Nervous, Thrice Part 1/2

[dysonrules]

I finally finished a sequel!  Yay!  I also finished the first two chapters of Part Five of the Escort series.  Not posted here because it's huge.

Title: Nervous, Thrice
Pairing: Harry/Draco, of course!
Author:dysonrules
Word Count: 6,733
Rating: NC-17
Diclaimer:  I own nothing, I tell you, nothing!  And we all know who does.
Summary: Harry Obliviated Draco's memory, triggered to return when he next saw Harry's face...

Nervous Thrice

 

            Draco crept through the undergrowth with his wand held ready. He nearly trampled on Goyle, who had stopped suddenly.

            “Damn it, Goyle, what the—?”

            Goyle shushed him, which shocked Draco enough that he was actually silent for a moment, luckily, because he heard voices coming from somewhere ahead. Draco strained his ears. Were they fellow Death Eaters, or someone else? It would help if it weren’t so bloody foggy. Whose brilliant idea had it been to attack this stupid Muggle railway station in this remote area anyway?

            Oh yes, that master of strategy, Voldemort. God, Draco was sick to death of that freak. He sighed and gripped Goyle’s arm, recognizing the gruff voice that sounded much closer.

 

            “Goyle, it’s Mad-Eye Moody!” he whispered.  “The Order of Phoenix is here!”

 

            He pushed Goyle, who tried to move silently to the left, but the lumbering hulk could not have moved silently wearing a mink coat and fuzzy slippers in a padded room full of pillows. Moody barked a sharp command to halt and Draco shoved Goyle hard.

 

            “Run!” he hissed. Goyle bolted, crashing through the brush like a charging rhino. Draco leaped after him, but he hadn’t gone six steps before a zing of pain hit his back near his right kidney and he toppled to the damp ground, immobile. Stupid Goyle kept going, not realizing Draco had been hit.

 

            He felt someone pick him up by the scruff of his neck and pluck the wand from his unresponsive hand. Draco glared into Moody’s roving eye. Mad-Eye turned and slammed Draco into a nearby tree.

 

            “Someone’s been looking for you, boy,” Moody said, growling into Draco’s face with breath that hinted strongly of sausages washed down with firewhiskey. “Personally, I’d rather eliminate you right here, but orders is orders, damn it all.”

 

            Something silvery streaked from Moody’s wand and it wasn’t long before a cloaked figure approached silently through the mist. The face was hidden, but Draco recognized the voice immediately.

 

            “Thank you, Alastor. I’ll take it from here.”

 

            Potter.

 

            Moody did not move. Harry sighed beneath the dark hood that completely concealed his face.

 

            “He’s immobilized and you’ve got his wand, which I’ll take, by the way.” Potter plucked Draco’s wand from Moody’s hand. “Please make certain we’re not interrupted while I… talk to Malfoy.” He tucked Draco’s wand into a pocket.

 

            Draco would have sneered if he could have moved. Talk. Right. The Gryffindor bastard would like nothing better than to dissect Draco. After all, Draco had been the last one to Crucio Potter before his escape from the Death Eater hideout in Scotland. Harry likely wanted to return the favor.

 

            Moody muttered, but released Draco and strolled off until he was lost in the fog. Potter took Moody’s place, holding Draco against the tree with two palms pressed against his chest. Draco wished Potter would push back the hood and reveal his face—he looked like a budding Voldemort shrouded in black.

 

            Harry muttered a spell and suddenly Malfoy could move again, but then he couldn’t because Potter was pressed completely against him and—what the fuck?—he was kissing him! Not a light, taunting peck, either, but a full-blown, tonsil-tasting, senses-melting, need-you-right-now sort of kiss. Harry’s tongue teased the parts of Draco’s mouth that he most enjoyed having teased and Malfoy found himself responding in mortified surprise.

 

            Draco raised his hands to Potter’s chest, knowing he should push the Gryffindor away, but… bloody hell that felt good. Harry groaned in what sounded like pure pleasure and Draco felt a raw knife-edge of desire slice through him. His hands clenched against Potter’s black robes and Harry finally slowed his assault. He pulled back after several light, sucking kisses on Draco’s lips, and shook the hood away from his face.

