Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Dark Lord Rising	By : Sparrowbirdie Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6505 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean, Midsomer Murders or Troy. I make no profit from writing this story. This is a work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Tom Marvolo Riddle stood and looked. It was the greatest hall he'd ever seen. It housed thousands of individuals. The people around him did not seem to notice him, or if they did they didn't care. Some were crying. Some were carrying small children. Some were smeared with blood, others had large gaping wounds and massive traumas to their heads. Some were soldiers, missing their legs. They dragged themselves onwards on their elbows. They all moved in one direction, and for some reason, Tom felt compelled to follow it as well. He knew what lay ahead. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to stand trial before Satan. He wanted to rule the world, not spend eternity roasting in Hell. But this time, he had no dark magic to help him. There was nothing he could use to escape. The doors behind him were closed. For good.

“Well, well what have we here?” Satan spoke loudly. Tom had been walking for quite some time, the space between people were narrowing, and he was almost lining up in queue. “You've been waiting a long time now, Riddle. That trick with the Horcruxes was a neat one, I have to give you that, but everyone, including you, eventually turn up down here. And down here, is where I rule.” Satan cocked his head to the right, looked the former dark lord up and down and hesitated, before he finally said: “Aye. I think it's time.” Tom turned his head and gazed to his right. The crowd surrounding him had gone. He was alone with himself. A motion caught his attention. A woman materialized. She strode forward from the dark. She was lank, her skin pale and lifeless. Her hair was long and dirty. She wore rags. And she had the saddest pair of eyes. Tom's eyes.

“What are … who is this?!” Tom stuttered and gazed at Satan.

“Merope. You've been waiting around here for a long, long time. “It's not often that God knocks on my door and demands to have a chat over a cup of tea. Imagine my surprise. But what do I not do for the innocent?” Satan glanced at Tom. “He has invited you and your son to come and rest in peace in His Kingdom of Light.” Satan told the woman mildly.

“Thank you” Merope Riddle said shyly. She turned to gaze at her son, and reached out her hand to him.

“No” Tom said, shaking his head. “Mother …!” he stared at her, out of breath.

“What's that? What is that little thing in your chest which now burns? Is it love?” Satan mused. A mischievous smile lurked in one corner of his mouth. “The great Lord Voldemort knows love after all” Satan continued. Tom stepped away from her, not at all ready to embrace this re-introduced emotion he had worked so hard to quench earlier. “Take her hand” Satan looked Tom in the eye. “You will take her hand and go with her. I order you to do so.” Satan and Merope eyed him expectantly.

Tom wanted to run. He knew what taking her hand meant. He would have to know her – and a part of him was dying to – and it would make him crumble. He would be knowing her love for him. Satan pointed at him and exercised his power. Tom could no longer control his feet. He was dragged forward, his arm lifted, and soon his fingers touched hers. She had tears in her eyes, and he saw himself reflected in her eyes. And for the first time, he really saw the monster he'd become.

Harry Potter had never tried to imagine a life without Voldemort. It had been unthinkable, up until now. That cold, ever-present shadow over his head was gone. His scar had faded. The remaining Death Eaters were scrambling across the world, like headless chicken, hiding deep underground like shy worms. The Ministry continued to be a wormhole of Voldemort supporters, and the big job of cleaning them out was just beginning. Minister for Magic Shacklebolt had his hands full. The stage was set for hundreds of self-proclaimed martyrs of the likes of Lucius Malfoy who claimed they were under the influence of the Imperius curse. Interviewing each and every one took time. Harry Potter was the hero of the day, helped by his friends Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. She never used the Malfoy name. As a precaution.

The Daily Prophet was having a field day. Draco Malfoy had been one of Kingsley Shacklebolt's priorities, and as soon as the story about the Goldenbar Estate was told, it was plastered all over the front page. 'The girl who lived' was the headline accompanied by a large picture of a pretty baby girl with big, blue eyes and angelic curls framing her chubby face. She was clinging tightly to Draco Malfoy, her tears wetting his cheek. His gaze darted around, and he had the eyes of a hawk. He held her protectively, and her little chubby arms were draped around his neck as if she worried that he might disappear into thin air. 'Wilhelmina Marie Goldenbar, 8 months old, was orphaned by Lord Voldemort on the 2^nd of May, and would have been the fifth infant victim of the Death Eaters since March, this year. Minister Shacklebolt is rumoured to have started an intensive search for the girl's relatives.' Harry Potter had been pouring over the article, especially the section where Draco made a statement about his whereabouts on May 2^nd. It was an excerpt from Draco's official hearing, and it went to prove that Voldemort probably had panicked. Draco had been ordered by his master, the eudaimon, to go to Hogwarts. To save Fred Weasley and Lavender Brown. He'd done so. Then he head been ordered to the Goldenbar estate to rescue Wilhelmina, without knowing it was a baby. He'd assumed it was the mother. Then the scene where he had come face to face with Nagini. And Voldemort. But why? Harry wondered, why had Voldemort abandoned his onslaught on Hogwarts and Harry? What were the odds for two dark lords to meet one another in the same house? They were astronomical. But that, eudaimon must have known. He had sent Draco there deliberately.

