Chapter 8: Bruises Fade
Warning: Slash, bad words, blah blah. You know by now.
Author's Note: Hey! It's been a while. I tried doing NaNoWriMo for a bit but I couldn't fit into my schedule so I'm through with that. I'm still working on some original stuff, but I'm back to this as well. I'm truly sorry it took so long.
After you read this, if you have some spare time, check out my short PotC fic called Going Under. It's a bit dark, and contains non-con, but if you can roll with that, do have a look at it, and leave a review.
Thanks for the reviews for this. I continued getting them all through the month and they encouraged me to go on with this. Thank you to everyone who is reading this on a regular basis. You make me a very happy girl. Thanks also to Lunadeath, my fab beta!
That being said, I hope you'll leave a review and check out Going Under. Happy reading, and Happy Hols to everyone.
"I'm not at all comforted by the fact that you're terrified of your father."
"I'm not."
"Oh, right. That would explain when you're panting as if you've just gone into cardiac arrest."
Draco turned a cold eye on Potter and snarled, "Just don't talk to me. At all."
"Ever?" he asked, looking surprised.
Draco didn't answer. He turned away from the black haired boy and sat down onto his bed, thinking very hard about what all this meant. Snape was gone, he was being held hostage in his own house, and the Death Eaters had finally been sprung from the big house. Add in the mysterious potion and Potter's sudden and unwanted presence and all Draco had was a massive headache.
"You know earlier, when I first got here? Why did you say it was my fault you were in this mess?" Potter asked.
Malfoy turned his head very slowly. Potter was sitting backwards in his desk chair, leaning forward on two chair legs, looking as if he were perfectly comfortable with the fact that he was in Draco's bedroom. He stared expectantly, lips pressed together, waiting for an answer.
"I don't want to talk to you," Draco reiterated.
"I hate to break it to you, Malfoy, but you're going to have to. I'm not just going to sit here in the dark, completely clueless about what's going on. As I'm sure you've noticed, something very bizarre is happening right now. I feel confident in wagering that I'm in danger here. I know you don't give two shits whether I live or die, but I do. So would you please stop acting as if we're five years old and answer me?"
"Don't presume to know what I 'give two shits' about, Potter," Draco snapped.
Potter raised his eyebrows. Draco ignored him and went on:
"Look, I've already told you that I really don't have the faintest idea what's going on. Something bad is likely to happen to me as well. I heard the Dark Lord say that he doesn't trust me."
"What? When?"
"Right before he commanded his Death Eater girl scouts after me, two nights ago. He said that I knew too much, and that I have powers I don't know about, or something, and I'm not to be trusted and blah, blah, blah."
"Hold on, you're giving me too much information here. Back up to the part about you knowing too much."
Draco explained briefly about Snape leaving, and about his suspicions, carefully not to mention too much about Snape to Potter in case he wasn't already aware, although, he could tell by the look on Potter's face that he knew all about Snape's double life style. He told him about the contents of the journal, not mentioning where he'd found it. Unfortunately Potter was intelligent enough to catch on.
"Ah ha! So that's what you were doing in Snape's room that night!" he exclaimed.
"Doesn't explain why you followed me in, however."
"Oh, well, it was a coincidence really. I just happened to be walking around under my invisibility cloak and I saw you. My curiosity was peeked, so I decided to follow you," Potter recalled. He was silent a moment, and a thin smile crept onto his lips.
"What?"
"Oh, er...nothing. Just remembering it, is all," Potter said, and blushed.
Draco's mind suddenly flashed with an image of their kiss and he shivered violently. He scooted towards the middle of his bed, farther away from Potter, and pulled one of his many pillows over his lap.
"Well, stop, would you? It's creepy," Draco said.
Potter stopped smiling. "Fine."
