True Faith

True Faith 03
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
At that place, my encounter with you
Everything will begin and now, we can't do anything
In this town, my encounter with you
And now, with you who cannot love anyone,
The two of us together again at that hill

"Akuro no Oka" (The Hill of Acropolis") by Dir en Grey
Translated from Japanese by Cassiel (http://www.crysania.com/tattered/index.html)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco couldn't sleep. It didn't help that he was being eaten alive by curiosity. Damn Potter for planting it there.

It wasn't just that he wanted desperately to know what this 'party' was all about. It was so Top Secret it had to be interesting. Although on the other hand, the other Top Secret parties he'd been to had really just involved the consumption of alcohol by people legally too young to be drinking and too stupid to know when they'd had enough. For some reason, he sensed that this was somehow vitally different.

There was also the added strangeness that Potter had invited him along. Certainly, the comment that most Slytherins couldn't be trusted made this even more peculiar. At a very obvious point earlier in the week, his name must have changed lists from "Don't be Caught Dead in Public With" to "Potential to be Cool" in Potter's head.

Although, as he played the memory over again in his head, Potter's offer had sounded strangely like a date. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part, but it sounded to him like Potter would have preferred vastly to go to that party with him then with that Hufflepuff tart.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that watching that… whorish bint paw at Potter had made something twist darkly in his gut. He knew what it was- it was something that he'd always felt about the other boy.

Draco had never known what it was to be jealous until he'd met Harry Potter. He'd never had a reason to be- he'd had the best of everything, had always been the best at everything. Knowing that he'd been the one to accidentally get Potter onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team had made him want to slam his head into a brick wall until he fell unconscious. And then Potter got that Nimbus 2000 delivered in the Great Hall during First Year. It had made Draco so sick with jealousy and anger; he hadn't even been able to stand up straight for a week.

Second Year, he'd managed to only turn the tables briefly by getting Lucius to buy the Nimbus 2001s for the entire Slytherin Team. But it hadn't mattered- Potter had caught the Snitch, and not him. And then the Firebolt had arrived Third Year. That had just been bloody icing on the damned cake, now hadn't it? Of course he knew Potter was the better Quidditch player. It didn't matter which broom he had.

He wasn't sure when he'd given up trying to compete and fell back on being bitter. He hadn't cared that evil Muggle-born witch friend of Potter's had always had better marks then him. He hadn't cared, but his father had. Candles of bitterness added to the cake of jealousy.

Perhaps it was after Third Year that he'd started to realize what his father was. He'd long since taken up dreading going home for the summer. Most families went on holiday somewhere- he'd had to stay at the Manor and have the tar beaten out of him by Lucius while his mother watched. She would stare down her nose at him all the while as if he were a roach or something else distasteful. That summer had been when he'd realized that he positively loathed all women, and had stopped thinking of Lucius as his father and had started calling him Lucius.

He was no longer jealous of Potter because of petty things like having a better broom and being the better Quidditch player. Now he was jealous because Potter had people who cared about him- people who loved him. That was something Draco realized that he'd never had. Parents who beat you until you could hardly move couldn't love you. Leave it to Lucius to give him birthday gifts of violence to go with bitter candles and the jealousy cake.

However, after seeing what Potter had gone through Fourth and Fifth Years… Draco wouldn't have switched places with him for all the Galleons in Gringotts. When they'd come back for Sixth Year, something had changed in the other boy. Something had been broken. He'd watched as Potter went dazedly through life, and whenever he'd seen him smile at one of his friends, the smile had never quite touched his eyes. The eyes that had always been so vibrantly alive now seemed dull, dark with despair, and far too old for a sixteen-year-old boy. He knew the look of someone just going through the motions- he'd been doing exactly the same thing for years now.

By the time Sixth Year was over, Potter had changed again. It was like he'd shed his old self, like a snake sheds its skin. He wondered, and not for the first time, what it had been that had changed him. He'd always been a serious boy, and he cared too much about everything. Perhaps that was what happened- Potter had ceased to care. That must be it.

Draco recalled a very specific incident- Potter had really bungled the assignment they'd had in Transfiguration that day. It was, Draco recalled, a very difficult lesson. Changing inanimate objects into edible food was tricky business. Somehow the oil lamp that Potter had been trying to change into a roast turkey, just… popped… showering the entire class with bits of dry, overcooked meat. He'd leveled an especially scathing comment at the other boy. He'd expected an angry retort- instead Potter had laughed, and agreed with him! A light breeze could have knocked Draco over at that moment. Potter had simply gone with the flow, and shrugged it off.

