Gilded Soul

Chapter 17 Martyr

Draco awoke with a start and immediately waved his wand over a particularly nasty burn mark. He and Harry had been wandering the maze path when they were attacked by a group of blast ended skrewts. Harry seemed mostly untouched as he stirred awake beside him, but as he slowly regained consciousness he quickly scanned his body for damage. A week of their holiday had already zipped past and this was the first incident to occur in the maze since Draco was poisoned. They had been exceedingly careful as they made their way through the winding path but after the skrewt attack, they assumed they were getting closer to the second trial.

That afternoon found the unlikely pair in the Room of Requirement lounging in front of a roaring fire and pouring over the tomes that Dumbledore had loaned them. Harry avoided summoning Dobby again for hot cocoa, and instead had made his way down to the kitchens alone to procure various treat for them to enjoy while they read.

They were fairly certain, based on their studies, that the following trial would consist of a puzzle or riddle of some sort. The Headmaster had been very useful so far in marking up passages that the boys would find necessary to make their way unharmed through the maze. Harry sat silently flipping through one large book titled, “Answer These Questions Three: A guide to Ancient Riddles,” while occasionally sipping at his pumpkin juice. Draco was merely pretending to read his volume about secret passages while intermittently watching Harry and day dreaming about their previous nights together. He could still feel the ghost of Harry’s warm fingers splaying across his skin, or carding through his hair.

He was startled out of revelry when he glanced at Harry and found him staring at him with a mischievous grin. “What are you thinking about over there, while you pretend to read?”

“What?” Draco asked, his voice sounding much less guilty then it could have, however, he could feel his body betraying him with the heat creeping up his face. “I wasn’t pretending to read,” he replied haughtily.

Harry’s face transformed into a neutral mask, except for his sparkling green eyes, which were still smiling only for Draco. He sometimes felt as if he could read the Gryfindor’s mind, just by looking into his eyes. Over the last week he had seen confusion, lust, determination and a flicker of something else float through those emerald orbs. Right now they only reflected happiness and something a little deeper, something Draco could not quite put his finger on.

He felt an unexplainable affection for Harry that was growing and morphing into a warm feeling of contentment. He would occasionally think about what his life would be like after school, and it was no longer the imposed expectations of his father, but instead would involve living in a trendy London flat with Harry, or working side by side at the ministry with Harry, or having dinner with Hermione and Harry and then slinking away with him to do naughty things in the dark. He once even had a nightmare about having Christmas dinner with his parents, Harry and the Weasley’s, but no matter what, his thoughts always included Harry.

He often wondered if his Gryfindor felt the same, or if outside this room there was more for him. He rolled his eyes at the thought of calling Harry, “his Gryfindor,” but that’s how he felt about it. He was Harry’s Slytherin, or at least could be, if Harry wished it so. He looked over at the object of his affection, who was lounging on his stomach and staring at him. A slow smile played on Harry’s face and he darted his tongue out to wet his lips. The motion made Draco squirm, and before he could even control his actions, he was on top of the other boy, covering him in hungry kisses.

Hot fingers pried at clothing and warm mouths nipped and sucked at exposed flesh. Draco took in Harry’s naked body, flushed red with want. He was pale, but not in the same manner as Draco, whose skin was more transparent then pale. Harry’s was that of a person who had the potential to tan, but could never spend enough time outdoors for it to happen. His body was smoother and fuller than his own, and his stomach and arms strained with tight muscles. Playing Quidditch had done wonders for the Gryffindor, and molded his body into the perfect male specimen.

Draco looked into Harry’s eyes, which were a greater treasure then any jewel in his Gringott’s vault, and he sighed. He leaned down and kissed him chastely on the mouth, breathing in his scent as he pulled away to look into his eyes again. Harry’s eyelashes fluttered as he smiled lazily up at him. He whispered something that Draco couldn’t hear. “What?” he asked, leaning into Harry and pressing their bodies closer together.

A soft sigh escaped his soft pink lips as he repeated himself, “I lo- nothing,” he stuttered.

Draco moved back again to look into Harry’s eyes. He looked startled and bashful and Draco wanted to kiss the confusion from his face. Instead he smiled. “Me too,” he said softly, having a pretty good idea of what Harry wanted to say. It was too soon to articulate his blossoming feelings for the proud Gryffindor, but knowing that Harry felt the same made him giddy.

An hour later they were both naked and trying to catch their breath, lying in a heap in front of the hearth. Draco was tracing unidentifiable pictures onto Harry’s firm stomach and humming his contentment. Sex with Harry was mind-blowing and he could still feel the lingering tight warmth of being sheathed inside the Gryffindor’s body. He could still hear his own name ringing in his ears from being cried out with every thrust, still taste Harry’s cock and feel the texture of it on his tongue.

