Fran's Archive - Forty Days of Christmas - Days 23 to 17
This is the fourth archive of stories from the Forty Days of Christmas I've been posting on hogwarts_daily. They are read in reverse order ... 23 ... 22 ... 21 ... 20 ... 19 ... 18 ... 17 ... and, of course, are Harry/Draco *grins*.
The subject of each story was picked by the person named at the beginning, who also picked which character point of view would be used. I hope they will approve of how their suggestion has been used.
I have also had some lovely artwork from red_rahl, so please check out the links to them.
Links to the other archives:
Days 40 to 36
Days 36 to 29
Days 28 to 24
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Day Twenty-three....
For jademondin ... 1063 words ... cinnamon
“And remember to have the cinnamon close at hand. It’s the antidote and--” Professor Snape paused in front of Neville Longbottom’s desk and flicked the boy’s cinnamon stick closer. “You need to infuse it immediately.”
The young wizard blushed nervously and reached out a shaking hand. “Yes, sir,” he whispered almost inaudibly.
“I also do not want to have to haul any of you to the hospital wing, so I expect everyone to be very careful. You may begin.”
Harry watched Snape’s retreating back to his desk as he picked up his own stick of cinnamon and inhaled the spicy fragrance. It reminded him of many things, including a memory long buried in the depths of his mind from when he’d been a toddler. He didn’t think it was a memory from Privet Drive because it was a pleasant recollection, but he couldn’t think of anywhere else it could have come from. The smell also conjured a memory much closer to home. In fact so close, the source was actually standing a dozen paces away from him.
Draco Malfoy, who was already engrossed in his potion preparation. Draco Malfoy, whose snow-soaked hair somehow tasted of cinnamon. Draco Malfoy, whom Harry had kissed the previous day.
He shivered at the memory as it replayed in his mind....
-~-~-
“So what will it be, Harry? Truth or dare?”
Harry was aware of a hand tangling in his hair as Draco licked his lips again and he was sure his arms were going to give way as he finally whispered, “Dare.”
“Then kiss me, Harry.”
He looked down at the face and as Draco’s grey eyes stared back at him, Harry wondered if he could do this. He’d wanted to taste those lips ... that mouth ... for so long, and finally here he was with Draco’s permission to do it. But somehow that made it worse. What if Draco was joking? What if it all went wrong?
What if?
Harry had faced Voldemort more times than he cared to remember, but kissing this other boy seemed like one of the greatest tests of his short life. He was suddenly scared ... as if this was his first ever kiss ... the first one that actually meant something.
He could feel the warmth of Draco’s breath on his face and the way long fingers worked their way into his hair with a sure strength. It was starting to snow again and suddenly he remembered where they were ... beside the lake as dusk turned to night. He became aware of the snow soaking into his gloves and somewhere in a coherent place in Harry’s mind he wondered if Draco’s robes were as wet.
Then there was that hard lump pushing into the hollow of Harry’s hip and he suddenly wanted to know what Draco looked like ... tasted like ... would feel like inside his mouth. What it would feel like to be inside him.
“Are you sure?” Harry finally asked, his voice rough with restraint.
“I dare you,” was the whispered reply.
So Harry dared.
He leaned down and carefully fitted his mouth over the other boy’s. It wasn’t a kiss of great passion, but a soft closed mouth glide over Draco’s lips. Gentle, like the snowflakes he could see drifting onto pale skin, settling onto eyelashes, almost as if he was scared Draco might break or disappear and it all be a dream. Then with equal care, he pulled back to study the other boy’s face.
Draco’s eyes were closed and they remained so as he repeated again. “I dare you,” his lips remaining parted as he finished.
Harry nuzzled into Draco’s hair, wanting to feel it against his own skin. It was damp from the snow as he worked tiny kisses along the hairline, tasting cold and heat ... winter frost and cinnamon as he worked towards Draco’s mouth. He caught the other boy’s bottom lip between his own and almost without thinking he let his tongue drift across it. Someone groaned and Harry thought for a moment it was Draco, but realised it had come from himself. Then the hand in his hair tightened, pulling him down and Draco’s mouth opened under his own.
He came in a rush, gasping as Draco’s tongue touched his own and even as he realised what had happened, Harry jerked away in embarrassment. He flopped back to sit on the grass, tugging at his coat to try and cover what had happened. Breath coming in deep gulps, he knew his face was colouring and he preyed to whatever gods were looking over him that it was too dark for Draco to see his mortification....
-~-~-
“Something wrong, Mr Potter? You are staring.”
Harry’s mind came rushing back to the present as the sound of Snape’s voice cut through his thoughts. He looked up at the professor and then quickly down at the desktop. “No, sir.”
“Then are you incapable of making this potion? Do I need to have someone hold your hand while you attempt it?”
Colour bloomed on Harry’s cheeks as the room became silent and everyone seemed to be looking at him. He realised the cinnamon stick in his hand had begun to crumble under the pressure of his grasp and he quickly dropped the remains to the desk. “No, sir.”
“Then get on with it!”
Harry took a calming breath as he wiped his palm on his robes. The smell of cinnamon was wafting up from the broken stick and it seemed to surround him in the memory of the previous day. He had fled the scene as quickly as possible, thankful for the fact the snow had started falling again in earnest. The kiss had been great, and the feel of Draco’s hands on him even better, but he wondered if the other boy had realised what had happened to Harry and whether Draco had actually come as well. Even if he had, would he still sneer at Harry’s lack of control?
With a sigh of resignation, he returned to his potion preparation. As he reached for his knife, he was suddenly aware of a warmth behind him. He looked up as an arm reached past him and long fingers placed a fresh stick of cinnamon on the desk in front of him.
“Truth or dare,” Draco whispered in his ear.
---
Day Twenty-two....
