaded, nearly begged, “please don’t lie to me.”

 

He saw the way that the Potions Master looked at him, as sceptical and resigned look reserved for situations of the utmost gravity.  Oh that did not bode well, not at all.  Draco almost started wearing a trench around the room again.  Only sheer willpower kept him rooted in one spot and his gaze steady as he awaited a response to his unspoken question.

 

“Mr Potter,” a small choking noise belied the professional detachment that Severus was attempting to portray, “will require a good deal of rest before he is physically well again.  His bodily wounds should heal in a matter of days so long as he does not over exert himself.”

 

It was not a lie, but Draco could tell that it was not the whole truth.  The way that the older Slytherin emphasised the physical aspect of Harry’s injuries caused the silver-eyed boy to fear the worst.  Of course, intellectually he knew that one could not suffer such abuse and not be scarred by it.  However, he did not wish to ponder just how this would affect the boy who was supposed to save them all.  Instead of voicing his concerns, all of which he was sure the professor already comprehended and most likely shared, Draco simply nodded his understanding.

 

“Well, I suppose he should stay here for the night,” Draco offered, perhaps a bit inanely and unnecessarily.  “He was rather reluctant to go to the infirmary.”

 

Snape nodded, trying not to think about the boy laying, for all intents and purposes, half dead on the bed in front of him.  He would not worry about tomorrow; they would burn that bridge once they got there.

 

 

To the detriment of both Draco’s and Severus’ nerves, “tomorrow” was actually three days in coming.  By some mixed blessing the “incident” had occurred on a Friday, so it was only necessary to fabricate a story that would explain one day of absence from the Gryffindor’s classes.  While it had been difficult to come up with something sufficiently plausible that would not involve the diminutive mediwitch, eventually the other professors had accepted the excuse at Dumbledore’s behest.  As much as the two Slytherins had not wanted to involve the Headmaster, it was nearly impossible to keep the man ignorant of what occurred in his castle, especially when it involved the Boy Who Lived. 

 

Silently Draco wondered how the abuse had escaped seemingly omniscient wizard’s attention for so long.

 

During Harry’s three-day recovery, Ronald Weasley was carefully observed by two pairs of piercing eyes, one silvery blue, the other deep onyx.  It was clear to both that, after breakfast the first day, the Weasel was angry, believing that his “boyfriend” was off sulking somewhere.  When the wild haired brunette did not show up for luncheon or supper the redhead was beginning to squirm.

 

To anyone who knew what to look for, Ron seemed as guilty as sin and, unfortunately for him, cool silver and bottomless coal, as well as steady blue all knew exactly what to look for.  While this one student’s behaviour was dully noted, the entire school waited for the return of Harry Potter.

 

The weekend passed with unbearable slowness for the young Slytherin and the potions Master.  While the entire school waited anxiously for Harry Potter to reveal himself, they had the added burden of knowing his predicament.  It was one of the few times that Severus would actually admit that ignorance was blissful.  Both would have preferred ignorance to the heart-rending task of waiting out the healing process.

 

With each minute that passed, Draco became more and more agitated.  Every hour that Harry did not wake the blonde began to fear more that he would never wake.  While Draco’s concern may have been surprising to some, Snape knew his pupil well enough to have long since realized that, behind all of the taunting and rivalry, there had always been admiration there, as well as a great deal of respect.  It was hurting the young Malfoy more than he wanted to admit to see Harry so weak.  Potter was supposed to be invincible, unconquerable, the Saviour of their World.  Draco’s own depression became so bad, his agitation grating so heavily on Severus’ nerves, that the potion Master finally dosed his favourite pupil with a calming potion just so the boy would get some sleep.  It took a second dose and a promise to watch over the Gryffindor before the blonde finally succumbed to the draught.  One or the other of them always sat over the boy, keeping him hydrated and waiting for him to open his eyes.

 

 

It was at 8:26 on the following Monday night, the third day after Draco found the boy shivering in the Great Hall, that Harry awoke, more or less healed of his sundry and significant injuries.  Reaching instinctively for the glasses that he knew would be there, emerald eyes blinked several times as the world came once again into focus.  He felt like he had been hit by a steam engine, though he quickly remembered why that was.  Oddly, the first thing he noticed was that his redheaded boyfriend was nowhere in site.  The second thing Harry noticed was the blonde boy sitting in a rather comfortable looking deep navy blue armchair placed by the bed.  That brought on the realization that the bed he was in was not his own.  Unable to speak around his parched throat, the Gryffindor resorted to a small cough to alert the other to his regained state of consciousness. 

 

He was surprised by the other’s calm reaction to the sound.  Harry thought that Draco had been engrossed in the text; however, slate blue eyes met his in a weary gaze that spoke of the hours that the other young wizard had spent watching over him.  It seemed that the book was naught but an act to keep the others from becoming suspicious of Draco’s diligence.  Harry wondered what other noises he had made in his unconsciousness for his former rival to be so desensitised.  Before he could attempt to get a word out, Harry found himself holding a small tumbler of, presumably, water.  Warily, so as not to choke himself, the brunette sipped the cool liquid, letting the fluid sooth his disused throat.

 

 

Once Draco was sure that the glass was safely out of the way, he flung his arms around the bewildered boy.  Despite the momentary lack of propriety, an embrace long enough to convey the turmoil he suffered throughout the ordeal, Draco quickly remembered himself.  Never let it be said that Malfoys were not in control of their emotions; the Slytherin boy quickly composed himself, settling far enough away on the bed to give the former invalid breathing room.

 

“What was that all about?”  The broken tenor croak was almost endearing and Draco could not completely stifle a chuckle at the absolutely flummoxed appearance of his former nemesis.

 

“We’ve been worried about you, you bloody prat.”  Sharp silver eyes caught the brief flash of fear that passed over the would-be hero’s countenance.  Although he was confused for a brief moment, it quickly passed as the truth became evident.  Of course, Harry was worried about just who “we” entailed.  As though they had been summoned, the other two thirds of the aforementioned “we” entered the room.

