Chapter 4

It's a death row pardon two minutes too late

Harry woke up to a lulling heartbeat. His head was on Draco's thin chest, one leg flung over the other man's and his arm across his stomach. Draco's warm breath fluttered against his forehead, one of his arms under Harry's neck and his hand buried in his hair. He looked up at Draco; his heart melting when he saw how peaceful Draco looked. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb him, so he stayed there, watching Draco sleep. Eventually, Draco's eyes fluttered open and settled on Harry's. He smiled a sleepy smile and ruffled Harry's hair.

"G'mornin'," Harry said, a yawn cracking his jaw. Draco stretched, squirming.

"Hm," he said, his features schooled carefully blank.

"What?"

"I thought you said nothing would happen?" Draco's voice was smirking, even if his face was perfectly expressionless. Harry made a face at him, wondering what he was going on about. Draco wriggled again, the smirk finally crawling out of him and making itself apparent, and Harry felt heat crawling up into his face. He tried to think disgusting thoughts, but looking up into Draco's gray eyes, it was incredibly hard.

"I said my brain told me nothing would happen, it's been wrong before," he said awkwardly, trying to pull away. But Draco's arm was still around his neck, and it tightened, almost choking him. Harry's eyes darted, trying to read Draco's expression: his eyes were both scared and intrigued… almost excited. Harry frowned slightly, but his heart wasn't in it. "What happened to screwing things up?" he scoffed.

"Well, I'm not prodding you," Draco retorted.

"You're not letting me stop," Harry rumbled, wriggling his shoulders.

"Do you want to?"

"Do you want me to?" They were at a standstill, staring each other in the eye boldly, challengingly. The last time Harry had seen this look in Draco's eye was the last time Madam Hooch had let the snitch go- hell, it was every time she let the snitch go. The little golden ball always whizzed into the air, teasing them like a rare animal or an itch in an awkward place, and every time his eyes fell upon Draco he was pushing himself harder, harder, his eyes determined and his jaw set. Whenever their eyes met it was a snarl and a curse, an insult and a vicious game. It had been intoxicating.

He swallowed hard, his heart beating a violent tattoo in his chest. Under his hand, Draco's heart sped up like a galloping horse. Draco's eyes were silvery, almost white. Harry reached up, he thought to brush Draco's hair out of his face, but found himself grabbing at it instead. Draco's eyes widened fractionally; he licked his lips.

Suddenly, Draco was on top of him, his arm digging painfully into Harry's back and his thin fingers tangled in Harry's hair, kissing him. It was so unexpected Harry went stiff, and Draco purred in ecstasy, catching his lip between his teeth. Harry groaned, wrapping his arms around Draco's neck and running his hands into Draco's hair, grabbing it hard enough he was sure it hurt. Draco paused, panting, his eyes shining that impossibly light colour, almost glowing. He was so perfectly clear in Harry's vision he almost laughed: no one had ever been this close to him.

"Your eyes are black," Draco said, his voice hoarse. It sent a jolt down Harry's back that made him squirm and Draco grinned wickedly.

"You're fucking-" Harry breathed, Draco's pupils contracted and dilated in quick succession. He made like he was going to pull away but Harry pulled his hair harder. "God you're sexy." Draco's eyes darted, a goofy grin spreading over his face, and he grunted as Harry pulled him back down.

Draco was so there. So tangible and alive. His cool skin made Harry's feel fevered by comparison, the hair at the back of his head clipped almost to the scalp, harsh bristles against Harry's palm. He was unbearably soft and deliciously hard in all the right places, like someone had taken a silver statue and covered it in silk. Despite, or maybe because of, the heavy jeans, Harry could feel Draco pressing against him. His muffled groans seemed to make Draco mischievous: he ground himself against Harry until his breath caught in his throat, until abruptly Draco lifted himself up just enough. Harry whined; he felt more than heard Draco laugh.

"I'm a hound?" Harry managed to say. Draco growled a response- Harry was beginning to think he was half werewolf- and nipped at Harry's jawline. Harry almost jumped and Draco nuzzled lower, nibbling on Harry's neck and throat. Harry whined again, running a hand down his back and pressing, trying to recapture the sheer and unadulterated pleasure that was Draco's body. Stars of pain exploded across his vision as Draco chomped down hard on his neck. Vampire. Harry thought numbly.

"Not the last time I checked," Draco said, his eyes intense on Harry's. Harry's breath caught in his throat and his jaw worked. His neck was on fire, his pulse pounding at his temples, his wrists, his chest. Draco sat up slowly, straddling Harry's hips. Harry made a sound in his throat, feeling electric sparks in his core, his eyes feasting on Draco's lithe form. He drew his eyebrows together and pouted.

