Twisted Miracle

Title: Twisted Miracle
Pairing: H/D
Disclaimer: For fun not money. There are several lines from HBP (Ch 27) used in this story. All props to JKR.
Rating: NC17

Beta: The wonderful Indie.

A/N: Post-war. Flangst. Smuff. PWP. Words: ~12k


There is a brokenness
out of which comes the unbroken,
a shatteredness out of which blooms the unshatterable
There is a sorrow
beyond all grief which leads to joy
-Rashani


Twisted Miracle

Do you believe in miracles?

The night air was dense and heavy, crowded with an eerie sense of anticipation and foreboding. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, ticking over each second grudgingly. Harry shivered, not sure if it was nerves or in response to the almost unbearable cold. He walked slowly, picking his way cautiously through the woods. Moonlight filtered dully through the ancient trees.

He felt small and insignificant beneath the thick canopy overhead. The unnatural silence enveloping the wood was unsettling and left him afraid to utter the simplest of warming spells or to even light his way. Fear hovered over him, dark, shadowy and comfortably familiar.

He had spent most of his life being afraid of one thing or another. Tonight was no different. He was afraid for Draco. He was afraid for the wizarding world if what Draco suspected was true and he had no reason to doubt Draco’s suspicions.

Draco always seemed to know the latest gossip and able to expertly work out the political ramifications of the job. He had saved Harry’s arse more than once. Sometimes Harry thought surviving Voldemort had been easier than surviving office politics.

Do you believe in miracles?

He wasn’t even sure if he was headed in the right direction. After a night of drinking he had followed Malfoy home once, mistakenly believing that he had been the more sober one. He had awakened in the morning hung-over and feeling utterly relieved that Malfoy had been unaware of his foolish efforts to protect him. Tonight, he was thankful for that very absurd foolishness. Unconsciously, he had marked his surroundings and those instincts now stood him in good stead.

As Harry continued walking deeper into the wood, he became aware of the fine hairs of his body lifting away from his skin. Scattered wisps of sound reached his ears. Gradually, he became conscious of the exotic feel of an unfamiliar magic.

He stopped suddenly, catching himself before he collided into a wall of iron. He backed away and saw a tall, wrought iron fence, bordered with a series of intricately carved designs. Close inspection revealed that the border was inscribed with the Malfoy name.

A sudden blaze of light revealed the moon, in all her bountiful glory, glowing gently upon a sight that opened Harry’s eyes wide with awe.

Do you believe in miracles?

Malfoy Manor. Its stone walls and turrets glittered beneath the benevolent gaze of the moon. The mansion looked like something out of a picture book, a massive display of wealth and power. Its magnificence sounded a warning to anyone seeking to thwart the Malfoy will.

Harry swallowed past the large, uncomfortable knot in his throat and squared his shoulders. He had the sinking feeling that it would take a miracle to get him inside of Malfoy Manor, tonight of all nights. Perhaps the fact that he could even see the castle was a sign.

He looked down at the dress robes he had searched for so painstakingly. He groaned silently when he noticed a small tear in the hem and the massive wrinkles he had created while walking through the woods. He quickly brushed himself down and ran his fingers through thick, unruly dark locks. Without further delay, and refusing to allow himself the opportunity to think about it, he Apparated.

**********************************
Harry landed abruptly, regaining his balance awkwardly, thankful for the lush, thick, and obviously expensive burgundy carpet beneath his feet. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath and swiped trembling hands across his face. Moving slowly on rubbery legs, he sought concealment in a nearby, shadowy alcove.

Harry felt as though every cell had been taken apart, scrutinized and just barely put back together again. The lightening shaped scar on his forehead was burning, radiating minuscule, incremental flashes of pain and heat. As he passed through the wards he had been left with the impression that once again he had been a hairsbreadth away from death.

“What are you-

Harry whirled around, wand in his right hand and aimed at the man standing in front of him.

-doing here?”

The speaker didn’t wait for Harry to lower his wand before continuing in a slightly amused tone, “He’s going to be bloody pissed with you once he realizes you’re here.”

When Harry didn’t respond, the speaker repeated, “He’s really going to be pissed. I saw the list of invited guests, and you weren’t on it, Mr. Potter.”

Harry’s clenched his hands into fists in an effort to conceal the continued tremors as he said, “I heard you the first time, Zabini.”

He looked up at the tall, dark wizard and queried, “How do you always do that anyway? How do you always know when I’m coming?” The words were terse with exasperation.

“And don’t tell me it was the ghosts again.”

White teeth gleamed in the attractive, mahogany coloured face. The smile was mocking but not unfriendly. “The spirits told me you were here. The spirits, not ghosts,” he clarified patiently as though he had said the words many times before. “The magic of my people.”

“All right then,” Harry said with a bemused sigh. That magic had come to his aid, more than once during the war. He still didn’t understand how it worked, although Zabini had tried to explain several times.

Harry turned to face the ballroom. If he needed more evidence of the strength of Draco’s concerns, the presence of his Slytherins was confirmation. He quickly noted their strategic placements in the ballroom.

There was Pansy Goyle, dazzling in a short, black dress that matched her dark eyes and hair, fluttering her eyelashes flirtatiously at the assistant to the Assistant Deputy Minister of Magic and not looking silly at all. Beneath the glitter, he knew her eyes were continuously evaluating everyone in the room, looking for Slytherin advantage.

Goyle, who always reminded him of a tank and Crabbe, still stocky and mean looking, stayed in the shadows, much less conspicuous than Zabini who, with his waist length dreadlocks and dark skin, would stand out in any crowd. Harry would not have been able to pick Draco’s loyal bodyguards out if he hadn’t known to look for them. Millicent Bulstrode, now a sophisticated, handsome woman, chatted up someone Harry knew was a Ministry official but he couldn’t recall the man’s name.

“Go home, Potter. Leave before he finds out you’re here.”

“Surely you don’t approve of this,” Harry said heatedly.

“Potter, I’ve known Draco since…”

“How long was he in the hospital before you sussed out where he was?” Harry interrupted flatly.

After a long pause Blaise said sombrely, “Four, no five days.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

Blaise’s slanted eyes darkened as he recalled his best friend’s normally ivory skin, covered with unsightly purple black bruises. His beautiful hair had been shorn and was thin as the down on a baby chicken’s breast. His veins were blackened with toxins and moved angrily beneath the frail tissues. The hideous onyx tattoo covering the pale skin on his left arm had been sundered in two like a broken heart.

“Yes.”

“I’m the one who found him,” Harry said.

Blaise said nothing more.

The two men stood in tense silence, looking out at the crowded ballroom. Harry was both dazzled and intimidated by the ostentatious display of wealth and supremacy. It even smelled like money in here, he thought to himself uncomfortably.

Christmas with the Weasleys and the occasional formal affair held by the Ministry had not prepared him for this. He was overjoyed that Hermione was not there to witness the sight of the Malfoy house elves clad in miniature tuxedos. What kind of Evil Dark Magic could accomplish that?

In the midst of all the glitter stood Himself, Lord Malfoy. The young wizard sparkled as he skilfully manoeuvred his way through the packed room, icy grey eyes glinting with subtle mystery, chatting with Ministry officials, rarely seen members of the wizarding elite and anyone else who had been honoured with a summons to this invitation only holiday soiree. He was ever so elegant and graceful, with an air of authority and command that belied the rumours he had spent the war flat on his back.

Gossip had the Malfoy heir blazing a fiery trail through the wealthiest beds in wizarding Europe while his father decimated the Malfoy fortune in a desperate but futile effort to turn the tide for Lord Voldemort. Tonight was the first time he had been seen in society since the end of the war. Pureblood families had turned out en masse to welcome him home, in spite of the fact his coming out party was five years late. It seemed that the Malfoy name and wealth still held a great deal of influence. Or perhaps most were there out of curiosity to see what remained of a family that once ruled the wizarding world.

