Title: Best (co-authored with Jedi-Ginny)
Archiving: just ask.
Rating: PG-13.
Date: June 2, 2002 (i think).
Summary: Slash Insert for Draco Veritas, Chapter 7. After Hermione leaves, Harry and Draco have a mind-to-mind talk.
Notes: Ever and always for Cassie, with love.
~~~~~~~~
“It’s complicated,” she said, but she had the unnerving feeling that his clear gray eyes saw right through her. For a moment, he almost looked sympathetic.
“Well, don’t break his heart,” he said. “We’ve got enough broken hearts around here already,” and with that, he pushed open the door to Ron’s old room and went inside. Ginny caught a brief glimpse of Harry sitting on the edge of the empty bed before the door shut, blocking her view.
~~~~~~~~
"Don’t break his heart. We’ve got enough broken hearts around here already."
He saw a twinge of guilt flit across Ginny's expression before he turned away and opened the door to Ron's bedroom. Good, he thought. Go back to him and be happy.
Happiness was far, far away from Draco at the moment as he took in the figure of Harry, sitting stiffly on the edge of Ron's bed. He wanted to say a million things; yet he had absolutely no idea what to say, nothing that could take away the darkness clouding those green eyes. They stared dully at nothing in particular, lost in the void of Harry's misery, a misery that reached deep into Draco's own soul and seemed to stretch his lungs taut with heartache, so deep was the pain he could feel radiating from Harry.
For a moment Draco doubted: was sure that Hermione had run out the door carrying all the pieces of what used to be Harry with her. He stepped inside and went to sit quietly beside him on the bare mattress. A tiny flicker along their bond told him that Harry was aware of his presence, even though outwardly he remained still. Relief surged over him and he instantly felt foolish: of course Harry hadn’t gone anywhere, he was sitting right there; but he looked so …shattered.
The desire to bear Harry's burden overwhelmed him suddenly. He was sitting right next to him, but Harry had walled himself firmly behind his emotions, and Draco knew, as he looked at the Gryffindor's huddled, rigid form, that he would give anything, do anything, endure anything, if it meant sparing Harry this agony.
He swallowed and turned towards Harry, but he didn’t get a chance to speak before Harry's voice, deathly quiet, startled him. "She's leaving tonight."
Draco’s chest clenched. He couldn't bear to think of Hermione now; not yet. He glanced at Harry, a wave of protectiveness washing over him. "She loves you, Harry." The words should have tasted bitter to him, as they had so often before; but at the moment he just felt weary.
"She's gone."
"Not forever."
Harry's voice shot into his mind, Even if she comes back it won't be the same, but instead of the anger Draco expected there was only a dull aching tiredness that matched his own. Then again, he hardly knew whose feelings were whose anymore.
The thought occurred to him that maybe he didn't want to know.
Harry's thoughts came very rapidly to Draco now, as if he wanted to spill it all out before the memory tainted him somehow, made it even worse. She told me the reason I didn't trust her was because I hid things from her, because I lie to her. That's why she left, Draco, because she said that if I could believe she was hiding something so huge and horrible from me then I must be keeping some giant secret from her. I couldn't tell her, I—she's gone and I couldn't let her know that... He trailed off into quiet despair, and his hands clenched together in his lap.
You tried. You told me, you would have told her how you felt if you could. You can't beat yourself up for—
No. Harry's voice was flat.
Draco blinked. No?
She knows. Somehow, I think she's always known.
Draco blinked again. You mean she knows how you feel about revenge? About wanting to tear out Voldemort's ribcage and forcing him to wear it as a bonnet?
Harry didn't answer, and Draco took the silence to be a ‘no.’ He honestly didn't understand what Harry meant, and his confusion translated into the mental equivalent of a question mark. To his puzzlement Harry didn't respond immediately; instead he kept his eyes fixed on Draco. His expression was hard to describe and even harder to read: pain, loss, guilt and tiredness were there, but also something indefinable, something that sent a twinge of recognition running through Draco.
