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Loup-garou	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8099 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Eight—At the Dawn

            You made a mistake.

            Harry grimaced and rolled over in bed, staring at the ceiling again. He’d gone directly to sleep after his conversation with Malfoy yesterday, even if it meant that he wouldn’t be able to sleep much the next night. He simply didn’t want to deal with his guilt or the thousand second thoughts that he knew were going to plague him. He dug his fingers into his sheets and huffed out a small gust of breath.

            This voice in his head now wasn’t Malfoy’s, because Malfoy wouldn’t have tried to convince him that his oath was a mistake. It was the voice of his conscience, the same one that had condemned him when he made a mistake on an Auror case that took two lives, the same one that tried and convicted him of complicity in killing Robards and torturing Malfoy.

            But as he lay there, with the usual litany pouring through his head and his thoughts running in multiple directions, Harry decided one thing. He was tired of the guilt. Malfoy was right about that much. It would have been useful if it had served to keep him from making mistakes again, but it didn’t. He had done something arguably worse than his first crime not long after the first one happened. At least killing those two people in the fire had been, at bottom, an accident, not a deliberate act.

            And what would happen if he spent the rest of his life tormenting himself about using Dark Arts? Would that keep him from reaching for one of those spells if his life was in danger?

            Absolutely not.

            Harry ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth, and then grimaced and cast a charm that should freshen his breath. He was irritated with himself, with his friends, with the world, with Malfoy. But now that Malfoy had told him the way that he saw Harry’s actions, Harry discovered that he couldn’t unsee it.

            I can’t trust everything Malfoy says. He’s trying to get me into his bed. He would say anything and everything that he thought would accomplish that.

            But he remembered that Malfoy had been baffled by Harry’s guilt over the fire from his first days in Fox Valley, and he hadn’t once acted as if he thought that murdering Robards was worthy of a punishment.

            That really was the way Malfoy thought and felt. The accident was an accident, to him, and killing Robards was revenge. Neither was worth spending the rest of his life in mourning.

            Harry gave a sudden, small smile. I don’t think Malfoy would know what spending the rest of his life in mourning meant.

            Did you think of me, my Harry? I can feel you when you do that.

            Harry clenched his fists together. The responding surge of adrenaline in his blood felt absurdly good. He tried not to think of that as he bent his mind sternly against Malfoy. Did you make any progress on a way to destroy the Mark?

            I have come up with ways to weaken it. Malfoy didn’t have any emotion in his voice for a moment, though Harry thought that was partially because he paused as if to let some impact sink in. Then he continued, But to come up with a way to remove it completely without you dying, I need to touch it.

            You can do that from this distance. Harry reached up and let his hand hover over the Mark. He wasn’t about to remove his shirt so he could see it. He simply had no interest in doing so.

            Not—as such, Malfoy said. I need to touch it physically. I need you to meet with me.

            How do I know this isn’t a trap to trick me into surrendering? Harry rose to prowl around the room. His body, his head, both were restless. Small jerks and twitches assaulted his muscles in the way that they assaulted his thoughts.

            I swore an oath that I would remove the Mark, Malfoy said patiently. Since you’ll go on resenting me and wanting to escape until I do so, it would be best for all of us if I did it quickly.

            Harry tilted his head in reluctant agreement. He could understand what Malfoy was saying; he just didn’t think those were the only motivations that the bastard had. I pick the time and place, he said.

            Of course, Malfoy murmured. Among other things, I have no idea what your schedule of eating with, talking with, and accepting moral punishment from your friends is, so I don’t know how to plan around that.

            Harry drew in a thick breath, and then released it in what wasn’t a growl, but only because he thought that might be a bit undignified. They’re not punishing me.

            From what I can feel from you, they’re making you uncomfortable, Malfoy said calmly. And you haven’t said anything about their standing with you to oppose me, and there’s no indication that they know what sort of bargain we’ve made. I could be wrong; it’s been known to happen before. Not often—

            Your arrogance is so hard it could cut diamonds.

            Malfoy laughed. I’m glad to have you around, so that you can tell me when I might sound arrogant to someone else. I honestly don’t notice, most of the time.

            The truth, Harry thought in gloom, was that he probably didn’t. And he did sound genuinely excited about having someone around to correct him. Things like that would make it hard for Harry to hate him, although he knew it was necessary that he do so.

            Am I wrong about your friends? Malfoy’s voice had the ring of curiosity in it now, no more.

            But Harry could never trust that. He said, Hermione’s researching ways to help me get rid of the Mark. They both know more than you think they do.

            And about our bargain?

            Harry said nothing. It had never even occurred to him to speak to Ron and Hermione about that, and he was wondering now why it hadn’t. Could Malfoy implant some sort of command in his mind that would keep him silent on that subject, at least for as long as he wore the Mark?

