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An Image of Lethe	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 21751 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am not making any money from this story.

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Chapter Twenty-Nine—Tumbling Faster
            “Maybe we should rethink this.” Harry said that in some universe where he was the sane, responsible one, and Draco listened to him at all times. He said it, and they pulled back from each other and exchanged embarrassed glances and straightened their clothes and came up with a good plan to relieve their tension and make sure they didn’t snap and spill all their plans to the Death Eaters.
            That was in a different world, a different universe.
            Because here, Harry wasn’t the sane responsible one, and he was the first one to pull Draco’s shirt over his head, with a speed that made Draco sit back and gape at him a little, his eyes moving over Harry as if he was also half-naked.
            A second later, he was. Draco’s hands were fumbling at him, and his fingers scraped Harry’s sides in his haste and clumsiness, and Harry hissed and arched his back and spread his legs, forcing Draco to reach down between them while he was still wearing his trousers.
            Harry felt a burst of white light in his head when Draco’s fingers wrapped around his cock. He surged forwards, trying to shove himself into the grip of that hand. Draco’s hand tightened for a single second, then retreated.
            Harry lunged after him, and found himself falling. He landed on his hands and knees between their chairs, and Draco sat back with an exasperated look and shook his head at Harry.
            “If you calm down,” Draco hissed, his fingers working frantically as he pulled the shirt over Harry’s head and then attacked the band of the trousers, “you’ll see how we’re going to do this.”
            Harry tried, but the mere touch of Draco’s hands set something burning in him that he had never felt burn before. He kept turning his head and trying to mouth at Draco’s fingers, and that made Draco’s nails sting all the harder as he scraped them up and down Harry’s sides. But finally Harry’s shirt was off, and Draco reached down and roughly yanked his trousers off as well.
            Harry went still, looking down between his own legs. He still had his pants on, of course, but the dark wet spot was visible on them. He looked up at Draco, who still had his trousers on, and opened his mouth.
            He was going to demand that Draco take them off. He was.
            But Draco reached out and gripped Harry’s cock, holding his gaze this time, and Harry didn’t think about much of anything as his head tipped back and a hot sound worked its way out of his throat.
            Then he was hungry as well as hot and faint, and he attacked Draco hard enough that Draco tipped back on the floor, swearing. Harry spread his legs at once. Draco’s trousers were loose as if he’d lost weight recently, and maybe he had, and maybe Harry would worry about that later, but right now, he didn’t, because all that mattered was that they were easier to pull off.
            And Draco was leaning on his elbows back on the floor, gaping up at Harry, his mouth hanging open as if he wanted to show off his tonsils.
            Harry reached for Draco’s cock and gave a little twist, then heaved himself up on top of Draco.
            There was a sharp scent around him, one Harry had never smelled before. He nuzzled his head hard into the curl of Draco’s neck and sucked at it, and Draco yelped and reached up as if to fend him off. Harry caught his hand and sucked his fingers, one by one. By the time he did that, Draco was a willing, squirming mess beneath him, and Harry sat up triumphantly and solemnly pressed their groins together.
            The noise Draco made then…
            Harry ached with that noise. He would have been doing this before if he’d known what it would sound like. He would have done this in Hogwarts.
            But he hadn’t known, and honestly, the only thing he could really do was make up for lost time. He rocked forwards and rubbed his cock against Draco’s, listening for that sound again, sighing when he heard it. And the sharp scent was all around him, and Draco’s nails were scratching down his back, and the sting of pain was exactly what Harry needed, combined with everything else.
            He was the one who had to rock, since he was the one who had Draco pinned down on the floor, but that didn’t prevent Draco from giving a good account of himself. He was writhing and staring up at Harry with burning eyes, and honestly, it was pretty bloody exciting. Harry pressed up and down, and rocked back and forth hard enough to hurt, in search of the only thing that would be more exciting.
            Their groins crushed together, their breaths huffed, and at one point, Harry thought Draco was trying to say something. He bent down towards him, cocking his head, and Draco slammed his mouth open in a deep yell and then came.
            Harry could feel that flood of warmth and wetness against him, although separated by two barriers of cloth, and he shuddered. Yes, that was the thing he had been waiting for, the most exciting thing, and both his heart and his breath seemed to leap out of his chest as he—
            As he followed Draco in and down, and out, or in whatever direction you were supposed to go when you’d had an orgasm. Whichever direction. Harry’s mind was warm and fuzzy as he sagged onto Draco’s chest, and he didn’t pay much attention to where his head came to rest, which turned out to be under Draco’s chin. He was going to lift a hand, he thought. He was. But his hand flopped on the floor, too, and from the way Draco was breathing under him, he wasn’t in a hurry to move.
