Title: The Boy Who Survived

Writer: Azure K Mello Draco/Harry

Overall plot: what does it take to make Harry trust his stalker?

Segment plot: Home has nothing to do with blood kin.

Disclaimer: please don't sue me. I have no money and I don't pretend to own these things.

Warning: angst.

Thanks for all the feedback!

Thank you, Cassy and Angelina, for the beta-ing! You're the best.


You lead me, half catatonic, down to your room. Pushing me to sit on your bed you drop to your knees in front of me. As you take my hands in yours you rest them on my lap. "Are you okay?" you ask softly.

"No," I say honestly.

"I love you," You look me in the eye as you speak, "Thank you for protecting me from the weasel; I'll protect you from everything."

Dropping my head I say, "I don't want to go there."

"You have to go, if only to tell them to fuck off. I'll be with you."

Nodding I say, "Yeah, that's part of it, actually. I know that you know what they did but I can't have you see it."

"I'm coming, Harry, nothing's going to change the way I think about you. I'm not letting you go alone."

"I don't want you to see. And you're right: I have to go. So let me go alone. Don't make a fuss."

You lean up on your knees and say, "It's not a fuss when it really matters. Take someone if not me. Don't put yourself in danger. Please, Harry, take an ally."

"You're the only one I have left," I say honestly.

"Please let me come? I'm scared for you."

And I pause. Scared for me? No one's ever been… "Fine. But can we rest here for a while first?" I just want you to touch me for a little while. You say you won't judge what you see but I know you will. How could you not feel disgusted when you see them touch me? I pull you up from the floor and you wrap yourself around me on the bed. We're fully clothed, and you're stroking my face, and I feel so safe. "Love you." I whisper.

"I love you too," you speak it like a vow.

"I'm scared," I admit.

Smiling gently you say, "So am I. But they're not going to hurt you anymore. No matter what is said or done I won't be anywhere but at your side. Nothing can change that. You'll just say that you're an adult by our laws and are never going back there. If anyone touches you they'll regret it. And then we'll come back and cuddle. Fuck the afternoon class we have Herbology. Does that sound agreeable?"

As I cuddle into you more I say, "Yeah."

"Harry, this isn't the end," you're stroking my face and you lean in to kiss me slowly, "Love you."

You roll us slowly so that I'm pressing you into the mattress, "You're so hot when you're under me," you laugh at my words. Your fingers run over my cheeks, down my neck, and over my back as I ask, "Can we make love?" Without a pause I start unbuttoning your robes.

"No," you cover my hands with yours, "Harry it won't solve any problems. It's not going to calm you down when you don't trust me."

"I trust you," I insist.

"You think I'll leave you. I care about you, not the way they think of you. Come here, maybe I can do something better, more reassuring, than sex," You pull me down and kiss me slowly as I feel the magical currents in the air shift as I fall into your open mind. You're bathing me in your love. Every inch of me glows as you allow me to slip through everything your experiencing. "I'm not going to run," you promise and I start to drift off. I see my magic seeping out of my body to touch you. You wind the power together with your own and then slip it back into my skin. "I'm inside of you; protecting you. Now get some sleep." I slip into unconsciousness as you take off my shoes.


When I wake up I'm curled into you. Under the covers I'm warm even though you stripped me of my outer robes. My fingers are tightly wound in your hair. So much so that my nails have gone blue but you don't seemed pained by my tugging. I try to untangle my fingers but that's when you wake up.

"Har?" you blink slowly. Reaching up you take my hands from your head, kiss my knuckles, and rest them against your chest. "How did you sleep?"

"It wasn't sleep; you knocked me out."

"You snore and drool while knocked out?"

"I did not!"

"Don't worry, it was endearing and sexy," you laugh and I kiss you.

I worry that if I did drool there must be dry spit on my face but you don't seem to care. "Thank you for before, I mean: letting me into your head."

With a leer you say, "You're always welcome inside of me."

And I smile but say, "We're procrastinating, I should go."

"I'm coming too," you speak as if it's a statement but I can see that you're nervous.

Remembering the love and fear I felt when I was in your mind I nod: I owe it to you to let you come.

So we pull on clothing in silence. You run your fingers over my wrist in the most mundane yet reassuring gesture you've made all morning. You take off a bracelet you always wear and hold it out to me in offering. "It's a good luck charm. You can wear it if you like. I just thought. . . I'm not trying to mark you or anything. . . It's stupid."

