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Icarus Syndrome	By : WhiteNightmare66 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 21217 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series. I am not making any money from the production of this fic.

Chapter List
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-X-

Icarus saw a great white
swan climb past him, wings spread, shooting like a great white arrow
straight for the sun. Icarus looked after him; he had already
dwindled and was a splinter of light, moving toward the sun.

“How splendid he
is, flying so swiftly, so proudly, so high. How I should like to get
a closer look at the sun. Once and for all I should like to see for
myself what it really is. Is it a great burning eye looking through
an enormous spy hole, as some Libyans say; or is it Apollo driving a
golden coach drawn by golden horses, as the Athenians believe; or
perhaps is it a great flaming squid swimming the waters of the sky,
as the barbarians say; or, maybe, as my father holds, is it a monster
ball of burning gas which Apollo moves by its own motion. I think I
shall go a bit closer, anyway. The old man seems to be napping. I can
be up and back before he opens his eyes. How splendid if I could get
a really good look at the sun and be able to tell my father something
he doesn't know. How that would delight him. What a joke we will have
together. Yes...I must follow that sun.”

So Icarus, full of
strength and joy, blood flaming in his veins, stretched his homemade
wings and climbed after the swan. The air seemed thinner, his body
heavier, the sun was swollen now, filling the whole sky, blazing down
at him. He couldn't see any more than he had before; he was dazed
with light.

“Closer...Higher...Closer...Up
and up...” He thought. He felt the back of his shoulders
growing wet. “Yes, this is hot work.”

But the wetness was not
what he supposed; it was wax- melting wax. He felt the wings sliding
away from him. As they fell away and drifted slowly down, he gazed at
them, stupefied. It was as if a great golden hand had taken him in
its grasp and hurled him toward the sea. The sky tilted. His breath
was torn from his chest. The diamond-hard sea was rushing toward him.

“No!” He
cried. “No...No!”

Daedalus, dozing and
floating on his column of air, felt the cry ripping through his body
like an arrow. He opened his eyes to see the white body of his son
hurtling down. It fell into the sea and disappeared. (1)

Draco
felt the book slip from his fingers and clatter to the floor beside
the bed. He felt the tear tracks cut down his cheeks, hurriedly
wiping them away. Why would Dumbledore leave that damn story here to
taunt him with what he knew was inevitable?

Dumbledore
knew the damn curse, regardless of what he asked. He would have bet
the old man knew from the moment he'd mentioned Icarus, or when he
saw the pattern of wings along his back when the Golden Trio brought
him here. Anger coursed through him, as inevitable as Icarus' fall.
But on the tail of that was loneliness and depression.

The sun
of his own story wasn't near as romantic as the one in Icarus' tale,
but it was as dear and as enticing to him as it was to Icarus and it
was only Madam Pomfrey bustling in the other room that pulled him
from his thoughts.

-X-

“It's
Icarus Syndrome.” Dumbledore sighed as Snape strode into the
room. The pale man drew up short and narrowed his eyes.

“Lucius
not only knew about that obscure curse but actually put it to use on
his only heir?” He asked slowly. “You do realize that the
number of people qualified to even recognize the curse is a pathetic
twenty worldwide.”

“I
do.” He nodded. “Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter and
Mr. Black will make that a twenty-four then.”

“Of
course we must include the Boy-Who-Lived in each life-threatening
situation so he may perform the hero.” Snape snarked snidely.

“Mr.
Potter has a bit of a more integral role than hero this time.”
Dumbledore said quietly. “I have the belief that he's the
“ocean” corresponding to the dictates of the curse.”

Snape
froze mid-snort. Of all the people Lucius could have chosen... Why
would Draco want...He cut off his inner rant and scowled at the older
man.

“And
have you identified the “sun” of the curse yet?”

“No,
we have not. I was hoping you could encourage Mr. Black to allow his
memory of the spell and the trigger this morning to be examined in
your pensieve.”

