FIC: Ode to Abstinence (Draco/Harry) NC-17
Title: Ode to Abstinence
Author: inmyth
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 7,477
Summary: Harry has lost the ability to speak. Draco suddenly finds himself with the inability to understand. Featuring a blind Nagini and mutinous house-elves. Draco/Harry slash!
Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine. Like at all. JKR’s the boss.
A/N: Written for the slashfest request by txrabbit. A huge thank you to the absolutely fantastic, amazing, brilliant beta-reader kcstories without whom this fic would have been faaaar from readable.
Rant: Because every author must. The prompt was to explore the dysfunctional relationship between Draco and Harry, sadly, they didn't have much of a relationship and more than dysfunctional, it was just plain weird. This took me absolutely aaaages to write, for a while I had no idea where I was going with this - actually most of the time I didn't and I shouldn't really be admitting this but I am my own worst critic so yeah this was blah. OMG! It's my first fic in over 6 months, so I'm producing two fics a year. Not bad, well not by my standards anyways. Anyways, if I haven't put you off: Enjoy (or attempt to XD!)!
i. and those dreams that once were like a field of poppies, waiting to be plucked
The fog curled lazily around his fingers, enveloping the puffs of air he exhaled. It hung so dense that soon his wrist became part of the mist as he reached outwards. His fingers trailed over the top of the gravestones that lay in rows upon rows, the chilled marble sending shivers tingling up from the base of his spine.
Harry liked to walk between these gravestones. It didn’t do much to dispel his loneliness, but it was enough. Sometimes he would lean against the white sepulchre on the edge of the lake where he could almost hear Dumbledore answering his rhetorical questions, and sometimes he’d close his eyes and the perpetual haziness would be replaced by the warm glares of the sun and the taste of a sherbet lemon in his mouth. And he’d lean back on his palms, his fingers connecting with soft velvet and he’d look up to see the royal blue robes adorned by the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen, bringing out the twinkle in his eyes.
But at other times, it was difficult to conjure such an image; it kept on rippling and becoming unfocused like looking through frosted glass. Harry would open his eyes and take a large gasp of stinging cold air, his lungs shrivelling inside the cavity of his chest and a dull ache spreading through his blood with every beat of his heart.
It didn’t used to be this bad, but as the procession of time dwindled by, even the Room of Requirement couldn’t hold up to its promise. Harry had forgotten to keep track of the time after the first decade since the end of the war - once he had stopped; time seemed not to falter as much. What was another day in the face of immortality?
His attention soon shifted from the slabs of white he couldn’t see to the smudges of red lining the edge of the path he walked upon.
He plucked a Poppy off the ground, twirling it between his fingers, the crimson appearing painfully bright against the backdrop of grey. Suddenly the flower seemed to shudder in his grasp, his fingers trembling against the frail stem until he let go, his fingers uncurling against his will as thunder rumbled in some distance behind him. He turned around just in time to see one of the turrets of Hogwarts crumble to the ground below, the sound ricocheting inside his chest as a gust of nausea shook him to the core.
He raised his head, and watched, unflinching, the pile of rubble groaning and grumbling as it grew. The dust rose thick and dense, parting through the fog, just as Harry found himself back in the Room of Requirement. He closed his eyes and wished to be back in that other world, where he had graves and dead flowers for company, but only a flicker of magic was the Room’s answer.
Hogwarts was dying and with it, Harry’s resolve to prevent it from doing so.
ii. falling from grace
“Sectumsempra!”
Harry heard the dull sound of flesh ripping apart long before the hot pain made itself known to him. The pain coursed from the base of his neck to every nerve in his body and he couldn’t help thinking, if this was death then it was rather… disappointing in its grandeur, or lack thereof. The thought made him giggle, but the giggle soon turned into a silent scream as hot blood bubbled in his throat, eliciting a faint gurgling sound.
His knees buckled and his hands came up to his throat to stop the warm blood from escaping his body. He tried to scream again, but just the thought of it made him choke. He soon felt numbness spread from his toes upwards and he dropped on his back, the blood still flowing from the cut on his throat, his body trembling and his heart coming to a stop.
Just before darkness claimed him, he felt cold hands wrap themselves around his wound and a tingling sensation flowed through him. If this was death, he started to think, but before he could think anything further, he lost all consciousness.
iii. mirror mirror on the wall
Something wet landed on Harry’s cheek and trailed down to his chin. He rubbed at it in his sleep before turning over on his side. This, however, didn’t stop the flow of whatever it was that had dropped on Harry’s face and now continued to drip into his ear.
With a groan he opened his eyes and looked up, through the torn canopy of his bed and at the grey sky. Rain droplets now fell fervently; some in his eyes, making him flinch and sit up abruptly. He found Nagini wrapped around his feet in a tangle as he tried to get off the now thoroughly soaked bed.
Her body shifted around his feet before she slithered up the bed and stopped somewhere near his shoulder and hissed it is cold.
Harry silently cast a heating charm in her direction. He shivered as his feet connected with the cold floor, and for a moment, he just sat there, his eyes scanning the desolate room. It housed four other beds, now torn and half buried under stone that had fallen from the ceiling.
He couldn’t remember this room, or the people who had once occupied it, but he knew it was of significance. It was the only room in the entire castle that he felt safe in, not alone, for there wasn’t a single soul left. Aside from the house-elves.
Nagini slithered off the bed and wrapped herself around his legs again, stopping the blood from flowing down to his toes. Hunt for prey?
Harry nodded absently. In a minute. He was still trying to recover from the dream he’d had, the flash of blonde, the spell, the cold hands and him eventually waking up in this room. He once again dislodged the snake and walked around the bed until he was standing in front of a great mirror. He saw thousands of himself reflected in the shattered pieces of glass. Only one piece was missing, directly opposite where his scar would have been had the mirror been whole. He fingered the vacant spot idly and cut his finger on the jagged edge of the glass. He looked at the drop of blood oozing out from the cut and then back up at the mirror - it had taken him years to find all of the pieces, mostly with the help of the Room of Requirement, but one piece still eluded him. Well. He still had time, if nothing else.
Nagini came and nudged the back of his legs insistently before hissing, Or else Nagini will have the little ones.
He looked down at her face, his fingers coming to stroke between where her eyes had once been. They had been one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes, not the entire snake as the Order had come to surmise. If anything, Riddle had been an extremely clever man. That coupled with the fact that he had been evil incarnate, had made him a difficult adversary. He had made sure that if Nagini died, her eyes would still be safe and a part of his soul would continue to live on.
Nagini’s eyes had been a small price to pay; they had been beautiful, from what Harry could remember.
I refuse to feed you the house-elves, he replied. And don’t go near them. They’re terrified of you.
They are food.
Harry didn’t reply as he Accio’d his Firebolt and straddled it, before turning to the snake impatiently, Coming?
She hesitated, her head bobbing from side to side before she bent morosely and came up to coil her body around Harry’s legs as she got onto the broom. Her head came to rest on Harry’s shoulder and her forked tongue came out to flick at his ear, Nagini is not a creature of flight.
iv. kill the spare, please
It is cold.
Harry ignored the hiss as he continued on the moss trodden path. He was gaining in on the prey; could feel its frantic heartbeat, hear the tiny hooves trying to scurry away as fast as they could, but not fast enough.
The whole forest hummed in anticipation as Harry parted the vines that hung in knots around him. The leaves rustled in the November wind, hanging precariously on the edge of life before they too joined the bed of death that layered the wet ground. Be patient, he told Nagini, and stay there.
He wanted to approach the fawn before it got a chance to escape, and Nagini would have scared it off. He could easily have Petrified the animal, but often Nagini would complain that doing so toughened up the muscles too much and gave her indigestion. Well, not in so many words, but the implication had been clear. He wasn’t too inclined to believe what she said, but then again, what did he know about the eating habits of snakes?
The fawn was scratching at the base of a tree, one of its hind legs tangled in a vine. Harry approached it slowly, and reached out to stroke the side of its neck, the hammering of the creature’s heart beating against his palm.
He raised his wand, the frightened pupils following his movement, but before he could kill it, a rustling distracted him. He looked back and found Nagini slithering up to him.
He frowned. I told you to stay there.
Nagini found prey.
That said, she turned around and slid off in the direction she had come from. Harry looked back at the fawn and with one last stroke, got up. It’s your lucky day.
Harry frowned as he followed Nagini, half a mind to tell her she could go without lunch for all he cared. Abruptly, he came to a stop, nearly stepping on her tail. He looked in the direction of her forked tongue as she hissed in anticipation and his eyes grew wide.
Two bodies. Lying in a tangled heap of black. At first it was hard to discern if they really were two bodies and not just a huge pile of charred foliage, but then Nagini slid up to them and nudged at the hood of one, and pale blonde hair was revealed.
The Mark’s scent. Death Eaters, Harry thought. The word was alien as it made its way into his mind, but it was there nonetheless, and he waited for his mind to make some associations as it ought to do before he would decide what to do. He went up and nudged the blonde’s head with his boot.
“Sectumsempra.” A veil. Someone falling - No! “Harry there are too many Death Eaters out there, you can’t go!” A mark in the sky, a skull, a snake, “Morsmordre!” Blood. So much of it; a masked face, blood seeping from beneath, gushing and spilling and staining. “Death Eaters have infiltrated Hogwarts.” Malfoy!
