FIC: There Is No Resurrection of the Dead (3/7)
Title: There Is No Resurrection of the Dead
Author: Xandra ( gypsyflame)
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Snape/Draco, Snape/Harry/Draco, slight Draco/OMCs
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: About 35,400
Warnings: EWE, drug abuse, self-harm, non-explicit masochism, voyeurism
Summary: Auror Harry Potter is hopelessly in love with his partner, Draco Malfoy. But just when it seems like they might take their relationship to the next level, Draco’s old lover reappears. Apparently, rumours of his death have been greatly exaggerated…
A/N 1: Betaed by fbowden. Flic, I cannot express how much I appreciate all the time and effort you put into this fic with me. Your sharp eye, your keen insights, your emotional support…I’m not exaggerating when I say this would never have been finished without you. Thank you.
A/N 2: Story title comes from 1 Corinthians 15:12- “Now if Christ be preached that he rose from the dead, how say some among you that there is no resurrection of the dead?” Quote at the end of the fic comes from the same passage. Also, despite the opening scene, this is not a self-cutting, emo!Draco story, so please don’t let that deter you.
This fic is completed, but in the interest of not spamming people’s f-lists, I’ll be posting the chapters two a day, until the final chapter is posted on Thursday.
The club was mostly empty at this time of day, although it would undoubtedly be bustling later. Harry stood on the pavement opposite, his wand hidden up his sleeve as he stared at the building in distaste. The club was actually quite subtle, the front attractive and elegant without seeming pretentious, and there was no blaring music, no neon lights, no tacky signs declaring the activities the club was intended for. But Harry knew what went on in there. He had been here once, several years ago, for about five minutes. The whole place made his skin crawl.
Harry waited for a break in traffic before crossing the street, heading for the side entrance on the left of the building that was invisible to Muggles. The club prided itself on its “open-door policy”: it welcomed wizards and Muggles alike, men and women, every sexual orientation, and most sexual fetishes. There was no one in line at the wizarding entrance, and it wasn’t long before Harry was being scanned by the large, muscular wizard at the door.
After paying the exorbitant cover charge, Harry said to the bouncer, “I’m looking for someone. Draco Malfoy?”
He shrugged. “People here aren’t real big with names.”
Of course not. “Right. Er…good-looking bloke. Blond hair, pale skin. Comes here a lot.”
The bouncer smiled. “Oh, sure, I know the guy you’re talking about. He came in about twenty minutes ago. You shouldn’t have any problem finding him. Not too many people here yet.”
“Thanks.” Harry steeled himself and entered the club. The first floor wasn’t so bad; it held only a bar and a huge dance floor, not much different from any other nightclub. But there were only a few people down here, and Draco wasn’t one of them. Harry climbed the stairs.
There were more people on the second floor, which was lavishly decorated in an exotic Oriental style. Thick carpets covered the floors, gauzy curtains and intricate tapestries hung from the walls, and the room was dotted with plush couches and poufs. The lights were dim, and the smell of incense was sweet and strong. Harry thought it looked like an opium den. Or Trelawney’s classroom.
It didn’t take him long to find Draco. Even in the low candlelight, Draco’s white-blond hair shone like a flare. Harry’s eyes were drawn to him almost immediately, and his stomach clenched.
Draco was naked, kneeling awkwardly on the ground with his hands tied behind his back. Two large, tough-looking men were on either side of him, one fucking his arse, the other his mouth. The bald man in front had his hands in Draco’s hair and was shoving his cock down his throat without any regard for Draco’s ability to breathe. The man behind, covered in an elaborate pattern of tattoos, was gripping Draco’s hips so tightly that bruises had already started to blossom. And to top it all off, Draco had removed the bandages from his back. Some of the wounds, still not completely healed, had started bleeding again.
Harry stood still for a moment, frozen in horror and disgust. There was nothing arousing about the scene in front of him. The men fucking Draco were silent except for the occasional animal-like grunt and the sick slapping sounds of flesh on flesh. Animals. They were like animals. And Draco…seemed to be enjoying it. His cock was ramrod-stiff. Then the bald man shifted, and Harry could see the tears on Draco’s face. That brought him back to himself.
He let his wand drop from his sleeve into his hand, and quickly made his way over to the trio. Draco saw him first. His eyes widened in dismay and he made a muffled noise, which only seemed to excite the bald man further. Instead of struggling to get away, Draco just closed his eyes. Harry gripped his wand tightly.
