The Hallowe'en banquet that year was as impressive as ever. Harry actually
felt himself rousing into an unusual awareness as he, Hermione, and Ron
walked to the Great Hall, laughing and joking in a light-hearted sense of
well-being he hadn't felt for ages. Ron and Hermione grinned at each other
and answered in kind, and the whole evening seemed shining and carefree to
Harry. He allowed himself to think that maybe, just maybe, everything
would be okay.
Harry didn't even remember to look for Draco. They ate and laughed in highest spirits, Ron and Harry teasing Hermione relentlessly until she turned Ron's hair glowing violet, at which she and Harry laughed till they cried. Ron grumbled a little but eventually gave up and laughed with them. Harry tried to catch one of the bats swooping overhead and ended up with his elbow in the treacle pudding. All in all, it was the best evening Harry could remember for a long, long time.
And then, as the party was winding down a bit and squarely in one of those inevitable mass lulls in conversation, Draco walked in.
"Unstylishly late," Ron muttered with a laugh. "Trust Malfoy to work his entrance timing so he gets the most attention." Hermione smiled a little, but said nothing and glanced at Harry.
Harry was transfixed. Draco wasn't wearing his school robes, just a plain black turtleneck and jeans. Kind of funny, Harry mused, wearing robes all the time makes it as significant in the wizarding world to see a man's legs as a woman's. He'd never noticed how long and slender Draco's legs were. Or really, exactly how long and slender he was entirely, looking almost otherworldly with his skin and hair strikingly pale against the black. His face was a little too pointed and refined to be called handsome, just a little too lovely, a little too fragile for a classic sense of masculinity. He was...just a little too much, too much of everything for comfort.
Harry tried to keep up his place in the conversation, but kept losing track of what he was saying while watching Malfoy saunter smoothly to the Slytherin table and pick over the food. Ron sighed with exasperation and Hermione shook her head at him warningly.
Across the room, Crabbe and Goyle blundered toward Draco, who stopped them with a scowl and an imperious flick of his hand. While his attention was on them, Pansy Parkinson sidled up close to him and took his arm. Draco visibly started, then hissed something at her and shook her off. She pouted, and he snapped, then clearly lost all patience and stalked off with a forbidding glare at Pansy. He hadn't even eaten anything.
Harry stood before he realized what he was doing.
"Harry—" Ron started, but Hermione cut him off.
"Go on, Harry; there's no time like the present."
Ron scowled at her in puzzlement, but Harry blinked with surprise.
"You think I should, 'Mione?" Harry asked her, ignoring Ron.
"I think you need to," she replied gently.
Harry hesitated for a second, then nodded. He should have known Hermione would have noticed what was going on, would understand him even without an explanation. He should have trusted himself enough to talk to her. Now it seemed he didn't need to.
"Wish me luck, then," he threw over his shoulder to her as he hurried after Malfoy, hand unconsciously clutching the choker in his pocket. He moved so swiftly he barely heard Hermione say "Luck, Harry," then shush Ron.
Harry caught up with Malfoy much sooner than he'd expected; for all his haste in leaving the Great Hall, Draco didn't seem to be in any particular hurry, walking slowly and watching his feet scuff along the floor. He glanced back without stopping when Harry called his name, then paused when he saw it was Harry.
"Yes, Potter?" Malfoy didn't sound particularly interested, though he didn't sound hostile either; Harry thought he seemed melancholy. Not unusual lately.
"I was wondering— can I talk to you for a minute, Malfoy?" Harry found it hard to breathe normally; his lungs seemed to want to either stop entirely or go like mad, and his heart was pounding as though it had suddenly turned twice its size.
"Thought you were talking to me." Malfoy looked uncertain for a moment, then said, "Sure, why not. Care for a stroll? I was heading to the Astronomy tower...I suppose it won't kill me to have you tag along for a bit." His tone somehow lacked the irritation it ought to have held, giving Harry the strength he needed to keep trying to go through with this. Whatever 'this' was. He felt he'd lost touch with reality entirely.
They walked in silence for a while, each second weighing uncomfortably, an expectation unfulfilled. Finally Malfoy threw a glance at Harry and said, "Thought you wanted to talk to me, Potter, not brood with me."
