We Are Legend

The Horcrux was safely put away in a long metal box, stuffed into the very back of the ancient wardrobe up in the attic. Harry had put a Notice-Me-Not-Charm on it, with a daily Finite alarm. After he had checked on it in the morning, he had spent the day studying the large old map of London that Longbottom and he used to decide on new Portkey points for refugee groups. There was another trek Harry was going to lead in two days. But today he had searched again for places where Voldemort might hide.

Since the discovery of the Horcrux, Harry sensed an uneasy restlessness from the link. There were moments when Voldemort reached out for him with his overpowering magic, trying to find the location of the Horcrux. But he never penetrated the parts of Harry's mind that were protected by Occlumency.

Malfoy had agreed that Buckingham Palace was a dead lead, and for the thousandth time Harry checked the subway stations around the Tower – Cannon had been flooded for years, Monument was one of the Inferi dens. Which left Aldgate and Mansion House, but they both didn't fit the glimpses that Harry had gleaned from Voldemort's surroundings. Pure instinct told him Voldemort was hiding somewhere close to the river – a certain dampness in the air perhaps, that Harry subconsciously sensed through their link. For years he had searched every inch of the Victoria Embankment, Upper and Lower Tower Street, the entire area of the Tower, and even Wapping High as far as he dared go East before the thick fog in the streets became an impassable barrier that only a Patronus could break through. But Voldemort would not live so close to the Dementors. They were his favourite pets, certainly, but like everybody else, his scattered humanity feared them. Dementors fed on happiness, and the reasons for their victims' happiness made no difference to them.

Harry smiled to himself. During these last days he would have made a Dementor's holiday feast. Even Aunt Timila had commented on his good mood when he had come for dinner last night, whistling a bawdy Muggle tune. Harry told himself he was so shamelessly happy because he had found the Horcrux at last. But of course the Horcrux was the least of it. For one, it had been Malfoy who had found it. And then, there was Malfoy himself. It had been three days since Harry had left St Paul's, and while they hadn't set a time and day, Harry knew they would see each other again soon. We're in this together, Malfoy had said when they had parted. Harry still wasn't all that sure what was in it for Malfoy and why the Blue Phoenix should help Flash Man, but he stuck to his decision to trust Malfoy. Every once in a while Hermione's voice would whisper warnings, tell him to be careful, not to let his feelings get the better of his judgement. But her voice was hushed and lacked conviction.

His feelings, though … Harry couldn't remember when he had last felt such thrilling, light-headed giddiness. Memories of the days in the tower would flash through his mind at the oddest of times: the feel of Malfoy's sharp shoulder blades under the robes. The joyful glittering of his eyes when Harry had eaten. His breath on Harry's cheek when he had held him close after sex. His voice whispering Harry in the electric glow of the ringing room.

Harry got up from the floor, where he had spread his notes, to make some tea. With the map pinned to one of its walls and every surface covered with thick-papered tomes, the old Black library reminded Harry of the times when number twelve, Grimmauld Place, had served as headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. It was still a headquarters of sort, with the food and water supplies stored in the kitchen, and the rooms upstairs ready for anyone who needed a bed and a roof to sleep under.

Tea (and Malfoy) on his mind, Harry wasn't prepared for the excruciating pain that shot through his scar as he stepped out of the room. His legs buckled under the onslaught, knees crashing into the threshold of the library door. Angry, disbelieving fury … Harry fortified his Occlumency, slammed up a wall against Voldemort's overwhelming emotion. Like rancid butter he tasted the fear underneath. Something had happened that had shaken Voldemort badly. And his anxiousness made the Dark Lord careless. Like always he broke and re-established the link in haphazard patterns, but now Harry could see things that were usually kept hidden from him – an iron-studded chest that was huge as a boat, a high table where a full dozen of grown men could be seated.

"He did not appear at the gathering, my Lord." Cattermole's long black beard almost touched the marble floor as he hunkered in front of Voldemort. His voice was distorted through the link, but Harry could hear the words well enough. "Nor have the bats or the vultures. They follow the Blue Phoenix. As you well know, of course, my Lord."