You move to put the band back around your wrist but I stop you and take the band away, sliding it over my hand. "Thanks."

"You can cover it if you like. We saw a thing in Muggle Studies about mating rituals and I'm not trying to "pin" you. I'm not presumptuous enough to think-"

"I get it," I assure you, "of course the tattoo on my stomach is a definite mark."

"But you asked for that and no one can see it unless you want them to," you sound uncertain.

Nodding I say, "Yes, and I would run around naked if I could. No one "pins" their girlfriend anymore, that's from the fifties. And it's American, not English." I look at the bracelet and say, "What a morbid design." A sphinx was being strangled by a snake.

"They grant wishes when they die; it's when they're most powerful. The snake that strangles a sphinx lives forever."

Not knowing what to say I falter, "That's beautiful. . . I think." And I turn up my sleeve to make sure it's visible. "We should go," I say as I step into my trainers and lace them up.

The smile on your face is clearly supposed to comfort me but you're abnormally pale. You slide your hand into mine and your fingers are freezing. "I sent Uncle Rus -I mean- my godfather a note. If anyone asks, we were at the cottage all day."

Feeling cold inside I say, "You promised me you wouldn't hurt them."

"I promised not to kill them; promised not to get sent to Azkaban."

"But-"

You interrupt, "Do you trust me?" I nod. "Then all you need to do is remember that we were at the cottage."


Apparating while holding hands is difficult but well worth it. We arrive in Little Whinging still touching one another and it's oddly reassuring. While walking to the house in silence you are obviously trying to allow me time to think. I don't want to be thinking though so I start a conversation. "Excited to see my childhood home?" I ask trying to make things light.

In a terse way you reply, "Honestly I would rather be having my toenails eaten off by gnomes if it meant that we could still be safe at the castle."

When you voice what I'm thinking I feel validated. I point to the playground, "I used to like that place. I would go there at night. No one ever found me."

"Maybe we can play on the swings once we've dealt with your uncle." You squeeze my hand, reassuring me that you'll be there after we see them, that you won't run.

The house is in view far too quickly. You move to drop my hand but I cling instead, so you weave our fingers together instead of relinquishing your hold. And I say, "I don't want to accommodate them anymore."

And you say, "I wasn't sure if we were trying to avoid rocking the train." You have a thing for Muggle expressions, don't you? I can't figure out if you're mutilating them on purpose.

"Boat," I correct, "forget rocking it. It's been sinking for years. I can't be bothered to bail it out anymore; not when I have you to hold me in the water."

You seem lost in the metaphor but reply, "I'll always hold you."

Knocking on the door I feel ill but you're still holding my hand. Your thumb caresses my knuckles. The door swings open and he's standing there. All the fear I've ever felt crashes back into me. "Hello," he says with a warmth that doesn't reach his eyes. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"You called for me on a school day." In the past he'd've killed me for turning up wearing my school uniform. It would have been a harsh beating, a forced apologetic blowjob as penance, and a week in the closet with only bread and water. But what can he do with you standing here?

"I'll tell them St. Brutus' made you wear a dress as punishment."

I shrug, "Fine, I don't care."

"Come in."

"No, I've come to say I'm not coming back. By our laws I'm an adult."

Anger shines in his eyes, "Well by my rules you're my boy. And my rules are law here."

Shaking my head I say, "I'm not your boy. And I'm not following your rules." I see him staring at our touching palms and watch his eyes travel up my wrist. I push up my sleeves with my free hand, "You haven't left a mark on me."

He tries a different approach, "You need to be here. Your aunt says that bitch of a mother did something so you're safe here. This is your home."

"Yes, being here protected me from Voldemort. He's dead. I killed him last year."

"So why did you come back over the summer?" he sneers.

I can't find a reply for a moment, mute I stand there. How do I explain that I thought I deserved this? How can I say I felt safer under his harsh care than by myself? How do I say fear and shame kept me immobile? "I. . . "

"Unless you enjoy the attention you get here. Do you like how we make you feel? Do we make you feel beautiful?"

"I'm leaving and never coming back." I turn to leave and you're moving with me. Uncle Vernon grabs my wrist and makes a strange, strangling noise. I let go of you and swing around to push him away. "Don't fucking touch me!" I shout, freaked out by the man's sudden contact.

