Title: Protective Bonds
By: Sadie DragonFire
Parts: 10, 11
Refer to part One for Disclaimer
Rating For this Part: high R or mild NC-17
Warning: SEX! But limited sex, they're still just beginners. There may be a few spoilers. More Ron/Hermione suggestion in this part than in any other thus far. Watch for it.
Feedback always welcome.

Many thanks go to Gen and Tayla for their marvelous help. Less typos mean better reading for everyone.

Sadie: Did you know that Target has started selling Harry Potter bed sheets?
Hunter: Meaning that obsessed fans can now literally sleep with Harry Potter.
Sadie: *shivers* Okay, that sounds very wrong.
Hunter: Hey, wait until they make bath towels.
Sadie: Heh…

______________

Usually around late afternoon when the last class ended there was maybe two or three hours of strong light left and the tree near the lake was the best place to enjoy them. Despite contrary belief, Hermione did not spend all of her study time indoors. Truthfully, any place with adequate light was suitable and warm fall days, like this one, were better enjoyed outside. It might have surprised her classmates further to discover she wasn't even really studying.

Hermione smiled faintly at her thoughts. She flipped through the book in her lap, a collection of Grimm's Fairy Tales. Her parents, unlike the parents of many precocious children, had not kept her activities and reading material limited to education pursuits. They were bigger on play and fun time than even she had been, and had made sure she was exposed to all the usual childhood fairy tales and storybooks. She'd come to love the fantasy world of magic at an early age, but she'd always wanted to know *more*.

It wasn't enough to know that dragons ate princesses, she wanted to *why* they did it. What was so different about a princess, anyway? Why did things always happen to them? And those witches; how did their magic work? Why did it work? Why were the witches always evil? And mermaids, and werewolves, and unicorns, how did they live? Where would they live if they *were* real? Where, how, and always why, until her father took her aside one day asked if she knew that the fairy tales weren't real.

'Magic is just fantasy, it doesn't exist in real life.'

'I know, daddy, I just like to pretend.'

[Except we were both wrong,] Hermione thought, clearly remembering the day she'd received her letter from Hogwarts. The feeling of knowing that not only was magic real, but that she had the ability to use it, had been incredible. Then had come the books, nearly half a dozen books filled with everything she'd ever wanted to know about magic. After that was the library at Hogwarts and the classes themselves, all open to her hungry mind. Now she knew about the werewolves, and unicorns, and all of them, and there was even more she didn't know just waiting to be learned.

But the fairy tales were still fantasy.

That had been the strangest to come to terms with. Everything she'd read in her storybooks was real…just not the way they were written. Often, the only similarity between the Muggle version and the real-life article were their names. She'd learned as much the one time she had shown Ron one of her old fantasy books.

He'd had a right good laugh at the Muggles' mixed up views of the world he'd grown up in. Her pointed comment about the ridiculous nature of his own Muggle based books had quieted him down a bit. Wizards didn't even have the excuse Muggles did; they knew far more about the mundane world then the Muggles did about magic. But she'd always had a strong sense of reality and learned to accept this new one with her usual speed.

Hermione paused over the story of 'Hansel and Gretel' before setting the book aside. Sometimes she thought about the witch in the woods---bet she was a Slytherin, said the teasing voice in the back of her head that sounded like Ron---spending her time luring helpless children into her hearth. Some bizarre, unusual corner of her organized mind wondered if she, as a fellow witch, shouldn't gain a sort of understanding for the deranged creature. It was pointless speculation, and completely unfounded. Magic offered no knowledge or understanding on its own; such things have to be worked for.

A wind picked up, cascading across the surface of the lake, and creating a quiet music in the branches of the tree. Several dry leaves scattered down from the disturbed limbs, speaking of the upcoming winter and getting tangled in Hermione's hair. The light was fading and before long she'd have to go back inside. Picking up and opening her Arithmancy book, Hermione purposefully settled down to study.

Quickly becoming engrossed in the inaccuracies of the subject, Hermione lost track of the outside world. The light hadn't quite gotten dim enough that she was squinting when a tap on the shoulder shocked her back into awareness. "Oh! Don't do that, Ron!" She jumped, instantly recognizing the brilliant flair of his hair.

