Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 4
- 5
- 6
I do hope I am not disappointing at all with this story, it is a pleasure to write. Please don't be turned off by the pacing, I promise it will be worth it in the end.

Please review! it keeps the fire going!

Oh, and if anyone was curious as to what Draco was playing, it was Bach's cello suite no.1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DwHpDOWhkGk

==============================

Harry woke sometime later to the soft tap of Hedwig's beak against the glass. He rose groggily and let her in, feeling the cool morning breeze against his bare skin and shivering. He sat back down on the bed feeling his morning wood strain against his boxer briefs, and was suddenly overcome with the embarrassing idea that Malfoy could have woken up at any point to see him laying there. He felt exposed, and ducked under the covers to read Ron’s return letter.

As he unrolled the letter, the thoughts from the previous night came back to him from a great distance. He explored the way he felt now, warm and cozy under the blankets, still flustered from his potential exhibition. It felt so much more natural than the cold harsh ideas that had seemed so right in the gathering darkness. Now, bathing in the pale light of the morning sun, Harry’s stoicism seemed foreign and overblown. He lay the letter down, and sighed back into his pillow, feeling torn and confused.

Feeling the soft cotton of his sheets, Harry lamented the dichotomy that had sprung up inside. He felt warm and safe nestled here in the sunlight, a letter from his best friend in hand, and the lithe blond lying only feet from him. But he knew that when he stood alone against the Dark Lord in the misty wet blackness that Harry knew would be the final moment of their confrontation, he could not take these things with him. He would be naked before the power of darkness. He felt again the fear that had gripped him in the cemetery so long ago as Cedric died before his eyes. He had been protected by love that time, but that was all love could ever do. Protect and save him by the merest shred of luck. He would never defeat Voldemort by hiding weakly behind the shields of others. He must gather his own power.

But even as he thought this, Harry knew that he did not truly feel this way. Though he was fearful, and saying these things now, it would not be this way as he went about his day. It just wasn’t who he was, who he had always been. And in a sudden realization, he knew also that his ideas were at complete odds with the very foundations Dumbledore had laid out before him in their time together. He knew the headmaster would chastise him for rejecting the power of love, but felt uncomfortable seeking the headmaster’s counsel.

Harry curled himself into a ball, thinking and feeling like he was hiding some great secret. His thoughts had tread across a great taboo that had built up inside him, but he was sure that he would never find love fill the lonely void in his chest, and so his only option was to erase its existence. The new Malfoy was an unknown quantity, a newcomer to Harry’s psychological drama. Harry knew Draco could fill the emptiness inside of him, but he was also someone who would never, ever, be close to Harry that way. Indeed he had been startled by Draco’s friendliness, but this was surely just an attempt to make up for years of hatred. They were exploring the friendship they never had, but it was purely platonic. It had to be.

He looked over at the sleeping Malfoy, who lay with a smile on his face, his hair golden in the rising sunlight. Even as he realized how beautiful Malfoy was, it was impossible to forget what he had once done, what he had once tried to do. Even before he had been forced to join the Dark Lord, he had been a snide little prat. Certainly the new Malfoy was an improvement, but Harry could not believe his character had changed entirely. Sure, maybe Harry could appreciate his beauty now that he wasn’t potentially homicidal, but he did not think he could ever love Malfoy. And to satiate his loneliness it would take more than simple infatuation. He would need not only the passion and desire, but the certainty and commitment of real love.

A loud gurgling noise erupted from his stomach, and he felt the slow rumbling feeling, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten for more than a day. Suddenly he felt a mouth watering craving for food that eclipsed his other thoughts. Rising from bed, he quickly donned his robes and strode from the room, letter still in hand.

As he passed into the kitchen he was nearly overcome by the absolutely delicious smell of bacon. This was immediately followed by subtle undertones of eggs and fresh biscuits. His hunger threatened to kill him; his stomach was practically clawing its way out of his body to get at the food that he now saw laid simply around the table in some of his godfather’s old dishes. Narcissa sat at the far end of the table, reading the daily prophet by the golden light that was filtering through the sky lights.

“Draco still sleeping?” she said as she saw Harry enter the room.

“Uh, yes….ma’am” replied Harry awkwardly as he slipped into a chair. He noticed four place settings, two of which already had the look of being used. One was in front of Narcissa, the other right beside her.

He must have given it a quizzical look, for Narcissa then said, “Dumbledore, he left just a few minutes ago.”

“Does he stay here, in this house?” Harry had never really considered where Dumbledore spent his holidays, and wondered if he stayed here now, to protect Harry and the Malfoys.

“Yes, though I don’t expect he will be back until dinner. Help yourself Harry, I’m sure you must be starving.” Harry’s stomach gave another, undignified growl, and she laughed, turning back to the Prophet.

The bacon was cooked perfectly, and the scrambled eggs were slightly browned on some parts, which Harry had always loved. But by far the best part of the meal was the biscuits, he peeled away the layers of doughy goodness and savored their soft milky taste. Once he had finally sated the raging beast of hunger within, he leaned back in his chair, now at a loss for words. He had never been alone in the room with Narcissa and was very uncomfortable with the silence between them.

After a few agonizing moments, she seemed to realize that he had stopped eating and folded the paper, looking across the table at him. She paused, and seemed to be trying to formulate a very difficult sentence. “I want to thank you Potter, for - for saving him.” She clasped her hands and looked sincerely at him. A lock of her blond hair fell out of her bun, and she hastened to redo it, as Harry sat in stunned silence. He could remember not killing Draco, but he hardly thought that counted as saving.

