Chapter Five: A Pleasant Dream and a New Task

Harry awoke the next morning with a headache that felt like his head was t-minus ten seconds from imploding. He rolled over and sat up at the same time so that his bare feet planted against the plush carpet. He still didn't open his eyes. Instead, he occupied himself with rubbing his temples gently in clockwise movements. He felt as though he had drunk an entire keg of firewhisky the previous night, but he knew he hadn't even been to a pub. No. He had…

He had….

Well, he had…

Harry opened his eyes. That was odd. The memory of last night was fuzzy. Figuring that it was just his horrible headache stopping his memory from doing its job, he stood up from his bed, and decided on taking a shower. Reaching down to the hem of his nightshirt, he pulled it up, and over his head, before sliding his boxers off as well. His clothes discarded, he left his room, went up the hall, and into the bathroom. To bring himself out of the hung-over feeling he was experiencing he took as cold a shower as he could stand, and by the time he stepped out his head was clear, and last night was no longer fuzzy.

Harry had appearated home, made himself a small snack, and then after changing into his nightclothes, had passed out on his bed. And then…well….

Harry felt a blush creep its way up his neck and onto his face. He avoided looking into the mirror, then, as the dream he had had last night infiltrated his mind. He felt a mixture of deep craving and shame as the images played out before his mind's eye.

In his dream, he had woken up to find Malfoy standing wordlessly next to his bed. Harry, too confused as to the man's presence in his bedroom to be angry, asked Malfoy what he was doing there. The man had stood silent only for a moment longer before sitting down on the bed, and after declaring Harry was just dreaming – which, of course he was – had kissed him. And since it was a dream, why should Harry deny that familiar fluttering sensation in his stomach, and the desire that swept through him at the feeling of Malfoy's silky lips pressed against his own dry ones? Harry had reached up, his hands cradling Malfoy's face before pushing back to tangle in sleek strands of blond hair. And slowly, he had felt himself being pressed back into his soft mattress and pillows, and he had went willingly as Malfoy's hands both pushed and caressed at his chest.

With his head lying against the pillows, he had spread his legs slightly so that Malfoy could lie down in between them which Malfoy had been quick to do, though only after standing up for a moment to discard the cloak he was wearing. He had then stretched out on top of Harry, one of his hands gently resting against Harry's cheek as he had continued kissing him, the other hand moving down Harry's side to grip tightly onto Harry's waist. His hand had then worked its way underneath Harry until it was resting against the bottom of Harry's butt before sliding down the back of his leg and to the back of his knee where he had gently pulled until Harry had brought his leg up. Malfoy's hand had then worked its way around to the front of Harry's leg, up and over Harry's knee, before retracing its path back to Harry's waist.

Meanwhile, on the kissing front, Malfoy and Harry exchanged soft, but deeply passionate kisses that soon had them both breathing extremely heavy. Malfoy had eventually wandered away from Harry's lips to press kisses down his jaw line and then into the curve of his neck. When Malfoy's teeth had gently nipped the bottom of Harry's ear, Harry had bucked upwards, and the action had caused their lower body's to grind against one another. Malfoy had let out an agonizingly low groan that had made Harry both shiver and give off a slight moan of his own. Plus, it made him do it again, just so he could tear another passion-induced sound from Malfoy. And it did. However, when Harry went to do it a third time, Malfoy's hand on his waist became tight, and Harry felt the lower part of himself pinned down to the bed. Despite his movements being restricted, he had continued to enjoy the feeling of Malfoy suckling on his neck, on his lips, and even the feeling of the man's bare fingers against his chest as they had worked up and under Harry's white, long-sleeved shirt.

After that, the dream grew hazy and distorted, consisting of broken images of Malfoy pulling Harry's clothes off, Malfoy putting his cloak on, and then Malfoy giving Harry a smug smile before disapperating from Harry's bedroom all together. The dream had then turned into somewhat of a nightmare involving the muggle homicides he was currently investigating.

