Happy H/D Holidays alaana_fair Part 3/3
Author: punkimonki
Recipient: alaana_fair
Title: Going Home - Part 3/3.
Part 13;
1997
Draco watched from a distance, his hood covering his face as his younger self received the mark, the cry of pain echoing throughout the hallway. He kept his eyes open, watching the look of disbelief and horror cross the younger version’s face as he looked at the tattoo branded into his arm and crawling with dark glee up his arm, the winding snake undulating within the presence of its master.
He turned, eyes sweeping over the other students already there; Blaise looking smug as he ran reverent fingers along his mark, his eyes sliding closed in bliss as Voldemort hissed, talking to Nagini, asking for the next inductee. He watched as Hannah Abbott stepped forward, the usually calm and happy brown eyes hardened and a mechanical grin crossed her face as she kneeled and prostrated herself before the Dark Lord.
He shuddered when Voldemort laughed, a hissing sound that sent shivers down his spine and froze his insides slightly, making him feel as if he was never going to be warm again. He felt a slight breeze ruffling his hair and he drew his hood up and stepped back, leaning against a grand oak, hiding in the shadows, his hair, once more telltale blond, likely to be a lighthouse in the sea of black.
He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself as he watched Anthony Goldstein move forward and bow low, maniacal laughter filling the air as the mark was burned onto his skin. Draco shuddered and turned away, unable to handle anymore of this as the line grew smaller, and his ranks grew larger.
He gripped the Portkey in his hand, waiting for it to activate and drag him away from this war, from this horrible existence he was living, in hopes that he would once more be able to live with Harry. He felt a tugging sensation behind his navel before the world was a blur of colours and sounds and he was deposited into a parcel of land he had bought.
Having Malfoy blood had always been helpful, even in this time and age. He looked around at the barren landscape and the small house in the middle of it and sighed. This was his life.
We’re going to keep track of each other right? Once a month for now, maybe we can talk more.
I hope so, I’m going to miss the nightly chats.
Maybe we’ll be lucky and be able to keep it up.
I hope so. I really do.
1998
Draco woke with a groan, a sheaf of paper sticking to his cheek as he sat up, gingerly pulling it off and looking at the flashing red lights of the clock above his desk. 4:32 in the morning. He sighed, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing at his eyes. He pressed his fingertips against his eyes until he could see colours flashing in his mind’s eye and he leaned back, fingers moving up to his temple to press against it, rubbing, hoping to ignore the headache that was beginning to grow.
He opened his eyes, looking over the formulas and lists of what he was working at the time. He dropped a hand to run over the smeared ink on the paper that had been stuck to his cheek. He grimaced at the sight of the pale flesh, unused to his own skin colour after so many years of being this Mr. Alejandro Santiago D’Arcangelo. He closed his eyes and waved his wand, sighing as the familiar magical weight of the glamour settled across his shoulders and he opened his eyes, taking in the tanned flesh with a small smile.
“Alejandro!” a voice called out and he flinched, moving to stand up, shuffling the papers together quickly, hiding his notes from view.
He opened a door and slammed it shut in time for the door to his office to open, and he looked up with a smile, looking at his fellow teacher.
“Isn’t it a little late for you to be up, Cooper?” he asked, taking on the slight Italian accent he had adopted a year ago.
“The same could be said of you. What are you still doing here?” Cooper asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Draco pushed back, his feet coming up to rest against the desk, hands folded across his abdomen. “Finishing the grading for the midterms so the students can have them again tomorrow.”
“It is your fault for creating such a long midterm. How long was it this time?”
“Three hundred questions,” Draco replied with a smirk. “I have a three-hour long class, three times a week; it was going to be a big mid-term.”
Cooper sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine, lock up when you’re done, right?”
Draco nodded. “Alright.”
Cooper nodded and turned to leave, shaking his head. Draco waited for the sounds of the door closing before he relaxed. He dropped his head back, looking at the ceiling, unable to believe it had been two years since he had last seen Harry. He had lasted three weeks at the small house in the middle of nowhere before he had gone crazy. He ended up recreating the degree he held in the future, in Chemistry, and getting a job teaching at a local university.
A year and a half later, and although he liked it, he wanted to leave, explore, learn new things. He was going to do that as soon as he had perfected a glamour, one that would be removed with a simple spell. He thought he was close; he just needed to test the latest invention. He sighed and closed his eyes, evoking a memory of Harry smiling at him, talking over some inane thing. He dropped his feet back down to the floor and leaned forward, grabbing the stack of papers to finish the grading.
Alex? Are you there?
2000
Draco pressed his fingers against his face, leaning forward, looking at his reflection with a sigh. The familiar façade of Alejandro looked back at him. Grabbing his wand, he waved it, muttering the canceling spell and leaned down, cupping some water in his palm and splashing his face, the cool water refreshing him in the heat that came with being in Egypt in the middle of summer. He grabbed a towel, eyes closed and raised his head, pressing the towel against his face and breathing in deeply before beginning to scrub his face, drying it.
He removed it and looked in the mirror.
His mouth dropped open. He stared in shock for a moment before he leaned forward, fingers reaching out to touch the glass, tracing his face before he suddenly fumbled for his wand. Knocking it of off the sink, he managed to catch it before it hit the floor. Standing up, he pointed the want at himself and muttered the counter to the glamour, and again when it didn’t work. He repeated it, Merlin knows how many times, trying to get it to work.
Five minutes later, he threw the wand down in anger, leaning forward, fingers pressing against his skin, taking in the new changes.
His eyes, and the shape of his face were the same, his hair was the same too-blond, almost white, colour it had always been. But this skin … his skin was darker, tanner, like the pale skin he had grown up with had never faded. It wasn’t as dark as the disguise, but it was close, getting there, and Draco felt anger and confusion and worry build up inside of him.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping his lack of any decent sleep in the past three years had something to do with it, but when he opened his eyes, he looked the same. Pale blonde hair, bright gray, almost blue eyes, slim nose, high cheekbones, pink lips and darker skin.
He took one look at himself before his legs buckled and he slid down to the floor, hands covering his eyes as he fought not to laugh or cry. He settled instead for a sob that came out amidst a round of giggles, certain he was losing his mind. He had finally lost it.
He lay down on the floor, an arm thrown across his face as his mind raced through all possible reasons it was like this. There had to be a solution to this. He had always liked the way he had looked, his pale skin, flawless, so different from everyone else’s. It made him stand out, made him unique. People could always tell who he was and what family he was from.
Now he looked like one of the California or Florida surfer people he had taught in college. Tanned skin with hair bleached blond from too many years spent in the sun and the sea. He didn’t like it. It looked odd against the sharpness of his cheeks, nose and chin. He looked fake, like some cheap, trashy whore with a fake tan.
He had to fix this; this was not him.
Robin. I … I don’t even know if you are there. But, Merlin, I made a mistake. A big one. I want to take it back, but I can’t. I’m stuck. I’m sure you don’t even look at this now. I needed to hide it, make sure they didn’t see it. They didn’t. I don’t want them to see everything I’ve written. It would be bad … I hope you still look at this. I need help. I ... I don’t want to die.
Alex? I … what’s wrong?
Oh, Merlin, you’re actually there.
I … uhhh ... check once a week to make sure and well … you lucked out, I guess. But what’s wrong?
I messed up. I messed up bad. I didn’t mean to do this, but I did and I don’t know what to do. They’re going to hurt me, I know they are. They’ll kill me.
That doesn’t sound like … ouch … so it must mean …
You’re probably right. I don’t know what to do. I messed up, I messed up badly.
Switch, I’ll help.
I can’t. They’ll kill me as well.
No, they won’t. Do it. Find one and do it. Say Robin sent you, so I know who you are.
You’re going to hate me.
We’ll find out.
2002
Draco ducked, running to catch up with the Aborigines that were ahead of them, their spearheads glinting in the sunlight. He panted, feeling sunlight and sweat caress his brow. He had been out here for some time already, and they were no closer to the center, where the magical heart of this tribe sat, hidden deep in the plains of Australia.
He was tired; he could feel the muscles in his legs burning from running so much over the course of the day. He had been woken up at five, before the weak sunlight had even begun to shine through the overcast of clouds. They had burnt off quickly, the overheated sun shining through in small rays at first before growing in size and intensity until waves of heat rose up from the ground, creating air that shimmered and burned.
Draco could see the ground up ahead, grinding to a halt in front of a small patch of trees that seemed to be no bigger than the Great Hall, and yet it was covered in green leaves. He could hear the sound of the kookaburra in one of the gum trees, and in the distance, he saw a kangaroo jumping towards the forest, a smaller one behind, attempting to catch up.
