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Into the Crucible	By : vivlyon Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1551 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Into the Crucible
- 1
The owl sailed down and deposited its burden haphazardly on Draco's plate, which he had luckily just cleaned. Or unluckily. His stomach churned at what he knew to be the contents of this letter. Glancing around the table, he saw that nobody was paying any attention. Pansy was wolfing down another pastry- she's really packing it on these days, he thought absently. Blaise was holding forth on "the Italian Riviera," impressing some lame fourth years Draco wouldn't have given the time of day.

Crabbe and Goyle, of course, hadn't even bothered to come down to breakfast. They were up in the room. Recovering.

Draco's gut tightened painfully as his fingers slid over the paper. He was having a hard time opening the seal on the parchment. Drawing out his last moments of innocence, perhaps.

Who was he kidding? He grimaced slightly. He hadn't been innocent in a long time. His father had seen to that.

His father.

His mind suddenly blank, he let his hands go on auto-pilot, tearing off the seal and folding open the letter. He stared at it awhile, unwilling to comprehend what it said.
* * *
Draco stared at himself in the mirror. No one was going to be in this bathroom for awhile. He'd skipped Transfigurations again, giving himself the excuse that he was never going to be good at it so the class was a waste of time. His father had bigger fish for him to fry than achieving top marks, anyway.

Anyway.

He ran his hands over his firm torso, feeling the smooth muscle that sheathed his ribs and hip bones. His fingers caught up his robes, and he spread them apart to give himself access to his trouser placket. He stared at the mirror.

Once his hands had dealt with the buttons, he could see the head of his erect penis in the vee of the fabric. He teased just the tip with one finger, spreading the small amount of precome he found there. A small breath escaped him, and he pushed his pants the rest of the way down, his prick bouncing as it was released from its confines.

His gaze flicked over his body, over his fingers circling his cock loosely, finally resting on the eyes in the reflection.

He wouldn't admit to himself who he was thinking of, who he was imagining getting off on watching Draco get himself off. But when he came, he said the name involuntarily, and knew he was fucked.
* * *

He had gone to Snape, barely holding himself together. Snape searched his mind, then gave him a piece of paper and told him to memorize what he'd seen on it. He Apparated both of them to a filthy street in Muggle London. To Draco's dismay, Snape had immediately Apparated away, leaving him staring uncomprehendingly at a row of houses, all the same.

His mind ran over the words that had been written on the paper. Suddenly, a huge, mouldering old stone row house squeezed into existence in front of him. He knew what was coming, and he was trembling.

Potter had answered the door.
* * *
He had never wanted it to happen this way. He'd rehearsed this a million, a hundred million times, sometimes in the mirror, sometimes under his breath while working on a potion, sometimes while touching himself, sometimes in a letter. It was always a little different, but it had never been like this. Pitiful. Out of control. If he'd been crying in his rehearsals, the tears has slid down his face while he stoically refused to acknowledge them. His voice hadn't cracked, he had never sounded so self-pitying, never so desperate.

Crying was bad enough. But crying was one thing; sobbing another entirely. His hacking sobs shuddered through his body, making his stomach ache with tension and his head pound and he couldn't get it all out. It felt like it would rage through him forever.

Except that it had finally petered out, and now he felt himself kneeling, head bowed, face hidden by his hair, and he was paralyzed. He couldn't move, could not raise his head to see Potter staring in horror at this disgusting creature on his knees. He had thought his life was hard before. Now he had lost everything, even the ability to pretend he had pride. His weakness was exposed. He wished himself dead, right there, his eyes closed against the light by which Potter could see his shame.

He could hear Potter's breathing and felt his own breath coagulate in his chest. Footsteps. Potter was crouching down beside him. He needed to run. But he couldn't make himself move, even when he felt a tentative hand on his shoulder, an arm around his back. Potter was trying to hug him, his breath soft and warm near Draco's ear. He could smell Potter's breath. It was a little stale but so human, so ... so close. His heart began to pound.
* * *
Draco stared out the window at the trees lit by street lamps. Their interlacing branches made a beautiful lattice in which he kept trying to find a pattern, despite knowing that there wasn't one to be found. It gave his eyes something to do while the facts of his new life trickled through his consciousness. His parents were dead. He was the last Malfoy. A huge gulf opened up inside him- an ache for something familiar. But the only familiar thing in this house was Potter, and he was dangerous territory and hardly comforting at any rate.

He could feel the ache begin to burn his eyes. He pressed on the lids with both hands, grimacing. This would all be over, one way or another, sooner or later. The thing to do was to keep himself under control. If he couldn't be of help, he could at least stay out of the way and out of disgrace.

It was just taking so goddamned long.

