He's never going to fix this fucking cabinet.

The progress he's made over the past nine months has been, frankly, pathetic. And now with the deadline looming, Draco felt like he was going to lose his fucking mind.

Not that it mattered, since he was going to die anyway.

He couldn't tell if that was a positive or a negative at this point.

The unexpected stress-relief afforded him by Potter lasted long enough for him to get a full night's sleep (for the first time in somewhere around a year, probably), but not enough to affect his productivity, unfortunately.

So here he was, no closer repairing the Vanishing Cabinet, feeling the edge of panic crowd his mind.

He took a breath. Held it. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw and generally just tried not to burst into tears like an untried Hufflepuff before he was forced to breathe again.

He needs a break.

Taking another fortifying breath, he leaned back and looked around the Room. Filled to the brink with things worth hiding, Draco figured there was probably something here to calm his nerves. With that thought, he stood, glanced back toward the cabinet as if to ensure it didn't disappear, and finally set off in search of contraband.

For several minutes, he just meandered around the room filtering through random detritus. Potions textbook from approximately the 1970's, a muggle-made wrist watch, a Rememberall, a porcelain doll, an umbrella – he had yet to find anything worth hiding in this Room of Hidden Things. Do people actually hide things here, or did they just show up when they get lost?

Finally, he smelled the vague, lingering scent of tobacco on what looked like a turn-of-the-century music box. Opening the box, he found it hollowed, the musical machinations removed decades ago at at some point replaced with what looked like about a dozen thin, hand-rolled cigarettes. Convenient, since Draco had never actually rolled a cigarette himself before (hadn't even smoked before, actually, but if there was ever a time to pick up the habit...). He hoped the tobacco was still good, though he knew it had probably gone off in the unknown number of years since the music box's previous owner had rolled these little beauties. Oh well, maybe he could psych himself up enough that he could fool himself into at least thinking the nicotine still had effect.

Draco looked up, intending to locate himself a chair someone, somewhen might have felt the need to hide away, when suddenly he saw the room around him shimmer away. The walls closed in and the hidden things disappeared, replaced with rich, wooden walls and a cosy looking chaise and in-table, complete with lamp, a heavily draped (and utterly implausible) window, and a hanging chandelier. For a second he panicked, fearing he had accidentally irrevocably lost the Vanishing Cabinet before he remembered that he could simply require the Room of Hidden Things again when he needed it.

Having successfully staved off a panic attack and finding himself pleased with his cosy new surroundings, Draco inelegantly flopped onto the chaise. He set the music box on the in-table and held a cigarette to his lips. It took a moment to get himself appropriately prepared, mentally, before he tapped his wand to the twisted tip and set it ablaze. Draco inhaled then immediately started coughing as the smoke hit his lungs. He glared at the cigarette in betrayal before trying again, barely breathing it in. It still irritated his throat, and he coughed once, but it was better. It was probably the placebo-effect, but he really was feeling much calmer, now.

"Seriously, Harry, leave Malfoy alone."

Harry startled, tearing his eyes from the Slytherin table and back to Hermione who was glaring at him in exasperation. Even Ron looked wearily at him, lips thinned, hunched as if trying to avoid being seen in case it meant having to voice his opinion on the matter.

"I haven't done anything!" he protested. He looked to Ginny, but her concern proved she wasn't on his side, either. She laid a hand on his thigh, but the comfort she intended only irritated him.

"Just ignore him, Harry. I don't want you two to end up duelling again," she implored. He huffed and glared down at his dinner, clenching his jaw. He didn't bother shrugging her off or protesting, since he doubted anyone would believe him if he said his observation was harmless.

He hadn't even realised he was staring this time.

He just...

It had been a few days since his... thing with Malfoy, and he couldn't put it out of his mind. Not the actual act, rather the fact that Malfoy himself had been so civil. He hadn't tried to kill him, which Harry admit was unexpected (he wouldn't have even blamed him much if he had tried). He didn't start an argument. He wasn't even overly forceful! It was the least antagonistic interaction he had ever had with Draco Malfoy in all the time he'd known the boy.

He couldn't help but think that maybe Malfoy wasn't as evil as he'd previously thought. After all, it certainly didn't look like he was very happy being a Death Eater. If Draco Malfoy could fraternise with the enemy without either of them trying to kill each other, maybe Harry stood a chance at actually getting relevant information from him. Maybe he could convince the Slytherin to defect; join Harry on the Light side. Maybe they could even be friends!

First things first, though, he needed some information. He had to know what Draco was up to, what it had to do with Katie. He needed to find out what Voldemort had planned, so he could figure out what to do to stop it. He wanted to know why Malfoy took the Mark to begin with.

He had to get Malfoy alone again so they could talk.

It took several more days of careful reconnaissance (not stalking) before Harry caught the blond alone. It was a little before dinner, and the other was walking into the empty quidditch supply shed, probably getting ready for some solo-flying around the pitch.

