HP/DM: Unquiet Slumber for Sleepers
Title: Unquiet Slumbers for the Sleepers…
Summary: Draco has a recurring dream of forming a blood pact with another boy. Was it real or imagined?
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): mentions of blood
Word Count: 9600
Author's Notes: This was my submission for hd_smoochfest. I was shocked that I could write almost 10K words and it’d be rated only PG.
Thanks to my beta, keppiehed for her help.
The title is taken from Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.
Then…
“Do you really think this is for the best, Lucius?”
Narcissa’s voice was a quiet breath, but Lucius could hear the nervousness in it. He gave her hand a slight squeeze as they continued to stand in the doorway of their son’s bedroom and watch the two sleeping boys. Their heads lay on the same pillow as fine, platinum blond hair intermingled with thick, ebony tufts. Their arms were wrapped around each other’s body.
The peaceful slumber of the boys in some ways made up for the rowdy and often destructive play that they got into during the daylight hours. Lucius and Narcissa watched as their ten-year-old son slept beside his closest friend as they spent another night in the Malfoy’s second home. It was refuge in the Muggle world after the wizarding war. The boys were as opposite in personalities as their hair color, but it was these differences that made them such good friends. They had become inseparable since they were toddlers when the Malfoys had inadvertently moved next door to the Dursleys.
Lucius sighed as he thought about what they were about to do. It was at times like these that he felt the weight of the world’s burdens upon his shoulders. Sometimes things were done, even to one’s own children, for the greater good. If the boys were allowed to continue this friendship it could endanger Draco beyond Lucius’ ability to protect him and Lucius knew that was something he could not allow to happen.
“Yes, Narcissa, this is for the best. The sooner they are able to move on with their lives, the better off Draco will be. Next year, we will move back into Malfoy Manor and Draco will start Hogwarts with a clean slate. He’s an intelligent, witty, and attractive boy. He shouldn’t have any trouble making new friends then.
“When he starts school he’ll be with other wizards more like himself. He’ll be able to hone his talents at subtlety and cleverness. He won’t feel the pressure to follow rash recklessness just because he thinks he’ll need to be loyal to a friend. No, it’s best if he is given as much advantage as possible. I’m certain that when he grows up, if he ever finds out about this, he’ll thank us for what we do here tonight.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Narcissa turned and looked at her husband. Her eyes were wide and a bit watery as her focus shifted back and forth to watch his every facial expression.
“Then I won’t be above begging for forgiveness,” he sighed.
----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----
Now …
“Do you think this is what magic feels like?” the other boy whispered.
Draco couldn’t see the other boy’s face. Instead, he focused on the hand that gripped his as they squeezed tightly. Their wet palms were mashed together and slowly a small amount of blood dripped down each wrist. A few splatters dropped onto the linen sheets below.
Draco could see that they were under the blanket in his old bed where it was mostly dark. He knew they had made some sort of pact and that they were mixing their blood to seal it. When their bloody palms came into contact with each other, Draco felt a buzzing in the middle of his chest grow and surrounded them both. For the first time in his life, he felt exhilarated and alive.
Whatever was happening between them, he knew this was important.
“I think so,” he replied. Even to his own ears, he could hear the high-pitched excitement in his voice. “Just remember that no matter what happens between now and the future, I’ll always be your-”
Startled beyond fright, Draco bolted upright from his downy bed. His face was covered in cold sweat and his breathing was rapid as his heart threatened to pump its way out of his chest. Out of instinct, he grabbed his wand from under his pillow and was pointing it in all directions. He turned around in an attempt to get his bearings.
He had had this same dream-this same nightmare-before, and every time he awoke at the same moment, startled and confused. The dreams had started happening occasionally when he was in school. He had attributed them to the pressures of doing well and then to his responsibilities to his family and the Dark Lord.
But the war had ended almost seven years ago and the dreams were becoming more frequent.
Draco suspected this had to do with the approach of his twenty-fifth birthday, but he couldn’t understand the significance of that event. The dream seemed to end before he could see who was with him. He was certain whomever it was had been close to him in his childhood.
Since the mystery was never fully revealed, it could never fully be resolved. When he awoke, he felt a gnawing ache inside. It was more than an empty stomach or a hard night out with friends. It was as if something sacred had been ripped from his grasp and he longed to hold it one more time.
He sighed as he got out of bed and went to the nearby washbasin to splash cold water on his face before he wiped himself clean with a towel. His room was warmed with a yellow light that spilled around the edges from the wooden window blinds. With a flick of his wand, he opened the shutters to let more sunlight into his bedroom. The sudden burst of midmorning light made him wince, but he persevered to adjust. Patience was something he had learned the hard way. Sometimes if you waited for what you wanted then you might find what you need instead, he mused.
He kept that in mind as he put away the last of his idle thoughts about his dream. A clear picture would present itself if he just waited. Like assembling a jigsaw puzzle, it was better to wait for the right connection than to force something to happen. That was the work of the foolhardy.
For the time being, though, he could fill his time with the work of his profession: running a newspaper. The pieces there were easier to connect. He had reporters there to do all the legwork for him.
----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----
After the war, the three Malfoys had nary a wand to their names. Magically, they were no more than squibs. What they did have, though, was money. Lots of money. If they had to wait until Mr. Ollivander was back in business, they would need to work on repairing their positions of power, as a family, as quickly as possible.
As head of the family, Lucius realized the best way to do that was not to influence public opinion, but rather, to buy it. So, when Draco and Narcissa were cleared by the Wizengamot, he instructed his wife to purchase The Daily Prophet and place Draco as its Editor-in-Chief. He knew Draco lacked the ability to mastermind criminal activity, but was able to influence public opinion. More than once, he had shown his father how he persuaded his fellow Hogwarts students’ views, even if it disregarded logic or evidence to the contrary. With Draco in charge of public opinion, Lucius knew it wouldn’t be long before the public cried out for his release from Azkaban.
Becoming the youngest Editor-in-Chief of The Daily Prophet had initially been a daunting task, but Draco used the skills he had honed at Hogwarts. He observed the interactions of everyone from the typesetters to the other editors. Once he understood the politics of a newspaper room, he rolled up his sleeves and began to shape the direction of the most-read media in the Great Britain wizarding world.
Today was Monday and they had put today's edition to bed at nine o’clock last night. It was a light paper, nothing outlandish or controversial for the first day of the week. Draco didn’t arrive at the office until shortly before noon.
He held daily lunches with his editors and chief reports to determine which articles were being written or what was considered worth of entering The Daily Prophet. They’d argue about which articles deserved the front page or front section locations and then discuss what angles they’d pursue to sell the most editions. An idealistic outsider would think that they would want to report the news as factually as possible, but anyone in the business knew it was all about the profit margins.
The platters of food had materialized around the conference room when Rita Skeeter cleared her throat to address the group. Draco finished placing the napkin in his lap, slowing his actions once it was clear that she expected everyone’s attention on her. Without looking at her, he brought his hands up so that they were a foot away from his face. With spread fingers, he lightly touched his fingertips together before he let a small smile cross his face. He made it a point not to look directly at her when he did it. For all her deceitfulness, Rita only had two methods of attack: first volley across the bow or wait until the dust had settled and then stab them in the back. Today looked like a first strike while their plates were still clean.
Draco used his most aloof tone of voice for her.
“Yes, Rita, how are you doing on such a fine morning?”
He kept his eyes looking straight ahead, and never moved his head to even physically acknowledge her. He knew this small show of disinterest would drive her mad. She was a creature who thrived on attention.
“I heard a rumor that Harry Potter’s been cruising the Muggle gay clubs in London. My sources confirm he’s been dancing with a wide assortment of men and even taking some of them to the backrooms. They say at a couple of clubs the bouncers greet him on a first name basis.
“Since his break-up with his little Hogwarts girlfriend three years ago, everyone’s tried to find out who he’s dating. Isn’t it interesting that he’s trolling with lesser beings? I mean, for someone with such a strong sense of chivalry, It would make for an excellent exposé to out our Battle of Hogwarts hero. It wouldn’t take much to interview these Muggles and find out what they know when the infamous Harry Potter goes slumming through Soho.”
Draco never shifted his stance or his eyes. He could see her self-satisfied smile. Rita’s kink was to take down people of power or ones who were seen as the good guys. For a brief moment Draco wondered if she secretly was a sadist. He sighed before he picked up the salad tongs and reached to bring a bit of salad to his plate.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Rita. Last week we printed a story on the third page of the front section, where we talked about Harry raising money for families who couldn’t afford their children to attend Hogwarts. We played him up as the hero Auror with a heart of gold. It wouldn’t look good on our part to turn around and show him getting on his knees to suck off some twink four days later.
“Maybe we could drop a few lines in the gossip column mentioning that he’d been seen dancing in Muggle clubs, but not mention that they were gay clubs. That’ll give the readers something to speculate while leading them off track.” Draco said as he reached to break off a piece of bread in front of him. He then turned to his world news editor to discuss the latest development in a tense situation in South America.
“What have you heard about the peace negotiations happening in Peru, Julian? I heard the werewolves were willing to relinquish control over the southern region in exchange for free government supplies of the Wolfsbane Potion.” He stabbed into a slice of tomato and brought it to his mouth.
Julian cleared his throat as he finished swallowing the huge chunk of chicken he’d been chewing. It always amused Draco that even though Julian knew the World News section came first in the discussion order, the man always tried to inhale half the meal as soon as possible.
“Yes, I heard that rumor, too. But I have it on good autho-”
“I fail to see why you want to protect the good name of Harry Potter,” Rita interrupted. Draco could see out of the corner of his eye that she was almost out of her seat, leaning over the table. She didn’t like to be shut out like that, especially from someone younger than herself.
“Ever since you and your family have taken over this newspaper, you’ve gone out of your way to show him in a positive light. Tell me, Mr. Editor-in-Chief, when he began to stir up trouble with the Ministry over some of the new laws being passed, and came into direct clash with his superiors, why didn’t The Daily Prophet print anything about it? You couldn’t have known that Potter’s action would result in the indirect freeing of your father. As I recall, you were more than willing to bring down his good name while in school. What’s brought on the sudden change of heart after all these years?”
The moment she started talking, interrupting Julian Molony’s update, Draco looked down and made a concentrated effort of focusing on his food. His blood boiled from her temerity.
