Beautiful Illusion

CHAPTER 06 - Trust

***

"To get up and walk away would be too easy.
So stay and stand your ground...

On the back of every right, there's a wrong looming.
So here you and I should tread as soft as these razor blades for boots will let be.

Have you ever tried to step in my shoes?
Have you ever tried to balance that beam?
And if you ever tried to fit in my shoes,
They'll never be quite as soft as they seemed."

***

Brown eyes met grey, searching their unfathomable smoky depths. The firelight's deceptive glow flung shadows across Draco's face; his expression was unreadable. Harry had never pondered whether or not the eyes were truly the window to the soul, but he hoped to God right now that they were. His breathing shallow, Harry prayed for answers.

He wanted the answer to how the pale boy sitting opposite him could upset the only thing that Harry could hold onto with conviction. He needed to know why one person could make him so goddamn confused in only two days. Harry craved answers to questions that he didn't even realize he was asking.

His gaze fixated on Draco, Harry wanted to know why his heart was thrumming as if a hummingbird was caged inside him. He wanted to know why the world seemed blurry, yet Draco's face was dazzlingly clear. Most of all, he needed to understand why he felt like he was burning, but drowning in an icy storm.

Draco was unbelievably close. Every mark on his skin stood out; dustings of darkness against the creamy background. His breath ghosted over Harry's lips, the warm air an angel's kiss. The heat sweltering in his stare was overwhelming. Harry's eyes watered from the tense stand-off.

As the tension reached an unbearable climax, Harry heard a snide voice echoing in the recesses of his brain.

"No one asked for your opinion, you filthy little mudblood!"

The shock and puzzlement he had seen in Hermione's eyes flooded back, as did the blinding, unadulterated rage on Ron's face. The insult, though uttered so long ago, was still a nauseating memory. It was as effective as being slapped across the face and doused in freezing water simultaneously, and Harry came to his senses.

This is Malfoy. I can't do this with Malfoy.

Blinking, he looked away and his heartbeat, though still frantic, calmed slightly. The electricity that had been sparking in the air fizzled to a quiet vibration. The exquisite pain searing through his body ebbed and he felt its loss.

Pins and needles prickling him, Harry tried to speak.

"I, you -"

The words emerged as a hoarse bark and he struggled to swallow. His throat felt as though a bowtruckle had crawled down it.

"Well, er, it sounds like you and Potter, have, er, a complicated relationship."

Smooth, Harry.

What seemed like an eternity to his raw, agitated senses passed before Draco spoke.

"That's one way of putting it."

Draco's voice was as husky as Harry's had been; the low tones sending his heartbeat rocketing again.

What the bloody hell is happening to me?

The only emotions even mildly comparable to these were the ones he had felt for Cho last year. Fighting vainly to recall how his stomach had lurched whenever he saw her, Harry knew one thing for certain. No matter how much he was loath to admit it, those feelings had been nowhere near as painful or intense as the molten fire that was caressing his insides now.

Sudden, devastating terror gripped him as the implications of his attraction hit him like a dozen bludgers.

I'm drunk. I'm not really feeling this.

Trying desperately to believe himself, Harry strove to keep the conversation flowing. His vocal cords seemed to be jammed with glue; speech seemed so inappropriate at the moment.

"Does Potter hate you?"

Try as he might, his voice still rasped with sensation.

"Do you hate me?"

The words were as calm as a lake on a windless day; completely devoid of any inflection or innuendo. It was impossible to surmise from the coolly assured speech that the torrid fever consuming Harry was also playing havoc with Draco; the blush on his cheeks was not from the snapping flames.

Harry's panic increased tenfold.

How could he know? Of course he couldn't know, I'm being stupid. There's no way...

"Why would I hate you? I mean...oh bugger, I asked if Potter hated you, not me."

Something evasive flared in Draco's eyes, and then disappeared; a fanciful trick of the light. Ineloquent as Harry may have been, his words produced the desired result.

"Alright, I'll answer your question if you answer mine."

How am I meant to think with him staring at me like that?

"That, er...sounds fair. You can go first."