This last sounded like an afterthought, as if Cattermole really wasn't all that sure whether Voldemort did know. Harry took a deep breath. So Malfoy resisted the Dark Mark's Call. They had only talked about where Voldemort could be hiding, not discussed any strategies to make the monster leave its cave. But judging from Voldemort's hot anger, this might just work. Harry was about to get up from the floor when Voldemort's fury lashed through him again. Cattermole was writhing on the floor even before Harry heard the "Crucio!" roar in his mind.

"I want the phoenix, Cattermole." There was an inhuman growl in Voldemort's voice, Harry was sure of it.

"We can't make him come, my Lord," Cattermole brought out before another Crucio hit him.

"I'll have you bring down St Paul's," Voldemort screamed. "That bird is mine to command!"

The Dark Lord knew where Malfoy lived. The shock made Harry almost miss the movement at the right of his field of vision. Voldemort was so focused on Cattermole that he never saw the green-robed woman in the shadows of the red-walled room. But the small bird that the woman released from her hands immediately caught his attention. The bird soared to the low ceiling, fluttered fearfully towards the window, then Voldemort's Stunning Spell hit it. In a detached way Harry registered the soothing calm that settled over the Dark Lord. Slowly, with an almost sensual feeling of satisfaction, he ripped off the long wings and the beak of the paralysed bird, Cattermole and the Blue Phoenix forgotten. Harry was sure he didn't even notice the woman as she helped the General up from the floor. They retreated quickly and left, leaving the enormous wooden doors wide open.

Voldemort glanced up from the bloody mess he'd made of the bird. Through his eyes, Harry looked into a bright hallway leading into a shadowed hall. He had only ever seen glimpses of it before, but now he realised that it was a huge round with black marble columns. Arched, ornamented recesses ran along the entire circle, as far as he could see. Again there were dead bodies on the floor, perhaps more than Harry had seen before. They glinted darkly silver, with a red light flickering over them. Harry strained to see more of the hall when Voldemort closed down the link abruptly, as if he had suddenly become aware of Harry's presence.

Harry's knees hurt as he got up and his throat was parched. He leaned his forehead against the doorjamb, the ache in his scar soothed by the cool stone, and he tried to make sense of what he'd seen. As his breathing calmed, he became aware of how still the house was. Outside, in the quiet of the early evening, a bird's song could be heard. Harry quickly stepped to the window, opened the drawn curtains and looked outside.

The Muggles had all but left Grimmauld Place, and the shabby little green space in the middle of the square lay deserted. Deserted but for the Blue Phoenix singing in one of the drooping willow trees. From the east, night fell over the run-down houses, a soft purple light that bled into the sky still pale with the foggy grey of the day. The song seemed to grow stronger as Harry stood enchanted, Voldemort, the Horcrux, the Death Eaters gone from his mind, and only the music within him as it had been with Fawkes's song. It was as if the Blue Phoenix had turned all the sad happiness inside him into music, had woven whatever he felt for Malfoy into a wistful, low-pitched tune that held, too, the knowledge that he would die soon, would be free, finally, of this unnatural life, and still he wanted to live, be with Malfoy, and have time for this one last love. Tears streamed down his face as the song echoed through the empty streets of Grimmauld Place.

Hours seemed to have passed when the song ended. Harry lowered the wards, muttered "Legilimens" to the bird in the willow, showing it the inside of the library. The wards are down. You're welcome to come in. The next moment, Malfoy stood in front of the fireplace. He had his hair bound back in a ponytail, dressed in the black-leather boots and the old-fashioned robes he'd worn in the warehouse. He took a second to regain his balance after Apparition, then turned to Harry at once.

"There are Death Eaters watching this place," he said. "You should get those wards back up now."

Harry quickly restored the house to its former Unplottable condition. He couldn't take his eyes off Malfoy, his posture proud and untouchable, his appraising gaze as he looked around the library. "Draco …" The phoenix's song still resounded in Harry's heart. It felt impossible that this wizard in a Death Eater's outfit could have created such fragile, melancholy beauty. He didn't. That was the phoenix's gift, Harry. You have to stop confusing him with his Animagus. Hermione's voice was back full force.

