FEST FIC: Eislean cuir stad air (Part 1) - Harry/Draco (NC-17)

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Title: Eislean cuir stad air
Author: aquila_star
Prompt: Prompt 79. The Tragedy of Deirdre
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: It is universally agreed that fate is inevitable, though sometimes it can hang on a precipice. It only takes a breath to tip the balance, but on which side will it fall?
Rating: NC 17
Disclaimer: All the pretty boys and the world they live in belong to JKR, etc, to whom I am grateful for giving me the opportunity to play.
Warning(s): AU
Word Count: 68,000ish
Author's Notes: I've had to mix things around quite a bit to make my vision of the prompt fit into JKR's world. While I've tried to stay close to canon, I have tweaked some things and outright changed others to make the fic work. In the end, I'm happy with it, and I hope you enjoy it too. :D The title translates loosely to 'Sorrow suspended,' and the cut text means 'if this be my lot.' I used Gaelic translations, as inspired by the roots of the fable.


Eislean cuir stad air


The Lion cannot defeat the Viper without the power of the White Dragon. Only the White Dragon can provide the power he needs. When the Dragon in his heart, the Lion will defeat the Viper. The White Dragon is key, the Lion must liberate the White Dragon before victory can be found.

June 1997

He's running, always running, legs pumping furiously, chest heaving in an attempt to draw enough breath to continue. He doesn't know why he's running or from whom but the terror is catching up, gripping him tightly, making every breath harder to win. He trips, stumbles, the certainty of capture and death threatening to drown him. Before it can overtake him, his hand is gripped so tight it hurts, and he's pulled to his feet, his shoulder wrenching from the ferocity of the pull. He looks down, seeing a strong masculine hand wrapped around his own, knuckles whitened by their grip. He follows the arm up to a set of broad shoulders and a head of dark, impossibly messy hair but he's only able to catch glimpses of the pale face belonging to his rescuer. He is tiring now, the terror is catching up again. He knows he is lagging, dragging the other down as panic sets in. “Hold on, Draco,” a voice says, as the boy whose hand he's holding onto for dear life looks back at him.

His face is pale but handsome. A pair of round spectacles perch precariously on his nose, and a red, vivid scar stands out on his forehead. But his eyes...it's his eyes that see right into Draco, his eyes containing such certainty and determination that it over flows, filling Draco with warmth and hope, things he has felt only in snatches during his lonely, uncertain life.

He surges forward, legs pushing harder, his breath coming easier now as emerald eyes fill him up and a strong hand grips him tighter. He smiles at the boy running beside him, receiving a bright smile in return as...

...he woke up, gasping as if he had been running in reality instead of in a dream. He panted desperately, gasping for air, the sound impossibly loud in his empty bedroom. He knows that face, those eyes... he'd dreamt of them almost every night of his life, their brilliance has haunted him every night in his sleep.

The dreams have been changing, becoming more like visions, rather than the hazy snapshots of his childhood. It's as if they are preparing him for something, as if something was coming. 'As if he's coming,' Draco thought with a shiver. He threw off the covers and paced across the room to the floor length windows, looking out onto a pristine view of white topped mountains, clear lakes and vibrant leafed trees, all obscured by the early morning fog. Of course it was all fake, the product of a spell, supposedly to make him more comfortable. It didn't work to make him more comfortable, but still soothed him to gaze at such a lovely scene. He'd been trapped here for five years now, what felt like a lifetime, with only a bare idea of why. He was mostly alone, though his parents were allowed to visit every few days, and Riddle came often to wax poetic about his great plans for the wizarding world, his intended destruction of the Mudbloods and how the Muggles might make barely adequate slaves, but they would do.

He was jerked out of his thoughts by a bang on his door. It was followed by a few more, the sound of a scuffle. There was the unmistakable thump of a body hitting the ground, and then the door opened and closed, seemingly by itself. Draco froze, his spine tingling with awareness. There was someone in the room with him, he could sense it.

“Who's there?” he asked, crossing his arms across his bare chest protectively. There was no response, but Draco was more certain than ever. He knew things, before they happened, and he'd never been more certain of anything in his life.

“I know you're there,” he said. “You might as well show yourself.”

Silence filled the room again, but Draco was determined to wait. As the moments passed the air in the room became thick as the tension built. Draco had the wild thought that he should be afraid, but he wasn't. Finally, just when he was about to break, the air in front of the door shimmered before sliding away, revealing a messy head on broad shoulders. Draco gasped when the intruder looked up, adjusting round spectacles with still invisible hands and staring at Draco with the greenest eyes he'd ever seen. Green eyes he had been dreaming of only minutes before.

The rest of the Cloak fell, revealing too baggy clothes and scuffed trainers that Draco would have scoffed at had he met this boy on the street. But the eyes, the hair, the face; he'd been seeing them in his dreams, all his life.

“Hi,” the boy said awkwardly, staring at Draco as if he had two heads.

“Hi,” Draco returned, feeling suddenly naked in his pyjama pants, arms still crossed over his bare chest.

They stared at each other for a moment, before Draco spoke again. “What are you doing here?”

“I...uh,” He scratched the back of his neck, nervously, eyes dancing across Draco's face and down his torso. Draco shivered.

“Well? I'm not used to strange people breaking into my bedroom in the middle of the night.” Draco stalked across the room, opening a drawer and pulling a t-shirt over his head.

“I was looking for...well, never mind. I just didn't know there was anyone in here, much less...well, you.”

“What does that mean, exactly? Who else would you expect to find here?” Draco was annoyed and more than a little disappointed. The boy may have haunted his dreams, but he was also a bit of a twit.

“I, uh...I should introduce myself, I guess,” he bit his lip, his fingers fidgeting with the shimmery material he still held.

“Yes, you should.” Draco said simply.

“I'm Harry Potter,” he said.