            Where do you want to meet? Apparently Malfoy would let the topic go if he found no interesting baiting material in it.

            I’ll have to think about it, Harry said. But definitely not here. Using Dark Arts around the house could get Ron and Hermione into trouble with the Australian Ministry.

            Of course that’s the only reason. Malfoy’s voice was loud and merry in Harry’s head. Very well, think about it. I’ll continue experimenting, but as I said, I don’t think I can go further until—

            Until you’ve touched me, right, Harry snapped. I understood that the first time. You don’t need to keep repeating it.

            There was a long pause, and then Malfoy spoke in a slow, gentle way, as though he was trying to soothe a child who was afraid of the dark to sleep. I didn’t say anything about touching you. I said something about touching the Mark, yes. Interesting that you would equate the two, or think that I was.

            Harry snarled in Malfoy’s direction and shut down a wall across his thoughts as firmly as he could. Then he put his head in his hands and breathed for a few moments. He wondered if he could put up with Malfoy even for as long as it would take to remove the Mark, never mind the length of time that creating magic together would take.

            Then he shook his head. He’d already sworn the oath, so he was committed to put in that time whether or not he wanted to.

            Gradually, his heart calmed, and he remembered something else Malfoy had said—not in this most recent conversation, but before, in the conversations that Harry still remembered with a flinch and a shaking head. He had said that they could work on creating a haven from guilt, where Harry could make himself into someone who wasn’t a monster, or at least not a monster for his use of Dark Arts.

            I want that, Harry thought, with a sudden sharp longing that went in under his heart like a shard of bone. I’m so tired of this bloody guilt.

            He thought of having breakfast, but the pain was doing its work. He left the house instead, to search for a place where he could meet Malfoy.

*

            Draco leaned back and studied the shimmering map in front of him, then spun his wand. The image spun in response, turning around like a young witch who wanted everyone at the ball to admire her gown.

            Yes. This was the best he could do without touching the Mark, which he knew would have to wait because of Harry’s scruples.

            The image in front of him was a stylized running fox, like the Mark, with its tail raised high and its legs lunging forwards as if it was eager to reach a faraway destination. Draco could see constant, tiny glowing lights strung throughout it. The lights represented the points of magic and connection that he had built into the Mark, points that were meant to keep him and his Marked ones linked even if someone took steps to weaken the bonds.

            He had built the Mark almost too well, he thought ruefully. He had not been able to comprehend why he should ever wish to loosen the bond, and so he had looped in protection spells, binding spells, and spells to lull the unwary Marked one into satisfaction with their slavery, not to mention the original binding to magic and soul, and the hexes that ensured that the Marked ones couldn’t reach out and hurt him through the brand.

            Even now, his fingers twitched on his wand when he thought about destroying such intricate, beautiful work. But then he listened to the swish of the blood in his ears and felt the magic dancing in his veins, and remembered that he would lose them both if he violated his oath. Especially given the power that would come to him when Harry finally conquered the last stages of his reluctance and let himself be with Draco, he had no trouble surrendering the Mark. It was smaller and weaker than the tidal wave he knew he could ride.

            If he was careful. If Harry was biddable. Draco could readily imagine—though he didn’t know if Harry could—the destruction they would unleash if the newly-created magic got out of hand.

            He must be biddable. And he will let me touch him.

            Draco closed his eyes. It had happened several times now, but he had never learned to like the sensation of all the blood rushing from his face to his crotch. He reached down and pressed the heel of his hand tauntingly, teasingly, against himself. He didn’t want to wank again until after he had touched Harry and gained new material for several fantasies.

            Though, from the way his cock twitched in his pants, he didn’t know if he would be able to restrain himself. In fact, one could say something about the satisfaction of a good wank now, so that he would go into the negotiation with Harry crystal-minded and undistracted by petty physical needs. Draco traced one hand around himself and turned to stagger towards the bed.

            Malfoy.

            Draco twisted around, although he knew that Harry was not in the room. Listening to that voice in his head somewhat calmed the throb of his cock. He knew that would get to touch soon, and reality was better than a fantasy. Yes?

            I found a place.

            Draco licked his lips, and then shut them, to keep the saliva from spilling down his chin. It was hard to concentrate on a thought and then shape it so that it would travel down the connection to Harry instead of remaining in Draco’s own head. Strange, Draco thought, but Harry seemed less skilled in reading Draco’s thoughts than Draco was in reading his. But it probably had as much to do with reluctance to explore the bond between them as anything else.

            Where?