Come to think of it, that had been the last Transfiguration class before they'd gone home for the summer. That summer… Draco couldn't think about last summer without his jaw clenching so tightly it made his teeth ache. Somewhere deep in his secret heart, he'd hoped that he'd underestimated his parents. How naive he'd been to hope that Lucius would respect his decision not to marry, and not to take the Dark Mark. He'd hoped that he'd underestimated them; unfortunately, he'd actually overestimated them. He'd always thought the worst thing that Lucius could have done was kill him. He'd been wrong.

Never in a million years had he dreamed that Lucius would disown him. However, if he thought about it logically, it made sense. After all, if he wasn't going to marry and produce an heir, he wasn't a suitable heir himself. He took a small amount of morbid pleasure in the fact that it meant Lucius had to father another heir. Lucius and Narcissa's marriage had been arranged, and they'd hated each other from the second they'd met. Draco could hardly stop himself from cackling in glee every time he thought of that. He imagined the conversation: Lucius saying "I don't like this any more then you do, so let's just get it over with." Narcissa would reply with something like "There is always Muggle artificial insemination. That way you don't actually have to TOUCH me." The word 'touch' would be spoken in complete revulsion.

That small bit of humor wasn't any comfort. He hated himself even more then he hated everyone else. He had especially hated Harry Potter. If he hadn't existed, Draco never would have had to compete with him, never would have realized his own shortcomings. Lucius would have always been proud of him, and none of this ever would have happened. And he hated himself even more for thinking these things because he knew they were petty and hateful and that made him like his father, and that was something he absolutely did not want to be.

But most of all, he hated himself for being a coward; because even though he knew he'd done the right thing he still often wished he'd done the easy thing.

The decision to slit his wrists had been a simple one when looked at in that light. It hadn't even really been a decision- it was just a natural progression, something that had to be. The pain of the blade on his flesh had been nothing at all compared to the emotional anguish he'd been through. However the cruel stab of irony he'd suffered when he'd realized that someone was bandaging his arms, and he'd opened his eyes and seen that it was Potter… The pang of self-loathing he'd felt in that moment had been so strong and heavy it was a wonder that his heart hadn't stop under its weight. The rhetorical question he'd muttered in that dark moment, "Why did it have to be you?" was the full expression of the terrible irony he'd suffered.

Now, he was rather glad that Potter had kept him alive. He actually had the makings of a reasonably pleasant future ahead of him. For the first time in his life, he was grateful for something- grateful to be alive, grateful to Potter and Dumbledore for the chances they'd offered him.

That had to be what was fueling his current inclination towards enjoying the small bits of time he'd been able to spend with the other boy. How quickly things could change. It didn't seem like it had been that long ago that he'd only been jealous of Potter- now he was jealous of the girl who was spending time with him right this very minute.

"He's straight. He has to be." Draco spoke aloud to himself, his voice rough and barely audible. He had to convince himself of that, though he wasn't sure why. A secret voice inside his head whispered coyly in return, 'He might swing both ways, you know.'

"That's it. That's the absolute limit." He shook his head at his own weakness as he rose from his bed and silently got dressed.

~*~*~*~*~

Tapping the correct knot on the Whomping Willow had been ridiculously easy. He'd expected the pitch-darkness of the secret tunnel. Stepping into the Shrieking Shack had given him the surprise of his life.

When he'd come up through the trap door, two people he could only describe as bouncers greeted him. One of them pulled a wand, and Draco was certain he'd been about to cast a Memory Charm on him. The other bouncer, who he recognized as being a Beater from the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, put a hand on the arm of the first. "He's on Harry's guest list. If Harry says he's safe, then he's safe." He was gestured forward, and on through the door at the other end of the room.

There must have been a Silence Charm on the room, because when he stepped through the doorway he was assaulted on all sides by the music. There must be an Enlargement Charm on it too- there was no way the Shrieking Shack was this big. He could almost see the huge quantities of magic floating in the air.

The music itself, for one- it was ethereal and dark... It was intimate, and sensual. The beat was hard and so deep he could feel its influence change the timing on his heartbeat; it made his mind wander. The lights in the room came from no discernable source. They changed constantly- one flashed bright white slightly off time with the beat, while the others seemed to change color as the melody of the music hovered and flowed. Conjured geometrical and kaleidoscope-like images hung suspended in the air, ghostly-transparent yet alive at the same time. The air itself veritably sparkled like glitter it contained so much energy. A sweet-smelling smoke hung in the air, making everything seem blurred and unreal. The whole effect was darkly hypnotic.

