A/N: Okay, this is a REALLY long chapter... Try to bear with me… ;-)
A/N II: Dedicated to my wonderful friend Justin Etre.
9. Original Sin
Halloween day flew by like a gust of wind. The last lessons of the day were cancelled for everybody, except the third year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, who despondently had to bear with Snape.
The school was full of all imaginary Halloween decorations, including the traditional, illuminated pumpkin heads floating over the heads of the students in the Great Hall. The atmosphere was excited all day, and the children were allowed to do many kind of funny tricks to each other, allowed to laugh and racket freely. The teachers were enduring it admirably, occasionally even taking part. If not counted Argus Filch, of course.
Headmaster Dumbledore literally beamed with content as he saw so many happy faces around. And he was also happy to see his pet, Harry Potter, looking somewhat better than during the past few days. Still, the Headmaster could sense there was something serious bothering Harry's mind. He wanted to know what it was, but would wait. He would not spoil Harry's Halloween with uncomfortable questions.
Outside, the sky was as silky as Draco Malfoy's sheets. After dinnertime, many of the students went to spend the day outdoors, wandering along the lakeside and avoiding the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid was very glad to find Harry, Ron, Hermione and Lavender standing behind his door that afternoon, carrying loads of bonbons. He invited the teenagers inside, offering them tea and some muffins, however allowed to serve just the tea.
"This is an exiting day, ain't it, kids?" Rubeus winked his eye, sitting down in his huge chair that was made for half-giants. "You lot gettin' a masked ball, from what I hear!"
"Yes, we are!" cried Lavender in enthusiasm. "I'm so thrilled!"
"Bet we all should be thrilled, having the non-official permission to try and get drunk with some miserable butterbeer," Harry stated, making his friends look at him in confusion. However, he smiled as brightly as before, and at least Ron decided to take his comment as a joke.
"Um, well, yeah. They serve us butterbeer, alright. But only the students in their fourth year or above can have it freely," he said, scratching his head lazily. "But I'm sure, if Fred and George didn't bullshit me, we should start feeling giddy after about six pints of it."
"Ron, how can you even plan to get drunk?" Hermione glowered at him warningly. "If you furthermore wish that I will come there as your date, you really should think the matter over."
"Aw, come on, Herm!" Ron's face fell with annoyance.
Harry smirked. "Bet Hermione will be as drunk as any of us before the clock strikes twelve."
"I most certainly won't be!" Hermione gasped, and threw a hard muffin at Harry. She missed, of course.
The hours drifted by. Around six o'clock in the afternoon, many students complained that their stomachs were hurting with all the candy they had eaten. Around seven, the girls began to retreat to their dormitories, in order to prepare themselves for the ball. The elder boys stayed in the public areas for another hour still, chatting with each other about the evening, comparing their chances to get laid or relevant. They younger boys, instead, were pacing back and forth in the common areas of their houses, looking very nervous about going out with girls.
Harry Potter was resting in his bed, staring at the carvings on his bedposts. They were mighty Gryffindor lions, fighting with snakes and dragons. He was feeling as nervous as Ron, who was suddenly making a big noise about his freckles. But Harry wasn't nervous because of Lavender, or because of the masquerade. He was nervous because of a certain green card under his pillow.
Mmh, the invitation says eleven p.m. Fuck! Two hours of that dratted dress party, before… yes, before what? Where am I exactly planning to go? And the dress code said something sexy. I haven't got anything sexy! What do I need to be sexy for? Who do I need to be sexy for? Harry smiled inwardly when thinking about Draco.
"Hey, Harry! Haven't you got anything to put on?" asked Neville Longbottom, trying to cram himself into a horrible, pea green costume that was supposed to resemble a fir tree.
Oh, the absurdity of this all! Harry heaved a fed-up sigh. "No, Neville, I haven't got a Prince Charming suit, if that's what you meant."
Harry remembered how Draco's grey eyes had followed his every movement at dinner earlier the day. Malfoy thinks I'm the Prince Charming without the dress, anyway, so why bother to get one? Harry grinned.
But oh, right after this self-confident thought, Harry's heart made a plunge, and he felt very vulnerable and insecure again. What if he doesn't think I'm good-looking? I must remember he's a Slytherin. A Malfoy, of all the Slytherins! He's only playing games with me. He's dangerous. He's fucking made to kill me one beautiful day! I can't trust anything he says. I shouldn't take his words too seriously. Harry looked disturbed. I shouldn't take his invitation too seriously, either. Perhaps I should not go at all.
