The Way It Grows
Springfall
A/N: Thanks to all my lovely, lovely reviews! You brighten my day ^_^. I'm so glad people enjoy my madness. Keep on reading!
~*~ Part Three
Land and Ocean
~*~
~*~
Day 3
~*~*
Draco rolled over and opened his eyes. Light poured in through the cracks between the walls, though the block window, falling in a large square on the floor by his chest. He was vaguely aware of something under his head, which moved when he did but was sturdy; strong. There was a dry heat also, under his palm. He looked down and saw a dirty pair of jean shorts, his finely-boned hand cradled against Harry's tanned, calloused one.
Draco sat up abruptly. Yes, that was Potter, and Potter's thigh. Why was he asleep on Potter's thigh? The boy was sitting against the wall, head back, asleep. His glasses were pushed up onto his head, his hair being held back by them. His scar was clearly visible, pearly and stretched taught, puckering from his other smooth bronzed skin, right over his where his left eye began, nicking into his eyebrow the tiniest bit. His mouth was open, and his breath was a bit on the ragged side. Draco blinked at him, and memories flooded him from last night.
Forest. Lethifold. Potter. Tears. Draco scooted away from him. Embarrassment heated his cheeks to a warm glow. That wasn't possible, was it? That Harry Potter had stayed up all night over Draco? He studied the boy's face. It was tanned, with that bleached-out, brownish hair, dun at the shaggy tips. He looked a bit puzzled. When had Harry gotten freckles? This was new. But there they were, little brown sprinkles across his rounded cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. There were dark shadows, bruised purple rings under his eyes. There was a mole on his right cheekbone, under the corner of his eye. There was another next to his Adam's apple, Draco noticed with faint interest. Dark blue stubble had appeared on Harry's chin, looking more like dirt than facial hair. When had Harry gotten facial hair? Draco touches his own face, smooth still, and frowned again. Stupid Potter. His eyelashes made dark crescents over his cheeks. Draco saw the delicate blue veins in the boy's eyelids, and the dark, rough-looking arches of his eyebrows. He could even see the pulse under Harry's jaw. His gaze stopped on Harry's lips, soft and almost pouty, a dusty sort of rose. He had a deep cupid's bow, Draco noticed, His bottom lip was full, larger than the upper, and had a soft dimple in the middle of its dusky roundness. Draco shook his head slightly, and his eyes raked back up over his face, up the short nose that turned up a bit, he saw, less than Pansy's but in the same general way, and fell again on those closed eyes.
Those eyes, everyone in the wizarding world knew those eyes like they knew his scar. And yet, Draco couldn't remember the exact color. He knew that they were light- weren't they? But whether they were blue or green, he didn't recall. They were striking, he knew that, and shut his eyes briefly. Green, it came to him. They were green, like Draco's Quidditch robes, like the emerald that set in his ring he wore on his index finger, green like the forest around them and the soft grass below, green like the earth. Draco thought about his own eyes. Gray like a stormy sky, when the sun never showed, like metal and winter and angry, cold places you didn't want to be, but were there all the same. Hate and bitterness, in his eyes. Nothing serene, nothing secret, nothing safe. They were shrewd and guarded, the same way that Harry's were open and accepting. Draco swallowed his bitter disappointment.
Harry was not, Draco noted with grim satisfaction, the same kind of handsome; Draco was all grace and long fingers and serious countenance, with fine hair and features, refined and sculpted. Harry was a more solid, square type, a classical sort of handsome, like Greek sculptured busts of Gods and heroes. He was something to look at, Draco thought, but he wasn't the same league as Draco. He had the body of an athlete, while Draco had the languid, flowing body of a cat. Not much use in battle but sharp as an arrow and twice as quick. Draco's mind was, indeed, his strength. 'It has gotten me this far', he thought severely. 'It'll get me everywhere I'll ever go.'
