Darker Magic

Chapter 7:

Protego

The school seemed to put itself to sleep during the Christmas holidays like some placated leviathan, its presence always felt, but quiet, lethargic. It was as if the castle wished itself ignored once the students had departed; a dozing guardian at last allowed to rest, but ready to leap up in an instant, to pull those it protected under its fold.

Draco had only stayed at the school for winter hols twice before in his six years, but never had he felt such a sense of being alone. Most of the students had gone home, leaving the hallways empty. Draco knew the cause: the lowering pall of what was surely coming, descending over everything, parents pulling their children closer. Perhaps they did it unconsciously, some primal knowledge of danger prompting them to gather what little time together they could before the future reared its grotesque and unforgiving head.

On Christmas Eve, Draco awoke alone in his room to the gray light of overcast skies, opening his eyes and casting sleep aside gently but completely. He felt more awake than he ever had, and though he sought for his dreams of the night before, they were steeped in the vague, clouded confusion he had long been without. He wasn't sure how to feel relief anymore. Just the easy warmth that the chill of his nightmares had always managed to chase away before. Draco left the dorm, made his way through the cold common room and stepped out into the rest of the school. The hallways were absolutely silent. He walked for a good hour without seeing anyone, floor by floor, all the way up and then back down again. The castle, already huge, was all the more vast without the constant rustle of robes and hurrying feet, the incessant chatter of voices. But the halls were empty of other things as well: no dream-thestrals haunted the blue-dark corridors, bleeding their ominous hush into every corner, no taint of sulfur crept into the crannies of windows and the shadows of columns. The school was still, silent, and cleansed of the things that stalked through his dreams. Draco let the peace soak into his skin, breathing it in, and it tingled like mint in his nostrils.

He hadn't warned his father of his intent to remain at school, but somehow this did not worry him. He had no sense that his parents would be waiting for him at King's Cross, that they even expected him home at all. Some scent floating about the parchment of his father's last letter, an invisible text etched beneath the words he'd read... Draco didn't know what it was, but he felt calm. Suddenly, knowing what he meant to do at last, the rest of the world did not matter. What was expected of him, the obligations other people had planned for him, became trivial. That day, Christmas Eve, he felt protected, cocooned in wintry spells that shoved away all other pressing matters.

Even if it was just for one day, it would be enough. He knew how to make use of a gift when one had been handed to him.

All day, Draco haunted the quiet passageways, running his fingers across the solid stonework of the castle. He saw a few Hufflepuffs, a Ravenclaw, no one his age. The professors remained safely ensconced from sight and he was glad of it because the school became, in a sense, his. He allowed himself the arrogance of such a monumental achievement as he passed through each towering doorway and made his way across the open air courtyards. Anyone else's presence marred that perfect stillness; a professor's would have torn it apart.

But his instructors did not appear and for all Draco knew, aside from the few students he came across, he was alone in the school. It felt... pleasant.

Except he knew he was not alone. Walking through the front atrium, past the monolithic staircase, Draco paused. No, there was one person who he knew was still in the school. And that knowledge was where the core of his comfort originated.

* * *

Night had already fallen when Draco returned to his room and shed his school robes. He folded them carefully and hung them in his closet, shutting the green and silver snake emblem away from his sight, then left his house once more. He went up through the dungeons, crossed the atrium, and climbed the stairs under the golden torchlight. His feet knew where to take him almost without conscious thought. Draco had never felt more alert and composed in his life.

Some sixth sense told him Harry would not have ventured from Gryffindor Tower that day. Everything about Harry - the small worry lines Draco remembered just above the bridge of his nose, the tiny twitches of his shoulders - assured him of it. The Gryffindor would stay where he was safe from the rest of the world and the people in it, even if that security existed only in his mind. Draco neared the tower in a haze, recognizing every portrait, every twist and turn of the corridors, every rumble of the moving staircases.

Harry had not gone home. He had no home to go to, no parent's protection save what was offered by Dumbledore. Draco had reasoned this through absently, but he knew it already, knew that Harry was still in the castle. He could almost feel the air tightening the closer he got, as if he were following a trail of bright, flickering lights, each one warming him all the more as he passed.

Draco found himself in front of the Gryffindor portrait hole at last, looking up at the Fat Lady. She paid him absolutely no mind until he cleared his throat and stated the password.

"Proteus."

