Necessities

Draco had certain necessities that he kept with him at all times, he had never shown anyone these items. Not because they were incriminating, well, not all of them at least, but because they were his. They were important to him.

The handiest item was, of course, his wand. It was dependable and individual and felt like a natural extension of his arm when he gripped it tightly. The handle was smooth from use and shone with a good wood sheen.

The next thing was a short blade sheath knife hidden in his boot. It had been a present from his mother when he was a child. It might seem odd that a woman would give a small boy a weapon that was sharp and deadly, but he had never been an ordinary child, and Narcissa had never been an ordinary mother.

They each had specific places and positions in this world, they each understood the methods of behavior that were required of them. Neither would dare to the break rules that were set down for them. She knew that she was required to raise her son to be obedient, respectful to the correct people, and mindful of his destiny. He knew from the moment he was old enough to understand the spoken word that he was required to be all of these things and to also recognize the correct decisions when they were made for him.

All in all, the system worked beautifully. Lucius Malfoy, her husband, Draco's Father was pleased, and that in itself was the only matter with which either of them should be concerned.

The knife that his Mother gave him had a silver blade that was wickedly sharp and magically held a razor's edge. The handle was polished gleaming white bone with a coiled dragon etched into the side. It fit his hand perfectly, as well if not better than his wand. When she had presented it to Draco's mother had told him that his grandfather gave it to her on her wedding day. He never thought it an odd gift for either bride or child, but truth be known neither one of them thought it odd still, and that may tell more about mother and son than any other thing.

In a pocket of his cloak he carried the head of a cane. It was a silver serpent with emerald eyes. The cane had belonged to his Father. The head had been snapped off when, in anger, his Father had hit it against a table. It had happened when the boy was in his second year of school and had not won a Quidditch match. And that is how it was stated; Malfoys did not lose, they may not win, but they did not ever lose, there was a definite distinction between the two words.

His Father had been livid and had berated and threatened him. When Draco had been foolish enough to make a disrespectful comment his Father had first hit him across the shoulder with the cane and then slammed it onto the table, cracking the mahogany shaft and sending the serpent head soaring into the corner of the room. As the boy fell to the floor in surprise and pain he watched as the cane head landed staring at him with green eyes. Later he had snuck down and retrieved the piece of silver. He told himself that he kept it as a reminder that his Father was a powerful man and was not to be crossed without dire repercussions, and aside from the fact that the serpents emerald eyes reminded him of someone, that may have been the reason.

In one of the deep pockets of his cloak he carried a letter that he received in his sixth year. It was written in messy black scrawl on a piece of scrap parchment. It read: We need to talk, you and I. I do not want to fight, with anyone, but especially with you. I have no idea what I am doing or where this is going, but if you are the least bit curious meet me tonight at midnight in the empty classroom next to charms. It was signed with the name of a black haired, green-eyed boy that Draco had always thought hated him.

He had suspected that the letter was a trap, or worse yet a joke, but he had been curious and against his upbringing and better judgment he had been waiting in the classroom when the Harry arrived. There followed a tense discussion of rejection, acceptance, family, enemies, hate, love and all manner of things. No miraculous break through was made and no astonishing revelations were forthcoming, but a fragile and tentative peace had been established and that had made all of the difference.

Draco takes the note out frequently and reads the words. He has them memorized, but he rereads them with rapt attention nonetheless. He remembers the days and weeks following the meeting. Both boys lay down rules in the beginning because each knew that there were many people that could not ever learn of the burgeoning friendship.

Some of their schoolmates were told, and as expected were, at first, less than supportive. But as the year progressed and the seasons changed the shock wore off and what started as an unacceptable, by most standards, association became accepted. As the seventh year began both young men begin to realize that more than friendship bound them together, something deeper, and after hesitation on both parts they surrendered to the wonder of discovering the person that you were meant to be with. Each knew what would happen if discovered by Draco's parents, but as with most cases of young love, neither thought that anything would ever harm what they had together.

In the same pocket as the letter he carried a picture taken during his seventh year. The picture is of he and Harry. They were standing in the sun on the Hogwarts grounds. Harry was standing with his back against the blonde youth. Draco had his arms around him and his chin was resting on Harry's shoulder. As you looked at the picture they both smiled at something and Harry turned and placed a soft kiss against Draco's cheek. You could see Draco's arms tighten into a hug in response. They look happy and at that moment in time, at that place in the universe, they were. Draco doesn't often look at the picture, but sometimes when it is dark and he is feeling lonely he takes it out and stares hungrily at the image. If he closes his eyes he can still smell the other boys hair that warm day, it smelled of wood fires and cinnamon and he can feel the solid weight of Harry in his arms and the beat of Harry's good, strong, loyal heart under his hands.

In a small pocket in the front of his shirt, he had a lock of soft black hair tied with a piece of gold string. One night as he lay awake in the moonlight watching Harry sleep he was overcome with the sudden urge to have a lock of that hair for his very own. He never told Harry how he slowly reached and got his silver knife, how he ran his fingers through the soft inky hair and then quietly cut a lock from the back. Draco pulled a string loose from the other boy's school sweater cuff that was hanging on a chair nearby and wrapped it around the small lock of hair. It made him feel powerful to know that whenever he wanted he could hold the hair in his hands, he could hold it to his face and remember the feel of it against his skin and lips.

Draco knew that wizards did not let their hair be cut or kept by others, there were too many potions and charms that required hair, blood or other body elements, but he could not resist the urge to own a piece of this man, it was his secret and he guarded it closely.

