Fic - "Uninvited Guest" - HP/DM (NC17) Part II
~~~
Later, after everyone had left for the night, Harry lay in bed, scratching at his skin until blisters popped up at the agitation. Sweat poured from his body and had soaked his sheets. Something teased at him that he had to do, needed to do. He had to get outside, get away, run somewhere, see the stars and smell the fresh air.
He ran to the door. Every step he took rubbed the collar against the thin skin of his neck. Surges of arousal throbbed through his groin at each brush. He almost tumbled down the stairs, his pajama pants barely held on by his jutting hip bones and the strength of his erection. He'd thrown off his shirt, leaving the crumpled material in the hallway above. A mirror at the landing of the stairs caught his reflection; there stood a stranger. His body had slimmed, as if the fat had oozed through his sweat glands, his skin had darkened, almost golden, and his eyes-the green flashed brilliantly, glowing in the low light of the stairway.
He turned away and burst through the front door, setting it banging against the brick wall. Standing on the step, he took in the scents of London, the rundown square of Grimmauld. The stars, barely peeking through the light pollution, sung to him like a chorus of fairies. Run with us, Feral Boy, they sang. Run through the night. Be free and wild.
And Harry did just that.
~~~
“Harry! We're here!”
A wash of silence, then the sounds of feet against the tiled floor of the entry way. One: that was Hermione, he could tell by the click of a wide heel and the sure placement of each foot. Two: Ron. Clomp clomp. Heavy, long strides.
“We've brought some people to see you,” Hermione said, and he could smell the other people, as well as hear their distinctive footsteps. Three: short, quick steps, higher, smaller heel. Ginny. And four: the sound of a gently placed foot, soft-soled, probably a trainer. Seamus.
People were in his house. His nostrils flared. His skin itched. The feelings they emitted, like a vibration from their very intentions, were excited and worried. He sensed their concern and it pulled Harry back from the place he'd been lost. He blinked his eyes and looked down at his feet. An image of a bestial claw swam in his vision: thick pads, golden skin, toenails possibly used to dig, or cut. A blink. Then the foot was his, human and normal. One of his toenails had a chip and his feet were filthy. The edges of his pajama pants were so wet they almost dripped onto the floor. He blinked again. Why was he on the floor?
A knock on his bedroom door, and Hermione came in, all smiles and duty. She looked to the bed, empty, and stopped.
“Harry?” She turned towards the loo and then she saw him, though part of him felt small, invisible to everything. “Harry?” This time her voice, her feeling and her smell all twisted into something full of worry and sorrow, and it hurt Harry to have his best friend consumed by such pain.
“Hi,” he tried, but sound wouldn't come out. His throat, it was so damned dry. After a dry swallow, then another, the saliva started to generate and he tried again. “Hi.”
Hermione walked over. He could see she wore a low heel, wide surface area to the heel, black, a little strappy. Seemed like a cold shoe to wear to Harry. Why did women wear these kinds of shoes in the winter? She squatted next to him and reached out her hand. Something inside of Harry growled. It wasn't him, he would swear to it, but that silent rider, that uninvited guest that wouldn't leave must have had issue with the situation.
It rested deep at his core, sentient, waiting just under his skin. Everywhere. Something had awakened, and Harry knew at any moment it would rise up, a savage secret, and make him a monster.
A monster.
Harry swallowed the noise, looked down at his feet. A leaf was trapped between two of his toes, dead and soggy. “Hi,” he said again, because really, he didn't know what else to say. He couldn't just say, Hermione, something's happened to me. I don't remember it all, but something happened, and I wasn't myself and I was running and laughing and I don't remember it at all and I'm so fucking scared and hollow and I just don't feel right inside and I want to cry and find that one thing that would fill up this emptiness inside of me.
But that was somehow crazy talk and he didn't even know if any of that was real and so instead he just said Hi again and let the tears trickle down his face, hot and full of fearful sorrow.
“Oh, Harry.” This time when Hermione reached out to hug him, Harry resisted the urge to snarl, snap at her like a frightened beast, and let her arms wrap around him and hold him close. And he was glad he didn't lash out, because Hermione's comfort felt surprisingly good.
~~~
The day after he'd broken into Grimmauld and discovered Potter, Draco thought he might have slept a wink or two, though he mostly remembered howls filling his dreams. Not the death masks, not the twisted face of his father, hollow eyes of his mother, the prisoners in the dungeons. Not the usual dreams, but a nightmare nonetheless.
