Remembered Fire

REMEMBERED FIRE

Part Four

He awoke slowly, swimming up through a heavy fog, the haze enhancing darkness and warmth, softness cocooning his body. He felt heavy, weighed down, and even as his mind registered that he was not, in fact, dead, he couldn’t seem to marshal the wherewithal to care. He drifted for a while, between sleep and wakefulness, luxuriating in the warmth and the lack of pain, but not wanting to test the limits of his consciousness enough to search his surroundings. Finally though, almost of their own volition his eyes drifted open, and he found himself in an unfamiliar space, looking up at the heavy black velvet canopy of a massive bed. Light flickered on the dark fabric, and he turned his head and saw that he was in a large, dark bedroom and the only light appeared to be from a fire burning in a fireplace across the room. He stared at it for a moment, watching the flames dance, a frown furrowing his brow. Where was he? He wasn’t in his room at home; the hangings on his huge four poster were white, not black. And he hadn’t been at home, had he?

He lifted his hand to his head, and noticed that his wrist was bruised. He studied the perfect set of fingers marks on the white skin, and then it all came back to him in a dizzying rush. He gasped as his hand went to this throat, finding a thick, stiff bandage covering the cool skin.

“He didn’t have time,” a deep voice said, and Draco stiffened. His eyes sought out the owner of the voice, but it had come from a pocket of deep shadow in a far corner and he could not see him. But the sound of it… oh, the sound, even after all of this time, was as familiar to him as his own voice. “I mended the bones in your wrist. The wounds on your throat… those will take longer. I did what I could to close them, but they will probably scar.”

He heard footsteps then, gradually coming closer, and the dancing light of the flames picked up first black shoes, then black denims before revealing a broad chest encased in a fitted black jumper. He paused for a moment, as if realizing that his features were still in shadow, and sank his hands almost nervously into the front pockets of his trousers before taking the final step that would illuminate his face.

Draco knew he’d made a sound, a cross between a gasp and a soft cry, when the green eyes darkened with concern.

“Are you in pain?”

The distance between them was closed in a heartbeat, and Draco lay there staring up into a face he’d thought lost to him forever.

He was pale, but his skin seemed to glow with on odd sort of inner light and the strong cheekbones, square chin and straight nose were just as he’d remembered and yet… so much more. His hair was exactly as it had been when he’d last seen him; short, wild, slightly longer over his forehead in an attempt to hide the scar. His glasses were gone, leaving the deep green eyes unobstructed, the long sweep of thick, silky lashes and the elegantly arched brows uncovered. He looked… unchanged, untouched by age, and so beautiful that it was painful. Draco drank in the sight of him even as his heart lurched and he felt tears fill his eyes. Harry Potter frowned and stepped closer.

“Are you hurting, Draco? I have potions…”

“It is you,” Draco breathed, his heart in his throat. “I thought I’d dreamed it, that it couldn’t be real. My God, Harry, I thought that you were dead.”

Draco saw the sadness that filled Harry’s eyes even as he straightened and took a half step back. “For all practical purposes,” he said somberly, “I am.”

Silence settled between them as they studied each other for a long time, and for his part, Harry seemed as hungry for the sight of Draco as Draco was for him. Draco, however, knew that he had aged, and had suffered by comparison. He lifted his hand to his hair.

“I’m older.” He knew that it was obvious, and immediately felt his cheeks heat. “Well, of course I am…”

“You look… wonderful,” Harry said wistfully.

“And you are beautiful,” Draco said, then lifted his hand from the black satin counterpane. “Sit with me?”

Harry looked like he wanted to come and take his hand desperately, but he stayed where he was. “It… isn’t a good idea,” he said softly.

“You can’t even sit beside me?” Draco lowered his hand to the satin, his fingers moving restlessly over the bedding.

He shook his dark head regretfully. “It isn’t a good idea, Draco,” he said apologetically. “You have an open wound on your throat, and you must never let yourself forget what I am.”

Draco swallowed heavily. “Can you tell me, at least? Tell me what happened?”

