FIC: Golden Angel, RL-DM Title: Golden Angel Author: Rakina Pairing(s): Remus Lupin/Draco Malfoy Rating: NC17 Warnings: Implied abuse. Summary: The prompt says it all. Prompt: #124: After living with the harsh manner of his father, Draco seeks affection from another authority figure. Author Note (if any): Word count: 5,682. This is set in Draco's third year. Beta: hel_bee. Thank you yet again for going outside your comfort zone. I really do not deserve you.
Golden Angel By Rakina
Draco Abraxas Malfoy was used to discipline. To him, Snape's severe manner was nothing to raise an eyebrow about, and he scorned the Gryffindors who made a fuss about his classroom manner. Draco had been brought up in a very proper Wizarding household, where his father was the patriarch, the model he had to look up to and emulate - as well as he could - in everything he did. Almost from the day of his birth Draco had been dressed similarly and been educated in the same way - taught the social niceties and the things a gentleman should know: fencing, hawking, horse- and broomstick-riding, the history of the Dark Arts and financial management, and how to charm and influence people.
When Draco arrived at Hogwarts with instructions to befriend Harry Potter and discover whether the boy was really an embryonic Dark Lord as his defeat of Voldemort suggested, Draco had been horrified to find Potter an almost alien personality. Potter had latched on to Ronald Weasley. Draco's father loathed the Weasleys, loudly declaiming they were a disgrace to the name of wizard. Arthur Weasley had been stupid enough to have too many children to be able to provide properly for them, and worse, he was openly admiring of Muggles. Draco had been horrified to see Potter standing by the youngest Weasley boy's side. He'd approached the boy, trying not to dwell on his lightning-bolt scar, and been rebuffed. His father would not be pleased by his failure.
Draco had told his father of Potter's Muggle-loving tendencies, which were only reinforced when the boy started hanging around with the Mudblood Granger as well as the Weasley idiot. No doubt this was part of Dumbledore's strategy by sending Potter to live with his Muggle relatives instead of fostering him with a proper, wizarding family. From this and other reports Draco's father had decided that Potter was an enemy, not a possible future Lord, and he then encouraged Draco to thwart him at every turn. This was now Draco's pleasure.
Now, in their third year, Draco openly reviled anything Potter espoused, which included their new DADA teacher, for a start. The Gryffindors all loved Professor Lupin, which meant that Draco and the Slytherins had to hate him.
For the first time at Hogwarts, Draco found acting out his role as Potter's opposite was unpleasant. Because he really didn't hate Lupin. Lupin's lessons were great - interesting, engaging and full of information. Draco was learning more than he ever had in this class, and he couldn't quite understand it. Father had always told him that schoolmasters had to be disciplinarians, or children would rampage through their classes. But no one rampaged in kind Professor Lupin's lessons. Father had said that all classes should be like Snape's: everyone in their place, concentrating on their work. But Professor Lupin had them forming groups, interacting, working together, and still learning. Lupin made a point of mixing Slytherins and Gryffindors in activities, and even more mystifying to Draco was the discovery that it worked. It was making Draco nervous, making him question the very foundation of his beliefs: his father's omniscience.
Most disarming of all, Lupin had taken to asking Draco to help him after class. Draco always liked being singled out, made more of than his peers, because he knew he was exceptional and it was no more than his due. He was as clever as the Mudblood Granger; it was not so obvious merely because he behaved like a gentleman, not forever jumping about with his hand in the air to prove to the rest of the class how clever he was. And Draco was not just intelligent, he was fit from playing sports and riding, and he was a handsome young man. In fact, he knew his appearance was bordering on being beautiful. If he'd been a girl he would have been amazing. So being singled out for attention was not unusual for Draco Malfoy. But it was certainly unexpected to receive such attention from a Gryffindor teacher like Professor Lupin.
