A/N: Here it is, the. Last. Chapter! *sniffles* I'm sad to see it end. This is my favorite fic that I've done so far...but anyway, enough rambling! Please tell me what you think-after you've read it, of course! =)
The dragon stared at them with wide yellow eyes, black scales glittering in the cold sun.
Living in Romania for the past nine years had made Harry quite familiar with dragons. Russian Red ridge, an encyclopedia-esque voice that sounded suspiciously like Charlie Weasley announced somewhere in the back of his mind. Ill-tempered, largely flightless species that spits corrosive acid. Rarely found in the wild. Bred mainly for-
"Security purposes," Harry whispered. The beast bared its rather long and wicked-looking front fangs, its long throat convulsing-
"Draco, run!" Harry gripped the frozen blonde's shoulders, shoving him away. Draco grabbed Harry's arm as he turned and sprinted, dragging Harry with him. A burst of adrenaline helped him to keep up, but Harry didn't have to be a Healer to know that it wouldn't last, not with his screaming leg and ribs.
The beast was fast, well adapted for dashing after intruders into its domain. Without Harry slowing him down, Draco had a chance if he dodged through the sudden mess of hedge-corridors they were now face with.
"Draco, let go of me."
Grey eyes, bright with anger and fear, flashed at him. "No fucking way, Potter. You're not playing the martyr. Not today. Not for me."
"Draco, please." They were reaching a split, a sharp two-way split in the main corridor they were following. If they both went down the same narrowed path, they wouldn't make it. The dragon would catch them for sure.
"No-"
The dragon tore around the small curve they'd just cleared, loosing its load of acid. Harry, grimacing, threw himself down. Draco, his self-preservation instincts kicking in at last, jumped away from the shower of acid, his hand tearing away from Harry's.
"Damn it, Potter!" Draco snarled, furious. Harry saw his eyes dart about, but the ground between them was now drenched in skin-melting acid. There was no way he could get close enough to grab Harry again-just as Harry had hoped. Run, Draco. Please.
Draco glared at him, a scorching flash of tearful, mercurial silver. Then he raised his wand and eyes to the dragon Harry could hear bearing down on them from behind.
"Reducto!" Harry's eyes widened in surprise as the dragon roared in pain and aggravation. "C'mon, you fucking oversized lizard!" Sending one last scorching glance at Harry, Draco took off down the left hand path. In the same second, the dragon was right over Harry. He cringed, covering his head, expecting to be eaten or acid-burned alive-but then the dragon passed right over him as if he wasn't there, too fixated on Draco's fleeing form and the stinging array of hexes and spells he was no doubt still flinging. Drawing it away...
When both disappeared, Harry dragged himself to the beginning of the right-hand path, and pressed his back against the hedge wall, drawing his legs up. His heart was pounding wildly, his whole body trembling. All he could think about was Draco. If anything happened to him-
No, Harry get a grip! He'd been through hell before, and he didn't fall to pieces and wring his hands like a helpless fairytale maiden. Think, Harry. He couldn't get over the acid spatter safely-not with his leg. His only option was the right hand path, and pray that the two paths would reconnect somewhere further down. Not the best, but he had no real choice in the matter...
Gripping the hedge behind him, Harry gathered his good leg beneath him. One...Two...
Three. A sharp, Parseltongue-worthy hiss of pain escaped from between clenched teeth as he slowly rose. He leaned against the hedge, sweating despite the cold, but only for a minute before shoving away, forcing his protesting body to move.
Come on. You can do this. You have to. The first few steps were agony, but that quickly faded into the background as his body settled into a limping, lurching roll of a gait. He was so focused on maintaining his churning, rhythmic pace, he didn't notice the mist starting to curl around his feet...
It wasn't until he was starting to hear music-classical music-some time later that he started paying attention. He slowed his pace, gripping his wand tighter as he rounded a gentle curve...
The first thing he saw was a flash of white-blonde hair-then nothing else mattered. "Draco!" He lurched forward with all his might, throwing his arms around the warm shape. Draco steadied him, wiry arms wrapping around his body.
