fic: Five things that never happened to Draco Malfoy... or maybe they did for typied
Title: Five things that never happened to Draco Malfoy… or maybe they did.
Author: aviss
Giftee: typied
Beta: I want to thank Black Faery for her great beta.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warning: Character Death, breathplay, mentions of rape, angst
Classification: R
Words: Aprox 4.300
Notes: This one was really difficult, I couldn't manage to get any of the kinks requested due to the rating (it seems I can only be explicit when writing kinks) and I included one that wasn't mentioned, I hope you like it.
Summary: Draco knows that the time is coming. And he remembers. He remember that other life he didn't have.
Five things that never happened to Draco Malfoy… or maybe they did.
The cell is damp and cold--nothing compared to the chilling cold of Azkaban's cells, but damp and cold nonetheless. Draco tries to burrow into the tatters of his black robe, expensive and elegant once upon a time but nothing more than a filthy rag nowadays.
It's only matter of time, he thinks, depressed, only matter of time.
Draco closes his eyes and lets the images assault him, memories of paths not taken, of other lives, taking over his mind continuously since he's in this miserable place.
Under his closed eyelids the light is bright and the sun gently warms his tired limbs…
1. Under the stands, First Year.
Draco is sitting under the Quidditch Pitch stands, his eyes tirelessly following Harry Potter's progress in the sky as he moves like he was born to be there. Draco hates Harry; he hates Harry with such an intensity that it sometimes scares him. Nobody has the right to humiliate a Malfoy, to refuse his offer of friendship and choose instead a wretched, penniless moron with more brothers than galleons at Gringotts. Not even the famous Potter.
It was that hate that made Draco follow Potter after Professor McGonagall called him, and for just a second Draco dared to believe that Potter was going to be expelled--but instead they've given him a broom and he's flying, chasing small white balls and grinning goofily for that stupid Wood.
Draco is not stupid; he know what that means. Wood is Gryffindor's Captain, and Potter wouldn't be flying over the Quidditch Pitch if he weren't being tested. Nothing as common as the tryouts generally used to get new players, nothing like waiting until Second Year to get into the Quidditch Team; not for Potter
And Draco's hate flares up, its flame so powerful that it threatens to burn him.
But Draco is nothing if not patient; he knows that after the test Potter will be alone, and he knows he will have a chance.
Time slows down as Potter takes a dive, and finally seems to stop when he lands, his cheeks flushed and his hair even wilder, with a satisfied expression on his face. Draco observes him from his hiding place, and waits. He waits until Wood has put all the things back in his bag and is moving away, with Potter dragging his feet behind him.
The two of them stop close to the exit and exchange some words Draco can't hear; finally Wood nods and leaves, and Harry Potter is alone in the Quidditch Pitch.
Draco knows he won't have another chance like this one, and silently he crawls from under the stand until he's right behind Potter. The other boy has not yet noticed anything, believing himself alone and he stands still, sunlit face tilted up and a peaceful smile on his lips
Draco takes out his wand and points it at him, muttering one of the spells he's not supposed to know yet, Petrificus Totalus; Potter falls on his back like a ton of brick, his face still showing the same satisfied expression.
Draco drags him to the middle of the Pitch, arranges him on the green field, and straddles his chest. This is the moment he has been waiting for. Nobody knows he's there; nobody will ever be able to blame him. For a second he wonders if he is strong enough to do it… but he remembers the humiliation he suffered and all the ones that will surely follow if Potter gets onto the Quidditch Team, and he holds onto his hatred and grits his teeth.
Potter is paralyzed under his body, his arms pressed against his side and held by Draco's knees, his chance of escaping nonexistent. Draco places his hands around Potter's neck and squeezes. Nothing happens; the flesh is unyielding and Potter still doesn't know what's happening to him. There is no fight, no reaction from the boy trapped under Draco's hatred.
Draco relaxes and smiles. It is enough.
He stands carefully and walks away until the shadow of the stands hides him again. Taking out his wand points it at the unmoving body on the ground and whispers, Finite Incantatem, and he vanishes again under the stands before Potter realizes what's happened.
It's enough; knowing he had Potter life in his hands is more than enough to quiet the fire inside him.
At least for the moment.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Draco opens his eyes and stares at the stone wall in front of him, the small cracks drawing strange and delicate patterns that make him wonder if it's not his mind playing tricks on him. The cracks and the damp spots on the wall are creating a picture of Harry Potter's face, the last face he wants to see right now, and apparently the face that haunts him even in his false memories.
He's not even sure anymore if he really was there, watching that scene, or if it's just his mind creating that fantasy for him. But the feelings are so real, the images so clear that he doesn’t know what's true and what's not anymore.
Maybe he really was there. Maybe he really had that chance of killing Potter and he wasted it. Where would he be right now, had he killed Potter then? He doesn't know; he doesn’t want to know.
He looks again at Potter's face on the cracked and yellowed wall and sighs, closing his eyes.
2. At the Astronomy Tower, Fourth Year.
Draco climbs the stairs leading to the Astronomy Tower slowly, without knowing exactly why he has decided to go after all. The note was brief and direct, and it was signed by Potter.
He doesn't know what Potter wants, but he does know that his curiosity about what the just-proclaimed Hogwarts Champion wants with him is more than his natural reluctance to get close to him.
