hd inspiration for xanateria (2)
Author: Anonymous
Recipient: xanateria
Title: On Falcon’s Wings (Part 2 of 3)
On Falcon's Wings Part 2 of 3
Harry was getting worried. He’d been basically ‘camped out’ outside of the moldering ruins for nearly a day and a half now, and there was still no sign of help coming. When he’d left, he’d been so certain that Snape would tell his friends where he’d gone, and they’d send re-enforcements as quickly as possible. The fact that they hadn’t arrived made the hair on the back of his neck twitch. Something wasn’t right; he couldn’t say what, but something had gone wrong. And here he was, in the middle of nowhere, the one wizard Voldemort most wanted, just steps away from his headquarters. It was madness, and he knew it.
Part of the time, he contemplated Apparating back to where he’d come from, but two things stopped him. First, the fact that he doubted that Hermione and Ron would still be there. Without a doubt, they’d taken the grievously injured Snape for help. He knew Hermione. Ron’s arguments wouldn’t deter her from trying to save the man, regardless of what they thought of him. And second, and perhaps most important; the things that Snape had said to him back in that tattered tent in the Forest of Dean.
“I’ve been in your mind, Potter,” he’d said. “I’ve seen, I know.”
Harry straightened from where he’d been secreting his bag once again and stared at the castle from the covering of the pine tree. The clouds above were thick and pale grey. Like Draco’s eyes. He swallowed heavily.
“Boy, I don’t care,” Snape had gone on. “It doesn’t matter to me. But I’ve seen into his heart, as well…I’ve seen into his heart. You must save him. You need him for what is ahead. And you don’t understand, Potter. You don’t know what they’ll do to him…”
He had more than a passing idea, though, and the very thought of it brought bile to the back of his throat. There had been that one raid, that one time they’d come upon what was left after one of the Dark Lord’s ‘entertainments’. The horror of that would never leave him, and Harry couldn’t let that happen to Malfoy… he couldn’t. Because Snape had been right.
Harry hadn’t wanted to admit it, even to himself, for a very long time. After all, there had been Cho, and Ginny. But even while he’d been dating them, he had never been able to just ignore Draco Malfoy. He’d thought him a prat, and the world’s most annoying git, and all of the previous year he’d been absolutely certain that the bloody blond ponce was planning something. But even then he’d found himself staring at his rivals hands, and the back of his neck, and the smooth, graceful way that he’d moved and known, no matter how desperately he wanted to deny it, that there had been more to his fascination than his belief that Malfoy had been ‘up to something’. And then he’d seen him on the top of that tower, heard the horror in his voice when he said he hadn’t known that Frenrir Greyback would be in the party of Death Eater’s he’d let in the school, and he knew he’d been telling the truth. He also knew, in his heart, that Malfoy would never have been able to kill Dumbledore. He’d been lowering his wand…
A sound from the nearby road caught Harry’s attention, and he stepped back into the shadows beneath the trees, his back against sturdy, rough bark. That had been the sound of Apparition; he’d know it anywhere. He watched as two tall, beefy men in hooded capes came up the road and he thought he recognized one as Goyle’s father. The other he didn’t know, but something about the way he moved made the hair on the back of Harry’s neck twitch again. That one, his instincts screamed, was dangerous. As a light snow began to fall, Harry watched the massive front door of the ancient fortress open and the two men move quickly inside. These were the first new arrivals in two days; Harry hoped it didn’t mean that more were coming…
********
Hermione sighed as she and Ron trudged up the leaf strewn hill toward the tent they’d abandoned quickly two days before. She was exhausted, her eyes felt as if they’d been rolled in gravel, and her back and neck ached fiercely. She was so bloody tired, but she’d acknowledged that they couldn’t just leave the tent in the middle of the forest, no matter how badly she’d wanted to in case Harry was able to return. Harry…
For what felt like the hundredth time in two days, Hermione fought back tears of fear and frustration. Harry was gone; he’d disappeared without a trace.
When she and Ron had returned to the tent after their walk that evening, they’d been horrified to discover the body of their former Potion’s master lying on the floor, and Harry gone. Ron had immediately gone in search of him while Hermione had done what she could for Snape, but they were too late; he was gone. She’d stared at the gaping wounds on his chest and throat in horror; had Harry done that with Sectumsepra? Had Snape managed to capture Harry for Voldemort before he himself had been hit? There were a thousand questions, and only a dead man as an answer. A dead man who appeared to be without his wand…
When Ron had returned, disheveled and panic-stricken, blue eyes wide, Hermione had known that they had no choice in what they had to do. She’d taken the body, and she and Ron had Apparated into the sitting room at the Burrow. They knew it was being watched, but they’d had no idea what else to do.
For that moment, it seemed that fortune had been on their side. Arthur and Molly had been there, but so had Remus, Tonks, Bill and Fleur. After the initial hysteria caused by their appearance had died down, Hermione had told them what they knew as calmly as possible. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything as horrible as the ashen pallor on Lupin’s ravaged face.
“They can’t have him,” he’d said, swaying on his feet. “They can’t. If they do, all is lost…”
By unspoken agreement Ron began to lift the protective charms around the perimeter of their campsite while Hermione entered the tent, trying to ignore the huge blood stain on the worn carpet. She went to get her bag from beneath the bunk, and saw a sheet of parchment lying on the rug, hidden by the wooden frame. Leaning forward onto her stomach was the only way to reach it, and once she had it in her hand, she scooted back and sat on the floor, turning it to read the wavering handwriting…
“Potter has gone to Castle Ardvreck in Northern Scotla…”
Her hands began to tremble and she stood, her mission to collect their things abandoned. “Ron!” She cried, half turning towards the door, quickly scanning the words again. “Ron!”
He raced into the tent, wand drawn, eyes wide. “What is it?” he said quickly. “You scared ten years off my life, screaming like that…”
She silenced him by holding up the parchment. “I know where Harry is,” she said hoarsely. Ron came to her and took the note from her hand, and moments later they disappeared with the distinctive sharp pop.
********
The bird had brought two more packets of food to him, one the night before and another that morning, and Draco had welcomed the animal like an old friend. Both times, the bird stayed while he ate the small game, handsome head cocked in interest as he carried on a one sided conversation. Both times he’d felt an odd sense of loss when the animal soared from his tower prison.
His stomach was no longer aching with hunger, but in just the last few hours something in the atmosphere of the old keep had changed, and he could feel it; a shifting in the wards, an unsettled feeling in the air. Outside of the heavy oak door, he heard restless movement in the hallway that came and went. His heart began to pound and his palms to sweat, and he was very afraid that his hours of waiting were coming to an end. When he finally heard the key turn in the rusty lock and the door begin to scrap on the uneven granite floor, he pushed hard against the wall, trying futilely to hide in the shadows.
Two figures stood in the doorway, back lit by the torches in the hall but even in the meager light he recognized one of them, and instantly cold sweat broke out along his spine.
“Hello, Mr Malfoy,” the gravelly voice said cheerfully, as the first man entered the room. It suddenly felt much smaller, occupied by his wide frame. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Draco knew his eyes were unnaturally wide, and he couldn’t swallow, because his mouth and throat had gone instantly dry. The second man entered then, carrying a torch, and the flickering firelight caught in the gleam of Frenrir Greyback’s yellow eyes. “I hope the accommodations are up to your usual high standards,” Greyback went on smoothly, long yellow canine teeth appearing in a mocking smile. “Although, rumor has it that you’ve been living in Snape’s dungeon quarters for months now. Playing concubine for the old leach, Draco?” He reached toward Draco then, and the long, jagged nail on his index finger lightly scored the side of Draco’s face, raising frightened gooseflesh on his arms and legs. “I’ve always thought you had the air of someone who should be kept. The lack of sunlight has left you fashionably pale,” he sneered then, his long tongue coming out to lick his lips lasciviously. “And I do so love white meat.”
The filthy nail continued down over his jaw, onto his neck, and Draco was embarrassed by the pitiful whimper that rose from his throat, but he couldn’t help it. It was his worst nightmare come true; that the Dark Lord would let Greyback have him. Draco knew what Greyback did to his victims before he killed them; as a child, his father had used just the idle threat of the man to keep his only son in line.
“You’ve been a very bad boy, Draco.” The other man finally spoke, and Draco tore his eyes from the werewolf to peer fearfully into the other fleshy face. It was Greg’s father, beady little eyes raking over Draco with a thoroughness that made his skin crawl. He’d never liked the man, never trusted him, and all of his instincts of self-preservation were jangling discordantly. “You’ve always been too full of yourself by half, turning my son into a bloody lap dog. We’ll see how proud old Lucius is after the Dark Lord has finished with you.”
He turned and sank the hilt of the torch into a bracket on the wall, and turned back, withdrawing his wand from his sleeve. “In the mean time, we’ve been instructed to find out just how much you know about the dealings of the traitor, Snape.” Draco began to tremble then, reading the wicked intent in the eyes of the men facing him. “We’ve been given strict instructions not to kill you, or mark that pretty skin.” Goyle’s smirk deepened as he went on menacingly. “The Dark Lord likes his playthings… unblemished. But you should know, Draco, that there’s an enormous amount of pain a body can endure before death relieves it. Now, I hope you’ll be as smart as rumored and just tell us what you know…”
Draco pressed his spine even harder into the jagged stones at his back. Snape had told him a good deal, but he’d die before he revealed a word of it. He owed Severus that. He lifted his eyes and let his fear show.
“I don’t know anything,” he said, allowing is voice to quaver slightly. “I’d tell you if I did, but he didn’t tell me anything.” Let them think he knew nothing; better they think him a craven coward than to betray the person who’d sacrificed himself for him. “He didn’t tell me anything, I swear it.”
“You swear it,” Goyle spat back at him. “Your word isn’t worth anything, brat.”
“He’s lying,” Greyback said darkly. “I can smell the fear on him. He knows plenty.”
Goyle tutted, his tongue against his teeth. “It’s foolish to resist, Draco. If you do, it will only bring you more pain.”
Draco’s trembling didn’t have to be manufactured, and he gripped his knees, his knuckles sharp and white through his pale skin. “I don’t know anything!” he cried, his voice coming out louder and higher than he intended. Greyback’s lips curled back in a feral smile.
“He’s going to need convincing, I believe, Goyle.” He crossed his arms over his barrel chest.
“Yes, I believe you’re right.”
Draco saw the evil glint in his eyes as he lifted his wand and pointed it into his face. “You will tell us… eventually. Crucio!”
Draco felt pain explode along his nerve endings as his body jerked hard against the unforgiving stones.
*******
It was the screams, echoing over the desolate moors that brought Harry out of fitful slumber where he leaned against one of the old growth trees at the edge of the forest, wrapped in his heavy cloak. His eyes popped open as the sounds echoed away into silence, and he blinked in the darkness, wondering if he’d actually heard them. And then they came again: torn, ragged cries and he lurched to his feet. It was Malfoy; he knew it. And they were torturing him. Without pausing to think, Harry ran from beneath the overhang of pine branches and pushed off hard from the ground, transforming in mid air then flapping his wings fiercely in his desire to reach the tower. The closer he got, the louder the screams became, and his heart was pounding in his breast as he arrived at the irregular hole in the fortress tower’s ceiling. He landed with a rough slide, but the inhabitants within the cell couldn’t hear him over the tortured screams that were lifting into the night.
