Wicked

Here we go- it took a while longer to update since I am currently having a tremendous workload which is keeping me from writing as much I would like, and it´s quite a strain. The story however is developing as intended. I won´t give anything away for what´s to come, but be assured that it won´t be too easy on our boys, especially considering coming to terms with their growing mutual... hm... affection, argh! ;)

I appreciate your reading, voting and reviewing, thanks to you all! And now: enjoy!



Wordlessly, Harry stretched out next to Draco and stared at the ceiling; he was still shaking, and his scar tingled.
Draco could see the muscles in his jaw working relentlessly, a sign that Potter was upset. He had seen him like this many times as a matter of fact, the Gryffindor´s anger often and deliberately caused by himself as he had to admit.

Harry´s mind was reeling. How could people believe he was lying, how could they consider Dumbledore a nutcase after all he had done and achieved? How many more people would Voldemort have to maim, torture and kill before his return would be acknowledged, how many more families would he need to destroy?

Seething, Harry sat up again; he felt so helpless, he wanted to do something and yet couldn´t. Cedric´s face swam into his mind, unseeing eyes staring blindly into nothingness, and yet he could hear the Hufflepuff´s voice: Take my body back to my parents... He realized that his eyes were swimming and snorted disbelievingly; they were not going to make him cry!

He had taken off his glasses and was rubbing his eyes in a helpless gesture of frustration when he felt a hand on his shoulder, tentatively yet comforting. Harry pushed his glasses back on, dropped his hand and just sat there, slightly hunched forward, allowing himself to be comforted by the other´s presence.

It was still hard to believe that people thought he was a liar, he, the boy who lived. It was still hard to believe that it was Draco Malfoy´s hand which was squeezing his shoulder comfortingly, and which felt really good.

Draco could only guess how disappointed Harry must be, how feeling rejected by a society he had saved from being taken over by the dark forces many years before must hurt him. Still he felt bad for him, but didn´t know what to say- what words of comfort were there for someone whose entire life had been determined by one evil soul? How could Draco ever have wanted to support someone so hateful and loathsome as Lord Voldemort?

Shame flushed his cheeks as he looked at Harry; the way he was sitting there, thin shoulders hunched, made him looking defeated, tired of having to battle, yet when he turned round and looked at Draco a few moments later, his features rather struck the blond boy as defiant: “I will not let them,” he repeated fiercely, as if there hadn´t been a pause in conversation.
Draco took a deep breath to shake off his trepidation: “I will help you,” he said quietly, yet his words seemed to ring out through the room. “If you´ll let me.”

Harry considered him with blazing eyes, then nodded: “Good,” he said before lying back down and resuming to stare at the ceiling.
And Draco suddenly yearned to take him into his arms. It didn´t at first occur to him that this had nothing to do with being scared or needing to be comforted, but that he simply wanted to be close to Harry.
When it finally did, a few hours later, Harry had fallen asleep over his brooding, and Draco had been reading until he was tired. He had lain back down and cautiously turned onto his side so as not to wake Harry, finding himself face to face with the Gryffindor who had rolled onto his side as well.

A warm, fuzzy feeling spread in his belly as he watched the thin face with the visible bruise on the left temple, testimony of the fight with his uncle, and Draco once more felt the desire to touch Harry.

He blushed, ashamed for these emotions, and chided himself. He had known that he was rather fancying boys than girls for a while now, but had never really made an advance to explore it further, as he knew it didn´t befit a Malfoy to be... well, gay.
He had thus dated Pansy, much to his distaste, and rather because he felt it was being expected of him.

Maybe some things had just never occurred to him. Potter... very slowly and gingerly did his hand approach Harry´s, which was lying in front of the other boy´s face. He didn´t want to wake him, wanted to have this moment to himself. His fingers brushed over Harry´s, savouring the contact, down to his wrist. It was thin as well- or rather, delicate.

Harry sighed in his sleep, causing Draco to pause. When the other lay still again, his hand crawled forward until it came to rest next to Harry´s chin, and that´s where it stopped.

He didn´t dare to go on, didn´t dare to be caught in case Harry woke up- as much as he hated to admit it did only Harry make him feel safe, safer than Dumbledore and all the rest together. He couldn´t lose that.

He didn´t want Potter to think he was a pathetic fag. And apart from that- he was soiled now, wasn´t he? He couldn´t possibly expect anyone so... pure at heart to even consider getting involved with him, not after all that had been done to him during his captivity.
Downhearted, he pulled his hand back and curled up into a ball; maybe he didn´t deserve to hope at all, he thought, as he would never be able to show as much courage as Harry and fight for his beliefs. How was he supposed to help Harry if he couldn´t even help himself? What was he supposed to do?