"I...I was waiting until we got where you were going." The long minutes of silence had weighed on Harry, and it took a conscious effort to speak again. He flushed, feeling ever so much the fool, and asked himself for the first time whether he should just call this whole thing off. Then he remembered Hermione's urging, and with a slight shake of his head, cast off everything but determination again.
"Fine then, if that's what you want. It makes no difference to me," Malfoy said with a graceful shrug; Harry wondered fleetingly whether such movements were taught to him, or whether they were just bred in, like his beauty. They walked on.
Harry used the rest of the walk to re-evaluate, yet again, Malfoy's behaviour— or lack of such— over the past several weeks. It still seemed to him that the insults lacked the sting of intention that they'd always had before, and that they'd been far fewer than Malfoy's opportunity to deliver should have made them. Something was not the same.
Something like hope caught in Harry's chest, exorcised with the next breath; he reminded himself that the only thing that mattered was spilling this burden at Malfoy's feet, not what came after. He was strong enough to handle rejection, he told himself over and over. He was strong enough to handle mockery, even the mockery and antagonism of the whole school. He'd done it in second year, and as long as his friends stood by him, he could do it again. But he couldn't handle this silent need anymore.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of grey, cold stone hallways, they mounted the staircase to the top of the tower.
Malfoy strode immediately to the battlements, something of his usual fluidity lacking in his movements. Again, the vulnerable curve of his neck, his slouched posture threw a sense of deep melancholy at Harry.
"So, what was it anyway, Potter? What was important enough to come all the way up here?" Malfoy sounded indifferent, but his hand trembled faintly as he brushed hair bleached stark white in the moonlight out of his eyes.
The moment was here. The moment was *now*. Harry took a deep breath and ignored his shaking knees.
"Malfoy..." Oh *gods*, he thought, why, oh *why* didn't I plan out this little speech?!? "I...I don't want us to be enemies anymore, Malfoy." There, that didn't sound too foolish, did it? He couldn't feel his fingers or lips, but the flush on his cheeks burned like nothing he could remember.
Malfoy turned slowly toward Harry, but his eyes remained lost in the shadow of the tower stretching below them. "Not enemies, Potter? What, then? And why the change of heart?" His voice was soft, uncertain.
What now, what now? Harry bit his lip, then burst out, "I don't know what we could be, besides enemies. I...I want to...I want to touch you, to know you better, to know you without hatred or even dislike between us. I don't know that that's possible, but I want it, I want...something more...with you."
Malfoy's eyes finally drifted away from the dark beneath the tower and raised themselves ever so slowly to Harry's.
1 "To touch me, Potter? You want to touch me?"
Harry searched his face for any hint of emotion, but what he could see of Malfoy's face was blank, carved of marble.
"...I...yes, dammit, I want to touch you." Harry's nails cut into his palms; he hadn't even realized he'd clenched his fists. "Does that disgust you so very much?"
Malfoy said nothing for an interminable moment, eyes locked with Harry's.
"You want to touch me...to touch *me*." Malfoy took one slow step toward Harry, then another, while Harry held his place with held breath and trembling hands. Malfoy made a strange noise deep in his throat and reached out one fine-boned, slim hand and brushed his fingers across Harry's chin, eyes still holding Harry's relentlessly.
Harry caught Malfoy's hand in his as it dropped away. "Yes, Malfoy...Draco...*you*."
Draco's eyes widened slightly, then fell to their feet.
"But...why?" Draco's hand grasped Harry's convulsively, desperately, though he refused to look up. "What have I ever done to earn anything but hatred from you?"
Harry reached out with his other hand and tipped Draco's chin up until Draco reluctantly met his eyes. Depthless green melded with depthless grey for an instant with a physical shock. Then Harry leaned forward and lightly, so lightly, touched his lips to Draco's.
Draco's lips were tense, unyielding for a moment, and Harry braced himself to draw back, but all at once with a tiny sigh Draco softened into the caress. Harry dared to slide his hand up Draco's jawline and into his hair. It was soft, so sweetly silken on the back of his hand, tangled in his fingers. Draco didn't protest but opened his mouth and turned his head trustingly into the kiss.
