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Chapter11: The Difference between Dawn and Sunrise
"Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow?
And did you know your stairway lies on the whispering wind?"
- Led Zepplin, Stairway to Heaven
Harry blinked fuzzily, briefly registering the darkness of night before settling back into sleep. Then his mind suddenly came into sharp focus, again registering whatever it was that had woken him up the first time: movement in the body next to him - in the body he was wrapped around, holding. He shot up in bed, hovering closely over the blonde, shaking him gently. "Draco. . . Draco!"
Draco suddenly moved again, twisting away from him and whimpering. Harry reached out for the thin shoulder, only to have bony fingers grip his arm in a vice grip. Then Draco was struggling, blindly and incoherently, against Harry, who promptly let go of him, seeing that it was just driving the Slytherin further into panic and hysteria. He backed away to sit at the foot of the bed until Draco calmed, drenched in sweat and cowering at the head at the head of the bed.
"Draco?," Harry tried again. The other boy was shivering, arms wrapped around his knees, and determinedly looked away from Harry. He hesitantly reached toward Draco again, until his hand rested on a calf. "Draco, look at me."
It took several minutes of comfortably rubbing his calf before Draco tentatively looked up through frightened eyes. Eye contact burned though both of them, forcing both of them to look away. Gradually, Harry inched towards Draco, then used his hand to steered cobalt eyes to his own; then he strained to deliver a frail smile.
((Worthless, worthless, worthless. You should have died in my place. You are the greater threat.))
Draco's face wavered, then he buried his face in his knees again, and a sob made its way to Harry's ears. Harry wrapped his arms around him, awkwardly, his arms encircling the thin body and its knees and calves. Finally, Draco looked up through teary, puffy eyes. "Is he gone?"
((I'll never be gone, not for you. I'll be with you forever. I am part of you. You are MINE!))
Harry nodded.
For a moment, a smile flashed across his face. Then he begin to laugh loudly and hysterically, and Harry had to grab on to him to prevent him from falling of the bed. "Draco, sweetie, baby, are you alright?"
Draco blinked at him strangely, owl like and unfocused. Then he frowned. . . then he looked startled and frightened, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why are you here? What's wrong? Where am I?"
Harry was hit with a wave of guilt and melancholy, and he hung his head. "You've been unconscious for. . . uh, ten days, I think. Everything has descended into chaos, or so Dumbledore tells me, but the number of wounded would support his claim. You are in St. Mungo's. And, uh, why am I here? I don't suppose you would believe me if I said because I want to be?" Harry tried to offer a smile, but the whole situation was simply too complex and too fucked up for his words and smile to be at all interpreted as genuine. Seeing Draco's sceptical and hostile expression, he resorted to a more believable answer. "I'm getting regular owls from Dumbledore, Hermione, and Ron. Civil war has broken out, with your father as one of its heads, and he's looking for you. Most people seemed to agree that him finding you would be a bad thing."
((You should kill yourself, you disgusting slut. The world would be better off.))
Draco's expression emerged into an unsettling blend of horror, disappointment, fear, and pain. "So what you're saying is that I'm back to the point where it would be better for everyone would be better off if I killed myself."
"No! . . . Uh, Draco, it's not like that." Harry took his hand again. "We're integrating you into our side."
Draco rubbed his eyes, then mumbled, "I thought you were on my side."
((No one's on your side. You're the enemy, you backstabbing whore.))
Harry flushed and was overcome by another wave of guilt. "I am. . . It's just that, it's bigger that you and me now. Fighting has broken out everywhere."
Draco spent nearly a minute rubbing his temples and forehead before looking up and saying very clearly, "No. Voldemort's dead, and I'm going to take advantage of that. None of this shit." With that he swung his legs off the bed and tried to stand. His knees almost gave out and Harry had to reach out a helping hand, but he managed to stand and shot a defiant look at the rave haired boy. "I'm finished with being used. By either side. So take your protection and fuck off."
Draco tried for the door, but Harry stopped him by saying, "Draco. You can't leave. First of all, you don't have your wand. Second of all, you are dressed in a hospital gown. And, third of all, it's the middle of the night. Where would you go? How would you get there?" Harry slid off the bed and came to stand in front of the taller boy. In truth, he was growing rather disturbed. Draco's physical mannerisms were off - twitchy and skittish in a way they had never been before, his hands flittering around and his eyes refusing to make contact. And now he seemed to be muttering to himself, almost as if he had forgotten that there was someone standing a twenty centimetres in front of him.
((Yes, what are you going to do? Cry? DIE? You have no one, you pathetic scum, and you are too weak to do this on your own.))
