Disclaimer in Part 1.
This particular has no real relation to the plot whatsoever, when it comes down to it. I suppose it could be called The Author's Confused Continued Attempts To Make Sense Of Harry And Draco's Relationship. *grin* They keep changing personalities in every chapter, it seems like, hopefully that'll stop soon. Anyhow, this chapter is most definitely the most slashy so far, but nothing graphic, I don't do graphic. So that's your little warning. (Come on, you knew there had to be one chapter like this eventually)
Draco sat on the wide stone sill stripped to the waist, his delicately muscled arms wrapped tightly around his slender body, his skin glowing faintly in the moonlight. His skin...he smiled at the sensation of the warm blood trickling over his icy body, welling up from the cuts on his shoulders and chest. It felt good, inflicting the pain on himself. Knowing that he had the power to damage himself, draw his blood up out of his veins and that if he had to he could suck his life out as well. Which was a source of comfort - everyone likes to know that their lives can be ended whenever they see fit. That they have control.
Well, he'd be having control over more lives than his own very soon. Now that Harry had gotten him the Arnelin.
Everything was falling into place.
The Arnelin - an artifact so ancient and magical that there were many who would do anything - anything - to possess it: kill their families, sell their souls. Voldemort had wanted it to the point of madness in his final months but had never managed to grasp it - by then Draco had already started siphoning his power away, making him vulnerable. It was good that the Arnelin had never been seized by him or Voldemort might well have figured out was going on and destroyed him; then Draco's time would never have come. He would have remained a weak underling or dead, neither of which particularly appealed to him.
The power of the Arnelin was in people's minds...whoever had it could see other people's thoughts and bend them to their will without their knowing. Not even the strongest enchantments could keep it out, everything would be laid out for the bearer to see. And then manipulated to suit their needs, however dark and twisted they were; there were no defenses against it. A perfect tool for any witch or wizard who wanted power - into which category Draco fell.
Now that he had it he could do anything.
He was so caught up in his own musings that he didn't hear the soft footsteps padding toward him across the cold floor, didn't sense the intense gaze in the green eyes focused on him. He jumped at the feeling of a warm hand on his cold skin and looked up to see Harry, his finger lightly tracing a pattern on Draco's white skin with the blood oozing up from his cuts, like tiny rose petals on the purest snow.
I wish you wouldn't do that. It was impossible to pin down the emotion in Harry's voice.
Why not? Draco leaned forward, breaking the contact albeit somewhat reluctantly. It's my body.
No, actually, it's mine. Harry grabbed Draco's shoulders and pushed him slowly down against the stone, lowering himself onto him so that their faces were mere inches apart, green eyes gazing into silver. You gave yourself to me, remember?
He started exploring Draco's jaw and neck with his mouth, using enough force to bruise the skin before capturing Draco's mouth with his own in a deeply passionate kiss, tangling his fingers in that platinum hair. He was relieved to feel Draco responding in kind; although technically Draco's feelings didn't matter so long as Harry aided him in whatever he asked, he felt better knowing that Draco was willing. Although Harry probably wouldn't've stopped if he wasn't. After all, they had made a bargain.
Harry managed to guide the to the bed, kissing Draco all the way, forcing him down onto the heavy coverlet. His mouth never let up; he'd never been able to get enough of Draco and he doubted that he ever would. Draco's touch answered some yearning deep within him, gave him peace. Completed him.
Draco, for his part, felt confused. Harry's hands on his body seemed to set him on fire, awakened some fierce desire that lay hidden deep within him. He unleashed all the emotion Draco kept hidden so carefully inside himself, he filled him with an insatiable longing and it unsettled him. He'd always been wary of emotion; as a Malfoy he had been told over and over again that emotions would weaken him, would cause his downfall. So he'd locked them up deep inside him and then - and then he'd gone and given himself to Harry. Who had been steadily working his way deeper and deeper into Draco from then on.
As if he knew what he was thinking, Harry's lips curved into a smile against Draco's blood - streaked skin.
You're mine, you know that? And one day -, his voice sank into a deep, throaty whisper, -one day you'll give me your heart and open your soul to me. And I can promise you the same in return.
Draco felt a shudder run through him at those words and opened his mouth to reply but Harry's mouth was on his, cutting off all words in a kiss that was surprisingly gentle and lingered on Draco's lips for an interminable amount of time.
I may be fierce but I can also be tender...
Those were the last words that would be spoken for a very long time.
* * *
Harry watched Draco sleep, watched the moonlight play on that perfect skin, the way those eyelashes cast dark circles on his pale cheeks. He always looked so innocent when he was sleeping, it was hard to believe the things he was capable of doing; but then again had anyone believed that Tom Riddle could grow up to be Voldemort? Evil is always so beautiful - a statement that applied to Harry as well.
Harry smiled grimly at that thought. No doubt the rest of the world was in shock as to what he, the Boy Who Lived, was capable of doing. Shocked that little Harry Potter would be willing to use forces so dark, go off consorting with darkness. There was a certain satisfaction in that; he'd show them that he wasn't their little figurehead for All That Is Good anymore. He was sick of that.
He stood up and wandered over to the window, staring out at the bleak landscape. In some strange way he felt happier than he had ever been in doing this. It felt fitting. Natural. Like it was meant to be - the Sorting Hat had probably been right, he really would have done well in Slytherin. Too bad he hadn't been this in tune with himself at age eleven.
Draco stirred restlessly in his sleep, bringing Harry back to his side, putting his arms protectively around him. Another reason why he did what he did.
He had Draco.
Next chapter Plot will be coming back from her vacation. I trust she has enjoyed it. I actually know how this story will end now, it's going to be getting there that will be a problem. Wish me luck.