Chapter 2: In Love and War.
Before we start: big, heartfelt thanks to my friend Sharon, who has read over all the parts so far and has written back brilliant advice amazingly quickly. Thanks Shaz!
And, um... please review? Thanks!
***
Harry stumbled through the doorway of the Order's room, and down the stairs to the narrow corridor below. He felt numb, shocked, and somehow detached from his own body. As well as distinctly queasy.
He took his glasses off, rubbing his hand down his face and breathing in deeply, as he tried to process the information he had just received.
He could not quite believe what he had just been told. Draco Malfoy liked him. *Fancied* him. He didn't understand it; he just *couldn't*. Harry knew he didn't get everything quite right, but he did think of himself as a rather observant person. How the hell had he missed the way Malfoy felt about him?
It was always the same between the two of them, ever since their very first meeting in Diagon Alley. Malfoy was a stuck-up and prejudiced little pure- blood who made no attempt to hide the fact. He had got even worse over the years. Up until the fourth year, Harry would have been happy to just ignore the other boy, if he didn't bother him. But Malfoy always had to turn up, insulting him or his friends at every opportunity, showing just what a bastard he was.
After their fourth year, things changed somewhat. Before Voldemort's resurrection, Harry had thought of Malfoy with dislike, but it was also coupled with indifference. But after Cedric's death, after what Malfoy said to him on the train... he had felt a burning swoop of anger whenever he had looked at the other boy. Although this had lessened over the following two years, it was still there. But now, it seemed, Malfoy *liked* him. And, for the greater good, he would have to pretend to like him back.
Because, of course, he was going to do it. There wasn't really any question. Harry didn't think of himself as particularly special; but he knew that most of the wizarding world did. He knew how many had died trying to protect him, how many Voldemort had killed because of him. He saw what happened every night. And he was expected to stay at Hogwarts, pretend there was nothing going on outside of its walls, concentrating on Quidditch and his schoolwork like a normal 16-year-old wizard. He knew this was what everyone, particularly Sirius, wanted. Did they really think he could do so? It wasn't a game, however much they tried to present is as such. Although everyone tried to put a happy, carefree front, always smiling brightly, Harry could see the strained and worried look that shadowed their eyes. Nobody seemed to be truly happy anymore, not even the innocent little First years, who used to look at Hogwarts with complete wonder. There was always someone who had lost a parent, a relative, or a friend. It didn't even shock anyone anymore like it had the first few months of the war. Now everyone simply breathed a sigh of relief when the black-lined parchment that appeared over the breakfast table wasn't dropped on their own plate. They instead watched with bleakness, bordering on indifference, as someone else received the life-altering news. Did they all really think that he was as indifferent? He couldn't be.
Miss Worren hadn't glossed over what he would have to do. He had to respect her for that. He would have to become Draco Malfoy's lover. Although he had processed this, his mind balked at the actual details of what this entailed. God, it made him feel nauseous to even think about it. Harry had never been with a boy before, hadn't even thought about it really. He was only thankful that he wasn't a virgin. God, but that would have been mortifyingly embarrassing. He had had a Muggle girlfriend the summer before, and he had wholeheartedly turned himself over to her like any teenaged boy would. At least he wasn't *completely* inexperienced. God, he would still have to- oh *GOD*.
Several hours later, he slowly made his way back to the Order chamber. He decided enough time had passed so that Sirius would think he had thought about it carefully, although in reality he had already made up his mind before he had even left the meeting. Perhaps it might soothe him slightly.
He knew Miss Worren would sort out everything for him. Tell him what to say, set up a meeting with Malfoy- he supposed he would have to call him *Draco* now- and make sure they could meet alone.
All he would have to do was lie convincingly enough so that Malfoy believed that it was all real.
He wasn't sure he could do it.