The winter wind dropped the city into an unusual chill. Maybe he should leave his isolation and get some coffee. Even return to that café at Barlow Square where he and Potter had chatted like pals a week ago. It still amazed him that he'd gone from pariah to meeting Potter in York, to coffee, to a ravenous concern for the man and his curse. How things changed in such little time. Maybe it had nothing to do with Potter, and everything to do about with the curse. A curious and interesting intellectual pursuit.
A noise at the window pulled him from the lie and an owl stood on the outside perch, pecking at the glass. He pushed the window open and a speckled owl hopped in and lifted its foot. Draco took off the message and fed the owl a pellet. It nibbled at the food, apparently content to remain inside out of the cold.
The letter was from Weasley, asking for Draco's presence at Grimmauld. They needed him. Draco dropped the parchment, pulled on his jacket, and without another thought, he Disapparated.
When he arrived, all the lights of the old wizarding house were ablaze, setting the place not with a cheerful air, as would be expected, but instead giving the old place a sense of warning, like the bright colors on venomous snakes or the flashing bulbs of emergency vehicles. Draco stood near the front step, uncertainty eating away at his impulsive need to see Potter.
While he warred with himself, the front door opened slowly, and Ron Weasley stood there, a disbelieving moue twisting his usual guileless dislike of Draco.
“He knew you were here,” was all Weasley said, and then stood back, giving way for Draco to enter, expecting him to enter, and Draco, caught up in the undeniable tide of it all, slowly walked in.
Nobody else waited in the entrance, but Draco could hear a clatter of people downstairs in the kitchen and from upstairs, repeatedly, “Harry, no,” like he needed to be scolded like a bad dog. “Harry, just sit down.”
Draco stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up.
“You better go,” Weasley said. “It'd probably be best.” Draco looked at him. Weasley had grown pill-pale, and tired, and a mask of exhaustion clouded the once vibrant man's eyes. He probably looked like a country cousin to Draco's own fatigue.
“What's wrong, exactly?” Draco asked, assuming Potter lay dying of some wasting disease, and he really needed to brace himself for the worst. For the weight loss, the thinning hair, the hollow, empty eyes that knew their own end wasn't far off.
His throat clenched at the thought of it.
“Not sure. He's... afflicted,” Weasley said, and by the weight of that one word, Draco knew it was so much more.
Slowly, like the forced march to his own trials, still so fresh in his memory, Draco took the steps, one at a time, head held high and gaze straight before him. From above, he could hear: “Harry, please, just sit down,” along with a sad sort of whimper. And then, “But Hermione. He's here,” as if that explained everything. As if 'He's here,' held the answers to all unknowns. Then silence. Everything had gone quiet, anticipatory, the only sound the soft brush of his foot along the rug trailing the stairway. His hand slid along the smooth wood of the banister, feeling the years on the house, just as the house seemed to feel him. Everyone within breathed in the same cadence as he passed down the hallway and stood one step away from allowing himself entrance to Harry's room. From within, he could feel a fog of magic flooding the air, teasing his senses.
Weasley stood behind him, a silent sentinel. Light streamed out of the open doorway into the hallway, bleaching the floorboards with incandescence. Finally, Draco took a step forward into the room.
~~~
Whether he wanted to sit still or not wasn't in his control. Harry knew Draco was here. Knew it. He wriggled about in the bed like an eager pet, no, worse than that, because that thinking part of his brain knew he wasn't just happy to see Draco, he was excited. Excited in a way he didn't really want Hermione to know about, but had a strong presumption that she knew. Hermione knew everything, but luckily had the tact that Ron had little sense about and wouldn't go announcing to the top of the world that Harry had a biggie in his trousers for their childhood nemesis.
Though, as Draco's scent trailed down the hallway like a sly visitor, wrapped itself about the corner of the hall and then stole into Harry's room, as that smell curled in his nose, teasing, and overrode the thinking part of his brain with gentle ease, Harry didn't worry about Hermione's or Ron's reactions; he worried about Draco's. Would Draco find him odd, would he be freaked out, angry, worried, disgusted? Would Draco turn and run away seeing Harry here in bed, practically pitching a tent-a pillow, he'd use a pillow-drooling, whining like Draco smelled like a bitch in heat and he, Harry, was a randy hound ready for a romp.