For awallens ... 1524 words ... a pair of Dobby's socks
“Draco, darling, I hope you don’t intend wearing these things.” Pansy Parkinson plucked the pair of garish socks from the small box on the table. They looked decidedly Muggle, with their pattern of snowmen and Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer all over them. She dropped down next to Draco on the Chesterfield, wiggling the socks at him. “One of your most endearing features has always been your good taste, but now you have me worried.”
With a smile, Draco tugged at them. “I wouldn’t be seen dead in something as tasteless as these.”
“Then who are they for? Don’t tell me, they’re a present for Vince, except I think you’ll find they’re a tad too small.” She settled down next to Draco, her shoulder against his as she mirrored his posture.
“Vince gets enough socks from his grandmother. If I sent him more, he’d probably hex me.” Draco sighed a little as his head dropped onto Pansy shoulder. “Maybe they’re for you.” He caught the look of horror on the girl’s face as she elbowed him gently. “Or maybe not.”
The two settled into a moment of quiet contemplation in the otherwise noisy Slytherin common room. Draco had known Pansy for most of his life and she had remained one of his closest friends over the years. There had even been a moment a few years ago when his mother had suggested Pansy might be first-class matrimonial material ... after all, the Parkinsons were a good pure-blood family and the girl would be a good catch for Draco. He’d actually laughed at his mother ... Pansy was a friend, he told her, a very good friend, but he didn’t want to marry her. What he didn’t tell his mother was the fact that Pansy wasn’t interested in boys in general and him in particular.
The girl sighed. “What are you going to do?”
Draco glanced at her, a questioning frown on his face. “About what?”
“About ... everything.” The word was laced with deep meaning and Draco knew it encompassed everything from his school problems to what his father had done and what Draco planned to do with his life.
“I don’t know. They’re making me stay at school over Christmas.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Don’t tell anyone, not yet anyway. It’s bad enough being stuck here without people wanting to know why.”
“At least if you’re here then you can’t ... well, You-Know-Who can’t....” The words died as she began to fiddle with the socks. “Draco, you don’t have to, you know.”
Draco straightened a little. “You, Pansy dear, are starting to sound like a very irritating Gryffindor we both know and love.” His tone was suitably sarcastic.
“Well you don’t.” Pansy’s tone was very serious. “Being pure-blood isn’t about following him.”
He gave a little snort of annoyance. “No, it’s about family and tradition and being different from the masses.” He’d had this conversation so many times, including several times with his father. On one of these he’d asked Lucius the same question ... is being pure-blood really about following him? His father had gone into one of his speeches and hadn’t really answered the question, but it had seemed to make sense at the time. But now even Lucius appeared to have forgotten his own words and betrayed his master.
“Well yes, family is important and tradition,” Pansy agreed.
“And being different?”
“Someone once told me that the Dark Lord was once an ordinary wizard....”
“Of course he was.”
“...and that his father was a Muggle.”
“It’s not true.” Draco stiffened with outward self-righteousness. “My father said that’s a lie they’re using to stop people following him. They can’t beat him so now they’re trying to discredit him.” He remembered the look on his father’s face when he’d questioned the Dark Lord’s lineage ... anger and disbelief that a Malfoy should ever think such a thing. Draco had been punished that day and he still shuddered at the memory.
Pansy continued fiddling with the socks. “Draco, I have to tell you something and I hope it won’t make you think any less of me.” She handed the socks back. “I’ve been talking to my parents ... my dad doesn’t want me to go to the Dark Lord.”
“Your father’s never really allied himself, Pansy.”
“Well, I know that, but people still expect certain things. People have been pressurising him ... they’ve been doing it to all the pure-blood families. You know my dad sits on the council, Draco, but did you know there’s a law going through that will prevent certain people from taking up official jobs, like being Aurors?” She took a deep breath. “Dad visited your father and Lucius told him that if he didn’t vote in favour, then certain facts about my mother would find their way into the press.”
“He spoke to my father?”
-~-~-
Draco strode purposefully down the corridor. He was angry, but he didn’t quite know what was making him more livid; the fact his father still seemed to be threatening people or that his best friend’s mother was a Mudblood. He’s stayed with the woman for fuck’s sake and had never realised. Just how long had his father known about it and how had the Parkinsons covered it up all these years?
He stopped abruptly at the end of a corridor that seemed to lead to a dead end, and fell back against the wall, kicking the stone with his foot. Damn Pansy! Damn his father! And damn everyone. Just when he thought he was beginning to understand things, his life took another twist into the growing black abyss that he’d been falling into ever since his father had first been sent to Azkaban.
Pansy ... his best friend Pansy ... wasn’t a pure-blood.
If he’d known this from the beginning, would it have all been different? Would he have treated her with the same distain he’d treated anyone who couldn’t trace their families back at least several generations? Pansy was like Harry ... wizard father and Mudblood mother. How many times had he taunted Harry with that fact? Sneered at him for not being a true wizard because he wasn’t pure.
Fingers clutching at the stone, Draco banged his head against the wall. His mother would probably refuse to have the Parkinsons to dinner now, she wouldn’t want her home contaminated by a Mudblood. But how could Draco stop thinking of Pansy as his friend? How could he never again consider her his equal? If he joined Voldemort that would be what he was expected to believe.
Suddenly it all seemed pointless. He couldn’t ... wouldn’t ... change how he felt about Pansy and if he was willing to accept her as a friend even knowing her true background, then did that mean he had to change his world view of all non-pure-bloods?
Hadn’t he already started falling for one of the most famous half-bloods in the Wizarding world?
