Readers: To everyone who really liked the chapter 15 ending, I beg you to
stop reading while your ahead. I want to be remembered fondly, and the next
several chapters of this story will be venturing into 'interesting'
territory (albeit slowly), so if you have reservations, do not proceed. For
everyone else, I apologize for any incredible explanations, but they are
merely my attempts to deal with some very problematic issues that Rowlings
fails address. Please give me a chance to finish before judging.
Disclaimer: Is there detail and an attempt to explain the inexplicable? Yes. Then I must not be JK Rowling. (Though, in her defence, my explanations may be so far fetched that no explanation would be better.)
Chapter 17: Blink and It's Gone
"And they shut him out of paradise, called him Lucifer and frowned,
'Cause he took pride in what God made him,
even before the angels shot him to the ground."
- Van Morrison, High Summer
Wednesday started out much like most morning these days did. Harry woke up before Draco, who tended to sleep later by virtue of the fact that his sleep was often interrupted by nightmares. They were not violent nightmares - Draco had long ago learned to stifle his physical response to them - but Harry was well enough attuned to his lover to wake when the Slytherin's breathing became ragged and he jerked awake. Then Harry would hold him and soothe him, and fall back to sleep holding him, though it always took Draco much longer to return to slumber.
However, today time was running out if they wanted to make it to breakfast, so Harry decided to wake his sleeping angel (devil?). This, of course, foretold naughty behavior, for while Draco never woke with morning woodies, Harry certainly did. He carefully slipped under the green sheets and towards the pale, naked body that hid there, then he slowly, deliberately dragged his wet, hot tongue along the sleeping member there. Draco moaned quietly and his body shifted slightly; and, to Harry's pleasure, the perfect, mouth watering penis twitched to half hearted attention. Harry blew on it, then showered it with light flicks of his tongue, finally swirling his tongue around the pink, increasingly swollen tip.
"Harry?," came a sleepy, confused, and somewhat frightened voice, clearly not yet having come to awareness of what was happening to him. So immediately Harry lurched forward, taking Draco fully into his mouth and deep into his throat. Draco's hips reflexive spasmed up and his head jerked back, a breathy keening sound escaping his lips. Harry wrapped his arms around each firm, long leg, and began bobbing up and down enthusiastically. Within minutes Draco was whipping his head back and forth, gasping Harry's name, and then Draco was coming desperately, Harry milking him for all he was worth.
Harry swallowed the sweet liquid, licking the softening member, then raised up so Draco, looking absolutely dazed, could watch him lick his lips. Harry grinned and jumped out of bed, quickly searching through his section of Draco's closet for something to wear. He was as hard as rock, but he had become quite used to the state, as the number of times that Draco turned him on far exceeded the number of times they could conceivably have sex. Then he picked out a black and grey ensemble for Draco and dropped them next the dozing blond. When he bent down and kissed him, Draco lazily responded, then tried to pull Harry down on him.
"Ay now, no time. We gotta get to breakfast."
Draco nuzzled his neck, hand snaking to Harry's erection and eliciting a moan. "I have the distinct impression that you're not entirely convinced."
Harry laughed and pulled away. "My libido can wait. The rational part of my brain says that food, unfortunately, won't."
Draco sighed, pretending to pout, then they both began to dress. To Draco, the amount that Harry ate was positively obscene; on the other hand, Harry constantly fretted about how little Draco ate, continuously claming that he was going to fatten him up.
They made it to the Great Hall fifteen minutes before they stopped serving. Draco took some bread, while Harry loaded up a tray with oatmeal and buttered toast, with milk and fruit. Draco digressed to talk to a few of the younger Slytherins and Pansy (who alternated randomly between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables), then he followed Harry to the Gryffindor table across from Hermione. The two academics nodded at each other - for while they're relationship was relatively impersonal, both had to admit to liking and admiring the other.
Ron and Harry were talking about the fact that Quidditch practice would be resumed the following weak. "So, Malfoy, what is the Slytherin team going to do, now that it's lost, well, all of its original members except you?," Ron asked.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to start training next year's team, but we're not going to actually be playing any games this year."
"Oh," Ron articulated with disappointment - he had hoped for an opportunity to brag about how drastically they were going to whoop the Slytherins in their next game.
Draco smiled, reaching inconspicuously under the table to rub Harry's inner thigh. "We do eventually come to the point where we recognize that cutting our losses is the only option."
Harry had stopped eating and was staring unfocusedly into the distance, Draco's nimble fingers having moved up to grasp his now aching erection through rough fabric.
Hermione suddenly remembered a question regarding her homework that had occurred to her the night before (besides, Quidditch talk bored her to no end). She had taken to running her potions queries by Draco before undertaking time consuming research, as it was a field in which Draco's knowledge actually exceeded her own. "Draco. Potions question: Why exactly do the ingredients of the Foresight brew allow you to have glimpses into the future? I couldn't deduce any ingredient interaction that could possibly allow one's mind to bypass the linearity of time."