Professor Remus J Lupin was quiet, funny and approachable - quite unlike any other teacher Draco had ever had. Hooch, McGonagall and Snape were models of the 'proper' Hogwarts teacher, and while the headmaster was as eccentric as they came he still retained great presence, discipline and authority. But with Lupin… everything was different. As he worked with his teacher after class Draco found that he liked helping the man, liked being with him. Lupin's quiet appreciation of everything he did made Draco open up in a way he'd never done with an adult before. They started talking - really talking - to each other.
"I suppose you've seen Dark artefacts before," Lupin was saying.
Draco shook his head clear of his confused thoughts and approached the box Lupin was opening carefully. "Yes, I have. Father has taken me to see some of the dealers." He wasn't giving away any secrets by saying that; everyone knew Lucius Malfoy was a collector of antiquities.
"Then you know we start with a simple shield set up around the area." Lupin waved his wand, incanting a containment spell to ensure that whatever was in the box would stay there, along with its influence.
"Yes. Father uses Murus."
"Hm. I prefer Fenestra, it's easier to work with, though of course you have to use more control throughout in order to contain whatever is in the artefact. Murus is safer, but it is hard to make contact with the object, hard to work with it."
"Really? Father says Fenestra is really tricky to set up."
Lupin smiled his sweet, soft smile that Draco liked. "It can be. I have had a lot of practice, Draco."
Draco liked that Lupin called him by his first name. Most professors never used anything but 'Mr Malfoy'. Lupin was different, again. Draco spent an hour after class helping Lupin unpack a series of artefacts for his older students to study. He wondered why Lupin had chosen him to be his helper when he could have had an older student, stronger and knowing far more about his subject than Draco currently did. But then, Draco was a Malfoy, perhaps it was as simple as that. Father would have said Lupin was trying to gain favour by picking Lucius' son, but Draco didn't think it was that simple. He couldn't imagine Professor Lupin approaching his father for anything.
Draco was stacking the empty magical containers in the DADA storeroom when Lupin came in to see how he was getting on.
The storeroom, like all classroom stores, was small and cramped, filled with an odd variety of items left over from previous lesson plans as well as more current pieces. Boxes, strange-shaped instruments and containers made of basketry, leather, wood and glass filled the shelves from floor to ceiling. The room smelt of dust. Draco had to move items on the shelves to find room for the boxes he was carrying; he didn't want to end up having to conjure a ladder to reach the top shelves. There was always room up there, but it was extra effort.
"Can you manage?" Lupin asked from behind him, reaching an arm around Draco to shove an old cauldron along the shelf he was trying to put a box on.
"Yes, thanks though," Draco panted. Some of these containers were heavy, even though they were now empty.
Lupin's arm steadied Draco's as he placed the last box on the shelf, sighing with relief as it was set in place. Lupin was standing right behind him, very close. Draco hadn't realised how close Lupin was earlier, but now the box was in place and his arms were empty, he thought about stepping back and realised that if he did he'd be in Lupin's arms. His eyes opened wider in realisation, and he gave a little smile. Suddenly, he realised that Lupin had chosen him because of his beauty, and Draco understood that, perfectly.
Women treated Draco like an angel; they cooed over him, patted his head, smoothed his hair and exclaimed how sweet, how perfect, how handsome a little man he was. But the men who noticed Draco had a different reaction. They would smile at him, their eyes lighting up with appreciation, with what Draco knew was desire. They wanted to touch him; some of them would run a hand down his back, and one daring visitor had cupped Draco's arse, squeezing gently. Draco had liked it, but he doubted his father would. The man, Alfredo Di Galbani, an Italian artist, had not been given the commission to paint the newest Malfoy portrait after that. Draco still wondered if it was because his father had seen the caress.
The way Lupin was acting, Draco now realised, was like a man who admired Draco physically, a man who wanted him. Professor Lupin was too Gryffindor to do anything about it, but he obviously appreciated Draco's closeness in here, and Draco could hear the man breathing faster than normal behind his back. He turned around and smiled up at his professor. "There's not much room in here, is there?"
Lupin swallowed, looking down into Draco's grey eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, stepping back.
Draco smiled. "It's all right. I don't mind." He stepped forward, ostensibly to leave the storeroom, but really to get closer to Lupin again.