“I-he-I, what?” he said, noticing that the Malfoys were developing the uncanny ability to reduce him to unintelligible stuttering of late.

She seemed taken aback by his confusion and stopped midway through tying up her bun, “He hasn’t- You don’t- Well then, I’ll start on the dishes.” She quickly summoned the plates she and Dumbledore had used, and left for the kitchen faster than was necessary, her long blond hair now trailing about her shoulders.

Harry sat in the warm light of the morning, wondering what in the hell he had done to save Malfoy’s life, when he heard the swinging door open behind him. He heard a pause in the footsteps before Malfoy made his way around the table, to sit at the only seat left with a fresh place setting. He did not look at Harry as he began to pile food onto his plate. For this Harry was grateful, for though he chuckled at how Malfoy’s appetite equaled his own, his mind was still reeling and he was not ready to speak yet. He was racing through every encounter he had had with Malfoy in the past year, trying to find the moment of which Narcissa had spoken.

Silence passed in minutes as Malfoy ate and Harry sat brooding, eventually helping himself to another biscuit. Eventually he gave up, deciding he would ask her about it next time they were alone, and instead focused on the problem of the private lessons he knew they were supposed to continue after breakfast.

The blond ate ravenously at first, but then slowed down considerably in what Harry knew was an attempt to prolong the whole affair. When finally he finished, he laid down his napkin and clasped his hands. Harry was looking down at his plate, and could only see Draco’s hands as he began to speak.

“Good news Potter, Dumbledore told me not to start with the occlumency until tomorrow, you’ll have time to hide all those dirty secrets.” his voice was calm and even, but Harry knew better, he had watched Draco fidget nervously with his fingers.

Draco noticed Potter staring when he didn’t respond. He quickly withdrew his hands, placing them under the table. Harry merely continued staring into the folds of Draco’s robes, which had replaced the view of his hands. Draco cleared his throat loudly, in an attempt to startle the blue eyed wonder that sat before him. It was odd now, how he could admire the way the soft morning light diffused over his features, while being simultaneously annoyed at his stupidity. The great bull headed fool that lived behind those glasses and deep blue eyes was utterly infuriating.

“Not that there is much to hide, in that empty head of yours I suppose.” he added, attempting to get Harry’s attention with his usual snide comments. Potter merely frowned, and stood up from the table. He left quietly, leaving a seething Malfoy behind him.

Harry wandered the house for a bit, before eventually giving into the fact that he was inevitably going to end up in the drawing room. He sat himself in the most uncomfortable chair in the room, a chair was still comfortable by any standard, given that Dumbledore had been its creator. Sullenly, he pulled out Ron’s letter and began to read. Ron suggested that he was giving Malfoy a little too much credit, and that he could not possibly have changed as much as Harry had indicated in his last letter. Yes, Harry had been full of foolish optimism yesterday, and he was glad that his true friends were there to keep him honest. Feeling slightly happier, he rummaged around in one of the cabinets and managed to find some old yellowed parchment, and some writing materials. He chuckled as he held the long peacock feather quill in his hand, it was large and unwieldily and he very much doubted it had belonged to Sirius.

Slowly and awkwardly he penned a response to Ron, thanking him for being rational and not letting Harry get caught up in his naïvité, and was careful not to mention that fact that he had been grappling with a strong physical attraction to Malfoy. He felt that now that he was going to but that behind him, it would be better if Ron never knew. He also pulled out another sheet to write a letter to Hermione, feeling slightly guilty that he hadn’t written to her in quite a long time. Though he knew that she and Ron were communicating daily, perhaps more, Hermione was like to get a little miffed if she didn’t hear from him soon.

As he left the room on his was up to give Hedwig the letter, he saw Malfoy shrink back into a corner, hastily pretending to look at one of the cabinets filled with some of the Blacks old trinkets. Harry focused on his desire to send his letters, forcing it to distract him from his urge to look at Malfoy. He had always noticed Malfoy, but never before had he been so captivating as in the past few days.

Hedwig hooted dolefully as he entered the room, and Harry often thought that summer must be her favorite time of year, for she often had little to do once the term started. As he watched her fly out into the sunny morning, he was oddly at peace. His problems felt very far away, quietly waiting in the back of his mind. He felt that as long as he watched the rhythmic flap of Hedwig’s wings recede slowly into the light of the sun, he could hold his troubles at bay.

Harry held this mental state all the way down the stairs and into the drawing room, where Malfoy had dragged a chair over to the window, and sat staring out onto a gloomy, misty morning. As Harry approached his calm spread slowly out into the scene, slowly subverting the swirling wisps. Malfoy’s gloom seemed to grow more agitated when he noticed Harry’s presence, and somehow Harry was pleased that his standoffishness was having an effect on the boy who had so long been impervious.

Their lesson was less successful than the last time, due in no small part to Harry’s rather dissociated attitude, and Malfoy’s own reserved and sullen attempts at producing a Patronus. It was therefore the case that after less than an hour, Malfoy gave up in a huff and walked out of the room, leaving a quietly content Harry behind him. Potter was not quite sure when his attempts at ignoring Malfoy had changed into attempts to piss him off, but either way it kept them apart. And that is what Harry needed, no matter how much the small quiet part of him called out for the opposite.

