A Dream For The Dead

A Dream For The Dead

Chapter 24

Wait Until It Fades To Black

Harry had seen a great many things in his relatively short life. Granted, it was only a short life for a wizard, but the fact still remained that he had seen some strange things. He had witnessed death and all forms of rebirth. He had seen and slain monsters. He had been dead and returned to life. He had witnessed all manner of magical creatures that his Muggle upbringing would have assured him were only fantasy. He had the most vile components mixed together, in precisely the right way, turn into the most beautiful and powerful potions. He knew that amazing things could be done with the most unexpected materials. He did.

That was, after all, the nature of magic, was it not? To turn the ordinary into the extraordinary?

Still, Harry could not quite have anticipated the use of snakes for physical wellness. They always seemed to be the epitome of physical illness when involved with humans. Didn’t they?

Granted, it was possible that Harry was only naïve and rather virginal when it came to matters of massages and spa retreats. Still, he was quite sure that no one he knew had ever taken part in a massage that involved snakes.

He supposed it rather suited Malfoy, though, didn’t it?

Harry watched with an expression that could have been the lovechild of confusion and horror as Tracy placed the large red snake on Malfoy’s back. The snake curled into itself, settling between Draco’s shoulder blades. It’s tail flicked out and seemed to want to try to wrap around the bump of the blade, but eventually stopped.

Tracy looked up and apparently noticed his expression because she giggled slightly and turned back to the terrarium on the table.

“Snakes massages are very therapeutic,” she explained, clearly for Harry’s benefit as Draco had obviously had this experience before. She pulled another snake out of the glass container. This one was much smaller than the first and its red colour was duller. “They can sense tense areas and will move toward them. Their movement on your muscles coaxes them to relax and helps to soothe deep tissue stress.” She placed the second snake on Draco’s naked skin and went for another. “They go where the tension is. Humans can’t sense it as well as they can. Not even on themselves.” She smiled up at Harry who was watching with wide eyes. “Muggles in the Middle-East have been using this technique for many years. But these snakes aren’t your average Muggle variety.” She winked at him in a conspiratorial fashion. “These snakes are called Ember Cornsnakes. They’re crossed between the garden variety Cornsnake and Ashwinders.” Harry nodded though he was only half-sure he understood. He was too focused on how the additional snakes started curving over Malfoy’s back, stretching languidly over his muscles and moving slowly to curl around him.

“So what does that do? The crossing, I mean,” Harry asked, his voice oddly hoarse.

“Well, these snakes are naturally very warm to the touch,” she explained. “Which is obviously unusual for a snake. But they don’t burst into flames like regular Ashwinders do. Also, they behave better than normal snakes. Instead of seeking out heat sources and then moving back into the cool when they overheat, they can focus on moving towards tension and repair damage that even spells can’t help. They also don’t inexplicably try to escape the massage table.” She patted one of the snakes fondly. “ I’m quite fond of them.”

Harry made a noncommittal noise as he nodded. He couldn’t quite imagine the feel of snakes slithering over his back to be soothing.

“I’ll be back at the top of the hour,” she said with a smile and a flourish before she disappeared out the door. Harry blinked, wanting to ask why she wasn’t hanging around and then realized that she had little purpose, now that the snakes were in place. They did the work, didn’t they?

Harry watched as the snakes moved smoothly over Draco’s back, down toward his legs. One of them had draped itself over his neck and was constricting over his shoulders, presumably to relieve tension. Harry thought he heard a groan of sorts and then gasped, worried that the snakes were hurting him. Then he realized that Malfoy was probably enjoying the treatment and was vocally expressing that.

Harry frowned and continued to watch the snakes.

So much tension… so much heat.

Harry blinked and his eyes narrowed. He was quite sure he hadn’t thought that and it didn’t sound as though it had been Malfoy speaking. It took him a moment before he realized that the snakes were talking and he could understand them.

His face broke into a wide grin as he realized he could still speak Parseltongue. He had never had an opportunity since the end of the war and had firmly believed he lost the ability when Voldemort had ‘killed’ him.

”Is he going to be alright?” Harry hissed at them. Instantly, all the snakes stopped in their movements and tilted lazily in his direction before continuing on their mission. Harry only distantly noted that Malfoy’s entire body went taught when he spoke.

