Do You Believe in Miracles?
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
1,820
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
1,820
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Prologue
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: THESE WARNINGS APPLY TO THE ENTIRE STORY, NOT A SINGLE CHAPTER!!! Adult Language, Angst, Sexual Content, Suicide, Violence, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort, Drug Usage, Rape, Character Death -- NOT Harry or Draco
Prologue
“Crucio!”
Draco Malfoy pressed his body into the wall as his father’s screams tore the air. He had never before heard his stoic father cry or beg and to hear him do so now tore at Draco's heart.
“Do you like it down there on the ground, Lucius, grovelling at my feet? Surely even you can do that properly. Although considering your failure at the hands of Potter and his friends - children, Lucius - I am prompted to reconsider!”
The high, cold voice of Lord Voldemort carried easily through Malfoy Manor. A modified Sonorus ensured that anyone in the Manor could hear his tirade, and his voice rang strong and clear even in Draco’s warded bedroom: a lesson for the Malfoys, as well as the Dark Lord’s other Death Eaters.
“P... please, Master! I beg your forgiveness, my Lord!”
“DO NOT BEG ME, LUCIUS! CRUCIO!”
Tangling his fingers in his hair, Draco pulled frustratingly on the golden strands in response to his father’s agonizing cries. He buried his tear-soaked face into his chest and covered his head, trying desperately to block out the sound.
“Do you truly believe that if I had not begged your pardon, you would be here and whole in your own home, Lucius? I do not venture to Azkaban for my own enjoyment. Had you not been foolish enough to allow yourself to be captured, we would not be in this predicament! You will not fail me again! Crucio!”
Silent tears betrayed Draco’s Malfoy façade; they streamed down his face as he was forced to witness to his father’s punishment. Had the Dark Lord rescued his father for the sole purpose of torturing him? Draco stared markedly at the blank expanse of his left forearm. Was this truly the fate he’d worshiped since childhood? The pride and rite of passage of bearing His Mark? If the Dark Lord offered power and freedom, why were Lucius’ screams threatening to burst Draco’s eardrums?
Lucius Malfoy stood tall over the small frame of his son. Frosting glazed the younger boy’s lips and his eyes looked expectantly up at his father. Draco had just turned five, and Lucius decided it was time he began upholding the Malfoy honour.
“My son, you are a Malfoy. We are a proud lineage of power and marvel, and that privilege entails certain responsibilities. The Malfoys have supported Dark Lords throughout the ages, and you will be no exception. Make no mistake, my Dragon, our own Dark Lord has not disappeared for good. He will return, and when he does, you will stand by my side in His glory. You will pledge your life to Him, as I have done, and be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.”
The small blond boy had listened with rapt attention to the first of a hundred variations of the speech that would guide his childhood and adolescence. A now sixteen-year-old young man crouched in the corner of his bedroom, faced with the very fate he had been presented with since birth. Could his father honestly have intended him for a life of slavery and torture? Was the pure-blood rite worth the degradation of the Malfoy name?
Draco flung his head back against the hard bedroom wall. No, this is all wrong. Malfoys are about honour and being your own man. Malfoys bow to no one; we are leaders, not slaves!
Bile rose sickeningly in his throat at the thought that he had once held the Dark Lord’s name in reverence, an enthusiastic supporter, waiting for the day when he could join His ranks. Maybe once the Dark Lord had been a motivated leader of the pure-blood movement, but all Draco saw now was a madman attempting to rise to power by dominating all, including his “followers.”
That’s exactly what they are, Draco thought ferociously. Followers. Blind fools.
Was his pride worth turning his back on all he had known, everything he had been raised to become? Was this new enlightenment enough to risk disownment and the humiliation of throwing himself at the mercy of the likes of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter? Could Draco Malfoy’s entire world be thrown upside down in the course of a single evening?
I’m not a fool, he resolved. Malfoys don’t subject themselves to slavery. I will not make the same ludicrous mistakes my father did, no matter what the costs. This may be the most idiotic, Gryffindor decision I’ve ever made, but Father’s Slytherin cunning has misled me long enough.