Draco pulled to a stop next to the group that had been selected to guide him to the magical heart. He could feel cool air blow out from the forest, wrapping around him and chilling him down. He looked at the leader of the ground.
“Is this it?” Draco asked, stepping closer, feeling calmer and less poignant than he had in a long time.
The leader nodded. “Go through the forest, in the center you shall find it. We shall wait.”
Draco nodded and took a step forward, a hand reaching out to push away the first branch, when a hand on his arm stopped him and he turned, looking at one of the younger men, who looked oddly like Harry did, with tanned skin. He swallowed and raised an eyebrow.
“Do not let the image deceive you, hidden one, for they will only make it harder. What you see is not real,” the aborigine said, before he took a step back, melting into the group.
Draco looked at them and then back at the forest, steeling himself before stepping inside, letting the fronds of the fern snap back around him. Suddenly the heat from outside was gone, in place a cool air that made him wish he had something warmer on than a pair of shorts and a muscle tank.
He took another step forward and the first image assaulted him. He watched in horror as Harry’s neck was sliced. Only this time instead of stopping at the spine, it cut all the way through, the savior's head falling to the ground, blood pooling onto the ground where his body had fallen. Harry’s eyes were wide in shock and pain and his eyes slid shut, covering those green.
Draco dropped to the ground and puked, unable to keep anything in his stomach after seeing that sight. He kept his eyes closed, forehead resting against his hands for a moment before he sat up. He swallowed again, ignoring the vile taste in his mouth and stood up. Opening his eyes, he took a step forward and braced himself before beginning to run. A few steps into the run another image flashed into his mind, of Harry sleeping with another man and enjoying it.
Another three steps and an image of Harry turning away from him, hating him for being this Professor, this hated professor who had taken advantage of him and had then erased his memory. He swallowed, the tears flowing freely down his face as his heart continued to break into smaller and smaller pieces, unable to handle the onslaught of images and words, all displaying his deepest worries and fears before him in detail and clarity.
He kept on running, ignoring the tears in his eyes and the pain in his body as leaves and branches snapped past his face, slicing and grazing his skin, leaving blood and bruises in their wake. He stumbled, but was unable to keep his balance and he came crashing down, his hands breaking his fall and sending a jarring pain into his shoulders and arms. He winced, collapsing onto the ground, arms coming under his head and he curled into a ball and cried, unable to handle anything more.
He shook his head from side to side as the last fear played out in his mind, ending with Harry dead by his own hand. It was too hard. He wanted to stay here, away from the pain, away from the almost certainty that was going to come with him returning. Who was to say that none of that would happen, that none of those fears and worries were going to end up true, and he was going to be alone, alone after thirteen years of waiting, waiting for one man.
He broke out into sobs and sat up, prepared to go deeper, to head towards the heart and give his life to the magic, unable to bear the millions of pieces that his heart had split into, each one of them hurting, throbbing with pain. Each feeling as if his heart was going to burst from his chest and shower everyone with the bits and pieces of the man that was once Draco Malfoy.
He stood up, hands braced on his knees to aide him. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the onslaught of more fears and worries to come and opened his eyes.
He gasped.
Somehow, he had reached the middle, if the pulsing blue orb in front of him was anything to go by. It looked like a circle of something, but it was pulsating, dancing, every square inch of its surface moving in different beats. The tears and pain were forgotten as he stepped forward, a hand outstretched, reaching toward the blue light, wanting it to control him, wanting it to take over his life and make him its slave. He wanted to bow down to the majesty of it all, and stay down, wanted to revel in the beauty.
He took another step forward, fingers almost touching one of the tendrils of light that seemed to stretch out from the ball, forming a hand. He took another step forward and that hand, that blue hand of the most beautiful thing he had ever seen wrapped around his own, entwining their fingers and suddenly the light burst, changing to green. A green that was so familiar, and yet he couldn’t remember anything. It was fuzzy, a smile there, a flash of something dark there.
He frowned, the nagging feeling in his chest and his mind wanting him to remember, but the hand felt so good, he could feel the tendrils slipping, and he grasped them tighter, never wanting to let go of the bliss that had infused his body. He didn’t care. He wanted to be here for eternity, to stay here and just wallow and absorb the brightness he could feel around him.
He took another step forward, hands tightening around the last tendril of the green light. He could feel it wiggling, almost as if it were a real thing and not just something made of magic. He tightened his grip, his knuckles whitening, wanting to hold onto the bliss that was slowly leaving his body. He couldn’t, though, and he watched, helplessly, as it slipped through his fingers and the bliss was gone, leaving only cold detachment in its wake and a hundred memories of pain and Harry.
He collapsed to his knees, tired beyond all belief, face in his hands as he began to cry, silent tears leaking out of his eyes to land into little puddles on his hands. He heard steps, but he didn’t look up. He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he lifted his head, hands dropping to the ground in shock and allowing the pooled tears to fall into the ground as he looked into the face of the aborigine who had warned him.
“It is over,” the man said with a smile. “You made it through. You are strong, and that shall guide you.”
Draco looked around at the desert, the cool wind and the sound of the kookaburra gone, leaving silence and heat in its wake. He looked on the horizon, seeing the rising sun before looking back at the guide. “I hope so.”
Robin, Harry. I need to talk to you now. There is going to be an attack on Hogsmeade tonight at midnight. My father and aunt are going to be heading it. I’m going to be there. I’ll meet you in Honeydukes. I have another one; it was in my father's study. I need to give it to you before he finds it missing.
I’ll meet you there. I miss you love.
I miss you too. Soon, hopefully soon, love, and we can spend some time together. I have time next week.
Merlin, I can’t. I’ve got training. We caught a whisper of Professor D’Arcangelo, and we’re hoping he would come and fight for us. I hope we find out who he is soon. We need him to help.
There is no one here like that. He has got to be independent right now.
I can hope. I wonder if he even exists.
He might not, but, by Merlin, I hope he does. Merlin, that man was hot.
Hotter than me?
Not even close, but he was hot nonetheless.
Good, I’d hate to think I’d been replaced. I was reading out old conversations the other day, and you hated him. Never let me know you liked him, Alex.
Of course not, especially when you freaked out when you found out I was gay.
But Merlin, the things you said the next time. Makes me hot even now.
Merlin, Robin, stop doing this to me. I’ve got a meeting in an hour.
Just enough time for me to get you off. I wonder how many times we’ve had to clean the stains off these books.
Merlin, how can you blush when we are together, but write like this? Write erotic novels after the war. You’ll be famous.
They’ll all want to meet me, my muse. See him spread out across a silver and green duvet, cheeks flushed and hair a mess, covered in sweat, spunk and lube. Watch as he wraps slender fingers under his knees and draws himself up, opening himself and begging for more with little gasps and whimpers and moans. Moaning loudly as I slide back inside, barely a few minutes after the first time.
Fuck, Harry. No more, I need you now. Fuck it all, let’s meet. Now.
Can’t, babe, just use your own fingers and send me the memory.
You are a pervert.
No one to blame but you.
By Merlin, I love it.
2007
Draco dodged a kick that came his way before grabbing the man’s fist as it slammed towards his face, twisting his own arm, the man flipping over his hip and down to the ground. He twisted the man’s arm up and behind his back, kneeling down quickly on the hand, holding it in place with his knee before grabbing the man’s hair and yanking up, bending his back at an impossible angle.
“Yield! I yield!” the man below him cried out.
Draco managed a small smile and let go of the dark hair and stood up, holding a hand out to help the man. “Good show, Ryu,” he said with a smile to the small Japanese man who was glaring at him.
“Yes, well, I stand by the fact you are three inches taller than me and a couple of pounds heavier,” Ryu said, his dark almond shaped eyed shining with mirth.
“No, you’re just that good of a teacher,” Draco teased.
Ryu blushed slightly. “Alejandro, don’t flatter me. People would be under the impression you actually like someone.”
Draco rolling his eyes, running a hand through the short hair he had adopted during his stay in Japan. The colour was darker, just like his skin, the glamour seeming to take over his colouring permanently. He no longer had any need for the glamour spell, with the darkened of his skin and hair, and the addition of more blue into his eyes. He no longer looked like the Draco from childhood. He was someone new, someone who had no past, and could be anything in the future.
“Consider yourself lucky then,” Draco shot back.
Ryu clapped him on the shoulder. “I am lucky, I have the prettiest girl in the entire country, a few good friends, and an excellent student who actually wants to learn.”
Draco managed a smile. “You flatter me now. Be careful. Your students might think you are nice.”
Ryu slapped him across the back of his head and Draco ducked, the hand whizzing over his head, brushing the tips of his hair. Ryu chuckled and Draco rolled his eyes as he stood up straight. “I’m going to go.”
“Men’s night?” Ryu asked.
Draco shook his head. “You know I don’t date.”
