No Desert

Chapter 3 ~ Open Door

A crisp, sunny spring morning found Harry sitting on the low stone garden wall that surrounded the villa, and looking over the sloping green hills that ran down to the houses of Muggle Grindelwald in the distance. The fact that it was a busy Muggle winter resort was resented by many of the exclusive old wizarding families whose ancient retreats were scattered over the hills around it, and who more often than not held in regard the beliefs of the late Dark Wizard who had taken his name from this ancient magical place.

And yet, acres upon acres of Unplottable valleys and mountain slopes, combined with wards and Muggle-Repellant Charms forged through centuries in this region of the Swiss Alps, made the presence of the occasional Muggle tourist almost negligible. They crowded the town itself, and in winter the hills - like ants under the Imperius Curse, as Lucius had once sneered before turning his back in disgust. But they hardly ever crossed the path of wizardkind.

Wizarding snobbishness and a propensity for the Dark Arts aside, Harry mused, it was a beautiful place, and he much preferred the untouched wizarding enclaves and the valleys with their magical creatures to the Muggle town. He laid his head back to enjoy the warmth of the spring sun more fully.

A fairy danced in the air before him, sunning its iridescent wings and throwing him a rude gesture when it noticed him watching. He winked at it, and it stuck out a pointy green tongue as it swayed in the breeze. Grindelwald's wizarding population was remarkably lax when it came to upholding Clause 73 of the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy, but it had the most effective Obliviator Squad in continental magical Europe to make up for it.

As Harry observed the fairy, he noted a dark speck on the horizon far above which moved steadily towards him. It approached, growing from a speck into a small ball of feathers, and then, up close, into a dignified barn owl which squinted against the bright sunlight in displeasure. It landed gracefully on the stone wall next to Harry, snapped its beak at the fairy, and then stretched out its leg rather insistently. A large red envelope was tied to the bird's foot. Harry untied it quickly, and set it aside before pulling out his wand to Summon an owl treat from the house. The bird took the cracker apart in two quick bites and wolfed down the pieces before spreading its considerable wings and taking off again, ostensibly in search for darker pastures. The tip of one wing brushed Harry's cheek as it sailed off, and he followed the owl with his eyes until it had vanished completely on the horizon.

Only then did he reach for the envelope. It contained neither name nor address, only a black seal with two crossed golden wands on the back. With a strange sense of reluctance, he turned it between his fingers before breaking the seal. The parchment inside was thick and creamy, and the ink the same blood-red colour as the envelope.

Scanning over the address and the name, he found the significant passage immediately:

We are pleased to be able to offer you...

He let the page drop in his lap and closed his eyes in an eerie mixture of exhilaration and dread. He hadn't dared to hope they'd ever accept him, and now...

The sharp pop of an Apparation a few dozen metres below, just outside the outer shields around the villa, made him look up.

Draco Malfoy stepped through the wards, looked up to see Harry perched on his stone seat, and began to wind his way up the narrow garden path towards him. He still wore fashionable white-and-silver Quidditch robes, matching fingerless Seeker gloves, and carried his broom over his shoulder.

The younger witches and wizards of the local wizarding elite played amateur Quidditch on the fancy mountain pitch of the Lemarchand family, amidst a scenery so breath-taking that it elevated the game into something akin to a ritual. The Malfoys had taken Harry there twice before, but only to watch, never to play. They didn't want to give raise to awkward questions about Lucius Malfoy's mysterious... companion, and neither would it do to present him as a player who might be able to outfly Draco Malfoy's reputation as a Seeker.

Instead, they had gone racing in winter, over the snows of glaciers that no Muggle eye had fallen on in a thousand years, Draco on his state-of-the-art Lightning Bolt, Harry on one of the Firebolts of the Malfoy household, so that for once their skills were almost equally matched. It was something Harry would have given his soul to share with Ron, but that chance was gone, never to return.