He peered around the edge of the stone, and saw the backs of the two men he’d seen arriving earlier in the evening. The first, Goyle’s father, had his wand trained on Draco, who lay on the floor jerking and sobbing; instantly Harry recognized the effects of the Cruciatus. He wanted to dive through the opening and peck his beady black eyes out, but the sight of the other man stopped him. Good God, it was the werewolf Greyback, and Harry’s heart lurched hard in his breast. Torn between the desire to rescue Draco right then and the sure knowledge that to attempt it would probably get them both killed, he frantically searched his mind for a way to both stop the torture and get the two Death Eaters out of the cell. Shooting away from the tower and entering a steep dive toward the ground, he landed hard, steps from the barricaded doors and hopped around a low stone wall to transform. Lying flat on the damp, grassy ground, he peered over the haphazardly piled stones and stared toward the torch lit doors. He didn’t see anyone, but careful not to take any unnecessary chances, he slipped his hand into his sleeve and then his arm cautiously over the wall.
“Incendio!” he whispered hoarsely, and ball of flame shot from the end of the wand and exploded against the heavy doors, rattling them on their hinges. Flames licked up the ancient wood, but the screams from the tower didn’t abate. Cursing tightly, Harry tried again. “Bombarda!” he said slightly louder, and a wave of pure energy burst from the tip of his wand and slammed into the doors. This time, Harry felt the recoil of the spell through the vibration of the ground, and knew that those inside must have felt it, too. Abruptly, the screams stopped, and Harry grimaced grimly. Okay, he had their attention now. One more spell ought to do it. “Bombarda maxima!”
His arm jerked in recoil as the blast of power erupted from the wand and slammed into the doors, buckling them in the center. Stones above the doorframe began to shift and then tumble down, and he heard startled cries from inside the castle walls. He rolled onto his back, flat behind the coverage of the small wall and slipped the wand back into his sleeve. He lay very still, listening, and moments later he heard the sound of the doors being forced open, the fall of more rubble, and then the air was filled with loud curses.
“We’re under attack!” someone shouted. “Search the perimeter. Someone has managed to breech the wards!”
Harry transformed back into his bird form then, and when the sound of pounding feet neared the wall, he shot out from behind it and straight up, as if he’d been merely a bird startled into flight.
He felt a curse whiz past his right wing into the night sky, then heard a muffled shout.
“Idiot, that’s just a bird!” he heard Alecto Carrow screech, but he didn’t tarry to listen to her brother’s reply. He shot straight up into the darkness, circled the castle once quickly, then flew back to the hole in the ceiling of the tower.
As he’d hoped, the diversion had worked. Goyle and Greyback were gone, the stout door was closed, and the cell was once again dark, but in the shifting moonlight Harry could see the shape of Draco lying still on the floor. Lying very still on the floor, and he flew through the opening, his heart in his throat.
********
Draco had been fairly certain that Goyle and Greyback had decided to ignore the Dark Lord’s orders, and were going to kill him. They kept taking turns, hitting him with the Cruciatus and other dark curses he didn’t recognize. The Cruciatus caused unimaginable pain, but the other spells had been designed to take the place of Occlumency while they searched his tortured mind for information. He’d been able to fight them off, but the effort had caused him to lose consciousness twice. Each time, they’d revived him and started again, neither of them skilled enough to search his mind while he was unconscious. He supposed he should have been thankful for small favors, but it was hard to be while thrashing in pain, trying to concentrate on keeping them out of his head. They had just begun to give in to the frustration and physically beat him in conjunction with the curses. Draco felt his resolve beginning to fail when the floor of the old tower had rocked, and the sound of an explosion had echoed through the keep. They’d stopped then, staring at one another, eyes wide. Draco had collapsed onto his side on the cold stone floor when a second, more powerful explosion had made the stones beneath his cheek tilt dizzyingly. He’d heard his tormentors rush from the cell, heard the door slammed shut, but dimly, through a haze of lingering pain. He’d felt his consciousness slipping away again as from above, he heard a rush of wings…
*******
Harry transformed and knelt on the uneven stones, unsure what to do. Hermione was the one who was a whiz at healing charms; Harry barely knew enough to keep himself from being a hazard. He searched Draco’s slender body, then drew his wand and used it to do a quick scan for broken bones. There didn’t seem to be any; the telltale red glow that would emit from the area if there was a break didn’t show up anywhere on his lean body. There was the faint bluish tint of bruises and contusions, but no breaks. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, for mending bones was certainly not his forte, he re-pocketed his wand as he studied the handsome face, bluish pale in the moonlight. Snape’s words drifted back to him on a ghostly whisper.
Even thin and beaten unconscious, Malfoy’s beauty was almost ethereal as he lay there on the rough, filthy floor. His hair still shone, his skin was smooth and marred only by a bruising near his mouth; it was as if the squalor of his surrounding couldn’t touch him, as if he were a creature of moonlight rather than flesh and bone. Harry’s hand trembled as he touched the smooth face, fingers smoothing over the damp forehead to collect the disheveled pale hair and pushing it away from his eyes. They were closed, of course, and his lashes, the longest Harry had ever seen, were slightly darker than his hair as they brushed his pale cheeks. The full pink lips were bruised and slightly parted, and there was the darkness of blood just at the corner. Cursing under his breath Harry lifted his hand and without drawing the wand, touched the spot and healed the small cut on his lip. Draco moaned a bit and began to curl in on himself.
“No, it’s alright,” Harry breathed, leaning closer. Draco’s scent lifted to him; sweat and fear, yes. But also a clean, soft citrusy smell, and the fragrance of sandalwood. He pressed his forehead gently against the soft hair, and spoke directly into the curled furrow of Draco’s ear. “It’s alright. You’re safe.”
Draco’s hand lifted then, searching, and Harry caught it, holding it between his own. He heard Draco swallow and his heart settled into its first regular rhythm in minutes when Draco’s hand returned the pressure of his own.
“Safe,” Harry heard uttered on a soft gust of sound. Draco frowned then, his brow furrowed, his lips slightly pursed. “Hurts,” he breathed, his voice thin, and Harry felt his throat swell.
“I know,” he murmured, stroking the baby soft hair. “I know it does.”
Draco shifted closer, his other hand reaching out instinctively, and Harry settled on the floor beside him, taking his hand. “Cold,” Draco sighed, and Harry saw him shudder. He dropped his hands and reached for the nearly unconscious young man, slipping his arms gently beneath him, lifting him. Draco groaned softly, but when Harry settled him against his chest, he sighed. Harry wrapped his cloak around both of them, cocooning the blond in his warmth, and Draco turned his face into the curve of Harry’s throat.
Harry closed his eyes tight, holding his one time rival gently against him. He heard Draco inhale softly.
“Wind, and sky,” Draco said faintly. “And treacle tart.” He sighed again, his head falling heavily to Harry’s square shoulder. “You smell… like Potter.”
Harry stared into the shadowed corners of the room long after Malfoy had drifted off to sleep.
*******
When Draco awoke, he was lying on his side on the wooden pallet and watery daylight was drifting in from above. His eyes felt as if they’d been rolled in gravel, his head ached slightly, and it took a moment for the events of the night before to come back to him. He straightened slowly and groaned when remembered aches and pains reasserted themselves, but he thought considering the treatment he’d received, he was lucky nothing was broken. He lifted his head to look towards the cell door and that was when it occurred to him that he didn’t remember getting up off of the floor, and he certainly didn’t know where the soft black velvet cape that was covering him had come from. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he blinked quickly, staring at the slightly worn traveling cloak that covered him from his chest to his ankles, and tried to remember.
He remembered Goyle and Greyback with a shudder, and their interrogation. He remembered explosions, and the fact that they’d run from the cell, certain they were under attack. And then he remembered soft hands, gentle words, strong, comforting arms. And the scent… his brow furrowed as he fingered the soft fabric absently.
“Arrived there yet?”
The softly spoken words startled Draco and he jerked, then whipped his head around and peered into the darkened area behind him. Standing, leaning against the wall with his arms and ankles crossed, was a vision so startling that he jerked upright. Rebelling against the sharp movement, pain shot through his body and his stomach roiled. Abruptly dizzy, Draco lurched forward and nearly fell from the small cot. Strong hands caught and steadied him.
“Easy, there.”
It took the room a moment to settle, but when it finally did Draco looked up to find Potter kneeling before him, his hands still steady on his shoulders. Potter’s hair was longer than Draco had ever seen it, brushing his broad shoulders, and there was a healthy growth of stubble on his square chin, but the eyes behind the round spectacles were as green as he remembered, the brows still thick and elegantly arched, the nose still straight and strong. His body had hardened and filled out, and even in his discomfort and confusion Draco couldn’t help but notice that Potter had changed.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice rising along with his fear. “Don’t tell me they’ve caught you, too! How could you allow yourself…”
“Hush!” Potter whispered harshly, green eyes darting towards the door. “They’ll hear you.”
Draco blinked quickly. “What? They must already know that you’re here…”
“They don’t,” Potter said firmly. “They don’t know that I’m here.” His fingers tightened almost painfully on Draco’s shoulders. “They don’t know that I’m here,” he repeated, and the two young men stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment.
“I don’t…” Draco shook his head as if to clear it. “How could they…? I don’t understand.”
Harry held on for a moment longer, as if to assure himself that Draco was steady, then sat back on his haunches. “They don’t know that I’m here,” he said cautiously, “because they haven’t seen me. The only person who’s seen me… is you.”
“I haven’t seen you before now,” Draco argued softly, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I’ve been alone here for two days. I don’t know what…” And then he stopped, voice slipping into silence, grey eyes wide in his pale face. “You were here last night…” Potter nodded, his face carefully blank. “But how…?”
“I was here last night,” Potter said softly. “And the night before.”
Draco shook his head, certain he must have misunderstood. “You weren’t.”
“I was, Draco,” Harry whispered, putting soft emphasis on Draco’s given name. Draco’s breath caught. “I was here, in this cell with you, two nights ago.”
“The only thing in this cell with me two nights ago was a bird…”
Potter nodded calmly. “Yes,” he said enigmatically. “A peregrine falcon, with a black hood, and a mark above his right eye.”
Draco stared at him, his heart beginning to beat hard within his chest. “Are you saying… but you aren’t…”
Potter merely stared. They sat that way for what felt like a very long time.
“You’re telling me you’re an Animagus,” Draco finally wheezed, leaning back against the wall. Potter nodded faintly, and Draco’s mouth firmed. “I don’t believe you.”
Potter shook his dark head. “How else would you explain my being here?”
“I don’t know,” Draco pushed up from the bunk. He swayed for a moment, then reached out to steady himself with his hand pressed to the wall. “I don’t know,” he hissed more firmly. “But you’re fucking with me; I know it. If you were an Animagus, someone would have heard about it before now. You… you Gryffindors, you’re so sickeningly honest, you’d have registered. Snape would have known, Snape would have told me... “
His voice had started to rise, and in a surprising show of agility, Potter was on his feet, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him hard against the wall, leaning into his chest, one knee inadvertently pushing between his long legs, one sweaty palm covering his mouth. Draco’s eyes widened and he stared into the green irises just inches from his own, felt his heart stutter in his chest at the feel of all of that coiled muscle leaning into him.
“I told you,” Potter hissed from between clenched teeth. “If you don’t keep your voice down, they’re going to hear you and then any advantage my being here might give us is going to be lost. Now, will you just shut it and listen?”
Draco found it hard to pull a deep breath with Potter’s hand firm over his mouth, and his chest pressing into him. He swallowed heavily, and then nodded once jerkily.
“If I pull my hand away, will you be quiet?” He asked, studying Draco’s eyes. Draco nodded again. “All right then.” Potter eased his hand away, then pulled back, and Draco was startled by how sorry he was to lose the weight that had been pressed against him. He flattened his palms against the cold stone at his back and took a deep breath.
