Summary: Post HBP. Draco has failed in his mission and his life is forfeit, so he goes the one place no one will look for him; Harry's. Here he sees that life is not as he expected for The-Boy-Who-Lived, and when things go to far he steps in to save the boy he once thought was his enemy.

Disclaimer: As always, Harry Potter is © J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury Books, and all other entities involved in the Potterverse. The situations in which the characters find themselves, and the plot of this piece of fan fiction is solely the work of my twisted, slash infected mind. No money is being made and no infringement is intended. Please don't sue me. I'm merely playing in JKR's world.

Chapter Nine: Showdown

"Alright, boy," Moody scowled at Harry as he stomped forward. "You mind telling me just why we shouldn't be carting this here brat off to Azkaban for murdering a Muggle with the Killing Curse?"

Moody's scowl deepened, his magic eye whirling crazily about in his head, but always landing on Draco. "Or how about for letting the bloody Death Eaters into Hogwarts not so long ago? Surely even you recall that, boy." His wand was in his hand, aimed towards Draco, and Harry slid between the two, ignoring the twinge of pain the movement caused.

Harry looked over Moody's shoulder, his eyes flashing dangerously as they locked on his supposed best mate's. He had promised that nothing would happen to Draco, he had sworn that he had a reason for what he had done, and yet Ron hadn't believed him. Even after last year, he couldn't just bloody well believe that Harry knew what he was doing. Turning his emerald glare to the retired Auror, Harry swallowed—he couldn't do this. In the end, it was the gentle, almost non-existent, touch of Draco's hand on his wrist that gave him the strength to go on. Draco accepted the very real possibility that Harry wouldn't be able to say anything, and while not happy, he would accept that and move on. Even if that meant he would wind up in Azkaban. After all, he had mucked up in the past.

Harry nodded slightly in response to Draco, and spoke. "Draco Malfoy came home with me this summer. It was without my consent, and without my knowledge, but he did come home with me. Every year I've gone back to them alone, and I've been beaten, and starved." Mrs. Weasley gasped in horror, and Remus' eyes flashed in anger. Harry swallowed, refusing to tell everyone the full truth, but willing to admit to this small portion in order to save Draco. "And yeah, he just watched for the most part. That night Draco Malfoy stepped in and saved me. He knew I couldn't do anything to help myself, I couldn't use magic, and before they could" 'rape me' "do the unthinkable, Malfoy cast the Killing Curse. He saved my" 'virginity' "life." It wasn't everything, not even close, but surely it would be enough.

And indeed, it appeared to be enough for most of the people in the living room. He could see from the looks that Bill and Charlie exchanged, and from the look Remus sent him that they knew there was more, but that they too accepted he couldn't say all of what had happened. Even Hermione seemed to be wearing that knowing look, and Harry frowned slightly—he'd been certain that Draco hadn't told her, yet it seemed she knew as well. However, for Ron and Moody it wasn't enough. Ron's scowl deepened as he muttered under his breath about Imperius curses. Moody was practically snarling as he tried to shove Harry out of the way. The push on his freshly healed chest sent Harry stumbling back into Draco's arms, memories of past abuse flitting through his mind as he choked back a sob.

The room watched in silence as Draco wrapped his arms around Harry, the alcohol in his system convincing him that this was all right for him to do, that Harry was his to protect, and to comfort. Harry turned and buried his face against Draco's shoulder, shaking as hands gently rubbed his back, and the soothing sound of Draco's voice whispering in his ear. "It's okay, H—Potter. He's gone now. You're safe." He must have repeated that a dozen times before Harry lifted his head, wiping at the tears on his cheeks. "See?" He gently turned Harry around enough so he could see the room, watching the two of them, puzzled expressions on their faces. "It's all right…"

"Well, I don't care what his reasons are; it's time he was taken in to Azkaban. Join his Death Eater father there, perhaps. It's only too bad we can't give him to the Dementors right now." Moody was sneering now, his one good eye fixed on Draco as he stomped forward. Draco blanched slightly at the thought of his father, and Harry was confused. He had seen Voldemort torture and kill the Malfoys. There was no way Lucius Malfoy was still in Azkaban. But Moody was still stomping towards Draco, and Harry pushed away that thought in order to do what he knew was right, what he felt compelled to do.

"No." Harry pushed out of Draco's arms and stepped forward, again putting himself between Moody and Draco. "He's not going anywhere. But you are. Get out of my house. All of you." His eyes lifted to look directly at Ron, "especially you." When it looked like Moody was going to refuse, Harry's eyes darted back to him, and flashed. The room started shaking, and Moody flinched before stepping back, and turning.

Grabbing a handful of floo powder, Moody stepped into the fireplace, but before speaking his destination he lifted his eyes to Harry's and snarled. "You can't protect him forever, boy. You know he deserves to rot in Azkaban." With that, he tossed the powder down and was gone in a flash of green light.