He remembered how it had felt to touch Harry the previous day ... to run his fingers through thick untidy hair. How it felt to have the boy’s weight against him ... pressing down ... and knowing that it had been his touch which had brought Harry to orgasm. The look on Harry’s face ... rapture turning quickly to embarrassment as he’d realised what had happened. It had almost been too much for Draco, but fortunately he’d managed to find a quiet place to bring himself off while replaying in his mind what had happened earlier in the snow.
With an annoyed sigh, he started back down the corridor. He needed to think, but first he had to deliver the socks and hope they would be prize enough to get the information he wanted.
-~-~-
“Dobby!” Draco finally found the house-elf near the kitchens, somewhere he normally steered clear of. Why bother to go there when he could just request food be delivered. The house-elf stopped, turning to look at him and Draco could see the moment the creature realised who had called him.
“Draco Malfoy wants Dobby?”
The house-elf had used to refer to Draco as ‘master’ once, but that was before Harry had released him. Yet another thing to ‘thank’ Harry for. When Dobby had been a Malfoy house-elf, he’d been at Draco’s beck and call, but now Draco knew he’d have to talk nicely if he was going to get what he wanted.
“I want you to do something for me, Dobby, but first I have a gift for you.” Fortunately Draco knew from past experience just how much the house-elf liked socks and he held out the pair that Pansy had seen earlier.
Dobby’s eyes opened wider as he saw the socks and he took them reverently from Draco’s outstretched hands. “Ohhh, thank you, sir.”
“I need you to look for something for me, Dobby. There was a black kitten near the Slytherin common room a few days ago and I want you to find out who it belongs to for me. It was black with white feet and a white blaze on its head. Oh, and it had green eyes.”
---
Day Twenty-one....
For red_rahl ... 935 words ... scarves
“Harry! What on earth are you wearing?” Hermione grabbed at her friend’s arm and hauled him to one side as Ron to join in as well.
“For fuck’s sake, Harry! You’re wearing a Slytherin scarf!”
Harry tugged a little nervously at the scarf hanging around his neck. “I know.”
“And might I be so bold as to ask why?” Ron stood in front of him, hands balled on his hips as he leaned in.
“It’s ... um ... sort of simple really.”
“It is?” Hermione had stepped to Ron’s side and the pair now blocked Harry against the wall. She folded her arms defiantly. “Then perhaps you would care to explain.”
Harry shuffled his feet a little. “Remember the Truth or Dare we played at the Ravenclaw party?” Hermione nodded and Ron shrugged, his face pinking just a little and Harry couldn’t help wondering if Draco had been right about just how embarrassed Ron had found Harry’s confession. “I dared Malfoy to have his nails painted.”
Ron made gagging noises. “Yeah, what an idiot ... letting someone do that to him, and he’s still wearing it. What a prat.”
“Anyway, he dared me to wear a Slytherin scarf, so here I am.” Harry gave a shrug as he stretched out his arms, hands still holding the ends of the scarf. “I’m not going to let him win, am I?”
“Oh, honestly, Harry. You shouldn’t play his little games. He’s clearly just out to humiliate you.”
“And there’s no way I’m letting you walk around wearing that!” Ron suddenly pulled at the scarf, trying to take it from around Harry’s neck. “I refuse to walk around Hogsmeade with everyone looking at you.”
“Don’t!” Harry pulled back. “I’ve told him I’d do it and I’m not going to let him think I’m a coward.”
-~-~-
Ron had been right, Harry decided, people were looking at him, but he put on a brave face as he strolled around the village with his very unhappy friends. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d said, “It’s just a scarf”, to which Hermione had hissed, “You know it isn’t just a scarf ... it’s a symbol of that house!”
She was probably right too, Harry admitted as he waited outside the little bookshop Hermione had dragged Ron into. In the window he could see his reflection ... a messy-haired, bespectacled boy famous because of his scar, wearing a green and silver scarf in place of the normal red and yellow one. He fiddled with the scarf for a moment, trying to hide the Slytherin emblem, and wondered if it belonged to Draco or to someone else. The idea it might be Draco’s made his lips twitch in a smile; he liked the idea of wearing something that belonged to the other boy. It felt ... sexy, and his mind drifted to other items of clothing. Would he fit into one of Draco’s shirts? What about underwear? He gave a silent groan as he wondered if Draco wore boxers or tight briefs.
“Don’t go there, Harry,” he whispered to himself. “Think of something else.”
“Talking to yourself, Potter.”
Harry looked up, seeing Draco’s reflection in the window. The Slytherin was stood behind him, leaning in to talk in his ear. “Malfoy.”
“Talk to me instead, Harry. It will be a much more interesting conversation.” With that, Draco walked off, disappearing up the alleyway beside the shop.
For a moment Harry stared furtively around him wondering if anyone had seen the other boy talking to him. Then quickly he followed.
-~-~-
“You wore it then?”
Harry nodded. “You’ve still got the nail varnish on.”
Draco studied his fingers for a moment. “Mainly because I haven’t been able to get it off.”
Trying not to smile, Harry reached out for one of Draco’s hands. “You might try scratching it off or I could steal some remover from Lavender.”
“No, I think I’ll keep it for a bit longer.” Draco didn’t pull away, seeming content to let Harry hold his fingers.
“Do you want the scarf back?”
“Not yet, you can return it later. Plus, I’m looking forward to watching you wear it back to school. Weasley’s face is a picture.”
“Mmm.” Harry didn’t want to smile, but Draco was right. Ron probably couldn’t have looked any more upset if Harry had allowed Voldemort to Mark him. “Okay, but I think I’ve completed your dare, don’t you?” He finally released the fingers, shoving his own hands into his pockets.
“Yes. Does that make us even now?”
“I suppose so.” Harry shrugged. A question had been burning in his mind since that afternoon out in the snow. He didn’t really want to ask but there was a part of him that needed to know. “Draco ... about the other day ... out by the lake....”