He sank into the less-comfortable chair once again, and sighed in relief. It had been a terrible test of his will to keep his attraction to Malfoy in check. He had long been obsessed with Draco, but never in a positive way. What had started as curiosity and guilt the night Malfoy had apologized to him a few short months ago, had quickly blossomed into a strong physical attraction. He knew that if he did not separate himself now, an emotional attachment was sure to follow, one that he knew would not be reciprocated by Malfoy.

He inhaled deeply, trying to focus his mind and keep images of Malfoy’s bare skin, and the remembrance of his presence so close beside him in the bath, from invading his consciousness. Inevitably he caught flashes of them, and felt a slight tightness grow in his chest. But then he was back to staring out the window, using the various passing muggles and chirping birds to distract him from his own thoughts. How lucky they were, the mother and daughter happily walking hand and hand down the sidewalk. He watched the little girl bend to pick something up of the ground, and smiled as the mother turned to scoop her up before she had a chance to touch whatever it was. They walked away with their heads close together, and they would never know how much danger they were in at this very moment. Their way of life hung with utmost fragility upon Harry’s fate. If he should fail the boundary between the magical and muggle worlds would vanish in an instant. Harry shuddered at the thought of the terror that would be unleashed upon the world, and dark clouds began to gather in the corners of the long windows. It seemed Harry could not find solace in anything these days. He was either suffering under his desperation for companionship, or stewing in despairing thoughts of the war against Lord Voldemort.

-

Malfoy slammed the door of their bedroom, and sank against the dark wood until he rested on the floor. He looked at his wand with contempt as it shone in the patch of light from the window. Though he knew it was his fault the lesson had gone so badly he needed something else to blame. He would’ve blamed Harry but it was not necessarily his fault that Draco was torturing himself by stealing glances at Harry’s features. Unlike yesterday Harry did not seem to notice these little looks, and remained as stoic as he had during the night. This frustrated Draco to no end, and this in turn frustrated him further. Why was it so hard to accept that Harry was just going to stubbornly reject his attempts at friendship. He thought of the time so many years ago, when Harry had first rejected his friendship. He remembered his haughty indignation, and was disgusted with his eleven year old self. Even at a young age he had been a bigoted prat; Harry was not to blame for their icy relationship. But he had changed now, he had forsaken all that he once was. He clutched his wand and resolved to show Harry that his new character was permanent. He would show Harry that any relationship that formed between them would be a lasting one. He was not out to distract Harry from his fate, he would be there to stand with him until the end.

Harry had once shown him the power of friendship, albeit unknowingly, and now it was Malfoy’s chance to return the favor. But he would have to be cunning, Harry was in no mood for friendship at the moment.

The two boys wiled away the rest of the morning on various inconsequential tasks, taking care not to run into each other. If he heard footsteps coming Malfoy would quickly step into the nearest room and wait for Harry to pass. This unfortunately led to a run in with Kreacher, who eyed him moodily, muttering darkly about blood traitors and mudbloods. He thought of all the times he had called Hermione a mudblood in front of Harry, and mentally punched himself for being such an arse. He knew he would still be more than a little peeved at her know it all behavior, but never would he call her that again. He smiled as he imagined the shock on her face when he greeted her cordially the next time they met. Draco then realized that he would have to be extra cautious around Granger; her powers of observation were second only to Dumbledore, and he knew she would be on full alert, searching for reasons to split them up. He scoffed at himself for momentarily forgetting that Harry was being a complete fool, and that they had nothing to split up in the first place. Six years of loathing, followed by one awkward bath could not be called a friendship.

Draco let out a great sigh as he heaved open the heavy door and stepped out into the hallway, where he nearly ran straight into his mother.

“Ah, there you are dear. Come, its nearly time for lunch, and you and I need to have a little chat.” She took his shoulder and led him down the stairs into the kitchen.

Shaking her off and sitting gruffly into a chair, Malfoy said, “What’s this about then, mother.” Though he knew full well what it was about.

She let his tone blow over her without a reaction, and said with quiet annunciation, looking him straight in the eye, “Potter.”

Draco slammed his fist unintentionally on the table, causing them both to jump.

She leaned closer to him, “You haven’t told him. You need to tell him. He deserves to know, and besides it might...you know, get you closer.” she finished awkwardly, realizing that she had treaded into an area of the conversation she did not want to explore.

“Oh yes!” said Malfoy with a grand waving of his hand, “Hi Potter, good to see you, how’s mum? Oh, dead, right….. Well I just thought you ought to know that I admire your strength and all, facing the Dark Lord without so much as a haircut. It’s changed me you know, helped me turn from the darkness.” Draco paused and drew in a breath as he rose from the table. “Yeah, I reckon that will go over well.”

“You sit back down this instant Draco Malfoy, that boy saved you from yourself, and your honor as a Malfoy compels you to at least thank him, if nothing else.”

He rounded on his mother, and spat back at her in barely more than a whisper, “My honor? All I have ever done is wretch and defile myself before the glory of our name. It’s all I have ever done. For you- you and that sniveling oaf who called himself my father.”

It was as if he had struck her, she hung her head and leaned into her hands, and Malfoy knew that he had gone too far. Before the wave of guilt could crest over his head, he was beside her, holding her by the shoulder’s and telling her that he did not mean it.

“I - I will tell him mother, I promise, next time I get the chance. Potter will know everything.”

“Tell me what?” said an icy voice from the doorway. Malfoy froze, and he felt his stomach fall through the floor and into the basement. Malfoy closed his mouth and frowned at Harry, who looked back expectantly, waiting for an answer.