Oh yes. We will care for him. Do not worry, Little Tongue, we will loosen him.

Harry smirked and nodded, edging forward on his chair.

”So, er, do you enjoy working here?” Harry asked, mostly because he felt much less self-conscious talking to the snakes than he would have talking to Malfoy. The snakes stretched and coiled around Malfoy, clearly aware that his tension had only increased since Harry had begun talking to them.

Work? We do not work. We move. As long as we are together we will continue to move.

The snake that spoke was not the largest, but Harry was sure it was the cleverest. He smiled at it and reveled at the way the worst flowed through him like he had never stopped speaking Parseltongue.

”I’m glad then,” he answered. There was a sharp gasp from the table and Harry’s attention snapped over to Draco.

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” the angry voice asked him. It was restrained and sounded almost pained. Harry pursed his lips.

“I was talking with the snakes,” he explained, though he would have thought that was obvious. “Apparently, you’re very tense.”

Harry was sure that Malfoy would have lifted himself just so he could adequately glare at Harry, were it not for the creatures on his back, anyway.

“Why should I be tense, I wonder?” he drawled back sarcastically. “Except that the bloody Auror Extraordinaire who is supposed to be on the lookout for so-called looming danger decided to chat up a snake.” Harry sucked his teeth as Malfoy spoke, mildly amused by his ramblings. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to listen to you?”

Harry stilled, suddenly struck by an idea. He smirked darkly and leaned in, dangerously close to Malfoy, deciding to completely ignore the possible consequences for his actions now. There was a serpent coiled around Malfoy’s neck and slithering into his hair. Harry watched it as he tried to speak.

”Why Draco, do you have a weakness for Parseltongue?” he hissed into Malfoy’s ear, fully aware that he could not understand. His reaction would be answer enough.

Draco gasped almost inaudibly and Harry could see a shiver run down his back. Harry grinned more widely and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Kinky bastard, aren’t you, Malfoy?” Harry asked in English. He licked his lips as he surveyed the serpents moving. “Tell me, does any kind of hissing get you this bothered? Or is it just me?”

Harry eyed one of the serpents as it trailed down Draco’s back and moved steadily to his leg.

“Why, Potter?” Malfoy hissed, his breath hitching as the serpents moved on him. “Afraid you might have competition for my affections?”

Harry nearly forgot to snort, his eyes trained on the snake that had curled itself up on Malfoy’s leg, moving steadily toward his back but underneath the linen cloth and between his legs.

Harry tried to say something but couldn’t. He wanted to say something witty and scathing but he couldn’t think of anything. His mind had gone completely blank, probably due to lack of blood, given that it had all rushed to his nether regions.

The snake was somewhere unseen, under the cloth and between Malfoy’s legs.

They go where the tension is, Tracy had informed him. He flushed and almost laughed hysterically, wondering how tense Malfoy could be there.

So much heat. Feels like fire.

Harry gasped slightly at the same time as he heard Malfoy inhale sharply.

Harry quickly sat himself back down on the chair and crossed his legs, trying to force away any evidence of his arousal. He was not excited by the image of a snake doing nefarious things to Malfoy. He was not aroused by the notion of hissing Malfoy to climax. Not at all.

”Oh, Merlin…”

Harry tried to ignore the whimper that escaped the blond on the table and he forced himself to take deep, steadying breaths.

“How are we doing?” a woman’s voice suddenly asked. Harry’s neck practically snapped as he jerked to look at the door as Tracy walked in. An hour had already passed? “Nice and relaxed?”

Harry nearly answered with a definitive ‘no’ before he realized the question was not directed at him. He swallowed as she began to remove the snakes from Draco’s body. Harry willed his erection away.

“Yes, thank you,” Draco answered in a somewhat clipped tone. Tracy removed the remaining snakes and replaced them in the terrarium. Harry stared at the wall, wanting Malfoy to just get up, get his clothes back on so they could leave this place that would, from then on, be known as Harry’s Personal Hell.

When he looked back over, however, he realized that Malfoy had only flipped onto his back, the thin, linen cloth still strategically placed. Tracy was now walking over with cream in her hands, much as Harry had expected the first time.

She poured some onto her palm and rubbed her hands together.

“Wonderful,” she answered. “I’ll just apply the soothing lotion, then.”