Draco smiled, Ron looked immediately bored, and Harry was beginning to breathe heavily. "That's because you don't bypass linearity. The nutmeg allows you to hallucinate, the healing ingredients allow you do so without being poisoned, and the unicorn's blood gives you an awareness of the past and present that permits your mind to extrapolate the future, which you then see as a hallucination. That is why it can't predict radically unexpected events."
Hermione pondered this for a moment. "Harry, are you alright?," Ron suddenly asked.
Harry suddenly rose, grateful for the school robes and face quite flushed and sweaty. "I've, uh, forgotten something." Then he dashed from the Great Hall, as fast as one could with a raging hard on.
Draco smirked. "He's fine."
*
In the nearest bathroom, Harry locked his stall and, leaning against the door, unbuttoned his uncomfortably tight pants. He gripped his dribbling arousal and quickly began jerking off, imagining that it was Draco's sexy fingers clutching him, that it was Draco's perfect lips sucking him, that it was Draco firm, tight ass clenching around him so completely. . . With a grunt, he came all over his hand.
He quickly wiped his hands on the toilet paper, then slashed some cold water on his warm face. Oooh, he was definitely going to have his revenge for this one. . .
Harry returned to his seat, only to be confronted with three very sober faces. "What is it?," he asked, suddenly apprehensive.
Hermione and Ron appeared to wait for Draco to say something, but when he didn't (and, in fact, tilted his face away from Harry), Hermione took up the responsibility. "The Minister just came by looking for you. He's gone to his old office to speak with Professor McGonagall, but he wants you to go meet him up there. He looks. . . older somehow. Sickly."
Harry frowned with displeasure. "Harry, do you have any idea what he wants?," Ron asked.
Harry shook his head, then stood uneasily. He had a very bad feeling about this. Trouble followed Dumbledore around like a stray puppy - like a hell hound. He didn't want to do this by himself. Looking down at the figure that was facing away from him, he asked, "Please come with me."
Draco turned around and looked into insecure eyes, then he nodded. In truth, it would make him feel better too, not to have Harry meet with Dumbledore alone. He stood, they bid farewell to Hermione and Ron, then strode from the Great Hall. Ron put his arm around Hermione and they gripped each others' hands, both feeling an unexplainable apprehension for the departed couple. The Ron gently kissed his girlfriend, feeling the need to reaffirm love and goodness in the face of such ominous tidings.
*
Hermione was right. Minister Dumbledore was looking frail and old as he had never before. He looked. . . ill, like he was. . . dying. Acting headmaster McGonagall had given up 'her' seat behind the magnificent desk and he was slumped in it, hands gripping at the chair's arms as if to prevent him from slipping onto the floor. McGonagall was standing behind him.
The first words spoken by Harry were, "Minister! Are you all right?" Even after all those years of betrayals, his concern was brought forward by Dumbledore's feeble state. The old man smiled, pleased and touched that Harry still cared - he wouldn't for much longer.
"I am as well as can be expected, Harry. Draco." He smiled and nodded at the two boys. Draco nodded back curtly, keeping close to the door while Harry approached the desk.
Harry returned to his more wary state. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes. . . How are you faring Harry? Things going well between you and Draco? Feeling rested after your ordeal?"
Of course, these questions did nothing to ease Harry's suspicions. "Everything it pretty good, sir. Uh, is there something specific that you wanted to talk to me about? I don't want to be rude, but I presume there is a reason you have called me here."
"Tea?," he asked, motioning to both Harry and Draco. After two negative replies, he finally got down to business. "You're right Harry, of course. I wish this was a social call, but it's not. This is going to sound very sudden, but the United States government has approached me with a proposition regarding you."
Harry couldn't see Draco's expression, but his own was one of shock. "The United States government?!," he exclaimed.
"Yes, well, the Department of Magical Affairs, a secret subsection of the government proper. Their administration is structured somewhat differently from ours. The Secretary of Magical Affairs wants to hire your services."
"What?!" Harry was absolutely stunned; he gave into his urge and he whipped around to glace at Draco's reaction. It was absolutely expressionless, which said something in itself.
Then McGonagall spoke up. "Have you ever wondered why the United States, our long time ally, never helped us deal with Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy? Mainland Europe wants nothing to do with our politics, they come from different magical traditions than us, but the American magical community comes from the same traditions that we still have, and has always shown solidarty with us - they even helped fight Voldemort the first time he came to power. But over the last few years, they have had their own problems - insurgents, rebels, terrorists. And, recently, the unrest in the magical community has begun to coagulate under one man, Pat Robinson - a man who is also finding support amongst the more gullible muggles."
Harry knew nothing of this - he was quite Anglo-centric and, beyond that, Euro-centric. Draco knew about such developments (Pat Robinson, in the muggle world, was an evangelist for the Christian Right), but it was not a topic that had ever come up between them. Draco also thought he knew where this conversation was leading, more so than Harry at any rate. "So, what exactly does this have to do with me?"
Dumbdledore sighed. "You're famous. Even over there. They know you defeated Voldemort and Malfoy and their army -"
"Most of that wasn't even me!," Harry interrupted.
