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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 Seven--Desire Darkens

            Draco blinked and looked around. He had expected the next scene to be the moment when Malfoy took his Death Eater vows, but instead, he stood--they stood--inside a rocking train compartment, staring at Harry, who had his Invisibility Cloak draped over one arm and the weariness of the world in his eyes.

            "So I came to see if you would still take my hand," Harry finished. Draco wondered why he had missed the rest of the conversation, but presumably the spell had decided that it wasn't important. "The war's starting, and I don't need an enemy in my own House. Actually, I never needed that, but I underestimated how much of this was my own fault." He held out his hand. "Truce?"

            Draco could feel the contradictory currents in Malfoy's head, the way he longed to take Harry's hand and to spurn it at the same time. The shadow of his dead father hovered at his shoulder, the shadow of his living mother in his head. The Dark Lord had warned him that he must complete his task to kill Dumbledore or Narcissa would die, but Malfoy wasn't worried about that. He knew he could do it, that he had the perfect way to do it, and that no one would ever blame him for it.

            But, of course, the people who were important would know.

            Draco wanted to slap a hand over his face. He wanted to beat Malfoy's head in. He wanted to take over Malfoy's mouth and tell Harry that the offer was accepted, as long as Harry didn't mean the truce to be perfectly neutral, because this was the chance to pursue friendship, and more than friendship.

            But Malfoy, being Malfoy, cast a Tripping Jinx on Harry and then took a step forwards as he sprawled on the floor, lifting his boot to smash Harry's nose in. Draco recoiled from the slickness that traveled through his head, hot as vomit, because it too closely echoed his own emotions the time that he had broken Harry's nose in sixth year.

            This Harry wasn't immobilized, though, and was also a better fighter than Draco thought his Harry had ever been. He rose to one knee and cast a jinx of his own in the same moment. A silver net like the ones he had used to hold Buckbeak and his dragon bound Malfoy to the far wall of the compartment.

            Harry stayed on one knee, but from the way he looked at Malfoy, Draco knew no one stumbling on the scene would ever be stupid enough to imagine him as submissive.

            "I see the mistake I made was in giving you too much credit, in thinking that you would want to be friends, or something close to it," Harry said without expression. "That's fine. I won't make either kind again." He turned and walked away.

            Malfoy finally had to call on Blaise to help him get free. Blaise halted and stared first, and Draco was utterly sure that he was making mental notes so he could look at this in a Pensieve memory later. Malfoy stared back and curled his lip, feeling the Dark Mark burn beneath his shirt. He wished he could show it off and watch Blaise leap to do his bidding, but the Dark Lord had bid him keep his true allegiance quiet for now. Later would come the time to declare himself and shine forth.

            Blaise snipped the strands of the net with a charm that Malfoy didn't recognize, and Draco didn't, either. Harry had probably taught it to him.

            Draco thought he was the only one to understand the true nature of the sickness that flitted through Malfoy's mind with that revelation.

*

            Malfoy chuckled breathlessly to himself as he finished bottling the potion and stood back from it. The Dark Arts were coming in useful to repair the cabinet he had discovered in the Room of Hidden Things, but it was his potions-making skill that would lead to the death of Dumbledore.

            Of course, it wouldn't have if Potter hadn't proven so good at Potions, unexpectedly, in their sixth-year class, but that was fine. His trust that something would arise, that he could use a potion to cast the blame on Potter, had been justified after all.

            Draco, just to see what would happen, tried pounding his hands against Malfoy's skull and screaming. It did nothing, of course.

            Malfoy corked the potion gingerly and added a few Non-Breakable Charms to the glass of the vial, then started towards the kitchens, whistling under his breath. Malfoys understood something about ordering house-elves around, and he would find one he could intimidate into putting the poison in the Headmaster's morning pumpkin juice. It was the same poison that Potter, in the presence of witnesses, had confirmed he was good at brewing.

            Draco watched the lightning-like thoughts dart past him. So much brilliance, so twisted that Draco felt sick and faint, much the way he had as he watched the dead look in Harry's eyes. Things would be better if they could change, if Malfoy could apologize, if he could convince Harry he was sincere...

            Then again, if Harry had not killed Malfoy's father, then things would be different. If he had accepted the Hat's choice of Slytherin instead of reacting against it, things would be different. If he had listened to Malfoy when he tried to apologize and warn him about Black--his intentions were only misguided, not evil--then perhaps they would be friends. Or lovers.

            And Draco would not feel as though he had come back for the worst of reasons and that seeing these things might damage his memory of reality forever.

*

            Malfoy half-stood up in his seat, staring. The poison should have acted on Dumbledore immediately, but he had already drunk half his cup of pumpkin juice and was chatting to McGonagall, his face still bright instead of bright blue. Malfoy's hands clenched on the table, and if he didn't hear the rattle of silverware, then Draco did.

            And he felt something else. A moment later, Malfoy's perceptions caught up, and he turned his eyes in the right direction.

            Harry, sitting at the Gryffindor table as always, watched him with a gaze as cold as a winter wind.

            He knows.

