Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Bloodstone Heartbeat	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2901 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
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This is the direct sequel to "Bloodstone Heartbeat." Warnings for angst, aftermath of torture and violence, and issues of disability. It's two parts long; I'll post the second part next week.
This is the one where Ron and Hermione Find Out.
Heart of Knives
“I wanted to talk to you alone, Harry.”
Harry turned around slowly. He’d been making himself a cup of tea when Hermione popped out of the Floo, and frankly, he hadn’t already said something because he’d thought it was Malfoy, and Malfoy preferred to work in silence most days now. He heard Hermione’s quick breathing and frowned. “Is there something wrong with Ron?”
“What are you doing?”
Harry closed his fingers on the edge of the counter, both because he wanted to keep steady and because he thought it would probably be out of Hermione’s line of sight. “Making tea.”
“Not that! I just—I read about a potion that might give you back your sight, but it’s Dark, and it needs to be made with lots of gemstones.”
“How much would it cost? Is it actually illegal to brew? Because I might be able to pay someone as long as—”
“It also involves the vitreous humor of lots of different people,” Hermione said, and from the choked tone in her voice, she really sounded as if she might cry. “Harry, what did you do? Why did you do it?”
“Because I want to see again.”
Hermione said nothing. Harry couldn’t even hear if she’d moved away from where she’d been standing at first. He found that he didn’t much care. He stood there and listened, and when she didn’t do anything, either, he went back to brewing the tea. His senses had finally started to sharpen the way the Healers had promised they would, and he could distinguish most of the ingredients he needed by smell.
“It’s Dark. You know that. And it has something to do with the Eye Killer, doesn’t it?”
Hermione’s voice was so small that Harry could have ignored it. And he thought later that he really should have. But he could answer her question without stopping his movements, so he did. “Believe what you want, Hermione.”
“I don’t care that it’s illegal, Harry. It’s immoral. You could do so many other things. Why don’t you—why don’t you live, instead of giving up on life and only longing for what you lost?”
Harry bowed his head. He said nothing, but he hoped that Hermione wouldn’t assume it was because he was contrite. Nothing could be further from the truth. But he knew if he spoke his thoughts at this moment, his friendship with Hermione would die in the flame raging through him.
“Harry? I want an answer.”
“You already have it,” Harry whispered harshly. “I’m doing this because I want to see again.”
“But you—I know you, Harry. You’re too good a person to do something like this. Did someone put you under the Imperius? Another will-influencing curse?” Harry heard her wand swishing this time as she checked him for the spells, not speaking the incantations to do it aloud because she probably didn’t want to insult him.
“As though the Imperius could affect me,” said Harry, and turned around so that his back was to the counter, and braced both hands against it this time. He was breathing too fast. He knew it. He knew it would look suspicious to Hermione, and that was horrible. It was horrible that she had figured out as much as she had about the potion that Malfoy was brewing.
How did she do it anyway? Probably researched all the methods she could think of to give me back my sight, and stumbled across mention of that potion somewhere.
“It might. You’ve changed, Harry. Sometimes, I know, pain can lower your resistance, and your desperation to see again might make you subconsciously go along with someone who seemed to promise you that—”
“If someone really brewed this potion for me, it wouldn’t be a trick, would it?” Harry cut in. “It would really let me see again?”
He listened to her breathing, and knew the answer before she spoke it. “Of course it would. But it’s a banned potion for a reason, Harry. All the blood it needs—including heart’s blood—”
What would she say if she knew that Malfoy wanked me through getting that blood? Harry concealed the hysterical laugh, and only said, “If you think I’ve changed enough to be affected by the Imperius, then you must know that I’ve changed enough to want that potion no matter the cost.”
“You’ll lose worse than your sight if you’re really that desperate, Harry.”
“What else could I lose?”
“Your heart.”
“You mean that someone might need to mash my heart to brew the potion?” It was the only thing Harry could think of. And he did think Malfoy would have told him if that was the case, and Malfoy wanted Harry to live to be his rival again. He wouldn’t take his heart unless there was some way of returning it.
Harry wanted to laugh when he realized what he was thinking. He would have if he was alone. I trust Malfoy with my heart. How stupid is that?
“Harry—you have to listen to me.” Hermione’s voice was unsteady, and from the clinking noise, she’d almost dropped her wand on the table. “I think something is really wrong. You’re not only planning on using an evil potion, but you took me literally. I mean that you’ll lose your sense of right and wrong. What will happen when you have your sight back?”
“I’ll be happy.” And Harry had no doubt of that. If nothing else, Malfoy wouldn’t like him brooding, and he would do his best to tug Harry out of any depression he fell into. Probably by his cock.
“No. You only think that. You’ll be able to see, and you’ll be able to see how horrible this was, too.”
Harry would have liked to have real eyes instead of balls of glass that the Healers had implanted, simply so he could roll them. Then again, he would have better things to do with new eyes, once Malfoy regrew them. “It’s easy for you to say that, Hermione. You’re not the one who was tied down and had your eyes burned out by the Carrows.”
