A/N: So, here's chapter two, and it's in Harry's point of view. Sort of. Once again, I suggest you either listen to Breaking Benjamin's songs, or at least read their lyrics, because I base each of my chapters on one particular song (see the quotes I use at the beginning of each chapter).

Disclaimer: I'm not likely to own anything because this is a fanfic, so I'll just let you know when I add something that's mine. Or from another book or something. So, to summarize, everything from here on out is J.K. Rowling's or Breaking Benjamin's (see quotes) unless I tell you different.

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Chapter Two

"Why should I have to wait?

I'll just look the other way"

"Wish I May," Breaking Benjamin

Thanks? He'd actually thanked Malfoy? Why? What had possessed him to do such a thing? Harry stared at the parchment in front of him, which was covered in notes that he'd been taking the entire class period. He didn't even remember writing anything down. But this didn't scare him anymore; he couldn't remember a lot of things now. One morning he woke up to find Ron talking to him about the trip to Hogsmeade they'd taken the day before, and Harry had actually asked Ron if he'd gone with him. Ron had looked at him like he was insane and felt his forehead.

But when he forgot, he didn't have to remember. And when he didn't have to remember, he didn't have to think.

"Harry? Harry, man, are you okay?" Ron whispered loudly, his lips almost touching Harry's ear.

Harry absentmindedly wiped away the spit that had landed on the ridge of his ear. "What? Yeah, I'm fine," he replied automatically. He didn't have to look up to know that Ron was still eyeing him worriedly. Nobody could stand it when the Boy Who Lived acted like a normal seventeen year old boy.

And sure enough, two seconds later Hermione and Neville were asking Ron what was wrong, and Ron shrugged, and Hermione frowned at Harry, and Neville looked clueless. Harry repressed the urge to sigh and forced himself to look up at Professor Binns, who was going on monotonously about another war. He briefly scanned the room, noticing that everybody else was spaced out or asleep. But he couldn't drift off in class; what if Voldemort came the second his eyes closed? He'd probably just let Voldemort have at everybody. How would the world like their precious Golden Boy then?

"What's so funny, Harry?" Hermione asked, noticing the wry smile that was twisting Harry's lips into a weak half-smile. Harry's lips immediately straightened. "Nothing," he muttered. Nothing was funny about the world anymore. Except for the deal. The deal was funny. Harry was sneaking off every chance he got so he could be with, of all people, Malfoy. And nobody knew. But that wasn't what made the deal funny. No, what was funny was that Malfoy, Harry's arch enemy, was the only person in the entire world that could make him forget. Forget about the destiny that everyone forced onto him. Forget about living up to the expectations of the wizarding world. Forget about the world in general. When Harry was with Malfoy, the only thing Harry thought about was what Malfoy was doing to him, or what Harry could do to Malfoy. And then they'd do it all again.

But he just might have ruined it all the night before. Why had he thanked Malfoy? Why had he even opened his mouth for anything other than sucking Malfoy off at all? He knew he'd scared Malfoy. Had he scared him enough to make him run away? Because if he had, then Harry would have to stop running. And Harry didn't want to stop running. He never wanted to stop running. Harry smiled humorlessly. It was ironic; the brave Boy Who Lived wanted to escape. The Prophecy had said Neville could have been the one to defeat Voldemort. Why the hell couldn't Voldemort have Apparated to the Longbottoms' house and tried to kill Neville, for Merlin's sake? What was Harry going to do when the time came for him to fight? He'd just barely managed to survive everything else the Dark Lord had thrown at him. How was he going to kill Voldemort? How was he even going to keep himself alive in order to kill him?

Harry realized he'd been clenching his fists too tightly when his quill snapped in half, and loudly. Professor Binns looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Um... sorry," Harry apologized, not really paying attention to what he was saying. "Can I... er... go get another one?"

Professor Binns nodded. "Hurry back."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, knowing that Professor Binns wouldn't notice if he never came back at all; why would a boring ghost absorbed in history care about the apparent savior of the wizarding world? Harry hadn't even saved the world. His mother had. If it hadn't been for her, he'd be dead. Everybody would be dead. Or enslaved. Or they'd be whatever Voldemort had planned for them to be when he'd gone crazy and decided to try to take over the world.

