Dragonweed

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DRAGONWEED

"The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven"
John Milton, "Paradise Lost"

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CHAPTER 3 -- Chocolate

--- Draco ---

My arms are flailing feebly, splashing up the black water, but it's too strong, it's dragging me down. Something underneath the surface is calling me with cold, frightening strength. I'm trying to fight it but I'm too weak. I turn my head and see something floating and bobbing on the surface next to me. Water lilies, ghostly-looking white water lilies. When they come closer I see that each of them holds a drop of pearly substance, and I know that it's a human soul. Each of the water lilies holds the soul of a dead human being, and I know I'm the one who has killed them. The water turns thick and red and I know that I am the cause of this bloodshed. There is blood on my hands. My clothes are soaked in it. It's dripping from my hair. I'm swimming in a lake of human blood. I know I must be punished. I know I'm going to have to pay with my own life. I'm too weak to hold my face above the surface any longer, and when I feel the blood seep into my mouth I scream.

I wake up, still screaming.

It's the third time this week I have had this dream. I lie still and stare into the dark, trying to control my breathing. Blaise Zabini moans and mutters something as he turns in his bed next to mine. My hair is damp with sweat and my heart is pounding.

I've never been afraid of solitude. Why should I be afraid of dying? Death is only the ultimate, deep solitude. There is a certain beauty in that thought.

--- Harry ---

I can't sleep. I've never suffered from insomnia before, which is a little strange, when you think about it. Some of the things I have lived through are so dark I have to move my mind away from them to keep my sanity. They lie there hidden in their caves like hideous sea monsters, and I skim the surface above them, careful not to disturb it, gingerly skating on the surface tension like a water insect. But these things have never prevented me from sleeping.

Being in love does.

This is almost like another tri-wizard tournament task. In its own way, it's more difficult than fighting Voldemort. With him, the sides are clearly defined. There is no doubt about the loyalties. But in this battle I'm helpless, for how do you fight love? A good deal of our time here at Hogwarts has been dedicated to Defence Against the Dark Arts. But when it comes to love, we are all left without defences.

--- Draco ---

This evening will be significant in more ways than one, but as I walk through the great hall I don't know that yet. It's late and the hall is dark and empty. A faint smell of food lingers in the air. I skipped dinner tonight and I'm not sure whether this hollow feeling in my stomach is hunger or nausea. I stop to look up at the enchanted ceiling, where the wind is chasing thin wisps of cloud over the brilliant autumn stars. I'm on my way out into the gardens for a bit of air before I go to bed. I've had so many nightmares lately I'm almost afraid to go to sleep.

My eye catches a slight movement, almost imperceptible, in the shadows by the wall. I turn sharply and try to pierce the darkness. I listen intently. I stand there for a long time but there is no more movement. Perhaps it was a figment of my imagination. I feel a cold fear starting to close in on me, suffocating and strong. It rises and tightens and I imagine I can hear it, like an unearthly music building up to a crescendo around me. My vision grows dim and my heart is pounding in my ears, almost louder than the terrifying music. A pain seizes me, white-hot and flashing through my head, strong enough to make me retch, but my stomach is empty and nothing comes up. I gasp and cough and feel cold sweat break out all over my body. Another flash of pain hits me. An enormous, sweeping blackness rises up, and there is nothing I can do but let it swallow me.

* * *

When I open my eyes I feel cold flagstones under me, but my head is softly pillowed. The room revolves slowly, sickeningly around me. The walls waver and recede, the stars in the ceiling come and go in a ghostly fashion. I close my eyes again and wait for the room to steady itself. I don't know how long I lie there, but gradually my head stops spinning and I feel confident enough to open my eyes again. I look up and in the faint moonlight I see a pair of green eyes looking down into mine. They are very wide and very concerned. I find I'm lying with my head in Harry's lap. One of his hands is resting lightly on my chest, the other gently pushing my hair from my forehead.

"What happened?" My voice is just a whisper.