He planted the pillow over his lap, pushed himself against the headboard and waited. His skin had gone ridged in gooseflesh, his nostrils flared, gulping down the air that carried Draco's flavor to him, that sweet scent of man and potions ingredients and some dash of spice that lunged straight to Harry's lust receptors.
He was fucking harder than he'd ever been, painfully hard. He whimpered again.
He should have had Hermione tie him to the bed, maybe then he wouldn't be so embarrassed. He wouldn't feel so needy. He wouldn't have to struggle against this ferocious compulsion. But then he gasped the minute Draco walked into the room, glowing with some power, some radiance that almost swallowed Harry up whole.
And when he did, when Draco took that final step in, after Harry sighed, a deep rumble flooded the room. Half his brain registered Ron saying, “He's purring again.” The other half, more like three quarters, devoured Draco's form, searched his gray eyes and breathed him in. Harry could sense Draco's own scrutiny, and the man's worry for Harry touched him.
“How are you doing, Potter?” Draco asked in mock ease.
Harry swallowed down the odd noises he'd been making. “Fine,” he managed. He could feel Draco's magic reach out and brush against his own. Harry shivered. His senses zinged as if he stood in a storm of fire and rain.
The collar around his neck grew warm. Harry leaned forward, lifted his chin and took in a long swallow of air.
“Granger,” Draco said in a low voice, “What's he doing?”
“Well, Malfoy. I would say that it looks like Harry is inhaling.”
“Ahh.”
“Harry?” His name came from a long distance away. “Harry?” The flavor on the air teased the back of his throat, like a multitude of butterfly wings brushing against his skin. He swallowed, ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth. Draco shifted from one foot to the other.
“Harry!”
Harry blinked his eyes and glanced over at Hermione, her grip crushing his upper arm like an angry gorilla. He looked from Hermione's face to the white knuckles of her hand, then back up to her face.
“Hermione, that kind of hurts.”
He realized then that he'd crawled on all fours, near the end of the bed, and he couldn't say he knew exactly how he'd gotten there. All he could remember was that feeling. That ache in his chest.
Hermione released his arm and offered a quick apology. “Harry, why don't you sit back in bed now?” Her voice shook.
Heat spread up through his neck and face, and his eyes had a nasty habit of avoiding all eye contact. “There's something wrong with me,” he mumbled, voice low so he could almost pretend he didn't speak.
“I know, Harry, and we'll figure it out," Hermione said.
“Potter.”
Harry's gaze snapped to Draco's face. “Yes?” he asked sharply.
Draco's eyes slimmed down to curious slits, a frown dipping the edges of his lips. “This may sound like an obvious question, but do you get the sense that you're struggling against a spell controlling you? Basically, does this feel like an Imperius?”
Everyone stared at Draco.
Harry focused on thinking as he continued to drown in Draco's scent. Images of Draco naked underneath him pushed into his thoughts like thunderheads. Naked and wanting and begging for Harry. “Somewhat. It's different,” he said, voice a deep rumble. “The difference, I guess, is that under an Imperius you know you're forced to do something. You know it isn't you.” Draco paled before him; Harry ran his palm over the plaid pattern of his duvet, imagining it was Draco's body. “But with this,” Harry slipped a finger between the leather collar and his skin, having gone tender from the abrasion, “I forget myself. All you want is,” his face heated even more, but he wouldn't look away, “well, whatever it is you want. You don't for a second realize that it might not be you wanting it. It is you." Harry purred. "It is your want." Draco's pupils filled the gray. "It's not mind control, it's more like control over your desires.” He looked at Draco through heavy lids. “It's like you're starving and the only thing that can feed you is that... thing you want. You don't think you're not really hungry.”
Harry watched as Draco's Adam's apple bobbed, imagined running his tongue along the smooth skin. He tore his eyes away, noticing his own dry click of a swallow.
Harry tilted and fell over onto his side. “I can't shake it, either.” He curled up, thighs tight against his chest, face pushed against his knees. “I can't stop wanting you.”
Eyelids crushed shut, he couldn't see the looks on everyone's faces, but that silent rider within him, the curse coursing through his senses, could tell, could feel each one's shock, horror, and compassion. Their emotions, like scents on the air, distracted him from his own self pity, because he could smell Draco's interest. And not an ounce of disgust.
“Potter.” A pause filled the room. “Harry, I've been perfecting potions to counteract the after-effects of the Imperius Curse. I'm certain I can modify some of my work into something to give you the strength to fight this curse. At least, until Granger totally dismantles it.”