Mother to the rescue. “Harry, wonderful that you could join us, I was just about to send Draco up to let you know-”, and she said this word with particular emphasis, “-that lunch will be ready soon.” She rose and glided into the kitchen glancing briefly into the eyes of her son.

He had expected his mother to let their little awkward moment play out until Harry eventually forced the truth from him with those piercing green eyes. But apparently Draco’s little guilt trip had stung worse than he had thought, though he doubted even Goyle would be fooled by her little cover up. He sank into his mother’s seat, and gave Potter a look that dared him to ask again.

Draco was surprised to see that Harry was a bit taken aback by his aggressive behavior. Though he knew it did nothing to show Harry that he was a new Malfoy, he enjoyed the fact that he could get at least some reaction out of the boy. All too soon Harry had resumed his impassive air, and was staring quite willfully out of the window at the little garden. Dumbledore had conjured the magical yard in what Draco assumed ought to be right in the middle of the neighbor’s living room.

Initially He felt the tension grow between them once more, but Harry moved his head ever so slightly, and his lips caught the light as they never had before. How Draco had ever missed the sight of their beauty he was not sure, they were such a sincere shade of red that Malfoy’s imagination went into overdrive. He saw himself kissing and nipping at those beautiful soft lips, and would have closed his eyes for the pleasure of his thoughts, but that would mean losing sight of Potter, and he need to keep this image in his mind forever. He thought of the way Potter had looked at him in the bath and the combined beauty made his chest clench in an almost painful manner. Draco bit his lower lip, and forced himself to breath, surprised at how powerfully he was attracted to Potter.

His years of loathing, it seemed, had blinded him to Potter’s grace and beauty, and now that the veil had fallen away he was beginning to see the boy with virgin eyes. He let his eyes wander over the smooth skin of Harry’s face, imagining what I might taste like, and how much he wanted to leap across the table and caress it with his tongue. Harry placed his chin in his palm and looked sideways at Draco with confusion. It was so fucking cute that Malfoy nearly gasped; soon he felt heat rise in his cheeks and cursed his blushing. For the merest fraction of a second Malfoy saw Harry’s eyes full of an intense emotion, but before he could identify it, Harry was back behind the facade.

There was no tension between them now, only a large empty void that meant their friendship was over. Perhaps Harry still had some lingering emotions about Malfoy, but last night’s encounter with Voldemort had scarred Potter. Malfoy knew he would react the same way, attempting to cut himself off from all things that could be a weakness in anticipation for some great and terrible task. He knew how it was, he himself had done it. It made it all that much harder to resist leaping across the table at Potter, to embrace

Draco needed to find a way back into Harry’s mind, but he had never had to charm anyone this way before. He was used to people falling at his feet, or using his father’s sway to get what he wanted. As much as he relished a challenge, he realized that he would need help in this endeavor. He did not feel comfortable sharing this with either Dumbledore, nor his mother, and spent the better part of ten minutes trying to find someone who could help him. And then it struck him, help would not come from one of his friends, but from one of Harry’s.

And who knew Harry better than that busy haired witch, Granger. Seizing upon the idea, he summoned parchment and his writing instruments taking extra care not to let them zoom by too close to Harry. He had tried breaking the tension with his usual snide manner, but that hadn’t seemed to work, so he was trying his very best to be as accommodating and genuine as possible.

He played with his lips using the tip of his quill as he paused, thinking how best to begin. Dipping his quill into the emerald green ink, he began writing to Hermione in his beautifully slanted handwriting. He had spent long hours as a child perfecting his script, and he was glad to think that it would perhaps garner him a little respect with the Granger girl.

He began by telling her flat out that Harry was well on his way to making the same mistakes he had during their last year at hogwarts. He told her of the events of last night, and Dumbledore’s warning, being careful not to insinuate in anyway that he had feelings for Potter that went beyond a platonic concern. He knew she would already be suspicious given the fact that he had the audacity to send him a letter, given their past. As a side note, he added an apology for his past behavior, noting that it didn’t mean much, but he hoped she would consider giving him a second chance of sorts.

He let the letter lay exposed as he was writing it, daring and half hoping Harry could see who he was writing too. But Harry was busy smoothing out the table cloth, and was doing his very best to ignore Draco completely. But this was good, if it wasn’t hard for Harry to distract himself, Draco had not a chance in the world.

Malfoy rolled up the letter and walked casually around the table, flashing the name in Harry’s direction with purpose. But Harry did not look up, so Malfoy picked up his pace and soon found his mother’s room, where the family owl sat perched by the window. He hooted happily when it saw him and stretched out a talon to accept his letter. Draco did not linger to watch the tawny owl fly off into the distance, he returned to the dinning room with haste, hoping to return before his mother came out with the food.

But he needn’t have worried, it seemed she had lied about lunch being almost ready, perhaps in an attempt to force Harry and him to sit together, as if they needed more time alone. Malfoy passed the time by looking out onto the garden, which looked cool and wet now that yesterday’s clouds had returned. The colors of the red and purple flowers looked deeper in the over cast light, as did the overgrowth of green that suffused the small space.

He closed his eyes and thought of the many days he had spent lying on the damp earthy lawn and hiding in the garden that surrounded their manor. He could see his young self squeezing through the small door into the secret personal garden that had held all of his favorite flowers and trees. He thought of how many months it had taken to convince Dobby to build the garden, and smiled. Neither of his parents knew about it, and it was probably the only reason he was at least partially sane at this point.

