Memory\'s Ghost

“Tom? Tom, are you there?”

Harry carefully crawled down the back entrance to the Chamber, trying not to tumble down the rocks and kill himself. The meager light from his wand only helped to exaggerate the shadows, making the climb more treacherous than usual, and seemingly more sinister. The boulders’ silhouettes shook with each move that he made, turning what he knew to be a completely harmless--‘harmless’ being a relative term where he was concerned--cave into cavern filled with shady enemies just waiting to do him harm.

“All right, Harry,” he scolded himself, “enough with the melodrama. There’s nothing down here that can harm you, and you know it. Concentrate on finding Tom, and ignore the rest.”

He continued down into the Chamber, hoping this was where the ghost had ended up. Tom hadn’t answer Harry’s calls after Malfoy had left and the wizard didn’t know if what they’d done had caused the ghost to disappear forever. He could only pray that Tom would have fallen back to the Chamber, as he used to do in the early days when he used up his energy too quickly while practicing being solid.

Harry jumped down the last few feet to the floor and looked around. He saw the usual snake carvings leering at him, the giant head in the middle, the eerily glowing pale bones of the basilisk looming over him, but he found no sign of his phantom paramour.

“Tom? Tom, if you’re in here, answer me! Tom!”

He tried not to, but Harry was starting to grow worried. What if the ghost was gone for good? Had sex with Harry killed him? Or was it taking over Malfoy’s body? Did Malfoy somehow destroy Tom when he took back his physical form?

If only they knew more about what Tom was, how he came to be there, how long he was going to stay, what his limitations were--

“. . . Harry. . .”

It was the tiniest whisper from a voice barely there, but to Harry, it might as well have been a shout in his ear.

“Tom! Tom, you’re here?”

“Barely.”

The familiar figure of the ghost shimmered naked in front of him, the meager attempt at visibility clearly draining what little energy Tom had.

“Don’t appear, not if it hurts you. If you can talk to me without making yourself visible, then just talk to me.”

With a relieved smile, the ghost disappeared. “Thank you.”

“Are you all right? What’s wrong? Did Malfoy do something to you?”

“I’m fine, Harry,” he answered, the disembodied voice in his right ear sending chills down Harry’s spine. Happy chills. Chills he shouldn’t be feeling right now, not until they’d gotten Tom sorted out. But chills nonetheless.

“Then what happened?”

“You did.”

The pleasure in the ghost’s tone made him smile.

“Me?”

“Mm-hmm. . .” The voice had switched to his left ear, bringing with it more chills.

“What do you mean?”

“Connecting with you, feeling you, moving inside of you. . . I’ve never felt anything like that. I was overwhelmed.”

“I felt the same way,” Harry said, even more breathlessly than the ghost. He closed his eyes so that he could see the ghost in his mind. It didn’t take much effort to picture Tom standing behind him, lean frame pressed against him, hard cock against his arse. “Kissing you, touching you, even if you were trapped in Malfoy’s body--it was like a dream come true.”

“And then you came,” Tom continued, “and I came, and it literally blew me away.” A ghostly hand reached around to press against the bulge between Harry’s legs. “Coming in you took everything out of me. I vanished and found myself down here drained, but happy. So happy, Harry.”

“Me, too,” Harry gasped, arching into his touch.

“I want to do it again,” Tom said, and Harry could almost feel the breath against his cheek, a hint of a kiss on his lips. “I want you, Harry. I want you any time I can have you.”

“And I want you to have me,” Harry said, then opened his eyes, forcing himself back into reality, “but first we need to find a way to make you solid.”

“Can’t we just use the prat? He certainly didn’t seem to mind.”

“No. It’s wrong for us to take over another’s body just for our own pleasure, but it’s especially wrong with Malfoy. He. . . someone possessed him not too long ago and made him do terrible things. I don’t think he’s ever gotten over it, knowing what he did even if he’s not responsible. What we’ve done since may seem harmless, but we can’t do it again. Besides,” Harry said with a smile, “when I touch you, I want it to be really you that I’m touching, and I want you to be the only one touching me.”

“You’re right, of course,” Tom said, though Harry could hear the disappointment in his voice. “And you’re right in that I don’t want them to experience your body. You’re for me, and me alone, Harry.”

“Just you,” Harry nodded, deliberately forgetting about the promise he made to Malfoy. What the ghost didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him. Plus, there was a chance Malfoy would never collect.

Yeah, right.



Harry opened his Potions book and frowned to see a blank piece of paper marking the chapter. He couldn’t recall sticking anything in the book, and the second he touched the paper, there was a spark against his fingertips.

“OW!” he yelped, quickly drawing his hand away and glared at the paper as writing began to form, filling the blankness with a flowing scrawl.