Harry had been staying at the Burrow since the battle, and his bonds to Ginny had only strengthened. There was no doubt about their affections for one another any longer. No reason to hold back. That morning, which was a Sunday, Molly Weasley stood by the breakfast table, put her hands to her sides and said: “To night, we're having guest over at dinner. Mind you, it's Hermione and Draco who will be coming, along with their children.” Harry looked up at her, sensing his how his heart began to beat faster by the mention of Draco's name. “It's only proper” she continued “after what Draco did for Fred!”

“Yeah, really nice and all, but do we really have to feed him?” Ron wondered, looking gloomy all of the sudden. He glanced at his mother with a pleading look, but she answered with a reproachful glare. “Ronald Weasley, I've raised you better than that and you know it!”

Draco Malfoy was one of those boys who had a playful shine in his eye, and he took special care to be polite at Molly. He commended her and Arthur for their hospitality, kept a heartfelt smile on his face and did what he could to keep the children out of Molly's flowerpots. He was absolutely forthcoming, charming and warm. Molly Weasley fell for him completely. When he had little Wilhelmina on his lap, she looked as if she was Draco's biological daughter. All, with her big blue eyes and her blonde hair. She clung to him and avoided Hermione. She was shy of strangers and held on to Draco's shirt as if her life depended on it. Draco displayed great calm and accepted that she used his shirt as a napkin and pillow in one, grinding her little face against his chest and leaving big smudges with sauce on it. Malfoy had dropped wearing ties since the children had a tendency to get entangled in them. He had a two day old beard, and his hair was slightly ruffled. Harry decided he looked absolutely delicious. Again, this annoying wave of desire. Ugh!!

When they had been gathered around the dinner table for a while, Harry decided he would bring up a subject which had been on his mind ever since Hogwarts. “Draco. How well do you know Severus Snape?” The name brought a silence across the table. Harry eyed his former schoolmate, hoping that it would spark some sort of conversation between them. Draco hesitated, obviously pondering about how to respond.

“In the absence of my parents, he has been a father to me.”

“What is his connection to Melchior?”

“Melchior originally appointed Severus to look after the Granger Malfoys on a daily basis, for some reason. He was to be pulled out from the operations of the Order of the Phoenix on a permanent basis. But after some debate with Dumbledore and Severus, Melchior gave in and allowed them to carry out their plan, sending Severus back in the ranks of the Death Eaters, installing him as headmaster.”

“When was this?”

“At the beginning of September last year” Draco said, not looking up.

“September? But Dumbledore was …!”

“Dead? Yes. Severus convinced Melchior to summon him from the dead. Melchior wasn't pleased with the prospect of Severus being at Hogwarts. But someone needed to be there and protect the students from the unhealthy disciplinary ways of the Carrows and provide the Order with inside information.”

“Does he ever talk about … my mother?” Harry fell silent afterwards.

“When I ask him” Draco answered swiftly, wishing to avoid the topic. Remorse flared up inside him at the memory of how he'd treated Harry on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of their sixth year, and the words he'd used concerning Harry's mother.

“In the boathouse, we discovered Snape. After – after his encounter with Voldemort. He was shocked and dissolved in tears. He asked me to take them” Harry said, obviously moved by the memory. He swallowed. “I watched his memories in Dumbledore's Pensieve. I had no idea …!” Harry shook his head, forcing back the growing lump in his throat. He'd lost his apetite.

“He loves your mother very much. And he will continue to love her until his final days” Draco replied softly, wondering if it was his fault that Harry now seemed distraught. His dealings with Harry never went particularly well, it seemed.

“If only I could show them to Kingsley Shacklebolt. Severus doesn't deserve to be where he is now. Why is your master allowing this to happen to Severus?”

“Melchior has meddled enough. He says it's time for things to evolve naturally.”

“Why put a death sentence on Severus' head and then appoint him to watch your family?” Ron suddenly shot in.