“You must sleep with people,” Ryu said. “Good way of getting rid of stress.”
Draco shook his head. “I don’t sleep around.”
He had tried it once, began to kiss another man he had met at a club and he had felt sick. Sick enough that he had run to the bathroom and vomited up everything that he had tried to eat that day into the toilet. He had ended up leaving the man without an explanation. Just walked out to curl up into his own bed alone, feeling sick to the stomach and guilty for cheating on Harry.
Ryu frowned. “A boyfriend, perhaps? Back in England, eh?”
Draco shook his head. “No, not anymore.”
Ryu looked thoughtful before nodding in understanding. “A bad break up, then? I know just the trick. Come and have some drinks with us, get your mind off whomever was stupid enough to let you go and it will all be fine.”
Draco shook his head, the good mood from before vanishing. “No, I need to pack. I leave at the end of this week, remember?”
Ryu looked sad, but nodded. “I forgot. Where are you going now?”
“India, and to South America, Brazil mostly, and then home to England,” Draco replied.
“You’ll write, right?”
“Of course,” Draco said, knowing he wouldn’t. It was easier this way. Stay in different places for a few months, leave and sever all contact. Getting close to people only ended up hurting you more in the long run. His heart was already in two pieces. He couldn’t afford to scatter more pieces around.
Ryu smiled. “I’ll hunt you down if you don’t.”
Draco managed a weak chuckle. “Of that I have no doubt.”
Draco, meet me in the bedroom now.
Impatient, love?
Merlin, you look hot. No more wearing a robe to Order meetings, hair mussed, claiming you just ‘woke up’ even though you’ve been up since six this morning, your chest peaking out through the vee of the robe. You’re naked under there, aren’t you?
But, of course.
You. Me. Bedroom. NOW!
Part 14;
Night before the final battle
Draco slipped through the rows of tents, the layout as clear in his mind as if he had only been here a day ago, not twelve years. He ducked into an alley, hidden in the shadows, as two people walked by him, not noticing him or ignoring him. He waited until their footsteps faded before stepping out and into the tent with the Order’s insignia on the front.
He looked at Dumbledore, sitting, reading over something, older than he had last seen him. He cleared his throat and waited for Dumbledore to notice him. The old man jumped slightly at the sound and, in an instant, Draco had a wand pointed at him.
“Who are you?” Dumbledore asked, voice steady, even as his hand shook with age.
Draco pushed back his hood. “It’s me, be quiet.”
Dumbledore seemed to relax. “Professor D’Arcangelo.”
Draco nodded. “And someone else if you remember correctly.”
“Which I do. Now what do you need? It’s been some time, my boy.”
Draco pushed up the sleeve of his cloak, showing the Dark mark that had been branded into his arm less than a fortnight ago. “I want my other mark,” he said simply.
Dumbledore’s features had shuttered and closed. “What are you talking about?”
Draco sighed. “You know who I am, what I do. I’m trying to get the marks back. I feel odd without them. I just need the spy tattoo on my shoulder again, please.”
Dumbledore stood up. “For what reason. Would it not be better for you to become someone new?”
Draco shook his head. “I tried. I tried to be someone different, but it didn’t work. I can’t be cold like my father is, and I can’t be open and warm and honest with everyone like Harry is. I can only be me, and what defines me.”
Dumbledore pursed his lips. “I am unsure of this.”
Draco looked at Dumbledore. “Don’t make me beg, please,” he whispered.
That seemed to change Dumbledore’s mind and he nodded. “Are you willing to fight in the final battle?”
Draco shook his head. “I already have fought more than anyone should. I’m just waiting for the end, so I can be with Harry again.”
Dumbledore managed a small smile. “Without the glamour, I presume.”
Draco frowned and shook his head raising a hand to run it over the tanned skin and darker hair. “I cannot change it. Wearing a glamour for so long has caused it to sink in, mixing with my genetic make-up and creating this. Trust me, I tried to reverse it, but I can’t. After the war, I’m going to try my own, original colouring, and see if it changes again. I hope it does,” he said, pulling out a strand of light brown hair with a sigh.
“That will make it harder for Harry to accept you. He won’t believe it.”
“Ron knows. He’s always known, since his seventh year. He’ll help me,” Draco murmured, missing the look of surprise on Dumbledore’s face.
Silence fell between them and Draco fought not to fidget nervously. He had forgotten how intense those blue eyes could get when they were trying to read your soul.
“Very well. I shall give you the mark again.”
Why do we still write in these?
Nostalgia.
It can’t be that. We’re in the same room, lying next to other in the same bed after sex.
Perhaps it allows us to be more in tune with our inner child and allows us to say things we want to say out loud but are scared to.
Spent the day with Hermione?
Yeah.
That explains it. But, oddly enough it does make sense. After all, I told you I loved you in this book.
I told you I was gay and wanted to kiss you.
I remember that, a long time ago.
Alex … can you do something for me?
What?
Don’t fight in the final battle, please. I can barely think straight when you are in danger. Please don’t.
Don’t ask me to do that, Robin. Do not make me leave you alone. What if you died and I didn’t? Where would that leave me?
I’m not going to die. I swear on my parent's grave I will come back to you.
Don’t ask this of me.
Please, Draco, don’t make me beg.
Don’t … Harry, please, no.
Please.
I … I … don’t make me.
Part 15;
Draco stood, hidden in the trees watching as the battle raged before him. It was today. It was finally today. Today, he could come home to Harry and see him. He could be loved again. He hoped he could be loved again. He had been gone for thirteen years, hadn’t seen the brunet for thirteen years, and Merlin, the man was still as beautiful as ever. The once rounded lines of his childhood had hardened, along with his body, all the training and battles creating a lean, strong-minded, brilliant man.
And he could be Draco’s once more.
He stared at the battlefield, wondering where his empathy had gone to as he watched people he knew, people he grew up with and taught, being killed from right to left. He saw his father fall, dead, followed by his aunt, her arms stretched out towards the Dark Lord. Draco shivered. Thirteen years had not been long enough to never see the man again. He could live three lives and still shiver at the mere sight of the man. He was grotesque, twisted flesh and melted bones. He was standing up, a snake coiled around his legs and lower torso hissing as it served to add strength to her master.
Draco watched in satisfaction as Harry cast the final curse at Voldemort and the man fell into a smoking pile of robes and melted flesh and bones. He watched as, at once, the rest of the Death Eaters collapsed to the ground, hands on their arms and their life slowly draining until they were nothing more than squibs. He felt a twinge in his own arm, but ignored it, knowing that the mark on his shoulder overrode the dark mark, making it impossible for Voldemort to drag him down with him.
He watched Harry, eyes following the brunet as he stepped forward, making sure Voldemort was dead before turning and breaking into a fast run, heading for where Draco knew his other self was. He watched the dark hair and red robes vanish into the dusk before looking back on the field, watching as the Order began to tend to the wounded and separate the two groups, throwing the Death Eaters into a pile to be buried, uncaring of the way they landed. They placed their own in careful rows, making sure that they were dead and not stunned or under a draught of living death or something like that.
He turned to the left and watched as Harry and his other self walked back into the battlefield. He watched himself stumble and he saw Harry turn and glance at him before turning around, wand helping his other self to walk towards where the bodies were laying in a macabre fashion.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed; he knew the sun was gone, replaced by the moon and hundreds of little globes of light, floating above the battlefield. He was reminded of his time in Australia as he looked at the circles of light, hovering there, beckoning him closer. He took a step out from the shadows of the tree, his hood still drawn up over his face, protecting him from being seen.
He looked towards where the small group was standing and talking, and he began to get nervous. Looking around at the bodies, he looked for any sign of movement, any sort of indication that someone had come forth. It was late, later than he remembered. He had studied his memory of this moment for a long time, and it was too late. This was not going the way it was supposed to. He was supposed to take that Draco’s place and be happy, as happy as he could be.
His feet began to move, drawing him closer to the small huddle of people. He could see Ron look over his shoulder at him, anger and mistrust in his eyes. Draco shook his head, pushing the hood back slightly and stopped a little ways away. Ron looked at him before blinking and turning away, as cool as anything.
Draco waited. He could see Ron getting nervous and fingering his wand. He wanted it to happen, he wanted his Harry, and he wanted to be with Harry. He had spent thirteen years waiting for this moment, and he was damned if his Harry wasn’t going to come back to him. He looked down at his hands and watched in horror as they seemed to fade in and out for a moment. He grabbed his wand, fully intent on casting the spell himself when he noticed Ron had grabbed his wand and, in a split second, had it pointed at Draco.
“Sectumsempra!”