 

Emerald eyes narrowed suspiciously as Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape entered the chamber.  Logically he knew both men could be trusted, and in fact Snape had most likely been the one to heal him.  Still, Harry was not certain that they were the only others that knew of his whereabouts and condition.  Hogwarts being what it was, after all.  He was about to ask them a thousand and one questions from how long he had been unconscious to who else knew, to how was he going to make up his work.  Before he could utter a syllable, though, he was cut off by the Headmaster himself.

 

“Ah, Harry, my dear, it is good to see that you are once again among the living.”  Twinkling blue eyes gave him an appraising look, but Harry was too worried about the scowl on his Potions Professor’s face to notice or appreciate the Headmaster’s light heartedness.  That was one of the rarer scowls that did not portray anger or frustration but disappointment.  The young Gryffindor had seen it often enough, usually directed directly at him, to be able to readily recognize it.  Though he was not certain how much, exactly, the two older men knew, he was certain that the disappointment was once again aimed at him.

 

Hanging his head, Harry waited for the verbal castigation that was sure to come.

 

 

Draco was shocked by Harry’s behaviour, even more so than he had been three nights ago when he had found the whimpering bundle of boy.  Despite everything that had happened to Harry, Draco had never seen him loose face in front of Dumbledore, and especially not in front of Professor Snape.  Of course, that was assuming one did not include instances of being half out of your mind from injuries, which the blonde most certainly did not.  Looking from the two adults back to the trembling and ashamed boy on his bed, Draco’s eyes snapped wide.  The stupid, self-sacrificing, golden boy of Gryffindor thought that Severus was mad at him.

 

With a slightly exasperated sigh, silver blue eyes met with cool black and indicated the need for a private conversation.  The invitation was met with a curt nod and both Slytherins stepped outside while the Headmaster chatted inconsequentially, or whatever he was doing, with the skittish teen.

 

“The bloody git thinks this is his fault!”  Unable to contain himself, Draco exploded as soon as they were a safe distance from the bedroom.  A part of him wanted to start pacing again; apparently it had become a bad habit during times of great stress or anxiety.  However, he was too overcome with fatigue, keeping a near constant vigil over someone was a bitch, and simply slid down the wall.  Resting his head in his hands, the cunning but exhausted teen began plotting a very painful demise for the Weasel.

 

“Most people do in this sort of situation.”  The quiet voice interrupted his plotting, answering a question he only now realized that he had asked.  Looking up at his dark professor, Draco had nearly a thousand things he wanted to say, questions to ask, screams and curses all stuck in his throat, vying to get out.  Nothing came, though, and he settled for gazing piteously into obsidian orbs before turning his head away.  He almost did not notice when Severus manoeuvred himself onto the floor beside him.  One arm wrapped comfortingly around his shoulders as the two figures, so like father and son if not for their opposite appearances, waited to be called back into the room.

 

A number of minutes later, the exact time unnoticed by anyone of the four, Draco walked with the elder Slytherin to the bed where Harry was ensconced.  From the look on the emaciated brunette’s face, it seemed that the Headmaster had tried to explain the situation fully, but had somehow failed.  Confusion was present, underscored by horror, as though the boy thought he did not quite understand but was afraid he understood perfectly.

 

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy, perhaps you could be of assistance,” Albus greeted they cheerily.  “I seem to be unable to explain the nuances of Wizarding Law.  I think perhaps a fellow student’s perspective might clear things up for young Mr. Potter.”

 

Draco nodded absently, seating himself at the end of the bed that had once been his own, and hopefully would be again sometime soon.  Manipulative old codger.  The blonde was sure that there was some reason that the Headmaster wanted him to tell Harry what was going to happen to Wea… to Ron, he just could not figure it out yet.

 

‘Better start referring to that vermin by his given name, damn loyal Gryffindor doesn’t like the “pet” names.’

 

 

Harry felt the bed shift and heard the put-upon sigh breathed by his classmate.  Lifting his tousled head, piercing green eyes watched the other boy steel himself for a potentially painful conversation.  Regardless of the Headmaster’s best attempts, Harry did not really comprehend the gravity of what had been occurring.  ‘Or maybe,’ he thought to himself, ‘you just don’t want to understand.’

 

“There are a number of reasons,” Draco began without preamble, something for which the Boy Who Had Been Lied to Far Too Many Times was infinitely grateful, “why Ron’s action are unforgivable.

 

“In the muggle world, it is, as I am sure you are aware, illegal to abuse animals.” Harry nodded his assent, and Draco continued.  “It is similar in this world.  All magical creatures must respect the rights of other magical beings.”  Harry opened his mouth to protest the implication that Ron was not respecting him but Draco quickly cut him off.

 

“Please just listen.  Now,” Draco continued, doing an impressive, albeit unintentional, impression of Professor Snape in lecture mode, “as you know, every magical creature has an inherent resistance to malevolent magick, the stronger the being, the stronger its resistance.”  The Gryffindor blanched slightly, getting an idea of where this was heading.

 

“I’ve seen you in battle, Harry.” The melodious voice was quieter, more thoughtful.  “You have survived Avada Kedavra.  You can throw off Imperio and you can meditate though Crucio.”  Looking down at his lap, as if the green and grey-stripped pyjama bottoms could help him get through this, Draco suddenly gained some necessary strength.  “Any hex Ron could have cast on you would have been completely ineffective.  But that is the funny thing.  Ask any pureblooded wizard, the first thing he would reach for when enraged would be his wand.  It is a matter of upbringing, you live with magic your whole life, you use magical solutions.  Much as I am loathed to admit it, Weasley is a pureblood.  Now, for some reason he resorted to physical violence like some magically deprived squib, or worse, a muggle.”  Harry could not escape the resolute gaze that met his eyes.