They were both silent a moment. Draco picked at the stitching of his pillow while Potter rocked back and forth on the chair. He was completely abusing the 17th century relic, but Draco didn't have the energy to make a fuss about it. Instead, he watched Potter roll back and forth, furiously messing up his hair and chewing on his lip. These were, apparently, the physical manifestations of his stress and the gestures seemed vaguely familiar, but not overtly so. Draco supposed he'd never watched Potter all that closely before, but why should he have? He was only doing so now because they were in such close quarters.
Very close, intimate quarters.
When Draco got out of this whole mess and found out who was responsible, heads were going to roll, that was for sure. He'd make sure his father-
Well, wait. He couldn't even be sure his father was on his side anymore. Who would Lucius choose, his son or his master? Draco couldn't be sure, and that was very unsettling.
A rumbling sound interrupted his murky deliberation.
"You haven't got any food in here, have you? I'm starving," Potter said.
"No."
"Have they fed you at all? I mean, I know you've been locked here for two days. Have they brought you any food?"
"My mother sent up a plate of breakfast but I ate it all hours ago. Nothing left. Sorry."
"So, you haven't eaten since then?"
Draco turned to him, "No. Honestly, enough with the questions."
Potter thumped the chair back down on all four legs, "You're sure there is absolutely no food in this room."
"No. There is no food."
"Really? Then why'd your eyes just flick towards your desk?"
"What are you talking about? They didn't," Draco insisted.
"There! You just did it again! I bet your hiding something in there!"
"You're completely mad."
Potter leapt up, turned, and ripped open the first drawer on the desk and began to riffle through it. Draco jumped up and stalked over to him.
"Get out of there! Potter! Get. Out."
Potter was already going through the second drawer. Finding nothing but a few old letters and school papers, he slammed it shut and opened the third.
"I demand that you get out of my desk this minute!" Draco roared.
Potter triumphantly pulled out a small bag of chocolate frogs.
"Ha!" he shouted, "What's this?"
"They're mine! Put them back!"
"You were holding out on me!" Potter gasped.
Draco sighed and shook his head, "Well, honestly, Potter, what did you expect? This is me we're talking about, not your bloody pals, Weasley and Mudblood."
Potter plopped back into the desk chair and opened one of the frogs, allowing it to jump into his hand and biting off the head. He pulled out another pack, and then tossed the bag to Draco.
"You know, we're never going to survive this if we don't try working together," Potter said.
Draco crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at Potter through narrowed eyes.
"Truthfully, Potter, I'd rather die than have anything further to do with you."
Potter frowned deeply, his green eyes crackling with intensity. "I hope you don't mean that."
A few hours later Harry's stomach was still growling and his situation hadn't gotten much better. Malfoy was now sitting in the opposite corner of the room with the bag of chocolate frogs tucked protectively in his lap. He seemed content to stare at his wall with fierce concentration. All Harry's attempts at conversation over the past few hours had been thwarted by a "Bloody hell, Potter, just shut it, would you?" or "The very last thing I want to hear right now is you babbling, so would you please be considerate of my sanity and close your trap?"
Harry had, early in the evening, briefly entertained the notion that this would at least (the very least) be an opportunity to perhaps get to know his enemy a little better. But all he had learned thus far was that Malfoy was a grumpy bastard and boring as hell to boot. He was also very apt at sitting still.
He decided to mention this as they sat through their third hour of silence.
"You know, I'm always hearing what a party animal you are, Malfoy, but I'm not sure I can believe it anymore. And you're not a very good host either, you know. I'm bored out of my mind."
Malfoy looked over from where he was tucked over the candy. His gray eyes were burning like ashes.
"I think being bored is the least of our problems, all right?" he snapped.
"Ah, our problems, aye? So now you admit that we are in this together?"
"No, we are defiantly not 'in this together'. God, Potter, stop being such a-" Malfoy paused, catching himself.
"Stop being such a what? Go on, say what you were going to say."
"Prat. I was going to say prat."
"Were not. You were going to say fag."
"I wasn't."
"You were! I know you were!"
Malfoy was silent. He looked away, back towards the wall. He seemed to be studying it very closely, running his fingers over the plaster and chipping peices away.
Harry sat silently for a while, debating over whether or not he wanted to say something he'd been thinking about saying for the past few hours. He figured he might never get another chance, so he might as well go for it, especially since he and Malfoy were trapped together and the other boy would have to listen.
Harry swallowed dryly and opened his mouth.
"Er, Malfoy?"
"What?"
"Could you…just look at me for a minute. I wanted to say something."
Malfoy turned again and tilted his head, raising his eyebrows to say 'go on'.
"Well, er, I just wanted to say that I'm, er, I'm sorry I …I'm sorry I…Uh…"
"Potter, you are babbling incomprehensibly."
"I'm sorry for kissing you. There, I said it," Harry blurted, and felt immediately better.
Malfoy, however, drained of blood and his face took on a pinched look. He said nothing, just nodded once in a jerky motion.
"I was completely out of line, I know. Just the fact that you were crying and you seemed so-" Harry continued, now suddenly feeling the need to spill his guts on the subject in order to cleanse his conscience.
"That's enough. I got it," Malfoy said. He was pressing his lips together and looking extremely nervous.
"Oh, well, ok. I just wanted to make sure you knew that I don't normally go around kissing random boys."
"Fine, you are not a sexual predator. I got it. Just shut up, now."
"I-"
"I said shut up. I don't need to hear anymore!" Malfoy snapped.
Harry closed his mouth obligingly. He watched Malfoy a moment more before turning away and looking out the window. It was still dark but the horizon was taking on a purplish tinge. It would be morning soon.
And just what would this day bring, Harry wondered. More hours of awkward silence sharing a bedroom with Draco Malfoy? Or would it be something worse than that?
He didn't allow himself to think of the latter. He couldn't. If he didn't think positively he'd never get through this. If he let his fears and anxieties run rampant he'd never make it. He had to think positively. Whatever was going to happen to him, he could get through it. He'd already been through hell and back countless times in his short life. What more could possible happen to him? How much more tragedy were the fates willing to bestow upon one person?
"Why?" asked Malfoy said in a whisper.
Harry sat up and looked over. Malfoy was looking down at his hands, wringing them together.
"Why did you do it?" he asked almost silently.
"Why did I…kiss you?" Harry asked for clarification. Was Malfoy really attempting to have a meaningful conversation with him?
"Yeah."
"I suppose it was a moment of madness, really. I just got caught up in the situation," Harry struggled to explain. The truth was, he'd never been able to pin point exactly what had caused him to commit such a brazen crime. "It was just that there was something…sort of in the air. The energy between us, or the emotions between us…"
Harry blushed. As he spoke he relived the moment, feeling what he'd felt then. He felt how heavy the air had been between them, how sexually charged it. He remembered how fragile and human Malfoy had looked with tears streaming down his face and the way ruddiness of his skin had made him look less than perfect and somehow gorgeous. That had been the first time Harry had realized that Malfoy was beautiful. Looking at him now, across the room with his head bent over his lap and his hands clasped nervously, Harry saw it again.
It was in those two single moments that Malfoy seemed like a real person to him, not the snobby, mean little boy who'd picked on him all those years- the boy he detested.
"That was the only time I've ever seen you act like something other that an evil, six foot pop cycle. You're cold, Malfoy. But at that particular time, you weren't. You were-" Harry struggled to finish.
"Hot?" Malfoy suggested.
Before Harry could respond, the door crashed open.
"Dad," Malfoy gasped, standing up. The chocolate frog scattered over the floor.
Harry spun around. Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway looking just as Harry remembered him, only a paler and thinner. His eyes had an empty, haunted look to them.
"Sit back, Draco," he said.
