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All Desire in a Day	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9359 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Six--Bitterness, Breathing Longing

            Draco opened his eyes in the darkness of a bedroom. Malfoy was climbing out of bed, as he knew from the curtains swishing open and shut around him. He frowned for a moment and wondered what time it was. The dungeons had the option of permanent night if they wanted it, of course, but usually subdued light from the enchanted windows banished that.

            It must be real night now, though. The beds were still and quiet, and even the fire on the hearth burned down towards slow embers and ashes.

            Malfoy spent a moment balancing himself against the nearest post of his bed, his eyes closed. Draco would have said he was praying, but he couldn't dignify the half-incoherent words spluttering and dying in Malfoy's mind with even that name. Then Malfoy drew his wand and turned towards the bed at the far end of the fifth-year Slytherin boys' bedroom. A line expanded by one from the five beds Draco was used to.

            Malfoy walked with care, lifting his feet and setting them down without sound. He wore boots enchanted with the Velvet Charm to do that. He also used charms to calm the sound of his breathing. He had thought of everything, or thought he had.

            On he crept, and on, making the bedroom seem much bigger than it was. Draco clung to the shifting currents of his mind, his own mind choked with dread. He kept telling himself that Malfoy might be on his way to a late-night conversation with Blaise, or a study session with Theodore. Slytherins stayed up late to work on their marks all the time, or conduct private threats and deals.

            But at last Malfoy pulled back the curtains around Harry's bed, and Draco could fool himself no longer. And he began to think that Malfoy might actually have planned ahead, because no wards leaped to life when Malfoy stirred the curtains.

            Harry lay curled up on his side, not the way that he slept in their bed at home, Draco noted. His head was hunched so that all Malfoy could see was a long sweep of hair, and he breathed slowly and steadily. He didn't have his wand out, which Draco blinked at, but his hand curled beneath his pillow in a way that probably meant he was clutching it anyway.

            Malfoy stood there for a time, biting his lip. No tenderness filled his heart, but rather the thought of the trouble he would get in for assaulting the Boy-Who-Lived. But he reminded himself that the Dark Lord was back and his father was dead, and Potter wasn't invulnerable anymore.

            He drew back his wand, and then plunged it down towards Harry. Draco could feel the tightening thrill in his stomach, the tug of his muscles. He had chosen a spell that would give his wand a knife's edge to deal with Harry instead of a more distant curse, because he didn't want the death to be impersonal.

            You idiot, that'll give it away, Draco could have screamed at him, but still the dread stifled his thoughts, and the movement of Malfoy's arm was the only real thing in the universe.

            Flexible wards flared into life an inch from the bed, catching Malfoy's arm and wand and throwing them high. Another ward flamed suddenly into being, running away from the ones that held Malfoy to form a pattern like the branching limb of a spiderweb. This one made Malfoy's arm tingle and go numb. His fingers opened, and the wand thumped to the floor. He opened his mouth to moan, but a third ward joined the other two and silenced any sound coming out of his lips.

            Harry sat up and turned towards them.

            Draco's own memories of fifth year were distant, but he was sure his own Harry's face had never looked this pale, or the black circles under his eyes been this big. Harry leaned close to them and hissed almost hard enough for Draco to take the words for Parseltongue.

            "I thought this might happen," Harry said quietly. "And I understand why you hate me. That's why the wards waited until the last minute to catch you, because you might change your mind and go away. I didn't know."

            He paused. There was no sound in the air between them but the soft rustle made by the sheets as he leaned closer to Malfoy. His eyes were enormous. Malfoy tried to shout something at him, but the Silencing Charm ward was still in operation, and Harry didn't seem to breathe at all until he had to speak again.

            "That doesn't give you the right to kill me," Harry said. "I'll try to find out who slaughtered your father and let you have the first chance at him. Or I'll kill him myself, if I can. But you can't kill me for it." He reached up and touched something beside his pillow, probably the keystone in the web of wards.

            The wards spat, once, and threw Malfoy backwards. He was still staggering when the curtains around Harry's bed snapped shut like the drawbridge of a fortress coming up, and he sat down hard on his arse. But the Silencing Charm stayed in place, and as Malfoy stood and tottered back to his bed, no one else so much as opened their curtains.

            Draco was ready to shut his eyes long before Malfoy crawled into his bed and stared bitterly at the canopy, mind racing with plans that Draco longed to see shredded like rotten cloth. He hated the whole of this world. He wished he had never come. He dreaded the price the ritual would take from him.

            But none of that mattered to Malfoy, who had spent the summer baking himself in his grief for his father and his own hatred of Potter. He would try again.

*

            "What's this, Potter? Oh, no, don't tuck your delicate little hand away, let's see what we have here! A hero always has to be ready to answer questions from his fans, don't you agree?"

            Harry stared at him with slitted eyes, and did nothing to prevent Malfoy from lifting his hand and turning it. Draco didn't know what to make of his gaze. Dead eyes, or deadly ones? It seemed unlikely to be a good thing either way, and he wondered if he could make Malfoy heed a warning if he shouted it hard enough.