 

“ He knows more about the nature of magic than you do, Harry.  He knew you would be impervious to his hexes, so he hurt you the only way he could.  It was not just blind rage, Harry, if it had been we would not be here.  No, he though about it; the bastard exploited your weakness.”

 

By the end of Draco’s, admittedly accurate, tirade, emerald green eyes were fill with tears that threatened to spill down pale cheeks.  Despite his most fervent wishes to the contrary, Harry knew what his friend had been telling him was true, he just did not want to believe it.  If he were to believe what was being claimed, then Ron had only ever used him.  It did not bear thinking about; he had to distract himself.

 

“So, what will happen now?”

 

 

Draco, who had looked away once he finished venting to allow Harry the privacy of his emotions, suddenly looked back at the brunette, brow furrowed at the quietly reserved and resigned question.  The prat was still blaming himself, of that much Draco was sure.  However, he did not know how to respond to the timid question.  Personally he thought that Weasley should suffer a long, agonizing, gut-wrenching death, but he did not think that that suggestion would go over well.  Needless to say, he was relieved when the Headmaster spoke up.

 

“Mr. Weasley has committed a serious offence.  I am afraid that a simple detention will not suffice in this case.”  Silver eyes were not the only ones to observe the look of utter dejection that passed over the Boy Hero’s face, as though he was hoping that it would merely be a case of a month with Filch.  “I am afraid your friend,” although there was no discernible sneer on the Headmaster’s carefully composed face, Draco could tell that Albus had a very low opinion of Harry’s former best friend.  “Your friend will be expelled and, unfortunately, his wand will be broken and the core destroyed.”  Everyone in the room watched as all of the colour drained from Harry’s face.  Draco personally wanted to wring the boy’s neck; expulsion and a broken wand was the very least that prick deserved.  The Headmaster seemed to notice the Gryffindor’s dismay as he continued.

 

“Harry, Ronald is lucky that he is not facing Azkaban.  From the way he treated you, you would have every right to press formal charges.  If you did that, he would most certainly be locked up for a indefinite amount of time.”

 

“NO!”  The protest did not surprise anyone, but at least two of the three were disappointed.  Unfortunately, emerald eyes did not rise from the soft fleece throw that covered the bed.  The downturn of the head made it difficult to hear what Harry was mumbling, but Draco caught snippets.  “…my first friend…”  “… he didn’t know…” “…loved me…” It was enough to make the blond Slytherin want to weep, to see this world’s saviour brought so low by one he thought he could trust.

 

When asked if he wanted to be present when Ron was formally punished, Harry refused as vehemently has he had the suggestion that the other boy face Azkaban.  He could not, or would not face the entire student body with this new shame; as if all of his other failures were not enough, now he was condemning his best friend.  At least, that was how he saw it in his own mind.  It did not occur to him that he could hardly be blamed for what would happen to Ron.  All of the reassurances from Draco, Severus, or Albus could not convince Harry the redhead deserved whatever punishment he would receive.

 

It was another three nights before Harry left Draco’s chamber in the dungeon.  No one could bring himself to force Harry out before he was ready.  While the faculty excused his four-day absence, many walked on eggshells around him.  The overwhelming sentiment was one of pity.  Minerva, above all others, coddled her poor little Golden Boy.  No one quite knew how to act around him.  While Harry’s natural reaction was to lash out against the pity, he could not help but be glad for it in contrast to the reactions from his housemates. 

 

Surprisingly, his peers reacted in a decidedly more hostile manner than anyone had expected.  He was stared at more than he had been when he first arrived at Hogwarts as a first year.  In the Gryffindor Tower, there was a sense of betrayal.  Not that Seamus, Dean, Hermione, or even Ginny felt that Harry had betrayed Ron, rather, they were saddened that their star housemate had turned to the Slytherins for confidence.  The resentment stemmed from his not trusting them in his time of need.  Regardless of the change in behaviour of the most despised House, there was still a sense of solidarity among the individual Houses.  It still was not seemly for Gryffindors to consort with Slytherins.

 

It was too much for the still weak young man to bear.  Between the teachers and the students, Harry had nowhere to turn.  Well, that was not entirely true.  After begging the Headmaster, Harry was granted a chamber to himself in the dungeon, close enough to Draco’s if he ever need someone to confide in, but far enough away to leave him with the isolation that he craved.  If he happened to be closer to Severus as well, so much the better.

 

In all of his self-imposed solitude, the green-eyed Gryffindor had plenty of time to do schoolwork.  He no longer cared for Quidditch, though he hardly seemed to care much about anything.  Quidditch, especially, no longer drew his attention, having been one of the interests he had shared with him.  Without the sport or the companions to distract him, he found himself more immersed in books or, even more frequently in thought.  So often Harry would simply pause in whatever he was doing and go into a state of seeming mediation.  To those who saw it, it was a rather disturbing experience.  Green eyes glazed over, staring blankly ahead and his body became perfectly still, the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed barely noticeable.  He appeared to be no more than a corpse.  It was in one of those contemplative states that Draco found him a few weeks before Spring Holiday.

 

It took a considerable amount of time, but Draco finally managed to break Harry from his daze.  It was frightening to see the other so desolate.  The new attitude that Harry had adopted made Draco wonder if, perhaps, the more or less happy boy who he had seen before any of this happened was nothing but an act.  Frankly, it would not have surprised him at this point.

 

Not many had noticed, they though the boy was just recovering from the ordeal with Weasley; no one cared to look closer than the surface.  However, Draco saw, he saw what the others chose to ignore.  Harry was turning more and more into his mind, forgoing the activities he used to enjoy.  Not only had he quit Quidditch, an institution of the school maintained to uphold some semblance of normalcy in the world quickly going to shit, but Harry had actually stopped flying all together.  It was a real travesty, in the blonde’s opinion that one so gifted should be so apathetic.  Quidditch just did not hold the same appeal if he could not at least keep of the pretence of being able to beat Potter in the next game they play. 

