Wicked

Thank you for the lovely and encouraging reviews! I am trying not to let you wait too long between updates, so hopefully it´s bearable! =)

Alliandre:
Nothing happened- my muse has just decided to concentrate on this story during the little time I have for writing. I am however occasionally working on it, and I have the storyline figured out- I just need more time! Let me assure you that I have no intention on abandoning it!

And now: enjoy!


Harry was walking away from him. He didn´t speak, he just looked at Draco with disdain before turning around and leaving. Draco was rooted to the spot, even though he attempted to move, desperately trying to follow his love. Panic rose within him, and it became even worse when he felt that he was bleeding, that small rivulets of the warm liquid were running down his thighs.

He knew someone was behind him, yet he still couldn´t move, and he suddenly didn´t want to follow Harry anymore; he was tainted, he wasn´t allowed to.

Sagging, he hugged himself and waited for the inevitable; he could hear voices behind him and knew they´d be there soon, taunting and hurting him, just like before.

“Draco. Draco.” It took a while for him to register that the voice which was calling his name sounded worried and fond instead of cruel and malicious.

He opened his eyes and only then realized that he had curled up into a ball and was indeed hugging himself; he had been sobbing dryly for the past few minutes, as he now became aware of, remembering the sounds he had made. Blinking slowly, he looked up at the apprehensive face that was looming above him.

Harry stared at him short-sightedly, not having bothered to find his glasses: “Are you awake now?” he asked in a very low voice.

Draco nodded and began to sat up; his neck felt stiff because he had been lying in a strangely twisted position. “A dream,” he murmured but didn´t dare looking at Harry, whose hand rested on Draco´s shoulder: “What´s wrong?” the dark-haired boy whispered, knowing Draco well enough to suspect there was more.

Draco closed his eyes and opened them; he felt shaky and didn´t know how to respond; what was wrong? He had gone to sleep very peacefully, snuggled against Harry... who had left him in the dream, he suddenly remembered. He had left him because Draco was flawed... he shuddered.

Two warm hands gently took hold of his shoulders: “Look at me,” Harry said softly.

When Draco reluctantly did so, he was facing the opposite of how Harry had been in the dream: the eyes that were beholding him in the dim light of the new day were warm and full of affection.

Draco, suddenly feeling stupid, almost sighed with relief, yet he knew Harry was still waiting for an answer. “I... I don´t-“ he broke off, for he found it difficult to address the issue. “Last night was great,” he finally whispered. “But... but, you know... I don´t know if I can ever... have real sex.”

His voice had hardly been audible during the last few words, as Draco realised that it was just like that: he was broken, rendered useless to some extent, and yet he had made Harry believe that he could have a normal relationship, including a normal sex life.

He drooped his head: “I´m sorry...” He half expected Harry to get angry or leave, just as he had done in the dream; it was his right to walk out on a lover who didn´t function properly, wasn´t it?

Harry however did no such thing; he never pulled his hands away, but gently squeezed Draco´s shoulders, forcing him to meet his gaze once more: “We did have real sex last night,” he said matter-of-factly.

Draco swallowed: “I meant... you know.”

Harry found it hard not to laugh as the blond boy, as pityful as he looked, offered such an adorably cute picture, yet he knew it wasn´t appropriate. “What do you think am I expecting you to do?” he said, feeling slightly embarassed at the thought himself.

The blond wizard seemed to shrink, averting his gaze once more.

“I meant it when I said that I would never hurt you,” Harry´s soft voice told him. “I... blimey, this sounds like one of the movies Aunt Petunia was so fond to watch- I treasure you, Draco. I will never ask anything of you that you are not willing to give.”

Draco felt a lump in his throat and swallowed hard: “I´m sorry,” he whispered, “Please don´t think that I doubted you...” He was shaking now, afraid that he had destroyed the previous night´s spell.

Harry however simply pulled him into his arms, cradling him tenderly: “I know,” he soothed while Draco slowly relaxed into the embrace.


“I want this,” Draco breathed. “Please believe me...” Harry placed gentle kisses on top of Draco´s head: “I do,” he replied. “I thought that´s clear.”

Draco gave a shaky laugh.

Harry stroked the blond´s back: “Don´t you think that I´m not afraid at all,” he whispered into the fine strands of soft hair. “I´m as much a beginner at this as you are.”

He pulled back a little so he could look Draco in the eyes: “Just tell me whenever there´s something you don´t want, okay? I promise I´ll do the same.”

Dazedly, Draco nodded. How could Harry be so understanding? He seemed to possess an unearthly patience.

