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All Desire in a Day	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9359 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Four—Lust for Vengeance

This time, Draco wasn't surprised when the mists cleared and showed him an older Harry standing with his Gryffindor friends in front of a hippogriff. The ritual seemed to show him fewer and fewer moments as each year passed, and it made sense that their third year would begin here, at a moment that had been significant to him, and, he hoped, to Harry. Considering that Harry had rescued Buckbeak later, it had to be important.

Of course, he couldn't actually prevent Malfoy from insulting the hippogriff. He wasn't looking forward to finding out how keenly he would experience the sensation of pain. But he watched Harry approaching the hippogriff and riding on its back with something akin to peace. By now, he could keep his emotions separate from the churning mess in the center of Malfoy's skull. He envied Harry and wanted his attention, all at once. Draco had to snort. Did he want to be Harry's friend, or his steed?

Buckbeak landed, and Harry slid off his back, his face glowing. Malfoy being Malfoy, he took advantage of that glow to yank the moment back to himself.

"Better than a broom, Potter?" he called. "Of course, you probably wouldn't really know, seeing that you're on the ground more often than I am." Malfoy had become Slytherin's Seeker last year, and Draco could feel his pride smoldering like embers in the back of his words now. As with every insult, he thought there was no way Potter could respond to it, no way he could do anything but fall to his knees and worship Malfoy's greatness.

Draco wished for separate eyes and a separate hand, again, this time mainly so that he could slap the latter over the former.

Harry just glanced coolly at Malfoy and then looked away, saying nothing. Weasley asked him some question and he responded at once, and that made Malfoy's emotions peak until Draco felt as if he were frying just from being near them.

And then he did something else. Something different, something the ritual couldn't have prepared Draco for, because he had thought he would see much the same events with only small twists here and there.

"Can't be that hard, if a Mudblood like Potter can ride it," he said, and stepped forwards, not bowing to Buckbeak, not trying to do anything but stride up and force him to submit with the sheer strength of the Malfoy personality.

Buckbeak struck. Draco watched the wicked, slashing talons and the beak falling, and could picture it scooping out their eyes long before Malfoy's astonishment had thawed into fear.

One claw did catch them, and send them rolling. Draco thought it was the only thing that saved their lives. Well, Malfoy's life, anyway, and Draco's own miserable, conjoined existence. He wished savagely that Malfoy's head was turned in the right direction, so he could judge accurately why the great beak hadn't yet landed on his shoulder and ripped his arm off.

Then Malfoy turned around, and Draco saw the reason.

Harry stood in front of the hippogriff, holding up his wand. The charm he'd cast created a huge, flexible net that gleamed like it was made of steel, which bent and wavered up and down in front of Harry, supporting Buckbeak's weight. The hippogriff reared on his hind legs, his claws locked in the net, snapping and twisting, but nothing broke. Harry had sweat on his brow, his legs braced, one hand supporting the other as though the wand itself was a great weight.

He had saved Draco's life. Malfoy's life. And Draco felt his own thoughts align with Malfoy's again, in the perfect clarity of awe.

The moment only lasted perhaps twenty seconds, until Hagrid could hurry over and restrain Buckbeak. Then the net disappeared as Harry let the spell fade, and he shook and covered his face with his hands. His friends hurried over to pat his back and escort him away, with the half-giant chattering anxiously about the hospital wing.

Malfoy didn't even get to speak to him, to ask him why he'd done that.

Draco thought he knew why his Harry would have done that. To spare someone, to keep unnecessary violence from happening. But he had no idea why a Harry who hated Draco so endlessly and especially would have.

He couldn't wait to ask.

"I know you're awake, Potter."

Not the most diplomatic way of asking, perhaps, but Harry grunted and opened his eyes, darting one glance at the back of the hospital wing and one at the door into the corridor before he nodded. "Fine. What do you want?"