He sighed, and his heavy gaze was drawn downwards, to the sidewalk below. People walked back and forth - mostly Muggles, and he found himself envying them. They had lives. Normal lives. Even if without magic and therefore unfathomable to him, they had purpose and meaning and friends and a future. He had nothing. All his pureblood pride was a joke, his faith in his father and his family a joke, the Dark Lord the biggest joke of them all.

He knew what he wanted from Potter, and he knew how to get it. He just didn't want to get it that way. Through pity. Through need. He wanted to have something that Potter wanted, he wanted to have the power, to have the power to give and bestow and grant. He didn't want to be given anything. To be given to was to admit weakness.

Though he was weak, and Potter knew it. But he'd never have the satisfaction of seeing it again.

* * *

Draco had a fantasy. It wasn't one he'd ever admitted having. When it came to him at unplanned times- ie: times when he wasn't alone and stroking his cock with intent- he emotionlessly pushed it aside until it could take center stage. He didn't dwell on it.

This was the fantasy.

I'm sitting in a chair. Potter is there. My legs are spread, I'm naked. My fist is wrapped around my cock. He's watching me. I think he's tied up. No, he's not, but he's too shocked to move. My hand moving up and down on my cock hypnotizes him, and i'm looking straight into his eyes. He's flushed and breathing heavy, in fight or flight mode, but unable to do either. I throw my head back and moan, and return my gaze directly to him, challenging. Then I glance down at my cock and back up at him, holding it out, the shiny head pointing straight at him. "Want a taste?"

His mind disengages, leaving his body free to crawl towards me. He doesn't make a sound, doesn't change his facial expression, just opens his mouth and closes his eyes and licks the head of my cock. He's hesitant at first, but is soon lapping at it like it contains the elixir of life. My hips rise off the chair and it's all I can do to not fuck his mouth. He groans and takes as much as he can down his throat.

* * *

He just couldn't help it. Potter actually seemed to like him. Sure, he didn't usually seek Draco out or anything. But when Draco would just happen to be wandering by the library as Harry was researching something, he would always look up and, on seeing Draco, smile and say something welcoming. He would push back from his seat, drawing Draco into the room with some conversational gambit or other.

They'd talk about nothing, and Harry would laugh at every joke Draco made, even when they weren't that funny. It made him feel like his blood was turning to warm honey in his veins. It made him feel like... basically, like he'd never felt before. He was just being himself, and Potter liked it. Him. Potter liked him.

Or he seemed to. Maybe it was just because no one else was around, except that old werewolf, who was gone as often as not. Even when he was around, he was wan and faded and had little to give to Harry. And Ron and Hermione were back at Hogwarts, that ersatz nursery. And his godfather was dead.

That was it, then. Draco was just the only person around for Harry to talk to, and Harry was nothing if not a pally Gryffindor. He didn't actually care about Draco. Actually, given that he was Potter, he probably did care. But only in an impersonal, saving-people-complex way.

The thought turned Draco's insides to lead. Amazing, the alchemy of human emotions, he thought dimly. Now who will turn the lead to gold? He frowned at his melodramatic mind.

Oh, stop it. �Idiot boy.� Snape was right- you're a fool, and a coward, and... your father was right too. No one will ever love you, because you have no power. Not over them, not even over yourself.
* * *
�Hey, Draco?�

Draco looked up from the book he was reading. Harry was staring at him, hopefully.

�Yeah, what is it?�

�Just wondered what you were doing.� He moved hesitantly into the room, his hands shoved down in his pockets.

�What does it look like, four-eyes?� Draco asked wearily.

Instead of taking offense, Harry smiled. �Well, my vision's not too sharp, but it looks like you're reading.� He squinted exaggeratedly at the book Draco was holding, as if trying to make out what it was.

�Right in one, Potter.� There was a slightly awkward pause.

�I'd like it if you called me Harry." There was another awkward pause, and then Potter said, gently but pointedly, "Draco.�

Draco swallowed. This could be good, or this could be bad. It wouldn't do to let Potter think he was tame, that he was going to cozy up and play nice just because Harry wanted to use his first name.

He wanted Potter to want him for who he was, maybe in spite of who he was. On the other hand, being on a first name basis was a good start for the kind of intimacy Draco was planning to draw Harry in to. It might give him a false sense of security. Of safety.

�Okay, Harry.� He smiled up at the black-haired boy. Harry beamed at him.

Oh yes, he'd given Potter something. It was a start.
* * *

Draco was shaving in the bathroom, a ritual he came close to enjoying even in his dysphoric state. He'd gotten Kreacher to polish an old straight razor he'd found, so he didn't have to use Potter's ridiculous Muggle disposable.

He leaned away from the mirror, running his fingers over his smooth cheeks appreciatively, assessing his appearance.

The door burst open, and Potter stood there, looking surprised. Looking shocked, more accurately. Draco turned to him and was about to ask if he minded not interrupting the only thing that Draco was going to enjoy that day when he noticed Potter's eyes drifting over his naked torso. And further down. He subtly adjusted his posture and felt a teasing smirk begin to curl his lip. "Do you need something?"