            For right now, he thought, no. Malfoy was bending solicitously over the hand that had I must not tell lies carved in bleeding lines, and then he opened his mouth and crowed something that Draco didn't bother listening to. He stared at the words, resenting the jerk of Malfoy's head to the side that meant he could no longer look at them.

            Those were done with a blood quill. When did Harry get hold of one of those?

            Of course, Umbridge, bustling through the crowds to break up the little meeting and give Malfoy the secretive little smile that she gave to all members of her Inquisitorial Squad, provided the answer. Draco's Harry had mentioned detentions with Umbridge during their fifth year, painful ones. But he had never mentioned what the consequences were, or that they went so far. Draco felt a tingling, painful sensation that was almost physical, the only time he thought he had really felt one independent of Malfoy since he came here.

            Harry, when I come home--if I do--then you and I will have things to talk about.

            "Of course, little Potty has to have his secrets," Malfoy whispered to him, dropping his hand, as Umbridge stepped away. "But let me give you some advice, Potter." He stabbed a finger at the bleeding words, but stopped short of touching them. Draco wondered if that was from fear of contamination by Dark magic, fear of Harry's friends attacking him--they were already hastening towards them--or fear of what Harry, snake-still, might do. "Heed that piece of it."

            "You always give such good advice, Malfoy," Harry said, and his voice was dead. Not mild, not cool, but dead. "I'll be sure to remember it."

            Malfoy took a step away despite himself, then sneered and swept down the corridor in a billow of robes. But he looked back once over his shoulder, probably because he had to, and Draco studied Harry's face and eyes as intently as he could in that short shard of time.

            That's what it is. He's retreated into himself, and everything anyone tries to hurt him from now on is just going to bounce off that armor. They can cause him pain, but he'll take the pain and boil it into anger.

            Weasley and Granger planted themselves at Harry's sides in the next instant, talking excitedly. He nodded to them, and pasted a smile on his face that would conceal his eyes from someone with no real incentive to look, which Merlin knew they should have had. Then his friends marched him down the corridor like a bodyguard.

            Harry walked, but he didn't seem to breathe. Draco felt a sensation like a shiver touch him this time.

            I don't know what's going to happen.

*

            "You have to be vigilant, you know that." Umbridge gave Malfoy a sweet smile while her hand played with something small and silvery on her desk. Draco thought it might be a piece of unicorn horn, and shuddered. He didn't want to know what she had done to get that.

            Malfoy, of course, noticed nothing, and was only happy that someone in the school agreed with him on the relative unimportance of Potter. "Of course," he said, and paused dramatically. "Madam High Inquisitor, what is your position on the wrongs that people did before we became enlightened? Like last year, when people did something they thought was right under the dominion of the old fool?"

            Umbridge blinked her toad-like eyes and giggled. "Oh, Mr. Malfoy, you can speak outright, you know. We know the truth. Dumbledore encouraged people to do things they shouldn't have, didn't they? He was a very naughty boy. And the people who followed him were naughty as well." She leaned forwards, her expression suddenly grave. "And we all know that naughty people don't truly change. Not until they're taught better." Her face went soft and dreamy.



            She's thinking of Harry and using that awful quill on him, I just know it.

            Malfoy, though, nodded and smirked. "Yes, Madam High Inquisitor. And I know someone who's kept being naughty this year, and hasn't listened to your instructions at all. But last year his crimes were different. I was just wondering if it would be a good idea to bring up the past at all, or to let bygones be bygones." He looked demurely at the floor, in a way that would have made Draco want to vomit if he hadn't felt that way already. Pity I don't have a stomach to vomit with.

            "It's always a good idea to remember the past," Umbridge intoned. "To remember our history, so that we don't forget what happened the last time we tried to get along with Muggles." She leaned towards Malfoy again and lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. "As long as you know that this person has done things that aren't adequately punished by the restrictions that he--hem hem, I mean they--are suffering already, then I think you should punish them as you see fit."

            "Thank you, Madam High Inquisitor," Malfoy said, and bowed, and all but clicked his heels together as he left Umbridge's office and ran down the corridors in search of Harry. Draco clung to the back of his mind and closed his eyes, feeling the pleasure and anticipation race all around him like rivers of blood.

            Harry shouldn't have killed his father. But he shouldn't be doing this, either.

            Malfoy came out into the seventh-floor corridor where he knew Potter and his friends were spending a lot of their time, and looked around. There. The perfect victim. Ginny Weasley was walking towards him, her wand gripped in her hand, when the latest Proclamation said students weren't to carry their wands like that.

            It was nothing, just a little use of a legal variant of the Imperius Curse, and she opened the door for him while tears ran down her face. Malfoy discounted the tears. She would be properly punished soon, and he was being nicer to her than the High Inquisitor would be.

            Draco wondered if Harry would care. In the real world, yes, because he had dated Weasley for a time. But this Harry seemed more interested in Blaise, of all people, and Draco doubted that Malfoy needed to worry about any special retribution because of who he had chosen to curse.

            It was everything else he had to worry about.