            The panicked Malfoy didn't take the time to think how that could be true, or to consider what would happen if he ran away now. He simply turned and pelted out of the Great Hall, ignoring the confused shouts that followed him. Draco did catch a glimpse of Blaise on the way, sitting perfectly still and blank.

            Malfoy ran to the Room of Hidden Things and panted out the instructions to get in, then slammed the door behind him and leaned against a stack of oddly-shaped boxes. His heart rattled and raced. He clenched his hands in front of him, and Draco winced as tiny streaks of blood trickled down the palms.

            He had attempted to poison Dumbledore, and it hadn't worked. Now he had to wonder whether Potter knew, as well. And he had to come up with a different plan to fulfill his assigned task, or his mother would be hurt.

            He wished he had never decided to become a Death Eater.

            Yes, that's the right reaction, at last! Draco thought of happiness and helpfulness as loud as he could, on the chance that Malfoy might hear him. Now go to Snape and ask him for help, or go to Dumbledore and admit what's going on. Hell, at this point you could probably talk to Harry and he'd do as much for you as he would for anyone else in trouble, although no more. Draco felt the ache pulse through him that Harry would do no more, but he couldn't blame him at this point.

            But Malfoy straightened up, and wiped the saliva of his own fear away from his mouth, and regarded himself with disgust in a mirror hanging on the wall of the Room. Then he turned back to the Vanishing Cabinet. He would miss Potions, but what did that matter, when Snape was jealous of him and no one in his House cared about him?

            Draco watched, because he had no choice, and once again felt the sickness pass through him, this time in a bolt as clear as Malfoy's thoughts sometimes were. This was, he thought, the moment that predestined the end.

*

            "Malfoy! Wait up."

            Malfoy's shoulders tightened with a tension that hurt Draco, but he kept walking. Of all the times for Potter to decide he had to speak with Malfoy, it would be now, right after Malfoy had slipped a different poison into the ale that Dumbledore would receive in a week's time. His plan for casting blame on Potter would have to wait, but at least he knew that this one was likelier to work.

            Then Potter's hand fell on his shoulder, and Draco and Malfoy flinched at the same time, a flinch that swung them around and out from beneath the extended hand. Panting, they stared at Harry, who took a step back out of reach and lifted his empty left hand. His right one rested low, on his wand.

            Don't do that, Draco whispered to him, fainter than a breeze or a dream. You can't do that and expect him to take you seriously. Please, move your hand away, show that you can appreciate him, show that you can--

            "I spoke to Dumbledore," Harry said, and kept his voice lulling and soft, at the same moment as his hand moved, casting a spell around them that assaulted Malfoy as a distant buzzing in his ears. Draco knew what it was, by the same route he knew the source of Harry's sudden brilliance in Potions, but Malfoy had no notion, and Harry should have explained. As it was, though, Malfoy was staring at Harry and imagining the death of his father over and over again, rather than concentrating on the spell. "He says that he knows what's going on, but for some reason he won't stop it." Harry took a deep breath. "Please. Tell me what it is. It might be that I can get you sanctuary with--with other people, even if Dumbledore doesn't care."

            Malfoy took a single long step forwards. "I hate you," he whispered.

            Harry didn't move, but his eyes grew a shade more still. Draco imagined he was more used to such declarations than his Harry was, or at least had more practice controlling his emotions.

            "I hate you, and I always will," Malfoy whispered. "You aren't concerned about me. You're only interested in proving that you're not a Slytherin, that you're a bloody Gryffindor, and the Hat was wrong."

            Harry curled his lip, and the distant look Draco had seen throughout most of the last two years came back into his eyes. "God, you think I care about that, now? There are more important things going on than--"

            "That's the basis of all this!" Malfoy screamed, waving an arm, and for once he might have been voicing Draco's actual thoughts. "You started out wanting friends in other Houses because the one you'd made disapproved of you being in Slytherin. Then you decided to ignore us and walk away from us, and not report the attacks made on you like a normal person because you decided that your Head of House wouldn't listen to you."

            "Well, he wouldn't," Harry said, his voice low although his cheeks and eyes both glittered bright. "Snape hates me, you know that."

            "And did you make any effort to make him hate you less?" Malfoy took a stride forwards, and Draco could feel the pulse of blood in his temples. "Like a good Slytherin, or at least someone who's interested in the people around him as human beings, did you make any effort to accept your placement and make friends? No, you just discarded us all, and decided you were a Gryffindor and that was that."

            The only sound was Harry's rushing breath.

            "You don't care about us, you don't care about anything to do with us, and that makes this your fault," Malfoy pushed. "You could have done something, but no, you'd rather act like the freak you are and--"

            Harry lashed out. Draco couldn't track the motion of his wand, it was so fast. It landed on Malfoy's cheek, and pain bloomed behind it, the sharp sting of a cut like one that might have been made with Malfoy's Potions knife. Malfoy yowled and clapped his hand over it, staggering back.

            Draco felt skin and flesh tearing as he moved, as the body he was sharing moved. Harry had marked Malfoy somehow, had scarred him, had hurt him.

