Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or related characters. Shocking, I know.

A/N: Hello again everyone! Lucky for this story, I survived midterms! Now that I have a small break I'm updating. I'm really sorry about the slow pace of this story as far as chapter updates go, and I'm incredibly thankful to all of you readers who prod me into updating just a bit faster, those who review and send me messages and all that good stuff. Really, it helps get these chapters posted faster! Enjoy this next one.

Thirteenth to Fifth

Work It Out

Harry wasn't late to school the morning after he spent the night in Death Eater territory, although he was exhausted. It had been almost one in the morning by the time he reached the building where Ron, Fred, George, and Seamus were waiting. Colin had gone home around twelve, apparently. Everyone was immensely relieved when Harry stumbled into the building, alive and uninjured, but the relief faded when Harry told them what he had overheard at Tom's meeting. Dean was missing, and it seemed like he would remain missing until some unknown person contacted the Army...whenever that would be. Harry had been willing to stay and discuss their next step, but George and Fred insisted he get home. George acted as escort, walking Harry back to Vernon's apartment. They didn't talk about the kiss they shared earlier, both too preoccupied with other thoughts.

"Psst! Harry...wake up!" the girl sitting next to him in class hissed, prodding his shoulder. Harry jerked his head up, giving her a smile of thanks and turning back to the head of the classroom, where Mrs. Granger was lecturing. He head was killing him, he was sore from running his ass off and climbing up ladders all last night, and he could hardly keep his eyes open, not to mention that all his friends here at Hogwarts thought he was either anorexic or on drugs. And, as Madam Pomfrey mentioned earlier this morning, his one-month deadline was coming up next week, when Sirius Black came back. Harry put his head back on the desk.

By the time Harry had slogged through his ballet class and world history he was considering telling the nurse he was sick so that he could go home. The only thing that stopped him was the chemistry test he had to take sixth period, and Snape's wrath if he had to make up the test on Friday. Deciding not to play hookie, Harry stashed his books in his locker and put his sweatshirt on over the dance clothes he had been too lazy to change out of.

Harry had gotten about four hours of restless sleep the night before, but never bothered changing out of his Death Eater clothes. If it weren't for George reminding him about the makeup he had been wearing Harry probably would have worn it to school without realizing. Even so, the black he had smeared around his eye sockets had stained his skin enough to make him look dead, and Harry still found flecks of dried makeup on his face when he looked in the mirror.

Harry stumbled down the hall, pulling his hood up and shoving his hands in his pockets. He tried to keep his walk a little more upbeat, but gave up soon after and let his feet literally drag on the floor. He entered the first dance studio on the second floor, paying little attention to the three dancers who were stretching through lunch, and made a beeline for the small couch at the back of the studio. The black-haired dancer sank down onto the couch, kicking his shoes off and lifting his legs onto the cushions before lying down. He curled into the large sweatshirt for warmth, hoping the teacher would wake him before Ballroom started.

…

Sirius Black was coming back in two days, on Saturday, six days ahead of schedule. Severus had enjoyed every Black-free day of his life, until the last two weeks where he actually wished Black was here, if only to deal with the enigma that was Harry Potter.

With another pursing of his lips that doubled as a smile, Severus pushed the power button once and stacked several papers on the corner of his desk while waiting for the computer to enter sleep mode. When the screen faded to black the chemistry professor rose, donned his jacket, and proceeded out of his room. As he neared the door, Draco came hurdling through it, his grey eyes wide.

"," he blurted out, coming to a stop and straightening his outfit. Severus raised an eyebrow, continuing on his way and brushing past his godson.

"Try English next time, Draco," he suggested. The blond violinist gave an annoyed sigh.

"What's up with Potter? Doug said something was wrong with him in History last period...I actually thought he might be in here, because no one can find him," Draco explained.

"What makes you think I would know the whereabouts of Mr. Potter?" Severus asked, looking to the tall boy walking in stride with him.

"Pomfrey suggested it, actually."

"What was wrong with Potter in History?"

"Doug said he looked pretty dead on his feet. Tired or something, but really tired," Draco said. Severus sighed, stopping his brisk walk. Draco stopped beside him.

"Perhaps he had a late night last night, doing the homework he's been putting off all week, or with any luck, studying for the exam he has today," he drawled. Draco scowled.

"So you don't know where he is?" Severus shook his head.

"I do not. Now, I am going to take lunch, and you should do the same." With that, Severus resumed his walk to the teachers' lounge, shaking his head. Draco was infatuated with the boy, yes, but did he have to make it so obvious? Lord, what if Lucius found out?

Draco continued to glare at his unhelpful godfather for a moment before turning around and going back to the second floor. Doug said he already checked the locker rooms and the practice rooms, but Draco was compelled to double check.

Draco didn't really mind his attachment to Harry, even thought it was very foreign to him. He had never really felt like he wanted to...god...take care of someone before, but then again, he had never met anyone like Harry, either. The boy was kind of a walking disaster, but a graceful one, someone who seemed to catch himself every time something disastrous happened and just carry on like it was no big deal. Since his first glance at Harry, Draco had been able to appreciate the obvious looks of the dancer, but now that he knew him a bit more, the finer points of the boy's beauty were less subtle. The way his green eyes sparkled when he was excited, glowed when he was angry, dulled when he was sad. The way he walked down the halls—with a boy's natural testosterone, but with a dancer's grace and a new kid's shyness.

Doug had been right: Harry wasn't in the locker rooms. Where else? Draco thought, leaning Harry's locker, which was only several meters away from the boys' locker room.

"S'up, Malfoy?" a boy asked, opening the locker right next to Harry's and putting a dance bag in it. Draco stood upright.

"Looking for Harry, you seen him?" the boy—Draco thought his name was Alan—eyed him up, wondering what he wanted with Potter, no doubt.

"Sure. He's in Studio One. The little black blob on the couch."

"Fucking finally," Draco breathed in relief. "Thanks, Alan."

"No prob."

Draco walked quickly to the dance studio and wrenched open the doors, his eyes falling on the 'black blob' instantly. Harry was curled into a ball on the couch, his worn shoes on the floor, bare feet poking out of long dance pants. Draco caught a bit of black hair protruding from the hood of the sweatshirt Harry had put on, and deduced Harry's head to be on that side of the teen. The senior sat down on the couch, gently putting a hand on Harry's shoulder and uncurling him. The dancer gave a small protest and attempted to re-curl himself, but Draco wouldn't have it.

"Harry...wake up," he whispered, pushing the hood off the boy's head and brushing black bangs out of his face.

"Draco? Is it time for class?" Harry asked, opening one eye.

"No, you have another half hour. I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he answered honestly.

"I thought I told you to give me some space. Yesterday, was it?" Harry asked, although he didn't sound angry. Draco lifted his hand from Harry's head.

"I know. I just wanted to make sure you were okay: Doug said you slept through most of history."

"Yeah...'m tired..." Harry murmured, putting his head back down on the couch. Draco let out a rush of air: a soft laugh.

"I can see that. Just wanted to—"

"Make sure I was okay. Yeah. I'm fine...just tired," Harry paused, and Draco almost got up to leave, but then he saw Harry open his mouth again to speak. "Um...thanks, I guess. For, you know, checking on me," the small teen whispered, his cheeks blushing a faint pink. Draco reached out and ran a thumb under Harry's right eye, wiping away chips of what looked like black paint. He noticed Harry's faint flinch at his unexpected touch, but didn't react to it.

"You're welcome, Harry. I'll leave...I know you wanted space," he said softy, making to get up and leave his friend alone. Before he was completely standing, Draco felt Harry grab his wrist, and he looked down to Harry's green eyes.

"I...you...you don't have to go, if you don't want to, I mean. I don't...I don't mind," he said, his cheeks still pink. Draco smiled in reply, returning to his seat and running a hand through Harry's hair. The dancer didn't flinch this time. "Wait! I don't want you to skip lunch because of me...you should...you should go to—"

"I'm staying with you, Harry," Draco assured. "Go back to sleep, I'll wake you five minutes before class, and I'll get Doug to bring your dance bag." Draco felt Harry nod under his hand, and he looked down at the boy curled into a pathetic ball on the couch. "Here," Draco sighed, shifting until his back was resting against the arm of the couch, and then pulling Harry to rest on his torso. The groggy teen allowed it, despite the insinuating position, and laid his head on Draco's chest with one delicate hand resting on Draco's shoulder, falling asleep instantly. Across the room, Draco heard the two remaining dancers whispering to each other.

