Never Too Late
By: Artemis
Chapter 6: The Kiss, The Comfort, The Soul
Harry drew him closer still, locking him in an even tighter embrace. Draco felt no resistance, wanting ever more to be rid of the secret that plagued him. And yet, at the back of his mind, there cried an inevitable warning of danger, the danger of being stripped off until all secrets had been revealed.
*And what of your father, * came the thought.
*And what of my father? * his subconscious mind answered. But then, he needn't ask. For in that brief instant, it hit him with an almost painful awareness of an upcoming humiliation should this continue. And he realized why and what it was.
His eyes flew open, and he drew back. If he had looked into Harry's surprised face that instant, he would have seen the penetrating disappointment that stretched across the other boy's features. But Draco didn't; he looked away, instead, his eyes averted, daring not to look. He knew what he would see, and the only thing he could do to wipe away that disappointment would be to kiss him again. But he couldn't. Damn it, he couldn't!
Harry wasn't supposed to be in love with him! And neither was he supposed to return it! He was a Malfoy, for crying out loud! He was his father's son! His son! Not a daughter! A son!
"I'm his son!" he cried aloud, wrenching himself from Harry's arms, and jumping to his feet as quickly as he could. "Stay away from me, Potter," he hissed. "Never touch me again, d'you hear? Never." His eyes were a steel gray.
Harry tried to reach for him, then stopped, laying his hand limply by his side. All he could do was gaze mildly at the other boy, sweat trickling down his feverish cheeks. He couldn't understand why, but as the tension in the air lingered, Draco's actions angered him, and his gaze hardened. But.why? Shouldn't he be happy that Draco had pulled back? Why, he should be overjoyed! But, no! He wasn't overjoyed. He was mad. Outraged. How could Draco refuse him like that? Just wave him off as if nothing had happened or ever will.
He glared at the other boy, his eyes as green as ice glaciers. He wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of an answer. He wasn't about to give him anything else but silence, and if it would come to that, another kiss.
Seeing the sheer defiance in Harry's eyes, Draco was taken aback. What the hell was wrong with him! He was sure Harry knew he was a guy, but why in the abyss was he acting like that? Acting like an opposed lover about to kiss him?
Draco placed his hand on his forehead, feeling a need to see if this wasn't all part of Harry's dream. Trying to prevent the urge to laugh. This wasn't a dream. The emotion was too raw, too real, too new. He shook his head, feeling himself drift to the edge of hysteria. "Stop it, Harry," he told him. "Don't be a fool. We're both men, you know that. There could be nothing between us." And then.
. It hit him. And this time, he tilted his head and laughed.
Harry only raised an eyebrow.
Draco didn't see it. He only laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
Now, he knew! Now he knew why Harry had acted the way he did. Maybe he had known all along, just refused to believe in it. This was all too hilarious! All too relieving! And he was relieved. Relieved that he had nothing to worry about after all.
But this laughing. this laughing wasn't a good sign. This laughing was wrong. So he stopped, and gave the Boy Who Lived a menacing leer.
Harry shifted his weight to his arm, waiting. Waiting. waiting for what? This wasn't supposed to be! He wasn't supposed to be staring at the bloody git like a lovesick puppy! He was supposed to be throwing Draco around by the fist by now. Why wasn't he getting up? Why wasn't he giving the damned idiot what he deserved? A good thrashing about would suffice. Damn it, he couldn't move! He didn't want to move! Why? Because Draco's damned laughter was melting him into a motionless puddle of sap and mush!
He felt his heart beating hard against his chest, slowly making its way towards his throat. He willed it back down. This was not good.
Draco glared down at him, his eyes filled with utter triumph.
Harry's heart skipped a beat. Still he didn't move, but kept his face as placid as he could manage.
"So, Potter," Draco barked. "Now that that clumsy oaf of a carrot had his way with Hermione, you decide to have your way with me. I can understand why you didn't go after the carrot himself, but I can't understand, however, why you'd come after me, and why I hadn't seen it before! I knew that something was wrong with you, Potter! I just didn't know what it was. Am I really that dashing that even you can't resist me? Or do you just have an attraction to people who look better than you?" He scratched his chin. "This makes me wonder why you didn't go and screw Voldemort."
