Again, sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I have been having too much fun keeping up with all the wonderful
hd_holidays submissions! I encourage everyone to go and check them out. ^__^
Title: The Road (16/?)
Author:
rurounihime
Rating: hard R when all is said and done…
Pairing: H/D eventually
Summary: In the midst of a disintegrating war, Harry awaits the arrival of the Order’s last hope.
Warning: violence, character death, spoilers for all books
Disclaimer: The HP characters and most of the spellwork do not belong to me.
A/N: Thank you to April for her fabulous and attentive beta-ing, and to Coffee for constantly letting me bounce ideas off of her. The other major pairing in this is Blaise/Seamus, but there are minor het pairings as well.
…
No artwork or music for this chapter.
…
**ETA: THIS CHAPTER HAS RECEIVED ITS FINAL EDIT**
Previous chapters
Chapter 16: Old Wounds
Ginny squeezed her brother’s hand, perhaps too tightly, but she couldn’t distinguish anymore. The hospital ward was quiet except for his breathing. It had become easier; the change had been audible even as she sat beside him.
She hadn’t been able to think of anywhere else to go. Harry’s failure to return to her two nights prior had not been unexpected, but even the best mental preparation in the world had been unable to counter this daunting vigil: watching the closed doors of first the sitting room and then, when she finally roused herself from her tears and followed a house-elf upstairs, her own chamber. Both sets of doors had remained closed into the small hours of the night, and the loneliness of the castle as it slept settled around her like a voluminous shroud. Sleep had been out of the question, even exhausted as she was. She’d paced, found food in her knapsack, paced some more, and waited.
Harry had never returned.
Finally, sleep had taken her senses from her, and then Luna’s song had broken across her ears, drawing her from her stupor. The castle was extremely quiet; she’d walked, and ultimately been unable to bear the intense emptiness. Somehow she’d found her way back into the Infirmary.
Fred’s sleep had been light; she hadn’t been able to resist touching his shoulder. Achingly familiar blue eyes opened, and Fred sat up blurrily.
“Gods—Ginny?”
It felt so good to be held by her brother again. She clung to him wordlessly, letting all the aches and pains drip out of her. He’d changed: his shoulders were thin and much tenser than she remembered, and she could feel his ribs as she hugged him.
“Gin.” Fred kissed her hair, squeezing her hard enough to hurt, as though he couldn’t remember how to let go. “I didn’t know you were here, I thought… Merlin, Ginny, thank the Founders.”
“George?” she asked when she could. “What happened?”
They both looked toward the bed and watched the unsteady rise and fall of their brother’s chest. Fred’s fingers were clenched and Ginny reached to uncurl them. His voice was hollow.
“Sudden. He wouldn’t let me heal him. I could have, if only—” Fred rubbed a hand over his eyes. Ginny stroked the mussed hair from his forehead. He hadn’t bathed yet and she could see the filth in rivulets on his flesh.
“You’re a sight,” she said. Fred looked at her for a long moment, and then the tiniest of smiles cracked his pallor.
“You’re no Occamy yourself, you know.”
It was the first time she’d laughed in days.
They’d eaten there in the Infirmary, wondered together about where their mother and father were, avoided the subject of Ron entirely, and traded stories about their brushes with Death Eaters. It was easy to talk to her brother, even about the difficult things. There was no need to explain her pain to Fred, to wonder if he knew the depth of her misery, her loneliness. He experienced it just as she did.
And now, an entire day later, Ginny held George’s fingers as Fred slumbered beside her, and tried not to think. It had been easier when she’d feared for George’s life. But it was clear he was recovering, though it still came in slips and slides. Fred’s conversation had silenced her self-reflection for a time. Now there was nothing except Luna’s voice to remind her of where she was, and that Harry was somewhere nearby.
Harry had arrived in the Infirmary that morning, clean-clothed and alert, and Ginny had found one last sprig of hope in the twisted thorns in her chest. His eyes, vibrant jade, had widened when he saw her, and there was no hint of the anxiety she had been feeling all night. Perhaps… perhaps he had just gone to bed, and been caught up in more important things for the past day. Perhaps he’d wanted to give her time alone with Fred and George.
Perhaps he really had just thanked Draco Malfoy and been done with it.
She’d spent the morning smiling, wondering at how normal it felt to be in the same room as Fred, George, and Harry again. Certainly, they were missing some familiar faces. But this was the Harry of her fifth year and all the years before, tossing jokes back and forth with her brother, running a hand sheepishly through his thatch, and genuinely happy to be in her presence. Ginny had blossomed into it, let herself tumble because she knew this ground, and she knew she would be caught.
When Fred had drifted back to sleep, Harry’d led her from the hospital wing, down toward the kitchens. Ginny had been in high spirits.
It wasn’t until after their meal, when they reached the staircase leading up from the cellars and saw Draco Malfoy coming down, that Ginny realised her mistake.
It was clear from the instant their eyes locked. Draco halted in mid-step, gazing down at them, and Harry’s body went absolutely still beside her. It only lasted for the flicker of an eye, and then they’d moved past each other. But the damage was done.
Ginny didn’t know how she knew, but she did. They’d… slept together. Had sex. At some point in the past two days, Harry had taken Draco Malfoy to his bed.
It was in the way Draco carried himself as he passed them on the stairs, and the way Harry nearly turned. Nearly. She hadn’t looked, but she knew he’d glanced back.
Gods. The idea of Harry’s body in someone else’s hands—in firelight. Torchlight? Had they been able to hear the rain as they’d—as they’d moved—Ginny’s legs had threatened to crumple right there in the stairwell. She sought Harry’s eyes and found them vacant, lost somewhere back down the stairs. Where Draco had gone. The pain struck her heart so hard she looked away, to hide the burning behind her eyes. Yes. Harry had had sex with Draco Malfoy. In his bed, or Draco’s, it didn’t matter. And something had happened there that shuttered his good mood.
