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Harry Potter and The Sanguine Brother's Bond	By : OranjeJoe Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7043 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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
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Thank you yet again for the all comments, its really kept me going. Sorry for the extreme delay with this chapter, I’ve been extremely busy the past couple of weeks. Good news is that I am now ahead one chapter, so if I get busy again I should be able to still update once a week.

Also, for those of you that are confused, the spell that Draco used is based of the latin words for reject and intruder, basically he banished Voldemort from Harry’s mind. Sorry for the confusion.

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Dumbledore held up his hand before Malfoy could launch into an account of what had happened.

“In a moment, Draco, first” he said, flicking his wand towards the fireplace. Immediately a fire began to roar in the hearth. “Now, onto mister Potter.” Dumbledore knelt beside Harry, and held his bleeding arms in his wizened hands. He deftly healed the wounds as he traced his wand over the ragged cuts. Leaning back he peered at Harry over his half moon spectacles. Dumbledore’s blue eyes looked worriedly at Harry, who had no idea where to begin.

“Honestly,” began Harry with a hoarseness in his voice, “honestly, I feel fine now.” He drew back his arms and rubbed the new flesh, smearing the blood that had begun to dry.

“Be that as it may, I feel I would be doing you an injustice if I failed to do all that is in my power to help.” Said Dumbledore, rising and reaching out his hand to pull Harry to his feet.

Now that he was standing, Harry marveled at his lack of weakness or pain. Only moments ago it had felt as if he had been skinned alive and eaten by a giant, but now his mind was clear and his skin intact. He felt a slight tingle of adrenaline, but apart from that he felt very much normal. He bit his lip, looking around the dark room to find Malfoy standing at the edge of the darkness, looking ashamed and worried. He eyed Harry nervously out of the corner of his eye, but would not look at him directly.

The tension that lay between them was palpable, it hung in the air like so many taut piano strings. They stood in tight silence, as if the slightest sound of breathing might snap the tenuous bond between them. Harry closed his eyes, and tried to settle the beat of his heart, but visibly jumped when Dumbledore cleared his throat behind him.

Coming around to face them both of them he beamed, something Harry thought to be quite an inappropriate expression. He tried to give Dumbledore a quizzical expression but his face felt tired and his muscles refused all attempts and making a face. Suddenly he was overcome with the wave of tiredness that often follows in the absence of adrenaline. Dumbledore gave him a knowing smile and said,

“No need to worry about explanations, Harry, I think there may be a better way for us to understand what happened. Exactly what happened.” He finished quietly.

He took Harry by the shoulder and lead him gently out of the room, guiding him up the stairs to the room that Harry and Draco shared. He heard Draco following silently behind them, but was too distracted by what Dumbledore meant to pay him much heed.

Dumbledore creaked open the dark hardwood door and lit the lamps beyond and stepped back to allow Harry and Draco to file inside, but then turned and left before either of them even noticed. When finally they did, Malfoy looked as though he was about to speak, but decided instead to cradle his arms, which were still bleeding from where Harry had dug his nails into Malfoy’s milky flesh. Harry winced and turned away, hating now more than ever that he was still underage. He reached his hand unknowingly towards his wand; Malfoy having noticed this, turned his palms towards Harry in a clear gesture of ‘don’t worry about it,’ but did not speak.

Harry stood staring guiltily at the deep red that slowly dripped down onto the floor.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Both boys watched it intently, not daring to move or even breath too loudly, for the tension had returned. Harry desperately wished that their relationship would not continue with this sort of trepidation indefinitely. The timidness in the bath seemed a quaint affair compared to Harry’s feelings now. Words kept coming right up to the edge of him being able to say them, before slipping back down into the boiling pool that was his mind. The sleepiness was gone, his mind was in full overdrive trying to find some way to mend the relationship he had so royally fucked up.

Of course nothing could be easy about Harry’s life; his relationship with Draco had only just begun to sprout up through the earth, only just begun to feel the warmth of companionship before it was stomped into oblivion by the dark forces that set against Harry at every turn. Once again someone had been harmed because of his irresponsible failure to learn how to properly defend his mind. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Then Draco did something wholly unexpected, and had Harry been in a less dreadful mood, something he would have probably found erotic in some small, bestial part of himself.

The blond lifted one of his hands to his mouth, and began to lick and suck at his wounds. Closing his eyes in what seemed like pleasure, Draco turned his head towards Harry. Transfixed by what he saw, Harry’s stress was momentarily suspended. He watched as Malfoy’s tongue slipped back into his mouth, leaving only the slightest hint of dark glistening blood on his lips. Harry could see Draco’s veins coursing beneath his opalescent skin, contrasting so beautifully with the life that stained his lips. Those lips that Harry could never have.

