Greetings, Internet 😊 I have missed every single one of your anonymous faces! Just wanted to say hello and give a quick heads-up on the story you're about to read! So hello 😊 This is an eighth-year fic (and no, I did not invent the term "eighth-year"; it's just a term used to avoid confusion on the timeline of events. All it means is that the story takes place at Hogwarts after the seventh book). There is a dub-con warning for this story, as well as a warning for attempted self-harm. There is also a hard warning for mature content and drama. If there's one thing I've learned in my life, it's that sometimes there's no escaping drama. It goes wherever and does whatever it wants, and sometimes there's just no fighting it. *Sigh* Sometimes it's easier just to give in.
Buuut I believe those are all the warnings I have for you at this moment! So, with nothing left but a Shakespeare quote, let's get into this thing, friends!
"The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love." —Macbeth
The Love That Follows
Chapter 1—A Darkened Corridor
"But I'm bored, Hermione," Harry whined, allowing his head to fall onto the library table they were seated at in what he hoped was a pathetic enough manner to warrant sympathy.
"Too bad," Hermione responded, and Harry glared at her cruel and inhumane lack of compassion for his suffering. Was her heart made of stone? Why was he friends with someone so sadistic?
"Hermione, we've been here for bloody ages!" he pointed out crossly, sitting up and folding his arms across his chest. "We've practically moved into the sodding place! Madam Pince is going to start charging us rent if we stay here any longer! I don't want to pay her rent!"
"You can afford it," she said, still not glancing up from her finished essay. Did this make the third or the fourth time she was re-reading the blasted thing? How many times was she going to look it over until it was perfect enough to hand in?
"Is this a new hobby of yours?" Harry huffed, glaring down at his own half-finished essay. "Making orphans suffer?"
The question earned a sigh, but Harry thought he might have seen her lips twitch. "You're the one making yourself suffer, Harry. If you would just finish the essay already you could be done. Why put it off when you can finish it now and not have to worry about it later?"
"Because that will be later," he grumbled. "Dealing with things later is always better than dealing with them now, I can't believe I even have to explain this to you. Ron gets it. Right, Ron?" Turning to his best friend, the same one who had always had his back and the only human being on the planet who even remotely had a chance of swaying Hermione from whatever warpath she happened to be barreling down at the time, Harry rolled his eyes at the sight that met him. Ron was sitting slumped in his chair, forehead nearly touching the surface of the tabletop and eyes closed as he snored softly. A thin line of drool stretched between his mouth and the textbook spread open before him.
"How come he gets away with not having to suffer?" Harry demanded, gesturing to the redhead. "I'm the orphan here!"
Glancing up, Hermione shot Harry an exasperated look before turning to Ron and sighing. "Oh, for god's sake," she muttered, swatting his arm sharply. "Ronald!"
"Hmm," he hummed sleepily, lowering his head to the table to use the thick textbook as a pillow. A moment later and he was snoring once more.
"Why won't either of you take your N.E.W.T.'s more seriously?" she lamented, shaking her head and glaring at Ron.
"Um, maybe because it's only February?" Harry pointed out, excitement starting to spread through him as he sensed Hermione's nearing capitulation to his freedom. Escape was so close he could almost taste it. "We still have months, Hermione, that's ages! Come on, I already finished most of the essay! And I already did all the reading for Defense!" He shot her his best sad puppy face, wondering if it would be milking it too much to remind her that he was still an orphan.
"Oh, fine," she relented with another heavy sigh. "Go ahead, then."
Before she had even finished speaking, Harry had shoved everything into his bag and shot to his feet. "Cheers, Hermione!" he said happily as he started to stroll away.
"Wait!" she called, and he paused to turn back to face her. "Aren't you going to wait for me and Ron?"
Harry gave her an incredulous look. "What sane person waits for their tormenter? And Ron abandoned me and took the coward's way out by sleeping, so…" he shot her a cheeky grin, "nope!" And turning back around, Harry quickly bounced from the library, congratulating himself on a smooth escape.
Once he was far enough away from the library to start feeling safe again, he slowed his pace, content to take his time arriving back at the Tower. He wasn't sure if it was something that had been ingrained in him from spending years sneaking around the castle after hours under the Invisibility Cloak, but Harry enjoyed walking through Hogwarts alone at night, when everything was hushed and still and the corridors were cast in flickering torchlight. It made him feel like he was the only person in the entire world, a thought he found oddly comforting. He much preferred it over the reality of being fawned over and stared at and whispered about by the swarms of curious students who surrounded him in the daylight, most of whom seemed almost desperate for Harry to notice them. He had received more love letters and—he cringed as he thought the words—fan mail than he had ever imagined could be possible of a person. He had also had a frightening number of people attempt to slip him love potions, something that made him shudder just to think about. The last person to try had been a sodding thirteen-year-old girl, for Merlin's sake! He sighed as he wondered if people would feel more or less encouraged to continue trying to slip him love potions if he and Ginny had actually gotten back together at the end of the war.
But Harry could never stand in the way of true love and had selflessly stepped aside in order to grant Ginny her deserved happiness. As soon as the offer from the Harpies had arrived, Harry had known that Ginny's extreme love and unmatched passion for Quidditch needed to come first, knowing that she would only end up someday resenting him if she passed up the opportunity to play professionally just for him. Harry had always known that it had been Ginny's biggest dream, practically since infancy, to play in the Quidditch World Cup, and she couldn't do that without first making it onto a professional team.
