Wicked

Thanks again for the lovely reviews- apart from the very welcome feedback it´s very interesting to see what readers expect to happen or what they´re concerned about. I can´t tell anything about Sirius yet, but the mirror will appear eventually. =)

elphaba: hehe, missing a few updates is actually all the more fun, since you can read more! Thanks for the reviews anyway!
Lilith: thanks- it´s actually fun writing in English, though sometimes the mistakes one makes can be very embarrassing. =) I love Sweden, so here´s a jealous sigh...

Enjoy!


That afternoon, Harry was supposed to accompany the Weasleys to St Mungo´s to visit Arthur. He wasn´t too keen on it, but on the other hand didn´t want to show his concerns; he had only told Draco about it. “I feel nauseous whenever I think about it,” he said.

Draco stroked his hand: “It will be okay once you´re there,” he said. “Mrs Weasley said her husband is doing quite well.”

He could tell that Harry was still worried, and he had an inkling as to what the reason for that looked like: “You´re afraid that he might blame you, aren´t you?” he asked softly.

Harry averted his gaze and nodded. He felt stupid, as everyone else had already assured him that they didn´t blame him, and Mrs Weasley had hugged him and thanked him, claiming that it had only been due to Harry that Arthur had been found in time. Yet he couldn´t shake off the guilt that had settled in his stomach.

Draco squeezed his hand: “Mr Weasley didn´t strike me as a man who can´t judge such a situation properly,” he said encouragingly. “And he seems kind.”


He had been right; Mr Weasley indeed didn´t blame Harry in the least, but thanked him so profusedly that Harry turned flaming red.

They were all chatting for a while, then the Weasley children and Harry went to find the hospital´s tea room to give Mrs Weasley a little privacy with her husband.

On their way there they literally bumped into a familiar looking wizard, who was wandering around the halls in his dressing-gown: Gilderoy Lockhart, who was suffering from the long-term effects of his own spell which had backfired from Ron´s damaged wand.

He seemed well apart from the fact that his brains obviously were severely addled: he apparently was under the impression that he was still famous, even though he couldn´t remember why. He acted quite friendly and cheerful, causing Harry and Ron to exchange guilty looks, and kept writing autographs for his unexpected “visitors” after a friendly nurse had ushered them all inside the closed ward Lockhart had somehow escaped from.

“Good thing Hermione´s not here,” Ron muttered under his breath; their friend had obviously had a fling for the man while he had been teaching at Hogwarts. Harry grimaced and was about to answer, when his gaze fell onto an old witch with a stuffed vulture on her hat. A pale, round-faced boy was at her side: Neville Longbottom.

Ron, having noticed his friend´s silence, looked at Harry and then followed his gaze: “Oi, Neville!” he shouted and waved. Neville inexplicably flinched; he turned around and paled when he spotted his housemates.

Oblivious to his evident discomfort, Ron strode over towards him, and Harry reluctantly followed in his wake.


Half an hour later, Ron and Harry were sitting in the tea-room with the others, who were talking animatedly about Lockhart, but neither looked at the other for a while, as they were both pondering what they had just witnessed on the closed ward, and feeling deeply sorry for Neville.

He and his grandmother had been visiting his parents, whom had been tortured into insanity by Death Eaters. Harry couldn´t shake off the images of the prematurely aged bodies with the nearly lifeless eyes, and how Neville had tried to keep his head up high despite his obvious embarassment.

Only what exactly he had been embarassed about Harry couldn´t figure out.

He was utterly glad when they finally returned home, determined not to show Draco his shock; he didn´t want to spoil that evening, and apart from that, the blond boy was probably finding Christmas hard enough to bear anyway.

The living room was hardly recognizable; it had lost its dark gloom due to fresh colour on the walls and a plethora of candles. The magnificient tree was emitting a delicious scent which mingled with the promising smell of good food.

Mrs Weasley had prepared a sumptuous, truly delicious meal, and it was all in all a cozy affair; apart from the Weasleys, Harry and Draco, Lupin and Tonks were present as well.

Harry watched his friends´ faces; everyone seemed to be enjoying the evening. Even Sirius, who was currently talking to the twins, seemed content.

Harry´s thoughts went out to Hagrid, accompanied by an almost painful jolt in his stomach; he hoped that his friend was all right and well and didn´t have to spend Christmas alone somewhere.

He also thought of Neville; it had shocked him deeply to see his parents like that. Having lost your parents was one thing, yet that they actually were still there but unable to communicate with you seemed worse.

