Secrets

A lone figure sat in an artificial darkness, waiting quietly, patiently, to hear the echoing footsteps he'd long become dependent on. Finally, it came. The sound of a door opening and closing on a squeaky hinge was deafening. The silence after was excruciating, but necessary because it helped to hide the secrets that held up the walls of this home.

When Draco finally stumbled into the living room, Harry could see nothing but a silhouette crowned with pale, ethereal locks. Pleasantries could be exchanged and small talk could be made, but they both knew where the blonde had been and there really was no use for such trivial things.

"There was a raid in Diagon Alley today." The words were said without emotion. No hurt, no pain...merely acceptance.

"Yes," Draco answered because the underlying question was rhetorical and these words were meaningless. Silence fell over the pair once again, but it was laced with messages that only they could hear.

"Are you hurt?" Harry asked finally, not once moving to get up from his chair.

"A bit." The answer came with a pained sigh that both of them chose not to hear. "It's my arm."

"You should go get it cleaned up," he said softly.

"Should." The final word before Harry once again heard footsteps, this time ascending the staircase. It wasn't until the bedroom door slammed shut that he finally took out his wand and flicked on the lights, allowing him to see his surroundings. Bracing his arms on either side of him, he pushed himself up and shifted to follow the other man. Glancing down, he noticed the trail of blood leading upstairs. A fascinating mess of red on the pureness of white. Making his way up the steps, he opened the door to the bedroom and found Draco standing at the window, staring down into the quiet streets below. He hadn't yet changed; Harry hadn't really expected him to. Three, four strides later and they're face to face, emotions emitting from grey and green orbs.

"There's so much blood," the raven-haired man said quietly, taking in the person before him.

"It's not all mine," Draco whispered softly and the other man shook his head.

"No, it's not." He looked up into the silvery eyes that had long enchanted him and moved in to capture soft lips for a searing kiss.

"Harry--" the blonde managed to choke out, but he was silenced with fingers upon his mouth.

"Let's just pretend for awhile, okay? Let's just pretend that life is simple and it's just your and me." Draco nodded and let himself be led to the bed.

Mouths descended towards one another and tongues probed for acceptance. Moans were heard and in this passionate embrace, neither man knew who they belonged to. The Gryffindor shifted to remove the clothing separating him from naked skin. He trailed wet kisses down Draco's chest, feeling a thrill from the guttural moans resonating from him. A flurry of zippers and fabric and before anybody could breathe, Harry took Draco in his mouth.

"Yes," the Slytherin hissed. His fingers trailed down his bare chest to clutch the soft tendrils of black in his hands. Incomprehensible words spewed from his lips in a fevered mantra, pleading for more. When Harry pulled away, an angry growl emitted from Draco's throat and in the next minute, the smaller, darker man found himself pinned against the wall. His lips were ravaged by a bruising kiss and pain shot along his back from being slammed into the wall.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

He looked down and watched with lust-filled eyes as nimble fingers expertly unbuckled his belt and slid down his pants.

"Now," he groaned. "I need it, Draco."

The other man smirked knowingly and took Harry into his hand. His touch burned and Harry knew that he'd die if this wasn't finished soon. Fingers moved and probed and when he was filled, he couldn't remember being more satisfied. In his haze, he managed to see streaks of blood marring his skin, gifts from Draco's stained hands. The sight and the thought pushed him to a bitter edge and when he reached his peak, he could see nightmare portraits of those he loved, dead and buried in the ground.

* * *

When Harry opened his eyes the following morning, he was greeted with the sight of alabaster skin alight with the sun's rays. Shifting slightly, he swung his legs gracefully off the bed, his feet padding softly towards the bathroom. Turning on the shower, he stood under the spout, letting the painfully hot water burn the sins off his body. He clawed at his skin until he was covered with red blotches, testimony to his cathartic cleansing. Remaining under the running water for what felt like hours, he couldn't bring himself to face the world; not yet.

He shut the water off when it started to turn cold and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. Dragging himself back into the bedroom, he found the bed empty and made. He quickly found clean clothing and threw it on before making his way down the stairs. Draco heard his footsteps and pulled out his wand to conjure breakfast.

"I made your favorite," he said softly, pointing his wand at the meal strewn out on the table. Harry nodded and moved to the chair farthest from his companion, eliciting a frown from the blonde.

"I see. Thank you." That was the last thing that was said and for ten unbearable minutes, nothing could be heard except for the clanks of forks and the rustle of clothing. When Harry's plate was clean, he made no move to stand, but instead turned towards the fireplace, his eyes fixated on the embers. They both knew what he was waiting for. One man prayed that the inevitable would never come while the other waited for a proclamation of his damnation. Moments later, a small pop echoed throughout the house and Remus Lupin's head appeared from the flames.