Although Harry was by no means one of the most pensive people you would ever meet, he still hated being put on the spot, as most people do, and wanted to avoid it at all costs.

"That's only reasonable, considering that you did ask me first."

A smirk threatened to cross Draco's lips, but never quite made it. Harry was sure that his heartbeat was far too loud, yet Draco didn't seem to notice. He was outwardly calm once more, the self-poise that Harry envied coming to his rescue.

"Does Potter hate me, you ask? I have no way of knowing, I can't read his bloody mind. I assume that he hates me, blind with self-righteousness as he is, but my own recent revelations, if you want to call them that, make me wonder..."

Harry waited for Draco to elaborate, but he seemed content with his answer and didn't continue.

He's probably sick of talking after that huge rant before.

Draco had been unusually talkative tonight, and was still just as articulate as he had been before they had started drinking. In the recesses of his mind, Harry knew that his words should be slurring and his brain fogged by the alcohol at this point. Quite to the contrary, however, he felt alert, coherent and his thoughts were as clear as ever.

Something's not right.

An insistent, intangible thought had been nagging at him throughout the night. It had something to do with Potions, if he wasn't mistaken. Battling his slowly-returning lethargy, Harry thought he could recall Professor Snape lecturing the class about the nullifying properties of Veritaserum when mixed with alcohol shortly before their OWLs...

***

Sweat trickled down Harry's neck as Snape's frosty gaze swept over him, lingering for a minute before continuing its circuit of the room. Neville squeaked fretfully nearby, mere eye contact with the Professor too much for his tattered nerves. Snape thankfully ignored the sound, instead speaking in the dangerously silky tones the class had long ago learned to listen to.

"This lesson will be highly informative for those of you who have succumbed to the latest student craze of liquor-assisted party games such as the ever-popular and ever infantile 'Truth or Dare'. I suggest that you awaken those numbed brains and pay attention."

Harry saw a smug smirk cross Draco's face in his peripheral vision. Harry knew for a fact that the Slytherins hosted the most drinking games; it was no doubt amusing to Malfoy that they were having a lesson on it now.

"Thrilling as it undoubtedly may be, mixing Veritaserum with alcohol, as I am informed has become the common practice of late, can produce significant side effects. The Veritas root, as you are evidently unaware, is the key ingredient in the truth serum."

"When mixed with alcoholic substances, the root nullifies the haziness, headaches and impulsive behaviour usually experienced when consuming an excess amount of liquor, hence the appeal. However, the alcoholic component is not without its own effects."

"When Veritaserum is added to liquor in a ratio that exceeds 1:4, the longevity of the potion is increased. How much it increases by depends on how excessive the foolish person has been with their use of the Veritaserum, which, however pointless it may be to remind you, is also highly illegal."

"Dim-witted as most of you are, I hope that you can appreciate how unpleasant it would be if one of your little party games turned into a week of complete honesty. I'm sure none of you would survive."

The condescending sarcasm seeping out of Snape was enough to flood the dungeons.

"Bit melodramatic, isn't he?" Ron whispered to Harry, digging him in the ribs.

"Give the man a break, Ron, this is probably the most exciting class he's taught in his whole life," Harry grinned, sniggering.

"Can you two please be quiet? This could be on our exam!" Hermione's reproving whisper carried in the unfortunately silent classroom.

"Miss Granger, seeing as you are incapable of listening to even the most basic information in silence, I must insist that you move. I'm sure Miss Bulstrode would be delighted to have your company for the rest of the lesson."

Millicent cracked her knuckles menacingly and leered at Hermione from across the room, as Draco, Crabbe and Goyle snickered at their bench.

The guilt they felt as heat washed over Hermione's face and she moved timidly to Millicent's desk was sufficient to keep Harry and Ron silent for the rest of the lesson.

***

Oh shit.

Yes, that just about summed it up, thought Harry. He wasn't drunk at all, at least not in the conventional sense. There were no excuses anymore; he couldn't pass off his newfound-feelings as the product of a liquor-induced haze. There were no barriers left to shelter behind.

"Uh, Charlie? Charlie, are you there?"

