I hit 42 reviews and had to update. Because 42.
Tingling
Draco's eyes flew open and he sat up abruptly, at once wide awake. He was breathing hard and covered in sweat, his sheets hopelessly tangled around his legs. Shit, he thought. Shit shit shit.
His throat was dry, making it unpleasant to swallow, but he made no move to get a drink. He sat there for several moments, breathing in and out, waiting for his heartbeat to settle down. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand – his hair clung to it, dampened with sweat. Even his pajamas stuck to his back and legs. As he closed his eyes and blew out a sigh, the images of his nightmare came back to him in brief but detailed flashes.
He knew it almost by heart, by now. He had seen it so often he felt he knew every corner of that incarnation of the Room of Requirement. He only had to close his eyes to smell the fire, feel the heat beating against his skin, hear Crabbe's mad laughter as they ran, ran, ran. Then Crabbe's face burst into flames and he morphed into a blazing monster, lumbering after Draco as Draco screamed and screamed and screamed – screamed for real, if the dryness in his throat was anything to go by. And, as if by magic, Potter was suddenly there on his broom, had appeared amidst the smoke and flames, his eyes a vivid green that Draco latched onto desperately in all this red and orange and yellow, and he was holding his hand out to Draco, and Draco took it, a cool, strong hand that pulled Draco onto the broom behind him. They flew away, Draco's arms wrapped tightly around Potter, his chest pressed against Potter's back, his cheek on Potter's fucking shoulder... Potter was cool, comfortably cool, and behind him Draco felt the searing, threatening heat of the raging Fiendfyre, but so what, Potter had saved him and –
And fuck it, Draco thought disgustedly, opening his eyes. Salazar, he couldn't even save his own arse in his own dreams.
It was still dark outside. The watch on his bedside table read 3:04. Draco knew he wouldn't be getting any more sleep that night. He stood up and peeled off his damp pajama top, flinging it to the floor disgustedly. He found his wand – it was becoming 'his' more and more now –, filled a cup with water, and gulped it down inelegantly. The cool liquid soothed his throat and tongue. After a moment's hesitation, he filled it once more and this time splashed the water across his face, letting it trickle down his cheeks and chest and the back of his neck.
He twirled his wand in his fingers, staring dully at it. He felt like he ought to hate the thing, but it had grown on him. The anger that filled him now had nothing to do with the wand, and everything to do with him.
He suddenly pointed it at the shirt he'd dropped to the floor. "Incendio!"
He instinctively flinched, but nothing happened. Not a spark, not a flame, nothing. A strange feeling came over Draco, half-fear and half-relief. Again he said, "Incendio!", and again nothing happened.
Draco swore. His fingers tightened around the wand until his knuckles went white, and he was surprised it didn't snap in two.
When Malfoy opened the door to him that evening, Harry did a double-take. To say he looked like he'd had a shit night would be putting it mildly, but Harry didn't comment on it – at least not at first. It was enough, however, to make him forget what he'd meant to say.
"Should be quick today," he said once they were in the drawing room. He kept shooting surreptitious glances at Malfoy's pale, drawn face. "I won't bother you long."
Malfoy shrugged, as if he didn't care one way or another, or simply didn't have the strength to answer. Dark circles stood out boldly under his eyes, a sharp contrast to the rest of his face.
Malfoy caught him looking. "What?"
Harry was startled into honesty. "Are you all right? You look – well, you look like hell, to tell the truth."
"What do you care?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Malfoy – can't I just be concerned about you? I'm not your enemy."
Malfoy's expression darkened. "You're not my friend," he said bitingly. "I may have saved your life, one fucking time, but if I had had a choice, I wouldn't have done it. I'm a killer, Potter. You have to stop seeing me as the kind of person you could be friends with, because I'm not. I'm just not and I don't want to be. So back off."
Harry looked into Malfoy's eyes. "I don't believe you," he said softly, and reached out across the table to cover Malfoy's hand with one of his.
Malfoy went absolutely still, like he'd suddenly stopped breathing. His entire body was tense, whether with shock or anticipation Harry couldn't tell. His heart thudding in his ribcage, Harry laced his fingers through Malfoy's and reached out with his free hand to lightly drag a finger down Malfoy's cheek. His pale, bony, angular face glowed in the dim candlelight; his fingers were unexpectedly warm and smooth beneath Harry's. Not the hands of a murderer.
