AN: In a way, I think I'd call this one of my very first fanfictions that I ever wrote, one of those things that just kind of happened...and I went with it. This one-shot was inspired by a set of three pieces of Drarry fanart that my dear friend Nelliezabini4 showed me.

I tried to find the original artists, but please, if I'm incorrect, let me know and I'll fix it asap.

Image 1: Snakewater by misterwalnut (I believe this is the correct webpage)

Image 2: Title unknown, artist: starsailor13 (I found the image here, but if there's a better link to the original artist, please let me know!)

Image 3: Title unknown, artist (?): Джун (I'm not sure if this is the correct artist or link, but I'll fix any corrections that are brought to my attention)

AN: Warning: guy/guy sex, not very explicit. If you don't like such things, don't read it. You have been warned.

Without further ado, enjoy!

There was something on Draco's mind that night. Something dark and heavy that weighed on him and worried him. He tried to hide it, tried to pretend all was as right as things could possibly be between the two of them, considering they were on the opposing sides of the deadliest war in recent wizarding history, but Harry still knew something was bothering him, and Draco knew that Harry knew. But they both pretended ignorance as they made love. Draco still moaned and arched against his lover as Harry kissed his way down his body, and Harry pretended he couldn't hear that Draco's voice had a catch in it as he came. That Draco wasn't grasping Harry's hair in his fingers tighter than usual, nearly ripping the raven locks out of his scalp, clutching it like a lifeline. It was only when they were both spent and cuddled together under the blankets, when Harry wrapped his arms around Draco in his warm embrace of safety and dozed off, his breath soft against the back of Draco's neck, that the blond dropped his façade of solace and stared blindly into the darkness of the room.

He could feel the poison etched into his forearm, and not for the first time, Draco wondered if it was possible for the poison in his skin and blood and soul to spread from him to others, to curse at his touch like Midas spread gold, like cities spawned disease. He clenched his fists against the temptation to claw at his Marked arm. He had done that once, long ago when he had first become one of the Dark Lord's own, scratched at it until blood ran in rivulets down his arm and his other hand, and Harry had found out and forbidden him to do it again. Not that the Mark could be erased with human fingernails. No, it was more than skin-deep. When a Death Eater was Marked by the Dark Lord, the Mark went all the way to his soul. Even now, Draco could feel it coiling around him inside, like a snake slowly squeezing the life out of its prey.

Draco hadn't realized he was trembling until Harry pressed kisses to his shoulder blades to still him and massaged his tensed muscles to relax them. As his fingers worked their way across Draco's body, Harry murmured, "Tell me what's wrong, love." The blond hadn't noticed him wake. Perhaps he'd not fallen asleep at all.

He shook his head and tried to pull away, shrinking into himself. Harry pulled him back, held him close. "Tell me."

"I can't do this anymore!" The words burst from Draco's lips before he had fully thought them through. His lover's arms tightened around him. Draco scrambled out of bed, ripping the blankets off him as he went, fighting the claustrophobia rising up in him.

"Draco, love—" Harry began, but Draco cut him off, feeling himself teetering on the edge.

"You don't understand!" he cried, pacing. "You don't know what it's like after you've been Marked. The feeling of being enslaved, that your will is no longer fully your own. The fear that everything you do could be ripped from your mind at any time, of walking forever on bare tiptoes across shrapnel and nails and burning coals and praying you don't hurt yourself." He spun to face Harry, strands of hair whipping his flushed cheeks. "Do you know what the punishment is for failure? No, of course you don't. You lose a piece of your soul. Not like a Horcrux; it's fed to the Mark on your arm. It's almost like being Kissed by a Dementor, but it happens bit by bit so you can feel the pain of losing yourself. Did you ever wonder why the Mark was a skull with a snake for a tongue? Taking the Mark is like injecting serpent venom into yourself. The poison spreads, Harry. It spreads and keeps spreading until there's nothing left of you." Draco paused, chest heaving from the force of his words. From the bed came a noise, Harry about to speak, but Draco cut him off. "Shut up a minute; I'm not done. I'm sure you know by now what my side does to its enemies, namely your side. You've seen the wreckage, the damage, the bodies. The torture. And you've seen what's become of spies and others that the Dark Lord has use for no longer. Think of what would happen to you, if He found you. What would happen to me. What would happen to us." His voice cracked on the last word, his throat raw from shouting. "But that's not the worst of it for me. What I can't bear most is the thought of Him finding you, breaking you, because of me." His heated face felt rivers of cool as his tears fell.