"How could you, Ron?" Harry stepped forward, barely catching his weight as he stalked towards his best mate. "You couldn't take my word for it? Couldn't believe me when I said Draco did it for me?" He didn't even notice that he called Draco by his first name, too angry to care. "Do you know why I didn't want to say anything?" By now, he was standing directly in front of Ron, and surprisingly no one had stepped forward yet to break them apart. Snarling, he fisted his hands in the front of Ron's jumper and pulled him closer.

"Every bloody time I talk about it I have to re-live it. I have to re-live every single fucking abuse: every hit, every punch, and every broken bone. So you tell me, Ron, was it worth it?" He pushed, letting go of Ron's jumper and watching as he stumbled backwards before turning to leave the room. "I can't deal with you right now." Already he was shaking from the exertion, and from the memories.

"Harry, wait. I didn't mean… well… how was I to know what happened at your relatives?" Ron was right behind Harry and almost walked into him as Harry whirled around.

"How were you to know? Bloody hell, mate! Do you think I'm this thin because I choose not to eat? Do you think I just fall down the bloody stairs? Or maybe I walk into doors, is that it? No, wait, it's because I deserve it. That was his favourite explanation. 'The boy deserves it for being so freakish' is that it?" By now, tears were sliding down the cheeks of Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Hermione. Even Remus and Ron looked like they were about to cry. And the shaking that had been so small was now in earnest, books sliding out of bookshelves to pitch to the floor, a vase of flowers shattering.

"Harry," strong, slim hands held his shoulders and Harry let out a soft sigh as he closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. The shaking in the room stilled, and Harry turned to survey the damage. He looked up into silver eyes, and blinked slowly at Draco, only now noticing that it was Draco who had held him just then, Draco who had calmed him down.

"They're giving me those looks, aren't they?" Draco smirked slightly.

"Actually, Potter, I think you were wrong about the looks you'd be getting. I think the hero worship increased." He gave a gentle twist to Harry's shoulders, forcing him to look at the others.

"I'm sorry. It's just… I'd rather not talk about it right now."

"Of course not, dear." Mrs. Weasley patted Harry on the shoulder and looked at Draco thankfully. "Now you two boys go on up to bed. It's past dinnertime already, and you both need your rest. I'll be speaking with Ronald here." She frowned at her youngest son before nodding at the other two. "Go on now. And if you need anything you just let me know, okay dears?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry smiled and hugged her before turning towards the stairs once more, a look of trepidation in his face. He really hated those stairs. "I really… I didn't mean…" He paused, rubbing at his forehead wearily. "Please stay."

"We will, dear. Off to bed now."

Draco managed to make to half way up the stairs behind Harry when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. A turn of his head brought him eye-to-eye with Hermione, and the look in her face caused his blood to run cold. "I know, Malfoy. What I don't know is why you would have bothered to save him. You can't stand Harry; you hate him. So why did you suddenly decide to help him?"

"To be honest, Granger," he drawled, "I'm not sure. Perhaps I thought no one deserved to live like that. Or maybe I've been secretly in love with the Boy Who Lived." Smirking at the look on her face, he turned to continue up the stairs. "I don't need to tell you why I chose to save him. It's enough that I did. And if the Dark Lord didn't already want me dead for refusing to kill Dumbledore, then he would now." He lifted his shoulders in an elegant shrug and continued up the stairs. 'Bloody alcohol. I'm not in love with Ha—Potter. I'm not! I simply want to claim him as mine… and that's not love!'

-HDHDHDHD-

He wasn't an idiot, nor was he deaf. He'd heard what Draco had said, and he couldn't help the way his chest had clenched and his stomach twisted when Draco had joked about being in love with him. Groaning, Harry sunk onto his bed and tossed his glasses to the bedside table before he grabbed the bottle of fire whiskey, taking a large pull in an attempt to stop his brain from working. 'Is it so wrong of me to wish that maybe he did have feelings for me…?' Unfortunately, the alcohol did nothing to help him to stop thinking, and in fact just caused him to rethink the last time he'd been drinking with Draco.

'He kissed me,' Harry rubbed the heel of his palms against his eyes, sinking back onto the bed to stare up at the ceiling. 'That night, he kissed me.' Sighing, he watched the way the light filtered through the window, wishing that he could actually sleep. Of course that wasn't the first time he'd been drinking with Draco around. Groaning, Harry rolled over to his side, back facing the door. He'd been drinking for a week, every night talking aloud. He hadn't thought much of it, merely speaking as though Sirius had been there. Sirius, who was the closest thing to a father he had, even if he was more like a big brother than anything else. Sirius would have understood what he was feeling right now or at least he hoped as much.

He'd talked about what had happened at his uncle's, or at least about most of it. Looking back, he couldn't remember telling even his imaginary Sirius about how his uncle had only recently begun selling him like that. When talking about that grew to be too painful, he talked about Voldemort, about how he was scared, about the Prophecy. And after enough to drink he started to talk about the blokes he liked. Harry sat up suddenly, fumbling for his glasses, his cheeks flushed with colour.

