Title: The Rites of Sun and Moon
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Content Notes: Present tense, angst
Rating: R
Wordcount: 3100
Summary: After Voldemort's fall, the wizarding world tumbled into another war. And another. And another. Harry and Draco, sick of the fighting, conduct an ancient set of bonding rites that will spread peace out into their world—whether the world wants it or not.
Author's Notes: Another of my July Celebration fics.
The Rites of Sun and Moon
Draco glances at Harry. His face is covered with blowing shadows as the world around them bulges and ripples with power.
"You're ready?"
Harry nods sharply, and steps up to stand at Draco's side. Together, they walk through the gates of slick black rock that open up in front of them.
Harry can see blood running down the grooves of that stone. He shudders and keeps his eyes focused straight ahead, his steps calm and measured. The world ahead of them is confusing enough, a rotating blue blur inside a red one. Then they take the final step, and the blurs snap out into two stone spirals, twisted ropes of black rock that rise from the ground and project into a sky that's still snapping back and forth between colors.
Draco silently takes a silver knife from his pocket. That's the only thing they need, the only magical equipment that would come through the gate with them. They've been forced to leave even their wands behind. Harry watches in silence as Draco draws a circle on his right palm with the blade. The blood that springs up doesn't well out the way it should. Instead, it simply forms a perfect, shimmering scarlet ring on his palm.
Draco swallows and extends the knife to Harry. Harry thinks it will be hard to draw the crescent moon on his left palm, but it's not. And the same thing happens with his symbol as it did with Draco's: the blood remains still in it, like a current of water running around and around the same stylized pond.
"Right." Draco tilts his head back and looks up at the pillars of rock. "Last chance to back out of this, Potter."
Harry rolls his eyes. "If I wasn't completely committed, I could never have come through that gate with you, and this would be bleeding all over the place." He holds up his palm to show Draco the moon symbol.
Apparently the sight of that crescent solidifies something in Draco. He nods, hurls the silver knife from them into the grass—where the hilt sticks and it points perfectly upwards, surprising Harry not at all—and begins to undress.
Harry swallows and does the same. All around them, the world is beginning to slowly rotate again; the towers of stone look as if they're on a vast disc that's turning under Harry and Draco, and the sky overhead can't make up its mind what color it wants to be.
Of course, if they're doing it at all properly, that's because it will soon be a combination of a lunar and a solar eclipse at the same time. But Harry doesn't intend to think about that.
He intends to think about the wizarding world, and the reason why he's here.
The peace after the war with Voldemort ended lasted perhaps a year. Then five of the former Death Eaters merged their power together and led disgruntled pure-bloods and werewolves and giants into a vicious struggle for power. Once again, most of the Ministry screamed and hid, and it was up to Harry and his friends and a few brave people who had learned their lessons from the last war to beat back the Death Eaters.
It took almost six years, since the Death Eaters had merged their souls into a single great, Dark thing, and they could not be killed unless they were all in one place at the same time—which they took care never to be. In the end, Harry and Hermione used Dark Arts that allowed them to possess their enemies in a way that would make Voldemort proud. And Harry felt as though he'd barely drawn breath before he was plunged into war again.
This time, it was Muggleborn wizards who felt they deserved a better place everywhere and had managed to weaponize dragons. They struck at all the dragon sanctuaries in the world at once, and released tons of flying, flaming muscle that obeyed only them onto wizards from Britain to Australia, from Romania to Peru. Harry had resorted more to guerilla warfare that time, traveling from place to place and defending people as necessary while he sought for the secret of dragon domestication. In the end, he found it: gems that a Muggleborn witch with genius to rival Hermione's had designed and embedded in the heads of multiple dragons.
Harry killed her himself, and watched her smile as the light faded from her eyes. "They will know," she whispered with her last breath, and Harry hadn't known what she meant; he only knew that he needed to round up dragons who were going mad as the gems in their heads failed with their creator.
Now dragons are almost extinct. And the witch's prophecy has come true.
The unprecedented, worldwide scale of the Dragonfire Wars has drawn dangerous attention. Now war with the Muggle world engulfs them.
Harry has spent enough time watching his friends die. He researched what was needed, what would bring the world to peace, and then he reached out and contacted Draco, the only candidate who fit the other side of the rites that he could personally stomach. And Draco agreed to help him.
It will require the sacrifice of most of their freedom, including the freedom to bond with whoever they wished. But Harry doesn't care. At almost thirty-six, bonding has become a distant dream. War is what he knows.
At least, this way, after the rites conducted on the summer solstice with a full moon hanging overhead, he will be allowed to dream of something else.
Draco paces forwards slowly when he's naked. Harry can't help a quick glance down his body, expert in only one way. Draco has enough muscle to make a formidable warrior, but he's going to softness around the waist. That's the kind of thing Harry would work on in training camps.
"Breathe, Potter. I know I'm impressive, but it's still got to go into you, and it can't if you're so clenched up."
