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Smoke Among the Stars	By : WinterRaven Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7501 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Harry Potter universe. I make no profit from this story.

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“He is like an old ferry dragged out onto shore… like a wooden ocean out of control.” –Jack Gilbert, “Refusing Heaven”

Chapter Six – The Voice of Memory

Those gray eyes were wide, confused, so tempted.

Harry could see Draco struggling to fulfill his whispered, heady request, to press their lips together, to do more than just that. Harry was trembling near Draco’s body. They were both still clasped at the hands. Their fingers were intertwined, waiting, wanting. Draco’s eyes were on Harry’s lips, as if wishing himself to close the gap; he couldn’t seem to find the resolve to.

Harry leaned in and his eyes fluttered shut. He could feel Draco quaking beneath him, the blonde’s lips parted, begging and Harry felt his heart racing uncomfortably in the confines of his ribs, thrashing wildly. He tried to ignore the feeling, tried to focus, but the fuzziness of the alcohol seemed to course through him as fast as his blood was pumping, just as nervously.

Just kiss him, just do it.

Their breathing was shakier now than ever before, frightened and anticipating.

Harry shut his eyes and grabbed a harder hold of Draco’s hands, pulled the blonde into him and instinctively found Draco’s lips. He could feel Draco’s warm breath of a gasp run over his own lips, his lush taste, the fullness of his plump mouth. Harry’s hands fumbled from Draco’s, broke their grip and instantly were in the blonde’s hair, running through, exploring.

He felt Draco’s knees buckling near his and Harry held him upward forcefully; he felt the desperation in Draco’s kiss, the wetness of his saliva, the neediness of his tiny moans and gasps. Harry savored each passing second. He had never kissed anyone quite like this, slowly and tenderly, holding Draco’s face now between his hands, trying to transfer every ounce of feeling and desire into another being.

Draco seemed to understand, even if on instinct. He gasped, groaned against Harry’s mouth, his own shaking hands exploring Harry’s hair, his skin, his body, running up and down Harry’s chest, reaching underneath Harry’s coat and sweater until skin met skin. Their lips broke apart and Harry’s eyes flew open only to find Draco staring at him, intent on soaking in as much of Harry as possible. Harry felt himself flush at the desperation in Draco’s gaze, he felt himself quiver hopelessly beneath Draco’s curious fingers.

“Bed?” Harry whispered as he tried to stifle a gasp. Draco fingers had brushed over his nipples lightly, so needy.

“Yes,” Draco responded and pulled his hands from underneath Harry’s sweater. He turned and swayed toward his bed, taking off his wool jacket and blazer in the process.

Harry copied him as he stumbled to the bed, as his fingers fumbled on the buttons of his undershirt, yanking and tugging.

When he looked up, Draco was splayed on the bed. Even in his drunkenness, he maintained his regality. His eyes seemed to be gleaming in the near darkness of the room, his white hair shining, his face flushed, but he leaned against his bedpost with practiced elegance, his arms resting against his sides. His eyes beckoned Harry to him, and the brunette crawled onto the soft bed, feeling his weight sink in the mattress.

Draco leaned forward without another word and captured Harry’s mouth with his own. There was no hesitation this time as his tongue begged for entrance. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut as Draco’s hands were on him again, pulling his shirt off entirely, moving his lips from Harry’s to Harry’s neck, his collarbone.

Harry lost himself in the feeling, the thoughts thrumming through him, the madness and beauty of this situation, the glory that was Draco’s touch—

“Oh fuck,” Harry gasped as Draco moved lower, sucking on his right nipple; the sensation jolted through Harry’s needy body.

The blonde moved his mouth to Harry’s left nipple and the brunette leaned back against the mattress, his hands in Draco’s soft hair. Harry felt all coherency leave him as Draco ran his fingers down Harry’s sides, the touch a tickle, an invitation for more.

Harry’s own hands shot out for Draco’s body and he groaned when he did not feel skin but the fabric of Draco’s sweater. Both stopped their ministrations and hopped from the bed, working together to get Draco’s clothing off.