With no better way to respond, and guessing this was as extreme a circumstance as any, he wordlessly took Harry's hand into his own. His hand seemed to remember Harry's desperate hold from earlier, as if Harry’s grip had emblazoned itself into Draco’s flesh. He felt the familiar tingle as scar met scar. This time the jolt shot up his arm and through him, and Harry, instead of wringing his hand off, applied a tiny answering squeeze of pressure that for some reason made Draco smile. Dumbledore's voice popped into his head: For what he cannot endure alone, he has you. His eyes met Harry's steadily, willing him to understand that he wasn't alone: that he was there, he had not left, and he wouldn't leave. Even if Hermione hadn't said to come take care of Harry, he couldn't have done anything else, he realized. Even if Harry hadn't chosen his friendship, even if Draco himself had had no choice in the matter, he couldn't walk away now. Now you can look out and see the stars, Dumbledore had said. Harry was the reason for that—the reason for everything that mattered to him. And Draco, looking into his eyes, currently anything but starry, finally admitted the truth: he would never leave Harry. He couldn't.
Leaving Harry meant leaving himself.
Harry's voice came again, a bit more steadfast through the fog of emotion. I couldn't... I didn't get the chance to tell her that she was right. I have been keeping secrets from her. You were right—she is six times smarter than the both of us.
Had Harry not looked so serious, so determined, Draco might have chuckled. Instead, he repeated gently, What was she right about, Harry? noting the vague comfort that came from calling him by his name.
Harry hesitated. I... can't... it's complicated.
Draco's eyes narrowed and instinctively he let go of Harry's hand. As he did so a flash of pain darted across Harry's features and into his mind. It was so acute it left him feeling like he'd just driven a knife into Harry's flesh. He gaped at Harry, astonished.
Don't.
Harry cautiously leaned forward to retrieve the hand he had just held. Draco's jaw dropped, and he immediately felt foolish for having let go.
Harry looked up at him uncertainly, the barely articulated thought hovering between them: Is this okay?
It's more than okay, was the thought that shot into the forefront of Draco's mind at the slightest pressure of Harry's fingers wrapping around his hand. A shiver ran through him at the contact, magnified by an echo of the same sensation in Harry’s thoughts. He looked at Harry, whose eyes widened a little. He could feel the goose bumps standing out now, not only his own skin, but Harry's. He could sense Harry's rising emotions even as he registered the flush in the arch of that tanned throat. He could hear, inside of his own mind, their heart rates speeding up together.
A flash of fear darted into Harry’s mind and through Draco’s. It startled Draco, and at once he leaned closer, tightening his grip on Harry’s hand. He didn’t know why fear should be at the center of Harry’s thoughts, not now—surely the worst had already happened. The things he wanted to say, the words he found himself wanting to whisper, all seemed suddenly ludicrous, especially with Harry looking at him like that, through luminous, wide eyes, as if somehow he held the answer to why all of this was happening. Draco looked back helplessly. He didn’t have any answers and didn’t know where to turn to find them. But that fear persisted, lacing the edges of Harry’s thoughts, and Draco felt his heart seize up with the desire to make it go away, to reassure Harry any way he could.
So he did.
Tentatively, he leaned forward, gathering Harry into his arms. Instantly he sensed pain give way to a cool, clear reassurance, and for a moment he hardly knew who was calming who—only that the pain had dissipated completely, replaced by a pleasant warmth that ran through his entire body. Harry melted into his embrace, resting his head gently on Draco's shoulder, and Draco held him close. Yet the sharp fear he sensed in Harry didn’t fade, in spite of the comfort; in fact, when Draco instinctively pulled him closer, it surged through Harry in a wave so strong Draco was shaken by it.
He tried to block it from his mind. Harry needed strength right now. He'd told Hermione once that Harry wasn't fragile, but in Draco's arms like this, he suddenly seemed unbelievably breakable—too impossibly frail to be clinging to Draco so desperately. As he rested his chin on top of Harry’s head, Draco felt his own lungs seize up with anxiety, as if someone were handing him a Faberge Egg and saying 'don't drop.'