Lupin was obviously flustered, and it amused Draco that he had so much effect on the older man. "Have you finished with me?" he asked innocently.
Lupin flushed a little, and Draco knew he'd got it right. His teacher desired him, and to his surprise, that pleased him on more than one level… because he liked Lupin that way too. The warm, amber-coloured eyes, the rather untidy sandy hair, the gentleness that Draco could tell covered something very strong - this man could manipulate Fenestra, which his own father could not do - was calling to Draco. He wanted to slip his arms around his professor, to bury his head in Lupin's chest and feel safe. That feeling was something he missed.
Once, Draco's father had made him feel safe, when Draco was a little boy. But as Draco had grown and the demands of being the man's heir had become harder to live with, it was no longer the case. Now, Draco's father made him nervous. Every time Draco failed in his father's eyes he was punished. The spells his father used to punish him with left no marks, not on the outside, but they hurt Draco very much inside. Hurt his body and his soul. When Potter had got on the Quidditch team in first year, Lucius had been livid that Draco hadn't done the same, that a Mudblood-raised boy had beaten his privately tutored son. In second year Lucius had intervened, providing the team with new brooms and Snape with the instruction to get his son on the team. No one should out-perform a Malfoy. At times, Draco hated his name.
But Lupin… Draco was sure Lupin liked him in spite of his name, not because of it. Lupin liked the look of Draco, liked his intelligence and his company. And that made Draco feel wonderful, because for once he didn't have an icon to live up to. He could be himself.
"Yes, yes, that's all for today," Lupin croaked, his voice gruffer than normal. "You had better go and get ready for dinner."
"Thank you," Draco said. He stepped close to Lupin, holding the man's gaze. "I like being with you, professor," he added quietly. "I'd do anything to help you, you know."
Lupin swallowed, but said nothing. Draco slid past him, brushing against Lupin's thin robes. He made a point of it, and was unsurprised and rather delighted when he discovered the man's erection. He smiled, and left. Now was not the time, but soon he would come back. The wonderful feeling of rightness, of being himself, was too precious to lose.
Draco knew where Lupin's rooms were. He'd helped the man move things to and from them for lessons. He knew he could find them at night; the difficult part was avoiding Snape as he left the dungeon. Draco hoped Snape would be absent sometime, but Snape was his usual, disciplined self, conscientious about his patrols, ever vigilant with his Slytherins. But Draco kept watching, eyeing Snape's movements. He noticed the pattern of the man's night time patrols, and chose to make his move on a Wednesday, when Flitwick and Trelawney were the teachers on duty. Even if he was caught, those two would hand out lesser punishments; but Draco did not think they would catch him. He slid out of Slytherin and made for the upper floors and specifically, the DADA corridor and associated rooms. Lupin's suite was at the end of that corridor, past the classrooms, storerooms and practice rooms. Draco smiled as he approached, unconcerned by the darkness along here. He knew where he was going and what he was going for, and it felt right.
***
Remus Lupin was sitting by his fire, drinking tea. It was late, but he hadn't retired, unable to settle his thoughts for sleep. While he looked the essence of the unflappable, kindly professor he consciously projected, inside he was a mass of churning emotions. Questions surrounding Sirius Black, Severus Snape, the mistakes of their past and those long-distant Hogwarts days were never far from his mind, they affected his life even now. He had thrown himself into his job here, and it was working, keeping his mind off the past except at moments like this, when he was alone and had time to think.
There was something about the third years, Remus realised, about Harry's class. It was not just the link with the time Remus was trying to avoid thinking about. Remus knew Harry regarded him as a rare and precious source of information about his parents, and he tried to help the lad, but it was very uncomfortable for him, opening scars he'd thought he'd healed. That class held some other interesting individuals: Hermione, so sharp she might cut herself; Neville, a victim of the past as much as Remus and Harry were; and Draco, surely destined to be a high-ranking Death Eater like his father had been. But not if Remus Lupin could help it!
