Not Only In Dreams
By Goddess JacquesPierre
Chapter Seven: Public Opinion and A Shower Scene
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated and/or non-associated things that I don't own do not belong to me. Perhaps it was redundant, but it certainly beats my English substitute, whose comment "Partners is definitely sufficient enough" led me to lose all respect I may have had for her. Anyone who uses the phrase "sufficient enough" should be shot (not necessarily lethal except in the case of the repeat offender. As far as I am concerned, the breed of people who perpetually mix up 'lose' and 'loose' belong in the same category). Moving along, they belong to their respective owners, who are not I. My writing, sarcasm, witty remarks, not-so-witty remarks, comments, ideas, and other creative property, however, do belong to me, and anyone caught filching them without permission will be sentenced to the same fate as those select few for whom loosing their lives is not sufficient enough. (So I didn't feel like coming up with something new. Bite me.)
Author's Note: Ta-da! I have made it back, several sore muscles and one jammed thumb worse for the wear. (Ow... volleyball....) I have stolen... er, borrowed without permission... a single spell from another piece of fanfiction-- the Wingarmentia spell from Aja's marvellous fic "Love Under Will", which you should all go read if you have a moment (OK, it's long; make that several moments ranging to a few days depending on your schedule and reading speed). I don't take Latin and hate coming up with names and spells, mostly because I'm really anal retentive and try to make them clever, catchy, and linguistically derived ('Riddikulus' would probably not pass my Spell-Creating Standards, but since someone else came up with it, it doesn't bother me. I'm even worse with names, one of the many reasons you won't see many original characters in my fanfiction-- I've spent three days trying to name villains for my D&D group only to find that my party didn't even ask his or her name before beating him or her to a pulp). Anyway, I've rambled for quite long enough (It's all your fault, Rougemessenger-- your life is so interesting, now lengthy Author's notes just look right... her story "Something More" is another one of my favourites, though I must admit I'm more addicted to the side comments...). On with the story! What ho, parenthetical asides, cease and desist!
-----
"So..." said Harry tentatively. "What exactly was I saying?"
Hermione seemed to be trying to say something, but Harry couldn't understand a word of it as she was doubled over, clutching her sides.
He turned to Ron. "Do I even want to know?"
Ron looked at him. "I really, really hope you don't. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?"
The memory was there in Harry's mind, as vivid and tangible as the images in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He poked at it gingerly, catching snippets here and there like so many scraps of shredded quilt. Each time they washed over his consciousness, a wave of sheer feeling threatened to drown him.
"What did I say, exactly?" Harry dreaded the answer.
Ron turned red. "Well... you said 'Draco' a lot in this really funny voice... that was all I could understand, but you really kind of caught the thrust of it..." Ron slammed his hand over his mouth the moment he realised he had actually said the word 'thrust' in a discussion about his best friend's dream about one of his worst enemies.
Parvati pointed. "The drooling was kind of telling, if you ask me."
Harry and Ron both whirled around to retort, but Dean caught both their arms. "Steady on; she's not trying to be offensive."
Harry took a deep breath, then began to pack up his books hurriedly. He was out of the room in less than fifteen seconds, his Quidditch reflexes saving him from a horrible real-life situation yet again.
-----
As Harry walked into the Great Hall later that evening, whispers around the hall suddenly hushed as he walked by, then started up again once he was out of earshot.
He did his best to ignore them, choosing instead to sit near Hermione, Dean, Ginny, Seamus, and Ron, who scooted a seat over when Harry arrived.
"Ron!" said Dean. "It's your best friend. Can't he date who he likes?"
"Not if it's Draco Malfoy!" Ron absorbed himself in his soup, having developed a taste for bouillabaisse after Hermione had forced him to try it the previous summer ("Remember Fleur? She liked it!").
"I'm not dating Malfoy!" said Harry crossly.
Dean and Ginny looked crestfallen.
"Awww, why not, Harry?" asked Ginny, pouting a bit. "You two would make such a cute couple!" Dean nodded.
Harry stared at them. "It's MALFOY! You know, the guy who's been insulting the Gryffindors ever since we first came to Hogwart's?"
"He's hot, though," Ginny observed.
Dean put in, "C'mon, Harry, you've got to admit it. Great body, sleek blonde hair, grey eyes..."
Seamus started. "Not you, too! You're dating Ginny! You've got to be straight!"
"I could be bisexual or simply a straight guy appreciative of male beauty," Dean pointed out mildly.
Seamus shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no, no, and no. I refuse to have two gay guys sharing my room with me. Who knows what you'd get up to at night?"
Ginny gave Seamus a Look that was eerily similar to those her mother frequently bestowed upon Fred and George. "Even if he were bi, Seamus, he would be much too busy thinking about me to do anything with Harry. Harry also has romantic attachments--" here she levelled another Look at Harry-- "whether he wants them or not. I know if I were unattached and getting sent expensive chocolate by anyone as gorgeous as Malfoy, I would jump at the chance."
Ron looked up from his soup, clearly shocked. "Ginny! You wouldn't!"
Ginny looked at him. "I most certainly would. I'm sure neither you nor Harry noticed the brand name on the chocolate he's been getting, but it's really good stuff. Top of the line-- a fancy company that's really exclusive and only does business by mail-order."
"How do you know that?" Ron asked, his curiosity piqued.
Ginny smiled. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Ron made a disapproving noise very much like the one that Hermione had made the previous year when observing the advertisement for Skiving Snackbox testers that Fred and George had posted on the Gryffindor bulletin board. He stood up noisily and stormed out of the Great Hall, largely unnoticed by the bulk of the student population, which was too busy gossiping about one of the best-known students in the school's possible involvement with the sole heir to a very wealthy, prestigious family of dubious character.