His hand was shaking, he noted, as he ran his palm soothingly over Harry’s back. He also noticed Harry’s chest was heaving a little raggedly. Draco suppressed a shiver, expecting him to pull away any second—but Harry didn't. Instead he buried his head in the curve of Draco’s shoulder as if he belonged there—and Draco was suddenly very aware of how close they were.
Draco swallowed and closed his eyes, unable to place the emotions he sensed in Harry: they were tumultuous, and everything Harry had been holding back for months now surfaced in the strands of thoughts that reached Draco. Anger, rage, hurt, insecurity, feelings of inadequacy and failure, all touched Draco in turn, and lodged in his heart.
Oh, Harry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
And something else—something beyond anything Draco had ever sensed in him before, a depth of emotion that made him tremble, even as he understood that it was directly connected to this strange incessant fear. What was it? Fear of… discovery? Discovery of what?
Don’t be.
Harry lifted his head from Draco's shoulder and looked at him, his eyes dark and unfathomable. Their faces were inches apart, close enough to touch. He was suddenly unsure of himself, and aware that Harry could tell this in the haze of his thoughts. In fact he was so tuned in to Harry’s emotions he could barely make sense of his own, because suddenly their axis seemed to be Harry, and all he could think of was how much he wanted to tell Harry, reassure Harry, give to Harry…
He found himself leaning in towards Harry, whose forehead was lowering, moment by moment, tilting to meet his own.
Potter, what—
Shhh.
The moment stretched out between them, entwining itself in their embrace—arms hugging sides, hands lightly on waists, foreheads bumping gently together. Everything was slow motion: he could feel Harry’s breath ghosting over his lips, he could see the other boy’s pulse flickering in his throat—but it all seemed far away. He was in Harry’s head, completely immersed, listening to what he found there. Memories, thoughts, feelings, came tumbling at him in a rush, bearing down on him like the contact of their skin.
He saw himself as Harry saw him, lying on the ground beside the quarry ravine, pale and lifeless. And he saw, too, the depth of emotion the boy who was now cradled in his arms had experienced at the thought of losing him.
He saw himself fencing with Harry before Salazar Slytherin—saw through Harry’s eyes his own look of concern as his sword grazed Harry’s skin and drew blood. The honesty of his own emotions startled him. He had been laid bare before Harry, just as Harry was laid bare before him now.
He heard his own voice telling Harry on his birthday that he was looking at his happy memory. He lived Harry’s satisfaction at knowing that he was a part of Draco’s happiest moment, felt the way Harry had relished the look in Draco’s eyes. The experience of seeing his own joy reflected in Harry’s memory was almost too much to bear.
His best moment was also Harry’s.
It was Harry’s because it was his.
He closed his eyes, overwhelmed.
Everything shifted with the shifting of Harry’s weight against his. Harry let his head drop to the side, slowly, so that his cheek brushed Draco’s and then barely pressed against it. Draco sighed softly, only half-aware that they were both trembling. He felt Harry hesitate, and then plunge ahead: holding him even tighter, he let Draco inside the corners of his mind—
That huge, giant secret I’ve been keeping from Hermione?
—and everything fell into place.
It’s you.
Draco reeled. A breath lodged itself in his throat, and he held tight, desperately tight, to Harry, as that final dam of emotion burst and waves of feeling broke over them both. All of Harry’s fears, his doubts, misgivings, and secrets, surfaced for Draco, clear and unmistakable. Steeling his nerves, Draco clung to Harry as shock, acceptance, and understanding rippled through them both. It was all so clear suddenly—so completely obvious. How could he have ever missed it before? How could he have failed to recognize in Harry something that made so much sense? Something that fit, that echoed what Draco instinctively knew he wanted so much—
—what he suddenly couldn’t imagine ever not wanting.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the slightly musky scent of brooms and pine and everything uniquely Harry, and felt his own fears subside. He could do this. He could. This was something he would not run from; he couldn’t even if he wanted to.
