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Lord of Shadows Arc, Book One: Prince of Darkness	By : soul2singer Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 16733 -:- 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
- 5
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- 7
Here it is, Chapter 6! This was very hard to write, but I think the results are well worth the wait. To get updates before the rest of your neihborhood,
come to http://groups.yahoo.com/group/lord_of_shadows/

Please remember to feed the Author and Beta-reader. . . and review!!!

I'm hoping I did this right, and the formatting isn't screwy. . .

This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful beta-reader, Anna Malfoy.

Many thanks to Chibimono Akuno, who helped with some of the writing, and to everyone who helped confirm the translation of the German into English.
The autobiographical quotes will be returning. . . I just had to use something else for this chapter. . .
Also, the other song lyrics are copyright Linkin Park and Sting. I realize that the latter has out of order verses--I did that on purpose.

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�A d�nde te escondiste,

amado, y me dejaste con gemido?

como el ciervo huiste,

habi�ndome herido;

sal� tras t� clamando, y eras ido.
[Where have you hidden away?

You left me whimpering, my love.

Wounding me you vanished

Like the stag. I rushed out

Shouting for you-- but you were gone.]
Cantico Espiritual, San Juan de la Cruz (1542-1591) trans. Willis Barnstone
__________________________________________________________

Fred and George Weasley looked up as alarms rippled through the wards.
"Ah, shit!" George muttered, vaulting over the desk, and running up the back stairs, Fred just behind him. Together they burst through the door to the flat, shocked to see Harry lying supine on the floor, Draco kneeling beside him, trying to wake him.
Fred rushed over, pulling smelling salts out of a pocket while George held the door open for Professor Snape, who was running up the stairs behind them. Fred waved the small open jar under Harry's nose, with absolutely no effect.
"Damn! The salts aren't working!"
"Let me see," Snape growled, shooing Fred out of the way. Kneeling, the Professor checked Harry's breathing, pulse, and eyes.
"He didn't faint," he finally said. "He's in a coma."
Stunned silence followed this, then Snape continued, "Let's move him to the bed."
The twins carefully lifted Harry off the floor, and carried him into the bedroom, while Snape turned to Draco.
"People don't just slip into coma for no reason. What happened right before?"
Draco looked distressed.
"Well," he hesitated a moment, "I kissed him. And then he kissed me, deeply. And when we pulled apart, his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell down."
The two of them followed the twins into the room as Draco spoke.
"Was it a good kiss? Did you feel any sort of energy transfer when it happened?" If Draco didn't know better, he might have thought the Professor cared.
"It was good," he said, almost defensively. "As for energy. . .well, yes, I think there may have been. It certainly felt like I was filled with something." ." Draco's voice trailed off as he lost himself in remembrance.
Snape nodded.

"Damn that Hat for being right!" he muttered, unknowlingly echoing Harry's sentiments from nearly two months before. He turned to the twins.
"You!" He pointed to George. "Dumbledore is at the Ministry, but he'll have felt the alarms. I want you to meet him there, but don't make a fuss. Tell him you've got a new product you'd like him to sample, or something along those lines. And you,-" he pointed to Fred, "go get your younger brother and Granger, and bring them back here, but stay in the sitting room. What are you waiting for? Go, now!"
The twins burst into action, smoothing their faces into a semblance of everyday calm. Silence descended as the two Slytherins approached the unnaturally still Harry.
"What do you think happened, Professor?" Draco asked timidly.
Snape sighed wearily.
"I think he's retreated completely into himself. As far as I could see, this was something just waiting to happen, he simply needed a catalyst, which you provided."
Draco's brow furrowed in concern.
"But, it can't have been that bad for him, could it?"
"Of course not," huffed Snape. "But it might have been that good. It's . . . difficult for me to explain my theory right now. . . what we need to do is get him back as soon as possible. The longer he remains in this state, the harder it will be to bring him back."