“Yes.”
The response didn’t seem to be a question but a statement and that made Harry feel just a little more nervous. “I wondered if ... well ... if....”
Draco grabbed for the scarf and used it to pull Harry towards him. “Yes.” He repeated the single word before effectively silencing Harry with a kiss.
Harry felt himself melt against the other boy, his own hands reaching for Draco’s shoulders as the kiss deepened until Harry thought he would drown in it. Finally he understood that Draco wanted this as much as he did. This was the permission he’d been seeking and with that thought in mind, Harry’s hands moved to cup Draco’s face as he let himself get lost in the taste and beauty of their shared need.
---
Day Twenty....
For Jadedwallflower ... 1617 words ... a piercing
Draco was sitting on a bed in the hospital wing yet again. He’d been there so many times in his years at Hogwarts he was beginning to wonder about having a permanent one here. Probably the only other person to spend more time then Draco here was Harry Potter, who was currently a few beds down. Screens surrounded the bed and although he could hear the hushed voices, he couldn’t see what was going on.
Lying back against the pillows, Draco prodded gently at the cut on his cheek. There were other cuts and bruises but this was the only one that really worried him; if Pomfrey hadn’t done her work properly he’d be left with a scar.
Letting his hand drop to the bed, Draco plucked reflexively at the blanket. If someone didn’t come and speak to him soon, he might just have to disobey the nurse and find out how Harry was for himself. As he tried to make out what the voices were saying, he let the days events play back through his mind.
-~-~-
It should have been a quiet boring Sunday with no excitement. Most of his friends were spending the day in Hogsmeade, but Draco had decided there was no reason for making the trip. Besides, the idea of a peaceful day appealed to him after everything that had happened in the last few weeks. The day got even better when he found out that Harry wasn’t going with his friends either. Not, of course, that he expected the Gryffindor would want to spend time with him. They’d kissed and held each other, but Draco liked an emotional content to his relationships ... sex was good, but it wasn’t everything ... and at the moment he wasn’t sure just what Harry wanted from him.
So it had been a surprise when Harry had agreed to a meeting in the rose garden that afternoon. A simple enough thing, except that idiot Beesley had waylaid him on his way to the meeting. This time the Ravenclaw didn’t threaten or torment, but instead talked about, of all things, a Herbology project.
By the time Draco had managed to get away, he knew he was about ten minutes late and his only concern was whether Harry would wait for him. As he’d opened the little used side-door that lead to the secluded terrace, Draco had heard voices -- Harry was talking to someone -- and for a moment he considered walking away, but then he noticed the tone. Raised and angry.
Slipping into the garden, he searched quickly for Harry. The other boy was near the benches they had shared two weeks ago and there were two other people with him. But they were no students; they towered over Harry and were dressed in robes and masks which Draco recognised instantly.
Death Eater -- here at Hogwarts.
He was momentarily torn between getting as far away from the scene as quickly as possible and stupidly getting involved. What could he do against Voldemort’s Death Eaters? And how the hell had they managed to get into the school grounds?
Things went rapidly downhill from that point. One of the Death Eater’s had drawn a wand, pointing it directly at Harry’s heart. Draco heard the start of a curse and he recognised the words. He knew that the curse had turned the wand into a blade and that if it were driven into Harry’s chest and into his heart, it would destroy Harry’s magic and leave a wound that nothing could ever heal. He saw Harry step back, but the bench stopped any escape.
When asked later why he’d risked his own life, Draco didn’t have an answer. If he’d been worried about his future after Harry had saved him from Beesley, then he knew that was nothing compared to what he’d done now. In rescuing Harry from these two Death Eaters, he’d effectively placed himself on Voldemort’s blacklist and he no longer had his father to protect him.
He had drawn his own wand and let fly a curse that he hoped would counter what was happening. It knocked the other wand off-target and instead of piercing Harry’s chest, it drove into his shoulder just below his collarbone, passing straight through.
Harry’s cry of pain pierced the afternoon air and he dropped to the ground like a stone. Even as the curses rang round the garden, the Hogwarts wards sounded alarms and Draco knew that help would be there soon. He managed to get off another curse before one caught him in the side and he fell forward in the snow. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought he heard a familiar voice scowl “stupid boy” before the two Death Eaters took flight.
He didn’t remember getting to Harry’s side or how he pulled the wand out, but that was how they had found them ... Harry unconscious and Draco holding him, the bloodied wand still in his hand.
-~-~-
“Mr Malfoy.”
Draco drew himself back from his thoughts and focused on the newcomer. “Professor Snape.”
“I’m pleased to see your faculties haven’t been impaired despite your foolish actions earlier.” Snape folded his arms as he looked down at his student. “It was stupid to take on trained wizards. You should have gone for help.”
“Is Harry ... um ... Potter ... is he okay?”
“The world’s favourite Gryffindor has survived yet again. He is fortunate the wand didn’t hit its target, if it had he would be dead now. Because it missed his heart, Madam Pomfrey has managed to counter the spell. However, Mr Potter will carry another scar to add to the one on his forehead.” Snape glared at Draco for a moment. “What surprises me, Mr Malfoy, is how you just happened on the scene.”
Draco shrugged. “A fortunate coincidence?”
Snape’s eyebrow rose. “Mr Potter believes his attackers were Death Eaters. Can you confirm this?”
Managing to keep his expression completely neutral, Draco shook his head. “No, sir. They were in black robes, but I didn’t see anything else.” He gave his father silent thanks for the hours they’d spent on controlling expressions. He was sure Snape didn’t believe him, but at least his face didn’t giving him away.
“Mr Potter also confirms that if it wasn’t for you, the attack might have succeeded. The Headmaster has mention his concern for you if the attackers were Death Eaters.”