Ron’s voice echoed throughout the now silent battlefield, and he watched in horror as his body sunk to the ground, blood gushing from his wounds. He could see Harry looking at the blood-covered Ron in shock before the other Draco coughed, blood spilling over his chin, and his anger was forgotten, replaced by worry. He watched as Ron was stupefied, collapsing to the ground, someone on him in an instant, fists flying, and he knew he had to stop it.
“Stop! Put him in the fairy ring. It’ll heal him,” he said, striding forward, the hood still pulled low over his head.
He saw Harry raise tear-filled green eyes. “He’ll leave.”
“He’ll come back,” he promised. “It’s the only way.”
He could see Harry looking at him in mistrust for a moment before the man nodded, and suddenly he watched himself being drawn up, cradled against Harry’s chest, pale, and blood-covered. He watched as his forehead was kissed and Harry whispered something to him before dropping him to the ground. Draco watched in fascination as his body touched the ground and was gone in an instant.
The field was silent except for a steady thump-thump that had Draco confused until he turned to see someone whose name he couldn’t remember punching Ron again and again, his face already a mass of cut skin and blood. Draco strode forward, grabbed the man’s arm and used all of his strength to yank him off, dodging as the man aimed a punch towards him.
Bringing his knee up, he managed to catch the man in the groin, and he went down with a cry of pain. Ignoring the whimpering man, he turned, pulling out his wand and dropping to his knees next to Ron, casting healing spell after healing spell, watching as flesh mended and his nose straightened out from where it had been a pulp. Casting a cleaning spell to make sure he had got everything, he was pleased when there were only a few bruises left that were probably from the battle.
“Ennervate,” he said, watching as Ron’s eyes fluttered open with a groan.
Draco opened his mouth to say something to Ron, but he felt a wand pressed against the back of his neck. He stiffened, unused to this level of hostility after so many years of peace.
“Stand up,” he heard Harry growl. “And drop your wand.”
Draco dropped his wand to the ground, hands raised as he stood up slowly and turned, keeping his face hidden in the shadow of his cloak as he faced Harry who was shaking with rage, a wand still pointed at him. Draco swallowed as he watched Harry struggle to find words.
“Why did you heal him?” Harry managed to ask through clenched teeth. “He deserved it. He hurt my Draco!”
Draco winced from the force of the words and took a deep breath. “Your Draco needed to be hurt, needed to be thrown into that ring.”
“No, he didn’t! And you said he would come back! Well? Where the hell is he!” Harry demanded.
“Harry,” he said soothingly. “Remember your seventh year, remember one of your teachers? Someone who made you write in a book, all year long? Remember what he told the students?”
Harry blinked, confused for a moment before his mouth dropped open, and his hand began to shake, dropping slightly. “H-he was from the future …” Harry said in a whisper, unable to believe it.
He heard movement behind him before he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and he turned slightly seeing Ron standing there, stoic and obviously in pain.
“Yeah mate, Draco became Professor D’Arcangelo,” Ron got out through clenched teeth. “I found out when you got hurt, that neck thing. He’s the one that saved you, mate, using the soul-sharing spell he discovered a few years back. I managed to convince him not to Obliviate me like the rest of you.”
Harry’s mouth had dropped open in shock and disbelief. The man who Draco had kneed in the groin earlier was standing, a similar look of disbelief on his face. He watched the two of them turn towards him, asking for confirmation.
Draco swallowed and nodded his head slowly. “He needed to be sent, injured into that place. Ron knew this, and so he cast the spell. Trust me, you might not like it, but it is needed.”
Harry seemed to gain control of himself, even as the other man collapsed back to the ground, confused. Draco could see the green eyes on him, looking slightly confused. “You said he would come back. You’re him, aren’t you?”
Draco managed a small smile at Harry’s intelligence, but his voice remained somber. “Harry ... you’re right but … I’ve changed. There is no way to send someone this far into the future. I’ve had to wait my time.”
Harry stood a step forward. “I don’t care, we’ll manage alright.”
Draco bit his lip and sighed. “That's not the only thing,” he whispered.
Harry frowned. “What?”
“I’ve been under a glamour for the past thirteen years,” Draco began.
“So, remove it,” Harry interrupted.
“I discovered something in that time,” Draco said softly.
He could see Harry frowning, and he wrapped his arms around his own body, as if a chill was in the air. “What?” his love whispered softly.
“Glamours, they-" he said, stopping and biting his lip again. He took a deep breath and tried again. “When they are … used for long periods of time without … removal something happens.”
Harry’s eyes became hooded and lines formed as he frowned. “What changes, Draco? What’s going on?”
Draco took a deep breath. “Harry, I don’t look the same anymore. I’m different,” he said, pushing back his hood, showing the darkness of his skin, tanned and looking rougher than before, his no longer white hair, instead dirty blond, light brown almost, and his hazel eyes, brown with a few flecks of gray and blue as a reminder of what they once were.
He could see shock pass over Harry’s features and the man took a step back, almost stumbling over someone’s arm lying on the ground. Draco swallowed, pain entering his heart, beginning to tear it apart once more as his arms around himself tightened, holding himself close so he wouldn’t fall apart.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking down at the ground, knowing Harry probably hated his appearance as much as he did himself.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and he knew without looking it was Ron, offering his steadfast support and reassurance. He braced himself for the rejection and the pain, figuring it was well and truly over. It wasn’t like he wasn’t ready for this. Thirteen years had allowed the pain to fade, and he was sure more of it would fade over more time. He just needed to stay away. He breathed deeply, preparing to turn and walk away.
He made as if to turn, Ron’s hand falling away at the movement, when suddenly a hand grabbed his arm and spun him around, causing him to lose balance and stumble against a hard chest. His brain barely had time to process this information before lips were covering his own and a hand was buried in his hair.
He stood still for a moment, shocked, before his arms came to wrap around Harry’s neck, drawing him closer and kissing him for all he was worth. He opened his mouth at the brunet’s insistence, and he felt the slick tongue enter. He whimpered, too long without the taste of apples and oranges that told him that this was Harry, this was his Harry and it was fine.
He felt a hand settle over his hip, thumb pressing into the crease made by his hipbone and he smiled, the familiar gesture made that much better by years of being alone. He winced as the hand tightened, the tattoo he had got a few weeks ago preparing for this time stinging, but he ignored it, relishing the pain, knowing he was awake and finally home.
He felt the hand in hair drop down, wrapping around his shoulder and holding him close. Draco was glad, the weakness in his knees telling him he was going to collapse soon. Eventually, the two of them split, gasping for breath and foreheads resting against each other. Draco kept his eyes closed, a hand curling into the Auror robes and holding tightly, never wanting to let go again. He felt Harry press a kiss against his forehead.
“I love you, no matter how you look,” Harry whispered and Draco felt joy burst through every pore in his body as he snuggled against Harry.
“We might be able to change it back, if I wear a glamour of my old self,” Draco said in barely a whisper.
He felt another kiss being pressed against his forehead. “I’m fine with the way you are, but we can try if you want,” Harry whispered.
“Let’s,” Draco said, missing the way he used to look.
The two of them remained silent for some time before Harry chuckled. “So you were our Professor, then?”
Draco smiled. “Yeah, it was interesting. You were all so young.”
“Bet it was. You know, I had the biggest crush on D’Arcangelo,” Harry admitted.
Draco grinned. “I know, you kissed him-me, and it escalated from there to a little bit of dry humping, right after you asked me if you were gay or not.”
Harry was silent for a moment. “How come I don’t remember it?”
Draco sobered. “I Oblivated you. I did that to a lot of people, even myself. I ended up erasing most of my seventh year with that one-that’s why I don’t remember a lot of things.”
Harry fell silent for a few moments before he shrugged. “I understand. I really do. I don’t think I’d want to remember anyway. Otherwise from now on every time I’d see you, I’d see Professor D’Arcangelo, and I highly doubt that’s going to do anything for our sex life.”
Draco chuckled slightly. “Sex life. There is a word I haven’t thought about in a long time.”
Harry raised and eyebrow. “When was the last time you had sex?”
Draco blushed, the colour not as easily seen on his darker skin. “Thirteen years.”
Harry gaped at him before a hazy smile came onto his face. “So, I’m still your first and only?”
“Only man, remember. But, of course,” Draco replied, moving to kiss Harry gently, not sure he could ever get enough of this ever again. “I missed you,” he whispered.
Harry merely smiled. “I love you,” he replied.
Draco closed his eyes with a smile, leaning against Harry, uncaring og the whispers he could hear around him. He was home.
“I love you too.”
[1] A myth states that fairy rings are doors into the fairies' world, transporting people to other places or making people appear in the same place in a different time. I also added in the healing properties instead of destructive ones.
[2] 16km=10 miles
[3] I am making a lap equal to about ¼ of a mile American, aka .4 kilometres for this story’s sake.
