Chapter Ten

Harry woke up on Sunday feeling giddy. It was the same sort of feeling a child got before going to Disneyland. His hands trembled slightly and when pouring his wine, he almost spilled it. In fact, he didn't remember the wine tasting this good recently. But all colours seemed to pop, dazzling his eyes, and everything just came to life.

Draco was finally coming. Of course, he had no clue when Draco would come – it could be in a minute or four hours. Harry had woken up earlier than usual, and each passing minute only meant he was that much closer to seeing Draco. His stomach dived and knotted. His jaw clenched. It was impossible to sit still.

He was past the point of caring how much Draco affected him – not completely, but enough that he could shove the thought to the back of his mind. Harry curled up on the couch and yawned, his fingers picking at some loose pieces of string. He yawned again and hoped Draco wouldn't take too long. The night had barely begun and he was already sick of waiting.

To keep his mind off of the slowly moving time, Harry pulled himself upright again and grabbed whatever was closest to him off of the desk. "Whatever" turned out to be the album of photos of his parents. Over the years, people had handed him several others, including one of the four Marauders. Harry looked at it, feeling his chest constrict as it did every time. Every time he thought of Sirius arching backwards into the veil or Remus' body stacked among the dead – Harry gulped, feeling a knot form in his throat.

If it hadn't had been for him, they might still be around. It was difficult sometimes not to blame himself. Still, he remembered standing with the Resurrection Stone. All of them had seemed at peace. And if nothing else, he knew they all forgave him. That was all that really mattered.

Turning back a few pages, he saw a picture of his parents holding him. He was far too little to remember the memory, but when they waved at whomever was taking the picture, Harry couldn't help but feel that they were waving at him. Their eyes crinkled as they smiled. Harry waved back for a split second before he heard the whoosh of someone coming. Carefully he placed the photo album back on the desk and sat a bit straighter. The scent was unmistakable.

Draco must have come almost directly from Venice. He wore a sleek black tuxedo with a white tie. There wasn't a single crease to be found. He might have looked like a mannequin if it wasn't for his lightly dishevelled hair. Harry took a step forward, and his hands shakily reached out to touch Draco's.

He could barely breathe as he felt static between their skin, even from a distance. It crackled and vibrated. Everything seemed to radiate perfection until Draco looked away. As their hands brushes together, Harry could feel Draco's twitch as he urged himself not to pull back. The rejection stung, but Harry leaned forward, swallowing the hurt. Again, Draco stiffened as Harry laid his hand on his shoulder. Draco didn't yet pull away, but just stood there, eyes closed.

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered, feeling all kinds of energy return to him. A bubbling feeling of warmth spread throughout him, and he nestled a little more firmly into Draco's shoulder.

"Look, Potter, I'm not overjoyed with this situation, but I do want to help. I'm still human, and what you said did hurt." Finally, Draco had spoken! That was his way of accepting Harry's apology, and Harry knew it. His smile broadened, but he couldn't help but wonder –

"Why do you want to help so much? I mean, you never were than fond of me. I'm pretty sure you would've hexed me at Hogwarts had you gotten the chance. Actually, you did."

"I have my reasons." Draco's breath hitched as Harry pressed himself completely against him. This time Draco did pull away a little, shifting uncomfortably. "You're pushing it, Potter."

"What reasons?" Harry fell back to the couch and motioned that Draco follow him. After a glance at the empty armchair, he did.

"They're for me to know. Do you have to keep on doing that?" Harry had proceeded to nuzzle against Draco's shoulder once more and shamelessly looked up, grinning.

"Sorry." There was no real apology in his voice. But still, he backed off, his hands sliding down Draco's arm. Draco shivered beneath him. Seduction was never really one of Harry's strong points, but he felt drunk with power, willing to push his limits. This whole thing came to him almost as easily as breathing.

"Potter, really, if you don't stop soon, I'm going to leave. I didn't come back to be molested by an underdressed vampire." He shifted over a few centimetres away from Harry. But Harry simply slid back.

"Well, you won't tell me why you care. How am I supposed to know?" With a sly grin, he let his hand move back, and pretended – poorly so – to slip. His hand fell between Malfoy's legs, squeezing gently, and he giggled. Yet the situation was anything but amusing to Draco. He finally jumped up, backing away. His nostrils flared and his wand was suddenly in his hand.

"That's it, Potter. You've tried your luck. I've attempted to be patient, but it's clear you're never going to take this seriously. You could die. I'm trying to help Granger and Weasley stall there time, but you don't care that I'm taking time away from my overly busy schedule to help you." With a violent thrust, he shoved his wand into his pocket again and began to storm away. Harry leapt up, reaching him before Draco got to the fireplace.

"I'm sorry. I take it back. Draco, please, don't leave. I'll sit as far away from you as you want. We'll do what you want. Just don't leave." His fingers wrapped around Draco's clothes, and he stared wide-eyed at Draco. "I know you're giving up a lot. I don't mean to be so ungrateful." Harry's words must have struck a chord because Harry saw him deflate and give in. When he looked up, Harry felt nothing but guilt. His eyes suddenly looked dull and he sagged forward.

In fact, tears seemed to be lurking behind his eyes. Harry saw them water and noticed Draco's jaw clench as he pulled them back. And intense need to comfort him – or do something to lessen his pain – overtook him. Of course, he had no clue why Draco suddenly fought back tears, which made the problem all the more difficult to solve.

But Draco's barrier's caved in, and a tear fell down his face. There was a sharp intake of breath and Draco quickly wiped it away with his sleeve as if that could erase it. Harry panicked. There had to be some way he could help Draco – any way. With Draco's unhappiness, his heart felt heavy, and he fought the urge not to throw up. So, when instinct kicked in, he didn't question it.