This was more than Harry had dreamed. He dropped Draco's hand, still linked with his, and cupped Draco's face between his two hands while kissing him as deeply as he dared.
Draco returned the kiss with no intimation of reluctance.
Harry forced himself to pull away from the kiss finally, resting his forehead against Draco's. "Tell me to stop, tell me to go now, if that's what you want, Draco..." Harry whispered. "Tell me what you want."
Draco's hand crept up to curve around Harry's neck. "I want...I..." He paused, then finished in a rush, "Don't stop, Harry..."
Harry closed his eyes, overwhelmed with the softness of Draco's skin and completely disarmed by that 'Harry.' He pulled Draco suddenly against him, arms twining around Draco's slim form, bodies pressed together tightly. Draco sobbed faintly and buried his face in Harry's neck.
He never wanted to let go. He wanted to savour this moment forever. Draco fit against him so perfectly...it felt like home. But with infinite willpower Harry managed to offer one last out for Draco, one last chance to turn him away.
"Am I taking advantage of you tonight, Malfoy?" He forced himself to use the old formality despite the fact that it had been, would always now be *Draco* in his mind. "You're unusually defenceless...is it fair of me to do this now?" Oh, he didn't want to ask; he wanted nothing more than to continue this, to kiss Draco till the stars faded. But honour overrode his need, concern for Draco. He knew, far back in his head, that he didn't want Draco unwilling; he didn't want to question this later; he longed, he needed to hear Draco consent before he could indulge himself with a clear heart.
"You must learn...Harry...that sometimes, not always but sometimes, one should take what one wants, without concern for consequences or morality." Draco spoke into his collarbone, his breath striking Harry's skin with heat like a blow. "This time, just this one time, I'll indulge you in your naïvety." He raised his head, slowly, so slowly, until once again he met Harry's eyes. "I want this like I've never wanted anything. The only difference is that tonight I abandon my masks, I abandon my defences, and I wait. I wait for you. Take me, Harry. Have me. I am a gift, and I will not be offered twice."
Harry could not breathe. He stared unabashedly into Draco's eyes, so clear, so guileless, depthless and so naked with need that he could not question their honesty. Then, with a choked noise that was half sob, half laugh, he seized Draco's mouth and kissed him fiercely.
Draco yielded before his onslaught, then responded desperately, tongue twining with Harry's, their teeth clicking and pressing against each other in an effort to mesh beyond physical capacity. They kissed for what seemed like forever, past when lips bled with biting and lungs forgot how to fill.
It was Draco who finally broke the kiss. Harry breathed a protest softly, eyes unfocussed with desire, but subsided when Draco's mouth traced a painful and fierce path down Harry's throat, leaving a trail of bruises in its path. He bit lightly on Harry's collarbone and they shivered as one when Harry moaned.
"Draco— I can't continue this, I can't do this...not here...there's got to be someplace, someplace...private..." Harry could barely speak, so overwhelmed, his whole body pulsing with need.
Draco continued kissing along the helpless curve of Harry's throat before answering. "There's a storeroom...not so far from here...but not spacious." He bit Harry's chin and waited for a response.
"I can't...guarantee...that I don't need space with you...I don't want this to be— less than perfect, Draco..." Harry found it nearly impossible to hold himself upright, and wondered when exactly they'd ended up leaning against a battlement. Thank all the gods the wall was too high to allow accidental falling, even at its lowest parts. He could take no credit for their safety, and he didn't particularly think Draco could either...fortune was smiling on them, for once.
"Harry..." Draco closed his eyes and turned his head away, though he didn't loosen his arms from Harry's waist. "I promised myself I would never ask this...but...are you sure that it's *me* you want? I— I don't want this, if you're having me stand in for someone else." He swallowed harshly.
Harry pressed his lips against Draco's temple tenderly and knew that he'd lost the ability to conceal this truth. "You, Draco, you and no one else. It's you I've wanted for what feels like forever, you I want now, you...I want...you..." He trailed off, closing his mind to forever and foolish promises, forcing himself to think of now, only now.