He went straight for Harry, grabbing him around the neck before he had time to respond. Harry cried out as Lucius's fist smashed into his jaw. He heard a crack and fell to the floor. He was blinded by the pain, grasping at his jaw. It was broken, he knew it was. He had to struggle not to let and tears seep out of his closed eyes.
"What the hell are you doing?" Harry heard Malfoy say. "Dad, what's going on?"
"This is between the Potter boy and I. Stay out of it," Lucius roared.
Lucius foot cut off Harry's breath as it slammed into his ribcage. Harry gasped for air but couldn't seem to get anything into his lungs. He rolled onto his stomach, trying to push himself up. Lucius used his foot to knock him back down and shove him onto his back.
"I've been looking forward to us meeting again, Potter," Lucius growled. His eyes were wild and murderous, "I imagined this everyday as I sat in my cell, my body rotting away, my mind deteriorating, alone and cold and away from my family and my home."
He drew out his wand and snapped it up. Likewise, Harry's body jerked upright into a standing position. Lucius smacked him down again. Harry tripped back as he fell and hit his head on the corner of Malfoy's desk. Lucius was on him in a second, dragging him up by his collar and slamming him into the wall over and over, smashing his skull into the plaster. Stars danced before Harry's eyes. The pain washed over him in waves.
"Not such a big man now, are you Potter? Not without your little friends to help you out. Not with the mutt, Sirius, finally taken care of, aye?" Lucius hissed into Harry's face.
His words cut into Harry and hurt him far more than the physical abuse. Sirius. Oh God, Sirius. His godfather- the only person who had ever come close to being family to Harry.
And suddenly, Harry couldn't feel the ache in his bones and muscles any longer. It all paled in comparison to the way his loss of Sirius had ripped and scarred his soul and left a permanent wound that would never, ever heal.
"Come on, say something, Potter. Say that you're sorry. Beg me to stop," Lucius commanded as he drove the tip on his wand into Harry's throat.
"More," Harry responded.
Lucius's eyes glowed with such an inner hatred that Harry failed to comprehend it.
"More? You want more? I can give you more."
"DAD! Stop this nonsense right now and talk to me!" Malfoy shouted. "What the hell is going on?"
"I said stay out of this!" Lucius said, yanking his wand out of Harry's larynx and stabbing it at his son. He said a spell Harry had never heard of before and Malfoy's body shot to the other side of the room and his body hit the fireplace with a thud.
"Crucio!" Lucius said as he pointed his wand back at Harry.
Harry scarcely had time to catch his breath before it hit him. Pain rippled through his body, tearing through his veins like hot razors. He wanted to scream but he couldn't even draw the breath to do so. His eyes closed; he went deaf. All he could do was feel- his other senses were dead. It went on and on, pulsing, growing, and spreading like a virus. Moving under his skin, eating away his insides, killing his thoughts. He had no sense of time or space or himself. He was the pain. It seemed all that was left of him in those seconds, or moments, or hours.
When it finally began to ebb away to something tolerable, he realized that he had dropped to the floor. His fingers were curled into the fetal position, like when someone's had seizers. He managed to suck in a bit of air into his burning lungs and cry out, just once. The sound was hollow and sharp.
"STOP IT!" someone was screaming, "JUST STOP IT!"
"Shut up, you pathetic, insolent, little Blood Traitor! He was right about you!" someone yelled back.
"You're insane! God, Dad, you are fucking insane! What did they do to you there?"
"You have no idea."
"Well then, tell me!"
Harry let out another sob as his body began to go numb. The pain was going away, becoming distant. Or maybe he was just going into shock. Maybe his brain was shutting off the nerve endings, numbing him so he wouldn't feel it anymore.
"No, don't tell me. I don't care. Just take it off of him!"
"I will not."
"DO IT! DO IT NOW!"
"Why are you protecting him?"
"Because no one should have to feel that! Not even him. I know what it's like all too well. Father."
Silence.