"Lavender will be very disappointed that you haven't got a costume," noted Seamus, looking at Harry in a cunning way. "You really don't seem to respect her very much, Harry. Why did you start dating her in the first place, if you don't mind me asking? It's obvious that you're not smitten with her. Not that it's any of my business, but I'd still like to know."
There was a short moment during which Harry tried to find the right words. I started to date her because I wanted to proof Malfoy and myself that I wasn't gay, which I think I eventually am, and because Lavender happens to remind a hell lot of Draco, with her radiant white hair and pale skin.
"I think she's beautiful," answered Harry. It was the most honest thing he could say. "But later on, I've found her a bit, well, childish."
"Childish!" cried Dean and gave a laugh. "Don't you think that you might be too mature, Harry? I mean, you are somewhat adult for your age, since you've been forced to experience such horrible things in your life. So, maybe it's just you, Harry, and not Lavender."
Harry admitted that Dean could be right, however sternly keeping his eyes away of Dean's bottom, now covered with sporty breeches.
"Alright, fellas, you win. Maybe I really should do something to my outer appearance," Harry said, rising from the bed.
Ron nodded in agreement. "What do you have in mind?"
Harry smiled shrewdly. "Oh, just something sexy…"
Draco Malfoy had been uncommonly snappy the whole day. His friends were afraid of him, since he happened to be the most influential dark wizard of their house, and avoided him as much as possible. Draco stormed about every little inconvenience, and at least twice every hour he made the girls check if the party dungeon was ready.
Draco himself didn't notice that something was strange in his behaviour. He had never in his life been nervous before, and therefore he couldn't recognise the feeling. He just kept on comparing every garment in his wardrobe, snorting derisively most of the time. For an outsider, this would've looked very much incomprehensible, since Draco's every shirt and trouser were the top quality, without a trace of shabbiness. But as said, Draco was snappish, and nothing felt good now for him today.
As the hours went by, Draco eventually calmed down a bit. He concentrated on sitting still on his bed, staring his own reflection in the opposite mirror.
"Don't look so resentful, Draco darling," the mirror said. "You are strikingly beautiful."
"Shut up. I'm trying to fall in coma."
"What for, dear? You're fabulous, you're talented, and you've got all the qualities the other boys envy."
"You're being partial," Draco snapped, looking at the mirror murderously. "Besides, Potter doesn't envy me."
"Does he not, now? Well. I haven't seen this Potter boy, so I really can't understand why he wouldn't envy you. But darling, why don't you ask him? If the matter bothers you so much that you need to wear that grimacing face, you really should ask him how he feels about you."
"Oh, Merlin! I thought I'd seen it all but now I know I have, a fucking mirror therapist fucking hell…" he snarled and ran fingers trough his supple blonde hair. It looked nearly transparent now, in the light of the setting sun. "That Potter drives me mad…"
Harry stood in front of a full-length mirror in the bathroom, only a pair of boxers on. He was desperately wondering what to conjure up for the evening. He hadn't really ever conjured up clothes before, since it wasn't usually necessary, but now he really didn't feel like wearing Dudley's old trousers.
Something sexy… but something simple, as well. I don't want to walk around gathering weird glances. And also something that could fit in the masquerade. Honestly, an impossible combination…
Harry decided to start from the 'simple' part. He swung his wand for the magic, and soon a tight, gem green chemise wrapped around his upper body. Not bad. Emphasizes the colour of my eyes.
The eyes. Harry leaned closer to the mirror and looked in his eyes, after a long time. They weren't scary anymore, were not doubtful. On the contrary, they were excited, gleaming emeralds. He took off his glasses and repaired his eyesight by a neat swish of wand. That's better. Now I actually look handsome, even in my own opinion. No glasses tonight.
The next clothes he conjured up were black dragon hide trousers, and boots of the same material. He put them on, evaluating his own reflection again. Simple and sexy. Yet not fitting in the costume party, exactly.
Harry jumped as he heard the door slam open, hitting against the wall with force. Ron dashed in with Seamus and Dean, laughing rowdily.
"You ready, Harry? The girls are waiting."
Harry turned around to face his friends. Honestly…
Ron was wearing his oh-so-hot 'Stallion' sweatband again, in addition to the bright red sports trousers and a T-shirt with a picture of a horse. Obviously he was supposed to look like a personal trainer. Harry coughed down a laugh and looked at Dean Thomas. Dean had also chosen a sporty line, although he was much more better looking than poor Ronald, apparently playing a commando soldier.