“Snape didn’t know I was an Animagus,” Potter said quietly, glancing toward the door, then back into Draco’s wide eyes. “No one knows. No one but Ron and Hermione, and now you. I found out by accident. Hermione and I got… thrown out of a second story window and it just… happened.”
Draco shook his head. “You became an Animagus… by accident?”
Potter shoved his hands into the front pockets of his worn denims and self-consciously bit his lower lip. “My Dad taught himself to be one,” he answered. “There must be something… hereditary, or something.”
Draco let his head fall back against the wall, closing his eyes and laughing weakly. “Only you, Potter.”
“What?” Potter asked, brow furrowing.
“Only you could have something so… bloody brilliant happen to them, by accident.” The grey eyes came back to the green. “Have you any idea how much I would give to just be able to… turn into something else and fly away?” To his horror, Draco felt tears begin to fill his eyes and he looked away.
Potter shifted a step closer. “I’m pretty sure that I do,” he said gently. Draco turned his eyes back to Potter’s, and found them studying him, not with pity, but with a deep understanding.
“Why are you here, Potter?” he asked wearily. “It makes no sense that you should be here, of all places.”
“I came to get you,” the dark-haired man answered steadily, his voice deeper than Draco remembered. Draco stared, uncomprehending. “Snape came to me; he told me where you were.”
Draco’s breath caught. “Is he all right?”
Potter’s eyes clouded. “I’ve no idea,” he answered. “But he wasn’t in a good way when I left him, I can tell you that. Who…?”
“The Carrows,” Draco answered. “They found me in Snape’s quarters. He’s been hiding me since…”
“Yeah,” Potter said abruptly, stepping back and running a square hand through his dark hair. There was still so much history between them; so much that had been angry and ugly. Draco was forcefully reminded that he’d not seen Potter since before Dumbledore…
“I didn’t do it.”
Draco was stunned that the words and popped from his own mouth, and his eyes widened. Potter frowned.
“You didn’t do what?”
Draco blinked quickly, trying to think of something, anything to say other than what had started to come from his mouth.
“You didn’t do what, Draco?” Potter repeated, brow furrowed. Draco found that standing there, staring into those green eyes, he suddenly very much wanted Potter to know that he’d not murdered Dumbledore. He dampened his lips.
“I didn’t kill Dumbledore,” he whispered, his voice trembling. Potter’s eyes softened.
“I know that you didn’t,” he murmured. “I was there.”
Draco frowned at that. “You were… where?”
“On the top of the Astronomy Tower. I saw all of it. You, and Dumbledore, and Snape…”
“How?” Draco sputtered.
“It doesn’t matter.” Potter shook his dark head. “Just believe it. I saw. But you let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts…” There was no real anger in his tone, but Draco flinched none the less.
“I didn’t have a choice, Potter,” Draco said quickly, desperately wanting him to know, to understand. “The Dark Lord was threatening my parents, and Snape had entered into an Unbreakable Vow with my mother. And Dumbledore had made Snape promise…”
“I know,” Potter whispered firmly, cutting him off. Draco silenced, and stared. “I know about Dumbledore. He told me.”
The two young men stood in the cold tower, unaware of the chill, staring silently into one another’s drawn faces. There had been so much between them, so many things said, so many things done. Draco still bore the scars across his chest from that one ill-fated curse, Potter bore the scar on his head, given him by the very person Draco had supposed to have been serving. And yet, in that moment, they were just two young men, stripped of pretense and prejudice and pride, and the years of enmity seemed to shift and weaken.
“If I had known who was coming that night,” Draco whispered, and it was a raw sound. “If I’d known that Greyback would be with them,” he shuddered at the sound of the werewolf’s name, “I’d never have let them in.” His grey eyes were imploring as they stared into the watchful green. “I know what he is, and I would never have let him near a building full of children. You have to believe that.”
Potter searched his face for a long time, so long that Draco grew uncomfortable under his regard, but he didn’t look away. Finally, he ran one hand through the inky blackness of his hair.
“I do,” he said softly, letting his hand drop to his side again. “I do believe you.”
Draco hadn’t realized how rigidly he’d been holding himself until he sagged with relief and leaned back against the wall. Again, silence began to lengthen. Potter looked into his eyes, then his gaze slipped to Draco’s lips, and they parted on an indrawn breath in response to the direction of his gaze. Draco held his breath, very still, waiting.
“Snape… said something else to me,” Potter began almost hesitantly, brow slightly furrowed. “He said-” he paused, his frown deepening. Draco’s heart had begun to pound against his ribs.
“He said,” he prodded breathlessly. Potter’s green eyes lifted from Draco’s lips.
“He said,” Potter repeated after a moment, “that he’d been in my head all of fifth year, and that… well, he’d seen something…” Again his hand went through his thick hair in agitation. “Did he ever say anything like that… you know, to you?”
Draco’s mouth went very dry as he stared into the watchful green eyes. Severus’ softly spoken words repeated themselves in his mind. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Love is never something to be ashamed of. And know this, Draco; remember this, you aren’t alone in your feelings.”
He swallowed deeply, his eyes never leaving Potter’s, but he couldn’t seem to make himself respond. And then Potter took a step closer to him, until there was literally just inches separating their chests, and Draco had to drop his head back a bit, for this new and improved Potter was a good three inches taller than he was. Taller, and broader…
“Tell me… Draco.” Potter said his name with quiet emphasis, and Draco felt a chill run the length of his spine. Instead of speaking, he nodded tightly. “What did he say?” Potter breathed, and Draco could feel the tension in the other young man’s body even through the small space that separated them, see the dilating of his pupils until the green of his eyes was a mere sliver around deep pools of concentrated black.
“He said…” Draco began, his voice a ghost of sound.
Heavy footfalls from the corridor outside the thick oak door, those of several people, not just one man, cut off what Draco had been going to say, and he inhaled sharply. Potter’s hands shot out and curled around his upper arms as he turned his head towards the door.
“The Dark Lord said,” a male voice was shouting, “that he’s to be left alone, MacNair!”
Potter’s eyes came back to Draco’s, as wide as his own. Draco began to speak but Potter shook his head quickly.
“Ah, I’m not gonna hurt ‘im,” MacNair answered loudly, and from the sound of him, he’d been drinking. Heavily. “Just gonna… play w’ im a little.”
Draco began to tremble. He couldn’t help it.
“The Dark Lord said…” the first man tried again, but MacNair cut him off with an angry snarl.
“He ain’t gonna know now, is ‘e? And you ain’t gonna tell ‘im Goyle, cuz if you do, I’ll tell ‘im that your boy has a hard-on for that Muggle-born in his year. Which do you think he’s going to think is worse? Me having the Malfoy brat blow me, or your son sticking it to ‘the unclean’?”
“Shut the fuck up, MacNair!” Goyle senior shouted. “You don’t know what the hell you’re on about!”
“Hell I don’t,” McNair chuckled darkly. “My nephew is Theo Nott, old man, and he’s told me everything. Now get the fuck out of my way.”
“I won’t let you hurt him,” Goyle replied staunchly, and MacNair laughed again. The sound had gooseflesh raising on Draco’s arms.
“I’m not gonna hurt ‘im, I tole you.” There came the sound of the heavy key-ring that held the tower key jangling, and Draco stiffened. “I’m just gonna… give ‘is mouth a workout…”
Harry’s eyes widened and he heard the sound of more scuffling, then the jangle as the keys were dropped, followed by MacNair’s drunken cursing. “I can’t be seen,” Harry said quickly, stepping back.
“Don’t leave me!” Draco whispered in near desperation. “Don’t, please…”
“I won’t leave,” Harry promised, glancing again towards the door when there was another series of muffled thuds. “I’ll be right up there,” he jerked his head towards the hole in the ceiling.
“Please, Potter,” Draco gasped. “Please. I can’t… I’m such a coward…”
Harry paused then, his hand coming up to grip Draco’s chin, holding his face steady. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he promised earnestly. “I swear it. And you are not a coward.” And before Draco had a chance to do much more than inhale, Potter had leaned forward and covered his lips with his own, taking them in a quick, bruising kiss. When he stepped back, the green eyes were blazing fiercely, and then he was kicking off from the floor. Draco watched in wonder as the tall, lanky body transformed into the handsome bird of prey, and he was still looking up when the cell door finally crashed open and slammed into the stone wall.
Draco whipped his head around, wide eyes staring at the shadowed figure standing in the doorway. There was someone else standing behind him, Goyle he knew, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the lumpy, staggering figure of MacNair as he pushed himself gracelessly into the cell.
He looked around as he struggled to straighten, and Draco thought he looked a bit like an over-large, clumsy dog, peering through beady eyes, head shaking as if to clear it. “Where in hell…” And then he spotted Draco, standing with his back pressed against the wall, and he advanced toward him unsteadily. “Ere yo are,” he muttered, and even at a distance of several feet, Draco could smell the alcohol on him. He pressed his shoulder blades more firmly into the wall, and his hands gripped the stone. MacNair stopped and looked back at Goyle, who hesitated in the doorway.
“Come on, Goyle,” MacNair said bluffly, “I’m sure young Malfoy’s got enough for both of us-“ he turned and leered at Draco, “-don’t ya, boy? Plan to use that smart mouth of yours for something con… constr… useful, for a change.”
Draco clenched his teeth as the father of his childhood friend stared at him, something very like regret in his tired eyes. “No,” he muttered after a moment. “No, I… no.”
“Suit yourself.” MacNair turned and kicked the door closed in the senior Goyle’s face, then turned back and lurched towards Draco. “You and I can have a little party all by ourselves…” MacNair continued to advance on him, and Draco pulled further along the wall reflexively, glancing up nervously. The bird sat in the opening in the ceiling, strong body outlined by the moon, poised to fly. Draco swallowed. “On your knees, brat,” MacNair ordered when he was standing directly in front of Draco, swaying on his feet. “Now! You’re gonna suck my cock.”
“No.” Draco wanted to sound strong, wanted to prove that he was brave, but his voice came out a pitiful whine. He cleared his throat and tried again. “No.” That was better, stronger, and he was satisfied when MacNair’s eyes widened.
“What did you say to me, boy?”
Draco dampened his parched lips with his tongue. A mistake, he realized after the fact, when MacNair watched the movement greedily. “I said, no,” he repeated, even more firmly. “If you think for one second that I’m going to take your diseased, puny tool into my mouth…”
MacNair snarled and lashed out, striking Draco hard in the face with the back of his hand, so hard that the sound cracked through the quiet and his head snapped to the side. He had staggered a bit and lifted his hand to his mouth, a metallic taste filling it, when suddenly the cell went utterly and completely black. What light there had been was snuffed out, as if the moon had suddenly disappeared from the sky. Draco heard MacNair curse colorfully and then scream out wordlessly in surprise and pain, and Draco dove for the floor, reaching for the remembered location of his pallet. He grabbed the rough wooden bed legs and tried to pull himself beneath it.
“What the hell…?” MacNair shouted. “Get off! Get off me! What is it? Fuck, that hurts! What is it?”
From the sounds that were emanating from the blackness, it seemed as if a life and death struggle were taking place within the room. Draco succeeded in getting his slender body under the bunk and lay there, curled up, listening to the horrible sounds of MacNair screaming and falling, cursing ineffectively. “Goyle!” he shouted. “Goyle, there’s something in here! Get me out, get me out!”
“What do you mean, there’s something in there?” The latch rattled loudly. “For God’s sake, MacNair, you have the key!”
“Help Me!” MacNair continued to scream, and it sounded as if he were sobbing, too. “It’s going to kill me, it’s going to kill me!”
From outside, Draco heard Alohamora!, but even when the door slammed open the impenetrable blackness remained. Draco heard Goyle gasp, then cry out.