“He's not a target, like me. Melchior enslaved him during our sixth year.”

“Why?”

Draco glanced up at Harry. The Gryffindor was really being relentless with his questioning.

“Severus tried to protect me from Melchior. And I believe that he discovered the best of Severus in the process.”

“The best of Severus ...” Harry responded. “Which he had tried to conceal for so many years.”

“I think that Melchior saw the future death of Severus at the boathouse. And I think he also saw that Severus could avoid it if he was under Melchior's protection. But in order for that to happen, Severus had to become his slave. It wasn't something he did willingly, though. Severus was prepared to die for you.” Draco glanced up at Harry. The final sentence lingered in the silence at the dinner party. Wilhelmina suddenly spun on his lap, her feet kicking beneath the table so the porcelain jumped.

“Was he prepared to … die for me?” Harry said, unaffected by the sudden riot caused by the girl.

“Didn't he tell you?” Draco replied.

“No” Harry went on.

“Snape once told me that at Hogwarts he would often look at you and imagine what you would look like, had he been the one to father you. He considers you his as a sort of son, you know” Draco said, struggling to keep Wilhelmina from getting her hands on his plate. He set the squirming child down, and watched her cling to his chair, standing on her wobbly feet. “I mean” Draco went on, “Snape's really … deep. Like bottomless deep. And the way he feels for you, it's so emotional and complex it's almost scary.” Draco wanted to say more, but he was afraid he had trespassed on Harry's limits. A slight second passed and Harry replied: “I have to get him out of there. I just have to.”

Severus Snape stared out at the violent waves down below. The bars of his window blurred the sight somewhat. He wrapped his long slender fingers around the cold metal, feeling the draft from the wind which occasionally made it up to his window. Even without the Dementors, Azkaban was a dreary place. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the newly appointed Minister for Magic, took no chances. No one had known about Severus' and Dumbledore's plan. Professor McGonagall had been severe in her statements concerning how he had run Hogwarts. It was appalling that he had been a Death Eater – and had betrayed Dumbledore to such an extent and defiled Dumbledore's memory by taking his place as headmaster. All though it had been explained to him that this confinement was temporary until his hearing, Severus had no doubts about this being the start of the rest of his life in prison. There was no way the truth would be told, since the wizarding world and the Ministry in special, swarmed like angry bees looking for scapegoats now that Voldemort was gone. He did not dare to count on Melchior's aid, since Severus hadn't exactly been forthcoming with Melchior's passionate embraces. And Melchior would certainly keep Draco Malfoy from giving him any aid. Not that Malfoy was a power to be reckoned with. His status as eudaimon's toy was … shady, to say the least.

The memory of Lily's death had come back with a vengeance. And his thoughts went to Harry and Draco. In his mind, his children. They were big boys and could handle themselves. But he could not repress the love and tenderness. It was something which had grown stronger over the last couple of months. And now, here, he felt the tears surface. He stared down at the violent waves a while longer.

Two days after the epic dinner party at the Burrow, Harry Potter found himself on Draco Malfoy's doorstep. The Dragon's Lair. How appropriate, Harry thought to himself while he waited for someone to answer the gentle knocking. It was Draco himself who opened, and for a brief second, Harry saw Draco – the relaxed and happy husband – before the blond realized who it was and put up his defenses. Draco was wearing a loose fitting sweater in marine colour, a low v-shaped neck which showed lots of skin. His hair was all over the place, shrouding his grey eyes. He looked absolutely stunning and kissable. Harry had to shake it off. Draco immediately shifted his gaze to Ginny, smiled respectfully and politely to her and welcomed her.

“Please, come in. Hermione is up stairs.” Draco made way for them to enter. Harry entered, walking past Draco, so close he could smell the faint scent of aftershave. And on the way, Harry's eyes glued themselves on to the naked triangle of skin on Draco's chest, the way the light reflected, the composition of skin cells. No detail was irrelevant. Draco kept his gaze down, and Harry immediately felt how the evasiveness annoyed him. Harry beat himself up mentally for it. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, knowing why Draco really behaved this way.

“Miss Weasley, may I get you some coffee? Or tea, perhaps?”

“Oh, tea please” Harry heard his fiancé reply. Her relationship to Draco was still a blank piece of paper. Harry could see how she struggled to adjust the image she'd made of Draco from Hogwarts during their years there, knowing the hostility which, to some extent, still existed between Ron and Draco. Things between Ron and Lavender were going better after the battle at Hogwarts. The battle seemed to have made an impact on Brown. She'd grown up in a matter of weeks and laid aside many of those silly girly things. She had seen her friends die. And she had been so close to her own death, she'd practically seen the light.

