Guess who's back *grins* Long story short: another, much longer unexpected hiatus happened to me-which I swear to god I DID NOT PLAN. And have no one but myself to blame but myself, the too-hot unbearable heat, and writer's block since 5th year seriously is one heavy, tricky year and coming up with ideas were hard. But thanks to sweet PMs and reviews from you awesome people, my dear baby Harry Potter's birthday that recently passed, my friend Lenora aka SensiblyTainted's PM that sparked a lot of ideas, I finally got my lazy butt to writing and created this.
Thanks so much for the love. Can't believe my story actually reached over 1000 reviews :D Means so much. Shoutout to my awesome friends: littlenightdragon who's a badass Slytherin, Sammie aka dreamydrarry (and another crafty Slytherin) whose day I hope gets brighter with this update, and mykkila09 and SensiblyTainted for their help with this chapter. Highly suggest you guys check out these two stories. They're insanely good-and very much addicting.
Chapter 44: The Calming Hymn of the Storm
Noises of the bustling French streets buzzed and hummed outside the balcony of his bedroom. The windows in the mansion Father had built for them in northern France were wider than the Manor with the windows reaching up to the ceiling, stretching out to the entire wall, letting streams of bright sunshine into the room, gifting him with a beautiful view of the city, the buildings, the shops, the people.
Too bad for them, Draco's attention wasn't on the brilliance of the city. It was on his appearance.
Draco stared back at his reflection that watched him critically, cocking his head to the side to study it from a different angle.
It was astonishing what a summer could do to people. The timing itself possessed a sort wonderment behind it: a summer of change, a summer of possibility, a summer where one went off, either back home or a new setting and returned different. It was strange what three simple months (four if he counted the mid-May date they were released from school) could do a person. How it could shape their appearance, shape their mind.
Evidence of his change was clear on his face. His skin-tone, despite the hours he spent out in the sun during his lessons and his alone-time, glowed to clear, luminous porcelain. His white-blonde hair had grown out, nearly reaching his chin, which he tucked behind his ears. His face appeared the same but different. More mature in a way, more narrow, more sharp, making his chin and cheekbones more prominent, which made him look older than fifteen. Of course, his eyes held the biggest pieces of his newfound maturity, sharp and completely clear.
A far cry from the fresh-faced fourteen year old that reluctantly left England to return to the Veela retreat in France. He wondered if he would look different next year or if evil, nasty puberty for the previous three years he branded as a villain was finally settling in.
Or if the changes were brought on by a certain inheritance that was taking hold of him.
A jolt of razor-sharp pain flared up his back, biting into his left shoulder blade.
Draco bit his lip to keep in the pained cry racing up his throat, gripping onto his shoulder as if he could push back the pain.
When the burning finally eased, he released his shoulder, unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, and turned his back to the mirror, lifting up his shirt and looking over his shoulder to examine his back.
For the most part, it appeared normal. A mass of smooth, nearly flawless pale skin the color of cream. Until closer examination picked up on a thin, long line marked at his upper shoulder that looked like it was drawn by a dagger. Similar to the one on the right side of his back, occupying the other shoulder that had another mark underneath it, a bit longer. The newest mark, still bruised-red and underneath under the left mark, was longer than other two, slanting out into a curve.
Swallowing down a hard lump, Draco's eyes went from his back to his hand that gripped onto the shirt, nearly damaging the material.
He tried his hardest not to roll his eyes as the instructor called them to split up into pairs and fight only with their hands. His body was still stiff, eyes heavy from the lack of sleep he'd been experiencing the past few days. His dreams disturbed by two images.
The first of a dark-haired little boy coming into the Manor late at night, his face and hair and blue pajamas stained with blood, his hollow eyes gazing up at Draco. The second of two boys tumbling out of thin air. One long dead, whose wide eyes were directed up to the sky. The other bloody and bruised, as if he barely escaped with his life, who through all the chaos and the screaming managed to slowly turn his head over to Draco's direction and look at him with bright green eyes that were just as vacant as the corpse beside him.
Those same, vacant eyes have been haunting him since the last time they saw each other.