“What the hell…?”
“Help me, Goyle,” MacNair sounded weakened, his voice not nearly as loud, rough with tears. “Help me. God, it’s killing me!”
Draco heard the sound of running feet, and knew there were more of the Death Eaters approaching the open door.
“What the bloody hell…”
“Why is that cell so dark? Is that MacNair screaming?”
“Lumos!” someone shouted, but still the blackness remained.
“Sweet Merlin, what in Hades has hold of him?”
“Please, please…” MacNair’s voice had dropped to a low sob, and Draco couldn’t help but wonder what Potter had done to him to make him sound so utterly terrified.
“I’m going in after him.” This was Goyle, spoken bravely, but his voice quavering spoiled the effect.
“It’s your funeral,” Alecto Carrow offered snidely.
Moments later, there was a scuffling sound, then Goyle’s triumphant, “I’ve got him!”
Draco heard MacNair moaning, heard another series of thumps and scrapes, then the sound of something heavy being dragged across the stone floor. Moments later he heard the door being slammed shut, and the sounds of frantic questions and horrified exclamations drifted through the heavy wood.
“It’s all right,” came a soft, deep voice from near his head, and Draco jerked in surprise. He opened his eyes, but that heavy, suffocating darkness remained. When he felt a hand touch his shoulder, he reached up and clasped it, and Potter pulled him easily from beneath the pallet.
“Peruvian Instant Darkness powder?” Draco asked softly, still clinging to the strong hand. A soft chuckle was his response.
“Yeah,” Potter answered, his deep voice equally soft. “There’s no counter curse for it, so we’ll just have to wait for it to wear off.”
Draco sat with his back against the wall, and he felt Potter’s upper arm touch his when he settled next to him. He turned his head to the side, but could see nothing, not even an outline. He hesitated a moment, then asked the question that was lingering in his mind. “What did you do to him?”
He felt Potter’s arm move, and heard the soft snort he uttered. “Pulled his hair, pecked at his forehead a bit. He probably looks a right mess, but he wasn’t really hurt that bad.” Potter made another disparaging noise. “He’s a big baby, that’s what he is. I’ve had worse after Quidditch Practice.”
Draco knew Potter couldn’t see the smirk that pulled at the corner of his lips. “But then, you’re accident prone, Potter,” he said, unable to keep the teasing quality out of his voice. “I’ve often wondered just what Pomfrey’s doing to occupy her time, now that you aren’t at Hogwarts anymore.”
“Har, har,” Potter said dryly, but unlike their previous exchanges at school, there was no venom in it, and Draco allowed himself to settle more heavily against Potter’s side. He heard a softly indrawn breath, but moments later, Potter was leaning against him, as well. And that was when Draco remembered that one quick, rough kiss, and his heart began to beat hard within his chest, and he felt an unmistakable stirring behind his fly.
“Potter,” he whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Uhm, before, when you…” he paused, and he could feel that Potter had stiffened, and was waiting for his next words. “When you… kissed me…” Still, Potter made no sound. “Why did you? Kiss me, I mean…” Draco nearly rolled his eyes at how bumbling and, well, very like the old Potter he sounded. When Potter didn’t answer after a moment, his heart sank and he began to pull away. He was stopped when Potter’s hand settled heavily on his thigh, and squeezed.
“Because,” the deep voice was very soft in the darkness, and he paused. Draco heard the sound of him swallowing. “Because I wanted to,” Potter answered, suddenly sounding very sure. “I think I’ve wanted to for a really long time, I just never had the nerve. It was something that Snape said. I started to tell you before…”
“Yes?” Unlike Potter, Draco knew he sounded slightly shaky.
“He said that during our Occlumency lessons during fifth year, he’d seen something in my head.” Draco felt the rush of hot breath against his cheek, and realized that Potter had leaned in closer. “Something that I hadn’t even really acknowledged to myself. And he told me that he’d seen into your heart, as well. And that I needed to come and save you, because I needed you.”
Draco blinked quickly, remembering when Severus had revealed what he knew about his feelings for Potter. “He told me the same thing,” he whispered.
“And had he?” Potter murmured softly, and Draco felt the fingers on his thigh move in a gentle, stroking motion.
“Had he… what?” Draco breathed.
“Seen into your heart, Draco?”
Draco’s eyes drifted closed at the sound of his given name on Potter’s lips. “Yes… Harry,” he sighed, and he heard the soft sound Potter made when his first name was spoken so gently. “Yes, he’d seen into my heart.”
Draco held his breath as he felt the warmth of Potter’s face near his, and nearly groaned in frustration when the other young man hesitated. “I’ve never done this before,” he admitted quietly.
“Never done… what?”
“Kissed a man.”
Draco lifted his hand, and his palm came to rest against a hard jaw. He felt the scrape of stubble beneath his fingers, and his body quickened. “But you have,” he said gently. “You kissed me, just before…”
He felt the movement against his palm when Harry’s lips lifted at the corners. “So I did,” he murmured. “Then I should be an old hand at this.”
“A veteran,” Draco teased, but all thoughts of teasing fled his mind when Harry, as blinded as he was in the darkness, brushed his lips just beneath Draco’s nose. With a soft, welcoming sigh, Draco lifted his chin and found Potter’s mouth.
Draco had, unlike Potter, kissed a man before. He’d known about his own sexual orientation from the moment he’d first seen Oliver Wood in his Quidditch leathers. And yet, as he felt Potter lean in closer, and felt his lips move, caressing his own, he realized that any kissing he’d done before had just been a precursor to this; this sweet warmth, this gentle taking. For Potter might not have kissed a man before, but there was absolutely no question that Potter could kiss.
He opened his mouth gladly, accepted the thrust of Potter’s tongue with a soft moan of welcome. He felt the other man turn then, leaning across his chest, and the feeling of that coiled strength, pressing him into the wall at his back, made his toes curl in his shoes. Potter slanted his head first one way, then the other, his lips smoothly parting Draco’s further as his tongue slipped over the surfaces of his teeth before slowly, sinuously but firmly stroking along the curling length of his tongue. Draco’s tongue fluttered in response, and when he caught Potter’s and began to suck on it gently, Potter made a harsh, needy sound in his throat. He began to thrust his tongue slowly into Draco’s mouth in an unmistakable rhythm that had Draco reaching up to card his fingers through surprising soft, thick hair as he groaned. He felt an arm snake behind his back, and he fisted his fingers in Potter’s hair as he pulled him more firmly against the hardness of his chest.
A sound from the corridor made them both freeze, and Potter pulled his lips away and lifted his head to listen. There was another muffled sound, then the jangle of the key-ring just outside of the door. Draco felt Potter’s lips brush against his ear.
“Can you scream?” he whispered, and Draco frowned.
“Scream?”
“Yeah, scream. Loud.”
“I...”
There was the sound of the key inserted clumsily into the lock, and Potter grabbed and squeezed his arm. “Scream, Draco,” he ordered fiercely. “Now!”
He squeezed the slender arm hard, and though it didn’t really hurt, some of his urgency transferred itself to Draco and he opened his mouth and screamed as loud as he could. He felt Potter flinch, but he didn’t pull away.
“Louder,” Potter whispered tightly. “Again, now.”
And so Draco screamed again, and again. When he paused to catch his breath, he felt Potter’s hand in the center of his chest, pressing, silencing him.
“Holy Mordred,” he heard muttered from outside the door. It sounded like Goyle speaking. “What in hell is in there?”
“Don’t know,” came the answer, and they both recognized Carrow’s gruff voice, clearly frightened. “MacNair said he’d been attacked by a giant bird. He said that Malfoy had turned Veela…”
“He was drunk, and hysterical,” Goyle said sharply. “I’ve known the Malfoys for years. There is no creature blood in that family.”
“Don’t know about that,” Carrow said darkly. “Me, I’ve always wondered, with that hair of their’s…”
Draco felt Harry pull away and wrapped his arms around himself when the cold air replaced his warmth. He sat staring into the darkness, then nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a horrible, screaming cry fill the cell. It was high pitched; a screech like fingers on a chalk board, and the hair on Draco’s neck lifted even as he recognized the scream of a bird of prey.
“Sweet Circe!” Goyle cried. “Whatever the hell that is, we’ve got to get that kid out of there…”
“I’m not going in there!” Carrow argued. “For all we know, that IS that kid, turned into something that can rip our faces off!”
“We can’t just leave him in there!” Goyle answered frantically. “If he’s dead when the Dark Lord returns, we shall all pay for it!”
“If he isn’t,” Carrow said, suddenly sounding cagey, “and that IS only Malfoy in there, I for one would like to see his father try to explain it, wouldn’t you?”
There was a heavy silence from the corridor, then the sound of muttering and footsteps moving away down the hall.
“Merlin,” Draco whispered. “That idiot MacNair thinks I’m part Veela.”
“You’re beautiful enough to be,” Potter replied softly from the darkness, and Draco was both flattered, and glad that he was back in his human form. That animal scream had unnerved him.
Silence returned to the dark cell, and Draco sat very still, waiting. Moments later, he felt Potter’s body heat against his side, and he shivered in response to it.
“You’re cold,” Potter said gently. He touched Draco, then curled his hands around his upper arms. “Let’s get you off of the floor.”
“Can you see in here?” he asked as Potter lifted him easily to his feet. So easily that Draco couldn’t help but wonder at his strength.
“When I’m the bird, yes,” he answered softly. He directed Draco a few steps to the side, and he felt the rough cot against the back of his calves. Potter eased him down, then sat beside him. “When I’m me, my eyes aren’t any better than they’ve ever been, unfortunately.”
While he’d been in Potter’s arms a few minutes before, he’d not felt the bitter chill in the air. He didn’t know if it was an after affect of MacNair’s aborted attack, or the sound of the primal cry that had echoed in the small cell, but that in combination with the cold made Draco began to shake in earnest. He tried to stop it, but tensing his muscles only made it worse. Even the feeling of Potter’s hand on his arm couldn’t stop it.
“You’re freezing,” Draco heard Potter mutter. “Here, scoot over and lie down, facing the wall.”
“What…”
“Just trust me,” Potter answered. Draco paused for a moment.
Trust him; trust Potter. At one time, that would have been unthinkable, but now? He found himself turning and lying down, pulling himself up into a ball, his arms wrapped around his knees. Moments later he felt the hard strength of Potter’s body curling up behind him, legs pulling up to mirror the bend of his own. Strong arms came around him to pull him into the hardness of a toned young body, hands spreading on his chest. With a softly muttered spell, Draco felt the heavy velvet cloak settle over him again, and instantly warmth began to flow over his skin.
“Oh,” he murmured gratefully, unclasping his hands from his knees and bringing them up to curl around Potter’s on his chest.
“Better?” Potter asked softly, his lips next to Draco’s ear, his hot breath stirring the short hair just in front of it. Draco nodded. Potter’s body heat soothed away his trembling, and Draco began to relax. He pressed back into the muscled chest behind him. They lay in silence for a long time as slowly, the pitch blackness began to lift and the details of the wall in front of him began to come back into focus. Draco’s eyes began to feel heavy as the lovely encompassing warmth and the almost sleepless night worked in concert. He sighed heavily, and closed his eyes.
“Tired,” he murmured.
“Then go to sleep,” Potter answered, his soft voice low.
“Don’t leave.” Draco’s hands tightened instinctively around Potter’s, squeezing.
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
When Potter spoke next, it was right into his nape, his breath warm and damp against Draco’s skin. “I promise,” he whispered, and sealed that vow with a fleeting kiss to the soft skin beneath his hairline. Draco hummed softly at the delicious sensation, and then promptly drifted off to sleep.