 

But more than just the sport, the Gryffindor had given up his nightly roamings of Hogwarts.  Even when things were at their worst, it was taken for granted that the Golden Trio would be on the search for mischief.  However, now the trio was down to a barely recognizable two, and Harry hardly ever left his rooms except for class and meals.  Even those he would take in his rooms, away from everyone else, if Dobby could be persuaded to bring him something from the kitchens.  Frankly, it was all beginning to worry Draco.  More than anything, he wanted Harry Potter back.  Not the famous Boy Who Lived, not even the Potter that he had tired to befriend five years ago (more frequently he had begun to think that they were one in the same), but the Harry Potter that he had fought beside against his father, the Harry that he had held that night in the Great Hall was even preferable to this shadow of a boy.

 

It was nearly impossible to predict what other extremes Harry might go to, so Draco and the Head of Slytherin both kept one eye on the Boy Who Lived.  Like he did ever day, as the blonde passed the Gryffindor’s rooms, he peeked in to check on Harry.  His heart started to race a little faster when he neither heard nor saw any sign of the young man.  Before he had a chance to panic, however, the brunette stepped out of his private bathroom, hair damp, wearing black flannel lounge pants.

 

Relieved, but face composed into a mask devoid of that particular emotion, the Slytherin smiled at the still wet boy. 

 

“Hey Harry.”

 

With a smile that seemed plastered on, the emerald-eyed boy returned the greeting.  Draco entered as Harry gestured him into the small but comfortable room, taking a seat that the other boy indicated.  He was more relieved than anything that he had been invited in.  Draco desperately needed to talk to Harry, but could not gather the will to confront the boy; courage was obviously a uniquely Gryffindor trait.  Slytherins were all about self-preservation, and the blond Snake did not believe that this conversation would be good for his health.  Nevertheless, he was grateful that he could seize the opportunity that had presented itself.

 

“Um… how are you doing?”  Draco wanted to smack himself.  It was the exact sort of question all of Harry’s so called friends would have asked him, if they were not currently ostracizing him for moving out of the Tower to live in the Dungeons.  After all, what self respecting Lion would want to live in the damp, dank, dark dungeons?  Draco did not want to be anything like those pretenders.  Harry did not need more of that in his life.  He needed someone genuine and understanding.  For some reason, Draco was not surprised that he wanted to be that for the other boy.

 

It was obvious that the verdant-eyed boy recognized the inanity of the query; he responded with a raised eyebrow and a noncommittal grunt.  ‘Well,’ Draco mused, ‘at least he did not hex me.’  Draco watched as Harry cast a drying charm over his still wet hair and sank to the floor in front of the low burning fire in the fireplace.  Resting back on his hands, elbows locked and legs stretched out before him, the ebony haired teen looked like quite the seducer.  Though it was unintentional, and Harry did not know how tempting he looked, Draco was fixated by the lean torso and soft, pale skin.  He was also pleased by the ease the other so obviously felt around him.  How many others could Harry possibly be this relaxed around?  The platinum-haired young man gulped, hoping that willpower alone would keep his desire discrete.

 

This is was the other thing that had been bothering him, it was not exactly a recent or sudden development, but it was becoming harder to ignore as Draco felt a greater urge to hold and comfort and protect the magically incomparable but emotionally and physically weak boy.  Draco could not help but find the raven-headed Gryffindor completely sexy.  At first he had tired to pass it off as an attraction to the power that Harry just seemed to radiate; as a Slytherin and a Malfoy that was a perfectly reasonable explanation.  However, seeing the boy at his weakest hade not done anything to deter the unwelcomed emotions, in fact, it seemed to have awakened something in himself that the blonde had not known existed.  More than just the attraction now, there was a desire to protect, to keep Harry from any further harm.  It was more than a little disconcerting for the boy who was used to being concerned with no one but himself.

 

He was slightly nervous sitting in the brunette’s room, knowing that his control could snap at any moment.  However, he did not want Harry to have to stay at Hogwarts alone over the holiday.  With no one else around, Harry could only possibly sink further into the self-imposed seclusion.  That was not permitted to be an option, if Draco had any say in the matter.  Malfoy Manor was more than large enough for Harry to get away if he needed time alone over the break.  The vast estate currently stood empty during the school term, now that its former Master had been exposed as the Dark Wizard he was.  With Lucius’ disappearance, Narcissa had committed suicide, unable to cope with the rift between her husband and son.  With all of the memories, Draco desperately did not want to go home to that emptiness alone.  However, neither did he wish to stay at Hogwarts.  He never had remained on campus during the holidays, and he did not intend on beginning any time soon. 

 

Which lead him back to the initial problem, he did not want to abandon Harry.  Of course, with Lucius gone, that was not the problem that it could have been.  It was really a simple matter of inviting the boy to stay with him over the holiday.  Unfortunately, there was still the question of how the other boy would react to the invitation.

 

 

Emerald eyes squeezed shut with the force of his yawn.  Harry was exhausted from trying to maintain some semblance of order in his life.  Between doing make-up work for his classes and avoiding his former friends, what he really wanted was to hole himself up in the dungeons and not leave, ever.  Despite this, he was actually glad to see Draco.  The blonde was one of the few people he could tolerate and who supported him in turn.  Surprisingly, Harry found the Slytherin’s presence soothing.  Draco always knew when he needed to talk, and when he just wanted to sit in silence.  Though he did not want to admit it, for fear of what it might mean, Harry had grown quite fond of the time he and Draco spent together.

 

From his position on the floor, Harry looked up into the stunning silver-blue eyes.  He could tell that there was something fairly important on Draco’s mind.  Although he was amused by his friend’s current tongue-tied state, Harry was slightly worried about what could cause the silver-tongued boy to be so nervous.  Harry’s brow furrowed at the intense and conflicting emotions raging though those hypnotising eyes.  Whatever the blonde wanted to discuss had him seriously confused.  Being the chivalrous Gryffindor that he was, the emerald-eyed boy decided to let his friend off easy.