“Get away from him.”
The men both looked at him, but neither stopped or even slowed their pace. “You can go next,” the tattooed man said. “This one can never get enough cock. Can you, Blondie?” He slapped Draco’s arse sharply, and Draco jerked in surprise.
The bald man hissed and yanked on Draco’s hair. “Watch the teeth.”
Harry lifted his wand and pointed it straight at the tattooed man, barely biting back the curse that had risen to his lips. “Get. Away. From. Him.”
Both men did stop this time. The tattooed man didn’t withdraw from Draco’s arse, but Draco pulled his mouth off of the bald man’s cock, gasping for air. The tattooed man stared at Harry incredulously. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
In response, Harry lifted the fringe off his forehead to reveal his scar. Even faded as it was, it was still unmistakable. “Fuck,” the tattooed man gasped. He pulled out of Draco and fumbled with his trousers as one of the club’s employees came hurrying over.
“Is there a problem here?” she asked in a low voice.
“No,” said Harry. “My friend and I were just leaving.”
Draco was still kneeling on the ground, his eyes closed. Harry used his wand to cut away the thick scarf binding Draco’s wrists, then helped him to stand. He seemed unusually clumsy.
“Here, now,” the bald man protested, “you can’t just-” He shut his mouth abruptly when Harry glared at him.
Harry shrugged out of his coat and put it over Draco’s shoulders. “Put this on.”
Draco finally opened his eyes and stared down at the coat as if he had never seen one before. After a couple of seconds, he slowly put his arms through the holes. His limbs moved sluggishly, and Harry had to help him. When the coat was safely secured, Harry grabbed Draco’s chin and forced his head up, looking into his eyes. The pupils were so dilated that Draco’s eyes seemed black instead of grey. Harry turned to the woman angrily.
“I thought you didn’t let people in here if they’re high!”
“We don’t!” she said, looking taken aback. “We scan at the door for every known magical intoxicant-”
“What about Muggle drugs?”
“Why would a wizard take Muggle drugs?”
“To get past the scan at the door, you stupid cow!” Harry turned back to Draco, ignoring the woman’s indignant sputters. “Draco, what did you take?”
Draco just shook his head, looking confused. The two men were still standing there, staring. Harry glared at them.
“Get lost.”
They quickly disappeared. Harry said to the woman, “Where are his things?”
“His things?”
“Yes, his things, his clothes. Surely he didn’t show up here naked!”
“Oh, no, of course. He has a locker.”
“Show me.”
The woman led them to a small changing room crammed wall-to-wall with lockers. Harry kept a firm hold on Draco’s arm, both to keep him from trying to wander off and to keep him from falling. Whatever he had taken had seriously fucked up his coordination.
They stopped in front of one of the lockers. It was magical, the kind that could only be opened by the user’s handprint. Harry lifted Draco’s hand and pressed it against the narrow metal door, causing it to swing open.
“Sit,” Harry said, directing Draco to a small bench. Draco obeyed. He looked small in Harry’s coat, which was several sizes too big for him.
Inside the locker, Draco’s clothes were neatly folded on the top shelf, his shoes placed carefully on the bottom shelf with the socks tucked inside. His Muggle coat hung from a hook on the door. Harry picked up the pile of clothing and took it to Draco’s bench.
After a few frustrating minutes of trying to dress a clumsy and disoriented Draco, the woman came over and helped, without saying a word. Harry gave her a grateful look. Between the two of them, they had Draco dressed in no time, and Harry put his coat back on. When he lifted Draco’s coat from the hook on the door, however, he frowned. It seemed too heavy.
A search of the right pocket revealed only Draco’s wand- which was a relief to Harry, who had been worried when he hadn’t seen it in the locker- but the right pocket contained several individually wrapped hypodermic needles and a small vial of clear yellow liquid. Harry turned the vial around to read the label. Valium. He hadn’t even known Valium could be injected.
“Do you think that’s what he took?” the woman asked.
“Looks like it,” said Harry. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
She looked over at Draco, who had closed his eyes again and was sitting with his head leaning against the wall. “Well, whatever he took, I think he took too much.”
“So do I.”
“Are you going to take him to St. Mungo’s?”
