"Harry, would you like some tea?" Remus offered the tray piled high with steaming fluid and several cakes, splendidly balancing the tray and scrutinizing Harry's every move. "This brew is one of the favorites on my list. I thought, perhaps with recent events and your still recovering body, you might like to try something new, but known for its magnificence."
Idly watching out the window, Harry barely heard a sound Remus relayed. He just stared out at the small lake and the sunlight waltzing off the rippling yet glassy surface. It was almost as a thousand-mile stare had painted itself on his face. Like he was in another world.
And that was true. Harry was actively living the tender moments of the summer and how they quickly progressed to crumbs. There was time in the Oubliette, but the bleeding and constantly losing consciousness stole from much reflection.
And still numb from the experience, Harry's normally book-like features were as plaster. One would think him a statue with his drawn face and waxy eyes behind clouded glasses. "No, thank you, Remus."
A soft clink a meter away indicated the lack of regard for such a statement, and the older man's introduction for what Harry termed "Ramble," for though Harry was supposed to speak, he gave those reigns willingly to Remus. The ex-professor would Ramble himself alone before realizing Harry didn't want to talk. It just proved how anxious the man was over him, to not notice every nuance.
"Harry, you need to have something, Madame Pomfrey will never trust me again if you return thinner, paler, or any different than would be under her care." Of course Remus couldn't voice his real reason for fussing over the boy, but convinced himself it was the God-Father-Like duties he now took over, though he never could replace Sirius, and he knew it.
Breaking his contact with the dancing rays, Harry shifted to face Lupin, something glinting around his neck. "Alright." It was dead. Mechanically he stretched out his hand and pinched the teacup and small pastry from the tray. But Harry's attention had been captured again by the water and the cup and cake poised forgotten in mid-consumption.
"Remus, did you ever fall in love?"
There was such a long silence that Harry wondered if he missed Remus leaving. His gaze sharpened and he turned into the room and caught the very shocked and pale Remus.
"Are you alright, Remus?"
It was surprising, that he should ask such a question, but he was determined not to let Dra-Malfoy get to him. Remus would know; at least, something about this.
Lupin hesitated, how to answer this… "Yes, Harry, I have."
Something told Harry to just stop there, and not to ask more. Before, his instincts were right and he's learned to trust them. He nodded in response and sipped some of the tea.
The warmth caused a small trail down his throat, but disappeared quickly. The surface of the liquid caught the light in a different manner than the lake, but at the same time, it was similarly sparkling.
"Harry, do you want to talk about something? Someone? I still have your letter, and you've been frighteningly taciturn these days."
Harry flinched at the mention of that night. Yes, it was indirect and unintentional, but the memories still haunted him, visited him in his dreams. Even thinking about them cracked his ribs and spilled blood. Shaking his head, he looked up at Remus. "I'm just tired."
Nodding in understanding, Lupin smiled and leaned back in his seat, surreptitiously watching Harry. He had returned to contemplating the water and tried to relax, taking small gulps of the tea. Of course, with a piercing gaze directed unwaveringly on him, he felt unnerved and rose only a few minutes later.
"I think I'll take a nap." And slowly he walked to his rooms with Remus following his retreating back.
Harry quickly leapt the stairs and into the third door from the bottom. His room. Most of his effects had been brought here from the Gryffindor Tower, he'd be staying here for a while, after all.
Unlike what he told Remus, napping was farthest from his mind and he plopped into his chair before his desk. In front of him were the assignments he missed from the beginning of school. He stared at them for a long while before he took the quill and parchment and began reading and writing in a repetitive yet fluvial motion.
With one task remaining, and his brain feeling like jelly, Harry sat back and rubbed his temples gingerly. The tea had gone stone cold hours before, while the sun was directly overhead. Now its final rays of the day played in the folds of his curtains and danced on the walls.
His break was interrupted by a knock on his door, and without waiting for an answer, it swung open revealing a smiling Hermione and wide-eyed Ron.
"Hey, Harry. We brought your work. How are you?" Hermione said this all very quickly as she came rushing into the room and to his side. Ron walked in after her and Remus followed closely behind.