Whenever he had felt alone, or was entertaining thoughts that his parents would disapprove of, he would sneak into the garden to be at peace with his thoughts, wandering among the iris and wildflowers that populated the space. And with a slight tingle in his nether region, he thought of all the times he had deviously pleasured himself sitting under the old willow tree that thrust its gnarly roots into the pond.

Given all that had happened recently it had been more than a month since he’d masturbated, and he was surprised that he wasn’t hornier and more desperate. Then he turned, looking at Potter, and for the first time, felt a sexual desire for the boy that went beyond mere appreciation of his beauty.

He felt hot and winded as he turned back to the window, electric waves running through his body, overcome with the desire for release. He was not necessarily Potter that got him so flustered, it was just his body’s pent up sexual energy. At least that’s what Draco managed to convince himself as he sucked on his bottom lip and resisted the urge to sprint to the bedroom for a quick, furious wank.

He walked over to mantle, willing himself to investigate the carved marble lions in an attempt to move on from his sexual thoughts. But even as he admired their craftsmanship, another part of his mind was still mulling over his sexual lack. He tried to remember the last time that he had even enjoyed touching himself but could not. He had spent the entirety of the last year merely using masturbation to help him fall asleep. He’d had neither the time nor the energy to actually do it properly, rarely having an actual climax.

Soon the smell of his mother’s wonderful cooking wafted through the curtain that divided the kitchen from the dinning room, and Narcissa stepped slowly into the room with a smile on her face, she was quickly followed by trays of grilled cheese and a small cauldron of tomato soup.

For a moment he caught Harry smiling, and expression that quickly vanished when he met malfoys eyes. Draco barely suppressed a giggle as he sat down and began ladling soup into his bowl.

“Looks delicious mother, than you for taking so much time to make us lunch.”He put extra emphasis on the words ‘so much time’ and shot his mother a dark look.

She merely waved a dismissive hand and passed the tray of sandwiches to Harry. The soup was delicious as usual, a little spicy just the way Draco had always liked. He looked over at the raven haired brunette and saw Harry’s face pass from surprise to enjoyment as he had his first taste of the soup. This time Malfoy could not keep himself from giggling, earning a sour look from Harry.

The blond half chastised himself for being his usual snarky self, but most of his thoughts were quickly erased when he saw Harry’s tongue dart out of his mouth to get at some tomato soup that had spilled off his spoon. He felt it dribble down his own chin, as he watched Harry, transfixed.

Lunch finished in silence, and soon the two boys were once again aimlessly going about the day, trying very hard to avoid each other. Draco paced about their room, reviewing his old spell books in an attempt to distract himself. Originally he’d thought of finishing up what he’d started in his head before lunch, but he had barely begun to let his hand wander slowly downwards when Harry burst into the room.

Mafloy had instantly pretended to be sleeping, rolling over and stretching for good measure. Harry sat himself gruffly on the window seat and waited nearly a half hour for hedwig to appear with two letter’s clutched in her talons.

All the while Draco had lain with his back to Harry, quietly harboring a raging erection, and trying desperately to resist the desire to relieve the tension that had over taken his body. Finally he had heard the latch open, and was startled to hear Harry call his name.

“Draco, its your owl.” sure enough, he heard the soft hoot of his eagle owl and rolled over immediately to accept the letter. On minutes later did her realize that he’d woken up far to fast for Harry to believe he’d been sleeping. Eventually hedwig did arrive, and as Draco had predicted, he left the room immediately.

The letter from Hermione made no attempt to hide her surprise at his correspondence.

Dear Malfoy,

It’s not everyday I receive a letter from someone who has so long been my enemy. I need hardly say that this is the last thing I expected from you, though I must say that it is a pleasant surprise indeed. I had my suspicions when you came to apologize in the hospital wing, and hearing your concern for Harry is very comforting. Keep this up and I may even believe that you have changed, though it will take a lot more for me to forgive you. I’ll give you this one chance, as per your request, but know that I will hold you responsible if any harm comes to Harry during the course of your friendship.

It scares me to think Harry was so lonely, we’ve known about it for along time, but I had no idea it was getting so bad. It seems to me he is looking for something beyond friendship, something we cannot give him. He is looking for love, Draco, though I assume you already know that. In any case, He’s sent me a letter just now, and though he was very careful not to say anything to obvious, I can tell he is confused about how he feels about you.

I know it may seem like there is nothing else beyond the stoic shield he has erected, but he’s done this before, and I know it is really just his way of asking for help. He is telling us that he needs support, even if he himself doesn’t know it. Neither Ron, nor I can give him that right now, but so help me merlin you can. And you better.

I will be hearing from you soon.

- Hermione Granger

Draco found himself quite incensed by Hermione’s bossy tone, but soon got over it, figuring that this response was better than he’d hoped for. Not only had she given him a probationary acceptance of his apology, but she was actually encouraging him to be friends with Potter. And if he wasn’t careful to let his hopes cloud his judgement, he could swear that she wanted them to be romantically involved. But that was impossible, the chance that Harry, the chosen boy who was the save the world from darkness, could not possibly be gay. And shit, even if he was, Malfoy was the last person on earth he would fall for. But just what did she mean when he said he probably already knew Potter needed love.

He hastily began writing her a reply letter, all the while the family owl stood over him, hooting curiously. It was probably unused to seeing him so flustered, and he chuckled at its expression.

Dear Granger,

It’s not everyday I expect to have my apology accepted by someone with our kind of past, though I suppose maybe its only Slytherins who have these kind of hang ups. I mean, for Merlin’s sake it took me over a month to apologize to Harry for the things I have done. Speaking of which, did you know he actually apologized to me the other night?