 

“Was there something you wanted to talk about, Draco?”

 

Harry almost laughed out loud at the other teen’s visible sigh of relief.  He was caught off guard when the other moved from the armchair to sit next to him by the fire.  Draco, for all his changed attitude, was still a born and raised aristocratic pureblood.  He did not sit on the floor, he did not eat with his fingers, there was a whole list of taboos.  Harry had never seen him act so casual.  Even when Draco had kept his vigil, he had managed to keep his dignity in tact.  Now sitting beside Harry’s feet, facing the dancing flames, the slate-eyed boy seemed unusually young and uncertain.

 

“Um… well,” Draco paused and took a deep breath, his velvety baritone having unusual difficulty getting the words out.  He had not turned to face Harry and thus did not observe the questioning eyebrow.  This was new, no one, least of all a Gryffindor, had ever seen or heard Draco trip over his own tongue.  Harry watched in fascination as his guest composed himself.

 

“I would be grateful for you company at the Manor over spring holiday.”

 

Harry’s mouth hung open in shock.  He had just been invited to stay at the legendary Malfoy Manor.  Not only that, but Draco actually wanted his company.  It was one thing for the blonde to do his duty as friend and check up on Harry once in a while, but to actually seek his company for an extended period of time… Harry felt a sudden surge of embarrassment wash over him.  Who would want to spend time with him, after he had proven so weak?

 

Lowering his head so a mass of black hair hid his face, in case Draco decided to look over, Harry quietly accepted the invitation, silently hoping it would not be revoked.  If his companion suddenly noticed the change in behaviour, he did not comment.  After a few slow breaths, Harry was able to calm himself and once again lifted his eyes to observe Draco.  His posture was still tense, as though there was something else he wanted to say.  Harry was more than confused, but he wanted to know what was bothering his one remaining loyal friend.

 

“Was there something else?”

 

 

Draco looked up, startled by the keen observation of the boy next to him.  The grey-eyed teen had hoped he was not being transparent, but apparently the hope was in vain.  Swallowing hard, the Slytherin tried to take several calming breaths.  Forcing himself to face his host, Draco felt himself get lost in those pure green eyes.  With a resigned sigh and a determined flash in his eyes, he crawled to where Harry sat and positioned himself a few inches from the other boy.  Taking one last deep breath, the blonde leaned in and whispered.

 

“Only this.”

 

That was all the warning he gave to the other before gently touching his lips to the soft lips of his former nemesis.  The contact lasted only a moment; Draco did not want to force Harry into anything, considering how is first, last and only relationship ended up.  Pulling away so he could look at the other clearly, Draco noticed the confusion first and foremost.  Underneath that could have been hope, but he wanted to deal with the first thing first.

 

“Why?”

 

The question was barely audible, tenor voice cracked over the sorrow building in his throat, but the meaning was not lost on Draco.  His heart wanted to break into a thousand pieced at how this beautiful creature doubted himself.  With a weary sigh, the platinum-haired teen tried to simplify his feelings for the other boy.

 

“I like you Harry.  I have for a while, but it became impossible to ignore after That Night.”  There was no need to expound upon which night he meant, exactly, they both knew.  “I don’t want anyone to ever hurt you again.”

 

With the simple arch of a pale blond eyebrow and a short nod with downcast emerald eyes, Draco once again covered Harry’s lips with his own.  This time, however, he pushed just a little further; opening his mouth a tiny bit, Draco let his tongue out to tease Harry’s lips.  To his surprise and pleasure, that barrier lifted and the moist invader was welcomed by inhabitant of that heavenly cavern.  Wanted to bring the most pleasure possible, Draco rubbed his tongue against Harry’s, stroked the palate, and caressed cheeks and gums.  By the time the stormy-eyed boy pulled away to breath, the brunette was shivering as tears streamed down his face.

 

The blond teen wrapped his arms around the other boy and pulled Harry into his lap.  Lightly rubbing his back, much like he had done That Night, Draco started to place gentle kisses along the soft jaw line, working his way up Harry’s face, where the mischievous tongue darted out to lap the saline from pale olive skin.  It was obvious that Harry had not left the castle for quite some time, but the Slytherin’s aesthetic eye appreciated the sharp contrast between the ebony hair and the ivory skin.  Pressing forward with only light pressure, Draco guided the midnight-haired teen into a supine position, lips never faltering in their teasing exploration.

 

The kissing was quite nice, in Harry’s opinion, but something about the situation did not sit right with him.  When Draco tried to move beyond the gentle caress of lips, Harry tensed.  The fleeting touch to his bare skin and the slight pressure between his legs left him feeling uncomfortable.  True, Draco said he like him, but Harry could not have lived with the rejection that was sure to have followed.  Lowering his head, he watched Draco trying to conceal his disappointment as he moved away.  Harry felt the tears well up in his eyes as he steeled himself for Draco’s hasty departure.  An eternity passed, and he still heard the slowed breathing of the other person in the room.  Cautiously, Harry raised his head to look into suddenly warm blue-grey pools that had been staring at him all this time.  He wanted to look away; the gaze was too intense.  Before he could avert his eyes, however, two strong hands cupped his face.

 

“I never, never will force you into something you do not want.  I promise you, Harry.”

 

The gently rolling baritone flowed into his chest.  And the pieces of his shattered heart began to mend, and he believed.

 

A little over a week later, Draco practically sauntered into the Great Hall, trademark smirk firmly in place, haughtiness shining in his equally trademark eyes.  He felt he had quite out done himself this time.  Everyone knew he was good, but this was just, well, amazing.  By his side was an absolutely gorgeous brunette, standing at an unimpressive five feet eight inches compared to his own six-three.  What he lacked in stature, though, he more than made up for with appearance and confidence.  The boy absolutely exuded an air of authority.  Draco fought the urge to smile as all eyes turned to his companion.  Harry looked damn fine, if he did say so himself.  Close fitting black and green robes brought out his eyes and accentuated his body in all the right places.  Black dragonhide boots disappeared under the robes, heels clicking on the stone floor.