Part 3
Recipient: xanateria
Title: On Falcon’s Wings (Part 2 of 3)
On Falcon's Wings Part 2 of 3
Harry was getting worried. He’d been basically ‘camped out’ outside of the moldering ruins for nearly a day and a half now, and there was still no sign of help coming. When he’d left, he’d been so certain that Snape would tell his friends where he’d gone, and they’d send re-enforcements as quickly as possible. The fact that they hadn’t arrived made the hair on the back of his neck twitch. Something wasn’t right; he couldn’t say what, but something had gone wrong. And here he was, in the middle of nowhere, the one wizard Voldemort most wanted, just steps away from his headquarters. It was madness, and he knew it.
Part of the time, he contemplated Apparating back to where he’d come from, but two things stopped him. First, the fact that he doubted that Hermione and Ron would still be there. Without a doubt, they’d taken the grievously injured Snape for help. He knew Hermione. Ron’s arguments wouldn’t deter her from trying to save the man, regardless of what they thought of him. And second, and perhaps most important; the things that Snape had said to him back in that tattered tent in the Forest of Dean.
“I’ve been in your mind, Potter,” he’d said. “I’ve seen, I know.”
Harry straightened from where he’d been secreting his bag once again and stared at the castle from the covering of the pine tree. The clouds above were thick and pale grey. Like Draco’s eyes. He swallowed heavily.
“Boy, I don’t care,” Snape had gone on. “It doesn’t matter to me. But I’ve seen into his heart, as well…I’ve seen into his heart. You must save him. You need him for what is ahead. And you don’t understand, Potter. You don’t know what they’ll do to him…”
He had more than a passing idea, though, and the very thought of it brought bile to the back of his throat. There had been that one raid, that one time they’d come upon what was left after one of the Dark Lord’s ‘entertainments’. The horror of that would never leave him, and Harry couldn’t let that happen to Malfoy… he couldn’t. Because Snape had been right.
Harry hadn’t wanted to admit it, even to himself, for a very long time. After all, there had been Cho, and Ginny. But even while he’d been dating them, he had never been able to just ignore Draco Malfoy. He’d thought him a prat, and the world’s most annoying git, and all of the previous year he’d been absolutely certain that the bloody blond ponce was planning something. But even then he’d found himself staring at his rivals hands, and the back of his neck, and the smooth, graceful way that he’d moved and known, no matter how desperately he wanted to deny it, that there had been more to his fascination than his belief that Malfoy had been ‘up to something’. And then he’d seen him on the top of that tower, heard the horror in his voice when he said he hadn’t known that Frenrir Greyback would be in the party of Death Eater’s he’d let in the school, and he knew he’d been telling the truth. He also knew, in his heart, that Malfoy would never have been able to kill Dumbledore. He’d been lowering his wand…
A sound from the nearby road caught Harry’s attention, and he stepped back into the shadows beneath the trees, his back against sturdy, rough bark. That had been the sound of Apparition; he’d know it anywhere. He watched as two tall, beefy men in hooded capes came up the road and he thought he recognized one as Goyle’s father. The other he didn’t know, but something about the way he moved made the hair on the back of Harry’s neck twitch again. That one, his instincts screamed, was dangerous. As a light snow began to fall, Harry watched the massive front door of the ancient fortress open and the two men move quickly inside. These were the first new arrivals in two days; Harry hoped it didn’t mean that more were coming…
********
Hermione sighed as she and Ron trudged up the leaf strewn hill toward the tent they’d abandoned quickly two days before. She was exhausted, her eyes felt as if they’d been rolled in gravel, and her back and neck ached fiercely. She was so bloody tired, but she’d acknowledged that they couldn’t just leave the tent in the middle of the forest, no matter how badly she’d wanted to in case Harry was able to return. Harry…
For what felt like the hundredth time in two days, Hermione fought back tears of fear and frustration. Harry was gone; he’d disappeared without a trace.
When she and Ron had returned to the tent after their walk that evening, they’d been horrified to discover the body of their former Potion’s master lying on the floor, and Harry gone. Ron had immediately gone in search of him while Hermione had done what she could for Snape, but they were too late; he was gone. She’d stared at the gaping wounds on his chest and throat in horror; had Harry done that with Sectumsepra? Had Snape managed to capture Harry for Voldemort before he himself had been hit? There were a thousand questions, and only a dead man as an answer. A dead man who appeared to be without his wand…
When Ron had returned, disheveled and panic-stricken, blue eyes wide, Hermione had known that they had no choice in what they had to do. She’d taken the body, and she and Ron had Apparated into the sitting room at the Burrow. They knew it was being watched, but they’d had no idea what else to do.
For that moment, it seemed that fortune had been on their side. Arthur and Molly had been there, but so had Remus, Tonks, Bill and Fleur. After the initial hysteria caused by their appearance had died down, Hermione had told them what they knew as calmly as possible. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything as horrible as the ashen pallor on Lupin’s ravaged face.
“They can’t have him,” he’d said, swaying on his feet. “They can’t. If they do, all is lost…”
By unspoken agreement Ron began to lift the protective charms around the perimeter of their campsite while Hermione entered the tent, trying to ignore the huge blood stain on the worn carpet. She went to get her bag from beneath the bunk, and saw a sheet of parchment lying on the rug, hidden by the wooden frame. Leaning forward onto her stomach was the only way to reach it, and once she had it in her hand, she scooted back and sat on the floor, turning it to read the wavering handwriting…
“Potter has gone to Castle Ardvreck in Northern Scotla…”
Her hands began to tremble and she stood, her mission to collect their things abandoned. “Ron!” She cried, half turning towards the door, quickly scanning the words again. “Ron!”
He raced into the tent, wand drawn, eyes wide. “What is it?” he said quickly. “You scared ten years off my life, screaming like that…”
She silenced him by holding up the parchment. “I know where Harry is,” she said hoarsely. Ron came to her and took the note from her hand, and moments later they disappeared with the distinctive sharp pop.
********
The bird had brought two more packets of food to him, one the night before and another that morning, and Draco had welcomed the animal like an old friend. Both times, the bird stayed while he ate the small game, handsome head cocked in interest as he carried on a one sided conversation. Both times he’d felt an odd sense of loss when the animal soared from his tower prison.
His stomach was no longer aching with hunger, but in just the last few hours something in the atmosphere of the old keep had changed, and he could feel it; a shifting in the wards, an unsettled feeling in the air. Outside of the heavy oak door, he heard restless movement in the hallway that came and went. His heart began to pound and his palms to sweat, and he was very afraid that his hours of waiting were coming to an end. When he finally heard the key turn in the rusty lock and the door begin to scrap on the uneven granite floor, he pushed hard against the wall, trying futilely to hide in the shadows.
Two figures stood in the doorway, back lit by the torches in the hall but even in the meager light he recognized one of them, and instantly cold sweat broke out along his spine.
“Hello, Mr Malfoy,” the gravelly voice said cheerfully, as the first man entered the room. It suddenly felt much smaller, occupied by his wide frame. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Draco knew his eyes were unnaturally wide, and he couldn’t swallow, because his mouth and throat had gone instantly dry. The second man entered then, carrying a torch, and the flickering firelight caught in the gleam of Frenrir Greyback’s yellow eyes. “I hope the accommodations are up to your usual high standards,” Greyback went on smoothly, long yellow canine teeth appearing in a mocking smile. “Although, rumor has it that you’ve been living in Snape’s dungeon quarters for months now. Playing concubine for the old leach, Draco?” He reached toward Draco then, and the long, jagged nail on his index finger lightly scored the side of Draco’s face, raising frightened gooseflesh on his arms and legs. “I’ve always thought you had the air of someone who should be kept. The lack of sunlight has left you fashionably pale,” he sneered then, his long tongue coming out to lick his lips lasciviously. “And I do so love white meat.”
The filthy nail continued down over his jaw, onto his neck, and Draco was embarrassed by the pitiful whimper that rose from his throat, but he couldn’t help it. It was his worst nightmare come true; that the Dark Lord would let Greyback have him. Draco knew what Greyback did to his victims before he killed them; as a child, his father had used just the idle threat of the man to keep his only son in line.
“You’ve been a very bad boy, Draco.” The other man finally spoke, and Draco tore his eyes from the werewolf to peer fearfully into the other fleshy face. It was Greg’s father, beady little eyes raking over Draco with a thoroughness that made his skin crawl. He’d never liked the man, never trusted him, and all of his instincts of self-preservation were jangling discordantly. “You’ve always been too full of yourself by half, turning my son into a bloody lap dog. We’ll see how proud old Lucius is after the Dark Lord has finished with you.”
He turned and sank the hilt of the torch into a bracket on the wall, and turned back, withdrawing his wand from his sleeve. “In the mean time, we’ve been instructed to find out just how much you know about the dealings of the traitor, Snape.” Draco began to tremble then, reading the wicked intent in the eyes of the men facing him. “We’ve been given strict instructions not to kill you, or mark that pretty skin.” Goyle’s smirk deepened as he went on menacingly. “The Dark Lord likes his playthings… unblemished. But you should know, Draco, that there’s an enormous amount of pain a body can endure before death relieves it. Now, I hope you’ll be as smart as rumored and just tell us what you know…”
Draco pressed his spine even harder into the jagged stones at his back. Snape had told him a good deal, but he’d die before he revealed a word of it. He owed Severus that. He lifted his eyes and let his fear show.
“I don’t know anything,” he said, allowing is voice to quaver slightly. “I’d tell you if I did, but he didn’t tell me anything.” Let them think he knew nothing; better they think him a craven coward than to betray the person who’d sacrificed himself for him. “He didn’t tell me anything, I swear it.”
“You swear it,” Goyle spat back at him. “Your word isn’t worth anything, brat.”
“He’s lying,” Greyback said darkly. “I can smell the fear on him. He knows plenty.”
Goyle tutted, his tongue against his teeth. “It’s foolish to resist, Draco. If you do, it will only bring you more pain.”
Draco’s trembling didn’t have to be manufactured, and he gripped his knees, his knuckles sharp and white through his pale skin. “I don’t know anything!” he cried, his voice coming out louder and higher than he intended. Greyback’s lips curled back in a feral smile.
“He’s going to need convincing, I believe, Goyle.” He crossed his arms over his barrel chest.
“Yes, I believe you’re right.”
Draco saw the evil glint in his eyes as he lifted his wand and pointed it into his face. “You will tell us… eventually. Crucio!”
Draco felt pain explode along his nerve endings as his body jerked hard against the unforgiving stones.
*******
It was the screams, echoing over the desolate moors that brought Harry out of fitful slumber where he leaned against one of the old growth trees at the edge of the forest, wrapped in his heavy cloak. His eyes popped open as the sounds echoed away into silence, and he blinked in the darkness, wondering if he’d actually heard them. And then they came again: torn, ragged cries and he lurched to his feet. It was Malfoy; he knew it. And they were torturing him. Without pausing to think, Harry ran from beneath the overhang of pine branches and pushed off hard from the ground, transforming in mid air then flapping his wings fiercely in his desire to reach the tower. The closer he got, the louder the screams became, and his heart was pounding in his breast as he arrived at the irregular hole in the fortress tower’s ceiling. He landed with a rough slide, but the inhabitants within the cell couldn’t hear him over the tortured screams that were lifting into the night.
