the combined talents of:
silverphoenix & poetic licence
Chapter 12
Kiss-And-Don't-Tell
Draco, as a strict rule, didn't like to be hugged.
There was something about it that he found too deeply personal and too confronting. He didn't like feeling so vulnerable.
He, ever since he'd turned nine or so, would always look for an excuse to wriggle out of his mother's impulsive embraces, until she finally took the hint and
contented herself with running slender fingers carelessly through her sons fine blonde hair.
Draco didn't particularly like that either, but his childishly selfish love for his mother overriding his sense of immaculate perfection and would allow it.
But Harry Potter obviously didn't play by Draco's rules.
Draco was beginning to panic into the fiery, if not a little sloppy, kiss when he felt Harry being to crawl across the table towards him, intent on trying to crawl
into his lap, firm hands framing his face. They held it still as an uncertain tongue poked and prodded at his lips.
Draco pulled away, gasping in an undignified and ruffled manner, Harry blinking owlishly at him, glasses slightly askew, crouching awkwardly, all knees and
elbows, on the table, hands sliding from cheeks to neck to shoulders, trying to pull the marginally taller boy to him.
Draco squirmed, Harry finally getting the message, his hands falling away, eyes limpid and full of open emotion.
"When I said we needed to talk, Potter, I meant actual talk, not just your idea of metaphorical talking." Draco snapped with impatience.
Harry back-peddled so hard off the table that Draco almost laughed, his face betraying some of his own emotions on their latest kiss-and-don't-tell.
"Shit," muttered Harry, his face red and horrified. "Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck."
Now Draco really did laugh.
Harry whimpered helplessly into the pit created by his arms, obviously praying for the earth to come and swallow him up in a long and painfully death,
listening to Draco laugh at him.
Draco studied him, the black gloss of his mop of hair; the half-soft, half-hard texture of his hands; the breaking of his voice as he continued to swear, a trifle
more creatively than Draco could have ever suspected from the Golden Boy of Gryffindor. He could almost hear the blush rising from him.
Leaning heavily on his palms, elbows wedged to the wood, he surveyed the kitchens. Small, globe like eyes were peering out from the corners and with a wave
of his hand, they all vanished, the faint scuttling of tiny, efficient feet the only thing betraying them. Only one figure stayed.
"What has Master Malfoy done to Harry Potter? What has Master Malfoy done?"
A double take. "Dobby?"
The house elf pulled himself up to his full height, which admittedly wasn't much, mismatching socks and Weasley jumper aside, and glared Draco down.
"What has Master Malfoy done to Harry Potter?"
Harry raised his head.
"It's okay, Dobby."
"Harry Potter should not be talking to Master Malfoy, he should not." The house elves ears flapped uncertainly.
"Dobby." Suddenly, Harry's voice betrayed itself with a low, threatening growl that reached his flashing eyes.
Dobby shrank away, his hands twisting together.
Harry found his feet quickly, still looking at everything but Draco, his hands clenched. "I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one night. I'm going to bed."
With an air of dejected finality, he rushed out the kitchen door before Draco could even blink. Draco stared after him, a vague sense of absurdity stirring deep
within him, before groaning to himself.
A long time after the house elves had returned to their work, and an even longer time after Draco himself had returned to his dorm and tossed himself onto his
bed, Dobby remained a forlorn statue, eyes impossibly big.
~~ ~~~ ~~
Draco pulled the covers over his head and determinedly tried to make the day go away with sheer force of will. But it seemed that the gods had been drinking
again that day and decided that they would make a merry mockery of all the little people below them by wrecking havoc with their lives. His particular lot in
life was obviously a favourite at the moment.
The bed springs creaked with the added weight of an extra body, and nimble fingers dived into the blankets, poking and prodding and tickling their way
through to him. He fought them for as long as he could, but in the end, gave up with an ungraceful grunt.
The blankets slid away and he emerged, glaring at Alena.
"Fuck off, Rhyson." A note of impatience betrayed him.
