Chapter 10: Event Horizon

Searching for Yaxley through old newspapers was about the furthest thing from ideal. Draco opened one of the bundles and flipped through every issue to look at the pictures. Yaxley hadn't been photographed. Draco and Harry started skimming articles, then. Neither of them really knew what they were looking for in that regard if Yaxley hadn't retained his name.

Nothing had jumped out to them by dinner. They broke for the day, and then got up in the morning intent for another walk into Hogsmeade. Rosa gave them the next month worth of papers, going backward.

Yaxley was nowhere to be seen in March of 1975 either.

"He must keep a low profile," Draco mused over dinner that evening.

"Or just not do anything worth being in the paper for." Harry shrugged.

They tried something new the next day. Instead of going straight to Tomes and Scrolls, Draco and Harry Flooed to Diagon Alley. They poked their heads into every single business to see who was on staff. After emerging from Knockturn Alley, they bought a couple ice cream cones from Florean's and settled on one of the benches in the middle of the street. They watched the ebb and flow of fellow patrons for a good hour.

Mid-afternoon, they Flooed back to the cabin. They took yesterday's bundles of papers into Hogsmeade to switch out, and stocked up on food while they were at it.

"Unless we want to wait until the next full moon, we've only got a week until we have a chance to grab Ron outside of Hogwarts' walls," Harry said as they headed back up the path. "Do you still think we're using our time as best we can? I'm starting to lean the other way."

"I just don't understand," Draco replied. "Where the bloody hell is he?"

Draco dug his librometer out when they made it back to the cabin. He set it up on the kitchen table. While staring at it with his chin rested on folded arms, Draco waited for inspiration to strike.

Newspaper crinkled in the sitting room as Harry started flipping through an issue. "No change, I take it?"

"No," Draco flatly replied. "He's here somewhere. But where?"

"Could he be dead?" Harry asked. "Even if just his body was here, would that thing still register him?"

Like the air filling Draco's lungs pushed him slightly more upright, his mind swelled with realization. He met Harry's gaze. Harry's eyebrows were already raised in an inquiring manner, although popped slightly higher with tentative hopefulness.

"Yes," Draco said. "It would still register him."

"Not that that makes things any better." Harry turned back to the paper he flipped through with a sigh. "I'm not big on gravedigging."

"We wouldn't have to do anything like that with time travel at our disposal." Draco sat up straight and drummed his fingers rapidly on the table. "We might have been asking the wrong question. It's not a matter of where Yaxley is, but when."

Harry folded his paper, eyeing Draco intently.

"We could currently be situated at a point in the timeline after we remove Yaxley," Draco elaborated. "Do you recall what I said about Sirius the other day? That even though he doesn't exist in the time-slice we left off from back home, he was still technically alive? You would just need to leap a dimension higher and travel to the past in order to interact with him again."

"Right." Harry nodded.

"That's it." Draco grew short of breath with his excitement. "Harry, Dumbledore gave us the boot from Hogwarts not because he recognized us, but because he remembered us. Just because Yaxley is currently present and measured in this universe doesn't mean that other peoples' memories of the event aren't equally valid."

"When did we get him, though?" Harry was equally breathless. "You said when you came back from Grimmauld Place that there were no living Corban Yaxleys. So when did those die? Or go missing, or whatever?"

"I don't remember exactly, but there was at least one in the last century." Draco moved over to the sitting room chair. "How far back would Dumbledore have been aware of goings-on at Hogwarts? When was he a student?"

"Er. . ." Harry rubbed his forehead in thought. "He was born in 1881. So either 1892 or 1893."

"I could return to Grimmauld Place and see which Corbans or Yaxleys died between then and now."

"The papers we just got today will be useless." Harry closed the one in his hands and tossed it onto the rest of the pile. "If it had happened this recently, it would have been more than just Dumbledore who recognized us. Should you go to Grimmauld Place right now? What if Walburga and Orion are home?"

