FIC: There Is No Resurrection of the Dead (6.1/7)
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 chapter was too long for LJ to handle, so I'm posting it in two parts.
Hermione and Ron could tell something was wrong. Well, worse than yesterday. They were watching Harry push his food around on his plate with such pitying expressions that Harry thought he might scream. Only Rose and Hugo’s distracting, high-pitched chatter kept him from doing just that.
Draco hadn’t contacted him. Harry had been out of his mind with worry all day- until he had Flooed over to Ron and Hermione’s flat for dinner and discovered that Draco had dropped in earlier to beg off. He had brought presents for the children and looked “perfectly healthy”, according to Hermione.
Then, when Harry had been unable to school his expression into an appropriate mask, she’d asked, “Did something happen?”
“Haven’t you been paying attention?” Harry had snapped.
“I meant something else. Since yesterday.”
Harry had shaken his head, brushing off her concern. She hadn’t been convinced, though- hence the sympathetic looks he was currently receiving from both her and Ron.
He left as soon as was polite, eager to be alone. He felt even more depressed than he had last night, and the worst part was that this time, it was all his own fault. Draco had warned him. He had told Harry that he couldn’t make any promises. So why was Harry so surprised that he had left?
He wondered if Draco felt guilty, if he regretted what they had done. Because despite his feelings being hurt, Harry just couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Even if it turned out to be the only time, he had gotten to be with Draco in a way he’d dreamed about for years. And it had been everything he’d imagined it to be.
Once again, Harry had trouble falling asleep, and ended up missing his alarm. He stumbled into the 8 AM Auror briefing five minutes late.
“Nice of you to join us, Potter,” said Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror department.
“Sorry,” Harry mumbled. He took the only empty seat at the large conference table- directly across from Draco. Draco, who refused to meet his eyes.
Harry’s stomach clenched. He turned his attention to Robards.
“As I was saying, we’ve received intelligence that indicates the Renegades have extended their operations into the sex industry.”
“A logical next step, after the club business,” said Auror Bennett.
“Exactly. That means we need to start investigating brothels, strip joints, S&M dungeons, sex clubs-”
“In other words, anywhere Malfoy spends his free time,” said Harding, a stout, red-faced Auror who rather reminded Harry of his Uncle Vernon.
Harry went for his wand, but Draco was quicker. With a flick of his wrist, he Vanished the legs on Harding’s chair, sending the fat man to the ground with a painful-sounding thump.
The other Aurors were mostly unsuccessful at suppressing their laughter, although they made valiant attempts. Even Robard’s mouth twitched. Nobody really liked Harding.
The man got back to his feet, swearing, and fixed his chair.
“Keep your comments about Auror Malfoy’s personal life to yourself, Harding,” Robards said.
Harding grumbled and sat back down, his face even redder than usual. Draco smirked. Harry’s heart ached at the familiar expression- once it would have made him want to slap Draco; now it just made him want to kiss him. Draco, seeming to feel the weight of Harry’s gaze, turned to look at him. As their eyes met, his smirk disappeared, and he quickly looked away.
Harry clenched his fists under the table. Robards was moving around, passing out folders. “You’ve all been assigned to the establishments that the analysts think are most likely to contain Renegades or sympathizers. Undercover would probably work best here, but if you feel uncomfortable with that, just take a direct approach.”
Bennett, who was sitting next to Draco, dropped her folder when Robards handed it to her. The girl was nearly as clumsy as Tonks had been. “Oh, bollocks,” she said.
“Allow me,” said Draco, and he leaned over to retrieve the folder from the floor. The movement made the collar of his robe and shirt pull away from the left side of his neck, and Harry caught a glimpse of his collarbone.
As well as the dark bruise that still adorned it.
Instantly hard, Harry gripped the side of the table to steady himself. The memory of biting Draco there as he came crashed down on him in vivid color. He took a deep, ragged breath.
“All right there, Potter?” Auror Matthews asked kindly.
Harry nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from the livid proof of his passion on Draco’s neck until Draco straightened up and his clothes slipped back into place. Draco frowned at him, apparently unaware of the reason for Harry’s stare. Harry looked away, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.
His mind raced. Why hadn’t Draco healed the bite mark? He knew that Draco left the whip marks on his back as penance. Was this more of the same thing? Had Draco left the bruise as a badge of guilt- or was it to remind himself of what he had shared with Harry?
Harry was broken out of his musings when Robards dropped his folder onto the table in front of him. Opening it automatically, he stared at the name of the establishment in horror.
