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Harry Potter and The Sanguine Brother's Bond	By : OranjeJoe Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7043 -:- 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
- 9
- 10
- 11
So… it’s been awhile. To say I have been busy to would be an understatement. I’ve also been in a weird funk mentally, that isn’t bad, just not good for getting things done.

I don’t blame you if you’ve lost interest at this point. But I think, for those of you that can hang in there for the long haul, it will be great. :|

It’s summer now, so once I get used to being productive these will come faster. Again, I apologize for leaving this hanging for so long.

---ooo---

Dinner, as it turned out, was actually just a code word for one of the biggest birthday parties Harry had ever had. The Weasley's had truly out done themselves in decorating for his arrival. The small copse of trees and garden bushes that surrounded the house were strung and lit up with all manner of lanterns and fairy lights. The decorations were such that the space was lit up with a soft golden and blushed light that seemed to hang in the air.

A tent large enough for the whole party to fit snugly inside was erected just to the side of the house, and as the four from Grimmauld walked slowly around the corner, Harry was overcome by the scent of food that was wafting thickly from the open curtains. Harry had rarely smelled so many delicious things coming from such a small space before in his life. It was as if the entire Hogwarts feast had been crammed into the tent. Momentarily transfixed by the smell, and clutching his raging stomach, Harry nearly got the wind knocked out of him as Hermione embraced him roughly for the second time that day.

“Oh my goodness Harry I am so glad you’re finally here! I’ve been going out of my mind with excitement!” The hurried way in which she was speaking told Harry there was a great amount of truth in her words. “You have no idea how relieved I was at breakfast when you asked Ron about Quidditch, I thought I was going to die! I was just so relieved that you were back, and I nearly told you about five times.”

Harry merely smiled and hugged her again, before they were joined yet again by Ron and Ginny. As Harry felt himself led into the tent, he was assaulted by Fred and George, though not necessarily in that order, who could tell? As always, they thanked him profusely for the start up money he had given them for their jokeshop, and cocked their heads in unison to a large brightly colored box that could just be seen over the top of the hedges. They held their fingers to their mouths and slipped away just as their mother came over.

After embracing him warmly, she stepped back to say, “So happy you could make it dear! Did they tell you anything? I know they are up to something, those two.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at the worried way she was wringing her hands, and moved to the left just ever so slightly, blocking the obnoxiously colored box from her view. She narrowed her eyes but was distracted before she could read his face any further when Arthur Came over to clap Harry on the shoulder. He leaned in close to Harry’s ear, as he had done on many occasions, and Harry prepared himself for Mr. Weasley’s annual ministerial debriefing. To be led into the tent, only to be led out was rather an odd thing, but Harry didn’t mind all the hassling, he was still warm at the thought of having such a large celebration in his honor.

“So, Harry, I trust that the ministry won’t need to worry about you when you get to Hogwarts, but until then… I’m not supposed to tell you this Harry, but I think it’s important for you to know, incase you think about… well, anyway, those two men who were found chained up in the restroom entrance, we’ve confirmed that they are Death Eaters.” Mr. Weasley looked around nervously as he finished, probably on the lookout for someone like Rita Skeeter.

Again, Harry found himself smiling, something that seemed to confuse Mr. Weasley. “I know, sir.”

“You what? Blimey! It’s true then, you were the one who did it? They took what seemed to be your spell signature off the crime scene, but the department of underage wizardry couldn’t find any corresponding reports from your trace so we just dismissed the idea all together. Which brings me to my second point this evening, Harry. I spoke to Dumbledore early this morning, after we received intelligence concerning a massive eruption of magic in the London docks. He was particularly elusive, and suggested I speak to you for further information.” He paused here, and looked Harry sternly in the face, moving to hold his shoulders.

“Now, I trust Dumbledore with nearly every fibre of my being, but cannot fathom why he would bring you along to such an event. The magic was too entangled to see who did what, and from what we detected, it wasn’t necessarily dark, but we can only assume this had something to do with Death Eaters.”

Harry was very glad in that he had grown a bit since the last time they stood this way, so he didn’t have to look up at the balding man so much. He looked a little more haggard than the last time Harry had seen him this close, a dullness in the eyes that told him Mr. Weasley was working a little more than he ought to.

