Ok, any anime fans out there? Never join a kendou club, and then take two
months off because of injury. It hurts like hell when you start again!!
Since I can't move my legs nor can I move my arms, I've taken over the
family computer (quick fingers) and here's the result! Spoiler - angstyish
at the end. Not really - I'm not good with angst. And Ron and Mione come
in, for those who like them!
WARNING: S-L-A-S-H spells *slash*.
And I really truly absitively posilutely don't own them! I just..."borrow" them.
Chapter Title - Yamerarenai (Unstoppable)
~~
He smiled and embraced her, thankful to see her whole and hale.
The past three weeks had been stressful on the Weasley family, as news articles in the Daily Prophet and reports on the Wizarding Wireless were now fearful and increasing towards panicky. Muggles and wizards alike were randomly disappearing, whether by foul play or by being enlisted in the Dark Lord's service, and no one could yet forget the image of the Dark Mark glittering maliciously over the house of Justin Finch-Fletchley three weeks ago.
Having gathered this from her own copy of the Daily Prophet and from her own rather vast knowledge about the Weasley family, Hermione beamed in love and appreciation at the flamed-haired Ron and the equally red-headed Weasleys standing around him - Molly, Ginny, Fred, and George - before turning to say one last goodbye to her parents as they all stood waiting in King's Cross Station.
Her parents hugged her to them, tears shining unchecked in Mrs. Granger's eyes, but they knew that this was for the best - Hermione would be much safer, much more protected, in the Weasley's care.
"Be careful, Princess. Don't worry about us, everything will be fine," Mrs. Granger cooed, strengthening her grasp on her daughter.
"Send letters, all the time. We'll write back, and maybe sometimes you can call us, all right, Princess? Just take care of yourself." Mr. Granger then turned to Molly Weasley. "Thank you so much for all of this, Mrs. Weasley. I don't...I just don't know how we can repay you."
"Oh, it's nothing, really, dear! Hermione is always such a pleasure to have at the house, and I'm sure," she continued, turning to scowl at her gaggle of children, "That her presence will at least encourage my lot to study a little more, get their homework done...."
Hermione broke away from her mother's embrace to laugh at the disgust scrawled all over the Weasley children's faces. With a last kiss on her mother's cheek, she picked up Crookshanks' basket and went to stand next to Ron, who already had her trunk on a trolley.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger, holding each other for support as they said their farewells to their only daughter and her friends, left with a last smile and wave to catch a return train while the Weasleys went outside to find a taxi.
Ron, leaning casually on the trolley, turned to Hermione as Mrs. Weasley waved her arm frantically to get the attention of a cab. "Princess?" **
Ginny sat on Ron's brilliantly orange bed, petting Crookshanks' upturned belly, listening as Hermione and Ron discussed Harry in tense whispers.
"I told you, Mione, I haven't heard from him except once. Hedwig turned up almost three weeks ago with his response, and it sounded....*weird*. It didn't sound like him. I sent Hedwig back with the food mum had gotten ready for him, and he hasn't written back or anything, not even a thank- you."
"What exactly did he say in the letter he did send? What was so odd about it, Ron?"
Ron pulled the letter out from his bedside drawer. "Well, it's not weird, exactly, but, like, here, look! He says 'we' about the Dark Mark. Surely his aunt and uncle wouldn't care if a wizard got it? They aren't exactly fond of us, so why would they be concerned?"
"They don't necessarily have to have been concerned, Ron, but they would notice something like that. They do, after all, know that our kind exists." Hermione said sensibly.
"Then what about this part, Mione? How he says we're not the only ones who'll be in trouble next year? I'm telling you, he's hiding something!" Ron shot back while waving the letter furiously.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "What could he possibly be hiding? Of course other people are going to be in trouble and upset next year! Just imagine Justin's friends - he's the second Hufflepuff to be killed already! And I'm sure that at the rate things are going already, he's not going to be the only Hogwarts student missing!"
"But Mione-"
"Look, Ron, maybe he is hiding things. Maybe he is depressed over Cedric's death. But all we can do is let him know that we're there for him. Did you even tell him that I was coming?"
"No, I haven't written to him - if he wants to be quiet, I didn't want to aggravate him," Ron said sulkily. "Besides, your being here is supposed to be secret, although I guess telling Harry isn't out of the question."
Hermione sat down on the bed, Crookshanks stretched out between herself and Ginny.
The now-fourteen-year-old Ginny looked slightly worried by all that had been brought forward, but said quietly, "I don't know if you should tell Harry. Hermione's a major target, because she's Muggle-born, and because she's Harry's friend, and that's why she's here. If you're worried about him being depressed over Cedric or something, do you really want that hanging over his head as well? Or even if you do tell him, what if the owl gets intercepted? Then people would know where Hermione's disappeared to."
Hermione and Ron exchanged nervous looks. Ginny was right, actually. What if someone did find out that Hermione was at the Weasleys' for the summer? The Weasleys were already under pressure, with their positions in the Ministry and their place in Dumbledore's network. Taking in Hermione was placing them in even greater danger. They couldn't risk putting that in writing. Unless...
"We could call, Ron. I've got his number listed down, and we can call him."
Ron grimaced. "The only time I ever did that, I got him in major trouble. Are you sure it'll work?"
Hermione gave him a please-do-notice-who-you're-talking-to look and said, "So, where's the nearest telephone?"
**
"Oh Brad, are you sure about this? Will you really be with me forever?"
"Of course, Clarice. Jennie will never come between us again, I swear."
"Then kiss me, love, and prove it to me...."
Draco yawned and changed the channel. These soap operas were just so annoying, all gushy love stories with only a tiny hint of Muggle mayhem, and that's all that ever seemed to be on during weekday afternoons.
Petunia swept into the living room with a plate of sliced oranges and a glass of lemonade, setting it on the coffee table in front of Draco. He smiled a sort of wobbly smirk at her, having gotten used to her obsession with him over the past three weeks since he'd arrived. Calmly, he reached for an orange, watching as she made her way back into the kitchen.
Glancing out the kitchen window, Draco could just make out a messy black head moving in and out of view as Harry mowed the lawn. His smirk widened as he gazed at the head of his...whatever-Potter-was-in-relation-to-him as it bobbed around the Dursley's backyard. Oh, he loved not having to work while Potter was!
Sipping the lemonade with the grace of a demigod, he went back to watching TV, though his mind was more fixed on the boy outside.
**
Pausing in his work to brush the mop of hair out of his eyes and off his glasses where it was plastered by sweat, Harry leaned over the lawnmower, wishing dearly the Dursleys' front and back lawns were large enough to warrant the use of one of those motorized mowers with the chairs. However, he supposed that even if the Dursleys did buy one of those, they wouldn't let Harry near it.
Taking off his glasses, Harry began to rub his eyes. Besides his nightly forays with Draco, he was visiting Mrs. Figg whenever he had spare time so she could watch him work with his power, and that was leaving him extremely tired.
