The Hogwarts Boy's Guide

by Marilyn Stabs

What starts out as a simple rivalry between Draco and Harry snowballs into a scandal, a mystery, an epic, and finally, a love story. Harry and Draco bicker, continuously try and out-smart each other, get trapped in a room together, take on evil…and sno

9. The Partnership

Chapter 9: The Partnership

Warnings: Slash, a few cases of adult language

Author's Note: At long last, it's chapter 9 of Harry and Draco's tale. I hope you'll all forgive me for the wait, and enjoy the newest episode in our favorite slash couple's love story. As always, please review after you read. Tell me what you liked, and didn't like. Tell me what worked for you and what didn't. Nit pick my grammatical errors. Complement my prose. Whatever you want. All reviews are appreciated.

Thank you to the readers. You are what keeps me going.

"Potter, wake up!"

Harry groaned and rolled over, escaping the uncomfortable, rapid jabs into his ribcage by huddling down deeply into his haven of blankets.

"Potter, you lout, we're going to miss it! Get up!"

Harry blinked his eyes and turned towards the voice that was speaking to him. Without the aid of his glasses, he couldn't see much more than a blur of dark blobs, and something paler crouched over him.

"Malfoy?" he asked.

"No, it's me, Voldemort," Malfoy responded sarcastically. "I'm here for our bloody sleep over. Get up!"

"I'm up, I'm up," Harry mumbled, reaching over and snatching his glasses from the nightstand. His vision was restored as he slipped them over his face, just in time for him to watch Malfoy slide out of the other side of the bed and battle the curtains to escape.

He remembered a few hours ago when they'd fought over who would get to sleep in the bed that night. After two hours of exhausting squabbling, they both finally agreed that the bed was large enough for both of them to sleep on and still maintain a comfortable distance between them. Still, Malfoy had insisted on constructing a wall of pillows down the center, lest Harry became tempted try any 'funny business' during the night. Now Harry shoved those pillows aside and climbed out of the bed wearily.

"What's going on?" he asked, only half interested. He looked longingly back at the bed.

"Something is happening down the hall. If we're quiet, we might be able to overhear something important," Malfoy said, slipping his robe over his shoulders and sweeping over to the door. He pressed up against it and paused, then motioned Harry over.

"What?"

"Shhh! Just shut your trap and listen!"

Harry leaned his head against the cold, wood door and attempted to listen. All he heard was Malfoy breathing loudly behind him.

"I can't hear anything but you-"

"Shhh!" Malfoy insisted.

And then Harry heard it.

"…soon, in case he arrives before schedule. He delights in arriving early, you know," a faint and familiar voice was saying.

Harry turned his face towards Malfoy's and mouthed 'Your father'? Malfoy nodded.

"Right, well, the day after tomorrow then? I don't think it will be ready any sooner," replied a more feminine voice. Harry's skin prickled in recognition.

"Are you sure it's process cannot be sped up? It's really a mater of urgency. I don't know how long we can hold him here before he figures out…"

Harry pressed closer to the door but he heard nothing more. Malfoy must not have heard either because he grimaced in frustration.

"…fine for the time being. He has your son to distract him."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Just that their hatred for each other is quite opportune. With those two divided against each other and all their energy being put into bantering and bickering, we have nothing to worry about."

"I suppose you're right. Still…" the voices faded and then, "Well, all right then. The day after tomorrow and no later."

"Of course. Good night, Lucius."

"Sleep well, Bella."

Just outside their room, a pair of light footsteps faded down the hall and disappeared into silence. A door closed quietly.

Harry's mouth formed a grim line. He turned and strode away from the door.

"Bellatrix." Harry couldn't help but growling her name.

Malfoy's head snapped up. "She killed him," he murmered.

Harry's eyes darted through the darkness and settled on Malfoy's shadowy form, "You know?"

"Of course I know, you nitwit. We had a party to celebrate. Right before Dad was taken away to Azkaban."

"Lovely."

"I didn't enjoy it, you know. I'm not a Death Eater-"

"Yet."

Malfoy sighed, "This is getting tiresome, Potter. Is everything always this black and white to you?"

"Yes, it is," Harry snapped. "In this world, you chose to do either good or evil. It's that simple."

"So what am I, then? Black or white?" Malfoy asked.

