Silver Desperation

All through Draco's life Harry Potter had been a symbol of all that was good, light, and not Malfoy. He defeated the Dark Lord, befriended Muggles, smiled at everyone and didn't care for power or money or fame. Everywhere Draco turned, searching the shadows for his path, Potter was there, laughing, happy, hating him.

When Lucius came to Draco in his sixth year with orders to pledge his life to a dying cause and a promise of murder as a reward, Draco ran. For a short time, he hid in his school work, trying to masquerade as what he once was and protect himself. He quickly learned that on your own you were only as strong as your own wand, and Crabbe could snap Draco's with his pinkies on a whim.

Desperate, he turned to his symbol, the light that was always in his life. He laid himself at Harry's feet, offering anything, everything if only Harry would help him.

Draco watched Harry's eyes, saw a dark flash in them. Something deep inside Draco broke, sunk, but he continued to stare at his last hope with silver desperation. "Please," he whispered, and Harry nodded, smiled dangerously.

At first he was kind, cautious. Wary of Draco's past, he realized in hindsight. After a time, there were tests. He would drop little bits of information, look obviously at Draco out of the corner of his eye. When Draco proved trustworthy Harry spent more time around him, gave him true responsibilities. Draco only rolled his eyes, but he felt accepted, needed. He had always been just on the edge of his father's life, before, and the new involvement, the inclusion of the light side gave him an intoxicating warmth he had never felt.

As the war grew bloodier, Harry and Draco grew closer still. Harry confided in Draco, drawn to the darkness they both understood. As Harry lost his innocence to murder for others' lives Draco stood by, watched him spiral deeper and deeper.

When they found Bellatrix Lestrange Harry told them all to leave the room. Draco stayed, watched with wide eyes as Harry ripped her apart with a blank face. He stood frozen as the dark haired boy walked over, wiped bloodied hands on the back of Draco's robes and kissed him hard, tasting of metallic blood and a hint of salty tears.

The next time they kissed, the tears were gone. All through the war and after the bitter victory, Harry turned to Draco for comfort, silent but for the gasps, sighs, cries for more.

Once the war was over, they were alone. Everyone else went back to the light, forgot primal screams and pain and all those lost. Harry and Draco, however, were lost to the shadows, to each other.

They met always in the darkness, avoiding any distant voices, distant eyes. Harry spread a fine white line up Draco's stomach and as he got high on expensive Muggle toxins Draco got high on dizzy skin over dizzy, sweat soaked skin. The blond always watched, couldn't tear his eyes away as Harry lay back with dilated pupils and mouth open. Sometimes Draco wanted to kiss him, to take Harry while under the infliction of the drug, but most of the time he didn't think anything at all.

Slowly the lines got longer, thicker, and sometimes dark red drops fell on Draco's cold skin. Harry murmured not to worry, told him nothing is wrong in the world as long as they stayed together, alone. Draco believed him because Harry is the Boy Who Lived, the Leader, the one he Chose and if he was wrong Draco would have a lot of things to worry about that couldn't be smeared across his stomach by Potter's clumsy hands.

Draco left Harry unconscious, tucked into a blanket he would never notice. As he opened the door to leave, he ran into Ron. The redhead grabbed his arm and pulled him aside, a determined set to his jaw silencing Draco's protests.

"You did this. You took Harry from us, and you changed him, and somehow you saved yourself, you convinced him. Well, I'm not convinced - I never was. Now there's nothing of him left, and I know it's always been you. Why don't you just leave? Stop torturing him for once. You've won." He spat the words, narrowing his eyes to dark lines of hate.

Draco let his eyes slide closed, tired of the never ending battles that comprised his life. He considered saying, 'if you thought it was a game then you lost right from the beginning,' but thought better of it. He walked away, perfect posture sagging with defeat.

Normally he would have gone back to Harry right away, just to prove the freckled bastard wrong, but when the sun set and the stars shone down he found a quiet spot to sit down, to mourn. Finally, he realized his symbol had faded, and it had all started to seem inconsequential when Harry stopped smiling. He dropped his face into his hands, and remembered the salty tears in their first kiss. Bloodied from the start, they had always been doomed.

Draco came back to find Harry's faded, bleary eyes watching him from a cocoon of crumpled sheets, watery and searching. He looked away, shoved his things into their only bag.

"Where are you..." Harry's voice died out when Draco didn't look up. The silence grew, flooded him with thought, and he had to leave before another second of Harry's child-like gaze on his back drove him mad.

At the door, he paused, not sure what he was waiting for. He heard a rustle of blankets behind him, knew Harry had come for whatever goodbye they could manage, and he took a breath, turned.

Harry looked lost, skeletal. The sheets lay crumpled at his feet, his arms outstretched. "Don't," he whispered, desperate. Draco cursed himself as his resolve crumbled, tried to step away backwards. Suddenly Harry was on him, wrapped around his waist, and he couldn't go anywhere. "Don't leave me. I need you."

'Make him promise,' a voice whispered at the back of his mind, but Draco couldn't take any more lies. He rand a hand through Harry's thick hair and sighed. As Harry nuzzled his hand, he decided he didn't need a symbol of the light, really, or truth, or even sanity, because who else would need him this much.

Harry looked up at him and smiled for the first time in a while, and Draco pretended it reached his eyes as he smiled back.