"I thought he was dating Pansy," the girl whispered, tugging her shoes off. The boy with her shrugged.

"Guess not. Draco Malfoy can do what he wants," he answered. Draco smiled.

Damn right.

…

Severus stopped into the first dance studio to look in on Draco and Mr. Potter—assuming their friend Doug had been telling the truth about their whereabouts. Indeed, the chemistry professor saw Draco sitting on the couch, texting on his phone, and Harry resting peacefully on his chest. He raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised the dark-haired teen would allow such a position, but left the room before Draco could look over and see him watching. Severus shook his head, thankful puberty only lasted several years. Rampant hormones, he thought with a roll of his dark eyes.

Draco flipped his phone shut after he read that Doug would bring Harry's dance bag to studio one before class so the dancer could don his dance shoes. Harry was still sleeping, so exhausted that after falling asleep on Draco's chest the dancer had not moved an inch. He looked so much softer, more innocent, when sleeping, Draco noticed. His eyelashes rested lightly against pale cheeks, lips parted just enough to let a hint of warm breath through, bangs falling haphazardly over his forehead. There were no snappy comments, glares, or frowns. Just...peace. The violinist sighed, gently running a long-fingered hand through Harry's hair for the seventh time since the dancer had fallen asleep. With a smile, Draco tilted his head to side to rest on the back of the couch, eyes resting calmly on the sleeping dancer.

Draco's admiring reverie was abruptly ended when his phone buzzed in his hand, Pansy's name scrolling across the screen. He flipped his phone open and read:

drakie where R U?

He replied:

Practicing. Don't bother me.

She wrote:

wanna take me 2 the movie? plz? lol

Draco glared at his phone, trying to think of five good reasons why he was dating Pansy Parkingson. Normally it worked in situations like this, after all, they had been going out for months now and Draco hadn't broken up with her yet. He came up with: she's cute (but the kid sleeping in my arms is gorgeous), she's rich (but so am I, so that doesn't really matter), Lucius approved (but he hadn't even met her, so it wouldn't be a big deal if he broke up with her), and she's talented (but my dancer is more so). Draco sighed. Before, Draco hadn't even seriously thought about dating Harry—first of all, he didn't know if the teen was even gay—but now that it was popping into his head, he wasn't uncomfortable with the idea. And Pansy kept getting more annoying. With a smirk, Draco texted:

No. We're not going to the movie tonight.

A pause.

Y not?

Because I am breaking up with you. Seriously, you drive me insane, darlin'.

Draco waited for almost a minute before Pansy wrote a response.

WHAT?????!!!!! Y????

I HATE U!!!

Draco smiled and shut his phone, his free hand rubbing small circles on Harry's back. The clock on his phone read twelve twenty-three, seven minutes before class started. He dropped it on the floor to get later, and rubbed Harry's arms with both hands.

"Harry, wake up," he whispered, unsure how light of a sleeper he was. After several more moments Draco saw Harry's eyes flutter open, cautiously taking in the studio around them, and then coming to rest on Draco himself. Harry blushed and looked away, but Draco's hand shot out and gently took hold of the dancer's chin, pulling his face back to look back at him. "Didn't I tell you once that you look away too much?" Draco asked quietly, smiling. Harry smiled a bit and then glared playfully, his green eyes bright and intense.

"What are you smiling about?" Harry asked, shaking his head lightly until Draco let go. Unlike before, however, Harry's eyes stayed on the blond, scrutinizing. Draco shrugged.

"You're amazing, that's why I'm smiling," he responded, delighting in Harry's blush. "And I just broke up with Pansy," he added with a smirk. Harry pushed himself up, just a little ways off Draco's chest.

"What?!" he exclaimed. Draco smiled, loving Harry's face so close to him. He could just lean in and...

"Um...I..." Draco swallowed. "It was bound to happen. She's insane, bitchy, clingy, and we just don't get along anymore as a couple. Pansy and I were only meant to be friends. You're more then welcome to go after her if you like, don't worry about offending me," he joked. Harry looked disgusted.

"Not if you paid me," he said dryly, pushing himself further off Draco and stretching his arms above his head. The blond reveled in the sight of the dancer stretching out his relaxed muscles. His back arched beautifully and sensually, legs straight and stiff, arms ever graceful. He was seriously considered kissing Harry just then, but was relieved when Doug came into the studio with several others in the class.