            The exhaustion and the warmth drifted down on top of them like invisible snow. Harry would have liked to lie there all day, if he’d had any choice.
            But they didn’t, and Harry finally forced himself to sit back and shake his head a little. Draco looked up at him through misty eyes, one hand still stroking Harry’s back. Then he blinked and sat up.
            “Did I do that?” He pulled his hand back, and Harry saw some blood on his fingers that must have come from the scratches Draco had inflicted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even know my nails were that sharp.”
            Harry held back a snicker when he saw the way Draco was staring at his hand. Draco would certainly take that the wrong way. “It’s all right,” he said. “I enjoyed it.” He arched his head down and kissed Draco.
            He didn’t get much of a response, but he understood when he pulled back and saw the sharp way Draco’s eyes were fastened on him—sharper than his fingernails. “Did you?” he muttered, almost under his breath. “Well, isn’t that something to think about.”
            Harry fought down the blush as much as he could, and shrugged a little while he sat back and reached for his own discarded clothes, climbing off Draco with a groan. “It is, but we can’t think about it right now.”
            “I suppose you would say that we shouldn’t have done this at all.” Draco sat up, wincing, and Summoned his own clothes after a moment of searching for his wand. His eyes hadn’t left Harry’s face, though, as Harry found when he turned curiously to look at him.
            “How could I say that?” Harry tugged the shirt over his head, and made a face when he felt the way the scratches pulled. He would have to cast a healing charm on them soon. No way could he face the Death Eaters while moving slowly. Any sign of weakness would make some of them, like Lucius, ready to leap on him.
            It was coming back now, the remembrance and realization of where they were and what they had done. Harry grimaced and shook his head. At least he felt more hopeful now, more ready to believe they could survive.
            And if that was a result of great sex, obviously the only thing to do was repeat it as often as possible.
            “You’re not going to say that?”
            Draco’s voice pulled Harry back to the conversation. “No,” he said. “It was as much my idea as yours. And I feel better now. Don’t you?”
            Draco nodded slowly. “I’ll walk funny for a while,” he said, and Harry caught his breath as he thought for a second of other ways that could be made to come true in the future. Draco smirked at him and added, “But that’s easily enough explained by the idea that you’re displeased with me and tortured your faithful servant. Should I act tortured?”
            Harry thought about it, then nodded. “Yes. Pretend that I lost my temper with someone else and tortured you because you were there, but then you reminded me of a missing piece of the Lightfinder and I healed some of the damage.” He focused on Draco, and grinned. “I’m sure you can phrase that so tense, jealous Death Eaters will hear what you want them to.”
            Draco smiled slowly back. “You have more faith in my abilities to play this game than I do myself.”
            “Is it too hard to on you?” Harry asked him. “I’m sorry. I only need about a fortnight more, I think.”
            “Why?”
            “Because otherwise I’ll probably be toppled,” Harry told him. “I build the reverse Lightfinder by then or I don’t build it at all.”
            Draco stared at him with a flat look, then nodded. He had a mask that was assembling as Harry watched, and Harry knew he was tucking his real emotions away and preparing for a venture back out into the corridors among the Death Eaters.
            But there was a fire that hadn’t been there before, lit in the backs of his eyes and flickering madly with light and life. Harry smiled. Maybe this hadn’t been a bad idea after all, no matter how risky it had been.
            “I’ll go and do whatever I need to do,” Draco murmured, “to make sure you and my father and mother and I survive. But first…”
            He took a long, light step forwards, and kissed Harry hard enough to imprint his teeth on his lips. Then he turned and strode away, shutting the door behind him softly.
            Harry closed his eyes and spent a moment savoring the sting on his back and the pressure on his lips before he set about healing both.
*
            “I think that you should know what trouble your father is getting himself into.”
            Greyback’s breath was warm and disgusting on the back of Draco’s neck. Draco kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. He was writing down a list that would appear to be Potions ingredients to anyone other than him and his mother who looked at it. However, in reality, it was a list of the symptoms that his father had displayed, ones that might help Draco figure out exactly what he had promised and what to.
            “Should I?” Draco dipped his quill in the ink again and kept writing. His letters weren’t large or looping, and that was almost the only difference between the enchanted writing and his normal hand. He didn’t think any of the Death Eaters would notice the difference. Harry was the only one who might. “What’s he done now?”
            Greyback snarled and circled around in front of him. Draco laid down the quill and gave Greyback a great deal of (blank, straight-faced) attention. He didn’t know what else Greyback wanted, or why he bared his teeth like that and leaned forwards as if he would bite off Draco’s nose.