"I've been here before, you know. When I was a child." Malfoy walked towards the bookshelves, the high polish of his leather boots strangely befitting the intricate pattern of the expensive oriental rug. He let his long fingers trail over the leather-bound backs. "Ah, yes, the noble house of Black." Every word spelled contempt for what had become of a family once leading pure-blood society.

"Malfoy … please …" Harry could have slapped himself, and Hermione would have agreed whole-heartedly. How could he have expected any of this to be easy? This was Malfoy, for God's sake. Still he couldn't stop himself from saying, "Please, don't."

The trailing fingers stopped as if they'd found a book they had been looking for. Harry crossed the room, taking in the opened books lying upside down on the floor, his notes scattered on the antique velvet couch, the plate with the half-eaten sandwich, the empty cups of tea forgotten on the shelves. When he stood at Malfoy's side, the other man looked at him almost fearfully, and Harry took his left hand and turned it around. There was a Spell of some kind on the Dark Mark, the skin around it swollen and red. Harry drew his wand from the back pocket of his jeans.

"What happened to wandless magic, Potter?" Malfoy whispered. He had gone pale, the hand Harry held was trembling.

"Not for healing spells." He looked into Malfoy's grey eyes, challenged him without words to cut the crap. "Not everyone is a phoenix Animagus."

Malfoy didn't answer, but dropped his eyes to his forearm. Harry moved his wand across it, trying to assess the damage. "Is this a Repelling Charm? Is it working against Voldemort's Summons?" he asked.

"Not very well," Malfoy admitted. "But he stopped for some time now." The charm was gone without Malfoy even batting an eye.

"He got distracted. By a fucking bird, if you can believe it. But he was not happy that the Blue Phoenix didn't show. He will Summon you again." Harry cast a healing spell. The swelling subsided at once, leaving the skin fresh and pink around the red lines of the Mark. Harry moved his fingertips across it, then reluctantly let go of Malfoy.

"A bird? Did you see that through your bloody link?" Malfoy rubbed his wrist where Harry had touched it, staring at him, with curiosity and something else that Harry could not put a name to.

He nodded. Voldemort had lost his marbles, the Dark Lord was bloody mental, but right now Harry couldn't care less. "I'm glad you've come," he said, putting the wand back in his pocket. He wanted to touch Malfoy again, but didn't know how. Their easy intimacy in the tower room seemed ages ago.

"I had to see you." Malfoy's eyes were still on Harry when he shifted his body, and all of a sudden the distance between them seemed to have shrunk. His lips were very near when he said, "Don't know how much longer I could have resisted the Call." He touched Harry's face, traced imaginary lines on it, and Harry remembered that he had cried earlier, because of the phoenix's song, because of …

Malfoy whispered, "Merlin, Potter, you … I can't get you out of my head. You fucking did something to me. And you're such a –"

Harry interrupted him rudely, with a kiss. He couldn't stand it anymore to have Malfoy so close and not kiss him. He wrapped his arms around Malfoy's waist, and Malfoy pulled him close, too, and God, Harry couldn't get enough of those lips, of Malfoy's tongue that explored his mouth gently at first, then more wildly, lips smashing against teeth, and oh, he needed this taste, traces of cinnamon and something faintly metallic and fresh that was just Malfoy. They came up for air with lips still touching, their breath warm and moist between them. "Harry," Malfoy whispered, raking trembling fingers through his hair, kissing him again with a need that made Harry ache to place the lightest of kisses on Malfoy's luminous skin, and at the same time he wanted nothing more than to thrust into Malfoy's body, mouth, arse, he didn't care, as deeply as he could.

When they finally broke apart, Harry was hard as a rock. He was certain that, if Malfoy as much as put his hand to his cock, he'd come on the spot. Malfoy was trembling in his arms, like he might collapse if Harry let him go. But he had enough strength left to push Harry towards the velvet couch and make them both fall onto it. Harry groaned loudly when Malfoy came to lie on top of him and pushed his thigh between Harry's legs.

He had the buttons of Harry's jeans opened in no time, you could have sworn he undressed Muggles every night. Harry lifted his arse from the couch, so that Malfoy could push down the jeans and his pants. It felt good, unbelievably good, clothes bunched around his thighs, confining his movements, his groin exposed to the air, with Malfoy so close, shifting on top of him, as he sat up and shook off his robes, let them fall to the floor beside the couch. He was wearing a light blue shirt that looked so soft that Harry had to stroke the fabric with the back of his hand. Malfoy glanced down in surprise at the fingers on his chest. When Harry's knuckles moved across his silk-covered nipples, he inhaled sharply, his face contorted in intense pleasure. To see Malfoy excited like this, from a mere caress of his hand, almost made Harry come. A shiver ran through his body, he wanted to touch Malfoy, touch him so much … Perhaps Malfoy could tell that he was too close already, for he didn't reach for Harry's cock, simply moved his fingers in small circles over Harry's stomach. Where he touched him, muscles clenched and unclenched on their own accord, and Harry let his own hands glide up Malfoy's sides. His body was warm underneath the trousers' wool and the silk, and God, he wanted him naked in his arms. Harry leaned up, kissed Malfoy as gently as he could.

"I'll explode if you touch me," he whispered. "Bring me off just with your mouth?"

Malfoy's silent laughter rippled against Harry's chest. "A blow-job in the Black library?" he said, as he brought his lips close to Harry's ear. "Oh, but it's my pleasure, Potter."

He slid down Harry's body, deliberately letting his thigh brush against Harry's cock. A shock wave of pleasure shot through Harry's groin. He groaned and grabbed Malfoy by the shoulders, pushing him down further until he knelt between Harry's legs. His palms were hot on the insides of Harry's thighs as he pulled the jeans and pants even further down.

"You," he said softly, "need to move up. There's not enough room here."

They shoved and shifted on the couch to get Harry's glasses, clothes and trainers off, leaving him naked but for his t-shirt, which should have made him feel ridiculous but didn't. If possible, he was even more aroused by the scratchy velvet against his arse and the thought of Malfoy, fully clothed, about to go down on him. As Harry watched him take off his boots, the three-armed candleholder on the lectern burst into flame with a non-verbal Incendio, and the flickering light illuminated Malfoy's face. His voice had sounded steady enough, but now Harry could see pink blotches on his skin. His half-closed eyes seemed almost black. There could be no doubt how much he wanted Harry, and that alone sent a jolt of pleasure through Harry's body. He groaned deeply as pre-come oozed from his cock. Malfoy moved his tongue across lips still red and bruised from their kissing. He looked so torturously hot that Harry let his legs fall apart and pushed up his arse from the couch, inviting Malfoy to use that pink tongue of his on something other than his own lips.

"Who would have thought the mighty Harry Potter was so eager to have his dick blown?" Malfoy's voice again, full of that mocking nastiness, but husky and dark with want.

"I've waited three fucking days for this," Harry groaned. "Get going, Malfoy."

Malfoy's tongue flickered over the tip of his cock, and Harry's head rolled backward on the armrest. Malfoy was licking off drops of pre-come, and Harry lost all control over the sounds coming from his throat. He barely realised that Malfoy struggled to keep his bucking hips down, all he felt was Malfoy's tongue swirling around the head of his cock. There was a hint of teeth, and his own voice begging "so good, oh please, God, yes," over and over. He wanted to shove his cock all the way into the wet warmth of Malfoy's mouth, fast and violently, but he couldn't with his hips immobilised by Malfoy's hands. His back arched, and he almost screamed with the need to come when Malfoy started sucking him, a firm grip around his length. Images from his wanking fantasies of the last days flashed through Harry's mind, of Malfoy piercing him, full and so hard. Perhaps he had moaned "fuck me," or Malfoy somehow sensed what Harry wanted, for when Harry pushed up his arse to get deeper into that hot mouth, Malfoy let his hand slide into Harry's crack, pushing first one, then two long fingers into the puckered hole. Harry was loose and slick and already so far gone that it took but a few short thrusts, and he was coming, with barely enough time to give Malfoy a warning. He reached for his head, tried to yank him off, but Malfoy would not budge. He took in even more of Harry's cock and sucked his orgasm right out of him, making Harry cry out, his eyes squeezed shut, after-images of the three candles exploding like shooting stars, as he spilled his entire load, way too much for Malfoy to swallow, but good, damn it, how could, could this feel so –

He didn't even wait for the force of his orgasm to subside, he had to reach for Malfoy with shaking arms, pull him up on top of him and feel him close all over. God, he wanted Malfoy to come so much, have him cream his bloody bespoke trousers, lose his reserve and go wild, for him. Malfoy was half-hard and excited, the way he rubbed against Harry's hipbone. Harry didn't touch him, though. After the last time, he knew that he had to wait for Malfoy to tell him.