And then it was over. The pain was removed in an instant. Suddenly, Harry could breath again. He could feel and see and hear and he had never been so grateful so those simple pleasures.
The door slammed shut. Someone yanked on the knob and swore. Harry looked up.
Malfoy was standing by the door, hands and head pressed against it. His lip was pulled into an expression of disgust and frustration. He pounded his fist into the door and turned. He looked down at Harry, who slowly, shakily pulling himself to his feet. His legs quivered under him as if they were unsure if they could hold his wieght. He braced himself on the wall to stay steady and looked up at Malfoy.
"Your Dad is a real bastard, you know that?" he muttered, his jaw aching with the movement and blood dribbling from his lips. He struggled to smile eeirily.
And then he fainted.
Draco caught Potter in his arms as he crumpled towards the floor. He folded his long arms are Potter's body and held tight, feeling awkward.
"Bloody hell, Potter, you're heavier than you look," he commented to the unconscious boy.
Hmm, now what should he do? He looked around the room, eyes resting on the bed. Ah ha, that ought to do. He began to drag his body across the floor, grunting as he did. Potter was listless and sprawled all over and his limp body kept slipped out of Draco's arms.
God damn his father. Damn him straight to hell where he belonged, Draco thought furiously. He knew exactly what Potter had just gone through, and it was hell. That pain was enough to drive someone crazy. As he'd said to his father moments ago, not even Potter deserved that. Nobody did. It was unspeakably cruel.
Draco hefted Harry onto the bed, flopping his upper half into the deep sea of green pillows. Then he reached down and pulled up his legs, arranging them in what looked like a comfortable position. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked down at Potter.
His black hair was damp, clinging to his forehead. His lips were open and he was breathing irregularly. Draco watched his chest rise and fall rapidly, then drug his eyes back up to Potter's face, which was quickly bruising. Well, that he could do something for. As for the internal damage from the curse, there was no way to heal that. The body was a lot easier to heal than the soul. This Draco knew all too well...
"I need to know that you are truly loyal to me, Lucius." He had said.
"What can I do to prove it?"
"I want you to curse him."
"My son? But-"
"Either you can do it, or you can't. This is a true test of your devotion. And your true worth to me."
Draco shook his head, ripping the memory from his consciousness and boarded it up back in that dark place in the back of his mind. He went into his bathroom and rummaged through the drawers. He found the small bottle of purple potion and returned to Potter's side. He uncapped it and paused.
He looked at the boy breathing softly, laying across his bed. He looked a lot like a fallen angel- if that sort of thing existed, Draco mused. Of course, he didn't entertain such fanciful beliefs. But still, Potter looked so…innocent. Pure. Good.
Draco didn't like to admit it, but he felt humbled by the courage Potter had show when facing his father. Courage Draco himself never had when facing Lucius.
He sighed, and dipped his fingers into the potion. It felt cool and soothing, and glowed iridescently on his fingertips. Purple vapors drifted up from it as he reached out and smoothed it over Potter's battered jaw. He felt strange caressing Potter's face. The room felt too small, the air too still.
His hand began to feel warm, his face flushed. A strange tingle rushed from the tips of his fingers and spread all down his body. He wiped the rest of the potion onto Potter's other cheek and then, slowly, softly, reached up and brushed a damp lock of hair away from his face.
Suddenly, Potter stirred, and his eyes flickered open. Draco ripped his hand away and froze like a frightened animal. Potter's cool, jade eyes rested on Draco for a second, and then closed once more. Draco sighed, relaxed.
He rocked back on his heels, angling himself away. He still had a bit of the potion left, but he capped it instead of using it. It wasn't out of selfishness or the petty sense of annoyance with Potter that he felt. No, the well of that feeling was quickly drying. Here, locked together, wand-less, alone, neither of them had any advantage over the other. They were equal here. Draco had nothing to be jealous of.
He didn't apply the rest of the potion because he couldn't stand to touch Potter any longer. He couldn't trust himself to do that.
Because he was starting to feel strange things around Harry Potter. Unspeakable things.
He drew the green curtains around the bed, blocking Potter from the rays of the quickly rising sun. He checked the door once more. Still locked. He was still a prisoner in his room. His own father wouldn't rescue him. Wouldn't even give him any of the answers he was desperate for.
As Draco had lain, panting, weeping, on the cold floor of the dungeon room, Voldemort had chuckled, clearly pleased.
"Ah, Lucius, you are indeed a precious disciple. You haven proven your love for me exceeds even the love of your own son- your own blood. You shall be rewarded for your allegiance."
Draco hadn't been able to believe it then, not even as he had been writhing in pain under the Unforgivable Curse. Only now did he finally accept it.
Lucius loved the Dark Lord more than his child. His father was nefariously bad. Draco was the son of evil.
"Gee, this only gets better," he muttered to himself, and collapsed back against the door.
Once again, Harry awoke to a pounding head and a fuzzy memory. He was in a cloud of green, sunk deep in a cushion of temptation that was calling him back to sleep. But this time, he didn't want to slink back into the depth of his mind, into a fantasy of a place where he wasn't in danger. He needed to be in the present.
He sat up, and realized that the 'cloud of green' he was laying in was Malfoy's bed! Well, that was certainly interesting, he mused. He hadn't…
No. Besides himself, the bed was empty. Harry was dually relieved and disappointed. Though he didn't revel in the idea of, literally, sleeping with the enemy, he wouldn't have minded seeing the blonde haired devil in his…er…natural glory. Anybody with eyes could see that Malfoy was painfully attractive. Sex appeal hovered around him like heavy cologne.
Only in his drowsy state did Harry allow himself to think these things. As he shook off the grogginess, he straightened himself up, got a grip. Malfoy was not hot. That was no way to be thinking anyways, in a situation like the one he and Malfoy were in.
Harry parted the curtains around the bed and was momentarily blinded by the halo of sunlight penetrating through the windows and filling up the room was rosy, morning light. He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, and swung his feet to the floor, stepping out of the shrouded bed of his nemesis.
He looked across the room just as Malfoy emerged from the bathroom.
In a towel.
Air rushed into Harry's lungs and his mouth dropped. He was unable to move; unable to speak. He felt his heart beating frantically against his ribs and the blood rushing from his head to other parts which his brain seemed to had decided were much more important at the moment.
Malfoy's body was surprizingly imperfect, and yet it was beautiful. His skin was white as Harry had expected it would be. His arms were thin, as was his torso. His ribs made indents down his sternum. His collarbones jutted out delicately, making him appear fragile. His stomach was soft and flat, shadowed by a deep belly button. His towel was slung low on his hips (and creeping ever-so-slowly lower), offering a glimpse of prominent hipbones, and white curls of hair leading a trail from his belly, dipping and disappearing under the towel.
Malfoy had another towel over his hair, which he was rubbing briskly over his face. When he lowered it, he looked straight over at Harry and startled.
"Christ, Potter, what are you leering at?" he snapped, "I thought you were still passed out."
"S-sorry. I…er…woke up. And you were just standing there a…a bit naked and…. and I didn't have time to look away."
"That doesn't explain why you're still staring at me."
"Oh right," Harry said, and spun around. "Sorry. You had a shower then?"
"Obviously. I suppose you can shower as well. I don't really fancy sharing my bathroom, but I don't know how long we're going to be here and I also don't fancy sharing my prison with someone who smells, so…"
"Malfoy, what was that all about with your father?" Harry interrupted.
There was a fwoomp sound of a wet towel dropping to the floor. Harry gulped.
"Revenge, the best I can tell. Needless to say, he's a bit peeved about you getting him landed in Azkaban for two years. My father has a bit of an anger management issue."
"I could have inferred that," Harry said. He heard shuffling of fabric and the zip of trousers being pulled on. "Funny, though, I feel fine now. And I was sure my jaw would have been broken. Feels normal, though."
"Yeah, that's the potion I gave you. Heals bruises and stuff."
"What?" Harry said, nearly turning around but stopping himself, "You helped me? I don't believe it."
"Don't burst into song just yet, Potter. I only did it because I know what it's like to have the shit beat out of you by my father."
Harry was silent.
"Anyway, you can turn around now," Malfoy said.
Harry did so. Malfoy was dressed in a pair of skinny, black trousers with pinstripes and a soft looking, clingy sweater. His damp hair was parted messily to the side, hanging down by his ears with pearl drops of moisture dangling from the tips. He turned to his wardrobe and pulled it open, rummaging through his things. He tossed Harry a pair of dark colored jeans and a t-shirt with the Slytherin crest on the pocket.
"That stuff's about your size, I'd guess. You're a bit bigger than me. You can wear it and wash your old stuff in the sink. I seriously doubt they are going to be performing laundry service for us while we're in here."
Harry nodded and moved towards the bathroom. He paused in the doorway and looked to Malfoy.
"Didn't find anything out from your dad?" he asked.
Malfoy shook his head and spoke bitterly, "Bastard just left and locked me back in here."
Harry slipped into the bathroom, closing the door softly. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, grimacing. He looked like hell, but he supposed he had the right to, after what he'd been through. He turned from the mirror and stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain round him. He switched it on and let the water cascade over him in steaming jets. He tried to visualize his worries and fears washing away with the dirt and oil on his body. He opened his eyes, searching for soap. He found a bar of a green, minty smelling substance that foamed luxuriously. He rubbed it over his body, inhaling the scent and trying not to remember that he was in Draco Malfoy's shower or wonder if Malfoy had just been rubbing the same bar of soap over his body just moments before.
There was a sort of stool off to the side of the shower, covered in glass bottles. After scrubbing himself off, Harry been to search through them, half looking for shampoo and half purely curious as to what was in Draco's shower. Hmm, exfoliating body potion? What was that? He poured a bit of the grainy substance into his palm and rubbed his fingertips in it. It felt sort of good, so he rubbed a bit more on his arm while reading the label.
Magic Springs' Exfoliating Body Potion promises to turn your dry, flaking, dull skin soft and smooth as silk. The small, round beads slaw off dead skin cells, revealing fresh, new, radiant skin. That and the clean, masculine scent will make your body irresistible to all the hot, young witches you come in contact with.
Well then, Harry giggled, that was certainly interesting. He wondered vaguely if the 'clean, masculine scent' also worked to attract members of the same sex.
The rest of the potions proved to be similar. Hair conditioners and body infusers with pictures of glossy haired witches on the front, skin softeners, face masks and foot scrub abounded. Harry was particularly interested in the spot remover that promised to banish acne and give one a flawless complexion. Was that really how Malfoy did it? With all these silly, girly products?
Not that Harry didn't try them. All of them. He was in the shower nearly forty-five minutes before he'd gone through each bottle, and he emerged feeling cleaner and more confident than he had in months. He wasn't sure, but looking in the mirror his skin did look a tad more radiant. And it certainly felt nice.
He put on the clothes Malfoy had given him, opting to go boxer-less instead of pointing out to Malfoy that he'd forgotten to lend him some underwear. It would have been weird wearing Malfoy's skivvies anyway. And who knows what kind he wore. Harry didn't know whether he tagged Malfoy as a boxers or briefs kind of man.
He washed his clothes quickly in the sink and hung them on the shower rail, them emerged from the bathroom.
"Honestly, Potter, I thought you'd managed to knock yourself unconscious or something in there. I was considering busting in to rescue you, but then I remember, oh yeah, I don't care if you're hurt," Malfoy said.
But Harry wasn't paying any attention to his words. He was to busy inhaling the heavenly scent that was teasing his nostrils.