            Draco would have been shivering and stinking of fear if this had happened only a few hours ago. As it was, he had something to give him inner strength now, something that had changed in a spectacular, positive way from his memories, unlike the changes that had happened to his father. He met Greyback’s gaze for long enough that a growl began to bubble in the werewolf’s throat, and Draco was reminded of what Greyback might think of a direct stare. Then he looked down and shrugged. “What’s he done now?” he repeated. “Something affecting me?”

            Greyback’s growl eased off, but his nails still came down and scored the old writing desk that Draco had found to balance his parchment on. Draco didn’t react, fixing his eyes on the edge of the paper, breathing in and out, and remembering what his aunt had taught him about Occlumency.
            “The Dark Lord wants to know what’s going on with him,” said Greyback abruptly. “Figured you were the best one to explain it.”
            Draco looked up with wide eyes. “That’s not true! You’re just trying to get me into trouble with the Dark Lord by telling secrets that aren’t yours and getting me to conspire against him with you!” In truth, he knew Greyback was probably frustrated by his fruitless assignment to spy on Lucius and was taking it out on Draco, but he could hardly say that.
            Greyback snarled again and leaned in close to Draco, treating Draco to a fine sight of his blackened gums and yellowing teeth. “You aren’t to question the Dark Lord. What he orders, you do!”
            “But I don’t know,” Draco said, and he thought he even managed to make it a convincing whimper. He raised his hands in front of him and focused on the edge of the parchment again. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know anything about my father other than what he’s told me, and I’ve already reported that to the Dark Lord.”
            “Then you can report it to me, too.” Greyback looked pleased with himself.
            Draco opened his mouth, and let the choking, ringing sensation from the spell his father had cast on him if he tried to betray his secrets come over him. It took a little effort, since Draco had already broken the spell once, but it seemed that it still held if he was trying to talk to someone other than Harry. He slid to the floor in the next instant, his head aching and his mind oddly clear and filled with satisfaction.
            Greyback was bending over him, patting at him and talking frantically. Only as he rose once again back to the surface of his own mind did Draco make out what he was saying. “I never meant…I don’t…the Dark Lord is going to kill me….”
            “If he found out that you killed another loyal servant of his?” Draco’s voice was croaking, and most of the time, he would have winced at that, because it made him look weak in front of Greyback. But right now, it was to his advantage. He sat up, leaning against the chair behind him, and grinned at Greyback in a way that he thought might make him look a little insane. Well, that was also to his advantage, right now. “Of course he would. And that means you should back off, Greyback. Listen to me.” He reached out with trembling, nerveless fingers, and Greyback caught his hand as if he thought Draco would try to hurt himself if he didn’t. “What my father is doing is between him and the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord knows all about it.”
            “Then why did he set me to spy on the bastard?”
            Draco met his eyes and realized abruptly, Whoops. I need to make sure that I don’t accidentally disrupt one of Harry’s plans or set Greyback on the right trail, either. He cleared his throat abruptly, coughed, and then murmured, “You didn’t know? Well, all right, I suppose you have to know now.”
            He made a big show of looking around, although they were in an isolated, disused bedroom and probably only Greyback’s keen nose had enabled him to track Draco down in the first place. Greyback searched with him, nostrils wrinkling back and teeth showing, then grunted and turned to Draco. “It’s clear.”
            “Good,” said Draco, and lowered his voice mysteriously. “The Dark Lord knows all about my father’s plans. But he couldn’t let him know that, could he? Among other things, the Dark Lord is curious to see how far my father will go in betraying him. So he lets him run on a sort of—chain.” He coughed. His throat still hurt when he talked.
            Greyback’s rapt attention made up for that, though. Draco called his voice and his ideas back up. “So he set you to spy on Lucius. He knows you’re loyal to him, so even if you had trouble finding out my father’s secrets, you wouldn’t turn against our Lord and come to him with some sort of made-up story. You’re part of a plan to distract Lucius and not let him know that the Dark Lord knows about his treacherous activities.”
            It was nonsense, of course—no one would ever trust Greyback with subtleties—but Greyback didn’t know he was so unsubtle. As he watched the werewolf’s face change, Draco knew he had him.
            Greyback stepped back and spent a moment considering Draco before nodding seriously. “Why did you know about this, though?”
            Draco smiled grimly, not making any attempt to get up yet. “I am my Lord’s loyal servant. And I had to know in case some of the things that my father said to me didn’t make sense. I had to know so I wouldn’t fight when my father cast this spell on me that won’t let me tell anyone else about what he’s doing.” He added, “The only reason I can tell you is that the Dark Lord trusts you. I didn’t even know how much. If I had opened my mouth and nothing came out, then that would mean he didn’t trust you. Courtesy of the Dark Lord’s spell, in turn.” He cautiously put his knees beneath him and started to rise to his feet.
            Greyback tugged him the rest of the way up, grinning all over his face. “The Dark Lord could have let me know,” he muttered, but the sour note of complaint wasn’t in his words. He spent a moment gazing into Draco’s eyes before he nodded and touched his nose to Draco’s cheek. Draco thought he might have hidden his horrified expression sufficiently. “Well. I owe you a debt, little puppy.”
            “You have to keep it secret,” Draco told him. “So the Dark Lord can triumph over his traitorous servants.”
            Greyback grinned again. “You think I didn’t get that?” He closed his left eye in a wink and tapped his ragged nails against his nose. “I won’t trouble you any more now.”
            He winked again and left the room. Draco got back into his chair. Yes, he believed that. Of course, Greyback might be grinning and giving him “subtle” signs across the room, but that couldn’t be helped. Lucius already suspected Greyback, anyway.
            “Draco.”
            Draco started and turned around, thinking for a second that he might now have to face Arsinoe Rosier; the voice was a woman’s. But instead, his mother stepped into the room and shut the door firmly behind her.
            “I have found out what force of magic your father made the promise to,” she said.
            It took Draco longer than it should have to pull his mind from the thoughts occupying it, where his father was primarily an enemy, and come back to what had to be his reality. He nodded and shrugged a little, feeling the harsh way his shoulders moved. “All right. What?”
            Narcissa stared at him. “Do you believe it would be wise to name it?”
            Draco’s face flared as though someone had lit a fire beneath his skin, and he moved aside from the parchment on the writing desk. “Can it detect its name when it’s written down?”
            Narcissa shook her head once and strode over to the chair. Her hand trembled as it closed on the quill, and Draco had to shut his eyes. To see his mother afraid like this meant it was—much worse than he had possibly thought it could be.
            The quill slashed and cut down the page, from the sound of it. Then it was still. Draco opened his eyes, thinking it was a short name when he would have expected an enormously complicated one, and leaned over to stare at the word written there.
            Ignis.
            Draco barely stopped himself from saying the name aloud. He did wonder what it meant, though, and why his mother would worry about it. It was Latin, a word used in incantations probably by hundreds of wizards every day. What--?
            Then he knew, and shivered. There had to be a difference between hearing a name in incantations and hearing it spoken by a witch who had probably just come from the investigation to find out what it was.
            “The force of elemental fire,” he murmured. “Right?”
            “Yes,” said Narcissa, seeming to relax once she realized he wasn’t about to speak the actual word aloud. “And I only discovered it because I was able to touch his mind with—with a spell that we implanted during our bonding.” From the way she winced, Draco could readily believe this was the first time she had ever told someone else about it. “I still don’t know if I got it completely right, but combined with other clues…”
            “Yes,” Draco muttered, thinking of the way that one ring of skin in Lucius’s promise sigil had blackened. Perhaps they were off-track, but they couldn’t be far. “What do you think that force is going to do when it comes to retrieving the promise, then?”
            “It is already doing it.” Narcissa’s gaze was steady. “It is burning him up from the inside, not literally but on enough of a literal plane that he will indeed lose his sanity and sense of self. However, enough is already gone that it is likely he does not realize what is happening. The force could break its promise, and he would never know.”
            Draco closed his eyes. “What can we do to stop it?”
            His mother was silent. Draco looked at her again, and found she was looking at him, but not the way she had before. It was more the way she had looked right after the Battle of Hogwarts, when she had acted as though he might still have died right in front of her.
            Draco sat up, shaking his head stubbornly. “No.”
            “I can save you,” Narcissa said. “I no longer think I can save your father. The man I promised to stand beside and marry and make a family with is already ceasing to exist.”
            “I have a way to save him,” said Draco.
            Narcissa paused, and Draco saw the flicker behind her supposedly pure coolness. She wanted to believe him. She just didn’t know if she dared. “You do?”
            “Yes,” Draco said.
            “How?”
            And Draco looked her in the eyes, and smiled, and lied.
*
Severus1snape: Thank you!
moon: Thanks!
Ciara_D: Narcissa thinks so, too. But Draco wants to save his father if he can.
SP777: You mean, against the other Death Eaters? They already think Harry/Voldemort is cutting Draco out with Astoria, though.
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An Image of Lethe