Author:
![[info]](http://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
GeovikiRating: PG-13; warning for addiction.
Canon: post-HBP. Contains spoilers.
Length: 5,300 words.
Scenario: I promise to leave the lights on.
Summary: Draco finds it's easy to forget his sixth year at Hogwarts. Too easy.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor pretend to own any characters or locations within the HP Universe, they remain the sole property of J. K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Christopher Little Agency and associates. No money is made from this work, it is purely a work of fanfiction.
Notes: Completed September 1, 2005 I wrote this to a prompt (#58 - I promise to keep the lights on) that in anyone else would trigger something highly sexy and fun. I squeaked under the deadline for this challenge with a whopping hour to spare. Anyone sensible would have come up with something short and hot. When have I ever been accused of sensibility? As is my usual conceit, I stole the title from a song, this one by the jazz pianist Chick Corea. You can be happy it's an instrumental tune, and I haven't stuffed any lyrics in the story.
The Law of Falling and Catching Up
Humankind cannot bear very much reality. - T. S. Eliot
"Run, Draco."
Draco jerks awake once again from too little sleep, listening to the echo of Snape's half-commanding, half-panicked words. He can almost smell the damp moss on the hulking trees of the Forbidden Forest, can almost see their grasping shadows stretching to block his way beyond the gates of Hogwarts. He lurches out of twisted and sweat-damp bedclothes, heart pounding, until reality catches up with him. Only a dream, he tells himself. He doesn't try to assure himself he's safe now.
He collapses back against rough sheets and stares at the newly-familiar ceiling. Boredom has compelled him to memorize every crack and imperfection in the cramped, dismal room in what he'd been surprised to learn was Professor Snape's house. Before the night when � well, before � he'd never imagined any of the staff of Hogwarts with a life outside its stalwart walls. There are too many things he'd never imagined before, he thinks.
The raging jealousy and paranoia Draco had felt towards Snape all year are gone. Not only has Snape rescued him from the Ministry's vengeance and the Dark Lord's displeasure, he acted with swift efficiency to move his mother out of harm's way. A Malfoy is never ungrateful.
Closing his eyes once more, Draco lets out a heavy breath that barely stirs the musty air around him. Run, Draco. He had run that night as though the hounds of hell were after him. The problem, Draco decides suddenly, is that he hasn't stopped running. He is running at full tilt but somehow still finds himself in the same terrible place.
"Breakfast won't wait forever."
Draco unwillingly opens his eyes at the complaining voice but doesn't answer.
"No house-elves here to wipe your pureblood bum."
Rolling over, Draco fixes the annoying speaker with a baleful glare. Pettigrew flinches back, tries to disguise his fear, and fails. The smile he flashes at Draco bears evidence of long practice towards countless superiors; like those other luckless recipients, Draco easily dismisses it with a mere wisp of disapproval. Pettigrew visibly shrinks in on himself and steps backwards.
Annoyance overcomes him, and he rises from the bed with sudden energy.
"Get out. I want to dress, and I don't need you drooling over me while I'm doing it." He's seen the man's surreptitious leers out of the corner of his eye. Bastard gives him the creeps. "Go on."
Draco doesn't miss house-elves, but he thinks they'd be a damned sight better company than Pettigrew.
A man Draco doesn't know slouches over the dregs of tea in the kitchen. Snape looks up briefly, but no warning accompanies the glance, so Draco allows himself to relax a little. He notes the man's sudden interest in him and counteracts it with studied nonchalance.
"So this is where the Malfoy brat fetched up," the man says. "Pettigrew wasn't enough for you, Snape? You running some kind of shelter here for the Dark Lord's rejects?"
Pettigrew draws himself up to his full height, but the effect is ruined by the accompanying squeak he lets out. "Watch your mouth, Newburg. Remember, I brought our Lord back. Where were you that night? He still appreciates me. I know it."
"Yeah, and they say he really appreciates that life-debt you owe Harry Potter, too." He gives Pettigrew a scowl, then laughs. "We all know why you're here, Wormtail. Don't try to take the piss. You're damned lucky to be tucked up here, where Snape keeps you out of the Dark Lord's wand range."
"Oh, leave it," Snape says tiredly. "You've brought what I needed and given me your news; be on your way."
Draco belatedly notices the packages stacked on the counter � their weekly delivery of household groceries, since none of them dare show their faces in public. All three of them are wanted by the Ministry; only Snape is still welcomed by the Dark Lord. Draco hasn't edged as much as a toe out of this gloomy house in over a month.
