(no subject)
To: malicemadden
From: tocada
[Title] Poison Tree
[Author] tocada
[Pairings] Harry/Draco.
[Rating] PG-13
[Warnings] Slightly disturbing content partly caused by the weirdness of the plot but mostly caused by my operational command of the language.
[Disclaimer] Characters belong to JK Rowling.
[Genre] Wickedness
[Summary] Harry saves people. No, really.
[Word Count] 1.414
[Notes] Posted on dec 24 because I needed a beta. Well, several betas (which comes to show my interest in presenting something special. I hope I suceeded). Thanks to Desi and Veresti for the help!
It seemed like the war was over, but it really wasn't. Not the moment Voldemort's heart stopped beating, nor afterwards. The (wizarding) world still had to go through a brief period of adjustment during which people turned up at St. Mungus hospital with nasty wounds and, in some cases, extra limbs growing in strange places of their anatomy on a daily basis. It was comparable to having a stampede of Mad Eye Moody's running around loose. In other words, people weren't quite ready to trust; trust He wouldn't come back yet again, reeking rot and revenge.
As was predictable, what otherwise competent witches and wizards feared next to the probable return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was the remaining Death Eaters. No one saw them, but everybody felt the danger that the presence of the renegades posed to them and their children, especially in gloomy alleyways no one dared tread after the sun had sunk below the horizon. The war had left an imprint upon the hearts of everyone above the age of eleven- a mark of terror and uneasiness which seemed as if it would last several more decades.
Little did they know that the few Death Eaters who managed to escape the fury of the Order of the Phoenix were a great deal more afraid themselves- afraid of persecution, trial and execution. Azkaban was no longer considered suitable for the reclusion of war criminals, and the disposal of their lives was a much more practical solution for the handling of Death Eaters than the former seek-and-conceal method applied by the MoM.
Besides random outbursts of hysteria, life proceeded as normal as it could ever be for most witches and wizards. For Harry Potter, however, war- and everything it implied- wouldn't be over until it was really over. That, he knew for certain.
Going back to Number 12 Grimmauld Place proved to be an easier affair than Harry would have imagined it'd be a decade ago. But then again, a decade ago he was still a student at Hogwarts. Although he had never believed that he was safe (he still didn't), at least he could have bet all his worth in galleons (and he had many) that he'd be well armed against the eventuality of facing Voldemort again. Dumbledore had still been alive, for one thing; most of his classmates had been innocents, for another. And yet time had proven him wrong. Somewhere deep within himself he always knew he was going to be alone.
Consequently the years of carnage and devastation all around him put Harry at ease when visiting the places where people he had loved had once inhabited. So, feeling no rancor he approached the steps to the entrance of Grimmauld Place and waited.
Two seconds after he had stopped before the door it opened of its own volition, surely having sensed the owner of the house had arrived at last. A dark room stretched before his eyes.
Harry stepped inside.
Harry found Malfoy in what had once been the kitchen- that is to say, the room that had started out as a basement, which later had been remodeled into a kitchen, and since then had become a potions lab of sorts. Malfoy raised his eyes from whatever he was doing (Harry didn't care, really) and looked him straight in the eye.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked once he found his voice. He wasn't sure whether he really wanted an answer.
Malfoy shrug, a vague gesture meaning 'I didn't have anything better to do.'
"I needed somewhere to go," he said, apparently choosing to speak and break the dreadful silence that built after Harry's words. "Besides, I am one part Black, after all."
I knew it, Harry thought. After all those years, the house kept recognizing Black's blood. All of the sudden he felt very grateful for Mundungus's unstoppable kleptomania.
"What are you doing here, Potter?" Harry blinked in confusion for a moment. Then felt something raw and bitter build up inside his stomach.
"What do you mean by 'what I am doing here?'" he said in a calm voice, as if lecturing a child who has been told the same thing a thousand of times, yet can't be expected to understand it. "This is my house."
Draco grimaced. Harry smirked.
"I thought you would rather be somewhere else, with other people more agreeable to you. The Weasleys- perhaps not with all of them, but the youngest- whatever her name was? No, really Potter, what are you doing here?"
"It's not your bloody business!" Harry snarled, escaping the room before he did something very bad and irreparable to Malfoy's face. He didn't get to see Malfoy's reaction, but he could have guessed that the git smiled.
Some time later, Harry found himself lying naked in the same bed he had occupied the first time he had been to that house, confused and angry with Dumbledore and his friends for witholding valuable information from him, in the name of his own sake. Right now he was confused and angry at himself. He had a reason to be there, that was for certain. What he wasn't sure about was why he didn't act on the reason he was here in the first place. All he had to do was get over with all the Malfoy business, close that chapter forever, and resume his life. Sure, Malfoy had tried to goad him into a fight, as was his custom, but it had been a feeble attempt that only succeeded because Harry found a way to feel himself offended. Sometimes it was enough that Malfoy breathed for him to feel anger corroding his insides. But there wasn't much of Malfoy to finish off anyway. His appearance, once immaculate, was of the sort people get after been sun-deprived for too long.
