Fighting Silence

Chapter 13

By lierdumoa


The three friends were pensively staring into their palms when Draco arrived. They jumped in their seats as he dropped a potions volume loudly onto the table in front of them. Ron and Hermione snapped up their chins to look at Draco, eyes glazed still over with shock from Harry's revelations.

"Harry, your friends look like they've been breathing incense fumes for too long."



"Oh. I, um, told them - to answer your question. It was a bit of a, well, surprise for them."

Draco nodded once in understanding. He then sighed heavily, pulling out the chair beside Harry and falling into it with a bizarre grace. "It's all there. Pages two-hundred and ninety-four through two-hundred and ninety-six. Lisprous potion - named for the vine whose leaves serve as it's main ingredient."

"What does it do?"

Draco mumbled something unintelligible.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

The blonde sighed and spoke again, this time enunciating clearly. "It's a bloody sex potion."

"A what?"

"A sex potion. I described it to Snape. Told him everything I could remember about it - taste, color, whatever. Figured he'd be able to identify it, being a potions master and all. Of course, he recognized what I was describing almost immediately. Thought I was playing some sort of practical joke on him."

Harry snorted with laughter.

Draco growled. "It's not funny!"

Harry did his best to restrain the rest of his laughter under the weight of Draco's scowl. "But Draco, that doesn't make any sense. Why would Voldemort -" Ron and Hermione winced at the name "- give you a sex potion?"

Draco simply pulled the volume in front of Harry and pointed to the page. "Read."

There was silence, then a gasp, then more silence. Draco waited for Harry to say something. Ron waited for Harry to say something. Finally, Hermione snatched the book from under his nose to see what the fuss was about. Another gasp. More silence.

Finally Ron spoke up. "Will someone tell me what's going on?"

Hermione was the one to answer him. "It creates a magical link. A wizard's magic is deeply in tune with his physical body. If you were to link the magic of two wizards, they would be able to share intense physical sensations. Touch, taste, smell, sight..."

"...pleasure, pain," Draco continued. "It's used for sex for obvious reasons. It creates a deeper intimacy than is normally possible. Of course, the link works outside of the bedroom as well. If anything harms me physically, well, you get the picture."

Ron frowned. "So You Know Who wants to use you to hurt Harry? How does he plan to do that? Hogwarts has wards. It's the safest place there is."

"For you, perhaps. Things are different in Slytherin house. My father managed to smuggle a portkey into my mail, and I managed to make a trip to the manor and back without anyone noticing. I've done it before. It's different in Gryffindor. Everyone watches out for each other. No one watches out for anyone but themselves in Slytherin. If something suspicious happens, everyone looks the other way."

"Including the headmaster? I can't believe that," Ron argued. "Dumbledore wouldn't let that go on in his school."

"Of course he would. As long as he looks the other way, men like my father - Death Eaters - will continue to send their children here. You see - Dumbledore wants them to send us here. He thinks he can save us. He believes that as long as we are at this school, he has a chance to stop us from ending up like our fathers. Like our fathers' fathers. Ruthless. Power hungry. Barely human."

Ron said nothing.

"Of course, Dumbledore wouldn't tolerate the same in any of the other houses. He's terribly protective of them. Gryffindor's the safest place there is, like you said. My father can't touch Gryffindor. Voldemort can't touch Gryffindor."

He turned to face Harry. *Now you understand what I've done to you. I've let him in.* "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Harry shook his head. "Stop with the guilt, will you," he muttered. "It clashes with your hair color."

Hermione spoke in an effort to avoid another tense silence. "It says here that the link is activated through coitus. Draco, you would have had to drink the potion before you had," Hermione's face bloomed a bright red, "well, that is, before you had intercourse with Harry."

"I did," Draco said. He turned to Harry. "Did you leave that part out when you were telling them everything?"

Ron turned to Harry. "You had sex with him right after he came back from a dinner with the Dark Lord? The same Dark Lord who'd just beaten the crap out of him?"

"Blame his libido - not mine," Harry pouted.

Hermione shook her head. "I can't believe you two. You drink a cup of who knows what and the first thing you should do is find out what it is! Not jump into bed like a couple of -"

"- horny teenaged boys?" offered Draco.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Like a couple of crazed ferrets," she hissed. "Now explain to me this - the potion is only supposed to last three hours."

Draco reached for the book, flipping to the last page that discussed the potion and pointing to a specific paragraph.

~No more than one ounce of dragon scale may be added to the potion, or its effects shall become permanent.~


Hermione and Ron turned to glare at Draco murderously. "I can't believe Harry ever let you touch him," Hermione spat.

Harry only moaned miserably, dropping his forehead against the table. "You can't castrate him, if that's what you're thinking. I'm pretty sure I'd lose my bollix as well."

He almost didn't hear Draco's quiet sigh of relief.

With all explanations taken care of, Ron went off to catch the end of the Quidditch match. Hermione went back to the Gryffindor common room to chat with Lavender. Harry and Draco found themselves alone in the library.

"I suppose I'd better be going then," and Draco began to pull himself up from his chair.

Harry caught his wrist, keeping him from walking away. "We need to tell Dumbledore about this."

Draco grimaced, but nodded assent. Suddenly, Harry leaned inward, curling around him in what was almost an embrace, lips perilously close to the blonde's ear. Draco looked questioningly at the Gryffindor.