A blush stained Potter's cheeks as he stammered a denial, still staring at Draco's chest. He hastily shut the door.

Maybe it wouldn't take pity, after all. Maybe less insipid motivations could be brought into play. Draco felt like smiling, for the first time in months.
* * *
He stood at Potter's door, trying to control his breathing so that he could hear what Potter was doing on the other side. He heard rustling sounds, the sound of something being hurled to floor. A book or magazine. A muffled "goddamn it." Silence. More rustling, the sounds of clothes being removed. Draco reflected that he really had little idea what Potter's body looked like under his clothes, though he knew it looked moderately attractive in Quidditch gear. And he'd caught the bare suggestion of the curve of his arse the other day, as he reached for something on a high shelf in the kitchen.

A creaking sound signaled that Potter had gotten into the bed. Of course, Draco had no way of knowing when or even whether he'd engage in self-abuse. For all he knew, Potter preferred to do it in the shower, or in the morning, or not at all. But he waited, all the same, his ears straining for the slightest sound.

And he heard it. Or he thought he did- possibly his overeager libido was playing tricks on him.

A sigh, with a little bit of substance to it- halfway between a breath and moan.

There. If he placed his ear right at the seam where the door met the jamb, he could just make out faint slapping noises. Draco felt a jolt in his stomach that quickly transmuted into a warmth in his crotch.

He wondered who, or what, Harry was thinking of.
* * *

Potter had been having a rough time of it, these past few weeks. There were a couple of tantrums during or after Order meetings that Draco couldn't help but overhear. Last week, Potter had come home from a few days �out� looking pale and pissed-off and exhausted. The little flame inside him didn't seem to have been extinguished, but it was flickering.

Draco arranged to be in the kitchen at the same time as Harry, late at night after another failed raid on a Death Eater house. Harry shouldered his way into the kitchen, sullen and blank. Draco was sitting on the counter, leaning back on his hands.

�How's it hanging, Harry?� he said, managing to imply that they were partners in adversity.

�Never better, Draco. You enjoying your incarceration as much as I'm enjoying these useless fucking raids?� Harry slumped against the edge of the table.

Draco shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. Harry'd just given him the perfect excuse for his next move.

�I have some Firewhisky in my room, if you want to take the edge off some teenage angst.�

Harry eyed him like he was deciding whether or not to inquire where the Firewhisky had come from. He visibly chose not to, shrugged as carelessly as Draco and said, �Why not?� as though getting drunk with a former enemy was an everyday occurrence. Then he ruined his insouciance with a huge grin.
* * *
�So, like I said- how're you enjoying the Noble and Ancient House of Black? Up to your usual standards?�

Draco appreciated that Harry was going for lighthearted, but he decided to take things in a different direction.

�It's a damn sight better than groveling at some madman's feet. So� thanks for that.� He managed to sound genuinely thankful and realistically grudging at the same time. Good. He peered up through his lashes at Potter.

Potter blushed and took another swig of his drink. �You're welcome. It was the least I could do.�

�No, the least you could do would have been to leave me on your doorstep.� He didn't add �sobbing my heart out.� He figured the allusion to the weakness was enough.

�You know, I'd always hoped you would - � Potter broke off, clearly not knowing how to phrase it.

�Come around?� Draco suggested, with a soft chuckle.

Potter smiled. �Yeah. I know it's not because you - um�� Turned good. Decided you were wrong. The uncompleted thought was almost audible to Draco.

�No, it's okay. You're right, it's not because I've suddenly decided that my father's ideas about purity are wrong. But the Dark Lord is � well, you've met him. I would be a fool to follow that�" Draco shuddered, half involuntarily, half theatrically. "You know what? Let's not talk about him.�

�What do you want to talk about?�

�Girls?� Draco stretched out on the bed, allowing his shirt to ride up, exposing the slight ridge of muscle along his groin. Harry's eyes tracked the movement and then slid away.

�Not much to tell, there, I'm sorry to say.�

Draco lifted his drink to his mouth and took a sip. Licking his lips, he looked at Potter, willing him to continue.

�I kind of expected you to make a joke, there, Malfoy. Something about Cho, or Ginny, or my inability to dance.�

�I was just wondering if your trouble with girls was� similar to mine.�

Potter swallowed, shifting around on the bed. �What do you mean?�

�Just� maybe there's a reason things never work out for us. With girls.�

Harry looked at him, as though he wanted to say something more, but didn't know where to start.

�Like, what?�

�Oh, I don't know. Maybe we're both too devastatingly handsome, and they just don't know what to do with us.� He looked Harry up and down while he said this and watched him color slightly.

