Author: Alanis hdslash@hotmail.com
Backfire
Warning: This is slash, which means relationship between two persons of the same sex, male in this case. If that somehow offends you, turn back now.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Disclaimer: If you still think Harry Potter's mine after reading this, you obviously haven't been paying attention. He is Draco's. And both boys and other characters belong to JKR.
Spoilers: none. The fifth book does not exist for me.
Category: Drama, Romance
Summary: Dreams, consciousness, Voldemort's evil plan, flu, sex and wonderful lyrics of a song which fits perfectly. You'll see in the end.
Backfire
It all happened then.
With every tiniest second going deeper, deeper into the faraway depths of his consciousness. He traveled there, down and through his veins, the dark corners of his mind, realizing new tastes, sounds and juices. He admitted his genius and hated him for it. Loved him for the same... and not for he endless beauty of his green eyes.
Why him, out of all of the devoted servants of his Lordship, was cursed to jump into Potter's dreams, show the whole tension of the feelings which was about to rule him, through his own body and soul, betraying the world surrounding him?
Though it isn't his world. He is destined to be alone forever, to stay on his own side, free of anyone's feelings, hatred or patronage. And for this short while *he*'s asleep. Hence, they both are. He is asleep inside of *him*, dreaming *his* dreams, breathing the air inhaled by *his* lungs, watches the world outside with *his* eyes. And the said world seemed so goddamn new behind the thick protective lenses.
He wouldn't admit to anyone in a lifetime that his sight was quite bad, no way. But it was so sublime now, like the life he's lived before had been a life full of blindness and darkness, and now he's opened his eyes wide for new and colorful masterpieces and picturesque views.
Though, why had he opened them at all?
A half-asleep Gryffindor sits up on his bed and stretches his limbs; slowly follows his shadow into the shower, under the warm water, thoughts still drowned in his dream. Their dream. He does not know that his consciousness is being intruded by something unnatural and foreign, another living soul – oh, he'd never guess something like that. Ever since he was born, the truth was being hidden from him; but, in the end, the question stands: was it really that bad?
Perhaps, it was a wisely done, thought through, and calculated move, to leave *him* forever in the innocent world of immaturity and ignorance, the one happy childhood that is so dangerously near to a bitter end.
He is overwhelmed by an evasive wave of lust and want, now, when he is inside of *him* most of the time; can he see any difference between his own conscious and this clear perfect one? Oh, he sure as hell does. So does he feel this lust for himself, begging to touch and be caressed? He looked at *him* with those green eyes of *his*, and wanted him.
Why one cannot be hugged through the consciousness? Why is it so fucking weightless?
Harry does not think about anything dark or depressing. How can he manage that? Supposedly this is the advantage of ignorance: no apathy, no nervous crying late at nights, no worries, troubles, unexpected fears.
Would it be the same for him, had he been on his place? Perhaps, he wouldn't be afraid anymore, either. With some fucking Dark Lord willing to hunt him down, willing for years and years, want it or not, you get used to it. What the Hell? The Great Harry Potter is unbreakable. And what is his main power, his force, his secret weapon? The ignorance.
***
Draco forced himself out of another deep sleep. Nights were excruciating, he woke up even more tired than the evening before, so he made up for that on history of magic lessons.
Ravenclaws snoring slightly in the right row. Crabbe and Goyle fast asleep and drooling, heads on each others' shoulders. Fresh black ink dripping down Pansy Parkinson's golden quill, staining her newly washed white shirt.
Draco blinked quickly, waking again. Time to get up? This time it was from the burning of his upper arm. The Dark Mark, Green Glowing Serpent held him, never letting go.
So, time to find out about their next move. Getting into the consciousness of the green-eyed wonder has almost proved effective. So logically speaking, where would it lead Lord Voldemort's theory?
An idiot. An old, stupid, bloody idiot! Though Dumbledore is not a shit better in this case. They are so fucking worth each other – one is infinitely kind, the second is infinitely evil. Draco himself was the heir of the latter, without any kind of rights to be free.
