Before the Deluge
Disclaimer : Everything's in chapter one
The common room was dark. The portrait of the Fat Lady closes behind Harry's hunched form, and every ray of light from the hallway sconces is expelled.
A small "crack" pulls Harry's chin up from its dejected position, tracing the lines of the carpet under his feet. He drags those same feet over to one of the big armchairs and falls into it. He is swallowed whole, smothered by the rich fabrics.
When he gathers enough energy in his neck to support his head, heavy with his taut emotions, he remotely sits up. The orange light of the fire dances enticingly, illuminating Harry's humble green eyes, addicting them to its fiery ballet. He follows the movement, his emotions threatening to engulf him as badly as the chair did just minutes before.
With a large "hiss" and "crackle," a flame shoots high, like a frothy wave in the deep, dangerous ocean. Harry's head goes under, and he flounders about, trying with all his might to stay afloat. Despite his efforts, the tears fall. Slowly at first; delicate, wet drops falling softly on his lusciously smooth skin, but then, within seconds, they are no longer tears, but are torrents of rain. For long minutes Harry drowns, no longer wallowing in his feelings, in his pains, in his fears. He can no longer hold back the gates, and he lets them go.
When the torrential downfall abates, and again delicate drops are landing on the already drenched fabric of the chair, he realizes that he has never felt so liberated. Long days and just as many sleepless nights have been flushed out with his troubles and are lying on the arm of the couch.
He curls up in the armchair, for his strength has been washed away with his tears. He unconsciously reaches into his pocket and, to his surprise, a rough surface brushes the skin of his knuckles. With a start, he remembers the little purple flower with its root, and he wraps his thin fingers around it, grasping it with all his might.
Darkness comes instantly, at last allowing him the sleep he has been so deprived of. Darkness, and only darkness. No dreams; no nightmares.
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"Harry?!"
Harry slowly opens his eyes and yawns. He makes to raise his hands in a stretching motion, but his hand is wrapped around a twig. Suddenly, the night's events come rushing back, and something tells him not to let anybody know about the little flower.
"'Morning Hermione," he says cheerfully, standing up and stretching his legs.
She eyes his with a worried look. "What are you doing sleeping in the common room?"
Harry just shrugs. "I got back late from detention last night, and the fire was warm. I was so tired I instantly fell asleep."
"Wh . . ." Hermione starts, but Harry interrupts.
"I'm going up to take a shower. I'll meet you down in the Great Hall."
Hermione watches his lean figure race up the stairs and out of sight. She keeps her watchful eye on him as the day goes on, worried because Harry's new air shows that there is seemingly nothing to worry about. He is not moping about in his depressed state, but he's not jumping in joy either.
"The position of Jupiter says that I will give birth to kittens at exactly nine o'clock," Ron states, looking up from his spider web of star charts.
Harry looks up at the clock. "3 . . .2 . . . 1," he looks over at Ron and shakes his head. "Nope, I don't see any kittens."
Ron laughs and Hermione, while rolling her eyes, surveys them with a tiny smile. Harry puts his stuff in a somewhat neater pile, still chuckling. He throws his cloak around his shoulders and grabs his scarf.
"I have detention. I promise to come up to bed tonight, don't worry," Harry says, directing his last words at Hermione.
Hermione nods and a wicked smile creeps across Ron's face. "Hey, why don't you steal Colin's camera and take some pictures of Malfoy peeing his pants in the Forest?"
Harry laughs at his suggestion but just shakes his head. "Bye," he calls as he makes his way out of the portrait hole and through the castle. Finally, he reaches the front doors and steps out into the dark autumn air, crisp with the air of late fall.
Harry sees Hagrid from a ways off, looking agitated. "There you are."
"Sorry, I was finishing up my Divination," he explains as he surveys the area, seeing Draco sitting on a rock, his eyes gazing at nothing in particular.
Hagrid waves his hand in dismissal. "Anyways, I have some work to do, so I'm going to trust you and Draco here to take care of yourselves. No playing around, the Forest's dangerous at night."
Harry nods and makes his way into the Forest, Draco close at his heels. As he walks farther, he hears the crunch of Draco's feet on sticks and leaves getting closer and closer. As they near the clearing Harry can actually feel breath on his face. He stops suddenly, and Draco walks right into him.