�I'm sure that's it, Draco,� Harry said, chuckling uncomfortably. �Well, maybe for you it is. I'm not� I'm ��

�You're not bad, Potter.�

Harry looked briefly pleased, but mostly confused, which abruptly turned to bitterness. �No, I'm not bad. I'm all good. No evil in Harry Potter, no sir. Did they tell you I'm going to save the world?�

�Yes. Did they tell you how you're supposed to do it?�

�Not really, no.�

�Then fuck them. Just fuck 'em. Let them figure it out. I'm tired of feeling used, and I bet you are, too." Draco gave Harry an appraising look. "You and I should run off somewhere, � he said, smiling wistfully.

Harry knew he was joking, but looked interested all the same. �Any ideas?�

�How about France? The Malfoys� well, me, I guess� I have a summer home there.�

�You'd take me to France?�

�Avec plaisir, mon petit chou.�

�What did that mean?�

�With pleasure, my little cabbage.�

Harry threw a pillow at his head.

�Who are you calling a cabbage?� he said, snickering.

Draco picked up the pillow and swung it at Harry's chest, following through with his body and pressing him against the bed. �You,� he said. �It's a term of endearment.� He wasn't laughing, and Harry stopped laughing. His face was too close to Harry's for too long to pass as mere horsing around, his eyes boring into green irises, noting the flush on Harry's cheeks, the softness of his lips. He saw Harry searching his face, then jolt upwards and away from underneath him.

�I think I should go back to my room,� he said nervously, climbing off the bed.

Draco adjusted himself, attempting to give the impression that Harry was overreacting, that the moment that had just passed between them was nothing to freak out about. He felt far more rattled than he would ever let on.

�Want the rest of your Firewhisky?� he asked, not looking at Harry.

�N- no thanks.� Harry was hanging about in the doorway, hand on the doorknob.

Draco picked up the glass Harry'd been drinking from and drank the remaining liquid down in one gulp, cutting his glance over to Harry as he swallowed. Harry blinked and said, �Goodnight.�

Gone like a shot, Draco thought, his lips twisting at the bad pun. His heart beat hard in his chest, and he more than half-wished Potter would have stayed. But all things in due time.

* * *

Draco didn't have to bribe Harry with booze the next time they hung out in a non-library setting. Harry actually asked him to come to his room to look at something. Why this something couldn't be brought out of Harry's room and into the kitchen or study was left unexplained. What this something was also went without explanation, because as soon as they got into the room, Harry tossed Draco a butterbeer. Maybe it was the butterbeer that Harry'd wanted to show him?

The beer was warm, but it still felt good going down Draco's throat. He began to feel lightheaded and full of possibilities.

�So, what are you going to do when it's all over?� Draco asked.

�What do you mean?�

�You going to be an Auror, or what?�

�I don't think so. I think I'll have had enough of chasing down the baddies. That is, if I even survive.�

It disturbed Draco to hear Potter talk as though he weren't invulnerable. He didn't want to think about that.

�Of course you'll survive, you're the Chosen One, or hadn't you heard?�

�Yeah, the one chosen to go out and find � Never mind. I can't talk about it.�

�What?�

�I can't talk about this, Malfoy. Let's just say I'm not doing all that reading for the hell of it.�

A long pause followed that statement.

�Look, something's been bothering me,� Draco began.

�Something's always bothering you; you're Malfoy. The very definition of 'high-maintenance.'� Harry was smiling at him, clearly trying to distract both of them from the topic at hand. But Draco had seen a way in, and he was going to take it.

�No, seriously. I mean � you just seem so alone. From what you've told me, no one's really helping you out with this. Do you even have a clue how you're supposed to defeat �� he trailed off, both not wanting to say the name and wanting Potter to know that the name bothered him.

Harry glanced over at him, then lowered his eyes to the bottle in his hand. �The Order is helping as much as they can, but � it's not enough. I don't think.� There was a long silence. �I don't know if I -" Potter broke off and it became clear that he was struggling to keep his voice from wavering.

Draco was elated. The balance was shifting - Potter was letting weakness show, he was practically crying in front of him! Mixed with the elation was a powerful urge to touch Harry, and without examining that urge too closely, Draco scooted closer to him and put his hand on his knee.

Harry's knee was very warm. It felt incongruously intimate, just touching him with no intent to harm or titillate. Without looking up, Harry covered Draco's hand with his own and squeezed lightly.

�Thanks, Draco. Wow,� he said, looking sideways at Draco through his lashes, voice thick with suppressed emotion. �Things have changed, for you to comfort me when I'm breaking down.� A rueful smile formed on Harry's lips.

Draco breath caught in his throat. He felt his eyes burning, dangerously close to watering. �Just wanted to. .. you know. Make you feel� not alone.� But they were; they both were, and no one could help them. He sat quietly with Harry's hand over his, while he unobtrusively got himself back in check.

Only, it wasn't working. The longer he kept his hand on Potter's knee, the longer he felt the palm of Potter's hand on top of his own, warm and slightly damp and slightly larger... This situation was spiraling out of Draco's control, out of his intention.