The young lord of the manor moved through the room with a charisma that was almost palpable. There was a sense of presence that drew eyes to him as though he were beneath a spotlight. Silky, shoulder length blond hair shone like spun gold. Ivory skin gleamed beneath artfully unbuttoned robes, stylishly molding to his lithe form and skilfully but tastefully revealing that there was nothing beneath the satin material but skin.

He was beautiful.

Harry couldn’t help but contrast Draco’s appearance tonight with memories from another night, when he had been shattered and defenceless. Over time, the harsh memories had taken on a dreamlike quality. Even the grief of losing Dumbledore, of everything that had happened that night, was no longer acute; it had subsided to a dull ache. From time to time, he relived that evening in his nightmares, in flashes and fragments of agonizing clarity.

Accompanying Dumbledore to the cave, returning to Hogwarts and watching as Dumbledore grew progressively weaker, not yet understanding that his beloved mentor was slowly dying. Standing frozen, observing Draco’s inability to do what Snape had done with frightening ease.

Running after Snape, fighting him, watching him get away. Running frantically after him anyway, further into the Forbidden Forest. Rather than finding and capturing Snape, he’d stumbled over Draco’s prone, unconscious body instead.

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

The words were said precisely, in a voice made low by a constrained fury. Harry worked to conceal a reflexive flinch. The frosty grey eyes that met his were as cold and as hard as the voice. Harry cursed himself for being so lost in memory that he had forgotten to track Draco’s movements. Draco was quick, silent and almost always deadly.

Draco raised his hand, and again, Harry resisted the urge to flinch. Long, thin fingers delicately traced the scar on Harry’s forehead. “This glows in the dark,” he tapped Harry on the nose as if he were a disobedient puppy, “to anyone with a discerning eye.

I don’t even want to know how you bypassed the wards or how you even knew about tonight.” Draco paused, brow lifted in silent inquiry, negating his words. He shook his head, eyes narrowed at the unusually inscrutable expression upon Harry’s face. “It’s probably for the best that I take that up with you later.”

Harry wisely kept silent, certain that Malfoy would not want to know that it was a combination of Harry’s blood and magic that had saved his life so many years ago. No one had been able to tell Harry what the effect upon the two of them would be. Tonight, he had taken a foolhardy chance that the wards might recognise him as part of Malfoy. The knowledge had given even him a creepy, unsettled feeling, and he was sure that Malfoy would not handle the discovery with grace.

Draco turned towards Blaise and said flatly, “You didn’t know about this.”

Blaise slanted a reproachful look at him, and Draco reached out and squeezed his shoulder in unspoken apology.

“But maybe this is not a bad idea.”

Draco was unable to conceal his sudden shock at Blaise’s quiet comment.

He stepped between Harry and Blaise and planted a palm on each chest. “I’ll deal with you later,” he snapped, forcing Blaise backwards and pushing Harry forward. He pressed on Harry’s chest several times, propelling him into the fire lit room that appeared behind them.

He pushed Harry once more but Harry was losing patience and stubbornly held his ground. Draco lifted his hand and snapped his fingers twice. Harry jumped when a house elf suddenly appeared. Torchlight brightened the room, and a full tea service appeared on the table before them.

“You seem a tad on edge this evening, Potter. First time in Malfoy Manor worrying you?
Are you even a little…scared, perhaps?”

The grey eyes that met Harry’s held a sly, familiar amusement. Harry’s tension eased marginally, though he still eyed Draco warily. His partner’s moods changed like quicksilver; he was truly Mercury’s child.

Draco walked over to Harry, absently straightened his tie and repaired the tear in the hem of his robe as Harry replied with a tiny half-smile, “You wish, Malfoy.”

This was the Draco he knew; not the beautiful, sophisticated charmer he had observed in the other room. This was his Draco; the Draco with the slightly shadowed eyes, pointy chin and perfectly curved lips that could form the perfect sneer but never did anymore. This was his partner, the Draco he saw every day, mostly serious, with a stunning intellect, always competent, and constantly grooming his sartorially challenged partner. With a quick wave of Draco’s wand, the wrinkles were also gone.

Draco surveyed Harry critically, then nodded, satisfied with his handiwork. The amusement gradually faded from his eyes and he said quietly, “Go home, Harry.”

Harry turned away and walked around the small parlour. The room was surprisingly cosy. He’d always imagined Malfoy Manor as cold, forbidding and just a little scary. It was more of a home than he had expected. He moved over to an ornately carved, wooden side table, and picked up a trinket that was probably worth more money than he could earn in five years.

“Did you hear me, then? You haven’t gone deaf have you, Potter?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I’m not going home.” Harry stared down at the outrageously expensive item in his hands, turning it over and over, refusing to meet the eyes he could feel glaring at him, willing him to look up and pay attention.

Draco rubbed a hand over his narrow face. “Look, Potter, I know you mean well, just trying to help, trying to prevent harm to the masses, et cetera, et cetera. Let’s just pretend you’ve said all you have to say, done all you’ve had to do, and now you can leave.”

“No.”

“Potter, I know you don’t understand.”

Draco inhaled wearily and tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling; struggling to find words to express what he himself could scarcely comprehend.

“You try, but you can’t. You were born into a legacy of heroism and honour. Everyone expected you to be great, and so you were. You expected that of yourself.”

Draco strode across the room and stood in front of Harry. “Potter.”

He forcefully removed the trinket out of Harry’s hand. “Stop ignoring me. You’re only doing that because I hate it. And you know it.”

Harry’s arms fell to his sides, and he finally looked at Draco. Troubled green eyes met wary silver, and they stood wordlessly, each feeling as though they were treading on unfamiliar and dangerous ground, neither certain how to navigate through the moment.
Harry was unexpectedly filled with an unreasoning fear; the image of Draco lying helplessly on the ground in the Forbidden Forest was suddenly superimposed over his currently smooth, unblemished face.

He remembered how he had felt that night; the grief and need for vengeance had been almost overwhelming. Standing over top of Draco’s defenceless, broken body, he had wanted to hurt, to maim, but he found that he couldn’t harm someone so vulnerable.
As he had stared down at the boy on the cold, hard ground, he relived those frozen moments that had occurred earlier that evening, watching powerlessly as Draco’s wand hand selected his target and wavered. Sick with sorrow, and the adrenaline infusing his system, burning like poison, Harry had gathered the crumpled, destroyed form into his arms and carried him back to the school.

Holding Draco’s devastated form, he recognised the now familiar face of impending death. No more, he had muttered to himself, no more death tonight. He had willed Draco to live. He had coaxed and taunted him all of the way back to Hogwarts. Some spark, some ember of life had stirred and held on.

Draco shifted restlessly, seeing the poignant ghosts of memory that haunted him mirrored in Harry’s sad, green eyes. His thin lips curved into a bitter smile, “Do you really think I wanted to become an Auror? An Auror? I had to practically die to get here, Potter. Not once, but twice.”

He paced the length of the room and returned to stand in front of Harry once more. “And do you really think I want to work in an office? In at 8 out by 7, if I’m lucky,” he added sullenly.

“I work at this, Potter. I work to have a sense of ethics and to live my life with integrity. I wasn’t born to it, Potter. Not like you. I struggle with it daily.”