At first Sirius had been there overseeing his progress, strangely silent (though Harry supposed this must have to do with his reluctance to let Harry study anything labeled a Dark Art). But Dumbledore's mission kept him on the run, so he had departed to alert everyone and anyone he could.
Occasionally Draco came with him to Mrs. Figg's, which for some reason made Harry feel better about the whole thing - quite apart from the fact that Harry was growing rather attached to his...his...what was Draco in relation to him anyway?
Just thinking the word "boyfriend" caused Harry to shake his head. Really, what had happened to them? Four weeks ago, they wouldn't have touched the other with a chain-length of broomsticks. And now, the only thing that kept them from being together for a large percentage of the time was the omnipresent Petunia.
It was as he was shaking his head that he heard it - the little voice.
"Scar-headed brat, always cutting the grass when I'm trying to sunbathe, covering my hole with nasty grass shavings. Humans are so senseless, inconsiderate...spawn of the earth...bite them, scare them, wriggle across their feet...."
Harry looked downward to see a small black grass snake slithering through the verge towards him. Letting go of the lawnmower, he knelt down and quietly whispered in his second language, "Hello."
The snake stopped only a few centimeters away from Harry's right foot. It raised its head, scrutinizing the face of the owner of the feet it wanted to savage. "It speaks Parseltongue, the scar-headed brat."
Harry smiled a little and hissed, "Yes, I do." He paused. "I'm sorry I disturbed your sunbathing. My aunt wants me to mow the lawn - I didn't mean for you to get upset. Will you show me where your hole is so that I can clear the grass from it?"
The snake turned itself around and cut a path through the grass towards the wall of the backyard. "This way, Scar-headed Brat."
Laughing, Harry said, "My name is Harry, by the way."
"Sounds the same as Scar-headed Brat."
**
These cartoons from Japan were pretty cool, he had to admit. Magic, fighting, just enough blood - perfect.
Draco was still watching TV when the phone rang. He heard Aunt Petunia pick up in the kitchen.
"Petunia Dursley speaking. May I ask who this is?"
Leaning on the couch so that he could see into the kitchen (Draco had never touched the telephone yet, and was keen to watch when someone was using it - though he made sure no one ever caught him watching, especially Harry), Draco saw Petunia's brow knit together in confusion. "You'd like to speak to...to Harry?" There was silence, and then she said, "I see. Let me call him."
Draco jumped up. "I'll go, Aunt Petunia. It's too hot outside - I don't want you getting sick or anything." He practically ran into the kitchen and out the door into the backyard.
The lawnmower was standing abandoned near the center of the yard, and Harry was to be seen crouched in a corner by the wall, muttering to himself. It was as Draco got closer that he caught a few words of what Harry was saying, and he realized he couldn't understand an ounce of it.
Draco watched interestedly as Harry brushed bits of cut grass away from the corner of the wall. And then, he saw the snake as it raised its head high enough that its forked tongue was able to flick out over Harry's knee in a sort of serpentine kiss. Draco chuckled, and Harry turned around in surprise, but he's eyes glowed brightly when recognition clicked in.
"Tell it that it needs my permission if it's going to do that again, Potter," Draco said slyly. Harry smiled and whispered something to the snake, which hissed before it turned and slid into its hole.
"What did it say?" Draco asked.
"Well, Mr. Possessive Prat, *she* said that if you threatened her again she'd do something with your broomstick not intended to be done by the manufacturers."
Smiling, Draco said, "Ah, a bold threat from a tiny garden snake. Anyways, I came to tell you that you've got a phone call. Hurry up, they're waiting for you."
Thoroughly confused, Harry followed Draco into the kitchen. Aunt Petunia scowled at him and pointed towards the phone. "You met a girl at the park yesterday? That's what she said. Who'd want to talk to you?"
After saying that, she stalked back out to the patio. Draco took her seat at the kitchen table.
Not having a clue what Aunt Petunia was talking about, Harry picked up the phone cautiously. "Hello?"
Even Draco heard Hermione squeal, "HARRY!!" with the force and decibel volume of a Howler. Harry quite clearly heard the whispered curse of "Mudblood", but was more concerned with talking to Hermione than he was with teaching Draco proper behavior.
"What - how...Mione, it's great to hear from you! What have you been up to?"
It was then that Harry heard Ron's voice in the background, saying something in an anxious tone. Hermione ignored him and said, "Oh, Harry, we've been so worried about you! You haven't written to us or anything! Are you all right? And who's there with you? Someone said something to your aunt before you got on, and it didn't sound like your cousin."
Harry nervously glanced at Draco, mouthing, "She suspects!" Draco began to scowl.
In answer to Hermione's question, he said, "Oh, that really was just my cousin. No problems here. And don't worry, I'm totally fine. What're you doing at Ron's? You-nothing's happened to your family, has it?"
Hermione's voice became serious. "That's what we called to tell you. I'm staying at the Weasleys' at Professor Dumbledore's insistence. He thinks....oh, Harry, he thinks I'm a major target because I'm your friend, so he wanted me somewhere safe."
Harry felt something cold slip into his stomach. Hermione was in danger, not only because she was Muggle-born...she was in danger because of him. Trying to keep his fear and anxiety out of his voice, Harry said, "What about going to Bulgaria? And why didn't you send Pig?"
"We didn't want to owl you, in case the letter was intercepted, and this was the only way I could think of talking to you. I told your aunt that we had met in the park yesterday, just so you know. You can pretend I'm your girlfriend for the summer, so Ron and I can keep in touch with you."
In the background, Harry heard Ron make some noise of protest, but Hermione silenced him with a "Shhh!"
"And about Bulgaria...I'd been too much in the open, wouldn't I, living in the house of a famous Quidditch player"
Personally, Harry could tell that Hermione wasn't being entirely truthful about her staying away from Krum. However, he also felt that Draco was going to be pissed finding out that Hermione was going to be his girlfriend for the summer. He glanced at the object of his thoughts and smiled weakly. Slytherin's Pride had not stopped scowling. Suddenly, Hermione called him back.
"Harry? I...we just want to know if you're Ok. I-Ron!"
Ron's voice took full supremacy over the speaker with a yelled "I know what I'm doing, Mione!" before it lowered and said to Harry, "Mate, listen, we're worried about you. You haven't written at all, and with all this You- Know-Who stuff, we're wondering what's up. Are you sure you're safe? If you want, you can always come here, really. Ginny wouldn't mind, she's loads better lately!"
Rolling his eyes, Harry tried to calm his friend down. "Ron, really, it's Ok. I told you, I've got more than enough protection, and there are people around who care. I've even seen Snuffles - he checks in on me every once in a while. And while I'm sorry that I can't impress Ginny with my wonderful persona, tell her I said 'Hi'."
Unbeknownst to Harry, Draco's scowl had just deepened.
In what he hoped was a convincing, puppy-dog voice, Ron said, "Are you sure you won't come?"
"Dumbledore has his reasons for keeping me here, and I don't see any reason to not trust his judgment. I'm actually perfectly happy right now. Really, I am," he said forcibly as Ron began to protest.