He looked back up at Harry and saw something in his eyes that gave him quite a different intimate sensation. Anxious to turn this to the merely physical realm, to stop the tumult of thought and feeling and replace it with familiar lust, Draco leaned into Harry, intermingling their breath. �I -�

But he didn't get to finish, because Snape's voice was calling for Harry, and Snape's voice was the world's most effective mood-killer. Draco startled and pulled his hand away, noticing that Harry hung on to it for a moment before releasing it. They both stood, awkward and confused. Draco attempted to mask his disorientation by speaking first.

�I guess you'd better go down, then.� It was surprisingly hard to look at Potter full-on, but he forced himself to do it.

Harry looked at him, eyes burning with intensity and promise. �Yeah. See you later.�

He left, and once the door was closed, Draco felt himself closer to crying than he'd been� well, since he'd broken down in front of Potter. What was going on with him? Why couldn't he just seduce Harry and have done with it, exert some fucking control over his environment for once without getting all messed up over consequences and emotions and bullshit that his father wouldn't have tolerated for an instant?

The thought of his father had a welcome chilling effect on Draco's pity party. He took a deep breath and was about to lay on the bed when he remembered he was in Potter's room. Feeling strangely sheepish about being there when Harry wasn't, he went back to his own.
* * *

Lupin looked over at him, and while Draco couldn't name the expression on his face, it made him extremely uneasy.

"Harry's been spending a lot of time looking at you, recently. What do you think is the cause of that?"

"I wouldn't have the slightest idea." He knows, he thought.

"Do you think he still suspects your loyalty?"

"If he did, would it be so unusual?" Draco replied bitterly. He was well aware that Harry's feelings about him were severely conflicted. He knew what lay on either side of the conflict. Secretly, though, he was relieved that Lupin wasn't sniffing around about other possible reasons for Harry to stare at Draco.

"Yes, but once Harry's made up his mind to trust someone, he doesn't usually change his mind without good reason."

"What makes you think he trusts me?" Hope flared in his chest, though he wouldn't acknowledge it.

"Have you been to his room?"

Draco just stared at him.

"I know you have, you don't have to answer. I've monitored the wards on his door for months. No one but him comes in or out. With one exception."

"We were just talking."

"I know that, too. Draco..."

Draco flinched at Lupin's casual use of his given name. He didn't like where he thought this was going. Lupin did know why Harry stared, and he wasn't happy about it. Draco was about to be warned off. Don't touch the Golden Boy. You're not good enough. You're not worthy to breathe the same air. It didn't help that Draco agreed.

"Just say it."

"Okay." Lupin paused. Draco thought he might have to throw something at him, he was so frustrated and hurt.

"Well, it's just..."

Just spit it out, Draco thought.

"Harry's... new to all this."

"New to all what?"

"He's... never. It's not really my place to say this, but. Be careful. He's never had ... anyone before."

"Had...?" Draco felt like he was going to die of shame and embarrassment. He wondered if he could just walk out of the room right now and spare them both. Some perverse curiousity kept him there, though.

"Don't be a child, Draco. Harry's a virgin." Lupin looked mildly appalled at having to be so blunt, but simultaneously convinced that he'd only done what he'd had to do, for Harry's well-being. Draco thought he might puke.

How dare this ... person, he thought, using the term loosely, reveal something that probably haunted Potter day in and day out? Draco knew that he was a virgin, and why. It's not easy being a gay wizard. There weren't that many of them. He should know. The fact that Draco was glad that Harry was gay, did not stop him from having a tremendous amount of pity for him. This shit was personal, damn it. Lupin didn't know anything for sure, and here he was, assuming, offering up secrets... it was just inexcusable.

"It's not like that, you (meddling old werewolf)... Lupin. Don't worry about Precious Potter. He's safe with me."

Except Draco knew he wasn't. And that he himself was not safe with Potter. Not by a long shot.
* * *
Draco couldn't sleep. He'd make a critical error somewhere, he just wasn't sure where. Vague plans to assert himself, to make Potter surrender first, to get Potter to need him went round and round in his mind, and it was driving him crazy. He dimly remembered that his house-elves had brought him warm milk when he'd had trouble sleeping as a child. He doubted it would work, but it would pass the time. He was getting sweaty in his bed with the effort to sleep and his bones felt restless.

He snuck downstairs without too much care about the noise he made - it wasn't like he was going to get in trouble for being out past curfew in this house.

As he neared the kitchen, he saw flickering light from under the kitchen door. His heart leaped when he realized that it was mostly likely Potter in the kitchen, making his own midnight snack.

He quietly entered the room and said �It's just me.� Potter was facing away from him, looking in the cooling cabinet. His back stiffened slightly and his whole body came to attention at the sound of Draco's voice. Draco felt a corresponding awareness in his own body and knew he wouldn't be able to get to sleep again tonight, no matter what happened next.