Draco took a step back, almost staggering. Harry Potter? No wonder Riddle had been so desperate to find him. Draco thought of the picture tucked inside his journal, and of the dreams that had followed him every time he slept. He'd been dreaming of none other than Harry Potter, all these years. Suddenly he understood Riddle's insistence on keeping him here, away from the world. If he and Potter were to...Draco cut off that line of thought, shivering with the implications.

He shook off his internal reaction and responded with a sneer. “Good for you. Now are you going to tell me why you're here?”

“You uh...don't you know who I am?” Potter looked confused, his brow furrowed in a not terribly attractive manner.

“Of course I know who you are, but you still haven't told me why you're in my bedroom.” Draco crossed his arms again, and tapped his foot. “Well?”

“Right, I...well, I was looking for something,” Potter was shifting from foot to foot, his eyes still roaming Draco's body. Draco was now utterly disappointed. This is what he'd been waiting for all these years?

“You said that already. Are you dense, or just an idiot?”

Potter's eyes snapped up, meeting Draco's eyes once more. Draco shivered at their intensity, but held the gaze.

“No, but apparently you're a bit of a prat,” he snapped back at Draco.

“I'm not the one breaking into a stranger's bedroom in the middle of the night, so I'm not the prat here, you idiot.” Draco took a few steps forward, his fists clenched by his sides now.

Potter sighed, dragging his hand through already messy hair, making it stand up even worse. “I'm sorry, I...I'm not so good with words and you're...well, distracting.”

“Yes, I know I'm gorgeous, but there's no need to drool,” Draco snapped at him, loving the blush that crept up Potter's neck. Draco smirked, changing tactics and sauntering the few remaining feet until he stood right in front of the other boy, noting that the fidgeting had increased and the blush had deepened.

“Now tell me why you're here, before I yell for help,” he said, poking Potter hard in the chest.

“Ow, there's no need to poke me, geez.” Potter rubbed his hand across his chest, but he still didn't give.

“Why don't you tell me your name?” he asked, keeping between Draco and the door. Draco wasn't about to call for anyone, despite his annoyance that Potter seemed unable to answer a simple question. He knew very well that making the house aware of Potter's presence would be a huge mistake. He knew, with every fibre of his being, that he could trust this idiotic nitwit with his life. And wasn't that just ironic cherry on top of his stupid life.

“Are you going to keep ignoring my questions? Should I just call for help right now?” Draco opened his mouth as if to scream but before he could blink Potter had one hand clasped over his mouth and the other gripping the back of his neck. Draco's eyes widened and his pulse raced. Idiot or not, Potter was very attractive, his eyes all the more fierce for being so close.

“Don't, please, or you'll get me killed. I know you're confused and probably a bit freaked out, but I'm not here to hurt you.” Potter's voice was low and tinged with desperation, Draco could almost breathe in the smell of his fear.

Potter's body shifted against his, and Draco closed his eyes against the sensation. It felt good, far too good considering the situation. “I'll explain why I'm here if you promise not to scream, alright?”

Draco nodded, his eyes meeting Potter's, only a few inches away. They held the gaze for a long moment before Potter uncovered Draco's mouth and stepped back. His other hand released it's grip on Draco's neck, sliding across his shoulder before dropping away. Draco breathed a sigh of relief, unsure if it was because Potter had let go at last, or because he didn't want the other boy to know how much his closeness had affected Draco.

“Plebe,” Draco snapped, turning away from Potter and striding across the room to the cupboard with a perpetual cooling charm on it. He pulled a jug of pumpkin juice out, glaring at Potter as he poured himself a glass. It was mostly to cover up his nervousness, but he realized that he would have to offer some to his guest, however unwanted the guest may be. He may have spent the past five years trapped alone in a room, but he still had manners. He was a Malfoy, after all.

Potter watched him placidly, leaning back against the door. Draco sighed, but reached for another glass nonetheless.

“Would you like some pumpkin juice?” he asked politely.

“I'd love some,” Potter replied, so Draco gestured to the chair opposite him. Potter sat down and accepted the glass. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Draco sat in the other chair and looked at Potter closely. He reminded Draco of someone, besides the fact that Draco knew him from his dream. “I'm Draco,” he said at last.

“Draco? Really?” Potter looked surprised. “I thought you looked familiar”

“I do?” Draco was surprised now. “I mean, you do too.”

“We met when I was eleven, at Madam Malkin's. And I saw you the year after in Flourish and Blott's.”

“That was you?” Now Draco was amazed. Not only had he been dreaming of Harry Potter all these years, but they'd met. He remembered Harry now.

“Yeah, that was me.” Potter smiled and Draco smiled back, until he remembered what they were doing.

“As fascinating as this is, I believe we have things to discuss.” Draco said haughtily.

“Right then, I guess I should...” Potter lifted his hand in an expansive sweep between them.

“Yes, you should.”

“Okay then...I, uh, was looking for a weapon,” Potter was staring at the table, but looked up when Draco snorted.

“A weapon? That ridiculous. Beside the fact that this is my bedroom, not a weapon storage facility, they won't let me have anything sharper than a table knife. I don't even have my wand, anymore.” Draco sneered at Potter. He really was a twit.

Potter looked utterly shocked. “You...are you a prisoner here?” His voice was rather squeaky. Draco found he preferred it low and closer.

“Of course I am. What kind of a hero are you anyway? Do you really think anyone in their right mind would stay here voluntarily?”

“How do I know you're in you're right mind?” Potter said with a smirk. Draco wanted to slap it off his face.

“So now you chose to be articulate, great.” Draco leaned back in his chair and looked away.

“Well, there's plenty of otherwise sane people out there who follow voluntarily, how am I to know you're not one of them?” Draco frowned. Potter had a point there.

“I'm not. I don't want to be here, but I don't have a choice. No one asked me, anyway, and my fa...never mind, it's not pertinent.” Draco bit his lip. He didn't want to bring his father into this, for many reasons.

“Pertinent? Are you...you know what, forget it. The fact is, I came here because I discovered that Riddle was keeping a weapon here and we determined that this is the room he was keeping it in. You're sure you don't have any idea what I'm talking about?” Potter was leaning forward on the table now, his eyes filled with the same determination that Draco remembered from his dream. He shivered. “It would really help me out.”