Tumbleweed.
Silence.
Draco frowned. What the hell ---! Not the slightest reaction. Not even the smallest "why-don't-you-screw-him" reply. Not even a change of expression! Not even a blink! Harry just kept staring at him! His eyes were the strangest color, a mild green, the green of the grass in a summer field, of newly refined emeralds whose glitter could yet be enhanced. And what was that, the twist in his face? Was that indifference? Was that lust? No!
Neither of those could give the brightest jewels a brighter brilliance than what it was capable of. His features were too solemn, too sincere, too pure. This wasn't anything he liked. This wasn't anything he knew.
*Don't let him get to you, Draco! * His mind screamed the warning, knowing fully well what would await him should he step forward.
He stepped forward.
"Damn it, Potter! Don't stare at me like that!"
Harry stared.
The silence enraged him. "Damn you!" he screamed. "Don't look at me like that! Never look at me like that! Do you hear me! I'm not going to be part of your sick fantasies, you understand, Potter! Screw someone else! Screw my father if you want, but never think of me! I don't want to have anything to do with you, you maniac!"
Harry grinned. "Just look who's raving like a lunatic!"
"Bastard."
"We're not so different, then, are we?"
Uncontrollably mad, Draco's hand shot forward, locking Harry's neck in its powerful grip.
Big mistake.
Harry caught Draco's wrist, then reached out for his shoulder, and thrust him down on the bed beside him. Harry leaned forward, devastatingly close, his breath a warm current that brushed across Draco's cheeks.
Draco panicked, struggled to get up, but Harry kept him there, the smile still lingering on his lips, triumph glinting in his eyes. Harry moved with feline smoothness, his naked leg sidling over the waist of the motionless boy.
Draco paled.
"Well," Harry whispered, his lips touching the other boy's ear, "I guess the maniac's got the lunatic. Is that what you wanted?" He nudged his nose closer, trailing feather-light kisses down Draco's cheeks, and feeling them quiver ever so slightly. "What do you plan to do now?"
Draco gritted his teeth. "Nothing."
Harry drew back. "What?"
Draco didn't look at Harry, only stared up into the curtains of the four- poster bed. "I said I planned to do nothing."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Why not?"
"Why should I?" Draco's voice was calm, set, indifferent. "You're stronger than me. You're more powerful. More important. Why should I care? Why should anyone? I'm only just about to be bedded by the famous Boy Who Lived. Guess I should be flattered then, huh?" Draco gave a tiny grin.
Harry watched him, speechless. He couldn't help but feel that he'd done something wrong. Wrong? What wasn't? He was just about to shag the little git! And what was more, it was a Malfoy git! What wasn't wrong with that!
Harry ran his fingers through his hair, feeling an awkward tension building up within him, watching Draco as he lay there, arms spread at both sides, his breathing calm, his face placid, fixed in a look of sincere submission. Draco's gaze hadn't moved; they were still set on the crimson curtains that were draped above the bed.
Something about this show of humility made Harry think of a virgin about to be sacrificed to the unmerciful god he had so worshipped. But Draco hadn't worshipped him. Draco had hated him, and hated him still, and maybe even more now with the knowledge of what he was about to do.
What about him? Had he ever hated Draco? Of course, he did! The little brat had been causing him trouble the first time he'd laid his eyes on him! Of course, he hated him! Loathed him! As much as he loathed the family that had taken him in! Even more so!
Maybe that was why he was doing this. Maybe this was the vengeance he had sought for. This would cause the insect's humiliation, give him cause to run to his father, and stay there. But in doing so, he would also give himself cause for humiliation. A mere touch would scar him for life, if he wasn't already. He remembered the kiss they'd just shared. Was there a scar?
The feel of it lingered softly across his lips, an enduring taste of a mistake so profoundly made. Of a mistake he could not regret no matter how hard he tried. He looked down into the serene features of his enemy. Draco's eyes closed, another act of submission, of total abandon, a sign that all he could do now was to await the fate that was about to befall him.