Harry peeked out from behind his knee. Draco lifted his chin at him, and the heavy ache in Harry's heart dissipated just a bit.
“Thanks.”
Ron cleared his throat, crossing his arms across his chest. “We could set up a potions lab in Grimmauld if that would work.”
Harry sat up.
Hermione's eyes bulged. “Ron, if Malfoy is here--”
“Yeah, then Harry wouldn't feel so frantic and Malfoy would be close by to watch for any side effects.”
“Yes, and Malfoy might just be in danger--”
Harry leapt from the bed to stand next to Hermione. “I would never hurt Draco.” A flash of fury caused the hair on his neck and arms to rise, sinking him into a sea of cold. “Never,” he said, his voice fading into something frightened and tiny.
“I know, Harry,” Hermione said, resting her hand on his shoulder. His skin tingled. “It's fine. We'll set Malfoy up here if that is something he's fine with.” She glanced at Malfoy, who nodded shakily, gray eyes wide, and Harry could see the rise and fall of his chest, full and fast. Harry purred again. His uninvited guest enjoyed that Draco looked eager, ready for him. Harry didn't really mind it himself.
“Okay, then,” Ron drawled, pushing himself off the wall with his shoulders, arms still crossed. “I guess we better get Malfoy set.” The two men squared off, and Ron jerked his head towards the door. “Malfoy,” he said by way of invitation.
Ron left the room, and Draco followed, offering Harry one last glance, and he too vanished from the room.
All the tension and anxiety that had zipped through Harry's body suddenly slipped away as easily as fog dissipated under an afternoon sun. He dropped to the floor, releasing a sigh. His horniness hadn't dissipated, but it no longer held him by the hand.
“Oh, crap.”
Hermione barked a strained laugh. “No kidding. Harry, do you really think this is a good idea?”
Slowly, he lifted his gaze to look up at Hermione. She stood with her hands clutched before her, such a Molly Weasley look of worry that Harry almost laughed. She'd obviously been spending too much time at the Burrow. But then he sobered when he really reviewed what she'd just asked.
“Hermione, a part of me knows it is the best idea in the world, no other option is as positive, good, and wanted as having Draco near me. Another part of me, that knows the first part isn't fully from my own intentions, wants to run and hide. But,” he stared hard at her eyes, “I've never run from anything, Hermione, and I'm not about to now. If I don't face this thing, if I can't work through it, deal with it, then I don't know that I could live with myself. Plus, I would never hurt him.” He coughed and looked away from her knowing eyes. "I need him near." Yes, he was pitiful. He knew that.
“Well, I can't be here all the time....”
His needy guest howled internally in glee. He jailed the excitement from his voice. “I know, Hermione. Don't worry. Between you, Ron and Draco, I'll be watched over.” And as he thought about Draco, he thought, And be thoroughly seen to.
“Harry, are you hot? Your face is all red.”
“Ah, yeah. I think... Maybe I'll go take a shower.”
“Okay, I'll be downstairs.”
Hermione left, and Harry ran to the shower, leaving a trail of clothing in his wake. He spun on the hot water, and grabbed his aching flesh.
~~~
Only a day later and Draco found himself in completely new surroundings. He pushed all of the glass flasks up along the wood-paneled wall to make room for his mid-sized brewing cauldron. Ron worked behind him, lugging in another trunk of precious ingredients. Hermione sat at a nearby table reading through his notes.
“Wow, Draco, you've done some amazing research here.” She'd taken to calling him Draco. Ron tried once, nearly choked on a piece of gum, and hadn't tried since. It amused Draco, and also annoyed him. Until he'd entered Harry's life, they'd never crossed paths-Draco had seen to that-and now he was 'Draco.'
He began calling them by their first names as well. Hermione beamed every damned time he did it, and Ron turned a little more green. That, Draco found entertaining.
He'd grudgingly let Hermione review his research notes, almost disallowing such a trespass into his life's work, but he knew his work exceeded impressive and showing up Hermione in something intellectual contained a kind of perverse joy that Draco couldn't deny.
“Thank you,” he simply said.
The other reason he'd agreed was that maybe she could add to his knowledge, she could see something he hadn't yet and could help perfect the cure for Harry. Sure, if he played fair he'd have to give her part ownership to his success, but only if she pushed for it. And only if she played a major part.