"Draco, I'm sorry, the dragon, I-" he was babbling, but he was too relieved to care.
"Harry." Harry looked up, to see Draco looking at him, the same slightly crooked smile he'd given Harry hours ago, after the fight with the Chimaera, on his face. Harry froze, jaw dropping slightly in shock. The expression was warmer than before, the warmest, most unguarded expression he had ever seen on Draco's face. His eyes were soft, the grey so light it was almost white.
He touched Harry's hair, stroking it lightly, briefly. "Come on, Harry." He started to move back, but Harry staggered, clinging to him and gasping at the sudden flare of pain from his leg and ribs.
Draco clucked his tongue, brow quirking. "What have you done to yourself now, Harry?" He leaned down, and Harry felt his wand prod first his side, and then his leg. Relief instantly flooded through both as whatever was damaged healed.
"Thank you," he gasped.
Suddenly, the strange music swelled, sounding as if it was extremely close by. Draco smiled again, taking Harry's hands. "Dance with me, Harry."
Harry gaped at him, then at where they were. The hedge walls were no longer there, replaced by walls of cream-colored marble; the grass beneath their feet was replaced by a thick, rich Slytherin green carpet. Behind Draco was a pair of beautiful oak doors, opened out onto...a ballroom right out of a Victorian film, except the dress robes of the dancers and the orchestra were slightly more modern.
Draco tugged insistently on his hands. "But Draco-" Harry was confused. Something wasn't right here. They couldn't go out there. "-we're filthy-"
Draco's immaculate eyebrows rose. "No we're not."
"Yes we-" Harry looked down at himself, and gasped. "-are?" His dirty and torn dress robes were gone, replaced by immaculate, bottle-green silk ones. His hands, nails and skin were spotlessly clean. He looked, wide-eyed, at Draco. Gone were his grass-stained shirt and dusty red Auror robes. Instead, he was wearing dark crimson and black dress robes, also silk. As Harry continued to stare at him, bemused-he was really quite beautiful-Draco, with a mischievous glint in his eye, pulled on his hands again. This time Harry didn't resist, letting his Draco lead him out into the ballroom. The crowd parted automatically for them, until they were standing in the middle of the room.
Draco tugged him closer, sliding an arm around his shoulders, his other hand holding Harry's. Harry's free hand automatically rested on Draco's waist.
"Erm, Draco-?"
"Shh." Draco led Harry gently through the steps of the waltz, mirroring perfectly what the other couples were doing, though his gaze never left Harry's. Harry settled into the flow of the dance, a smile creeping onto his face despite the small, Hermione-ish voice in the back of his mind, telling him over and over that something was wrong here...
As Harry lowered Draco into a smooth dip, there was two sharp cracks. Gasps echoed throughout the room as the music suddenly cut out. Draco straightened, looking stormy. "Damn bastards. Wait here, Harry. I'll take care of this."
The shocked crowd parted easily before Draco's furious stride. Harry followed, a hard knot of terrible dread forming in his gut.
As Draco, with Harry right behind, reached the edge of the crowd, the visitors came into sight, two men, one tall, one short, dressed in black cloaks. One of them-the shorter one-moved his head just enough for his hood to twitch back a bit, enough for Harry to see the edge of a bone white mask.
Ice shot through his veins. They weren't facing Draco directly, so he couldn't see... "Draco!" he started to yell in warning, when there was a sudden a flurry of movement behind him, and hands with grips like cold iron grabbed him. A cold, clammy hand clapped over his mouth, stopping a fresh shout building in his throat.
Draco's head snapped around at his voice. "Harry-?"
"Filthy blood traitor!" the shorter of the black-hooded figures snarled, launching himself at Draco. The second, the taller one, echoed the shout, jumping at Draco too. The pair wrestled the struggling blonde to his knees, wrenching his wand out of his hand. They held him down, facing a small door behind them...
The door swung open soundlessly. A blanket of bone-chilling, heart-stopping cold spread over Harry long before he saw the Dementor glide out. Harry froze, his blood turning to ice as he stared in disbelieving horror as the monster swept towards Draco...