Harry took a gasp of air as the images receded back into his sub-consciousness. He looked down at the body of Malfoy and upon closer inspection, recognised the other one as Blaise Zabini.
Kill the spare, he hissed. Nagini looked at him, uncertain as to whom he meant and he nodded towards Zabini, and then, No, wait. Not yet. And like the obedient pet, Tom had raised her to be, she obliged.
v. those things you thought you didn’t need anymore and cast away, unknowingly
He dreamt of running. And jaws. Jaws running after him. A sure clasp of another hand in his, long fingers curling against his own, squeezing to the brink of pain, but he needed it to keep running. They both did. Not sixteen anymore. Back then he thought it wouldn’t take so long. Ten years was a long time to be running.
Draco opened his eyes to the sight of dark clouds drifting by morosely against the grey sky. He watched for a moment, waiting for the numbness that infected his entire body to wane. He tried to move his hands, grasping for something, and found them to be bound to the head board above him.
“What… ?” He looked up and saw ropes tied around both of his wrists, and pain soon followed this revelation, shooting up from his stretched ribs to his shoulders.
You’re awake, a voice oddly familiar rang in his ears. Yet, no one had spoken. He craned his neck around to see someone sitting on the bed opposite him, his hands caressing the head of a giant snake.
Fear uncoiled in the pit of his stomach. Oh God, where the fuck was he? Where’s Blaise? he thought. He tried to pull against the binds holding him against the bed.
“Who are you?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “What do you want?”
The figure got up and came near him. In the bleak light, Draco managed to make out a face. Young though it was, it was marked with a fury that made his blood run cold. The boy, for he seemed hardly old enough to be a man, grasped hold of his face and turned it to the side.
Draco’s heart lurched as he saw Blaise sprawled out on the bed next to him, his dark skin looking almost grey as his lips moved wordlessly.
He’s going to die, he heard that voice again. Snake venom, you see. Now you have two options. You could take him to St. Mungo’s and have both of you carted off to Azkaban or you could watch him die. Draco looked into unnaturally green eyes and saw his own terror streaked face reflected in their dark glint. All through this, he realised, not once had the boy opened his mouth to utter the words he had heard so clearly in his mind.
He thought frantically for something to say. “Just let us go.”
That’s not an option, he heard. The boy came and sat down beside him, reaching out to push some stray strands of hair off his forehead. Draco’s eyes roamed over the child-like face that he felt he had seen before. A long time ago. Green eyes, the colour of death and a scar shaped like a lightning bolt. Potter. Harry Potter.
“Potter,” he whispered and the boy smiled. “You - you were, I killed - I saw you die.”
Potter looked away for a moment; it even seemed like he was sulking. Draco had the sudden urge to laugh, cackle more like, though he could already hear his mother admonishing him for thinking such vile thoughts. But it was no laughing matter, this was no dream, Potter was not dead like the entire Wizarding World had believed so vehemently for almost eleven years.
Depends on your definition. He shrugged. Draco almost expected him to break into a monologue and spill all his dastardly plans. Soon. Potter smiled again, which seemed more of a grimace on his taut face, before he lunged at Draco. Or so he had thought, but it wasn’t a physical push. In fact, he felt Potter breach through his mind, and he cried out at the intrusion.
“No!” But Potter was too powerful, and soon he found himself the audience to his own memories. They swept past him in a torrent, dizzying and nauseating, of colours and limbs and, “No, not that one!”
He found himself in a tangle of limbs with Blaise. Their skins contrasting against each other, creating a balanced symphony as their moans reverberated around them. Draco felt tears creep out from the corner of his eyes as the image suddenly shifted to that of Blaise lying, a few gasps away from death, on the bed next to him.
Oh. I see how it is, Potter commented, again, without having moved his lips.
“Do you, now?” Draco spat at him. “Potter, I don’t know what you want from us. There is nothing I can actually give you. Let us go.”
Potter seemed to ponder this while his hand moved idly above the snake’s head. Not yet. As long as this appeals to my sense of irony, you could say. With that said, he got up and summoned his Firebolt to him, making sure that the snake got on it too, before he flew out of the window.
vi. years like falling leaves
Harry hadn’t spoken to anyone in over a decade. It was thrilling to once again hear a voice and not a hiss - he loved it when Malfoy spoke. The words he uttered would imprint themselves like small dots in his mind that he would then draw connections between and make sense of it all.
Malfoy wasn’t the pasty looking, pointy-chinned little brat he remembered. No, this was a man of an age Harry himself would have been had he not sacrificed himself for, “the greater good, my boy,” as Dumbledore used to say. Sometimes he would watch Malfoy sleep and study the creases around his eyes, the ever visible frown lines on his forehead and around his mouth, and bitterness would swell up, hot and thick inside his chest, and he would turn away just to stop his vision from getting any more blurred.
No, Malfoy had turned into a man while he was still stuck in a child’s body. Finally, he had managed to beat Harry Potter at something - he’d managed to defeat him at life. Harry wanted to laugh out loud at the irony of it all, but he couldn’t. Now that he thought about it, Malfoy had also robbed him of the ability to laugh at his own fate.
That night of the battle, after he had used the Old Magic that was Hogwarts and defeated Voldemort, Malfoy had taken the last stand. What he hadn’t been able to do up on the Astronomy Tower that night, he had achieved in that split second of vulnerability on Harry’s part and wasn’t it poetic justice, though, that he had died of the very same spell he had almost killed Malfoy with?
Harry rubbed the scar tissue on the base of his throat, feeling the raised flesh as his fingers skimmed over it. His own touch made him shudder and he wondered what it would feel like to have Malfoy’s fingers touch him in that way. Would he be repulsed? An image of pale and dark limbs tangled in a heap of moaning and groaning pleasure made its way across his vision.
Why not kill the other prey? Nagini’s hiss broke through his train of thought. He looked down at her and had no answer. He didn’t know why he let Zabini live or Malfoy for that matter - anyone else that had ever trespassed on Hogwarts, blindly of course for no one could see it, not anymore, had always met an end at Nagini’s fangs. Why not kill Nagini? Harry started at this question. He’d never known the snake to ask anything relating to the war. For all concerned, he was her master now.
Harry looked out at the bleak horizon that lay just above the Black Lake and hissed back, Because I’m not a murderer.
vii. desire what is unknown, and to claim what is yours
Harry found Malfoy snoring lightly, his hands still bound to the head board where he had left him. He’d ordered one of the house-elves to bring him some food; Harry could see that Malfoy had attempted to nibble at the bread as much as he’d been able to with his hands useless, only to have managed to roll the piece of bread off of the bed entirely.
He leaned in and untied Malfoy’s hands. The older man’s eyes flickered underneath his pale eyelids at the touch and he let out a sharp hiss of pain as his shoulders were rotated back into their normal position. Malfoy started to open his mouth, but Harry placed a finger on his chapped lips, Shhh you’ll wake him up, he pointed to Zabini.
“Potter?” Malfoy croaked, though he kept his voice hushed. “I thought it was a dream. You’re dead. I killed you.”
Malfoy’s eyes were still half closed, only a speck of silver visible from under his pale eye-lashes. Harry leaned down even further so that his lips grazed Malfoy’s chin. From his proximity he could make out little distinguishing features like the four freckles that littered the tip of his nose. His eyes wavered to his chapped lips, where a piece of flesh seemed to have been torn and Harry couldn’t help himself but to lick at the tender wound. He tasted salt and copper and something else, something almost spicy that made him turn towards the comatose body of one Blaise Zabini and scrutinise him with cold fury.
Malfoy had never been anything significant to Harry, not even in those brief glimpses that Harry would remember now and again, where he had seemed to be following a rather pale and drawn boy into a bathroom. Eyes bloodshot, face streaked with tears and dirt and a dull fury in those grey eyes. But that frightened boy was now this frightened man, the only man, and Harry knew to be grateful for small mercies.
Harry nipped at the bruised flesh of Malfoy’s lips none too gently. Malfoy’s eyes flew open and his breath came out in harsh gasps. Harry worked the clasp of his cloak open and soon the buttons of his filthy under-shirt too came apart. Harry stared at the Dark Mark on Malfoy’s exposed flesh, his finger tracing the outline of the snake before it was replaced by his tongue. He hissed to the snake, but it didn’t reply back. What it did do was make Malfoy shiver and arch into his touch.
Tell me what you want, Harry said. He wanted it to be perfect, he wanted himself to be perfect for Malfoy, far more perfect than Zabini. He had no experience with this sort of thing, those stolen kisses with… with someone in empty corners hardly amounted to the gasping and shivering body splayed out in front of him now.
His hands trailed down to the bulge in Malfoy’s pants, followed by his mouth as he laid hot, wet kisses across the pale abdomen, reaching the clothed hardness. His fingers unfastened the zip while his teeth worked maddeningly slow against Malfoy’s erection. He’d never been on the receiving end of such a thing, so he could only judge by Malfoy’s groans that he was doing something right at least.
Malfoy rose up a bit to help Harry take his trousers off; Harry’s fingers skimming the inside of his quivering thighs as he bent down to flick his tongue against his navel. Tell me, Harry murmured against his warm flesh, his tongue darting out and licking at the soft skin there.