No, Harry corrected himself, shifting into another position and facing Phineas Nigellus' empty portrait. His appearance was one that people got once happiness had been denied to them for too long. He had seen that in Malfoy in their sixth year. It was like seeing a 16 year old Malfoy all over again. And that infuriated Harry to no end.
Malfoy was still innocent in one sense of the word, and Harry couldn't cope with that.
At that moment, the door of the bedroom opened giving way to an obviously naked-under-his-nightgown Draco Malfoy. Harry noticed because he half-raised himself on the bed, his wand at the ready, just in case. His grip on the wand relaxed and he almost dropped it onto the mattress. Malfoy stared at his nakedness, and after a moment's thought, turned on his heels, with the clear intention of leaving the room.
"Did you pick this- I mean, was this your room?" Harry asked, stopping Malfoy in his track. He turned around, and nodded.
Harry got up from the bed, not caring to grab some piece of clothing to cover himself, and stood beside Malfoy. "I am willing to admit I intruded in your life and I'll forget that you forsook me, I mean, everyone of us. Don't go."
Malfoy left. Draco stayed.
It felt like a dream, laying his hands on that skin again, after so many years. Harry didn't utter a single word, feeling quite inclined to listen intently as Draco did all the cursing Harry ever wanted to hear. Harry wanted to get himself re-acquainted with Draco's eyebrows, nose, neck and torso all at the same time. He kissed Draco roughly, not because kissing another male required it in principle, but because he wanted to cause as much damage to his features as he could while loving him. He bit and he kneaded Draco's flesh with unleashed fury, and Draco accepted it all without any complaints other than some harmless curses and groans.
Harry did it because he wanted to possess and destroy all the innocence that was left in Draco, so only he and he alone could have all of him. It was the only way he had found to save him.
They reached climax at the same time, and collapsed in a heap on the bed. Harry eased himself off Draco and stared into the ceiling.
Some minutes passed in which silence reigned.
"This place stinks."
Harry took his clothes and left. He was not there when the Aurors came the next morning to take Malfoy (Draco was no longer there anymore) for his trial (though it was nothing more than a matter of formality, really). He didn't regret it. He had done the right thing.
From: tocada
[Title] Poison Tree
[Author] tocada
[Pairings] Harry/Draco.
[Rating] PG-13
[Warnings] Slightly disturbing content partly caused by the weirdness of the plot but mostly caused by my operational command of the language.
[Disclaimer] Characters belong to JK Rowling.
[Genre] Wickedness
[Summary] Harry saves people. No, really.
[Word Count] 1.414
[Notes] Posted on dec 24 because I needed a beta. Well, several betas (which comes to show my interest in presenting something special. I hope I suceeded). Thanks to Desi and Veresti for the help!
It seemed like the war was over, but it really wasn't. Not the moment Voldemort's heart stopped beating, nor afterwards. The (wizarding) world still had to go through a brief period of adjustment during which people turned up at St. Mungus hospital with nasty wounds and, in some cases, extra limbs growing in strange places of their anatomy on a daily basis. It was comparable to having a stampede of Mad Eye Moody's running around loose. In other words, people weren't quite ready to trust; trust He wouldn't come back yet again, reeking rot and revenge.
As was predictable, what otherwise competent witches and wizards feared next to the probable return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was the remaining Death Eaters. No one saw them, but everybody felt the danger that the presence of the renegades posed to them and their children, especially in gloomy alleyways no one dared tread after the sun had sunk below the horizon. The war had left an imprint upon the hearts of everyone above the age of eleven- a mark of terror and uneasiness which seemed as if it would last several more decades.
Little did they know that the few Death Eaters who managed to escape the fury of the Order of the Phoenix were a great deal more afraid themselves- afraid of persecution, trial and execution. Azkaban was no longer considered suitable for the reclusion of war criminals, and the disposal of their lives was a much more practical solution for the handling of Death Eaters than the former seek-and-conceal method applied by the MoM.
Besides random outbursts of hysteria, life proceeded as normal as it could ever be for most witches and wizards. For Harry Potter, however, war- and everything it implied- wouldn't be over until it was really over. That, he knew for certain.
Going back to Number 12 Grimmauld Place proved to be an easier affair than Harry would have imagined it'd be a decade ago. But then again, a decade ago he was still a student at Hogwarts. Although he had never believed that he was safe (he still didn't), at least he could have bet all his worth in galleons (and he had many) that he'd be well armed against the eventuality of facing Voldemort again. Dumbledore had still been alive, for one thing; most of his classmates had been innocents, for another. And yet time had proven him wrong. Somewhere deep within himself he always knew he was going to be alone.
