It was too bloody dark and too bloody cold to be running through the forest. Bill Weasley stopped and drew in several gulps of air as he stared up at the sky barely visible through the trees. The moon was nearly full, its light evident through gaps in branches. It was his only true light and wasn’t nearly enough to see as well as he’d like as he chased his prey through the forest.
He ran his hands through his long hair as his gaze turned away from the moon and he studied the path before him. It was too close to the full moon. He’d felt the restlessness and nervous energy for two days. Two more and the moon would be completely full. He traced the ragged scars idly, along his face and over his throat. While he had been lucky to be attacked by Greyback at a time when it hadn’t caused full-blown case of lycanthropy, the damage done had been severe.
People recoiled when they saw him. He hated the looks of pity, disgust, fear. Every time he went out, he got more angry. He was still the same Bill beneath the scars. Why couldn’t they see anything except the marks that had ruined his life? No, that wasn’t right. He had been the same Bill, at first. Now he was bitter, angry, alone. Fleur had tried. There had been gentle touches and caresses on skin forever ravaged, a permanent reminder of a night the wizarding world wanted to forget. They could never forget as long as he had this ugly memento.
He wondered at times if he’d have become like this if she’d still been alive. Her death, during an attack on Diagon Alley, had, at least in his own mind, prevented him from ever finding happiness. His subsequent revenge, gained when the moon was full and the lust and desires that threatened to consume him during that time had been allowed control, had ensured that most everyone considered him a monster regardless of the fact he wasn’t a werewolf.
That’s why he’d found himself with this babysitting assignment. We need someone strong, Bill. You’ll watch him and make sure he stays safe. As he stood in the clearing, he could easily hear his mother’s words. Strong, firm, and with an underlying waver of fear that made him hate himself for becoming something that frightened her. He had become what everyone needed: disappearing into the shadows around those who feared him, allowing his mum to coddle him because she needed to feel useful, obeying the Order even as he fought the urge to go out and kill every Death Eater he could find.
Charlie was the only one who hadn’t changed, but Charlie had always had a fondness for dangerous creatures and dangerous situations. If he’d needed further proof of his little brother’s stupidity in that regard, he’d had it when he saw Charlie watching Hermione during an Order meeting with a look that Bill knew meant trouble. For Charlie’s sake, he hoped it was the right kind of trouble.
Charlie. Remus. Malfoy. They were the only ones who didn’t seem to need an act. Harry and Hermione, they didn’t look at him with pity or fear but they were still basically children in his eyes. So he protected them, as he did his younger siblings, from seeing the animal he could become. Malfoy was their age, but Bill didn’t feel that same need to protect Malfoy; not from himself, at least.
For nearly two months, he’d been trapped in these woods with nothing but Malfoy for company. Charlie came by every two weeks to bring food and supplies, but no one else even knew where they were hiding out so the days had been long and the nights longer. It might not have been so bad if the kid actually spoke. Even protests against being kept safe in an old cabin with a man that was practically a monster would have been appreciated. Instead, he had quiet, overwhelming quiet, and light gray eyes that seemed to follow his every move.
Malfoy didn’t cringe or pity him. His gaze was unwavering, thoughtful at times, and had become far too constant as the days had passed. In the beginning, he’d sat on the mattress in the corner, usually with his arms around his knees and his cheek against the wall, pale blond hair covering his face. He’d only moved to eat and go to the toilet. Bill hadn’t cared that he didn’t talk, at first. Silence was good. No one to judge or scold, to threaten or warn.
Then he’d finally gotten tired of it so he’d started to talk, going on about random things, just needing to hear sound in the quiet. Malfoy had gradually moved from the corner. First, it had been relaxing his position. Then it had been scooting closer to the edge of the mattress. Then it had been watching him with a gaze that Bill wasn’t exactly sure about. He’d eventually moved from the mattress and taken to sitting in one of the ratty old chairs by the fire.
He seemed to like watching Bill and, well, it had been ages since anyone had watched him in any way that wasn’t cautiousness so Bill didn’t really mind. He knew from the report that had been included in this assignment that Malfoy hadn’t said a word since the Order had found him holding his mother’s body. There was a part of him, not yet so hardened and cynical, that really hated the idea of any child having to deal with a parent’s death, even a traitorous Slytherin with a mark on his arm that stood for everything Bill had hated for as long as he could remember.