"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up," Draco whispered.
"Draco?"
Draco froze, then frowned, finally looking up. "I am leaving. You can either help me and give me my wand or you can be a little shit and just let me go like this. But I swear on everything holy that if you restrain me or keep me here in anyway, I WILL kill myself and then I'll be no use to any one. And believe me when I say that you cannot stop me from killing myself." His voice sounded cold and threatening, and his hands were clenched in trembling fists.
Harry was quickly coming to the conclusion that Draco was less than stable; but, on the other hand, he rather wanted to get out of St. Mungo's himself. The boredom, mixed with the paranoia of discovery, was driving him to instability too. He had always intended to relocate as soon as Draco was fit to travel, though this very moment seemed rather premature. He also doubted the wisdom of giving Draco his wand back, but he hadn't the heart or will not to. He was on Dumbledore's side, but he was on Draco's too.
So he reached into his sleeve, where both his and Draco's wands were strapped to his arm; he retrieved Draco's and handed it to him, followed by a tense moment when both Draco and Harry thought that the former would hex the latter.
((KILL HIM! He's just using you! How can you think otherwise?! You're only good for one thing. . . ))
Instead, Draco turned the wand to himself and transformed the turquoise hospital gown into a baggy grey sweat shirt that exposed certain private parts of his anatomy. Harry blushed and looked away, but Draco showed no notice at all, turning to the bed and transfiguring the sheet there into a pair of black jeans, where Harry found himself completely unable to tear his eyes from a firm, perfect ass. . . from a perfect ass that was now bending over to struggle into a pair of pants. Harry felt his own pants grow uncomfortably tight.
Damn. He had forgotten how much Draco could turn him on - it was easy when he just lay there like the dead, but seeing the animated version was definitely something else entirely, and he couldn't help but suddenly be bombarded by tantalizing memories of amazing, mind blowing sex. He attempted to suppress his sudden desire and forced himself to look indifferent as Draco turned around, looking around the room for. . . his shoes. The rest of his clothes had been thrown out, being that they were covered in blood, guts, semen, and sweat, but his shoes had been kept, so he grabbed them and yanked them onto bare feet. Only then did he turn back to Harry. "How, uh, muggle of you," Harry commented, desperately trying to direct his mind away from fantastic sex.
"Well, surely you didn't think I would stay in the wizarding world, not with my father looking for me. . . Anyway, I guess this is goodbye. Lets not make a thing of it."
"It most certainly is not!," Harry cried indignantly. Draco was blowing HIM off?! "I'm coming with you."
Draco arched an elegant eyebrow, certainly not expecting Harry to want to come with him, even if to ensure he didn't fall into his father's evil clutches. The question was, did he want Harry to come with him? So much screamed no - every ounce of self defence, in fact, his entire ego; he KNEW that Harry would hurt him, Harry had too much of a hold on him. On his emotions. But his id relished the idea of taking Harry with him, though he couldn't tell if the little bitch wanted this so that he could fuck Harry or so that he could fuck with Harry. Or maybe the temptation of companionship was just too much, especially now that he had already felt it and experienced it. His relationship with Harry had made him weaker somehow, less independent. "Fine. Are you ready to go then?"
((WHORE! You like the pain! You want his cock up your ass, ripping you, making you bleed like the little bitch you are!))
Harry quickly moved towards the chair and picked up his invisibility cloak, then returned to Draco with a quick smile, "Ready as I'll ever be." Draco flashed a dashing smile, to hide the fact that he wanted to wretch, then reached for Harry's hand, and - CRACK! - they apparated away.
Harry blinked and found himself in a dark ally - and Draco was already walking away from him at a brisk pace. Harry followed him silently; and followed him, and followed him, through the dead streets of the inner city. After nearly a half hour of walking, and several spurned attempts at conversation (Draco appearing perfectly content mumbling to himself), Harry had reached the limit of his tolerance. It was the middle of the night, he had no idea where he was, and he was extremely sleepy. Finally, he grabbed Draco's elbow, which was, of course, promptly ripped away. "Draco! Where the hell are we going?!"
((He hates you. I hate you. Your father hates you. Everyone hates you. But that'll never stop them from using you.))
Draco sighed: he was having a distinctly difficult time thinking clearly, his thoughts muddled and constantly interrupted. "Are you tired?"
"Yes! It's the middle of the night, and I'm exhausted. Not all of us have been asleep for the last ten days. Plus, it's December and I'm freezing. I can't see how you can't be cold too."
"Fine," Draco replied expressionlessly. He turned up the next alley, walking up to a large garbage bin, from which he pulled a heavy pile of newspapers. Harry watched in growing disbelief as Draco spread them out along the ground.