He felt Malfoy’s long fingers curl in his hair and push his head down towards his cock. Harry took a moment to appraise the hardened flesh in front of him before he bent down for an experimental lick. Malfoy hissed at the contact, and taking that as encouragement, Harry proceeded to take the head into his mouth. He decided he didn’t like the taste of cock, it was salty to the point of bitterness, and the weight felt heavy and intrusive against his tongue, but Malfoy was making all these glorious noises and how he’d waited years to hear an echo of something - or someone - against these stone walls.
He managed to swallow the entire length, choking, his throat closing in around Malfoy’s cock in protest, his tongue working furiously against that bulging vein - “there, right there aaah yesss.”
“You’re dead,” Malfoy gasped, and Harry looked up through sweat soaked bangs and found that Malfoy had his eyes clenched shut. He was obviously not working hard enough. Harry unsheathed his teeth and let them scrape against the sensitive skin, and Malfoy’s fingers tightened unbelievably in his hair.
Does death turn you on, Malfoy? Harry asked while continuing with his ministrations, a hand now stroking his balls, and Malfoy was so hard, so close. Can you feel the scent of death reeking around you? Feel the maggots and the worms that course through this corpse of mine wrap themselves around your cock as I swallow it?
With a cry, Malfoy came deep down Harry’s throat, his thighs trembling and his fingers clasping even further in Harry’s hair as he emptied himself in his mouth.
“You’re dead,” he mumbled again. Harry shot him a look of disgust and said something like that.
Nagini raised her head from where it was residing on the ground. If she’d had any eyes to see with, Harry was sure he’d have found disapproval written all across her flat face. Seeing as she didn’t, she only hissed, He is too loud.
viii. they waited for Eden to fall from grace, though, it didn’t matter at the end
We must unite inside her, or we'll crumble from within.That had been the Sorting Hat’s warning a long time ago. Harry remembered. In the end, not all were united, every house needed blood spilt from its purest veins. There was no one from Slytherin. All had left, and those that stood to defy Riddle were not of pureblood descent. The spell still worked, though,three houses out of four wasn’t bad - but it wasn’t enough, either.
Hogwarts stood behind me, so did its founders, all but one. Salazar Slytherin stood against me in Riddle’s veins. The last Horcrux was Nagini’s eyes, after that was destroyed, and with the aid of the Old Magic of Hogwarts, it was easy. He gave a soundless laugh. Well, facing Voldemort had never been easy but it certainly wasn’t as daunting anymore, I suppose.
And then there was you, with that spell I taught you. He gave a wry smile. Used against you, rather. At that moment I thought I would die, I probably did die - heck, to the entire world, I am dead. He fingered his scar once again, the one no one knew about. No one can see Hogwarts now, not until I will them to. You see, I am Hogwarts now - I live as long as the stones of this castle live, and if - no, when I should say - I fall, so will they.
He walked around the bed and found himself facing the broken Mirror of Erised again. He trailed his fingers delicately over the shattered, uneven surface. I once saw something in here, but I can’t remember what it was. This mirror shows you your heart’s deepest desires; I’m not sure what mine is anymore. I think once I find this last piece, I might just have the answer. He turned to face Malfoy, sprawled and bound, helpless, on the bed. What do you think you would see?
“Let us go, Potter,” he wheezed. “Please.”
Harry had the sudden urge to scatter the broken shards of the mirror once again.
ix. he was a force to be reckoned with, they all said, not that they knew
Harry clamped his mouth over Malfoy’s, biting at his lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. The kiss was aggressive, it seemed to carry all the weight of their past lives. Every bite, every thrust of the tongue, every claim was a battle and neither was ready to give up dominance. Harry pressed up against Malfoy’s body, and squirmed a hand between their hips, his fingers curling around Malfoy’s cock, teasing the head tantalisingly as he continued to kiss Malfoy.
He gasped when one of Malfoy’s fingers snaked around his arse and pressed against his entrance. Malfoy broke the kiss and threw a questioning glance his way, but Harry was having none of that. This wasn’t meant to be scented candles and flower petals on the bed. No, this was fucking. With that thought in mind, he resolutely pushed against Malfoy’s finger as he pushed it inside him at the same time. Soon another followed, stretching him, and Harry wriggled in discomfort, though he kept up with his fervent kisses, his mouth almost unrelenting.
Malfoy pulled away for a breath and placed a palm over Harry’s sweat-slicked chest to push him down, hard, against the bed. Harry’s breath left him for a moment due to the impact of Malfoy’s shove, but he soon retaliated by twining his fingers in blonde strands and pulling sharply at their roots. Malfoy moaned in his mouth, one hand rubbing both their cocks together, creating painful friction, while the other continued to loosen him up.
Now, Harry said, it’s enough. Malfoy parted his legs and positioned his cock. With one quick, merciless thrust, he was inside him. Harry’s mouth opened in a silent scream, one hand clutching Malfoy’s shoulder, while the other curled up in the bed sheets beneath him. His body clamped down against the stinging pain that shot up from the base of his spine, and Malfoy was there, inside him, waiting to move and - oh God he was going to die. Properly this time, he thought for one hysterical moment.
The burning sensation receded to a dull ache and he nodded towards Malfoy, tears seeping out from the corner of his eyes as he bit down on his lips. His erection had completely waned in the process, but Malfoy had grasped him and was fisting him painfully, and Harry just wanted to tell him to fuck off, but that would be like giving in and he was not a loser. Not to Malfoy.
He found himself suffocating under Malfoy’s body weight, which was substantially more than that of Harry’s own adolescent body. Harry dug his nails into Malfoy’s ribs, trying to communicate to him to stop, but Malfoy was unrelenting, thrusting inside him with the frenzy of a dying man. Suddenly he changed angles and the next thrust hit a nerve inside him that sent maddening sparks of pleasure shooting through his body. Harry looked up at Malfoy in amazement who grinned down at him, continuing to hit, right there, just there, yesss…
Harry reached up and grabbed Malfoy’s chin and threw him a feral grin. I bet you’re thinking of Zabini while fucking me. Malfoy’s expression froze, although his thrusting didn’t cease. Fuck me the way you would Zabini. Are you gentle with him? Do you whisper sweet nothings in his ears and confess your undying love for him? He taunted, not that he was in any position to do so, considering he was lying, legs spread apart under Malfoy like some common whore. Do you wish it was him under you and not me? His voice moaning in your ear, calling out your name, asking you to fuck him blind? I bet you wish I was darker, more exotic, and more beautiful like him. Don’t you?
“Yes,” he groaned. Though when he said it, there was a funny way that his lips shook at the corners and Harry knew he was lying, and he would never admit to how a funny shake of Malfoy’s lips comforted him.
Let him keep his lies and his secrets, Harry thought, it doesn’t matter if I’m the only one who knows the truth. He could see it in Malfoy’s eyes how much the man wanted him. He wondered if Malfoy had ever fantasised about him back in Hogwarts, his taut body curled up in Slytherin green sheets, his fist working furiously on his swollen cock, all the while Harry’s name slipping from his wanton lips as he reached orgasm. Harry decided that it didn’t matter, Malfoy was here now, and shuddering above him and inside him and Malfoy couldn’t deny he wanted him. Not now.
Harry looked at Malfoy, brows creased with tension; eyes clenched shut, lip trapped between his teeth and long fingers leaving bruises on Harry’s narrow hips. Malfoy, Harry called. He wanted him to see this, wanted him to see who he was fucking. Malfoy, look at me. He opened his eyes reluctantly, his pupils shrunk into tiny dots and lost in the sea of silver that were his eyes. He didn’t know when he had become so very fond of this expression, his eyelids lowered, and the shadow of his pale eyelashes fanning over his sharp cheekbones, and his mouth open, wet and hot against Harry’s neck just before he spilt himself inside Harry.
Harry didn’t realise when he himself had come, but it didn’t matter, not when Malfoy lay heavy and slick and panting across his chest, crushing him breathless.
None of the discomforts mattered until Malfoy kissed the side of his neck, just below his ear and muttered, “Let us go.”
When it came to Malfoy, nothing mattered much anymore.
x. they rose, all united, because the tomatoes were rotten
Potter circled his nipple idly, plucking at the sensitive skin now and again as he stared at the dark, cloudy sky through the torn canopy and the broken ceiling. Crumble, crumble, little star. How I wonder what - he paused for a thought, I wonder. That’s not how it goes. Do you know how it goes Malfoy, I can’t remember?
He turned away from Potter’s earnest gaze, knowing he would only find his own disgust reflected in those jaded eyes. He didn’t know how long Potter had already kept him - them - captive here, or how long he planned to. Draco looked at the lifeless looking body of Blaise.
“Let us go, Potter,” he pleaded again to deaf ears. “What more do you want from me? I have to save him or it’ll be too late.”
Draco hadn’t been on the run for so long only to be kept captive by the ghost of a long dead hero. During those nightmare filled days of flight, where even a shadow could have been his death, he would curse Potter. He had spent many a night imagining it was Potter’s body writhing underneath him and not Blaise’s, only so he could drive his knuckles in the unyielding flesh of Potter’s face. He had wanted to tear his lips apart with his teeth, taste the bitterness of his blood, and punish him for destroying Draco’s life. And now that he was here, bound helpless by Potter, he just didn’t have the energy to fight anymore. Now he wished that the shadow that lurked over him while he slept was death and not Potter.