"I would only be there for less than ten seconds—as far as they know, anyway." Draco shrugged. "And I'll go through Sirius' room again."

"All right."

Some of that anxious energy from the last time Draco did this reemerged in Harry, but it seemed to come more from excitement than concern. He lingered by the fireplace while Draco prepared. This time, on top of the Spacetime Turner and Invisibility Cloak, he took a scrap piece of parchment and a biro.

Sirius' room was just as empty and quiet as the last time Draco visited. He migrated to the door and listened carefully for any signs of life on the other side. Draco slowly opened the bedroom door. With enough of a gap that he could slip through, he tilted the Turner and everything froze.

Walburga and Orion were in the drawing room. Draco casually eyed them on his way past to the tapestry. He pulled the piece of parchment out of his trouser pocket. As Draco started searching for any names that fit his and Harry's criteria, he slowed to a stop. His gaze came to rest again on the Corban Yaxley that had died in 1943.

He was born in 1927. He'd only been fifteen or sixteen years old. He would have gone to Hogwarts with all of Draco's grandparents, but—now Draco thought about it—he couldn't remember any of them back home ever talk about attending with a Yaxley.

Draco was careful not to bias himself toward it as he looked elsewhere on the tapestry. Still, he came up with a pretty short list.

Draco handed it to Harry immediately upon return to the cabin. He watched Harry's expression closely as his gaze skimmed over the few names. Harry blinked before his eyes went wide. His lips parted.

"1943," he mumbled.

"Does that mean something to you?"

"If this Corban Yaxley was born before the thirty-first of August in 1927, he was in the same year at Hogwarts as Voldemort." Harry ran a hand over his jaw, which sounded like static against his facial hair. "Tell me your theory again about why Ron ended up a Prewett."

"That because his usual place of existence wasn't available in this universe, he was slotted somewhere adjacent."

"Maybe you weren't wrong," Harry said. "Think about Yaxley's psychology for a minute, back before he ended up here. He spent thirteen years on the run. He probably had to spend at least some of that time in the Muggle world. For a Death Eater having to quote-unquote lower themselves to that, wouldn't you be beyond nostalgic for the days when Voldemort reigned supreme? Especially for Yaxley—I mean, he was the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Piece of shit or not, Yaxley probably had what he considered to be a bloody good life for that period of time."

"You're suggesting that when he was integrated, the universe took that into account," Draco replied. "It placed him right next to Voldemort, at what was arguably the best time to be within his little circle."

Harry nodded. "Back when Voldemort was still in school, it was all dreams and no reality yet about the war."

"Well, I can't argue that logic." Draco exhaled a huff of air through his nose and placed a balled fist on his hip. "I know all about romanticizing what might come of it when you're young and stupid."

Harry snorted.

Draco furrowed his brow as Harry's ducked head came back up. Although Harry pressed his lips, there remained laughter in his eyes.

"What?" Draco asked.

"Nothing. You were saying something about being young and stupid?"

Harry nearly cracked up again. He looked away, cheeks pinched. That only worsened when he saw Draco channeling Professor McGonagall to his best ability with a severe look.

"What's so funny?" he tried again.

"Nothing. It's stupid." Harry waved him off. "Er, so I take it—? Does all this about Yaxley mean we're in a time loop?"

Draco studied Harry, still stuck. He supposed he couldn't exactly blame Harry for having a giggle about what sort of idiot he was as a teenager. Draco had certainly proven that he was. This didn't feel like Harry laughing at it, though. Draco sensed more endearment than anything.

"Draco?" Harry prodded him. "You're the expert here. Are we in a time loop?"

"A causal loop." Draco tried to snap himself back to professionalism, but his tingling skin didn't seem to catch the memo. He strolled closer to Harry. "They're quite different things."

"Oh?"

"A time loop is a period of time that keeps resetting itself, bringing those who experience it back to the beginning." Draco's voice lowered, both in tone and volume. "A causal loop is—well, consider our current situation. We're approaching the bend of the loop where we go back to 1943. We'll do some things that leave enough of a hint to inform our 1975 selves that we ought go back to 1943, and so on."