The Red Door. Draco’s “refuge”.
He looked up and met Draco’s eyes across the table. Draco looked similarly appalled.
Harry felt a sudden rush of anger towards Robards. This was no coincidence. It was common knowledge that Draco frequented The Red Door. That had to be why Robards had assigned them to it.
Of course, Harry knew that it was a logical decision- it wouldn’t have made sense to assign other Aurors to the club when Draco already had the perfect cover. In fact, to do so would have been ridiculous. But still, after Harry had vowed to himself that he would keep Draco away from that place…
Robards had finished his circuit of the table. “Are there any questions?”
Everyone shook their heads.
“Dismissed, then. Potter, Malfoy, please stay.”
Harry and Draco remained in their seats as the rest of the Aurors filed out. Robards sat next to Harry, looking tired.
“Look, I know you’re both probably upset with me-”
Draco snorted.
“-but I hope you also understand where I’m coming from. Malfoy, you already have an established presence in that community. You won’t draw any suspicion to yourself. You’re perfectly positioned for an undercover op, and if you bring Potter in as a friend instead of an Auror-”
“No way,” said Harry. “I’m not going undercover at that…that place. Just the thought makes me physically ill. I can barely step foot through the doors without my skin trying to crawl off my body.”
“It’s not that bad, Potter,” Draco said. “Are you a Gryffindor or not?”
“I’ll back you up. I’ll be within Patronus range at all times. But I just can’t pretend to be into that scene. Nobody would buy it.”
“That’s fine,” Robards said. “Just make sure you’re nearby in case Malfoy needs assistance.”
“No problem.”
Robards stood. “I’d like you to get started tonight.”
“On a Monday? Won’t it be dead?”
Draco shook his head. “It’s fairly busy on Mondays, actually. People are all depressed and stressed-out by the start of the workweek. The slowest nights are Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
Harry hated Draco’s intimate knowledge of the club, even if it did prove to be an asset to them.
“Good. Let me know what you find. And be careful.”
Robards left the room. Harry looked across the table at Draco, who was once again avoiding his eyes.
“I’ll meet you across the street from the club at eight,” Draco said, getting to his feet. “It usually starts getting busy around then.”
He walked around the table to the door, but Harry jumped up and reached out to stop him. Draco flinched away.
Harry felt like he’d been slapped. He let his arm drop to his side.
“Potter,” Draco said. “I can’t do this with you right now.”
“Why’d you keep it?” Harry asked. “Why didn’t you heal that bite mark I gave you?”
Draco’s hand flew to his neck, as if he had forgotten about it. But from the expression on his face, Harry knew he hadn’t- knew, indeed, that Draco hadn’t wanted him to know he had kept it, that he had done so because he liked it and not because he was ashamed of it.
Harry’s heart leapt. He moved towards Draco, who backed up hastily. The wall was right behind him, though, and he had nowhere to go.
“Why’d you keep it, Draco?” Harry repeated softly.
Draco shook his head, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. His hand was still on his neck. Harry tugged it away, and Draco didn’t resist him. He pulled the neck of Draco’s robe and shirt aside and pressed against the bruise lightly. Draco shuddered.
Harry forced himself to go slowly, to be gentle, when what he really wanted to do was turn Draco around and fuck him up against the wall. He rubbed his thumb over the bruise, then lowered his head and licked it.
“Oh,” Draco gasped, arching his neck to the side to give Harry more room. Harry obliged him by kissing the mark, then opening his mouth and sucking it gently.
Draco groaned and gripped Harry’s shoulders so tightly that he thought he might have bruises of his own. He pressed his hips forward and was relieved when his erection pressed against Draco’s equally hard cock. He felt Draco’s hands in his hair, pulling his head up, and he was happy to move his mouth to Draco’s.
Draco kissed him wildly, rocking his hips against Harry’s with no regard for rhythm.
Harry’s brain felt like it was exploding as he returned the kiss with equal fervour, pushing his hands inside Draco’s heavy Auror robes and around to cup and squeeze his arse. Draco became frantic, rutting against him, his hands painful in Harry’s hair. He bit Harry’s lip- and not gently, either.
Harry groaned, blown away by the intensity of Draco’s need. He slid his right hand under Draco’s left thigh and lifted it so that Draco could wrap it around his waist. Then he returned the hand to Draco’s arse, using his grip and the leverage of the new position to pull Draco against him even harder.