"I'm fine, Hermione, and you'll be proud to know I'm almost done with the make-up stuff." Hermione beamed at him and he couldn't help but smile back.
"Hey, mate." Ron didn't look too happy, but it was because Hermione had been her worried self and talked his ears off, then made him carry all the homework. He felt used.
"Harry, a moment please." Remus beckoned him out onto the landing. Harry got up quizzically and stood by the stairs while Remus closed the door.
"I want you to express yourself, if not with me, then with someone. But I doubt you want to discuss this with Ron, or Hermione, so I bought you this," He produced a red-leather bound book with cream pages, and there were many. It was almost as thick as Hogwarts, a History, "write down everything in here. I've charmed it so that anyone, except those you ask, who reads it will only see blank parchment."
Harry hesitated, but thought it best to just take the thing, even if he wouldn't use it. "Thanks, Remus." He gave the man a tentative smile.
Remus returned the grin and had the sudden urge to ruffle his hair. He thought better of it and squeezed his shoulder before returning to his continual contemplation of Harry's life, going down the stairs and out of sight.
Harry watched him go and then sent his feet to his room where Hermione was checking his homework and Ron was reading one of his Quidditch magazines. Walking forward, he tossed the book on his nightstand and gave a brilliant smile. It was just like Hermione to go straight to work, and Ron to procrastinate in favor of Quidditch.
Moving toward the bed, Harry dropped down and sighed, as inaudibly as possible. Remus was worried, along with Ron and Hermione. He didn't want them to feel that way, it was just a phase, and soon enough he'd be back to the normal "Harry" once more. Only, Harry forgot about the necklace strung on his skin.
"How are things, Harry? I bet you can get loads of work done here. It's almost better than the Library…" Hermione trailed off, whistfully dreaming of the endless shelves of books.
"Bored, mate? I'd s'pect so…" Ron couldn't put down the Quidditch magazine; the Chudley Cannons were the feature.
"Actually, it's not so bad. I mean, I get my own time for everything." Harry stared at his hands. The worst action, in his mind, was lying to his friends—to his family. It's like a betrayal, not giving them the truth.
But everything came into his mind, and he couldn't—wouldn't talk about that. It was forbidden territory, bringing more than pain and tears and red.
"Even Quidditch? Can you fly, Harry?" Ron abruptly lifted his eyes from the page with excitement and pinned Harry.
"I-I-I don't know. Haven't gotten around to asking."
"Are you sure it's worth it? I mean, this is like your hiding place, and wouldn't flying in the open, out on the grounds, defeat the purpose of secrecy?" Hermione turned to Ron, "And don't you try to talk him into it. He has enough to worry about with NEWTS and homework, Ron."
"But he has to do something fun or he'll lose his marbles." Ron retorted.
"This year is the most important in the wizarding world. From our scores, it's determined our extended schooling."
"Come on, Hermione, there is so much more…" Harry let them trail on. There was no use interjecting, for each was set in their beliefs, had argued about this on many occasions before.
Where would he put the journal? He couldn't just… add it to the bookshelf: Remus would find it and ask why he hadn't used it. Placing it out of sight, out of the way… somewhere no one would suspect it to be…
"Right, Harry?" Ron's voice intruded.
"Yeah," perhaps under the bed, or behind the nightstand. Or, he could hang it out the window in a sack…
"What? Harry, how can you say that?" Harry snapped to focus.
"Say what?"
"You weren't listening," frustration leaked into her voice. "That doesn't count, Ron, he wasn't paying attention."
"That's not fair, he agreed and that's that." Ron shot back. Hermione sat straighter and opened her mouth, probably to give a huge retort.
"Guys, guys, stop arguing. You both know neither of you will change your views. There's no point continuing this." Harry smirked knowingly.
"Of course there's a point; there's always a point. But, you're right," she turned to Ron, and then faced Harry. "That's not what we came here for."
"Oi, you wouldn't believe what's changed."
"Changed?"