"Anyway, Harry," Dean said, "If you're going to go for Malfoy, Ginny and I are behind you, whatever anyone else may say. Despite some of his previous behaviour, he's really not a bad catch."
Hermione looked thoughtful, but didn't say anything.
Harry looked from one face to the next. "Don't any of you believe that I'm not interested in Malfoy?"
Hermione sighed. "Harry, you are interested in him. You were dreaming about him in the middle of class! At least on some level, you want him. You're just being stubborn."
"I'm just dreaming about him! That doesn't mean that anything should happen in real life!"
"Harry, just how many dreams have you had about him over the past week or so?"
Harry paused to count. "Six, why?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's every night, Harry! You can't tell me there isn't anything there."
Harry started to say something, but was interrupted by a package hitting him on the head and then bouncing onto the table. It was, predictably, beautifully wrapped in silver and gold and looked very much like one of Draco's previous gifts in style. Harry decided not to open it at the table, and reached for his bag.
"Ooooh!" said Ginny loudly. "What is it, Harry?"
Harry lifted his head. The entire table was looking at him expectantly.
Heaving a sigh and expecting the worst, Harry tugged on the ribbon. The wrapping paper came off gently, exposing a white box. He looked at Ginny. "Do you recognise the brand on this one?"
Ginny appeared to be stifling giggles. "I'm not sure, Harry," she told him quite seriously. "Why don't you open it so we can see if I'm right?"
Inside, Harry could see a pool of shimmer-y black fabric. He touched it as if he thought it were a pack of Exploding Snap cards-- liable to spontaneously combust at any given moment. It was the softest thing he had ever felt-- it felt like some sort of magical silk, Harry mused, based on the knowledge of the fabrics of Aunt Petunia's wardrobe he had gleaned by being forced to do laundry for several years. Hand wash in cold water, he thought wryly. So very like a Malfoy to line a gift box in expensive fabric.
He lifted the silk gently. As he drew it out of the box, he noticed what appeared to be seams, and then an elastic waistband. He groaned out loud. Draco had sent him black silk boxers.
A note had fallen out of the gift and Ginny had pounced on it. "Ooooh, Harry, it's written in green ink! How like a Slytherin!" She read it, looked momentarily disappointed, then handed it to him with a conspiratorial smile.
It read: "Midnight tomorrow, Trophy Room." It was unsigned, but it smelled like cinnamon, and as Harry looked up, Draco caught his eye. The Slytherin was looking directly at him and smirking.
-----
The Slytherin table's gossip was centred on Draco's relationship with Harry, but it a rather different way. It was taken as a given that Draco would get Harry-- Slytherins always got what they wanted-- but half the House was speculating about Draco's motives and the other half was laying bets on how long Harry would be able to resist Draco, easily the most irresistibly sexy student in the school, after the latter had set his sights on the Gryffindor.
"It's definitely sex," Blaise was saying. "I wonder if Potter's any good in bed?"
Pansy made a face. "Ugh, no. I don't think Draco would ever be even remotely attracted to a Gryffindor, would you, Draco darling?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Pansy, I am not attracted to you, nor will I ever be. I have better taste than that."
"Mmmm, but Potter's got that amazing Quidditch body..." Blaise said. "What else could it be?"
"It could be a cunning scheme to bring about the fall of 'Saint Potter'," Pansy said primly. "If I were doing it, that would be why."
Blaise gave her a withering look. "Yes, but Draco is not you. He is refined and subtle, and if he were interested in anything more than pleasure, he certainly wouldn't bandy it about to the likes of you, thought I can't imagine anything that would be better than sex... Do you think he's a virgin, Draco?"
Draco smirked. "Of course he is. He's too innocent and naive to be anything else."
"See?" Blaise said. "It's all about the aesthetics. Two gorgeous Quidditch players, both Seekers on their House Teams? It's too perfect to be true."
"You can't possibly think Potter is gorgeous," said Pansy.
"Have you looked at him recently, Pansy? Like maybe at all in the last two years or so?"
"I make a habit of not looking at Gryffindors, thank you very much," Pansy retorted.
"Well then, you couldn't possibly know how well he's filled out." Blaise's tone dropped to a stage whisper. "I heard he lived with Muggles who starved him before he came here. That's why he was so scrawny in first year." He changed to a more normal voice. "It's also probably why he's in Gryffindor-- because they beat him down for so long. You'll have to do something about that when you catch him, Draco. Anyway, now he looks like you couldn't see his ribs, if you took off those horrible clothes he wears. There's muscle on him. He's matured quite nicely; excellent bone structure..." Blaise was off on the artistic merits of Harry's face, and Draco tuned out selectively, hearing only enough to smack his friend when Blaise suggested that Harry had the 'just out of bed' look perfected, then requested a picture of Harry first thing in the morning to compare.
Draco let the conversation wash over him, a pleasant blanket of white noise. There was a lull of a couple minutes before there was a loud noise from the Gryffindor table. A parcel had just landed on Harry's head.
Draco noted the silence that washed over the hall as the student body observed their current topic of conversation opening a gift. Of course, he knew what was in it, but it would be very amusing to see what Harry and everyone else would make of the gift.
Sure enough, Harry lifted the black silk. Draco had been very careful to make it look like just more wrapping so that he could enjoy the Harry's embarrassment. He would eventually have to teach the boy how to receive gifts like this one without the bat of an eyelid, but in the meantime, it was very funny to watch the Gryffindor.
He caught Harry's eye after the latter finished reading the note he had enclosed, but the eye contact broke when Harry abruptly stood up to leave.