Harry is Dumbledore's heir. Oh shit, how much he wanted this crap to come to an end!
Nothing in this world should be out of balance. Dumbledore and Riddle are old and completely out of their minds, so let them beat the shit out of each other. It's his and Harry's business if to get on with this war or not.
Nobody needs a war without Potter. That is a statement with no need to prove. Sometimes it seems like there would be no Potter without a war, and vice versa. Everything is connected in this world, all through.
But why, if Harry is connected to Tom Riddle, he, Draco, cannot be connected to Dumbledore somehow? Like a good-versus-evil fighting cross, it would be even more curious, had it turned out like that. Or if he shared some mental connection with Potter, instead. Draco smirked sleepily to himself.
He wanted to tear moans of ecstasy out of his throat, caress the tense body underneath him. Kiss the erect nipples and bite on his earlobe, smiling, because it's going to tickle. One of the facts he managed to steal from the weak sleeping mind.
Hundreds of times he imagined this, without a possibility to break the serpent's cycle. They are just too different. But Draco would never belong to any of the sides or cycles, even if locked inside a certain one. None of the offered ideas would supply to him but his own. He will be free. Though now he is just curious if Voldemort really could hunt Potter down in the end.
Life in his sleep has lately become more important than the real life ever had been. Marked with the Glowing Serpent in his sleep, persuaded to hate Potter in his sleep, learned to rule and give orders to him, also in his sleep. But why, after this, his real life was so goddamn uncontrollable?
Why, god, why could he live and control himself quite normally two short years before, even his hatred towards Potter could be taken under control. Draco hated pain, more than anything in his two lives. Never before had Potter caused him such unbearable pain.
But, after every event that has taken place in this inner, "underneath" reality, which has spent so much time on bonding, enveloping him, the only feeling that kept him awake was pain. *His* pain.
So, does it mean that Voldemort has succeeded?.. Every day he asked himself the same question over and over again. Every second he felt this pain. With the help of the Dark Mark glowing; with the blood Tom had given him that was stirring and streaming inside; with all of this, he *could*.
Though anyway. What a reserved young man Potter appeared to be. Draco wondered sometimes, what if he undressed Potter with a handy spell once in the great Hall, would Potter even notice the stares? What kind of heart does he have, beating under the layer of his tanned skin and tender flesh? What kind of thoughts are there floating deep inside his cranium?
...What does the fly on his blue jeans hide?..
***
"Malfoy."
"Potter."
They were moving in circles under the golden dome of the starry sky, rainbow-colored walls of his insides sagging every time a star decided to fall, but then straightened when the same star sniffed, smiled and got up again, just to fly above the invisible ground and float in the made-up clouds.
"How did you manage to get in here, Malfoy?"
"Where "here", Potter?" Draco sneered.
"You're not a good enough actor, sir."
Their eyes met. Merlin, he's so vulnerable without glasses on.
Harry's glasses were safely stacked into Draco's pocket; he got them out and put onto his nose. Every detail became clearer than ever, and he noticed a glimpse of some strange emotion in Harry's eyes, something too quick to be noticed without these thick lenses.
Draco's sneer grew into a most tender smile a Malfoy could perform. He had no objections. Let Potter play around for a bit, let him think that he is the master here. Sooner or later he'll discover some very unpleasant news: Draco couldn't be thrown away. He would stay in his consciousness, digging and diving deeper.
Maybe he even could reach Harry's heart... though it is fairly impossible, one could always try.
Harry, as expected, smiled masterfully.
"Malfoy, I'm the one in charge while here. Get the fuck out of my head."
Draco shook his head. "It is a dream, Potter. You don't rule your dreams. When you wake up, your feelings will be brought to the highest sensitivity, and you'll remember this..."
'What?..' Harry wanted to ask, but with one quick movement Draco reached his lips and caressed them with his own, feeling the touch with his soul. His tongue slipped into the Gryffindor's full mouth, and then, suddenly, down, to the pulsing vein on his tanned neck, and further down – to his collarbone. A sigh above notified of his success.
