SEE THE SUN
By Nenya Entwhistle

Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling, I'm just borrowing them for a brief turn in words.

Warning: This is slash and this has not been beta'd. Read at your own risk and do not bother sending me flames about the homo-love-lines. I'll just assume you can't read.

I'm coming around to open the blinds
You can't hide here any longer
My god you need to rinse those puffy eyes
You can't lie still any longer
And yes they'll ask you where you've been
And you'll have to tell them, again and again
"See the Sun" (Dido)

Three
Sunset

You were sick. You got even sicker. Your face, always tanned and radiant became pale like the snow. Weasley would tease that you were picking up some of the Malfoy looks finally. That it was about time since we'd been bonded for years. You smiled, and I hid how the words torn my insides apart. I hated the way you looked. You looked weak, when I knew you were stronger than anyone I've known.

"Is he getting better?" Hermione would whisper into my ear softly while you and Weasley played one immature game after another. "I think he looks a tad less pale." I knew she said this to comfort me, to give me some hope. The magi-chemotherapy wasn't working as well as anyone of us had hoped. Poppy had suggested that your name be added to the muggle list of bone marrow donors.

If the wizarding world ever owed you anything, why could it not have given you life?

"Maybe," I would answer vaguely. "He's not been eating much, though. That infernal house elf that adores him, tries to tempt him with all his favorites but nothing really entices his appetite."

She would nod and we would go back to watching our lovers playing like children. We would smile fondly when they when occasionally turn to us and smile or whatnot. Sometimes, Hermione and I would talk about safer topics. Like when Hermione planned to help populate Hogwarts with the next Weasley generation. Other times we'd talk about books and research. Safe topics, topics that didn't hurt either of our hearts to think about.

Night would fall and we would go leave to go back to Hogwarts with the promise to visit again soon.

-

I liked touching you when you were still sleeping. I never realized it until just recently. It's probably because you've always been the early riser. I've always like to laze around in the bed. But now you sleep a lot, and I watch you because there's nothing better to do with my time. There's nothing I'd rather do.

My hand rests gently on your chest as it exhales and inhales. Your eyes are closed, probably lost in a dream. I would hope that you've gotten over all of your nightmares, but that's wishful thinking. Sometimes, I'll turn your head so that I can watch your perfect innocence.

Your lips are tempting, as tempting as they always are. I want to bend down and kiss them. Just like I want to rip the covers off your naked body and engulf your cock in my mouth. I want to make love to you until you can't move anymore, until you're overwhelmed by exhaustion. I want to make you sleep from that and not from the wretched magi-chemotherapy.

"Mrrr…" you groan as you roll over onto me. "Dra… co?"

"Yes," I whisper and even though you've got morning breath, I kiss you. "Mmmm…"

"Gross, love," you mutter when I pull away. "You should have been a Gryffindor." I frown and you laugh. "That was brave of you," you whisper. "To kiss me like that. I know, I must taste…"

"Wonderful," I finish, bending my head down to kiss you again. "But you'd taste even better," I remark, wiggling my nose, "if you brushed your teeth."

You chuckle and roll away from me to get out of the bed. I watch with desire smoldering eyes as your ripe ass cheeks drift into the bathroom with your half hard cock. It's nice to know that even though you're sick and you're tired, I can still arouse a response out of you. For isn't sex good for the body and soul?

-

Yesterday was one of the good days. You managed to get up and roll out of bed. Today is one of the bad days. You're lying in the bed, breathing faintly as if all the life in you has abandoned you. I pretend not to notice how you're struggling. You hate it when I remind you of your weakness. Instead, I go about as if everything is normal even though it's not.

Instead of eating breakfast in the kitchen, I bring you your favorites: chocolate pancakes and pumpkin juice. You gift me one of your pretty smiles, and I can't help but smile back. You pick at the pancakes, but I sit there and wait until you finish at least half of one and all the pumpkin juice before I dash to my class.

I hear you sigh and hear your head fall back to rest on the pillow. It's going to be another one of those days.

