Never Too Late
By: Catnip
A/N: This is so weird. The first part is boring, very boring, but please, DO read on… I just didn't want to lengthen this thing, so I summarized their entire exploits during their first days in these woods. But it gets better! I think… anyway, I need you people to read this so that you can give comments and suggestions. Sorry if it came so late… my father wouldn't allow me to upload this darn thing. *Pout * I do hope you appreciate it. Bye-bye! ^__^x
* * *
Chapter 5: Traces of a Scar
It was in that first week that Harry had asked Draco to help him in his search for both Ron and Hermione. Draco helped him, eventually, after countless pleas and shared insults that had driven him into near insanity. That was most probably the reason why he had agreed to help at last. They looked for Harry's two missing friends everywhere, usually never spending a moment's rest without trying to figure out where the other two might have been. Draco stayed as far away from Harry as he dared during that time, often taking his baths in nearby streams all on his own, as well as always sleeping as far as the next neighborhood. After two weeks of shared frustrations and of having no luck in finding either Ron or Hermione, Draco was finally fed up, and left. Harry hadn't seen him ever since.
Alone and abandoned, Harry didn't give up his search, wandering continuously throughout the empty woods for two weeks more, wondering where its vastness would end. It never did. Weary and heavy-laden, a frustrated Boy Who Lived stumbled upon an old, abandoned shack. It smiled down at him, offering him its homey shelter, and warm, well-missed fireplace. Harry was overjoyed. The only thing that could match that joy was the utter relief as Hermione came from behind those wooden doors, and jumped straight into his open arms, welcoming him.
Harry smiled. That had been one month ago, well remembered, yet somewhat forgotten. He stood amidst the scattered light that spread throughout the leaf-covered forest floor. He wondered when, or how, they would be able to return home.
All three of them had left the shack once after their reunion, trying to find out whether there was a way of leaving the forest. If there was, they never found it. They had ventured then far into the forest, deeper than they would have ever dared, often having to avoid dangerous pits and lethal- laden trails, but always going to the west, never to any other direction, always to the west. And even if they had all kept a sharp lookout to the course of their travels, they somehow always ended up back to where they had begun. In the confines of the house.
"Harry?"
Harry gave a start.
"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't think I'd frighten you."
He looked up self-consciously into the gentle, smiling face of Hermione, and smiled. "Don't worry. It's okay," he answered. "I was only thinking about something." He lowered his gaze towards the leaf-covered ground, fiddling incredulously with his fingers.
He was sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree that had been earlier struck by lightning just in front of the house. Hermione sat beside him, harnessing her own worry from the anxiety in his face. "Worried about Malfoy?" she asked.
The question caught him off guard. "What made you say that?"
Hermione blushed. "Well, nothing." She hesitated. "Just that he has been all alone since he left you, right? Anything could have happened to him. What if that bear tried to attack him again?"
"The bear's gone, Hermione. It was taken away, remember?"
"But what if another one of them did? You know, coming out of nowhere like they usually have a habit of doing? There's always a chance of that happening again, don't you think?"
He shook his head. "If you haven't noticed, Hermione, there's nothing here. It's just you, Ron, me… and these stupid trees. Nothing lives here. As if this forest has been abandoned or something. I don't know. I don't know what it is, or what's happening here, but its something out of the natural, even deeper than our magic. It's something… like… like meeting Voldemort all over again. It feels…"
"Evil?" Hermione finished for him.
"Exactly."
"The more then that we should be worried about Malfoy."
"Why do you like him so much?" Harry snapped.
"Oh. Come on, Harry. It has nothing to do with liking him or not. It does, however, have something to do with trying to help him or not, if it is the right thing you should do, or… if it's not. You used to help people, Harry. What's so different with helping Malfoy?"
"We can't waste our time doing that. If we're going to look for a way out of this damned place, we're going to need all the time we can get. We can't waste our time on Malfoy." He looked around as if he thought someone might be listening, then turned back to her. "We have to stay here at all times. I've been thinking, and I think that this house is the key to getting out. I'm not sure how it is, but there's a chance of it. Maybe there's a reason that we arrived here, and that we always land here no matter where we go. Searching isn't going to help. It will just lead us back here. Wherever here is."
"Harry, all your thoughts are being based on assumptions. We don't know for sure if there even is a truth to what you're saying." She took his hand in her own. Harry didn't resist. "There may also be a chance that Malfoy may be able to help us. Since he isn't here right now, he could be anywhere. And since he may be anywhere, he may have gathered some information about this forest."
Harry grunted in derision.
