Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Intangible	By : ChimaeraChan Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9795 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-CH1
- 2-CH2
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- 4-CH4
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- 9-CH9
- 10-CH10
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- 13-CH13
- 14-CH14
- 15-CH15
- 16-CH16
- 17-CH17
- 18-CH18
- 19-CH19
- 20-CH20
- 21-CH21
- 22-CH22
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- 25-Ch25
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Chapter Three
Draco let the warm water wash over him, sitting on the tiled floor, studying his hands and feet as they turned pink and pruned from being too long in the water.
If fucking himself with his fingers while thinking of Harry fucking Potter didn't prove he was gay, he really didn't know what the fuck would.
His mother wanted him to marry, have children, run the Ministry. Stupid, trivial shit that Draco had little interest in, but his mother was very determined about. Like it had done so much fucking good for his father. All that money he had made, and those hours away from the house, just to end up a fucking psycho, murdering innocent defenseless muggles while secretly hoping to kill a boy the same age as Draco. A boy that had done nothing wrong, except live the first time some other psycho had tried to kill him.
Taking a look at his family bloodlines, Draco was pretty certain kids were not the way to go. Very few of his relatives were not insane, or murderous, or just fucking terrible people in general. There was Sirius Black... Nymphadora Tonks... and him. Currently, since Draco was fairly fucking certain he could smell someone that had been dead for nearly a year, and not in a rotting way, he wasn't so damn sure about himself anymore.
Serene Vellamorn, the pureblood Narcissa had researched, pursued, and managed to contract into engagement with her gay son, did not have much of a better family history. Oh, sure, the occurrence of squibs and the human hearted had likely made their way in, only to be struck out of record, but it had little effect on the young lady herself. She was wealth oriented and hateful. So hateful that on meeting her for the first time at thirteen, Draco had decided he needed to change. Because talking so much shit about mudbloods and muggles just left you looking fucking dim and ugly.
Not that Serene wasn't beautiful. His mother had managed to find one as waif like and delicate as possible, almost as if she was hoping to make Draco look much more manly next to her. Draco feared they'd probably spend too much time fighting over the mirror, not to mention him likely cutting out her tongue a week into the relationship, just to prevent the fucking horrible creature from speaking the things she spoke. How someone so lovely and privileged could hate the world so much was beyond him. Serene's parents weren't Death Eaters.
Draco had made a promise to his father when the man was towering in rage, fingers wrapped around Draco's arm in a painful death lock, moments from dragging him down the hall to his fucking Dark Lord. He would stop insisting he was gay and continue the Malfoy bloodline, if Lucius would not force the dark mark on him. It had been one slavery for another.
Blaise and Pansy could speak all they liked about being under duress and in extenuating circumstances, but Draco had made a promise. A promise that allowed him to stay free from the sick fuck, Voldemort, and alive for the final week before the Dark Lord died. Draco had not been broken, corrupted, maimed or harmed—unlike the other children that had received the mark while Lucius had made Draco watch.
Lucius jailed permanently, Draco was responsible for restoring the Malfoy name and making sure their bloodline continued. And that was even okay, even when his intended was hateful and dim, because Draco had not been marked by the Dark Lord, and he had not been tied to his power. Voldemort had not taken Draco's magic and strength into his battle. That one promise had ensured that Draco had not in any way assisted in the murder of Potter.
Still, it seemed the boy was determined to haunt him.
“Fucking hell... Fucking quidditch... Fucking Potter...” Muttering, Draco got to his feet, turning off the water spray and nearly falling as darkness edged his vision and he swayed. “Fuck... can't eat... can't sleep... losing my mother fucking mind...” He grabbed a towel from the bar, wrapping himself in the fluffy black and drying off.
“Over a fucking quidditch game. Shit. I am losing my fucking shit. Haunted by a scent... Who the fuck does that? Who the fuck hexes someone's dead scent everywhere?” Shaking his head in disbelief, Draco tossed his towel in the laundry and padded to his bureau in the other room to throw a pair of pajama pants on. He didn't feel like eating, his stomach still queasy at the slightest mention of food. But he was tired, and didn't care how early it still was.
He crawled under his magically charmed sheets, set to keep him warm in the chill dungeon air. It was his own fault, really, having paid so much fucking attention to Potter, loving his fucking eyes, wanting his damn rude mouth. Even liking his messy hair, chocolate and rumpled and so very different from the people around Draco. Potter was wild, passionate, and not afraid to speak up for what he wanted in the face of every fucking terrible thing going on in the world. He had been fearless.
Draco didn't even know the meaning of the word. His parents didn't know the meaning. They struck so much fear in him, and yet, had been filled with it themselves, hoping not to be killed by the lord they served. All Draco had was fear, fear and hope that he could escape one day. Potter had been a big part of that hope. Fuck—Potter had changed his entire fucking world.