He peered around the edge of the stone, and saw the backs of the two men he’d seen arriving earlier in the evening. The first, Goyle’s father, had his wand trained on Draco, who lay on the floor jerking and sobbing; instantly Harry recognized the effects of the Cruciatus. He wanted to dive through the opening and peck his beady black eyes out, but the sight of the other man stopped him. Good God, it was the werewolf Greyback, and Harry’s heart lurched hard in his breast. Torn between the desire to rescue Draco right then and the sure knowledge that to attempt it would probably get them both killed, he frantically searched his mind for a way to both stop the torture and get the two Death Eaters out of the cell. Shooting away from the tower and entering a steep dive toward the ground, he landed hard, steps from the barricaded doors and hopped around a low stone wall to transform. Lying flat on the damp, grassy ground, he peered over the haphazardly piled stones and stared toward the torch lit doors. He didn’t see anyone, but careful not to take any unnecessary chances, he slipped his hand into his sleeve and then his arm cautiously over the wall.
“Incendio!” he whispered hoarsely, and ball of flame shot from the end of the wand and exploded against the heavy doors, rattling them on their hinges. Flames licked up the ancient wood, but the screams from the tower didn’t abate. Cursing tightly, Harry tried again. “Bombarda!” he said slightly louder, and a wave of pure energy burst from the tip of his wand and slammed into the doors. This time, Harry felt the recoil of the spell through the vibration of the ground, and knew that those inside must have felt it, too. Abruptly, the screams stopped, and Harry grimaced grimly. Okay, he had their attention now. One more spell ought to do it. “Bombarda maxima!”
His arm jerked in recoil as the blast of power erupted from the wand and slammed into the doors, buckling them in the center. Stones above the doorframe began to shift and then tumble down, and he heard startled cries from inside the castle walls. He rolled onto his back, flat behind the coverage of the small wall and slipped the wand back into his sleeve. He lay very still, listening, and moments later he heard the sound of the doors being forced open, the fall of more rubble, and then the air was filled with loud curses.
“We’re under attack!” someone shouted. “Search the perimeter. Someone has managed to breech the wards!”
Harry transformed back into his bird form then, and when the sound of pounding feet neared the wall, he shot out from behind it and straight up, as if he’d been merely a bird startled into flight.
He felt a curse whiz past his right wing into the night sky, then heard a muffled shout.
“Idiot, that’s just a bird!” he heard Alecto Carrow screech, but he didn’t tarry to listen to her brother’s reply. He shot straight up into the darkness, circled the castle once quickly, then flew back to the hole in the ceiling of the tower.
As he’d hoped, the diversion had worked. Goyle and Greyback were gone, the stout door was closed, and the cell was once again dark, but in the shifting moonlight Harry could see the shape of Draco lying still on the floor. Lying very still on the floor, and he flew through the opening, his heart in his throat.
********
Draco had been fairly certain that Goyle and Greyback had decided to ignore the Dark Lord’s orders, and were going to kill him. They kept taking turns, hitting him with the Cruciatus and other dark curses he didn’t recognize. The Cruciatus caused unimaginable pain, but the other spells had been designed to take the place of Occlumency while they searched his tortured mind for information. He’d been able to fight them off, but the effort had caused him to lose consciousness twice. Each time, they’d revived him and started again, neither of them skilled enough to search his mind while he was unconscious. He supposed he should have been thankful for small favors, but it was hard to be while thrashing in pain, trying to concentrate on keeping them out of his head. They had just begun to give in to the frustration and physically beat him in conjunction with the curses. Draco felt his resolve beginning to fail when the floor of the old tower had rocked, and the sound of an explosion had echoed through the keep. They’d stopped then, staring at one another, eyes wide. Draco had collapsed onto his side on the cold stone floor when a second, more powerful explosion had made the stones beneath his cheek tilt dizzyingly. He’d heard his tormentors rush from the cell, heard the door slammed shut, but dimly, through a haze of lingering pain. He’d felt his consciousness slipping away again as from above, he heard a rush of wings…
*******
Harry transformed and knelt on the uneven stones, unsure what to do. Hermione was the one who was a whiz at healing charms; Harry barely knew enough to keep himself from being a hazard. He searched Draco’s slender body, then drew his wand and used it to do a quick scan for broken bones. There didn’t seem to be any; the telltale red glow that would emit from the area if there was a break didn’t show up anywhere on his lean body. There was the faint bluish tint of bruises and contusions, but no breaks. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, for mending bones was certainly not his forte, he re-pocketed his wand as he studied the handsome face, bluish pale in the moonlight. Snape’s words drifted back to him on a ghostly whisper.
Even thin and beaten unconscious, Malfoy’s beauty was almost ethereal as he lay there on the rough, filthy floor. His hair still shone, his skin was smooth and marred only by a bruising near his mouth; it was as if the squalor of his surrounding couldn’t touch him, as if he were a creature of moonlight rather than flesh and bone. Harry’s hand trembled as he touched the smooth face, fingers smoothing over the damp forehead to collect the disheveled pale hair and pushing it away from his eyes. They were closed, of course, and his lashes, the longest Harry had ever seen, were slightly darker than his hair as they brushed his pale cheeks. The full pink lips were bruised and slightly parted, and there was the darkness of blood just at the corner. Cursing under his breath Harry lifted his hand and without drawing the wand, touched the spot and healed the small cut on his lip. Draco moaned a bit and began to curl in on himself.
“No, it’s alright,” Harry breathed, leaning closer. Draco’s scent lifted to him; sweat and fear, yes. But also a clean, soft citrusy smell, and the fragrance of sandalwood. He pressed his forehead gently against the soft hair, and spoke directly into the curled furrow of Draco’s ear. “It’s alright. You’re safe.”
Draco’s hand lifted then, searching, and Harry caught it, holding it between his own. He heard Draco swallow and his heart settled into its first regular rhythm in minutes when Draco’s hand returned the pressure of his own.
“Safe,” Harry heard uttered on a soft gust of sound. Draco frowned then, his brow furrowed, his lips slightly pursed. “Hurts,” he breathed, his voice thin, and Harry felt his throat swell.
“I know,” he murmured, stroking the baby soft hair. “I know it does.”
Draco shifted closer, his other hand reaching out instinctively, and Harry settled on the floor beside him, taking his hand. “Cold,” Draco sighed, and Harry saw him shudder. He dropped his hands and reached for the nearly unconscious young man, slipping his arms gently beneath him, lifting him. Draco groaned softly, but when Harry settled him against his chest, he sighed. Harry wrapped his cloak around both of them, cocooning the blond in his warmth, and Draco turned his face into the curve of Harry’s throat.
Harry closed his eyes tight, holding his one time rival gently against him. He heard Draco inhale softly.
“Wind, and sky,” Draco said faintly. “And treacle tart.” He sighed again, his head falling heavily to Harry’s square shoulder. “You smell… like Potter.”
Harry stared into the shadowed corners of the room long after Malfoy had drifted off to sleep.
*******
When Draco awoke, he was lying on his side on the wooden pallet and watery daylight was drifting in from above. His eyes felt as if they’d been rolled in gravel, his head ached slightly, and it took a moment for the events of the night before to come back to him. He straightened slowly and groaned when remembered aches and pains reasserted themselves, but he thought considering the treatment he’d received, he was lucky nothing was broken. He lifted his head to look towards the cell door and that was when it occurred to him that he didn’t remember getting up off of the floor, and he certainly didn’t know where the soft black velvet cape that was covering him had come from. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he blinked quickly, staring at the slightly worn traveling cloak that covered him from his chest to his ankles, and tried to remember.
He remembered Goyle and Greyback with a shudder, and their interrogation. He remembered explosions, and the fact that they’d run from the cell, certain they were under attack. And then he remembered soft hands, gentle words, strong, comforting arms. And the scent… his brow furrowed as he fingered the soft fabric absently.
“Arrived there yet?”
The softly spoken words startled Draco and he jerked, then whipped his head around and peered into the darkened area behind him. Standing, leaning against the wall with his arms and ankles crossed, was a vision so startling that he jerked upright. Rebelling against the sharp movement, pain shot through his body and his stomach roiled. Abruptly dizzy, Draco lurched forward and nearly fell from the small cot. Strong hands caught and steadied him.
“Easy, there.”
It took the room a moment to settle, but when it finally did Draco looked up to find Potter kneeling before him, his hands still steady on his shoulders. Potter’s hair was longer than Draco had ever seen it, brushing his broad shoulders, and there was a healthy growth of stubble on his square chin, but the eyes behind the round spectacles were as green as he remembered, the brows still thick and elegantly arched, the nose still straight and strong. His body had hardened and filled out, and even in his discomfort and confusion Draco couldn’t help but notice that Potter had changed.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice rising along with his fear. “Don’t tell me they’ve caught you, too! How could you allow yourself…”
“Hush!” Potter whispered harshly, green eyes darting towards the door. “They’ll hear you.”
Draco blinked quickly. “What? They must already know that you’re here…”
“They don’t,” Potter said firmly. “They don’t know that I’m here.” His fingers tightened almost painfully on Draco’s shoulders. “They don’t know that I’m here,” he repeated, and the two young men stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment.
“I don’t…” Draco shook his head as if to clear it. “How could they…? I don’t understand.”
Harry held on for a moment longer, as if to assure himself that Draco was steady, then sat back on his haunches. “They don’t know that I’m here,” he said cautiously, “because they haven’t seen me. The only person who’s seen me… is you.”
“I haven’t seen you before now,” Draco argued softly, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I’ve been alone here for two days. I don’t know what…” And then he stopped, voice slipping into silence, grey eyes wide in his pale face. “You were here last night…” Potter nodded, his face carefully blank. “But how…?”
“I was here last night,” Potter said softly. “And the night before.”
Draco shook his head, certain he must have misunderstood. “You weren’t.”
“I was, Draco,” Harry whispered, putting soft emphasis on Draco’s given name. Draco’s breath caught. “I was here, in this cell with you, two nights ago.”
“The only thing in this cell with me two nights ago was a bird…”
Potter nodded calmly. “Yes,” he said enigmatically. “A peregrine falcon, with a black hood, and a mark above his right eye.”
Draco stared at him, his heart beginning to beat hard within his chest. “Are you saying… but you aren’t…”
Potter merely stared. They sat that way for what felt like a very long time.
“You’re telling me you’re an Animagus,” Draco finally wheezed, leaning back against the wall. Potter nodded faintly, and Draco’s mouth firmed. “I don’t believe you.”
Potter shook his dark head. “How else would you explain my being here?”
“I don’t know,” Draco pushed up from the bunk. He swayed for a moment, then reached out to steady himself with his hand pressed to the wall. “I don’t know,” he hissed more firmly. “But you’re fucking with me; I know it. If you were an Animagus, someone would have heard about it before now. You… you Gryffindors, you’re so sickeningly honest, you’d have registered. Snape would have known, Snape would have told me... “
His voice had started to rise, and in a surprising show of agility, Potter was on his feet, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him hard against the wall, leaning into his chest, one knee inadvertently pushing between his long legs, one sweaty palm covering his mouth. Draco’s eyes widened and he stared into the green irises just inches from his own, felt his heart stutter in his chest at the feel of all of that coiled muscle leaning into him.
“I told you,” Potter hissed from between clenched teeth. “If you don’t keep your voice down, they’re going to hear you and then any advantage my being here might give us is going to be lost. Now, will you just shut it and listen?”
Draco found it hard to pull a deep breath with Potter’s hand firm over his mouth, and his chest pressing into him. He swallowed heavily, and then nodded once jerkily.
“If I pull my hand away, will you be quiet?” He asked, studying Draco’s eyes. Draco nodded again. “All right then.” Potter eased his hand away, then pulled back, and Draco was startled by how sorry he was to lose the weight that had been pressed against him. He flattened his palms against the cold stone at his back and took a deep breath.