She placed her palms to Draco’s chest, over the heated skin and began to rub methodically. Malfoy’s eyes fluttered shut as she moved and Harry felt the monster of jealousy rage within him again.

“Why do you have to do that?” he asked, somewhat cryptically, his voice harsher than he intended. She looked up, mildly confused but did not cease her movements.

“The EmberCorns are warmer than human skin is,” she explained. “And Draco’s skin is already hotter than it should be.” Harry had to convince himself that she meant that in a purely professional way. “The cream helps to soothe the heat away so that it doesn’t get irritated. Heat rash is one of the drawbacks of this kind of treatment.”

Harry nodded but didn’t want to. He watched, his eyes hard and his jaw set as she moved her fingers over his chest and stomach. He watched the blissful look on Malfoy’s face as he allowed her to touch him this way. Harry felt wretched and angry and possessive, though he couldn’t imagine of what.

He didn’t like the idea that this woman was touching Draco so intimately and he was enjoying it. Particularly not when Harry had touched him the same way and he had made the same faces. Perhaps Malfoy just loved to be touched, no matter my whom.

The image of Oliver Wood from the cover of Witch Weekly burned into his mind and he almost growled out loud.

Completely unbidden, Harry’s gaze moved downward to the linen cloth that shielded Malfoy from view. Harry blinked as he realized that Draco was not at all aroused by the ministrations of the massage therapist. Harry looked up at her.

She was quite beautiful, really. She had a pleasantly curvy body and what appeared to be soft skin. Her eyes were a dull shade of brown, perhaps, not lively like Hermione’s, or warm like Ginny’s, but still. She was attractive.

Then why wasn’t Malfoy aroused at all?

He has a wife, idiot. Even if she is insane.

The realization was a bucket of cold water over Harry’s arousal. Draco probably still loved Aurora, somehow.

Harry felt the monster of jealousy simultaneously whimper and grow larger. He realized, in that moment, that he wanted Draco Malfoy.

Merlin, I must be completely mental.

+++++

Draco eyed Potter over his drink. He swilled the elderflower wine idly in his cup as he considered the man opposite him. Potter had been in quite a snit since Tracy had returned to complete Draco’s massage and, apparently, his mood had not improved upon returning to Draco’s home.

Draco, however, was feeling much better indeed. The snake massage was precisely what he had needed.

Heat was a tricky thing when applied to skin. While the burns he had sustained made him hypersensitive to touch, the application of more heat had actually helped alleviate some of the sensitivity. The serpents had done what they were supposed to, relaxing Draco’s muscles and allowing his body to adequately loosen. It had been somewhat painful, with the added warmth, but it was worth it.

Cold would only have served to aggravate Draco’s pain, tightening the already tense muscles and increasing the sensitivity of his nerves. The heat of the snakes allowed his muscles to loosen and relax, pulling away the stress and, with it, the residual pain.

Draco found, when he dressed at the end of the session, that his clothes no longer hurt to wear. Upon returning home, however, he swiftly changed back into his cotton trousers and nothing else. This was more as way to annoy Potter than anything else. He quite liked the way Potter’s eyes trailed over his chest when he wore nothing else.

But Potter was short and testy with him about absolutely everything. Draco had an inkling as to why but said nothing. He had felt Potter’s body near him, the heat and desire rolling off of him while the snakes slithered over Draco’s body. He had no idea what Potter had said in Parseltongue, but given the way the serpents had veritably shivered at the words, he knew it was something good.

His demeanour had changed drastically, however, once Tracy had returned and started putting her hands all over Draco. His eyes were sharp and his voice was sharper. Draco could only be grateful that Tracy’s touch did nothing for him and helped pleasantly to dispel the physical reactions Draco had exhibited to Potter’s snake-like tongue.

Draco knew the look of fierce determination to figure out one’s own madness when he saw it. Potter was thinking furiously, probably trying to convince himself that he was going mad rather than accept that he might be attracted to another man –or, heaven forbid, Draco Malfoy –all the while staring at one of the letters Draco had been sent. Draco could tell that Potter was not thinking about the letter because he had been staring at it for twenty minutes straight and his eyes had not moved on the page once.

Draco sipped his wine slowly, letting the flavour soak into his tongue. He did not usually like elderflower wine, it was too, well, flowery for his tastes, but he had felt inclined to take something different than Firewhisky after all of the heat of the day.