Ron didn´t speak any more than necessary with Draco apart from “pass me the gravy, please”, but at least didn´t scowl at him, which Harry decided to take as progress, if a slow one. The twins didn´t make much of an effort either, only Ginny seemed to think nothing of engaging him in a lenghty conversation about Quidditch.

Harry knew that Draco had had the same qualms about this evening as Harry had had about St. Mungo´s, but now his body slowly lost its tense posture.


Harry was sitting next to the fireplace talking to Remus and Sirius, both of whom were greatly interested in the DA, when he noticed that Ron and Draco had retreated to a far corner of the room, unnoticed by the rest; Harry´s gaze met Remus´, who had watched them as well, and the older wizard now smiled at him: “He´s a good guy,” he said quietly. Harry´s heart suddenly felt light and unburdened.

Draco had told him about the little “talk” he had had with Sirius, and he had assumed Remus had had something to do with it all along.

Later on, Harry had already crawled under the blankets when Draco slipped into the room and joined him.

“You all right?” he asked sleepily while Draco nestled against him. The blond nodded: “I actually had a good time,” he said.

Harry kissed him on top of his head: “I´m glad,” he murmured. “Did you talk to Ron?”

“Yeah...” Draco´s head almost vanished under the blankets. “I thought it´s time to apologize, you know... just like Lupin.”

“What did he say?”

“At first I thought he was going to punch me, but then he... he nodded and said okay.”

“Okay? That´s all?”

“Well, no... he said he thinks I´m still a brat but that he can see that I´m trying, so we´ll somehow get along.”

Harry snorted through his nose: “How very generous of him,” he said testily, “he´s so hard-headed sometimes!”

Draco wisely didn´t reply to this.

Harry woke up early on Christmas morning; pale light was shining through a gap in the curtains, illuminating Draco´s hair. Harry couldn´t resist to touch it; he gently caressed the fine strands, marvelling at how soft they were.

Eventually his fingers wandered over Draco´s cheek and down his neck before they went exploring underneath the blanket. The tender touches soon evoked a reaction; Draco moaned softly as Harry was playing with his navel, not completely awake yet.

Harry smiled and lightly drew his fingernails around it, deliciously grazing the soft skin. He continued to tease like this until Draco finally opened his eyes.

He slowly pulled Harry towards him, and they kissed hungrily, eager to feel the other´s body.

Nothing else seemed of importance than the touch of the beloved´s hand, the warmth they shared and the pleasure they felt.

Harry turned them around and opened his legs so that Draco was lying between them; he couldn´t believe how good that felt, how intimate, and how much heat was between them.

Draco tenderly kissed Harry´s chest, teased his nipples with his tongue until Harry was panting; their hands met between their stomachs, and both of them moaned when they closed their entwined fingers around both their members, massaging and pulling at them, building up their pleasure until they released simultaneously, panting and moaning.

Draco lowered himself on top of Harry, careful not to put his full weight onto him, and so they lay listening to the blood rushing in their ears and their eventually calming heartbeats until both of them dozed off once more, despite the sticky wetness between them.


The next time Draco awoke because Harry was gently shaking his shoulder: “Wake up, baby,” he whispered, “my leg´s fallen asleep, and it´s Christmas!”

Draco grinned even before he had opened his eyes: “I have got to remember that sentence,” he murmured, before rolling off his boyfriend, who grimaced and tried to revive his limb by massaging it with one hand while using the other to pull Draco close once more.

They looked each other in the eyes, overwhelmed by their feelings: “I love you,” Harry finally murmured. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” Draco replied, inexplicably feeling a lump in his throat. “Love you, too...”

Harry suddenly grinned broadly: “Presents!” He sat up and reached under the bed, from where he produced a carefully wrapped present, which he handed the blond boy. Draco blushed as he slowly unwrapped it. Inside he found a finely crafted wooden box, made of polished ash; it had the picture of a Snitch intricately carved into the lid.

“I know you miss Quidditch,” Harry said. “It´s for the first Snitch you´ll catch when you play again.”

Draco swallowed; the lump was still there and seemed to grow. Madam Pomfrey had advised him not to play Quidditch at first, and Professor McGonagall had later spoken to him about it as well: “We can´t take any risks. If someone recognizes your flying style, your cover might blow up.” Even though Draco considered that as highly unlikely, he had conceded.

He had never told Harry how much he really missed Quidditch, but Harry was perceptive enough to know anyhow.

“There´s something in it,” the dark-haired boy now said, motioning towards the box. When Draco opened it, he found a bottle of shampoo inside. The shampoo. He laughed, and Harry joined in: “Thank Merlin for that day,” he then said quietly, still smiling, and Draco agreed. He wordlessly leaned forward and kissed Harry.