"Harry?" Draco's whimper cut through Harry's horrified daze better than any knife. He started to thrash in earnest as it drew closer to his beloved Draco.
"Harry?" Draco's voice rose higher in desperate terror. "Harry, please!"
The louder and more hysterical Draco's cries became, the harder and more frantic Harry's own struggles became. "Draco!" But every step of progress he made away from the restraining hands, every inch toward the Dementor he was able to pull his wand, the steel-grip on his shoulders and arms would drag him two steps, two inches back. He fought them with every ounce of energy he had, screaming Draco's name...but it wasn't enough.
Draco twisted in his own captors' grip as the Dementor halted before him. "HARRY! Harry, please! Help me!" But Harry could only watch as a scaly hand slid out from beneath the Dementor's robes, clasping Draco's pale, slender neck, its hooded head bowing down...
"Draco, NO!"
"Harry! Harry!" It took him a minute to realize he was struggling against only one set of hands now, rather than several. He stopped fighting, blinking, looking up to see two stormy grey eyes glaring down at him. "Draco!" He threw his arms around him. The warm body stiffened beneath Harry's embrace.
"You haven't been forgiven yet." He was informed stiffly, but in that particular moment, Harry could care less. Draco was alive and well; all of it had been just a terrible, bizarre illusion...
He didn't realize how badly he was shivering, or that his sudden inability to breathe properly was due to gasps that were more like sobs until Draco's arms settled around him once again, hands awkwardly rubbing on Harry's arms and back to warm him. Harry turned his head, kissing his cheek and pressing his face there, drawing more reassurance from the comforting warmth of the skin there and Draco's unique, spicy scent.
As Harry calmed down, he remember something. He pulled back from Draco. "The dragon-!"
Draco looked tired, and even dirtier than when Harry last saw him, but the self-satisfied smirk on his face at Harry's question was one hundred percent the Draco that reveled in driving Harry insane with irritation and lust, almost in equal measure.
"I lost it. It was a massive pain in my arse, but I did it." The self-satisfied smirk sharpened into something harder, steelier. "And Potter? If you ever offer yourself up as bait to a dragon, or any other sorry-arsed, Hades-damned creature in my presence again, I will take great pleasure in personally skinning you alive with a rusty knife. Is that clear?"
Harry gave a shaky, tearful laugh, pulling his partner into another fierce hug. "Clear as crystal, Draco."
...
Draco, as they continued their shared walk, couldn't help but wonder what Harry had been seeing that made him break down like that, screaming Draco's name so loudly, that Draco himself had heard him long before he came to the small gap in the hedge. He was calm now, but Draco could feel his glance every now and then. Harry wasn't letting him out of his sight. Just as well. Draco wasn't letting the stupid Gryffindor out of his sight either, not after the shit he tried to pull with the dragon.
Speaking of which...outrunning the stunningly fast bastard had not been easy. Every muscle and tendon in his body, especially in his legs, ached and his chest burned, but he knew better than to rest just yet. He had no idea how long his luck-inspired lead over that damn lizard would last...
"Draco."
He didn't look round. "Yes?" Harry's hand caught his elbow, tugging on it lightly.
"Sit down. You look like you're about to fall over."
Draco shook his head obstinately. Next thing he knew, a wave of pressure hit the back of his weakened knees and he toppled backward on a thick, soft patch of grass next to the hedge wall.
"Damn it, Potter-"
"Draco."
"What?"
"Shut up." Harry sat cross-legged behind him, wrapping an arm around his chest and pulling him down, into his lap.
"This is ridiculous, Harry," Draco glared. Harry's face was quiet, as it had been since he'd calmed down after their second reunion, the slightest of smiles curling the ends of his mouth as he looked down at Draco.
"Go to sleep, Draco. I'll keep watch." Draco stubbornly held that gentle, almost tender green gaze, refusing to give in, crossing his arms over his chest, almost petulantly.
Draco's scalp had always been sensitive-something he had unwittingly let Harry know in the weeks before the 'tell all'. Unfortunately, Harry must have remember this little quirk about him, because he started stroking Draco's messy, dirt-ridden hair, with slow, languid strokes.