"What's this sudden sporty breeze?" Harry asked, grinning.
"I asked the same," smiled Seamus, wearing a costume of an elf, with pointed ears and all.
Ron and Dean only laughed and began to pull Harry towards the common room.
"Come on! The party starts in fifteen minutes!"
The party started, all right. Harry was sitting in the far end of the Gryffindor table that was now standing next to the wall. The middle floor was cleared for the dancers. And what kind of dancers! Harry couldn't believe how many different, laughable costumes he saw with only one glance.
"You look so handsome, Harry, without your glasses," Lavender giggled, spreading dreamily her pink wings of a love fairy. "But I really can't tell what role you're trying to play."
Hermione came to sit next to them, asking Harry the same question. She was quite stunning in her cat suit, although Harry was more like reminded of the one miserable adventure with Polyjuice potion and Millicent Bulstrode's pet.
"Really, Harry, tell us what the dragon hide is for!" Lavender pleaded.
"Well…" Harry tried to think of something. Then he began to smile. "I think it's quite obvious, Lavender. I'm a Dragon Tamer. Just that I haven't found my dragon, yet."
The clock didn't seem to go forwards quickly enough for Harry. He thought his brains were exploding with all the silly costumes and idiotic jokes around, and the table bending with butterbeer wasn't cheering him up, either. He had already drunk eight pints, without remarkable results, and was seriously considering pouring his ninth one down Neville's collar.
Hermione and Ron were snogging wildly under the table, kissing each other senseless. Harry had been right when saying that Hermione would be drunk before midnight. She was, and roughly at that.
Lavender was the only person in the room who wasn't feeling very content. She would've liked to dance all the evening and toss the hems of her pretty dress around, but Harry was being an ass, sitting at the table with his pints, immovable.
"Go and dance with Seamus or Dean, Lavender," Harry mumbled at her, when she came to nag at him the fiftieth time. "I won't mind. I'm feeling a bit ill, so you can freely go around and dance with the others."
Lavender's eyes got a worried gleam, which Harry detested immediately.
"Honestly, it's nothing serious, Lavender. I'll be myself tomorrow again. Go and have fun, don't think about me. I will be just fine."
Lavender hugged Harry gently and left, however whispering that Harry shouldn't feel worried, she would be a good girl all the evening.
Harry couldn't have cared less.
Finally the clock said eleven. Harry sneaked out of the Great Hall, trying not to draw attention. He succeeded well, because during the last thirty minutes, the snogging and flirting had reached an entirely new level.
The green candles… Harry looked around when he arrived at the empty Entrance Hall. All the candles here are orange and gold… No green… Harry took the card in his hand again. Green. Slytherin green. Slytherin. Harry guided his steps towards the Slytherin dungeons.
Once down the broad staircase, Harry noticed a fine row of candles stretching along the wall of a narrow aisle at his left. The candles were green, shining with silvery flames. This must be it… This must be the right place…
The aisle was long and extremely cold. The only sounds around came from his black boots, echoing against the hard stone floor. The candles formed eerie shadows of Harry's figure, and Harry got scared by his own silhouette more than once. Maybe it was the butterbeer, maybe not, but Harry felt very unreal. He sighed with relief when he reached the end of the gangway.
There was a beautiful painting waiting for him, a painting of a Banshee woman. She looked both scary and alluring, night black hair flowing like mist around her, flooding down her shoulders, covering the bare breasts. Her skin had a grey tinge, and her eyes were red like after crying.
"Passssword," she whispered.
Harry imagined what would happen if somebody tried past that door without knowing the right password. Would the painted woman begin the ear-splitting crying, which was typical of the real Banshees? Harry didn't want to find out himself.
"Original Sin."
The painting smiled and then flung aside.
Harry entered a large, warm dungeon room that was bathing in shadows. Weird music was coming from somewhere Harry could not find out, being a strange mixture of rhythm and blues, metal and rap. Green-flamed torches were standing on the walls, giving a soft light over the overwhelming view beneath. Harry gasped with disbelief.
About twenty-five students were partying in front of his eyes, apparently very drunk. Harry understood that all the elder Slytherins that had been missing from the masquerade were here, accompanied also by some Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students Harry well recognised. None of them had cloaks on, oh no. They were more like wearing nothing than something, at least the girls. An intense strip-tease show was going on in one corner of the room, and there were at least three couples very intimately associating together on the overstuffed divans close to the huge grate. Harry decided to stay firmly in the shadows. He was too stunned to join the lot right now. How can something like this be happening? Won't Dumbledore stop this? This is… This is very… Harry tried to think about words like 'horrible' and 'disgusting', but eventually ended up with word interesting. Weird keenness in his heart, he scanned the room trough.