-

"I'm getting better," you would say some days. "I'm getting better."

It was like a mantra chant, if you said it repeatedly enough and said it hard enough, maybe it'd come true or maybe you'd really believe it. There was some muggle book that Hermione had found that said some cancer miracles occurred when there was enough belief in getting better. Since magic wasn't working, muggle psychology didn't seem too crazy.

I would hold you while you chanted, hold you and pray that everything you said would be true.

-

Lunchtime was when you took your second "sleep" voyage. I usually moped around in the Great Hall with the rest of the students and Professors. But sometimes I went over to Hogsmeade to visit Hermione. She'd made the offer months ago, and it'd taken months for me to take her up on it.

"Hello," she greeted me pleasantly. "How are things?" she asked as she stepped aside to allow me to enter.

"Same," I answered. "How are you?"

"Good," she responded. "Things are good."

"That's good to hear," I responded.

I plopped myself down on the couch and waited for her to get some sandwiches, whatnot. When she finally got some food together to eat, we'd sit together in the sitting room and talk about whatever we could talk about that didn't involve mentioning you. She knew I came to her because I needed some comfort, some strength so that I wouldn't be weak before you. She provided that. I understood then, why you loved her so.

"Do you like the sandwiches?"

"Yeah."

And that was how lunches at Hermione's usually were.

-

"Love?" you groan. Your eyes squint at the bright sun that is pouring into our room. "What time is it?"

"Nearly dinnertime," I answer, sitting down besides you and spooning you. "Do you want to go down to the Great Hall to eat or would you rather eat up in our rooms? Or maybe even go to Hogsmeade to see Hermione and Weasley?"

"No, I'd rather stay here." You smile shyly. "I want to do something with you after dinner…"

The smile I return is positively devious. "Naughty boy," I say. "Naughty Harry," I moan as I bend my head down to press my lips against yours. "You don't need to act like a shy, virgin lover. If you want my cock," I press my erection into your bum, "all you have to do is ask."

You chuckle softly, and I hate to admit it, weakly. But there's life in your laughter now that I hadn't heard in your voice this morning. You kept saying you were getting better. Maybe you were, and maybe you weren't. It didn't matter as long as you weren't getting worse. I could take the stasis.

"Wasn't I asking?" You lick my cheek.

I laugh. "You are such a feline," I state. "How you're a parselmouth still amazes me."

I am because whatever I say in parseltongue you think is Slytherin sexy.

I don't understand a word, but my cock still jumps up with appreciation. Sometimes, you tell me what you say and other times you don't. You don't tell me this time, but it doesn't matter. No reason for you to waste your breath when I've got other plans for it tonight.

-

One day last week, I thought you were getting worse. But you said it was my imagination. That your nose wasn't really bleeding, even though I saw the bloody handkerchief you tried to hide. I let it pass because you wouldn't let me hold on to it.

Instead, you would ask me to make love to you and I would comply. I would bathe every inch of your skin with my tongue. I would take your half hard cock into my mouth, lavish it with every trick my tongue knew to get it to rise again. It took a lot of effort on my part and a lot of patience on yours to get you to a frenzied state. Sometimes, nothing worked.

Those were the night when you'd cry and I would hold you, spooned to me, and comfort you. You wanted to please me, and you knew I would not be pleased without having pleased you. You weren't upset that you were sick. You were upset that you couldn't please me anymore. I felt like such a selfish, selfish bastard.

-

"I'm not hungry," you whisper during dinner. The house elves, Dobby's doing probably, have catered a magnificent meal that would have tempted almost anyone. It didn't tempt you. "I…"

"You should eat something," I insist. I put some of your favorites on your plate, some fried chicken and mashed potatoes. "You need to keep your strength up." The magi-chemotherapy makes you weak, weaker than I've ever seen you.

You look away. "I can't."

"You can," I state. "You must." You must eat, or you will fade. And if you fade too much you will have to be taken to St. Mungo's and be under 24 hour intensive care. You don't want that, and neither do I. "You have to, Harry."