Harry had joked that when she did make it to the World Cup, he was expecting free tickets for his selflessness. She had joked back that he could bloody well afford his own tickets and that it was really her who deserved a reward for the two of them parting ways, since she was the one who had to deal with Molly's constant nagging to get back together with Harry so they could settle down and begin immediately having as many babies as they could, all after the lavish wedding that Molly had supposedly been planning since the second her daughter had turned seventeen.
The thought made Harry shudder. Sometimes he truly did miss Ginny and what they had had between them, but he wasn't sorry things had turned out the way they had. He much preferred it over the life Molly had planned for him, at any rate. Harry loved the woman, he really did, but he had no idea why she would think that either him or Ginny were anywhere near ready for marriage and babies.
Grinning ruefully to himself at the thought of a pregnant, angry Ginny unable to play Quidditch, he suddenly stilled as he heard something. Was that…a shuffling? Was someone walking toward him? Pulling out his wand, Harry held it in a tight fist, unsure just what was coming for him from the dark.
"I've been waiting for you," a voice said, and Harry tensed as he recognized the sound.
"What do you want?" he asked sharply, raising his wand higher.
"I wanted to wait for you," Malfoy said, stepping close enough to catch the flickering light of the nearest torch.
"Why?" Harry asked again. "What the hell do you want?" The question sounded as though it was encased in ice, and Harry's suspicion momentarily melted away as a strange expression crossed Malfoy's face, one that almost looked like hurt.
"I wanted to wait for you," Malfoy repeated quietly, eyes flicking down to the wand Harry still held in a tense fist. "There's nothing illegal about that, you know."
The words made Harry grit his teeth in annoyance. "Well, if you're not actually going to tell me why then I'm leaving, Malfoy. I don't have time for this shit, I want to go to bed."
"Right, bed…" Malfoy murmured, stepping even closer with an odd expression on his face.
Harry fell back a step as he raised his wand even higher. "What do you want?"
"I've been waiting for you for so long," Malfoy continued, still ignoring the question as he stepped even closer. They now stood less than an arm's length away from one another, and Harry wasn't sure what to do. "I almost thought you were going to spend the whole night in the library."
"How did you know I was in the library?" Harry asked slowly, fighting a shiver at the strange gleam in Malfoy's eyes as they raked over Harry's entire body. What the hell was the prat doing?
"Because it's where you were, Harry," Malfoy smiled, ignoring the wand still held between them as he raised one hand to Harry's face, fingers brushing gently over Harry's cheek in a soft caress before Harry stumbled back in shock, wondering what sort of sick unfunny joke Malfoy thought he was playing. Whatever it was, Harry definitely did not like it.
Frowning, Malfoy stepped even closer as he raised the same hand as before, a strange expression on his face as he reached up to gently tangle his fingers in Harry's hair—until Harry shoved him away with one hand.
"I don't know what the fuck you're playing at, Malfoy," Harry said coldly, pointing his wand at Malfoy's confused face. "But it stops right now. Stay the hell away from me."
And with that, Harry hurried past him, speeding up as he heard the sounds of someone following after him. Ducking down a narrow side corridor, Harry slipped behind a heavy tapestry into a secret alcove, listening as he heard the sound of footsteps rush past and fade away. Once the danger was gone, Harry released a breath as he sagged back against the stone wall, wondering just what the hell Malfoy had been up to. What did the git think he was playing at, stroking Harry's hair so softly and calling the brunet by his given name? Why the hell had he been waiting for Harry and how had he known where Harry had been? Whatever the blond was planning, Harry knew it had to be evil.
After all, it was Malfoy. Clearly, he hadn't been caressing Harry's cheek softly, but evilly. And the way he had combed his fingers through Harry's hair hadn't been gentle, but evil. And the strange, fond, almost affectionate way he had gazed at Harry had obviously not been either fond or affectionate, but evil. Probably extra evil. Malfoy didn't even know how to be fond, affectionate, or gentle, but he certainly knew how to be evil—he had practically written the book on how to be evil. Harry didn't actually think there was a book on how to be evil, but if there was, he was sure it would be about Malfoy.
"Who the hell touches someone's hair, anyway?" Harry mumbled to himself, taking a deep breath before peeking his head through the tapestry and checking the corridor. Once he determined the coast was clear, he headed back the way he had come, not wanting to risk running into Malfoy again. Harry took the first secret passage he came to, one he knew let out near the Transfiguration room rather than in the direction of the Tower, but Harry was more than willing to take an extended route to the dorm if that was what it took to avoid running into Malfoy again.
It wasn't until Harry had reached the Fat Lady and was safely inside the common room that he allowed himself to relax, shaking himself before beginning to cross the room. He had only made it halfway across, however, before he was stopped by Ron's voice.
"Harry."
Turning in the direction of the sound of his own name, Harry saw Ron and Hermione sitting together near the fire, both frowning over at him. Walking over to them, Harry dropped into an armchair with a sigh, wondering if he should tell them about what had just happened.
"What the hell happened to you?" Ron asked, peering at him closely. "We thought you would have been back ages before us. What took you so long?"
