Another Kind of Love

The next morning Draco tried not to take it personally that things seemed to have gone back as they were. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he should probably just be glad that Harry didn't flee the room straightaway. Still, he was hurt, saddened and most of all embarrassed by his lascivious behavior.

He'd wanted to corrupt Harry, but instead he'd just broken off yet another piece of himself.

Out of habit, or perhaps in the hopes that Harry might say something, he'd followed him into the kitchen to watch him prepare breakfast. The normal convivial chatter about food and Ginny had evaporated and all Draco was left with was shifting from foot to foot and wishing that Ginny were here.

While he was certain that Ginny wouldn't be exactly thrilled to hear this update, at least she might be able to speculate with him on what the silence meant. On a completely other train of thought, he just wanted to tell someone that he'd been shagged by the Chosen One. That was a huge upgrade from Dolohov and Draco tried to be optimistic about at least that much, even if it wasn't going to be an actual relationship.

Draco caught the mottled reflection of himself shifting nervously and realized that he'd been sighing and checking the clock far too many times. Every time he looked at Harry, he was cooking and seeming to pointedly not look at him. That's why he was surprised when Harry asked, "Ants in your pants?"

Immediately, Draco shoved his hands into his slate grey robe-- a garment that was a bit formal for lounging in but one he thought brought out the coolness of his eyes and made him look graceful.

"Could be something worse than ants in there, you might want to get yourself checked," Draco shot back before he could edit the snark. Was he really that desperate to get Harry on the subject as to debase himself?

Harry cleared his throat and took a moment to collect himself before he replied, obviously measuring his words in ways that Draco hadn't. "Last night was... last night. It won't happen again."

"Good job I have Ginny then, yeah?" Though he kept his expression fierce when Harry whirled around in shocked anger, inwardly he cringed.

In a blink they'd regressed to two angry boys without the comfortable backdrop of Hogwarts to keep them from doing any serious damage to one another.

Draco gripped his wand, just in case.

For his part, Harry didn't pull a wand or do anything beyond glare at Draco, his teeth clenched as he tried to master himself. "You want everything when you want it and how you want it. You've given no consideration to me or what I might need from you. You know what? You and Ginny deserve each other." Harry pulled the skillet from the lit burner and set it on a cold one as he turned the hob off. "I've had enough."

Harry was beautiful in his anger, beautiful in his determined gait and tragically beautiful when he'd given up. For a moment, Draco just watched him leave, storming out of the kitchen and to the hall. Losing sight of him, Draco followed, always keeping yards of distance between them.

Harry can't leave, he hasn't packed his things.

It was the most ridiculous thought, but Draco clung to it as the front door swung open and Harry bolted through, and slammed it behind him. Draco rushed to the door and cracked it open, determined to keep watching Harry, no matter where he went.

What he saw froze him to the spot.

Before he could even call out a warning to Harry, Antonin Dolohov grabbed Harry from behind. One arm curled around his neck while the other squeezed the wrist of Harry's wand hand. Draco felt empathetic pain in his wrist as he saw Dolohov's fingers feeling out the soft spots where the nerves transmitted extreme pain.

Where to touch a person to make it hurt the worst was Dolohov's specialty and Draco was far too acquainted with that fact.

For a moment, he pulled his head back into the house and shut the door, pretending he couldn't hear Harry screaming. Dolohov laughed a high hysterical mad laugh and Draco heard his name over the din of shrieking.

Then he heard Harry clearly enunciate the word never.

Maybe Harry didn't love him and never would, but he didn't deserve this. Maybe Draco had pushed too far too fast out of desperation. Maybe this was just his lot in life-- being on the wrong side and never really getting to make a choice of his own-- except the one to spy. His reward was his brief interlude with Harry and now it was time for retribution and reparations for a lifetime of privilege and ill will to begin.

Screwing up courage that didn't come naturally, Draco pulled his wand and charged out of the large maple door and fled the short distance to the manor gates and walked through onto the grassy yard that bordered the manor property to reveal himself.

"Let him go." Draco stared into the face of madness; Dolohov's dark, sunken eyes and his lips twisted in shocked malice at his sudden appearance and sealed his fate.

"Drop your wand and I'll let him go." His arm tightened around Harry's throat, but Harry tried to keep his expression neutral aside from shaking his head for Draco not do to this.

"Let him go and I'll drop my wand."

Dolohov slacked his restraint on Harry and then took it up again. "How do I know you'll drop your wand if I let him go?"

It was only out of terrified restraint that Draco didn't snark worse than he did.

"What are you, new? Because if I wanted him dead then I'd kill you both right now and have a spot of tea."

At first Dolohov looked angry, as if he were going to kill Harry just out of sheer irritation. Then he laughed-- a frightening hysterical sort of laugh that made Draco reconsider that plan. Sure he had feelings for Harry, but he could get over them, right? He was young, there were other boys... it wasn't as if Harry was putting out. Dolohov released Harry and shoved him towards Draco.

