15. Watch me fall headfirst [Saturday, December 11th 2004]

Draco stood in front of the fireplace, the only source of light in the room. The fire roared, but Draco felt cold. It didn't matter that it was the middle of summer – the Manor was never warm these days.

Lying on his back at Draco's feet was the boy, eyes closed and breathing heavily. Every visible bit of skin was covered in blood, but his white Quidditch robes were spotless. Draco's head was swimming, vision blurring in panic. His wand felt like it might snap in his hand.

"More, Harry, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini?"

He was standing right next to Draco and it felt as if His sheer presence was sucking the warmth and light out of the room, as if He were a dementor, only much, much worse. So much worse. The giant snake was there too, circling them, hissing at Harry, flicking her tongue. And Draco couldn't look away, too terrified of what she might do if he dared let his guard down.

"Draco, give Harry another taste of our displeasure," He said.

And Draco knew that he didn't have a choice, that he had to do it, but Merlin, he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to lift his wand, to point it at Harry, to say the words like they didn't mean what they did. Like they didn't hurt him too.

"Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!" He commanded, and Draco knew what His wrath felt like, what it would cost him. He couldn't do this to Mother.

And Draco lifted his wand, which was so very heavy in his hand, and he looked down at Harry without really seeing him, his mind already far away. Nagini was no longer moving. She had stopped next to Him and they were talking, a constant, sinister noise that seemed to envelop all of them.

"Crucio," he said tonelessly.

Harry was screaming, lifting off the ground uncontrollably, trashing. Suddenly, a girl cried out, yelling "MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM!" and Harry eyes flew open, his acid-green eyes fixed on Draco's chest, which was soaked with blood, sticky and black. And then Draco was screaming too.

Strong, cold hands grabbed his shoulders, shaking him, and Draco was terrified. He never touched him, He always used His wand to hurt him, to hurt all of them. Why was He touching him?

The hands were like lead on his shoulders, weighing him down. And Draco couldn't stop screaming, but if he didn't, He would surely punish him too. Draco mustn't show weakness. But how could he not, when weak was all he was?

And then his upper body was lifted up – why had he been lying on his back? He hadn't been a second ago, it had been Harry on the ground, not him. Had the Dark Lord thrown him to the ground? Had Draco dropped down on his own? Would He end it now, feed him to Nagini?

And maybe that would be for the best. He couldn't go on like this much longer, he wasn't ruthless like them or calculating like Mother, he didn't have what it took.

Then there was someone else holding him tightly against their body, and it couldn't be Him – He would never touch anybody like that. He wasn't capable of sharing warmth or comfort, because He had none.

Draco clung to the person blindly. They were stroking his back now and there was something soft tickling his face, smelling comfortingly of grass and earth and rain, like something that was real.

He opened his eyes and was blinded. His sitting room was ablaze with light and kneeling in front of his armchair was Potter, hugging him to his chest. Draco released a shuddering breath, forcing himself to let go of Potter's shirt.

Potter let him back down carefully and then sat down on the floor, his back leaning against the coffee table. Aurelius leapt up onto the armchair, almost crushing Draco, who didn't mind. The dog could always make him feel better when it got like that.

"Well, this is embarrassing," Draco said hoarsely. The fire was still going, but Draco shivered nonetheless.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Potter said matter-of-factly. "I never have nightmares."

Draco couldn't help but snort and Potter's mouth twitched.

"Was it the snake?" Potter asked carefully. Draco busied his trembling hands with stroking Aurelius' fur.

"Partly," he answered shortly. "How did you know?"

Potter looked over his shoulder at the couch where he had lain. The boomslang was draped over the back rest. "She woke me up. I thought you might have heard her too."

They were silent for a while, Potter staring into the flames, Draco looking at Aurelius, who had placed his head on Draco's chest.

"Want to talk about it?" Potter offered.

"Not really," Draco said.

Telling Potter about his nightmare was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't need to know what Draco had done for Him – to Rowle, not Potter, he now remembered – and Draco just wanted to forget it ever happened, not dwell on it.

"Okay."

"What are you going to name her?" Draco asked, searching for a safer topic.

"Well, I rather like Murder Noddle," Potter deadpanned, looking at him.

Heart still racing, Draco let his head fall back against the backrest while maintaining eye contact. "You're the worst."

Potter smiled softly. "Yeah, I try."

"And really?"

Potter took a moment to think, looking over at the sleeping snake. Draco looked up at the ceiling, where Potter had conjured a giant floating orb of golden light.

"I really like her scales, so I think I'll call her Emerald," Potter said finally.

"You're naming her after her colour? How original," Draco said sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, not everybody can be as fancy as you are," Potter mocked, a grin tugging at his lips. "What's Aurelius mean, then?"

Draco looked down at his dog, who was now half asleep on top of him.

"It's Latin," he said shortly.

"For ...?" Potter pressed on.

All right, that one was on Draco.

"The golden one," he admitted sheepishly.

Potter laughed suddenly and then immediately yelped in pain and pressed a hand against his side.

Draco rolled his eyes and leaned forward in his armchair. "Come on, you're being ridiculous. Let me just heal that real quick and then you can go back to laughing at me."

