Magia Scura

Having been seated nearer to the back of the classroom, Granger and Weasley managed to sneak out as soon as Snape dismissed them, and lie in wait to ambush the two Slytherins. Harry was already discreetly muttering his plans to invade the Ravenclaw commons, and convince enough of them to his way that they could in turn convince the Slytherins. Once enough of those two houses were behind him, he could do his damage in Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, and then he'd attack the school from within, using his student army.

Draco listened to it all half-heartedly, not paying attention to anything. Snape had offered to talk to him later that day; apparently he'd been doing badly in class, so badly that Snape felt that an extra study hour was in need. Truthfully, it was a chance for the two of them to discuss the Harry/Voldemort situation, but it wouldn't do to let him onto the fact that Draco had ratted him out.

The two sets of hands grabbing him and pulling him into an abandoned hallway took him completely by surprise. Harry was next to him, wand out and a wild look in his eyes. When Draco realized that it was Weasley and Granger, he snarled. "Calm down, Harry," he said quietly, and drew his own wand. "What the fuck do you two losers want? We explained this to you before class; he's not going back to the Tower."

"The hell he's not!" Weasley shouted. "You've done something, I know you have! Harry, mate, it's alright. You'll be back to normal soon."

"Ron," Granger's voice was soft, and she motioned for him to take a closer look at Harry. His eyes were wide, and he was watching Draco for his cue.

"You bastard!" Weasley put two and two together - and as usual, came up with thirty seven. Lunging at Draco, he drew his wand before his fist, and hexed him.

*

The next thing Draco was aware of was the high, vaulted ceiling of the hospital wing, and Harry's nervous face hovering above him. "Are you awake?" he asked quietly.

"What happened?" Draco murmured, his head throbbing in time with his heart beat.

"Weasley hexed you. I don't know what it was, but I'm going to learn it. I hit him, and then the mudblood dragged him away. They looked at me like I was insane for defending you."

"The real Harry hates me, you know," Draco said quietly. "They probably think you've gone around the twist." He realized how easily the Dark Lord could have just whipped out his wand and killed both students, something he didn't hesitate to do under normal circumstances. He could have seriously maimed or damaged them magically, and he'd hit Weasley with his fist instead. Draco wasn't sure whether this was a good sign or not.

"I know. But you rescued me." He offered Draco a bright smile, and curled up on the bed next to him. "I'm grateful."

He relaxed, his breathing evening out, and Draco chanced a look at the clock on the wall. He'd been out for almost a full day! He'd missed his chance to talk to Snape. And based on the dark circles, and the fact that he'd just fallen asleep...

Harry had stayed up all night with him.

Draco felt completely turned around. This was hardly typical behaviour for a fifty-plus year old Dark Lord, teenaged body or not. And the personality switch couldn't be that affective, could it?

"Hey, don't sleep here, we'll go back to Slytherin," Draco murmured, shaking him. When he blinked up at the blond, Draco immediately realized that it was Potter in control.

"What are you waking me up for-- you guys didn't do it, why am I here?" He looked vaguely alarmed.

"I think he exhausted himself. Your little friends cursed the hell out of me - for no reason, I might add - and he stayed up with me."

"Jeez. When did Ron get you?"

"How did you know it was Ron?" Draco lifted an eyebrow, taking himself out of the bed. Potter followed, stretching.

"Because Hermione would have interrogated you first, and then hexed you. Ron would have gone straight for his wand, and asked questions later."

"And if it had been you there, as well, what would you have done?" He wasn't sure why the answer seemed so important, but it was.

Potter shook his head. "Let's ask that one again when I'm not sharing my body with Vold-"

"Don't say it!" Draco hissed. "You might wake him up!"

"Tom." Harry finished. "Ask again when I'm me." He waited for Draco to collect his shoes from beneath the bed, and together they returned to the Slytherin dorms.

"Do you know why he stayed up all day and almost all night with me?" Draco asked quietly.

Potter shook his head. "No idea. I know he was worried that you wouldn't wake up. And he was worried more about you than the fact that you wouldn't be there to help him out with his plots."

