First things first: Thank you, everyone, who reviewed part one! I really appreciate it. I'd be forever grateful if you kept up with the reviewing, because truthfully, I could use the ego boost. :)
* * *
Skin stretches. It strains taut over flesh, and when it's cut, skin eases back. Wounds smile at Draco as he gazes down at the woman's body. He doesn't know her; doesn't know her history, identity or fate. There is no gore. He wonders where the blood went; the cuts gape cleanly, exposing red muscle beneath, and only a clear liquid seeps from the body.
Wakefulness eased over him like a tide. The first thing Draco did was grab for his quill. The second, reach into his pillowcase and draw out the journal Harry had given him. In the bland, slightly incohesive language of his groggy mind, he recorded the dream while every detail in his memory was fresh. When he finished, he shut his eyes and held the image in his mind, concentrating. "Actuare," he whispered, tapping his wand to the page. Instantly, the words reformed and reshaped into the sliced woman, lying lifeless, her wounds spilling glassy fluid.
Draco closed the journal and slipped it back in his pillowcase. Dim violet light was filtering through the window; only twilight, Draco reasoned. He would fall back asleep and wake refreshed in time for breakfast. His sleep would be dreamless.
* * *
In the corridor near Advanced Charms, Potter and his stooges caught up with him. "Well you look chipper," he snorted, eyeing Draco. "Of course, you've bought your Potions grade already, so there's no need for you to lose sleep studying, is there?
"You really shouldn't throw a tantrum each time you fail to get something handed to you on a platter, Miracleboy. It's unflattering." Draco looked down his nose at Harry and smirked. "And for your information, Potter, I slept like the dead."
For a moment, Harry's face cracked and Draco saw a small but genuine smile directed at him. He was about to return the smile, when Weasel broke in: "Too bad you didn't mean that literally, Ferret."
The moment was ruined. Draco hardened his face and narrowed his eyes at Weasley. Oh, how he wanted to insult the Weasel's heritage, his foul-blooded girlfriend, the inevitable litter of half-breed children they'd inflict on the world...
He just couldn't. Not with Potter's soft eyes of a moment ago still ripe in his memory. Draco stepped away and stated, "I'm done wasting my time with you lot. I'm due in History of Magic - my friends are waiting for me."
Weasel seemed disappointed when Draco left without continuing the spat. "Well..." Draco was walking away by now. Weasley's voice was becoming just another in the crowd. "Tell Tweedle-Dim and Tweedle-Dimmer that we said hi!"
"That was weak, Ron," Hermione said, her voice full of laughter and accompanied by a playful slap.
Draco just rolled his eyes. How did Potter put up with them? He was decent enough without his cronies around. If only Potter would drop his crass and unpleasant friends, Draco could, perhaps, associate civilly with him in public
* * *
It was the second time they'd met with each other after school hours. There hadn't been an arranged rendezvous; the boys had simply drifted back to the Advanced Muggle Literature classroom around one in the morning, same as they'd done days earlier.
Harry was seated on the floor, slumped against the wall. He'd left his invisibility cloak in the dorm and instead had his school robes draped over his lap like a blanket. There was a casual atmosphere to the room, charged through with a slight uneasy feeling. Harry and Draco both seemed uncomfortable with the puzzling situation they'd walked into.
Finally, after pacing awkwardly around, Draco sat on the floor beside Harry. "This is bizarre, don't you think? Just... completely bizarre."
"Why're you here?" Harry paused, reconsidered his question. "Why did you actually want to see me?"
Draco snorted. He scowled as he turned toward the other boy. "I see. I need an excuse."
He shrugged. "Actually, I figured that since your social circle is composed of sycophants, having a chat with your adversary would be a nice diversion."
The scowl turned into a smirk. "Mmm." Draco held Potter's eyes, a knowing expression on his face.
"What?"
"Just listen to yourself, Potter. You're an open book! You're an open ...howler of a book."
Harry still seemed a bit lost, and Draco gave a dramatic sigh. "Look. You asked why I came to see you, then said it was because I wanted the novelty of a visit with my adversary." At Harry's nod, he continued. "You mentioned I took company with sycophants. I shan't be defensive because I've no need to. You, on the other hand, are the one of us that winds up in the gossip columns of the Daily Prophet. You constantly have Creeveys following you around, the teachers kissing your arse, free sweets from Honeydukes, all because of..."