“You of all people know that I’m not some sort of paragon of virtue, Draco.” Harry emphasised his use of Draco’s first name, refusing to return to a formality that belonged to another lifetime.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do here exactly.” Harry said. “I just want to help. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Draco’s pointed chin rose with determination, “Yes, I do. I don’t want to live in a world populated with thousands of little purebloods dreaming of taking that bastard Riddle’s place.”

“So why not let me help?”

“I know these people. I know how to manoeuvre in this world. I know how they think. You don’t.”

Harry could feel the heightened tension in the man standing before him.

“You’re going about this the wrong way, Draco. Voldemort wasn’t the first of his kind, and he won’t be the last. Believe it or not, this happens in the Muggle world too. There’s always going to be evil, power hungry men who want to rule the world. ”

“Perhaps, but this is the only world I know,” Draco said. “If something happens to this world, you have somewhere else to go. You’ve always had one foot in the Muggle world.”

“Is that what you really think?” Harry asked. “After everything?”

For an instant, the only sound in the room was the muted crackling of the wood burning in the fireplace.

When Draco remained silent, Harry said, “My life is here. There is no other world for me.”

Harry thought the expression in Draco’s eyes might be relief but it was impossible to tell. Draco’s defences were damn near impenetrable.

“Draco,” Harry sighed with frustration, took his glasses off, rubbed them against his robe and put them back on. It was a habitual gesture that Draco found unbearably endearing.

“We’ve been together almost five years.” A slow flush rose, barely visible beneath olive skin, as Harry realised what he had said.

“Why, Potter, I didn’t know you cared.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes. I. Do.”

“Not this way, putting yourself out front, not knowing where the danger lies,” Harry said fiercely, green eyes brilliant emerald and blazing.

Draco’s arms spread wide and he straightened himself to his full height.

“Do you know how long it’s taken me to figure out who I am? Who I can be?” He laughed mirthlessly.

“Oh, of course not. How could I have forgotten? You’re Harry Potter. You’ve always known who you are.”

It was unfair, and Draco knew it, but he continued nevertheless, ignoring the wounded look in Harry’s eyes.

“This is all I have, Harry. This is all I am. You shouldn’t have come. I can’t let you leave now; your leaving will attract attention of the kind that I don’t want or need. Now stay here. In this room. Until this is finished.

Draco’s voice was stretched tight with an anguish Harry felt rather than heard. Harry walked over to fireplace and stared down at the merrily burning flames.

“It’s not true, Draco. What you said.” Harry turned around. Draco was gone.

“It’s not true,” he said again to the empty room.

He strode angrily to the doorway and cursed furiously when he bounced off of an invisible barrier and found himself sitting on his arse in the centre of the room.


“Draco, love.”

The Man Who Lived entered the room in a flashy swirl of crimson robes trimmed with gold. His scar was a vivid, conspicuous splash of dark red against his forehead. Ink black hair fell in a dishevelled mass of thick curls to his shoulders. His dark eyes were a murky, enigmatic green as he said in a rueful voice, “So sorry I’m late.”

Anyone else would have missed the shock and consternation in Draco’s pewter grey eyes. The infinitesimal tightening of his jaw and the dull sound of his teeth grinding together were undetectable to everyone but the Man Who Lived. He was accustomed to this very reaction; he caused it quite often in this man, his partner and now one of his very good friends.

He smiled widely, “Have I missed anything?”

“Potter,” Draco whispered sharply. “What in all hells are you doing?” He didn’t bother to ask Harry how he had broken through a barrier that was supposed to be impenetrable.

Harry’s mirthless smile widened, revealing a spread of glistening white teeth, deceiving everyone but the one who knew him best.

“Stopping you.”

Draco’s mouth opened, before he could speak, Harry’s voice interrupted, clear enough for Draco to hear every word, low enough to be inaudible to the inquisitive listeners surrounding them.

“This is not the way to do whatever it is you’re trying to do. I won’t let them use you.” Hurt you, he added silently to himself. “I won’t let you do this alone. Even you have to admit that we’ve been a rather good team in the past.”

Draco’s stormy grey eyes narrowed and he snarled through gritted teeth; narrow face a parody of a smile. “A good team? What about Greece?” He was careful to keep his voice low and pleasant.

“I’ve said I was sorry,” Harry replied, digging ragged nails into the palms of his hands to prevent the totally inappropriate urge to laugh.

Draco’s gaze swept the room quickly. He noted that unsurprisingly, all eyes were on the Man Who Lived. He leaned towards Harry, increasing the appearance of warmth and intimacy. Cold, grey eyes held a dangerous promise of retribution that caused Harry a moment’s trepidation.

This was after all, the man who had stomped on his face, broken his nose and left him Petrified and alone without a second thought. Harry clenched his jaw so tightly it ached. He refused to step back, shamelessly admitting to himself that Malfoy could be pretty damn scary.

“You’re making a mistake,” there was a heated pause before Draco continued with a low venomous hiss, “Harry. You should have stayed out of my way.”

Draco lowered his eyes shyly, continuing the masquerade for the avidly watching audience.

“You’ll see,” his voice was silky yet somehow full of menace.

“Potty”. Harry looked away from threatening grey eyes with relief. He smiled at Pansy. She was the only Slytherin who could make Potty sound like a term of endearment.

She casually twined her arm around Harry’s and said, “Walk with me.”

Turning to Draco, she said, “Draco, Pet, I’m going to take Harry off your hands for awhile.”

“Do that,” Draco replied in a low, angry voice.

Harry fought not to pull away from Pansy’s loose hold. He didn’t think he’d ever be at ease with the physically demonstrative behaviour of Draco’s Slytherins. He’d never become as comfortable in his own skin as they appeared to be within theirs. He endured Pansy’s touch wordlessly, just as he’d adjusted to Malfoy’s minor attempts to groom him, knowing that it was a sign of acceptance.

Pansy walked through the crowded room, whispering the names of the prominent individuals gracing the room sotto voce, clearly impressed. Harry allowed her to guide him, feeling awkward and out of place, wondering if he had completely over reacted. He wondered if his partner would ever trust him again.

Pansy stopped moving. Harry automatically stopped when she did, remaining silent, barely noticing that Pansy had led them to a dim corner at the back of the room.

“Potter. Harry.”

Harry responded distractedly, raising his eyes to hers and tilting his head.

“Merlin, Harry. You look like someone stole your chocolate pudding.”

The comment elicited a half smile.

“Better. We’ve been expecting you,” Pansy said simply.

“Really?”

“Well, everyone except for your partner. For some reason, he thinks he can keep things from you.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond to that statement so he said nothing. His eyes returned to Draco, and he watched as he moved through the room smiling broadly, an empty, charming, yet irresistible movement of his lips. He felt Pansy’s eyes on him but after all this time, he was accustomed to being Slytherins’ favourite specimen.

Every one of them had eyed him askance at one time or another, as though wondering how the lion suddenly appeared in their midst. Slytherins though, did not expect him to be a saviour or a hero. They did not even expect him to be good. They simply expected him to be himself. Sometimes, he found being in their company a very fine thing.

“I’m glad you’re here, Potty.”

“Me, too,” Goyle’s deep voice rumbled out of the shadows.

Millicent, Blaise and Crabbe materialised silently out of the darkness. They said nothing but Harry knew that if they didn’t want him there, they would have let him know in one way or another.

Draco sauntered across the room, a cordial smile plastered across his face, revealing no signs of his inner turmoil. He had avoided Wizarding society since the war and was gratified to see that everyone he had invited, including pureblood families who had remained neutral during the war, was in attendance. He was on a mission, and this time he would not fail. Draco…you are not a killer….

He hadn’t been lying when he told Harry that it had taken being close to death to transform him from a greedy, self-centred prat to something approaching human.
When Harry had almost killed him, he had welcomed death. It had been a blessed reprieve, to be free of the crippling fear that had controlled his life for so long. He had been disappointed when Professor Snape healed him.