"Oh, Harry. Malfoy's changed. It's so strange, passing him in the corridors and no insults coming after you. I think once I heard him say 'excuse me' when someone ran into him." Hermione had bright eyes and happy expression. Malfoy had tortured and taunted her since the second year, the really horrid way that makes parents enraged.
But the mention of Draco clouded Harry's emeralds. "Oh really?" He managed in a tight voice.
Ron took it for surprise, however, and began explaining excitedly the numerous instances of an altered Malfoy. But Hermione caught the slight shade in her friend's countenance and began to inspect him, just as Remus would have.
Flinching at Hermione's stare, Harry concentrated his gaze on Ron while his mind moved at incredible speeds. The entire summer passed in images, emotions. Happiness and joy, satiation and content—the hardest thing Harry ever had to do was keep the expressions from his face at this moment. No number or combinations of encounters with Voldemort could compare to the raging swirls of conflicting sensations stampeding throughout his body. Even the Cruatious Curse was heaven compared to this.
Everything was still too novel, too close to the heart. For the first time, Harry gave thanks for the Tower, for Remus' persistence and Dumbledore's insightfulness—otherwise it was facing Malfoy like this, looking for Draco and encountering the lie that masked everything but his eyes. The expressive silver eyes of passion, molten desire.
Shamelessly Harry heated and dropped his sight to the floor. Once, they were both too eager—they'd missed a Tuesday, a week of abstinence…
Harry knocked on the door, the brass 24 shining mockingly in his face, but only for a millisecond.
They were soon replaced by Draco's smoky eyes and impatient mouth as he captured Harry's lips with his.
The kiss was searing and within moments both were panting and stumbling into the apartment, kicking the door shut. Draco tore at Harry's shirt, exposing the expanse of creamy skin to his famished fingers.
Harry shifted uncomfortably, closing his eyes and holding back tears while his breath came in halted gasps.
"And this other time, Neville spilled his boiled asphodel. Yeah, I know it's funny…"
Draco thrusted powerfully, expertly, knowingly, bringing them to the most blinding plane of ecstasy they had yet to visit. Both satiated beyond measure and basking in the light of their love.
Even in the after sheen the sensation was palpable, thick and visible like a warm mist around and island, surrounding and engulfing them comfortably. They panted together, breathing in the emotion and delivering it to every cell in their bodies.
Sliding sensuously to the side, Draco pulled Harry into his arms and rested his chin atop Harry's head. Harry curled more definitely about him, relishing the heat radiating from his love's form.
It was as if Harry had relived that moment of utter peace and happiness—the joyous world in the ring of Draco's arms. He moaned audibly, startling both occupants in the room.
"Harry, alright, mate?" Ron sat forward in the chair while Hermione moved to his side.
"Do you need anything?" She grasped his arm and felt his forehead.
"No, I think I'm alright." Harry managed in a husky whisper. "I think the day's just worn me through. Maybe if I went to bed…" He trailed off hoping for his answer.
"Oh, of course, Harry. Come on, Ron. Time for our work." Hermione quickly ushered the red-head out of the room, glancing back at the boy on the bed. He was nearly as red as Ron's locks, something to consider. "Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well."
"'Night, Hermione, Ron." His voice was really strained.
Hermione closed the door behind her, and Harry flew back atop the coverlet.
Just as his breathing had evened, Harry felt a kiss on his crown, something Draco did only while he slept.
"I hope this lasts forever." The breath escaped Draco's lips.
And Harry caught it.
The burden in his robes was a force to be reckoned with. Tenderly, Harry released his member from its cage not daring to touch, or anything more. The cool air caressed and yet afflicted him.
Droplets moved from the corners of his eyes and into his raven hair while he stared at the maroon canopy. Draco got to him again. Already the oath had been broken, but no more. This incident could never happen again, no one would see him so vulnerable, even himself.
The tears poured like a waterfall, soaking his hair and soon his sheets just before his drifted into troubled sleep.
* * * * *
"Ill favored boy."Another jab and a cascade of blood tumbles to the floor. "You must get off on pain. Tell me, does he hurt you? Do you bleed for him like you bleed for me?" Lucius pulls out the steak fork from his left buttock.