Malfoy was sitting in a sinking, black leather armchair in the middle of the cellar room, looking like a furious guardian angel. His bright hair and skin were making a perfect contrast to his dark background, and he obviously knew he was looking good, but still it seemed that he wasn't entirely satisfied with his situation, taken for his annoyed expression. He was enjoying a bubbling, steamy, blood-red drink, which Harry thought was very rich with alcohol. A couple of coquettish girls were sitting on both side of him, the other one smoothing his chest from where the first buttons of the fine shirt were open.
Harry stayed in the shadows like a spy, watching the odd play in front of his eyes. His hands were trembling so much that he would have been a general topic of heavy laughter if he would've joined the party. Party? What party? This is more like an orgy!
"Etre!" Wayne Hopkins from Hufflepuff waved a hand to somebody in the other end of the room. "Justin, come here, will you?"
Harry saw a tall boy with raven hair rise from the pillows of a couch. He was wearing dark green dragon hide trousers and a tight, pewter-silver T-shirt. His body was extremely well built, his muscles making Harry's eyes enlarge, and he had a row of the most perfect, pearly teeth Harry had ever seen.
He's in Slytherin, Harry remembered. He's in his last year. Wonder why I haven't seen him play Quidditch, because with that body… Oh, fuck! Harry thwacked himself in the head and instinctively reached for his cloak, which wasn't now there. Don't think about him that way, Harry, you fucking idiot!
Potter returned his eyes cautiously back to the boy. In his final opinion, Etre reminded a little of the young, handsome Tom Riddle with his pale chin and high cheekbones, and with nearly black grey eyes. Harry shivered.
"Dear Justin," said Justin Finch-Fletchley to Etre, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezing it. "There is someone in this chamber at the moment who would like to challenge you to play The Dementor's Kiss. What do you say?"
Harry had no idea what kind of a game was The Dementor's Kiss. But, by the sound of it, it wasn't anything promising. However, he saw Etre grinning and accepting the challenge, even though slightly nervously.
The gang of Slytherin girls went and made Etre lie down on a soft mattress, tying his eyes with a black silky linen and his wrists with magical chains. What is it with the Slytherins and chains, Harry wondered, remembering his little episode with Malfoy two nights ago.
Finch-Fletchley, Montague, Hopkins and Boot, along with many others, gathered around the lot, settling so that Etre was in the middle of the circle the girls and boys formed. Harry gave a quick glance at Malfoy to see if he was also going to be there, but Malfoy merely looked bored and bothered, lightning up a cigarette. White ringlets of smoke rose upwards, camouflaging themselves in Draco's snowy hair. He invited me here. I wonder if he's afraid I won't show up? Harry smiled. Wish he was!
The game started on the mattress with Justin. Harry watched as each of the players went to lie on top of the boy in turn, kissing him hard or gently, then placing something between his lips, and finally asking a question. Harry couldn't hear the words because of the music, and neither could he guess them. But as eight or nine girls and boys had done it, Etre was looking more and more nervous.
Harry looked at Draco again. Obviously Malfoy was having now a good time with Lisa Turpin and Su Li from Ravenclaw. Or, more specifically, the girls were enthralled with Malfoy, and he was just taking pleasure in the attention. A slight scratch of jealously wounded Harry's fast beating heart.
Harry shifted his eyes rapidly back to the game. Apparently, it was now Montague's turn to kiss Etre. The foreign-looking male went rather determinedly to sit on Etre's stomach. He kissed him roughly. Montague's looking like he could swallow the guy, Harry mused, staring the scenario excitedly. Then it was time for the something that was placed in Etre's mouth. Then it was the time of the question. And then it would be over.
Only this time, it wasn't.
Etre's hands were suddenly released and both he and Montague twined into another greedy kiss, rolling on top of each other on the mattress. The audience cheered and clapped their hands, gradually rising up and leaving the pair alone.
What the hell did Montague ask him? Harry looked at the two boys in awe. I didn't know they were, well, gays. Or did they just figure it out themselves?
Montague seemed to be in heaven. Harry watched as he slid his hands round Etre's waist and pulled the shirt upwards. Harry immediately noticed a streamlined, dark green serpent tattoo that was peering out of Etre's pants, moving threateningly like a Sidewinder. It had bright silvery eyes, like freshly cut strontium.
