DBZVelena (and everyone else really; perverts!, the lot): sorry, no lemon -
yet. Maybe a sort of sugary lemonade. am I -allowed- to put a lemon up,
anyway? the HATTER, if you're back: *it's not finished*.
____________________________________________________________________________
_______
.
Harry decided not to act on his 'deepest desires' for now. If anything, he went out of his way to avoid Malfoy. It would simply complicate matters, and matters weren't exactly looking too simple as they were. Ron was still treating him with a wary mixture of distrust and disgust, and Harry didn't entirely believe - didn't entirely want to believe - that, deep down, he felt anything for Malfoy. Surface lust was something he already had problems dealing with, but - deepest desires - now, that was a different ballgame altogether. Harry wasn't certain he wanted to play.
He spent his evenings trying to get the better of his Simul-Apparating powers. Straight after dinner he would slip into the deserted Charms classroom on the third floor and practice, always alone, speaking to his Simul-Apparation until the grey dawn brought with it the stirrings of the castle, and then he would return to the dorm and sleep until Ron woke him. He didn't want Ron and Hermione to come along on these evenings - he wanted, he thought, with a cheerless smile, some quality time with himself. A himself he didn't know, didn't dare to know. Gaining control of this particular power was odd, though. It was essentially trying to put his Id on a leash, only now his Id had a form. Trying to bend a person to his will was hardly the same thing as trying to master a spell.
Ron kept reminding him that it was himself he was trying to harness. Something that didn't have a right to be outside of him, anyway, and that should have no qualms about going back. But Ron didn't spend the time Harry did with - well, himself; Ron never sat in the classroom and stared at an eerie projection of himself, staring right back. Ron had never had the conversations he had with his Id. He was beginning to wonder if he really wanted to harness it at all. Whether he should give in to it, as Hermione had advised him to do. Muggles generally regarded people who gave themselves up to their Ids as weak-minded and undisciplined, but Harry knew that different rules applied in the wizarding world. In the wizarding world, your instincts kept you alive, and your deepest desires were the source of your power.
For now, though, Harry bided his time, convincing himself he was actually doing something to improve the situation. It was interesting - unnerving as hell, but interesting - to talk to his Simul-Apparation. It was like the journey to self-discovery - only somewhat less...spiritual.
"So...what do you think of Draco?"
Harry looked up at the question. They were in the Charms classroom, Id lounging on the windowsill, Harry sitting quietly against the wall.
"I don't know, exactly. Pretty much what you think of him - I mean, it's probably your influence that makes me feel about him...the way I do."
"Really?" familiar eyebrows shot up. "And how is that?"
"You know."
"No, I don't think I do, actually, not with your...moralistic colourings. How do you feel?"
"I just...get funny inside when I see him. But I'd never act on it. Not without you."
"But you feel like that? Funny inside?"
"But," Harry repeated firmly, "I'd never act on it."
Harry's Simul-Apparation threw him a pitying look, and turned away from him, muttering something vehement under his breath, and they fell silent. Harry was beginning to think that he really didn't like himself very much. Then the figure silhouetted against the windowsill spoke again.
"You can't hide anything from me, you know. I'm inside your head. You know he likes us, don't you? But that sulk really isn't very attractive. He likes it when you kiss him just behind the ear. Did you know that? Or don't you remember?" He was looking very smug.
"I hate you."
His Simul-Apparation laughed.
* * *
Harry, Ron and Hermione were walking out of the Potions classroom, Ron complaining about one point deduction or other - he was trying to keep count; Harry had run out of fingers and toes. Snape had been particularly brutal today - still smarting, Harry reckoned, from the disaster of a lesson the week before. He'd held the class back for nearly twenty minutes, and they were already late for Transfiguration. Hermione and Ron were laughing at something, and Harry trailed a little behind, trying to stuff his wand back in his pocket so that he could carry his books properly.
As he set his books on the ground, he tensed. There was a strange sound coming from behind him, like the rustle of cloth on stone. And then unseen hands reached out of the darkness and wrapped around his waist. He was dragged roughly against the uneven walls of the dungeons into a side corridor. Before he could let out so much as a whimper, soft, warm, liquid lips were pressed against his. Harry froze in shock. Hands travelled up his waist and into his shirtfront, nails almost brutally scraping against his skin as arms wrapped around his neck.
"Draco?!"