Harry stared into his eyes for a long moment, then pulled one of the hands from his pockets and gestured, and a heavy chair that sat before the fire slid silently across the hardwood floor. Draco’s eyes widened.

“Your magic… has gotten stronger?”

Harry looked at him as he settled into the chair. He shrugged slightly, appearing embarrassed. “Some things. Wandless spells, mostly.”

“And Non-verbal,” Draco murmured. Harry nodded dismissively, as if it really didn’t matter. He settled back into the chair with a soft sigh, his hands moving restlessly on the denim covering his thighs. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Everything,” Draco answered, his eyes glued to Harry’s face. Harry returned that level stare for a long moment, then nodded.

“I suppose I owe you that.” He took and released a deep breath. “Gautlier told the truth out there tonight, at least about part of it. When I saw that hex hit you that night, I… lost my focus. All I could think was that you were hurt, that you had to be taken to safety…”

“I’m sorry,” Draco murmured, his throat tight. “I was careless…”

“You weren’t,” Harry countered firmly. “We were set up, and impossibly outnumbered. I knew almost the moment we Apparated in that it was a trap. I didn’t realize that it was Gautlier and his goons.” He shook his head. “Not until later.”

“I saw you go down,” Draco said faintly. “I thought… it looked like…” his voice stalled in his throat then, and his eyes stung as they filled. Harry saw the tears and after pausing just a moment, leaned on the edge of the bed and put his hand over Draco’s. His palm was cool but not cold, and Draco turned his own hand quickly, gripping the offered fingers hard. “Oh, God, Harry…” he choked out as the tears spilled.

“I know, love,” Harry said in a suffocated voice, and Draco saw that his own eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I know, and I’m sorry. So bloody sorry…”

“You didn’t have to go away,” Draco said quickly as the tears spilled down his face. “It wouldn’t have mattered, not to me…”

Harry went very still then, and not unkindly, withdrew his hand. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said quietly.

“I do,” Draco countered, rising up onto his elbows. “I wouldn’t have cared. I still don’t care!”

“Draco,” Harry said. “You don’t understand…”

“Then tell me!” Draco knew that his voice had risen, that he sounded desperate. Harry stared, then sighed, his hand coming up to the back of his neck, rubbing at tense muscles there. He finally let his hand fall heavily into his lap.

“I don’t remember the spell that hit me,” he began quietly. “I don’t remember much of anything, for… weeks after that night. It’s hard to explain…” He plucked absently at his trousers, his eyes now lowered to his own knees. “Gautlier’s plan from the beginning was to pay me back for being… in his eyes, arrogant. I think he was really insulted that he couldn’t seem to get to me, that for whatever reason, his ‘charm’,” his lips twisted wryly, “didn’t work on me. He had a rather healthy opinion of himself, and he was highly insulted by my indifference.” His mouth twisted sourly. “Egotistical arse. But more than that, he had concocted this plan to install himself somewhere as a new Dark Lord, and was even then trying to build an army of others… just like him.” His eyes lifted then. “Do you remember the attacks that we were tracing, the sudden upswing in supposed Death Eater activity, right before that last night?” Draco nodded faintly. “It was Gautlier and his… minions,” he spat.

Draco lay back down, turning his head on the pillow. “It stopped you know, after,” he said softly. “Just… stopped. No more murders, no more dark spells...”

Harry closed his eyes, and his broad shoulders lifted and fell with a heavy sigh. “He had what he wanted.”

Silence grew between them for a moment. “He’d wanted you,” Draco finally broke it with a soft gasp. “My God, it was all about getting you.”

Harry didn’t do anything for a moment, then nodded jerkily. Draco rolled to his side, his hand sliding across the satin spread toward where Harry sat. “That doesn’t explain why you just… disappeared, Harry.” Harry’s eyes opened on his, then he looked quickly away. “Please,” Draco pleaded softly. “Please. I need to understand…”

Harry swallowed heavily, his Adam’s apple working beneath the pale skin of his throat. “You don’t know what it’s like, Draco,” he said very quietly. “When you’re first… changed, you’re less man than animal. It’s all about… feeding. There is no shame, or conscience, or humanity left in you. You are an animal, an animal that needs blood to survive. An animal that needs a… handler, a sire, to direct you.” He stopped, his fingers clenching on his thighs, and Draco had to fight the urge to cover one of his pale hands. “In the hands of a decent sire, the transformation can be… managed, with a minimum of death. A vampire can feed without killing. But a new vampire is a feral creature, and if left to its own devices, there are no built in regulators to stop it from destroying the very thing that it needs.” He lifted his eyes to Draco’s, and the look in them tore at his heart. “Do you understand?”

