By: PepperjackCandy
Rating: PG13 (up to "second base" explicit, beyond that implied)
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing them for a time.
Warning: This is a slash story (Harry/Draco), though romantically-slashy, rather than erotically-slashy. Hence the PG-13 rating.
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When Harry regained consciousness, he was no longer lying on the warm rug of the Gryffindor common room. Instead, his body rested on cold stone.
He opened his eyes and realized he was in the Great Hall. He struggled into a sitting position, shaking the grogginess from his head.
Voldemort, or whoever it was who moved him to the Great Hall had evidently cast an obscurum charm on the room, making it too dark to see much, but he could see that Draco, also unconscious, was next to him on the floor. He moved to Draco to wake him up.
He touched his boyfriend gently, whispering, "Draco, please wake up."
"He'll be fine." A voice Harry didn't recognize spoke from out of the darkness. Harry could barely see a figure in a black robe in the dim light. "The Dark Lord needs him safe and healthy."
The figure stepped closer, and Harry could see that the man was wearing a Death Eater's mask. "Lucius Malfoy will be furious at you for doing this to his son." Harry bluffed.
"Will he?" The man said, amused, and took off the mask, revealing the pale, blond features of Lucius Malfoy.
Harry's heart stopped in his chest. "Oh, my God." He whispered as he moved protectively in front of Draco. "You really don't love him at all, do you?"
"And I suppose you do?" Malfoy sneered.
"Yes." Harry met Malfoy's pale eyes. "I do. And I'll kill you or anyone else who tries to hurt him."
Gasps from the other side of the darkened room barely registered in Harry's mind as his confrontation with Malfoy continued.
"You won't need to worry about that," Malfoy gloated, "The Dark Lord won't hurt my," he sneered, "dear son."
It took all of Harry's strength not to leap up and attack Malfoy, to pull that smug expression from his face with his bare hands, but just then, Draco started to wake up.
"H - Harry?" Draco asked, his voice scratchy.
"I'm here, Draco." He helped Draco into a sitting position, then resumed his protective position in front of the Slytherin.
"How touching." This was a familiar voice -- the raspy voice of Voldemort. "It's so nice to see you so happy and in love, Harry. It'll make it that much more pleasant when I take it all away from you."
"Take it away from me?" Harry responded numbly.
"Yes. Well, as you can see, my body still isn't what I'd call healthy." Harry could see Voldemort then, and what he saw repulsed him. Voldemort's face looked like raw meat, and Harry could barely bear the thought of what the rest of him might look like beneath his robes.
"Yes, you can see that, don't you?" Voldemort said with what Harry thought was probably supposed to be a smile. "Well, young Draco will help me with that. You see, I've found a potion that will allow me to switch places with him. I will once again be young, strong, and healthy, while poor Draco will be trapped in this." He waved one disintegrating hand to indicate his own body. "Until I've killed this body, at least." He added maliciously.
"I was going to kill you outright, you know." He informed Harry, "but since I've found out about your feelings for young Mr. Malfoy, I think I'll keep you alive. For a while, at least. Just long enough for you to watch and realize that your love is gone forever."
Expressionless, Malfoy stepped forward with a flask, holding it up to Voldemort's mouth while the Dark Lord took a swig. Then he drained the rest down the uncooperative throat of his son.
Voldemort's eyes grew hazy with pleasure. "Oh, this is wonderful." He exulted.
Harry suddenly was seized with the thought that perhaps he could somehow intercept Voldemort's spirit and redirect it into his own body, saving Draco in the process. He grabbed Draco's head. "Promise me that if this works, you won't hesitate to kill him. Me. Both of us."
With those words, Harry pressed his mouth to Draco's, sticking his tongue in and licking. There was no passion in this 'kiss,' merely desperation to get as much of the potion into his own system as he could.
Harry's perceptions immediately became clouded, as if he was watching from far, far away.
He was vaguely aware of two other people in his head, and he recognized them as Draco and Voldemort. "Come here, Voldemort," he cried out on both levels. "Come and get me!"
"You think that will stop me?" Voldemort said. By contrast to Harry, the Dark Lord spoke on three levels - his own, decaying body, the spirit plane where the three of them were trapped, and distressingly, Draco's lips moved in time with Voldemort's words.
"All you have done, Harry, is increase my own pleasure. Now you will be aware of everything that happens as I move into my new home." Draco's lips still moved in time with these words.
On both planes, Harry reached out a hand to Draco, "Draco!" He called out, "take my hand!"
"Harry?" Draco reacted to Harry's presence and slowly, as if they were underwater, reached out for Harry's hand. They laced their fingers together and Harry willed all of this strength to his love.
"Fight him, Draco!" Harry urged, on the physical and spiritual planes, "Don't let him get you!"
"Fight him? How?"
Harry closed his eyes, focusing on the astral plane. He could see a silver glow, a tendril of his own emerald green stretching out to interlace with it. That must be Draco, he thought. Flush against Draco's silver spirit-form, was a virulent red form. Voldemort!
Harry reached out another green tendril and wedged it between Draco's and Voldemort's spirit forms.
You see that? Harry asked. The red? That's Voldemort.
Yes. I see it. What do I do?
Push!
Harry could feel Draco's faith in Harry's advice as the silver form shoved the red one roughly, driving it away. After Draco had stopped pushing, Voldemort's spirit kept moving, farther and farther until it had disappeared completely.
It was then that Harry felt, rather than heard, Voldemort's misshapen body implode.