sweet subtle alchemy

Title: Dragon Adrift
Author: anthimaeria
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Snape/Voldemort (briefly!)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sequel to When Harry Cursed Draco. After HBP ends, will Harry and Draco be parted forever? Not if Harry can help it!
Word Count: 5627
Betas: audancerboy (Daniel) and Kaikiki. Many thanks to both for excellent input and suggestions.
Notes: #2 in my Spark, Tremble & Sigh series. Not sure how this falls into canon, but assume for the sake of this fic that this takes place shortly after Dumbledore’s funeral, during a final examination period.
Disclaimer: All characters are the copyrighted works of J.K Rowling. No profit was made by the writing of this story, nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author.





Dragon Adrift

A strange muffled sound came from the vicinity of the spare room. Snape hoped Draco wasn’t throwing a fit over the percale linens again. He knew that the boy was used to 600 thread count sheets of genuine Egyptian cotton, but on a Hogwarts professor’s salary, he certainly couldn’t afford to live like a Malfoy.

He knocked cautiously on the closed door. “All right in there?”

There was no sound other than a sort of choked gasp. Snape found Draco lying face down on the twin bed. He rolled over and stared at Snape, his eyes suspiciously red and watery.

“Please leave me alone,” he said. There was a hollow, empty tone in his voice.

“Draco, surely you realize that I had little choice but to kill Albus Dumbledore. It was his own decision! In fact, he insisted I do the deed myself. He’s gone as he wanted, and there’s no point in continuing to cry over him.”

“I’m not crying over him, and I understand the situation. You’ve already explained it to me quite well,” he said petulantly.

“Well, what seems to be troubling you, then?”

“It’s none of your business!”

Snape concentrated. And then he knew. “Draco, your total failure to control your excessive emotions is preventing your pathetic attempts at Occlumency. I see it- but by Jove, I don’t believe it. You’ve worked yourself into this ludicrous state over Harry Potter!”

“So what if I have? And to think I thought there might be a possibility that you would understand; that you would be all right with it--”

“And why on earth would you think that?”

“It’s because you’re, well, you know...“

“No, I most certainly do not know!”

“Because- you’re homosexual, aren’t you, sir?”

Snape looked as though he were about to spit tacks. “My personal life is absolutely none of your concern, Mr. Malfoy! And whatever particular preference I might happen to have would have not a whit to do with how I feel about your relationship with that detestable little prat.”

“Professor, why can’t you take this seriously? Don’t you have anything that you believe in, anyone whom you love, anything that you hold sacred?” asked Draco brashly, as if daring him to reply.

Snape drew himself up. “Of course. Truth has always been sacred to me,” he said dryly.

“Well, the truth is that I love Harry, and I left him, and we made Unbreakable Vows and I may never see him again, and the Dark Lord might kill him and-”

Snape’s interest visibly perked up. “You made an Unbreakable Vow with Harry Potter?”

“Yes, and he did with me as well. I promised not to follow the Dark Lord’s orders, and he promised me his love forever, no matter what..”

Draco burst into angry tears, unable to continue. He was furious with himself for revealing any vulnerability to Snape, but it was hard to remain dispassionate when thinking about what might happen to Harry.

Snape was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Draco, I didn’t want to tell you this when I discovered why you were so upset, but I have some terrible news,” he said grimly. “There’s no easy way to say this – Mr. Potter is now deceased. I believe the cause was identified officially as some sort of blood poisoning, complicated by infection. You may take some comfort that absolutely no foul play was detected - it was just a rather unfortunate incident.”

“He’s NOT!”

“I’m afraid he is,” Snape said maliciously, a hint of a smile threatening to escape. “It’s time for you to move on.”

Draco regarded Snape closely, trying to read his impenetrable expression. Then he screamed in pure agony, causing glass to shatter not only in the cottage’s windows, but in cars parked a quarter of a mile down the street. Snape clapped his hands over his ears and whipped up a quick Sleeping Draught, which he compelled the boy to ingest. He made a mental note to find another place to hide Draco, in order to be free from what was likely to be everlasting whining and sniveling over the loss of his latest object of infatuation.

