Chapter 7: What are friends for?
Harry walked through the rest of the day in a daze. Through the greetings of the Weasley's, the return to the Burrow in all it's comforting, familiar coziness. He went to bed, in Ron's bed, while Ron took a cot, sharing his small room as usual, with his mind still in a state of numb shock, the same horrified moment of realization on repeat, trading off with re-framed memories of the past few weeks, now with his mysterious Slytherin replaced with Malfoy. Malfoy's so-familiar, sneering, pale, Pureblood face.
Oh Merlin. The things they'd said. The things they'd done!
It had been…
Harry's mind would not settle, no opinion on what had happened would rise to the surface, no distinct emotion or decision. It only whirled through the same scenes, and that singular moment of shocked horror, over and over, until, finally, he slept.
In his dreams he was in the Room of Requirement again. Malfoy sat there, in a high backed, dark green brocade chair, one ankle slung across the other knee, a glass of wine in his long-fingered hand, looking every inch the Slytherin prince. He watched Harry cross the room, as if he were a supplicant before the prince on his throne. Harry knelt before him, and said only "please".
"And that is just how I want you, Potter, on your knees, and begging." Malfoy's cool grey eyes looked down into his, and there was only amusement and satisfaction there.
A new dream. Malfoy and Harry, standing together.
"It's easier this way," Malfoy whispered, and pointed his wand at Harry's face. "Dissimulo." His voice hissed like a snake. I do not want to recognize you. I never wanted to recognize you.
"I would take it all back if I could." Harry whispered.
"It doesn't matter. I don't know who you are."
Yet again, the dream changed. They were together, in the Great Hall. Malfoy stood, watching Harry, Pansy Parkinson stood, whispering in his ear, on one side, Blaise Zabini on the other, as he watched Harry where he stood, flanked by Ron and Hermione, all the school watching them. He smiled at Harry, and his eyes were cold. He turned to Pansy, and kissed her, passionately, then turned to Blaise, and kissed him, too. Both of them were touching him, hugging him, kissing him, caressing him. He threw his head back in an ecstasy of pleasure, and Harry stood there, watching. "I always knew Malfoy was a pervert." Ron said. "I'm glad you aren't like that, Harry."
"Disgusting," Hermione agreed. "I wouldn't want to be your friend if you were like that, Harry."
When Harry awoke from the cycle of disturbing dreams, distinct scenes and fleeting fragments of others, his stomach churned with anxiety and guilt.
Of course, only I would get into a situation like this, he thought grimly. And now, what will happen? Will Malfoy tell? Find a way to make it look as though he knew all along, just to make a fool of me? He could see the Daily Prophet headlines already, shaming and mocking him again, once again the whispers would start, he'd be the talk of the wizarding world, once again, for something that should have been his own private life.
He barely ate anything at breakfast, moving the food around his plate to avoid Mrs Weasley's motherly fussing. It didn't work, of course.
"Harry! You've barely eaten! Are you alright, dear?" Her hand was on his forehead, her wand ready to cast diagnostic spells at the slightest thought that he may be ill.
"I'm fine!" He said quickly. "I guess I'm still tired. I think I've been overdoing it at school. Glad to be here and get a rest, finally!" That satisfied her, as he had known it would. The problem and it's solution neatly packaged for her. She fussed over him even more than usual after that, pushing his favourite foods on him, letting him and Ron both sleep in, much to Ron's appreciative delight.
Harry had his phone on, and Hermione texted them both every day. It was so much faster than owl mail, and the three friends had already decided they would all get phones upon graduation, provided they could figure out what protective spells they could use to keep them functioning around the high levels of magic they lived with. But there were, of course, no other texts. Of course not. Certainly not from his Slytherin, who no longer seemed to exist in Harry's mind, the role usurped and twisted by Malfoy. He felt a loss as the days passed. As thought that person had been killed, and Malfoy stood there as a pretender. The dreams continued, sometimes incredibly beautiful and erotic, other times only cruel, laughing, sneering, and shame. Harry laughed and joked with the Weasley's, feeling as though he was doing a wonderful job of pretending nothing was wrong, to judge by the lack of questions and fussing. If he spent a little more time focusing on his homework than usual, well, that was only natural. School was important, Ron would do well to take a lesson, there.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Harry woke, confused. It was dark out, nearly 1am. A muffled curse from the bathroom next door made itself known as the source of the problem. He sat up. Ron's cot was empty. He lay back down, awake now, but not worried. Another course, and something smacked into the dividing wall. Harry got out of bed, feeling a little embarrassed as he padded barefoot into the hallway and tapped lightly at the door.
"Ron, you alright?" Silence followed. Then the door creaked open. Ron stood there, shirtless, and red to the roots of his hair.
"Sorry. I'm done, bathrooms yours."
"No. I mean…what are you doing?" He realized immediately how invasive and terribly awkward a question it was. "I mean. No. I don't want to know. I just heard, uh-"
Ron cut him off. "I wasn't doing that!" He lifted his phone. "I was…mumblemumble." His voice dropped, his words indecipherable. Harry stared.