Draco rose gracefully and intercepted Harry just before he could escape the Hall to the relative privacy of his dorm.
"Now, now, Harry, you wouldn't want to run off like that, would you?" Draco purred, pinning Harry to the wall.
Harry wiggled around a bit, presumably trying to get free, but Draco could tell his heart wasn't in it.
"What do you want, Malfoy?"
"Oh, I think you know what I want." Draco looked at Harry. Yes, he definitely wanted him... up against the wall, flushed with embarrassment... very kissable.
Before either of them knew quite what was happening, Draco had taken the last step between the two of them. Harry's lips involuntarily parted as Draco's breath swept gently over them. It was an irresistible invitation; Draco moved his own lips into contact with Harry's and watched in satisfaction as Harry pressed closer to him. In the deftest of movements, Draco brought his tongue in to tease the roof of Harry's mouth and was rewarded with Harry's soft intake of breath and a pair of green eyes reluctantly closing.
Several moments later-- all too soon for Draco's taste-- Harry seemed to regain control and broke away, looking both dazed and thoroughly kissed.
"Did you like it, Potter?" Draco asked conversationally while he waited for Harry to regain his linguistic ability.
Harry nodded slowly, as if amazed. He was touching his lips with a strong-looking tanned hand as if he couldn't believe that anything had just happened to them in front of several hundred people.
After a moment, the glaze over Harry's eyes seemed to fade.
Draco chose his moment. "By the way, Potter... is that a wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"
As he had predicted, the cliché jolted Harry back to the world of the functioning. "Geez, Draco, can't you come up with anything original?"
Perfect. Draco moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, gratified when Harry's eyes glazed over slightly again. "Well, actually, Potter... I can. Wingarmentia!"
Harry's pants flew off.
Draco smirked. "Clearly, not a wand."
Harry scrambled for his pants as Snape swooped over like a malevolent bat. "Mr. Malfoy, I am astonished. I thought you had more decorum than this. Fifty points from Hufflepuff!"
"Sir?" asked Draco, puzzled. "From Hufflepuff?"
Snape glared at him. "You know as well as I do that I am characterised as hyperbolically biased towards my own house. However... have it your way. Twenty points from Gryffindor for indecent exposure and seventy from Slytherin for misconduct."
Draco looked shocked for a moment, then grinned. "Worth it. See you later, Harry."
Harry was left standing halfway into his pants as the youngest Malfoy grinned roguishly and swept off.
The entire hall was dumbstruck as Harry roughly pulled up his jeans and ran out.
-----
Draco slid into bed the moment he got down to Slytherin. It was so much to think about... the way Harry had reacted to the kiss beautifully, but more importantly, the way that it had been so much better than it had been in dreams. It was definitely something to think about... if real sex was as exponentially better than dream sex, then Harry just might have to become a permanent part of his life, and that involved emotions.
-----
If that was what happened when he fell asleep in class, Harry decided, it was much safer to sleep at night. He would make the sacrifice and dream of Draco nights as long as he never found himself moaning Draco's name in class again. If that was what happened, he definitely didn't want any of it.
First off, Harry wanted revenge for the black silk boxers. Even if they seemed like they would be amazingly comfortable against bare skin, there was absolutely no reason Draco should have sent them to him in the middle of dinner. It was completely uncalled for, and Harry had had a devious idea to get back at the Slytherin. He wrote a letter, enclosed some gold, and ran up to the Owlery to send it off. Mission accomplished, he returned to his dorm.
That kiss... it had so much more to it than the dream kisses he had been receiving on a nightly basis. It was almost intriguing. Harry decided to sleep on it.
After doing as much of his homework as he could with his diminished ability to concentrate, Harry settled into bed and slept. Eventually, he dreamed.
-----
Harry was playing Slytherin in a Quidditch match, and there was more tension than ever before between the two Seekers. Draco had clearly been practicing a lot, because he finally was good enough to seriously challenge Harry's natural Quidditch ability. The match had been going on for just over seven hours, and his robe was soaked through with sweat. The day was hot, and both Seekers had been flying with an intensity that Harry was entirely certain Hogwart's had never seen before. He wasn't sure what the score was, but he was aware that the crowd was paying next to no attention to the other members of the team as his struggle with Draco for the Snitch had been constant, impressive, and passionate.
It finally ended when Harry, desperate to end the game, grabbed Draco's groin and used the leverage to give him the extra push needed to catch the Snitch. Madame Hooch called it, of course, and gave Slytherin a penalty, but it was worth it. Gryffindor had won the match, and it was worth it.
He groaned as he landed; he had never flown so hard and for so long before and he was sore all over. He could tell from the way Draco was walking that the Slytherin felt the same way.
He headed for the shower, not even bothering to accept the congratulations his friends and teammates were showering upon him.
As soon as he was alone in the corridor, however, Draco grabbed his shoulder. "Come with me, Harry."
"Why?"
"The Slytherin showers are better than the Gryffindor ones."
"How do you know?"
"Look, I'll rub your back if you'll rub mine."
That sounded good to Harry. "OK."
They walked off down the halls together, a sense of mutual respect for the other's ability on a broom diffusing the tension from the Quidditch.
When they got to the blank wall that was the entrance to Slytherin, Draco gave the password curtly ("Grasshopper") and led Harry through the common room and to the shower. Though the cubicles were tiny, they were beautifully made of smooth black stone.
Harry stripped and asked, "Won't the rest of the house notice?"
Draco shook his head. "No, they'll be too busy lamenting their loss. Far be it from most of them to see excellent Quidditch if they aren't supporting the winning team."
"Why don't they just support Gryffindor, then?"