Harry had watched Draco's mouth form all the words. Silence followed.

"Did you hear me?" Draco asked.

"Er, yeah." Harry blinked rapidly, met Draco's gaze, and then cleared his throat. "So, er. . .so based on the past, we know what we need to do."

"We know what comes next."

More silence stretched, heavier than the last. They stood close enough for Draco to see that very little green surrounded Harry's pupils.

He's going to be Obliviated, came a small voice from the back of Draco's mind.

Indeed Harry was. . .and when would Draco ever get this chance again, once he had been? Harry stood right here in front of Draco, looking at him like that. Harry wanted him.

Draco took a steadying breath. "Why don't you answer my earlier question?"

"Er. . ."

"What was so funny, Harry?"

Draco waited for Harry to back down, or to blow the whole thing off. He could so easily step away and reestablish a physical gap between them. Either of them could. Draco's feet were rooted, though. He'd made up some sort of mind as to what he wanted.

Harry wet his lips. "If we're travelling into the past for the next part of the job, that means there's a certain point in time that we'll be emerging from. Right?"

"Once we sort out when it is, yes."

"Which means that as far as things go right here, right now. . ." Harry paused. "Time isn't of the essence."

"No," Draco quietly said. "It isn't."

"No need to rush."

"None at all."

Silence fell again, spare the muted charge in the air between them. Draco almost thought he heard it crackle when he leaned in, doubling when Harry did too. Time seemed to come to a grinding halt as their mouths found each other, their lips settled, and then a quiet smack ended the contact. Their hushed breathing marked a beat before a flat hand on the small of Draco's back pulled him up close. Draco found a grip by holding either side of Harry's neck, grounding himself by kissing him again.

He pulled back so that he could pluck Harry's glasses off his face. When Draco leaned over to set them on the kitchen table, Harry's beard scratched instead against his neck. The nip of teeth followed, sending unfathomable heat rolling through Draco's body. His cock started to feel heavy, and there was no hiding that from Harry with how closely pressed their bodies were. Harry couldn't hide it from him either.

"Harry," Draco managed, voice strained. "I can't stand it anymore."

Hot breath washed down Draco's neck and shoulder. "Me neither."

"You need to fuck me."

"I know."

Their mouths crashed back together as Harry straightened up, but only briefly. Draco followed when Harry moved away. An iron grip around his wrist was the only thing to anchor him. He nearly stumbled as Harry dragged him to his room as if it were his own.

Draco had barely gathered his wits about that when the bottom of his jumper was pulled up. It hadn't hit the floor before Draco was making rid of Harry's shirt with clumsy hands. A bare, warm chest against his spelled pure relief as they staggered together toward the bed.

"How do you want it?" Harry asked. "Tell me how you want it."

"I don't care, so long as you're inside me."

Harry moaned—he moaned—and sudden realization that there still remained far too many layers of clothes between them occurred to Draco. God, this was probably such a terrible idea, but how much longer were either of them expected to keep living like this? An Obliviation said nothing for chemistry. They had it, they were attracted to each other, and it wasn't like Draco wasn't accustomed to being left without. In those most lonely moments, which would he rather: an extensive pining spell where he wished he'd done something, or memories fit to ease those moments along?

Draco settled on his back on the bed, his inner thighs flushing with warm blood when Harry situated between them. He was so bloody firm, and just everywhere in Draco's senses. All Draco could taste was Harry's mouth, or the salt of his skin should his lips be stung by it. Their sweat combined into an earthy smell that Draco had never yet known but instantly recognized. Harry ground their hips like their bodies were already together, and Draco thought he might actually combust from the very idea.

Harry sat back on his knees, hands shaking as he undid Draco's trousers.

"Lift your hips." His voice trembled too.

The room's cooler air touched hot flesh as Harry pulled Draco's trousers and pants far enough to expose him. Harry's head blocked the room's cross-breeze as he bent down. Just as his flattened tongue started a deliberate run along the underside of Draco's cock, he looked back up at Draco.