He looked so tortured that Draco wished he could say that he did, but Harry could see that he didn’t. He bit his lip, his eyes drifting closed. “Gautlier… did not manage me,” he whispered. “He took me places and… turned be lose. By the time I’d… ‘settled’, I had done… horrible things. Horrible, horrible things.” He shook his head as tears slipped from beneath this closed lids.

“But, you couldn’t help that,” Draco whispered. “You said it yourself; when a vampire is first changed, it has no control…”

Harry’s eyes opened, and for a moment they burned. “Muggles, Draco. Women,” he said harshly. “And children.”

Draco couldn’t help it. He recoiled from the words, from the look in his eyes, and Harry saw. He turned his head and closed his eyes, and Draco didn’t know what to say.

After a pause, Harry began to speak again. “He did it on purpose,” he went on, his voice deadened. “Allowed me to become a monster, encouraged it, even. When I began to remember who I was, and I knew of the things that I had done…” He paused, his eyes still closed, his jaw tight. “I begged him to kill me,” he whispered into the darkness. “I begged him, on my knees. He laughed.” He shook his dark head, then took a deep breath and opened his eyes. His lashes were damp around them, clumped together and spiky when he looked at Draco once again. “He did try to seduce me,” he went on a bit ironically. “I had enough humanity left in me to be able to resist that, at least. Once he realized that I would never be his… mate --” his lip curled at the word, “-- and his need to pull me out into the open had resulted in exactly what he’d wanted, my destruction, he abandoned me to my own devices and left the country. I didn’t know where he’d gone; I didn’t care. I only knew that I couldn’t remain in England, not where there was a possibility that someone might recognize me.”

Draco frowned. “You could have come to me,” he said softly. “I would have helped you.”

Harry’s eyes warmed for a moment as he studied him. “I know you would have,” he answered pensively. “It’s why I didn’t do it.” Draco knew that the hurt he felt at the words was reflected in his eyes when Harry went on quickly. “Don’t misunderstand,” he said gently. “I wanted to. God, how I wanted to. I watched you, did you know that?” Draco shook his head slightly. “I did. I watched you in the gardens at the Manor, learning to walk again. I saw how… damaged the whole thing had left you, and felt even more ashamed. But I couldn’t come to you, Draco. I couldn’t trust myself. It was all still too new, and I couldn’t trust myself not to take what I know that you would have offered. I wasn’t a man anymore, and I couldn’t give you the life that we’d wanted together.” He paused then, his eyes dropping back to his own knees. “I also couldn’t risk someone seeing me. If the media had got hold of it, of what I’d become…” He shook his dark head even as his shoulders stiffened. “I could not leave that as a legacy for my children. It was bad enough that they had to grow up as Harry Potter’s children, but this?” He shook his head more emphatically. “No, I wouldn’t do that to them.”

Draco thought about Scorpius, about how young he’d been when all of this had happened. Harry had three children, and Lily and Albus had been little more than babies. “I understand,” he murmured, and Harry’s eyes came back to his.

“Do you?”

Draco nodded. “I’d not have done it to Scorpius, either.”

Harry studied his face for a long moment before his eyes dropped away. “Thank you for that.”

Silence settled around them, broken only by the soft popping sound of the fire. “How did you end up here?” Draco finally asked. Harry’s green eyes lifted.

“Here, in America? Or here in Charleston?”

“Both. Either.” Draco answered.