“I have something for you as well,” he said afterwards after clearing his throat, leaning forward and rummaging under his side of the bed. He handed Harry an equally careful wrapped present, which the dark-haired boy opened eagerly: inside was a model of a Quidditch Player, not unlike the dragon Harry had gotten for the Triwizard Tournament.

It was a Seeker from the looks of it, and Harry thought he knew what it did: “Wow, Draco,” he breathed. “It´s an Auto-Trainer, isn´t it?”

Draco nodded: “It seems we were both thinking of Quidditch,” he said softly. Harry smiled while he studied the model raptly. It came with a device that you could attach to your broom during training; if you re-attached it to the model´s stand afterwards, the player could repeat your every move, thus effectively helping to review and improve them.

“I´ve wanted one for years,” Harry said with shining eyes. Draco´s smile reminded Harry that it was his turn to kiss thanks.

“You didn´t spend too much on it, did you?” he then couldn´t stop himself from asking. Draco had expected this, since he literally didn´t have any money, and sought to reassure him: “Don´t worry about it. Professor Dumbledore and I have sorted it out.”

The Headmaster had indeed talked to Draco about money one day, shortly after he had arrived at Hogwarts: “You cannot go without any,” he had said, steepling his hands together and watching the boy attentively, “and it´s not very likely that you still have access to any accounts you might have in Gringott´s. I assume that your father will have arranged for them to be watched.”

Draco had nodded sadly; it was more than likely.

“I have however talked to Professor McGonagall,” Dumbledore continued, “and we have agreed that it´s only sensitive to... invest in your future.”

When Draco had looked at him with a puzzled expression at this, the old wizard´s eyes had twinkled mischievously: “I firmly believe that a student achieves better results when he´s happy- and this requires not only friends and a place to call home, but also the occasional treat. Thus we´ve decided to give you the equivalent of an allowance.”

Draco blushed even more; he was grateful and ashamed by the old man´s kindness, but he knew he couldn´t accept the offer.

“I can´t,” he had stammered, “it´s too kind, but... I really don´t-”

“No buts, dear boy, let me assure you that you can.”

Draco had fumbled for words: “Then... at least let me pay it back, please.”

“We´ll see about that,” the headmaster´s eyes had been twinkling once more. “Don´t you worry.”

Draco had nodded nervously: “Thank you, Professor... I appreciate it.”

Harry eventually turned to the small heap of presents at the end of the bed and unwrapped those as well: the traditional Weasley Jumper and a box of Liquorice Wands from Ron´s parents, two heavy but brilliant books about Defense Against the Dark Arts from Remus Lupin and a box of Wizarding Wheezes from Ron. The last present was from Hermione; it was a book as well. Harry read the title and spontaneously began to cough: How to Make Him Happy.

“Hermione!” he croaked, turning violently red. Draco burst into laughter when he saw the title, and Harry didn´t know what amused the blond more: the book or Harry´s display of embarassment.

Draco was still laughing when they went to have a shower together in Harry´s bathroom, washing off the remainders of their intimacy and putting the shampoo to use. They took a long time.

When Draco returned to his own room later, he was surprised to find some more presents at the end of his bed as well: a pair of soft, hand-knitted socks and a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Mrs Weasley, a Sneakoscope from Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, a book on self-defense from Malcolm, and a small parcel from Madam Pomfrey.

She had sent him a set of handwarmers; one could put them into one´s pockets and they would magically stay warm. She obviously had remembered how cold Draco´s hands often had been.

He suddenly thought of his mother; she had always been frail, had often had cold hands. He remembered how he had tried to warm them when he had been very young, had rubbed them between his own small hands while she had laughed, delighted by her little boy´s care... her laughter was still ringing in his ears.

Draco slowly sank down onto the edge of the mattress, clutching the ribbon which had been wrapped around the parcel, the blood pounding in his ears; he suddenly missed his mother with a force that made him gasp, and he once more wished he could have protected her, could have saved her... he didn´t even have a grave to visit, and that realization made him shiver.

He didn´t know for how long he had been sitting there, fighting back the despair that was threatening to overwhelm him, but sudden sounds on the stairs had him flinch out of his stupor. He was still trembling, but concentrated hard on the voices in the hall: “Shhh, not so loud, you´ll have Mrs Black go off again...”

He wrapped his arms around himself and inhaled the faint traces of Harry´s scent that were surrounding him, calming him down immensely. He looked at his presents again: Harry had been right, he wasn´t alone. And that was more than he´d ever have expected.

The next few days were relatively quiet, apart from occasional havoc caused by Fred and George, who were relentlessly working on the Wizarding Wheezes, much to Molly´s chagrin. Sirius, Harry, Draco, Ron and Ginny spent a lot of time in the living room with the Christmas tree; it was cozy and warm and much more inviting than most the rest of the house.