“Snape didn’t know I was an Animagus,” Potter said quietly, glancing toward the door, then back into Draco’s wide eyes. “No one knows. No one but Ron and Hermione, and now you. I found out by accident. Hermione and I got… thrown out of a second story window and it just… happened.”
Draco shook his head. “You became an Animagus… by accident?”
Potter shoved his hands into the front pockets of his worn denims and self-consciously bit his lower lip. “My Dad taught himself to be one,” he answered. “There must be something… hereditary, or something.”
Draco let his head fall back against the wall, closing his eyes and laughing weakly. “Only you, Potter.”
“What?” Potter asked, brow furrowing.
“Only you could have something so… bloody brilliant happen to them, by accident.” The grey eyes came back to the green. “Have you any idea how much I would give to just be able to… turn into something else and fly away?” To his horror, Draco felt tears begin to fill his eyes and he looked away.
Potter shifted a step closer. “I’m pretty sure that I do,” he said gently. Draco turned his eyes back to Potter’s, and found them studying him, not with pity, but with a deep understanding.
“Why are you here, Potter?” he asked wearily. “It makes no sense that you should be here, of all places.”
“I came to get you,” the dark-haired man answered steadily, his voice deeper than Draco remembered. Draco stared, uncomprehending. “Snape came to me; he told me where you were.”
Draco’s breath caught. “Is he all right?”
Potter’s eyes clouded. “I’ve no idea,” he answered. “But he wasn’t in a good way when I left him, I can tell you that. Who…?”
“The Carrows,” Draco answered. “They found me in Snape’s quarters. He’s been hiding me since…”
“Yeah,” Potter said abruptly, stepping back and running a square hand through his dark hair. There was still so much history between them; so much that had been angry and ugly. Draco was forcefully reminded that he’d not seen Potter since before Dumbledore…
“I didn’t do it.”
Draco was stunned that the words and popped from his own mouth, and his eyes widened. Potter frowned.
“You didn’t do what?”
Draco blinked quickly, trying to think of something, anything to say other than what had started to come from his mouth.
“You didn’t do what, Draco?” Potter repeated, brow furrowed. Draco found that standing there, staring into those green eyes, he suddenly very much wanted Potter to know that he’d not murdered Dumbledore. He dampened his lips.
“I didn’t kill Dumbledore,” he whispered, his voice trembling. Potter’s eyes softened.
“I know that you didn’t,” he murmured. “I was there.”
Draco frowned at that. “You were… where?”
“On the top of the Astronomy Tower. I saw all of it. You, and Dumbledore, and Snape…”
“How?” Draco sputtered.
“It doesn’t matter.” Potter shook his dark head. “Just believe it. I saw. But you let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts…” There was no real anger in his tone, but Draco flinched none the less.
“I didn’t have a choice, Potter,” Draco said quickly, desperately wanting him to know, to understand. “The Dark Lord was threatening my parents, and Snape had entered into an Unbreakable Vow with my mother. And Dumbledore had made Snape promise…”
“I know,” Potter whispered firmly, cutting him off. Draco silenced, and stared. “I know about Dumbledore. He told me.”
The two young men stood in the cold tower, unaware of the chill, staring silently into one another’s drawn faces. There had been so much between them, so many things said, so many things done. Draco still bore the scars across his chest from that one ill-fated curse, Potter bore the scar on his head, given him by the very person Draco had supposed to have been serving. And yet, in that moment, they were just two young men, stripped of pretense and prejudice and pride, and the years of enmity seemed to shift and weaken.
“If I had known who was coming that night,” Draco whispered, and it was a raw sound. “If I’d known that Greyback would be with them,” he shuddered at the sound of the werewolf’s name, “I’d never have let them in.” His grey eyes were imploring as they stared into the watchful green. “I know what he is, and I would never have let him near a building full of children. You have to believe that.”
Potter searched his face for a long time, so long that Draco grew uncomfortable under his regard, but he didn’t look away. Finally, he ran one hand through the inky blackness of his hair.
“I do,” he said softly, letting his hand drop to his side again. “I do believe you.”
Draco hadn’t realized how rigidly he’d been holding himself until he sagged with relief and leaned back against the wall. Again, silence began to lengthen. Potter looked into his eyes, then his gaze slipped to Draco’s lips, and they parted on an indrawn breath in response to the direction of his gaze. Draco held his breath, very still, waiting.
“Snape… said something else to me,” Potter began almost hesitantly, brow slightly furrowed. “He said-” he paused, his frown deepening. Draco’s heart had begun to pound against his ribs.
“He said,” he prodded breathlessly. Potter’s green eyes lifted from Draco’s lips.
“He said,” Potter repeated after a moment, “that he’d been in my head all of fifth year, and that… well, he’d seen something…” Again his hand went through his thick hair in agitation. “Did he ever say anything like that… you know, to you?”
Draco’s mouth went very dry as he stared into the watchful green eyes. Severus’ softly spoken words repeated themselves in his mind. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Love is never something to be ashamed of. And know this, Draco; remember this, you aren’t alone in your feelings.”
He swallowed deeply, his eyes never leaving Potter’s, but he couldn’t seem to make himself respond. And then Potter took a step closer to him, until there was literally just inches separating their chests, and Draco had to drop his head back a bit, for this new and improved Potter was a good three inches taller than he was. Taller, and broader…
“Tell me… Draco.” Potter said his name with quiet emphasis, and Draco felt a chill run the length of his spine. Instead of speaking, he nodded tightly. “What did he say?” Potter breathed, and Draco could feel the tension in the other young man’s body even through the small space that separated them, see the dilating of his pupils until the green of his eyes was a mere sliver around deep pools of concentrated black.
“He said…” Draco began, his voice a ghost of sound.
Heavy footfalls from the corridor outside the thick oak door, those of several people, not just one man, cut off what Draco had been going to say, and he inhaled sharply. Potter’s hands shot out and curled around his upper arms as he turned his head towards the door.
“The Dark Lord said,” a male voice was shouting, “that he’s to be left alone, MacNair!”
Potter’s eyes came back to Draco’s, as wide as his own. Draco began to speak but Potter shook his head quickly.
“Ah, I’m not gonna hurt ‘im,” MacNair answered loudly, and from the sound of him, he’d been drinking. Heavily. “Just gonna… play w’ im a little.”
Draco began to tremble. He couldn’t help it.
“The Dark Lord said…” the first man tried again, but MacNair cut him off with an angry snarl.
“He ain’t gonna know now, is ‘e? And you ain’t gonna tell ‘im Goyle, cuz if you do, I’ll tell ‘im that your boy has a hard-on for that Muggle-born in his year. Which do you think he’s going to think is worse? Me having the Malfoy brat blow me, or your son sticking it to ‘the unclean’?”
“Shut the fuck up, MacNair!” Goyle senior shouted. “You don’t know what the hell you’re on about!”
“Hell I don’t,” McNair chuckled darkly. “My nephew is Theo Nott, old man, and he’s told me everything. Now get the fuck out of my way.”
“I won’t let you hurt him,” Goyle replied staunchly, and MacNair laughed again. The sound had gooseflesh raising on Draco’s arms.
“I’m not gonna hurt ‘im, I tole you.” There came the sound of the heavy key-ring that held the tower key jangling, and Draco stiffened. “I’m just gonna… give ‘is mouth a workout…”
Harry’s eyes widened and he heard the sound of more scuffling, then the jangle as the keys were dropped, followed by MacNair’s drunken cursing. “I can’t be seen,” Harry said quickly, stepping back.
“Don’t leave me!” Draco whispered in near desperation. “Don’t, please…”
“I won’t leave,” Harry promised, glancing again towards the door when there was another series of muffled thuds. “I’ll be right up there,” he jerked his head towards the hole in the ceiling.
“Please, Potter,” Draco gasped. “Please. I can’t… I’m such a coward…”
Harry paused then, his hand coming up to grip Draco’s chin, holding his face steady. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he promised earnestly. “I swear it. And you are not a coward.” And before Draco had a chance to do much more than inhale, Potter had leaned forward and covered his lips with his own, taking them in a quick, bruising kiss. When he stepped back, the green eyes were blazing fiercely, and then he was kicking off from the floor. Draco watched in wonder as the tall, lanky body transformed into the handsome bird of prey, and he was still looking up when the cell door finally crashed open and slammed into the stone wall.
Draco whipped his head around, wide eyes staring at the shadowed figure standing in the doorway. There was someone else standing behind him, Goyle he knew, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the lumpy, staggering figure of MacNair as he pushed himself gracelessly into the cell.
He looked around as he struggled to straighten, and Draco thought he looked a bit like an over-large, clumsy dog, peering through beady eyes, head shaking as if to clear it. “Where in hell…” And then he spotted Draco, standing with his back pressed against the wall, and he advanced toward him unsteadily. “Ere yo are,” he muttered, and even at a distance of several feet, Draco could smell the alcohol on him. He pressed his shoulder blades more firmly into the wall, and his hands gripped the stone. MacNair stopped and looked back at Goyle, who hesitated in the doorway.
“Come on, Goyle,” MacNair said bluffly, “I’m sure young Malfoy’s got enough for both of us-“ he turned and leered at Draco, “-don’t ya, boy? Plan to use that smart mouth of yours for something con… constr… useful, for a change.”
Draco clenched his teeth as the father of his childhood friend stared at him, something very like regret in his tired eyes. “No,” he muttered after a moment. “No, I… no.”
“Suit yourself.” MacNair turned and kicked the door closed in the senior Goyle’s face, then turned back and lurched towards Draco. “You and I can have a little party all by ourselves…” MacNair continued to advance on him, and Draco pulled further along the wall reflexively, glancing up nervously. The bird sat in the opening in the ceiling, strong body outlined by the moon, poised to fly. Draco swallowed. “On your knees, brat,” MacNair ordered when he was standing directly in front of Draco, swaying on his feet. “Now! You’re gonna suck my cock.”
“No.” Draco wanted to sound strong, wanted to prove that he was brave, but his voice came out a pitiful whine. He cleared his throat and tried again. “No.” That was better, stronger, and he was satisfied when MacNair’s eyes widened.
“What did you say to me, boy?”
Draco dampened his parched lips with his tongue. A mistake, he realized after the fact, when MacNair watched the movement greedily. “I said, no,” he repeated, even more firmly. “If you think for one second that I’m going to take your diseased, puny tool into my mouth…”
MacNair snarled and lashed out, striking Draco hard in the face with the back of his hand, so hard that the sound cracked through the quiet and his head snapped to the side. He had staggered a bit and lifted his hand to his mouth, a metallic taste filling it, when suddenly the cell went utterly and completely black. What light there had been was snuffed out, as if the moon had suddenly disappeared from the sky. Draco heard MacNair curse colorfully and then scream out wordlessly in surprise and pain, and Draco dove for the floor, reaching for the remembered location of his pallet. He grabbed the rough wooden bed legs and tried to pull himself beneath it.
“What the hell…?” MacNair shouted. “Get off! Get off me! What is it? Fuck, that hurts! What is it?”
From the sounds that were emanating from the blackness, it seemed as if a life and death struggle were taking place within the room. Draco succeeded in getting his slender body under the bunk and lay there, curled up, listening to the horrible sounds of MacNair screaming and falling, cursing ineffectively. “Goyle!” he shouted. “Goyle, there’s something in here! Get me out, get me out!”
“What do you mean, there’s something in there?” The latch rattled loudly. “For God’s sake, MacNair, you have the key!”
“Help Me!” MacNair continued to scream, and it sounded as if he were sobbing, too. “It’s going to kill me, it’s going to kill me!”
From outside, Draco heard Alohamora!, but even when the door slammed open the impenetrable blackness remained. Draco heard Goyle gasp, then cry out.