 

It had taken nearly the entire week, but Draco had managed to restore the Gryffindor’s usual spark.  The boy had been absolutely flabbergasted when he had suggested they go shopping.  It was then that Harry began to return more to how he had been.  He fought against Draco’s idea with passion and determination.  It was a waste, he said, to indulge in a new wardrobe when there were so many more worthwhile things that could be done with his money.  Draco had been not so much shocked as saddened to learn that Harry never spent his money on anything just for himself.  He had been fully stunned, however, to discover just how much money Harry was not spending.  The young man was nearly as wealthy as Draco. 

 

After that revelation, it was easy for Draco to convince his hesitant companion that, even if they did go shopping, Harry would still have more than enough to do those ‘more worthwhile’ things he had been referring to. 

 

Though he did not want to admit it, Harry truly enjoyed the shopping trip with Draco.  He had never seen so many beautiful, delicate, and decadent materials in his entire life.  It was a little overwhelming for the first-time shopper, and Harry was more than happy to give control over to the more experienced teen.  In addition to clothes that actually fit him properly (mostly silks, fine cottons and leathers of the blonde’s choosing) Harry also splurged on new glasses.  For the life of him, Draco could not convince the emerald-eyed teen to go for a sight restoration charm, or even contact lenses.  Harry had tried to explain to him the comfort of the familiar weight on his nose, but…

 

Though Draco, as one who had never needed glasses, could not understand Harry’s insistence that he continue to own a pair, he had to admit that the new pair was much better than the old.  The new glasses, despite their similarity in shape to the old ones, were indestructible thin sliver wire.  Inwardly, Draco grinned; they went quite nicely with the double piercings in Harry’s right ear and the matching stud in his navel.  Not to mention the small charm that fit comfortably in the hollow of his throat.

 

 

~flashback~

 

Draco had found it while Harry was off on his own one day.  He had wanted to give the boy a reminder of their friendship, to let him know that someone always would be there for him.  He had been speechless when Harry revealed motivation behind his outing.  With a shy smile, the obsidian-haired boy had turned his back to Draco and lifted the hem of his shirt.  Draco had gasped at the beauty of the image magically inked into Harry’s back.

 

Centred in the dip between back and buttocks lay coiled a delicate green snake.  Draco had watched in stunned silence as the tattoo unwound itself and covered the expanse of the small of the back and wrapped around so that head and tail bracketed Harry’s navel.  Without thinking, Draco had launched himself at the young man and enveloped him in a warm embrace.  The Slytherin had been nearly giddy to see that Harry’s confidence had surpassed its previous highest level.  It was obvious that Harry was finally at peace with himself, and able to accept the duality of his nature.  He did not have to be the perfect Gryffindor Golden-Boy all of the time.  If he ever felt weak, Draco would be there to support him.

 

Draco had decided right then that he would not wait until just before they returned to Hogwarts to give Harry his gift.  From the pocket of his robe, the last remaining Malfoy had pulled a small package wrapped in silvery-blue and emerald green paper.  Handing it to his friend, Draco had been like a child giving the first gift that he had ever bought by himself, more eager for it to be revealed than the person to whom it was bestowed.  With some restraint but without reservation Harry had tenderly opened the tiny box.  Jewel eyes had danced with joy even as tears gathered at the corners.  With trembling fingers, Harry had lifted the beautiful sliver necklace out of its case to exam the charm more closely.  Miniature wings had fluttered as the little dragon had stretched itself out then resumed its alert pose.

 

“Oh, Draco.”

 

The breathy tenor whisper was music to Draco’s ears, no words could have more eloquently expressed the depth of appreciation that the gift had invoked.  Draco would feel the joy radiating in warm waves from Harry.  He could not remember anyone reacting that way due to something he had done.  It was a high for the Slytherin.  With steady hands, he took the necklace from Harry’s trembling ones and fastened it around that neck he loved so much.  Placing a chaste kiss on a newly tanned cheek, Draco had cradled Harry to his chest.  Laying his head on the other boy’s right shoulder, he had whispered into Harry’s ear.

 

“I will always be with you.”

 

 

~end flashback~

 

It was not without a touch of apprehension that Draco watched as Harry strode through the Great Hall.  It was one thing for him to be calm and confident when it was just the two of them, but now, faced with all of his classmates, and housemates, Draco feared that the shit would hit the fan, so to speak.  He was worried that Harry would slip back into his previous act of the Gryffindor Hero, or, worse, the withdrawn loner.  If it had not been beneath him, the Slytherin would have jumped for joy as Harry remained as poised as ever, calmly walking up the centre isle between the tables.  Discretely, Draco took his hand in a gesture of support as Harry merely nodded coolly at the gawkers at the Gryffindor table.  With a fluidity of motion that even Snape, master of intimidating body-language, could appreciate, Draco and Harry seated themselves side by side at the Slytherin table.  The Potions Master quirked an eyebrow at the pair, but said nothing about the brunette’s unorthodox choice of seating.  Professor McGonagall looked a bit more put out, but she too held her tongue.

 

After the Welcome Back speech and feast, the pair escaped as quickly as they could back to Draco’s rooms in the dungeon.

 

Grinning widely at the emerald-eyed young man, Draco pulled the other boy into a fierce hug.

 

“You were brilliant.”

 

 

Smiling timidly, Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s.  Obligingly, they parted when the pointed tip of a tongue snuck out to taste them.  Harry moaned as Draco hit all of the right spots; brushing lightly over the roof of his mouth, licking the backs of his teeth.  Closing his lips around the invader, Harry sucked lightly at the hot organ, bringing a groan of pleasure from its owner.  With smiling eyes, he released the tongue, only to have it beckon him to follow it back into its own mouth.  Harry’s tongue was then trapped and treated to the same exquisite torment as nimble hands began parting his robes.

