Burn Me

For as long as he could remember, Draco Malfoy had been cold. Not only his demeanour, posture and composure, but also his skin. It always had been cool to the touch, never heating up even in front of a blazing fireplace, or in the passionate embrace of one of his numerous dalliances. Out of curiosity he had stuck his hands into the fire one time, hoping that the flames would be able to warm him, to scorch him. It had terrified him beyond anything that the sizzling flames only had cooled down his hands even more, the fire dying wherever Draco had turned his hands. And it certainly didn't help that his friends and acquaintances were calling him the Ice Prince of Slytherin, for it was true. Blaise once had jested that Draco had been sorted into the Snake-House not only because of his pureblooded heritage, but also because of his inability to feel.

Lately, Draco had come to believe Blaise. He simply couldn't argue with the boy's logic in that matter. He was unable to feel anything. Even when he spilled himself into another willing body, he didn't feel anything beyond the corporeal satisfaction of yet another orgasm. When he cut across his arms with a finely crafted blade, he didn't feel any pain. And when he touched the flames in the fireplace, only to see if they would cause a reaction at all, the fire froze until he removed his hands.

Now, he was holding a letter from his father in his pale fingers. His marching orders. At the next Dark Revel, Draco Malfoy would be initiated into the ranks of Voldemort and make his father proud, be a treasure to the Malfoy family and heritage. And Draco Malfoy didn't feel a thing. Not anticipation, not fear, not anxiety. Nothing. He sighed. He shouldn't be surprised at his lack of reaction. Why should the *honour* of being accepted into Voldemort's ranks make him feel when nothing else could?

"Why so gloomy, Draco?" Blaise quipped almost cheerfully from the door that led to their shared bedroom.

"Malfoys are not gloomy, Blaise, you should know that," Draco replied emotionless, his voice as smooth and cold as everything else about him. Of course he knew that Blaise wouldn't be deterred by the tone of his voice. Growing up together taught you a thing or two about another person, and Blaise certainly knew that Draco's aloofness wasn't meant personally in his case.

Blaise waved dismissively. "Whatever. So, what happened?" he asked and walked over to his bed to stretch out on it languidly.

Draco held up the piece of parchment, which still carried remnants of the Malfoy crest stamped into sealing wax. "I've got my marching orders. At the next meeting, I will be marked."

"Shit, Draco, I'm sorry," Blaise said with honest regret and concern in his voice.

Draco only shrugged. "Why? That's what I've been raised for, isn't it? To serve the Dark Lord and help him get rid of Potter and his mudblood friends."

"You can't serious, Draco!" Blaise replied heatedly, unworried about his friend's reaction to the objection. They had long talked about their allegiances towards the Dark Lord, both boys agreeing that Voldemort was a maniac and that they would avoid joining him at all costs. Blaise simply couldn't believe that Draco would now go back on his promise. "Why?"

"I don't have a choice in this."

"Don't be daft, Draco. Everyone has a choice."

"Yes. A choice between life in servitude or death. I'd rather live, thank you very much."

Blaise slowly shook his head. "I can't believe this. I refuse to believe this. There has to be another reason."

"Damn it, Blaise! I don't have to justify myself for what I do or not. I will obey my father in this matter, like it or not."

"You promised, Draco," Blaise tried one last time.

"I know. And if I could feel sorry I would tell you that I am. But I don't, so I won't."

Blaise nodded, defeated. "Will you tell Him that I won't join Him?"

"Of course not!" Draco walked over to Blaise's bed, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Maybe--if I'm lucky, I'll be able to feel something when He marks me."

"Is that why you're doing it? Because you want to feel?"

"Yes. Can you understand that?"

"I do. I don't like it, but I do understand."

Draco smiled and stood up again. "I'm going to bed. Good night, Blaise."

"Good night, Draco."

~o0o~

Blaise scurried through Hogwart's darkened hallways, flitting from one shadow to the next in an attempt to not be seen. He couldn't afford being caught out of bed after hours, even not by his own Head of House, who would simply send him back to the dormitory with a quirk of his eyebrows.

But not tonight. Tonight he needed to be out of bed, needed to reach his destination. He was desperate. Desperate enough to go to the supposed enemy for help. He didn't want to betray Draco's confidence, but Draco's admission and intention to join the Dark Lord left him with no other choice.

Quickly glancing around to ensure that no one had followed him, he opened a door somewhere on the seventh floor and slipped inside. He locked the door with a wave of his wand and turned around. The classroom was empty but for a few desks and a blackboard. The moon illuminated the room enough for Blaise to tell that no one was here. He frowned. He had been sure that they were supposed to meet in this classroom. Then why wasn't he here? "Harry?"