She would have found some modicum of satisfaction in that if not for the wrenching hurt in Harry’s expression.
Ginny forced herself to release George’s hand, thankful for the solitude of the Infirmary and the fact that Fred was asleep. There had been no salvaging of her mood after the meeting on the stairs; she’d only been able to think of coming here, of being with her blood again, her family. What she had left of it.
Why in hell did you go back in the forest? she thought bitterly. Why didn’t you just let them have him? He was going to sacrifice himself willingly, you could have just—If you’d only stayed away—
Ginny couldn’t decide what felt worse: the sick horror at those thoughts, or the fact that a small part of her still very much wished they were the reality.
George gave a cleansing sigh and turned over in his sleep. Tears pricked Ginny’s eyelids yet again. “Oh yes,” she whispered to herself. “So big of you. Let the Death Eaters have your competition and all is well again.”
No one answered.
“Shouldn’t have come,” she mumbled. Her jaw ached from holding back all the frustration. Here she was, playing at some romantic story, and when it all fell down around her, she could only weep for her folly. Seven hells, what sort of person had she become?
She longed for the days before, when she hadn’t known that Harry had slept with Draco, or how deeply Draco’s feelings for her intended went. When she was just nervous and excited by the prospect of knowing Harry intimately again, of seeing the end of this war in sight at last. Blaise and Seamus with her by the fire, sharing food and telling stories, awaiting the next turn of the road, the next step in whatever plan was being hatched for them all. It was just a game then, and everyone was alive and healthy and together. Scattered physically, but together somehow in a way they weren’t any longer. She knew it was stupid, that people had been dying left and right no matter what she understood about Harry and Draco’s relationship, but at least she’d felt safe.
And with Seamus and Blaise, she’d felt inexplicably safe. It was hard to put her finger on what made her feel so secure. She’d been with friends there, and she’d known they were lovers, that they did more than sleep side by side during the night. But it hadn’t been a threat to her. It had been a comfort, to see that the war still held no sway over that sort of emotional attachment, that love was still a reality.
Fuck. She probably had Draco to thank for their existence, too, somehow. Wouldn’t that just be the way?
“Merlin, where are you?” As if calling them would bring Seamus and Blaise to her like some wild Accio. They’d always been proof that she was headed for something greater. She couldn’t get it out of her mind that if they were with her again, here, she could have that fabled love for herself once more. The chance of it, at least.
She held George’s hand, listened to Fred breathing, and wondered helplessly where her friends were at that moment.
* * *
Grimmauld Place, one year ago
It was like watching his life from beneath the surface of a pool. Muted light, muffled voices, his heartbeat a dull thud in his temples.
Blaise didn’t know if he was asleep or awake. He had been awake, surely, for over two days. He remembered the ache in his calves and thighs, the pounding of his heart as he ran. Skirted. Dodged through copses of trees that seemed overly vivid to his taxed mind. He’d watched Death Eaters pass the places he hid, their wands drawn and trembling before them, the circles under their eyes dire reminders of what he must look like. He remembered feeling a clouded fear. They were determined. They had his stamina, and were they not just like the Order in their diligence, their commitment? They would forgo sleep to search him out, and perhaps fall to the earth in a shaking stupor rather than return to their Lord without him.
But they had not caught him. Or maybe they had, and this bed, this familiar warmth and musty smell, these dark, cracked walls and this withering candlelight, were all a hallucination. Grimmauld wallowed heavily in the night’s silence and he strove to grip the soft cotton of his sheets—remind himself of their reality—but his fingers did no more than twitch.
His head hurt. The ache whispered through his dreams like a dark spirit, and he could feel Seamus there as well, circling the pain, stroking at his mind with slow fingers. For long moments, Seamus was beside him, and he thrashed out, reaching, to find the bed empty and himself not even certain he’d moved. Perhaps he had dreamt it all.
A glimmer intruded at last, the sallow light of day, or fire. Blaise forced his eyes open once, and then slipped back into sleep. In and out. In and out. Had he left anyone behind in the forest? Had he killed any of his pursuers? He thought he had, but couldn’t remember the spell he’d used, or even the feeling of the wand in his hand. He shouted in his dream, heard-felt Seamus drifting there as if tossed by a breeze. In one coherent flicker, he wondered at the confusion he must be pushing into his lover’s head, wondered if Seamus were not scrabbling for purchase in a miasma that was not really his. His skull throbbed dully.
A door clicked open, and suddenly Blaise knew Seamus was there; the presence of the one who shared his bond tore a long furrow through the fog. He rolled dazedly, felt the bed dip, and a warm heat insinuated itself along his back. Seamus’ arm came around him, a delicious weight, and Blaise’s mind spun free of the chaos. He found energy to search out Seamus’ fingers, lace his own through them. Sleep, deep and expansive, took him at last. The passage of time vanished.
His eyes opened again on their own. Blaise swam up into consciousness as though surfacing from a dark, dank lake. He blinked. Sunlight streamed in shafts through the dusty windows. The warmth of the room was almost overwhelming; he knew without thinking that to move would upset the balance, make him too hot. Blaise inhaled. Exhaled. Became aware of an indefinable ache. He touched his temple with one hand. No longer his head aching. Seamus’ arm was a limp, sleepy mass around his middle. He rubbed over his lover’s fingers. Seamus did not even twitch.