"It doesn't matter," McGonagall continued. "They think you did. Yes, they want you to come and lend your expertise, but what the government really wants is to use you to mobilize the population. The people are discouraged and this is making it easier for Pat Robinson to rest control for the government. They hope that by bringing you in on their side, morale will be raised, faith in the government restored, and peace returned."
"They want to use you to win the propaganda war," Draco said bitterly, speaking for the first time. "And what does Harry get out of this?"
Harry was frowning, but Dumbledore answered. "Money mostly, though the Department of Magical Affairs is certainly willing to negotiate, depending on what you want. . . But, Harry, this could save a lot of lives, help a lot of innocent people. Hopefully the satisfaction of such accomplishments would be enough."
Draco snorted behind him, but Harry only frowned more deeply. "When and for how long?"
"Harry!," Draco hissed - he wasn't actually considering going, was he? Of course he was, his thoughts immediately responded, and a feeling of dejectedness began to creep into him.
Harry ignored his boyfriend and listened to what Dumbledore was saying. "They'd like you to come as soon as possible, tomorrow in fact, and you'll be debriefed once you get there. They'd like you to stay indefinitely, though really, only as long as you are willing."
Harry pondered the proposition for a moment, then whipped around at the sound of the door slamming: Draco was gone. Harry slowly turned back to Dumbledore and McGonagall, looking slightly exasperated. His mind was racing around and he didn't know what to think. The proposal was insane and barely conceivable to Harry, but Dumbledore knew the Gryffindor well, and had appealed to him in a way that he could not possibly refuse. "Could I have the night to think about it?"
"Of course, take your time," the Minister said generously. "I won't be leaving until tomorrow evening, so you have until then, if you want me to accompany you."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said tightly, nodding to him and the Headmaster, then he fled the room, honestly not knowing what to think. . . except that he had to find Draco.
He travelled down several staircases to the dungeon, through the Slytherin common room (by now he knew both the password and many of the inhabitants), and knocked on Draco's door. When no reply came, Harry tried the doorknob and pushed open the door. The blonde was lying still and flat on his bed, staring up expressionlessly at the ceiling with unblinking eyes.
"Draco?," Harry asked nervously, uncertain of Draco's mood and reaction. He walked to the bed and sat niftily on its edge.
Draco blinked once before answering. "You're going to go, aren't you?" He knew the answer but he could not help the sliver of hope that persisted. Draco hated hope - it was a weakness that wounded and that could be manipulated. He had felt so much stronger when he was living his hateful, hopeless existence.
Harry frowned. "I don't know. Do you think I should?"
Draco jerked up into a sitting position, face desperate and voice cracking, "No! This proposal stinks, and I don't think you can trust the American government to be on the right side of this affair. My father had a number of close contacts on both sides." He grabbed Harry's hand. "Harry, please! Don't leave me! We've only just found peace, and I have a very bad feeling about this."
Draco looked as though he was going to continue on, but then his jaw suddenly clamped shut: he would not beg. He knew, inexplicably, that he would lose Harry, hope be damned, but he would not part with his dignity too. His voice twisted into distain, "Why do you ask me? You already know what you're going to do."
It was true, for sometimes Draco understood Harry better than Harry understood himself, and he knew that Harry would do what he thought was the good and heroic duty - and his love for Draco could not possibly compete with that. In the end, Harry was a hero, not a lover, and he would always abandon the needs of the one for the needs of the many. The swirling clouds in Harry's mind faded, then he too was confronted with the truth: he had to go, had to help and it was a drive he could not deny. So Harry nodded.
Draco drew up into a tight ball. A horrible pit of pain suddenly ballooned in his throat, his stomach twisted viciously, and he was overcome by an icy chill of dread and hurt that caused bumps to rise across his skin. Harry reached out a comforting hand and tried to apologize. "Draco, I'm sorry. . ."
Draco wrenched away from Harry's touch like he burned, scrambling off the bed. "Get out," he gritted, looking furious and pointing towards the door.
Draco's reaction hurt, though it couldn't have been entirely unexpected. "Don't do this, Draco, please. I want our remaining time together to be. . ."
"FUCK YOU, POTTER! I'm not letting you get anywhere near me after you've done this to me! I don't want to see your ugly, betraying face at all, nor do I want to hear any of your useless excuses and worthless proclamations of love! HA! And if you think I'm going to let you rip my heart out and then roll over and take it up the ass, you've got another thing coming! I know the truth - that you only liked me when you could think of me as something to save! You are going to fucking regret this, Potter! You will regret this so much that you will hate yourself more than you have ever thought possible!" Draco's fists were clenched tightly, his skin was flushed, and his eyes were wild.
But now Harry was angry. How dare Draco hold it against him for doing the right thing? How dare he be so self centred? "Oh yeah?! Are you THREATENING me?! What are you going to do to me, Draco, huh?! What!? Curse me?! I'd like to see you try!"
Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously, and his voice lowered to a hiss. "I don't have to threaten you. I don't have to do anything at all. You're going to regret this one all on your own. Mark my words and just you wait and see. You've made a terrible mistake here today, and it is your misfortune that you will live to regret it. . . Now get out of my room, Potter."