Harry looked around to make sure they were alone then whipped off his cloak, running to follow his rival into the rickety building.

"Draco!" he called quietly as he stole inside.

Draco whipped around and swore, combing his fingers through his hair. "Salazar's bollocks, Potter, what do you want now?!"

Harry wrapped his arms around himself defensively, cloak hung over his arm. "I wanted to talk to you."

Draco rolled his eyes. "We don't have anything more to talk about, Potter. We've discussed all we needed to discuss. Go away. And quit stalking me, it's creepy." Broom in hand, the Slytherin stalked forward, shoulder crushing against Harry's own as he brushed passed him. Quickly Harry turned and gripped his shoulder.

"Wait!" he pleaded, though Draco harshly shrugged him off. Before Draco could tell him to piss off again, he rushed on, "IneedtoknowwhatyouknowaboutVoldemort!"

Still.

Draco froze, face paling (Harry didn't even know he had colour to lose). Then he snarled and pushed forward, slamming Harry back into a rack of leathers. "Don't say that name!" he hissed, eyes narrowed dangerously. "Now you listen here you ignorant little shit: We are not friends. We are not allies. I am not a member of your little fan-club, yipping at your feet, begging to be made use of. Don't fucking talk to me about the Dark Lord. In fact, don't talk to me at all. Stay out of my bloody business for once in your bleeding life, Potter, and leave me the fuck alone!"

Harry knew he was going to have bruises later, but he didn't care.

"Please, Malfoy! I just want to help! I know you're not happy like this; you're hardly the poster-boy for a proud Death Eater. I mean, I've known you for six years, Malfoy, and you've never looked less than perfect, except this year you look like shit. Sickly, even. Anyone can tell that whatever they've got you doing, it's killing you! You can't actually want him to win, can you?" Harry paused, looking carefully at Draco who miraculously hadn't left yet, who actually appeared to be listening in spite of the painful looking grimace on his face. Harry continued. "Any information you can give me, any at all, would be helpful. Please."

Draco exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and turned around, though he didn't leave. "Merlin, Potter, you can't just expect me to-"

"I'll blow you. Again. I'll suck your cock. It can be like a quid-pro-quo, thing! You give me information and I'll get you off."

Draco looked at him over his shoulder, staring incredulously. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Harry shook his head vigorously. "Serious as a heart attack."

The blond turned slowly. "What about your girlfriend?" he asked suspiciously.

Harry shrugged, "It's just business. You do something for me, and I'll do something for you in return." The other boy snorted and shook his head in bemused exasperation.

"You're actually serious about this." Harry nodded.

"I'm not going to tell you about the Dark Lord," Draco repeated firmly.

"What if I ask you questions about other things?" the Gryffindor negotiated.

"What other things?" He shrugged.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I don't know what you're hoping to get out of this, Potter. I can't tell you anything important, I'm under oath."

"Well other things, then! Lots of things are important, even if you don't think so, surely you could answer some of my questions!"

"What, do you just want to ply me with Veritaserum and ask me questions?" The blond crossed his arms and leant back against the opposite wall, finally taking Harry seriously.

"Sure!" He agreed.

Apparently Malfoy didn't. "No, that's not fair. You can ask me one question. Per favour. I'll refuse to answer anything else, and I'll refuse if you ask anything too personal. And I get to use you however I want."

The first part, Harry agreed sounded fair, though the last bit made him a little nervous. "Only once! I mean, as soon as you get off, it's over. And you have to stop if I say so."

Draco huffed, bristling like an angry cat. "I'm not going to rape you, Potter! And I'll make it good for you, too. I'm not going to go out of my way to hurt you or anything. I just want license to take what I need. Sometimes a blowie just doesn't cut it, you know?"

Harry blushed, twitching his fingers. Silver eyes narrowed. "You have had a blowjob before, right?" Draco asked.

The brunet scowled and rubbed his shoulder. "Does it matter?" he asked rhetorically.

"Bloody hell. Potter are you a virgin?"

His face was on fire, he could tell. "Why do you even care?!" he yelled, mortified, but he received no answer. Draco stared at him, mouth agape, face a mix of excitement and disbelief. "What?!"

"Okay," Malfoy said simply.

"Okay, what, Malfoy?!" Harry yelled, embarrassed and frustrated.

"'Okay', Potter! You've got a deal! I accept! You ask me one question- per week!- under Veritaserum, and I get to use your body for any single sexual act I want, within reason and with your consent. Acceptable?"

Harry blinked. "Oh. Uh, yeah. Okay. That... sounds alright."

"Good," Draco said. "Meet me outside the Room of Requirement tomorrow at Midnight, and bring the Veritaserum. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to fly. Alone. If you bother me again until tomorrow night, I will not hesitate to hex you, I swear to Salazar. Please piss off." And he was out the door.

Harry stared after him for a moment, then spun in a tight circle, pumping his fist. He knew he'd be able to get through to him! 'Operation Malfoy' is a-go!