"I want to know why you saved me," Malfoy said, the right words to pluck all the harmonics in Draco's soul as well. This Harry wasn't a mature warrior; Draco hadn't even known he would know a spell like that. He probably hadn't, at home. Malfoy folded his arms and glared with all the force of a Malfoy thirteen years old. "You didn't have to. Your friends would say I deserved it."

"You bloody well did deserve to be clawed up a little," Harry said, and his face was locked. Draco saw him chattering and laughing with his friends so much that it was a surprise to realize what he could do as far as shutting off his expressions when he wanted to. Another thing Slytherin taught him. "But Buckbeak wasn't going to do that, he was going to kill you. So I stopped him."

"But why do you care if I live or die?" Malfoy demanded, wriggling in place on the stool.

"Because I'm not Slytherin," Harry said, and loaded the word with a contempt that made both of them flinch.

"Slytherins would help each other," Malfoy said, his voice small. Draco could feel how close he was to holding his breath, or just fleeing the room in tears. It was actually brave of him to stay and speak as he did. Perhaps some of Harry's Gryffindor nature has rubbed off on him, too. "Why do you think we wouldn't?"

Harry stared at him, and then moved a hand in a slow gesture down his body, as if inviting Malfoy to look at him. His body. His Muggle clothing. His blood.

"We would help you if you got in trouble," Malfoy said, but he looked away, and Draco had to study the much less interesting pattern on the floor of the hospital wing—which was the same as it was back home—while he waited for Harry to respond.

"You warn me not to get in trouble, is all," Harry said at last, and his voice was so thick that Draco thought he must have been waiting to say this for a long time. "You mock me for being a Parselmouth. People from the House beat me up. You tell me that I shouldn't have Gryffindor friends but tease me because I want them at all. Yeah, Malfoy, that's really welcoming."

"It could have been different!" Malfoy snapped, turning back around. "If you'd ever acted like you were proud of us instead of pushing us aside—"

"None of you were ever nice to me," Harry hissed. "And that's what it comes down to. I don't give a—a fuck about who your father is or how much money your family makes or why you love Slytherin. You weren't nice to me, you never were, you laughed at me, and that's the end of it." He rolled away, and when Malfoy stared at him, all he could see was one shoulder in a jumper.

Draco shook his head, or did the mental equivalent of the gesture; he would take pleasure in doing a lot more than that when he was back home. He didn't remember Harry as this sensitive and this easily conquered. He would always spit fire back at the teasing, and act like Draco was beneath him a lot of the time. Why was it so different here?

Because then he had a whole House willing to support him. Because he didn't have to learn wards to surround his bed at night. Because his Head of House would listen to him when he said he was having trouble in the subject she taught.

Malfoy rose slowly to his feet, biting his lip and never taking his eyes off Harry. At last he said, rapidly, "You don't know why Sirius Black is hunting you, do you? You don't have the least idea."

Harry twitched, but didn't turn over. Draco again regretted the lack of eyebrows to raise. Well. I reckon this version of me sees the knowledge as a payment for saving his life, instead of trying to hurt him with it.

"He was your parents' Secret-Keeper, and he betrayed them," Malfoy said. "Killed their other friend and a bunch of Muggles doing it, too. And now he's coming for you." He paused. "I'd get out there and find him before he finds me. Shouldn't be so difficult for you, with your skills at holding hippogriffs back. Maybe you could bind Black in the same net!"

Harry didn't respond, and Malfoy slipped out, another emotion mingling among the ones he already felt. Draco wasn't surprised that he didn't recognize shame; it had taken years for Draco to understand it himself.

He kept looking back at Harry because Malfoy did, and wondered if anything could soothe the sharp ache in the middle of his heart. Harry, I wish we were friends. I wish I hadn't come back in time, or to this other universe, or to this vision, to see what I thought would be a more wonderful version of you. I wish…

The edge of the Forbidden Forest. Draco recognized where they stood when the images slowed down again instantly, but he couldn't help but wonder why they were here.