Consequently the years of carnage and devastation all around him put Harry at ease when visiting the places where people he had loved had once inhabited. So, feeling no rancor he approached the steps to the entrance of Grimmauld Place and waited.
Two seconds after he had stopped before the door it opened of its own volition, surely having sensed the owner of the house had arrived at last. A dark room stretched before his eyes.
Harry stepped inside.
Harry found Malfoy in what had once been the kitchen- that is to say, the room that had started out as a basement, which later had been remodeled into a kitchen, and since then had become a potions lab of sorts. Malfoy raised his eyes from whatever he was doing (Harry didn't care, really) and looked him straight in the eye.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked once he found his voice. He wasn't sure whether he really wanted an answer.
Malfoy shrug, a vague gesture meaning 'I didn't have anything better to do.'
"I needed somewhere to go," he said, apparently choosing to speak and break the dreadful silence that built after Harry's words. "Besides, I am one part Black, after all."
I knew it, Harry thought. After all those years, the house kept recognizing Black's blood. All of the sudden he felt very grateful for Mundungus's unstoppable kleptomania.
"What are you doing here, Potter?" Harry blinked in confusion for a moment. Then felt something raw and bitter build up inside his stomach.
"What do you mean by 'what I am doing here?'" he said in a calm voice, as if lecturing a child who has been told the same thing a thousand of times, yet can't be expected to understand it. "This is my house."
Draco grimaced. Harry smirked.
"I thought you would rather be somewhere else, with other people more agreeable to you. The Weasleys- perhaps not with all of them, but the youngest- whatever her name was? No, really Potter, what are you doing here?"
"It's not your bloody business!" Harry snarled, escaping the room before he did something very bad and irreparable to Malfoy's face. He didn't get to see Malfoy's reaction, but he could have guessed that the git smiled.
Some time later, Harry found himself lying naked in the same bed he had occupied the first time he had been to that house, confused and angry with Dumbledore and his friends for witholding valuable information from him, in the name of his own sake. Right now he was confused and angry at himself. He had a reason to be there, that was for certain. What he wasn't sure about was why he didn't act on the reason he was here in the first place. All he had to do was get over with all the Malfoy business, close that chapter forever, and resume his life. Sure, Malfoy had tried to goad him into a fight, as was his custom, but it had been a feeble attempt that only succeeded because Harry found a way to feel himself offended. Sometimes it was enough that Malfoy breathed for him to feel anger corroding his insides. But there wasn't much of Malfoy to finish off anyway. His appearance, once immaculate, was of the sort people get after been sun-deprived for too long.
No, Harry corrected himself, shifting into another position and facing Phineas Nigellus' empty portrait. His appearance was one that people got once happiness had been denied to them for too long. He had seen that in Malfoy in their sixth year. It was like seeing a 16 year old Malfoy all over again. And that infuriated Harry to no end.
Malfoy was still innocent in one sense of the word, and Harry couldn't cope with that.
At that moment, the door of the bedroom opened giving way to an obviously naked-under-his-nightgown Draco Malfoy. Harry noticed because he half-raised himself on the bed, his wand at the ready, just in case. His grip on the wand relaxed and he almost dropped it onto the mattress. Malfoy stared at his nakedness, and after a moment's thought, turned on his heels, with the clear intention of leaving the room.
"Did you pick this- I mean, was this your room?" Harry asked, stopping Malfoy in his track. He turned around, and nodded.
Harry got up from the bed, not caring to grab some piece of clothing to cover himself, and stood beside Malfoy. "I am willing to admit I intruded in your life and I'll forget that you forsook me, I mean, everyone of us. Don't go."
Malfoy left. Draco stayed.
It felt like a dream, laying his hands on that skin again, after so many years. Harry didn't utter a single word, feeling quite inclined to listen intently as Draco did all the cursing Harry ever wanted to hear. Harry wanted to get himself re-acquainted with Draco's eyebrows, nose, neck and torso all at the same time. He kissed Draco roughly, not because kissing another male required it in principle, but because he wanted to cause as much damage to his features as he could while loving him. He bit and he kneaded Draco's flesh with unleashed fury, and Draco accepted it all without any complaints other than some harmless curses and groans.
Harry did it because he wanted to possess and destroy all the innocence that was left in Draco, so only he and he alone could have all of him. It was the only way he had found to save him.
They reached climax at the same time, and collapsed in a heap on the bed. Harry eased himself off Draco and stared into the ceiling.
Some minutes passed in which silence reigned.
"This place stinks."
Harry took his clothes and left. He was not there when the Aurors came the next morning to take Malfoy (Draco was no longer there anymore) for his trial (though it was nothing more than a matter of formality, really). He didn't regret it. He had done the right thing.