"Where's Avery?" he says. Avery is their usual courier, one much more deferential to even a disfavored Malfoy.
"Dead," Newburg says shortly. Draco suppresses a shiver, tries not to wonder which side accomplished it, and lapses back into silence. Newburg stands and Disapparates without another word.
"I'm being called into service," Snape tells them. Draco can't tell from the indifferent tone whether Snape is gratifed or worried. "I may be absent for some time."
Draco doesn't like the lecherous sidelong glance Pettigrew gives him, or the way his pudgy body leans towards him too closely.
"Can I come with you?" Draco asks, knowing the answer but compelled to express his distaste and claustrophobia.
"Of course not. Pettigrew will stay with you. Don't go looking for trouble, Draco." He looks as if he'd like to say more, then turns away.
Ever the sycophant � especially to the Dark Lord's current favorite � Pettigrew gushes, "Anything I can do to be of service, Severus, you know all you have to do is ask."
Draco is irritated hearing Snape's given name coming from Pettigrew's mouth; it's not something he would ever feel comfortable saying. Snape never calls Pettigrew "Peter", though. As far as Draco notices, he never calls him anything.
"Then put away these things," Snape says to Draco's satisfaction, gesturing at the packages Newburg brought. His triumph is short-lived when Snape adds, "There's more in the sitting room, Draco. See if anything is of use in the Dark Lord's service."
In the sitting room, Draco discovers a large stack of boxes and bags waiting to be explored. Most of them bear the gaudy green and orange logo of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. He knows from his own recent experience the value of some of the twins' inventions during wartime � the Ministry, if it had any sense, should close down the shop and confiscate most of the stock. That they haven't only shows how off-guard the Ministry is, even after� Even now.
Sorting through the goods, Draco pulls out several items that look promising. Extendable Ears, he discovers, need no modifications at all to be a perfect spy tool, but he suspects the discovery isn't new. There is a large assortment of sweets and fancies which by Hogwarts word-of-mouth he knows causes anyone stupid enough to eat one a transformation that is unpleasant at best. He remembers his father mentioning that Nott Sr. uses some of these during torture sessions � engorgement charms can cause horrible agony, especially in the hands of someone that sadistic. He sets them aside in favor of something less sinister.
His eyes light on a box featuring a passionate couple in mid-snog. 'Patented Daydream Charms', he reads. 'One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling).'
He can't explain why he waits until Snape is gone before trying the Daydream Charm, since he'd been specifically told to check out how useful Newburg's finds were.
Nor can he explain why he waits until Pettigrew's door clicks shut for the night before opening the box with something approaching excitement.
Disappointment engulfs him when he pulls out a cheap scrying mirror, the kind his mother told him wasn't fit for a Malfoy when he begged for one as a small boy. The scroll looks more promising, so he unrolls that and reads:
'Congratulations. If you follow the mirror's directions, you shall experience nothing but the finest quality daydreams. To begin your lesson in casting the Weasleys' Patented Daydream Charm, tap the mirror with your wand and repeat, Erudio.'
He does as he's instructed. In the mirror, he sees the wavy, predictably poor quality image of a young woman � probably one of the Weasley's tarts doing them a favor.
"Welcome, " she says with a nervous glance at someone not seen. "I will be teaching you the single word which will transport you to realms of delight and pleasure." She is overtaken by a fit of giggles at the overblown patter.
"Get on with it," he says with growing irritation.
"Uh, right." She returns to some invisible script. "You will learn the word quickly, but as a beginner, you will only be able to call forth a taste of what the Charm can offer you. With practice and determination, you will soon improve the quality and variety of daydreams that the Charm can conjure, until as an expert in Weasleys' Patented Daydream Charm, you won't be able to tell the difference between your daydream and the real thing."
Draco is annoyed when he hears "practice." Oh well, it's not as though he's got anything better to do, shut up in this mausoleum for weeks on end.
"Are you ready? Let's begin. First, let your mind think of a single image of something you like to do. Do you have an image? Now, with your wand, make a movement out and up, like this �" he squints at the wavering image and copies her a few times � "and repeat after me: Pariosomnium."
He's suddenly no longer in the dreary bedroom, although he can't clearly see his surroundings � they're as wavering and undefined as the girl in the mirror. It's unsettling at first, then he begins to relax when nothing more alarming happens. The image he has in mind of flying on his broom takes on a bit more solidity. He begins to smell fresh, crisp fall air around him; he feels the polished wood of his Firebolt in his hand. He climbs on, adjusts his position � it feels uncannily natural � and kicks off into flight.