***
Draco Malfoy was sitting in the classroom, on top of one of the desks. He was staring pensively out of the window, eyes obviously intent on something else. Harry took him in slowly, the sickening feeling coming back over him as he realised that this- this was the boy he would have to lie to, to kiss- to- to do things with. He stomach took a painful swoop and he quickly pushed his glasses up his nose, a nervous gesture. Harry took in Malfoy's white-blonde hair, smoothed back off his face, to his haughty profile, the cold silver chain he wore around his throat, and the elegant line of his neck that seemed to follow down to his arms, and, finally, his long, pale fingers. Harry realised he had never had the opportunity to look at Malfoy like this, when he wasn't with his friends, or playing him in Quidditch, where his features would be screwed up into a hateful scowl. He also noticed now that Malfoy wasn't as completely pristine as he'd once thought. There were fine lines around Malfoy's mouth and on his forehead that should not have been there at seventeen. He then realised with a jolt that it was very likely that if he studied his own face as intently, he would find matching ones. At this revelation, his foot scraped slightly against the floor. Malfoy looked up. The moment was broken.
As soon as he saw Harry, Malfoy's face immediately transformed into his usual hateful grimace.
"Potter!" He spat out, as if he wanted the name off his lips as quickly as possible. "What are *you* doing here?"
Harry wavered for several seconds, before realising that his mouth was half- open. He quickly shut it, and again pushed his glasses back up his nose. He still could not quite believe the information he had been given. If it wasn't for Worren's complete assurances...
"Malfoy..." he began. "I- I wanted to talk to you." He felt his face flush when Malfoy continued to sneer at him.
Malfoy stood up, in one smooth motion. It was just like him, Harry thought resentfully. He couldn't even move without trying to make it completely perfect. Although Harry didn't like to admit it, Malfoy had always secretly made him feel like this; as if he was somehow beneath him.
"*Talk* to me, Potter?" Malfoy spat out at him. "Talk? Are you mad? And what, pray tell, does the great Harry Potter need to talk to *me* about? Do you think I *care* what you've got to say?"
Harry screwed up his courage. "Yes," he said bluntly. He felt a surge of triumph when Malfoy's expression wavered for a moment, and he quickly soldiered on. "I think- I know you've got- a *thing* for me, Malfoy. That's what I wanted to talk about."
Harry was very surprised when Malfoy hardly reacted to this statement at all. He recovered from it extraordinarily quickly; Harry only saw his expression change ever-so-slightly because he was looking for it. Something... *strange* also flickered in Malfoy's eyes. He soon gave a disparaging laugh, but it was overtly hollow even to Harry's own ears.
"A *thing* Potter?" he sneered. "What, you think I fancy you, or something? *You?* I do believe that someone here's been delving a little too deeply into their own fantasy world, don't you?"
"I know it's true, Malfoy," Harry replied, feeling his face heat up even more. Now came the hardest part of all. "And I- I wanted to tell you- that I feel the same way. Um."
The reaction to these words came almost immediately. In a second Malfoy's face had darkened into a pained, shadowed look that Harry could not recognise. Then Malfoy was approaching him, his face turned once again into an absolutely *furious* scowl, more furious, so much more angry than Harry had ever seen it before. Malfoy's hands came up then, taking Harry's arms into a painful, tight grip.
"What do think you're doing?" Malfoy absolutely *hissed* at him. "What the *fuck* do you think you're doing?"
Harry couldn't seem to answer him; he just stood there, frozen, staring into Malfoy's angled, pale face. It seemed thinner and paler now, taught with anger.
"I- I'm sorry," he managed after a minute.
Malfoy made a sound- disgusted, angry, something that Harry couldn't quite distinguish- before loosening his hold on him. Harry silently breathed a sigh of relief; the grip had been numbingly painful.
"Is this a joke, Potter?" Malfoy asked, his voice gaining back some of its usual sneer. "Did someone put you up to this..."
"N-no," Harry said quickly, discreetly rubbing his right arm where Malfoy had held it particularly hard. He searched his brain for some of the winning lines Miss Worren had suggested he say. "I- just want to get to know you better, that's all."
Malfoy stared at him, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. He forced himself to look into the other boy's eyes; and saw a strange, darkened expression there, one he had seen flashes of before in the conversation. Malfoy looked- angry? But also... somehow hurt? Then Malfoy blinked, and it was gone.
Malfoy moved away from Harry, lengthening the distance between them in more ways than one. His usual attitude towards him- one that Harry could at least understand- came back in full force.
"Just get out of here, Potter," he spat. "I don't want to talk about this again."