He felt much too complacent after his massage to possibly worry himself just then with the letters. He needed to allow his mind some time to rest and breathe between their ‘cram’ sessions. Potter, however, did not understand the concept of taking things slowly. He seemed to believe that the best way to deal with anything was to run headlong into it until it crumbled under the impact of your head.

That’s probably a good explanation for why he’s so dim-witted most of the time.

Potter was nibbling angrily on his lower lip again, viciously ripping at it as though it was the root of all his problems and must be punished accordingly. Draco wanted to tug the lip into his mouth and soothe it with his tongue.

No. Wait. That wasn’t good.

Draco’s brow furrowed slightly. He wasn’t about to start arguing with himself in the same way that Potter was no doubt doing. He knew very well that he was more attracted to men than he was to women. Aurora had, quite effectively, proven that to him eleven years prior.

“It’s Halloween,” Potter said abruptly, still eyeing the paper in front of him, worrying his lower lip and glaring as though the parchment had morally offended him. Draco blinked.

“Would you like to dress up and go trick-or-treating?” he drawled, wondering what Potter was on and carefully biting back any remarks he might had had as to what kinds of tricks and treats Draco could offer the other man, sans costume.

“No,” he shot back, still glaring at the parchment. “It’s… it’s my son’s birthday today.”

Draco frowned slightly and blinked. Potter had two sons.

“Which one?” he asked, unsure of why he was bothering. What was the purpose of bringing that up? To makes Draco feel guilty for taking up his time? Potter didn’t have to be there. Draco had made that abundantly clear that Potter could have stayed home for the day. He had been the one to insist upon coming with him to the spa.

“Albus Severus,” he answered, his voice quiet though his gaze was still angry. “I thought it was brilliant, that my son could be born the day of the anniversary of my parents’ death. I thought it was some kind of… symbol. To show that hardship was over and the war really was at an end. There was nothing left that hadn’t been re-appropriated for something good. All those horrible days, the anniversaries of death were made into celebrations of life. That was the last one…”

Draco stared at Potter, completely baffled. Was he sharing this information because Draco had bared his soul in regards to the war? Was this some kind of awkward quid pro quo situation?

“Er,” Draco began eloquently. Potter ignored him.

“I was wrong,” he answered, his voice sharper as he glared at the parchment. His grip tightened on it and the paper wrinkled. “I wanted to be done with this case by now. I wanted to have solved it and caught the culprit.” He rolled his eyes at himself, presumably. “I wanted to send Al a letter to let him know that everything would be alright and Scorpius was safe. I wanted to be able to keep up his faith in me for another year.” Draco fell silent and his gaze hardened as he watched Potter. He understood Potter’s sentiment all too well and he hated him for it. He had wanted to promise his son safety long before today. But he couldn’t. Not without Potter. “But I can’t. I haven’t been able to solve this bloody case because I can’t understand these fucking letters.”

He threw down the parchment with enough force to send more of the letters scattering over the table and onto the floor. Draco’s jaw tensed and he stared resolutely at the Auror. It took all of his restraint to set down his glass of wine without shattering it.

“I mean, what the fuck is all this obscure language supposed to mean?” Potter growled at no one in particular. He still wasn’t looking at Draco. “The fool goes on about things like ’starless eyes’ and whatnot and it’s all a load of bollocks to me. What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean? What are starless eyes?”

Draco felt all his relaxation leave him as he tensed at Potter’s words. He gripped the armrests of his chair and took a deep, steadying breath. He finally pressed his fingertips to the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes.

The world began to spin, as though it sensed what was to come, and Draco fought to ignore it.

“I daresay you should know, Potter,” he ground out, still amazed at how easily Potter could frustrate him. The Auror spun and looked at him finally, his eyes hard and angry. Draco could feel it. The room shook and jerked with Potter’s movements. “Seeing as you have them.”

Draco opened his eyes and stared back at Potter, searching his green eyes for understanding. There was none. The shadows moved in Potter’s eyes and Draco knew that the shadows in his own eyes mimicked them.

“What the fuck are you on, Malfoy?” he asked gruffly. “What? Green eyes? My mother’s eyes? What?”