Potter turned around and only then did Draco realize he was only wearing the bottoms to a old, faded pair of pajamas. His chest was more heavily muscled than Draco's; smooth, flat planes that Draco's hands itched to explore. �Want some milk and biscuits?� Potter asked, voice subdued.

�Sure, that'd be nice. Trouble sleeping?�

�I haven't even tried yet. I've been reading about � let's just say I got to a good part in a book, and I'm starting to think� yeah, it's good. I think I found something good.�

�No points for eloquence, Harry,� Draco chuckled. �But that's- that's really great. I'll make the milk if you'll get it for me.�

�Sure. I already got the pan out.�

Draco went to the stove and had just turned on the burner when Harry returned with the milk. He stood closer than strictly necessary as he handed it to Draco, and Draco could smell him, musk and male and indescribably Harry. All his blood flowed south and he suddenly felt lightheaded.

He took the milk and poured it into the pot. Harry backed off a bit, leaning against the counter and watching Draco stir the milk. Draco looked over at him, and Harry smiled. �I think this could be really good,� he said.

Draco forgot for a moment what he could be talking about. Oh right, the thing. In the book. His heart was racing, he'd thought that perhaps Harry was talking about � whatever was happening. With them. He smiled and nodded, avoiding Harry's eyes. A few moments passed.

�I think the milk's done,� Draco said. �Want to get the biscuits?�

"Yeah, I think they're in this cupboard."

Harry reached up to the second shelf of a cabinet across the room, his muscles sliding and shifting under his skin as he searched for the biscuits. The waistband of his pajama bottoms had caught on the countertop, tugging them down as Harry reached up. Draco's cock was at full attention, making him reckless and impulsive.

Harry was reaching for the wrong shelf - Draco should know, as biscuits were the main staple of his diet. He went over to help Harry, standing directly behind him, and murmured "No, they're up here." He pressed himself all along Harry's back, his erection firmly up against Harry's arse and reached to shelf above the one Harry'd been searching.

Draco was surprised when he actually located the biscuits, because his entire focus was on the feel of Harry's body against his. His prick against Harry's arse felt almost supernaturally good, The world tilted and spun as he tried to memorize the sensation.

Harry froze, his breath stilling. Suddenly, embarrassment flooded Draco. Had he misinterpreted Harry's reactions completely? Was Harry just standing there, horrified at his perverted behavior?

Draco pulled the biscuits down and stepped away, feeling hot all over, his cock throbbing. He tried to keep his voice as level and casual as possible. "I think I'll just have the milk, actually. See you in the morning. Sleep well."

Harry let out a breath, long and slow. "Thanks for showing me where the biscuits were, Draco," he said quietly.
* * *

"Hey, Draco!" Harry looked up from his book as Draco passed by the open door of library.

"Um, yeah?" Draco paused reluctantly in the doorway, not quite looking in Harry's direction.

"I just thought- well, if you're busy- " Harry looked slightly confused by Draco's cool demeanor.

"I am, actually. If you don't mind." Draco continued his path, feeling dizzy and disoriented. His feet automatically wanted to retrace his steps, to walk back in that room as he always did, to prop themselves up on the table in front of Potter so he would make some joke about the way Draco's feet smelled. His feet wanted to, most of the rest of him wanted to, but he was determined that his head was going to be the master of him, goddamn it, even if it killed him. Or forced him to walk into a wall, because he was too busy mastering himself to notice where he was going.

"Ow!" he said softly as he hit the ground. The noise of his fall must have reached Potter, because he came out of the library.

"Draco! Are you alright?"

Damn it, the git was down on his knees next to Draco, trying to help him up. Getting his hair in Draco's face, smelling like sweat and book bindings and musk. Making his head reel. Draco shook him off and backed away as he stood up.

"I'm fine." He must have sounded colder than he intended, because Potter's expression switched abruptly from concern to hurt.

"Okay. I'll just leave you alone then. Sorry for caring." And he stalked back to the library, leaving Draco feeling bereft and frustrated.

Draco watched him storm off, running his hand roughly through his hair in that fashion that meant he was nearly at his wit's end. Despite a flash of desire to follow Potter back into the library and confront him, he turned around and went back to his own room.

* * *

"Draco." The sound of Harry calling his name through the door was accompanied by a soft, reluctant knock.

"What do you want, Potter?" Draco said nastily, not bothering to modulate his tone the way he'd been doing since he got the Grimmauld Place.

Silence. He thought he heard Harry mutter "Potter" resignedly, but that could have been his own brain echoing the cold sound of that word as it left his mouth.

"Malfoy. Draco. I have something to say."

"Go away."

"I need you to listen to me."