Hermione's voice took charge once again. "Are you sure, Harry?"
"Very sure, sweetheart," he teased. Draco hissed warningly, and Harry turned to smirk at him.
"Hate to tell ya, Mione, but I've gotta get back to the lawn I was mowing, and to Moemi."
"Who?" Hermione paused for a minute, and then said slowly, "Oh, I see, Harry - you...you really are seeing someone! You've got a GIRLFRIEND!" she called shrilly. There was some muffled exclamation from Ron in the background, and Harry distinctly heard Draco choke somewhere behind him.
Harry just laughed at the humor of the situation and said, "Maybe. But no, Moemi is the garden snake I was just talking to when you called."
"All right, Harry, keep your secrets, and keep in touch. You can owl us, but just don't mention my name in the letter. Call me...Bubbles, or something, like we do for Snuffles," Hermione said, sounding slightly skeptical of her own idea.
"Sure thing, Bubbles," Harry teased. With a last goodbye to both of his best friends, he hung up the phone and turned to Draco.
His mouth was opening, ready to berate Harry, when Aunt Petunia came in from the patio. Disdainfully, she said, "Who was that?"
Winking at Draco, and smirking still, Harry said cheerfully, "Oh, that was just my girlfriend, Bubbles. She told you, we met at the park yesterday."
Aunt Petunia's mouth was open in disbelief. Obviously, she had never considered what would happen should her nephew choose to procreate, and the fact that he was already getting girlfriends while he was still living in her house was not comfortable - and that was besides what would happen if this....this slut (as she must be if she was interested in the boy) of a girl, Bubbles or whatever, found out what Harry was, and told the neighbors, and what the neighbors would say...
Harry, not noticing the battle being fought in Aunt Petunia's mind, strolled to the door and went back to mowing the lawn, careful to avoid Moemi's hole.
**
Hermione and Ron walked together up the road from the village post office.
"Do you believe him?" Ron said quietly.
"I don't know, Ron, I really don't know."
"What should we do? Kidnap him or something?" he joked.
Hermione glowered at her friend. "That's not funny, Ron! We...there's nothing for us to do but to trust him."
"Well, he isn't alone, if Black has been checking in on him. And, damn it, he got a girlfriend before me!" Ron snarled, kicking a small stone out of his path like a football.
Hermione shot Ron a look of pure frustration, but after counting to ten and rolling her eyes, she said, "Yes, yes, maybe he has...but he's still...oh, you were right for once, he is hiding something."
"Hey!" Ron said indignantly, but he quieted when Hermione slipped her hand into his with a squeeze and began to pull him up the road.
"Come on, we've got to tell your mother and Ginny that he's all right."
"But he's not all right, Mione! We...we have to form a rescue party or something!"
"Ron, there's nothing we can do without Dumbledore's permission! We just have to trust him, and stay safe ourselves. Come on, we can send Pig to him now!"
She broke into a run, dragging the much taller red-head behind her up the dusty dirt road towards the Burrow.
**
He stared at his reflection in the mirror. How could he have lied to Ron and Hermione? He had no problem lying to Aunt Petunia about his so-called little girlfriend Bubbles, but...this was different. They were his best friends, and he couldn't tell them anything.
Harry took off his glasses and bent over the bathroom sink, splashing water over his face. What had he been thinking? And the worst part was that...he hadn't felt guilty over the phone - the lying bit came almost naturally then. It was now, now that it was later, that his misgivings were settling in. The water gently running down his face and onto his neck wasn't helping to wash these feelings away at all.
And Hermione...it was all his fault. She'd been forced to go into hiding, all because of Harry. And yet, she'd sounded so happy. How could she not care that she was in danger? She'd been more concerned about Harry than about her own life.
He heard the door open and shut, the lock clicking, and when he looked up, he could see in the mirror the blurry form of a thin blonde boy standing behind him.
"What was that little phone call about, Potter? Bubbles, you say?"
Elbows resting on the sink, Harry let his face sink into his hands with a groan. "Mione's in danger, Draco, because of me. Dumbledore sent her to live with the Weasleys."
"And since when is she your girlfriend? Oh, wait, that's right, you were sharing her with Krum!" Draco said angrily.
Harry picked himself up, putting his glasses on, and faced Draco. "You bloody well know none of that was true! I'm only calling her my girlfriend when the Dursleys are around, just so they don't find out that I'll be receiving phone calls from a witch - they'd kill me if they knew what Hermione really was!"
Draco still glared at Harry, until Harry finally chuckled and said, "You're jealous, Malfoy, aren't you?"
The Slytherin's expression, if anything, only hardened. Harry smiled. "If it makes you feel better, Ron's not happy that Hermione's pretending to be my girlfriend either."
This seemed to take Draco's mind for a little ride. "You mean....the Mudblood and the Weasel are....? Ugh, those two, Merlin knows what their children would be like! Oh, I did *not* need to think about that!" He shuddered.
"Hey, those are my friends, Draco! How do you think I feel about Crabbe and Goyle reproducing?"
"Like I care?" Draco said, smiling at last, leaning forward to rest his head on Harry's shoulder. "You smell terrible, Potter."
"Thanks, knew I could count on you to make me feel better," Harry said in a mock-exasperated voice.
"Well, you do...I'm just being honest for a change. Are you going to hold that against me?" Draco murmured quietly.
The odd pair stood in silence for a moment, heads together, just basking in the feeling that being close to one another afforded them. Neither of them could ever have imagined this happening, and they were sure that they wouldn't the only ones once someone found out. It had taken both Harry and Draco a few days to get used to this new freedom that they had around each other, a few days filled with some fighting, but even now, though it remained unspoken, both had nightmarish delusions of what would happen when they returned to Hogwarts.
Would it be over, whatever there was? Would they keep it secret, live in the shadows, meet only by night? Or was Harry brave enough and charismatic enough to keep both of them alive with their little secret snogging sessions made public?
For now, getting through the summer was enough trouble. They both knew the time would come that they'd have to make one of those decisions. As Draco had said, they needed to do what the moment said, live it to its fullest, and worry about consequences later.
Sighing, Harry raised his head first and whispered, "Sorry, Master Malfoy, but I have to go cook your dinner, now."
His response was a firm kiss on the neck before the blonde unlocked the door and slid out, leaving a smiling Harry to finish washing up.
**
"You disappoint me once again. How can he have escaped your tight grasp so completely?"
"My Lord, I have searched with the utmost thoroughness, but neither I nor my spies can find him. He must be under the wing of that Mudblood-lover, Dumbledore."
"And you fear to interrogate one of Dumbledore's minions? You fear the patron of Mudbloods? The boy must be found and disposed of. He knows far too much." The voice was nothing more than a sibilant hiss.
"Yes, my Lord, I understand. Let me go now to the Ministry now, and I will begin to...pry information from Fudge."
"Very well. But...before you go..."
"Yes, my Lord?"
"CRUCIO!"