"I forgot how mouthy you were. I'll just have to keep that pretty gob filled."

Draco would have retorted, but he was starting to feel a cold prickle of terror in remembrance of how bad it had been and what he'd just committed himself to. As Harry neared him, his gaze intent on Draco, Draco let his wand drop, slow in the absence of sound or time having any sort of meaning

"I will find you, Draco," whispered Harry.

Draco looked at him in wary disbelief. The sentiment didn't surprise him in the least. It was the sort of bold statement that a hero would make and Draco knew that without a doubt, a hero was what Harry was.

What threw him was the passion in his stare. It was beyond mere heroism, and if Draco had started to doubt that, Harry's cupping the back of his head to brush their lips together quelled it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Dolohov's arm swinging madly and shoved Harry back as he jumped out of the line of fire himself. He ran for Dolohov, before he'd have a chance to try another hex and grabbed his wrist. It was mere fancy that he could wrest the wand from him before Dolohov Apparated them elsewhere, but fancy was all Draco had, so he tried it.

"Don't give up, Draco! I'll fi--"

And with a loud crack, Harry's shouting ceased and Draco trembled.

--

The tracking spell hadn't worked and in his pacing, Harry was just beginning to realize just how thoroughly fucked Draco was. Probably in ways more literal than he could stand to contemplate.

Ginny's arrival didn't help his mood, but he was too wound up to even start to explain what was going on, so she had started running through the manor looking for Draco. Perhaps it was cruel to let her go on like that, and her increasingly hysterical cries of his name certainly weren't helping him think.

"What have you done with him? Who has him?" she demanded, her brown eyes filled with an accusing fury.

"Dolohov."

"...What?" Ginny stared into Harry's eyes a moment and then shoved him hard against the wall when he didn't respond. "WHAT?"

Catching his balance after bouncing from the wall, he pushed his glasses up with his middle finger and glared back at Ginny. His voice remained calm although he felt anything but.

"Antonin Dolohov showed up and took him."

"What, just walked through the front door, then?" Ginny brandished her wand, ready to hex Harry if he continued to give her stilted, enigmatic answers.

Harry eyed the wand and then looked back up at her. "No. We were fighting. I left the house and... Dolohov grabbed me."

"What were you fighting about?"

Of course she'd have to ask that question. Harry exhaled impatiently. "It doesn't matter what we were fighting about or how things happened. We need to figure out how to find him."

"Did you try a tracking spell?" Ginny pocketed her wand and folded her arms, her posture filled with resolve that surprised Harry. She wasn't a little girl anymore.

"That was the first thing I tried. I'm not an ickle, Ginny. The Death Eaters have ways of shielding themselves, that's what's made them hard to round up."

Ginny frowned deeply, her eyes lowered as she thought. "What about the Ministry? They could trace him?"

"No good, Dolohov's made himself untraceable or he'd've been caught by now." Harry carded his hand through his hair in frustration and squeezed the back of his neck.

"I didn't mean trace Dolohov, I meant Draco. It's always possible that in his... excitement... he could've forgotten to charm Draco."

Harry looked up at Ginny, eyes wide in recognition of a brilliant idea. In a flash, he was to the fireplace, Floo powder in hand.

"Ministry of Magic!"

--

There was a sickening, almost electrical charge before each purple lash of magic hit his back like the crack of a whip. Only Dolohov didn't use anything quite as mundane as an actual whip. Instead, he invoked dark magic that found soft skin and shredded it. Draco felt the sick feeling of the warmth of his skin torn apart and the dripping wet slickness of his blood raining down on the grey stones. His arms were up, chained to the ceiling in the cave. He yanked his bindings again, trying to remain as soundless as he could.

Around the cave were the affectations of civilization; a small makeshift bookcase, a stand for a hotplate and jugs of animal skins that held water.

Dolohov pressed his long, sallow body against Draco's young supple one. Draco thought to stamp on his foot, but given the last warning he'd gotten about such a defense, he decided he'd rather keep his appendages.

But now Dolohov was against him, his cock rubbing over his red wet thigh. The tip of his cock ran through it, his breathing was ragged as he watched the way that it interrupted the flow of blood to twist his prick on Draco's thigh.

Draco clenched his jaw, knowing what was coming. He tried to empty his mind of all thoughts as he stood with his face before dull rocks. For a moment, there was silence and he felt nothing but Dolohov's warm hands on his waist. He prayed that he was changing his mind that he was too tired to continue. Instead, he felt the pressure again.

Dolohov was breaching him, not just with his prick but he'd slid in two fingers as well. He pulled and teased inside of him, clearly meaning to stretch Draco cruelly. He tried to block out all thoughts, to go with the stretching, not thinking about the blood slithering down his back, scabby fingers and diseased prick inside of him. To claim him, Dolohov dragged his hard teeth behind Draco's neck, leaving savage teeth marks.