A shiver ran up Harry's spine, and he was hit with a wave of nauseating apprehension - in the hidden recesses of his mind, his subconscious was agreeing with Draco, extrapolating from past events some hidden future disaster - but it was no feeling anyone in their right mind could act upon. Gut reactions simply do not compare to ingrained convictions, and Harry was convinced of the rightness of his decision. Regretfully, he walked to the door and left the room.
*
Ron and Hermione were sitting in the Gryffindor common room, both with mouths somewhat agape, and neither quite believing what Harry had just told them.
"You're going to America?! Tomorrow?!," Ron parroted, disbelief evident in his tone.
Hermione was frowning - she, like Draco, knew more than Harry (and Ron) about the state of affairs in the United States. "Harry, are you sure this is a good idea? You barely know what the situation over there is."
"I know that there are people who need help, and that the American versions of death eaters are terrorizing the population. If I can save just a few lives, spare the suffering of just a handful, then it is worth doing."
Hermione did not look happy, and Ron still looked incredulous. "Harry, this is crazy! You can't go to America! You don't even know anybody over there!"
"I can take care of myself. Besides, I thought you'd be on my side. Helping them is the right thing to do," Harry replied, getting a little irritated. Why was everyone so against this idea? He looked between his two old friends.
Hermione sighed. "What about Malfoy?" (Calling him Malfoy was not a habit Hermione found easy to break, nor one that Ron wanted to break.)
Harry groaned and looked unhappy. "He's pretty upset," Harry said meekly.
Hermione felt a sympathetic ache for Draco. She hadn't allowed herself to feel too deeply about him, about the suffering he'd gone through, but now she did. She had never really needed to before - Harry had been on his side - but now that she suddenly did. Harry was leaving Draco? After all he had been through? Her original defensive urge for the unknown Giver now flared up again, now that he apparently had no one else looking out for him: Draco needed someone. "You're leaving him?," she asked with a grimace.
Harry looked pained. "I don't want to, but he's not willing to wait for me."
"Not willing to wait for you, Harry?! I seriously doubt he wants you to leave! Do you realize what you're probably doing to him?," Hermione moaned, sounding upset.
"I know," Harry replied defeatedly, his admission followed by an uncomfortable, unhappy silence. Finally, he spoke again. "Hermione, look after him while I'm gone, please. He hates me now, but he doesn't deserve to be alone. He needs someone. . . to care for him."
Ron tried to object, but Hermione immediately agreed. "Of course."
"Hermione!," Ron hissed, his distrust for the Slytherin flaring up now that he was apparently moving in on his territory.
"No, Ron," Hermione hissed back. "I know you don't realize the magnitude of what Harry's doing right now, but trust me when I say that he is THOROUGHLY screwing Draco over, and is hurting him more than either of them probably realize. And trust me when I say that he REALLY has suffered enough. I'm not going to let Harry leave him completely alone. He'll probably not want my company, but I will provide any support I can."
Ron looked cowed and Harry looked like he hated himself. Finally, the desire to be alone, and to nurse his pain, was too much and he got up to leave.
"Harry," Hermione called after him. Harry hesitantly turned around. "You don't have to leave, you know. The world will spin without you. And he doesn't hate you, you know that. He loves you. Even if he is being unreasonable, think what you're giving up by doing this. Think about what you're doing to him. You may save a bunch of Americans, if you leave, but you will be failing to save Draco."
Harry nodded sadly, then walked away. He wanted to stay, but his path was set and he could feel it. It felt horribly like fate - Harry would know, fate had made most of his decisions for him. Or so it seemed.
*
Draco stood in front of his mirror, staring hatefully at his reflection and the hurt consuming him. So he wasn't worth it, eh? Wasn't worth staying for? Had he really been just another victim to save? The rational part of his brain didn't believe it, but it felt so true.
Draco ground his teeth, feeling a little insane, a little hysterical. He suddenly punched the mirror, then savoured the pain that radiated through his fist and up his arm - the same fist he had rammed into his wall a couple of months ago. No. This time he would not use the shards of glass to stab himself, to brutally wound himself, though he desperately wanted to; this time his pride demanded that he hold together, that he cut off the feelings of agony and abandonment that coursed through him. So he was alone, he had been used to the loneliness, surely he could become so again: alone and strong. He would deal, he would survive. He always did, didn't he? He was the human cockroach, repulsive and depraved, broken even, but impossible to kill. Harry was right, he wasn't a victim, he was a survivor. Each wound made him less human, but somehow he would survive them all.
And he would allow himself, just this once, to cry for his loss, for Harry, but never again. This was all Harry would get from him, and all he had to give, then he would give no more. So he sunk to the aground in defeat, amid broken glass, and cried silently all night. He had lost this battle with himself, but he would not lose the war.
XXXXX
For those of you who may not be up on American culture and politics (and fanaticism), Pat Robinson is a real person. He is an evangelist for the Christian Right, and a PSYCHOTIC NEO NAZI. Oh yeah, and he also ran for president once. I have nothing against religion or Christianity, but this guy is unbelievable and makes everyone else look bad. To read the words of EVIL (straight for Satan's mouth), take a look at the following web site, which I highly recommend for its more frightening look at the kind of bigoted assholes that are actually able to be public figures:
And I apologize if the turn this story has taken is not to your liking. May I reassure you by saying that the story is not going to progress in the way you are likely imagining it will.