He falls backward too easily and you say softly, "We should go, Harry."

I push past my prone uncle and walk into the house. In the living room there are four men, including Dudley, moaning much like my uncle. "What did you do?" I ask looking at how pale you've turned.

One man isn't in pain and you direct your attention to him, "How much did you pay to be here?" There's a cold glint in your expression that I haven't seen on you for ages. "How much did you pay for the honor of touching this beautiful young man?"

The man, who I've never seen before, sounds apprehensive. "£200?"

"£200? Well, Harry, he paid his money: touch him." The coldness is still in your eyes so I reach out and touch the man's arm, hoping you'll calm down, and he screams and convulses. "Do you think he charged your cousin?"

"I'm sure," I say, not seeing what you're asking.

You walk back to the door and feel through my uncle's pockets. Pulling out a roll of cash you say, "One thousand pounds. That's yours." You hold it out to me and I take it just so that I can hold your hand. "We should go. Are we going back to school?"

"Can we go someplace else?" I ask softly.

"Anywhere you like, Harry."

"Grimmauld Place?"

You make an assenting noise but say, "Of course, but I've never been or heard of there so can you keep me close when we Apparate?"

With a nod I pull you close to me and Apparate away quickly because I can't bear the place any longer. I can feel that we've arrived but you're still holding onto me. Stroking the back of your head I ask, "What was that?"

"The protection spell I placed on you earlier. Remember when I wove our magic together? I had to protect you."

Feeling the anger rising inside of me, I pull back and say, "You promised. You promised, Draco."

"I promised I wouldn't kill them, that I wouldn't go to prison. I also promised not to let them hurt you. I found the middle ground."

Bitterly laughing I say, "Are you going to tell me that wasn't illegal? You're going to go to prison! You stupid, foolish. . . God! Bastard. I trusted you."

"It was highly illegal. I punished Muggles with magic. But it won't trace back to me."

"So it will trace to me? Fuck you, Malfoy!"

You look like I've hit you and you sound so sad and hurt as you say, "Of course not. I wouldn't do that. Our powers combined don't bear either of our signatures. It won't trace to anyone I wouldn't break my promise but I couldn't let them walk away. What kind of a," you pause and I can tell you're debating the use of lover or boyfriend but instead you say, "of a friend would let them go unscathed? If that bastard had kept his hands to himself they would have all been forgiven. But he damned them the moment he laid his hand on you again. And when he touched you all of them felt it."

"What did you do to them?" I ask, feeling exhausted, even as I forgive you.

"Every hurt you ever felt because of them, every pain that you inflicted upon yourself because of them is now being rehashed by their minds. They will have to relive it over and over. It's all they'll ever experience now. And they cannot explain it to anyone. They'll never be able to tell a soul about what they've done. Never be able to clear their consciences. They'll hear, see, feel, taste, smell their acts through your eyes until they die."

"What about that guy who hadn't done anything-"

"Yet," you interrupted, "He hadn't done anything yet. But he wanted to."

"So that makes him as bad as them?"

Totally grey you look like you're about to vomit from rage, "He paid and he got what was owed to him for that. He paid to rape you. Don't defend him. Please!" You say the word with scorn but you're shaking. "The Victorians hanged men for less. He wanted to rape you so why shouldn't he suffer the same fate as the others?"

All the anger is gone from both of us and you're staring at the stoop, I think you're afraid of what I'll say. But instead I just pull you gently to me and hush you. "Okay. Shhhh. It's okay. Thank you for caring so much. It's alright now." I reach past you to knock on the door. "We're going to go inside and have some tea and calm down."

"Whose house is this?" you ask studying the façade.

"Mine."

"Then why are we knocking?" you lean back. "And why are the upstairs lights on?"

"Because," the door swings open and the man stands there, "Remus Lupin lives here."

"Yes, I do," confirms Remus. He looks between us and at our linked fingers, the way our hips touch, our tired, scared, upset expressions. "Harry, Malfoy, hello."

"May we come in?"

"Of course," he moves backwards, unblocking the entrance, "It's your home."