“Potter, I've been here for almost five years now. They've barely let me out of this room, you can be sure that I've searched every inch of it, top to bottom. There's nothing like that here.”

“Five years? That's...but why?” Potter's face was a now a study of disbelief. Draco couldn't help but sneer a bit, the boy seemed unable to keep his every emotion from his face.

“I don't know, exactly. I mean, Riddle plans to...use me for some kind of spell, or something, but I don't know why he wants me. I'm nothing special, really. But no one will tell me.” Draco kept his face as blank as possible, talking about his situation was terrifying.

“Well, that's it then,” Potter said, pushing the chair back and rising to his feet. “We have to get you out of here.”

“We...what? You're going to rescue me?” Draco stood as well, shaking his head in disbelief. His recent dream flashed through his mind, he remembered running, always running, holding Harry Potter's hand and feeling safe in it's grip. Could it be now? Was this really happening?

His mind was reeling, but Potter kept talking.

“Of course I'm going to rescue you!” he exclaimed. “If you're here against your will, I can't leave you, now can I? Besides, I kind of like you, snarky, pretentious git that you are.” Potter grinned at him and Draco's stomach flipped.

“It's not pretention when you're amazing as I am,” he replied back huffily. “Then it's just the truth.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Now are you coming with me, or aren't you?” He held out his hand, meeting Draco's frightened eyes with that same determined gaze.

Draco had a moment of panic at the thought of leaving, of never seeing his parents again, at being free in the world for the first time since he was twelve years old. He wasn't even sure what he would do with himself, but his heart raced at the possibility of being by Potter's side, of arguing with him again, in better circumstances.

The hesitation lasted about 3 seconds, before he really realized what he was doing, he reached out and took Potter's hand. It was dry and warm and the touch made Draco shiver. He'd been dreaming of this boy for a reason. He did know that he could trust Potter, no matter what was to come. Even if he was a twit.

“Good, let's go,” Potter said, tugging him toward the door. “I've already been here too long. They'll be freaking out by now.”

“Wait,” Draco pulled his hand away, turning back toward his armoire. “I need to get dressed.” He began opening drawers and pulling out clothes. He was reaching for a set of robes when Potter stopped him.

“Not the robes, they'll just get in the way.”

Draco turned to give him a sneer. “I'm not going out unless I'm properly dressed. I wouldn't be caught dead looking like you.” His eyes flicked up and down Potter's shabbily dressed form.

Potter rolled his eyes. “No one cares what you look like. But the robes are bulky and they swish when you walk. We need to be quick and quiet. Just put on some slacks and a sweater, it's cold out this late.” Potter bent down to pick up the Invisibility Cloak he'd abandoned by the door.

“Fine,” Draco grabbed his warmest clothes, casting a mournful glance at all the fine items that he would be leaving behind, but he didn't hesitate. Freedom was better than a gilded cage any day. Besides, he'd rather die that be bonded to...he shook his head. 'Don't think about it, Draco, just get going.' He hurried to the bathroom, uncomfortable with the idea that Potter might watch him get changed.

He dressed as fast as he could, putting a few of his more personal items in the pockets of his linen jacket before leaving the bathroom. He stopped briefly to take a well worn journal out of his bedside table, before joining Potter at the door.

“How are we going to do this, exactly?” Draco asked as Potter swung the Cloak over his shoulders.

“This Cloak makes us invisible, so as long as we're quiet, we should be able to slip out unnoticed. It's how I got in, after all.” Potter adjusted the Cloak so that it draped over his head as well and Draco was struck by the oddness of the situation. Potter was only visible where the Cloak gaped open.

“This is bizarre,” Draco muttered, but he allowed Potter to pull him close so that they both fit under the Cloak before fastening it up the front.

“Welcome to my world,” Potter chuckled into Draco's ear, wrapping his arms around Draco securely as they moved toward the door. The hot breath on Draco's neck and Potter's proximity were distracting, but Draco forced himself to focus as Potter opened the door slowly. It would take all their wits to get out alive. Draco took a deep breath, forcing his feet to move when Potter said go.

The first few steps were tentative, but the feeling relief was overwhelming. He was leaving. After five long years, he was leaving. The dismal fate he had resigned himself to was fading as a bright uncertain future rose up to take it's place.

He was free.

*

July 1991

Harry pushed open the door to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, giving one backward glance at Hagrid, before sighing and entering the shop. He was nervous about being left there, for however short a time, but he was excited about going to Hogwarts and he'd need robes.

On the dais in front of him was a small blond boy who looked to be about the same age as Harry himself. He was getting fitted for robes as well, but they were a dark red, instead of the black robes that Harry's list required.

He stood up beside the blond boy as he was directed, sending a small smile his way. The boy lifted an eyebrow at him, rather imperiously, but it only made Harry grin. It was as if he was playing dress up with his father's clothes, the look did not suit his small pointy face.

“Is something funny?” the boy asked, turning away from Harry to watch the seamstress as she hemmed his robe.

“No, I...” Harry stammered. He was saved from making up a response when Madam Malkin came back in with a robe for Harry to try on.

The other boy looked at him again. “Going to Hogwarts, are you?”

Harry nodded. The boy continued, giving Harry a once over. “I'm going to Durmstrang. Father says that I will receive a proper education there, not like at Hogwarts.”

Harry bristled. “My parents went to Hogwarts, so it can't be that bad,” he shot back.

“Well, mine did too, and they say it is,” the boy said. He opened his mouth to speak again, but closed it, studying Harry closely now.

“Are you...do I know you?” he asked, and Harry shook his head. The boy sniffed. “Well, you look familiar, anyway.”

“Oh,” Harry said, at a loss of how to respond to that.

“I'm Draco,” the other boy, Draco, said, giving Harry another once over. “What's your name?”

“I'm...uh, I'm Harry,” He replied, holding his arms out so the seamstress could take his measurement, feeling slightly ridiculous.