“The lake, northeast shore, six sharp, and don’t be late.”

Oh, fuck. Malfoy was calling in his debt, and unless Harry wanted him to get too curious about the events a few nights earlier, he would have to go. At least it was around dinnertime, so Tom wouldn’t be too concerned about his absence, but if they were gone for more than two hours, the ghost would probably come looking for him. Hopefully, whatever Malfoy had planned wouldn’t take too long.

Of course not. Because the last thing Malfoys were know for was prolonging torture. He’d just have to think up an excuse for Tom later.



At promptly six o’clock sharp, Harry was pacing along the northeast shore of the lake wondering--no, not just wondering, but knowing for certain that he was making a mistake.

But the most obnoxious question in his mind was just why he was agreeing to go along with this in the first place. After all, it was only Malfoy, and seriously, he could say all he wanted about what supposedly happened between them, but the Slytherin didn’t have any real proof. Not to mention that if anyone from school caught the two of them together, things could get awkward, but he and Malfoy could talk their way out of it. If Tom found out, knowing that Harry was with Draco would only bring the ghost pain, and that was the last thing Harry wanted to do. There were so many reasons not to be there, so why risk it?

If he were to be honest with himself, Harry would admit it was because of the visions in his head, the flashes of another Malfoy, a different Malfoy. He knew the person in his visions was Draco, but this Draco’s hair was longer, his body leaner, harder, his face older, a bit more mature, sharper. It was Malfoy as he might appear five years from now, maybe ten. It was a Malfoy he knew intimately, and who knew him intimately, which should concern him, but didn’t. The only truly disturbing problem was that Harry couldn’t figure out how to reconcile the much improved Malfoy from these flashes with the irritating prat who was in his life now. He wanted to know who this other Malfoy was and what he was doing inside Harry’s head.

“My, aren’t we eager tonight, Potter. Practically bursting at the seams.”

Harry turned to glare at the new arrival and at seeing the sneer on Malfoy’s face, instantly decided the Malfoy from his visions was wishful thinking, and nothing more. Draco would never change.

“Fuck you. Let’s just get this over with.”

The Slytherin’s eyes narrowed. “You got yourself into this mess. You can at least be civil.”

“You caught me at a moment of weakness, nothing more.”

“You have a lot of those, don’t you, Potter? Come on, then,” he said before Harry even had a chance to answer. “If you’re in such a hurry to end our evening, we should get moving.”

Green eyes wide and a little bemused, Harry followed Malfoy around the lake and towards the front gates that led to Hogsmeade.

“What are we going to do? Just walk out of here?” Harry asked, and Draco threw a cold smile over his shoulder at him.

“Well, yes. What, did you expect us to have to sneak out? It’s all part of the Hogwarts conditioning, Potter. They tell us repeatedly that we’ll be punished if we break the rules, so we do what they say--well, most of us,” he smirked, and Harry knew exactly to whom he was referring. “As a result, our enlightened professors don’t really have to keep an eye on all the students at all times because they’ve conditioned us to behave. Makes it easier for those of us who do dare to break the rules to just walk out.”

“But wouldn’t that mean that those few who do break the rules will be watched even more closely because the professors are expecting them to misbehave?”

For a second, Malfoy almost looked impressed. “This is why we have to hurry, Potter, because you, as a known rule breaker and magnet for trouble, automatically complicate things. So try to keep up.”

Draco picked up speed and Harry jogged to catch up, eyes narrowing with a sudden thought. “Does this mean that by spending all these years breaking rules in order to, oh, save the world from extraordinary evil, I’ve actually been making it easier for you to break the rules without getting caught?”

The Malfoy eyebrow arched and Harry glared at him.

“I really don’t like you right now.”

“Oh relax, Potter. It isn’t as if I haven’t had my fair share of detentions. You should know--you were present for most of them.”

“Is it wrong to admit that makes me feel better?”

“Yes,” Malfoy snarled, and Harry grinned.

“Good. I shouldn’t be the only one suffering here.”

“No need to worry about that, Potter. Everyone knows your suffering is the stuff of legends.”

“So is yours,” Harry said softly, earning him a sharp look from his companion.

“If you’re referring to my brief time spent in the company of your favorite nemesis, I can assure you, I’ve moved on.”

“I wasn’t just referring to him.”

“Leave it, Potter,” Malfoy said, his voice the hiss of a whip just before it is about to strike. “My affairs are my own and not to be resolved by the likes of you.”

The rest of the walk to the gates was made in silence. Harry didn’t know whether to feel relieved that Malfoy had shut up, or annoyed because they’d actually been managing some sort of conversation and he’d been enjoying it.

