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The Curse	By : Samaelthekind Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2828 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: JK Rowling's Harry Potter series and its associated works and characters are not mine, and I do not profit from their use!

Chapter List
- 1-The Curse
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 6-Part 6
- 7-Part 7
- 4
- 5
- 6
The Curse (Part 5 of 7) by Samayel

The galling part of it all had been that Granger had demanded the apology, in full, before Draco left the house. He'd rather hoped that once the serious nature of what they were about to undertake set in, she'd forget about petty little wrongs of yesteryear and any promises regarding apologies...but alas, the same famous skills of memory that made it possible for the witch to read a book once and never need to see it again also made it implausible for her to forget anything else. Apologies were not Malfoy specialties, but it wasn't like Draco couldn't get the words out if he had to.

It just rankled. It wore on him body and soul. Losing Potter was the worst part of it all. The apology was a minor annoyance compared to that. Magical transportation would have been easy for Draco, but he walked home just the same, watching the sun slowly fall, mulling over what he'd have to do...what he was looking at when it was all over. It was betrayal, plain and simple, and he should have been comfortable with it. Instead, all he felt was an empty ache in the pit of his stomach. Potter would be gone...off to St. Mungo's once this was done, or dead of it and buried...and there would just be an empty flat again. No more sweat and smoke stinking leather jacket flopped across his couch, no more stoned and skinny Potter sprawled in one his chairs or drifting lazily through the kitchen to grab a snack. No more insults or barbs traded back and forth.

No more sex. No more Potter bent across a handy piece of furniture and ravaged into dazed silence. No more binding that slim form to the headboard and venting his wickedest imaginings onto it. No more emptying his seed into that small, pert, wonderfully soft ass. No more sated lusts and restful nights.

Back to the world of bars and people he genuinely felt contempt for but needed just the same. He couldn't call what he felt for Potter contempt anymore. He hid it with a show of repulsion and disdain, but there was only one quality Malfoy genuinely admired: strength. Potter possessed an inner strength so great that it shone like a beacon. Most couldn't have fathomed it through the fog of drugs and seeming lack of care for his life, but Potter was strong enough to have endured the intolerable for years.

There was something magnificent in that determination, something awe inspiring and intimidating. Something desirable beyond sex, beyond physical satisfaction...something he wanted to be near and experience fully. He didn't want to beat or break that beautiful strength anymore...he wanted to cradle it to his breast and guard it with his life if need be.

There was a place inside him that he had always thought was empty...a place his chill, cool parents had never filled, and his classmates and dalliances had only brushed against. Somewhere inside he had always been alone, always restless, always angry...until now. In Harry he'd glimpsed a hint of what he'd wanted without knowing it. A tantalizing whisper of what it must be like to share instead of taking...to give without expecting something back...and enjoy it in a way that was more sublime than even his most lurid fantasies.

And soon it would be gone, out of his life for good. There just wasn't another way...and it wasn't alright. A terrible clarity had settled over him after talking to Hermione Granger. It was all real now, not just something cautiously imagined and considered when he could get away from Potter long enough to think about it in safety. Love. Unselfish love. It hadn't started that way...but that's what it had become. What a horrible word. Love...the very thought of it made his skin crawl. It evoked images of all the weak, dependent people he'd ever seen sniveling at one another or over one another. He'd thought he could stand apart from the herd of simpering idiots, aloof and alone, proud and complete without ever being pulled down into the mud of their emotions...

...and he'd failed. Spectacularly. Even before he'd realized that a curse was at the root of things, he'd started to desire more than just personal satisfaction. He'd looked at the person on the bed beside him, barely conscious after what they'd done, and felt something fluttering inside of him that wasn't desire, wasn't possessiveness, wasn't anything for his own gain. He'd wanted Harry to be happy...to think for a minute that he was wanted, and appreciated. Even in the dark tumult of their perverse relationship, Draco had wanted in his way to show affection, to grasp after a closeness he'd never had, never even imagined. And of all that he'd desired in this life, so much of it foul...this one fair thing was the only one utterly forbidden by Harry's affliction.

Cruel irony...to suddenly find in himself a want for something good, and decent, and worthwhile...and it was completely out of his grasp. And worse...in giving Harry back the freedom to love and be loved in any sane or healthy way, he would be writing himself out of Harry's future.