[4] My life unto you, heal, live again.
Recipient: alaana_fair
Title: Going Home - Part 3/3.
Part 13;
1997
Draco watched from a distance, his hood covering his face as his younger self received the mark, the cry of pain echoing throughout the hallway. He kept his eyes open, watching the look of disbelief and horror cross the younger version’s face as he looked at the tattoo branded into his arm and crawling with dark glee up his arm, the winding snake undulating within the presence of its master.
He turned, eyes sweeping over the other students already there; Blaise looking smug as he ran reverent fingers along his mark, his eyes sliding closed in bliss as Voldemort hissed, talking to Nagini, asking for the next inductee. He watched as Hannah Abbott stepped forward, the usually calm and happy brown eyes hardened and a mechanical grin crossed her face as she kneeled and prostrated herself before the Dark Lord.
He shuddered when Voldemort laughed, a hissing sound that sent shivers down his spine and froze his insides slightly, making him feel as if he was never going to be warm again. He felt a slight breeze ruffling his hair and he drew his hood up and stepped back, leaning against a grand oak, hiding in the shadows, his hair, once more telltale blond, likely to be a lighthouse in the sea of black.
He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself as he watched Anthony Goldstein move forward and bow low, maniacal laughter filling the air as the mark was burned onto his skin. Draco shuddered and turned away, unable to handle anymore of this as the line grew smaller, and his ranks grew larger.
He gripped the Portkey in his hand, waiting for it to activate and drag him away from this war, from this horrible existence he was living, in hopes that he would once more be able to live with Harry. He felt a tugging sensation behind his navel before the world was a blur of colours and sounds and he was deposited into a parcel of land he had bought.
Having Malfoy blood had always been helpful, even in this time and age. He looked around at the barren landscape and the small house in the middle of it and sighed. This was his life.
We’re going to keep track of each other right? Once a month for now, maybe we can talk more.
I hope so, I’m going to miss the nightly chats.
Maybe we’ll be lucky and be able to keep it up.
I hope so. I really do.
1998
Draco woke with a groan, a sheaf of paper sticking to his cheek as he sat up, gingerly pulling it off and looking at the flashing red lights of the clock above his desk. 4:32 in the morning. He sighed, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing at his eyes. He pressed his fingertips against his eyes until he could see colours flashing in his mind’s eye and he leaned back, fingers moving up to his temple to press against it, rubbing, hoping to ignore the headache that was beginning to grow.
He opened his eyes, looking over the formulas and lists of what he was working at the time. He dropped a hand to run over the smeared ink on the paper that had been stuck to his cheek. He grimaced at the sight of the pale flesh, unused to his own skin colour after so many years of being this Mr. Alejandro Santiago D’Arcangelo. He closed his eyes and waved his wand, sighing as the familiar magical weight of the glamour settled across his shoulders and he opened his eyes, taking in the tanned flesh with a small smile.
“Alejandro!” a voice called out and he flinched, moving to stand up, shuffling the papers together quickly, hiding his notes from view.
He opened a door and slammed it shut in time for the door to his office to open, and he looked up with a smile, looking at his fellow teacher.
“Isn’t it a little late for you to be up, Cooper?” he asked, taking on the slight Italian accent he had adopted a year ago.
“The same could be said of you. What are you still doing here?” Cooper asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Draco pushed back, his feet coming up to rest against the desk, hands folded across his abdomen. “Finishing the grading for the midterms so the students can have them again tomorrow.”
“It is your fault for creating such a long midterm. How long was it this time?”
“Three hundred questions,” Draco replied with a smirk. “I have a three-hour long class, three times a week; it was going to be a big mid-term.”
Cooper sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine, lock up when you’re done, right?”
Draco nodded. “Alright.”
Cooper nodded and turned to leave, shaking his head. Draco waited for the sounds of the door closing before he relaxed. He dropped his head back, looking at the ceiling, unable to believe it had been two years since he had last seen Harry. He had lasted three weeks at the small house in the middle of nowhere before he had gone crazy. He ended up recreating the degree he held in the future, in Chemistry, and getting a job teaching at a local university.
A year and a half later, and although he liked it, he wanted to leave, explore, learn new things. He was going to do that as soon as he had perfected a glamour, one that would be removed with a simple spell. He thought he was close; he just needed to test the latest invention. He sighed and closed his eyes, evoking a memory of Harry smiling at him, talking over some inane thing. He dropped his feet back down to the floor and leaned forward, grabbing the stack of papers to finish the grading.
Alex? Are you there?
2000
Draco pressed his fingers against his face, leaning forward, looking at his reflection with a sigh. The familiar façade of Alejandro looked back at him. Grabbing his wand, he waved it, muttering the canceling spell and leaned down, cupping some water in his palm and splashing his face, the cool water refreshing him in the heat that came with being in Egypt in the middle of summer. He grabbed a towel, eyes closed and raised his head, pressing the towel against his face and breathing in deeply before beginning to scrub his face, drying it.
He removed it and looked in the mirror.
His mouth dropped open. He stared in shock for a moment before he leaned forward, fingers reaching out to touch the glass, tracing his face before he suddenly fumbled for his wand. Knocking it of off the sink, he managed to catch it before it hit the floor. Standing up, he pointed the want at himself and muttered the counter to the glamour, and again when it didn’t work. He repeated it, Merlin knows how many times, trying to get it to work.
Five minutes later, he threw the wand down in anger, leaning forward, fingers pressing against his skin, taking in the new changes.
His eyes, and the shape of his face were the same, his hair was the same too-blond, almost white, colour it had always been. But this skin … his skin was darker, tanner, like the pale skin he had grown up with had never faded. It wasn’t as dark as the disguise, but it was close, getting there, and Draco felt anger and confusion and worry build up inside of him.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping his lack of any decent sleep in the past three years had something to do with it, but when he opened his eyes, he looked the same. Pale blonde hair, bright gray, almost blue eyes, slim nose, high cheekbones, pink lips and darker skin.
He took one look at himself before his legs buckled and he slid down to the floor, hands covering his eyes as he fought not to laugh or cry. He settled instead for a sob that came out amidst a round of giggles, certain he was losing his mind. He had finally lost it.
He lay down on the floor, an arm thrown across his face as his mind raced through all possible reasons it was like this. There had to be a solution to this. He had always liked the way he had looked, his pale skin, flawless, so different from everyone else’s. It made him stand out, made him unique. People could always tell who he was and what family he was from.
Now he looked like one of the California or Florida surfer people he had taught in college. Tanned skin with hair bleached blond from too many years spent in the sun and the sea. He didn’t like it. It looked odd against the sharpness of his cheeks, nose and chin. He looked fake, like some cheap, trashy whore with a fake tan.
He had to fix this; this was not him.
Robin. I … I don’t even know if you are there. But, Merlin, I made a mistake. A big one. I want to take it back, but I can’t. I’m stuck. I’m sure you don’t even look at this now. I needed to hide it, make sure they didn’t see it. They didn’t. I don’t want them to see everything I’ve written. It would be bad … I hope you still look at this. I need help. I ... I don’t want to die.
Alex? I … what’s wrong?
Oh, Merlin, you’re actually there.
I … uhhh ... check once a week to make sure and well … you lucked out, I guess. But what’s wrong?
I messed up. I messed up bad. I didn’t mean to do this, but I did and I don’t know what to do. They’re going to hurt me, I know they are. They’ll kill me.
That doesn’t sound like … ouch … so it must mean …
You’re probably right. I don’t know what to do. I messed up, I messed up badly.
Switch, I’ll help.
I can’t. They’ll kill me as well.
No, they won’t. Do it. Find one and do it. Say Robin sent you, so I know who you are.
You’re going to hate me.
We’ll find out.
2002
Draco ducked, running to catch up with the Aborigines that were ahead of them, their spearheads glinting in the sunlight. He panted, feeling sunlight and sweat caress his brow. He had been out here for some time already, and they were no closer to the center, where the magical heart of this tribe sat, hidden deep in the plains of Australia.
He was tired; he could feel the muscles in his legs burning from running so much over the course of the day. He had been woken up at five, before the weak sunlight had even begun to shine through the overcast of clouds. They had burnt off quickly, the overheated sun shining through in small rays at first before growing in size and intensity until waves of heat rose up from the ground, creating air that shimmered and burned.
Draco could see the ground up ahead, grinding to a halt in front of a small patch of trees that seemed to be no bigger than the Great Hall, and yet it was covered in green leaves. He could hear the sound of the kookaburra in one of the gum trees, and in the distance, he saw a kangaroo jumping towards the forest, a smaller one behind, attempting to catch up.
Draco pulled to a stop next to the group that had been selected to guide him to the magical heart. He could feel cool air blow out from the forest, wrapping around him and chilling him down. He looked at the leader of the ground.