Harry leaned his dark head against the high back of the elegant chair. “I wanted out of Europe,” he answered levelly. “I left the vault that my parents had left for Ginny and the kids; it should have been more than sufficient for their needs. But she had never had access to the Black accounts. I cleaned them out as soon as I could. It was a much larger sum than I’d ever realized. I won’t have to worry about money for years.”

“And no one at Gringott’s recognized you?” Draco asked, incredulous.

“Oh, they did,” Harry said, the corner of his lips lifting ironically. “But their code of secrecy extends even to clients that happen to have become undead. You’ve no idea the underground network in most wizard capitals that caters to magical creatures. Even in Britain, there is an entire infrastructure that the wizarding population at large knows nothing about. And here, in America, there isn’t the same prejudice that is still so prevalent at home. Elves are not owned here; they serve but they are paid. And vampires have certain… cache that they don’t really enjoy anywhere else.” He smirked slightly, and the expression was so unusual for the Harry that Draco remembered that he could only stare. “We’re considered very sexy,” he said flatly. “And an added benefit; in America, they’ve heard of Harry Potter, but they’ve never seen him.” Harry stared at the floor, his brow slightly furrowed.

“That explains America,” Draco prompted when Harry went silent. Green eyes lifted again.

“I’m in Charleston because Gautlier was in Charleston,” he answered tightly. Draco didn’t prod when he stopped again; just waited. “I was in New Orleans,” Harry said finally. “There’s a large underground there, and the network provides things we need to survive. I began to hear… things, about a vampire that was setting himself up with a small army of followers. One who was quite mad, and who was beginning to have delusions of grandeur. Muggle borns were beginning to be targets, unrecognizable spells were being used. I knew it was Gautlier, and I knew what he was trying to do.” He paused, green eyes flat. “I could not let him. He had to be stopped.” Something flickered briefly in his eyes. “He has been stopped.”

Draco inhaled sharply. “He’s dead, then.”

“He was dead before,” Harry responded emotionlessly. “But he’s been ended, yes.”

Draco remembered the wash of liquid that he’d felt spill over him, and glanced down at the white button-down shirt he wore that was not his own. A shudder passed over the surface of his skin, and Harry saw.

“It’s barbaric, but it’s the only way to be completely sure.”

Draco nodded, swallowing heavily. “And his followers?”

Harry shrugged indifferently. “The main ones are gone as well. The rest are little more than parasites who will follow whoever is strongest.”

Draco studied the hard face. “And you are strongest,” he murmured. Harry didn’t respond; he didn’t have to.

“Now you know why I am here,” Harry said, his voice deep. “Why are you?”

Draco studied the steady green eyes. “I had to retire after… my leg.” He gestured towards it, and Harry nodded. “But the Ministry brought me in occasionally to consult, especially when the old Death Eater spells were being recycled.” Harry nodded. “And there was something else.” One black brow arched in question. “Hermione recognized your magical signature on some of the dead vampires. She asked me to come and check it out.”

Harry’s eyes sharpened at the mention of his friend’s name. “How is she?” he asked quickly. “And Ron? How are they?”

Draco felt a surge of compassion fill his chest. They’d always been so close, the three of them. It would have had to feel like an amputation to lose both of them; Draco knew that was how they had felt. “They are fine,” he assured Harry. “They still have just the two, Rose and Hugo, who have grown into fine people.” He hesitated a moment, then pushed on. “As have your children, by the way.”

Harry looked so stricken that Draco regretted the impetuosity that had prompted him to say it, but then he saw Harry lean forward, his hands on his knees. “Tell me,” he said roughly. “Please.”

“Albus and Scorpius are good friends, actually, and he’s a fine young man,” Draco said kindly. “They were both in Gryffindor, which came as a bit of a nasty shock for my father, I can tell you.” For the first time since they’d been reacquainted, Harry smiled: slowly, a glamorous transformation, dimples appearing where they’d always been. Draco found himself searching his teeth, and Harry must have noticed, because his grin turned slightly wry.

“They descend when I have need for them, and only then,” he answered the unspoken question, and Draco felt himself color in embarrassment at being caught. “And how are James, and Lily?” This was asked anxiously.

“James is a healer,” Draco answered. “He was married about a year ago, and he and his wife have a new baby.”