Disclaimer: Is there detail and an attempt to explain the inexplicable? Yes. Then I must not be JK Rowling. (Though, in her defence, my explanations may be so far fetched that no explanation would be better.)
Chapter 17: Blink and It's Gone
"And they shut him out of paradise, called him Lucifer and frowned,
'Cause he took pride in what God made him,
even before the angels shot him to the ground."
- Van Morrison, High Summer
Wednesday started out much like most morning these days did. Harry woke up before Draco, who tended to sleep later by virtue of the fact that his sleep was often interrupted by nightmares. They were not violent nightmares - Draco had long ago learned to stifle his physical response to them - but Harry was well enough attuned to his lover to wake when the Slytherin's breathing became ragged and he jerked awake. Then Harry would hold him and soothe him, and fall back to sleep holding him, though it always took Draco much longer to return to slumber.
However, today time was running out if they wanted to make it to breakfast, so Harry decided to wake his sleeping angel (devil?). This, of course, foretold naughty behavior, for while Draco never woke with morning woodies, Harry certainly did. He carefully slipped under the green sheets and towards the pale, naked body that hid there, then he slowly, deliberately dragged his wet, hot tongue along the sleeping member there. Draco moaned quietly and his body shifted slightly; and, to Harry's pleasure, the perfect, mouth watering penis twitched to half hearted attention. Harry blew on it, then showered it with light flicks of his tongue, finally swirling his tongue around the pink, increasingly swollen tip.
"Harry?," came a sleepy, confused, and somewhat frightened voice, clearly not yet having come to awareness of what was happening to him. So immediately Harry lurched forward, taking Draco fully into his mouth and deep into his throat. Draco's hips reflexive spasmed up and his head jerked back, a breathy keening sound escaping his lips. Harry wrapped his arms around each firm, long leg, and began bobbing up and down enthusiastically. Within minutes Draco was whipping his head back and forth, gasping Harry's name, and then Draco was coming desperately, Harry milking him for all he was worth.
Harry swallowed the sweet liquid, licking the softening member, then raised up so Draco, looking absolutely dazed, could watch him lick his lips. Harry grinned and jumped out of bed, quickly searching through his section of Draco's closet for something to wear. He was as hard as rock, but he had become quite used to the state, as the number of times that Draco turned him on far exceeded the number of times they could conceivably have sex. Then he picked out a black and grey ensemble for Draco and dropped them next the dozing blond. When he bent down and kissed him, Draco lazily responded, then tried to pull Harry down on him.
"Ay now, no time. We gotta get to breakfast."
Draco nuzzled his neck, hand snaking to Harry's erection and eliciting a moan. "I have the distinct impression that you're not entirely convinced."
Harry laughed and pulled away. "My libido can wait. The rational part of my brain says that food, unfortunately, won't."
Draco sighed, pretending to pout, then they both began to dress. To Draco, the amount that Harry ate was positively obscene; on the other hand, Harry constantly fretted about how little Draco ate, continuously claming that he was going to fatten him up.
They made it to the Great Hall fifteen minutes before they stopped serving. Draco took some bread, while Harry loaded up a tray with oatmeal and buttered toast, with milk and fruit. Draco digressed to talk to a few of the younger Slytherins and Pansy (who alternated randomly between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables), then he followed Harry to the Gryffindor table across from Hermione. The two academics nodded at each other - for while they're relationship was relatively impersonal, both had to admit to liking and admiring the other.
Ron and Harry were talking about the fact that Quidditch practice would be resumed the following weak. "So, Malfoy, what is the Slytherin team going to do, now that it's lost, well, all of its original members except you?," Ron asked.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to start training next year's team, but we're not going to actually be playing any games this year."
"Oh," Ron articulated with disappointment - he had hoped for an opportunity to brag about how drastically they were going to whoop the Slytherins in their next game.
Draco smiled, reaching inconspicuously under the table to rub Harry's inner thigh. "We do eventually come to the point where we recognize that cutting our losses is the only option."
Harry had stopped eating and was staring unfocusedly into the distance, Draco's nimble fingers having moved up to grasp his now aching erection through rough fabric.
Hermione suddenly remembered a question regarding her homework that had occurred to her the night before (besides, Quidditch talk bored her to no end). She had taken to running her potions queries by Draco before undertaking time consuming research, as it was a field in which Draco's knowledge actually exceeded her own. "Draco. Potions question: Why exactly do the ingredients of the Foresight brew allow you to have glimpses into the future? I couldn't deduce any ingredient interaction that could possibly allow one's mind to bypass the linearity of time."
Draco smiled, Ron looked immediately bored, and Harry was beginning to breathe heavily. "That's because you don't bypass linearity. The nutmeg allows you to hallucinate, the healing ingredients allow you do so without being poisoned, and the unicorn's blood gives you an awareness of the past and present that permits your mind to extrapolate the future, which you then see as a hallucination. That is why it can't predict radically unexpected events."