Hermione ignored him. "What I'm saying is that there's a chance that he could help us get out of here, or that he could have already found a way out of here."
"Don't listen to her, Harry," Ron interrupted from behind them, walking up, and sitting down beside her. "She's only saying that because the rotten git kissed her."
Hermione nudged his ribs with a sharp elbow. Ron laughed, and drew her to him with a strong arm, and kissed her deeply. She returned the kiss, her arms finding themselves around his neck to lock him in a tight embrace.
Harry rolled his eyes in disgust, mostly because he had been so close to kissing her himself. How he would love to have her kiss him instead. How he would love to have her.
"Don't go mushy on me, right now," he told them with disdain. "I'm not in the mood to watch you make out with each other right in front of me. Have some decency for crying out loud."
Both lovebirds broke their embrace. Hermione blushed. She cleared her throat. "Sorry."
Ron only grinned, and whispered something to Hermione's ear. Whatever he said made her blush even more. Ron got up, still grinning. He winked down at Harry, but Harry could only smile, an empty smile that he knew reflected nothing but the void building in him. He knew what it was Ron had said. It brought out the worst in him.
He got up in a fit.
"Wait! Harry!" he heard Hermione call. "Where are you going?"
Without turning back, Harry answered, "To look for Malfoy."
* * *
Although, how he planned to do that, he didn't know.
What he did know was that he was lost, fairly lost as he struggled to free himself from the gripping vines that held him fast. The more he struggled against his captor, the more it gripped him, its piercing thorns biting through his robes and deep into soft, vulnerable flesh, drawing from his veins the crimson flow of blood.
Once again, he was alone, with no one to help him, no one to save him, no one to care. But he was used to that, so he didn't mind… much. He would do what he had always done in the past, rely on himself and his own abilities. Right now, he was without his magic, without his friends. He was plainly Harry. And Harry had enough training in the Quidditch field to give him sufficient strength.
The vines proved strong, but he was stronger still, and with a fierce battle cry, and a tumultuous pull, he ripped himself from their tangled grasp, free at last.
He landed flat on his face onto the solid ground, feet away from the treacherous greenery he had mistaken for harmless shrubs. They were menacing now, as they hissed behind him, their thorny coils receding, waiting to strike again should he give them another chance. Invisible eyes watched him as he crawled up onto his hands and knees, his robes tattered with the presence of bloody rips, his wounded skin visible through the gaps in the cloth.
The wounds stung him, sending violent flashes of pain through his nerves, making his body convulse with the agony of it. He knew then that the thorns had been armed with poison. He knew. It shot through him like a merciless army of flashing death, sending chills all over his limbs, replacing the scarlet river that bled from him, and bled his life out of him. And because of the pain, and because of frustration, he banged his fits against the hard ground, and cried.
"I knew you'd come."
Harry looked up in an instant, and was sent back with a gasp, both from a blinding pain in his eyes and of sheer astonishment. "Malfoy," he whispered, surprised. He hadn't recognized him immediately, however. What left him in shock was the way Draco's hair had grown so long, and so fast. It was the same silken mass of silver-gold hair that streamed behind him in graceful waves. Handsome was a term to describe a state of masculinity, Draco was in no way masculine. And even through bloodshot eyes, Harry concluded that he was indeed beautiful, without a shadow of a doubt.
Draco arched an eyebrow. "Don't be too surprised to see me, Potter," he said. "You were looking for me, weren't you? Well, then." He spread his arms to the side with regal grace, palms up, in a show of theatrical presentation. "Here I am."
"Too late. I've been poisoned," came the abrupt answer.
Draco only had to look at the blood that flowed freely from his eyes, before he grasped the truth of it. His expression didn't change. When he spoke, it was without emotion. "I know. Assuming that you have been wounded by the snake vines, you have an hour to live."
Harry shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about dying, hiding the rising turmoil even from himself. "So I'm dead." He grinned, wiping the blood from his eyes, panicking at the sight of crimson instead of crystal tears. Despite what he saw, he only said, "Congratulations."
Draco clicked his tongue. "Save that for when you're really dead," he said. With a ravishing sweep of his cape, Draco turned, and with a commanding gesture, he said, "Come."
Harry only grunted, nauseated due to blood loss, but he kept his voice steady. And instead of following Malfoy as he had commanded, he placed his hands behind his head to serve as a momentary pillow, and lay down in a show of relaxation, taking his time to cross a leg over the other with forced calmness. "I think I'll just lie here."
"I told you to come."
"What's the use? I'll probably keel over and die on the way. I can't even see through this… blood."
