It was a warm morning, but Harry felt strangely cold. He wriggled his toes, trying to get rid of the unnerving feeling. He had to decide how he was going to act today and prepare himself. He didn't want to make a fool of himself. The best thing to do would be to pretend as though it had never happened. If Malfoy had any pride he would probably do the same thing.
He was still wearing his jeans, but he had left his shirt in the garden. He got dressed into clean clothes - he assumed the house elves did his washing, because whatever he left on the floor appeared the next morning clean and folded. He fumbled a little on the buttons.
Malfoy wasn't at the breakfast table, but Harry shrugged it off. He went to the kitchen, where a bubbly little house elf made him scrambled eggs, and leaned against the table as he nibbled at some toast. It felt dry in his mouth, but he took his time. Malfoy never showed up.
Now he was prepared for him, he wanted to get their meeting over and done with.
Malfoy wasn't in the courtyard, but Harry hadn't really expected him to be.
Malfoy looked as shocked as I did, he thought.
But he laughed this off. Malfoy was heir to the Malfoy estate, and head of the house now Lucius was gone. He needed to continue the family line. Harry was sure he would be on the very bottom of the list of potenial partners.
He was starting to wonder if his desire to run into Malfoy today was for his own sick pleasure - his own amusement and curiosity.
It was nearly lunch time before Harry returned to his bedroom (when had he started to consider the room as 'his'? He couldn't recall). He was bored, hungry and irritable. Malfoy's absence annoyed him.
Eventually, he found a piece of parchment, ink and a quill, and drafted a letter to Ron and Hermione. He couldn't send it, but he missed them. He wondered if they were worried.
If Hermione were here, Harry thought, she'd be able to tell me exactly what Malfoy was thinking and why he's acting like he is. And Ron would never let me sit around doing nothing.
I'm so lazy without them.
Thinking of Hermione lead him towards 'the Wizarding World's largest fictional library', where Malfoy was curled up (finally) in a pile of grey beanbags. His shirt hadn't been ironed, his hair was a mess, and his belt didn't match his shoes.
Malfoy didn't notice him at first, and now Harry had him he wasn't entirely sure what to say.
"Hi," he said at last. Malfoy flinched, and then slowly, warily looked around. Harry felt his heart pummel in his chest. He took a deep breath, but Malfoy said nothing.
The silence was strained, and the longer it went on the more awkward it became. Calm, casual, like nothing weird happened, Harry reminded himself. He picked up a book and sat down next to Malfoy. He flicked through the pages. It was a book about a magical goat. Calm. He put the book down, feeling restless in the silence.
Restless and angry.
"What the Merlin's fuck," he burst out suddenly, making Malfoy jump. He pushed the book off the table as he stood up. "Is this a game to you? I could have helped you - I pitied you - I thought you needed me. But you're having fun, aren't you? Messing with my head?
"You don't need me. I bet you feel powerful, keeping me here.
"Say something!"
Malfoy hadn't moved, but looked up at Harry slowly. "I don't know what you want me to say," he said through gritted teeth. He added, "and what was your problem, anyway, holding my hand like that? You got me to stay, like you wanted."
Harry faltered for a second. "I wanted to talk to you!"
"You lead me on, pulled me into you. You knew you could get whatever you wanted out of me."
"That's ridiculous! No one in their right mind would think-"
"Look," Malfoy growled. He was standing up now. "I didn't mean for it to happen, okay? I wasn't meant to do it. Forget it - I will."
Harry ground his nails into his fists. "So, you're the kind of guy who just goes around-"
"Yes," Malfoy said coldly. "Fuck off, Potter." Malfoy walked past him, knocking their shoulders on the way out. Harry was stunned into silence, and said nothing as Malfoy's angry footsteps disappeared down the hall.
He had been wrong, he realised. Malfoy hadn't been toying with him – he'd kissed him because he'd wanted to. And now Harry had made him admit to something he probably found painfully embarrassing, had made them both look like idiots, and hadn't even managed to stay calm.
He really needed to talk to someone sane.