Potter grabbed his chin, the half bitten nails of his fingers digging into his skin, and forced Draco to look at him as he glared venomously. Do you think there’s anything left to save now, Malfoy? There’s nothing left, now. His beauty is gone. Isn’t beauty conviction? Let me convince you - stay with me, Malfoy.
His words seemed to have a mesmerising effect on Draco. They seemed to lull his protests and he didn’t want to argue when faced with such certainty. Potter, though stuck he may be in a child’s body, was beautiful. Something in his mind told him this wasn’t right, but the voice wasn’t strong enough and Potter was stroking his chest, and his fingers were trailing down to his half-interested cock and he knew the conversation was already over before it had even begun.
Just when things were beginning to get really interesting, they heard a ‘pop’, followed by a couple more resounding ‘pops’ and soon the room was filled with freakish little house-elves, the skin beneath their eyeballs drooping in a ghastly manner and their ribs poking out from beneath the dirty rags that hung on their frail frame.
Draco noticed that most of them were carrying silver forks, while others carried torches. A house-elf with a tea cosy, perhaps a century old, stepped forward. He wasn’t carrying any intimidating weapon in his hand, he looked rather fidgety actually, and the long shrivelled digits of his hands were coiling around one another.
“Harry Potter, sir,” he squeaked. “The house-elves speak of freedom, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby and his friends cook and clean, Harry Potter, sir, but Harry Potter didn’t eat and used the other rooms.”
Potter communicated silently with Dobby and Malfoy found himself wishing he could hear too.
“Oh no no no, sir.” Dobby looked ready to weep. “They is carrying forks and fire because they frightened you won’t let them go and get new vegetables, sir. They’re all rotten here. Don’t worry, Harry Potter, sir, Dobby won’t allow anyone to harm his Harry Potter.”
Now it seemed Potter addressed the rest of the freaky house-elves. Their eyes that glowed creepily in the faint light widened in what seemed to be fear.
“Yes yes, of course. Dobby is sorry for disturbing, master.” He crouched down so low that his pencil thin nose touched the ground, making Draco wince at the sound of bones cracking in his back. He turned around to the rest of the house-elves and whispered to them before they all disappeared with a ‘pop’.
“What was that all about?” Draco asked.
They wanted to get more vegetables because the greenhouse doesn’t produce them anymore. Potter shrugged. For a moment Draco sympathised with the house elves, something that would have appalled his parents were they ever to find out. He couldn’t help feeling like a house-elf himself. Trapped in this fucking morbid castle with a ghost and his pet snake.
xi. who’s the fairest of them all
Harry watched as Malfoy’s receding form became a vague smudge against the backdrop of the setting sun. “Let us go, please,” he had whispered. Harry hadn’t had the inclination to hold him here anymore.
He’d given his Firebolt to Malfoy as that was the only form of transportation from Gryffindor Tower to the grounds. Nagini did not like the flying stick, she hissed from beside him. If he could, Harry would have chuckled at that. He turned away from the window and walked towards the Mirror of Erised, willing his reflection to melt into something he really wanted to see.
“It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry,” Dumbledore had once said to him. He’d always thought it didn’t do to forget what was worth fighting for either, but he had never said it out loud. Perhaps Dumbledore had spoken from experience far beyond Harry’s years and comprehension.
Ever since he had found himself confined within the walls and magic of this castle, Harry’s dreams had only consisted of blurred images and voices from too far away. He would reach out to them but the images would ripple against his touch and fade from in front of his eyes, but while Malfoy had been here, he had forgotten to dream. If only for a little while.
Harry turned away from the shattered glass, wondering how many years of bad luck he had accumulated, and walked towards the door that he hadn’t used for over a decade.
The dark wood had peeled off in places and in others there were dark holes infested by tiny black creatures. Harry pushed a finger against the wood and found it to be soft and slimy. He wiped his hand against his tattered robe before using his wand to push the door open. He was faced with darkness so complete that even Nagini shrank bank for just a moment and then she slithered in front of him, her tail disappearing into the shadows.
Harry hesitated before he followed her, casting Lumos using his wand. In the bleak light from his wand, he could see the dust motes lingering heavily in the air. He turned around and shone the light back on the door and read, ‘6th Year Boys’ Dormitory.’ For a moment, he felt a tingling sensation at the back of his head, he knew this place - it had meant a significant amount to him. He knew that, but why?
The steps wound down to a large room. As he passed the light around the room, Harry found himself shell-shocked. It was a room steeped with sheets upon sheets of newspaper, the images stuttering on some, while on others they were as lifeless as Muggle photographs. Harry walked a couple of steps and picked up a Daily Prophet, dated eleven years ago.
The search for the body of Harry Potter continues. It is believed that he met his untimely demise at the hands of You-Know-Who, but his close friends Ron Weasley and fellow classmates are adamant on continuing this wild goose chase.
Harry dropped the paper as if it had burnt him. Ron. “We’re with you mate, all the way; what are best friends for?” Best friends. “Harry, don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare go off on your own or or… or do something stupid or I don’t know be all saviour like, I - I, oh God, Hermione, talk some sense into him, will you?” Hermione.
Numbly, Harry picked up another newspaper. He watched as the masses of people surrounded a white tomb. Some were crying while others merely looked at it desolately. After months of search parties being dispatched around the area where Hogwarts used to stand, Harry Potter’s loved ones have decided to give up. There is no sign of Harry Potter, dead or alive, nor of Hogwarts. He will forever be in our hearts as the one who liberated an entire nation from the acts of tyranny committed by You-Know-Who.
Images flashed past him. Names he thought he had long forgotten rose like lazy yawns in his mind. With those faces came names and whole torrents of memories - this was Harry Potter’s life. Harry fell to his knees with a cry. A sob uncurled slowly in his chest, pushing against his ribs, swelling in a hot bubble of despair before he let it out in one long groan, the scar on his throat stinging in protest.
Oh God, oh god, oh God, oh God, repeated in his mind as his life continued to flash before his eyes.
He heard something rustle in the darkness, and then a painful hiss. Alarmed, and wiping at his eyes, Harry stumbled into the darkness, using the faint light of his wand to navigate. He didn’t have to go much further as his gaze fell on the writhing length of Nagini’s body. He bent down and hissed, Where does it hurt?
Venom dripped from her fangs as her forked tongue hissed in pain. Harry placed the wand on the step and started to inspect her body for any wounds. As he slid his hand underneath her, he came across something sticky and turned her over to find a piece of something shimmering embedded in her belly. The last piece of the mirror. Harry glanced down at the blood oozing from the gash on Nagini’s belly. He looked around and grabbed a newspaper to put against the wound. I’ll be back, he told her desperately, clutching at the piece of glass he had extracted rather clumsily, and you’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.
Harry dashed up the stairs and into the Sixth year’s boys’ dormitory. He stumbled over to the great Mirror of Erised, and with trembling hands, he pushed the last piece of glass into the gap. He stared at the scar that had been the beginning of it all, before the surface of the mirror shimmered and his reflection was slowly replaced by another image.
He saw Dumbledore’s sepulchre by the lake and beside it, another, smaller tomb made of the same white marble. He squinted at the inscription and managed to make out his own name elegantly carved into the stone. Harry Potter. Beloved Hero. 1980 - 1997.
Harry sat down in front of the image, calmly watching his own grave. This was what he had spent an entire decade searching broken shards of a mirror for. Some hope. Because all those years, staring out at the bleak horizon of the dead Black Lake he had thought, surely there had to be a better place, a darker place, a silent place. And somehow, if he just held on to that hope, this too would pass, like all else had passed and tomorrow it would be the same as before, him in his own hell, and slowly but surely he would get more accustomed to it. This had become his life, or what was still left of it, and he had chosen this path and years of it would pass.
As all these thoughts roamed through his head frantically, the scent of blood and mouldy parchment lingered along with what was left of his dying hope.
xii. and it too shall pass, like all else
The sound of wings flapping frantically, shot through the Great Hall. Harry looked up, almost surprised that instead of a pack of owls descending upon the Great Hall on a Saturday morning, he found himself staring at Hedwig making her lone way towards him.
The sound of air trapped beneath her wings was loud enough to echo off the walls and make the fine cutlery that lined the four house tables tremble with its resonance.
He felt something shift beside him in anticipation, and turned his gaze to see the great snake, previously coiled around his feet, raise her head in interest. He placed a hand on her head, not hard but with enough pressure to make her relent and coil back into her former position.
Hedwig flapped in the air uncertainly, watching with wariness as her master pet the snake into submission. Her instincts prevented her from flying any closer. Harry looked up at her and then at the newspaper clutched in her talons before he shook his head. Hedwig lingered a moment more before giving a sad hoot and turning away from Harry to fly off in the direction she had travelled many a time before.
Harry was left staring at the maggot that crawled across his chipped plate. He watched it with a detached curiosity as it squeezed its muscles to wiggle around. He got bored, and with a quick stab of his fork, the maggot stopped moving.
Burning hope lingers.
