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Broken Dreams	By : Queenie_Mab Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3557 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from Harry Potter, created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Raincoast. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
~***~

When he comes around, Draco's head is throbbing. He's lying naked on his bed with Blaise standing over him at his bedside. His limbs are heavy and he struggles to move them, but they are weighed down by a spell; he can't escape or fight back.

"Where is my mother?" Draco manages to ask. Even his tongue is thick and heavy in his mouth.

"Don't worry your pretty little head over trivialities, Draco. She's no longer your concern. Now I think it's time for you to prepare yourself for an excellent send-off. Apparently coming while you choke multiplies the pleasure a great deal. Unfortunately for you, it will be the last thing you will ever feel."

Draco's eyes roll up slowly to Blaise. "What happened to you?" he asks. "Where did the Blaise Zabini that I knew go?"

Blaise climbs onto the bed, crawling over to straddle Draco's thighs. His hands rest on Draco's chest. They are warm and dry and, try as he might, Draco's arms are too heavy to move to push him off.

Blaise's eyes bore into Draco's, now dark pools of black, cold like empty tunnels; there is no glimmer of warmth left in them.

"You never really knew me, lover," Blaise says; his voice purrs, though the shiver it sends through Draco's spine is no longer pleasure-inducing. It makes Draco's skin break out in goosebumps, his hairs standing on end. "You were the first I made the promise bond with, but you weren't the only one, and neither was Amanda. I studied abroad. My mother has houses in several countries. I have always had a taste for foreign delights."

Draco's stomach clenches as Blaise moves his hands down his chest, finding his flaccid cock and fondling it and his balls. "If I could move, you wouldn't have hands to touch me with, Blaise," Draco says through gritted teeth.

"I know," Blaise answers, sounding bored. He backs down Draco's legs, slipping his fingers under Draco's balls and teasing his hole. "I will miss this. You always had such a tight little hole. But now that I know Potter's cock has sullied it …" He pulls his hands free and climbs backwards off the bed. "… such a waste."

Draco watches Blaise retrieve his wand from his bedside table. He feels his heart jump into his throat, desperate to draw this out just a bit. He holds on to the hope that Boot sent a message to the Aurors and that they may be on their way. He knows it's a long shot, but he needs to cling to something.

"What is it about Potter that offends you so much, Blaise? I always thought you couldn't give two shits about him one way or another."

Blaise smacks his palm with his wand, frowning at Draco, his eyebrows furrowing. "I don't give two shits about Potter, but unfortunately for him, he needs to learn to listen to his superiors when they tell him to back off." He moves his gaze to meet Draco's eyes, his lips curling into a malignant smirk. "You needn't worry about that now, Draco. I'll take care of your precious Auror soon enough. But now. It's time." He points his wand at Draco's chest. "Imperio."

A wave of calm floods Draco's nervous system, and Blaise's voice, not the cold heartless one he's been using, but the voice Draco loved, trusted, fills his head. It's in his head, rather than his ears. Everything will be all right. Touch yourself.

It's natural to follow such a gentle suggestion. Draco does, slipping his hand down his own chest to find his cock. It stirs to the sound of the voice in his head.

It feels good to let go of your control, doesn't it? Stroke yourself into hardness. That's right. You're doing so well.

Encouraged by the praise, Draco loses himself in sensation. His cock is hard in his hand, his limbs no longer heavy. He feels as if he's being supported by a cloud, floating, perfectly cradled in a warm embrace that supports every inch of his body. The light feeling it gives his body runs deeper still. It embraces his very soul. Giving himself over to the weightlessness of not having to worry any longer, of not having to meet demands or rise up to expectations is the best he's felt in the whole of his existence. And the fact that the voice is spurring him on to sexual release is divine. There is absolutely no reason to resist anything the voice asks of him.

He strokes himself, growing harder, cock leaking, mouth panting, allowing slight moans of pleasure to come as they will.

Stop now, pet. There, there. You will get to come very soon and it will blow your mind and make your world. That's what you want, isn't it?

He nods helplessly, wanting to continue to chase his orgasm to its finish, but wanting more, the praise from the voice. That is everything. The voice: it is his world now.

