Title: To Loathe Another
Characters: Harry/Draco, Teddy(nothing romantic)
Rating/warning(s): Suicide, gore, sex, AU, cross dressing NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor its characters they belong to JKR and various publishing groups.
Summary: In the post Voldemort world the Muggle Ministry has oppressed the magical beings of society, killing them off in hopes to avoid the uprising of Wizards against them. Forcing all magical folks into hiding and into killing those they once protected, but now they must protect their own.
Author's Note: The summary is understood, as in none of that is actually said in the fic, hopefully you don’t get too confused.
Cement walls, mould running in lines where water has dripped for years, they surround them now. A cloak of infinite shadow surrounding the catacombs beneath the city, old tunnels build God knows when by God knows who. All he knows is that they cage them now, as the rest of the world turns above them; living as if they never where, as if they will never again exist. Who knows maybe they won’t.
Fires blaze in their metallic barrels, barely scratching at the surface of the chill. He wonders when the cold will kill them. A train sounds above, the speed of its movements vibrating down their dungeon walls. He clutches at the glass on an upturned box beside him, watching the bundle of blankets near him stir.
“Harry.” The voice croaks, so young and full of innocence. It tugs at his hardened heartstrings, and makes him want to believe in good things. Makes him long for the way things were, before.
“It’s alright Teddy, was just a train.” Harry’s hand itches to ruffle the sleep matted turquoise locks on Teddy’s head, but he closes his fingers to make a tight fist, denying the impulse. An impulse that could make him soft, and there is no place for soft in his world. He puts his elbows to his knees and shelves his hands beneath his chin, watching with envy as his godson rolls over as if nothing’s changed.
A minute or two passes in which Harry assumes Teddy’s fallen back asleep, but the boy’s timid voice breaks him of his thoughts, “Where’s Draco?”
The question is one he’s used to hearing, Teddy asks it every night, and every night he gets the same answer, “Working, he’ll be back when you wake up.” Although Harry can never guarantee that Draco will indeed return before the dawn, but he allows Teddy his small hopes. ‘The boy is one of the last; at least give him hope Potter.’ Draco’s voice echoes constantly in his mind.
Harry watches the clock, unaware of the shift of black to purple as the morning light approaches, and wonders if today will be the day Malfoy lets him down. Wondering if he’ll hear the familiar sound of bone weary sighing and heels hitting concrete as his blond life-mate returns. Soon his wonderings are made real, accompanied with other sounds; sounds so real his mind could not create. There is the barely there breathing that is loud in the tunnels, meant to be silent but a torrid roar within the ramparts, and the grate of claws, too long to be nails, scraping along the grit of the wall. Harry doesn’t turn, knowing that soon he will be close enough to smell. The familiar scent of sweat, blood, coke, and another faceless John follows Malfoy constantly. He lights a cigarette when Malfoy slumps against the side of Harry’s chair, and silently he hands it to him.
A long drag and a strained, “Thanks,” is all he gets in return.
“How many tonight?” Harry asks even though the question and its answer always seem to twist his stomach.
“A dozen or so.” He says with an exhale of smoke, as Harry snatches the fag from him taking his own drag.
He avoids Malfoy’s face; refuses to look at his whorish colouring. He knows too well how thick the creamy shadows Malfoy blends are, the amount of blusher it takes to make his cheeks have any flush, and the exact shade of crimson Malfoy chooses to tint his lips. Harry has watched him apply the paints many times. From his little makeshift bed, with its makeshift side table, his only opulent tools Narcissa’s mirror and brush set.
Malfoy crawls into his lap, his thin coverings consisting of black lycra shorts, black silk stockings, his shirt and heel-less platforms already discarded on the cold ground. Blood coloured lips seek Harry’s, tasting of wax, ash, and come. He laps up the flavour, savouring this sparse moment of passion. He touches Malfoy on the neck, palm to column fingers splayed, an intimate gesture. Their lips brush again, saliva stringing between them as Malfoy swipes his tongue against Harry’s.
Their pants echo in the cylindrical catacombs. Harry is on his knees holding Malfoy’s hips up. With knobby silk covered legs slipping off his shoulders as he snaps his hips forward; driving into him at a brutal pace. They come together, orgasms tearing out the despair for a few moments as they experience a flash of white behind their eyes.