"...and this..." Draco's hands traveled down Harry's body, and from his touches all of Harry's clothing melted, disappeared into the warm air. "You will remember my caress... my kisses... this passion..."
Draco's hands followed down his abdomen and to the curve of his inner thighs, terribly close to his glowing erection. Draco closed his lips around one of the hardening nipples and licked it, and then bit slightly. A moan escaped Harry's preciously tightly shut mouth.
"The consciousness is a most erogenous zone, Harry," Draco whispered. "I'll be back, I promise... though you will never know it is me."
***
"What's up with you, Harry?"
Harry poured a glass of pumpkin juice, gulped and placed in back on the table with a heavy sound. His body was on fire. His head was in such a goddamn mess.
"I'm okay, Ron," îòðåøåííî said Harry, grasping his cheeks in agony. They were glowing bright red, and burning like Hagrid's baby-dragon had been breathing on his face for a half-hour.
"It seems like your skin's on fire! Go visit Madam Pomfrey! Come on, I'll take you to the Hospital wing."
"Okay, I think you're right." He jumped up from the bench and practically ran out of the Hall.
Back at the Slytherin table, Draco smiled tenderly. So, is this where Voldemort's final intention going to lead? Well, at least for now it is going well together with his desires. Well. He's just curious. For now. Even if he wouldn't get rid of the ugly black tattoo on his arm, he would win some pleasure which is worth it.
"Harry, you've got temperature. And your skin is burning hot. Lie down here, please; I'll give you some relaxation potion and anti-coughing potion. You must have caught a cold. Try to close your eyes and have some sleep."
Harry nodded, not feeling well enough to disagree. In ten minutes he was already sound asleep.
***
"You've been waiting for me, haven't you?"
This time his voice was shy and low with uncertainty. His cheeks were no longer red with the unknown heat and desire. Now, he knew whose voice it has been, whispering in his brain; who was the owner of those lips, hands, eyes, hair. Of the sweetest tongue...
"Yes. I've been waiting for you", Harry heard from above.
He looked up to discover Draco standing upside-down on a bright-white cloud, hair framing his face funnily because of his current position.
"Get down here. It's exasperating."
"As you wish." One swift movement later Draco was on the ground, eyes at the same level as Harry's.
"And now as we're even, would you care to explain why you're doing this, and how? Why do you..." two questions were worrying his heart, and he couldn't decide how to finish: 'Why do you keep entering my dreams?' or 'Why do you clear my memory afterwards?!'
"You will not like the answer, Harry," Draco's voice speaking his name was similar to a small sound of a bell on a Christmas tree.
And Harry liked it.
And Draco knew he liked it.
And Harry knew that Draco knew, and it was driving him mad.
"Stop playing your games with me, Malfoy."
"What games?" the innocence of that was infuriating. Draco walked around him and stopped at his back, kissing his suddenly naked spine softly. Shivers spread up and down his body; [I]'Oh yes, Draco... you have no idea how much I *don't want* to know the answers...'[/I]
He turned and cut Draco off with a mind-blowing kiss, raping the rose lips of his dream (nightmare?), tossing blond hair with his fingers. He wanted to delay his awakening, maybe for a forever, maybe, just for a couple of minutes but still – yes! He was feeling it: like this... through his *thoughts*...
Draco broke the kiss. "Harry..." the soft voice made him shiver and moan. "Harry..." a little lower, almost inaudible, "Harry..." like a shushing sound of waves traveling through the seaside sand... Draco's hands on his hips. The feeling of Draco's tongue on his ultra-sensitive skin. Around his belly button. Lower, lower still... yeah... lips envelop their rigid goal, but in a few seconds they leave it be, just to whisper again: "Harry."
***
"Harry. Harry! Can you hear me?"
He opened his eyes with a start. Oh, hell. What was he dreaming about again? His body was pure fire. His breathing was shallow and heated. His undoubtedly hard manhood was rubbing against the sheets wet with perspiration.
He stretched his hands and shut his eyes again, found his glasses on the bedside table and only after putting them on risked to fully face the world.