Hands balling into tight fists, Draco forced his feet to move, not in the mood for another lecture on his lack of participation. He eyed his opponent. A tall, wide-frame boy with a fat double chin who looked about as old as Delacour. Actually, now that he thought about it, this was the same bamboo who managed to take Delacour down their last defense class.
The fool wore the same superior smirk he had last time as he faced Draco. "Couldn't help but notice you reading the Prophet earlier?" he asked slyly, a thick Italian accent attached to his voice.
Draco arched an eyebrow. Was that how he planned on undermining him? Mindless drabble?
"Couldn't help but notice the headline. Boy Who Lies." The smirk grew. "Catchy tune, shameful end."
Tension grabbed hold of Draco's body, carving his spine like a blade.
"You two are close mates, yes? Maybe you should think about cutting are to were? I would if I were you."
Tension coiled inside him.
"After all, the Malfoys can't afford to be seen on the wrong side? Unless, of course, you already are."
Tension snapped.
It happened so fast. One second they were standing apart from each other, the fool baiting, Draco trying not to the react. The next, the fool was knocked flat on his face, his face deformed and mutilated with Draco being pulled away by the instructor and several students before more damage could be done.
Heart pounding, adrenaline rushing, Draco glanced down at his hands that were spiked with talons extending from his fingertips. Stained bright red with chunks of skin stuck in between his fingers that were formerly part of the fool's face.
The remaining tension in his body faded away with calmness pouring into him as he studied his hands, the blood, and the torn skin almost as if they were art. A calm, steady, detached sort of coolness that settled onto him like a second skin. He stared at his hands until the talons shrunk into normal nails, the gore remaining.
He then walked over to the fool and stared down at him. "Insult my family again, you're dead." He lifted his left foot and slammed it down hard on the bamboo's thick neck. "Insult Harry again, you will be wishing you're dead by the time I'm done with you." The bamboo was wheezing, trying to break free from Draco's hold. Too bad for him, Draco applied more pressure to his foot, pressing down harder. "Provoke me in any way, come near me again, attempt to even breathe my direction…you will die in a such slow, unspeakably agonizing way that the devil himself will weep for you."
The bamboo's was a pained moan, pained and fearful as he looked into Draco's face.
Draco made his way out the door.
He was only in England for a few days before Mother informed him of his return back to the Veela retreat. If it was last year, he would have fought against it, he would've ranted until he was blue in the face, throw denial and denial like hexes. But this time he didn't have the energy in him to resist. His nerves that had been on edge and over-wired exhausted him. His head was filled with memories of the aftermath of the Tournament, those two boys tumbling in and empty bright-greens looking at him, and then those memories turning to nightmares of the owner of those also being dead.
Just because he didn't make his disdain vocally clear didn't mean he expected much out of it. He figured things would be the same as before. With Delacour following him around like a shadow, lectures on them digging in deep to unlock the hidden side to themselves, lessons and tactics he wouldn't be part of due to lack of traits and parts, him observing from a distance and trying not to die from boredrom. And during the first few weeks, his expectations were well-met. The lectures were tedious, the lessons useless, and Delacour a pretty-faced pest that always popped up, shooting him concerned glances as he passed by her or sent out letters that were unanswered.
Looking back, maybe the signs were there. It was possible it was always there but he refused to see it for a number of reasons. However, in his eyes, pure coincidence. Incidents. Even when the evidence became stronger and more frequent, he refused to look to see. But denial could only go so far until your hands became claws and your fingers were wearing pieces of a clown's face.
Draco ran his hands over each other. They haven't changed since the fight, remaining two ordinary hands. But he knew from the experience that strong emotion, such as anger, was the trigger behind it, and time would only tell if his anger ever reached that fiery height again.
A knock on the door disturbed his thoughts. He blinked, and then turned over to it.
Mother came into his room, smiling. "Almost ready?"
"Just about."
She nodded, and then cast her eyes out the wide windows which gifted them a beautiful view of the city, the markets opening, the vendors calling, the people enjoying the bright morning. She sighed, watching it unfold. "I've always loved France. There's just something ethereal about it. As if time can't touch it. A private haven from the rest of the world."