            The door swung open slowly, and shocked faces turned towards them. Weasley started struggling under Malfoy's hold, and Malfoy stepped past her, into the room. His attention was on Potter and his mind was on Potter, and the slow thunder of his heart in his ears meant nothing. He wasn't afraid. He and Potter were going to have it out, that was all, and Potter's friends wouldn't interfere if they knew what was good for them.

            He laid out his terms. "You duel me, Potter--single combat, no cheating, no interference from your followers--and I don't tell the High Inquisitor about your little army."

            Harry had no expression on his face as he stepped forwards to accept the challenge. Granger tried to hold him back, and Draco silently willed strength to her arm. This was different, after all. He had no particular reason to hope that it would lead to a duel, although a small, squirming part of him had always been curious to know what would happen if he and Harry fought with no barriers between them, no holding back.

            But Harry shook off Granger's arm and stepped forwards, bowing to Malfoy. Malfoy bowed back, and the tide of joy and hope flowing around Draco made him relish the emotions for the first time since the first year he had spent in the vision. Perhaps this would settle things, render Malfoy's grudge less poisonous, and enable him to move past his grief for his father.

            Someone set up shields around the center of the room, so they could duel without hitting other people. But Draco doubted Malfoy would have thought of that, anyway, despite his cursing Weasley. Harry was the only one in the room who mattered to him.

            Malfoy raised his wand. His head rebounded with knowledge of Dark curses like the one he had used to gain entrance here, and some more that the Inquisitorial Squad had learned. All the silent staring eyes pressed in on him, no matter how much he hated or discounted those people, and he was determined to give them a show.

            Harry's eyes were empty and curiously focused. Not dead now, Draco thought, with a stirring of unease that made him wish he could separate himself from Malfoy's body, but not alive in the normal sense either. It was as if he saw Malfoy as an obstacle to the race he had to run, and would enjoy the chance to burst past him and continue running.

            Malfoy opened his mouth, and the first delicate syllables rolled off his tongue.

            Harry hissed something in Parseltongue. A sentence. No, a spell. Snakes formed from the air, dropping on Malfoy's head, draping themselves around his neck and his arms, pulling tight. In three seconds there was an adder with its fangs pressed against his cheek, a python choking the air out of his throat, and a cobra wound about his leg, so tall that it could rear at exactly the level of his eyes.

            Light-headed, Malfoy dropped his wand. The cobra opened its mouth, and the tongue flickered out. Draco recognized the shape of the fangs, as those of a cobra that could spit venom that would blind its victims, and he knew from the fear chasing through Malfoy like a second heartbeat that he did too.

            Luckily, it only took Malfoy a moment to figure out what Potter was waiting for. "I surrender!" he squealed. "I surrender!"

            Harry rolled his wand between his fingers and his tongue between his lips, and the snakes were gone. He turned from Malfoy without a glance.

            As if he was an obstacle to be knocked down. As if he wasn't important.

            Malfoy snatched his wand again and blasted off a curse at Harry's back, black rage and grief constricting his limbs as much as the snakes had ever done.

            A Shield Charm snapped into existence--and Harry must have cast it without turning around, since the barriers around the center of the room kept his friends out, still--and Harry gave a casual hiss. The cobra popped into existence in front of Malfoy again, and spat into his eyes.

            The poison burned so much that Malfoy began to scream before his sight went dark. Harry kept walking away, the sound of his footsteps brisk and unconcerned, and Malfoy was left to stumble his way to the door of the room on his own, while Harry's voice had already begun to give instructions on spells again.

            Draco clung to the back of Malfoy's mind, dazed and trembling.

*

            The poison turned out to be temporary; by the time Malfoy could get to Umbridge, it had worn off entirely. But it had its effect, and Malfoy kept away from Harry for the rest of the year, turning the other way and pretending not to see him if he entered a room. Draco considered that might be for the best.

            He would find it hard to look at Harry again, poison or not.

            With the end of the year came a greater darkness in Harry's eyes, and then the rumor that Sirius Black had died in the Ministry. Malfoy, as one of the people who knew what Black had been to Harry, settled down one evening to write a taunting letter. But the ink dried, and the quill fell from his hand.

            The mists surged in around them again as Malfoy made a determination. His father was gone. Malfoy's own efforts to avenge him had failed. So he would go to someone who could help him. He would go to the man who had lost a loyal servant when Lucius Malfoy died, and might be interested in the services of the son.

            He would become a Death Eater.

            Draco said nothing, thought nothing, as the mists took him away, because what was there to say?

*

            unneeded: It was most likely a combination of Harry's spell and something else. But neither the Harry nor the Draco in this universe know the truth.

            jujukitty: Yes, he is. Especially because he thinks his Harry was keeping secrets from him.

            SP777: More complicated, but in some ways still pretty close to what actually happened. Which will just make the feelings even more confused.

            AlterEquis: Yes. The spell only shows Draco scenes that are important because they diverge in some way. Otherwise, you can assume things happened the same way.

            Fullmoons_wings: I think sixth year is really not as bad as the fifth one in this chapter, but that could be me thinking about the way that Harry and Draco's personal interactions changed a lot here from in book 5.
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All Desire in a Day