When no more words would come, Draco heard the bed creak and rustle as Harry went to him. This time, he leaned into Harry's open arms, and buried his face in Harry's neck. His lips moved fiercely against Harry's skin. "And don't start with the whole 'I'll protect you' and 'switch over, we can make this work' bullshit. I've already told you, I can't. Not unless my Mark's gone, and that'll only happen when He's dead. All of Him." Draco didn't need to specify who He was. Harry knew.

Draco took one last shuddering breath and pulled away, reaching for his clothes. "We have to end it," he said after he was dressed. "Before it's ended for us."

That Harry hadn't said anything in the spaces of Draco's words hurt, because that meant that Draco was right, and Draco didn't want to be right. Not this time. It meant that the War had gone too far, with too much danger and too many casualties, and walls that leaned far too close, escape routes that turned into traps. It meant that if he hadn't said it, Harry might have. And Harry wouldn't have said it if there were any other possibility, no matter how small.

So there's no hope then, Draco said to himself, not realizing he'd spoken aloud until Harry gripped him fiercely.

"Never say that!" Harry threw the words out with the force of his emotions. "There's always hope. You just have to keep looking." Draco didn't believe that, but the desperation in Harry's voice silenced him.
He let Harry kiss him one last time before he left.

Outside their meeting place, his face froze into the marble mask he'd grown accustomed to wearing under his usual Death Eater garb. Though he knew his defenses were useless should the Dark Lord decide to search him for information, the little he could do was better than nothing.

Although he could control his face, the emotions roiling inside him were another matter entirely. Draco feared what he could not control, and he hated that fear and feared that hate, because it made him weak and vulnerable.

Draco shivered as he felt the poison spread and Disapparated.

~3 months later~

Draco felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Actually, it was worse than that. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, disemboweled, flayed alive, and Crucioed. And yet he couldn't help the twist of hope that tangled bitterly within the fortress of his despair.

Before him, before the entire coven of Death Eaters, Harry Potter knelt at the Dark Lord's feet and offered up his left arm.

Draco didn't hear the Dark Lord's words, only the triumph in His voice, and quailed. So, the Light had fallen. If Harry had turned Dark, there was no hope. Not for the Wizarding World.

But—and here hope tangoed nauseatingly with guilt—maybe they could be together. For all that the Dark Lord reigned with terror, he cared little about the relationships between his officers, granted they were proper ones. Two Death Eaters together caused no problems, unless one failed and displeased the Lord. Then woe betide them, for He was ruthless and merciless with his iron fist and Elder Wand.

Inside, worry began to flood Draco's mind. He had never thought Harry would turn Dark; he couldn't predict this new Harry with the cold eyes and Marked soul. His stomach clenched at a sudden thought. Had he done this? Had he spread his poison this far, destroying the very symbol of the Light and his own hope of salvation. Draco wanted to kill the thought, but it loomed too far over him to be reached. He forced his eyes back to the Boy Who Lived and watched Harry grit his teeth as the Mark took hold of him, body and soul. He didn't scream, Draco noticed. Some initiates screamed when they felt the poison take hold of their soul and felt the burn of the Mark as the Lord summoned them for the first time. Draco couldn't stand the ones who screamed, but at the same time, was grateful to have been one of them. You were beneath the Dark Lord's attention if you screamed. Though, in Harry's case, the Dark Lord would have paid special attention to him regardless.

Draco watched as Harry was taken from the hall, and slowly filed out with the rest of his brethren.

He didn't know how Harry managed it so quickly, given the anonymity of the Death Eaters and his first day at Malfoy Manor, but Harry found him on the balcony overlooking the sentient maze on the grounds.