There is a tie fastened to the headboard, Draco. Slip it over your head, just over your jugular.

It's an odd command, but Draco follows, eager to be allowed to touch himself again. He is so close to coming, he's surprised it hasn't happened on its own, to the caress of the voice. The tie is tight on his throat; it makes it difficult to breathe.

That's a good boy. Now stroke yourself again. Bring that fat cock of yours over to the ultimate release. I love seeing you like this: laid bare and wanton, ready to come at my command.

Draco pulls on his cock, his heart hammering against his breastbone, lips tingling with numbness. The air he can pass is so shallow, his lungs scream inside his chest, but the orgasm, it's right there, just out of reach. Close, closer, he's so near now. His vision goes dark, but it doesn't matter, he's probably just closed his eyes, sparks explode in his sight and when he comes, it explodes out of him with a force that sounds like a shout. Like an Expelliarmus! and Draco knows no more.

~***~

Voices. There are voices. Draco can hear them, just beyond his reach, though once he's recognised them for what they are, it's as if somebody has tuned the station on the wireless and they sharpen, allowing him to understand them. He's so heavy. He's got to be dead, or in another Body-Bind. He wiggles his toe. It does move, though it's slow. Not a Body-Bind then.

The toe wiggle took a lot of energy. He rests a moment. He'll try to move again in a little while, but for now… now he'll listen to the voices.

"I've told you already, I will not leave his side. We can have the debriefing in here. If you take issue with that, I'll hand in my resignation and you can take up my grievance with the Minister for Magic!"

That voice is loud. It's shouting. He knows it, though. The person it belongs to, his name is just out of Draco's reach. It's on the tip of his tongue.

"Potter, honestly. There is no need for dramatics."

Oh yeah. That's who it is. Potter. Harry Potter. Draco wants to smile, but it's too hard. Potter is at his bedside, though, and refuses to leave. The fact makes Draco feel giddy.

The second voice grows fainter. The man must have stepped away a moment.

There's a hand touching his face. The caress is soft, but the fingers are rough and calloused. Those must be Potter's fingers. They move off his face as quickly as they had began touching.

Another voice joins the conversation. Draco is waking up more; he focusses his ears on catching what the new voice is saying.

"The evidence is enough to convict, Auror Robards. I have the thief in custody."

That voice, it brings to mind red hair and freckles. It belongs to Potter's partner, Weasley. Of course it does. The thief. Draco wants to know who this thief is.

"Who is it?" Robards asks, his voice is gruff, but he sounds impressed. Draco can hear the sounds of papers shuffling. Weasley must have passed his boss evidence of some sort.

"Zacharias Smith." That was Potter again. "The slimy git went to school with us. He was in Hufflepuff."

"Always was a turncoat," Weasley puts in. "We cornered him a couple of hours ago. He'd cut his hand on the artefact and I used his blood to track him down. Didn't put up a fight at all. Told me everything I asked. Seemed more afraid of Zabini than of me ..."

"What did he say regarding Zabini?" Robards asks.

"Zabini hired him to rob the museum after he checked the Auror schedule to make sure Harry was on duty. He was to trigger the alarm, wait for Harry to chase him, and Disapparate, bringing Harry to Zabini's secure location. That warehouse in Devon was his base, the Muggle one." Weasley takes a deep breath. Draco can hear it from where he lies. His ears are on high alert. He's desperate to know what had happened after that. He'd been there; he'd been cursed, but how?

"Zabini was there under a Disillusionment Charm. He hit Harry with the curse and Smith took off when I showed up. I sent for a Healer and followed him. Then, when Malfoy arrived, Zabini cursed him too."

Weasley stops talking again and Draco stretches his hearing as far as he can. He needs to know what's happening. How did he get to be lying here? Where is here? St Mungo's? He wishes Potter would speak, or touch him again.

As if Potter can hear his thoughts, Draco feels him place a warm and strong hand on top of Draco's hand. His hand is resting on top of his stomach. The touch grounds him, helps orientate him to his body, and differentiate between what he feels in this head-space and what his body feels like interacting with the real world.

