My Sanctuary

The first thing Draco Malfoy became aware of was warmth, and the second thing was light. There was a pure light shining on his face and he was floating on a wave of warmth. Was he dead? If so…this wasn’t such a bad place to be, and at least he didn’t hurt anymore. Being dead…was just fine with him.



“You’re not dead.” A voice broke through his warm haze, making the light waver. It was a familiar voice…an achingly familiar voice.



Draco’s eyes opened slowly and he winced, blinded by a shaft of sunlight and realizing that the warm light that had engulfed him had been the sun hitting his closed eyelids. Swearing under his breath, he shrank away from the light and breathed again only when a blind lowered over the window. Slowly, tentatively, more nervous than he had ever been in his life, he again opened his eyes and focused on the person sitting beside him.



If someone had told him even three months before that he would be happy to see Harry James Potter, he would have hexed them in an instant…and then laughed hysterically. The wave of relief as he stared into the familiar green eyes behind wire rimmed glasses, at the messy black hair and the calm expression bordering on exasperation as if preparing for a fight, nearly knocked Draco back into unconsciousness. Three months ago his father had been alive. Three months ago, even with the impossible task of killing Dumbledore and his own death looming over him, Draco had known who he was. Draco had spent nearly two of the last three months on the run, sometimes with his mother, but more often than not alone. His father was dead, and there was nowhere in the wizarding world that they could hide…everyone hated the Malfoys…and Draco didn’t really blame them. He hated himself too.



He recalled being found sleeping in a muggle barn, recalled the wands being thrust into his face…and then he knew nothing but pain. One burst of pain quickly followed by another, all working together to drive him insane. Draco didn’t know how many cruciatus curses hit him, he had been lost to unconsciousness after the third…but he could guess by the intense stiffness in his muscles that there had been many more after that. He didn’t take his eyes away from Harry’s face. “Am I in Azkaban?”



Harry’s face didn’t change expression. “Does this look like Azkaban?”



Draco had to force himself to tear his eyes from Harry’s face, and tears flew into his eyes as he realized where he was. He could see what looked like Neville Longbottom asleep in one of the beds a few to the left, probably after a magical disaster, and another person, someone he didn’t instantly recognize sitting calmly across the room. The teen looked to be of Asian descent, his dark eyes looking black in the morning light, his hair pulled tightly back at the nape of his neck. He blinked in acknowledgement of Draco’s gaze but didn’t speak. Draco’s breath caught as he got a good look at the figure in the bed to his right. “Mother!”



“She’s fine.” Harry cut in, his voice very calm. “Malfoy, for the love of Merlin…stop moving.” Only as Harry grabbed him did Draco realize that he was struggling to get up, to go to the crumpled, delicate figure. Breathing hard, he relented and let Harry push him bodily back down. “She’s fine.” Harry’s voice held an emotion that Draco had never heard directed at him…compassion. If there had been pity Draco probably would have killed him…but all there was in his voice, in his eyes as Draco’s gaze skittered up to meet them, was compassion and understanding. “She’s fine. She needs to sleep though while the potions work. She should be up in a few hours.”



Draco closed his eyes. “I suppose I owe you gratitude.” He said tightly.



Harry snorted. “You owe McGonagall gratitude. She’s the one who brought you here.”



Draco could hear the cold note in Harry’s voice…but had been in enough fights with Harry in the past to know the difference between bravado and sincerity. He could see dark circles beneath Harry’s eyes, proof that even if he hadn’t been the one to drag Draco and his mother into the hospital wing…he had remained all night standing vigil. He snorted. “You always were a bad liar, Potter.”



Harry gave him an unreadable look. “And you always were a prat.”



Draco snorted as silence fell between them. It was a tense silence…but a companionable one. Briefly he wondered where the animosity had gone, when both he and Harry had grown up enough that their petty rivalry no longer mattered. The door flew open with a bang. “Harry!” The silence was shattered instantly by Ron Weasley, and Draco felt an odd mix of emotions fill him.