He came to France to learn more of his Veela inheritance. Mother came along with him to watch over him, busying herself with shopping and sight-seeing while Father stayed behind in England, handling "business", sending the occasional letter to Draco on his whereabouts, questions on Draco's own development, and then most recently a list of potential brides he should look into.
A letter that left the taste of acid in his mouth.
Mother turned her head over to him, offered him another smile, and came over to him. She gently batted his hands away and took over, helping him with the rest of his clothes. Smoothening out the crinkles in his shirt, fixing up his collar, and then pining on his cloak, adding his badges: his house crest and his new Prefects pin that came in a few days ago.
"You know I can always get a house-elf to help me with it?" he said.
"I know," she answered. Yet she still preferred handling the small tasks herself: rocking him to sleep, tucking him into bed when he was a child, straightening up his appearance.
As she smoothened his clothes, Draco began more aware of the letter he had tucked away into his pocket with three words written on it. One folded and refolded, read over so many times, marked with only three words: I miss you. The first and only response he had gotten from Harry after weeks of unanswered letters.
When Draco received the letter, he was beside himself. Weeks of countless letters and he got back a small note with only three letters. After Harry pulled away from him, after Harry refused to see him, after Harry replied to his questions with a silence so heavy Draco could feel it from across the country. He was tempted to reply back but resisted, knowing would just be a strongly-colored letter rant. He wanted to give into the petty side and toss it into the fire. But he kept it. He kept it and read it over and over again, his mind spiraling a thousand different directions. Much like it had been most of the summer.
"Give him time." Mother murmured, fixing his collar. She didn't even need to look up to know what was on his mind.
"Do you think…?" Draco hated how small his voice sounded. So unsure. He bit his bottom lip. "Do you think he's alright?"
Mother smoothened her hands over his collar and looked up at him. Her smile remained but grew small, a bit more hesitant. "Everyone deals with trauma in their own way, at their own pace, dragon. It's not an easy feat to overcome. In fact, most times it's a day to day battle people have to face. And Harry..." She drummed her fingers against his chest as she worked up a safe response. "Harry wasn't in the best place when last I saw him."
Right there was the reason why Draco kept the letter. Why his annoyance and anger over what happened fell just as quickly as it rose. Why his mind was constantly on a loop, going this way and that.
A week before Draco went off to France, after sending dozens of unanswered letters, Mother went over to Grimmauld Place to check on Harry. He insisted that he came along, but she refused to. Half an hour later, she returned looking shaken.
"What happened-" She reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder. It was the clutching grasp of her hand that silenced him, holding on tightly before it loosened.
"I think-I think, dragon, Harry needs some time to himself before he can see anyone else."
"Even me?" he asked. His voice so small he barely heard it.
Mother's curved into a trouble frown before it was fixed into a straight line, her eyes spinning with so many unsaid words and thoughts. She finally looked up at him and patted his cheek, only reminding him to make sure he had everything he needed before they both left for France, and then left him alone in his room.
His mother, his calm, rational Mother shaken so badly from her return. The vacancy in Harry's eyes when they looked at him, and then later on when Harry turned away from him and demanded in a broken voice that he go. Those were the elements kept Draco from storming over to Grimmauld Place himself. What kept him rooted at the camp instead of not marching over there, knocking through Black, Lupin, whatever obstacle he might face, and see himself what the tournament had done to his boy.
Despite the crippling pain in his chest. It was similar to the aches that pricked his chest whenever they were separated, but this summer it was ten times worse. Fifty even, digging into his heart like fish hooks that pulled and pulled with every mile spread out between them. With each passing day they spent apart.
Mother laid a hand against his chest, reeling him back into reality before his mind took him down too deep. "But he is a strong boy, one who will need his friends now more than ever. He'll need you just as you'll need him."
He managed to put on a soft smile on her, but he noticed how frail hers suddenly became. Mother studied him, truly studied him, eyes darting over his eyes, his cheeks, his nose, then back to his eyes again. Taking everything in.
