These Things: Chapter Two
Title: These Things
By: Lady DeathAngel
RATING:M
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: Not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.
Genre: romance, drama
Pairings: HP/DM
Warnings: language, slash
A/N: The second chapter of my first HP/DM fic. I still have no clue what's going on here . . . but I like it.
Summary: Sometimes these things happen. Granted, no one expected Death Eaters to attack Harry at Hogwarts and Draco definitely didn't expect to save him. But . . . these things do happen.
Harry liked to think that there came a time in every boy’s life when he just wanted to give up. When he’d been fucked over one too many times and he was just ready to lay down and die. But then he remembered how extraordinary he was, how much different from every other boy on the planet, and he realized that it was probably just him.
This was definitely one of those times when he just wanted to be dead or perhaps never to have existed at all. He was slowly coming back to consciousness, his scar searing, his head aching, his whole body sore . . . and while he didn’t know what the hell had happened this time, he was really pissed off about it. He lay in the moments between black and full lucidity trying to remember what was going on.
He’d been having an okay time before. It had been one of the nicest holidays he’d ever had, actually. He felt a bit selfish about it. After all, people were gradually getting more and more paranoid, waiting for Voldemort to strike, setting up underground houses in remote villages, taking impromptu trips to countries like America and Canada and Australia just waiting for the madman to come down upon Britain in a carriage of flames and kill everyone in sight. He really shouldn’t have been enjoying their fear so much, but if it meant all of his friends staying behind over Christmas than so be it.
They’d been having dinner in the Great Hall, all the tables still separate since there was no real need to join them together. Seamus had been regaling them all with exaggerated tales about a nymph and a woodsmen that made the boys howl with laughter and the girls squeak with indignation when some Ravenclaw had come over to him. He’d thought, in the vague way of maudlin thoughts, that he might have considered her pretty a few months before. But now he had a disinclination toward Ravenclaws in general and girls in particular, especially after the mess with Cho and then Cho’s friend turning out to be a traitor, though Luna was okay and if Ron didn’t stake his claim, Hermione was very openly considering a seventh year boy who was, in her words, ‘terribly clever and never mind the acne because it’s what’s in his head that counts’.
Dean and Seamus had sniggered, both at the double entendre and at the suddenly very red color of Ron’s face.
The girl had smiled in a sort of apologetic way and said that one of the professors wanted him in the dungeons. He’d looked up at the faculty table to see several vacant spaces, Trelawny as well as Snape and their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Aurora Simms. He figured that it was just like Snape to ask him to the dungeons on Christmas Eve and grumbled something to her. She went away with another of those apologetic smiles (the kind of smile he really didn’t like, actually. It usually never meant anything good for him. In fact, it never meant anything good) and he stood up to go see what it was that Snape wanted.
"We’ll come with you," Hermione said and Ron nodded.
But they’d been having a good time and so Harry said he’d be fine on his own. They promised that if he wasn’t back in ten minutes they’d go rescue him, and he’d laughed and nodded.
He’d made his lonely way down to the dungeons, loathing the cold because he hadn’t worn a sweater. Instead he was only wearing a thin white t-shirt, one that had probably belonged to Dudley when he was about ten and had only fit him when Hermione attacked his wardrobe with a handy spell to make his clothes fit him properly, instead of hang off his body. His jeans kept his legs warm, at least, but his arms were frozen.
From there he remembered turning a corner, the one leading to Snape’s office, and then getting the distinct impression that he wasn’t alone. He’d whirled around and there had been a handful of Death Eaters standing several feet away and judging by the sudden pain in his scar, Voldemort was near as well. He didn’t know what they had planned but a drawling voice that he’d recognized all too well had put a stop to it.
"There are others down here!" Lucius Malfoy had yelled.
And there had been a woman shrieking and two younger Slytherins along with Draco Malfoy. After that it was very fuzzy. There was a crash, a falling ceiling, a big pile of rubble that separated him and Malfoy from the Death Eaters and the other two students, and then he’d blacked out and woken up here. No. That wasn’t right. He must have hit his head on something. Which was just bloody perfect.
"Why does this always happen to me?" Harry mumbled, sitting up slowly and wincing.