“Well, actually Mr. Weasley, Only Dumbledore and I were there last night. I - well you see I was a bit paranoid, and I may have gotten a bit carried away. I thought I was about to die, it all just sort of came out on autopilot or something, I can’t really explain what happened.” Harry bit his lip as he looked up at the man who was something of a father to him.

“Autopilot? Is that like a cab driver or something? Are you telling me muggles were involved too? Merlin.”

“No, no Mr. Weasley, I’m saying that my magic just reacted instinctively to my believing I was going to die. That’s why there is a huge crater in the doorway to that warehouse... I made it. Do you understand?”

For once Harry was on the receiving end of the sputtering, and though he though for an instant of the carnal feelings he had channeled that night, he quickly moved on to take pride in the pure shock that befell Mr. Weasley’s face.

“You’re - you’re kidding!? Merlin’s beard Harry we haven’t recorded magic on a scale such as that since, since well, Dumbledore and Grindlewald. If you’re telling me the truth you are one solid bit of magic Mr. Potter, Voldemort be damned, it’s you we should be worried about!”

Mr. Weasley was so caught up in his astonishment that he didn’t even realize he had said the Dark Lord’s name aloud, and quickly clapped a hand to his mouth.

“I’m sorry Harry, only joking, we know you’re not, well - you better get back to the party, or the women will have my head” He gave Harry the briefest of smiles before he set off into the darkness around the other side of the tent, visibly winded.

After taking in a few sweet breaths of the flowery night air, Harry stepped back under the tent flap and made his way directly for the food table, to Mrs. Weasley’s palpable joy. He moved to sit next to Hermione, his hands laden with heaping plates of food, and two more floating obediently in the air behind him.

“Harry! What are you doing, you wont be seventeen for almost an hour! Do you want the ministry to crash your birthday party?”

“Relax Hermione, do you honestly think I made it on my own for three weeks without magic?”

Harry knew the sound of her fork hitting the table meant she was gearing up for some calculation, and sure enough, as he looked up he face was set, and her eyes were darting around as sorted things out in her mind.

“He suppressed the trace, Dumbledore. Didn’t he?”

“Uh, yes he did. Though I only found out just a little bit ago. Things would have been so much easier if only he’d told me.”

“Harry what happened…”

Her voice trailed off as he looked up from cutting into a decadent slice of pork tenderloin, “Not tonight Hermione, its my birthday.”

She bit her lip and nodded solemnly, the fierceness in her gaze told him this discussion was not over. Harry turned instead to professor Lupin who was deep in a hushed conversation with Tonks. It was obvious that they were intending to keep the discussion quiet, if Lupins hushing hand motions were to be believed, but Tonks was quickly losing her temper.

“You need this Lupin, I don’t care if it sets us back a few months! I knew this was going to happen eventually, and I accepted that reality a long time ago.”

“I will not let you sacrifice all that we have saved for this Nymphadora! I can handle it this month, and in the mean time we can try to find someone else. I’m sure Dumbledore would do it if we asked.”

“That man has enough on his plate already! We have enough to make through this month at least, didn’t he give you any spare supply?”

“You know it doesn’t keep, dear. We are going to find someone else, and until then I’m just going to have to bare it. That’s my final word, and I don’t want to hear anything more about it. It’s Harry’s birthday, we should be focusing on him.”

Lupin turned to Harry, and gave him a wry smile, which grew wider as he saw the blank stare that Harry was giving the distance. As hard as he had tried, Harry couldn’t help but listen, and he was almost sure he knew what they were talking about. Ofcourse, he should have known Lupin would be having trouble now that Snape wasn’t able to be seen with the order. He was now racking his brain for anyone else he knew that could help, and barely noticed Lupin talking to him.

He did, however, notice when a great hush fell over the small tent. There was a clinking of forks and glasses, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Fred turn in his seat. Very distinctly could the flapping of the tent curtains, and the subtle whisper of the torches and rustle of the tree leaves be heard. All those in attendance also heard when Tonks whispered as quietly as possible. Harry could practically feel them all listening with every power of perception they possessed. Except for Dumbledore of course, he was smiling broadly, looking quite satisfied with everything, as always.