That night; he didn’t have to be a Legilimens to know that Harry had been thinking of that night. The spectre of that night haunted every moment between them. He stopped to speak with Mrs. Lincoln, the matriarch of an old wizarding family who had been friends with his great-grandfather. He smiled pleasantly, admired her fine royal blue robes, and charmingly detached himself from her with a gentle kiss to the top of her right hand.

“I’m a little shocked that Draco here invited you, of all people, into the school where his friends live…” Heart racing, Draco rapidly glanced around the room, locating his Slytherins. He had made a special promise to himself that he’d never place them in danger again. He shouldn’t have invited them tonight. Blaise raised a questioning eyebrow, Draco shook his head slightly. He raised his left hand waist high, and Pansy adroitly turned back around as though she hadn’t been headed in his direction.

He moved towards a group of lower level Ministry employees and added his voice to their grumblings about long hours and little pay. Most were younger brothers and sisters of the heads of pureblood wizarding families and were appreciative of his attention.

“Run, Draco!” Running wildly into the darkness, the sounds of Snape deflecting Potter’s hexes fading into the distance.

He recited a joke he had heard earlier in the week and moved away under the cover of the laughter before one of the younger women who had been eyeing him could approach him. He walked over to an older gentleman, an acquaintance of his grandmother.

Merlin, this usually only happened at 3a.m.

As his urbane, nonchalant smile started to crumple around the edges, he gratefully latched onto Lord Simmons. He reminded Draco of Professor Binns; he was full of long, boring stories, and with his sagging, wrinkled skin looked to be at least three hundred years old. Draco’s grey eyes were wide and attentive, completely focused upon Lord Simmons, expertly concealing his battle with the memories conjured by his earlier conversation with Harry.

Desperate and shaken into obedience, he had followed Snape’s order and scurried into the darkness. He hadn’t been able to see; the entire world had changed, as if sentient and aware of looming disaster, stars winked out of existence and the moon went into hiding. He couldn’t get his bearings in the dark.

His lungs had burned with fatigue and his hands and feet had become numb. He had run frantically, lost and frightened, until he could go no further. He’d leaned over, placed his hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath, when he’d heard a sinister growl and a sharp bark of laughter.
His blood chilled and his heart stilled in his chest, already resigned to his death. He’d always known there would be no escape. Pinned on all sides, he had nevertheless attempted to gain his freedom, to no avail. They had played with him for awhile, launching hex after hex at him, delighting in his agony, before cursing him and leaving him for dead.

He hadn’t faded into unconsciousness. Instead he had lain on that cold ground, helpless and alone, as life and magic seeped out of him like air from a punctured balloon. He’d thought of his mother, and all she had sacrificed to keep him safe.

He’d remembered standing before his father countless times, head bowed, cowering, fearing the weight of that inimical cane. Fearing the words to come so much more. He’d wondered what kind of man would leave a legacy of agony and death for his only son. He’d thought of himself, and how he’d lived his entire life as a shadow of who he could’ve been.

It had been that complicated and that simple. Harry Potter had saved his life, and he had been irrevocably changed. He had known when he looked into those sorrowful green eyes, so angry, so full of pain, for him; he had known then, that nothing would ever be the same. But he couldn’t think of that now.

He had to think about the rumours that had been circulating around the Ministry for months. Rumours that the Wizarding world needed a new purge. Mudbloods and muggleborns, even squibs had been welcomed into the new Ministry, and there were those who disapproved. The history of the Wizarding world proved that those types of rumours should not be ignored. Draco had vowed to find the source.

With bitter irony, he thought that this holiday party could be considered a belated welcome home. He ran long, slender fingers through his hair and gave himself an inward shake. Now was not the time for introspection.

There was no way to take his leave politely. Apparently Lord Simmons did not require oxygen; he had not taken a breath since Draco had arrived at his side. Draco clasped his hand, bowed courteously and departed, full of new resolve.


His eyes followed Draco, dancing now, with more elegance and style than one person should be allowed. Harry had always marvelled at Draco’s ability to appear unruffled and well put together no matter what.

Do you believe in miracles?

Merlin, there it was again, that dratted Twisted Sister song that was trotted out every holiday season. He had heard it earlier in the day; the refrain was a syrupy, sentimental, horrible combination of sounds. It had looped round and round his head the entire day and the band was playing the bloody song now.

Harry stood in the shadows, enjoying the unique experience of being ignored. This crowd, full of pureblooded aristocrats and mostly lower level Ministry employees, all carefully selected by Draco and his Slytherins he was sure, had no interests in the likes of Harry Potter. Most of these families had been neutral and had been anxiously awaiting the outcome of the war.

To these, Harry was no hero but merely a means to an end. To them, clearly Draco was the star. They had all come out to play and to witness the return of the prodigal Malfoy.

He’d worked with Draco long enough to know that Draco had identified a target, probably even before he’d planned this infernal party. Yes. And there it was.

Sammykines, formerly one of Umbridge’s assistants. Harry frequently saw him at the Ministry but had no idea what he actually did there. Harry watched as Sammykines slowly made his way over to Draco. He was skilful, Harry had to admit, if he hadn’t been looking for it, he wouldn’t have noticed Sammykines sniffing around the trap Draco had laid for him.

No one could resist Draco Malfoy when he wanted something, Harry knew. Sammykines was no different. Harry was filled with an inexplicable tension as he observed Draco smile so charismatically. He watched as Draco created a sense of intimacy in the midst of the crowded room that no one appeared inclined to disturb. Draco laughed softly in response to something that Harry believed could not possibly be as funny as Draco was making it seem.

Draco reached up to pick a piece of something off of Sammykines’ robe and looked up at him beneath long, blond lashes. The glass of champagne Harry had been nursing for most of the evening shattered and the remaining liquid splashed upon his robes. He brushed himself down angrily. Draco hadn’t even turned in his direction.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. Apparently Draco thought the game was going on as planned. Time to show him differently.


“All right there, love?”

Draco turned incredulous eyes towards Harry. As his partner’s deceptively slender arm fell across his shoulders, Draco was reminded why he referred to Harry as the brawn, kindly leaving others to infer that, of course, Draco was the brain of the partnership. The heavy, solidly muscled arm was attached to a compact, wiry and very strong body.
But most of all, it was the palpable force of Harry’s magic that was so potent. The combination gave Draco a sense of a security that he would never, ever acknowledge to anyone but himself.

Harry smiled toothily, a happy grin that to anyone else might be taken for the smile of a man in love. Only Draco detected the unholy, evil, joyous glee shimmering in emerald eyes. Impossibly, Harry’s grin widened even more as he savoured the precious moment; Draco Malfoy at a loss for words.

Draco’s incredulity rapidly turned to an ill concealed anger. With the ease of long practice, Harry disregarded the swift change in mood, casually turned to Sammykines and asked cheerfully, “Simpson, right? Lovely, party eh?”

As Sammykines introduced himself, in a blatant show of ownership, Harry pulled Draco’s rigid body further into the circle of his embrace. A tiny voice in his head stuttered a warning that he steadfastly ignored. After all, it wasn’t as though Draco would pull a wand on him in front of all of these people.

Draco eyes frantically roamed the room and caught Pansy’s attention. Pansy raised an eyebrow and shook her head slightly. If they had been alone, she’d be saying, I told you so. She had insisted that Potter would somehow find his way to the party.

She had vehemently encouraged Draco to include Potter and even Granger in their plans. The rest of his friends had agreed. The consensus had made Draco even more resistant to their attempts to reason with him.