"Ganymede," Harry whispered. "It's the password to the prefect's bathroom. Be there at one o'clock."

That said, Harry got up and exited the library, sparing a glance at the stunned blonde still standing beside the table. Draco's position didn't change as Harry's steps carried him through the door and into the adjoining hallway. He was far too preoccupied with staring at the key in his palm, a slow, incredulous grin blossoming on his face.


Harry snuck out with his invisibility cloak ten minutes before one o'clock. He found Draco waiting by the door to the restroom. He pulled the blonde into a kiss before remembering to throw off the magical garment, and was rewarded with a look of pleased surprise.

"You're supposed to go in, you know," Harry teased. Draco shrugged at this statement, then turned and whispered the word to unlock the door.

The prefect's bathroom had been redesigned over the summer. Soft, white marble rose up in columns within a Grecian style spa. Water flowed from the tops of the pillars in a warm shower, falling in sheets into a crystalline pool which gradually grew deeper as one walked further into the room. Light green vines with large yellow flowers adorned the walls. Seamless tile covered the floor.

The air was pleasantly cool, and slightly damp. Harry quickly discarded his clothing, and Draco followed suit. Harry then grabbed Draco and, picking up his wand, growled a lubricating and stretching spell into the blonde's mouth. An instant later, he was snaking his tongue into the moist enclave, drowning in the taste and smell, searching out the dark, human flavor underneath the sweet, sharp citrus bite that remained from Draco's last meal.

Harry could still remember the bitter, heavy flavor of potion that had clung to the periphery of Draco's mouth the night before. He recalled reaching deeper and deeper beneath the sad, thick taste for that soft, warm, amylase belonging solely to Draco - like a heroin addict, beyond the point of caring what his drug was laced with, completely at the mercy of his own consuming need.

But the tainted kiss was no more than a memory, swiftly crushed beneath the reality of the present moment. Harry seized Draco, releasing his lips long enough to draw him near a pillar at the shallow end of the pool. The two were instantly drenched as a curtain of warm, clear water fell over them in an elegant arch. Harry looked, mesmerized, as the liquid swirled over the muscles of Draco's chest and abdomen. He slid between the blonde's legs, grabbing slick thighs and pulling up until his erection was poised at the entrance. He drove forward slowly, watching in fascination as Draco bowed and snapped with sensations.

Suddenly, Harry could feel everything - the clenching emptiness that had Draco writhing within his grasp, the slight burn as he pushed further inward. Soon, Harry found himself buried as far as he could go. Draco's knees were high under his shoulders, pale arms gripping the pillar behind him, breath coming in hard pants. Harry's own lungs mirrored the strained pattern of Draco's, as both felt what it was like to fill and be filled.

He stilled for a moment, water pooling where they were joined. He finally drew back. Liquid warmth sloshed down his thighs with the withdrawal, only to collect again with the next forward drive. He groaned mindlessly, and his hips began to move in a hard, unrestrained pattern, smacking Draco's lower back repeatedly into the stone behind him.

Harry was lost in the Slytherin's gasping heat, inundated with pleasure. Thoughts of either were reduced to incoherent mush as an orgasm ripped through both, simultaneously. Overtaken by the weakness of release, Harry slid out, falling to his knees in the three inch deep water. He rested his face against Draco's thigh and fought for even breath.

It was only minutes before arousal returned. Draco 's erection rose from his thatch of soft blond hair to bob before Harry's eyes. The Gryffindor moaned at the answering sensation in his own nether regions. He looked at Draco - at the muscular thighs shaped around delicate bones, and the long stretches of smooth, milk-white skin. He looked at Draco as he pulled the dark head of his erection into his mouth. His eyes widened as the sensation of wetness danced over his own member. He felt the blonde push deeper, and opened his throat to admit him, wondering at the choking moans that arose from the Slytherin's throat. He groaned, and was shocked with the vibrating sensation that Draco was experiencing. He groaned again, pulling the Slytherin further into his throat until his nose was buried in pale skin and moist hair.

Water poured over his head, continuing down his neck and shoulders as Draco began to thrust in and out of his mouth. It slithered over his buttocks and streamed over his calves as Draco's come flowed warmly along his tongue. It glided down to pool at his feet as salty musk clouded Harry's nose and mouth, sinking down his throat in a desperate swallow. It washed into the pool as Harry shuddered, and shattered, and *came* in a slippery mess onto the white tile floor.

He pulled himself off Draco and stared up into the blonde's sharp features. He found, to his surprise, that he was trembling, from shaking hands to a slight quiver in the lower lip. His breaths uneven, he gazed up into the blonde vision that leaned above him, arms akimbo. There was a flash. A switch. Harry's vision shimmered. Suddenly he was looking through Draco's eyes - seeing the image of a fragile, naked man, dazed adoration in his bright green gaze, an utterly besotted expression covering his face.

*Does he know that you love him, Potter?*

Awareness slammed though Draco. At once, he understood the look on Harry's face and the emotion behind it. Draco recoiled as if slapped. Panic overwhelmed him. "I...I have to go," he mumbled, and jumped up, nearly running towards the door. He paused, grabbing his discarded pajama pants and yanking them on, then vanished from the bathroom.

Harry was paralyzed with shock. Slowly, the shock faded, leaving him cold and hollow. He knelt, ravished and broken on the clean tile, a low, tearless sob rising in his throat.



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