Draco's Escort Service -Five-

Chapter Five

After dragging Potter across rough terrain for twenty minutes, Draco’s shirtless torso was covered in scratches and his breath came in ragged gasps of fatigue. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he spotted the cabin. For a moment, his senses screamed at him not to trust it.

Then he noticed one portion of the roof was caved in and vines nearly covered the entire structure. No phantom structure this, but one long abandoned.

Draco half-carried Potter to the hut and shouldered open the door. He raised his wand to illuminate the place and frowned when a scurrying sound resulted. Rats. The original owner seemed to have disappeared without removing his goods. A bed with moldering blankets stood in one corner and a small table sat in the other. An assortment of old utensils lay on the table. Pots and pans adorned the walls on rusting hooks. Draco released Potter, who sank to his knees. Draco lit the lamp that sat on the rough bedside table. The bed frame was broken, so Draco repaired and cleaned it, then transfigured the old blankets into a feather-stuffed mattress.

He hauled Potter to the bed and laid him down before covering him with Harry’s cloak.

“So beautiful,” Harry muttered. He was ghost-white. Draco sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed Potter’s shoulders.

“Potter! Stay here, damn you! Stop listening to it! Remember me? I’m the one that smashed your nose on the Hogwarts Express! I’ll do it again if you don’t stay with me!”

Incredibly, Potter’s green eyes returned to sharp lucidity for a moment. Harry’s hands reached up to grab Draco’s bare arms. One gripped the arrow wound and Draco winced.

“Malfoy—God, I can’t concentrate! You need to stop this music.”

“How?”

“You need to sing.”

“I need to—what?”

“Sing, damn it! You’ve got to drown this music! It’s calling me and I can’t keep fighting it.”

Malfoy was perplexed. He tried to remember if he had ever sung aloud in his life. Potter’s eyes fluttered shut. Draco shook him again as Potter’s grip slackened.

“Okay! I’ll sing!” Draco began a Scottish ballad he remembered his mother singing when Draco was a child. He started hesitantly at first, but his voice grew stronger as the words came back to him. Potter’s eyes watched him, half-open, but there was no smile on Harry’s lips. This was no game to make Malfoy look like a fool.

“I think it’s working,” Harry murmured. Draco kept singing while he cast his mind toward a solution. He couldn’t sing to Potter forever. For one thing, he only knew the words to a handful of songs. For another, it was embarrassing as hell.

A shimmer of light caught Draco’s eyes and he blinked for a moment at the apparition before him. It was a stunningly beautiful woman glowing like an ethereal vision. Her hair was a cross between silver and gold and brushed back over ears that were delicately pointed. Her almond-shaped eyes were huge pools of sapphire blue.

“Who dares to defy the power of Faerie?” she demanded in a voice like silver bells.

“I do,” Draco said evenly, breaking off in mid-song. A smiled curved her ruby lips.

“Aren’t you the beautiful one?” she purred. “And strong, too, to bring that one back to you. Kiss me, beautiful stranger.”

Draco actually stood up and took a step toward her before he caught himself and shook off the impulse.

“I don’t think so,” he said. She smiled prettily, but her blue eyes glinted. Draco continued, “You can’t have him.”

“He’s important to you, then?” she asked. Draco considered. Potter wasn’t important to him, personally, but losing him sure as hell would be.

“Yes.”

“Will you sing to him forever, then?”

“There has to be another way.” His voice contained a question. Hell, he was on the verge of begging for an answer.

“There is one way, beautiful. I won’t tell you, of course. But maybe I’ll give you a hint.”

“Do I have to pay for this hint?”

She laughed, a sound so beautiful it was almost painful to hear. “You would never willingly give me that which I desire from you, beautiful mortal. So here is your hint—what is the strongest magic in Faerie?”

“That’s my hint?” Draco asked dubiously. She smiled.

“That which you withheld from me, perhaps you will grant to your friend. More than that, I cannot say. Good luck. I’ll take good care of your handsome friend, should you fail.” With that she winked out, leaving only a bright spark of light hovering in the air before that, too, disappeared.

Draco looked back at Harry and pondered her words. What is the strongest magic in Faerie? How the hell should he know? He tried to approach the problem from a different angle. What was the strongest magic in the wizarding world? Spells involving… what? Blood? Sacrifice? He thought about Potter’s magic, granted by his mother’s death. What was the root of her sacrifice? Draco snapped his fingers. Love. Of course. The strongest magic in any world, as far as he knew.

He recoiled at the thought. He certainly didn’t love Potter! He merely didn’t want Potter’s soul sucked into Faerie, leaving Draco to explain what had happened to the Chosen One on his watch… There was no time to flit about looking for someone that did love Potter, either. He raked a hand through his hair. There had to be a solution.

That which you withheld from me, perhaps you will grant to your friend.

Draco looked at Harry in dawning horror. Potter’s eyes were open, but his features were strained, evidence of his effort to hold on to reality. His gaze was questioning.

That which you withheld from me… A token of love. The strongest magic in Faerie. A kiss.

Malfoy said bluntly, “Potter. To save you, I have to kiss you.”

“You’re joking,” Harry said weakly.

“Afraid not, sport. They’re big on kissing around here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

There was a long, silent pause that grew longer.

“What are you waiting for, Malfoy?” Harry finally asked.

“I’m thinking.”

Potter groaned. “Come on, Malfoy. I swear I’ll never mention it as long as I live. God, do I swear it.”

Draco sighed. There was no escaping it. He sat on the edge of the bed again. Potter shut his eyes, which made it easier. Draco pulled off Harry’s glasses and set them aside.

He steeled himself. Bloody hell. He leaned over and placed his hands on either side of Potter’s head. Harry’s skin was warm, almost feverish, and his hair was soft as down. The feel of it surprised Draco for a moment.

Harry was surprisingly handsome without the spectacles marring his features. His nose was straight and slender. Thick black lashes rested on beautifully chiseled cheeks. Damn, Potter is almost as good looking as me, Draco thought in amazement. Suddenly, kissing him didn’t seem quite so horrifying. Draco lowered his face and touched his lips softly to Harry’s, but he had learned never to do anything in half measures.

“Hold onto your hat, Potter,” he thought wickedly and slanted his mouth over Harry’s.