The heat of their two bodies drifted over him, and somewhere in his brain he felt Seamus reel and drift along with it. Blaise shut his eyes again and pressed a hand to his forehead. His stomach roiled. His throat tasted dry, acrid; he swallowed and leaned backward, longing for the haze of closeness, the slow loss of consciousness that sleep granted.
It was at the exact instant that he felt the damp cling of the sheets at his back that he realised he hadn’t heard Seamus’ gentle breaths. A long, uneasy rasp rattled in his ear and the indefinable burn blossomed heavily in the pit of his belly. Blaise struggled onto his elbows and looked at Seamus to find freckles standing out stark and livid against white… greying skin. Seamus’ eyelids were half closed; the dull sheen of blue irises was barely visible.
“Seamus.” The arm he now clutched lay leaden over his ribs. As he watched, Seamus’ body shivered into another slow rasp. Sallow pits hung under his partially closed eyes, and a glint of red dotted the corner of his mouth. Blaise looked down at the damp sheets.
Blood. The bedclothes were soaked rusty red with it.
He came fully awake in a wrenching grind that rolled through him from toes to fingertips. He lurched up, twisting a muscle in his abdomen painfully, but it hardly registered. “Seamus? Sea—”
There was a wound. In Seamus’ side, seeping a wide patch of crimson across a once-white undershirt. Blaise’s hand shot to Seamus’ hip, easing the sodden fabric away. Pressing it back into place, lest a tenuous clot be broken. Muscles shivered once under his fingers, and Seamus’ eyelids fluttered and drifted shut.
“Seamus!”
Blaise jerked the sheet from across his own body, scrunched it in his hand and pressed it to Seamus’ ribs, hiding the scarlet stain from view. Brown in places—how long had he been bleeding? How fucking long had he, Blaise, been asleep?
The ache intensified into a harsh burn in his own side, and Blaise moaned out the belated horror of it. He couldn’t breathe properly; his lips struggled to form words, and finally one arrived, laden with a hope that this time, this time, the occupant of the next room was actually there to hear it. “Draco!”
He lost track of how many times he cried that name into the room. He didn’t hear the door open, except that suddenly Draco Malfoy was at his side, leaning onto the bed and touching the clammy breadth of Seamus’ forehead. Blaise looked up, confused, unable to see anything aside from the shadows pocking Seamus’ face, the widening stains over his own hands. Draco’s hair was askew, eyes still blurry with sleep, and Blaise snatched his hand, yanking it to where the wound was.
“How long, Blaise? When did he… When did he arrive?”
Blaise shook his head, heard the rattle of Seamus’ breath, and pressed a hand to his own side, unable to see beyond the hot shard there. “Don’t know. Muddled—”
Draco froze, and then Blaise felt hands scrabbling over his own hips, pulling at his shirt. “Blaise. Blaise, are you injured, too?”
“No! Fuck, Draco, no, it’s him, it’s… fucking binding… I can feel it…”
Draco’s hands left him, and Blaise felt Seamus’ body shift. Draco began to mutter. There was a ripping sound, fabric tearing, and a moan that was not Draco’s, nor his own. Blaise started upward, opened his eyes, only to fall back under a wave of dizziness.
“Lacerating hex,” Draco said. His hands probed the wound, and more blood oozed forth. His wand waved once and his face twisted. “Not clotting. Fuck.”
Another wave of his wand, far more complicated. Draco slammed his hand down into the mattress and cursed. “Fucking—This is one of hers. Fucking Alecto!”
He yanked Blaise up by the collar of his shirt and shook him. “Blaise, what did you say about a… binding? Did she bind him?”
“No. Me… we. Draco—”
It might have been realisation dawning on Draco’s face, or new urgency. He let go. “Get your wand.”
Somehow Blaise fought free of the quilts and traversed the room to the bag he’d dropped by the door. He didn’t remember summoning Pomfrey, or the spells Draco recited for him to repeat, or the hurried explanations when the Healer finally hastened into the room. The smell of blood tickled Blaise’s nostrils as if he’d inhaled the liquid. The ache in his side swelled over him until it was all he could feel, and yet it did not fell him. He moved mechanically, seeing bright red and pale white, muted colours that only coalesced into recognisable objects an hour later, when Seamus was breathing more easily, Draco perched on the bed trailing his sparking wand back and forth in gentle strokes over the closing wound. Pomfrey spoke in agitated spurts. Words, “Alecto,” “spell,” and “when,” and Draco answered, but Blaise only heard Seamus’ gradually steadying dreams in his ears.
It wasn’t until six nights later, his lover catching his breath heavily in his arms for a different reason, that Blaise thought through his post-coital haze and understood that Seamus should have died. It should be a corpse in his arms. Somehow, Seamus had found his way back to him, and that same, fragile thread between them, the one that had brought him home, had kept him alive for hours when he should have perished.
The tears that Seamus wiped from Blaise’s cheeks that night were helpless and unsatisfied by the reality of the man pressed against him. What should have been haunted Blaise’s thoughts like a wraith.
...
Chapter 17
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
Title: The Road (16/?)
Author:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
Rating: hard R when all is said and done…
Pairing: H/D eventually
Summary: In the midst of a disintegrating war, Harry awaits the arrival of the Order’s last hope.
Warning: violence, character death, spoilers for all books
Disclaimer: The HP characters and most of the spellwork do not belong to me.
A/N: Thank you to April for her fabulous and attentive beta-ing, and to Coffee for constantly letting me bounce ideas off of her. The other major pairing in this is Blaise/Seamus, but there are minor het pairings as well.
…
No artwork or music for this chapter.