Draco Malfoy played his part in class - ribbing the Gryffindors, particularly Harry and his friends; sneering at everything. But Remus could see beyond the act to the uncertain boy beneath. He'd chosen Draco to help him because he wanted to see the true nature of the boy, and he wanted to help.
Draco had opened up as they worked together. He was delightful company, always interested and erudite beyond his years. It seemed the Slytherin prince had no real hatred of his Gryffindor professor and was genuinely interested in the subject. That was to be expected, but the boy's admiration of Remus was not. It had shaken him, because it touched Remus' vulnerability.
Remus had to admit that he'd chosen Draco for another reason as well as his more noble intentions. Remus liked looking at the boy, liked being near him. He would never touch him, but that didn't stop him admiring Draco's body, of the adolescent beauty of a boy poised between childhood and the man he would become.
Draco's fair colouring added to his innocent, childlike air. He was like a golden angel; his perfection of face and body was striking. Perhaps that bigot Lucius had a point about breeding, after all, though Remus would never admit it. Draco was like a different species from Remus, all smooth, pale perfection next to earthy, scarred roughness. Remus had been willing to dismiss that as the purest irony, that the boy held nothing pure in his personality. But lately, he'd seen beneath the Malfoy mask, and he truly wondered if Draco was the wicked child so many labelled him.
These feelings of closeness were becoming stronger all the time. Maybe it was because Remus had seen Draco twice this week, or maybe it was the lure of the moon, the full moon a mere five days away, that pulled at his blood and prevented his avoidance of his desires.
Always the moon. Always Moony.
Remus looked up as a soft knocking came at his chamber door. He put his cup down and went to answer it, wondering who needed his help this late in the evening. The students were in their dorms; it must be a fellow staff member. He stepped back in surprise when he saw Draco standing there in his pyjamas, his cloak held around his slender body to keep out the chill of the castle corridors.
"Draco! What are you doing here?"
"Please, professor, may I speak to you?"
Remus frowned, but the pale boy's yearning expression cut through his defences and he stepped aside, gesturing Draco to come in.
Draco entered, smiling.
"Sit down, Draco," Remus prompted.
Draco went over to the settee and draped his cloak over it. Wearing just his pyjamas he sat down next to where Remus had been sitting, marked by his half-finished cup of tea. Remus took his armchair, pulling the tea towards him. "Would you like some tea?"
"Won't someone know I'm here if you order tea? I know I'm out after hours, but I had to see you."
See you. Not 'speak to you' then. "The elves will not trouble themselves if I order more tea," Remus said, doing so. A new pot was delivered along with another cup, a sugar bowl (Remus did not bother with one when he was alone as he did not take sugar in tea) and a plate of biscuits.
Remus poured a cup for Draco, topped up his own. "Have a biscuit, Draco."
Draco looked like he was going to refuse, but his eyes were scanning the plate. There were several varieties: chocolate digestives, jammy dodgers and custard creams. "Thank you," he said, and helped himself to a jammy dodger. "These are better than we get in the common rooms."
Remus laughed. "Teachers' privileges, Draco. Have as many as you like, I can always ask for more."
Draco smiled and ate appreciatively, his pink tongue swiping crumbs from his lips. Remus' groin tightened at the sight, his mind giving the gesture more meaning than a twelve-year-old could intend. He cleared his throat. "So, Draco, what is troubling you that you have to come here so late, risking loss of points and detention?"
"Oh, you won't put me in detention, will you, sir?" the grey eyes looked upset at the thought.
Remus couldn't help but smile. "No, of course not; I presume you have a good reason."
"I… I had to speak to you. Because you're the only one I can speak to, sir."
Remus had to wonder at this. "What about?"
"I can't sleep," Draco said quietly, as if it was shameful. "I worry. I know I shouldn't, but my father, he expects so much…"
Remus understood. Lucius Malfoy would demand the highest standards from his son as from everything else in his life.
"…and if I fail him, he punishes me," Draco added, his voice no more than a whisper now.
"He is your father, Draco, he has the right to discipline you," Remus said, hating himself for saying such a thing. But he was in authority now, an upholder of rules and discipline. In his own way, that was.
