The next several days were almost perfect. I spent my usual waking hours
with Hermione and Ron, and my not-usual-waking hours with Draco. I usually
ended up exhausted enough that I slept like the dead until the Early-Waking
Charm woke me, and I hardly noticed the slighter amount of sleep I was
getting. Every other day or so Draco and I pushed the boundaries of what
everyone expected of our relationship, and the Gryffindors were becoming
quite indifferent toward him overall, though we hadn't tried the Slytherins
yet. Crabbe and Goyle remained lurking shadows behind Draco most times,
and said nothing (although they grunted a bit more and snickered less,
maybe because Draco was instigating less mayhem), and neither of us cared
much for any other Slytherin's opinion just now.
The link continued to strengthen infinitesimally. Both of us had given up on the idea of it going away, and avoided the subject completely. We had become entirely too comfortable with it being a constant presence in our minds, and even the hint of the thought of it fading into nothingness caused both of us to flinch in pain and apprehension. Friends were all well and good, lovers better, best friends better yet, lovers who were best friends best of all...until this. Just imagining going without it left the heart convulsing with loneliness and anguish.
So we didn't imagine it.
The routine became comfortable, normal. Weeks passed without our noticing, until finally we'd made even the Slytherins comfortable with seeing us laughing together, although more than half of them still believed it was a complicated plot of Draco's. We didn't mind. We spent some of the best evenings of my life with Ron and Hermione. Ron had slowly and grudgingly admitted that yes, it did indeed seem that Draco had changed his stripes to spots, unlikely as that seemed. Hermione'd believed it from the beginning anyway, and had only remained cautious as a 'just in case' sort of thing...she trusts my judgement about people, I'm not sure why. Or maybe I do know; I'm not good at understanding people at all, but so far I have been relatively good at detecting serious dishonesty, Quirrell and Barty Crouch (junior) excluded...not that they'd ever revealed their innermost selves to me... Okay, fine, in my more ego-inflated moments I could sort of understand why she trusted my judgement so, and the rest of the time I had no damned clue. Happy now?
Anyway. After a few weeks of things getting nothing but better, I told Ron to go out flying without me, told Draco not to come over to our common room 'til I told him it was alright, and hauled Hermione away from her stacks of books.
"What's up, Harry? And can you make it quick? I'm working on a really fascinating paper for Arithmancy, and I'd like to get back to it." She was still looking back at her pile of parchment and holding her quill like she was ready to start writing again at a moment's notice. I pulled the quill from her fingers and Banished it back across the room to her study area with a flick of my wand.
"Um, this is important, 'Mione. Like, say, more than Arithmancy even, for now." That got her attention—finally.
"Is everything okay?" Now she was concerned.
"Yes, everything's fine, except I really need to talk to you about something." The time was right, perfect, even; the weather was fine, and few Gryffindors want to be inside on a warm spring evening. Not even me, to be honest, but this needed to be said now while I had the opportunity and she and I could have a bit of privacy. It was a sensitive subject, after all.
She sat down on a couch—one of my favourite couches in the common room actually, an amazingly comfortable one most naturally upholstered in crimson velvet—and gave me all of her attention. "So. Sit down then and tell me about it, Harry."
I sat, although part of me thought it would be better to be pacing, and examined my fingernails most intently instead. "Um, 'Mione, I...er..." ...lost steam. Tried again. "Um, about Draco and I." Lost it again.
"Yes, I see you've become very good friends, and to be honest, I like him rather a lot myself lately. And? What is it? Relax, it can't be that bad." She, naturally, was completely at ease (despite the Arithmancy paper calling to her from across the room. Then again, she wasn't trying to broach the subject of Dracoandme. Lucky her.)
"Well, er, no, it's not bad at all, except. Um, well, you should know that, I, Ilikehim." I stared at my thumbnail as if I'd never seen it before.
"You like—you LIKE him."
"And, er, he, helikesme."
"And he likes you."
"Er, yeah."
"And we're not talking about liking as in, say, salads or Quidditch teams here."
"Um, no. More like, er, like, um, liking...ah..."
"Liking each other."
"Right."
"I always thought, well, that you liked...girls, Harry."
"I, um, I did, or at least I thought I did, but I didn't like them anything like this."
"Well, no, I'd expect not," she said dryly. "After all, all the bits to be liked are rather different."