"Mine.... you're mine. I missed you, Malfoy. Did you miss me?"

"No."

Draco rested his forehead against his connected arms, emptying his mind, trying not to think about the humiliations, or about what was being done to him.

"Did you come to see him opened?" asked Dolohov.

Though he wondered who Dolohov was talking to, Draco didn't look. Too often he'd tried to see who the madman spoke with only to find no one there. It was always more distressing to know that Dolohov was talking to imaginary people than to think someone else might be there.

Dolohov bent to his knees, pushing his fingers inside of him. He pulled Draco's arse open, as wide as he could with all four fingers. Draco groaned at the humiliation and in fear of who he must be showing.

"I'll share him with you. Only his mouth. You have to fuck his mouth. His arse is mine. I'm getting my fist into him," Dolohov rasped.

"Are you really?" Harry's voice was husky and Draco dreaded that it was not the righteous indignation that he'd have hoped that he would have. He sounded interested. "Your whole fist? I might like to see that."

"You won't try to fuck him yourself?" asked Dolohov, his wand trained on Harry as the boy slid his fingers over the lashes on his back.

Draco trembled, not sure if he'd ever felt anything that danced on the edge of pain and ecstasy before. Harry's touches were almost more maddening because he wanted them. He longed for Harry to touch him even if he was going to hurt.

More than any of the tortures he'd endured; the realization that he would take Harry in any way that he could get him stung the worst. Unable to control it, he whimpered again and went lax against the chains, letting them hold him up. Maybe his lot in life was just to move from strong Wizard to strong Wizard, each of which would treat him badly-- would treat him how he felt and looked, like a stretched cow, waiting for slaughter.

Evidently, Dolohov had found something in Harry that he approved of and he eased back to watch him explore and touch. In spite of political affiliations, he was more than willing to share his toy. Maybe he'd just gone that crazy. It wouldn't do to put too much stock in his sanity. "You can have his cock if you want, Potter. That thing is useless. Rarely rises to the occasion, but it can be fun to yank on or stick pins in. Do you like sticking people with pins?"

If Harry was anything other than mildly interested in what Dolohov had to say, he didn't show it. Instead, he traced his index finger over the head of Draco's cock. As scared and angry as he was, Draco was surprised when he felt it begin to stir under Harry's gentle manipulation.

But the arousal was there, and he was getting hard, and Harry leaned in to say something to Draco. It was faint, almost a whispered prayer with the ardency of immediate need. "Don't scream. Hold on until the cavalry arrives."

"It's not just screaming Dolohov wants."

Harry grabbed his chin to force him to look into his eyes. The look was defiant, but afraid and Draco experienced a moment of doubt that Harry could do this. "I don't think I could bear it if you screamed"

Draco looked behind him, afraid of how many people would see him like this, stretched and glistening with sweat, arse bright red and spotted with a thick white lubricant that Dolohov had used to try to work his fist into him. He dropped his head when Dolohov looked at him.

"Dolohov, how long have you been doing this? The effects of those spells are incredible. I've never seen lashes like that. Such a brilliant blue. I didn't realize skin and blood could do that."

"They can't. It's the magic is wot does it. Gets into the skin and makes it stay that way. Sometimes you can undo it, but you always have the blue scarring left. You can't so easily undo that one." Dolohov lit up a pipe and inhaled the smoke and then blew it out, imbuing the cave with the scent of incense.

Harry nodded to him and gestured with his hand to go on, his hand on Draco's chin, still stroking him.

"There are some good ones though," he said, naming off a few. "I like to start with a blank canvas each time. I fear one day my art will have progressed to the point where I won't want to change a thing about him. Then Malfoy will be scarred in the way I see fit for eternity. He'll be marked as mine. You should get yourself a boy, Potter. Unless... you have the temperament our sweet Draco here does."

"Oh? What temperament does he have?"

"Malfoy's a little cock tease. Got information out of us, but he liked what he was doing. Anyone could see that. He didn't run away because he was scared. He ran because he wanted me to follow him, wanted me to be worthy of taking him like this-- of owning him. It was a good game, wasn't it, Malfoy?"

Dolohov waited in the hopes that Draco would answer one way or the other so he could punish him for either being greedy or for lying. Sagely, Draco remained impassive.

Then he looked over his shoulder out the front of the cave, thinking he'd seen something out there. It was but a flicker. Maybe a bird. Birds were common out here and Draco had long since quit hoping that there was someone interested in helping him. But then another flew by, and another. It was getting to be much for coincidence, but it could have been anything. Maybe a flock was coming to roost.

That was why he was so shocked that Harry and Dolohov's discussion about what all they were going to do with his body was interrupted by hexes flying blindly into the room. Harry hit the floor and crawled towards Draco as several stunners barely missed him. Harry pointed his wand at the chains over his head. The severing charm hit its mark and Draco dropped from the suspension and fell onto Harry who cradled him, whispering soothing words.