“What the hell…?”
“Help me, Goyle,” MacNair sounded weakened, his voice not nearly as loud, rough with tears. “Help me. God, it’s killing me!”
Draco heard the sound of running feet, and knew there were more of the Death Eaters approaching the open door.
“What the bloody hell…”
“Why is that cell so dark? Is that MacNair screaming?”
“Lumos!” someone shouted, but still the blackness remained.
“Sweet Merlin, what in Hades has hold of him?”
“Please, please…” MacNair’s voice had dropped to a low sob, and Draco couldn’t help but wonder what Potter had done to him to make him sound so utterly terrified.
“I’m going in after him.” This was Goyle, spoken bravely, but his voice quavering spoiled the effect.
“It’s your funeral,” Alecto Carrow offered snidely.
Moments later, there was a scuffling sound, then Goyle’s triumphant, “I’ve got him!”
Draco heard MacNair moaning, heard another series of thumps and scrapes, then the sound of something heavy being dragged across the stone floor. Moments later he heard the door being slammed shut, and the sounds of frantic questions and horrified exclamations drifted through the heavy wood.
“It’s all right,” came a soft, deep voice from near his head, and Draco jerked in surprise. He opened his eyes, but that heavy, suffocating darkness remained. When he felt a hand touch his shoulder, he reached up and clasped it, and Potter pulled him easily from beneath the pallet.
“Peruvian Instant Darkness powder?” Draco asked softly, still clinging to the strong hand. A soft chuckle was his response.
“Yeah,” Potter answered, his deep voice equally soft. “There’s no counter curse for it, so we’ll just have to wait for it to wear off.”
Draco sat with his back against the wall, and he felt Potter’s upper arm touch his when he settled next to him. He turned his head to the side, but could see nothing, not even an outline. He hesitated a moment, then asked the question that was lingering in his mind. “What did you do to him?”
He felt Potter’s arm move, and heard the soft snort he uttered. “Pulled his hair, pecked at his forehead a bit. He probably looks a right mess, but he wasn’t really hurt that bad.” Potter made another disparaging noise. “He’s a big baby, that’s what he is. I’ve had worse after Quidditch Practice.”
Draco knew Potter couldn’t see the smirk that pulled at the corner of his lips. “But then, you’re accident prone, Potter,” he said, unable to keep the teasing quality out of his voice. “I’ve often wondered just what Pomfrey’s doing to occupy her time, now that you aren’t at Hogwarts anymore.”
“Har, har,” Potter said dryly, but unlike their previous exchanges at school, there was no venom in it, and Draco allowed himself to settle more heavily against Potter’s side. He heard a softly indrawn breath, but moments later, Potter was leaning against him, as well. And that was when Draco remembered that one quick, rough kiss, and his heart began to beat hard within his chest, and he felt an unmistakable stirring behind his fly.
“Potter,” he whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Uhm, before, when you…” he paused, and he could feel that Potter had stiffened, and was waiting for his next words. “When you… kissed me…” Still, Potter made no sound. “Why did you? Kiss me, I mean…” Draco nearly rolled his eyes at how bumbling and, well, very like the old Potter he sounded. When Potter didn’t answer after a moment, his heart sank and he began to pull away. He was stopped when Potter’s hand settled heavily on his thigh, and squeezed.
“Because,” the deep voice was very soft in the darkness, and he paused. Draco heard the sound of him swallowing. “Because I wanted to,” Potter answered, suddenly sounding very sure. “I think I’ve wanted to for a really long time, I just never had the nerve. It was something that Snape said. I started to tell you before…”
“Yes?” Unlike Potter, Draco knew he sounded slightly shaky.
“He said that during our Occlumency lessons during fifth year, he’d seen something in my head.” Draco felt the rush of hot breath against his cheek, and realized that Potter had leaned in closer. “Something that I hadn’t even really acknowledged to myself. And he told me that he’d seen into your heart, as well. And that I needed to come and save you, because I needed you.”
Draco blinked quickly, remembering when Severus had revealed what he knew about his feelings for Potter. “He told me the same thing,” he whispered.
“And had he?” Potter murmured softly, and Draco felt the fingers on his thigh move in a gentle, stroking motion.
“Had he… what?” Draco breathed.
“Seen into your heart, Draco?”
Draco’s eyes drifted closed at the sound of his given name on Potter’s lips. “Yes… Harry,” he sighed, and he heard the soft sound Potter made when his first name was spoken so gently. “Yes, he’d seen into my heart.”
Draco held his breath as he felt the warmth of Potter’s face near his, and nearly groaned in frustration when the other young man hesitated. “I’ve never done this before,” he admitted quietly.
“Never done… what?”
“Kissed a man.”
Draco lifted his hand, and his palm came to rest against a hard jaw. He felt the scrape of stubble beneath his fingers, and his body quickened. “But you have,” he said gently. “You kissed me, just before…”
He felt the movement against his palm when Harry’s lips lifted at the corners. “So I did,” he murmured. “Then I should be an old hand at this.”
“A veteran,” Draco teased, but all thoughts of teasing fled his mind when Harry, as blinded as he was in the darkness, brushed his lips just beneath Draco’s nose. With a soft, welcoming sigh, Draco lifted his chin and found Potter’s mouth.
Draco had, unlike Potter, kissed a man before. He’d known about his own sexual orientation from the moment he’d first seen Oliver Wood in his Quidditch leathers. And yet, as he felt Potter lean in closer, and felt his lips move, caressing his own, he realized that any kissing he’d done before had just been a precursor to this; this sweet warmth, this gentle taking. For Potter might not have kissed a man before, but there was absolutely no question that Potter could kiss.
He opened his mouth gladly, accepted the thrust of Potter’s tongue with a soft moan of welcome. He felt the other man turn then, leaning across his chest, and the feeling of that coiled strength, pressing him into the wall at his back, made his toes curl in his shoes. Potter slanted his head first one way, then the other, his lips smoothly parting Draco’s further as his tongue slipped over the surfaces of his teeth before slowly, sinuously but firmly stroking along the curling length of his tongue. Draco’s tongue fluttered in response, and when he caught Potter’s and began to suck on it gently, Potter made a harsh, needy sound in his throat. He began to thrust his tongue slowly into Draco’s mouth in an unmistakable rhythm that had Draco reaching up to card his fingers through surprising soft, thick hair as he groaned. He felt an arm snake behind his back, and he fisted his fingers in Potter’s hair as he pulled him more firmly against the hardness of his chest.
A sound from the corridor made them both freeze, and Potter pulled his lips away and lifted his head to listen. There was another muffled sound, then the jangle of the key-ring just outside of the door. Draco felt Potter’s lips brush against his ear.
“Can you scream?” he whispered, and Draco frowned.
“Scream?”
“Yeah, scream. Loud.”
“I...”
There was the sound of the key inserted clumsily into the lock, and Potter grabbed and squeezed his arm. “Scream, Draco,” he ordered fiercely. “Now!”
He squeezed the slender arm hard, and though it didn’t really hurt, some of his urgency transferred itself to Draco and he opened his mouth and screamed as loud as he could. He felt Potter flinch, but he didn’t pull away.
“Louder,” Potter whispered tightly. “Again, now.”
And so Draco screamed again, and again. When he paused to catch his breath, he felt Potter’s hand in the center of his chest, pressing, silencing him.
“Holy Mordred,” he heard muttered from outside the door. It sounded like Goyle speaking. “What in hell is in there?”
“Don’t know,” came the answer, and they both recognized Carrow’s gruff voice, clearly frightened. “MacNair said he’d been attacked by a giant bird. He said that Malfoy had turned Veela…”
“He was drunk, and hysterical,” Goyle said sharply. “I’ve known the Malfoys for years. There is no creature blood in that family.”
“Don’t know about that,” Carrow said darkly. “Me, I’ve always wondered, with that hair of their’s…”
Draco felt Harry pull away and wrapped his arms around himself when the cold air replaced his warmth. He sat staring into the darkness, then nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a horrible, screaming cry fill the cell. It was high pitched; a screech like fingers on a chalk board, and the hair on Draco’s neck lifted even as he recognized the scream of a bird of prey.
“Sweet Circe!” Goyle cried. “Whatever the hell that is, we’ve got to get that kid out of there…”
“I’m not going in there!” Carrow argued. “For all we know, that IS that kid, turned into something that can rip our faces off!”
“We can’t just leave him in there!” Goyle answered frantically. “If he’s dead when the Dark Lord returns, we shall all pay for it!”
“If he isn’t,” Carrow said, suddenly sounding cagey, “and that IS only Malfoy in there, I for one would like to see his father try to explain it, wouldn’t you?”
There was a heavy silence from the corridor, then the sound of muttering and footsteps moving away down the hall.
“Merlin,” Draco whispered. “That idiot MacNair thinks I’m part Veela.”
“You’re beautiful enough to be,” Potter replied softly from the darkness, and Draco was both flattered, and glad that he was back in his human form. That animal scream had unnerved him.
Silence returned to the dark cell, and Draco sat very still, waiting. Moments later, he felt Potter’s body heat against his side, and he shivered in response to it.
“You’re cold,” Potter said gently. He touched Draco, then curled his hands around his upper arms. “Let’s get you off of the floor.”
“Can you see in here?” he asked as Potter lifted him easily to his feet. So easily that Draco couldn’t help but wonder at his strength.
“When I’m the bird, yes,” he answered softly. He directed Draco a few steps to the side, and he felt the rough cot against the back of his calves. Potter eased him down, then sat beside him. “When I’m me, my eyes aren’t any better than they’ve ever been, unfortunately.”
While he’d been in Potter’s arms a few minutes before, he’d not felt the bitter chill in the air. He didn’t know if it was an after affect of MacNair’s aborted attack, or the sound of the primal cry that had echoed in the small cell, but that in combination with the cold made Draco began to shake in earnest. He tried to stop it, but tensing his muscles only made it worse. Even the feeling of Potter’s hand on his arm couldn’t stop it.
“You’re freezing,” Draco heard Potter mutter. “Here, scoot over and lie down, facing the wall.”
“What…”
“Just trust me,” Potter answered. Draco paused for a moment.
Trust him; trust Potter. At one time, that would have been unthinkable, but now? He found himself turning and lying down, pulling himself up into a ball, his arms wrapped around his knees. Moments later he felt the hard strength of Potter’s body curling up behind him, legs pulling up to mirror the bend of his own. Strong arms came around him to pull him into the hardness of a toned young body, hands spreading on his chest. With a softly muttered spell, Draco felt the heavy velvet cloak settle over him again, and instantly warmth began to flow over his skin.
“Oh,” he murmured gratefully, unclasping his hands from his knees and bringing them up to curl around Potter’s on his chest.
“Better?” Potter asked softly, his lips next to Draco’s ear, his hot breath stirring the short hair just in front of it. Draco nodded. Potter’s body heat soothed away his trembling, and Draco began to relax. He pressed back into the muscled chest behind him. They lay in silence for a long time as slowly, the pitch blackness began to lift and the details of the wall in front of him began to come back into focus. Draco’s eyes began to feel heavy as the lovely encompassing warmth and the almost sleepless night worked in concert. He sighed heavily, and closed his eyes.
“Tired,” he murmured.
“Then go to sleep,” Potter answered, his soft voice low.
“Don’t leave.” Draco’s hands tightened instinctively around Potter’s, squeezing.
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
When Potter spoke next, it was right into his nape, his breath warm and damp against Draco’s skin. “I promise,” he whispered, and sealed that vow with a fleeting kiss to the soft skin beneath his hairline. Draco hummed softly at the delicious sensation, and then promptly drifted off to sleep.
Part 3