Crocodiles
PART FOUR.
Harry swung his legs over the side of his bed, feeling immensely giddy. He slipped slightly, and grabbed for the side of the bed. He was met with Malfoy's arm, steadying him. They steadied each other for a moment. Harry blushed. He was, after all seventeen. He had woken up with an erection and needed to go away to…dispose of it. That his dreams had been yet again consumed with an image of the boy only inches from his face was the worst part. Malfoy's gaze slid down, and his face became unreadable. Damn. Harry tried to get up again, but Malfoy didn't seem to be letting him. He went to protest, but then remembered he couldn't talk.
"Potter, don't try to talk."
Malfoy pushed him back onto the bed again, swiftly checking over his shoulder for traces of Madam Pomfrey. "You took something from me, Potter," said, in a low voice, "you don't know how much, because it wasn't even you. I don't know what you were then. Potter…" he leaned down and attached his mouth to Harry's neck. Harry didn't know what to feel, only that this felt like a scene from the dream he had just woken up from. He wasn't sure whether… he'd just started thinking that maybe he would like to try it on with Ginny, but now… Malfoy, who was certainly very much a male, had his hand on Harry's morning erection. And it was… it was… what was it? He had absolutely no idea.
As suddenly as he had started coming onto him, Malfoy sat up and shifted off Harry and back to the edge of the bed, his face flushed, leaving the mute boy's arousal unabated. He drew in a shuddering breath, and said, "feeling violated?"
Three days passed in practically silence within the hospital wing. Malfoy lay on his bed, taking the opportunity for a break from lessons, and to get his thoughts together, feeling ashamed for what he'd done to Harry. He knew, in the back of his mind, that the black haired boy in the next bed had not been at fault. The quidditch match that had triggered their fight seemed like it had happened years ago. It was the dark lord that had made this happen, not Harry, no matter how much he wanted to pin the blame on the other boy. He had no idea what Voldemort's interest had been in him, that it should suddenly turn into some kind of… sexual assault. Every time he thought of those moments, his mind just tried to shut them off, preventing him from coming to terms with what had happened.
Harry had been visited twice daily by Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and most of the quidditch team since he had been admitted to the hospital wing, but the visits were short, as he was now forced to write any correspondence on a bit of parchment. Hermione had most unhelpfully tried to keep him up to date with the work he was missing, despite Ron's insistence that Harry could really use a break right now. So there were a few books and assignments stacked up next to him, but most of the time he had been too weak to look at them. He was having painful nightmares again, full of Voldemort and now of himself assaulting the other occupant of the sphere of pain he seemed to be inhabiting. Some days he would wake up in pain after his limbs had been flailing and jerking in torturous contortions all night, and once his scar yet again reopened. It was now a jagged line of ugly dark black scabs, and tweaked when he frowned. His sleepless nights had led him to fall asleep sporadically throughout the day, inducing further opportunities for the dreams that plagued him.
Harry looked across at Malfoy's bed. The boy was motionless, his gaze far away from the ceiling he was looking at. Harry felt a surge of sympathy. He had felt Voldemort stir within himself before; granted it had never happened as badly as this, but it was not a completely new sensation, and was something he knew he could not do that much to quell at the moment. However, what had happened to Malfoy was racking him with guilt. Harry hadn't always led a particularly happy existence so far, but he had never been assaulted in that way, and no one had ever tried to assault him. He had not only been alarmed when Malfoy had attempted to show him this violation, but had found that he pitied this boy he had spent the past six and a half years hating.
Laboriously, Harry swung out of bed, trying to keep his head as still as possible and padded over to the side of Malfoy's bed, though keeping a foot or two away in case he felt uncomfortable. Malfoy turned his gaze on him abruptly. Harry handed him a note.
"I'm sorry."