"Because our teams are, for the first time since the school was founded, completely evenly matched. I must admit, though, it was brilliant of you to grab me there. You managed to find the one thing that would distract me long enough to let you get the Snitch." Draco turned around then, holding his green Quidditch robes over one arm. He was magnificently naked, with strands of wet blonde hair dishevelled and plastered to his forehead by the sweat. He was almost glowing as the dim light caught the fine blonde hair on his arms and legs. "Here, give me those." Draco reached out and took Harry's clothes and left them draped over an adjacent shower stall. "The house-elves will get them."
Harry stepped into the shower and turned on the water, which poured down from the four corners of the stall, soaking him over his entire body. The pressure was magnificent, pounding into his sore muscles, releasing the residual tension and rinsing off the sweat. His eyes closed and a whimper of pleasure escaped his lips even before he felt Draco's body align with his and surprisingly soft hands press into his back.
Harry's eyes flew open. "What are you doing?"
"Shhhh..." Draco said soothingly. "I told you I'd rub your back."
Harry reached around Draco's back to return the favour, bringing them close together.
It wasn't long before the potential pleasure of the situation overrode the pain in their bodies. The shower was hot and steamy, and they were letting their hands roam over each other.
Draco smirked, a couple locks of hair in his eyes sending streams of water over his cheeks. "That feels better, doesn't it?"
Harry nodded. "And you were right, by the way."
"Of course I was; I'm always right. Which occasion are you referring to?"
"Slytherin showers are better than the Gryffindor ones, especially if they've got you in them."
"In them, eh?" Draco's eyes lit. "Well, you did prove that you were proficient in riding a broom... perhaps you'd like to show me you're as good at being ridden."
Harry gasped as Draco's hands found a particularly sensitive spot on his ass, and Draco took that as consent.
He turned off the water and handed Harry a thick forest green towel, taking another for himself.
Each boy wrapped the towel around his waist.
"Shall we go to bed?" Draco asked.
"Won't your House be around?"
"Probably not, and if they are, I'll hex them."
"Then that sounds wonderful." Harry smiled warmly, and Draco felt the warmth of an unfamiliar emotion fill his chest to an almost painful point.
They made the trip to Draco's dorm without the latter hexing anyone, though. As they fell into the bed, they let their towels fall onto the ground.
As skin touched skin, the burning feeling of being too full of emotion in Draco's chest lessened. He could tell that, whatever it was between the Slytherin and the Gryffindor, it was mutual.
Some time later, they fell asleep together.
-----
The next morning, Harry woke up and felt disoriented for a moment. The dream he had had the previous night had been altogether too Malfoy-oriented to be classified as good, but it was far too pleasant to be considered a nightmare or even simply a bad dream.
On the bright side, he was no longer dreaming about Voldemort.
As normal waking consciousness ebbed back to Harry, though, he remembered something that he had arranged to happen at breakfast. A smile broke across his face, and he bounced out of bed with a considerably greater amount of early-morning high spirits than he usually displayed.
"What's going on? Is there a fire or something? Sirius Black isn't here to murder us again, is he?" mumbled Seamus sleepily.
Harry grinned. "You'll see."
-----
Harry was fifteen minutes early to breakfast and fidgeted impatiently until the rest of the school began to arrive. Hermione was the first person to sit near him. Harry eagerly started a conversation with her about S.P.E.W, which startled her so much that she was speechless for a full minute and a half after he had started to chatter.
Eventually, the hall began to fill, and with it, Harry's anticipation grew so much he felt like he could barely remain seated. Nothing could dampen his excitement, even Ron and Seamus, who had deliberately chosen seats together at the opposite end of the table.
The peak of Harry's tension came about when Draco, fifteen minutes late and looking uncharacteristically rumpled, walked into the Hall. His hair was tousled and it seemed the blonde had forgotten to do anything with it that morning.
Harry had to check a fleeting impulse to run over and hug the Slytherin. 'Where did that come from?' he wondered briefly before biting his lip and turning his attention to the meal at hand.
Another fifteen minutes went by before the post began to arrive. Owls soared overhead, and Harry watched anxiously.
There was a note for him, but, thankfully to his mind, no gift with any romantic or sexual connotations whatsoever. Of course, Ginny promptly stole the note, squealing when she read it ("Oooh, Harry! It's from Draco!"), but it didn't concern him. He was able to snatch it back before she read it to the table, and he was more interested in watching the Slytherin table.
Finally, after the horde of owls had thinned, he saw Hedwig bearing a gift box.
She dropped it on Draco's empty breakfast plate, then flew directly to Harry's shoulder to roost.
A titter went through the crowd as they watched the flight of the owl, correctly guessing the significance of its behaviour: Harry had sent Draco something.
Draco prodded the box suspiciously with his wand, but nothing outrageous happened. Slowly, he undid the ribbon (green, Draco wondered when Harry had become sensitive to his House colours) and lifted the lid.
There was something pink and sticky inside.
He lifted the whatever-it-was out of the box for closer inspection, and then turned pink (incidentally matching Harry's gift perfectly), groaned, and winked at Harry in rapid succession.
"Edible panties, Potter?" Draco said, clearly enough for both his target and the entire school to hear. "Is that an invitation?"
-----
Ah, poor Harry... he seems to have botched his attempt at retaliation, though he did manage to get Draco to blush....
chisox727-- I'll admit to my wording of Harry's attempt at 'staying up' was Freudian, but it no way was it a 'slip'. I tend to mean what I say, and fix those cases in which I have goofed. Puns here will generally be more intentional than incidental. Thanks for noticing!
cofaym: You're very much welcome; it's a pleasure to write this story. It's flowing much more easily than my other one.
Please review, it makes me happy, and happy writers write more.