Hermione pondered this for a moment. "Harry, are you alright?," Ron suddenly asked.
Harry suddenly rose, grateful for the school robes and face quite flushed and sweaty. "I've, uh, forgotten something." Then he dashed from the Great Hall, as fast as one could with a raging hard on.
Draco smirked. "He's fine."
*
In the nearest bathroom, Harry locked his stall and, leaning against the door, unbuttoned his uncomfortably tight pants. He gripped his dribbling arousal and quickly began jerking off, imagining that it was Draco's sexy fingers clutching him, that it was Draco's perfect lips sucking him, that it was Draco firm, tight ass clenching around him so completely. . . With a grunt, he came all over his hand.
He quickly wiped his hands on the toilet paper, then slashed some cold water on his warm face. Oooh, he was definitely going to have his revenge for this one. . .
Harry returned to his seat, only to be confronted with three very sober faces. "What is it?," he asked, suddenly apprehensive.
Hermione and Ron appeared to wait for Draco to say something, but when he didn't (and, in fact, tilted his face away from Harry), Hermione took up the responsibility. "The Minister just came by looking for you. He's gone to his old office to speak with Professor McGonagall, but he wants you to go meet him up there. He looks. . . older somehow. Sickly."
Harry frowned with displeasure. "Harry, do you have any idea what he wants?," Ron asked.
Harry shook his head, then stood uneasily. He had a very bad feeling about this. Trouble followed Dumbledore around like a stray puppy - like a hell hound. He didn't want to do this by himself. Looking down at the figure that was facing away from him, he asked, "Please come with me."
Draco turned around and looked into insecure eyes, then he nodded. In truth, it would make him feel better too, not to have Harry meet with Dumbledore alone. He stood, they bid farewell to Hermione and Ron, then strode from the Great Hall. Ron put his arm around Hermione and they gripped each others' hands, both feeling an unexplainable apprehension for the departed couple. The Ron gently kissed his girlfriend, feeling the need to reaffirm love and goodness in the face of such ominous tidings.
*
Hermione was right. Minister Dumbledore was looking frail and old as he had never before. He looked. . . ill, like he was. . . dying. Acting headmaster McGonagall had given up 'her' seat behind the magnificent desk and he was slumped in it, hands gripping at the chair's arms as if to prevent him from slipping onto the floor. McGonagall was standing behind him.
The first words spoken by Harry were, "Minister! Are you all right?" Even after all those years of betrayals, his concern was brought forward by Dumbledore's feeble state. The old man smiled, pleased and touched that Harry still cared - he wouldn't for much longer.
"I am as well as can be expected, Harry. Draco." He smiled and nodded at the two boys. Draco nodded back curtly, keeping close to the door while Harry approached the desk.
Harry returned to his more wary state. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes. . . How are you faring Harry? Things going well between you and Draco? Feeling rested after your ordeal?"
Of course, these questions did nothing to ease Harry's suspicions. "Everything it pretty good, sir. Uh, is there something specific that you wanted to talk to me about? I don't want to be rude, but I presume there is a reason you have called me here."
"Tea?," he asked, motioning to both Harry and Draco. After two negative replies, he finally got down to business. "You're right Harry, of course. I wish this was a social call, but it's not. This is going to sound very sudden, but the United States government has approached me with a proposition regarding you."
Harry couldn't see Draco's expression, but his own was one of shock. "The United States government?!," he exclaimed.
"Yes, well, the Department of Magical Affairs, a secret subsection of the government proper. Their administration is structured somewhat differently from ours. The Secretary of Magical Affairs wants to hire your services."
"What?!" Harry was absolutely stunned; he gave into his urge and he whipped around to glace at Draco's reaction. It was absolutely expressionless, which said something in itself.
Then McGonagall spoke up. "Have you ever wondered why the United States, our long time ally, never helped us deal with Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy? Mainland Europe wants nothing to do with our politics, they come from different magical traditions than us, but the American magical community comes from the same traditions that we still have, and has always shown solidarty with us - they even helped fight Voldemort the first time he came to power. But over the last few years, they have had their own problems - insurgents, rebels, terrorists. And, recently, the unrest in the magical community has begun to coagulate under one man, Pat Robinson - a man who is also finding support amongst the more gullible muggles."
Harry knew nothing of this - he was quite Anglo-centric and, beyond that, Euro-centric. Draco knew about such developments (Pat Robinson, in the muggle world, was an evangelist for the Christian Right), but it was not a topic that had ever come up between them. Draco also thought he knew where this conversation was leading, more so than Harry at any rate. "So, what exactly does this have to do with me?"
Dumbdledore sighed. "You're famous. Even over there. They know you defeated Voldemort and Malfoy and their army -"
"Most of that wasn't even me!," Harry interrupted.
"It doesn't matter," McGonagall continued. "They think you did. Yes, they want you to come and lend your expertise, but what the government really wants is to use you to mobilize the population. The people are discouraged and this is making it easier for Pat Robinson to rest control for the government. They hope that by bringing you in on their side, morale will be raised, faith in the government restored, and peace returned."