…
**ETA: THIS CHAPTER HAS RECEIVED ITS FINAL EDIT**
Previous chapters
Chapter 16: Old Wounds
Ginny squeezed her brother’s hand, perhaps too tightly, but she couldn’t distinguish anymore. The hospital ward was quiet except for his breathing. It had become easier; the change had been audible even as she sat beside him.
She hadn’t been able to think of anywhere else to go. Harry’s failure to return to her two nights prior had not been unexpected, but even the best mental preparation in the world had been unable to counter this daunting vigil: watching the closed doors of first the sitting room and then, when she finally roused herself from her tears and followed a house-elf upstairs, her own chamber. Both sets of doors had remained closed into the small hours of the night, and the loneliness of the castle as it slept settled around her like a voluminous shroud. Sleep had been out of the question, even exhausted as she was. She’d paced, found food in her knapsack, paced some more, and waited.
Harry had never returned.
Finally, sleep had taken her senses from her, and then Luna’s song had broken across her ears, drawing her from her stupor. The castle was extremely quiet; she’d walked, and ultimately been unable to bear the intense emptiness. Somehow she’d found her way back into the Infirmary.
Fred’s sleep had been light; she hadn’t been able to resist touching his shoulder. Achingly familiar blue eyes opened, and Fred sat up blurrily.
“Gods—Ginny?”
It felt so good to be held by her brother again. She clung to him wordlessly, letting all the aches and pains drip out of her. He’d changed: his shoulders were thin and much tenser than she remembered, and she could feel his ribs as she hugged him.
“Gin.” Fred kissed her hair, squeezing her hard enough to hurt, as though he couldn’t remember how to let go. “I didn’t know you were here, I thought… Merlin, Ginny, thank the Founders.”
“George?” she asked when she could. “What happened?”
They both looked toward the bed and watched the unsteady rise and fall of their brother’s chest. Fred’s fingers were clenched and Ginny reached to uncurl them. His voice was hollow.
“Sudden. He wouldn’t let me heal him. I could have, if only—” Fred rubbed a hand over his eyes. Ginny stroked the mussed hair from his forehead. He hadn’t bathed yet and she could see the filth in rivulets on his flesh.
“You’re a sight,” she said. Fred looked at her for a long moment, and then the tiniest of smiles cracked his pallor.
“You’re no Occamy yourself, you know.”
It was the first time she’d laughed in days.
They’d eaten there in the Infirmary, wondered together about where their mother and father were, avoided the subject of Ron entirely, and traded stories about their brushes with Death Eaters. It was easy to talk to her brother, even about the difficult things. There was no need to explain her pain to Fred, to wonder if he knew the depth of her misery, her loneliness. He experienced it just as she did.
And now, an entire day later, Ginny held George’s fingers as Fred slumbered beside her, and tried not to think. It had been easier when she’d feared for George’s life. But it was clear he was recovering, though it still came in slips and slides. Fred’s conversation had silenced her self-reflection for a time. Now there was nothing except Luna’s voice to remind her of where she was, and that Harry was somewhere nearby.
Harry had arrived in the Infirmary that morning, clean-clothed and alert, and Ginny had found one last sprig of hope in the twisted thorns in her chest. His eyes, vibrant jade, had widened when he saw her, and there was no hint of the anxiety she had been feeling all night. Perhaps… perhaps he had just gone to bed, and been caught up in more important things for the past day. Perhaps he’d wanted to give her time alone with Fred and George.
Perhaps he really had just thanked Draco Malfoy and been done with it.
She’d spent the morning smiling, wondering at how normal it felt to be in the same room as Fred, George, and Harry again. Certainly, they were missing some familiar faces. But this was the Harry of her fifth year and all the years before, tossing jokes back and forth with her brother, running a hand sheepishly through his thatch, and genuinely happy to be in her presence. Ginny had blossomed into it, let herself tumble because she knew this ground, and she knew she would be caught.
When Fred had drifted back to sleep, Harry’d led her from the hospital wing, down toward the kitchens. Ginny had been in high spirits.
It wasn’t until after their meal, when they reached the staircase leading up from the cellars and saw Draco Malfoy coming down, that Ginny realised her mistake.
It was clear from the instant their eyes locked. Draco halted in mid-step, gazing down at them, and Harry’s body went absolutely still beside her. It only lasted for the flicker of an eye, and then they’d moved past each other. But the damage was done.
Ginny didn’t know how she knew, but she did. They’d… slept together. Had sex. At some point in the past two days, Harry had taken Draco Malfoy to his bed.
It was in the way Draco carried himself as he passed them on the stairs, and the way Harry nearly turned. Nearly. She hadn’t looked, but she knew he’d glanced back.
Gods. The idea of Harry’s body in someone else’s hands—in firelight. Torchlight? Had they been able to hear the rain as they’d—as they’d moved—Ginny’s legs had threatened to crumple right there in the stairwell. She sought Harry’s eyes and found them vacant, lost somewhere back down the stairs. Where Draco had gone. The pain struck her heart so hard she looked away, to hide the burning behind her eyes. Yes. Harry had had sex with Draco Malfoy. In his bed, or Draco’s, it didn’t matter. And something had happened there that shuttered his good mood.
She would have found some modicum of satisfaction in that if not for the wrenching hurt in Harry’s expression.
Ginny forced herself to release George’s hand, thankful for the solitude of the Infirmary and the fact that Fred was asleep. There had been no salvaging of her mood after the meeting on the stairs; she’d only been able to think of coming here, of being with her blood again, her family. What she had left of it.
Why in hell did you go back in the forest? she thought bitterly. Why didn’t you just let them have him? He was going to sacrifice himself willingly, you could have just—If you’d only stayed away—
Ginny couldn’t decide what felt worse: the sick horror at those thoughts, or the fact that a small part of her still very much wished they were the reality.