Alena raised an eyebrow. "What crawled up your butt and died?" she asked, calmly. Alena could be really dangerous sometimes, in fact, the calmer she got,
the more dangerous she could be.
"What the fuck do you care?"
"I don't, trust me."
Draco glared at her. Alena stared back, still calm as a cucumber.
"Where's Blaise?"
"Off with her boy-friend." A touch of mocking.
"Where's Hermione?"
"Probably off with hers." Hazel eyes were rolled.
"So you came to annoy me," he snorted sarcastically. "Brill."
"Although I thought you'd be off with your better-half," Alena curled her hair around a lock of her hair and tugged. "But I suppose after his win yesterday, he's
in the dog house."
Draco reeled. "What did you just say?" he spat through his teeth.
Alena looked at him, her eyes glinting. "Did I cut a bit too close to the bone, Drakey?"
"Get. Out."
"Malfoy, you have no sense of humour, I swear."
Alena made out to flop back on the bed in mock horror, but Draco had seen red. He flashed a hand out and grabbed her face in a surprisingly strong grip.
"Potter is not my boyfriend, have you got that Rhyson?"
"Draco!" gasped Alena.
He let her go quickly, shooting daggers. Alena rubbed at her jawbone, bruises already sprouting on her fair skin.
"What on earth has gotten into you, Malfoy?" she spat, angry now.
"Just you at this particular point in time!" he growled back.
Alena scrambled away from him, half-flopping, half-falling off the edge of the bed, and kicked out of her calm mode, right into her screaming mode. "What is
your problem?! You know you like him you stupid arse, half the fucking school knows, have watched you two swoop around each other, dance around the
issue, but you know, deep down, that all you want to do is snog him senseless! For Christ's sake Draco, stop acting like a hormonal prima donna, get over
yourself and stop acting like it's the end of the world! The world does not revolve around you, Draco Lucius Malfoy!"
Draco stared in shock after her long after she had stormed from the room, absorbed in the ripples of the solid door in front of him, before flopping back into
the bed and covering his head with a pillow.
~~ ~~~ ~~
The day was turning from bad to worse.
Alena was still not speaking to Draco and sat with Hermione or Seamus at every opportunity.
Harry was avoiding him as well, after the scene in the kitchens the night before.
All the Gryffindors were superiorly smug towards all the Slytherins, after their win at Quidditch.
Draco slumped low in his chair and tried to forget about the world.
~~ ~~~ ~~
Blaise, on the other hand, was not a Slytherin for nothing. When she thumped down next to Draco in the library, Draco felt a shadow of foreboding.
"Well?" she asked, impatiently.
Draco looked confused. "Well what?"
"Well, what are you sulking about now?"
"I'm not sulking," Draco said, resisting a pout. "I'm doing my Transfiguration assignment."
Blaise looked over the jumbled notes with careless disbelief. "As much as I admire this sudden conscientious outlook to your school work, Draco, I can't
remember the last time that you actually did your Transfiguration homework instead of simply paying someone else to do it for you."
"You take all the meaning out of my life."
"I try my hardest," grinned Blaise. "But seriously, Draco. What are you sulking over? Potter?"
"Why does everyone think my life revolves around Harry bloody Potter?"
Blaise rolled her eyes. "Maybe because you act like it does?"
"He's the Boy-Who-Sodding-Lived--"
"Who's fast growing into a man." Interjected Blaise, smugly.
"--not the centre of my universe!" Draco fumed.
"Then why is he getting to you so much?"
"I. Have. No. Fucking. Clue." Draco thumped the table after each word, and felt an overwhelming desire to let go of his dignity for a moment and spill out everything.
"I'm meant to hate him! Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, enemies to the end. He's meant to be the Hero, I'm meant to follow in my fathers footsteps and become
A Proper Malfoy. I'm not meant to be interested in petty friendships, but manipulating people for my own uses. I'm not meant to notice how he pushes his
glasses up his nose, or how he looks at me with those hopelessly clueless eyes, or how he holds his quill in that awkward grip that he has. I'm meant to hate
him, but instead I..." Draco trailed off, staring into space before burying his face in his arms. "I'm meant to hate him. Why can't I just hate him again?"