Draco’s lips tightened, and his hands clenched at his sides as he realised that none of them were coming to take Potter off of his hands. He couldn’t quite stifle the sense of betrayal as he realised that for some reason, his oldest and best friends had sided with Potter on this. He had thought to salvage the situation despite Potter’s presence. He had laid the groundwork, and now all was lost.

The anger that had been simmering beneath his skin, since he had first heard the rumours of purebloods seeking to re-establish the preferential treatment they had enjoyed before the wars, and Merlin only knew what else, coalesced into a hard knot within his stomach. Was he the only one taking this seriously? Was he the only one who understood how quickly these things turn ugly if ignored?

He turned in Potter’s arm and they exchanged a glance so charged and heated that Sammykines backed away awkwardly, mistakenly assuming that the happy couple wanted to be left alone. The anger, always just beneath the surface, so vibrant and alive, that it was almost another living being living alongside the rest of him, faltered beneath the grave expression in Harry’s eyes.

Draco felt a sudden ache so immense that he pressed a hand onto his traitorous heart and coughed softly to disguise the gesture. Before either of them could speak, one of the house elves discreetly whispered to Draco that dinner was ready to be served at the hour he had requested.

*********************************
Always adept at maintaining appearances, Draco had somehow kept up the pretence that all was well between the two of them. He’d chattered politely as they had walked over to the table but Harry could feel the bitter wall of ice between them. This was worse than when they hated each other; then he hadn’t cared.

Harry looked at the long table before him, gleaming with china and laden with more food than he’d ever seen before in his life. Next to the plates was a confusing and intimidating number of eating utensils. He hated formal affairs.

There were too many people. There was too much noise. The room was too big. He remained silent as he pulled out a chair for Draco and then seated himself. House elves and a variety of helpers who mysteriously appeared assisted the guests into their seats.

Draco had planned to sit in between Blaise and Pansy, instead, Pansy was on his right and Blaise on Harry’s left. His two oldest friends managed to keep an inane conversation going amongst the four of them for most of the meal. If this had been another type of evening, Draco mused, he would have been patting himself on the back.

The food and music were perfection. He’d planned the decorations with Pansy’s help and suggestions from Blaise. The former Slytherins had reviewed the guest list painstakingly, carefully considering invitations and generating an eclectic mix of powerful people. He looked around the room, full of colour and a crowd of people who appeared to be enjoying themselves tremendously.

Could he have been wrong? Were the rumours just that? Tall tales and gossip?

Harry kept his head down and focused upon the meal that would have been enormously appealing on any other evening. The food he did manage to consume was tasteless and scarcely passed the huge lump in his throat.

Was he wrong? Should he have stayed out of this mess?

For an instant, it felt like the worst moment of his life, alone in this crowded room, trying to help, when his help was not wanted or needed. He reached for his water and clumsily knocked it over. Draco caught the glass before the water splashed onto the table. “Thanks,” Harry muttered softly.

He gave Draco a swift glance. Draco recognised the fleeting look for what it was; an attempt to gauge his mood. He abruptly became conscious that Harry had been sitting next to him, folded inward, and so tightly guarded that Draco could barely sense him there. Harry’s eyes were the deepest, most verdant, most dazzling green but now they were sad and mournful like the eyes of an English Bassett Hound. Draco’s anger evaporated beneath their deep gaze.

He reached for his napkin and dabbed gently at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “A bit of gravy,” he explained softly.

“Thanks,” Harry said, sitting up straight and viewing his meal with renewed interest.

“…a toast to the Happy Couple.”

Harry looked up curiously. Pansy was on her feet, champagne glass in hand, smiling playfully and ignoring Draco’s muttered command to sit down, right now. Her shining black eyes glittered mischievously. She targeted Harry and Draco with a meaningful look while raising her glass and declaring joyfully, “To the Happy Couple.”

A quick rush of warm air accompanied the appearance of a glass of champagne in front of each place setting. Harry grimly wondered why he had started this masquerade in the first place. Surely he could have invented some other explanation for his presence at the party.

Some of the guests seemed bewildered but the champagne was from the renowned Malfoy cellars and they sipped contentedly. There was a musical tinkling as so many glasses returned to the surface of the table. Harry determined that he needed more than a polite sip and guzzled the contents.

He was staring at the bottom of his glass with a forlorn expression on his face, wishing he could drown himself in a bottle of the stuff, when he noticed Draco apparently had the same idea. His glass was empty too. At least the moment was over, Harry thought to himself with relief.

Until that bastard Blaise Zabini added ever so helpfully, “Look over your head, Malfoy.”

Draco groaned softly. Reluctantly, his eyes rose to see a small sprig of mistletoe suspended over his head. He found it hard to believe that at one time he had found these impish, not quite malicious, Slytherin machinations amusing. He no longer had the intestinal fortitude that had served him so well in the past. Now he found these Slytherin games rather annoying.

He turned towards Harry, and they shared a commiserating glance in the face of this mutual horror. Draco wished he had shared his suspicions with Harry instead of leaving him to figure things out on his own and coming up with this Gryffindorish, foolhardy scheme.

“Should we get this over with, then?” Harry asked Draco with a sheepish smile. He’d accused Draco of handling things the wrong way and he’d done the very same thing. He’d do it again, if he had to, he admitted to himself.

“As ever, the brave Gryffindor,” Draco muttered.

Harry said, “You do-“

“-what you gotta do,” Draco finished, using words that Harry had taught him a very long time ago. The words seemed incongruous when spoken so very properly, particularly coming from the mouth of Lord Malfoy. Still, for both men the words were a reassuring reminder of things past and the durable partnership they’d forged out of a history fraught with pain and perilous hazards.

Harry shifted awkwardly, uncertain where to put his hands, not even sure where to put his body. He hadn’t kissed anyone in a very long time and he’d never kissed a man before. He swallowed nervously. Draco touched his forehead to Harry’s and looked at him steadily.

“And you do it”-

“-quickly,” Harry said.

Draco, who had kissed a man or two, maybe even three before, pulled Harry towards him before Harry could demure and planted a firm, chaste kiss upon his lips. Or that was what he intended to do. Instead, when he felt the honey sweet and deliciously warm tendrils of Harry’s magical essence easing towards him tentatively and gradually enveloping him in a warm, sensual field, he shuddered.

It felt good, so good, and he hadn’t felt like this in so long. Engrossed in the moment, he brushed his lips against Harry’s, back and forth, enjoying the texture and feel of Harry’s lips beneath his own. Harry had such a full, delectable, enticing lower lip; Draco’s teeth sunk into it delicately, tasting and nipping gently.

His fingers scratched softly at the tender skin at the base of Harry’s skull. He felt a soft moan vibrate within Harry’s chest. He tugged the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck and was gratified to feel Harry tremble against him.

Merlin he’s sensitive.

He eyed Harry’s bottom lip, rose pink and petal soft and wanted to feel it beneath his own once again. And again he admitted to himself. He consoled himself by keeping his hand on the back of Harry’s neck for a few moments longer, tracing a delicate pattern against the skin, and smirking inwardly at the fine tremors elicited every time he moved his fingers.

Draco pulled away leisurely, hoping that his reluctance to do so was hidden. Harry’s eyes drifted opened slowly; they were hazy and groggy. Dazed with hunger and want. Draco hadn’t seen that look in another man’s eyes in a very long time.

He settled back in the chair with a lazy smile, concealing the desperate urge to grab Harry, bury his hands in those thick, lustrous black waves and kiss him breathless. He nodded to his guests. Show over.

Throughout the meal, Draco returned repeatedly to that tempting spot at the nape of Harry’s neck, so soft, so sweet, feeling the tiny, hard bumps lining the surface of Harry’s skin, educed by his gentle caress.

