Chapter Twenty-Four

This chapter was written by keppiehed.

Draco clutched his wand so hard he thought it might break in his fist. He didn't have his magic back, he knew that, but he felt more connected to it now than he had in years. He could feel the power running through it, like sap runs in a maple right before the spring. They were drawn by a thread now.

He wasn't thinking of that now, though. The bite of the wand in his hand was nothing. He gripped it harder, almost willing it to break. All of this, for nothing. Draco let his forehead rest against the marble. The fight had gone out of him. The cold wasn't soothing...it chilled him and reminded him of how empty he really was.

"You'd be so ashamed. Everything I have become, you'd hate it." Draco said the words aloud, his voice echoing in the sepulchre. "I would say I'm sorry, but that doesn't mean anything. I tried so hard to avenge you. I worked to get my magic back, and I'm almost there, Mother! But it's all changing around and falling apart. I would give this wand to you, lay it right at your feet to bring you back. I wish it would." Draco's head swam. He wanted to blame it on his recent illness, but the truth was, he was heartsick. He had put off a visit to his mother's tomb for far too long, and now that he was here, he was steeped in regret. She didn't live to see this day that her son was a failure in every way, but she could surely see him from a better vantage point now, and she must be disappointed in him. Tears clogged his throat. He hated himself. He had let her die because he'd been powerless, he couldn't win back his wand, and now he had fallen for Harry Potter, of all people. The utter shame of his situation, of what he had allowed himself to become, washed over him, and he bowed his head and let the tears fall.

"I'm so sorry, Mother. I know it doesn't mean anything. I know you would regret having me for a son...I failed you. I didn't know I was this way. I would change it if I could, but I can't. I would change so many things ..." Draco sobbed, the floodgates finally open. He hadn't been able to cry for her, for himself, for so long. Everything had always been locked up in an icy numbness in his chest. To sit by her grave and tell her ... it might not solve anything, but he couldn't fight it anymore. With no one there to witness his contemptible weakness, he let himself pour out his heartache and just cry.

He didn't know how long he sat there on the cold stone floor on the Malfoy family crypt, but when his pent-up emotions had run their course, he was exhausted. The air was cold and his knees numb. He slumped and sat with his back to the grave.

Draco soaked up the stillness. He had never let himself mourn his mother before. It was as if he had held a sliver of her death in his heart ... and coming here took the thorn out. It still hurt...he knew it always would...but he started to let go of grief he hadn't even known he'd had.

After the tempest of his melancholy passed and he was able to just sit in the silence, the air moved in the subtlest of shifts. Draco would have missed it if he hadn't been attuned to the quiet. Then he felt her there with him, even though he had never believed in such a thing. He didn't have to; it was as simple as the smell her perfume. No one had a scent like his mother. She was known for her prized jonquils, a breed of hothouse amaryllis that was her namesake. As a result of working with them so closely, she always had a unique blend of hyacinth and jasmine that made him think of deep green calm and the myths she would tell him while she stroked his forehead with her cool fingers. Draco felt her so strongly just then that he turned his head, expecting to see her. Her presence was everywhere, and he felt love, only that and nothing else. He closed his eyes, feeling her, remembering her ... and then she faded. He could tell when she was gone...like a candle had snuffed, her glow was extinguished. He knew that it was the end; she had said her goodbye to him. She had been waiting for him to come, and now she was gone.

Tears pooled again in Draco's eyes, but he felt a weight lift. She wasn't angry with him, or disappointed. She loved him. The liquid spilled over onto his cheeks as he got to his feet. Those were things that he felt about himself, but his mother had forgiven him, if indeed she had ever had cause to be upset in the first place. Draco had to do the same. It was time to leave this place and work on his future. He had to stop clinging to the past and to old hatred...of others, and of himself. He could see that now.

When he stepped outside of the mausoleum, a ray of sunshine nearly blinded him, and he was glad to step out into the world again from the dark.

