Disclaimers:
Harry Potter is not mine, neither is anything affiliated with Harry Potter. Which means the only thing I really own in this fic is the computer used to type it up, and the idea. Harry Potter does, however belong to the ever wonderful J.K. Rowling.
Oh yeah, and the poem at the end of the story ("Pippa Passes") was written by, and thus belongs to, Robert Browning. I got it from one of the people I beta for. Thanks, Arashi! ^__^
Okay, after writing "The Seduction of Draco Malfoy," I had a problem with the ending. So I decided to write a sequel. *massive sweatdrop* It's really sappy, and it's kind of silly to think that Draco's excuse is actually feasible. But what can I say? I really like the Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy pairing, and I don't like seeing either of them hurt!
*Wonders why it's only THOSE two. . .*
All's Right With The World
Harry stared up at the silk overhang of his four poster bed in the highest room of Gryffindor Tower. He sighed, rolling onto his left side to stare out the small window in the corner of his room. The soft snoring of his best friend, Ron Weasley, emanated toward him. The rest of the boys in his room were completely silent. It was almost creepy, the silence mixed with the darkness of a starless, moonless night.
A small draft blew through the circular room. Harry shivered, pulling the covers closer to is chin. It was one week until the winter break at Hogwarts, his last winter break as a student at the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was, in his own right, nervous about graduating, moving off into the real world, becoming a true member of wizard and witch society.
Outside the window, there was a beautiful blanket of white, freshly fallen snow. Untouched and pure, soon to be trampled upon by students hurrying to their classes.
Suddenly, Harry heard a light tap at the window. The emerald-eyed wizard fumbled for his glasses on the night table and took a closer look at the window. Sitting outside in the frigid weather was Draco's eagle owl. Harry chuckled, "What're you doing here?" He opened the small, arched window, allowing the owl to flutter in.
"Be quiet!" Harry hushed the bird, worried about waking his roommates. The bird seemed to understand, for it landed without a sound onto Harry's bed, staring at him with its beady black eyes. It dropped a small piece of parchment from its talons, pushing the paper towards Harry.
"What's this?" Harry asked Draco's bird of prey, scratching the owl's head, much to its delight. He laughed quietly, picking up the yellowish parchment in front of the bird. Unrolling it, he noticed the unmistakable looped yet efficient handwriting of Draco Malfoy.
Unconsciously, Harry furrowed his brow. He had not spoken a word, not even an insult, to Draco since that morning at Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, after the. . . unfortunate incident. Though he tried not to, he could not help thinking about Draco all the time. Thinking about what Draco how done, how happy he had felt when Draco kissed him with those perfect, pale lips. How horrible it had felt when Draco had left, leaving only his black silk pajama shirt behind. He had not told Draco, but every night for the rest of the summer, he had slept with the shirt as if it had been a kind of teddy bear. He regretted having to wash the shirt before packing for his year at Hogwarts.
Sighing mournfully, Harry began reading the perfect Draco Malfoy writing inscribed upon the parchment:
"Harry, meet me outside the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. I need to talk to you. It's important. Draco."
Harry kept the parchment open for a little while longer, staring at it, letting the words sink in. Would this finally be it? Would Draco finally explain his strange but oh-so-welcome actions?
But more than that, Harry wondered if this was just a ploy for Draco to make fun of him, to get him in trouble, to humiliate him.
Seeming to forget the latter of his thoughts, the dark-haired wizard slipped on his Invisibility Cloak, the cloak his father had left to Headmaster Dumbledore, who in turn had given the cloak to Harry. Oh, how many intriguing nights Harry had been allowed because of the cloak. Often, during those adventures, he had pondered about what his father might have done with the cloak. But not tonight. Tonight, he thought only of meeting Draco. He had immediately left his dorm room, leaving Draco's bird on his bed. The owl would be let out after Harry returned to his bed, after his meeting with Draco. And at least the bird would be given some warmth away from the cool air.
Stepping out onto the lily-white snow, Harry could not help but notice he was leaving a trail of heavy footprints. He soon abandoned this thought, upon seeing the pale-haired Draco Malfoy, standing shivering and alone in the brisk night air. Harry paused, stopping his trail for a moment. He needed to catch his breath. This was becoming too much like a dream.
