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Whatever Tomorrow Brings	By : thewickednix Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3024 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters portrayed herein. This is made for fun, not profit.

Chapter List
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Chapter 2. Afterworld

He moves around restlessly in his sleep, his eyelids fluttering wildly, small noises of distress passing his lips. He makes me feel even more uneasy where I sit beside him in the infirmary, trying to wrap a gauze around my wounded hand.
I�m exhausted. I want to sleep, to eat, to go back home and see if there is anything left of it. But I can�t. I can�t leave the fucking room thanks to what I was forced to do.
Not that I did not know the consequences of my actions, it was all completely clear to me. But it is Potter�s fault that I am sitting here now, his fault that he couldn�t focus long enough to keep himself alive two minutes after bringing down the Dark Lord.
It is all I can do not to hit him for his stupidity
Naturally, I could have left him to die. But where was the point in fighting for the winning side for all that time if they would all end up condemning me a traitor because I didn�t do everything in my power to save their precious hero?
Not that my deed is likely to gain anyone�s approval either.
____________________________________________________

I have strange dreams.
I�m back on the battlefield, but in the middle of the fight, not far on the side trying to stay out of trouble. Then I see a woman some yards from me, wading out into the high grass, as if she�s after someone. But I see no one else.
Leaving the centre of the battle I follow Bellatrix, watch her stop in the high grass and let out a high pitched laugh.
�Well, well. If it isn�t little Harry Potter, and right at my feet too!�
She points her wand to the ground and mumbles something else, but I don�t have time to listen.
�Avada Kedavra!�
For some reason flicking the wand at the woman is harder than I had thought it would be. My heart feels heavier than before, and I find it hard to breathe in properly. Why, I can�t comprehend. Why would I have any qualms about killing Sirius� murderer?
Moving forward again, I reach Bellatrix�s corpse and the person she was trying to kill. I feel as if someone has hit me in the face when I look into those green eyes, hiding behind inky strands of hair, looking back with shock and disdain.
If that is Harry Potter, then who am I?
�Potter, you stupid prick!� I yell out, grabbing the boy in front of me by his arm and pulling him to his feet. I let go of him immediately, feeling a sneer form onto my face. �Try to stay alive, will you? At least until you kill the Dark Lord.�
Then the image changes. I am alone on the battlefield, looking down at the corpses of Avery and Carrow. I still hear noises of fighting behind me, but I run away from them, towards the edge of the forest where two figures are lying in the dirt.
I slump down next to a body, lying face down in the mud, convulsing from what looks like excruciating pain. The screams echo in the trees beside us.
�Potter! Potter, do you hear me?!�
I turn the body, my body, Harry Potter�s body, so that he is facing up. He blinks furiously, his eyes wide in pain and shock, his hands clawing at his own chest in panic. Roaring at him in frustration, I try to get him to keep still. If he does not, he will not stand a chance.
�Potter, goddammit!� I cry out. �Stop moving, or it�ll spread faster!�
Reluctantly he fights to keep still, but when he does not move, all strength seems to leave him. The light in his eyes goes out like a candle, and I feel as if I�m watching life drain out of him. I feel myself growing even more desperate, but as the tears begin to flow down his cheeks, I gather myself.
I realise what I must do. Reluctantly, I reach for my knife.

