"Wake up, you sodding little bastard. He didn't hit you that hard."
"It's his Muggle blood. Bastards break if you breathe on them wrong."
"Good for us, though, innit?"
Laughter. Dimly, Harry felt his chin being forced up; suddenly his mouth was full of brandy, choking him, and he spewed half of it back out. He had only seconds between regaining consciousness and the Death Eaters realizing that he'd regained consciousness but no more than that before an Enervate hit him with brutal force, making his body whiplash and his eyes fly open of their own accord.
One of the Death Eaters was standing in front of him Nott, as if Harry didn't owe that bastard and his spawn already with his mask discarded, twirling Harry's wand in his fingers before pointedly sliding it into the pocket of his own robes. "Morning, Potter," he said with patently false bonhomie. "Decided to join us, did you? Or would you rather have been not at home to callers? Bad luck for you that Pritchard's mum used to hide his Christmas presents with a Disillusionment charm."
"Bad luck my arse, that's why you brought me," said the Death Eater to his right, who sounded Harry's age and had a deathgrip on Harry's arm. He sounded rather as though he thought the bad luck was his and not Harry's, and Harry set aside part of his attention toward figuring out how to turn their discontent to his advantage.
"One down, anyway," Nott said shortly. "Where's the Malfoy whelp?"
"Not here," Harry snapped.
"Thank you, Potter, I somehow missed seeing that for myself," Nott answered with exaggerated patience. "Where is he?"
"Why do you want him? It's me your master wants."
"It's both of you now, and frankly I'd rather be in your shoes than his. I'm not going to piss about with you, Potter. Tell me where Malfoy Junior is or I'm going to beat the hell out of you, because I'm out here in the middle of the night in the fucking cold and wet because of you and Malfoy and I'm in a mood to hit things, and then I'm going to put you under Cruciatus until you spill your guts."
Shit, shit, shit, Harry thought, unable to hide the tensing of his muscles and knowing that the guards to either side of him felt it. Their hands tightened on his upper arms, bruising. There were too many of them, all of them with their attention focused on him; he could summon his wand but he'd be hit with a dozen different hexes before he could get hold of it, and he wasn't good enough at wandless magic to take them all down. All he could do was try to keep them talking until one of them slipped up somehow, or until the hour was up and Draco went back to Hogwarts, hopefully to return with reinforcements. Death Eaters seemed to love the sound of their own voices, right enough.
"What if I did tell you?" he asked Nott. "You won't trade me for Malfoy and you know it. The only thing that's in it for me is company on the way to the gallows."
Nott shook his head, mimicking regret. "You'll think differently in a few minutes," he said, and slammed his elbow into Harry's sternum.
Harry doubled over in the guards' grip, winded. "I thought you were supposed to take me to Voldemort," he wheezed, and saw the Death Eaters flinch at the name.
"You really think he'll mind us delivering the goods a bit damaged?" Nott asked, and punched Harry dead in the face. "Rosier there is damn good at healing charms, even if his family does have an old grudge against any friend of Mad-Eye Moody's. We'll keep you alive until you get to the Dark Lord, don't worry." He pulled his fist back again.
A sharp sound took him off-guard and he whirled, shining the light from his wand into the darkness; Draco, caught in its light, continued clapping slowly, mockingly, from where he sat on a large rock.
"Well done, you lot," he drawled, jumping down to amble toward the ring of Death Eaters, seemingly oblivious to the dozen wands pointed directly at him. The look on his face was one that Harry hadn't seen since they left school, a nasty, vindictive sneer, making him look like a petty little boy again in the dim light.
What the fuck are you doing, Draco? Harry thought frantically.
"Going to make our Lord happy, are you? Or are you just buying your way out of a Cruciatus?" Draco asked.
"Our Lord?" Nott demanded. "You treacherous little bastard, you dare "
"You say that as if treachery were a sin and not a tool," Draco commented, rolling up his left sleeve. Holding his wand a little awkwardly in his right hand, he tapped the tip on the skin inside his forearm. "Finite Incantatem."
The Dark Mark bloomed on the inside of Draco's arm, an ugly smear on his skin.
Harry couldn't stop the soft, tense sound that caught in his throat, and Draco glanced over at him. "Surprise, Potter," he said smugly.
It took Harry only a split second to decide what to do. He lunged toward Draco, against the Death Eaters' grip, fighting against their hold. "Malfoy, you fucking bastard, I trusted you!"
"More fool you," Draco said shortly. "Oh, for God's sake, the lot of you, put your damn wands down."
"You first," Nott said.
Draco rolled his eyes, pulled open the robes of the Death Eater with a two-handed grip on Harry's right arm, and stuck his wand into an inside pocket. "Happy?" he sneered, then moved to stand in front of Harry. With the same smirk on his face that had always given Harry a hair-trigger, reflexive desire to punch him in the face, he caught hold of Harry's jaw hard enough to bruise.
"You're stupid, Potter," he explained. "Trusting the wrong people gets you fucked over again and again, and you don't bloody learn."
Harry searched Draco's face frantically for some kind of sign, let the Death Eaters watch him do it, and let them watch him find nothing; let them see the hurt, rage, and betrayal that he wouldn't have been able to hide. "You son of a bitch. I should have killed you while we were at school."
"Too late now," Draco observed cheerfully.
"The fuck it is, Malfoy. By the time I'm done with you, you're going to wish your parents had died at birth. Jesus Christ, how can you do this?"
"Are you fucking him, Malfoy?" Nott asked, disbelieving and amused.
