Title: Fallen From Grace
Author: Ellie Caro ()
Artwork: My Dark Lord is Better Than by Alice
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: The line stolen from song lyrics belongs to HIM.
The room is no room, but an open space. The floor is made of stone - cold, grey stone - granite. It has walls - grey, tall walls. A boy stands there, in the middle of the room, and gazes up. Somewhere high up there is the white ceiling. He has been there, but now he's fallen.
The boy mutters a spell under his breath. His green eyes close, and open again with pain. Slowly the marble skin on his left arm tears open as if being cut with a deadly sharp dagger. Blood oozes from under the skin. Holding his wand still tightly in his left hand he presses his right forefinger in the cut. He does not flinch as the cut starts to bleed faster. He lets his sleeve fall down to hide the now red-stained arm.
He kneels on the stone floor, and starts drawing on the floor with his own blood. A circle - big enough for an adult to lay in it. He wipes the oozing blood from his left arm with his right and draws with it. He draws symbols - of death and life - inside the circle. He writes with runes around it.
He works fast, keenly, knowing what he's doing. His black hair falls on his face. It has grown over-length again, but he has no wish to cut it. He is sweating now; the floor is cold against his legs and hands, but the air in the room is warm.
"You're doing it wrong," a voice drawls from the other side of the room. Harry does not look up from his work; his deep green eyes flash dangerously under his hair. The other boy cannot see his face.
Drawing the circle and all the marks tires him; he has to be careful - not to let the blood drop from his bleeding arm to wrong places. His right hand fingers are now bleeding from being scratched against the uneven stone. He stops and stands up.
Taking his wand in his right hand he stops the bleeding with few words - the cut closes leaving a dark trail of drying blood on his skin. He swipes off sweat from his forehead, leaving red marks next to the lightning bolt scar. Panting from the effort, he mutters the spell again, now opening the skin on his right arm. Kneeling, he continues to draw. The room gets colder as the shapes are drawn on the stone.
The blond boy watches Harry's bend-over figure from the side of the room. He is tied up loosely and could leave any moment he wants. He doesn't.
The ropes that bind him do not chain him but he is chained. Strong, deep chain ties his heart, body and soul.
Harry comes to him now and with swish of his wand the ropes disappear. He holds out his hand for the boy - Draco, that's the name he calls him on a good day - to help him up; Draco doesn't take it. He stands up graciously as cat.
Draco faces him and is about to ask what the hell he thinks he's doing, but Harry presses his bloody finger on his lips. Draco doesn't speak - he can feel the power radiating from the other boy. Like being too close to fire, it feels dangerous and makes you back away to safe distance where you can enjoy the warmth without burning. It fascinates him.
Harry takes Draco's left hand in his. A bolt of energy rushes from hand to hand, like every time when they touch. Draco can feel the energy running up his hand - his wand hand. Harry mutters the spell that cut open his arm to cut open Draco's. He watches in amusement as the pain reaches Draco's face; how the pale features turn into an _expression of pain.
The cut is lightning bolt shaped; in amazement Draco tries to find Harry's eyes with his. Harry doesn't look up, but down at the blood marked stone. Finding the right figure he finally looks up and sinks his finger in Draco's flesh. A drop of blood falls in the middle of the circle. Harry doesn't notice.
Harry kneels and starts drawing. Draco kneels by him to see what Harry's doing with his blood. Carefully Harry draws a skull; its hollow eyes stare in the space - up to the white ceiling.
Harry turns back to Draco now and looks into his eyes. Staring in his eyes Harry dips his fingers in the cut again. Draco faces his stare and for moment their gazes lock. Then Harry breaks the connection and draws a snake coming out of the skull's mouth.
Draco sits on the floor outside the circle and watches Harry's long, bloodstained fingers work on the stone. He remembers their touch on his lips; he can still taste the blood on his lips.
Harry has finished the drawing and stands up where he is - on other side of the circle. He walks determinedly round the blood marks on the stone; his steps echo in the high chamber. Draco looks up to Harry and Harry kneels beside him. He uses his wand and heals the cut - leaving a marred, lightning bold shaped mark on the skin. It looks horribly red against Draco's pale flesh.
Harry's hand goes in his pocket and he draws out another wand - Draco's. "Go," he says and gives the wand to the blond boy, who takes it, glaring Harry. He doesn't break the gaze this time.
"No," Draco says finally. The dark boy doesn't answer but stands up. This time Harry doesn't offer his hand to him; he cleans the bloodstains from his hands with another spell.
Draco looks up at him, but the other boy has turned around and is facing the circle now. Despair hangs on his shoulders.
We're here only to lose. He has lost already.
He gets up and takes Harry's hand. When the shock of the touch is over Draco tightens his grip. Harry steps in the circle and Draco follows him.
Energy rushes into Draco. He can feel it inside of him now. It feels so familiar and he knows it - it's Harry's energy.
Harry's panting and Draco holds him close, steadies him. Harry can feel Draco's strength; he feels inferior, pressed against Draco's body. He needs all the concentration he has to summon the fires. When Draco's hand joins his he feels the bolt of electricity between their hands. It tingles; he finds it refreshing. Comforting.