"Hell if I know," a voice drawled off to his left. "But it seems that today is my unlucky day. Someone always gets caught in the crossfire between you and You-Know-Who and for some reason that someone is me this time."
"Fuck . . ." he muttered, feeling his head with ginger fingers and sighing when they came away wet and sticky. "We are so fucked."
"Up the arse and with no lube handy," Malfoy added.
Harry rolled his eyes.
"You’re so helpful."
"Actually," the prat said cheerfully, and suddenly he was practically sitting in Harry’s lap. Scratch that, he was in Harry’s lap. "I am. I," he lit his wand and gestured for Harry to hold it up while he looked at his head. "Saved your arse by dragging you as far as I could, rescued your bloody stupid glasses, and am now checking to make sure your brains aren’t falling out."
"I’m pretty sure," the dark-haired boy said. "I could have done that myself."
"What? Save your own arse? Because if I remember correctly, you tripped, fell, and knocked yourself out."
"No, you idiot. The latter."
Malfoy shrugged.
"Sure, but I figured that maybe if I’m really nice to you, I won’t be one of your unfortunate casualties."
Harry grunted as he sifted his fingers through his hair and grazed the cut.
"I’m pretty sure that you’re better off praying or sacrificing a virgin or something."
"Well, I’ve never prayed before in my life and there aren’t any virgins handy. Expendable ones anyway. Give me my wand."
Harry handed it over and Malfoy murmured a charm. He felt the skin of his scalp sealing itself and sighed in relief. Now he only had a headache and a badly twinging scar to deal with.
"Thanks," he said.
Malfoy shrugged and sat back on his heels.
"I’m probably better at healing charms than you are. Not that I’m not better at most things than you are anyway."
"Oh, you’re just too modest."
"Yes, I know. Now take your ugly glasses, put them on, and let’s get the fuck out of here, shall we?"
Harry obliged, taking the glasses that Malfoy handed him and then standing slowly.
"Is there a way out of here?" he asked.
"I don’t honestly know," the blonde replied. "There are several emergency exits in the dungeons, but there are also a few dead ends. Hopefully this corridor isn’t one of those."
They started off, Harry pulling his wand from his back pocket and muttering lumos.
"You have emergency exits?"
"Don’t you?"
"Not that I’ve ever heard of."
Malfoy scoffed.
"That is just so typical. You all hate Salazar Slytherin for having such lofty ideas, but he’s the only one who thought that it might be prudent to give his students an escape route, just in case."
"There’s a way out of Gryffindor Tower," Harry said. "But you wouldn’t survive jumping out of the window so I don’t think it counts."
The look Malfoy shot him said rather loudly that it most definitely didn’t count. As they walked Harry couldn’t seem to stop frowning and finally he asked the question that was slowly making his head throb more and more sharply.
"Why’d you save me?"
Malfoy glanced at him and then looked away.
"Because," he said in a soft voice. "I’m madly in love with you."
"Malfoy . . ."
"I couldn’t stand to see you hurt. I’d rather risk my life . . ."
"Malfoy . . ."
"Than watch them kill you."
There was a moment of silence. A rather long moment of silence in which Harry thought in the vague way of homicidal thoughts, that maybe he could blame it on Voldemort if he killed Malfoy. But then, he’d have to do it with his bare hands and that wasn’t exactly the dark lord’s modus operandi so it probably wouldn’t work.
"Don’t you believe me?" Malfoy asked.
"Actually, yes. And I love you too. All the thoughts I had of killing you, all the insults, all the fights . . . it was a lie."
Malfoy rolled his eyes.
"Oh whatever, Potter. You’re shit at lying, did you know?"
"So that’s why I can never get away with anything."
"No, that’s just because you’re stupid."
Harry snorted.
"So why’d you do it really?"
Malfoy shrugged.
"No reason, really. I could just as easily have stayed there, standing guard over you until they could get through. Then I could have turned you over and had my revenge and felt all nice and fuzzy, much unlike the feeling of irritation that your presence is currently inspiring in me."
"So why didn’t you?"
The blonde looked at him with a sideways smile.
"How about this? When I figure it out, I’ll tell you."
Harry raked his hands through his hair, clumps of it still sticking together with blood, and shrugged.
"Fine. But if you tell me you love me I’ll hex you."
"Please. If I ever fall in love with you I’ll hex myself."