Potter is waiting for him at the Tower, staring out to the grounds; his face, barely touched by the moonlight, is serious and thoughtful.
"You came, Malfoy." He speaks quietly, his voice barely reaching Draco's ears.
"You called, Potter. And I can't deny the Champion; it wouldn't be polite." He says it with all the sarcasm he has learnt under Lucius and Snape.
Potter narrows his eyes angrily, and then he turns to look fully at Draco, the strength of his glare dimmed somewhat by the shadows under his eyes and the moonlight reflecting on his glasses.
"I want to know if you had something to do with this, Malfoy," Potter says, his voice serious, his eyes cold. "I didn't put my name in the Goblet, and if what Moody says is true, someone may have done it to hurt me. I can only think it might have bee you."
Draco looks at him for a moment, not really believing what he just heard. Is that the reason Potter called him?
"Potter, I know you think the world revolves around you, but why would I put your name in the Goblet? Are we such good friends that I would want to see you as Hogwarts Champion?" He raises his hand when he sees Potter is about to speak, and the other boy stays silent. "No, Potter, if I knew of a way to trick the Goblet, it would have been my name called out there. Eternal Glory, would I want that for you? Your ego is already big enough. Besides, there are easier ways of getting rid of you without granting you more headlines." For a moment he remembers the feeling of his fingers around Potter's delicate neck, squeezing the cold and hard flesh, and he smiles. "If this is all you have to say, I'll leave. I have better things to do than listening to your delusions. "
Draco turns to leave, but before he can cross to the door he's slammed against the wall, the wind knocked right out of him; Potter's body pressing against him, his hands around Draco's slim neck.
"Yes, Malfoy, I know how easy it would have been for you," Potter whispers in Draco's ear. "I was petrified, not unconscious."
And Draco realizes the mistake he made not finishing Potter that day three years ago. Now the tables are turned, and Potter is the one with Draco's life in his hands. Draco smiles wryly; it was a stupid mistake for a Malfoy. He know that Potter is too righteous, too Gryffindor to kill him. He's not afraid.
Potter's fingers squeeze for a second, then leave Draco's neck to rest on his face, it's a gentle touch, almost loving. Draco keeps still, trapped by his own desire to know where that will lead them.
Potter closes the distance until their faces are almost touching, and in a whisper his breath touches Draco's lips, almost like a kiss. "For something so beautiful to be so deadly…" he says, and Draco wonders what he means. And before the promise of that kiss becomes a reality, Potter lets go of him and leaves the Tower almost at a run, and Draco is alone staring at the grounds and smiling.
It's an interesting change in their relationship.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
The jailers pass by without seeing Draco, engrossed on their own worlds that have no place for him. Their lives, simple and plain, revolve around trivial and uninteresting things. The Falcons and their chances at the Quidditch Cup, the new witch working at the front desk and her revealing robes, the awaited pay raise that seems never to come--lives that Draco envies now in a way he would have never thought possible, lives not haunted by the delusion of an impossible past with Harry Potter.
Time passes, minute by minute, second by second, and Draco knows that the time is coming. And he remembers. He remembers that other life he didn't have.
3. Room of Requirement, Sixth Year.
Potter has been watching Draco like a hawk for months. Most of the time his expression was one of suspicion, as if he knew Draco was up to no good and he was trying to figure out how to stop him. Draco knows it will make no difference.
However, there are some times when Draco can see a different light in his eyes. He doesn't know exactly what to call it; it's not desire, not really, and it's not longing either. It's a light was makes Draco nervous most of the time, not for what it really is, but because he wonders what he really wants it to be.
And now Potter knows where he goes every day. Potter still doesn't know the reason, but if he keeps being that persistent he will end up finding out. Draco has to stop him; he needs to divert his attention to other things. It's not only his life on the line; Lucius' also depends on the success of that mission.
And Draco has a plan.
The note is brief and to the point, exactly like the one Potter sent him that time two years ago. Draco remembers perfectly the event of that night, that weakness of Potter's never leaving his mind completely, but he has never exploited it. There have been plenty of occasions, but somehow Draco has never felt the urge to do it. The same as Potter keeping the secret of what happened during First Year.
This time is different, however: the situation is desperate, and Draco is willing to use any means available to ensure that Potter doesn't stand on his way.
The Room of Requirement is ready to fit his needs when Draco enters: a bed, a fireplace, and two armchairs. Nothing that can give Potter a clue as to what other activities take place there.
Potter arrives a few minutes after Draco, looking stupidly surprised when he sees the room. He looks then at Draco, his eyes showing incredulity, suspicion, and a hint of hope. It's so easy to read them, and Draco marvels at how much easier this is going to be than he enviosioned.
"Malfoy." Potter enters the Room and closes the door, stopping just inside. "Will you tell me the meaning of this and why you've called me here?"
Draco stands up from the armchair and walks slowly toward Potter, a predator stalking his prey. Potter doesn't move; he just clenches his fist while Draco gets closer, and fixes his eyes on a spot over Draco's shoulder.
"Potter," Draco drawls, "you've spent the entire year following and spying me. I've know for a long time you are obsessed with me, but this time it's obvious to the whole school."