“Is this it?” Draco asked, stepping closer, feeling calmer and less poignant than he had in a long time.
The leader nodded. “Go through the forest, in the center you shall find it. We shall wait.”
Draco nodded and took a step forward, a hand reaching out to push away the first branch, when a hand on his arm stopped him and he turned, looking at one of the younger men, who looked oddly like Harry did, with tanned skin. He swallowed and raised an eyebrow.
“Do not let the image deceive you, hidden one, for they will only make it harder. What you see is not real,” the aborigine said, before he took a step back, melting into the group.
Draco looked at them and then back at the forest, steeling himself before stepping inside, letting the fronds of the fern snap back around him. Suddenly the heat from outside was gone, in place a cool air that made him wish he had something warmer on than a pair of shorts and a muscle tank.
He took another step forward and the first image assaulted him. He watched in horror as Harry’s neck was sliced. Only this time instead of stopping at the spine, it cut all the way through, the savior's head falling to the ground, blood pooling onto the ground where his body had fallen. Harry’s eyes were wide in shock and pain and his eyes slid shut, covering those green.
Draco dropped to the ground and puked, unable to keep anything in his stomach after seeing that sight. He kept his eyes closed, forehead resting against his hands for a moment before he sat up. He swallowed again, ignoring the vile taste in his mouth and stood up. Opening his eyes, he took a step forward and braced himself before beginning to run. A few steps into the run another image flashed into his mind, of Harry sleeping with another man and enjoying it.
Another three steps and an image of Harry turning away from him, hating him for being this Professor, this hated professor who had taken advantage of him and had then erased his memory. He swallowed, the tears flowing freely down his face as his heart continued to break into smaller and smaller pieces, unable to handle the onslaught of images and words, all displaying his deepest worries and fears before him in detail and clarity.
He kept on running, ignoring the tears in his eyes and the pain in his body as leaves and branches snapped past his face, slicing and grazing his skin, leaving blood and bruises in their wake. He stumbled, but was unable to keep his balance and he came crashing down, his hands breaking his fall and sending a jarring pain into his shoulders and arms. He winced, collapsing onto the ground, arms coming under his head and he curled into a ball and cried, unable to handle anything more.
He shook his head from side to side as the last fear played out in his mind, ending with Harry dead by his own hand. It was too hard. He wanted to stay here, away from the pain, away from the almost certainty that was going to come with him returning. Who was to say that none of that would happen, that none of those fears and worries were going to end up true, and he was going to be alone, alone after thirteen years of waiting, waiting for one man.
He broke out into sobs and sat up, prepared to go deeper, to head towards the heart and give his life to the magic, unable to bear the millions of pieces that his heart had split into, each one of them hurting, throbbing with pain. Each feeling as if his heart was going to burst from his chest and shower everyone with the bits and pieces of the man that was once Draco Malfoy.
He stood up, hands braced on his knees to aide him. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the onslaught of more fears and worries to come and opened his eyes.
He gasped.
Somehow, he had reached the middle, if the pulsing blue orb in front of him was anything to go by. It looked like a circle of something, but it was pulsating, dancing, every square inch of its surface moving in different beats. The tears and pain were forgotten as he stepped forward, a hand outstretched, reaching toward the blue light, wanting it to control him, wanting it to take over his life and make him its slave. He wanted to bow down to the majesty of it all, and stay down, wanted to revel in the beauty.
He took another step forward, fingers almost touching one of the tendrils of light that seemed to stretch out from the ball, forming a hand. He took another step forward and that hand, that blue hand of the most beautiful thing he had ever seen wrapped around his own, entwining their fingers and suddenly the light burst, changing to green. A green that was so familiar, and yet he couldn’t remember anything. It was fuzzy, a smile there, a flash of something dark there.
He frowned, the nagging feeling in his chest and his mind wanting him to remember, but the hand felt so good, he could feel the tendrils slipping, and he grasped them tighter, never wanting to let go of the bliss that had infused his body. He didn’t care. He wanted to be here for eternity, to stay here and just wallow and absorb the brightness he could feel around him.
He took another step forward, hands tightening around the last tendril of the green light. He could feel it wiggling, almost as if it were a real thing and not just something made of magic. He tightened his grip, his knuckles whitening, wanting to hold onto the bliss that was slowly leaving his body. He couldn’t, though, and he watched, helplessly, as it slipped through his fingers and the bliss was gone, leaving only cold detachment in its wake and a hundred memories of pain and Harry.
He collapsed to his knees, tired beyond all belief, face in his hands as he began to cry, silent tears leaking out of his eyes to land into little puddles on his hands. He heard steps, but he didn’t look up. He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he lifted his head, hands dropping to the ground in shock and allowing the pooled tears to fall into the ground as he looked into the face of the aborigine who had warned him.
“It is over,” the man said with a smile. “You made it through. You are strong, and that shall guide you.”
Draco looked around at the desert, the cool wind and the sound of the kookaburra gone, leaving silence and heat in its wake. He looked on the horizon, seeing the rising sun before looking back at the guide. “I hope so.”
Robin, Harry. I need to talk to you now. There is going to be an attack on Hogsmeade tonight at midnight. My father and aunt are going to be heading it. I’m going to be there. I’ll meet you in Honeydukes. I have another one; it was in my father's study. I need to give it to you before he finds it missing.
I’ll meet you there. I miss you love.
I miss you too. Soon, hopefully soon, love, and we can spend some time together. I have time next week.
Merlin, I can’t. I’ve got training. We caught a whisper of Professor D’Arcangelo, and we’re hoping he would come and fight for us. I hope we find out who he is soon. We need him to help.
There is no one here like that. He has got to be independent right now.
I can hope. I wonder if he even exists.
He might not, but, by Merlin, I hope he does. Merlin, that man was hot.
Hotter than me?
Not even close, but he was hot nonetheless.
Good, I’d hate to think I’d been replaced. I was reading out old conversations the other day, and you hated him. Never let me know you liked him, Alex.
Of course not, especially when you freaked out when you found out I was gay.
But Merlin, the things you said the next time. Makes me hot even now.
Merlin, Robin, stop doing this to me. I’ve got a meeting in an hour.
Just enough time for me to get you off. I wonder how many times we’ve had to clean the stains off these books.
Merlin, how can you blush when we are together, but write like this? Write erotic novels after the war. You’ll be famous.
They’ll all want to meet me, my muse. See him spread out across a silver and green duvet, cheeks flushed and hair a mess, covered in sweat, spunk and lube. Watch as he wraps slender fingers under his knees and draws himself up, opening himself and begging for more with little gasps and whimpers and moans. Moaning loudly as I slide back inside, barely a few minutes after the first time.
Fuck, Harry. No more, I need you now. Fuck it all, let’s meet. Now.
Can’t, babe, just use your own fingers and send me the memory.
You are a pervert.
No one to blame but you.
By Merlin, I love it.
2007
Draco dodged a kick that came his way before grabbing the man’s fist as it slammed towards his face, twisting his own arm, the man flipping over his hip and down to the ground. He twisted the man’s arm up and behind his back, kneeling down quickly on the hand, holding it in place with his knee before grabbing the man’s hair and yanking up, bending his back at an impossible angle.
“Yield! I yield!” the man below him cried out.
Draco managed a small smile and let go of the dark hair and stood up, holding a hand out to help the man. “Good show, Ryu,” he said with a smile to the small Japanese man who was glaring at him.
“Yes, well, I stand by the fact you are three inches taller than me and a couple of pounds heavier,” Ryu said, his dark almond shaped eyed shining with mirth.
“No, you’re just that good of a teacher,” Draco teased.
Ryu blushed slightly. “Alejandro, don’t flatter me. People would be under the impression you actually like someone.”
Draco rolling his eyes, running a hand through the short hair he had adopted during his stay in Japan. The colour was darker, just like his skin, the glamour seeming to take over his colouring permanently. He no longer had any need for the glamour spell, with the darkened of his skin and hair, and the addition of more blue into his eyes. He no longer looked like the Draco from childhood. He was someone new, someone who had no past, and could be anything in the future.
“Consider yourself lucky then,” Draco shot back.
Ryu clapped him on the shoulder. “I am lucky, I have the prettiest girl in the entire country, a few good friends, and an excellent student who actually wants to learn.”
Draco managed a smile. “You flatter me now. Be careful. Your students might think you are nice.”
Ryu slapped him across the back of his head and Draco ducked, the hand whizzing over his head, brushing the tips of his hair. Ryu chuckled and Draco rolled his eyes as he stood up straight. “I’m going to go.”
“Men’s night?” Ryu asked.
Draco shook his head. “You know I don’t date.”