“Oh?” Draco’s face cracked a little. He knew he’d probably made a calculated error in helping Harry, but he couldn’t just walk away.
“Yes. The Dark Lord doesn’t take kindly to failure. If he believes you are responsible for this failure he will look for revenge.”
“Oh.”
“Yes ... oh. I believe we should talk in the morning. Come and see me before breakfast.”
“Yes sir.”
“And Madam Pomfrey says you may spend the night here if you wish.”
Draco nodded even though he had no intention of remaining. If he spent the night in hospital everyone would know of his involvement in Harry’s attack. “Thank you, Professor.”
-~-~-
He remained in bed until the ward was quiet and then carefully made his way over to Harry’s bed. The Gryffindor was propped up half-sitting in his bed. He was bare-chested, his left arm in a sling to support his injured shoulder. As Draco got closer, he could see the wound where the wand had pierced Harry’s flesh. It looked like a diamond ... Snape had been right, it was going to scar.
“Harry,” Draco whispered as he pushed dark hair from the other boy’s face. “Are you awake?”
“Um.” Eyelids flickered open and Harry turned tired eyes towards Draco. “Just about. Are you okay?”
“Just about.” Draco’s lip twitched as he repeated Harry’s words.
“Come here.” Harry patted the mattress and shifted slightly, but the movement made him grimace.
“Watch it, there’s loads of room.” Draco hitched himself onto the edge of the bed next to Harry and let the other boy rest back against him. “Does it hurt?”
“Not much, but then Pomfrey’s drugged me to the eyeballs. Ask me again tomorrow.”
“If Pomfrey catches me sitting on your bed I’d probably get a detention.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll Obliviate her.” Harry gave a Mmmm of content as Draco began stroking his hair. “Thanks for earlier. If you hadn’t turned up I might be dead.”
“If I’d been on time it might not have happened.”
Beesley!
Draco’s face hardened as he realised the Ravenclaw’s arrival might not have been a coincidence. If Beesley had known about the meeting, he could have informed on Harry. But that would mean he’d intercepted Harry and Draco’s owls.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Draco shrugged. “You’ve just reminded me I need to talk to someone.”
“Draco ... did you recognise either of them?”
Settling more comfortably on the bed, Draco rested his head against Harry’s. He became aware of Harry’s fingers fiddling with the edge of his pyjama jacket as he tried to work out how to answer that question. The truth was he didn’t know, but the voice had been very familiar. If it hadn’t been for the fact his father had supposedly denied Voldemort, he would have sworn it was Lucius.
“No,” he finally managed to say. “I better go.”
But the hand stilled him. “Please stay ... for just a while.”
“Okay.” His arm threaded behind Harry’s shoulders and Harry shifted slightly, relaxing back against. It was only after he’d been there for a while that something he’d seen when he’d first looked at Harry’s bare chest finally filtered back into his consciousness. “Harry.”
“Mmm?” Harry’s response was sleepy.
“When did you have your nipple pierced?”
---
Day Nineteen....
For 10th ... 1695 words ... gingerbread house
The Gryffindors arrived en masse at the hospital wing after dinner. They piled in, much to the horror of Madam Pomfrey who finally relented to their pleas to be allowed to deliver the large gingerbread house they had brought to their friend. Her final words as she left the room were, “Thirty minutes ... no longer.”
Seamus scoffed after her. “We’ll stay as long as we like.” He grinned at Harry. “Well, as long as Harry wants.”
Harry gave a little smile as the cake was placed on the table and Colin started cutting into it. He was in pain and felt exhausted, but he was still pleased to see his friends. It was just the fact that there were so many of them all at once. “Where did you steal that from?” He waved a hand at the cake. The gingerbread house had been decorated with icing and sweets, which were slowly being picked off by Ginny.
“Dobby and the house-elves made it.” Colin handed a slab of gingerbread to Harry, who struggled one-handed with the plate. “Apparently it’s supposed to make Harry Potter feel better again.” The boy gave a passable rendition of the house-elf’s accent. “So, you better eat some of it.”
“I will.” Harry put the plate down on the little cabinet at the side of his bed. He wasn’t really hungry, certainly not for cake.
As the group began their impromptu party, Hermione sat down next to Harry’s bed and quietly took his hand. “How are you feeling.”
He gave a weak shrug. “Pretty awful at the moment.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they don’t stay too long. Everyone just wanted to check that you were okay.”
“Where’s Ron?”
“Oh, out doing his perfectly duties. He said he’d try to pop by later if you want.”
“If Pomfrey lets him past the door.”
“Harry, what happened?” She rubbed at his hand.
“Can we talk about it when we’re on our own?” He shifted slightly as the pain in his shoulder flared yet again.
Hermione frowned with worry. “I think we should all go and let you rest.” Harry started to protest but the girl quickly silenced him with a look before rounding up the Gryffindors to shoo them from the room. Reluctantly they obeyed, waving their goodbyes noisily.
As the room emptied, Hermione moved back to her friend. “Okay?”
Harry gave a lop-sided grin. “Thanks ... sorry. Madam Pomfrey said it’s to do with losing some of my magic. It’ll come back ... hopefully.”
She sat down again. “Is it true about your attackers being Death Eaters?”
“They were dressed like the people I saw at Little Hangleton ... plain black hooded cloaks and white masks ... so I guess they could be.” He pursed his lips. “Hermione, I need you to do me a favour.”
“Okay. If I can.”
“It’s Draco Malfoy.”
“I just knew it ... I knew he had to be involved in this!” There was a look of triumph on her face and Harry wondered at the conversations she’d probably had with Ron, all of which, no doubt, laid the blame for the attack squarely at Draco’s feet.