** ** **

Despite his many efforts, Harry hadn’t been able to gather any information as to Draco’s whereabouts in the week since he disappeared, or even as to whether he was still alive. No one seemed to know-– or care. In fact, Harry’s friends at Hogwarts, especially Ron, openly expressed the hope that Draco had either been swiftly killed or was suffering in a most unpleasant and painful manner. Harry wished it wasn't so, but he knew in his heart that it was highly unlikely that he would ever see his beloved Draco again.

He hadn't told Ron or Hermione what had happened between him and his former rival, and Ginny hadn't guessed. After some initial frustration when Harry told her they couldn’t be together, she soon latched on to Cormac McLaggen and seemed very happy with him. If Harry hadn’t known better, he would almost have suspected that she was intentionally flaunting the relationship, as she and her new beau were always snogging or giggling together whenever he happened to be around. However, even though seeing Ginny with McLaggen made Harry feel lonely, it never caused him to regret his decision in any way.

Night was the worst time to be alone, when all of the people and things that kept him busy during the day went away, and his mind filled with everything he missed about Draco. The feeling of his own lips, swollen with kisses given and received. The lingering next-day soreness, causing him to grow hard once again at the mere memory of Draco inside him. The smooth, angular perfection of Draco’s unblemished shoulders. How Draco’s whole body trembled when Harry touched him the right way, coaxing the deep, quiet sighs that no one else had ever witnessed.

He recalled the way Draco would stretch like a cat in the morning, golden light enveloping the sinuous flex of his long limbs. The obscure sweetness of the soft hollows behind his knees. His curiously narrow feet with their carefully trimmed nails. The pliable, almost translucent skin at the base of his neck. The steady grip of Draco’s thighs, locked around his waist. Lying with his head on Draco’s chest, soothed into sleep by the constant pulse of his lover’s ceaseless heart. Discovering his serious, pensive, and surprisingly generous nature, no longer concealed behind a sneering mask. Sharing fits of violent laughter, tender assurances, and rash confessions of secrets large and small, all in the space of a single night. The pure white heat of their coupling, generating such energy as to render all speech impossible. The subtle glances exchanged that contained universes beyond mortal imagining. Harry loved Draco with all his heart, and his loss was almost more than he could bear.

Other than his own impassioned memories of his lost love, Harry was left with hardly anything that reminded him of Draco - no ring, no clothing, no object bearing his image or his unique, intoxicating scent. Harry’s rather exhaustive search of his own effects turned up just two silvery blond hairs clinging to his school robes. He deposited them in a velvet box which had once held Snitch-shaped cuff links, an odd gift from Sirius once upon a time. Sometimes, when his yearning threatened to become overwhelming, he would hold the pale strands and stroke them, imagining that he touched Draco himself.

The velvet box also held Harry’s only other keepsake from Draco: the note which invited Harry to what turned out to be one of the most exhilarating nights of his life. In private, he wistfully traced Draco’s writing with his index finger, trying to sense the varying pressure of that clever hand in the indentations that the quill left in the parchment. Harry particularly treasured the ink drawing of a dragon that was Draco’s personal signature.

One Saturday, he traveled alone into Hogsmeade through the secret path under the Whomping Willow, and found a small, somewhat unsavory tattoo parlor on the edge of town. Rumor had it that the shop was run by renegade Druids. Although Harry was still underage at sixteen, the bearded proprietor agreed to do the work once he saw that the boy had the Galleons to pay for it. Harry pulled out Draco’s note, and with a few strokes of the artist’s wand, the image of the dragon was magically etched into his left thigh.

Harry loved being permanently marked by Draco. All he had to do was to look down to know that Draco was still with him, in a way, though this symbol provided little in the way of true comfort. Draco was gone, and life without him lacked color, light and warmth.

** ** **

After four straight days of sedation, Draco emerged from catatonia, feeling more dead than alive. He was a virtual prisoner in Snape’s house; Harry was dead, and once Voldemort caught up with him, he probably would be as well. There wasn’t much to do inside, so he busied himself with reading. Unfortunately, most of Snape’s literature was dead boring, but he found a few encyclopedia sets and atlases to keep him occupied. Snape encouraged him to keep up with Potions, so he spent a lot of time in the basement laboratory, experimenting with various concoctions.

One day, Snape went out on an urgent errand, warning Draco for his own safety that he was not to leave. Bored and alone, Draco paced aimlessly. He remembered there was one room that he’d never seen - Snape’s bedroom on the second floor.

The door was locked, but a quick Alohomora was all it took to solve that little problem. Draco was frankly surprised that Snape had not gone to further trouble to bewitch the lock. The room turned out to be disappointingly austere - bed, desk, wardrobe; neat, dark, dull. A round bowl on Snape’s desk caught his eye, and he walked over for a closer look, catching a glimpse of the swirling mists within. This must be a Pensieve, he thought.

Draco leaned in to the bowl, soft vapors wafting around his face. He found himself in a dimly lit room with a cold stone floor, an unusual scene unfolding before him. Snape was bent over a table resting on his elbows, his hairy naked hindquarters exposed. His greasy black hair was tied back in a knot, he was wearing strangely familiar round spectacles, and most surprisingly of all, what appeared to be Gryffindor school robes were bunched up around his waist.

Standing behind Snape, bald, pale as death, and completely unclothed, the fearsome figure of Lord Voldemort swayed his serpentine hips back and forth, grunting and hissing as he drove himself into the arse of the Defense Against the Dark Arts master.

“Harry! At last, I have you!” he bellowed, red eyes flaring. “You’re mine, all mine!”

Draco noted with grudging approval that the Dark Lord appeared to be rather well hung, though the shapelessness of his buttocks left something to be desired. Snape, on the other hand, clearly did not measure up.

Snape cried out, in a high-pitched voice Draco had never heard him use before, “Oh - my Lord! Yes! Yes! Right there!”

After several more energetic stabs, Voldemort reached his peak with a gleeful exclamation, and pulled out, his wilted cock dripping. Sweat trickled from his domed forehead onto Snape’s robed back.

“Did you enjoy, my Lord?” asked Snape. How polite of him to ask, thought Draco.

“Yes, although this small taste has only served to increase my appetite for Harry Potter himself. I aim to take my pleasure from him completely before I kill him,” Voldemort replied darkly.

Before I kill him! “Is Harry alive?” Draco called out, then remembered that he did not exist in this memory.

Snape pulled his robe down, covering himself. “Your pleasure would be mine, my Lord. So, for my service, you will not punish the Malfoy boy for his failure to carry out the deed?”

“I always keep my word, do I not?”

Snape looked as though he were about to disagree and had thought better of it. “Of course, my Lord,” he said, perfectly deadpan.

Draco looked up from the Pensieve, back in Snape’s bedroom. He heard steps approaching up the stairs and pulled out his wand. Snape marched through the open door, his black eyes glittering with unrestrained fury.

“What are you doing in my private room?” he roared. “You are to leave this instant!”

“Harry’s not dead! Right?” Draco cried. His wand was at Snape’s throat before Snape had a chance to draw his own.

“Put that down right now, Draco!”

“No! Tell me or die! I thought the truth was important to you, Professor!”

Snape bristled. “Fine!” he shot back. “He’s not dead. I lied. Happy now?”

“But why -?”

“Draco, I made an Unbreakable Vow to your mother promising to protect you. When the Dark Lord insisted on certain favors, I was bound to comply to assure your safety.”

He turned to Draco with a glare. “But, when I found out that Harry Potter had made you an Unbreakable Vow of eternal love, I realized that my efforts to protect you were absolutely unnecessary.”

Snape’s brow wrinkled with distaste, possibly remembering Voldemort practically drooling over him in his ersatz Hogwarts uniform. The Dark Lord had terrible breath.