"I need you to listen to me. Go away."
* * *
This was all going wrong. Draco had wanted to be in control of this, but every time he gave Potter something, Potter gave him something in return, trust and concern and understanding and friendship. Things that made his chest ache and his cock ache. He feared that, unless he changed his behavior drastically, he would just fall in deeper and deeper to the point where he'd never get out on his own. He'd have to rely on Potter just to be able to breathe, to move.

Potter was supposed to be hanging on him, not the other way around.

Every time he closed his eyes he could see Potter's eyes, feel Potter's hands, hear Potter saying his name, his first name.

He sometimes wondered if he'd have been safer going back to the Dark Lord. At least his heart and mind would have been his own.
* * *
Harry burst into his room.

�I have to talk to you.�

�Why?� Draco sneered, hating the way his heart thumped in his chest.

�You know, you're right. I don't have to talk. There are other things I'd much rather do.� Harry began pulling his t-shirt off and unbuttoning his jeans.

�What� what are you-� Draco stood up, panicked. What the hell was Harry doing?

�Shut up. You've been leading up to this for weeks. Don't fucking tell me you haven't been trying to get me to want you. Well, you win. I want you. Now.�

�What if I don't want you?�

�Bullshit.� Harry, now wearing only his pants, crossed the room in two strides and pushed Draco down so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Then Harry straddled him, his arms over Draco's shoulders, his mouth near Draco's ear. His breath was moist and hot.

�Tell me you don't want this.� His voice quavered, belying his bold actions. How like him, Draco thought- to be so afraid of something and to do it anyway. To be vulnerable, to offer himself up for rejection, to risk failure. Pain and pity and desire shot through Draco in a drugging wave- he found that his hands were clutching Harry's sides and his mouth was on his neck.

�I - gods, Harry� � He was being sucked down into this, he wasn't strong enough to resist. It felt like every particle of his body was magnetically drawn to Harry's opposite charge. Harry shifted on his lap and Draco glanced down to see his hard prick outlined in his pale blue pants. Draco groaned and his hands grabbed at Harry's arse, feeling the material slide over firm, smooth buttocks.

Harry's lips assaulted his mouth, their tongues met, and he was leaning backwards, falling to the bed and no one was going to walk in to save him.

His body told him that this was salvation. And if it weren't salvation, even if it were actually damnation, he hadn't the will to stop.

If he was damned, he may as well enjoy it.

He lay back and let Harry climb further on top of him, keeping his hands on Harry's arse and urging them both back onto the bed. Harry's knees were planted to either side of Draco's hips, and he continued to kiss Draco sloppily. Tongues wrapped around each other, saliva smeared over chins, hot breath intermingled between the two boys as they ground their crotches together.

Too much clothing separated them, Draco suddenly realized, and he gently pushed Harry up away from him to start undoing his trousers. Harry stilled his hands and replaced them with his own, undoing the buttons one by one, slowly, as if savoring the slow reveal. Draco wore nothing underneath, and he soon felt a current of air on the exposed head of his cock. Harry drew in a breath and reverently touched it, eliciting a guttural sigh from Draco.

Their eyes met, and Harry frantically pushed Draco's trousers the rest of the way down. He rolled off of Draco to deal with his own pants, then rolled back on top of him to press their cocks together with one hand, the other hand supporting his weight as he leaned down for another needy kiss.

�God, I've wanted this,� he sighed, �so much. You are so hot, Draco, you're so beautiful�� he trailed off as Draco brought his own hand to bear on their cocks, and began humping Draco's hand helplessly. �So beautiful �ah� feels so��

Draco wanted to tell Potter to shut up. The nakedness of his words was embarrassing. But he didn't, because those words salved something deep inside of him, and he felt delirious with relief at hearing them.

He redoubled his efforts with Potter's cock, bringing all his years of experience into play, and clearly Harry needed more skill with his own because he was practically strangling Draco's prick, but it didn't matter. Everything felt fantastic. It was golden and perfect for all that it took place in a grim, dusty bedroom in a grim, dusty house between two lonely, scared boys.

Draco, to his shame, came first, all over Harry's cock and hands, but that seemed to excite Harry beyond measure, as he immediately exploded all over Draco's belly and shirt. He collapsed onto Draco's chest and fell to the side, on his back, breathing hard. Draco lay next to him, mind already trying to put this into his plan, into perspective. It was vital that he reign in the emotions stirred by Harry's vulnerability and beauty, he couldn't just surrender like that.

�Draco?�

�Mm?�

�You're not going to be weird about this, are you?�

Draco froze. He knew what those words meant. He'd used them himself. In a flash, he recalled exactly what Harry had said and what he hadn't said. He had said Draco was beautiful, that much was true. He had said he wanted Draco, and that Draco's attempt to seduce him had been successful. Clearly. What he hadn't said was that he had any particular feelings for Draco, one way or the other. And now� and now he apparently had the impression that he was going to have to deal with emotional drama from Draco. Nausea pressed on Draco's stomach.