Harry of course did possess no such thing, but he felt thoroughly elated these days.

The love he was feeling was like an internal motor no one else could see, and he indeed carried it like a secret. He drew energy out of it and it kept him going, much like the DA, if infinitely better even. He felt giddy and almost stupid, and all the corny platitudes about love he had ever heard suddenly seemed to make so much sense, such as what he had told Draco earlier: he did treasure Draco, even if it sounded strange.

He knew he would try and protect him no matter what, and he would indeed give his life for him if need be. He couldn´t tell anyone about this, of course, as people probably wouldn´t understand and might suspect him to be under the Imperius Curse; apart from that, it really sounded silly if spoken aloud.

Words couldn´t actually do love any justice, he pondered; one might as well try to nail a pudding to a wall.

He hadn´t given the issue of sex between him and Draco much thought so far, though he had known it would become a topic one day, and he had expected it to cause trouble, given the way the blond wizard had suffered.

Yet Harry had refused to worry about it; he had been confident that they would be able to sort it out. If being together with Draco meant having to forego, he´d happily do it; he had been sure he would be content with the way they were handling it now, the snuggling and kissing.

A small if persistent voice in the back of his head had been laughing at his naivety, but he had preferred not to heed it: it was so infinitely more than he had ever had.

Sighing, Harry chewed on his finger instead of paying attention to Professor Sprout that day, who was lecturing them about the proper treatment of Non-Poisonous Fanged Cabbage; obviously, there was more to sex than he had thought, and the previous night had shown that they both wanted it.

It had pleasantly surprised Harry that Draco had initiated the next step; he saw it as a proof of trust, and it also meant a huge development concerning Draco´s recovery. He should have expected what had come afterwards, Harry pondered; it was just like Madam Pomfrey had told him: Draco needed one step at a time.

It wasn´t surprising that the blond had been subconsciously intimidated by his own boldness, and it very likely would happen again. Harry however was determined to show Draco that he meant what he had said, as he had no intention to hurt him; they would sort if out, he told himself.

He just had to give Draco time and let him set the pace: love was the answer.

Hell, had he actually just thought that? Definitely corny. Harry shuddered but couldn´t stop himself from grinning sheepishly.

It snowed early that year; long before Christmas approached, Hogwarts found itself under a thick, white blanket. The DA kept meeting regularly, a warm fire usually blazing in the fireplace every time they entered the Room of Requirement, and Harry was very content with the progress they all made.

He tried not to let it on that he paid Finn Bailey particular attention, though Cho Chang was sometimes eyeing Harry with a mixture of disappointment and curiosity; the others fortunately were too occupied with their practicing, while the Weasley twins could not be fooled at all.

One night in November Harry was seeing the group out, using the Marauders´ Map, when Fred suddenly laid his arm around the dark-haired wizard´s shoulder; Harry, who had been staring at Finn´s retreating back, jumped.

Grinning, Fred gave a theatrical sigh: “Oh dear, oh dear... here we thought we might one day see you and our little sister in blissful matrimony, yet it seems that we´ve been completely wrong...”

Harry stared at him: “What? Ginny? What are you talking about?”

“You can´t deny that she´s been besotted with you,” George now chimed in from Harry´s other side, “we always thought you´d make the perfect match...” “... and now it turns out that we´ve missed one significant factor...” “... which is a pity-“

“WHAT are you two talking about?” Harry now yelled and felt himself blushing, much to his embarassment, thus he settled for a counterstrike: “Ginny is dating Dea-“

“Finn Bailey,” the twins intoned together, effectively cutting across the younger wizard.

Harry blushed even more, causing Fred and George to snicker.

“Don´t worry,” George then said, a tad more serious, “we won´t tell anyone.” “Unless of course we´d have to.” “In an emergency situation-“ “or out of self-defence, for example.” They both laughed.

Harry just snorted: “Self-defence my arse,” he mumbled and made for the exit, ignoring Fred´s comment about someone quite acting like having been caught in the act.

Draco looked around the dungeons and had to forcibly subdue a shiver. He still liked Potions Class, yet he found it hard to contend with the place it was being taught in; before the summer, he had never given it much thought, but with everything that had transpired, the damp coldness and the feeling of being enclosed in thick, ancient stone walls was intimidating him to an extent that bothered him, though he tried to hide it.

He and Malcolm had found seats next to Parvati Patil and Hermione Granger, and Draco soon realized that even he, being quite good in Potions, could learn one or two things from her. He also noticed that she wasn´t easily intimidated by Snape; whenever the Professor was being his usual self and taking his foul mood out on the Gryffindors, Hermione did her best to look supremely unconcerned, even though Draco noticed that her jaws were tense every time; she must be gritting her teeth really hard.