“Harry’s Vow conferred some very powerful protection upon you- almost like that scar he has,” he said bitterly. “His love will now shield you from most forms of harm. But my Vow was first, and I did it out of pure loyalty to you and your family, not out of some sort of perverted physical affection. First and foremost, you owe your life to me, not to Harry! What difference does it make if he’s dead? He probably will be soon enough, once the Dark Lord meets him again.”

“That’s where you’re wrong! Harry will never be defeated!” Draco crowed.

He had Snape over a barrel, and they both knew it.

** ** **

Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room, his legs sprawled sideways across a chair. His attempts to concentrate on studying for end-of-term exams were steadily failing. It was difficult to focus when his mind kept filling with the thin curve of Draco’s lips and the absurd lengths to which they had traveled across his body.

Scraps of Ron and Hermione’s conversation gradually filtered into his consciousness. Assertive as always, Hermione was insisting to Ron that his proposed recipe for a Location Charm would never work.

“Ron, the maker must incorporate the hair of the person he seeks. Otherwise, the charm will fail!” she argued, gesturing broadly with her quill.

“How do you know?” Ron asked.

“I remember reading it. I saw something in a book I read last year.”

Harry looked up from his book. This was interesting. “Hermione, do you happen to have that book?” he asked casually.

“No, it’s in the library. I think I can find it again. Are you trying to locate someone?”

“Malfoy,” Harry said decisively. The word had never felt better on his tongue. “I’m going to find Malfoy. He won’t get away with what he did!”

“You mean you’re going to ferret out that git from whatever hole he’s hiding in,” quipped Ron, cracking up at his own joke.

“What if the charm takes you directly to You-Know-Who?” Hermione asked warily.

Harry raised his eyebrows and shrugged in a pose which suggested he had been there and done that, at least several times if not more. “I’ll just have to deal with that, won’t I?” he said.

** ** **

In the library, Hermione expertly wended her way through the aisles of books to the Charms section, a walk she could perform blindfolded if necessary. She scanned the titles as she walked until a particular book caught her eye.

Hermione plucked the slim volume from the shelf and flipped through it methodically. Ah, there it was - and yes, it did require hair of the maker and the sought person in order to work. She smiled with satisfaction. Really, there were few things in this life more gratifying than being proven right! She decided to check out the book for her own further reading and give Harry a copy of the charm itself.

She flicked her wand at the appropriate page. “Duplicato,” she pronounced. A gauzy but exact image of the page lifted out of the book, gradually forming a solid sheet of paper which fluttered down and rolled itself into a neat scroll tied with a black ribbon. Palming the scroll, Hermione carefully placed it in her bag for Harry. He was so lucky to have her as his friend, she thought smugly.

** ** **

Back in his dormitory room, Harry scrutinized the instructions for the charm. He’d have to practically enchant Slughorn in order to procure some of the more unusual components, but reasoned that shouldn’t be a problem as the current Potions master was so taken with him already. The recipe required that he wrap several strange herbs and pods in cheesecloth, along with Draco’s hair and two strands of his own, and sleep with the bundle under his pillow for seven nights. The morning of the eighth day, he was to place the charm under his tongue, raise his hands to the open sky, and recite a spell that would take him to the person he wanted to locate.

Somehow he muddled through exams that week, privately rejoicing in the promise of the ripening charm hidden under his pillow. When he woke on the eighth day, the thunder, lightning and dark sheets of rain pouring from the spring sky did not deter him. He needed to be with Draco and could wait no longer. Rapidly dressing and throwing on a rain cloak, he walked out the door.

Hermione and Ron looked up from studying when Harry passed them in the common room.

“That’s the spirit! Go get Malfoy, rain be damned!” cheered Ron.

Harry had been thinking for days about the various ways of getting Malfoy, each more tantalizing than the next. “I’ll get him one way or another, don’t you worry,” he said. He waved and sauntered out, trying not to convey any urgency.

“Harry certainly seems to have the right attitude today,” Ron remarked. “Say, Hermione, any chance I could take a look at that charm he used?”

Hermione pulled the book from her satchel and handed it to Ron. “You’ll find it on page 347,” she said confidently.

Ron was looking at the pages curiously. “Hermione, did you give Harry the entire instructions for this charm?”

“Of course I did!”

“Did you happen to notice that page 347 is stuck to page 348?” Ron held the book up so she could see. To her horror, Hermione observed that he was absolutely right. She slowly turned bright pink.

Ron patiently began working the pages apart with his thumbs. “Let’s see what the rest of this says… oh, this will never work!” he chuckled.

Hermione looked over his shoulder, reading rapidly.

“We’ve got to find Harry right now, before he tries the charm!” she insisted.

Ron looked at Hermione as though she were insane. “What’s the hurry? The charm won’t work. The worst thing that will happen to Harry is a few wasted minutes.”

“You don’t understand, Ron. Harry trusted me to give him a decent charm! I can’t let him down like this. What will he think of me?” she asked plaintively.

Seeing her dismay, Ron gave up. He and Hermione ran to grab their rain cloaks and umbrellas and hurried down the stairs. Outside, Harry was clearly visible, standing alone in front of the castle in the pounding rain. Raising his arms to the skies, he shouted, and then disappeared with a loud crack.

Hermione and Ron turned to each other, both wearing the same look of utter disbelief.

“Hermione, I thought this charm only worked if the maker was in love with the person he wanted to locate!” Ron demanded.

“Correct. That’s what it said on good old page 348, right?” said Hermione irritably. Deductive reasoning was not one of Ron’s stronger suits, she thought.

“But Harry detests Malfoy! He always has!”

Hermione looked at Ron, an unreadable expression on her face. “Apparently, he doesn’t,” she concluded, already starting to walk back to the castle.

“And he’s not gay, either!” yelled Ron at her retreating form.

** ** **

Harry felt air whooshing and spinning around him as the charm located its target. He arrived with a thud, wand at the ready, his feet hitting limp shag carpet. Harry had landed in a dingy, wood-paneled sitting room which looked as though it had not been redecorated since 1975. Thoroughly drenched, he took off his dripping glasses and pushed his sodden hair off his forehead.

“Took you long enough, didn’t it?” drawled a familiar voice behind him.

In a flash, Harry felt a mighty force literally sweeping him off his feet and propelling him directly into the warm clutches of Draco Malfoy, whose lanky body was stretched across a black leatherette sofa badly in need of patching. Draco twined his arms and legs around Harry, not saying a word.

It felt incredibly good to hold Draco again. For the first time in weeks, Harry laughed out loud in sheer joy. He stroked the sharp line of Draco’s perfectly straight nose and kissed the amazing lips that he’d dreamed of for weeks. “Wordless spell, huh?” he guessed.

“Yes, it seems that Accio Harry works pretty well,” Draco replied, between kisses. “Don’t think I’m going to let you go, Potter.” He clung to him tightly, indifferent to Harry’s soaked, bedraggled appearance.

“Where am I, by the way?” asked Harry. “This wouldn’t be Malfoy Manor, would it?” he added impishly.

“Oh, please, Harry!” Draco retorted, incredulous. “You’ll have to give my family more credit than that! I mean, look at this place! And don’t even let me get started on the food! No, this is Snape’s home. And he’s out right now, thankfully.”

Harry made a face. “Not exactly my favourite professor, as you know.”

“He’s not my favourite any more either,” Draco said, and he told Harry about Snape’s lie and what he had seen in the Pensieve.

Harry was repulsed by Voldemort’s sexual obsession with him and Snape’s nasty deception, but he couldn’t help snickering at the very idea of the scornful professor in Harry Potter drag. Especially begging to be reamed by Voldemort. “Maybe you could show me that memory sometime,” he suggested.

“I’d be delighted to later, but you look as though you could do with a bath. Care for one?”

