Draco/Percy : Dreaming In Ice by Damian Spire
Title: Dreaming In Ice
Author: Damian Spire
Rating: R
Pairing: Percy Weasley/Draco Malfoy; Draco/Charlie implied.
Disclaimer: Story based on characters and situations created by the
esteemed JK Rowling. I don't own them.
Percy Weasley lay on his back on his bed, sheets folded neatly over
his chest and his hands clasped over the hem of the blanket.
Everything was perfect, his pillows fluffed precisely the way he liked
them (doubled; lower one fatter, upper one thinner), his coverings
aligned perpendicular to his collarbones...yet sleep remained quite
elusive.
Probably, Percy thought, because I can't stop thinking.
The more he tried to shut out his roiling thoughts the more they
travelled. Percy was dodging hexes of thought, curses of thought,
Unforgivably large bombs of thoughts that threatened to explode his
being.
So I have trouble with my sexuality, he thought defencively to
himself. Seems to be fairly common, after all. Yet why did his stomach
quake and nausea overtake him when he tried to approach his mum and da
and tell them clearly and simply, "Penelope and I haven't been
together for almost two years now. Sorry I forgot to tell you, but we
shan't be getting married and settling down in a countryside cottage
and raising a horde of red-haired little babies."
That just wouldn't go over well at all, Percy thought, surprised at
his own sarcasm and bitterness. It just wasn't fair! If Bill and
Charlie could be, then Percy could be --- could be ---
He shoved off the careful arrangement of blankets, flopped onto his
side, dragged the fatter pillow over his face, and screamed into it.
* * *
It was the last Quidditch game of the year; the contest was between
Gryffindor and Slytherin. Percy leaned forward in his seat, watching
intently as his brothers, twins Fred and George in the company of
their old school friend Lee Jordan, bellowed profanity at the field.
The Quaffle leapt from hand to hand --- the Beaters flew frantically
between Bludgers and the Keepers were on their toes every second of
the game. It was intense. It was vicious. It was desperate. If
Slytherin couldn't achieve this win, what would those seven years have
been worth? If Gryffindor wouldn't win, well, Percy would have to
listen to Ron bitch all summer.
"Bleedin' HELL, Ron Weasley, move your ---"
"SHIT! No! You can't let him DO that ---" the twins were shouting.
Percy tuned it out and watched the field. Suddenly a new development
brought a surging cry of awe from the crowd. The score, locked 230 to
220 with Slytherin in the lead, had flipped to a tie of 230 to 230.
Now Percy sweated, scanning the sky for the green and red robed
Seekers of the respective teams.
Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were jammed shoulder to shoulder,
diving fiercely for what all observers had to assume was the Snitch.
Harry shoved Draco. Draco shoved Harry. Percy bit his lower lip and
hated himself for getting so wrapped up in this silly game ---
Draco suddenly broke free of Harry's cyclone dive and swept left in a
casual loop, gloved hand outstretched. Harry flew under him. Draco
snarled something at him and Percy was left to suppose the Snitch had
gotten away. Harry was off, though, so he must see it.
"By thunder, quite an exciting game, isn't it?" asked Charlie as he
squeezed back into his seat between the rowdy twins and Percy. Percy
scooted to the right to give him more room.
"Yes. Malfoy and Harry are after the Snitch now, though. It should
end soon."
"Blast, and I just got this thing from that Colin Creevey boy down
there. A moving picture camera, Da'll love it. Here, get some of the
game for Mum," said Charlie, passing the camera to Percy.
"Uh, no, I'm no good with those things. I can't even tell which one's
Ron," said Percy.
"Gracious, Perce. I'll do it," Charlie said. He took the camera.
Percy didn't want to have that thing. How any moving pictures would
come out, he didn't know; it was dark but for the moonlight and the
magic beacons conjured above the stands. The game had been going on
for more hours than he cared to count. Another reason Percy decided he
shouldn't have the camera was because he knew he'd focus it
exclusively on those battling Seekers and never let it off them for a
second. He also knew that'd get Ron in a right fury, not being
recorded at all. Best to let Charlie handle it. He returned his
attention to the game.
Harry was speeding ahead of Draco, sweeping round the other players
and leaning forward hard. Malfoy was right behind him. Harry feinted
left but Draco kept going, cutting Harry off with a vicious sideswipe
of the broom that had the Gryffindor Seeker struggling to stay on
course. He was so close, Percy could feel it.
But Draco was closer. Percy's heart soared as the blonde Slytherin's
hand swept through the air, the gong sounded, and the victory --- and
the House Cup --- went to Slytherin.
"NOOO!" howled Fred and George in unison. They wrang the rail in
front of them in a blind disbelieving panic. "That stupid little git
CAN'T have just done that! He beat Harry! That's not possible!"
Lee Jordan joined the wailing.
Percy felt obliged to defend the Slytherin victor. "Statistically
speaking, it was quite possible indeed that ---"
"Shut up, Perce, don't you get it? We're never going to hear the end
of this from Ron! Never! Gryffindor lost to Slytherin!" George spat.
"Might be a good idea to be quiet, Perce," seconded Charlie in a
whisper. The air rushing into Percy's ear made him shiver. He hid it
well. "They're looking murderous."
"I wouldn't mind being murdered," Percy muttered.
"What was that?" Charlie said. He was scarcely audible over the noise
of cheering, booing, and general mayhem.
"Nothing," Percy shouted. "Nothing important." He watched the
whooping Slytherins hoist Draco above their shoulders. The Seeker's
gloves lay on the ground and he held the Snitch aloft bare-handed,
proclaiming his victory for all.
"Oliver would just weep," said Fred.
"Yep," sighed George. "I'm half tempted myself, you know, just
imagining what Ron's going to be like..."
