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
- 3-CH3
- 4-CH4
- 5-CH5
- 6-CH6
- 7-CH7
- 8-CH8
- 9-CH9
- 10-CH10
- 11-CH11
- 12-CH12
- 13-CH13
- 14-CH14
- 15-CH15
- 16-CH16
- 17-CH17
- 18-CH18
- 19-CH19
- 20-CH20
- 21-CH21
- 22-CH22
- 23-CH23
- 24-CH24
- 25-Ch25
- 3
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- 5
Chapter Four
Blaise was waiting for Draco at the breakfast table, quidditch team surrounding him in uniform, with a fortifying draught and an apology.
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... shouldn't have made it about me,” Blaise said, pushing the vial towards Draco when he sat.
Draco nodded distractedly, eyes scanning around him as if seeking something out. He had been so certain last night, in the dark with Potter's scent and breath on his face. But when he woke, nothing—just a faint linger of scent and fucking nothing else.
Looking at the vial, Draco decided it was better to try and focus on the game than deal with his swirling, desperate thoughts of insanity. He pulled the stopper out, sipping the warming fluid. He closed his eyes, warmth flowing through him, strengthening his weak limbs, pushing the dark buzz out from his mind. And then his stomach settled, the warmth calming him even there.
Draco slowly took the plate Blaise offered, cutting a piece of pancake and touching it to his tongue. There was no revulsion from the flavor, no churning in his stomach. He bit down, slowly chewing, finding it strange after so long of not eating. His teammates started perking up as he continued to eat, slow steady bites, the warmth filling him more, strengthening his resolve to make it through the day and the bloody match to come.
Blaise was glancing at him worriedly again, odd seeing as he was finally eating. Draco raised an inquiring brow, sipping some juice.
“Sorry,” Blaise mumbled. “Just, you seem very still, today. Like that other time, last year.”
Draco turned to his plate, chewing on a piece of bacon. The last time Blaise had called him still was right before he had admitted to wanting to kill himself to escape being a Death Eater. “I'm fine, sort of. It's not that, I promise. It will never be that again, Blaise. I'm just a little confused lately.”
Blaise nodded, relief on his features. “Today is just one day. It'll be done by tomorrow. And it won't ever be this day again.”
Draco nodded, chewing on a piece of bacon. “And I won't have to think about him again.”
“If that's what you want.” Blaise drank down his pumpkin juice.
Draco wasn't sure if that was what he wanted, but its not like he had many options when it came to Potter. He could continue to allow himself to go insane, hallucinating scents and breaths and invisible kisses. Or he could finally let the memory of the bloody boy go... starting tomorrow.
“Alright, men. This is a particularly important game today,” Draco said, face raising to encompass his quidditch teammates, green and silver uniforms making him think of Potter's eyes looking into his. “I have never asked this of you, and I will likely never ask it again. I want a clean game. No matter what those bloody lions throw at us, I want it clean, in his honor. Because of the fucking life he gave us, while giving up his own. Agreed?”
They agreed, even Theo, the fire in his eyes burning in understanding today, instead of confusion at being so very wrong yesterday.
“We're going to give it our all, like we always do. And so are they. So expect a damn good fight, and a damn good game.” Draco stood, smacking Goyle on the back with a halfhearted smile, and the group got up to get the rest of their gear from the waiting locker room.
Harry watched from the teacher's table, sitting between plates in front of Hagrid's large form. Malfoy seemed more himself, if not very solemn. Stronger since the potion Blaise had given him, the potion Harry had watched Hermione hand to Blaise before Draco had gotten to the table. Harry was relieved, his friends so amazing even now. Even with him not there to ask of them, they were still the good hearted, best friends he loved.
It was relieving, knowing that they would help watch over Malfoy if Harry never... Well, that was good too, not having to worry about the prat being alone and without friends. People cared about Malfoy, even if the boy seemed to be shutting them out at the moment.