At the nape of his neck, underneath where it wasn't seen, he wore a soft piece of weathered leather braided into his pale blonde hair. In his seventh year of school he had been asked by his potions professor to stay after class. Professor Snape had sat at the desk and gestured to the blonde to sit across from him. On the desk was a stack of ingredients that had been bundled and tied with a strip of leather. The leather had broken and a smaller piece lay next to the professor's hand. As he sat looking at Draco Professor Snape twirled the leather between his fingers.

The professor cleared his throat and told him that Lucius had contacted him concerning a situation that had come to Lucius's attention. Draco had sat as if listening to the words but instead watched the leather twine between long fingers. He had kept a calm exterior and did not meet the man's gaze, but inside he was terrified. This man was a Death Eater, an associate of his Father's and a master potion maker; he was a very dangerous person.

Suddenly he caught part of a statement Professor Snape had said. Draco looked up questioningly. His teacher repeated what he had said: You are the only person that can decide what is in your own best interest, but bear in mind that your Father will not tolerate this distasteful relationship, therefore if you must follow your heart I suggest you learn discretion and the value of privacy. All I can do to help you is to report that I did not see any overt signs of this - this - thing between the two of you.

He stared at the man a moment before it registered what he had just said. He wasn't going to tell his Father. Relief washed over him and he nodded, mumbling his thanks. Professor Snape stood and walking toward the supply closet, dismissed him. As Draco stood to leave he reached down and took the piece of leather. He kept it as a reminder that sometimes things work out, he knew that it was an over simplification, but it was an important symbol to him.

In yet another pocket he carried the last item. It was a small leather pouch that contained a small silver key, a portkey. It was charmed to take him to his Father's side the moment the boy touched it.

His Father had given him the portkey along with specific instructions on the day that Draco had been summoned to the family home from his school.

The young man had been told that up until that point the dalliance with the green-eyed boy had only been monitored from a distance. Lucius then stated that he was prepared to view it as a momentary loss of judgment, due entirely to teenage hormones. He said all of this without seeming to notice the look of shock and panic on his son's paler than normal face.

Then, without any change of expression he told Draco that he was to use his 'friendship'; with the word Lucius's mouth had grimaced slightly as if in distaste, to get close enough to Harry Potter to kill him, by any means necessary. His Father then smiled as if he had just divulged the most wondrous news. Draco sat in front of his Father and felt his heart shatter and the pieces fall into a dark and empty place.

His family honor and his Father's pride in him as a son was now on the line. Everything that he had been taught since birth, every lesson, and every lecture led to this point. He wanted desperately to throw up.

Draco returned to school armed with his necessities.

He sent Harry a note to meet him in the classroom where they first talked. When he first walked into the room Harry, without any shame or hesitation pulled Draco's arm toward him and check the fair skin for the mark that would indicate that he was lost to Harry forever. When he saw the pale flesh he sighed and kissed the unblemished skin. They had both feared that the summons had been Draco's appointment to receive the Dark Mark. Harry almost cried with relief when he realized that they had more time before Draco would be forced to choose.

Later that night as they lay against each other Draco pulled Harry close to him. Harry mumbled in his sleep and a smile crossed his features. Draco leaned closer and ran his tongue across Harry's lips. He smiled again and murmured Draco's name softly in the back of his throat. Draco covered his lips with his own and felt his chest tighten with need as Harry moaned into his mouth. He broke the kiss and looked into Harry's beautiful sleeping face.

Nudging him softly Draco took his hand and examined the fingers and nails closely, looking for imperfection that he knew would not be there.

"Wha?" Harry said sleepily.

"Hold me."

"C'mere," he said and pulled Draco close. "Bad dream?"

"No, just lonely." Draco flinched at how pathetic the words sounded.

"Don't be. I'm here, always be here," he said and dozed back off snuggled against Draco's side.

"Promise?" Draco asked softly and pressed his lips to Harry's temple.

When the time came to follow his destiny Draco was not sure how he was going to stand the pain of losing Harry.

Draco nuzzled into Harry's neck, smelling his skin, gliding the tip of his tongue across his collarbone, and tasting the salt of him. Harry mumbled and squirmed under the touch.

Draco asked himself, not for the first time, why he had to choose between his love and his family. Maybe he could convince Harry to run away with him, to just leave, go somewhere that no one knew about them?

Draco leaned closer to him and breathed in the smell of him.

"What would you give up for me?" Draco asked suddenly, pleading with Harry silently to understand what he was asking.

"Besides sleep?" Harry asked with a smile without opening his eyes.

"What would you sacrifice for me?" Draco said.

Harry opened his eyes and looked at him.

"This is a real conversation then?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes."

"I have already jeopardized my safety, my freedom, potentially my life and in the beginning, my pride."

He shifted a small amount in order to pull away from Draco and then he continued, "your entire family, and most of your acquaintances would see me dead, or worse. You are most often than not, disdainful, if not down right hateful to everyone that I care about. I am terrified of what the future holds, and our part in it, but I will hold on to you as long as you will let me. You are a part of me. We will do what we have to do, when we have to do it. I have nothing to offer you but my love, my heart, and my soul. If that is not enough, if you require more of a sacrifice than that, then I do not know what I can offer. I am yours and all I can do is hope that you are mine. Now love, is that answer enough?"

Draco stood and picked his cloak off of the floor. He reached into a pocket and pulled out an item, he walked to the window and without a seconds hesitation tossed it out.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"Nothing I needed," Draco said and lay down next to Harry again. He touched Harry's cheek. "You are my only necessity Harry, all that I need, all that is important to me."

Harry shook his head and laughed sweetly before returning the kiss.