"There was once a time when you were barely up to my waist."
Draco stared back at her, unsure of what to say.
She took in a deep breath and released it with a sign, throwing him another smile. "Well," she said. "We better get going."
Draco nodded and his way over to the door. Then paused as he heard Mother call out to him again, glancing over his shoulder.
"Know that no matter what, I'm on your side. Yours and Harry."
There it was again. That calm beat of her heart, the sound note in her voice. So calm, so soft that it sounded off to him.
As much as he wanted to look more into it, he knew he barely had time. He had a train to catch and a friend to see. With that in mind, Draco nodded, grabbed his bag, and went downstairs.
Only to find a surprise waiting for them in the parlor room. Father who rose from the couch at the sound of their footsteps and came forward to them. His hair was still long but Draco saw a yard of it had been cut; now reaching his elbows. He looked more tired than the last time they saw each other, with more stressed ceases added to his face, but he kept his posture straight and proud, hair neat, cane in hand. The perfect image of an untouchable lord.
"Father," Draco said at the exact moment Mother asked, "What are you doing here, Lucius?"
To Mother, he answered, "I thought I'd surprise you by coming to the villa so we'd all go to the platform together. Last I checked that wasn't exactly a crime, Narcissa."
Her lips pursed into a thin line, but she said nothing else.
To Draco, he said, "Seems the retreat is growing on you. You look well."
Draco acknowledged the words with a slight nod.
"I am also here to give you your birthday present," Father removed one hand from his cane to reach into his cloak, pulling out a small gray suede box. "I wanted to see your reaction in person."
The box size alone limited the possibilities of the surprise down to one. But still Draco accepted the box accepted, handling it with great care, and opened the cover. Nestled inside, cushioned with small clothes of black velvet was the Malfoy family wear wore by his father, his grandfather's, his grandfather's father and so forth. Twin silver snakes slithering across the platinum sliver band, their heads colliding against the oval centerpiece decorated with the silver-white Gothic-styled M that had black dragons by its sides and the Slytherin colors splashed around it.
It was a gift Draco knew he would eventually receive, but later on, like his seventeenth birthday or even as a graduation gift once he finished school. He also thought that the day he'd receive it, he'd feel great accomplishment. Pride, happiness even. Yet other than slight surprise, he didn't feel anything else as he looked at it.
"It's-it's beautiful." Draco said.
Father took his lack of words as speechless wonder, smiling at him. "I know it's a tad bit early. Typically the Malfoy heir receives the ring on their seventeenth birthday, but, well, this was one tradition I decided to break."
What else could he say? Draco studied the ring again before he closed the box and placed it inside his pocket. "Thank you, Father."
Father came close to him and laid his hand on Draco's shoulder. "Did you get my recent letter? Have you given it any thought?"
Draco bristled before he fixed his face into calm neutrality. Oh-that letter. The list of potential brides. The same letter he received around the time he had that match with the bamboo. The same that made sharp acid spiral through his insides as he read it. The same one he fed to the lake, where it was fed to the deep waters. For that question, Draco decided silence was his best answer.
Seemed it was the best answer the way Father's smile widened. Then immediately fell as Mother came down the stairs and passed by him without another word, filling Draco's head with a strong sense of suspicion something more went on between them than just business and Mother's claims of wanting to be closer to Draco.
"Shall we go?" she asked.
The house-elf started the Floo for them. His parents waited for Draco to go through first. He turned back for a split moment and saw Father trying to reach for Mother's hand, a gesture she rejected by pulling away from him.
Platform 9 ¾ was the same as it was every year: busy, busy, busy. Students, old and new, filling the entire length of the place with their families, excitement and anticipation over the new year filling the brisk morning air. Friends, dressed in their casual clothes or Hogwarts robes, shouting at one another, running into each other's arms, clustering into their groups. Parents after and at them to watch over themselves, to write daily, and triple-check they saw everything. Pets from owls to cats rattling in their cages as exhausted porters carried them onto the train, along with the rest of the luggage. As familiar as the setting was and the atmosphere, there was still something unsettling about it.