*

            Harry looked up from the food in front of him, which he didn’t want but had ordered because sitting in a Muggle restaurant without ordering any would probably irritate someone, and saw Malfoy standing in the doorway.

            Even though Harry had clearly told Malfoy what kind of place he would be coming to when he gave him the Apparition coordinates, the bastard still paused in the middle of the doorway and scanned the room slowly, as if he couldn’t believe it. A few people stared at him; then more did. Malfoy raised his eyebrows, nodded at no one in particular, and strode up to the table where Harry sat.

            “I find your sense of humor juvenile,” he told Harry, and sat down across from him, studying him with a gaze so intense that Harry almost raised a hand to his shoulder, expecting to find lines of blood scored there.

            “Really,” Harry said. “I thought it would give us some pleasant neutral ground.” And keep you from trying too much, he didn’t say or “say,” but he was sure Malfoy was thinking about that. He wouldn’t want to go too far with Harry in front of a crowd.

            Malfoy opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the waiter who bustled up to them, long black hair hanging over his shoulder in a tail. “What do you want?” he snapped, and then sighed and stared at the ceiling. Harry would have put that down to him being an arsehole, most of the time, but given the young age in his face, was more inclined to put it down to him being a teenager.

            Malfoy turned his head and gave the boy a freezing glance. He was good. In less than a second the boy stopped paying attention to the ceiling; in two he’d stumbled back from the table, looking as though he was going to vomit.

            “A quiet meeting with my friend,” Malfoy said.

            “Right,” the boy said, and scrambled away. More people stared at them. Then Malfoy aimed his glare in their direction, and they didn’t.

            Harry rolled his eyes. “We’re going to be watched for the rest of our time here,” he muttered, and picked again at the food. It was red, and messy. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what it was; the same boy had served him, and he’d nodded at some random item to get him to go away as soon as possible.

            “As though Muggles matter,” Malfoy said, leaning closer, but his eyes burned, belying the causal tone. “Were you really afraid that I might try to—rape you, Harry? Is that what you imagined?”

            “You said that you needed to touch the Mark,” Harry said evenly. “Not me. I wanted to bring you to a place that would preserve the distinction.”

            Malfoy showed his teeth. Harry would have had to lay even odds on whether or not it was a smile. Hard to tell. “You’ve thought this out well,” he said, which made Harry blink, because he hadn’t expected a compliment, even in the biting tone that Malfoy used to give it. “Am I going to be permitted to see the Mark, at least?”

            Harry pulled back his shirt sleeve from his shoulder, and Malfoy reached across the table and laid his palm flat on the Mark before Harry could give him permission.

            Harry felt his face heat even further. Everyone really was staring at them now—he’d been exaggerating when he first said that, in the futile hope that he could make Malfoy back away from him out of embarrassment—and he hated it. It reminded him of the days when his name was still well-known and people thought just making eye contact with him would someday be a precious memory. He tried to pull back.

            “Shhhh,” Malfoy murmured. His eyes were half-closed, and he had an odd expression on his face that Harry didn’t understand. He reckoned he could have reached out through the bond that connected them in the Mark and tried to understand that way, but he didn’t want to. Perhaps Malfoy was deep in the throes of contemplation. Harry gritted his teeth, told himself that he should have known Malfoy would be like this no matter where they met, and tried to be still.

*

            He was touching Harry again. Finally.

            It was one thing to reach across the distance and touch him in his mind, or send the sensations of a hand caressing when Harry couldn’t stop him and Draco didn’t have to pay attention to his objections. But it was only a poor substitute for what he had right here, right now, warm flesh and quivering muscle shifting under his palm.

            Oh, Harry.

            He couldn’t have stood up at the moment if he wanted to. The Muggles would have seen his erection, and that was not on. No one should see it, or touch it, again, but Harry. Draco didn’t even want his own hand on it, at least not if he could persuade Harry to lay his there instead.

            Draco licked his lips and forced himself to cast the spell that would reveal the points of light in the physical Mark that corresponded to the ones in the image he’d made. In deference to Harry’s Muggle sensibilities, he kept his wand beneath the table and murmured the spell by barely moving his lips.

            The Mark under his hand grew so warm that Draco wondered if he was burning Harry, but a swift glance showed that Harry was just sitting there, his teeth grinding as if he couldn’t wait for this to be over with. Draco smiled and studied the image that had appeared on Harry’s shoulder next to the real Mark, one only he could see. He moved his hand, but reluctantly, to compare them, and kept his fingertips lingering on Harry’s arm. Harry shivered once, a sharp motion of disgust, but didn’t try to throw him off.