“It nice to meet you, Harry, though we'll probably never meet again. I'm sure to make loads of new friends at Durmstrang, Father says it's where all the proper pureblood families send their children.”

“Oh,” Harry said again, feeling like a twit. But Draco seemed not to have noticed, he was still talking.

“Do you play Quidditch?” He asked, continuing without waiting for Harry to answer. “I am going to try out for the team right away. Durmstrang lets the first years bring their own brooms--not like Hogwarts. I'd love to play on a real team, flying with practise balls just isn't as much fun.”

“Are you good at it?” Harry asked. He didn't know what Quidditch was, but Draco seemed to know what he was talking about.

“Of course I am. I'm a Malfoy, and Father says that Malfoys succeed at whatever they do.”

“Your father says a lot,” Harry replied, wishing he had known his father long enough to have learned something from him that he could respond with.

“Well, he knows a lot, so of course he tells me. I'm his heir, you know. It's a sacred duty and not to be taken lightly.” Draco lifted his chin, and Harry was reminded unpleasantly of Aunt Petunia when she looked down on those she thought lesser than herself.

“I suppose,” Harry replied. He was saved from any more unpleasant conversation by Madam Malkin, who had finished with Draco's robe and was instructing one of the seamstresses with measurements and colours.

“All finished for today, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, puling the red robe off his shoulders. “You may tell your mother that the order will be ready within a week and will be owled to you promptly.”

“Thank you, madam.” Draco said politely, before turning to Harry. “Well, have fun at Hogwarts, Harry. Perhaps we'll see each other again.” He smiled politely at Harry before turning and strutting out of the shop. Harry got the impression that Draco hoped they wouldn't meet again but he honestly didn't care. Draco was snobbish and annoying, and Harry was suddenly glad that they would not be going to school together.

*

June 1997

They moved as swiftly and quietly as possible through the darkened hallways of Riddle house. The house was silent at this late hour, moreso because of the ongoing revelry Draco had been pleased to leave, but Draco's heart was still pounding with desperate fear of being caught. They were very lucky, only needing to pause once as they slipped down the main staircase toward the foyer. Two men in black robes alighted the stairs, side by side, leaving Draco and Potter no choice but to flatten themselves against the wall, Draco's back pressed tight against Potter's chest. Suddenly he found his heart beating for an entirely different reason.

Potter's arms were wrapped around his shoulders, keeping the Cloak securely closed, and Draco felt as if he was wrapped in safety. Potter smelled good too, despite his scruffy appearance, he smelled clean, like soap and pumpkin juice, and youthful male. Draco breathed in deeply, wishing that there was time to savour it, for they were moving again before he realized.

The made their way down the last bank of stairs and crossed the foyer, past the front door and down a side corridor. Draco was baffled, freedom was only a few steps away.

“Potter, you idiot,” Draco hissed. “Where are we going? The door is ove...” He was interrupted rather abruptly when Potter clamped a sweaty hand over his mouth.

“Shh,” Potter said, his breath hot against Draco ear. “We're not going out the front door, do you have a death wish?” Draco shook his head as best he could. Potter's hand dropped to his shoulder again, guiding Draco firmly down the corridor to a room on the east side of the house. They slipped through the door quietly, moving immediately across the room toward a set of delicate french doors.

“See?” Potter whispered. “This is how I got in, and this is how we're getting out. They'll be waiting for us in the woods, just there.” Draco followed Potter's gesture and spied a dark lawn and the darker grove beyond. “We'd heard that the house would be almost empty tonight, and this was the best way in.”

Potter opened the door and guided Draco through it, closing it securely behind himself before nudging Draco forward.

“It's that easy?” Draco said, hardly daring to believe that they were outside, with one less obstacle between them and freedom.

“Even with the house near empty, Riddle is so secure in his own superiority that his wards are rather flimsy. It was tricky to open them enough to let me through without taking them down, but Hermione is a wiz with that kind of thing. I don't know how she does it.”

“Who's Hermione?” Draco asked. She must be one of the people waiting from them. Draco was curious and excited to meet them. It had been so long since he'd seen anyone other than his parents, Riddle and the dark robed guards who stood outside his door at all hours.

“My friend. She and Ron will be worried, but it's not far now.”

They moved swiftly across the lawn and were into the woods before Draco knew what was happening. The weaved through trees and brush for a few minutes until they reached a small clearing, where Potter stopped. They stood in the silence for a moment before he gave a low whistle, but the answering whistle came quickly. The two trees directly in front of them stepped forward, shadows morphing until Draco saw they were not trees, but two people in dark robes, with hoods pulled up.

“Harry, where are you?” one of them whispered, receiving an elbow in the ribs from the other.

Draco shivered as Potter's answering chuckle vibrated against his hair. Being this close was unnerving, and his stomach was rolling with nervousness. Potter pulled the Cloak off and Draco shivered in the cold air. The loss of Potter's body heat was chilling in more ways than one.

“Hey guys. Alright then?” Potter grinned at his friends, who pulled their hoods down and smiled back.

“Alright, Harry,” said the redheaded boy, while giving Draco a sceptical look. “Who's this, then?”

“This is Draco,” Potter replied, dragging a hand through his already messy hair. “He's coming with us.”

“That's interesting Harry, but what about the...you know,” The girl said, twitching her head to the side. Draco sneered. She was clearly trying to communicate something without actually saying it, but with all that bushy hair, she just looked like she'd been hit with a stinging hex.

“Well, about that...” Potter began, but before he could complete the thought, a blinding light came on behind them. Frantic voices began to holler as the alarm was sounded.

“They've noticed I'm gone,” Draco said, gripping Potter's hand desperately.

“We have to go,” Potter said, holding Draco's hand and tugging them further into the woods, away from the house. The other two followed, and they were running together through the trees. The sounds of pursuit were getting closer, and a familiar panic began to over come him. His attention was diverted and he tripped over a tree root, stumbling out of control, the certainty of capture and death threatening to drown him, until he felt the tug of Potter's grip on his hand, urging him on with a frantic “Hold on, Draco,” and he was filled with such certainty and determination he was able to regain his footing and keep up again, as the cries began to fade behind them. He could see the other two running beside them, which was odd, because he'd never seen them in his dreams and...