It could have been the fact more eyes were drawn to him, which made him wonder if the developments he picked up at the Veela retreat were that transparent. It could have been the fact, despite how crowded the platform, he didn't see too many people from his class there. It could have been the fact there was something dark and heavy lingering in the air, cloaked underneath new year nerves and jitters, that made his nerves stand on edge.
Draco recognized a few familiar faces. Crabbe and Goyle with dreadful haircuts that looked like they were done in the dark. Pansy who was linked arm-to-arm with Blaise, rolling her eyes at whatever the Italian was saying. Daphne trying to peel herself away from her younger sister, a miniature version of the girl with a darker shade of blonde hair, who was clutching onto her older sister for dear life. He also saw unpleasantly familiar faces. Longbottom, whose face was bright as a tomato, as he stood in between his grandmother that was babbling away and Lovegood who appeared amused by the woman's words. Weasley and the rest of his clones surrounding their mother who yanked one child into her arms for a spine-crushing hug, then reached out for another. Granger was chatting away with the she-weasel, although the conversation came to halt when she noticed Draco staring at her.
She examined him, almost as carefully as Mother had earlier, before a frown caught hold of her mouth and she turned away.
Just as pestering as always, Draco concluded with a frown. Granger was a nuisance but at this point it was common knowledge. Besides she wasn't worth his attention. What was, however, was the fact she was there, Weasley was there, the rest of his friends were there, but he didn't see Harry anywhere.
Draco was surprised to see Harry wasn't with them. Surprised and disappointed-and also worried. Especially when he cast his eyes around the place and still couldn't find him.
Pain streaked through his chest like a set of claws, bleeding out into anxiety.
"Malfoy?"
Draco turned, distracted (and relieved) by the locks of jet-black hair in front of him. Then his relief died a fiery death when he saw those locks belonged to the wrong boy.
Theo stood in front of him, looking just as surprised to be there as Draco was to find him there. A light shade of pink came over his cheeks, and Theo tried to play it off by clearing his throat.
"Do you mind if we talk?"
Draco's eyes narrowed. The last time the two "talked", Theo made it clear he didn't want anything from Draco other than to drop dead after he found out what happened (or rather, what almost but still didn't happen) between Draco and Pansy at the Yule Ball.
"Please." Theo added.
He supposed there was no harm in hearing what else he had to say. Draco followed Theo into a small alcove tucked into a corner and leaned against the wall, waiting for Theo. He wanted the conversation, so he might as well start it.
Theo stared down at the ground, his fists clenched, then unclenched. "I-I…it's ironic how one soak up mountains of literature like a sponge and yet can't hardly string a set of words together in real life."
Draco arched a questioning brow at him, arms crossed against his chest.
Theo sucked in a breath, puffing out his cheeks, and let it out slowly. He looked up at Draco and said. "I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry things got out of hand. That night-I just-I didn't expect that."
"You mean me and Pansy?"
Theo nodded; eyes downcast. "I know-the Yule Ball was a mess. And I know Pansy-she has her moments but even she has her limits. When I came up to her room, I wanted to apologize for what I said but then you stumbled out, smelling like a bar, looking like you just got mauled by a wildcat. Then Pansy peeked out of her room, looking worse. I was completely thrown off. Not just that. I was hurt, really hurt. I know I shouldn't have been since Pansy and I barely get along on a good day, and the fact I did say some pretty nasty things to her, but it hurt. It hurt and I just wanted to get even. If that makes sense."
Draco's mind went back to Yule Ball. Watching Harry dance with Lovegood, feeling the envious monster inside him cackling at his frustration. Pansy appearing by his side with a bottle, the two of them drunk off their asses and just needing an outlet to that anger. Then the aftermath of the ball, when their night together was revealed to the rest of the class. Harry looking so hurt, and then furious, hurling him with accusations that stirred Draco's own anger. And his own response to them, trying to beat out the hurt with more hurt: "Just the same as every other kiss I received: completely, utterly irrelevant."
"Believe me," Draco said. "I know."
