Having Draco for a mindmate, I mused, was a lot like having the perfect roommate. The sort that you could almost forget existed until they came home, never intrusive, never overbearing, never using every dish in the house and leaving them in a stack in the sink for weeks until you finally broke down and washed the bloody things yourself. The sort that would walk in the door at the end of a long hard day and sit in the living room with you, chatting idly about your respective days and listening to good music, maybe getting a little drunk together, until you ended up discussing the meaning of life and why exactly Love & Rockets broke up anyway, those damned arsehole bastards.
Then, after laughing for hours, maybe sometimes getting a little stoned, entirely comfortable with each other, incredible sex. Except, I remind myself, I'm talking about roommates here, and incredible sex and roommates don't really go together, so nevermind that bit.
Yes. The perfect roommate. Never messy, never intrusive, never there when you didn't want him, but always there when you didn't know you wanted him.
"Draco."
We enjoyed speaking aloud most of the time anymore...maybe because we could. No one remarked much about seeing us together anymore; it had become the norm. And I loved to hear his voice. My own sounded strange in my ears, but his flowed into me like music. We saved our silent communication for private moments, a most private kind of speech reserved for times when it was necessary or absolutely uninterrupted. And best of all, speaking aloud kept the link secret.
He dragged his eyes lazily to mine. "Yes?"
"Run away with me."
One pale eyebrow raised itself impossibly high, the other eye squinted. "What the hell are you talking about?"
I looked at him and doubled over laughing. "Oh, gods!" Then started singing GIR's doom song. DoomdoomdoomDOOMYdoomdoomyDOOMdoomdoomDOOMYdoomdoom. Draco's expression looked exactly like Zim, minus the purple eyes, antennae, and green skin, of course.
Now he was just scowling. "You've lost your mind. Completely barking mad. I should have known this would happen eventually." He rose to his feet, still scowling. "I'm getting a bucket of water."
I seized his hand before he could get more than a step away. "I'm-" -snicker- "-sorry. You just had a-" -snicker- "-a Jhonen Vasquez moment." Snicker.
Draco's never liked being made a fool of. He was still scowling at me. "You've got precisely 30 seconds to start making sense again, Harry."
"Remind me to show you a graphic novel sometime. And a television. Nevermind. Sit down." Draco kept scowling at me for a moment, then finally sat down. "And stop scowling. It doesn't become you."
"Everything becomes me, Harry. You forget I'm a beautiful young Adonis."
"Oh, I could never forget that-" -and indeed I couldn't- "-but believe me, you look much more lovely when you're not scowling."
He smirked. "Good enough."
"Run away with me."
"Where? Why? From what? I repeat, what the hell are you talking about?"
"Anywhere. I don't know. Away from everything, everyone, just...go. Just us. Somewhere. Greece. Let's go to Greece first. Forget everything else in the world. I don't know." I realised how stupid this all sounded now, and wished I'd kept thinking idly to myself instead of breaking the silence with my idiocy.
Draco stared at me.
"Um, nevermind. Haven't we got some homework to do or something?" I snagged my bag from the side of the couch and started rifling through it.
Draco seized my hand and shoved my bag onto the floor. My inkwell went rolling across the room and parchments cascaded onto the floor, but before I could protest he'd laid one slim finger across my lips. "Harry, that is absolutely the best, most thrilling, sweetest suggestion ever made. Except we sort of do have school just now. And as much as I'd love to run away with you and forget everything, I think it'd be best if we, you know, graduated first."
I sighed. "I know. It was a stupid thing to say."
"No! It was not stupid. It was..." His cheeks flushed with a rare, soft pink as he looked down. "It was...wonderful. Just not possible...yet." I blinked, and he smiled shyly, looking up at me through strands of shiningpaleblond with those beautiful silver eyes. "But I'll make it up to you, if you'll let me."
I couldn't breathe for a moment, but several seconds later managed, "I'll...of course I'll let you. Let you. Heh."
"Shh. Or you'll ruin the moment."
I shut up.
* * *
There was a Quidditch match coming this Saturday.
