By The Light Of A Dying Flame ~ Drarry Fanfic

Chapter 21: Harry

Harry was tired of waiting.

He'd spent weeks waiting: for a plan, for Draco to figure out his Patronus, now for a sign that Hermione had received their message. He felt ineffectual with all this waiting, weighed down and restless, like a kneazle pacing back and forth in a cage. At least before, on the run with Ron and Hermione, they'd been running, avoiding Death Eaters and hunting down Horcruxes. Spending so much time sitting in dark rooms and watching for something to happen, watching Draco and pretending he wasn't, meant the thoughts he'd been able to dodge for months were rearing their nasty heads. He kept hearing Sirius' laugh, seeing Ron storm away into a dark forest, feeling the lurch of his heart as Dumbledore had fallen from that tower. Each time he closed his eyes to sleep, he was back in that dungeon, listening to Hermione scream and sob and beg for mercy. Anger constantly buzzed under the surface of his skin like a perpetual companion, but at least he'd been able to ignore it when he was trying to survive, in pursuit of a goal.

Although, if he really thought about it... He hadn't felt very useless last night, with his face buried between Draco's thighs. The sensation of Draco's long, pale fingers tugging at his hair was markedly different than how it felt now, as he paced the length of the cottage and pulled hard enough to send sharp pain skittering across his scalp. His gaze was fixed on the window by the front door, searching for an indication Hermione knew where they were, perhaps even for Hermione herself to appear just outside the ring of enchantments. He was jittery, the fingers of his other hand flexing at his side as he strode about the room, eyes trained on the window.

It had taken every sliver of his willpower to pull himself off the bed earlier and come downstairs. He'd seen the look on Draco's face after he'd cast the Patronus, a vacancy darkening his silver eyes as he'd silently gone back into the cottage. Harry never had understood their dynamic, but after last night, it was as if he'd slashed through a vein and wasn't sure if he should press his hands to the wound, or let the blood flow.

He wasn't sure when the viscous, searing tar of hatred he'd felt for Draco all these years had tipped over into something else.

"Fuck," Harry murmured under his breath for what felt like the hundredth time, and his hands curled into fists as he pivoted by the stairs. "Fuck."

With every blink, he saw Draco's pale skin slick with sweat, flushed and warm as Harry's own hands slid over his shoulders, his chest, his hips. He couldn't shake the image of his cherry blossom lips parting, his eyelids heavy with desire as Harry's mouth trailed kisses down his stomach, his tongue tracing the length of him until his own lips widened to take him in—

He shook his head so viciously, his glasses nearly flew from his head, and he mashed them savagely back up his nose. Now was not the time to relive that particular experience, not with Draco completely shut down above his head and his potential reunion with Ron and Hermione looming on the horizon. Mad-Eye Moody's gruff voice shouting "Constant vigilance!" echoed in his ears, and he nearly laughed. If only Mad-Eye could see him now.

When his eyes swiveled back toward the window, a glint of red in the sunlight had him flying closer, his breath fogging up the glass. A lone figure stood outside of the enchantments wearing a long black coat and high buckled boots. The hair was much too long to belong to Ron, tied back in a low ponytail with what looked like a scrap of leather. They held their wand in front of them, head sweeping over the lavender field. When the figure turned toward the cottage, Harry immediately recognized the vicious scars on the side of his face, the fanged earring dangling above his collar.

"Bill," Harry breathed, and he was out the door, flying down the hill, Draco's wand in hand as he stepped beyond the enchantments, a grin plastered across his face.