"Oh, nothing," Harry said weakly, still undecided as to whether he wanted to confide in them about Malfoy's strangeness. Maybe it had been nothing more than a case of temporary insanity and Malfoy would be all better by morning. Not that the wanker was ever really necessarily better, or really ever necessarily sane, considering he was the blond epitome of immorality and corruption, but maybe he would be back to his own Malfoy-version of better by morning. Hopefully the next time Harry saw him he would have already reverted back to the glares and cold sneers and the wonderful distance he had been keeping to all year. All the brunet could do was hope that Malfoy would quickly forget the new freak-Harry-out-as-much-as-possible game he was playing and revert back to his old avoid-Harry-at-all-costs-because-he's-the-opposite-of-an-evil-Slytherin-albino-tosser game he had been playing all year. Harry loved that game. In fact, the invention of that game was his favorite thing that Malfoy had ever done.
Damn it, why did Malfoy have to just change the rules like that with no warning? The very clearly defined rules that Harry had not been expecting to be broken. Why was the stupid prat always breaking the rules like that? Why couldn't he just accept the rules of the universe as they were meant to be? Obviously, the universe did not want Harry and Malfoy to interact with one another because they hadn't exchanged a single word all term, something Harry had thought the both of them were more than okay with. Why did Malfoy feel the stupid need to go against the wishes of the entire sodding universe? What gave him the right to just stop ignoring Harry like that, out of nowhere, without even asking how Harry felt about no longer being ignored? Harry liked being ignored. In fact, he preferred it.
"Harry?"
Hermione's voice cut through his confusion and the swarm of unanswerable questions taking over his muddled brain, snapping his attention back onto the two friends seated across from him.
"Oh, er, what?" he asked, shaking his head slightly. God, Malfoy had barely even spoken to him and already he had completely shattered Harry's hard-earned peace of mind. Stupid evil twat. That peace of mind, while apparently as fragile as glass, had been hard-earned and Harry liked it being there. He didn't want it shattered. The earning of it had been so hard, damn it.
"We asked what took you so long to get back here," Hermione frowned, leaning forward to peer at him with concern.
"Oh, er, nothing," he said, attempting to force a casual tone. How could he explain what had happened when he wasn't even certain himself? "Just took the long way 'round. Just wanted to, you know, stretch my legs a bit before bed."
The frown on Hermione's face deepened as she continued to study him, but after several moments she nodded and sat back. "All right then, Harry."
"Well, I'm knackered, I think I'll go upstairs now," he said awkwardly, climbing to his feet and pausing before shrugging to himself. Without another word he turned and headed up to the dorm, quickly changing into pyjamas and climbing into bed, but he could not close his eyes without seeing Malfoy's earlier expression as he stared at Harry in the corridor, stepping closer and closer until he was close enough to touch.
Grumbling, Harry punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape, and then punched it a few more times just for good measure. Once his poor pillow had been sufficiently punched to his satisfaction, he buried his face in it and willed himself to fall asleep, pleading to whatever higher power might be listening to help him forget the feeling of Malfoy's evil fingers combing gently through his hair and the silken feel of his evil hand on Harry's cheek.
Harry spent the rest of the night trying to convince himself that he had hated the feeling of both.
oOo
The Great Hall sounded louder than usual, for some reason. Harry ignored his breakfast as he sipped his tea slowly, attempting to draw it out for as long as possible to avoid the temptation to glance over at the Slytherin table, which was always the quietest table in the loud room, and the one part of the Hall that now kept drawing Harry's attention. Damn it, he knew he should have sat with his back to the Slytherins. But before he had taken a seat, he hadn't actually thought it would be so very fucking tempting to glance over and scan the table for Malfoy's stupid evil platinum hair. God, why was it so hard not to look over there? Maybe only for a quick second, just to see what the blond was up to…
One second later and Harry already regretted his decision to give in to temptation. Malfoy was staring directly at him, making Harry gasp at the overwhelming intensity pouring from the other boy's eyes and shooting across the large room to pin Harry into place as effectively as a spell. Christ, why was Malfoy staring at him like that? Harry wasn't sure if he had ever been stared at like that before, not even by Ginny or any of the rabid stalkers that had been actively attempting to slip him love potions for the past several months. The gaze just seemed different, and Harry couldn't put his finger on why.
Still staring directly into Harry's eyes, Malfoy smiled a small, almost flirty smile as he took a bite of toast, not even blinking as he licked the crumbs from his lips. The sight sent a strange tingling sensation through Harry's stomach, one he did not know how to interpret and one he did not even want to attempt to interpret. It was a sensation that was much better off being left uninterpreted, and Harry had no problem leaving it that way.
Sighing resignedly, Harry finally forced himself to break the strange staring contest, glaring down at his breakfast as he realized how easily Malfoy was able to completely destroy Harry's peace of mind and throw his every thought into chaos and confusion. What was wrong with Harry? Why couldn't he just ignore the Slytherin as easily as Harry ignored all the other thousand million students who were always staring at him? It was just Malfoy, for fuck's sake; Harry shouldn't even be thinking about him, and he certainly should not be worrying or stressing over the evil git! He should be doing what he had done every single morning since the start of term—not thinking about Malfoy and not looking in his direction. That was always how Harry started every single day, and Malfoy did not have the right to just throw Harry off his schedule like that with no warning. It was a good schedule; Harry liked his schedule, damn it.