Ravenclaw versus Slytherin. Nothing of terrible interest to me, most times; I actually don't even go to most Quidditch matches that don't involve me; why watch inferior players mess things up when I could be doing something else? No need to learn bad habits, or waste my time. Sometimes I went, but not very often. Hermione and Ron went to every match, fascinated and enthralled by all of them and just particularly fired up by the ones Gryffindor participated in, but I'd rather watch playbacks of professional matches than see unprofessional matches in person. And my performance seemed to show that I'd been choosing correctly, considering I hadn't lost a game-not even come close to it, in fact-since third year, which I could blame on the Dementors. I knew that was an arrogant attitude, but I also knew I was good enough that none of my Hogwarts classmates could teach me anything new. And watching mistakes only makes me more likely to make a mistake myself.
On the other hand, Draco had to play this match. And even if I wasn't watching I'd be there.
"Harry."
"I know."
"I've hardly practised since this...started."
"I know."
"Swear to me you won't 'speak to me during the game."
"...What?"
"I don't want you helping me. At all. Swear to me you won't talk to me until the game's over. Swear it to me, Harry."
I didn't quite know what to say for a bit. I'd never sworn a real oath to Draco before. Let alone committed myself to keeping out of his head for an extended period of time, which I doubted I could actually fully do anyway.
"I. I, er. I'll...do my best. I can't promise anything, Draco, you know that...I've never been able to keep anything from you so far."
"I'm asking you to now, Harry. I don't want any unfair advantages. No help, you understand me, Potter? I need to win this match on my own."
That 'Potter' hurt me more than I'd imagined. Impersonal, like there'd been nothing between us. I understood his need to stand apart, his need to feel alone on this one, to fight the good fight and accept no possibility of cheating, was quietly surprised that he had honour enough to need this. But it still hurt.
"I...understand. I'll do my best. I swear." He gazed into my eyes for what felt like a long, long time, then nodded.
"Good enough."
* * *
I couldn't decide whether to go to the game or not. If I watched, I'd have immediate knowledge about the game that could help Draco win, just by seeing what he might not be able to at that moment. Staying away seemed much safer; I'd not even have to worry much about 'speaking him, since I wouldn't know anything of importance.
But Ron and Hermione, and for that matter the rest of the school now, wouldn't understand me not being there to watch him play.
I agonised silently, pacing the empty Potions classroom for an hour, until Snape came back and threw me out suspiciously. It didn't matter by that time. I'd come to my conclusion. I had to be there.
We didn't need the questions. I couldn't lie convincingly. And I couldn't bear having to. I'd simply have to enforce discipline on my mind like I'd never done before.
Simply. My mouth twisted bitterly. So simple, oh yes. Right.
* * *
I tried keeping Draco out of my head that night. He'd gone to the Slytherin common room instead of Gryffindor's, sensing my intention in double Potions and complying silently. I sat and tried to block him out. It was like flexing muscles I'd never used before, strange, difficult, barely effectual and strangely painful. I tried blanking my mind entirely, to no avail. Finally I seized upon a distraction and listened to a couple of third-years arguing with most of my mind, and thought to myself under that. It seemed to work. Those mental ―muscles― still ached with the effort, but I could feel what was leaking to him and what wasn't...and my muted train of thought wasn't. I stopped both distraction and undercurrent and touched his mind (he let me in as if he knew I'd be trying, as indeed I suspect he did) and found that yes, he'd heard the noise but not the real content. Excellent! I had succeeded.
But could I maintain that throughout an entire Quidditch match? With no distraction to cover my real thoughts? My brain hurt at the very thought of it, like contemplating carrying something immensely heavy for miles.
I would have to. I'd given my word.
Draco felt warm in me as I reached this resolution.
I blocked him out.
I didn't want to shut him away from me. I didn't want to keep him out. But I slammed my mental doors in his face ruthlessly, fighting for control, practising feverishly in the hopes that I could maintain a leak-free block for as long as it took tomorrow. As long as a Quidditch game could last...which could be hours, days, minutes; there was no telling. It hurt to keep him out, took constant focus, but I got stronger and better at it with each hour of pain that passed. Bits and flashes of him slipped through in my weaker moments; I could feel his pain and hurt that I'd shut him out so abruptly, so coldly.