Watching the front of the cave from Harry's lap, not answering how he was, he saw the wizards and witches on dragons and brooms. They were led by Tonks who was barking orders as Charlie zoomed in closer with the dragon to strike the killing blow on Dolohov.

When Dolohov finally hit the floor, Draco felt at ease enough to pass out.

--

The first thing Draco fuzzily thought when he awoke was that he wasn't in St. Mungo's.

It shouldn't have been a shock to awaken in his bedroom, yet it was. Everything smelt sickeningly familiar and his skin crawled with how little he wanted to be himself right now. He ached for how everyone had seen him, but mostly rankled that Harry had seen him that way.

As he shifted, he felt how tight the skin on his back was. He wondered if he'd carry the scars or if someone had tried to fix them. Dolohov seemed to know how to do that, but with a grim satisfaction, he remembered the way Dolohov's face went waxy flat when he crumpled to the floor of the cave-- whether his back was permanently disfigured or not, Dolohov had left his indelible mark on Draco in the end.

Reaching behind him, Draco found what he could touch to be smooth, but it stung. He pushed off of the bed, glaring at his room as if it should have protected him from all of this.

Heading to the bathroom, Draco looked at his back in the mirror. There were traces of blue stripes that looked like giant veins crawling up to strangle his spine. He held out hope that they were still healing. It wouldn't put the nightmare completely behind him, but at least he wouldn't have to look at it.

Draco pulled on a dressing gown and limped through his room. Behind the door he heard muffled bickering. Harry and Ginny again. While he was glad not to be alone, he wasn't sure he could face Harry.

Or Ginny, for that matter. She wasn't there, but she'd undoubtedly heard about all of it. He was about to head back to his bed when the bickering ceased.

His stomach growled in angry protest at his hesitation and Draco screwed up his courage, hoping that they were gone. Tentatively, he opened the door and peeked through the crack.

Ginny and Harry's faces were mashed together. Harry's hands were up, but he wasn't stopping it, or pushing her away. Her face was red and puffy, eyes swollen. Swallowing hard, Draco noiselessly shut the door.

The noise alerted the two that Draco had seen and they knocked frantically and pushed against Draco's dead weight as he sat against the door. He sat his face in his hands as he sobbed just under the racket of Harry and Ginny trying to get inside, calling out apologies.

--

Draco dined in silence.

Ginny had gone home, fleeing Draco's disappointed wrath.

Harry sat contritely across from him. He'd wanted to say the right things, to try and explain that there hadn't been anything going on between he and Ginny and that the kiss just happened and that it was bad timing. But Draco was having none of it and had cast a silencing charm on him before tucking into his meal.

Though Harry could have easily reversed the spell, he'd decided to just let Draco have his way.

Secretly, Draco was glad it had happened. It gave him ample excuse not to look Harry in the eye, and now he had something to be righteously angry about rather than focusing on his embarrassment over what Harry had seen.

It was lonely, but he could deal with that. Draco could fixate on the feelings of betrayal and turn them into something tangible to hate, because everything else was too overwhelming.

When he was finished eating, Harry took Draco's plate and disappeared into the kitchen. Draco thought of a million things he wanted to scream at him, a plethora of hexes he'd like to throw at his retreating back, but ultimately, he felt too weary to do even that.

Harry returned a few minutes later with a quill and parchment. He wrote, "It's not safe for me to be voiceless. If something happens, I might need my voice to warn you, or cast stronger spells. I won't speak to you, I promise."

Draco read the note and crumpled the paper and averted his eyes, turning to look at a portrait, feeling utterly miserable. "Maybe I just don't care anymore."

He closed his eyes at the feel of Harry's warm hand atop his. Draco's fingers were still curled into the paper, but they tightened at the contact. Swallowing his pain, Draco kept his hand there, withstanding each confusing emotion that surfaced with all of the strength he had left. He acknowledged that Harry was right with a nod, releasing him from having to maintain the curse.

Harry ended the hex, but made no effort to speak.

Draco released the parchment and withdrew his hand.

After a beat, he left to watch the telly.

--

Draco awoke to another grey day and decided that instead of cloistering himself in his bedroom, he would have a walk about the grounds. The entirety of the Wiltshire manor inside of the gate was under the Fidelius charm, and while he'd felt too skittish before to test this theory, boredom had shored up his reckless bravery.

Besides, being a couch-bum was not becoming to a Malfoy, nor was it particularly flattering to his figure.

Outside, the late spring frost was hissing its foggy evaporation to the cresting sun, melting into heady dew. Draco twisted the side of his robe in one hand, bringing the hem up enough for him to launch into a run, expending pent up energy.

Sitting day in and day out with Harry in the manor was unacceptable. The eminent twisting of comfort and resentment at Harry's presence was stifling; it made him want to scream in frustration.