He swallowed and gave Harry a barely perceptible nod, trying to accept what Harry was offering. Harry's earlier fear suddenly became crystalline, and Draco understood. Harry had been afraid of what he would think, afraid of what he might say. He’d been afraid he might have to say it aloud.
Draco returned the gentle pressure against his cheek and let his breath tickle Harry’s ear.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Harry pulled away just slightly, his nose brushing Draco’s as he did so, his eyes lighting up. Draco realized at once he would never grow tired of that look, that flicker of hope and tenderness and friendship in Harry’s eyes. It was—it was beyond perfection, it was completion. The thought left him before he realized what it meant, but a tremor ran through him at the rightness of it. And now he was swimming in his thoughts; his emotions flooded him, and if not for Harry holding him fast, he knew he would be drowning, losing himself entirely beneath the onslaught of feelings kept too long denied…
But Harry was here, and Draco was safe.
Harry's hand moved to trace the curve of Draco's jaw, leaving shivers in its wake. Draco was lost in the contact, sensing Harry’s delight at the effect his touch was having on him. He couldn’t even muster up something witty to say. It was too much: everything, every touch… every breath was new.
“Draco,” Harry whispered, so softly Draco found himself leaning closer, falling towards the sound. Harry's eyes met his and held, and Draco knew, really knew, that everything in his life up till now, had guided him, had guided them both, to this one ephemeral moment.
Harry was moving closer to him, and closer still. Draco let his eyes fall shut, and Harry kissed him, and his only surprise was his lack of surprise.
This was nothing like tentative, cautious kisses with Ginny, or the desperate passion for Hermione that wracked him, left him feeling full and empty at once; this was a kiss he could feel in every fiber of his body, from the fire in his own veins, from the knowledge of how much he needed it, to the disbelief and blossoming joy he felt in Harry. It consumed him, it owned him, and he could feel Harry trembling from it, lost in the vertigo of wariness and euphoria, passion and caution, wanting more and fearing to take it.
Draco sighed and slid his tongue gently along Harry’s lips, smiling into the kiss when Harry’s breath caught in a tiny gasp. He felt Harry’s fingers tangle in his hair, and he shifted closer, wanting to hold him and hold him until he found a way to lose himself completely in the miracle that was Harry Potter. His Harry Potter.
Oh, God. How could he—how could he ever be worthy of this?
Harry pulled away a bit, his eyes narrowing, and Draco knew he had heard his panic. He couldn’t do this; he couldn’t bear Harry knowing how afraid and happy and helpless he felt—
—but Harry was countering his anxiety with something desperate and sure. Draco didn’t have a name for it, but he could sense it, and he knew it was real.
You, Draco.
But—
You.
But... I... I'm not... I'm not Hermione....
A light laugh, and Harry tugged on Draco’s lower lip. No. You sure aren’t.
But you said—up in your room, you said—you never wanted—
Even in his mind Draco’s voice broke at the memory.
I know what I said. What I meant was that there could never be anyone new for me, but you--you aren't anyone new. It's always been you. I chose this—I chose you—a long time ago.
Draco gulped. ...But I'm nothing to you.
You are everything to me.
Draco pulled away from Harry, staring, shock radiating from him in waves. Harry gave him a look of concern and grasped his arm, silently asking if he’d said too much. In a daze Draco looked down at his arm, and Harry’s hand, and without thinking he lifted Harry’s fingers to his lips and brushed a delicate kiss over each one. They flexed in his grasp, and the next thing he knew Harry’s hands were caressing his cheeks, winding in his hair, bending his head forward, and Harry’s lips were on his in an unrelenting kiss. The heat of it surged through Draco and drove him instantly mad. He clung to Harry’s mouth, needing more, feeling as if his heart would somehow burst from the need to have more, more, more…
His head was spinning—he didn’t know ceiling from floor; so it hardly surprised him when he went from vertical to horizontal, from upright to on the bed with Harry on top of him and his mouth, oh, everywhere at once. Hands fumbled at clothing blindly, breathing grew more ragged as hot, urgent kisses met with skin, on skin...