Draco rose, pulled on his ripped-yet-clean corduroy shorts that hung to his kneecaps, and looked once at his polo shirt, curled a lip, and descended the ladder. He looked at his watch. Noon. No wonder he was hungry. He made his way back to that little cove he had discovered the night before, staying out of the woods, and stopped. He sat down on the sandy little beach. He watched fish dart in the clear aqua water below him. Fish. His stomach growled and he looked around, debating if he should try and have a go at catching them. He felt his pockets for his wand, and remarkably pulled it out. He tapped at a tree, saying 'Diffindo', and got the stick to sharpen itself into a pointed spear-like weapon. He admired his handiwork, and began trying to stab at the fish. After a few unsuccessful tries, he managed to spear a bony, bright blue fish. He killed it, and left it in the water to prevent it from rotting.
An hour passed and Draco had harpooned two larger gray fish, and left them to sit beside the smaller one. He was humming to himself as he stalked the fish, and didn't hear the footfalls behind him.
Harry stopped where the forest broke, watching Draco moving in a crouched, long-legged pattern, hunched low to the rocks he was crawling over on one side of the cove, a spear clutched in one hand, his other crossing and weaving out between his legs as he stalked the fish, moving like a graceful crustacean across the landscape. He looked as though he belonged there, Harry thought, moving like one of the sea animals he was after, creeping along. In a fluid lunge he would strike, his spear going straight through the fish, and he would whip the spear out of the ocean, spraying water like falling diamonds catching the sunlight, hooting in triumph as the dark gray fish struggled, flopping, hopelessly impaled on the middle of that crudely made spear. Draco lowered the spear and pulled the helpless fish off, and broke its back with a neat crack. Harry winced inwardly as Draco tossed the fish deftly into the pile and set up stalking the rest of the school again. Harry walked forward onto the sand, barefoot like Draco.
"That's disgusting, you know," he remarked, nodding at the dead fish soaking in the salt water.
"That's our lunch, Potter," Draco replied, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. He hoped Harry wouldn't bring up last night; he still wasn't quite ready to accept that he spent the night with his head in Harry's lap, his hand on the other boy's. Partly because, well, it was Harry Potter; and partly because his stomach settled in a funny way when he recalled the feeling of Harry's warm hand under his own. "You eat fish?"
"Guess I'll have to, won't I?" Harry sat down on the sand. "I think you can stop, now, there are plenty there." Draco shrugged, and Harry saw that his skin was darker than it had been last night. Freckles were appearing across his shoulders. "You're getting sun-spots on your perfect skin, Malfoy," he remarked. "Shouldn't you put a shirt on?"
"Probably," Draco agreed. "But not when it's so bloody hot." Harry laughed, and walked up the slippery rocks, away from Draco. Draco watched him go, and then leapt lightly down to the sand, as the school switched direction. Harry's bare lower legs disappeared over a rise in the rocks and he was lost from view. Draco sat down by his fish. A smaller grayish fish swam closer, and nudged the recently-killed fish. Draco felt a pang of regret. Was this fish mourning the loss of its comrade? Did it even realize it was dead? Was it its mother? Its lover? Its friend, its leader? Was this small fish lost without the other? The fish examined the dead body of its fellow marine creature, and swam away again. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. What was wrong with him? His emotions were in overdrive, since last night. He was glad Harry wasn't here to see Draco get emotional over a deceased fish. He heard a muffled yell, and he sprang to his bare feet, and was running although he didn't know why he cared what Potter was up to. He mounted the rocks and hoisted himself up over the crest of the pile of shale, and breathed out so soft that he barely heard himself. The word was carried away on an afternoon wind, to be born across the ocean and up into Heaven, tucked into where fate was tangled.
"Harry."
Harry lay, his eyes wide and dazed, his ankle twisted under him in a funny angle. Draco swore again and in a bound was down to Harry's level. He crouched after his jump and then straightened, and bent again to see Harry's ankle.
"What happened, Potter?"
"Slipped," Harry muttered, as he tried to sit up. He leaned against Draco, who stiffened a bit but still examined Harry's ankle. It had a large gash on one side, and it was swollen. When he pressed around the cut, Harry winced.
"It looks sprained," Draco said. "You shouldn't have been climbing on wet rocks."
