Lost

The following stanza is, for certain chapters, the theme for Part Two, and represents the difficulties love gives to both our main characters:

Who can say

Why you heart sighs

As your love flies

-only time

And who can say

Why your heart cries

When your love lies

-only time

--"Only Time"

From the CD "A Day Without Rain" by Enya

PART TWO

Chapter Thirteen

Inveiglement

Hiss.

Hiss.

Ka-chink. Ka-chink.

Listening to the sound of softly chirping crickets, as well as the other sounds of the night, Draco closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the beat of the music. And there was a beat, surprisingly. Even the night had rhythm.

Yawning, Draco was about to call it quits and go back inside the castle to try and sleep again, when suddenly he heard a swoosh noise. A swoosh that destroyed the rhythm of the music, making it erratic and unstable. Confounded, Draco stood up, and saw something: the Snitch!

Suspicious, his Seeker instincts kicked in, and with an accio he was on his broom and into the air after the little winged ball. Physically alert and yet mentally unaware, he sped through the dark of the night, zooming back and forth in the wild chase to catch the Snitch. Adrenaline rushing through him, he felt the rush of excitement, the thrill of the chase, along with the unfamiliar knowing that this time he wasn't competing against anyone.

Encountering the Snitch, he reached his hand out for it...but stopped. He remembered now what he'd been unable to remember before, and this was why he hadn't been able to sleep. Remembering what he'd set out to do, Draco watched the Snitch flit in front of his nose, eyes crossed. Suddenly, he felt the crunch of something, someone, ram into him, hard, and then all went black.

-----*-----

Hours later, and Draco still hadn't figured out who'd been the one to catch him from falling off his broom, brought him to the hospital, and been out so late at night. That same person had been the cause of his broken nose. Luckily, the damage hadn't been too bad, hadn't twisted his features permanently, and he was in perfect condition again; although the next time he saw the Snitch he promised himself he would catch it fast and squeeze it hard for revenge; if it hadn't been for the other person ramming into him, and the Snitch, that golden ball would never have crunched into his poor nose!

So, the next night, repaired from damage, and seething, he set out to do what he'd remembered. Quietly piling up the once precious objects, his control hard as steel, he eventually got the flames to rise from nowhere. Watching the little pile burn for a few moments, Draco lifted his hand up, attempting to steady it. With a violent cry of rage, he tossed the object up with all his might, hearing it whistle in the air as it sped upwards.

His plans were foiled yet again, however. A scarlet cloak swept through the fire burning ever higher that he'd lit, and even as someone stamped it out, Draco fell to the ground. Images flashed through his mind, memories long banished, and his mind replayed seeing the cloak, blood red, elegant and awing as it swept through the air, flames soon dancing upon it. He barely heard the cry of no, could barely comprehend what was happening, didn't see the black objects lying, smelly yet not burnt.

All he saw was the pensieve.

He knew he'd thrown it, without a doubt. He had thrown it hard, with all his strength. It had been difficult to steal it, to give that up, but he'd done it. His determination had made him able to do it. But there it was, sitting at his feet, innocent and beguiling in its sweet undamaged perfection. He stared at it, watching the blue glows swirl inside, awing and beautiful. Until recently he'd cherished thoughts about it, grateful that he'd given such a lovely gift to the one he loved, but not until now did he realize how powerful memories were.

But who had saved the objects he'd been bent on destroying? And why?

Looking up, Draco's world minimized, and suddenly, it was all he could do to try and breathe, and, swimming in his vision, dominant, was that familiar luminous green gaze. Then, his eyes narrowed, gleaming sharply with sudden regained hatred, and trying to disguise his sudden inability to speak, Draco stood up, defiant, giving Harry the cold shoulder.

Turning around, he began to walk away, arms crossed over his chest, head held high in utter refusal to even glance in Harry's direction. Ignoring the sting that bit at his eyes, a million nasty comments popped into Draco's head, but for some unspoken reason, he couldn't bring himself to say a single one. It wasn't that he was sensitive, no. His rejection and months of separation from the pure hearted Gryffindor had allowed him to regain his old self, Draco Malfoy, 100% Slytherin, not a sensitive or fragile bone in his body.

But he couldn't stop remembering the little wisps of cherished memories that had glowed out at him from the pensieve he himself had made. He couldn't banish the image of Harry from his mind, couldn't edge away from the tantalizing scent that, even now, percolated into his soul from Harry. Indignant, he didn't miss a beat and continued walking as Harry called out to him. Then, a hand landed on his shoulder. Whipping his head around, Draco turned slightly to shoot Harry an acidic glare, saying icily, "Hands off, Potter."

Not giving up, Harry slowly moved to encircle Draco in his arms, whispering solemnly, "I lied, Draco. And I'm sorry. I lied to myself, and to you. I do love you, it's still in there, I just have to--"

Control cracking, Draco yelled, "I don't want to hear it, not any of it! Shut up and keep your hands to yourself, Potter!"