"Th-that's cheating," Draco managed around a wide yawn he tried and failed to suppress. Harry didn't answer him, merely smiling wider and humming a familiar tune under his breath that Draco's foggy brain struggled to recognize. He never managed to figure it out, either, because within the next minute, he was fast asleep.
When he woke up, he was lying on his side, facing the hedge wall. Harry was stretched out behind him, with his arm tucked protectively around Draco's chest, his other arm cushioning Draco's head. Harry's over robes were draped over them both.
As Draco stirred, Harry mumbled almost timidly, "Sorry. You were shivering..."
Draco snorted. "A good excuse to do unspeakable things to me whilst I was asleep, I'm sure."
Harry nuzzled his ear. "Well, if the past means anything, I wouldn't have to wait for you to be asleep to do unspeakable things to you-ow! What was that for?"
Draco smiled sweetly, digging his elbow into Harry's stomach a bit more. "For implying that I am easy, Potter."
Harry laughed, a pleasant, full, rumbling sound behind him as he carefully sat up. Harry sat up with him, one hand resting lightly on Draco's stomach, the other softly stroking and rubbing his shoulder, almost unconsciously. "Any better?"
Draco rolled his shoulders, stretching out his legs. His muscles uncurled and moved reluctantly. "Stiff, but I'll manage." He pushed himself up, missing Harry's warmth immediately as the cold settled over him again. He glanced at Harry as he rose too, shaking out his once nice over robes, remembering something.
"Your leg. It was injured before." Harry didn't look at him, the playful bantering between them suddenly turning as cold as the environment as he paid a ridiculous amount of attention to putting his robes back on.
"It's fine," he said quietly after a moment. "Come on." He started off, in the lead once more.
"That's a change. Usually I'm the sullen, focused one," Draco said to his retreating back. Harry didn't answer, nor did he even glance back. Draco sighed, and followed after.
Further down, the air seemed to change. It grew...warmer, less stagnate. Draco shared a surprised glance with Harry. "We're getting close."
"Yeah, but to what?" Draco shook his head, shrugging his shoulders slightly. No idea.
The farther they walked after that, the warmer it got, as if they were finally moving out of the Environmental charm's range. Or perhaps a new one is taking effect. Lovely. He was desperately missing the possibility of a sunburn. Really.
But after its initial rise, the temperature remained steady, almost balmy, not too hot, not too cold. Almost unconsciously, their pace sped up. They turned a corner (there appeared to be a ridiculously large amount of those in this particular maze) and suddenly, there it was: a wide break in the hedge wall, leading out onto...
"Draco," Harry breathed. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"
"A sparkling white beach and the ocean? Yes." They approached the break in the hedge wall together, side-by-side, with soft, wary steps, wands up and ready.
Harry glanced at Draco, his profile backlit by the warm glow of a tropical sunset. "It's not an illusion if we can both see it, right?"
"Usually." Draco's gaze never wavered from the pristine white expanse of the beach. Against his will he felt a cautious glimmer of hope. Could this be the end of this bizarre, extremely fucked up encounter at last?
When they passed through the gap, Draco felt a slight pressure against his entire front, as if the air itself had thickened to resist them. But in the space of a blink of an eye, the feeling was gone, and they were through, none the worse for wear.
Harry looked at him again, a look of pure elation on his face this time. "Draco, we did it! We're out!"
"Harry-" But Harry wasn't listening. He whooped like he was sixteen again, tearing across the sparkling white sand toward the waves, whose thunderous roar Draco could finally hear.
Draco suppressed his growing smile at Harry's outburst, his well-cultivated pessimism breaking through his own relief. He scanned along the small crescent of the beach, looking for a trap, a catch, something. Unless he'd completely misjudged Finnegan and the depths of his insane narcissism, the bastard wouldn't have gone through all this trouble just to let them go without a fuss when they reached the end of the maze.
When his eyes traveled back to the suddenly silent Harry, he groaned inwardly, feeling his stomach plummeting to hover somewhere near his feet. Why must he always be right?
