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Dragon Noir	By : agelessdrake Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1949 -:- 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
- 7
- 8
- 9
"Try to hold the world there sinking swimming in a paper cup
Try to own the one beneath the skin
Held up to the flame 'til singing skin begins to draw and tuck
Never told there's not a chance to win."
~Bittersweet, Fuel

Chapter Seven~
Draco packed his trunk in somber silence, trying not to look over at Blaise, whom he knew was watching him intently as he stowed away his books and scarves. The bulkier Slytherin boy was bundled in his cold weather robes, wrapping them around himself, trying to decide how best to break the ice with the blond.
They hadn't spoken since the incident in the tower room three weeks before Halloween. And the blond was making no signs of wanting to speak now.
"There's a rumor going around," Blaise suddenly uttered. "About you and the Golden Boy. They say you're fucking... Or, more correctly, that he's fucking you."
"What do you say?" Draco murmured towards his belongings, never ceasing his steady movement of item after item into the dark case. Blaise made a slightly indignant sound behind him.
"I'd feel sorry for Potter if you were," he growled. Without turning, or even so much as altering his pace of packing, Draco heard Blaise stand and tromp out the door, slamming it behind him.
The calm facade shattered almost the instance the dark haired Slytherin was out. Draco collapsed to his knees, shaking uncontrollably from the frigid temperatures of the dungeons, and his own fear of returning home for the holidays, and the almost certainty that he would not be coming back after the new year.
There were only a few things still not packed. And it may have been frigid, but it was worth a try, to settle his nerves; Potter and he had spoken lengthily over the ideals of therapeutic flying.
So Draco snatched up his Nimbus 2001 and his warm winter cloak, grasping one of various silver and green scarves and wrapping about his neck.
He got several contemptuous looks as he strode pointedly through the common room and then out into the main dungeon corridors, hurrying out of the cold and out onto the grounds. His breath puffed around his mouth and he snuggled deeply into his scarf, shouldering his broom and wandering towards the pitch.
It appeared he was not the only one fancying an early winter fly. He straddled his broom and pushed off, easily swooping off towards where the other youth was.
There was no mistaking the glint of sunlight off the sparse snow reflecting on thick lenses. Draco sped a little, his hair whipping about him, and he pulled up beside Potter, who looked up at him; he was half lounging on his Firebolt, leaning as though it were quite a bit more substantial than it really was.
"I hear you're leaving for the holidays," he stated blandly. They'd already talked about it, after Draco had risen the guts to speak to Harry after the slight lapse of logical judgment in the tower. But Draco nodded none the less. "Have fun then."
"Bullocks," the blond snarled, making Harry look up again. "You know just as well as I do that I probably won't come back."
"So you came out for one last humorless quip, is that it?" Harry sounded tired, and as he sat up, Draco saw that he did indeed have deep rings under his eyes, hinting at a lack of sleep, or sleep simply plagued by too many nightmares to be substantial.
"I came to say I'm sorry," he gritted. Harry raised a brow very slowly, turning his broom until he was facing Draco, nearly touching thigh-to-thigh. "For... the tower. And being such an arse. And I'm sorry if I tormented you too badly over the years, it's just... Yeah. That's it."
They were silent a long moment, Draco staring at where his hands were clasped one over the other on the stalk of his broom, slowly turning pink with cold. And then Harry's ice cold hand was on his cheek, turning his face towards him, leaning in until their forehead's touched, their steamy breathes mingling between them.
"Apology accepted," Harry murmured, and then closed those last scant inches, gently, tenderly pressing their lips together.
Draco gasped, his lips sliding open. But unlike Blaise, Harry did not instantly press his tongue in, running it tentatively over Draco's plush lower lip instead, coaxing his own tongue out to spar between them. They kissed, any passion at a slow burn, and hovered a hundred feet above the ground.
When they parted, their foreheads still touched, and Harry's hand stayed close to his face; it felt even colder as Draco flushed, his cheeks burning brightly. The dark haired Seeker chuckled, and ran his thumb along the blond's lower lip.