He simply grabbed Draco's face, leaned forward, and kissed him. The room seemed to fall away for a brief second. Any sound drifted away from earshot, and suddenly it was as if they were they last two people, standing in front of a black hole, invincible. The doorway to humanity faded, and space gripped them in an unbreakable vacuum. His tongue gently probed into Draco's mouth, and he probed this unfamiliar territory tentatively.

Draco's mouth tasted of vanilla sugar and strawberries. Maybe it had been what Draco had eaten for a snack. Harry could imagine him biting down, the dark red juice dripping down his chin. In his mind it turned into blood. Fuck – the venom flowed him to his mouth, and his grip on Draco tightened. He wouldn't have to hurt Draco, just have a little taste. Now he just had to slowly glide down to his neck...

The moment shattered as two hands shoved him backwards. He fell against the floor and felt magic hold him back and keep him in a python grip. Yet Harry made no attempt to struggle once he saw Draco's expression. There was nothing but horror and loathing on his face. No ounce of sympathy.

Nothing.

It was complete rejection. Harry could barely breathe. Not being with his mate was one thing. Still, he had known, even as an Auror, that there was no feeling comparable to it. But nothing could have prepared him. His throat closed off and every nerve suddenly felt flayed. Like the Cruciatus, Harry could barely even think. Yet with a careful, ragged breath, he managed to choke out Draco's name.

The blond didn't listen. Draco turned around and spoke quietly with his back still turned. "I don't care what it does to you. Don't go running to Granger or Weasley. I don't care what they have to say either. I'm done trying. I'm done with this. I don't know how I even thought this was a good idea. Let the Ministry find you. I don't even care anymore."

With that, he stormed away, leaving Harry's words and breath stuck somewhere inside of him. It was impossible to breathe or comprehend what had just happened. His mind was fuzzy and drowned out in screams. Nothing seemed to matter, and everything slowly faded at the corners. All that Harry could see was Draco's face – his words – replaying over and over again in his mind like a broken record. The only thing that kept him sane was the cause of his misery. The kiss stayed aglow like a candle in darkness. The strength and power that had blossomed in that single gesture flickered but stayed alive.

It could have been minutes – for all Harry knew – when Ron and Hermione stumbled in. From their rumpled clothes and repeated apologies, he guessed it was more likely to have been hours. Ron immediately released Harry from the bonds and began his question with a stutter. Hermione picked it up.

"We got a letter saying Draco was never planning to come again. What the hell happened?" Harry shook his head, feeling as if someone was carving into his heart. He curled up into a ball, his eyes screwed shut. When his knees bumped into his chest and stilled, there was minimal relaxation. He unfurled again, his breath ragged. Still, from Ron and Hermione's horrified expressions, he knew he was more of an animal now than he ever had been before.

"Harry?" Ron approached him cautiously and leaned down next to him. No words came out of Harry's mouth. When he opened it to speak, the only sounds were gasps. His breaths seemed to catch in his throat, and it felt as if someone's fingers were digging into his chest. Draco... He couldn't do this without Draco! And it was his fault that Draco hated him. His fault that Draco had rejected him.

The need to find Draco and beg for forgiveness, to crawl up to him and ask for him to come back – it was overwhelming. But Draco wouldn't care. Hadn't he said something about the Ministry finding him? Draco wanted him dead. The thought was a knife dug into his heart up to the hilt.

"Oh God..." Hermione ran up to Harry and paused before she could hug him. The look of helplessness of her face shone, and her eyes swam with tears. "He's just angry. He's left before. Harry, he'll turn around. If he was willing to come back and risk his life so that you wouldn't go insane... He'll come around. He has to."

"And if he doesn't?" Harry asked it so quietly that Hermione wasn't even sure she hadn't imagined it. But then Harry opened his eyes, and he looked at her with the same fear of a child freshly after a nightmare, the images still imprinted and the monsters still chasing him.

"So you behaved a little rashly, and Draco was scared. He doesn't know what he's doing. Of course he's going to freak out at times. I'm scared too, Harry. But we all just want to help." Harry could detect her uncertainty and tell she was trying to convince herself. A part of him wanted to believe Hermione, though, and after a moment's pause, he nodded.

Pulling himself off the floor, he dropped down on the couch. His gaze was vacant. He shoved away the pain and only allowed himself to stay numb. Ron shivered at how expressionless Harry's face was. He looked like an Inferi, almost. Or, at least, to some extent. Ron bit his lip nervously for a moment before sliding down next to Harry.

"I have something to tell you. I don't want you to worry, but I thought you'd want to know." Harry's head turned, and the same blankness remained on his face. Ron waited for a second, expecting Harry to say something, but when he continued silently, Ron sputtered into speech again. "Look, I was talking with Kingsley. I don't think he's suspicious yet, but he's going to be soon. He's already surprised that you're wasting all your vacation time in one go. I told him you were really stressed and you needed some time to relax. As for Hermione –"

"I'm trying really hard to find a cure. And I think it's a possibility that my idea works. Fingers crossed, huh?"

"Yeah, fingers crossed. Hey, I think I want to be alone if that's alright." He leaned over and fell, again curled up, knees tucked up under his chin. It was worse than anytime fighting Voldemort. Harry felt defenceless. There was no simple solution this time. It was worse than when he had been locked in that claustrophobia-inducing closet for weeks at a time, nightmares with green flashes plaguing his mind. He needed time for silence. Time when no one would try to convince him that everything was going to hell or that it would work out. Just time to cancel it all out and listen to nothing. It was time to shut off and to pretend that nothing was wrong and drown in lack of thoughts.

"Sure thing, Harry." There was the whoosh of the fire, and then only peace. Harry shut his eyes, pretending tomorrow didn't even exist.

So, I guess I leave you again on an unhappy note? Oops.