sweet subtle alchemy

Title: Last Season in Surrey
Author: anthimaeria
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Established relationship, if that sort of thing matters to you.
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.
Summary: As the end of Harry's protection charm draws ever closer, he and Draco cling to each other, transforming Privet Drive into their own private haven for their most intimate fantasies. Sequel to White Lace & Dragon Meat (no need to read that first). As with the other fics in this series (begun pre-DH), canon compliant through the Sectumsempra curse in HBP- completely AU after that.
Word Count: ~5670
Author's Notes: Muchas gracias to blamebrampton for the deft and lightning-quick beta, and lots of love to empathic_siren and libby_drew for early audiencing/beta work and their invaluable suggestions. I will also be forever grateful to genuine Surrey native starrose17 for local newspaper info.

Previous fics in the Spark, Tremble & Sigh series:

1. When Harry Cursed Draco (earlier draft entitled Never Kiss a Sleeping Dragon)/2. Dragon Adrift / 3. Shepherds’ Pie / 4. As Summer Rushed In / 5.White Lace & Dragon Meat


~*~

Midway to putting a bite of Sunday roast into his mouth, Draco Malfoy smirked and raised an eyebrow, ever so slightly. Then he made a rude yet highly suggestive gesture with his fork in his fiancé’s direction.

Harry sputtered, nearly dropping his glass. He tried, but couldn't avoid spitting a mouthful of water clear across the dining table, the liquid splashing near Dudley's left elbow and winning an open-mouthed laugh from Draco. After two solid weeks with the Dursleys, anything that broke up the tension and tedium of life at Privet Drive was welcome. And this would be Harry’s second to last evening ever in Little Whinging, as he and Draco planned to leave immediately after his seventeenth birthday. Which was tomorrow. Thank Merlin, or God, or any itinerant spirit who happened to be listening.

Aunt Petunia glared at Harry, because it was always his fault, then turned her sour gaze on a suddenly innocent-looking Draco. "Whatever it is you're doing, young man, you won't be doing it in this house, do you hear me?"

Draco lifted his napkin from his lap to blot his mouth primly. "I," he said, "happen to be eating. You Muggles do it all the time, don’t you? Especially that one there." He fluttered his hand to indicate Dudley, busy trundling forkloads of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

Dudley threw Draco a hostile look and continued to chew. "Ignore ’im, Mum," he said, half-chewed food dribbling from the side of his mouth. "He ‘n Harry’re jusht playing shum kind of dishgusting pooftery game with each other."

Aunt Petunia looked horrified, and Uncle Vernon's face turned red. "Not in my house, you don’t!" he bellowed. The cutlery jumped when he smashed his fist down on the tablecloth.

Draco was still smiling.”But may I do this in your house?" he asked. He scooted his chair to one side and took a big lick at Dudley's left ear.

Dudley clapped his hand to his head. "EW!" he bellowed, rubbing his wet ear vigorously as Harry exploded in laughter.

"Ew is right. I can't say the taste of Muggle agrees with me," said Draco drily. He moved back to his seat, lifted his napkin and made a great show of fastidiously wiping his tongue.

Uncle Vernon’s face darkened to near purple in sheer outrage, and Harry felt secretly delighted that his uncle was unable to retaliate for fear of magical intervention. Aunt Petunia, in contrast, was oblivious to all but her darling son. Plunging into her housedress, she discreetly plucked out a handkerchief from her meagre cleavage to blot Dudley’s red, whimpering face. "How could that awful boy put his filthy mouth on you?" she moaned. "He’s probably got some sort of dreadful social disease!"

Harry cast his eyes upward, sighing in utter futility. There was no point in informing his aunt that Draco, as a pureblood wizard, was biologically incapable of either carrying or transmitting Muggle pathogens.

Draco scowled at her. "What about me?" he asked, his voice rising petulantly. "Thanks to your son, my tongue will never be the same. With any luck, the Dark Lord will wipe out the whole lot of you. And soon!"

Harry's jaw dropped. "Draco!" he scolded.

"The Dark who?" asked Petunia, but Harry saw her eyes widen in fear, and understood that his aunt knew very well to whom Draco was referring.