“Harry…”
Say it again.
“Oh… oh, Harry…”
And then there was no more thinking, nothing but Harry’s mouth on Draco’s, and his body arching up to meet Harry’s lean figure, their hands brushing together in their eagerness to touch and be touched. He wound his hands in Harry’s silk-spun black hair and pulled him closer, shivering as Harry’s body melded into his. An instant later, as naturally as if it were the kind of thing he did all the time, Harry moaned.
It was the most beautiful thing Draco had ever heard.
Draco was bone-tired. It took effort—hell, it took everything he had left inside of him—even to make his fingers move lazily over Harry's back. Harry’s arms were fastened around him loosely, his lips trailing warm, slow kisses over Draco’s collarbone. Draco sighed and shifted in order to pull him just that much closer, feeling Harry slip out of him with a quiet pang of reluctance that echoed through them both. With a sigh of contentment Harry rested his head on Draco’s chest. Draco stroked his hair and asked lightly, “What are you thinking about?”
“Ron,” said Harry contemplatively.
Draco sat up, all tiredness gone, almost pushing Harry off of him into the floor. “What?”
“No, you git.” Harry chuckled fleetingly as he propped his head in his hand and ran his palm over Draco’s chest. “This is Ron's bed.”
“Oh. Oh, fuck.” Draco grimaced. “I’d laugh at the irony if Weasley were only here to make it worth my while.” Harry winced, and Draco, immediately stricken, pulled Harry’s chin up and kissed him reassuringly. Harry cradled Draco’s chin in his hand and responded, deepening the kiss until Draco was reminded that he hadn’t had much breath in him left to begin with.
When they broke away the look in his eyes told Draco that Harry was thinking too much.
“Are… are you going to see her off?” he faltered, regretting it the moment he asked, but knowing he had to anyway. Harry looked away without replying, and Draco could sense the cold chill sweeping through him as if it were his own body. He moved his arm around Harry’s shoulder and was pleased to see the tension fade a little.
“You’re hot,” remarked Harry.
“Well, Potter, it took you long enough to notice."
Harry turned back to him. “You’re feverish, I meant.”
“All from a bloody good workout,” Draco responded. Harry didn’t comment, just looked at him for a long, intense moment, and Draco let his fingers trail over Harry’s cheek. Harry sighed, whether in contentment or something else Draco wasn’t sure. As he bent to place his lips over Harry’s forehead, Harry reached up and caught him in a warm kiss, his fingers tangling in Draco’s hair, nudging him closer.
Draco smiled, in spite of everything, against the gentle pressure of Harry’s mouth.
They kissed for a moment longer, and finally broke away, panting a little. “I’m going to go meet her,” said Draco into the curve of Harry’s neck. He placed his lips there possessively, warding off a sudden impulse to push Harry back into the pillows and kiss every bit of him, from one end to the other.
Harry didn’t smile, but Draco felt him relax as he kissed Draco’s temple. “You’d better get going or you’ll miss her,” he said smoothly.
Reluctantly Draco pulled away with a nod. “Right.” For the next few minutes he and Harry dressed silently, sensing each other’s veiled emotions and focusing on the moments ahead, ignoring the unspoken desire to stay in each other’s arms just then—then and always.
“You’ll be in the tower when I get back?” Draco asked tonelessly, ruffling Harry’s hair. Harry nodded. Draco kissed the top of his head and moved to the door. “She’ll be okay, Harry. You know that.”
Harry nodded again. “Draco…”
Draco turned in the doorway. Harry, despite the tiredness etched on his face, looked younger all of a sudden.
“I…”
Something about Harry’s tone made Draco’s voice catch in his throat, so he looked into Harry’s eyes and told him silently that he understood.
Relief swept across Harry’s face. Thank you. For everything.
Draco started, began to reply, and finally had to turn away from the look burning in Harry’s eyes.
Same here, Potter.
And as the door closed behind him, Draco saw that Harry, sitting on the edge of Ron’s bed, smiled.