Potter sighed but lifted his shirt obediently. Draco suspected that maybe he did it to get him off his back and also lift his spirits a little. Truth be told, Draco didn't really care why he did it, as long as he did. He took his wand from the coffee table and bore down on the bruises.

"Care to tell me what exactly you rammed through your body there?"

"It was nothing," Potter said half-heartedly. Draco just raised an eyebrow, inspecting the scar. "Fine. It was a footrest."

"How on earth –" Draco started, but Potter cut him off, apparently deciding to just get it all out at once.

"So, I was testing the Lightning with Blaise. We curbed it some, but I reckon it's still too fast. Well, we were going in opposite directions and we … er … grazed each other. And his footrest went right through, I guess."

"That broomstick already broke your back and impaled you, Potter!" Draco exclaimed in disbelief. "Why are you still flying it?"

Potter smiled at the ceiling with a dreamy look on his face, completely unperturbed by his rather grisly track record. "You've never flown it, have you? It's magic."

"That's what all of them are!"

"But that broom is something else. I want to die on that broom."

"You already did, you bloody moron!"

"And it was the best of all my deaths," Potter concluded.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You'd need to have died at least twice to actually be allowed to rank that experience."

"And what do you know about my death count?" Potter asked, brows raised.

"I've got full access to your medical files."

"That!" Potter said, scandalised. "I bet it also says I'm not a Parselmouth anymore."

"I'll give you that," Draco said. "But that's hardly proof of anything."

Potter just shrugged and reached over to stroke Aurelius. "You won't tell anyone, will you? Or put it in my chart?" Potter asked casually, his tense shoulders betraying him.

"I'd never give up blackmail material that easily," Draco said, waving his hand in dismissal.

Potter grimaced. "That's two Slytherins with dirt on me, now."

"Have you ever heard of 'fighting fire with fire'?"

Potter leaned further away from Draco, as if he would be able to see him better. "What ... want me to spy on Blaise and you?"

Nobody was that dense, right? Draco banged the back of his head against the armchair softly. "You're completely hopeless, Potter. You don't need to find something to hold over our heads. You have plenty already."

"I have?"

"Sure you do. You could probably get Blaise sent to Azkaban for attempted murder if you really wanted to. Or aggravated assault at the very least. And you do know that Poly-Parties are illegal?"

"But I was there too!"

"Nobody's going to throw you into Azkaban," Draco said exasperatedly. "They'd probably fine you a symbolic ten Galleons and then ask to take a picture with you."

Potter did his best impression of a fish underwater, opening and closing his mouth uselessly, before finally managing, "Then why did I even end up bribing Blaise?"

"Because Blaise knows how to turn the tides in his favour. And don't tell me he ever explicitly told you that you had to showcase his broom to keep him quiet."

"It was implied!"

"No, it wasn't," Draco disagreed. "He just led you to believe that it was. As far as he's concerned, you just wanted to help him out."

To say that Potter looked appalled would have been an understatement. He seemed to take it as a personal insult that Blaise had manipulated him that easily. "How is anybody supposed to see through that?"

Draco smirked. "You're not. That's the point."

"Bloody hell ... Fine, what have I got on you?"

"Potter, don't tell me you are really this stupid."

There was the glare again. Did he really think that making out with a Potter-look-alike wouldn't seriously hurt Draco's image? He could already imagine the rumours it would spawn. They'd say he was a creepy stalker. And he had been a Death Eater, of course. The public would never tolerate him lusting after Potter. They'd want his head. Pitchforks would be involved.

"Just don't tell anyone anything about me that you wouldn't want to read about yourself."

"So never even mention your name again?"

Potter looked up at his orb of light again, giving Draco an unobscured view of his neck. It was a rather nice neck – strong, but not too buff, and the flickering firelight made Potter's tan skin look even warmer. Draco could just make out the fine golden necklace, which drew attention to his delicate collarbones and –

Merlin, making out with his look-alive had been supposed to make it easier! Now Draco was marvelling at Potter's neck instead.

Telling himself that he was into Pansy in year five had definitely been easier than convincing himself he was not fancying Potter. All the evidence suggested otherwise. He had the sudden notion that he was rapidly turning into what Blaise liked to call a 'disaster gay'. Excellent.

Potter looked back at him and Draco tore his eyes away immediately. Right, Potter had said something. Talking. He could do that.

"Why, did you talk about me before?"

"Maybe once or twice," Potter allowed. "Usually about what an insufferable git you are." Then he got up and sat back down on the couch, the deadly snake just inches from his very unprotected skin.

"What time is it?"

"Quarter past three," said Potter, unfolding one of Draco's blankets and tucking himself up.

Draco dimmed the orb and then split it into a myriad of smaller ones, scattering them across the ceiling like tiny stars. They didn't talk again and ten minutes later, Draco finally drifted back to sleep, listening to Potter's deep, calm breathing.

When Draco woke up again, the sun had risen and Potter and his snake were gone. The empty food containers had vanished and his table looked just as it had before Potter had barged in, clutter and all. The arm braces lay on a chair, forgotten.