"...who I am," he finished. Damn Draco and his insightfulness.
Looking smug, Draco tossed his hair back. "So. Now I know why you came. How did you know I would be here?"
Harry just shrugged. "I didn't know. Only hoped." Then, he clenched his hands in his lap, wringing them nervously. "Only, I was concerned still. I didn't particularly want to see you, just... Gryffindor bravery, loyalty and all that. I meant, earlier, when I asked about you..."
"When you ambushed me with Weasel and the Frizzball," Draco interjected.
Harry couldn't help himself, and laughed. Nodding, he said, "I know I sounded harsh, but I truly was concerned when I asked. Oh, you brought your journal. May I see it?" Harry snatched it from Draco without waiting for a response.
He leaned back, drawing his knees to his chest and hugging his legs to himself. Potter was fingering through the few entries he'd made in the book, and Draco watched him closely. Sure, he'd had a shameful Potter-involved entry or two in there, but he'd seen worse in Potter's own journal.
It dawned on him then - that's why he felt so secure, alone with Potter. Neither had anything to gain by putting on pretenses. Both knew embarrassing secrets about the other, secrets that couldn't be shared without divulging harmful information about himself. They were mutually, grudgingly fond of each other, alone in the empty classroom, but not truly friends. It was genuine, comfortable.
"Oh look," Harry grinned, gesturing at the page. "There I am!"
It's not like he could help it. He was always thinking of Potter... not often in a kindly way, of course, but his unconscious didn't seem to care about the context. Draco coughed softly. "Maybe once or twice, I've dreamt of you." He shifted his weight toward the other boy and smiled, hesitant but suggestive. "Course, I've got this feeling that mine are truly tame beside yours."
Harry's eyes rose from the page, and he slowly closed the book. Intensely green and tenuously narrowed, Draco was paralyzed by the gaze. "I'll lend you my journal sometime," Harry remarked, "Let you decide that for yourself." His voice was lower than Draco had ever heard it, as close to a purr as a non-animagus could get. Speechless, Draco simply nodded in response.
Harry sucked in a quick breath and shifted his eyes back to the closed book on his lap. Whatever had possessed him a moment before seemed to have left, and he stated, "You'll have to give me yours, too. As collateral."
Clearing his throat, Draco forced his focus back on reality. "Understood," he replied.
He found his gaze drawn to Harry's hands, resting still on top of his journal. "You shouldn't do that," he said, gesturing at Harry's raw, chewed fingernails.
"Habit," he shrugged.
It didn't seem a weird thing to do, at that moment. Draco gently lifted one of Harry's hands to eye level and studied it. Harry's fingers were dark and rough against Draco's smooth white palm. The fingertips were pink and raw, the skin around the nails chewed as brutally as the nails themselves. "You've no idea what sorts of bacteria you carry in your mouth." Draco ran one of his own soft, pale digits over Harry's fingertip. "The skin's broken, and that bacteria will leak right in."
"Maybe, but at least I've spread my germs to you now," Harry teased, blushing and shifting unconsciously toward Draco. He let his palm slide against the Slytherin's, before slowly pulling it away. "We ought to be getting back."
Draco nodded. He rose to his feet after a moment of hesitation. Harry followed, bunching up his school robes and hugging them against his chest as he walked to the door. "Sweet dreams, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, handing Draco his journal.
Draco gripped the journal tightly. "You too... and do watch for Mrs Norris." They both loitered in the doorway. Restlessly, Draco kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His sweaty hands stuck to the cover of his journal. "Potter..."
"Yes?" Harry was rigid, and looked at Draco expectantly. His arms were constricted tight around the lump of robes he clutched.
Draco shut his eyes and pressed a muted kiss to Harry's mouth. Closed-lipped and somewhat awkward, it lasted just long enough for Harry to close his eyes and briefly press back.
Draco smirked. He backed away, hands in his pockets, as Harry stood looking confused. "Well, goodnight Potter." He gave a quick wave, turned, and sauntered off down the corridor.
It occured to Draco as he walked (on clouds, with sparks of electricity around his mouth) just how unfair it was of Potter to make him move first. Where was that famous Gryffindor bravery?