But when Draco had finally pulled his own shirt to the ground, Harry froze, staring at the blonde’s chest.

Scars marred the white flesh, thin, raised scars, long and winding. Even in his drunken haze, Harry remembered how they got there.

He remembered a pool of Draco’s blood.

Draco’s paper white hands grasping onto his arms, his face a death mask—he was bleeding out onto the bathroom floor, bleeding so quickly Harry knew in moments he would be dead. He would be responsible. Harry remembered how Myrtle’s screams seemed far off in the distance then; he barely remembered the feeling of Snape’s hands grabbing him and dragging him away from Malfoy’s body.

Don’t take me away from him!

He could recall nothing more in that moment except the way Draco had stared into his eyes, as if begging for some sort of forgiveness, repentance—

Now those same eyes peered at Harry, confused.

Draco leaned in to kiss Harry again, wondering why he had suddenly stopped but Harry pulled away from his face as though he had been burned. Harry closed his eyes in shame, the memory blowing through him, a unrelenting film reel. He remembered Draco’s lips as they were all those years ago, dry, cracked, parted.

Gasping for life.

“Are you okay?” Draco whispered.

Harry could smell the overpowering stench of alcohol. He felt Draco’s hand on his shoulder. His eyes shot open and he stared at the blonde, not realizing he was on the verge of tears.

“I…” Harry gasped, pushing himself entirely away from Draco so he nearly stumbled over himself. His eyes were only on the scars, the scars bearing down at him in the near darkness, haunting him. “I can’t.”

Draco blinked, stunned. His face paled considerably, reminded Harry of the wan color in his memory.

“It’s not you,” Harry confessed, the words spilling from him, motivated by his guilt and horror; he could no longer deny his impulsive, past actions—the scars stared back at him, evidence, evidence. “I—you— You should be hurting me not kissing me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Draco whispered, his eyes wide and frightened at Harry’s incoherence.

That’s when Harry broke. Sobs poured from him as he pointed to Draco’s chest. Draco glanced down at his scars and knew; his eyes met Harry’s quickly, as if pleading something without words but Harry looked away, wanted nothing more than to run off somewhere, far from Draco.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered and Draco moved forward, scooping Harry into his arms. Harry cried freely. “I’m sorry.”

His voice cracked as he wept his apology, almost a chant, almost a prayer. Hot tears flooded onto Draco’s scarred skin but the blonde said nothing. Instead, he ran his palm soothingly over Harry’s back, clasping their bodies together as he laid small, chaste kisses over Harry’s closed eyelids. Harry instinctively held on tighter, burying his face in the nook of Draco’s neck. He had never felt so comforted and horrified in the same moment.

I’m a terrible person.

Draco kissed his forehead and Harry shuddered, overwhelmed with the sweet gesture.

I don’t deserve this kindness.

“It’s okay,” Draco murmured into Harry’s ear, the melodic sound of his deep voice quelling Harry’s sobs for a moment. “That’s in the past.”

Harry shook his head wildly and tried to extract himself from Draco’s grip but the blonde retained his grasp.

Instead, Harry allowed himself to be steered back to the bed, to be pulled up onto the soft mattress, laid down. He allowed Draco to gather him close, to spoon against him, so they were nose to nose, facing each other.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time that I forgive you,” Draco said quietly. He brushed Harry’s sweaty hair from his forehead. Harry glanced at him in awe, his green eyes full of tears. “But can you forgive yourself?”

Harry said nothing.

Neither did.

They did not move for the rest of the evening but spent hours staring at each other; they stayed together even as Harry’s crying calmed down and disappeared entirely, even as the influence of the alcohol wore off, as slow and seeping as it had emerged; they did not part as sleep overtook them, but instead kept closer than ever before, their hands finding each other’s, fingers melding together.

Their bodies entwined. They did not let go.

TBC

A/N: Thank you so much to my kind reviewers, Fallen, ChaosLady, unneeded and Akira_Kushrenada_Merquize! More soon!
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Smoke Among the Stars