 

            As soon as Draco’s gaze met the half-lidded green eyes, he gasped aloud. The memory block melted away and Draco remembered—fucking hell! So many lost memories! Tormenting Harry in the dungeon; the three-part bargain they had struck; the memory block; Voldemort’s interrogation… and crashing over everything, the overwhelming remembrance of Harry Potter writhing in his bed… Draco flipped through the images in shock, trying to reconcile the recollections with the month past, in which he had been loathing Potter with his usual passion.

 

            “Is this some trick?” Draco asked thickly, suddenly doubting his own mind. Harry’s hands were still flat on Draco’s chest, not gripping to hold him in place, but spread out, like a lover’s touch.

 

            “I’ve been looking for you for a month,” Harry said, ignoring the question. “You and the Death Eaters fled the Scottish castle, which you had plenty of time for, since it seemed to take me forever to fly home. I could only hope you were in no danger.”

 

            Harry sounded so earnest—Draco began to believe the revealed memories were true. If they were, Potter owed him an Unbreakable Vow. Draco tested the theory. He leaned forward and nuzzled Potter’s neck. Draco felt Harry’s chest jerk beneath his hands as Potter sucked in a breath.

 

            “Damn you,” Harry murmured against Draco’s hair. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

 

            Draco inhaled sharply at a sudden ghost of memory that had haunted him for weeks. His Dark Mark—whenever he looked at it, he always had the sensation of a dark head bent over his arm while a liquid tongue traced the tattoo. Now he remembered Harry’s words: Every time you see the Dark Mark, you’ll think of me. God, it was all true!

 

            Draco shoved Harry back suddenly, angrily. “You bastard! You blocked my memory when you departed that night!”

 

            Harry grinned wryly. “I swore to protect you. The only way to do that after I was gone was to remove your knowledge of those events.”

 

            Draco glared, but supposed it made sense from a noble Gryffindor point of view.

 

            “Psssst! Potter, hurry it up—they are returning!” Moody’s voice was not far away. Draco wondered if Mad Eye had seen Potter snogging him and decided he didn’t care.

 

            “I need you to do something for me,” Potter said with a grimace. “Do not do it if it will put you in danger.

 

            Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

 

            Harry reached into his robes. “First, take this. You told me about a Locator Spell. We looked it up and Hermione made this for me.”

 

            He pulled a long, delicate chain over his head and then slipped it over Draco’s. A gold medallion glinted for a moment, dangling from the chain.

 

            “If you are ever in danger, now I will be able to find you.”

 

            Draco sneered. “And the Death Eaters, as well. How convenient.”

 

            “Don’t wear it, then!” Harry snapped. “You’re the one who wanted the damned Unbreakable Vow. How the hell can I look after you if I don’t know where you are?”

 

            Malfoy scowled and tucked the medallion beneath his robes. He would deal with it later.

 

            “I need my wand,” Harry continued seriously. Draco stared at him. Potter went on, “Yes, I have a replacement, of course, but I need that wand. It’s linked to Voldemort’s wand somehow. I don’t think I can kill him without it. Forget that, I bloody well know I can’t kill him without it.”

 

            Harry Potter’s wand was currently locked away in a spelled box in the possession of Lucius Malfoy.

 

            “Somehow, I think my father will notice if it turns up missing.”

 

            “Not if you replace it with this,” Harry said. He took another wand from his robes. “It’s a replica of mine. Hermione and McGonagall made it. Just don’t get them mixed up while swapping them.”

 

            Before Malfoy could ask, Potter said, “There’s a notch—here.” Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and pressed his fingers against the wand. Draco told himself he did not feel a thrill at the light touch.

 

            “Don’t exchange them unless you can do it without getting caught, of course.”

 

            Moody stamped up and glared at Draco. Harry’s hand was still clasped around Draco’s on the wand.

 

            “Let’s go, Potter,” Moody said gruffly. Moody stalked off and Harry let go. He held up Draco’s wand and Malfoy took it along with Potter’s replica. Harry sighed.