�What do you mean, 'weird'? I'm not going to start wanting to hold your hand or anything, Potter, don't worry about that. It was a bit of fun, just so you know we're on the same page.�

�I don't know if we are on the same page.� Insultingly enough, there was doubt in Harry's voice.

�Yes, we bloody well are! We like each other, okay, we have hormones, okay, but we're not going to be dating or anything.�

�I never said we'd be dating�� Harry sounded unhappy and indignant.

�Neither did I!� Holy shit, this situation was spiraling out of control so very fast. He realized he had to get Harry out of his room. �Look, I was trying to get some sleep when you came in here. I'm � could you please just go?�

Harry gaped at him. �So that's it then? Right. Fine. See you around, Malfoy.� Draco was pretty sure he was imagining the impending tears in Harry's voice. Harry'd just rejected him, not vice versa. So Draco had been rude, so what? He was always rude. Harry should be used to it by now.

Harry hurriedly put his clothes back on with his back turned to the bed. Draco couldn't help watching him as he did so- such a beautiful body, strong and sleek and compact. He groaned internally. This was the worst possible outcome. He was the biggest idiot to walk the earth.

Harry slammed the door and Draco curled up on the bed, head buried under his arm. He didn't move again for a long time.

* * *

Draco didn't see him the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. He wasn't sure who was avoiding who, but it worked out well. He was starting to forget the burning feel of Harry's hands on his skin, the way it sounded when Harry called him beautiful, the way Harry looked as he came� it was all fading away, and Draco could almost summon the will to eat.

On the third day, he went to the kitchen to rummage for something that wouldn't make him feel sick. He heard the door open and knew it was Potter- not only had Snape and the werewolf been incommunicado recently, but Draco's whole body was attuned to Harry's presence, an awareness on a cellular level.

Harry stopped in the doorway, obviously registering Draco's presence. Draco kept his back to the door, deliberately continuing to butter his bread, self-conscious of every last movement. Harry resumed his path to the cooling cabinet, grabbing something out of it violently and slamming the door. He started walking towards the door again, stopped. Draco heard an intake of air, a pause, and then a frustrated exhalation. He turned, in spite of himself. He wanted to know what Harry had been about to say.

Their eyes met, and Draco turned molten inside. There were no other words for it. He was transformed, burned clean and rendered as a new being. All his questions, all his doubts - gone.

Before he could formulate a coherent sentence, Harry turned and left.
* * *

This time, Draco burst into Harry's room, though "crept" would have been a more accurate description of his entry. He did so when he knew Harry would be asleep; he needed Harry to be as vulnerable as possible.

Harry lay there, glasses off, half-covered by blankets. He was shirtless again, and Draco allowed himself to stare, gathering as much detail as he could about the particulars of Harry's body. His chest rose and fell lightly and his limbs were relaxed, but his face looked troubled, as though his dreams were the kind that plagued Draco. He knew those all too well.

Part of him wanted to strip naked and climb under the covers, take Harry in his mouth and bring him off like that. But as much as he wanted it, it suddenly seemed crass, beside the point. The point was - Draco didn't want to put it into words, but he knew what it was; what it had been all along.

He climbed onto the bed and lay down on top of the covers, curling awkwardly around Harry. He was fully, painfully aware that he didn't know how Harry would respond to this. He was also aware that there was strength in the risk. Even if it didn't pan out, Harry would know that Draco had it in him, the strength of the feeling - and the strength to bare it.

Harry stirred and moved closer but remained asleep. Soon, Draco fell asleep as well.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Harry whispered. Draco's eyes flew open and he realized that it must be in the early hours of the morning. He was still on top of the covers, nearer still to Harry than he had been when he'd fallen asleep, and Harry's face was very close to his.

"I'm..." but no words would leave his lips. Instead, he pressed them lightly to Harry's and pulled away, hoping that this conveyed the message as well as any grand declaration. A moment passed and he opened his mouth, to say he knew not what.

"Shh. You don't have to say anything. I'm glad you're here," Harry said as he reached out a hand and tentatively stroked Draco's hair where it fell across his neck. "Get under the covers with me."

Draco took off his shirt and complied, feeling for the first time that he'd found sanctuary.
* * *

As they lay there, legs entwined and on the verge of sleep, Draco realized that for all his careful machinations, he'd merely escaped from one form of bondage to another. He smiled, surprised by his own lack of fear at the thought. Harry must have felt the smile against his cheek, because he asked huskily "What's so funny?"

"Torn between two of the most powerful wizards alive," he said wryly, "it's like I never even had a chance."

"But you had a choice, and you made it," Harry said after moment. "There's power in that."

Draco smiled again. "It wasn't that hard a choice to make," he lied.
Fin
A/N: the title of this story and some of the passages in it were inspired by a beautiful song by the Shins, Red Rabbits, on their new album.
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Into the Crucible