I tore my eyes from my (at this moment infinitely intriguing) hands and flicked a glance up at her. "This isn't meant to be funny, Hermione."
"I'd gathered that, Harry, except it sort of is whether you meant it to be or not." She snickered. "I'm shocked it took you this long."
That was—not what I'd expected. "What?" (Don't bother telling me I'm significantly less than eloquent. Draco tells me often enough, thank you very much.)
She sort of hiccupped, then looked at me, then burst into gales of laughter. I had yet another occasion to curse my pale complexion. Honestly, before the last month or so, I'd never done so much damned blushing in my life. I was seriously tempted to punch her, or at least shove her off of the couch onto the floor, but I restrained myself somehow. "Could you possibly deign to tell me what exactly is SO FUCKING FUNNY?" I was significantly less than amused.
"It's just that..." —laughing hysterically— "that" —still laughing— "you've taken so, so" —I wanted even more to smash her— "so damned LONG to figure this out, oh gods!" And she doubled over laughing until in the midst of wanting to smash her I began to wonder if she was able to breathe properly.
"Harry, love, go do something you're good at, will you?" Draco's cool voice managed to startle me out of my reverie of wanting to smash Hermione (my fists had clenched themselves without my realising) and I stared up at him, not having even noticed him coming in. He half-smiled at me and flicked his lovely blond head towards the doorway. I blinked, blinked again, then got up and stalked out of the common room, still blinking.
I distinctly recalled telling him to stay away until I told him to come back, but on third- and fourth-thought I concluded that he'd been right to instead come over as soon as he possibly could, because after all I had been doing something I'm particularly NOT good at, and he was infinitely better at it, and...oh bother.
So I went flying with Ron.
Draco and Hermione met us on our way back from the pitch, just as the sun's last sliver was sinking lost and sadly into the Forbidden Forest. Scattered here and there across the grounds groups of students tried to pretend it wasn't getting dark. Winter really does last a bit too long every year, I say.
Ron had just started to tell Hermione excitedly about the Sloth Grip Roll he'd managed today (he's always fallen off before) when Draco stepped forward, wrapped me in his arms, and kissed me deeply before I had a chance to even wonder exactly what the HELL he was doing.
Ron and I reacted roughly the same way, which involved mostly standing shock-still with gaping jaw. Hermione seized Ron firmly by the arm and headed back to the castle with him in tow, still staring slack-jawed at us over his shoulder. Draco casually slung one arm around my shoulders and grinned at me. "Hermione'll take it from here," he said quietly.
"Oh will she now." Most of the near groups of students had seen it all and were whispering madly to each other. I felt more pointed at than on my first trip through Diagon Alley. "And you have, I'm sure, an excellent excuse for not telling me what the fuck you had in mind ahead of time."
"Of course I do. Although it's a reason, not an excuse. A Malfoy never makes excuses." He finally turned and looked at me. :You'd never have done it properly, else. You'd have been all self-conscious, and Ron would have noticed and asked you why, and you'd have either told him—and buggered it up—or not, making him suspicious, and buggered it up. And then, of course, Hermione would wonder why you'd known what was going to happen, since even she didn't know quite what I had in mind.:
:And this makes up for making a fool of me how, exactly?:
:Like this.: And he seized me and kissed me again until I forgot I was furious and kissed him back and when I came to myself we were the centre of a huge circle of stares.
:They were all going to know eventually, Harry. It might as well be now.: And twining his slim fingers with mine, holding me firmly at his side, he sauntered away, threading between them all as though they weren't there, were completely insignificant to him, with the grace and carriage of an emperor.
:I...I suppose you're right.: Though I still didn't like not being consulted, part of me had to admire him for the ease and arrogance he handled all this with, and I knew that if I'd been forewarned I really would have made all of it far more awkward. Being awkward is one of my specialties, after all, though I'm still secretly hoping it's one I'll grow out of.
:Of course I am. Your room or mine? Being so incredibly right in front of what will in an hour or two amount to the whole school has made me very...: He looked me over with a sideways, sultry under-the-lashes glance. :...pleased with myself.:
I laughed despite myself. :Oh, by all means then, let me add to your pleasure.:
:That WAS the idea. And likewise.:
:Mmmn, I love it when you talk to me like that.:
:Good, for I've no intention of stopping. OR of leaving it at talking.:
:Now, now, we've got a ways to go, and if you keep this up I'll be tearing your robes off here in front of everyone. Raging teenage hormones and all that. Mmmmmmn: Evil thoughts I couldn't suppress.