"I'm sorry I didn't do that sooner," he whispered, his breath warm and wafting over Draco's lips and chin. "But not that sorry."
"Are you saying I'm a bad kisser?" Draco demanded, though the edge on his words was not one of skepticism, but rather one of husky, growing arousal. Harry leered a little.
"Maybe I am, Malfoy. What're you gonna do about it?"
~~~
Harry was distant at dinner that evening. Seamus leaned over his own meal a little to stretch a hand in front of the dark haired boy's face, waving it and snapping a few times. Finally, emerald eyes snapped into focus and trained themselves through thick lashes on the Irish boy.
"Huh?"
"How was Tahiti, Harry?"
The dark haired boy sighed and scowled a little at the Irish youth, before standing, leaving his plate of half eaten food as he practically stormed out of the Great Hall.
Everything was crashing down around him. Six, almost seven years of rivalry, altered in one moment, as they hovered above the ground on brooms, and leaned towards each other, breath mingling, almost sickly sweet, as though from some bad romance movie, and now here he was, brooding over the fact that that was all he'd given.
He could feel Draco - no, Malfoy, for it was so much easier to forget and hate what he'd done if it wasn't 'Draco' he was talking about - and the warmth from his lithe frame. Three kisses they had shared; one compensating for a past of hatred, as Harry had stated, half apologizing for not doing so sooner. One for a present that they had shared so shortly, in the Western tower, between Divinations and Astronomy. And one...
Harry halted on the stairs, and sat heavily. The last one, which they had shared on the ground, which had been far more passionate than the first two, far more... loving, though Harry was loathe to admit that, that last one had been one for a future they knew they woulder her have.
Because MALFOY had left, and the likelihood of him coming back was next to none. Harry sighed heavily, crossing his arms over his knees and leaning his head against them, closing his eyes behind his glasses.
"Harry?"
He looked up at the soft voice to see a tall blond woman with piercing green eyes almost the same shade as his own standing at the bottom of the stares, looking at him with a mix of confusion, apprehension and concern. She wore a lilac dress with a high waist and tall collar; her face and voice was oddly familiar, but distinct, carrying an accent he couldn't quite place.
"Are you alright?" the woman asked. Harry straightened as she moved forward. The lily-sleeve on her left arm was pushed up slightly, and he could just the hinting of a dark tattooing on her fair skin.
He was up in an instance, drawing his wand, almost as though it were a sword, pointing it towards the woman as he moved slowly up the stairs again.
"Stay away from me," he growled, his palm damp with sweat and clenched tightly around the handle of his wand. The woman halted for a moment, her sleeve falling into place, but then she raised her hands slowly, and the Dark Mark was revealed in full. "What do you want?"
"Harry, calm down." The dark haired boy sneered and let off a short peel of slightly hysterical laughter.
"That's a new tactic for the Death Eaters. Trying to calm me into submission. Normally they just start trying to curse me -."
"Harry, put the wand down, and LISTEN to me, damnit!" the woman snarled, and dropped her hands, stalking towards him. Her pretty green eyes flashed, as dangerous as his own; a curse sat lightly on his lips, ready to be spat if she came to close.
His foot sank through the false step and he stumbled, flailing and dropping his wand. The woman made no grab for it, but for him, just as Snape rounded the corner from the corridor that led to the dungeons.
"You," Harry hissed, trying to pull away from the fair, long, fine-boned hands of the blond woman. He glared venomous green death down at the Potions Master. "How could you! Letting other Death Eaters in! And Dumbledore trusted -."
"That is more than enough, Mr Potter," Snape growled, and strode up the steps towards him and the woman. "Sylvana, let him go."
"I was -."
"Let him GO, Miss Rhys, before you make matters worse for yourself." Snape had his hands around Harry's left forearm, and was dragging him out of the false step expertly, setting him down on the one below it. The woman fell back behind him, retrieving his wand; Snape's dark gaze danced between the two. "Explain yourself Potter."
"Why should I?" he hissed back, glaring at the woman. "You could have been more subtle, if you really wanted me dead -."P> &P> "Nobody's going to kill you, you great prat!" the woman snarled, and tugged ruthlessly on her hair.