Draco picked up his knife and attempted to even out the drizzle of olive oil over the pieces of lettuce and cucumber he had pronged earlier with his fork. He made exact, almost exaggerated, motions with the utensils. After Rita’s outburst, he continued for another minute in silence as everyone’s eyes turned from her to him. He wanted to make certain everyone was waiting for a reply and to send Rita a clear message that the small amount of food stuck to his salad fork was more important than her outburst.
“Rita, not that it’s any of your business, but as you know, Harry Potter testified at my trial and my mother’s trial after the war. He testified that our help to preserve his life directly affected the war’s outcome. While we don’t necessarily feel indebted to him, it would be foolish for us not to see who’s in charge of the Ministry of Magic. Harry Potter’s influence is a direct indication of its leadership. Why would we want to soil his name and find ourselves in a situation where sins from the past are brought up? Surely, even you don’t want that to happen, do you?
“I am certain there are sins you’ve committed that you wouldn’t want aired on the front page of this paper, would you?” Draco asked. As he spoke, he slowly lifted his eyes to look directly at her.
Draco knew of times when Rita had stepped out of the bounds of legal reporting. He had had to work hard to keep the newspaper out of libel lawsuits because of her. It wouldn’t have been difficult to write a damning article about her and there were a number of people who would have loved to be quoted in an article condemning her reputation.
“Well, I think it’s a waste of valuable information that you’re letting slip away,” she huffed. “Maybe The People’s Pensieve would be more interested in this tidbit of information.”
The People’s Pensieve was one of the trashiest tabloids in the wizarding world publication business. They made journals like The Quibbler look prestigious. Draco suspected the threat was a ruse, because like The Quibbler, The People’s Pensieve didn’t pay their writers and he knew Rita Skeeter didn’t work for free. Regardless, he didn’t like her making the threat.
“Rita, if I even smell a rumor that Harry Potter’s sexual exploits are being printed, I will make you regret ever taking up a Quick-Quotes Quill and thinking you could become a writer.
“Now, I am sorry that you were interrupted, Julian. Please tell us what you found out about Peruvian peace negotiations?” But before Julian could swallow down another chunk of chicken and utter a word, Rita insisted on having the last word and hissed out one last comment.
“Why, Draco, who would have known you would act so chivalrously, impulsively, and honorably? After those words, I suspect that some people would think you have a crush on Mr. Potter. I‘ve noticed you’re calling him Harry now - how chummy.”
----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----
This time, Draco could tell, the dream was different. It wasn’t starting at the same point it usually did. It looked familiar but felt different-maybe it was earlier?
“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said as he dropped the knife he was holding between them.
He had been holding a very sharp knife. He looked at it and could see deeply carved runes along the hilt. He knew it was an ancient and magical blade, but he didn’t know what its uses were. They had found it with a book in his father’s study and had taken it back to his room. It seemed odd that he could remember that little detail, but not who was across from him.
The knife dropped with a heavy thud on the bed between them and he almost jerked his feet back as it came within a few inches of touching his toes. He could see that they were sitting cross-legged, opposite of each other. He was terrified of being cut. He never liked seeing blood, much less his own.
“I don’t think it’ll work if we don’t give the blood willingly,” the other boy said. “The book I found was pretty specific about that-we each had to willingly give our blood for this to work.” The boy’s voice sounded more familiar than before.
“Do we really need to do this?” Draco could hear the whine in his own voice. “Can’t we just promise that we’ll always be together? That we’ll be … well, at least be friends?”
“No, Draco. I’ve seen my cousin, Dudley, make false promises to people at school all the time. Listen, all we have to do is make a little cut, touch palms, and say the words. Regardless of what happens, when we’re really old, like twenty-four or twenty-five-we’ll at least remember this and be there for each other.”
The other boy’s hand came up and stroked Draco’s upper arm. There was a gentle squeeze that felt reassuring. Draco tried his best to smile despite the coiling snake of fear in his belly.
“Alright, Harry, but if I give you my hand, will you make the cut for me? I’m not brave like you are,” Draco asked as he timidly held out his hand for the other boy to take.
“Don’t worry, Draco. I think I can be brave enough for the both of us,” the other boy said as he gently took Draco’s hand and turned the palm upward.
As before, Draco awoke startled and confused, only this time things were different. The sunlight filtering through the windows was growing dim. Long shadows were cast around his office giving it a sinister look. He realized he wasn’t in his bedroom, and Draco remembered that he’d taken a catnap on his leather couch before the final review of The Evening Prophet.
As he brought his long legs around to stand up and stretch, he thought about the differences between this dream and the other one. Somehow, Harry Potter wormed his way into Draco’s dream. In this dream, Harry Potter was the one who performed some sort of blood magic with him when he was a child. Was that because Harry Potter was actually there or was it that he had been talking about him earlier in the day? As some of the pieces to the puzzle were becoming clearer, others were blurring.
He looked down at his left palm and noticed something he’d never seen before.
If this dream wasn’t a dream, but a memory from his childhood, then he knew only two people who would tell him the answer. Without giving it much thought, Draco put on his traveling cloak and went out to find his assistant editor. He wouldn’t be able to finalize tonight’s Evening Prophet after all.
Instead, he needed to go have dinner with his parents.
----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----
After dinner, as Draco and his parents made their way to the sitting room, Draco felt nervous. Confronting his parents was not something he liked to do. In fact, if he could have, he’d have done anything other than this. As they walked down the corridor, he tried to think of the best way to approach the subject of his dreams without implying the oddity of it all: You see, I have this dream where Harry Potter slept over when we were little. We made a blood pact … . Even in his own mind it sounded ludicrous.
His mother led the way for through their home, but his father insisted on being the last one out of the dining room. Draco knew his father did that when he was suspicious and he wanted to keep an eye on everyone. Otherwise, he would’ve let Narcissa wrap her arm under his as they strolled into the other room together. Draco tried to keep his step light and easy, but the soft thud of his father’s cane kept the rhythm that reminded him of a slow and steady heartbeat. It was unnerving as it echoed off the walls. Even the portraits were silent.
Once in the sitting room, Draco moved to the bar and serve his parents. He’d be able to distract them and delay asking his awkward questions, but his father nixed the idea by calling a house-elf to prepare their drinks. He motioned Draco to sit on the loveseat facing his and Narcissa’s high-back leather chairs. After they had settled in and discussed the vintage of the brandy, Lucius launched into his questioning. Draco silently observed that his father was becoming more direct as he got older.
“Draco, it was gracious of you to dine with us. These visits are few and far between,” Lucius spoke.
Draco bit the inside of his cheek to keep the guilt from making his cheeks flush.
Lucius cleared his throat before he continued. “It’s not that we don’t appreciate your visit, Son, but it was rather sudden. When you visit unexpectedly, it means something has happened. If there’s is anything we can do to help you, then let’s discuss what it is. Your mother and I are still active in different political and social spheres. If that’s not the case and it’s more personal, maybe we can discuss alternatives toward a solution.”
Draco sat with his back hunched over as his elbows rested on his knees. He rubbed his hands together. They were warm and dry and the sound reminded him of sandpaper rubbing against a fine wood. He stopped when he remembered it was a habit that his mother didn’t approve of, but also to stare once again at his left palm.
Until a couple of months ago, when the dreams began occurring nightly, he had never noticed the small cut across the middle of his palm. It had faded and was almost gone. There was a small, white line over an inch right in the middle of his palm and he’d never noticed it for over a decade. He grazed over it with his fingertips. With a remorseful sigh, he realized that this seemed as good a place to start as any.
“Lately, I’ve had these strange dreams. Actually, it’s the same dream recurring. When I was in school they didn’t happen often, but recently, they’ve become more common.
“In this dream, I’m young-maybe nine or ten years old. There is a boy sleeping over and we’re under the covers of my old bed. We are making some sort of pact together. It’s a kind of ceremony we found in an old book. We end up cutting our palms and mixing our blood.”
At that comment, Narcissa gasped. Draco saw her face was pale. He looked over to his father and his face was like stone, so cold it was almost as if he were looking at Draco with malice. Draco shivered. His father never glared at him before with such disdain. He couldn’t keep eye contact with him, so he turned back toward his hand. Whatever he’d uncovered, it was something they either knew about or had hoped would never happen. He took a breath and persevered.
“Anyway,” his voice was shaking, and he shook his head to regain control. It wouldn’t do to lose his nerve now. “Every night, I’ve see the part of the ritual where the magic forms the bond. It pulses over us and I can feel every detail of it. The only problem is I never know who the other boy is.
“At first, I didn’t think the dreams were real, but I wake up in a sweat and then the rest of the day I keep thinking that I’m missing something. There’s an ache inside of me like a gnawing sensation. There’s a piece of me missing.
“Then this afternoon, something changed in the dream-well, everything changed, to be honest. This boy and I are still under the covers, only now I see who he is. Now, the other boy is the last person I would have thought it to be. You see, the other boy is none other than Harry Potter.
“Doesn’t that seem ridiculous to you?”
He brought his head up and could see his mother was looking at his father with fear in her eyes. She was more afraid than he had ever known her to be before. Considering all they had been through together, that was saying something.
“In my dreams, we have an ornamental knife. It looks like the one you used to have in your study, father, before the Ministry of Magic confiscated it. Harry and I have found a spell in an old book to bond us, I think, as blood brothers or something like that. We take the knife, or rather, Harry took the knife and cut us both, and then we join hands. Afterwards … well, it felt like magic, but I wasn’t sure.
“All this time, I thought the dreams were just that- dreams. But today, when the dream changed and I saw Harry getting ready to cut us, I wondered if it was real. When I woke up, I saw this,” Draco held out his hand. He showed the tiny scar in the center of his palm. He ran a finger up and down it. A tingle that he knew was magic shot up his arm as he caressed the faded white line.
“I never noticed it before, but as you can see, it’s a faded scar. I know magic can blind us to things that have always been there, so I thought I’d ask you first. Do you know how I got this scar and why I haven’t noticed it until today?”
Draco watched his parents’ faces. His mother had her head down, her hands fisting into her lap, while his father continued to stare at him. Draco could see in those narrowed eyes that his father was calculating the possible outcomes; maybe it was the risks involved in the next few minutes and how he would handle it. Whatever they were, something told him from their silence that this was a question they had hoped would never be asked.
Finally, his father sighed. His face softened as he stood up, walked over to where Draco was and sat down next to him. When his father’s hand came down on Draco’s shoulder, Draco jumped from the contact. He didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t the physical comfort of his father.