Draco ignored her question. "You Muggles treat Harry worse than the most miserable house-elf!" he declared. "And I can’t believe how you’ve treated me, a guest in your home. Do you even know who my family is? "

Petunia advanced toward Draco. "Do you think I care who your family is, you horrible little ingrate–"

Harry held up his hand. "Enough," he said, and there was something final in his tone that made Petunia pause and Draco lower his eyes with a smirk.

"So," Harry said wearily, pushing his chair away from the table, "I guess it's back upstairs for us. Again."

Shooting an inscrutable look at the Dursleys, Draco placed his cutlery neatly on the table, then accepted Harry’s outstretched hand. He gestured for Harry to come closer, and whispered into his ear.

"What?" said Harry. "No way!" He straightened up. "It’s your turn. And besides, my back is killing me."

Draco pouted, his eyes narrowing to grey slits. "Harry!" he whined.

Harry sighed, knowing that pout all too well. "Oh, all right then," he said, and Draco grinned in triumph.

Bending forward, Harry allowed his beloved to climb onto his back and slip his legs through Harry's arms. He staggered for a step or two — Draco wasn't the bony, underfed creature he'd been just a few months ago — but managed to recover. Now bearing his ungainly blond burden, he began to lumber slowly toward the stairs.

"What do you think this is, your own private hotel?" Aunt Petunia screeched after them.

Harry staggered again, almost slipping on the stairs, but he didn’t answer or look back. No need — she was dead right.

~*~

Lying in bed that evening, Draco shifted to rest his head comfortably against Harry’s bare shoulder. It was so nice to relax without any Muggles scurrying about. Harry’s uncle was away on business, his aunt was snoring downstairs, and that great hulking lump they called Dudders or Diddykins was boozing it up with his mates down the pub.

Draco turned another page, basking in the soft yellow light of a single lamp. For the past hour, he’d been engrossed in the 15th century alchemical text that he'd snatched from Snape’s overflowing bookshelf, right before he and Harry Floo'd away from Spinners’ End. Next to him, Harry was flipping through one of his floppy old illustrated Quidditch guides, as usual. Draco had tried to get him to broaden his tastes, to even pick up a light novel, but to no avail-- Harry would just get an adorably cross expression and go for the sports books again.

Deciding he'd had enough Paracelsus for one night, Draco clapped his book closed and set it down on the bedside table. He peered over Harry’s shoulder, only to find his lover's attention elsewhere. Harry appeared to be captivated by a moving photo of Josef Wronski attempting the famous manoeuvre that bore his name. He bit his upper lip as he held his book at different angles, tilting it back and forth for different perspectives on Wronski’s technique.

It was time for a little distraction, Draco decided. Inserting himself into the rounded space made by Harry’s arms, he flopped down on Harry’s chest, forcing his fiancé to put his book down.

"Fancy that bloke, do you?" he asked, cocking his head coquettishly.

"Not my type," Harry answered, a bit too quickly. "I’m afraid I’ve got a rather serious weakness for blonds," he added, reaching out to pet Draco’s silvery head.

"Harry?"

"Mmmmm?"

"I can’t stand living with these awful Muggles," Draco moaned. "Can't we go home now?"

Harry moved his hand down to stroke Draco’s shoulder. Home. 12 Grimmauld Place had never seemed so far away, though physically it was less than an hour by train, and even shorter by Apparition. "I’m sure you can bear just one more night. Besides, we’ve had our fun, haven’t we?"

Draco nodded. No matter how much the Dursleys attempted to make him feel unwelcome, the past two weeks had been nothing short of blissful. They spent as little time as possible with the Dursleys themselves, Harry still cooking out of a sense of duty that he couldn’t understand. Freed from all responsibilities other than staying alive, he and Harry had slipped into a constant state of dreamy intoxication with each other. Locking themselves in Harry’s attic room, they would make love all night and sleep all day; or sometimes it was the other way around. It was so easy to start up again. All Harry had to do was give Draco that look, and Draco's breath would catch, his cock stiffening in his trousers at the thought of Harry's mouth, his hands, his firm, lovely arse. And just a brush of his hand against Harry’s hip as they walked down the stairs meant they had to hurry back up again.