It somehow made him feel like cheering her on, and he wondered what had gotten into him.

Her presence and Malcolm on his other side together with the lesson´s contents usually brought Draco through the time in the dungeons. He could neither fool Malcolm, though, nor Hermione; during the very first lesson Liam had attended had she noticed that his hands had been shaking, and that he had pointedly avoided to look at anything but their Professor, the desk in front of him or the others, as though he was trying to block out his surroundings.

Draco did his best to slice up his Sopophorus Beans while pondering about what Harry had said: don´t you think I´m not afraid at all. He subconsciously smiled; that was such a sweet, Harry-like thing to say, wasn´t it?

But then again, Harry didn´t know what he was talking about, he had never felt what it was like to have someone using you, breaching you- he took a shuddering breath, all the while pushing down on the bean in front of him too hard; with a merry clicking noise, it bounced away and off the table.

Cursing under his breath, Draco cautiously lowered himself down to pick it up; he slid down the narrow space between the bench and the desk and leaned forward, losing his balance for a moment and supporting himself with both hands.

He instantly froze in shock, and a gasp escaped him. The stone floor felt so horribly familiar underneath his hands; its icy coldness spread through him, paralyzing him and making it hard to breathe. He couldn´t move, his body was too weak, he wanted to die... a soft touch on his shoulder made him flinch violently, and he bumped his head on the table.

“Ow...” he was thankful for the pain, concentrated on it; slowly, abandoning the bean, he emerged from his crouched position, rubbing his head. Pulling back her hand, Hermione Granger was looking at him with an odd expression on her face; he read concern in her eyes and something more indiscernible.

“Are you all right?” she whispered as Draco heaved himself back up onto the seat next to her.

He nodded, warily: “Yes, thanks... just... just dropped a bean and couldn´t find it.” “Okay,” she looked at him a while longer before giving him a quick smile and turning back to her own beans.

He was distracted by Malcolm, who also wanted to know wether something had happened, and Draco felt himself flushing with embarassment that his moment of weakness had been so obvious. He could still feel the coldness in his palms, and grit his teeth; do not let it get to you, he repeated in his mind. Do not let it get to you.

He surreptitiously eyed Granger a few times during the rest of the lesson; she was so very perceptive, he had to be more careful around her. Draco remembered how he had used to loathe her because of her superiority in most classes; yet when he looked at her now, he couldn´t find the same animosity in himself anymore.

Harry had talked about her sometimes, and it seemed she was a very loyal friend besides being a know-it-all; apart from that, Draco wasn´t so sure about the whole pureblood-issue anymore. If a pureblood like his father could turn into a monster such as he had demonstrated, what good was it then to be “pure”?

He sighed; how messed up his life had become; he really had to start from scratch.

Snape seemed to think the same, judging from his critically raised eyebrow when he looked at Finn after examining the potion he had just made, sans the wayward Sopophorus Bean, as if wanting to say that he usually did much better.

Finn however crossed his arms and stared at Snape defiantly, and he could have sworn that something like the smallest part of a smile had for a millisecond touched the Professor´s mouth.

Hermione had seen it as well; while she was cleaning her cauldron and clearing away her things, she pursed her lips and glanced at Finn a few times; interesting, she thought, and inwardly added that day´s observations to the list which she had already begun in her mind.

“... most notably changes in treaty regulations concerned that the trolls forthwith were not chained to the negotiating table anymore; as of that day, severe consequences for the breach- WHO CARES!“

Frustratedly, Ron threw his quill onto the table, rubbing his eyes: “This is easily more boring than watching Dad polishing his Muggle toaster, and he´s even talking to it!”

“It will be part of the OWLs, you better pull yourself together,” Hermione said irritably; they were sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room in front of the fire, surrounded by homework; outside, the snow was piling up against the windows.

Harry and Ron were struggling with an essay for History of Magic; Hermione had already finished it and had buried her nose in her book about Ancient Runes.

While Harry had only been staring into the fire dreamily for the past ten minutes, Ron had made the valiant attempt to at least memorize the text, but now he eyed the book wearily: “I just can´t concentrate, Hermione, okay?”

He looked at Harry, who seemed oblivious to the world around him, then scanned the room and spotted Finn, who had just come in through the portrait hole with Malcolm, who was deeply immersed in a discussion with Dean Thomas: “Oi, Finn!”