 

Draco took his time with Harry, wanting everything to be perfect for one who had stolen his heart.  One by one he undid the endless row of buttons that held the front of Harry’s new robes.  Slowly, he pushed aside the fabric, revealing what seemed like miles of gorgeous, tanned skin over toned muscles.  He was perfection in Draco’s eyes and the Slytherin wondered simultaneously how he had been so lucky and how Weasley could have just thrown this away.  Now was not the time for that, though.  Now, he wanted Harry aroused and trembling with pleasure.  Fingers ghosted, feather-light, over each patch of skin as it was revealed and he lavished in the sound of each shaky breath and gasp of the other.

 

Before he knew what had happened, Harry’s robe was gone, leaving him in only his leather trousers and boots.  Gasping for breath, he began to remedy Draco’s overdressed status.  Fingers, ignoring the blush on his cheeks, slowly, but not hesitantly worked at the fastenings of Draco’s own black and sliver robes.  Lips teased and tongue darted out to taste every centimetre of exposed flesh.  Harry paid careful attention to what made his new lover writhe, shudder and beg for more.  He laved special treatment on the twin buds standing hard and dark on the Slytherin’s pale chest, relishing the ripple of passion he felt course though the blonde.  It was a wholly new experience for Harry.  Foreplay had never been Ron’s forte.  Though he did not want to think about it, the brunette could not help but draw a contrast between his current lover and is past one.  Draco cared about it, loved him.  Ron, it seemed, had only been using him.  Banishing all thoughts of the redhead, Harry continued to disrobe Draco, touching him like one who had just regained the sense.

 

Too soon and not soon enough, the robe was pooled around Draco’s feet and the two boys stepped closer together, embracing in mutual passion and affection.  Harry sighed as a solid, leather clad thigh made its way between his legs.  Finally losing himself, forgetting all of the pain of his past, the former Gryffindor grinded into that proffered hardness with abandon.  The still room was quickly filled with wanton gaps as both boys continued to press against each other, striving to relieve the ache in their groins.  This time when Draco’s hands began to remove his trousers, Harry attempted to return the favour.  In a chaotic jumble of hands and tangles of fingers, a long with much gratuitous groping and petting, both young men finally stood naked before each other.

 

To Harry, it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen; the pale planes of his lover’s body, the hard cock visibly pulsing, begging to be swallowed whole, the flush of Draco’s cheeks that contrasted with his perfect ivory skin.  The little dragon around his neck fluttered with the beat of his frantically racing heart.  More than anything, Harry wanted to be claimed by that perfect body.  Only Draco could make everything right again.  Dropping to his knees, Harry looked up into brilliant silver eyes.  Without hesitation he took the head of that glorious member into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it, teasing the slit.

 

Slowly, the brunette worked his way along the length, moving forward then pulling back by increments.  As his mouth worked the leaking prick, his hands teased along Draco’s milky thighs, tracing invisible patterns onto the skin.  His left hand held the blonde stable as his right hand moved to cup the heavy sac.  Rolling Draco’s balls briefly in his palm, Harry soon continued farther, stimulating his lover’s prostate from outside.  At the first touch, Draco gasped, and soon his breathing became heavy, short pants interspersed with frantic moans and urges to work faster.

 

 Finally loosing patience, Harry swallowed Draco’s cock to the base, tongue teasing the underside as his nose nuzzled the patch of curly hair surrounding.  Completely relaxed in his task, passion driving him on, Harry began to hum around the throbbing organ in his throat.  Draco’s moans, which had grown in pitch and volume as Harry had progressed, suddenly transformed into full out screams of desire.  Filled with desperate urgency, the emerald-eyed young man began to suck with a vengeance, swiftly bringing his blonde lover to climax.  Draco came screaming Harry’s name as his legs suddenly turned to jelly beneath him.

 

Using both hands to slowly lower Draco to the floor, Harry grinned.  Apparently he had not lost his skills in fellatio after being out of practice for so long.  Wrapping his arms around the puddle of Malfoy, Harry contented himself with just being close to someone without any expectations.  Soon enough Draco would return from his brief escape to paradise and then Harry would have his own completion, physical, emotional, spiritual.  The thought did not scare him as it might have.  He felt a connection to Draco the likes of which he had never felt for Ron.  Ron, the bastard who had hurt him got what he deserved.  Hedwig had brought Harry a letter during the holiday from the Weasleys, stating that Ron had been disowned.  It brought tears to his eyes to think about his once best friend out on his own without even his wand.  True, the boy had hurt him in almost every way imaginable, but Harry could never really hate him for it, even if he could not forgive him.

 

“Hey, stop thinking about him.”  The soft voice, slightly raspy from so much abuse, brought the emerald eyed teen back to the situation at hand.  He nuzzled his face into the gentle hand cupping his cheek.  That was another thing about Draco; he could always understand Harry’s moods and easily guide him away from counterproductive thoughts.  He tightened his arms around the other boy in his gratitude.  Then, pulling away so he could watch those impassioned eyes, Harry gave voice to his desire.

 

“I want you to take me.”

 

 

Those simple words, that simple phrase, caused Draco’s body to stir once again.  He did not need to ask if Harry was certain, their deep understanding was such that Draco knew that his lover was indeed serious.  The resolute light that flashed in the depths of Harry’s eyes was enough of an answer for Draco.  After all he had been through, after all they had endured together, Harry was ready to make that commitment to Draco.  There was so much trust that Draco could barely contain his own tears of joy.  This was what it was like to be loved unconditionally.  Again, he thanked the gods for this gift he had been blessed with.