"Huh? Er, sorry, what were you saying?" Harry could feel the crimson in his cheeks deepening with every word.

"I was saying, when you obviously weren't listening, that I believe it's your turn to answer the question. If your answer isn't satisfactory, my vengeance will be swift and merciless."

Harry gulped, hoping that Draco was kidding. It was impossible to know with the firelight and his shimmering eyes and their close proximity...

"Charlie! We're going to be here until Christmas if you don't hurry up and spit it out."

"Er, right, sorry. Do I hate you? Frankly, that's one of the stupidest questions anyone has ever asked me."

Draco's eyes widened, and Harry couldn't help smiling.

Weren't expecting that, were you?

"Do you understand what it truly means to hate, Draco? I don't think you do."

"Hatred is like a cancer that boils up over a long period of time; festering until it overwhelms you. Hatred is hearing somebody's name and being so repulsed by their existence that you want to throw up in disgust. Hatred is an emotion so powerful that you could kill without feeling the slightest remorse for what you've done."

"Hatred is what destroys the greatest of minds. I've seen the corruption for myself. If you let hatred consume you, you'll go mad."

Draco was drawing ragged, hitching breaths now. His body was visibly trembling.

"So, you see, Draco, that's why your question was a stupid one. Why would I invest so much time and energy into hating someone who I barely know, and who's never done anything to hurt me? I feel sorry for you, if you mistrust people so deeply that you think that a boy your own age would hate you for no reason. Nobody should feel that way, ever."

Harry was now experiencing the same respiratory difficulties as Draco, hardly believing the words that had come out of his mouth.

They were the truth, he knew. He had felt the Veritaserum illuminating his way, nudging at the edges of his answer to ensure that he stayed on the path of honesty. Yet the words had flowed freely out of him; they had been entirely his own.

He had truly believed what he was saying; and belief was a rare and glorious thing.

"Have you ever hated anyone that much, Charlie?"

The emotion in Draco's voice brought with it a startling realization that Harry had actually touched the boy with his words.

The surprises just keep on coming, don't they?

He didn't think about his answer before replying.

"Only one person. The person who murdered my parents and gave me a life I never wanted -"

With a sudden burst of startling clarity, Harry saw Bellatrix's laughing face as Sirius fell backwards through the gently rippling veil, leaving Harry and everything he had left unsaid behind.

"- Scratch that. I've only ever hated two people that much."

Draco obviously sensed that Harry didn't want to talk about the second person and all was quiet for a few moments before he spoke again.

"Well, if you have so much of yourself lost in hatred of two people, then I think that it's me who should be the one feeling sorry for you."

The words hit Harry like a cannonball. Draco, feeling sorry for him? Harry guessed that later, after he'd had a while to mull the day's events over, the previous statement would strike him as poignant and profound. But for the moment, it was all he could do not to lose control of his emotions completely.

Fighting back the sudden tears that were threatening to blur his vision in a watery glaze, Harry made a valiant effort to look anywhere but at Draco.

This was too much for the Slytherin. Any remaining vestiges of self-control vanishing, Draco spoke in a voice unlike any Harry had ever heard.

"Can I trust you, Charlie?"

His speech was tremulous, and so uncertain, and Harry could practically hear him screaming out for reassurance, for somebody to tell him that everything would be ok. He thought that that voice might just be enough to break his heart.

"Why wouldn't you -" Harry began, before Draco cut him off.

"No, Charlie. I mean it, can I really trust you? Can I honestly, 100%, no-holds-barred, trust you?"

If Draco's voice had been enough to break Harry's heart, the desperate longing for truth he saw in the boy's eyes was enough to ensure that the pieces could never be put back together again.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but the words never quite made it, because at that moment he did the only thing that could possibly be right.

His brown eyes connected with Draco's grey ones for one brief, perfect instant and the flash of hope he saw swell in them was so beautiful he thought he just might cry after all.

The moment of connection broke, and for half an instant neither of them moved. Harry's chest was pounding so painfully he thought he may have stopped breathing. Then, his lips brushed Draco's so gently it could have been his breath exploring their softness, and they were so close, closer than he had ever been to anyone before...