"Do you have to walk so close?" Harry asks in annoyance.
Draco steps away and pulls his cloak closer about his body. He respond, but the pure fear in his eyes surprises Harry, who has never actually seen a natural human emotion in the other's eyes before.
Harry pushes the thoughts away and steps into the clearing. He bends down and starts to pick the purple flowers. He motions for Draco to join him. "Come on, the quicker we do this the quicker we'll can go back to the castle."
Harry watches closely until Draco has gathered enough courage to turn his eyes from the shadows of the forest to the dainty plant. Harry makes sure that Draco is completely engrossed in his work before he reaches out and delicately pulls one of the plants out by its roots. He brushes the dirt out and pushes it into his pocket, returning to his work before Draco again looks over.
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The relief the plant gives Harry is double-sided. While it allows him to have peaceful, sleep-filled nights, the fact that those nights are completely dreamless is a bit unsettling. In muggle schools, he had been told that everyone dreams at night, they just don't remember them. But Harry gets the feeling that he is not dreaming at all at night, instead just entering into an empty void of restfulness.
Despite his nervousness towards the plant, it does produce very appreciated results. His life can return to as normal as it has always been, and Harry finds himself laughing again. With this comes his old watchfulness of others, an aspect that has led him to question Hermione's frequent trips to the owelry and many times of day-dreaming.
"What's that?" Harry asks her one night about a week into his detention.
She looks up from the parchment she is writing and looks at him in annoyance. "My arithmacy homework, and you should be doing your own as well."
Harry glances over, and the writing looks more like words, not numbers. But, he lets that slide for the moment. "I don't take arithmacy."
Hermione rolls her eyes without even looking up. "Whatever. You have plenty of other subjects that I'm sure you haven't done yet."
Harry shrugs and looks up at the clock. "I have to go anyways. Detention, as usual."
Tonight, Harry has to wrap his scarf closely around his neck, the air turning more from autumn to winter. He trudges over the grass and sits down on the large rock, their usual meeting place. He looks up at the stars, beautiful in the clear sky. They are bright, for the moon is just a sliver, casting only one beam of light across the Hogwarts' grounds.
Something in that beam catches the corner of Harry's eye, and he squints at the shining blond hair. Draco looks surreal tonight, the blond of his hair perfectly setting of the dark black of his robes. The moon just serves to accentuate that perfection. Harry gasps at the saint like beauty of his enemy, a beauty that is emanated in a glow around him.
Surprisingly, Draco does not break the moment when he arrives. Instead, he approaches Harry slowly and then follows him into the woods without saying a word. They stop at the new clearing they found yesterday. They both set to work, Harry, like every night before, picking one of his first by the root and placing it in its pocket.
A movement that only a seeker would catch flits across Harry's eye and he swiftly looks up. Soon, he is on his feet and slinking towards the brush that outlines the clearing.
"What is it?" Draco asks from behind him, the wavering in his voice betraying his fear.
Harry just puts out a hand to shush him and walks on light feet to the brush. He peers into the brush and spots a tiny animal. He laughs and climbs through the brush towards the animal.
Draco reaches the brush and peers over. His eyes open wide in fear as Harry steps directly in front of the creature.
"Harry!" Draco yells in a warning, but it is too late.
It bears its teeth and long fangs protrude, sending a panic through Harry. The beast lunges at Harry's ankle and Harry releases a small whimper as the thing's fangs dig into his flesh.
"Stupefy," Draco yells, just in time. If he had waited a second longer, the animal would have hit a more deadly area.
Harry stumbles backwards, no longer able to keep his weight on his ankle. Draco goes to him and grabs him around the waist. He drags him back to the clearing and places him in the soft grass. Instantly, he loses consciousness.
Draco searches through his brain, trying to remember the ingredients he needs to revert the venom that is coursing through Harry's blood. He rushes about, searching out the flowers, plants, and herbs and mashes them together using a flat rock for a plate and a slim rock for a pestle.
After mashing it the best he can he pushes a wad of it into the fang bites. That movement is enough to bring Harry back to consciousness, and Draco forces him to eat the rest of the fowl tasting mixture.
"God, you're making me eat tree bark and plant leaves," Harry says in disgust.
"Well, you were stupid enough to walk right up to a feelinx," Draco retorts, a bit of his usual drawl gone.
"A what?" Harry asks incredulously.