Somehow, Draco's body found some blood to spare for his cheeks. His lips parted in a silent gasp when a warm mouth closed around him.

"God, Harry," he breathed.

Not his first time was a thought quickly lost. Oh, Harry had a nice mouth, and such a clever tongue. When Draco started to tremble again, Harry pulled off so that he could make rid completely of Draco's clothes. Draco shifted as needed for his trousers and pants to hit the floor, and spared a breathless laugh when Harry flicked his socks off as well.

Laid out before Harry, Draco felt bare on two fronts. His running vulnerability probed at him, turning him shy, although that didn't have a chance to fully manifest before he was back in Harry's mouth. That made Draco feel slightly less on display. He had a feeling that squirming and groaning undermined any chance he had of holding at least one card to his chest.

The care to even bother vaporized when something touched Draco's hole. He clenched out of reflex. While Draco forced himself to relax, Harry took to stroking him at a careful pace.

"You have bottomed before, right?" he asked.

Draco nodded jerkily. "It's just been a while."

"It's probably easier either way to start on your stomach."

"Why are you still wearing clothes, by the way?"

Harry chuckled. "How is the question."

"Either or. Go on, I'm tired of being the only naked one."

Harry stood up, and Draco immediately regretted the demand for how alone he remained in the bed. The loss of contact was agonizing. Draco might have grown annoyed at how confidently Harry shed everything if it wasn't so much to his benefit. He vibrated with excitement, gaze stuck as Harry crawled back up on the bed.

"Fucking hell," he commented.

Harry snorted before leaning down to kiss him again. His cock poked Draco in the thigh, and Draco sought it out from there with both his hands. He'd longed to do that for far too long, and to see Harry's lips stilt and falter like they did just now. Their foreheads rested together, and Draco had to close his eyes against the vivid intimacy of it.

Harry released a careful exhale as Draco stroked him. "All right. I want to see that glorious arse."

Draco smirked. "Eloquent as always, Potter."

"Back to 'Potter', huh?"

While gently squeezing the head, Draco caught Harry's bottom lip between his teeth. He half-suspected that might incite Harry to grow comfortable how they currently laid. Harry inhaled, rather, as though steeling himself. He slipped out of Draco's grasp when he moved away.

"Go on, then." Harry's tone had an edge of humour to it. "Roll over."

Draco took up on his stomach, fluttering with anticipation when Harry straddled the backs of his thighs. It was a position prime to be fucked in—one of Draco's favourites, actually—but Harry seemed intent to repay his teasing ten-fold. Draco melted a little as fingers skimmed over his back, and turned his head to try and see over his shoulder.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

"Touching you."

"Obviously."

"Unless you mind?"

Draco scoffed. "You're literally naked in my bed, and sitting on me. I'm sure I can handle a little touch."

With a quiet chuckle, Harry kept on. Draco couldn't help but wonder what exactly was so fascinating, for rarely anybody he fucked ever actually took the time to relish him. It was this kind of touch Draco himself would never be able to replicate on his own, so he too was wont to simply enjoy. He melted all over again when Harry leaned down to kiss his shoulder. God, Draco was such a goner.

He'd almost forgotten what they'd come in here intent to do when Harry's thumb returned to his hole. Draco clenched again, but quickly relaxed at a gentle, circular motion.

"How's that?" Harry asked.

"Far from enough."

Harry kissed his shoulder again. "So impatient."

Well, Harry had no idea how long Draco had been wanting this, so he was allowed to be a little impatient. If only Draco's teenaged self knew he would one day find himself here. It might have saved him a lot of frustration, although Draco sincerely doubted a younger him would handle this foreknowledge with grace. He was stupid back then.

Draco supposed he would soon find out if that stupidity had followed him into adulthood. It was hard to feel stupid when Harry kept rewarding him with rekindled heat to his blood. Draco had to stifle himself against his forearm as a progressive number of fingers glided in and out of him.