"What?"

"You're nasty. You bloody tease," Harry said, the words rolling out of the back of his throat, reaching for Draco. Draco caught his hands with a tut-tut and Harry glared at him. Draco leaned over him, pinning Harry's hands against his chest. His hair fell into his eyes, partially obscuring them, his expression so full of need that the rational part of Harry's brain shut down in giddy anticipation.

"How bad do you want this?" The ghost of his words echoed in Harry's head and seemed to crawl straight down into his crotch.

"Oh God," he breathed, as Draco's finger followed that line, pausing just below his belly button. "I don't want you to do-" he hitched in a breath as Draco slid lower- "anything you don't want to."

Draco chuckled.

"Hero," he said fondly, sliding his hand into Harry's boxers. Harry groaned, his eyes rolling into his head.

"D-Duck," he managed. Draco's strokes were slow and deep and hard and going to drive him insane. He tried to clench his hands but Draco was still holding them hostage, trapped against his chest, pressing them with his weight. Draco laughed, a throaty sound, and Harry moaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Still a tease?"

Harry just shook his head, arching his back. Draco let go of his hands and Harry immediately reached for him, groping blindly.

"Har-ry," Draco sing-songed. Harry opened his eyes and saw Draco, his jeans unzipped, stroking himself inches above Harry. His face was flushed, and under his hair his eyes looked like those of a wild animal. Harry swallowed hard, threw his head back and groaned through gritted teeth, the image of that gaze blazed into his mind's eye. He grabbed at the sheets, his heart pounding at his temples, and came.

"Uuungh," Harry managed to say. He thought it was a word. He opened his eyes and saw Draco still looming over him, wild-eyed and sweaty, his face flushed. He felt like he'd just stood up to a tempest, his entire body buzzing numbly. With his hips Harry tipped Draco over- Draco's eyes went wide as he hit the bed- and pounced on him. Draco was tall, but Harry was strong and had more weight on him: he pinned Draco to the bed by sheer force. Draco whined and wiggled, but Harry trapped his hands and smirked at him.

"You prat," he said. "Think you can have all the fun." Draco looked confused, until Harry grabbed him and started pumping, fast. Draco's eyes widened and his mouth opened, uttering a single long, low moan. Harry growled, biting Draco's neck as fiercely as Draco had bitten his own. The pulse pounding between his teeth was almost enough to get him going again. He swept his tongue over it, feeling it speed up. Draco whimpered and let out another low, breathy moan.

"OhGodHarry," he said as he climaxed.

Harry laid down on top of him, relaxing utterly, heedless of the mess. He listened to Draco's heart wind down and sighed contentedly. He could get used to this, to having not just a friend but a lover, not just an easy lay but someone who genuinely cared about him. Harry blinked as the blankets at the end of the bed moved. Something was there, and it was most certainly not his duvet. Harry narrowed his eyes at it. He felt Draco turn his head with a sigh and pause.

"Harry?"

"Is that…"

Pads was watching them, a dog smile on his face. He licked his nose.

-- -- --

Harry made lunch. It was hardly-burned chicken wings and fries. Every time Harry's eyes fell on Draco's he blushed- he became very thankful of his naturally dark complexion- and had to look away. He couldn't wipe the memory of Draco's oh-so sexy eyes from his brain. As if through telepathy Draco seemed to know, and it was bloody well irritating. Draco started staring at him purposefully, bending to catch his gaze with a cheeky grin on his face. Harry hit him.

"You prat," he said. Draco laughed. Pads, feigning a moment of doggy ignorance, wound between Harry and the counter, pushing him into Draco, who caught him in a fierce hug. Draco's heart was the lull of the ocean, a bass thread in a band. Harry relaxed against him, listening, and they stayed that way for a moment before Draco dragged Harry into the living room, flipped him around, and sat down on the couch, pulling Harry into his lap with an, "Umph!"

Harry peered over his shoulder at Draco as Pads turned on the television.

"What's this?" he asked.

"You're cute when you do that," Draco said. Harry's eyebrows drew together. "Your nose." He tapped it. "It wrinkles."

"You're not answering me."

"Well," Draco's face fell. "I thought we were…"

Harry couldn't help but kiss him.

