Part 2 - Taboo
Lucius eyes snapped open. It was still dark. Outside, a storm was raging. The shut windows rattled, keeping the wind and rain from the room.
The fire flickered in the fireplace. He looked down into the body of his son beside him, lying on the pine floor. Draco was so beautiful he could weep. He traced the line of the boy’s jaw down to his neck. Perfect. A true Malfoy. But then, Narcissa was also blond and beautiful. Poor Narcissa, it’s been a year since she died from that broomstick accident. A year since Lucius and Draco started to find comfort in each others’ arms.
Lucius bent and breathed in Draco’s scent. Sweet, clean, and spicy. His son. His lover. His savior.
Lucius wrapped the rug snugly around Draco and was about to stand when he felt a hand grip his arm.
“Oh no you won’t.” Draco smiled tenderly, kissing the inside of Lucius’ wrist. “You’re sleeping here with me tonight.”
Later that night, small feet tiptoed silently on the second floor hallway. The person passed a door. The person stopped, listening. Ron’s snores echoed from the shut door. Harry was silent. The feet continued their nighttime excursion to a door at the end of the hall.
The door opened. Entered. Clicked shut. Locked.
Bill Weasley’s long red hair was unbound, spilling on his pillows. He was alone, clad only in flannel pajama bottoms. His skin, tanned by the Egyptian sun, glowed faintly in anticipation. He sat up, long, muscular arms opened to welcome the intruder.
“I was waiting for you, Ginny.”
-The Burrow, same night-
Outside, far across the backyard, near the foot of the hills, a boy waited. Really, they could never stay away from each other too long. It’s been two weeks since they last saw each other and already, he missed his lover’s touch, his kisses, and his scent. The boy shivered as the wind howled. A storm was coming.
The trees whipped above him and tiny raindrops started to fall when he felt a soft, warm pressure at the back of his neck. He turned around joyfully.
Arms encircled each other. The rain was forgotten amid whispers, kisses, and eager touches.
Tom Riddle caressed the lightning-shaped scar. He gave it to him. He only wished he could take it away.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked gently.
“No.” Harry smiled, burying his face on Tom’s chest. “Not since I discovered it.”
“That I love you.”
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