That it was good to see even him was undeniable (though annoying), but it was more than that. There was animosity and resentment in Ron’s blue eyes as they flickered to Draco’s form on the bed and then to Harry with incredulity. Whatever silent communication Draco and Harry had shared was gone instantly. “So he IS here!”



Harry yawned, covering his mouth with one hand. “Sorry.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah…he’s here.”



Draco’s eyes met Ron’s, and more than anything he wanted to say something cold, something snide, something cutting…he said nothing. Pure blood status meant nothing. His father was dead, Draco and his mother had nearly been killed, WOULD be killed if they were caught by either side outside of these walls. He had nothing, had been given unexpected sanctuary in the one place he thought he would never find it. That Ron was a git meant nothing…Draco had no grounds in which to insult him and he knew it. He kept silent and stared at Ron’s tense face. “Hermione told me, and I thought…I thought she must be joking!” Ron sputtered. “Harry…”



Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Ron…not now.”



Ron’s face went flush. “Harry, did you forget?!” He demanded. “Did you FORGET that he was the one who hurt Katie and me and nearly killed Bill? Did you forget that he killed Dum…”



Ron was cut off as Harry’s wand appeared in his hand and pointed at his head. They both stood face to face, staring at each other, both flushed with temper. Harry’s jaw was clenched so tight, Draco was vaguely surprised it didn’t shatter. “He didn’t kill Dumbledore. Snape did. You know that.”



Ron’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe not.” He admitted grudgingly. “But he WAS the one who hurt Katie and me and put Madame Rosmerta under the Imperious curse and let Grayback loose in the castle!”



Draco felt the familiar wave of horror and shame at the memory. Grayback…he hadn’t been supposed to come. Draco had been horrified when he had heard Grayback was loose…all of the students were at his mercy and it had been his fault. He closed his eyes. “HE…” Ron continued, his words tearing into Draco. “…was the one who made our lives a living hell for the last seven years! He was the one who called Hermione a mudblood, was the one who hexed and insulted us and who spread stories about you and who…”



“I KNOW!” Harry’s voice cut in like a knife, his tone loud and frustrated. “I KNOW, Ron! Do you honestly think I’ve FORGOTTEN?!”



“SO WHAT IS HE DOING HERE?!” Ron yelled back. “Even IF McGonagall let that smarmy git in, what are you doing sitting here with him? Why are you still…”



“GROW UP, RON!” Harry yelled back. “I’m sitting here because I would have done the same.” Draco’s eyes flew open, and he saw the same astonishment he was feeling on Ron’s face. Harry’s face was very pale but very intense. “If I was told that I could bring back my mum or my dad if I killed someone, I’m not sure I could say no. What would you do, Ron, if Voldemort held a wand to your mother’s throat and said he would kill her if you didn’t kill someone else? Would you do it?” Ron’s mouth opened, but Harry didn’t let him answer. “You don’t know do you? You can’t answer because you’ve never been in that place before. This isn’t about stupid name calling or stupid fights we got into years ago, this is about now. NOW Malfoy and his mother need help. Dumbledore WOULD have helped them and THAT is why I’m here.” Harry and Ron stared into each other’s eyes, and Harry turned away, his face wooden. “Grow up, Ron.”



Ron stared at Harry’s tense back without words, and Draco saw Hermione cross the room, taking his hand. How much of the fight she had heard Draco wasn’t sure, but knew that she had come in time to hear Harry’s tirade, because her eyes were sad as she drew Ron away from Harry’s tense form. The boy across the room was also staring, his face unreadable, his eyes focused unwaveringly on Harry, though he did not speak.



Draco cleared his throat softly, and Harry whirled on him. “Don’t say a word, Malfoy.” He spat. “Don’t say a bloody word. Just…”



“Thank you.” Draco whispered, almost too soft for Harry to hear. Harry went still and it was obvious that he HAD heard, because his eyes widened slightly. “Thank you.” Draco said again, looking away from those green eyes. Harry had understood…and even that understanding Draco had not expected nor thought he deserved.