*

Draco stared out of the windows of the solarium and watched the rain sheet against the glass. An inauspicious day to begin their lessons again, to be sure. At least they wouldn't have to go outside. Although, truth be told, after the first atrocious incidents involving ruined merino trousers, Draco was starting to enjoy his time out of doors. Not that he would admit it, he thought hastily. He didn't want to turn over that leaf too far, too fast. Pretty soon he would be a person of unrecognizably lax morals, running around in cut-off shorts and lounging around on the grass as if he hadn't a care in the world! Draco shuddered at the thought of daisies in his hair.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Draco whirled at the sound of Potter's voice behind him. "I'm no invalid!" he snapped, more sharply than he had intended in his surprise. To cover his embarrassment at being ruffled and at his unintended gruffness, he said the first thing that came to mind. "You look like the sick one, in fact."

Although it was true, Draco instantly regretted his words. Potter was clearly battling some sort of indisposition, but Draco could guess that it wasn't the flu. However, he wanted to start fresh and not mention the past. He cleared his throat and made an effort to calm down. Why was he so on edge?

"I'm fine," Potter replied. The dark circles under his eyes seemed to belie his words, but both men just stood there, neither willing to contest the fragile untruth.

Draco ran a hand through his hair. "We can't go outside." He wanted to cringe at his overstatement of the obvious. Where was his verbal facility? Had his glibness deserted him so quickly? When had Potter ever made him nervous? Draco squared his shoulders. This wouldn't do!

Potter gave a half-smile. "I thought we both might want to ease into this lesson. I ... er, don't have a schedule, though."

Draco scowled. "Are you poking fun at me?"

"I wouldn't poke ... fun, that is." Potter smirked.

Draco sucked his breath in at the implication. Was Potter flirting with him? Draco couldn't bear to meet his gaze and find out. Suddenly the stakes had changed; the game was a new one. Draco was on uneven playing ground, and he had no idea what to do. In the past, he had always been the aggressor. He'd been suave and sure. Now, he felt skittish and completely out of his depth. In fact, Draco felt almost ... virginal. The thought pushed itself into his mind, unbidden and unwelcome, and Draco's face flamed. Where had that come from? He was no virgin!

Potter tried to hide a smile, but Draco could see it, and it raised his ire. Was Potter laughing at him? "Poke away, Potter. I can take it." Then, realizing what he said and how it sounded, Draco was horrified. "Fun, that is. Poke fun. I can take it. All the fun you want. Because I can take it, and hand it right back. And then we'll see who can take what, where." Draco wanted to smack his own babbling face. Why wouldn't he shut up?

Potter seemed more amused than necessary. "Hm. I guess we will. But before any poking and handing goes on, why don't we try to get a lesson in, okay?"

Both men fell into awkward silence. The word 'lesson' had a charged meaning, now that they were aware of what Lucius thought they had been doing all this time during them. Draco's mind spun out, his imagination conjuring all sorts of wild scenarios that his father had contemplated he and Potter in. It was both alarming and strangely ... arousing. Draco was horrified to feel a stirring in his groin. He coughed and choked.

"Are you okay?" Potter walked over and pounded him on the back.

Draco danced away; Potter's touch was a brand he could feel through his light sweater. He swallowed, trying in vain to regain his composure. What was his problem? His forehead beaded in sweat, further distressing him. He was completely discombobulated. By Potter, of all people! It was unacceptable. He had to regain control of himself...and of his thoughts.

Potter's eyes were wide behind his glasses, and he put up his hands as if he were dealing with a wild animal or a deranged person. "It's okay, Draco. Let's just take it slow."

"Don't condescend to me!" Draco's temper snapped, and he felt more himself. Relief flooded through him. This, he could relate to. He had never been in the position of liking someone before...

It hit him like a bludger to the brain. He fancied Potter! Was that what it felt like to nurse a crush on someone? He had always been on the receiving end of them before, of course, but never reciprocated. He was used to manipulating the tender feelings of others' regard, but having his own object of affection was a different story entirely. Draco chanced a glance at Potter and felt something wrench in the area of his chest. He found that he didn't like the feeling one bit. Potter couldn't find out exactly what effect he had...no doubt he'd hold it over Draco's head.

"Are you sure you're ready for this? We can wait, if you aren't rec..." Potter bit off what he was about to say, which Draco could tell was 'recovered'. "Ready."

"I'm as ready as you are!" Draco shot back. "Let's begin."

Potter sighed. "You just seem a little ... worked up. Don't forget that you need to be calm. So, concentrate on your breathing. It's been a while since we've had a lesson."

Draco tried not to blush. He closed his eyes and breathed. His mind wouldn't clear, though. All he could think of was the man standing just across from him. He could reach out and touch him, he was that close.