"He'll get over. You two should as well," Percy said irritably. He
got up, slid out between the narrow benches, climbed down from the
stand and made a very swift exit from the spectator's area. He
struggled even then to find a spectator's detachment from a sport he
could never play or win and couldn't even bring himself to
acknowledge.
Love is war on the soul, he thought as he slipped behind the player's
huts, listening to the commotion inside. He stood listening, waiting,
hoping to pick out that one clear cool voice. Finally it came, and
Percy nearly panicked himself into an early grave as his heart pounded
mercilessly against his chest wall. He gripped the wood tightly.
"--- Left my gloves out on the field, I'll be right in, just give me
half a moment ---" Draco Malfoy said. He hurried out of the hut to a
few teases, more congratulations, and heaps of praise from his fellow
Slytherins.
Draco passed right under Percy's watchful eyes. He even paused,
looked round, and was caught in the moonlight, dissheveled white hair
gleaming like his attentive eyes. He was dressed simply in black
slacks and a white shirt, mostly unbuttoned. His Hogwarts robes were
slung over his arm in anticipation of the feast to come. His broom was
also in hand.
"Hullo?" Draco called.
Malfoy, thought Percy. He couldn't say it. Couldn't move. He was as
good as Petrified.
Malfoy frowned at the darkness behind the hut, then turned and
swaggered off toward the field to recover the gloves he had left
there. Percy stood behind the shack and trembled, waiting for Malfoy
to return, vague sketches of a plan drawing and erasing themselves in
his mind as rapidly as seedlings fell. Like seedlings fallen on stone,
however, most of these sketches refused to come to completion and
sprout any indication of success.
Statistically speaking, Percy mused angrily, I am worse than bloody
useless when it comes to these things.
The other players soon departed in a merry throng, no one even noting
Percy's presence. Draco was returning to the hut, then, but avoiding
being seen by the great many-legged and many-armed cluster of ecstatic
joy that was the Slytherin team.
Why, Percy wondered, would he do that? He hogs the spotlight. He
likes it. He likes praise, popularity, having people pay homage and
tribute to him. I want to pay homage and tribute to him, the pale
Slytherin boy-god who catches Snitches from the gloves of the Boy Who
Lived and whom everyone hates for his beauty.
Percy made up his mind. He definitely didn't hate Draco. He uttered a
summoning charm and Draco's broom leapt out of his hands, spilling his
gloves and robes to the ground. Draco stumbled and swore, stooping to
pick his things up.
"Whoever did that, you're about to have tentacles growing out of your
posterior," Malfoy growled. Percy wasn't really afraid of being hexed
by Draco. He was too afraid to be afraid, actually, so afraid he was
feeling confident, even a little brazen.
"Take your best shot," said Percy. He edged into the scant light of
the three-quarter moon and held up Draco's broom. "This is yours."
"Weasley," Draco spat. He yanked his robes on, shrugged his shoulders
to settle the long train of black fabric, and then glared at Percy. He
stepped forward and stretched out a hand for his broom. "Give it to
me."
"Take it from me," said Percy.
Malfoy snorted with derision. "This is unbelievable. I'm trying to
avoid people and here I get my broom lifted by an antiquated Weasel.
Which one are you, anyway?" Draco's eyes, stormy like hailing clouds
under the biased hands of Thor and Zeus, bored into Percy and made his
knees weak. There was certainly no way to inform Draco of his
feelings, so he settled for the least.
"Percy. I was Head Boy and ..."
"I remember," Draco said. He stuffed his want into his pocket,
gripped his broom, and yanked it out of Percy's hand. Percy hadn't
thought there was that much strength in the wiry little body, but
apparently Draco had gotten older, too. He was as tall as Percy,
though better proportioned; he did not look like a gangling puppet on
jerky strings. The pale moonlit hair was longish, perhaps longer than
Percy liked it on Draco, and was partially tied back from his face.
The rest had escaped during the long game and flitted freely in the
breeze round Draco's features.
"Don't stare at me, you idiot. Tell me what you want. I'm in a
tolerant mood," Malfoy said, but softly. Dangerously.
"I watched you play today. Tonight. It was a wonderful catch," Percy
complimented him.
Malfoy made another derisive sound and tossed his head. He had to
transfer his broom into the hand holding the gloves in order to brush
his flying hair from his eyes. While he was doing this, Percy reached
out and touched his shoulder.
"Kindly remove your paw from my person." Draco shrugged his hand off.
"I want to touch you."
"I don't want to be touched, Percy Weasley, so you'd better want
something else or I will hex you into next week." Draco glared.
Seeing eye to eye with this mystical creature that had fascinated
Percy secretly for years, he was taken by more of the suicidal bravery
that sheer terror could put into him. He seized Draco by the collar of
his open shirt and, with a twist of his arm, flung the Slytherin into
the wall of the hut.
Draco snarled at Percy. "How dare you!"
"I don't know," Percy said. He kissed Draco, who promptly kicked him
in the shin.
"Bleah!" Draco spat, rubbing at his lips furiously.
"Gah!" yelped Percy, hopping and holding his bruised shin that felt
more like it was broken. He eyed Draco's booted feet warily.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Weasley?" asked Draco
quietly.
"Well, I was trying to ---"
"I know what you were trying to do. You did it. I feel the urge to go
to the infirmary and have myself bodily disinfected now, thank you.
What I asked is what you think you're doing. Do you think you're
seducing me?"
Percy stared incredulously at Draco, the casual stance, the lazily
spoken words, the wrath buried just under the surface. It occured to
Percy that Draco must have a lot of issues at home or else he wouldn't
be neary so nasty.
"I'm not good at seducing," Percy stammered eventually, after Draco
raised first one and then both eyebrows expectantly.
"Brilliant deduction. I must say, you might yet make a decent
Sherlock Holmes, Weasley."
"Oh, stuff your sarcasm, Malfoy!" Percy yelled at him.
"Get stuffed," Draco replied calmly.
Percy seethed, turned away, crossed his arms, and struggled to hold
in an explosive rage that wasn't like him. He was acting worse than
Malfoy, or so it seemed to him.
"You know, I'm actually rather fond of red hair," Draco said.
Percy was startled to feel deft hands sliding his robes off his
shoulders, then tugging at the light shirt he wore beneath to keep
from smothering in the summer heat. He turned to stare at Draco. The
Slytherin had dropped his own robes onto the ground and stood like an
erotic young god, hair untied and streaming down across his perfect
collarbones, the moon's reflection framed in his alabaster chest by
the white shirt --- it seemed grey in comparison.
"What are you doing?" Percy whispered. He was aroused, definitely
aroused, definitely --- oh dear, was Malfoy going to depants and mock
him? Percy had panicked thoughts about Malfoy yanking his trousers
down and running away with all Percy's clothing, leaving him naked on
the Hogwarts grounds but for his pennyloafers and unable to Apparate
home.
"Seduction one-oh-one," Draco said. "I'm giving you an helpful
lesson."
Percy started to ask another question, but Draco bit his ear. Percy
squeaked and squirmed, leaning hard against Draco and forcing them
both down onto the grass. Draco slithered on top of him and bit
Percy's lower lip.
"Ow!"
"Shut it," said Malfoy gently. Percy wrenched Draco's shirt off and
threw it away. The prickly grass vanished as Percy rolled over Draco
--- kept rolling --- and wound up beneath him again atop their piled
robes.
Holy thunder, Percy thought, I'm going to embarass myself.
"Awfully hard for foreplay," remarked Draco. He kissed Percy again,
hands with unnaturally sharp nails clawing down the freckled skin,
rending some a few of the curling hairs from Percy's chest.
"Oh well," said Percy. He wasn't sure he cared.
Draco kissed his mouth and Percy kissed back. It was hot, wet,
burning, and almost uncomfortably full of their clashing tongues; full
of dominance, exploration, hunger; full of curiosity and vindictive
force that had attracted Percy to Draco even in Draco's first year at
Hogwarts: Percy remembered the pale little candle in the dark robes
with the scornful mouth and knowledgable crystalline eyes.
Draco's skin was as fluid as any ocean Percy had seen. It was pure as
mountain springs. It was hot with simple desires yet colder than
winter frost. More often cold than warm, Percy gave in to the embrace,
every touch a discovery, each tracery of fingertips and palms an
expedition to an unknown of ecstasy Percy had never believed possible
this side of some Paradise meant for Good Boys.
Percy moaned as Draco's teeth cut his lips and gouged his chin. This
wasn't a boy, this wasn't a man, this was a supernatural monster more
at home with someone like Charlie, who could hold these things
captive, could keep them safe, could keep them from killing him.
You'll be the death of me, Draco Malfoy, Percy thought, one way or
the other. He closed his eyes and let the monster have him, was
swallowed up in the desire he finally let free, and the mysteriously
savage scent that accompanied the strange struggling contract of
passion enacted on the pair of spread robes under the glowing moon.
* * *
I'm addicted, Percy thought. He removed the pillow from his face and
pitched himself onto his stomach. His throat was raw from crying and
screaming at intervals into the fatter pillow. It was a rather soggy
pillow. He pushed it onto the floor where it landed with a soft sound,
soggy-side-down, most likely.
I'm so weak. I'm a miserable excuse for a wizard. I don't even know
what I want. Nothing happened after that night behind the hut. I can't
even tell Mum and Da I like boys and have one I want to marry; I just
like boys. But which is worse?
And why is it okay for Bill and Charlie? It's so very easy for them
to be self-assured and know who they are. Who am I? A nerdy wizard who
works a shit job for the Ministry, that's who, and I'm sick of this
rot.
...But that's why Bill and Charlie never brought girlfriends over for
dinner. In fact, I remember distinctly a while ago that when Bill
wanted them to meet and approve his "significant other" that he took
Mum and Da out to dinner...
Percy moaned and felt an headache coming on. His heart was breaking,
his head was splitting apart, and he was guessing his liver would soon
be shot if he kept havings nights like this where the only solution
apparent was to get so drunk he met Lady Unconsciousness and had a
dreamless sleep.
What can I do? he thought hopelessly. I'm in love with Draco Malfoy
or at the very least obsessed with him. Unhealthily obsessed, I might
add. Gods and monsters, I'm a pathetic bastard.
Another thought: Then do something about it.
Percy lay on his bed, facedown, frowning. That hadn't occurred to him
before. Not at all. He sat up suddenly and was struck immediately with
a familiar smell, one he would need eternity and tomorrow to forget; a
sweet musk, animal and culture, sophistication comingling with the
wilder nature of every beast, marrying the bitter with the aromatic.
He stared at the table at the foot of his bed. There was a stick of
incense burning. He got up and approached it, taking the bottle of
bourbon from his desk as he went. He took a drink from the bottle and
gripped the neck like a security spell as he leant down and carefully
sniffed the incense.
It was Draco's smell.
Accompanying the smell came the sensory memories, the cold-as-ice and
scalding-as-magma essence of that sweet, swift embrace. With a moan,
Percy sat down and held his head with his free hand, wondering if he
was now hallucinating. He was startled as Ron slammed his door open
and stared there, glaring at him and then at the bottle.
"Drunk again?"
"Eh?"
"I said, are you DRUNK again, Percy Weasley?" Ron roared. He took the
bottle and stuffed it into an upright desk compartment, then stood and
glared at Percy.
"Not drunk," Percy protested.