The entire plot to kill Dumbledore had been a punishment against his father. Both Draco and his parents were aware of that, but there had been nothing they could do. Draco tried one thing after another, not only to save his own life….but the life of his family. He had no doubt in his mind that if he failed, Voldemort would kill both of his parents. He would destroy everything Draco held dear…and Draco had been forced to rethink his entire position on life. He had avoided all of his friends, both the ones his father had chosen due to their ties (like Crabbe and Goyle) and the friends he had managed to make, albeit clumsily (like Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode). Draco hadn’t meant to hurt Katie, nor had he meant to poison Ron. He hadn’t meant to let Grayback loose in the school…but willingly took the blame for them all…because whether he meant to do it or not didn’t change the fact that he had. Draco had never expected to find even understanding…and he definitely didn’t expect it to come from the source that it now faced him. Harry Potter…Harry Freaking Potter, Dumbledore’s Golden Wonder understood him…and didn’t hate him.



Harry didn’t respond, and Draco awkwardly broke the silence. “Why don’t you want me dead, Potter?” He asked quietly. “Weasley’s right…you have every reason in the world to hate me…so why don’t you want me dead?”



Harry snorted and looked away. “Too much energy.” He replied dryly. “And besides…like I said…I understand why you did it. Who’s to say I wouldn’t have done the same?”



Draco closed his eyes briefly and then opened them, looking at the figure now sitting down in the chair beside his bed. “You wouldn’t have.” He replied softly. “You’re better than that.”



Harry’s gaze flicked up in surprise, and their eyes locked. Draco was surprised to note that not only did he mean it, he wasn’t bitter about the knowledge the way he would have been in the past. Harry WOULDN’T do anything like that…but knowing him would probably beat himself into an emotional pulp for the rest of his miserable Gryffindor existence. The thought made Draco smile wryly, not out of pleasure at the mental image of Harry hating himself but out of pain. Draco couldn’t look away from Harry’s gaze even if he had wanted to, and slowly he could feel the rift that had been created the day that Harry had refused to take his hand slowly filling. It would never be entirely full…the hateful words and bitter feud would always be remembered between them…but it was healing slowly, the scar knitting tightly even if it wouldn’t heal altogether.



“I…” Harry began, looking awkward, and Draco knew instinctively that Harry felt the wound as well…and the healing effect.



“Don’t.” Draco replied quietly. “Don’t, Potter. The last six years aren’t going to disappear just like that.”



“Seven.” Blinking, Draco stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Seven years.”



Draco snorted. “Are you always such a pain?”



Harry smirked in reply. “Are you always such a prat?” he asked sweetly.



Draco choked and shot Harry a glare that made the Gryffindor’s smirk turn wicked. “Potter…” Draco paused, unsure of what he wanted to say. “…I always knew you’d save the world.” He said after a long minute, He ignored the way Harry’s eyes flashed, though with temper or with some other emotion, Draco couldn’t be sure. “It was one of the things that used to piss me off about you. I just…never thought you’d save me.”



Harry’s mouth dropped open and he stared at Draco, the anger or whatever it had been gone. “I didn’t.” He said finally. “McGonagall let you stay.”



Maybe…but Harry had remained since Draco had arrived, he could tell. The dark circles were still under Harry’s eyes, lines of exhaustion and emotion. He didn’t have to…but he still had. “Shut up, Potter.” He replied and felt the fragile mending of the wound they had created growing stronger.



0 0 0



The instant that Harry approached him, Wufei could tell that he was looking for a fight. Harry had things in common with all of the pilots, as if he was made up of a little piece of each of them. He had Quatre’s protective tendencies and Heero’s intensity. He had Trowa’s serenity and was intelligent enough to spark Wufei’s interest. The Harry who was walking toward him now rang of Duo…and Wufei sighed softly as he saw it.



Every so often, especially when he was worried or had a fight with Heero, Duo would freak out and do something physical. Twice either Heero or Wufei had been forced to fish him out of the pool where he swam laps until he nearly drowned himself. Six times they had been forced to go out searching for him only to find that he had ran until he collapsed, his feet bloody ten miles away. Wufei had gotten to where he could instantly recognize that urge in Duo’s eyes…and he saw it now in Harry’s.