When Harry woke up in the next morning the first thing that crossed his mind was that he was spending a lot of time asleep lately. The second thing was that Draco was gone. The bed next to him was empty. Alarmed, Harry shot up and groped around for his glasses, which he found next to his pillow.

He had already scrambled to his feet and his wand at the ready when he realized that Draco was there, sitting on the floor next to Harry´s desk. With two steps Harry was beside him and crouched down: “Draco? Are you all right? What happened?”
Malfoy shot him an unexpectedly dark look: “I got up to let your owl in. And then I couldn´t go on. And now I´m sitting here, idling.” He averted his gaze and grumpily muttered something about stupid useless legs under his breath.

Harry almost laughed with relief: “Why did you get up at all?” he asked and got to his feet. “You could´ve woken me. I´m surprised Hedwig didn´t.”
“I thought I could manage,” Draco said, blushing, as Harry pulled him to his feet, and swayed alarmingly until the Gryffindor firmly supported him with both arms, “besides I was fed up with lying around. And I´m feeling much better already.”

Harry glanced at him, surprised by his defiant tone. This was not the Draco he had shared his bed with lately, yet it wasn´t the old one either.
“Do you think you can walk?” he asked and cautiously reinforced his grip.
“´Course,” Draco muttered exasperatedly, “I´m not bloody invalid.”

The way he clung to Harry and the look of relief on his face when they reached the bed however belied his words. The short excursion had been enough to make him tremble visibly with exertion after he had sat down.

Harry thought he knew where this sudden resolve was coming from: “Draco,” he said quietly. “There is no reason to force yourself. We can´t do anything right now anyway.”

Draco, still trembling not only from the effort but also because Harry had been so close and had felt so amazingly good, looked at him frustratedly: “I need to get back on my feet,” he said in a low voice. “I can´t be this helpless.”
Harry sat down next to him; he could well relate to this feeling, but didn´t want to encourage Draco to overexcert himself further: “You aren´t,” he said. “You´ve got people to protect you, remember?”

Rather than giving a snide retort as Harry would have expected him to do under normal circumstances, Draco suddenly looked crestfallen: “Yes...” he said feebly and all of a sudden seemed to sag. He subconsciously began hugging himself again.
Harry, wondering if he had missed something, took hold of Draco´s hands and gingerly pried them away from himself to make the Slytherin look at him: “What´s the real reason, then?” he asked quietly.

Just at that moment, however, a loud crack announced the arrival of Madam Pomfrey, effectively interrupting them.
The Hogwarts Healer immediately realized that something was wrong, yet had no way of knowing what had transpired and thus looked at Harry enquiringly. He shook his head minutely; he sensed that Draco did not wish to discuss this issue in front of anyone else, even someone as kind as Poppy Pomfrey.
He gave Draco´s still clenched hands a gentle squeeze before he let go and allowed the Healer to take over.


He went to make breakfast in the meantime; the Dursleys were already up, completely ignoring his presence when he came in, only Vernon was glaring daggers at him from behind his newspaper. Dudley pointedly avoided his gaze, his face flushed.
They were finishing their breakfast just as Harry was about to leave the kitchen with a tray, and Harry couldn´t help himself thinking that they would presumably have loved for him to trip over something, despite the mess it would have made. This probably was the only time Petunia regretted not to have a cat, Harry mused darkly.


When Harry reentered his room, Madam Pomfrey was just closing her bag. “He´s a little unsettled, dear,” she said and cast a worried glance over her shoulder; Draco was lying on his side with his back to them, not curled up but in a tense posture nevertheless, his shoulders hunched and his hands clenched into fists once more.

“I have given him a potion to calm his nerves, it will need a few minutes to take effect. Would you rather I stayed for a while?”
Harry shook his head: “No, thank you. I think I´ll be able to handle it. Did he say anything?”

Madam Pomfrey eyed him sadly: “Barely a word. Do bear in mind that the trauma he has suffered has very likely not abated yet,” she said in an undertone. “He is still in a state of shock, even though he tries to hide it.”
Harry nodded: “I have guessed as much,” he said equally low. “He cannot control his dreams, after all. But he seems to trust me.”
“Yes,” Madam Pomfrey smiled. “He does.”

Harry seemed confident enough, thus the matron was reassured. She left him a little of the sedative draught she had used earlier on Draco, though, in case the Slytherin was having another panic attack.

When Madam Pomfrey had Disapparated, Harry set the tray down and resumed his former seat on the edge of the bed.
“Draco,” he said tentatively, wondering what had happened that had escaped his attention. “I´ve got breakfast.”
Draco didn´t respond; he just lay still, with his eyes closed and his face white.