Don't scream. I don't think I could bear it.

The words were icy and sharp in his chest like the raw gasps of chilly mid-morning air. Breath puffed from Draco's mouth in short billowing bursts. He hated that he was so winded after such a short run, but he supposed that he'd been locked away for months and was theoretically still convalescing.

Further, he hated that he wasn't screaming at Harry, or at least finding his voice enough to tell him off, or to even ask for him to send someone else to keep watch over him. Making Harry go would be too final; it would end whatever niggling hope he had of....

Of what?

There was a time and place between two people where things could work, and they were far beyond that grace period. Draco couldn't stand to even look at him, but couldn't make him leave.

As far as he could tell, Harry had little other than sympathetic looks for him.

Pity. That's what Harry had for him. Draco felt another blinding burst of antipathy build until he really couldn't stand it any longer. Standing next to the dripping hawthorn hedge, Draco stretched out his arms and screamed to the heavens.

The bush rustled in response, dropping a few frost-covered red berries and leaves. Draco looked to the manor for a reaction, but only saw a curtain in Harry's window drop and sway.

Fisting his robe, Draco took another run around the manor.

--

Sitting on the bank of what had once been a koi pond, Draco felt a little like a reprobate juvenile who had fought with his parents and had runaway just outside of the door. It was silly to sit here as if it meant anything and he knew Harry was probably keeping a beady eye on him between sending the owls flying overhead.

Harry was in all probability trying to find someone else to baby sit him.

The idea made Draco feel sick and a little dizzy. Something vaguely chest-related twinged painfully as he imagined trying to get used to some other Order member.

Who would they send? Lupin? Draco knew he could never feel safe around a werewolf.

Being infected would just make this rotten life complete.

Brushing off the remnant dirt and twigs as he stood, his paranoia rose. As he tore into the Manor, his anxiety level ratcheted up as he heard the whooshing of the Floo.

Harry's replacement was here already.

Dear God.

Draco grabbed his stomach, feeling it burn and twist. He doubled over with it, the ache ripping through his body. But he wasn't going to hide out from it like he had all day. He was going to go in and see this.

He was going to watch Harry leave him.

"Thanks," he heard Harry say.

"It's not a problem at all. You're doing me a favor."

Was that Lupin's voice? Of course this was a favor; a huge upgrade for a werewolf's living conditions.

"You're sure you don't mind?"

I mind. I fucking mind. But no one ever fucking asks me.

"No, really. This works out well for me. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with..."

Lupin broke off as Draco flew around the corner, breathless, eyes red and clutching his side. His fury had built to the point where his vision tunneled. The recipients of his fury, Harry Potter and Remus Lupin, stood there blinking at him. He opened his mouth, not sure if he was going to vomit or scream, but he was interrupted by a small "mew."

Draco grabbed the doorframe and blinked a few times, bending over to catch his breath, trying to get his vision to resolve.

"...with all of the kittens," Lupin finished. His eyes were wide and alarmed and his hand on his wand pocket.

"All right, Malfoy?" asked Harry. In his arms was a squirming rat-thing. It took Draco a few more blinks to resolve the long black tail and sleek white (but sooty) body and dark ears.

"Kit...ten?" asked Draco. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Is that for Lupin to eat?"

"I think that's my cue to get back," said Remus, looking away from Draco. Whatever look of irritation Remus wasn't giving him, Harry shot at him.

Draco sneered in retort.

"It was lovely to see you as always, Harry. Malfoy." Remus nodded in Draco's direction without looking at him.

"What, you're not staying? Not taking over Potter's duties?" Draco stood up straighter. He was relieved, but had been so sure of what was going on.

"Is that what you want?" Harry asked. He dropped his gaze and stroked a finger over the kitten's small head. In return, it clawed his cheek.

Remus stood rooted to the spot, shooting a quizzical look at Harry before hesitantly eyeing Draco for answers. "I really was just bringing the kitten, but if you need me to stay..."

Feeling horridly on the spot, Draco stared down at the floor, thinking no so hard he was giving himself a headache. But he couldn't say it. He couldn't force his lazy tongue to move over his resistant lips, to part his teeth; he couldn't get his vocal cords to agree and his body was only capable of a slow, shaking exhale. It was his moment of truth, the time where he had to make it right and the moment was fading before he could even react.

He'd run all the way here on the pretense that Harry was going to leave and now he couldn't shake out of it to even answer a simple and obvious question.

"No, it's fine, Remus." Harry didn't sound pleased, but at least he wasn't leaving.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'll let you know, all right? Thanks again, I think the kitten will be good company." The last part of the sentence was said with venom and Draco shrank from Harry's irritation, even if he had no idea what Harry was so angry about.

After a few more parting words, Remus left. Harry stood in front of Draco, petting the kitten. Draco could hear the kitten's machinelike purring and tilted his head up to eye the shaking little thing.

Harry took it as prompting to speak.