By Goddess JacquesPierre
Chapter Seven: Public Opinion and A Shower Scene
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated and/or non-associated things that I don't own do not belong to me. Perhaps it was redundant, but it certainly beats my English substitute, whose comment "Partners is definitely sufficient enough" led me to lose all respect I may have had for her. Anyone who uses the phrase "sufficient enough" should be shot (not necessarily lethal except in the case of the repeat offender. As far as I am concerned, the breed of people who perpetually mix up 'lose' and 'loose' belong in the same category). Moving along, they belong to their respective owners, who are not I. My writing, sarcasm, witty remarks, not-so-witty remarks, comments, ideas, and other creative property, however, do belong to me, and anyone caught filching them without permission will be sentenced to the same fate as those select few for whom loosing their lives is not sufficient enough. (So I didn't feel like coming up with something new. Bite me.)
Author's Note: Ta-da! I have made it back, several sore muscles and one jammed thumb worse for the wear. (Ow... volleyball....) I have stolen... er, borrowed without permission... a single spell from another piece of fanfiction-- the Wingarmentia spell from Aja's marvellous fic "Love Under Will", which you should all go read if you have a moment (OK, it's long; make that several moments ranging to a few days depending on your schedule and reading speed). I don't take Latin and hate coming up with names and spells, mostly because I'm really anal retentive and try to make them clever, catchy, and linguistically derived ('Riddikulus' would probably not pass my Spell-Creating Standards, but since someone else came up with it, it doesn't bother me. I'm even worse with names, one of the many reasons you won't see many original characters in my fanfiction-- I've spent three days trying to name villains for my D&D group only to find that my party didn't even ask his or her name before beating him or her to a pulp). Anyway, I've rambled for quite long enough (It's all your fault, Rougemessenger-- your life is so interesting, now lengthy Author's notes just look right... her story "Something More" is another one of my favourites, though I must admit I'm more addicted to the side comments...). On with the story! What ho, parenthetical asides, cease and desist!
-----
"So..." said Harry tentatively. "What exactly was I saying?"
Hermione seemed to be trying to say something, but Harry couldn't understand a word of it as she was doubled over, clutching her sides.
He turned to Ron. "Do I even want to know?"
Ron looked at him. "I really, really hope you don't. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?"
The memory was there in Harry's mind, as vivid and tangible as the images in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He poked at it gingerly, catching snippets here and there like so many scraps of shredded quilt. Each time they washed over his consciousness, a wave of sheer feeling threatened to drown him.
"What did I say, exactly?" Harry dreaded the answer.
Ron turned red. "Well... you said 'Draco' a lot in this really funny voice... that was all I could understand, but you really kind of caught the thrust of it..." Ron slammed his hand over his mouth the moment he realised he had actually said the word 'thrust' in a discussion about his best friend's dream about one of his worst enemies.
Parvati pointed. "The drooling was kind of telling, if you ask me."
Harry and Ron both whirled around to retort, but Dean caught both their arms. "Steady on; she's not trying to be offensive."
Harry took a deep breath, then began to pack up his books hurriedly. He was out of the room in less than fifteen seconds, his Quidditch reflexes saving him from a horrible real-life situation yet again.
-----
As Harry walked into the Great Hall later that evening, whispers around the hall suddenly hushed as he walked by, then started up again once he was out of earshot.
He did his best to ignore them, choosing instead to sit near Hermione, Dean, Ginny, Seamus, and Ron, who scooted a seat over when Harry arrived.
"Ron!" said Dean. "It's your best friend. Can't he date who he likes?"
"Not if it's Draco Malfoy!" Ron absorbed himself in his soup, having developed a taste for bouillabaisse after Hermione had forced him to try it the previous summer ("Remember Fleur? She liked it!").
"I'm not dating Malfoy!" said Harry crossly.
Dean and Ginny looked crestfallen.
"Awww, why not, Harry?" asked Ginny, pouting a bit. "You two would make such a cute couple!" Dean nodded.
Harry stared at them. "It's MALFOY! You know, the guy who's been insulting the Gryffindors ever since we first came to Hogwart's?"
"He's hot, though," Ginny observed.
Dean put in, "C'mon, Harry, you've got to admit it. Great body, sleek blonde hair, grey eyes..."
Seamus started. "Not you, too! You're dating Ginny! You've got to be straight!"
"I could be bisexual or simply a straight guy appreciative of male beauty," Dean pointed out mildly.
Seamus shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no, no, and no. I refuse to have two gay guys sharing my room with me. Who knows what you'd get up to at night?"
Ginny gave Seamus a Look that was eerily similar to those her mother frequently bestowed upon Fred and George. "Even if he were bi, Seamus, he would be much too busy thinking about me to do anything with Harry. Harry also has romantic attachments--" here she levelled another Look at Harry-- "whether he wants them or not. I know if I were unattached and getting sent expensive chocolate by anyone as gorgeous as Malfoy, I would jump at the chance."
Ron looked up from his soup, clearly shocked. "Ginny! You wouldn't!"
Ginny looked at him. "I most certainly would. I'm sure neither you nor Harry noticed the brand name on the chocolate he's been getting, but it's really good stuff. Top of the line-- a fancy company that's really exclusive and only does business by mail-order."
"How do you know that?" Ron asked, his curiosity piqued.
Ginny smiled. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Ron made a disapproving noise very much like the one that Hermione had made the previous year when observing the advertisement for Skiving Snackbox testers that Fred and George had posted on the Gryffindor bulletin board. He stood up noisily and stormed out of the Great Hall, largely unnoticed by the bulk of the student population, which was too busy gossiping about one of the best-known students in the school's possible involvement with the sole heir to a very wealthy, prestigious family of dubious character.