"What?"
"I was trying to take a selfie." His eyes stared fixedly at the wall to the right of Harry. "For Hermione."
Harry took in his shirtless state again. "oh. Not going well, then?"
Ron's eyes dropped the the carpet now. "No." he muttered. He sighed. "It's just…we were texting. And Hermione sent me some, and…Harry, she looked amazing. She asked me to send one back and I've been trying for the last hour but…I figured out the camera, but I look terrible. I look hideous. She's going to break up with me, realize I'm not worthy of her."
"Ron. It's fine. Here. Show me." He paused, then quickly added. "I mean, if you aren't, you know…"
"I kept my pants on," Ron said with an attempt at dignity, though he remained red. "I'm making enough of a fool of myself without trying that." He opened his phone, to a picture gallery.
Harry stared. He tried, really tried, to keep his face neutral. But it was a failure. Ron groaned, grabbing his hair with both hands.
"I'm doomed," he moaned. Harry tapped a few buttons, and deleted every picture.
"Come," he pulled Ron into the bedroom. "The bathroom is too bright. It…doesn't work." He turned on the bedroom light and looked around. The orange everywhere was definitely not going to help. "No, wait. Downstairs."
"Are you kidding me, Harry, someone will hear us! Merlin, Harry, if Fred and George-"
"Shh, Ron. It's fine." Harry looked around the room once more, then grabbed a few items before following Ron.
They went down to the sitting room, and Harry lit a fire with a flick of his wand.
"Sit there," he gestured to the couch across from the fire, and lit a few more lamps and lights, checking through the phone camera to get just the right effect. "No. There, in the corner, lean on the armrest with one arm, drape the other across the couch." He arranged Ron until he lounged, his long, lean, Quidditch-toned body draped across the couch. He tousled Ron's hair until a few red strands fell into his eyes. The firelight played across his chest, lit his hair with red-gold highlights. Harry snapped a few pictures. He made Ron get up and dress in the dress robes Fred and George had once bought him with Harry's money, leaving them open. The cell phone camera was really excellent, Harry thought, surveying the finished pictures. He had Ron dress in a few different items, holding a quaffle, holding his broom in a suggestive manner that had taken a very long time for Harry to talk Ron into relaxing for, his face almost smirking in the single moment Harry had captured the picture between the complaints of how absolutely awkward this was and "are you sure this doesn't look a little gay, Harry?" ha. If only he knew how not the right person Harry was to ask that of. Finally, they crept back up to the room, and Harry handed Ron the phone, having already deleted all but the best of the pictures, and put away the props.
"Harry!" Ron sounded shocked. "These are…" Harry looked up. Ron was blushing again, but with pleasure this time. "These are amazing! I look good!"
"Yeah Ron." He grinned at his friend's pleasure.
"But Harry," Ron's smile fled. "She'll know I didn't take these myself."
"So? Just tell her you made me take them for you. If you don't act weird about it, she'll only see the pictures and, I promise you, she won't be thinking about much else but how you look."
"Thanks, Harry. You are the best friend ever."
Harry went back to sleep, feeling pretty great about himself.
In the morning, he woke up alone. Ron was already gone. When he stumbled down the stairs, only Ginny was in the kitchen, also yawning over a late breakfast.
"Hey Harry," she said, around another huge yawn.
"Hey Gin." He sat. "Sleep well?"
"Not very," she grinned at him. "Some idiots woke me up in the middle of the night banging around the house."
Harry looked up, hand frozen in the act of piling bacon onto his plate.
"Yeah. I know about your little photoshoot," she said. "Ron even let me see the pictures after I said I'd tell Fred and George all about it if he didn't. I have to say, I'm impressed. And so was Hermione." She grinned. "Ron's off talking to her now. Outside. In the garden shed so Fred and George can't find him."
Harry smiled, relieved. "Glad to hear it."
"You should become a photographer, Harry. You have the knack for it."
"Because of cell phone pictures?"
She shrugged. "Just think what you could do with a camera, with enough practice."
Harry's phone buzzed. Ginny put her plate in the sink and left the kitchen, leaving Harry alone. He pulled out his phone, grinning, to see what Hermione had to say. Perhaps a gushing thank you.
'I've been thinking, Potter.'
Only that. Nothing else. Harry gaped at the phone. What was Malfoy playing at? What was this about? Harry's thumbs hovered over the buttons. His face tightened into a scowl, and he closed the phone again. No. He didn't care what Malfoy thought. He didn't give a single flying fuck what Malfoy thought. What schemes he'd come up with to embarrass and revenge himself on Harry.
He would forget this. Once and for all.
If only the dreams would let him.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooo
What does our darling Draco have on his mind, do you wonder? Merlin-damnit Potter! Give the man a chance!
Thank you all for your lovely reviews! The last chapter got the most so far! Each one makes me grin foolishly, and I read them several times like the attention-seeking approval whore that I am!
Yours,
Loony Luiny