 

            “All right, then.” He roughly grabbed the hood of Draco’s cloak and pulled it up over his head. “Try to stay invisible, damn it. That hair of yours is brighter than the moon.”

 

            “It blends with the mist, Potter,” Draco said dryly, oddly touched. Harry leaned in and kissed him again. Draco relaxed against him and drank in the taste and scent of Potter, still slightly overwhelmed by the strange turn of events.

 

            And then Harry was gone, leaving Draco to lean against the tree in bemusement until Goyle crashed into sight. Malfoy tucked the replica wand away.

 

            “Bloody hell, Draco! I thought you were taken! Let’s get out of here—the Order is everywhere!”

 

            Aren’t they, though? Draco thought and hurried after Goyle. He had no idea how successful the Death Eaters’ mission had been, and he didn’t care. His mind was already racing ahead, wondering how to get his hands on Potter’s wand—and from there how to get his hands on Potter.

 

 

            Draco lay in bed with one hand propped behind his head. He dangled the fine gold chain in the air with the other hand and watched the medallion spin lazily.

 

            He should toss the bloody thing. The hell of it was, the medallion was a thing of beauty, obviously custom crafted and very expensive. On the front was a stylized Slytherin S, encircled by a serpent biting its own tail—ouroboros, a symbol of eternity. The serpent’s eye was a brilliant emerald.

 

            On the reverse was an inscription. Potter’s attempt at humor, he assumed. It read: Remember me.    He wondered how Granger had linked a Locator Spell to the medallion. Draco knew how it worked on people—it generally involved something like a tattoo. The Dark Mark was one version, although that was more a Summoner than a Locator. The medallion most likely had the spell etched into the Celtic design around the inscription.

 

            Locator Spell or not, Potter had made no attempt to contact Draco. It had been a week since the revelation of Draco’s lost memories. The Death Eaters had been roaming since that time, never staying in one place, and constantly swapping members about.

 

            Draco currently lay in a small room of a Cornish inn, waiting for orders. The others were below, drinking heavily as they tried to forget how much they missed their normal lives, and how much they hated the bastard they now served. Draco stayed in his room and remembered. He decided it had been something of a blessing that Potter had Obliviated his memory. Now that they were available, Draco found himself constantly haunted by recollections of Potter—bound to a marble pillar with Draco’s tongue sliding over his skin; Harry clutching his cloak nervously; Harry on the bed, arching beneath him; Harry’s hands twisted in Draco’s hair; invisible Harry kissing him on the parapet…

 

            Draco groaned, feeling an uncomfortable stirring of ardor. It was hardly fair that Harry Potter had been the best shag of Draco’s life. Just thinking about the damned Gryffindor made Malfoy feel warm and slightly feverish.

 

            He cursed and swung his feet off the bed before slipping the chain over his head and tucking the medallion beneath his shirt. Draco shrugged on his robes and scrawled a quick note for Goyle. He grabbed his broom from the wall near the door and pushed open the window. It was nearing ten p.m.; Potter was probably already asleep. Or at least in bed… The image of that drove Draco out the window and into the sky. He flew as high as possible for a bit, until the cold air bit into his lungs and made his fingers ache on the handle of the broom.

 

            He plunged back to earth with frost crystals melting on his lashes and set down in a small clearing next to a tiny, gurgling brook. He took his robes and spread them over a patch of soft-looking grass, intending to sprawl there and look at the gleaming stars. At least, that’s what he told himself when he performed the action. Even though he knew better.

 

            Draco fixed the wind damage to his hair with a quick flick of his wand and stood next to the brook for a bit, listening to the bubbling gurgle.

 

            Damn it, Potter had said to call if he was in danger, not climbing the walls with frustrated lust. He swore and pressed his fingers against the medallion, uncertain if it would even work.

 

            Potter, he sent simply. Nothing happened. Draco paced impatiently, wondering if there were a spell or keyword the Gryffindor had neglected to—the nearby crack of Apparition stopped him in his tracks. He pulled his wand out and held it ready as his eyes scanned the trees. Draco saw no one. 

Prior episode links:
Nervous, Yet?
Nervous, Too