Disclaimer: I do not own, wish I did, but I don't. Anything recognizable including all characters, places, and images are under trademark through JKR and the companies that publish the books and make the movies. I only own my plot line.
Author: ShaeLynn Teelle
Warning: Slash/yaoi/guys with guys. Mixed p.o.v.
Inspiration: I'm always here to catch him when he falls. The man with the broken smile. And he will be loved. (I do not own the song and forget whom it's by.)
If someone wants to archive, please ask first. You won't be turned down, but I would like to know where it's going. Thank you.
Polite constructive criticism is welcome; FLAMES WILL BE FED TO THE DRAGON IN MY BED.
1st Person p.o.v. past tense
Our plans went without fail until the afternoon he was to come to Canterbury. That morning I had a bad feeling in my stomach, a feeling that something was not right. The last time I had felt like that… I didn't even like to think about it. It was the one secret I knew I had to tell him, but I was sure he would turn away from me, taking his comforting presence as well.
I asked my friends to meet me at the Cathedral gates near the waterway that went through part of the city. The entire area had a permanent Notice-Me-Not spell on one corner of the street where he would apparate to and many would believe he had come out of the Cathedral proper. I'm glad I asked them. I never made it.
I had gone to Diagon Alley for some needed things, food, parchment, and the like. I had enough concealment charms on me to blend into the general crowd without problems. Somehow it wasn't enough. Arms wrapped about me and pulled me into one of the side alleys, then, portkeyed us both to the manor. I don't remember much of what happened, but I didn't tell them anything.
After numerous hours my father grew bored with getting the same unhelpful answers from me and sent me to my chambers. From there I flooed to the Leaky Cauldron and called the Knight Bus. My dark clothes blended into the few bloodstains and kept any visible signs of what happened hidden well enough in the dark. I paid my fare to Canterbury Cathedral and found a bed at the back of the bus, lying down, but unable to sleep.
The entire half hour trip my mind kept revolving around two things, what he was thinking about me not being there and that I had to tell him what happened over the Christmas holidays in seventh year. Before I met him; before I knew him; and well before I ever cared about him.
How I managed to stumble the many streets to our flat after I was dropped off I'll never know. I reached it and fumbled with the lock. It was dark inside when I entered, no sign that anyone else had been there since I left and my heavy breathing echoed about the front room. I managed to close the door and ensure the lock was secure before I fell to my knees and promptly passed out.
The next morning I awoke in my bed, sore, but not in the pain I was the night before. I slid out of my bed, using the wall for support and noticed I was only wearing a pair of light sleep pants and my wounds were bandaged. I also could see the Dark Mark standing out in stark contrast to my pale skin. I closed my eyes, wishing I had done things differently and he had found out about it in some way less damaging to whatever it was we had. I was certain he had left as soon as my wounds were bandaged, or that perhaps he had never been there and it was one of my friends that had helped me as they had a spare key. When I opened my eyes again it was to see him standing before me. His green eyes just watching me, not accusing, just watching.
'I didn't want it,' were the first words from my mouth, not wanting him to believe I had willingly gotten such a thing.
He just stood there looking at me for minutes, hours, I don't know. Finally he asked what my orders had been, what my mission was. He knew I had never been called away for meetings. I closed my eyes. How could I tell him that my orders were to do exactly what I had done? He asked me again. I couldn't lie to him; I didn't want to. I told him what my orders were. Orders that I never planned to carry out. Orders to get close to him and take him to the Dark Lord.
He didn't say anything, just walked out of the room. I heard him moving around in the next room before the sounds drifted off. For a moment I considered crawling back into my bed and staying there until someone either killed me or I died of starvation. Then, I heard brief movements from somewhere in the apartment and I left my room, using the walls for support.
The only thought on my mind was that I had one more chance to see him, to try to convince him I hadn't gotten close to him because of orders and I wanted nothing to do with Voldemort. I entered the small kitchen and stopped, stunned. There he was, not packed, sitting at the small four-person table, reading the Daily Prophet and calmly eating sausage and toast.
He glanced up at me once before pouring orange juice in the glass across from him and returning to his paper. Gingerly I sat down at the table, where there was another plate and the orange juice waited. We didn't say much over that first meal. He asked who had damaged me and if magic was used. I answered as much as I knew, waiting patiently for the 'other shoe to drop' and for him to pack up his things and leave again.
After we had both eaten our fill, not very much on either of our parts, he directed me into the small bathroom. There I perched on the closed toilet seat, the shower being a single stall only big enough for one person to fit comfortably inside and no ledge near the floor to rest upon. Silently he went about pulling off the old bandages, casting cleaning spells on everything, healing spells on the smaller wounds, and rebandaging everything that needed it.
I knew there were things he couldn't fix, that only a medi-witch could. I could feel them when I moved around, feel them when I breathed or twisted at all, but I couldn't go to St. Mungo's. It was completely out of the question as too many questions would be asked and the injuries were too extensive to blame on a fall. And my father would be notified. It's rather impossibly to hide who I am if I need medical attention. He took me back to the sitting room, one arm about my waist, keeping my steady. He sat next to me, picking up a book, some Muggle novel, and reading.
When I just sat there unmoving, he told me to rest and motioned for me to lie down. So I did, my head resting against his thigh. The familiar calming sensation I associated with his touch flowed over me and I relaxed. I don't remember falling asleep. At the time I could only remember one other time I had slept so well and without nightmares. Then, I heard what had awoken me. There were quiet voices nearby, ones that were familiar, but I only readily recognized his. It was then, before I opened my eyes, that I was aware of still using his thigh for a pillow and gentle fingers were carding through my hair.
I opened my eyes and tipped my head, looking about for the other speakers. In two chairs off to one side sat Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey, both of whom stopped talking when they saw I was awake. Madam Pomfrey came over and, as I lay there, his hand still moving over my head soothingly, she finished healing the wounds he couldn't. Neither Pomfrey nor Professor Dumbledore spoke a word about the ugly thing on my arm.
The Hogwarts medi-witch left shortly after ensuring herself and us that I would be okay, especially when I refused any pain potions until the lesser injuries healed on their own. Then, I concealed the wounds that were visible as the other two watched. I wasn't going to chance questions being asked by someone that didn't know what was happening and I didn't want him to have to see them every day.
I think what may have surprised them most was that I did the concealment charm without a wand, a talent that he asked me to teach him. Dumbledore stayed until it was early evening, speaking with him about inconsequential things and Order business that I was surprised to be allowed to hear of. He made a simple supper for the three of us, just tomato soup and toast, and the Headmaster left shortly after. I retired to my bed hours before he did, worn out still from being under my father's care.
It was only several hours later that I was awoken by harsh cries from somewhere in the house. My first reaction was that somehow my father had followed me home and was attacking my flat-mate. I grabbed my wand from where it lay on the bedside table and staggered as fast as I could through the flat to his room. There, I found him not being attacked by my father or a Death Eater, but by his own nightmares. I went to him and repeated the simple gesture that I had in the infirmary weeks earlier, though it felt like years ago now.
He awoke suddenly, unlike the last time, but didn't lash out, his eyes instantly recognizing who I was. We didn't talk about it; I simply offered him comfort until he fell asleep once again. Then, I returned to my own room and the fitful sleep that awaited me. My screams woke me from the nightmare, one where I was still trapped in the dungeons from just days ago. He was at my side barely a moment later, offering his soothing touch. Eventually he returned to his bed and both our sleeps were uninterrupted for the rest of that night, but it was not the last time our night went like that.
The next day my friends came over, wanting to know what had happened. I told them and they were only relieved that I was all right. The rest of the day was spent much like the previous with the exception of several hours spent practicing wandless magic and I was eternally grateful that he and I had both insisted we have some time off before our respective apprenticeships started. We had another two weeks before they began, mine on a Saturday, his on a Tuesday.
That night it was I who started the first round of nightmares. Then, it was his turn, and finally I had a second one near morning. We were both exhausted from lack of sleep over the past two nights so I simply moved over in my bed and he climbed in beside me. When we woke late the next morning, his head lay on my chest with one arm resting against my neck, his hand in my hair. My own arms were lightly crossed over his back. There was silence when we both were awake, but it wasn't really an uncomfortable silence. We didn't speak of it at all that day.