You pick up the fork, and you put a piece of chicken into your mouth that I've cut for you. You chew it slowly and eventually you swallow it. I smile and cut you another piece. You fork it and bring it to your mouth. You chew it, and I start cutting another piece again and again.

-

One day, Poppy burst into my classroom. I never remembered her ever making a spectacle of herself, but that day she did. She interrupted my classroom and dragged me out into the hallway. I thought, maybe something bad had happened to you, but the elation in her face said otherwise.

"You won't believe it," she babbled. "It's finally okay. It's finally going to be all right. I can't believe it myself. I mean, I knew, eventually that it was going to happen, but I always thought it was going to be too late. I was so worried. Harry's always ending up in my hospital ward, and this time I thought it'd be the last. I'm so happy. You don't know how happy I am Draco. I…"

"What are you talking about?" I interrupted. She wasn't making any sense, but at least no tears were streaming down her face and there was no sadness in her eyes. So I knew nothing bad had happened to you. Poppy was too fond of you to ever hide her emotions about where you stood. That made things easier and harder. "Poppy?" I shook her. "What are you trying to say?"

Now tears were streaming down her face, and I panicked. "Poppy?!"

"A match has been found for Harry," she cried. "There's a match for Harry."

I dropped to my knees and cried, relieved.

-

Things didn't start getting easier though. The surgery came and went, and you're stuck in a muggle hospital for days on end. It'd been easier if we used medimagic to help you get your strength back faster, but Poppy didn't know how muggle methods and wizard methods mix. It's best to stick to one method at a time. So you got weaker and weaker, even though you're getting better and better.

-

"Hey love," you greet in bed. A weak smile's on your face, but there's color in your cheeks. Months ago when you said everything was going to be okay, and that you were getting better--- turned out to be. Aren't you the prophet, Harry Potter?

"Hey," I say, scooping you into my arms. You weigh so little that I'm mad that you got sick in the first place. I can see your ribs if I was to push your pajamas up, but I pretend that you do weigh something and it's an effort to lift you. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," you whisper. You nuzzle my neck, your nose pressing against my Adam's apple. "Much better." Your tongue does some sinful swirling. "Don't I look better?"

I kiss your forehead. "You do. But you still need to eat more. How about a late night snack?"

You wiggle your nose in disgust. Even though your stomach has been settling better without the constant magi-chemotherapy, the thought of food still makes you ill. Too bad it's a necessary sustenance, isn't it?

"You need to eat, Harry," I tell you. "If you want to get better faster so…" I press a feather light kiss on your lips, "we can get to some more interesting necessary sustenance."

You moan and you press your half limp cock against my stomach. I know you've been getting better, definitely know, because you've been getting horny again. It's a beautiful thing, you being a randy slut.

"Mmm," you agree. "Mmm…"

"I love you, and you damn well are going to eat something," I declare, dumping you in front of a table full of your favorite foodstuffs.

You frown and try to hold onto me. "You're evil, love."

"Ah yes," I agree, holding up a chocolate dipped strawberry to your lips, "I am."

You devour it and the juices drip down my fingers. "I love you anyway."

"I know." I lick the red juice and imagine that soon it'll be your come I'm licking. "I know. Now eat, Harry."

"Bossy Slytherin git," you complain.

I smirk and keep feeding you. "Eat, Harry."

-

Nights later, we tumbled into bed. We made love like never before. I learned some little things I didn't use to know. How you liked my tongue to swirl in your belly button, then for me to hold my head up and blow into it. It made you wiggle and writhe in the bed in such lovely wild patterns. You moan helplessly…

And all I could do was, love you, love you, love you 'til the end of days.

-

Author's Note: Thanks for those that did review the last chapter. I actually wouldn't have finished this story without all the positive feedback on my LJ. If you want to read the NC-17 version, refer to my profile's link to my LJ then sift through the entries or you can go to my memories where I file away all my entries. Also, let me know what you think of this as this is the end of the story.

THE END.