He lets himself take a few looping turns in the air, but the skies are threatening rain, and he lands at the sight of raindrops spotting his robes. Unexpectedly, the sky becomes the ceiling of his bedroom.
"That wasn't a half-hour just now," he grumbles aloud.
The girl in the mirror seems used to customer complains, because she simply smirks and tells him, "They'll get longer with practice."
"They better." He gives her a sharp-eyed glare. "What else can I do with this charm?"
That leaves her nonplused. "That's all I know," she insists. "I just give you the word and the wand motion. The rest is up to you."
"What a bloody rip-off." Still, he didn't pay for this, so he doesn't bother to debate the point with her any longer, and she fades away.
All in all, Draco thinks, it was kind of fun. He'll definitely give it another go in the morning.
Draco is secretly proud of the progress he makes with the Daydream Charm. Snape's been gone more than a week, and already he's able to sustain the Charm's effects for the full 30 minutes. The dreams become more vivid and realistic each time he casts it, too. He practices four times every day, like a school drill. He likes to think it replaces the education he's missing out on, holed up like this with no one but Pettigrew for company. His rigorous practice sessions let him avoid the smarmy git for hours.
At first he supposes from the flashy photos on the package that his daydreams will be stuffed full of buxom young women in varying stages of undress. When they fail to materialize, he reasons that buxom young women gyrate through the Weasley twins' fantasy, not his. His dreamtime is spent with a single companion. After a few productive � and arousing � sessions, he's no longer shocked that his fantasy friend is male.
"Come back soon," the man whispers in his ear whenever the spell's grip begins to weaken. "I'll be waiting for you."
He removes the clock from his bedroom after it provokes him by slowing down enormously as he waits an hour � well, maybe half a hour � between practice sessions.
Draco boosts his number of daily practice sessions to six. He learns that he can cast charms back to back, and that gives the second dream a heightened reality. He ignores the niggling concern that he may be conjuring up too much of a good thing, but decides that if he keeps the number of sessions down to six � or, say, seven or eight � there isn't anything to worry about. It isn't as though the rest of his time in this hellhole is chock-full of excitement.
He doesn't know why he's surprised that the man he meets in his dreams is his perfect lover. He'd been secretly impressed by the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder � the Weasley twins are obviously talented at what they do.
"Do you have to go?" the man asks him. "If you stay, I'll make it worth your while."
Draco strokes the man's messy hair away from his face, and follows it with a lingering kiss. "I shouldn't cast the charm so often," he says.
"Why not?"
He's not exactly sure why not, except that it has something to do with the schedule he's made up for himself. But schedules can't hold him and make him feel alive like this, and he can't think of a good reason why he needs to spend time in that other place with that fuckwit Pettigrew.
Besides, he feels as if he's about to make a breakthrough with his partner. While everything else in his fantasy is sharply focused, his lover still hides behind a mysterious shield that prevents Draco from seeing him clearly. "I want to know who you are," he murmurs.
"But you already know me, Draco. You're just afraid to admit it."
"No, I don't know your name. Tell me."
"Soon. The more we're together, the more you'll know me. Just come back soon."
The charm isn't strong enough this time, Draco thinks. He senses the creeping edges of that other place � Snape's house, he remembers dimly � and if he concentrates, he can feel something cold and metallic gripping and fondling the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.
He lets himself surface just long enough to be able to whisper, "Pariosomnium." Too late, he realizes he hasn't bothered to use his wand. He feels the welcoming pull of that special world once more and realizes he's just performed his first wandless spell. Draco can't hide his pride as he tells his companion what he's done, and he's rewarded most enthusiastically.
Afterwards, he says to his lover, "I need you to tell me who you are."
"Then look at me. Really look at me, Draco, and you'll know my name."
He looks but still is mystified. Overcome with longing once more, he reaches for his companion, and their lips meet in an outpouring of affection and understanding.
"Harry," he says at last.
"Yes."
Pettigrew can no longer meet Draco's eyes in the daylight; Draco cannot bear to see him at night. He keeps the lights bright in his bedroom before snatching a few hours of sleep, but when he wakes up in the small hours before dawn, his room is eerily dark. He pretends he doesn't know who is responsible and why.
Still, Pettigrew does make sure he remembers to bathe and eat every day. Or at least he supposes it's every day.
"I promise to keep the lights on," Harry tells him later as he holds him close to make him forget the touch of cold metal.