"I'm sorry you don't like me, Malfoy, but that's too damned bad. No one else can protect you as well as I can and we both know it."

When Draco met Harry's eyes, he couldn't begin to fathom what the expression meant. It was somewhere between pity and rage and the mingled emotions of apology and pain. Draco wanted to slap the look off of his face, to watch it give way to the rage he knew was in arm's reach.

When he went to swing, instead he grabbed Harry's hair and yanked his face close and breathed over his astonished face before kissing him demandingly.

It was all teeth and ire, he bit Harry's bottom lip out of sheer spiteful memory of seeing Ginny's face pressed against Harry's like this. Draco wanted to bite, rend, tear, own. He wanted Harry all to himself, to consume him and be consumed by him in ways he couldn't even begin to express. He just wanted to drown in him, to hide somewhere inside of Harry, to know that he would always, always be there, no matter what else happened.

All at once, Harry's hand was on his chest and he was shoved back against the doorframe. Draco's head made a hollow thud against the wood and he felt the reverberations of pain that echoed in his ear.

His shoulders hitched up as his body welled up into a sob as he looked weakly at Harry who had turned to set the kitten down.

Harry ended up tossing the kitten onto the armchair as he wheeled around, expression tense with concern. "Shit! Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't know I... pushed you that hard..."

Something inside of Draco unfurled, uncoiling like an angry snake backed into a corner. He felt the jolt of adrenaline as he made the choice to fight rather than try to flee.

This time when Draco swung at Harry, he connected with his jaw. Deftly, Harry ducked, using momentum to drive him forward to grab Draco around the waist, tackling him against the wall.

Even though it was futile, Draco beat on Harry's back as Harry clung to him.

"I'm sorry, Draco. I'm sorry. I would never hurt you on purpose. I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Harry cupped the back of Draco's head, touching it lightly and carefully as Draco slowed his abuse, finally just sagging against Harry.

Draco pulled Harry's hand away from his head and examined it, curious as to whether there was blood or not. The spot still hurt, but the skin was not broken. Everything felt broken, though, and all Draco could really do was lean against Harry and wonder when he'd be shoved away next.

"It hurt," he said between frantic breaths.

"I'm sorry. I know. I'm so sorry. I just wanted to put the kitten down." Harry's hands slid over Draco's back so fervently that it warmed him.

"No, not just... that.... You... and Ginny." Draco's sinuses were painfully full and his face hot. His nose ran onto Harry's shirt and as much as he worried about Harry thinking it was disgusting, that he was disgusting, there wasn't much he could do.

Harry had seen him worse off than this.

Harry's movements stopped and he squeezed Draco so tightly that he couldn't move or breathe, which was almost a relief as it freed him from the burden of continuing with the wracking sobs. "I'm sorry."

"Why didn't... she... you didn't stop... and..." Draco was feeling faint from lack of breathing and how overwhelming his emotions were. He'd always stopped them, iced them out before they could take him over like this. He'd never wanted anyone to see him this weak, but here he was, weak again in front of his erstwhile enemy. It was humiliating, and Draco knew the true depths of that emotion.

"I don't know."

Draco started to push away. He wasn't going to expose himself like this only to have Harry thoughtlessly try to blow him off.

"Mal--Draco, I don't know why I let her kiss me. I don't know why she would try to kiss me with you in there. Maybe it was shock, or maybe it was just... you confuse me. You've always confused me and challenged me and pushed me. I thought... I thought after the war that nothing would shake me. That after seeing friends and foes falling that nothing and no one would ever reach me again and yet..." Harry's voice trailed off and Draco was stunned to see Harry's expression just as torn as his own.

Draco cupped his face, memorizing his flushed cheeks, his ravaged lips, the way his glasses sat askew on his face and how the skin around his scar bled white when his face was red. He tilted his face up and brushed his lips over the rough skin, feeling Harry's hot breath on his chin and neck. Putting his lips together against the scar, Draco pressed kisses along each jagged centimeter, teasing his tongue out to taste the salty sweat as Harry clung to him.

He kissed between Harry's brows and then pressed his cheek to Harry's forehead. His face felt feverish and Draco was certain that his temperature had risen. Out of all of the times he'd been told he was loved, all of the words and hollow reassurances he'd once received, this felt the most like it.

It wasn't flowers and it wasn't chocolate or walking off into the dazzling sunset, but it was his, and maybe Harry was his, if he could get over himself and his sickening denial. Tentatively, Draco brought his arms up from his sides and wrapped them gently around Harry's back. At first, he just held them there, his arms tense and ready to pull away should Harry bark at him to do so, but as Harry's arms tightened around him, crossing possessively over his back, Draco followed suit and hid his face against Harry's neck.

In spite of the intense proximity of their bodies and the strength with which Harry was holding him, Draco could finally breathe again.

