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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
I probably shouldn’t update so soon, but I really want to get this out. This is where the story really begins, and I really need your advice for next couple of chapters!

Also, incase anyone missed my update of chapter five’s a/n, Draco was playing Bach’s Cello Suite number 1. You can find it on youtube I’m sure.

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The cello fell roughly on top of him, causing a sharp pain to persist just under his ribs. His breath came hitched, shaking an endless stream of tears from his eyes. He looked up at the plain ceiling and felt the hard wood beneath him, unable to truly comprehend what had happened. Potter had burst in the room while Draco had been lamenting the ruination of their friendship, and faster than he knew possible he was laying on his back. As his mind slowly went through the possibilities, sorting them out across the blank expanse of the ceiling, one in particular shone as particularly plausible.

He looked over at Harry’s trunk that lay half open on the floor only inches from him. Harry was trying to flee from Dumbledore’s judgement, and though Draco could sympathize in that regard (he had fled from the man many times before) he could not believe Potter had actually petrified him. It was unlikely that even had Potter run into the room and grabbed his trunk, Draco would have done anything to stop him.

Draco had been so wrapped up in his music that he would most certainly have sat in shock throughout the whole affair. And besides, Harry never got the trunk anyway, so that was definitely not the reason behind Harry’s attack.

He sighed and tried to suppress the overwhelming need to move that always accompanied the times when he’d been placed in a body bind. He focused instead on replaying the moment again, searching for Harry’s motive.

He saw Harry with his wand extended, a pained expression on his face, and something Draco had not noticed before. There was a glint in Harry’s eyes, he had been crying.

A passion roared to life once more in his chest, filling his body with a flame so intense that every cell in his body seemed to be screaming out in agony. Carried on the tears that Harry had silently wept was proof that they were not over. They would never be over, not as long as they both had beating hearts in their chests. Never again could they bury the friendship that had lain dormant and tormented between them. It had grown strong in six years of darkness, and down to the very last fibre of his being Draco felt the need to hold Harry in his arms and shield him from the black beast that was loneliness.

Draco screamed silently in his mind, and felt the glass in the room bend and burst under the pressure of his passion and desire. He lay in darkness, fuming and fit to burst with anger and pity for the boy who could no longer see the light of love. Draco shook and vibrated against the magical bonds that held him, and soon the thick ropes of Harry’s spell could be seen glowing and sparking as he fought to break free.

In a flurry the window flew open and the wet swept over the blond, stinging his face like so many needles. He watched the curtains swell and strain against the bonds that held them fast.

Suddenly what must be done became clear to him, and he extended himself beyond his tears and his worries. It felt as though the world held its breath as he twisted himself inside, the only desire filling his mind was to be through that dark window and out into the night. He had barely time to breath before he found himself in the air outside, falling from the spot where he had apparated outside the window. As he twisted his body that was becoming looser and freer within the bond, he saw, with a flash of lightning, the glint of Harry’s glasses as he disappeared into the dense forest park that lined the street.

The dark wet and stony pavement flew at Draco’s face, be he faced it without fear. Turning at the last second he disappeared again with a crack and found him self lying face down in the mud just beyond the edge of the trees. He felt the deep boom of thunder vibrate through him and was pressed ever deeper into the ground.

He called out to Harry, raising his head to scream, but felt his chin hit the ground again as the body bind reclaimed his pose. Wasting no time, he rolled over once more and willed his mind forward another twenty yards into the forest.

His glimpses of Harry were becoming fewer and far between as he followed him deeper and deeper into the forest. Each time he called out to him, the boy would hesitate only slightly in his step before disappearing again into the darkness. Draco’s head was spinning and disoriented from the combined strain of apparating and the ever more frequent flashes of lighting. He vision blurred and pulsed before his eyes, as he leaned against a tree, having been able to imagine himself upright for the most recent apparition. His hair clung wet against his face, and he felt his mud soaked robes weigh heavily upon his shoulders. Desperately looking around him for any sign of his quarry, his eyes fell on snapped twig not far to the left, and looking beyond it he saw a dark shape kneeling on the ground in a clearing not 30 feet away. Draco summoned every ounce of friendship and love he had every known and poured it into the call that he sent forth to Harry. He felt the primal magic bellow forth from his lungs and rend the air as it careened toward Harry.