"Remus," Harry greeted apathetically, "I was hoping I wouldn't see you today." The older man shook his head sadly and managed a grim smile.

"I wish we could meet on different terms, Harry, but--"

"There was a raid yesterday, yes," the dark-haired man interrupted. He kept a detached demeanor, but the others present could almost feel the dread radiating from him. "I know. Come, Professor. Tell me what you have to say." The werewolf sighed tiredly and rubbed at his eyes.

"Three Order members dead...thirty-seven others critically injured."

Harry scoffed exasperatedly. "I don't need numbers, Remus. Names, give me names."

"Susan Bones, Katie Bell, and..." the older man trailed off, visibly too distressed to finish his sentence.

"Yes?" Harry prodded edgily, trying to brace himself for what was to come.

"Ronald Weasley," the professor choked out finally and Harry recoiled in his chair, as though punched in the stomach. Draco had done this. He could feel it. "I'm sorry, Harry. I wish I didn't have to tell you." The head in the fireplace turned to Draco, who had been silent throughout this exchange, and eyed him suspiciously. "There were many Death Eaters there. All wearing masks. We'll never know who the--"

"Draco wasn't there, Remus," the green-eyed man said, breaking off the insinuation. "He was with me all day." The Slytherin raised an eyebrow at the man in the fireplace and smirked.

"Well, you heard him, Professor," he drawled. "I wasn't there. Now if you'll excuse us..." Lupin ignored the young man and turned back to Harry.

"You know that if you need us, we'll be here. Molly will want to hear from you."

Harry smiled desolately at the name and nodded. "Thank you, Remus." Another pop sounded, and once again, the two were left alone. The Gryffindor brought his knees to his chest and rested his chin between them. He continued to stare into the fireplace, as though there might be a possibility that Ron would floo in any minute. The blonde stood and crept towards him, attempting to comfort the one he'd hurt so dearly.

"Harry," he called softly and held out a hand to touch his cheek. So many emotions ran through him: guilt for the things he'd done, gratitude for Harry covering for him...covering for him like he always had. The smaller man jerked away and threw himself out of the chair.

"Don't you dare touch me," he screamed. "I fucking hate you. Ron, Draco. Ron. The others...I pretended. I lied to myself saying it wasn't you. They were nameless faces. But Ron?" He stood still and stared the other man down, the anger burning everything around him. He was so prepared to scream and yell and hex, but the urge died quickly and he was left utterly heartbroken. He covered his eyes as though it pained him to look at Draco, and stormed past him, making sure not to touch him. He ran outside and apparated to a place where he knew he could be alone: Godric's Hollow. Setting himself by a tree, he slid down and leaned his head back against the trunk. Years of disuse had turned this place into a wild, beautiful garden, filled with flowers and trees of vivid color. It was a place where he could think without worry of interruption.

Now that he was alone, his walls collapsed and he allowed himself to cry. For hours he sobbed, showing the world how frail the Boy-Who-Lived really was. He cried for the dead, he cried for the living, and he cried for the life that was no longer his. A never-ending cycle of, secrets, lies, betrayal and death that consumed him whole and slowly gnawed away at his very being. He had never thought his life would come to this. Betraying himself--and everybody else--for a man he once hated. Lying to those he held dearest; mourning for a friend, dead at the hands of a lover--all of it came out with his sobs.

The night came suddenly and brought with it a bitingly cold wind. Harry shuddered slightly and reached up a hand to wipe away the tears on his face. Standing on two unsteady feet, he shut his eyes and apparated back to the flat. He opened the door and was met with the darkness and a feeling of déjà vu. Draco jumped out of the chair he rested in and ran to meet the raven-haired man.

"I know I can't take back what I've done, but you know who I ser--" he began, but was hushed with and hand upon his cheek.

"Voldermort," Harry whispered softly, not missing the shudder that went through the other man. "Yes, I know. You serve him."

"Are you--?"

"It doesn't matter what I am," he interrupted once more. He used all his strength to push Draco and this time, it was the blonde who ended up against the wall. The Gryffindor became a dominant force and took what he wanted from the compliant man with a sense of urgency and anguish. In his orgasmic fervor, he clawed at delicate skin until crimson warmth flowed from the wound: bloodshed for the red-haired man that Draco had taken away from him.

The Slytherin let out a pained grunt, but didn't stop what was being done to him. He knew Harry needed to do this. To add to the other scars that indicated his every sin against the man he loved.

"I love you," Draco whispered softly.