The world dissolved into a mass of pain, colors swirling, all black and blood-red, and Harry awoke with a shout.
Ignoring his glasses, his hands went first to the scar. It felt slightly swollen, though that could just be from the sweat beading on his face. He also felt shaky, as if his whole body yearned to collapse in trembling fits.
He sat up slowly, finally reaching for his glasses, and began to stare out at the moon, still fingering the lightening scar delicately. His thoughts roved endlessly, trying to make sense of the world at the moment, trying to hold onto the dream, trying to ignore the stinging on his forehead.
It had been a while since he'd gone to bed so early, usually going out with Draco till the wee hours of the morning. It had been a while since he'd had these dreams. It had been a while since he'd heard news of Voldemort's movements. All this was bothering him as the remaining fragments of the dream began to fade into oblivion.
Voldemort was still looking for Draco - that had to have been it, that had to have been what the dream was about. And if that dream was the truth, then Voldemort was looking for Draco to...to kill him.
That finalized it.
Harry slipped out from under the bed covers, treading carefully across his room, and lifted the lid of his trunk to get his Firebolt. With a silence to rival that of his snowy owl, he sailed out of his window. Circling Number Four from above like a hawk, he spotted Draco's open window, and just as sneakily as he'd left his own window, he entered this one.
His quarry was fast asleep, covers half-way thrown off as his chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm. His hair was no longer gelled back, and it played across Draco's face like a golden veil. Harry actually felt a pang of jealousy - *How does he look so bloody perfect all the time?*
His footsteps beat softly across the room to the bed, and he sat down gently on the edge, staring in a sort of trance at the sleeping blonde boy. Voldemort wanted to kill Draco? Because...because he knew too much. Because he knew for sure about Pettigrew. Because he knew what Crabbe and Goyle were. Because he called Voldemort, who was in truth a half-blood, a Mudblood to his face and had refused the Dark Order, denying the place in Voldemort's circle of Death Eaters that Draco had been assured of since his birth.
At the last thought, Harry allowed himself a small laugh. Only Draco Malfoy would do that. It was as if a bit of Gryffindor courage existed in the one who was sorted into Slytherin before the Hat had barely touched his head.
Taking his eyes off Draco, Harry instead gazed out of the open window. The curtains were now moving in a gentle breeze, and through them Harry could make out the moon in its last quarter. Lupin was probably recovering somewhere, possibly with Sirius. Sirius...would Sirius and Dumbledore's band of wizards and witches be able to counter Voldemort? Would they be able to protect the last Malfoy?
Once again, his eyes fell on the other boy, one whose breath was causing the strands of thread on his face to move around like the fluttering curtains. This boy...for so long, Harry's bane. For so short, Harry's bewilderment. How could one person be so complex? And now that Harry was beginning to understand that complexity....how was he going to explain it to the likes of Ron? And Hermione? How was he going to explain that he felt the need to defend the last Malfoy, the last in a long legacy, as if he were an endangered species?
Harry thought almost wistfully of his fights with Draco in the past. That an electricity between them existed all through the years, he had known. What were they to do with it now?
Three weeks. Harry laughed quietly, but there was a hint of bitterness in it. Three weeks and they hadn't killed each other, blown up the house, turned each other into ferrets, bounced each other around the room. Why had it taken them four years to figure out that they could be that way? That they could live in something quite reminiscent of peace and harmony, with a little bit of extra emotion thrown in? Why did it take Voldemort, the one who'd ripped apart so many families, to bring two boys of opposing families and Houses together in some sort of truce?
Did Harry have Voldemort to thank for his first kiss?
Drawing his feet up onto the bed, Harry hunched himself into a ball, arms wrapped around his legs, and went back to staring at the moon.
**
His feet were definitely warm. Almost burning with heat...did one of the house elves put a warming pan beneath the sheets for him last night? How extraordinarily caring. An odd quality in one of *their* house elves.
He sighed, reveling in the comfort of the moment - birdsong outside, slivers of sunlight sneaking under his eyelids, warm feet...Stretching, he opened his eyes to a new glorious day at the Manor...*Maybe Father'll let me into the Secret Chamber to practice curses again today...
But he was not in his ebony four-poster. And there were no warming pans at the foot this bed. Just one very scrunched-up Harry Potter.
Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Draco sat up and poked at the sleeping invader. Said invader simply groaned and scrunched into an even tighter ball. Losing patience, Malfoy pushed the ball without much exertion off the bed and onto the floor with a thud. There was the tinkling sound of breaking glass, and one loud, "OW!"
Harry raised himself off the floor, massaging his head gingerly with one hand, broken glasses dangling from one ear. "You bastard, you know I can barely see without these!!" he cried, pointing at his glasses with his free hand.
Draco smiled sweetly at him and said in a sugary-candy voice, "Oh, Potter, dear, I'm ever so sorry! I didn't realize that the mess at the foot of my Muggle bed was you." The smile was replaced by a death glare. "What the hell were you doing in my bed, Potter?! Missed me that much?"
"I wasn't in your bed, I was on it!" Harry protested lamely. "I came in here last night because...because I needed someplace to think...I think."
"Of course, Potter. What you mean to say is that you couldn't resist me at all, this handsome Slytherin, heir to the Malfoy fortune..." Draco's voice began to grow dreamy as he thought of himself.
Harry, now embarrassed and abashed, said insultingly, "Your mother Narcissa must have passed her narcissism onto you, Malfoy, if you think you're so wonderful."
Upon hearing this, Draco, who had been about to forgive Harry, became angry bordering on livid - his grey eyes were flashing dangerously. "I told you, Potter. You *never* insult my mother. Now get out."
Harry, blood boiling now, wasn't giving in without a fight. "Your mother! Where the hell was your mother when your own *father* and his bloody *friends* were torturing you? Didn't she care at all?!"
He had struck a chord - Malfoy looked away, not wanting Potter to see the defeat written all over Draco's fine face. Where had his mother been? Overseeing the house elves' preparation of food for her Master?
Harry, in an attempt to mend the situation quietly and without breaking bones, breathed, "I was in here because...I dreamt of Voldemort again. About you. You're in danger, Malfoy - we both are." He laughed again, not bothering to mask the bitterness that he'd been feeling since last night. "I never thought we'd ever be in the same boat. I always thought you'd be the one torturing me, that'd one of us would end up killing the other. And now look at us."
Draco, his back turned to Harry, whispered hoarsely, "You're right, Potter. I used to dream of what I'd like to do to you, once I was alone with you, just you, me, and wands. Then we'd see who was perfect. Then we'd see who was more deserving of the position of fame. Then we'd see who actually worked for that position. Then I'd have you, just you and I, and no one, not even Voldemort, in between."
Harry's eyes were opened widely. Draco...Draco was - jealous of him? Just like Ron...And Harry had never known.
Hesitantly, Harry reached out, laying a hand on Draco's shoulder tenderly. "You...Draco-"
It was shaken off with a simple, "I'm not a charity chase. Screw you, Potter."