Nearly two months the little bastard had played him like this. Now the treacherous little shite had done this, which meant obviously, that the rest had been a ploy. He didn’t understand why Malfoy would want to escape. He’d given parchment after parchment of details to the Order about Voldemort and plans, locations and specifics. He’d written until his hand had been covered in ink and the quill had broken. Bill had watched him that night, from the shadows at the Burrow, where they’d brought him after finding him. He’d still been covered in his mother’s blood, hair as pale as Fleur’s, features delicate and far too pretty for a man. He wasn’t a man, though. He was a kid, a seventeen year-old kid the same age as Bill’s baby brother. It didn’t matter if his eyes were weary and he projected an aura far wiser than his years. He was just a kid.
That’s what Bill had told himself daily since they’d been sent to this tiny cabin to hide. He hated hiding, wanted to be right there at the front of the line protecting his family and making sure none of them suffered as he had. He’d lost his wife, lost his optimism, lost any hope of ever having a reasonably normal life. Scars went far deeper than those on his face. Those he could honestly live with, and he tried not to care what people thought of them, which wasn‘t nearly as easy as he‘d imagined. Fleur had considered them badges of courage, at first; proof that he was her hero. Some hero. He’d been unable to keep her safe, unable to protect one of the few people who hadn’t looked at him with disgust and fear, and now he was forced to babysit a kid far too tempting to the darker desires he tried to resist.
He glanced back at the glimpses of moon that he could see through the trees. With a shake of his head, he was off again, running through the thick underbrush to find Malfoy. If he was found by the other side, Voldemort would kill him without hesitation, probably after days of torture. His information had allowed them to turn the tide, to gain some control in this horrible war happening around them, and everyone knew of Malfoy’s betrayal of those to whom he’d once been loyal. Loyal. People like Malfoy had no idea what loyalty was; only knew selfishness and how to save their own lives. No principles or strength of conviction. He should have hated Malfoy, not only for who he was but because it was his fault Bill had received these scars in the first place. He should not have been fascinated by long blond hair and full lips.
A sound to his right caught his attention. Bill stopped running and peered into the darkness. The rays of moonlight illuminated pale hair he’d imagined wrapped around his hands as he thrust between tempting lips. Instead of the soft, warm curves of Fleur, he thought of the sharp, hard angles of Malfoy. He wasn’t interested in warmth and softness, not anymore. Now he was rough and hard, and he craved sharpness and cold. He remembered Fleur and how things had changed. He tried not to dwell on the bad, how things had become between them. How, near the end, before she was killed, Fleur had had bruises on her hips and breasts, bites on her skin, and she’d begun to look at him with a familiar hesitancy in her gaze. It was so hard to control it, and he didn’t know how Remus managed with the full extent of power and curse.
Now, his curse was close and powerful, and he needed. The chase had done wonders for his nervous energy, for the restlessness that caused him to pace around the tiny cabin. Most of that had been run off, and now he was excited, sweaty, and unexpectedly aroused.
He crept through the trees cautiously. Malfoy didn’t have a wand and, even if he had, he‘d not said a word for months; the Mediwitches didn‘t know whether his mute state was a matter of choice or damange they hadn‘t been able to uncover. However, he’d shown himself adept at wandless magic so Bill was alert. He still didn’t understand why Malfoy had run in the first place, but he wasn’t going to allow himself to be caught off guard again. He couldn’t let the Order find out Malfoy had managed to escape. He was supposed to be protecting him, after all.
When he finally was able to clearly see Malfoy‘s position, Bill moved quickly. Before the kid had a chance to move, Bill had him pinned to the ground with his wand pressed against his throat. “Don’t even think about it, Malfoy,” he warned in a low voice. He shifted and watched Malfoy’s pale cheeks seem to flush in the moonlight. Gray eyes stared up at him and he was surprised to see lips that had haunted his dreams for weeks curve into something akin to a triumphant smirk.