"Okay, Madam Pomfrey," Harry grinned lop-sidedly. Draco glared at him, and pressed down hard on the swelling. Harry shouted in surprise and pain, and he smacked Draco's arm with the back of his hand. Draco shifted his arm, and something flashed green at Harry, and he blinked at it was gone again. There was a mole along Draco's jawline, he saw, a light tan color. Draco pursed his lips, thin and sloping lips, like those of a snake's. They were a pale pink in color. Draco still seemed so washed out to Harry, with his soft white hair hanging in his face, his pale eyelashes and eyebrows. His eyes were the darkest thing on his face, and even they were a faded kind of gray. Out by the ocean they looked almost blue. It was a remarkable color. Harry wanted to say so, he wanted Draco to go look at his reflection, he wanted Draco to realize how beautiful his eyes were, how they made his features come together in a wonderfully delicate heart- shaped face, haloed by that hair...
Whoa. Rewind.
Harry shook his thoughts. Where had that come from? It was Draco Malfoy. Not Cho, not Hermione, not even Ginny. Draco. Why was he thinking about Draco's eyes as beautiful? Why was he comparing his hair to a halo? Why was he...why were Draco's hands so soft? Harry jerked his leg away and immediately wished he hadn't. The pain hazed his vision, and Draco sounded worried.
"Potter, you alright?"
"Yeah." He replied, shaking his head again. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"We ought to put that foot of yours in the water.," Draco announced. He helped Harry to his feet, the taller boy leaning heavily against him, and they made their way back to the beach, slowly, together. They went around the rocks, up onto the grass, and back down the sand. Draco made sure his fish were still there, and he set Harry's foot gently in the water. Harry hissed and attempted to draw it out, but Draco's grip was firm and he held the larger boy's foot there for a good five minutes, Harry muttering under his breath the whole time. Finally, Draco slackened his hold from Harry's calf and the boy yanked his leg away. "Oh, stop being such a baby, Potter. Let me get my fish and we'll go home." Draco stooped to pick up the dead fish, and Harry noticed with a painful jolt below his ribs that you could count Draco's vertebrae. 'Doesn't he eat?' Harry thought. He struggled to remember, and he seemed to see Draco simply sitting at the Slytherin table, picking at his food. Harry frowned. Draco wasn't going to starve to death while he was here. Harry knew far too well what it meant to be hungry, and he didn't want anyone to feel like that. At least Malfoy wasn't locked up under the stairs, he thought, as Draco put his shoulder under Harry's armpit, and Harry looped his arm across Draco's back. Draco was smaller, but he was strong, without a doubt. Harry had seen the traces of muscle on his stomach and chest while he fished. And, looking at himself, Harry knew that being skinny didn't make you weak. He limped, leaning on Draco, as the two boys made their way slowly back to the treehut. Harry laughed out loud, thinking about what Ron and Hermione would say, seeing them see this picture: Harry, gimping, his arms around Draco who was shirtless, barefoot, salty and dangling four dead fish from the hand not wrapped around Harry. He snorted again, helplessly, and Draco arched a pale eyebrow.
"What is so funny, Potter? Would you like to gimp home on your own devices?"
"I was just thinking about Ron and Hermione," he replied. "What would they think if they saw this?"
"Weasley would probably break his neck tripping over his feet to save his boyfriend," Draco sniggered. Harry frowned.
"He's not my boyfriend," he said, and Draco snorted.
"D'you expect me to believe that? I've seen the way he looks at you. EVERYONE'S seen the way you look at him. You can't fool me, I know the look," Draco spoke as though he knew exactly what he was talking about.
"Ron isn't my boyfriend," Harry replied heavily. "He's dating Hermione, as it were. Not that it concerns you. He doesn't swing that way," Harry regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.
"His brothers do," Draco said simply. "And what, he doesn't? You do?"
Harry was silent. Draco smirked. "Hit a sore spot, did I?" Harry closed his eyes briefly, willing Draco to shut up. It didn't work. "I should have known! You tried it on with Weasley, didn't you? And he shot you down!"
Harry turned, furious, and faced Draco.
"Shut it, Malfoy," his voice shook in rage. "Just shut it. You've no idea what you're talking about."
"What're you going to do, gimp at me?" Draco was laughing, his eyes slitted in mirth. Harry lunged, Draco side-stepped, Harry fell. Draco smiled easily down at him. "Don't worry, Potter. Your secret's safe with me." He offered a hand down to Harry. Harry took it, thought briefly, and yanked Draco down on top of him. Draco was startled he had been pulled off- balance, and more startled that he was now laying on Harry. Harry's voice was low, and there was a trace of something there. Regret? Anger? Something deeper.