“Draco, you have to understand. This is a conversation your mother and I hoped we’d never have to have with you.”
The next few hours passed by in a blur for Draco. His father told him of how uncertain the times were after the Dark Lord’s fall from power and how they had found a place where the wards over one particular Muggle home were immeasurable. He learned about how his father managed to extend the wards to a neighboring home without the castor or the Muggles knowing about it. His father then told him that for the first eight years, after the Dark Lord’s fall, that they maintained the illusion of living in Malfoy Manor, but Draco and his mother spent most of their time living in this Muggle home in Surrey.
“We didn’t know what was going to happen. Things were so precarious for our side. If we had tried to admit remorse, then both sides would have rebuked us. There were times when our lives were in danger. It was for the greater good that we established a second home in the one place they never would have suspected us. Who would have thought a Malfoy would live in Muggle suburbia?
“When you were young-still learning to walk-you befriended one of the boys next door. At first we thought nothing of it. Their names were Dursley and we thought you were friends with Harry Dursley, nothing more. You were thick as thieves, and he was always finding excuses to come over. When he started school and you went to private tutors at the manor, we thought the friendship had run its course, but somehow you both managed to maintain it. You were always inviting him over to the house for sleepovers and the Dursleys never seemed to mind his absence,” his father explained.
“Wretched family,” his mother murmured.
“About a year before you were to attend Hogwarts, we found out that his last name wasn’t Dursley like we assumed, but Potter,” his father continued. “That put a different light on the friendship.
“Your mother and I had been working hard to establish ourselves in a more neutral light after the war. We had been working toward a better political balance for us. If the Dark Lord was to return, then we would be able to show how we’d used all that time as a ruse, and if he didn’t then we’d show how we were becoming more tolerant of the new ideas the Ministry officials were trying to implement.
“If you had attended Hogwarts as Harry Potter’s friend from the onset then those loyal to the Dark Lord would have seen us as traitors, while those who opposed him would have seen us as manipulators of an innocent boy. We would seem like people who would use their own child to further their personal gain. More than likely you would have unknowingly been in danger the minute you walked into the school. It was because of that danger that your mother and I did the thing we thought was for the best.”
Draco’s heart was pounding in his chest. He’d been holding his breath through the last part of his father’s talk. He closed his eyes and took three big, calming breaths before he opened them again. He knew what his father was going to say next, but that didn’t lessen the tension he felt as he waited for those fateful words to be expressed.
“I’m sorry, Draco, but after talking it over with your mother, the only option we had was to completely eliminate your relationship with Harry. One morning after Harry had spent the night and before you woke up, your mother and I went into your rooms and Obliviated each of your memories to forget the other one. We then sent Harry back home, where we Obliviated his family's memories of us as well. Then we left that home for good, returning to the Manor as if nothing had happened. I think it was easier for you than for him. You had met other friends from your tutored classes and in our world, so you had people to see. Harry, I believe, had it harder. You were his only friend, Muggle or wizard. I often felt sorry for him. I’m certain his last year before Hogwarts was a lonely one.
“Then when you ran into each other in Diagon Alley before the beginning of term, I worried that it was Fate bringing you together. I had seen you talking to him while being fitted at Madam Malkin’s, but I didn’t enter, so I could see how you would react to him. When you came out and barely mentioned him, my fears were relieved, to a point.
“Your letters from school those first few years were filled with stories of ‘Potter did this’ and ‘Potter did that’. Your mother and I worried that the memories would be somehow triggered, but it never occurred. Then when the Dark Lord returned, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. I had pledged loyalty to him. If either of you would have remembered the truth, I doubt you would have spoken of it.
“Since then we had all but forgotten about your lost friendship. If I thought you’d have done something so foolish or so powerful as creating a blood bond with Potter, then I would never have moved you and your mother out of the Manor to begin with. I would have sent you across the world rather than have your safety jeopardized. Your life, Draco, means more to me than all the gold in the world. I would have done everything in my power to keep you safe,” his father whispered.
Draco sat in stunned silence. He looked over to his mother and could see her head lowered and her shoulders shaking. Her chin was touching her lace blouse as she silently sobbed into her hands. He watched her for a few moments, but she never brought her head up. He wondered what she feared more: the sin she had committed, or his reaction at uncovering the truth?
He sensed his father, sitting next to him, waiting for Draco’s reaction. Did he imagine that Draco would jump up and start screaming at them? Did he worry that Draco would curse them or betray them as he had been betrayed? On the other hand, did he think that Draco would simply shrug and ignore what they had told him, as if he would blindly accept this violation and simply walk away from the situation?
Without a doubt, Draco felt betrayed by his parents. They had taken a part of his childhood, precious memories and treasured experiences, and ripped them from his mind. So many questions come to mind, but the one that rose to the forefront was: how could this have happened?
A part of him understood why they did what they did. In hindsight, it would be easy for him to judge their actions as selfish and wrong, but when he thought about that particular time and the political upheaval that was happening and how precarious everything was, then when he remembered all the decisions he had made in his own life and those decisions he still regretted, then he couldn’t find a reason to truly hate them for this. Yes, he decided. This would certainly be a rough time in their relationship, but if all three of us worked together we can learn to work around it.
Draco looked at his father, really looked at him. Lines of pain were etched into an almost flawless facade. Trails of grief were shown in a face that had seen war and death. Now, new lines were being drawn in worry of what the future would hold. Draco knew this was not the time to discuss his betrayal, his anger, or his pain with his father. Draco would have to do it slowly, and with conviction, so that he wouldn’t become irrational. Draco looked into his father’s eyes and let his face soften, but not smile, to let his father know that he would not hate them for this. He could still love them.
For now, that would be the best that he could offer.
----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----
Draco walked toward the Manor gates to Apparate away from his parents’ home; the missing pieces of the puzzle were coming together. His first priority was to find Harry Potter, the missing boy from his dreams and a friend from the past.
Harry was the boy who had performed a magical spell with him, had been the brave one who had cut him, and had shared his blood, his magic, and a bond with him. I wonder if it was the dreams that made me start thinking of him as ‘Harry’ instead of just ‘Potter’? Draco thought as he smiled to himself for the first time in months.
As he made his way to open the gate, Draco no longer felt an empty ache inside; instead, he felt energized and alive. A locked door had been opened. There was so much to explore as he walked through the gates that he could hardly wait to begin.
----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----
The music inside the nightclub was so thunderous that Draco could feel the rhythm of his own step change to match the beat before he entered the building. Outside, a line of people-mostly young men in black clothes-stood waiting to enter. There were boisterous conversations coming from various people, mostly women, as their excitement grew. As he walked past them, he could hear a few nasty comments being said about him. They didn’t bother him in the least. I can’t help it if these people didn’t know when they’re supposed to wait for something and when they’re supposed to walk up and take it, he thought as he walked up to a muscular, bald man with sunglasses standing at the red entrance door. With a firm handshake and few scraps of Muggle currency, Draco was able to enter the building without slowing his stride.
It was a busy night, and people were crowded all around-some were at the bars or along the walls, some were around small high tables, and some were at the couches in the back. Most, though, were in the centerpiece of the club: the dance floor below.
Rays of colorful light danced from the rafters, moved to the beat of the music, and bathed the writhing men that Draco could see as he leaned over the railing. At first glance, it looked like a gigantic beast made up of multicolored bodies grinding themselves together as one, without distinction or preference. Draco stood and watched the promiscuous mass slowly sway to the music. It was at once intoxicating and repulsive. He had been told that Harry frequented this place more than the others, so he came here directly.
Focusing on the individuals, Draco was able to spot him right away. It didn’t surprise him that a shirtless Harry Potter was in the very heart of the beast itself.
Draco watched as Harry undulated in the middle of the dance floor. He was surrounded by scores of men who battled to rub their bare torsos against his, but he ignored them all. Even the heavy-handed beat of the music failed to capture Harry’s interest, as he did not keep time with it like a proper dancer should. Instead, Harry moved to a beat that was so unique it could only be called Harry’s. His arms rose up above his head while he tilted his head back. He laughed out loud while his body moved to a groove that was his own.
For Draco everything seemed to come into some kind of wonderful focus. In that moment, Harry Potter went from being a schoolboy nemesis, a boy hero, and part of a past mystery into an object of sexual desire.
Draco’s mouth watered at the image before him. His own appetites varied to the extent that he appreciated a person’s beauty, intelligence, and energy regardless of gender. Watching Harry dance alone in the middle of a crowded floor made the ache in his gut transform into a pull low in his groin. The search to find the answers to the reoccurring dream could wait another day. He wanted this man; he wanted to feel flesh against flesh. He wanted to pull Harry away and work with him to reach nirvana together.
All he had to do now was to convince Potter of the same thing.
Around the dance floor lay a ring of shirts, coats, boots, trainers, and a few scattered undergarments. For a moment, Draco thought of shedding his own outer cloak, shirt, and tie and joining the others to become part of the swaying beast. He thought to lose himself within its depths and feel the power of the music washing over him. Instead, he opted to keep all his clothing on and even cast a few grooming and cleansing charms to present himself as well-attired as possible. If a horde of half-naked men were vying unsuccessfully for Harry’s attention, then maybe the advantage was to go in the other direction.
With his wand in hand and down by his side, Draco cast a repeating charm that would make each Muggle in front of him think he needed to step aside. He felt it was a better way to get to Potter than to be jostled about by the sweaty bodies, forced to have to push and shove his way to the center. This way he could almost stroll up to Potter as if it were nothing more than running into him on a busy shopping day in Diagon Alley.
When he got within ten feet of the object of his desire, Harry turned and noticed his approach. Draco suspected that was due to his Auror training, Harry was capable of sensing magic being performed around him. Draco watched as Harry stiffened in alertness and turned to see who was casting the spells. When he recognized Draco, he relaxed and broke out into a sly smile as he continued to move with the others.
Draco finally made his way to Harry and stood, staring at the wizard, waiting to be acknowledged. Some of the other dancers around him were upset by his abundance of clothing and lack of movement. Others came up to him and offered whispered pleasures of sweet delights and excursions back to their homes where Paradise could be found for the night. Draco only shook his head and waited with the patience of a saint for Harry to turn and address him.
As Harry gazed upon him, he had an air about him of a king holding court. In silence, he nudged his chin up to give permission for Draco to speak. The impish smile never left his face as the lights from above sparkled across his eyes. For a second, Draco gaped in wonder at Harry. When he had been standing above him, watching him dance, he had become captivated by Harry’s beauty. Now that he was right next to him, he felt entranced-as if he had been charmed mute.