"Sadly, no," Draco answered, raking his gaze down Harry's body. His eyes lifted again, slowly, to meet Harry's. Harry realized with a shock that some part of Draco really was getting off on this, and his look of horror was only half feigned. "Fortunately, however, our Lord can be generous with his rewards."
Harry closed his eyes as Draco leaned forward, hoping that he was doing a good imitation of being frozen with horror and humiliation. Draco's mouth opened against Harry's neck, and his tongue traced a quick, light rune onto Harry's skin that heated for just a moment and then cooled again.
"I don't think he's getting off on that," Nott observed.
"He'll learn to," Draco said softly, pulling back without another glance at Harry. Nott followed him as he moved away.
"You can't really think the Dark Lord is going to give you Potter," Nott said derisively.
"He doesn't have to give him to me. Just lend him to me for a while. I won't want him long." Draco rolled his sleeve down, smirk firmly back in place. "We should go."
The tip of Nott's wand came to rest at the hollow of Draco's throat, and Harry fought not to react. "We? You seem to think you have a claim on the credit for this particular prize, Malfoy."
Draco snorted. "I'm the one who arranged to keep him here until you got round to finding the damn place, Nott. I'm the one who let him go when his idiotic Gryffindorness made him charge out from behind the bloody Fidelius charm at the first hint of Death Eaters nearby. I'm the one who killed the lindwurm so you'd find one missing and know where to look it wouldn't have found the house, you know, not as well as the wards were hidden, and that's another thing you have to thank me for, talking Potter into beefing up the wards until a Muggle couldn't miss them. You're damn right I'm claiming part of the credit. I handed him to you"
The sigil on Harry's neck was heating again, a dim breath of warmth against his skin. He hoped to God that it wasn't glowing.
Nott was silent for a moment, thinking, then reluctantly pulled his wand back. "Your wand stays with Pritchard until we get before the Dark Lord. I want to hear from his own mouth that the Malfoys are still in his service. Until then, you're in the same straits as Potter."
"Yes, all right," Draco snapped petulantly. "For God's sake, let's go already."
Harry's whole body was starting to tingle; he could feel magic pooling and swirling around him, too subtle for the Death Eaters on either side of him to sense.
"All right, keep your bloody shirt on," Nott answered, annoyed. "We're going to take the trip back in six legs, and most of it'll be long-distance Apparating; I'll keep hold of you but you'll have to chip in some power too, so it's on you if you can't keep up "
"Fuck you, Nott, I could leave your sorry arses in the dust," Draco snapped.
The tingling was growing stronger. Harry tensed against the Death Eaters' grip, trying his strength against it, and their hands closed tighter on his arms. Reality, he suddenly realized, was starting to slip a little not as if he were falling unconscious; it was more the sort of crisp sideways motion the world took just
"And you'll keep your damn mouth shut if you're coming," Nott ordered. "You may be Lucius Malfoy's whelp but you've no place in our Lord's service anymore until I hear otherwise, and if you push it I'll put you in a body bind."
before
"You can fucking try," Draco snarled, making it sound like empty bluster.
he Apparated
"Nott!" Pritchard shouted, but too late; Harry had already rematerialized beside him. He landed a blow squarely against Pritchard's throat, held the limp body between himself and the other Death Eaters, yanked Draco's wand out of Pritchard's robes, and sent it arrowing straight at Draco. Draco grabbed it out of the air, kicked Nott squarely between the legs, caught his head, and twisted; there was a horrific sound and then half a dozen hexes were slamming into Nott's body, aiming for Draco and hitting his human shield instead.
"Get down!" Draco shouted, and Harry and four Death Eaters hit the dirt. Draco's wand spun in his hand and then flew, light flaring from either end; whipped around the circle of Death Eaters, shearing through bodies like a chainsaw as it went, and slapped back into Draco's hand. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the Death Eater who had been holding his left arm roll to come up behind Draco, wand at the ready. Harry launched himself off the ground and brought the man down in a bone-crunching tackle as hexes flew over their heads. The mask fell away; Harry head-butted the man in the nose, shattering it and sending blood exploding over both their faces. The Death Eater's grip on his wand loosened and Harry caught it, trying to twist it out of the other man's hand. With sudden, surprising strength the Death Eater wrestled it back, pushing the point slowly but surely down toward Harry.
"Avada," he blurted in an oddly familiar voice.
Harry landed a solid kick to his opponent's knee and shoved the point back; distracted by the pain in his leg, the Death Eater realized his wand's position too late to bite back the rest of the incantation. Green light flared between them, leaving Harry sickened and shaking with its proximity; and then he had hold of the wand, slippery and resistant in his hand, and turned just as a well-aimed curse knocked Draco flat.
There were only two Death Eaters left. Harry started to move toward Draco, then skidded back as a barrage of curses struck the ground around him, turning the ground black and smouldering an inch in front of his foot. Still moving, he pointed the wand at the Death Eater closest to him and shouted "Expelliarmus!" but the wand jolted in his hand, channelling power wildly, and before he could bring it under control a searing flare of magic had picked up his target and smashed him back against a rock hard enough to fill the air with the sound of shattering bone. Blood splashed out behind the Death Eater's head, leaving a broad red smear on the rock as he fell to the ground, and Harry didn't have time to let himself do more than note the removal of one immediate threat because the other Death Eater
had already reached Draco. By the time Harry turned to him, Rosier had grabbed Draco's wand and pulled him up to serve as a shield, jolting Draco back to consciousness. Draco choked smoke out of his lungs, curling around himself, before Rosier yanked him upright again.