"The thing that doesn't make sense to me, though," Weasley says thoughtfully, "is why Zabini was targeting Harry and Malfoy in the first place. I mean, I thought he and Malfoy were mates, and I've never heard of anything to suggest he'd have a grudge against Harry. He's not on our list of former Death Eaters."

Potter squeezes Draco's hand and holds tight. His thumb brushes Draco's thumb in a soothing gesture.

Draco longs to return it, to move his hand, to let Potter know he's thankful for the kindness, but the weight that's settled in his chest at the mention of Blaise's intentions makes trying to move even harder to fathom. His Healer training tells him his lack of physical response, his inability to fully wake is related to shock.

He can feel the emotion in Potter's voice as he speaks wash over him like a kiss. He almost misses what Potter is saying.

"…formed a promise bond with Draco. He did the same with Amanda Davies and while her death was reported as an accidental Splinching, the fact is that Zabini is the only person to corroborate the story isn't a good sign. He's had promise bonds that have ended in his partner's deaths in other countries as well, and he knows I'm aware of them."

"What?" Robards booms, making Draco's heart skip a beat. "Potter, if you had information related to this case and did not disclose it…"

"Hold it," Potter snaps. "I didn't know that Zabini related to this case at all until a few hours ago, when I learned of Amanda Davies's death." Draco catches a hint of danger in the undertones of Potter's voice. "I showed you the evidence, didn't I? Brought forward by the father of one of the women who died? And what did you tell me? That it was out of our jurisdiction. And that the man needed to get his own country's Aurors to deal with it."

The accusation that it is Robards' responsibility hangs, unspoken, in the air. Draco feels the hairs on the backs of his arms stand on end. Could this be true? The boy he'd so foolishly fallen in love with had grown to become a serial murderer? Did Potter actually have evidence that proved it before the recent attacks happened? Surely murder would have been enough of a reason for Aurors from different countries to collaborate their resources.

Draco can hear Robards clear his throat gruffly.

"I will revisit the report at the office. With the new evidence, it will reflect poorly on our department if we don't open the case up to the other involved parties."

Potter's grip on his hand is making his fingers numb. Draco focusses on moving them a bit, to signal to Potter to lighten up.

"He's moving!" Potter exclaims. "Ron, get the Healer in here."

Draco hears Robards excuse himself, and then Draco opens his eyes. It's only a crack at first, as the glare from the lights is bright. Potter's worried face swims into focus in front of him. He's still holding Draco's hand.

Draco swallows, wincing at the pain in his throat. He struggles to speak, to tell Potter he's being overly dramatic again, but all that comes out is a rasping croak.

"Don't try to speak." It's a new voice. Draco blinks a few times, while Potter's hand pulls away, and a Healer shines her wand in Draco's eyes.

He tries to relax and allow her to do her examination, but his heart races. He can't talk. His throat hurts like hell, and if his voice box was damaged, it's possible he'll never be able to speak again.

His whole body feels rigid now, petrified. How badly off is he? His eyes find Potter's. They hold. Potter isn't going to let anything more happen to him. He can see it there, and while his first instinct is to want to roll his eyes and shrug off the gesture, he holds onto the promise in those eyes, and forces himself to relax while the Healer finishes her scan.

"Healer Malfoy," she says at last, and Draco moves his eyes to meet hers. "I'm Healer McIntyre. You're in the recovery ward at St Mungo's."

Draco inclines his head slightly, to show his acknowledgement. He isn't stupid. He'd figured out where he was ages ago. He lifts his hand slowly to touch his throat. His fingers find a magical barrier there.

"You were strangled, Healer," she says. Her expression is sympathetic, but not off-putting. Draco is relieved he's not being treated by somebody he knows from school. He remembers what Blaise did. What he was made to do. His face burns. "My scans show no permanent damage. There's still a lot of swelling, which is why you can't speak."

The relief that washes over him is immense. He feels his eyes grow wet and closes them, before anybody else notices.

"Can you give us a minute?" Potter asks, though Draco isn't sure if he's speaking to the Healer or his partner. He hears the sounds of feet shuffling and the door closing and opens his eyes again.

Potter looks troubled. Draco raises his eyebrows and cocks his head, wondering what Potter has to say for himself.

"I'm … um. I've been an idiot."