“Well, Draco, what brings you here? You’ve certainly made an effort for me to notice you. Don’t tell me that you’ve come all this way into the depths of Muggle Soho for an interview. If it is, then I have only two words for you: no comment.” Draco leaned into Harry to hear him. The music almost drowned out what Harry told him.
“What I need to say is not that easy or simple. Why don’t we go someplace quieter and have a drink? I know a place not too far-” Harry cut him off with a firm shake of his head.
“Look, whatever it is, it can wait until morning. If it’s something that the Aurors should be formally investigating, then maybe you need to go down to the office and submit a formal request,” Harry said as he continued to dance.
“This is personal,” Draco shouted. His hands started to clench at his side in frustration both at Harry and at himself. A part of him wondered why this had to be done tonight, but the rest of him felt driven to explain the dreams, the ache and the longing. He needed to tell Harry what his father had told him and to begin making up for all the memories stolen from them.
Standing there in the middle of the dance floor, Draco realized that the mixture of desire and emptiness inside him was not a good combination. Soon he’d double over from the two sensations clashing within.
A boy, barely old enough to be called an adult, slithered his way between Draco and Harry. He tossed a sly glance at Draco as he began to kiss and lick along Harry’s shoulder. Draco could see Harry close his eyes and tilt his head away to give the boy better access. Draco’s vision blurred as the picture before him became red around the edges.
He remembered in his dreams that Harry had cut his left hand to make the blood bond. On impulse, he reached around the boy and grabbed Harry’s left hand, and slapped their palms together. A burst of magic shot out of their hands and moved up their arms like the awakening of dead nerves. His body began to hum from the sensation as it continued to spread over his body.
Cloudy images began to appear in front of him. Moments of childhood secrets formed quickly, then blew away, replaced by images of shared adventures; the memories whisked by, constantly changing. If it weren’t for the dancing Muggles around him, Draco would have thought that they had some how fallen into a Pensieve. He gasped as he saw laughter, fighting, and love in those scenes. Draco looked over to Harry and could see a mixture of confusion and wonder playing across his face as his eyes darted to see the images continue.
Harry looked at Draco, then jerked his hand away. He gazed at his own hand. Draco watched as Harry stood still and traced the faded scar across his palm. After an eternity, he looked up at Draco, his beautiful eyes narrowed with fire and determination.
“We need to talk.”
----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----
Draco Apparated them back to his home. It was dark, but he quickly lit up the living room candles and fireplace. He glanced about the room, wishing he had tidied up more and fluffed up the pillows. All he could see was clutter and dust. This time felt special. He knew it was a once in a lifetime moment, yet everything looked mundane. Why had he refused a house-elf all those years ago when his mother had offered him one?
Draco’s eyes focused on the bar in the corner. He motioned for Harry to sit on one of the leather couches as he moved to make them a drink. When he gave Harry his drink, the other man quickly rubbed his hands over his jeans before he took the offered beverage. He relaxed the slightest bit knowing he wasn’t the only one who was nervous.
A few minor pleasantries were exchanged as they settled down on one of the couches. They sipped their drinks without making eye contact. Draco had never relied on liquid courage to get him through a situation, but he thought he might need a little now to get through these next few minutes. The uncomfortable silence was growing between them.
“Would you care for another drink?” Draco offered as he rose to begin to make his way back to the bar.
“No thanks, I think I’d like to keep as clear a head as possible. If I start to get drunk, then in the morning I won’t be sure what was real and what was imagined. Besides, I tend to become a shameless flirt when I drink too much. A lap full of Harry Potter might not be what you wanted for the evening,” he laughed as he babbled on. Draco could hear the nervousness coming through it and couldn’t help but smile.
“I wouldn’t mind,” Draco whispered and they stared at each other with a new wonder. “Maybe we should talk about the magic that passed through us earlier when I grabbed your hand,” he said as he cleared his throat and forced himself to look away.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Harry looking down and grazing his fingertips against the palm of his left hand. When he spoke, his voice was had changed. It sounded soft with regret, and Draco’s heart ached for him.
“I’ve been having this dream of when I was little, like before we went to Hogwarts. In it, I am forming some sort of blood bond with another boy, though I don’t know who it is. Every time it would begin, I cut our hands and we’d say the incantation, but then I’d wake up before I could see who it was. I assumed he was a Muggle friend, although I never had any.
“Anyway, I started having these dreams when we were in school; they’d happen every once in awhile. At the time, I didn’t think anything of them. You know, I had other things to worry about,” he laughed again. Draco made a note that Harry did that whenever he was nervous.
“Then a couple of months ago the dreams started occurring every night. I’d wake up in a cold sweat and have to shake off the fear that something was terribly wrong. I even tried a Sleeping Draught, but it didn’t help. It felt as if something were missing.” Harry tapped his chest as he spoke.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it, though. The incantation would run through my mind over and over again. I even got Hermione to translate it for me. I had hoped it would help ease this hole inside, but knowing what it said only seemed to make it worse.”
“What did it say?” Draco interrupted. He’d never heard the spell being cast, only the effect of the magic passing through them.
Harry cleared his throat, and then looked hesitantly at him. For the first time in his life, Draco could see a shadow of fear pass through those beautiful, sea green eyes. He tried his best to give Harry a warm smile. It felt odd to bolster the courage of a man who had faced his own death countless times. After a moment of hesitation, Harry smiled back and closed his eyes to focus.
“Bound by magic, bound by blood.
Souls divided form as one.
If Fates should part our twin souls,
Unquiet slumbers will unfold.
Longing aches and pains in store,
Til we’re reunited once more.”
They fell silent again but this time Draco felt the quiet was comforting. He reached out his hand and clasped Harry’s again. The tingling of magic he had felt in the dream sparked in his chest as it spread out over them. After Harry uttered the spell, they each felt as if a magical balm poured over them. They were re-anointed in a bond that was cast and forgotten all those years ago. A healing for both of them had begun.
Draco then spoke of his own dreams and his parents’ disclosure. He saw Harry’s face harden in pure rage, and he instinctively moved closer to Harry and wrapped his arms around him. The bond pulsed through them and sweetened the edges of the bitter admission. They had a lot to work through, they had both suffered so much, but they knew now they wouldn’t have to do this alone.
Harry eventually brought his arms around Draco, too. They sat in silence, comforting each other until the last of the magic washed over them. Draco felt relaxed, like he could sit in Harry’s arms forever.
With clasped hands, Draco got up off the couch and pulled Harry up with him. Harry began to laugh as Draco led him up the stairs to his bedroom. The day and night had unfolded so many mysteries and revealed so many truths. This newfound picture that had revealed itself left Draco exhausted. He could finally see what he was looking for. The puzzle was complete.
As they laid down on the bed, fully clothed, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and knew that for the first time in months a peaceful, black sleep would greet him.
----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----
The near future …
While drying himself off from his morning shower, Draco could smell the distinct aroma of coffee coming from the kitchen. An old Weird Sisters song could be faintly heard coming from the same direction, as well as someone singing along off-key with it. In the past, his mornings had been calm and quiet. He’d have a fresh glass of pumpkin juice in the morning while reading the posts of other daily foreign papers, followed by tea with toast and jam while he reviewed his notes from the previous night. Those days of bringing his work home seemed to be slipping by him without much of a loss. Now in the mornings, he was learning to get use to the new smells and sounds that were becoming more familiar to his home.
As he made his way down the stairs he could hear an owl tapping its talons against the outer window. In its beak was today’s Daily Prophet. After he had taken the paper and given the bird a treat, he walked into the kitchen and opened the paper to see the day’s headline:
“Former Enemies Find Friendship through Magical Dreams!”
In the middle of the page was a picture of Harry and him. The matching scars were visible on their palms, held for the camera to see. They were laughing as they turned to look at each other before the picture repeated itself.
Draco couldn’t help but laugh when he saw where the picture repeated. A moment later, he leaned over to Harry to share a kiss-something that definitely wouldn’t be on the cover of The Daily Prophet as long as he owned it!
As he made his way into the kitchen, he saw Harry pouring batter into one of the pans as he made his delicious banana nut pancakes. Next to that pan was another one frying an egg. There was a small mound of bacon dripping grease onto some paper towels over a plate, and the radio was blaring the weather. Harry moved to turn down its volume.
“Hey,” Draco whispered as he pressed his bare chest up against Harry’s equally naked back. He kissed the back of Harry’s neck just below his hairline. Harry had on a grilling apron and a baggy pair of boxer shorts. Draco stood there for a few moments, watching Harry make breakfast while he continued humming the old Weird Sisters song long after it ceased to play.
Seeing Harry happy and half naked in his kitchen always did things to Draco’s libido, and he had to work hard not to pursue those urges. He decided to step away from Harry-this time-and begin setting the table for their Sunday morning breakfast.
When they had finished their meal, Harry finally made the effort to pick up the forgotten publication and scanned the front-page article.
“Did she have to take up the whole front page?” Harry asked with a slight grimace as he folded it back up and put it on the table.
“We’ve talked about this before, Harry. At the time, she had information I needed and I had to promise her something big,” Draco sighed. He could see by the way Harry’s eyes narrowed a bit that he needed to hear this story one more time.
“That night after I talked to my parents, I had to find you. I knew the one person who knew were Harry Potter was, and who would give me that information was Rita Skeeter. She had been following you for months and knew where all your favorite places were.
“It was the easiest way for me to track you down in a neutral place to talk about this. Otherwise, I would have had to either send you an owl or confront you when you were with your friends. Either way, I knew it would be hard to explain without showing you the scar on my hand. My only option was Rita.
“If I hadn’t promised her an exclusive, a picture, and the front page, I would have been searching for you all that night. Who knows what stranger you might have gone home with? You might have found the man of your dreams and then when I did show you the scar, you’d have thought it was nothing more than an interesting tidbit.
“We made a blood bond, Harry. Dealing with your adversarial relationship with her was the least of my concerns. You were probably going to be upset about it anyway, and that was a risk I was willing to take.”
Draco reached across the table and clasped Harry’s hand. As the faded scars came into contact, the blood bond between them sent a faint spark of magic up their arms.
“Alright,” Harry grumbled, “but what kind of ‘exclusive’ am I going to get?”
Pretending he didn’t see the mischievous look in Harry’s eyes, Draco calmly replied, “Why your exclusive is just up the stairs.”