Harry had kept his distance the moment Draco had started to wake up, standing far out of reach as the boy got up sleepily. He had watched the change, the tired silver eyes slowly focusing, the small furrow to his brow and then pout to his mouth as he ran fingers softly to his lips and then down his throat. Then he had snapped, eyes clear, head jerking up, hands pushing beside him on the bed where Harry had been sitting minutes ago.
Draco had to know; Harry was certain after that. Somehow Malfoy could sense when he was near, enough that to be near would be to reveal he still existed. Maybe it was body heat, Draco picking up on Harry's through his own skin. Touch went both ways; if Draco could sense when Harry touched him, he could sense the small prickling of hair as heat and air brushed by his skin. Especially now that Malfoy thought to look.
And Draco was looking for him. Hands wide, moving around the room, frown growing on his face as each step revealed nothing. Harry had backed through the closed bathroom door, and then slipped around and into the bedroom when Draco had thought to look there for him.
Why had he run? Harry still wasn't a hundred percent certain. It had seemed like the right thing at the time, Draco glaring, hunting him down, nostrils twitching and head tilting, just waiting for him to slip up and reveal himself. Maybe because another flare had occurred, his body reminding him that it was falling apart. That tempting the both of them with the possibility of saving him, when it was likely too late already...
Harry didn't really know. He had watched Draco sort of crumple in on himself, sitting back on the bed when no sign of him was found. Harry had almost gone to him then, but thought again better of it. What was the fucking point, really? What would Malfoy be able to do that everyone else hadn't, except feel Harry slip further away until there was nothing left? It would be wrong to put the boy through that. And too hard on Harry to know he had dealt another blow to someone surprisingly sensitive.
So he watched Draco get ready for the game. Eyes stormy and lost, Draco had barely glanced in the mirror, so confident of his appearance. He washed his face, spelled his teeth clean, stripped his beautiful pale body and dressed for battle. Harry had been very still leaning against the bedroom wall, waiting for Draco to step through the door to the hall. He slipped out behind him, Draco's hair nearly, nearly brushing his face as it hung loose around the boy's shoulders. But Draco kept walking after locking his door, oblivious, and Harry had stepped ahead.
He had thought to go somewhere else—Dumbledore's office, the library to look up Draco's ancestry, anything but another trip following the boy around. But still, Harry couldn't seem to stop himself, going to the Great Hall, watching the curious looks as Draco walked in looking tired and weak.
Harry would sit with his house, watching the match from the sidelines. Hell, maybe even steal the teacher's seats. It wasn't like anyone would care. And after that... after that he would have to decide what the fuck he was doing, following around Draco Malfoy, standing far too close watching him wank and sleep and dream.

The air was just starting to get a hint of spring to it, pushing back the cold wind of winter. Draco spent most of his time above his fellow teammates, swooping in once in a while to distract, and lure and all around annoy.
Somehow the normal thrill of riding was gone today. The fortifying draught had warmed him, but still he was numb. He was playing for a ghost, a ghost currently haunting him in a terribly tormenting fashion. That it had started now seemed less a coincidence and more cruel, right before this stupid match against a seeker that just couldn't compare. Beneath it all, Draco felt bone wearily tired.
Asking for a clean game had been difficult on his house even though they were keeping to the promise. The less the Slytherins cheated, the more they seemed to fight. They were unsure without their extra cunning. Usually when they felt cornered they could rely on a stray bludger at the keeper, or a swift elbow to the more competitive chasers to raise morale. Now all they could do was shoot their mouths off. Dull to play, but the crowd seemed to love it.
As did the Gryffindors. Weasley was a strange cross between ferocious and solemn, odd moments of laughter hitting his eyes, only to shut down, scowling. Their team was completely unsettled with the Slytherins playing fair. The lions seemed about ready for blood, but no one was willing to spill it first. For the best. Fighting now would be fucking brutal—even if they all needed the pain to feel alive.
Draco watched the vicious battle between the four beaters, Vince nearly getting cracked in the skull before he got himself righted. They weren't doing poorly, actually almost even at the moment, just trailing behind Gryffindor. But no one was feeling right, and Draco supposed he needed to stir things up again.