"A feelinx. They're small, but they're quite dangerous. Only someone completely gone in the head would walk right up to one," Draco adds with a hint of a smile crossing his ghostly lips.
"I though it was a squirrel," Harry explains sheepishly. At Draco's blank expression, he explains, "They're little, soft, harmless creatures found in muggle towns."
"Those fangs don't exactly look harmless," Draco replies in his drawl, changing the dressing on Harry's ankle. Harry winces in pain, but bites his tongue.
"What's that?" Harry asks when the pain has cleared enough to allow him to regain his sense of sight.
Draco holds up the wad so Harry can see better. "Poison, from your blood."
Harry shivers and attempts to stand. He slowly puts it on his ankle, closing his eyes at the pain, but finding himself able to hobble around. "Okay, lets get back. I'm tired and I don't think that I want to meet any more of those things."
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"Nice limp, Potter," Draco calls the next day as he watches Harry hobble across the grounds. Today it's Draco's turn to be there early and observe the other boy as he makes his way across the lawn. Of course, it takes Harry longer today than it took Draco yesterday, as that ankle is still bothering him. Harry reminds Draco of a character in the only muggle movie he has ever seen : Han Solo. Harry, like Han, somehow retains his swagger despite the crimp in his leg.
"What are you staring at?" Harry asks in annoyance as he finally reaches the rock and leans against it, panting for breath.
Draco ignores the question and hops of the rock with an air of superiority. He thinks secondly, though, and opens his hands for Harry to lead the way. Harry sighs and takes his place as leader, not having the energy to argue with Draco tonight.
As they pick the purple flowers for the umpteenth time in a row, Draco finds it more fun to sit back and enjoy Harry's uncomfortably than to actually do any work. Harry does look quiet comical, shifting his position every minute or so.
"Wish your great oaf Hagrid had taught you about feelinx now, are you?" Draco asks as Harry moves from his cross-legged position to laying his foot out in front of him.
Harry glares at him. "At least I don't have Snape as my head of house."
Draco looks at Harry with an amused expression on his face. "Nice come back, considering your head of house. At least Snape favors us. When was the last time you got let off the hook or were given less homework because you're in McGonagall's house."
Harry has to admit that Draco does have a point with this one, but of course doesn't express his agreement. "I can't think of worse. I mean, Professor Binns would be awful, but, ugh, Trewlaney would have to be the worst."
Draco wrinkles his nose in disgust at that name. "Aww, bad thoughts running through my head."
Harry chuckles as he again shifts positions in the grass. "She say my limp today and immediately prophesized that my ankle had been bitten off by a dragon sent by Voldemort, and that that is a sign that he will kill me by the end of this year."
The laughter that escaped from Draco's mouth at the beginning of the statement dies away as the end is expressed. Harry looks up and sees a quick flash of emotions cross Draco's face and internally chides himself for bringing up the Dark Lord. How stupid could he be?
Draco gets up coldly and brushes bits of grass of his back. "We should be getting back, it's late."
From then on, they kept their bits of conversation away from the Dark Arts, and away from Voldemort himself. As the moon grew in intensity, so did the civility of their discussions. After a while, Harry found himself actually liking their late night detentions. It gave him a chance to be open, and a chance to lay back and disappear from the worries of the day and the night.
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The last night finally comes, and Harry steps out of the great front doors and stops as his feet reach the grass, hard from a layer of frost. He takes another step, but doesn't sink in. A grin involuntarily shines across his face at the strange sensation.
A new light illuminates the glossy frost and Harry lifts his head, his sharp eyes watching the clouds part form around the moon. The pure innocence of the night seeps through his veins, making him giddy.
He falls into the shadows of the building, his feet light as air. He makes his way with the aloofness that only a quidditch player possesses to a hidden hide of the forest, one far from their normal meeting place. He slinks into the trees and vanishes completely from site, for the moon has again slipped behind its sheath of clouds.
As Harry makes his way through the Forest, he passes a small clearing. Stopping for a moment, he bends down and picks the tiny, purple flower, dragging its roots from the earth. He brushes of the dirt and slips it into his pocket with a satisfied expression on his face.
As he nears the edge of the wood, he spots Draco, who is sitting on the usual rock, gazing back at the school. He looks bored and annoyed and Harry cannot suppress a grin. He sneaks around directly behind Draco and settles into the soft dirt.