�Aaaaagh!� I cry out in panic, opening my eyes to find myself in a familiar room with stone walls. Immediately someone leans over me; Madame Pomfrey, potion in hand. But her intention to help me only makes me feel more panicked, and I can�t seem to stop hyperventilating. I try to concentrate on breathing, heaving myself up into a sitting position in spite of Pomfrey�s objections, fighting to get hold of myself.
And then I see him. Draco Malfoy, sitting in a chair by the foot of my bed, staring at me with cold indifference over an old copy if the Daily Prophet. Yet, I sense something resembling concern coming from him, and somehow the knowledge calms me down immediately. Breathing out in relief, I lean back against my pillow.
�How are you feeling, Harry?� Madame Pomfrey asks as she hands me a vial of a foul-smelling green concoction, which I swallow quite reluctantly.
�I�m fine,� I croak weakly, though I still feel a dull, throbbing pain in my entire body. It�s not bad though, nothing compared to what I felt on the battlefield.
Speaking of which�
�What happened to--�
�He�s lying,� a cold voice interrupts me. Pomfrey�s attention is turned towards Malfoy. The Slytherin doesn�t even look up, but keeps his eyes focused on the newsletter as he repeats his statement. �He�s lying. He�s still in pain.�
I lift an incredulous eyebrow at the blond, wondering silently what in my face revealed the truth. And why Malfoy of all people was the one to interfere? I get no opportunity to protest before Madame Pomfrey is pouring another potion down my throat. The liquid tickles my throat and I end up coughing convulsively.
�What happened?� I rasp, tears in my eyes. �Where are the others?� It�s not an easy question to ask, but I need to know. I need to know how many we lost, how many of my friends I have to say goodbye to this time.
�I think Mr Malfoy can answer that question better than I,� Pomfrey advices, nodding towards the blond. �I only know the whereabouts of those brought in here.� The woman sighs, gathering the empty vials onto a tray. Before she leaves she looks back at me. �Don�t extort yourself,� she commands, casting a warning glance in Malfoy�s direction. �See to it that he stays in bed. And no fighting now, boys.�
With last pointed look she leaves for her office. As soon as the door slams shut after her I turn to Malfoy.
�What are the casualties?� I ask, my voice quivering slightly from trepidation. Malfoy raises a pale eyebrow at my forwardness, but doesn�t question it.
He takes a deep breath and sets the Daily Prophet aside before answering. �Eleven dead or as good as, most of them Aurors. Mr Weasley was badly wounded and was shipped off to St Mungo�s. Granger got hexed but she�s recovering, though Pomfrey put her under a Sleeping Draught.� The blond nods towards another bed at the other wall of the infirmary, where I see a familiar head resting on a pillow. �I think Kingsley got hit pretty badly, but that didn�t stop him from going out there now and seeing to it that the Death Eaters are sent to Azkaban.�
I suddenly feel very tired, the knowledge of all that destruction, all those lives wasted, gathering like a lump in my stomach. It feels so strange to hear it all when my own memories of the battle are so muddled.
Voldemort is gone.
Finally, I did it. But that so called accomplishment seems to fade into that shadowy place in my brain, that darkness where everything from these last years is gathered. How can we rejoice in someone�s death when we have so many others to mourn for?
I try to feel proud of myself, to thrive in the knowledge that I defeated the greatest dark wizard of all times. But I can�t remember feeling any joy as I watched him crumble to the ground. Actually, all I remember is the pain that followed.
�What happened to me?� I croak, breaking the silence that has lingered in the room during my reverie.
�You were hit by a Scelero-curse,� Malfoy answers, the words sending shivers down my spine. I have no idea why; I don�t even know what the curse does.
�A what?� I ask dumbly, furrowing my brow at the Slytherin in confusion. He sighs exasperatedly, looking very uncomfortable as he begins to explain.
�Scelero Profanus. A curse designed specifically for Muggles and half-blood wizards,� he elaborates, leering at his own words as they pass his lips. �It dries out the bad blood in your veins, and the victim basically ends up dying from internal blood loss. It is considered to be extremely painful.�

I�ll second that! I think sardonically to myself, grimacing slightly at the memory. Malfoy raises an annoyed eyebrow at me, as if telling me to shut up and listen.
It takes me a second to realise I didn�t even speak.
��So,� I begin, still confused. �Does it have a counter-spell? You saved me, didn�t you?� I ask reluctantly, dismayed over the fact that I actually owe Malfoy something. My life, nonetheless.
�It does not have a counter-spell,� Malfoy answers grimly, his thin lips twisted in a foul sneer as he forces the words to cross his lips: �To save you, I was forced to bond with you.�

Initially, I want to hit the git for yanking my chain when I am humiliated enough as it is. I open my mouth to inform him that his little joke is most certainly not amusing, but when I look into his eyes my jaw falls shut. There is no humour in them, not a tiny twinkle of mirth in those cold grey pools. And suddenly I have no doubt of his sincerity.
�Are you fucking insane?!� I explode, unable to do any thing to control my temper. �Bonded? Isn�t that some sort of marriage? Don�t you need my consent or something?!�
�Stop yelling, Potter,� Malfoy snarls, his face calm but his presence reeking of resentment. �I am as furious as you are.�
�Then why the hell did you do it?� I shout back, as much as I try unable to fight my fury. Too late I realise that I may have taken things too far.
I can almost hear it when Malfoy finally snaps. �To save your fucking life!� he roars, flying out of his chair with such force I almost think he will attack me. But for some strange reason, the thought of Malfoy assaulting me isn�t as enraging or frightening as it should be. Instead it awakes the most unsettling thoughts of heavy breathing, muscles straining, heart pumping--
But Malfoy remains where his stands, his infuriated glare piercing through me as I fight to pull myself back from my most disturbing space-out ever.

You ungrateful little prick! If this is how you repay me, I would have been better off leaving you to die!

