Thunderstorms

Cool breeze and autumn leaves.

The sky outside was turning steadily darker. There would be no spectacular sunset today, no vivid oranges and burnt reds. No hues of bronze and ribbons of lavender. Only gray. The night will be clouded over. A storm is brewing.

He could feel it. He could, of course, see it, simply by looking out of the window, but he could also feel it. Thunderstorms touched something deep inside him, and he would always know when they were approaching. He wasn't scared of them, per se, but their intensity shocked him. It rocked him to his core and made him lose his calm, something that rarely ever happened. There were only two things that made Draco Malfoy drop his dispassionate facade. One was Harry Potter. The other was thunderstorms.

As a small child, he had stayed awake all night, watching, listening, being awed by the ferocity and power of it all. He had never loved nature much, but thunderstorms had earned his respect. To him, the danger they radiated was beautiful.

And still, there was something about them that more than fascinated him. As he grew older, he had stopped watching, had only listened, lying in his bed at school, not wanting to get up and walk past the other beds to the window. He had been scared of what he would see. At home, he had been alone in his room, but once, his mother had come in, He wasn't quite sure how or why, she had later said she could feel that he needed her.

In the moment she had walked through the door, a bolt of lightening had shot through the sky, illuminating her face, distorting it. He had screamed.

She had stayed with him all night, holding him, comforting him, but his his belief that the light of thunderstorms revealed what other light failed to show had not faded. Such sheer energy had the power to x-ray what nothing else could penetrate.

He did not want to see his school-mates illuminated by this harsh light, this light that would not spare anyone.

~*~

The boy winced as another zig-zagged bolt of raw energy bisected the infinite black of the sky outside his window.

"Sshh."

He felt the comforting weight of a hands on his back, massaging his shoulders, easing the tension. Little by little he calmed down again. The hands moved forward and down, down his chest, exploring, investigating, calming. He leant back into the body behind him.

But he would not look.

The sky was dark, and the rain that drummed on the pavement outside could only be seen in the halo of the street-lights and by the reflection if the moon in the fat drops that hit the window. They looked like mercury, black against the glass but illuminated around the edges. The window appeared to be in constant movement due to the ever-shifting beads and rivulets that dominated its surface.

A crack of thunder. A bolt of lightening.

He closed his eyes. He did not want to look at the boy behind him, did not want him to be exposed to the harsh light that revealed everybody's truth.

"Draco."

He leaned farther back, drawing comfort from the warmth of the boy behind him, and at the same time, settling into a position from which he was unable to look into his face.

"Draco."

"Mh. Sshh. Just hold me."

"I want you to look at me."

"No." He closed his eyes. "I don't want to."

"Trust me?" There was pleading in his voice. Draco knew what it meant to him.

Trust is the lock is the key.

He had been begging Draco to look at him in the light of a thunderstorm ever since Draco had admitted to his fear of it. Well, not fear. Reverence. But he didn't want to overcome it. Was nothing sacred anymore?

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

"Do you trust me?"

Yes. No. I don't know. I trust you, but in the way you would like.

"Draco, please. For me?"

A crack of thunder.

Of course. For you, anything. I gave up my family for you. Gave up the respect my name commands. I would walk through fire for you. But do I dare overcome this reverence? Do I dare expose you to the harshness of truth? Can I handle the truth?

A bolt of lightning.

"The next one? Please."

Cool fingers under his chin, tilting his head up and around. He closed his eyes. Warm lips met his and he wanted to drown in the feeling of security that wrapped itself around him like a blanket. He was safe here. Wasn't here. Yes dear, the next one.

He savoured the tongue exploring his mouth, the taste of saliva that was not his, the warmth of the arms wrapped around him, protecting him. Protecting him from the world.

A crack of thunder.

It was far too soon. He kept his eyes closed even as the other boy drew away from him, his mouth became cold and his tongue went numb.

"Draco."

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Looked into the face only inched from his, into the black eyes. They weren't black normally, but they were now, black as the sky outside. Draco wasn't sure if it was only due to lack of light. He didn't want this. This was worse than Veritaserum. Evil would be revealed, written into features like it had been that time his mother had walked into his room in the middle of the night.

A bolt of lightning.

And for a split-second everything looked like daylight, the boy illuminated, suddenly normal but so different. His skin was white, and his eyes blue-grey. That was wrong, his eyes were supposed to be green. Draco couldn't see his hair. It was lost in the shadows. But his face. It was so white it was almost blue, his scar inked onto the pale parchment of his skin. A lightning shaped scar. Of course.

His face, tinged with the sheer intensity of the light it was bathed in, so distorted and yet so much the same. So strange and yet so wonderfully normal. So unlike his mother's face.

"You're beautiful."

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry. So sorry for doubting you be anything else but beautiful."

"I know. Draco?"

"Yes."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

But you knew that already, didn't you, Harry?