Just as it struck Harry square in the chest, causing him to spin and topple backwards onto the mud, Draco came flying out of the air, crashing into Harry and pushing them both onto the wet ground.

Draco could feel Harry shaking and trembling beneath him, his body hot and tense, riding out the effects of the spell. But Draco did not have time to think of how he was doing any of this, all he knew was that this was no time for conflicted feelings, trepidation over an unsure friendship, nor his own selfish fear of rejection. This was his one and only chance to show Harry that they could be something solid together.

He leant down and pressed his mouth close to Harry’s ear. Harry’s eyes were closed and red around the edges with tears. The sight of Potter weeping silently into the mud brought Malfoy himself to tears, but he bit them back and focused on telling him everything he needed to hear. But as he opened his mouth, the words did not come easily. The rain was like a crowd around them, each drop brushing against him roughly and cutting off whatever he was about to say. Thick locks of blond hair clung icily to his face and he tried to shake them off to no avail. He could hardly see now, and his chest clenched with an uncomfortable sort of claustrophobia.

“Potter- Potter listen.” He took a deep breath, trying to figure out which one of them was still trembling. “Can you feel it? My heart? Yes, I know you can.”

He pressed his chest against Harry’s back, feeling it beat between them. “I have never once in my life listened to it. But now, because of you, I - I can no longer ignore it.”

Somehow Harry’s body bind had been released, or maybe it was just Draco’s overwhelming emotions that allowed him ignore it, but he thrust his arm in front of Harry’s face a pulled up his sleeve. “Do not make the same mistakes I did. You are to precious, for the world, for the future, for your friends, for m-.”

Harry rolled over abruptly before Malfoy could finish, and was now standing above him, his wand pointed at Draco’s chest. He felt the body bind renew itself, and his arms and legs snapped to his side as he looked up at the terrible beauty that was Harry Potter. A conflict of rage and comprehension played itself naked across his face.

“Good bye, Draco” He said these words, but Draco could not be sure he heard them, for at that moment a deafening boom tore through the air yet again, and as Draco reopened his eyes, Potter was gone. He was left crying silent tears into the rain soaked ground. Not even able to keen in mourning as perhaps the only true bond of friendship, or rivalry, or what ever it was now, stalked away into the darkness. Never before had anyone been able to get through to Malfoy in that way Harry James Potter had, and there would never be another.

Draco closed his eyes as seconds stretched into minutes and he lay savagely spent on the muddy floor of the forest. He let his mind wander freely, to exhausted to try to keep himself from any of the painful thoughts that now loomed darkly at the edge of his mind.

Soon he began to wonder if ever anyone was going to come find him, and after moments pause, he wished they never would. He would flee and disappear into the wilderness, Harry was going to face the dark lord alone, and they would all perish in the black storm that would follow Harry’s sacrifice. It would end in vain, inevitably, and how could Draco ever face the world again, knowing he’d had a chance to save the boy who lived?

He visualized the dark hollow that he and Harry had once stumbled into during their detention in the Dark Forest. He remembered with sharp pain the moment he had reached out for Harry’s hand in the darkness. He willed himself to be there, but his magic was weak and spent, and there was no hope of his disappearing into the wild to be eaten and maimed by the dark forces that waited there.

It was as he was distracted by these dark and terrible thoughts that the cold took him bit by bit. Suddenly without his realizing it, he could no longer feel his limbs and his breath came out in a fog. The rain seemed to have frozen on the ground and the trees and his hair. And has he gasped he felt a thin sheet of ice break on his lips. And then he heard them, their sickening sucking sounds and the squelching of their grimy skin as they glided over too him. A great withered hand reached out, and was soon followed a dark hooded head as the rain turned to snow in the very air in which it fell.