Draco can't keep the smirk from playing on his lips. It's about time Potter admitted his idiocy aloud. He blinks, waiting for Potter to elaborate.

Potter tugs on his hair, making the already hopeless mess even messier, but Draco can't help but find the gesture endearing.

"The bond between you and Zabini was dissolved a long time ago. I checked. It broke when he bonded with somebody else, and he did that in at least two other countries before Amanda Davies." He stops talking, and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He looks nervous.

Draco reaches a hand out to him, and Potter takes it, squeezing tight. His eyes meet Draco's again.

"I felt it too… the other night. Fuck, How could I not? I'd like to … um, that is …" He takes a deep breath and lets it out through his mouth. "Can we start over? I mean, not from the beginning, obviously, but you know, like pretend I didn't freak out and act like a complete berk?"

Draco can't stop the smile from coming, though he does attempt it, resulting, he's sure, in making him look constipated, but Potter seems to understand that he's being forgiven. Draco's impulse to make Potter work a bit harder to earn his forgiveness wars with his ultimate relief that Potter does want him. He pushes it away. Now isn't the time for taking chances; it's time for honesty.

He smiles as Potter smashes his lips against Draco's, before pulling away suddenly.

"Shit! I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Draco rolls his eyes, hand moving to hold Potter's head in place. He pulls Potter back down and sweeps his tongue across Potter's mouth, relishing the wet heat as Potter responds.

Their mouths move in tandem, joined again in sweetness, and Draco has never been more thankful in his life to be alive. His body thrums with life, waking up to respond to Potter's touch, no longer stiff and heavy, but smooth and pliant.

Potter breaks the kiss a moment, still close enough that Draco can feel his breath. "Is there anything I can do? To make you more comfortable?"

Draco catches Potter's hand which lingers on his shoulder and shoves it under his blanket so it's touching his cock: his now hard, fully alert and responsive cock.

Draco stops Potter's chuckle by swallowing it, taking his lips again in another desperate kiss.

"Bugger fuck!" Weasley's exclamation sounds from across the room, making Potter stiffen and Draco croak at being interrupted.

They look towards the door where Weasley stands, his face splotchy and confused.

"I'll just … Uh. Robards wants to finish the debrief back at the office," Weasley says, his words tumbling over each other. "Meet you back there soon, Harry, yeah?"

Potter nods at his partner and Weasley closes the door again.

"May I have my hand back?" Potter asks teasingly.

Draco sighs and releases his grip around Potter's wrist, but Potter doesn't immediately move his hand. He pushes up against the calloused palm, shuddering as Potter's fingers stroke his balls.

"I really hate to leave you like this," Potter says, pouting at the glare Draco sends his way. "But your mother has been waiting to see you."

Draco stops pressing into Potter's hand at these words and Potter withdraws it. "She's all right. A bit shaken up. They gave her a Calming Draught and a Cheering Charm, and she's resting in the next room over, but I told her I'd fetch her as soon as you woke up."

He mouths the words thank you.

"I'll get her for you, and then I really do need to finish up with Robards. You'll be all right?"

Draco rolls his eyes again and blows his fringe out of his face in mock-annoyance, pleased to see that Potter has to readjust his trousers when he stands up.

"I'll be back to see you soon, I promise."

~***~

He's in Potter's memory again. Potter and Weasley stand before the doors of Malfoy Manor, dressed in Auror robes with their wands at the ready.

"Ready?" Weasley murmurs lowly.

Potter releases a nervous breath. Draco can feel his limbs shake, the cold sweat pouring down his back, and the strength he draws on to override his fear from within. It's a feeling of intense guilt and outright terror. Potter points his wand at the front door, and levels it with a nonverbal Reductor Curse. Weasley covers the sound of the blast with a Silencing Charm, and they sprint forwards into the foyer, the dust settling around them like ashes from an eruption.

Narcissa stands in front of the credenza, looking at her reflection in the wall mirror. Draco cringes inwardly as Potter spots her. It's as if she doesn't notice the door has just been blasted open or even that there are Aurors in her house.

"Mrs Malfoy," Potter says, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

She turns to look at him, her blue eyes glassed over.

"Imperiused," Weasley says, and points his wand at her. "Finite."