Summary: Draco has a recurring dream of forming a blood pact with another boy. Was it real or imagined?
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): mentions of blood
Word Count: 9600
Author's Notes: This was my submission for hd_smoochfest. I was shocked that I could write almost 10K words and it’d be rated only PG.
Thanks to my beta, keppiehed for her help.
The title is taken from Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.
Then…
“Do you really think this is for the best, Lucius?”
Narcissa’s voice was a quiet breath, but Lucius could hear the nervousness in it. He gave her hand a slight squeeze as they continued to stand in the doorway of their son’s bedroom and watch the two sleeping boys. Their heads lay on the same pillow as fine, platinum blond hair intermingled with thick, ebony tufts. Their arms were wrapped around each other’s body.
The peaceful slumber of the boys in some ways made up for the rowdy and often destructive play that they got into during the daylight hours. Lucius and Narcissa watched as their ten-year-old son slept beside his closest friend as they spent another night in the Malfoy’s second home. It was refuge in the Muggle world after the wizarding war. The boys were as opposite in personalities as their hair color, but it was these differences that made them such good friends. They had become inseparable since they were toddlers when the Malfoys had inadvertently moved next door to the Dursleys.
Lucius sighed as he thought about what they were about to do. It was at times like these that he felt the weight of the world’s burdens upon his shoulders. Sometimes things were done, even to one’s own children, for the greater good. If the boys were allowed to continue this friendship it could endanger Draco beyond Lucius’ ability to protect him and Lucius knew that was something he could not allow to happen.
“Yes, Narcissa, this is for the best. The sooner they are able to move on with their lives, the better off Draco will be. Next year, we will move back into Malfoy Manor and Draco will start Hogwarts with a clean slate. He’s an intelligent, witty, and attractive boy. He shouldn’t have any trouble making new friends then.
“When he starts school he’ll be with other wizards more like himself. He’ll be able to hone his talents at subtlety and cleverness. He won’t feel the pressure to follow rash recklessness just because he thinks he’ll need to be loyal to a friend. No, it’s best if he is given as much advantage as possible. I’m certain that when he grows up, if he ever finds out about this, he’ll thank us for what we do here tonight.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Narcissa turned and looked at her husband. Her eyes were wide and a bit watery as her focus shifted back and forth to watch his every facial expression.
“Then I won’t be above begging for forgiveness,” he sighed.
----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----
Now …
“Do you think this is what magic feels like?” the other boy whispered.
Draco couldn’t see the other boy’s face. Instead, he focused on the hand that gripped his as they squeezed tightly. Their wet palms were mashed together and slowly a small amount of blood dripped down each wrist. A few splatters dropped onto the linen sheets below.
Draco could see that they were under the blanket in his old bed where it was mostly dark. He knew they had made some sort of pact and that they were mixing their blood to seal it. When their bloody palms came into contact with each other, Draco felt a buzzing in the middle of his chest grow and surrounded them both. For the first time in his life, he felt exhilarated and alive.
Whatever was happening between them, he knew this was important.
“I think so,” he replied. Even to his own ears, he could hear the high-pitched excitement in his voice. “Just remember that no matter what happens between now and the future, I’ll always be your-”
Startled beyond fright, Draco bolted upright from his downy bed. His face was covered in cold sweat and his breathing was rapid as his heart threatened to pump its way out of his chest. Out of instinct, he grabbed his wand from under his pillow and was pointing it in all directions. He turned around in an attempt to get his bearings.
He had had this same dream-this same nightmare-before, and every time he awoke at the same moment, startled and confused. The dreams had started happening occasionally when he was in school. He had attributed them to the pressures of doing well and then to his responsibilities to his family and the Dark Lord.
But the war had ended almost seven years ago and the dreams were becoming more frequent.
Draco suspected this had to do with the approach of his twenty-fifth birthday, but he couldn’t understand the significance of that event. The dream seemed to end before he could see who was with him. He was certain whomever it was had been close to him in his childhood.
Since the mystery was never fully revealed, it could never fully be resolved. When he awoke, he felt a gnawing ache inside. It was more than an empty stomach or a hard night out with friends. It was as if something sacred had been ripped from his grasp and he longed to hold it one more time.
He sighed as he got out of bed and went to the nearby washbasin to splash cold water on his face before he wiped himself clean with a towel. His room was warmed with a yellow light that spilled around the edges from the wooden window blinds. With a flick of his wand, he opened the shutters to let more sunlight into his bedroom. The sudden burst of midmorning light made him wince, but he persevered to adjust. Patience was something he had learned the hard way. Sometimes if you waited for what you wanted then you might find what you need instead, he mused.
He kept that in mind as he put away the last of his idle thoughts about his dream. A clear picture would present itself if he just waited. Like assembling a jigsaw puzzle, it was better to wait for the right connection than to force something to happen. That was the work of the foolhardy.
For the time being, though, he could fill his time with the work of his profession: running a newspaper. The pieces there were easier to connect. He had reporters there to do all the legwork for him.
----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----
After the war, the three Malfoys had nary a wand to their names. Magically, they were no more than squibs. What they did have, though, was money. Lots of money. If they had to wait until Mr. Ollivander was back in business, they would need to work on repairing their positions of power, as a family, as quickly as possible.
As head of the family, Lucius realized the best way to do that was not to influence public opinion, but rather, to buy it. So, when Draco and Narcissa were cleared by the Wizengamot, he instructed his wife to purchase The Daily Prophet and place Draco as its Editor-in-Chief. He knew Draco lacked the ability to mastermind criminal activity, but was able to influence public opinion. More than once, he had shown his father how he persuaded his fellow Hogwarts students’ views, even if it disregarded logic or evidence to the contrary. With Draco in charge of public opinion, Lucius knew it wouldn’t be long before the public cried out for his release from Azkaban.
Becoming the youngest Editor-in-Chief of The Daily Prophet had initially been a daunting task, but Draco used the skills he had honed at Hogwarts. He observed the interactions of everyone from the typesetters to the other editors. Once he understood the politics of a newspaper room, he rolled up his sleeves and began to shape the direction of the most-read media in the Great Britain wizarding world.
Today was Monday and they had put today's edition to bed at nine o’clock last night. It was a light paper, nothing outlandish or controversial for the first day of the week. Draco didn’t arrive at the office until shortly before noon.
He held daily lunches with his editors and chief reports to determine which articles were being written or what was considered worth of entering The Daily Prophet. They’d argue about which articles deserved the front page or front section locations and then discuss what angles they’d pursue to sell the most editions. An idealistic outsider would think that they would want to report the news as factually as possible, but anyone in the business knew it was all about the profit margins.
The platters of food had materialized around the conference room when Rita Skeeter cleared her throat to address the group. Draco finished placing the napkin in his lap, slowing his actions once it was clear that she expected everyone’s attention on her. Without looking at her, he brought his hands up so that they were a foot away from his face. With spread fingers, he lightly touched his fingertips together before he let a small smile cross his face. He made it a point not to look directly at her when he did it. For all her deceitfulness, Rita only had two methods of attack: first volley across the bow or wait until the dust had settled and then stab them in the back. Today looked like a first strike while their plates were still clean.
Draco used his most aloof tone of voice for her.
“Yes, Rita, how are you doing on such a fine morning?”
He kept his eyes looking straight ahead, and never moved his head to even physically acknowledge her. He knew this small show of disinterest would drive her mad. She was a creature who thrived on attention.
“I heard a rumor that Harry Potter’s been cruising the Muggle gay clubs in London. My sources confirm he’s been dancing with a wide assortment of men and even taking some of them to the backrooms. They say at a couple of clubs the bouncers greet him on a first name basis.
“Since his break-up with his little Hogwarts girlfriend three years ago, everyone’s tried to find out who he’s dating. Isn’t it interesting that he’s trolling with lesser beings? I mean, for someone with such a strong sense of chivalry, It would make for an excellent exposé to out our Battle of Hogwarts hero. It wouldn’t take much to interview these Muggles and find out what they know when the infamous Harry Potter goes slumming through Soho.”
Draco never shifted his stance or his eyes. He could see her self-satisfied smile. Rita’s kink was to take down people of power or ones who were seen as the good guys. For a brief moment Draco wondered if she secretly was a sadist. He sighed before he picked up the salad tongs and reached to bring a bit of salad to his plate.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Rita. Last week we printed a story on the third page of the front section, where we talked about Harry raising money for families who couldn’t afford their children to attend Hogwarts. We played him up as the hero Auror with a heart of gold. It wouldn’t look good on our part to turn around and show him getting on his knees to suck off some twink four days later.
“Maybe we could drop a few lines in the gossip column mentioning that he’d been seen dancing in Muggle clubs, but not mention that they were gay clubs. That’ll give the readers something to speculate while leading them off track.” Draco said as he reached to break off a piece of bread in front of him. He then turned to his world news editor to discuss the latest development in a tense situation in South America.
“What have you heard about the peace negotiations happening in Peru, Julian? I heard the werewolves were willing to relinquish control over the southern region in exchange for free government supplies of the Wolfsbane Potion.” He stabbed into a slice of tomato and brought it to his mouth.
Julian cleared his throat as he finished swallowing the huge chunk of chicken he’d been chewing. It always amused Draco that even though Julian knew the World News section came first in the discussion order, the man always tried to inhale half the meal as soon as possible.
“Yes, I heard that rumor, too. But I have it on good autho-”
“I fail to see why you want to protect the good name of Harry Potter,” Rita interrupted. Draco could see out of the corner of his eye that she was almost out of her seat, leaning over the table. She didn’t like to be shut out like that, especially from someone younger than herself.
“Ever since you and your family have taken over this newspaper, you’ve gone out of your way to show him in a positive light. Tell me, Mr. Editor-in-Chief, when he began to stir up trouble with the Ministry over some of the new laws being passed, and came into direct clash with his superiors, why didn’t The Daily Prophet print anything about it? You couldn’t have known that Potter’s action would result in the indirect freeing of your father. As I recall, you were more than willing to bring down his good name while in school. What’s brought on the sudden change of heart after all these years?”
The moment she started talking, interrupting Julian Molony’s update, Draco looked down and made a concentrated effort of focusing on his food. His blood boiled from her temerity.
