Tremble

Everything shimmers and breaks and for a moment it looks as though things are going their way, as if the Aurors have everything under control and it will only take a couple minutes of hard fighting before Marc Bernard and his cohorts are properly arrested - colours fly, hexes swirl through the air, and there is more than one frantic shout of the Killing Curse.

Harry is in the middle of it all, whirling this way and that to dodge the curses - his wand an extension of his arm as he catches a redhead off guard and watches him fall to the ground, writhing.

"Fucking nice one!" calls a voice and Harry turns and he grins wickedly as his eyes meet gray ones from across the fighting. Even in the middle of this chaos he can spot Malfoy, has always been able to spot Malfoy, will always be able to spot Malfoy.

"What's that - four?" he shouts back, and his grin widens. There's nothing better than the adrenaline of a fight, than the rush that accompanies flying spells and harsh shouts. "I'm gonna win that bet and you'd better be fucking ready!"

He barely catches the sight of Malfoy's scowl before he's back to fighting and everything is a blur around him, moving faster and faster and his wand arm is starting to get tired and the mirth has now left his eyes, leaving behind the fierce determination in his eyes that has frightened so many men before now.

It has been only four years since he became an official Auror - only four years since training, where he and Malfoy were paired together and forced to undergo activities of forced bonding and fake battles and had finally learned to stop being such arses to each other and get along for once. It had been in training that Malfoy had taught him how to smoke -

("Hold it like this, don't inhale too much or you're going to choke and I refuse to clean up your vomit, you fucker - Wait - stop -" A pause and then a mildly impressed look crossed his face before suddenly Malfoy was scowling, "Do you have to be better at me than everything, Potter? Fuck you, you'd better not go around stealing my cigarettes," which he did, all the time, much to Malfoy's chagrin and annoyance and only slight amusement)

And it had been in training that Malfoy had taught him how to conceal himself better than anything else -

("Malfoy," hesitation, "I - Well, I mean -"

"Just spit it out already."

"I need your help."

Sputtered laughter, shocked expression. "Bet it was hard to get that one out, Potter."

"Stop being a prick; you know I'm not going to pass this test without you, you're the best one at concealment."

"Must be genetic."

"What do you mean?"

"My - cousin -"

"Tonks?"

Another longer pause, narrowed eyes. "That's the one."

A loud sigh. "Malfoy, don't make me say please. I'm buggered without this; do you know how humiliating it will be to get all the way through Auror training and then fail because I can't make myself look like a plant? It'll mean -"

"Okay."

"- and Hermione has been - okay?"

"Stop gaping, it doesn't become you.")

And it had been in training that Malfoy had taught him how to fuck - not make love, but truly fuck, hard and desperate and gasping for air with everything raw and cut open and left to bleed -

("Harder - go - fuck, Malfoy - yeah, right there -"

"Who knew," thrust, "you were so fucking," thrust, "vocal during sex?"

"Nng - more, give it to me, yeah, go, Malfoy," and then there is nothing but harsh pants and deep groans and the sound of flesh hitting flesh as the cabin they're supposed to be hiding in shakes with their relentless movement. They had been waiting in this same cabin for three days for sign of life before giving into the tension crackling between them - and now Harry sees white as Malfoy's cock hits that one special spot and everything, for the moment, is perfect.)

Time had moved in sharp, quick currents since then, nothing but long missions and too much paperwork and hiding their relationship - though, as Malfoy likes to frequently point out, there isn't much of a relationship, other than fucking. Of course there are moments of sweet kissing and bringing coffee to one another and sharing locked gazes, but those are the rarities, those are the brief flashes of abnormality spread out throughout snarky comments and sharp bites and pushing each other to their limits.

Now, Harry ducks and rolls underneath a brilliant green light, feeling it singe the top of his hair as he comes back up, breathing hard. There is something to be said for fighting Muggle style as he kicks out and catches the other man by surprise, his one kick allowing him enough of an in to bind him with a quick Incarcerousand leave him in the dust.

