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The Image of You	By : Andreas Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1609 -:- 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
- 4
- 5
Chapter 5: Land of the Lost, Home of the Free
The rain poured down, gushing off the heavy branches of the huge fir, but only finding its way down to Harry's huddled form in small, irregular drips and drops. It was tolerable. Very little else was.
He felt as numb and listless now as he had when Bill had woken up and dragged him out of the rain. The cold night air clawed at his naked body and he sat awkwardly leaned sideways against the fir's gnarly trunk to lessen a pain that cut even deeper. There were insects crawling across his legs. He couldn't be bothered to shake them off. He was all alone and the world was coming, had come, to an end.
Perhaps Bill wouldn't even come back from his scouting. They needed clothes and shelter, he'd said. Perhaps the darkness had swallowed him too. Perhaps there was only darkness left, and Harry at its centre, his own darkness reaching out to meet it, spreading like some lichen of hate and despair throughout his nervous system. Soon, there would be nothing left of him. Nothing but darkness.
He didn't even blink when Bill placed his grimy and battered hand on his shoulder. 'There are lights in the valley below. We have to go, now. You'll freeze to death like this!'
Harry turned slowly to face Bill. Without hair and shrouded in darkness, Bill was almost unrecognisable. 'At least I won't burn,' whispered Harry, and felt his mouth twitch into some sort of smile-like grimace.
'Well,' sighed Bill, 'there is that. Now, get up! I won't carry you, but I will drag you if I have to.'
Harry grabbed the branches above him to pull himself upright. Only halfway into the valley did he notice the needles and his hand covered in fresh blood.
***
When there was no longer the overgrown underbrush of the broad-leaf belt below the dark but less cluttered fir-forest to battle, even more of Harry's mind shifted to automatic. They were hurrying in a straight line down the muddy slope of a well-kept old vineyard. The monotony went on for so long, Harry very nearly tramped straight onto the gravel path cutting through the vineyard, straight into the path of, and maybe under the hoofs of, a procession of trotting, hooded centaurs. Luckily, Bill was there to yank him back while the pouring rain helped cover this momentary misstep.
'Quiet!' hissed Bill. Harry vaguely recalled having yelped as he was dragged behind a large vine-bush. It rather surprised him, because he had quite forgotten how to speak. Not that it mattered now. All he could do now was peer through the vines at the heavily armoured troop passing by, wondering if maybe they worked for Voldemort, and whether he should go ask them and then, if they did work for him or maybe anyway because they sure didn't look like nice people, unleash all his writhing darkness on them.
He didn't.
His feet were stuck in the mud. Or at least, there was a puddle and he couldn't move his legs. The procession disappeared from view. Bill gave a sigh of relief. Harry heaved one of exhaustion. And the low whistle behind them resembled a sigh only in a very general sense.
'Well, well. Here's an interestin' pair o' bare bums. Now, dontcha worry, gents - I've got yeh covered.'
They spun around. Correction; Bill spun around. Harry staggered in a vague ellipsis.
There was a stout, bearded man with a broad-rimmed hat grinning at them. He seemed friendly enough, except for the two huge, battle-worn crossbows aimed at their heaving chests.
The rain stopped.
***
'I suspect you'll be huntin' for hooded rags, gents. Afraid none of the reg'lar shops are open this time o'night. I'll just have to take yeh in "au naturale" then. Sure the missus won't mind, fine young gents like yerselves. She'll be deeelighted!' The big brute of a man chuckled, and Harry felt burning embarrassment starting to eat away at the darkness inside him. Just a hundred yards or so down the path lay a large villa of neo-Roman design, its arched windows throwing flickering, faint light onto a graveled courtyard.
'Stop!' said the man behind them. Harry's legs were only too happy to oblige. His right arm wasn't quite as happy about the huge crossbow heading its way. 'Here, carry this for me, there's a good lad. Heavy things these, and I'm old and frail.'
Harry took the crossbow, raising a listless eyebrow at the bearded man who didn't look the least bit frail, and who had just handed his prisoner a significant piece of weaponry.
The man pointed his remaining crossbow at Harry. 'I still have this one, and you don't know how to use _that one_.' He grinned. The cheerfulness was starting to get on Harry's nerves. 'Now, keep going.'
When they were only a few feet from the entrance, the door was thrown open, revealing a tall, shapely woman with greyish black hair tied up in a bun. She wore a purple silk dress and entirely too much jewelry. She beamed at the naked boys before her.
'Oh, _darling_, have you brought me _presents_?' she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. Harry clapped his hands over his crotch, injuring himself in the process. _Mrs_ Jolly Madman glanced at the crossbow in Harry's hand. 'Or have you come to capture and rape me?' Her long eyelashes fluttered.
Harry dropped the crossbow.