Potter blushes brightly and shakes his head, trying to deny the obvious; Draco just smiles and takes a step forward until their bodies are almost touching. Looking down, he sees that Potter is clenching his fist so hard his knuckles are white.
"I don't know what you mean," mutters Potter, trying to put some distance between the two of them. For every step back he takes, Draco takes a step forward, until Potter is against the door.
It's the perfect moment; all his movements calculated so Potter can't react badly and attack Draco before he can act, Draco raises his hands slowly to Potter's neck, gently putting them around it, and Potter tries to fight for a second before the light of recognition enters his eyes and the struggle ceases. Draco squeezes, tightening his grip slowly until he can feel Potter's breath rasping against the pressure on his throat. Then while he releases his grip presses his body against Potter's, surprised to notice that some part of his anatomy has reacted without his knowledge.
Potter stares at him, his eyes huge and dark, blinded by desire. Draco puts his hands on Potter's face, and, mirroring the other boy's gesture, he leans forward until their lips are a breath apart. "For something so beautiful to be so deadly… " he says sincerely, surprised at not hearing the mockery he expected to be present. And this time, instead of fleeing like Potter did, Draco closes the distance between their lips at the same time he lowers his hands to Potter's neck. The kiss is not sweet but violent, demanding entrance for his tongue immediately and swallowing Potter's moans while his fingers squeeze the delicate neck.
Potter tastes sweet and clean, too clean for someone writhing under Draco's hands while he chokes him.
Draco takes a step back to breathe and looks at Potter, who is panting loudly, his rasping breaths sound terribly sexy. He never planned to go that far, but Potter is the most tempting being in that precise moment, with that look of defiance in his eyes while his body is begging to be used. Not thinking anymore, Draco grabs Potter by the neck and drags him to the bed, throwing him none-too-gently on it and climbing on top of him.
Potter doesn't fight back; he just tilts his head back, exposing his neck where red marks of Draco's fingerprints are beginning to show. Draco feels himself hardening even more, and he takes possession of Potter's mouth again.
Their bodies fit perfectly, Potter's lips surrendering to the assault, his legs spreading to let Draco settle, their groins lined, pushing. The pressure is too much, and Draco knows he's going to come in his pant like the hormonal teenager he is, and he doesn't care. Nothing matters at that moment but Potter's lips, and his body moving under Draco's, and his lovely, delicate neck exposed for Draco to show his power.
Potter is moaning, writhing desperately under Draco's frantic thrusts, his tongue exploring his mouth frenetically until he breaks the kiss to take a breath.
"Draco," he moans, his voice hoarse and filled with desire.
"Potter," Draco says, looking interestedly at the narrowed and almost black eyes behind the fogged glasses.
"Please…" Potter begs, and, surprising Draco, he takes Draco's hands and puts them on his neck before resuming the kiss.
And Draco decides to oblige him; Potter is potting his life in Draco's hands, after all, and the plan to distract him is turning out to be more successful than he could ever have dreamed.
And more pleasant.
His fingers squeeze Potter's neck tighter, robbing him of precious oxygen in the middle of the kiss, their groins pressing harder and harder until Draco feels Potter freezing and screaming against his mouth barely a second before he faints. And Draco comes a second after that thrusting against Potter's limp body.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
This time Draco is sure that couldn't have happened. Potter can't have that kink, not Saint Potter.
However, Draco's body has reacted to it in a way Draco was convinced wasn't possible for him anymore. It's been so long since he had an erection he thought he must be impotent. Azkaban made sure of that.
But he can still remember how to take care of that. Putting his hand inside his robe, Draco closes it around his member and, closing his eyes, he lets more memories come.
4. Shrieking Shack, in the middle of war.
Draco knows they must not meet like that, as it is too dangerous; the thrill of those moments, however, is more tempting than the caution he knows both of them should have. Harry is in the same situation.
The Shrieking Shack is the ideal place for their encounters; they've been using it for years and no one ever suspects anything. It's already been three years since Draco left Hogwarts that fateful night and Harry started his quest to destroy the Dark Lord, three years in which the encounters have been too few and too far between, the guilty pleasure of the forbidden drawing them both and making it impossible for them to end a relationship that is slowly destroying them.
Harry hasn't changed much in those three years; he's a bit taller, a bit thinner, and the shadows under his eyes are a bit darker. But those eyes are still the same deep green, and as defiant. His body is still as warm, his neck still as attractive.
During those encounters they hardly speak, and they never mention anything concerning the war or their lives on opposing sides. They just fuck.
Harry arches deliciously under Draco's body while he pounds into him, surrounded by this warmth that is Harry, his smell, his presence, revelling in his rasping breaths while his hands get reacquainted with the part of Harry's anatomy Draco prefers: that delicate neck, white and marred by Draco's hands in a way that shows his ownership.
Draco doesn't know at what point in their relationship Potter became Harry; he doesn't know at what point the thrill of knowing he had that power over his enemy became the thrill of knowing he had the trust of his lover. But he knows it's going to cost them their lives.
"Draco," Harry moans faintly, "Draco…"
Draco kisses him deeply, his tongue mapping the mouth he knows so well, giving his own mouth something to do so he can't say his name. So he can't say more than his name.
There's only silence around them. Hogsmeade is no longer the lively town of old; now it's a shell full of memories and ghosts. It's the ideal place for their encounters.