Wufei didn’t ask if Harry was okay, he only stood and waited. He KNEW that Harry wasn’t okay…there was no point in exchanging the pleasantries. The conversation with Draco Malfoy had left Harry edgy and tense…and if Quatre was right, a little sad. Wufei vaguely recognized the emotion in Harry’s face…it was the same one he wore when he had to work with Zechs.



Even now it was hard for Wufei to think of him as anything BUT Zechs. Zechs who had tried to kill them on multiple occasions, Zechs who made their lives difficult, who walked into a room and screwed everything up. Wufei and Zechs had worked through some of their issues during missions with the Preventers…it didn’t change the fact that they had a past…and that past was difficult to forget. Whatever Harry and Draco had shared, it was a past as bitter as the one he and the others had shared with Zechs.



He sighed. Having Ron freak out probably hadn’t helped. Ron had obviously been yelling within earshot of most of Gryffindor house, because as they left the hospital wing, Blaise taking Harry’s place to stand watch…and guard the pair from curious eyes, they had been mobbed. People demanded to know what Harry had been thinking, they demanded to know if it was true, they demanded…and Harry had put on his best “Quatre” diplomatic face and opened his mouth to answer, to soothe, to angrily defend and to get through it. He had locked himself into the bedroom he and Wufei had shared right after, and nobody, not even Quatre or Duo, had dared breach that silent command for solitude. Wufei had gone outside and it was there that Harry found him.



Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly on him. “We haven’t practiced.”



“You haven’t slept either…” He trailed off, seeing instantly that there was no way to get out of this. “…very well. Come on.” Silently he led Harry back toward the castle, up to the Room of Requirement where they practiced. Silently he picked up one of the practice swords and held it, hilt first, to Harry.



Harry’s eyes narrowed on him. “You kick my ass without a weapon in your hand.” Harry snapped. “You want me to give you a sharp, pointy object to help you do it again?!” He demanded. “No. Thank you.” Shifting, he slid into a defensive position, legs parted, knees slightly bent, arms raised slightly, eyes narrowed.



Wordlessly Wufei circled him, studying his posture. He had been practicing…Wufei could guarantee it. He pushed lightly on Harry’s back, Harry swaying slightly but keeping his form. Softly, he gave an approving hum. “Good.”



Harry scowled at him. “Can we practice?”



Wufei stared into Harry’s eyes…and knew. Harry wanted Wufei to beat the shit out of him. He wanted to go through their usual session of physical misery. He wanted to goad Wufei into beating him…because he thought he deserved it. Wufei stared at him for a long, long moment. There was desperation in Harry’s eyes and pain…and suddenly Wufei understood all too well why Harry avoided the spotlight. Harry was so well known that his every move was analyzed and judged, even by friends. The words of the people who had descended had left his spirit bloody, and now he wanted a body to match. Wufei knew he was socially inept on the best of days…but he didn’t need Quatre or Duo to tell him that this was wrong.



Wufei watched Harry. He watched Harry when he doubted that anyone else even noticed that Harry existed. He watched Harry kill himself in order to get the job done, as possessed and obsessive as Heero on a mission. He watched Harry’s eyes change color when he was sad even as he flashed that smile that told the rest of the world that nothing was wrong. He watched Harry laugh and keep going through the exercises even though he knew that Harry was hurting and his body was protesting such movements. Harry had to be one of the strongest people Wufei knew. It was one thing for the five of them to fight Oz. They had done it because they didn’t fit anywhere else, even if they HAD lives outside of the war. They were good together, the five of them…and all of them with a death wish. Harry fought not because he had a death wish and didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything, but because he had to. The world depended on him, and rather than tell them all where to stuff it, Harry fell into the mold even if it meant betraying himself. Wufei suddenly understood Harry all too well…he didn’t care about the bruises and wouldn’t care if playing with swords meant that he would come out with cuts if it meant that he could defeat the Dark Lord. He hadn’t come to the five of them because he needed muggle fighters…he had come to them because he needed THEM…someone to understand what he was thinking, someone who could read his emotions and who had the kind of past that justified ignoring his masks.