"What I said was that you had an hour to live, Potter. Not just to stay alive. You can use that time to look for an antidote, if you're your heart so desires."
"What? In this forest?" He sat himself up. Another flash of pain. "I know absolutely nothing of this forest, Malfoy, how much more what resides in it. This place is useless to me and even more so every element that is here. And don't criticize my mentality of things. This is my body, not yours. I know that I'm dying, and you've just confirmed it. So leave me to my grave before I dig up yours."
"Which would unfortunately ruin my chances of helping you."
"As if you care."
"As if you don't."
Harry sputtered. "You probably don't know anything, anyway. Why would I even bother to trust you? You'd probably just use it as an advantage to kill me faster."
"Why would I want to do that?"
"Because you are a Malfoy, and Malfoy's are heartless." Harry didn't know where he was getting his strength to keep on talking like that; he didn't even know why he was talking.
But Draco knew. He saw it in Harry's bloodshot eyes. He was in a state of delirium. The poison had already reached his brain. Draco blew through his fingers without reluctance, sending a sharp whistle that was carried through the seemingly still air. The sound that reverberated across the trees summoned thundering hooves and a black beast that emerged from the forest's noonday shadows.
Harry had to blink more than once to recognize the distinct shape of a horse. A single hoof pounded on the ground impatiently as it waited for instructions.
"Kneel," was Draco's whispered command, and the horse obediently did.
Harry was too dizzy to marvel at the animal's obedience, and too weak to even feel Draco's arms wrap tightly around him, dragging him on the ground and onto the horse. He could only wonder why
Draco didn't just carry him, while he could have easily lifted the other boy in his arms.
Maybe he's also weak, Harry thought, unaware that he had spoken out loud.
The statement gave Draco a reason to flinch, and another reason to ignore Harry's pain as he rode swiftly into the heart of it all.
Harry groaned every time his stomach hit hard against the horse's back, which was unfortunately not infrequent, with Draco grinning ever so slightly every time he did. And the last thing Harry could see was the ground. It turned into a streak of brown blur just in front of him as they rode on, as he ignored the silence, as he ignored the pain.
* * *
Draco stood by him in silence, watching, waiting, as the unconscious Boy Who Lived lay upon the soft satin bed in deep slumber. Overlooking past the shadows of the four-poster bed, he could see the sun waking in an early morn. Sunlight filtered slowly through the crystal windows of the palace, shedding light and warmth on Harry's pallid features. Draco wasn't sure, but he thought that he could detect a hint of a smile playing across Harry's lips.
He wondered then what the unconscious Boy could possibly be dreaming of. But, then again, he didn't want to know.
"Harry, Harry, Harry," he taunted, "what is it now that's in that sick little mind of yours, hm?" Self-consciously checking his surroundings, and quickly making sure that he was indeed alone, he moved closer to the side of the bed, and sat himself gently upon the soft velvet covers. He glanced at the sleeping Boy ever so intently with gleaming gray eyes, and reached out, cupping either side of Harry's face with careful hands. "Perhaps… you wouldn't mind… sharing," he whispered, the last word an unfamiliar addition to his vocabulary. He took a deep breath, and leaned down.
It was a light touch --- he made sure it was --- as he placed his forehead lightly just above the fading traces of Harry's most-abhorred lightning scar. It was a technique he had learned from his months of having stayed in the palace, a technique to read minds, and, if desired, dreams as well. The touch was something out of the necessary as he had been informed; but, as he was also informed, the slightest touch could also enhance the connection between two subjects, and would also require less effort than without it. Draco was not someone who would give so much effort to one thing as trifle as this, which is why he most preferred having physical contact.
However, it was something he shouldn't have done.
Sure enough, as he reached out into Harry's mind with his own, flashes and tidbits of Harry's dream came to him in an unstoppable stream from scenes of the absurd to the wonderful. He was flying at warp speed in a tunnel of memories, catching evasive glimpses of Hogwarts, Hermione, Ron and everyone else he knew of and didn't.
Draco was finally satisfied, realizing that this was not what he had come for, thinking that he had already seen enough of it, and prepared himself to pull out…
… but couldn't.
Something else was taking control. It was something he knew beyond his reach, beyond his restrain. Draco grasped at its presence, trying to figure out the source of the energy that was slowly binding him to his enemy. He assumed that it was Harry taking revenge on him for having invaded his thoughts. On the other hand, it couldn't be Harry, because Harry wasn't capable of anything such as what he has never heard of. The force that bound them was strong, stronger than either of them could hope to be. It was taking them to a deeper level of spirituality, where Draco knew was Harry's soul.