Draco shuddered convulsively then tore himself away from Harry, grasping Harry's hand. He looked into Harry's face with a smile holding only joy and anticipation. "Follow me, then...there's someplace else I know..."
Harry didn't even remember to look for Draco. They ate and laughed in highest spirits, Ron and Harry teasing Hermione relentlessly until she turned Ron's hair glowing violet, at which she and Harry laughed till they cried. Ron grumbled a little but eventually gave up and laughed with them. Harry tried to catch one of the bats swooping overhead and ended up with his elbow in the treacle pudding. All in all, it was the best evening Harry could remember for a long, long time.
And then, as the party was winding down a bit and squarely in one of those inevitable mass lulls in conversation, Draco walked in.
"Unstylishly late," Ron muttered with a laugh. "Trust Malfoy to work his entrance timing so he gets the most attention." Hermione smiled a little, but said nothing and glanced at Harry.
Harry was transfixed. Draco wasn't wearing his school robes, just a plain black turtleneck and jeans. Kind of funny, Harry mused, wearing robes all the time makes it as significant in the wizarding world to see a man's legs as a woman's. He'd never noticed how long and slender Draco's legs were. Or really, exactly how long and slender he was entirely, looking almost otherworldly with his skin and hair strikingly pale against the black. His face was a little too pointed and refined to be called handsome, just a little too lovely, a little too fragile for a classic sense of masculinity. He was...just a little too much, too much of everything for comfort.
Harry tried to keep up his place in the conversation, but kept losing track of what he was saying while watching Malfoy saunter smoothly to the Slytherin table and pick over the food. Ron sighed with exasperation and Hermione shook her head at him warningly.
Across the room, Crabbe and Goyle blundered toward Draco, who stopped them with a scowl and an imperious flick of his hand. While his attention was on them, Pansy Parkinson sidled up close to him and took his arm. Draco visibly started, then hissed something at her and shook her off. She pouted, and he snapped, then clearly lost all patience and stalked off with a forbidding glare at Pansy. He hadn't even eaten anything.
Harry stood before he realized what he was doing.
"Harry—" Ron started, but Hermione cut him off.
"Go on, Harry; there's no time like the present."
Ron scowled at her in puzzlement, but Harry blinked with surprise.
"You think I should, 'Mione?" Harry asked her, ignoring Ron.
"I think you need to," she replied gently.
Harry hesitated for a second, then nodded. He should have known Hermione would have noticed what was going on, would understand him even without an explanation. He should have trusted himself enough to talk to her. Now it seemed he didn't need to.
"Wish me luck, then," he threw over his shoulder to her as he hurried after Malfoy, hand unconsciously clutching the choker in his pocket. He moved so swiftly he barely heard Hermione say "Luck, Harry," then shush Ron.
Harry caught up with Malfoy much sooner than he'd expected; for all his haste in leaving the Great Hall, Draco didn't seem to be in any particular hurry, walking slowly and watching his feet scuff along the floor. He glanced back without stopping when Harry called his name, then paused when he saw it was Harry.
"Yes, Potter?" Malfoy didn't sound particularly interested, though he didn't sound hostile either; Harry thought he seemed melancholy. Not unusual lately.
"I was wondering— can I talk to you for a minute, Malfoy?" Harry found it hard to breathe normally; his lungs seemed to want to either stop entirely or go like mad, and his heart was pounding as though it had suddenly turned twice its size.
"Thought you were talking to me." Malfoy looked uncertain for a moment, then said, "Sure, why not. Care for a stroll? I was heading to the Astronomy tower...I suppose it won't kill me to have you tag along for a bit." His tone somehow lacked the irritation it ought to have held, giving Harry the strength he needed to keep trying to go through with this. Whatever 'this' was. He felt he'd lost touch with reality entirely.
They walked in silence for a while, each second weighing uncomfortably, an expectation unfulfilled. Finally Malfoy threw a glance at Harry and said, "Thought you wanted to talk to me, Potter, not brood with me."