***
Newly and quickly scrubbed clean, wearing a white toga and still uncomfortably bald, Harry felt rather like a monk awaiting the judgment of a Mad Abbot. Not that the bearded man sitting before him in any way, except for a prominent bald spot, _reminded_ him of an Abbot. Perhaps it was just the probing gaze of the mistress of the house, reclined on a bed near the fireplace in the otherwise sparsely decorated room, that made Harry appreciate even an _imaginary_ Vow of Chastity.
'So,' said the man, his two crossbows carelessly propped against the sides of his armchair, 'you're new. Well, let me introduce myself then, gentlemen. I am Marcus Prosperi, merchant, wine-grower, guide and prominent part of this valley's lucrative . . . welcoming party! Not that I generally greet newcomers in the middle of the night, o'course, but you were really tickin' off my gnomes, what with yer tramplin' through the vineyard like that.'
An instinctive but barely audible apology slipped past Harry's lips just as Mrs Prosperi cleared her throat, loudly.
'And this, of course,' said Mr Prosperi, 'is my darling wife Delicia.'
'Charmed,' said Bill, looking more like some samurai warrior than a monk.
'Perhaps you'd care for some . . . tea?' asked Mrs Prosperi.
'If it's not too much trouble,' said Bill. Harry just nodded eagerly, hoping tea preparations would remove Mrs Prosperi for at least a little while.
'Trouble?' trilled the lady and snapped her fingers. 'Goodness no!'
A house elf, it too wearing a toga, popped into existence next to Mrs Prosperi. She bent forward and whispered something to the elf which promptly vanished again. Harry's shoulders sagged, and he thought he saw _Mr_ Prosperi smirk at him.
'So,' said Bill, 'you're a . . . wizard?'
Mr Prosperi patted his crossbows. 'Wouldn't need these if I were, would I? No,' he nodded towards the spot where the elf had made its brief appearance, 'Ariel is a freeman like myself. I pay him for his services.'
Part of Harry wanted to ask if the pay included socks, and another part wished everyone would just _put_ a sock _in it_ so he could get some sleep, or die in peace.
'But you,' continued Mr Prosperi, 'are wizards? Without wands?'
'They . . . got lost,' said Bill.
Harry remembered his trousers yanked off, his wand discarded with them. He shuddered.
'Along with your clothes,' added Mr Prosperi, and Harry didn't at all care for the shrewd look in the old man's eyes. 'Well, no matter. I'll take yeh to town tomorrow. Lots of shops catering to fugitive dark wizards these days.'
'We're not--' But Harry got no further before Bill's nails dug into his forearm.
Mr Prosperi, however, got further all on his own. 'Not dark wizards, eh? If yeh say so, gents. But,' he leaned forward and in an instant, all his jocundity was gone, 'there's got to be _something_ dark about yeh. Only right bastards, murderers and madmen, get past the Guardians. Only torn souls can slip through the cracks of _these_ Lands. But,' he leaned back again and his wide grin returned, 'I judge no one. To each his own, or someone else's when 'e can get away with it.'
Harry felt at once both offended and frightened. 'So,' he burst out, trying to drown his thoughts of darkness and madness and hate, 'you're saying _everyone_ in the Lost Lands is a murderous bastard?'
'Oh, no, not at all! Leaving this place is as tough as getting in, so most everyone stays for generations, you see?'
Harry did not see, and his face must have signaled as much.
'Torn souls,' said Mr Prosperi, 'are not inherited. Sons and daughters of bad people aren't always bad themselves. Sure, they might often as not be right pricks, with that kind o'raisin', but souls and heart start out whole in _everyone_. And you need t'make more than a few bad choices to tear them truly apart.'
Unlike easily torn parchment. Harry's stomach gave a lurch.
'Wouldn't you agree,' said Mr Prosperi, turning his full attention to Harry, 'Mr . . ? Well, by golly, I don't even know yer names!'
'He's Harry. I'm William,' said Bill, quickly.
'Pleased to make yer acquaintance, William and Harry.'
When Harry turned his puzzled gaze back to Bill, he found his friend wide-eyed and gaping.
'But,' said Bill, 'I said Henry! Not Harry!'
Mr Prosperi chuckled again. 'My dear boy, yeh'll have to make the lie more apparent than that to have the Sprachensprites catch on! They'll have assumed yeh were just pronouncing his name queerly.'
'The What-sprites?'
'Sprachensprites. Tiny invisible things that thrive on communication, so they translate everything to make sure it flows without interruption. Right now, I'm speaking what yeh'd likely call a sort of Latin, or so I _believe_. It's hard to tell _what_ language yeh're using after a while, because everyone understands everything in the Land of the Free. It was _designed_ that way.' There was a definite look of patriotic pride in his eyes, and in this particular case, Harry could see why. He could also see, with surprising clarity, that this made uniting an army of many different kinds of evil considerably less difficult in the Lost Lands.