His father’s cries faded away as Draco’s shaking frame fell into an exhausted slumber, still slumped against the wall, dreams full of demons he had unlocked and now had no choice but to face.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The balmy September sun setting on the horizon mocked Harry’s shadowed temperament as the Hogwarts Express rolled steadily along its ancient tracks. The summer had been as miserable and dreary as any other, Harry commiserated, staring out the train window, and even the past two weeks at the Weasleys’ could not sate his jaded mind-set. When Harry was not wallowing in guilt over Sirius’ death, he avidly refused to face the reality of it at all.
For having spent half of his time in varying stages of depression, Harry could not remember ever feeling so numb. He had not felt more alone than he did spending two weeks surrounded by the Weasleys at the Burrow. Despite his fiercest efforts, Harry could not dissuade Ron's and Hermione’s notice of the change in him. Harry had made the mistake of revealing the prophecy to them his first night at the Burrow. Consequently, he had spent the remainder of his stay listening to countless debates on what powers Harry had that the “Dark Lord knows not,” and every possible interpretation of “Neither can live while the other survives.”
Harry’s detached approach to these conversations left Ron embarrassed for bringing it up, and Hermione apologizing profusely. He knew they did not mean to upset him with it, but he could not help but feel some resentment. “I’m really sorry, Harry,” “I understand how hard this must be…,” “We’re here for you, mate.” Neither of them truly understood. How could they? Harry was hard-pressed to understand most of it himself. How could the fate of the wizarding world rest on the shoulders of a sixteen-year-old boy?
Harry was shaken from his thoughts as the cheery face of Luna Lovegood swam into his vision.
“Hello, Harry. Did a Wrackspurt get in here? You look confused.”
Luna took a seat next to Neville, who sat in the seat opposite Harry. It took Harry a moment to realise they were holding hands as Ginny slid up next to him.
“Er, no, I was just thinking…,” Harry blathered. “How was your summer?”
“It was quite memorable, Harry. Thank you for asking. I spent quite a bit of time with Neville. It was quite enjoyable.”
Harry noticed the slight blush creep up Neville’s cheeks.
“So are you two together now?” he asked.
“Yeah, we are,” Neville answered this time. “I sort of took a fancy to Luna after the DA and everything last year, and we met a few times over the summer… she’s really good for me. It took Gran a while to get used to it, but she's coming around.”
“That’s good. I’m happy for you guys,” Harry said, giving them the first genuine smile he’d expressed in days.
They began discussing the upcoming school year a moment before Ron and Hermione returned from their Prefect duties.
“Sorry we took so long. Ronald just had to catch the trolley on the way down here,” Hermione complained as she took her seat next to Ginny, brushing a piece of hair out of her face.
“I was 'ungry!” defended Ron, his mouth thick with Cauldron Cake.
“Ron, you’re always hungry,” chimed in Ginny.
“That’s quite true, Ron,” piped up Luna. “Perhaps if you ate a few Dirigible Plums your appetite wouldn’t be so strong.”
Harry chuckled slightly to himself. Even in the middle of a war, he took comfort in the knowledge that some things would truly never change.
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard about the Azkaban breakout,” Neville said solemnly. “I mean - it just feels like everything at the Ministry last year was for nothing….”
The others agreed sadly. Harry knew Neville was distraught at the thought of Bellatrix Lestrange back in Voldemort’s ranks. He swore he could still hear her cackling laughter running through the Ministry halls.
“Come out, come out, little Harry! What did you come after me for, then? I thought you were here to avenge my cousin!”
Harry shivered as he remembered her piercing shrieks. His heart begin to race at the memory of Sirius and his anger toward Bellatrix. Suddenly the compartment was too hot, and Harry desperately needed space.
“Er, excuse me, guys; I’m just going to run down to the loo… Sorry,” Harry mumbled quietly as he made his way into the forgivingly empty corridor.
Harry kept his head down as he made his way down the train. He took little notice of the activity in each compartment, some filled with friends, catching up on the summer’s events. Some compartments held anxious first years, nervously awaiting their arrival at Hogwarts, or else staring out the window at the vast scenery. Yet other compartments held students discussing the return of Lord Voldemort and the Death Eater breakout.