            “That’s it,” Draco murmured, hardly aware of what he was saying, drunk and dizzy on the closeness of the only man he desired, the only man he ever would desire again, the only wizard, the only person. “I can see the similarities now. Yes, the image I formed of the Mark matches the one on your shoulder. I can break the bond, and then I can cast another spell that will remove the physical scar.”

            “When?” Harry surged towards him, eyes so wide that Draco wanted to make a joke about them falling out of his head.

            More than that, though, he wanted to take Harry’s chin in one hand and plunge his tongue down that hot throat.

            “Not here,” Draco said. “It’s not the kind of thing that can be done in public.” He hesitated for a moment, and then moved ahead, because the hesitation was foolish. When had he ever paused before suggesting a desire of his? What he wanted, he took.

            Not with Harry.

            “And it’s not fast,” he warned. “If you want me to do it in the way I described, then you’ll need to spend at least a day with me. Can you do that without your precious friends getting upset?”

            “I’ll have to see.” Harry’s brows drew down. “There’s something else, Malfoy. Something you’re not telling me. Did you think that I haven’t learned to read you by now?’

            Ecstasy twisted around Draco like the lash of a whip, mingled with the hatred and contempt coming from Harry, fiery emotions that slashed down his stomach and chest and made him reply before he thought. “If you have cared enough to learn to read me, then I would want to know it.”



            Harry gave that sharp shiver again, but Draco thought—hoped—prayed—it was less a shiver of disgust this time and more the wondering motion of a wild animal who finds itself in a trap without knowing how it got there. “What aren’t you telling me?”

            “There’s a faster method to remove the Mark,” Draco admitted. “But it could only work if you trusted me. And I know that you don’t, and nothing could make you do so.” The way he saw it, there was nothing to be lost from admitting that. Harry would see that Draco was respecting his sacred rules of honesty, and Draco would get to spend more time with Harry’s flesh beneath his fingers and have more hours to seduce him.

            “I could try to trust,” Harry said, “to have this Mark off my shoulder.”

            “You hate it that much,” Draco said, while his heart thundered and leaped and he felt as if he were falling off a cliff, growing wings as he fell.

            Harry’s gaze seared him and made the ecstasy foam back to the surface for him. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “I hate it more than you know, more than you can understand.”

            Draco lost his breath altogether at the sight of the wild spirit flaring in those eyes. God, so beautiful. So bright.

            To hold Harry like this would be like holding a star in his hand.

            And that made him lean closer, lower his voice so that Harry had to lean closer, too, and say, “Very well. If you think you can trust, we can try the faster method. But I’ll warn you. It’ll involve uncomfortable emotions.”

            “For the both of us?” Harry sat with his head held as if he was facing into a storm. He would, too, Draco thought, breathless with excitement, hard but with a sweet lash of poison in his veins. He would stare at his death and fight it if he had to. He won’t want me to shelter him, when he finally comes to appreciation of me. He won’t need me to protect him from decisions and constantly reassure him that he can make them, the way that Lisa does. What we could have is a partnership.

            Such a thing had never sounded appealing to Draco before. Right now, the very word was enough to make him clench the muscles in his legs under the table, less than a minute away from orgasm.

            “No,” Draco said. He had to clear his throat to say it, and Harry shifted warily, eyes locked on his face. Draco could almost forbear to care about the wariness because of the looking. “For you, primarily. I’ve already accepted the emotions that this interaction with you could cause me to feel, and I can confront them. But you?” He tilted his head to the side and let a small smile play on his lips, the merest shadow of the kiss that he wanted to show Harry. “I don’t think that you’ve accepted it even now.”

            “The necessity of it, I have,” Harry said flatly. “I want to try it the quicker way. Will we need privacy for that, too?”

            “Oh, yes,” Draco said, and he couldn’t prevent the way his voice deepened or his hips surged forwards. Harry stared at him suspiciously, and Draco kept himself from rocking in the chair with an enormous effort. “You wouldn’t want it to take place in the sight of Muggles, anyway. Tell me a place we can use.”

            “I don’t know,” Harry snapped. “Ron and Hermione won’t let us use their house, for certain.” He paused, then added, “Is what we have to do Dark?”

            “Not in intent,” Draco said. “But it could be seen that way, the same way that the Mark could be.”

            Harry gave him a very flat glance, as if to say that that was how he would always view the Mark, and then said, “The hollow where we—spoke last time. I noticed it had some resonances with Dark magic. Will that work?”

            “It will,” Draco said. He cast a quick charm that forced down his erection—it was painful, but necessary—and then stood, holding out his hand to Harry. Harry stared at him defiantly while rising to his feet on his own.

            Oh, God, in minutes I’ll feel him under me…

            Draco turned away with a shake of his head and led the way out. He couldn’t have spoken at the moment for anything; desire had its teeth in his throat.

*

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