Glancing up, Harry startled and flushed at finding Malfoy still staring at him, a hungry, almost ravenous look on his face as his eyes raked over every inch of Harry. The intensity with which he was staring at Harry made him feel oddly vulnerable, as though Malfoy could see right through his clothing. Harry certainly wouldn't put it past him to be able to do something so gross and immoral. Damn it, he was practically violating Harry with his eyes! Evil Slytherin pervert, Harry thought viciously. What the hell does he even want?
But with the way Malfoy was still eyeing him, Harry thought he might have a pretty good idea of what it was that Malfoy really wanted. But that couldn't be right, could it? Maybe Malfoy was plotting something sinister for Harry and that was the real reason he was still staring at the brunet.
That was it, Harry nodded to himself. Malfoy was just up to his regular everyday villainy and was simply plotting a messy and violent death for Harry.
The thought sent an instant feeling of relief through him. Death threats Harry could handle; unwanted lust from his schoolyard rival he could not.
Harry glared at Malfoy, wondering just how savage and bloody Malfoy's revenge fantasy for Harry really was. Just as long as his evil plot doesn't include touching my hair again. After all, there was evil, and then there was just plain weird, and Harry would prefer to deal with the evil rather than the weird.
Thinking back to the previous night of the hair-touching incident made Harry shiver. With revulsion, of course. Right? This was very clearly revulsion swirling through him at the memory of Malfoy's fingers gently combing through Harry's hair.
After all, what else could it be but disgust?
oOo
"Well, at least this one wasn't thirteen," Ron said in what Harry assumed he thought to be a comforting voice. "That's at least some progress, yeah?"
Harry rolled his eyes at that. "Yeah, because fourteen is really so different? She was fourteen, Ron!"
"Eh, it's some kind of improvement, at least," Ron grinned, and Harry glared at his obvious amusement.
"I bet you wouldn't think it was so funny if you were the one half the castle was trying to enslave on a daily basis," the brunet grumbled, still glaring. "I swear to god, if one more fucking person tries to slip me a goddamn love potion…When the hell did we start going to school with so many nutters, anyway?"
"Pretty much since the very first day," Ron said with a snort. "Did you forget how many years we've spent sharing classes with Slytherins?"
"Yeah, but at least the Slytherins are just pratish bigoted arseholes," Harry muttered. "I know what they say is shit so I can just ignore it. But these new deranged lunatics are literally trying to drug me into becoming some sort of love slave! I don't even want to know what they were all planning on doing with me if any of the potions worked! Fucking fourteen years old, Ron!"
Ron sniggered and Harry glared, wondering how he could ever be friends with such an evil git.
"I still think my favorite was that Hufflepuff fifth, remember? The bloke who followed you around for two months before trying to give you the potion in a butterbeer he spiked during a Hogsmeade weekend?" Ron laughed and Harry glared even harder; he had been actively trying his hardest to repress that particular memory. Why would Ron force him to remember such a traumatizing event?
"No, I don't remember because it never happened," Harry stated adamantly, crossing his arms as he silently dared Ron to argue.
"Cheer up, mate," Ron chuckled, "at least no one's trying to kill you anymore, yeah?"
Harry could only stare. "What are you talking about, Ron? This is way worse! I think I might actually prefer hunting down Horcruxes over being targeted by perverse, sexually frustrated fourteen-year-olds!"
Whatever reply Ron was opening his mouth to say was cut off by the arrival of Hermione, who swept into the common room with a frown.
"Hermione!" Harry turned to her as she took a seat in the nearest armchair. "Ron's talking bollocks at me again! Give him one of your lectures on how wrong and unfunny slavery is!"
"What?" Hermione's nose scrunched up in confusion as she turned to Ron. "What are you saying about slavery?"
"Er, nothing," Ron mumbled, clearly wanting to avoid one of Hermione's impassioned tirades about the disgusting immorality of love potions and how wrong it is to magically bind someone to another person against their will. Hermione certainly did not find the situation as funny as Ron did. Harry shot the redhead a smug look.
"So, what happened with Emsworth?" Harry asked her, hoping it would be a severe enough punishment to scare everybody else off from trying to slip him another stupid love potion.
"Same thing as all the others," Hermione sighed. "A fifty House point deduction and a months' worth of detentions with Filch."
"I still say that's not enough," Harry grumbled, sinking angrily down in his chair. "Is that really all my free will and consent are worth? These sick perverts are clearly too unbalanced to be amongst the normal non-perverse people! I mean, would either of you ever truly consider slipping someone a love potion?"
The look Hermione gave him spoke volumes. Ron just laughed.
"They're just desperate, Harry," he grinned. "Desperate to be chosen by the Chosen One. They're just sad disillusioned virgins who want to turn you into their willing sex slave. I say to appreciate how far people are willing to go to be with you."
"It's not funny, Ron," Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Harry's right, everybody deserves to be able to give true consent to who they want to be with. Love potions are dangerous; people under their influence think and act irrationally and have oftentimes been known to turn violent and possessive. And taking another person's free will away when it comes to making decisions about sex does constitute as rape, you know, regardless of how much the magic makes them think they're willing at the time."
Ron's smile vanished. "Oh come on, it's just a laugh, Hermione, nobody's going to rape Harry! None of the little nutters have even gotten away with anything!"
"Yeah, but not for their lack of trying," Harry complained.