Bill’s eyes narrowed as Malfoy raised his hand slowly, gaze still intently focused on Bill’s face, and trailed the tip of his finger along the most ragged of his scars. He stiffened at the touch, the first since Fleur’s warm hands, and fought the urge to jump away and run back to the cabin without caring if he got a scolding from his mum for letting Malfoy escape. Instead, his eyes closed and he sighed as a smooth palm caressed his face and throat. It had been too long…far too long. He craved the contact, his hair falling around his face as he bent forward so Malfoy could reach more easily. So wrong. That thought echoed in his mind but he ignored it.
His eyes flew open when warm fingertips, so much warmer than he’d ever imagined when looking at Malfoy, brushed against his chest and began to unbutton his shirt. “No,” he said firmly as he caught Malfoy’s hand and shook his head. He looked down at Malfoy, watched his face change from annoyance to petulance to determination. The boy, for that’s what Bill needed to remind himself constantly so he didn’t give in to the carnal desire that had his cock hard and pressing against his jeans, opened his mouth as if he were going to speak but frustration flashed as he scowled and arched off the ground instead.
“You want to talk, don’t you?” Bill said softly as he kept Malfoy pinned to the ground. He moved to lie against the younger man, his leg between Malfoys to keep him in place. He groaned when he felt Malfoy’s erection against his thigh, his control wavering. His hand moved along Malfoy’s side, fingers just barely touching his ribs as he raised his shirt to feel warm skin. Shouldn’t do this, couldn’t do this, wouldn’t do this.
Malfoy stared at him and slowly nodded. He opened his mouth again and shook his head. Bill was surprised. The Order had generally determined that Malfoy could speak and just hadn’t. Ron was convinced it was a trick of some sort, but Harry and Hermione had muttered something about Malfoy never shutting up unless he actually couldn’t talk. He used parchment and a quill, occasionally wrote things for Bill. Usually demands. I want pumpkin juice next time your oafish brother visits. I want a softer blanket. I want to play chess so you’re going to play with me. I want. I want. I want. Sometimes not. Why do you talk to yourself? Why do you wake up at night screaming? Why do you care? Most the time, he simply sat and watched silently.
“Did they curse you?” he asked curiously as he moved his leg and brushed against Malfoy’s erection at the same time his hand slid higher up his ribs. Malfoy’s eyes rolled back at his action, eyelashes Ginny would envy fluttering as he pressed up against Bill‘s leg.
Bill watched Malfoy raise his hand and touch the scars on his cheek before he then moved his hand over his own throat. He didn’t understand. He loved puzzles, though, and gave it thought as he brought his own erection in contact with Malfoy’s leg, grinding against him. The friction was good, too good, but Bill didn’t stop. He should. He should get up and leave Malfoy there, but he was so bloody tired of doing everything for everyone and never taking for himself.
“I know they didn’t scar you because the Mediwitches checked.” Bill moved his hand beneath Malfoy’s back and let it drift down to his firm arse. He gripped him and pulled him up hard against his thigh. Malfoy’s mouth fell open in a silent cry or perhaps moan and he reached for Bill. He grinned slightly before he moved Malfoy’s arms above his head and whispered, “Constringo.”
Malfoy’s petulant snarl was well worth the time it took to bind his wrists together above his head. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to come in his pants like some fourteen year-old with no control whatsoever. Bill leaned down and brushed chapped lips against Malfoy’s throat. “No scars,“ he muttered as he licked his dry lips before he kissed again. He let go of his wand and moved his free hand into Malfoy’s hair, soft and thin against his calloused fingers. There was no hesitancy to his touch, but he was trying to be careful. He’d bruised and nearly broken Fleur and, in a lot of ways, she seemed stronger than the spoiled little boy beneath him. He didn’t want to break Malfoy, he just wanted.
He nipped at the pale column of Malfoy’s neck, dragged skin into his mouth as he sucked and bit, as he marked him. He could hear Malfoy’s heart beating faster, could hear heavy breathing, and he smiled as he bit down harder at the same time he pressed his thigh against Malfoy’s cock. He looked up and watched Malfoy’s face, flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat barely visible in the pale rays of moonlight. He let go of Malfoy’s arse and moved his hand into Malfoy’s trousers.