"So, what do we do?" asked Draco hesitantly.
Snape was silent, first looking at Harry, then giving Draco a very long, considering stare.
"Professor?" Draco never liked it when he saw that expression his Professor's face. It always meant trouble.
"Hm." Snape grunted. "I think it's clear you were the catalyst of all this, which means you've got a better chance than anyone else at getting him back. Do you know what Legilimency is?"
Draco nodded.
"It's a process by which a person can sense the thoughts of another."
"Quite right. What we need to do is an advanced variation of the process, where you actually enter the person's subconscious. I'll take you through, and I'll be connected with you, to guide you through, but I won't be fully in his mind the way you will be."
"Why not?" Draco asked apprehensively.
Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"The human mind can only stand a certain number of people in it at once, and if we both go in, our very presence could be enough to shatter him beyond repair. But you alone, with a connection to me, should be safe."
"Right." Draco set his shoulders. "What have I got to do?"
"Physical contact will ease the connection," Snape said, gesturing toward the bed where Harry lay. Draco lay down and, in a flash of insight, took off his shirt, then unbuttoned Harry's.
"Good idea, Draco," the Professor said approvingly. "Let's get you under the covers. Once you're in, your blood pressure will drop severely, and you'd get quite cold otherwise." Draco nodded in understanding, and together they got Harry under the blankets as well.
Draco wrapped his arms around Harry, then twisted his head to look questioningly at Snape.
"Relax, Draco," the older man said, pulling a chair up. "Think of nothing except Potter, and I'll take care of the rest." His hand rested on Draco's shoulder, and the letter relaxed, turning his face back to Harry.
Draco took a deep breath, lungs filling with Harry's scent, and then everything disappeared.
*~*~*

And then the world turned back on, and Draco found himself standing in the middle of a vast desert. The sun, directly above, beat down with all the mercy of a blacksmith's hammer. Flat, cracked ground stretched away in every direction, utterly featureless and dead. The horizon kept shifting, as he looked at it, first close, then far, then somewhere in between. It was quite disorienting.
"Where am I?" Draco asked, his lips already drying in the heat.
The outskirts of Potter's subconscious. Professor Snape's voice seemed to come from inside his own head. We need to find the City, the seat of his mind. Once we get there, we need to find the Garden, the place of refuge near his Heart.
"Right," Draco said. "Which way is the City?"
Ask. You're in Potter's mind, he's the only one who can tell you.
"Oh." Draco took a breath, then spoke to his general surroundings. "Um, I'd like to go to the City. How do I get there?"
There was a noise behind him, and he turned, to see a winged horse. Or, at least, it resembled a winged horse, in a very freakish, skeletal way. Draco noted that it's wings were riddled with holes, as though the fragile skin was rotting off the frame.
What is that? He asked Snape silently.
That, is a Thestral. I was under the impression from your father that you'd killed before.
Draco nodded. You can kill someone without actually seeing them die, you know. I think father didn't want anyone figuring something out if I saw what moved the Hogwarts carriages.
The beast whinnied shrilly, stamping a foot on the cracked, dusty ground.
"Will you take me to the City?" Draco asked. The Thestral tossed its head in affirmation, lowering its useless wings to enable easier mounting.
"Right." Draco moved closer, warily eying the Thestral's long, pointed teeth, wondering how he would get up on its back without a saddle.
But suddenly, as he touched its flank, he was sitting on a saddle of cushioned velvet on the beast's back, and they were walking steadily over the parched land.
Assuming the creature knew where it was going, Draco settled in for the ride.
As he looked out over the featureless landscape, Snape's voice came again.
I am disturbed that we are in a desert. Usually, this part of a person's mind reflects the natural environment of the place where they were raised. Anyone raised in Britain, as Potter was, should have a more British landscape-- forests, moors, or at least grasslands. I'm quite sure Little Whinging is not a desert.
What does this mean? Draco asked.
I'm not sure. . . The Professor sounded concerned.
"I'll tell you what it means," offered a voice to Draco's side.
Draco looked over and nearly fell off the Thestral. There, standing tall enough to look him in the eye, was a man. Or at least part of one. He, and there was no doubt it was a he, had the torso, arms and hands of a man. But his head was that of a black stag, with solid black eyes and gold chased antlers. His bottom half was the hind-quarters of a black stag, complete with a tail and cloven silver hooves, and right where the legs joined the body, mottled scales of black and grey.
"Who are you?" Draco asked cautiously.
The strange creature chuckled.
"I am the guardian of Harry's mind. I watch over him. Or rather, I am the part of him that protects the rest of him. As well as I can, at least . . ."
Draco swallowed.
"You bear a more than passing resemblance to Cernunnos, or Herne. Or even Baphomet . . ."
The other smiled.
"I suppose I do. But to answer your question . . . the condition of the Borderlands is dependent on the condition of the City, which is dependent of the condition of the Garden. When you see those places, this will make more sense."
Draco nodded as the other continued.
"I am very glad to see you-- both of you. It's possible that you might help him. Just a while ago the City flooded, but it couldn't handle the suddenness of it. A lot was destroyed, even though normally floods would be welcome. But it had only happened once before, and that time there was a dam for it to flood against. Not this time. . . But maybe, you can provide a canal. . . "
Draco nodded again.
"I assume I'll understand what you just said when I get there?"
The guardian nodded.
"Some things cannot be explained, they can only be understood."
The continued to walk in silence as Draco thought this over. Then, struck with a sudden certainty, he turned to the guardian.
"You're more than just a guardian, aren't you?"
Black eyes gazed at him steadily.
"Indeed, I am. Not many would have seen that, but I suppose, you would be different.