Harry was struck by Malfoy's question. He stood dumbly for a moment, thinking that he had no answer for that. On one hand, Malfoy wasn't what he would call a good person. He was descended from evil; and it ran through his veins like black blood. He seemed fated to follow in his father's footsteps. But on the other hand he was sometimes painfully human. And the day before, at breakfast Harry had seen a gentler side to the boy. Not enough to redeem him of course, but it certainly had to count for something.

A few more moments of silence lapsed by before Harry had formulated an answer.

"Gray," he said with an air of finality, "You're gray."

Malfoy didn't answer. Instead he went to his dresser and pulled open one of the drawers. He carefully extracted a small journal and tossed it to Harry.

"In that case, I hope you won't read too much into this uncommon act of niceness on my account," he said, and smiled faintly, "I rather like my ambiguous state of morality."

Harry picked up the book and opened it. Malfoy opened the drapes on the windows to allow some of the starlight to illuminate the room. Without their wands, they had no way to light the room and were at the mercy of their captors, who seemed to be on a schedule regarding the lights in the room.

Harry flipped through the pages of the journal, confused. There we drawings and scribbled notes that he didn't understand. He looked to Malfoy for an explanation.

"I found it in Snape's room that night you followed me. You remember. It seems to document some sort of potion designed to cleanse a magical being of it's powers," Malfoy said, "At least, that's my theory."

"Snape is making this?"

Malfoy shook his head, "I don't think so. I believe he's working on the antidote."

"That means this potion already exists."

"In theory, yes."

"And is that what your father and Bellatrix were talking about?"

Malfoy frowned, "It's hard to say for sure, but I suspect they plan on using the potion on you. You have to admit, it's an admirable design. Without your powers, the last remaining threat to Voldemort's rein is extinguished."

Harry found that he couldn't swallow. He felt ill. "This cannot be happening," he whispered hoarsely.

Malfoy was silent. Harry flipped through the journal again. This time his eyes were glued to the drawings, watching the darkness inside the form of a man expand and bleed over the pages until it vanished. It was almost like a toy he'd seen Dudley playing with as a child. A flip book. Each page had a similar drawing and when one flipped through the book quickly the picture appeared to be moving. It was Harry's first taste of magic, in a sense. Dudley, of course, had grown bored with it in a matter a minutes.

Harry flipped the pages again and again, watching the grotesque little episode repeat itself. His head was spinning. Could there really be such a potion? Were the Death Eaters honestly planning to rob him of the one thing that made him great? Could he trust that Malfoy was telling the truth about all this?

He slammed the book shut and tossed it to Malfoy.

"You're sincere about all this?" he asked.

"Of course I am. I'm not just saying all this for a laugh, Potter. This is serious. If they are really planning on doing this to you, something has to be done. We can't…I can't let that happen. I know Voldemort. I've met him and he's not what one would call a stable person. He is a great leader but he isn't fit to have the kind of power he wants," Malfoy said. He paused and noticed the skeptical look on Harry's face and sighed, "Give me the notebook. I'll write this all down if you don't believe me."

It took Harry a moment to realize what Malfoy was talking about. The Notebook. The Boy's Guide, with it's pages enchanted to only bear truths. He shook his head quickly. "You don't have to do that. I believe you."

Harry looked up at Malfoy, but the blonde had his head turned away to the wall. He held his hands clasped in front of him awkwardly, as if not sure what to do with them.

"Er…Thanks, Potter."

"Oh! Erm," Harry stuttered, "You don't have to…I didn't mean for it to be a compliment or anything. I just-"

"I know. I want to thank you. For trusting me when I've given you every reason not to. That shows character."

"Oh," Harry said. The room was painfully silent. Harry shifted on the bed and the sound of the sheets rustling seemed to rip through the room, the noise obscene in the stillness. When Malfoy finally clapped his hands together in front of him, Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.

"I suppose we'll need a plan, then," Malfoy announced.

"A plan for what?"

"A plan for getting out of here before they give you that potion, you fuckwit. Honestly, try and keep up, Potter. It's your hide that's on the line here."

"Right," Harry said, relieved that Malfoy was back to name calling and that the heavier things between them were being pushed aside. "So, er, have you got a plan then?"

Malfoy slumped down onto the bed. "Not really, no."

"You said something about an antidote, right? Maybe we could contact Snape and-"

"Number one," Malfoy interrupted, leaning back on the bed, "We have no idea where Snape is. And number two, if we were in any position to be owling for help, I think we'd have done it already."

"Oh, yeah."

"So really, we need to concentrate our efforts into getting out of this room."

"Malfoy, I've been thinking something that Bellatrix was saying," Harry said suddenly.