Blaise gave the blonde mop of hair a knowing look and stayed wisely silent.
~~ ~~~ ~~
Draco started to feel a little strange right after lunch. There was something not quiet right about the way he stomach seemed to swirl dubiously at him. It was history of magic, and Draco was sitting right in the back row, farthest away from the window, right where he had a direct view at the back of Harry's head.
His head felt heavy, a kind of ache that wouldn't leave him alone. Binns drone on the background as Draco rested his head on his arms and dozed a little.
He probably wouldn't have even known that class had come to an end if Blaise hadn't of poked him in the ribs slightly to make him move.
"Draco, come on! We need to get to Potions!" she hissed at him, pulling him to his feet.
His head felt like it was filled with cotton wool, and his chest was heavy. This felt like something, like something familiar. He knew this feeling, but every time he thought he had the memory, it darted away from him, and he was too sluggish to try and catch it. He slopped into class, Blaise's hand gripping his elbow.
Snape was standing, straight and tall at the board, writing something in that neat, unforgiving handwriting of his, each letter precise and angular, much like the man himself. Draco willed himself to stay alert. If one class, one Professor, was the most demanding of elertness, this was it.
Then he tripped over his own feet.
The Gryffindors roared with laughter, Ravenclaws rolling their eyes, Hufflepuffs trying to hide their giggles with sympathy and the Slytherins grinned at each other to look upon the sight of their fallen 'Prince'.
"Mister Malfoy!" Draco raised his face and stared into the black eyes of his Head of House. Snape continued to stare at him for long moments before raising his head to address Blaise. "Miss Zabini. Escort Mister Malfoy directly to the hospital wing before he kneels into his potion and blows us all up with his vagueness."
Blaise helped Draco up, guiding him out of the classroom. Draco didn't see the concerned look that crossed Harry's face as he was helped out, and as the door swung behind them, they could hear Snape telling Harry off for not getting on with his potion. Draco shook his head to try and clear it, but only succeeded in making himself even dizzier than before.
"Blaise?" he started. "I don't want to go to the hospital wing. Could you just get me to my room? I just need to sleep."
Blaise nodded, carefully. "Sure, Draco."
Draco was too tired to even see the gleam in her eyes.
~~ ~~~ ~~
Reality began to creep back into the edges of Draco's mind again, the world beginning to take shape through the darkness. The first thing he felt, an errant ache up the right side of his body and into his arm, was blocked out rapidly by the fact he couldn't breathe. He snorted away from whatever was blocking his nose and opened his eye, then immediately wished his hadn't. His nose twitched, the vague scent of lime soap trickled in, as well as something that was very black, very messy and very ...
Draco's eyes snapped open. "Harry?"
Harry started awake, trying to sit up and crawl away at the same time, effectively tying himself in knot for all the good it did.
"Draco?"
"Harry, what the fuck--" Draco wrenched at his wrist and felt metal bite into the skin and pulse. "--oh, never mind."
They both stared up at their handcuffed wrists.
"I'm going to kill Blaise when I get out of this."
Harry glared at him. "How do you know she did it?"
"Because, Potter, she's the only person who could have, albeit Alena."
"Why not Hermione? Or me?"
Draco stared in disbelief. "Hermione? Do this? No Gryffindor could have had the audacity to break into the Slytherin common room, pick the lock on my trunk
and then find the hidden compartment in my trunk without having their hand severed off. Oh, no, this was definitely an inside job!"
Harry grunted, before directing attention elsewhere. "How are we going to get out?"
"How the fuck should I know, Potter?"
Harry clenched his hand together into a rough fist. "Stop calling me Potter, Draco."
"Why the hell should I?" Snarled Draco.
Harry looked at him carefully for a moment, before nodding to himself. "You've been avoiding me." Draco suddenly felt a little aprehensive, and Malfoy's were not designed to feel anything but in-control.