Harry had learned very quickly that Lucius denied his only heir nothing he desired, and when Draco made clear that he desired revenge on his father's new... acquisition, Lucius had not hesitated to accommodate him. And yet, Lucius sent Harry off into Draco's lair with the unvoiced expectation that his son was not made of stern enough stuff to break his charge's spirit. That, as much as sheer pride and a long-time hatred, gave Harry the strength to get through the first weeks of having to deal with the younger Malfoy on top of the older.

On one level, Draco was very much his father's son - wilfully cruel, always chancing on the right words to cut, with an obsessive need to be right at the centre of attention, and an urge to control that seemed to reach down into the very core of his being. Despite Harry's huge handicap, they fought every step of the way, until it became more of a dance than a battle, natural as breathing, with victories rare, but sweet as a pear in a dungeon.

And yet Draco completely lacked his father's unceasing drive and ambition. The younger Malfoy spent his days at Quidditch - strictly for amusement, of course - and at the entertainments of the fashionable and powerful among Grindelwald's wizarding society. He apprenticed with Snape in the study of Experimental Potions, but only during Hogwarts holidays and Merlin forbid he'd ever be caught taking it seriously.

In the quiet battle of wills between the two Malfoys, Harry was only too well aware that he served as the stick to beat Draco with, as Lucius' subtle challenge to his directionless son. Harry had received his wand back after two months in Malfoy's... care, and Lucius had drilled him in the Dark Arts, Defence, Charms, Duelling, Theory of Magic ever since, and Draco along with him. And Draco's competitive nature did not allow him to look weak in comparison to his halfblood, Muggle-raised school-time nemesis.

Lucius' constant, heavy-handed attention likely accounted for Draco's lengthening absences as the novelty of having his arch-enemy for a plaything wore off. Unlike Lucius, who had taken to continental wizarding society like a hand to a silk glove, Draco spent some of his time in wizarding Britain, to 'show face', as he called it. From him, Harry learned that the manhunt for him was still in full swing. It amused both Malfoys to no end, that incredible one they'd pulled over the Ministry by snatching Harry away. And the knowledge that Fudge and Umbridge were ruling over Diagon Alley as Snape ruled over Hogwarts had stifled much of the homesickness Harry might otherwise have felt.

No, what made Harry's situation so hard to bear was that Lucius expected nothing short of perfection outside the bedroom, and Harry, who had never been challenged to his limits at Hogwarts, found it hard to deliver. Unlike back at Privet Drive he wasn't expected to be neither seen nor heard, but he was expected to defend his position on and off the duelling floor, and Lucius would inevitably come after him if he tried to vanish. And of course the man would use his practical lessons to take revenge for every real or imagined defeat Harry had ever caused him, and as a flimsy excuse to devise intricate punishments in the bedroom.

So Harry let his guard down a little with Draco on very rare occasions when the pressure became to great. Draco mellowed when he saw himself in a position of power, and Harry had learned to make use of it.

He still vividly recalled the night after Lucius had introduced him to a new meaning of 'riding his broomstick', when Harry had ignored Draco's hand on his shoulder, buried his head in the pillow and told Draco, very calmly, "I can't handle this tonight." He hadn't expected it to work, but Draco had pulled back, merely throwing an arm over Harry's tense form, and allowed him to sleep. Of course Draco had made it very clear in the morning that he would not be turned away now, but he had been quietly satisfied at Harry's admission of weakness. Harry used his newfound power rarely, but knew very well that he'd learned to outplay the Slytherin at his own game, and revelled in it.

He could give a little with Draco, because Draco wasn't crucial. He would never show a trace of weakness to Lucius.

...

Draco had made his way up to the garden wall and came to stand next to him, oblivious to Harry's blunt analysis of his shortcomings.

"So you finally got your precious letter," Draco commented, nodding at the envelope on the stone next to Harry. "What do they say?"

"They're willing to take me on," Harry replied, carefully schooling his face in indifference.

A pale eyebrow rose, eerily reminiscent of another expression Harry knew all too well. Draco sat down on the edge of the garden wall, turning one of his Quidditch gloves over in his hand and examining a small tear with a frown.

"And you think he'll let you go?"

Harry shrugged. "He let me apply. He trained me for the practicals." A smile played around his mouth for a second. "He made you practise with me."