I've never seen a magical tattoo like that. It's… It's hypnotising.
Harry's eyes locked with Etre's little snake. It wants me to go there… Yes… It wants me to go there…
Potter stepped out of the shadows. He didn't need to wait the consequences very long.
"Hey, it's Harry Potter!" shrieked Millicent Bulstrode, piercingly. "What the fuck is he doing here?"
The music stopped, the voices silenced. People stopped their chatting and snogging. And Harry felt the ground disappear from under his feet.
Only now Harry realised that there were no students from Gryffindor besides himself around. Something very heavy dropped down in his stomach, and he found it hard to swallow. All the colour disappeared from his cheeks, only to return back very scarlet later. The dungeon was as silent as a tomb, and everybody were staring at him, horrified or angrily.
"Calm down, Millicent," a drawling voice finally ruined the stillness. Of course, it belonged to Draco Malfoy. "Potter is here as my guest, tonight."
Harry had never in his life seen such amazed expressions. If he would not have been so panic-stricken, he could easily have laughed.
Malfoy graciously rose from his sinkable leather chair, stretching himself to his full height. The buttons of his shirt were now completely open, revealing his noteworthy abdominal strength. His hair was sexily ruffled, which was not typical of him at all, and which made him look purely eatable. Harry gaped at him with dilated pupils.
"Potter, get your ass down here, will you?" Draco said casually, taking a sip from his drink that was now black and popping.
Harry's feet carried him forwards, as if he had no own will at all. He was standing right in front of Malfoy before he had the time to put a stop to himself. Malfoy flashed Harry a polite grin.
"So, you decided to come, then." Draco made a gesture that Harry should sit down.
Warrington and Li made space for Harry, and soon he was sitting between Finch-Fletchley and Tracey Davis. A bright glass of something green, steamy and translucent was put in his hand, and a cigarette shoved between his lips. Harry meant to spit the tobacco out at first, but then thought again and accepted. What the hell, he was all alone, in the middle of a Slytherin dungeon, surrounded by half-dressed Slytherins and some fanatical sex-maniacs from other houses. He really could use a cigarette. And a drink.
To his relief, the music started again, alleviating the atmosphere a little. Everybody sat back down or returned to their other businesses. Harry met Draco's eyes and leaned back in his sofa. Fervidly, he raised the drink to his lips and took a long dram.
"Gaaah!" he gasped for breath. "Malfoy, what the hell did you put in this drink? Battery acid?"
"What's battery?" Malfoy asked, arching his eyebrow.
"Never you mind…" Harry coughed the drink down. "This is pretty strong, that's what I meant."
"Warrington likes to put some Hebridean Black Dragon blood in his mixtures, so what can I tell?" Draco laughed.
Harry just loved to hear that laughter. Genuine laughter, without the trace of sneer. He absorbed Malfoy with his eyes. He was sure that everybody noticed that, but for some reason, perhaps because of the booze and music, he was not very bothered. Malfoy was breath-stealing. That was a fact, and nothing new. Everybody had a thing about him. Harry Potter had a thing about him. So, what was the big deal?
"You know, Potter, you really look good without your glasses," Malfoy smiled. "I'm glad you took the dress code seriously. Just look around and see how these chicks drool after you."
Harry gingerly glanced about. Malfoy was right. Every girl in the dungeon was goggling at him, tongues nearly lolling out of their mouths. Harry flushed and looked firmly at his drink.
"See, I was right." Malfoy waved his hand and somebody topped up Harry's drink with the strong alcohol. Harry was feeling very light-headed, and the coffee flavoured cigarette between his lips tasted particularly good.
"Now, the big question is, do you consider any of them attractive," Draco continued. He again snapped his fingers, and three beautiful girls came in front of Harry, wearing very revealing outfits. In addition, Tracey Davis, who was sitting next to him, slid her arms around Harry's hips and purred seductively in his ear.
Harry looked surprised, however not disgusted. He really had never seen lightly dressed girls before, and found the sight very appealing. Especially Mary-Ann Greengrass was to his taste, being extremely pretty for a Slytherin girl.
"I think I find them very attractive," Harry smiled at Draco.
"More attractive than you find me?" was the reply.
Harry froze with shock. The question had come like a punch straight to his nose. He put his cigarette hastily away, and finished his drink with one draft.
"Why do you want to know?" he muttered.