He dropped down, ignoring the foolish girl trailing behind. If she had bothered looking for the snitch on her own, Draco didn't know about it, because she had been on his ass since starting the game. Weasley probably sent her on a simple mission, given her very green nature to the sport—pathetic.
Swooping swiftly, Draco descended in a nose dive, laughing inwardly as the Gryffindor seeker tried to keep up. He stopped mid dive, flipped back and met the wide eyed girl face to face, gifting her his more well known superior smirk as she went flying by, unable to stop in time. Her eyes were blue—nothing like the brilliant green Draco had been unconsciously expecting, and he scowled to himself. She had ended up in a pile with one of her teammates and he cursed himself for fucking hating her. It wasn't her fault she wasn't Potter. No one was Potter, not anymore.
He flew up above the pitch again, away from the noise and dullness of it all, and waited patiently for the flicker of gold to finally reveal so they could finish the mockery of a match.
Had it only been a dream? Was it just a hallucination brought on by not enough food, and a whole lot of stress? Draco had never before thought he had been woken up by a kiss, or that someone was sitting very close to him, next to him, yet unseen.
Draco swooped, barrel rolling idly, his mind a whir. That wasn't quite true, was it? There had been Karia, his sweet pet. His protector for his younger years before he had started Hogwarts and left his parents' house. Soft furred, winged, with four long delicate legs and antlers that rose up... He had never seen Karia, only guessed her from how she felt to his touch. His parents had sneered at him, told him there was no such thing as imaginary animals. And Draco agreed, there was no such thing as imaginary anything, but Karia had been real, not some sort of fantasy.
He let his eyes stray to the Forbidden Forest stretched out to the right of him. There were things in there, similar to Karia, but much more dangerous. Creatures that had stalked Draco once, when he had been foolish enough to get too close to the forest. Unseen creatures, that could communicate, just like Karia through thought speak. Draco had been able to sense them, although not see...
A shout broke Draco back to the game, the Gryffindor seeker weaving furiously through the Slytherin side of the pitch where a glint of gold was hovering. As if sensing her approach, the snitch took off, whizzing in the opposite direction. Draco was behind it now, his body so in tune with his broom it was effortless to fly and direct himself.
He spun around blurs of reds and greens, a garish Christmas crashing around him, players trying to stop anyone from aiding and preventing him at the same time. Easily slipping through, past players and furious bludgers, Draco left the poor rival seeker far behind, caught up in awkward turns and sudden dips. It was over in mere moments.
Snitch fluttering in his hand, Draco descended slowly to the ground, the feeling of numbness settling in once again. How many times had Draco reached, gold brushing his fingertips, only to have Potter snatch the snitch right from his grasp, his fucking brilliant eyes blazing in triumph? He would never have that again... This had just been like any other match, against any other team. It just didn't fucking mean anything anymore.
Draco blinked up, surprised to find Madame Hooch next to him and a crowd cheering all around as they gathered on the field.
“The snitch, Mr. Malfoy,” Madame Hooch asked politely. Draco handed it over stiffly, a shout quickly going up as Slytherin was announced victorious. Staring blindly at the joyful faces, Draco slowly turned and began walking towards the school.
The Slytherin team ran after him, trying to congratulate. “Draco, great bloody catch!” Greg cheered, but Draco slipped away before he could be hugged.
“What did you say—Draco, are you all right?” Vince asked, pulling on his sleeve.
It seemed to wake something up in Draco, the numbness pushing aside for hot anger as he tore his robe out of his friend's grasp. “I'm not fucking alright—I fucking quit! Now get the hell out of my way,” he snarled, pushing through the crush of taller players threatening to trap him on the field. He marched through the locker room and back into the school, hoping everyone would just stay the fuck away.

Draco pushed into his room, throwing his broom across the small space and letting it smash into the stone wall, bristles fluffing out and raining down everywhere. “Fuck—Fuck!” He whirled, slamming the door behind him and then screaming into the warded space.