A jolt of panic hit him, so hard that it brought back some feeling into his numb hands and face, though he was yet unable to move them. He could vaguely feel the tingling warmth of Harry's rapid breath intermingling with his own in a simultaneous manner that told him that they were breathing as one.
The pulling force at once became stronger still, and he was moving faster, the memories in the tunnel wall becoming a single blur that spiraled about him like the current in a moving cyclone, leading him into the midst of a blinding light. When he opened his eyes, it was to see a lone figure clothed in black in a white background, his back turned to him, moving faster towards him. However, judging form the air current that passed him by quickly, he knew that he was the one moving towards it.
The figure whirled swiftly on nimble feet at his approach, emerald eyes wide in surprise. And that was all he could see…
…emerald light… Then came the whispered word… Draco…
* * *
"Draco." It came out as a single gasp.
Draco's eyes flew wide open, with a sudden intake of breath. What met him in his wake was the precious glitter of green. And he pulled away, gasping for air. Sweat rolled down his cheek as he watched Harry sit up and put on his glasses, with the blanket sliding off his chest to reveal an abundance of naked flesh.
Draco could only watch him in mute silence, with Harry reflecting his unspoken inquiry. What had happened just a few moments ago had been beyond the limits of their physical capacity, and they had both been unable to stop it nor keep it going. It left them helpless, knowing that there is a greater force beyond what they could ever imagine.
However, that was not what rendered him immobile. What left him stunned was the feel of Harry's emotions slowly seeping into him like a flood of water that swept him away into another version of utter helplessness. He could feel the heartfelt pain of Harry's longing for love and acceptance, the overwhelming joy of having discovered where he could truly belong, the fear of having to face a deathless enemy coming to haunt him once again, the triumph, the loss, and in the midst of it all, shining like the hearth in the starkest of night, was the greatest of emotions, the greatest of love. Associated with that very thought came a vivid image of a bush-haired girl with charming hazel eyes and a loving smile to match, and feeling a great need to hold and be held by her.
Draco felt all these one at a time, yet, strangely enough, all at once. It left him nauseated. He closed his eyes slowly for the nausea to pass. When it did, he opened them again, only to discover Harry's hand slowly reaching out to touch him.
He knew what had to be done. All he needed to do was to turn away and leave. But he didn't. He just sat there, watching him, waiting for the moment to come.
Harry placed the tip of a reluctant finger tenderly to the other boy's cheek, afraid that Draco might turn away and leave him to cope up with it alone.
Cope up with what? he asked himself.
The more knowledgeable side of him answered, To cope with what you're feeling.
Though what is it he was feeling, he had left to find out another time. It was strange. Something he couldn't understand. All he did understand was that he had been inside Draco's mind, stripped away layer after layer of memories revealed to him in a continuous current that flooded him to the brink, then waking up with Draco impossibly close, and feeling the other boy's emotions throughout the course of his memories. And somehow, he could understand him better than he ever thought he could, finding more of himself in this blonde than anything else, the longing, the heavy need to be loved, to be accepted in a society that was ready to think the worst of him, yet finding no salvation from all that, not even from himself or from the people whom he had thought was his family.
It was a great need, a necessity, to touch him after all he had seen, all he had felt, and all he could do was wish that he wouldn't turn away. Draco didn't. Harry was thankful, but he couldn't manage a smile, he couldn't manage a word. He just kept reaching out to him, until his hand fully covered the side of Draco's face, stroking the other boy's cheek with a gentle thumb. Harry stared right into the blonde boy's eyes, willing him to know that he understood exactly how he felt. Draco only closed his eyes, and leaned his face on Harry's hand, reveling in his presence and in his warmth.
Harry didn't know what compelled him to, just that he did. It felt like the only thing to do at that very moment, the only right thing to do. Though somehow, deep inside he knew that it was what he had wanted all along. It was without hesitation, without reluctance, without menace or hate, that he leaned forward, slowly, steadily, drawing Draco's face closer to him just as he did, their breath intermingling with the other's in warm exaltation.
Draco didn't oppose, couldn't resist, as Harry's warm mouth fell upon his own in a deep and searing kiss. He could only gasp, all enmity gone in a tight and longing embrace, the scars of war fading into memories, remembered, but not sought.
* * *
A/N: Yee… mush! Yee… YEE…! Mush! Mush! Mush! I hate mush! Wah! I need comments and criticism! Flamers are welcome to try! Just as long as the flames make sense and could help me improve! Yee! Mush!