Three dementors now floated around him, their dark and tattered cloaks whipping silently about they as they swirled and sucked the life out of the cold and frail boy beneath them. As sharp as when it had happened, Malfoy felt again the searing pain that was Voldemort burning the Dark Mark into his skin. He felt the icy tip of the wand, and the cool voice that asked him if he still wished to continue. He felt again how every part of him had yearned to say no, his heart exploding with fear and rejection, and then he felt utter stupidity of his reply, the word yes hung in the air for eternity as the world exploded.

And now he was 11 years old and huddled in the corner of a dark room. Holding his arms where his father’s cane had found its place, and weeping over his failure to befriend Potter, and failure to become an asset to the dark lord. The body of his owl lay bloody and dead before him, glinting in the paltry light of the moon. He didn’t need it anymore, his father had said. He wasn’t to have friends anymore, his father had said. Friends were a distraction, his father had said.

As Draco sank lower and lower into the depths of his torturous past, he felt himself slipping and ripping away from his body. It was as if he was being divided and cut in half, little parts of him tearing and snapping away. Bloody, fleshy, images raced across his vision as he drowned in the crimson flow that now gushed forth from his mouth.

And in a rush that quieted the world to his mind, everything became dark and he felt him self rise up and out of his body, floating exposed in the cold inky blackness that was the night. His limp form lay cold and surprisingly whole beneath him, a ghostly image of the world he was leaving behind. Then slowly sensation began to fade. His thoughts no longer had structure, they were merely waves of nameless emotion and understanding rushing back and forth inside the structureless void of space and time. Never before had this consciousness felt so naked and alone, for Draco was beyond himself now, a nameless entity floating ominously on the void of collapse, waiting to be swallowed inevitably by the dark creatures that circled like envious vultures of darkness.

Any moment now and Draco’s non-existence would be complete, and his mind became suddenly very still in anticipation of the endless stillness that would soon follow. He felt the cold envelope him and soon icy tendrils were clawing their way inside.

Draco was laying on the soft grass of his secret garden. He thread his hands into the green carpet and was smiling as the sun bathed his body in the warm glow of life and comfort. As he opened his eyes and looked across the small space a brilliant creature stepped out into the light.

It outshone the very sun that gave him day, but Draco felt no need to turn away, for it was a different kind of light. Made of pure joy, the large white stag stepped proudly forward, raising its head so that its great shaggy chest caught the light with brilliant luminescence. It turned its eyes on Draco, and he was overcome by the depth and compassion that he saw in its green eyes. It leaned down now, to nuzzle his cheek softly and he reached up a hand to grasp at its many hundreds of antlers.

Slowly, with a gentleness that Draco had never known, the Patronus pulled him to his feet, and Draco buried his face in its great white mane, taking in the deep woodsy sent. It was strong, powerful, and sweet all at the same time. And then meeting its eyes once more, Draco felt himself rising slowly, carried by a brilliant white light that bore him bodily into purity.

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“Will he be all right Albus?” That was his mother’s voice. She sounded worried, but Draco barely had the focus to wonder who she might be worrying about.

“Yes, yes, Narcissa. Severus has assured me that he will be fine, he should be awake anytime.” That was Dumbledore’s voice. It sounded sure of what it was saying.

“It’s been three weeks, you can’t expect me to believe that he is all right! He should be moved, to St. Mungos, he should’ve been moved days ago.” That was his mother again, and the tone of her voice got Draco a little riled up again. Certainly who over they were discussing must be in serious condition, but did they really have to have this conversation in his room? While he was trying to sleep?

“That cannot be done. It would be far to dangerous, far too exposed. Additionally there is no way for Severus to help us in public, it has to be here, Narcissa.”

Then his mother grasped his hand, and said “Just look at him, he’s so pale.”

“He has always been pale, in case you hadn’t noticed Mrs. Black” That was Snape, Draco would never miss that particular drawling tone. But comprehension hit him with the force of several bludgers, and he snapped his eyes open and almost sat up right into the face of his mother. She pushed him back down, overjoyed that he was awake, but too concerned to have moving about. Thankfully she didn’t say any of those stupid cliché ‘you shouldn't move just yet’ things, or Draco would have crawled out of his skin.