His clock chimed and Bert trotted out of the base. The little horse figurine paused, looked around at his new surroundings and then threw his head into an eager horsy nod.
“You approve, my friend?” Draco whispered to the clockwork horse.
Bert pawed the ground, then, with a swish of tail, trotted back into the base and the chimes ended.
“So,” Ron said from behind Draco's back. “That's one of Dumbledore's gadgets?” His tone came out incredibly neutral. Then he mumbled, "I only got a put-outer."
“Yes.” Draco turned to face him. “What? You don't recognize it?”
Ron laughed and puffed out his chest. “Nope. I didn't spend half my school years in the Headmaster's office.”
“No, just McGonagall's,” Hermione said under her breath, which earned her a mock glare, followed by a warm laugh. Draco watched them, and felt a little jealous of their camaraderie.
He had no friends, only hauntings. He sometimes wondered if he ever did.
“Well, it's late and I should go unpack my personal belongings,” he said, walking past them to go to his room on the top floor. “Please, don't touch anything.”
Ron snorted. “Don't worry, Malfoy, we won't do anything to your precious potions. Anyway, we wouldn't jeopardize anything that could help Harry.”
Draco nodded sharply and said nothing more.
His room had two sets of bunk beds to house four children. It reminded him of Hogwarts, with desks for each student and a warm fireplace burning to fight winter's cold. He'd left his things in two trunks, having given his potions lab priority. He pulled out neatly stacked piles of clothing, an extra pair of boots, a novel on dragons he'd been reading, and in the bottom, tucked under a hidden flap of leather, a bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey.
With shaking hands he uncorked it and gulped down three long swallows. The burn calmed him. It took away the edge, the fear, the tired, hopeless feeling that always threatened to smother him. The taste lingered on his tongue, blinding him to other distasteful things.
Slowly, he slumped to the floor, shoulder propped against the leg of the bed.
A noise slipped up through the floorboards, and he realized Harry's room lay directly below his. Another noise, a whimper maybe, he couldn't quite tell, but at the tone of it Draco grew sad.
He set the bottle down and left his room, walked down the stairs in socked feet, and stood outside of Harry's door. Another sound, a kind of growl this time, a needy call kept muffled by a spell, or maybe a gag. Draco's heart twitched to even imagine Harry tied up, gagged, trapped in his own house, his own flesh.
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool wood of Harry's bedroom door, and waited until the sounds ended, knowing he'd get no sleep in this house.
~~~
When Harry woke early in the morning, he noticed first the stiff ache that had settled heavy in his joints. Then a sharp pain pierced his neck and cheek bone. Opening his eyes revealed his face pressed against the door, the rest of him huddled in a ball on the cold floor. The circulation in his arm had long ago stalled where body and floor squished his blood vessels flat.
He'd have to get some rugs up here. Think of the kids that would be moving in soon and their poor chilled toes, he thought, and then wondered if anyone would be moving into Grimmauld with a feral ex-Auror in residence.
Maybe Draco could save him.
And the thought of Draco sent warmth through his frozen toes and fingers. By the time he gained his feet, he was smiling.
He dressed quickly and ended up caught by his reflection. The dark leather around his neck stood stark against his lighter skin. Last night had been hard. He'd fought against the need within him, the churning of his flesh beneath his skin. Harry looked down at his hands, one nail rougher than the others.
He couldn't remember everything from last night, just that caged feeling and the need to (escape) get out and run. But he didn't break past the door. He didn't leave. Something kept him inside.
He noticed the scratch marks on the door and flinched. He grabbed his wand and spelled them away.
On his way to the kitchen, the scent of brews bubbling away in the new potions lab hit him, derailing his thoughts of food with thoughts of Draco. He cracked open the door to peek inside.
Standing with his back to Harry, thick apron wrapped around his slim frame, was Draco Malfoy and his tight trousers. Draco, ladling a liquid into a small vial, shifted his weight, and Harry's eyes zeroed in on the flex of muscle. He opened his mouth and inhaled, tasting the man's flavor over the roof of his mouth. A shiver coursed through his body. Draco looked (tasted) so good.
Harry pushed open the door all the way; it swung on newly greased hinges. He took one step in, then another, his body stalking Draco's while Harry's mind could only think mine mine mine. The silent rider took control without any permission and Harry could hear a low noise rumble from his chest.
Draco spun around gripping ladle and vial. He gaped as Harry slowly stalked across the room. With an audible snap, he closed his mouth, swallowed and set down the items.