He smiled to himself as Harry shifted restlessly in his seat. He leaned over and whispered, “All right there, Harry?”

Harry nodded, unable to reply verbally, completely overwhelmed by an intense wave of desire. He struggled to keep his eyes open, staunchly resisting the urge to close his eyes and immerse himself in the sensations generated by the fleeting, intoxicating touches that Draco had been using to torture him throughout the interminable meal. As Draco’s breath gently caressed the side of his face, Harry defied the compelling need to turn and draw that breath in, to touch his lips against Draco’s mouth, to devour those precisely curved, delicious lips. He just barely concealed a whimper when Draco’s leg rubbed against his.

During the entire full course meal, it was Draco’s pleasure to discover that the back of Harry’s right hand and the curve of his right ear were just as sensitive as the nape of his neck. The highlight of his evening so far was returning to that spot over and over again and witnessing Harry’s efforts to conceal the tiny shivers triggered by the slightest touch to that very area. Every time Harry shifted his chair inconspicuously to the left, Draco followed until there was nowhere else for Harry to go.

Harry endured, knowing that this was yet another game, another test of their partnership. In a twisted sort of way, most of the time he didn’t mind. Tonight though, Draco was pushing him to the edge of his endurance.

Still, he wasn’t sure if it was disappointment or relief he felt when Draco slipped away from the table just before dessert was served, leaving Harry alone to grapple with the overpowering sensations Draco had created.


Draco leaned against the wall of the small drawing room adjacent to the dining room. He closed his eyes and pressed himself against the wall, attempting to regain his equilibrium. He was shaking, he realised sourly. His insides were quivering, and his knees were so wobbly they barely held his weight. His soul, cracked wide open, revealing a desire he had kept hidden from even himself.

He struggled for his most vaunted control, and then laughed aloud resentfully. That reputed control was such an evil illusion; sometimes he had even believed in it. So much of his early life and actions had been ruled by terror and an overwhelming sense of helplessness, rather than the cold ruthlessness he was known for.

He lifted his head and bounced it against the wall. Merlin, he had kissed his bloody partner. He had kissed Harry. He laughed again, and this time, the sound was soft and disbelieving. He buried his burning face in his hands and laughed again.

Amazing.

That kiss. And then the feel of Harry. Harry’s hair was—amazing. Soft, thick, luxuriant waves Draco wanted to bury his face in, wanted to feel moving across his skin. Harry’s skin, creamy vanilla silk, was—amazing. He wanted to rub his body across Harry’s, wanted to wallow in the experience of Harry’s body against his own.

And that mouth, Harry’s mouth: so wide, thin upper lip, full, delectable bottom lip with that tiny dip in the middle—amazing. He wanted that mouth beneath his own. Again. And again.

He hadn’t been able to stop touching Harry. With every touch, he had forbidden himself another, but he couldn’t stop. The smell and feel of Harry’s rising desire had been electric and all consuming. He could think of nothing else.

And the way Harry had reacted to a simple kiss. The way his body had awakened to Draco’s touch. He could only imagine how responsive the rest of Harry’s body must be.

Draco pressed the palm of his hand against his aching, swollen dick. Fragments of thoughts and sensation chased around in his head, until he was almost delirious with the remembrance of the supple texture of Harry’s skin beneath his fingertips, the incredibly fine consistency of Harry’s hair, and the powerful muscles in Harry’s thigh beneath his hand.

God. If only.

Draco straightened quickly and snatched his hand away from his dick. He silently cursed his partner’s uncanny ability to find him no matter where he was. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Harry was in the room. His eyelids drifted open slowly; his usually impassive face was serious and unsmiling. His silver eyes were dark, almost black and heavy lidded with the weight of the all encompassing hunger perfusing every cell of his body.

He sent Harry an unconsciously alluring look beneath long, silky lashes. Harry froze, immobilized by an unrelenting, potent rush of desire. Draco’s chin lifted; to anyone else, it would have been a challenge but Harry knew it was something Draco did when he was feeling the most vulnerable.

Draco moved restlessly, unnerved by Harry’s mute presence. “What do you want, Potter?”

“I was wondering where you’d gone off to,” Harry said quietly.

“I’m,” Draco hesitated, his usual ability to confabulate on the spur of the moment deserting him, “busy. How can I help you, Potter? What do you want?”

“You.”

Draco didn’t dare move.

“That’s what you wanted, right?” Harry’s tone barely escaped sounding bitter. “Or didn’t you know that would happen? Couldn’t be that you didn’t think about what you were doing. Not you, who analyses every little thing to death. It’s just another game, right?”

“I could say the same for you, Potter. Why’d you bother to come? You’ve just bollixed everything up.”

“Stop it,” Harry said sternly. “Don’t make this another one of your confusing, unbelievably complicated conversations. Just. Don’t.”

Every moment of every day was an exhausting, ruthless examination of his every action to ensure that he would never fall into old patterns of behaviour. Draco hadn’t allowed himself something that he truly wanted for so damnably long. Harry was absolutely off limits in so many ways.

But he couldn’t stop himself from sliding the palms of his hands against the sides of Harry’s face and into the hair he had been longing to touch again. Harry’s head fell back, and his eyes closed. Draco entangled his long fingers in Harry’s hair and used the silky strands as a lever to draw Harry’s mouth towards his.

Suddenly they were snogging furiously, a contest as so many things were between them, to see who could get deeper, go further. It was incredibly passionate, blistering hot and sweeter than he would have ever imagined, and Harry wanted it to go on and on. He was lost.

It didn’t matter that he’d never wanted to kiss a man before, or that this was Draco Malfoy. He’d never been kissed like this before. Never been kissed with such tender, aching desperation. Never been desired like this before.

The world collapsed in upon itself. This wasn’t the Malfoy heir. This wasn’t the Slytherin Prince. This wasn’t his partner. This was some other man.

Draco slid his leg between Harry’s and very slowly ground himself against Harry’s aching dick. Harry’s extremities became liquid with need. His ruthless grasp on Draco’s wrists slackened. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his knees buckled.

The kiss slowed and intensified even more. Draco could feel the heat building in Harry as Harry’s magic and desire enfolded him in a scorching embrace. He welcomed the fiery power rather than feared it, even as he sensed that Harry was not completely in control.

They both heard the discreet scratching at the door at the same time. Draco stiffened in Harry’s arms. His hold on Draco tightened. Nononono. The scratching became louder.

Harry’s eyes opened grudgingly. Their eyes met and held for a few electric moments before Draco adroitly slid from beneath him. Harry stumbled slightly on shaking legs. Breathless and hurting, he leaned his forehead against the velvet covered wall.

With a twitch of his wand, Draco straightened his clothing and smoothed his hair, clasping trembling hands behind his back.

“All right there, Potter?” he asked coolly, pleased to note that his voice did not reveal the quaking within.

Harry shook himself, unaware that his green eyes were hazy and unfocused and that Draco was having an exceedingly difficult time resisting his attraction. He walked over to Draco and gently tapped his forehead. He looked up at Draco and asked, “Just how many people are in there?”

Draco’s smile held a peculiar sweetness as he replied, “Too many for you to count, actually.”

As he walked out of the room, he commanded, “Count to ten and then you can follow after.”

Harry rolled his eyes but obeyed.

He looked up at Blaise, standing guard outside the door. He knew he should have been grateful for Blaise’s watchfulness but instead he said, “I think I hate you.”

Blaise smiled.