Harry left the classroom slowly, his hands shoved in his pockets, not looking up from the floor; too many "concerned" students would be watching him. He exited the room, hearing the door creak shut behind him. Why would anybody want the world, anyway? The world sucked. The world was a spinning inferno that was going to suck everybody into hell some day. Everyone that wanted to rule the nightmare that was the world was insane. And even more gone were the people that worshipped Harry for subjecting them to yet another day of suck. If Harry saw himself walking down the road, he wouldn't ask him for an autograph or thank him. He'd pull out his wand, point it at him, and Kedavra him right then and there. Why couldn't Harry have just died like everybody else? Saviors had it rough. Look at Jesus; he was crucified, and then he had, of all possible hells, to come back and prove that resurrection was possible. He'd shown that death was a lie. If there was one other person in the entire world that Harry actually wanted to Kedavra besides himself, it was Jesus. And if Jesus came back again, Harry would just keep blasting the damned kook over and over again until he took the hint and stayed dead. Who cared if death was a lie? To Harry, death seemed to be the best goddamned lie, period.

And then Harry wanted to forget. Needed to forget. If Malfoy was scared, then Harry was about to find out. At the moment, Malfoy had Charms. Harry turned around abruptly and made his way to Professor Flitwick's classroom as fast as he could, not caring if anyone caught him out of class.

When he reached his destination, he crept up to the small window in the middle of the door slowly, peering through it so he could see Malfoy. Making sure that nobody else noticed him, Harry stood there, willing Malfoy to look up. He did. Harry jerked his head in the direction of the room they met in when they were on that particular floor. Malfoy nodded, slowly, then signaled with his hand that he'd be there in five minutes. Harry nodded briskly and hurried off to their meeting place.

Harry walked up to the enormous portrait of a pretty lady in green and reached out and pushed one of the emeralds that bordered the picture into the frame. The portrait sunk into the wall, then moved slowly to the left, revealing a dark, hidden room. Harry hurried inside and pulled down on the candleholder attached to the wall that triggered the portrait to slide back in place.

Malfoy and Harry had discovered the place by accident when they had been, coincidentally, trying to find somewhere to do what they needed to do. Malfoy had slammed Harry against the portrait and they'd started snogging enthusiastically when the portrait had moved back, causing them to fall forward. Orrather, Malfoy had fallen forward while Harry had toppled backward.They'd entered and surveyed the room, and decided that it was perfect for whenever they needed to, as Malfoy put it, "take care of business" when they were on that particular floor.

Harry looked around, trying to find something to keep him occupied while he waited for Malfoy. At least he didn't have to worry about Malfoy being late; a Malfoy was always on time. Even for his or her own death sentence. Creepy. Harry couldn't really base anything he did on his family, since he couldn't really remember anything about his parents. So when he was late, he couldn't say it ran in the family. When he found that he preferred fucking, or being fucked by, boys more than girls, he couldn't explain that he got it from one of his ancestors. In any case, he probably didn't get it from his parents, since he was evidence that they had had sex.

Harry sat down in one of the swivel chairs in the room and lifted his feet up so they rested on the table. Sighing, he leaned back in the chair and folded his hands behind his head, closing his eyes. The room he and Malfoy had found was, or had been, some sort of hidden conference room. There was a long, thin table that stretched across almost the entire length of the room, dozens of chairs, an overhead fixture, a slide projector, file cabinets, a podium, a blackboard, charts that Harry didn't understand, etc. Judging by the way there was no dust in the room and the furniture was freshly polished, the room was still used by people other than him and Malfoy. Then again, magic might have been what kept the room clean.

Harry didn't realize he had drifted off until his legs were knocked off the table and he was whirled around in his chair to face Malfoy. "Tired?" Malfoy asked, tracing Harry's jaw with his index finger. Harry shrugged, sitting up straighter in the chair. Malfoy's smile was deceptively soft. He enjoyed dragging out sex when Harry was tired because it took more out of him. Malfoy gripped Harry's chin tightly between his index finger and thumb and kissed him gently. Harry remained still, knowing better than to respond; if he tried to give Malfoy anything in return before he wanted it, then Malfoy would either pull away and wait for Harry to back down, or end the "session" right then altogether.