"This is the last night I'm going to listen to you tossing and
turning. You've been at it since you moved back in. I'm beginning to
think you're a pathetic loser, abandoning your apartment and
half-forgetting your job in order to lay about and drink yourself into
an early grave!" Ron continued. "What the bloody fucking hell is wrong
with you?"
Percy stared at Ron. He blinked. Ron's nostrils flared and he kept
his fists on his hips, staring down at Percy and managing to somehow
look imposing in his pale blue nightrobe.
"Can I have Harry's floo address, Ron?" asked Percy.
"What? You want to talk to my best friend in the middle of the night,
THAT is what has you in a bind like this?" Ron started to yell.
"Yes!" Percy snarled, getting up and clapping his hand over Ron's
mouth. "Now don't wake the whole house. Just Floo me there and I'll
shut up and leave you alone!"
"He won't like being woken..."
"Like he sleeps, after what happened."
"Well, yeah. We all have nightmares. You having nightmares, big bro?"
Ron said.
Percy pondered. "Yeah. I think I am..."
A short time later, Percy and Ron stood in the foyer of Sirius
Black's house where Harry Potter resided. Both were undergoing
wizarding sociotherapy and recovering from post-traumatic stress, the
result of lengthy torture at the hands of You-Know-Who. Percy felt
sorry for bothering Harry, but he had to ask. It would eat him up if
he didn't. Something gnawed him and he had to go, had to know, had to
begin discovering.
"Harry?" Ron said tentatively to the hellish-looking specter that was
dragged from bed, knuckling his eyes before putting his round glasses
in front of them.
"'Lo Ron," said Harry. "What's going on?"
"Talk to Perce," said Ron, jabbing his thumb in Percy's direction.
Harry looked at Percy with mild astonishment. "Oh, g'day, Percy. Nice
to see you."
"I need to know where I can find your friend, Draco Malfoy," said
Percy urgently.
"Ah, Malfoy," said Harry Potter. "Well you see, we aren't really GOOD
friends, just MODERATE friends and all, not right chummy like he is
with some of the other fellows that survived. I only just know where
he is. Is that all right?"
"That's what I want to know, Harry. Where can I find Draco Malfoy?"
Percy said through gritted teeth. Harry just wasn't the same these
days.
"Oh...last I heard from him, he was in India. That was a few months
ago. He's writing a book, you see, on various polytheistic religions,
and he wanted very much to see the Hindus practise in person. I told
him to learn a sunblocking charm so he doesn't turn red," Harry said
proudly, smiling a vacant smile.
Ron whispered into Percy's ear, "He's not what he used to be. Try to
understand and be patient, Perce..."
"I am," Percy whispered back.
Sirius Black appeared, clad in a house robe as dark as his dark
tangled hair, and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "What's going on,
Harry? What are these people doing here?"
"Oh, it's just Ron and Percy. You know them," said Harry
reassuringly.
"Of course I do. Just asking. For our safety. Hate to have to hex
your friends," said Sirius. He glared quite darkly at Percy and Ron.
Percy whispered to Ron, "I think they're both a stone's throw from
sanity."
"You're probably right," Ron whispered back, eyes downcast.
"Yes, I'm sure Draco's still in India," Harry confirmed, his eyes
focusing for a moment. It seemed as though he suffered a moment of
pain, thinking, being lucid and seeing what was before him. He eyed
Ron for a long time before simply nodding and shrugging his shoulders.
"That's all. Hope I've been an help to you," he said. His green eyes
reclaimed their mist, his face its slight smile of disassociative
inattention. Harry glanced at Sirius.
"That's it?" said Sirius.
"Yes. Yes, thank you. So sorry to bother you," said Percy hurriedly.
He backed toward the filthy fireplace that had spat them out and
dragged Ron in with him.
"Back to bed then, Papa," said Harry sweetly to Sirius Black, taking
him by the arm and leading him out of the room.
They Flooed back to the Burrow and Percy noticed Ron still had not
looked up. Percy prodded him lightly, his elation at having a clue
sinking slightly as he noticed his brother's posture and mood.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"You're right, you know," Ron said quietly. He strode to the sitting
room and lost himself in a great comfortable chair, worn by years of
embracing happy and sad occupants both. Ron's fingers roved the
patches. Wet spots appeared on his legs where the light blue nightrobe
covered them.
"They're both mad?"
"Yes. I don't like...realising I've lost my best friend," Ron
croaked. Percy knelt by the chair and, each aware of his
uncharacteristic behaviour, Ron flung himself into Percy's arms and
cried on his shoulder well into the dark, strangely-scented night.
When he was empty of tears, Percy helped him to his feet and ushered
him upstairs and back into bed and then returned to his.
He tossed and turned and struggled with himself. India. Draco was in
India. Something ached in him deeply, his heart, his mind, his spirit,
perhaps. He felt an emptiness that struck echoing tones down to his
very core, if he could consider himself to have such a thing as one
imagined it; he no longer lacked conviction. Shortly before dawn, he
fell into an uneasy sleep and woke several hours later to a day
stricken with stormclouds and heavy with the promise of inclement
weather.
Percy dressed. Percy packed. Percy put away the various bottles of
bourbon, whiskey, gin, and the infamous tequila he and Bill had
enjoyed many years ago, beyond the rainbows, before tragedy and before
love.
His white Oxford shirt buttoned up to his nervously jogging Adam's
apple, Percy pulled on his best Ministry robes and took his suitcases,
wandering downstairs carefully and into the aroma of hotcakes and
strong tea.
He greeted his parents with smiles, grim though they were, and
accepted breakfast. They eyed his suitcases but did not ask questions;
Percy often left on strange business for the Ministry since his
transfer to the Department of Anomalies.
Yet...something was noticably different about Percy this morning,
which prompted Molly Weasley at length to ask, "Where are you going
today, Percy? Somewhere interesting?" as she poured tea for herself.
Arthur passed the cream.
Percy stood, excusing himself, and finished his tea quickly. "I'm
going to India," he said.
Ron coughed something into his teacup and Percy pretended not to
notice, smiling inside and out. The emptiness was filling already.
"Ah, that's nice, dear," said Molly. She smiled.
"Will you bring me back some jewellery like the Indian women wear?"
Ginny asked, eyes alight with visions of such a fantastic land.
Percy said, "I'll try to remember." He pushed in his chair, picked up
his bags, said his goodbyes quickly to his siblings and parents, and
left.
India, he thought with relish. Draco, he thought also, and with
greater joy.
Percy arrived in style; elephant-back, crashing through the rukh to
what he imagined would have been a fanfare if he weren't in such
a
state. As it was, getting to Draco's remote "last
address" in India
hadn't been easy. Percy hadn't bathed in days; he was sweaty,
tired,
hungry, and certain he had been as mad as Harry Potter to attempt to
scour this country for his love.
Then the palace. The palace made it worth it, Ganesh propped before
it and Shiva in glorious dance. The Wheel of Indra rolled in a state
of stillness above the other idols. Was this it, then? It must be.
Polytheistic indeed, Percy remarked silently to himself as he
disembarked his elephant and let it return with the dark native
wizards who had guided him thus far. The Indian wizards were nice
fellows, but Percy was rather sick of choking down scalding curry. He
couldn't really imagine fair Draco liking it here much; the spice
of
air, jungle, and food would wash the icy creature away.
"Percy?" exclaimed a voice.
Percy rounded to see his own brother Charlie, standing atop the
palace like one of the deities. Percy frowned but waved.
"Ho, Charlie!" he shouted back. "What are you doing
here?"
"I might ask the same!" Charlie called, hopping tier to tier
and
lighting on the ground before Percy, whom he scooped into a hearty
hug
complete with a thump on the back. Percy set down his two bags, all
he
had brought, and shrugged.
"I'm looking for someone. Draco Malfoy."
"Well damn, old boy, he's gone," Charlie said, rubbing
his chin. He
drew Percy to him again, taking one bag up from the ground. Percy
took
the other and followed, brows knitted in confusion and unhappiness.
"But he was here?" Percy said.
"Oy!" said Charlie upon sniffing his brother. "Here, you
get a cold
bath first, then we'll talk."
"No! You say Malfoy was here? How long ago? Is he all
right?" Percy
demanded, clutching Charlie's light vest with curled
claw-fingers,
animalistic in his need.
"Is this Ministry business or something personal?" said
Charlie
warily, detaching Percy.
"Personal. Highly," spat Percy.
"Ah. Well, Draco and I had...something of a nasty muck-up over
our
relationship, you see. It wasn't even a relationship at all as
far as
I'm concerned, more me going to him when I needed him and getting
sex
as consolation for ---"
"WHAT?!" Percy snarled.
Charlie stared at him in frank shock, a look on his face that would
otherwise have been comical if Percy were not so furious.
"I say, what's got you so furious? It's not as though
---"
Percy shoved Charlie against the nearest wall in a running charge,
teeth ground together and bared. "It IS as though. You don't
know. It
IS!"
"...Oh," said Charlie. "Fancy him yourself, do you?"
Percy's panting breath slowed and he let go Charlie's vest,
which he
hadn't realised he had been clutching with a maniacal grip. He
stepped
back and took a deep breath, chest heaving in misery. "Can't
believe
you violated him."
"Actually, it was the other way round, if you want the
truth," said
Charlie quietly. "He's rather dominant and I spend my days
taming the
wild beasts..."
"So you'll spend your nights being ravaged by one,"
Percy muttered
bitterly, unable to keep the jealousy from his voice and eyes as he
glared at Charlie.
After a pause, Charlie said softly, "I'm sorry, if it means
anything."
"It means enough. Where is he now?"
"Said something about Iceland, Finland, somewhere north. More
pagan
gods to put into his book, you know. He writes very well."
"I...think I'll take you up on that cold bath now,
Charlie," Percy
said.
Charlie nodded. "All right."
Soon enough Percy lay in a long shallow tub of chilly water,
breathing in the scent of a pale lotus flower that lay near his head
in a golden bowl of water. It reminded him of Draco's scent; the
spice
was all about him. The cold bath that would normally have abated his
passion aroused him; Percy's wandering hand found himself ---
Hot.
The water ---
Cold.
He sucked in his breath and sank beneath the water, masturbating as
bubbles issued from his nose and he became dizzier and dizzier,
hotter, colder, hotter, colder. The threshold was so close, he had
but
to step over and give himself into the arms of a lover more complete
than his fleeting ghost of Draco Malfoy could be.
Percy sat up with a gasp, choking in the lotus-and-spice air. He
ejaculated moments later in an uneventful climax.
I thought it would mean more, he mused as he washed himself again.
Maybe the ice will be different than the fire. Maybe I'll find
love
there. Maybe I'll just feel nothing. I'm used to feeling
nothing now.
Perhaps I'm learning to live more, or perhaps I'm just
teaching myself
how to slowly die, wasting away for want of a virus that once sent me
a lucid dream but has been evasive ever since...
He got out of the long tub, dried himself, dressed in clean clothes
that felt heavenly, and went to find Charlie.
* * *
The ice was different but the same. Percy felt unfulfilled, trekking
across the northern vistas of first Iceland, then Finland, Sweden and
Norway and Denmark. He was at last in Greenland, approaching a
residence a Danish wizard had directed him to. Malfoy had left his
forwarding address --- at last.
Percy wasn't sure what to feel. His heart pounded now, so close
to
what he could call a home, since they said the feeling of love was
like coming home to the last serenade and the arms of a great warm
hearth. Percy lifted his head. He smelled it --- the wild scent. The
incense and flashing eyes and grinning needle-like teeth. He smelled
Draco.