"Hey guys. Harry, have a nice nap? You looked dead in history," Doug commented, tossing Harry his bag. The black-haired teen shrugged, and Draco saw him revert back to the guarded, tense, and shy Harry that he normally was.

"Yeah, I feel a little better, I guess," he said softly, pulling on his ripped and torn dance shoes and flexing his feet to warm them up. Draco and Doug watched as Harry methodically rolled up his dance pants a bit and safety-pinned them in place.

"You wanna take your sweatshirt off?" Doug asked as he extended a hand to Harry. The small teen accepted it and allowed himself to be pulled to a standing position.

"No, I'll leave it on for warm-ups," he said, putting his hands in his pocket and glancing at the head of the class, where most students and the teacher were stretching. Harry turned to Draco, his eyes on his feet. "Um...thanks, Draco," he mumbled. The blond smiled and ruffled Harry's hair.

"No problem. I gotta get to class. Have fun in ballroom," Draco said with a soft smile at the dancer. Doug rolled his eyes and drug Harry to the front of the room, grabbing Harry's bag from him and tossing it against the wall. Harry shrank back when Doug set him in front of the class.

"Um...not today, Doug," Harry said, giving his friend a glance before retreating to the back of the class. Doug watched him for a moment, biting his lip, before the teacher clapped his hands briskly and class started.

By sixth period the talk of the school was Draco and Pansy's breakup—apparently Pansy hadn't taken it very well, although Draco didn't expect her to in the first place. As Harry put his dance bag in his locker and collected his chemistry notes and textbook, whispers about the violinist and singer reached his ears from all sides. He smiled to himself, finding it funny that he had been the first person to know, aside from Draco and Pansy, that is. However, all whispers stopped dead upon entering Professor Snape's classroom: it was well known that not only did he not tolerate whispering, he also despised gossip.

Harry took his usual spot in the back of the classroom, enjoying the relative silence. The professor rose from his desk just as the bell rang, a small pile of papers in his hands. Harry noticed Snape looking his way; Snape's dark eyes staring furiously, and Harry looked away, nervously playing with the hem of his sweatshirt. He didn't look up until the exam was slammed on his desk. Harry drew out his pencil and resisted tapping it on the desk. Several days ago the professor had caught someone else tapping their pencil—he broke it in half, and it hadn't been one of the cheap wooden ones that Harry used. The dancer sat frozen in his chair until the professor announced that his students could begin.

Harry worked through the exam, skipping problems that would take him too long to complete, and then going back to them when he had completed the simpler problems. By the time Snape ordered everyone to put down their pencils, Harry was fairly satisfied with his exam, although he was sure the professor would not be. Harry handed his test to Snape without making eye contact. When the bell rang Harry dropped his pencil in his bag and rose from his seat, desperate to make it out of the room before Neville came over and asked him if he was alright or something, but a large hand latched onto his elbow, holding him in place.

Harry couldn't help his violent flinch, and he was positive that Snape had felt it, although the professor did not mention it. Harry whirled around, fighting to assure himself it was only professor Snape, and no matter how angry the man looked, he would not hit him. The dancer forced his breathing to even out.

"Potter. Look at me," Snape commanded sharply, and Harry slowly brought his eyes up to meet Snape's. He saw his professor's hand snake out to grab his chin and no doubt force his face upward, but Harry took a step back, shrinking away from the hand. Snape pursed his lips and dropped Harry's elbow. "I merely wanted to look at your face," the professor clarified. Harry put his gaze downward, but tilted his face up. Snape's expression was unreadable, but Harry felt waves of anger coming from the man. He was perfectly still, worried that if he moved Snape would lash out. Suddenly the chemistry professor turned away from Harry, ordering the dancer out of his classroom. Harry bolted from the room, opening the door and entering the hall, where he crashed into someone.

The impact shocked Harry from his fearful reverie, and he stepped back, stammering apologies. His eyes were on the floor, and the blood rushing through his ears was distracting him from the voice that was speaking urgently to him. Hands grabbed his elbows and Harry pushed the other person away, stumbling back up the hall towards his locker in a panic.

What had Snape been so angry about?

"Harry! Harry! HARRY!" Wait...that was...Harry turned around.

"George?"