Harry barely saw the black mass of robes in front of him before colliding head first into the frail frame of Draco Malfoy. Harry’s eyes widened in surprise as he straightened himself and took notice of the boy stumbling before him.
Draco Malfoy looked different. His pale body seemed more sickly and emaciated than ever, and his normally impeccable hair was tousled, hanging limply in his face. His eyes seemed greyer and clouded, and Harry could have sworn he saw the slight glimmer of a Glamour charm masking dark circles under his eyes. The trademark Malfoy smirk was wiped from his face, replaced with the most expressionless mask Harry had ever seen. Harry knew Malfoy had a rough summer, with his father’s indictment and escape from prison, but had it honestly taken that much out of him?
“Malfoy,” he said curtly, working his way past the boy toward his destination. He was rather surprised when his greeting yielded neither acknowledgement nor sneer, only the billowing of robes as Draco Malfoy continued down the corridor. Harry turned around, starring in disbelief at the situation. What it just Harry, or was Malfoy walking with a tender limp?
Last year Malfoy promised revenge for Harry landing his father in Azkaban, and now he refused to acknowledge Harry’s presence.
Shaking his head, Harry made the quiet trip back to his compartment, glad to discover his friends had finished their discussion of Azkaban and had moved on to talk about Quidditch and classes. Feigning tiredness, Harry rested his head against the cool glass of the train window, pondering silently about Draco Malfoy and just what insane situations he would find himself in this year.
To be continued…
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Author’s Note: This story has become my baby, my first novel-length work, and my life for the past 6 months. I hope you’re in for the ride, and any comments or remarks are unbelievably appreciated!
Thanks soo much to those who’ve put up with me thus far and continue to do so! Thanks to MirrorWakes and ShadowSamurai, who’ve both put in their time and help. A HUGE thanks goes to Kit, who has been lending her invaluable help for over two months. Without them, this story would be a mess!
(Also, the phrase “Come out, come out, little Harry! What did you come after me for, then? I thought you were here to avenge my cousin!” is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and I hold no claim over it.)
Warnings: THESE WARNINGS APPLY TO THE ENTIRE STORY, NOT A SINGLE CHAPTER!!! Adult Language, Angst, Sexual Content, Suicide, Violence, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort, Drug Usage, Rape, Character Death -- NOT Harry or Draco
“Crucio!”
Draco Malfoy pressed his body into the wall as his father’s screams tore the air. He had never before heard his stoic father cry or beg and to hear him do so now tore at Draco's heart.
“Do you like it down there on the ground, Lucius, grovelling at my feet? Surely even you can do that properly. Although considering your failure at the hands of Potter and his friends - children, Lucius - I am prompted to reconsider!”
The high, cold voice of Lord Voldemort carried easily through Malfoy Manor. A modified Sonorus ensured that anyone in the Manor could hear his tirade, and his voice rang strong and clear even in Draco’s warded bedroom: a lesson for the Malfoys, as well as the Dark Lord’s other Death Eaters.
“P... please, Master! I beg your forgiveness, my Lord!”
“DO NOT BEG ME, LUCIUS! CRUCIO!”
Tangling his fingers in his hair, Draco pulled frustratingly on the golden strands in response to his father’s agonizing cries. He buried his tear-soaked face into his chest and covered his head, trying desperately to block out the sound.
“Do you truly believe that if I had not begged your pardon, you would be here and whole in your own home, Lucius? I do not venture to Azkaban for my own enjoyment. Had you not been foolish enough to allow yourself to be captured, we would not be in this predicament! You will not fail me again! Crucio!”
Silent tears betrayed Draco’s Malfoy façade; they streamed down his face as he was forced to witness to his father’s punishment. Had the Dark Lord rescued his father for the sole purpose of torturing him? Draco stared markedly at the blank expanse of his left forearm. Was this truly the fate he’d worshiped since childhood? The pride and rite of passage of bearing His Mark? If the Dark Lord offered power and freedom, why were Lucius’ screams threatening to burst Draco’s eardrums?