Harry gently laid one hand on his shoulder; he could feel that the blond boy was still trembling, but other than that, he didn´t react. After what might have been ten minutes, the trembling had not diminished in the least.

So Harry, thinking that Draco was really caught up in a bad dream 24/7, crawled onto the mattress and stretched out behind him before he cautiously slid his arms around the other boy and pulled him against his chest: “It will be okay,” he soothed very quietly. “I´m here. You will be fine.”

Draco however seemed to tremble even more at this: “W-what if I – I´ll m-mess up?” he asked, shaking so badly that his words were barely understandable, “what if I´m useless?”

Harry, though glad to have gotten a reaction at last, did not understand: “What do you mean?”
Draco sounded desperate: “I w-want to help... but if I c-can´t, you´ll d-despise me,” he whispered, “you´ll send m-me away. Only I d-don´t know w-where to go...”

And then it dawned on Harry. Draco was afraid to fail, was afraid that the people who were helping him right now might abandon him, and he would have no one else left to turn to.

Harry´s stomach gave a funny jolt at these words: “Do you really think so low of me?” he asked softly, aghast at the extent of Malfoy´s fear. The thin body was still shaking, and Harry could distinctly feel Draco´s ribs as he cradled him close.
“I d-don´t,” Draco whispered brokenly, “but y-you have all the reason to think l-low of m-me.”

After a moment´s hesitation, Harry gingerly reinforced his grip, curling around Draco as much as he dared in order not to unsettle him further or hurt him: “Do you reckon I would be here with you, like this, if I still thought low of you?” he replied quietly.

Draco didn´t answer. Harry could see that there were tears streaming down his face, thus he fell silent as well; gradually, Draco´s trembling abated as the mixture of the potion and Harry kicked in, and as he relaxed, the warm weight of his body pressing against Harry´s increased.

“W-why are you here, like this?” Draco asked very softly once he was calm. Harry subdued a sigh, as they had been over this before after all, but he knew that Draco in his current state of mind needed a lot of reassurance before he would believe that he was not as despicable as he thought.

Those Death Eaters had properly messed with his mind in addition to brutalizing his body, Harry thought. And apart from that, they had been enemies, after all. What had happened to both of them seemed to have redeemed this, however... both of them had suffered at the hands of either Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

To think that Draco´s father was one of them and had participated in torturing his son was equally dreadful than remembering his own experience at the graveyard.
He remembered Voldemort´s voice, and the Death Eaters´ cold, unblinking gazes from behind their masks, watching... with an effort he pulled his thoughts away from them.

“Because I believe you when you say that you are sorry,” he replied at last, unable to put his other feelings into words. “And we haven´t bitten each other´s head off so far, have we?”
“No...” Draco´s voice was almost tranquil now, and he was nestled against the Gryffindor comfortably, therefore Harry was taken by surprise when he next spoke, his words barely audible: “I´m glad...”

For some reason, Harry felt himself smile at this. A happiness he hadn´t expected due to all that was preoccupying him at the moment was spreading within him as he lay there with Draco in his arms. Rather confused by this, Harry asked himself wether he should be feeling awkward, as he had the overwhelming wish to nuzzle his nose against the delicate skin of Draco´s neck and really snuggle up with him, but for some reason he didn´t even blush at the thought.
He restrained himself however, not wanting to scare the other.

The next few days saw Draco a little more steady. It was slowly sinking in that he wouldn´t have to return to Slytherin house, which was a great relief, but at the same time he was worrying about having to pretend to be someone else, and what would happen if someone found out.
Whenever these thoughts grew too oppressive, however, Harry was there, reassuring him and telling him he would be fine.
Madam Pomfrey marveled at Harry´s ability to calm the Slytherin, and affirmed the good progress his injuries were making. The welts on his back as well as the numerous abrasions had scabbed over and were slowly turning into scar tissue. “I will put a water-repelling charm on them, then you may take a shower.” she said one morning.
Draco´s eyes widened: “Am I allowed to get up then?”

“Only to go to the bathroom and take a shower,” she said firmly. “And only with Mr Potter accompanying you!” Draco quickly nodded; he didn´t care if she babied him as long as he was allowed to shower. Even though Madam Pomfrey had used cleansing spells on him every day did he still feel dirty.

Harry however blanched a little when the Healer told him; misinterpreting this, she said sharply: “You are allowed to use the shower, aren´t you?” “Yes,” Harry said, catching himself. “Yes, I am.”

“Good,” she said, her expression unmistakably telling him what would have happened to the Dursleys otherwise.