There was something else that Wufei understood about Harry…Harry was not going to give up on this. Wordlessly, Wufei began the movements of the kata, forcing Harry to respond. Wordlessly, he made Harry do it six more times, until Harry was gasping for breath, his body soaked with sweat.



Wufei doubted Harry had a clue where he was or what he was doing as he propelled Harry out of the Room and toward their dorm. The first sign of strain breaking came when Wufei filled the tub in the bathroom with water. “No.”



Wufei turned. “Get in the bath.”



Harry’s eyes narrowed. “No.”



Wufei sighed. “You need to take a bath and then you’re going to do something…” He paused. “…fun.” It was a word he rarely used.



Harry snorted and turned, but Wufei’s next words stopped him. “Harry. Get in the damn tub.”



It was the first time that Wufei called him by first name, and he could tell that the realization was not lost on Harry, because Harry’s eyes went wide in surprise. “Get in the tub.” Wufei said quietly. “I can’t stop you from going out and beating yourself into a pulp if that’s what you want to do and I’m not going to try. If you want to go out and run until you collapse I can’t stop you but I’ll be there to pick you up and Quatre will be pissed if you make your feet bleed.” Wufei knew he was babbling, but damn it, he was bad at this sort of thing. Emotional turmoil had always been avoided…but he couldn’t avoid it now. “But I can ask. Get in the damn tub and then go do something fun.”



To Wufei’s utter astonishment, Harry pulled his shirt up over his head. Turning, he started for the door. “What about you?” He turned, and Harry’s face was unreadable, his green eyes luminous.



“Like Maxwell would let me skip it.” He nodded to Harry and stepped silently from the room.



0 0 0



Though Trowa had no doubt in his mind that Quatre had noticed not only the swollen state of Harry’s eyes and the battle-weary look on Wufei’s face, nobody spoke as they followed Harry outside into the sunset. Orange light spilled out over them, and Trowa tilted his face to the wind slightly, tasting the bite in the air. Autumn was definitely here, and it tasted…clean. There weren’t many places in their world that still tasted clean. Air was as recycled, processed and fake at times as the people who inhabited their world. It felt good to just go out and BE, to feel the changes in the wind.



When he opened his eyes he saw that Harry was smiling at them, and it was a real smile. “I have a surprise for you.” He said quietly. “I was going to wait until Christmas, but under the circumstances…” To Trowa’s surprise, Harry turned red and shot a glance at Wufei as blank stares met his announcement.



Wufei only looked bored, his eyes distant…but the back of his neck reddened ever so slightly. This…rather interested display between Harry and Wufei was lost on Heero, who, at times, lacked subtlety, but it was not lost on Quatre or on Duo, both exchanging glances before hiding grins.



“So…er…” Harry led them into the Quidditch pitch, pulling a small box out of his pocket. With a wave of his wand, the box expanded dramatically, and Harry opened it. Six broomsticks and a box of oddly shaped balls met their gazes. Wordlessly they looked down at the box and then up at Harry, who grinned at them before picking up his broomstick. “Care for a go?”



Duo was the first to break. Crowing with delight, he threw himself forward and at the pile. “Really? We can fly? I thought that we wouldn’t be able to fly since we don’t have magic!”



Harry looked pleased by Duo’s reaction, a smile on his face and warmth in his eyes. “Yes, Duo.” Heero said dryly, rolling his eyes and approaching the brooms like he thought they would attack. “Shout to the world that we don’t have magic.”