Theo shot him a small, grateful smile that died too soon. "I was determined to show that I was completely unfazed by what happened. Then-then-Harry came back with Diggory, people were screaming and panicking, and it-it made me realize right then how much bigger this world was. Bigger than our stupid egos at least."
Another aspect Draco completely agreed with it.
"Anyway I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry for being an arse."
Draco looked at him and nodded. "Well, I appreciate it, Nott. And I accept. Also, I'm sorry for what my part in the mess."
That small, grateful smile resurfaced again.
"As much as I appreciate it though," Draco continued. "I'm not the one who deserves the apology."
And then that smile died again as the two peeked from their private corner and glanced over at Pansy, who was laughing along with Daphne, who managed to free herself from her sister's clutches, at whatever nonsense Blaise was spurting out.
"Yeah," Theo muttered, although Draco knew that conversation would be a lot harder to do.
Draco patted Theo's shoulder in sympathy and made his way out. He then stopped as he heard his name being called the second time that day.
"You've been reading the papers, right? On what the Ministry had to say about what happened?" Draco didn't reply. Theo took a tentative step forward. "Do you really believe what Harry said? About…You Know Who actually being back?"
The small glimmer of lightness he had from the conversation twisted into a hard, acidic knot. Memories/nightmares poured into his head. Two boys tumbling into thin air, one dead, the other the living undead. Hollow green eyes looking over at him, then turning away mashing with the image of a still, calm little boy in bloody pajamas locked in a dark, faraway place that he couldn't reach.
His back still turned to Theo, Draco said. "Considering the fact Diggory came back a corpse with black magic radiating from his body like heavy gas, I think that alone should serve as sufficient evidence."
Draco returned back to his parents and waited beside them, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for his best friend to appear.
Minutes rolled by and students were beginning to board the train, pulling themselves away from their parents' arms, racing their friends to the train. Still no Harry.
That anxious feeling Draco tasted earlier when he didn't spot him came back with vengeance, turning his empty stomach. Harry-he was returning, wasn't he? He-well, he didn't say anything about not returning. Although, if Draco was being honest with himself, he couldn't blame Harry if he decided not to, given everything that happened and all the lies and attention the Ministry with their spineless excuse of a Minister were hurling his direction. But still.
Those cursed, sharp hooks pulled at his heart, making sure each tear was felt, piercing and agonizing.
Mother toyed with her necklace as they waited. Father pulled out his pocket-watch to check for the time. Draco felt his nerves twisting on edge.
Or...what if Harry was already here? What if he was actually here but didn't want to see him? Didn't want to see Draco? A powerful jerk kicked in Draco's stomach. That-that couldn't be. No, it wasn't possible. No matter what happened, no matter how annoyed or mad they were at each other, they always left the platform together. They'd meet up, they'd reunite, and they'd be off to Hogwarts. It had been their tradition since first year.
So where was he-
"Hello?"
Draco sucked in a sharp breath before he slowly turned over.
Where locks of raven-black hair gleamed in the morning light and bright, deep green-green eyes stared back at him.
Harry.
The anxiety that took over his body knocked into him, changing into an all-new tension. Harry looked the same but he also looked different. His hair was shorter but still messy; a black bird's nest that looked like it was sloppily done. His skin was ghastly-pale, only a few shades darker than Draco's, as if he was locked inside most of the summer. He was also skinnier than before, his cheeks nearly hallowed out as if the summer sucked him dry.
A surge of fierce protectiveness went off inside Draco at the thought.
Those beautiful green eyes weren't as empty like before but they were still weary, hooded. Draco, though, was able to see a bit of amazement that broke through the surface of that hooded cover as Harry looked at him. Almost as if Draco was the one that was missing and Harry was the one anxiously waiting for his appearance.
"Hi." Harry breathed, stunned.
Draco's mouth was open. His mouth was open and dry. His mouth was open and dry and not a single sound came out of it.
He drew back his jaw. He swallowed nervously and licked his lips. Before he could make a move, Mother stepped forward.
Harry stepped into her arms before she fully opened them, clutching onto her just as tightly as she did with him, stroking his hair, patting his back. Mother then extended an arm over to Draco and brought them over to the warm embrace.
