Chapter Seven: Comfort Zones and Bath time

Disclaimer:

I do not own Harry Potter or anything in relation to the books. Hell I'm not even going to say the plot is mine! Just remember I'm a poor college student who lives of her parents and makes minimum wage at a low class job. I've got nothing you would want so don't sue!

Authors Note:

Hey, sorry it's been awhile. I've been pondering about where I wanted this story to go, and also what I was going to put in this chapter. I hope you like it! I had some major inspiration today! I want you all to know I'm looking for a beta! I haven't found any one willing to take this story on though, but I have been looking! Welp, it is almost three in the morning so I'm getting off of here. R&R


There was no sunlight streaming through the curtains, nor was the sound of his snoring roommates echoing through his ears. He'd awoke from no nightmares, visions, or throbbing headaches as was the norm. No, instead, silence had been the culprit. The sheets didn't feel right, and the bed was more like the cot that had been in his cupboard. The air was fresher though; free of mold and that mildew-y smell that had always irritated his nose. It was nice, but very strange.

He couldn't fathom were he was at. There were no windows, no clocks, and no lights peeking from beneath doors. As far as he could tell the room was spacious, but empty. The sheets ruffled as he crept out of the cot. He followed the first wall he came in contact with and traced his fingers along cool stones. Not four steps and he bumped into a large post. He touched the intricately carved banister and felt the silky fabric which decorated it; another bed.

It was then that he heard the soft breath of someone trapped in a deep sleep. He noticed the sheets were just as luxurious as the curtains as he crawled to the center of the four poster. He sat there feeling the heat of another body, knowing in the back of his mind that sitting next to an unknown person, while they were sleeping; on their bed was a bad idea. He should have felt anxiety if not fear, but instead the closer he got the safer he felt. He didn't cry out when an arm grabbed him and pulled him flush against the stranger, nor did he tremble when soft lips nipped at his neck. In this position only one thing washed over him-- belonging. Thus is the reason he didn't try to pry himself out of the iron grip, but instead laid his head on an offered shoulder and fell asleep.

Hours passed and at roughly nine in the morning an internal clock chimed within the young Malfoy heir's ear. He rolled over on his side, yawned, stretched, and flinched as his body protested the movement. Waking up after being hit with a stunner was not one of his happier pastimes. He made to get out of bed knowing full well that while Severus would have made his excuses for missing breakfast, sleeping till lunch would be unacceptable. His movement to leave the lavish bed was hindered though and a quick examination provided the answer.

Harry Potter was using his arm as a pillow... Had it not been for the large wings, and talons poking from his fingers Draco would have forgotten why he was even in his new private suit. He looked so calm and if the small smile was anything to go by he was indeed content in the current position. It was easier to resist his instincts when those large green orbs were shut. He didn't have that frail, innocent look about him that had been present the night before. It was so much easier to hate him… want to hurt him; yell, scream; beat the little sub for all past transgressions.

Draco shook his head while removing his arm from beneath the sub. These kinds of thoughts would not do. Despite his reputation of being an 'ice prince' as well as the hard assed Slytherin; Draco couldn't harm someone who wouldn't fight back. What would be the fun if Potter just laid their crying, and flinching while he took out all his anger over the situation out. There would be no satisfaction; no gain if he allowed the past to creep to the forefront of his mind. No; it was best to suppress any negative feelings for the sub, or else find himself in a worse situation than he began.

Draco looked over his bed mate and grimaced upon noticing the caked blood crumbling on to the sheets. A bath, he decided, was in order. Not wanting to seem weak in his own mind Draco shoved at Harry's shoulder in an effort to wake him up. He didn't like the situation he was in. Having to care and protect the sub till it was bonded was not something he wanted to be saddled with so early on in his own transformation.

He avoided looking at Harry when those tantalizing green eyes began to flicker into consciousness. He didn't want to be led by instincts today; he was after all a Malfoy. Keeping his name intact meant acting like the pompous purebred arse he usually was; sub or no.