"Go on."

"Well, it was about us…fighting and all. I mean, she's right. We've been here almost two days and all we've done is bicker over silly things. It's a waste of time and energy, and both of those are quite precious in our situation. Our dislike of each other is getting the best of us both, you have to admit. Now look, I don't like saying this, but you are pretty smart. You seem to get good marks in school without even trying very hard. And me, well…"

"You're the Boy-Who-Lived," Malfoy prompted.

"Right. So, I think together we might…erg…we might make a good team. There, I've said it."

Malfoy leaned back as if to get a better look at Harry, angling back his head and squinting his eyes.

"Harry Potter," he drawled in is familiar way, "Are you suggesting that you and I enter into some sort of…friendship?"

"Partnership is more like it. I'm not saying you've got to love me; you've just got to work with me."

"This does not entail following you around like your puppy dog, Weasley, I hope."

"No it- Hey! He's not a puppy dog. He's loyal!"

"To a fault."

Harry glared.

"All right, all right, Potter. Keep your panties on. I'll play along with your little scheme. You and I, for the time being, will swear off all petty arguments, name calling and the like for the sake of our survival."

"And the survival of the world. Don't forget that."

"How could I," Malfoy grinned. Then he laid down onto the bed, hands behind his head. "This should be interesting."

"Yeah, well, I think the first part of our plan ought to be to get some sleep, because frankly my head isn't working properly at the moment."

"I feel a bit fuzzy as well," Malfoy admitted. "I guess we could afford a few more hours of rest, but when the sun rises, we've got to get to work."

"Deal," Harry nodded.

Malfoy shifted his body so the he was lying properly in the bed, and pulled the covers over him. He rearranged the pillow wall and turned away from Harry. Likewise, Harry got under his sheets, pulling them up close to his face and squirming to the far end of the bed. He closed his eyes, trying not to hear Malfoy breathing. His listened to his own breath instead and let his thoughts drift, willing himself to subconsciously concoct some sort of plan. Just as he was nearly asleep, Malfoy roused him.

"Hey, Potter."

"Yes?"

"Since we're being partners and all, should I start calling you Harry, do you think?"

Harry opened his eyes and turned to Malfoy. "Do you want to call me Harry?"

"I…I don't know," Malfoy shrugged, "It couldn't hurt, I guess. I think it might help us remember that it's our goal to get along. Calling each other by our first names might promote a more productive relationship between the two of us."

"I never thought of that, but I suppose your right."

"All right then. It's set. I'll call you Harry and you'll call me Draco. For the time being. Because once we are back at the school you are back to being Scarface, got it?"

"Right. Once we are back at school we'll just pretend this has never happened at all. You'll be back to being a weasel faced, pale skinned, scrawny brat who couldn't catch a snitch if his life depended on it."

"And you'll be the repulsively disfigured, pathetic excuse for a wizard with no fashion sense to speak off, who needs desperately to be introduced to a hair brush."

Harry chuckled, "Goodnight, Draco."

Malfoy shifted noisily, "Goodnight, Harry. Pleasant dreams."

"Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Hermione and Ron continue to clomp around being entirely useless," Ron said as he and Hermione walked down the hall towards Potions class that next morning.

"Ron," Hermione sighed wearily.

"It's true and you know it! Harry has been missing for two days now! And here we are, going to class like nothing's wrong."

"What else can we do?"

"Break out of here! Go looking for him! Storm up to Dumbledore's office and demand some answers," Ron shouted, waving his books in front of him in a wild gesture of frustration, "This is crazy, Hermione. Harry is gone. Malfoy is gone. And Snape is gone! Something very wrong is going on and I can't just sit here in dumb silence for much longer. I need some answers."

Hermione had grown quiet since they reached the archway at the end of the stairs into Snape's classroom. She stopped in the doorway and looked over to the livid redhead beside her.

"I think we just may be getting a few answers soon," she said.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, moving past her to look into the classroom.

Snape sat at his desk, illuminated in the glow of morning sunlight that streaked from the thin slat windows running along the ceiling of the dungeon room. His hair fell into his face, casting a black shadow over his face.

Ron looked over at Hermione. Neither said a word. They entered the room in silence and too their seats together near the front of the room. The classroom soon filled. A curious silence presided over the room as the students awaited an explanation for their professor's disappearance.

Snape rose up and snapped his wand at the door. It slammed shut and the sound caused most of the students to startle in their seats.