There was some awkward fumbling as he tried to lower the zip with just one hand and his fingers couldn’t get the button unfastened but he finally managed to rip the button off and pushed the trousers down enough for his hand to move into Malfoy’s shorts. His fingers wrapped around warm throbbing flesh, his thumb rubbing the head of Malfoy’s cock as he began to stroke him. Bill kept his hand in Malfoy’s hair, gently brushing through it as he bit and marked the pale skin beneath him. He shifted and ripped Malfoy’s shirt open before his hand once again went back to Malfoy’s hair.
“No scars,” he murmured before he ran his tongue over a light pink nipple. Malfoy was skinny. Not slender but gawkily skinny. It looked as if he needed a lot of good meals to put weight back on his frame. Bill glanced up and noticed the pink cheeks, not only flushed from arousal, and an odd thought occurred to him. “Have you ever done this before?”
Malfoy scowled and bucked beneath him before rolling his head back and looking at his magically bound wrists before catching Bill’s gaze again. He bit his lip, an action that caused Bill to thrust against his leg and tighten his grip on his cock. Malfoy glared at him as he refused to be distracted from his question and finally shook his head twice. He arched his hips up and rubbed in a way that said he was getting impatient, which made Bill smile lazily.
“We’ll take it slow then, Malfoy,” he promised with a hint of amusement, aware that the boy had no interest in going slow. “After all, you need to be punished for running away. Should bend you over my knee and spank your pretty arse but I think I’ll save that for later.”
If possible, Malfoy seemed to become even harder at his teasing of a spanking. Bill groaned at that realization, his control slipping a bit further. Oh how he just wanted to turn Malfoy over, bare his arse, and fuck him until they both came without caring if he bruised or hurt. He began to move his hand faster, tightened his grip and did all the things he loved. Malfoy was thrusting his hips up, fucking his hand, and Bill could practically hear moans and whimpers in the silence of the forest.
“Finite incantatem,” he said before he dropped his wand far enough away that Malfoy couldn’t get it, just in case. The wood had barely left his hand before he felt hands all over him. His shirt was opened and full lips kissed the scars on his throat and chest. Fleur hadn’t even done that. Touching and saying they didn’t matter was the extent of her attention to them. Malfoy licked, kissed, and gently moved his lips over every one.
He released his hold on soft hair and slid his hand beneath Malfoy, into his trousers and shorts to grip his arse, skin against skin. Bill changed positions, rising up slightly, when he felt Malfoy’s hand on the waist of his trousers. The sound of his zip being lowered was so very loud, it seemed, before heavy breathing and racing heartbeats were all he could hear.
“Fuck,” he hissed when Malfoy’s hand tentatively wrapped around his cock. He began to fuck Malfoy’s hand as he continued to wank the blond. When he felt fingers grip his hair hard, pulling on it until he looked up at met Malfoy’s gaze, he growled softly. Malfoy nodded and looked up at the moon above before meeting his gaze once again. He smirked and licked his lips before he pulled Bill’s hair again and then let go suddenly. He nodded as he showed Bill his fist and then opened it, and seemed to get frustrated when Bill just looked at him with confusion before he wanked him harder.
Malfoy rolled his eyes and Bill wouldn’t doubt he’d be cursing right now if he could talk. Where was parchment and a quill when you needed it? Not that he’d have let Malfoy up to write him some silly note, but he was annoyed that he couldn’t understand. He made a living solving puzzles and breaking curses, after all. Why couldn’t he understand what Malfoy was trying to communicate? His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp bite on his shoulder.
He snarled and pushed Malfoy back against the ground roughly. Malfoy nodded and grinned before his hand tightened around Bill’s cock and began to move again finally. Bill leaned down and bit Malfoy’s collarbone, felt him buck up as his hand held Bill’s shoulders. He finally understood. He would have laughed if he hadn’t been so fucking aroused. Instead, he gave Malfoy what he wanted, once again. He let go of his control.
Bill bit and sucked, hands bruising, taking what he wanted, taking what Malfoy was giving. It wasn’t long before he felt Malfoy tense. He looked up, blood on his lips from a bite that had just pierced pale skin, and watched Malfoy’s mouth open as he came. Warm seed spilled onto his hand, and Malfoy’s cock twitched as he came long and hard. Bill kept stroking him until he was completely spent and then, finally, focused on his own approaching release.