Draco picked up his wand and cast Lumos.

"Wake up Potter. We need to bath. I don't feel like smelling your Gryffindor self all day just because you refuse to wake till noon." Even to his ears that sounded snappy and, he didn't need to look to see the flinch his word evoked. He hadn't the time to dwell on that though. Appearances must be kept up. It was after all the only way the Malfoy's had survived so long and, Draco would be damned if he was the one to out them. The Potter issue would just have to wait till later. He hoped that this passive mode the Gryffindor was in would remain until any questions could be answered later that night. If no they both might just 'come down' with a sudden illness and have to retire from the public.

Draco sighed and moved himself off the bed hearing the telltale sound of feet trotting after him. There wasn't much in the room and Draco unknowingly reflected Harry's earlier thoughts about it. His four poster stood in the middle decked out in Slytherin green bedding which contrasted nicely with the walls. The wall his bed stood in front of and the one which a messy cot laid next to were stone, the other two however were a sandstone color accented with what looked to be cherry wood. Draco wasn't completely sure since the light was so dim. He would have to see about getting some artificial windows put in. On the two sandstone walls were two doors; one which upon further inspection led to a moderate sized common room and the other a bathroom and closet combination.

The rooms, although sparse in furniture passed his inspection and Draco then proceeded into the bathroom with Potter trailing behind. Ivory seemed to be the main feature in this room. It was accented by shining silver taps and a wooden floor and ceiling. Although it was obvious that the wood parts weren't really wood but merely charmed, it was still a nice touch. Plus it reminded Draco of his own suit at the manor; very nice.

Momentarily forgetting about his sub Draco turned on the taps; inhaling the delicious scent of fresh peppermint and lavender. He stripped out of his clothes and was about to get in when a gasp made him freeze. Turning sharply Draco flushed under the heavy scrutiny of his one time enemy. Quickly grabbing a towel, Draco cursed his skin pigment and turned a glare onto Potter.

"Well? What are you staring at, Potter?" He spit out the name as if it were rotten cabbage, "Did I not tell you that your stink was starting to gag me, or are you so thick you don't even understand that?" The boy in question trembled in front of him and Draco rolled his eyes. "Well… hurry up into the tub."

Potter burst into action as Draco settled down into the warm water. Gods, what he wouldn't do just to sit right here and never move again. He wouldn't need to worry about appearances, what he said, or how the press was going to interpret it. He wouldn't need to worry about the gala his mother was planning for Christmas, finding a mate worthy of his name, or about running the Malfoy family when he came of age next year. Life would be so much simpler if he lacked the responsibility, the stress, and everything that made him a Malfoy. The problem was that no matter how much he despised it all he knew that to give it up would mean giving up every thing he was, and if he gave up whom he was… what was left?

A tap on the shoulder brought him out of his musings. Looking back he saw Potter squatting behind him in nothing but an oversized tee-shirt.

"What is it Potter? I thought I told you to get in here and wash up." Draco sighed; trust Potter not to be able to adhere to the simplest of commands. Perhaps a sound beating would help his though process… No; he would not resort to such animalistic tactics. He would keep his mind and work this out through a basic, sane, thought process.

"I'm s…sorry Draco. I jus… I just can't get the shirt off. I'm sorry… sorry." The words were soft spoken and the subs head and eyes were lowered. Draco had never imagined seeing his long time rival in such a position. It was disconcerting, but not necessarily unwelcome if the tingling in lower regions was anything to go by.

"Come here Harry." The name rolled off his tongue in a purr and a slight flush rose over tanned skin as Draco literally ripped the shirt from Harry's small form. The rags (for that is exactly what Draco believed them to be) fell to the floor and their owner carefully slid into the water beside his dominant.

They sat in silence for ten minutes, each tending to their own personal hygiene in the tub large enough for four people. That is until a quiet voice rang out shattering the comfort zone Draco had been carefully building in the steamy water.

"Uh… Draco? Could you, er... Do you think you could… uh… wash my wings?"