"So, what are you?"
There was a ruble of thunder in the cloudless sky.
"I am what Harry will become, if all goes well."
Draco thought on this.
"What Harry will become?"
The dark head nodded slightly, antlers glinting in the unfailing sunlight.
"Aye."
"Is this another thing that cannot be explained?"
The guardian laughed.
"For the moment, yes. But do not fret yourself over it--it will be explained to your satisfaction later. Look, we have arrived."
Draco looked up as the Thestral halted, taking in what he saw. Tall walls stretched toward the sky, where Draco saw, to his amazement, that day ended mid-sky, giving way suddenly to a cloud-covered night. His eyes journeyed back and forth over the break--on one side, bright, merciless day--on the other, a few stars peeked through the red-black clouds of night.
Draco tore his gaze away, and found himself back on the ground, the Thestral gone. The guardian spoke.
"I can take you to just inside the gates, where we fill find a guide. But then I must return to the Borders."
Draco nodded, and followed him to the massive bronze gates that served as the entry to the City. Massive copper snakes curled over them and, as Draco watched, turned to watch their approach.
The guardian turned to him.
"I can not open these gates. If Harry sees you as a friend, you will be able to."
Draco gave the serpents a long, level glance, then placed his left hand against the gates. Immediately, one of the snakes struck, sinking its fangs into the flesh of Draco's palm.
*~*~*
Snape gasped as two puncture wounds formed on Draco's hand. Perhaps, he thought, I should have warned him of that.
*~*~*

"Ow!" Draco yelped. "Warned me of what, Professor?"
Ahm. That what happens to you here is reflected in your physical body. And what you do here will effect Harry's.
"So good of you to tell me," growled Draco, trying unsuccessfully to pull his hand from the serpent's mouth. "I suppose that means I can't go getting seriously injured here, because it'll be real."
Precisely.
"Bloody Hell!" Draco exclaimed.
The serpent holding Draco's hand seemed to grin, then finally released him. Examining the bite, Draco was surprised to see a liquid other than blood welling up. It was a transparent, faintly tinged with gold, like oil.
"What is it?" Draco asked.
"It is exceptionally good," the guardian replied.
"Know this," a serpent said, "every step between here and the Garden is a test. Fail even once, and you will be expelled, never able to return. Every action will either hurt or heal Harry. Do you understand?"
Draco nodded.
"I understand."
"Then," the serpent replied. "let illusion fall away."
As the snake spoke, the vast walls shimmered and changed. Vast rents became visible, as if some great claw had torn them, leaving tears and holes in the now dilapidated walls. Graffiti danced over what stones were left. Only the gates were left unchanged, the serpents watching him closely.
"Before you enter," said another snake, "you must heal part of this wall. We can not tell you how-- it is something that must completely come from you. He may not help you, either, though he may give you some information, if you require it."
"Understood." Draco walked over to the ruined wall, reading the graffiti that passed by.
Sometimes I remember, the darkness of my past

Bringing back these memories I wish I didn't have

Sometimes I think of letting go, and never looking back

And never moving forward so there would never pas past.
"Poetry?" Draco asked.
No, song lyrics I think. And before you go judging, no one knows what lies in their subconscious. It's impossible to be melodramatic here--everything is a symbol for something.
"Right," Draco answered, reading what had replaced the previous words.
There's a chapter on fathers, a chapter on sons

There are pages of conflicts that nobody won

And the battles you lost and your bitter defeat

There's a page where we fail to meet
There's a chapter on loss and a ghost who won't die

There's a chapter on love where the ink's never dry

There are sentences served in a prison I built out of lies
There are tales of good fortune that couldn't be planned

There's a chapter on God that I don't understand

There's the promise of Heaven and Hell but I'm damned if I see. . .