Harry met his eyes in the mirror as he closed the medicine cabinet over the sink, and he was mortified to see unadulterated lust reflected back at him. As if the hardening in between his legs hadn't been enough humiliation. He brought his eyes down to stare resolutely at his toothbrush. He did not like Malfoy. He was not attracted to Malfoy. And he had no idea where these thoughts, feelings, and dreams (because this wasn't the first one, though, admittedly, it was the most real) were coming from, but he refused, absolutely refused, to give in. Looking back up at his reflection he was glad to see only frustration, and nothing else in his green eyes. Nodding, he brought up his toothbrush, and continued his morning routine.

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Harry decided to stop by the auror office before he went out to investigate the muggle homicides again. He wanted to grab the picture that had revealed something he could investigate further. Apperating from his apartment to a designated area inside the ministry, Harry made his way back to Auror Headquarters where he opened his filing cabinet, and then promptly lifted a brow.

The manila envelope that held the photos was lying practically on top of the other files, only a corner of it shoved in between two other envelopes. Grabbing the envelope, he walked over to his desk, sat down in his chair, and then reached inside the envelope, pulling the photos out. The photos were shoved inside quite randomly, some of them even upside down or flipped over, and Harry's brow went up further. Someone had obviously been into this envelope since Harry had left last night. For, Harry had put all of the photos back neatly, not to mention putting the entire envelope into its proper place in the filing cabinet. But why would anyone go digging through his cases photographs, and then tuck them away completely chaotically as though they were seconds away from being discovered?

Harry pushed his chair back and stood up. Holding the envelope in his hand, he moved up the aisle until he reached Ron's cubicle. Ron was sitting at his own desk, filling out, what looked to be, a report, and Harry almost turned away, not wanting to disturb him – since he knew how damn annoying those reports were – when Ron looked over and up at Harry.

"Morning, Harry. Late night last night?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah. I was here until midnight looking over these photos again."

"Honestly think you're going to find something in pictures you've looked at a million times?"

"Actually, I did last night, but that's not why I'm standing here."

Ron stood up, moving to his own filing cabinet. As he pulled the drawer open and started to dig around inside the messy and completely unorganized contents, he spoke over his shoulder, "Oh? Then what do you want, mate?" Ron turned to look at Harry, a huge grin on his face, "Come to talk about what I mentioned yesterday?"

Harry's eyes narrowed, and he roughly said, "No," before clearing his throat, and bringing up the envelope, "Do you know who was here first this morning?"

Ron laughed and nodded, "Sure I do, Harry. The same person that's here first every morning. Hermione."

"Right. Hermione. Don't know what I was thinking. Actually, I've had a headache since I got up this morning."

Ron finally pulled out a file, shut the cabinet, and then turned to look at Harry, a little bit of worry evident by the frown he wore, "Everything all right, mate?"

Harry shrugged, and then nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, I just…" he shrugged again, "Anyway, I'll go talk to Hermione now."

Ron waved to Harry before Harry turned and walked back down the aisle, past his own cubicle, and then down a few more before stopping next to Hermione's desk. She was multi-tasking between eating a biscuit, reading a book, and writing up what looked to be her own report when Harry cleared his throat, and she brought her eyes up to meet his. She smiled, "Good morning, Harry. Something you need?"

"When you got here this morning, was anyone else here?"

Hermione shook her head, "No. Not that I can recall." She looked off to the side for a moment, and then back toward him, shaking her head more firmly, "No. No one. I was the first, as usual. Why do you ask, Harry?"

Harry held up the manila envelope, "This wasn't in the right place in my filing cabinet, and then when I looked inside, the photographs were all mixed up and upside down and flipped over. I didn't put it all away like that last night before leaving, and I was the last to go."

Hermione's lips pursed as she got that old look of inquisitiveness on her features that Harry knew meant her brain had just been pushed into heavy-thinking mode. But after a few moments of silence, she only shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know, Harry. No one was here. I didn't even pass anyone by on my way down here. But if someone's digging into your personal filing cabinet, and examining those photographs, then I would highly suspect that someone in the magical world is committing those muggle homicides."

Harry nodded, "Yeah. That's what I figure too." He started to walk away, but then Hermione spoke up, making him turn back to her.