"I am sure who ever has been conducting this class has done an adequate job of keeping you caught up. I am safe to assume this much? Neville?" Snape turned to the boy quickly, and his hair fell away from his face, revealing dark eyes rimmed by darker circles and an ashen complexion.

Neville looked around for help and Hermione nodded encouragingly at him. "Er, yes sir. I mean, we are caught up. We just finished the chapter on calming concoctions yesterday, sir."

"Good. I want you all to take out your texts and begin reading the next chapter in silence, taking notes as you go along. You are to fill a twelve inch piece of parchment before the end of class. Get to work," Snape snapped, and the room was soon filled with the sounds of scratching quills and rustling book pages.

Snape stood very still, watching as the students busied themselves in their assignment. Ron gave Hermione a questioning look, daring not speak when Snape was in one of his moods. Hermione shrugged at him and mimed that he ought to get to work. Ron took out his quill, wrote something on his paper and slid it towards her. She picked it up and read it.

What's gotten up his arse? Snape acts like he hasn't just come from a week long vacation.

"Perhaps, Mr. Weasley, that is because I haven't."

Ron's head snapped up, and his skin paled. His mouth hung open but he couldn't seem to form any real words.

"I would hardly call my leave of absence relaxing, or refreshing in anyway. I hope this is enough of an explanation of my behavior for you, Weasley, because I am not feeling inclined to giving you any more details at the moment."

"Oh, er…no, ergh. Not any of my business, really. Sorry, Professor," Ron said, his pale skin now taking on a pinkish tint.

"Good. Get to work. As for you, Miss Granger, I need to see you after class."

Hermione looked up, clearly surprised, "But, sir, I've got a class right after this. I can't be late."

"In that case I will write you a pass to excuse you. I'm afraid what we have to discus is of the utmost importance, and it merits one missed class. I shall see you in an hour."

With that, Snape turned back to his desk and dropped down, busing himself and not looking up until the period was over and the class had begun to file out.

As Ron gathered his things to his chest, he learned towards Hermione.

"What in Merlin's name do you think he wants to talk to you about?" he whispered loudly in her ear.

"I don't really know."

"Well, if you have a chance, try and find out all you can about where he was and what he knows about Harry and Malfoy. All right?"

"Will do. Anyway, you better get out of here. Take notes for me in History of Magic."

Ron frowned, "Er, yes, well, I'll try anyway. I have an awfully hard time staying awake in there."

"Do your best."

"And you do your best. This may be our chance to get some answers."

"I think we slept a bit longer than we intended."

"I'd say. It's nearly ten," Harry said. He was doing his morning stretches on the floor of Malfoy…er…Draco's room.

Draco tugged off his robe and night shirt and replaced them with wrinkled green dress shirt. He dug around in his drawer and threw Harry another t-shirt- this one declaring the wearer's 'Slytherin Pride'.

Harry changed into it reluctantly, "I'm beginning to think the only reason you're providing me with clean clothes is that you enjoy seeing me in these shirts."

"That's part of it," Draco admitted. He dropped his flannel pajama pants and pulled on a pair of jeans. "I had a dream last night."

"Well, golly, did it involve you and Voldie having a tea party together?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"No. Although I once dreamed that Voldemort was my date to the Yule Ball. But I'd taken a weird sleeping potion that night, so it's excusable. Anyway, this dream was different. This could help us."

"Get on with it."

"I dreamed that I was running through this really narrow hallway. I was in the mansion- here. I was much younger. The house elves were making cinnamon tea cakes for a party of my mothers and I wanted to snatch a few before they were gone. I came to the end of the hall and there was a little door. It lead into the kitchen."

"So what does that mean?"

Draco walked over from his wardrobe to the wall adjacent to the one the wardrobe leaned against. He rapped his knuckles on the plaster.

"It wasn't just a dream. It was a memory from my childhood. This," he said, gesturing around him, "Has always been my room. But it's been remodeled over the years. Things have been changed, moved. I'd forgotten all about it but, Harry, there used to be a secret passage way right here."

Draco rapped the wall again and this time Harry noticed the hallow sound it made.

"It's still there!" Harry exclaimed.

"Yes. And if we could somehow access it-"

"We'd have a way to escape," Harry finished. "It's brilliant!"

"Not quite. There's no way to get to it besides knocking down this wall. And I imagine that sort of noise wouldn't go unnoticed."

"Bugger! It's always something, isn't it?"

"Well, things just aren't handed to you in life. But what you need is always there. If we can work out a way to knock down this wall silently then we'd be set. All we need is a plan."