"No, I haven't." When in doubt, Inner-Draco said, deny everything.
"Yes, you have."
"No, I haven't. You're the ones who been avoiding me, Potter, but it's not like I care whether you grace me with your estimed prescence or not." Draco sneered, watching Harry's temper grow behind his blazing green eyes. There was a shocked silence.
"You prat. I thought you didn't want anything do to with me! I was trying to give you some space!"
"Well, you obviously prefer the company of your precious Gryffindorks!"
"Don't speak about my friends that way!"
"Oh, and now we see where your loyalties really lie, don't we, Potter?"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? I came here to make sure you were okay. You looked like death warmed over in Potions!"
"Pull the other one, Potter! Why don't you run back and buddy up again to Weasley, if you're so uninterested in associating with us meer mortals."
"Come off it! Malfoy, you've been strutting around here for years like you own the joint. What am I to you? You're version of slumming it?"
"Look in the mirror, Harry. Who's the one playing all buddy-buddy with three Slytherins. Didn't your mother tell you never to associate with people like us?"
A shocked silence. Draco suddenly had a quiet inclining that he may have just gone too far.
"You're the one who pushed me away!" yelled Harry, suddenly.
"You're the one who keeps running away!" Draco yelled back fiercely.
Suddenly, Draco grabbed Harry's face and kissed him, hard. Harry made a kind of muffled grunt of surprised as he found his mouth invaded by a slick, clumsy tongue, lapping at his.
Harry's one free hand reached up behind Draco's head and held it tightly in place, his fingers stronger than Draco ever imagined they would be.
The kiss was a terrible one; not like the first kiss, a sweet, tentative question; or the second, a one-sided explanation; or even the third, an impulsive, inexperienced cliff-hanger. This was raw and aching. Draco's tongue, Harry's gasps against his mouth, over-balancing back onto the covers, Draco's right hand at a painful angle, the handcuff chain gangling against the metal bar it was hooked around.
When they finally came up for air, gasping a little, Draco still twisted up awkwardly, Harry's bottom lip slightly bruised from the force of the kiss.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well," he started, his hair delightfully ruffled. "It's like that is it?"
Draco growled. "Shut up, Potter."
They moved in for another kiss.
And were rudely interrupted.
"Miss Zabini, stand aside!"
The door was flung open and Professor McGonagall stared into the room, her eyes widening at the sight of Harry and Draco wrapped around each other, their
handcuffed arms reaching towards the head of the bed, Draco's shirt looking slightly worse for wear due to Harry's impatient fingers. Blaise and Hermione
peered around her, the first amused, the second apologetic.
Professor McGonagall's lips pinched together.
Harry stiffened, Draco smirked.
"Mister Potter, Professor Dumbledore needs to see you."
Draco stopped smirking.
~~ ~~~ ~~
TBC
~~ ~~~ ~~
Amy's Notes:
Firstly, I want to apologise for the absurd amount of time that I have taken over this chapter. It's been a long time, and I promise you, this will never happen again. Between a two-month stint of writers block, and starting a new job, life has been rather crazy, and Shadows kind of got lost in the works somewhere along the way.
But enough of my excuses.
I'd like to state that OotP has absolutely no bearing on Shadows. It will contain no spoilers and is completely separate, our own little, private version of events of Harry and Draco's fifth year. Enough said.
Thanks:
To everyone who has reviewed, whether is be on ff.net, FictionAlley, Monochrome Shadows or anywhere else where this is held. For all the people who have sent us emails, or flagged us down on AOL or Y!M, or stopped by our personal LiveJournals. Your support is invaluable, and we thank you so much for then time you have taken to make this as special for you as it is for us.
Special thanks to Natasha, who has been, firstly patient, then inpatient, then finally, really, really pissed off with me. She's the reason I keep going on this, and I am humbled to be working with her.
Thanks also to my ideas taster, Ishuca, who made me scrap two scenes that really didn't work and got me to rewrite them.
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