Draco had seen enough. He reached out to write with his finger on the wall, but it made no impression. He thought a moment, touched his finger to the oil on his other hand, then reached forth again, writing words he knew Harry would recognize.
Selig sind, die da Lied tragen,

denn sie sollen getr�stet werden.

Die mit Tr�nen s�en,

werden mit Freuden ernten.

Sie gehen hin und weinen

und tragen elden Samen,

und kommen mit Freuden

und bringen ihre Garben.
Then with sudden thought, he added the English translation.
Blest are they who are sorrowful; blest are they that mourn;

For they shall have comfort.

They who in sorrow with tears are sowing,

Shall with rejoicing in joy be reaping.

Who goeth forth and weepth, and beareth precious seed,

Shall come with rejoicing, and bringing his sheaves with them
Where he wrote, stones knit back together, solidifying and become whole once more. It was a small patch, but there was no mistaking that it was an improvement.
"Ahh," sighed the first snake, "he gives words of hope."
"Hope is a two edged sword," said the second one.
"I would say," spoke up the third snake, "that she were a bitch goddess, if ever there was one."
"Aye, but still a goddess," said the second.
"And still powerful," added the first. "The Wall is healed in part, and he did it. He has been tested in Thought and Word, and has passed. He must be allowed to proceed."
There was a hiss of agreement, and an echoing sound, as the vast gates unlocked and ponderously swung open. Behind them stood a small boy, maybe ten years old, wearing over-sized clothes and spectacles. He looked like a very small version of Harry, except for the smooth, unblemished brow.
Draco stepped through, the guardian a step behind.
"This is as far as I can go with you. The little one will guide you from here."
"Thank you," said Draco gratefully, and the other gave a brief nod before bounding back into the desert. He looked down as a small hand took hold of his.
"Come," said little Harry. "We've got a little ways to go, and not much time to get there."
Draco smiled and followed the other in, jumping slightly as the gates boomed shut behind them. Before them lay an avenue bordered by large statues, dotted here and there with faintly glowing puddles.
Ahh, came Snape's voice. The Avenue of Heroes. There should be representations here of all the people Harry deems important in his life.
Draco nodded in understanding.
"Why is Hagrid important?" he asked aloud, surprised, looking at the first statue.
"He was our very first friend," said the boy, "and then Ron," he pointed to the next statue, "and Hermione."
"Ah," Draco said. He looked beyond the statues, some of which had small flowers growing in their shelter, to the ruins of buildings behind, the strange puddles everywhere, and the run down path he walked.
"What happened here?" he asked.
The boy sighed.
"It never really got built up, you see. And so when the City flooded, it couldn't hold up against it . . ."
"What flooded?"
"The Fountain. It keeps the Hole from growing, but this time it just rose and rose, and splashed all over the place, and we didn't know what to do about it. . ."
Draco looked back up, his eyes caught by another statue that looked like an older version of Harry. It, like the Walls that bordered the city, looked as though it had been attacked by some giant predator. As he looked closer, he saw words carved and painted on the stone. Words like "Arrogant!", "Lies!", and "Selfish!". And behind them all, carved on the pedestal, "James Potter".

"Wasn't he your father?" he asked, surprised.

"What of it?" the boy replied curtly.