"Finnegan," Draco called calmly, approaching carefully. But Finnegan wasn't looking at him, not directly; he was focused on Harry, turning the dark-haired man's face with the wand under his chin. They stood on the edge of the beach, the tide lapping at their heels, gazes locked.
"I understand now why the Dark Lord became so frustrated with you," Finnegan said softly, looking at Harry with his head slightly cocked, as if Harry was a riddle he was struggling to solve. "You have an impeccable knack for weaseling out of otherwise deadly situations. Although-" Here his cold brown eyes flickered to the warily approaching Draco. "-it helps to have a more clever wizard wrapped around one's finger."
Now was hardly the time for pride, but Draco felt himself bristling anyway. "I am not wrapped around anyone's finger, let alone Potter's."
Finnegan sighed, like a teacher whose star student had missed something completely obvious. "But you are, Mr. Malfoy. You are." Finnegan's attention was back on Draco, his wand straying toward him. Harry, the idiot, shifted accordingly.
"Leave him alone," Harry growled. Finnegan's wild eyebrows arched, a dangerously fascinated glint lighting up his eye.
"So it goes both ways. Fascinating." He cocked his head at Harry again, a slight, glib smile on his ragged face. "Crucio." Harry's back jerked as he cried out, collapsing in the sand.
No matter how much the papers vehemently claimed otherwise, Draco's every move over the course of his entire career had always been guided by calm calculation. But the second that hideous word left Finnegan's lips, that carefully built system of composed logic shattered into a million pieces. Emotion-a pure, powerful, volatile fury-took its place, propelling him forward.
Not again, the many-scarred victim in him screamed. No one else that he loved would suffer that fucking curse, not when he finally, finally had the power to stop it.
He slammed into Finnegan, bearing the older man down into the wet sand, pinning him there, wand pressed against his throat like a knife.
Mad eyes gleamed up at him. "Now that is more like it!" Before Draco could press his advantage, a surge of pressure threw him off. Finnegan was back on his feet in a flash, his wand pointed down at Draco.
"Get up, Mr. Malfoy!" Finnegan shrieked like a demented child, almost skipping in place with barely restrained, entirely insane glee. "You've proven yourself worthy of a face-to-face confrontation with your quarry! 'Tis bad form to keep him waiting!"
Draco pulled himself up, the sea washing over his feet. He raised his wand-
A gash appeared on his seawater drenched forearm. Draco hissed as the salt stung in the fresh wound. Wordless magic. Damn.
"Expelliarmus!" Draco gasped.
"Protego," the madman purred right back. Draco cursed loudly. As they circled one another, Draco noted that Harry was recovering, moving slowly, as to not catch Finnegan's attention.
But Finnegan's madness-sharpened eyes noticed the movement anyway. Growling, he whipped around, slashing his wand viciously like a knife. Harry cringed, but Draco threw out his arm. "Protego!" he cried. But it was just a feint. The real spell was aimed at Draco-he realized his mistake as another gash ripped open his other forearm. It, like the first one, was deep enough to hurt like hell, but shallow enough not to be serious-which was exactly what he wanted, Draco realized as Finnegan capered, cackling like a Hag on the hunt.
"Fencing-" His eyes gleamed wickedly. "-is a sport best played with blood, is it not, dear Malfoy?"
His father had taught him fencing, but not like this. Lucius had taught his son finesse, and a version of fencing in which one had a healthy respect for their opponent and the subtleties of the sport. Finnegan's version had none of that. It was fencing-if one could call it that-in its basest and most primal form, hacking ruthlessly at one another in every possible opening. It was attempting to tear each other apart; it was attempting to force the other to submit in the most brutal way possible.
I won't submit! Draco vowed as Finnegan scored a hit on his cheek. Not to him, the sick bastard!
The 'fencing' became such an intense battle of wills as well as flashing wands that both participants forgot everything else-the sea spray that stung in their wounds, the treacherous wet sand that sucked at their feet, and most importantly, they forgot about Harry-which was exactly what the man was hoping for.
Neither saw the dark-haired man push himself to his feet. Neither saw him raise his wand...