Yes, certainly he has been a nicer to me than I expected, we have certainly had interactions that I never would have dreamed of in a million years, but Voldemort has scared him Granger. You didn’t see him last night. He thinks he is alone against the world, but he wants it this way. There is no way I can break through to him, we aren’t even supposed to be friends. And there is no way we can ever be more than that, if that’s what you were insinuating.

I don’t know what you want me to do, all he does is shove me away. Its a little infuriating if you must know. Speaking of infuriating, I do hope you aren’t sharing this with that ginger, Granger.

-Malfoy

Draco repeated the phrase, ginger, Granger out loud, enjoying the challenge. He rolled up the letter and sealed it with his wand, making sure Granger would be the only one who would be able to open it.

Draco spent the rest of the afternoon much as he had the morning, waiting for Hermione’s reply. Only this time to he took to sitting in the Black’s Library. He was unsurprised when he couldn't find anything on the subject of love, nor its magic among the dark titles that the old family saw fit to keep. Perhaps less than a year ago he would have been over joyed to learn more about the dark arts, but as it was it only served to make him feel even more ashamed of who he had once been. How he had ever admired, and even aspired to be like the people in these books, like the people who wrote them, and the people who bought them. He had once been part of that dark subset of the wizarding world, and expected it to still have some pull over him but was pleasantly surprised that the only thing he felt was pity. Pity for the lost souls who had convinced themselves that they could find companionship and even love in the darkness. But he knew now, that the only thing one could find there was treachery and manipulation.

==================================================================

Dinner was called as soon has Dumbledore returned from where ever he had gone, and eventually, with much searching on the part of Narcissa, both boys and the two adults had seated them around the long dark wood of the dinning room table. The chandelier cast a a soft light that did not quite penetrate the darkness in the corner’s of the room. They ate in a silence that felt very close, with all of them sitting around this solitary source of light, and last night’s storm returning with a vengeance outside. The rain spattered quietly on the windows, and the gentle clink of utensils was the only other sound to be heard.

As Draco moved to help himself to another helping of his mother’s fabulous rosemary roast chicken he was overcome by a sense of peace that pervaded the room. He noted happily that even Harry seemed to be lost in the moment, he had just set down his glass and was smiling quietly.

After a few minutes it seemed that all were finished with the meal, and Dumbledore cleared his throat. Not that he really needed to, they had all been focused and waiting for him to speak for all most a minute. He set down his napkin and turned to Harry, “Are the lessons going well Harry? Its only been two days, but I do hope that we are making progress.”

Harry tensed when he heard Dumbledore’s question. It was not that Draco hadn’t been making progress, indeed he was getting the hang of his far sooner that anyone save Hermione. But he felt guilty for ruining today’s lesson by almost ignoring Malfoy.

“It’s not his fault sir, I couldn’t pay attention today. I was… distracted.”As Harry turned to look at Draco in surprise he only just caught Draco stealing a glance at him.

He turned back to Dumbledore, and said in a rush, “No, he’s wrong, today was a bit rough, I have to admit, but yesterday he made some real progress. He produced something on his first try, not even Hermione could do that.” And thinking back to his own lessons with lupin, he added quietly, “Not even me.”

Dumbledore gave him an appraising look, “Good to hear Harry, it warms this old heart to see you two getting along so well.” Harry knew Dumbledore was aware of the tension between him and Malfoy, and this served only to accentuate his guilt. At this very moment he was harboring ideas that stood against everything that Dumbledore stood for, and this was the old man’s way of calling him out.

“Might I ask what exactly was distracting you Malfoy? I do hope it wasn’t the windows, I wondered whether or not that particular enchantment was really necessary.”Said Dumbledore, turning to face Malfoy.

Harry noted the blush that was appearing on Malfoy’s face with dismay. Even though he was supposed to keep himself from thinking about Malfoy, it was just so damn cute. It pained him to think that he would have to endure this internal battle for a full two months. He quickly implemented one of his coping strategies, and looked away from the boy. He was reciting the directions for a sleeping draft in his head, attempting to block out all other thought. Harry had almost made it through the list of ingredients before he finally heard Malfoy speak. If you could call it that, he was mostly just mimicking the sounds Harry had made the other day in the bath.

Draco was rescued by a sharp tap on the window, and he immediately leapt up to let in two birds who seemed to be competing to deliver their letters first. They swooped in showering the entire table with water, and landed in front of Harry and Draco, who had returned to his seat. Both boys accepted their letters hastily and unrolled them under the table. Dumbledore smiled, looking between them, it was obvious that they had received them from the same person, and was more than a little miffed with Dumbledore’s omniscience at this point.

He stowed Hermione’s letter into his robes, not wanting Dumbledore to glean anything from Harry’s body language as he read it. He was also peeved that the insolent blond had the audacity to send a letter to one of his best friends, and that she in turn had to audacity to send him one back. He was going to have to give her a stern talking to when they next met.

Draco unrolled the scroll hastily and strained his eyes to read it by the paltry light that reached the underside of the table.

Dear Malfoy,

If you want proof that you two could potentially have a friendship, there it is. He apologized to you, I’m sure what he said in the hospital wing tormented him for weeks. No one has ever been able to get under his skin quite like you Malfoy, even talking about you he used to get all riled up. But after the hospital he would go quiet at the mention of your name, and start looking quite pensive. I knew immediately what this meant, he was reevaluating everything he thought about you, and if he eventually decided to apologize to you I need hardly say that he has given you a second chance. It is unfortunate that you should have to deal with one of his stoic phases so early in your relationship. I would have aparated right over but we have been forbidden, no doubt Dumbledore wants you two to work this out on your own. Its frustrating, but I suppose it will be for the better in the end.