Someone he'd never seen before groped him as he stepped through the doorway, and gave him a laughing kiss on the mouth before spinning away onto the dance floor. The dance floor itself was sea of flesh- nearly everyone present had torn off whatever top they'd been wearing. Girls undulated against their dance partners clad only in a bra and short skirts or tightly fitting trousers. Nearly all males present had abandoned their shirts, and those who were still wearing their shirts were soaked to the skin in sweat.

There was something… erotic… about seeing all these people so free from inhibition. It was all grinding hips, exultantly uplifted arms and eyes glazed from the trance-inducing music and lights. Everyone was touching everyone, exploring everyone. Not more then a meter from him now, two girls kissed deeply. The fingers of one had twined in the other girl's hair, the remaining hand shoved up her skirt. Draco looked away only to have his gaze land on two boys on a couch on the other side of the room. The smaller of the two was sprawled on the couch, the other on his knees between his legs, his head bobbing up and down quickly, making it perfectly obvious what was going on.

He tore himself from that delectable sight, and searched the crowd of dancing teenagers for Potter. The floor was so packed with bodies, skin shining with perspiration, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to find him. The crowd shifted and suddenly parted as if it were the Red Sea, and Draco was Moses.

There he was. His shirt was tucked into the back pocket of his low-slung trousers, the muscles of his bare chest gleaming slickly from sweat. His black hair was soaked to his forehead and the nape of his neck. He was also tonsil deep in the mouth of Seamus Finnigan.

A stab of unmistakable jealous similar to the one he'd felt earlier when that Hufflepuff shrew had kissed him, lanced through his chest. This one was much worse- This time Potter was giving as good as he got, and the other person was a boy. In spite of the first emotion, a tiny bubble of joy was forming in the back of Draco's head. It didn't help that the green of jealousy twisting in his stomach was twinning about with the distinct royal purple of arousal.

Potter's arms were wrapped tightly around the taller boy's neck. Finnigan's hands clutched his rear, grinding hips, and probably erections, together fiercely in time with the music's dark beat. Lungs starved for air, Potter broke the kiss. He threw his head back, rolling it fluidly on his strong neck. Snapping his face level again, his dark lashes fluttered open, the whites of his eyes showing before dark lashes fluttered and the jade-green orbs opened fully. As if sensing Draco's perusal, they suddenly focused with blinding intensity, meeting his own silvery-gray gaze.

Draco felt his breath catch in his throat. Potter's emerald-like eyes narrowed in an emotion he couldn't identify. His fingers tangled briefly in the hair at the nape of Finnigan's neck, before slanting his mouth over the other boy's again. All the while, his eyes stayed locked with Draco's own.

And then suddenly Potter thrust Finnigan away from him and threw himself whole-heartedly into the throbbing rhythms of the dark, hypnotic music. Draco couldn't begin to describe the quality of his movements- sinuous and lithe, every bit of every limb was used to express what the music meant to him. Sometimes his hands wove intricate patterns in the air before him; sometimes they were raised above his head in exalting fervor. It was almost like he was riding on the melody of the music, as if it were his lover.

He felt the pull as though someone had grabbed him by his shirt collar and was dragging him bodily. He found himself moving, almost against his will, towards where Harry undulated to the enthrallingly dark melody of the music pounding through the room.

Harry? So it's Harry now? It seemed appropriate, considering. He was seeing Harry Potter in a moment of his life that was so intimate that it must be secret, so unguarded that it simply was unmentionable. He had the distinct realization that that was why Harry came to these parties: Because he could be whoever and whatever he wanted to be here, and no one said anything to anyone about it afterwards. If they did, they would have to justify their own actions and indiscretions.

And so Draco followed his own instincts as he found himself moved to the same plane of existence that Harry currently occupied. He saw the jade eyes flutter open again, as though they sensed his very presence. They acknowledged him when they reached out, welcoming him into their embrace. Those pale, strong arms coiled around his waist, pulling his hips to be flush with Harry's own.

Draco distinctly felt the previously very solid walls of his inhibition crumble. He was sucked into the moment, into the very intense aura this place exuded. His consciousness seemed be to outside him, his body moving against Harry's, with and in time with Harry's. It was as intimate as sex, and almost as good.