"Why is he all . . . messed up?"
The boy was silent a moment. Then,
"Ask the one in your head. I'm not supposed to say, but he might tell you.
Professor? asked Draco.
There was a pause before the other replied. I think for now this should remain between Potter and myself.
If you say so. . . Draco said.
He and the boy walked on, reaching the end of the Avenue, where Draco was surprised to see that the last two statues were of Professor Snape and himself.
"Well," he said, "that's unexpected."
The boy giggled.
"You really don't know, do you?" he asked.
"Know what?" Draco frowned in puzzlement, but the boy only smiled. They continued to walk, and looking though an alley way, Draco saw a glimpse of a vast palace.
What is that place? he wondered.
Snape's voice came back tinged with amazement. That is the seat of the Intellect. Were we in Granger's mind, that would be our destination. But I do not think he would flee to that place. Though, I confess it is in far better condition then I ever imagined.
Draco felt the boy stop, just beneath a stone archway. The block in front of them seemed barren and empty, save for a few puddles here and there. On the far side, Draco saw where the avenue opened up into a square, with what seemed to be a pool, or fountain in the center.
"Listen," said the boy, catching Draco's attention. "You must be very careful now. This next part is where the mad ones live. I don?'t like them, but I doubt they'll let you pass without a confrontation. . ."
"The mad ones?" Draco asked. The boy said nothing, only pointed to the stone archway. There, in the strange half-light that filled the city, Draco could just distinguish the words carved in relief.
If thy hand or foot cause thee offense, cut it off and cast it from you . . . likewise, if thine eye cause offense, pluck it out and cast it away . . .
The words seemed vaguely familiar. Draco wracked his mind searching for them.
"That's from the Christian Scriptures, isn't it?" he asked.
"Yes," said the boy. "Gospel of Matthew. We always went to church and Sunday school when I was little, because it's what everyone else did. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon never did want to stand out. A waste of time, really, because if they'd actually listened to anything there, things might have been different. As it was, I wasn't allowed much reading material, so the missals on Sunday were about all I got.
"But we've got to keep going. We don't have much time to tarry. Just, try not to make a mistake in here. . ."
The boy then walked forward, pulling on Draco's hand. The latter followed, brow wrinkled into a now customary frown of faint confusion. After only a few steps, Draco became aware of a growing sound. Looking around, he saw a crowd of Harrys come flooding out of an alleyway.
"Oh dear," said the boy. "Here they come."
These Harrys were bigger, looking to be about as old as the real Harry. But they all were dressed in rags, and were abnormally thin. In addition, each was disfigured or distorted in some way--long, open wounds, sores, vivid scars, pieces missing--each one a seeming corruption of the true Harry.
"Look!" cried one. "It's Draco Malfoy! I knew we could count on him!"
"Not only him," replied another, "looks like Snape's with him!"
"Brilliant! Just what we've been waiting for!" cried a third.
The boy had had enough.
"Now wait one minute! Who says he's going with you?!"
The others laughed.
"We do!" they cried, and suddenly they grabbed Draco's wrists and tore him away from the boy. In a flurry of movement, they bustled him down the alleyway. Looking down, Draco saw that he was walking over what looked to be mirror shards. His feet were clad in tough riding boots, it seemed, so he felt nothing. But he could see the glass cutting into the feet of the Harrys which escorted him.
And then the alley ended and they were in a small courtyard. As he entered with the crowd, a knife was pressed into his hand. He was confused for a moment, until the crowd parted before him. There, in the centre of the courtyard, was a strange jointed chair. And tied to it with bits of wire was another Harry.
Draco nearly retched as he saw this one, for his eyes had been plucked out, leaving vast, empty sockets. In addition, his hands had been cut off at the wrist, there were gaping wounds in his torso, and one leg was completely missing beneath the knee. Despite his reluctance to get any closer, the other Harrys pushed him on, until he stood right over the one that was tied down. Looking closer, Draco saw that on this Harry's chest was an inked line, in a rough oval shape, with the word "Hubris!" written inside.
"Go on," one of the other Harrys said. "You know you want to. You've wanted to for a long time. . ."
"I don't understand. . . " Draco said faintly.
The others sighed in exasperation. A knobbed finger pointed to the empty eyes.