Potter was beautiful in his way, lean and wiry, yet surprisingly soft, constantly wary except in fitful rest, at his fairest when he was unconscious and silent, his face still showing faint signs of the struggle inside him. No one who didn't know what Harry was enduring could have seen what was really going on, or could have grasped at the meaning of it all. They couldn't see in the twitching nervousness or the glazed eyed shamble the person who was clambering across a mountain of suffering that would have broken anyone lesser.

The flat was dark and quiet except for the flicker of the telly, the volume of which had been turned entirely off. Potter was breathing softly on the couch, bare except for a ratty pair of boxers. Draco had steeled himself for these last few nights on the way home. It would take every effort to conceal his thoughts and feelings. He didn't dare come any closer while these thoughts were still in his head. The realization that any selflessness on his part...could only hope to be rewarded by abandonment. Was that what redemption was about? Just a final blow to the ego to smash it all to kindling? Some last acknowledgment that, yes, you'd done something worth the doing of, and your payment was to live with knowing you'd get less than nothing in return?

He stared from a safe distance at the young man on the couch, soaking in every memory he could hold. Soon those memories would be all he'd have left. The slim hips, the smooth expanse of skin, marred only slightly by bruises. That shock of violet hair that flopped across his face...the roots of it a dark black that showed from weeks of having gone without touching up. The piercings plainly visible, studs driven through each nipple, both ears, the lips and eyebrow and nose. There were two more that weren't so visible, tucked safely in those ratty boxers. One small ring through the foreskin of his prick, and another barbell, just behind his sac. The kohl smeared eyes were shut, and one arm was thrown up across Potter's face. One dark tuft of fur was visible under the arm that was up. The chest moved slightly with the slow breaths of sleep.

How Draco wanted to savage that mouth with a kiss, or fold his arms around those slender shoulders that carried so much weight, and just hold someone he genuinely desired close to himself. He wanted to witness that beautiful face afire with orgasm, or gazing back at him fondly. He hungered to feel that body shudder with genuine pleasure...not pain or relief from some ailment of the spirit that warped everything and everyone into a torment. He couldn't voice it, but at least at a distance he could think it.

Potter's face twisted into a grimace, even in slumber. He could feel it...even through his dreams, or nightmares. Whatever was going on in that mixed up, addled head of his just wasn't enough to block out the sense of someone nearby...even a dozen feet away. Draco cleared his head in a heartbeat, turning the knowledge of what he would lose into anger, letting it fuel his illusion of disdain and contempt.

Even a slight misstep or failure could send Potter fleeing into the night, off to who knew where to die alone and in final and absolute agony. To save him Draco could only hurt him as he had before...using the last of the precious time he would have with Harry to violate and belittle him. The unfairness enraged him, and he made that rage his shield. When Potter's eyes fluttered open, Draco was already shaking with barely controlled anger.

"You're late." It was all that croaked from Harry's throat, vague with an air of disinterest.

Draco let the irritation flow out of him and into his speech. "I can't be late, Potter. To be late, I'd have to owe something to the pathetic little parasite on my couch. Since I owe that creature nothing but my scorn, I can't be late. Let me suggest something to you. If you're concerned about timeliness...get your ass into the bedroom and be ready when I get there. It's been a long day...I need to unwind...and if I were you I'd be ready for the gates of hell to open once I get started. I'm never in the mood for your sass, and I'm even less in the mood for it tonight."

Potter was already upright and strolling toward the bedroom, slipping out of his boxers and walking the rest of the way naked. The mottled and half healed bruises on his back were visible in the hall light. "Yeah, yeah...no one gets it done like you, what the fuck ever. If you could do it as much as you talk about it, I'd be dead instead of bored stiff waiting for you. Fuck me or kill me, just don't bore me, fucker!"

The sarcasm and barbed comments made Draco's glands flare to life. Potter always smarted off when they'd been apart or inactive too long, and it never failed to enrage Draco. Being challenged directly, treated with the same disdain he felt for others...it triggered an anger in him that didn't require faking. When he'd finished a glass of wine and left the dregs of the glass on the counter, Draco stalked like a panther toward the bedroom, peeling away clothes as he went. Three days. He could last three days, but the Potter he delivered to salvation would be a chastened creature by then.

TBC
- 4
- 5
- 6
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The Curse