"I don't know. I came down to the hall and found you lying here."

I feel strange but the room is still now, still and quiet except for our breathing. Strangely, the incident is almost gone from my mind. The terrifying blackness that made me faint has been chased into the corners by Harry's presence. His hand on my brow is warm and gentle. I'm amazed by the soft warmth of having him so close, the unexpected feeling of security.

"Malfoy... are you all right?"

His voice is so full of concern. I turn my head just to feel the warmth of his thigh under my cheek. I close my eyes again and say weakly: "I'm not sure." His hand is still on my chest, palm flat and fingers spread lightly, as if he's trying to feel my heartbeat.

"You need some chocolate," he says, very practical. "Can you sit up, do you think?"

I have no excuse to stay with my head in his lap, so I sit up gingerly, shaking my head like a dog. But it's quiet now. No more music. Only my pulse. I can't bear to lose the close warmth of him, and I inch up to him to feel his thigh along mine, his shoulder against mine. He has unwrapped a bar of chocolate and breaks off a piece, turns to me and pushes it into my mouth. For a fraction of a second, my body goes rigid with surprise. Why would he do that instead of just handing me the chocolate? It's such an intimate gesture, from a mother to her child. Or from one lover to another. His fingers brush my lip as he withdraws, and the touch goes through my body like a current.

Our eyes lock. I hear the hitch in his breath and the air vibrates between us. After a second that feels like an eternity, his eyes drop to my lips. I turn the piece of chocolate around slowly in my mouth, caress it with my tongue, my eyes still on his face. I see him almost wince, as if with pain, and a slow flush creeps up over his cheeks. I don't let him go. His eyes come up to mine again, and he lifts his hand and touches the corner of my mouth, a small, shy caress. He is so close. His hand lingers.

"You -- you had some chocolate there," he says in a half-whisper.

He actually finds it necessary to give me an excuse for his touching me, although the real reason is written all over him. In spite of everything, I almost laugh. But I'm also trembling. It has to happen now. He wants it as badly as I do. I don't care if it's the stupidest thing I've ever done. I know even as I do it that some way or the other, I will be made to pay for this. But I lean forward and kiss him very softly on the lips, my mouth still full of chocolate. He starts, but as the initial surprise dies down he responds, equally softly. I feel his hand brush my cheek and then nestle against it, and I reach out to pull him closer. Our mouths open, our tongues meet. I am surrounded by gentleness. I have never been kissed like this before; the sweetness of it makes me light-headed. The liquid heat in my stomach spreads to my crotch, and my hands begin a journey all on their own. I can't think, I can't control them. They are exploring his hair, his flushed face, his neck, his back, groping to get under his robes. I hear him make a small sound, almost like a whimper, and I pull back. We both scramble to our feet and stand there staring each other, dazedly licking chocolate from our lips.

"Draco, I -- " He sounds confused, almost remorseful. "I don't know why I... I'm sorry."

"I'm not," I say. I feel weak and drained from fainting and I'm tired of games. Now that the barrier has been broken down and there is a way forward, I want to stop circling. "And I know perfectly well why. So do you."

He looks taken aback, scared. He Who has Fought Evil -- afraid of a kiss. I'm annoyed at his timidity, and at the same time I still have this mad wish to laugh.

"Look, do you want to play games?" I ask him. My voice is soft and almost threatening. "I think we've done that long enough. What's the point? Are you trying to be polite, Potter, or are you just plain scared? You know what you want from me, and I know it, too. You think I haven't seen it? You're so transparent, Potter. I saw you in the garden that night."

He's getting angry now. He doesn't like this; I'm too blunt. He really does want to play games. He thinks it's required of him, for politeness or for decency, or perhaps he's only trying to protect himself. He knows as well as I do that what we are doing now is disastrous.

"What if you did?" he growls. And we're back on old, old, familiar ground.

"You enjoyed it, didn't you, being the voyeur? You just wished I had taken the rest of my clothes off, too."