Duo blew Heero a raspberry, his eyes sparkling with delight, and Heero’s lips twitched ever so slightly in a faint smile, making it clear to Trowa that he had only been teasing. Harry only laughed, a genuinely happy sound that made them all relax. “No…the brooms are charmed. Anyone can use them…we take care that most muggles can’t.” Smiling, Harry bent down and picked up two brooms, pressing one into a bemused Quatre’s hand and a wary Heero’s. Trowa accepted his broom calmly, his eyes on Harry as the wizard picked up the final broom and crossed to Wufei, pressing it into his hand. Their eyes met and locked over the top of the broomstick, and a lazy smile crossed Harry’s face. “Ready to fly?”



Wufei’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Mission accepted.”



Trowa saw Quatre’s eyebrows fly up and Heero shoot Wufei an unreadable look. Duo only snorted, choking on a chuckle. “Well come on then, Green-Eyes. When do we get to play Quidditch?”



Harry’s gaze left Wufei’s face, and he laughed. “Not until you learn how to fly first. Wouldn’t want you crashing to the ground on your first go.” Harry slid the broom between his legs. “Okay, so you want to mount your broom like this. What you want to do is hover first. Kick off…” Harry bent his knees and kicked the ground, the broom lifting. “Keep it steady and don’t tilt it. Hover and then touch down.” He tilted the broom back down and his feet touched the ground. “It’s easy.”



Harry certainly made it LOOK easy. Dubiously, Trowa tucked the broom between his legs, frowning slightly at the feeling. How comfortable would it be shoving something as thin as a broom between your legs? His frown deepened, but gamely, as he heard Duo whoop with excitement and float lightly off the ground, he kicked off.



The sensation was rather like flying the trapeze. It wasn’t the heart-stopping feeling of both falling and flying, but it was close. His toes left the ground and he clung to the broom, feeling deliciously weightless. Slowly, he leaned forward and nearly fell off but touched back down.



One hour later found them moving around freely, and Trowa found that he enjoyed being high. He liked the cool autumn air in his face, liked the fact that he could see over the trees to Hogsmeade far in the distance, the glorious expanse of the lake below. Duo had challenged Wufei to a race, and after flying circles around him, Wufei had gotten annoyed and accepted. Heero hovered near a goalpost, still eyeing his broom as if he wanted to take it apart and see how it worked. Smiling very faintly, Trowa glanced sideways and met Quatre’s eyes.



His blond lover was also hovering near a goalpost, though on the other end, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched Wufei shoot past Duo in a way that made the American spout cheerful curses and threats.



Trowa hovered closer and glanced sideways at Quatre. Not for the first time he found himself awed by the fact that Quatre was his. The blond Arab had chosen him…and Trowa would always be a little stunned and a lot grateful for it. He loved Quatre in a way that he hadn’t known love existed. “Are you having fun, little one?” He asked gravely, his eyes on Quatre’s face.



Quatre smiled at him and pointed up. Harry rode against the blasts of wind, his broom rising with the swells. Even as they watched, the wind briefly stopped blowing and, as if he was a leaf carried on the wind, Harry dropped like a stone. “Harry!” Quatre let out a strangled cry that attracted the attention of the others, but Trowa kept him from moving, holding out hand.



“Wait.”



Harry hurtled to the ground, but when he was only a handspan away, he pulled up and shot back into the air, laughing wildly as the wind, seeming to enjoy the joke as much, blew again and egged him on. Even as Trowa watched, Harry, still laughing, risked a glance at Wufei’s dumbfounded face.



The glance was not missed by Quatre, who began to breathe again. “When I get a hold of him,” He said conversationally. “I’m going to smack him.”



Trowa chuckled low, under his breath. “If you can catch him.”



Harry flew like he WAS weightless, riding the wind instead of against it, shooting through the air like a star across the sky. He was graceful as a dancer, his movements fluid, his senses active. It was obvious…Harry loved this. They all had their little things. Quatre had his violin, Trowa his tumbling, Wufei had his meditative katas, Heero his computer and Duo his cars. Harry…Harry was born to fly.



Wufei was indeed looking, Duo having lost interest in tormenting him and having gone to circle Heero. The Chinese pilot’s face was expressionless, but his gaze never left Harry’s form as it tumbled through the air, and though Harry never looked back again, Trowa got the distinct impression that he was showing off as much as he was letting off steam. “Let’s play Quidditch now!” Duo cried impatiently, circling above.