Then he had disappeared. Each day Draco had waited, waited for news that the boy would be found, alive, full of arrogance and triumph. Fuck, just alive would have been enough. But they didn't find him. Over half a year later, they weren't going to find him because surely he was dead. And as that thought had seeped in to Draco, his hope had left as well.
Potter had changed his world, but Draco couldn't. He wasn't fearless. He barely knew how to live.

Eyes closed, Draco felt breath move across his face, tickling his cheek. He reached up to rub the spot, sighing and letting his hand rest, fingers curling. It had been that nightmare again, the one where he was being chased by an unseen force. He didn't have to see to know that it was Voldemort, his presence always the same mixture of terror and hopelessness in Draco's mind. It was the dream where he was running, but no matter how hard he tried, he was moving so slowly, just out of reach of the grasping claws...
He must have woken himself up, crying out. It wouldn't have been the first time... No. Something had woken him. A faint brush to his forehead, a warm weight on his lips... That's what had woken him.
Draco opened his eyes, blinking sleepily as he tried to see where the figure must surely be. Again, soft breath fanned so close and Draco peered in that direction, the dark not revealing anything. He touched his lips, feeling them tingle. He breathed deep, Potter's scent very strong in his senses. “You must think it's funny,” he whispered. “Some sort of fucking joke to drive me crazy... haunting me.”
His eyelids drooped, sleep pulling him again. Draco turned his face towards the warm puffs of air, moving closer to where he could sense someone resting only inches away. “Jokes on you, Potter. I was already fucking crazy when it came to you.” His eyes fell shut, sleep washing back over.
He was pulled again from sleep, warm breath ghosting over his cheek, fanning across his mouth. Draco gave a soft gasp, lips brushing his, fingertips gently touching his face. There was a soft exhalation next to his nose and warm lips pressed persistent until Draco's lips parted and a wet tongue met his.
Then pulled away, the heat leaving his mouth, fingers still gently stroking the side of his face. Draco breathed out unsteadily, eyelashes fluttering. Then the hand pulled away, and Draco frowned, huffing. “S'alright... don't leave...” he whispered, sleep again calling him down. Lost moments and then the hand returned, fingers tracing Draco's features as he drifted off to sleep. This time he dreamed of summer and laughter.

Harry watched Draco sleep, resting on the magic imbued sheets and wondering if he was losing his mind as well. He had stayed in the bathroom for the longest time, until he couldn't bear it anymore, afraid maybe Draco had left and Harry would again be alone, strange bursts tearing his body apart.
How the fuck did Malfoy know it was him? He had said something about his scent... But how the fuck would Malfoy know what Harry smelled like? People smelled like people, not like individual people. Just enough to recognize flesh and know another of the same species.
Harry bent close to Draco's ear, intentionally breathing in the boy's scent for the first time. He had not smelled another living being besides Fawkes in months, and Draco didn't smell like the slightly dusty, fire-soaked bird. But he didn't quite smell like what Harry remembered other people to smell like either. What he did smell was amazing, that was for certain.
Could this have to do with Malfoy's glowing white form of feathers and scales? Did maybe that part of him sense Harry in a different way than how normal people sensed each other? It was the only place they actually touched, on that fifth plane of existence. Maybe it was there that Malfoy could recognize him... could maybe recognize him before, when Harry hadn't been trapped out of sync with the world.
Draco sat in at least two different planes of existence every moment of his life. One of them very much being the dimension Harry needed to get back to. Surely, somehow, Malfoy was the key to getting him whole again. Harry breathed up Draco's neck, trying to absorb and remember the boy's scent the same way Draco had managed to do the same of him. Without his consent, his tongue flicked out and caught on the sleeping boy's skin. If Draco smelled amazing, he tasted even more so.
Harry was not sure why he was having such difficulty controlling himself. Touching Draco in the shower, licking him now. Knowing, even as he stared at the boy and knew he shouldn't, he was going to lick him again. Harry bent his head, tongue wide and flat as he ran from Draco's collar up the long column of his pale throat until reaching his jaw. Draco shifted in his sleep, murmuring softly, and Harry licked the boy again, breathing in his sweet scent and trailing saliva over Draco's sensitive neck.
He could bite the boy, right on the side of the warm flesh. Could sink his teeth in, clamp his jaws tight, and... and something. Harry wasn't exactly sure what biting Draco was supposed to do, but the dangerous spark that had been bubbling in him since realizing Draco was alive, seemed to have a voice to it. And that voice knew that biting the boy would be a very, very good thing to do. Harry licked him instead, another long swipe to sooth the neck he had tormented so readily just earlier that day.
Eyes gazing at the sleeping boy's face, finally calm now free of nightmares and deep in sleep, Harry wondered if it was worth going back. Living how he had before, where he would have never had a chance to be this close to Draco Malfoy. Maybe Harry was really going mad as well.
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Intangible