* * *
* * *
Skin stretches. It strains taut over flesh, and when it's cut, skin eases back. Wounds smile at Draco as he gazes down at the woman's body. He doesn't know her; doesn't know her history, identity or fate. There is no gore. He wonders where the blood went; the cuts gape cleanly, exposing red muscle beneath, and only a clear liquid seeps from the body.
Wakefulness eased over him like a tide. The first thing Draco did was grab for his quill. The second, reach into his pillowcase and draw out the journal Harry had given him. In the bland, slightly incohesive language of his groggy mind, he recorded the dream while every detail in his memory was fresh. When he finished, he shut his eyes and held the image in his mind, concentrating. "Actuare," he whispered, tapping his wand to the page. Instantly, the words reformed and reshaped into the sliced woman, lying lifeless, her wounds spilling glassy fluid.
Draco closed the journal and slipped it back in his pillowcase. Dim violet light was filtering through the window; only twilight, Draco reasoned. He would fall back asleep and wake refreshed in time for breakfast. His sleep would be dreamless.
* * *
In the corridor near Advanced Charms, Potter and his stooges caught up with him. "Well you look chipper," he snorted, eyeing Draco. "Of course, you've bought your Potions grade already, so there's no need for you to lose sleep studying, is there?
"You really shouldn't throw a tantrum each time you fail to get something handed to you on a platter, Miracleboy. It's unflattering." Draco looked down his nose at Harry and smirked. "And for your information, Potter, I slept like the dead."
For a moment, Harry's face cracked and Draco saw a small but genuine smile directed at him. He was about to return the smile, when Weasel broke in: "Too bad you didn't mean that literally, Ferret."
The moment was ruined. Draco hardened his face and narrowed his eyes at Weasley. Oh, how he wanted to insult the Weasel's heritage, his foul-blooded girlfriend, the inevitable litter of half-breed children they'd inflict on the world...
He just couldn't. Not with Potter's soft eyes of a moment ago still ripe in his memory. Draco stepped away and stated, "I'm done wasting my time with you lot. I'm due in History of Magic - my friends are waiting for me."
Weasel seemed disappointed when Draco left without continuing the spat. "Well..." Draco was walking away by now. Weasley's voice was becoming just another in the crowd. "Tell Tweedle-Dim and Tweedle-Dimmer that we said hi!"
"That was weak, Ron," Hermione said, her voice full of laughter and accompanied by a playful slap.
Draco just rolled his eyes. How did Potter put up with them? He was decent enough without his cronies around. If only Potter would drop his crass and unpleasant friends, Draco could, perhaps, associate civilly with him in public
* * *
It was the second time they'd met with each other after school hours. There hadn't been an arranged rendezvous; the boys had simply drifted back to the Advanced Muggle Literature classroom around one in the morning, same as they'd done days earlier.
Harry was seated on the floor, slumped against the wall. He'd left his invisibility cloak in the dorm and instead had his school robes draped over his lap like a blanket. There was a casual atmosphere to the room, charged through with a slight uneasy feeling. Harry and Draco both seemed uncomfortable with the puzzling situation they'd walked into.
Finally, after pacing awkwardly around, Draco sat on the floor beside Harry. "This is bizarre, don't you think? Just... completely bizarre."
"Why're you here?" Harry paused, reconsidered his question. "Why did you actually want to see me?"
Draco snorted. He scowled as he turned toward the other boy. "I see. I need an excuse."
He shrugged. "Actually, I figured that since your social circle is composed of sycophants, having a chat with your adversary would be a nice diversion."
The scowl turned into a smirk. "Mmm." Draco held Potter's eyes, a knowing expression on his face.
"What?"
"Just listen to yourself, Potter. You're an open book! You're an open ...howler of a book."
Harry still seemed a bit lost, and Draco gave a dramatic sigh. "Look. You asked why I came to see you, then said it was because I wanted the novelty of a visit with my adversary." At Harry's nod, he continued. "You mentioned I took company with sycophants. I shan't be defensive because I've no need to. You, on the other hand, are the one of us that winds up in the gossip columns of the Daily Prophet. You constantly have Creeveys following you around, the teachers kissing your arse, free sweets from Honeydukes, all because of..."