He knew time was passing, but he wouldn't have been able to tell anyone how much, had they asked him. Draco's whole world had shrunk to fit only Harry and himself, the flashing of the lights, the sweet, heavily scented smoke swirling around them, and the amazing, ethereal music.

Harry's hands slid up his chest, and twined about his neck, one hand coiling into the hair at his nape. Blunt fingernails scraped gently over the flesh just inside his hairline, down the back of his neck, and into the collar of his shirt. His lips parted in a surprised gasp, bright tingles of feeling turning over in the pit of his stomach. It was only when he felt damp lips on his own that he realized that his eyes had drifted closed.

The pressure of it was fleeting- they brushed directly over his open mouth, and shifted slightly to pull his upper lip between them. The tip of Harry's tongue slid silkily over the suddenly sensitized flesh, and Draco reacted in pure instinct. Finding Harry's lower lip placed conveniently at his disposal, he trapped it between his teeth and worried it, all the while stroking it with his tongue.

Harry's body surged upwards against him, gasping into his mouth. Draco used this opportunity to tilt his head to one side and slide his tongue into Harry's parted lips. Most the kisses he'd shared had been battles, trying to claim the position of the one in control. Harry yielded to him, his tongue stroking his gently, not dueling. In fact, their lips were barely touching, and yet this kiss was more deeply moving then any kiss he'd ever experienced before.

Pulling away from him, Harry clasped his hands, threading long fingers through his own. He inclined his head towards the entrance. Draco found his head suddenly swimming as he pondered the meaning behind the gleam in Harry's eye.

It was strange how perspectives could change in the space of a week, a day, or even an hour or a few minutes. Last week Draco would have sneered in contempt had anyone told him this would happen. Now life had decided to chuck a bludger his way and had knocked him right of his broom.

Four days ago, all that had changed to a morbid curiosity, and then to grudging respect. Earlier today, the curiosity had ceased to be morbid, and he'd found himself blindsided by the beginnings of attraction. It had been that curiosity that had brought him here tonight. Dazedly he wondered just how much he'd really known about Harry to begin with.

He'd always though he'd had the other boy pegged: brave, serious, and loyal to a fault. He'd had no problems breaking the rules when someone he cared about was in danger. In short, he was everything that Draco had always been taught not to be.

But this Harry… he was still all those things, but he was more then that too. He was passionate and uninhibited, and full of dark secrets Draco couldn't even begin to fathom. He had a feeling that this faucet of his personality had only recently evolved.

Draco found himself being pulled though the entrance and back into the secret tunnel that led into Hogwarts, away from the intimacy of the party, and into a different kind of intimacy- he was now alone in the dark with Harry. Before he knew it he was pinned, his back was pressed against the stones lining the walls of the tunnel, and Harry was kissing him again. This was different from before- now there was an almost desperate urgency behind Harry's lips. Before it had simply been a further exploration of the music, gentle, but thorough. Now their lips were sealed tightly together, tongues tangling deeply.

Abandoning his mouth, Harry ran hot lips along the slender column of his throat, and nipped at the tiny cluster of nerves there, drawing a moan from Draco's open mouth. His fingers had threaded themselves through the hair at the nape of Harry's neck, clutching almost roughly at the silken strands, then trailing down over the bare skin of Harry's shoulders.

Harry dipped his head even lower now; his tongue drew swirling designs over his collarbones while his fingers dexterously undid the buttons of his shirt. Before he knew it, the cold air of the tunnel hit his skin, his flesh prickling into the beginnings of goose bumps. Harry's hands were hot against his waist, and cool, damp hair brushed his chest as Harry leaned forward. Even though he knew what was going to happen next, the molten swirl of Harry's tongue over his cold nipple forced a delighted shudder through his entire body.

Draco's brain was slowly shutting down. He forgot to think of anything, except that the boy he realized now that he'd secretly desired for years was running his mouth over every inch of his chest. The jumpy feeling he'd had in his stomach when Harry had walked into that robe shop all those years ago had been desire. How was an eleven year old supposed to know something like that?

Hazily, Draco registered that Harry had undone the button on his trousers, and was now dipping his tongue teasingly into his navel. Strong hands clasped his hips; Harry's tongue drew over the flesh of his belly, through the thin trail of fine blond hairs, and then nipped at the delicate flesh with his lips and teeth. Draco dug his teeth fiercely into his lip with a strangled growl when he felt that same hot open mouth pressed against the hard ridge of his erection, forcing hot breath through the cloth of his trousers.