"Mmmm. You've been avoiding me, Potter."
Murmured words against warm kisses. Harry didn't move, couldn't move.
"Have you thought of me?"
Lips spidering down his jaw.
"I thought you'd come after you got out of the hospital wing."
Teeth nipping lightly at soft skin.
"But you didn't."
His mocking tone didn't quite manage to touch his last words with as much conviction as he'd intended. Harry thought he sounded almost - sad. For a second he was convinced Malfoy wasn't just playing a game.
Then the moment was past, and Draco was sliding his lips upwards again, up Harry's neck, over his chin, and then teasingly, maddeningly, at the corner of his lips, never quite touching them.
"Draco..."
"Shh....don't say anything. Just..."
"...Kiss me." Harry finished the sentence, and, not quite thinking about what he was doing, caught Draco's lower lip between his teeth and pulled gently. Draco opened his mouth and let Harry's tongue slip between his lips, and gave him his own, exploring Harry's mouth with the softest of caresses. Harry was lost. He moved his mouth over Draco's, pressing his body nearer, rubbing against Draco, playing with the light hair at the back of his neck.
"So gentle, Potter?" Draco breathed, tilting his head back to facilitate Harry's exploration.
Harry paused. Mid-way to Draco's collarbone, he stopped. Struck by the reminder of a different Harry, who behaved differently, who was more aggressive - who, above all, wasn't him. Oh, god. What was he doing? He would - he could - overcome this.
Harry jerked out of Draco's embrace, and, without another word, turned and flew down the corridor, leaving the other boy standing there, staring after him.
* * *
Harry burst into Transfiguration and sat in a corner, away from Ron and Hermione, shivering. He didn't hear Professor Mcgonagall asking him why he was so late, didn't see the look of relief on his friend's faces at the sight of him - looks that quickly turned to concern as they took in his flushed face. He was oblivious to everything except the pounding of his heart.
Oh, god. Oh, god. Without warning, it had just snuck up on him, just like that. And he had given in. He'd given in to his desires, and it had been - oh. It had been wonderful. He could still feel Draco's hands on his skin, burning a path downwards. He closed his eyes and groaned.
He tried to talk to Id. Nothing. He supposed he was angry at him for turning away, just when things were getting good, as he would say. And things had been getting very, very good. Why had he pulled away? If only he'd stayed, if only he'd told Draco...could he tell Draco? Could he -
"If you would be so good as to give us your attention, Mr Potter - I'm certain you'll find this lesson useful."
Harry jerked out of his thoughts. Mcgonagall had her stern face on.
"Sorry, Professor." He mumbled. He drew out his wand and poked at the slug on his desk, mind in a whirl.
* * *
The next morning dawned bright and cold - not quite cold enough to merit snow, but certainly cold enough for Harry to want to stay in bed, where the warmth of his own body seemed concentrated as he huddled his blankets over himself. He had decided to avoid any sort of interaction with Malfoy, until he'd gotten his Simul-Apparation under control. Hermione still believed that the only way out - the best way out, at least - was to let himself go; at least that way he could be sure he was in control of his own actions, whether or nor the situation was a good one, and especially if it wasn't. But Harry wasn't sure if he could bear the consequences.
He tried to go back to sleep, but Seamus and Dean were making too much noise, laughing and shrieking about something or other, so, with a huge sigh, Harry grabbed Ron and dragged him down to the Great Hall for breakfast.
Harry took a seat at the far end of the Gryffindor table, Ron's head drooping into his cereal bowl beside him, and looked up just as Draco sat down on the opposite end. Harry averted his eyes and promptly caught sight of a yellowed piece of parchment sitting on his plate, smoking slightly at the sides, as though it had just appeared, magically.
"What's that?" Ron asked, cradling his head in his hands, as though it would fall if he didn't support it.
"I don't know. The owls haven't come yet, have they?"
Curious, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands. In the top left corner, in tiny handwriting, were written two words:
Ice Queen.
It was an elegant, simple hand. Realisation sank in. Harry looked up.
Directly opposite him, Draco caught his eye and winked.
Harry stared at him in amazement. He'd expected Draco to be at least a little angry at him for his calling a callous halt to their - activities. He looked down at the note again, and was surprised to feel...yes, relief. Then he smiled. It was a challenge, Harry knew. He liked this game they were playing. He liked that Draco liked him. He realised writing was much easier than speaking to Draco face to face - emboldened by the anonymity of the indirect interaction, he wrote back.