Malfoy, turned on by Harry's immediate submission, wrapped his other arm around Harry and dug his nails into the middle of his back right next to his spine, making Harry moan. Malfoy kissed the corner of Harry's mouth, his jaw, started biting and sucking at his neck, got down to the fabric of Harry's robes and grunted in frustration. He pulled back and undid Harry's robes, tossing them across the room, then literally ripped off Harry's shirt. Harry bit back his weak protests, feeling both overly exposed and extremely turned on at the same time. Malfoy studied Harry's tie for a second. "Leave it," he commanded. Harry wouldn't have reached up to take it off anyway; this was for Malfoy just as much as it was for him.

Malfoy looked down at the bulge that was pressing up against Harry's jeans and grinned patronizingly. He bent over and kissed it, making Harry unbearably warm. Malfoy looked up at Harry, whose cheeks were tinted a rosy pink in contrast to his brilliant green eyes, and frowned. He reached up and snatched off Harry's glasses, tossing them onto the table.

"Hey..." Harry started to protest.

"You don't need them, anyway," Malfoy cut in. "You don't have to see anything. I just have to see you." He caressed one side of Harry's face with his hand before threading his fingers into Harry's hair. "And don't close your eyes this time," he added, the pad of his thumb rubbing Harry's cheekbone softly. He reached down with one hand and quickly unfastened Harry's pants, then tugged them off along with his boxers.

Harry looked calmly at Malfoy, not knowing that he looked like a broken China doll. Malfoy produced a low, growl-like noise from deep inside his throat and parted Harry's legs open wider, one hand still stroking Harry's hair softly. Harry braced himself; the softer Malfoy was in the beginning, the rougher the sex would be. Sure enough, Malfoy moved his hands to the arms of the chair and pushed it violently against the table, then took off his own clothes just as quickly as he'd taken off Harry's. He stepped forward and straddled Harry, planting his knees on either side of Harry's thighs. He gripped both of the chair's arms and lifted himself up, then lowered himself onto Harry, letting hismemberinside him; they didn't use any of the lubricants they'd seen other students use because they liked to feel everything. Harry groaned and leaned back in the chair, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. Malfoy grunted incoherently and pulled at Harry's hair. "I told you not to close your eyes this time," he hissed. Harry nodded, eager for Malfoy to continue.

Malfoy wriggled from side to side in order to fit better around Harry, then began to move up and down, his leg muscles tensing and untensing more and more rapidly as both boys became more engrossed in what they were doing. Harry gasped and thrust his hips up to meet Malfoy's, and Malfoy inhaled sharply and gripped Harry's tie, his other hand clamping onto the chair arm even more tightly until his skin threatened to split over his knuckles. Malfoy managed to get Harry's tie undone with one hand and looped it around Harry's back, grabbing the other end with his other hand. He tugged on the tie, forcing Harry to press up closer to him, and began biting and licking at every bit of skin he could reach in his current position. Harry held on tightly to the chair arms, not realizing he was gasping outwords that didn't make sense.

Neither of them noticed when the chair broke. In fact, when they hit the floor, the pain drove them even more wild. Malfoy pinned Harry down to the floor on his back, bent and spread out his legs. Then he began to drive down onto Harry, hard enough to make their bones shake and their teeth clench. Harry reached out, trying to find something to hold onto. Finding nothing, he just pressed his hands and arms into the cold, stone floor until they ached; he needed some kind of anchor to keep him from floating off into a dream world he couldn't understand. He couldn't understand why Malfoy, of all people, could make him feel like this. Harry, realizing that he wasn't allowing himself to forget, bucked up into Malfoy.

Malfoy, seeming to understand, somehow managed to move harder, faster, until neither of them could even see straight. When Harry came, he heard himself scream out in a voice that didn't seem to be his own, and he slammed his head against the floor. He felt himself shoot into Malfoy, and all of his energy seemed to go along for the ride. Malfoy wouldn't let him rest, though; Harry had to keep up his part of the deal. Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, then sat up and wrapped his hand around Malfoy's erection. "Too tired to do anything else," he explained. He slid his hand up and down Malfoy's cock, not bothering to prolong the experience. When Malfoy came, Harry wiped his hand off on the floor and stood up, making his way over to his clothes.

"You owe me, Potter," Malfoy muttered, rising to his feet slowly, shakily.