Lucius Malfoy stood tall over the small frame of his son. Frosting glazed the younger boy’s lips and his eyes looked expectantly up at his father. Draco had just turned five, and Lucius decided it was time he began upholding the Malfoy honour.
“My son, you are a Malfoy. We are a proud lineage of power and marvel, and that privilege entails certain responsibilities. The Malfoys have supported Dark Lords throughout the ages, and you will be no exception. Make no mistake, my Dragon, our own Dark Lord has not disappeared for good. He will return, and when he does, you will stand by my side in His glory. You will pledge your life to Him, as I have done, and be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.”
The small blond boy had listened with rapt attention to the first of a hundred variations of the speech that would guide his childhood and adolescence. A now sixteen-year-old young man crouched in the corner of his bedroom, faced with the very fate he had been presented with since birth. Could his father honestly have intended him for a life of slavery and torture? Was the pure-blood rite worth the degradation of the Malfoy name?
Draco flung his head back against the hard bedroom wall. No, this is all wrong. Malfoys are about honour and being your own man. Malfoys bow to no one; we are leaders, not slaves!
Bile rose sickeningly in his throat at the thought that he had once held the Dark Lord’s name in reverence, an enthusiastic supporter, waiting for the day when he could join His ranks. Maybe once the Dark Lord had been a motivated leader of the pure-blood movement, but all Draco saw now was a madman attempting to rise to power by dominating all, including his “followers.”
That’s exactly what they are, Draco thought ferociously. Followers. Blind fools.
Was his pride worth turning his back on all he had known, everything he had been raised to become? Was this new enlightenment enough to risk disownment and the humiliation of throwing himself at the mercy of the likes of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter? Could Draco Malfoy’s entire world be thrown upside down in the course of a single evening?
I’m not a fool, he resolved. Malfoys don’t subject themselves to slavery. I will not make the same ludicrous mistakes my father did, no matter what the costs. This may be the most idiotic, Gryffindor decision I’ve ever made, but Father’s Slytherin cunning has misled me long enough.
His father’s cries faded away as Draco’s shaking frame fell into an exhausted slumber, still slumped against the wall, dreams full of demons he had unlocked and now had no choice but to face.
The balmy September sun setting on the horizon mocked Harry’s shadowed temperament as the Hogwarts Express rolled steadily along its ancient tracks. The summer had been as miserable and dreary as any other, Harry commiserated, staring out the train window, and even the past two weeks at the Weasleys’ could not sate his jaded mind-set. When Harry was not wallowing in guilt over Sirius’ death, he avidly refused to face the reality of it at all.
For having spent half of his time in varying stages of depression, Harry could not remember ever feeling so numb. He had not felt more alone than he did spending two weeks surrounded by the Weasleys at the Burrow. Despite his fiercest efforts, Harry could not dissuade Ron's and Hermione’s notice of the change in him. Harry had made the mistake of revealing the prophecy to them his first night at the Burrow. Consequently, he had spent the remainder of his stay listening to countless debates on what powers Harry had that the “Dark Lord knows not,” and every possible interpretation of “Neither can live while the other survives.”
Harry’s detached approach to these conversations left Ron embarrassed for bringing it up, and Hermione apologizing profusely. He knew they did not mean to upset him with it, but he could not help but feel some resentment. “I’m really sorry, Harry,” “I understand how hard this must be…,” “We’re here for you, mate.” Neither of them truly understood. How could they? Harry was hard-pressed to understand most of it himself. How could the fate of the wizarding world rest on the shoulders of a sixteen-year-old boy?
Harry was shaken from his thoughts as the cheery face of Luna Lovegood swam into his vision.
“Hello, Harry. Did a Wrackspurt get in here? You look confused.”
Luna took a seat next to Neville, who sat in the seat opposite Harry. It took Harry a moment to realise they were holding hands as Ginny slid up next to him.
“Er, no, I was just thinking…,” Harry blathered. “How was your summer?”
“It was quite memorable, Harry. Thank you for asking. I spent quite a bit of time with Neville. It was quite enjoyable.”
Harry noticed the slight blush creep up Neville’s cheeks.
“So are you two together now?” he asked.