By: Catnip
A/N: This is so weird. The first part is boring, very boring, but please, DO read on… I just didn't want to lengthen this thing, so I summarized their entire exploits during their first days in these woods. But it gets better! I think… anyway, I need you people to read this so that you can give comments and suggestions. Sorry if it came so late… my father wouldn't allow me to upload this darn thing. *Pout * I do hope you appreciate it. Bye-bye! ^__^x
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Chapter 5: Traces of a Scar
It was in that first week that Harry had asked Draco to help him in his search for both Ron and Hermione. Draco helped him, eventually, after countless pleas and shared insults that had driven him into near insanity. That was most probably the reason why he had agreed to help at last. They looked for Harry's two missing friends everywhere, usually never spending a moment's rest without trying to figure out where the other two might have been. Draco stayed as far away from Harry as he dared during that time, often taking his baths in nearby streams all on his own, as well as always sleeping as far as the next neighborhood. After two weeks of shared frustrations and of having no luck in finding either Ron or Hermione, Draco was finally fed up, and left. Harry hadn't seen him ever since.
Alone and abandoned, Harry didn't give up his search, wandering continuously throughout the empty woods for two weeks more, wondering where its vastness would end. It never did. Weary and heavy-laden, a frustrated Boy Who Lived stumbled upon an old, abandoned shack. It smiled down at him, offering him its homey shelter, and warm, well-missed fireplace. Harry was overjoyed. The only thing that could match that joy was the utter relief as Hermione came from behind those wooden doors, and jumped straight into his open arms, welcoming him.
Harry smiled. That had been one month ago, well remembered, yet somewhat forgotten. He stood amidst the scattered light that spread throughout the leaf-covered forest floor. He wondered when, or how, they would be able to return home.
All three of them had left the shack once after their reunion, trying to find out whether there was a way of leaving the forest. If there was, they never found it. They had ventured then far into the forest, deeper than they would have ever dared, often having to avoid dangerous pits and lethal- laden trails, but always going to the west, never to any other direction, always to the west. And even if they had all kept a sharp lookout to the course of their travels, they somehow always ended up back to where they had begun. In the confines of the house.
"Harry?"
Harry gave a start.
"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't think I'd frighten you."
He looked up self-consciously into the gentle, smiling face of Hermione, and smiled. "Don't worry. It's okay," he answered. "I was only thinking about something." He lowered his gaze towards the leaf-covered ground, fiddling incredulously with his fingers.
He was sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree that had been earlier struck by lightning just in front of the house. Hermione sat beside him, harnessing her own worry from the anxiety in his face. "Worried about Malfoy?" she asked.
The question caught him off guard. "What made you say that?"
Hermione blushed. "Well, nothing." She hesitated. "Just that he has been all alone since he left you, right? Anything could have happened to him. What if that bear tried to attack him again?"
"The bear's gone, Hermione. It was taken away, remember?"
"But what if another one of them did? You know, coming out of nowhere like they usually have a habit of doing? There's always a chance of that happening again, don't you think?"
He shook his head. "If you haven't noticed, Hermione, there's nothing here. It's just you, Ron, me… and these stupid trees. Nothing lives here. As if this forest has been abandoned or something. I don't know. I don't know what it is, or what's happening here, but its something out of the natural, even deeper than our magic. It's something… like… like meeting Voldemort all over again. It feels…"
"Evil?" Hermione finished for him.
"Exactly."
"The more then that we should be worried about Malfoy."
"Why do you like him so much?" Harry snapped.
"Oh. Come on, Harry. It has nothing to do with liking him or not. It does, however, have something to do with trying to help him or not, if it is the right thing you should do, or… if it's not. You used to help people, Harry. What's so different with helping Malfoy?"
"We can't waste our time doing that. If we're going to look for a way out of this damned place, we're going to need all the time we can get. We can't waste our time on Malfoy." He looked around as if he thought someone might be listening, then turned back to her. "We have to stay here at all times. I've been thinking, and I think that this house is the key to getting out. I'm not sure how it is, but there's a chance of it. Maybe there's a reason that we arrived here, and that we always land here no matter where we go. Searching isn't going to help. It will just lead us back here. Wherever here is."
"Harry, all your thoughts are being based on assumptions. We don't know for sure if there even is a truth to what you're saying." She took his hand in her own. Harry didn't resist. "There may also be a chance that Malfoy may be able to help us. Since he isn't here right now, he could be anywhere. And since he may be anywhere, he may have gathered some information about this forest."
Harry grunted in derision.