“I'm not here to see Hermione” Harry said, “I need to talk to you about Severus Snape. I think we should do something. Go to the ministry and have a word with Shacklebolt. ” Harry spoke swiftly while he attempted to catch Draco's eye. The blond glanced at him briefly, and their eyes met for a second.

“Would you like some tea?” the blond asked mildly instead.

“No, I don't want tea, I want you to listen to me” Harry responded with more annoyance in his voice than intended.

“I am listening” Draco replied mildly. It struck Harry that Draco wasn't so bold now that the two were alone. At the dinner party, the bloke had been talking away probably to be at his best for Hermione's sake, but now here, in his own home, he once again retreated behind some unseen wall. He could see how Draco's lower lip trembled slightly, and Harry was suddenly very aware of his own posture, that he had cornered Draco in the kitchen, that he was leaning forward and probably coming across as angry. Harry took a deep breath, straightened his back and took several steps back.

“Sorry. Of course you are. I'm just very concerned about Snape.”

“With all possible respect, Mister Potter – !”

“ – you need to start calling me Harry – !”

“ – I can't just show myself in wizarding society on a whim. I need my master's permission when it comes to public affairs. It would be prudent of you to talk to him first, and if he gives the all clear, I'll be happy to escort you, Sir –!”

“ – Harry. It's Harry. My name is Harry.”

“Since you are the root to my death sentence, I cannot call you by your name without his permission. Please” Draco continued, with a slight tremble to his voice, “understand this.”

“Isn't that to make things more difficult than they need be? You have my permission. Isn't that enough? If I'm the root to all of your problems?”

“With all respect, you're not the root to my problems, only my death sentence which I rightfully deserved” Draco replied. His hands as well as his voice shook now, and he was holding his arms about himself protectively. Harry fell silent as he realised this, and at the same time realising how he again was standing, with his arms angrily crossed above his chest, his jaw set and his green eyes drilling into Malfoy's poker face. No, Harry decided. It wasn't a poker face, it was a mask he'd often seen Malfoy wear at Hogwarts during their sixth year. A non-aggressive, sad and slightly frightened mask. Draco's 'hold-it-together'-mask, which Harry for a long time had trouble to comprehend. Until now. It dawned on Harry that whenever he was around Draco, Draco had to deal with a multi-faceted situation. There was probably the memories of the rape, the fear, guilt and respect which Melchior had drilled into him about approaching Harry, the aggression between them over the years, the unspoken fact that Draco had been his opponent in everything, the fact that Draco was married to his best friend and destined to be the next dark lord, which automatically made him Harry's enemy…! The list was long, and Harry began to wonder if a friendship with him ever would be possible.

“You do know that it wasn't I who … raped you? At Hogwarts?” the words fell out of Harry's already open mouth before he could think at it twice. It had an effect though, and it made Draco look up and straight at him. He turned his head and listened to the voices of Hermione and Ginny talking, playing with the children, as if to check that they really were there. Draco took a step backwards, and swallowed. His face had changed from defence to watchful, and Harry could see that the blond wondered how Harry knew.

“I know …!” Draco finally answered and cleared his voice nervously. He didn't sound as if he was convinced.

Damn their timing! Harry thought to himself. The ladies came down stairs, their arms holding children. Draco turned his back on him, suddenly very busy with cleaning the sink. The moment was gone.

Draco's hands were shaking. He was grateful for their appearance, convinced that Harry had been about to tell him to pull his pants down. He made a note to himself about taking greater care to avoid Potter in the future. And he had to go over to Melchior and ask him about the state of things concerning this Gryffindor. Could Harry still ask this of him? Without a doubt, Draco decided. A eudaimon never went back on his word.

“I need to go and talk to Draco's eudaimon. I'll only be a moment” Draco heard Harry tell Ginny. It set Draco's heart pumping with adrenaline. Potter never wasted any time, did he? The Gryffindor certainly had an annoying way of being hands-on and direct. Why wait and think things through? had to be Potter's motto, Draco decided.

The eudaimon was at home. When he answered the door, he folded his arms above his chest and leaned against the doorframe.

“Harry Potter” Melchior smiled a lop-sided smile. “Still alive. No, Draco cannot and will not go with you. Aye, you will succeed when you go before Shacklebolt and demand that Snape's hearing is to be moved forward, and aye, I intend to be there to speak on behalf of Severus. Anything else?”