"Maybe you should just get yourself a new girlfriend, then," Ron shrugged, sounding as if something like that was really just as easy as saying it. "Maybe they'd leave you alone more if you were already taken."
Harry rolled his eyes at the suggestion. "Yeah, or maybe they'd try even harder because I'd be taken."
"Get yourself a bloke, then," Ron grinned. "Maybe all the girls would finally leave you alone if they thought you were bent."
Harry and Hermione both stared at him incredulously and it took several seconds before Harry could speak, turning to glance at Hermione. "This is exactly what I meant by bollocks, Hermione. I think he's gone mad." Turning back to Ron, Harry's eyes narrowed into a glare. "First off, I'm not bent. I think I'd know that about myself by now if I were. And second, if these girls are willing to drug me against my will, I seriously doubt that something like my orientation would be the thing to stop them. And lastly, what makes you think that that wouldn't just encourage more blokes to try it?"
"Oh, right," Ron's expression fell. "Well, guess you're just stuck dealing with the lunatics, then."
"I hate my life," Harry moaned, earning a sympathetic look from Hermione and a snigger from Ron. "I need to get out of here. I'm going for a walk or something, I'll see the two of you later."
"It's almost curfew," Hermione frowned.
"Yeah, almost meaning not yet."
"Fine, just don't get caught," she sighed.
"Or assaulted," Ron added. "Or molested. And don't drink anything anyone gives you."
Harry rolled his eyes again. "As if you needed to tell me that."
Striding to the far side of the room, Harry clambered through the portrait hole and into the quiet solitude of the empty corridor. Cracking his neck, his feet began to drift forward aimlessly, unsure where he wanted to go and uncaring where he ended up. All he knew was that he did not want to be around the noise of the common room.
But he had only been wandering for several minutes before he suddenly became aware that it was less quiet than it should be. Were those…footsteps? Was someone following him? Someone heinous and corrupt and perverted with another malicious potion to force on him?
Right on all three adjectives, Harry thought wryly to himself as his stalker finally came close enough to see. Malfoy stood several meters away, an intense look in his eyes as he stared at the brunet.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked tightly, slipping his wand into his hand. At that moment, he had no idea what Malfoy wanted or what he was capable of.
At the question, a silky, almost seductive smile spread across Malfoy's lips. "Hmm," he murmured, slowly beginning to walk forward. "What do I want…?"
"Yes," Harry snapped, wanting to back away but refusing to do so. He had never been afraid of standing his ground against the blond before, and he refused to start now. But then again, he had never felt so unexplainably nervous around Malfoy before either. It wasn't fear Harry was feeling, because he was a brave eighteen-year-old Gryffindor with his own Order of Merlin, First Class—he clearly was not capable of feeling fear. But still…there was something in the way Malfoy looked at him, the way he moved toward him, that sent a shiver of something tingling down Harry's spine. Why was he looking at Harry like that…?
"I want to talk to you," Malfoy said calmly, still walking forward. "We have things we really need to talk about, Harry."
Harry's eyes narrowed at the other boy's use of his given name. Addressing one another with surnames put a comfortable distance between them that first names did not. What the hell did it mean that Malfoy was suddenly referring to Harry by his given name? He had never once referred to Harry by his first name before and Harry did not like the strange uneven footing it put him on.
"We don't have anything to talk about," Harry said sharply, still refusing to tuck his wand away. "Where is this even coming from anyway? You haven't said a single word to me all term!"
Malfoy gave him a strange look at that, and Harry had no idea what to make of the expression. What was the blond thinking? "Maybe I was simply waiting to build up the nerve," he said softly, finally coming to a stop less than an arm span away from Harry.
Oh, Christ, Malfoy wasn't planning on touching his hair again, was he? Because Malfoy had said he wanted to talk, and hair-touching was definitely not talking.
Although Harry supposed it was possible to touch another person's hair whilst talking…But that wasn't the point! He shook himself from the strange trail of thought he had started to wander down and back into the moment, into the burning heat of Malfoy's stare.
"Build up the nerve for what?" Harry asked, suddenly remembering what Malfoy had said. What did that even mean? What the hell was going on?
"To talk to you," Malfoy whispered, so quietly that Harry automatically leaned closer to catch his words. "To say…" he paused as his eyes swept over Harry, studying his face for several long moments. "Thank you," he finally finished, still not looking away.
The unexpected gratitude shocked Harry into total paralysis; he could do nothing but stare. Had Malfoy just thanked him? Harry had no idea that Malfoy even knew how to thank someone. When had Malfoy learned how to thank someone? When had he even learned what the words thank you meant? And what was he even thanking Harry for?
"Thank me?" he croaked, wondering if maybe he had heard wrong. Maybe he had hit his head on something hard and was hallucinating all of it; maybe none of this was actually happening, maybe he was lying injured somewhere in a pool of his own blood, having a strange and vivid hallucination about Malfoy.
Harry frowned. He didn't want it to be real at the same time he didn't want it to all be in his head. Why would his brain pick Draco Malfoy to hallucinate about? The git was definitely not worth hallucinating about. He wasn't even worth dealing with in the real world, let alone an imaginary one.
"Yes," Malfoy smiled, shifting even closer. "For everything you did for me. I never actually thanked you for saving my life. So, thank you."