Draco gasped in a shocked breath, pushing his legs harder as he looked up at Harry, remembering suddenly how he had woken up, just before Harry had entered his life again.

“This way,” Harry said pulling him to the left and down a steep hill toward an almost hidden path below. The others were right behind them, slipping down until they hit the bottom, then running, always running until they could only hear themselves, panting breaths and pounding feet. They turned sharply and Harry tugged him to the side again, ducking under a few tree branches before stopping suddenly.

Draco braced his free hand on his knee, panting desperately to draw fresh air into his lungs. He was not accustomed to the exercise. Being trapped in one room for five years did not allow for such aerobics.

“Everyone okay?” the redhead asked, already regaining his breath.

“I think we've lost them, but we need to go now,” replied the girl from beside Draco. She took out her wand and held it up, level with her shoulder. Draco didn't have long to wonder what on earth she was doing because the next moment there were bright lights and a blaring horn, immediately in front of them.

Draco jumped back with a shriek, terrified until he felt Harry's hand pull him closer, his amused voice calming Draco as he spoke. “It's the Knight Bus...it's a little startling at first, but it's going to take us home. Not the smoothest ride ever, but underage wizards can't be choosers.”

Draco looked at him, wondering what he was talking about, but Harry pulled him forward again, so he followed. Trusting Harry had worked so far. The other two were already stepping up to the door that had opened at the front and the girl was paying for all of them before bustling them inside and up a set of stairs at the back of the bus. Before Draco had time to take in his surroundings, they were sitting on two rickety beds, staring at each other in awkward silence.

Finally, the bushy headed girl spoke up. “I'm Hermione Granger,” she said, speaking to Draco. “And this is Ronald Weasley. What was your name again?”

Draco shot a glance at Harry, who was biting his lip as he watched them. Draco's stomach churned. “It's Draco, and I'm very pleased to meet you both.”

“Surprised, as well, I'd wager,” she tilted her head, studying him.

“Yes,” Draco replied, glancing at Harry again.

“You look familiar,” Ron said, watching him no less intently. “Have we met somewhere?”

“I doubt it,” Draco sneered, not liking the his intense gaze. He was positive that this was one of the Weasleys his father used to complain about, and the thought was not very comforting. His stomach was feeling a bit sick, all the scrutiny combined with the drop in adrenaline and the sudden realization that his parents would likely be punished for his escape were leaving him with a sour taste in his mouth. His head began to spin as the girl spoke up again.

“Ron's right, you do look familiar. What's your last name?”

“Guys, lay off a bit, he's had a hard night,” Harry said, shifting closer to Draco protectively. Their shoulders were touching now, and Harry felt warm against him. It was soothing.

“Well, where did he come from, Harry?” Hermione said. “It's rather suspicious, don't you think?”

“Not really,” Harry answered. “He was in the room, and there was no weapon, so you can relax. Our information was wrong.” The other two shared a look.

“How can we be sure he's not a spy? He could tell them where we are, it could be a trap," Ron demanded.

“He's not a spy, Ron, I promise.” Harry's fingers squeezed gently, and Draco realized that they were still holding hands and that somewhere along the line their fingers had entwined. He was nervous and suspicious of Ron, but he found that he quite liked it.

“But how do you know?” Hermione demanded, her eyes dropping to their joined hands.

“I just do, alright? I can't explain it. Anyway, how is he going to tell them where we are, he doesn't even have a wand!”

“Why not? What kind of a wizard doesn't have a wand?” Ron was sneering at him now, but not nearly as good as Draco. He sneered back, showing him how it was done.

“The kind who's been a prisoner for five years,” Harry snapped back. Draco closed his eyes and leaned more heavily against Harry's shoulder.

“What!?” the other two exclaimed in tandem. “What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“I mean, I know that the weapon isn't there because Draco told me so. He's been kept there for five years, against his will, and that's why I couldn't leave him there. Our information was wrong. There is no weapon, just Draco,” Harry said.

“But that's...I don't understand, Draco, why...” she stopped and Draco could feel all their eyes on him, even though his were closed.

“Draco?” Harry said. “Draco, are you alright?” His voice was low and urgent, so Draco opened his eyes, letting his head rest against Harry's shoulder, looking up into his concerned eyes.

“I, uh...I don't feel very good,” he said in a whisper.

“It's okay, I've got you.” Harry said comfortingly. He let go of Draco's hand and wrapped an arm around his shoulder instead, pulling Draco against his chest securely. He looked up at his friend. “You can ask him your questions later, let's just get home first.”

“Alright, Harry,” Hermione said quietly, and Draco closed his eyes again. Harry was warm and solid beneath him, and his heartbeat was reassuring. Quiet settled over Draco and soon he found himself drifting off, lulled by the rocking of the bus and the presence of the boy he'd been dreaming of his whole life.

*

When Draco woke up he could hear the others talking, so he just kept his eyes closed. He felt much better, more able to maintain the calm that his father had taught him. Truthfully, he hadn't been given many opportunities to make use of the skill, but he was determined to be good at it.

“...are we going to do then? The prophecy says you need the weapon, and now we're out of options.”

Draco started listening earnestly now. He felt distinctly at a disadvantage, he'd put his life into the hands of these people, on the strength of a split second decision and a gut feeling. If he wasn't so completely sure that he was safe with Harry, he would be panicking right about now. Okay, so maybe a part of him was anyway.

“I'm sure we must have miscalculated somewhere,” Draco could hear the frustration in the girl's...in Hermione's voice.

“You, miscalculate? Doubtful.” Ron replied with a snort.

“Ron's right, we took the information he gave us and I'm positive that we were right. We're missing something.” Harry's low voice rumbled through his chest and into Draco's. It felt wonderful.

Ron gave Draco an appraising look, the looked pointedly at Harry. “Are you sure he isn't lying?" He said in a low voice. "Honestly Harry, you don't even know him,” Ron was cut off by Harry's sharp reply.

“Leave it Ron. I can't...I don't know why I know, but I know. I can trust Draco. There's something about him, it's just...it's there, alright? I believe him.”

Ron huffed and Hermione sighed. “Alright Harry. We believe you. Oh, Ron, honestly,” Hermione snapped in response to Ron's mumble, “you know what Harry's intuition is like, so if he says we can trust Draco, we can.”

Ron huffed again and all Draco could think was 'what a child.' He wasn't terribly fond of the Weasley, but perhaps he'd get better over time.

“I think we should go over the prophecy again tomorrow,” Hermione went on. “Perhaps we've interpreted it wrong.”

“Maybe,” Harry sighed. Draco loved the steady rise and fall of Harry's chest against his back. He was generally not comfortable with people touching him, a symptom of being alone so much perhaps, but that didn't change the fact. He liked being close with his mother, her hugs were strong and comforting enough to keep him going during the long stretches of isolation, but the touch of someone his age, another boy his age...he'd not been this close to anyone like this since he was twelve.

“I wish we could ask Dumbledore,” Hermione mused quietly.

“Right,” Ron chuckled humorlessly. “You know he'll just ask a bunch of questions and then tell us they'll take care of it and we shouldn't worry our pretty little heads about it.”

Harry chuckled. “Well, Hermione and me, perhaps,” he said. Hermione giggled when Ron exclaimed “Oi!” But it was good natured and loosened the mood considerably.

“We'll figure it out,” Harry said. “But right now my focus is Draco. We need to decide what to do with him, and why Riddle was keeping him prisoner for so long.”

“Wanna stay with you,” Draco said before he realized he had thought it. Harry tensed behind him, his arm tightening around Draco's waist, where it had fallen.

“Draco, you can't just stay with me, it's really not safe,” Harry said quietly, his breath hot in Draco's ear again.

“Can,” he said sullenly. He opened his eyes to see Ron looking out the window and Hermione entranced with a thread on her robe. He tipped his head back to meet Harry's eyes. “I can, and I will," he said firmly.

The moment seemed to freeze when Draco realized how close their lips were. It would be barely the work of a second to lean in and press his lips to Harry's. Wait, where had that though come from? Draco knew all about sex and attraction and kissing, well, in theory anyway, but he'd never considered kissing a boy before. Was it even done?

Harry's eyes were incredibly green, bright and wide and Draco found himself sinking into them. He knew those eyes, almost as well as his own. The though of what it would be like to kiss Harry thrilled and terrified him. He shivered, still feeling safe and warm in Harry's arms, but now a little restless too. As if he needed to do something or he'd be frozen here forever, balanced on a precipice he didn't understand.

The moment stretched impossibly long, until a sharp cough from Ron drew Harry's attention from Draco. Draco dropped his head again, his cheek flushing with unwelcome warmth. He had all but forgotten about the other two, and it seemed that Harry had as well.

Harry cleared his throat and went on. “Wouldn't you rather go home to your parents or something? We can arrange to take you where ever you need to go to be safe," he said. Draco sat up fully, pulling himself out of Harry's arms reluctantly, and turned to face him.

“Going to my parents is the worst possible thing I could do," he said. “They won't be able to hide it, if they know where I am. They'll be punished for this, I'm sure.”

Draco looked at the other two, suddenly feeling the weight of three gazes on him. “What?” he asked, confused.

“Your parents know you're there?” Harry asked, his voice low, but not the low and soothing type. He sounded dangerous. Draco shivered, understanding a bit more of why Riddle was so frightened of this boy.

“Of course they do,” Draco said. “They're allowed to see me every week, we have lunch on Sundays. And sometimes Mother visits during the week.”

“I don't understand,” Hermione interrupted him. “Your parents allowed you to be caged like some kind of beast? Why didn't they do anything about it?” She was clearly horrified. Ron was looking at him with pity in his eyes, and suddenly Draco couldn't stand him.

“What could they have done? Riddle is too powerful, and Father is...” He trailed off. He wanted nothing more than to be free of Riddle, but he couldn't tell his Father's secrets either. “They had no choice, okay? Riddle controls all of us, and all they could do was obey, so they'd be able to see me.”

“But, I got you out easily, surely your parents could have,” Harry began, but Draco cut him off.

“Please, Potter. Are you really that dim? My Father is marked, he can't just leave. And home is the first place Riddle will look if I...” He trailed off again as the reality of the situation crashed down on him. He doubled over, arms wrapped around himself.

“Oh, god, he's going to hurt them," he whispered harshly. “What have I done?” The panic began to overcome him, he could feel himself hyperventilating.

A large hand gripped his shoulder, another rubbing circles on his back. “Draco, it's okay.” Draco shook his head, denying Harry's words of comfort.

“Draco, it's not your fault. You had to get out while you could, if your parents love you, they'll understand. They'll be proud of you.” His words were convincing, but Draco was unmoved.

“No, he'll punish them. He'll kill them...I, I've killed them,” Draco was panicking fully now, the tears slipping down as he realized the impact of his escape.

“Draco, look at me,” Harry said. “Look at me, dammit!” His hand gripped Draco's chin and pulled his eyes upwards. “It will be fine. They'll just be so happy that you're free, it'll be fine, I promise.” He brought his other hand up to cup Draco's cheek, his warm palms bracing Draco's shaking face.

“I promise,” he repeated, and the shakes began to subside. Draco knew it was impossible that Harry could protect his parents, but the words, just the words, just Harry's promise was enough to calm him.

“Okay,” he said, almost too quiet to be heard.

“Okay,” Harry replied, then gave him a small smile. “You'll be fine too,” Draco took a deep breath, staring once more into those bright eyes. He nodded, letting Harry pull him into a hug. Almost. Before they could quite manage it, the bus lurched to a stop.

