All I Ever Wanted

DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play. Further Warning! This story...and likely any I ever write...are dominated by gay themes and characters. That's how it is, if this in any way makes you uncomfortable...do not read further.


"All I Ever Wanted"... chap. 6 'Discovering'

Harry moved quickly and quietly through the halls of the castle with a skill born of long practice. His trusty Cloak was in place and the Map was in his hands. He'd slipped out of the seventh-year dorms with little difficulty, and made his way to the dungeons with dispatch.

Snape had left almost a half hour before, and Harry knew from the Order that it was for a meeting with Death Eaters. Snape might well be gone for hours, but Occlumency was exacting work and Harry needed every minute that could be spared.

With a little luck, he could contain his memories of that night without actually losing them. He'd just build a barrier around them that required effort to open, then he could finally enjoy nights unmarred by dreams that left him sweating, wrapped in rumpled sheets and sticky with his own release. A day without unwarranted erections nagging at him would be nice, too.

He had a crystal in his pocket, an amethyst of good quality, to act as a temporary reservoir for that one night's memories. This he could keep with him and key to open those memories only when wished. It was a technique he had practiced several times, but had never had to employ, and he was suddenly more thankful than ever for Dumbledore's insistence on Occlumency lessons.

As he moved through the empty halls with footsteps as soft as he could manage, he realized he was passing through Slytherin territory, and thought momentarily of Draco. Dreams and memories aside, Malfoy was definitely not the same loathsome prat that he used to be.

Harry didn't envy the way Slytherin House operated, and he knew full well that Malfoy had spent seven years in a den of vipers, over a year of it now without the power and influence of his father to protect him. That spoke of nerves of steel, a pretty admirable trait, if one didn't use it to abuse others. Harry had also idly wondered if he'd have been the same way, had the Sorting Hat made him a Slytherin...would he have treated people as Malfoy did?

There had been moments this last week where Draco looked utterly different than Harry had ever seen him. Quiet, uncertain, and almost genuine. When Draco had spoken to him those whispered words after Potions class, there had been no hint of pettiness or sarcasm. In fact, it had almost felt like camaraderie.

It wasn't anything he'd brag of from the rooftops, but Harry had kind of liked the sense of shared knowledge that set them apart from everyone else. If he'd been feeling really candid, Harry would have admitted that the memories were a factor, too, and any kind of closeness to Draco Malfoy was looking better and better.

He was not, however, feeling candid at this moment. A few hundred yards and he would be at peace, then he could deal with all this in a rational state of mind.

The classroom door wasn't spelled, but the inner door to Snape's private office and the Pensieve were. The Pensieve was heavily warded as well, but Harry was one of only a few students with keyed access to it, and he didn't know of any others, but he was sure there must be a few other Occlumency students. Still, this gave him unprecedented access once he reached the inner suite. If he was careful, there would be no trace left of his activities.

He checked the Map again...not a soul was stirring, coast clear. With a few Unlocking Spells, he worked his way into Snape's private offices, quickly relocked the door and spelled it again. If anyone came within ten feet of the door, he'd know.

Comfortably nestled in an alcove corner, sat Snape's Pensieve. It was somewhat less ornate than Dumbledore's, but very nearly as old and much more heavily used.

Harry peeled back the hood of his Cloak and placed the amethyst at the edge of the basin. Wand in hand, he began the search for the last clear memory of the previous Saturday night. When, after some sifting, he found his memory drifting to the inter-house party, he paused and slowly drew the memories from himself to the Pensieve, stopping only when he reached the moment of his waking Sunday past.

Now came the part for which he'd steeled himself. Harry realized he hadn't breathed in almost a minute...and took a long slow draught of air into his lungs. Gazing into the Pensieve, Harry slowly let the memories flit through his mind, picking the details, however blurred by alcohol they may have been, from each moment.

The party...Draco had been sneering per usual, and was in the middle of some crude comment about Gryffindor students in general. Harry had taken instant offense, and had thrown a string of barbed comments about the lack of worth inherent in anything spoken by a Slytherin.

The crowd of onlookers made it almost impossible for either Malfoy or Harry to back down without a serious loss of face, and within minutes, it had degenerated into a drunken shouting match complete with pointed fingers and wildy waving arms. Harry had stormed out of the room with a final slurred assertion that Draco was "...as hopelessly cold, soulless and empty as your vicious bastard of a father."

At the Pensieve's edge, Harry flinched to think of himself saying such a thing...even to Malfoy. Anger and Firewhiskey had loosened his tongue that night...a twinge of shame hit him. No time for woolgathering, though, he had more to learn still.