“You must sleep with people,” Ryu said. “Good way of getting rid of stress.”
Draco shook his head. “I don’t sleep around.”
He had tried it once, began to kiss another man he had met at a club and he had felt sick. Sick enough that he had run to the bathroom and vomited up everything that he had tried to eat that day into the toilet. He had ended up leaving the man without an explanation. Just walked out to curl up into his own bed alone, feeling sick to the stomach and guilty for cheating on Harry.
Ryu frowned. “A boyfriend, perhaps? Back in England, eh?”
Draco shook his head. “No, not anymore.”
Ryu looked thoughtful before nodding in understanding. “A bad break up, then? I know just the trick. Come and have some drinks with us, get your mind off whomever was stupid enough to let you go and it will all be fine.”
Draco shook his head, the good mood from before vanishing. “No, I need to pack. I leave at the end of this week, remember?”
Ryu looked sad, but nodded. “I forgot. Where are you going now?”
“India, and to South America, Brazil mostly, and then home to England,” Draco replied.
“You’ll write, right?”
“Of course,” Draco said, knowing he wouldn’t. It was easier this way. Stay in different places for a few months, leave and sever all contact. Getting close to people only ended up hurting you more in the long run. His heart was already in two pieces. He couldn’t afford to scatter more pieces around.
Ryu smiled. “I’ll hunt you down if you don’t.”
Draco managed a weak chuckle. “Of that I have no doubt.”
Draco, meet me in the bedroom now.
Impatient, love?
Merlin, you look hot. No more wearing a robe to Order meetings, hair mussed, claiming you just ‘woke up’ even though you’ve been up since six this morning, your chest peaking out through the vee of the robe. You’re naked under there, aren’t you?
But, of course.
You. Me. Bedroom. NOW!
Part 14;
Night before the final battle
Draco slipped through the rows of tents, the layout as clear in his mind as if he had only been here a day ago, not twelve years. He ducked into an alley, hidden in the shadows, as two people walked by him, not noticing him or ignoring him. He waited until their footsteps faded before stepping out and into the tent with the Order’s insignia on the front.
He looked at Dumbledore, sitting, reading over something, older than he had last seen him. He cleared his throat and waited for Dumbledore to notice him. The old man jumped slightly at the sound and, in an instant, Draco had a wand pointed at him.
“Who are you?” Dumbledore asked, voice steady, even as his hand shook with age.
Draco pushed back his hood. “It’s me, be quiet.”
Dumbledore seemed to relax. “Professor D’Arcangelo.”
Draco nodded. “And someone else if you remember correctly.”
“Which I do. Now what do you need? It’s been some time, my boy.”
Draco pushed up the sleeve of his cloak, showing the Dark mark that had been branded into his arm less than a fortnight ago. “I want my other mark,” he said simply.
Dumbledore’s features had shuttered and closed. “What are you talking about?”
Draco sighed. “You know who I am, what I do. I’m trying to get the marks back. I feel odd without them. I just need the spy tattoo on my shoulder again, please.”
Dumbledore stood up. “For what reason. Would it not be better for you to become someone new?”
Draco shook his head. “I tried. I tried to be someone different, but it didn’t work. I can’t be cold like my father is, and I can’t be open and warm and honest with everyone like Harry is. I can only be me, and what defines me.”
Dumbledore pursed his lips. “I am unsure of this.”
Draco looked at Dumbledore. “Don’t make me beg, please,” he whispered.
That seemed to change Dumbledore’s mind and he nodded. “Are you willing to fight in the final battle?”
Draco shook his head. “I already have fought more than anyone should. I’m just waiting for the end, so I can be with Harry again.”
Dumbledore managed a small smile. “Without the glamour, I presume.”
Draco frowned and shook his head raising a hand to run it over the tanned skin and darker hair. “I cannot change it. Wearing a glamour for so long has caused it to sink in, mixing with my genetic make-up and creating this. Trust me, I tried to reverse it, but I can’t. After the war, I’m going to try my own, original colouring, and see if it changes again. I hope it does,” he said, pulling out a strand of light brown hair with a sigh.
“That will make it harder for Harry to accept you. He won’t believe it.”
“Ron knows. He’s always known, since his seventh year. He’ll help me,” Draco murmured, missing the look of surprise on Dumbledore’s face.
Silence fell between them and Draco fought not to fidget nervously. He had forgotten how intense those blue eyes could get when they were trying to read your soul.
“Very well. I shall give you the mark again.”
Why do we still write in these?
Nostalgia.
It can’t be that. We’re in the same room, lying next to other in the same bed after sex.
Perhaps it allows us to be more in tune with our inner child and allows us to say things we want to say out loud but are scared to.
Spent the day with Hermione?
Yeah.
That explains it. But, oddly enough it does make sense. After all, I told you I loved you in this book.
I told you I was gay and wanted to kiss you.
I remember that, a long time ago.
Alex … can you do something for me?
What?
Don’t fight in the final battle, please. I can barely think straight when you are in danger. Please don’t.
Don’t ask me to do that, Robin. Do not make me leave you alone. What if you died and I didn’t? Where would that leave me?
I’m not going to die. I swear on my parent's grave I will come back to you.
Don’t ask this of me.
Please, Draco, don’t make me beg.
Don’t … Harry, please, no.
Please.
I … I … don’t make me.
Part 15;
Draco stood, hidden in the trees watching as the battle raged before him. It was today. It was finally today. Today, he could come home to Harry and see him. He could be loved again. He hoped he could be loved again. He had been gone for thirteen years, hadn’t seen the brunet for thirteen years, and Merlin, the man was still as beautiful as ever. The once rounded lines of his childhood had hardened, along with his body, all the training and battles creating a lean, strong-minded, brilliant man.
And he could be Draco’s once more.
He stared at the battlefield, wondering where his empathy had gone to as he watched people he knew, people he grew up with and taught, being killed from right to left. He saw his father fall, dead, followed by his aunt, her arms stretched out towards the Dark Lord. Draco shivered. Thirteen years had not been long enough to never see the man again. He could live three lives and still shiver at the mere sight of the man. He was grotesque, twisted flesh and melted bones. He was standing up, a snake coiled around his legs and lower torso hissing as it served to add strength to her master.
Draco watched in satisfaction as Harry cast the final curse at Voldemort and the man fell into a smoking pile of robes and melted flesh and bones. He watched as, at once, the rest of the Death Eaters collapsed to the ground, hands on their arms and their life slowly draining until they were nothing more than squibs. He felt a twinge in his own arm, but ignored it, knowing that the mark on his shoulder overrode the dark mark, making it impossible for Voldemort to drag him down with him.
He watched Harry, eyes following the brunet as he stepped forward, making sure Voldemort was dead before turning and breaking into a fast run, heading for where Draco knew his other self was. He watched the dark hair and red robes vanish into the dusk before looking back on the field, watching as the Order began to tend to the wounded and separate the two groups, throwing the Death Eaters into a pile to be buried, uncaring of the way they landed. They placed their own in careful rows, making sure that they were dead and not stunned or under a draught of living death or something like that.
He turned to the left and watched as Harry and his other self walked back into the battlefield. He watched himself stumble and he saw Harry turn and glance at him before turning around, wand helping his other self to walk towards where the bodies were laying in a macabre fashion.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed; he knew the sun was gone, replaced by the moon and hundreds of little globes of light, floating above the battlefield. He was reminded of his time in Australia as he looked at the circles of light, hovering there, beckoning him closer. He took a step out from the shadows of the tree, his hood still drawn up over his face, protecting him from being seen.
He looked towards where the small group was standing and talking, and he began to get nervous. Looking around at the bodies, he looked for any sign of movement, any sort of indication that someone had come forth. It was late, later than he remembered. He had studied his memory of this moment for a long time, and it was too late. This was not going the way it was supposed to. He was supposed to take that Draco’s place and be happy, as happy as he could be.
His feet began to move, drawing him closer to the small huddle of people. He could see Ron look over his shoulder at him, anger and mistrust in his eyes. Draco shook his head, pushing the hood back slightly and stopped a little ways away. Ron looked at him before blinking and turning away, as cool as anything.
Draco waited. He could see Ron getting nervous and fingering his wand. He wanted it to happen, he wanted his Harry, and he wanted to be with Harry. He had spent thirteen years waiting for this moment, and he was damned if his Harry wasn’t going to come back to him. He looked down at his hands and watched in horror as they seemed to fade in and out for a moment. He grabbed his wand, fully intent on casting the spell himself when he noticed Ron had grabbed his wand and, in a split second, had it pointed at Draco.
“Sectumsempra!”
