The Strongest of Us All

Chapter 2

You know that 'fish face' people make when they get a real shock? When their mouth opens real wide and there's the slacking jaw and then lots of unintelligible noises try to form words? Harry had a real serious case of fish face.

My face was burning as brightly as Ron's hair. "It just seemed...like a good time to tell you," I explained weakly. "Gave you a bit of a shock, apparently."

At least his mouth was shut now. No. No thinking about Harry's mouth. Bad Draco.

He sat down awkwardly beside me on the bed. "Really?"

"Yes really!" I shot back. "Jesus, you think I'm making this up?"

Now he was the one blushing. "Sorry, it's just... a shock?" he finished.

Fine. All right. I can live with that. "Sorry for snapping. And I should probably apologize for what I'm about to do."

Carpe diem right? Seize the day; take a chance and all that shit. Maybe I was going to ruin our friendship, but the way I see it, it was going to be ruined anyway. I couldn't be 'just friends' knowing that Harry was gay. I couldn't watch him go out with any other guy. That would kill me.

You see what I was saying earlier? I got myself into all this by being nice. Shoulda stuck with hate. Shoulda stuck with the sniping and the backstabbing and the insulting.

But then I wouldn't have been kissing Harry.

Even better, even more importantly, he wouldn't be kissing me back.

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. That's all I can think even though I'm pretty sure God has nothing to do with this. Though now that I think about it...wait. What was I thinking?

Thoughts are out the window right now. My brain handed the controls over to my body the minute Harry's lips touched mine. I moan into his mouth, my hands reaching up around his neck, the one twining into his hair. He tastes so good. I want to devour that mouth. He's doing a damn good job of devouring mine. But I can't stop. I can't stop him. I don't want to stop him. This is to show him how long I've wanted him, how long I've needed him, I've needed this. Damn it Harry, why the hell'd we ever fight in the first place? He opens his mouth a little more. He tastes like pumpkin juice and salty sweat and the combination is very... interesting. His hands are tightly grabbing the shoulders of my robe, pulling me towards him with as much force as gravity could ever conjure.

But now I'm feeling a bit light headed. All this sudden passion. Not to mention at some point I'm going to need to breathe. So we break apart, not panting exactly but breathing heavy. I've still got my hand in his hair, on the back of his neck. His arm slides across my shoulder, the other hand next to me on the bed. Probably should stop thinking about hands right now. That's a goooood body, let's give the reins back to Mr. Brain.

"Draco..."

And all I can think is that he really has the most amazing eyes.

Ron and Hermione came back soon after that. Apparently we hadn't been the only ones snogging, but by some unspoken agreement neither Harry nor I mentioned the kiss. We hadn't had anytime to talk, anytime to think. The only thing he told them was that the secret was out. He was protecting me then; not telling them what I'd told him. That was...awesome. That's how it made me feel.

The only other time I'd ever felt like that was when my mother had stood up to my father once (just once mind you, but still) and told him that there was no way I was to be taken to Voldemort and given the Dark Mark. Not until my seventh year at least, she insisted. I don't think I ever loved her more than at that moment. She bought me time. She tried to save me. I heard her sobbing in the kitchens later, the house elves scurrying around with high-pitched yells for cold cloths and a healing potion. There's no doubt in my mind that she received plenty of bruises for that. Bruises so I could live, at least for a little longer.

So you see that not many people have ever cared about me. My mother. My grandmother did. Snape does too. He's actually a relative of mine, but he was born on the wrong side of the blanket if you get my meaning. No one really acknowledges him except for me. I called him Sevvie once, just to see what would happen. He told me his mother used to call him that. That same grandmother. I like to think she wanted us to meet one day. I have a bit of a sentimental streak when it comes to my family. My real family.

So the way I see it that probably makes Harry the fourth. The fourth person to ever see behind 'Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune, and some-day Death Eater'. That it turn makes him the fourth person I've ever really cared about. I can't even remember a time I loved my father. Doesn't that seem sad? You think there would be at least one memory, like when I was four or something. But even then I remember running for the forests every time he came home, just so I would have an excuse not to be looked over like prime dragon stock, my every flaw apparent to his eyes.

And it was that same protection that Harry gave me that made me want to tell them. It made me strong. So I told them, and it was remarkably painless. The only crack made actually came from 'Mione.

"You do realize National Coming Out Month was July?"

I caught her giving me thoughtful glances the next day in Arithmancy. Damn that girl. She's too smart for her own good. But she never came over and said anything, not even a single "Be careful', for which I'm eternally grateful.