Harry’s eyes were shining damply in the firelight. “I’m a grandfather?” he asked a bit breathlessly, and Draco stared into the incongruously young face and nodded slightly.

“You are.” His own voice caught on the next words. “A boy, named Harry.”

Harry blinked quickly, and Draco’s own throat felt thick watching him fight for composure. “And little Lily?” Harry managed after a moment.

“Not so little now. She is a lovely girl, very like her mother in appearance,” Draco answered gently. “She plays chaser for the Harpies.”

Harry shook his head slowly, once again staring at the floor. “She was six months old when I last saw her,” he said wistfully. “How is her mother?” he asked carefully. Draco swallowed an absurd surge of jealousy that he’d even asked; of course, he would ask. She was the mother of his children.

“Fine, at last report. We don’t really see one another,” he answered a bit shortly, and Harry’s eyes lifted to his, knowing. Draco looked away but once again knew his cheeks were flushed. “She remarried. Thomas.”

“Ah.”

Silence settled again. Draco searched his mind for something to say. “Her parents are well, and her brothers.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Draco plucked at the counterpane as the room quieted. That couldn’t be all there was to be said between them, could it? After all of this time... He searched for something else, considered telling him that Longbottom was now Head Master at Hogwarts, or that Blaise Zabini had beaten his mother’s record and married six times. Or that the remaining Weasley twin was now one of the richest wizards in Britain with the success of his string of joke shops, or that the odd Lovegood woman was now Chief Witch of the Wizengamot. There were so many things he didn’t know, and yet telling him seemed almost… cruel, somehow. When Harry’s voice came to him, it was deep, and resonant, almost caressing through the dim light.

“And what about you?”

Draco’s eyes jerked up from where he was staring at the black satin he was fingering, to find Harry’s watching him, gaze penetrating. Draco blinked.

“Me?”

“How have you been?”

Draco studied the handsome face, considered lying, then couldn’t.

“As dead as I thought that you were.”

Harry looked stunned, then shot up from the chair, his hands going hard into the back pockets of his denims as he turned away.

“That isn’t fair.”

“That isn’t fair?” Draco said incredulously, a surge of anger pulsing through him, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Have you any idea what the last… nineteen years have been like for me?”

Harry turned, his own eyes hard. “You mean the last nineteen years and four days? If you give me a moment, I can give you the hours and minutes, if you’d like.”

Draco stared at him. “Harry, you let me believe that you were dead!”

“Draco, I am!”

His words echoed in the shadowy bedchamber as they stared at one another; Draco’s eyes wide, Harry’s face all harsh lines and sharply drawn angles.

“Harry,” Draco whispered, “you aren’t.”

“My God, did you not listen to me at all?” Harry asked sharply. “I’ve… done things…” He stopped when Draco reached down and grabbed the cuff at his left wrist, then yanked up his sleeve, revealing the fading Dark Mark.

“Harry, I’ve ‘done things’,” he retorted, shoving his arm forward.

Harry stopped, swallowed heavily. “It isn’t the same…”

“You’re absolutely right,” Draco retorted. “I chose this. You didn’t choose what happened to you.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that I’m a monster!” Harry cried, hands fisting. Draco stared at him, and his eyes began to burn.

“You aren’t… a monster,” he said, his voice trembling, rising to his knees. He had to make him see; had to make him understand. “You saved me tonight. A monster would never have done that. A monster would have walked away. A monster would not have spent the last six months trying to rid the world of yet another evil. You’re still Harry… my Harry.” He brought his hand up and pressed a fist over his heart. “My Harry.”

Harry turned his back, and Draco saw his broad shoulders trembling. “Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?” Draco persisted. “Don’t tell you the truth? Don’t tell you that I’ve loved you every minute of every hour of every day of the last nineteen years? Don’t tell you that now that I’ve seen you again, I can never go back to believing that you’re gone? Because I can’t, Harry. I can’t, and I won’t.”

Harry turned back, his eyes wet, and there were silvery ribbons of moisture on his cheeks, but his jaw was hard. “I’ll Obliviate you, if I have to.”