Fuck, Harry thought, and saw a dozen courses of action that would all end in Draco's death.
For a long moment they were still, all three of them, crouching on the bloodstained grass. Draco looked far more calm than someone with a wand held to his head reasonably ought to; but the speed of his breathing was just a little too fast, betraying alarm to Harry if not to Rosier. His eyes met Harry's, and Harry made himself look away and watch Rosier instead.
"Well," Rosier said finally. "You'll be tossing your wand over here, then."
"Think again," Harry told him.
"You can't be stupid enough that I actually have to say this, but put your wand down or the Malfoy fortune is going to be short an heir."
"You talk to Lucius about that," Harry said. "The Malfoy fortune is his problem, not mine. You let Draco go and I'll let you go."
Rosier's wand jammed point-first up underneath Draco's chin, forcing his head up; Draco's expression, cool and watchful, never changed, and his entire body was poised to take advantage of the smallest slip on Rosier's part. "Put your fucking wand down, Potter," Rosier snapped.
"Kill him, Potter," Draco said evenly.
"Let him go," Harry ordered.
"Potter," Draco said. "Kill him. You can't afford not to and you know it."
Rosier's wand dug brutally into Draco's skin, and a momentary flicker of pain flashed across Draco's face and was gone. "He can't kill me, you stupid little fuck," Rosier said, speaking to Draco as if he were a rather slow child and, Harry suspected, not actually talking to Draco at all. "Any curse he hits me with is going to hit you too. If I die, so do you."
"Do you think that matters to him?" Draco asked; he sounded coolly, scornfully amused, but his eyes were still sharp and watchful. "You can't buy your life with mine, Rosier, Potter hates both of us."
"Does he?" Rosier snarled. "Let's see. Crucio!"
Draco arched and screamed, heels digging into the soft earth, too-long wail of nerve-shredding agony stabbing into Harry in a blinding flare that narrowed the entire world to Draco's voice, and he thought, he's faking, he's immune, he has to please God please he has to be faking it, and oh God Harry was so close to breaking when Rosier finally ended the curse. Draco collapsed back toward the ground, drawing breath in frantic agonal gasps.
Rosier was going to pay. He was going to pay for touching Draco, for even intending to hurt him, and he was going to pay not at some point in the distant and uncertain future but right fucking now, and Harry let the cold show in his voice when he said, "Is that the best you can do, Rosier? I did worse than that to him when we were in school. Malfoy's a coward and a bully just like the rest of you, and he never could take what he dished out. The only reason either of you are still alive is that I need him to get to his father."
Rosier snorted. "Just need him to get to his father, do you? Which is why you risked your life to get his wand back to him, for all the bloody good it did, or did you think I'd forgot about that? I'm only going to say this one more time, Potter put down your wand."
"Let him go, Rosier. Let him go and I'll let you live."
"Potter, for fuck's sake kill him "
"Balls to this," Rosier snapped, driving his wand farther into Draco's skin. "Ava "
"Imperio!" Harry shouted.
The spell flared outward to envelope Draco and Rosier both, crashing through mental defenses as if they were made of paper; Harry could feel those defenses buckling, could feel the frantic, instinctive resistance give way in a heartbeat, could feel the spell smash inward to wrap relentlessly around their minds like a serpent winding around a bird. Draco held out for a moment longer than Rosier; then they were both quiescent under his control, Rosier's mind limp and blank, Draco's curling against the shelter of Harry's will, not without trepidation but acquiescing rather than defeated. Harry hadn't touched anyone else's mind at all in years, and had no fond memories of doing it.
It was easier than he would have thought to avoid abusing the spell, to keep from washing clean the parts of Draco's mind that were saturated with his father's touch and replacing Lucius' mark with his own.
They were watching him with identical blank expressions. For a second Harry wondered why Draco didn't move away; then he realized that Draco was waiting for Harry to tell him to. Swallowing hard against nausea, Harry wiped his hands on his trousers and said, "Rosier. Let go of Malfoy, right now. Draco, take his wand, and get yours back. Get mine too it's behind you, in Nott's robes and bring them here."
Moving as if he were sleepwalking, Draco collected the wands and then came to kneel beside Harry, sliding bonelessly to his knees like a marionette, watching Harry with empty eyes that reminded Harry too much of that bloody-mouthed child in the cemetery. Harry fumbled his own wand out of Draco's outstretched hand, pointed it, and said "Finite Incantantem."
Draco shook his head a little and drew a breath as if he were just waking up, then looked back up at Harry with eyes as sharp and watchful as ever. "Well done, Potter," he said quietly.
Harry looked away. "They're called Unforgivables for a reason."
"Yes, because your side isn't as good at using them as the Death Eaters are," Draco said dryly. "If they were, the spells would be called something else. Now, get up. In a minute Im going to want you to explain to me what the fuck you thought you were doing, but right now I want to see who we've just got rid of. And by the way, Scourgify."
Harry's face tingled for a moment; the hand he wiped over it came away clean and unbloodied. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it." Draco paused, then glanced over at Rosier. "What do you want to do with him?"
"I don't know. I can't kill him, not when he's like this. And I'm not sure I want to send him back to Voldemort under some sort of Imperius command Voldemort will see right through it."
"Hm," Draco said thoughtfully. "You could send him to my father. Rosier's a valuable source of information."