Harry, clutching his Firebolt in one hand and his glasses in the other, fled out the door.
~~
I love reviews. They're something that keeps my attention glued to the computer with big watery eyes. Even when Inuyasha is on.
Thanks to everyone!! Hugs for all!!
WARNING: S-L-A-S-H spells *slash*.
And I really truly absitively posilutely don't own them! I just..."borrow" them.
Chapter Title - Yamerarenai (Unstoppable)
~~
He smiled and embraced her, thankful to see her whole and hale.
The past three weeks had been stressful on the Weasley family, as news articles in the Daily Prophet and reports on the Wizarding Wireless were now fearful and increasing towards panicky. Muggles and wizards alike were randomly disappearing, whether by foul play or by being enlisted in the Dark Lord's service, and no one could yet forget the image of the Dark Mark glittering maliciously over the house of Justin Finch-Fletchley three weeks ago.
Having gathered this from her own copy of the Daily Prophet and from her own rather vast knowledge about the Weasley family, Hermione beamed in love and appreciation at the flamed-haired Ron and the equally red-headed Weasleys standing around him - Molly, Ginny, Fred, and George - before turning to say one last goodbye to her parents as they all stood waiting in King's Cross Station.
Her parents hugged her to them, tears shining unchecked in Mrs. Granger's eyes, but they knew that this was for the best - Hermione would be much safer, much more protected, in the Weasley's care.
"Be careful, Princess. Don't worry about us, everything will be fine," Mrs. Granger cooed, strengthening her grasp on her daughter.
"Send letters, all the time. We'll write back, and maybe sometimes you can call us, all right, Princess? Just take care of yourself." Mr. Granger then turned to Molly Weasley. "Thank you so much for all of this, Mrs. Weasley. I don't...I just don't know how we can repay you."
"Oh, it's nothing, really, dear! Hermione is always such a pleasure to have at the house, and I'm sure," she continued, turning to scowl at her gaggle of children, "That her presence will at least encourage my lot to study a little more, get their homework done...."
Hermione broke away from her mother's embrace to laugh at the disgust scrawled all over the Weasley children's faces. With a last kiss on her mother's cheek, she picked up Crookshanks' basket and went to stand next to Ron, who already had her trunk on a trolley.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger, holding each other for support as they said their farewells to their only daughter and her friends, left with a last smile and wave to catch a return train while the Weasleys went outside to find a taxi.
Ron, leaning casually on the trolley, turned to Hermione as Mrs. Weasley waved her arm frantically to get the attention of a cab. "Princess?" **
Ginny sat on Ron's brilliantly orange bed, petting Crookshanks' upturned belly, listening as Hermione and Ron discussed Harry in tense whispers.
"I told you, Mione, I haven't heard from him except once. Hedwig turned up almost three weeks ago with his response, and it sounded....*weird*. It didn't sound like him. I sent Hedwig back with the food mum had gotten ready for him, and he hasn't written back or anything, not even a thank- you."
"What exactly did he say in the letter he did send? What was so odd about it, Ron?"
Ron pulled the letter out from his bedside drawer. "Well, it's not weird, exactly, but, like, here, look! He says 'we' about the Dark Mark. Surely his aunt and uncle wouldn't care if a wizard got it? They aren't exactly fond of us, so why would they be concerned?"
"They don't necessarily have to have been concerned, Ron, but they would notice something like that. They do, after all, know that our kind exists." Hermione said sensibly.
"Then what about this part, Mione? How he says we're not the only ones who'll be in trouble next year? I'm telling you, he's hiding something!" Ron shot back while waving the letter furiously.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "What could he possibly be hiding? Of course other people are going to be in trouble and upset next year! Just imagine Justin's friends - he's the second Hufflepuff to be killed already! And I'm sure that at the rate things are going already, he's not going to be the only Hogwarts student missing!"
"But Mione-"
"Look, Ron, maybe he is hiding things. Maybe he is depressed over Cedric's death. But all we can do is let him know that we're there for him. Did you even tell him that I was coming?"
"No, I haven't written to him - if he wants to be quiet, I didn't want to aggravate him," Ron said sulkily. "Besides, your being here is supposed to be secret, although I guess telling Harry isn't out of the question."
Hermione sat down on the bed, Crookshanks stretched out between herself and Ginny.
The now-fourteen-year-old Ginny looked slightly worried by all that had been brought forward, but said quietly, "I don't know if you should tell Harry. Hermione's a major target, because she's Muggle-born, and because she's Harry's friend, and that's why she's here. If you're worried about him being depressed over Cedric or something, do you really want that hanging over his head as well? Or even if you do tell him, what if the owl gets intercepted? Then people would know where Hermione's disappeared to."
Hermione and Ron exchanged nervous looks. Ginny was right, actually. What if someone did find out that Hermione was at the Weasleys' for the summer? The Weasleys were already under pressure, with their positions in the Ministry and their place in Dumbledore's network. Taking in Hermione was placing them in even greater danger. They couldn't risk putting that in writing. Unless...
"We could call, Ron. I've got his number listed down, and we can call him."
Ron grimaced. "The only time I ever did that, I got him in major trouble. Are you sure it'll work?"
Hermione gave him a please-do-notice-who-you're-talking-to look and said, "So, where's the nearest telephone?"
**
"Oh Brad, are you sure about this? Will you really be with me forever?"
"Of course, Clarice. Jennie will never come between us again, I swear."
"Then kiss me, love, and prove it to me...."
Draco yawned and changed the channel. These soap operas were just so annoying, all gushy love stories with only a tiny hint of Muggle mayhem, and that's all that ever seemed to be on during weekday afternoons.
Petunia swept into the living room with a plate of sliced oranges and a glass of lemonade, setting it on the coffee table in front of Draco. He smiled a sort of wobbly smirk at her, having gotten used to her obsession with him over the past three weeks since he'd arrived. Calmly, he reached for an orange, watching as she made her way back into the kitchen.
Glancing out the kitchen window, Draco could just make out a messy black head moving in and out of view as Harry mowed the lawn. His smirk widened as he gazed at the head of his...whatever-Potter-was-in-relation-to-him as it bobbed around the Dursley's backyard. Oh, he loved not having to work while Potter was!
Sipping the lemonade with the grace of a demigod, he went back to watching TV, though his mind was more fixed on the boy outside.
**
Pausing in his work to brush the mop of hair out of his eyes and off his glasses where it was plastered by sweat, Harry leaned over the lawnmower, wishing dearly the Dursleys' front and back lawns were large enough to warrant the use of one of those motorized mowers with the chairs. However, he supposed that even if the Dursleys did buy one of those, they wouldn't let Harry near it.
Taking off his glasses, Harry began to rub his eyes. Besides his nightly forays with Draco, he was visiting Mrs. Figg whenever he had spare time so she could watch him work with his power, and that was leaving him extremely tired.
At first Sirius had been there overseeing his progress, strangely silent (though Harry supposed this must have to do with his reluctance to let Harry study anything labeled a Dark Art). But Dumbledore's mission kept him on the run, so he had departed to alert everyone and anyone he could.