He didn't care that he had never kissed a boy before; he didn't care that this was Malfoy, his childhood nemesis; he didn't care that this was insane; he didn't care that nobody would understand.

As they moved to deepen the kiss, their foreheads bumped together. Shrinking back, they looked at each other for a moment before Draco smiled and closed the distance once more.

It was so much better than Harry had ever thought a kiss could be. The clumsy tonsil-hockey he had played with Cho last year was nothing, nothing compared to how this made him feel.

As Draco shivered beneath him and opened his mouth so slightly, Harry didn't care that he of one year ago would have been disgusted by what was happening. His tongue slid forward to tentatively intertwine with Draco's, wet heat colliding in a heady rush. He was unprepared for the intensity of it; gasping, he drew back.

Draco stared at him, lips slick and flushed, and Harry knew that he couldn't stop now. Leaning forwards and letting his eyes fall shut, their lips met again. Their mouths began to dance together, teeth and tongues and lips melding and twisting in an increasingly passionate duet.

One of his hands had become entangled in Draco's hair. Harry had expected it to be like silk to the touch, but it was just a little rough; exciting to run his fingers through. The other was at Draco's back, tracing spider webs on his spine. Harry could feel each of his bones under his palm, solid fragments underneath the smooth skin.

As Draco's clever tongue became bolder in its exploration of Harry's mouth, Harry couldn't help the muffled cry that escaped him. How could anybody hold this moment against him when every fibre of his being was telling him that this was perfect; this was what made life amazing?

What the hell have I been missing out on?

Both boys were rapidly losing themselves in the intensity of the kiss, gasping and arching involuntarily as it deepened. The rhythm of their mouths moving together, the feel of their hands entwined in the other's hair, the sharp heat of their bare skin against each other...

No. You've got to stop now.

It was too much, they were moving too fast and Harry couldn't let it happen. There were some places that he just wasn't prepared to go.

"No. No, Draco, I -"

Draco ignored him, instead beginning to lick a pathway down the side of Harry's suddenly hyper-sensitive neck. The touch of his tongue on Harry's skin burned like fire; then the air whispered over it and a trail of goose bumps marked the moist trail.

God, that felt so good...

"Draco, no!"

As their lips lingered for one last, fleeting moment, Draco sighed against his mouth and Harry felt a new sympathy for lovers parting ways. If he felt this way about kissing Draco, how must they feel kissing the person they loved the most in the world goodbye? How could they ever let go?

With an almost superhuman effort, Harry managed to pull himself away from the blissful forgetfulness of the past few minutes and the new, tantalising feel of Draco's mouth on his.

"Draco, I can't. It's too soon, I'm not ready, I -"

How Draco would be able to speak with his mouth so swollen, Harry couldn't know. He guessed that his own was just as inflamed.

"It's ok, Charlie. I get it. We can just go slowly."

The spark of hope he saw in the boy's face made the thought of Harry taking his trust and abusing it, as he would have to do so soon, even more sickening.

"Right. Well, I don't know about you, but I'm buggered. We should probably turn in for the night."

Now that he thought about it, he really was exhausted.

"I guess you're right. I'll just be going back to my cabin, then."

It was pitch-black outside, and as much as Harry didn't need the close proximity, he couldn't let Draco go wandering alone in the snow.

"Don't be an idiot, it's pitch-black out there. You can sleep in my Uncle's room; he won't be coming back for a few days, at least."

"Well, if you're sure..."

"I'm sure. Now go to sleep!"

"Goodnight, Charlie."

"Night, Draco."

As Draco walked to the door of his room, he turned back towards Harry and seemed to linger on the precipice of speech. Harry found himself intensely curious as to what more he could possibly have to say.

He would not find out tonight, though, for the next instant Draco had turned on his heel, and the door shut with a gentle click.

***

Draco leaned against the doorway and exhaled; a shuddering, shaking breath that did little to dispel the frantic waves of need surging through his body.

His head was filled with quicksand, coherent thought slipping further away the more he struggled for it.

What did I just do?

He'd revealed some of his most closely-guarded secrets. He'd let himself get carried away by the thrill of something new, something exciting. He'd gotten too close to this perfect stranger in the hope that Charlie could somehow change the way his life was heading. Now, Draco knew that he would pay the price. Hell, he was already paying.

Draco wasn't an idiot; he had felt the Veritaserum nudging him along the path of truth. He knew that Charlie had spiked their Firewhisky; he knew that the other boy wanted something from him.

Intrigued as he was about what Charlie could possibly want from him, Draco knew that tonight he hadn't made much of an effort to find out. He had accepted that the unremarkable, soft face of the boy sitting near him was hiding somebody with an agenda.

And still, he had opened up to him, revealed more than was required to satisfy the truth serum. To have an excuse to be truthful with somebody made his body sizzle with life. With the weight of his impending, largely-unknown task tainting everything Draco did, he needed to feel as though there was somebody who would understand.

He needed somebody to trust.

He had asked Charlie if he could trust him, barely even realizing why he needed that trust so badly. The look that he had seen in those eyes had been crying out to him, as if begging him not to probe too far. Then Charlie had kissed him, and it had been brilliant, and for a moment there was nothing to feel except another warm, human body against his.

Now, he was pressed against a cold wooden door with only his muddled thoughts for company. He shouldn't be here, he shouldn't have done any of this and his father was going to be so angry.

After all of the secrets that had been exposed that night, all the feelings that had been shared, Draco should feel as though he knew Charlie.

Yet the only thought that truly registered as he sank onto the bed was that he had asked Charlie a question. He had bluntly asked him whether he could trust him, and he had never received his answer.

***

His pyjamas felt like heaven against his skin as Harry climbed into bed. The whisper of his sheets was a comforting murmur, soothing his racing emotions.

Staring up at the ceiling, he imagined he could hear Draco's rhythmical breathing in the room next to his.

Exhaustion and stimulation battled with each other, two opposites fighting for domination. Much the same as he and Draco, or so Harry used to think.

He couldn't be sure of anything as he lay there, almost unbearably confused.

Harry tried to think of how important this task was. He tried to imagine everyone who could live because of the information he had to obtain.

Much as he tried to imagine, reality was impossible to ignore. The look on Draco's face when he had asked if Harry was trustworthy was as desperate as any he had ever seen.

"Can I trust you?"

It was the one question he wished Draco hadn't asked.

A sickening wave rose to his stomach as he thought about what he had just done. Draco had asked him just one question. A simple question with a simple answer.

It was too straightforward; the Veritaserum had been nagging him to answer the way he knew he must. And then they had kissed, and the word had strained to be released from his mouth. It had bubbled to the surface like a poisonous barb, a stinging reminder that he couldn't be trusted.

"No. No, Draco, I -"

There was Draco's answer, disguised in a neat package. No, Draco couldn't trust him. No, he wasn't doing the right thing. It seemed to Harry, in his current state, that all he had ever done was hurt those that trusted him.

Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Ginny. They had all trusted Harry; they had all followed him to the Ministry against their better judgement. Sirius had trusted Harry not to do anything stupid; he had begged him to stay out of trouble. Dumbledore had trusted Harry to work hard at Occlumency; he had spent countless hours impressing upon Harry the importance of closing his mind.

They had all trusted him; they had all believed that he would do the right thing. And what had he done with that trust? Harry the Fucking Hero had led his friends straight into a death trap and killed Sirius. He had watched as the light in Sirius's eyes was extinguished, seen his limp body fall through the fluttering veil. He was grateful every day that the other five had survived.

Draco couldn't be the next one. Nobody else was going to die because they placed their faith in a teenage boy who had never wanted to be a hero. Screw the mission, screw Dumbledore, screw Voldemort. It was too hard. There was only so much pressure he could take. Harry made up his mind at that moment. To this God-forsaken mission, he was saying no.

***

'"Unabashed honesty would be ideal,
But a prophet did once say that honesty is a lonely word.
So where do we go from here... Abandon ship now?
My problem is you make me melt,

And I don't want to be frozen anymore."

***