"They want to use you to win the propaganda war," Draco said bitterly, speaking for the first time. "And what does Harry get out of this?"
Harry was frowning, but Dumbledore answered. "Money mostly, though the Department of Magical Affairs is certainly willing to negotiate, depending on what you want. . . But, Harry, this could save a lot of lives, help a lot of innocent people. Hopefully the satisfaction of such accomplishments would be enough."
Draco snorted behind him, but Harry only frowned more deeply. "When and for how long?"
"Harry!," Draco hissed - he wasn't actually considering going, was he? Of course he was, his thoughts immediately responded, and a feeling of dejectedness began to creep into him.
Harry ignored his boyfriend and listened to what Dumbledore was saying. "They'd like you to come as soon as possible, tomorrow in fact, and you'll be debriefed once you get there. They'd like you to stay indefinitely, though really, only as long as you are willing."
Harry pondered the proposition for a moment, then whipped around at the sound of the door slamming: Draco was gone. Harry slowly turned back to Dumbledore and McGonagall, looking slightly exasperated. His mind was racing around and he didn't know what to think. The proposal was insane and barely conceivable to Harry, but Dumbledore knew the Gryffindor well, and had appealed to him in a way that he could not possibly refuse. "Could I have the night to think about it?"
"Of course, take your time," the Minister said generously. "I won't be leaving until tomorrow evening, so you have until then, if you want me to accompany you."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said tightly, nodding to him and the Headmaster, then he fled the room, honestly not knowing what to think. . . except that he had to find Draco.
He travelled down several staircases to the dungeon, through the Slytherin common room (by now he knew both the password and many of the inhabitants), and knocked on Draco's door. When no reply came, Harry tried the doorknob and pushed open the door. The blonde was lying still and flat on his bed, staring up expressionlessly at the ceiling with unblinking eyes.
"Draco?," Harry asked nervously, uncertain of Draco's mood and reaction. He walked to the bed and sat niftily on its edge.
Draco blinked once before answering. "You're going to go, aren't you?" He knew the answer but he could not help the sliver of hope that persisted. Draco hated hope - it was a weakness that wounded and that could be manipulated. He had felt so much stronger when he was living his hateful, hopeless existence.
Harry frowned. "I don't know. Do you think I should?"
Draco jerked up into a sitting position, face desperate and voice cracking, "No! This proposal stinks, and I don't think you can trust the American government to be on the right side of this affair. My father had a number of close contacts on both sides." He grabbed Harry's hand. "Harry, please! Don't leave me! We've only just found peace, and I have a very bad feeling about this."
Draco looked as though he was going to continue on, but then his jaw suddenly clamped shut: he would not beg. He knew, inexplicably, that he would lose Harry, hope be damned, but he would not part with his dignity too. His voice twisted into distain, "Why do you ask me? You already know what you're going to do."
It was true, for sometimes Draco understood Harry better than Harry understood himself, and he knew that Harry would do what he thought was the good and heroic duty - and his love for Draco could not possibly compete with that. In the end, Harry was a hero, not a lover, and he would always abandon the needs of the one for the needs of the many. The swirling clouds in Harry's mind faded, then he too was confronted with the truth: he had to go, had to help and it was a drive he could not deny. So Harry nodded.
Draco drew up into a tight ball. A horrible pit of pain suddenly ballooned in his throat, his stomach twisted viciously, and he was overcome by an icy chill of dread and hurt that caused bumps to rise across his skin. Harry reached out a comforting hand and tried to apologize. "Draco, I'm sorry. . ."
Draco wrenched away from Harry's touch like he burned, scrambling off the bed. "Get out," he gritted, looking furious and pointing towards the door.
Draco's reaction hurt, though it couldn't have been entirely unexpected. "Don't do this, Draco, please. I want our remaining time together to be. . ."
"FUCK YOU, POTTER! I'm not letting you get anywhere near me after you've done this to me! I don't want to see your ugly, betraying face at all, nor do I want to hear any of your useless excuses and worthless proclamations of love! HA! And if you think I'm going to let you rip my heart out and then roll over and take it up the ass, you've got another thing coming! I know the truth - that you only liked me when you could think of me as something to save! You are going to fucking regret this, Potter! You will regret this so much that you will hate yourself more than you have ever thought possible!" Draco's fists were clenched tightly, his skin was flushed, and his eyes were wild.
But now Harry was angry. How dare Draco hold it against him for doing the right thing? How dare he be so self centred? "Oh yeah?! Are you THREATENING me?! What are you going to do to me, Draco, huh?! What!? Curse me?! I'd like to see you try!"
Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously, and his voice lowered to a hiss. "I don't have to threaten you. I don't have to do anything at all. You're going to regret this one all on your own. Mark my words and just you wait and see. You've made a terrible mistake here today, and it is your misfortune that you will live to regret it. . . Now get out of my room, Potter."
A shiver ran up Harry's spine, and he was hit with a wave of nauseating apprehension - in the hidden recesses of his mind, his subconscious was agreeing with Draco, extrapolating from past events some hidden future disaster - but it was no feeling anyone in their right mind could act upon. Gut reactions simply do not compare to ingrained convictions, and Harry was convinced of the rightness of his decision. Regretfully, he walked to the door and left the room.