As for what you should do, I feel a bit uncomfortable saying anything concrete, Harry can be so unpredictable sometimes. I would sit tight, try not to do anything to piss him off, and let Dumbledore bring him around. He always does in the end. This isn’t the first time Harry’s tried to put the world on his shoulders.

And if you must know, no, I am not sharing any of this with Ron, though I can see why you might assume that. I do hope that I don’t have to ask you to keep this all between us. I’d rather Harry not know that I’ve told you all this, much less that I think about it in the first place.

-Hermione Granger

If anything, Malfoy thought that the way they tore each other up was proof that they could never be friends, and though Hermione a bit incredulous to believe the opposite. Draco had never bought the bullshit parent’s used to say about boys and girls using violence and teasing to tell each other their true feelings. It was just a sadistic way of preparing the youth of the world for the abusive relationships they would no doubt come to expect. Just another reason girls were stupid in his opinion, they were too easily manipulated, and some seemed to crave abuse.

Well most girls anyway, the thought of Hermione being submissive and servile not only seemed unrealistic, but made him queasy. Draco couldn’t handle people who obeyed his every whim, he used to pretend that it fulfilled him, but that was the old him. That was his life as a sham. No, now Draco knew he needed someone strong, someone aggressive and confident. He need someone like - fuck. He shut his eyes and drew in a deep breath, attempting to control his desire. Hermione had only confirmed his suspicions, she really had no reason to expect them to be friends, she was just operating under some romantic and cliché expectation that enemies always made up in the end.

But Malfoy could see, that in the end, the shit had hit the fan.

He looked at Dumbledore, who was quietly sipping away at his after dinner coffee, looking quite content. He scowled. He trusted the old man more than he had ever trusted anyone, which was not really saying much given the fact that trust was a relatively new addition to his repertoire. Regardless he still could not believe that every one could have so much faith in the fact that he and Harry could settle their differences. But the fact still remained, Dumbledore had forbidden Harry’s other friends to see him. It was clear the old man was very sure of himself and intended to resolve this issue, even if it meant manipulating them.

He sighed and accepted the cup his mother pushed his way. He didn’t like being used, but he supposed the old man knew what was best, and he could get over his ego. Just this once.

“So, who’s the letter from dear?” His mother’s question snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned his eyes from the graceful curve of Harry’s bottom lip to look at her.

“A girl.” He said shortly. It was the truth, though he knew it wasn’t the answer she wanted.

She gave a discontented ‘hmm’ and sat back in her set eyeing him curiously, but not prying any further. Clearly she was still feeling the after effects of Malfoy’s guilt trip. Draco paid her no mind, and went back to starring at Potter, wondering if he could ever get over what a self righteous git the raven haired boy had a habit of being. And, with some embarrassment, he wondered if Harry could ever look past what a self righteous git he, Draco, was. He’d initiated almost every conflict they’d ever had, and while he had always just considered it part of the natural inter-house rivalry, no one else from the two houses seemed to bicker as much as he and Harry did.

He felt this strain of thought dip every so slightly into the pool that was Hermione’s suggestion that they were perfect friend candidates, given that they already stimulated one another emotionally. But he quickly pulled it away, dismissing her claim as he had before.

He looked over at Harry, saw how his jaw was set, and noticed the hard look in his eyes.

Draco felt an uncomfortable tightening in his chest as he was reminded of the night when Harry had stood over him in the frenzied darkness, only moments away from taking his life. Never in his life had he been looked at with such hatred. Harry’s eyes had bored into him with a fury that surpassed even Voldemort in power. In an instant Draco had felt wreathed in fire, and was dried to the core by the uncontrolled rage that was Harry Potter.

No, they were not meant to be friends. There was darkness between them that loneliness and a few hormones could not dispel.

=================================================================

The time that passed between the owl’s coming and going, and the final end of dinner seemed to pass in a second to Harry’s dissociated mind. He spent the time staring mutely at the coffee that grew cold and untasted before him. Ordinarily it may have bothered him that Malfoy had also received at letter from Hermione, but he was back to dutifully reciting potion ingredients.

He was surprised by how little Dumbledore had said, and he wished the elder wizard would continue speaking so he could have something real and tangible to focus on instead of his nebulous thoughts, which were no where near effective. At the same time he knew that the longer Dumbledore talked, the longer he had until Dumbledore would know everything that he was thinking.

The thought hit him with an incredible wave of fear; Yesterday he had initially worried about Dumbledore knowing about his… feelings… for Malfoy, but now he was a traitor and in a few short moments Dumbledore would be privy to this deepest, darkest secret.

Only one thing kept Harry in his seat. Were it not for his social condition, which told him it was rude to stand up and leave in the middle of a meal, Harry would be gone by now. Not only would he have stood up, he would have flown out of the room and would be halfway to London by now.

He stretched and pulled at the napkin in his lap, all he could do to control the overwhelming desire to flee. His breath felt short and heavy; he gaped and felt a slow throb begin in his temples. He could no longer focus on anything aside from the sheer panic that now pervaded each and every fibre of his being. Gone was the facade of impossible logic he had used to convince himself that everything the old man had ever said was untrue, the panic had showed him that he had been denying all day. In a deep part of himself he knew that he was wrong, that was why he feared Dumbledore now, that was why he needed to escape.