“What did you say?”

Malfoy looked suddenly very small, as if he was trying to pull himself in to escape the gazes of all the Weasley’s. Though Harry knew all too well the pressure of attention he could not resist adding his own spotlight to the now blazing inferno that seemed to have sprung up around Malfoy. The boy looked as if he was about to ignite at any moment, and Harry had never seen anyone more nervous to speak. It made sense though, it was still audacious of him to be here in the presence of these people, much less speak to them.

“I said, I can make it. The wolfsbane.” Molly cleared her throat, and abruptly everyone seemed to turn back to what ever it was they were doing. Though one could tell by their silence that they were still listening, it was only a feigned effort to give them privacy. There was hesitancy in Malfoy’s eyes, as if he was unsure that he had correctly guessed what Lupin and Tonks had been discussing. Harry had also come to this very same conclusion, and he tried to catch Malfoy’s eyes to reassure him, but the blond was now looking anywhere but in his direction.

“That’s very kind of you Draco but we don’t need you to trouble yourself over this. We’ll be fine, I’m sorry you all had to see that.” Tonks finished, speaking in most polite tones and looked apologetically around at all the Weasley’s.

“Really though, it’s no trouble at all. I’ve already -” Draco was leaning forward now, very intent on getting them to let him help. A gilded fire behind his eyes told Harry of this desperation, which he found admirable and unnerving all at once.

But Draco was not allowed to finish what ever appeal he was making because Ron had slammed his cup down on the table with force enough to break it. He was standing now, and visibly shaking. “They said,” he drew this word out between his teeth with a deep sound, “they don’t need your fucking help you scrawny little bint!”

There was a clatter of chairs as Malfoy rose to the guttural rage of Ron’s voice, the fire in his eyes growing cold and piercing in an instant. Fred and George rose in the same instant and were nearly halfway to Malfoy. It seemed that the fact that the Malfoy’s had changed their allegiance mattered to the Weasley’s, about as much as it did the rest of the world.

Malfoy’s eyes met Harry’s, and in the infinite space that they shared for only an instant, Harry saw the pain and fear that Malfoy was feeling as if was written in crimson streaks across his skin. But then it was gone and Malfoy had apparated with a dramatic clap that sent a great wind throughout the tent, and blew his glass of pumpkin juice into both Harry and Ron.

Ron stormed out of the tent to go change his robes, despite the fact that magic might have cleaned them. Harry was surprised that for once he wasn’t feeling the very same indignant rage as his friend, though it probably had something to do with the shame that came along with the remembrance of Malfoy’s life mixing with terrible ease into the dirty bathroom water. He and Hermione caught up to Ron just as he reached his room, and Harry held his arm to keep him from shutting them out.

“Ronald Weasley! Would you mind telling me what that was all about.” Hermione had a stormy look on her face that was met with a defeated and mollified look on Ron’s, a simple dance that both of them had learned in their years of friendship.

“I just, I can’t look at the fowl piece of shit without hating him. Thinking about all the things he’s done over the years. And he thinks he can just waltz in here like nothing ever happened? I’m not going to stand by and give him the chance to poison Lupin. I saw the look in his eye! He was desperate.”

“This is stupid Ron. How are people to change if we never give them the chance?”

“He. Tried. To. Kill. Dumbledore. No one can be forgiven for that.”

“But that’s the thing Ron, he didn’t. Somehow Dumbledore made him see what it was to be strong, and to not let fear, or blind hatred,” here she paused to shoot a dark look at Ron, “ become the master of your life. I’ve been working with him these past few days, and he isn’t who we thought he was. He’s well - Harry what do you think?”

She turned to him, and Harry was met with the suddenly interested gaze of his two best friends, waiting expectantly as if his word was to be the final say in whether or not they should trust Malfoy. Well, Ron at least, Hermione seemed to already be well on her way to forming her own opinion of the boy.

“Well, I - er- fuck Hermione I don’t know. I think, in some way, somehow, I’ve forgiven him for that. I don’t know when that happened, but I wasn’t angry at him just then. I think….I think he was really trying to help, Ron.”