Snape is finally home. Draco notices him hovering over the bed as he leaves one dream and is about to sink into another. Snape seems upset about something, and Draco struggles to make sense of what he's saying. He catches a word here and there, and pieces together a story: the Dark Lord is dead, the war's over, Potter's finally fulfilled his destiny. He says something about Potter killing Pettigrew, too, and Draco tries to remember the last time he saw the little rat. It's all too much to take in, though, especially when Snape starts ranting about how thin and disgusting Draco is. "Pariosomnium," he murmurs, and finds solace once again in pleasured dream.
"It doesn't matter anymore, Draco, Harry reassures him. "Stay with me. We can be together here. I love you."
Draco wakes up in a strange place and eventually realizes he's been moved somewhere new at some point in the past � week? Month?
His mother visits him, and he supposes he's glad to see her again. He even stays in this bleak world long enough to tell her so, but it doesn't cheer her at all. She's crying and stroking his hair, saying, "Oh, my darling son, what's happening to you?" He sees her as though she's a long way off, and eventually he has to leave her. He doesn't belong here.
A very tired and ragged Harry Potter is standing over his bed, and Draco has a baffling moment where he's not sure if he's back in the world where he surfaces to eat and drink. Potter must see his confusion.
"I'm on staff here at St. Mungo's now," Potter tells him. "I'm apprenticing with Healer Penticoff. He's the one who's taken your case."
"That's where we are now?" Draco's voice is cracked and weak; he doesn't remember talking to anyone for a long time.
"Yeah. You've been here almost a month. Don't you remember Snape bringing you here?"
Draco doesn't but he hides his ignorance, because this is Potter, after all. "Can I have drink?" he says instead.
"You should eat something, too."
As Draco pushes food around on his plate, he asks, "Why am I here?" He figures Potter, being the honest Gryffindor type, will spill everything the Healer probably won't tell him.
"You keep losing consciousness, but no-one can figure out why. Snape thinks Pettigrew must have done something to you."
Draco lets him go on thinking so. "You killed Pettigrew, didn't you?"
At length, Potter says, "Yes."
Draco doesn't pursue it; he doesn't care to know the how or why of it. He merely says, "Good."
Potter in this world is awkward and tentative; nothing like the warm, familiar companion who shares his days and nights. As they talk, Draco watches him closely to see if he can find anything in common between them.
"Call me crazy," Draco says, with a touch of his old fire, "But at last reckoning, I thought you wanted to kill me for what happened to Dumbledore."
He watches Potter shift uncomfortably. "Let's just say I've learned a lot from Snape since then, once I found out he was working for us all along."
That news might have meant something to him once. But those were the shallow concerns of this empty world � worries about Dark Lords and loyalties and family, all driven by unrelieved fear � and just now, he feel the strong attraction of home calling to him. "Pariosomnium."
Voices are common in the world he hates. Sometimes he lets himself secretly listen to them, never betraying that he's here, before he whispers the word that takes him back home.
"We've done everything else we can think of," Draco hears, remembering the speaker's name after a bit of a struggle. Healer Penticoff.
"So you think Legilimens would be worth it." Potter.
"If you don't want to be the one, we can call in�"
"No, if we go ahead, I think I should be the one. I'm not afraid, you know, that whatever Malfoy has would affect me. It's just the loss of privacy."
"It's your call."
"If I can just get the name of the spell, though�"
Draco feels a prickle of worry � he needs to talk this over with Harry. From the conversation, he guesses that the Healer is trying to tear him away from the place he belongs: Harry's side.
Harry smiles when Draco tells him what he's overheard, and Draco is immediately calmed.
"Don't worry, Draco. No one can keep us apart. We belong together, can't you feel it? This world belongs to us. We're safe, as long as you remember the word that brings you home to me."
Draco sees Harry as beautiful as he always is, tanned skin gleaming in contrast to the loose white shirt unbuttoned to his waist. But abruptly there's another Harry here, too; one he can't see but can sense, as real as the one whose hands are even now softly stroking his shoulders and neck. He tries to shut out the intruder, focusing on the soft murmuring voice in his ear, the experienced touch that knows his skin so intimately, the lips that trace close and warm against his cheek.
He's never felt fear in this place before, but its sharp bite has hold of him now. "Harry. Harry, I need you. Please. Help me. Don't let them�"
"No, it's all right. Trust me," Harry's voice says, and he can't tell which of them has spoken. But the weight of two Harrys is too much to bear, and Draco feels his world fade around him and a strong pull trying to drag him away.