Draco heard the sound of a familiar footstep behind him, but didn't turn. He couldn't face this new Harry yet, not when he could feel raw emotion rip through his marble mask at the longing for him.

Harry broke the silence. "I told you not to give up hope, didn't I?" he said, and pulled off his Death Eater mask.

Draco turned then, but slowly, giving him time to assess and examine the wizard before him. So many Dark wizards had cruel sides to them, but they hid them well. Draco could only catch a glimpse of their cruelty when it shimmered briefly across their faces like oil, and fear rose up in him that he would see that shimmer on Harry's face as well.

Amazingly, Harry's face was as clear and clean and determined as it had been before he turned. And when he opened his arms to embrace Draco, it was almost too good to be true. The blond hesitated.

"Come here, love," Harry murmured, and Draco broke. He only barely kept from running into Harry's waiting arms and forced himself to a dignified walk until Harry pulled him close. He buried his nose deep into Draco's blond hair and inhaled his lover's scent. "Merlin, I've missed you," Harry said, lips moving against Draco's scalp. "You don't know how good it feels to hold you like this again."

"I know exactly how it feels," Draco replied, and pulled Harry toward him for a kiss. He relished the taste of Harry and the battle of their tongues as they twined around each other. Fingers wound in hair and breath came in pants as the lovers greeted each other after three months of despair and loneliness.

Finally, Draco pulled away. Harry tried to capture his lips again, but Draco cupped his lover's face in his hands firmly. "Just hold on a minute," he scolded gently. "Let me get my breath back." Harry pouted. "Oh, stop it," Draco told him, touching his forehead to Harry's. "I was just going to suggest we take a stroll in the sentient maze. For some privacy." He smiled.

It was Harry's turn to keep himself from running.

This time, Draco's worries slid off him as easily as his clothes when Harry kissed him deep in the maze. The hedges stood tall around them, vaguely reminiscent of the one on the Quidditch pitch during the Triwizard tournament in their fourth year, but without that maze's ominousness. Here, Draco found, one could have privacy that was impossible inside the manor. The lovers took advantage of that.

Panting and gasping and moaning with need, hands explored and groped and tangled and stroked. Clothes fell to their feet. The wizards lowered to the ground. Draco arched back as Harry licked and nibbled and kissed his way down Draco's chest and abdomen, then took Draco in his mouth. Draco moaned as he neared his climax, but pulled away before Harry could finish. He reached for Harry and stroked his cock, bringing his lover close to the edge. Harry's hand drifted to Draco's arse, and Draco pulled away at the sudden reminder. "I forgot the lube," he groaned.

But then Harry dug some out from the heap of robes in the dirt and Draco shot him a look saying, "Why did you have that on you?", but then Harry was entering him and they both were coming, and Draco rode the waves of the first bliss he'd felt in ages and heard the thunder of Harry's name.

They went a few more rounds before just holding each other and basking in the other's presence. Finally, Draco murmured, "Why did you turn? I never would have thought you would." Had he not chosen that moment to glance at Harry's face, his feeling of peace might have stayed a little longer. As it was, Draco only caught the slightest tremor of something afoot before the shutters came down in Harry's eyes.

Draco narrowed his eyes, then scowled as he came upon the only reason Harry would be sent here. "You came to kill Him," he hissed. "Do you realize how beyond idiotic this is? Do you even have a plan? You're Marked! He can see all your secrets if He so chooses, right here and right now! You're mad!"

Harry put a finger to his lips. "Shh, I know," he said. "I prepared for that before I came. Hated doing it, but if it helps, it's worth it."

"You're still mad," Draco told him. "You're going to kill yourself!"

Harry cupped Draco's face in his hands, turned it so Draco could see the intensity of his gaze. "Don't you see?" he asked." Don't you see why I have to kill Him? It's the only way you can be free of Him!"

"My freedom isn't worth losing you!" The peace Draco had felt at finally being able to be with Harry disappeared as quickly and uncomfortably as being Portkeyed, but worse, because he had no destination. He felt like he was spinning far out into space and all possible anchors remained just out of his reach.

"Our freedom, you mean," Harry reminded him.