"Where's Draco?" Potter says, as Narcissa comes back to herself. Her forehead creases and her eyes widen and clear, as if a film has been lifted off them. Draco's mind reels with a sick feeling, as if he'd been knocked in the chest with a bludger. He knows what this is. He doesn't want to see what happened from Potter's perspective.

"Draco?" She asks, then her face fills with fear, the realisation of what's happened crashing over her. She clutches Potter's arm. "Up the stairs to the left. Third door on the right. Hurry."

Against his will, Draco watches as Potter and Weasley rush up the long flight of stairs to the first landing and down the carpeted hallway of his house. The looks the paintings of Malfoy ancestors throw at Potter and Weasley as they pass fill Draco with even more dread. He knows his family has never been one that is particularly kind to outsiders, but he's never experienced being on the receiving end of their disdain before, and he doesn't like it.

Too soon, Potter is at his bedroom door. Draco is forced to pay attention to what is happening, no matter how much he longs to retreat into his own mind and just let the memory come to an end.

Potter sends Weasley some sort of hand signal that Draco doesn't understand, and then kicks the door in.

The sight that meets him makes Draco want to vomit. He's looking at himself, bound to his bed with a Gryffindor school tie wrapped around his neck and fastened to the headboard, his face is purple and his eyes bulging. He's about ready to come.

"Expelliarmus! Potter cries, pointing his wand at Blaise, who hasn't even had time to turn from where he's looming over Draco. Draco sees his wand fly from Blaise's hand and Potter catches it, sending a Body-Bind at Blaise and then a Severing Charm at the tie around Draco's neck.

Draco hears Weasley enter the room and send a Patronus to the Auror department while Potter rushes to Draco's bedside, tearing the remnants of the tie off his ruined neck and smearing his hand in the come cooling on Draco's chest as he searches for a heartbeat.

"Don't you even fuck of think of dying, Draco," Potter says, and Draco realises Potter is crying.

He's not sure what happens next, only that Potter has found his pulse and chokes back a sob in relief. Potter wraps his body in a blanket and picks him up as if he weighs nothing.

"I'm Apparating him to St Mungo's," Potter tells Weasley.

"Isn't that Malfoy's old wand?" Weasley asks, pointing at the wand Potter has dropped on the bed, the one he disarmed from Blaise.

Potter spots it, and Draco feels the chill seeping through Potter's spine, the pure white anger. Draco knows that if Potter wasn't cradling his body, he'd be killing Blaise barehanded. But Potter just swallows hard. "Yes. Take it into evidence."

He Disapparates without sparing a glance at Blaise.

~***~

When Draco wakes up again, it's with a jolt.

Potter is there at his side, asleep in a chair.

Draco sits up in bed and lifts his hands to feel his throat. The magical binding has been lifted and he clears his throat, testing the pain. There is none.

"Hey," Potter says.

Draco looks at him where's he's blinking blearily.

"How are you feeling?"

"Um," Draco says, relieved to hear the sound come from his mouth as he hoped it would. "I've been better."

Potter stands up and moves to sit beside Draco on the edge of the bed. He's still in St Mungo's.

"Zabini is in Azkaban. He'll be tried before the Wizengamot."

Draco meets Potter's eyes, so relieved that Potter is still here. That he wasn't entirely put off by what Zabini did. But then, he is Harry Potter. He's lived through worse and come out ahead.

"He had my wand," Draco says. "I don't understand. How'd he get it?"

Potter runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends the way he tends to do when he's frustrated or nervous. "He was the top investor for the building of the war museum. He was the collector that we were protecting. Turns out he thought your wand was the Elder Wand." Potter shakes his head, frowning. "I had hoped that the news of the Elder Wand's role in Voldemort's downfall would have not been published. But rumours spread, you know? Very few people know what really happened."

Draco waits to make sure Potter is finished speaking. "So, the real Elder Wand," Draco says at last. "It's protected?"

Potter smirks, or tries to anyway. "It's hidden where nobody will find it. Don't worry about that." He reaches out and touches Draco's cheek with his hand. The touch is familiar and good. Draco longs to close his eyes and pull Potter on top of him, but the memory of being intimate with Potter the last time resurfaces, and Draco narrows his eyes.