"Er…" Harry was at a loss for words; he had no idea how to respond. "Well, um, you're welcome then, I guess?"
Malfoy's smile widened. "I thought maybe I could thank you properly and we could start over, the two of us."
"Start over?" Harry echoed, mind still blank and body still numb.
"Yes," Malfoy nodded, "I really think we should. But only after I've thanked you properly, like I said I would."
"Er, but you already did," Harry pointed out, feeling more confused than ever. What on earth was Malfoy even saying?
The same sensual smile from earlier was back on Malfoy's face, making something hot unfurl in Harry's stomach at the sight. Oh, god. That smile was obviously pure evil, Harry just knew it. Malfoy was about to do something completely depraved and unspeakably vile to him, and Harry was too frozen in shock to do anything to defend himself. He could battle Horcruxes and fight the forces of evil with no problem, but one single flirty smile from Malfoy had paralyzed him into a useless block of frozen disbelief.
"This is how you thank someone properly, Harry," Malfoy murmured, and before Harry even had time to wonder what those words meant, Malfoy stepped forward and pressed his lips to Harry's, surprising the brunet even further, which he had not actually thought could be possible at that point. Between the continued use of his given name and the warmth of Malfoy's mouth against his own, the way one hand cupped Harry's jaw as the other slid into his hair to grip the strands with gentle fingers, Harry was at a loss for what to do.
Then, to his horror, he found himself responding, lips hesitantly pressing back without conscious permission from his brain telling them to do so. It made Malfoy moan and pull him even tighter against his own body. God, how long had it been since Harry had last kissed someone? It had been months, ever since Ginny, and Harry was ashamed of how much he liked the feeling of Malfoy's fingers combing through his hair and the way his hand felt sliding down to rest on Harry's chest.
Seemingly against his will, his eyes slid shut, and he wondered why his brain had decided to take on a mind of its own without his permission. God, was he really letting Malfoy kiss him? Why? But the feeling was almost…pleasant, somehow. Harry hadn't had a good snog in a while and Malfoy was—to Harry's eternal shame and surprise—not necessarily a bad kisser. Malfoy's lips felt so soft molded to his own, and Harry gasped as Malfoy tilted his head to deepen the kiss, tangling his fingers tightly in Harry's hair and holding his head in place as he began to kiss Harry more fiercely, a low sound that was nearly a growl escaping the blond as Harry allowed the kiss to continue.
Oh, god! With a sudden wrench, Harry pulled back as best he could, separating their mouths but unable to move completely away with the firm grip Malfoy still had on him.
"Mmm," Malfoy hummed in a husky voice, "you taste even better than I thought you would."
"Malfoy, what the fuck are you doing?" Harry whispered fearfully, deciding that just this once, in a situation this extreme, even Gryffindors with heroic medals of honor were allowed to feel fear.
"This," Malfoy replied, leaning forward to kiss him again, but Harry turned his head away before any more dangerous and confusing kissing could happen, struggling to break free from the iron hold the blond still had on him.
"Malfoy, stop it!" Harry finally succeeded in shoving him away, raising his hands to his tingling lips in shock. "What the hell are you doing?"
At the question, Malfoy raised one eyebrow. "Do you not know what a kiss is, Harry? Would you like me to explain?"
"I meant why are you doing it!" Harry grit out, grinding his teeth together. What kind of sick game was Malfoy playing?
"Because I wanted to, obviously."
"No, you didn't," Harry narrowed his eyes at the blatant lie. There was no way Malfoy wanted to kiss him, that was just not possible. That was like saying that Dudley had given up cake or that Uncle Vernon had eighteen-years' worth of birthday presents for Harry in the post. It simply could not ever be, not in the real world. Maybe Harry really was hallucinating.
"But I did want to, Harry," the blond said softly, stepping closer. "I still want to. Like I said, we can start over. And what better way to start fresh than with a kiss?"
"Yeah," Harry said incredulously, "only you don't get to just go around kissing people out of nowhere like that! Jesus, at least try asking their permission first!"
"You kissed back," Malfoy pointed out, sounding far too smug for Harry's liking.
"Stay the fuck away from me, Malfoy," Harry growled, backing up to a safe distance just in case Malfoy got the insane idea to kiss him again. Or worse—touch his hair. "I mean it."
"You kissed back, Harry," Malfoy repeated, eyes glittering in the weak torchlight.
"I never said you could kiss me in the first place!" Harry cried, feeling nearly hysterical. Jesus Christ, he really had kissed Malfoy back! Why?! Why would he have ever done something like that?! Why had he liked the feel of Malfoy's body pressed so tightly against his own? Harry shuddered at the remembrance. It was Malfoy, for Christ's sake, he shouldn't be thinking things like that!
"You kissed back," Malfoy repeated, taking a step closer, and Harry automatically scrambled farther away from the dangerous blond.
"I said stay away from me!" And without waiting for a reply, Harry turned and all but fled, not slowing until he was safely back in his dorm, hidden from the entire confusing, insane world behind his crimson bed curtains. Curling into a ball, Harry raised a trembling hand to his mouth, tracing his lips with shocked fingers. He had no idea what to make of any of what had just happened and was desperately hoping it had all been some fevered dream his brain had cooked up in a temporary fit of insanity. Not a dream, a nightmare, he corrected himself. It was a nightmare. Obviously, a nightmare.