"Are you ready?"

His voice, so husky ... Draco nodded. Ready for what, though, he couldn't say.

"Okay, here is what I want you to do. Think of your..."

A pop distracted them both. Draco's eyes flew open, and he was shocked to see Peachy standing in the solarium.

"Peachy? What are you doing here?" Draco frowned. This didn't bode well. Draco was sure that Pansy hadn't had a sudden change of heart for no reason.

If it was possible for Peachy to look more miserable than usual, she did. She was cringing, her little fists clutched and her arms drawn into herself as if she were in pain. Draco had scarcely seen a more wretched looking creature. She said something, but it was inaudible.

"Huh?" Potter said, looking confused.

"Speak up!" Draco said. He didn't have time for this.

Peachy hunched over. "I be coming to say that Miss Pansy be needing back the lock of hair she give you as a sign of her affection." Peachy spoke to the floor.

"What?" Potter gasped.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Draco thundered. "You aren't making sense!"

Peachy cowered, clearly unhappy about her task. It took her several starts before she could get the next part out. "Miss Pansy be saying that she give you a token of her esteem, and it be disgraced. She be demanding it back, and says it can't stay here in this ... house of sin." Peachy flinched.

"I don't..." Draco was about to throw the father of all tantrums when a memory tickled the back of his brain. He vaguely remembered Pansy pressing a locket on him back when they were sixth-years. He hadn't given it any thought at the time. He didn't even know where it was. This was just Pansy being a bitch. "You can tell Pansy to shove that locket right up her..."

"Tureen!" Peachy blurted.

"What?" Draco blinked.

"Miss Pansy also be wanting back her family's heirloom soup tureen. She says it's Wedgwood, and you have it."

Draco sighed. "Accio tureen..." He winced. The motion was automatic. Nothing felt more ridiculous than waving an impotent wand around. Draco turned to Potter. "Er, do you mind? It would speed things up here considerably."

Potter was standing with his arms crossed over his chest. "Do I mind collecting all of your girlfriend's stuff for you?" His eyes were narrowed.

Draco had a feeling he may be treading dangerous ground, but it was too late. "She's not my girlfriend. She's a friend, who's a girl."

"Thanks for that distinction," Potter said. He whipped his wand out. "Accio Pansy's shit!"

Things were crumbling out of Draco's hands faster than he could hold onto them. "She's not even a friend, as you can see." He didn't like this feeling of apologizing for something when he wasn't quite sure what he'd done wrong.

"I can see just fine what she is," Potter grumbled.

Peachy was making little whimpering noises, looking back and forth between the two of them. It was only a moment more of awkward silence until the big piece of china flew through the air. Potter caught it with one hand. The locket came in short order, followed by three pictures and a trinket box.

"There!" Draco said. He didn't need to feel guilty, just because Pansy had shoved some junk on him and she was trying to make trouble with her house-elf. "Take your mistress' stuff and get out. I'm changing the wards, so don't try to pop back in unexpectedly."

Peachy nodded dejectedly. "Peachy be understanding. But Peachy wants Master Draco to know that she likes you. And Master Harry." She sneaked a glance up.

"Thanks, Peachy," Potter said.

"Just ... go," Draco said.

The house-elf gathered the items and was gone in a flash, her regret nearly palpable.

Draco turned to Potter. "Okay, I was all set to concentrate. I think I'm ready."

"Well, too bad," Potter said, his voice flat. "Because I sure as hell am not ready. What, you're just going to ignore that, pretend it didn't happen?"

"What?" Draco had, in fact, been hoping for just that.

"That's so typical, Draco!" Potter clenched his fists. "How can we get anywhere if you keep ignoring everything?"

"What's so important? Pansy is just trying to make trouble, that's all. I can't see how that has anything to do with us." Draco wanted to cringe at the unintended intimacy of his own words. They just hung there ... anything to do with us ... with us ...

Potter must have thought so, too, because he paused a moment before he responded. "I'm not going to ignore the fact that you have a fuck-buddy on the side, Draco. I'm not that kind of guy. Just so you know."

"A ..." Draco's mouth fell open. Potter thought that he and Pansy ... A swirl of conflicting thoughts jammed up his brain. He was overjoyed that Potter's problem was jealousy, but less so that he had to admit his ... shortcomings. "Er, we aren't. That. So ... not a problem." Maybe that would do?