"I know," Harry replied, not wanting to say anything more. If he did, he might thank him again, or tell him why he really didn't feel like staying in the conference room anymore; he had almost acknowledged the truth. In the middle of hard, driving sex, Harry had almost come face to face with the truth that he had been trying to escape from by coming to Malfoy in the first place. Before, he'd been able to dream, to lie to himself that Malfoy would always be an escape. The lies had been like shiny lights that could warm up the coldness he'd been feeling. But now the darkness was beginning to penetrate the light, and he didn't want to be with Malfoy when everything finally blacked out altogether; the deal was to help each other forget, not drag one another into each other's problems.

Fortunately, Malfoy didn't say anything at all, not even about the mistake Harry had made the night before. Because he didn't want to face the darkness either. It was funny how the one person who could understand him, what he was going through, was the person he hated most. Or at least he thought he hated him. It had to be hate, because if it was anything else, then the lights would haveto dim even more. It's why he had left so quickly the night before; he could see that Malfoy was beginning to see the truth, too. The way Malfoy had looked at him when he'd said thank you... eventually they'd have to end what they had before they ruined it. And Harry would love it, hate it at the same time. Would Malfoy? Probably. Maybe. What did Malfoy want?

"What..." Harry choked out before he could stop himself.

"Hm?" Malfoy asked, one eyebrow raised in question.

"Nevermind." Harry reached out for his glasses, put them on, then exited the room as quickly as the portrait would permit. He didn't see the expression on Malfoy's face, which was a mixture of sorrow, concern, anger, and fear; the same expression Harry had seen the night before.

He left the room open, knowing Malfoy would take care of the portrait and the mess they'd made; Malfoy usually arrived first to check for anybody who might see, then stayed behind in order to make sure their secret would stay a secret. He was good at things like that.

When Harry reached Professor Binns' class, he looked through the window and decided he was too tired to deal with anymore lessons. He sighed and made his way to Gryffindor Tower, taking his time and not caring if Filch or Mrs. Norris came around the corner suddenly. It wasn'tlike detention would killhim or anything. If anything, detention gave Harry something to do other than fuck or be fucked by Malfoy. Not that Malfoy wouldn't come "visit" Harry while he was in detention if hewanted to.

By the time Harry crawled through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, he was too weak to climb the stairs to his dorm. Instead, he trudged slowly over to the couch and flopped down on his back, already asleep before he hit the soft cushions.

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"Harry? It's time for dinner," Hermione said, shaking Harry. "Harry, get up. I brought your homework for you."

"Sorry, mate," Ron said into Harry's ear as if he were deaf, "I couldn't talk her out of it. I tried to explain to her that... hey, mate, are you okay? You look really worn out." Ron squinted his eyes and leaned even closer to Harry. "Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey."

Harry sighed and pushed Ron's face out of the way, sitting up. "I'm fine. Just tired." Noticing the concerned expressions on his friends' faces, he rolled his eyes and rose to his feet. "Tests, guys. I've been studying like crazy for the past two weeks. I just needed to get some extra sleep, that's all."

Ron nodded, accepting his explanation immediately, but Hermione looked skeptical. "Okay..." she said, looking as if she were trying to analyze him.

Harry, not wanting to be analyzed, brushed past Hermione and Ron and crossed the room to the exit. "So, let's go, then," he said when his friends didn't follow him.

Hermione and Ron hurried across the room. Hermione continued to look at Harry as if she were trying to figure him out, and Ron was looking at Hermione with a confused expression on his face. Harry fought the urge to sigh again and left the common room. When Hermione immediately began to ask him how much he'd been eating, and how well he'd been sleeping, Harry wished he could leave himself the way Malfoy could. Sure, he could space out or daydream, but Malfoy seemed to be able to leave his body entirely and go off somewhere that couldn't be found in this world. And it made him jealous. But Malfoy made up for it. If Harry so much as sighed in a class when Malfoy was there, Malfoy would drag him into a closet and fuck him senseless. Like he had earlier that day.

"What's got you smiling like that?" Ron asked, grinning. He elbowed Harry in the ribs. Harry held back a gasp of pain; he was still sore from the session in the hidden conference room. "Something going on, mate?" Ron asked, whispering loudly. This time Harry didn't resist rolling his eyes. Ron thought he was seeing someone. Okay, so maybe, in a way, he was. Sort of. But he and Malfoy had agreed that if they wanted to see other people, then they could. No pressure or obligations. And Ron thought that Harry was seeing a girl. Harry was pretty sure Ron would admit him to St. Mungo's if he ever found out his best friend was not only having sex with other guys, he was having sex with Malfoy. Malfoy of all people. Because no one hated Draco Malfoy more than Ron Weasley. Period. So Harry shrugged, pretending to be embarrassed, and Ron nodded and winked conspiratorially.