Ice queen, eh? I can think of a hundred different things we could do with ice, sweetheart.
Harry muttered a Levitating charm and floated the piece of parchment towards the Slytherin table. Ron's confused expression cleared, and then contorted, and he went back to his breakfast as calmly as he could.
He immediately regretted his brazenness when the smile faded from Draco's face. Maybe the endearment had been too much. Harry was beginning to see that he really didn't understand their relationship - wasn't he supposed to be playful? Aggressive? He waited, heart pounding, while Draco replied and sent the note back. He watched as Draco whipped out his wand and mouthed something; the note disappeared and reappeared in Harry's hands. Harry tried to hide his surprise. He read the note, disappointed and slightly stung by the shortness of the reply.
The whole school just saw you floating a note to me, Harry.
Draco had effectively withdrawn. Harry decided not to reply. He sat with his eyes fixed determinedly downwards, wishing he could disappear into his porridge. No better yet - he wished Malfoy would, then he wouldn't have to deal with him.
He started. Another note poofed into his hands:
Sulking, Potter? It really isn't very attractive.
Harry frowned. Those words seemed uncomfortably familiar. He remembered a grey classroom, the smug voice of his Simul-Apparation. He still had trouble accepting that it was himself - something Hermione had cautioned him very strongly against. She'd said it was precisely his reluctance to acknowledge his Id that forced it to take a form of its own.
Interesting. Just how attractive do you find me, ordinarily?
He sent the note back, this time by Draco's method, and watched with glee as, across the room, a smile touched soft lips. Then the note came back, on top of the porridge. Harry snatched it away, to the surprise of the startled first-years opposite him. Ron carried on with his cereal, trying to look as though nothing unusual was going on.
Why don't you wipe that sullen look off your face and come here and find out?
Harry was shamelessly thrilled. Then another piece of parchment landed on his lap, the handwriting was messier, as though Draco had been in a hurry.
Forget that. Get out of the Great Hall - now. Meet me outside the Potions classroom.
He read this and smiled, slightly nervously. Well, Harry - a little voice came into his head from nowhere, and from everywhere all at once - you're finally going to get some.
Harry shuddered, and got to his feet.
.
.
Harry decided not to act on his 'deepest desires' for now. If anything, he went out of his way to avoid Malfoy. It would simply complicate matters, and matters weren't exactly looking too simple as they were. Ron was still treating him with a wary mixture of distrust and disgust, and Harry didn't entirely believe - didn't entirely want to believe - that, deep down, he felt anything for Malfoy. Surface lust was something he already had problems dealing with, but - deepest desires - now, that was a different ballgame altogether. Harry wasn't certain he wanted to play.
He spent his evenings trying to get the better of his Simul-Apparating powers. Straight after dinner he would slip into the deserted Charms classroom on the third floor and practice, always alone, speaking to his Simul-Apparation until the grey dawn brought with it the stirrings of the castle, and then he would return to the dorm and sleep until Ron woke him. He didn't want Ron and Hermione to come along on these evenings - he wanted, he thought, with a cheerless smile, some quality time with himself. A himself he didn't know, didn't dare to know. Gaining control of this particular power was odd, though. It was essentially trying to put his Id on a leash, only now his Id had a form. Trying to bend a person to his will was hardly the same thing as trying to master a spell.
Ron kept reminding him that it was himself he was trying to harness. Something that didn't have a right to be outside of him, anyway, and that should have no qualms about going back. But Ron didn't spend the time Harry did with - well, himself; Ron never sat in the classroom and stared at an eerie projection of himself, staring right back. Ron had never had the conversations he had with his Id. He was beginning to wonder if he really wanted to harness it at all. Whether he should give in to it, as Hermione had advised him to do. Muggles generally regarded people who gave themselves up to their Ids as weak-minded and undisciplined, but Harry knew that different rules applied in the wizarding world. In the wizarding world, your instincts kept you alive, and your deepest desires were the source of your power.
For now, though, Harry bided his time, convincing himself he was actually doing something to improve the situation. It was interesting - unnerving as hell, but interesting - to talk to his Simul-Apparation. It was like the journey to self-discovery - only somewhat less...spiritual.
"So...what do you think of Draco?"