Occasionally Draco came with him to Mrs. Figg's, which for some reason made Harry feel better about the whole thing - quite apart from the fact that Harry was growing rather attached to his...his...what was Draco in relation to him anyway?
Just thinking the word "boyfriend" caused Harry to shake his head. Really, what had happened to them? Four weeks ago, they wouldn't have touched the other with a chain-length of broomsticks. And now, the only thing that kept them from being together for a large percentage of the time was the omnipresent Petunia.
It was as he was shaking his head that he heard it - the little voice.
"Scar-headed brat, always cutting the grass when I'm trying to sunbathe, covering my hole with nasty grass shavings. Humans are so senseless, inconsiderate...spawn of the earth...bite them, scare them, wriggle across their feet...."
Harry looked downward to see a small black grass snake slithering through the verge towards him. Letting go of the lawnmower, he knelt down and quietly whispered in his second language, "Hello."
The snake stopped only a few centimeters away from Harry's right foot. It raised its head, scrutinizing the face of the owner of the feet it wanted to savage. "It speaks Parseltongue, the scar-headed brat."
Harry smiled a little and hissed, "Yes, I do." He paused. "I'm sorry I disturbed your sunbathing. My aunt wants me to mow the lawn - I didn't mean for you to get upset. Will you show me where your hole is so that I can clear the grass from it?"
The snake turned itself around and cut a path through the grass towards the wall of the backyard. "This way, Scar-headed Brat."
Laughing, Harry said, "My name is Harry, by the way."
"Sounds the same as Scar-headed Brat."
**
These cartoons from Japan were pretty cool, he had to admit. Magic, fighting, just enough blood - perfect.
Draco was still watching TV when the phone rang. He heard Aunt Petunia pick up in the kitchen.
"Petunia Dursley speaking. May I ask who this is?"
Leaning on the couch so that he could see into the kitchen (Draco had never touched the telephone yet, and was keen to watch when someone was using it - though he made sure no one ever caught him watching, especially Harry), Draco saw Petunia's brow knit together in confusion. "You'd like to speak to...to Harry?" There was silence, and then she said, "I see. Let me call him."
Draco jumped up. "I'll go, Aunt Petunia. It's too hot outside - I don't want you getting sick or anything." He practically ran into the kitchen and out the door into the backyard.
The lawnmower was standing abandoned near the center of the yard, and Harry was to be seen crouched in a corner by the wall, muttering to himself. It was as Draco got closer that he caught a few words of what Harry was saying, and he realized he couldn't understand an ounce of it.
Draco watched interestedly as Harry brushed bits of cut grass away from the corner of the wall. And then, he saw the snake as it raised its head high enough that its forked tongue was able to flick out over Harry's knee in a sort of serpentine kiss. Draco chuckled, and Harry turned around in surprise, but he's eyes glowed brightly when recognition clicked in.
"Tell it that it needs my permission if it's going to do that again, Potter," Draco said slyly. Harry smiled and whispered something to the snake, which hissed before it turned and slid into its hole.
"What did it say?" Draco asked.
"Well, Mr. Possessive Prat, *she* said that if you threatened her again she'd do something with your broomstick not intended to be done by the manufacturers."
Smiling, Draco said, "Ah, a bold threat from a tiny garden snake. Anyways, I came to tell you that you've got a phone call. Hurry up, they're waiting for you."
Thoroughly confused, Harry followed Draco into the kitchen. Aunt Petunia scowled at him and pointed towards the phone. "You met a girl at the park yesterday? That's what she said. Who'd want to talk to you?"
After saying that, she stalked back out to the patio. Draco took her seat at the kitchen table.
Not having a clue what Aunt Petunia was talking about, Harry picked up the phone cautiously. "Hello?"
Even Draco heard Hermione squeal, "HARRY!!" with the force and decibel volume of a Howler. Harry quite clearly heard the whispered curse of "Mudblood", but was more concerned with talking to Hermione than he was with teaching Draco proper behavior.
"What - how...Mione, it's great to hear from you! What have you been up to?"
It was then that Harry heard Ron's voice in the background, saying something in an anxious tone. Hermione ignored him and said, "Oh, Harry, we've been so worried about you! You haven't written to us or anything! Are you all right? And who's there with you? Someone said something to your aunt before you got on, and it didn't sound like your cousin."
Harry nervously glanced at Draco, mouthing, "She suspects!" Draco began to scowl.
In answer to Hermione's question, he said, "Oh, that really was just my cousin. No problems here. And don't worry, I'm totally fine. What're you doing at Ron's? You-nothing's happened to your family, has it?"
Hermione's voice became serious. "That's what we called to tell you. I'm staying at the Weasleys' at Professor Dumbledore's insistence. He thinks....oh, Harry, he thinks I'm a major target because I'm your friend, so he wanted me somewhere safe."
Harry felt something cold slip into his stomach. Hermione was in danger, not only because she was Muggle-born...she was in danger because of him. Trying to keep his fear and anxiety out of his voice, Harry said, "What about going to Bulgaria? And why didn't you send Pig?"
"We didn't want to owl you, in case the letter was intercepted, and this was the only way I could think of talking to you. I told your aunt that we had met in the park yesterday, just so you know. You can pretend I'm your girlfriend for the summer, so Ron and I can keep in touch with you."
In the background, Harry heard Ron make some noise of protest, but Hermione silenced him with a "Shhh!"
"And about Bulgaria...I'd been too much in the open, wouldn't I, living in the house of a famous Quidditch player"
Personally, Harry could tell that Hermione wasn't being entirely truthful about her staying away from Krum. However, he also felt that Draco was going to be pissed finding out that Hermione was going to be his girlfriend for the summer. He glanced at the object of his thoughts and smiled weakly. Slytherin's Pride had not stopped scowling. Suddenly, Hermione called him back.
"Harry? I...we just want to know if you're Ok. I-Ron!"
Ron's voice took full supremacy over the speaker with a yelled "I know what I'm doing, Mione!" before it lowered and said to Harry, "Mate, listen, we're worried about you. You haven't written at all, and with all this You- Know-Who stuff, we're wondering what's up. Are you sure you're safe? If you want, you can always come here, really. Ginny wouldn't mind, she's loads better lately!"
Rolling his eyes, Harry tried to calm his friend down. "Ron, really, it's Ok. I told you, I've got more than enough protection, and there are people around who care. I've even seen Snuffles - he checks in on me every once in a while. And while I'm sorry that I can't impress Ginny with my wonderful persona, tell her I said 'Hi'."
Unbeknownst to Harry, Draco's scowl had just deepened.
In what he hoped was a convincing, puppy-dog voice, Ron said, "Are you sure you won't come?"
"Dumbledore has his reasons for keeping me here, and I don't see any reason to not trust his judgment. I'm actually perfectly happy right now. Really, I am," he said forcibly as Ron began to protest.