Draco picked up his knife and attempted to even out the drizzle of olive oil over the pieces of lettuce and cucumber he had pronged earlier with his fork. He made exact, almost exaggerated, motions with the utensils. After Rita’s outburst, he continued for another minute in silence as everyone’s eyes turned from her to him. He wanted to make certain everyone was waiting for a reply and to send Rita a clear message that the small amount of food stuck to his salad fork was more important than her outburst.
“Rita, not that it’s any of your business, but as you know, Harry Potter testified at my trial and my mother’s trial after the war. He testified that our help to preserve his life directly affected the war’s outcome. While we don’t necessarily feel indebted to him, it would be foolish for us not to see who’s in charge of the Ministry of Magic. Harry Potter’s influence is a direct indication of its leadership. Why would we want to soil his name and find ourselves in a situation where sins from the past are brought up? Surely, even you don’t want that to happen, do you?
“I am certain there are sins you’ve committed that you wouldn’t want aired on the front page of this paper, would you?” Draco asked. As he spoke, he slowly lifted his eyes to look directly at her.
Draco knew of times when Rita had stepped out of the bounds of legal reporting. He had had to work hard to keep the newspaper out of libel lawsuits because of her. It wouldn’t have been difficult to write a damning article about her and there were a number of people who would have loved to be quoted in an article condemning her reputation.
“Well, I think it’s a waste of valuable information that you’re letting slip away,” she huffed. “Maybe The People’s Pensieve would be more interested in this tidbit of information.”
The People’s Pensieve was one of the trashiest tabloids in the wizarding world publication business. They made journals like The Quibbler look prestigious. Draco suspected the threat was a ruse, because like The Quibbler, The People’s Pensieve didn’t pay their writers and he knew Rita Skeeter didn’t work for free. Regardless, he didn’t like her making the threat.
“Rita, if I even smell a rumor that Harry Potter’s sexual exploits are being printed, I will make you regret ever taking up a Quick-Quotes Quill and thinking you could become a writer.
“Now, I am sorry that you were interrupted, Julian. Please tell us what you found out about Peruvian peace negotiations?” But before Julian could swallow down another chunk of chicken and utter a word, Rita insisted on having the last word and hissed out one last comment.
“Why, Draco, who would have known you would act so chivalrously, impulsively, and honorably? After those words, I suspect that some people would think you have a crush on Mr. Potter. I‘ve noticed you’re calling him Harry now - how chummy.”
----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----
This time, Draco could tell, the dream was different. It wasn’t starting at the same point it usually did. It looked familiar but felt different-maybe it was earlier?
“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said as he dropped the knife he was holding between them.
He had been holding a very sharp knife. He looked at it and could see deeply carved runes along the hilt. He knew it was an ancient and magical blade, but he didn’t know what its uses were. They had found it with a book in his father’s study and had taken it back to his room. It seemed odd that he could remember that little detail, but not who was across from him.
The knife dropped with a heavy thud on the bed between them and he almost jerked his feet back as it came within a few inches of touching his toes. He could see that they were sitting cross-legged, opposite of each other. He was terrified of being cut. He never liked seeing blood, much less his own.
“I don’t think it’ll work if we don’t give the blood willingly,” the other boy said. “The book I found was pretty specific about that-we each had to willingly give our blood for this to work.” The boy’s voice sounded more familiar than before.
“Do we really need to do this?” Draco could hear the whine in his own voice. “Can’t we just promise that we’ll always be together? That we’ll be … well, at least be friends?”
“No, Draco. I’ve seen my cousin, Dudley, make false promises to people at school all the time. Listen, all we have to do is make a little cut, touch palms, and say the words. Regardless of what happens, when we’re really old, like twenty-four or twenty-five-we’ll at least remember this and be there for each other.”
The other boy’s hand came up and stroked Draco’s upper arm. There was a gentle squeeze that felt reassuring. Draco tried his best to smile despite the coiling snake of fear in his belly.
“Alright, Harry, but if I give you my hand, will you make the cut for me? I’m not brave like you are,” Draco asked as he timidly held out his hand for the other boy to take.
“Don’t worry, Draco. I think I can be brave enough for the both of us,” the other boy said as he gently took Draco’s hand and turned the palm upward.
As before, Draco awoke startled and confused, only this time things were different. The sunlight filtering through the windows was growing dim. Long shadows were cast around his office giving it a sinister look. He realized he wasn’t in his bedroom, and Draco remembered that he’d taken a catnap on his leather couch before the final review of The Evening Prophet.
As he brought his long legs around to stand up and stretch, he thought about the differences between this dream and the other one. Somehow, Harry Potter wormed his way into Draco’s dream. In this dream, Harry Potter was the one who performed some sort of blood magic with him when he was a child. Was that because Harry Potter was actually there or was it that he had been talking about him earlier in the day? As some of the pieces to the puzzle were becoming clearer, others were blurring.
He looked down at his left palm and noticed something he’d never seen before.
If this dream wasn’t a dream, but a memory from his childhood, then he knew only two people who would tell him the answer. Without giving it much thought, Draco put on his traveling cloak and went out to find his assistant editor. He wouldn’t be able to finalize tonight’s Evening Prophet after all.
Instead, he needed to go have dinner with his parents.
----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----
After dinner, as Draco and his parents made their way to the sitting room, Draco felt nervous. Confronting his parents was not something he liked to do. In fact, if he could have, he’d have done anything other than this. As they walked down the corridor, he tried to think of the best way to approach the subject of his dreams without implying the oddity of it all: You see, I have this dream where Harry Potter slept over when we were little. We made a blood pact … . Even in his own mind it sounded ludicrous.
His mother led the way for through their home, but his father insisted on being the last one out of the dining room. Draco knew his father did that when he was suspicious and he wanted to keep an eye on everyone. Otherwise, he would’ve let Narcissa wrap her arm under his as they strolled into the other room together. Draco tried to keep his step light and easy, but the soft thud of his father’s cane kept the rhythm that reminded him of a slow and steady heartbeat. It was unnerving as it echoed off the walls. Even the portraits were silent.
Once in the sitting room, Draco moved to the bar and serve his parents. He’d be able to distract them and delay asking his awkward questions, but his father nixed the idea by calling a house-elf to prepare their drinks. He motioned Draco to sit on the loveseat facing his and Narcissa’s high-back leather chairs. After they had settled in and discussed the vintage of the brandy, Lucius launched into his questioning. Draco silently observed that his father was becoming more direct as he got older.
“Draco, it was gracious of you to dine with us. These visits are few and far between,” Lucius spoke.
Draco bit the inside of his cheek to keep the guilt from making his cheeks flush.
Lucius cleared his throat before he continued. “It’s not that we don’t appreciate your visit, Son, but it was rather sudden. When you visit unexpectedly, it means something has happened. If there’s is anything we can do to help you, then let’s discuss what it is. Your mother and I are still active in different political and social spheres. If that’s not the case and it’s more personal, maybe we can discuss alternatives toward a solution.”
Draco sat with his back hunched over as his elbows rested on his knees. He rubbed his hands together. They were warm and dry and the sound reminded him of sandpaper rubbing against a fine wood. He stopped when he remembered it was a habit that his mother didn’t approve of, but also to stare once again at his left palm.
Until a couple of months ago, when the dreams began occurring nightly, he had never noticed the small cut across the middle of his palm. It had faded and was almost gone. There was a small, white line over an inch right in the middle of his palm and he’d never noticed it for over a decade. He grazed over it with his fingertips. With a remorseful sigh, he realized that this seemed as good a place to start as any.
“Lately, I’ve had these strange dreams. Actually, it’s the same dream recurring. When I was in school they didn’t happen often, but recently, they’ve become more common.
“In this dream, I’m young-maybe nine or ten years old. There is a boy sleeping over and we’re under the covers of my old bed. We are making some sort of pact together. It’s a kind of ceremony we found in an old book. We end up cutting our palms and mixing our blood.”
At that comment, Narcissa gasped. Draco saw her face was pale. He looked over to his father and his face was like stone, so cold it was almost as if he were looking at Draco with malice. Draco shivered. His father never glared at him before with such disdain. He couldn’t keep eye contact with him, so he turned back toward his hand. Whatever he’d uncovered, it was something they either knew about or had hoped would never happen. He took a breath and persevered.
“Anyway,” his voice was shaking, and he shook his head to regain control. It wouldn’t do to lose his nerve now. “Every night, I’ve see the part of the ritual where the magic forms the bond. It pulses over us and I can feel every detail of it. The only problem is I never know who the other boy is.
“At first, I didn’t think the dreams were real, but I wake up in a sweat and then the rest of the day I keep thinking that I’m missing something. There’s an ache inside of me like a gnawing sensation. There’s a piece of me missing.
“Then this afternoon, something changed in the dream-well, everything changed, to be honest. This boy and I are still under the covers, only now I see who he is. Now, the other boy is the last person I would have thought it to be. You see, the other boy is none other than Harry Potter.
“Doesn’t that seem ridiculous to you?”
He brought his head up and could see his mother was looking at his father with fear in her eyes. She was more afraid than he had ever known her to be before. Considering all they had been through together, that was saying something.
“In my dreams, we have an ornamental knife. It looks like the one you used to have in your study, father, before the Ministry of Magic confiscated it. Harry and I have found a spell in an old book to bond us, I think, as blood brothers or something like that. We take the knife, or rather, Harry took the knife and cut us both, and then we join hands. Afterwards … well, it felt like magic, but I wasn’t sure.
“All this time, I thought the dreams were just that- dreams. But today, when the dream changed and I saw Harry getting ready to cut us, I wondered if it was real. When I woke up, I saw this,” Draco held out his hand. He showed the tiny scar in the center of his palm. He ran a finger up and down it. A tingle that he knew was magic shot up his arm as he caressed the faded white line.
“I never noticed it before, but as you can see, it’s a faded scar. I know magic can blind us to things that have always been there, so I thought I’d ask you first. Do you know how I got this scar and why I haven’t noticed it until today?”
Draco watched his parents’ faces. His mother had her head down, her hands fisting into her lap, while his father continued to stare at him. Draco could see in those narrowed eyes that his father was calculating the possible outcomes; maybe it was the risks involved in the next few minutes and how he would handle it. Whatever they were, something told him from their silence that this was a question they had hoped would never be asked.
Finally, his father sighed. His face softened as he stood up, walked over to where Draco was and sat down next to him. When his father’s hand came down on Draco’s shoulder, Draco jumped from the contact. He didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t the physical comfort of his father.
“Draco, you have to understand. This is a conversation your mother and I hoped we’d never have to have with you.”