"Anyway, Harry," Dean said, "If you're going to go for Malfoy, Ginny and I are behind you, whatever anyone else may say. Despite some of his previous behaviour, he's really not a bad catch."
Hermione looked thoughtful, but didn't say anything.
Harry looked from one face to the next. "Don't any of you believe that I'm not interested in Malfoy?"
Hermione sighed. "Harry, you are interested in him. You were dreaming about him in the middle of class! At least on some level, you want him. You're just being stubborn."
"I'm just dreaming about him! That doesn't mean that anything should happen in real life!"
"Harry, just how many dreams have you had about him over the past week or so?"
Harry paused to count. "Six, why?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's every night, Harry! You can't tell me there isn't anything there."
Harry started to say something, but was interrupted by a package hitting him on the head and then bouncing onto the table. It was, predictably, beautifully wrapped in silver and gold and looked very much like one of Draco's previous gifts in style. Harry decided not to open it at the table, and reached for his bag.
"Ooooh!" said Ginny loudly. "What is it, Harry?"
Harry lifted his head. The entire table was looking at him expectantly.
Heaving a sigh and expecting the worst, Harry tugged on the ribbon. The wrapping paper came off gently, exposing a white box. He looked at Ginny. "Do you recognise the brand on this one?"
Ginny appeared to be stifling giggles. "I'm not sure, Harry," she told him quite seriously. "Why don't you open it so we can see if I'm right?"
Inside, Harry could see a pool of shimmer-y black fabric. He touched it as if he thought it were a pack of Exploding Snap cards-- liable to spontaneously combust at any given moment. It was the softest thing he had ever felt-- it felt like some sort of magical silk, Harry mused, based on the knowledge of the fabrics of Aunt Petunia's wardrobe he had gleaned by being forced to do laundry for several years. Hand wash in cold water, he thought wryly. So very like a Malfoy to line a gift box in expensive fabric.
He lifted the silk gently. As he drew it out of the box, he noticed what appeared to be seams, and then an elastic waistband. He groaned out loud. Draco had sent him black silk boxers.
A note had fallen out of the gift and Ginny had pounced on it. "Ooooh, Harry, it's written in green ink! How like a Slytherin!" She read it, looked momentarily disappointed, then handed it to him with a conspiratorial smile.
It read: "Midnight tomorrow, Trophy Room." It was unsigned, but it smelled like cinnamon, and as Harry looked up, Draco caught his eye. The Slytherin was looking directly at him and smirking.
-----
The Slytherin table's gossip was centred on Draco's relationship with Harry, but it a rather different way. It was taken as a given that Draco would get Harry-- Slytherins always got what they wanted-- but half the House was speculating about Draco's motives and the other half was laying bets on how long Harry would be able to resist Draco, easily the most irresistibly sexy student in the school, after the latter had set his sights on the Gryffindor.
"It's definitely sex," Blaise was saying. "I wonder if Potter's any good in bed?"
Pansy made a face. "Ugh, no. I don't think Draco would ever be even remotely attracted to a Gryffindor, would you, Draco darling?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Pansy, I am not attracted to you, nor will I ever be. I have better taste than that."
"Mmmm, but Potter's got that amazing Quidditch body..." Blaise said. "What else could it be?"
"It could be a cunning scheme to bring about the fall of 'Saint Potter'," Pansy said primly. "If I were doing it, that would be why."
Blaise gave her a withering look. "Yes, but Draco is not you. He is refined and subtle, and if he were interested in anything more than pleasure, he certainly wouldn't bandy it about to the likes of you, thought I can't imagine anything that would be better than sex... Do you think he's a virgin, Draco?"
Draco smirked. "Of course he is. He's too innocent and naive to be anything else."
"See?" Blaise said. "It's all about the aesthetics. Two gorgeous Quidditch players, both Seekers on their House Teams? It's too perfect to be true."
"You can't possibly think Potter is gorgeous," said Pansy.
"Have you looked at him recently, Pansy? Like maybe at all in the last two years or so?"
"I make a habit of not looking at Gryffindors, thank you very much," Pansy retorted.
"Well then, you couldn't possibly know how well he's filled out." Blaise's tone dropped to a stage whisper. "I heard he lived with Muggles who starved him before he came here. That's why he was so scrawny in first year." He changed to a more normal voice. "It's also probably why he's in Gryffindor-- because they beat him down for so long. You'll have to do something about that when you catch him, Draco. Anyway, now he looks like you couldn't see his ribs, if you took off those horrible clothes he wears. There's muscle on him. He's matured quite nicely; excellent bone structure..." Blaise was off on the artistic merits of Harry's face, and Draco tuned out selectively, hearing only enough to smack his friend when Blaise suggested that Harry had the 'just out of bed' look perfected, then requested a picture of Harry first thing in the morning to compare.
Draco let the conversation wash over him, a pleasant blanket of white noise. There was a lull of a couple minutes before there was a loud noise from the Gryffindor table. A parcel had just landed on Harry's head.
Draco noted the silence that washed over the hall as the student body observed their current topic of conversation opening a gift. Of course, he knew what was in it, but it would be very amusing to see what Harry and everyone else would make of the gift.
Sure enough, Harry lifted the black silk. Draco had been very careful to make it look like just more wrapping so that he could enjoy the Harry's embarrassment. He would eventually have to teach the boy how to receive gifts like this one without the bat of an eyelid, but in the meantime, it was very funny to watch the Gryffindor.
He caught Harry's eye after the latter finished reading the note he had enclosed, but the eye contact broke when Harry abruptly stood up to leave.