Draco looked stupefied. Potter continued. "Look, I realize now that you're not going to kill me, which I still think would be the better of the two solutions-"

"Er?"

"If I don't die, he takes over. If I die, end of the story. Happily ever after."

"Except that you're dead." Draco put in, unhelpfully.

Potter sighed. "You jackass," he said. "Look, if you won't kill me, you've got to send him off to Azkaban or something. Get him out of Hogwarts."

Potter was still talking, but the wheels were turning in Draco's head, and he tuned him out for the most part. Azkaban. Dementors.

"I've got to talk to Snape," he breathed, and practically ran down the corridor, leaving a confused Potter in his wake.

"HEY!" Potter dashed after him, whisper-shouting. "Wait up! Stop! Draco, I- oof!"

He tripped over a loose stone in the floor and went down hard. His glasses slipped off, and clattered to the ground. Potter lay where he'd fallen, trying to catch his breath back from wherever it had slipped away to, and tried to think.

This new side of Draco, the one he'd never seen before - never been given a chance to see, he amended - was infinitely preferable to the snarky git he'd originally fallen for. And how he'd fallen indeed was a tale for the legends. That day in the dueling class Lockhart had failed to teach them, when Draco had stood smugly across from him, backed by a smirking Snape, Harry lost his heart to the face. Over the years, getting to know about him, realize what he went through at home, and put a few wires together on his own just sealed the deal. He was Draco's, to do with what he wanted. And now, he literally was. Except that Draco had ended up sleeping with him only when Voldemort had taken control of Harry's body. The first few times had been forced, but there was no doubt in Harry's mind that if Tom approached Draco right at this moment, and asked for sex, he'd receive it. Willingly. Tom...

He jerked upright, a thought passing through his mind that if he took advantage of Tom's sexual relationship with the man he was in love with, then he could have that memory to take with him to the grave - or Azkaban, wherever Draco put him.

He'd gone to talk to Snape, but he couldn't stay in there forever. All he'd have to do would be to get into the dorms, and wait for him, ambush him, and keep Voldemort at bay long enough to make the memory.

As if he'd been cued, Draco returned. So maybe it wouldn't be an ambush so much as a stealth attack. Harry followed meekly behind him, watching the light from the torches as it reflected off his hair and clothes. He wanted to remember this forever. Every detail.

"Draco," he murmured, stopping the other Slytherin just inside the door. Without waiting for a reply, he moved forward, and pressed his lips against the spot behind Draco's ear that was sensitive. He'd watched them go at this every time, sitting in the corner of his mind shielded from Voldemort's view, unable to feel anything except his own bitter emotions. Inhaling the soft scent of skin and sweat, he smiled. "I was worried about you," he said, trying to imitate Voldemort's way of drawing out his words. The tension in Draco's body melted away, and Harry hated that he was tense around the real Harry, but felt safe enough to relax when it was Tom. Forcing the tears back, he kissed the side of his neck again, mapping its shape and texture, the feeling of skin beneath his lips and the taste against his tongue. Draco's head fell back against his shoulder, which should have been awkward given the height differences, but wasn't. Harry pushed his hands onto the familiar body in front of him, knowing why it was familiar and hating the reasons.

He slid his hands delicately against the fabric of his shirt, and then began slowly unbuttoning it, feeling the rising pound of Draco's heart through the artery in his throat. He sighed happily when his hands met skin, and Draco shrugged the shirt off, leaving it on the floor and making a pleased noise in his throat. Harry's hands slid across his smooth chest, flicking at the pale rose coloured nipples until Draco shuddered, gasping. He made his way around the body in front of him, pressing his tongue against them and working his hands against the fastenings on Draco's trousers. He was careful not to let himself look up, ignoring his desire to see Draco's face as he gave him this gift, because he was aware that Draco would see the difference in his eyes, and call it off, and it was all he wanted, this one memory.