--

Draco awoke to something sharp and wet on his nose that tore him out of a dream about horses. Opening his eyes, there was a fuzzy face and a fishy smell. Then it started to purr. He grabbed the kitten and pulled it back on his chest to really look at it. It mewed at him and he watched it curiously. Having never had a pet, he found it interesting to see this tiny, furry face staring back at him looking so needy.

"He needs a name." Harry was laying on his side next to Draco, still in his boxers and t-shirt.

"Scarhead," Draco suggested. He was similarly attired and judged by the slant of light that it was still fairly early in the morning. They hadn't slept long, and Draco was resistant to waking up completely just yet. Still, his answer made him grin to himself.

"Don't call him that. Don't call me that, you git." Harry slid his fingers over the glossy body of the brown and white cat. "He has Siamese markings. Maybe we could call him... Siam."

"Potty." Draco's grin broadened and he wriggled closer to Harry. The night before had been lush and slow with Harry taking his time sliding his hands over Draco's body, learning to appreciate it. They hadn't done much other than feel and snog, and Draco found that he enjoyed Harry's leisurely pace.

"Would you be serious?" Harry's hand stilled on the kitten. "No jokes about my godfather."

"Wouldn't dream of it. How about Pothead?" Gently, Draco rubbed his index finger under the kitten's chin, charmed at how it stretched and moved into the affection.

Harry traced his fingers from the soft fur over Draco's finger and then caressed the back of his hand. "How about Meezer?"

"Pot plant." Draco closed his eyes as Harry's hand moved up his arm, the pads of his fingers traced over his forearm to tickle-touch the crook of his elbow.

"Now you're trying too hard." Harry rested the side of his face on Draco's shoulder and breathed lightly against his neck.

"Pot Noodle." Again the touch was feather light, and Draco, like the kitten, tilted his head up to make his neck more available for Harry's breath. Or his tongue. Or his lips.

"Noodle's a good name," Harry whispered, nuzzling his nose to Draco's neck.

It wasn't a good name at all, but Draco wasn't going to argue with Harry nuzzling his neck.

Scooping up the kitten, Draco set Noodle on the floor beside the bed. Draco rubbed his chin on top of Harry's head, feeling his breath catch at how intimate it felt to be touched like this.

Harry fingered Draco's ribcage and down to his sharp hipbones. Harry had dodged his cock so many times the night before that it was driving Draco mad with his want for Harry to touch him. As Harry's hand moved down to the top of his thigh, Draco moved his legs further apart.

His fingers swirled on his inner thigh, the top of his hand barely brushed his balls and Draco bit down on his crooked finger to keep from moaning. As wary as Harry could be about sex, Draco didn't want to scare him off by being loud, but he wanted so much to be touched, to know that Harry would accept every part of him.

On top of that, he wanted to suck Harry's cock, to have him fill his mouth and take it, to make it his own. To fill it with come. Draco's cock jumped at the idea of Harry coming in his mouth, in his arse, to fuck him and leave part of himself behind, that piece of Harry that Draco would keep.

Harry's tongue dragged velvet warmth in a cooling stripe up the side of his neck and then along his jaw. Tilting his head downward, Draco caught his lips and kissed him deeply, merging tongue to tongue and mouth to mouth without fury and without pity, but with need and curiosity.

Reaching for Harry, Draco snaked his hand up under Harry's shirt, feeling the suppleness of his chest as he brushed his thumb over Harry's nipple. Since Harry didn't fight off the touch, Draco squeezed it lightly and, delighted in the soft moan it elicited from Harry, Draco did it again and Harry's hand stopped on Draco's inner thigh where he had been casually stroking him.

"Touch me," Draco finally said as he turned onto his side to face Harry. He shook in anticipation of Harry having a fit and leaving, but instead, his inquisitive fingers brushed over his cock, feeling it through his silken boxers. As quickly as his hand had been on it, he pulled it away.

It was difficult for Draco not to groan. Dolohov and Carrows and other random Death Eaters had tried to get him hard and had often failed. For Harry, getting aroused was almost automatic, but Harry didn't seem terribly interested in his prick. Instead, he brought his hands up to Draco's chest and he repeated what Draco had done with his thumbs and the pinching.

Draco was almost mad with want and pressed harder against Harry, feeling how Harry's cock answered the call and poked against him.

Draco wanted to scream why? But he knew why; Harry was trembling against him, scared.

For a heady moment, Draco had to congratulate himself on evidently being as scary as Voldemort, but it wasn't exactly helping his case. He tried frotting against Harry, trying to get any sort of friction he could, but Harry pulled his hips back. The move wasn't dramatic, but it definitely made the point.

As much as Draco wanted to ask Harry about it, he was too afraid of the answer. After snogging for a while longer with no change in Harry's attitude about touching or being touched, and without any encouragement that there would be a change, Draco pulled away and tossed off in the shower.