When he comes down Harry throws Malfoy off him. Malfoy says nothing, he merely rolls over onto the dark come stained sheets. He is staring up at the concrete ceiling, watching the water drip down as he lights another cigarette. Harry says nothing, pulling his dark pants on before grabbing his boots. Then as he glances back at Malfoy words leave his mouth, “Anymore I forget I’m fucking a man.” It is venomous and meant to sting, but Malfoy acts as if nothing is spoken. Smoking and watching the water droplets fall as if in a trance, as if he is somewhere far away. Harry secretly envies that he can be anywhere but here.
When Harry is pulling on his leather jacket and lighting his own cigarette he hears Malfoy murmur, “Me too, Harry.”
He ignores it, leaving their corner of the tunnels; glancing back at Teddy’s sleeping form before heading up the pipe in search of Neville.
Harry finds him up on the surface, standing under a bridge his back against a steel column black hood up around his head and shades shielding his eyes. They shake hands and light fags, basking in silence before Neville says, “How’re things Harry?”
He takes a moment to stare at the cars driving in the distance, and thinks ‘How the fuck do you think they are?’ venomously. In reality he says, “Bout as good as can be. You?”
Neville shrugs one of his thick shoulders, “Same I s’pose. Doing double duty tonight, Nott is supposed to be offing that bloke Malfoy shagged last week.”
The hairs on Harry’s neck stand up, tingling even as he shrugs in nonchalance. “Good the bastard deserves it.” His tone is void of emotion; it’s how they all speak any more but he knows Neville can hear the anger in his tone.
“Yeah he shouldn’t have roughed Malfoy up like that.” Neville frowns as he flicks the tan butt of his cigarette away.
Harry does the same as he says, “Occupational hazard.”
Neville grins cynically as a sleek black sports car pulls up near them, “Speaking of occupational hazards.”
Harry grins back as Neville steps up to the passenger side door when the car stops.
Cold black metal reflects the dull light from the grey sky above as three men step from the car their guns pointing at Neville and himself. Cocking a brow Harry watches as Neville boldly approaches the tan man in the middle. “You might wanna put those away mates.” His tone is calm, cheerful, and very reminiscent of the Neville Harry remembers from school.
“Well seeing as how you are unarmed, perhaps we should.” The man in the middle says with mock chivalry as he pulls back the slide, smiling when he knows he is ready to fire. The tip of his gun pointing directly between Neville’s unfazed eyes.
“Ah see, now you’ve gone and upset me.” Neville is looking sincerely apologetic, but his tone is deadly. The man laughs, pointing at Neville saying, “This bloke’s dafter than Paulie’s gran!” He quits laughing as soon as his cohorts join in, “And you boys know how much I despise the daft.” His muddy brown eyes hateful as he advances on Neville. Unconcerned and amused Harry watches as the man pulls the trigger, the click of his weapon blending with the noise of the motorway. Yet there is no blood, no dead Neville lying on the ground, and Harry sneers. The tan bloke pales as Neville spits out a silver bullet and its casing.
“No offence mate but just so you know silver only works on werewolves.” Neville’s brown eyes friendly as he says, “We wouldn’t want you making the same mistake twice, would we?”
The blood is always the worst part in Harry’s opinion. Mainly because a simple charm would clean it up, but charms leave residue and Neville has already used a marginal amount of magic in this area. Risking exposure was necessary today; these bastards had been on their tails for a while and now the threat was neutralised. However that meant that they could not apparate from here, now they had to trek back towards their home instead of apparating closer to the entrance. In truth, Harry prefers to walk, because keeping the Muggle Ministry away from their home is the most important. There are so few of them left now that they have to protect that haven above all others.
Neville follows him past the “community centre” where Nott, Zabini, Creevey, and Weasley stand in their dark attire talking in hushed voices. They pause, waiting for Harry to stop, but Neville waves them on as Harry ignores their stares. Lifetimes ago they would have understood what it was like to have an inkling of concern for another being. Yet, now they don’t understand the need for such weaknesses. Neville does, and he doesn’t press Harry to cut out the small bit of kindness he still possesses. That is why he is second in command, and strangely outranks Ron.