For the umpteenth time that day Harry caught himself thinking in a most undesirable direction. This hesitation allowed his previous roiling thoughts to burst back into his mind with a fury. Harry had to look away from Malfoy to keep from saying the stupid and cliché things that kept threatening to break free of his lips. The time that passed from then until Dumbledore returned seemed to Harry as a hundred years compressed into a few short moments.

Harry’s anxiety seemed to swell up and explode inside his head as the door opened and Dumbledore stepped from the hall carrying a large stone bowl. The pensive looked oddly plain when it was not surrounded by the ornate glass case and the magical paraphernalia of Dumbledore’s office. Suddenly Harry’s reeling mind seized upon the realization of what the headmaster had meant by ‘exactly what happened.’ They had never used it to view memories in first person, but he assumed that in this case it was his subjective experience that was precisely what they were after.

“No.” said Harry with an excessively zealous defiance that startled both he and Draco. Dumbledore, however, was as usual not surprised in the least. He looked at Harry, holding the heavy bowl in his hands with surprising strength.

“If you are concerned for my well being, Harry, I can assure you that I am not new to torture and pain.” Said Dumbledore, shifting the weight of the pensive to one hand, and holding up the grizzled black mass that was his other hand. “I cannot demand that you give me this memory, but I humbly request it, as your head master, as your comrade, as your friend. Do not seek to shoulder this burden alone Harry, do not shut out those who love you.”

The headmaster let those words hang in the air and sink in around Harry like the guilt trip no other man on earth could induce. After a slow, defeated sigh Harry reached his wand to his temple, summoning forth the memories of that evening. He took extra care to skip just past his thoughts of Malfoy as he extracted the silvery wisp of thought with the tip of his wand. Dumbledore held out the stone basin and all watched in wonder as the silvery thought began to swirl and mix with the silvery liquid. Soon the surface became still and mirror like as the elder wizard lay the pensive on Harry’s desk.

Harry’s mouth opened slightly as Malfoy immediately stepped forward towards the pensive. He was even more surprised when Dumbledore clasped him on the shoulder and smiled as if this whole thing had been planned from the start. Too soon for Harry to protest, or even make little noises of confusion, the two unlikeliest of allies leaned forward to be absorbed by the opalescent fluid. It rose up like liquid glass about their faces and in the smoothest of motions drew them into the swirling pool.

After a few more moments of astonishment, Harry noticed the surface of the pensive grow dark and black. Slowly rising out of the surface came the dark black tentacles that had encircled his mind. Soon he saw the bulbous black growths and muscly mass begin to pulse and rise out of the liquid. Though he knew Dumbledore was infinitely stronger than he appeared Harry still shuddered to think of the aged man going through so much pain. Though to Harry the pain seemed have stretched out for several hours, Dumbledore and Malfoy we soon emerging from the pensive. Just as it began to fully register that Malfoy was again volunteering to be part of Harry’s life, and had just stepped willingly into a torturous memory, Harry was staring into the pained and tearful eyes of the regal blond.

The three of them let a dense silence fall about them as they watched the pensive return its usual mirror like state. In the brief moment that he and Malfoy had locked eyes Harry saw something unexpected; a mixture of pity and sympathy that he had never once imagined those steely blue eyes would hold. Draco’s eyes had a beautiful glisten like so much water running over river rocks in the moonlight, their lids tinted red and innocent.

Dumbledore leaned heavily against the dark wood walls of the room, visibly weakened by the experience. His bright, heavily embroidered, turquoise robes hung about him without the youthful bounce he usually wore. Seeming to notice that Harry was watching him, Dumbledore breathed in and set his face, turning to face them with his usual majesty.

“It is a curious monster, loneliness.” Began Dumbledore, summoning forth three of the chairs from the corner of the room for them to sit. Once they were all situated, he summoned three mugs of a hot steamy drink that Harry felt was somewhere between butter beer and hot chocolate. In any case both boys felt a great sense of comfort, and settled into their chairs in anticipation of the headmaster’s words.

“It seems that Voldemort has once again found a way to use his connection to in a most…” he paused and tiled his head upwards, looking for the right word. Finally he decided, and looked out over his steepled hands saying, “agonizing way.”