Harry looked up at the question. They were in the Charms classroom, Id lounging on the windowsill, Harry sitting quietly against the wall.
"I don't know, exactly. Pretty much what you think of him - I mean, it's probably your influence that makes me feel about him...the way I do."
"Really?" familiar eyebrows shot up. "And how is that?"
"You know."
"No, I don't think I do, actually, not with your...moralistic colourings. How do you feel?"
"I just...get funny inside when I see him. But I'd never act on it. Not without you."
"But you feel like that? Funny inside?"
"But," Harry repeated firmly, "I'd never act on it."
Harry's Simul-Apparation threw him a pitying look, and turned away from him, muttering something vehement under his breath, and they fell silent. Harry was beginning to think that he really didn't like himself very much. Then the figure silhouetted against the windowsill spoke again.
"You can't hide anything from me, you know. I'm inside your head. You know he likes us, don't you? But that sulk really isn't very attractive. He likes it when you kiss him just behind the ear. Did you know that? Or don't you remember?" He was looking very smug.
"I hate you."
His Simul-Apparation laughed.
* * *
Harry, Ron and Hermione were walking out of the Potions classroom, Ron complaining about one point deduction or other - he was trying to keep count; Harry had run out of fingers and toes. Snape had been particularly brutal today - still smarting, Harry reckoned, from the disaster of a lesson the week before. He'd held the class back for nearly twenty minutes, and they were already late for Transfiguration. Hermione and Ron were laughing at something, and Harry trailed a little behind, trying to stuff his wand back in his pocket so that he could carry his books properly.
As he set his books on the ground, he tensed. There was a strange sound coming from behind him, like the rustle of cloth on stone. And then unseen hands reached out of the darkness and wrapped around his waist. He was dragged roughly against the uneven walls of the dungeons into a side corridor. Before he could let out so much as a whimper, soft, warm, liquid lips were pressed against his. Harry froze in shock. Hands travelled up his waist and into his shirtfront, nails almost brutally scraping against his skin as arms wrapped around his neck.
"Draco?!"
"Mmmm. You've been avoiding me, Potter."
Murmured words against warm kisses. Harry didn't move, couldn't move.
"Have you thought of me?"
Lips spidering down his jaw.
"I thought you'd come after you got out of the hospital wing."
Teeth nipping lightly at soft skin.
"But you didn't."
His mocking tone didn't quite manage to touch his last words with as much conviction as he'd intended. Harry thought he sounded almost - sad. For a second he was convinced Malfoy wasn't just playing a game.
Then the moment was past, and Draco was sliding his lips upwards again, up Harry's neck, over his chin, and then teasingly, maddeningly, at the corner of his lips, never quite touching them.
"Draco..."
"Shh....don't say anything. Just..."
"...Kiss me." Harry finished the sentence, and, not quite thinking about what he was doing, caught Draco's lower lip between his teeth and pulled gently. Draco opened his mouth and let Harry's tongue slip between his lips, and gave him his own, exploring Harry's mouth with the softest of caresses. Harry was lost. He moved his mouth over Draco's, pressing his body nearer, rubbing against Draco, playing with the light hair at the back of his neck.
"So gentle, Potter?" Draco breathed, tilting his head back to facilitate Harry's exploration.
Harry paused. Mid-way to Draco's collarbone, he stopped. Struck by the reminder of a different Harry, who behaved differently, who was more aggressive - who, above all, wasn't him. Oh, god. What was he doing? He would - he could - overcome this.
Harry jerked out of Draco's embrace, and, without another word, turned and flew down the corridor, leaving the other boy standing there, staring after him.
* * *
Harry burst into Transfiguration and sat in a corner, away from Ron and Hermione, shivering. He didn't hear Professor Mcgonagall asking him why he was so late, didn't see the look of relief on his friend's faces at the sight of him - looks that quickly turned to concern as they took in his flushed face. He was oblivious to everything except the pounding of his heart.
Oh, god. Oh, god. Without warning, it had just snuck up on him, just like that. And he had given in. He'd given in to his desires, and it had been - oh. It had been wonderful. He could still feel Draco's hands on his skin, burning a path downwards. He closed his eyes and groaned.