“And what the hell is going on?” He said icily as he looked around the room. At first he was rather shocked to see the unfamiliar room, but quickly remembered Grimmauld place, and his memories of the place came back to him.

He looked from face to face, they all seemed very worried, even Dumbledore, whom Draco had never seen worried. And if anything was to cause Draco to panic it would be that. And where was Harry?

He tried to recollect his most recent memory, but the last thing he could remember was playing his heart out on the cello, and then everything went black. Try as he might, his mind brushed up against and frustrating haze and he could not move past it, though he sensed great emotions beyond the veil.

They must have all seen the tension in his face, because they collectively held their breath. A minute passed in tense silence before his mother’s voice softly whispered to him, “Can you remember anything, dear?”

“Where is Potter?” This time there was no silence, Dumbledore merely composed his face and said simply. “Gone.”

“He’s gone!?” Cried Draco incredulously. He felt his hands fist around his sheets, and he looked at each of them, stunned by what he had heard. Then, a little breathlessly, “Where?”

Dumbledore crossed to the window and was cast in the golden light of the evening and began speaking softly, “We have no idea.”

Draco was sure he must have misheard the old man, and he replayed the last few moments in his head, just to be certain. Still though, comprehension was out of his grasp. All he could hear was a dull ringing inside he head as he thought about the words Dumbledore had said.

He lay back on his pillow and sighed, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room turning towards him. “what about the trace?” And Dumbledore sighed, holding his injured hand against his chest as he turned to Draco.

“I am afraid, that that particular ministerial power is no longer functional.” He paused and looked at Draco directly, and there was apology in his eyes that Draco had not expected. “You see, It was my intention to give Harry a head start on our lessons this year, and it would be rather inconvenient if the ministry knew where this house is. If one of Voldemort’s spies in the ministry were to see Harry’s trace activate it would not take them long to find this place, however unplottable it may be.” He let out a sigh, and turned back to looking out the window, looking older than Draco had ever seen him.

Draco’s throat clenched in an unexpected way, and he was again surprised at how attached he had grown to Harry over the past few months. Though in reality it was probably mostly due to the small glimmer of a friendship they had shared in the short hours before Voldemort’s assault on the raven haired boy’s mind.

“But you can deactivate what ever spell you placed on him right? Plus he didn’t know that you had placed the spell on him, so he won’t do anything rash right? He won’t be doing more magic than he has too. And he will probably travel by foot mostly. And he will stick to the muggle world as much as possible.” The words came out of him in one breath, and he was holding the sheets very tightly now, too focused to even be embarrassed by the naked fear in his voice. Something terribly unbecoming of a Malfoy. His father would be so pleased. Here he was, worrying about the boy he had been helping in everyday possible to destroy. And he’d never felt more sure of anything in his life.

Narcissa had to lay her hands on his shoulder’s once again to keep him from getting out of bed, and he lay back with a scathing look on his face.

“I am afraid that the spell I placed on Harry can only be removed by the touch of my wand, I cannot do it from here.” He sighed, deflated once more. “You are however, quite right, I have members of the order searching all possible muggle places Harry might be familiar with, which I dare say is not too many.” He chuckled softly at this, leaving Draco thoroughly confused. Harry had lived in the muggle world for eleven years, surely he knew enough to evade a few bumbling wizards in unfamiliar territory.

“Am I correct in assuming that I have been unconscious for three weeks? Three entire weeks?” He crossed his arms and scowled around him, none of the adults seemed to want to answer his question.

His mother bit his lip and finally nodded, “Do you - do you not remember? Anything of what happened?” she looked at him with raw eyes, eyes that seemed to have been crying only moments before he awoke.

“There’s- it’s like a fog in my head when I try to think past last night. Er, three weeks ago… or whatever… whenever.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead against the palm of his hand. Then he remembered something professor Moody had said to him fourth year, as bloody fucking creepy as that man had been, he had taught them things that were beyond taboo. For example one particular defense against the dark arts period was ghosted over with the same kind of fog, a period during which they’d had practical experience with the Obliviation charms.