His hand reached between them to grip Malfoy’s wrist. Bill pulled his hand out of his shorts and chuckled at the glare his actions caused in the blond beneath him. He removed his hand from Malfoy’s cock and deliberately licked his fingers clean of seed as his gaze watched Malfoy’s face. When he opened his mouth and licked his lips, Bill offered him a finger. He groaned as Malfoy eagerly sucked his own come from his hand, licking and sucking his finger in a way that made him even more eager to feel those lips around his cock.
“Gonna come now,” he muttered as he shifted and moved between Malfoy’s legs. He pushed forward, letting his cock slide against Malfoy’s wet cock. The head of his cock brushed against blond curls every time he shoved forward, his hands on either side of Malfoy, and he began to move his hips harder, faster. Soon, he’d be thrusting into tight warmth, would feel Malfoy’s arse around his cock. For now, this was good enough. There was plenty of time for more later. Malfoy seemed to catch on quickly and was soon moving against him, his hands on Bill’s back and in his long red hair. Bill bit down hard as he came, spilling all over Malfoy’s cock and stomach.
After, when he was completely spent, Bill moved to lie on his back and stare up at the sky. Glimpses of moonlight could be seen through the branches of the trees. He turned his head to look at Malfoy, who was again watching him with an intensity that no longer bothered him. He arched a brow and his lip curled up just a bit as he grew thoughtful. That’s all Malfoy needed before he moved closer, somewhat hesitant and almost shy as he curled up against Bill.
Warm fingers traced the scar on his cheek before wet lips kissed it. “I get it now,” he said softly as he looked at Malfoy and traced his fingers down the blond’s throat. “Permanent, isn’t it? Like my scars. Never going to go away.”
Malfoy blinked at him before he slowly nodded. There was a leaf in his hair and dirt on his cheek, his lips were swollen and his cheeks were flushed, but Bill didn’t notice. He thought about his scars, vivid and ugly, marring a face that had always been handsome and trusted, making him look like a monster. He thought about the effects of the scars, not full lycanthropy but traits and desires that had changed him, made him someone he didn’t always recognize.
He thought about Malfoy, a stupid kid obeying his parents’ directions and learning from them, trusting them to guide and keep him safe, learning that life isn’t black and white. He thought about Malfoy, holding his mother’s broken and bleeding body, knowing the sacrifice she made to protect him from the very things she’d taught him, never able to remove the mark on his arm that would forever brand him a monster regardless of his subsequent choices and decisions. He thought about Malfoy, silent and watchful, far too perceptive, wanting and needing, no longer having something everyone took for granted.
He had lost Fleur, lost the easy charm and optimism that had always made him popular, lost things he’d always taken for granted like trust and faith of those around him. Malfoy had lost his innocence, his mother, his ability to speak, and still he’d overcome that to give the Order his knowledge. Bill had always imagined himself strong, retreating into himself and keeping control, hating parts of himself he couldn’t control or change. Now he realized, lying here beneath random rays of moonlight with his trousers around his thighs and come drying on his cock and belly, that he’d allowed himself to fall into cowardice, running away from things that were overwhelming.
Malfoy was stronger than he’d ever been. Bill brushed his thumb across Malfoy’s lower lip and things started to finally make sense. Malfoy hadn’t been running away. He’d been forcing Bill to chase him into order to stop running, to find himself and deal with the person he’d become. It wouldn’t happen overnight, he knew. Wasn’t even sure it would happen in the upcoming weeks, could take months. But he knew now that his scars didn’t mean a damn thing unless he let them have that sort of power over him.
Bill leaned down and kissed Malfoy…kissed Draco, and he understood. They all had scars, all had lost things, but life didn’t stop just because it got complicated. Draco tensed at the first gentle touch of Bill’s chapped lips against his mouth but soon parted his lips and returned the kiss, his hair brushing against Bill’s cheek. He tentatively moved his hand along Draco’s cheek and throat as he rolled towards him to deepen the kiss. Yes, they all had scars; some just weren’t as visible as others. The right touch, however, could help them begin to heal.
The End
The Healing Touch
Story Notes:
Jan 3, 2006