“We're here,” Hermione said, standing up. “Let's get inside quickly.” The other three agreed, filing out of the bus onto the pavement. Once the bus had lurched off again, the other three moved down the road toward a block of dark, grimy houses. Draco stared at them as they passed; there were flickering lights coming from several of the windows, Muggle cars parked on the side of the road, trash cans and brightly coloured bins filled with paper and metal. There was a stench of rotting things and something heavy and oily, but, as repugnant as it was, Draco loved it. It was the smell of freedom.

Harry took his hand when he slowed down, tugging him further up the road, squeezing it tightly when a sudden bang came from one of the houses and Draco jumped. It was unnerving and exhilarating at the same time. They stopped in front an unbroken stretch of fence, and suddenly Draco noticed that Ron had disappeared.

“Shit,” Harry swore under his breath, turning to Hermione with a despairing look, which she returned. “What are we going to do?”

Hermione shook her head without responding. Draco jumped when Ron appeared beside him, his voice echoing around the quiet street.

“What's the hold up?” He asked, looking from Harry to Hermione and back.

“Ron, you twit, what do you think?” Hermione said, her lips pursed. “It's under Fidelus.”

Draco frowned. Fidelus? He remembered studying the charm and, if their house was under one, this was going to be a problem.

“Oh, right,” Ron said, leaning against the fence. “What are we going to do?”

“I don't kno...” Hermione was interrupted by a shout from Harry.

“I know!” Harry exclaimed. “Wait here,” he said, squeezing Draco's hand before dropping it and disappearing into the unbroken fence before any of them could respond.

“What's he on about?” Ron asked, but Hermione just shook her head.

“I don't know,” she replied.

They waited in awkward silence for a few moments and Draco could feel their eyes on him, measuring him. He felt nervous without Harry there, adrift without Harry's grounding presence. The minutes passed with no sign of Harry's return, and the panic began to rise up in him again, but the other two, though perplexed, didn't seem to be bothered, so he pushed it down. Harry would be back soon.

As if willed into being, Harry appeared from the fence where he'd vanished, holding a scrap of paper in his hand. He thrust it toward Draco with a grin.

“Here,” he said, slightly out of breath. Draco reached out and took it tentatively.

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked. Despite their short acquaintance, Draco got the distinct impression that she wasn't the type who liked to be out of the loop. He turned it over, seeing a flowing script but only a few words.

It read, The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix are at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London.'

“Harry, what,” Draco began, but when he looked up to Harry the words died in his throat. He watched, amazed as the houses they were standing in front of began to move, pushed out of the way by another house that was appearing directly in from of him. It was darker and run down, the black face of it broken only by grimy windows and crumbled flourishes. The fence parted as well, revealing a gate and a path that lead across a dry, brown lawn.

“Wow,” he said, looking at Harry again, eyes wide. “So that's how a Fidelus works.”

“Pretty cool, huh?” Harry replied, grinning back at him. “Now let's go, we don't want to be seen.” He took Draco's hand again and led him down the path toward the house, where a dingy 12 was attached to the door over a snake shaped knocker. Hermione and Ron followed and he was herded into a long narrow hallway, holding Harry's hand tightly as he was lead past what looked like a troll's foot with several umbrellas in it, and a rickety looking coat rack.

Harry turned to him, holding his finger over his lips in a gesture for Draco to be quiet. He nodded, and Harry led them past a large, curtained picture frame and up a dark staircase. They were all silent until they were safe in a cramped bedroom filled with old furniture and musty smelling bedding. Draco wrinkled his nose, but he sat beside Harry on one of the beds without hesitation.

“Harry, where did you get that?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide with confusion.

“I remembered that I had it in my trunk,” Harry replied smugly. “Dumbledore gave it to me before we left Hogwarts and when I asked him why, he just said that I might need it in the future.”

“Crazy old man,” Ron said, laughing.

“Yeah, so I thought, but here we are," Harry replied, smiling back at his friend.

“But it doesn't make any sense,” Hermione said. "How could he have known what we were planning to do?”

“How does he know anything?” Harry replied with a shrug. “He just knows.”

Ron accepted his answer with a nod, but Hermione was not so complacent. “But how did he know Draco was there? Or that Harry would help him escape?”

“Well, it's Harry, isn't it?” Ron said. “He has that saving people thing, of course he wouldn't leave Draco there.”

“Yes, but how did Dumbledore know Draco was there?” She was not ready to accept Ron's easy answer. “And, more to the point, how did he know what we were going to do?”

“He's Dumbledore,” Harry said.

“Who is Dumbledore?” Draco cut in.

“He's the Headmaster of Hogwarts,” Harry said, giving Draco's hand another squeeze.

“So, you all go to Hogwarts, then?” Draco asked, fascinated. “I wanted to go there, but my father wouldn't allow it.”

“Why not?” Ron asked. “Who is your father, anyway?”

“He never said why,” Draco said, ignoring the last question. Ron was far too suspicious, and Draco might know that Harry could be trusted, but he wasn't so sure of this loud, immature friend of his. Besides, considering the way his father had spoken of the Weasleys, perhaps he would do better to keep quiet. “They sent me to Durmstrang instead.”

“But, I thought you'd been imprisoned by Riddle for five years,” Hermione said, fixing Draco with a stern look. “How old are you anyway,? You barely look fifteen.”

Draco sneered at her. Who did she think she was? “How would you know?” He snapped. “You don't look like much of a witch, but here you are.”

Hermione's eyes narrowed at him. “There's no need to be rude, I'm just curious.”

“Well, I'm curious what kind of witch doesn't know how to use Sleakeasy's," he shot back.

“Stop it, you two,” Harry said firmly. “There's no need to argue. I would like to know how old you are, if you're older than me, like these two.”

“How old are you?” Draco asked Harry.

“I'm sixteen, but my birthday is next month. July 31st," he replied.

“Oh, I am older than you!” Draco beamed at him. “I turned seventeen just today, oh, I mean yesterday.” Harry smiled back at him, and Draco's stomach was fluttering madly.

