Chapter 5: Awakening

The Great Hall; December 1997; about 11 PM

Harry found the light soft and hazy. The falling snow obscured the moonlight as it slid through the sweeping ceiling of the Great Hall, and it seemed oddly ironic that they should be caught here amid it all.

"Potter." It was a question formed into a statement by the vacant nature of Draco's voice.

"What, Malfoy?"

"Is there a scar, there- around your finger?"

Harry looked up at the Slytherin while stroking the base of his index finger. A smooth, white line ringed the flesh there. "Yes."

"Oh."

The ribbon.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Great Hall; September 20, 1997; about 12:15 PM

"Come with me, Potter."

Harry glanced up to find Professor Snape standing just behind him. "Where, Professor?"

"You must talk to me, privately," he replied. There was no disobeying such direct orders; Harry stood up slowly, ignoring the looks of anxious consolation he received. Following Snape, Harry exited the Great Hall and found himself heading for the dungeons.

"Excuse me-,"

"If I remember correctly, Mr. Potter," Snape interrupted, "You made it clear that you dislike being referred to as a 'celebrity'. Or so I have found from previous experience." Harry agreed with an uncertain nod.

"So you would not disagree if I were to say that you are not exempt from normal class activity?"

"Yes, Professor Snape," Harry replied, provoked and somewhat confused. They turned a corner and down a flight of steps.

"This includes clean-up, which it seems you did not bother assisting in today-" Harry felt the need to protest, but kept silent. "- as Mr. Malfoy was so kind as to point out for me. Which would you prefer, Mr. Potter, yet another ten points from Gryffindor on your behalf, or finishing what should have been done before lunch?"

Hah! - was there a choice?

They arrived at the dungeons, which were dark and vastly silent while the school was at lunch. Draco stood framed in the doorway, his face distantly angry.

"I suppose you can handle this yourself, Mr. Potter? Mr. Malfoy had the kindness to offer to supervise you while I have my lunch." Snape walked off. Harry listened as the sound of boots echoed and faded, clutching his wand beneath his robes in anticipation.

Roughly, Draco shoved a damp rag into his hands and stalked into the classroom. "Start cleaning, Potter. I need to eat too, you know," he said icily, seating himself on an empty table. Harry entered cautiously, still holding his wand as if waiting for some hex to come flying at him. He looked up, suspecting Draco to be scornful, but the boy was only staring at him with an empty expression.

Walking over to where he had worked this morning, he proceeded to run the cloth across the table, picking up the powdery remnants of knotgrass and dried nettles. It was a slow process with Draco Malfoy staring him down throughout, as if expecting him to explode under strain. His eyes were steady, never wandering, and if hatred had been a substantial thing, Harry was sure it would have been shooting out of those irises. He squirmed at being scrutinized so intensely. An odd sort of prickly feeling ran through his veins; it was certainly very unpleasant, like being vivisected.

God, was Malfoy even blinking?!

"Malfoy!" he burst out suddenly, aggravated. "Stop staring, will you, and just…challenge me to a duel or something."

Draco eyed him, swinging his legs a little. "You think fighting solves everything, do you? It's not as simple as that- it's simpler. Just give my galleon back, Potter, and I won't have to hit you with a single curse."

"Not until you give me my cloak!" replied Harry angrily.

A flash of irritation. "I don't have your bloody cloak! Merlin, Potter, is that all you care about? I'll buy you another damn cloak, get you one hundred cloaks worth much more than that one, but I don't have it!!" he roared.

"Nothing could mean more than that cloak," Harry growled beneath his breath, as if it was a threat.

Silence. Draco was unsure of how to counter.

Harry was unsure whether or not to believe the sodding idiot. Draco Malfoy was one for dramatics, lying, and trickery. This was his sort of game.

They waited there, waiting for either boy to concede. Neither wanted to back down.

"You did see where the galleon took you." Draco did not have the introversion or dignity to look away; his gaze was the sort that made people uneasy and avert their eyes to break contact.

Challenging, Harry held his gaze. "I did." There was confidence in that reply, no sympathy.

"You can guess what it means."

"Yes, Malfoy, I can guess," he replied evenly, as if waiting for Draco's voice to waver.

It would not come. "What are you going to do?"

Harry looked down at his hand clutching the rag and dropped it, then straightened his body. He drew himself up, paced up as if inviting confrontation, and stood there, feet planted at shoulder width.

"I want to see you in pain," he said. His muscles grew taunt and stern in his face, making his young face commanding. It was the manner of a leader, willing to trade gallantry for results. "I want to see you off that high act of yours."