"I...I was waiting until we got where you were going." The long minutes of silence had weighed on Harry, and it took a conscious effort to speak again. He flushed, feeling ever so much the fool, and asked himself for the first time whether he should just call this whole thing off. Then he remembered Hermione's urging, and with a slight shake of his head, cast off everything but determination again.
"Fine then, if that's what you want. It makes no difference to me," Malfoy said with a graceful shrug; Harry wondered fleetingly whether such movements were taught to him, or whether they were just bred in, like his beauty. They walked on.
Harry used the rest of the walk to re-evaluate, yet again, Malfoy's behaviour— or lack of such— over the past several weeks. It still seemed to him that the insults lacked the sting of intention that they'd always had before, and that they'd been far fewer than Malfoy's opportunity to deliver should have made them. Something was not the same.
Something like hope caught in Harry's chest, exorcised with the next breath; he reminded himself that the only thing that mattered was spilling this burden at Malfoy's feet, not what came after. He was strong enough to handle rejection, he told himself over and over. He was strong enough to handle mockery, even the mockery and antagonism of the whole school. He'd done it in second year, and as long as his friends stood by him, he could do it again. But he couldn't handle this silent need anymore.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of grey, cold stone hallways, they mounted the staircase to the top of the tower.
Malfoy strode immediately to the battlements, something of his usual fluidity lacking in his movements. Again, the vulnerable curve of his neck, his slouched posture threw a sense of deep melancholy at Harry.
"So, what was it anyway, Potter? What was important enough to come all the way up here?" Malfoy sounded indifferent, but his hand trembled faintly as he brushed hair bleached stark white in the moonlight out of his eyes.
The moment was here. The moment was *now*. Harry took a deep breath and ignored his shaking knees.
"Malfoy..." Oh *gods*, he thought, why, oh *why* didn't I plan out this little speech?!? "I...I don't want us to be enemies anymore, Malfoy." There, that didn't sound too foolish, did it? He couldn't feel his fingers or lips, but the flush on his cheeks burned like nothing he could remember.
Malfoy turned slowly toward Harry, but his eyes remained lost in the shadow of the tower stretching below them. "Not enemies, Potter? What, then? And why the change of heart?" His voice was soft, uncertain.
What now, what now? Harry bit his lip, then burst out, "I don't know what we could be, besides enemies. I...I want to...I want to touch you, to know you better, to know you without hatred or even dislike between us. I don't know that that's possible, but I want it, I want...something more...with you."
Malfoy's eyes finally drifted away from the dark beneath the tower and raised themselves ever so slowly to Harry's.
1 "To touch me, Potter? You want to touch me?"
Harry searched his face for any hint of emotion, but what he could see of Malfoy's face was blank, carved of marble.
"...I...yes, dammit, I want to touch you." Harry's nails cut into his palms; he hadn't even realized he'd clenched his fists. "Does that disgust you so very much?"
Malfoy said nothing for an interminable moment, eyes locked with Harry's.
"You want to touch me...to touch *me*." Malfoy took one slow step toward Harry, then another, while Harry held his place with held breath and trembling hands. Malfoy made a strange noise deep in his throat and reached out one fine-boned, slim hand and brushed his fingers across Harry's chin, eyes still holding Harry's relentlessly.
Harry caught Malfoy's hand in his as it dropped away. "Yes, Malfoy...Draco...*you*."
Draco's eyes widened slightly, then fell to their feet.
"But...why?" Draco's hand grasped Harry's convulsively, desperately, though he refused to look up. "What have I ever done to earn anything but hatred from you?"
Harry reached out with his other hand and tipped Draco's chin up until Draco reluctantly met his eyes. Depthless green melded with depthless grey for an instant with a physical shock. Then Harry leaned forward and lightly, so lightly, touched his lips to Draco's.
Draco's lips were tense, unyielding for a moment, and Harry braced himself to draw back, but all at once with a tiny sigh Draco softened into the caress. Harry dared to slide his hand up Draco's jawline and into his hair. It was soft, so sweetly silken on the back of his hand, tangled in his fingers. Draco didn't protest but opened his mouth and turned his head trustingly into the kiss.
This was more than Harry had dreamed. He dropped Draco's hand, still linked with his, and cupped Draco's face between his two hands while kissing him as deeply as he dared.