"Oi! What was our bet again?" asks Malfoy as suddenly he and Harry are back to back and shooting off spells with deadly aim, and Harry spares a brief second to glance back at Malfoy because he's always loved him like this - flushed and sweat-covered and sneering down his enemies. A sneer that once was aimed at Harry, a sneer that now only comes out for witty comments and when Harry makes the tea too weak.

"You forgot?" laughed Harry, and it seems impossible that he can laugh in the middle of a duel but Malfoy's always made the impossible come true about him so he simply shakes his head and aims another spell at a masked man. "Wanker. Whoever takes out the most people gets free Firewhiskey at the Dragon's Breath. That's six for me," and he watches with a pleased expression as another one of Bernard's minions falls to the dust.

"Fuck," growls out Malfoy and then they're separated again, each lost in their own battle as the heat engulfs them.

There is only one memory Harry can remember where Malfoy truly let down his guard - where Malfoy truly became Draco, if only for one evening. Narcissa, who had been diagnosed with Dragon Pox, had passed away only three days previous when Draco appeared at Harry's flat, gaunt and pale and wordless.

His eyes had said it all - and Harry had drawn him inside, holding him close and feeling his heart beat rapidly next to his own; everything had felt, for once, slow - too slow, as if they were swimming in molasses, drowning in quicksand, and Harry had pulled him into his room and lain him on the bed and had slowly removed his clothes, painfully careful with each item. First the shirt, and Harry had lapped at his stomach, had kissed his way up naval, sucked lightly on each nipple.

Then each shoe and sock and Harry had massaged each foot, had kissed each delicate toe. Then his trousers and here Harry has pressed his nose into Draco's dark green pants, inhaling the musky scent that he was presented with and kissing Draco's inner thigh with all the softness of a lover.

And Draco, who had always been in control even when he wasn't, had always held a fragment of himself close even when fucking Harry into a wall, had trembled, had shivered and quaked underneath Harry's gentle touches - and when Harry had finally kissed him, slow and deep, his tongue delivering comfort as it swept into Draco's hot mouth, Draco had trembled like a leaf in the wind, fragile and broken and all Harry's.

That night had been love, that night had been a relationship.

And the next day it had all been gone. Back to where they had been before, back to a shallow fuck-buddy friendship, back to Auror partners and nothing more.

And now Harry is back once more in the battle and he growls as someone tries to hit him with something deadly and he glances around and spits a curse as he realises that, despite his six wins, the Aurors are starting to be overwhelmed - that things aren't turning out how they're supposed to be - they're losing -

And Harry glances back and spots Draco in furious battle with a dark-haired man and he realises with a sharp pang in his stomach that he wants that relationship, he wants that love in Draco's eyes and that tremble as they kiss -

And just for a moment Draco glances back to find Harry and their eyes are locked and gray is melting with green and - and then there's a bright flash and suddenly blood is pouring out of Draco from his chest and he's looking down horrified and it's the bathroom scene all over again except this time it's not Harry's fault and this time there is no Snape to save the day and this time Harry loves Draco more than fucking anything -

Before he can think, he's at Draco's side and snarling, "Avada Kedrava," and the man who is responsible for it is dead -

"You're going to be okay," says Harry as he drops to the ground and clutches at Draco and he can barely see anything through these fucking tears - "You're going to be fine, I'm going to Apparate you to St. Mungo's, just hold on to me -"

"Harry," says Draco weakly and his eyes flutter, his hand reaching weakly to hold onto Harry's robes. "Harry, stop."

"Don't tell me to stop - don't fucking tell me to stop!" and a sob is ripping through his chest and he's clutching at Draco harder than anything he's ever held before and he can see the light leaving Draco's eyes, he can see it -

"Harry, I love you,"

And then Harry's bending down and kissing and crying and the battle is still raging on above their heads and he can feel Draco trembling - can feel him shaking - can feel him dying - and then it's over.

And he kisses him

And it's over

And he kisses

And he whispers, "I love you," and it's too late.

a/n: hello readers! Christine here with a thirty-day writing challenge in tow (which I most likely won't complete but hush). this one is dedicated to Ariel who chose Aurors and angst and also 1800 words (which I... sort of got to). I'm gonna see how good I am about getting to the end of this challenge, but definitely don't expect one every day cus I have a life. (jk)