"Malfoy! This is ridiculous. We're not going to sleep out in the open, on the street! Who knows what kind of evil lurks around here at night."
((YOU are the evil that lurks around here at night.))
Draco eyed the newspaper, then transfigured it into a sleeping bag and a thick blanket. Without looking at Harry, he said, "Whatever it is, it can't be as bad what lurks under vaulted ceilings and great chandeliers." Then he climbed underneath the bed and coiled into a foetal position, back away from Harry. It was very strange, but he felt in his gut that the street was the safest place for him, that it was the only place that his father wouldn't be able to find him. His entire upbringing rebelled against this, but his upbringing had nothing on this survival instinct. ((Feel at home with the trash, do we?))
Harry really wanted to argue more, to force Draco to come with him, but he neither had the will nor the belief in his ability to dissuade/force Draco from his choice. He was feeling oddly indulgent, and, like Draco, he objected to sleeping on the street more on principle than on the belief that it would be safer elsewhere. It was highly unlikely that they wouldn't be able to deal with any problems they encountered here in muggle London, as much of the chaos kept within the wizarding world (with what did spill over being attributed to a rise in football hooliganism and, of course, terrorism). So he gave in and lowered himself onto the sleeping bag next to Draco, lying staring up at the surprisingly well lit sky (yeah for light pollution!).
"You are the most demanding, stubborn person I have ever met." But Draco ignored him in favor of the serpentine voice and its constant stream of poison.
Finally too cold to justify his stubborn determination not to give in to the impulse (so indulged during the last ten days) to curl up next to Draco, he did so, wrapping his arm around the shivering figure next to him. "Good night, Draco," he whispered. "I'm so glad you're back."
Bittersweet pain stabbed at Draco's fragile heart, but he let nothing give it away.
*
Harry woke to thrashing and a savage bite on his arm. "Shit!," he cried, instinctively pushing Draco away from him before taking in his ragged breathing, anguished expression, and tightly shut eyelids. "Draco!"
Draco shot up, then stumbled several feet before falling back to his feet and retching - if there had been anything in his stomach, he surely would have thrown up. Harry quickly came to crouch next to him, careful not to touch the shaking body. Finally, Draco sat back on his haunches, head bowed and hands covering his face.
((Hahahaha! Did you enjoy that? Violent and agonizing, like you like it. Like you deserve it.))
"Draco?," Harry asked gently, before reaching out to stroke his back. Meeting no resistance, he pulled the yielding body back to their makeshift bed, wrapping his arm around his companion and nestling silky blond hair. "Shhh. . .," he soothed, until the trembling stilled.
"Draco," he finally ventured. "Are you okay? Tell me what's wrong."
Draco was so still and quiet that Harry thought for a moment he had fallen asleep; but then the Slytherin turned around buried his face in Harry's shoulder. "Harry," came his muffled voice. "I'm. . . hearing voices. A voice. Voldemort is . . . talking to me."
((He's going to hate you now - hate you so much that the pity won't even keep him around. That is, if he even believes you.))
Harry's body tensed, but Draco's fingers gripped his shirt, both begging and demanding he not pull away. Harry forced himself to relax, then began tenderly rubbing his back. "What do you mean?"
"He's in my mind," Harry strained to make out, the voice was wavering so badly. The defeated tone, as always, appealed to the part of Harry that was still sensitive and compassionate, that hadn't been hardened by years of trial. He held Draco tightly, not knowing what to think. Had the destruction of Voldemort's body exiled him to Draco's? Or was this a craziness thing?
"What does he say?," Harry asked apprehensively.
((Filthy, worthless whore of your father. Even Potter called you a slut, you useless, pathetic, disgusting trash.))
Draco gripped his shirt even tighter and tried to fight back tears. "Horrible things."
Harry pulled Draco up and away, forcing a face to face, though blue eyes looked away determinedly. Then Harry brought their faces so close, noses brushing, that even that was impossible. "Don't listen to him, Draco. Whatever he's saying, there's no way it can be worth listening to, right? Draco, you know that."
((But you what you are, don't you? You know I'm right.))
Draco blinked away tears, and Harry was so overcome with sympathy and adoration. He closed the millimetres between them and delicately kissed, taking a brief moment to suckle a soft lower lip. He pulled back slightly to take in the peaceful, pale, close eyed face. "I really am on your side," he pledged again, bringing up his hand to caress a smooth cheek.