Breathing deeply I agree, "Yes, yes it is." I smile wanly at Remus and lead you into the sitting room. The fire is burning warmly, heating everything, and (though it's daylight outside) adding a homely glow to the place. I conjure a tea set with three cups and biscuits. I pour tea and push you onto the couch with a gentle hand. "Thank you for protecting me," I say finally as I hand you a cup and feel ashamed that I don't know how you take your tea. After all, you've been stalking me for so long, I should at least know something like this. And that seems odd, that I should feel I owe you something for irritatingly following me. But I do. I want to know stuff like this, which side of the bed you prefer, if you use toothpaste or potion, your favourite fucking book. You add a splash of milk but no sugar and I store the information. Handing one to Remus (liberal milk, no sugar) I say, "Thank you for having us."

With a nod towards you he says, "Is he alright?"

"I'm fine," you reply with an edge and as I come to sit next to you the tone softens, "Am I being dumped?"

"No," I shake my head, "you're mental but you meant well. It's okay. I know you're trying your hardest."

Watching the exchange Remus asks, "Are you in trouble?"

"We visited my family. I told them where to get off."

Remus pumped his fist in the air, "Yes! That's great. I'm so pleased. . . what did Malfoy do wrong?" And the sight of him making a fist seems odd as he has never been violent but I know he cares and maybe it's a relief to him. And I wonder how much time he's spent worrying about me.

"Nothing wrong, just dangerous. He placed an untraceable on my uncle to make him relive the not fun parts of my childhood."

You're studying him, trying to figure out if he knows how "not fun" it was. Do you honestly think I ever told anyone? Or that anyone watches me as closely as you? Remus knew my rules and actually followed them. "Well, if they can't trace it I don't see a problem. Thank you, Malfoy."

"You're welcome," you say softly. And I can tell from you're tone you're still trying to read him.

"How long will it take for it to run its course?" asked Remus obviously interested in the mechanics.

"Until he stops breathing," I can tell you're bracing yourself for him to be angry.

But he takes it in his stride and only blinks, "And how long will that take?"

"Well," you think for a moment, still not sure about him, "don't most Muggles live into their eighties with their form of medicine? From his weight, and state of his body, even with their mediMuggles -or whatever- I'd say he'll be seventy-seven or so."

"Can it be removed?" Remus was trying to hide a malicious smile. But you're too nervous to notice.

"If Harry desired it to be lifted. But the stress of removal would knock two decades off of Dursley's life expectancy."

"Wonderful," said Remus. And I shut my eyes, wondering if those men truly deserve this. I could have run away when I was younger, could have told Dumbledore, he would have let me stay at Hogwarts over the summers or sent someone back there with me. And Remus suddenly speaks softly saying, "If what he's put you through was minor than the punishment will only tax him so much, he'll feel the guilt he should have always felt. If it was more severe, enough for his pain to be constant, then you have nothing for which to feel badly."

I don't open my eyes. I try to focus on whether it will trace to us. "The problem is that if they do any detective work at all they'll learn that things have been strained within Gryffindor because of our getting together. Even if it doesn't have your signature they'll suspect you."

"The curse reads like a magical malady not a spell. The ministry will think it's some weird epidemic and when they see that neither of us have it they will look elsewhere for a source. And even if they suspected us we have Severus for an alibi."

"Wait," Remus interrupted, "epidemic and Severus?"

"The curse effected everyone who added to my problems. Severus is his godfather." I shrug not wanting to explain this and still worrying about the consequences. I can't look at you or him so I just keep my eyes shut, waiting for everything to fall apart, I'm almost expecting Ministry officials to swarm.

"How many would that be?" Remus sounds ill.

"Maybe nine all together." Then I redirect us to the important point, "There is a record of us Apparating. It won't list a destination but it will show we weren't there."

"We went Christmas shopping in London and came here," you explain quickly.

"Before of after we spent all day with your father and godfather?"

Exasperated you say, "You're the Savior of Wizarding Kind, no one will look into this if you just stay by me and act shocked! We're safe. Relax."

"Relax?" I almost scream.

"You would have done the same for me," you say softly. You reach out and touch my fingers and my eyes fly open. My hand that isn't holding my tea cup is tightly holding my other wrist. My fingers are curled over your bracelet in a desperate attempt to hold onto some kind of control. I can't argue with your words, of course I would have skinned them alive and set them on slow burning fire with a torture spell I read about while training if they'd touched you. Stroking my fingers you say, "The sphinx is dead, Harry, we're going to live forever. This will never touch on your life again. That part is done. They are never going to hurt you again."

I nod and finally let the tension bleed out of my body.