"Don't lie to me, Draco." Potter pocketed his wand, clearly at his limit. "I saw the article in The Quibbler, just like everyone else. I know exactly what you two are to each other!"

Draco winced. "We aren't!" Draco could feel an uncomfortable sliding in his stomach. He wanted his way without having to tell the truth. How could he get around it? "I ..." One look at Potter's face, and he saw that he was hanging on by the thinnest of margins. One false step, and it was over. Was his pride worth it? Draco took a breath and came clean. "I went to see her, but I couldn't do it. I thought of you the whole time. Okay? Are you happy?" Draco had never been so embarrassed. Well, he had, but this was a close second.

"Actually, yes."

Draco looked up to see all of the anger had ignited into something different. Potter's eyes, which a moment ago had been simmering with heat of one kind, were now smouldering. A jolt of passion went straight to Draco's cock.

Draco didn't think about it. He didn't know who made the first move, and it didn't matter. His last conscious thought was taking a step towards Potter, towards salvation, and that was it. Potter was there in his arms before he had a chance to say no, to think about all the reasons why it was a bad idea. The heat of Potter's mouth on his seared his thoughts, and all he could do was feel. Like he'd never drawn breath before that moment, and someone gave him life; Potter was in his veins, flowing, a part of him he hadn't known he was missing. He couldn't get enough, never wanted to go without him again.

Draco had never felt such a frenzy before, a mad desire to meld with someone. What were these clothes, these barriers? He yanked at his shirt, heedless of the cloth, just wanting free to quench this fire. He was the tinder and Potter was the spark. All this time...was it like this for everyone, or were they the only two who felt this way? He didn't care, he just wanted more.

Potter was making those little gasping moans, the kind that had driven Draco to such frustration behind his bedroom wall. The memory of that time, listening to Potter touch himself, only made Draco even harder now. His iron control was shattered. He was going to come, if they didn't go faster. "Hurry," he breathed, not recognizing his own voice, as close as he would ever come to begging Potter for anything. Although, in this moment, he thought he might reconsider that.

Potter's glazed eyes were nearly his undoing. "Do you have lube with you?"

"Huh?" Draco was distracted by Potter's lips, which were deliciously swollen. He wanted to bite them.

"Accio lube," Potter murmured. "You can't know how long I've imagined this. Being inside of you."

It took a second for Potter's words to trickle into Draco's overheated brain, but when they got through, they had the effect of a cold Aguamenti. "What?"

Potter nibbled on his earlobe. "We'll go slowly. I won't hurt you, you can trust me."

Those words in the same sentence, hurt and trust, set off a warning bell. Draco pulled away. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Potter frowned. "Well, I just assumed that you... but listen, it's okay. If you want to top, we can do that. Just relax."

"Top?" Draco ran his hands through his hair. The whole scenario was sounding really unpleasant.

Potter took a big breath. "Okay, whoa. Let's take a step back. Top, bottom? I figured you'd thought about this a little more. You just seem like such a natural bottom, but you don't have to be..."

"What?" Draco screeched. He hadn't even heard the term before that moment, but he was insulted. He had a pretty good idea what it meant, and he was no bottom! "Well, I don't know what you thought, Potter, but Malfoys don't bottom for anyone!"

Potter cocked his head. "You just might change your mind about that one day. And I don't know what you thought, either, but I can assure you that this Malfoy..." he pointed a finger at Draco's bare chest, "does a lot of things that other Malfoys don't. "

Draco sucked in a breath. Oh, Merlin. Potter was right! His lifelong philosophy was shot!

"And I said I would bottom, so calm down." Potter smiled. "Let's just talk about what you had in mind. I don't know if you are ... prepared for this, exactly."

Draco's mind was spinning. What had he thought? Actually, he didn't know. But the idea of top, bottom...of something being shoved somewhere, of the need for Accioing lube, for Merlin's sake...it was all too much. Draco jumped up, his panic finally overwhelming him. "I have to go, actually. I have an ... appointment. Elsewhere." Draco couldn't bear to look at Potter's face, but he had to get away. He didn't care where he went, as long as he left. He ran out of the solarium in blind flight. It was a testament to his distress that he left his sweater lying crumpled on the divan in his wake.