"No, just mine," Draco spat angrily, leaping to his feet and pulling his clothes roughly back on. "Because even if you did manage to kill Him, you'd end up dead yourself, so it doesn't matter!" He sat down briefly to yank on his shoes, but as usual, the heels were just slightly too tight (something he'd never gotten around to fixing), and in his frustration, he slammed his fist into the ground by his hip. "Shit, Harry, didn't you think this through? Or were you just being reckless again!" He shoved his stinging knuckles into his mouth before he could pick up his wand to curse his lover and regret it later.

Harry scowled defensively. "Don't do that, Draco," he snapped. "Don't turn your angst into complaints about me. Stop being a selfish child. The world doesn't revolve around you, or even us. We just happen to be a part of it. What I came to do needs to be done, and I'm going to do it. If you want no part in this, fine, have it your way. Personally, I'd dearly love to have your support, but I can and will do this without you if need be."

Draco scrambled to his feet, too furious for words. Sparks flew from his wand, now somehow out and pointing at Harry, but Draco somehow managed to pull together enough self-control after a moment to not snarl a hex. "...Fine," Draco forced out at last, lips white and trembling. "Fine. Have it your way then." He shoved his wand back into his robes and turned away. "But don't expect me to mourn at your funeral. After today, I'd've been the only one there." He stalked back down the path without looking back, straightening his clothes as he went.

Harry stared after him, his green gaze intense, but unreadable. By the time he returned to Malfoy Manor, the sun hung low and heavy in the evening sky, red as the determined blood in his veins.

~2 months later~

Harry's eyes snapped open. He glanced at his watch, blinking on his nightstand. Three o'clock. Witching hour. He felt the pulse of blood in his veins quicken, the adrenaline rushing through him. He shivered a moment, power that had not been there the night before now coursing through him. The Order had done it. The signal had been given. It was time.

Harry swung out of bed and dressed quietly. Wand in hand, he padded softly out the door and down the empty corridor. A patch of light on the marble tiles caught his eye and he glanced up at the full moon. It stared back at him like a cold silver eye. For the first time in two months, he allowed himself to think of Draco. Draco the beautiful. Draco the fearful. Draco, whom he loved. Draco, who seemed to have become a ghost in his own house, at least to Harry. The pale wizard had all but disappeared ever since their argument in the maze, and all Harry had been able to find of him were the whispers and mutters about him from the other Death Eaters. To everyone else though, he was as real and stone-solid as he had always been in public.

Harry shook his head. He'd had his sentimental moment; he couldn't waste any more time. He found the Dark Lord in the dungeon, as he had predicted. Voldemort had claimed it for his own when the Manor had first become His headquarters. The Dark Lord had not quite developed any semblance of trust toward Harry, but after Marking him, the Dark wizard had let His guard down somewhat around the turncoat wizard, believing His grip on Harry's soul would keep him secure, not to mention His supposed immortality with His Horcruxes.

That slip in His guard was all Harry needed. The Order was ready. The Horcruxes had been found and gathered, and were to be destroyed as Harry confronted the Dark Lord.

Voldemort's eyes flashed when Harry appeared before Him, the younger wizard blocking His immediate Legilimens! with ease. Harry blocked two Cruciatus Curses in a row, and dodged a third, firing a Disarming charm as he went. Voldemort stepped aside, and called, cold as snake scales, "After over a decade of almost killing yourself by trying to kill me, you still think you will succeed?"

"You forgot that you almost killed yourself most of the times you tried to kill me," Harry replied, extinguishing the flames that sprung up around him and ducking to the side.

"And yet I will live long after you are dead," the Dark Lord chided, footsteps ringing on the cracked stone. Harry heard them coming closer and closer to the pillar he'd crouched behind. It was now or never, he told himself.

He stood and, bracing himself, stepped away from the pillar. "Voldemort, né Tom Marvolo Riddle, for your heinous crimes against creatures both Magical and Non-, and for the evil war you have waged, you are sentenced to death by the Wizengamot and the Ministry of Magic." He raised his wand. Dodging a flash of light winging toward him, he added, "Personally, I think that death is too good for you, but I had no part in deciding this verdict." He tightened his grip on his wand, and said clearly, "Avada kedavra."