But Malfoy said nothing, no word, no unspoken invitation, either. He just kept moving against Harry, stroking his chest underneath the t-shirt. After endless minutes, Harry leaned up and kissed Malfoy. He knew he shouldn't feel disappointment at the gentleness of Malfoy's response, but he did. The bitter taste of his own come made him ache even more and he broke the kiss, turned his head away, so Malfoy wouldn't notice the tears brimming in his eyes. He reached for Malfoy's ponytail, loosened the ribbon, and the hair spilled free, a curtain gleaming in the candlelight, half hiding Malfoy's face. Harry buried his fingers in it, sucked at the soft tips that danced upon his lips, light as feathers.

Malfoy pressed his body closer, he moved his fingers over Harry's face, traced his eyelashes. Obviously he sensed that something was amiss. "Phoenix dreamed about you," he whispered.

Harry murmured, "Yeah?" unsure what Malfoy meant to tell him. Had he dreamed about him? Or Draco the phoenix? And what did a phoenix dream about anyway? Did it have wet dreams as vivid as Harry's these last nights, waking him up painfully hard, on the brink of orgasm?

"Your colours were all fire and gold, but not the crest. Black crest, black tail. And green … green eyes." Malfoy's voice trembled; his breath was coming fast. "So beautiful."

Oh. Harry looked up, trying to read the other man's face. In the silvery shadows of his hair, Malfoy's eyes seemed to be filled with mist. "You dreamed I was a phoenix?"

"Phoenix. Phoenix dreamed." Malfoy's entire body was trembling now. And he was hard, definitely full and hard, his erection grinding against Harry's hip.

"I can't be that for you," Harry said softly. "You know that, don't you?" He smoothed the hair away from Malfoy's face, traced his half-open mouth with two fingers.

"Yes," Malfoy gasped. "I know."

But you wouldn't think he did, from how aroused he had become from merely recalling Phoenix's dream. He moved on top of Harry, pushed his left leg between the back of the couch and Harry's side, his cock pressed against Harry's groin with only the cloth of the trousers between them. Harry let his fingers explore Malfoy's back, squeezed his buttocks, delighted in the breathless moans his touches were tearing from Malfoy's lips. Shit, he was getting much too turned on by Malfoy's arousal, when it wasn't even him but some imaginary green-eyed bird that Malfoy had the hots for. When it was the phoenix Animagus who wanted …

"Draco," he whispered, the name strangely familiar in his mouth. "What – what do you want?"

"I want … want …" Something flashed in Malfoy's eyes, his face contorted as if he was in pain. He yanked up Harry's t-shirt, groped at the skin, pulled at the spattering of hair on Harry's chest. He kissed his right nipple, painfully sensitive still, whispered, "Want … you … you …" He moved to Harry's right side, pressed his mouth to a spot below the ribs, then bit into the skin with a ferocious need that took Harry entirely by surprise. It hurt, badly, the way Malfoy tore at him, but the spot had to be an erogenous zone or something, because the pain was laced with pleasure so intense that Harry instinctively turned his body to expose more of that responsive skin. Malfoy kept biting, his teeth like blunt scissors in Harry's flesh, he had to be drawing blood now. The pain became too much, and Harry cried out softly, flinching away. Malfoy quickly put one hand on his back to keep him close. He sucked eagerly at the spot he'd bitten into, but he was clearly holding back now, trying to be more gentle. All the time his cock was pressed hard into Harry's groin, crushed against him without any movement at all, like back in the tower.

After maybe half a minute Malfoy calmed down, kissing and licking carefully around the raw cuts in Harry's skin. Harry's breathing slowed, too, and he put his arms around Malfoy's neck, pulled the other man towards him. He wasn't sure what had just happened, only that he had been able to give Malfoy some strange form of release.

