Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is JK's.
Author's note: It's been a long time since I read DH and I've read far too much fanfiction in my time, so apologies if I've made any canon mistakes. This story is supposed to be canon compliant until the end of book 7 (not including the epilogue).
Please Note: Contains SLASH. Rated M for language and to be safe.
The Room of Hidden Things
Chapter 2:
Draco let his tongue swipe over Potter's revelling in the sound of Potter's moan against his lips. He felt Potter's hands sliding through his hair and he knew he should be annoyed, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to care.
Potter's hands stroked roughly over his back and Draco found himself arching into the touch, not even stopping the Gryffindor when Potter's hand slipped beneath Draco's robes. Even through the fabric of his shirt, Potter's touch burned through him and when Potter suddenly shifted, bringing their hips together, Draco didn't even care that he was already half hard. The feel of Potter's erection pressing against him felt better than he could possibly have imagined.
Potter's lips left his only to drop to his neck sucking and biting on the sensitive skin there. Unconsciously, Draco dropped his head back to allow Potter better access before the sound of approaching voices finally broke through the haze surrounding his mind.
Suddenly realising where he was and whom he was with, never mind what they were doing together, Draco lurched to his feet. Sending Potter his patented Malfoy glare, Draco turned and hurried away before the other boy could come to his senses and try to stop him.
Draco walked until he was certain Potter hadn't followed him and only then did he allow himself to slow. Eyeing his surroundings wearily, Draco realised he was in a part of the castle he rarely visited. Near the Muggle Studies classroom, he realised with a jolt. Yet another place he would have to avoid he thought to himself as he quickly hurried down the corridor and down a flight of stairs, all the while fighting against the memory of the old teacher's final moments suspended above a table at Malfoy Manor.
He walked for a while longer, eventually coming to a halt near the Transfiguration room. Tucking himself into one of the alcoves still missing it's statue, Draco sunk to the ground, tucking his legs up to his chest and resting his head on his knees.
Only now did he allow himself to think about what had happened up in the seventh floor corridor. Potter was a surprisingly good kisser, but that was entirely beside the point. What Draco wanted to know was why the hell had Potter kissed him?
What did Potter want from him? Was it not enough that Draco owed him a life debt? Did the boy-who-just-wouldn't-die really need one more thing to lord over Draco?
Lifting his fingers to his head, Draco rubbed at his temples trying to dispel the headache he could feel blossoming there. He didn't need this. He had enough to worry about, being back in this damned school, without having to watch out for Potter at every turn. The fights he could handle. If nothing else he was able to take out his pent up aggression on someone who deserved it. But this took things to a whole new level.
He was back to his earlier question. What the hell did Potter want from him?
Finally Draco pulled himself to his feet, as the chill air of the corridor finally made it through the thickness of his robes. He was half tempted to just head to bed, but somehow found himself making his way back towards the sounds of the party below.
Pulling his hood over his all too recognisable hair, Draco slipped back into the great hall. Relieved to see that no one appeared to have noticed his return, he slowly made his way to one of the alcoves along the wall, keeping to the shadows as much as he could.
He wasn't really sure why he had come back. It would have been far easier to have returned to the Slytherin dorms and gone to bed early before anyone had the chance to speak to him. Yet here he was.
Keeping his head down, Draco peered out across the room from under his hood. The majority of the halls occupants were on or near the dance floor, talking, dancing and laughing with one another.
Looking past the crowd, Draco spotted more than a few couples taking advantage of the relative privacy of the darkened alcoves similar to the one he was currently occupying. Without knowing what he was looking for, Draco scanned the faces, flitting from one to the next, until finally his gaze came to a halt.
Potter was sat some distance from the dance floor, his eyes locked on Draco. With a start, Draco dropped his gaze as if burned by the intensity of Potter's stare.
Unbidden, memories of what had occurred in the seventh floor corridor rose up to haunt him. He still couldn't believe that Potter had kissed him. Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding fucking world had kissed Draco Malfoy, the failed ex-death eater.
Unconsciously, Draco found his gaze returning to the other side of the room.
Potter was still watching him.
Draco shivered at the strength of the Gryffindor's stare. He could tell the other boy was trying to catch his eye, but there was no chance of that happening. Shifting in his seat, Draco let his hood drop lower, hiding Potter from view.
This was insane. He shouldn't have come back. He shouldn't be here. He should just go. Potter didn't know what he was doing. He couldn't. Draco bit his lip before raising his head just slightly for one last look, but Potter was gone.
Without meaning to, Draco's head jerked up, accidentally knocking back his hood, as his eyes scanned wildly for any sign of the Gryffindor. He couldn't have left already. The party was still in full swing and it was, at least in part, in Potter's honour. He wouldn't have left this early even if he wanted to.
"Looking for someone?"
The voice, whispered in his ear, made Draco jump about a foot in the air. Instinctively he looked round, though he knew he wouldn't see anyone.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Potter."
For a second he thought the Gryffindor would call him out, but Potter remained silent. He wasn't stupid enough to think that the other boy had left, though.
Hoping to intimidate Potter into leaving him alone, Draco stared into the direction Potter's voice had come from, not certain he was looking in exactly the right place but willing to take his chances.
"We're not finished." Potter's voice had a slight edge of desperation to it that Draco chose not to examine too closely.
Instead, Draco got to his feet, keeping his gaze trained on the empty space he was now certain Potter occupied.
"Yes. We are." He said with what he hoped was a note of finality, before stalking past Potter and out of the hall.
He had expected Potter to follow him, but the door to the hall stayed firmly shut as Draco walked slowly away. Annoyed with himself for being disappointed, he headed down into the dungeons, intent on heading straight to bed.