But Harry could not get the feeling of Malfoy's soft lips pressed against his own to fade from his mind, no matter how hard he tried to forget. He could still feel Malfoy's fingers combing through his hair, tugging gently at the strands, raking over his scalp in a way that he was refusing to admit to himself he had found pleasant.
Great, now I'm traumatized, Harry thought grumpily to himself. The experience had most likely damaged Harry, maybe even forever. Stupid evil Slytherin, kissing me out of nowhere and making me almost like it and making me kiss him back and confusing me and making me run away like some scared twat. Harry sighed and thumped his head against the pillow, willing himself to fall asleep and not have to think about or remember anything for at least a few hours. He would deal with his trauma in the morning.
And for the second night in a row, Harry fell asleep thinking about Malfoy.
oOo
The next morning, Harry sipped at his scalding tea and tried to ignore his trauma, stomach still too tied in knots to finish his breakfast. He had woken feeling well-rested and relaxed, smiling to himself as he stretched…until three seconds later when he bolted upright in his bed, feeling panic begin to spread through him.
Oh god, oh Merlin, oh Christ, oh fuck, Harry had kissed Malfoy! No, Malfoy kissed me! Harry thought desperately, clinging to the tiny scrap of relief he felt at the thought that he was not the one who had initiated it, even if he had sort of maybe almost kind of kissed the git back, just a bit…
But only for a second! Two seconds at the most! Right? Even though Harry wasn't actually sure how long the kiss had lasted—it had felt like both a quick second and an entire century. But Harry still didn't even know why it had happened! He still had no idea why Malfoy had specifically sought him out just to throw himself at Harry like that. Was it really because he had simply wanted to, like he had said? Or was it for some far more sinister reason? The confusion was making Harry's head pound and he climbed quickly from his bed, hoping he could throw himself into his morning routine so fully that his mind would not have room to focus on anything else.
Harry snorted into his tea, shaking his head at how disastrously that idea had worked out. He should have known from the beginning it was doomed to fail—Harry had never been any good at getting Malfoy off his mind and had entered the Great Hall still thinking about the evil wanker.
At least he had learned from the previous morning and was currently sitting with his back to the Slytherin table, fighting the urge to glance over his shoulder and look for Malfoy. Was he watching Harry? Was he thinking about Harry? Had he fallen asleep last night thinking about Harry, just as Harry had fallen asleep thinking about him? What did any of it even mean?
"I think Malfoy's staring at you," Ron said in a low voice, interrupting the current spiral of confusion tearing through Harry's insides.
"What?" His entire body froze as he fought the automatic urge to look over to the Slytherin table to see for himself.
"I think he's staring at you," Ron frowned, looking past Harry with narrowed eyes. "It doesn't even look like he's blinking." Ron sent a rude hand gesture in the direction of the Slytherins, frown deepening. "Hmm, he didn't even respond to that. Something weird is definitely going on with him."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, heart hammering as he wondered if he should tell Ron and Hermione what had happened.
"Maybe he's just lost in thought or something and just happens to be glancing this way," Hermione cut in.
"Yeah," Ron smirked, "or maybe he's got a crush on Harry."
At the words, Harry's stomach dropped. "Don't be ridiculous, Ron," he said harshly, startling himself at the vehemence in his words "Malfoy does not have a bloody crush on me!"
"All right," Ron said in surprise, holding up both hands palm out in a conceding gesture. "All I'm saying, though, is that he's looking at you like he's mentally undressing you. He's not even eating, he's just…staring. It's sort of creepy, to tell you the truth."
"I'm not hungry," Harry said suddenly, climbing to his feet and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'll see you guys in class." And without waiting for a response, Harry hurried from the Great Hall, wondering for possibly the millionth time just what the hell was going on with Malfoy. It wasn't possible that he really did have a crush on Harry, was it? There was no way that Ron could be right, and yet…
Harry sighed and kicked the wall, knowing that nobody just walked around kissing people they did not have feelings for and were not attracted to. But what did that mean then that Harry had kissed him back? What did it mean that it had taken him so long to shove the blond away? Why was Harry's life so intent on never making a single ounce of sense to him?
"Good morning, Harry," a voice said behind him, and Harry's entire body froze at the sound. Moving slowly, he reluctantly turned to face the very same albino prat he had just been thinking about.
Damn, the prat really was standing there. Harry had been hoping that he was simply losing his mind and had merely imagined the sound of Malfoy's voice. Oh, what he would have given to not be sane at that moment.
"Malfoy," he croaked, clearing his throat with a blush. Oh Merlin, why was Malfoy turning him into such a horrible awkward weirdo? Harry missed the days when he could just tell Malfoy to shut up and sod off without feeling any sort of discomfort. "What do you want?"
The same flirty smile from yesterday spread across Malfoy's pretty lips. No, not pretty! Harry corrected himself in a sudden panic. They are definitely not pretty! I meant his evil lips! His stupid evil lips doing stupid evil things like kissing people who do not want to be kissed and smiling at people who do not want to be smiled at! All Harry wanted was to be left alone.
"I think you know what I want," Malfoy said suggestively, taking a step closer.
"No, I don't!" Harry shook his head, hoping that if he denied everything, it would all just go away. Denial had never failed anybody before, right? Harry was sure he was probably right. Maybe. Mostly, at least. It sounded reasonable as long as he didn't think about it too much. "I don't know what you want, Malfoy!"