If they awoke famished in the middle of the night, Harry would prepare elaborate meals that the Dursleys had no idea he could cook, just to see Draco's smile. With the Muggles asleep and Draco of age to use magic, cooking and cleaning became quick work, though Harry still preferred to cook the Muggle way. Draco cooked, too, using the party recipes he’d learnt from his mother on the few occasions when she'd rolled up her silky sleeves and shoo'ed the house-elves out of the kitchen. That summer, Draco made every one of Narcissa's special dishes for Harry. Roasted artichokes with a butter-garlic sauce for dipping, and to be licked off Harry’s chin. Stuffed mushrooms, rich and meaty; bittersweet chocolate truffles that he’d place directly on Harry’s tongue, awaiting the intense sweetness to be returned in his next kiss.

And whenever they deigned to take a break from fucking and eating, Draco and Harry took long walks together in the Surrey countryside, saw films, went shopping, or caught the Guildford to Waterloo to take in the London sights. They groped each other in alleyways and kissed in parks, blithely ignoring any Muggles who dared to stare. On one memorable evening they ventured into a gay bar, but were thrown out not ten minutes later for being underage, though not without a few admiring glances thrown their way. Another night, they ended up in a phone kiosk outside the British Museum, red doors locked and glass obscured with a charm. Somehow the squalor felt deeply erotic to Draco, and he eagerly knelt on the scratched, dirty floor amidst the cigarette butts, one arm circling Harry's waist, Harry's leg thrown over his shoulder, his face burrowing in Harry’s open crotch, urging every last sweet drop from him.

It was a different life than it had been when they lived on their own at 12 Grimmauld Place. Neither could bear to be separated from the other for more than a few minutes. Harry would get up to make breakfast for the Dursleys, and not five minutes later, he'd hear those long feet padding down the stairs. Draco would stumble into the kitchen, still sleepy and endearingly scruffy in a white T-shirt, a pair of Harry's boxer shorts slouched around his pale hips. Harry would drop everything he was doing to kiss and cosset him, and then he would make sure Draco was the very first in the house to get his tea.

Even when they lay in bed, spooning, legs entangled in sleep, Draco would slide his arm over Harry's waist to cradle Harry's soft cock in his hand. It was his now, and no one but he and Harry would ever touch it again, and he'd whisper in Harry's ear,you’re going to live, you’re going to survive, please don't leave me forever…

Draco shook his head as if to rid himself of that thought. Everything would be all right; it had to be. "Harry?" he said again.

"Yes?"

"I dreamt about you, you know. Last year. When we were back at Hogwarts."

"So did I," Harry said softly. "About you, I mean. All the time."

"There was one dream I liked the best. I used to toss off almost every night thinking about it, reliving it in detail."

Harry looked at him with keen interest. "Yeah?"

"Mmmhmmm," Draco affirmed, smiling in anticipation of where this conversation might lead.

He leaned closer to Harry. "It starts with us fighting in an empty classroom," he said, his warm breath making the little hairs stand up on Harry's neck. "I don’t know what about. Really attacking each other. Viciously."

"Sounds like us." Harry whispered, and kissed the side of his head.

Draco beamed with pleasure at the touch of Harry's lips. "I know. And then-- you cast a spell that tore all my clothes off and fastened my wrists and ankles with rope to a four poster bed."

"Hold on. A bed? In a classroom?"

"Don’t know why, it was just there," Draco said. "Harry, I remember in the dream being so angry with you when you tied me up. I wanted to smash your fucking face in. But then-- I realized," he lowered his voice to a whisper — "I liked it."

Harry leaned forward, smiling. "What did I do next?"

Draco swallowed. "You… you slapped me."

"I did?"

"Yes!"

Harry paused, silently struggling with contradictory impulses.

"You can be rough with me, you know," Draco added, quietly. He looked up at Harry expectantly, his lips slightly parted.

"Sure?"

Draco nodded. He darted his eyes to Harry's face and held his gaze, letting him know he was serious. "It's what I want."

"Then it's what you'll get." Harry raised his hand, slowly, and Draco nodded once more.

Harry's palm landed with a loud thwack. He put his arm down, transfixed by the pink flush spreading and blooming into the ivory of Draco's unresisting cheek.

Draco sighed, shifting his hips. He tilted his face in unmistakeable invitation for more.

"No," Harry said, grinning at his impatience. "I'm going to kiss you now." And he did, more than once.

"So what did I do next?" he asked.

Draco's lips felt reddened and kiss-stung, and he ran his tongue over them, wanting Harry to kiss him some more. "You kissed me," he said. "Almost everywhere, but not on my mouth, you wouldn't let me have your mouth. And you touched me. You sucked each one of my toes and fingers."