"I know." Draco sounded hopeless. "I know. But I fear failure, sir. So much." Draco shivered.
Remus' heart went out to the boy. Whatever did Malfoy consider a just punishment for an under-achieving son? Not that Draco was an under-achiever. He was a brilliant student, already on his House Quidditch team even though he was so young, and to Remus he appeared perfect. Almost heartbreakingly perfect. He reached over and put his hand on Draco's knee, offering support. "You will not fail, Draco. You are doing wonderfully."
Draco looked up, still uncertain. "I wish Father thought so." He leaned towards Remus.
Remus could see the need for assurance, for affection, in the boy's body language. Did Malfoy ever offer his son physical contact, or was it all stoicism and punishment, with the emphasis on nothing but achievement and living up to his name?
"Please, sir," Draco said brokenly, as he got up and moved over to Remus' chair, his arms outstretched. "Please…" he said, as he slipped his arms around his professor and climbed onto his lap. "Please, don't send me away." Draco rested his head on Remus' shoulder, the finest, pale-blond hair soft against Remus' neck.
How could Remus send him away, push him off, damage him further? It was unthinkable, and so he slipped his arms around Draco's back, holding him in place, offering security.
"I feel safe with you," Draco said to Remus' chest, his breath puffing against the opened shirt, drifting over Remus' exposed skin. "You're the only person who treats me like me, not like Draco Malfoy."
Remus stroked Draco's back with his large hand. He knew exactly what the boy meant, and his heart ached for him. "I do," he agreed. "I see you, Draco, for who you are. A clever, accomplished, boy; a beautiful boy." Remus held back, though he wanted nothing more than to kiss Draco at this moment.
Draco smiled against Remus' neck; Remus could feel the movement of the boy's lips and cheeks. He felt those lips press against his throat, a sweet kiss of thanks. That was all… could only be all. He stroked Draco soothingly a little more, his hands appreciating the feel of the lithe young body under the pyjamas, feeling the warmth of life in this vision of perfection.
"Don't send me away, please," Draco begged again.
Remus didn't want to send Draco away. He held Draco close, he kept him safe. He offered the appreciation Draco would not get anywhere else. Remus understood all this, and yet he knew the danger of doing it. He hesitated.
The boy looked up and leaned closer, planting a sweet kiss on Remus' lips. Remus imagined the tender flick of tongue; he had to have done so, for it couldn't be real. He'd dreamed it; he remembered how he'd dreamed of it, before. Now his dream was coming to life; it was already near-reality as he cradled the boy on his lap, offering what comfort he could to a hurting soul. Remus looked down into the grey eyes that were fixed so pleadingly on him, and suddenly it was too much. He leaned down and kissed back, as gently as he could, but still it was far harder than Draco's sweet, childish kiss had been.
Remus tasted the sweetness of tea and biscuits in Draco's mouth. It was fitting that the boy should taste sweet, in keeping with his angelic appearance. For Draco was angelic, with his pale nimbus of hair, his grey eyes, his whitest of white skin which felt so soft to Remus' large, adult hands. Remus tasted and dominated, leading the kiss beyond what the boy had offered, feeling guilty and yet not caring about that even as he did it, for Moony would not let him hesitate. And Draco was responding enthusiastically, kissing back hungrily, learning the way to please the older man.
Draco's arms were winding around Remus; the fingers of one hand were playing in his hair while the other slipped up under his shirt, feeling bare flesh and tracing lines of muscle and bone.
Remus pulled back. "Too much, too much," he told himself and the boy, but Draco wasn't listening. Draco was opening the buttons of his pyjama top, exposing his pale chest and abdomen, and Remus couldn't look away. Draco was perfect, as Remus had known he would be, and he wondered what Draco's cock would look like in its perfection of form, its delicate beauty which would be part of this angelic body. Remus was panting; he was no longer struggling for control though, for he had cried 'enough', his defences had been thoroughly shattered when they had kissed.