Inwardly, Harry sighed; he didn´t begrudge Draco the right to shower, he just wasn´t sure how to handle it. Should he be in the bathroom with Draco, in case he´d collapse? Should he wait outside, which seemed ridiculous, lingering in the hallway as if he was queuing up?
He would just have to wait and see once more. Or not see, he couldn´t help adding and then feeling utterly stupid.
Madam Pomfrey took a small, peculiar looking item out of her bag and enlargened it until it was recognizable as a plastic stool, then she turned around to the bed: “Use this to sit on in the shower, dear, in case you feel dizzy.”
Draco nodded, his face going slightly pink, reminding Harry of his remark a few days earlier about not being invalid. He certainly must feel so if the Healer assumed that he wouldn´t even be able to take a shower, but on the other hand was his body still awfully weak, a remainder of the severe mistreatment he had suffered.


Despite his initial embarassment, Draco was very eager to exploit this new freedom, but his face fell as soon as he heard someone walk by outside, being ungently reminded of Uncle Vernon.
“Don´t worry,” Harry, who had guessed his thoughts, hastily reassured him. “We will wait until after breakfast, he will leave for work then.”

He looked at Draco: “We should find you something other than the nightshirt to wear.” He opened his trunk and rummaged around in it until he found a t-shirt and a pair of cotton track suit bottoms, both of which he deemed suitable because they were very comfortable if huge, having belonged to Dudley before.

As Draco watched him, his throat suddenly constricted: Harry never seemed to have had much in his life, and yet he seemed generous. He could feel the heat of shame flushing to his face once more. Harry misread this: “Sorry,” he said awkwardly. “Most of my things are hand-me-downs, you know...”

“´s okay,” Draco said around the lump in his throat. “I don´t mind, really. Th-thank you.” It sounded honest, but Harry eyed him curiously nevertheless, wondering what was going on in Draco´s mind. He folded the sweater and the pants and only then realized that he had forgotten something: underwear.

This time, it was his turn to blush, as he fished a clean pair of pants out of the trunk as well and put them on top of the small pile. “Pants,” he just said, his face flushed and his voice strangely high-pitched, eliciting a grin. It was in fact the first one Harry witnessed ever since Draco had arrived.


As soon as they heard the car backing out of the drive, Harry went to make sure the bathroom wasn´t occupied, and took the stool and the clothes with him so they´d be at hand. He could hear the TV downstairs and assumed that Dudley was watching his morning cartoons, thus the air was clear.

Draco scrambled out of bed and to his feet only to start swaying precariously once more, leaving Harry to wonder wether this was such a good idea. He supported the Slytherin with both hands until Draco was steady, the dizzy spell having worn off:“Ready?” “Yes.”

Slowly, they made their way down the hall. Harry was relieved when they finally reached the bathroom, as was Draco, who sank onto the toilet with shaking knees, glad to be able to sit.

Harry put the stool into the tub and began to instruct Draco how to use the shower and how to adjust the temperature, since it was Muggle technology after all and Draco very probably had never handled anything similar, but the blond boy was looking at him evidently puzzled: “Won´t you stay here?” he asked in a small voice.
Harry was taken equally aback: “I thought you´d like some privacy,” he said lamely. Draco gave him a feeble smile: “I... I´d rather not be alone in here.” he replied in a low voice, sounding a little breathless.

“Oh. Okay.” Harry was suddenly very aware of his hands and didn´t know where to put them, but Draco looked relieved and slowly got to his feet to undress.
With measured movements he pulled the nightshirt over his head while Harry leaned over the tub´s edge to turn the shower on.
When he turned back to Draco, the Slytherin was standing there naked, his arms wrapped around his body. In addition to his hands, Harry suddenly didn´t know what to do with his eyes, for he couldn´t but look at the blond boy: his body did not only look thin but mangled as well.
Most of the bruises had faded, but there were enough barely healed wounds to show what he had been through.

Harry helped Draco to step into the tub and pulled the shower curtain close, then sat down on the toilet.

Draco was actually grateful for the stool, for his knees felt like jelly and his legs were still shaking from the short walk down the hall.
The warm water on his skin felt heavenly. He closed his eyes and let it just run over his body for a while, enjoying the relaxing feeling, before starting to lather himself up cautiously.

The wounds were indeed repelling the water and the soap due to the charm Madam Pomfrey had used, but he could still feel the touch, which was rather unpleasant. He began to disperse a bit of shampoo in his hair, but it was no good: his arms were trembling violently after a moment, and he couldn´t go on.

But he had to, he had to get rid of the filth he had brought from the dungeons, it had to come off! Desperately, he tried again, but his arms were shaking so badly after a while that he could barely control his movements. Scrunching up his face, he considered his options: there wasn´t much of a choice.

He gathered himself and took a deep breath: “Harry?” he then said shakily. “I... could you help me, please?”


TBC