Draco jerked forwards and reinitiated an awkward kiss, laced with desperation and dedication. He wanted so much to believe. When he pulled away, Harry smiled at him affectionately. "There's a couple more hours until the sun rises. Let's try to get a little bit more sleep. We'll figure this out tomorrow."
Draco nodded and burrowed into Harry's shoulder, then sleep drifted over them both.
((You'll never escape me. Because I am the truth.))
*
The noise of the street and the cloud clad sun woke Harry a couple of hours later. He felt a little grimy and positively starving and . . . rather horny - a state probably provoked and certainly aggravated by the lithe form in his arms. Merlin, how he wanted to rub up against him.
"Unh. . .," he moaned unintentionally, as a shift in Draco's position brought the desired friction, immediately startling the blonde awake - but Harry's hold prevented his attempt to jerk away. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying anything. It just happened."
((Hahahahaha! I told you this would happen!))
Then Harry loosened his hold, but Draco hesitantly decided not to pull away. He smiled shyly, then snuggled closer. Harry gasped, feeling a cool, slender - SO SEXY - hand slip into his trousers and wrap around his arousal. Harry was rock hard immediately, again thrown by just how much Draco could turn him on. He reached for Draco's waste, intent on returning the favor, but Draco deftly dodged the move, the aristocratic hand ceaselessly massaging and stroking him, all the more erotic for its obvious hesitance and inexperience. A minute or two brought him to climax, and he pulled Draco into a passionate kiss as he came in his pants.
((Whore. Trying to buy his affections with all you have to offer. But even that's not enough. He wants to drain you. Only then will he stay.))
Basking in the afterglow, Harry barely registered Draco turn away from him, but after several moments, he did register the low muttering, and the gentle rocking; disturbed and concerned (and a little hurt) he strained to listen, but was only able to catch pieces of what was being said. "Shut up. . . not true. . . it doesn't matter. . . I can take it. I can take it. I can take it."
Harry touched his shoulder. "What can you take, Draco?"
Draco wrenched away from his touch, scrambling to his feet, and glaring down at Harry. "I can take anything you do to me, Potter," he hissed.
((No, you can't. You're weak, remember?))
Harry got to his own feet, feeling upset and confused. "I told you, you stupid git, I'm on your side. I'm not going to hurt you."
"So you're calling me names now too, are you? Well, I'm not surprised, because I KNEW. I know. You are more of a threat to me than my father," Draco responded, voice dripping with malice and hysteria.
"How can you say that?! Damn it, Draco, why are you always fucking like this? Hot one moment, then freezing the next. Why can't you just be nice for ten minutes straight?," Harry demanded exasperatedly, both boys completely oblivious to shoppers and passers by curiously glancing into their alley.
((What's wrong with you, Draco? Tell me.))
"YOU ARE THE STUPID GIT!," Draco roared. "Why the HELL do you THINK is wrong with me? Or are you COMPLETELY incapable of thought?"
"YOU COULD STILL BE NICE!," Harry yelled back, feeling a bizarre flush of both guilt and righteousness; and amazement at the number familiarity was doing on their relationship. Maybe it was better when they didn't know each other's worst secrets, when all there interactions were charades and pretences, performed by meticulous actors. Harry was beginning to realize the truth: that Draco was a far better actor than he was a real person - he knew exactly who he pretended to be, who he was supposed to be, and who he had to be, but he hadn't a clue who he actually was. How could he be, as poorly socialized as he was? And, when the mask came off, it showed glaringly.
Harry watched Draco's features gradually transform from rage to frustrated resignation. "Nice? You mean you want me to be fake?"
((Of course he does, the real you is nothing. Nothing worth loving anyway.))
"No! I, uh, I meant. . . not like that. . . I meant simple," Harry stuttered, beginning to see where Draco was coming from. Why couldn't things just be simple for once? That was what he wanted.
"It doesn't matter what you meant. I guess I'm out of luck if simplicity is really what you want. But what if I'm nice, will you love me then? Nice I can do." Draco looked and sounded rather hurt and angry that Harry had 'forced' him to this. It was too much like begging.
"What?," Harry was reeling with the speed and apparent randomness of the conversation and he was honestly at a loss for words.
"I'm asking, what will it take to make you love me?," his voice almost shaking, he looked very much on the verge of exploding, though it was impossible to tell if was from rage, or desperation, or maybe insanity. And, sickeningly enough, he really did want to know the way to Harry's heart: he loved him enough to die for him, and just maybe he loved him enough to change for him.
((You can never change enough. A leopard doesn't change its spots, like a whore doesn't change his knickers. But, then again, you don't even wear knickers, do you? You're that easy.))
XXXXX
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Ass covering clause: I own nothing, only my brain.