He reached out with his finger, touched the face, the smooth pallid face, beauteous beneath the stroke of his flesh, feminine compared to his own. Delicate, fragile, like a rose laid upon the ground ready to be trampled, ready to be crushed by unforgiving feet, by unforgiving fate, his silver- blond hair softer than a seraph's wings, luxurious gold, luxurious silver, a finer silk than silk itself. And the boy, a divine entity, incarnate of beauty, flesh of the fleshless, embodied soul.
Still a man, not even a man. Only a boy. Always a boy. Never anything else.
He kissed Draco once more on the lips, feeling the other boy cringe at the touch, before standing aside. Draco hesitated for a while, but eventually freed himself from the blanket's grasp. He made for the door, and without turning, quietly said, "I'll send someone for food." Then, he was gone.
Harry didn't expect to see him for some time.
* * *
"What happened? You look all flushed."
Draco met the golden eyes of a young teenage girl. "Frayn," he whispered in greeting. She stood by the side of the central fountain, her silver-black hair as long as it had ever been, cascading down her back to caress the ground in their graceful waves.
He remembered the first time he'd found her. In the shape of the black cat. He'd seen her the second time in the forest just before the bear/wolf's attack, then a third time, the first he'd seen her as a human, then the fourth after he'd left Harry to fend for himself. He hadn't left her side ever since.
Dracaena emerged from behind a cluster of rosebushes. Though she was Frayn's younger sister, she was the taller one, her golden hair a contrast to Frayn's black, hazel-green eyes shining with irrepressible mischief. "I think he looks pale," she commented, a reason forming in her devious mind.
"He looks thoroughly kissed to me," said another.
Draco started at the sound of the voice, as Clara, the youngest of the three sisters came into view from within the shadows of the palace. The blond boy could still recall the terrifying event of their first meeting: her as a hungry black grizzly, and him as a yellow-livered chicken running from the hungry black grizzly, or at least, trying to.
She was inches shorter than Dracaena, though slightly taller than Frayn. Gold-red eyes stared him down in scrutiny, a half-smile forming on her full red lips, lingering like a snarl. Draco no longer feared her. And he never should have. As a bear, Clara had come after Harry, not him. The reason, he never would have guessed.
After he'd deserted Potter, he'd found his way towards the Palace of the Suns, where these three were paid the highest of respects, even worshipped. Here, he was well cared for and respected. Here, he had friends.
They stood beside him as he sat on the walls of the fountain, the water falling behind him like a miniature waterfall. A calming hand rested on his shoulders. "You don't have to tell us if you don't want to," she stated.
Draco nodded.
"But it is often that that is when you have to."
It was a soft reprimand, but he knew what it meant. However, this was something he alone could take care of. It was something he alone should know. No one else.
* * *
Well-fed, well-bathed and well-dressed in foreign robes, Harry was ready to take on anything. Whether it be a black bear, a black wolf or an extremely beautiful naked girl, ha could handle them without the slightest fear. But then again, if it came to facing a certain blonde boy with those mesmerizing gray eyes, he was ready to crawl beneath a rock.
He brought a tentative finger to his lips. The soft texture of Draco's lips lingered there, sending chills of want down his spine at the well- remembered taste of Draco's mouth and the sheer pleasure of feeling the contact. Skin on skin. It had been electrifying, the touch, a highly elating sensation that had kept him in thought for the past hours.
Harry breathed. Even the mere thought of it kept him stimulated. The longing, the lust, everything was new to him. Everything but the guilt. The guilt of having marred the perfect naivete of one so innocent. Innocent? Was Draco still innocent? Would having been brought up by a master of the Dark Arts leave someone as vulnerable as Draco still as innocent as a babe on a cradle?
The memory surged through his mind, the kiss, the touch, the seduction, they were all there. The regret, the pain, and the trust and the innocence lost. He remembered the image of Draco's eyes purge his memories. The hard steel gray was in itself a but a mere memory as he recalled the fire die in those eyes leaving them vulnerable, dull, lifeless. His mind's eye watched it in utter pain and regret, over and over and over again.
"Reveling in your sick fantasies, Potter?" The voice was cold, piercing. It sliced through Harry's heart. Draco stood by the door, a figure of impossible beauty, a figure of impossible frost. "Save it when we're home. You can screw as many men as you want. Hopefully, you'd leave Filch untouched."