"Christ, Harry. You look scared to death," George commented, walking up to his near-hyperventilating friend. "Breathe, kiddo. That's it. Breathe..." he whispered to the dancer, careful not to touch him until he was sure Harry could both see his hand and understand George meant him no harm. The redhead eased an arm around Harry.

"What...what are you doing here?" Harry choked out, glancing nervously back at the door to the chemistry classroom as if expecting Snape to come after him.

"I'm escorting you home. After last night we all thought it would be a good idea if someone came to get you from school," George explained. "Besides, you've got to be exhausted, and someone's got to make sure you don't fall asleep on the bus." Harry gave a half-hearted smile.

"I'm sure it would have been fine, George," he said, leading the way back to his locker.

"I know. But it never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes." Harry nodded in agreement, actually relieved that George was there. He opened his locker and gathered the textbooks he wanted to study that night, plus the homework he had. He left his dance bag in the locker; he wouldn't need dance clothes for tonight.

"So what had you out of that classroom like a bat out of hell?" George asked seriously while Harry collected his belonging. Harry shrugged.

"Snape, the chem professor, was acting really weird. It's been a crazy day and...I don't know. The bell rang and I was getting up to leave when he grabbed me from behind. I just...I wasn't expecting it and kind of freaked out, I guess," Harry looked embarrassed. "He was angry about something, though. Really angry. He asked to see my face." George shrugged.

"Sounds like an asshole. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Any bruises on your face or anything?" Harry shook his head.

"No," he answered, slamming his locker shut and shouldering his bag. George, who had removed his arm when they had reached the locker, draped it over Harry's shoulders once more. Harry glanced around the hall, and caught George doing the same.

"This is...kinda crazy, Harry," he commented quietly.

"Yeah. They really don't care about, I don't know, sexuality here. It's pretty cool, though, once you get used to it. I mean, I guess it's still weird to see guys making out in the hall and kids just walking by as if it was nothing unusual, but still," he answered. George nodded. "So how'd you find your way up here?" Harry wondered.

"Oh, a lady from the front desk showed me up. She said her name was Pomfrey something," George replied.

"That's the nurse who wants me to gain ten pounds by, well, next week," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "She's really overbearing."

"She was really happy to meet me, like, beaming," George commented. Harry shrugged.

"Don't look at me. No offense or anything, but I haven't mentioned you to anyone. I guess I haven't really mentioned any of you guys to my friends here," Harry mused. George looked down at him.

"Why not?"

"I don't know," Harry paused, waving to a kid from chemistry who was looking at him sympathetically, "It's just...my life here is so different from back in Th—home. No one but the teachers even know that I live...you know. I'm trying to keep my life here separate, I guess."

"Whatever, Harry. Just don't stress yourself out too much," George said. "Hey, why don't you introduce me to some of your friends? Or at least point them out to me, I wanna know who you hang out with here!" Harry looked down.

"Um...maybe not today, George. My friends here...well, it's complicated. I meant to talk to you last night about it, after I got home from school, but well..." Harry trailed off, still staring at the floor passing underneath his feet. George looked at him, concerned.

"Okay, Harry. Let's get you home and fed, and then we'll talk. Have you eaten today?" George asked. Harry shook his head.

"Slept through lunch," he answered.

"What are you going to do next week, then? Tell the guy the truth?" Harry shrugged.

"I don't know yet. I guess I'll just wait and see—meet the guy and then figure out what game to play. People here though...well, things are getting really complicated. I'll tell you later," Harry said. George squeezed his shoulder before unwrapping his arm, letting his hand trail briefly down Harry's back.

"It'll work out. Like Fred and I said, just work on dance and school—everything else will work out." Harry shot his friend a disbelieving look.

"Mr. Weasley, everything does not always 'work out'. I think I've got a bit of work ahead of me before I start getting lucky," he answered. "I mean, if everyone thought that way..." Harry trailed off, his head turning slightly to the right. George followed the dancer's gaze and saw a tall blond boy and another dark-skinned boy leaning casually against the wall, eyebrows raised as they stared at Harry. In turn, Harry sharply looked away from them, biting his lip. George nudged him.

"Do I have competition?" he joked, happy to see Harry smile in return.

"Um...things are...kinda tense right now. I'll tell you later, really," he promised, and George began to feel a sense of foreboding about the conversation that was to come.

As always, thanks for reading! If you are so inclined to drop a note I would love to hear from you!

Wykkyd