"I'm here, Blaise," Harry answered, appearing from under his invisibility cloak.

"Neat," Blaise said appreciatively. "Is that how you get around here without being seen?"

"Yeah. It was my father's." Harry folded the cloak and tucked it into his robes. "Now, what's so important that you needed to see me on such short notice?"

"Draco's getting marked," he said simply. "Tomorrow night."

Harry frowned. "Didn't you tell me that you both vowed to never follow him?"

Blaise sighed and sat down on a nearby desk. "What I'm going to tell you will stay in this room, Harry. Promise."

"I promise." Harry sat on the desk opposite to Blaise's. "So, tell me. Why does he want to join Voldemort?"

"Because he wants to feel."

"What?"

"Draco can't feel a thing. Not passion, not pain. Nothing."

"Don't be silly, Blaise. Everyone has to feel something. I mean, how many girls did he fuck in the last two months? That alone tells me that he feels something."

"You don't understand, Harry. He's cold. That's why we call him Ice Prince. He can touch a burning flame and make it *freeze*. Literally. His skin... It's always cold. When--when he comes, he feels the orgasm, yes. But not in a--satisfying way. I don't know how to explain it better."

"I touch the fire and it freezes me. I look into it, and it's black. Why can't I feel, my skin should crack and peel. I want the fire back," Harry said solemnly. He had heard Hermione singing that song just the other day when she had thought no one was listening.

"Exactly. Where did you hear that?"

"It's a muggle song, I think. I heard Hermione singing it just the other day."

"Creepy, isn't it, how that song describes what Draco is?"

"Yeah." Harry leaned back on his palms. "So, what do you want me to do?"

"Keep him from joining You-Know-Who. I fear for him. I don't know what Draco'd be willing to do just to feel something, anything."

"And how do you think I should do that, hmm? Head him off tomorrow night before he leaves? Do you really think he'll listen to me?"

"If you can't do it, no one can. At least try it, Harry. I know you and Draco haven't been the best of friends--" Blaise went on, though Harry snorted. "--but if there's someone who can get under his wire, it's you."

"What makes you so sure? He hates me, remember? And I'm pretty sure he'll kill you slowly and painfully for even talking to me."

"He doesn't hate you. He can't. It's an emotion."

"You *are* serious about the whole emotion thingy."

"Did you think I was joking?" Blaise smirked. "There was a time when I thought Draco was suffering from alexithymia, but that wouldn't explain why flames are freezing up when Draco touches them."

"I still don't know what to do about it. But I'll come up with something. When does he leave?"

"Tomorrow at midnight."

"I'll do what I can, but I can't make any promises."

"That's all I ask, Harry. Thank you."

~o0o~

"Please, Draco, think about it again. You're selling your soul to the devil, and you know it."

"To sell my soul to the devil I need to have a soul in the first place," Draco retorted, annoyed. Blaise had been nagging him the whole day about the issue, imploring him to defy his father and seek asylum in Hogwarts.

"That's bullshit, and you know it."

"There's nothing left to say, Blaise. Except for goodbye." Draco hugged his best friend. He would like to miss him, but he knew he wouldn't.

"I'll miss you, Draco," Blaise whispered.

"I know." Draco let go of him and smiled. "I will see you, when I see you." Without looking back, Draco marched out of their bedroom, through the deserted common room, into the hallway. He took a deep breath. That was it, then. The last time he would see Hogwarts for a long time. The old walls held a lot of memories for him - good ones and bad ones - but he didn't affiliate any emotions with those memories. He shrugged and started to walk down the hallway that led to the staircase to the Entrance Hall. He looked around the Hall. He had threatened Potter here two years ago to kill him. He had shagged that Hufflepuff girl right there in the broom closet. Yes, those were good memories.

"Leaving already, Draco?"

Draco whirled around into the direction of the voice. "Who's there?" He drew his wand as a precaution. "Show yourself." To Draco's mortification, none other than his archnemisis stepped out of the shadows, displaying a posture of nonchalance and confidence. "Potter."

Harry smiled and motioned at Draco's wand. "You won't need that, Draco. I'm not here to duel with you."

"Then, what do you want?"

"Why are you leaving?"

"That's none of your concern, Potter. Shan't you rejoice that I'm leaving? Shan't you throw a party that you won't have to tolerate my presence anymore?" Draco asked, taunting Harry.

"I certainly won't rejoice, Draco. I came to appreciate our-- arguments."

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "Perhaps you should've taken my hand in our first year, then. Those-- arguments could've been a lot more-- refreshing on a friendly basis."