"Sorry," he stepped back before squatting down across from her. She tucked the book closer to her chest, self-consciously running a hand through her hair and pulling out bits of leaves. "Herm I…"

"Wait," she held out her hand and he stopped, confusion flitting over his expressive face. "About earlier today, in the library, I'm sorry I…interrupted you like that, but I just decided that we should let Harry and Draco figure things out on their own." She brought her hand down, curling it into the grass.

Ron looked away, bouncing slightly on his toes. "I sort of figured that." There was an unusual expression marring his features. Hermione studied him briefly. She'd thought long and hard about his reaction to being so disconnected from Harry.

"It's terrible, isn't it? We've had him all to ourselves all these years and now we have to share him," she said gently teasing, an undercurrent of sadness to her tone. Ron was startled, she could tell.

He rocked back, landing softly on his rear and folding his legs together. For a moment, she half-expected him to ask 'him, who?' but he sighed and said, "We didn't really have him 'all to ourselves', did we now? The rest of the school---world---kept on getting involved."

"They don't know him like we do," Hermione insisted with quiet force, "They can't and wouldn't. He's *our* best friend. And every minute we have with him is ten times better than whatever hours he shares with the rest of the world. They can all go sod themselves."

Ron snorted with amusement, eyes lighting up with good humor. "Maybe we should it pin to his robes. 'I'm Ron Weasley And Hermione Granger's Best Friend, Hands Off.' That'd be a sight." He paused and made an unhappy sound, "Though we may have to add 'Draco Malfoy's Boyfriend' in there at some point."

Several responses rushed through her mind. Reasons, theories, explanations, *excuses*, everything she'd dwelt on when studies weren't enough to still her busy mind. She was quite confident she could lecture Ron on their relationship with Harry and his with Draco, but she was equally confident such a lecture wouldn't do a bit of good.

Instead, all she said was; "Either way, he's still our friend, and Draco won't change that."

Ron watched her closely, as if trying to read something from her eyes. After a moment, he nodded, letting out a breath. "You're right."

"Hmm, I'll remember you said that."

A comfortable pause settled between the two friends, filled with the distant sounds of their classmates heading inside or talking in the still warm dusk. Ron interrupted it with a cough, bowing his head and scratching uneasily at the back of his neck.

"Um, you know, that wasn't the main reason I came to talk you."

"Oh?" Hermione cocked her head.

"Actually, yeah. Um." Was he blushing? "I was really, kinda, wondering about that um, freckle thing…"

______________

"Wait, wait…"

"Oh, not this *again*…"

"Shut up. It's not that. I've just never really…" Harry stopped and made a vague gesture with his hand, the movement rather impaired by Draco's weight on top of him. [How did I get into this position again? Oh right, we were kissing…]

"Yes?" Draco demanded, frustrated.

"You know, never really done…done *this* before." He choked slightly on the words, his face making an honest effort to blush harder. Draco let out an annoyed growl, pulling at the collar of Harry's robes.

"And I'm the slut of Slytherin dungeons." He got his right hand under the dark cloth and spread his fingers over Harry's skin.

Harry eyes went wide as he registered Draco's statement. "So you're a virgin?"

"I didn't say *that*…" Draco protested, frowning.

"And here I *thought* you were getting down with Pansy---" He was forced to break off when Draco covered his mouth with one hand.

"You realize you're killing the mood here?" Draco removed Harry's glasses with his free hand, setting them somewhere towards the foot of the bed since the nightstand was further away than he wanted to reach. Harry mumbled something undecipherable before tonguing Draco's palm.

The blond teen made a face at that, the pressure of his hand loosening, until Harry got to the base of his ring finger and started to suck on that. Harry watched with interest as the look on Draco's face changed from faint disgust to surprised pleasure. He decided that he liked the idea of Draco enjoying his touch. In fact, Harry found the whole concept of having Draco Malfoy writhing beneath him in helpless passion really quite thrilling.

He'd been in some sate of arousal, mild or otherwise, since Draco had first pinned him. The knowledge that he could now do something about it was making him breathless and daring and afraid. The problem was that he had no real idea how to go on about it. Expect for a few stolen kisses in the hallways and the occasional sticky dream, (where he'd first become uncomfortably aware that he preferred the male form to the female) Harry simply didn't have any experience in sexual matters. Oh, he'd heard plenty; from that first embarrassing talk with Mr. Weasley to the purely clinical sexual education Madam Pomfrey held last year to all manner of dirty tidbits his schoolmates were fond of sharing.