"It's me, Ron. Can you hear me? You're all sweaty! Are you feeling okay? Madam Pomfrey said you caught some muggle disease, kind of fl... Flou?"
"Flu?" Harry asked in a low and hoarse voice, surprising himself with the tone of it. Said mediwitch rushed to his bed, followed by Hermione.
"Take your clothes off, Potter! Now! You have to get cooled down, immediately!"
Wonderful. Pomfrey is going to see him naked in all the glory of a young, aroused youthful body. If only he could remember the one who's made it so. Who has been slowly caressing him until he could hold himself no longer? Who might have entered him so deeply, reaching his consciousness, his thoughts, ruling his feelings and desires?..
***
"My lord?"
"You're doing great, Draco. How long will it take you to lead him out of Hogwarts while he sleeps?"
"I'm not sure how much time it will take, sir..."
"Good. I'm not in a hurry, my darling..." a long finger with a sharp red nail slid across Draco's cheek and stopped at the angular chin, making him raise his head even higher. Thin white lips formed a smirk identical to Draco's own usual one. In a moment they covered the boy's white untouched neck.
"You won't... disappoint me, will you, my little baby snake?" his snakelike tongue licked the last drop of blood mixed with poison from the soft skin and looked into Malfoy's rolled gray eyes. "Will you, Draco?"
The blond head lowered slowly, beautiful eyes returned to place, a red mark, like a snake's bite, was coloring his neck.
"I... assure I won't, my lord."
[I]Sure, Sure, you old skinny snake-arse! If you think it's necessary to poison me, mix his blood with mine and give me pleasure in every single bite, then why can't you guess how much pleasure I could get from *him* alone, and not the red liquid with his genes? Curiosity killed the cat, muggles say...[/I]
***
"Stop it... oh shit, don't stop... Oh, Malfoy..."
"Oh, Harry..."
[I]This is breathtaking. This is wiping all the doubts away. This is better than any fucking bite. His hands on me. They are fictitious, and I am not real either. This is just a subconscious's fantasy... and still... it is *his* fantasy created by *me*. And still. I'm part of it. And still. His hands on me.[/I]
Unskilled palms on Draco's smooth alabaster skin.
Long aristocratic fingers squeezing round firm buttocks.
This time he let his clothes fall to the invisible floor, letting Harry and his dream self feel each others skin... but still, not for long; the moment will come to an end, and Draco will have to disappear. But not now, no. A little longer. A few seconds. Just a little, a tiny bit longer. Please.
That kiss lasted a lifetime. Trying to overcome the awkwardness of his movements, Harry stroked his chest, his stomach, not daring to get lower. But – GOD! – how wonderful it is, how much better than a bite on the neck, even if sharing Harry's blood. How amazing, infernal, magical – to feel his shattered breath, his shivers and pleasant spasms. Even if just for a couple of minutes.
Just a second, just a moment... Draco lowered his hand and gripped his hard, waiting flesh firmly. Magic... this is what the darkest magic in the Wizarding world beholds.
Five seconds. I beg you. Please. He will have to forget anyway!
"Oh, yeah... Like that... Harder..."
Draco's hand raced up and down, and then up, and then down again. His other hand was caressing pink nipples, and his tongue wetting dry full lips.
And his hands, in return. *His* hands. Magic... No! No-oo...
***
"Madam Pomfrey, would you please tell me the whole story, finally. What is wrong with Harry? What is the name of that disease? Tell me!"
"Miss Granger! I can see that you are worried about your best friend's state, but he'd better rest and have a good, refreshing sleep." [I]Yes. Truly. I give you my word.[/I] The elderly mediwitch took a deep breath. She'd had enough of Potter through the years, but now it seemed to be worse than ever. Never mind his too bothering friends. "He will be all right in a few days. Flu doesn't usually last long. As soon as his temperature is normal again, I'll call on you to take him back to his dorm."
Hermione glanced at the witch shortly, but knowingly.
"No, madam Pomfrey. Don't you try denying it. I'm muggle-born, and definitely able to differ flu from some magical curse or poison!"
The gray-haired woman tried not to panic and held Hermione's gaze stoically. But she was definitely losing it. "Then why don't we change places, Miss Granger?! Well, if you're determined that I should retire, then go on! Go to the headmaster! Fire me!"
Pissed, madam Pomfrey shut the door to the hospital wing in frond of the ashamed student, and rushed into the separate room, where famous Harry Potter was supposed to be asleep.
He was not, actually.
Actually, he was crying.
***
Tears flooding down his flushed face. He is in love, he is smitten and feeling lonely, but he doesn't know without whom or even why... He or she, or it, - someone that has cursed him, put a spell one him, one of those forbidden complicated ones; it has tied its powers with his, surprised the hell out of his immune system and intruded every single vein. His consciousness, his soul and heart, his body – it's been in charge of him for a while already, keeping him ill, it has become his inalienable part.
He wanted to get to sleep. As soon as goddamn possible. Just in case he sees ...who?!... again. Harry hated being so feeble, vulnerable and angry at once. A never before felt hatred overwhelmed him. Such idiotic jokes! Who could be lunatic enough to invent such an effective way of torture?
Actually, Harry knew one. Red narrow eyes, incomplete, imperfect, twisted body, evil plans in his black rotten brain and a snakelike tongue to talk "business". But how could he have chosen such a light, mysteriously pleasant feeling as love for a weapon?..
Though. Has it always been light?..
Why is he so goddamn sure now that love is always a color of sunrays? It can become a dark nightly fear, dirtier than even a gutter full of muggle garbage... not that it's a good way to explain what love can sometimes be. Especially *this* part of love. Harry sighed, and a hot wave ran up and down his body, like *those* hands...
He couldn't remember even the sight of them, the color of skin that covered fingers, their shape and motion. Just the fact they existed *then* - and touched him, then, just touched; and he knew it for sure, just like the fact he's been dying slowly from it – ever since this yearning has started; and he knew too fucking good that he was in a mad need of feeling it again.
Harry cried, salty liquid mixing with tiny drops of sweat on his burning neck, and he had no intention of drying it.
"You ought to stay awake as long as you possibly can, Harry. Go now. Return to Gryffindor tower, your friends, lessons, meals in the great Hall. Just don't sleep Harry, do you hear me?.."
But why?! I'll die then, without...
A desire got him: to scream hysterically, tell everything about his lust after an unknown person, a shadow, probably not even human; words tried to escape his mouth as hard as they could, preying in his thoughts of this *dirty* love to an illusion, to a Voldemort's outcome.
But instead he just thanked madam Pomfrey and got up to leave.
No. This cannot go on like this any longer. He couldn't bear it any longer.
***
"Where are we, Draco?"
"I came up with an idea of a surprise for you. Wanna check it out?"
"Sure".
Draco took him by the hand and led upwards, climbing a brick wall, walking parallel to the ground if there was any. They approached the most distant and golden cloud, right under the falling stars. A round glittering table with a moon-shaped candle, and two soft armchairs were already waiting for them. Draco moved his fingers and lit the candle, and Harry suddenly realized it's been quite dark around, like late summer twilight. A second later two hamburgers, wooden jug with pumpkin juice and a plate full of Mrs. Weasley's trademark cookies joined the candle.
"How... what... why?.."
Harry thought his heart was going to tear apart from the feeling he would have to forget this again. Instead of voicing it, he took an armchair on his right.
"Because I know it's your favorite."
"How did you know?.."
"It's easy, Harry." Draco looked around meaningfully. "I can tell you if you wish. You love hamburgers as the only happy memory of muggles. When you were nine, after your cousin's birthday, you got a chance of tasting remains of one, so since then it's been your dream to eat a whole hamburger. Pumpkin juice? Well, it was the first magical drink you tried, and its taste also somehow reminds you of candy floss, though you've never tried it. And the cookies, - by Weasley, so it would seem, and you count you as your surrogate mother. Is it all you wanted to know?.."
Draco looked right into his eyes, while finishing telling the Gryffindor about Harry's own self.