There was a loud crack and Harry jumped a little sideways as Ariel appeared in front of him and Bill.
'Tea?' squeaked the elf, holding out a tray between them carrying two cups of steaming tea.
Harry and Bill turned, thanked the elf, picked up their respective cups, and very nearly suffered synchronized heart failure.
There was a thwang and a crash and a smash and two toks and some clattering. There were mug handles in Bill's and Harry's hands and a light sprinkling of tea on their togas. There were two arrows lodged in the wall behind Harry and Bill and two discharged crossbows in the hands of Mr Prosperi.
'Tea was poisoned,' he said, putting away the crossbows. 'Oh, no need to match yer togas t'yer faces, friends. It wouldn't have killed you. Just,' he turned to his wife, 'made yeh more . . . compliant.'
Mrs Prosperi pouted, but shrugged as if it were no big deal, really. Harry's hand instinctively moved to adjust his glasses.
They weren't there. He felt for them a bit more, as though they would magically reappear. Then he squinted at a painting on the wall. He could make it out more clearly than he wanted to. It showed two men engaging in activities he'd rather not consider right now.
'Ah,' said Mr Prosperi, 'you wear . . . glasses? Is that the word?'
'But,' said Harry, 'how?'
'Oh,' purred Mrs Prosperi, 'it's quite simple, dear. If you're . . . able to _procreate_,' she put entirely too much emphasis on the word, 'the Guardians like to clean you up, make sure there are no defects. Keeps the population healthy, strong and . . . beautiful. You, my _dear_ boy, are as fit as a fiddle and prettier than ever!' Her eyes raked across Harry's body. He felt naked again.
'But gentlemen,' exclaimed Mr Prosperi, turning back to them, 'you must be exhausted! Come, let's talk business tomorrow!' He snapped his fingers. 'Ariel!' The elf popped up immediately. 'Show these weary pilgrims to the guest bedroom!' He glanced at his wife. 'And guard the door. Here,' he threw one of his crossbows at Ariel who promptly fell over, 'have a security bonus!'
***
'You have to tie me up!'
The moment Ariel had left, still dragging the huge crossbow behind him (no longer loaded after he'd already shot the floor twice), Bill spun around and grabbed Harry's shoulders. 'You _have_ to tie me up!' he said, and Harry didn't know _what_ to think. The way things had been going so far, his mind jumped quickly to conclusions he hoped could never be true.
'He comes,' continued Bill, 'at night. He can . . . break through when I sleep.'
There was no doubt who this 'he' was. Fenrir. Harry took a step back and wished he hadn't. Bill let go and turned away, shoulders hunched. 'I can keep him out when I'm awake, but not in sleep or during--'
Harry, wishing that subject would never be mentioned in his presence again because it was vile and arousing and shameful and painful, interrupted. 'But you never said . . .'
'I could _deal_ with it! I cast a password-protected Partial Body Bind on myself each night and - and that was _it_!' Bill turned to face Harry, and his composure had finally cracked completely. 'And now I. Have. No. WAND! I'm _useless_ without it!'
There was a very long silence, Bill and Harry facing each other, perfectly still except for the movement of their chests.
'I'll use the sheets,' Harry said at last. 'I'll tie them really tight. In case he comes.'
'Thank you.'
***
The guest room was spacious, almost palatial, but thrown into darkness it only helped to worsen Harry's feeling of being adrift in a world that wasn't his, a world turned inside out, a black vacuum. He stared up into the darkness, and his darkness stared back.
'Do you think they're . . . gone?' he asked, desperate to break the silence.
'No.'
'You think they made it out then?'
'Yes.'
Harry still didn't feel reassured. 'Did you see them escape?'
'No.'
'Anything to suggest--?'
'No.'
There was another long silence.
'I miss him too, a bit,' Harry half-whispered, not sure if Bill was still awake.
'Yes,' said Bill, and Harry wondered at the certainty and lack of surprise in his voice.
Then their current situation claimed Harry's attention once again. 'Mr Prosperi. . . Do you think we can trust him?'
'No.'
Harry thought for a while, then added, '_Will_ we trust him?'
'Yes.'
***
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I love feedback. Just saying. ;)
Also, you might be interested in the soundtrack I compiled for the first four chapters of this fic. It reflects the events of the chapters (and includes 'The Image of You' by Anjeza Shahini as a 'bonus track') and is really quite lovely, imho. (I have it on repeat right now.)
If features songs by Miyavi, Sanna Nielsen, Sissel, Angela Aki, Gackt, and others. You can find more info and download links here: http://community.livejournal.com/fanboysbower/2352.html
The next chapter is called Bloody Diversion. I'm rather looking forward to it myself. ;)
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The Image of You