"Incarcerous!" Harry bellowed. White bars shot up around Finnegan, trapping him. Draco blinked, surprised; then, together, moving as one, he and Harry layered the prison with every protective spell they knew. Finnegan didn't sit quietly through this-he went wild, flinging spells at the side of his prison, bellowing and clawing with his hands when they didn't work, long after Draco and Harry had stopped casting.
Then he went quiet, deadly quiet, his thin chest heaving. Shaking off Harry's warning hand, Draco approached the bars, a vindictive, hot, gloating anger boiling inside his chest.
At his approached, Finnegan's head shot up to stare at him. "Allen Finnegan-" Draco's steady voice was barely above a whisper between his own panting breaths, blood trickling freely down his cheek and arms. "-do you yield?"
Finnegan calmed, brown gaze going steely as he drew himself up to his full height, lifting his chin proudly. "Death before dishonor." The words were so quiet from the man's parched, bloodied lips that Draco barely heard him. He shoved his own wand against his throat, eyes gleaming once again in wicked triumph. "Avada Kadavra."
At the words, Harry lunged forward, yanking a stunned Draco into the sand and covering him with his own body. Finnegan, meanwhile, slumped lifelessly in his prison, a smug, triumphant smirk as his death mask.
"Draco! Draco!" Harry's voice was almost a sob. Draco, still a bit dazzled by the sudden flash of green light, felt his partner's rough, desperate hands cup his face, smearing the blood.
Draco blinked furiously to clear his vision. "Stop whining, Potter. I'm fine. Finnegan...killed himself."
"Oh good." Harry was trying and failing to control his rather expressive face. Draco arched an eyebrow as he settled on a watery smile, shifting a bit. Suddenly Draco felt something hard trapped between their chests. Draco's gaze flickered down to see something gold glinting just beneath the neck of Harry's ruined shirt.
"So Draco," Harry said softly as the insistent tug of a Portkey enveloped them. "How about that dinner?"
Draco stared up at him incredulously. "You're thinking about your stomach now, of all times?"
"No, actually. I was thinking about something more like this." As the landscape blurred around them, Harry swooped down, capturing Draco's mouth in a tender, passionate, toe-curling kiss.
...
In a small, out of the way pureblood pub, in a small, out of the way section of Wizarding London, an attractive black-haired man sat at the bar, a three week old newspaper in his hands.
Draco grinned at the front page. They had certainly made a splash that day, reappearing on the Arthur Flinwinne Amphitheater stage in front of the majority of Harry's audience (not to mention the Weasel and his entire family) on top of each other, Draco bloodied from his fight with Finnegan, both of them soiled almost beyond recognition, kissing each other like a pair of horny teenagers...
Just below the giant photo of Harry's picture self snogging Draco's picture self senseless, and the several columns' worth of outrage over this 'scandal', was the reason why Draco was here, in this particular out of the way pub-Zabini had managed to escape custody before being sent to Azkaban. Draco would have caught up with the git much sooner-Zabini was too used to his lavish pureblood lifestyle to ever really disappear-except for a certain sexy distraction...
A striking redhead-a look obviously modeled after a certain Weasley, Draco was sure-caught Draco's eye from further down the bar. He winked lazily at Draco, a familiar goofy smile tugging at his mouth.
The black-haired man-Draco-grinned back, raising his glass in a indolent salute. There was movement in the back, and they both watched out of the corner of their eyes as Zabini quietly followed a young woman into the pub's back room...
Harry arched one red eyebrow at Draco. Honors?
Draco lifted his glass again, this time to his lips. Amazing, how well they could read each other now that they were an actual couple-especially when wearing strangers' faces. He pretended to take a drink, instead turning his head slightly into his wrist, almost nuzzling the flesh-colored mike stuck there, a wicked Malfoy smile of his own curling his mouth.
"Remember, darling, we're here to take the scum alive."
Note: No, I haven't gone crazy (yet!) Both Harry and Draco are wearing Glamours in that last bit so Zabini won't recognize them =)
A/N: The End! *sad face* So, how was this last chapter? Good? Hopefully! =)