Just barely, Harry keeps all reaction inaudible, and merely winces.
"Well?"
Infuriated, Lucius grabs Harry's hip and breathes snake-like into his ear. "One last opportunity, Potter." Silence pervades the tension. "Very well." He speaks, extremely excitedly.
In one swift movement, Harry's trousers are torn away and his legs are spread eagled, completely exposed and Lucius thrusts the coated metal into his vulnerable entrance.
A stream of scarlet travels down Harry's legs as Lucius giggles delightedly at Harry's scream.
Draco bolted upright, fumbling in the dark recesses of his green sheets. In his head there was screaming, loud and panicked. His hands covered his ears, but the sound didn't stop, or stifle for that matter.
It was so intense, so loud. It seemed just like a voice he'd heard before, one he hadn't heard in a long while. The scream was Harry's. In his head. Now.
Flinging back the covers, Draco tore from his dormitory and out of the dungeons with a new understanding and joy but fear and concern with love….
"You will never bleed with anyone like I can make you. Your blood is on my hands."
The screaming soon ebbs away into numb perspiration and Harry breathes heavily into his chest. There wasn't any way Lucius could desecrate those moments
Draco.
Soft pale flesh, the sheen of sweat, an emotion akin to the intensity of the physical pain at this moment. Lucius slaps him, and Harry remembers Draco's trailing fingers, and it wipes away the pain.
He loved me, I know it.
Draco crashed through the doorframe with a new message echoing in his mind. I love you, Harry, I love you. He didn't know if it was successful, but he took the stairs two at a time and came to Harry's landing by trial and error. Opening the door, Draco crossed to the half-draped bed where a twisting figure was moaning in the night.
He sat on the cover-sheets and with Harry's wand, spelled the door closed. With all that racket, he was certain Lupin awoke, but he wanted to be with Harry, alone. As long as possible. I love you Harry.
Lucius again whips his claws across Harry's flesh breaking the skin and spilling even more scarlet trails along his body. By now, the pain was mounting, Harry barely keeps his lips closed, a blackness threatening to engulf him—when another voice creeps into his foggy thoughts.
I love you Harry.
Draco lay next to his sleeping figure and wrapped his arms around Harry. Carefully, comfortingly, Draco held on tight, whispering into Harry's ear.
"Wake up, love. It's only a dream." Kissing Harry's temple Draco entwined his legs with Harry's.
He brushed the sweaty fringe from his forehead, trailed his fingers across the flushed cheek, pausing at full rosy lips. Draco couldn't help it, magnetic attraction took him to those lips and he kissed them, lengthily.
A heat infuses his body and Lucius begins to melt away. The sensation originates from his lips and he discovers someone is kissing him. Naturally, Harry moved his lips in response and began to kiss back.
Draco started when the mouth beneath his parted and tentatively the tongue peeked out. Relief washed through him, bringing about joys greater than life itself.
Their tongues parried and slid along each other for long moments, the background faded into another plane. Draco existed only with Harry, and the immense sensations tangibly swirling about them.
It was a dream, like it would change everything and lives would go on, happily for the remainder of time—legendary love.
Harry came to half-consciousness gradually and it suddenly smacked him that there was someone here, in his bed, wrapped around his body and kissing him; passionately. The sort of kiss he recognized… from somewhere, sometime, someone, opening his eyes….
Abruptly the kiss halted, Harry pulling away and confused green eyes stared into startled grey ones. His body had reacted rather strongly—as it was aching now—but his shock was so deep, not even the pounding and screaming at the door registered in his brain.
"Draco?"
"Harry. Are you feeling better now?" He smiled.
"Draco, what are you doing here?" He blushed, slightly embarrassed that Dra-Malfoy would see him after this, that it was Dra-Malfoy who comforted him.
"You called me," Draco's brow furrowed slightly. "Witch Message…" He tilted his head quickly and looked off in the distance, "granted, we're wizards, but under normal circumstances—"
Harry shook his head and disentangled himself from… Malfoy's limbs to sit up, brusquely cut him off.