The sandy-haired boy looked over and blushed a little when he saw Ron with Harry and Hermione. Harry had snapped out of his daydream when he had heard the name, and now his eyes caught Finn´s for a moment; the spell was soon broken however when Harry discovered that his quill was dropping on his robes, and he hastily put it on the table.

Ron beckoned Finn over: “Game of chess?” Finn hesitantly nodded: “I actually have some homework to do first,” he said, blushing a bit more. “The History of Magic essay´s due tomorrow...”

Harry could have sworn Hermione had made a small victorious sound behind her book. Ron ignored her and grimaced: “Fine, then... we can as well do it together. Harry and I have just started the darn thing.”

Finn dropped into an empty chair and pulled out his textbook, and they set to work again.

Every now and then Hermione discreetly peered over the rim of her book; Finn and Harry pointedly avoided each other´s gaze now, it seemed, yet both of them repeatedly eyed the other when they thought it wouldn´t be noticed.

Frowning slightly, Hermione immersed herself in her textbook again; utterly interesting indeed.

Whereas Draco´s nightmares were slowly abating with time, Harry was sleeping increasingly poorly. Quite often he woke up without knowing what had caused it, yet his heart was racing and he was drenched in cold sweat. Sometimes Draco woke from his fidgeting, sometimes he only became alert enough to pull Harry closer and snuggle up with him anew, effectively calming him down simply by his presence.

It was in fact a great comfort for Harry to have someone there with him, someone who felt warm and real and made his nightly terrors look almost ridiculous in retrospect; as they were nearing December, however, he ever so often saw vivid pictures in his dreams again, pictures which looked frighteningly real as well, and they were much harder to chase away afterwards.

He saw himself walking down the corridor again, heading towards a door he knew he had to open, yet he never reached it... his scar prickled and sometimes hurt whenever this happened, and in those nights it usually took a long time until his heart rate slowed down again, since he knew it had something to do with Voldemort... he didn´t want to tell Draco, didn´t want to scare him; but Harry´s dreams at one point became so harrowing that he invariably woke up from them, sometimes too confused to know where he was at first, then he fought Draco´s attempts to soothe him until he realized what was happening.

Draco tried to persuade Harry to go and talk to Dumbledore about it, or tell Sirius; the blond wasn´t stupid, he suspected what those dreams were about. Harry however refused to seek help; Dumbledore had other, more urgent problems at hand, he knew, and Sirius might only do something rash if Harry contacted him.

So they fought Harry´s involuntary battle alone. Draco got used to have a soft cloth ready, which he´d dampen with his wand and use to dab the sweat off Harry´s face after he had come to and was lying with his back against Draco´s chest; both of them were well aware at how reversed their roles suddenly had become.

Hermione and Ron noticed that Harry was looking unusually pale, and Hermione asked him pointblank wether his scar was hurting again; Ron hadn´t told her about the incident after the Quidditch training, but she knew Harry well enough to recognize the slightly haunted look in his eyes.
He shrugged, knowing that he couldn´t lie to her: “I have nightmares,” he said, if very reluctantly.

Ron looked surprised at this; he hadn´t noticed anything. Hermione also tried to make Harry see reason and turn to Dumbledore, yet he remained stubborn: “There is nothing he can do about it anyway,” he said, “and I certainly don´t want to bother him when he´s got much more important things on his mind.” Hermione looked at Ron for support, who simply regarded Harry with a solemn expression. He knew Harry long enough to recognize a lost battle when he saw one.

And he had also noticed that Harry didn´t quite look him in the eyes; something was going on, something which Harry obviously hadn´t told them.

That night, Harry almost reached the door; he knew it was important, yet he failed on the last few meters. He stretched his arm, desperate to lung forward; nearly there, nearly there... he made one last effort and finally touched the handle, but then the door disappeared, and he found himself in a bed once more instead of the lone corridor he had been in only moments before.

He felt sick; he batted Draco´s arms away and hunched over, breathing deeply, to fight off the nausea.

“Harry,” Draco whispered. “Wake up...” “Am awake,” Harry mumbled weakly, “need...air...” He fought to get out of bed, he needed to breathe.

Draco tried to support his shaky frame, and together they scrambled out of the bed. “It´s okay,” Harry whispered with an effort, “you stay here, it´s cold. I´ll be right back...”

“But-“

“Don´t worry,” Harry gave him a feeble smile. “I´ll be okay...”

He staggered to his feet and rounded the bedpost.

After two more meters however, he stopped abruptly; next to Harry´s bed, looking somewhat thunderstruck and holding his wand in front of him, stood Ron. Wide-eyed.



To Be Continued