"Miss Granger, I trust I can count on your discretion in the matter I'm about to discus with you."

Hermione looked up from her notes. Snape was seated at his desk, hands planted in front of him, clasp together tightly. His features were frozen in a look of composure, but his hands were gripped together tightly, turning white at the knuckles.

Hermione stood slowly, "Yes. Of course, Sir."

Snape stood as well, sweeping his robes around him. "Good. I also hope you wont let your ego be inflated but what I'm about to say next."

He fixed her with a cold stare, and Hermione could think of no way to respond to that, so she said nothing. He continued as if he'd expected her silence.

"You are, although I loath to admit it, the best and brightest student I've had the misfortune of instructing in my long and tedious career as a professor here at Hogwarts."

Hermione was stunned. She felt heat rising into her chest and face and she struggled to stammer a thank you.

Snape frowned deeply at her and continued, "You are also an officious, overbearing, neurotic, attention-seeking brown-noser, which I find utterly distasteful. However, in my current situation I am going to have to look past those traits. Because I need your help."

"My help, Professor?"

"Don't make me say it again, Miss Granger. Now, do you agree to assist me in my project or not?"

"I…I…" Hermione's head was spinning. This was not what she had expected at all. She struggled to make sense of what Snape was saying, but her thoughts were racing too quickly. Help? He wanted her help? What could the potions master possible need her for?

"I suppose you'll want to know more about our little project before you give me your response," Snape offered. Hermione nodded dumbly and he went on, "As I'm sure you've noticed, things have been far from normal these past few days. Our Headmaster thinks it's best not to give out to many details so as not to alarm the students. So please, don't go around babbling about what I'm about to tell you."

"No, Sir. I…Of course not," she managed.

"All right then. Subtlety has never been my strong suit so I'll just come out and say it. We believe a group of students here at Hogwarts have become involved with a group of revolutionists known as the Death Eaters. Are you aware of such a group, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's mouth went dry. She nodded numbly.

"Then you know that these Death Eaters are supportive of You-Know-Who. There was an incident reported to us by some of the portraits from the third floor hall that took place a few days ago. Sparing you unnecessary exposition, the staff has come to believe that Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter have been kidnapped by students and taken to an unknown location."

"What?" Hermione exploded. Her stomach was turning, her pulse racing. "What do you mean, kidnapped? And why both of them? What could Malfoy have that would be of use to Volde-"

"We are not here to discus the why of it, Miss Granger," Snape barked, "I am not employing you to act as any sort of intelligence."

"But, Professor, this is my best friend you're talking about!"

"Yes, and I hope you are not going to let your emotions cloud your thinking, because I am counting on you to be able to help me insure that no harm is done to Potter that would irreversible."

Hermione let out a slow breath, desperately trying to collect herself. Harry was in trouble, and Snape was clearly offering her a way to help. She needed to be calm. She needed to compose herself.

After a few seconds, she managed to voice her first question.

"What do you mean by saying I'm to help make sure no irreversible harm has been done to Harry?"

Snape reached one arm into the folds of his voluminous robes and produced a small vial of a brilliant, glittering violet liquid that bubbled menacing red bubbles.

"Have you ever hear of an Evaporation of Magical Capabilities potion, Miss Granger?"

"So…how wide would you say the passage way is?"

"I really don't see what that's got to do with anything, Potter."

"I'm just trying to look at this from all angles. And it's Harry. Remember, we agreed on first names."

"Right well, Harry, would you please stop chewing on that quill. It's genuine phoenix feather and your saliva is doing nothing to improve it's immaculate condition."

Harry pulled the colorful quill from between his lips and twirled it in his fingers. The black feathers glittered orange and red and blue in the daylight shinning though the window he sat before. He ran the feather over his closed lips, and Draco had to look away because of the uncomfortable stirring it caused in his unmentionable regions.

Funny, the more time he spent with Harry, the less he despised him. He hated to admit it, but Harry was rather agreeable and sort of vibrant in personality. And he had a wicked sense of humor. It was all Draco could do to keep the stern look on his face when Harry was saying something outrageous.

Harry tapped the quill on his forehead chanting 'think, Harry, think'. Draco tried to direct his mind away from the boy sitting in front of him and onto the issues at hand, but he kept noticing that Harry had a way of wearing a simple, black T-shirt extremely well. Maybe it was just that the shirt fit him, unlike most of his own clothes, which he had explained were handed down items from an obese cousin. Draco's T-shirt, however, was possibly even a few sizes to small for Harry, and it emphasized his rather impressive shoulders and forearms.