"Yeah. Sure. That's all." Harry looked very, very sad. "Easy for you stalking around other people's minds, seeking for some useful information, ain't it, Malfoy?" Harry smirked ironically. "Just one more thing, if you please: what's with the moon candle and glittering table? I doubt I've even thought of such."
"Well, hm. That's my own design." Draco said with a glint of pride in his voice. "I have a great taste."
"Oh, sure you do."
Draco was too busy watching Harry drink his juice to notice another irony, and he joined Harry eating. Mutual silence fell upon them for no less than five minutes.
"Draco, why do you keep erasing my memory?"
This question, bothering Harry all through, broke free and thus encouraged their silence to keep. It hanged upon this imaginary breakfast, imaginary table, imaginary... date?
"Not today, Harry, please," Draco mouthed at last, his voice sounding pleading and begging. So, Draco. Are you still curious enough to go on?
Harry resigned. Now, in this dream, he was ready to give Draco everything and anything, and take the same from him; Draco was living inside his consciousness and his heart, it felt so achingly sad to know that Draco could just look up his personal memories like a library shelf. He didn't feel bad or sick about it, he would let Draco read him like an open book if the blond liked; he just wanted to remember him like this afterwards, every second and minute to dream about later, every look into the gray eyes, and the magical clouds around. Even this power he knew Draco had over him.
The power which had started long ago – at eleven years old, slowly growing out of stupid childish dueling.
***
This time, his awakening was even more painful. And a lot, lot more disappointing. His physical need lessened, replaced by the unbearable heartache.
What for? Harry had the question plastered in front of his eyes.
What for, goddamn it?
He was afraid to go to bed; he was scared shitless of another bitter awakening after another ideal, magic-filled night.
Ignorance. Poor Harry! Why do they always hide the truth from a little boy in black robes, who just happened to have every right to know it? No, they didn't tell him lies, never, but... no truth was uncovered, either.
That's what Draco was trying to tell him through these dreams. Voldemort didn't give a damn about anything if Draco could break Potter's willpower. Draco, on the other hand, was planning on something much grander.
Oh no, he would never say "no" to his Lord's command. He was still curious what would be the first thing to happen: Harry realizing his ignorance and lack of knowledge all in all, or the Dark Lord reaching his final goal and capturing the Gryffindor Pride somehow? (With his, Draco's, direct help). To be perfectly honest, Draco still could not figure out what was the meaning of the whole "into-the-dreams" plan.
But it felt good.
Really, really good.
Harry was so handsome in a way; he is definitely worth spending kisses on. Draco could someday try to get more. Much more. Harry is worth much more than a couple of caresses, seductive talks and a candle-lit breakfast. He is worth the *truth*. The whole of it, and Draco was trying to open his eyes wide. Why is this boy so short-sighted in every meaning of it?!
The Dark Mark was glowing green again.
Another bite, another dose, and then – another dream.
But what if Harry decides not to sleep anymore? He is strong enough to fight the upcoming sleepiness. He could keep his eyes open for days... or could he not? Draco wished him so much to can not.
***
"Harry, sweetheart, go take a nap in Ron's room."
"No, Mrs. Weasley, I'm not at all tired."
The soft red-haired woman offered him a look full of doubt.
"You've lost much weight since, little one. All skin and bones, you are. I wonder how you remained awake while apparating here with Professor Lupin; in my opinion, you're still way too weak after surviving through that torturous muggle disease."
Harry took another cookie from the plate. A strange feeling. Its taste was somehow... new, like his tasting reflexes were sharpened suddenly because of the exact cookie. He quickly swallowed it.
No fighting. No strength left to fight. Harry got up and gave Mrs. Weasley a weak smile.
"It's okay, thanks... I think I would go and have some sleep, if you don't mind... Wake me up if something happens, okay?.."
*
"Draco. It cannot go on like this anymore. Believe me."
"Harry..." He'd taken off their clothes once again, and was just holding Harry in his arms, skin on skin. Which of brief moments of these dreams made him feel something more than curiosity, he didn't know. Maybe it was the atmosphere of a fairy tale. Draco was holding him tight and was afraid to let go now. "Harry... I promise not to erase your memory anymore... if you take me right now."