"I don't see why you're taking the piss," Harry said. "When you're in exactly the same boat as I am."
Draco stopped laughing.
"W- What?" Harry simply looked at him, not smirking, not smiling, just looking at him. His eyes were open, and sincere. Draco was embarrassed by the honesty he saw there. It was almost heartbreaking. "Potter, what-"
"It's alright. I'm not going to tell anyone."
"There's nothing to tell," Draco said sharply, irate. What was Potter going on about? He didn't know anything. Nobody knew about that. Draco kept his secrets safe. Unless... "Where do you think you heard this?"
"Blaise Zabini isn't so quiet when she's drunk," Harry shrugged, underneath Draco's weight. "Is she?"
Draco turned red. "You-" he spluttered. "Bollocks. You're lying."
"Am I?" Harry shrugged again, and Draco was painfully aware of his chest against Draco's. "I think it's nice, personally. Ginny Weasley and you, you'd make a nice couple. Though Ron would kill you." Harry looked at Draco for a reaction.
Draco laughed in relief, something else hiding behind that laughter.
"I guess Blaise doesn't tell the truth when she's drunk, either," he said, over her chuckling. Harry blinked. "I don't fancy Ginny Weasley, or any other Weasleys, for that matter. I have never fancied a Weasley. I will never fancy a Weasley. Sorry to let you down, Potter," and Harry did, indeed, look faintly disappointed. Draco got off of Harry. Harry looked even more disappointed at this, and Draco raised an eyebrow. "Sorry I left?"
"What?"
"You look...ah, whatever, come on Potter. My fish will rot." He helped Harry up and braced himself against Harry, supporting the injured boy. Harry sighed softly. Draco mirrored it.
"I think we're both caught up in our own thoughts, Malfoy," Harry said, laughter in his voice.
"So it would seem, Harry." Harry nearly tripped over his own feet, in the wonder of it all.
"Draco," he said slowly, trying out the name, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were growing fond of me."
"Potter," Draco replied levelly. "Shut up."
Harry complied with a smile.
Springfall
A/N: Thanks to all my lovely, lovely reviews! You brighten my day ^_^. I'm so glad people enjoy my madness. Keep on reading!
~*~ Part Three
Land and Ocean
~*~
~*~
Day 3
~*~*
Draco rolled over and opened his eyes. Light poured in through the cracks between the walls, though the block window, falling in a large square on the floor by his chest. He was vaguely aware of something under his head, which moved when he did but was sturdy; strong. There was a dry heat also, under his palm. He looked down and saw a dirty pair of jean shorts, his finely-boned hand cradled against Harry's tanned, calloused one.
Draco sat up abruptly. Yes, that was Potter, and Potter's thigh. Why was he asleep on Potter's thigh? The boy was sitting against the wall, head back, asleep. His glasses were pushed up onto his head, his hair being held back by them. His scar was clearly visible, pearly and stretched taught, puckering from his other smooth bronzed skin, right over his where his left eye began, nicking into his eyebrow the tiniest bit. His mouth was open, and his breath was a bit on the ragged side. Draco blinked at him, and memories flooded him from last night.
Forest. Lethifold. Potter. Tears. Draco scooted away from him. Embarrassment heated his cheeks to a warm glow. That wasn't possible, was it? That Harry Potter had stayed up all night over Draco? He studied the boy's face. It was tanned, with that bleached-out, brownish hair, dun at the shaggy tips. He looked a bit puzzled. When had Harry gotten freckles? This was new. But there they were, little brown sprinkles across his rounded cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. There were dark shadows, bruised purple rings under his eyes. There was a mole on his right cheekbone, under the corner of his eye. There was another next to his Adam's apple, Draco noticed with faint interest. Dark blue stubble had appeared on Harry's chin, looking more like dirt than facial hair. When had Harry gotten facial hair? Draco touches his own face, smooth still, and frowned again. Stupid Potter. His eyelashes made dark crescents over his cheeks. Draco saw the delicate blue veins in the boy's eyelids, and the dark, rough-looking arches of his eyebrows. He could even see the pulse under Harry's jaw. His gaze stopped on Harry's lips, soft and almost pouty, a dusty sort of rose. He had a deep cupid's bow, Draco noticed, His bottom lip was full, larger than the upper, and had a soft dimple in the middle of its dusky roundness. Draco shook his head slightly, and his eyes raked back up over his face, up the short nose that turned up a bit, he saw, less than Pansy's but in the same general way, and fell again on those closed eyes.