Draco rose gracefully and intercepted Harry just before he could escape the Hall to the relative privacy of his dorm.
"Now, now, Harry, you wouldn't want to run off like that, would you?" Draco purred, pinning Harry to the wall.
Harry wiggled around a bit, presumably trying to get free, but Draco could tell his heart wasn't in it.
"What do you want, Malfoy?"
"Oh, I think you know what I want." Draco looked at Harry. Yes, he definitely wanted him... up against the wall, flushed with embarrassment... very kissable.
Before either of them knew quite what was happening, Draco had taken the last step between the two of them. Harry's lips involuntarily parted as Draco's breath swept gently over them. It was an irresistible invitation; Draco moved his own lips into contact with Harry's and watched in satisfaction as Harry pressed closer to him. In the deftest of movements, Draco brought his tongue in to tease the roof of Harry's mouth and was rewarded with Harry's soft intake of breath and a pair of green eyes reluctantly closing.
Several moments later-- all too soon for Draco's taste-- Harry seemed to regain control and broke away, looking both dazed and thoroughly kissed.
"Did you like it, Potter?" Draco asked conversationally while he waited for Harry to regain his linguistic ability.
Harry nodded slowly, as if amazed. He was touching his lips with a strong-looking tanned hand as if he couldn't believe that anything had just happened to them in front of several hundred people.
After a moment, the glaze over Harry's eyes seemed to fade.
Draco chose his moment. "By the way, Potter... is that a wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"
As he had predicted, the cliché jolted Harry back to the world of the functioning. "Geez, Draco, can't you come up with anything original?"
Perfect. Draco moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, gratified when Harry's eyes glazed over slightly again. "Well, actually, Potter... I can. Wingarmentia!"
Harry's pants flew off.
Draco smirked. "Clearly, not a wand."
Harry scrambled for his pants as Snape swooped over like a malevolent bat. "Mr. Malfoy, I am astonished. I thought you had more decorum than this. Fifty points from Hufflepuff!"
"Sir?" asked Draco, puzzled. "From Hufflepuff?"
Snape glared at him. "You know as well as I do that I am characterised as hyperbolically biased towards my own house. However... have it your way. Twenty points from Gryffindor for indecent exposure and seventy from Slytherin for misconduct."
Draco looked shocked for a moment, then grinned. "Worth it. See you later, Harry."
Harry was left standing halfway into his pants as the youngest Malfoy grinned roguishly and swept off.
The entire hall was dumbstruck as Harry roughly pulled up his jeans and ran out.
-----
Draco slid into bed the moment he got down to Slytherin. It was so much to think about... the way Harry had reacted to the kiss beautifully, but more importantly, the way that it had been so much better than it had been in dreams. It was definitely something to think about... if real sex was as exponentially better than dream sex, then Harry just might have to become a permanent part of his life, and that involved emotions.
-----
If that was what happened when he fell asleep in class, Harry decided, it was much safer to sleep at night. He would make the sacrifice and dream of Draco nights as long as he never found himself moaning Draco's name in class again. If that was what happened, he definitely didn't want any of it.
First off, Harry wanted revenge for the black silk boxers. Even if they seemed like they would be amazingly comfortable against bare skin, there was absolutely no reason Draco should have sent them to him in the middle of dinner. It was completely uncalled for, and Harry had had a devious idea to get back at the Slytherin. He wrote a letter, enclosed some gold, and ran up to the Owlery to send it off. Mission accomplished, he returned to his dorm.
That kiss... it had so much more to it than the dream kisses he had been receiving on a nightly basis. It was almost intriguing. Harry decided to sleep on it.
After doing as much of his homework as he could with his diminished ability to concentrate, Harry settled into bed and slept. Eventually, he dreamed.
-----
Harry was playing Slytherin in a Quidditch match, and there was more tension than ever before between the two Seekers. Draco had clearly been practicing a lot, because he finally was good enough to seriously challenge Harry's natural Quidditch ability. The match had been going on for just over seven hours, and his robe was soaked through with sweat. The day was hot, and both Seekers had been flying with an intensity that Harry was entirely certain Hogwart's had never seen before. He wasn't sure what the score was, but he was aware that the crowd was paying next to no attention to the other members of the team as his struggle with Draco for the Snitch had been constant, impressive, and passionate.
It finally ended when Harry, desperate to end the game, grabbed Draco's groin and used the leverage to give him the extra push needed to catch the Snitch. Madame Hooch called it, of course, and gave Slytherin a penalty, but it was worth it. Gryffindor had won the match, and it was worth it.
He groaned as he landed; he had never flown so hard and for so long before and he was sore all over. He could tell from the way Draco was walking that the Slytherin felt the same way.
He headed for the shower, not even bothering to accept the congratulations his friends and teammates were showering upon him.
As soon as he was alone in the corridor, however, Draco grabbed his shoulder. "Come with me, Harry."
"Why?"
"The Slytherin showers are better than the Gryffindor ones."
"How do you know?"
"Look, I'll rub your back if you'll rub mine."
That sounded good to Harry. "OK."
They walked off down the halls together, a sense of mutual respect for the other's ability on a broom diffusing the tension from the Quidditch.
When they got to the blank wall that was the entrance to Slytherin, Draco gave the password curtly ("Grasshopper") and led Harry through the common room and to the shower. Though the cubicles were tiny, they were beautifully made of smooth black stone.
Harry stripped and asked, "Won't the rest of the house notice?"
Draco shook his head. "No, they'll be too busy lamenting their loss. Far be it from most of them to see excellent Quidditch if they aren't supporting the winning team."
"Why don't they just support Gryffindor, then?"