“You just had to fucking die, you fucking ass! What's the fucking point! What is the god damn fucking point of trying so fucking hard if you're not there to compete! You fucking ruined everything!”
He turned and punched the door, knuckles splitting and blood dripping. “Fucking Voldemort! Fucking piece of shit stealing every fucking thing from me! My home—My father—My mother—My fucking life! And then Him! Fucking stealing the last fucking hope left! Wasn't it enough, all those other things? Why did you have to take him too—Fuck... Fucking hell...”
He was crying, Draco realized dully, touching his face with his bloodied hand. Turning, Draco leaned heavily against the door, head down, good hand holding his hurt one. “You fucking reckless asshole. You never had a sensible bone in your body—Kept looking for fucking trouble until your luck ran out—and fuck. You died! You fucking died! Even though—No, no don't!”
Draco threw his hands up, warding off the sudden feel of arms as Harry's scent surrounded him. “No—stop doing this to me! You're a lie! A fucking insane hallucination. Because you're dead. Fucking dead!” He fought against the surprisingly strong, solid arms pressing him back into the door, wrapping tight. And then his tear fell, and stuck in the air before him, dripping down something, someone in front of him that smelled just like Potter.
“God... why are you doing this to me?” Draco whimpered, feeling fingers brush over his face, wiping his tears away. Hair, soft and tickling, feathered against his cheek as he felt Harry's face in his neck, and was wrapped tighter. Then he was pulled to the ground to be crushed in arms and chest, with a strong jaw resting against the top of his head while Draco sobbed into his very warm, very invisible collar, his own moist breath hitting his face as it bounced off very real flesh.
Draco was not a crier, not since small and realizing that crying would most certainly get a child killed by men as terrible as his father. He had not cried for anything beyond a few stray tears, swiftly hidden before they flowed. But now, in this insanity, he cried because it was all just too fucking crazy, and he didn't know what else to do.
He cried until he ached and was empty, his throat raw, eyes burning. Through it all Harry rocked him, breath ruffling his hair, arms holding him tight, hands rubbing up and down Draco's shaking arms and shoulders. Eventually Draco could slow the irrational gasps for air, could stop gulping, and trembling like a crazy person that had no fucking control left. He closed his eyes, panting softly as he rested his head into an invisible, muscular shoulder, wondering dimly why Potter wasn't wearing a shirt.
“You're a fucking ass...” Draco mumbled, even as fingers brushed through his hair, combing and soothing with each touch. Then he flinched, yelping, as something sparked right next to his face off of the skin he was resting on. “Ow...” he groaned, touching his face and feeling a slight sting. “What the fuck was that?”
A hand lifted his, pressing it to the top of thick messy hair. Then the head turned, first left to right, and then up and down, and Draco sighed, understanding. “You can't speak.” Head shaking, his hand was moved again, lips brushing as Harry spoke into his palm. Draco gaped, quickly pulling his hand away from the sensation. “Fine... I can't hear you...” he mumbled, eyes downcast and feeling self conscious.
His hand was grabbed again, pressed flat against the hair strewn forehead. Draco looked up, staring at the room behind where his hand was resting. He closed his eyes, focusing on his hand and the strands of hair. Shifting, he ran fingers through, seeking out the ripple of flesh he had never touched but was certain he would recognize. Sure enough, a small lightning bolt shaped dip with ragged edges was discovered beneath the silky fringe, and Draco pressed his thumb against it, brushing gently.
“Scarhead,” Draco said with a shaky smile. “It's really fucking you... You're really alive.” He continued exploring, fingers brushing over eyebrows, fanning wide, finding the edge of Harry's face and tracing down to his cheekbone. “You've lost your glasses. Half blind and invisible, you're damn useless, Potter.”
Then Harry was smiling in his palm again and Draco was trying very hard not to gasp. He tried to pull his hand away but Harry had a very strong grip on his wrist. And then he was brushing lips to his fingertips, and Draco was certain he was going a bit mad again. He swallowed, opening his eyes and blinking at his hand as soft, warm flesh ghosted over. It was the one he had punched the door with, and blood had gotten everywhere.