The woman blinked, fixing him with a stare that was at first puzzled and then tight in suspicion.

"You're... not in my house," she said slowly, squinting at him. Her expression was uneasy but curious, as if she knew she should be concerned but did not have a concrete idea of what should be worrying her. Draco smiled disarmingly.

"You know all of your students, then?" he answered in a pleasant voice. She frowned at him impatiently, her eyes continuing to search his face.

"I should know you, should I not?" she asked finally.

Draco lifted his shoulders. "I don't believe so, my dear."

"You are not in my house," she stated matter-of-factly, rustling the endless folds of her gown. She nodded her head once and eyed him again.

Draco's smile widened. "Ah, but I have the correct password."

"Yes, that is what puzzles me," the Fat Lady said in a perplexed voice. She cocked her head to give him an appraising look. "You do not have the air of a Hufflepuff. A Ravenclaw, perhaps?"

Draco met her eyes steadily. The Fat Lady frowned, perturbed. "Well. Were you invited?"

"I suppose you could term it an invitation. I'm here to see the only seventh year you have left." Draco stepped back and bowed his head once, grinning indulgently at her. "Though I might have counted meeting such a fine woman as yourself treat enough for one night."

She blinked and looked at him with renewed interest. Draco lifted his eyebrows and his hands, inclining his head at the woman in the portrait. "But please, don't trouble yourself. I can see this makes you uncomfortable. The Gryffindors are certainly lucky to have such a paragon of poise and morality as their guardian. And lovely as well."

The Fat Lady blushed slightly and Draco caught the beginnings of a smile on her ample lips. "Well, if he gave you the password... And I do suppose there is little else you could have done to obtain it..." She thought about it for a second longer, then smiled openly and nodded. "Yes. You may go in."

"Thank you." Draco gave her one last coy smile and stepped through the opening, leaving her flushed and fluttering her hand about her face. The portrait clicked shut behind him, returning him to the muted silence he'd become accustomed to.

The Gryffindor common room was empty; a slowly dying fire flickered behind the ornate grating. Draco passed the plush couches, running his fingers lightly over the velvet of orangey-red armchairs, and moved toward the door on his right. He wondered briefly what sort of spell these staircases were under, if the walls of the staircase to the girls' dormitories would emit ear-shattering shrieks and fold in on themselves, throwing him back out into the common room as they did in Slytherin House. He opened the door, put his foot on the first step and waited, but nothing happened, so he continued up.

Each door he came to, Draco tried the handle gently. The first one was locked. The second clicked as if it would open, but Draco left it behind, knowing with the same strange certainty he'd been feeling all day that it would not reveal who he sought. Two more doors, locked. Draco tried them and passed them by, winding his way up the torch-lit stairwell with calm, unhurried steps. He felt as if he were being shown the way by some invisible guide, a living essence gliding through the very walls of the castle. There was no need to rush, or to worry. Hands he could not truly say he felt stroked over his arms and shoulders, pulling him forward. He closed his eyes, trailing one hand over the stones, and felt the unseen fingers tug him gently.

When he reached the seventh door, Draco stopped. He faced the door and stared at the grained wood, so similar to every other door in the tower. But he would have known, without even looking at the year placard near the top of the arch. This one was the right one. Draco touched the handle and paused.

He could feel an emotion creeping over him, pulling at the edges of his mind, and it tasted of nerves and uncertainty. It begged to be heard, to make his palms sweat and his heartbeat hasten. Draco closed his eyes and took a final breath of the silence, feeling it quieting the wayward flutter of emotion. The turmoil died away, leaving him numb around the edges, but serene. Not even a logical thought; just the knowledge that he had nothing to worry about.

Draco slipped in through the door and closed it gently behind him, whispering a locking charm under his breath.

Harry was sitting on his bed, legs curled beneath his body, a book open in his lap. The Gryffindor looked up as he entered. Draco saw his eyes widen. Harry sat so still he could have been made of stone. It unnerved Draco, made him think of his father and that statue in the garden. But Draco couldn't move either. Whatever power had driven him here had fled, and he just stood in the shadow of the bed hangings. Finally Harry rose, his book sliding forgotten from his lap, and set his feet on the floor. He came two steps toward Draco and stopped, a lost look on his face.

Draco just studied him, noting the way his skin glowed in the firelight. Warm, brown. Like caramel. He recognized the color from his dreams. Harry's body looked as if it were containing the quiet heat of the room.