Remus' hands came up and stroked Draco's chest, brushing gently over the pale pink nipples, making the boy gasp with pleasure. Remus smiled at the reaction, he'd known Draco would be responsive to his touch.
"Please," Draco said again, obviously not knowing how to ask for what he needed, but his simple plea was enough.
Remus' hand dropped to Draco's trouser button, and he slipped it out of its fastening, parting the trousers and easing them down. Draco lifted up, his hands on Remus' shoulders as the trousers were slipped down his hips. He kicked them off his legs, completely exposed now.
Remus looked at the perfect form of Draco Abraxas Malfoy, and he was lost. And he didn't care, because this perfection could never be anything but pure, and lovely, and right.
Remus ran his hands over Draco, his eyes dilated with need, his cock rigid in his trousers. "You are so perfect, Draco," he told the boy. "You are like an elf: pale and beautiful."
Draco smiled up at him. "I know you're not perfect, sir. You have scars…" he traced his fingers over the old scars on Remus' face, "but I still like you. You're strong and kind, I feel safe and happy with you."
Remus took a deep breath. The boy was beguiling; there was little he wouldn't give him, though Merlin knew he had little to offer. But Draco could have all of it, if he asked. His hands stroked lower, fingers gently exploring the boy's cock, hard and eager in a heartbreakingly innocent way. Draco gasped at the contact and moaned out "Please…" again, squirming on Remus' lap. Remus' cock ached in its confined space, but he would not free it, not contaminate this elfin boy with the sight of his all-to-earthy maleness.
Remus' hand encircled the boy's cock, sliding up and down, loving the feel of it in his hand. Draco thrust his hips up into the strokes, moaning a little now. The movement of the boy's body, the rhythmic thrusting was communicating with Remus' trapped erection, making it pulse with inflamed need. "So beautiful, you are so beautiful…" he whispered into the pale ear, licking and nibbling between his words.
Draco's hands had been busy, Remus hadn't noticed, but when his shirt parted and Draco ran his fingers through Remus' chest hair, he pulled back and looked into Draco's eyes. "You should not touch me."
"I want to," Draco replied simply, and buried his head in the crook of Remus' neck, inhaling deeply. He was rubbing his cheek over the top of Remus' chest now, feeling Remus hairy body with his silken-soft face. Remus felt a shudder run down his spine. He slid his free hand lower down Draco's back, cupping the boy's perfect, rounded arse in his palm.
Remus kept up the stroking, rhythmic and gentle, yet with an insistence that showed Draco he wasn't going to leave him wanting. He whispered a slicking spell and Draco's cock slid beautifully in his fingers; Remus didn't want to hurt the boy, not in any way, not ever. He kneaded the wonderful, rounded arse cheek in his other hand, whispering, "So perfect," as he did so, conscious all the time of the gift Draco was giving him, of his unworthiness to handle such perfection.
Draco was thrusting up and down more insistently now, his breathing coming harder and harsher, the movements of his hips tantalising Remus. Remus felt the gathering storm of orgasm and knew he was going to come as well. He would keep himself enclosed, hidden, trying to corrupt this boy as little as he could, though he knew it was a poor excuse and he was not worthy of pardon.
Draco was bouncing up and down now, gasping out, "Yes, oh sir, that's so good!" Remus could feel Draco's cock hardening further, like a little iron bar in his hand. He pumped harder, excited by the boy's responses, his own hips thrusting up now, seeking a gratification he would not allow himself. Flesh on flesh, flesh in flesh, that was what his inner wolf craved, and, with a huge effort, he denied it.
Draco cried aloud as he started to come, semen spurting over Remus' exposed chest, over his hands and clothing. Oh, it was sweet to watch him, watch his beautiful features lost in bliss, his mouth parted in a cry of completion. Remus cradled him lovingly, even as the sight triggered his own orgasm. Now he could let himself go, act a little selfishly as he closed his eyes and rode out the waves of pleasure that were jolting through him. He moaned deep in his throat as the scent of Draco's semen filled his senses. The sweetness of this moment was etched into his mind; he felt it happen and it was a memory he would cherish forever. He'd never deserved such trust, and although he knew he'd abused it, it would go with him wherever he went. It would be a reminder that he'd been good enough… he'd been someone a boy in need could come to. He was someone who had helped.