Draco looked to be dressed considerably warm, clad in a heavy bathrobe and long black pajamas. Harry knew the pajamas to be silk, however, since they were the same ones Draco had worn. . . that night. And the bathrobe looked to be of a silky material, probably satin, which was not known for its warmth.
Harry suddenly felt underdressed for the occasion, garbed only in an old, baggy tee-shirt flannel sleep pants. Draco wore fuzzy black slippers, while Harry had only the bare soles of his feet. Harry wished he had remembered to put on his slippers.
Harry slipped the cloak off of his shoulders and head, resting it upon his arm. He walked toward Draco, keeping a ten foot distance between him and the other boy. Draco turned his head, and noticed him.
"Harry," Draco whispered, stepping closer to the dark-haired wizard. A puff of warm, moist air floated above both boys' heads.
"Malfoy," Harry spoke severely, his emerald eyes hardening as if he were angry.
Draco nodded. "I deserve your hostility. . ." The pale boy turned his winter blue eyes to his companion, a small, unhostile smile pressing his lips. "Thank you for coming."
"What do you want, Malfoy," Harry said, his voice still angry.
Draco's smile faded at the edges. Harry felt bad for sounding so unforgiving, so bitter. He blamed his voice on the chill of the air, the icy pain burrowing into his feet.
"I am sorry for waking you at this ungodly hour," Draco said gently, stepping closer toward Harry. "And asking you to meet me out here in this cold." He glanced down at Harry's feet. "You may use my slippers, if you would like."
"I'm fine," Harry immediately responded. "What do you want?"
Draco sighed, lowering his head and eyes. "I probably should have met with you at a more convenient hour, or at least inside. . ." Draco brought those perfect blue ashen orbs up to meet Harry's. They were sad, mournful, begging Harry for something that Harry could not read.
"But I've been putting it off long enough," he continued. "I needed to talk to you, whenever I could muster the strength."
Draco paused, taking a breath. Finally, he spoke. "I've been thinking. . . about what happened over the summer. . ."
"It's alright," Harry interrupted, raising his hand to stop any further discussion. "You already apologized."
Draco shook his head. "No. I acted terribly, and I know I hurt you. And I never explained why."
"You don't need to explain," Harry said, his voice now sounding rough, as if he were about to cry.
"No, I need to explain my actions. I feel terrible for what I did." Harry looked into Draco's eyes, where he swore he could see unshed tears brimming along the sides and bottom of his eyelids.
"Draco, you don't-"
"Please," he whispered, sinking his head lower. His voice faltered, and small droplets fell onto the snow, quickly freezing in the cool air. He kept his arms plastered to the sides of his body, his slender form shivering. "I'm so sorry I hurt you. . ."
"Draco. . ."
Draco raised his eyes to Harry again, tears now freely falling down the sides of his face. "My father. . . found out that. . . that I liked one of my classmates. He didn't like it, so he. . . he. . ." Draco sniffled, shaking his head in an attempt to lose the tears in his eyes. "He put a spell on me!
"I didn't believe that he would do something so terrible to his own son, his only son. . . and I thought he was kidding." The pale Malfoy heir paused, as if organizing his thoughts. "But one night. . . I woke up, and my shirt was missing, and I had this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn't know what I had done until. . ." He paused again, his words quickening their pace. "Until I saw you at the platform, when you gave me my shirt back."
"A spell?" Harry spoke beneath his breath, letting free a puff of warm air.
Draco nodded. "I'm not quite sure what the spell was, but my father mentioned that it would bring both the highest pleasure and the cruelest tragedy to the person I loved most. That I would care for and abuse the one I love." He hung his head again, his tears streaming along his cheeks at a slower pace. "He told me that after the spell was complete, my love would despise me and never speak to me again. Then I would start thinking straight again and learn what it takes to be a true Malfoy."
"Oh my god. . ." Harry stared at Draco, absolutely speechless.
Draco nodded, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips, which looked paler than his skin. "I am so sorry," he choked, "for what I did to you. For the pain I caused you. For hurting you the way I did."
