Title: "Cui Prodest"
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: hard R (overall)
Timeline: post-HBP
Summary: When Draco seeks refuge in the Order, Harry is assigned to protect him. Big mistake, that is. + A flashback on Draco's past and the turning point of Draco's present.
Pairings: Harry/Draco, minor Harry/Ginny, minor Ron/Hermione (in various chapters), etc.
Disclaimer: 'Harry Potter' belongs to JKR. And I have nothing else to do but play with her characters. Yeah, right!
Special thanks: to my beta Lady Domino.
A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews! They make my day!
Chapter 7
INTERLUDE
The End Of The World
They tossed him down on the floor. The cloaked figure in front of him remained frozen. Draco whimpered. A hard rain of blows poured over him. Blood splattered from his nose. Bruised and broken, he could do nothing but moan quietly, wishing for it to stop.
'No, no, no, please, don't! Stop! Stop!'
Everyone backed away all of a sudden. Draco gasped. A husky voice uttered, 'Crucio!' and then the boy screamed. Excruciating pain pierced every limb, paralyzing him. His throat became raw, he wheezed and writhed but the pain wouldn't go away, would never go away. He wished he could just die.
Somebody was screaming, begging them to stop. That pitiful shrill voice was his own. Draco's bones creaked. He thought they would break.
Another charge of pain shot through his body, exploded in his brain, traveled along his spine in prickling sparks. Draco screamed again, at the top of his lungs. He didn't care what would happen to him afterwards. Only 'now' existed, only this moment – when pain ruled his world, ground him into oblivion. He was falling into the vast abyss, driven mad with fear and agony.
Pain… pain… pain… Bright flashes through the dense night.
A loud voice in the dark. Draco couldn't scream anymore. His body went limp and he didn't feel a thing.
Someone bade his tormentors to stop at once. The voice was vaguely familiar. Draco wheezed plaintively and passed out, cherishing the hope he would never have to wake up to face another day.
But Draco did wake up and he hardly resisted the urge to scream again. His throat went numb; it hurt as if scratched by a thousand claws. Voldemort himself was looming over him. Draco wanted to sit up, but the Dark Lord pushed him down persistently.
"My lord," Draco whispered hoarsely, happy nonetheless that his voice hadn't abandoned him at all. "I have failed you."
"That you have," Voldemort nodded gravely.
His eyes flashed like sunbeams reflected in two drops of blood. Transfixed, Draco didn't dare move.
"I have decided to grant you a chance to redeem yourself," Voldemort went on.
"Thank you… Master…"
Another figure emerged from the shadows. Clad entirely in black, it waited patiently for Voldemort's command. Draco held his breath.
"Regrettably I can no longer use Severus as my agent in the Order of the Phoenix. You will take his place."
Draco bit his tongue, afraid to say anything that would enrage his lord. And even in this pathetic state he had lots of comments ready to spring forth from his mouth. This idea was even more insane than his assignment to kill Dumbledore.
"You will go crawling to Saint Potter, begging for forgiveness. You will tell him you did everything to prevent the old coot's murder. According to Severus, Potter could have witnessed it. Then he knows that you hesitated. We shall use your failure to our advantage."
"He'll never believe me," Draco murmured.
"Oh, he will. You can be very persuasive, my young servant. Use your charms."
His robes rustled as Voldemort rose and backed away. The figure in black helped Draco up on his feet. Someone was talking; the meaning of the words escaped Draco. Dazed, he allowed the man to lead him away. Snape seated him on the couch and shook him lightly.
"Draco. Draco, can you hear me? Draco, listen to me very carefully: this is your last chance to survive."
"Why do you care?" the boy asked weakly.
"Does it matter?" The vein in Snape's temple was swelling. "I promised your mother that I'd take care of you."
"So what? You've accomplished your mission. The Unbreakable Vow is no longer active. You're free to go."
For a moment it seemed as if Snape would slap him. Draco winced but the older man didn't move. His voice came out hoarse and cool:
"Haven't you ever for one second wondered if I really cared? Maybe I just do. Now, do you want to live or not?"
Draco nodded faintly. The air around him shimmered with heat, he felt like he was sitting on live coals. His breath came in short gasps and he eyed Snape with wide-open, watery eyes.
"Good," his former professor said hastily. "I am, fortunately, the only wizard whom the Dark Lord has ever been able to infiltrate into Dumbledore's Order. Therefore I shall instruct you. You will do exactly as I say and you will have to trust me on this. Is clear in every way?"
"Yes, sir," whispered Draco; his words were barely audible.
"Do you trust me, Draco?"
Malfoy's vision became double. Worn out with nausea, he lay back and tried to concentrate. Snape's question rang in his ears, floated in the air, almost tangible.
Snape decided to tread on his corns.
"Malfoy honour." The last resort. "Remember your legacy. Will you allow it to fade that easily? No trace of the dignity of yore left. Glory gone like morning mist. You do not want that, do you?"