“June 5th, then,” Harry said. “That's good to know. So you only spent two years at Durmstrang?”

“Yes,” Draco said.

“That's...pretty cool actually. Some students from Durmstrang came to Hogwarts a few years ago for the Triwizard Tournament.” Harry said. “It's too bad you couldn't have been there,” he added, looking at Draco thoughtfully.

“It wouldn't have mattered at any rate,” said Hermione. “Draco's our age and all the Durmstrang students were seventeen then.”

“Still, it's nice to think about.” Harry smiled at Draco, getting a return smile from Draco. Their eyes held for a few long moments and something in Draco wanted to open up to him then, to tell him about the dreams he'd had all his life. How he'd been dreaming of Harry, why he felt as though he already knew him.

A yawn from Ron distracted him, reminding him of the other two. No, now was not the time to make that confession, not with Hermione listening intently and Ron...there. The ginger boy yawned again, this time Draco yawned in reply. He was exhausted, it was almost dawn and he had hardly slept that night. After the ritual he had struggled to fall asleep, only to lose himself in a vision of Harry.

Harry and Hermione followed, all of them caught in the web of sudden tiredness.

Hermione spoke up first. “Well, I think we all could use some sleep. Harry, you have a pair of spare pyjamas for Draco, don't you? He can sleep in the room across the hall, it's already made up, I believe.”

Draco's stomach lurched at the thought of being parted from Harry, but he realized he had no reason to protest. It was better than his former situation, at least he could come and go as he pleased. Not that he would be leaving any time soon. He'd go where Harry went.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry rose and took a shirt and some pyjama pants out of one of the ornate but battered dressers in the room, handing them to Draco. “I'll show you where the bathroom is, and then your room.”

“Okay,” Draco said.

Before he knew it, Draco was bundled into Harry's baggy pyjamas, his face freshly scrubbed and his teeth brushed. The room he was in was quite a bit smaller than the one Harry and Ron shared, with room for a bed, wardrobe and a small table with an old fashioned lamp on it. He sat on the bed, looking apprehensively at the bedspread. A faint smell of musk permeated the whole house, and this room was no exception. At least the bedding was clean.

Draco sighed heavily and curled up under the blanket. He was a mess of emotions, all of them swirling through his head, one after another. Fear of the unknown, elation at being free, distress about missing his parents and utter relief knowing that he would not have to bond with Riddle. Overriding it all was his complete joy at having met Harry, of being safe with him. He clung to that thought, poking it with his mind until the other feelings finally settled, and eventually he drifted into a restless sleep.

Harry found himself unable to sleep and for once; the roaring snores from the bed opposite were not what was keeping him awake. Ron had slipped out a while ago to use the bathroom but had not returned. Harry knew he was in Hermione's room and while the thought had disconcerted him in the past, he was remarkably sanguine about it this time. He was far too busy thinking about Draco to wonder what those two were up to. Draco was a mystery, and Harry was sure that he was hiding something, holding something back. He had a feeling it was important but he was also sure that it wasn't something that could be harmful. He sighed, rolling over in an attempt to get comfortable enough to calm his racing thoughts.

Little time had passed before there was a tentative knock on his door. It opened almost immediately and Harry recognized Draco in the dim light from the hallway. He was dwarfed by Harry's old pyjamas and he looked lost, like a small boy and not the young man Harry knew he was.

“Harry?” Draco asked, crossing the threshold and closing the door behind him.

“I'm here,” Harry answered pushing himself into a sitting position. “Are you okay?”

“I...not really,” Draco admitted, taking a few more steps toward the bed. “Ron's not here?”

“No, he mostly sleeps with Hermione, when there aren't any adults here,” Harry said. He bit his lip, regarding Draco curiously. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

Draco's face lit up as if Harry had hit a switch. “Yes, thanks,” he said, bouncing across the room and crawling right under the covers beside Harry. He curled up on his side, one hand tucked under Harry's pillow, facing him. Harry settled down beside him, swallowing thickly as the scent of Draco filled his nostrils. He took a deep breath, which did nothing but make it worse. He had intended that Draco sleep in Ron's bed, but now that he was happily ensconced in Harry's own bed, he didn't have the heart to kick him out. Even though it was difficult to think with him so close. Difficult not to lean in and suck that pouty bottom lip into his mouth.

Harry settled his head beside Draco's on the pillow, noting how close their lips were, licking his in reflex. He'd never met someone who had caused such a reaction in him before. Not the few girls he'd liked, or thought he had, before he realized he was gay, nor the boys who had interested him since then. Draco was a brand new creature. He was lovely and enticing and prickly as a hedgehog. His social skills were even more lacking than Harry's; but he supposed that could be understood. But here, with his head resting so close to Harry's, he was intoxicating.

Draco opened his eyes, staring right into Harry's from scant inches. Harry swallowed, his cock coming to life under Draco's grey gaze.

“Is this okay?” Draco whispered, his hot breath a burst across Harry's flushed face. He swallowed again. Now was the time, Harry had an out, he could tell Draco he was uncomfortable and ask him to sleep in Ron's bed.

But he didn't. He tried to tell himself it was because he didn't want to hurt Draco's feelings, but that was a lie. He wanted Draco close, closer than he was now. He wanted to see what might happen if they slept side by side, under the same blankets.

“Yes,” he replied. “It's fine.”

He was rewarded by a soft smile from Draco, who shuffled a little closer before closing his eyes again and breathing deep and even. Harry sighed. There was little chance he'd be able to sleep with Draco so close, and he knew it. It was going to be a long night. Still, the sight of Draco's contented face warmed his heart, and the feel of Draco's body beside him made feel as content as Draco looked.

Harry closed his eyes, breathing deeply of Draco's scent and falling into sleep, despite his certainty that it would not happen.

He awoke to a tingling, achy arm that was pinned to the bed. He blinked, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes but stopped when his face came into contact with something impossibly soft, something that smelled really good. He breathed in deeply, confusion warring with arousal until he realized what it was.

Draco.

*


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