“I'll
speak to the boy. I won't let him remain in the dark though,
Dumbledore. Whatever I find I'm sharing with the child. He's strong
enough to deal with this.”

“I'll
trust your judgment Severus” Dumbledore smiled at him as he
swept out of the office. His smile turned sad as the door closed,
echoing through the room. Fawkes trilled, drawing his eyes. “Yes,
my boy. But I truly believe this will be the end of it.”

-X-

He
wasn't quite sure of the etiquette involved in interrupting a quiet
moment. He'd stood here for some time now at a loss of what to do.
Pomfrey had disappeared into her stores and left him in her office,
directly adjacent to the private room where Draco Malfoy, Black now
he reminded himself, was being kept. Naturally, as with all things
remotely related to fate and Harry Potter, the door was ajar.

There
was a book sprawled out on the floor next to where he was resting,
but it was the tears and soft cries that had him frozen. Half of him
wanted to discreetly shut the door to avoid the confrontation all
together. The other half wanted to enter and distract him from his
worries, insult him like he used to. Draco Black had lost too much
bite since the end of the war. Surprising enough to border on
upsetting.

Anxiety
kept him trapped between the two choices, but the fates were once
again spitting on him, as silver-grey eyes rimmed red rose to meet
his. They stood there, shock racing through them, before Draco's eyes
lowered and Harry found himself entering the room and shutting the
door.

“Er,
uh, hi.” He muttered, shifting from foot to foot. Draco let out
a snort and rose from the bed.

“Relax,
Potter. I can't exactly do anything harmful.” He grumbled as he
reached his hand down and drew the book upwards with small wandless
magic. He settled it back in his lap and clasped his hands over it.
“Well?” He gestured to the chair that Dumbledore left
behind.

Harry
scowled at the ugly thing, before sighing and dropping into it.

“I'm
going to assume that you aren't here out of good will.” Draco
started.

“I'm
here for a check-up.” He said the final word with the exact
same tone Draco was aware of using the first five years at Hogwarts.
He felt an eyebrow lift. He scanned the Golden Boy purposefully slow,
letting the Gryffindor follow his eyes.

“There
doesn't seem to be anything wrong...”

“It's
my magic.” He admitted. There wasn't any point keeping it
quiet. What was one lone boy going to do when he was both without
wand and suffering under his own curse? Draco's brows furrowed and
Harry decided to elaborate. “It's not completely under my
control anymore. Seems to want to do whatever it pleases. Changed the
common room colors to orange and black for a few hours.”

Draco
chuckled softly. “Not exactly an improvement, Potter. But not
much worse either.” Harry scowled lightly at him.

“It
wasn't voluntary. But it's small things like that. And I seem to make
Quidditch balls gravitate to me. That's when we finally worked out
what was wrong.”

“Why
aren't I surprised?” Draco shrugged, loosening his arms from
their stiff cover of the book. Harry's attention was drawn toward it,
but chose to keep his mouth closed, enjoying the small, civil
conversation with the Slytherin.

“Dumbledore
sent me up for a check-up, but Pomfrey can't find anything wrong. She
hasn't gone through the entire arsenal of diagnosis spells yet so I'm
still waiting.” He felt silence settle between them but it
wasn't as awkward as it could have been. Instead, it seemed
comfortable. He relaxed a bit into the chair and studied the blond.

Draco
lost a lot of the sharpness his features had before the war. His hair
was tied back properly in a green ribbon at the nape of his neck but
seemed like it would drop just past his shoulders when free. Other
than the faint scars Pomfrey obviously wasn't able to cure, he seemed
fairly well. Physically anyway. Mentally, he probably had chunks of
armor missing.

“Potter,
what do you know about Icarus?” He started at the soft words
and the shining silver eyes turned his way and slowly shook his head.
Draco's lips twisted faintly. “Thought so.”

Harry
scowled and felt anger stir but quelled it when Draco opened the book
to a horribly sad image.

