Temptation on the Warfront

18

Draco inhales shakily, afraid of what he might see in Potter's eyes. But when he finally looks up, the weight of a confession gone from his shoulders, Potter's emerald orbs gaze at him with only wonder. The rejection, the disgust, doesn't come, and Draco doesn't even know if he has been expecting it.

Part of his mind has been going over Potter's words, 'I might be,' again and again, and it is only from clinging to them that Draco has gained the courage to shout out to the woods that he is gay. There is no 'might' or 'maybe' in Draco's case, because he knows there can't possibly exist another feeling to rival the sensation of Potter's naked body curled around his own.

Maybe it is Harry Potter's fault after all, for making Draco realise this about himself, or maybe it has stemmed from what has been a growing obsession of seven years. Either way, somehow, Draco has gotten himself here, in a world where Harry Potter is the most important thing, and Draco can't tell whether his whole life has been a disguise building up to this moment, or if along the way he has become so delusional that it doesn't even make sense anymore.

But no matter what, Draco knows he does not want to go back, and when his eyes take in the amazement on Potter's face, he thinks maybe Potter doesn't want him to go back either.

Draco nods into the cold air, for no reason other than to establish the truth he has just spoken, to make it seem more real. It helps a little, makes his nerves calm down, makes him feel a little guilty for ruining part of the forest, and more than anything it makes him tremble with the urge to laugh. He feels free, disbelieving, but free, and when Potter clears his throat and stammers out, "Er— that's great, Malfoy," Draco can't help but agree.

Harry scrunches his eyes closed, trying to block Malfoy out, but failing. Something about Malfoy's magic is unrelenting this morning, and as he pushes into Harry's head Harry has to dig his heels into the snow to stop himself from staggering backwards.

He thinks the only thing preventing him from keeling over is the jubilance which continues to glow through his veins since this morning.

Draco Malfoy is gay, and I'll get to snog him some more!

"Come on, Potter. You can do better than this." Malfoy's face is light with a bizarre enthusiasm, the rings beneath his eyes dark in contrast, and Harry doesn't know whether to take it as a jibe or a compliment.

Harry's concentration has been lacking, not only due to Malfoy's revelation earlier about the night before, but because of the almost frightening hyperactivity of Malfoy's movements, of the forceful way his arm strikes when he uses legilimency on Harry's mind. Harry would bet his Gringott's vault on it having something to do with the horcrux, but by the way Malfoy snaps and glares at him whenever he offers to take it back, he is wary about asking again.

Harry sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose, and attempts to relax his thoughts by focusing on one thing. A pale face, shining with energy, and a smudge of flour next to grey eyes. He feels Malfoy's presence, probing further into the memory of their food fight, but this time Harry knows he can do better, not because Malfoy said so, but because Malfoy reminded him.

He builds up his walls, shoves Malfoy out, but he doesn't have enough self-control, and the torrent of his defence doesn't stop until he finds himself in an unfamiliar place. It's lonely, dark and cold, and in the distance he can see a little boy with platinum hair, tugging on the trouser leg of his father.

Draco Malfoy's mind is a place full of sorrow and resentful lamentations, and it leaves Harry breathless as rapid images flood behind his eyes.

Malfoy, shackled to the floor, hollow and starved, an untouched chocolate bar by his feet. Voldemort laughing, Death Eaters laughing too, and Malfoy averting his eyes from the corpse levitating above his head. Malfoy being forced to torture prisoners, masked men jeering at him when he turns and vomits against the wall. Snape, tall and sallow, black eyes assessing as Malfoy pleads to him, "Please, I'll do anything — I swear — I know you're one of them — please help me — I won't tell anyone — please." The image fades, crumbles, and suddenly there is nothing but Harry Harry Harry.