AN: Ummm... anyone there? Hellooooo?
x-posted so sorry if you receive this about thirteen times *dies*
Author: inmyth
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 7,477
Summary: Harry has lost the ability to speak. Draco suddenly finds himself with the inability to understand. Featuring a blind Nagini and mutinous house-elves. Draco/Harry slash!
Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine. Like at all. JKR’s the boss.
A/N: Written for the slashfest request by txrabbit. A huge thank you to the absolutely fantastic, amazing, brilliant beta-reader kcstories without whom this fic would have been faaaar from readable.
Rant: Because every author must. The prompt was to explore the dysfunctional relationship between Draco and Harry, sadly, they didn't have much of a relationship and more than dysfunctional, it was just plain weird. This took me absolutely aaaages to write, for a while I had no idea where I was going with this - actually most of the time I didn't and I shouldn't really be admitting this but I am my own worst critic so yeah this was blah. OMG! It's my first fic in over 6 months, so I'm producing two fics a year. Not bad, well not by my standards anyways. Anyways, if I haven't put you off: Enjoy (or attempt to XD!)!
i. and those dreams that once were like a field of poppies, waiting to be plucked
The fog curled lazily around his fingers, enveloping the puffs of air he exhaled. It hung so dense that soon his wrist became part of the mist as he reached outwards. His fingers trailed over the top of the gravestones that lay in rows upon rows, the chilled marble sending shivers tingling up from the base of his spine.
Harry liked to walk between these gravestones. It didn’t do much to dispel his loneliness, but it was enough. Sometimes he would lean against the white sepulchre on the edge of the lake where he could almost hear Dumbledore answering his rhetorical questions, and sometimes he’d close his eyes and the perpetual haziness would be replaced by the warm glares of the sun and the taste of a sherbet lemon in his mouth. And he’d lean back on his palms, his fingers connecting with soft velvet and he’d look up to see the royal blue robes adorned by the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen, bringing out the twinkle in his eyes.
But at other times, it was difficult to conjure such an image; it kept on rippling and becoming unfocused like looking through frosted glass. Harry would open his eyes and take a large gasp of stinging cold air, his lungs shrivelling inside the cavity of his chest and a dull ache spreading through his blood with every beat of his heart.
It didn’t used to be this bad, but as the procession of time dwindled by, even the Room of Requirement couldn’t hold up to its promise. Harry had forgotten to keep track of the time after the first decade since the end of the war - once he had stopped; time seemed not to falter as much. What was another day in the face of immortality?
His attention soon shifted from the slabs of white he couldn’t see to the smudges of red lining the edge of the path he walked upon.
He plucked a Poppy off the ground, twirling it between his fingers, the crimson appearing painfully bright against the backdrop of grey. Suddenly the flower seemed to shudder in his grasp, his fingers trembling against the frail stem until he let go, his fingers uncurling against his will as thunder rumbled in some distance behind him. He turned around just in time to see one of the turrets of Hogwarts crumble to the ground below, the sound ricocheting inside his chest as a gust of nausea shook him to the core.
He raised his head, and watched, unflinching, the pile of rubble groaning and grumbling as it grew. The dust rose thick and dense, parting through the fog, just as Harry found himself back in the Room of Requirement. He closed his eyes and wished to be back in that other world, where he had graves and dead flowers for company, but only a flicker of magic was the Room’s answer.
Hogwarts was dying and with it, Harry’s resolve to prevent it from doing so.
ii. falling from grace
“Sectumsempra!”
Harry heard the dull sound of flesh ripping apart long before the hot pain made itself known to him. The pain coursed from the base of his neck to every nerve in his body and he couldn’t help thinking, if this was death then it was rather… disappointing in its grandeur, or lack thereof. The thought made him giggle, but the giggle soon turned into a silent scream as hot blood bubbled in his throat, eliciting a faint gurgling sound.
His knees buckled and his hands came up to his throat to stop the warm blood from escaping his body. He tried to scream again, but just the thought of it made him choke. He soon felt numbness spread from his toes upwards and he dropped on his back, the blood still flowing from the cut on his throat, his body trembling and his heart coming to a stop.
Just before darkness claimed him, he felt cold hands wrap themselves around his wound and a tingling sensation flowed through him. If this was death, he started to think, but before he could think anything further, he lost all consciousness.
iii. mirror mirror on the wall
Something wet landed on Harry’s cheek and trailed down to his chin. He rubbed at it in his sleep before turning over on his side. This, however, didn’t stop the flow of whatever it was that had dropped on Harry’s face and now continued to drip into his ear.
With a groan he opened his eyes and looked up, through the torn canopy of his bed and at the grey sky. Rain droplets now fell fervently; some in his eyes, making him flinch and sit up abruptly. He found Nagini wrapped around his feet in a tangle as he tried to get off the now thoroughly soaked bed.
Her body shifted around his feet before she slithered up the bed and stopped somewhere near his shoulder and hissed it is cold.
Harry silently cast a heating charm in her direction. He shivered as his feet connected with the cold floor, and for a moment, he just sat there, his eyes scanning the desolate room. It housed four other beds, now torn and half buried under stone that had fallen from the ceiling.
He couldn’t remember this room, or the people who had once occupied it, but he knew it was of significance. It was the only room in the entire castle that he felt safe in, not alone, for there wasn’t a single soul left. Aside from the house-elves.
Nagini slithered off the bed and wrapped herself around his legs again, stopping the blood from flowing down to his toes. Hunt for prey?
Harry nodded absently. In a minute. He was still trying to recover from the dream he’d had, the flash of blonde, the spell, the cold hands and him eventually waking up in this room. He once again dislodged the snake and walked around the bed until he was standing in front of a great mirror. He saw thousands of himself reflected in the shattered pieces of glass. Only one piece was missing, directly opposite where his scar would have been had the mirror been whole. He fingered the vacant spot idly and cut his finger on the jagged edge of the glass. He looked at the drop of blood oozing out from the cut and then back up at the mirror - it had taken him years to find all of the pieces, mostly with the help of the Room of Requirement, but one piece still eluded him. Well. He still had time, if nothing else.
Nagini came and nudged the back of his legs insistently before hissing, Or else Nagini will have the little ones.
He looked down at her face, his fingers coming to stroke between where her eyes had once been. They had been one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes, not the entire snake as the Order had come to surmise. If anything, Riddle had been an extremely clever man. That coupled with the fact that he had been evil incarnate, had made him a difficult adversary. He had made sure that if Nagini died, her eyes would still be safe and a part of his soul would continue to live on.
Nagini’s eyes had been a small price to pay; they had been beautiful, from what Harry could remember.
I refuse to feed you the house-elves, he replied. And don’t go near them. They’re terrified of you.
They are food.
Harry didn’t reply as he Accio’d his Firebolt and straddled it, before turning to the snake impatiently, Coming?
She hesitated, her head bobbing from side to side before she bent morosely and came up to coil her body around Harry’s legs as she got onto the broom. Her head came to rest on Harry’s shoulder and her forked tongue came out to flick at his ear, Nagini is not a creature of flight.
iv. kill the spare, please
It is cold.
Harry ignored the hiss as he continued on the moss trodden path. He was gaining in on the prey; could feel its frantic heartbeat, hear the tiny hooves trying to scurry away as fast as they could, but not fast enough.
The whole forest hummed in anticipation as Harry parted the vines that hung in knots around him. The leaves rustled in the November wind, hanging precariously on the edge of life before they too joined the bed of death that layered the wet ground. Be patient, he told Nagini, and stay there.
He wanted to approach the fawn before it got a chance to escape, and Nagini would have scared it off. He could easily have Petrified the animal, but often Nagini would complain that doing so toughened up the muscles too much and gave her indigestion. Well, not in so many words, but the implication had been clear. He wasn’t too inclined to believe what she said, but then again, what did he know about the eating habits of snakes?
The fawn was scratching at the base of a tree, one of its hind legs tangled in a vine. Harry approached it slowly, and reached out to stroke the side of its neck, the hammering of the creature’s heart beating against his palm.
He raised his wand, the frightened pupils following his movement, but before he could kill it, a rustling distracted him. He looked back and found Nagini slithering up to him.
He frowned. I told you to stay there.
Nagini found prey.
That said, she turned around and slid off in the direction she had come from. Harry looked back at the fawn and with one last stroke, got up. It’s your lucky day.
Harry frowned as he followed Nagini, half a mind to tell her she could go without lunch for all he cared. Abruptly, he came to a stop, nearly stepping on her tail. He looked in the direction of her forked tongue as she hissed in anticipation and his eyes grew wide.
Two bodies. Lying in a tangled heap of black. At first it was hard to discern if they really were two bodies and not just a huge pile of charred foliage, but then Nagini slid up to them and nudged at the hood of one, and pale blonde hair was revealed.
The Mark’s scent. Death Eaters, Harry thought. The word was alien as it made its way into his mind, but it was there nonetheless, and he waited for his mind to make some associations as it ought to do before he would decide what to do. He went up and nudged the blonde’s head with his boot.
“Sectumsempra.” A veil. Someone falling - No! “Harry there are too many Death Eaters out there, you can’t go!” A mark in the sky, a skull, a snake, “Morsmordre!” Blood. So much of it; a masked face, blood seeping from beneath, gushing and spilling and staining. “Death Eaters have infiltrated Hogwarts.” Malfoy!