Harry laughed, coming in and Trowa was struck by his windblown good looks. His hair was tangled and wild about his head, his eyes sparkling with excitement and his face flushed from the chilled air. Wufei’s gaze locked on Harry’s face and unconsciously, he licked his lips. Trowa glanced at Quatre, who was smiling knowingly.



One hour later found them shooting through the air in the dark, Quatre guarding one goal post, Heero the other while Duo yelled insults at Wufei, who chased the Quaffle held in Harry’s arms. Harry, for his part, was laughing too hard to focus and kept dropping the ball, only to find it gone with Wufei shooting toward the other side. Only the fact that Quatre’s lips were turning blue called the game inside, the tension gone as they headed for the castle.



Trowa looped his arm around Quatre’s shoulders, drawing him tightly against his side. “Are you all right?”



Shivering, Quatre nevertheless nodded, smiling as he watched Duo glomp Harry, knocking them both to the ground, Harry howling with as much laughter as Duo, Heero and Wufei looking on with mutual parts amusement and disgust. For a moment…they looked like what they were…simple teenagers having a good time. Sometimes, Trowa knew…that was all they needed.



0 0 0



The massages were going to kill him. Wufei had never believed in karma before in his life. Good things happened to bad people and bad things happened to good. It had nothing to do with how you lived your life, it was just the way things went sometimes. Life occasionally sucked and sometimes it was great.



He believed in karma now.



This was punishment for something, Wufei just wasn’t sure what it was, as he watched Harry take off his shirt, the muscles in his back rippling as he folded it neatly and set it aside. Quatre had insisted that the rub-downs continue, and nobody was better than Wufei at giving one. Intellectually he knew why he had to do this…somewhere deep down, as he saw Harry slide his pants down long, long legs, Wufei was sure he was cursed.



Wufei had dealt with lust before. They all had for a period, it was an easy way to get the momentary warmth they all craved without getting emotionally involved. Eventually the others had grown to want something more, something deeper, and Wufei had simply stopped indulging himself. Perhaps that self depravation was the cause of his pained, almost desperate look at Harry now. It had been a long time since he had given into the urges of the body…he was probably just so repressed that he would go for anything.



The memory of Harry’s wind-kissed face, his tousled hair and happy eyes stopped that thought before it could take root. Lust. It was lust…he lusted after this Gryffindor. Well…who could blame him? Harry was beautiful, though Wufei doubted he saw anything in the mirror other than his scar. He was lithe, his skin sun-kissed and a silky golden color, his eyes so green they hurt to look at. Anyone with eyes lusted after Harry…it was simple as that.



Wordlessly he knelt beside Harry even as Harry lay on the floor, his head on the pillow. The skin beneath his fingers was like silk, and he heard Harry hiss softly, his back arching as he pressed a knot that had formed. Too easily the image changed and he could imagine Harry arching as…



The thought left Wufei badly shaken and he pulled away quickly. “Sit up.”



“What?” Harry looked surprised, his eyes flying open.



“Sit up!” Wufei insisted, frowning faintly. “I can get at the knots in your shoulders easier.” And he wouldn’t have to see Harry lying there nearly naked.



Shrugging, Harry sat up and slid back. Instantly it was much worse, as the wizard was practically in his lap and Wufei was overcome by the scent of Harry’s hair, wind…and starlight…and apples, Duo’s choice. His mouth dry, Wufei raised his hands and began to knead the muscles of Harry’s shoulder.



Harry went rigid and Wufei snorted. “Breathe.”



Harry winced. “I am breathing.” He let out a hissing breath.



“Now breathe in.” Wufei said patiently as his fingers located another knot. Harry obediently drew a breath and they sat in silence for a period, Wufei working carefully on Harry’s back, Harry’s face hidden, unreadable, unknowing of the turmoil roiling through Wufei’s body.