Harry nodded, and Draco led him upstairs. Although Draco was not fond of Snape’s cottage in general, finding it quite drab and poky, he did rather like the upstairs bathroom. In fact, it was his favourite room of the house. The walls, floors and bathtub were all carved black marble. Instead of traditional bathroom storage, Snape employed an old-fashioned apothecary cabinet, lacquered a deep red, with hundreds of drawers containing various herbs, liquids and powders. Snape also disdained store-bought toiletries such as toothpaste and soap, and preferred to make his own, often on the fly. Therefore, he had turned his master bathroom into a mini-laboratory. A side table was equipped with burners, cauldrons and a small preparation area.

After turning the tap on the bathtub, Draco rifled through the apothecary cabinet, grabbing roots and vials. He pulled out a small tray and knife, and began chopping ingredients, casting occasional glances at an open book on the counter.

“Exactly what are you doing, Malfoy?” Harry sat on the edge of the bathtub, pulling off his shirt.

As always, the sight of those well-developed pectoral muscles caused Draco to breathe just a bit deeper. “Drawing you a proper bath, Potter,” he said, trying to keep his eyes on his work.

Draco was fully aware that he was liberally using some of Snape’s most expensive and rare ingredients, but he reminded himself that his Head of House owed him a massive favor. Also, he felt there was nothing that was too good for Harry. After hearing his tales of deprivation at the hands of the Dursleys, Draco was determined to indulge him mercilessly. He relished Harry’s enjoyment of the small luxuries of life that he had previously been denied.

Harry leaned back against the wall, catching a glimpse of the lurid paperback Draco was consulting as he mixed. “The Joy of Erotic Potioncraft? That doesn’t sound exactly up Snape’s alley!”

“Well, it’s not exactly his book,” said Draco, showing Harry the Hogwarts library card lodged between its covers. Based on the last date stamped, the book appeared to be long overdue.

“Crabbe nicked it from the Restricted Section last term,” he said. “Snape caught him with it during class and confiscated it … guess Snape must have brought it here for some reason, though I can’t fathom why.”

“Another way to tickle Voldemort’s fancy, perhaps?” offered Harry. They both laughed.

Book in hand, Draco muttered an incantation and sprinkled the ingredients into the steaming bathwater. The colorless water turned a milky beige, and thick froth began to collect at the top like foam on a cappuccino.

Harry breathed in the rich, sweet scent, redolent with hints of vanilla, hazelnut, nougat, and something seductive he couldn’t quite identify.

“Smells nice... what is it?”

Draco smirked. “Elixir of Ecstasy- not that we need it, of course,” he said cheekily.

“Is it a love potion?”

Draco shook his silky blond head, throwing a mock cross look at Harry. “Questions, questions! You- in!” he ordered, gesturing at the bathtub.

Harry plunged in to the warm foam until only his head was visible, wallowing in the thick, foamy liquid. Draco removed his clothes and slipped in behind him, parting his legs so that Harry rested between them. He draped his arms over Harry’s shoulders and administered a flurry of soft kisses up and down his neck. Harry felt Draco’s erection pressing into his back, and turned to the side so he could kiss him full on the mouth.

“Try this,” Draco murmured, bringing a palmful of foamy liquid to Harry’s lips. Harry sipped the burnt caramel flavor, and felt a river of cascading warmth spreading inside him, right down to his toes. He kissed Draco slowly, tasting the potion on him, feeling his lips and tongue tensing and yielding against his own. Draco closed his eyes, surrendering to the kiss. Harry was enchanted by the way he was able to lose himself so completely, his pointy face softening in simple bliss.

Watching Draco’s mounting excitement was only making Harry harder and in greater need of release. He twisted around so that he was facing Draco, straddling his golden lap. His hands caressed the heated skin of Draco’s chest, paying special attention to his nipples, which stiffened as he took them into his mouth, one by one, sucking and nipping and teasing with his tongue. Draco moaned and pulled Harry closer to him, until their twin erections throbbed against each other. He cupped Harry’s buttocks, helping to grind his hips into him.