Chapter11: The Difference between Dawn and Sunrise
"Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow?
And did you know your stairway lies on the whispering wind?"
- Led Zepplin, Stairway to Heaven
Harry blinked fuzzily, briefly registering the darkness of night before settling back into sleep. Then his mind suddenly came into sharp focus, again registering whatever it was that had woken him up the first time: movement in the body next to him - in the body he was wrapped around, holding. He shot up in bed, hovering closely over the blonde, shaking him gently. "Draco. . . Draco!"
Draco suddenly moved again, twisting away from him and whimpering. Harry reached out for the thin shoulder, only to have bony fingers grip his arm in a vice grip. Then Draco was struggling, blindly and incoherently, against Harry, who promptly let go of him, seeing that it was just driving the Slytherin further into panic and hysteria. He backed away to sit at the foot of the bed until Draco calmed, drenched in sweat and cowering at the head at the head of the bed.
"Draco?," Harry tried again. The other boy was shivering, arms wrapped around his knees, and determinedly looked away from Harry. He hesitantly reached toward Draco again, until his hand rested on a calf. "Draco, look at me."
It took several minutes of comfortably rubbing his calf before Draco tentatively looked up through frightened eyes. Eye contact burned though both of them, forcing both of them to look away. Gradually, Harry inched towards Draco, then used his hand to steered cobalt eyes to his own; then he strained to deliver a frail smile.
((Worthless, worthless, worthless. You should have died in my place. You are the greater threat.))
Draco's face wavered, then he buried his face in his knees again, and a sob made its way to Harry's ears. Harry wrapped his arms around him, awkwardly, his arms encircling the thin body and its knees and calves. Finally, Draco looked up through teary, puffy eyes. "Is he gone?"
((I'll never be gone, not for you. I'll be with you forever. I am part of you. You are MINE!))
Harry nodded.
For a moment, a smile flashed across his face. Then he begin to laugh loudly and hysterically, and Harry had to grab on to him to prevent him from falling of the bed. "Draco, sweetie, baby, are you alright?"
Draco blinked at him strangely, owl like and unfocused. Then he frowned. . . then he looked startled and frightened, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why are you here? What's wrong? Where am I?"
Harry was hit with a wave of guilt and melancholy, and he hung his head. "You've been unconscious for. . . uh, ten days, I think. Everything has descended into chaos, or so Dumbledore tells me, but the number of wounded would support his claim. You are in St. Mungo's. And, uh, why am I here? I don't suppose you would believe me if I said because I want to be?" Harry tried to offer a smile, but the whole situation was simply too complex and too fucked up for his words and smile to be at all interpreted as genuine. Seeing Draco's sceptical and hostile expression, he resorted to a more believable answer. "I'm getting regular owls from Dumbledore, Hermione, and Ron. Civil war has broken out, with your father as one of its heads, and he's looking for you. Most people seemed to agree that him finding you would be a bad thing."
((You should kill yourself, you disgusting slut. The world would be better off.))
Draco's expression emerged into an unsettling blend of horror, disappointment, fear, and pain. "So what you're saying is that I'm back to the point where it would be better for everyone would be better off if I killed myself."
"No! . . . Uh, Draco, it's not like that." Harry took his hand again. "We're integrating you into our side."
Draco rubbed his eyes, then mumbled, "I thought you were on my side."
((No one's on your side. You're the enemy, you backstabbing whore.))
Harry flushed and was overcome by another wave of guilt. "I am. . . It's just that, it's bigger that you and me now. Fighting has broken out everywhere."
Draco spent nearly a minute rubbing his temples and forehead before looking up and saying very clearly, "No. Voldemort's dead, and I'm going to take advantage of that. None of this shit." With that he swung his legs off the bed and tried to stand. His knees almost gave out and Harry had to reach out a helping hand, but he managed to stand and shot a defiant look at the rave haired boy. "I'm finished with being used. By either side. So take your protection and fuck off."
Draco tried for the door, but Harry stopped him by saying, "Draco. You can't leave. First of all, you don't have your wand. Second of all, you are dressed in a hospital gown. And, third of all, it's the middle of the night. Where would you go? How would you get there?" Harry slid off the bed and came to stand in front of the taller boy. In truth, he was growing rather disturbed. Draco's physical mannerisms were off - twitchy and skittish in a way they had never been before, his hands flittering around and his eyes refusing to make contact. And now he seemed to be muttering to himself, almost as if he had forgotten that there was someone standing a twenty centimetres in front of him.
((Yes, what are you going to do? Cry? DIE? You have no one, you pathetic scum, and you are too weak to do this on your own.))