In his memories, Harry had charged up a flight of stairs, dizzy, furious, and flushed from exertion that his intoxicated body couldn't register. He paused at the top the stairs, wobbling and winded, when he heard the footsteps behind him...and turned to find Draco Malfoy, red-faced, exhausted and livid with anger beside him. What followed was no part of any memory that had surfaced yet, and it burned into Harry's brain indelibly.

Draco had tears of rage and pain in his eyes when he reached the top stair, and he stood facing Harry while they gasped for breath. Half through a sob the words tumbled out. "Potter! I am NOT, and I will NEVER be my fucking father, you know-nothing arrogant PRICK! You think you know me, but you don't know anything, and you're too fucking lazy to care about anyone but your poor, put upon self! Did you mean that? What you said back there? You think I haven't got a soul? Then ask yourself this, you self-righteous, bloody prig!!! How could you make me hurt like this? Why am I even here talking to you now? ANSWER ME, GODDAMN YOU! AND TAKE IT FUCKING BACK!"

Harry was utterly taken aback; whatever state he'd worked himself up to, he wasn't a cruel person by nature, and even seeing Draco, of all people, reduced to tears by his actions, filled him with guilt. The anger drained out of him, leaving behind only an empty, aching tension and sickness.

The challenge Draco had uttered was ringing in his ears, and it was all he could do to stop trembling and speak.

"I'm sorry," he finally slurred, staring into Draco's blazing eyes, "I didn't mean it, and I take it back, I never should have said it to start. I was wrong, and I swear I never thought it would hurt you like that. Can you accept my apology? I understand if you don't...really...but I'd like it just the same...please?"

It was when Harry had turned to offer his hand that he'd drunkenly stumbled, and one foot slid down the top stair, leaving him tipping slowly, helplessly windmilling his arms, a second from a fall that could seriously injure or even kill a man.

A pair of hands grabbed the front of his robe and jerked him backwards violently, sending him sprawling into the hall, directly on top of Draco Malfoy. They lay there gasping, adrenaline-drenched, staring into each other's eyes, suddenly half sober from panic.

A memory came to Harry that moment in the hall, one buried deep for almost six years. He hadn't understood it then, but it was painfully clear now. There had been a schoolyard fight between him and Malfoy, the simple kind of brawl boys get into now and again, but as they rolled and thrashed about in the grass something passed between them.

The cusp of adolescence had them in its grip, and for just a moment they had paused, panting, staring into each other's eyes, terribly confused by the heat they each felt. The first tinges of lust, unrecognizable at that tender age, had changed the subtle dynamics of a little wrestling for social dominance into a foreign thing that made their pulses race, their faces flush, and their stomachs knot. They stared...searching each other's eyes for a clue to what was happening, when they were swiftly pulled apart by Hagrid.

Staring at Draco, finding those cloud grey eyes looking back at him, searching, half-hurt and half-hungry, brought it all back. He'd wanted him even then, just beneath the surface it had always been that. They'd been so young they hadn't known the words for it, but it had been true none the less.

If things had been just a little different, they would have discovered it sooner. Instead, they'd wasted years with lies and insults to fight what had always been lurking in their hearts.

Draco understood it, too. Harry could see the recognition in those eyes, Draco understood perfectly...and remembered. Before either managed a word they were kissing, a fumbling and awkward kiss that grew fiercer and more passionate with every second.

They were rolling in one another's arms, utterly out of control, then on their feet, pressing one another into the walls in a desperate, crazed need to be closer.

Then came the fateful door behind them...once opened, they both crashed through it without hesitation or doubt, simply closing it behind them and then...all reason, all sense of anything but the all consuming desire for each other was utterly lost.

At that moment, the wards Harry had placed alerted him to the presence of another, and he had perhaps a minute or two at best to clear the Pensieve...he couldn't even get the crystal into use! He reeled his memories in as fast as he could, no time to properly cleanse the Pensieve after...just draw his thoughts back to himself, get the Cloak on, and withdraw to a corner quietly!

He had only just made it to a quiet corner near the door, when the last Locking Spell was removed and the door squealed open. There, framed by the arch of the door, was the slender shape of Draco Malfoy, cloaked in black and looking haunted and tired, but weirdly radiant and beautiful, in the eerie half glow of Snape's dimly lit study.

Harry fought to hold his breath in, remaining covered in the corner nearest the door, as Draco relocked the door and set Warding Spells of his own to insure privacy. Then he turned to the Pensieve and, with wand in hand, began the same process that Harry had.