The image of his father, once a lordly and respectable nobleman, now a mere nameless prisoner on the dreaded Azkaban fortress, flashed through his mind. His mother, a sophisticated lady, the mistress of a wealthy home, was in five minutes a near-widow stripped of everything. Their grand house, that shameless display of luxury and refined taste in every piece of furniture… gone. His own future. He still retained illusions of grandeur and stable position in high society.
But that was just a frail dream…
"Do you trust me?" Snape pressed him for answer.
"I want to, sir. But he trusted you. And I can still see his face. He had put his faith in you."
Draco trailed off helplessly.
"Who are you talking about?"
"D-Dum… the Headmaster."
'You don't know what I'm capable of. You don't know what I've already done!'
Time froze. Everything ceased to exist. Draco inhaled, and saw, and felt that fateful night. The wand shaking in his hand… Hoarse laughter from the Carrow siblings. Snape's black eyes flaring with hate and fierce determination. The green flash hitting the old man flat in the chest.
'Severus, please!
'Avada Kedavra!'
Draco had despised the old man but he had never wished him dead. Dumbledore was right: he hadn't had his heart in that business. Draco doubted he'd ever be able to wipe that night from his mind.
"What happened in the Tower was strictly between the Headmaster and me," Snape stated coldly. "I'll ask you again and I shan't repeat it anymore: do you trust me?"
Draco closed his eyes, swallowing back the tears.
"Yes."
Time went by. Draco remained in Riddle Manor as he was meant to until his wounds would have healed. He had no meals although his lord was generous; he received no visitors although his mother clearly attempted to contact him. He was kept lying in bed, staring at the blank wall opposite him, cold and distant as the very stone foundation of this house of tragedy where his bed now stood.
Snape came every day, spending hours beside him. Sometimes the older wizard kept quiet. Sometimes he tried to talk some sense into his foolish young student. "I cannot allow you to kill yourself," he would admonish. "You're not the first and the last victim. Come to think of it, you are no victim at all."
Draco hated him for these words but didn't bother to show his reaction. One day Snape simply brought something with him. It was a big rectangular mirror without a frame; Snape put it right on the bed at Draco's feet to give him a spectacular view of a person half-sitting on the bed. Draco looked at the person indifferently, then drew forward slightly. The young man's face was sallow, framed by tousled, untidy hair of indefinite color. His lean form could barely stay upright. His hands were shaking. A baggy t-shirt hung loose on him. Draco shut his eyes and only then realized the person in the mirror was himself.
Days of training followed. Snape taught him new curses and incantations, made him brew new potions, and when the night came, he would softly chant the spells to keep the nightmares at bay. Draco lost count of days. Finally he began to talk again. He asked for food, he trimmed his hair, he took short walks in the ghostly park around Riddle Manor. He rarely saw the others except Snape, who always followed like a dark shadow behind him.
The day Draco left Riddle Manor it rained. Drops of water covered his cloak as he stood opposite the grim house of the Black family in London, contemplating its dimly lit windows. Actually the house was safely hidden under a number of charms but Snape instructed Draco how to see it. He could see everything, including black shapes behind the curtains. Someone was fussing inside, life pulsing vividly in that imposing ancient building. The life that Draco missed.
"We shall play our own scenario," Snape whispered in his ear. "You don't have to answer either to them or to the Dark Lord. You will have it your way."
"Or your way," Malfoy said doubtfully.
"Doesn't matter. What's in my best interest is also in yours."
Draco nodded curtly and started across the street towards the parade entrance. He had heard enough about the Blacks' old residence for the past weeks. What would it be like to enter it finally? He plucked up his courage and knocked.
Everything was silent for a few tantalizingly long moments; then the door cracked open and a plump face of a woman appeared. Draco squinted and realized with a start he was looking at Weaselby's mother.
And then he wheezed pitifully, "Help!" and sank down on the porch.
He felt he had lost his consciousness for real. He was taken inside the house despite somebody's fervent protests (he strongly suspected it was a Weasley; well, at least, one of them), and then somebody tended to him as if he were their own, and hushed voices spoke above him, blurred faces span in a whirlwind. Draco gave in to his make-believe exhaustion and passed out again. He knew that the game would begin as soon as he woke up.
To Draco's amusement, the first Occlumency lesson proved to be quite interesting. Potter resisted as hard as he could, making Draco waste a lot more energy on penetrating his thoughts than he would have wished to. But it was definitely worth it. Potter's mind was a maze of chaos, indistinct voices buzzing all the time, dreams and half-formed thoughts circling around like little flags. Draco had a lot of fun during the improvised duel of minds that took place during the lesson.
After that Potter was completely worn out. He lay in the mud just where he had fallen a few minutes earlier, gasping for breath. Draco squatted beside him, thinking: 'Well, at least that was much better than Snape had warned me.'
"I'm all right!" Potter breathed.
Draco grinned. "I didn't ask."
Potter snorted and staggered to his feet. He strode towards the river, pulling off his filthy shirt, saying he needed time on his own to sort things through. Draco didn't attempt to stop him. Frankly speaking, he was fed up with Potter's presence, too.
But he didn't walk away.