:Oh, in THAT case...: He flashed one of his brilliant smiles at me, and as one, we broke into a run.
After all, the broomshed was closer.
The link continued to strengthen infinitesimally. Both of us had given up on the idea of it going away, and avoided the subject completely. We had become entirely too comfortable with it being a constant presence in our minds, and even the hint of the thought of it fading into nothingness caused both of us to flinch in pain and apprehension. Friends were all well and good, lovers better, best friends better yet, lovers who were best friends best of all...until this. Just imagining going without it left the heart convulsing with loneliness and anguish.
So we didn't imagine it.
The routine became comfortable, normal. Weeks passed without our noticing, until finally we'd made even the Slytherins comfortable with seeing us laughing together, although more than half of them still believed it was a complicated plot of Draco's. We didn't mind. We spent some of the best evenings of my life with Ron and Hermione. Ron had slowly and grudgingly admitted that yes, it did indeed seem that Draco had changed his stripes to spots, unlikely as that seemed. Hermione'd believed it from the beginning anyway, and had only remained cautious as a 'just in case' sort of thing...she trusts my judgement about people, I'm not sure why. Or maybe I do know; I'm not good at understanding people at all, but so far I have been relatively good at detecting serious dishonesty, Quirrell and Barty Crouch (junior) excluded...not that they'd ever revealed their innermost selves to me... Okay, fine, in my more ego-inflated moments I could sort of understand why she trusted my judgement so, and the rest of the time I had no damned clue. Happy now?
Anyway. After a few weeks of things getting nothing but better, I told Ron to go out flying without me, told Draco not to come over to our common room 'til I told him it was alright, and hauled Hermione away from her stacks of books.
"What's up, Harry? And can you make it quick? I'm working on a really fascinating paper for Arithmancy, and I'd like to get back to it." She was still looking back at her pile of parchment and holding her quill like she was ready to start writing again at a moment's notice. I pulled the quill from her fingers and Banished it back across the room to her study area with a flick of my wand.
"Um, this is important, 'Mione. Like, say, more than Arithmancy even, for now." That got her attention—finally.
"Is everything okay?" Now she was concerned.
"Yes, everything's fine, except I really need to talk to you about something." The time was right, perfect, even; the weather was fine, and few Gryffindors want to be inside on a warm spring evening. Not even me, to be honest, but this needed to be said now while I had the opportunity and she and I could have a bit of privacy. It was a sensitive subject, after all.
She sat down on a couch—one of my favourite couches in the common room actually, an amazingly comfortable one most naturally upholstered in crimson velvet—and gave me all of her attention. "So. Sit down then and tell me about it, Harry."
I sat, although part of me thought it would be better to be pacing, and examined my fingernails most intently instead. "Um, 'Mione, I...er..." ...lost steam. Tried again. "Um, about Draco and I." Lost it again.
"Yes, I see you've become very good friends, and to be honest, I like him rather a lot myself lately. And? What is it? Relax, it can't be that bad." She, naturally, was completely at ease (despite the Arithmancy paper calling to her from across the room. Then again, she wasn't trying to broach the subject of Dracoandme. Lucky her.)
"Well, er, no, it's not bad at all, except. Um, well, you should know that, I, Ilikehim." I stared at my thumbnail as if I'd never seen it before.
"You like—you LIKE him."
"And, er, he, helikesme."
"And he likes you."
"Er, yeah."
"And we're not talking about liking as in, say, salads or Quidditch teams here."
"Um, no. More like, er, like, um, liking...ah..."
"Liking each other."
"Right."
"I always thought, well, that you liked...girls, Harry."
"I, um, I did, or at least I thought I did, but I didn't like them anything like this."
"Well, no, I'd expect not," she said dryly. "After all, all the bits to be liked are rather different."
I tore my eyes from my (at this moment infinitely intriguing) hands and flicked a glance up at her. "This isn't meant to be funny, Hermione."
"I'd gathered that, Harry, except it sort of is whether you meant it to be or not." She snickered. "I'm shocked it took you this long."
That was—not what I'd expected. "What?" (Don't bother telling me I'm significantly less than eloquent. Draco tells me often enough, thank you very much.)