In his shadow, Draco looked pale and exposed, but he managed to laugh. It was a dark, feeble sound. "You're nastier than I am, Potter. Congratulations." He chuckled again to himself, and could not stop his laughter.

Harry stood resolute. "I'm a better person than you on any given day," he said coldly.

"I wouldn't wish anyone pain, Potter, not even you." Draco stood up easily, his shoulders rocking a bit with silent laughter, and Harry quickly deemed him insane.

"Liar."

"As for my torture, you're too late for that."

"Am I?" asked Harry darkly.

"Hell, yes. I don't suppose it would be the same, Potter, if it wasn't my first time." He swayed a little as he moved forward, as if drunk. His eyes gleamed with mischief, rising above the weary gray. He walked forward and did not stop. "You would want to be the first; always have wanted."

He kissed him. Harry couldn't ignore the hands twisted into his hair, the lips pressed so pleadingly and submissively against his own. It was gentle; Harry had always expected his first kiss to be passionate, moved into fervor with all that love and desire, but somehow Draco kissed without passion. It was wrong, perversely wrong, and so terribly empty and emotionless. Even without it, he was breathless.

However, Draco did stop, eventually, looking colder than he had to begin with. It was all wrong; Harry had seen couples just after they had kissed, and they held each other's gazes, looking flustered and pleased in wonderment. Draco looked away. There was no sign that anything had ever happened, and Harry felt wronged that his first should be so meaningless.

"Too late, Potter." You've just cursed me, Malfoy. "You lose out."

Harry stared, open-eyed, feeling cheated. He knew how tousled his hair was, could feel the red flush of blood against the skin of his cheeks, knew he was panting as if fazed. Yet there was Draco, statuesque and just as empty and unflawed. It felt like injustice, tasted like disgust, but he looked impossibly closed and…pure.

Sickening.

"Get off me! You, you're- disgusting!" Harry exclaimed, but even he himself could identify the distressed note in his voice. He backed away, nearly tripping over himself to leave, and Malfoy only shrugged half-heartedly. "I wish…just-…shit Malfoy, give me back my invisibility cloak, and leave me the hell alone!"

He stomped off. Draco was left there looking distantly pleased, reminiscent of past years. Life- it was such a nice thing to feel, and for Draco, living meant hatred.

It seemed resurrection wasn't terribly hard after all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Herbology; September 25, 1997; about 2:30 PM

Potter avoided him like the plague after the potions incident. It was oddly natural, seeing the old routine of cat and mouse fall into place, and Draco spent his days feeling awake again. The former hate found its way into his life in little ways; Draco was pleasantly aware of the angry, searching glances Harry shot at him as they passed each other in the hall, the muttered curses under his breath to Granger and Weasley every time the Slytherin spoke up in class.

Of course, there was the new component to consider, tossed into the mix. The kiss lingered on his mind, that confrontation; Draco couldn't quite understand what had spurred him to do it, but he felt at ease with the matter.

Harry however, did not. It became more obvious day to day that he felt awkward being anywhere near Draco, Quidditch games included. When Draco swung a wide arc past him, Harry had reared back as if struck, and then went shooting in the opposite direction. With Potter so unfocused, Draco had miraculously caught the Snitch.

Now in good favor with the Slytherin house, Draco never less kept himself isolated and occupied. Months had passed since the beginning of the term, and yet he still felt detached. Relationships of any sort repulsed him; romance was out of the question. His dating habits had been infrequent before, and limited to the Slytherin house, but they now dwindled to none. It didn't bother him in the slightest.

And yet…that kiss. It puzzled him, as there was no proper reasoning behind it.

Hands buried up to his wrists in a large earthen pot, Draco thrust the bare roots of a plant into the soil. He had never liked Herbology much; the only point of it, really, was to learn about plants that could be used for potions' ingredients. He tolerated it because his grades depended on doing well in all areas, but never really enjoyed the grunt work involved.

What class did Potter have now?  

He thought a lot about Potter lately. It didn't bother him. That was the way things had been before the fire. His thoughts always strayed to Harry if he didn't control them, considering plots, schemes, and revenge.

The kiss. Draco decided firmly that it had been played out to bewilder the enemy. Confusion always brewed weakness- it was a standard rule of thumb in his father's house.

Or what was left of it.

Never mind.