"I love your toes."

"I'm rather attached to them myself. Now may I go on?"

"Sorry."

"Not at all. All right, so Harry — you licked me — here —" he pointed to his nipples, "and then... ohhh… you sucked them, you bit them— "

"Did you stay still?" asked Harry.

"I--I didn’t," whispered Draco.

And Harry slapped him again, this time choosing the opposite cheek. "Now kiss me," Draco said, "kiss me, Harry... mmm.... oh, that's good... how about on my neck..."

"Not yet," Harry said, releasing him. "So tell me...were you hard for me?"

"Yes," Draco said, "I couldn't help it. But you wouldn't touch me there…"

Harry's eyes gleamed, and he smiled again. "Did I bring my lips close and sort of blow on it, let you feel my breath, then pull away?"

Draco's eyes widened as he looked up at Harry, impressed. "You did," he said. "And what did you do next?"

"I asked if you liked it."

"I said ‘No,’ of course. I didn’t want to give you any satisfaction."

"And I said that it sure looked like you do."

"I told you that of course it was only an involuntary reflex, and that I’d curse you so you’d never dare try anything again, and that I’d report you and you’d be expelled, immediately. And you called me a filthy liar. And you laughed. And you slapped me again. And I tried not to be so excited by you, to think of anything that would get me soft. And I just couldn’t."

"And what did I do next?" Harry asked.

"You pulled up a chair and sat down next to me. And you pulled up your robes. I could see how big and… full you were, under your jeans. You stuck your hand down your trousers and stroked yourself, very slowly. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Then you took it out, and it was so stiff, just the perfect size for sucking, and you looked at me and said —"

"Want it?" Harry broke in.

"And I said ‘Never!’ And you leaned over me, and your cock was just inches away from my mouth. I clamped my lips together, and closed my eyes so I wouldn’t be tempted, but as you got closer and closer, I smelled you, and I felt the heat rising off you, and Harry, I wanted you so badly. My mouth watered and I was afraid to swallow, to have you see my excitement — "

"I knelt down, on the pillow," Harry interjected, "straddling your mouth and rubbing myself against your closed lips, first lightly," he swept a finger over Draco's lips in illustration, "then gradually increasing the pressure so you could feel the skin of my cock moving back and forth, over and over, until--"

"I couldn’t help myself," Draco interrupted. "I opened my lips — just the smallest crack — then my mouth fell open for you, and the head of your cock slipped in." He swallowed. "I got just the slightest taste of you before —"

"I pulled away. Lying again, I see."

Harry slapped Draco again, and this time, Draco gave a quiet moan. Both his cheeks were pink and heated.

"So I ignored you, didn't I," Harry said. "Zipped up my trousers and walked away."

Draco drew in his breath sharply. "Where did you go?"

"I went and had lunch with Ron and Hermione and left you there in the room, naked and alone."

"And you told me I had better stay hard for you, right?"

"That’s exactly what I said," Harry confirmed.

"And you called me –"

"You dirty little minx," growled Harry. "And what did you do while I was gone, all tied up, where anyone could find you?"

"I stayed so hard, just thinking about you, longing for you. I kept licking my lips, trying to taste you again from where you touched me. I tried to push my thighs together, to somehow touch myself, but the bonds were too strong."

"Your wrists and ankles were chafing from the rope, weren’t they?" Harry asked.

"They burned, especially when I moved," Draco said. "I was so starved for sensation, I almost started to like it, especially when I thought about your tongue licking the sore spots."

He shifted nervously in Harry's arms, knowing that Harry knew that movement, that little adjustment of the hips. He wouldn't need to look under the covers to know that Draco had a raging erection. Hopefully he'd be doing something about it soon, or Draco would need to take matters into his own hands.

"Is there more?" Harry prodded.

Draco's answer was immediate. "Of course," he said. "I had no idea how long I lay there alone. It could have been minutes, or hours. Then I heard the door open and I knew it was you by the sound of your stride. My back automatically arched up as you came near. I was dying to get you to touch me again, even if you were just going to slap me."

Harry kissed Draco on his ear, that tender pink edge protruding through the nearly colourless curtain of hair, and gave it a little nip. "Maybe I didn't want to slap you again," he murmured.