"Don't let me go, Harry�" he cries, but the Harry in his arms is fading, too. He opens his eyes to find himself back in St. Mungos once more. Harry's gone, and Potter's presence is a disquieting echo.
He looks at Potter, whose face glows a bright embarrassed red and who won't meet his eyes, and with a twist in his gut he understands that Potter knows. Turning to the wall, he pulls the sheet around himself like a shroud and imagines he is dead. He finds it much easier than he thought.
He hears Potter talking to Healer Penticoff, and listens in just to see how far he'll expose Draco's shame.
"He's using a spell called Pariosomnium. I've never heard of it, have you?"
"Well. That's unexpected," Penticoff replies. "I wonder how he got hold of it. The Ministry banned it, but apparently not soon enough."
Draco gives in to his curiosity and listens more closely.
"Something the Death Eaters worked up?"
"No. The Weasley twins, actually. They sold it for months before anyone caught on to how harmful it was."
"Harmful, how?" Harry sounds oddly resigned to the news about his precious Weasleys, and Draco sneaks a glance at him to see his scowl.
"Weasleys' Patented Daydream Charms turned out to be as addictive as heroin. The Weasleys promoted it as a harmless way to coast through a boring Binns lecture."
"Christ."
Penticoff nods. "Obviously not a product with a lot of research behind it. Like a lot of the Weasleys' merchandise, as the Death Eaters were quick to capitalize on."
"So Malfoy's addicted to this charm?" Potter says.
"Looks like it. He shows all the symptoms of a full-blown junkie: he has to be reminded to eat, and dress, and shower. He'd rather spend his time in his daydreams. There weren't that many cases before the charm was banned, but no one was as far gone as Malfoy is. I've never seen anyone able to cast it wandlessly, either, which proves his obsession with making it happen."
"And that's why we couldn't tell what it was. He never uses a wand."
"The Weasleys claim the charm is undetectable. Their products may have been dodgy, but they were never known to exaggerate."
"And the cure?"
Draco pays close attention.
"One way. We'll remove his memory of how to cast the charm. One simple, targeted Obliviate�"
"No!" They've forgotten him, and Draco's sudden outburst causes both of the men to start in surprise.
"But Malfoy, you can't go on�" Harry begins, while Penticoff says, "It's got to be done, Draco, you have to see that."
"NO! You don't know� You can't take this from me, you don't get it, it's�" Run, Draco, he thinks, but it's too late, he can't move, it's impossible to run far enough.
He's arguing with people who don't understand. Potter looks at him, eyes wide and full of some emotion Draco can't place, but he doesn't move to interfere when Penticoff casts a body-bind on him. Draco manages to utter one last Pariosomnium before he's immobilized, but he realizes too late that it's not enough to stop the Healer.
He wakes up to find Penticoff gone, but Potter is reading a dog-eared magazine from the waiting room. They look at each other for a long moment, before Potter clears his throat.
"How are you feeling?" Potter asks him, sounding oddly hesitant, and Draco can't figure out why. Then he remembers.
He doesn't bother answering for several long minutes. Potter is looking at him with that strange intensity he puts on like his wizard's robe, like something he adopted late in life. Draco remembers that Potter killed Pettigrew, though, and a Malfoy is never ungrateful, so he relents. "Empty."
That's not the answer Potter is waiting for, he suspects, and Potter's expression bears that out.
"Do you want to talk about it at all?"
At first he thinks Potter asks because that's what he's supposed to ask, and that he's secretly hoping Draco will brush him off and let the subject drop. But there's something in Potter's face that makes Draco pause; something inviting and soft that reminds him of his Harry. It makes him believe against his better judgement that Potter has an inkling of what Draco is going through. He decides to give it a chance.
"There's somewhere else I need to be. A place where I belong and don't know how to get back to." Potter nods at him, so he takes a breath and keeps talking. "It's like there used to be something in me that took me there, but I don't know what it is anymore."
"Do you remember the place at all?" Potter addresses the question somewhere distant, and Draco can't look at him for a moment, either.
"I remember everything. Everything except� There was a thought, or...or a word. Yes, I think it was a word." He looks at Potter then, and thinks he sees a telltale look of guilt. "Do you know what the word is?"
"Not any more. Penticoff told me to tell you what happened, so here it is. He erased the word from your mind, Draco. It's too dangerous for you to know it. Then he erased it from my mind, too, so I couldn't tell you, no matter how much you might ask me to."