For the rest of the week, Harry found he couldn't help but kiss Draco. He couldn't help but kiss him as he dressed himself; he couldn't help but kiss him as he cooked; he especially couldn't help it when Draco came out of the shower and his wet hair hung in his face, obscuring his eyes. He couldn't help but kiss Draco when Draco threw open the curtains early in the morning, or when Draco hummed ridiculous tunes, or when Draco's childlike innocence surfaced at odd times. Harry came to love the little touches, the stuttered half-sentences, the idea of faith and fate, kismet and karma, destiny and love.

For the rest of the week, Harry couldn't remember a time when he had been happier.

-- -- --

"Harry?" Draco said one morning, as he pulled a black-and-white shirt over his head.

"Yeah?" Harry pulled his belt tight through the loops on his camouflage trousers.

"I was just wondering… did they get all the Death Eaters?"

He said it slowly and incredibly cautiously, his voice almost dying at the end. Harry thought for a moment.

"Someone called Vernes got away, but they found him a few weeks later. One of the stray Dementors had found him." Harry made a face, but it wasn't altogether remorseful for the man's demise.

"So… if I went back into the open, I'd be safe?"

"No one's looking for you, so… yeah," Harry said. "Why?"

"I wanted to get into my vault, and…" he trailed off.

"And maybe you'll be able to find your mother," Harry finished. Draco nodded.

"I haven't looked yet, I was afraid."

"It's all right," Harry said soothingly, wrapping his arms around Draco's middle. Draco made him feel ridiculously short, and also safe. He was glad to be folded into Draco's wiry arms.

They left the house early, Harry in his windcheater and Draco in his considerably less grungy overcoat. Pads walked beside Harry, happily wagging his stub as he savoured the open air. They took the tube into the heart of London, towards Diagon Alley. A small child in the station reached to pet Pads and her mother pulled her away, eyeing Harry like he might be crazy and try to snatch her daughter. Draco grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him away, glaring at the woman as if she had suddenly grown hooves and horns.

"Have some respect," he shouted at her. She pulled her child faster.

As they walked up the street, Draco's arm grew increasingly tighter, until Harry was sure he was losing circulation. They turned towards the Leaky Cauldron and Draco stopped dead, staring up at it.

"We can go home," Harry suggested. Draco shook his head and opened the door.

It was like stepping into a dream which you had forgotten. The Leaky Cauldron was incredibly alive and buzzing compared to the muggle world, Harry was surprised he wasn't seeing colours that didn't exist, tasting sounds and smelling the heightened emotion. They walked through, some patrons stopping their conversations to stare at Pads and then up at the two men walking him. They exited through the back door, and hit a brick wall, quite literally.

"Bollocks," Harry said. "I forgot about that."

"How do we get in?" Draco moaned. Harry opened the back door again and leaned in.

"Can anyone help us? We need to get into Diagon Alley."

A woman by the door stood up and came towards them. She reminded Harry of someone, and he found himself studying her as she opened the wall: her hair was long and dark, held in a loose ponytail over what Harry suspected was an incredible figure. As she turned, she gave him an appraising look and a sly wink and he jumped, unintentionally sliding his arm back into Draco's. She frowned, her face suddenly dark and loathsome.

"Well, thanks," Harry said quickly, dragging Draco into the hole.

"You were so blatantly obvious," Draco drawled.

"She reminded me of someone, I didn't think she'd stare."

"Back, you mean?" Draco teased. Harry prodded him in the ribs.

Draco stepped into Gringotts alone, zipping down to the Malfoy vault while Harry milled around with Pads in the street, staring at all the wonder he had missed. Like his eleven year-old self he ogled the new racing broom- the Altostratus- and stepped into Diagon's Honeydukes simply to inhale the scent. That earned him more than a few sideways glances. Back in the cobbled streets he tapped on a nearby window, trying to entice some purple powder-puffs with antennae to come to him, and was surprised when it tapped back. Harry looked up and saw, staring at him, George Weasley. George held up one finger: Wait a minute. Harry watched him come around the counter and open the door with a ding, apprehension an animal in his throat.

"Hello," he said. Harry's heart stopped for a moment. "They're alive, it wouldn't be fair to feed one to your dog, sir." It took Harry a moment to realise that George hadn't recognised him: he didn't want the puffs to turn into dog toys. His heart resumed it's beat as if it hadn't skipped one, but had stopped entirely for several minutes.

"I wasn't going to," Harry said. George nodded, and vanished back into his shop.

"Harry!" Draco's excited voice came. Harry turned and saw the crowd parting in zigs, some people obviously less than pleased to be shoved out of the way. Draco pressed through the last few people sideways and came to a stop by Harry, panting. "She's here, she's still alive! She moved the estate just outside London!"

"Moved the estate?"

"She's here!" Draco looked ecstatic.

"Do you want to get anything here before we go? It might be awhile before we come back," Harry said. Draco nodded quickly.

"I need a new wand, I broke mine before I left. Besides that… I don't know. I guess it depends."

"On what?" Harry asked as they stepped into Ollivander's, the smell of wood hitting them like a fist.

"Oh whether we're ready to come back to this world," Draco said softly.

Harry didn't think they would be able to avoid Ollivander's memory, and they couldn't. The man was sharp, immediately dragging Draco towards the hawthorn-unicorn wands, recalling his first.

"Oh, you silly boy, breaking a wand with a stallion tail-hair!" he clucked, pulling down boxes of wands for Draco to test. "I'll bet it shocked you good! Potter, you better still have Fawkes' tailfeather, or else I'll have to hex you on Dumbledore's behalf."

"Mister Ollivander, do you think you could keep us a secret? We… don't want any press all over us," Harry said.

"Don't worry, m'boy," Ollivander said, snatching a third wand from Draco's hand and thrusting the next in. "That foul woman's gone and the Prophet has a new editor, but I won't let it slip."

They left Ollivander's in high spirits, Draco clutching a new wand with a French unicorn's tail-hair at its core. Pads was frolicking, nipping at the air and pawing at the paving stones, trying to catch the magic he was feeling. Harry half wanted to join his dog in his antics; he had felt like capering since they had arrived. Draco didn't look surprised when Harry stepped into the owl shop, pulling one of the few galleons he had kept hidden in his closet out of his pocket. Draco pressed a quick kiss to the spot below his ear. Harry flipped his galleon over and over in his palm as he looked from owl to owl.

"Harry," Draco called, and Harry walked over to him, kneeling down to look at a barn owl standing proudly at the bottom of his cage, half of a mouse jutting out of his beak. Pads thrust his nose against the bars and sniffed, and the owl stared at him, blinking, his expression one of utter I'm better than you. "He's perfect." They left the shop with the owl on Draco's arm, and Harry carrying a shrunk perch-stand for him. With Draco now in possession of a wand and considerably better at apparating than Harry, they vanished with a crack from the plaza in front of Fortescue's and reappeared instantaneously in Harry's apartment.

"God, I never got used to that, and I never will."

Draco immediately pulled out a pen and paper from the bottom drawer in the kitchen and sat down at the table. He chewed on the end of the pen before writing a letter, his script flowing and precise. Harry let Pads go and went into his room. From the top shelf of his closet Harry pulled a wooden box, its varnished surface painted with intricate golden swirls that resembled a bird. He set it on the bed and stared at it, his fingers steepled.

"Harry, I sent the owl off to my mother's," Draco said giddily, entering the room. He looked at Harry, at the box, and back to Harry. Harry looked up at him.

"I left it behind," he said quietly. "But you found it so easy to bring me back. You brought me back to life, you brought me back to magic, you brought me back to… just back." Harry leaned forward and opened the box, pulling his wand out of it, where it lay on a phoenix pinfeather. Small cracks crept across the grain where it had been snapped and repaired. He gave it an experimental swish and it sparkled.

"Hello, Fawkes," Harry said. Draco had slung his arm about Harry's neck and was watching with fascination. Harry tucked his wand into his back pocket, recalling a time when Mad-Eye Moody had lectured him on the dangers of losing buttocks. So much had been lost in the war. He slid the box back into the closet and stepped back into Draco's arms, glad when they closed tightly around him. Draco's voice came, near his ear.

"Fawkes was Dumbledore's phoenix, wasn't he?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "He was at the funeral."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Draco said. Harry turned around, looking up at him. Draco was hanging his head, his hair in his eyes. "He was going to kill me if I didn't kill Dumbledore, and all Dumbledore did was offer me mercy."

"I know."

"You were there," Draco said without preamble. Harry nodded and leaned against him.

"I hated you for the longest time," Harry sighed. "But Dumbledore made me think. He believed Tom Riddle was evil, he believed hate was evil, but he didn't believe you were evil. Logically, you couldn't be." His eyes, downcast, stared off to the left. He touched Draco's arm. "Your mark is a symbol of hatred, but that doesn't make you one."

Draco was shaking. Harry gently took his face in his hands, using his thumb to wipe tears away. He looked up into stormy eyes that never failed to amaze him, and said, "You're beautiful, Draco." It was so honest and true and Harry knew that Draco could hear it as he began to nod, his head bobbing jerkily. Draco let loose a whimpering sob. So, logically, Harry took him to bed.