Draco tore his mouth away and let his head fall back against the wall. Harry rested his head on Draco’s shoulder, his eyes tightly shut as he concentrated on thrusting as hard and fast as he could, squeezing Draco’s arse in time with his movements.
He was thankful for the standard Silencing Spell kept over the briefing room at all times, because otherwise someone surely would have come to investigate by now. Draco wasn’t holding back at all; his sharp cries rang out loudly against the walls and inflamed Harry’s lust even further.
On the edge of orgasm, he bit down on the bruise. Draco shouted as he came, hips jerking helplessly, and Harry followed a second later.
Draco’s leg dropped from his waist, but Harry kept his head on Draco’s shoulder, lacking the energy to lift it. There was an odd taste in his mouth.
A second later, Harry was backing away in revulsion as he spat out Draco’s blood.
“Oh, my God,” he said. “Oh, my God. Draco, I’m so…I didn’t mean to, I swear…”
Draco looked tired. “Neither did I. If you had just let me leave-”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?” Draco said in confusion.
“You’re bleeding.”
Draco touched his neck. He looked at his red-tinged fingers and shrugged. “Oh. So?”
“What do you mean, ‘so’?” Harry said. “You’re bleeding, Draco. My God, I made you bleed.”
“I don’t care.” Draco drew his wand and cast a quick cleaning spell on himself.
Harry was too distracted to do the same. “How can you not care? I ripped your skin open with my fucking teeth! Jesus Christ, I can still taste it-”
He spat on the floor again. Draco sighed.
“And people say I’m melodramatic.” He pushed off from the wall and smoothed out his robes, pulling his collar back into place. He didn’t, Harry noticed, heal the bite. “You certainly didn’t ‘rip my skin open with your teeth’. You barely drew blood at all. And if it had bothered me, believe me when I say you would have known so the instant it happened. So spare me. I have neither the energy nor the inclination to sit in on another famous Harry Potter pity party.”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t understand you sometimes.”
“That much is obvious.”
Now that he was a little calmer, Harry grimaced at the feel of the sticky mess in his trousers. He cleaned it up with a wave of his wand.
“I shouldn’t have slept with you,” Draco said softly.
Harry felt sick to his stomach.
“I knew that when you said you wouldn’t expect anything more that you weren’t telling the truth. But I wanted…” Draco looked away. “And now everything is a million times more complicated.”
“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered.
“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. Again.” Draco looked back at him, straightening his shoulders as he reassumed his impassive Malfoy mask. “I’ll meet you at the club at eight, then.”
He left. Harry stared after him, defeated and alone.
***
At eight o’clock sharp, Harry met Draco across the street from The Red Door. Harry was dressed in comfortable, non-descript Muggle clothing so that he could easily blend in with the people that thronged the street. Draco, however, was wearing skintight black trousers and a silky black shirt that just begged to be touched. Harry restrained himself with some difficulty.
If Draco noticed Harry’s reaction to his outfit, he didn’t show any sign of it. “I can’t believe you’re actually on time.”
“You make it sound like I’m always late.” Harry grinned at Draco’s raised eyebrows. “Okay, I’ll give you that one.”
They briefly outlined the game plan. Draco would go inside, acting as if it were any other night, and do a quick sweep of the building for any signs of suspicious activity. He would also do a subtle Legilimization of the club employees, to find out as much as he could without alerting them to his actions. Harry would stay in the café next door, ready to back him up if needed. That probably wouldn’t be necessary, because even if Draco did find something suspect, he had no intention of pursuing it tonight. Instead, he would rejoin Harry as soon as possible and they would discuss their next move.
Certain that they were on the same page, Draco made to cross the street. Harry stopped him with a hand on his arm. Thankfully, he didn’t flinch this time.
“Promise me something.”
“I’ll be careful,” Draco said impatiently.
“No, it’s not that. It’s…” Harry trailed off, not sure how he wanted to word his request. “If you…if you end up, you know, engaging in any, um, activities…just don’t let them hurt you too badly. And don’t take any drugs. Please.”
“Honestly, Potter,” Draco said, disgusted. “I am working. I will do what is necessary to maintain my cover, but I won’t allow my reflexes or my freedom of movement to be compromised. What kind of idiot do you think I am?”
“I don’t think you’re an idiot!” Harry protested. “I just-”
“You just think I’m that much of a slut,” said Draco, his voice freezing cold.