“This
is an artist's rendering of Icarus' Fall.” The picture moved, a
young boy rising toward this magnificent sun on wings of wax. Another
larger man was also flying but lower than the boy. Suddenly, the
feathers began to drift down and the wings disintegrated. The boy
fell through the air suddenly, features twisted into horror, and the
man's face was echoing it perfectly. The boy fell through the air and
was swallowed by the sea, despair and terror etching itself on the
older man's face. The picture reset itself, and Harry turned away
from the image, feeling sick.

“That's
awful.” He said, feeling sympathetic pain well up.

“He
and his father were trapped in a tower after being forced to create a
labyrinth. The only way out was through the window. His father was a
great thinker and devised a set of wings from wax, feathers and
string. His father warned him not to fly to close to the sun because
the wings would melt, but Icarus was too enraptured by the feeling of
flying and living. He went higher and higher, until the wax melted
and he fell to the sea. They named it in honor of him, the Icarian
Sea.”

Harry
knew all too well about that feeling that drove Icarus beyond common
sense. The first time he'd taken to the air was the first time he'd
truly lived. There was no way to describe it. That feeling was
perfection. What man strove for. Everything that reminded man that he
lived this day, he survived this day.

“When
once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with
your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will
always long to return.” Draco said softly. “Da Vinci said
that.”

“He
has it right.” Harry nodded, feeling a light entering his eyes
as he relived the feeling of only a broom supporting him.

“I
don't think I'll ever know that again.” Draco said, somehow
looking beyond the walls of the Hospital Wing. Harry saw the eyes
glaze over with some unidentified emotion and leaned forward
slightly.

“Draco-”

“Potter!”
They jumped as the door slammed open and Snape loomed in the empty
space. “Always in the place he belongs the least. Pomfrey is
looking for you, and I suggest you leave this room and never enter it
again.”

Properly
cowed and looking warily past the potions master, Harry skirted
around the looming figure, Snape's eyes following his every move.
Snape shut the door as soon as the Gryffindor was on the other side.

“What
exactly are you doing, allowing him into your room?” Snape
asked, voice dangerously soft.

“It's
not that bad. He just wandered in here. Besides, he's not that much
of a git now that the war's over. If we still can't speak civilly
after I avoided all his friends, rarely insulted them and helped out
the Order, we won't speak at all.”

“Has
your pride vanished along with your sense?”

Draco
visibly started at those words. Snape felt a pang in his chest as he
realized who exactly he sounded like. Lucius had probably said those
exact things, perhaps in not as many words though.

“Draco.”
He whispered, letting the tension drift out of his tone. “Dumbledore
would like to know if you would donate memories of the curse being
cast and the incident this morning.”

“Anything
to help the Headmaster.” He spat, but nodded. “Just,
Severus, don't share them with anyone else. Please.”

“Draco.”
He waited until he had his godchild's entire attention. “There
is nothing you could show me that would make me think less of you or
betray your trust. I am reluctant to show these memories to even the
Headmaster, but as long as you are a student here, he must protect
you.”

“I
know.” Draco dropped his head, hands nervously stroking the
book cover.

“You
aren't a child any longer though, so Dumbledore would not be allowed
to legally pursue this matter beyond his capabilities as Headmaster,
especially if you refuse to both press charges and name the caster.
Though the truth is in the spell.”

“You
know what it is, then?”

“Let
me take the memories first. Then we will both deal with this.”
Severus drew his lips back at the gaudy chair left behind before
changing it to a simple wooden stool. “Concentrate on the
memory of the events leading to the curse. We'll go from there.”

Draco
kept eye contact with his godfather and allowed the memory to unfold
in his mind's eye. Severus's wand rose to his temple and he felt the
threads of magic leech into the memory and begin to concentrate it
into a single strand of events.

(1) This
is a direct quote from the book Heroes, Gods and Monsters by Bernard
Evslin and edited only for proper flow. Published by Laurel Leaf,
September 1, 1984. All rights reserved. No infringement is intended.
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Icarus Syndrome