Obviously Draco didn't need more confirmation. Unidentified hands forced Harry out of his sofa and pushed him towards Malfoy's chair. Harry slightly opposed, which made him lose his balance. Hurriedly, he took support from the armrests of the chair, throwing his arms on both side of Malfoy.
"Gees, Potter! You're not drunk, are you?" Malfoy leered.
Harry felt very awkward. His face was now at the same level with Malfoy, only a couple of inches space between their noses. Harry felt his feet getting weaker. He wanted to stay where he was, crazily close to his daydream, but he thought he saw a glimpse of disgust in Malfoy's eyes. Thus, a short war was waged in his heart before he closed his eyes and shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I really shouldn't have come. I don't want to put you in a nasty situation, as ridiculous as that might sound, then."
Draco sophisticatedly put his fire whiskey away and stared strictly at Potter's face. Harry opened his eyes again, meeting Draco's cut crystal ones. In that monemt, Harry felt he could have lost himself forever.
"Kiss me, Potter."
Harry blinked twice before he could understand the words Draco had just said. His mouth fell open with surprise as the realisation dawned to him.
"W-what?" he stammered.
"Give me the God damn kiss you've so long wanted to give," Malfoy commanded. "I promise I don't have poisonous fangs."
Harry collected himself. Draco was serious.
"Oh, of course. But are you sure that I don't have poisonous fangs, Malfoy?" Harry said, changing his voice to teasing.
Draco lifted his eyebrow again and smiled challengingly. "I'm ready to take that risk."
Inside, something warned Harry that this was all a game. A dangerous game that would lead nowhere but the deepest infernos of the universe. But he couldn't help himself. He leaned forwards and pressed his lips against Draco's.
Draco tasted of cinnamon and fire whiskey. His lips were soft, seductive and almost innocent at the same time. Harry tightened the kiss, feeling very high. He wanted to crush that pretty mouth with his own. He wanted to crush that beautiful body under his own. He wanted to make Draco cry. He wanted… He wanted…
The dungeon clamoured. Obviously, this was something nobody could ever have imagined in their wildest moments to see.
"Oh, the fucking Saint of Avalon, somebody take a picture of this!" came a yell from the blur that was surrounding Harry and Malfoy.
Harry slid his hand behind Draco's crane and pulled him harshly closer. Ferociously, he ate the blonde Slytherin. Malfoy played along, surrendering to the rough caresses. A flashlight blinded them both for a moment, and they closed their eyes.
Potter pinned Malfoy between himself and the backrest of the sofa, only deepening the kiss. Draco's every nerve was in fire, which was a new experience for him. Harry was so powerful, so domineering that Draco felt thoroughly weak. Harry tasted like cherry, honey and spices, and Malfoy was afraid that he would begin to cry with pleasure. Therefore, he tried to push Harry away. Before he succeeded, he had to use real force.
"Something to tell your grandchildren," Mary-Ann winced from her seat.
Harry breathed rapidly against Malfoy's cheek after Draco had broken their kiss. He felt intoxicated. He felt he had never experienced anything so wonderful than their lips together.
Draco's breaths were rapid, as well. After a while of recollecting his thoughts, he pulled something out of his pocket, placing it between Potter's lips. Harry felt it was a little pellet. Then Draco made Harry bite it broken.
A bitter, almost acerbic liquid embraced Harry's tongue. Right after, he felt extremely odd and vulnerable. He flinched as Malfoy grabbed him from the wrists and whispered in his ear so silently that only Harry could hear it.
"What is your weak spot, Potter?"
Something forced Harry to speak the truth. "Right now, you are."
Draco's expression didn't change. It was still unreadable. "Do you love me, Potter?"
Harry felt very weird, indeed. "I don't know."
"Would you like to learn?"
This question made Harry really fight against the peculiar feeling. In vain.
"Yes."
Draco smiled triumphantly. He caressed Potter's raven locks and took a gentle bite of his earlobe.
"Good."
Harry swallowed and shivered slightly. Then he went to sit on Draco's lap, his knees on both side of Draco's hips. He pressed his forehead tiredly against Draco's shoulder and Draco twined arms around him.
"Malfoy? Why the fuck do I tell you these things?" Harry faltered.
"Because, I lied to you." Draco smiled sneakily. "In truth, I do have poisonous fangs."
And Harry realised. Truth Potion. Draco had just presented him The Dementor's Kiss.
…TBC…
A/N: Uh, okay, I did warn you this chapter was a long one. And, it might take time for me to update after this… I'm kind of embarrassed with myself.