An uncomfortable, heavy feeling had descended on Harry's stomach. He had been rejected, and he wasn't precisely sure why this should matter. He didn't like Malfoy, he hadn't wanted the other boy to like him either. But- he had let the Order down. They had all been counting on him. And also- he had been rejected too many times in his life. Somehow- he hadn't thought he would have to add this one to the list. And he didn't understand- either Malfoy's attitude towards him, or the shadows in his eyes. Harry suddenly had an insane urge to cry, for absolutely no reason at all.
Harry took a step backwards. Then another. Malfoy didn't move, wouldn't look at him. Harry found the smooth, ribbed surface of the doorframe in his hand, and paused once more.
"I'm sorry," he said again.
Malfoy was still half-turned away from him. At Harry's words, he gave a strange sort of half-sigh.
"Are you?" he said softly.
Harry had been staring at the floor, but he looked up, and jumped slightly to find that Malfoy was pinning him with a searching stare.
"Yes," he answered. He *was* sorry; just not for what Malfoy thought. "I really am."
At these words, Malfoy moved over to him. Harry faltered at this; he tried to back away. But, since he was already at the door, he had nowhere to go. He stiffened as Malfoy came up close to him- *really* close- oh *god*... he had steeled himself for this, but it was *completely* different in reality. He felt the wall at his back, felt it smooth under his spread palms. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth slightly when he felt Malfoy's breath on his face- it was everything he could do not to flinch and duck away from the unwanted attention. It felt like- like Malfoy was *studying* him. He made himself open his eyes, and found himself looking straight into Malfoy's grey ones. He forced himself not to move.
Malfoy leaned backwards slightly, some sort of dark, sardonic humour apparent on his face.
"I think we can come to some sort of agreement, Potter," he said.
And so Harry was able to go back to Worren and tell her that the meeting had been successful. However, Harry was rather confused. He had thought that he would have the upper hand in the situation; but at the moment he felt as he always did with Malfoy. Unsure, unfamiliar, as if he was floundering around in the dark.
And, as always, he felt a pang of resentment for the other boy.
***
Before we start: big, heartfelt thanks to my friend Sharon, who has read over all the parts so far and has written back brilliant advice amazingly quickly. Thanks Shaz!
And, um... please review? Thanks!
***
Harry stumbled through the doorway of the Order's room, and down the stairs to the narrow corridor below. He felt numb, shocked, and somehow detached from his own body. As well as distinctly queasy.
He took his glasses off, rubbing his hand down his face and breathing in deeply, as he tried to process the information he had just received.
He could not quite believe what he had just been told. Draco Malfoy liked him. *Fancied* him. He didn't understand it; he just *couldn't*. Harry knew he didn't get everything quite right, but he did think of himself as a rather observant person. How the hell had he missed the way Malfoy felt about him?
It was always the same between the two of them, ever since their very first meeting in Diagon Alley. Malfoy was a stuck-up and prejudiced little pure- blood who made no attempt to hide the fact. He had got even worse over the years. Up until the fourth year, Harry would have been happy to just ignore the other boy, if he didn't bother him. But Malfoy always had to turn up, insulting him or his friends at every opportunity, showing just what a bastard he was.
After their fourth year, things changed somewhat. Before Voldemort's resurrection, Harry had thought of Malfoy with dislike, but it was also coupled with indifference. But after Cedric's death, after what Malfoy said to him on the train... he had felt a burning swoop of anger whenever he had looked at the other boy. Although this had lessened over the following two years, it was still there. But now, it seemed, Malfoy *liked* him. And, for the greater good, he would have to pretend to like him back.