Draco is rocking Teddy in Harry’s chair, whispering comforting words as he pats down the boy’s bright hair. For a second Harry can almost pretend that they are in Malfoy’s ancestral home, that Teddy has just had a nightmare , and that Draco is calming him the way a parent would do. Sometimes he wishes that this was all a horrible dream, a delusion that he developed because of the horrors from the war, but when he tries to break the haze he discovers that he’s still here. He knows in these moments that this isn’t a family, and this isn’t just a nightmare that will disappear with the dawn. This is their life, flawed, fucked, and fragile. These realisations make him hate the world, hate Draco, Teddy, and all of those they have lost or left behind. He hates them for having to be here, and wishes that he could go back to bearing the weight alone.
Neville slips off. He’s checked on Teddy and that is all he ever needs to do before he heads back to the soldiers to get their reports. Gone to ask the questions Harry never wants to hear the answers to: ‘How many more dead?’ ‘How many who’ve turned away from the cause?’ ‘Children slain?’ ‘Women raped?’ Tragic truths that he is too fragile to handle; Neville understands, and so he leaves Harry with the only truth Harry knows anymore.
“He’s asleep.” Malfoy comments, a sad smile on his face devoid of make-up as he strokes Teddy’s back, “I wish he could sleep forever.” Only Malfoy has ever been brave enough to voice the thoughts Harry so desperately keeps from passing his lips. He doesn’t respond and Malfoy catches his eye over the top of Teddy’s head, “Will you put him in his bed?”
“Yeah.” He lays Teddy in the many thin blankets that make up his bed, and he watches silently as the child rolls over. Big amber eyes foggy with sleep stare up at Harry.
“My mum and dad told me it would be over soon.” His voice soft as he asks, “Does that mean that I can see the sun Harry?”
A lump catches him in the throat, and Harry breaks his self imposed vow of not showing affection. He pulls Teddy close, wraps his arms about his small body and hugs him for all he is worth. Tears blind him as he stares at the dark hateful cement walls of these tunnels.
Hiccoughing as he says, “One day Teddy I will show you the sun.”
Tonight he kisses Malfoy. Pulls him close and lightly combs his fingers through his soft pale hair as his teeth nip at Draco’s chapped bottom lip. He tries to pull away from Harry’s grasp, but strong hands hold him in place as Harry traces the shell of Draco’s ear with his tongue. Following it with soft a pinch of his teeth.
“Tonight,” He whispers against Draco’s smooth neck, “I will have you first.”
He pulls away, eyes hollow and devoid of passion, “Will you show Teddy the sun today?”
Harry frowns, his brow drawing together, “How can I when it’s already dark?”
Draco smirks, “When you show Teddy the sun you can have me first, but not before.”
As Malfoy sits to paint his face Harry mutters, “I loathe you.”
Again he pretends to be far away and not hear what Harry has spoken. His indifference angers Harry. He turns to leave. When Harry is a few feet away he hears words he pretends were never spoken, “I loathe you more.”
In the catacombs his soldiers come to him speaking in monotones as they rattle off numbers. Seven. Three. Five. Two. Harry keeps his cool facade despite the fact he is ready to break these concrete walls, ready to wreak havoc on the muggles that have oppressed them. Yet he stays silent, stoic, totally unmoved and he wonders when the nightmare will end. When one side wins.
When Draco returns their coupling is angry. Malfoy screams, red wax smeared like blood across his cheek, and Harry devours the sight. He doesn’t care who hears, who’s had Malfoy before him, and most certainly doesn’t give a damn if this is their last moment together. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he knows that it’s all a lie. He doesn’t want to submerge Teddy into this very adult world, and knows he should be more quiet. He hates all the men who’ve had Malfoy before him, despises the bruises they leave as reminders. Harry wants to lock him away and cleanse him of these sins they’ve embedded into the perfection he knows as Draco. He desires more than anything to take them, Draco and Teddy, out of this world, and live a peaceful life on the outside. Until they are old and dead he wants to give them the joys he knows they deserve.
It cannot be. This war was made for losing. Their numbers are too few, their resolve too weak, and their memories of before too diluted to remember what exactly they miss about living. Weaknesses are meant to take advantage of, and the Ministry finds theirs. Embodied in the form of promises; exchanges of freedom for locations are executed and in the blink of an eye the enemy is at their doorstep. Charging in weapons killing before they have their bearings.