The guilt evaporated like a drop of cologne. "Shut up, Malfoy. You don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh. Don't I?" Draco's eyes glittered dangerously. "An hour ago, you had your tongue in my throat. Now tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. Shut up!" Draco cut him off before Harry could utter a syllable. "I don't want your lame excuses! Don't try to contradict what we both know to be true, Potter. It's useless." The last sentence came out as a hiss. Draco breathed, calming. "Now, come. Their majesties do not take well any man's tardiness."
Harry followed him outside, seething. "The problem with you, Malfoy, is that you think I give everyone equal attention."
"Isn't that one of your good sides?" Draco taunted.
"Not when it comes to that. You know I won't, not to any other man."
Draco stopped in his tracks. Faced him. "Oh? Just me then?" It wasn't a question. It was something more like drawing out a confession.
Harry faced him squarely, not knowing when in his life he could ever have been as honest as he was about to be now. He sighed. "Yes. Just you."
The expression in Draco's features was something that made Harry catch his breath. There was hatred, there was anger, and there was loathing. But that was only half of what was revealed there. The half that he could describe. The other half was the one thing that made his heart jump to his throat. The other half was filled with emotions not different to his own, or perhaps they were emotions that only seemed to be the same because they were the magnified at an immense magnitude that overwhelmed him. There, he saw anguish, there he saw regret. There he saw the makings of a tortured soul set to explode in the time it was meant to be set free. There he saw the utter torment of longing for something he could never have, of a hope that he could never hope to abide, of a wish that he had yet to gain yet perhaps never, ever, will. There he saw the wretched flames dying all over again, there he saw the spirit of a living, breathing nightmare plaguing the writhing creature it had clenched within the massive claws of a world that hated it for being what it was.
There, he saw Draco in all things that made him Draco. There, he saw Draco.
Harry reached out. A habit. Draco shipped his hand away. "Don't touch me. Never touch me again." With that, the blonde turned on his heels and continued down the path.
Had Draco realized what Harry had seen? Apparently not. It was then that Harry had the mind enough to look around. He was in a castle.
Chapter 6: The Kiss, The Comfort, The Soul
Harry drew him closer still, locking him in an even tighter embrace. Draco felt no resistance, wanting ever more to be rid of the secret that plagued him. And yet, at the back of his mind, there cried an inevitable warning of danger, the danger of being stripped off until all secrets had been revealed.
*And what of your father, * came the thought.
*And what of my father? * his subconscious mind answered. But then, he needn't ask. For in that brief instant, it hit him with an almost painful awareness of an upcoming humiliation should this continue. And he realized why and what it was.
His eyes flew open, and he drew back. If he had looked into Harry's surprised face that instant, he would have seen the penetrating disappointment that stretched across the other boy's features. But Draco didn't; he looked away, instead, his eyes averted, daring not to look. He knew what he would see, and the only thing he could do to wipe away that disappointment would be to kiss him again. But he couldn't. Damn it, he couldn't!
Harry wasn't supposed to be in love with him! And neither was he supposed to return it! He was a Malfoy, for crying out loud! He was his father's son! His son! Not a daughter! A son!
"I'm his son!" he cried aloud, wrenching himself from Harry's arms, and jumping to his feet as quickly as he could. "Stay away from me, Potter," he hissed. "Never touch me again, d'you hear? Never." His eyes were a steel gray.
Harry tried to reach for him, then stopped, laying his hand limply by his side. All he could do was gaze mildly at the other boy, sweat trickling down his feverish cheeks. He couldn't understand why, but as the tension in the air lingered, Draco's actions angered him, and his gaze hardened. But.why? Shouldn't he be happy that Draco had pulled back? Why, he should be overjoyed! But, no! He wasn't overjoyed. He was mad. Outraged. How could Draco refuse him like that? Just wave him off as if nothing had happened or ever will.
He glared at the other boy, his eyes as green as ice glaciers. He wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of an answer. He wasn't about to give him anything else but silence, and if it would come to that, another kiss.
Seeing the sheer defiance in Harry's eyes, Draco was taken aback. What the hell was wrong with him! He was sure Harry knew he was a guy, but why in the abyss was he acting like that? Acting like an opposed lover about to kiss him?