“No ... no. It’s not like that.” Harry interjected. “He saved my life, Hermione. If it hadn’t been for him I’d be dead now.” Quickly he told her what had happened and found himself give a wry smile at her reaction. “Please don’t tell Ron or anyone else about this ... at least not for the moment.”
“Why? Is he ashamed of helping you?”
“No, it’s not like that. Hermione, something’s going on here ... first Murthwaite tries to lure me away from the school grounds, then this business with Lucius Malfoy supposedly confessing all, and then....” Harry paused, wondering whether to mention Patrick Beesley, but in the end decided not to. He still didn’t know why there’d been an argument between Draco and the Ravenclaw boy. “Then what happened yesterday.”
“You should be more concerned about yourself, Harry.”
“Well, yes. Professor Dumbledore says he’s making some changes to the Hogwarts wards ... someone gave them access into the school.”
“And you don’t think it was Malfoy?”
“No, Hermione, not this time.”
“It could be a ruse ... him helping you.”
“Not this time,” Harry repeated, more firmly. “That’s why I need your help. I need you to watch out for him until I get out of here. If Voldemort knows he saved my life, god only knows what could happen to him.”
-~-~-
Draco paused outside of the hospital ward, face hardening in annoyance. He’d hoped to find Harry alone, but the boy was surrounded by what looked to be the entire Gryffindor house. It would not, he decided, be a good time to march in and demand an audience with their Golden Boy.
He stepped quickly back into the shadows as he thought Harry spied him. The other boy looked exhausted, which was not surprising considering what had happened. Pomfrey might have sealed the wound that the wand had made in Harry’s shoulder, but not before it had already allowed Harry’s magic to begin seeping out. The curse used had been a devious and nasty one -- it didn’t kill immediately, but let the magic drain from the victim. Eventually they would go into shock at the loss and that was what killed them. If the curse had been on target ... into Harry’s heart ... nothing would have saved him.
There was part of him that was desperate to join in the gathering, to stake his claim as someone who cared for Harry and for whom Harry cared for in return, but he wasn’t going to spoil the Gryffindor fun, at least not at the moment. But what he did want to do was march into the room and demand everyone leave so Harry could rest.
“Idiot,” he whispered to himself. “Since when were you worried about Harry’s wellbeing?”
He sighed. Since ... since forever.
-~-~-
Harry let the nurse fuss around him for a little bit longer. Ron had visited and now she was busily checking him and plying him with potions. He just wished she would leave him to sleep.
“Shall I take what’s left of your cake away?”
“No, thanks. Leave it just in case....” In case of what? In case Draco turned up? Harry thought he’d seen the Slytherin loitering around earlier, but decided he must have been mistaken. “In case I get hungry during the night.”
“Well, I can think of much better things for midnight snacks than sticky gingerbread.”
He let out a painful sob and turned pleading eyes towards the nurse. “When will it stop hurting?
She pushed a hand into Harry’s hair, smoothing it away from his hot forehead. “Soon, Harry. Very soon.”
-~-~-
For the third time in as many weeks, Draco stood beside Harry’s bed in the hospital wing. He had returned to allow the nurse to check his own injuries and when she had finished he’d asked if he could visit Harry. Pomfrey had looked at him quizzically, but eventually told him that he could see Harry if he didn’t get the other boy too excited.
Draco had tried not to smile at the comment ... he could think of nothing more delightful than trying to get Harry excited.
Harry was already asleep and Draco did consider rousing him, but the Gryffindor had looked so tired earlier. Instead he quietly pulled up a chair and sat down. Even in sleep, Harry looked in pain; his features weren’t relaxed or serene and occasionally he would whimper as he moved. Eventually Draco reached out and rested his hand on top of Harry’s. The hand flexed a little and then relaxed.
He continued watching Harry for a moment, intrigued by the rise and fall of the other boy’s chest as he breathed. It was almost meditative and as he watched he reviewed the conversation he’d had earlier with Professor Snape. The professor had explained more about the curse used on Harry, that it would cause pain initially, but as Harry’s magic returned to its normal level he would start to feel better.
Then Snape had turned his attention to Draco. In a no-holds-barred discussion, the professor had told him just what was expected of a Death Eater. Draco had thought he understood what it meant to ally himself with the Dark Lord, but the difference between his expectations and Snape’s truth had been extreme. Draco had never believed that things were black and white ... that was for Gryffindors ... but it did seem that Voldemort’s ideals were actually as polarised as his enemies.
There was going to be a war, Draco had always understood that, but somehow it had always seemed like it would be a clean, pain-free experience. But now he saw darkness and pain as he realised that ‘killing someone’ was actually a very horrific, bloody and messy experience. That it would affect him mentally, physically and emotionally to the depths of his soul.
“What’s the difference,” he had asked the professor, “between killing for the Dark Lord and killing for Dumbledore?” Draco knew he would be forced at some point to either pick a side or run far, far away. Snape had looked at him for a very long time and finally said simply. “Nothing. It will still scar your soul. But....” The professor paused again and there was a hint of emotion in his black eyes as he finally continued. “The man is evil. He will destroy everything you hold dear in his crusade to gain immortality. If you stand in his way he will destroy you and anyone who means something to you. If you stand in Dumbledore’s way he will ask you to step to one side.”
Harry shifted again, his hand tightening around Draco’s.
Who would have thought, Draco considered, that he would ever find himself watching over Harry Potter. A month ago such a thing would have been impossible, yet here he was.
And here was where he wanted to be.
Shifting closer to the bed, Draco rested his head on the mattress and continued with his vigil.
---
Day Eighteen....
For nmalfoy ... 1168 words ... Scrooge!Draco
The message Draco received that morning over breakfast was simple and to the point. It was also the first contact he’d had with his father in a very long time. He had recognised the writing immediately and had felt a surge of excitement, but this had fallen completely flat as he read and reread it.