When the massage had changed, when his fingers stopped finding knots and started tracing the planes of Harry’s smooth back, Wufei didn’t know. He was overcome by the scent of starlight and apples, and the smoothness of Harry’s skin beneath his fingers.



His hands spanned the top of Harry’s shoulders, and he nearly moaned aloud and broke the spell as Harry leaned into the touch, nearly resting against him now. Wufei was lost as Harry’s weight settled against his chest, and he leaned down, his lips brushing the slim column of Harry’s throat.



Even when he HAD felt the urge to sate his lust, he had never taken his time, he had never had an interest in making it last. He wanted to taste every inch of Harry. He wanted to feel the skin beneath his lips, tasting his flesh and feeling the tremors in his body from each exploratory action.



His lips slowly traced a pattern down Harry’s throat to his shoulders, and he nibbled softly on the top of Harry’s shoulderblade, his tongue instantly soothing away the sharp pain left by his teeth. He could already feel Harry arching into his touch as his lips traced a pattern from his shoulder and across his back to the right, taking care to taste every inch of Harry's sun-kissed skin, tormenting both himself and the black haired wizard in his lap with his slow trail over his body. He could feel each soft shudder as he explored Harry's muscled back and delighted in each.



Harry’s gasp startled Wufei out of his fantasy, and he stared, shakily at his hands on Harry’s bare shoulders, a knot beneath his fingers. A fantasy. He had just had a fantasy about tasting the body of Harry Potter. Badly shaken, Wufei backed away quickly. “Oh god.” He whispered. “I’m sorry.” Getting up, he turned and fled, pretending that he didn't see the perplexed look on Harry's face.



Ignoring the startled looks on Quatre's and Trowa's faces from their places near the table, Harry's yearbooks all around them, and Duo's shocked expression as he went tearing by, Wufei threw himself into the bathroom and shakily locked the door behind him. Dear GOD he had fantasized about seducing Harry Potter while giving the Gryffindor a massage! With trembling hands, he turned on the shower, holding out his arm to the spray. Cold...he was going to need it after that.



What the bloody hell was WRONG with him? Wufei prided himself on absolute control. He was in control of his body at all times, he was in control of his life...and it had worked impeccably until the moment that Harry James Potter fell into his life. Trembling, Wufei stepped into the shower and stood in the cool spray until he felt like he could think straight again. He turned the hot water up as he felt the burning in his body go down, and reached out for the shampoo. The scent of apples shot through Wufei's senses, and he felt all control leave as heat shot through his body. Moaning helplessly as he recalled the scent of Harry on the apple shampoo, he leaned against the wall and rode the memories.



The fantasy shot through him again, Wufei's lips working their way across the silky skin so innocently revealed to him, Harry arching into his touch as he found a particularly sensitive spot on Harry's skin. How easily he could imagine his hands skimming Harry's body, exploring it and feeling the hard planes beneath his palm. How easily he could imagine his lips following the span of his hands, taking his time, feasting on Harry's body. Wufei could imagine Harry gasping for other reasons than pain, hissing softly as Wufei's lips found that sensitive spot and left soft kisses along it.



When Wufei's hand had traveled to his erection and stroked it to thoughts of Harry's exquisite body beneath his own, Wufei had no idea...and didn't even realize it until he moaned aloud, his legs nearly buckling beneath him as he bucked into the slim tunnel of his hand. His body ached with desire for the green eyed Gryffindor. In his fantasy, Harry had finally had enough and turned, allowing Wufei to lower him to the floor, their lips meeting in a heated kiss. He could feel Harry's desire hard against his stomach and cried out, his back arching, his head flung back as he came.



Instantly, as his body sagged against the shower, Wufei was disgusted with himself. He rarely indulged in things like this, and melting into fantasies of Harry made him feel worse. If Harry knew what he had been thinking, Harry would be disgusted with him...and that made Wufei's misery grow. Dear gods...he wanted Harry Potter...and the wanting, as he felt his body twitch again in the memory of Harry's brilliant green eyes, was going to kill him.