"Here?"
Draco turned around, and a moment after they reappeared on a light clearing. Green grass was neatly cut, changing colors here and there from light green to deep emerald as they walked. The sun was shining with bright, spring-like joy, birds singing, flying up into the unnaturally blue sky. A pleasant smell, which seemed to be cut grass, was following two boys around.
"Is it your fantasy, Draco?"
"Well... kind of, yes."
"You promised."
"I promised," he confirmed.
Silence.
Slowly, ever so slowly Harry placed his hands onto these pale round shoulders. Daylight sun was reflecting from Draco's silvery curls right into Harry's face, and he sneezed loudly, giggling afterwards. Draco laughed – forest bluebells ringing; this set Harry on fire immediately.
Harry slid his arms around his neck tenderly and kissed his lips. It was the first time he was doing everything himself, and not in response to Draco's seductive ministrations. He opened his mouth, using his tongue to encourage Draco in doing the same. They opened in front of each other.
Tongues started their slow dance; Draco's palms followed every curve of Harry's body, as though trying to picture and remember every piece, every small quantity of his shape. Harry pulled him down and lay him onto soft, green grass, it was too soft to be real, and wasn't at all stitching, though looked freshly cut. On the other hand, it was quite explainable. It's a dream, isn't it? Oh shit, I forgot.
Harry's tongue explored the other boy's slim neck, sliding up and down, biting slightly here and there only to resume the soft caress of velvet lips.
Firm line of Draco's collarbone under his hot breath... Draco's nail carving invisible pictures into his spine, and it makes Harry feel weightless. The very fact of this feeling: Draco's nails raking his skin...
With one rough movement he licked a nipple, just to make sure the reaction is right. Draco sagged upwards as high as he could, every part of his skin desiring to reach Harry's stroke, every over-aroused point wanting more and more and more. Harry made several circular movements and then raked it with his teeth.
Feeling of a moan escaping this chest; it could make the South Pole melt into a puddle, and for this while it made an open nerve ending out of Harry.
Lower still. Tongue sliding over the belly button and lower, to the line of blond curly hair between Draco's thighs. Draco was an unique example of marble-cut beauty, as though a picture set in stone; he was unique in every single movement, too, in *everything*, even that absolute lightness which was most definitely made to cover the ultimate darkness.
Draco moaned and withered underneath him. "Harry..." Oh Merlin. This voice was driving him mad. Impossible, unforgettable miracle, a supreme wonder that was Draco, the very idea of his evil, but pure desire...
Harry placed his forefinger to Draco's virgin entrance, and it was immediately coated in slick, colorless lubricant.
"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly, moving the finger further. Draco moved his head frantically...
...forget about everything. Enjoy this. It's your last dream; he's almost there, he is practically caught, I can feel it. He's ready. Soon, very soon it will be over... oh no, I will not break my promise, he *will* get reality. I hope...
Harry moved his finger inside and out, addicted to the hot magic tightness of Draco's walls; he added the second and the third finger, stretching him further. It felt like someone invisible was whispering silent commands to him, telling him what to do and how. And maybe he'd known it before, just never managed to find out such kind of skill.
"Oh, Harry!" a sob that shook his heart and control, breaking it into pieces. He entered Draco in one movement, hard, impatient to be inside him, feel this heat full force.
"Does it hurt?" he asked again.
"No." A simple word, though so very determined.
Harry had never felt anything like this before. He couldn't believe this was a dream, he didn't want to believe it, and he didn't care about being asleep. What if he was wrong, doubting that love and happiness were as bright as he'd previously thought? What if childish fantasies were finally gaining shape of reality?
In this whirlpool of overwhelming feelings he forgot everything about his painful awakenings, his heated illness, and his mental shock while he wasn't asleep. Now he was just feeling the deepest joy and pleasure: not only physical – Draco promised.
Not once did he think that this promise could be broken as easily as it had been given.
"Oh, Harry... Harry, Harry, Harry!"