"Maybe. We'll never know, now, will we?"

"Most likely not. The next time I see you, you'll be my enemy."

"Will you kill me as you threatened to do?"

"I don't know if I can."

"Because you feel something else than contempt for me?"

Draco frowned. "No. It's true that I don't feel contempt for you, but that doesn't mean I feel anything else for you."

"Because you can't feel anything at all?" Harry held his breath.

"What? How-- Why would you say something like that?"

"It's the truth, isn't it? You don't feel a thing. Not pain, not fear, not love, not hate, not joy, not sadness. You are cold."

Draco wished he could get angry at Harry's statement, but he couldn't. Thus, he just folded his arms behind his back, cocking his head. "If I didn't know any better, I would say you've talked to Blaise."

"It doesn't take a talk with Zabini to figure it out."

"Ah. Well, it's true. I don't feel a thing. Nothing at all."

"You feel cold."

"I do."

Harry bit his bottom lip. "Can I-- Can I touch you?"

"Why?"

"I want to feel for myself if the rumours are true. That your skin feels cold to the touch and won't heat up."

"Well, that rumour is true," Draco said quickly. "But I won't let you touch me."

"Scared, Malfoy?"

Draco smirked. "You wish."

Harry sauntered over to him until he was standing mere inches away from Draco. He shivered. He could feel the cold emanating from Draco's body even though they were not touching. He extended his hand. "I know for sure that I will miss you. And that I won't be able to kill you on the battle field."

Draco looked at the extended hand. It couldn't hurt to just take it, now, could it? "I wish I could say the same about you, Harry." He slipped his hand into Harry's hand and gasped. Harry was *hot*. Scalding hot. He snapped his hand back, cradling it against his chest. The skin where Harry had touched him still tingled. "What the fuck just happened?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked bewildered. "What did I do?"

Draco squared his shoulders. He unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt, exposing his left arm to Harry. "Touch me. Just with your fingertips."

Harry raised his brows, but did as Draco had asked. He brushed gently over Draco's skin, his eyes widening when his fingers left a slightly rosy trace across the pale arm. "What's happening?"

"I don't know. Fact is that I *feel* your touch."

"Does it hurt you when I touch you?"

Draco shook his head. "No, it doesn't hurt. It just feels--hot."

Harry closed his fingers gently around Draco's wrist. "Don't go."

"I don't have a choice."

"There is always a choice. I'm offering a choice."

"What choice, Potter?" Draco sneered. "Crawling to Dumbledore asking for protection? Joining your little DA club? Hardly choices I would make for myself."

Harry let go of Draco's arm. "I'm offering you a chance to feel," he said quietly before he turned around. "Think about it, Draco. Please?" He didn't wait for an answer, but disappeared up the stairs into a hallway, leaving Draco behind, confused, anxious and afraid.

He sank to his knees, trembling and shivering with the remembrance of Harry's tentative touch. He looked at his arm, the skin still rosy and warm from Harry's fingers, tingling and burning pleasantly. Draco's mind was in an uproar. He couldn't understand why of all people Harry's touch had caused the reaction he had craved so desperately, why it had burnt right through him, rousing emotions he had thought being incapable of. But they were there.

He felt.

He scrambled to his feet and looked at his watch. It was ten minutes before midnight. Ten minutes to decide his future based on a single touch of his archnemisis. He didn't want to join the Dark Lord. But did he want to risk his life based on a single experience? What would happen to him shall he take Harry up on his offer? What would his father do since Draco was still not of age? Would he force him to take the mark or would he simply exclude Draco from the Malfoy family and disown him?

And what about him being in Slytherin? Surely, the other Slytherins would know by tomorrow that Draco was a traitor to the Dark Lord, shall he decide to take Harry up on his offer. He knew that Blaise and Millicent wouldn't care, being adamant about refusing the Mark themselves. But Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle would take it very personally, and frankly, Draco neither had the desire to have his lights punched out by his two cronies nor to be crucio-ed into oblivion by Pansy.

Five minutes to midnight. Draco looked at the heavy oaken door that separated him from the Portkey to Riddle Mansion. To go or not to go. To fulfil his duty to the Malfoy name or to do what he wanted to do. He didn't know. He simply didn't know.

~o0o~

Sleep eluded Harry that night. He couldn't help thinking about what had happened in the entrance hall. He had been surprised that he indeed didn't want Draco to leave, and not only because he didn't Voldemort have another mindless minion. No. He didn't want Draco in the clutches of a madman. He didn't want to see him hurt, no matter if he was able to experience the feeling or not. Harry's train of thought even went so far to make him admit, if only to himself, that he would miss Draco terribly. He hadn't lied to Draco about his offer. He wanted to make Draco feel. He wanted to touch him and marvel at the traces his fingers left behind. And, most of all, he wanted to have the chance to fall for him.