Hermione's voice took charge once again. "Are you sure, Harry?"
"Very sure, sweetheart," he teased. Draco hissed warningly, and Harry turned to smirk at him.
"Hate to tell ya, Mione, but I've gotta get back to the lawn I was mowing, and to Moemi."
"Who?" Hermione paused for a minute, and then said slowly, "Oh, I see, Harry - you...you really are seeing someone! You've got a GIRLFRIEND!" she called shrilly. There was some muffled exclamation from Ron in the background, and Harry distinctly heard Draco choke somewhere behind him.
Harry just laughed at the humor of the situation and said, "Maybe. But no, Moemi is the garden snake I was just talking to when you called."
"All right, Harry, keep your secrets, and keep in touch. You can owl us, but just don't mention my name in the letter. Call me...Bubbles, or something, like we do for Snuffles," Hermione said, sounding slightly skeptical of her own idea.
"Sure thing, Bubbles," Harry teased. With a last goodbye to both of his best friends, he hung up the phone and turned to Draco.
His mouth was opening, ready to berate Harry, when Aunt Petunia came in from the patio. Disdainfully, she said, "Who was that?"
Winking at Draco, and smirking still, Harry said cheerfully, "Oh, that was just my girlfriend, Bubbles. She told you, we met at the park yesterday."
Aunt Petunia's mouth was open in disbelief. Obviously, she had never considered what would happen should her nephew choose to procreate, and the fact that he was already getting girlfriends while he was still living in her house was not comfortable - and that was besides what would happen if this....this slut (as she must be if she was interested in the boy) of a girl, Bubbles or whatever, found out what Harry was, and told the neighbors, and what the neighbors would say...
Harry, not noticing the battle being fought in Aunt Petunia's mind, strolled to the door and went back to mowing the lawn, careful to avoid Moemi's hole.
**
Hermione and Ron walked together up the road from the village post office.
"Do you believe him?" Ron said quietly.
"I don't know, Ron, I really don't know."
"What should we do? Kidnap him or something?" he joked.
Hermione glowered at her friend. "That's not funny, Ron! We...there's nothing for us to do but to trust him."
"Well, he isn't alone, if Black has been checking in on him. And, damn it, he got a girlfriend before me!" Ron snarled, kicking a small stone out of his path like a football.
Hermione shot Ron a look of pure frustration, but after counting to ten and rolling her eyes, she said, "Yes, yes, maybe he has...but he's still...oh, you were right for once, he is hiding something."
"Hey!" Ron said indignantly, but he quieted when Hermione slipped her hand into his with a squeeze and began to pull him up the road.
"Come on, we've got to tell your mother and Ginny that he's all right."
"But he's not all right, Mione! We...we have to form a rescue party or something!"
"Ron, there's nothing we can do without Dumbledore's permission! We just have to trust him, and stay safe ourselves. Come on, we can send Pig to him now!"
She broke into a run, dragging the much taller red-head behind her up the dusty dirt road towards the Burrow.
**
He stared at his reflection in the mirror. How could he have lied to Ron and Hermione? He had no problem lying to Aunt Petunia about his so-called little girlfriend Bubbles, but...this was different. They were his best friends, and he couldn't tell them anything.
Harry took off his glasses and bent over the bathroom sink, splashing water over his face. What had he been thinking? And the worst part was that...he hadn't felt guilty over the phone - the lying bit came almost naturally then. It was now, now that it was later, that his misgivings were settling in. The water gently running down his face and onto his neck wasn't helping to wash these feelings away at all.
And Hermione...it was all his fault. She'd been forced to go into hiding, all because of Harry. And yet, she'd sounded so happy. How could she not care that she was in danger? She'd been more concerned about Harry than about her own life.
He heard the door open and shut, the lock clicking, and when he looked up, he could see in the mirror the blurry form of a thin blonde boy standing behind him.
"What was that little phone call about, Potter? Bubbles, you say?"
Elbows resting on the sink, Harry let his face sink into his hands with a groan. "Mione's in danger, Draco, because of me. Dumbledore sent her to live with the Weasleys."
"And since when is she your girlfriend? Oh, wait, that's right, you were sharing her with Krum!" Draco said angrily.
Harry picked himself up, putting his glasses on, and faced Draco. "You bloody well know none of that was true! I'm only calling her my girlfriend when the Dursleys are around, just so they don't find out that I'll be receiving phone calls from a witch - they'd kill me if they knew what Hermione really was!"
Draco still glared at Harry, until Harry finally chuckled and said, "You're jealous, Malfoy, aren't you?"
The Slytherin's expression, if anything, only hardened. Harry smiled. "If it makes you feel better, Ron's not happy that Hermione's pretending to be my girlfriend either."
This seemed to take Draco's mind for a little ride. "You mean....the Mudblood and the Weasel are....? Ugh, those two, Merlin knows what their children would be like! Oh, I did *not* need to think about that!" He shuddered.
"Hey, those are my friends, Draco! How do you think I feel about Crabbe and Goyle reproducing?"
"Like I care?" Draco said, smiling at last, leaning forward to rest his head on Harry's shoulder. "You smell terrible, Potter."
"Thanks, knew I could count on you to make me feel better," Harry said in a mock-exasperated voice.
"Well, you do...I'm just being honest for a change. Are you going to hold that against me?" Draco murmured quietly.
The odd pair stood in silence for a moment, heads together, just basking in the feeling that being close to one another afforded them. Neither of them could ever have imagined this happening, and they were sure that they wouldn't the only ones once someone found out. It had taken both Harry and Draco a few days to get used to this new freedom that they had around each other, a few days filled with some fighting, but even now, though it remained unspoken, both had nightmarish delusions of what would happen when they returned to Hogwarts.
Would it be over, whatever there was? Would they keep it secret, live in the shadows, meet only by night? Or was Harry brave enough and charismatic enough to keep both of them alive with their little secret snogging sessions made public?
For now, getting through the summer was enough trouble. They both knew the time would come that they'd have to make one of those decisions. As Draco had said, they needed to do what the moment said, live it to its fullest, and worry about consequences later.
Sighing, Harry raised his head first and whispered, "Sorry, Master Malfoy, but I have to go cook your dinner, now."
His response was a firm kiss on the neck before the blonde unlocked the door and slid out, leaving a smiling Harry to finish washing up.
**
"You disappoint me once again. How can he have escaped your tight grasp so completely?"
"My Lord, I have searched with the utmost thoroughness, but neither I nor my spies can find him. He must be under the wing of that Mudblood-lover, Dumbledore."
"And you fear to interrogate one of Dumbledore's minions? You fear the patron of Mudbloods? The boy must be found and disposed of. He knows far too much." The voice was nothing more than a sibilant hiss.
"Yes, my Lord, I understand. Let me go now to the Ministry now, and I will begin to...pry information from Fudge."
"Very well. But...before you go..."
"Yes, my Lord?"
"CRUCIO!"
The world dissolved into a mass of pain, colors swirling, all black and blood-red, and Harry awoke with a shout.