Malfoy looked around with his senses thrumming, and then paused when he heard voices. He ducked behind a tree and moved closer and closer to them, Draco listening to his heartbeat and trying to understand the situation.

Yes, Black had attacked Gryffindor Tower for some reason, and Harry had cast a spell that let him track the man out because he was so sure Black wanted to kill his friends, and no one had believed Malfoy when he tried to tell his professors that Harry was sneaking out of bed—except Snape, who was looking in entirely the wrong places…

But Harry had tracked Black to the Forbidden Forest, and now he was confronting him. Malfoy had come after him because, well, there was no way he could do this alone, and he might die with Malfoy still owing him a life-debt. Malfoy didn't know what would happen then, but his father had told him it could be bad.

So he was here, listening as Harry spoke, his words edged with flame. Which meant Draco listened.

"I know you." Harry's voice was ragged, gasping. "I know who you are."

"Do you?" Black's voice was dangerous, so deep that Draco could imagine it as a growl over a bone. He didn't remember ever hearing Black speak, but then, he would have no reason to. "You know why I came into the school, then. And that I'm your godfather."

"What?" Harry said, and Draco recognized the tone as the one he used when he was knocked off-balance in the middle of a duel. It was the biggest weakness in the dueling part of Harry's Auror training. Draco tried to estimate the distance between himself and Malfoy's teeth, so he could grind them. Idiot.

"Your parents chose me to be your godfather," Black said, and Draco heard a shuffle that was probably Black coming closer to Harry, although Malfoy wasn't near enough to see anything but shadows and the wavering light from Harry's wand. "Harry? I didn't kill them. I'm just hunting the one who did. Wormtail. The one who can change into a rat. You must have heard of us? The Marauders?"

"That name," Harry began, and then Draco could feel him closing his eyes. Or he could feel the moment when his own Harry would have done that, at least, and he thought this Harry wasn't different enough to do something else. "I—I heard of you. But I don't know who Wormtail would be. What rat?"

"Weasley's rat," Black said. "Your friend Weasley." His voice deepened and sharpened, becoming so like the bay of a hound that Malfoy shivered. "His rat Scabbers. Long-lived for a rat, isn't he? I heard you talking once, asking how long he'd had him. And he'd had him for years, hadn't he?"

"I don't know," Harry said doubtfully, but Draco—and even Malfoy—heard the trembling harmonics in the back of his voice and knew Black had him. Of course, in the real world, the untwisted world, Black had been innocent, but Harry couldn't know that. This Harry, though, was alone, fighting against a group of people in his own House as well as the Dark Lord and his followers. He would want more allies than just his friends. He would jump at the chance to trust an adult, if he could.

We made him more untrusting, and this is the result.

"Listen," Black said, speaking rapidly. "Lupin. Remus Lupin, who taught you how to do the Patronus Charm? He's Moony, because he's a werewolf. I'm Padfoot, for my Animagus form, and your father was Prongs. He could change into a stag."

"Really?" And Harry's voice soared with hunger, and Draco tried to listen to that more than the shock that jolted through Malfoy. He had suspected Lupin was a werewolf, but he wasn't used to being right in his idle, malicious speculations.

"We used to run around the forest together, when Moony transformed and needed friends," Black said, and his voice was full of longing. "God. Those were good times." Then he glanced back at Harry, or so Draco thought from the movement of his head, as Malfoy peeked quickly around the tree trunk in front of him and saw their shadows. "Listen, Harry. I'm not asking you to trust me without proof. Bring me the rat, and I'll show you. I know a spell that can force him to change back to human form."

And that was all Malfoy needed to hear. Black was obviously mad, and he had been wondering all year how to pay Potter back for saving his life. He would do it by rescuing him from the madman whom he didn't have sense enough to distrust.