Hermione ignored him. "What I'm saying is that there's a chance that he could help us get out of here, or that he could have already found a way out of here."
"Don't listen to her, Harry," Ron interrupted from behind them, walking up, and sitting down beside her. "She's only saying that because the rotten git kissed her."
Hermione nudged his ribs with a sharp elbow. Ron laughed, and drew her to him with a strong arm, and kissed her deeply. She returned the kiss, her arms finding themselves around his neck to lock him in a tight embrace.
Harry rolled his eyes in disgust, mostly because he had been so close to kissing her himself. How he would love to have her kiss him instead. How he would love to have her.
"Don't go mushy on me, right now," he told them with disdain. "I'm not in the mood to watch you make out with each other right in front of me. Have some decency for crying out loud."
Both lovebirds broke their embrace. Hermione blushed. She cleared her throat. "Sorry."
Ron only grinned, and whispered something to Hermione's ear. Whatever he said made her blush even more. Ron got up, still grinning. He winked down at Harry, but Harry could only smile, an empty smile that he knew reflected nothing but the void building in him. He knew what it was Ron had said. It brought out the worst in him.
He got up in a fit.
"Wait! Harry!" he heard Hermione call. "Where are you going?"
Without turning back, Harry answered, "To look for Malfoy."
* * *
Although, how he planned to do that, he didn't know.
What he did know was that he was lost, fairly lost as he struggled to free himself from the gripping vines that held him fast. The more he struggled against his captor, the more it gripped him, its piercing thorns biting through his robes and deep into soft, vulnerable flesh, drawing from his veins the crimson flow of blood.
Once again, he was alone, with no one to help him, no one to save him, no one to care. But he was used to that, so he didn't mind… much. He would do what he had always done in the past, rely on himself and his own abilities. Right now, he was without his magic, without his friends. He was plainly Harry. And Harry had enough training in the Quidditch field to give him sufficient strength.
The vines proved strong, but he was stronger still, and with a fierce battle cry, and a tumultuous pull, he ripped himself from their tangled grasp, free at last.
He landed flat on his face onto the solid ground, feet away from the treacherous greenery he had mistaken for harmless shrubs. They were menacing now, as they hissed behind him, their thorny coils receding, waiting to strike again should he give them another chance. Invisible eyes watched him as he crawled up onto his hands and knees, his robes tattered with the presence of bloody rips, his wounded skin visible through the gaps in the cloth.
The wounds stung him, sending violent flashes of pain through his nerves, making his body convulse with the agony of it. He knew then that the thorns had been armed with poison. He knew. It shot through him like a merciless army of flashing death, sending chills all over his limbs, replacing the scarlet river that bled from him, and bled his life out of him. And because of the pain, and because of frustration, he banged his fits against the hard ground, and cried.
"I knew you'd come."
Harry looked up in an instant, and was sent back with a gasp, both from a blinding pain in his eyes and of sheer astonishment. "Malfoy," he whispered, surprised. He hadn't recognized him immediately, however. What left him in shock was the way Draco's hair had grown so long, and so fast. It was the same silken mass of silver-gold hair that streamed behind him in graceful waves. Handsome was a term to describe a state of masculinity, Draco was in no way masculine. And even through bloodshot eyes, Harry concluded that he was indeed beautiful, without a shadow of a doubt.
Draco arched an eyebrow. "Don't be too surprised to see me, Potter," he said. "You were looking for me, weren't you? Well, then." He spread his arms to the side with regal grace, palms up, in a show of theatrical presentation. "Here I am."
"Too late. I've been poisoned," came the abrupt answer.
Draco only had to look at the blood that flowed freely from his eyes, before he grasped the truth of it. His expression didn't change. When he spoke, it was without emotion. "I know. Assuming that you have been wounded by the snake vines, you have an hour to live."
Harry shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about dying, hiding the rising turmoil even from himself. "So I'm dead." He grinned, wiping the blood from his eyes, panicking at the sight of crimson instead of crystal tears. Despite what he saw, he only said, "Congratulations."
Draco clicked his tongue. "Save that for when you're really dead," he said. With a ravishing sweep of his cape, Draco turned, and with a commanding gesture, he said, "Come."
Harry only grunted, nauseated due to blood loss, but he kept his voice steady. And instead of following Malfoy as he had commanded, he placed his hands behind his head to serve as a momentary pillow, and lay down in a show of relaxation, taking his time to cross a leg over the other with forced calmness. "I think I'll just lie here."
"I told you to come."
"What's the use? I'll probably keel over and die on the way. I can't even see through this… blood."
