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Chapter Twenty-Three

Forbidding whispers

SMACK.

"Augh! Draco, how could you!"

Laughing, Draco jumped to dodge the revengeful snowball thrown at him. Green cloak swirling in the bitter winter wind, he bent down, pretending to need to zip his boot back up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry creating another snowball. Then, just as Harry lifted his arm to launch the snowball he had hoped would smash mercilessly into Draco, the Slytherin pounced.

Both boys fell to the snow, tumbling down the hill in a flash of green, red, black, and blue clothes, silver and black hair fluttering in the wind. With a crash, they landed at the foot of the hill, their trail of destruction obvious, glaring out at them amongst the otherwise smooth white snow.

It had been exactly a month since Valentine's Day, and neither boy had really done much since. Although every other night they met at their secret room, neither truly found that much to say anymore, instead simply basking in the privilege of spending time together. Grabbing Harry's cloak from him, Draco lay it on the ground alongside his, and pulled Harry down in an embrace, his skin pale and clothes dark contrasting the colorful cloaks and Harry's black hair and blue clothes.

Tugging down Draco's shirt to stroke the Eye of Flame scar, Harry asked, "Do you ever practice your Summoner powers? Did the training help?--what training you let me and Charlie give you, that is." Laughing, Draco remembered the few and barely successful lessons given to him by Harry and the older Weasley boy.

"I practice them more than you could ever imagine, Harry. You just don't realize it because now that I can control it better, I don't cause destruction around Hogwarts. I think about my power all the time, this power that I..." Draco held up his hand, and suddenly, a glowing yellow ball of magic pressed against his palm.

"The power that you what, Draco?"

"The power I wish I didn't have...I hate it!"

His face contorted into fearsome, violent rage unlike any Harry had ever seen, Draco thrust his hand forward, and the glowing ball of magic flew forth from it to smash into the tree, transforming it into nothing more than a pile of wood splinters. Eyes blazing, Draco was not just angry, but absolutely furious. Harry stared momentarily at the other boy in shock, and then taking hold of the other boy's shoulders, he gave him a shake. Worried and confused, he asked desperately, "Draco, what do you mean? Why do you hate it? I don't understand! Tell me, Draco, don't hide things from me!"

Draco remained curled up as he had been the moment the tree had been destroyed, his face hidden from view, body trembling with an emotion Harry couldn't pinpoint as rage, fear, sorrow, or something else. Lightly caressing the other boy's jaw, brushing his other hand through the silver hair, his voice strained, begging, Harry murmured, "Please, Draco...tell me. At least look at me, Draco, please!"

Lifting up his head, slowly, Draco stared at Harry. Emotion swam in those blue grey eyes, and Harry yearned to understand the other boy's mind, as rage, hatred, sorrow, love, and regret were directed at him through that gaze. Draco wanted to curl up, to sink into the ground, to disappear from the face of the earth. But he also wanted to sob out everything, to collapse, tearful, into Harry's arms, as well as wanting to direct his hatred at something he could destroy, someone...oh, how much he thirsted to kill!

His voice unrevealing the emotion contained inside, Draco said, "He wants to kill you, Harry, you know that. But he only wants to kill you because his pride was wounded. If you hadn't lived through his Avada Kedavra, you'd mean nothing to him. He thinks you're me though, Harry...he wants to kill the one other living Summoner. Which is me, Harry, I, Draco Malfoy. He doesn't know who the Summoner is though, he's been trying to find out for years, doesn't know, but suspects it's you, which gives him even more of a reason to try a kill you. Oh, God, Harry, I want to die! I'm sick and tired of this power of mine. It's of no use to me, I hate it. Please Harry, you've got to understand...leave me! Go, before it's too late!"

Standing up, Draco yanked Harry to his feet, his face now neutral, the typical Malfoy look. Voice fierce as he continued, Draco tried again and again to push Harry away. But Harry refused to take one step in the opposite direction of the boy he loved. "C'mon, Harry, go, stay away from me, I'm dangerous, my control over my emotions is dissipating, my power could get loose again and I could destroy something else around me, I could even accidentally kill someone! And I don't want that someone to be you...Please, Harry..."

Tears rimmed Draco's eyes now, "Staying by my side doesn't mean your faithful...it means you're in danger! Voldemort will come for me, Harry, for you too, and when he does, I'll be the one to fight him this time."

Draco stood there, knowing that they both knew this fight he spoke of was inevitable. It would surely happen, the final duel between the last two Summoners, the duel to the death between the two most powerful wizards on earth, Voldemort and himself. There was nothing Harry could do to stop it. Staring into that emerald gaze, Draco realized with dismay that Harry, no matter what, refused to let Draco fight alone.

Whispers speaking of doom, of darkness, and every and any thing forbidding, were laced into the mind of both boys as they stood up and walked back to Hogwarts, pretending nothing at all besides the ordinary had happened back in the forest.