He moved faster and faster, entering Draco to the root and then leaving, only to kiss his neck and return; caring not about *his*, but *their* enchanted pleasure.
Is it true?
His dreams, his deep desires, which he hasn't known before existed, were coming true.
"Harry! Harder... oh, god! Harry... Can you hear me? Can you understand me, Harry? Reality is near, Harry. Remember me this way!" He heard. He understood. He wanted it so badly.
The togetherness and love and dream exploded in colorful fireworks above their heads, falling down as a thousand of tiny rainbows. A sharp wave of pleasure, pleasure which felt like the whole world's one caught them; laughing, it carried them away into its underwater caves...
"Yes, I hear you, Draco."
That was all.
The golden dome blew up with millions of small petals; soft green grass became gray under their bodies, various kinds of flowers turned into hard black stones. Harry was torn from Draco with one huge wave of wind, and Draco was put up onto his knees. He wanted to do something – anything to prevent it; too late. If he only known... But he did know. Fucking curiosity. Now he wanted to start this all over again.
"Harry!" – "Draco!" – "I..."
***
"You've done a great job, Draco."
They appeared to be in Draco's room at Malfoy Manor. Draco has just waked up, and Lord Voldemort was comfortably seated in an armchair at his bedside.
"Thank you, my Lord."
"I'll reward you with all the possible generosity, my young Mr. Malfoy. And I know exactly what you want."
Draco was sitting quietly, face down, covered in blankets; Voldemort's last words made him look up. Tom Riddle got his wand out of the inner pocket of his green robes and pulled Draco's sleeve up, examining the glowing mark. He muttered a couple of words, wand caressing Draco's arm, and in a moment the tattoo was replaced by flawless, untouched skin.
For a minute Draco was stunned. He looked at the spot on his arm, and then turned his head to eye his former master. He could not believe it.
Why now?! Why?! It's not true. It is still a dream of some kind. His reverie, the one in which Harry still could be rescued.
Who would have thought that all this was going to end up like this? All this idea of messing with the consciousness never looked appealing to Draco. And still, he could do nothing to escape doing what he was told. And, of course, out of his damned curiosity. And for Harry's sake: to show him the truth. And, as he now understood – to realize what real, *bright* love would be like.
Got it now, little, stupid Draco? You are not a single bit wiser than the one you killed. Not a jot wiser. You're just as naïve and immature.
"Come with me, Draco, my dear. I want to show you something, before you leave me once and for all."
Draco moved obediently, following the Dark Lord to the dungeons. It was very dark in there, so Voldemort had to light his wand as they passed silent cages and long stone staircases. Finally, they entered the most deserted corridor.
Tom opened the third cage on the right, and Draco looked into the darkness.
There he was. His Harry. Hanging on the wall, chained by his wrists and ankles. His forehead was covered in blood, - through the fog of his scattered thoughts Draco realized it was the scar bleeding, - his chest was still, never rising or falling.
"You're free now, Draco," Voldemort's voice was soft, gentle, though still too rough for Draco's bare nerve endings. "You can leave now. Go anywhere you like. Finish your education, be free and independent. That's what you've been dreaming of, haven't you?"
Draco stood still, looking at the dead body in front of him. No emotion flickered on his marble face as he approached the exit, he could not let the pain escape. But, on that moment he died inside, wallowing in shame.
Placebo, "My sweet prince"
~Never thought you'd make me perspire
Never thought I'd do you the same
Never thought I'd fill with desire
Never thought I'd feel so ashamed~
Me and the dragon can chase all the pain away
So before I end my day
Remember
My sweet prince, you are the one
My sweet prince, you are the one
~Never thought I'd have to retire
Never thought I'd have to abstain
Never thought all this could back fire
Close up the hole in my vain~
Me and my valuable friend
Can fix all the pain away
So before I end my day
Remember
My sweet prince
You are the one
~Never thought I'd get any higher
Never thought you'd fuck with my brain
Never thought all this could expire
Never thought you'd go break the chain~
Me and you baby
Still flush all the pain away
So before I end my day
Remember
My sweet prince
You are the one
You are the one...
~The end.