"Malfoy, your father and I are not on the same side," Harry reminded him. Draco had given him an idea, though, and he crawled over to kneel in front of Rosier. Blank, dead eyes fixed on Harry, focussing slowly, and he shivered. "Rosier, listen. I'm going to give you your wand back. You will not try to harm me, Malfoy, or anyone else. You're going to Apparate to the Ministry of Magic, go to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and hand yourself over to Ron Weasley. You will forget where you saw me and Malfoy. You'll even forget that you did see us."
"Best do a memory charm to be sure," Draco murmured, sinking down beside him, and Harry nodded.
"You're going to give Ron a message for me, do you understand?"
Rosier nodded slowly.
"Tell him this," Harry said, then paused, feeling bizarrely as if he were talking into a tape recorder. "Ron, I know how pissed off you are at me right now. I wish look, you're just going to have faith that I know what I'm doing, and that I know him better than you do."
Draco glanced sharply at him.
"Maybe you were right about what you said that night," Harry went on. "It doesn't make any difference. I know what I need to do, and I need you on my side. I'm sending you Rosier. See what you can get out of him."
He took Rosier's wand from Draco and handed it to Rosier, who took it indifferently. Carefully, Harry cast a memory charm, insinuating it where it wouldn't work against the Imperius, and wiped away the memory of where Rosier had been and what had happened for the last forty-eight hours or so. "Now go to the Ministry," he ordered, and Rosier vanished with a crack of displaced air.
Draco shifted, getting ready to stand, and Harry caught hold of his forearm. "Malfoy are you all right? Did he hurt you?"
Draco gave him an odd look. "No," he replied after a moment. "I'm a bit bruised, that's all. What about you?"
"I'm all right," Harry said, rather unconvincingly; he still felt ill and shaky. When Draco eyed him skeptically, he added, "I got caught in the blast of an Avada Kedavra. I'm still a little sick, but I'll be fine in a few minutes."
Draco went still under his hand. "Someone tried to use the Killing Curse on you?" he asked, and there was a tight, icy rage barely audible in his voice that Harry really hoped wasn't directed at him.
Harry nodded toward the dim bundle of black robes. "I guess he was more afraid of me killing him than he was of Voldemort killing him."
Draco snorted. "No bloody wonder. Stay here, then; I'm going to take a look round and get rid of the bodies."
Harry watched a bit apprehensively as Draco stalked off and made his way around the area, removing masks and peering down into faces, then levitating the bodies and sending them arrowing toward the cliff. When he got to the last one the one whose Avada Kedavra had done for himself instead of Harry he stopped and knelt down, looking closer. "Potter, isn't this one of yours?"
Frowning, Harry pulled himself to his feet and over to the body. "Lumos," he whispered, and looked down in the wandlight. "Jesus Christ, it's Dennis! Dennis Creevey!"
"Creevey Minor?" Draco said, frowning. "But he's a mudblood, isn't he?"
"He's Muggle-born," Harry answered absently, kneeling down to take a closer look. The Mark was there on Dennis' forearm, livid against the whitening skin.
"I always thought he and his brother were creepy little bastards, but why would Voldemort ever have given a mudblood the Mark?"
"Damn," Harry said softly, and sent Dennis' body into the sea. "What the hell was he doing?"
"Speaking of which," Draco said sharply, and Harry looked up at him, surprised.
"What?"
"He could have killed you. If you were close enough to get ill from the backlash, that wand must have been an inch from your face."
Draco sounded furious, anger boiling back to the surface in his voice, white-hot now and unmistakably directed at Harry. Puzzled, Harry got to his feet. "And that's my fault how?"
"It's your fucking fault, Potter, because the reason I gave my wand to the idiot holding you to begin with was so that you could grab it and run, not so you could plunge into the thick of battle, blow my cover "
"Your what?"
" and nearly get yourself killed by one of the bloody Creevey brothers of all people. Why the hell didn't you take the opening and get away?"
"And leave you here with no wand, surrounded by fucking Death Eaters who I'm sure knew damn well that Voldemort had put a price on your head? Jesus, Draco, you can't have actually expected me to walk off and leave you in that kind of danger. They'd have seen straight through the act as soon as I Apparated. One of them would have caught you from behind and hexed molten lead into your stomach."
"You thought I " Draco stared blankly at him for a moment, then whirled and stalked back toward the house, Apparating before he'd gone three steps. Harry, by now thoroughly irate, followed him.
He materialized in the sitting room just in time to hear the bedroom door slam back against the wall. Cursing under his breath, he followed Draco into the bedroom; Draco was standing in front of the fireplace, rubbing a hand across his forehead and looking for all the world as though he was hunting for something to smash into a million pieces.
"I thought you what?" Harry demanded.
"You thought I wasn't a Death Eater."
"You aren't a Death Eater!"
"Do you understand how sodding completely that is not the point?" Draco shouted, then turned away, raking his hands into his hair. "Fuck, Harry!"
"Can I just point out that the fact that you Apparated me out from between the guards was a dead giveaway?"
"Do you know how many reasons I could have had for doing that even if I were?"
"What the hell is the matter with you?" Harry cried, utterly bewildered and thoroughly pissed off.
Draco swung around to face him, livid with rage. "Potter, I told you you're too damn trusting, and I meant it, and it's going to get you killed one of these days!"
"You're pissed off at me for trusting you?"