“Harry?” Draco said in the tone of one trying to calm an unknown dog.
Harry twisted his neck until the vertebrae popped; his fingers twitched with desire to take, to touch. His lungs burned and he had to cool the fire with soft, gasping breaths.
“Draco,” he said.
“How are you feeling?” Draco leaned away as Harry came closer and closer, his back bending over the table behind him when they almost bumped chest to chest.
“Really good,” Harry said, and then he inhaled Draco's scent.
Stars blinded him. The masculine scent of Draco curled in his nose like tangy smoke, shooting sensation through his arms and legs, down his fingers and toes, and he immediately became so hard the skin of his cock felt stretched thin.
Harry gripped Draco's shoulders and pressed his body into the other man's as if skin and clothing and air were too much of a separation for two life forms to cope with. He pressed his lips to the soft skin of Draco's throat, unheeding of the man's hands on his chest, protesting, pushing him away. Harry couldn’t imagine Draco pushing him away, couldn't imagine not touching, tasting, biting.
“Ow!” Draco yelled.
Harry sucked on the flesh, teasing it with his tongue as he pressed his erection into Draco's thigh, pushing harder, rubbing and thrusting until the heat in his veins burned away all sanity and all that remained of Harry was the boiled down concentration of mindless need.
He grasped at Draco's crotch, claiming the hot flesh with eager fingers, still feasting on that sweet, sweet skin. He would make Draco his own.
Make Draco want to be his.
Pressure grew in his balls. He pressed his palm against the contours of Draco's cock and rubbed his fingers up. Press rub press rub. Draco tilted his hips, forcing more contact. Heavy pants and the flavor of sex saturated everything.
Draco threw his head back, his hair blown from his face in disarray, gasping, offering his throat as Harry continued his attack. He wanted Draco to come, wanted him to fill his pants and warm up Harry's hand with his spunk. Harry struggled to rein in his own release. Draco had to go first. Had to. The scent of Draco, hot with arousal, drove his mindless monster into a ravenous flurry.
Burying his face in Draco's neck, Harry licked the length of skin from under his chin to the back of his ear. Draco moaned, pushing his cock against Harry's hand, rutting against him with needy mewls and half formed words.
"So good," Harry said. "Yes, Draco. Yes."
Harry was close, dangerously close. But he yoked his beast and rubbed Draco's erection faster, harder-
“Oi, excuse me.”
Draco practically threw Harry off of him. Harry stumbled to the ground, growling at the intruder. He knew that smell, the man, but he was not welcome. Not here when Harry had his chosen one willing and ready enough to explode.
“Whoa,” the man lifted his hands. “Harry, sorry for intruding. Oi, Malfoy, you okay there?”
Harry, on all fours, moved towards the intruder, his teeth bared and collar scorching his skin.
“He's a bit cursed, Finnegan, and not in his right mind.”
“I'll just go get Ron, then, yeah?”
“And Hermione!”
The unwanted man left the room, slamming the door to the drawing room behind him. Harry relaxed. He had protected Draco. He stood and turned towards Draco. Draco's wand was held aloft.
“Harry, I'm really sorry. But, this isn't you. I wish it was, but it isn't.” As Draco cast out a ray of red, Harry dodged, unsure why the one he'd picked would attack him so, and when the next spell hit, a tiny part of his heart crumbled.
~~~
Draco stood frozen as Hermione, Ron and Seamus came running into his new laboratory. He scrubbed at his face, refusing to look at that frozen expression of hurt on Harry's face, but finding his gaze continually returning to those wide eyes, the undeniable shock of betrayal.
“Draco, what happened?”
Draco couldn't face them, Harry's support group, not with a wand in his hand and Harry spread out on the floor. Not to mention the telling outline of both of their erections through rumpled trousers, though his was quickly deflating. He wished he hadn't taken off his robes.
“Harry came on to Malfoy as strong as old Romilda Vane with a pint of whiskey in her and a promise o' a couple quid,” Seamus so helpfully said.
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. A cold shower. He needed a cold shower. And a beer.
There were worse things than being caught red handed and wanting before your school day rivals. Worse things that he couldn't really name right now.
“Draco, are you okay?” Hermione asked.
Draco peeked out from behind his hand. Had he heard her correctly?
“Yes, I'm uninjured.” Merlin, just a cold shower and a drink. That was all.
“Look at Harry's hands.”