In an instant, it melted from straight golden blond to thick, wavy brown-black, roiling around her head, as wild as Hermione's. Harry gasped, his eyes wide; even though the eyes were still green, he could no longer mistake the face, and the accent fell into place. He stopped struggling against the hands Snape still had clasped on his arm.
"Professor Luc?" The woman threw up her arms, grumbling something in a language that was slightly guttural, one that Harry didn't know, though he had a feeling she was cursing at him liberally. His gaze differed to Snape, who was scowling slightly. "Is she -?"
"She works for the Order, just like me -."
"Severus," Professor Luc suddenly bit in, twirling her hair around her finger. "Perhaps it would be prudent not to speak of such things in the hallway. My classroom, perhaps, would be a better arena for this... explanation."
~~~
The train ride from Hogwarts had been uneventful. He sat and brooded, staring out the window at the snow that was falling peacefully on the countryside beyond, making the landscape a featureless blanket of pristine blue-white, as pure as a lily.
Draco wanted to bleed, so badly. He wanted to stain that blood, because it reminded him of too many things all at once. And he wanted to forget everything that had transpired that day, from the time Blaise had told him of the rumors concerning himself and Harry - Potter, he reminded himself - until after he had left the pitch, his lips pink and tingling from their shared kisses.
He brought a hand to his lips then, still able to taste just a bit of the minty flavor that was surely either the dark haired Seeker's toothpaste or mouth wash, but perhaps it was gum, sweet and subtle and fresh on his tongue. Running his thin fingers over his plump lower lip, he let his mind wander, and was not surprised that it drifted back to the kisses they had shared, both in the air, and the slower, more heady one on the ground.
At seventeen, he'd never, EVER been kissed like that. He'd never really had girlfriends, too caught up in being the son his parents wanted - perfect and prim and proper all the bloody time - and he'd never really had good friends to experiment with.
The one time he'd tried breaching the subject of homosexuality with his father, the man and scowled, shoved him out of the study with a stern 'Malfoy's aren't bloody poofters'. And the one time with his mother, she'd gone teary eyed, and started rambling on about him becoming like his cousin.
The infamous Sirius Black, almost as infamous as his aunt Andromeda, who had married a Muggle. And now, Draco knew that his cousin was Harry's godfather.
Had been, he reminded himself. He's dead now. As far as anyone can tell.
For a moment, Draco wondered how that would work. Death was pretty much a sure deal: you were dead, or you weren't. But then there WERE ghosts, who were dead, but still around. Is that what Harry had meant, that Sirius Black was a ghost now?
No, because he would have just said that. It was something different.
Draco contemplated the pros and cons of bringing up such a touchy subject as his cousin with his mother as the train streaked along, and the snow continued to fall outside, increasing the drifts.
His mind continued to wander, prodding at avenues he cared not to think about. He had an idea of what this trip home was about: his initiation into the Death Eaters after his birthday in five days¹. But, when he thought about it, the idea truly scared him.
Which brought him to the other reason why he was going home, the reason that Snape and Luc had both talked about with him earlier in the year: that he was in serious danger from his father and the other Death Eaters if he refused the Dark Mark.
So he didn't really have a chose, in the long run. He didn't want to die - and for that, he thought himself a coward, that he couldn't valiantly take his pride and death hand in hand. But, he also didn't want to become a Death Eater. Over the last two years, since the rise of the Dark Lord back into power and his father almost obsessive fall, to try and stay in good graces, he'd seen what could be done to people.
He'd had some of it done to him, trying to 'harden' him, his father had said, to make him a better Wizard.
A flash of memory from his early tutoring years, back when he was a small child, rang through his head.
"Dark magic isn't really dark," the tutor had said. "It's only the intent which marks the magic. If you lock yourself in a room to protect yourself from a monster, it is not a dark act; if you lock someone out of room to hide from a monster, it IS a dark act, though it is still the same act."