The trio reached the Great Hall with Hermione leading the way, and they walked over to Gryffindor Table, each of them unusually silent, what with Hermione trying to fit pieces of the puzzle that was Harry together, Harry not wanting to talk to Ron about who he was seeing or to Hermione about what was supposed to be wrong with him, and Ron scanning the room, trying to figure out who Harry's girl was. Not that he'd find her, because it wasn't even a her.

Hermione sat down at the end of the table, and Ron immediately sat down next to her. Harry, wanting to be able to stare off into space in case dinner topics became too uncomfortable for his liking, sat down on the opposite side of the table. When Ron looked at him quizzically, Harry shrugged. "Want to be able to talk to both of you without having to lean over someone," he explained, pulling a roll apart. Ron nodded, then began talking to Hermione about some homework assignment they'd been given in Potions that day. It sounded boring, so Harry gazed out across the hall, seeing but not seeing.

Movement at Slytherin Table caught his eye, and he focused to see Malfoy signaling to him. Harry raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. Malfoy jerked his head in the direction of the library. Harry dipped his head fractionally, indicating that he'd be there. Malfoy nodded in return, rose from the table, and exited the Great Hall. Harry waited five minutes, gave his friends a pathetic excuse (Ron assumed he was going to meet his "girl," so he told Hermione to let it go) and went to the library as fast as he possibly could; three hours of sleep was not enough to recover from mindblowing, bone-jarring sex.

Harry entered the library cautiously, and turned around and closed the door slowly so his eyes would have time to adjust to the darkness. Before he could turn around, arms planted themselves against the door on either side of him. "Took you long enough," Malfoy murmured, pressing his body up against Harry's.

Harry leaned back against Malfoy. "Want to get on with it, then?" he asked softly, reaching out and twining his fingers with Malfoy's.

Malfoy's response was to turn Harry around slowly, then press him up against the door. "Yeah. Fuck me. Now."

Harry nodded, then set to work taking off whatever clothing he could get a hold of; both his and Malfoy's. Then he guided Malfoy over to one of the tables, kissing him enthusiastically along the way. Harry pushed Malfoy on top of the table, then lifted the other boy's legs up over his shoulders. Malfoy threw out his arms to balance himself on the table. "We haven't done it on this table before," he commented, looking around.

Harry shrugged, not particularly interested. "Kind of funny, what with it being the closest one to the door and all." He looked down at his erection, then at Malfoy. Then he entered Malfoy, not bothering to reduce any pain he mighthave felt; Malfoy liked pain because it showed him he could still feel. Harry thrust into Malfoy experimentally, making him moan and toss his head back slightly. "Right, then," Harry said to himself, then began to crash into Malfoy just as hard as Malfoy had fucked him earlier that day.

Harry grimaced, thinking about how he'd almost broken down in the conference room. He had actually almost asked Malfoy what they were going to do about each other when school was over. And then he had seen Malfoy's face, and he hadn't been able to follow through with it. Malfoy didn't want to have anything to do with Harry when their time at Hogwarts was over. He'd probably go off and become a Death Eater, and then one day they'd find each other on opposing sides in the war. Would either of them be alive when it was over? Would one of them have to kill the other?

Malfoy groaned and came, bringing Harry back to reality. That is, Harry was brought back to the lie he had made his reality. Harry, relieved that it was over and he could finally get some rest, came into Malfoy, collapsing on top of him on the table, his feet still brushing the floor. And then Harry didn't want to leave the library; he was too tired to make the journey to his dorm.

Malfoy, seeming to understand, didn't tell Harry to move until several minutes had gone by. "Potter," he whispered eventually, "we're going to break the table if we don't get off of it soon."

Harry grunted and sank to the floor, sprawling out tiredly underneath the table. Malfoy rolled his eyes and sighed, stretching out on the floor next to him. If Harry hadn't already been more than half-asleep, he would have noticed that Malfoy wasn't actually annoyed with him; he was holding back a smile. And then he was completely asleep, and he didn't give a damn who found him lying there.

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And that's chapter two. Is anybody else really, really tired? Daylight saving's time has done a number on me again. Damnit, I hate it when this happens!