Surely though, that would be enough to get *somewhere*, even if the main focus had been female, and with that thought firmly in mind, he gave Draco's finger one last hard suck, than deftly tumbled the other teen under him. Certainly once he was on the top, so to speak, he'd be better able to handle the situation. Or at least, that's what he tried to do.

Draco wasn't the sort to give over control easily, if ever, and loudly protested this attempted overthrow. He wasn't too keen on having his finger bath ended, either. Harry had a *nice* mouth. He wanted it somewhere else, though he was a little nebulous on what Harry was supposed to do with it after that, expect that it meant lots of licking. So of course Draco responded to Harry's efforts by reversing force in the other direction. And Harry, being Harry, fought back.

What started out as a little posted-argument nookie quickly descended into a wholly indecent wrestling match.

"Stop it--" Draco snapped with some force, using his thin yet strong frame to manhandle Harry back under him, hands slipping and pulling on the sturdy school robes. There was too much clothing in the way and now the comforter was getting yanked into the mess too, and all of it was too hot and constricting.

"Oh, would you just let me--" Harry managed to get Draco under him, only to draw in a sharp breath when Draco's thigh went between his legs and pressed against his crotch. He thrust his hips down against the pressure eagerly and panted hard in reaction. This was exactly what he wanted, this feeling.

He could feel Draco become still beneath him and he allowed himself to settle into the tempting heat of the other's body even though his own body burned with a steady fire. He sucked on his tongue, hips rocking in a motion both familiar and strange. The feeling of Draco's chest heaving against him was wonderful in its own way; the scent of sweat and desire that clung to the blond made his blood race. His body trembled with want and the fear of an act that left him vulnerable and defenseless. It wasn't in Harry's nature to let his guard down, even with those he trusted completely and regardless of spells that prevented the causing of harm.

The knowledge that a trusted friend could truly be a hated enemy was painfully acquired and never forgotten.

Some sense returned through the haze and reminded Harry that there was a lot of Draco right there and he really should put his mouth to good use. Now that he thought of it, he realized he badly wanted to taste the pale teen. He bent his head, not having very far to go, and opened his mouth against Draco's hot skin, not entirely sure what body part he was drooling on except it somewhere in the neck region.

It was quite shocking when Draco suddenly threw himself forward and shoved Harry to the side and onto his back before collapsing on top of him. Harry let out a squawk of angry surprise and disappointment as that wonderful friction was taken away. He kicked out reflectively; heels catching on the mangled bedding, and distantly heard something hit the floor.

"Right," Draco was saying between harsh breaths, "Much as I enjoy you getting off on my leg, we aren't dogs here. Settle back and let me-"

"Like you know any better than I do--" Harry returned, managing to catch a second wind. It wasn't as much fun when Draco was insulted him. Granted, he was still wound up tight and desperate and aching, and wanted nothing better than to pull Draco taunt against him and move until he reached some sort of satisfaction. It just bogged everything down when Draco *wouldn't* cooperate…

"I never said---not being a slut doesn't---oh hell," and giving up the conversation for lost, Draco went for direct communion with Harry's mouth, which was better anyways.

Harry titled his head up to help, and their tongues slid together wetly, slick and hot and rather sloppy. Their teeth clicked and Draco made a hungry noise, roughly exploring the depths of Harry's mouth until he went too far and the black-haired boy gagged in surprise. Draco was settled with his groin against Harry's hip, that intimate contact terribly exciting, and his right leg overlapped Harry's left. He gotten hold of Harry's wrists again and pushed down on them to hold his torso up.

Finally, they heeded the desperate pleas of their lungs and jerked away from the kiss, pulling in great gasps of air. Harry arched his head back to breath properly. Draco took the chance to attack the unprotected skin, sucking in mouthfuls that were certain to leave marks. Harry thrashed, fingers curling back into the loose bedding, and whimpered pleadingly. The pulling kisses made him feel limp and weak and drawn up tight all at once. Powerful jolts headed southward through his shuddering frame and suddenly not being in control didn't seem so bad.