Draco placed his hand on his forehead, feeling a need to see if this wasn't all part of Harry's dream. Trying to prevent the urge to laugh. This wasn't a dream. The emotion was too raw, too real, too new. He shook his head, feeling himself drift to the edge of hysteria. "Stop it, Harry," he told him. "Don't be a fool. We're both men, you know that. There could be nothing between us." And then.
. It hit him. And this time, he tilted his head and laughed.
Harry only raised an eyebrow.
Draco didn't see it. He only laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
Now, he knew! Now he knew why Harry had acted the way he did. Maybe he had known all along, just refused to believe in it. This was all too hilarious! All too relieving! And he was relieved. Relieved that he had nothing to worry about after all.
But this laughing. this laughing wasn't a good sign. This laughing was wrong. So he stopped, and gave the Boy Who Lived a menacing leer.
Harry shifted his weight to his arm, waiting. Waiting. waiting for what? This wasn't supposed to be! He wasn't supposed to be staring at the bloody git like a lovesick puppy! He was supposed to be throwing Draco around by the fist by now. Why wasn't he getting up? Why wasn't he giving the damned idiot what he deserved? A good thrashing about would suffice. Damn it, he couldn't move! He didn't want to move! Why? Because Draco's damned laughter was melting him into a motionless puddle of sap and mush!
He felt his heart beating hard against his chest, slowly making its way towards his throat. He willed it back down. This was not good.
Draco glared down at him, his eyes filled with utter triumph.
Harry's heart skipped a beat. Still he didn't move, but kept his face as placid as he could manage.
"So, Potter," Draco barked. "Now that that clumsy oaf of a carrot had his way with Hermione, you decide to have your way with me. I can understand why you didn't go after the carrot himself, but I can't understand, however, why you'd come after me, and why I hadn't seen it before! I knew that something was wrong with you, Potter! I just didn't know what it was. Am I really that dashing that even you can't resist me? Or do you just have an attraction to people who look better than you?" He scratched his chin. "This makes me wonder why you didn't go and screw Voldemort."
Tumbleweed.
Silence.
Draco frowned. What the hell ---! Not the slightest reaction. Not even the smallest "why-don't-you-screw-him" reply. Not even a change of expression! Not even a blink! Harry just kept staring at him! His eyes were the strangest color, a mild green, the green of the grass in a summer field, of newly refined emeralds whose glitter could yet be enhanced. And what was that, the twist in his face? Was that indifference? Was that lust? No!
Neither of those could give the brightest jewels a brighter brilliance than what it was capable of. His features were too solemn, too sincere, too pure. This wasn't anything he liked. This wasn't anything he knew.
*Don't let him get to you, Draco! * His mind screamed the warning, knowing fully well what would await him should he step forward.
He stepped forward.
"Damn it, Potter! Don't stare at me like that!"
Harry stared.
The silence enraged him. "Damn you!" he screamed. "Don't look at me like that! Never look at me like that! Do you hear me! I'm not going to be part of your sick fantasies, you understand, Potter! Screw someone else! Screw my father if you want, but never think of me! I don't want to have anything to do with you, you maniac!"
Harry grinned. "Just look who's raving like a lunatic!"
"Bastard."
"We're not so different, then, are we?"
Uncontrollably mad, Draco's hand shot forward, locking Harry's neck in its powerful grip.
Big mistake.
Harry caught Draco's wrist, then reached out for his shoulder, and thrust him down on the bed beside him. Harry leaned forward, devastatingly close, his breath a warm current that brushed across Draco's cheeks.
Draco panicked, struggled to get up, but Harry kept him there, the smile still lingering on his lips, triumph glinting in his eyes. Harry moved with feline smoothness, his naked leg sidling over the waist of the motionless boy.
Draco paled.
"Well," Harry whispered, his lips touching the other boy's ear, "I guess the maniac's got the lunatic. Is that what you wanted?" He nudged his nose closer, trailing feather-light kisses down Draco's cheeks, and feeling them quiver ever so slightly. "What do you plan to do now?"
Draco gritted his teeth. "Nothing."