"Of course you do," the blond said, taking another step closer. "I want to say good morning." His smile widened.
"Well, all right then," Harry said, feeling nearly frantic. "Good morning. And now goodbye."
Turning to leave, he glanced down in surprise to find a hand on his arm, preventing his escape.
"Wait, Harry," Malfoy murmured, standing directly behind him, so close that Harry could smell his cologne and feel the heat from his body.
"You already said good morning!" he snapped, jerking his arm from Malfoy's grip and taking a swift step farther away.
"I was thinking of a better way to say it," Malfoy said in a low voice, closing the distance between them once more, and before Harry even had time to respond, Malfoy's lips were once again pressed to his in a firm kiss and he was suddenly wrapped around Harry's body like a platinum-haired octopus. One arm wound itself around Harry's waist as the other hand crept up into Harry's hair, fingernails scratching lightly over his scalp, and Harry felt himself shiver at the feeling. Oh, god.
Malfoy continued raking his fingers through Harry's hair, and Harry could feel himself melting at the pleasant sensation, an embarrassing whimper escaping his throat as Malfoy deepened the kiss, gently shifting Harry backward to press him against the stone wall of the empty corridor.
Harry felt his heart hammering so hard he was certain Malfoy must be able to hear it. Feeling dizzy and light-headed, Harry clutched at Malfoy's shoulders, willing himself to stay upright. Oh, god, how was Malfoy doing this, how was he making Harry feel this way? Harry couldn't remember ever feeling like this before, even when he had been with Ginny. How was Malfoy making his entire body feel as though it was on fire?
Humming happily, Malfoy's lips left his as he began to spread kisses down Harry's neck, scraping his teeth over the skin of Harry's throat. A breathless groan escaped Harry, and at the sound, Malfoy tightened his hold on him, pressing himself even harder against the brunet, keeping him trapped between Malfoy's warm body and the cold stone wall behind him and feeling nearly dizzy from the stormy mix of emotions crashing through him like angry tidal waves. He could feel desire and confusion warring with one another, and he honestly could not say which was the stronger of the two.
"Malfoy," he managed, a startled sound escaping him as Malfoy's mouth suddenly found his again, kissing Harry deeply in what he suspected was an attempt at shutting up whatever protest Harry was very, absolutely, one hundred percent certain—well, pretty sure, at least—he had been about to make.
And just as Harry was fearing losing himself forever in the bizarre and overwhelming feeling of kissing Draco Malfoy, sudden distant laughter had him snapping back into himself and he froze for a moment before gripping Malfoy's arms and forcing him back a step.
Malfoy was breathing heavily, lips reddened and cheeks pink, and Harry could not help but want to pull him back in for another kiss at the sight, wanting to smack himself in the head in the very next second for even thinking such an awful thing. Seriously, what was wrong with him?! What was wrong with the both of them?!
"Wasn't that a better way to say good morning?" Malfoy asked in a low throaty voice, one that sent tingles down Harry's spine.
"Most people just use their mouths to say good morning," Harry whispered, shock coursing through every inch of his body as he stared at the blond still held in his grasp.
"I did use my mouth," Malfoy laughed, attempting to step forward to kiss Harry only to be stopped by Harry's firm grip on his arms, keeping him at a safe distance. He frowned down at Harry's hands, as though confused as to what they were and what they were doing there. But they had every right in the world to be there and were the only things stopping Harry from losing his mind, because they were the only things currently keeping Malfoy at a distance.
"Why are you doing this? What the hell do you want from me?" Panic laced Harry's every word, increasing as he heard the distant sound of voices growing louder. Fuck. He released Malfoy as though burnt, backing several meters away and eyeing the blond with clear distrust.
Malfoy tilted his head as he considered Harry, appearing to be pondering how best to answer the question. "Meet me tonight," he finally said, "at midnight. In the East Tower. I'll answer your questions if you come."
"You're insane," Harry shook his head, "I'm not going to just walk into some Slytherin ambush, Malfoy! You already tried this in first year when you sent Filch after me and Ron the night of that stupid duel you challenged me to, the one you never actually showed up to! You're daft if you think I'm falling for that shit again!"
Malfoy sighed. "I promise this isn't a trick, Harry, I swear it. Please meet me? I promise I'll answer whatever questions you have if you just come."
Harry felt himself starting to give in; the offer to finally get the answers to the million questions he had been asking himself for the past two days was just too tempting.
"And besides," Malfoy continued, "don't you have your Invisibility Cloak? Wear it to the Tower tonight if you don't trust me. I mean, I can hardly ambush someone I can't even see, can I?"
"I s'pose not," Harry said suspiciously, eyes narrowed. Sudden movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned to see students beginning to trek toward the two of them. "Fuck, fine then, Malfoy, you win, I'll meet you tonight at midnight."
A sincere smile lit up Malfoy's face, softening the pointed edges and making him look almost…pretty. Certainly less evil than he normally looked, at least. "I'll see you tonight then, Harry," he murmured, taking a step forward as though he was intending on kissing Harry goodbye, something Harry responded to by quickly backing away, ignoring the crestfallen expression on Malfoy's face.
A nod was Harry's only farewell before the brunet turned and strode away, wondering what the hell he had just agreed to.
TBC