Draco stared at him, saw that he meant it, but he didn’t believe it. “You won’t,” he said quietly. “You haven’t the capacity to be that cruel. You never have.”

Harry lifted his hands then and rubbed them over his face, then up through his hair in a gesture of frustration that was so achingly familiar that Draco felt his chest begin to throb. “Draco, you must see how hopeless this is,” he said finally, his hands dropping to his sides.

Draco stared at him, then shook his head slowly. “I don’t…” he answered. “I don’t at all.”

“I. Drink. Blood. Human blood.” Harry spaced the words as if speaking to a slow child, his expression exasperated.

Draco merely shrugged, his eyes heating. “I have blood,” he breathed. “And you yourself said that a Vampire needn’t kill to feed…”

He saw Harry’s nostrils flare, saw him dampen his lips with his tongue even as his eyes darkened, and Draco’s cock twitched and began to fill in response. “Stop,” Harry snapped shortly, but Draco saw the reaction his words had had on Harry, and desperation made him press his advantage.

“But I want you,” he said, his voice dropping, his heart pounding with the truth of it. “In all ways, whatever that means now.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Harry muttered, taking a step back. Draco followed an equal distance on his knees. “You’re responding to something you don’t understand, something that’s an inherent part of the vampire. It’s part of our allure, what allows us to seduce our victims. I can’t always control it, and…” he dampened his lips again, and the sheen of sweat began to gather on his forehead. “You don’t want me… you want it.”

“Please don’t insult me,” Draco countered, and Harry stopped moving to stare at him, wide-eyed. “You were able to seduce me long before…” He paused when Harry grimaced. “Long before, when your allure was simply in being you.” Harry’s eyes closed, almost as if he was in pain, and he raised an unsteady hand to his forehead.

“Draco, please,” he said through tight lips.

A sobering prospect occurred to Draco in that moment, something he’d not considered, and he sank onto his heels. “Unless, of course,” he began tentatively, “you simply don’t want me.”

Harry’s hand dropped away, and he stared, brow furrowed. “What?”

Draco lifted his slightly pointed chin, but he could not ignore the possibility. “I’m not so young, anymore,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady as coldness began to settle inside of him, “or as handsome as I was. I’m… scarred, and I’m losing my hair, and…”

Had he not seen it for himself, he’d never have imagined that someone could move so quickly. One moment, Harry was standing ten feet away. In the next heartbeat, he was standing next to Draco, one hand cupping his jaw, the other gripping his hand. He held Draco’s chin in his hard fingers, his green eyes close and so intense that Draco gasped at the expression in them. “Be quiet,” Harry said, his lips inches away. “You are not the only one who has wanted for every moment of those nineteen years.” He took Draco’s hand and turned it, then pressed his palm over the straining front of his black denim trousers and held it there, canting his hips forward, making Draco forcefully aware of the erection behind the zipper. Draco gasped, his eyes wide on Harry’s as his own cock lurched and filled. “Does that feel as if I don’t want you?” he hissed harshly. “Does it? Wanting you has never been a problem. But to take what you offer, now… I’m not sure I can exist with what that would make me.” He shook his head and started to step away, but Draco tightened his hand on him, causing him to wince and stop in his tracks. Harry’s hand tightened around Draco’s wrist as well, and they were frozen at an impasse.

“If it isn’t that you don’t want me,” Draco said, speaking directly into his face, his eyes moving lovingly over each feature. “If it isn’t about that, then please allow me to make my own decisions. You seem to think I’ve no say in this. You’re wrong.” He saw the green eyes heat as he tried to express his resolve in his own steady gaze. “I am a grown man, Harry. I’ve always known what I wanted.” His eyes settled on Harry’s mouth, which was slightly open as his breathing shortened. “And I’ve always wanted you.”

He leaned up then and without allowing Harry the opportunity to pull away, covered Harry’s lips with his own. He angled his head and slipped his tongue between the parted lips, stroking over Harry’s in a sinuous caress, and he felt Harry shudder briefly before he made a sound, part growl, part moan, in the back of his throat. Then, he was kissing him back.