"Harry. What did — what did you do next?"

"I bent over. I stuck out my tongue and licked the tip of your cock, just the tip, very gently." Harry closed his eyes for a second, imagining.

"And -- and then you ran your tongue up and down the length, slowly, just a few times."

"And I asked you what you wanted me to do," Harry said.

"I moved my lips, but no sound came out."

"I told you to speak up, I haven’t got all day."

"I managed to whisper."

"I said ‘I can’t hear a thing you’re saying. I’ve had it with you.’ And I turned my back on you and started walking toward the door."

"I couldn’t stand to see you leave, so I screamed at the top of my voice."

"What did you scream?"

Draco took a deep breath, and exhaled. And then he opened his mouth and shouted, louder than Harry had ever heard him.

They heard a loud thumping from the floor, which Harry's ears registered as Aunt Petunia banging on the ceiling with a mop handle. Normally, this would have sent both Harry and Draco into hysterics, but the moment was much too charged.

"You turned around and looked at me, with this cruel smile on your face" Draco continued, looking intently at Harry. He was getting to his favourite part. "And then-- you started to walk away again."

"Then, as if on a whim," Harry supplied, "I changed direction, moving toward you."

Draco was breathing very heavily. "And then — and then — " he gasped, barely able to speak.

Harry needed no further prompting. He dove under the covers and sucked Draco all the way into his mouth, as much as he could without gagging. Draco pushed Harry’s head down into his crotch and came almost instantly, just as hard and intensely as he had in his dream, lifting his hips off the bed to meet Harry’s mouth. He must have screamed again, because Petunia was pounding the floor beneath them so hard that the bed underneath them was rattling.

Draco felt Harry's throat gagging around him, just a little before he swallowed, but Harry didn't take his mouth away. It didn’t happen often, but occasionally, Harry was able to coax him into multiple orgasms, and he was pretty certain that this was one of those times. He put his hand on Harry's head to let him know, and Harry closed his eyes, sucking gently on the still-engorged shaft, his tongue playing around the smooth ball of the head. Draco moved fluidly against him, his urgency apparent in his entire body, and with a sigh and uptake of air, he shuddered and came again, not as much as the first time, but still enough to swallow. Harry’s fist moved faster and faster around his own cock until he spurted a warm wet burst against Draco’s leg.

After pressing a kiss into each of the tender hollows inside Draco’s hip bones, Harry emerged sweating from under the blankets. Draco pulled him into his arms, not minding the stickiness between them. It was so wonderful to hold him and be held, spent and satisfied together.

"Your hair's all mussed up,” Harry said triumphantly, sounding as though he'd caught the Snitch.

Draco’s eyes were half-closed, his face relaxed in a contented expression. "Don't remind me," he yawned. "Looks like a case of the Potter calling the kettle black. Your hair looks an absolute fright. As usual." His voice came out muzzy and indistinct, and he knew he was close to sleep.

Harry chuckled, a muted, gentle rumble. Draco held him against his chest and whispered nonsense into the soft dark thicket of his hair. Harry's lips, warm and feathery, moved against his skin in quiet answer, and Draco let out a deep sigh. If only he could stop time and just stay in this moment forever, lying naked and unguarded with Harry in his arms. If only they never had to leave this bed, if only the protection charm would last a lifetime…

~*~

Draco awoke in pitch blackness. He inclined his head to glance at the blinking face of the Muggle digital time measurer. In exactly two minutes and twenty-nine seconds, Harry James Potter would be seventeen.

And oh, he had plans for Harry’s birthday. The night was young yet, he'd expand the bathtub to fit two, and cast a Transparency charm on the ceiling so he and Harry could relax in a sea of bubbles and stare up at the stars. Somewhere up there was a constellation that bore Draco’s name: Harry was forever trying to find it, but probably never would, as only the brightest stars were visible in the hazy Surrey sky. And Draco couldn’t wait to give Harry his birthday gift. It hadn't been easy to find; thankfully, the Malfoys still had a few solid connections with the Ministry.

The alarm clock rang out with a loud buzz, and Draco jumped a little, even though he’d been expecting it. Beside him, Harry moaned, and reached out reflexively to shut the damn thing off.

Harry rolled over to look at Draco, who was smiling smugly, his hands folded behind his head. "Did you figure out how to work this, just for me?" Harry asked, staring at the glowing orange numerals.