Harry took a gasp of air as the images receded back into his sub-consciousness. He looked down at the body of Malfoy and upon closer inspection, recognised the other one as Blaise Zabini.
Kill the spare, he hissed. Nagini looked at him, uncertain as to whom he meant and he nodded towards Zabini, and then, No, wait. Not yet. And like the obedient pet, Tom had raised her to be, she obliged.
v. those things you thought you didn’t need anymore and cast away, unknowingly
He dreamt of running. And jaws. Jaws running after him. A sure clasp of another hand in his, long fingers curling against his own, squeezing to the brink of pain, but he needed it to keep running. They both did. Not sixteen anymore. Back then he thought it wouldn’t take so long. Ten years was a long time to be running.
Draco opened his eyes to the sight of dark clouds drifting by morosely against the grey sky. He watched for a moment, waiting for the numbness that infected his entire body to wane. He tried to move his hands, grasping for something, and found them to be bound to the head board above him.
“What… ?” He looked up and saw ropes tied around both of his wrists, and pain soon followed this revelation, shooting up from his stretched ribs to his shoulders.
You’re awake, a voice oddly familiar rang in his ears. Yet, no one had spoken. He craned his neck around to see someone sitting on the bed opposite him, his hands caressing the head of a giant snake.
Fear uncoiled in the pit of his stomach. Oh God, where the fuck was he? Where’s Blaise? he thought. He tried to pull against the binds holding him against the bed.
“Who are you?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “What do you want?”
The figure got up and came near him. In the bleak light, Draco managed to make out a face. Young though it was, it was marked with a fury that made his blood run cold. The boy, for he seemed hardly old enough to be a man, grasped hold of his face and turned it to the side.
Draco’s heart lurched as he saw Blaise sprawled out on the bed next to him, his dark skin looking almost grey as his lips moved wordlessly.
He’s going to die, he heard that voice again. Snake venom, you see. Now you have two options. You could take him to St. Mungo’s and have both of you carted off to Azkaban or you could watch him die. Draco looked into unnaturally green eyes and saw his own terror streaked face reflected in their dark glint. All through this, he realised, not once had the boy opened his mouth to utter the words he had heard so clearly in his mind.
He thought frantically for something to say. “Just let us go.”
That’s not an option, he heard. The boy came and sat down beside him, reaching out to push some stray strands of hair off his forehead. Draco’s eyes roamed over the child-like face that he felt he had seen before. A long time ago. Green eyes, the colour of death and a scar shaped like a lightning bolt. Potter. Harry Potter.
“Potter,” he whispered and the boy smiled. “You - you were, I killed - I saw you die.”
Potter looked away for a moment; it even seemed like he was sulking. Draco had the sudden urge to laugh, cackle more like, though he could already hear his mother admonishing him for thinking such vile thoughts. But it was no laughing matter, this was no dream, Potter was not dead like the entire Wizarding World had believed so vehemently for almost eleven years.
Depends on your definition. He shrugged. Draco almost expected him to break into a monologue and spill all his dastardly plans. Soon. Potter smiled again, which seemed more of a grimace on his taut face, before he lunged at Draco. Or so he had thought, but it wasn’t a physical push. In fact, he felt Potter breach through his mind, and he cried out at the intrusion.
“No!” But Potter was too powerful, and soon he found himself the audience to his own memories. They swept past him in a torrent, dizzying and nauseating, of colours and limbs and, “No, not that one!”
He found himself in a tangle of limbs with Blaise. Their skins contrasting against each other, creating a balanced symphony as their moans reverberated around them. Draco felt tears creep out from the corner of his eyes as the image suddenly shifted to that of Blaise lying, a few gasps away from death, on the bed next to him.
Oh. I see how it is, Potter commented, again, without having moved his lips.
“Do you, now?” Draco spat at him. “Potter, I don’t know what you want from us. There is nothing I can actually give you. Let us go.”
Potter seemed to ponder this while his hand moved idly above the snake’s head. Not yet. As long as this appeals to my sense of irony, you could say. With that said, he got up and summoned his Firebolt to him, making sure that the snake got on it too, before he flew out of the window.
vi. years like falling leaves
Harry hadn’t spoken to anyone in over a decade. It was thrilling to once again hear a voice and not a hiss - he loved it when Malfoy spoke. The words he uttered would imprint themselves like small dots in his mind that he would then draw connections between and make sense of it all.
Malfoy wasn’t the pasty looking, pointy-chinned little brat he remembered. No, this was a man of an age Harry himself would have been had he not sacrificed himself for, “the greater good, my boy,” as Dumbledore used to say. Sometimes he would watch Malfoy sleep and study the creases around his eyes, the ever visible frown lines on his forehead and around his mouth, and bitterness would swell up, hot and thick inside his chest, and he would turn away just to stop his vision from getting any more blurred.
No, Malfoy had turned into a man while he was still stuck in a child’s body. Finally, he had managed to beat Harry Potter at something - he’d managed to defeat him at life. Harry wanted to laugh out loud at the irony of it all, but he couldn’t. Now that he thought about it, Malfoy had also robbed him of the ability to laugh at his own fate.
That night of the battle, after he had used the Old Magic that was Hogwarts and defeated Voldemort, Malfoy had taken the last stand. What he hadn’t been able to do up on the Astronomy Tower that night, he had achieved in that split second of vulnerability on Harry’s part and wasn’t it poetic justice, though, that he had died of the very same spell he had almost killed Malfoy with?
Harry rubbed the scar tissue on the base of his throat, feeling the raised flesh as his fingers skimmed over it. His own touch made him shudder and he wondered what it would feel like to have Malfoy’s fingers touch him in that way. Would he be repulsed? An image of pale and dark limbs tangled in a heap of moaning and groaning pleasure made its way across his vision.
Why not kill the other prey? Nagini’s hiss broke through his train of thought. He looked down at her and had no answer. He didn’t know why he let Zabini live or Malfoy for that matter - anyone else that had ever trespassed on Hogwarts, blindly of course for no one could see it, not anymore, had always met an end at Nagini’s fangs. Why not kill Nagini? Harry started at this question. He’d never known the snake to ask anything relating to the war. For all concerned, he was her master now.
Harry looked out at the bleak horizon that lay just above the Black Lake and hissed back, Because I’m not a murderer.
vii. desire what is unknown, and to claim what is yours
Harry found Malfoy snoring lightly, his hands still bound to the head board where he had left him. He’d ordered one of the house-elves to bring him some food; Harry could see that Malfoy had attempted to nibble at the bread as much as he’d been able to with his hands useless, only to have managed to roll the piece of bread off of the bed entirely.
He leaned in and untied Malfoy’s hands. The older man’s eyes flickered underneath his pale eyelids at the touch and he let out a sharp hiss of pain as his shoulders were rotated back into their normal position. Malfoy started to open his mouth, but Harry placed a finger on his chapped lips, Shhh you’ll wake him up, he pointed to Zabini.
“Potter?” Malfoy croaked, though he kept his voice hushed. “I thought it was a dream. You’re dead. I killed you.”
Malfoy’s eyes were still half closed, only a speck of silver visible from under his pale eye-lashes. Harry leaned down even further so that his lips grazed Malfoy’s chin. From his proximity he could make out little distinguishing features like the four freckles that littered the tip of his nose. His eyes wavered to his chapped lips, where a piece of flesh seemed to have been torn and Harry couldn’t help himself but to lick at the tender wound. He tasted salt and copper and something else, something almost spicy that made him turn towards the comatose body of one Blaise Zabini and scrutinise him with cold fury.
Malfoy had never been anything significant to Harry, not even in those brief glimpses that Harry would remember now and again, where he had seemed to be following a rather pale and drawn boy into a bathroom. Eyes bloodshot, face streaked with tears and dirt and a dull fury in those grey eyes. But that frightened boy was now this frightened man, the only man, and Harry knew to be grateful for small mercies.
Harry nipped at the bruised flesh of Malfoy’s lips none too gently. Malfoy’s eyes flew open and his breath came out in harsh gasps. Harry worked the clasp of his cloak open and soon the buttons of his filthy under-shirt too came apart. Harry stared at the Dark Mark on Malfoy’s exposed flesh, his finger tracing the outline of the snake before it was replaced by his tongue. He hissed to the snake, but it didn’t reply back. What it did do was make Malfoy shiver and arch into his touch.
Tell me what you want, Harry said. He wanted it to be perfect, he wanted himself to be perfect for Malfoy, far more perfect than Zabini. He had no experience with this sort of thing, those stolen kisses with… with someone in empty corners hardly amounted to the gasping and shivering body splayed out in front of him now.
His hands trailed down to the bulge in Malfoy’s pants, followed by his mouth as he laid hot, wet kisses across the pale abdomen, reaching the clothed hardness. His fingers unfastened the zip while his teeth worked maddeningly slow against Malfoy’s erection. He’d never been on the receiving end of such a thing, so he could only judge by Malfoy’s groans that he was doing something right at least.
Malfoy rose up a bit to help Harry take his trousers off; Harry’s fingers skimming the inside of his quivering thighs as he bent down to flick his tongue against his navel. Tell me, Harry murmured against his warm flesh, his tongue darting out and licking at the soft skin there.