“No-”
“Yes, you do. You think that if some guy in there tells me to spread my legs or suck his cock, I’ll just do it, no questions asked.”
“I don’t-”
“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco said, and crossed the street.
Harry growled in frustration- partly because Draco had a way of twisting his words that always infuriated him…and partly because he was right.
***
For the next three hours, Harry sat in the café next door to the club, drinking coffee and pretending to be reading the paper while he worried non-stop about what Draco might be getting himself into.
It wasn’t really that he thought Draco would get caught. This was his area of strength, the reason he and Harry were so well-matched as partners. Harry was good at the aggressive, confrontational sides of things, and Draco had a knack for espionage that Harry sorely lacked.
No, what he was worried about was what Draco was getting up to with the other patrons. He had said that he wouldn’t let his freedom of movement be compromised, but he couldn’t just stroll around the club, checking things out casually. He had a reputation there. Harry remembered what that tattooed man had said: “This one can never get enough cock.” Even if that weren’t true- which Harry wasn’t sure about- the other people in the club thought it was.
And so Harry fretted, his shoulders tense and his stomach in knots, until Draco entered the café and slid into the booth across from him.
“Sorry it took me so long,” he said. “It’s almost impossible to poke around in there without people expecting you to participate.”
“And did you?” Harry asked, hating himself for the question but needing to know anyway.
“I didn’t let anyone fuck me, if that’s what you’re asking,” Draco retorted.
“It wasn’t.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Okay, fine!” Harry snapped. “I don’t like the thought of other men fucking you. Is that so hard to understand?”
“No,” Draco said, suddenly subdued. He was silent for a moment, then said, “I didn’t let them fuck me. I didn’t want to. I…I couldn’t.”
“But you let them hurt you.”
“I had to do something.”
Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Well, remember what Hermione said about treating your wounds the Muggle way if you’re not going to heal them with magic.”
“I don’t have any wounds. I meant it when I said I wouldn’t let myself be compromised, Potter. They just used a flogger.”
Harry, of course, had no idea what that was, although it sounded painful enough to him.
“It’s made out of strips of soft leather. It isn’t meant to break the skin.”
“Oh.” Harry traced the ring his coffee mug had left on the table. “Does it hurt?”
“Not particularly.”
“Sounds like it hurts.”
Draco sighed. “It stings, and it can be painful if it goes on for too long, but it’s not that bad. Most people could take a session with a flogger with no problem.”
Harry had his doubts, but he bowed to Draco’s superior knowledge in this area. “So, did you find anything?”
“It’s more about what I didn’t find,” Draco said. “When I was Legilimizing the employees, everything was normal until I tried to find their thoughts about their jobs. And there was nothing.”
“Nothing as in nothing suspicious?”
“Nothing as in nothing,” said Draco. “Complete blanks, the kind you’d find in a person who’d been Obliviated and not given a replacement memory. But, seeing as they were at work at the time, that’s clearly not the case.”
“Fidelius.”
“Or something like it.”
Harry frowned. “I know the club takes their privacy policy really seriously, but to completely lock away their own employee’s memories…it seems like overkill, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“So the question is: what exactly are they trying to hide?”
***
A little after five o’clock the next night, Harry’s dinner was interrupted by a Floo call. To his surprise, it was Carrie Carter, the manager of The Red Door.
“Oh, Mr. Potter, thank Merlin,” she said. “I wasn’t sure you’d be home.”
“How did you get this Floo address?” Harry demanded.
“All of our patrons have to have an emergency contact. Mr. Malfoy-”
“Draco’s there?” They had agreed to meet outside the club again at eight. Why would…
“Yes, and he…One of the other patrons ignored his safeword, and nobody noticed until it was too late. Please, Mr. Potter, we can’t wake him up-”
Harry had been having nightmares about this exact conversation for nearly five years, but he still hadn’t been prepared for it. The possibility of losing Draco made his insides turn to ice.
“Step aside,” he said. “I’m coming through.”
“Thank you!” Carrie’s head disappeared from the fire.
Harry didn’t even bother to put on shoes, just added another pinch of Floo powder to the fireplace and stepped through. Carrie was waiting for him in some kind of office, looking distraught.
“He’s this way,” she said, and took his hand.
His wand hand.
He heard the other person behind him and tried to turn, tried to draw his wand, but Carrie had a death grip on his hand and she was much stronger than she looked. Stupid, stupid, STUPID, he berated himself, and then the Stunning Spell hit him.
The world faded away.
Continue Chapter Six
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