Any hope Draco has of returning to his world � and his Harry � is annihilated in that instant. "But why?" he cries. "I'm happier there. I'm not hurting anyone; why can't you leave me alone!"
Potter looks at him with stricken eyes. "Because you can't stop disappearing into your dreams, and it's killing you. Look at yourself. You're thin as a rail, you barely come out of it long enough to eat or to take care of yourself. We had to do something, or you'd keep at it until you kill yourself. You have to agree it's for your own good."
Draco doesn't think he has to agree at all. The notion that Potter has some kind of kinship with him in his suffering is dissolving into air � Potter doesn't understand. How could he? He only knows Draco's visible hell; he can never know the heaven Draco has been cast out of. He drove out the man; and east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim, and a flaming sword.
Overcome with loss, Draco closes his eyes to hide his grief from Potter's too-sympathetic eyes.
They seem to think he is cured, because they release him with the advice to get on with his life. No-one notices that in this world, he is already dead.
He finds himself a dismally furnished flat and goes through the motions of living. He's caught off guard when Potter visits him the first week. After enough visits, he's no longer surprised but still off balance: he still misses his Harry fiercely, and it doesn't help when Potter awkwardly pretends he doesn't remember that.
One rainy evening, weeks later, when the Wizard's chess and the tea and biscuits aren't enough to keep their neutral conversation from foundering, Potter finally gives in to his curiosity as Draco knew he would.
"So what happened exactly, Draco? What did the Charm do to you?"
Draco remembers Pettigrew � one of the few secrets he still holds closely � and his own gratitude. He decides Potter has a right to know.
"It was more what it did for me. I was bored at Snape's house, and there was absolutely nothing to do. I couldn't leave, no one could know I was there, and Snape was gone for weeks." Cautiously, he tells Potter about how he tested the Charm; how it started as something to kill time and became absolutely everything. "Snape's house became as bad in its own way as my last year at Hogwarts."
That surprises Potter. "But the Dark Lord had threatened to kill you and your family."
He wonders how Potter knows, but Potter seems to know everything these days. "I was glad that my dad was in Azkaban, because it meant he was safe from the Dark Lord, at least for a while. Until I could figure out what to do. Except I never could figure out anything except what they wanted me to do. The whole year, I knew the Death Eaters were waiting to hear I'd been killed."
"But you weren't, of course."
"No. At times, I was sorry for that. I thought seriously about topping myself, just because I couldn't seem to escape any other way. Then suddenly, the Charm gave me everything I'd ever dreamed of. No more fear, a beautiful place I could call home, and a companion to share it with. It was perfect."
"But that's no life, Malfoy. It wasn't real."
"It didn't matter. As long as it wasn't this life. It was every bit as real to me as this world."
"I suppose that's why it was so hard to give up. Do you miss it still?"
Draco struggles for a moment until he can speak without embarrassing himself. "I think I'll always miss it. But I understand why you thought you needed to bring me back here."
There's an uncomfortable pause. "Do you miss him, too?"
Draco, at once abruptly tired of all their awkward silences, surrenders the last of his dignity. "I loved him. I know it's odd for you to hear me say that, Potter. I know you're not him. I'm sorry it bothers you that I took what little I knew about you and made you into my fantasy lover."
Harry can't hide a small grin. "It doesn't bother me. In fact, I'm flattered. I'm just not very good at telling you�"
"What?"
"That I may have a few fantasies of my own about you."
Draco feels as though worlds could be created and destroyed in the interminable time he needs to take that on board.
"You mean� I didn't� It's not�" he hears himself stammer. Run, Draco.
But Potter is moving towards him, a question forming by his curving lips.
"Yes," Draco finally says.
Potter touches him � gently, carefully, with such considered attention that Draco is wholly immersed in that single touch � and suddenly it's as though he's remembered the forgotten word. With a touch, Draco's lost home is resurrected once more, and he's alive for the first time in months. Alive in this world.
A sudden stillness captures him. He puzzles over it, until he realizes that his months-long urge to run is finally gone.
Somehow, the touch has become an embrace, and from there it's a short way to something far more intense. They are devouring each other, and Draco has no intention of stopping, but Harry breaks off for a moment. He doesn't move away, but that could be because Draco's gripping him and won't let go.
"Do you want the lights off? Because I'd like to keep them on," Draco hears him ask.
Draco smiles. "Is that a promise, Harry?" He doesn't let Harry answer before plunging into another intoxicating kiss � the kind that tries to convince him that he might just be coming home to stay.