She sort of hiccupped, then looked at me, then burst into gales of laughter. I had yet another occasion to curse my pale complexion. Honestly, before the last month or so, I'd never done so much damned blushing in my life. I was seriously tempted to punch her, or at least shove her off of the couch onto the floor, but I restrained myself somehow. "Could you possibly deign to tell me what exactly is SO FUCKING FUNNY?" I was significantly less than amused.
"It's just that..." —laughing hysterically— "that" —still laughing— "you've taken so, so" —I wanted even more to smash her— "so damned LONG to figure this out, oh gods!" And she doubled over laughing until in the midst of wanting to smash her I began to wonder if she was able to breathe properly.
"Harry, love, go do something you're good at, will you?" Draco's cool voice managed to startle me out of my reverie of wanting to smash Hermione (my fists had clenched themselves without my realising) and I stared up at him, not having even noticed him coming in. He half-smiled at me and flicked his lovely blond head towards the doorway. I blinked, blinked again, then got up and stalked out of the common room, still blinking.
I distinctly recalled telling him to stay away until I told him to come back, but on third- and fourth-thought I concluded that he'd been right to instead come over as soon as he possibly could, because after all I had been doing something I'm particularly NOT good at, and he was infinitely better at it, and...oh bother.
So I went flying with Ron.
Draco and Hermione met us on our way back from the pitch, just as the sun's last sliver was sinking lost and sadly into the Forbidden Forest. Scattered here and there across the grounds groups of students tried to pretend it wasn't getting dark. Winter really does last a bit too long every year, I say.
Ron had just started to tell Hermione excitedly about the Sloth Grip Roll he'd managed today (he's always fallen off before) when Draco stepped forward, wrapped me in his arms, and kissed me deeply before I had a chance to even wonder exactly what the HELL he was doing.
Ron and I reacted roughly the same way, which involved mostly standing shock-still with gaping jaw. Hermione seized Ron firmly by the arm and headed back to the castle with him in tow, still staring slack-jawed at us over his shoulder. Draco casually slung one arm around my shoulders and grinned at me. "Hermione'll take it from here," he said quietly.
"Oh will she now." Most of the near groups of students had seen it all and were whispering madly to each other. I felt more pointed at than on my first trip through Diagon Alley. "And you have, I'm sure, an excellent excuse for not telling me what the fuck you had in mind ahead of time."
"Of course I do. Although it's a reason, not an excuse. A Malfoy never makes excuses." He finally turned and looked at me. :You'd never have done it properly, else. You'd have been all self-conscious, and Ron would have noticed and asked you why, and you'd have either told him—and buggered it up—or not, making him suspicious, and buggered it up. And then, of course, Hermione would wonder why you'd known what was going to happen, since even she didn't know quite what I had in mind.:
:And this makes up for making a fool of me how, exactly?:
:Like this.: And he seized me and kissed me again until I forgot I was furious and kissed him back and when I came to myself we were the centre of a huge circle of stares.
:They were all going to know eventually, Harry. It might as well be now.: And twining his slim fingers with mine, holding me firmly at his side, he sauntered away, threading between them all as though they weren't there, were completely insignificant to him, with the grace and carriage of an emperor.
:I...I suppose you're right.: Though I still didn't like not being consulted, part of me had to admire him for the ease and arrogance he handled all this with, and I knew that if I'd been forewarned I really would have made all of it far more awkward. Being awkward is one of my specialties, after all, though I'm still secretly hoping it's one I'll grow out of.
:Of course I am. Your room or mine? Being so incredibly right in front of what will in an hour or two amount to the whole school has made me very...: He looked me over with a sideways, sultry under-the-lashes glance. :...pleased with myself.:
I laughed despite myself. :Oh, by all means then, let me add to your pleasure.:
:That WAS the idea. And likewise.:
:Mmmn, I love it when you talk to me like that.:
:Good, for I've no intention of stopping. OR of leaving it at talking.:
:Now, now, we've got a ways to go, and if you keep this up I'll be tearing your robes off here in front of everyone. Raging teenage hormones and all that. Mmmmmmn: Evil thoughts I couldn't suppress.
:Oh, in THAT case...: He flashed one of his brilliant smiles at me, and as one, we broke into a run.
After all, the broomshed was closer.