"Do work out at all?" Draco asked absently.

Harry shook his head. "Not intentionally, no. But my aunt and uncle make me work in the garden and around the house all summer, so I suppose that's a bit of a work out. Why?"

"No reason," Draco shrugged. Then, "For Merlin's sake, have you got some sort of oral fixation? Give me that quill before your ruin it. Do you have any idea how much this cost?"

Harry handed it over, "About as much as a good wand, I recon. Isn't that what they sometimes put in them? Phoenix feather?"

"Mmm."

"Yeah, too bad we couldn't make a wand. Using that feather, and like, a stick or something. Maybe a chair leg, or that ruler you've got in your sock drawer…"

Harry continued to ramble on conversationally, but Draco had stopped listening. He was turning the feather over in his hand, looking at it in a way he'd never looked at it before.

"Harry," he finally snapped.

"What?"

"Why couldn't we?"

"Why couldn't we what? Transfigure your bed into a Vespa and ride it through the door?"

Draco recognized vaguely that this idea was what Harry had been babbling about seconds ago when he'd gotten off on his tangent of unrealistic plans. Draco shook his head. "No, why couldn't we make a wand?"

Harry sat up in his chair, suddenly more alert. "Isn't that sort of far-fetched? I mean, yeah, a wand is a stick and feathers, or heartstring or whatever. But there has to be more to it than that."

"Yes, for complicated magic the materials have to be very precisely crafted. But for our purposes we could make due with a homemade wand."

"What do you mean 'our purposes'? What are we going to do with some shoddy wand? Remember when Ron broke his wand? He couldn't even perform simple spells properly!"

For a moment, Draco felt the sting of reality. No, it couldn't work. He'd been crazy to think it would.

"It's probably worth a try though," Harry finished, and Draco brightened. "I mean, most likely it won't work, but, honestly, what have we got to lose? I'm about to be force-fed a potion that'll turn me into a squib, and who knows what they are planning to do to you!"

"What comforting thought," Draco mused.

Harry stood up and began looking around. "We need some fancy wood. Like…"

"Oak?" Draco offered, holding up the desk chair he'd been sitting on.

"That's a bit large."

Draco looked at the chair thoughtfully, considering it's value. It was the same chair he'd been horrified to see Harry tipping back and forth in the other day, but now, with the reality of their situation setting in, the 17th century relic did not seem so important in the grand scheme of things.

Grinning at the thought of what the look on his father's face would be like if he saw what Draco was about to do, he lifted the chair above his head and brought it down to the floor in a swift stroke. It splinted into pieces, bouncing along the floor. He reached down and snatched up a leg and held it out to Harry.

"How's this?"

"Perfect. Get me some spell-o-tape, would you?"

After a few minutes construction time, they had themselves wand. Or rather, a feather taped to a chair leg, but in it's most basic elements, a wand was precisely what it was. Harry tested it out by aiming it at the bed and yelling "Lumos!" One of the pillows promptly burst into flames. Harry was ecstatic.

"Not exactly what we wanted, but it works! It performs magic!" he exclaimed with a contagious grin. Draco couldn't stop himself from smiling back, though he tried to suppress it.

Harry was not yet done rejoicing. He turned two more pillows into fluffy, miniature poodles which exploded in clouds of feathers a few seconds later. His face was lit up with enthusiasm. His green eyes sparkled like soda water. He turned to Draco and decreed, "We did it! Our stupid plan worked!" then swooped him up into a hug.

Draco was shocked at first, but his tense muscles relaxed as Harry's warmth spread over him. He actually laughed in return, and allowed Harry to rock him back and forth madly, praising their genius loudly the entire time. After a few seconds, Harry seemed to gather himself and realized what he was doing. He ended to hug abruptly, awkwardly, and stepped away from Draco. Then he directed attention back to their wand.

"So, what do we do with it, then?" he asked, shaking it and watching glittery sparks fall from the tip.

"We can't do any big magic. Not only would it be dangerous with a wand like this, but we might attract the wrong kind of attention from our captures."

"True. So…what can we do? We obviously can't use it to call any broomsticks and fly out of here. But could we apparate out?"

Draco shook his head, "Dad put an anti-apparation charm on my room after I snuck out last summer and spent the weekend at Pansy's place."

"Oh, right. Pansy," Harry said with a snort.