Because, of course, he was going to do it. There wasn't really any question. Harry didn't think of himself as particularly special; but he knew that most of the wizarding world did. He knew how many had died trying to protect him, how many Voldemort had killed because of him. He saw what happened every night. And he was expected to stay at Hogwarts, pretend there was nothing going on outside of its walls, concentrating on Quidditch and his schoolwork like a normal 16-year-old wizard. He knew this was what everyone, particularly Sirius, wanted. Did they really think he could do so? It wasn't a game, however much they tried to present is as such. Although everyone tried to put a happy, carefree front, always smiling brightly, Harry could see the strained and worried look that shadowed their eyes. Nobody seemed to be truly happy anymore, not even the innocent little First years, who used to look at Hogwarts with complete wonder. There was always someone who had lost a parent, a relative, or a friend. It didn't even shock anyone anymore like it had the first few months of the war. Now everyone simply breathed a sigh of relief when the black-lined parchment that appeared over the breakfast table wasn't dropped on their own plate. They instead watched with bleakness, bordering on indifference, as someone else received the life-altering news. Did they all really think that he was as indifferent? He couldn't be.
Miss Worren hadn't glossed over what he would have to do. He had to respect her for that. He would have to become Draco Malfoy's lover. Although he had processed this, his mind balked at the actual details of what this entailed. God, it made him feel nauseous to even think about it. Harry had never been with a boy before, hadn't even thought about it really. He was only thankful that he wasn't a virgin. God, but that would have been mortifyingly embarrassing. He had had a Muggle girlfriend the summer before, and he had wholeheartedly turned himself over to her like any teenaged boy would. At least he wasn't *completely* inexperienced. God, he would still have to- oh *GOD*.
Several hours later, he slowly made his way back to the Order chamber. He decided enough time had passed so that Sirius would think he had thought about it carefully, although in reality he had already made up his mind before he had even left the meeting. Perhaps it might soothe him slightly.
He knew Miss Worren would sort out everything for him. Tell him what to say, set up a meeting with Malfoy- he supposed he would have to call him *Draco* now- and make sure they could meet alone.
All he would have to do was lie convincingly enough so that Malfoy believed that it was all real.
He wasn't sure he could do it.
***
Draco Malfoy was sitting in the classroom, on top of one of the desks. He was staring pensively out of the window, eyes obviously intent on something else. Harry took him in slowly, the sickening feeling coming back over him as he realised that this- this was the boy he would have to lie to, to kiss- to- to do things with. He stomach took a painful swoop and he quickly pushed his glasses up his nose, a nervous gesture. Harry took in Malfoy's white-blonde hair, smoothed back off his face, to his haughty profile, the cold silver chain he wore around his throat, and the elegant line of his neck that seemed to follow down to his arms, and, finally, his long, pale fingers. Harry realised he had never had the opportunity to look at Malfoy like this, when he wasn't with his friends, or playing him in Quidditch, where his features would be screwed up into a hateful scowl. He also noticed now that Malfoy wasn't as completely pristine as he'd once thought. There were fine lines around Malfoy's mouth and on his forehead that should not have been there at seventeen. He then realised with a jolt that it was very likely that if he studied his own face as intently, he would find matching ones. At this revelation, his foot scraped slightly against the floor. Malfoy looked up. The moment was broken.
As soon as he saw Harry, Malfoy's face immediately transformed into his usual hateful grimace.
"Potter!" He spat out, as if he wanted the name off his lips as quickly as possible. "What are *you* doing here?"
Harry wavered for several seconds, before realising that his mouth was half- open. He quickly shut it, and again pushed his glasses back up his nose. He still could not quite believe the information he had been given. If it wasn't for Worren's complete assurances...
"Malfoy..." he began. "I- I wanted to talk to you." He felt his face flush when Malfoy continued to sneer at him.
Malfoy stood up, in one smooth motion. It was just like him, Harry thought resentfully. He couldn't even move without trying to make it completely perfect. Although Harry didn't like to admit it, Malfoy had always secretly made him feel like this; as if he was somehow beneath him.
"*Talk* to me, Potter?" Malfoy spat out at him. "Talk? Are you mad? And what, pray tell, does the great Harry Potter need to talk to *me* about? Do you think I *care* what you've got to say?"
Harry screwed up his courage. "Yes," he said bluntly. He felt a surge of triumph when Malfoy's expression wavered for a moment, and he quickly soldiered on. "I think- I know you've got- a *thing* for me, Malfoy. That's what I wanted to talk about."
Harry was very surprised when Malfoy hardly reacted to this statement at all. He recovered from it extraordinarily quickly; Harry only saw his expression change ever-so-slightly because he was looking for it. Something... *strange* also flickered in Malfoy's eyes. He soon gave a disparaging laugh, but it was overtly hollow even to Harry's own ears.