"You listened to me support my father and Voldemort for years, you saw a Mark on me, you had no way of knowing that I wasn't going to "
Harry's hand lashed out, Seeker-fast, to clamp onto Draco's left wrist and yank his arm up between them. He shoved Draco's sleeve back, exposing the Mark, livid black in the firelight. "That dragon tattoo on your shoulder," he said steadily. "It radiates some sort of magic, I don't know what kind but judging from what it does to me I'm going to guess it has something to do with sex. The dragon faces your right shoulder, and its left claws are a little higher than its right. You have three freckles in the small of your back and another one right at the base of your sternum. There's a scar at the base of your right thumb, on the inside, that looks like you cut yourself chopping potions ingredients. It's about half an inch long. There's another scar on your left side, about two inches long, looks like it came from something sharp enough to rip but too dull to slice. You're that blond naturally. Your left ear was pierced once but you haven't worn anything in it for a long time."
Draco stared at him, stunned.
"Malfoy, I know every goddamned inch of your body above the waist of your trousers and a couple of inches below, and you're not Marked. Even if I'd thought for a minute that you were, that you'd managed to hide it from everyone this whole time, that you'd hand me over to Voldemort without a second thought, I would have known better. Now take it off."
There was silence for a long moment before Draco pulled out his wand and pointed it at his forearm. "Finite incantatem," he whispered, and the Mark faded. Harry ran his fingertips over the now-unmarred skin, feeling goose bumps rise in their wake, and glanced up to see an odd smile on Draco's face.
"Going to tell me which way I hang too, Potter?" he asked softly.
"To the left," Harry answered, holding Draco's gaze.
"That hardly seems fair," Draco noted in a low purr that might as well have wrapped itself in a hot, slick ribbon right around Harry's cock. "You knowing that much about my body, I mean, when I don't know anything about yours."
Harry swallowed hard. "I "
"Shh," Draco whispered, aimed his wand at Harry, and breathed an incantation in French. Harry's robes and shirt fell to his feet, making him shiver in the sudden chill.
"Draco "
"Shh," Draco said again, prowling like a panther around behind Harry. "You Gryffindors are supposed to have a highly developed sense of justice and fair play. I say supposed, of course, because you actually have no such thing, though you have a highly developed sense of what's due you. Stand still."
He couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to. Draco's hand hovered above his shoulder and then ran down his arm, close enough that Harry could feel the warmth of his skin but not actually touching.
"There's a scar on the back of your arm," Draco whispered, his breath stirring the hair at the back of Harry's neck. "And another just to the right of your left shoulder blade, a little longer honestly, Potter, as much time as you spent in the hospital wing when we were growing up, I'd have thought you'd have more to show for it than this. And a mole, a small one, just over the fourth rib up on your left side."
Draco's fingers slipped into the back of his hair, tangling, moving it aside, then disappeared, and Harry shivered.
"You have a birthmark on your back, did you know that? Brown, about the size and shape of a galleon, about three inches above the line of your trousers. And a line of freckles up the middle of your back, very light, four of them."
Those fingers were hovering above his spine, so close he could feel them and still not touching, running down to the small of his back and up toward the back of his neck, and oh God this had to stop, had to, because any minute Draco was going to move around to the front and Harry was so fucking hard. Draco's fingers encircled his wrists in a feather-light touch and pulled them upward, lacing Harry's fingers together on top of his head.
"Don't move," he murmured. Harry realized that his own breath had hitched into light, frantic gasps and tried to slow it down, an attempt not helped by the almost-touch of Draco's hands slipping down his arms and over his sides.
Draco moved around to stand in front of him and Harry closed his eyes in despair. He was shaking and painfully aroused, and he needed to push Draco away and pull on his clothes, and he couldn't. Then Draco's hands were at his neck, smoothing the hair back away from the line of his jaw.
"Hm, you've never had anything pierced. Or nothing that I can see, at any rate. You should try it. You'd look good with an earring." Draco's hands drifted down, brushing delicately over the hair on his chest and almost brushing his nipples. "The hair on your body is coarser than the hair on your head that's generally the way with brunets, I think but there's not that much on you either. You have a nasty bruise on the left front of your ribs, when did you get that? You're going to have an even worse one on your forehead in the morning. And it looks like there'll be another one here "
For just a second Draco touched him, low in the center of his chest where Nott had driven an elbow into him. The feel of Draco's hand on his body exploded through Harry like a supernova, and he fought not to moan.
"You have two freckles just above your navel. And rather more hair than I do underneath it "
Harry's hand whipped down to catch Draco's just before his fingertips dipped below the top of Harry's trousers. "Don't," he said hoarsely, opening his eyes. "Please. Don't."
"The rest of your body seems to disagree, Potter," Draco said softly. "In fact, the rest of your body looks as though it would rather like to see me on my knees with your "
"Fuck. This has to stop. Now."
"I won't ask anything of you that you don't want to give," Draco whispered.
Harry gave a short, harsh laugh and closed his eyes. "No. You won't, will you? You'll just ask something of me that I want to give so fucking bad that it's driving me insane. You're all bloody heart, Malfoy, you know that?"
"Harry."
Unwillingly, Harry opened his eyes. Draco was standing an inch away from him, so close that their legs were nearly wrapped around each other's. Slowly, deliberately, Draco twisted his wrist out of Harry's grip and raised both his hands, holding them up and away from Harry.
"Walk away," he breathed, and Harry flinched. "I'm not touching you. I won't touch you. The door's open behind you. Walk away or come to me, but do one or the other, and do it now."
"Bastard," Harry said between his teeth. "You say that like I won't have to watch you walk away from me as soon as we get back to Hogwarts no matter what decision I make."
"I'm offering you everything I can, Harry. All I have to give. That's all I've ever offered you, you know, and you've thrown it back in my face twice now, so let me make clear that this is the last offer you're going to get." There was anger glowing in Draco's eyes now, unmistakable even in the dim light.