“I’ve been obliviated professor…but who?” There was silence as Malfoy turned once again to stare at each of the adults in turn, who seemed to be studiously avoiding his gaze. Even with the unexpected exhaustion that he was now feeling, he still had enough intellect to understand what it meant.

“Potter.” He whispered the word, and the room was palpably more tense. “But then, what did he do to me, that I’ve been knocked out for three weeks? Where did Potter learn that kind of spell?” This time he did not have to leer around before getting an answer. Dumbledore had crossed to his bedside, and was know peering down at him from behind his half moon spectacles.

“We do not know exactly what transpired Draco. When we arrived, we found you lying frozen in the mud, with an expression of unimaginable horror.” Here the old man paused and summoned a chair for him to sit. Once he was comfortably settled into it, he continued with a very solemn tone of voice. “As I said we do not know for certain, but I have my suspicions. Tell me, Draco, try to think of your happiest memories, the ones you’ve been using as part of your training with Harry.”

A bit taken aback, he attempted to summon them nonetheless. As he thought of the night his mother had accepted him as the human being he was becoming, he found that it was somehow quieter. The memory seemed to be colorless, and the sounds were muffled and slurred. As he imagined the comfort he had felt in her arms, the feeling felt oddly distant and he drew no warmth from them. He gasped as he realized that the same applied to his other memories, he could feel neutrality and sadness, but happiness was shockingly underwhelming.

He looked sharply at Dumbledore, with disbelief so plain on his face that Dumbledore need not ask what Malfoy had found. “It is as I feared then, dementors.” He was tugging on the end of his beard now.

Malfoy made no attempt to hide his incredulity, and stared wide eyed at the headmaster. “Are you trying to tell me that Harry summoned dementors? And that they carried me off into that park and left me there? Why can’t I feel the happiness in my memories? Why didn’t they finish the kiss?” Panic was quickly filling him as he fully comprehended the fact that he was effectively cut off from every happy memory he had ever had.

“I am quite certain that Harry does not have the power to summon a dementor, I do believe that power lies strictly in Voldemort’s hands now. From what you have said, it appears that the dementors were able to pull out your soul, and one of them had indeed ingested it, before you were mysteriously rescued.”

“Will I-- will I ever be able to feel happiness again?”

“If our experience with Harry’s godfather is anything to go by, you are still able to feel happiness. It is only memories of happiness that should give you trouble. And those should come back in their full force in time.”

Draco was pleasantly surprised to find that he was happy to hear this. He smiled at the old man, who gave him a knowing wink.

“So then, this mysterious rescue?”

“There was an enormous amount of evidence that a Patronus charm had been cast. From what we’ve been able to gather it is quite possible that it was one of the most powerful Patronus ever recorded. I find it hard to believe that Harry was behind it, even given the fact that he once fought off a flock of over a hundred dementors. No one has ever successfully caused a dementor to regurgitate a soul, it is not even supposed to be possible. Believe me when I say that many have tried.” Dumbledore clasped his hands and looking rather wondrously at Draco. “I dare say even I would not have been able to rescue you. It truly is a wonder.”

The shared a smile while Draco began to process what had just been saved. He had been saved by someone even more powerful than Dumbledore. Well, a bit better at potronus charms at the very least.

“Professor Moody said that the fog means the obliviation spell was done improperly, right Professor?” After Dumbledore nodded Draco continued, “Then we should be able to break it and find out who it was that saved me.”

Draco sat up again shaking his mother’s arms off easily. He hated being coddled, his mother should know that much after 17 years. Dumbledore let a small smile creep across his face, apparently hoping that Draco would pick up on their plan without needing to be coaxed. Yes it would bring back the terrible pain that he had felt during the dementor attack, but it would also give him valuable insight into the identity of his savior.

“Tell me Draco, would you consent to having Hermione Granger be the one to help you with the anti-obliviation? She is the best obliviator that we can find, without involving the ministry, that is.”

“Granger? Yes, of course that would be fine.” Draco had never known of her particular talent, nor did he think it would be particularly helpful to a noble Gryffindor such as herself.