“S – Snape mustn't go to Azkaban. He doesn't deserve it – !” Harry began, taken aback by the forwardness of the eudaimon.

“No? Well, we can't all have what we want now, do we?” Melchior said. He turned and shut the door almost in Harry's face. Somehow, Harry wondered, the eudaimon had gotten the final word in the matter. How weird. He remained on the eudaimon's doorstep for a moment, momentarily dazzled by short meeting. But Harry was Harry. Once his thoughts began to work properly again, he knocked once more. The eudaimon opened again.

“You – you have to tell Draco once and for all that it was you who raped him – and not me.”

“He already knows that. I have to say I fail to see why you would bring this up. All I've done is simply to give you your revenge. He'll never be of annoyance to you, ever again.”

“No” Harry began, “you don't understand! You've turned him against me. He keeps his distance because you threatened him, and now – now I can't befriend him!”

“Befriend him?” Melchior sneered. “Odd term for the intention otherwise known as 'sex'. Let's both be honest, Potter” Melchior said, running his fingers down along the door-frame, “you know you have the prerogative to have Draco if you like, and it makes you hot and bothered knowing that Draco also knows. Somewhere inside of you, you take delight in watching him trembling before your feet, at your mercy, and you also secretly wish to act upon it, and plunge yourself deep into his hole. Or should I say holes. However, Draco has developed a severe aversion against taking cocks in his mouth, thanks to me, and should you ever wish to really humiliate him and ensure that he hates you for the remainder of your lifetime, forcing him to conduct such an action with you will most definitely do the trick.” Melchior finally drew breath, took one step back and closed the door without another word. Harry was left perplexed on the doorstep. What he had just observed, was the Sparrow specialty which consisted of saying exactly what one was thinking without putting the words in the correct order or to otherwise censor or modify them to the receiving part. It was a skill which had become a trademark in itself for the Sparrows, and any eudaimon who could produce such a sentence was automatically considered a true Sparrow.

Harry scratched his head all the way back to the Dragon's Lair. These eudaimons were impossible! But the truth in those words were unavoidable. Harry had tried to ignore the feeling, the tiny triumphant voice in the back of his head every time he had watched Malfoy slink away from him. He opened the door and went inside. The ladies were resting on the sofa, having tea and chatting away about their memories from Hermione's and Draco's marriage. He found that Draco was upstairs, and not quite knowing why – perhaps looking for another confrontation – he went up the stairs. Draco was on his way out from the bathroom. He shut the door behind him just as he saw Harry standing in front of him. Draco was only wearing a large towel loosely wrapped around his waist. All of the sudden, the predator in his groin came alive. Draco gasped and unconsciously stepped backwards, banging the back of his head into the closed door once he comprehended it was Harry who was standing there and not someone familiar, like his wife or Melchior. Harry could very well see he had startled the blond. He suddenly stepped forward, his hands grasping for the blond's head. He hungered for those lips – those attractive soft lips! But Malfoy cut him short, easily fending off his hands by seizing them and twisting Harry's arm backwards. The pain cleared the Gryffindor's mind and the feeling of being a complete imbecile washed over him. But it was Draco who let go and immediately apologized, almost on his knees seeking Harry's forgiveness.

“I'm sorry” Draco kept repeating, “it's my training! It comes automatically, I'm so terribly terribly sorry!”

Harry was, for his part equally stunned. For a glimpse he'd caught the eye of Draco the warrior, and the close combat manoeuvre had caught him off guard, stunned as he had been by that glimmer of cold professionalism in the blond.

“It's all right, it's all right” Harry reassured him, massaging his traumatized hand, “I deserved it. I don't know what came over me, I just wanted to – to kiss you. Because I – I think so highly of you! I just can't thank you enough for what you've done for Ginny's family. Losing Fred would have destroyed the entire family, I'm sure!” Harry kept on talking. Draco had stopped apologizing and was now listening. For the love of Merlin's shoes, why did he have to stand there and look like – like he was begging for it? Harry just wanted to tear that towel away and – and get to know every inch of that pale, perfect body!