Draco cursed himself vehemently for his lack of control as he returned to the ballroom just as his guests finished dessert. Although it was his Slytherin duty to torture Harry Potter, he knew he’d taken it too far tonight. He’d crossed an invisible line devised since he’d awakened on the worst night of his life and found himself cradled in Harry Potter’s arms.

The house elves quickly cleared the area and once again it was transformed into an elegant ballroom. He mentally forgave his Slytherins as he noted that they had kept the party going during his absence. He had been acting like a thwarted child since Harry had arrived.

It had been imprudent to think that he alone could possibly work out some sort of grandiose scheme to thwart a corrupt and dysfunctional political system. The rot at the core of the Ministry had been in place long before he had even been born. Once again, he had let his schizophrenic need for vengeance and atonement rage out of control. All because of the arrogance and pride that he thought he had conquered.

He smiled with genuine pleasure as he sighted an old friend of his mother’s who had sheltered Narcissa when she had first arrived in France. He strolled over to Healer Owen and his wife.

“How are you, Owen? And Lady Tatiana?” Draco nodded at the lovely, gray-haired woman at Owen’s side.

Healer Owen reached out and clasped Draco’s hand in his own. His wrinkled face creased in a welcoming smile. “Draco, it is good to be here.”

Owen had moved to France before Voldemort’s first rise to power. He had returned shortly after Harry defeated Voldemort. He had always been a loyal friend to Narcissa and was one of the very few people Draco confided in.

“Have you heard anything, my boy?”

“Not so far. I’ve been a little distracted.”

Owen smiled. “I’ve noticed.” Draco flushed slightly.

“We’ve been keeping our ears open. Other than some grumbling about the fines and harsher restrictions on the use of dark magic, we’ve heard nothing. Which is a good sign. But this is a reminder that we must all remain vigilant.”

The only warning Draco received was Lady Tatiana’s eyes shifting beyond him and alighting with mild curiosity. His hair was gently lifted to the side and a brief, sweet kiss pressed a gentle message into his neck. The caress conveyed more than any of the words they had spoken tonight.

Draco stood motionless as if he had been hexed. He felt Harry’s hands at his waist and Harry’s broader body curving into his own. Harry leaned around Draco and offered his hand and introduced himself to Lady Tatiana and Healer Owen.

Draco could barely hear the astonishingly skilful social conversation Harry initiated with the older couple. Maybe that’s why they understood each other so well. He’d forgotten how easily Harry could trot out the Man Who Lived persona.

Harry’s scent enveloped him, and he could feel the muscular lines of Harry’s body behind him in excruciating detail. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t-

“All right there, love?”

Draco swallowed dryly and forced rigid muscles to unclench. “Yes, thank you.”

His voice was raspy, and Lady Tatiana’s eyes held an expression that was far too knowing for Draco’s comfort.

Harry held him in a deceptively casual embrace. As Draco attempted to unobtrusively extricate himself, he realised that there was no way to remove Harry’s hold without the use of force. Harry rubbed his hips against Draco, and Draco was mortified, exhilarated and incredibly aroused when he realised that Harry was gloriously erect. Still.

For a few dazed moments, he contemplated what might have happened if Blaise hadn’t interrupted them.

======================================

Filled with dread, and knowing he couldn’t avoid the coming encounter with Harry, Draco observed the house elves escort the last remaining guests out of his home. Harry had spent most of the evening cemented to his side, dutiful and ever so attentive. The perfect lover. If only. The Slytherins had left without comment but he had no problem interpreting the smirks on their evil little faces.

He inhaled, took a step back and said, “I think you need to leave,” levelling a steely gaze upon Harry, eyes glinting with challenge.

“Don’t make me go home, Draco,” Harry said.

“You sound like a child, Potter,” Draco said coolly.

“But I’m not a child. We’re not children anymore, neither one of us, and I think it’s time we both remember that. We need to talk,” Harry said, walking towards Draco.

Draco stood his ground with difficulty and cursed the pride that anchored him in place when what he really wanted to do was turn and run away.

Harry brushed past him and sat down on the fur covered divan adjacent to the fireplace. “I think we need to talk. Let’s get comfortable.”

Draco frowned. “You’ve five minutes, Potter. There’s no need for comfort.”

“Just sit, Malfoy. It’s not going to hurt. I promise.”

With a weary exhalation that implied his patience was being sorely tested, Draco sat down on the farthest edge away from Harry.

He smoothed his robes and looked at Harry. “Let’s save the review and analysis for another time, shall we? It’s possible that. I might have been a little… hasty.”

Harry’s gaze was steady and unrelenting.

Draco bit off an irritated sound. “All right, Potter. I was… You were right. All right, then?”

“You know this is not what I want to talk about. Not now.”

“Potter, the fate of the Wizarding World is at stake-“

Harry sighed inwardly. Gone was the Draco who had been so passionate and vulnerable in his arms just a few hours ago.

“I know what’s at stake. Draco, stop this please. I’m talking about you- about us.”

Face impassive, Draco said composedly, “Us? You must have misunderstood, Potter.”

Harry studied the man before him for several very long minutes. The grey eyes were expressionless. The ivory skin held no hint of the passionate flush that had been visible the last time they’d been alone together in this room.

His insecurities almost allowed him to be misled. It wouldn’t be the first time Draco had used them against him. He moved forward until he could feel Draco’s breaths wafting across his face.

“Exactly what have I misunderstood, then? Feel free to enlighten me. You’ve never restrained yourself before.” There was a faint tremor in his voice. He didn’t care.

Draco sternly warned himself not to respond to the stricken expression in Harry’s emerald green eyes. Their eyes held but unable to withstand Harry’s self exposure, Draco raised a shaking hand and scrubbed at his face. He had never understood Harry’s ability to find strength in his vulnerabilities. He hated feeling like this.

Sensing a small crack in Draco’s armor, Harry slid over, straddled Draco and planted a tender kiss on his lips before Draco could protest. Instead of pushing Harry away as Harry had expected after the awkwardly stolen kiss, Draco remained motionless. Harry shifted against him, pulled Draco’s head down and licked his ear.

“Stop,” Draco grimaced, hearing needy supplication in his voice rather than the angry resolve he had intended.

“Do you really want me to stop?”

“Yes,” Draco said after a taut pause that seemed weighted with all that lay between them.

“No.”

“I don’t know,” he quickly corrected.

“Maybe?” He looked up at Harry beneath his lashes, eyes revealing a rare candor and a never before seen mischief.

Harry caught his breath.

“Shall I beg?” he asked. “I know you’d like that,” Harry said with a slow, lopsided smile.

“Please, Draco.”

Draco’s stomach clenched. Harry was everything he wanted in this world. His first instinct was to take what he wanted but he’d trained himself painstakingly not to follow where those instincts led.

“Merlin, Potter. Give me room to… to…

“Think?” Harry said. “No, I don’t think so,” he murmured, nuzzling against Draco’s neck. “You do too much of that already.”

Draco’s fists were clenched. “The word I was searching for was breathe, Potter.”

Harry’s brief spurt of confidence waned in the face of Draco’s restraint.

“Do you really want me to stop? To leave?” Harry’s green eyes were dark and intent, a deep forest green, and the expression in them was painfully revealing, his heart laid bare.

There are exceedingly rare instances in life where anything and everything hinges upon the moment. Draco looked into those expressive green eyes and just like that moment a lifetime ago, he knew that nothing would ever again be the same. The eyes were green but had that mournful, Bassett Hound expression that Draco knew would he lay down and die for if asked. He had belonged to this man for years and hadn’t even known it.

Instead of answering, Draco pulled Harry towards him and covered Harry’s mouth with his, biting, nibbling and licking at the mouth watering, succulent lips beneath his own. “You don’t know what you’re getting into,” he muttered against soft lips.

