Chapter Eleven

Potter was ten feet across the library, and Draco was fast approaching. He hadn't seen Potter alone in God only knew how long, and his newly-awakened sensibilities saw this as his chance. His hands were shaking. Draco stuffed them in the pockets of his robes. His nerves were frayed, but underneath he felt an unfamiliar sense of peace.

Potter looked up at him, bewildered. A book was open on the table in front of him. "Malfoy," he greeted. Was there a hint of nervousness in the name, or had Draco imagined it? "What do you want?"

"You," Draco said, completely unaware of what he was saying, mortified when he realized what had come out of his mouth. But he chose to back it up. What choice did he really have? "I want you."

The look of utter confusion on Potter's face would have been hilarious if the situation were different. "Is this some kind of joke?" he asked, but his voice held a nearly imperceptible note of - what? happiness? Draco was positive he was imagining it. "What are you getting out of this?"

Draco laughed despondently, sounding even to himself crazed and harried. "I wish it were a joke, but even then it wouldn't be a terribly funny one, would it? No, I'm afraid I'm serious. I don't know what in the hell I'm going to get out of this. I think that part's up to you." Rambling, now. He couldn't stop. "I haven't been able to sleep in peace since summer. My life is absolutely upside down right now, and it has been for a while. Funny how that is, isn't it?" He laughed again, nervously. "And now I want Harry Potter, only to realize that that's been the problem all along!" The laughter bubbled up inside him, spilling out in waves. This is what insanity looks like, he thought.

Potter's expression could only be described as alarmed. "Do you need to sit down?" he asked, concern coloring his tone. He stood up and fetched a chair, and Draco slumped into it. Once he was seated and no longer experiencing fits of inexplicable mirth, Potter sat across from him, steepling his hands and gazing at Draco intently. "Well, I'm glad you were the one who broke first, honestly, because I've been losing it, too," he said. There was a deliberation in his voice that suggested he was choosing his words carefully. "Since term started, I haven't had a full night's sleep without . . . well, I'm sure you know if you haven't been sleeping, either." Draco nodded. He knew, indeed. "I tried to ignore it, but when I did that, it only pushed harder . . . "

"We've been quite foolish," Draco noted, feeling the peacefulness embracing him further.

Potter nodded. "Yes, we have." He stared at Draco for a while with the same appraising quality Draco remembered in Zabini. "Draco, I want you," he said finally, the incredulous note in his voice making Draco wonder if he'd never said it before.

Draco reached across the table, placing his hand palm-up on its surface. Potter took the subtle hint, and clasped it in his own. Draco took him in: his nearly feminine eyes, his almost-gaunt cheekbones, the breadth in his shoulders, the pale glow to his skin. It was absolutely amazing to be able to feast his eyes without fear of judgment and persecution, to be unashamed of his fascination.

He looked up, and saw that Potter was doing exactly the same thing.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

They carried their affair wherever they could, taking great pains to stay as hidden as possible. Harry's Invisibility Cloak proved to be large enough for both of them to fit underneath it, and Draco had never been more pleased to discover that the castle had many romantic nooks that discreetly cloaked two lovers.

The passion Draco felt for Harry was something he had never known exisited. Every kiss sent his stomach fluttering, every touch surged him with lust.

"Do you ever wonder about what will happen?" Harry asked him once as they laid nearly fully unclothed in the Room of Requirement. They had found that it was one of the best places for them to sneak off to, as it adopted the guise of a large, comfortable bedroom, hung with green and gold, whenever they were in it. The bed was large, larger than any Draco had ever seen before. When they were lying on it, there seemed to be miles of gold cloth surrounding him.

Draco stroked Harry's head absently, feeling his soft, black hair run through his fingers. "About what will happen when?" he asked. He snuggled into Harry's body, a feat considering how angular and bony it was. Wrapping his legs around Harry's, he held him close to himself. "What are you worrying yourself over?"

Harry looked up at Draco, startling the Slytherin as he always did with his frank, expressive eyes. "We're not going to be able to hide ourselves forever."

Unable to resist, Draco took his mouth in a firm, passionate kiss. His hands roamed freely over Harry's body, coming to rest at his hips. "No, but that doesn't mean we should hold ourselves back in the meantime."

In the company of this boy, this man, Draco felt something he'd never felt in his life. Acceptance, freedom, affection. With Harry in his arms, Draco was home. There was something about him that spoke to Draco, that made him feel alive.

"I know that, Draco," Harry said softly, kissing Draco's cheek, his jaw, nibbling at his earlobe and running his hands over the length of his body. "I just can't help thinking of what's going to happen when we're found out."

Draco had a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, and in other company he would have refrained from commenting on it. But with Harry, he couldn't stop himself from saying what was on his mind. "You're not worried that I'll leave you when we're discovered, are you?"

Harry paused a beat, staring into nothing, worrying Draco. Slowly, his gaze refocused, and he smiled. "Why would I be worried about something like that?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Time wore on, moving quickly and carrying them to the early strains of spring. Though Draco had wanted little else, they had yet to make love; Draco was realizing as he spent more time with Harry that his insecurities ran deep. Draco brought it up occasionally, softly requesting what he yearned for. Harry's response was always the same: "When we're ready."

This was best translated, at least to Draco's shrewd mind, as, "When I'm ready." He made the best effort he possibly could to wait until then, despite having absolutely no idea when that would be.

The first time Harry had made this excuse, Draco hadn't fully understood exactly what he meant by it. "When we're ready for what?" he asked, feeling needy and compulsive.

Apparently lacking an answer, Harry stumbled over a badly-delivered explanation. "Ready to . . . take that step, be with each other, you know, that sort of thing."

Draco was completely confused by what Harry was trying to tell him. "You don't think we're ready to be with each other, and yet you've been running around with me for several months now, covertly hiding in deserted classrooms and bathrooms, avoiding your multitude of friends?" Running his hands along Harry's back, pulling him close to himself, he asked, "What do I have to do to make you ready to be with me?" Even to himself, the note of pleading and greed was undeniable.

"Look, you clearly don't understand, Draco. I don't know about you, but I think that a certain level of commitment is important. I'm not just going to jump in bed with you." Harry's tone was indecipherable, as was his intended purpose in making such a remark.

Sighing with exasperation, Draco closed his eyes and tried to find reason within him. "Honestly, Harry, I don't know what in the hell you're talking about," he admitted. "You're not making much sense here." Opening his eyes, he took Harry's hands in a sweet, loving way that was utterly foreign to him. "But I want what you want," he told him, knowing in his heart that the words were true. "I want you to be happy. I care about you."

Harry leaned in toward him, his eyes shining and open. "I care about you, Draco," he said. "I don't want to be wrong about us, I don't want anything about us to be wrong. So I want to wait . . . until we're ready."

Their lips met tenderly, flaring Draco with passion. Harry groaned softly, pushing his fingers into Draco's hair and mussing it seductively. Breaking the kiss, feeling shivers running through him, Draco tried to avoid meeting Harry's eyes. He failed, and the completely unhidden passion and lust that he saw there made it hard not to take him then and there. There's a bed in the corner . . . his mind conjured all the uses he could make of that bed, making him throb with need. He turned away from Harry and tried to compose himself. Several minutes passed before he felt able to turn around, and when he did, he smiled at the dark-haired boy in front of him. "When we're ready," he agreed.