He hurried his step and reached the cabin, eyeing the lake outside
it
with its thin screen of ice, small shoots of hardy yellowish grass
emerging tentatively beneath and round it. Percy stared at the door.
Runes were carved in it and, if he recollected correctly from his
Runes classes in Hogwarts, they spelled Draco Malfoy's name.
Percy tried to summon bravery and failed. Instead he summoned his
terror, let it bolster him. It raised his hand, curled his gloved
fingers into a fist, and knocked.
A long moment passed where Percy considered running away. Then he
heard footsteps, light and rhythmic, and a hoarse voice called,
"Who
is it?"
"Draco?" Percy said.
"Who the hell is it?" The door opened and there he stood,
Percy's
item of desire and dreams.
Draco seemed to be made of crystals of the very same snow that lay
round the cottage. His skin was pearlescent and had an unearthly
sheen; his hair was a white so vibrant it glistened silver. It was
very long. Percy had to wonder, seeing that hair in a loose braid
pulled forward over Draco's left shoulder with tendrils drifting
about
the quiet stormy eyes, if it was still as fine and soft as it was
five
years ago.
"Oh," said Draco casually. "It's you." He shook
back his hair,
fingertips brushing his forehead. He opened the door wider.
"Don't
just stand there. Get inside, the warming charm's not a
sophisticated
one."
"Ah, yes," Percy said awkwardly. He hastened in, heat
swamping him
immediately. He wouldn't have expected the dwelling of an ice
spectre
to be so warm and comfortable, piled with books and parchment and
used
(and abused) quills and filled only with thickly padded furniture.
Draco gestured for Percy to have a seat in one of the cleaner
armchairs not already occupied by clutter. Percy had never imagined
that Draco would be a "clutter" sort of person.
"I've sort of been half expecting you," said Draco.
"Would you like
some tea? You can take that blanket there to get warm in."
Percy stared at him. "Um. Tea would be lovely," he said as
he eased
his heavy parka off his shoulders and replaced it with a soft quilt
that his own mother would have been proud to own.
"All right," Draco said. He poured hot water into two mugs
from a
kettle that sat over a small fire, applying sugar to one. "How do
you
take it?"
Percy tried not to deliberatly misinterpret the question. He was
still terrified, but fear was abating to curiosity, pleasure,
enjoyment and contentment. "Cream, please," said Percy. He
hoped that
would not be taken improperly.
No. Draco wouldn't. He added a drop of cream from the icebox to
Percy's tea and stirred it lightly, setting the spoon on the lip
of a
porcelain sink that seemed incongruous to Percy.
"Here you are," Draco said. He handed Percy the mug, teabag
still
floating in the pale brown liquid, and folded himself into the chair
opposite.
"Thank you," Percy said. He tried very hard to keep
inflection from
his tone. There was a hammer beating nails into a coffin where his
heart should have been.
Silence, then. The occasionally noisome dance of the fire was all
that interfered as Draco and Percy stared at one another over their
raised tea mugs, intermittently blowing on the liquid and attempting
to sip it. Percy's terror began to fade again, and with its
cessation
came the nerves. He shifted in the comfortable chair, unable to
imagine what it must contain that it could still manage to make him
fidget when he ordinarily would have curled up happily in it.
"Now you've found me," Draco said abruptly.
"Yes."
"What do you intend to do?" Draco levelled his eyes upon
Percy, who
forgot to squirm and lost himself in them, stormy ripples of
expression just beneath the cold surface.
"You know, now that I'm here...now that I've finally
found you, I'm
really not sure what I intended to do at all. Maybe...perhaps ---
perhaps I mean to tell you I fell in love with you that day. It
wasn't
much, but it was passion when my world was a bland bowl of
grits."
Percy forced a chuckle to follow his easy smile.
Draco returned the smile, but minimally. His lips curled and he
said,
"Don't hope too much. I'm flattered, Percy, I truly am,
but I've been
betrayed by two of your kind already. Weasleys. Me and my weakness
for
red hair. Fire."
Lurking metallically in Draco's eyes was everything Percy had
denied
himself for years. He felt a catch in his throat, a wrench in his
chest as he resisted the urge to cry. It was difficult. He rankled
against it and his eyes pricked. He drank the tea enthusiastically
and
it burned his throat and all the tubing below before encasing his
stomach in a fire he couldn't stoke for himself.
"My fire is burning out," he said.
"Is it?" said Draco. There was something light and bemused
in his
tone that was incongruous with the amount of feeling Percy had
conveyed.
"It needs you. I need you. I didn't realise until recently,
but I've
been missing something and that something is you." Percy felt
redundant; he wanted to retract it as soon as he'd said it. He
felt
like a moonstruck teenaged boy shyly offering daisies to the demure
lady who towered above him, accustomed to roses and lilies and birds
of paradise soaring on tall stems but who would accept his gift for
the novelty it presented and think nothing of it.
"Hm," said Draco. He sipped his tea.
"Was I...a novelty to you?" asked Percy.
"Oh no. I think of the three, you were the one I cared for the
most.
You're restraining yourself, Percy, you really are. The things
you
showed me that night, passive responses though most of them were,
truly impressed me. We could have been great lovers, you and I."
Percy stared at Draco, flattered, his heart skipping an exotic
dance.
"Can we not still?"
Melting ice from the chimney dripped into the fire with a sizzle.
"Heh," said Draco. "There's a storm coming. You can
stay the night."
He got up and walked to the fire, his back to Percy and one arm
wrapped round his reed-thin waist. The other held his warm mug to his
cheek. Percy had uncomfortable images of that fine ice sculpture of a
face melting.
"Can we not still?" Percy demanded loudly.
Draco turned slowly and stared at him.