"What?"

"Nothing. I mean, I don't want to say anything mean about your girlfriend, especially since we've been getting along for pretty well for the past few hours."

"She's not my girlfriend," Draco said.

Harry's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Yes, really. I mean, I sort of dated her for a while but it was more of a friends-with-benefits type of thing. Anyway, it didn't work out. Pansy's not really my type, to tell you the truth. We weren't well matched."

"So what is your type then, if it's not the big-breasted, blonde pureblood?"

Draco looked thoughtful, "I don't know. Someone with a sense of humor, who's smart, but not showoff-y about it. Good-looking, but not better looking than me, of course. Someone who's loyal, who I could count on in a tight spot…" he trailed off, then suddenly snapped out of it, replacing his dreamy look with a smirk, "Anyway, what is this, The Daily Prophet Personals?"

"I was just curious," Harry answered unapologetically. He smacked the wand into his palm and said, "What about a silencing spell?"

Draco asked what he meant, being in no way able to see how a simple spell like that could help them. Harry crossed the room over near the fireplace and patted the wall adjacent to it. The portrait of Draco attempted to crane it's neck out of the painting to see what Harry was referring to.

"The passage way," Harry said, knocking on the wall, "We can't get it open without making a lot of noise and alerting a lot of people. But if were cast a silencing spell in the room…"

"We could make all the noise we want!" Draco finished. "Brilliant!"

Harry beamed, "I thought so."

"Stop taking all the credit. It was my dream that reminded me that the passage. And it's my expensive quill that's taped to my chair's leg to make that thing we're calling a wand."

"And it was my idea to make the wand," Harry reminded him.

Draco scowled prettily. "Fine. I guess that makes us even. We're two for two."

But Harry was still grinning triumphantly. "You're forgetting one very important thing."

"Which would be…?"

"It was my idea for us to partner up. Therefore, I win."

Draco opened and closed his mouth a few times, but for once in his life, he could think of no retort. Finally he sighed, crossed his arms over his chest and said, "Well, what are you waiting for, Smarty-Trousers? Cast the spell before Voldemort himself turns up here and decided our skulls would make pretty candle holders."

"This is a bit…er…tighter than I imagined it'd be."

"It just hasn't been used in a while."

"Well, I can see that. I think I'm too big to fit."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. You are not that large."

"No, no! I'm serious! I think-- Oh no, I'm stuck!"

"You're what?"

"I said, I'm stuck! Jammed! Lodged in! I can't pull out!"

"Maybe if I squeeze this way--"

"Ergh! You're making it worse. Much worse. Just don't…move. At all. Honestly, what are you laughing it?"

"It's quite a funny predicament."

"I don't see how. It's embarrassing. And uncomfortable."

"I don't know, I rather like it."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Draco shrugged the best he could. As it were, Harry and he were squeezed chest to chest into the newly opened passage, which had turned out to be a bit smaller that Draco remembered it being. Still, Harry was feeling rather giddy. Their wand and spell had worked, and they'd gotten the passage open. They had made leaps and bounds towards their ultimate goal of escaping.

"You're squishing my liver!" Harry moaned loudly.

"Oh, shut up, would you?" Draco ordered merrily.

"We're going to die in here. We'll starve to death, or…"

"We aren't going to die. We're just in a bit of a…a tight spot, if you will."

"Very funny," Harry grumbled. Still, he smiled a bit at the uncharacteristic gleam in Draco's eye. "What's gotten you in such a good mood?"

Draco didn't answer. Instead he lifted his arms, sucked in his stomach and managed to slide past Harry. He turned and put on a wicked smile. "We're free."

"So we are…"

Draco was already hurrying up ahead, waving for Harry to follow. Harry was forced to trail after the blonde into the dark hall, feeling his way along when the fading daylight from the bedroom gave way to the complete blackness of the narrow passage. His fingers brushed over the crumbling stone, tangling in the sticky thread of spider webs. He shivered, and whispered to Draco, only to be shushed immediately.

"We don't want to be heard," Draco whispered.

"I can't see where I'm going."

In response, Harry felt Draco's fingers slip over his. They were long, lithe and warm. He had to suppress a shudder as Draco's fingers pushed their way through his, and their palms came in contact. He could feel Draco's pulse beating fiercely under the skin of his wrist.