Draco knows when Harry is reaching his limit, when his breaths stop and his eyes become glassy and vacant. He knows Harry's eyes even better than he knows his own; he knows when he has to release Harry's throat so he can breathe again by the subtle shift in colour. It is at that moment when Draco always thrusts faster, so he can take his pleasure from the limp and willing body.
This time Harry takes ten minutes to awake; he opens his eyes and short-sightedly tries to find Draco, who is sitting on the bed with a glass of water in his hands
Harry drinks slowly, coughing softly until he can speak again.
"Next Sunday will be a perfect day to go visit your mother, Draco," he says, his voice hoarse and low.
Draco looks at him for a second and then nods. He has always known that the time would come, that Harry Potter would find a way to challenge the Dark Lord. What he didn't know was that Harry would care so much for him as to warn him beforehand.
For a second he wonders if he should follow Harry's advice and go to see his mother in Lyon, or if he should betray Harry to the Dark Lord and get a place of honour in the new order. Maybe the Dark Lord would let him keep Harry as a pet.
Harry stands and puts on his clothes slowly, and then he crosses to where Draco stands to press a chaste kiss on his lips.
Draco sees the marks around Harry's neck and makes his decision.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Draco can hear footsteps getting closer to his cell, and he withdraws his hand guiltily from his spent member, wiping it on his robes.
It's time, he thinks, it's time.
He's not afraid; there is nothing to be afraid of. What's awaiting him is just release, the end of his stay in damp and filthy cells. He refuses to think about it as punishment. He's just going somewhere else.
5. Riddle Manor, after the war.
Harry's eyes are not defiant or trusting, but empty and dead. The finger marks on his neck have vanished, replaced by the collar Draco is now tightening around rigid flesh.
Too far. He always knew they would go too far one day.
Draco withdraws gently from Harry's still warm body and releases the collar, but Harry doesn't try to take a breath or cough; he doesn't move. Pressing his head delicately against Harry's chest, Draco confirms what he already knows. The heart has stopped.
He walks away from the body with a sigh. The Dark Lord is not going to be happy that he's broken his new toy. He knows that his father and also Fernir will have something to say about it, for they loved to play with Harry; but Draco knows Harry would have liked it this way. Draco has regreted his choice to betray Harry since the first time he saw those green eyes losing their light, since the first time he saw Harry flinch when he put his hands on that white neck.
And he knows he's given Harry the release he wanted.
Draco cleans him for the last time, not acknowledging the sting in his eyes or the tightness on his throat, and covers him with a robe.
"I'm sorry, Harry," he says to the empty room, "I guess I should have gone to Lyon after all."
And looking for the last time at Harry Potter's body, Draco leaves the room, ready for the first time to face the consequences of his acts.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
The footsteps stop in front of Draco's cell, but he's too lost in his mind to notice.
"Draco?" The voice seems to come from a dream, or a fantasy. Draco doesn't know which, and he doesn't care. It's time, he thinks, it's finally time for you come after me. "What's happened to you, Draco? Why are you here?"
Draco looks up and smiles grimly. "Because I killed you," he says, his tone hoarse and low, just a shadow of his old voice.
He sees how those eyes, green and alive, widen in shock before Harry turns around to speak with the jailer behind him.
"What's the meaning of this?" asks Harry, his voice firm and commanding. "What is Malfoy doing here?"
"He's waiting for the kiss," the other man says. "We found him six months ago trying to flee the country. He said he as going to France to visit his mother, but we knew he was a Death Eater and that he was trying to escape. He's spent the last six months in Azkaban, custodied by Dementors as a dangerous criminal, so don't expect him to be really sane. He was sent to us yesterday to receive the kiss."
Harry looks at him, horrified, and Draco sees on his face all the things his mind couldn't tell him. Suddenly the memories that invade him are very real.
Draco can see himself under Harry's body, his own breath rasping and bright spots exploding against his closed eyelids. He remembers Harry's voice, soft against his ear while calloused hands caress his neck. Draco, Draco, wake up. We have to stop this; one of these days I'll go too far.
And his own voice, barely a painful whisper. No, no, you won't.
Please Draco, you have to leave now, go to Lyon, and stay with your mother for a while. I'll go after you.
Harry, Harry, come for me.
And he remembers, and this time he's sure that everything is real. Under the stands, observing without really daring to act. At the Astronomy Tower, feeling for the first time Harry's hands on his throat and getting hard. In the Room of Requirement, putting Harry's hands on his own neck, Harry throwing him over the bed and kissing him violently. In the Shrieking Shack, Harry fucking him roughly, the way he has always liked, and then snuggling closer, whispering in his ear that he must leave.
The trip to Lyon, the Aurors, the Dementors.
And Draco remembers, and he smiles. "I didn't betray you," he says.
"No, you didn't." Harry takes a step aside from the door and the jailer unlocks it. "I looked for you, but I couldn't find you.
"You found me; I'm here."
Draco gets up from the filthy floor and walks to Harry, still uncertain if he's real or not. His hands confirm the reality of the body next to his, the reality of the lips against his; and Draco sights contentedly and rests his head on Harry's shoulder.
"You're real."
"I am." The sadness on Harry's voice is clear, but Draco doesn't care. It's time, he thinks, finally it's time. "Let's get out of here."
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Author: aviss
Giftee: typied
Beta: I want to thank Black Faery for her great beta.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warning: Character Death, breathplay, mentions of rape, angst
Classification: R
Words: Aprox 4.300
Notes: This one was really difficult, I couldn't manage to get any of the kinks requested due to the rating (it seems I can only be explicit when writing kinks) and I included one that wasn't mentioned, I hope you like it.
Summary: Draco knows that the time is coming. And he remembers. He remember that other life he didn't have.
Five things that never happened to Draco Malfoy… or maybe they did.
The cell is damp and cold--nothing compared to the chilling cold of Azkaban's cells, but damp and cold nonetheless. Draco tries to burrow into the tatters of his black robe, expensive and elegant once upon a time but nothing more than a filthy rag nowadays.
It's only matter of time, he thinks, depressed, only matter of time.
Draco closes his eyes and lets the images assault him, memories of paths not taken, of other lives, taking over his mind continuously since he's in this miserable place.
Under his closed eyelids the light is bright and the sun gently warms his tired limbs…
1. Under the stands, First Year.
Draco is sitting under the Quidditch Pitch stands, his eyes tirelessly following Harry Potter's progress in the sky as he moves like he was born to be there. Draco hates Harry; he hates Harry with such an intensity that it sometimes scares him. Nobody has the right to humiliate a Malfoy, to refuse his offer of friendship and choose instead a wretched, penniless moron with more brothers than galleons at Gringotts. Not even the famous Potter.
It was that hate that made Draco follow Potter after Professor McGonagall called him, and for just a second Draco dared to believe that Potter was going to be expelled--but instead they've given him a broom and he's flying, chasing small white balls and grinning goofily for that stupid Wood.
Draco is not stupid; he know what that means. Wood is Gryffindor's Captain, and Potter wouldn't be flying over the Quidditch Pitch if he weren't being tested. Nothing as common as the tryouts generally used to get new players, nothing like waiting until Second Year to get into the Quidditch Team; not for Potter
And Draco's hate flares up, its flame so powerful that it threatens to burn him.
But Draco is nothing if not patient; he knows that after the test Potter will be alone, and he knows he will have a chance.
Time slows down as Potter takes a dive, and finally seems to stop when he lands, his cheeks flushed and his hair even wilder, with a satisfied expression on his face. Draco observes him from his hiding place, and waits. He waits until Wood has put all the things back in his bag and is moving away, with Potter dragging his feet behind him.
The two of them stop close to the exit and exchange some words Draco can't hear; finally Wood nods and leaves, and Harry Potter is alone in the Quidditch Pitch.
Draco knows he won't have another chance like this one, and silently he crawls from under the stand until he's right behind Potter. The other boy has not yet noticed anything, believing himself alone and he stands still, sunlit face tilted up and a peaceful smile on his lips
Draco takes out his wand and points it at him, muttering one of the spells he's not supposed to know yet, Petrificus Totalus; Potter falls on his back like a ton of brick, his face still showing the same satisfied expression.
Draco drags him to the middle of the Pitch, arranges him on the green field, and straddles his chest. This is the moment he has been waiting for. Nobody knows he's there; nobody will ever be able to blame him. For a second he wonders if he is strong enough to do it… but he remembers the humiliation he suffered and all the ones that will surely follow if Potter gets onto the Quidditch Team, and he holds onto his hatred and grits his teeth.
Potter is paralyzed under his body, his arms pressed against his side and held by Draco's knees, his chance of escaping nonexistent. Draco places his hands around Potter's neck and squeezes. Nothing happens; the flesh is unyielding and Potter still doesn't know what's happening to him. There is no fight, no reaction from the boy trapped under Draco's hatred.
Draco relaxes and smiles. It is enough.
He stands carefully and walks away until the shadow of the stands hides him again. Taking out his wand points it at the unmoving body on the ground and whispers, Finite Incantatem, and he vanishes again under the stands before Potter realizes what's happened.
It's enough; knowing he had Potter life in his hands is more than enough to quiet the fire inside him.
At least for the moment.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Draco opens his eyes and stares at the stone wall in front of him, the small cracks drawing strange and delicate patterns that make him wonder if it's not his mind playing tricks on him. The cracks and the damp spots on the wall are creating a picture of Harry Potter's face, the last face he wants to see right now, and apparently the face that haunts him even in his false memories.
He's not even sure anymore if he really was there, watching that scene, or if it's just his mind creating that fantasy for him. But the feelings are so real, the images so clear that he doesn’t know what's true and what's not anymore.
Maybe he really was there. Maybe he really had that chance of killing Potter and he wasted it. Where would he be right now, had he killed Potter then? He doesn't know; he doesn’t want to know.
He looks again at Potter's face on the cracked and yellowed wall and sighs, closing his eyes.
2. At the Astronomy Tower, Fourth Year.
Draco climbs the stairs leading to the Astronomy Tower slowly, without knowing exactly why he has decided to go after all. The note was brief and direct, and it was signed by Potter.
He doesn't know what Potter wants, but he does know that his curiosity about what the just-proclaimed Hogwarts Champion wants with him is more than his natural reluctance to get close to him.