"As do I," Harry answered as he threaded his fingers through soft hair and kissed his love; kissed him like it was the last time he ever would.

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, a door was blown off its squeaky hinges as the Ministry's top aurors stormed the seemingly inoffensive flat. Harry sat in his armchair and watched silently as Draco was dragged from the bedroom. The pale man struggled against the magical binds holding him in place and shouted curses at every person he saw. He finally spotted the dark-haired man and pleaded for his help.

"Harry," he cried. "What's happening? Do something."

"I'm sorry, Love," he responded brokenly. "There's nothing I can do." Draco's eyes widened and he let out a loud scream of anger.

"You can't do this," he screamed to the aurors. "I'm Draco fucking Malfoy. I will not be treated like a common criminal." He looked back at Harry with a hurt look in his eyes. "How could you, Harry? How could you?" The brunette could only bow his head in guilt but kept himself strong with the knowledge that he was doing the right thing.

Draco was pulled out of the house as an auror stopped momentarily to repair the door. He nodded curtly at the lone man in the house and walked out, closing the door to leave Harry some privacy. It would not have mattered if it had been left opened or closed because the secrets of this home were already released, aired out for all to see.

* * *

The trial had been a horrific blur to Harry. Witness after witness, mostly his friends, had taken the stand to testify against Draco. When it had been his turn to take the stand, it was the single most agonizing moment of his life: condemning the only man he had ever really loved.

"After careful evaluation of all the evidence against Mr. Malfoy's case, the Ministry has agreed to sentence him to the Dementor's Kiss, set to be performed immediately."

"No," Harry shouted from his seat, producing a collective gasp from those in the room. This was the first time the Boy-Who-Lived had spoken in days. Draco turned and regarded him coldly. Their eyes met and Harry tried to transmit messages of infinite apologies and love, but the blonde rejected him and turned back towards the front, a look of practiced aloofness upon his face.

"Mr. Potter," the Minister of Magic said calmly. "Outbursts in this room are strictly forbidden. Please sit down--"

"He doesn't deserve the Dementor's Kiss," he blurted out. Taking a deep breath and calming himself, he continued on. "He...he deserves to rot in Azkaban and repent for his crimes. Voldermort can't touch the prison now, not with all the wards put upon it and the dementors back under our jurisdiction. Minister, I must insist that you revise your sentence."

The officials consulted of Harry's words, but he knew that they would agree to change the sentence. It was one of the times when he benefited from being the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. Draco Malfoy is hereby sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban Prison, effective one hour after court is adjourned. Case dismissed." With a note of finality, the minister beat his gavel, giving those in the room freedom to move and whisper amongst themselves. Harry's gaze followed Draco's form as he was escorted from the room. Even after everything, he still moved with a regal air that nobody could ever emulate. Harry followed quickly after and stopped the aurors who were in charge of the prisoner.

"A moment, please." One of the aurors shook her head regretfully.

"We can't. It's against Ministry orders."

"Please, Hermione," Harry begged. "Just a moment." After a slight hesitation, she relented and ushered the other auror away. The green-eyed man pushed Draco into a room and shut the door.

"Please understand," he began. "Please understand why this had to happen."

Draco stared at the man in front of him emotionlessly and turned away.

"I've nothing to say to you, Potter. Now if you'll excuse me, I must go--how did you put it--repent for my crimes?"

"Don't do this."

"Don't do what?" the taller man exploded. "Don't feel betrayed? Don't hate you for doing this to me?"

Harry reached over to touch him, but Draco shied away from his hand. "Draco, you have to understand. I couldn't let you get the Kiss. I couldn't let them have your soul."

"So you proposed that I be locked in a dark, dank cell for the rest of my living days?" he shouted indignantly.

"You killed Ron, Draco. You killed Ron."

"I had to, Potter," Draco spat out, hissing his name like venom. "It was either him or me. Did you expect me to just stand there and let him kill me because he was your friend?"

Harry could think of nothing to refute the statement and chose, instead, to remain silent.

"I have no more business with you. Take me back to the aurors."

"I love you," Harry said, defeated.

"That will be no consolation when I'm alone in that cell, will it Harry?" Draco returned, sadness lacing the anger.

"I'll visit you."

"I'd rather you didn't."

Harry nodded at this and led him back to the two waiting Aurors. He nodded briefly at Hermione as she pulled the man he loved away from him...forever. Dragging himself out of the building, he apparated back to the flat that would everlastingly remind him of what he'd done and how alone he was. The young man slowly made his way upstairs to the bedroom. Lying down on the soft sheets, he picked up Draco's pillow, hugged it to his chest, and began to cry.