Harry, Neville, and Ron are at a safe junkyard talking business with a squib named McGuiness who deals out poisons as well as first aid supplies.
“When you plannin’ on takin’ the ministry?” He asks while fishing around in the backseat of an auto for the gillyweed Neville requested a month back.
“Not sure yet, we keep losing men.” Neville replies as Harry stands off to the side watching the guard dog. Ron riffles through the newest additions of muggle arsenal McGuiness has acquired.
“Give ‘em a good kick in the arse for me when ya do.” The elderly man chuckles darkly, “This last time they came snoopin’ round here I got a good thrashin’,” He indicates his cane, the latest edition to his attire, and Ron’s gaze darkens, “Left my leg in shoddy shape. Probably won’t never walk right again.”
“Did they find out you were dealing to us?” Ron asks suspiciously.
“Think they have a clue, but no facts.” He shrugs, his long unkempt hair clinging to the greasy shoulder of his jacket.
“This isn’t good Harry.” Ron instantly moves to Harry’s side, “We’ve got to get back to the safe house.”
Neville drops some currency into McGuiness’ outstretched palm, and when he turns to Harry his expression is serious, “I agree with Ron. We need to get back now. Our appointment has to be cancelled.”
Weighing the options in his mind, Harry wonders if perhaps it isn’t just paranoia but knows better than to doubt his two best colleagues. “Alright, the exploration of the tunnels into the ministry can wait until tomorrow.”
Tomorrow never comes. Draco once whispered that after a rather vicious session of hate sex. His smile languid yet cynical as he looked up at Harry. The words ring true as he looks around the cylindrical tombs. Entrails, bright red and dripping, hang from large hooks that have been recently hammered into the cement walls. Nott, Zabini, and Abbott hang from them in the usual gathering place. Through the many other areas families are smeared, words of hate painted in their blood, “Burn in hell sinners!” Neville hisses to his right, Ron growls to his left and Harry only stands stock still as fear claws his insides.
“Harry!” Neville calls out after him, and only then is Harry aware that he is running in the direction of his quarters, “We can’t split up their might be more assassins!”
He doesn’t care. Teddy hasn’t seen the sun yet, and he can’t die before he sees that damned orange glow. Draco hasn’t been his first, and he can’t lie cold and lifeless before Harry claims him as his own.
“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” He stops, the sight before him worse than the ones in the other rooms. Eerily they are posed Draco lying with a protective arm wrapped around Teddy as they both lay sleeping in the child’s bed. Yet they are paler than usual, not restless in their sleep, and neither chest rises or falls.
A letter firmly clasped in Draco’s hand; Harry reaches out to take it and cautiously opens it.
“Potter, Harry, Lover,
I write this to you, knowing that you will happen upon our lifeless bodies sometime today.
I betrayed you, all of you, sold the location of the safe house for a bottle of liquid sunshine.
Poison to warm the cold and lonely bones of a man and a boy you could and would never save.
You will never be able to show us the sun.
How I hate you for that, and how I love you for believing one day we would be free.
The only courage I have never known has come from you, and from Teddy.
Thank you for the little bit of hope.
Wish I could say that I’ve enjoyed this life.
Loathe you always,
Screams horrifying and twisted ring out in every quarter of the city, playing a sweet symphony of destruction as fires thrash at the edges of impenetrable gloom. They cannot win, much like the tortured writhing in the streets at the feet of men in black cowls; cloaked hunters of the night. Laughter mingles with the cries, as men and women alike strip the superior of their pride. Breaking them open with insults, blade, and magic; exposing the courage so that they might kill the smallest breath of fight.
Harry watches this in detached fascination, once long ago this would have horrified him. Yet, now, he finds it pleasurable. Let them suffer as he has suffered, let them bleed as he himself has bled, and let their hope die as all of his hope has gone. Died with the boy who finally saw the sun, and the man who lovingly held his hand as he led the way.
“I loathe you Draco forever and always.”
Black cloak whipping behind him in the wind as he moves his hood to hide his features. Into the night once more he ventures, tonight it ends. He will make them all march to the gates of hell and then when dusk finally starts to dissolve he will see the sun.