Harry drew back. "What?"
Draco didn't look at Harry, only stared up into the curtains of the four- poster bed. "I said I planned to do nothing."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Why not?"
"Why should I?" Draco's voice was calm, set, indifferent. "You're stronger than me. You're more powerful. More important. Why should I care? Why should anyone? I'm only just about to be bedded by the famous Boy Who Lived. Guess I should be flattered then, huh?" Draco gave a tiny grin.
Harry watched him, speechless. He couldn't help but feel that he'd done something wrong. Wrong? What wasn't? He was just about to shag the little git! And what was more, it was a Malfoy git! What wasn't wrong with that!
Harry ran his fingers through his hair, feeling an awkward tension building up within him, watching Draco as he lay there, arms spread at both sides, his breathing calm, his face placid, fixed in a look of sincere submission. Draco's gaze hadn't moved; they were still set on the crimson curtains that were draped above the bed.
Something about this show of humility made Harry think of a virgin about to be sacrificed to the unmerciful god he had so worshipped. But Draco hadn't worshipped him. Draco had hated him, and hated him still, and maybe even more now with the knowledge of what he was about to do.
What about him? Had he ever hated Draco? Of course, he did! The little brat had been causing him trouble the first time he'd laid his eyes on him! Of course, he hated him! Loathed him! As much as he loathed the family that had taken him in! Even more so!
Maybe that was why he was doing this. Maybe this was the vengeance he had sought for. This would cause the insect's humiliation, give him cause to run to his father, and stay there. But in doing so, he would also give himself cause for humiliation. A mere touch would scar him for life, if he wasn't already. He remembered the kiss they'd just shared. Was there a scar?
The feel of it lingered softly across his lips, an enduring taste of a mistake so profoundly made. Of a mistake he could not regret no matter how hard he tried. He looked down into the serene features of his enemy. Draco's eyes closed, another act of submission, of total abandon, a sign that all he could do now was to await the fate that was about to befall him.
He reached out with his finger, touched the face, the smooth pallid face, beauteous beneath the stroke of his flesh, feminine compared to his own. Delicate, fragile, like a rose laid upon the ground ready to be trampled, ready to be crushed by unforgiving feet, by unforgiving fate, his silver- blond hair softer than a seraph's wings, luxurious gold, luxurious silver, a finer silk than silk itself. And the boy, a divine entity, incarnate of beauty, flesh of the fleshless, embodied soul.
Still a man, not even a man. Only a boy. Always a boy. Never anything else.
He kissed Draco once more on the lips, feeling the other boy cringe at the touch, before standing aside. Draco hesitated for a while, but eventually freed himself from the blanket's grasp. He made for the door, and without turning, quietly said, "I'll send someone for food." Then, he was gone.
Harry didn't expect to see him for some time.
* * *
"What happened? You look all flushed."
Draco met the golden eyes of a young teenage girl. "Frayn," he whispered in greeting. She stood by the side of the central fountain, her silver-black hair as long as it had ever been, cascading down her back to caress the ground in their graceful waves.
He remembered the first time he'd found her. In the shape of the black cat. He'd seen her the second time in the forest just before the bear/wolf's attack, then a third time, the first he'd seen her as a human, then the fourth after he'd left Harry to fend for himself. He hadn't left her side ever since.
Dracaena emerged from behind a cluster of rosebushes. Though she was Frayn's younger sister, she was the taller one, her golden hair a contrast to Frayn's black, hazel-green eyes shining with irrepressible mischief. "I think he looks pale," she commented, a reason forming in her devious mind.
"He looks thoroughly kissed to me," said another.
Draco started at the sound of the voice, as Clara, the youngest of the three sisters came into view from within the shadows of the palace. The blond boy could still recall the terrifying event of their first meeting: her as a hungry black grizzly, and him as a yellow-livered chicken running from the hungry black grizzly, or at least, trying to.
She was inches shorter than Dracaena, though slightly taller than Frayn. Gold-red eyes stared him down in scrutiny, a half-smile forming on her full red lips, lingering like a snarl. Draco no longer feared her. And he never should have. As a bear, Clara had come after Harry, not him. The reason, he never would have guessed.