Those eyes, everyone in the wizarding world knew those eyes like they knew his scar. And yet, Draco couldn't remember the exact color. He knew that they were light- weren't they? But whether they were blue or green, he didn't recall. They were striking, he knew that, and shut his eyes briefly. Green, it came to him. They were green, like Draco's Quidditch robes, like the emerald that set in his ring he wore on his index finger, green like the forest around them and the soft grass below, green like the earth. Draco thought about his own eyes. Gray like a stormy sky, when the sun never showed, like metal and winter and angry, cold places you didn't want to be, but were there all the same. Hate and bitterness, in his eyes. Nothing serene, nothing secret, nothing safe. They were shrewd and guarded, the same way that Harry's were open and accepting. Draco swallowed his bitter disappointment.
Harry was not, Draco noted with grim satisfaction, the same kind of handsome; Draco was all grace and long fingers and serious countenance, with fine hair and features, refined and sculpted. Harry was a more solid, square type, a classical sort of handsome, like Greek sculptured busts of Gods and heroes. He was something to look at, Draco thought, but he wasn't the same league as Draco. He had the body of an athlete, while Draco had the languid, flowing body of a cat. Not much use in battle but sharp as an arrow and twice as quick. Draco's mind was, indeed, his strength. 'It has gotten me this far', he thought severely. 'It'll get me everywhere I'll ever go.'
Draco rose, pulled on his ripped-yet-clean corduroy shorts that hung to his kneecaps, and looked once at his polo shirt, curled a lip, and descended the ladder. He looked at his watch. Noon. No wonder he was hungry. He made his way back to that little cove he had discovered the night before, staying out of the woods, and stopped. He sat down on the sandy little beach. He watched fish dart in the clear aqua water below him. Fish. His stomach growled and he looked around, debating if he should try and have a go at catching them. He felt his pockets for his wand, and remarkably pulled it out. He tapped at a tree, saying 'Diffindo', and got the stick to sharpen itself into a pointed spear-like weapon. He admired his handiwork, and began trying to stab at the fish. After a few unsuccessful tries, he managed to spear a bony, bright blue fish. He killed it, and left it in the water to prevent it from rotting.
An hour passed and Draco had harpooned two larger gray fish, and left them to sit beside the smaller one. He was humming to himself as he stalked the fish, and didn't hear the footfalls behind him.
Harry stopped where the forest broke, watching Draco moving in a crouched, long-legged pattern, hunched low to the rocks he was crawling over on one side of the cove, a spear clutched in one hand, his other crossing and weaving out between his legs as he stalked the fish, moving like a graceful crustacean across the landscape. He looked as though he belonged there, Harry thought, moving like one of the sea animals he was after, creeping along. In a fluid lunge he would strike, his spear going straight through the fish, and he would whip the spear out of the ocean, spraying water like falling diamonds catching the sunlight, hooting in triumph as the dark gray fish struggled, flopping, hopelessly impaled on the middle of that crudely made spear. Draco lowered the spear and pulled the helpless fish off, and broke its back with a neat crack. Harry winced inwardly as Draco tossed the fish deftly into the pile and set up stalking the rest of the school again. Harry walked forward onto the sand, barefoot like Draco.
"That's disgusting, you know," he remarked, nodding at the dead fish soaking in the salt water.
"That's our lunch, Potter," Draco replied, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. He hoped Harry wouldn't bring up last night; he still wasn't quite ready to accept that he spent the night with his head in Harry's lap, his hand on the other boy's. Partly because, well, it was Harry Potter; and partly because his stomach settled in a funny way when he recalled the feeling of Harry's warm hand under his own. "You eat fish?"
"Guess I'll have to, won't I?" Harry sat down on the sand. "I think you can stop, now, there are plenty there." Draco shrugged, and Harry saw that his skin was darker than it had been last night. Freckles were appearing across his shoulders. "You're getting sun-spots on your perfect skin, Malfoy," he remarked. "Shouldn't you put a shirt on?"