Harry and Draco had to pull themselves together not to disappear in Harry´s room all the time or give anything away in some other way. Thus Harry spent a lot of time playing Chess with Ron, who seemed appeased, yet still not completely at ease with Draco´s constant presence.

He did however wish Draco good luck at New Year´s Eve, and managed to keep the grump out of his voice at that. He had to admit that Draco was hardly recognizable without his trademark sneer and constant taunting, but he found it hard to believe that the pale blond boy had indeed changed this much and that it would be permanent.

Apart from that, he couldn´t but notice the way Draco looked at Harry sometimes; it was quite the opposite of the former hateful expression he had usually had, and Ron wasn´t sure wether Harry responded in a similar fashion or wether he was just imagining things.

One evening, shortly before they were returning to Hogwarts, he therefore used the opportunity to talk to Harry about it when they were both doing the dishes after a sumptuous tea. Mr Weasley had been released from hospital and was currently sitting in the living room with the others, thus they were alone in the kitchen.

“That Finn,” Ron said as casually as he could, taking Harry by surprise, “he´s a good guy.”

Harry looked at him as though a two-headed, singing alien had suddenly replaced his best friend, but didn´t reply. Ron hastily continued: “Is it... you know, serious with you two?”

“How come you suddenly want to talk about Finn?” Harry asked once he had recovered his voice.

Ron took a deep breath: “Look, I like Finn and when I´ve said I´m okay with it, I meant it. But I´ve seen the way Malfoy looks at you sometimes when he thinks no one is watching, so I thought...”

“No need to worry,” Harry said with as much conviction as he could, even though he suddenly felt faint. “I´m with Finn a hundred percent.”

“So... is Malfoy... gay as well?”

Harry tried to look indifferent:“Maybe... how would I know?”

Ron shrugged, looking so clearly relieved that Harry couldn´t resist splashing some water at him: “There´s no secret signal between us, you know?” he said weakly in an attempt to make a joke even though his knees felt like jelly.

He didn´t want to imagine how Ron would react if he ever found out about the Polyjuice and who Finn Bailey really was.

Draco had anticipated the meeting with Arthur Weasley almost as timidly as Harry had; the man had forever been treated like dirt by Lucius Malfoy, and Draco felt ashamed, once more, for everything that had transpired between the two families.

Yet when he had entered the living room, the red-haired man had excused himself from his family, who had assembled in front of the fireplace like a picture from an advertisement, and had approached Draco with a benign smile, one arm outstretched: “Draco,” he had said quietly, gripping the boy´s hand and shaking it, “glad to see you´re well!”

Draco had blushed: “Shouldn´t that have been my line?” he had asked, eliciting a chuckle: “It seems we´ve both gone through a rather rough patch,” Mr Weasley had replied. “Let me just say how much I appreciate your braveness. Not many would have stood their ground as determinedly as you have.”

He had seen the colour drain from Draco´s face and, interpreting it correctly, hastily added ,”of course I can only guess what has happened, but Albus Dumbledore has informed me that you have saved Harry´s life.”

“Er... not directly,” Draco had objected feebly. “I... there wasn´t much of a choice, really. All I did was to refuse help catching him.”

“Why, but that´s splendid, dear boy,” Mr Weasley had beamed at him.

His words were still reeling through Draco´s mind half an hour later; he had retreated from the crowd in order to sort out his thoughts. What had he really done, except deciding to act decent for once? He certainly didn´t deserve the praise he had gotten tonight; he wasn´t the brave person Mr Weasley was taking him for.

He couldn´t even show his real face in school, for Merlin´s sake, because it was too dangerous- and because he was a coward, always had been one, right?

He could hear his mother´s laughter in his mind again and began to hug himself. He hadn´t even tried to go back and find her. Another, less cowardly person would have done so, he was sure; Harry would have done.

He couldn´t compete with Harry, he wasn´t nearly as brave as him; one day, Harry certainly would see this as well, and then he would want to get rid of Draco, who was used and broken anyway; he could still feel the dirt and the blood, could still tell where it was clinging to his skin and wouldn´t come off no matter how often he washed.

He couldn´t expect Harry to be with him, not while he was tainted...

Harry´s mind had reeled as well after the talk with Ron; he had gone upstairs and had hidden in Buckbeak´s room for a while, not wanting to face anyone; the Hippogriff had stared at him curiously, but at least it didn´t talk.

Harry sighed; there was no way he could tell Ron about Draco, not now.

He would have to sit it out.


To Be Continued