Reluctantly, Harry pulled his arms away, his fingers making Draco shiver as they brushed against him. But he remained standing there, inches only separating them. Reminded of their link, Draco's scar began to pain him, burning, as he thought: That's right, anytime Harry and I go against each other, my scar hurts. I wonder if his does, too? Resisting the urge to turn around and see, and to comfort the other boy, Draco stood there, angry thoughts towards Harry swirling inside his head, incensing him. His scar began to burn even more, as he barely managed to fight down the wild rage that threatened to consume him.

Back still facing Harry, frozen in position, Draco asked lightly, "How do you expect me to trust you? After everything we've been through, you threw me away. Want me back to toy with? I don't think so."

Voice now tinted with slight anger, Harry said, "You don't understand. I do love you...but I didn't realize before now how easily I could lose you, and how special it all was to us both. When you were gone, it was as if my love for you just unraveled, and...now that you're back I have to get used to loving again, but it doesn't mean I don't love you..."

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist again, saying softly, "I sortof lost the feeling when you left, because after I got over the depression things were neutral, and then I started this muggle searching job for Dumbledore, and it was the only thing semi enjoyable so...I dismissed love, because there was no one around for me to love like that anymore. That's why this all happened. It was stupid of me, and I'm sorry...You mean so much to me, I can't describe how sorry I am for pushing you away."

Draco's sudden struggle to escape from Harry's grasp told of his unspoken doubt and disbelief of Harry's apology. After a few moments of tightly holding the other boy, Harry's grip loosened, and sighing, yet hands linked together just trapping Draco, he said, "Alright then, Draco, leave me. We both know how much I would deserve it. I'll let you go, if you really want to. I understand how hard it is to accept what I say...but if you really loved me, I think you'd give me one more chance."

Motionless, Draco looked down at the other boy's hands, just barely touching to keep him in the circle of Harry's arms. Frustrated, he ran his fingers down Harry's wrists, to lay his own hands over Harry's. The movement was so filled with anger and passion, so vehement, that Draco could sense the sympathy that welled up suddenly in the Gryffindor. Scorn snapping inside him, he was about to rebuke Harry's unwanted pity and give the boy some of his own rejection medicine, but the other boy's actions stopped him.

Draco gasped, as Harry began to gently suck his earlobe, the soft caress of that hot tongue against his skin gluing him to the spot. Twisting towards Harry, he gave the other boy the opportunity to slide his hand up Draco's shirt, using the other hand to cup the Slytherin's jaw. Fighting against his own desire, Draco murmured breathlessly, "Don't do this, Potter, st-stop it!" Harry's hand underneath the other boy's shirt began to slide away, reluctant, but suddenly Draco held him back, and grasping Harry's hand, brought it up to lick sensually at Harry's fingertips. Allowing the activity to continue, panting, Draco murmured in defeat, "You're the only one..." he moved closer to Harry, instinctively. "...The only one who could have this effect on me, you know..."

Rolling to the ground, Harry pulled Draco with him, making sure the other boy leaned close. Running his hands through Draco's hair gleaming silver in the moonlight, Harry trailed wet kisses down the other boy's neck. The cold air turned suddenly hot, as both boys gave in to passion.

Accepting the many fervent kisses given to him, Draco obligingly got to work unbuttoning Harry's shirt. Hungrily feasting his eyes on the revealed masculinity, Harry's next move came unexpected to Draco. Straddling the other boy, Harry increased the tempo, and absorbed and entwined in each other, caresses became more intimate as arousal heightened.

>>>Later on<<<

"Oh, god, Draco, I give up! You win. Unc-mmm, ah, stop it..."

"Never."

Moaning in pleasured surrender, Harry sat up slightly, elbows supporting himself. Looking up from their activity, Draco smiled. Hair more tousled than ever, little clothing he wore in violent disarray, the Gryffindor's skin shined with sweat, and his gaze sparkled brighter than ever in the loss of his trademark glasses. Running his tongue slyly alongside Harry's navel, Draco petted the other boy, a soft smile lighting his features.

"We almost did it this time, Harry. Got further than Valentine's Day last year, at least. Would you be ready for it by Christmas, Harry?"

"Ready for what? Mmm, Draco, str-stroke harder."

"Ready to lose your virginity to the most powerful wizard in the world--other than Voldemort, I mean."

"Power has nothing to do with your sexiness, Draco. And besides, no matter how powerful you are, I can easily seduce you whenever I want. As it is though, it's not Christmas yet, and I don't mind giving you the control back--I got my share."

Laughing softly, Draco languidly draped himself over Harry, wondering when they would truly shag, and if Harry would take the role of Boss again. Until then though, he was allowed to be dominant, for the most part. Someday...when the situation was serious enough, he knew the Gryffindor would help him make a serious decision, where he wouldn't know where to turn next and how to be in control.