The next few hours passed by in a blur for Draco. His father told him of how uncertain the times were after the Dark Lord’s fall from power and how they had found a place where the wards over one particular Muggle home were immeasurable. He learned about how his father managed to extend the wards to a neighboring home without the castor or the Muggles knowing about it. His father then told him that for the first eight years, after the Dark Lord’s fall, that they maintained the illusion of living in Malfoy Manor, but Draco and his mother spent most of their time living in this Muggle home in Surrey.
“We didn’t know what was going to happen. Things were so precarious for our side. If we had tried to admit remorse, then both sides would have rebuked us. There were times when our lives were in danger. It was for the greater good that we established a second home in the one place they never would have suspected us. Who would have thought a Malfoy would live in Muggle suburbia?
“When you were young-still learning to walk-you befriended one of the boys next door. At first we thought nothing of it. Their names were Dursley and we thought you were friends with Harry Dursley, nothing more. You were thick as thieves, and he was always finding excuses to come over. When he started school and you went to private tutors at the manor, we thought the friendship had run its course, but somehow you both managed to maintain it. You were always inviting him over to the house for sleepovers and the Dursleys never seemed to mind his absence,” his father explained.
“Wretched family,” his mother murmured.
“About a year before you were to attend Hogwarts, we found out that his last name wasn’t Dursley like we assumed, but Potter,” his father continued. “That put a different light on the friendship.
“Your mother and I had been working hard to establish ourselves in a more neutral light after the war. We had been working toward a better political balance for us. If the Dark Lord was to return, then we would be able to show how we’d used all that time as a ruse, and if he didn’t then we’d show how we were becoming more tolerant of the new ideas the Ministry officials were trying to implement.
“If you had attended Hogwarts as Harry Potter’s friend from the onset then those loyal to the Dark Lord would have seen us as traitors, while those who opposed him would have seen us as manipulators of an innocent boy. We would seem like people who would use their own child to further their personal gain. More than likely you would have unknowingly been in danger the minute you walked into the school. It was because of that danger that your mother and I did the thing we thought was for the best.”
Draco’s heart was pounding in his chest. He’d been holding his breath through the last part of his father’s talk. He closed his eyes and took three big, calming breaths before he opened them again. He knew what his father was going to say next, but that didn’t lessen the tension he felt as he waited for those fateful words to be expressed.
“I’m sorry, Draco, but after talking it over with your mother, the only option we had was to completely eliminate your relationship with Harry. One morning after Harry had spent the night and before you woke up, your mother and I went into your rooms and Obliviated each of your memories to forget the other one. We then sent Harry back home, where we Obliviated his family's memories of us as well. Then we left that home for good, returning to the Manor as if nothing had happened. I think it was easier for you than for him. You had met other friends from your tutored classes and in our world, so you had people to see. Harry, I believe, had it harder. You were his only friend, Muggle or wizard. I often felt sorry for him. I’m certain his last year before Hogwarts was a lonely one.
“Then when you ran into each other in Diagon Alley before the beginning of term, I worried that it was Fate bringing you together. I had seen you talking to him while being fitted at Madam Malkin’s, but I didn’t enter, so I could see how you would react to him. When you came out and barely mentioned him, my fears were relieved, to a point.
“Your letters from school those first few years were filled with stories of ‘Potter did this’ and ‘Potter did that’. Your mother and I worried that the memories would be somehow triggered, but it never occurred. Then when the Dark Lord returned, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. I had pledged loyalty to him. If either of you would have remembered the truth, I doubt you would have spoken of it.
“Since then we had all but forgotten about your lost friendship. If I thought you’d have done something so foolish or so powerful as creating a blood bond with Potter, then I would never have moved you and your mother out of the Manor to begin with. I would have sent you across the world rather than have your safety jeopardized. Your life, Draco, means more to me than all the gold in the world. I would have done everything in my power to keep you safe,” his father whispered.
Draco sat in stunned silence. He looked over to his mother and could see her head lowered and her shoulders shaking. Her chin was touching her lace blouse as she silently sobbed into her hands. He watched her for a few moments, but she never brought her head up. He wondered what she feared more: the sin she had committed, or his reaction at uncovering the truth?
He sensed his father, sitting next to him, waiting for Draco’s reaction. Did he imagine that Draco would jump up and start screaming at them? Did he worry that Draco would curse them or betray them as he had been betrayed? On the other hand, did he think that Draco would simply shrug and ignore what they had told him, as if he would blindly accept this violation and simply walk away from the situation?
Without a doubt, Draco felt betrayed by his parents. They had taken a part of his childhood, precious memories and treasured experiences, and ripped them from his mind. So many questions come to mind, but the one that rose to the forefront was: how could this have happened?
A part of him understood why they did what they did. In hindsight, it would be easy for him to judge their actions as selfish and wrong, but when he thought about that particular time and the political upheaval that was happening and how precarious everything was, then when he remembered all the decisions he had made in his own life and those decisions he still regretted, then he couldn’t find a reason to truly hate them for this. Yes, he decided. This would certainly be a rough time in their relationship, but if all three of us worked together we can learn to work around it.
Draco looked at his father, really looked at him. Lines of pain were etched into an almost flawless facade. Trails of grief were shown in a face that had seen war and death. Now, new lines were being drawn in worry of what the future would hold. Draco knew this was not the time to discuss his betrayal, his anger, or his pain with his father. Draco would have to do it slowly, and with conviction, so that he wouldn’t become irrational. Draco looked into his father’s eyes and let his face soften, but not smile, to let his father know that he would not hate them for this. He could still love them.
For now, that would be the best that he could offer.
----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----
Draco walked toward the Manor gates to Apparate away from his parents’ home; the missing pieces of the puzzle were coming together. His first priority was to find Harry Potter, the missing boy from his dreams and a friend from the past.
Harry was the boy who had performed a magical spell with him, had been the brave one who had cut him, and had shared his blood, his magic, and a bond with him. I wonder if it was the dreams that made me start thinking of him as ‘Harry’ instead of just ‘Potter’? Draco thought as he smiled to himself for the first time in months.
As he made his way to open the gate, Draco no longer felt an empty ache inside; instead, he felt energized and alive. A locked door had been opened. There was so much to explore as he walked through the gates that he could hardly wait to begin.
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The music inside the nightclub was so thunderous that Draco could feel the rhythm of his own step change to match the beat before he entered the building. Outside, a line of people-mostly young men in black clothes-stood waiting to enter. There were boisterous conversations coming from various people, mostly women, as their excitement grew. As he walked past them, he could hear a few nasty comments being said about him. They didn’t bother him in the least. I can’t help it if these people didn’t know when they’re supposed to wait for something and when they’re supposed to walk up and take it, he thought as he walked up to a muscular, bald man with sunglasses standing at the red entrance door. With a firm handshake and few scraps of Muggle currency, Draco was able to enter the building without slowing his stride.
It was a busy night, and people were crowded all around-some were at the bars or along the walls, some were around small high tables, and some were at the couches in the back. Most, though, were in the centerpiece of the club: the dance floor below.
Rays of colorful light danced from the rafters, moved to the beat of the music, and bathed the writhing men that Draco could see as he leaned over the railing. At first glance, it looked like a gigantic beast made up of multicolored bodies grinding themselves together as one, without distinction or preference. Draco stood and watched the promiscuous mass slowly sway to the music. It was at once intoxicating and repulsive. He had been told that Harry frequented this place more than the others, so he came here directly.
Focusing on the individuals, Draco was able to spot him right away. It didn’t surprise him that a shirtless Harry Potter was in the very heart of the beast itself.
Draco watched as Harry undulated in the middle of the dance floor. He was surrounded by scores of men who battled to rub their bare torsos against his, but he ignored them all. Even the heavy-handed beat of the music failed to capture Harry’s interest, as he did not keep time with it like a proper dancer should. Instead, Harry moved to a beat that was so unique it could only be called Harry’s. His arms rose up above his head while he tilted his head back. He laughed out loud while his body moved to a groove that was his own.
For Draco everything seemed to come into some kind of wonderful focus. In that moment, Harry Potter went from being a schoolboy nemesis, a boy hero, and part of a past mystery into an object of sexual desire.
Draco’s mouth watered at the image before him. His own appetites varied to the extent that he appreciated a person’s beauty, intelligence, and energy regardless of gender. Watching Harry dance alone in the middle of a crowded floor made the ache in his gut transform into a pull low in his groin. The search to find the answers to the reoccurring dream could wait another day. He wanted this man; he wanted to feel flesh against flesh. He wanted to pull Harry away and work with him to reach nirvana together.
All he had to do now was to convince Potter of the same thing.
Around the dance floor lay a ring of shirts, coats, boots, trainers, and a few scattered undergarments. For a moment, Draco thought of shedding his own outer cloak, shirt, and tie and joining the others to become part of the swaying beast. He thought to lose himself within its depths and feel the power of the music washing over him. Instead, he opted to keep all his clothing on and even cast a few grooming and cleansing charms to present himself as well-attired as possible. If a horde of half-naked men were vying unsuccessfully for Harry’s attention, then maybe the advantage was to go in the other direction.
With his wand in hand and down by his side, Draco cast a repeating charm that would make each Muggle in front of him think he needed to step aside. He felt it was a better way to get to Potter than to be jostled about by the sweaty bodies, forced to have to push and shove his way to the center. This way he could almost stroll up to Potter as if it were nothing more than running into him on a busy shopping day in Diagon Alley.
When he got within ten feet of the object of his desire, Harry turned and noticed his approach. Draco suspected that was due to his Auror training, Harry was capable of sensing magic being performed around him. Draco watched as Harry stiffened in alertness and turned to see who was casting the spells. When he recognized Draco, he relaxed and broke out into a sly smile as he continued to move with the others.
Draco finally made his way to Harry and stood, staring at the wizard, waiting to be acknowledged. Some of the other dancers around him were upset by his abundance of clothing and lack of movement. Others came up to him and offered whispered pleasures of sweet delights and excursions back to their homes where Paradise could be found for the night. Draco only shook his head and waited with the patience of a saint for Harry to turn and address him.
As Harry gazed upon him, he had an air about him of a king holding court. In silence, he nudged his chin up to give permission for Draco to speak. The impish smile never left his face as the lights from above sparkled across his eyes. For a second, Draco gaped in wonder at Harry. When he had been standing above him, watching him dance, he had become captivated by Harry’s beauty. Now that he was right next to him, he felt entranced-as if he had been charmed mute.