Draco maneuvered them so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, Harry kneeling between his legs. He was hard with anticipation, and Harry took advantage of it, wrapping his lips around the head. Draco moaned quietly, feeling the tension without recognizing it, but unwilling to break it. Harry licked him, savouring the flavour of his sweat, skin, and something undefinable that was just... Draco. He curled his lips over his teeth and drew Draco further into his mouth, applying suction gently. Draco's hips were moving with the effort of keeping himself from pushing all the way in, and Harry wrapped a hand around the base of him, moving slowly. "Fuck me?" he asked quietly, pulling away.

"Alright,' Draco said, just as quietly, and reached into the bedside table for the small jar he'd kept there since sixth year. He sensed that there was something different, something special about this, though he mostly assumed that Voldemort was trying to make him feel better about being hexed. Had he known the true reasons behind the hesitance, he might not have gone through with it.

Harry positioned himself on the bed, his eyes closed, and moaned when Draco pushed a lubed finger inside him, preparing him. The same finger curled upwards, brushing his prostate, and he jerked, gasping. "Oh god!"

Draco smirked, and did it again. Harry's hips bucked upwards, his erection getting impossibly harder. "Oh please," he whimpered, his words almost drowned out by the sound of Draco's pleasured grunt as he replaced his finger with the tip of his cock. His back arching, Harry catalogued every sensation, every pained stretch, each pleasing gasp, filing them deep in his mind where no one would reach them again. In the future he foresaw coming, he'd need whatever he could get. If they were going to lock him in the deepest darkest cell in Azkaban and forget him, he'd need this memory.

Then Draco shifted his angle, and all thoughts flew out of his head. He pushed in and out, Harry's hips rising to meet him each time, and it wasn't long before they were both coming.

Harry noted at the last second that they'd climaxed simultaneously, and smirked as Draco fell asleep without bothering to pull away from him. He'd woken up like this once before, and it had startled the hell out of him. Draco had just pulled him closer, murmured some sleepy endearment, and gone back to sleep.

"Jackass," he whispered, curling up close to Draco's body heat and closing his eyes.

*

After Draco had left him, Snape sat in his bedroom with a glass of muggle whiskey, the bottle half empty beside him. He'd been going through more and more of it lately, and had breached the halfway mark on the bottle just a moment ago as he refilled his glass.

Draco had updated him on the days events - he'd been hexed out cold by Weasley, who had lost twenty five points and gained three detentions for his indiscretion - and Voldemort, as Harry, had skipped all his classes to remain near him while he was recovering in the hospital wing. That was strange in and of itself, but the things that bothered him the most were the continuing reappearances of the real Potter. Draco wasn't saying much about events preceding these appearances, and Severus hadn't pushed, but the younger man let enough through his occlumency that he didn't need to push. Pushing would lead to details, and he had no inclination towards knowledge of his student's sex lives, even if they included former Dark Lords.

In that train of thought, Draco's plan seemed ingenious - until one reached the fine print of it. He'd told Severus that the plan in its first stage would be to stupefy Potter, drag him to Azkaban, or bring the dementors out - they'd been rebred from the original stock for Ministry use, and had returned to their post at the prison, much to most peoples simultaneous dismay and delight. There were still Dementor's on the side of Voldemort, but there were enough of them on the neutral/Dumbledore side to make people feel a little bit alright about them. So, bring one from Azkaban, or bring Harry TO Azkaban, let the Dementor Kiss him while Voldemort was in control, the Dark Lord's soul would be devoured, taking care of two problems.

The thing he hadn't considered until Severus had mentioned it was whether or not the Dementor could be convinced to stop at that, and not swallow Potter's soul along with Voldemort's, and whether Voldemort's would be the soul to come out first. Potter's was loose in his own body, surely an easier 'meal' for the soulless creature. Draco had been momentarily knocked down, but optimistic.

"We'll do it," he said. "This will work."

He had the certainty of youth behind him, while Severus was thinking with the experience of his age. It could work. But there was a fifty percent chance that it wouldn't, as well.

Hence, the drinking at four in the morning. Thank god the next day was a saturday and there were no brats to be dealt with.

---
TBC

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