Ignoring his glasses, his hands went first to the scar. It felt slightly swollen, though that could just be from the sweat beading on his face. He also felt shaky, as if his whole body yearned to collapse in trembling fits.
He sat up slowly, finally reaching for his glasses, and began to stare out at the moon, still fingering the lightening scar delicately. His thoughts roved endlessly, trying to make sense of the world at the moment, trying to hold onto the dream, trying to ignore the stinging on his forehead.
It had been a while since he'd gone to bed so early, usually going out with Draco till the wee hours of the morning. It had been a while since he'd had these dreams. It had been a while since he'd heard news of Voldemort's movements. All this was bothering him as the remaining fragments of the dream began to fade into oblivion.
Voldemort was still looking for Draco - that had to have been it, that had to have been what the dream was about. And if that dream was the truth, then Voldemort was looking for Draco to...to kill him.
That finalized it.
Harry slipped out from under the bed covers, treading carefully across his room, and lifted the lid of his trunk to get his Firebolt. With a silence to rival that of his snowy owl, he sailed out of his window. Circling Number Four from above like a hawk, he spotted Draco's open window, and just as sneakily as he'd left his own window, he entered this one.
His quarry was fast asleep, covers half-way thrown off as his chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm. His hair was no longer gelled back, and it played across Draco's face like a golden veil. Harry actually felt a pang of jealousy - *How does he look so bloody perfect all the time?*
His footsteps beat softly across the room to the bed, and he sat down gently on the edge, staring in a sort of trance at the sleeping blonde boy. Voldemort wanted to kill Draco? Because...because he knew too much. Because he knew for sure about Pettigrew. Because he knew what Crabbe and Goyle were. Because he called Voldemort, who was in truth a half-blood, a Mudblood to his face and had refused the Dark Order, denying the place in Voldemort's circle of Death Eaters that Draco had been assured of since his birth.
At the last thought, Harry allowed himself a small laugh. Only Draco Malfoy would do that. It was as if a bit of Gryffindor courage existed in the one who was sorted into Slytherin before the Hat had barely touched his head.
Taking his eyes off Draco, Harry instead gazed out of the open window. The curtains were now moving in a gentle breeze, and through them Harry could make out the moon in its last quarter. Lupin was probably recovering somewhere, possibly with Sirius. Sirius...would Sirius and Dumbledore's band of wizards and witches be able to counter Voldemort? Would they be able to protect the last Malfoy?
Once again, his eyes fell on the other boy, one whose breath was causing the strands of thread on his face to move around like the fluttering curtains. This boy...for so long, Harry's bane. For so short, Harry's bewilderment. How could one person be so complex? And now that Harry was beginning to understand that complexity....how was he going to explain it to the likes of Ron? And Hermione? How was he going to explain that he felt the need to defend the last Malfoy, the last in a long legacy, as if he were an endangered species?
Harry thought almost wistfully of his fights with Draco in the past. That an electricity between them existed all through the years, he had known. What were they to do with it now?
Three weeks. Harry laughed quietly, but there was a hint of bitterness in it. Three weeks and they hadn't killed each other, blown up the house, turned each other into ferrets, bounced each other around the room. Why had it taken them four years to figure out that they could be that way? That they could live in something quite reminiscent of peace and harmony, with a little bit of extra emotion thrown in? Why did it take Voldemort, the one who'd ripped apart so many families, to bring two boys of opposing families and Houses together in some sort of truce?
Did Harry have Voldemort to thank for his first kiss?
Drawing his feet up onto the bed, Harry hunched himself into a ball, arms wrapped around his legs, and went back to staring at the moon.
**
His feet were definitely warm. Almost burning with heat...did one of the house elves put a warming pan beneath the sheets for him last night? How extraordinarily caring. An odd quality in one of *their* house elves.
He sighed, reveling in the comfort of the moment - birdsong outside, slivers of sunlight sneaking under his eyelids, warm feet...Stretching, he opened his eyes to a new glorious day at the Manor...*Maybe Father'll let me into the Secret Chamber to practice curses again today...
But he was not in his ebony four-poster. And there were no warming pans at the foot this bed. Just one very scrunched-up Harry Potter.
Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Draco sat up and poked at the sleeping invader. Said invader simply groaned and scrunched into an even tighter ball. Losing patience, Malfoy pushed the ball without much exertion off the bed and onto the floor with a thud. There was the tinkling sound of breaking glass, and one loud, "OW!"
Harry raised himself off the floor, massaging his head gingerly with one hand, broken glasses dangling from one ear. "You bastard, you know I can barely see without these!!" he cried, pointing at his glasses with his free hand.
Draco smiled sweetly at him and said in a sugary-candy voice, "Oh, Potter, dear, I'm ever so sorry! I didn't realize that the mess at the foot of my Muggle bed was you." The smile was replaced by a death glare. "What the hell were you doing in my bed, Potter?! Missed me that much?"
"I wasn't in your bed, I was on it!" Harry protested lamely. "I came in here last night because...because I needed someplace to think...I think."
"Of course, Potter. What you mean to say is that you couldn't resist me at all, this handsome Slytherin, heir to the Malfoy fortune..." Draco's voice began to grow dreamy as he thought of himself.
Harry, now embarrassed and abashed, said insultingly, "Your mother Narcissa must have passed her narcissism onto you, Malfoy, if you think you're so wonderful."
Upon hearing this, Draco, who had been about to forgive Harry, became angry bordering on livid - his grey eyes were flashing dangerously. "I told you, Potter. You *never* insult my mother. Now get out."
Harry, blood boiling now, wasn't giving in without a fight. "Your mother! Where the hell was your mother when your own *father* and his bloody *friends* were torturing you? Didn't she care at all?!"
He had struck a chord - Malfoy looked away, not wanting Potter to see the defeat written all over Draco's fine face. Where had his mother been? Overseeing the house elves' preparation of food for her Master?
Harry, in an attempt to mend the situation quietly and without breaking bones, breathed, "I was in here because...I dreamt of Voldemort again. About you. You're in danger, Malfoy - we both are." He laughed again, not bothering to mask the bitterness that he'd been feeling since last night. "I never thought we'd ever be in the same boat. I always thought you'd be the one torturing me, that'd one of us would end up killing the other. And now look at us."
Draco, his back turned to Harry, whispered hoarsely, "You're right, Potter. I used to dream of what I'd like to do to you, once I was alone with you, just you, me, and wands. Then we'd see who was perfect. Then we'd see who was more deserving of the position of fame. Then we'd see who actually worked for that position. Then I'd have you, just you and I, and no one, not even Voldemort, in between."
Harry's eyes were opened widely. Draco...Draco was - jealous of him? Just like Ron...And Harry had never known.
Hesitantly, Harry reached out, laying a hand on Draco's shoulder tenderly. "You...Draco-"
It was shaken off with a simple, "I'm not a charity chase. Screw you, Potter."
Harry, clutching his Firebolt in one hand and his glasses in the other, fled out the door.
~~
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