"What--" Harry's voice cracked and he fell silent. He cast about, and then frowned at Draco. When he spoke again, betrayal simmered under his words. "What are you doing here?"

Draco locked eyes with him and saw a slight shudder beneath the hard gaze. He looked down at the soft slope of Harry's throat. "Would you like me to leave?"

Harry strode forward until he stood at the foot of his bed, glaring across the small space to where Draco waited. "What the hell is wrong with you? Maybe you should leave. Hell, you're the one who came up with that anyway!"

"I made a mistake." Harry was intoxicating. The room was inundated with his scent, and it teased at Draco's nostrils like silk blown about, surrounding him. He wanted to step closer, but just being in the same room with Harry was too much now, and he was afraid that if he moved, his legs would fall from under him and leave him helpless on the floor.

Harry stared at him, his uncertainty showing plain on his face. "You... What? What did you..." His expression struggled and darkened. "You think you can just-- after all that. I don't even know why you're here. Why are you here?"

Draco said nothing. Harry's shoulders hitched and his eyes sparked in anger.

"Just go away, Dra-- Malfoy! You've made your feelings clear. Go away, please! I thought maybe... but it's just bullshit. You don't even want m--" Harry's voice caught in his throat and he looked away, swallowing. His eyes glimmered.

Draco was moving before he could think about forcing himself to do it. He was in front of Harry in an instant, pressing his fingers against the other boy's lips. "No," he said softly, firmly. He shook his head, letting his eyes rove over the distress on the face in front of him. "Don't ever say that."

Harry's eyes met his, flicking back and forth. His body was so tense Draco wanted to reach out and touch him, to make sure he could still move as he had seen him move before. He raised a hand and placed it gently on Harry's shoulder, stroking down his arm in a long, wondering sweep. The wiry body beneath his fingers shuddered. Draco moved slowly forward, lacing his arm around Harry's waist, feeling every curve of muscle beneath his shirt, easing him closer. Harry's body stiffened and he raised his hands, pressing at Draco's chest, pushing him back. Draco stopped and looked at him carefully. Harry licked his lips but didn't say anything. His eyes were bewildered... the tiniest bit hopeful. Draco felt his own breath catch. He cupped Harry's face in one hand and ran his thumb over the skin of his cheek.

"Draco, what... what are you..."

"Shhhh," he whispered, letting his fingers drift through the sooty black hair. So soft. Lemony sweet. Harry's hands clutched tentatively at his arms, fingers squeezing. He held his head rigid and Draco breathed in, falling headfirst into the tantalizing essence of Harry. It felt good to just let himself go, to not hold back. Part of him knew he should be resisting this pull, some instinctive sense of past habit, but it was the work of an instant to just... let it all fall away.

"Draco," Harry breathed, his voice shaking. "If you don't... if you don't mean it... then stop, please, because I don't want to be... I don't--" He faltered, the pain cracking apart all over his face. His eyes were glistening with moisture.

Draco had not thought about any of this, not really. It had been unnecessary to think. Everything, his actions, his words... it all felt scripted, something he'd written in some lucid dream and had begun acting out without needing to learn it. Ingrained in his bones. The answer that he had not yet thought out came to him easily, and he knew the moment he spoke that it was the pure and simple truth. "I promise you this isn't a trick."

"Is this... does this mean you..."

He touched Harry's mouth with his fingertips and nodded, memorizing every curve of his jaw, every indentation of his skin, the soft, delicious brown tone of it. His own body was warming, relaxing into that familiar heat, and it did not feel angry or worrisome at all. Just... anticipatory. Draco was centimeters from Harry's mouth now. He could feel startled breaths against his lips. "Harry. Shhh. I'm not going anywhere."

Draco's mouth met Harry's so lightly he thought it could have been a dream. He could feel the other boy's lips trembling against his. The tiniest flicker of Harry's magic wavered against him, tentative and hopeful in a broken, desperate way Draco had never felt before. It was a gentle touch, almost nonexistent, but Draco recognized it in an instant - such a far cry from Dumbledore's magic - and he couldn't stop the flood of relief from washing over him. His body answered the questioning caress of its own accord, pouring every emotion Draco had carefully tended and protected into the room, astonishing him with its vehemence. Harry started, then gave a low moan that held so much sadness and want in it. He pulled Draco tightly to him, pressing their bodies together, mouth searching. The kiss was frenzied, and Draco saw a tear slip down Harry's cheek. He felt arms tighten around him, hands moving everywhere, and knew Harry was terrified he would be gone if he loosened his grip even the slightest bit. Draco pulled back and broke the kiss.