Ron’s voice echoed throughout the now silent battlefield, and he watched in horror as his body sunk to the ground, blood gushing from his wounds. He could see Harry looking at the blood-covered Ron in shock before the other Draco coughed, blood spilling over his chin, and his anger was forgotten, replaced by worry. He watched as Ron was stupefied, collapsing to the ground, someone on him in an instant, fists flying, and he knew he had to stop it.
“Stop! Put him in the fairy ring. It’ll heal him,” he said, striding forward, the hood still pulled low over his head.
He saw Harry raise tear-filled green eyes. “He’ll leave.”
“He’ll come back,” he promised. “It’s the only way.”
He could see Harry looking at him in mistrust for a moment before the man nodded, and suddenly he watched himself being drawn up, cradled against Harry’s chest, pale, and blood-covered. He watched as his forehead was kissed and Harry whispered something to him before dropping him to the ground. Draco watched in fascination as his body touched the ground and was gone in an instant.
The field was silent except for a steady thump-thump that had Draco confused until he turned to see someone whose name he couldn’t remember punching Ron again and again, his face already a mass of cut skin and blood. Draco strode forward, grabbed the man’s arm and used all of his strength to yank him off, dodging as the man aimed a punch towards him.
Bringing his knee up, he managed to catch the man in the groin, and he went down with a cry of pain. Ignoring the whimpering man, he turned, pulling out his wand and dropping to his knees next to Ron, casting healing spell after healing spell, watching as flesh mended and his nose straightened out from where it had been a pulp. Casting a cleaning spell to make sure he had got everything, he was pleased when there were only a few bruises left that were probably from the battle.
“Ennervate,” he said, watching as Ron’s eyes fluttered open with a groan.
Draco opened his mouth to say something to Ron, but he felt a wand pressed against the back of his neck. He stiffened, unused to this level of hostility after so many years of peace.
“Stand up,” he heard Harry growl. “And drop your wand.”
Draco dropped his wand to the ground, hands raised as he stood up slowly and turned, keeping his face hidden in the shadow of his cloak as he faced Harry who was shaking with rage, a wand still pointed at him. Draco swallowed as he watched Harry struggle to find words.
“Why did you heal him?” Harry managed to ask through clenched teeth. “He deserved it. He hurt my Draco!”
Draco winced from the force of the words and took a deep breath. “Your Draco needed to be hurt, needed to be thrown into that ring.”
“No, he didn’t! And you said he would come back! Well? Where the hell is he!” Harry demanded.
“Harry,” he said soothingly. “Remember your seventh year, remember one of your teachers? Someone who made you write in a book, all year long? Remember what he told the students?”
Harry blinked, confused for a moment before his mouth dropped open, and his hand began to shake, dropping slightly. “H-he was from the future …” Harry said in a whisper, unable to believe it.
He heard movement behind him before he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and he turned slightly seeing Ron standing there, stoic and obviously in pain.
“Yeah mate, Draco became Professor D’Arcangelo,” Ron got out through clenched teeth. “I found out when you got hurt, that neck thing. He’s the one that saved you, mate, using the soul-sharing spell he discovered a few years back. I managed to convince him not to Obliviate me like the rest of you.”
Harry’s mouth had dropped open in shock and disbelief. The man who Draco had kneed in the groin earlier was standing, a similar look of disbelief on his face. He watched the two of them turn towards him, asking for confirmation.
Draco swallowed and nodded his head slowly. “He needed to be sent, injured into that place. Ron knew this, and so he cast the spell. Trust me, you might not like it, but it is needed.”
Harry seemed to gain control of himself, even as the other man collapsed back to the ground, confused. Draco could see the green eyes on him, looking slightly confused. “You said he would come back. You’re him, aren’t you?”
Draco managed a small smile at Harry’s intelligence, but his voice remained somber. “Harry ... you’re right but … I’ve changed. There is no way to send someone this far into the future. I’ve had to wait my time.”
Harry stood a step forward. “I don’t care, we’ll manage alright.”
Draco bit his lip and sighed. “That's not the only thing,” he whispered.
Harry frowned. “What?”
“I’ve been under a glamour for the past thirteen years,” Draco began.
“So, remove it,” Harry interrupted.
“I discovered something in that time,” Draco said softly.
He could see Harry frowning, and he wrapped his arms around his own body, as if a chill was in the air. “What?” his love whispered softly.
“Glamours, they-" he said, stopping and biting his lip again. He took a deep breath and tried again. “When they are … used for long periods of time without … removal something happens.”
Harry’s eyes became hooded and lines formed as he frowned. “What changes, Draco? What’s going on?”
Draco took a deep breath. “Harry, I don’t look the same anymore. I’m different,” he said, pushing back his hood, showing the darkness of his skin, tanned and looking rougher than before, his no longer white hair, instead dirty blond, light brown almost, and his hazel eyes, brown with a few flecks of gray and blue as a reminder of what they once were.
He could see shock pass over Harry’s features and the man took a step back, almost stumbling over someone’s arm lying on the ground. Draco swallowed, pain entering his heart, beginning to tear it apart once more as his arms around himself tightened, holding himself close so he wouldn’t fall apart.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking down at the ground, knowing Harry probably hated his appearance as much as he did himself.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and he knew without looking it was Ron, offering his steadfast support and reassurance. He braced himself for the rejection and the pain, figuring it was well and truly over. It wasn’t like he wasn’t ready for this. Thirteen years had allowed the pain to fade, and he was sure more of it would fade over more time. He just needed to stay away. He breathed deeply, preparing to turn and walk away.
He made as if to turn, Ron’s hand falling away at the movement, when suddenly a hand grabbed his arm and spun him around, causing him to lose balance and stumble against a hard chest. His brain barely had time to process this information before lips were covering his own and a hand was buried in his hair.
He stood still for a moment, shocked, before his arms came to wrap around Harry’s neck, drawing him closer and kissing him for all he was worth. He opened his mouth at the brunet’s insistence, and he felt the slick tongue enter. He whimpered, too long without the taste of apples and oranges that told him that this was Harry, this was his Harry and it was fine.
He felt a hand settle over his hip, thumb pressing into the crease made by his hipbone and he smiled, the familiar gesture made that much better by years of being alone. He winced as the hand tightened, the tattoo he had got a few weeks ago preparing for this time stinging, but he ignored it, relishing the pain, knowing he was awake and finally home.
He felt the hand in hair drop down, wrapping around his shoulder and holding him close. Draco was glad, the weakness in his knees telling him he was going to collapse soon. Eventually, the two of them split, gasping for breath and foreheads resting against each other. Draco kept his eyes closed, a hand curling into the Auror robes and holding tightly, never wanting to let go again. He felt Harry press a kiss against his forehead.
“I love you, no matter how you look,” Harry whispered and Draco felt joy burst through every pore in his body as he snuggled against Harry.
“We might be able to change it back, if I wear a glamour of my old self,” Draco said in barely a whisper.
He felt another kiss being pressed against his forehead. “I’m fine with the way you are, but we can try if you want,” Harry whispered.
“Let’s,” Draco said, missing the way he used to look.
The two of them remained silent for some time before Harry chuckled. “So you were our Professor, then?”
Draco smiled. “Yeah, it was interesting. You were all so young.”
“Bet it was. You know, I had the biggest crush on D’Arcangelo,” Harry admitted.
Draco grinned. “I know, you kissed him-me, and it escalated from there to a little bit of dry humping, right after you asked me if you were gay or not.”
Harry was silent for a moment. “How come I don’t remember it?”
Draco sobered. “I Oblivated you. I did that to a lot of people, even myself. I ended up erasing most of my seventh year with that one-that’s why I don’t remember a lot of things.”
Harry fell silent for a few moments before he shrugged. “I understand. I really do. I don’t think I’d want to remember anyway. Otherwise from now on every time I’d see you, I’d see Professor D’Arcangelo, and I highly doubt that’s going to do anything for our sex life.”
Draco chuckled slightly. “Sex life. There is a word I haven’t thought about in a long time.”
Harry raised and eyebrow. “When was the last time you had sex?”
Draco blushed, the colour not as easily seen on his darker skin. “Thirteen years.”
Harry gaped at him before a hazy smile came onto his face. “So, I’m still your first and only?”
“Only man, remember. But, of course,” Draco replied, moving to kiss Harry gently, not sure he could ever get enough of this ever again. “I missed you,” he whispered.
Harry merely smiled. “I love you,” he replied.
Draco closed his eyes with a smile, leaning against Harry, uncaring og the whispers he could hear around him. He was home.
“I love you too.”
[1] A myth states that fairy rings are doors into the fairies' world, transporting people to other places or making people appear in the same place in a different time. I also added in the healing properties instead of destructive ones.
[2] 16km=10 miles
[3] I am making a lap equal to about ¼ of a mile American, aka .4 kilometres for this story’s sake.
[4] My life unto you, heal, live again.