"Why? We could still be great lovers now."
"No," Draco said. "We couldn't. I've been hurt
too much by your
idiotic brothers. First Ron, curious little creature with Roman hands
and Russian fingers who learned his lessons all too well. He taught
me
my own. When Harry --- well, you know what happened to Harry --- Ron
went to him. He never looked back to comfort me. Don't suppose
you've
seen these." Draco lifted his black sweater casually to reveal
his
back.
"Oh," said Percy softly. Scars crossed it in the distinctive
abstract
patterns of dedicated whippings. "Who did that?"
"Everyone." Draco said. The words were as colourless as he
was. He
shook his head again, the feminine gesture infected with his bold,
arrogant masculinity even as his hair was chased back with his frail
hand. "Voldemort, for disappointing my father. My father, for
disappointing me. My mother Narcissa, for the sheer thrill of seeing
me bleed prettier than daddy. The invisible ones haven't healed,
though, Percy. No.
"What you see here, these old wounds, they're not festering
because
everyone inflicting them is dead. They've been cauterised. But
Ron
abandoned me, and that still hurts. Charlie couldn't handle my
nature,
that integral parts of me are more at home with his monsters than
with
his sensibilities. For all that he has a somewhat insane career, your
brother Charlie is painfully sane and remarkably logical." Draco
smiled then, perfect white teeth almost grimacing with the pain of
secret memories.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what they did to you, but
--- I'm not
like that. You said it yourself, I have passion of a sort. After a
fashion," Percy faltered.
The ice spectre gazed at him almost fondly. "That you do. I
don't
feel like talking right now. Make yourself comfortable. You don't
want
to go out in this storm."
Percy felt denied, abused, and a bit like his very own whore.
I feel fucked, he mused. He stood up and put his mug aside and
followed Draco past a partition into a tiny candlelit bedroom. Draco
had stripped his sweater.
"Fuck the storm," said Percy.
"Excuse me?" Draco replied, turning. The scar tissue on his
back
flashed several colours of pellucid and vulnerable abalone.
"I don't want much," Percy said. "I just want to
hold you, or to have
you hold me. I can be strong for you, if that's what you want, or
you
can take care of me, if YOU need to feel strong. Anything. Please.
Because I love you."
Draco sensed, somewhere behind his inscrutably grey and saturnine
eyes, that Percy had never poured himself out quite so completely for
anyone else in his entire life. Troubled, Draco found his resolve was
near to wavering. He stared at Percy.
"I need nothing," he said finally, an hint of his former
derision in
his voice.
Percy raised a sceptical eyebrow. "I know you must."
"I need nothing. But I want to be alone," Draco said firmly
and
scathingly. He turned his back on Percy again and began turning down
the blankets of his bed.
Percy threw off his own blanket and wrenched off his sweater, then
his shirt, dropping each to the floor. Draco ignored him until, in
several quick steps, Percy stepped up to him and caught him from
behind in a very light embrace.
He waited.
Draco was very still, but Percy could feel his heart fluttering,
straining. Draco coughed suddenly and Percy saw dark spots on the
sheets. Stains of some sort. Draco coughed again, shaking violently
in
Percy's arms. Percy held him closer, massaged the vibrating
chest,
free of coarse hairs.
The spasms ceased. Draco wiped blood on the back of his hand.
"Let me
go," he said. The voice was danger. Every instinct screamed at
Percy
to get out, let go, run away, this was not an animal to be disturbed
in its den.
"I won't," he whispered foolishly.
"Can't you see I hate you all, fiery little wretches, hot
bodies,
volcanic freckles, stupid faces?" Draco snarled. He wrenched free
of
Percy and clawed him across the face with curled fingers.
Percy reeled backwards, stunned. "What was that for?"
"For knowing what I need," Draco sneered through bared
teeth. He
seized Percy by the front of his pants and tugged him against them, a
smashing collision of pale skin, one snowy, one snow-decked with
freckles at the shoulders and along the back.
"I don't." Percy couldn't manage more than a whisper
as surges of
desire whipped through him. Draco's teeth were at his shoulder,
then
over his left nipple, clamping, biting, wrenching at the flesh until
it bled.
"I need you to hate me," Draco whispered urgently.
"Everyone hates me
in the end. I need it now. I asked every god I came across what it
means to be in love, what it is to love someone unwillingly and
against your soul, but none of them have answers --- so I HATE ---
and
I need you to hate me or I can't love you!"
Stunned, Percy held Draco at an arm's length. "What are you
saying?"
"That you aren't welcome here," Draco panted, shoving
Percy away and
wiping blood from his mouth again; this time Percy's red life
landed
on the white linens.
"I don't care."
"Get out," said Draco, "or I'll make you hate
me."
Percy understood, then, staring into those closed, bitter, aching
eyes. The ice always reached for the fire and was always consumed.
The
ice sculpture face would melt. The body wither under his hot, needing
touch. Draco didn't need. He hated. He was a force that could
grip,
squeeze, infect, and even kill in quantities --- but Percy's
power was
greater.
"I can't," Percy admitted freely, "but I can let you
hate me."
Draco howled something incomprehensible at Percy. Percy turned his
back on Draco.
"I hate you," Draco whimpered. Percy looked over his
shoulder. Draco
had folded in on himself, settled on the edge of the blood-spattered
bed, and had begun coughing violently again.
He's sick and probably dying, Percy realised. The fire has
burned out
his ice inside, deep in his vibrant crystal core, and he's
coughing it
out in bloody drops, a little at a time. Maybe without me he will
live. Or maybe he will remember and die.
"I love you," said Percy as he picked his clothing up off
the floor,
soothed his desire with the shock that tears would seem to fall
forever from his benumbed eyes, and exited. He shut the bedroom door
quietly behind him and redressed. He pulled on his coat and drank the
last of Draco's sweetened tea from Draco's cup, tasting the
bittersweet stolen kisses that lingered on the mug where Draco's
perfect, beautiful lips must have rested.