"First, we cut out our selfishness," one of the Harrys said, before pointing to the other wounds, "and then our greed, and our arrogance, and then we had to cut a bit more of that out, and then our stubbornness, yes, that was a tough one, and then our frustration. . . But right about there we ran out of courage . . . so we need you to take care of our hubris. . ."
Draco was beginning to understand. Looking at the knife in his hand, he spoke slowly.
"No. I won't hurt you."
The others became agitated.
"No? Why not?!"
A sad smile came over Draco's face.
"Because I promised you. I promised I wouldn't hurt you ever again, if only you saved me. And you did, you saved me, so now, I keep my end of the bargain." He dropped the knife, transfiguring it into rose petals as it fell, then turned back toward the alley he'd entered from.
Behind him, he heard a low snarl.
"So, playing the hero again, were we?" Draco broke into a run as a scream rent the air.
Bolting out of the alley, Draco found himself back on the Avenue, and ran to the boy.
"They're all starkers!" he gasped, panting.
"Told you they were mad," the boy agreed, taking his hand once more. "Come on."
Once more, Draco and the young looking Harry made their way down the puddle-spotted Avenue. As they approached the Fountain, the boy slowed again.
"Um, I don't want to say this," he said awkwardly, "but Professor Snape should leave now. We don't want him to know he's here."
"Who?"
In answer, the boy pointed to their right. There, facing the Fountain, was what looked like a huge, gaping hole burned into the air, twice as tall as a full grown man. Inside the whole was darkness, but pulsing tendrils seemed to reach out from it, though Draco noticed how they avoided the Fountain and the puddles around it.
"That," said the boy, "is the one you flee from. You know of whom I speak. He should not know that the Professor is with you. It is something that must not be risked."
Draco nodded in understanding. Professor? He asked.
Don't worry, Draco, came the reply. I can still monitor you from the outside and pull you out if necessary. Otherwise, if you're successful, you and Harry should come out on your own. But the boy's right--it's just possible that he'll sense me, if he's paying attention. That is not a thought to be relished. You should be fine--you've done very well so far. Good luck.
Thank you, Professor. Draco shivered as he felt Snape's presence withdraw.
"Come, the Garden's on the other side of the Fountain," said the boy, pulling Draco on.
Cautiously, they made their way around the Fountain, keeping a close eye on the Hole opposite them. But then Draco's eyes drifted down into the Fountain, and he saw that it was filled with the same glowing liquid as made the puddles--and, he now recalled, the same liquid that he had bled when the snake bit him. But here it was in constant motion, as though it were a thing with a life all its own.
"What is that?" he asked, reaching forward. But before the boy had a chance to reply, his fingers were dipping in--and the liquid, glowing gold, was reaching up in response.
Draco gasped as his forearms were covered to the elbow in softly glowing light. But he didn't feel frightened. No, he felt warm, safe, and soft. Like the wings of the butterflies his father used to summon when he was a toddler, or even farther back, that blanket his mother had wrapped him in as an infant.
Is this? Draco's thoughts stuttered in amazement, is this what caused all the devastation? And thinking back to the kiss, he realised that this was what he'd felt filling him, right before Harry had passed out. And looking across at the Hole, Draco understood that while this . . .Love . . .was protecting Harry from Him, Harry didn't know what to do with it. He'd been parched for love for so long that when it came flooding nothing could withstand it.
Oh, Harry, he thought.
The boy tugged his sleeve.
"You understand now, don't you? Come, you have to find him in the Garden. There isn't much time."
Draco looked down at his still glowing hands, and followed the boy. Soon, they came to a low wall, with a small opening guarded by a large black dog. The dog eyed them suspiciously, and growled, but at a sharp word from the boy, went back to watching the Hole.
"This is as far as I can go," the boy said. "You have to go on alone from here."
Draco nodded in understanding, took a deep breath, and passed through the gap in the wall.
Suddenly he was buffeted on all sides by freezing winds, his sight blinded by flying snow. Where in the hell had the blizzard come from?
Determined, Draco pressed on, knowing that he'd eventually find Harry in here somewhere. One foot trudged before the other, and soon Draco had lost all sense of time. He fell down several times, but still he pressed on, knowing that his life, too, hinged on his success or failure here.