"...who I am," he finished. Damn Draco and his insightfulness.
Looking smug, Draco tossed his hair back. "So. Now I know why you came. How did you know I would be here?"
Harry just shrugged. "I didn't know. Only hoped." Then, he clenched his hands in his lap, wringing them nervously. "Only, I was concerned still. I didn't particularly want to see you, just... Gryffindor bravery, loyalty and all that. I meant, earlier, when I asked about you..."
"When you ambushed me with Weasel and the Frizzball," Draco interjected.
Harry couldn't help himself, and laughed. Nodding, he said, "I know I sounded harsh, but I truly was concerned when I asked. Oh, you brought your journal. May I see it?" Harry snatched it from Draco without waiting for a response.
He leaned back, drawing his knees to his chest and hugging his legs to himself. Potter was fingering through the few entries he'd made in the book, and Draco watched him closely. Sure, he'd had a shameful Potter-involved entry or two in there, but he'd seen worse in Potter's own journal.
It dawned on him then - that's why he felt so secure, alone with Potter. Neither had anything to gain by putting on pretenses. Both knew embarrassing secrets about the other, secrets that couldn't be shared without divulging harmful information about himself. They were mutually, grudgingly fond of each other, alone in the empty classroom, but not truly friends. It was genuine, comfortable.
"Oh look," Harry grinned, gesturing at the page. "There I am!"
It's not like he could help it. He was always thinking of Potter... not often in a kindly way, of course, but his unconscious didn't seem to care about the context. Draco coughed softly. "Maybe once or twice, I've dreamt of you." He shifted his weight toward the other boy and smiled, hesitant but suggestive. "Course, I've got this feeling that mine are truly tame beside yours."
Harry's eyes rose from the page, and he slowly closed the book. Intensely green and tenuously narrowed, Draco was paralyzed by the gaze. "I'll lend you my journal sometime," Harry remarked, "Let you decide that for yourself." His voice was lower than Draco had ever heard it, as close to a purr as a non-animagus could get. Speechless, Draco simply nodded in response.
Harry sucked in a quick breath and shifted his eyes back to the closed book on his lap. Whatever had possessed him a moment before seemed to have left, and he stated, "You'll have to give me yours, too. As collateral."
Clearing his throat, Draco forced his focus back on reality. "Understood," he replied.
He found his gaze drawn to Harry's hands, resting still on top of his journal. "You shouldn't do that," he said, gesturing at Harry's raw, chewed fingernails.
"Habit," he shrugged.
It didn't seem a weird thing to do, at that moment. Draco gently lifted one of Harry's hands to eye level and studied it. Harry's fingers were dark and rough against Draco's smooth white palm. The fingertips were pink and raw, the skin around the nails chewed as brutally as the nails themselves. "You've no idea what sorts of bacteria you carry in your mouth." Draco ran one of his own soft, pale digits over Harry's fingertip. "The skin's broken, and that bacteria will leak right in."
"Maybe, but at least I've spread my germs to you now," Harry teased, blushing and shifting unconsciously toward Draco. He let his palm slide against the Slytherin's, before slowly pulling it away. "We ought to be getting back."
Draco nodded. He rose to his feet after a moment of hesitation. Harry followed, bunching up his school robes and hugging them against his chest as he walked to the door. "Sweet dreams, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, handing Draco his journal.
Draco gripped the journal tightly. "You too... and do watch for Mrs Norris." They both loitered in the doorway. Restlessly, Draco kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His sweaty hands stuck to the cover of his journal. "Potter..."
"Yes?" Harry was rigid, and looked at Draco expectantly. His arms were constricted tight around the lump of robes he clutched.
Draco shut his eyes and pressed a muted kiss to Harry's mouth. Closed-lipped and somewhat awkward, it lasted just long enough for Harry to close his eyes and briefly press back.
Draco smirked. He backed away, hands in his pockets, as Harry stood looking confused. "Well, goodnight Potter." He gave a quick wave, turned, and sauntered off down the corridor.
It occured to Draco as he walked (on clouds, with sparks of electricity around his mouth) just how unfair it was of Potter to make him move first. Where was that famous Gryffindor bravery?
* * *
