Finding Harry

The rain fell. There was ice on the pavements, but no snow. It never snowed, and the ice never went down. There was a chill in the air, to match the mistrust and coldness in the hearts of those of the wizarding world.

The large streets were empty, but smaller alleys were curiously busy for this time of night: the hour not late enough to merit the narrow walkways homes for the homeless, yet not early enough to brand them safe paths for children to find their own ways home - if, in times like these, there were any safe paths at all. But some people have harder paths to tread than most, and some people have tried giving up.

Somewhere in London, down one of these streets crouched two solitary wet figures, huddled close together for warmth and comfort. They were squatting under a short length of shelter, alone in the entire street. Their tone was of resignation. It was the tone of people who knew when to put aside petty differences, and who knew that the time was now.

Somewhere in London, somebody was whispering.

And somewhere, someone was whispering back.

And if you were particularly observant, or simply had a penchant for noticing things in the dark where they were hidden away from prying eyes, you might have had a glimpse of the people to whom these voices belonged. As it was, however, the blanket of night was sufficiently thick for concealment, and for this, two whispering forms were very grateful.

"I wish we were in front of a roaring fire," came a low, emotionless voice, "and that we were back home in front of it. I wish we had cake."

A smile, a faint glint of white teeth, even.

"Cake?"

"Cake, and pumpkin juice. Warm pumpkin juice in a gold goblet. And a bed."

"A bed." Amused.

"So we could sleep."

"Don't you sleep?"

"Yes." Clipped tones.

The amusement passed. A hand moved to hold another one, smaller and paler than itself.

"Sleep brings nightmares."

A hollow laugh.

"No, you don't have nightmares when you're living them."

Silence. But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence, more the sort that comes with the lack of need for words. There was a bit of shuffling, and then they had a cloth drawn up over them.

"I could have Ginny by the fireside, sitting and talking and laughing. She used to laugh, you know. At me. And Hermione - I don't know, knitting, or something. Reading." The voice that came out was heavy, deadened.

"Always reading."

"And Ron smiling at her."

Fingers reached down to thread themselves through another set of fingers. And then a hand slowly moved upwards, pressing hard so that a path of skin was exposed amid the dampness as it went.

"I want -" His voice broke, "I want Ron to fly with me. I want -"

"You're not cold."

There was a beat as the implications of the statement were considered.

"I am."

Arms in the darkness, coiling around Harry's waist. Draco let his head fall forward, onto Harry's shoulder. He opened his mouth on his skin, not quite kissing, just breathing Harry in. Harry didn't move. It didn't occur to him to move. And then Draco let his tongue brush against Harry's neck. Harry closed his eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"Making love to you."

Harry turned his head to look at the other boy's expression. His eyes were warm, and shining with something Harry couldn't identify. But then Harry saw something else. He saw pity. He pulled away, and ran a finger over the frozen patch of pavement.

"How did you find me?"

Draco leaned his head against the wall behind him and rubbed his eyes.

"Everybody's looking for you, Harry. Both sides. We've sent out search parties, so have they."

Harry nodded.

"I haven't known who to reveal myself to."

"But you did to me."

"Your father is a wise man, Draco. But his one failing is his pride in the Malfoy name. His one mistake has been to try to keep your position private. You're torn between the two sides because of your loyalty to your family, and the good inside you. He's unwittingly publicised that fact. You're not the one they would send to mess with my mind. You're too ambivalent a double-agent. You'd be too obvious a choice."

Draco lifted his head.

"Your grief hasn't dulled your senses."

"Don't say 'grief', Draco."

"Why not?"

"I don't grieve. It's too easy. I just remember, sometimes."

"That's -"

" It isn't."

Draco nodded, and then he put his hands on Harry's shoulders and pulled him close. Then he swept his hair off his face and fingered the lightning-shaped scar. Harry tilted his head to a side.

"You know, that doesn't mean as much to me anymore. Is that good, or is it bad? I don't know my parents, but I knew the people lost now. That," He pointed to his forehead, "That's actually become a comfort. It's my memory of better times. Isn't that funny?" He dropped his hand. "In Hogwarts, I remembered my mother and father, and now, here, I remember Hogwarts. I wonder how that works."