"Slow down," he murmured. "I want you to remember every moment of this."

Harry stilled for a beat, and then nodded, face filled with fear and wild hope. Draco eased him into another kiss and Harry's body hardened against his almost immediately. He could feel the Gryffindor holding himself in check; he murmured, wrapped his arms around Harry firmly and pressed him closer, feeling the other boy relax against him. Something quivered inside him, painful and oh so sweet. Draco couldn't fathom all the ways he must have twisted this same sensation before, warped it into something harmful and cruel, corrupting it until it was easy to ignore. He wanted to scream at himself for his stubborn foolishness.

Draco guided them backward until they were on the bed. Harry moved over the sheets in slow, dreamy undulations, meeting Draco's mouth again and again as he went. Draco crawled after him and stilled him before he reached the head of the bed. He removed Harry's glasses carefully and set them aside. It was a long, slow few moments as he lifted Harry's baggy shirt over his head, tugged each sock off gently, and watched and kissed as Harry unbuttoned Draco's shirt with trembling fingers. The other boy kept meeting his eyes and looking away again, and his irises were heavy-lidded and uncertain. Draco took Harry's chin in his hand, locking his gaze, and the Gryffindor stilled beneath him.

"It's alright, Harry."

Harry bit his lip, but nodded slowly. There was still a brittle pain behind his eyes, but he was struggling against it, replacing it with something hopeful. The tears still waited, brimming. Draco's heart thudded and gave a twinge at the trust there.

It could have been moments, or hours; Draco could not be sure, but soon there was nothing between them anymore, just golden, fire-lit skin and Harry's chest, rapidly rising and falling. He ran fingers lightly over Harry's ribs and heard him hiss softly. Draco used everything he knew to bring him into wordless, gasping readiness, kissing him tenderly and deeply when his eyes grew too anxious. Finally, Draco sat back a little and reached for his trousers. He pulled his wand out and looked at Harry.

"There are spells," he said softly.

Harry looked down at his wand, and then back at his face. "What..."

"They'll keep you safe. It won't hurt."

The question passed between them in breathless silence, and Harry nodded, never taking his gaze from Draco's face. Draco murmured two of the spells and heard Harry gasp. One of his hands clenched lightly on Draco's wrist. He shifted, watching Draco with wide eyes, and Draco looked right back.

Then he was in. Inside Harry Potter. It was fulfilling in a way Draco had never experienced. What he had hoped for from this moment, but what his carefully tailored mind had dismissed as impossible, for him at least. No one person should be able to have this sort of mindless affect on anyone. He could hardly breathe with the impact of it. Draco felt as though every echo of a question he'd ever asked had been suddenly addressed, answered, and settled into gentle tranquility. He could drift lazily in this sensation, this moment, not breathing or hearing or thinking for the rest of his life, and be quite content, just looking at Harry. Being this close to him, being inside him, was enough.

Gods, he was close to climax. And he had not even begun yet.

"Are you alright?" Draco whispered, awash in the unfamiliar yet wholly comforting euphoria. Harry's answer was silent, a sudden clutch onto Draco's skin. Of course he was alright. How could anyone be a part of this... this feeling... and not be alright? And yet Harry's silence unnerved him.

Draco focused glazing eyes on the other boy. Harry's jaw was slack, but his eyes were shut tightly, an odd mix of calm and discomfort. Fingers dug into Draco's shoulders and Harry's forehead creased. Dismay cut through the haze that was seeping into Draco's brain. No, no... not right. Not like this.

He bent down over Harry, careful to keep his movements to a minimum, and stroked sweaty black locks from his forehead.

"I don't want to be hurting you," he whispered. He kissed Harry's forehead chastely, matched it with slow, soft kisses to his temple, his cheeks. He was falling hard for every bit of this moment, the feeling of Harry's damp, shivering skin against his lips, the soft sepia of his eyelashes, closed over a brilliant green that Draco longed to witness. The insatiable heat enveloping him. He was part of another person whom he suddenly realized he didn't fully understand, and it scared him to consider that Harry might not be feeling this same curious wholeness.

Harry's face relaxed somewhat and his eyes fluttered open. He placed shaking hands on Draco's cheeks, thumbs gliding over his skin in a way that made him shiver.