“Thank you” Draco replied, nervously fidgeting with the top of his towel as if he could read Harry's mind right there and then. “Your – praise – means everything to me. I'm glad I could be of … uhm, use to you.” Draco said, venturing towards the bedroom door. “Excuse me, I have to get dressed and go to work” Draco said before opening the door. He slipped inside, shut the door. A second passed, he opened it and popped his head out and said, looking really embarrassed: “Again, please accept my apologies, Mister Potter”. He was about to close the door again, but Harry stepped – no lunged – forward and more or less forced himself on the inside. In matters of seconds, Draco pictured an outcome where he ended up on his belly on the edge of the bed, forcing himself not to scream while Harry Potter forced himself into his hole. And why not? If it was revenge Potter still thirsted after, then fine. Draco reminded himself of the fact that Potter had every right. He tried to force the embarrassment and the prospect of humiliation aside. How he felt wasn't important, Draco told himself and tore the towel from his waist. What mattered was how Potter felt. He didn't want to look. He averted his gaze, withstanding the impulse to meet Harry's green and greedy eyes. He bent forward, resting his elbows on the side of the bed, exposing his backside to Harry.

“Go ahead” Draco told him quietly. “It's what you want, isn't it?” His voice was shaking slightly, betraying his nervousness. This wasn't anything new, he reminded himself. Melchior had ordered him in this position many a time, some times just by snapping his fingers. And Draco had been trained like a dog to obey his silent commands. But Harry was different. With Harry it was personal. He wanted to bury his head in some imaginary sand and forget he had to actually go through this. This was the moment Draco had been dreading ever since 'Harry' raped him at Hogwarts. Draco was glad it happened now, now that he had gotten time to get his self-esteem above the surface.

Harry stood as if glued to the floor. He was staring at the boy with the mother-of-pearl skin, the way he parted his legs and offered his backside to Harry. His skin smelled of the soap he'd just washed with. A heavy scent of lavender and ginger. The smell slithered its way into Harry's nostrils and put his groin on fire. There was something like an instant erection, Harry was having it there and then. The allure, the temptation was so great that Harry had to pull himself together not to hurl himself at this beautiful and magical sight. Melchior's words still pounded in his head. He really could if he wanted to …! And it was what Harry really wanted …! But so? Harry mused, he would get his revenge but then what. Both he and Malfoy had to go on knowing that Harry had used him. And the chance of finding some way of being friends would perhaps be lost forever.

“I know you're trying to atone for your – your uhm, thing, Draco, but this really isn't the way. At least not now. You're doing it because you have to, not because you really want to. I just want your friendship, Draco. That's all. All thought, I'd love to – you know – explore with you. I can't … deny that. So, I'll be going now.” Harry said, turned and left. He could nearly not get the handle to open the door because he was shaking with nervousness. He shut the door behind him and walked downstairs. Awkward, awkward, awkward!! the word rang in his mind. At the bottom of the stairs, Harry stopped and regretted everything. The bulge in his pants wouldn't go away. But it was the wrong time and the wrong place. In the couch, the girls were still talking, the children still played on the floor. They had no idea, they were clueless and looked at him innocently as he approached them, tried to at least bu turned to the kitchen department in hope of finding a distraction which would force away the bulge in his pants. He made himself a cup of coffee and tried to get his thoughts of Draco, when the very object of his lust came down the stairs. He was wearing a company shirt, navy blue, jeans and a paper knife clipped on to his belt. The knife also had the company logo, Harry noticed. He couldn't help himself and they exchanged glances. Draco walked straight over to where he was standing. He reached out for a clean cup, Harry was there a nanosecond earlier and grabbed the cup for him. His heart was racing again. Draco's scent filled his nostrils, the after shave on his chin sent sparks of electricity down his crotch. He handed Draco the cup, and as Draco's fingers closed around it as he muttered a 'thanks', their fingers met. They touched. Draco's blue-grey orbs met Harry's green ones. Draco broke the gaze, filled his cup with coffee.

“I'm sorry” he told Harry quietly, obviously defeated and embarrassed. “I didn't mean to embarrass you. I – will be ready whenever you think it's appropriate –!”

“ – I don't want to be repaid for anything, that way. If you absolutely have to atone for something you didn't do, then do so by being my friend. And be my friend because you want to be it and not because I or Melchior tells you to.”

“But he said –!”

“ – I don't care what he told you. It's wrong! He doesn't know me. I'd love for us to be able to go out and have a drink, or discuss … whatever … without you feeling as if you have to accommodate me because you fear my retaliation.” Just when Harry felt he was finally having a break-through with Draco, the blond fell silent.

“I have to go to work now” he simply said. Harry's mind went blank? Where had he gone wrong? Why this sudden rejection? Was it something he'd said?