“Very well, she shall be here in the morning then. I suggest then that we fetch mister Draco some dinner. You are no doubt quite hungry after three weeks of only magical sustenance?” He looked at Draco, who nodded vigorously, only just then noticing the hunger that was clawing at his insides.

Dumbledore and Snape left he room, leaving Draco and his mother alone. As the door softly clicked closed, Malfoy gave his mother a look that told her he was not up for conversation, and lay his head back down on his pillow. He felt weak and slightly atrophied, and he could feel fear, anguish, and anxiety prowling at the edges of his mind. He needed a distraction, something to keep his mind off of Potter’s uncertain fate.

He reached to his bedside table and quickly found his wand, ignoring his mother’s intake of breath.

“I’m fine dammit, please mother, stop your worrying.” He summoned his violin, which flew out of the case beside his cello and leapt into his hands. As he busied himself with tuning the instrument, he reflected on how much he used to hate the damn thing. He smirked at his mother, who he knew was thinking about the countless fights they’d had over his musical education.

She relaxed into her chair as he began play, both of them allowing themselves to be swept away by the gentle vibrations of fibre on fibre.

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As Draco lay in the night, with the sheets curled tight about him, he felt distinctly alone. He had taken a bath, to rid himself of the feeling of sick and illness. Put simply, it had been a bad idea. He spent the entire time feeling the empty space next to him. The smells of the tub renewed the memories of the bath they’d shared, and caused him frustration as the hesitant happiness he had felt was subdued, the sadness and disappointment exaggerated, all due to the remnants of the dementor’s kiss.

Several hours later he had emerged from his stupor cold and wet, and had lain on the chilled tiles of the bathroom as the night grew dark, casting a pale moon light onto his naked skin.

Finally the hard tiles pressing into the bones of his shoulder’s and hips had grown sufficiently uncomfortable to prompt him to move to the bed. His sheets were currently being washed, and so he had no choice but to lay himself down in Potter’s bed. Put simply, it had been an even worse idea than the bath.

As he curled himself snugly in the thick blankets and comforters, he drew in a deep breath and felt his heart throb massively in his chest. He could smell the salty air of the ocean before a storm. It was calm and sweet and quiet very far away from the rolling waves of the shore. He was surrounded by the gentle calmness that was the scrublands beyond the dunes. He lay among the reeds and thistle, feeling the damp wind blow over him, and though he was alone he could feel and presence beside him. Another breath and there was a deep wise sent that reminded Draco of being deep in a forest glade, surrounded by golden sunlight and listening to a babbling brook as it wound its way through the dense roots and moss that blocked its path.

He shook himself out of his reverie and looked sullenly out of the long low window, watching the leaves of the trees tremble in the faint moon light.

It was not the loss of a love that Draco was feeling, it was something both more and less than that. In turning himself over to the other side Draco had essentially alienated himself from everything Slytherin. The distinct absence of letters from his former allies was more than proof of that. Draco now existed in a sort of limbo, alone and friendless. The only thing that had helped to ease his loneliness was the thought that he was now free to create and shape new friendships in any was he pleased. And now, the person that was on the top of his list was now gone, potentially forever. The very thing that had given him light and hope in the gathering darkness of this world might never again grace him with its light.

Draco sighed, letting his thoughts roam down this path once again, and imagining where Harry might be at this moment. Perhaps he had been given shelter by some sympathetic muggle, but given his state of mind the night before, Malfoy thought it more likely that Harry was holed up in some abandoned building, or hiding in the shadows of a tree. It had been three weeks, and he was fairly certain that Potter had found a semipermanent place of residence, though he had no idea if or how Potter was planning to take on the Dark Lord on his own.

Quietly he hoped Potter was just taking a break from the world, and from his responsibilities. Any moment he would appear in the room with a soft pop and they would trade snide comments about how Malfoy was lying in Potter’s bed. He lay for several minutes in anticipation of this event, but eventually drifted off into a fitful sleep.

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Right, so my plan is to have Harry share what happens during these three weeks at some point later on in the story. But if everyone is really dying to know, I can do that now if you wish. So feed back would be quite helpful.
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Harry Potter and The Sanguine Brother's Bond