*
Ron and Hermione were sitting in the Gryffindor common room, both with mouths somewhat agape, and neither quite believing what Harry had just told them.
"You're going to America?! Tomorrow?!," Ron parroted, disbelief evident in his tone.
Hermione was frowning - she, like Draco, knew more than Harry (and Ron) about the state of affairs in the United States. "Harry, are you sure this is a good idea? You barely know what the situation over there is."
"I know that there are people who need help, and that the American versions of death eaters are terrorizing the population. If I can save just a few lives, spare the suffering of just a handful, then it is worth doing."
Hermione did not look happy, and Ron still looked incredulous. "Harry, this is crazy! You can't go to America! You don't even know anybody over there!"
"I can take care of myself. Besides, I thought you'd be on my side. Helping them is the right thing to do," Harry replied, getting a little irritated. Why was everyone so against this idea? He looked between his two old friends.
Hermione sighed. "What about Malfoy?" (Calling him Malfoy was not a habit Hermione found easy to break, nor one that Ron wanted to break.)
Harry groaned and looked unhappy. "He's pretty upset," Harry said meekly.
Hermione felt a sympathetic ache for Draco. She hadn't allowed herself to feel too deeply about him, about the suffering he'd gone through, but now she did. She had never really needed to before - Harry had been on his side - but now that she suddenly did. Harry was leaving Draco? After all he had been through? Her original defensive urge for the unknown Giver now flared up again, now that he apparently had no one else looking out for him: Draco needed someone. "You're leaving him?," she asked with a grimace.
Harry looked pained. "I don't want to, but he's not willing to wait for me."
"Not willing to wait for you, Harry?! I seriously doubt he wants you to leave! Do you realize what you're probably doing to him?," Hermione moaned, sounding upset.
"I know," Harry replied defeatedly, his admission followed by an uncomfortable, unhappy silence. Finally, he spoke again. "Hermione, look after him while I'm gone, please. He hates me now, but he doesn't deserve to be alone. He needs someone. . . to care for him."
Ron tried to object, but Hermione immediately agreed. "Of course."
"Hermione!," Ron hissed, his distrust for the Slytherin flaring up now that he was apparently moving in on his territory.
"No, Ron," Hermione hissed back. "I know you don't realize the magnitude of what Harry's doing right now, but trust me when I say that he is THOROUGHLY screwing Draco over, and is hurting him more than either of them probably realize. And trust me when I say that he REALLY has suffered enough. I'm not going to let Harry leave him completely alone. He'll probably not want my company, but I will provide any support I can."
Ron looked cowed and Harry looked like he hated himself. Finally, the desire to be alone, and to nurse his pain, was too much and he got up to leave.
"Harry," Hermione called after him. Harry hesitantly turned around. "You don't have to leave, you know. The world will spin without you. And he doesn't hate you, you know that. He loves you. Even if he is being unreasonable, think what you're giving up by doing this. Think about what you're doing to him. You may save a bunch of Americans, if you leave, but you will be failing to save Draco."
Harry nodded sadly, then walked away. He wanted to stay, but his path was set and he could feel it. It felt horribly like fate - Harry would know, fate had made most of his decisions for him. Or so it seemed.
*
Draco stood in front of his mirror, staring hatefully at his reflection and the hurt consuming him. So he wasn't worth it, eh? Wasn't worth staying for? Had he really been just another victim to save? The rational part of his brain didn't believe it, but it felt so true.
Draco ground his teeth, feeling a little insane, a little hysterical. He suddenly punched the mirror, then savoured the pain that radiated through his fist and up his arm - the same fist he had rammed into his wall a couple of months ago. No. This time he would not use the shards of glass to stab himself, to brutally wound himself, though he desperately wanted to; this time his pride demanded that he hold together, that he cut off the feelings of agony and abandonment that coursed through him. So he was alone, he had been used to the loneliness, surely he could become so again: alone and strong. He would deal, he would survive. He always did, didn't he? He was the human cockroach, repulsive and depraved, broken even, but impossible to kill. Harry was right, he wasn't a victim, he was a survivor. Each wound made him less human, but somehow he would survive them all.
And he would allow himself, just this once, to cry for his loss, for Harry, but never again. This was all Harry would get from him, and all he had to give, then he would give no more. So he sunk to the aground in defeat, amid broken glass, and cried silently all night. He had lost this battle with himself, but he would not lose the war.
XXXXX
For those of you who may not be up on American culture and politics (and fanaticism), Pat Robinson is a real person. He is an evangelist for the Christian Right, and a PSYCHOTIC NEO NAZI. Oh yeah, and he also ran for president once. I have nothing against religion or Christianity, but this guy is unbelievable and makes everyone else look bad. To read the words of EVIL (straight for Satan's mouth), take a look at the following web site, which I highly recommend for its more frightening look at the kind of bigoted assholes that are actually able to be public figures:
And I apologize if the turn this story has taken is not to your liking. May I reassure you by saying that the story is not going to progress in the way you are likely imagining it will.