Malfoy's body felt too hot underneath the shirt, and Harry pushed the silk from his shoulders. He touched the sweaty, perfectly white skin at Malfoy's right side, just below the ribs, and Malfoy shuddered almost imperceptibly. He took a deep breath, then sat up. Harry, too, pushed himself up to a sitting position. His glasses were on the floor, and he reached for them. He needed to see Malfoy clearly, all of him, the way his hair fell into his face, his collarbone sharp and white, his hands still on Harry's hips, blue silk pooling around his waist. Harry felt so fiercely protective of him that it made breathing hard.

Malfoy lifted his head and met Harry's gaze. "Shit, I didn't mean –"

"Shh," Harry interrupted him at once. "No apologies. It felt good. You felt good. Bloody fantastic, really."

A small smile crinkled Malfoy's lips. "Then let me heal those bites, at least."

Harry shook his head, feeling proud and stubborn and insanely happy. "I want to keep them. They make me remember that you're human, too."

Malfoy laughed, a real laugh despite the pain in it. "Don't be an idiot, Potter. These bites only say one thing: that Draco Malfoy lost all control over his Animagus form. Am I still human? I don't know."

"You are," Harry said. "Look." He pointed to the wet spots of pre-come at the front of Malfoy's trousers. "Perhaps when you're staying in this body longer … forget the phoenix for a while, then you'll be able to … you know, come." He put his hand on Malfoy's groin, stroking him softly.

Malfoy shrugged, but didn't take Harry's hand away. "Doesn't work like this, Potter."

"Are you telling me you haven't fucked anyone since Fawkes changed you?"

There was a sudden tightening around Malfoy's eyes. "No, I haven't," he snapped. "And don't start feeling sorry for me, Potter. It wasn't a problem until you showed up." He moved backwards on the couch, away from Harry's touch, shrugged back into his shirt.

Harry knew he shouldn't press the issue, seeing as Malfoy was already on edge. Bloody Malfoy pride. "I don't get it," he said quietly. "Why would Dumbledore do such a thing? Call it his mercy?" Wrong questions, Harry saw it right away. Malfoy had always hated Dumbledore.

Malfoy got up, walked quickly towards the lectern, then whipped around, anger and that fierce pride making his eyes spark in cold silver. "Do you have any idea, Potter, what it means to be a phoenix? Do you know about Burning Day? How it feels to have your body erupt in blue lightning, to have life flare up from within you, to be made all new again, so full of strength? Fucking, tossing off … it's needle pricks compared to that. And the flying! Forget the crutches we call brooms. The phoenix's body is meant to soar in the air - you know nothing about flying if you haven't had wings. And I can hear the birds, Potter, they talk to me. Those tales the eagles tell, ah Salazar …" His voice broke, for a moment he closed his eyes, then turned abruptly towards the window, hands clenched into fists.

Harry stared at him. He was held again by that strange sense of awe he'd already felt in the tower. In the window, the mirror image of Malfoy's face was tinted blue and black, a white light flickering around it. He was right, Harry knew nothing of this creature standing in his library. "I'd like to …" His voice came out in a rough whisper, he stopped and cleared his throat. Malfoy turned, watched him. "I'd like to know what it feels like," Harry said. "To have wings. Fly high into the sky like the Blue Phoenix back at the warehouse."

Malfoy gave a short laugh. "You saw that, didn't you?"

Harry nodded. "It was pretty spectacular."

That lop-sided shrug, already so familiar. Malfoy walked across the rug back towards Harry. The candlelight shone on the side of his face, making his sharp features go soft, his grey eyes cloud over like before, when he had talked about phoenix's dream. He bent down beside the couch, took both of Harry's hands. "Perhaps," he said with an odd sort of smile, "perhaps one day you will grow wings."

"Yeah. Perhaps." With their fingers entwined, the joke felt like a promise of some sort, but before Harry understood what he was feeling, Malfoy let go of his hands. He rose and looked down at Harry who suddenly became very aware that he was wearing nothing but this ridiculous t-shirt.

"Well, Potter, what have you planned for the rest of the evening?"

"You know," Harry said, leaning down to the floor, "I haven't decided yet about later." He picked up Malfoy's robes, held them out to him. "But right now I'm taking you out to dinner."

*