Harry froze in his bed. Did he really just think that he wanted to fall in love with Draco Malfoy? Granted, he thrived on the fact that he could make Draco feel and that Draco had reacted to it. By Merlin, what a mess! What if that very fact that he could make him feel would tip the balance in Voldemort's favour? Had he lost Draco before he had a chance to have him?

The bells in Hogsmeade struck midnight and Harry closed his eyes. He hoped beyond hope that Draco wouldn't leave to become a Death Eater, that he would take Harry up his offer. Only now Harry realised that he had offered Draco a lot more than a chance to feel. He had offered him his heart. And Harry was terrified that Draco wouldn't see the choice for what it was.

He sniffled, angrily wiping away the tears that had come unbidden. He didn't want to cry over Draco Malfoy. Not now. Not ever. But he couldn't help the tears that kept coming with the fear of finding the Slytherin's seat at the House table empty in the morning. He curled up in a ball, feeling helpless and devoid of all hope. "Please, please don't leave. Not now," he whispered to the darkness. "Not when I just found you." He bit his bottom lip to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape and which would surely wake at least Ron. "Don't leave," he whispered again before he fell in an uneasy and fitful sleep.

~o0o~

"You look like death warmed over twice," Seamus quipped in his usual cheerful manner when Harry crawled out of bed in the morning. "Bad dreams again?"

"No," Harry said, and it was true. His sleep had been dreamless, but also restless. He had jolted awake more than once, believing that he had heard Draco calling out for him and only to fall back to sleep the second he realised that Draco wasn't there. "Just--didn't get much sleep last night," he murmured while he dressed.

"You think too much. That's what 'Mione always says," Ron offered. "You need to relax and have some fun."

"Thanks, Ron, for reminding me," Harry retorted, his voice unusually sharp. "But relaxation and fun isn't on top of my priority list right now."

"Whoa, Harry, hold your horses." Ron raised his hands defensively. "No need to bite my head off."

Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Sorry, Ron. Just--leave me be for the moment, okay? I'm no great company right now."

"Sure, mate." Ron didn't look like he wanted to comply with his friend's wishes, but he knew better than to further aggravate Harry. "You know you can talk to me when you're ready."

"Yeah, thanks." Harry threw his books into his schoolbag and left the dorm. As he had anticipated, Hermione and Ginny were already waiting for him and the other boys to turn up. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Harry shook his head and hurried out of the common room. He didn't want to talk to anyone right now. He briefly considered skipping breakfast, but, taking into account that he had Advanced Potions as his first class together with the Slytherins, he decided to face the music right away. It simply wouldn't do to find out about Draco's disappearance during a class he couldn't afford to fail.

He entered the Great Hall, which was already filled with joyous laughter and chatter, his eyes wandering automatically to the seat Draco usually occupied during mealtimes; it was empty.

He slumped onto his place on the Gryffindor table, unable to decide how he should feel about Draco's absence. Angry? Hurt? Sad? All rolled into one? He didn't know. He simply didn't know.

One by one his friends sat down by his side and across from him, silently supporting him through this emotional mess though they had no clue about what he was going through. Once again he was grateful and proud to have friends that were there for him, no matter what. He just wished he could've enticed Draco to stay.

Listlessly, he pushed his breakfast around on his plate, not particularly interested in eating it though he felt Hermione's gaze on him, galling him into eating at least something. Everything seemed duller, every noise sounded muffled. His breakfast tasted ashen, and he finally decided to give up on choking down his food, washing the taste away with pumpkin juice. He was about to get up and head down to the dungeons when the doors to the Great Hall swung open to reveal a sole figure standing in the entrance.

Harry's heart surged, fluttering madly in his chest with every step Draco took towards him. Then, finally, he stood before him, studying him with cold grey eyes. Harry gulped, the scrutinising gaze almost too much to bear, but he remained perfectly still, waiting for Draco to make the first move. At last, Draco smiled and raised a hand to cup Harry's cheek, the coldness vanishing upon the first touch of skin on skin. Draco's eyes started to burn with something that made Harry wanting to pull the Slytherin into his arms. Before Harry could entertain that thought any further, he was pulled forward into a strong embrace, cool lips covering his in a gentle kiss. Draco brushed his thumbs against Harry's temple, resting his forehead against Harry's. "Make me feel, then, Harry. Burn me."

~o0o~

the end.