"My boys," she murmured. That steady but layered undertone going through her chest, stacking onto her tone.
Draco laid his head onto her shoulder and felt a familiar hand sliding into his open palm. He glanced over to see his and Harry's hands joined together, fingers entwined. Warmth sent off in his chest and he grasped his hand tighter.
"A happy family reunion."
Father. They nearly forgot about him. Harry was the first to break away from their embrace to turn over to the man.
Father's lips curved into a small smile as he examined his ward thoroughly. "Harry, I'm pleased to see you're looking well."
A look came over Harry's eyes, a slight shift that pricked an unsettling chord in Draco. Harry smoothed it out before Draco had a chance to decrypt it, pasting on a soft smile. "You as well, uncle."
Father patted his shoulder, the closest thing the boys had ever received as to a hug. Draco noticed how tense Harry's body was, tight as a coiled spring.
Whistles blared from the scarlet train. Porters popped out from the doors to sound their whistles, ring the bells, and called for the students.
"That's your cue," Father said. "Best be on your way, boys."
Mother pulled them in for one more hug. First Draco, then Harry, and then pulled them in together, her gaze flickering back and forth between them. "Take care of each other."
There was a message hidden underneath her words. Draco fought to keep the frown off his face and suspicion off his tongue as he replied, "We always do."
The whistles blew one more time and the two went into the train. The second the train pulled away from the station, Draco was on the move. Pulling Harry's hand, he strode down the hall and led them into an empty compartment. Harry stepped inside first, Draco behind him.
Draco looked at him, Harry stared back at him, and Draco deliberately locked the door.
He wasn't sure if he was one who made the first move. He wasn't sure if Harry stepped in close to him first or if somehow they charged at each other the same time. All he knew was that they were standing apart. Now they weren't. They were separated. Now they weren't. They were together, wrapped in each other's arms, the heat from their bodies soaking in to each other.
Shivers rushed through his body as Draco left those goddamn hooks finally crack, releasing his heart. The puncture wounds left behind slowly healed, snitching itself together the longer he held Harry in his arms. His frame shaking, Draco pulled back far enough to cup Harry's face. Tearful green eyes stared back at him, the world in his eyes. Draco felt tears burn his own and he closed them, pressing his forehead into Harry's. Their breath mingled, bathing their faces in warmth.
Draco's throat clogged up from the million of words he wanted to say. I missed you. I was worried out of my mind. Why didn't you write back sooner? Why did you shut me out? Why won't you let me in? But his goddamn tongue was tangled into a pretzel, his mouth useless and dry.
As if sensing the thoughts racing through his head, Harry's hold on him tightened like he was the drowning and Draco was the only thing keeping him afloat.
Let me in.
Harry swallowed hard and looked up at him. There was little else Draco could do but take a deep breath and dive in, both of them moaning and trembling from the vast warmth flooding into their bodies through the lock of their joint, crushed lips.
Harry's back hit the door with a loud thud as Draco pressed him forward, leaving little space between them. Harry stared slightly up at him, panting, shaking, so much need in those tear-filled eyes, and Draco groaned, bringing his mouth down on Harry's with gut-deep hunger.
Mine… The chant echoed in Draco's head, ingrained in his bones, burning in his blood. Mine!
Their mouths parted hungrily, heat and breath passing between them as their tongues touched and tangled, electric energy igniting their blood with every beat of their hearts. Draco bit down with gentle force on Harry's lower lip, growling as Harry eagerly pushed at Draco's robe and shirt, making them fall to the floor. Harry whimpered as Draco returned the favor, stripping him to his waist.
Then their positions were switched with Draco's bare back now to the compartment door, Harry pressing close, heated skin against heated skin. They kissed deeply, softly, sensually. Every glide of their swollen lips, every touch of their tongues, every shared panting breath said what they hadn't been able to say in words.
Draco sucked hard on Harry's tongue, saying, I missed you. I missed so much I could barely breathe.
Harry moaned and pressed closer, hands sliding into Draco's sleek hair, answering, I missed you so much. More than I can say. More than you know.