Carefully, Harry reached up and caught hold of Draco's wrist. "I don't want your connections," he whispered, and planted a soft, slow kiss in Draco's palm. "I don't want your help making friends with the 'right sort.' I don't want your family's money or the Malfoy name. I don't want your father's power and influence. I don't want you to let me have your body because that's the only part of you your fiancιe can spare. You've offered me everything but what I really want."
"Which is?" Draco asked hoarsely.
Harry tilted his head forward, nearly bringing their mouths together, and answered, "You. All of you. The person you'd still be if your parents disowned you, if you weren't rich, if you were nothing but the bloke who teaches Defence with me." He turned his head and brought Draco's wrist to his lips, pressing open-mouthed kisses against it, tasting Draco's skin and trying desperately to convince himself that he didn't need anything more. "I want what you can't give me because it isn't yours to give. You're going to be married in a few weeks, remember? "
"The world's not perfect, Harry," Draco answered, an unhappy edge to his voice that suggested that he didn't particularly want to be thinking about Pansy at the moment. "I'm offering you everything I have left to give. For God's sake, take it or walk away."
Harry's fingers tightened around Draco's wrist. "And if I walk away?"
Draco's mouth twisted in a humorless smile. "We're both adults. I'm sure we'll be able to maintain a cordial working relationship. We've danced around this long enough, Potter, time's up. Decide whether this is going to be enough."
"It fucking has to be, doesn't it?" Harry said tightly.
Draco's eyes closed briefly and Harry couldn't tell if it was in relief or despair or both. He brought up his free hand and touched Draco's face gently, fingertips against his jaw and sliding up to his cheekbone, and Draco's breath caught. "It has to be," Harry repeated.
"Shh," Draco whispered, rubbing his cheek against Harry's hand. "You think too much."
"You don't believe that."
"Harry."
Harry drew a shuddering breath and pulled Draco to him, trying not to think because it was too late for it, because Draco's mouth was already opening under his; and it seemed like he'd been dying for this forever, just for the feel of Draco's lips warming his own, soft enough to make his head spin, and for a moment he could almost have convinced himself that it was enough. Then Draco's tongue was teasing at his lips and suddenly it wasn't enough, nothing would have been, and their tongues wound hungrily around each other, darting and tasting, filling each other's mouths. Harry made a small, desperate sound and laced his fingers into Draco's hair, pulling him closer, deeper, reaching for more of that sweet, elusive taste, shivering as Draco's teeth caught gently at him. There wasn't enough air between them, burned away between their mouths, and it felt like he was drowning.
His fingertips touched skin under the hem of Draco's shirt; and that quickly, Harry felt something inside him unweave and shatter like a failing ward, and knew that whatever he'd been gambling, whatever he'd been playing for, he'd lost. "Fuck," he whispered against Draco's mouth, hearing the bitterness in his voice and not caring.
"Shut up, Potter," Draco answered tightly, and kissed Harry again, demanding and determined and starving. His hand trailed down Harry's chest, shifting to run farther down between his legs, belt and fastenings falling open in its wake.
Harry was barely touching him, a hand in his hair and fingers curled against the small of his back under his shirt, and it wasn't enough. "Evanesco," he whispered, felt an answering flare of magic from the wand at his feet, and Draco's shirt vanished. Harry pulled him closer, wanting to moan at the feel of Draco's skin against his and biting his lip to keep it back, sucking in a shuddering breath instead when Draco's tongue found a dizzyingly sensitive spot on his neck. His hand was moving up along Draco's back of its own accord; discontent, Harry pulled back a little and turned Draco around, contact coming sooner than he'd expected as Draco pressed back against him.
The skin covered by the dragon tattoo didn't taste any different from the skin around it. It wasn't a different texture. If it hadn't been magical, he might have been able to close his eyes and lose track of where the ink began. But it was, and even if his eyes had been closed Harry's mouth would have found it, drawn irresistably to the concentration of magic that filled his mouth in a shimmering flood like light on the water. He traced it over and over with his tongue, mouthed the vivid colors gently and not so gently, sucked a vivid stain of blood underneath the dragon's body; one of his hands wandered over Draco's chest from the base of his throat to his stomach, holding him firmly back against Harry, while the other pushed Draco's hand out of the way to unfasten his trousers with an impatient gesture. Draco's fingers wound into his own, pressing Harry's palm flat against the hard line of his cock under a thin wisp of cloth. He was shaking in Harry's arms, trying to get leverage to grind back against him, breath coming quick and sharp. The tattoo's magic battered at Harry's mind like an Imperius, wanting his weight on Draco's body, and Harry wrenched his mouth away and straightened with a gasp.
He nuzzled softly into Draco's hair, almost purring as Draco moved against him. His fingertips traced Draco's collarbone, and he felt his other hand being lifted, moving up until one of his fingers was surrounded by the warm heat of Draco's mouth. A soft tongue dragged along his skin, light suction surrounded his finger, and his cock gave an aching jolt. Draco turned in his arms and kissed him again, gently, no more than a brush of lips and tongue over his mouth, and slid to his knees in front of Harry, tracing a slick line of kisses across his stomach.
Harry watched him, Draco with his hair shadowing his throat and the firelight warming his skin as he slid unhurried hands up Harry's thighs. Harry drew his fingers slowly through Draco's hair, closing soft tendrils in his hand; he wanted to say something and couldn't, because there were too many things he couldn't say.
He wanted to hate Pansy and couldn't do that either, but it was easy to hate himself.
The slow pace was giving him too much time to think. He caught Draco's hands and nodded toward the bed, and was rewarded by a flash of understanding and teasing laughter in those lovely eyes and oh God he would have done anything, anything, to have this for more than one night. Harry swallowed hard and watched Draco stand and move back, climbing backward onto the bed with catlike grace, holding Harry's gaze with eyes that had gone sober now with the same tense, unhappy need that was making Harry tight-wound and unsteady. Draco settled onto the center of the bed, sitting back on his heels and holding a hand out to Harry. Harry crawled onto the bed, caught his hand, and pulled him forward into a kiss that left them both panting. Draco's hair spilled over Harry's hands, and he thought of Hermione's time-turner.
I can let him go.
"I," Harry said, struggling to catch his breath. He leaned his forehead against Draco's, caressing the line of his throat over and over. "I can't. I can't."
Draco swallowed hard and moved a little away, tilting Harry's chin up with a hand that was trembling as badly as Harry's were. "Harry, I'm not going to give you absolution," he said hoarsely, unhappiness and frustration clear in his voice. "But I don't want this to be something you're disgusted with for the rest of your life. I won't be something you're ashamed of, and I won't whore for you. If that's how it's going to be, tell me now and we'll stop and pretend this never happened."
Harry was already shaking his head, pulling Draco back to him, pressing kisses down from his temple to his neck. "No. It isn't like that."
Draco gave a short, unhappy laugh and caught Harry's mouth with his. "I don't believe you," he whispered. "But since you seem to have called my bluff, it doesn't matter, does it?"
I can't do this, Harry thought, and it didn't make any difference. He moved back and set a hand on Draco's chest, pushing him back onto the bed. Draco's legs unfolded around him, the smooth material of his trousers caressing Harry's sides; Harry leaned over him, running his hand from stomach to chest to the base of Draco's throat as he nipped gently at Draco's lips and soothed the bites with his tongue, shivering at the light brush of his cock against Draco's through two layers of thin fabric.
"I take it you want to top," Draco said hoarsely.
Harry closed his eyes and drew his hips back slowly, cloth gliding with maddening smoothness between them, and fuck yes, he wanted to top. This one time, it mattered. "I want to fuck you until you forget everything but having me inside you," he whispered against Draco's ear, and thought, I want you to never want anyone else but me, ever again.
Draco caught his breath and slid his hands underneath the waist of Harry's trousers, pushing them down and running his hands over newly-exposed skin. "That's a lot of fucking, Potter, do you think you're up to it?"
Harry moved down, licked a path along Draco's collarbone, then lifted his head. "Watch me," he said. Draco gave him a slow, lazy smile, and Harry lifted a hand from Draco's waist to his chin, tilting it up a little until Draco's gaze stopped roving hungrily over Harry's body and met his own.
"No, really," he whispered. "Watch."
He nudged Draco's head to the side and bit at the base of his throat, hard enough to make Draco start and dig his fingers reflexively into Harry's back, then began working his way downward with gentler touches. He remembered the last time they'd been in this bed together, how he'd wanted to touch so badly that it was like a burn somewhere inside him, how he would have done bloody near anything to have Draco just once.
Just once. Harry pushed away a sudden stab of bitterness and ran his hand up Draco's side, stroking smooth muscle and the soft ridge of ribs as Draco moved underneath him and caressed whatever part of Harry he could reach. "Watch," he whispered against Draco's stomach, and drew the tip of his nose up along the line of hair leading down into Draco's trousers, then followed it back down with his tongue as Draco's fingers tightened in his hair.
Take what you want and pay for it, says God.
Harry whispered against Draco's trousers and they vanished under his hands, melting away like mist.
You're going to have to choose, Pansy said inside his head. For yourself, and with your eyes open.
He should have been sorry. Maybe he was. It was hard to think, and maybe he shouldn't be trying, and the head of Draco's cock was like velvet against his tongue.
God, how he'd wanted this, weight and fullness in his mouth, heat gliding over his tongue, soft shivering gasps and Draco's hips moving with restless insistence against the pressure of his hand. The hand laced into his hair moved downward to pull his glasses off and toss them aside; Harry watched the world go unfocussed and almost protested, but it didn't matter. He could see what he needed to see that Draco was watching him, that it was Harry's mouth wrapped around his cock, Harry's tongue teasing those soft, beautiful moans from him, not Pansy, not Zabini, not whoever had taught him to whisper away clothes with a tilt of his wand.
He closed his eyes and took Draco in past the ache in his throat, losing himself in heat and suction and movement, in Draco's increasingly desperate gasps, in the body that arched under his hands and strained upward toward his mouth
"Harry, fuck, stop, I'm too close," Draco panted, tugging on his hair too sharply to ignore. A little unwillingly, Harry lifted his head and shifted onto his hands and knees, moving up Draco's body.
"God, you're beautiful," he whispered, nipping along the line of Draco's jaw, winding his fingers into the hair at the back of Draco's neck. "You know that, don't you? You know what you've fucking done to me ever since we were at school."
Draco went still under him for a moment before his lips curved in a slow smile against Harry's neck. "No, I don't, actually, but I think I'd like to find out," he answered, lifting his head to lick behind Harry's ear. His hand slid into Harry's pants, grazing over his cock to wrap gently around his balls.
"I used to Accio wand I used to bring myself off thinking about, oh god, oh fuck, Draco "
"About what?" Draco whispered breathlessly, his fingers doing things that made Harry's heart hammer painfully in his ears.