Harry finally looks at Draco's cock, knowing Draco will never believe him in the first place if Harry tells him that's not what he was looking at. It's long and thick, flushed with blood and rising already. Harry snorts a little. "Not the most impressive weapon that's ever penetrated me, Draco. And remember that you have to call me Harry now. Or do you not want the bond to take?"
"You'll pay for that remark," Draco says, but his voice is soft. He's eyeing Harry in the same way. "All right, Harry." He reaches out, and they clasp hands, right hand pressed to left, sun symbol to moon symbol.
The world seems to grind to a halt. Harry looks up and sees that the confused sky is brewing overhead and the grassy disc is no longer turning beneath them. The rock towers are standing so that one is behind Draco and one is behind him.
The voice that speaks is from the earth, from the water, from the blood and the spirit and everything that makes them wizards. "What do you ask?"
"Peace between Muggles and wizards from this moment," Harry says, lifting his head. He can feel a distant breeze stirring his hair. That's fine. It's not as though he's going to back away because there's a bit of wind. "In return, I give my freedom, my life from this moment, to being a symbol of that peace."
Silence, for long enough that Harry thinks the disc might start turning beneath them again. And then the voice repeats, "What do you ask?"
"Peace between wizards from this moment," Draco says, his voice firm and surprisingly deep. He squeezes Harry's hand once. There's no pain, although Harry thinks their blood is supposed to be mingling now. "In return, I give my freedom, my life from this moment, to being a symbol of that peace."
More silence. Then there is a sudden burst of light.
Harry gasps and flings his arm over his eyes. But he knows that both the noontime sun and a full moon hang overhead, and their combined brilliance is pouring down on the space where he and Draco stand, and this is the answer to their plea.
Draco turns and kisses him as the sun and moon begin to undergo eclipse. Harry gladly kisses him back, glad of the excuse to keep his eyes closed as much as anything else. They have to finish their bonding by the time the eclipses are done.
In reality, Harry supposes that it would never be anyone other than Draco. Pale as the moon, a child of the left-hand path, of the darkness or what was called the darkness before these last wars, but with hair as golden as the sun and the burning determination to end the wars by whatever means necessary. He's lost his mother and father, now, to Death Eaters and dragons. He has no one left that he's close to.
Harry, meanwhile, has only Ron and Hermione left. Andromeda, Teddy, the rest of the Weasleys, they were taken from him in burst of flames or tortured and killed by cold curses. And the colors of his House are red and gold; he is a child of the light and the right-hand path, but he can be cold when he needs to and his eyes can blaze with pale light.
Opposites, magically and in so much else, but they can bind together.
Draco lays him on the grass. Harry opens his eyes again, when he's sure that he won't look straight up into the heart of the brewing eclipses and lose his sight. Draco smiles at him, bent above him, his head entirely obscuring the sky.
"Are you ready?" he whispers again.
This time, Harry answers him aloud, as the rite requires him. "Yes."
Draco nods, and spreads his hand. Light falls from above, silver and gold blending, and makes a shimmering screen of magic that coats his fingers as he thrusts them into Harry. Harry grunts, but accepts it. If they did this right, the books said, the magic of the place would ease their way.
It seems it's true.
He relaxes further and faster than he would ever have suspected would be the case for his first time with a man, and spreads his legs until they can gape no wider. Draco kneels above him, kisses him, and slides into him.
It hurts, of course it does, but it's nothing compared to the pain of past deaths or the dragonfire burns on Harry's right hand. He relaxes himself by sheer force of will, and nods when Draco pauses in the slide into him.
"I'm ready," he repeats.
Draco sighs and thrusts home. Harry answers with a sigh of his own. He turns his head to the side and looks, and sees the crescent moon on his left palm has altered, is in the middle of its own eclipse. They have little time.
But Draco makes the little time into a long one, rocking inside Harry like the motions of tides stirred by the moon. Harry finds himself feeling pleasure almost against his will. He blinks and reaches up. Draco turns his head and kisses his hand.
His lips meet the crescent moon blood-mark, and Harry cries out as his whole body abruptly flames into life, and his mind does the same, spinning a bond out across the void to meet the strands being spun from Draco's mind.
The bond collapses inwards, strengthens, firms. Suddenly Harry can see a long stream of Draco's most vivid memories, from receiving his Hogwarts letter to twisting on his broom high above the pitch as he chased Harry in a Quidditch game, from kneeling in front of Voldemort and shivering as he was Marked to watching Pansy Parkinson burn to death.
Draco's hips stop moving for a moment, and Harry knows he can see Harry's, too. When they are looking at each other instead of the memories again, Draco's face is filled with soft awe.
He reaches out and slides the back of his hand against Harry's cheek. The sensation is redoubled. Harry turns his head and kisses the sun-mark on Draco's palm, no longer a perfect circle, but eclipsed.