"Hold it," Malfoy said, and stepped around the trunk, aiming his wand at Black. "Get away from him, Potter. He's more dangerous than you know."

Black bared his teeth as though he was still in dog form. Harry's eyes widened, but the next instant, he took a step forwards as if to get between them. That made a firework go off in Malfoy's brain for reasons Draco hadn't even considered; Harry might have been trying to protect Malfoy from Black, but it was more likely to be the other way around. Here was Malfoy trying to pay back a debt, and he was still classed as an enemy.

"Get away from him," Malfoy hissed.

"No," Potter said. "I want to listen to what he has to say, and it makes at least as much sense as the weird story you told me. Back up, and—"

"Black!" Malfoy shrieked.

And that cry rang out all over the grounds, and the black shadows of Dementors began to flow towards them.

Draco could not remember the next few minutes, except for the Dementors that surrounded them, and the glowing figure that appeared at a distance, his wand aflame, and which cast a brilliant stag Patronus that charged them and made them scatter. He remembered Harry on his knees, and a sound like the flap of wings, and another like the long, trailing squeal of a rat. But the only thing he knew for sure at the end was that Black had changed into a dog and run away into the Forest, carrying Harry on his back, and the Dementors had fled as though a monster more terrible than they were chased them.

And then McGonagall found him on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and Malfoy was really in trouble. Draco would gladly have joined in with her scolding.

Harry walked the corridors with a strange, transcendent look on his face, compounded of both sorrow and joy. And for some reason, Malfoy noted as he went past, with Draco hovering in the back of his head, he was smiling at Blaise, and nodding to him. Talking with him, although Blaise was Slytherin and the enemy.

Malfoy waited until Harry passed on. It was obvious Harry had rescued Black somehow, and Weasley's rat was gone from the school, which had to be enough for Malfoy, because Harry would never tell him what had happened. But that was reason enough to talk to Blaise.

"Well, Zabini," Malfoy drawled as he stepped up to him. "And what did you hear of the famous Harry Potter's exploits?" Draco sighed in the back of his head; he would have offered something to trade for information as good as that. But Malfoy was still in the position where he thought people should gratify his whims for the mere pleasure of doing so, at least some of the time. He didn't really consider anyone in Slytherin an equal, worth an equal exchange.

Blaise gave him such a bland look that Draco felt a stab of ice in his gut—his imaginary gut, not Malfoy's real one. That was a sign that Blaise had indeed gained some real information, and things were different enough already that Draco had to guess what it could be. The real story of what had happened that night? Whether Harry had any hope of living with Black?

"I suggest," Blaise murmured, "that you consider what value a solid shoulder and a listening ear offered at the right moment can be, rather than a snapping voice and a nose in the air." And he turned away.

The rage made the mists that closed in turn black and red, and Draco was not sure whether that emotion was his or Malfoy's.

*

            Unneeded: I think, all things considered (for example, if Harry’s first meetings with Draco aren’t any different from canon) than he was always going to be a Gryffindor by nature. Years can alter him, as you see here, but not immediate events.

            SP777: Yes, I think so. Or at least, Draco is drawn to what rejects him and doesn’t want anything to do with him, I think. ;)

            This is just a what-if vision. He hasn’t changed his own history.

            AlterEquis: Thanks! That’s what I thought; I can just hit the highlights of the changed years without having to worry about the whole story.

            ChaosLady: Interesting! Most people don’t seem to think Harry is that much different from canon. Why do you think so?

            Fullmoons_wings: Thanks! I think by the time you get to the sixth year, you’ll find it very different, but also understand why.

            But yes, Draco is furious at Harry now, and Blaise, rather than himself. It will make a change for the next chapter.

            Talltree-san: I think that’s because he really expected Harry to be his friend when Harry got Slytherin-Sorted. That he isn’t just makes his obsession worse.

            CJB: Thank you!

            Silverkitten: Thanks! I hope you enjoyed this next chapter.
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All Desire in a Day