"Go on." Harry sounded amused again. "Let me hear you."

Draco moaned quietly, cheeks hot. "God, please fuck me."

"We're getting there. Relax."

Although uncertain how exactly Harry meant that, Draco took it physically. The only obstacle in front of Draco getting what he wanted was the muscles Harry sought to slacken. How utterly empty Draco felt when Harry's fingers left him had to be a good sign. So too did the sound of Harry conjuring more lube. Draco looked over his shoulder at the sound of Harry covering himself, and his heart started pounding like mad with renewed anticipation.

"Ready?"

"Yes." Draco nearly talked over him.

Harry dribbled some lube onto Draco's hole, then pressed in against it. Draco's mouth fell open when breached. He clutched the sheets and pressed his face into them as he was gradually filled. A warm torso draped over Draco's back, followed by a mouth on his neck. Harry's breath pattered against Draco's ear. "All right?"

"Fucking god, if only you knew."

Harry went easy, just sliding out a few inches before sinking back in. He held Draco with a firm arm around his shoulders as his hips collided against Draco's with increasing force. His kisses remained gentle in contrast, even sweet, when Draco turned his face more toward him. Draco caught them to the ear, temple, and cheek. To say that Draco was lost was a complete understatement. He was so full, on fire, and such a goner. To think—he'd never had this before, and maybe, after Harry was Obliviated—

No, it was best not to go there. Not right now.

Harry slowed, forehead against Draco's shoulder. "I want you on your back."

"All right."

Draco could hardly move for general weakness. It had definitely been far too long since he'd been fucked, and Draco couldn't pinpoint a time that his head played such a huge part in it. A week ago, he would have never expected Harry bloody Potter to make himself so easily at home in his bed. Draco at least wasn't surprised by how utterly giving Harry was. He melted all over again at how, without a second thought toward it as Draco resituated, Harry leveraged his hips upward to slide a pillow underneath them.

Harry reached down to guide himself back inside Draco. While Draco watched the resulting shift in Harry's expression, so Harry watched him. Their foreheads came to rest against each other again, breath pooling between them.

"You are really fit, you know that?" Draco murmured. "Stupidly fit. Annoyingly fit."

"Yeah, well." Harry's expression slackened. "So are you."

"Ooh." It came out a half-groan as enough direct thrusts against Draco's prostate made itself apparent in a bump of pleasure. "What a comeback. I am positively scorched."

"I don't have a lot of blood in my head right now, all right?"

A pair of airy laughs led them into another kiss. The way Harry's body so completely moved against Draco's shifted everything quite a bit north of fucking. Draco supposed that was inevitable, the same way everything else to do with Harry seemed to be.

Harry's face ended up against Draco's neck in a nuzzle. "You're mine, aren't you?"

It wasn't even a proclamation—just a question of mere fact. Although Draco's tongue froze on his yes, his chin tapping a nod against Harry's shoulder said it all.

Harry's breath grew longer and deeper, his hips following rhythmic suit. Draco tried to find a grip in it all, but this might just consume him. Well—he was already beyond that. What remained to be decided was if Draco would even bother to fight it now he'd already fallen. Did he really think he could climb back against gravity to the ledge?

Draco clung to the only thing he could. Everything started to feel good—too good. He wasn't alone, judging by mirrored shivers, moans, and expletives.

The orgasm that had been gradually building advanced on Draco like ground fast approaching below. He muffled himself against Harry's shoulder as it rippled through him, setting off a quake that rattled every nerve of his body. Draco was vaguely aware of near-frantic cursing in vicinity of his ear. As Draco started to fizzle out, he registered that Harry's hips had a different jerkiness to them. Each thrust lined up with a raspy grunt.

Harry turned into dead weight on top of Draco. The two of them panted in tandem. Various aches started to bleed in on Draco. His hips smarted a little. His abdomen felt like he'd been doing sit-ups for hours. His neck hurt. Letting his head fall as it naturally would on the bed helped ease that tension.

"Fuck," Harry eventually said against his shoulder.

"Uh huh," Draco agreed.

Harry lifted his head enough to look at Draco. God, he was a mess. He was an absolute disaster. His hair had never been messier, and that was saying something. His eyes didn't look capable of focusing. The muscles in his face were out of commission. His skin shone with sweat, highlighting the blushing ghost of his own release.

Maybe it was the veritable cocktail of chemicals bathing Draco's brain, but he couldn't help it; a broad grin that certainly had to cross over to idiotic took over his entire face. Draco could hardly keep his eyes open between that and emerging lethargy.

Propped up on a shaky elbow, Harry regarded him with a dopey smile. "That's me done, then."

Draco wasn't sure how long he fell asleep for. The sun had moved enough for shadows to shift. Light reflected off the kitchen table into the bedroom. Draco couldn't say he had dreamt at all. He still felt weak, and more than a little wrecked. He and Harry were a sticky, sweaty mess in how they'd tangled together under the blankets and around each other.

Curling up closer, a seething pride glowed in Draco's chest. He'd managed to pull Harry into his bed. Harry had even stuck around, sleeping so deeply that Draco relied more on hearing his heartbeat than checking his neck for a pulse. This was finally out of their systems. Hell, Draco doubted it was naïve to think this might become as regular as their flirting. Maybe Draco could even wheedle Harry to sleep in here. That single bed must have lost its novelty, by now—as well as wanking when a warm body was conveniently located nearby.

They'd made good progress on the job today, which was certainly worth some sort of reward. Now that they knew where and when to find Yaxley, the end was in sight. It shouldn't take terribly long to sort things out in 1943, since they wouldn't have the same obstacles they did here. Then, if no delinking was necessary, they only had another week here in 1975 until the full moon.

Draco's heart slowly sunk at that thought.

The whole thing had started to feel like it might drag on for a while because they'd hit that block with locating Yaxley. Draco had a fleeting thought to push back the job's time frame regardless of what happened when Yaxley was taken home. What harm could it do? Weasley and Yaxley certainly weren't in danger, and everything back home was still frozen on the day he and Harry left. They could stay here, at least for a while—

And then what, after Harry was Obliviated? How much of Draco would he forget? It was already unfortunate enough that Harry would forget about them tossing Hot Elven Knights back and forth in their hammocks, their conversations, and even their arguments. Now Harry wasn't going to remember that they fucked. He might not even remember that he'd wanted to fuck Draco, because what had Draco done prior to leaving Shacklebolt's office to inspire that? He'd rubbed Sirius' death in Harry's face. He'd resigned to allow Harry to tag along. He'd been an arsehole because of the misunderstanding about Nice.

The pride in Draco's chest began to sour. He had to be thinking about this wrong. There couldn't really be a time coming when Harry would look at him, and all he would see was a thirty-year-old version of the Draco Malfoy he'd gone to Hogwarts with—and opposed, during a time of war. Harry had pointed out in Shacklebolt's office that Draco had a personal interest in this job. Would he believe that Draco might have actually gotten a little invested in Weasley, along the way?

Rather mechanically, Draco extricated himself from Harry's grip. He gathered his clothes as quietly as he could and crept with still-trembling legs over to the bathroom. Draco hardly dared look at himself in the mirror. It was a little hard to avoid while waiting for the shower to warm up.

What had been Draco's reasoning for letting this happen, again? The tension had hit a level beyond endurance? He might not get a chance to fuck Harry after the Obliviation, so he'd better take his shot while he could? Well, he certainly ought to be happy with himself. Draco would have nobody else to blame for how hard this hit when all was said and done. How the hell was he supposed to go back to a normal life, alone in knowing how he and Harry were capable of culminating? Suffering a maybe could be done. Draco had already done that for years after going quietly unreciprocated during their Hogwarts days.

This might have been worth it if the sex was just a fuck. It wasn't, though.

"Fuck," Draco whispered to his reflection.