"Probably," Draco agreed. "But not when it's so bloody hot." Harry laughed, and walked up the slippery rocks, away from Draco. Draco watched him go, and then leapt lightly down to the sand, as the school switched direction. Harry's bare lower legs disappeared over a rise in the rocks and he was lost from view. Draco sat down by his fish. A smaller grayish fish swam closer, and nudged the recently-killed fish. Draco felt a pang of regret. Was this fish mourning the loss of its comrade? Did it even realize it was dead? Was it its mother? Its lover? Its friend, its leader? Was this small fish lost without the other? The fish examined the dead body of its fellow marine creature, and swam away again. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. What was wrong with him? His emotions were in overdrive, since last night. He was glad Harry wasn't here to see Draco get emotional over a deceased fish. He heard a muffled yell, and he sprang to his bare feet, and was running although he didn't know why he cared what Potter was up to. He mounted the rocks and hoisted himself up over the crest of the pile of shale, and breathed out so soft that he barely heard himself. The word was carried away on an afternoon wind, to be born across the ocean and up into Heaven, tucked into where fate was tangled.
"Harry."
Harry lay, his eyes wide and dazed, his ankle twisted under him in a funny angle. Draco swore again and in a bound was down to Harry's level. He crouched after his jump and then straightened, and bent again to see Harry's ankle.
"What happened, Potter?"
"Slipped," Harry muttered, as he tried to sit up. He leaned against Draco, who stiffened a bit but still examined Harry's ankle. It had a large gash on one side, and it was swollen. When he pressed around the cut, Harry winced.
"It looks sprained," Draco said. "You shouldn't have been climbing on wet rocks."
"Okay, Madam Pomfrey," Harry grinned lop-sidedly. Draco glared at him, and pressed down hard on the swelling. Harry shouted in surprise and pain, and he smacked Draco's arm with the back of his hand. Draco shifted his arm, and something flashed green at Harry, and he blinked at it was gone again. There was a mole along Draco's jawline, he saw, a light tan color. Draco pursed his lips, thin and sloping lips, like those of a snake's. They were a pale pink in color. Draco still seemed so washed out to Harry, with his soft white hair hanging in his face, his pale eyelashes and eyebrows. His eyes were the darkest thing on his face, and even they were a faded kind of gray. Out by the ocean they looked almost blue. It was a remarkable color. Harry wanted to say so, he wanted Draco to go look at his reflection, he wanted Draco to realize how beautiful his eyes were, how they made his features come together in a wonderfully delicate heart- shaped face, haloed by that hair...
Whoa. Rewind.
Harry shook his thoughts. Where had that come from? It was Draco Malfoy. Not Cho, not Hermione, not even Ginny. Draco. Why was he thinking about Draco's eyes as beautiful? Why was he comparing his hair to a halo? Why was he...why were Draco's hands so soft? Harry jerked his leg away and immediately wished he hadn't. The pain hazed his vision, and Draco sounded worried.
"Potter, you alright?"
"Yeah." He replied, shaking his head again. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"We ought to put that foot of yours in the water.," Draco announced. He helped Harry to his feet, the taller boy leaning heavily against him, and they made their way back to the beach, slowly, together. They went around the rocks, up onto the grass, and back down the sand. Draco made sure his fish were still there, and he set Harry's foot gently in the water. Harry hissed and attempted to draw it out, but Draco's grip was firm and he held the larger boy's foot there for a good five minutes, Harry muttering under his breath the whole time. Finally, Draco slackened his hold from Harry's calf and the boy yanked his leg away. "Oh, stop being such a baby, Potter. Let me get my fish and we'll go home." Draco stooped to pick up the dead fish, and Harry noticed with a painful jolt below his ribs that you could count Draco's vertebrae. 'Doesn't he eat?' Harry thought. He struggled to remember, and he seemed to see Draco simply sitting at the Slytherin table, picking at his food. Harry frowned. Draco wasn't going to starve to death while he was here. Harry knew far too well what it meant to be hungry, and he didn't want anyone to feel like that. At least Malfoy wasn't locked up under the stairs, he thought, as Draco put his shoulder under Harry's armpit, and Harry looped his arm across Draco's back. Draco was smaller, but he was strong, without a doubt. Harry had seen the traces of muscle on his stomach and chest while he fished. And, looking at himself, Harry knew that being skinny didn't make you weak. He limped, leaning on Draco, as the two boys made their way slowly back to the treehut. Harry laughed out loud, thinking about what Ron and Hermione would say, seeing them see this picture: Harry, gimping, his arms around Draco who was shirtless, barefoot, salty and dangling four dead fish from the hand not wrapped around Harry. He snorted again, helplessly, and Draco arched a pale eyebrow.