Everyone went to Harry and looked him over. His fingers had grown long, the knuckles gone bony.
“This is what I was telling you about, Ron. He changes, physically. That collar and its stupid curse. We have to get it off him. Not only have registered beings begun disappearing since the war, who knows what damage this is doing to his body. Either he'll disappear too, mistaken for a werewolf or something, or it will handicap him for life.” Frustrated, Hermione eyes shimmered with unshed tears but she didn't give into that escape, and Draco admired her for it. “The other night he'd gotten out and had run around the streets barefoot. Probably growling and howling like an animal.” She shook her head, her hair violently tossed. “It's not fair. Why does all this shit have to happen to Harry?” She turned to Ron, who gripped her hands, his own face pale, allowing the spatter of freckles to pop in contrast. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “Why him?” she said into his chest.
“I don't know, Hermione. But he's not alone in this. He's got us.” Ron looked directly at Draco. “He's got all of us.”
“Hey, don't forget me,” Seamus added, then dodged Ron's playful slap to the shoulder.
They collected Harry and removed him from the lab. After Hermione gave him that look saying 'I know you can do this, Draco,' and ran off to the Isle of Man to harvest some fresh vervain, he found himself alone in a queerly quiet laboratory. He would cure Harry, because the beast that had taken him over wasn't playing by Harry's plans. Harry had mapped all of those out to Draco that night at the cafe. The plans included opening Grimmauld to children, to help those who needed it, and to find that purpose he so strongly sought out. They didn't include rutting against Draco's leg and sucking on him like a vampire.
Draco ran his fingers over the tender spot on his neck and knew he'd have a bruise there the next day.
It wasn't a completely unwelcome realization.
He shifted and adjusted his trousers. He didn't have time for that. Only a few days had passed since he'd began work on this new version of his potion and already his progress discouraged him. He rubbed at his eyes and glanced over at the laboratory table.
A notebook lay on the counter covered in shorthand scribbles. He ran his eyes down a list of mugwort alternatives and noted the vervain. Hermione had made a good choice. After he ensured the combination wouldn't produce a deadly substance, he would try it on Harry.
That night, after hours over a cauldron, Ron found Draco camped outside of Harry's door, head propped up with a thick pillow and a heavy blanket covering his body.
"What the hell, Malfoy?" Ron hissed. “Don't you have a room?”
Draco had too much to drink, and in the darkness of the hallway, he decided his secrets didn't hold the same weight.
“Sometimes, in my sleep, I see demons," he whispered.
"Yeah, that's what happens when you drink rotgut on top of some of Hermione's cooking. Why are you out here?" Ron looked pointedly at Harry's door.
Draco pondered that and shrugged.
Ron dragged him up to his room, a steady arm wrapped around his torso and not another word of scolding.
But Draco wasn't lying; he really did see demons in his sleep. But outside of Harry's door, last night they didn't show at all.
~~~
Embarrassed wasn't the strongest word he could have used. “Seamus, I'm so sorry,” Harry said again into his soup at the giant dinner table. The carrots, potatoes, and chunks of meat floated benignly in the thick broth. Hermione sat to his right, Ron to his left. Draco had taken his dinner in the makeshift lab. He must hate Harry.
“Ah, it ain't nothing, Harry. Don't worry about it. It's been days since you tried to rip my throat out; I'm over it." He shrugged like almost getting mauled by a beast-man was an everyday occurrence. "Anyway, I think it's probably Malfoy who deserves the apology. You did talk to him, yeah?”
Harry groaned and dropped his forehead to the table. Draco had locked himself inside of his lab.
“Seamus, that isn't helping,” Hermione scolded, and Seamus laughed.
“I know,” he said, far too amused for Harry's taste. “'Course, based on the look on the bloke's face, I doubt the little peacock was really all that put off.” Seamus stuffed a chunk of bread in his mouth and Harry shot him a look.
He battled a moment, to ask or not to ask, then gave in. “What do you mean?” The collar itched.
“Oh, well you see, Ginny and I have enjoyed our share of the adult videos,” -everyone groaned this time- “and Malfoy definitely had on a sex face.” Seamus nodded, eyebrows high on his forehead.
“A sex face?” Harry parroted, not daring to even hope that Draco might have enjoyed himself with Harry's molestation. He did push Harry off him. But the inner monster knew the truth; a truth Harry couldn’t believe himself.
Draco had enjoyed what Harry had done to him.