“No, you complete idiot,” Draco snapped, rolling his eyes. “Not green eyes. Does it look like I have green eyes, to you? And my mother’s eyes are bright blue. Pay attention.” Potter opened his mouth to retort but closed it again, glaring and taking deep breaths, perhaps to stop himself beating Draco senseless. “You’ve witnessed Death, Potter. You’ve witnessed murder and you’ve heard Voldemort speak enough to know this expression.” Draco swallowed and fought the sudden and overwhelming urge to vomit. “Surely, you have heard Voldemort say, at least once, before he killed someone, that he wanted to watch the light leave their eyes.” Draco stared at Potter, finding a spark of the recognition he was looking for. “Starless eyes, Potter, are eyes without light in them, only shadows. The eyes of the Dead.”

The green eyes widened slightly as he stared at Draco and then he got to his feet, making a dismissive movement with his hands and then running his fingers shakily through his hair. Draco leaned back against the chair and exhaled deeply. The room’s spinning was jerky and was making him feel ill.

“That’s ridiculous,” Potter proclaimed, his voice not particularly convincing. “I don’t have dead eyes. I’m not dead. And the letters aren’t about me. They’re about you. You aren’t dead either, from what I can tell.”

“No, not exactly,” Draco answered softly. “But almost.”

Potter stopped the pacing he had started only moments prior and stared at Draco. Then he shook his head again, at nothing, and continued to walk.

“You’ve got problems, Malfoy,” he said with a weak laugh. “There’s no such thing as almost dead. You’re wrong.”

Draco glared and felt his anger rise. He gritted his teeth.

“I am not wrong, Potter,” he snapped. “You know there is such a think as almost dead. You’ve been there, Potter. I know you have.” Potter froze for half a second before continuing to walk and shooting dark glances at Draco occasionally. “You’ve been dead before, Potter, you can’t deny that. I know that you died that day, in the Forbidden Forest, when you walked straight up to Voldemort and hoped to end the war. I know he killed you, Potter.” The Auror actually stopped and stared, wide-eyed, at the desk against the opposite wall. “I know because I can see it in your eyes.”

Potter was breathing heavily, his fists clenching and unclenching methodically. His entire body was shaking now, much like Draco’s. The room pulsed with them.

“You’re mad,” Potter snapped, more angry than Draco had ever seen him. Draco didn’t care. “You’re trying to mess with me, Malfoy. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but stop it. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Draco got to his feet now, too angry to talk. How dare Potter call him mad? He was lying to himself and to the world and Draco was not going to allow him to continue on with it.

“I am not mad!” Draco cried. “I know that he killed you and that you went to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. I know that you saw the train and you felt its pull. I know you still feel the pull every time you go to the real place, at King’s Cross.” Draco moved around the table and forced Potter to turn at look at him. He grasped Potter’s wrist but the Auror yanked it away. “I know the world shifts and pulls on you. I can see you bracing against it when no one else can. I know that you feel the shadows calling to you, hear their voices. I know because I can feel it too, Potter. I saw it too.”

Potter’s green eyes were burning with hatred and rage. He pushed Draco roughly, his hands on Draco’s chest, searing into his skin and forcing him to stumble backwards. Draco caught himself against the wall and glared up at Potter, filled with the same rage.

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” Potter snarled. “I don’t know what you think you know, but you’re a fucking bastard. How could you possibly know what I know? How could you possibly feel what I feel or see what I see? You want me to admit that I’m mad, but I won’t! You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Potter’s fists were clenched and mirrored Draco as he stood there, seething and wanting to throw Potter down on the ground with all of his force. Their wands and magic were completely forgotten as the world around them pulled them in opposite directions, toward each other. Potter’s face was pulled into a mask of disgust. Draco was breathing heavily, shaking with fury. “How could you even begin to imagine?”

“Because I died that day!” he hollered at Potter, all of his fury forcing itself out of him through every pore. His hand moved to the wound on his shoulder. “I died the day you gave me these scars.”

------

A/N: Snake massages are REAL. :D There is a spa (or several) in Israel that have been using this form of therapy for quite a while. They, obviously, don't use Ashwinders though. Milk snakes and Corn snakes. And another type I can't recall. T_T All non-poisonous anyway.

I also liked the idea of Al being born on Halloween. Dunno why. If JKR says different... well I don't care, lol. *pouty face*

Anywho, hope you liked the chapter! Reviews are love! *hands out cookies*