“Yeah, we are,” Neville answered this time. “I sort of took a fancy to Luna after the DA and everything last year, and we met a few times over the summer… she’s really good for me. It took Gran a while to get used to it, but she's coming around.”
“That’s good. I’m happy for you guys,” Harry said, giving them the first genuine smile he’d expressed in days.
They began discussing the upcoming school year a moment before Ron and Hermione returned from their Prefect duties.
“Sorry we took so long. Ronald just had to catch the trolley on the way down here,” Hermione complained as she took her seat next to Ginny, brushing a piece of hair out of her face.
“I was 'ungry!” defended Ron, his mouth thick with Cauldron Cake.
“Ron, you’re always hungry,” chimed in Ginny.
“That’s quite true, Ron,” piped up Luna. “Perhaps if you ate a few Dirigible Plums your appetite wouldn’t be so strong.”
Harry chuckled slightly to himself. Even in the middle of a war, he took comfort in the knowledge that some things would truly never change.
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard about the Azkaban breakout,” Neville said solemnly. “I mean - it just feels like everything at the Ministry last year was for nothing….”
The others agreed sadly. Harry knew Neville was distraught at the thought of Bellatrix Lestrange back in Voldemort’s ranks. He swore he could still hear her cackling laughter running through the Ministry halls.
“Come out, come out, little Harry! What did you come after me for, then? I thought you were here to avenge my cousin!”
Harry shivered as he remembered her piercing shrieks. His heart begin to race at the memory of Sirius and his anger toward Bellatrix. Suddenly the compartment was too hot, and Harry desperately needed space.
“Er, excuse me, guys; I’m just going to run down to the loo… Sorry,” Harry mumbled quietly as he made his way into the forgivingly empty corridor.
Harry kept his head down as he made his way down the train. He took little notice of the activity in each compartment, some filled with friends, catching up on the summer’s events. Some compartments held anxious first years, nervously awaiting their arrival at Hogwarts, or else staring out the window at the vast scenery. Yet other compartments held students discussing the return of Lord Voldemort and the Death Eater breakout.
Harry barely saw the black mass of robes in front of him before colliding head first into the frail frame of Draco Malfoy. Harry’s eyes widened in surprise as he straightened himself and took notice of the boy stumbling before him.
Draco Malfoy looked different. His pale body seemed more sickly and emaciated than ever, and his normally impeccable hair was tousled, hanging limply in his face. His eyes seemed greyer and clouded, and Harry could have sworn he saw the slight glimmer of a Glamour charm masking dark circles under his eyes. The trademark Malfoy smirk was wiped from his face, replaced with the most expressionless mask Harry had ever seen. Harry knew Malfoy had a rough summer, with his father’s indictment and escape from prison, but had it honestly taken that much out of him?
“Malfoy,” he said curtly, working his way past the boy toward his destination. He was rather surprised when his greeting yielded neither acknowledgement nor sneer, only the billowing of robes as Draco Malfoy continued down the corridor. Harry turned around, starring in disbelief at the situation. What it just Harry, or was Malfoy walking with a tender limp?
Last year Malfoy promised revenge for Harry landing his father in Azkaban, and now he refused to acknowledge Harry’s presence.
Shaking his head, Harry made the quiet trip back to his compartment, glad to discover his friends had finished their discussion of Azkaban and had moved on to talk about Quidditch and classes. Feigning tiredness, Harry rested his head against the cool glass of the train window, pondering silently about Draco Malfoy and just what insane situations he would find himself in this year.
To be continued…
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Author’s Note: This story has become my baby, my first novel-length work, and my life for the past 6 months. I hope you’re in for the ride, and any comments or remarks are unbelievably appreciated!
Thanks soo much to those who’ve put up with me thus far and continue to do so! Thanks to MirrorWakes and ShadowSamurai, who’ve both put in their time and help. A HUGE thanks goes to Kit, who has been lending her invaluable help for over two months. Without them, this story would be a mess!
(Also, the phrase “Come out, come out, little Harry! What did you come after me for, then? I thought you were here to avenge my cousin!” is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and I hold no claim over it.)