George gave a cleansing sigh and turned over in his sleep. Tears pricked Ginny’s eyelids yet again. “Oh yes,” she whispered to herself. “So big of you. Let the Death Eaters have your competition and all is well again.”
No one answered.
“Shouldn’t have come,” she mumbled. Her jaw ached from holding back all the frustration. Here she was, playing at some romantic story, and when it all fell down around her, she could only weep for her folly. Seven hells, what sort of person had she become?
She longed for the days before, when she hadn’t known that Harry had slept with Draco, or how deeply Draco’s feelings for her intended went. When she was just nervous and excited by the prospect of knowing Harry intimately again, of seeing the end of this war in sight at last. Blaise and Seamus with her by the fire, sharing food and telling stories, awaiting the next turn of the road, the next step in whatever plan was being hatched for them all. It was just a game then, and everyone was alive and healthy and together. Scattered physically, but together somehow in a way they weren’t any longer. She knew it was stupid, that people had been dying left and right no matter what she understood about Harry and Draco’s relationship, but at least she’d felt safe.
And with Seamus and Blaise, she’d felt inexplicably safe. It was hard to put her finger on what made her feel so secure. She’d been with friends there, and she’d known they were lovers, that they did more than sleep side by side during the night. But it hadn’t been a threat to her. It had been a comfort, to see that the war still held no sway over that sort of emotional attachment, that love was still a reality.
Fuck. She probably had Draco to thank for their existence, too, somehow. Wouldn’t that just be the way?
“Merlin, where are you?” As if calling them would bring Seamus and Blaise to her like some wild Accio. They’d always been proof that she was headed for something greater. She couldn’t get it out of her mind that if they were with her again, here, she could have that fabled love for herself once more. The chance of it, at least.
She held George’s hand, listened to Fred breathing, and wondered helplessly where her friends were at that moment.
* * *
Grimmauld Place, one year ago
It was like watching his life from beneath the surface of a pool. Muted light, muffled voices, his heartbeat a dull thud in his temples.
Blaise didn’t know if he was asleep or awake. He had been awake, surely, for over two days. He remembered the ache in his calves and thighs, the pounding of his heart as he ran. Skirted. Dodged through copses of trees that seemed overly vivid to his taxed mind. He’d watched Death Eaters pass the places he hid, their wands drawn and trembling before them, the circles under their eyes dire reminders of what he must look like. He remembered feeling a clouded fear. They were determined. They had his stamina, and were they not just like the Order in their diligence, their commitment? They would forgo sleep to search him out, and perhaps fall to the earth in a shaking stupor rather than return to their Lord without him.
But they had not caught him. Or maybe they had, and this bed, this familiar warmth and musty smell, these dark, cracked walls and this withering candlelight, were all a hallucination. Grimmauld wallowed heavily in the night’s silence and he strove to grip the soft cotton of his sheets—remind himself of their reality—but his fingers did no more than twitch.
His head hurt. The ache whispered through his dreams like a dark spirit, and he could feel Seamus there as well, circling the pain, stroking at his mind with slow fingers. For long moments, Seamus was beside him, and he thrashed out, reaching, to find the bed empty and himself not even certain he’d moved. Perhaps he had dreamt it all.
A glimmer intruded at last, the sallow light of day, or fire. Blaise forced his eyes open once, and then slipped back into sleep. In and out. In and out. Had he left anyone behind in the forest? Had he killed any of his pursuers? He thought he had, but couldn’t remember the spell he’d used, or even the feeling of the wand in his hand. He shouted in his dream, heard-felt Seamus drifting there as if tossed by a breeze. In one coherent flicker, he wondered at the confusion he must be pushing into his lover’s head, wondered if Seamus were not scrabbling for purchase in a miasma that was not really his. His skull throbbed dully.
A door clicked open, and suddenly Blaise knew Seamus was there; the presence of the one who shared his bond tore a long furrow through the fog. He rolled dazedly, felt the bed dip, and a warm heat insinuated itself along his back. Seamus’ arm came around him, a delicious weight, and Blaise’s mind spun free of the chaos. He found energy to search out Seamus’ fingers, lace his own through them. Sleep, deep and expansive, took him at last. The passage of time vanished.
His eyes opened again on their own. Blaise swam up into consciousness as though surfacing from a dark, dank lake. He blinked. Sunlight streamed in shafts through the dusty windows. The warmth of the room was almost overwhelming; he knew without thinking that to move would upset the balance, make him too hot. Blaise inhaled. Exhaled. Became aware of an indefinable ache. He touched his temple with one hand. No longer his head aching. Seamus’ arm was a limp, sleepy mass around his middle. He rubbed over his lover’s fingers. Seamus did not even twitch.
The heat of their two bodies drifted over him, and somewhere in his brain he felt Seamus reel and drift along with it. Blaise shut his eyes again and pressed a hand to his forehead. His stomach roiled. His throat tasted dry, acrid; he swallowed and leaned backward, longing for the haze of closeness, the slow loss of consciousness that sleep granted.
It was at the exact instant that he felt the damp cling of the sheets at his back that he realised he hadn’t heard Seamus’ gentle breaths. A long, uneasy rasp rattled in his ear and the indefinable burn blossomed heavily in the pit of his belly. Blaise struggled onto his elbows and looked at Seamus to find freckles standing out stark and livid against white… greying skin. Seamus’ eyelids were half closed; the dull sheen of blue irises was barely visible.
“Seamus.” The arm he now clutched lay leaden over his ribs. As he watched, Seamus’ body shivered into another slow rasp. Sallow pits hung under his partially closed eyes, and a glint of red dotted the corner of his mouth. Blaise looked down at the damp sheets.