The room was bathed in a horrible green light, and everything seemed to slow. Voldemort crumpled sluggishly, his body folding in on itself, a look of fury and hatred etched onto his flat, white face. And then the Dark Lord vanished, piece by piece, as his soul was destroyed utterly in seven different places at the same time, his corporeal body fading into dust.

Then time sped back up, and Harry staggered. His wand clattered to the floor, and when Harry pulled his hand away from the pain in his torso, it was shiny with blood. Apparently, he hadn't dodged that last spell quickly enough. He laughed bitterly to himself, and spat out blood. It was dark against the white stone, like poison. Draco was right, he thought as he sank to his knees, then to the floor. This was a suicide mission. Though he'd rather not have gone by Sectumsepra. The Killing Curse would have been quicker.

At least Draco would have his freedom, his happy ending.

As the world faded to black, the last thing Harry remembered was the moon and its silver eye.

Draco gasped and jerked awake, instinctively reaching for his wand. He felt strange, and in his moment of panic, it took him a moment to locate where the strangeness was coming from. He yanked his left sleeve up, nearly ripping it off completely in his hurry. "Lumos," he commanded. His wand tip flared like the sun. And appropriately enough, he felt properly warm for the first time in years. As he stared in wonder, the Mark on his arm was fading, shrinking into itself until it disappeared completely. Draco ran a finger over the bare skin hesitantly, not quite believing it was gone.

Finally it sank in. The Dark Lord was dead. He was free, body and soul, and he reveled in it. Without thinking, he leapt out of bed and yanked open the door. Running out into the silvery, moonlit corridors slowly filling with other, confused Death Eaters, he raced to Harry's room and burst in. "Harry, Harry, wake up! We're free, the Dark Lord's dead. We're free!" Only then did he notice the messy sheets on the cold bed and Harry's empty room. "...Harry?" Draco froze as the realization dawned. "Oh, shit," he breathed. "Oh, shit, no." He turned and raced out into the rest of the house again, mindlessly shoving past the people in his way. The Dark Lord would have been in the dungeons...

When Draco found him, he feared the worst. He knew a Sectumsepra when he saw one, having been on the receiving end himself once, long ago. Blood pooled around Harry's body, pulled from his veins by the giant puddle in which he lay. Draco fell to his knees, eyes raking the form before him. Harry was so still and pale beneath the blood, he could have been a marble statue depicting an allegory. Folly, thought Draco bitterly. Hero. Courage. Love. Take your pick.

He clasped one limp hand in both of his and pressed it to his lips, trembling. His eyes widened as he felt a slow beat under his fingertips, so light and feathery he almost missed it. But no, that had definitely been a pulse. And now, there! Yes, he could see a slight rise and fall to Harry's chest. Shallow and irregular, but it was there. "Oh, Merlin," Draco whispered. "He's still alive." The words were loud inside, but for some reason his throat was blocking the sound. He dropped Harry's hand, and ran from the dungeon in search of his former Professor Snape.

~1 fortnight later~

Harry gazed out at the moonlit scene before him, still not quite believing he was still alive. Had Draco not found him when he did, nor raced to find Snape, Harry was quite certain he would have died in the Malfoys' dungeon with the Dark Lord. As it was, his injuries had been serious enough that even with the expertise of the remnants of the St. Mungo's staff called to Malfoy Manor to do their work, he had been bedridden for a week. Technically, he was still supposed to be there now, but the boredom of doing nothing for a week had shoved him out of bed to wander at midnight. His body had only twinged occasionally the day before, so he felt entitled.

He stood at the balcony where he had found Draco after his Marking ceremony, and gazed down at the maze below. Draco was right; that maze had to be the most private place on the grounds. As he watched, it shifted, sealing off one exit and creating three more forks. A light summer breeze drifted up, toying with his hair and tickling his skin. He shrugged slightly deeper into the clothes he had borrowed from Draco.