 

Standing on shaky legs, Draco offered his hand to Harry, who took it readily, and led his beloved into the bedroom.  The pace was less frantic now; Harry had calmed a bit while Draco had come down from his orgasmic high.  Still, it was not without passion that the blonde guided his nude lover to the adequately sized bed.  He laid Harry down like a treasure to be cherished, and Draco slowly began to worship the gorgeous, firm, tanned body before him.  With excruciating thoroughness, Draco mapped out every sensitive spot on Harry’s body, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes.  Once the Slytherin’s tongue and hands had completed one journey along the panting raven-haired teen’s form, Draco began again at the top and made sure to tease every location that wrung cries of desire from his lover.

 

Gently, Draco nipped at Harry’s earlobes, pulling at the twin hoops with the tip of his tongue.  Slowly, he moved down to lap at the sensitive dip along the jaw.  With feather-light touches, he worked is way along the length of the emerald-eyed teen’s neck to suckle at the collarbone.  He drank in the contented gasps and sighs like he was imbibing the divine nectar.  Mouth and hands working simultaneously, Draco teased Harry’s pectorals, near the juncture between arm and chest, brining a strangled whimper from his thrashing lover.  Having mercy on his struggling partner, Draco skipped over Harry’s ticklish abdomen and thrust his tongue firmly into the navel, drawing the new stud into his mouth.  Sobbing, Harry begged Draco, pleaded with blonde to finish him.

 

Pulling back, Draco waited until dazzling green orbs were clear of the fog of passion.  Positive that Harry was now watching him, Draco summoned a small vial of scented oil and tipped a generous amount into his hand.  Setting the vial aside, eyes locked on those of his lover, Draco ran a slick finger along Harry’s hard cock, feeling it jump as though alive.  It was one of the most incredibly arousing sights Draco had ever seen.  With such visual stimulation to arouse him, it was no wonder that his own body was eagerly preparing to join with the other boy’s.

 

 

Harry knew exactly what to do.  Fighting the urge to seek a more solid contact between the roaming digit and his burning cock, the brunette slid his feet up the bed, bending his knees and spreading his legs.  It was second nature now for him to submit like this, and he did so happily for Draco.  The other made him feel safe and cherished at the same time.  Harry gave him all of his trust, knowing in his heart that Draco would not abuse it.  He shuddered as that questing finger slid along the crease of his buttocks, teasing overly stimulated flesh.  He let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding as that finger found his tight entrance and carefully pushed inward.

 

This is what he wanted, what he needed, this sense of completion that he was sure only Draco would ever be able to give him.  All of his emotions and his few coherent thoughts focused on the love, lust and desire he had for the stunning blonde.  There was no pain as he was tenderly stretched, lovingly prepared for the thing he craved.  So well was Draco preparing him that Harry’s only reactions to the introduction of a second, and then third finger were desperate moans.  Gradually, Harry could feel himself opening up; it was an immensely satisfying sensation.  When Draco’s thrusting and stroking fingers found his prostate, Harry gasped, bucking his hips in an attempt to repeat that desired touch.

 

He would have growled at the Slytherin’s chuckle if the fingers had not been removed and immediately replaced by a renewed erection.  Harry had no idea when Draco had managed to coat his cock in the oil, but he must have at some point because he slid slowly into the emerald-eyed teen with one smooth, virtually painless motion.  There was a vague sense of further stretching, but overall, it was the most incredible feeling Harry had ever experienced in his life.  His lover’s compassion nearly brought tears to his eyes as his mind immediately made a comparison between this and Harry’s last experience with sex.

 

 

Seeing the moist glistening in the verdant orbs, the pale teen leaned down to deeply kiss his lover, giving the boy something to focus on other than his distressing memories.  It could have disturbed him that the onyx-locked young man was thinking about the Weasel, but more than anything, Draco understood Harry’s need to work through emotional hurdles.  That they were together now, like this, was enough for the blonde at the moment.  Breaking the kiss, but staying close, the smoky-eyed teen watched his lover blink, and then give a short, but slow nod.  Taking that as his cue, the platinum-haired Slytherin began a slow and steady rhythm of thrusts, drawing himself out nearly completely before sliding back in.  Angling his strokes, Draco was able to brush his cock teasingly over the other’s prostate every inward motion.

 

Trying not to grin at his jewel-eyed lover’s cries of frustration, Draco obligingly increased the force of his thrusts so that he was practically pounding into Harry’s hot body, jabbing his sweet spot continuously.  Heavy breathing, baritone screams and tenor gasps filled the room, reverberating off of stonewalls and bouncing back from the silencing charm encompassing the chamber.  All tenderness fled as both teens were overcome by a desperate sense of urgency.  The grey-eyed teen could feel the sudden tightening of his lover’s body, a involuntary clenching in the firey passage.  Increasing his tempo until their combined rocking was barely a blur, Draco hit the green-eye young man’s prostate once, twice, and then there was a breathy gasp and a spasmodic squeezing around his prick.  Giving one final hard thrust, Draco drove his cock deep into Harry filling his lover with his seed.

 

Riding out the intense orgasm with continued jerky thrusts, Draco managed to lower himself carefully to avoid crushing the smaller boy under him.  Through it all, he continued to feel honoured by Harry’s willingness and responsiveness.  It was more than Draco could have hoped for just a few short months ago.  Resting half on his lover, and still imbedded in him, the blonde could feel the rapidly cooling stickiness between them, the ultimate proof of the pleasure Harry derived from this.  However, Draco was too exhausted to cast a simple cleansing charm to rid them of the uncomfortable sensation.  He was more than surprise, therefore, to suddenly be free of the mess.  Tilting his head back slightly, Draco noticed the impish smile on his Harry’s face.  No, his lover never ceased to amaze him.  With the little energy he could muster, the sliver-eyed teen placed a soft kiss on Harry’s temple.

 

“Mmm, I love you, Draco,” Harry hummed in pleasure.

 

“I love you too, Harry.  Now and forever.”

 

 

It was the night she never felt so alive.  It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her smile