            Malfoy would never forgive that. Especially not if the mark was permanent. The only marks like that he wanted to bear on his body were the ones he chose, such as the Dark Lord's.

            "Go away and think about this some more," Harry said, his voice echoing around Malfoy and filling the corridor with a red haze of pain. "For some reason, Dumbledore won't save you, but I think I could. If you cared. Find Ron if you want to be safe, though. I don't think I could stand to look at you again."

            He turned away. Malfoy's head lay on the floor, and his eyes were trained at the level of Harry's boots, so Draco couldn't see much of Harry himself. But he did think he saw the hand dangling at his side, clutching his wand, shake before Harry stuffed his fist back into his pocket.

            That was the closest they would come to an incident in the bathroom this year that left Malfoy bleeding on the floor, Draco sensed. Perhaps Harry had been tempted to use Sectumsempra, but had restrained himself at the last minute. Malfoy would never know how lucky he had been.

            And because he would never know, he climbed to his feet with a deadly wrath against Potter in his heart, and all the more determination to succeed in the tasks that the Dark Lord had assigned him. Potter couldn't stop him, wouldn't stop him. No one would. He would finish his task and succeed to highest acclaim. He had to.

            His mother's life and his own pride depended on it, and Draco, watching that mixture of thoughts, knew that Malfoy himself could not have said which was more important to him.

*

            "Surrender, old man."

            Malfoy had imagined those words coming out as more dramatic, Draco knew. To Draco's experienced ear, it sounded as though the wind simply caught them and whipped them away. And the Headmaster, braced against the wall of the Tower, his hands spread out as though to keep himself from toppling, his face green and grey with pain, only smiled at him.

            "There still might be sanctuary found for you, Draco," he breathed, and Draco flinched back before he remembered that no one here could possibly know who he was and how he had come there, that he was there only as an observer. "If you would lower your wand and come to our side, we will treat you better than the Dark Lord would. Did you think he intended to leave you alive, that you were not to be punished for your mother's trying to find some way out for you? Or for your father's betrayal during the years since the war?"

            "My father was not a traitor!" Malfoy's voice soared on the wind this time and snapped like a flying banner. "Stop saying that!" Then he fell silent and bit his lips. Draco could feel the uncertainty there about whether he was talking to Dumbledore or himself.

            "Of course I will, Draco," Dumbledore said. "But you must understand how Voldemort will view it." His eyes flickered to the side, to the curving scar on Malfoy's cheek that he had stared at for hours in the mirror without any idea of how to remove it. The curving dark scar, twisted back on itself like a snake.

            "Shut up!" Malfoy screamed, and lurched a step forwards. Draco, listening through Malfoy's ears that were otherwise preoccupied at the moment, heard pounding footsteps on the steps behind him.

            Oh, please. No. Not this.

            But it was. He had to watch again as Professor Snape killed the Headmaster, and then pulled Malfoy into fleeing, hissing in his ear that he had known what Malfoy was doing all along and that they would be caught and killed if they stayed here. Malfoy didn't even get to enjoy the sight of the Death Eaters in the school, the knowledge that he had let them in, because half of them fought the students and half of them leered at him with horrible knowledge in their eyes.

            Behind them came a different set of footsteps, different from the kind that had pounded up the Tower stairs. Despite the way that Snape pulled at him, trying to get him to run, Malfoy turned around and looked back.

            Potter was coming after them, his head bowed slightly as though against strong wind, his eyes so calm that it made Draco shiver to see them. He had seen Harry look like that when he killed the Dark Lord, and never since. This Harry looked at Snape and cast a single, quiet spell that made the grass between them come alive with snakes.

            It exploded into a duel, the way it had in Draco's memory, but quieter. Harry didn't yell; he simply fought, and dodged Snape's spells, and cast them back, including some spells that Draco knew now came from the Half-Blood Prince's book. When Snape at last flung him back with a Blasting Curse and turned to run into the woods with Malfoy, Draco could see his chest heaving up and down and his face blood-red with rage, and knew that this Harry had surprised Snape.

            And worried him.

            But Malfoy's head still swam with other emotions, and again Draco was grateful for the mist that closed in around them, that spared him from more sights he would undoubtedly have found as painful.

*

            Yami Bakura: Thank you! I hope that you continue to be able to read, and that you're intrigued.

            SP777: Honestly? Because I assumed that a spell like that was stereotypical and a lot of other people had used it. I was sure that I saw it in one story already.

            Talltree-san: Sorry that you had to work on Christmas! I hope your job improves soon.

            I would say that Harry seems more crazy because we really only see his interactions with Young Malfoy. He may be better elsewhere. But yes, he can be crazy-scary.

            jujukitty: Draco will get a few revelations next chapter that may help him to keep the vision and the reality separate.

            Fullmoons_wings: A lot will depend on how Draco handles the revelation that he went on such a trip into an alternate timeframe. Accusing Harry of hiding secrets and pressing him to tell them, when he's been keeping secrets such as his Dark Arts lab in the cellars, would not be helpful.

            moodysavage: Thank you! There may be a delay in the next chapter, too, due to factors I can't control, but I hope it will continue to keep you entertained.
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All Desire in a Day