And then, when he was sure the winds were about to knock him down for good, they stopped. Draco looked up to see himself surrounded on all sides by walls of swirling snow and ice. But where he stood, and for about three hundred meters in front of him, the air was still. Stumbling forward, he saw something glittering off to his left. Coming closer, he saw that it was an ice sculpture--of himself, but with enormous eagle-like wings spread as though sheltering something precious from the storm. And there, toiling at the base of the sculpture, was Harry, wearing not nearly enough to keep him warm in this weather.
"Harry," Draco said, alarmed. "Why don't you put something warm on?"
Harry didn't look up from his work as he replied.
"Don't want to be warm."
Draco frowned.
"Why not? It's bloody freezing out here!" he said, shivering.
"Yes," Harry replied patiently. "And maybe if I get cold enough, he'll be able to hold me forever."
Draco froze, dumbfounded. It was depressing, and bizarre, but damn it, Harry knew where to hit a man.
"But," Draco swallowed, "but, by the time you get that cold, you'll be dead."
Harry still didn't look at him.
"Doesn't matter, if it's forever."
Draco was now getting annoyed.
"Well, what's so wrong with the real thing? Why can't I hold you forever?"
Harry turned, his eyes widened as if seeing Draco for the first time.
"Oh no!" he said. "It's dangerous here! You'll catch cold if you stay!"
Draco glared.
"Don't change the subject, Potter!" He grabbed Harry by the shoulders, the golden liquid from the fountain starting to slide off. "It's even more dangerous for you. And maybe. . . maybe I want to hold you!"
Harry sniffled.
"Really? You want to? . . .will you hold me forever?" the last was barely whispered, but even over the howling winds around them, Draco heard.
"Come back with me," he said urgently. "Come back and I promise I'll hold you forever." And with that he brought his lips down to meet Harry's again, not noticing how the golden liquid grew around them, or how it became brighter and brighter. All he knew was the taste of Harry's lips, and tongue, and then he was opening his eyes, looking into Harry's verdant eyes, and they were back in the twins' flat.
"Wha-what happened?" Harry asked, confusion spread on his face.
Draco touched his cheek, smiling.
"What do you remember?" he asked softly.
Harry scrunched up his face.
"We were in the sitting room, discussing some obscure point of Roman law, and then . . . oh!"
Draco thought Harry blushed quite prettily.
"And then?" he prompted.
"And then we kissed. . . and I opened my eyes and you're lying on top of me here and Professor Snape is--eep!" Harry ducked and tried to hide himself from the Professor's penetrating gaze.
"Draco?" Harry asked in small voice. "Why are you and I in bed together, half naked, with Professor Snape looking at us?"
Draco smothered a laugh.
"You passed out, straight into a coma. I had to go into your mind and get you out, and we needed Professor Snape's help. I'm very sure he wasn't getting his jollies out of it."
Harry looked a little unwell.
"Legilimency?" he asked.
Snape nodded.
"Indeed, Potter. I assure you I only served as the conduit for Draco. I saw a little of what he saw, but he's the one who went in to bring you back." He stood and moved the chair back to the wall. "You two gentlemen need your rest. This exercise only took about ten minutes, but you've used up a lot more energy than you've realised. I'll explain everything to the headmaster and your friends."
"Explain what?" Harry asked, confused. "What's wrong with me?"
Draco gathered him in his arms once more.
"Nothing that's your fault. But your stunt did set off the alarms, and Professor Snape has to tell everyone you're all right. Now, let's pull up some of these bed clothes--I'm freezing, and your skin is icy to the touch. . ."
Snape left as Draco pulled the quilt up around their shoulders. He shut the door quietly, and turned to see Dumbledore, Lupin, and almost the entire Weasley family in the sitting room, awaiting his word. It was disconcerting, at the least, to be the focus of so many unblinking stares, and he was annoyed to feel the same sort of apprehension he'd felt when called before the old headmaster when he'd been a student.
"They are fine, now," he growled, and glared at Ron until the boy stood and gave the Professor his seat. Snape sighed, settling in. Monitoring Draco in the ruins of Potter's self was more exhausting than he let on, and he had the unpleasant feeling he'd be called away soon.
Taking a deep breath, he began again.
"Albus, that damn Hat was right. So, all of you," at this he gave the room a scathing glare, "had better pay attention." Heads nodded nervously all around him.
"Right." Snape blinked as Mrs. Weasley placed a cup of warm Darjeeling in his hands. "To begin with," she had made it just the way he liked it. Amazing. "From what I saw, it looks like Potter's psyche was always fragile, I would say due to emotional malnourishment as a child--I don't think I need to tell you how that happened."
"The Dursleys?" Ron held tightly to Hermione's hand.