"What is so funny, Potter? Would you like to gimp home on your own devices?"
"I was just thinking about Ron and Hermione," he replied. "What would they think if they saw this?"
"Weasley would probably break his neck tripping over his feet to save his boyfriend," Draco sniggered. Harry frowned.
"He's not my boyfriend," he said, and Draco snorted.
"D'you expect me to believe that? I've seen the way he looks at you. EVERYONE'S seen the way you look at him. You can't fool me, I know the look," Draco spoke as though he knew exactly what he was talking about.
"Ron isn't my boyfriend," Harry replied heavily. "He's dating Hermione, as it were. Not that it concerns you. He doesn't swing that way," Harry regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.
"His brothers do," Draco said simply. "And what, he doesn't? You do?"
Harry was silent. Draco smirked. "Hit a sore spot, did I?" Harry closed his eyes briefly, willing Draco to shut up. It didn't work. "I should have known! You tried it on with Weasley, didn't you? And he shot you down!"
Harry turned, furious, and faced Draco.
"Shut it, Malfoy," his voice shook in rage. "Just shut it. You've no idea what you're talking about."
"What're you going to do, gimp at me?" Draco was laughing, his eyes slitted in mirth. Harry lunged, Draco side-stepped, Harry fell. Draco smiled easily down at him. "Don't worry, Potter. Your secret's safe with me." He offered a hand down to Harry. Harry took it, thought briefly, and yanked Draco down on top of him. Draco was startled he had been pulled off- balance, and more startled that he was now laying on Harry. Harry's voice was low, and there was a trace of something there. Regret? Anger? Something deeper.
"I don't see why you're taking the piss," Harry said. "When you're in exactly the same boat as I am."
Draco stopped laughing.
"W- What?" Harry simply looked at him, not smirking, not smiling, just looking at him. His eyes were open, and sincere. Draco was embarrassed by the honesty he saw there. It was almost heartbreaking. "Potter, what-"
"It's alright. I'm not going to tell anyone."
"There's nothing to tell," Draco said sharply, irate. What was Potter going on about? He didn't know anything. Nobody knew about that. Draco kept his secrets safe. Unless... "Where do you think you heard this?"
"Blaise Zabini isn't so quiet when she's drunk," Harry shrugged, underneath Draco's weight. "Is she?"
Draco turned red. "You-" he spluttered. "Bollocks. You're lying."
"Am I?" Harry shrugged again, and Draco was painfully aware of his chest against Draco's. "I think it's nice, personally. Ginny Weasley and you, you'd make a nice couple. Though Ron would kill you." Harry looked at Draco for a reaction.
Draco laughed in relief, something else hiding behind that laughter.
"I guess Blaise doesn't tell the truth when she's drunk, either," he said, over her chuckling. Harry blinked. "I don't fancy Ginny Weasley, or any other Weasleys, for that matter. I have never fancied a Weasley. I will never fancy a Weasley. Sorry to let you down, Potter," and Harry did, indeed, look faintly disappointed. Draco got off of Harry. Harry looked even more disappointed at this, and Draco raised an eyebrow. "Sorry I left?"
"What?"
"You look...ah, whatever, come on Potter. My fish will rot." He helped Harry up and braced himself against Harry, supporting the injured boy. Harry sighed softly. Draco mirrored it.
"I think we're both caught up in our own thoughts, Malfoy," Harry said, laughter in his voice.
"So it would seem, Harry." Harry nearly tripped over his own feet, in the wonder of it all.
"Draco," he said slowly, trying out the name, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were growing fond of me."
"Potter," Draco replied levelly. "Shut up."
Harry complied with a smile.