The next night much the same thing happened, though this time we ended up in his much smaller bed. By the end of the first week living together we had, by unspoken agreement, taken to sleeping beside each other in my bed. We quickly found that the nightmares were becoming scarce when we were next to each other and when we constantly woke in each other's arms, neither of us really said anything about it.
The next week his friends decided they wished to spend the week with him, though they were at least kind enough to assure him they had other sleeping accommodations. The first day they came I spent wandering the city, glad that I had chosen a flat in one of the older parts of the community, near a site of unearthed Roman ruins.
That night was the first time we truly fought with anger since our meetings at Hogwarts had begun. I didn't trust his friends. I didn't trust them not to snoop, especially as he wouldn't tell them anything about me, except that I had gone to Hogwarts with them. He claimed my fears were unfounded and I was being a spoiled git like always. We slept in separate beds that night and our nightmares returned full-force, as though punishing us for having stopped them for a time. Neither of us went to the other when the cries and screams woke us.
I was gone the next morning before he woke. I left my door closed, but with nothing else to stop anyone from looking. I had to know. I had to know if I was just acting, spoiled… and paranoid, or if his friends' curiosity was really that strong. I returned that night well after I knew that he would be asleep, only to find that my bedroom door was locked with magic and had simple wards to warn if someone touched it. I shrugged and undid the spells. Shortly after I climbed into my bed and fell again into a restless sleep.
This time, when the nightmares came I was gently woken by a soothing hand upon my arm. He crawled in beside me and buried his head under my chin with a muffled apology. It appeared that he had caught one of his friends about to open the door after he asked them not to. I apologized as well, mostly for not having been there the night before when he needed me.
We never mentioned the fight again and I had breakfast with him before I left the house, locking and warding the door to what I had begun to consider to be our bedroom. I had spent hours, days, wandering the city of Canterbury and taking the train to some of the smaller villages around the area, investigating anything that looked interesting. I made assurances to myself that someday I would bring him to these places, but not right then.
The last day his friends came visiting was the day before I started my apprenticeship. His friends cut the day short and he came looking for me, bringing along my friends as they had accompanied me on other outings and knew areas I liked to revisit. I was found standing on a small bridge near the Cathedral, watching the water as it ran underneath. They stood beside me, each sharing in the companionable silence. After some time he reached over and took my hand, squeezing it gently. We stayed like that for most of the day, even after we returned to our flat.
That night before we went to sleep beside each other he leaned over me and kissed me. Just a small, simple, little kiss, but it made my heart start to pound in my chest as I whispered a goodnight to him. Early the next morning I rose before he did and got ready for my first day as an apprentice. He awoke when I was ready to leave and surprised me again with another kiss before wishing me luck. I was half expecting the kiss that night and so returned it when he gave it. Then, when he started his apprenticeship, we kissed when we woke together and we kissed before we went our separate ways.
It took another week before the kisses became anything more than simple. He came home on a Thursday night with his arm in a sling and his other hand bandaged. It was only after I realized that I went overboard on the care and concern for his injuries that I admitted to myself that I cared for him as much more than just a friend. That night before bed I initiated the kiss, and there was no longer anything simple about it, though nothing happened that night beyond the kiss.
We continued on for nearly a month with just the kisses and the occasional touch that was more than friendly. Then, one night he came home and told me the war had officially started. He was leaving the next day to meet with the rest of the Order, his apprenticeship on hold with his teacher's permission. He didn't know how long it would take or when he'd be back. The 'IF' hung heavy in the air, but neither of us was brave enough to say it.
I don't know if he slept at all that night. I know that I didn't sleep much, but I had more sleep than him. That night was… beautiful. There's no other way I could describe it. There was more that we shared than just our bodies that night. Though I will say that I was sore the next morning when I awoke. I can only imagine that he must have been as well.
Then, I received a letter before I left the flat. My apprenticeship was postponed due to unavoidable causes. The time until it resumed was written as 'Indefinite'. Therefore, the Master that I was studying under was on Dumbledore's Order. I had seen him wear short sleeves. He did not have the mark. So all I could do was wait.