“I think I do know,” Harry said before capturing Draco’s lower lip between his teeth. “I’ve had almost five years to figure it out,” he whispered.

He brushed their foreheads together, smiling slightly when their noses collided as they both attempted another kiss. His glasses were sliding off. He removed them, throwing them off to the side and moving towards Draco’s lips once again. Their noses bumped again, harder this time.

Draco gave an amused little snort and palmed the sides of Harry’s face. He held on firmly, anchoring Harry in place and brushed his lips against Harry’s.

“Shhhh,” he murmured as if to a restive animal. Accurately interpreting Harry’s impatience with his own inexperience, Draco ran a calming hand across Harry’s muscular back, gentling him.

“Slow down, there. Let’s try this again.”

Harry could feel Draco’s amused smile against his lips, and his lips quirked upwards in reply. Draco began a leisurely exploration of Harry’s mouth. He very delicately passed his lips across Harry’s mouth, over and over, until Harry was straining in an attempt to capture the lips that so teasingly caressed his own.

“Shhhh.”

Draco continued to hold Harry’s face still. He painted Harry’s lips with his tongue, applying intricate patterns with tender whorls and strokes. Harry was panting lightly, soft, anguished exhalations as he allowed Draco to set the pace.

When Draco finally again planted his lips upon Harry’s, he was met with a deep, heartfelt groan of aching relief. He slanted his mouth across Harry’s, inserting his tongue into Harry’s mouth, licking at his teeth, circling around and then sucking Harry’s tongue.

Harry rocked against him, and Draco’s hands slid to Harry’s hips, holding him immobile.
Harry’s hands tightened against Draco’s shoulders. He groaned with frustration and then sucked in a lungful of air when Draco’s mouth slid across his face and trailed a warm, moist path across his neck. His shoulder raised and lowered, unable to bear the caress yet not wanting it to end.

“Draco, I”-

Harry shuddered; a protracted, yearning undulation of his body, as he responded to Draco’s hungry journey across his neck. Draco rapidly unlatched Harry’s robe, eagerly mouthing his way down the center of Harry’s chest and ending by licking a swathe from nipple to nipple.

“You?” Draco asked hoarsely, loathe to interrupt his ravenous exploration of Harry’s body.

A guttural sound was his only answer as Draco’s hand left Harry’s hip and moved to cup the burning, swollen flesh at Harry’s groin. Draco felt the vibration beneath his lips increase in rhythm as Harry’s heart rate tripled. He slid Harry’s robe off his shoulders.

He placed the palms of his hand on Harry’s back, enjoying the warm, silk of Harry’s skin. He stroked lightly, and then began to gently knead the skin, testing the rock hard muscles there. He returned to Harry’s mouth, unable to resist the urge to taste the incredible sweetness once again.

Draco slid out of his lightweight robe and pulled Harry against him. Unprepared for the ferocity of the intense sensations created by Harry’s skin against his for the first time, Draco cried out softly against Harry’s lips. His back arched and his hips lifted involuntarily.

Galvanized by the overwhelming sensuality of Draco’s chest against his, Harry forced himself out of the paralysis induced by Draco’s pleasurable caresses, fervently seeking more contact. Standing, he quickly shrugged out of his robes and trousers and hurriedly divested Draco of his clothing as well.

He gently repositioned Draco, stretching him out lengthwise upon the divan. Despite the craving to feel Draco against him once again, Harry took a moment to eye Draco’s tall, athletic form appreciatively, settling his eyes on the long, erect penis between Draco’s taut, muscular thighs.

He leaned over Draco, intending to press their bodies together, longing to feel the pleasurable sensations once again. Draco placed a palm against Harry’s lightly furred chest.

“Wait.”

With a bewildered frown, hoping Draco hadn’t suddenly changed his mind, Harry paused obediently.

“Stand up,” Draco commanded in a low voice.

Catching on, Harry stood. His cheeks were burning as he held his arms out and turned around in a circle as Draco requested.

“Now, come here.”

Draco’s arms opened, and he welcomed Harry’s heavy warmth against him, sighing with pleasure.

Harry sank against Draco’s body with a relieved groan. He nuzzled against Draco’s ear and along his jaw line. He pressed tiny kisses against Draco’s face and then imitating what Draco had done to him earlier, Harry stroked his tongue delicately against the surface of Draco’s lips repeatedly, until Draco was twisting and writhing against him.

Draco thrust his hands into Harry’s hair, holding his head still, gasping with frustration as Harry withheld his kiss, licking and nipping at Draco’s mouth. Draco tugged Harry’s hair and exerted enough force to hold Harry’s mouth against his own. A series of chills rose across Draco’s skin as Harry capitulated and deepened the kiss.

He sucked Harry’s tongue with wanton hunger, rubbing his body against Harry’s compellingly. Draco pushed his hand between their bodies, enclosed his hand around Harry’s dick and moved his fist up and down rhythmically. Harry collapsed against Draco, made helpless by the debilitating surge of pleasurable sensation. He groaned a heartfelt sound of entreaty, “Don’t.”

He grabbed Draco’s hand and tugged, shivering when Draco refused to let go.

“I’ll come.”

“I want you to.”

“Not yet.”

Draco allowed Harry to drag his hand away. He twisted beneath Harry and lifted his legs, wrapping them around Harry’s waist. He licked his lips and murmured, “I want you to come, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes drifted open. He looked down at Draco, mesmerized by the look in shadowy grey eyes. He had never been so desired. Never.

Draco rocked beneath him. “This is what I’ve been wanting. All evening long.”

A drop of sweat rolled off of Harry’s forehead onto Draco’s face. Draco captured the moisture with quick swipe of his tongue and continued, “When you were behind me -” Draco bit down on his lip, holding back a whimper.

“and you rubbed against me”

Harry groaned. His dick was so hard it was exquisitely painful.

“all I could think about”-Draco whispered brokenly, while grinding against Harry with a languorous, unhurried tempo.

“was you,” Draco’s long fingers slid down Harry’s damp back. They teased between his round, muscular buttocks. Eyes riveted by Draco’s sensual gaze, Harry thrust downwards, keeping pace with Draco.

“fucking me.” Draco’s finger’s traced a circle around Harry’s moist centre and pressed inward.

Harry’s rhythmic, downward thrusts became jerky and uncoordinated. His eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared as he tried and failed to prevent the tide of pleasure from overtaking him.

“That’s it,” Draco mouthed the words, continuing to look at Harry intently. Harry stiffened against him, and Draco was able to witness the first few seconds of Harry’s complete loss of control. Harry went wild in Draco’s arms, scattering moist, frantic kisses all over Draco’s face, and crying out incoherently. The next few moments passed in a bewildering kaleidoscope of light and colour as Harry climaxed, drowning in sensation and dragging Draco with him. They clung to each other, shattered and trembling, stunned by such a forceful release.

After gradually recovering his senses, Draco’s long legs relaxed their grip around Harry’s waist. Harry collapsed onto his side. The two men reconfigured themselves so they were facing one another. Harry shut his eyes and held Draco close, extremely conscious of the all pervasive need to keep this man safe from all harm, to protect him and to keep him close. Draco relaxed into the security of Harry’s arms.

Only the deepest, most devastating pain could have prepared either one of them for this deepest joy. No seer could have predicated this end to the tortuous path they had followed. To Harry, this was nothing less than a miracle.

Unexpected, incredible and crazy, but a miracle nonetheless. Typical of the two of them. Always unique. Always extraordinary.

Draco buried his face in Harry’s neck and drifted off to sleep, but not before murmuring a prayer of thanks to whichever deity had deemed them both worthy of this most twisted of miracles.

Fin.


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