"Oh, it was simple," Draco said, with a modest glance downwards. "I just charmed that device so it would make a sound at the right time. Very basic spell."

Harry stifled the impulse to grin. Then a more sober thought occurred to him. Although this time his aunt hadn't bothered to thump on the ceiling, it really wasn't sporting to be making such a racket this late at night, no matter whom it disturbed.

"Sorry!" he told the floor.

Draco flung his arms around his neck. "Happy birthday, Harry!" He laughed. "Now you get to do some of the magic around here, for a change."

"I can't wait to try." Harry said. He yawned and stretched, lifting his arms high over his head. "Merlin, I’m thirsty. Maybe I'll start by Accio-ing some water from downstairs."

"There are a lot of objects in the way that could block the spell." Draco pointed out, injecting a note of earnestness into his voice. "Why don’t I fill a jug and bring it up?"

Harry looked just as surprised as Draco thought he would, but he smiled. "Dressing gown's on the hook."

Draco hopped out of bed, and strode naked over to the door. Gingerly, he examined the oversized velour garment, hardly daring to touch it.

"Where did you get this — er, thing, Harry?" he asked, holding it at some distance from himself as if it were a used bin liner.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Used to be Dudley’s. Aunt Petunia probably bought it at Marks & Spencer's a few years back."

Draco wrinkled his nose, grimacing as he dramatically shrugged the terribly common-feeling fabric loosely over his body. "Guess I can bear to suffer for a few minutes," he said. Then he caught a glance at the clothes Harry had laid out for the next day

"Oh, I thought you were getting rid of this."

"And why would you think that?"

"It's perfectly hideous."

"I like it."

Draco picked up Harry’s T-shirt by a corner, scrutinizing the badly-drawn stick figures. "What, exactly, is supposed to be going on here?"

"They’re playing Quidditch, you prat."

Draco squinted. He still couldn’t see it. "You're not wearing this tomorrow, are you?”

"Of course I am,” Harry said, a frown beginning to form at the edges of his mouth. "Ron’s mum went to the trouble of hand-painting it for me. Took a class at the Witches’ Craft Faire last year."

Draco snorted.

"What was that for?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Don’t you dare insult Molly Weasley."

"I wasn’t insulting her. Though why shouldn’t I? It’s not as though she knows anything about fashion. Or about looking attractive."

"And it’s not as though your mother knows how to look any way other than if she’s just caught a whiff of dead rat," Harry said, punctuating his remark with a mocking sniff of air.

"What does my mother have to do with that Weasley wench?” Draco demanded.

"Just drop it, Draco," Harry snapped. He swung his legs out of bed and pulled on the nearest pair of boxer shorts that lay discarded on the floor. "What did Molly ever do to you? Other than bend over backwards to make sure you got an invite to Bill and Fleur’s wedding? "

Draco folded his arms over his chest. "Did I ever say I wanted to go? Get your own water, then. I’m going downstairs to look at the talking box. And I’ll sleep on the couch like your bloody aunt always wanted."

"The talking --? Oh, you mean the telly. There’s nothing on at this time of night anyway."

"I’d rather look at nothing than have to listen to you right now," Draco yelled. He flung the door open, and almost collided with Aunt Petunia.

Petunia’s narrow, birdlike face looked even thinner under the mass of plastic curlers piled on her head. "It’s past midnight! Decent people are trying to sleep. Do you mind?"

"Yes, we mind!" Draco shouted. Normally soft-spoken, he felt unable to lower his voice once he’d started. "This is between me and Harry! Leave us alone!"

Petunia shook her finger at him. "You’ve done nothing but cause trouble from the minute you got here. I’ve no obligation to let you stay. Why don’t you just leave?"

"Why don’t I just hex you?" Draco snapped. He looked around wildly. "Harry, where’s my wand? Get me my wand!"

Petunia shuddered, her curlers making a clicking sound, and Harry looked furious. He put his hands on his hips, facing Draco, his eyes flashing. "I’ll do nothing of the sort! What are you trying to do, join your father in Azkaban?”

"Don't you fucking dare bring up my father, Potter!" Draco snarled.

In the distance, a police siren wailed, and everyone fell silent. Petunia pricked up her ears and glanced out the window. One by one, lights flickered on in the neighbours' homes. She gasped.