"But, why are you here?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Well, obviously not, since I have to ask." Harry felt like the Rejected Ravenclaw Malfoy had taunted him with those many days ago.
"I came because—"
The door finally burst open and Remus came charging in moving swiftly and unswervingly in Draco's direction. He carried his wand in his hand and it pointed squarely at Draco's chest.
"You have no right to be here. Mr. Malfoy. Quickly remove yourself and avoid all consequences or remain to be forcefully deposed and most dubiously injured." Through this tirade, Remus did not stop approaching and now grasped Draco's naked shoulder.
Harry was even more befuddled with this new development—why wasn't Draco allowed here? Didn't Remus say that he would have the password? But them, what was Draco doing here? Why would he come? What did witch messages have to do with anything?
"Remus, what are witch messages?"
A panic, like that of a tsunami, engulfed Remus' thoughts, his body, his soul. He stopped his progress toward the door to stare at Harry. Acute pain in concentrate rapped at his heart's door. "How do you know about Witch Messages, Harry?"
"Malfoy said he heard me call him, that it was a witch message…"
Remus dropped his grasp and stared off into the distance, beyond the walls, through the air, into the stars, into the past and lingered there for several moments in silence—he seemed troubled yet at peace.
Draco returned to Harry's side, sitting on the bed and searching for his hand. When their skin met, a shock went through Harry and he stared at Draco, who smiled timidly. He didn't attempt to remove his hand, though, and turned back to the man standing in his pajamas in the middle of his room. "Remus?"
Blinking several times, the man focused on the boy before him. "How could this have happened…" He whispered more to himself than anyone else.
"Remus, are you—"
"Mr. Malfoy, is this true? You-you heard a Witch Message, and it brought you here?" His voice was in awe, like speaking too loudly or harshly would break the ice that now hung in the air.
"Why would I lie about this?" Draco squeezed the fingers in his grasp but never took his eyes from Lupin Harry stared from Draco to Remus and back, again and again. The ice was growing, dripping into icicles.
"But, what are witch messages?" Harry became impatient.
Draco stirred and faced Harry, lacing his fingers in the extensions he held. Slightly unnerved, Harry pulled away from the intimate gesture and clasped his hands together. He missed the pained expression on the boy next to him.
"Remus, tell me."
Carefully, the man took the desk chair not too far from the bed. He took a deep breath, and aged about ten years before their eyes.
"Witch Messages, Harry, are an ancient magic, an unbreakable bond between two people. The first known encounter with records of the messages was around Godric Gryffindor's age, but there were oral tales that dated back far into uncharted time." Remus stole another deep breath and slumped back in the seat. Something in his chest broke this night and yet something new was blooming. Drawing courage, he continued. "In those days, homosexuality was the absolute norm, and the magical world only heterogenized to procreate. One female couple had illustrated, on several occasions, to communicate without speaking. Their conversations would be going, chattering, but right in mid-sentence, they would stop, it would be completely soundless for a few moments and then they would continue as if they had been talking the whole time. Many were confused and quite intrigued by this and they began to question. They found, after several other phenomena, that the witches were communicating through it all. Soon after, several other female couples announced their relationship and so forth, finding that nearly all long-term or married couples had this ability. It was non-existent in the male constituency, and many believed that due to the very emotional side of the feminine mind, only the female could make such a bond. Thus the term 'Witch Message.' Of course, after a few centuries, and homosexuality lost the major field, some men were able to prove that the messages could be found between them, but I believe only six recorded couples could illustrate this property." Remus trailed off, again staring into the mist, attempting to pass the veil and breathe in the historical air, to go back to a world he knew as peace. But the silence was total, complete and it fractured that peace with its icy fingers and chilled breath. The broken pieces now shattered beyond repair, and the new growth gained a nutrient strong enough to blossom.
"So what you are saying, then, is, Dra-Malfoy and I have the ability to… talk to each other without speaking?"
"More than that, Harry." Remus sounded almost defeated, like he was weary from a thirty-year battle not in any condition to end soon. "More than that."