Harry had had his suspicions, but the minute he set foot inside Azkaban, he could feel in his gut that something was wrong. The waiting hall was decent looking enough, with wooden chairs and carpet on the floor. But as his escort brought him along the corridors leading to the different cell areas, that eerie feeling returned. Cold, naked stone met him wherever he turned his gaze. Iron bars and strong, magical defences. The inmates sat on the stone floor, some chained by the neck, others with a chain around their foot. They did their business in a shallow trench on one side of the wall, which was emptied not very often.

“How often are the prisoners fed?” Harry wanted to know.

“Once a day. Death Eater scum need no more than that. We don't want them to be strong enough to attempt a break-out, now that we don't have the Dementors' help.”

Harry didn't reply, but on the inside it churned. It only became worse when they finally reached the cell which held Severus Snape. The former headmaster of Hogwarts was a pitiful sight, curled up as he was on the stone floor. Harry could feel the moist sea draft over to where he was standing. There was an open view into Severus' cell. He had no chance of privacy, he was coughing in his sleep, and the corner closest to the iron bars was covered in vomit.

Draco Malfoy had almost finished his work. There were only a few items left for him to stack into the shelf. It was the last store he had on his route and he was looking forward to seeing the children again. He had already made plans. He would spoil Hermione a bit and cook dinner for her, then take the children into the carriage and go for a walk. She could do as she pleased, spending her time with him or going away for a few hours. He was determined to give her some quality time. He ignored the tiredness which was always on the verge of overpowering him. And he feared he was getting sick, because he was beginning to feel nauseous now and then. Specially during the mornings. Probably due to lack of sleep. Draco was just vowing to himself to start getting earlier to bed, when Harry Potter strode past the shelf, turned on his heel as he saw him and came to a sudden halt. Harry was out of breath. Obviously upset. Time to repay some debt and be a friend.

“You have to come with me to Azkaban. We have to get Severus out of there. You've no idea what conditions he's living under, it's not human! He's sick, Draco. He's really suffering in there!”

“I can't go without Melchior's –!”

“ – please, Draco! Please, come with me!”

“May I ask what you plan to do once we get there?” Draco said, continuing to stack small boxes of coffee into the shelf. He took care to have every box face the right way, keeping the best before dates in chronological order. Harry was about to answer, but stopped. It was a damned good question. What was he going to do once he managed to drag Draco there? Talk the prison manager into releasing Severus? Spring Snape out of Azkaban?

“I – I don't know. But you have to come. Please” Harry begged, ensnaring Draco's blue-grey orbs with his own green ones. He held the Slytherin's gaze for a long time. He could see how Malfoy debated with himself. Good.

“All right. But I need to finish up here properly.”

Harry tried to remain patient, watching Malfoy work. It struck him as weird that this blond pure-blood aristocrat-bred Slytherin was content with a Muggle job. This – Harry told himself as he observed Malfoy – was the dark lord rising. And currently, the dark lord rising was taking his job of shelf stacking very seriously.

“Do you really like this job? Driving around from store to store and stacking goods?”

“Yes. It's brilliant. It requires a minimum of intelligence, there's not one day similar to the next, new challenges and I get time to think while I'm standing here. And I get lot practice driving a car” Draco said. He finished, stacked the excess cardboard into a cart and pushed it out back. Everytime he encountered an employee of the store, he put on a big friendly smile and said 'hi, how are you' and sometimes stopped to make small talk with them, particularly the boys. He never addressed the girls unless they spoke to him first. Then he got rid of the cardboard, had a few friendly words with the manager, said good-bye and walked out with a smile on his face. Professional attitude, Harry thought to himself. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Draco smile so much during their years together at Hogwarts.

The swiftest way to get going, was probably just to Apparate there. So they ended up on a handicap toilet together. Again the awkward thrill, the tingle in Harry's crotch. Draco looked stunning, absolutely breathtaking and ready to be ravished. In the dim light, his pupils dilated and Harry could clearly see the bright colour of blue-grey.

“What are you staring at?” Draco asked weakly, obviously pulled in by the captivating stare Harry was giving him. Awkward.

“Can I …?!” kiss you, Harry wanted to ask. In stead, he offered Draco his arm. Again, Harry regretted doing the opposite of what he was thinking. He felt a thousand electric charges go off at the touch as Draco timidly put his hand around Harry's upper arm as if he was to was escort Draco to some fancy party. Just as he was about to Apparate them both to Azkaban, Draco bowed his head and rested his forehead on Harry's shoulder. Complete silence. The modest and gentle gesture brought Harry out of balance inwardly. He had never experienced such tenderness from Draco before, and it was an injection of love straight into his heart. Harry felt his pulse quickening. He scarcely dared to breathe, afraid to spoil the moment.