Harry moved away long enough to slide the rest of his clothes off, then muttered a lubrication spell, slicking his fingers. Draco's legs wound around him, pulling him back; Harry took as much time as he could bear getting there, leaving a trail of vivid bite marks up Draco's chest to his neck, marking him and not caring. "About sucking you off in the showers after a game," he breathed against Draco's mouth, between kisses.
"Were you good at it?" Draco's hand trailed down his back, leaving a cold path that made Harry shiver.
"Fuck, yes, I was good at it," Harry told him. "Then when you'd come in my mouth I'd get you ready for me, just like this, oh Christ you're so tight "
Draco bit back a cry and arched up against him. "Fuck, Harry, more!"
" then I'd, oh God, get you on your hands and knees and fuck you until you begged for it, begged me to let you come, oh fuck I need you right now " God, he'd wanted this too long, and Draco was pushing up against him and whispering things against his skin that made Harry's head spin and nothing mattered but this, nothing.
He was so fucking tight, and Harry made himself stop, made himself wait, shaking and panting, nuzzling softly against Draco's throat. "Are you, is this "
"Yes, God, move or I'm going to hex you "
"Want you, I want you," Harry whispered, and let his mouth move against Draco's skin, shaping orisons that he didn't let himself understand, moving and fuck it was so good. Draco's hands dug into his back, into his hips, pushing him harder and faster, and Harry wasn't going to last, not like this, not with Draco sobbing and cursing under him, gasping out his name and yes and slamming up onto Harry's cock. Draco's skin was hot and salt-sharp under his mouth, and Harry had just enough mind left to shift and reach between them, stroking hard and fast.
"Fuck, Harry, God, I'm " and Draco was coming hard between them, leaving bruises on Harry's shoulders, locking tight around him, God, everywhere, and it was more than Harry could take. He angled up and drove deep into Draco, balancing on the edge for an endless minute before Draco did something, moved just a little differently, and Harry broke, coming so hard that his whole body shook with it, crying out Draco's name into the curve of his neck.
Still trembling, Harry eased down into Draco's arms, letting his eyes drift closed again. For a long time neither of them moved; all Harry could hear was his own heartbeat thudding in his ears and soft gasps as they caught their breath. Finally, when he realized he'd been listening to the crackling of the fire for who knew how long, he slid off Draco and to the side, not breaking contact. Draco's hand followed him, fingertips trailing up his arm and onto his chest; Draco watched its progress with indolent fascination. He looked sleepy and sated, and Harry thought, I did that.
He ran the tip of his nose along the side of Draco's face to his temple, dropping slow, soft kisses as he went, revelling in the gentle caress of Draco's fingers on his shoulder. "Not mad at me anymore?" he whispered.
Draco opened his mouth, closed it again, tapped his fingertips on Harry's shoulder, and appeared to wage a brief but fierce inner battle. "I'm sorry," he said finally, with obvious difficulty.
Harry had to laugh. "That really cost you, didn't it?"
"Well, I wasn't wrong, I just " Draco began, frowning sharply up at Harry. Then he sighed and gave in, looking chagrined.
"I was a bit unnerved, that's all," he said quietly, tracing Harry's mouth with his fingertip. "Slytherins aren't really soldiers, you know, that's your job. And you could stand to do a better job of it, too that curse would have killed you too if you'd been half an inch closer to it."
It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to say that no one within three hours of breaking one man's neck with his bare hands and shearing half a dozen others in half had any call to be pawning off the soldier job on Gryffindor. But Draco's fingers fluttered suddenly against Harry's lips, and in another moment he was shaking in Harry's arms, closing his eyes against who knew what visions, and suddenly Harry didn't feel any too bloody steady himself. Wanting to stave off the delayed reaction as long as he could, he feathered a light kiss along Draco's upper lip and stroked his hair.
"I'm all right," he whispered. "We're all right."
It was a lie, and it didn't matter. It only had to be true for a little while longer.
"I suppose we are," Draco said, looking away. "But I can think of things I'd rather do than dwell on it, can't you?"
Harry lowered his mouth to Draco's again, then again, and he'd meant to answer but somehow that became answer enough.
The fire was burning down, drawing the light back into itself and leaving the room in shadow. Harry thought about going to build it up and stayed where he was instead, breathing with the light brush of Draco's exhalations across his chest, touching, holding; filling his hands with fine-spun hair and warm skin and the steady beat of Draco's heart.
There was a small ritual that should have played itself out now; Harry knew it like knowing the steps of a dance. Women or men, the ritual was different in some of its particulars but the same in its general outline.
When can I see you again? he'd ask. Draco would give a sleepy, thoughtful hum, consulting some inner calendar as his fingertips traced aimless patterns on Harry's chest, and eventually he'd say something like Friday?
Friday's good, Harry would say, and it wouldn't be, because there would be too many nights in between of cold sheets and empty arms and Harry never wanted to let Draco go, but he'd agree to Friday anyway.
Are you seeing anyone else? he'd ask, and in some other reality, the reality in which this conversation was taking place, Draco would be able to say No. And Harry would say, a bit uncertainly because he hadn't done this part very many times and didn't know the steps very well, Me either. I mean, I don't know if you're in the market for a boyfriend but we could
And Draco would say something flip and half-mocking that would mean Yes, and Harry would hold him closer with a sudden rush of contentment, feeling warm and possessive and rather grateful to the universe. And maybe that would turn into another round of slow, drowsy sex, and it wouldn't matter who topped this time.
Draco was asleep. There was nothing they could say, and Draco was going to slip through his fingers like water.
I can let him go, Harry thought hopelessly, and held him closer, saying goodbye with touches too soft to stir Draco from sleep.