She was wearing a gleeful smile, "Ron tells me you're in love."

Harry blew air out of his nose like an enraged bull before hissing, "I amnot in love."

Hermione only giggled.

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Draco was supposed to be eating his breakfast, but his mind was too busy with replaying the events of last night over and over and over to focus on lifting a fork to his mouth. The fact that he had given into his lustful desires and kissed Potter was only acceptable because, as he kept telling himself, if Potter ever found out the man would be beyond mortified, and, if Draco wanted to, he could always use last night's events as blackmail. Of course, he would have a hard time of it, explaining how he'd been at Potter's in the first place to engage Potter in such deliriously demented, yet magnificently wonderful acts, but he was sure he could come up with something if he thought on it long enough.

It had been by sheer force of will that Draco had not completely given in and had his way with Potter, especially when the man had responded so fervently to his fiery kisses and touches, but he figured something like that would be harder to hide away as the man's body would probably be in a fair amount of pain the following morning. And while Draco had left his little make-out session in the back of Potter's mind, laid out as a dream, he wouldn't so easily be able to cover up Potter's lack of being able to sit correctly for a week. He wasn't a mediwizard, after all.

Draco chuckled at the Potter-not-being-able-to-sit-correctly-for-a-week thought before finally lifting the first bit of egg to his mouth. But before he could bite down, his mind chose that particular moment to remind him of the way he'd changed Potter into his nightclothes. And with that reminder came, of course, the images of Potter's almost completely nude body. If he'd just removed those boxers, Potter would have been completely naked before him. But Draco hadn't considered the thought for longer than two seconds before he'd turned to dig through Potter's dresser, pulling out a nightshirt that he'd then gently slid over Potter's head. He'd had to hold the man close to his body as Potter kept slipping in and out of consciousness once Draco had worked the memory charm, and couldn't rightly hold himself up, as Draco had maneuvered the man's arms into the shirt. He had then tenderly laid Potter back into his soft pillows, covered the man up with the sheet and quilt, and then, with a self-satisfied smile, disapperated from the bedroom.

It had only been when Draco was dressing himself into his own nightclothes later that night that he thought of the fact that he could have simply used magic to dress Potter instead of doing it himself. However…well, there was nothing to be done about it by then, and that was that.

Draco stood up from the stool he had been occupying while eating his breakfast, but, realizing that eating was pretty much out of the question at the moment – what with the way his mind was treating him right now – he gave up on the meal, and was getting ready to call for Tibs to clear away the dishes, when he heard a footstep behind him. Turning around, he froze in place, "Father!"

Lucius held up a hand, and Draco thought to himself that his father's constant cutting off of anything Draco wanted to say or do was getting a little bit ridiculous and out of hand. For that reason, he continued, "Father, you need to tell me what you're doing here –how you're getting here. Where is Mother? Does anyone know you've escaped Azkaban? What did you say to me yesterday afternoon? I couldn't understand any of it."

Lucius smiled. And the smile he gave Draco made Draco want to curl up in the fetal position and cower. It was much like Voldemort's sadistic smile; only it had a bit more cockiness to it. When Draco's father had smiled like this in the past, it was usually because something exceedingly evil had just occurred that had extraordinarily pleased his father. For example, this was the smile Draco's father had worn the day he'd heard the news that the Chamber of Secrets had been reopened and Ginny Weasley had been pulled down into its depths. Or, the time he'd been told that Dumbledore had been murdered.

Draco took a step toward his father, "Tell me what's going on."

Lucius didn't say anything at first. He looked around Draco's flat, shaking his head disappointingly, before he looked back to his son, "Draco?"

Draco took another step forward, his eyes staring profoundly deep into his fathers, "Yes?"

"I think it's about time you do that next task, don't you?"

Draco nodded, and bowed slightly, "Of course, Father," and as he turned for the door of his apartment, Tibs, the house-elf, – concealed behind a large Ficus plant sitting in the corner of the living room – frowned deeply at the far-away look in his master's eyes as he talked, once more, to thin air.