Draco turned, rolling so Harry's back hit the wall and pressed his thigh between Harry's legs. Draco's heart beat hard and fast with exhilaration as he felt the sweet, thick heat between Harry's legs that matched his own. He swallowed Harry's wanton cry, confessing, Merlin, I missed you. So. Goddamn. Much.
Harry replied by pressing closer, holding tighter, kissing him harder.
I want this, Draco palmed his heat, relishing in the way Harry melted in response. I want you.
It just dawned on him the severity of his plea. It was one thing to kiss; it was another to really kiss. But this-this went onto a whole new level. One that wouldn't be as easy to come back from.
And yet…
Harry pulled his head back and stared into Draco's heated gaze. Their hot breaths bathed their faces as Harry deliberately spread his thighs to accommodate Draco's body.
In that moment, they were utterly powerless to this feeling, this fire that threatened to consume them from the inside out. Draco grabbed Harry's legs and lifted them. Harry wrapped them tight around Draco's waist, head flung back, their lips breaking apart as he groaned.
Mine!
The smell of Harry, the sounds he was making, the way his body opened so wantonly, it burned him to ashes, to cinder, and he wanted more. He rocked his hips into Harry's with teasing slowness as he dragged his heated lips up Harry's exposed neck, over his jaw, until he claimed his prize, sucking and nipping into every inch of Harry's mouth.
This was dangerous, this was very dangerous. It went beyond anything they've done before. It was nerve-wrecking, it was crazy, and yet-
Harry held tight to Draco, just as desperate, just as hungry, and pulled Draco closer. He pressed his hands down Draco's back, touching as much as he could of Draco's heated skin, obsessed with the flex of muscle as Draco held him pressed against the wall. They were melting into a mess of hungry lips and frantic hands and tangled limbs.
MINE!
Draco thrust against Harry, giving them the friction they desperately needed. Their moans blending into one sound as Harry ran his nails down Draco's back, over his new scars, causing bolts of pleasure to ripple through Draco's body like lightening.
Draco broke the lock of their lips and bent his head to Harry's neck, sweat slicking their bare chests as he moved against Harry's body. Desire coiled tight in their guts, the pleasure building into a roar. He sucked and kissed at Harry's throat, Harry crying out as he clung onto him.
Bruises appeared on Harry's skin as he frantically thrust his hips against Harry's. Harry's hands slide into Draco's hair. Draco laid his teeth to Harry's beautifully marked skin and bit down.
Harry arched into Draco's body with a whimpered cry, tossing his head back. He came hard, Draco's name passing his lips in a breathless cry, his nails digging deep into Draco's skin.
Draco slammed his lips into Harry's with a hungry growl, swallowing every whimpered moan. Mine-mine-mine-mine-mine….His hips rocked against Harry's warm, pliant body twice more before he flung his head back with a cry. It was explosive, whiting out his vision, searing Harry's scent, the feel of Harry against him into his memory, into his very cells.
Together they slide down the wall to the floor in a tangle of limbs, Harry half in Draco's lap as Draco slumped against the bench seat. Their bare chests rose and fell rapidly as they gasped for air.
Harry gazed straight ahead in a blind daze, face flushed, completely breathless. Gazing as if he was studying a complicated puzzle, then cast his eyes over to Draco as if he were a key to that puzzle. Draco struggled to control his breathing as he came down from his high back to reality. He looked at Harry, his best friend, his boy, his everything. Minutes passed. Their breathing calmed; their hearts slowed. Neither of them could look away.
It occurred to Draco that they were in quite a position, limbs tangled, with half their clothes lying in a messy pile on the floor. He remembered there was still so much they needed to talk about. So much they had to say to each other. So much Draco had to say. But at this moment, this was all he needed.
He gave Harry a soft smile, brushing his dark hair away from Harry's eyes. "Stay?" he asked in a whisper.
That strange look he saw at the platform resurfaced in his eyes before it dissipated at once more. "Okay." Harry murmured.
Closing his eyes with a sigh, Draco made himself comfortable leaning against the seat. He pulled Harry more firmly into his side and tucked Harry's head under his chin.