The guilt that had been consuming him finally burst from his lips. In a rush of words Harry said, “It’s my fault professor, I - I know I should have tried harder to learn from him. From Snape. In the occlumency lessons.” Thinking it sounded better in his head, Harry was rather upset by how he had ended his little apology. He added, “I’m sure Hermione and I can figure it out, I will learn it, I promise.” He leaned back as he said the last words, hoping that he had sounded confident in his suggestion of Hermione. Though she indeed knew the principle, Harry doubted that she had given it much serious practice, not enough to teach anyone in any case.

“No doubt the two of you could indeed master the fickle art of occlumency, given enough time. But, I think you will also see now, if you did not after the unfortunate death of your godfather, how imperative it is that you learn this skill. You must defend yourself, do not give the dark lord insight into your emotions, your weakness. He will use this against you, Harry, have no delusions about that.”

The guilt that had been building on Harry’s shoulders suddenly turned to a solid heavy mass that instant Dumbledore had mentioned Sirius. His insides squirmed painfully under the headmaster’s gaze.

“I cannot ask you to resume lessons with professor Snape, nor do we have the time for you to learn it on your own.” Dumbledore inclined his head towards Malfoy, who seemed to nod in acknowledgement. Barely giving Harry time to ponder their secret communication, the headmaster began to speak again almost immediately.

“There is, however, another person in this very room who has mastered the art of occlumency. I dare say nearly as well as Severus, in fact.” He peered over his half moon spectacles at Harry, with a hopeful and knowing twinkle in his eyes. Though Harry knew Dumbledore would never speak of himself in this way, he still clung to the hope that it was not Malfoy whom he was speaking of. Harry’s mind soon kicked into over drive as he realized what thoughts Malfoy would have access too as the blond probed around his defenseless mind. He scrambled to find a way out of the horribly embarrassing situation that Dumbledore had proposed. He gave up as he looked at the wizened face of the headmaster, knowing all to well that there really was no denying the old man.

“Draco, do you think you could give us a minute? Harry, it seems, needs a bit more convincing.” Malfoy nodded, and rose; he walked silently to the door as Harry resisted the urge to watch his body as it gracefully moved away into the darkness.

The door clicked softly, and Dumbledore again turned his gaze to Harry. Rather than suffer under the density of the silence, or the power behind those piercing blue eyes, Harry decided to come out with it.

“It’s not that don’t think he can do it professor, it’s that…. It’s that right now, my feelings, my- It’s complicated.” Harry finally finished, again frustrated by his inability to actually articulate his feelings. Of all people, Harry usually felt most comfortable speaking to the headmaster, but sexuality and relationships had never been one of their topics.

“I will not pretend that love is a simple magic, Harry, in my long years I daresay I have learned that much at least. I think, in a way, part of the fun is the mystery of it.” He paused for a moment to exhale deeply, as if thinking of some long lost passion. After a minute he focused his eyes on Harry, and with a great seriousness said, “This much I know for certain, Harry, do not let your uncertainty turn to fear.”

It was evident that Harry had confusion written all over his face, for Dumbledore frowned and pondered what to say next. Certainly Harry felt an awkward sort of attraction towards Malfoy, but he was quite sure he could never love him. It was just too far from the relationship they had been spitefully crafting over the past six years.

“Few know this about me, Harry, though I’m sure some have guessed. I suppose most of the people who would be curious about this… aspect of my personality are long gone.” Pausing, and giving a little sigh, Dumbledore continued, placing his heeled shoes on the ottoman. “I’m not the straightest of men, Harry. I know what it is to be uncertain as you are.”

It took nearly a full minute for Harry to process this information, during which Dumbledore began to chuckle softly. In much the same way he had responded to Malfoy in the bath, Harry’s first attempts at speech were nothing more than breath and noises. Finally, after a meditative pause in which Harry attempted to collect his thoughts he said, in as strong a voice as he could manage, “I am not in love with Draco Malfoy. Sir.”

“Indeed.” Said Dumbledore in with a hint of sarcasm the normal observer would not have noticed. But Harry, who had grown used to the headmaster’s mannerisms just managed to catch it. He gave Dumbledore a scathing glance, and then turned away in a huff.

“I will tell you this Harry, it is far easier to begin learning occlumency by first learning to guide the intruder through less precious memories. We shall try it in the morning, but for now I think you have earned some rest.” He summoned the empty cups and bade Harry goodnight, who inclined his head weakly, already absorbed in thought.