"You shouldn't try to take apart everything that happens, you know. Things will change, and you'll drive yourself crazy trying to rationalise."

"Or moralise."

Draco shrugged.

"Thank you. For finding me."

Draco was silent. Harry leaned in, and brushed his lips over Draco's.

"Harry..."

"Shush."

Draco put his arms around Harry's neck and pushed himself against him, so that their lips came into firmer contact. Harry couldn't balance, and fell backward, onto cold ice. He yelped and tried to get up, but Draco landed on top of him. He kissed him as he ran his hands over his chest, and then onto his sides.

"Oh, god. What are we -"

"Shh."

Harry touched a finger to Draco's lips. Draco held his gaze for a moment. Then he shifted his arms so that they were on either side of Harry, rather than squashed into his stomach, and bent down. He kissed Harry's chest. Harry clenched his teeth to keep from crying out.

Draco worked his way back up, nibbling lightly as he went. Harry ran his hands over Draco's back, letting himself feel for the first time in a while. And then Draco's mouth was back on Harry's and they kissed again, sweetly. They closed their eyes and let themselves savour the sensation of each other's lips on their own, wet and soft and slippery skin made more intense by the emotions coursing through them - one, somehow, of beginning, and the other of release.

And then Draco seemed to become more needy, and he pressed his lips against Harry's fiercely now, daring them to open so that he could slip in for that sweet, sweet taste. And they did. Draco sighed into Harry's mouth, and Harry tugged on his hair. Then Draco's hand slid downwards and - oh.

Draco smiled as he felt Harry shiver underneath him. He removed his hand and shifted, holding himself off Harry so that they were mere inches apart. Harry's eyes flew open. Startled green eyes met darkened silver ones.

"Draco," he said, "Draco, please..."

And then Harry shoved Draco down onto the pavement. He rolled on top of him and his hips pressed against Draco's. They both gasped, unprepared for the contact. Then slowly, Harry began to smile as he pressed himself into Draco. He shifted his hips so that he was grinding against Draco, and pushing him into the pavement.

They still had their clothes on. Draco tore off Harry's shirt and unbuttoned his own, and lowered himself onto him again. Their bare chests met, and skin-to-skin, Draco thought briefly that nothing had ever felt so right before. Nothing had ever felt so good. He had come out here looking for Harry on a Ministry errand; after weeks and weeks of searching, it had become a personal battle - he had to find Harry Potter, not just for the good of the wizarding world, but also to satisfy a desire he had been carrying around and feeding for a long time now. This physical gratification wasn't what he'd had in mind, but it had happened, and it was filling the ache in his heart so damned well...he didn't want it to stop. Perhaps it was what he'd been looking for.

Then Draco put his arms around Harry once more, and kissed him softly, an action so chaste compared to what they were doing it almost seemed even more intimate. Then they grew impatient. Hands travelled downwards and zippers were unsnapped. Trousers were thrown carelessly onto the shimmering pavement. Harry lowered his hips onto Draco's, and they rubbed against each other, eyes closed in ecstasy, breathing heavily. Harry ran his hands all over Draco, feverishly kissing his skin, tasting him, concentrating on feeling. There was nothing in the world but this beautiful, beautiful creature, nothing else was important. And as they moved, they moved together as one.

"Harry," Draco wept, "Harry, don't stop. Oh god, Harry, don't ever stop -"

Harry heard the words, felt them against himself as Draco's voice rumbled in his chest, felt the words inside his head.

"I'll never stop, Draco. Never."

Then Harry felt Draco moving underneath him, gasping his name, giving and giving and giving...and then they seemed to freeze, and shuddered together, reaching their climax at the same time, holding each other as though they would never let go. Then they fell, sated and shattered, onto the pavement, lying side by side, arms and legs entwined.

And as Harry dozed off in his arms, Draco thought he saw the ice catch the moonlight, and start to melt.

- end -