Stupid boy. Your mother warned you to keep out of trouble. Your Gringotts’ account has been suspended.
He’d spent the rest of the day wondering if his father had been serious. When his request for a bank withdrawal had been turned down, Draco realised Lucius was deadly serious. Without access to his account at Gringotts, Draco had no money, which left him virtually penniless.
So much for having a merry Christmas.
Around him the Slytherin common room was unusually buoyant. With only two weeks until the end of term, everyone was busy with their Christmas preparations and that was making Draco glower. He was going to be stuck at Hogwarts with no money while they were enjoying the festivities with their families.
“Bah Humbug.”
Draco looked up as Millicent dropped down beside him. “I’m not a happy person,” he scowled.
“I can see that ... you look like you hate everything going on here. “ She waved a bit of tinsel at him. “You could help with the decorations.”
“No. I think everyone else is doing a remarkably awful job without my help.”
The girl laughed. “It is a bit of a mess. Hopefully we can sort it out when the youngsters go off to bed.” She reached into her pocket and took out a small piece of card, handing it to Draco “I’m arranging a party for during the holiday. It’s going to be great ... everyone who’s anyone is coming.”
Except for me. Draco glanced over the invitation. The Bulstrode parties were famous and he’d lost count of the number he had attended, but this wouldn’t be going to be one of them. He handed the card back. “Thanks, but not this time.”
“What?”
He shrugged. “I’m staying at school this year.”
“Really?”
Draco nodded quickly and got to his feet. There, he’d finally told someone other than Pansy, and knowing Millicent it would be all round Slytherin by the end of the day. Draco Malfoy was staying at school ... he would not be going home for his eighteenth birthday. Instead of spending Twelfth Night celebrating that happy occasion with his family he would be spending it with the few members of stuff and students who had nowhere else to go except remain at Hogwarts.
Bah Humbug indeed.
-~-~-
Returning to his room, Draco slumped down in the chair in front of the fire and begun to brood.
On the table was the sum total of his wealth. He’d even checked through the drawers of his desk to see if there were any spare Knuts hiding in the corners. Seven Galleons, twelve Sickles and a handful of Knuts. Hardly anything considering he hadn’t even started buying Christmas presents yet.
Maybe his father was just trying to shock him and make him understand how tied to the family Draco was. Maybe he would get another owl tomorrow saying that everything had returned to normal. Unfortunately somehow Draco doubted that would be the case. Lucius Malfoy was nothing if not firm in his punishments and this one made Draco realise just how much he relied on his parents and their money.
What must it be like for Harry who allegedly had his own personal fortune to do what he wanted without having to ask anyone else.
Harry.
Draco shifted a little in his chair. He’d made a clandestine visit back to the hospital wing early under the pretence of getting his injuries checked again. The real reason had been to see if Harry was still there and he couldn’t decide whether he had been happy or sad to find that the Gryffindor was gone. He’d been pleased because it meant Harry must be getting better, but saddened because he couldn’t spend time with the other boy now he’d returned to Gryffindor Tower.
It was strange, he considered how his view of Harry past, present and future had changed.
Harry Past had been nothing but a nuisance always getting in Draco’s way. That Harry had been the typical Boy Who Lived ... loved and adored by all ... Harry Potter who had turned Draco down as a friend in favour of Weasley. Perfect Potter who got to play Quidditch in his first year and even had his own broom. The Golden boy with his famous scar.
Harry Present was, well, different. Draco couldn’t quite remember when things had changed. He’d returned to Hogwarts in his sixth year with Lucius in Azkaban and at that moment he had hated Harry enough to want to kill him. But Harry had been different ... quieter, more alone as if some great weight had been placed on his shoulders. Draco had often wondered what Great Secret Harry might be carrying around to make him look like that. Even Quidditch seemed to have lost its sparkle for the other boy; Harry still played well, but there wasn’t the commitment and Slytherin had won back the Cup. And now here Draco was letting Harry kiss and hold him. He wanted to spend time with Harry, wanted to talk to him. To be with him.
Harry Yet To Come.
For the first time since getting the letter from his father, Draco found himself smiling. The memory of Harry’s face after he’d come that night out in the snow was enough to bring a warm glow to his body. To make him come again and to know Harry wanted it would be worth being stuck at school.
Draco’s hand drifted down to lightly cup himself at the thought. He wondered what Harry felt like ... what he might taste like ... what colour would the green in those eyes change to as Draco slipped his mouth over the straining head of Harry’s erection. He knew he wouldn’t want Harry to close his eyes while sucking at him ... he’d want those eyes to watch every single movement.
Would Harry mewl with pleasure as Draco tugged on that golden nipple ring? What would it feel like to slip his tongue through the little loop and feel both the hardness of metal and the puckered skin?
Unzipping his trousers, Draco slipped his hand inside, moaning a little as he imagined it was Harry’s hand touching him. Harry laid out on Draco’s bed arching up in pleasure.
Harry coming against his skin.
Stupid boy.
All movement stilled as the two words echoed through Draco’s mind and realisation struck.
Stupid boy.
It had been those two words that the Death Eater had hissed at him and now they were repeated in the letter. Draco knew that the man who had tried to kill Harry had been his father.
Lucius Malfoy had fooled everyone yet again.
---
Day Seventeen....
For olivia_lupin ... 1389 words ... music -- Carol of the Bells
Harry didn’t use the Marauder’s Map very much anymore; he found it too painful now everyone involved in its creation had died. But occasionally he would take it out and run his fingers lovingly over the old parchment before whispering, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”
On most of those occasions he would just bask in the magic created by his father and friends that allowed him to see what was going on inside Hogwarts. The magic was beautiful and he would spend ages tracing the lines with his fingertips, wondering which of the Marauders had penned them and who had created the spell.