Harry could see the doubt and confusion in Malfoy's eyes and wanted to say something, anything, to reassure the blonde, but the only words that came to mind were I, want, and you. The thrill that coursed through him at the feel of Malfoy had put his mind on blank, and he could think of nothing, no one, else.
"What the hell are you playing at, Potter?" Malfoy asked, his voice strangely hoarse as he dropped his gaze to look at their intertwined fingers.
"I..." What was he doing? "I've been thinking about the debt," Harry said, his throat dry: his voice came out at least as hoarse as Malfoy's.
Malfoy's eyes widened and he sat up, pulling his hand away. Suddenly it was easier to breathe, and the strange tingling atmosphere vanished.
"What do you mean?"
"I... I don't want it, you know. I've been looking into ways to cancel it."
"Is that even possible?"
"I don't know. I talked to Hermione about it."
"You told her?"
"No! I mean... I asked, but she doesn't know why."
Malfoy looked unconvinced, but he didn't push further. "What did she say?"
"She... doesn't know much about it, either, but she said she'd see if she could find anything useful."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Typical. I don't know why you thought asking her would give anything. She did all right at Hogwarts, but when it comes to real magic, she's not any less hopeless than you are. Just what I'd expect from a Mu –"
Anger flared up inside Harry; it still astonished him, how quickly Malfoy could fire him up even without meaning to. "Do you want to go back to Azkaban, Malfoy? Because if so, by all means, finish that sentence. It'd be a pleasure to accompany you and your parents back to cell 216."
Malfoy glowered at him. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"No! Fuck, Malfoy – I'm not. I really am sorry about the life debt thing, but I do expect you to make some sort of effort."
"Fuck that," Malfoy spat. "You can act all high and noble if you want to, but I know the truth. You're obviously not above using my parents to manipulate me. Sorry my arse. That was a threat, Potter, and you bloody well know it."
"Well maybe I do!" Harry realised was almost shouting; he closed his eyes for a second and checked himself. When he spoke again, it was in a more controlled voice, and he had remembered what he had to do today. "Maybe it was a threat, but maybe you deserved it. You're doing your best to make this hard for me."
"Oh, that's rich –" Malfoy began, but Harry stopped him by holding out his hand.
Between his thumb and forefinger, he held a piece of parchment.
A letter.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "What –"
"I'm responsible for you," Harry snapped. "You sent this to Andromeda even though I told you to leave her alone –"
"You do not get to give me orders –"
"For fuck's sake, Malfoy, what do you think they pay me for? The whole point is that I'm supposed to stop you from doing this kind of thing. If the Ministry realises I don't have your family under control, what's to stop them from putting you back in Azkaban?"
"Oh, that's right, let's pretend you're doing this for us, for our sakes –"
"I am!" Harry said. "Get this through your thick skull: I'm trying to help you."
"So I'm thick now, am I, well you know what, Potter, your –"
"Godric," Harry said disgustedly. "There's just no winning with you, is there?"
Malfoy snatched the letter out of Harry's hand. He looked down at it intently, his eyes scanning it. "You read this?"
"I didn't need to, Andromeda –"
"You're an idiot, Potter," Malfoy said, calmly, with no venom in his voice, and for some reason that riled Harry up more than anything, that casual detachment, the lack of any feeling, and –
"Incendio," he said, and the parchment burst into flames.
Malfoy blanched and dropped the letter as if it were a snake. He pressed himself into the armchair as though wishing it would swallow him up, and Harry saw his hand rise and flutter nervously in the air – but only for an instant. Then Malfoy stood up, and Harry, without thinking, mimicked him.
Malfoy raised his eyes to Harry's, and this time they were not empty. "You bastard."
"I'm sorry," Harry said, only now realising what he had done, and hating himself for it. "I didn't think –"
"Shut up," Malfoy said quietly, his gaze so intense Harry thought it would drill a hole into him.
"Look, Malfoy, I know this isn't fun for you –"
"Really? What makes you think that?"
Harry bit his tongue to hold back a bitter retort. "I'm trying to make this only as difficult as it has to be, and I'd appreciate it if you –"
Malfoy laughed, a cold, almost frightening laugh.
"– if you would make the same kind of effort, because –"
"You're not trying anything, Potter. You're just acting all high and mighty because you're Harry fucking Potter and you defeated the Dark Lord and now you can do whatever the hell you bloody want, you didn't have to take this fucking assignment, you chose to just to make sure my life had become unbearable enough, and now all you're doing is making it worse, and I'm sure that makes you fucking –"
"All right, that's enough," Harry said. He didn't think he'd ever heard Malfoy swear like this.