"A *thing* Potter?" he sneered. "What, you think I fancy you, or something? *You?* I do believe that someone here's been delving a little too deeply into their own fantasy world, don't you?"
"I know it's true, Malfoy," Harry replied, feeling his face heat up even more. Now came the hardest part of all. "And I- I wanted to tell you- that I feel the same way. Um."
The reaction to these words came almost immediately. In a second Malfoy's face had darkened into a pained, shadowed look that Harry could not recognise. Then Malfoy was approaching him, his face turned once again into an absolutely *furious* scowl, more furious, so much more angry than Harry had ever seen it before. Malfoy's hands came up then, taking Harry's arms into a painful, tight grip.
"What do think you're doing?" Malfoy absolutely *hissed* at him. "What the *fuck* do you think you're doing?"
Harry couldn't seem to answer him; he just stood there, frozen, staring into Malfoy's angled, pale face. It seemed thinner and paler now, taught with anger.
"I- I'm sorry," he managed after a minute.
Malfoy made a sound- disgusted, angry, something that Harry couldn't quite distinguish- before loosening his hold on him. Harry silently breathed a sigh of relief; the grip had been numbingly painful.
"Is this a joke, Potter?" Malfoy asked, his voice gaining back some of its usual sneer. "Did someone put you up to this..."
"N-no," Harry said quickly, discreetly rubbing his right arm where Malfoy had held it particularly hard. He searched his brain for some of the winning lines Miss Worren had suggested he say. "I- just want to get to know you better, that's all."
Malfoy stared at him, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. He forced himself to look into the other boy's eyes; and saw a strange, darkened expression there, one he had seen flashes of before in the conversation. Malfoy looked- angry? But also... somehow hurt? Then Malfoy blinked, and it was gone.
Malfoy moved away from Harry, lengthening the distance between them in more ways than one. His usual attitude towards him- one that Harry could at least understand- came back in full force.
"Just get out of here, Potter," he spat. "I don't want to talk about this again."
An uncomfortable, heavy feeling had descended on Harry's stomach. He had been rejected, and he wasn't precisely sure why this should matter. He didn't like Malfoy, he hadn't wanted the other boy to like him either. But- he had let the Order down. They had all been counting on him. And also- he had been rejected too many times in his life. Somehow- he hadn't thought he would have to add this one to the list. And he didn't understand- either Malfoy's attitude towards him, or the shadows in his eyes. Harry suddenly had an insane urge to cry, for absolutely no reason at all.
Harry took a step backwards. Then another. Malfoy didn't move, wouldn't look at him. Harry found the smooth, ribbed surface of the doorframe in his hand, and paused once more.
"I'm sorry," he said again.
Malfoy was still half-turned away from him. At Harry's words, he gave a strange sort of half-sigh.
"Are you?" he said softly.
Harry had been staring at the floor, but he looked up, and jumped slightly to find that Malfoy was pinning him with a searching stare.
"Yes," he answered. He *was* sorry; just not for what Malfoy thought. "I really am."
At these words, Malfoy moved over to him. Harry faltered at this; he tried to back away. But, since he was already at the door, he had nowhere to go. He stiffened as Malfoy came up close to him- *really* close- oh *god*... he had steeled himself for this, but it was *completely* different in reality. He felt the wall at his back, felt it smooth under his spread palms. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth slightly when he felt Malfoy's breath on his face- it was everything he could do not to flinch and duck away from the unwanted attention. It felt like- like Malfoy was *studying* him. He made himself open his eyes, and found himself looking straight into Malfoy's grey ones. He forced himself not to move.
Malfoy leaned backwards slightly, some sort of dark, sardonic humour apparent on his face.
"I think we can come to some sort of agreement, Potter," he said.
And so Harry was able to go back to Worren and tell her that the meeting had been successful. However, Harry was rather confused. He had thought that he would have the upper hand in the situation; but at the moment he felt as he always did with Malfoy. Unsure, unfamiliar, as if he was floundering around in the dark.
And, as always, he felt a pang of resentment for the other boy.
***