"Oh, god, no, you're not... hurting me..." Harry managed between deep, hitching breaths. He lifted his head and brushed his lips softly over Draco's. "Far... from it..."

And just like that, Draco found he couldn't take the stillness any longer. The pierce of Harry's gaze demanded more. His own body wanted it. He moved against Harry unconsciously. The Gryffindor shifted in such a way that it struck Draco forcefully that maybe this was not Harry's first time. With a man? Perhaps. But with anyone? Draco suddenly couldn't be sure, and he realized he did not like the idea of Harry with anyone else in this way.

It certainly wasn't Draco's first time. He'd had his share of both sexes, but none of them had given him this sensation before, this need to please, and in so doing, be pleased.

Harry Potter was unique. And who, pray tell, would have thought that?

So he drew it out, as long as possible. He honestly didn't think it could go on that long, but Harry teased him back from the brink so many times he was beginning to think he really would get to have this moment forever. Draco treated Harry to the same marvelous, agonizing slowness, because here it was just the two of them. If Harry had ever had anyone else, Draco wanted that person gone, a muddled, forgotten daydream. He felt deliciously possessive and selfish, unwilling to share this - no, to share Harry - with anyone. The best partners he himself had had were already slipping into obscurity, eclipsed by the inexplicable completion Harry elicited in his very core.

Bottle this, Moste Potente Potions, if you can.

When he came, it was in the midst of the deepest kiss he'd ever given anyone. He gave it all to Harry and was rewarded with a return as feverish as his own. Harry's entire body went delightfully rigid, heat pouring into Draco's skin, and Harry murmured so deeply within himself when he climaxed that Draco felt rather than heard it.

Draco forced himself to breathe slowly when it was over. He had never felt this before either, the sense that he couldn't gather the strength to do this ever again, reach that plateau and hold it, and the simultaneous realization that he wanted to repeat the experience right away, and that somewhere inside him he had the reserves to do it. That Harry Potter, of all people, had worn him down so thoroughly and yet energized him, and that he would do it again and again. Draco could experience that level of excruciating need and satiation over and over.

He was dizzy just thinking about it.

Light fingers touched his cheek. Draco opened his eyes and met green, endless green. Harry looked up at him, breathing audibly.

"Are you alright?" he whispered.

Draco shuddered and shook his head. "No. Gods, no. I'm not."

Worry creased Harry's brow and he opened his mouth, but Draco put his fingertips over Harry's lips.

"Not that," he whispered. "That was perfect."

He bent and replaced his fingers with his lips, probing deep into Harry's mouth. Harry responded fully, making Draco's muscles even weaker. Harry's body was so warm, his fingers soothing against his skin, and all Draco wanted to do was meld the two of them together and stay there forever. The impossibility of that brought a wave of melancholy he hadn't expected.

Why tempt, why give that kind of perfection, when we can't have it for good?

"I can't have you forever," Draco whispered, fearing the crack in his voice at the last word. Harry gave him a searching look, and then smiled gently, fingering Draco's hair.

"You can have me for as long as you need me."

Draco looked into Harry's eyes and knew that the other boy hadn't fully understood what he was trying to say. But it was alright, because he thought that deep down, Harry really might understand.

He slid down to lie beside Harry, and felt his arms encircle him and pull him close. He kissed Harry's hair lazily, repeatedly, drew the other boy to him until he was lying with his head on Draco's chest. Weariness stole over him, and a certain complacency. The whole world was outside this room, doing things to smash itself apart, and soon he and this wonderful enigma who was now his lover - his lover - would be pulled into the whirlwind.

But not right now.

He stroked Harry's back tenderly, felt drowsy lips against his collarbone. Harry's breathing deepened and slowed to that of a sleeper's. Draco remained awake.

He had taken a step, one he couldn't possibly retrace. But he found he didn't want to. He hadn't complicated things as he had expected to; he'd merely changed them, altered his place in the whirlwind. He'd been trying to fill two niches at once but there was really only one now. In the drifting heat and dim shadows of the room, it made complete and utter sense to him.

He liked where he was. The world would have to kill him to drag him out. Lying there, holding Harry to him, he knew the world would most certainly try to rid itself of one or both of them eventually.

But he was Draco Malfoy. He would handle it.

He slept, and it was dreamless.

~FIN - Part 2~