He became aware of cool air brushing through the heat and he focused harder to realize that Draco had released his wrists and was attempting to pull his robes off. Oh nudity, that was a good idea. He'd have to help. Marshalling his arms into action he tugged and yanked until buttons snapped free and dark cloth peeled away from flushed skin. This was just perfect; now Draco had to be naked too.

Before he had the chance to implement that thought into an action, Draco pulled away onto his knees. The absence of touch was almost painful, not to mention extremely frustrating, and Harry called out before he could stop himself.

"Wait." Draco shushed him, voice gone husky, and with shaking hands tore at his own binding clothing. Pale flesh that Harry had glimpsed countless times that past week but always turned away from was now bared to him, open for his gaze. And wanting it? Or did he imagine Draco's posing? Some unimportant corner of Harry's mind noted that he needed to get Draco out in the sun more as he pushed himself up into a partial sitting position.

Harry leaned forward, brushing his lips against soft skin before tickling the arch of Draco's collarbone with teasing swipes of his tongue. Draco gave a low moan, the sound traveling up from his chest in a way Harry found exhilarating. Eager to encourage more sounds, he continued feathering hot, wet kisses across his partner's chest. Draco's robe was held in place only by his arms, which left their underwear as the only other barrier between them.

Shifting forward to move his weight off his arms, Harry pressed his teeth carefully into Draco's flesh, feeling his entire pale body jerk and heard him give a wanton cry. The force of his heart was painful in his chest as Harry lifted his hands to curl his fingers under the waistband of Draco's boxers. Touching such a forbidden area made him shake with wanting and impatient for more.

Hands rested on his shoulders, rubbing in wide circular motions with the light brushing of fingertips, as Harry placed one last kiss in the space between Draco's pectorals and then ducked his head to look down. Draco's underwear was black---of course---and stretched out over his erection. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he carefully tugged the boxers down until Draco was completely exposed.

He pushed the boxers as far down as Draco's position would allow and ran the back of his knuckles up Draco's pale thighs. Muscles twitched and trembled under his touch. Swallowing hard, Harry spread his fingers over the sharp curves of Draco's hipbones, feeling more than hearing the other boy's quickened breathing, before pulling his hands in and downward. Draco jolted as if shocked, moaning deeply when Harry's palm rubbed up and over his hardness. It was a curious touch, careful and uncertain and not entirely satisfying, but Harry found the contact to be indescribable, his groin tightening with need.

Draco's fingers dug into Harry's skin at the continued teasing, until it became too much---or not enough---and he laced his hands together at the back of Harry's neck and tugged his face upward. Catching Harry's swollen mouth in a hard kiss, he tumbled them back onto the bed, trying to kick his legs free of his boxers. Draco's tongue curled demandingly around Harry's own while his hands worked busily on Harry's chest and stomach. Those same hands quickly deviated to his underpants and yanked them down to his knees with unnecessary force.

Harry's pained squawk at this treatment changed into a desperate cry when Draco pressed his hips into Harry. Curling his arms around Draco's thin chest, Harry began rocking his body up against the contact. Draco whimpered into his mouth and ground their hips together. Harry shuddered.

Things moved quickly after that, both of them pressing and jerking and twisting together. Pleading whimpers and chest deep moans and harsh pants filled the heated air around them. It was stifling hot with Draco's robe draped over them and their not-entirely-removed underwear impairing their movements, but the feeling of sweat-slick flesh sliding together and brushing mouths catching brief kisses between heavy breaths made up for those inconveniences.

Harry could feel it gathering in the pit of his stomach, and tightened his hands on Draco's back, trying to push up harder, faster, needing more, just a little more. There was a stinging in his shoulders where Draco's nails bit into his skin and even that felt good. He could hardly breathe and everything was winding up so tight and he screwed his eyes shut. Finally, the mounting pressure broke, arching his back up into a bend and drawing a choked cry from his mouth, thick wetness spurting between them.

Draco sobbed something into his ear, then bore down hard against him, and Harry could actually feel the other's release over his skin. After a long, breathless moment, all the tension drained from them suddenly, leaving the two teens limp and somnolent. Harry loosened his clutch, running tired hands over Draco's back, trying to get his breathing back to normal. He felt very…nice. Not to mention sweaty, sticky, crushed beneath Draco, worn out, but otherwise altogether happy with the situation.