He tried to talk to Id. Nothing. He supposed he was angry at him for turning away, just when things were getting good, as he would say. And things had been getting very, very good. Why had he pulled away? If only he'd stayed, if only he'd told Draco...could he tell Draco? Could he -
"If you would be so good as to give us your attention, Mr Potter - I'm certain you'll find this lesson useful."
Harry jerked out of his thoughts. Mcgonagall had her stern face on.
"Sorry, Professor." He mumbled. He drew out his wand and poked at the slug on his desk, mind in a whirl.
* * *
The next morning dawned bright and cold - not quite cold enough to merit snow, but certainly cold enough for Harry to want to stay in bed, where the warmth of his own body seemed concentrated as he huddled his blankets over himself. He had decided to avoid any sort of interaction with Malfoy, until he'd gotten his Simul-Apparation under control. Hermione still believed that the only way out - the best way out, at least - was to let himself go; at least that way he could be sure he was in control of his own actions, whether or nor the situation was a good one, and especially if it wasn't. But Harry wasn't sure if he could bear the consequences.
He tried to go back to sleep, but Seamus and Dean were making too much noise, laughing and shrieking about something or other, so, with a huge sigh, Harry grabbed Ron and dragged him down to the Great Hall for breakfast.
Harry took a seat at the far end of the Gryffindor table, Ron's head drooping into his cereal bowl beside him, and looked up just as Draco sat down on the opposite end. Harry averted his eyes and promptly caught sight of a yellowed piece of parchment sitting on his plate, smoking slightly at the sides, as though it had just appeared, magically.
"What's that?" Ron asked, cradling his head in his hands, as though it would fall if he didn't support it.
"I don't know. The owls haven't come yet, have they?"
Curious, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands. In the top left corner, in tiny handwriting, were written two words:
Ice Queen.
It was an elegant, simple hand. Realisation sank in. Harry looked up.
Directly opposite him, Draco caught his eye and winked.
Harry stared at him in amazement. He'd expected Draco to be at least a little angry at him for his calling a callous halt to their - activities. He looked down at the note again, and was surprised to feel...yes, relief. Then he smiled. It was a challenge, Harry knew. He liked this game they were playing. He liked that Draco liked him. He realised writing was much easier than speaking to Draco face to face - emboldened by the anonymity of the indirect interaction, he wrote back.
Ice queen, eh? I can think of a hundred different things we could do with ice, sweetheart.
Harry muttered a Levitating charm and floated the piece of parchment towards the Slytherin table. Ron's confused expression cleared, and then contorted, and he went back to his breakfast as calmly as he could.
He immediately regretted his brazenness when the smile faded from Draco's face. Maybe the endearment had been too much. Harry was beginning to see that he really didn't understand their relationship - wasn't he supposed to be playful? Aggressive? He waited, heart pounding, while Draco replied and sent the note back. He watched as Draco whipped out his wand and mouthed something; the note disappeared and reappeared in Harry's hands. Harry tried to hide his surprise. He read the note, disappointed and slightly stung by the shortness of the reply.
The whole school just saw you floating a note to me, Harry.
Draco had effectively withdrawn. Harry decided not to reply. He sat with his eyes fixed determinedly downwards, wishing he could disappear into his porridge. No better yet - he wished Malfoy would, then he wouldn't have to deal with him.
He started. Another note poofed into his hands:
Sulking, Potter? It really isn't very attractive.
Harry frowned. Those words seemed uncomfortably familiar. He remembered a grey classroom, the smug voice of his Simul-Apparation. He still had trouble accepting that it was himself - something Hermione had cautioned him very strongly against. She'd said it was precisely his reluctance to acknowledge his Id that forced it to take a form of its own.
Interesting. Just how attractive do you find me, ordinarily?
He sent the note back, this time by Draco's method, and watched with glee as, across the room, a smile touched soft lips. Then the note came back, on top of the porridge. Harry snatched it away, to the surprise of the startled first-years opposite him. Ron carried on with his cereal, trying to look as though nothing unusual was going on.
Why don't you wipe that sullen look off your face and come here and find out?
Harry was shamelessly thrilled. Then another piece of parchment landed on his lap, the handwriting was messier, as though Draco had been in a hurry.
Forget that. Get out of the Great Hall - now. Meet me outside the Potions classroom.
He read this and smiled, slightly nervously. Well, Harry - a little voice came into his head from nowhere, and from everywhere all at once - you're finally going to get some.
Harry shuddered, and got to his feet.
.