After he'd deserted Potter, he'd found his way towards the Palace of the Suns, where these three were paid the highest of respects, even worshipped. Here, he was well cared for and respected. Here, he had friends.
They stood beside him as he sat on the walls of the fountain, the water falling behind him like a miniature waterfall. A calming hand rested on his shoulders. "You don't have to tell us if you don't want to," she stated.
Draco nodded.
"But it is often that that is when you have to."
It was a soft reprimand, but he knew what it meant. However, this was something he alone could take care of. It was something he alone should know. No one else.
* * *
Well-fed, well-bathed and well-dressed in foreign robes, Harry was ready to take on anything. Whether it be a black bear, a black wolf or an extremely beautiful naked girl, ha could handle them without the slightest fear. But then again, if it came to facing a certain blonde boy with those mesmerizing gray eyes, he was ready to crawl beneath a rock.
He brought a tentative finger to his lips. The soft texture of Draco's lips lingered there, sending chills of want down his spine at the well- remembered taste of Draco's mouth and the sheer pleasure of feeling the contact. Skin on skin. It had been electrifying, the touch, a highly elating sensation that had kept him in thought for the past hours.
Harry breathed. Even the mere thought of it kept him stimulated. The longing, the lust, everything was new to him. Everything but the guilt. The guilt of having marred the perfect naivete of one so innocent. Innocent? Was Draco still innocent? Would having been brought up by a master of the Dark Arts leave someone as vulnerable as Draco still as innocent as a babe on a cradle?
The memory surged through his mind, the kiss, the touch, the seduction, they were all there. The regret, the pain, and the trust and the innocence lost. He remembered the image of Draco's eyes purge his memories. The hard steel gray was in itself a but a mere memory as he recalled the fire die in those eyes leaving them vulnerable, dull, lifeless. His mind's eye watched it in utter pain and regret, over and over and over again.
"Reveling in your sick fantasies, Potter?" The voice was cold, piercing. It sliced through Harry's heart. Draco stood by the door, a figure of impossible beauty, a figure of impossible frost. "Save it when we're home. You can screw as many men as you want. Hopefully, you'd leave Filch untouched."
The guilt evaporated like a drop of cologne. "Shut up, Malfoy. You don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh. Don't I?" Draco's eyes glittered dangerously. "An hour ago, you had your tongue in my throat. Now tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. Shut up!" Draco cut him off before Harry could utter a syllable. "I don't want your lame excuses! Don't try to contradict what we both know to be true, Potter. It's useless." The last sentence came out as a hiss. Draco breathed, calming. "Now, come. Their majesties do not take well any man's tardiness."
Harry followed him outside, seething. "The problem with you, Malfoy, is that you think I give everyone equal attention."
"Isn't that one of your good sides?" Draco taunted.
"Not when it comes to that. You know I won't, not to any other man."
Draco stopped in his tracks. Faced him. "Oh? Just me then?" It wasn't a question. It was something more like drawing out a confession.
Harry faced him squarely, not knowing when in his life he could ever have been as honest as he was about to be now. He sighed. "Yes. Just you."
The expression in Draco's features was something that made Harry catch his breath. There was hatred, there was anger, and there was loathing. But that was only half of what was revealed there. The half that he could describe. The other half was the one thing that made his heart jump to his throat. The other half was filled with emotions not different to his own, or perhaps they were emotions that only seemed to be the same because they were the magnified at an immense magnitude that overwhelmed him. There, he saw anguish, there he saw regret. There he saw the makings of a tortured soul set to explode in the time it was meant to be set free. There he saw the utter torment of longing for something he could never have, of a hope that he could never hope to abide, of a wish that he had yet to gain yet perhaps never, ever, will. There he saw the wretched flames dying all over again, there he saw the spirit of a living, breathing nightmare plaguing the writhing creature it had clenched within the massive claws of a world that hated it for being what it was.
There, he saw Draco in all things that made him Draco. There, he saw Draco.
Harry reached out. A habit. Draco shipped his hand away. "Don't touch me. Never touch me again." With that, the blonde turned on his heels and continued down the path.
Had Draco realized what Harry had seen? Apparently not. It was then that Harry had the mind enough to look around. He was in a castle.