"Shouldn't you be in bed still?" a voice murmured in his ear. Harry spun around, nearly tripping over his own feet and irritating a scar or five that were not as well-healed as they first declared. "And why are you wearing my clothes?" Truthfully speaking, Harry had assumed permission from the blond wizard when he slipped into Draco's room while the blond slept, searching for something warmer than the thin pajamas the Mediwizards and -witches had put him in. Regardless, Draco looked amused. "You should wear them more often. They make you look rakish."

Harry wanted to blame his red ears on the wind, but the breeze chose that moment to make itself scarce. "They're warm," he said by way of explanation.

"You're cold? In summer?" Draco was definitely laughing at him. Harry's ears heated further in embarrassment.

"And you aren't?" he sent back. Draco lifted an eyebrow as if to say, Isn't that obvious?

"This is England," Harry retorted. "How can you not be cold, even in summer?"

This wasn't how Harry had pictured his first conversation with Draco since their liberation would go. He'd thought Draco would berate him for his recklessness, stupidity, and suicidal tendencies and for nearly killing himself, had Draco not shown up at the perfect moment to save the day. He hadn't pictured their first conversation happening here, either; rather, he'd thought he would still be stuck in bed. But every time Draco had been there when Harry had woken, the blond wizard had been fast asleep in a chair by Harry's bed.

"Oh, anger keeps one plenty warm," Draco said loftily. "Because of its smoldering and all that." Although his tone was joking, his smile had an edge to it. Ah, thought Harry. Here it comes.

"What would you be angry about?" Harry began, matching Draco's light tone. "I mean, besides me killing Voldemort and freeing you from technical slavery and all that?"

Draco's grin said he was this close to punching Harry in the jaw. "You're forgetting the bit about your reckless stupidity and suicidal tendencies, especially in regards to the former Dark Lord." Harry noticed Draco's knuckles were whiter than normal on his clenched fists. "And how you almost died."

"And thanks to you, I didn't," Harry offered, happy to give credit where it was due. "Thanks a lot for that, by the way. I quite literally owe my life to you."

Draco reared back angrily at the offhandedness of Harry's words. "Do you really think so little of both of our actions?"

"What do you want me to do?" Harry snapped. "Bow down to you and offer myself up to you to do with as you wish? I said thank you, didn't I?"

Draco stared at him. "Is your life—not to mention your freedom—worth so little to you that you would throw it away in an instant?"

"Of course not!" Harry retorted, and realized what had angered Draco so. "Look," he said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. "I'm not good at sentimental speeches and stuff, right? The ones I do make are usually in the heat of the moment, when I'm not thinking. So I wasn't sure how say it properly, and I wanted to get across how much it means to me, what you did. I guess I messed it up again. But really. Thanks."

Draco gave him a long searching look, and finally huffed out a long-suffering sigh. "Fine. Okay. You're forgiven. For the moment."

Harry smiled. "Truce?"

"Truce."

Harry smiled. "So, do I really look rakish in your clothes?"

The blond grinned appreciatively. "Very."

"Better act the part then," Harry said mischievously, before pulling Draco's face to his.

When they finally broke apart, Harry murmured, "The moon reminds me of your eyes."

"Mmm?" Draco said, forehead pressed to Harry's.

"I saw it that night, the night I killed Voldemort—" Draco stiffened at the name. "—I saw the moon that night. It was full," Harry continued. "I stopped for a moment, to look at it, and it made me think of you." He paused to look at the half moon hanging over them. "I hadn't let myself think of you for those two months you wouldn't come near me. It hurt too much. But that night, I couldn't help it. And when I was lying there in the dungeon, bleeding..." A strangled noise burst from Draco's throat at the memory, and Harry felt Draco's hand tighten over his own. "Just before everything went dark, that was the last thing I thought of. The moon. You." Harry tried to smile, but it went lopsided halfway through, turning into a grimace. "You'd hate the last thought I had. I thought: 'At least Draco has his freedom, his happy ending.'"

Draco cuffed him lightly over the head. "You idiot," he growled. "The only happy endings for me are the ones where you're there with me."

Harry smiled up at him, a real smile. "Does this count?"

Draco leaned toward him, reaching to cup Harry's face in his hands. "Yes," Draco murmured, before he kissed him.

~Fin~