Draco took Harry's hands into his own, then, and pulled himself closer to the dark-haired wizard. "I love you, Harry Potter." He lifted his head and gently kissed Harry's lips. The cold sensation coming from the other boy's lips forced a chilled rush along Harry's spine. The Malfoy heir had been standing outside for a while.
The pale wizard pulled away after a moment, peering deep into the eyes of his companion. He smiled brightly, a rosy blush rising up on his pale cheeks. Harry could not determine whether the blush was from the cold, or from his actions.
"I. . . I. . ." Harry stuttered.
"Please don't hate me," said Draco, moving his arms around his former enemy's waist, locking his hands behind the boy.
Harry could not help but smile, his arms still limp at his sides. For some reason, he did not feel the nippy air around him, nor the sting of the snowflakes that were beginning to fall upon his exposed skin.
"Are you serious?" Harry spoke breathily, hardly believing that any of this was real. It was just a dream. This wasn't really happening. Just a dream. . .
"More than anything in my life," Draco nodded. "More than anything I have ever felt before." He kissed Harry again, for a shorter time. Before he could truly pull away, however, Harry drew the other boy to him, pressing his lips to Draco's in a passionate kiss.
"I'm glad to hear that," he whispered against the other boy's lips.
And they stood like that until the first twinkling of the winter dawn, the fiery red sunrise making the lily snow glisten like fresh blood, and whispered sweet nothings to each other in between playful kisses. Before the first eyes of their dorms fluttered open, trying to drive off their sleepiness and their dreams, Draco and Harry had curled into their respective beds, thinking of the wonderful years that were to come, and the amazing days they had ahead of them.
//"The year's in the spring
The day's in the morn;
Morning's at seven,
The hill side's dew-pearled,
The lark's on the wing,
The snail's on the torn
God's in his heaven-
All's right with the world!"//
Owari
See, now wasn't that better? *shimmer* *sees the people giving her a strange look* Hey, I'm allowed to be sweet once in a while! Give me that at least!!
Harry Potter is not mine, neither is anything affiliated with Harry Potter. Which means the only thing I really own in this fic is the computer used to type it up, and the idea. Harry Potter does, however belong to the ever wonderful J.K. Rowling.
Oh yeah, and the poem at the end of the story ("Pippa Passes") was written by, and thus belongs to, Robert Browning. I got it from one of the people I beta for. Thanks, Arashi! ^__^
Okay, after writing "The Seduction of Draco Malfoy," I had a problem with the ending. So I decided to write a sequel. *massive sweatdrop* It's really sappy, and it's kind of silly to think that Draco's excuse is actually feasible. But what can I say? I really like the Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy pairing, and I don't like seeing either of them hurt!
*Wonders why it's only THOSE two. . .*
All's Right With The World
Harry stared up at the silk overhang of his four poster bed in the highest room of Gryffindor Tower. He sighed, rolling onto his left side to stare out the small window in the corner of his room. The soft snoring of his best friend, Ron Weasley, emanated toward him. The rest of the boys in his room were completely silent. It was almost creepy, the silence mixed with the darkness of a starless, moonless night.
A small draft blew through the circular room. Harry shivered, pulling the covers closer to is chin. It was one week until the winter break at Hogwarts, his last winter break as a student at the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was, in his own right, nervous about graduating, moving off into the real world, becoming a true member of wizard and witch society.
Outside the window, there was a beautiful blanket of white, freshly fallen snow. Untouched and pure, soon to be trampled upon by students hurrying to their classes.
Suddenly, Harry heard a light tap at the window. The emerald-eyed wizard fumbled for his glasses on the night table and took a closer look at the window. Sitting outside in the frigid weather was Draco's eagle owl. Harry chuckled, "What're you doing here?" He opened the small, arched window, allowing the owl to flutter in.
"Be quiet!" Harry hushed the bird, worried about waking his roommates. The bird seemed to understand, for it landed without a sound onto Harry's bed, staring at him with its beady black eyes. It dropped a small piece of parchment from its talons, pushing the paper towards Harry.