The blokes he liked. Which included one Draco Malfoy, whom he was certain he had rhapsodized about for far longer than any other bloke. After all, Draco was gorgeous, intelligent, elegant, sensual, and just screamed that he would be amazing in bed. Bloody hell, he'd told Draco all about his crush on him. Oh, Merlin, was it any wonder Draco had kissed him. He knew how easy it would be for Harry to hop into bed with him, how easy it would be to convince Harry that he would be safe. The irony of it was that he probably would be safe with Draco, other than the fact that his heart would probably wind up broken.

He was still sitting up in bed when the door opened to allow a flustered and visibly upset Draco to enter, still berating himself under his breath. Harry was almost certain he heard the world 'love' multiple times, but was unable to be certain so he allowed it to pass and simply held out the bottle. "Sod the glasses," he muttered, waiting for Draco to finish his drink and pass it back.

The two sat in amiable silence, broken at times by one or the other. As time passed, and they became more drunk, Draco leaned back beside Harry and sighed. "Y'know," he slurred, "everyone always thought I had it easy. That father loved me." He sneered, rolling a bit so he was on his side facing Harry, one hand absently tracing patterns on the boy's stomach. "Crucio hurts, doesn't it? Same with beatings like the one's your uncle used to… well, you know. Never did that to me though, so I s'pose I'm supposed to be grateful." Harry's eyes had widened slightly, but he still lay back against the headboard, not saying anything for fear that Draco would stop talking.

"After the Dark Lord returned it got worse. Father said he was doing it because he loved me, but I can't see why he felt the need to twist and warp things the way that he did." Draco paused to take a pull from the bottle before continuing. "For my fifteenth birthday he hired a muggle hooker." Sneering, he looked into Harry's eyes. "Just because he was a Death Eater didn't mean he couldn't see a certain use for the muggles. So he hired one to make me 'learn the fine line between pain and pleasure', he said. He claimed that learning to find pleasure in pain was a useful talent for a Death Eater. I never understood that until I saw a meeting myself."

Draco's hand stilled, clutching at the jumper Harry wore. "I still remember the look in his eyes when he would torture someone. Bloody hell, Potter, the Dark Lord was getting off on it. He was enjoying it!" Harry's hand lifted to card through Draco's hair gently, soothingly.

"I know, Malfoy. It's sickening. Like, there couldn't be any way he could be worse… and then you see that look, the one that tells you that he's enjoying hurting you… and then you know that it's not going to stop. It will never stop." Harry laughed bitterly. "I know that look, Malfoy. My uncle and cousin wore it for years, and then the times I met Voldemort he wore it." Shrugging, Harry continued to card his fingers through Draco's silky hair, sighing softly.

"It used to puzzle me that you didn't."

Draco looked up at Harry, confusion flickering over his expression for a moment before concealed behind the carefully structured façade of cool indifference. "I don't know what you mean, Potter." He rolled away from Harry, eyes locked on the ceiling.

"Just that you didn't look like you enjoyed hurting me, Malfoy." Harry grinned, reaching for the bottle of fire whiskey and finishing it off. "We should get some sleep." Draco moved to get out of bed, but Harry reached out and caught his wrist. "Please, just... stay?" His voice came out soft, needy, almost begging for Draco to stay, and Harry dropped his eyes to stare at the duvet, deep forest green cotton that matched the cotton sheets so well.

Draco's eyebrows rose as he sank back onto the bed. "You want me to stay, Potter?" He laughed softly, the sound sending chills up and down Harry's spine, delighting his imagination with it's wicked promise. "You have to let me get undressed then. And probably borrow something for bed; I'm afraid I didn't really have time to pack my own clothing." His nose wrinkled in disgust, he needed out of the clothing he was wearing currently.

Harry flushed, still looking down at the duvet. He'd noticed that Draco had been wearing the same outfit for the past few days, but it had never occurred to him that Draco hadn't anything else to change into. They'd have to take a trip to Diagon Alley, possibly muggle London as well. Since Harry did not intend to go back to his relatives, he would need a new wardrobe as well, anyway.

"We didn't really pack anything much for me either, Malfoy. I've just been sleeping in my pants." The flushed deepened as he waited for a response.

"Well, well, Potter. Trying to seduce me?" Draco wriggled out of bed, and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, allowing it to drop to the floor with a careless elegance. He waited for Harry to look up before undoing his trousers, smirking slightly at the glazed over expression on Harry's face.

"Nothing like that, Dr—Malfoy." Harry swallowed, ignoring the fire that was lighting in his lower body, and turning to pull off his jumper, and slide his own trousers down before sliding into the bed. He had to struggle to keep his eyes off Malfoy, and resolutely snapped them closed, one hand fumbling his glasses off and to the bedside table.

A moment later he could feel the bed dip beneath Draco's weight, and sighed softly, his eyes drifting closed. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Malfoy." A small smile curved Harry's lips as he allowed himself to drift off. Before he was completely asleep it occurred to him that the warm weight resting on his side was Draco's arm, but somehow it only served to make him smile more. Humming happily, he relaxed back against Draco and allowed himself to sleep; for once without being woken by nightmares.