"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up," Draco whispered.
"Draco?"
Draco froze, then frowned, finally looking up. "I am leaving. You can either help me and give me my wand or you can be a little shit and just let me go like this. But I swear on everything holy that if you restrain me or keep me here in anyway, I WILL kill myself and then I'll be no use to any one. And believe me when I say that you cannot stop me from killing myself." His voice sounded cold and threatening, and his hands were clenched in trembling fists.
Harry was quickly coming to the conclusion that Draco was less than stable; but, on the other hand, he rather wanted to get out of St. Mungo's himself. The boredom, mixed with the paranoia of discovery, was driving him to instability too. He had always intended to relocate as soon as Draco was fit to travel, though this very moment seemed rather premature. He also doubted the wisdom of giving Draco his wand back, but he hadn't the heart or will not to. He was on Dumbledore's side, but he was on Draco's too.
So he reached into his sleeve, where both his and Draco's wands were strapped to his arm; he retrieved Draco's and handed it to him, followed by a tense moment when both Draco and Harry thought that the former would hex the latter.
((KILL HIM! He's just using you! How can you think otherwise?! You're only good for one thing. . . ))
Instead, Draco turned the wand to himself and transformed the turquoise hospital gown into a baggy grey sweat shirt that exposed certain private parts of his anatomy. Harry blushed and looked away, but Draco showed no notice at all, turning to the bed and transfiguring the sheet there into a pair of black jeans, where Harry found himself completely unable to tear his eyes from a firm, perfect ass. . . from a perfect ass that was now bending over to struggle into a pair of pants. Harry felt his own pants grow uncomfortably tight.
Damn. He had forgotten how much Draco could turn him on - it was easy when he just lay there like the dead, but seeing the animated version was definitely something else entirely, and he couldn't help but suddenly be bombarded by tantalizing memories of amazing, mind blowing sex. He attempted to suppress his sudden desire and forced himself to look indifferent as Draco turned around, looking around the room for. . . his shoes. The rest of his clothes had been thrown out, being that they were covered in blood, guts, semen, and sweat, but his shoes had been kept, so he grabbed them and yanked them onto bare feet. Only then did he turn back to Harry. "How, uh, muggle of you," Harry commented, desperately trying to direct his mind away from fantastic sex.
"Well, surely you didn't think I would stay in the wizarding world, not with my father looking for me. . . Anyway, I guess this is goodbye. Lets not make a thing of it."
"It most certainly is not!," Harry cried indignantly. Draco was blowing HIM off?! "I'm coming with you."
Draco arched an elegant eyebrow, certainly not expecting Harry to want to come with him, even if to ensure he didn't fall into his father's evil clutches. The question was, did he want Harry to come with him? So much screamed no - every ounce of self defence, in fact, his entire ego; he KNEW that Harry would hurt him, Harry had too much of a hold on him. On his emotions. But his id relished the idea of taking Harry with him, though he couldn't tell if the little bitch wanted this so that he could fuck Harry or so that he could fuck with Harry. Or maybe the temptation of companionship was just too much, especially now that he had already felt it and experienced it. His relationship with Harry had made him weaker somehow, less independent. "Fine. Are you ready to go then?"
((WHORE! You like the pain! You want his cock up your ass, ripping you, making you bleed like the little bitch you are!))
Harry quickly moved towards the chair and picked up his invisibility cloak, then returned to Draco with a quick smile, "Ready as I'll ever be." Draco flashed a dashing smile, to hide the fact that he wanted to wretch, then reached for Harry's hand, and - CRACK! - they apparated away.
Harry blinked and found himself in a dark ally - and Draco was already walking away from him at a brisk pace. Harry followed him silently; and followed him, and followed him, through the dead streets of the inner city. After nearly a half hour of walking, and several spurned attempts at conversation (Draco appearing perfectly content mumbling to himself), Harry had reached the limit of his tolerance. It was the middle of the night, he had no idea where he was, and he was extremely sleepy. Finally, he grabbed Draco's elbow, which was, of course, promptly ripped away. "Draco! Where the hell are we going?!"
((He hates you. I hate you. Your father hates you. Everyone hates you. But that'll never stop them from using you.))
Draco sighed: he was having a distinctly difficult time thinking clearly, his thoughts muddled and constantly interrupted. "Are you tired?"
"Yes! It's the middle of the night, and I'm exhausted. Not all of us have been asleep for the last ten days. Plus, it's December and I'm freezing. I can't see how you can't be cold too."