The rustle of leaves causes Draco to turn around sharply. He peers deep into the brush and sees shadows dancing in the dark. He looks closer, but the rustling has stopped and the shadows have disappeared.
Harry watches Draco's fearful eyes dart to and fro. His heart tugs at the true terror in those icy depths, but he shakes those thoughts off.
As the moon again is unveiled, the frost shines and returns the giddiness of earlier. Harry rustles the leaves again, and watches as Draco jumps off the rock, pulling his wand out of his pocket at the same time. Harry wiggles his body, causing shadows to leap and Draco to jump clear out of his skin.
Long seconds inch by as Draco throws hopeful glances up towards the school. He attempts to gather enough courage to investigate the brush, but he fails. After almost seven full years, he still cannot overcome his fear of the Forbidden Forest.
Finally sick of waiting, Harry formulates a new plan of action. He waits until Draco's eyes are occupied with searching for him up at the school, and pounces.
Draco just has time to land on the ground, as heavy form on top of him, before his scream is covered by a hand. Draco squirms and flips around, so that he is staring at Harry's amused expression. Anger flares up to take over the fear that had gripped his heart earlier.
Draco pushes and Harry flies backwards, landing on a soft bed of leaves at the entrance of the Forest. Draco is swiftly on top of him, tackling him to the ground. As the wrestling continues, they roll farther and farther into the Forbidden Forest.
Harry finds himself on top, pinning Draco's wrists to the mossy ground. He glances around, finding that they are resting in a little ravine between two roots of a gigantic Oak Tree.
As Harry's mind wanders to their surroundings, Draco gathers the final ounces of his strength and lunges up, reversing their positions. As Draco looks down into those clear green orbs, his anger melts away. A new emotion replaces it, an emotion that he never though he was capable of feeling.
Those green eyes gaze up at him, expectant. So much truth is laid out in them, open as a child's picture book. So much of Harry's life, his emotions, are free for Draco to gaze at. Such openness can only be seen in relaxation, and it surprises Draco how relaxed Harry must be. The surprise melts with the realization that the magic of those eyes brings : he's just as at ease as Harry is.
Their magic grasps him, and he leans down and their lips brush. The feeling is tremendous, and Draco brushes them further along Harry's, before pulling away almost shyly.
Harry closes his eyes and lifts his head invitingly. Draco's own eyelids drop and he brings their lips together, this time with force and passion. His hands instinctively wrap around Harry's thin waist as, at the same moment, Harry's fingers are interlacing behind Draco's neck. Those talented fingers play with Draco's silky blond hair.
Draco's hands roam and Harry gasps as his lips travel down his neck. Draco's hands come up to loosen Harry's scarf and robes, reveling deliciously enticing skin. His kisses follow his hands, tracing sweet trails along his strong shoulders.
Harry's hands refuse to remain useless, so they inch to Draco's robes. Willingly, Draco flips over, allowing Harry to be on top, producing better access to his pale skin. Harry traces a small scar on an otherwise blemish-free skin. Draco shivers at the feathery touch, and Harry scouts up, bringing their lips together again.
The moon disappears behind her curtain of clouds, and the reigning darkness pulls Draco back to reality.
"Harry . . . ohh," he moans a Harry's lips descend on the soft skin where his jaw and neck connect.
"Yes?" Harry asks innocently.
"It's late," Draco manages to squeak out through Harry's butterfly caresses.
Harry doesn't respond, he just continues his ministrations. Draco's long, talented fingers reach up and push Harry from him.
"Oh, okay," Harry says quietly, sitting up and pulling his robes over his shoulders, his back to Draco.
Draco is surprised to feel his heart ache at the dejected tone. He scouts closer to Harry, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and kissing his neck.
"Harry . . "
The loud crack of a tree branch causes both boys to jump. Their eyes search quickly as they pull their robes up. As soon as his scarf is back around his neck, Draco bolts, Harry close behind him. Neither stops their mad dash until they are in their respective dormitories, hearts and minds pounding in confusion and indecision over the night's events.
Neither one saw the pair of pale eyes slip into the deep trees.
Sorry 'bout the cliffhanger. I'll have the next part up soon, that is if I recieve some reviews . . . What? Do you want me to get down and beg? Okay, if you ask nicely . . .