Draco snorted and slapped Harry's cheek with the damaged glove in retaliation.

"Still..."

Harry had never once asked to be released from his debt. Snape's parting shot had cut deep, and he built the fortress of his pride in the face of whatever Lucius threw at him. In fact, that night in December had taken him utterly by surprise. He'd knelt on the thick carpet of Lucius' study beside the man's armchair, head resting on Lucius' thigh while Malfoy's fingers casually stroked his sweat-drenched hair. Harry had tried to get his breathing back under control, and glared at the evening issue of Le Monde Magique in Lucius' other hand. The bastard hadn't even put the paper away despite his efforts, although the parchment was crumpled at the sides where Malfoy's fingers had dug in. Then Lucius had turned the page, tucked a few strands of black hair behind Harry's ear, pointed at a large, scarlet-framed announcement under Vacancies, and asked, quite casually, "What do you think?"

There just was no way of making sense of the inscrutable expression Lucius studied him with, nor had he managed to decipher the subtle way in which that expression changed when he'd finally answered, "Yes."

Neither then nor now had Harry figured out whether Lucius just wanted to put Harry's training to the ultimate test, or had simply grown tired of him, or... No, he'd just received a curt nod before the former Death Eater had pulled him to his feet and propelled him towards the bedroom, where he proceeded to rip to shreds every ounce of self-control and rational thought Harry tried to hang on to. And he hadn't stopped trying ever since.

And yet... would Lucius dangle freedom in front of his eyes after three years, just to snatch it away when he reached for it?

"He's not that cruel," Harry said, finding himself meaning it to his own surprise.

Malfoy smirked and leaned over, suddenly patting Harry on the back with his still-gloved hand. Harry bit back the yelp that was trying to escape him, but couldn't suppress a groan. He'd picked a wide, loose shirt and his lightest set of robes to keep pressure off the marks the night had left on his back. Firm touch was enough to make him wince. A slap was sheer agony.

"Care to repeat that?" Malfoy snickered.

"He's not that spiteful, then," Harry amended with a sour face.

"Perhaps not," Draco agreed, making himself comfortable in the sun.

Spring didn't suit the younger Malfoy, Harry thought, not for the first time. He was a creature of winter, cold, sharp and volatile as an icicle, prepared to burst into cutting shards at the slightest prodding. Watching him sitting in a field, his head tilted towards the sun, always made Harry wonder why he didn't explode into ashes like the trademark vampire.

"What are you going to do?" Draco asked, not sneering for once.

Harry shrugged again, but volunteered no answer. He did not want to think about Lucius Malfoy, or why he'd been using him more harshly over the previous weeks than ever since his first months in the man's service. It was as if the idea of losing Harry after all made him want to sink his hooks into Harry's soul - and his body - as deeply as they could possibly go.

Draco scrutinised him from the side for almost a minute, before he jumped up impatiently, grabbing his broom with one hand and Harry's wrist with the other.

"You are a horrible idiot, Potter!" he declared while pulling Harry to his feet.

He gathered Harry's longish hair - he'd grown it out a little, which made it look less messy, and Lucius seemed to like it - and wrapped it around his fist to pull Harry back against his body.

"Better get your arse inside, Potter," Draco murmured and dug his teeth into the shell of Harry's ear for emphasis. "I intend to make the most of the time we've left, and it would be so undignified having to chase after a stray Muggle with a Memory Charm if one observed me fucking you over the garden wall."

Harry liberated himself from the hold with some effort. "Have I ever told you that you're the most sickening bastard ever to walk Merlin's earth?" he asked with perhaps less rancour than the situation deserved.

"Not today, Potter," Draco grinned. He slid his fingers under Harry's shirt, running them up his side without quite coming into contact with the welts that marred Harry's back and buttocks. "I'll be gentle," he promised with a sinister leer, and although Harry winced at the memory of a rough last night, it drew an amused snort out of him.

"That'd be a first!" he mocked, not entirely truthfully, but close enough.

"Careful, Potter, before I change my mind," Draco retorted, and then a lewd grin appeared on his face. "You're not free yet."

~ tbc. ~

(one final chapter to go)