There was faint mumble from where Draco's head was tucked into his shoulder. Harry blinked into the fuzzy dimness of the bed canopy. "What?" he questioned softly, drawing vague circular patterns with his fingertips.

"Nothing." Draco panted out. He lifted his head and looked into Harry's eyes, expression calm as he searched for something in his new lover's face. Harry furrowed his brow at the strange look, when Draco lifted his hand, licked his thumb, and wiped something off Harry's temple. "You've still got food on you. No wonder you tasted like gravy."

Harry stared at him. "Your sense of romance kills me. And you're getting heavy now; get off."

"What, no cuddle?" Draco teased, rolling over to the side, the action revealing the smeared mess on their torsos. "Oh, that's lovely," the blond snorted, taking a moment to finally get his underwear completely off his legs. He tossed it across the room in a fit of vindictiveness. His robe came off next and was kicked toward the foot of the bed.

"Hmmm…" Harry returned, losing any and all urge to converse. Draco settled heavily against his side, trailing his fingers back and forth over Harry's collarbone. Harry turned his head and kissed Draco on his forehead, and then the bridge of his nose, then the corner of his eye. "Hmmm…"

"So was it good for you?" Draco muttered, unable to stop the classic line. Harry sighed in defeat and mourned not having the energy to pinch him.

______________

Professor McGonagall stepped carefully into the Headmaster's office, though her caution seemed based more on reluctance to be there than on courtesy. Dumbledore himself was standing by the window and didn't seem to notice her. She frowned faintly and drew herself up before striding purposefully into the room.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said before she had the chance to announce herself, "Did you ever remove that book with the infertility spell from the library?" He smiled at something out on the school grounds.

McGonagall shook her head, not really surprised by the out-of-the-air comment. "No, I haven't yet. Why?" He waved his hand dismissively.

"I just have the strong urge to limit the number of Weasleys I'll have to teach in the future. Didn't Arthur mention Bill was dating the last time we talked? Ah well," he closed the shutters with a sharp click and smiled disarmingly at her, "What news do you bring?"

Realigning her thoughts back to their original goal, McGonagall schooled her feature to represent both warning and disapproval. "The day after tomorrow, Lucius Malfoy is coming to Hogwarts."

______________

Part 11

"Harry?"

"Hmmmph?" Harry mumbled into Draco's shoulder.

"I need you to get off my arm." He shifted his trapped appendage to illustrate.

"Why?" Harry was feeling comfortable at the moment, and as such, was adverse to the idea of movement. He briefly cracked one eye and noted how much darker the room at gotten. It was well after sunset, apparently.

"Because this is really gross."

Offended beyond words, Harry jolted upright. Draco took the chance to free his arm and sit up himself. Harry's mouth worked silently while his fuzzed mind fought to come up with the proper response.

"Don't look at me like that! I meant this," the pale blur of Draco's hand motioned to the mess on his stomach, "*This* is really gross. Good Lord, pay attention."

Oh. Oops.

With an apologetic wince, Harry scooted back against the headboard, noticing the unpleasant stickiness on his own body. Draco slid around him, an erotic tumble of sweaty flesh and the scent of pine and musk. Harry brushed his hand over Draco's side, lingering at the curve of his waist. It was a remarkable action simply because he was allowed to do it. He had the right.

Draco stumbled getting out of the bed, briefly grabbing Harry's thigh for balance. He pushed himself straight and headed for the bathroom. Harry patted at his robe and the bed around him, looking for his glasses. He had the sudden urge to watch Draco wander around naked. He remembered Draco taking them off at some point, but where they got put after that was lost on him.

He squinted at Draco's moving, ghostly pale form and realized that he really didn't want to get up even to find his glasses, though he would have to the further Draco went from him. "Draco, do you know where---"

A startled yelped and the quick, sharp stab of pain in his own foot sent Harry scrambling off the bed. His heavy, languid muscles made moving fast difficult and he staggered slightly as he went to Draco's side. The blond was bent over, rubbing at his foot.

"What happened?" Harry worriedly touched the bent back. Draco stooped over further and snagged something from the floor. When he held it up, distant light reflected off the glass.

"Lose something?"

_________________

"I still can't believe it, *canceled*," Seamus mourned, bracing his elbows on the table and covering his eyes at the tragedy. "Second game of the year, Gryffindors against the Ravenclaws, *canceled*!" Dean shook his head at his friends suffering, looking more amused than sympathetic.

"And what else where they supposed to do, hm?" Dean asked him, picking up a goblet and swinging it slightly, "With Harry out for the count and no replacements ready until the next game, there wasn't any other choice."

"I'm sure they could have thought of *something*!" The Irish boy insisted, throwing himself back in his chair and making wild arm motions, nearly smacking Neville upside the head. "It's not like Harry is injured or anything, he just has," disgusted grimace, "extra baggage."

"Well, that's easy to fix. Truly, I could see Malfoy zipping along after Harry while he goes after the Snitch," here Dean grinned teasingly, "Or maybe they'll just share the same broom."

"You're not funny," Seamus informed him flatly, refusing to show any good humor at this travesty.

"Well, its not like Slytherin can play either," Neville offered diplomatically, "So they're not any better off."

"Exactly!" Dean reached behind Seamus to give Neville an encouraging punch on the shoulder, "That's the way to look at it. Our team may be down without its Seeker, but at least the Slytherin team is down with us."

"Of course, it gives Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw the chance to get better," Neville said, then winced when Seamus glared at him.

"Don't say that like it's a good thing," the taller teen warned darkly. Dean snickered into his drink as Neville gave Seamus a strange look and tried to explain how that wasn't the way he meant it. Ignoring the conversation for the time being, Dean let his gaze wander about the dining hall.

The magicked ceiling above showed promise of a clear day, the few wisps of clouds dispersing in the light of the newly risen sun. Dean hoped it would be warm, wanting to enjoy the last few nice days before the chill and rain really set in. The mingled chatter that filled the air bore a cheerful note. He made a complete visual circuit of the room before settling at the entrance, watching for latecomers.

"And speaking of. . ." Dean muttered to himself, as Draco and Harry walked through the doorway.

The blond was in the lead, and limping a bit Dean noticed. Harry was close at his heels, dark head turning automatically to check over the Gryffindor table. Draco took an abrupt detour and started for the Slytherin side of things. Harry stopped walking and watched the other boy, who got no more than a dozen feet before stopping himself. Draco looked back over his shoulder and Harry crossed his arms, waiting. Finally, Draco seemed to sigh and aimed back toward the Gryffindors, Harry catching up with him in a heartbeat.

"Seems they can move farther apart now," Natalie McDonald noted from her seat next to Dean, surprising the older teen. Dean glanced at her and shrugged.

"Really?" Seamus chirped, catching the statement like a hawk diving for a pigeon. "Hey, maybe you'll be able to play after all, huh, Harry?" he called down the length of the table.

Pulling out the chair at his usual spot, Harry looked up curiously. "Pardon?"

"The *game* Harry, you know the Quidditch match that was supposed to be held next week?" Seamus explained with no small amount of annoyance, though it wasn't directed at Harry. The black-haired boy flinched, his face drawing up into a grimace of remembered displeasure, and dropped into his chair. Next to him, Draco groaned.

"God, Quidditch," Draco folded his arms over his plate and hid his head in them. Seamus frowned at the interloper.

"Don't you go and complain," he warned, waving a fork menacingly, "as you're the reason Harry can't play." Draco peeked at him over the top of his arm, his gray eyes reflecting amused scorn.

"Leave it alone, Seamus," Harry sighed, filling his and Draco's goblets, "It's bad enough that I'm missing out, I really don't want to talk about it." Draco roused himself and snagged a few pastries, not seeming to notice when Harry took one.

"But, if you can separate…" Seamus began, motioning with his fork. He looked disgruntled when Dean snatched the eating utensil away.

"Not enough for a game," Harry called back, grapping another piece of toast to replace the one Draco nabbed.

"But…"

"Hey, where's Hermione?" Neville asked suddenly, killing whatever counter-statement Seamus had ready. Harry blinked and glanced around the table in surprise. Guilt flashed across his features.

"Yeah, and Ron," Harry leaned forward on the table to get a better view of his former dorm mates.

"Ron was still in bed when we headed down," Dean remarked, standing up to get some bacon from a plate set near the outer edge of the table.