"Fine," Draco replied expressionlessly. He turned up the next alley, walking up to a large garbage bin, from which he pulled a heavy pile of newspapers. Harry watched in growing disbelief as Draco spread them out along the ground.
"Malfoy! This is ridiculous. We're not going to sleep out in the open, on the street! Who knows what kind of evil lurks around here at night."
((YOU are the evil that lurks around here at night.))
Draco eyed the newspaper, then transfigured it into a sleeping bag and a thick blanket. Without looking at Harry, he said, "Whatever it is, it can't be as bad what lurks under vaulted ceilings and great chandeliers." Then he climbed underneath the bed and coiled into a foetal position, back away from Harry. It was very strange, but he felt in his gut that the street was the safest place for him, that it was the only place that his father wouldn't be able to find him. His entire upbringing rebelled against this, but his upbringing had nothing on this survival instinct. ((Feel at home with the trash, do we?))
Harry really wanted to argue more, to force Draco to come with him, but he neither had the will nor the belief in his ability to dissuade/force Draco from his choice. He was feeling oddly indulgent, and, like Draco, he objected to sleeping on the street more on principle than on the belief that it would be safer elsewhere. It was highly unlikely that they wouldn't be able to deal with any problems they encountered here in muggle London, as much of the chaos kept within the wizarding world (with what did spill over being attributed to a rise in football hooliganism and, of course, terrorism). So he gave in and lowered himself onto the sleeping bag next to Draco, lying staring up at the surprisingly well lit sky (yeah for light pollution!).
"You are the most demanding, stubborn person I have ever met." But Draco ignored him in favor of the serpentine voice and its constant stream of poison.
Finally too cold to justify his stubborn determination not to give in to the impulse (so indulged during the last ten days) to curl up next to Draco, he did so, wrapping his arm around the shivering figure next to him. "Good night, Draco," he whispered. "I'm so glad you're back."
Bittersweet pain stabbed at Draco's fragile heart, but he let nothing give it away.
*
Harry woke to thrashing and a savage bite on his arm. "Shit!," he cried, instinctively pushing Draco away from him before taking in his ragged breathing, anguished expression, and tightly shut eyelids. "Draco!"
Draco shot up, then stumbled several feet before falling back to his feet and retching - if there had been anything in his stomach, he surely would have thrown up. Harry quickly came to crouch next to him, careful not to touch the shaking body. Finally, Draco sat back on his haunches, head bowed and hands covering his face.
((Hahahaha! Did you enjoy that? Violent and agonizing, like you like it. Like you deserve it.))
"Draco?," Harry asked gently, before reaching out to stroke his back. Meeting no resistance, he pulled the yielding body back to their makeshift bed, wrapping his arm around his companion and nestling silky blond hair. "Shhh. . .," he soothed, until the trembling stilled.
"Draco," he finally ventured. "Are you okay? Tell me what's wrong."
Draco was so still and quiet that Harry thought for a moment he had fallen asleep; but then the Slytherin turned around buried his face in Harry's shoulder. "Harry," came his muffled voice. "I'm. . . hearing voices. A voice. Voldemort is . . . talking to me."
((He's going to hate you now - hate you so much that the pity won't even keep him around. That is, if he even believes you.))
Harry's body tensed, but Draco's fingers gripped his shirt, both begging and demanding he not pull away. Harry forced himself to relax, then began tenderly rubbing his back. "What do you mean?"
"He's in my mind," Harry strained to make out, the voice was wavering so badly. The defeated tone, as always, appealed to the part of Harry that was still sensitive and compassionate, that hadn't been hardened by years of trial. He held Draco tightly, not knowing what to think. Had the destruction of Voldemort's body exiled him to Draco's? Or was this a craziness thing?
"What does he say?," Harry asked apprehensively.
((Filthy, worthless whore of your father. Even Potter called you a slut, you useless, pathetic, disgusting trash.))
Draco gripped his shirt even tighter and tried to fight back tears. "Horrible things."
Harry pulled Draco up and away, forcing a face to face, though blue eyes looked away determinedly. Then Harry brought their faces so close, noses brushing, that even that was impossible. "Don't listen to him, Draco. Whatever he's saying, there's no way it can be worth listening to, right? Draco, you know that."
((But you what you are, don't you? You know I'm right.))
Draco blinked away tears, and Harry was so overcome with sympathy and adoration. He closed the millimetres between them and delicately kissed, taking a brief moment to suckle a soft lower lip. He pulled back slightly to take in the peaceful, pale, close eyed face. "I really am on your side," he pledged again, bringing up his hand to caress a smooth cheek.