He felt Malfoy’s long fingers curl in his hair and push his head down towards his cock. Harry took a moment to appraise the hardened flesh in front of him before he bent down for an experimental lick. Malfoy hissed at the contact, and taking that as encouragement, Harry proceeded to take the head into his mouth. He decided he didn’t like the taste of cock, it was salty to the point of bitterness, and the weight felt heavy and intrusive against his tongue, but Malfoy was making all these glorious noises and how he’d waited years to hear an echo of something - or someone - against these stone walls.
He managed to swallow the entire length, choking, his throat closing in around Malfoy’s cock in protest, his tongue working furiously against that bulging vein - “there, right there aaah yesss.”
“You’re dead,” Malfoy gasped, and Harry looked up through sweat soaked bangs and found that Malfoy had his eyes clenched shut. He was obviously not working hard enough. Harry unsheathed his teeth and let them scrape against the sensitive skin, and Malfoy’s fingers tightened unbelievably in his hair.
Does death turn you on, Malfoy? Harry asked while continuing with his ministrations, a hand now stroking his balls, and Malfoy was so hard, so close. Can you feel the scent of death reeking around you? Feel the maggots and the worms that course through this corpse of mine wrap themselves around your cock as I swallow it?
With a cry, Malfoy came deep down Harry’s throat, his thighs trembling and his fingers clasping even further in Harry’s hair as he emptied himself in his mouth.
“You’re dead,” he mumbled again. Harry shot him a look of disgust and said something like that.
Nagini raised her head from where it was residing on the ground. If she’d had any eyes to see with, Harry was sure he’d have found disapproval written all across her flat face. Seeing as she didn’t, she only hissed, He is too loud.
viii. they waited for Eden to fall from grace, though, it didn’t matter at the end
We must unite inside her, or we'll crumble from within.That had been the Sorting Hat’s warning a long time ago. Harry remembered. In the end, not all were united, every house needed blood spilt from its purest veins. There was no one from Slytherin. All had left, and those that stood to defy Riddle were not of pureblood descent. The spell still worked, though,three houses out of four wasn’t bad - but it wasn’t enough, either.
Hogwarts stood behind me, so did its founders, all but one. Salazar Slytherin stood against me in Riddle’s veins. The last Horcrux was Nagini’s eyes, after that was destroyed, and with the aid of the Old Magic of Hogwarts, it was easy. He gave a soundless laugh. Well, facing Voldemort had never been easy but it certainly wasn’t as daunting anymore, I suppose.
And then there was you, with that spell I taught you. He gave a wry smile. Used against you, rather. At that moment I thought I would die, I probably did die - heck, to the entire world, I am dead. He fingered his scar once again, the one no one knew about. No one can see Hogwarts now, not until I will them to. You see, I am Hogwarts now - I live as long as the stones of this castle live, and if - no, when I should say - I fall, so will they.
He walked around the bed and found himself facing the broken Mirror of Erised again. He trailed his fingers delicately over the shattered, uneven surface. I once saw something in here, but I can’t remember what it was. This mirror shows you your heart’s deepest desires; I’m not sure what mine is anymore. I think once I find this last piece, I might just have the answer. He turned to face Malfoy, sprawled and bound, helpless, on the bed. What do you think you would see?
“Let us go, Potter,” he wheezed. “Please.”
Harry had the sudden urge to scatter the broken shards of the mirror once again.
ix. he was a force to be reckoned with, they all said, not that they knew
Harry clamped his mouth over Malfoy’s, biting at his lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. The kiss was aggressive, it seemed to carry all the weight of their past lives. Every bite, every thrust of the tongue, every claim was a battle and neither was ready to give up dominance. Harry pressed up against Malfoy’s body, and squirmed a hand between their hips, his fingers curling around Malfoy’s cock, teasing the head tantalisingly as he continued to kiss Malfoy.
He gasped when one of Malfoy’s fingers snaked around his arse and pressed against his entrance. Malfoy broke the kiss and threw a questioning glance his way, but Harry was having none of that. This wasn’t meant to be scented candles and flower petals on the bed. No, this was fucking. With that thought in mind, he resolutely pushed against Malfoy’s finger as he pushed it inside him at the same time. Soon another followed, stretching him, and Harry wriggled in discomfort, though he kept up with his fervent kisses, his mouth almost unrelenting.
Malfoy pulled away for a breath and placed a palm over Harry’s sweat-slicked chest to push him down, hard, against the bed. Harry’s breath left him for a moment due to the impact of Malfoy’s shove, but he soon retaliated by twining his fingers in blonde strands and pulling sharply at their roots. Malfoy moaned in his mouth, one hand rubbing both their cocks together, creating painful friction, while the other continued to loosen him up.
Now, Harry said, it’s enough. Malfoy parted his legs and positioned his cock. With one quick, merciless thrust, he was inside him. Harry’s mouth opened in a silent scream, one hand clutching Malfoy’s shoulder, while the other curled up in the bed sheets beneath him. His body clamped down against the stinging pain that shot up from the base of his spine, and Malfoy was there, inside him, waiting to move and - oh God he was going to die. Properly this time, he thought for one hysterical moment.
The burning sensation receded to a dull ache and he nodded towards Malfoy, tears seeping out from the corner of his eyes as he bit down on his lips. His erection had completely waned in the process, but Malfoy had grasped him and was fisting him painfully, and Harry just wanted to tell him to fuck off, but that would be like giving in and he was not a loser. Not to Malfoy.
He found himself suffocating under Malfoy’s body weight, which was substantially more than that of Harry’s own adolescent body. Harry dug his nails into Malfoy’s ribs, trying to communicate to him to stop, but Malfoy was unrelenting, thrusting inside him with the frenzy of a dying man. Suddenly he changed angles and the next thrust hit a nerve inside him that sent maddening sparks of pleasure shooting through his body. Harry looked up at Malfoy in amazement who grinned down at him, continuing to hit, right there, just there, yesss…
Harry reached up and grabbed Malfoy’s chin and threw him a feral grin. I bet you’re thinking of Zabini while fucking me. Malfoy’s expression froze, although his thrusting didn’t cease. Fuck me the way you would Zabini. Are you gentle with him? Do you whisper sweet nothings in his ears and confess your undying love for him? He taunted, not that he was in any position to do so, considering he was lying, legs spread apart under Malfoy like some common whore. Do you wish it was him under you and not me? His voice moaning in your ear, calling out your name, asking you to fuck him blind? I bet you wish I was darker, more exotic, and more beautiful like him. Don’t you?
“Yes,” he groaned. Though when he said it, there was a funny way that his lips shook at the corners and Harry knew he was lying, and he would never admit to how a funny shake of Malfoy’s lips comforted him.
Let him keep his lies and his secrets, Harry thought, it doesn’t matter if I’m the only one who knows the truth. He could see it in Malfoy’s eyes how much the man wanted him. He wondered if Malfoy had ever fantasised about him back in Hogwarts, his taut body curled up in Slytherin green sheets, his fist working furiously on his swollen cock, all the while Harry’s name slipping from his wanton lips as he reached orgasm. Harry decided that it didn’t matter, Malfoy was here now, and shuddering above him and inside him and Malfoy couldn’t deny he wanted him. Not now.
Harry looked at Malfoy, brows creased with tension; eyes clenched shut, lip trapped between his teeth and long fingers leaving bruises on Harry’s narrow hips. Malfoy, Harry called. He wanted him to see this, wanted him to see who he was fucking. Malfoy, look at me. He opened his eyes reluctantly, his pupils shrunk into tiny dots and lost in the sea of silver that were his eyes. He didn’t know when he had become so very fond of this expression, his eyelids lowered, and the shadow of his pale eyelashes fanning over his sharp cheekbones, and his mouth open, wet and hot against Harry’s neck just before he spilt himself inside Harry.
Harry didn’t realise when he himself had come, but it didn’t matter, not when Malfoy lay heavy and slick and panting across his chest, crushing him breathless.
None of the discomforts mattered until Malfoy kissed the side of his neck, just below his ear and muttered, “Let us go.”
When it came to Malfoy, nothing mattered much anymore.
x. they rose, all united, because the tomatoes were rotten
Potter circled his nipple idly, plucking at the sensitive skin now and again as he stared at the dark, cloudy sky through the torn canopy and the broken ceiling. Crumble, crumble, little star. How I wonder what - he paused for a thought, I wonder. That’s not how it goes. Do you know how it goes Malfoy, I can’t remember?
He turned away from Potter’s earnest gaze, knowing he would only find his own disgust reflected in those jaded eyes. He didn’t know how long Potter had already kept him - them - captive here, or how long he planned to. Draco looked at the lifeless looking body of Blaise.
“Let us go, Potter,” he pleaded again to deaf ears. “What more do you want from me? I have to save him or it’ll be too late.”
Draco hadn’t been on the run for so long only to be kept captive by the ghost of a long dead hero. During those nightmare filled days of flight, where even a shadow could have been his death, he would curse Potter. He had spent many a night imagining it was Potter’s body writhing underneath him and not Blaise’s, only so he could drive his knuckles in the unyielding flesh of Potter’s face. He had wanted to tear his lips apart with his teeth, taste the bitterness of his blood, and punish him for destroying Draco’s life. And now that he was here, bound helpless by Potter, he just didn’t have the energy to fight anymore. Now he wished that the shadow that lurked over him while he slept was death and not Potter.