"Here's hoping he stays there…" Draco muttered around the rim of his goblet. Harry scowled, leaning back against the other boy. He said something and whatever it was made Draco choke on his drink.

"Hermione too," Lavender spoke up helpfully, "And she must have gone to bed after I went to sleep, because she sure didn't come in before then!" She twittered at that with the other girls.

"I'm sure they have a reason," Harry said with some force. The conversation shifted after that into chatter about upcoming tests. The topic of Quidditch was avoided, but the general unpleasantness of Slytherin's came up frequently.

Dean had been watching the duo since they came in, his forehead creased in thought. Now, he nudged the sulky Seamus, nodding in Harry and Draco's direction when the blond looked up. Seamus titled his head forward and looked down to where the two sat. Draco was half leaning on Harry's shoulder and talking to him in the manner of someone ignoring everything else. Seamus looked back at Dean and rolled his shoulders. 'Yeah, so?' the gesture and expression said.

Dean rolled his eyes and nodded at them again, making a slight motion with his shoulders. 'Pay attention'.

Seamus focused on the pair once more; eyes narrowed in concentration, but again he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, confusion clear. 'I'm not seeing anything'.

Dean let out a dramatic sigh, making some vague shape with his hands and widening his eyes expressively, 'don't you get it?'

Seamus spread his hands apart, palms face up and hunched his shoulders, eyebrows arching in bafflement, 'get what?'

Letting his hands fall on the table, Dean answered aloud, "Never mind," and went back to his breakfast.

"Freak," Seamus replied and impaled his sausage on the fork he'd stolen from the first-year sitting next to him.

_____________________

"What are you sulking about now?" Draco wanted to know, holding lightly onto Harry's upper arm as they left the dining hall. "You're no fun like this."

"I'm not sulking," said Harry, "I'm thinking about Hermione and Ron. They didn't show up for breakfast at all." [Doesn't help that I totally didn't notice they were missing and may not have until Neville brought it up. Of course, after last night,] his face heated slightly, [God I hope I don't start acting like a nervous idiot around them.]

"You know, they *can* get through a day without you," Draco told him sarcastically, "And have you thought about how long it's been since I talked to *my* friends?" Harry shot him a glare.

"You actually *want* to talk to people like Crabbe and Goyle?" He demanded, just as sarcastically and with a disgusted shudder for effect. They left the main crowd that was heading back to the dorms to freshen up before classes, aiming towards their own room. Shortly, they were alone in one statue- and door-lined hallway.

"To be honest," Draco started, then tightened his grip on Harry's arm, and hauled the dark-haired boy back against him, "I rather do this…" He nipped gently at the back of Harry's neck, a tender teasing of teeth and warm lips. Harry let out a squeak of surprise, body stirring instantly in reply despite his mortification.

"Not in the halls!" He yelped, twisting around in Draco's grip to face his lover. Draco smiled at him in innocent amusment. "No, don't even try that, I'm not buying it." Harry waved a warning finger at him.

Draco rolled his eyes. "What, don't want to shock the teachers? How prudish of you."

"No more prudish than you'd be if the teacher you shocked was Snape," said Harry, batting at the hands that were attempting to grope him. Draco paused to consider that possibility, face bearing a look you would expect on a child who'd just walked on his parents being 'affectionate'. Harry took a step back and folded his arms, earning a dirty look.

"Fine, not in the halls," Draco conceded, "But there aren't any teachers in our room…" He curled his mouth into what was probably meant to be a sexy smirk, but in effect looked like a cat staring at a particularly plumb canary. Either way, it pulled a flustered expression and blush from Harry. Draco twisted his fingers into the sleeve of Harry's robe and tugged him toward their private dorm.

"But…we have class…"

"Very bad excuse. Oh, stop it, it's not like I'm going to do anything serious. And straighten your collar, the hickey is showing."

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It was with some relief that Harry noticed Hermione and Ron sitting next to each other in Charms. He then felt like complete idiot immediately afterwards---of course they would be okay-- but the initial relief was nice. It occurred to him, again, how much it sucked being separated from his friends. Not that he thought about it much, because doing so reminded him what he was getting in return, which in turn made him guilty because Draco still failed to stand up to all his friends represented, which once again reminded him of how he hated being separated from them.