“Oh yeah, Malfoy was gagging for it.” Seamus dropped open his mouth and repeatedly moaned, crude and high pitched. Then he winked at Harry and ate some more.
Harry remembered that noise, or something close to it. He couldn't tear his mind away from what he'd done to Draco, both mortified and savoring the feel of that perfect body against his own, hard and wanting and eager. Of the moans filling the air, the panting of more and yes and Harry. Heat washed over his face and he tugged at the collar.
A scent slipped through the doorway and brushed against Harry's nose.
The door to the kitchen opened. Harry refused to look up.
“Hello,” Draco said and stood right by Harry, so he mumbled in reply. “Here.” Draco set a vial down on the table next to his half-full bowl of soup. “Please, drink this.”
Harry looked up at him. Dark circles ringed Draco's bloodshot eyes.
“Did you sleep last night?” Harry asked, getting to his feet, wanting to reach out and comfort Draco, make him feel better, because he looked like shite. Harry inhaled the state of the man. Exhaustion, embarrassment, a bit of wonder and interest.
Harry purred, not even fighting it.
Draco stared at him, then straightened his robes. “I had a nap. Please, just drink.”
Harry uncorked the vial and swallowed it down. Tangy citrus blossomed on this tongue. It didn't taste like sewage like other potions he'd been subjected to. Then a warm sensation fluttered through his belly, vying with the heat of the soup.
Suddenly, his vision blurred and all strength drained from his muscles. As if his bones had been Vanished, Harry slipped to the floor, a fallen lump of putty.
"Oh fuck! Malfoy, what's happened?” Ron yelled.
Harry could taste the panic on the air; it soaked into his pores like osmosis, and hung thickly to his skin like mud.
"I don't know. Harry?" The words came from nearby, but Harry couldn't see. "Harry, can you hear me?" Harry tried to say, 'Yes, I am fine, thank you, just a bit numb in the extremities,' but all he achieved was drool.
"We need to expel the potion from his body, Draco."
"I think we should wait until we can map the progress of the potion's effects. This might just be an initial reaction and it will eventually have a stronger effect against the collar's curse."
Harry fluttered his eyelids. Before him stood a blurry smudge of white and black, to the smudge's right was a brown smudge, and on the left a red smudge.
"I'm okay," he managed.
"Oh my God, Harry. Are you sure? Can you tell us what you feel?"
"I've gone numb.” He smacked his lips. “Can't see. And I might puke." Every syllable Harry spoke proved a challenge, like he'd memorized a poem in Elvin and didn't know the meaning to a single word.
"How about the curse?" Draco asked. "Do you still feel compelled?"
As Harry thought about that, he pushed himself into an almost upright sitting position. One leg still twisted underneath him, but since he couldn't feel it, it didn't bother him. What Draco should have asked was, 'Do you still feel the need?' The need, always the need. It raced through his veins, through the house. Through the world. The need thrived everywhere.
I still want you, Draco. Want to ride you, rub you, lick every inch of your ivory skin.
"Yes. The curse is still active." He bit his tongue and the tangy splash of blood distracted him from reaching up and pressing his numb lips into Draco's. Which, he realized, he could see now if he got close enough…
Draco pulled back. "I'm sorry this didn’t work. I'll continue with my samples. But first, I want to place this monitoring charm on you, in case…" Draco left off the drastic cause of 'in case' and cast the spell. Without another look at Harry, he left the room.
Harry whimpered, and rolled back down to the ground.
"Come on, Harry. Up you go." Ron tugged Harry to his feet, which was quite a chore since Harry couldn't use his legs. Seamus laughed.
Harry mumbled to himself, petulantly whining like a seven year old.
"What was that?" Ron asked, a king of patience.
"Draco left," he said in the same petulant whine.
"Yes, yes, Harry." Ron patted him on the shoulder. "Your little lover boy ran off to try to cure you of your fucked up affliction and left you all alone with Hermione, Seamus and me. You poor bloke."
Harry sniffed. The thing was, Ron sounded completely sincere, so Harry couldn’t even affect offense.
"Yeah, poor me," Harry agreed, then let Ron drag him back to his room.
That night, when the urge to be with Draco undermined his senses yet again, he crawled to the door and sat there, hand pressed to the lacquered wood. Something about this spot comforted him, and he found if he closed his eyes, imagined Draco on the other side, he didn't lose himself. He didn't change.
~~~
go onto part III