So many thoughts now stormed about his head that Harry could no longer sit still. The room was still and quiet, as if it belonged somewhere warm and deep inside the ministry of magic. He began to pace about the room, trying to work out some of the energy in thoughts with his body. The air was absolutely still and Harry watched the dust billow out before him in the air as he moved, the musty smell of the old wood panels giving him a strange calm. He was finally able to separate the roiling mass within his head into somewhat manageable portions. Instead of causing Harry to go into a state of mute mental paralysis, he was able to parse out individual strains of thought. First he dealt with and got over the fact that Dumbledore was gay. Chuckling as he thought of Dumbledore’s eccentric garb, he had always just chalked that up to being a quirk of the wizarding world. It was only then that realized how few wizards he had seen with high heels, despite the fact that many of them also wore elaborately embroidered robes.

He moved onto the advice that Dumbledore had given him, resolving to try and venture out in front of his intruders, guiding them along a path he choose. At the very least he would try to block them from certain memories, remembering the slight success he’d had with Snape on those rare occasions.

Next he moved onto the biggest and most conflicted of his thoughts. Harry leaned his head against the window, looking out into the frosty blackness. He didn’t feel like he had been that obvious about his attraction to Malfoy, and decided that Dumbledore’s understanding was due mostly to his usual omniscience. Harry’s eyes now stared blankly at the fog that now frosted the windows from his breath. Somehow he must find a way to quell the loneliness that even now he felt growing inside him. He knew that Voldemort drew power from his own loneliness, and that it was this synchronization of emotion that had allowed the Dark Lord to take hold of his mind so completely. Harry needed to rid himself of the solitary monster inside him, he must either satisfy its desire, or squash it out of existence.

The tall, lanky brunette opened the window, and stood as the cool night air rushed passed him into the room. He felt as though he stood on the very highest peak of the world, alone against the sublime and impassive winds that whipped and lashed at the crust of this earth. He felt the rocky precipice beneath his feet, and held his head high in the misty air, breathing in the harsh scent of his destiny. He was Harry Potter, the chosen one who was to defeat the Dark Lord

Voldemort or forfeit his life. He had not the time or luxury to worry about fickle things like love and loneliness. He must become the very mountain on which he stood, hard and solid as the foundations of the earth. Harry opened his eyes and looked stoically out into the darkness, feeling empty, but intentionally so. Not even the muggles arguing at the bus station a few blocks away drew his attention. They were as dust in the wind.

Harry had made a choice. He was not going to defeat the Dark Lord by being the susceptible youth that had been the death of his god father, and watched in mute horror as Dumbledore’s attempted assassination played out before his very eyes. He had no room in his body for the emotions of mortal men. He must raise himself above worldly concerns and become the instrument of fate. He closed his eyes, and let the wind wash over him, carrying with it the smell of rain and the sound of muffled voices that Harry could not quite make out.

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Draco stood on the little porch that overlooked the muggle street below, leaning onto the railing as he felt the wind run through his hair. People were often complaining now of the mist caused by the breeding dementors, but Draco had always been partial to the austere. He felt somehow calmed by the silence and intimacy that clouds, rain, and fog always created. He let his thoughts decompress into the cool breeze that bore the sweet smell of rain. His eyes already tinged red, began to sting with the familiar feeling of tears. The first fell slowly down his cheek as he felt again the horrible crushing loneliness that had been a part of Harry’s memory. He tasted the salty tear and closed his eyes, crying freely now. Never had he imagined a loneliness that could match his own, much less one that would surpass it immeasurably. For those brief moments in the pensive, Draco felt drowned in a pain that stretched into the infinite. It was as if his mind had been lost in a dark space that expanded in all directions forever. His little worries over the shame of his father, and his inability to be an authentic being were like grains of sand next to the colossal mass that threatened to obliterate Harry from inside and out. Draco let these thoughts consume him as he felt the first cool drops of rain against his face. He smiled up into the sky, tasting the rain and tears on his lips, inhaling the raw power of the storm that was fast approaching.

How long he stood their, Draco did not know, but soon he felt the presence of the headmaster behind him, standing in the open door way. He looked over his shoulder at Dumbledore, his wet hair now clinging to his face, and called back, “He will take it upon himself then? Try to shoulder this massive fate alone?”

The head master merely nodded and said with a wave of his hand, “He needs you more than he knows, Malfoy. He is forgetting the power of friendship, of love.” Then he turned and vanished into the darkness of the house.

Malfoy replied simply, “I know, sir.” And turned back to face the rain, feeling the world cry through him and wash away his weakness. It had taken him eighteen years to learn that love and companionship were the only things worth living for in this world, and he was not going to let Harry feel alone as he once had. He was going to remind Potter of the power that lay in the bonds between, no matter how tenuous and taut they may sometimes be.

For several more minutes Draco stood in what became a torrential downpour, letting the wind and rain soak him bodily. When finally he began to shiver, he returned to the house and walked slowly but determinedly back to the room. The stillness of the now dark house felt like an inky dream.