“No. I’m taking him home. I have a…we have a friend who’s a Healer.” Harry gave her a significant look. “I don’t want this getting into the papers.”
The woman seemed offended by the very suggestion. “Of course not! This club has a very strict privacy policy, Mr. Potter. Still, if it will put your mind at ease, I can escort you out the back entrance. The anti-Apparition wards end at the door. You can Apparate from the alley.”
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful, Ms.-”
“Carter. Carrie Carter.” She shook Harry’s hand. “I’m the manager.”
Harry was surprised; he’d assumed she was just one of the many attendants that monitored the club to ensure the safety of the patrons. But now that he had calmed down a little, he could discern the faint but undeniable aura of authority and quiet self-confidence that the woman possessed. She was petite, barely over five feet tall and quite slender, with long brown hair and large brown eyes.
“I’m sorry about…before.”
“I understand. You were worried for your friend. No harm done.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “Although I think it will be a while before those men pay another visit.”
It was hard for Harry to feel bad about that. “I should really get Draco home.”
“Of course. Follow me.”
Harry supported Draco with one arm as they followed Carrie down a staircase that led to the service entrance in the back of the building. Twice on the stairs, Draco stumbled so badly that he would have fallen down the entire flight without Harry to support him. But once they stepped out into the back alley, the cool evening air seemed to revive him a little.
“Are you all right to Apparate?” Carrie asked.
“Yeah. I’ll Side-Along him.”
“Okay. Good luck.” Right before she went back inside, she turned around and said, “I’ll have the bouncers start scanning for Muggle drugs at the door.”
Harry nodded, pulled Draco close to him, and Apparated them both to Grimmauld Place.
***
Ron’s head appeared in the fire the second Harry’s Floo call went through.
“Where have you been?” he demanded. “We’ve been trying to call you for half an hour. Hermione’s frantic. Jilly told us you never went back to the flat today, and then Kreacher said you went to look for Malfoy somewhere-”
Harry, who hadn’t been expecting this at all, was so startled that he just gaped at Ron while his brain tried to catch up.
Sensing his confusion, Ron said, “We read about Snape in the evening Prophet.” He added hesitantly, “Is Malfoy okay?”
“No. Not really. That’s why I’m calling. I need Hermione to come over.”
“Hermione!” Ron shouted over his shoulder. “Harry says Malfoy needs you.” Hermione’s response was too muffled for Harry to hear. Ron turned back around. “Should she bring her bag?”
“Yes. And whatever she has that will counteract a Valium overdose.”
“What’s valley-um?”
“A Muggle drug. Hermione will know what I mean.”
Ron relayed his message. Harry could hear Hermione shouting and the sound of something breaking. Ron raised his eyebrows. “I haven’t seen her this upset since Rose used her first edition of The Healer’s Helpmate as a colouring book,” he said. “I don’t envy Malfoy.”
“Neither do I,” Harry replied.
***
Draco shuddered as he drank the antidote Hermione forced down his throat. His eyes soon cleared, and he took a long, gasping breath. Every muscle in his body tensed. He looked at Hermione in what Harry imagined was probably the exact way Rose had looked at her after defacing her textbook.
And with good reason. Hermione immediately launched into an epic scolding the likes of which Harry had never heard before, even from Molly Weasley. Draco stayed silent and listened meekly, something he wouldn’t have done had it been anyone other than Hermione.
Hermione eventually wound down, seemingly mollified by Draco’s obvious mortification. “All right,” she said. “Take off your shirt. Let’s see the damage.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Draco said as he shrugged out of his white button-down. The back of the shirt was faintly spotted with blood.
“That doesn’t mean much, coming from you.” Hermione inspected his arm first. Most of the cuts had healed completely; there was only a faint scar where the deepest gash had been, over his wrist. “One more application should take care of this.”
She quickly disinfected her hands and applied the salve to Draco’s wrist. “You can leave the bandages off. Now, let me see your back.”
Draco stretched out on his stomach. As Harry had noticed in the club, several of the wounds had reopened and were oozing blood. Still, his back looked better than it had a couple of days ago- there were fewer scars, and the ones that remained had faded a little.
Hermione’s nostrils flared as she inspected them, and she gave Harry a helpless look. Harry knew what she was thinking: that no matter what they did or said, Draco would never stop. One day his luck would run out, and Hermione would be examining his corpse. And while the thought made Hermione sad, it made Harry incredibly angry.