Hermione gulped, the way she did when she was crying. Harry cocked his head. Had he come this far in letting Malfoy brew the potion because he couldn’t see? Not just because he wanted his eyes back so badly, but because he couldn’t see Hermione’s tears? Sometime in the past, he probably would have given up the idea at once if it upset her so much.
“It’s not easy,” she finally fought through her sobs to say. “I hate what happened to you, Harry. But I want you to find a real way out of it. This isn’t the way.”
“What’s the real way?” Harry was a little curious to see what she would say. After all, there were lots of solutions that she and Ron had already tried out, and none of them had worked. The only thing that Harry had really done a lot of was attempting to find a way to hold a job through owl post, and there were so many spells he needed to cast that he hadn’t advanced far even with that.
“You—you have to live. You have to.”
“This potion is going to help me learn how to live. How to get back to it. I thought you would be happy about that.”
“It isn’t you!” Hermione all but screamed, and launched herself at him, her fingers digging into his arms for a moment. Then Harry moved to the side and she fell against the counter and almost knocked his teacup over, from the sound. “It isn’t—you can’t really believe that you’re going to just walk into this and then walk out.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” It was pleasant to say that with a smile. Harry didn’t know how she would react to the smile. He couldn’t see it.
One of the things I’m going to do when my eyes heal is simply look into a mirror for as long as I like.
“You can’t believe that you can play with Dark magic and still be the same,” Hermione breathed out, so fast that Harry had to concentrate to be sure he had her. “You can’t believe that.”
“Make up your mind, Hermione. Am I going to change as a result of this, or have I changed already?”
“It’s both! It’s always both! But this kind of change doesn’t warp and twist the very person you are!”
Harry shrugged. “If you want, you can say that the Darkness comes in during the brewing process. And I’m not doing the brewing. I highly doubt drinking the potion is going to twist me in the way you seem to be thinking of.”
“You wouldn’t think of it that way, no,” Hermione whispered, and now she sounded absurdly tormented, at least in Harry’s opinion. “But—just tolerating this. Tolerating murder.”
“I didn’t think any of the victims of the Eye Killer had died lately.”
Hermione said nothing. Harry turned his head, keeping up his sense of where she was by the noisy breathing she couldn’t hide, and the way her footsteps shuffled across the carpet towards the door.
Really, once you got used to concentrating on them, it was amazing how loud most humans were.
“I have to think,” Hermione said. “And I need to talk with Ron.” She paused, but didn’t leave, and Harry heard a soft slithering sound that he thought was her hand working on the doorknob. “Then we’ll come back. We’re going to talk you out of this. I know what you think you have to do, but—we’re still your best friends. I would have sensed it if that had changed. We’re going to convince you otherwise.”
The door opened and shut. Harry stood there for a second, using his ears and even his nose to make sure that Hermione had really left.
Then he went back to making his tea.
*
“They were here, weren’t they?”
Draco didn’t even pause to see if Potter nodded. He knew the signs, although some were more obvious than others. For example, there was the chair that had been shoved away from the side of the table where Potter never sat. There was the soot scattered on the floor around the fireplace when Potter never traveled by Floo anymore except with help.
But Draco thought even those signs paled next to the stench of righteousness in the air.
“Just Hermione.” Potter was sipping the last of a cup of tea, staring at the far wall. He moved his head towards Draco. Draco was glad to note that his eyelids were lowered, covering the green glass balls that the Healers had inserted in his empty sockets in place of his real eyes. The not-quite-right green always drove Draco to distraction.
“And she knows.”
“About the potion? You told her?” Draco placed some black sapphires on the table beside his pestle. He didn’t think Potter would be that stupid, but he could feel saliva gushing into his mouth at the thought anyway. It meant Potter might have grown back into some of the reckless stupidity that typified Draco’s rival.
If he was that near the person Draco demanded already, then it might not make as much difference as he thought, the length of time the potion still had to brew.
“No. She put together the clues about the Eye Killer with things she’s been reading.” Potter’s hands fluttered above the teacup. Draco watched them and entertained the fantasy of breaking his fingers to make them be still. He wasn’t seeing the world through them right now, only being nervous in a way that didn’t suit him. “And she doesn’t know it’s you, but she knows someone is brewing this particular potion for me. Her discovering who it is can’t be far away.”
“I look forward to it.”
Potter paused in that particular way Draco knew. Draco smiled and went to work crushing the largest black sapphire with his mortar and pestle, looking critically at the others he’d brought along. He had to choose the two least flawed for this potion. Unfortunately, black sapphires weren’t common in the first place, and buying large numbers of them would attract attention. The one he was crushing now was undoubtedly the best, but he would have a hard time deciding between a few of the others.
“Why do you look forward to it? The last thing you should want is Hermione knowing you’re brewing an illegal potion!”
“Potter, Potter. Do you imagine I’d allow her to go to the Aurors?”
“You are not killing one of my best friends.”
“Oh, I know that. I don’t need to.” Draco held up the pestle to look at the glittering fragments cradled in it, then looked at the whole sapphires. Perhaps he could search for similarities to the one he’d already chosen, and settle the question that way. “The only thing I need to do is wait for her to kill it.”