Ron took it surprisingly well. I had him pegged down as a bit of a raging homophobe but since Harry came out he probably repressed it a bit. You never know do you?

Of course working with Harry in Potions the next day was nerve-racking. I couldn't think of any other time I'd gotten horny while chopping dead... something. We kept touching. Just little things. Fingertips passing vials back and forth. The back of his hand. His arm reaching over to the cauldron. God. Talk about sexual undercurrents. At least it wasn't just me. After class he slammed me up against the hall wall and snogged me near senseless. No one was around to stare, not that I really cared at that point. I had to race to DADA to get there on time, and I wasn't breathless just from the running. I had to suppress a big dopey grin the whole time, calling myself an idiot the whole time.

Later that night we had arranged to meet in the library to study. The four of us, unfortunately. Studying was not a euphemism for snogging in this case. No, studying was a euphemism for staring at Harry, sighing, and shifting uncomfortably because of the region below. Hermione looked almost amused. Ron, as always, was oblivious.

Thwack. "That's it for me," Harry stated, closing his book. "I think I'll go now. Get in a bit of Quidditch practice before I head back to the common room." And then he winked.

Oh. Wow. You truly are a genius Harry. An evil one. You should have been in Slytherin.

I think I waited a whole five minutes before I left. I really don't know why I bothered. Hermione knew what was going on, and Ron wouldn't know Harry and I were up to anything unless we kissed two inches from his nose. On a side note, today seems to be Slam the Ron Day. Slam the School Idiot Day? Oh well. I really should try to be not quite so unkind.

The Quidditch Field. There are lots of memories here. Some good ones, but mostly not. Defeats and bad plays and that rather embarrassing incident when I dressed up as a Dementor. I remember Hermione making that crack about me buying my way onto the team. It wouldn't have stung so much if it hadn't been true. The Malfoy motto seems to be 'Money can't buy happiness, but it can buy everything else.'

Harry was waiting there, sitting just underneath the Gryffindor stands. God he looks good. The fading light, the cool breeze stirring his too-long hair. He's pale still, not as pale as I am but he somehow seems more transparent, like fine parchment paper. He looks fragile, which is strange considering that Harry Potter is one of the strongest people I know. Pisses me off too. Stupid perfectly sculpted muscles. All muscles. All the ones I've seen, and all the ones I just imagine. I sigh. I have a newfound hatred for the school robes, and my resolution is to get Harry's off him. Soon.

But first we talk.

I walk over to where he's leaning his forehead against the steps, eyes half-lidded and clouded. He looks at me as I sit down next to him. How is it that he makes me feel so clumsy? The way he moves is just unearthly. Too quietly. Too quickly. I can't help the smile that turns the corner of my lips up. That's Harry.

He notices the smile but doesn't comment. He's nervous again.

"So..." He trails off, obviously not knowing where to start. Well neither the hell do I, but I'll be damned before we go all awkward about this. So I lean over to kiss him.

It's a bit clumsy at first, like our lips don't know how to fit together anymore. He's surprised, but accepts it. My tongue slips into his mouth, running lightly over his palate. And he melts into my arms. I hold him tightly, because I am never, ever letting go of something like this. We sit like that for a while. Just content. Getting used to the feel of this. The dusky smell of Harry's hair and the slightly roughened feel of his skin, and the fact that he seems to want to be with me. Me, Draco Malfoy, the son of the man who wants to kill him.

I push that particular thought away, as far away as I bloody can. I'm living for the present thankyouverymuch, and I don't need any distractions.

"Are we done with the awkwardness now?" I ask dryly.

He chuckles weakly. "Yeah, I'm good now. For a second there I thought, that it was all a huge dream."

I raise one eyebrow. "Helluva dream, let me tell you." I'm glad he hasn't tried to pull away. My head is resting gently on his shoulder, and I'm feeling pretty comfy right now. Pretty safe.

"So what about... this?"

"I don't know exactly. It wasn't just a... a 'oh you're gay and I'm gay let's get together' kind of thing. I've been thinking about this... for quite a long time." Harry shifts so he can look at my face. "First it was just physical," he tells me as he chuckles deep in his throat. "Very physical. But afterwards, after the train and when you started to hang around, that's when it got worse. Or better. I don't know. It's just... this feels right. You feel right." He blushes. "And I know just saying all of that aloud sounds sort of sickening and strange since I just told you last night and all I can say is stupid Gryffindor courage!" he adds in an embarrassed burst.

Does he have any idea how adorable he is? Uh, I see what he means. This is slightly sickening. I don't usually associate the word 'adorable' with anything not pink, fuzzy, or under 4 years old. Sometimes not even then. But that's what he seems like. So... vulnerable and hopeful and big puppy eyes and all I do is brush my lips across his forehead.