“I don’t think they’re infected,” she said, “but I don’t want to take any chances.” She drew her wand and hesitated. “This is going to hurt,” she warned Draco. “And probably not in a good way.”
Draco nodded without lifting his head. Hermione cast the disinfecting spell on his back. Harry winced; he knew from experience that casting that spell on broken skin was like pouring a gallon of hydrogen peroxide into an open wound. Draco yelped and clutched the edge of the couch. Harry was pleased to see that he didn’t seem to be enjoying it at all.
Hermione gave him a few seconds to recover, and then applied the salve to Draco’s back and bandaged him up. “I’d say you’ve got about three or four more applications to go.”
Draco sat up and put his shirt back on, seeming not to care that it was stained with blood. He avoided their eyes, keeping his own downcast.
“This salve only heals relatively recent scarring,” Hermione said. “Six months or so. Most of the scars on your back won’t do anything but get a little lighter.” When Draco didn’t say anything, she added, “There are other treatments-”
“Yes, treatments that involve completely removing the skin and regrowing it,” Draco interrupted, finally looking up. His face was deathly pale. “They’re incredibly painful, not to mention dangerous.”
“Funny,” Hermione said. “Judging from your recent behavior, I wouldn’t have thought you had a problem with either pain or danger.”
Draco looked away again. “I don’t mind the scars. I’m certainly not going to put myself through hell to get rid of them.”
“Well, it’s your decision.” Hermione waved her wand to repack her bag.
“Granger.”
Hermione turned back to Draco.
“I…say hello to Weasley for me,” he said, which was Draco-speak for Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, and I’m sorry for causing you so much pain.
Hermione’s eyes misted up. “I will,” she said. She hugged Harry tightly. “I expect you both for dinner on Sunday. No excuses. The children miss you.”
Harry nodded and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”
“See you Sunday,” Hermione said, and was gone in a flash of green flame.
Harry sat down on the chair opposite the couch. He looked at Draco, who was looking at his hands, clenched tightly in his lap. There was a long silence.
“I’m sorry,” Draco said eventually. Harry’s eyes widened; he could count the number of times he had heard Draco sincerely apologize on one hand. And he was sincere, Harry was sure. “I never wanted you to see me like that,” Draco continued.
“It’s okay,” he said automatically, even though it wasn’t.
“It’s not,” said Draco. “It’s not okay. I’m not okay.” He raised his eyes to Harry’s, and they were full of despair. “I can’t stop.”
“The drugs?”
“No,” he said, waving his hand impatiently. “That’s not…it’s not like that. I like the drugs, but I don’t need them. I’m not addicted or anything.”
“Draco, you overdosed on Valium twice in three days!”
“I’ve never done that before. And I’m not intending on making a habit of it.” He picked at a loose thread in his trousers. “I just…you were right. I wanted to forget.”
Harry was quiet for a moment, trying to choose his next words carefully. But he had never been one for planned speeches, so he simply said what he was feeling. “I know you don’t care if you live or die,” he said. Draco looked offended and opened his mouth to protest, but Harry barrelled on. “I’m not saying you’re actively suicidal; I’m sure you’re not. I know you’d never try to kill yourself. But…Draco, what you’re doing is just a passive form of suicide. In the end, it won’t matter whether it was an infection or a drug overdose or some stranger who took the game too far. You’ll still be dead. And you don’t care. But I do.” To his horror, Harry felt a lump forming in his throat. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Draco didn’t seem to know what to make of his little speech. “They’d assign you another partner,” he said.
“Stop it!” Harry said angrily. “You know that’s not what I meant. What would I do without my best friend?”
Draco took a ragged breath. He was refusing to meet Harry’s eyes again. After a second, he said, “I knew Severus wasn’t perfect.”
Harry was a little thrown by the sudden change of subject, but he listened anyway.
“I knew he had done bad things,” Draco went on, his gaze unfocused as if he was looking at something far away. “Some of them much worse than the things I hated myself for doing. But I also knew that he was a good man, and that he loved me. All these years, I’ve carried this picture of him in my head, this image of who he was…and now I find out that it may all have been a lie.”
Harry said, “I know what that’s like.”