"What I said was that you had an hour to live, Potter. Not just to stay alive. You can use that time to look for an antidote, if you're your heart so desires."
"What? In this forest?" He sat himself up. Another flash of pain. "I know absolutely nothing of this forest, Malfoy, how much more what resides in it. This place is useless to me and even more so every element that is here. And don't criticize my mentality of things. This is my body, not yours. I know that I'm dying, and you've just confirmed it. So leave me to my grave before I dig up yours."
"Which would unfortunately ruin my chances of helping you."
"As if you care."
"As if you don't."
Harry sputtered. "You probably don't know anything, anyway. Why would I even bother to trust you? You'd probably just use it as an advantage to kill me faster."
"Why would I want to do that?"
"Because you are a Malfoy, and Malfoy's are heartless." Harry didn't know where he was getting his strength to keep on talking like that; he didn't even know why he was talking.
But Draco knew. He saw it in Harry's bloodshot eyes. He was in a state of delirium. The poison had already reached his brain. Draco blew through his fingers without reluctance, sending a sharp whistle that was carried through the seemingly still air. The sound that reverberated across the trees summoned thundering hooves and a black beast that emerged from the forest's noonday shadows.
Harry had to blink more than once to recognize the distinct shape of a horse. A single hoof pounded on the ground impatiently as it waited for instructions.
"Kneel," was Draco's whispered command, and the horse obediently did.
Harry was too dizzy to marvel at the animal's obedience, and too weak to even feel Draco's arms wrap tightly around him, dragging him on the ground and onto the horse. He could only wonder why
Draco didn't just carry him, while he could have easily lifted the other boy in his arms.
Maybe he's also weak, Harry thought, unaware that he had spoken out loud.
The statement gave Draco a reason to flinch, and another reason to ignore Harry's pain as he rode swiftly into the heart of it all.
Harry groaned every time his stomach hit hard against the horse's back, which was unfortunately not infrequent, with Draco grinning ever so slightly every time he did. And the last thing Harry could see was the ground. It turned into a streak of brown blur just in front of him as they rode on, as he ignored the silence, as he ignored the pain.
* * *
Draco stood by him in silence, watching, waiting, as the unconscious Boy Who Lived lay upon the soft satin bed in deep slumber. Overlooking past the shadows of the four-poster bed, he could see the sun waking in an early morn. Sunlight filtered slowly through the crystal windows of the palace, shedding light and warmth on Harry's pallid features. Draco wasn't sure, but he thought that he could detect a hint of a smile playing across Harry's lips.
He wondered then what the unconscious Boy could possibly be dreaming of. But, then again, he didn't want to know.
"Harry, Harry, Harry," he taunted, "what is it now that's in that sick little mind of yours, hm?" Self-consciously checking his surroundings, and quickly making sure that he was indeed alone, he moved closer to the side of the bed, and sat himself gently upon the soft velvet covers. He glanced at the sleeping Boy ever so intently with gleaming gray eyes, and reached out, cupping either side of Harry's face with careful hands. "Perhaps… you wouldn't mind… sharing," he whispered, the last word an unfamiliar addition to his vocabulary. He took a deep breath, and leaned down.
It was a light touch --- he made sure it was --- as he placed his forehead lightly just above the fading traces of Harry's most-abhorred lightning scar. It was a technique he had learned from his months of having stayed in the palace, a technique to read minds, and, if desired, dreams as well. The touch was something out of the necessary as he had been informed; but, as he was also informed, the slightest touch could also enhance the connection between two subjects, and would also require less effort than without it. Draco was not someone who would give so much effort to one thing as trifle as this, which is why he most preferred having physical contact.
However, it was something he shouldn't have done.
Sure enough, as he reached out into Harry's mind with his own, flashes and tidbits of Harry's dream came to him in an unstoppable stream from scenes of the absurd to the wonderful. He was flying at warp speed in a tunnel of memories, catching evasive glimpses of Hogwarts, Hermione, Ron and everyone else he knew of and didn't.
Draco was finally satisfied, realizing that this was not what he had come for, thinking that he had already seen enough of it, and prepared himself to pull out…
… but couldn't.
Something else was taking control. It was something he knew beyond his reach, beyond his restrain. Draco grasped at its presence, trying to figure out the source of the energy that was slowly binding him to his enemy. He assumed that it was Harry taking revenge on him for having invaded his thoughts. On the other hand, it couldn't be Harry, because Harry wasn't capable of anything such as what he has never heard of. The force that bound them was strong, stronger than either of them could hope to be. It was taking them to a deeper level of spirituality, where Draco knew was Harry's soul.