The hands resting at his hips suddenly clenched, and he felt Harry inhale deeply, as though trying to catch his scent through his clothing.

"Sweet Merlin, do I want you, Malfoy."

That name had the force of one of Lucius's backhanded slaps. From the well of bitterness that he'd managed to bury just for a little while rose the thought, painful in its clarity: 'Even if we're together like this, I'm still just Malfoy to him.' Perhaps he'd overestimated Harry too.

His eyelids were pressed together so tightly he was beginning to see colors blooming in the darkness. If only Harry hadn't said that, if only… But he had, and it was too late.

~*~*~*~*~

It took Harry a moment to realize that he'd been shoved away. He blinked in confusion, seeing Malfoy's delicate face twisted in anger. The other boy was hastily buttoning first his trousers, then his shirt. He ran a shaky hand through his hair before turning and starting to head back toward the school.

Harry stepped forward, intending to put a hand on his shoulder. "Malfoy, what --"

"DON'T call me that." The words were thrown over his shoulder, the line of his back rigid. There was more venom in his tone then Harry had heard in years.

"I can't apologize if I don't know what I've done wrong." Harry gestured frantically at the retreating form, trying to comprehend just what exactly he'd done to make the other boy so angry.

Malfoy froze in mid-stride, his whole body trembling, but did not turn around. "Malfoy isn't my name anymore. I thought you, Harry, of all people, would understand what that means."

Understanding broke like the dawn across Harry's brain. Of course. Draco wasn't a Malfoy anymore, and had been through a great deal as a result. Abandoning that name meant abandoning everything that went with it too, with consequences Harry couldn't even begin to imagine.

"You'd like me to call you Draco, then?" Harry's tone held just the slightest note of desperation. Something told him he couldn't let Draco go back to the castle like this. He didn't want to find him with his wrists flayed open sitting in a pool of his own blood again. Draco had paused once more, but this time, some of the tension had eased from his shoulders. He didn't reply; he seemed to be waiting.

"I'm sorry, Draco. I won't call you that again." Harry could only hope he'd said the right thing- the other boy had always been damn near impossible to read. It was probably a skill he'd picked up for his own survival.

Obviously it had been the right thing, because Draco finally turned to face him again. "Alright then," he said slowly.

Silence descended crushingly into the tight confines of the tunnel. What else are you supposed to say to someone after you've apologized for such a ridiculous blunder? In the absence of anything else, Harry did the only thing he could think of: he went to the other boy and put his arm around him, burying his face in Draco's shoulder. For a tense moment, Harry thought he'd pull away- Draco's whole body had gone rigid again. After that moment passed, Draco must have realized that all he was going to do was hold him gently, Harry felt an arm snake almost tentatively around his waist.

"You know," Harry murmured after a moment into the warm shoulder, "I really don't know you at all." He pulled away enough to look the other boy in the eye. "I mean, I know what you've appeared to be since I met you, but I don't know you." Harry tried to pick out an emotion on the blank face in front of him. He was starting to feel like he was talking to a brick wall.

"Would you like to?" With a start Harry realized that although his voice was perfectly steady as he spoke, Draco was not looking him in the eye. Ash blonde lashes obscured the silver orbs, as though they were afraid of his scrutiny. This struck him for some reason as being a huge gap in Draco's normally unreadable mask, almost as if…

"Yes, I rather think I would." He hadn't realized at all that Draco was still tensed, until he felt all the muscles under his hands go liquid when they relaxed. The tiniest shiver ran cold, delicate fingers the length of Harry's spine; Draco had buried his chilled nose just under his ear and sighed deeply. Hot breath mingled pleasantly against icy flesh, creating a strange blend of sensations Harry hadn't ever thought to pair together.

They stood that way for a moment longer before Draco pulled away from him. Slender fingers ruffled his hair, and before he knew it, Draco had dropped a kiss on his nose, all while maintaining a perfectly serious face. Harry wanted to scream; how could someone's face portray a completely different attitude from his body? It was almost like he was schizophrenic! The difference between the public and private personas was going to drive him mad.

Meanwhile the 'public' persona was most firmly back in place- a golden eyebrow arching in promise, "We'll talk more tomorrow," lips curved slightly in the tiniest lopsided grin. Harry stood silent in the dark as he watched the other boy's form disappear into the deeper blackness further down the passage.