“Well, Draco, what brings you here? You’ve certainly made an effort for me to notice you. Don’t tell me that you’ve come all this way into the depths of Muggle Soho for an interview. If it is, then I have only two words for you: no comment.” Draco leaned into Harry to hear him. The music almost drowned out what Harry told him.
“What I need to say is not that easy or simple. Why don’t we go someplace quieter and have a drink? I know a place not too far-” Harry cut him off with a firm shake of his head.
“Look, whatever it is, it can wait until morning. If it’s something that the Aurors should be formally investigating, then maybe you need to go down to the office and submit a formal request,” Harry said as he continued to dance.
“This is personal,” Draco shouted. His hands started to clench at his side in frustration both at Harry and at himself. A part of him wondered why this had to be done tonight, but the rest of him felt driven to explain the dreams, the ache and the longing. He needed to tell Harry what his father had told him and to begin making up for all the memories stolen from them.
Standing there in the middle of the dance floor, Draco realized that the mixture of desire and emptiness inside him was not a good combination. Soon he’d double over from the two sensations clashing within.
A boy, barely old enough to be called an adult, slithered his way between Draco and Harry. He tossed a sly glance at Draco as he began to kiss and lick along Harry’s shoulder. Draco could see Harry close his eyes and tilt his head away to give the boy better access. Draco’s vision blurred as the picture before him became red around the edges.
He remembered in his dreams that Harry had cut his left hand to make the blood bond. On impulse, he reached around the boy and grabbed Harry’s left hand, and slapped their palms together. A burst of magic shot out of their hands and moved up their arms like the awakening of dead nerves. His body began to hum from the sensation as it continued to spread over his body.
Cloudy images began to appear in front of him. Moments of childhood secrets formed quickly, then blew away, replaced by images of shared adventures; the memories whisked by, constantly changing. If it weren’t for the dancing Muggles around him, Draco would have thought that they had some how fallen into a Pensieve. He gasped as he saw laughter, fighting, and love in those scenes. Draco looked over to Harry and could see a mixture of confusion and wonder playing across his face as his eyes darted to see the images continue.
Harry looked at Draco, then jerked his hand away. He gazed at his own hand. Draco watched as Harry stood still and traced the faded scar across his palm. After an eternity, he looked up at Draco, his beautiful eyes narrowed with fire and determination.
“We need to talk.”
----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----
Draco Apparated them back to his home. It was dark, but he quickly lit up the living room candles and fireplace. He glanced about the room, wishing he had tidied up more and fluffed up the pillows. All he could see was clutter and dust. This time felt special. He knew it was a once in a lifetime moment, yet everything looked mundane. Why had he refused a house-elf all those years ago when his mother had offered him one?
Draco’s eyes focused on the bar in the corner. He motioned for Harry to sit on one of the leather couches as he moved to make them a drink. When he gave Harry his drink, the other man quickly rubbed his hands over his jeans before he took the offered beverage. He relaxed the slightest bit knowing he wasn’t the only one who was nervous.
A few minor pleasantries were exchanged as they settled down on one of the couches. They sipped their drinks without making eye contact. Draco had never relied on liquid courage to get him through a situation, but he thought he might need a little now to get through these next few minutes. The uncomfortable silence was growing between them.
“Would you care for another drink?” Draco offered as he rose to begin to make his way back to the bar.
“No thanks, I think I’d like to keep as clear a head as possible. If I start to get drunk, then in the morning I won’t be sure what was real and what was imagined. Besides, I tend to become a shameless flirt when I drink too much. A lap full of Harry Potter might not be what you wanted for the evening,” he laughed as he babbled on. Draco could hear the nervousness coming through it and couldn’t help but smile.
“I wouldn’t mind,” Draco whispered and they stared at each other with a new wonder. “Maybe we should talk about the magic that passed through us earlier when I grabbed your hand,” he said as he cleared his throat and forced himself to look away.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Harry looking down and grazing his fingertips against the palm of his left hand. When he spoke, his voice was had changed. It sounded soft with regret, and Draco’s heart ached for him.
“I’ve been having this dream of when I was little, like before we went to Hogwarts. In it, I am forming some sort of blood bond with another boy, though I don’t know who it is. Every time it would begin, I cut our hands and we’d say the incantation, but then I’d wake up before I could see who it was. I assumed he was a Muggle friend, although I never had any.
“Anyway, I started having these dreams when we were in school; they’d happen every once in awhile. At the time, I didn’t think anything of them. You know, I had other things to worry about,” he laughed again. Draco made a note that Harry did that whenever he was nervous.
“Then a couple of months ago the dreams started occurring every night. I’d wake up in a cold sweat and have to shake off the fear that something was terribly wrong. I even tried a Sleeping Draught, but it didn’t help. It felt as if something were missing.” Harry tapped his chest as he spoke.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it, though. The incantation would run through my mind over and over again. I even got Hermione to translate it for me. I had hoped it would help ease this hole inside, but knowing what it said only seemed to make it worse.”
“What did it say?” Draco interrupted. He’d never heard the spell being cast, only the effect of the magic passing through them.
Harry cleared his throat, and then looked hesitantly at him. For the first time in his life, Draco could see a shadow of fear pass through those beautiful, sea green eyes. He tried his best to give Harry a warm smile. It felt odd to bolster the courage of a man who had faced his own death countless times. After a moment of hesitation, Harry smiled back and closed his eyes to focus.
“Bound by magic, bound by blood.
Souls divided form as one.
If Fates should part our twin souls,
Unquiet slumbers will unfold.
Longing aches and pains in store,
Til we’re reunited once more.”
They fell silent again but this time Draco felt the quiet was comforting. He reached out his hand and clasped Harry’s again. The tingling of magic he had felt in the dream sparked in his chest as it spread out over them. After Harry uttered the spell, they each felt as if a magical balm poured over them. They were re-anointed in a bond that was cast and forgotten all those years ago. A healing for both of them had begun.
Draco then spoke of his own dreams and his parents’ disclosure. He saw Harry’s face harden in pure rage, and he instinctively moved closer to Harry and wrapped his arms around him. The bond pulsed through them and sweetened the edges of the bitter admission. They had a lot to work through, they had both suffered so much, but they knew now they wouldn’t have to do this alone.
Harry eventually brought his arms around Draco, too. They sat in silence, comforting each other until the last of the magic washed over them. Draco felt relaxed, like he could sit in Harry’s arms forever.
With clasped hands, Draco got up off the couch and pulled Harry up with him. Harry began to laugh as Draco led him up the stairs to his bedroom. The day and night had unfolded so many mysteries and revealed so many truths. This newfound picture that had revealed itself left Draco exhausted. He could finally see what he was looking for. The puzzle was complete.
As they laid down on the bed, fully clothed, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and knew that for the first time in months a peaceful, black sleep would greet him.
----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----
The near future …
While drying himself off from his morning shower, Draco could smell the distinct aroma of coffee coming from the kitchen. An old Weird Sisters song could be faintly heard coming from the same direction, as well as someone singing along off-key with it. In the past, his mornings had been calm and quiet. He’d have a fresh glass of pumpkin juice in the morning while reading the posts of other daily foreign papers, followed by tea with toast and jam while he reviewed his notes from the previous night. Those days of bringing his work home seemed to be slipping by him without much of a loss. Now in the mornings, he was learning to get use to the new smells and sounds that were becoming more familiar to his home.
As he made his way down the stairs he could hear an owl tapping its talons against the outer window. In its beak was today’s Daily Prophet. After he had taken the paper and given the bird a treat, he walked into the kitchen and opened the paper to see the day’s headline:
“Former Enemies Find Friendship through Magical Dreams!”
In the middle of the page was a picture of Harry and him. The matching scars were visible on their palms, held for the camera to see. They were laughing as they turned to look at each other before the picture repeated itself.
Draco couldn’t help but laugh when he saw where the picture repeated. A moment later, he leaned over to Harry to share a kiss-something that definitely wouldn’t be on the cover of The Daily Prophet as long as he owned it!
As he made his way into the kitchen, he saw Harry pouring batter into one of the pans as he made his delicious banana nut pancakes. Next to that pan was another one frying an egg. There was a small mound of bacon dripping grease onto some paper towels over a plate, and the radio was blaring the weather. Harry moved to turn down its volume.
“Hey,” Draco whispered as he pressed his bare chest up against Harry’s equally naked back. He kissed the back of Harry’s neck just below his hairline. Harry had on a grilling apron and a baggy pair of boxer shorts. Draco stood there for a few moments, watching Harry make breakfast while he continued humming the old Weird Sisters song long after it ceased to play.
Seeing Harry happy and half naked in his kitchen always did things to Draco’s libido, and he had to work hard not to pursue those urges. He decided to step away from Harry-this time-and begin setting the table for their Sunday morning breakfast.
When they had finished their meal, Harry finally made the effort to pick up the forgotten publication and scanned the front-page article.
“Did she have to take up the whole front page?” Harry asked with a slight grimace as he folded it back up and put it on the table.
“We’ve talked about this before, Harry. At the time, she had information I needed and I had to promise her something big,” Draco sighed. He could see by the way Harry’s eyes narrowed a bit that he needed to hear this story one more time.
“That night after I talked to my parents, I had to find you. I knew the one person who knew were Harry Potter was, and who would give me that information was Rita Skeeter. She had been following you for months and knew where all your favorite places were.
“It was the easiest way for me to track you down in a neutral place to talk about this. Otherwise, I would have had to either send you an owl or confront you when you were with your friends. Either way, I knew it would be hard to explain without showing you the scar on my hand. My only option was Rita.
“If I hadn’t promised her an exclusive, a picture, and the front page, I would have been searching for you all that night. Who knows what stranger you might have gone home with? You might have found the man of your dreams and then when I did show you the scar, you’d have thought it was nothing more than an interesting tidbit.
“We made a blood bond, Harry. Dealing with your adversarial relationship with her was the least of my concerns. You were probably going to be upset about it anyway, and that was a risk I was willing to take.”
Draco reached across the table and clasped Harry’s hand. As the faded scars came into contact, the blood bond between them sent a faint spark of magic up their arms.
“Alright,” Harry grumbled, “but what kind of ‘exclusive’ am I going to get?”
Pretending he didn’t see the mischievous look in Harry’s eyes, Draco calmly replied, “Why your exclusive is just up the stairs.”