Harry felt his legs tense, and it seemed as though his heart would leap out of his chest at any moment. He pushed up, but seemed to but up against some invisible force. Shooting a furious look at Dumbledore, the old man merely raised his eyebrow and gave Harry a quizzical stare. Realizing in a fit of stupidity that it was merely his own trepidation that held him to the chair, he looked quickly down into his lap.

“Well I think if you will excuse us, Harry and I have some discussing to do.” said Dumbledore cheerily, “It was wonderful as usual Narcissa.” He rose and clasped Harry’s shoulder with a light grip.

The crushing weight of the olds man’s words seemed to solidify and double in size as he lay a hand on his shoulder. Harry’s skin burned.

Numbly, he felt himself led up the stairs into the drawing room. He had always had mixed feelings about this room. He and his godfather had spent many of their greatest conversations in this room, but it also reminded him of the time when his godfather had been trapped in the house under Dumbledore’s orders. Given the past couple of days, this was quickly becoming one of his most hated spaces. So intense was the emotional turmoil within him that it almost felt as if he was being forced out of his body by the boiling thoughts.

As he sat down into a chair, his felt the edges of his vision grow dark, and a numb pulsating prickle started in his toes and made him feel weak. Dumbledore sat across from him, and the silence was becoming more than unbearable to Harry. Any moment now he had to speak, he had to tell Dumbledore everything, it would be better he find out from Harry directly. He would not have a chance to justify his ideas if it the headmaster found out with legillimancy.

Now Dumbledore was saying something about the theory of the thing, how to calm the nerves and think about other, less dangerous topics as being the most enticing thing in the world, or pretending they were some great secret. But Harry could not hear Dumbledore’s words, he merely watched the mouth move as if in slow motion underneath the neatly trimmed beard and moustache.

He was nearly about to pass out from the stress of knowing that Dumbledore would soon be more disappointed in Harry then ever before in their six long years. Certainly Harry had entertained some semblance of these thoughts before, but Dumbledore never knew of them directly.

“Are you ready then Harry?”Dumbledore drew out his wand, which was markedly different from his usual wand, but Harry took no notice.

No. No. No. No. No. “Yes” he breathed the words rather than said them, and looked up to meet Dumbledore’s eyes. He looked Harry up and down appraisingly and Harry could tell that he knew Harry was bodily against the whole affair. Never the less he flicked his wand, and Harry was immediately assaulted by the familiar feeling of the legillimens. There was also a flash of blue, that momentarily blinded him, but he was too distracted by Dumbledore’s presence in his mind to truly take note.

It was gentler than snape’s invasion, but the thoughts Harry was trying to hide practically leapt across the small space between them, the small quiet part of him that he had abused in the last 24 hours was eager to betray him. In a rush all of the past 48 hours of Harry’s life lay before the head master. The look on the old man’s face became instantly sober, and he gripped his wand with his good hand with a tightening grip.

In one nauseating moment Harry truly comprehended how entirely, thoroughly fucked he was. His consciousness exploded, and his autopilot took over, sending him from the room with inhuman speed. The next thing he knew he was standing outside the door to his bed room, grappling the door knob with clumsy hands. He leaned into the door and was met with an unexpected sound. The deep vibrating note reached into his body, and his froze, one sweaty hand on metal and the other clutching at his chest.

He felt him self rise and fall with the low mournful sound, being sucked into the emotions that were being laid bare across the strings of the cello as it keened in the room beyond. Battling against the wave of sound that now penetrated him to the core, Harry mustered what remained of his panic and used it to fuel his way into the room.

The air on the other side of the room seemed and dense and thick, and he could feel the vibrating air gush out of the tiny slit he had managed to open. Slowly the dark wood gave way to his intentions, and Harry made his way laboriously into the room. His eyes closed instinctively and he leaned his head back into the high swooning note that Draco had begun to play. The blond did not acknowledge Harry’s presence, and continued playing the lament without missing a beat.

Harry’s heart fluttered wildly as his eyes lay upon the handsome face and he felt tears well in the corner’s of his eyes. He saw a small glisten running down the smooth white skin of Draco’s cheek, and it was the most heartbreakingly beautiful gem Harry had ever seen.

The long note broke and Draco bent into the strokes, speeding the rhythm and grimacing, the emotion becoming more vigorous and bitter. Harry bit his lip ad the strong dense friction rubbed bow against string and shook him to his very core. The blond paused, and breathed deeply. Unable to handle the emotional turmoil of the evening, Harry used this momentary freedom from the hypnotic and dejected noise to bring silence. He raised his wand and in one instinctive action he had struck Malfoy with a petrifying curse. The small whir of the spell struck Malfoy so fast that he had barely time to lock eyes with his assailant.

Almost.

Time seemed to crawl to a halt as Draco flew back out of his chair, his arm throwing the bow out in front of him. It stretched into infinitely torturous moments as steel gray eyes fixed on Harry with surprise that slowly faded into fear and sadness. In the last years spent gliding languidly through this span of time, Harry felt a thousand tinny cuts rip his heart asunder as he saw the look of betrayal that was now frozen on Malfoy’s petrified face.

And as he turned and found himself instantly at the door, then out in the storm beyond, he knew; forever would that image be burned in the heartstrings that still shook with Malfoy’s mournful melody.
- 4
- 5
- 6
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Harry Potter and The Sanguine Brother's Bond