Draco's head fell onto Remus' shoulder, and Remus whispered a cleansing charm, making them more comfortable. His own wet trousers and underpants dried and he was relieved; with luck Draco had been wrapped up in his own orgasm and had not noticed his teacher taking such pleasure in him. He stroked the boy's back protectively.
"Thank you," Draco whispered.
"Shush," Remus said quietly, ashamed that the boy was thanking him for the wrongdoing. It was wrong. But it had felt so good, and Draco seemed happy.
Draco just snuggled against him, closer, warmer. "May I stay with you tonight? Please… Remus."
It was the first time Draco had called him by his first name. "You should go back to your dormitory. Professor Snape would be angry to find you out."
"He won't come out now; it's well past time for rounds. I could go back in the morning."
Draco's voice was wheedling now and he squirmed on Remus' lap, closer still. Remus was reminded of the way the boy had rubbed and bounced on him, bringing him pleasure as he pleasured himself. He closed his eyes, summoning strength.
"No, you must leave. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"
Draco gave a stifled sob. Remus' hands ran down his back, soothing.
"Please… don't send me away. Everyone just wants me for a little, never enough."
Remus hoped those words didn't mean other men had taken advantage of the boy's innocence. He hated himself for doing it, but he had been kind - Remus Lupin, always the kind one, he thought sourly - and Draco hadn't been hurt by him. Except now Remus was hurting him, sending him away. "Oh, Draco," he sighed, kissing the soft blond hair.
Draco was clinging to him; Remus felt the boy's desperation in the way his thin arms held him tight as if scared to let go. What could he do? "Tonight only, then. This must not happen again," he said firmly.
Even as he said it, Remus knew that if the boy came back to him, if Draco still needed, he would give him what he wanted.
"You must not do this with anyone else, Draco; it would not be safe," he warned. "Some men are more demanding." Oh Merlin, how those words seared his conscience! Some men are more demanding, indeed. And most are not; most are decent souls who would not debauch a twelve-year-old boy like he had just done. He cringed inside, recognising his weakness.
"Thank you," Draco said, looking up now. "You're so kind to me, sir. No one else could ever be like you, so don't worry, I won't go to anyone else. Don't you know I only came to you because you were special, because you saw me?"
Remus nodded. What they had was strange, unprecedented, but it was true. He could provide something important for Draco, and so he should. Sometimes, in life, the ethical way was not always the best way; the rules harsh and unforgiving in such special cases of need. And Draco was very much a special case, a boy desperately in need of the empathy from an older man that he would never find with his father.
"Come on then, bed," Remus said, standing and placing Draco on his feet in front of him. Draco took his hand, soft skin inside his own large, calloused palm. Remus led him to his bedroom, to the large four-poster all Hogwarts' staff bedrooms held. His sanctuary, now to be shared.
As Draco lay down, his blond head on Remus' pillow, Remus saw the boy was smiling. Draco's eyes were already drifting shut. If he'd truly had trouble sleeping, that was over now. Remus slid inside the sheets; he turned to face Draco and gave him a tender kiss. "Good night. I'll put the alarm on for six; you need to get back to Slytherin early."
Draco nodded and gave a little huffing reply. "Love you, Remus," he muttered so quietly that Remus wondered if he'd dreamed it. For it was part of his dreams, his deepest desire, and he did not deserve it to come true.
When Draco was deeply asleep, his face slack in repose, Remus said, "I love you too, Draco. I love you far more than is safe, far past the limits of my good sense. I will always love you, whatever life brings you to. To me you will always be my beautiful, golden angel. Sleep well, my love."
Remus lay down, and found he couldn't think about rights and wrongs any more. What was done, was done. And he was happy. Draco, sleeping peacefully beside him, still had a smile on his soft lips and his happiness was obvious too. For now, it was enough.