A jolt of panic hit him, so hard that it brought back some feeling into his numb hands and face, though he was yet unable to move them. He could vaguely feel the tingling warmth of Harry's rapid breath intermingling with his own in a simultaneous manner that told him that they were breathing as one.
The pulling force at once became stronger still, and he was moving faster, the memories in the tunnel wall becoming a single blur that spiraled about him like the current in a moving cyclone, leading him into the midst of a blinding light. When he opened his eyes, it was to see a lone figure clothed in black in a white background, his back turned to him, moving faster towards him. However, judging form the air current that passed him by quickly, he knew that he was the one moving towards it.
The figure whirled swiftly on nimble feet at his approach, emerald eyes wide in surprise. And that was all he could see…
…emerald light… Then came the whispered word… Draco…
* * *
"Draco." It came out as a single gasp.
Draco's eyes flew wide open, with a sudden intake of breath. What met him in his wake was the precious glitter of green. And he pulled away, gasping for air. Sweat rolled down his cheek as he watched Harry sit up and put on his glasses, with the blanket sliding off his chest to reveal an abundance of naked flesh.
Draco could only watch him in mute silence, with Harry reflecting his unspoken inquiry. What had happened just a few moments ago had been beyond the limits of their physical capacity, and they had both been unable to stop it nor keep it going. It left them helpless, knowing that there is a greater force beyond what they could ever imagine.
However, that was not what rendered him immobile. What left him stunned was the feel of Harry's emotions slowly seeping into him like a flood of water that swept him away into another version of utter helplessness. He could feel the heartfelt pain of Harry's longing for love and acceptance, the overwhelming joy of having discovered where he could truly belong, the fear of having to face a deathless enemy coming to haunt him once again, the triumph, the loss, and in the midst of it all, shining like the hearth in the starkest of night, was the greatest of emotions, the greatest of love. Associated with that very thought came a vivid image of a bush-haired girl with charming hazel eyes and a loving smile to match, and feeling a great need to hold and be held by her.
Draco felt all these one at a time, yet, strangely enough, all at once. It left him nauseated. He closed his eyes slowly for the nausea to pass. When it did, he opened them again, only to discover Harry's hand slowly reaching out to touch him.
He knew what had to be done. All he needed to do was to turn away and leave. But he didn't. He just sat there, watching him, waiting for the moment to come.
Harry placed the tip of a reluctant finger tenderly to the other boy's cheek, afraid that Draco might turn away and leave him to cope up with it alone.
Cope up with what? he asked himself.
The more knowledgeable side of him answered, To cope with what you're feeling.
Though what is it he was feeling, he had left to find out another time. It was strange. Something he couldn't understand. All he did understand was that he had been inside Draco's mind, stripped away layer after layer of memories revealed to him in a continuous current that flooded him to the brink, then waking up with Draco impossibly close, and feeling the other boy's emotions throughout the course of his memories. And somehow, he could understand him better than he ever thought he could, finding more of himself in this blonde than anything else, the longing, the heavy need to be loved, to be accepted in a society that was ready to think the worst of him, yet finding no salvation from all that, not even from himself or from the people whom he had thought was his family.
It was a great need, a necessity, to touch him after all he had seen, all he had felt, and all he could do was wish that he wouldn't turn away. Draco didn't. Harry was thankful, but he couldn't manage a smile, he couldn't manage a word. He just kept reaching out to him, until his hand fully covered the side of Draco's face, stroking the other boy's cheek with a gentle thumb. Harry stared right into the blonde boy's eyes, willing him to know that he understood exactly how he felt. Draco only closed his eyes, and leaned his face on Harry's hand, reveling in his presence and in his warmth.
Harry didn't know what compelled him to, just that he did. It felt like the only thing to do at that very moment, the only right thing to do. Though somehow, deep inside he knew that it was what he had wanted all along. It was without hesitation, without reluctance, without menace or hate, that he leaned forward, slowly, steadily, drawing Draco's face closer to him just as he did, their breath intermingling with the other's in warm exaltation.
Draco didn't oppose, couldn't resist, as Harry's warm mouth fell upon his own in a deep and searing kiss. He could only gasp, all enmity gone in a tight and longing embrace, the scars of war fading into memories, remembered, but not sought.
* * *
A/N: Yee… mush! Yee… YEE…! Mush! Mush! Mush! I hate mush! Wah! I need comments and criticism! Flamers are welcome to try! Just as long as the flames make sense and could help me improve! Yee! Mush!