"What's this?" Harry asked Draco's bird of prey, scratching the owl's head, much to its delight. He laughed quietly, picking up the yellowish parchment in front of the bird. Unrolling it, he noticed the unmistakable looped yet efficient handwriting of Draco Malfoy.
Unconsciously, Harry furrowed his brow. He had not spoken a word, not even an insult, to Draco since that morning at Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, after the. . . unfortunate incident. Though he tried not to, he could not help thinking about Draco all the time. Thinking about what Draco how done, how happy he had felt when Draco kissed him with those perfect, pale lips. How horrible it had felt when Draco had left, leaving only his black silk pajama shirt behind. He had not told Draco, but every night for the rest of the summer, he had slept with the shirt as if it had been a kind of teddy bear. He regretted having to wash the shirt before packing for his year at Hogwarts.
Sighing mournfully, Harry began reading the perfect Draco Malfoy writing inscribed upon the parchment:
"Harry, meet me outside the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. I need to talk to you. It's important. Draco."
Harry kept the parchment open for a little while longer, staring at it, letting the words sink in. Would this finally be it? Would Draco finally explain his strange but oh-so-welcome actions?
But more than that, Harry wondered if this was just a ploy for Draco to make fun of him, to get him in trouble, to humiliate him.
Seeming to forget the latter of his thoughts, the dark-haired wizard slipped on his Invisibility Cloak, the cloak his father had left to Headmaster Dumbledore, who in turn had given the cloak to Harry. Oh, how many intriguing nights Harry had been allowed because of the cloak. Often, during those adventures, he had pondered about what his father might have done with the cloak. But not tonight. Tonight, he thought only of meeting Draco. He had immediately left his dorm room, leaving Draco's bird on his bed. The owl would be let out after Harry returned to his bed, after his meeting with Draco. And at least the bird would be given some warmth away from the cool air.
Stepping out onto the lily-white snow, Harry could not help but notice he was leaving a trail of heavy footprints. He soon abandoned this thought, upon seeing the pale-haired Draco Malfoy, standing shivering and alone in the brisk night air. Harry paused, stopping his trail for a moment. He needed to catch his breath. This was becoming too much like a dream.
Draco looked to be dressed considerably warm, clad in a heavy bathrobe and long black pajamas. Harry knew the pajamas to be silk, however, since they were the same ones Draco had worn. . . that night. And the bathrobe looked to be of a silky material, probably satin, which was not known for its warmth.
Harry suddenly felt underdressed for the occasion, garbed only in an old, baggy tee-shirt flannel sleep pants. Draco wore fuzzy black slippers, while Harry had only the bare soles of his feet. Harry wished he had remembered to put on his slippers.
Harry slipped the cloak off of his shoulders and head, resting it upon his arm. He walked toward Draco, keeping a ten foot distance between him and the other boy. Draco turned his head, and noticed him.
"Harry," Draco whispered, stepping closer to the dark-haired wizard. A puff of warm, moist air floated above both boys' heads.
"Malfoy," Harry spoke severely, his emerald eyes hardening as if he were angry.
Draco nodded. "I deserve your hostility. . ." The pale boy turned his winter blue eyes to his companion, a small, unhostile smile pressing his lips. "Thank you for coming."
"What do you want, Malfoy," Harry said, his voice still angry.
Draco's smile faded at the edges. Harry felt bad for sounding so unforgiving, so bitter. He blamed his voice on the chill of the air, the icy pain burrowing into his feet.
"I am sorry for waking you at this ungodly hour," Draco said gently, stepping closer toward Harry. "And asking you to meet me out here in this cold." He glanced down at Harry's feet. "You may use my slippers, if you would like."
"I'm fine," Harry immediately responded. "What do you want?"
Draco sighed, lowering his head and eyes. "I probably should have met with you at a more convenient hour, or at least inside. . ." Draco brought those perfect blue ashen orbs up to meet Harry's. They were sad, mournful, begging Harry for something that Harry could not read.
"But I've been putting it off long enough," he continued. "I needed to talk to you, whenever I could muster the strength."