Harry’s pulse quickened. He felt his cock quiver and strain uncontrollably as he slid urgently against Draco, oiled by the creamy elixir, the firm pressure of Draco’s balls squashing into his own. Draco kept his eyes closed, fingers firmly dug into the flesh of Harry’s arse. He whimpered as he reached orgasm, spurting all over Harry’s cock and stomach, Harry sucking savagely on his neck.

Harry reached under Draco and began to massage him, enticing him open with first one and then two fingers. He pulled Draco’s legs over his thighs and slowly eased inside him. Draco moved against him relentlessly, aching to be fucked as much as Harry ached to fuck him, sharply exhaling breath with each stroke. Harry couldn’t stop himself. He crammed himself in up to the root and came hard, deep inside Draco, as frothy waves crashed about their thrashing bodies.

He cradled Draco in his arms, wild ardor yielding to a cozy affection. “Was that okay for you?” he asked gently, when they were able to talk again.

Draco sighed, still dazed. “Fan-bloody-tastic, Harry, and you know it. Going to be a bit sore, though.”

Harry made sympathetic noises, and Draco smiled, basking in the still-warm water. “I’ll want to fuck you later, so don’t fall asleep,” he warned softly.

“Maybe just sleep for a little while,” said Harry indulgently, climbing out of the tub.

Draco peered at Harry’s thigh, noticing something new. “Oh, when did you get that dragon?”

Harry grinned. “A while back. Like it?”

“Mmmm… love it!”

They wrapped themselves in the thick fluffy towels that Draco had talked Snape into buying because he couldn’t abide the feel of scratchy terrycloth next to his sensitive skin. Draco showed Harry to the spare room, and they cuddled together on the narrow bed, quietly relaxing.

“Draco, I understand why you had to run... but you’re never going to leave me again, are you?” asked Harry, beaming. Locked in Draco’s arms, he was secure of the answer, but wanted to hear it again for his own personal enjoyment.

“Never!” Draco declared, planting a sloppy but fervent kiss on Harry’s neck. “Wherever you’re going, that’s where I want to be.”

“Well, first there’s Bill Weasley’s wedding to Fleur Delacour next week... Think you’d be up for it?”

“A Weasel wedding?”

Harry frowned at the pejorative.

“Don’t look that way, Harry! I’ll be there, with bells on if you want.”

“After that, I have to stay at least a fortnight with my aunt and uncle in Surrey… why are you looking at me like that?”

“Harry, I think there’s something behind your ear,” Draco reached over and pulled out a faux brass ring which Harry recognized from Snape’s hideous sitting room curtains.

Harry guffawed. Draco could be so odd sometimes. Endearingly so, but odd nevertheless.

“That’s such a cheap trick, Draco!” he said, shaking his head. “It’s the kind of thing a Muggle so-called magician would do to impress the punters! I can’t believe a pureblood wizard like you would even try anything like that.”

Draco looked a little abashed. “Tell you a secret, Harry- I’ve an uncle who’s a Squib-“

“Get out! A Squib Malfoy?”

“Shhh… uh, yes,” Draco admitted sheepishly. “Anyway, he taught me that illusion – ‘cause the only magic he could do were these sorts of ridiculous parlor tricks. Look, made you laugh, didn’t it? So- what d’you say?” He looked up at Harry expectantly, holding out the ring in his slender palm.

Harry laughed again, then stopped. He gazed at Draco’s suddenly anxious face, waiting for his reaction, and felt his heart burst wide open.

“Yes, Draco,” he said, as sure as he’d ever been in his life. “The answer is yes.”

- The End -

...continued in Shepherds' Pie...
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ENDNOTES: I decided to write a sequel because When Harry Cursed Draco (originally Never Kiss a Sleeping Dragon) ended on such a down note. This story originally began with a depressed Harry listening to old Pink Floyd songs over and over again on Dudley's discarded, ancient Walkman (and Ron commenting that even Celestina Warbeck is better than that shite). Good thing that part was permanently trashed...