"Malfoy, is that…"
"Breakfast? Yeah. My Mum must have sent it up. It just sort of appeared with this table here in the middle of the room. Funny thing is, she sent two plates."
Harry was aghast, "She sent food for me?"
"Apparently. Although I didn't know why."
"I could hug your mother right now, I really could," Harry chimed joyously, plopping down at the table that had appeared in the center of the room.
It was set lavishly, with a lacy, white cloth and porcelain china. There was a glass pitcher of orange juice in the center, along with a pot of steaming hot tea. Each of the plates was piled high with scrambled eggs, thick waffles, maple sausage links, fresh biscuits with fruit topping and slices of honeydew melon. Harry was salivating as he forked the fist scoop of eggs into his mouth. He dropped the fork and grabbed the pitcher, sloshing juice into his glass and gulping it down.
"Easy, now," Malfoy warned, "You're going to choke yourself."
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said happily, biting off the end of his sausage. "Wow, your mother is an excellent cook."
"I'll pass on the compliment," Malfoy responded blandly.
"You know what your problem is?" Harry asked suddenly.
"No, but I have a feeling you're about to enlighten me."
"You're so concerned with being calm, cool, collected Malfoy that you never just enjoy things for what they are, you know. Yeah, ok, we're trapped in your room and your dad is a raving madman, and there are Death Eaters downstairs very possibly plotting our demise, but damn it, this is some good food. And we're both starving. So if we're going to die, why don't we just, you know, have one last really, really happy moment. You should learn to enjoy the little things in life."
Malfoy was silent a moment, then he responded, "Do you know what your problem is, Potter?"
"What?"
"You're too goddamn optimist about people. You honestly believe there's good in everyone, don't you? I know you do. It's stupid. For someone who's encountered so much evil in his life you're still so naïve. Do you honestly believe that I'm going to throw my prejudices to the breeze and just enjoy a lovely breakfast with the person I hate most in the world? Do you, Potter?"
"You don't hate me," Harry said.
Malfoy was silent a moment, staring at his food. At last, he responded:
"Yeah, well, I don't like you."
"Tosser," Harry said.
"Prat."
"Voldemort fucker."
Draco pressed his lips together and became suddenly very serious. Harry feared for a moment that he'd gone too far. Just as he opened his mouth to offer an apology, Malfoy hit him square in the face with a spoonful of jelly.
Harry gasped and brushed it away frantically. He reached and scooped up a handful of eggs and flung them at Malfoy. They scattered through his hair and over his shirt. Malfoy retaliated by sloshing orange juice into Harry's lap. Harry leapt up, yelping.
"My pants!"
"My pants, actually," Malfoy drawled, picking egg from his hair and smiling.
"Yeah, well I'm wearing them. I'm all sticky and I just took a shower."
"I noticed you used my things as well. You're hair looks better though. Sort of fluffy and light, and not so messed up."
Harry blushed viciously and turned his head down to hide it. Malfoy stood up and walked to his dresser.
"Here. Take them off, I'll get you a new pair."
"I can't take them off."
"Why not?"
"I haven't…I haven't got any boxer shorts on…"
Malfoy looked over at him and started laughing like a lunatic. When he managed to calm down, he tossed Harry a pair of silk boxers.
"Wear mine."
Harry just stared at them, feeling the liquidy fabric and trying desperately to stop blushing. Malfoy began chuckling again, settling back down to finish his breakfast. Harry slunk away into the bathroom to change.
As he emerged, Malfoy was looking more cheerful that he had in a while.
"You know, perhaps you were right, Potter. Maybe I do you need to let myself enjoy life a bit more. You're proving to be quite a laugh, if nothing more."
Harry was thinking of something smart to retort back with, but when he looked back at Malfoy, the other boy was grinning at him softly, dove-gray eyes glowing. Harry smiled back, settled down, and finished his breakfast in a comfortable silence with Draco Malfoy.