Draco jerked forwards and reinitiated an awkward kiss, laced with desperation and dedication. He wanted so much to believe. When he pulled away, Harry smiled at him affectionately. "There's a couple more hours until the sun rises. Let's try to get a little bit more sleep. We'll figure this out tomorrow."
Draco nodded and burrowed into Harry's shoulder, then sleep drifted over them both.
((You'll never escape me. Because I am the truth.))
*
The noise of the street and the cloud clad sun woke Harry a couple of hours later. He felt a little grimy and positively starving and . . . rather horny - a state probably provoked and certainly aggravated by the lithe form in his arms. Merlin, how he wanted to rub up against him.
"Unh. . .," he moaned unintentionally, as a shift in Draco's position brought the desired friction, immediately startling the blonde awake - but Harry's hold prevented his attempt to jerk away. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying anything. It just happened."
((Hahahahaha! I told you this would happen!))
Then Harry loosened his hold, but Draco hesitantly decided not to pull away. He smiled shyly, then snuggled closer. Harry gasped, feeling a cool, slender - SO SEXY - hand slip into his trousers and wrap around his arousal. Harry was rock hard immediately, again thrown by just how much Draco could turn him on. He reached for Draco's waste, intent on returning the favor, but Draco deftly dodged the move, the aristocratic hand ceaselessly massaging and stroking him, all the more erotic for its obvious hesitance and inexperience. A minute or two brought him to climax, and he pulled Draco into a passionate kiss as he came in his pants.
((Whore. Trying to buy his affections with all you have to offer. But even that's not enough. He wants to drain you. Only then will he stay.))
Basking in the afterglow, Harry barely registered Draco turn away from him, but after several moments, he did register the low muttering, and the gentle rocking; disturbed and concerned (and a little hurt) he strained to listen, but was only able to catch pieces of what was being said. "Shut up. . . not true. . . it doesn't matter. . . I can take it. I can take it. I can take it."
Harry touched his shoulder. "What can you take, Draco?"
Draco wrenched away from his touch, scrambling to his feet, and glaring down at Harry. "I can take anything you do to me, Potter," he hissed.
((No, you can't. You're weak, remember?))
Harry got to his own feet, feeling upset and confused. "I told you, you stupid git, I'm on your side. I'm not going to hurt you."
"So you're calling me names now too, are you? Well, I'm not surprised, because I KNEW. I know. You are more of a threat to me than my father," Draco responded, voice dripping with malice and hysteria.
"How can you say that?! Damn it, Draco, why are you always fucking like this? Hot one moment, then freezing the next. Why can't you just be nice for ten minutes straight?," Harry demanded exasperatedly, both boys completely oblivious to shoppers and passers by curiously glancing into their alley.
((What's wrong with you, Draco? Tell me.))
"YOU ARE THE STUPID GIT!," Draco roared. "Why the HELL do you THINK is wrong with me? Or are you COMPLETELY incapable of thought?"
"YOU COULD STILL BE NICE!," Harry yelled back, feeling a bizarre flush of both guilt and righteousness; and amazement at the number familiarity was doing on their relationship. Maybe it was better when they didn't know each other's worst secrets, when all there interactions were charades and pretences, performed by meticulous actors. Harry was beginning to realize the truth: that Draco was a far better actor than he was a real person - he knew exactly who he pretended to be, who he was supposed to be, and who he had to be, but he hadn't a clue who he actually was. How could he be, as poorly socialized as he was? And, when the mask came off, it showed glaringly.
Harry watched Draco's features gradually transform from rage to frustrated resignation. "Nice? You mean you want me to be fake?"
((Of course he does, the real you is nothing. Nothing worth loving anyway.))
"No! I, uh, I meant. . . not like that. . . I meant simple," Harry stuttered, beginning to see where Draco was coming from. Why couldn't things just be simple for once? That was what he wanted.
"It doesn't matter what you meant. I guess I'm out of luck if simplicity is really what you want. But what if I'm nice, will you love me then? Nice I can do." Draco looked and sounded rather hurt and angry that Harry had 'forced' him to this. It was too much like begging.
"What?," Harry was reeling with the speed and apparent randomness of the conversation and he was honestly at a loss for words.
"I'm asking, what will it take to make you love me?," his voice almost shaking, he looked very much on the verge of exploding, though it was impossible to tell if was from rage, or desperation, or maybe insanity. And, sickeningly enough, he really did want to know the way to Harry's heart: he loved him enough to die for him, and just maybe he loved him enough to change for him.
((You can never change enough. A leopard doesn't change its spots, like a whore doesn't change his knickers. But, then again, you don't even wear knickers, do you? You're that easy.))
XXXXX
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