Tonight Harry was looking at the Map with a purpose. Madam Pomfrey had finally allowed him to leave the hospital wing in time to join his friends for dinner and he’d arrived in the Great Hall to much back slapping and cheers. He was still sore ... still tired ... but Professor McGonagall had spent what seemed like hours testing his magic before Harry had been allowed to go. Once in his normal place at the Gryffindor table, he’d glanced across the Hall looking for that familiar blond head at the Slytherin table.
But the space had been empty.
He’d considered for a moment whether to actually ask someone where Draco was, but who would he ask? And even if he did, would any of the Slytherins actually answer?
So now he was back in his dormitory studying the Map to try and find where Draco might be. It took him a while to finally locate the little dot labelled with the Slytherin’s name; Draco was in a room on the fourth floor not far from the Library. Harry watched the dot for a long time, waiting for Draco to leave or do something, but it stayed in the same place as if the boy was asleep ... or dead.
A flare of panic flashed through Harry. Did dead people appear on the Map? He’d been worried about Draco since the other boy had saved him from the Death Eater attack. What if someone had broken into the school and done something to him?
Teeth clenched as fear turned the knot in his stomach to stone, Harry quickly grabbed for his Invisibility Cloak and sprinted from the room.
-~-~-
The little plaque on the door read simply ‘Music Room’. Harry stared at it for a moment and wondered why he hadn’t come across the room in all of his time at Hogwarts. Of course people played instruments and there was a school choir, but it had never occurred to Harry to wonder where they might practice.
Carefully Harry reached for the door handle. The door opened silently and as it did, the sound of piano music floated out into the corridor. He blinked in surprise and carefully pushed the door open just enough to poke his head into the room.
It was lit by the soft glow of candles, which reflected off the selection of brass instruments along one wall. A warming fire crackled in the grate and off to one side was a grand piano. Draco was sitting on a piano stool, playing something Harry recognised from his childhood. It was called Carol of the Bells and he’d first heard it on a Christmas television programme when he’d been five or six and had loved it. Unfortunately as the song finished he had made the mistake of telling his aunt and uncle that he’d enjoyed listening. After that, every time the tune came on the radio or television they had automatically turned it off.
Quietly Harry stepped into the room and, closing the door behind him, he just watched and listened, the relief at finding Draco actually alive and well was almost overwhelming. For a moment he felt shocked at his own reaction to finding Draco. On top of what had happened in the last few days, the thought of losing Draco as well was just too much.
He couldn’t see the other boy’s face from where he stood, but watching Draco’s back and the way he moved as he played was ... was magic he decided. This was the Slytherin that no one ever saw; the boy when he was on his own and didn’t need to act up or play to the crowd and Harry was torn between feeling guilty for intruding and desperate to see the boy’s face as he concentrated on playing.
Ginny had once told him that he could have anyone he wanted, so why, Harry wondered, out of all the people at Hogwarts, did he have to find himself falling for Draco Malfoy? If ever there was a relationship doomed to failure it had to be this one. If Draco did go to Voldemort, that would be an end right there. Harry’s lip twitched in a smile as he imagined the scene....
I see you have brought me the Boy Who Lived, Young Malfoy. I am proud of you.
Draco looks smug. Well, it was easy actually. I just shagged him senseless.
The smile faded a little. The trouble was Harry knew he wanted Draco, but at what cost?
There was a sudden moment of discord as Draco hit a series of wrong notes and the boy slammed down on the other keys in a noisy cacophony of sound as he swore lightly. Then, as if he’d suddenly realised he wasn’t alone any longer, Draco turned towards Harry.
-~-~-
Draco had started playing the piano when he was three or four. He could still remember sitting on his grandmother’s lap as she played, watching the way her fingers moved over the keys. She would let him plonk at the keys, smiling indulgently as she tried to teach him. By the time he’d started at Hogwarts, Draco had been quite proficient, but without his daily practice his skills swiftly diminished as he found other things to fill his time.
Then he’d found the piano in the music room and the memory of how much he’d enjoyed playing drew him to the instrument. He still didn’t play regularly, but to be able to come here and get lost in the music was like a balm to his soul. It was also something no one else knew about. This was his and his alone. He didn’t have to fight to be better than anyone else or try to prove himself.
But that suddenly all changed as he realised he was no longer alone and almost instantly he made a mistake. Bracing himself for a flood of sarcastic taunts from whoever had invaded his little haven, Draco slowly turned on the intruder.
It was Harry.
For a moment he just looked, taking in the person he’d last seen in so much pain, and felt a hitch in his breathing as he realised he wanted Harry to be here ... to see this part of him and maybe to see it as an answer to Harry’s question of wanting to know who Draco Malfoy really was.
He made to speak, but quickly decided he didn’t want to break the quiet of the moment. Nor did he want to do anything to change that expression on Harry’s face. The look was a cross between pleasure and confusion, and it was made even more poignant when Harry pushed at his glasses with a finger and rubbed at his eyes.
Instead Draco turned back to the piano, shifted forward a little on the stool and began to play again.
He thought Harry was either going to leave or remain by the door, but eventually he felt a hand on his shoulder. Then carefully Harry climbed onto the stool, his legs wrapping around Draco’s hips as he snuggled up against Draco’s back.
As the Gryffindor wrapped his arms around Draco’s chest, he felt Harry’s head rest against his shoulder, hair brushing against the back of Draco’s neck. It was difficult to concentrate on playing with the pressure of Harry all around him, enclosing him in warmth. Harry held on as if Draco was his lifeline.
Then, as he finished playing the piece of music, Draco realised Harry was trembling against him and he knew the other boy was crying. He didn’t move, instead content to reach for one of Harry’s hands and wait.
---
10th December 2004