Blood. The bedclothes were soaked rusty red with it.
He came fully awake in a wrenching grind that rolled through him from toes to fingertips. He lurched up, twisting a muscle in his abdomen painfully, but it hardly registered. “Seamus? Sea—”
There was a wound. In Seamus’ side, seeping a wide patch of crimson across a once-white undershirt. Blaise’s hand shot to Seamus’ hip, easing the sodden fabric away. Pressing it back into place, lest a tenuous clot be broken. Muscles shivered once under his fingers, and Seamus’ eyelids fluttered and drifted shut.
“Seamus!”
Blaise jerked the sheet from across his own body, scrunched it in his hand and pressed it to Seamus’ ribs, hiding the scarlet stain from view. Brown in places—how long had he been bleeding? How fucking long had he, Blaise, been asleep?
The ache intensified into a harsh burn in his own side, and Blaise moaned out the belated horror of it. He couldn’t breathe properly; his lips struggled to form words, and finally one arrived, laden with a hope that this time, this time, the occupant of the next room was actually there to hear it. “Draco!”
He lost track of how many times he cried that name into the room. He didn’t hear the door open, except that suddenly Draco Malfoy was at his side, leaning onto the bed and touching the clammy breadth of Seamus’ forehead. Blaise looked up, confused, unable to see anything aside from the shadows pocking Seamus’ face, the widening stains over his own hands. Draco’s hair was askew, eyes still blurry with sleep, and Blaise snatched his hand, yanking it to where the wound was.
“How long, Blaise? When did he… When did he arrive?”
Blaise shook his head, heard the rattle of Seamus’ breath, and pressed a hand to his own side, unable to see beyond the hot shard there. “Don’t know. Muddled—”
Draco froze, and then Blaise felt hands scrabbling over his own hips, pulling at his shirt. “Blaise. Blaise, are you injured, too?”
“No! Fuck, Draco, no, it’s him, it’s… fucking binding… I can feel it…”
Draco’s hands left him, and Blaise felt Seamus’ body shift. Draco began to mutter. There was a ripping sound, fabric tearing, and a moan that was not Draco’s, nor his own. Blaise started upward, opened his eyes, only to fall back under a wave of dizziness.
“Lacerating hex,” Draco said. His hands probed the wound, and more blood oozed forth. His wand waved once and his face twisted. “Not clotting. Fuck.”
Another wave of his wand, far more complicated. Draco slammed his hand down into the mattress and cursed. “Fucking—This is one of hers. Fucking Alecto!”
He yanked Blaise up by the collar of his shirt and shook him. “Blaise, what did you say about a… binding? Did she bind him?”
“No. Me… we. Draco—”
It might have been realisation dawning on Draco’s face, or new urgency. He let go. “Get your wand.”
Somehow Blaise fought free of the quilts and traversed the room to the bag he’d dropped by the door. He didn’t remember summoning Pomfrey, or the spells Draco recited for him to repeat, or the hurried explanations when the Healer finally hastened into the room. The smell of blood tickled Blaise’s nostrils as if he’d inhaled the liquid. The ache in his side swelled over him until it was all he could feel, and yet it did not fell him. He moved mechanically, seeing bright red and pale white, muted colours that only coalesced into recognisable objects an hour later, when Seamus was breathing more easily, Draco perched on the bed trailing his sparking wand back and forth in gentle strokes over the closing wound. Pomfrey spoke in agitated spurts. Words, “Alecto,” “spell,” and “when,” and Draco answered, but Blaise only heard Seamus’ gradually steadying dreams in his ears.
It wasn’t until six nights later, his lover catching his breath heavily in his arms for a different reason, that Blaise thought through his post-coital haze and understood that Seamus should have died. It should be a corpse in his arms. Somehow, Seamus had found his way back to him, and that same, fragile thread between them, the one that had brought him home, had kept him alive for hours when he should have perished.
The tears that Seamus wiped from Blaise’s cheeks that night were helpless and unsatisfied by the reality of the man pressed against him. What should have been haunted Blaise’s thoughts like a wraith.
...
Chapter 17
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Date: 2007-06-18 11:41 am (UTC)From: (Anonymous)no subject
Date: 2007-07-04 05:49 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-07-04 05:51 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-06-18 01:35 pm (UTC)From:BTW, not enough Blaise and Seamus, though I would still love if there's more HD *lol*
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Date: 2007-07-04 05:53 am (UTC)From:Hahaha, funny you should say that about Blaise and Seamus... Chapter 17 is all about Blaise. Thank you for reading my story!
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Date: 2007-06-18 01:38 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-07-04 05:54 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-06-18 04:06 pm (UTC)From:How did the bond between Blaise and Seamus come about? I know there are snippets here and there and I even reread them through different chapters, but I am still not very clear why this bond happened. I hope that more explanation is coming.
I feel bad for Ginny, but she should give up Harry at this point. Not sense torturing herself.
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Date: 2007-07-04 05:56 am (UTC)From:Thank you for reading!
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Date: 2007-06-18 05:13 pm (UTC)From:If the passages with Ginny weren't wonderful enough - her fragile hopes and her realizations and her slow unravel - seeing this between Blaise and Seamus was magic. Blaise succumbing to sleep when Seamus arrives, the blood and Draco and the bond, and realizing Seamus should have died but he didn't. And again, I'm smiling.