"Get out of my house at once! I won’t have the likes of you ruining our good name in the neighbourhood!" she hissed

"With pleasure, you nasty piece of Muggle rubbish!" Draco replied.

"Please don't do this, Draco," Harry begged, ignoring his aunt’s scandalised frown at his anguish. "Stay the night. We'll leave first thing in the morning."

Draco wrapped his hand around the base of his wand, not speaking. His jaw was tightly clenched, and the shabby dressing gown hung loosely off his proud frame, making him look achingly vulnerable despite his fury. Barely looking at Harry, he shook his head.

Harry screamed.

Petunia and Draco were staring at him open-mouthed, and still he screamed and screamed. He knew he was screaming, yet he didn’t hear anything. For a moment, he floated above his own body. He saw himself lying on the grungy carpet of his attic room, mouth open, face purple-red, tears streaming from his eyes, wailing and clutching his forehead. The pain, the searing pain. It was hard to think of anything else.

The room grew blurry, and everything shimmered into black.

~*~

Harry stirred. He had no desire to ever open his eyes; he feared the light would cause the pain to start again.

He was lying down in a very comfortable place. A hand was stroking his hair, and there was something cool and moist against his forehead. Gradually, he became aware of two voices, one male, one female.

"Yes, this is how he looked when he first came to us,” the female voice said.

The man laughed. "He had so much hair!"

"I know, we had to cut it constantly," the female voice chuckled. "It always seemed to grow back right away!"

"Ah, that's the wizard blood,” the male voice said, and Harry opened his eyes. The room was barely lit, but he knew where he was.

"Draco," he mumbled. It was Draco who had spoken, and Draco whose lap he lay in. He lifted the damp washcloth off his forehead, holding it in front of his eyes as if it could tell him what was going on.

Aunt Petunia got up abruptly. "Tea's on the table," she said. She didn't even look at Harry as she marched away back to her bedroom.

"Harry! Are you all right? What happened?" Draco looked even paler than usual.

"It's Voldemort," Harry said slowly. "He's near, I think. And he's active again. That's why my scar was burning."

"I suspected as much," Draco said.”But I didn’t think he could bother you here.”

"I’m seventeen now, " Harry reminded him, sitting up.

"I know," Draco said.

"I'm fine now, really. I just need to rest."

Draco reached over to the cushion next to him and handed Harry a frayed manila envelope. He smiled. "Something you might want to look at."

The envelope was heavy in Harry’s hand. He upended it in his lap, and out tumbled dozens of Muggle photographs. Although he’d never seen these particular photos before, he instantly recognised the subjects.

"Where did you get these?" he asked, feeling a surge of excitement.

"Your mum sent them to your aunt, I guess. I like this one,” Draco said, holding a picture by the edge to show Harry.”Even though it doesn’t move.”

Harry laughed. The baby in the photograph had spilled food all over himself, and his mother — Harry’s mother — was looking up at him with the fondest expression.”I’m lots more careful when I eat now.”

"Your aunt — she’s not so bad, you know."

"She’s not?"

“No,” Draco said. "Not when she’s alone. Your uncle — he hurts her, I think."

Harry looked at Draco, and he remembered the shouting and thumps, sometimes late at night. He’d always thought they’d come from the neighbour’s house. And Petunia was so tired in the mornings. It all fit together, somehow.

"I never thought—" he said, heavily, "I didn’t know—"

Draco leaned over and kissed Harry’s forehead. For once, his clear grey eyes were sincere and free of sarcasm. "I’m sorry," he whispered.

Before Harry could respond, the lights flickered and went out. He and Draco looked at each other in despair. They both knew it was coming, they’d known it all along. Through the window, where Muggles might see a cloudy haze, they saw the pure, poisonous green of the Dark Mark illuminating the night sky. There were a few scattered shouts, then sirens going off. Their arms reached for each other as a booming noise rattled the windows.

"It’s happening, isn’t it?" Draco asked, his tone dull with resignation.

Harry nodded, unable to speak for a moment. "You’ll be safe at Grimmauld Place,” he said finally. "It’s still Unplottable."

"No." Draco sprang to his feet, aware of an unfamiliar sensation burgeoning in his chest. Before he could stop himself, he opened his mouth. "I’m coming with you.”

And Harry smiled.

To be continued... probably one more fic to go.