Harry groaned and pulled him closer, nestling Draco into the crook of his neck. They held each other until they both slipped into sleep.

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Draco found himself walking down a deserted corridor that he didn’t recognize. This was obviously not the dream maze he was now achingly familiar with, nor was Harry anywhere in sight. He heard a terrible cackling laughter that sent shivers down his spine. He wore his school robes and in his hand, instead of his own wand, he held another. This wand was longer than his own, and covered with a delicate leaf pattern that had been mostly worn away with time. It shined gold in the light from the torches lining the corridor wall.

“Bring it to me,” called a raspy voice at the end of the hall. Looking toward the sound, Draco could see a large door cracked open, a dim light flickering from within. He made his way toward the room and stopped in front of the doorway. As Draco stood glued to the spot the door swung wider revealing the back of a large high-backed chair and a shriveled old gray hand. The skeletal hand was pointing to a limp figure on the ground.

Draco’s eyes flicked to the pale body lying at the foot of the chair and gasped. Harry lay crumpled and broken, his once brilliant green eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. “What do you think of your savior now, boy,” the figure rasped.

“Harry,” Draco whispered, willing him to get up, hoping this was all some elaborate prank.

“Just bring me the wand and I can bring him back. Just bring me the wand and this never has to happen at all,” the figure rasped again.

Draco looked down at the glimmering gold wand in his hand, then back to Harry limp dead body and his world went out of focus.

--

Harry stirred awake with Draco sobbing next to him. His stomach plummeted as he tried to ask what was wrong. “I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled, “We don’t have to do it again. I …” A million things raced through his head as he thought of Draco regretting their time together. His movements however were inconsistent and Harry soon realized he was in the throws of a nightmare.

He tenderly shook him and planted soft kisses on his face as Draco slipped back into wakefulness. It seemed to take a moment for him to register Harry there above him, but he quickly returned his kisses with fervor, mumbling things like, “not dead,” and “thank Merlin.”

“I had the worst nightmare,” he said finally.

Harry looked at him quizzically. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but promptly closed it and shook his head instead. Harry only shrugged and ran his fingers through his sweat soaked hair.

“Did you dream about me dying?” Harry asked. He looked shocked but finally nodded. “How did it happen?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, you were dead when I got there.”

“Got where?”

“I don’t know where I was. It was a room at the end of a long stone corridor. There was someone else in the room with you, sitting in a chair.”

“Voldemort,” Harry told him without emotion.

“Maybe,” he replied.

“No. It was him. It wasn’t a dream, it was… a projection. I get them all the time.” Harry looked at Draco closely. “You should be careful.” A pained look crossed Draco’s face, but he didn’t want to say too much, not until he spoke with Dumbledore.

“What does that mean?” Draco asked sounding panicked.

He tried to smile, but feared the effort went unnoticed. “It just sounds like my dreams, and if it is… well, that isn’t a good thing.”

Draco let out a snort of laughter. “You dream about your death a lot then?”

“Yes.”

His laughter died immediately. “Really?”

Harry nodded. “Every night. Sometimes its my own subconscious telling me I’m going to lose, and sometimes it’s images he projects into my dreams, but ever since I heard the prophecy, I’ve had these nightmares.”

Draco was eerily silent for a while then a flittering image passed through his stormy gray eyes. “You believe you’re going to die.” Not a question really but Harry felt like he owed him an answer anyhow so he nodded lightly and looked away.

Draco backed away from him, scrambling for his discarded clothing, which he began pulling on at once. “What,” he said, trembling, “does all this mean to you then?”

“What?”

“Is that why you’re doing this… with me?” Draco wasn’t looking at him now, he was staring a hole through his feet.

Harry didn’t understand. He reached out to take Draco’s hand, but it was yanked back out of his reach. “What’s going on? Look at me, Draco!”

He did, and his eyes held pain and confusion. Harry went to him, but he pulled away again until they were almost backed into a corner. “What does it matter if you have this relationship with me, if you’re just going to get yourself killed like some fucking martyr!” Draco shouted.

Harry flinched but looked more resolved then ever. “Do you think want to die? It’s my fucking destiny, Malfoy!” he spat.

A harsh laugh was Draco’s reply. “Maybe it’s my destiny to stop you from dying,” he said quietly.

Harry’s shoulders slumped and he looked hurt. “I hold no hope in my heart for anything like that. I can only hope to enjoy what time I have left. I want you, Draco, to fill that time with me.”

Draco went to him and pulled him close, whispering, “I won’t let you die,” softly in his ear. Harry didn’t say a word. He ran the prophecy over again in his head and let Draco hold him.

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