" – satisfied, because that's what you fucking wanted, isn't it, what you've been wanting since sixth year when you were hunting me down and you tried to kill me –"
"SHUT UP!" Harry roared, and closed the distance between them.
He grabbed Malfoy by the shoulders, spun him around, and slammed him hard against the wall behind him. He saw the ex-Death Eater's hand immediately go to his sleeve for his wand.
"Go ahead," he said, sneering. "I dare you."
Malfoy glared at him. They both knew there was no way for him to defend himself. If he cast a spell on Harry, it would be a violation of his probation. Harry had already let it slip once, but why would he do it twice? He grinned and tightened his hold around Malfoy's shoulders.
"Listen up. There are a few points I need to clarify. First off, I never tried to kill you. Ever. I never wanted you dead. In fact, as I remember, I saved your life. More than once."
He saw the defiance in Malfoy's narrowed eyes and knew it hadn't been a good idea to remind him of that fact, but at this point, he didn't care.
"Second, when I agreed to this, I didn't want to make your life unbearable. You could have lived in a fucking villa with a pool, a tennis court and a hot tub in the South of France for all I cared. Believe me, after the war, the only thing I wanted was to never see you again."
"Then why didn't you –" Malfoy began.
"Third," Harry continued, ignoring him, "I don't like this any more than you do. Honestly. If it were up to me, you would walk free. I testified at your trial, you know. In your defense."
"I know," Malfoy said quietly. He had stopped struggling. He looked as though all the fight had suddenly gone out of him. "I know."
The absence of struggle suddenly made Harry realise what he was doing. He had pinned Malfoy to the wall. His hands were on the other man's shoulders and their faces were inches apart. Malfoy wasn't looking at him; he had lowered his gaze. Harry was close enough he could count his eyelashes, so pale they were only barely visible. He was close enough to feel Malfoy's breath on his face. A sudden thrill coursed through him, so intense it scared him. He gripped Malfoy's shoulders tighter still, and Malfoy's hand rose quickly, as if to shield his face – and Harry froze.
"I wasn't –" he started to say, meaning I wasn't going to hurt you, but he cut himself off.
On Malfoy's outstretched palm, something glimmered faintly against his skin.
"Let me see that," Harry said, more sharply than he meant to, and Malfoy drew his hand back, curling his fingers inwards defensively.
"Let me go," he said quietly.
He raised his eyes, and Harry's breath caught. He released Malfoy and backed away.
"I'm sorry. I just... Here. Look." Harry thrust his hand out, palm up, revealing the flawed 8 that lay there, shining slightly, almost golden.
"I'm looking," Malfoy said, though he wasn't really. "Is this scar also going to make you famous?"
"Your hand. I saw it –"
"A burn. Fiendfyre." Malfoy spoke the words casually, as though a burn were nothing to worry about, as though he hadn't recoiled in terror from Harry's Incendio only minutes earlier. "I was there, too, you know."
"But the same mark –"
"You're delusional, Potter," Malfoy said dismissively.
Harry started to say something, but he didn't want to see that defeated look on Malfoy's face again, didn't want Malfoy to lower his gaze and freeze and be afraid of him. So he sighed and let the subject drop – for now. He couldn't ask Hermione about the marks, but he would have to do some research on his own.
"All right," he said, more gently than he would have thought possible. "Fine. I'm not here to fight you, Malfoy." Even if Malfoy seemed determine to provoke him into it. "I don't want this any more than you do. The sooner this is over, the better for both of us. I need your word that you'll leave Andromeda alone from now on. Really."
Malfoy's mouth twisted into a scowl, but he didn't miss a beat before answering, "You have it."
"I mean it, Malfoy."
"So do I."
Malfoy met Harry's gaze evenly. Harry thought, All these years, and I still can't tell when you're lying to me.
Malfoy seemed to know what he was thinking; he laughed shortly as though at some joke only he were aware of. "I didn't write it."
Harry blinked. "What?"
"I didn't send that letter, Potter," Malfoy said. "If you'd read it, you'd know that."
"Then... who?"
Malfoy gave him a hard look. "Are you really that stupid, Potter?"
Harry left, thinking of Narcissa and Bellatrix and Andromeda and damn it, why couldn't things just be easy for once?
A tiny preview of the next chapter, Bond.
"Hey, Potter."
"What?" Harry asked rather curtly, still a little annoyed.
Malfoy's voice was soft. "Promise me not to get into any more trouble."