He stiffens. But that's all I try to do. I'm not going to push him. Especially since he went from puppy eyes to big doe eyes in point two five seconds. His arms wrap tighter around me.

"I happen to like the Gryffindor courage and chivalry... as well as their very talented Seeker. But I think... I know what you're trying to say." I looked at the way I was grasping Harry's hand, the fingers closely intertwined. "It was back even before I started dropping off with the insults. When I still thought I hated you. And the real reason you annoyed me so much and the reason I annoyed you so much was because I needed a reaction out of you, because I needed your attention, even if then I didn't know why." I smile softly, not realizing that it changed my whole face in a way no one had seen. "I seem to love you Harry Potter, even if I don't know why."

"I love you too Draco Malfoy."

If moments could be frozen in time I'd have kept that one forever.

We didn't hide things after that. We couldn't. How could I hide the fact that every time I thought of him I smiled, the fact that when he walked into the room I knew it, that every time he was near me I went all weak at the knees? How can you hide what you barely understand?

The school was in an uproar when the rumors started. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy... gay... together? The uproar quickly turned into a full-scale riot when neither of us denied anything. The first time we kissed in Potions, Snape didn't just turn green; he took 10 points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin for "a public display of affection". It was worth it. So was my falling further in the Slytherin hierarchy. Harry was worth anything, even whatever my father was sure to dish out. I had sort of glossed over what his reaction would be, saying he would be less than pleased. It was a bit of an understatement.

Two days after snogging in front of Snape, a rather large black owl dropped a packet in front of me at breakfast, knocking over all the pitchers on the table. The Malfoy crest, along with an unknown one, was highly visible on the front, and Harry immediately reached for my hand. I broke the seal, not even noticing that I was gripping his hand harder and harder as each second passed.

Greetings to Draco Wallace Malfoy,

It is my duty to inform you that your father, Lucius Xavier Malfoy, has removed you from his will. He also bids me to tell you that you are no longer welcome on the grounds of Malfoy Manor, the property in Venice, or any of his other land holdings. Any contact with him is strictly forbidden. All of your things have been sent to your Gringott's vault. The rest of this packet is various papers, legalities, restrictions, and other 'fine print' pertaining to the conditions I have just explained. If you have further questions please contact me at Alers and Felix, 236, Corner of Diagon and Knockturn Alleys.

Respectfully,

Cameron Alers

Well, at least he wasn't going to beat me within an inch of my life. I silently handed the letter to Harry, watching him read it, eyes darting back and forth, stoically hoping for the best.

"That is so cruel... They named you Draco Wallace?"

Hermione snickered into her eggs. "Wallace?"

Harry ignored her and turned to look at me, smiling. "I know your father's a bastard Draco. We just don't have to worry about him anymore." And he reached over and hugged me, comforting me. I was shell-shocked for a second. I've never had anyone hug me, not since the day my grandmother died nine years ago. My father saw my mother and I embracing, and pulled her off me and hissed at her to stop coddling me. I think I was eight. Hugging. Huh. I guess I forgot how nice it was.

"Now eat," Harry ordered me. "I can't have a boyfriend who's skinnier than me."

"It's too early for all this," I fake whined. "Drama, trauma, and spilt milk all before 9 o'clock."

"I thought you weren't supposed to cry over spilt milk."

"Who said anything about crying? I'm whining, idiot, you're going to have to learn the difference at some point." We leaned in for a kiss.

The rest of the table was looking at us in various degrees of bemusement, while Ron looked rather sick.

"That's disgusting," he cried. "I'm trying to eat here."

My only response was to transfigure his breakfast into a large spider. Ha.

We spent the next few weeks in a nice haze, spending as little time apart as possible. Our group of the two of us, Ron, and Hermione became known as the Odd Four around the school. Which we were of course. Odd, that is. And four too, if you want to be really literal.

Christmas past pleasantly, especially since Hermione hung mistletoe all over the common room and spent a good deal of time kissing Ron under it. Not that he cared. You have to admire 'Mione. She knows what she wants; she goes and gets it. Though I'm still trying to figure out why she wants Weasley.

I gave Hermione the biggest, rarest book I was able to find in Hogsmeade, a copy of Moste Potente Potions, which for some reason sent her into a fit of giggles. I gave Ron a signed team picture of the Chudley Cannons, which was the only thing he ever talked about and I really didn't know what else to get him. His eyes grew round and he leapt from the bed and hugged me. Hugged me. Yeah, I know, it kinda startled me too. I've been getting that a lot lately. Luckily we both regained our senses and went back to opening out presents, pointedly ignoring the 'aren't our boyfriends cute?' look that Hermione and Harry were sharing. Bah humbug.