The second they stepped off of Hogwarts grounds, Malfoy slipped an arm around his waist. Harry was caught too much by surprise to protest as the world vanished and reformed around him in the blink of an eye. He squirmed out of Malfoy’s grasp, head still spinning a little from apparating.

“Malfoy, where are we?” he demanded before realizing he knew exactly where they were. “The Manor. We’re in your bedroom at the Manor.”

The pale eyebrows slammed together as Draco scowled at him. “How did you know that?”

“You brought me here after the war,” Harry said, another flash of a memory with no origin clouding his brain. “You said this is where it should have happened, that Malfoys should not be forced to fornicate in fields like animals. You said that Malfoys fuck in style and, if it hadn’t been for the war, this would have been the site of our first time together.”

“Potter, you’re hallucinating.”

With his mind being pulled so sharply in and out of focus, there was no point in denying it. “Probably.”

“Though it does sound like something I’d say.”

“Yes, it does.”

Malfoy’s thoughtful expression darkened as he focused his gaze on Harry. “You know, you’ve always been a nuisance before, but now you’re really starting to get under my skin.”

“I do what I can.”

“And it comes so easy to you.”

“Considering you’re a master at getting under people’s skins, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Never take anything a Malfoy says as a compliment.”

“So you never mean anything you say?”

“I always mean everything I say, but you won’t always understand the meaning.”

Harry clasped both sides of his head as he leaned against the nearest solid surface. “Malfoy, stop. You’re giving me a migraine.”

“You’re a walking headache, Potter. What do you expect?”

“Malfoy. . .”

“All right, I’ll stop, but only if you tell me how you know this is my room.”

“I already told you.”

“And I’ve denied it. Try again.”

“Look, Malfoy, I don’t know. It. . . it’s hard to explain.”

The Slytherin summoned one of the green damask covered chairs to move in front of Harry. With a regal sweep of his robes, he sat down and stared at the Gryffindor with his silver eyes. “Try.”

Harry sighed and moved up on the mattress so that he could cross his legs, only then realizing he’d been using the bed for support. Oh well, too late now to find another spot.

“It’s hard to explain because I don’t quite know how to explain it. I sometimes get these visions--memories, almost, except they’ve never happened. And they’re usually about you.”

“Indeed?” The eyebrow arched with interest. “What are you remembering about me?”

A couple of the memories floated across Harry’s thoughts and the warmth quickly crawled up his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

“That good, Potter? Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have access to the inside of your head right now.”

The dark-haired wizard muttered his opinion of the idea and Malfoy laughed, a sound of true amusement that startled Harry with its sincerity.

“Good thing I didn’t have to hear that to understand it. You’re so predictable, Potter.”

“And you’re not?”

“Certain things about me might appear to be, but no, Harry, I am the farthest thing from predictable that you could possibly imagine.”

Again Harry was startled, this time by the use of his name. This evening of all evenings, Malfoy was definitely proving himself to be what he claimed.

“So, are you going to share with me these visions of yours?” Draco asked, then appeared to lean forward slightly as he continued, “Or am I going to have to discover them from your reactions alone?”

“What reactions?” Harry asked, the picture of innocence, and Draco smiled, the picture of depravity. Swallowing hard, Harry felt an urge to scoot back away from him on the bed, but realized that would only give Malfoy more of an advantage and stayed put.

“You owe me, Harry. Anything I want. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

“No.”

“And I will not force you. I will abuse you, tease you, torment you, treat you as if you are the most insignificant and most important person in the world, leave you in a state of suspended ecstasy and grant you release only when you’re about to go insane, offer you the complete surrender of my body to do with as you please, and then start all over again before you’ve had time to catch your breath, but I will not force you. Can you agree to these terms?”

Harry’s dick having become a hard, throbbing mass in his trousers, he could only stare wide-eyed at Malfoy, unable to speak for several seconds before finally forcing a single word from his suddenly dry mouth, “Why?”

“You’re Harry Potter,” Draco shrugged, and the Boy Who Lived’s wrath appeared with a vengeance.

“That’s it? You’d fuck me just because I’m Harry Fucking Potter? You and the rest of the goddamned world. If that’s the only reason you want me, you can get in line.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Really, Harry, enough with the dramatics. You should know by now that my definition of ‘Harry Potter’ is nothing like the rest of the world’s. I have never seen you like they do, and I never will, a fact of which you are very much aware. Now stop acting like a child and decide--are you staying, or should I return you to Hogwarts?”

Harry had to use all his willpower to meet that silver gaze. “If I say no, you’ll let me go?”

“I already told you I would.”

“And our. . . my debt?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Would still need to be paid.”

“And if I stay. . .”

Malfoy just smiled.

[Chapter 5 completed September 24, 2004]