Draco returned the kiss with no intimation of reluctance.
Harry forced himself to pull away from the kiss finally, resting his forehead against Draco's. "Tell me to stop, tell me to go now, if that's what you want, Draco..." Harry whispered. "Tell me what you want."
Draco's hand crept up to curve around Harry's neck. "I want...I..." He paused, then finished in a rush, "Don't stop, Harry..."
Harry closed his eyes, overwhelmed with the softness of Draco's skin and completely disarmed by that 'Harry.' He pulled Draco suddenly against him, arms twining around Draco's slim form, bodies pressed together tightly. Draco sobbed faintly and buried his face in Harry's neck.
He never wanted to let go. He wanted to savour this moment forever. Draco fit against him so perfectly...it felt like home. But with infinite willpower Harry managed to offer one last out for Draco, one last chance to turn him away.
"Am I taking advantage of you tonight, Malfoy?" He forced himself to use the old formality despite the fact that it had been, would always now be *Draco* in his mind. "You're unusually defenceless...is it fair of me to do this now?" Oh, he didn't want to ask; he wanted nothing more than to continue this, to kiss Draco till the stars faded. But honour overrode his need, concern for Draco. He knew, far back in his head, that he didn't want Draco unwilling; he didn't want to question this later; he longed, he needed to hear Draco consent before he could indulge himself with a clear heart.
"You must learn...Harry...that sometimes, not always but sometimes, one should take what one wants, without concern for consequences or morality." Draco spoke into his collarbone, his breath striking Harry's skin with heat like a blow. "This time, just this one time, I'll indulge you in your naïvety." He raised his head, slowly, so slowly, until once again he met Harry's eyes. "I want this like I've never wanted anything. The only difference is that tonight I abandon my masks, I abandon my defences, and I wait. I wait for you. Take me, Harry. Have me. I am a gift, and I will not be offered twice."
Harry could not breathe. He stared unabashedly into Draco's eyes, so clear, so guileless, depthless and so naked with need that he could not question their honesty. Then, with a choked noise that was half sob, half laugh, he seized Draco's mouth and kissed him fiercely.
Draco yielded before his onslaught, then responded desperately, tongue twining with Harry's, their teeth clicking and pressing against each other in an effort to mesh beyond physical capacity. They kissed for what seemed like forever, past when lips bled with biting and lungs forgot how to fill.
It was Draco who finally broke the kiss. Harry breathed a protest softly, eyes unfocussed with desire, but subsided when Draco's mouth traced a painful and fierce path down Harry's throat, leaving a trail of bruises in its path. He bit lightly on Harry's collarbone and they shivered as one when Harry moaned.
"Draco— I can't continue this, I can't do this...not here...there's got to be someplace, someplace...private..." Harry could barely speak, so overwhelmed, his whole body pulsing with need.
Draco continued kissing along the helpless curve of Harry's throat before answering. "There's a storeroom...not so far from here...but not spacious." He bit Harry's chin and waited for a response.
"I can't...guarantee...that I don't need space with you...I don't want this to be— less than perfect, Draco..." Harry found it nearly impossible to hold himself upright, and wondered when exactly they'd ended up leaning against a battlement. Thank all the gods the wall was too high to allow accidental falling, even at its lowest parts. He could take no credit for their safety, and he didn't particularly think Draco could either...fortune was smiling on them, for once.
"Harry..." Draco closed his eyes and turned his head away, though he didn't loosen his arms from Harry's waist. "I promised myself I would never ask this...but...are you sure that it's *me* you want? I— I don't want this, if you're having me stand in for someone else." He swallowed harshly.
Harry pressed his lips against Draco's temple tenderly and knew that he'd lost the ability to conceal this truth. "You, Draco, you and no one else. It's you I've wanted for what feels like forever, you I want now, you...I want...you..." He trailed off, closing his mind to forever and foolish promises, forcing himself to think of now, only now.
Draco shuddered convulsively then tore himself away from Harry, grasping Harry's hand. He looked into Harry's face with a smile holding only joy and anticipation. "Follow me, then...there's someplace else I know..."