They both shout simultaneously: "Circulum incendio!" and fire emerges their wand tips. Green and red fires, tangled together - like entwined lovers. Nothing without each other. Everything together.
Smoke fills the air making Harry cough. Draco doesn't move - he holds Harry still, close to his chest - his arms around him. Harry tears away from the embrace and turns around to face him.
The blond boy is only inch taller than him, but it makes the difference. Harry has to look up to his eyes. Draco's hair has grown long - it's almost as long as his. The robes he wears are pure white in Harry's eyes, only marred by the lights of the flames.
Draco's eyes glitter in the light of the flames - dark, grey eyes, incredibly deep.
He is an angel fallen from grace. He may not have wings, but the grace has never fully left him. Soon he will turn to what Lucifer is now - slave of darkness. Harry can't tear his gaze of him.
He swallows.
For the first. For the last.
The flames burn red and green around them and Harry presses his lips against Draco's. The other boy does not move; he doesn't answer the kiss. Harry's tongue forces his lips to part. He is pouring himself into the kiss. Draco feels him and the passion. In the end he answers the kiss.
Everything is already lost.
Harry can taste the trace of his own blood on Draco's lips. Tingling. The power cracks between them; it ties their lips together. Time long forgotten.
Panting, they break the kiss; Harry takes a step backwards.
The silence around them could be cut by knife. The flames burn silently - magically - creating shadows on their faces.
Slowly Harry starts unbuttoning his robe. His eyes never leave Draco's. Enthralled. The robe is down on the floor soon and Harry works on his shirt - slowly, as if teasing. It makes Draco trace his own lips with his tongue. He can taste Harry still on them.
Harry's bare chest is one of the most beautiful things Draco has seen. He cannot stand there anymore without moving and Harry can see his distress. His eyes ask the question that Draco's body has already answered.
A moment later Harry's fingers play with Draco's robe buttons. Their lips are entwined and Draco lets his hands wander on Harry's skin - from his shoulder blades, to the small of his back, to the waist band of his jeans and lower.
Harry slips off Draco's grey robe and reveals the shirt underneath. It fits like a second skin on Draco's muscular body. Harry jerks the hem of the shirt from Draco's trousers and for a moment Draco has to take his hands off Harry's skin, as he draws the shirt over his head. Cast aside, to the flames, the shirt turns into ash.
The blond hair tangles and Harry's hand on the back of his head messes it up even more. Draco does not care - their lips are locked together again. He worships Harry's lips - they wander down from his mouth; Harry's kisses leave a trail from his jaw, down to his neck and to his shoulder bone. He does not think what he's doing.
He does not think when his tongue traces circles around Draco's nipple.
He doesn't think when he draws Harry's head up by hair and then slowly traces the scar with his finger, before their mouths collapse again forcefully.
Slaves of desire from the moment they touched.
The desire undresses them and their naked bodies entwined they fall together on the floor. The blood leaves its mark on their sweating skins. The flames burn in the circle around them - red flames tangled with green.
"Join me..." Harry's voice is hoarse as he speaks; his lips carry the marks of Draco's passion. Draco lets his body speak its answer and when he fills him he is torn apart by the pleasure and pain. Harry feels his pain and fights hard the urge to move. But he is unable to stop - his body wields power stronger than his mind.
The grieving expression on Draco's face disappears, changes to lust. Their hearts beat faster; the silence is filled with their pleasure.
They come to climax together. For a moment the flames alight in black; he spends his poison inside him.
It's as if someone has suddenly sucked all the energy from him and Harry collapses on the floor. You are my hidden life, you are my hidden death.
They lay on the floor exhausted, gathering their breath. The flames burn in pure white around them. Harry turns away and Draco can see the skull from the floor is now tattooed on his back. He traces its lines with a finger.
"Potter?" Draco coughs blood now, but doesn't seem to care, "or should I call you Harry now?" Draco's voice is weak - the poison works fast. Not as fast as Avada Kedavra.
Harry doesn't answer. He keeps looking at his - Draco's - naked body. How beautiful he is. Pale, translucent skin. His lips red from blood and swollen from sex. Dangerously beautiful. Draco's dying on his arms and Harry wonders if he knows he's dying.
Draco speaks to him, his voice is croaky. It has death in it.
"It is not wrong," he says, and his pale features go white. Harry had never known how beautiful death can be.
Draco mouths his last words, but Harry doesn't notice; he's too busy to stare in Draco's eyes. Dying eyes, his grey havens. He has never seen a slow death. "Soon you will join me," Draco mouths and gives up breathing.
Harry sits next to his dead body and stares, not believing.
Draco's eyes lose their light. Harry finds himself suddenly missing the light - the glittering light playing on the surface.
Lovers in life, he wonders, are they lovers in death?
Harry lowers his head down to Draco's and drinks the red-poison from his lips.
Draco's eyes remain empty; his lips, once red as wine, are now smeared with slowly drying layer of scarlet stains. Harry feels hollow; he swallows the blood. It tastes similar as the blood he has tasted before. It has the same taste as his own blood has - the tingling iron, warmth and thickness - with scent of death in it.