Potter is waiting for him at the Tower, staring out to the grounds; his face, barely touched by the moonlight, is serious and thoughtful.
"You came, Malfoy." He speaks quietly, his voice barely reaching Draco's ears.
"You called, Potter. And I can't deny the Champion; it wouldn't be polite." He says it with all the sarcasm he has learnt under Lucius and Snape.
Potter narrows his eyes angrily, and then he turns to look fully at Draco, the strength of his glare dimmed somewhat by the shadows under his eyes and the moonlight reflecting on his glasses.
"I want to know if you had something to do with this, Malfoy," Potter says, his voice serious, his eyes cold. "I didn't put my name in the Goblet, and if what Moody says is true, someone may have done it to hurt me. I can only think it might have bee you."
Draco looks at him for a moment, not really believing what he just heard. Is that the reason Potter called him?
"Potter, I know you think the world revolves around you, but why would I put your name in the Goblet? Are we such good friends that I would want to see you as Hogwarts Champion?" He raises his hand when he sees Potter is about to speak, and the other boy stays silent. "No, Potter, if I knew of a way to trick the Goblet, it would have been my name called out there. Eternal Glory, would I want that for you? Your ego is already big enough. Besides, there are easier ways of getting rid of you without granting you more headlines." For a moment he remembers the feeling of his fingers around Potter's delicate neck, squeezing the cold and hard flesh, and he smiles. "If this is all you have to say, I'll leave. I have better things to do than listening to your delusions. "
Draco turns to leave, but before he can cross to the door he's slammed against the wall, the wind knocked right out of him; Potter's body pressing against him, his hands around Draco's slim neck.
"Yes, Malfoy, I know how easy it would have been for you," Potter whispers in Draco's ear. "I was petrified, not unconscious."
And Draco realizes the mistake he made not finishing Potter that day three years ago. Now the tables are turned, and Potter is the one with Draco's life in his hands. Draco smiles wryly; it was a stupid mistake for a Malfoy. He know that Potter is too righteous, too Gryffindor to kill him. He's not afraid.
Potter's fingers squeeze for a second, then leave Draco's neck to rest on his face, it's a gentle touch, almost loving. Draco keeps still, trapped by his own desire to know where that will lead them.
Potter closes the distance until their faces are almost touching, and in a whisper his breath touches Draco's lips, almost like a kiss. "For something so beautiful to be so deadly…" he says, and Draco wonders what he means. And before the promise of that kiss becomes a reality, Potter lets go of him and leaves the Tower almost at a run, and Draco is alone staring at the grounds and smiling.
It's an interesting change in their relationship.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
The jailers pass by without seeing Draco, engrossed on their own worlds that have no place for him. Their lives, simple and plain, revolve around trivial and uninteresting things. The Falcons and their chances at the Quidditch Cup, the new witch working at the front desk and her revealing robes, the awaited pay raise that seems never to come--lives that Draco envies now in a way he would have never thought possible, lives not haunted by the delusion of an impossible past with Harry Potter.
Time passes, minute by minute, second by second, and Draco knows that the time is coming. And he remembers. He remembers that other life he didn't have.
3. Room of Requirement, Sixth Year.
Potter has been watching Draco like a hawk for months. Most of the time his expression was one of suspicion, as if he knew Draco was up to no good and he was trying to figure out how to stop him. Draco knows it will make no difference.
However, there are some times when Draco can see a different light in his eyes. He doesn't know exactly what to call it; it's not desire, not really, and it's not longing either. It's a light was makes Draco nervous most of the time, not for what it really is, but because he wonders what he really wants it to be.
And now Potter knows where he goes every day. Potter still doesn't know the reason, but if he keeps being that persistent he will end up finding out. Draco has to stop him; he needs to divert his attention to other things. It's not only his life on the line; Lucius' also depends on the success of that mission.
And Draco has a plan.
The note is brief and to the point, exactly like the one Potter sent him that time two years ago. Draco remembers perfectly the event of that night, that weakness of Potter's never leaving his mind completely, but he has never exploited it. There have been plenty of occasions, but somehow Draco has never felt the urge to do it. The same as Potter keeping the secret of what happened during First Year.
This time is different, however: the situation is desperate, and Draco is willing to use any means available to ensure that Potter doesn't stand on his way.
The Room of Requirement is ready to fit his needs when Draco enters: a bed, a fireplace, and two armchairs. Nothing that can give Potter a clue as to what other activities take place there.
Potter arrives a few minutes after Draco, looking stupidly surprised when he sees the room. He looks then at Draco, his eyes showing incredulity, suspicion, and a hint of hope. It's so easy to read them, and Draco marvels at how much easier this is going to be than he enviosioned.
"Malfoy." Potter enters the Room and closes the door, stopping just inside. "Will you tell me the meaning of this and why you've called me here?"
Draco stands up from the armchair and walks slowly toward Potter, a predator stalking his prey. Potter doesn't move; he just clenches his fist while Draco gets closer, and fixes his eyes on a spot over Draco's shoulder.
"Potter," Draco drawls, "you've spent the entire year following and spying me. I've know for a long time you are obsessed with me, but this time it's obvious to the whole school."
Potter blushes brightly and shakes his head, trying to deny the obvious; Draco just smiles and takes a step forward until their bodies are almost touching. Looking down, he sees that Potter is clenching his fist so hard his knuckles are white.