Draco paused, taking a breath. Finally, he spoke. "I've been thinking. . . about what happened over the summer. . ."
"It's alright," Harry interrupted, raising his hand to stop any further discussion. "You already apologized."
Draco shook his head. "No. I acted terribly, and I know I hurt you. And I never explained why."
"You don't need to explain," Harry said, his voice now sounding rough, as if he were about to cry.
"No, I need to explain my actions. I feel terrible for what I did." Harry looked into Draco's eyes, where he swore he could see unshed tears brimming along the sides and bottom of his eyelids.
"Draco, you don't-"
"Please," he whispered, sinking his head lower. His voice faltered, and small droplets fell onto the snow, quickly freezing in the cool air. He kept his arms plastered to the sides of his body, his slender form shivering. "I'm so sorry I hurt you. . ."
"Draco. . ."
Draco raised his eyes to Harry again, tears now freely falling down the sides of his face. "My father. . . found out that. . . that I liked one of my classmates. He didn't like it, so he. . . he. . ." Draco sniffled, shaking his head in an attempt to lose the tears in his eyes. "He put a spell on me!
"I didn't believe that he would do something so terrible to his own son, his only son. . . and I thought he was kidding." The pale Malfoy heir paused, as if organizing his thoughts. "But one night. . . I woke up, and my shirt was missing, and I had this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn't know what I had done until. . ." He paused again, his words quickening their pace. "Until I saw you at the platform, when you gave me my shirt back."
"A spell?" Harry spoke beneath his breath, letting free a puff of warm air.
Draco nodded. "I'm not quite sure what the spell was, but my father mentioned that it would bring both the highest pleasure and the cruelest tragedy to the person I loved most. That I would care for and abuse the one I love." He hung his head again, his tears streaming along his cheeks at a slower pace. "He told me that after the spell was complete, my love would despise me and never speak to me again. Then I would start thinking straight again and learn what it takes to be a true Malfoy."
"Oh my god. . ." Harry stared at Draco, absolutely speechless.
Draco nodded, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips, which looked paler than his skin. "I am so sorry," he choked, "for what I did to you. For the pain I caused you. For hurting you the way I did."
Draco took Harry's hands into his own, then, and pulled himself closer to the dark-haired wizard. "I love you, Harry Potter." He lifted his head and gently kissed Harry's lips. The cold sensation coming from the other boy's lips forced a chilled rush along Harry's spine. The Malfoy heir had been standing outside for a while.
The pale wizard pulled away after a moment, peering deep into the eyes of his companion. He smiled brightly, a rosy blush rising up on his pale cheeks. Harry could not determine whether the blush was from the cold, or from his actions.
"I. . . I. . ." Harry stuttered.
"Please don't hate me," said Draco, moving his arms around his former enemy's waist, locking his hands behind the boy.
Harry could not help but smile, his arms still limp at his sides. For some reason, he did not feel the nippy air around him, nor the sting of the snowflakes that were beginning to fall upon his exposed skin.
"Are you serious?" Harry spoke breathily, hardly believing that any of this was real. It was just a dream. This wasn't really happening. Just a dream. . .
"More than anything in my life," Draco nodded. "More than anything I have ever felt before." He kissed Harry again, for a shorter time. Before he could truly pull away, however, Harry drew the other boy to him, pressing his lips to Draco's in a passionate kiss.
"I'm glad to hear that," he whispered against the other boy's lips.
And they stood like that until the first twinkling of the winter dawn, the fiery red sunrise making the lily snow glisten like fresh blood, and whispered sweet nothings to each other in between playful kisses. Before the first eyes of their dorms fluttered open, trying to drive off their sleepiness and their dreams, Draco and Harry had curled into their respective beds, thinking of the wonderful years that were to come, and the amazing days they had ahead of them.
//"The year's in the spring
The day's in the morn;
Morning's at seven,
The hill side's dew-pearled,
The lark's on the wing,
The snail's on the torn
God's in his heaven-
All's right with the world!"//
Owari
See, now wasn't that better? *shimmer* *sees the people giving her a strange look* Hey, I'm allowed to be sweet once in a while! Give me that at least!!