His gaze became intent on the glass of the window, and he suddenly stood, reaching into the smallest of his bags; his owl blinked open one eye and hooted at him tiredly, before ruffling his wings and settling back down. Draco rummaged through the bag a moment, before pulling out the object he'd been searching for.
It still remained in it's box, though he could almost feel through thrum of energy. Very slowly, he pried up the lid, and peered inside at the small crimson sphere, feeling light radiate from it and bath his face a blood red color.
Slowly, he reached in and pulled it out, cradling it in his palms, staring at it. Very distantly, he could hear the burble of voices, though he wasn't sure how.me ome of them were louder than others, as though he were hearing distant conversations through doors or across a room.
As he intently stared, he let his mind slowly sift through the various voices, probing them softly, trying to figure out what they were saying. Finally, he fell on one he recognized, one he almost instantly placed as being that of the Weasel.
At first it was a jumble of muttering, all whirling around. Draco felt his eyes droop shut as he concentrated on the voice, trying to make sense of the sound.
With a few of the things came little images. Some of the things were memories - he could tell after he sifted through them, because he saw the incident of fourth year when he'd been turned into a ferret. But as he wadedoughough the murmurings, he eventually came to the forefront of them.
As he did, he found himself seeing a fine sight. Looking through Ronald Weasley's eyes, he found himself looking at Hermione Granger, who was talking softly towards her hands. Beside her sat 'Loony' Luna Lovegood, and beside the Weasel was his sister, the little redhead girl, Ginny.
And suddenly, he realized he could hear them all talking.
" -thing wrong with him?" Luna was saying, lowering her magazine onto her lap and curling one leg under her. Hermione was running a hand through her bushy hair.
"I don't know. He hasn't been himself lately."
"Not since he's been talking with the Ferret Face," Ron growled, and it seemed a little odd to hear, since Draco was basically sitting IN him, hearing this all. Ginny gave her brother a long look. "What?"
"I think it's good that they've gotten past their petty rivalries and are acting like civilized human beings," she stated. Ron snorted, a very undignified sound, which made Draco want to cringe.
"So long as the pasty git doesn't try anything," the redhead boy snarled darkly, and stared down at his toes. The girls exchanged a glance, which he caught. "What!?"
"Hiding something, Ronnie?" Ginny murmured, a blush on her cheeks, as she giggled a little. Luna had a knowing look on her face. Hermione was surveying the boy softly, as though she was suddenly worried over his response.
"Hey, Harry can be as... poffish as he wants. Just not with the Ferret."

"Ron," Hermione murmured. She was chewing her bottom lip almost coquettishly, looking at him through half lowered lids. Draco could almost feel Ron blush at the look, and saw him shift his gaze to his sister and her friend.
"Get lost," he bit. Ginny huffed, but did as she was told. Luna did so reluctantly. When both had left, he turned his gaze back to the Mudblood. "So... what do you want to know?"
"I heard you talking with Harry, that night you said you didn't know where he was, near the very beginning of the year." This time, Draco could feel the heat recede; he almost cackled, glad to be eavesdropping now. Surely he was about to dig up something good.
"How much -."
"That doesn't matter. I've been watching Harry since then, and... I don't think you have a right to judge his feelings on Malfoy."
"Hermione... please tell me you did not just put 'feelings', 'Harry' and 'Malfoy' all together in one sentence." She flushed slightly, and moved from her spot across from him to sit beside him. Through Ron's body, he felt the girl hold the redhead's hand, and had the sudden urge to get away. This was NOT what he'd been hoping to find out.
"I'm just saying... It's Harry's choice who he has feelings for. We shouldn't be saying judgmental things about that."
Draco immediately pulled away. Surely he hadn't heard that. Suddenly, he was aware of how warm his upper lip was, and his hands. As he moved the orb, he saw way.
And angry, maddening red burn had infused itself onto his fair skin, blazing and glaring at him, laughing. He stretched his hands slightly, and cringed at how the skin pulled madly. slowly, he brought his hand up to his upper lip.
A small dab of blood graced his fingers when he pulled them away.

TBC~
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Dragon Noir