He watched Potter from the shadows, not knowing why the hell he was doing it. Moonlight caressed the young man's skin; it looked creamy and flawless. Everything about him was perfect at night. His bare chest heaved thrillingly with every inhale. The water splashed quietly as he dipped his sinewy arms into it, washing the mud off of his t-shirt.
He got up, rolled the t-shirt and wrung it out, then hung it over the branch. He warmed his numb limbs up in liquid movements, pacing along the river bank. Draco observed every detail of his fine body, down to the swelling at his fly, with a smile of amusement.
Potter looked around, made sure no one was near, and undressed quickly. Draco bit his tongue in order to contain an exultant exclamation as the other leapt into the water.
Harry threw his head back and floated on his back unashamedly. The water was perfectly still, unperturbed by his intrusion. Draco made his way towards the bank, taking his time. He sat beneath the tree and feasted his eyes upon Harry's leisured swim. His hand came across the rough fabric amidst the grass. Potter's jeans. Draco's lips curved into a secretive smile. He fished the wand out of the pocket of the jeans and with one flourish made them disappear. No need for clothes.
Harry emerged from the water, ruffled his wet hair and froze as he noticed Malfoy's studious gaze directed at him. For a moment silence hung heavy between them. Then Potter drew near and examined the ground in search of his trousers. Draco smiled wryly.
"That's not funny," Harry said briskly. "Give me back my clothes."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Draco didn't bother to keep the anticipation out of his voice. Let the other feel the need. He stood up and waited for the distance between them to shorten. Potter drilled him with a cross gaze as they drew close, as there was only a few centimetres between them, no distance at all...
Draco sucked at his lips with growing passion. He deepened the kiss, pouring his lust into it, and he got Potter to react, to slip his tongue into Draco's and caress his cheek insecurely. His fingers burnt against Draco's skin.
They broke the kiss, swinging into the dizziness of this first shy, deceptive endearment.
"You… want me?" whispered Harry.
"Want you!?" Slightly embarrassed by the shrillness of his outcry, Draco looked downward, then back into the emerald eyes before him. "I'm in a hell of desire for you! Never thought you were so blind."
Guessing whether Potter would finally yield, Malfoy wondered how much of what he'd just said was true. Damn! Every single word of it. He yearned every touch, every small sound escaping Potter's lips. His hunger weakened him.
Potter sank down on his knees abruptly, pulling Malfoy with him.
"I am," he whispered, trembling slightly. "I never dared trust you. Never wanted to."
He kissed Draco roughly, parting his lips, drawing the breath out of him. Surprised by such boldness, Malfoy drew back and lost his balance. He tumbled backwards and lay on the ground as Potter's weight came down full length above him, as he felt his clothes torn away, Potter's nakedness against his own. Potter lavishing him with kisses, going down until he finally surrounded Draco with a wet warmth, sucking greedily. Draco was drowning in that vibrant sensation. He could only think helplessly: 'This didn't go as planned.' It was but the last coherent glimmer of thought; afterwards – only Potter devouring him, gratifying him with his tongue in a paroxysm of unexpected passion. Draco gritted his teeth, swallowing the cry, and then fell back, released, panting and stunned as his plans crushed within one instant.
He lay still for some time, tête-à-tête with his confusion. The first timid stars twinkled above. For once there was the semblance of peace.
Draco skewed his eyes upon Potter who had resumed looking for his jeans. The other youth looked away uncomfortably. It dawned upon Draco that it might have been just too fast for him. His own impulses came as a shock to him.
Draco wrapped his arms around Potter and dragged him down to the ground. His body felt cold, still bearing the chill of water. Draco nuzzled his neck, nipped at the skin gently. With a quiet gasp Harry gave in to him. Draco was inside of him and he rode him brutally, and Harry felt alive, and hot, and pounding in his hand. With every thrust, with every stroke they drew nearer to the verge of pleasure and pain, the line that hardly ever existed at all. Harry moaned. They climaxed simultaneously, and it was over in an instant, that dazzling overpowering sensation. Harry shuddered beneath him.
Draco fell to one side and closed his eyes, exhausted. He felt a soft nudge, and then a hand glided over his sweaty skin, stroking it gently. He saw a faded scar in the form of letters carved over bluish veins, 'I must not tell lies'. Such humiliating atrocity appalled him, although he'd never have seen a great deal in it before.
Harry laid his head on Draco's chest so that he could feel his heart beating. And then there came a shower of kisses, generous and loving, and Draco's mind failed to comprehend how it was possible at all. Potter despised him. Potter had caused his father to go to prison. Potter was his enemy. Potter had always wanted this…
Harry flicked his tongue over the Mark emblazoned on Draco's wrist. Draco shuddered, gasping. The touch must have scorched Potter's lips for the youth jerked away for a second, smiled and licked the Mark again.
Draco shifted and planted a searing kiss upon Potter's infamous scar. The boy groaned, overcome by pleasure and shock.
'Guess I still have a lot to learn,' thought Draco, smiling. He knew that Potter liked it when he smiled that simple, un-Malfoyish smile, so he smiled for Potter.