�Hey! I did not--� I begin to protest, before I suddenly realise that Malfoy didn�t even move his lips. A scream getting caught in my throat, I stare dumbly at the Slytherin. �How did you do that?!�
Malfoy looks slightly abashed, an embarrassed twitch in his lower lip. �I lost control,� he admits, leering back at me viciously. �You�re one to talk, I�ve been bombarded by your tedious inner monologue all day!�
�You can hear my thoughts?!� I cry out, ashamed of the panic clearly audible in my voice, resisting the urge to cradle my head to stop any more thoughts from escaping.
Malfoy simply snorts mirthlessly, sitting back into his chair. �Don�t flatter yourself in thinking that I try to,� he drawls dryly. �Your capability of controlling your emotions is positively abominable, and I have no way of blocking it.�
I feel my cheeks heat up in embarrassment, horror taking over me. This certainly explains some things. But the question is, how will I get rid of it?
�Please tell me this thing is reversible,� I plead, staring at Malfoy with desperation. �Bonds can be broken just as easily as they are made, right?�
�It�s not quite so simple,� the blond answers, looking at me with gloomily. �I was forced to use blood magic, which is noticeably more complicated than a usual bonding.�
�Do elaborate,� I grit sardonically through clenched teeth, clenching my fists around the bed sheets in a desperate attempt not to lash out at the git.
�You�re still screaming in my head,� Malfoy informs me laconically.
�Just shut up and tell me what you know!� I explode, no longer caring how classlessly I behave.
Malfoy sighs, clearing his throat theatrically. �I gave you my blood, which prevented the curse from fulfilling its purpose,� he says, showing up his left hand, the palm wrapped with gauze. �The bond allows us to share certain thoughts and� feel the other�s emotions,� he clarifies.
�There is a way to break it, though,� Malfoy finally professes, and I almost fall out of the bed.
�What is it?� I demand. �Let�s do it!�
�It�s the only reason why I chose this particular bond,� the blond says. �Because though I could make the bond without your consent, the bond needs to be consummated to be completed.�
�Consummated?� I repeat dumbly, the word echoing in my head. �You mean as in�� I trail off, gesturing offhandedly, unable to say the words out loud.
�As in sex, yes. What are you, Potter, twelve?� Malfoy leers exasperatedly. I open my mouth to answer him with an insightful insult on his own mentality, but my irritation over his contemptuous attitude seems suddenly unimportant next to the words he just uttered.
Choking on my own words, I stare back at the Slytherin in deep shock. �Are you seriously proposing that we--�
�No!� Malfoy exclaims, his mouth twisted in a sneer, proof of both his disgust and annoyance of my assumption. �Potter, you moron! I�m saying that the bond breaks if we don�t do it!�
I have a feeling I�m not quite following. �So what is the problem here? We just stay out of each other�s ways for as long as it takes, right?�
Malfoy takes a deep breath, his irritation still evident. �The problem is that the fresh bond requires us to be together. It prevents me from even leaving this room! Or do you think I would voluntarily stay by your bedside when for the first time in years I could be doing anything I wanted to?�
I smother the part of me that feels affronted by his words, instead quirking a confused eyebrow at him. �Are you serious?�
�Yes!� he cries out, his eyes flying to the door of Madame Pomfrey�s office, making sure she is not on her way to investigate what the ruckus is about.
�Don�t you get it?� Malfoy asks impatiently, staring at me intently, his hands wrapped so tightly around the arm holds of his chair that his knuckles turn white. �It�s not as simple as it sounds. The bond wants us to consummate it!�
For a moment I consider the possibility that Malfoy is mistaken. I can�t recall feeling particularly moved by his presence in the room.

Except--

�Fuck!� I exclaim, and Malfoy nods grimly at my realisation. I stare at him in horror, going through certain events of the past hour. I calmed down immediately when I saw Malfoy in that chair, when I thought he was going to attack me I�
�So,� I begin, still doubtful. �You mean to say that the bond will cause me to think� certain things? And I can�t do anything about it?�
�Precisely.�
I let out a breath I didn�t even know I was holding. Thank God for that. I thought I was going insane here!

Malfoy huffs dryly. �Don�t try to pretend it hasn�t already happened to you. There is no use denying it,� he drawls. �I can still hear your thoughts, remember?�
An embarrassed flush spreads over my face, but I chose to ignore it. It�s not as if I could win this debate, either way. I fight to concentrate on the real matter of urgency instead of my pride.
�Let me get this straight,� I state, trying to control all the mixed feelings in my head. �The bond wants us to� consummate it,� I emphasize the dreaded words. �and we can�t let it. How long is it going to be like this?� I ask, crossing my fingers for 24 hours.
�An estimated 40 days. Which means we have 39 left,� Malfoy sneers. My stomach drops.
�And if we� can�t control ourselves?� I enquire with dread, though I fear I already know the answer.
The Slytherin takes a deep breath before he answers, the most displeased scowl I have ever seen on his face. �Then we will be bonded. For life.�
��Shit.�
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TBC
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Whatever Tomorrow Brings