He didn't want to continue, and there was a stillness louder than any passed before. Yet, Remus knew he couldn't leave Harry without the knowledge, he was clueless enough already. Clearing his throat, a softness infused the room and seemed to warm in temperature.
"Harry, only the deepest of bonds can result in Witch Messages, and normally a sort of act, or rite of passage, must take place. It is a conscious effort, as the records go…" His brow furrowed and he stared hard at Draco, who wasn't paying any attention to anything but Harry's unoccupied hand.
"But Malfoy and I didn't go through any sort of ceremony." Rejected Ravenclaw Harry emerged again.
"That doesn't mean I'm lying." Malfoy stated hotly.
"Of course not, of course not…" Remus seemed to be living in those stars and quite unable to bring himself down to earth. It was almost as if he were watching the children in Neverland sprint away before the wolves. Unexpectedly, Remus stood, staring, unseeing at the two boys on the bed competing in a ogling contest. The gaze lasted a few minutes before he pivoted easily and moved stealthily from the room. Harry and Draco were left alone.
Remus left Draco unaccompanied with Harry.
In Harry's isolated room.
On Harry's secluded bed.
"Harry, why won't you let me touch you?" Draco asked, his eyes pleading with the pacing form before him while the rest of his mask betrayed nothing.
"Why should I let you? You have caused me nothing but pain on more than one level." Harry took several more revolutions on his oval rug. "I don't understand this. You, Remus, my dreams…" He touched his temple. "Why?"
"Do you think this a game? That I am a toy to be so easily fondled and just as non-chalantly discarded?" In his anger the Malfoy breeding began to show.
"No, Malfoy," Harry stated without hesitation this time, "it is you who believe me a toy, played like an instrument and when you are bored, you sell it to the highest bidder!"
He was becoming flushed both in indignation and arousal. Malfoy was intensely seductive when he was livid, and even more so without a top. Perhaps the only cloaks of the aching desire were the night and his pacing. Whatever it was, Draco didn't notice.
"What do you mean by that, Harry?" Draco sat straighter, becoming more incensed by the moment.
Harry didn't answer him for quite a while, still pacing back and forth, pausing at an apex, searching for an answer. "It was Lucius, Draco, your father."
"Lucius is not my father." Draco stated as if this were irrefutable fact and no amount of evidence could ever question it.
"Oh really? What was he then? Your Nanny?"
"By Merlin, Harry, will you listen to yourself? What is wrong with you?" Draco stood from the bed and began moving toward the shaking boy.
"Don't you dare come a step closer, Draco—Malfoy." Harry stopped and held up his hands. "Sit back down or I'll kick you out."
Draco obediently complied and moved back to sit on the edge of the mattress. Harry resumed pacing, faster than ever, left, right, left, right. Slowly, Draco caught the sounds of Harry mumbling to himself, but never could make out the words.
"Harry you need to calm down. You'll give yourself a heart attack."
This must be the 'new' Malfoy, the 'changed' Malfoy Ron and Hermione were talking about. It was alien to Harry to see him care like this; even in those wee hours of the morning, Draco was never like this. It was more reactionary than active.
His necklace bounced with every step, scratching the pajama top he wore across his now very sensitive chest. In frustration, Harry just unbuttoned it completely and let the panels flap at his sides while he walked.
"Like you would even care. You'd get to win a Quidditch game, finally. No worries, you'd say." His tempo increased, he practically ran across the floor, and in such a stupor even Malfoy was getting anxious.
"Come on, Harry, take your stupid arse and plant it on the bed. You'll rouse the whole castle with your racket." Malfoy was becoming frustrated, not able to make any progress at all with this stubborn facet of a Harry he'd never seen before.
"Sit down, he says. How can I bloody sit down with you there?" Harry breathed quickly now, almost hyperventilating, but he managed to stop pacing.
"What do you mean about me? What's wrong with sitting next to me? Do I have cooties now?"
Harry snorted. "Obviously you don't get it. You don't remember that night, on the street, under the tree. It's a joke, you being here." He pounced on his night table and grasped the thick red book. Moving several meters to his desk, he began to write frantically, like a madman disproving Einstein's Special Theory of Relativity.