"Because our teams are, for the first time since the school was founded, completely evenly matched. I must admit, though, it was brilliant of you to grab me there. You managed to find the one thing that would distract me long enough to let you get the Snitch." Draco turned around then, holding his green Quidditch robes over one arm. He was magnificently naked, with strands of wet blonde hair dishevelled and plastered to his forehead by the sweat. He was almost glowing as the dim light caught the fine blonde hair on his arms and legs. "Here, give me those." Draco reached out and took Harry's clothes and left them draped over an adjacent shower stall. "The house-elves will get them."
Harry stepped into the shower and turned on the water, which poured down from the four corners of the stall, soaking him over his entire body. The pressure was magnificent, pounding into his sore muscles, releasing the residual tension and rinsing off the sweat. His eyes closed and a whimper of pleasure escaped his lips even before he felt Draco's body align with his and surprisingly soft hands press into his back.
Harry's eyes flew open. "What are you doing?"
"Shhhh..." Draco said soothingly. "I told you I'd rub your back."
Harry reached around Draco's back to return the favour, bringing them close together.
It wasn't long before the potential pleasure of the situation overrode the pain in their bodies. The shower was hot and steamy, and they were letting their hands roam over each other.
Draco smirked, a couple locks of hair in his eyes sending streams of water over his cheeks. "That feels better, doesn't it?"
Harry nodded. "And you were right, by the way."
"Of course I was; I'm always right. Which occasion are you referring to?"
"Slytherin showers are better than the Gryffindor ones, especially if they've got you in them."
"In them, eh?" Draco's eyes lit. "Well, you did prove that you were proficient in riding a broom... perhaps you'd like to show me you're as good at being ridden."
Harry gasped as Draco's hands found a particularly sensitive spot on his ass, and Draco took that as consent.
He turned off the water and handed Harry a thick forest green towel, taking another for himself.
Each boy wrapped the towel around his waist.
"Shall we go to bed?" Draco asked.
"Won't your House be around?"
"Probably not, and if they are, I'll hex them."
"Then that sounds wonderful." Harry smiled warmly, and Draco felt the warmth of an unfamiliar emotion fill his chest to an almost painful point.
They made the trip to Draco's dorm without the latter hexing anyone, though. As they fell into the bed, they let their towels fall onto the ground.
As skin touched skin, the burning feeling of being too full of emotion in Draco's chest lessened. He could tell that, whatever it was between the Slytherin and the Gryffindor, it was mutual.
Some time later, they fell asleep together.
-----
The next morning, Harry woke up and felt disoriented for a moment. The dream he had had the previous night had been altogether too Malfoy-oriented to be classified as good, but it was far too pleasant to be considered a nightmare or even simply a bad dream.
On the bright side, he was no longer dreaming about Voldemort.
As normal waking consciousness ebbed back to Harry, though, he remembered something that he had arranged to happen at breakfast. A smile broke across his face, and he bounced out of bed with a considerably greater amount of early-morning high spirits than he usually displayed.
"What's going on? Is there a fire or something? Sirius Black isn't here to murder us again, is he?" mumbled Seamus sleepily.
Harry grinned. "You'll see."
-----
Harry was fifteen minutes early to breakfast and fidgeted impatiently until the rest of the school began to arrive. Hermione was the first person to sit near him. Harry eagerly started a conversation with her about S.P.E.W, which startled her so much that she was speechless for a full minute and a half after he had started to chatter.
Eventually, the hall began to fill, and with it, Harry's anticipation grew so much he felt like he could barely remain seated. Nothing could dampen his excitement, even Ron and Seamus, who had deliberately chosen seats together at the opposite end of the table.
The peak of Harry's tension came about when Draco, fifteen minutes late and looking uncharacteristically rumpled, walked into the Hall. His hair was tousled and it seemed the blonde had forgotten to do anything with it that morning.
Harry had to check a fleeting impulse to run over and hug the Slytherin. 'Where did that come from?' he wondered briefly before biting his lip and turning his attention to the meal at hand.
Another fifteen minutes went by before the post began to arrive. Owls soared overhead, and Harry watched anxiously.
There was a note for him, but, thankfully to his mind, no gift with any romantic or sexual connotations whatsoever. Of course, Ginny promptly stole the note, squealing when she read it ("Oooh, Harry! It's from Draco!"), but it didn't concern him. He was able to snatch it back before she read it to the table, and he was more interested in watching the Slytherin table.
Finally, after the horde of owls had thinned, he saw Hedwig bearing a gift box.
She dropped it on Draco's empty breakfast plate, then flew directly to Harry's shoulder to roost.
A titter went through the crowd as they watched the flight of the owl, correctly guessing the significance of its behaviour: Harry had sent Draco something.
Draco prodded the box suspiciously with his wand, but nothing outrageous happened. Slowly, he undid the ribbon (green, Draco wondered when Harry had become sensitive to his House colours) and lifted the lid.
There was something pink and sticky inside.
He lifted the whatever-it-was out of the box for closer inspection, and then turned pink (incidentally matching Harry's gift perfectly), groaned, and winked at Harry in rapid succession.
"Edible panties, Potter?" Draco said, clearly enough for both his target and the entire school to hear. "Is that an invitation?"
-----
Ah, poor Harry... he seems to have botched his attempt at retaliation, though he did manage to get Draco to blush....
chisox727-- I'll admit to my wording of Harry's attempt at 'staying up' was Freudian, but it no way was it a 'slip'. I tend to mean what I say, and fix those cases in which I have goofed. Puns here will generally be more intentional than incidental. Thanks for noticing!
cofaym: You're very much welcome; it's a pleasure to write this story. It's flowing much more easily than my other one.
Please review, it makes me happy, and happy writers write more.