"I don't know what you mean," mutters Potter, trying to put some distance between the two of them. For every step back he takes, Draco takes a step forward, until Potter is against the door.
It's the perfect moment; all his movements calculated so Potter can't react badly and attack Draco before he can act, Draco raises his hands slowly to Potter's neck, gently putting them around it, and Potter tries to fight for a second before the light of recognition enters his eyes and the struggle ceases. Draco squeezes, tightening his grip slowly until he can feel Potter's breath rasping against the pressure on his throat. Then while he releases his grip presses his body against Potter's, surprised to notice that some part of his anatomy has reacted without his knowledge.
Potter stares at him, his eyes huge and dark, blinded by desire. Draco puts his hands on Potter's face, and, mirroring the other boy's gesture, he leans forward until their lips are a breath apart. "For something so beautiful to be so deadly… " he says sincerely, surprised at not hearing the mockery he expected to be present. And this time, instead of fleeing like Potter did, Draco closes the distance between their lips at the same time he lowers his hands to Potter's neck. The kiss is not sweet but violent, demanding entrance for his tongue immediately and swallowing Potter's moans while his fingers squeeze the delicate neck.
Potter tastes sweet and clean, too clean for someone writhing under Draco's hands while he chokes him.
Draco takes a step back to breathe and looks at Potter, who is panting loudly, his rasping breaths sound terribly sexy. He never planned to go that far, but Potter is the most tempting being in that precise moment, with that look of defiance in his eyes while his body is begging to be used. Not thinking anymore, Draco grabs Potter by the neck and drags him to the bed, throwing him none-too-gently on it and climbing on top of him.
Potter doesn't fight back; he just tilts his head back, exposing his neck where red marks of Draco's fingerprints are beginning to show. Draco feels himself hardening even more, and he takes possession of Potter's mouth again.
Their bodies fit perfectly, Potter's lips surrendering to the assault, his legs spreading to let Draco settle, their groins lined, pushing. The pressure is too much, and Draco knows he's going to come in his pant like the hormonal teenager he is, and he doesn't care. Nothing matters at that moment but Potter's lips, and his body moving under Draco's, and his lovely, delicate neck exposed for Draco to show his power.
Potter is moaning, writhing desperately under Draco's frantic thrusts, his tongue exploring his mouth frenetically until he breaks the kiss to take a breath.
"Draco," he moans, his voice hoarse and filled with desire.
"Potter," Draco says, looking interestedly at the narrowed and almost black eyes behind the fogged glasses.
"Please…" Potter begs, and, surprising Draco, he takes Draco's hands and puts them on his neck before resuming the kiss.
And Draco decides to oblige him; Potter is potting his life in Draco's hands, after all, and the plan to distract him is turning out to be more successful than he could ever have dreamed.
And more pleasant.
His fingers squeeze Potter's neck tighter, robbing him of precious oxygen in the middle of the kiss, their groins pressing harder and harder until Draco feels Potter freezing and screaming against his mouth barely a second before he faints. And Draco comes a second after that thrusting against Potter's limp body.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
This time Draco is sure that couldn't have happened. Potter can't have that kink, not Saint Potter.
However, Draco's body has reacted to it in a way Draco was convinced wasn't possible for him anymore. It's been so long since he had an erection he thought he must be impotent. Azkaban made sure of that.
But he can still remember how to take care of that. Putting his hand inside his robe, Draco closes it around his member and, closing his eyes, he lets more memories come.
4. Shrieking Shack, in the middle of war.
Draco knows they must not meet like that, as it is too dangerous; the thrill of those moments, however, is more tempting than the caution he knows both of them should have. Harry is in the same situation.
The Shrieking Shack is the ideal place for their encounters; they've been using it for years and no one ever suspects anything. It's already been three years since Draco left Hogwarts that fateful night and Harry started his quest to destroy the Dark Lord, three years in which the encounters have been too few and too far between, the guilty pleasure of the forbidden drawing them both and making it impossible for them to end a relationship that is slowly destroying them.
Harry hasn't changed much in those three years; he's a bit taller, a bit thinner, and the shadows under his eyes are a bit darker. But those eyes are still the same deep green, and as defiant. His body is still as warm, his neck still as attractive.
During those encounters they hardly speak, and they never mention anything concerning the war or their lives on opposing sides. They just fuck.
Harry arches deliciously under Draco's body while he pounds into him, surrounded by this warmth that is Harry, his smell, his presence, revelling in his rasping breaths while his hands get reacquainted with the part of Harry's anatomy Draco prefers: that delicate neck, white and marred by Draco's hands in a way that shows his ownership.
Draco doesn't know at what point in their relationship Potter became Harry; he doesn't know at what point the thrill of knowing he had that power over his enemy became the thrill of knowing he had the trust of his lover. But he knows it's going to cost them their lives.
"Draco," Harry moans faintly, "Draco…"
Draco kisses him deeply, his tongue mapping the mouth he knows so well, giving his own mouth something to do so he can't say his name. So he can't say more than his name.
There's only silence around them. Hogsmeade is no longer the lively town of old; now it's a shell full of memories and ghosts. It's the ideal place for their encounters.