"Harry, you don't understand. Look at me," Draco realized what the problem was, why his Harry wasn't in his arms, wrapped as close as skin would allow.
Potter didn't even budge, he just sat calmly at his desk with his hand flowing fluvially across the pages in a constant rhythm in cut time. It was as if Draco, no Malfoy, wasn't even in the room.
"Harry, look at me." When Harry didn't respond, Malfoy stood and crossed to his seat, kneeling beside him. "Let me explain, Harry, please."
The writing slowed and soon came to a halt, but Harry refused to look at him. His necklace glinted in the moonlight, which was rapidly fading as the morning hours approached. Suddenly his shirt scratched too much and it irritated his skin so severely, he had no other choice except to take it off.
Draco caught his breath when Harry exposed himself thusly, despite the reddish-pink areas about his pectorals. A sparkle caught his eye and he reached up to finger the necklace chain. "You still wear it…"
Harry flushed, too embarrassed and heated to reply.
"Harry, I don't know what to say that will make you forgive me. What I did, when I did it…" He shook his head cursing softly under his breath at himself, "it was just wrong."
A silence stretched, pulling the strings about Draco's heart, forcing him to wonder if Harry had even heard him.
"Then why did you do it?" Harry's whisper undulated with the still air, neither breaking nor continuing that calm peace. Closing his eyes, he willed the lump in his throat and the water in his eyes to disappear and not loom and return.
Draco took his hand and grasped his chin to coerce Harry to look at him: to see deep into his eyes; to determine for himself that Draco was speaking truth; to see the emotion that spouted out like a leak drowning him in the night with sensations.
"I did it to protect you, Harry. Lucius," Draco searched for the right words, "he, I thought if only you weren't with me, you would be out of harm's way. And I knew if I told you, you'd just laugh it off and say 'I've handled Voldemort' and such nonsense. But you don't know him, Harry, you don't know him."
Draco rested his forehead on Harry's hand, breathing raggedly, holding back, fighting back the onrush of emotion that threatened to swallow him whole. Thus Harry's slight twitch at the corners of his mouth, and the enlightened expression in his eyes before the tears he'd battled won and poured over the barriers, was lost.
Draco hadn't—didn't—and he did—it was—Harry couldn't even finish his thoughts he was so blissful. Yet, he couldn't just give in and make everything as the summer. No, Draco needed to understand, to feel the same as he did—for a week.
Harry went back to writing furiously, though most of his agitation had left. Still, there were several, yes, several points to Draco's apology that he needed to address.
Apology; Draco apologized.
Harry mapped out a plan: detailing strategy; and later, seduction. Full romance and candles and roses, he could charm them…maybe a visit to the Room of Requirement…
Cocking his head, Harry stared straight into luminous silver eyes upturned to him. The face was apprehensive, the hand grasping his awfully tight. The confusion and hurt from this, Harry thought, will be just like that night.
Wait, just one bloody minute. The memories of then came rushing back and again those horrid emotions of anguish and the lost sensation throughout his body returned. One week, it seemed too long. But, perhaps just a taste, like, one night. Harry didn't want to lose Draco all over again just for the sake of revenge and principle. But one night should be enough.
"Draco, I…need to be alone for a while." Harry said it as dully as his voice would allow.
The blond was shocked, utterly speechless and still as a statue. Wide eyes, open mouth, loosened grip…Draco just stared, attempted to gather his shattered wits and understand what Harry just said.
Of course he couldn't expect everything to be 'peachy keen' after the lot; but, he could expect something more than that reply. Taking a deep breath, Draco calmed his nerves, steeled his loins and stood.
"Alright, I'll come see you tomorrow, after Potions." And maybe we can have dinner together; Draco was already plotting. "I love you, Harry."
Harry nodded to show he heard, and then Draco left. He glanced back one last time and caught a god, bare-chested, bathed in moonlight; and becoming completely turned on, he painfully trudged down the steps returning to the cold, damp dungeons.