I'm crude because I want him to shut up. There are better uses for his mouth right now. We are here, alone, in the hall. We shouldn't waste this opportunity. We can't afford to let it go. He laughs unexpectedly, as if he's thinking along the same lines. His eyes flash into mine, challenging now, frank, appraising. He takes a step forward, close enough for me to feel his breath on my skin.

"Have some more chocolate, Malfoy," he says silkily. "Being speechless became you."

He thinks there are better uses for my mouth, too. He has surprised me and I love it. I can't keep my eyes away from the slender curve of his neck. I lift my hand and undo the clasp of his robes, push them off his shoulders. I lean forward the few inches that separate us and kiss his neck just where it meets his shoulder. I hear his sharp intake of breath and feel the responding heat in my body. His skin is hot and smooth and wonderfully alive under my lips. I let my mouth travel slowly up his neck to the tender spot just below his ear. I touch his earlobe with my tongue and his cheek is burning on mine. He doesn't move, doesn't breathe. I want to tell him to exhale. I brush my mouth along his jaw and very gently catch his lower lip between my teeth, touch it with the tip of my tongue, tease it, caress it. My hands slide over his shoulders and down his chest, very lightly. Oh, this gentleness. It is such a beautiful novelty. I have always known I had the capacity for it, but I have never been given the option.

I feel his hands come up into my hair, not lightly or gently at all, tangling in it, sliding down the back of my neck and gripping my shoulders, leaving a trace of small flames on my skin. My robes come off and I'm being pulled close to him in a stumbling movement. I steady myself against him as his tongue roughly explores my mouth. He makes it clear that he wants no more teasing. I respond by placing a hand at the small of his back and pressing him up against me, feeling the hardness, grinding against him. He gasps in surprise. I let go of his mouth and laugh.

"What? Isn't this what you wanted?"

"I -- what -- are you... I mean, is it..."

He's so furious with me for breaking the moment that he's stuttering incoherently. His confusion makes the air taste sweet. At this moment, his anger is almost as strong as his excitement.

"Eloquence, Potter. Your strong point."

He looks as if he could hit me, but I stop laughing and put my hands on his chest. Something changes between us, I don't know what it is. The surge of emotion between us is rearranging itself, revealing new patterns.

"Draco..."

My name on his lips sends a shiver down my spine.

"Yes."

But he shakes his head, he doesn't know what to say.

I feel a rush of tenderness at his awkwardness. This is one of the reasons for my attraction to him -- it's not the things he knows, but the things he doesn't know. It's a heady mixture; his indisputable power mingled with this disarming insecurity. I pull him to me again. He is the one closing the distances between us this time. He presses himself up against me very gently, very insistently, and my heart is skipping beats in an alarming fashion. His mouth is on mine again, his tongue insistent. I explore his mouth with eagerness, the silky wetness, the hard teeth. My hands are fumbling with his clothes, wanting to feel naked skin. As my palms meet the hot, tender skin of his bared midriff, we hear voices approaching the hall.

We fly apart, flushed and guilty, snatching up our robes from the floor. We both immediately sense the urgency of the voices drawing close. Lights come blazing on; the hall is drenched in light and we gape at the hurried entrance of Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape and Sprout. Dumbledore has a look on his face that makes a chill run through me. His features seem to have arranged themselves into a mask, purposeful and iron-hard.

"Heads of House, please summon your students. Will one of you kindly alert the Ravenclaw students."

Even his voice has a sharpness I have never heard before. I feel Harry moving uneasily just outside my field of vision. Dumbledore sees us standing there and nods at us. His eyes are piercingly blue. For the first time, I understand why he is said to be the only wizard that the Dark Lord fears. Except -- except the very young, trembling, newly kissed wizard whose elbow is just touching mine.

"Mr. Malfoy; Mr. Potter. We are calling all students and all staff to an urgent meeting. We have just received word that the Dark Lord is mobilizing his forces."

I feel Harry straighten up beside me, standing to attention.

"Gentlemen. Very shortly we will be at war."