Draco knows when Harry is reaching his limit, when his breaths stop and his eyes become glassy and vacant. He knows Harry's eyes even better than he knows his own; he knows when he has to release Harry's throat so he can breathe again by the subtle shift in colour. It is at that moment when Draco always thrusts faster, so he can take his pleasure from the limp and willing body.
This time Harry takes ten minutes to awake; he opens his eyes and short-sightedly tries to find Draco, who is sitting on the bed with a glass of water in his hands
Harry drinks slowly, coughing softly until he can speak again.
"Next Sunday will be a perfect day to go visit your mother, Draco," he says, his voice hoarse and low.
Draco looks at him for a second and then nods. He has always known that the time would come, that Harry Potter would find a way to challenge the Dark Lord. What he didn't know was that Harry would care so much for him as to warn him beforehand.
For a second he wonders if he should follow Harry's advice and go to see his mother in Lyon, or if he should betray Harry to the Dark Lord and get a place of honour in the new order. Maybe the Dark Lord would let him keep Harry as a pet.
Harry stands and puts on his clothes slowly, and then he crosses to where Draco stands to press a chaste kiss on his lips.
Draco sees the marks around Harry's neck and makes his decision.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Draco can hear footsteps getting closer to his cell, and he withdraws his hand guiltily from his spent member, wiping it on his robes.
It's time, he thinks, it's time.
He's not afraid; there is nothing to be afraid of. What's awaiting him is just release, the end of his stay in damp and filthy cells. He refuses to think about it as punishment. He's just going somewhere else.
5. Riddle Manor, after the war.
Harry's eyes are not defiant or trusting, but empty and dead. The finger marks on his neck have vanished, replaced by the collar Draco is now tightening around rigid flesh.
Too far. He always knew they would go too far one day.
Draco withdraws gently from Harry's still warm body and releases the collar, but Harry doesn't try to take a breath or cough; he doesn't move. Pressing his head delicately against Harry's chest, Draco confirms what he already knows. The heart has stopped.
He walks away from the body with a sigh. The Dark Lord is not going to be happy that he's broken his new toy. He knows that his father and also Fernir will have something to say about it, for they loved to play with Harry; but Draco knows Harry would have liked it this way. Draco has regreted his choice to betray Harry since the first time he saw those green eyes losing their light, since the first time he saw Harry flinch when he put his hands on that white neck.
And he knows he's given Harry the release he wanted.
Draco cleans him for the last time, not acknowledging the sting in his eyes or the tightness on his throat, and covers him with a robe.
"I'm sorry, Harry," he says to the empty room, "I guess I should have gone to Lyon after all."
And looking for the last time at Harry Potter's body, Draco leaves the room, ready for the first time to face the consequences of his acts.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
The footsteps stop in front of Draco's cell, but he's too lost in his mind to notice.
"Draco?" The voice seems to come from a dream, or a fantasy. Draco doesn't know which, and he doesn't care. It's time, he thinks, it's finally time for you come after me. "What's happened to you, Draco? Why are you here?"
Draco looks up and smiles grimly. "Because I killed you," he says, his tone hoarse and low, just a shadow of his old voice.
He sees how those eyes, green and alive, widen in shock before Harry turns around to speak with the jailer behind him.
"What's the meaning of this?" asks Harry, his voice firm and commanding. "What is Malfoy doing here?"
"He's waiting for the kiss," the other man says. "We found him six months ago trying to flee the country. He said he as going to France to visit his mother, but we knew he was a Death Eater and that he was trying to escape. He's spent the last six months in Azkaban, custodied by Dementors as a dangerous criminal, so don't expect him to be really sane. He was sent to us yesterday to receive the kiss."
Harry looks at him, horrified, and Draco sees on his face all the things his mind couldn't tell him. Suddenly the memories that invade him are very real.
Draco can see himself under Harry's body, his own breath rasping and bright spots exploding against his closed eyelids. He remembers Harry's voice, soft against his ear while calloused hands caress his neck. Draco, Draco, wake up. We have to stop this; one of these days I'll go too far.
And his own voice, barely a painful whisper. No, no, you won't.
Please Draco, you have to leave now, go to Lyon, and stay with your mother for a while. I'll go after you.
Harry, Harry, come for me.
And he remembers, and this time he's sure that everything is real. Under the stands, observing without really daring to act. At the Astronomy Tower, feeling for the first time Harry's hands on his throat and getting hard. In the Room of Requirement, putting Harry's hands on his own neck, Harry throwing him over the bed and kissing him violently. In the Shrieking Shack, Harry fucking him roughly, the way he has always liked, and then snuggling closer, whispering in his ear that he must leave.
The trip to Lyon, the Aurors, the Dementors.
And Draco remembers, and he smiles. "I didn't betray you," he says.
"No, you didn't." Harry takes a step aside from the door and the jailer unlocks it. "I looked for you, but I couldn't find you.
"You found me; I'm here."
Draco gets up from the filthy floor and walks to Harry, still uncertain if he's real or not. His hands confirm the reality of the body next to his, the reality of the lips against his; and Draco sights contentedly and rests his head on Harry's shoulder.
"You're real."
"I am." The sadness on Harry's voice is clear, but Draco doesn't care. It's time, he thinks, finally it's time. "Let's get out of here."
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-