Draco continued to pull Harry along, but Harry was no longer concentrating on the mission. His body was buzzing with the memory of Draco's body pressed against his. He felt shivery and electric, and blanketed with a warm glow of happiness. As if responding to this, Draco squeezed his hand, and Harry felt uncharacteristically weak. He had a feeling that if Draco asked him to do something right now, he'd obey without hesitation, no matter what the consequence.

It was a dangerous feeling.

Finally Draco dropped his hand and replaced his palm on Harry's back, pushing him forward. His breath warmed Harry's cheek as he leaned in to speak. "The kitchen," was all he said. Harry heard a scuffling sound, then Draco swore quite loudly.

"Shhh. What is it?" Harry asked.

"I can't open it. It must be sealed up, or something. But it was never sealed before. It was still here in the summer."

"Do you think your dad knew we'd try something?"

"I don't see how he could have. Look it almost gives…" Draco grunted and shuffled around. "I can't move it. It feels like there is something in front of the door."

"Maybe you're parents redecorated," Harry suggested. He tried shoving the door open as well, but no cigar. It simply wouldn't budge.

"Come on, let's go before someone hears us," Draco urged, "There is nothing we can do."

Then turned and made their way back to the room slowly, trying to be as silent as possible. Draco exited first, sliding past Harry and stomping out into the room. He kicked at one of the pieces of plaster that littered the floor.

"That was a waste of a perfectly good chair," he whined, looking down at their homemade wand.

"Maybe we could think of another spell to do," Harry suggested, hoping he didn't sound as crestfallen as he did. But he was. Because for a second there, he had actually been hopeful. He'd actually believed that they could escape this prison.

"It's getting late," Draco said, looking towards the window. True to his words, the sky was taking on the rich purple hues of twilight. "Time is running out."

"Please. Don't say that."

"I know. I don't want to think about it either. I don't want to think about what they're planning. How truly helpless we are right now…"

Harry groaned.

There was a moments silence as each boy privately considered their nightmarish expectations of the next few hours of their lives. Then Draco flopped down onto his bed, platinum hair surrounding him like a halo of moonlight. Harry dropped down next to him, and for a minute neither said anything at all.

Then: "You were right, Harry. This work as a team thing was a good idea. Even if our scheme didn't work."

Harry said nothing, just tilted his head to look at Draco. The boy was speaking in profile, staring up at the ceiling. The room was growing dimmer, the candles brighter.

"I'm sorry I gave you so much hell this year about your being…you know," Draco said.

"Ok."

"No." Draco rolled onto his stomach, closer to Harry. His face was over Harry's, just a few inches away. "I mean it. You're not a bad person. You didn't deserve it."

"It's in the past," Harry answered.

Draco swallowed hard, eyes misting over like the hazy humidity that settled over the earth before a storm. When he spoke, his voice was thick. "It's that easy then? You're just going to forgive me?"

Harry answered truthfully. "I already have. In all honestly, we both behaved badly toward each other this year. I owe you an apology just as much as you owe me one."

"I owe you more than an apology."

"What more could you give me?" Harry asked.

Draco's voice was scarcely a whisper.

"This."

His lips settled down over Harry's, parted just slightly, softer than Harry had ever felt. Harry would have never imaged that any part of Draco could be so gentle, so yielding. At first Draco was trembling, but soon he let go, and was kissing Harry with all the skill and dedication of a musician playing his instrument. He moved carefully, purposely. His motions were perfect. It was all Harry could do not to cry from the intensity of it; the honesty of it. The beauty of it.

When Draco pulled away, Harry saw the crystal droplets shimmering in the corners of his eyes. But his lips stretched into a smile, a joyful expression. For his part, Harry could not think of a damn thing to say. Draco spoke instead.

"That's all I've been thinking about for this entire day," he confessed. "That was twenty-four hours of bottled emotions."

Harry could only blink in surprise.

Draco went on, "And this…this is seven years of it."

Draco pressed his lips to Harry's again, and the second kiss was something else entirely. Where the first had been sweet and timid, this one was rich in passion and frustration. Seven years of hatred, jealousy, confusion and fierce admiration combusted between them.

Draco's fingers closed over Harry's. They shifted so that Harry lay over Draco, kissing him back with fervor. When Harry had to stop to gasp for breath, Draco looked up at him, his eyes appearing to be a dazzling shade of warm mercury. He was grinning playfully. Happily. Harry had never seen the expression on the boy's face before.

Harry tried to think of something to say- some way to express how he was feeling at the moment. He wanted to say something eloquent. Something sincere.

But when he opened his mouth, the only words that came out were, "Oh, my…"