“Thank you for caring about Severus” Draco told him afterwards.

There was not going to be any ravishing now. Draco was a man of few words, like Severus, and when he said them he made every word count. Harry felt guilty for even considering undressing the blond with his eyes now that he had seen Draco at his most sincere and vulnerable. And inexplicable need to protect him, rose from somewhere inside Harry. It occurred to him that if Draco was capable of tenderness, then Harry ought to follow his example. Without a word, he Apparated them both away.

Draco had been to Azkaban once before in his lifetime. He had been here to visit Lucius during their break of winter solstice. Lord Voldemort had encouraged it, praising him highly for thinking of his poor old father. The meeting had ended in tears. As with Harry, Draco had thought it to be not all that bad at first. But by the time he had arrived at his father's cell, Draco had been aghast by all of the misery he had seen and the screams which kept following him. Everywhere, people had been begging him for help, reaching for him through the iron bars. His father had been one of the very few who kept quiet. And Lucius had been so quiet it had scared his son. At first Lucius had thought Draco to be a dream. Another figment of his imagination, and Draco had to keep reminding him throughout the hour he spent there, that he was really there. Lucius' hands had been refusing to let go off him. They were on his face, his hands, touching his clothes. Lucius had pulled his hand on the inside of the bars and smelled his skin. He had pulled Draco's head close to the bars, so he could smell his hair, his skin, his breath. You're alive, you're alive …! the elder Malfoy had kept saying, looking all surprised. He even smiled through the grime and streaks of tears on his face. This desperate, broken thing his father had become, had scared Draco. The meeting had done exactly what Lord Voldemort had hoped it would. By seeing his father's misery, the pressure on those young shoulders to perform the tasks he'd been given at Hogwarts, had intensified. And Draco had returned from Azkaban more resolved than ever to fulfil them.

It seemed to Harry as if Draco was unaffected by what he saw. The cells were filling up again, with known and unknown Death Eaters. Some of them seemed to know Draco, and there were those who – upon seeing him – hurled themselves at the iron bars and shouted obscene words after him. Others tried a different approach, pleading for absolution. Finally, they made it to Severus' cell. The former headmaster was awake now, and he was sitting on the floor, by the iron bars. When he heard footsteps approaching, and saw who it was, the dullness in his eyes disappeared. Draco did not hesitate. Severus was gripping the iron bars, and Draco sat down on his knees and wrapped his fingers about Severus'. He gasped as he felt how cold Severus' hands were. The former professor was cold and pale, and he eyed Draco with a new desperation Draco had never seen before. Severus rested his forehead against the bars, and he sighed relieved. Draco had his full attention, and the blond mirrored his gesture and moved in close. Harry sat down as well, but held his breath. He watched as the blond and the former headmaster, of all things, kissed. It was Draco who initiated it, hushing the older man, kissing away his tears, his dry and cracked lips and his cold, dry fingers.

“Melchior has told me not to intervene. I don't know why” he told Severus quietly.

“I have something inside of me, Draco. I don't know what it is …!” Severus swallowed. “Melchior placed it there. It protected me from Voldemort” he whispered, only loud enough for Harry to hear. The way the blond and the former headmaster were looking at each other, suggested an intimacy previously unknown to Harry. Here was a relationship of some kind, and the revelation made Harry feel as if he had been hurled against a wall and was now feeling its impact. “But it will not go away. It frightens me …! It keeps growing …!”

“Severus, you're in Azkaban and it's killing you, and all you worry about is – is that?”

“I need to know what it is …!” was all Severus replied.

“Listen” Harry said silently, “Melchior said he would attend your hearing. And I will do what I can to rush the date of your hearing.”

“Thank you” Severus replied.

“Why didn't you say anything? About my mother?!” Harry blurted out. He was in agony of the state Severus was in.

“Harry, you're not helping” Draco told him quietly.

“I could not have told you. At any rate. Not with so much at stake. I feared – that the dark lord would find a way to get to you – through me, if I did. I had to make you hate me.” Draco did not take his eyes off Severus. The older man was oh so tired. He could hear the growling of his stomach. “The sooner I die, the sooner the world forgets me” he whispered to Draco. Harry heard it as well. “I don't want to be remembered for this. Perhaps there's a chance that I might find Lily on the other side” he said and closed his eyes. He let go of Draco and curled up by the iron bars. Severus couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, giving in to the blissful darkness.
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Dark Lord Rising