Draco looked back at him, and there were tears in his eyes, sliding silently down his face. “I don’t know how to handle this kind of pain if I can’t bleed it,” he said, and he started crying for real, in loud, gasping sobs that were so full of anguish that it tore Harry apart to hear them.
Harry unwillingly flashed back to the time in sixth year when he had found Draco crying in that bathroom. That was the last time he had seen Draco really cry. Even at Snape’s funeral, Draco had kept himself contained. But now, it was like something had broken inside of him, and every terrible feeling that he’d been repressing for the past seven years was flooding out at once. Harry moved over to the couch and put his hand on Draco’s shoulder.
Draco covered his face with his hands, as if to hide it, but he didn’t move away or try to shake Harry off. Harry cautiously put his arm around his shoulder, and Draco suddenly collapsed against him, his head against Harry’s chest. Harry put both arms around him and held him tightly.
“It’ll be all right,” Harry said softly, although he doubted Draco could hear him over his own tears, or that he would believe him if he could. “I’ll help you. It’ll be all right.”
In time, Draco’s sobs grew quieter and less violent, until they finally subsided altogether. Harry realized that Draco had fallen asleep. It was no wonder, after the day he’d had. Harry shifted Draco’s body into a better position and stood up. It wasn’t difficult for him to carry Draco- although the man was tall, he was also quite slender, and Harry was strong. He took Draco to the room that he always used when he was visiting Grimmauld Place and laid him on one side of the large bed.
Harry realized that they had never gone to get any of Draco’s things from his flat. He scrubbed at his face, feeling exhausted. He would have to call Jilly in the morning. For now, though, he just took off Draco’s shoes and socks and left it at that. He didn’t want Draco to feel like he’d been molested in his sleep.
He turned down the other side of the bed and moved Draco over, pulling the bedclothes up to cover him. He swept Draco’s hair away from his forehead. His face was red and blotchy from crying, but Harry still thought he was beautiful. On impulse, Harry bent down and kissed his forehead. He immediately felt foolish.
Still, he wasn’t about to leave Draco alone tonight. He was too fragile; he could wake up in the middle of the night and decide to go back to that…place. Harry transfigured a chair into a cot and summoned the blankets from his own bed, then made himself as comfortable as possible.
When Draco woke up, Harry would be there.
***
The next morning was awkward. Harry could tell that Draco was embarrassed- not because Harry had watched him willingly yield to the abuse of two strangers, but rather because Harry had seen him cry. Draco was a proud man, and he valued his self-control over almost anything else. Knowing that Harry had seen him in a moment of what he considered weakness was near unbearable for him.
Harry had always found it strange that someone as proud and controlled as Draco could be so sexually submissive. It might have been because his first lover was Snape, who took the concept of “proud and controlled” to a whole new level, but Harry thought it was more likely that Draco found a kind of release in submission. He was such a rigid control-freak in every other area of his life; maybe he just needed a place where he could let all that go.
Draco had been quiet all morning. Jilly had brought over some of his clothing and personal effects earlier, and now he sat across from Harry at the breakfast table, picking at his food and staring off into space. Harry wasn’t sure what to say.
“Whatever happened to that alarm Hermione gave you?” he finally asked.
Draco looked confused for a moment, then shrugged. “I broke it,” he said. “It was driving me crazy.”
“Oh.”
“Is that your not-so-subtle way of telling me that it’s time to do my back?” Draco said, looking slightly amused.
“Er…”
Misinterpreting Harry’s hesitation, Draco said, “You don’t have to worry about…I mean, I won’t do what I- what I did yesterday.”
The thought hadn’t even crossed Harry’s mind. “I didn’t think you would.”
“Okay.” Draco paused, looking suddenly vulnerable. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
A few minutes later, Harry was attending to Draco’s back, which looked much better than it had the previous night. Harry kept quiet, concentrating on spreading the salve as evenly as possible, thinking about how much Draco had improved, rather than about how he had gotten these scars in the first place.
“What do they feel like?” Draco said, startling Harry out of his reverie.
“The scars?”
Draco nodded.
“Some of them don’t feel like anything. But most of them feel…rough. And sort of bumpy. Like there’s little pebbles under your skin.”
Draco was quiet for a moment, then said, “Do you think they’re ugly?”
“Yes,” Harry said, without hesitation. “But not because of what they look like. Because of what they represent.”
Draco nodded. “That’s why I keep them.”
Chapter Four
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