Yeah? Draco asks.
Yeah, Harry answers, and this time they move as one, timing their movements the way they never would have been able to without the bond that hums between them.
The earth is turning beneath them again, stone towers now next to them, now at opposite points of the ring, now behind them. It doesn't matter, though. Harry knows they've got this, can feel Draco's assurance as solid as a continent. He raises his arms and loops them around Draco's neck.
This time, they kiss on the lips.
The magic between them is forming, weaving, spinning up above them. Threads of silver and gold have made their way into the eclipsed sky when Harry dares a slit-eyed glance up at it. The storm of light is battling back the storm of pure magic, and for a moment, there are glimpses of meadow there, and ocean, and fountain, and walled courtyard, and Muggle city.
Harry is breathing harder and harder in his gladness. It takes him long seconds to realize that some of the breaths are Draco's. Their bond means they will always move in concert now.
And never be alone again, Draco says. Joyful shivers make their way through him and thrum in Harry's body as well. Ah, if you knew, if you knew what that meant to me…
I have some idea, Harry whispers, and feeds him memories of the cupboard and walking alone into the Forbidden Forest with no living company and battling alone through jungles as he made his way to dragon sanctuaries and fighting shadows in the dark cavern where the War of the Five ended at last.
Draco shudders and grips him like a diving hawk. You'll never have to do that again.
No, never.
The magic storms out of them, and Harry turns his head a little. Before he can even locate the bloody crescent moon on his hand, Draco murmurs, The eclipse is nearly done. We're going to be just in time.
Do you think we'll come in time?
Of course, since I'm on top.
Harry wants to glare, but Draco shoves with his hips and reaches down to tweak his nipples, and Harry is coming, just like that, faster and more freely than he ever has in his life. Draco follows him at the same moment.
Sex with your mortal enemy is also a sacrifice, another thing that made him and Draco perfect for the rites. But what no book could tell you, Harry thinks as he pants and writhes on the grass, is what the sex would turn into once the rites were complete.
They are.
Harry lies back, his arms clasped around Draco as Draco's arms are around him. Above him, a turning, transparent, hollow sphere of golden light forms. Silver flows in to fill it, drawn from the moon and the stars.
And your soul, Harry, Draco murmurs into the bond, as his lips touch Harry's ear. That's your soul.
I had no idea—how beautiful, Harry says, and tightens his grip on Draco as they watch the sphere rise higher and higher, and then, at the apex of its ascent, break apart abruptly and stream like new branches of the Milky Way in opposite directions.
Harry is smiling hard enough to hurt his mouth and craning his neck hard enough to hurt that as well, but he doesn't care. He knows what will happen now. The sun will carry the magic of Draco's wish, and nowhere on earth escapes being touched by the sun's light. The moon will carry the magic of Harry's, and no tide on earth will not bear it, and there is no place on earth not touched by either water or light.
In a month, full moon to full moon, they will have peace between Muggles and wizards. The books on the rites Harry read say they will find their souls filled, all unwilling, with gentleness. They will wake from blind hatred and prejudices will no longer make sense to them. Weapons will no longer seem interesting, but ugly and bizarre. They may never like each other, but understanding will be there, and a lack of will to go to war again.
In six months, when the sun is at the Southern Hemisphere's midsummer solstice, they will have peace between wizards. Draco's wish will take longer because wizards are more likely to recognize the magical source of this kind of peace and struggle against it if it happened as fast as Harry's. But in the end, curses will seem trite, arguments more worth having, wizards who live beside each other more fascinating.
I don't have to fight a war again.
If you had to, I would be beside you.
Harry turns back to Draco, away from the shining sky that is still, free from eclipse and sunlight and moonlight. "I know," he whispers, aloud, so they can both hear the words ring in their ears this time. "I couldn't have chosen a better partner." He caresses Draco's face, and feels the touch on his own skin, and closes his eyes in delight as Draco closes his in wonder.
Let's go back.
Harry nods and lets Draco pull him to his feet. He knows he will have to answer questions of his friends. He asked them nothing, told them nothing, because he didn't want to listen to arguments (likely from Ron) about whether he should find someone better than Draco to bond with or debates (likely from Hermione) about whether it is moral to deprive people of their free will.
The wars are done. Harry is done.
And he has a better future to look forward to than he realized.
Draco looks good with devotion shining on his face and radiating through the bond, and the arm he slings over Harry's shoulder as they walk through the gates again feels more than good. Harry leans in to him and barely remembers to Summon the silver knife and their clothes before they leave.
"You did that without a wand."
"I think we'll be doing lots of things without them in the future," Harry says, and glances down to where magic shimmers like gold dust on Draco's fingers. Draco, when he raises his hand before his eyes to regard it, looks awed by that, too.
Together, they depart. Together, they walk towards the time and place when they will tell the truth and endure some disapproval. And then that, too, will be over.
Together, they go home.
The End.