I love him, Percy thought to himself, but it was a murmur, grief
swelling and a surge of revolting despair pummeling his imagination
from the inside out. He also, damn him, damn Draco Malfoy, was
beginning to hate him.
Fear washed away. Percy hated himself. He was terrified of the world
that yawned as he opened the door of Draco's cabin. Percy loathed
the
pitiful state of love that had brought him here, and that he was so
afraid of it. His heart shattered as he heard Draco's sobs.
Percy ran out into the icy world beyond the cabin, letting the
rising
wind guide him until he tripped, blinded by his tears, and tumbled
into a bank of snow and ice that felt unbelievably soft.
So close, love and hate, he thought distantly.
Percy lay where he fell, the snow his cushion, the snowdrifts his
blankets; he lay, dreaming of ice, drowning in fire, and torn between
each and neither --- the part of existence hinged somewhere among
love, life, hate, and fear.
* * *
An aeon later, when Percy's thoughts had dwindled to the
repetition
of the word "cold", something touched him. Indeed, someone
was rolling
him over off his face, picking him up, carrying him out of his
half-grave and into an obscene warmth Percy wasn't sure he
wanted. The
ice shield round his brain began to melt and he was forced to think,
to crack his iced eyelids and stare at the fireplace before which he
had been set. He could smell a familiar body.
Draco stood there above him, silhouetted and naked. "You're
alive,"
he said.
Percy made a noncommittal noise and shuddered. Draco knelt and
hefted
another blanket round Percy. Percy noted that he was drying, the
melted snow absorbed by the many layers of fabric.
"You should've left me," said Percy. "I can probably
figure out a way
to hate you for saving me."
"That's all right. I've come to the conclusion that we
are dying of
one anothers' illnesses. I've got your fire, you've got
my cold. Maybe
I'll breathe fire and you'll freeze rooms with a glare,"
Draco said.
He lifted the kettle and poured boiling water into two mugs. He
stirred in brown sugar and then poured generous amounts of rum into
each.
"Hot toddy," said Draco to Percy's expression, which
must have been
incredulous. Draco leaned forward and held one of the hot mugs to
Percy's lips.
Percy drank, wondering if he should be grateful or spit it into
Draco's face.
"Thank you," he found himself saying.
"You're welcome," Draco replied. "And for what
little comfort it
offers, I'm sorry for being the way I am. I think that loving you
is
going to kill me, but I'm going to try."
Percy stared at Draco. Draco stared back, then pulled his knees up
to
his chest and wrapped his arms round them.
"Why aren't you wearing any clothing?" asked Percy.
"It got soaked by the storm. It's hanging to dry. So is
yours, you
know," said Draco.
Percy didn't remember Draco undressing him, and he was
disappointed;
that would have been a daydream worth keeping and nourshing for ages.
Percy pulled the blankets from his chest and looked at his bare skin,
then refolded the blankets, pleased that feeling was coming back to
his hands. He took the mug from Draco and sipped again. It scalded
but
was welcoming.
"So why did you save me? I was ready to die out there,"
Percy said.
"It really wouldn't have bothered me."
Draco peeked up at Percy sideways through his dissheveled blonde
hair. "Well, I wasn't ready to die in here. Alone. Before you
came I
would have been able to, but now I suppose I'm remembering what
it
felt like to have another's hands on my body without trying to
hurt
it."
"I don't want to hurt it or you," Percy said,
"unless love is meant
to hurt."
"I think it is. Maybe that's how you know you're giving
something to
someone that truly means more than you do." Draco's lips
parted,
breathing in the same air Percy had just breathed. The moment was
intimate and comfortable, warm without being stifling.
Percy pushed aside part of his coverings and placed his trembling
palm on Draco's knee. His fingers dared to steal up and brush
away the
stray locks, caressing his cheek as he stared into the overcast eyes.
"Do you think we'll ever understand?" Percy asked.
"Perhaps," said Draco.
Percy kissed him. Sweetly, then needily, the redhead was surprised
at
his own audacity as he launched himself onto Draco, spilling both
mugs
of sweetened hot rum. They narrowly missed the fireplace and Draco
grinned, pulling away and getting to his feet.
"Should we continue this someplace softer? After all, we have
more
than our robes to lie on this time."
The thought of Draco's bed and Draco in it, holding him, knowing
him,
got Percy up off the floor faster than any other incentive one could
think to give him. He stumbled in the many blankets he wore and Draco
helped pull him along through the stacks of books and desks and
chairs
and other mazelike obstructions leading to the bedroom.
Draco pulled him in.
"You don't really hate me, do you," said Percy. It was
not a question
but a statement of fact.
Draco was hard-put to deny this. He said, "I think I hate
love," and
took the blankets surprisingly gently from Percy, leading the cold
but
happy man into the bed.
"Don't," pleaded Percy as he held his ice to him,
knowing this wasn't
a dream but wishing that, like the most beautiful of dreams, the air
of unreality could linger forever.
"I'm not sure I can help it, Percy," Draco said.
"It's very much a
part of me."
"Then I'll love it, too. There isn't enough hate in you
to crawl out
and find me and make me stop loving you." He sighed in happiness
as
Draco held him, viselike arms gripping his body with silent
admissions
and prayers he understood Draco was incapable of voicing aloud.
Love is war on the soul, but this battle has ended in a stalemate.
Maybe we're both leaning toward a mutual victory. I don't
know. But
I'll never let you go again, Draco, thought Percy. The arms
locked
round his torso squeezed him close; Percy thought, ...And nor will
you
me.
~Fin
Comments? E-mail Damian Spire