“What? Kill it?”
“Your friendship. It’s dying of its own weight, isn’t it? The fact that she immediately flew into scolding you for this, and assumed you couldn’t have a good reason for participating in it, and probably told you you should go on ‘living’ without defining that—well, how can she stride around proclaiming that’s easy when she’s never lost her sight?”
Potter was silent, his hands flexing at his sides. Draco nodded and chose his second sapphire, the third-largest, setting the others aside for the next stage of the potion that didn’t actually involve crushing gems. Meanwhile, he had to labor to reduce the ones he had to their component fragments.
It was exhausting work, and Potter didn’t speak until Draco was almost done with the first one. Then he said, “I think she would probably take losing her eyes better than I did.”
“We’ll never know. And you have the right to take it any way you like.”
Potter let loose a little gust, a gush, of breath, and then he said, “I do, don’t I?”
Draco shook his head a little. It was a bit pathetic, how often he had to remind Potter of his rights, but then again, Potter had lived endless years in bondage to people less impressive than himself. If Draco hadn’t reminded him, he would fall back into that old bondage.
The thought made Draco want to spit as much as the loss of Potter’s original eyes once had. If Potter’s friends could turn him away from the promise of the potion, then Draco would never have his rival back.
But he didn’t intend to let that happen. He finished crushing the sapphires and turned around. “I need something else from you.”
Potter had been standing with his head bowed, apparently considering his future without friends, but he looked up at that, his eyelids twitching above the glass. “What is it?”
Draco slid a step closer, delighting in the way that Potter immediately tensed and focused on the sound. “You would have said that in a much more hostile tone, once. Don’t tell me that you’re going soft on me, Potter.”
“Come and touch me and feel how hard I am, Malfoy.”
Draco chuckled. He hadn’t realized that touching Potter to give him pleasure and distract him from Draco taking his heart’s blood would have such an effect. “I think I will,” he said, and crossed the distance and plunged his hand down Potter’s pants while his rival was still opening his mouth for the retort.
Potter was hot and hard against his palm in seconds, because of Draco’s touch if not before. He reduced his groan to a grunt, and reached down and shoved Draco’s hand more roughly against himself. Draco sighed and crowded in, ramming shoulders and chests together.
“Not without reciprocation this time, Potter,” he whispered.
Potter didn’t even hesitate, except for the groping he had to do because Draco was in the wrong place when he first reached out. Draco leaned back and thrust into his fingers, eyes closed and body moving at a strong pace he couldn’t abate and realized a moment later, with a little start, he didn’t want to.
This was a diversion. The goal was to have his rival back.
But in the meantime, he could admit how damn good this felt, as Potter’s fingers curled around his shaft and wandered up and down. Potter made an inquisitive little huffing sound that disappeared into a loud cry as Draco palmed him and then bent down a little so that they were at more of the same height.
This close, Potter’s eyelids were fluttering up and down. Draco chose to shut his own eyes. He didn’t want to see those unnatural balls of green glass. He wanted to imagine what would come.
How he would cast spells when Potter was capable of dodging again. How he would laugh aloud when he realized that Potter could see him, and then try a curse at his face to make him duck. How he would force Potter to kneel and suck him off when he could see what was coming at his throat.
Draco caught his breath and came so hard that afterimages broke and wheeled about his eyes. It was more his own fantasies than Potter’s stroking hand that had done it. In fact, Potter’s hand had paused in shock. Draco reached down and punished him for it with a racing yank, one that pulled a grunt and an orgasm from Potter at the same moment.
Draco leaned his head on Potter’s shoulder for a moment, not to be tender but to recover his balance. His hip was against the table for the same reason.
But his mind was all over the place. It was the first time he had thought of forcing Potter to have sex with him when he could see again.
As long as it's force. As long as it's not...something else...
Draco shook his head. He had told Potter that his friendships were dying of their own weight, and that was true. It didn't mean he could be friends with Draco. Friendship wasn't the right word when Draco had done things Potter had to consider Dark and illegal.
Even if it means that he can see again?
Scowling, Draco ripped himself away from Potter hard enough to startle a gasp out of him. Then he reached down and cast a Scourgify on Potter's cock, which got more than a gasp. He was bending and clutching the table as if he would fall on his face.
"Remember what reciprocation means," Draco breathed harshly, before he turned away to finish crushing the other stones he'd brought with him.
He stopped. There was no excuse for what had happened while he was distracted, except that Potter had given no alarm either. Granger stood in front of the Floo with her hands over her mouth.
"No," she said, in a tiny voice that was strangled with shock.
Draco had his wand dangling at his side. He should have been able to raise it in time, there was no reason he shouldn't, but Granger still whirled and went through the Floo before he could cast his Obliviate.
The thick silence was broken by Potter's voice. "I suppose that has killed it, then."
*
SP777: Harry is beginning to be not that incapacitated.
And now they're going under one banner.
Swizzle89: Thank you!
Hestia: Yes, unfortunately, this isn't a series I update regularly. I have to be in the right mood to write this kind of fic.
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Bloodstone Heartbeat