The kiss. So the confusion was there, certainly, sitting there and waiting for him to put it to his advantage. Draco knew well enough not to take it seriously, but of course, Harry in his naïve Gryffindor mindset would not. To Gryffindors, love was sacred, love and everything associated with the feeling. It had always perplexed Draco, how they made out the slightest physical contact to be some noble bond of pure emotion.

The kiss meant nothing to Draco.

The kiss could mean everything to Harry, or at the very least put doubts into his befuddled mind. Doubts were certainly dangerous things in many cases, and Draco understood exactly how to manipulate the slippery things.

With a grunt of satisfaction, Draco dusted off his hand and glove. He felt evil again.

It felt so damn good.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Outside the Locker Rooms; September 25, 1997; about 7 PM

Their next encounter was carefully staged. The Gryffindor team's Quidditch practice came to a conclusion, and Draco cornered him, literally, just outside the locker room.

It wasn't hard, really; Harry was always the last out after showering. Draco had picked up the fact through angry ventures after games, spying that had bordered on stalking. He always felt murderous after losing, and it was those times that Harry Potter came his closest to being killed by him.

Of course, Harry had never looked the type to take much time bathing. His dark hair was always mussed, with a dull shine that showed regular cleaning, but nothing special. The fact of the matter seemed to be that Harry Potter took long showers when he had the time, simply standing there absorbed in his thoughts. He was flushed when he left the building, and his hair dripped limply against the towel around his shoulders.

"Don't move, Potter, or you'll regret it." Harry froze, the long wand pointed at the hollow of his throat.

"Sod off, Malfoy. You wouldn't," he growled stiffly, but he paled.

"I would. Give me the coin, or else I'll let myself hurt you, Potter."

Harry laughed aloud, but stopped when the wand pushed against his skin. "You think I carry it around with me, do you? You're so conceited, Malfoy. I don't worry about it that much."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Go get it."

"What? You can't just Accio the thing?"

"You'd think I would have by now if I bloody could!" Draco snapped. "You can't use any sort of magic on them. My father enchanted them himself."

Harry snorted. "You really are an idiot." Draco prodded at his throat again.

"I wouldn't be insulting if I had a wand pointed at my neck, Potter."

"You're always insulting." Harry seemed to be relaxing, while Draco felt his controlled demeanor slipping away.

"Shut up, Potter, and listen." He pressed his wand harder against Harry's windpipe, and could feel the tense vibrations through his wand. Soon, Harry Potter would have difficulty breathing. Smiling darkly, Draco watched his green eyes grow wide and panicky. "Go to the dungeons tonight, 11. Five doors down from the Potions classroom, past the Runespoor statue with its heads missing, leave the galleon where I can see it. Maybe afterwards we can negotiate your…invisibility cloak, is it?" Harry swore, inhaled a strained breath.

"You can't make me come."

"Can't I?" Draco drew a green satin ribbon from his pocket. He somehow tied it one-handed around Harry's index finger, much more quickly than it should have been able to tie.

"A reminder ribbon," snarled Harry, gasping now. "How sweet."

"Lemiscus Admonitio. Infindo." The ribbon tightened so that it fit snugly around his finger, growing gradually tighter and tighter. The process was slow, but obvious.

"That will let you know when it is time to go. Or if you don't go, you'll need Madam Pomfrey to sew your finger back on." Draco paused. "I heard she's an expert in the area; but then, you should know, Potter, having been there so often."

Harry said nothing. Instead, he attempted to pull the ribbon off- it wouldn't budge. "What the bloody hell is this, Malfoy?"

"You need a bit of urging."

"So you're going to squish my finger a little. What's to say I don't get a Severing Charm or a pair of scissors?"

Tilting his head, Draco smiled. Harry wanted to curse him and walk away. He was aware of how wrong they must look, standing near enough together that their robes seemed to tangle. Harry could faintly feel Draco's body heat. "I thought of that already, Potter. Don't underestimate me when it comes to planning."

Harry continued to work at the bow. "You're not worth underestimating," he retorted. "I could show the entire school your pathetic ruin, and it wouldn't matter if you cut off the circulation of my finger."

His eyes darkened slightly and his smile faded. "Like you could, Potter. I have your cloak, if you've forgotten." Harry sent him a deadly glare. "I've got this little game of ours sorted. Are you listening?" He eyed Harry, who looked away after a few moments' staring contest. "I've got this under control, and I won't walk away until I've finally beaten you."

"You've got no life, Malfoy."

"We already agreed on that, haven't we?" Draco glanced at the irritated red mark on the skin of Harry's throat. "All I've got to do now is ruin yours."