He opened the door with great silence, and was immediately awed by what he saw and felt in the room beyond. The air seemed to tingle and vibrate, Harry stood by the window, with his hands clasped behind his back and his legs planted firmly beneath him. He faced the open window with a power that took Draco’s breath away. Reminding himself that this power was merely a facade, a mask for the pain that Harry was truly feeling in a deep dark part of himself, Malfoy stepped stridently into the room.

He moved to Harry with barely a creak, but Harry seemed to notice, as he was not surprised when Malfoy reached past him to close the window. At once the howling rain and torrents of noise became a soft patter; the warmth of the house drew around them once more.

“No matter what Potter, you will never be alone.” He whispered this quietly into Potter ear, and was overcome with satisfaction when he saw Harry bite his bottom lip as Malfoy’s words washed over him.

Much to Draco’s disappointment, however, Harry was back to staring out the window by the time he had reached his bed. Draco made a very slow and noisy show of taking off his robes, to no avail. He stood in the muted light that came in from the storm outside, waiting, watching Harry for any sign that he was fighting a battle of desires within himself. Draco was sure that Harry had feelings for him, positive or negative he was not sure. But there was no denying it, given the brief moments they had spent gazing into the depths of each other’s eyes. He instinctively reached his hand up towards his hair, reliving the moment when Harry had pulled so gently at it.

Resigning himself to the fact that Harry was going to remain stoic, at least for tonight, Draco got into bed. He slid under the covers quickly, refraining from making the little moaning noises he had planned on. Instead he sighed heavily and rolled over. It was hard for him to resist the temptation to look back at Harry, to see if the tingles he thought he was feeling on his backside were from Harry’s staring or just his imagination.

Because of this curiosity, mere minutes seemed to stretch into hours as he lay in the darkness, waiting for Harry to do something, anything that would reveal his emotions. But he could hardly hear Harry breathing, and Draco soon lost focus, lulled into sleepiness by the gentle hum of the storm outside, and the heavy, still air of the house. He turned onto his back, laying his arms on the cool outside of his comforter. He sank into his pillow, utterly exhausted by the days events. A lot had happened considering that they had gotten up in the middle of the afternoon.

The slightest noise from Harry caused Malfoy to turn his head on his pillow, peering lazily out of his sleepy eyes at Harry as he began to undress. Draco’s mind stirred lazily as Harry dropped his robes to hang over his arms, exposing the smooth skin of his back. The blond felt slightly ashamed to feel so hungry for this sight, but was honestly too tired to really care at this point. It felt as if someone was massaging the nape of his neck, and pulling heavily on his eye lids. He felt warm and cozy, and clung to consciousness with extreme effort, feeling himself blur and stretch into the realm of subconscious. For a brief moment he saw the bare body that lay under the robes, and heard them softly fall to the floor.

Harry was quietly trying to erase the feeling that Malfoy had conjured within him. Silently he raged over how easily the mere sound of Draco’s voice had broken so completely through the barriers of cold unfeeling stone he had arranged about his mind. Minutes ago he had been sure that he could face the world alone atop the mountain, but his feelings had betrayed him. They lifted him up and bore him on a sweet breeze, a breeze laced with the smell of the blond beauty that lay in the darkness behind him. For a brief moment he had floated high above the world, light as the clouds thats flew past his mind. Angry now, at his weakness, he vowed to resist his attraction Malfoy, it was a flaw that was crippling and dangerous. He could not afford to have such attachments, not with the task that lay before him.

Harry faced the window in the darkness, nude save for his undergarments. He felt slightly cold, but enjoyed the feeling, it was consistent with his mood. He felt a pang of hunger, having not eaten all day, but also enjoyed this feeling. Staring out into the inky blackness that had consumed the sky, he felt his suffering was justified. It made him feel somehow more serious and determined; as if he was training for the great suffering that he felt creeping in around him, stalking him in the shadows, waiting for its chance. He had been a child for too long now, and it seemed to him utterly stupid to have been so overcome by a useless emotion like loneliness.

The smallest part of him called out from its dark corner, attempting to envelope him in the warmth and light that was companionship. But he banished it from his mind, reminding himself that he could not defeat the Dark Lord with love and friendship.

He lay himself on the bed, his legs straight and his arms at his sides. He lay there on top of the sheets in the gathering darkness, feeling the cold against his body. Slowly his mind drifted away from the bare exposed skin, and he fell heavily into his dreams.
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Harry Potter and The Sanguine Brother's Bond