The human thought and emotion process was a nasty thing.

"There you two are," Harry greeted them, hand quickly tugging his collar up higher. Maybe he should have worn that scarf Draco suggested. "We missed you at breakfast."

"Well, we stayed up really late talking and I didn't feel like getting up early," Hermione said, overriding Draco's sarcastically muttered 'we?' Ron nodded in agreement, a smile flickering briefly over his face. Harry gave them a thoughtful look, choosing a pair of seats from the table in front of Hermione and Ron's.

"Talking about what?" Harry asked with a hint of wistfulness. Draco took the seat closet to the aisle, pulled out his quills and parchment and bent over whatever it was he was writing. Harry turned his own chair sideways and leaned one arm back against his friend's table. Hermione shrugged.

"Just random stuff," she said nonchalantly, making a few nonsense notations on her paper. She glanced up at him with a glimmer of amusment in her eyes; "We do talk about things when you're not around."

"I should hope so," Harry responded, equally teasing. He made a conscious effort to keep any bitterness out of his tone. "You're being very quiet," he remarked to Ron, regarding the other's distant expression with some suspicion.

Ron focused on him with a blink and flushed slightly, scratching his head in a decidedly nervous gesture. "Yeah, well…" He trailed off and fidgeted in his seat. Harry raised an eyebrow and Ron coughed lightly. "It's nothing, I'm just thinking."

Draco snorted, not looking up from his work. "That is nothing." Something hot flashed through Ron's eyes, his drifting attention narrowing in on the blond, whose smirk couldn't be seen but was certainly felt. Face twisted with scorn and irritation, the redhead's mouth opened in preparation for a scathing retort.

Hermione slapped her quill onto the table, "Ron, leave it alone. It's too early to start fighting."

Like a flicked switch, Ron's mouth closed. He shot Hermione a perplexed look, which she ignored, and slumped in his seat, obediently quiet.

At this, Harry's eyebrows jumped into his hairline, surprise reflected brightly in his green eyes. Draco also seemed to notice the uncharacteristic silence, glancing with interest over his shoulder. Before any statement, insults, or teasing remarks could be voiced, Professor Flitwick entered the classroom and commanded the attentions of the students as best as he was able.

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"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, a moment of your time, please," Professor McGonagall projected her voice, stopping them as they gathered their notes and books together after Transfiguration class. Draco rounded up his conversation with a couple of his classmates while Harry finished arranging his notes in his bag. Most of the class had cleared out at that point and the pair made their way easily over to McGonagall's desk.

She needlessly shifted some papers around on her desk, finally stacking them neatly on the far side. Harry hiked his pack up on one shoulder and let his hand brush Draco's, face assuming an expression of polite interest. Draco had the bored look of a king engaging in activities beneath him. Taking a deep breath and releasing it as if trying to set free all things negative in that one act, the Professor speared them both with a look of absolute seriousness.

"Last night, I received a letter from your father, Draco, announcing his intent to visit you here tomorrow. I have conferred with the Headmaster and we have agreed to allow this meeting to take place. However," she continued strongly, seeing the delight transforming Draco's face, "It *will* be a chaperoned meeting. In addition, school is still in session, and therefore, in no way will either of you be allowed to leave school grounds. Which means, Mr. Malfoy, that regardless of how much you may want to, you cannot return home with your father."

"I wasn't planning on it," came the flippant reply. Draco was pleased---not in the slightly vindictive or even mocking way that Harry was accustomed too, but generally pleased, in the innocent way of children. Oddly enough, that made the sick slosh of nervous fear in Harry's stomach worse instead of better.

Lucius Malfoy…who came in second place on the list of people wanting him, if not dead, then at least seriously incapacitated. That was something he had to endure and someday face; there simply wasn't any choice in the matter. He'd come to terms with that and he did have support, both emotional and physical. If the situation were different, right after this meeting he'd be running straight to Ron and Hermione to speculate and discuss a plan of action. But he couldn't do that in front of Draco; wouldn't want to even. He knew how Draco felt about his father.

And that was what frightened him.

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With any luck at all, part 12 will be the final part of this. I am planning a sequel, so if you dislike the ending, don't go weaving that lynching rope just yet. Thank as always for reading and you in the next (and hopefully last) part!