--

By the end of day three, Draco was getting quite frustrated that Harry wasn't moved by his hormones to do something. As much as he loved the extensive foreplay, he was getting desperate. Part of him wondered what the big deal was. They'd shagged before, but then, Draco had pretty much pushed Harry down and sat on him.

Surely it couldn't have been a question of lust. He and Harry were nearly always snogging or otherwise touching one another, but something was holding him back and Draco was afraid that the answer was going to be that Harry couldn't accept his cock.

Gender and sexuality wasn't something Draco had thought on that much other than to try and hide it. It seemed to him that Harry wanted to snog him and wanted everything about Draco except his cock. He fretted that Harry was neither gay nor bisexual but that he'd just found himself in the predicament of loving and wanting another man.

Draco sighed heavily and walked down to the Malfoy library, curious as to what he might find there on the topic. He suspected that there wouldn't be much. His father had been more interested in dark arts than queer issues, but Draco was grasping at straws.

Noodle followed Draco wherever he went in the house. He'd never had a familiar before, and he wasn't sure if Noodle counted since he was very much an ordinary kitten, but Draco imagined it would be like this; an animal following him around, getting into whatever he was doing and splaying himself over books as Draco tried to read.

Not finding anything to his liking, Draco lay down in the middle of the circular room. Rows upon rows of books spiraled upwards to the second story. He'd had to levitate in order to view each one. Now he was staring at the circular molding and the large bubble candle chandelier above him.

When he was younger, he would often lay here and think about how small he was amongst all of these words and all of this knowledge. It made him feel a part of something bigger, and set him to the idealistic goal of reading every book. Because of the peculiarities of his situation and his life, and perhaps a bit of laziness on his part, he'd never made a dent.

Now he wondered if wisdom could be gleaned by proximity. Perhaps these books with all of their words would suffuse him with the right ones to say to Harry; the incantation to make things seem less impossible.

Per the Daily Prophet delivered that morning, yet another Death Eater had been apprehended, reminding Draco of a grim approaching deadline. Once the Death Eaters had been rounded up, he would no longer need protection and Harry would no longer need to hide. Once exposed to the outside world, he wasn't sure he could continue to captivate Harry for snogging.

His mind played the cruel trick of summoning the memory of Ginny kissing Harry, which reinforced his suspicion that proximity might be the only thing making him particularly attractive. Once they were out in the real world and he was allowed to see other people and interact with his friends, Draco would be left behind still feeling scared and alone.

Draco pulled his arms over his face as if it could block out whatever was causing him these flurries of suspicion and self-recrimination. Noodle took advantage of his reclined position and hopped onto his chest, purring and trying to wedge his head under Draco's hand. He stroked his head and tried to concentrate on the comfort Noodle provided.

"Mrew?" Noodle pulled away, and then trotted off.

Sitting up, Draco turned to confront the capricious cat but instead saw Harry leaning against the doorway with his head tilted to the side. "Hiding out?"

"Somewhere I never dreamed you'd look," Draco retorted.

Harry rolled his eyes and looked up at the rows of books and on to the ceiling. "You always seemed the chair type to me. I didn't expect to find you on the floor."

Noting Harry's line of sight, Draco asked, "How long have you been here?" Caught on the floor staring absently at the ceiling-- how embarrassing.

"Not long." Harry's gaze dropped back to Draco. He pushed off of the doorframe with his shoulder and crossed to where Draco was and dropped to sit cross-legged next to Draco.

Everything seemed so perfectly easy and natural to Harry. Even his movements were so simple, so unquestioning. Draco wondered if he'd ever experienced a moment of doubt in his life. "I just came for a book. I thought I might read some. The telly is getting repetitive."

"That it does. I worried you might be avoiding me." Harry nodded and pressed his hand over Draco's belly and he moved it in slow, soothing circles.

One of Draco's favorite simple touches was this gentle belly rub, feeling the soft trace of fingers, and the sweetness of the affection. Draco stretched out on the floor, raising his arms up over his head to play paw at the air. He didn't have an answer for that, as it wasn't true, but it wasn't untrue, either. He wanted to learn to speak to Harry, but as he felt incapable of doing so had driven him into hiding.

Harry humm'ed at the lack of response and said, "I meant to tell you last night that I noticed your back is clear of scars. Does it still hurt?"

"No. Not really. It gets a little sore sometimes, but I think that's just because I'm tense." Draco closed his eyes, deciding he didn't want to see the look on Harry's face over that remark.

"I could massage your back."

"You could." Draco wondered if that was a good idea or not. Harry didn't seem to have a problem touching him everywhere but his cock, but that wasn't exactly a good thing. Still, he would take what he could get and toss off later.

"Unless you don't want me to." Harry's hand withdrew and Draco opened his eyes again.

"I want you to, just... not right here."

Harry nodded. "On the bed then?"

Already Draco could feel his cock stir with interest.

Maybe Harry wouldn't notice or care if he humped the bed. "Yeah, on the bed."