He looked up at them to feel a great weight lift of his chest, and realized that it was true, he really had forgiven Malfoy for trying to kill Dumbledore. There was still unexpected rage in Ron’s face, and he twisted his shoulder roughly out of Harry’s hand and slammed the door in their faces.

They heard a muffled coloportus, and then, “You’re both fucking idiots!”

Hermione let out an exasperated gasp as she turned to Harry, “Don’t mind him Harry, He’ll come around eventually.”

“Come around to what?”

“To you two being friends.”

“Just because I’ve forgiven him doesn’t mean I’m ready to be best mates, Hermione. I don’t think that will ever happen.”

“And why is that exactly? Because you don’t want to be, or he doesn’t”

Harry felt her probe with force, recoiling a bit. Trying to hide your thoughts from Hermione was like fencing with an angry bowtruckle, so he gave in to escape the pinpricks. “He’s said things, about friendship. But He’s only telling them to me because I was the only person around to listen.” Harry knew that no one apparated under the bodybind curse, into the middle of the forest while it was storming for a convenient chat about friendship, but still some part of him could not accept that Malfoy was genuine.

Hermione was eyeing him with that glance of hers that meant she knew what was really happening, a look he often hated in the heat of the moment. Apparently today was a good day for new reactions, be cause he wasn’t mad that she knew he wanted something with Malfoy, whether it was just genuine friendship or something more.

“I’m going to stay here and see if we can get our big baby to come out and join the rest of the party. Why don’t you go see how Malfoy is doing?”

“But I don’t know where he’s gone. He could be anywhere.”

“Oh really? Please, you boys are as predictable as the tides.”

“What? They are not easy to predict. I mean if you’re trying to get the time right, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Hermione let out an amused chuckle, and took his hand, leading him to the top of the stairs, “Stop over thinking things Harry, just do what you feel.”

“You’re talking like I’m going to see my-” Hermione pushed him roughly, and he scowled at her as he turned slowly in the air, falling and thinking about the first place he thought Malfoy might be as he apparated away.

----oooo----

He felt the soft grass beneath his shoes, and bent down quickly to hide in the bushes to his right, looking up into the windows of the house that was slowly revealing itself from its neighbors. He didn’t see a light on in his room, which meant maybe Malfoy might be trying to sleep, which was good because otherwise he might try to run again and they really needed to have that talk.

The guilt of what had truly happened that night, not a few hundred feet from where he now stood, weighed heavily on his shoulders, and made it very difficult to stand straight again. It was time to tell Malfoy. He hadn’t quite figured out how he was going to restore the memories, but he was certainly going to give it a try.

Harry stuck to the shadows as he approached the house, desperately racking his brain to remember which steps and floor boards were the creakiest. He placed his hand on the ancient doorknob, a relic no doubt from an ancient dwelling place of the blacks. It’s well worn workings moved silently his behest, and Harry felt and smelled the warm still darkness of the house rush past him to be free out in the wild night.

He crept along the walls, for the boards were most solid where they met the wall, until he reached the staircase. He placed his foot on the first step gingerly, and despite his paltry pressure it seemed determined to foil his plans and made a loud noise of protest. Harry heard the small creak careen out into the silent house like the wail of a banshee, and felt this whole body tense.

Finally, after a long held breath, Harry heard no noises, except the faint mumbling and shuffling of what he assumed was Kreacher complaining about the lack of the nasty accouterments that he had grown used to in his years of solitude.

He made his way up the rest of the steps, silent as a ghost, once again sticking close to the wall. He approached the large black door that led into his room, and felt a deep sense of foreboding, but also a measured amount of excitement. Finally, he was going to lay it bare before Malfoy, and they could be equal and he would have nothing to hide.

In the midst of all these feelings welling up inside him, and the deep tingles that were crawling up and down his spine and along his skin, He didn’t realize that he had already opened the door (something he had hitherto imagined to be a very dramatic and cliché moment) and was making his way into the room. Inside the space held a warbling, tremulous feeling that encircled Harry the moment he crossed the doorway. He felt a tingle in the corner of his eye, and a great heaving lift up in his lungs and bring him crashing down upon the rocks of sadness that were standing jagged on the window bench were Malfoy’s dark form broke against them in the cold, harsh moonlight.

Harry felt as though he was wading through a thick, dense, sea of despair as he made his way to Malfoy. Several times more he felt himself rise up on the crest of a wave in time with the quiet heaving of Draco’s chest. Finally, as he was nearly an arms length from him in the icy dark waters, Malfoy turned to face him. The moon was shinning softly in the golden feather’s of his hair, and his silver eyes shone out into the darkness, a beacon of pure light that held Harry aloft from the swelling sea and they stood locked in this gaze.

It was odd that Harry should be the one to lose himself in Malfoy’s emotions, while the blond seemed to rise up solid and uncompromised. It was only by the tinge of red around the eyes, and the flush of red on his cheeks that Harry could tell he had been crying.

“You’ve come to berate me too then, Potter? I see you haven’t brought the weasels or that mudblood with you, how very brave.”

Any and all pity he had been harboring for Malfoy was gone in an instant, the sea of despair quickly coming to a boil as he whipped out his wand and advanced.

“You vile little twat! Expelliarmus!” A small burst of light shot out of his now outstretched wand towards the powerless boy who cowered against the glass.

In a graceful movement as quick as the rustling of his robes, Harry had the shaking little shit pressed up against the small glass, his long dark wand pressed menacingly against the smooth expanse of alabaster neck. Small spidery cracks began to appear on the warped surface of the window, fracturing ever so slightly at Harry’s rage.

Harry could feel the uneven tremors that were coursing through Malfoy were they touched, He could feel the heat of his living through their closeness, and watched the blood course through the veins just beneath the surface of his skin. Malfoy’s breath came hitched and uneasily, the sound drawing Harry’s attention to his lips which were quivering in beautiful violence.

He followed their shivering up the perfect line of Draco’s nose, to his eyes, bedecked in long shimmering gold lashes. He blinked once as Harry looked to his eyes, and Harry saw them open in a time beautifully stretched, so that he felt the full force of their revelation with exquisite pain. There was a tearful glisten that could not compare to the glisten inherent in the deep silver pools of sorrow and fear that wove a spell around Harry’s chest and played his heartstrings with the same harmonious emotion that Harry had felt through the deep fibres of the door on that solemn night three weeks ago.

And then in an instant he remembered why he had come, and let the wand fall from Malfoy’s throat.

“No, Malfoy. I did not come here to berate you. I came here to apologize.”

“Apologize? For what?” The words were chocked, high, and thick with saliva. Their hurt tore at Harry’s chest and he pulled himself back from Malfoy to gather the courage for his admission.

His saliva felt sweet in anticipation of his speaking, in the way one can feel a heavily meditated thought in the mouth as it prepares to escape. Something was holding him back, perhaps it was merely his selfish fear or a primal instinct; it just didn’t feel like the right time. Once more he chanced a glance at Malfoy’s face, and what he saw there banished all hesitancy from his mind.

“Draco,” He said, “I did it. I am the one.”

He saw Malfoy mouthing the words as he brought his hands up to his face in shock, but before he could speak, Harry raised his wand to the blond’s forehead, and wished with every fibre of his being, every part of him that had hated and loved Malfoy in their own way, for his memories to return.

And return they did, with a blinding light and a sound like shards of broken glass being sucked back together. A small fog emanated in a flurry of wisps from the point where Harry’s wand met Draco’s skin, and his eyes became glassed over as he experienced the return. He moved slowly to slump against Harry’s chest, where Harry could not help but put his arms around the still trembling from, and cradle the broken boy who soon began to sob once more.

They stood locked in this embrace for several minutes, until Malfoys storm of sadness had calmed once more, Harry’s warmth suffusing him until the turbulent waters became the calm of a forest glade, fresh as the spring and full of the heavy scent of lavender, sweet like the honeysuckle, but with a strong masculine undertone. Malfoy let these things make their way into his consciousness as he rode out the final waves of his emotions, and then rose his head to meet the emerald eyes of his savior.

Harry took a deep breath as Malfoy moved his hands up to hold Harry by the cheeks. They were roughly equal in height, but this did nothing to quell the now intimidating shivers that were swirling inside him at their closeness. He felt winded and tearful as Malfoy gazed into his eyes with an intense emotion that was both foreign and familiar at once. Slowly, or perhaps it was merely his perception of time, he felt his heart begin to beat heavily in his chest and in his ears. With each centimeter that Malfoy grew closer he could feel the beat of his heart grow stronger and louder, and he wondered if he might die from the stress of trying to figure out if this was really happening.

They were close now, closer then they’d ever been, and Harry felt a strange prickly pressure against his skin like he could feel Malfoy’s presence against his own. They paused for a moment, Malfoy apparently feeling the same barrier of tense energy between them. This hesitation hung in the dense air between their lips, and Harry wondered if this whole moment was about to come crashing down around them.

Then, as the world grew quiet, Malfoy let out the softest of breaths, and moved such that the barrier between them fell away, and they felt drawn together, as their bodies made the last space between them disappear. Harry and Malfoy briefly felt their hearts beating with incredible force before their lips made contact, whereupon each of them exploded, and they coalesced into the infinite point of soft skin on skin and moisture. All they knew at this moment was being rocketed through the endless soaring plains of stardust and clouds that swam in brilliant colors as the universe swelled up and burst at the speed of loving another. Their freed minds roamed this private space for an eternity it seemed, before slowly they felt the rush of cosmic visions slow around the bright shimmer of their minds and they were returning to their bodies.

Where the kiss ended Harry did not know, for still the feeling of Malfoy’s lips was conquering his mind, and he felt it all over, ghosting over his skin with icy hot pleasure that seemed to move in and out of every fibre of his being with ease. There was and dull pleasure at the base of his skull, dull but strong with a great weight behind it, that bled into his eyes and never before had he felt such a thing. But as Malfoy’s hands wound themselves into his hair and he laid his hands on the small of Malfoy’s back, he felt such comfort. To be held this way, to be so close to another living breathing human being was almost too much, but it was so sickeningly close, it was pure joy.

Soon, all too soon, the tickling waves of pleasure that were now emanating from the places where Malfoy puled at his hair became too much as he felt Malfoy’s lips open just slightly, and a hot wet something poke out to brush against his own. And though nearly every part of Harry wished for nothing more than to open his mouth to Malfoy’s pleading tongue, there was a part of him that had been pouting this whole time. It was the part of him that still didn’t trust Malfoy, even as their souls were nearly laid bare on each other’s lips. It was the part of him that made him jerk away and break their kiss. Each of them drew in a sweet breath, and Harry’s heart was crushed by the flushed color of Malfoy’s lips, and the faint blush that was still playing along the chiseled line of his cheek.

He could not bring himself to look at Malfoy’s eyes, could not bare to see the reaction to what they had just done. He felt a twinge of fear run up his spine, and he turned away into the darkness to go sit at the table, clutching at the back of the chair to keep himself from falling over. He hadn’t heard Malfoy moving at all, for the pounding of his heart, and was startled by the soft click of the door closing.

Harry slumped down onto the table, feeling around the ancient thing just to make sure that he was still living in reality, and that the solidity of everyday things was still a constant. But it was a stupid effort, he knew, deep down inside that things had never felt more real in his entire life than when Malfoy’s lips had been so ardently pressed against his own. He reached a hand up to his lips, where he could still feel the cool sweet taste of the beautiful blond beast, and his fingers felt as rough rocks compared to the silk that had graced him only moments before.

“What the fuck. What the fuckity fuck fuck fuck just happened.” He let out a small chuckle as he spoke to no one in particular. How in Merlin’s name had that just happened? Draco fucking Malfoy had just kissed him. He had spent long lonely hours of the night thinking about the smooth graceful forms of Malfoy’s body, and surprisingly not even once had he really truly thought about what it might be like to kiss him. And he was glad he hadn’t because the experience of the real thing had been so unimaginably better than anything his virginal mind could have conjured.

Maybe a kiss was just some sort of pureblood ritual thing that was required when someone saved your life. That was the most logical explanation that Harry could come up with as his tried mind finally gave up trying to figure out why in the world they had just done that. It was then that his eyes fell upon the small package that lay in the center of the table.
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Harry Potter and The Sanguine Brother's Bond