"If you think that under your pillow is a safe hiding place, Potter, you're more daft than Dumbledore was being buried with it."

Potter's face flushes, but he doesn't stop looking into Draco's eyes. "Right. So, uh …"

Potter sounds like an idiot again. It's a far cry from the hero taking control that Draco had witnessed him being in his last memory.

"These memories," Draco says, watching Potter breathe easier now that he wasn't expected to be the one directing the conversation. "I saw what you did, when you saved me. I just woke up from it."

"Yeah," Potter says, his hand grips Draco's on the bed. "I saw it too … from your viewpoint." Potter's mouth turns down in a frown, and Draco sees the spark of fire in Potter's eyes. "He's going to pay for what he did. I promise you that."

"You're hurting my hand," Draco says, and Potter releases him, as if he's been burned.

"Sorry." Potter worries his lower lip with his teeth. "Um, I talked to an Unspeakable a bit ago. You know, about the incident." He doesn't elaborate, but breathes sharply out from his nose. "The bloke suggested that the reason we're seeing each other's memories is because Zabini cursed us with a wand that recognises both of us as its master. Well, he said that the blood and magic that mixed when we were sliced open probably had something to do with it too, but… I don't know. He said that it might be that it will take performing the counter-curse with the same wand will reverse it, or we may just be stuck this way."

Draco leans back on his pillow. It's adorable how flustered Potter is acting, but too, he's not sure how much Potter wants as far as pursuing a relationship, or really anything. He clears his throat.

"I'm wondering what you want to do now, Potter," Draco says. "I mean, as far as you and me are concerned."

Potter's forehead furrows, as if he can't understand why Draco would wonder such a thing.

"Call me Harry," he says.

"Harry," Draco repeats. It feels strange on his tongue, but he supposes it is time to start thinking of him that way, if Potter, or Harry rather, wants to move forwards.

"I want to get to know you more. I'd like to, um…" Harry's face flushes.

"What?" Draco asks, teasing. "You want to bend me over and fuck me senseless again?"

Harry's face burns redder, but he's smiling. "Yeah, or something like that. I wouldn't be opposed to you doing it to me again either."

Now Draco feels his own face growing hot. "When will they let me out of here?" he asks, surprised at the huskiness in his voice.

"I'll go and ask, shall I?" Harry stands up.

Draco smirks at the tent in Harry's trousers.

~***~

Draco's body is on fire. Harry has him right where he wants to be, flat on his back in Harry's bed with his legs in the air and Harry on top of him, in between them, their hard cocks slipping together in their joined hands slicked with lube.

"Fuck, I'm close," Harry pants as a droplet of sweat falls from his temple and splashes on Draco's stomach.

Draco tenses, then moves his hand to grip Harry's erection hard at the base, preventing him from moving.

"Not yet, you bastard. I want this inside me right now."

Harry groans, and pulls back, sitting on his knees. Draco's feet find the mattress, and Harry spreads his legs, holding onto his knees. He's not looking at Draco's hole, however, and Draco's cock leaks even more pre-come from his slit onto his hand. "Well?" Draco demands.

"I want this, you, forever," Harry says, his eyes fixed on Draco's.

Draco huffs, trying not to let the flush that rising inside him colour his face. He strokes his cock with a few slow pulls, but Harry's not looking. He's waiting.

"I'm not interested in a promise bond, if that's what you're asking."

"I'm not," Harry says, too quickly.

Draco furrows his brows, wondering what the fuck Harry is doing dicking around with him when they could be fucking. Does Harry not want him enough to want to bond with him?

"I mean. I want to make you a not-promise."

There he goes, being an idiot again. "What, Potter?" Draco says, his erection waning. "What do you promise not to do?"

Harry raises an eyebrow at the quick return to his last name, but doesn't let it stop him from answering. He puts his hand back on Draco's cock, and nudges at Draco's hole with the tip of his cock, still locked at the eyes.

"I promise not to marry anybody, except you, if you agree."

And that sounds too good to be true but, knowing Harry is practically incapable of being anything other than true, Draco goes for it. "I agree, if you show me you mean it, right now."

Harry does just that.

The End
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Broken Dreams