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Date: 2007-07-04 05:58 am (UTC)From:Thank you so much! I have had a wonderful time crafting the Seamus/Blaise in this fic. I've decided that I don't write them nearly enough, so this has been a nice treat for me. I'm so happy you are enjoying the pairing. ^_^
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Date: 2007-06-18 06:04 pm (UTC)From:Also, glad to see more of Blaise and Seamus. We still don't know too much about their bond and their relationship, but it seems about as deep as the HD relationship even if it seems to have moved at a faster pace. I like hearing about them...of course, HD is always my number one concern:) Nice chapter, as per usual. Can't wait for more:)
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Date: 2007-07-04 06:10 am (UTC)From:Remember that Blaise and Seamus' bond started a while back. It took a while to fully form, and they've already had the full bond for some months. But you are right: it is definitely meant to parallel Harry's future bond in some respects. Thanks for reading!
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Date: 2007-06-18 06:19 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-07-04 06:12 am (UTC)From:And do you REALLY want me to answer those questions? *giggles* Spoilery they are, young jedi...
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Date: 2007-07-04 06:17 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-06-18 07:16 pm (UTC)From:I can't believe Harry said that last chapter. It still makes me shake my head. Of all the things he could have said... I hate how much they're hurting unnecessarily. Those boys are always so terrible at communication.
The bond between Blaise/Seamus happened so suddenly and without their intention, it makes me wonder if something similar will happen with Harry/Draco, since I can't see Harry openly disappointing Ginny without a good reason (like a pre-exisiting bond), or unless he finds out Draco loves him, and I can't see Draco telling him. Their only hope seems to be an accidental bonding, or Ginny setting them right.
Poor Gin. You're story's given me more sympathy for her than I usually have, though I like how selfish you made her introspection in the previous chapters. I think she does feel entitlement to Harry because she's loved him so long, no matter how silly that is.
Hi by the way, just added you the other day after reading all your stories (and consequently reading most of hd_365 too XD). I really love your body of work!
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Date: 2007-07-04 06:50 am (UTC)From:And no one knows about the bond between Blaise and Seamus... except Blaise and Seamus. ^_~
Harry's a dork, I'm afraid. He's trying not to presume too much, and while doing so, he's completely blinded himself to the real issues, as usual. I love that they don't communicate properly ever. It's such a corner-stone of the pairing in fandom. *laughs*
Thank you for friending me and for reading my work! *waves* Welcome to my lj. ^__^
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Date: 2007-06-18 07:29 pm (UTC)From:I just want more of Blaise/Seamus relationship!!!
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Date: 2007-07-04 06:52 am (UTC)From:Haha, I will see what I can do about Blaise and Seamus.
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Date: 2007-06-18 08:36 pm (UTC)From:I feel conflicted about Harry, perhaps because he reminds me of Clive Durham from EM Foster's Maurice. I do not know exactly if he is behaving dishonestly or doesn't know himself at all.
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Date: 2007-07-04 06:54 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-07-04 10:06 pm (UTC)From:Harry did remind me of the Hugh Grant character because he is v. driven by what he thinks his duty is. In the case of Hugh's character that meant never consummating his "illicit" love affair and later Choosing to marry a woman, thereby reinforcing his Celibate tendencies through heterosexuality since the audience could tell that he didn't desire her in the v. least. Here Harry feels he must choose between his desires also, and his duty and he almost seems to want to justify his desires through duty, which is why I think he speaks about what Draco has lost.
In a big way, Draco who is much less courageous about his actions is much more courageous about the emotional side than Harry even if he just as terrified of the enormity of what it might Mean. I v. much admire the way you've taken the character of Draco and peeled away the image he had previously tried to present to the world. You've made me Fall in Love with him and I will never read the books in the same way again. What a gift! :^}
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Date: 2007-07-06 05:59 pm (UTC)From:Pretentiousness is fine when you sell it well. ^_~
I felt sorry for Hugh Grant's character at the end of that movie, and I felt doubly sorry for his wife, who seemed like a nice woman who deserved to be happy in life. And it's hard to say that she won't be happy. But knowing what we know, I tend to lean in that direction.
Harry is definitely torn in my fic. I have always thought him to essentially be a loner in canon, even though he has friends, even though he has help. There really is no one else who GETS what he is going through. Dumbledore understood, but only in a detached, outside sort of way. The people who really should get Harry's plight (Hermione, Ron, Ginny), don't get it, though the first two try. They are all so wrapped up in themselves at this point that it is impossible. But that's understandable for teenagers. They shouldn't be forced to be making life-ending decisions at their age. What Harry needs in this case is another person who has faced the same challenges, someone who has a similar enough life to empathize with him. Tom Riddle is right out, of course. Draco, on the other hand... He could do it, especially after book 6. They are both very self-oriented still, but in this case, it does not preclude the understanding they might have of each other. They have a lot in common on a very basic level, especially now, and real understanding comes from that.
Thank you so much for saying why you like Draco in my story. He is probably my favorite character to write in the entire HP fandom, because there are so many directions you can go with him. It means a lot that you like what I'm trying to do with him. And then to say that I have changed the entire way you will read his canon character... WOW. *hugs* Thank you so much! That's a major compliment.
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Date: 2007-06-18 08:46 pm (UTC)From:As I'm having a seriously crammed week (6 exams in 5 days!) with finals at university and all I haven't read it yet but I'm sure it's great as usual at least^^
I will comment when I've read it^-^
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Date: 2007-06-30 10:43 am (UTC)From:I've read it finally and I loved the part of the bond between Seamus and Blaise! And how Blaise turns to Draco for help.
Just generally brilliant chapter as always!
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Date: 2007-07-04 06:55 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-06-18 09:40 pm (UTC)From:Wonderful.
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Date: 2007-07-04 06:55 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-06-18 11:40 pm (UTC)From:And speaking of Blaise/Seamus... OMG!!! I am so in love with them. (Somehow, Seamus had found his way back to him, and that same, fragile thread between them, the one that had brought him home, had kept him alive for hours when he should have died.