“Hold on, you've got blood...” Draco grabbed his sleeve, trying to wipe the red stain off of Harry's face, only to have the fabric go right through. “What the...?” Peering closer, Draco brushed his quidditch robe sleeve, again the material slipping right through. “Potter, I think this is a problem. It's almost like only I can touch you.”
He ran his thumb over one of the spots, the blood slipping away onto his own flesh. Draco stared at the pad of his thumb, and then again the spot in the air, realizing slowly that hot breath was puffing against his cheek, and he was actually very close to Harry's face. A hot shiver began to move down Draco's spine at the thought, his eyes sliding from where he could feel Harry's stare. Taking a steading breath, Draco carefully began brushing all the little spots of blood away that had reached Harry's lips and nose, feeling the boy's skin firm and warm under this thumb.
“Potter, we should, uh, take you to see Dumbledore. Get you righted.”
Harry's face again pressed into his palm, Draco feeling the bridge of his nose, press of lips against his wrist, and then a nod. “Alright, let's—hey!” Harry suddenly stood, hauling Draco up and holding him tight. Harry whispered something against his skin Draco couldn't understand, but likely something to do with relief of being found. Flustered, Draco could only focus on the fact that every part of his body felt like it was touching bare skin—Harry's bare skin.
“Let me go. Right now,” Draco whispered breathlessly, pushing at Harry's arms. He felt Harry still, relaxing his hold but not releasing. He was feeling very hot, head swimming dizzily. Draco grabbed Harry's arms, for balance or pushing away he had yet to decide, noticing that Harry's biceps were flexed beneath his fingers, surprisingly thick and strong and bare. As was the hard chest pressing against Draco's, and the strong abs on his own flat stomach, and then lower, where things started to get very hot and confusing when Draco dared to think about it. “Potter, please... You're not, um... clothing isn't working... properly...”
Harry slowly untangled his arms from around Draco, Draco far too busy squeezing his eyes shut and willing his body's reaction down to fully notice. But he did notice when Harry's hands were suddenly on his waist, his seemingly bare waist, Harry's hands feeling large and hot and a bit scratchy against his smooth flesh. Draco bit his lip hard, hissing softly, feeling like the biggest damn fool and yet unable to stop just how wild and very hot he was feeling at that moment.
“Let go... All the way.” Draco mumbled, shuddering when Harry eventually complied, but not before running his hands up Draco's sides, palms pressed in firmly, fingers dragging slowly until reaching Draco's arms and finally relenting. Draco stood, rooted and swaying for long, dizzy moments, fast breaths panting free. Harry's hands seemed very large compared to Draco's stomach. It was an odd thought to focus on, but the one Draco couldn't seem to stop focusing on.
“You're... you're taller,” Draco muttered, shaking his head. He ran a hand over his face, realizing he must be a fucking sight, crying and flying all day. “Uh, let me just wash my face. I'll be quick...” Draco strode into the bathroom, splashing cool water over his face repeatedly as he tried to restore some intelligence to his lust addled mind. Potter was fucking invisible—hardly a goddamn sight to be aroused by. Yet Draco felt like some stupid, sex crazed idiot all of a sudden.
Sighing heavily, he ran his hands under the faucet and slicked his hair back into some kind of order. His eyes were red rimmed and face a little splotchy, but otherwise nothing glaringly wrong with him.
Draco returned to the other room, looking around in confusion. “Potter—shit!” He jumped, Harry's arm suddenly touching his hip. Not his robes, or his pants, but his bare side. Very much flesh touching warm flesh, and it left him feeling dizzy. “We need to get you a fucking bell,” Draco muttered, licking his lips and starting towards the door.
As if realizing his mistake, Harry's hand moved up, staying at the center of Draco's back instead, and blessfully away from his hip. His touch was a solid constant hot reminder as Draco opened the door, shut it behind, and made his way down the corridor towards the Headmaster's office.
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Intangible