As much as it hurt me, I refused to let him sense my regret, feel my apology. Emotional distance between us would only aid my silence the following day. I whipped the painful distance I'd once felt for him into new heights of resentment, nurtured a coldness in myself I'd almost forgotten I'd ever felt for him and threw it to the forefront of my mind when I faltered in my blocking. I felt him become icy and stiff as the evening went on. I mourned for it, and longed desperately for the game to just be over already so I could dispel this hostility and pain between us, wipe it aside with an impatient wave of my hand and kiss him and melt into the warmth of his mouth, his body...
But tomorrow wasn't here yet and I kept on shutting him out.
The night was agonisingly long. And lonely.
* * *
Saturday was clear and cold. Sweaters were covered by black cloaks. The stadium seemed filled by the non-selective, whatever colours they did wear hidden by their cloaks, except for the many banners the audience held. Overall the banners were blue, though there were a few green interspersed within the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor sections. A scant fourth of the audience wore green in defiance of the weather and held up Slytherin banners and flags.
Part of me felt I should be holding a Slytherin flag myself. The rest of me knew I was watching an opponent and should be looking for weakness, praying to see weakness, hoping Slytherin would lose and the Cup not be a serious concern.
Oh gods I'm such a hypocrite.
I'd have to stand on my own ability then, when Gryffindor battled with Slytherin for the Cup as had become the norm since I'd become Gryffindor's Seeker. But then wasn't now. Now all I had to do was watch a game without 'touching Draco. Shut him out. I could do that. I had to do that. I sat very very still and concentrated on keeping him blocked out.
Madam Hooch's whistle blew and they were up, Draco soaring away from Cho in a lazy spiral, head swivelling from side to side as he scanned the pitch. I was blind to the other players, deaf to Dean Thomas' commentary, all my attention fixed on shutting Draco out while I watched him fly as I never had before.
He flew beautifully. Graceful, light and swift in the air as though he weighed nothing―which was relatively true, my hindbrain reminded me, flashing up images of making love to him and rousing me madly until I shoved them away violently. He whipped through the air on his broomstick liquidly, easily avoiding Bludgers and other players, eyes flicking everywhere all at once. I knew intellectually that he wasn't flying his best, he'd been out of practise and beating against my new wall against him was his raging hurt and anger distracting him, taking the edge of his ability off, but I felt like I'd never seen him fly before-he was so damned beautiful up there.
Every fibre in my body wanted to seize my Firebolt and just fly up and take him. Take him. Oh yesssss.
Hermione seized my knee with one hand, completely intent on the game, and I spasmed violently feeling like she'd hit me with a tazer. Snap my mind back to my body rather than wander lost in fantasy...
I saw instantly why Hermione'd grabbed me―Cho had spun around and was leaning into an arrow-sharp angle upward, intent on the Snitch-
Draco'd seen her―he moved like a hawk set for the kill, flying faster and eyes narrowed with target in sight―
Cho strained, hand reaching, fingers stretching for the Snitch―
And Draco snatched it a fragment of a second before she could reach it. He levelled out and looked back at her, still shocked and fixed on the abruptly ended moment, and when her dazed eyes met his gave her a civil nod. Then he spiralled lazily down to the pitch, where the blue- and black-clad were filing off the benches and back to the castle and the green Slytherin supporters were rejoicing on the grass.
The game had only lasted 15 minutes. It had felt like forever to me. I leapt from bench to bench, hands unclenching finally, intent on reaching him and wrapping my arms around him and so proud.
Finally I reached the pitch (when did the stands become so damned tall?) and shoved my way through the crowd, green-shouldered Slytherin fans waving banners and clustering in my fucking way get OUT of the way DAMN you! I elbowed and slid through gaps between shouting fans and forced my way through the chaos ignoring doubletakes and sometimes not-so-inadvertent elbows to the gut must get to the Slytherin team at the centre of the shouting madness until
there he was
and I stared at him, grinning madly, so proud of him.
"What are you doing here, Potter?" His eyes and voice were cold, so cold.
My heart withered inside me and sank into my guts like a stone but I continued even as I felt my grin fade to nothing on my face. "Congratulating you. Hoping to celebrate with you."
He was all ice and granite in my mind, a wall slammed up in my face just when I'd most wanted to reach him.
"I didn't think you were a Slytherin supporter. Potter." He was still looking at me with disdaining, freezingly chill (infinitely lovely) grey eyes fixed on mine.