Harry and I both ended up giving each other the same gift--New Silver Firebolts. We laughed, and after breakfast spent most of the day trying them out and racing each other, the winner getting a kiss from the loser. Sometimes I would mentally shake myself, thinking *What the hell am I doing? I'm head over heels totally mushy romantically in love with the guy I used to hate more than anyone in the world. My family has abandoned me, everyone in Slytherin hates my guts, the Gryffindors have practically adopted me, and tonight I'm giving Harry my family ring. Oh my God. That's the first time I've ever really thought about what I'm doing.*

The ring in question had a small ruby and diamond set in gold. It's had been in my mother's family for over 20 generations, way before the Blacks (my mother's family) were rich. I'm not sure if it really counts anymore, since I'm not part of that family, but whatever. My mother gave it to me when I turned 10, the same age she was when she got it from her mother. If I had a sister, it probably would have gone to her, but we can stop being so literal, really.

The reason I was giving it to Harry was because I wanted him to have something of mine that meant something to me. Aside from the ring, my broom and a book filled with family pictures was it. I wasn't proposing marriage or anything, so calm down all right? I just wanted to make sure... that he knew I was serious. That this was important. That he was important.

The four of us lay around the fire in the common room after dinner in the Great Hall, talking about anything and everything without worrying about interruption, since everyone else in the House had gone home for the holidays.

Hermione say between Ron's legs, idly picking through the last of the Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans in hopes of finding an edible one. She leaned against him, her head just brushing the top of his shoulder. His eyes were closed and he looked totally at peace, long arms wrapped around 'Mione's waist. Harry and I were too wired from racing all day to be peaceful. We slyly threw wrapping papers at each other, mouthing insults and threats but in too good a mood to do anything except eventually kiss.

"This is our last year," Hermione said dreamily. "But I want it to last forever."

All of us can't help but agree. Right here is the second best moment of my life. I'm safe and happy and totally in love. Harry and I call a truce and he flops down on the couch, hogging the whole thing. I walk over and unceremoniously drop down on him.

"Oof."

I bat my eyes prettily. "Better not make any cracks about my weight. Or your not getting your other present. Or your other, other present."

"Oh... I do love a good intrigue," he murmured. I leaned down to nuzzle his throat, loving the feeling of him against me. And me on top of him of course. I am a teenager.

"And since it looks like Ron and 'Mione are asleep," I whisper. "I'm going to give it to you right now." There's a little thing called building anticipation, and God am I good at it. I pull out the chained ring, holding it up in the firelight so the little fleck of diamond and ruby is visible. Harry's eyes go wide and I launch into storytelling mode.

"When I was little my mother used to tell me the story about this ring. It's over 200 years old, you know that? My 18 times great-grandmother's. She was a Halfblood you see, and the man she loved was Pure. She was disheartened, for she knew she could love no one but him, yet she also knew his family would never approve of her. They made vows of eternal love, but gradually sadness settled over them. They could only hide for so long. My ancestor, Irene, took sick, and didn't have the heart to eat or sleep, and instead gradually faded away. Her love could not stand to see her so, and took her away and married her. They ran far and long, as his family had a deep hatred for the girl. The two of them finally settled in a clearing in the middle of a forest, and by all accounts lived a happy and long life, handing this ring down from generation to generation."

"The ruby stands for love," I explained, "And the diamond eternity, just like the original vows they made. It's never left the family before now, but I want you to have it." I slipped the chain around Harry's neck. "Very great-grandmother Irene had small fingers, so this works better," I told him, grinning. "I think the story was my mother's way of telling me to find someone who made me happy, and not care who they are. You make me happy Harry, and I don't care whether you're Halfblood or Muggle or the greatest wizard who ever lived. I love you Harry, and don't you ever forget it."

As we stumbled up to the bedroom, a few hundred miles away the Death Eaters were having a Christmas celebration all their own. They crowed as they killed the last of Harry's family, not realizing that to do that they'd have to kill me and I had every intention of killing them far before that. My father orchestrated the whole thing, no doubt feeling arrogant and untouchable. I hated him. I hated everything about him. I would kill him; there was no doubt of that. I'd kill him and expose him as the lying bastard he was. Vengeance, thy name would be Draco.

It was going to be my New Year's Resolution, but since Harry is perfectly willing to take off his robe right now, I'm not going to complain.

I sigh in pleasure as he slips it off. This is much better. Even seeing him in trousers and his wrinkled shirt and loosened tie.

He notices and raises his eyebrows. "Nothing," I say quietly. "Just admiring the view."

The corners of his eyes crinkle and I can tell he's trying not to smile. "Well, I think that someone in here has too many clothes on."

I look down at my still-robed self. "Quite right Harry! Shocking mistake."

"As Hermione always says, 'It's not a mistake until you refuse to correct it'."

"Smart girl, 'Mione. I stand corrected," I add as I take my own robe off.

The silence becomes heated, charged. Harry and I simultaneously step toward each other, our lips meeting perfectly because the two of us are same height, the same build, and yet so totally different. Harry's hair is dark as night and his green eyes seem so bottomless. I feel pale and plain next to him, even though his every touch tells me I'm beautiful. I kiss his mouth, that gorgeous mouth that's so generous, larger than mine is and darker in color. We begin to kiss in earnest, time taking a standstill as we lose ourselves in each other. His nose is slightly crooked from when his cousin broke it once. When he told me that I wanted to send a hexed letter to him. Stupid Dudley. Though the imperfection gives his face a kind of character, not that the scar doesn't. And that's what I kiss next, that ruddy scar that never ever lets him for a second forget who he is or who killed his parents. I love that as much as I hate it, because it's a part of him. I trace my tongue lightly over it, then back down to his lips, wishing that I could fix everything for him. Protect him from everything the world seems to throw at him. Love him.

I kiss him on his jaw right under his ear. That's one of the spots I've discovered so far. I'm looking forward to discovering more of them. I take off his tie, letting it fall to the floor as he pulls me in for another kiss.

I press up against him, moaning softly as hardness pushes up against hardness. We stumble over to the bed, Harry shifting so he's lying slightly on top of me. My hands slide downward of their own will, clumsily unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders. I barely notice he's doing the same thing to me. I start to moan as he works his way slowly down my chest, leaving hot, wet marks where he's kissed me. One hand is fisting in the sheets, the other digging into Harry's back. Perfection, that's what he is. I don't care how many scars he has on his chest and arms and shoulders, how many bumpy, reddish lines there are from times he couldn't fight back. I don't care that sometimes there are days he'll barely talk to me because he's haunted by his past. I don't care that I'll never be his best friend like Ron, or the one he goes to for advice like Hermione. I still love him. We can still have this, forever.

I don't deserve him, but I can't let go of him any more than I can stop breathing.

I kiss him again, deeply and passionately, wanting to take as much of him as I can. He reaches down to caress me through my pants. A whimper escapes my throat. I squirm against him, wanting, needing.

He looks deeply into my eyes, silently asking me if this is what I want. I don't know what he sees but I know that if I don't say no right this second there's no turning back. Which is fine. Who wants to turn off the road to paradise?

"I want you..." I whisper, and mean it, mean it because I have a conviction in the idea of me and him, him and me. This is just a part of it. But it's a part that matters.

He draws in a breath roughly, his hands creeping down me when the door to the room slams open.

It seems Ron has decided it's time to go to sleep.

Harry and I freeze, fully conscious of what this looks like, hell, what this is. Both shirtless, hair mussed, lips swollen, lying on all over each other... in a bed. I brace myself, because the gates of hell are surely about to break loose.

A second passes. Than another one. Ron lurches his way over to the bed, not even bothering to get undressed or changed. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. He's practically sleepwalking!

"Night Harry," Ron yawns, not even looking towards the bed. Harry and I are still frozen, not moving a muscle for fear of his noticing.

"Night Ron," Harry replies, his voice a bit strangled sounding. I push my head into his chest to smother the laughter that's threatening to come out. This is so bizarre! We sit that way for what could have been seconds or hours, until Ron's gentle snoring issues from the bed.

I can't help it anymore. I burst into near hysterical laughter and after a second Harry joins in. "Sorry," I gasp breathlessly. "Ron's a bit of a mood killer."

"Just a bit," he announces wryly.

Oh well. There'll be other times; I'm being optimistic... you should be too. Harry starts to slide off the bed but I grab his wrist. "Stay. Sleep with me. Next to me. Whatever."

He tenses but moves back onto the bed and wraps his arms around me. I snuggle back into him, completely and utterly happy. "Love you Harry." I don't know why I have to say that all the time. I must tell him that ten times a day, but at least he doesn't seem to mind.

"Love you."

We drift off to sleep in minutes, which is a good thing because we're woken by a very girly shriek at the crack of dawn. It seems like Weasley was a bit put off by finding us in bed together.