)
The action was so encompassing and well-paced that I (almost) didn't miss H/D interaction. Well done!
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Date: 2007-07-04 06:58 am (UTC)From:Hahaha! I'm so glad you liked the S/B! I love to write those two...
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Date: 2007-06-19 03:23 am (UTC)From:Need more!
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Date: 2007-07-04 06:59 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-06-19 05:11 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-07-04 07:01 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-06-22 12:41 pm (UTC)From:Again, I think it's interesting how different Harry and Ginny regard physical vs. emotional intimacy. Here's another example of that, that Harry is willing (perhaps he can do nothing but) to have sex with Draco and yet, if my understanding is correct, he is still prepared to go through the binding with Ginny? *mind boggles* Dude, even if I loved the punk, I don't know if I'd want the dude if he pulled something like that in the SAME CASTLE!
And the Seamus/Blaise? Magnificent! You really do make them work together! O love the description of Blaise's thoughts and his feelings and how they were overlapping with Seamus's. And my absolute favorite, favorite part was the idea of Blaise calling out for Draco...and then he appears like BLOOMING BATMAN! So competent and intense and oh, how I loved it! XD
But...that bonding as a thread...*shivers at the foreshadowing*
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Date: 2007-07-04 07:07 am (UTC)From:The war has been changing Harry. I can't really blame him. I mean, he's in a royally sucky situation, and he basically needs to ask someone for this sacrifice, but he just doesn't feel it's his place, or even that he deserves such a thing from anyone. Not Ginny, and least of all Draco. I'd be pissed off at him, in Ginny's place, but he's desperately trying to be everyone's savior, and yet he still wants a chance to be happy. At this point, I think he feels those two concepts negate each other.
I am LOVING writing the Seamus/Blaise in this fic. It's always such a treat when I get to pull that pairing out. Thank you so much!
And yes. Foreshadowing abounds. O.o
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Date: 2007-06-23 07:27 am (UTC)From:Because, MY GOD.
I'm still loving your Ginny. I love how she knows Harry's body language so well. I ache for her. :-( I wonder what more happened between Harry and Draco?
Also, I'm very curious to read more of this in Harry's POV. I know there been chapters with paragraph pieces in his POV, but I wonder if we get to see more of it in regards to the feelings he has for Draco. :-D
I am completely in love with your Blaise and Seamus.
Somehow, Seamus had found his way back to him, and that same, fragile thread between them, the one that had brought him home, had kept him alive for hours when he should have died.
The tears that Seamus wiped carefully from Blaise’s cheeks that night were helpless and unsatisfied by the reality of the man pressed against him. What should have been haunted Blaise’s thoughts like a wraith.
That? Killed me.
I officially love this story more than it's probably appropriate.
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Date: 2007-07-04 07:09 am (UTC)From:And I love that you love my story inappropriately. *snickers*
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Date: 2007-06-24 04:04 am (UTC)From:Again, I must commend you on making Ginny very human in this. She shows greed in her thoughts that she could have left Draco for dead, but then displays the shame of feeling that way.
I was glad to see you illustrate here what the benefit of this bond will be for Harry. You've told us before how it will strengthen him, but your cleverness here has shown us how.
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Date: 2007-07-04 07:14 am (UTC)From:I like that you commented on Ginny's less-than-kosher thoughts about leaving Draco behind. Draco actually did the same thing in an earlier chapter, and it's been fun to play around with the reality of human thought. Sure, you hate yourself afterward, but sometimes... the bad thoughts just come up.
Thank you for reading!
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Date: 2007-07-08 04:31 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-07-09 07:51 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-06-28 02:11 am (UTC)From:I love how she still has Fred and George, that not every member of the family is dead.
What should have been haunted Blaise's thoughts like a wraith.
The Blaise/Seamus bit at the end is lovely. I love their characterization.
Abiiiiii
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Date: 2007-07-04 07:17 am (UTC)From:And I love Fred and George. They are so much fun! When they're not being idiots, that is... *laughs*
Thank you for another lovely comment!
Priceless!!!
Date: 2008-01-12 08:17 am (UTC)From:It is so pissy how she's like "it should have been ME!" when there never was any fire between her & Harry, no enduring spark or verve. Not even in cannon. Suddenness does not profoundness make.
The bond between Blaise & Seamus is highly interesting. Not intended either but forged regardless. It seems that it is something that can't be intentionally created at all, it's either there or it isn't. Therefore, even if Ginny hadn't had Draco physically there to "interfere" it woudn't have worked as Harry simply wasn't "there" to be part of it with her.
The irony is both painful and resoundingly unavoidable.
Love it.
Must read on.
(Freakin' addictive fic, man. FREAKIN' addictive fic.)
{Shivers out in the cold...}
O.o
Re: Priceless!!!
Date: 2008-04-01 05:17 am (UTC)From:The Blaise/Seamus bond is where you will get your clues as far as what to expect from Harry and Draco's bond. :)
Wow, addictive! *happy*
>.<
Date: 2008-04-02 04:43 am (UTC)From:(Claps hands over snarky mouth.)
*guilty look*
But that's the essence of really deep unselfish love, loving the person enough that their happiness is what is most important. Loving them for who they are and not for anything they may give you. That is so very rare...
Draco's love in here is so much more, it's utter devotion, absolute trust, bone deep honor. He desired Harry but its not lust its worshipful. Its all consuming.
The kind of love that kills you or inspires really amazing artistic feats. (Breaking inner barriers & all that.)
Woohoo, don't mind my rambling.