I hurt, bleeding freely inside for a single untouched moment while Slytherins jumped and shouted around us unmoving in their chaos before I seized him by the arm and pulled him unwilling through the crowd away to privacy. He fought me at first but then came quietly, if not willingly. The Slytherins around us goggled and some tried to seize his other arm, but he shoved them away and followed me awkwardly. The strip of the crowd we'd pushed through stared after us as I dragged him stumbling across empty trampled pitch-fringe and pulled him into the quiet shadows under the stands. I shoved him up against a supporting post. Bits of parchment, sweets wrappings, the detritus of a screaming crowd swirled around our feet.
I spoke first, angry and hurt. "You made me swear not to 'touch you, damn your eyes."
"You shoved your revulsion and disgust in my face, you fucking bastard. I know it's there. Don't even try to lie to me."
My fingers tightened on his shoulders, bruising and not sorry in the least. "How the fuck else was I supposed to shut you out? Just tell myself 'Don't think of Draco'? What the fuck did you think I was going to have to do? Of course I fixed on what I used to feel about you. I used whatever I had to to block you off. Because I swore an oath to you, you fucking unappreciative arsehole."
"You seemed to like it. You flung nastiness at me all god-damned night and morning. Go ahead, tell me you don't feel what you rubbed my nose in. Go ahead! Go ahead and lie to me!" His lip curled and he glared at me with hatred in his eyes and more pain smeared across his face than I'd ever seen on him. My heart broke through my fury.
"I fucking told you, I resorted to using what I felt about you before, before we knew each other, before the fucking potion, I used anything I damned well could scrape up to keep you the fuck out of my head, at your insistence, I fought tooth and nail to shut you out so that I couldn't inadvertently slip you clues during THIS FUCKING QUIDDITCH MATCH, and now you're bitching at me and all hateful and blaming me, you hypocritical ARSE!"
I glared at him, panting, hands clenched painfully tight on his shoulders, enraged by his lack of appreciation and wanting so desperately to just kiss him already. But I couldn't.
We stared at each other, fierce grey intensity crashing against my own raging green resentment how dare he not appreciate what I'd done for him!
He broke.
"It was―what you―used...to feel?" The ice behind his eyes melted and fractured and he was vulnerable again, so achingly vulnerable.
:Yes. I USED to feel that way about you. I don't now. I love you. I LOVE you. I swore an oath to you, I did what I had to I dredged up everything all the spite and resentment from even first year to keep that oath even though it HURT, it hurt me and I knew it would hurt YOU, and I did it anyway because it was the only way I could do what I'd fucking PROMISED you that I'd do and oh Draco it was so LONELY and I miss you so and all I want to do is swing you around madly singing gladly for your winning but you don't UNDERSTAND and it HURTS.:
:I...:
:Fuck you.:
:It...it HURT Harry you hurt me I expected you to leave a blankness in my mind but you ground this antagonism and resentment into me where I was most vulnerable because I LOVE you and it HURT and I hate you for it but now you say it was all because you couldn't stop sending me things without it and I want to believe you but.:
I clenched my eyes shut for a long moment, then swallowed what was left of my pride (being telepathically linked with someone isn't at all conducive to maintaining an idealistic concept of dignity) and clenched my hands even tighter on his slender shoulders and tried to look him in the eye. His silver eyes looked down at his feet, at my feet, sideways at a piece of rubbish, anywhere but into mine. I brushed his (so pale-white surely this mooncolour isn't normal for humans) blond hair away from his eyes and insisted on eye-to-eye contact.
Finally he met my eyes. I saw tears brimming in his eyes and wished fiercely that I could destroy anything that had ever caused this pain in him. Even if it was myself. Even then.
:You did this because you promised me something, even though you knew it would hurt us both? Because you'd promised me, knowing the cost?:
:Yes.:
:Just to fulfil a promise you'd made me?:
:Yes.:
:Damn you. I love you. I hate you sometimes, I really do Harry, you're so FUCKING noble and whatnot and that makes me ill and look now look what's happening now it's all your fault you fucking Gryffindor bastard I hate you.:
:I know.:
His mouth twisted and the tears overflowed and I wrapped him in my arms and loved him with every fibre in my body.
:I love you, Draco. Congratulations. The game was wonderful.:
:I hate you Harry I love you thank you you're such an arse.:
:I know. Shut up and love me already.: