A Most Unlikely Story – Part 7
Disclaimer: All names and places belong to J.K. Rowling and I am in no way receiving any money for this story. This is for the sole amusement of slash fans. This is rated NC-17 and as such should not be taken lightly. You have been warned.
Warning: Harry/Draco
As Voldemort's body slumped lifelessly to the ground, Harry was able to slowly replay the preceding events in his mind.
Voldemort's hand lowered slightly and made contact with Harry's left thigh; Harry was shaking as the pale, smooth palm ghosted up towards his hips, the fingers lightly cupping and carressing his arse. He felt a hand grab his right and knew it someone else's.
Voldemort's hands were cold and clammy – like fleshy marble. The hand in his own, however, was warm, nicely-calloussed, and a perfect fit. The hand in his own had moved over his body before and explored every inch of his skin. The hand in his own belonged to Draco Malfoy.
Draco was scared that the entire plan would come crashing down around Harry and himself. The moment his hand had hold of Harry's, though, he breathed in as much as he could of Harry's immense strength, feeling the warmth of his lover's soul as it channeled into his own, cleansing away all of the hate and prejudice that had been corrupting it due to his family's one-sided beliefs. His mind focussed on the spell as he released a breath, voicing the damned incantation.
Harry heard Draco speak the cruelest Unforgiveable and his heart raced as he wondered at whom the crafted hawthorn was pointing. And then he saw Voldemort fall.
Before he could compose a sentence or question directed toward the cunning man, Dumbledore appeared as if from nowhere, panic and horror in his strikingly-blue eyes. Harry had never seen so many of the wrinkles that lined the Headmaster's face; Dumbledore had never looked so old than he did at that particular moment.
The wise wizard seemed to relax immensely as he comprehended what must have happened. He took in the two boys' linked hands and realised that only someone completely in love with another could draw upon their very soul to enhance their magic. The prophecy had clearly stated that only Harry could kill Voldemort and so he had, through Draco's bravery and wiles.
Harry could see the relief spread across the old man's countenance and his eyes were a twinkling cerulean once again. He felt a short-lived breeze wrap around him as his clothes stitched themselves together on his body.
The sound of dozens of pops was heard by all as Voldemort's scores of followers Apparated to the spot, their arms burning as the Dark Lord's death released them from the tattoo's black magic. The Order made quick work of rounding them up, releasing those they knew to be true spies for the Light.
Draco still stood beside Harry; when their eyes finally met after what felt like hours, he couldn't help but smile at the raven-haired man. How he longed to see those black tresses mussed and tousled after a shag!
'Why couldn't you tell me it was all a farce?' Harry asked him.
'Because, my love,' Draco sighed, cupping the back of Harry's head and stroking his thumb along the man's jawline. 'You're a rotten actor.'