Potter grabbed his chin, the half bitten nails of his fingers digging into his skin, and forced Draco to look at him as he glared venomously. Do you think there’s anything left to save now, Malfoy? There’s nothing left, now. His beauty is gone. Isn’t beauty conviction? Let me convince you - stay with me, Malfoy.
His words seemed to have a mesmerising effect on Draco. They seemed to lull his protests and he didn’t want to argue when faced with such certainty. Potter, though stuck he may be in a child’s body, was beautiful. Something in his mind told him this wasn’t right, but the voice wasn’t strong enough and Potter was stroking his chest, and his fingers were trailing down to his half-interested cock and he knew the conversation was already over before it had even begun.
Just when things were beginning to get really interesting, they heard a ‘pop’, followed by a couple more resounding ‘pops’ and soon the room was filled with freakish little house-elves, the skin beneath their eyeballs drooping in a ghastly manner and their ribs poking out from beneath the dirty rags that hung on their frail frame.
Draco noticed that most of them were carrying silver forks, while others carried torches. A house-elf with a tea cosy, perhaps a century old, stepped forward. He wasn’t carrying any intimidating weapon in his hand, he looked rather fidgety actually, and the long shrivelled digits of his hands were coiling around one another.
“Harry Potter, sir,” he squeaked. “The house-elves speak of freedom, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby and his friends cook and clean, Harry Potter, sir, but Harry Potter didn’t eat and used the other rooms.”
Potter communicated silently with Dobby and Malfoy found himself wishing he could hear too.
“Oh no no no, sir.” Dobby looked ready to weep. “They is carrying forks and fire because they frightened you won’t let them go and get new vegetables, sir. They’re all rotten here. Don’t worry, Harry Potter, sir, Dobby won’t allow anyone to harm his Harry Potter.”
Now it seemed Potter addressed the rest of the freaky house-elves. Their eyes that glowed creepily in the faint light widened in what seemed to be fear.
“Yes yes, of course. Dobby is sorry for disturbing, master.” He crouched down so low that his pencil thin nose touched the ground, making Draco wince at the sound of bones cracking in his back. He turned around to the rest of the house-elves and whispered to them before they all disappeared with a ‘pop’.
“What was that all about?” Draco asked.
They wanted to get more vegetables because the greenhouse doesn’t produce them anymore. Potter shrugged. For a moment Draco sympathised with the house elves, something that would have appalled his parents were they ever to find out. He couldn’t help feeling like a house-elf himself. Trapped in this fucking morbid castle with a ghost and his pet snake.
xi. who’s the fairest of them all
Harry watched as Malfoy’s receding form became a vague smudge against the backdrop of the setting sun. “Let us go, please,” he had whispered. Harry hadn’t had the inclination to hold him here anymore.
He’d given his Firebolt to Malfoy as that was the only form of transportation from Gryffindor Tower to the grounds. Nagini did not like the flying stick, she hissed from beside him. If he could, Harry would have chuckled at that. He turned away from the window and walked towards the Mirror of Erised, willing his reflection to melt into something he really wanted to see.
“It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry,” Dumbledore had once said to him. He’d always thought it didn’t do to forget what was worth fighting for either, but he had never said it out loud. Perhaps Dumbledore had spoken from experience far beyond Harry’s years and comprehension.
Ever since he had found himself confined within the walls and magic of this castle, Harry’s dreams had only consisted of blurred images and voices from too far away. He would reach out to them but the images would ripple against his touch and fade from in front of his eyes, but while Malfoy had been here, he had forgotten to dream. If only for a little while.
Harry turned away from the shattered glass, wondering how many years of bad luck he had accumulated, and walked towards the door that he hadn’t used for over a decade.
The dark wood had peeled off in places and in others there were dark holes infested by tiny black creatures. Harry pushed a finger against the wood and found it to be soft and slimy. He wiped his hand against his tattered robe before using his wand to push the door open. He was faced with darkness so complete that even Nagini shrank bank for just a moment and then she slithered in front of him, her tail disappearing into the shadows.
Harry hesitated before he followed her, casting Lumos using his wand. In the bleak light from his wand, he could see the dust motes lingering heavily in the air. He turned around and shone the light back on the door and read, ‘6th Year Boys’ Dormitory.’ For a moment, he felt a tingling sensation at the back of his head, he knew this place - it had meant a significant amount to him. He knew that, but why?
The steps wound down to a large room. As he passed the light around the room, Harry found himself shell-shocked. It was a room steeped with sheets upon sheets of newspaper, the images stuttering on some, while on others they were as lifeless as Muggle photographs. Harry walked a couple of steps and picked up a Daily Prophet, dated eleven years ago.
The search for the body of Harry Potter continues. It is believed that he met his untimely demise at the hands of You-Know-Who, but his close friends Ron Weasley and fellow classmates are adamant on continuing this wild goose chase.
Harry dropped the paper as if it had burnt him. Ron. “We’re with you mate, all the way; what are best friends for?” Best friends. “Harry, don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare go off on your own or or… or do something stupid or I don’t know be all saviour like, I - I, oh God, Hermione, talk some sense into him, will you?” Hermione.
Numbly, Harry picked up another newspaper. He watched as the masses of people surrounded a white tomb. Some were crying while others merely looked at it desolately. After months of search parties being dispatched around the area where Hogwarts used to stand, Harry Potter’s loved ones have decided to give up. There is no sign of Harry Potter, dead or alive, nor of Hogwarts. He will forever be in our hearts as the one who liberated an entire nation from the acts of tyranny committed by You-Know-Who.
Images flashed past him. Names he thought he had long forgotten rose like lazy yawns in his mind. With those faces came names and whole torrents of memories - this was Harry Potter’s life. Harry fell to his knees with a cry. A sob uncurled slowly in his chest, pushing against his ribs, swelling in a hot bubble of despair before he let it out in one long groan, the scar on his throat stinging in protest.
Oh God, oh god, oh God, oh God, repeated in his mind as his life continued to flash before his eyes.
He heard something rustle in the darkness, and then a painful hiss. Alarmed, and wiping at his eyes, Harry stumbled into the darkness, using the faint light of his wand to navigate. He didn’t have to go much further as his gaze fell on the writhing length of Nagini’s body. He bent down and hissed, Where does it hurt?
Venom dripped from her fangs as her forked tongue hissed in pain. Harry placed the wand on the step and started to inspect her body for any wounds. As he slid his hand underneath her, he came across something sticky and turned her over to find a piece of something shimmering embedded in her belly. The last piece of the mirror. Harry glanced down at the blood oozing from the gash on Nagini’s belly. He looked around and grabbed a newspaper to put against the wound. I’ll be back, he told her desperately, clutching at the piece of glass he had extracted rather clumsily, and you’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.
Harry dashed up the stairs and into the Sixth year’s boys’ dormitory. He stumbled over to the great Mirror of Erised, and with trembling hands, he pushed the last piece of glass into the gap. He stared at the scar that had been the beginning of it all, before the surface of the mirror shimmered and his reflection was slowly replaced by another image.
He saw Dumbledore’s sepulchre by the lake and beside it, another, smaller tomb made of the same white marble. He squinted at the inscription and managed to make out his own name elegantly carved into the stone. Harry Potter. Beloved Hero. 1980 - 1997.
Harry sat down in front of the image, calmly watching his own grave. This was what he had spent an entire decade searching broken shards of a mirror for. Some hope. Because all those years, staring out at the bleak horizon of the dead Black Lake he had thought, surely there had to be a better place, a darker place, a silent place. And somehow, if he just held on to that hope, this too would pass, like all else had passed and tomorrow it would be the same as before, him in his own hell, and slowly but surely he would get more accustomed to it. This had become his life, or what was still left of it, and he had chosen this path and years of it would pass.
As all these thoughts roamed through his head frantically, the scent of blood and mouldy parchment lingered along with what was left of his dying hope.
xii. and it too shall pass, like all else
The sound of wings flapping frantically, shot through the Great Hall. Harry looked up, almost surprised that instead of a pack of owls descending upon the Great Hall on a Saturday morning, he found himself staring at Hedwig making her lone way towards him.
The sound of air trapped beneath her wings was loud enough to echo off the walls and make the fine cutlery that lined the four house tables tremble with its resonance.
He felt something shift beside him in anticipation, and turned his gaze to see the great snake, previously coiled around his feet, raise her head in interest. He placed a hand on her head, not hard but with enough pressure to make her relent and coil back into her former position.
Hedwig flapped in the air uncertainly, watching with wariness as her master pet the snake into submission. Her instincts prevented her from flying any closer. Harry looked up at her and then at the newspaper clutched in her talons before he shook his head. Hedwig lingered a moment more before giving a sad hoot and turning away from Harry to fly off in the direction she had travelled many a time before.
Harry was left staring at the maggot that crawled across his chipped plate. He watched it with a detached curiosity as it squeezed its muscles to wiggle around. He got bored, and with a quick stab of his fork, the maggot stopped moving.
Burning hope lingers.
AN: Ummm... anyone there? Hellooooo?
x-posted so sorry if you receive this about thirteen times *dies*