"Precisely, Weasley, don't interrupt. Under normal circumstances, an infant faced with what Potter was given would simply have died--the term is 'failure to thrive,' and is what happens when infants are cared for physically, but receive no affection. However, in Potter's case, his mother's parting gift was her love. Not only did this save him from the curse the Dark Lord leveled at him, it also kept him alive later. However, while this was enough to keep him physically alive, his psyche suffered. All of us, and I will include myself here, made the mistake of believing him to be a clone of his father, forgetting the 'nurture' half of the equation. So, we thought, being as resilient as fat father, he would be fine.
"And under most circumstances, he is fine. Since coming to Hogwarts, he's made friends and found a place he feels is safe." At this he turned to Ron ans Hermione. "You two," he glared at them, "have severely underestimated your importance to him. He doesn't show it, because he doesn't know how, he never learned the ways of affection. But never let him think you aren't fond of him-- that goes for your hot-head, Weasley. I know the two of you have had arguments, most of them because you're stubborn and don't listen. I would advise not letting that happen again." Ron gave a terse nod, blushing slightly.
He turned back to the rest of the room. "Now, because Potter was used to stress and mistreatment, he could handle it relatively well. In fact, far better than many grown wizards, including our own, dear Minister of Magic. He still has to deal with the deaths of . . . certain individuals, but other than that, he's actually ahead of many people.
"However, what he couldn't handle, was joy. He's felt happiness, exhilaration, contentment, all of which he associates with Hogwarts, by the way, but he'd never felt pure, unadulterated joy. Until just now, when he and Draco kissed for the first time. And then, it rose up so swiftly and strong that his psyche crumbled under the assault, and he fled within himself.
"Draco, with my assistance, went into Harry's mind and drew him back out again, and they are both now resting from their efforts."
Silence greeted the end of his speech, and he turned his attention to the tea. A hesitant voice spoke.
"What can we do to help?" As always, Hermione drove straight to the heart of the matter.
Snape looked at Dumbldore before speaking.
"Most of you should go on as usual. He seems to have found a surrogate family with the Weasleys, god help him with that" he said said with a sneer. "Lupin, you're the closest thing he has to a father right now, so try and be a good one--oh, and don't ever lie or withhold information from him. I think that too has caused a lot of unforeseen damage." At this he looked again at Dumbledore. "As for the two of you. . ." he looked at Ron and Hermione, "just let him know you're there. Granger, since you're female, I would advise you to listen to your more motherly instincts around him. Weasley, just . . . try not to be an idiot. . ."
Ron drew himself up to make an angry retort, but Hermione gripped his arm tightly.
Finishing off his tea, Snape stood up.
"I'm afraid that's all I have to say, Headmaster. Now, I can't think this episode will have gone completely unnoticed from the other side, although he would have no reason to think I was involved. Even so, I wouldn't be surprised if I were summoned soon."
"Go then, Severus," Dumbledore said. "Thank you for your assistance this afternoon."
"Yes," Lupin echoed softly. "Thank you for helping him."
Snape smirked as he left.
"At least you can admit I'm better than Fletcher."
The door shut behind him, and the others were left in thoughtful silence .
"Dear me," George sighed dramatically. "I'd say the Professor received quite a shock."
"Quite," agreed Fred. "I've never seen him act so civilly before. . ."
"Or behave so well," added their mother.
Hermione worked some figures in her head.
"I do believe his griping and scowling was reduced by about forty-three percent. . ." she said.
"Well, I hope he can pull himself together," said Ron. Everyone stared at him in disbelief. "What?" he said defensively. "If Snape's going to act all nice, Harry'll run screaming. The Professor's undying scorn is one of the few constants in his life. . ."
Dumbledore chuckled at Ron's assessment.
"You may be more right than you know, Mr. Weasley," he said.
*~*~*
In the other room, Harry and Draco had finally settled down, Harry's head resting on Draco's chest. There had been more kissing and caressing before sleep claimed them, but in the end fatigue won out. Both smiled in their sleep--Draco because he had a new, warm snuggle toy that was far better than his ratty, old, stuffed rabbit. And Harry, because of a strange dream. In this dream, a black stag stood in a desert, sniffing the air.
Ah, it thought. Rain is coming. . .

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By my sword, . . .thou lovest me. . . I will swear by it that you love me, and will make him eat it that says I love not you. . .
-Much Ado About Nothing, William Shakespeare

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Lord of Shadows Arc, Book One: Prince of Darkness