He was passing the Potions classroom when he heard muted sobs coming from inside. He paused uncertainly, certain he would regret it yet for some reason unable to keep going knowing that someone else was in pain. Clearly he was going soft in his old age.
With a half suppressed sigh, Draco pushed open the door and stepped into the classroom. His eyes widened when he realised that the figure hunched over beside Snape's old desk was Pansy Parkinson. Maybe that explained his urge to comfort.
"Pansy..." Draco edged forward slowly, keeping his voice low in an attempt not to startle her.
At the sound of his voice, her head shot up, her wand in her hand before he had the chance to say a word. He felt an odd sense of pride at that. Even at her lowest, she was still alert, still a Slytherin.
Realising it was him, Pansy lowered her wand again, tucking it back into her robes. Draco took the opportunity to move closer, sliding to the floor beside her and tucking an arm around her shoulders.
For a long while they sat silently. Draco could feel her shoulders shaking beneath his arm and he let her cry, leaving her to break the silence. Draco hated to see her like this, when she'd once been so strong. She was his best friend and he knew how much the war had cost her. He was not the only one who did not want to be back at Hogwarts.
Finally, Pansy raised her head, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robe.
"I'm sorry." Her voice was hoarse from crying and Draco hugged her tighter against him.
"You don't have to apologise to me Pans, you know that."
"I know. Just everyone else."
Draco shook his head. "No you don't."
She gave him a watery smile.
"You just have to forgive yourself," Draco continued, pulling back so he could look into her eyes as he spoke. "You're the only one who hasn't."
Pansy shook her head. "It's not that easy."
"I know." He pulled her close again, letting her rest her head on his shoulder.
After a while, Pansy pulled away, getting to her feet and stretching. Draco followed her lead.
"I'm going to head to bed, it's been a long day." She hugged him before stepping towards the door. She paused when she reached it, turning back to him with a sad smile on her face.
"Goodnight Draco. And thank you."
Draco nodded his acknowledgement as Pansy slipped silently through the doorway and out of sight.
Pansy had changed a lot since the war, but then, so had they all. The girl was much quieter than she had been before. And she never said a word without thinking it through first. No one had blamed her afterwards for outburst in the hall, after all, they had all been scared. But she had never forgiven herself. He wondered if she ever would, no matter what anyone told her.
The sound of footsteps alerted him to the fact he was no longer alone. He knew instantly, without turning to look, who was intruding on him.
"What do you want from me?" Draco's voice was resigned.
"I don't want anything from you."
Unwillingly, he turned to face the Gryffindor.
"I find that hard to believe. It seems everyone wants a piece of me these days." Draco's voice twisted bitterly.
"I know the feeling."
"I suppose you do."
Potter stepped closer and Draco followed him with his gaze. His breathing hitched slightly as Potter finally came to a stop less than six inches from Draco. He knew it was too much to hope that Potter hadn't heard it.
"You feel it too."
Draco said nothing, knowing Potter did not truly expect an answer. He froze when Potter's hand reached up to cup his face.
"You feel it too." Potter's voice was so low, Draco knew he wouldn't have heard if Potter hadn't been standing so painfully close.
And then Potter closed the gap, kissing him lightly. Draco groaned. He couldn't help himself. And then Potter's arms were around him, pulling him closer. Powerless to resist, Draco opened his lips to Potter's questing tongue. Once again he found himself seduced by Potter's exceptional kissing skills. Why was it that in all his years no one had ever kissed him like Potter did?
When Potter pulled back, Draco almost whimpered at the loss. And then Harry said his name.
"Draco..."
He groaned at the sound, certain nothing had ever sounded so erotic as his name said in that tone of voice, drawn from those lips. His eyes fluttered shut as Potter's name was almost torn from his throat.
"Harry..."
Potter groaned again before crushing their lips together once more.
Potter's kiss was intoxicating and Draco knew he should pull away, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. With every kiss, every whisper, every groan, Draco was being pulled in deeper and deeper. It made no sense. This was Potter for Merlin's sake. Draco hated him, had always hated him. And Potter hated Draco.
Except clearly he didn't any more.
Draco mentally shook his head. Hadn't he just been saying that everyone had changed since the war? And once upon a time, Draco hadn't hated Potter. He'd wanted to be Potter's friend.
Was that what Potter was offering now? Somehow Draco doubted it. It was clear Potter wanted him, but was it purely physical, or was there more to it?
Potter thrust against him then and Draco felt the evidence of Potter's desire against his hip. And it would be so easy to give in. To give Potter what he wanted...
But then what? Ignored? Humiliated? Publicly destroyed?
Desperately, Draco wrenched himself out of Potter's grip. His breathing was ragged, heart pounding a mile a minute. He knew his hair was probably all over the place from the way Potter's hands had been running through it, his mouth was surely red and swollen from Potter's kisses and he could feel the heat of his flushed cheeks.
Draco knew he most likely looked thoroughly debauched and it was that thought that gave him the strength to back away. He was no one's whore.
"Just stay away from me Potter. I don't want this. And I don't want you."
He caught a flash of pain in Potter's eyes as he turned away, but he told himself it was something else. Disappointment maybe, or frustration.
As he made his way towards the Slytherin dorms, however, Draco found himself wondering what would have happened if he'd stayed.
Later, as he lay in bed alone and achingly hard, he secretly wished he had.
Draco picked at his breakfast. He had slept terribly, waking almost hourly gasping in fear and drenched in sweat. The nightmares were not uncommon, and he was hardly surprised to find his subconscious returning him to the room of hidden things. What had surprised him, and unsettled him on several levels, were the events of the nightmares. He had often dreamed of what might have happened if Potter hadn't been there to pull him from the flames. But last night had been different. Potter had been there, in every one. But he had chosen not to save Draco. Sometimes he merely sat by and laughed as Draco screamed in pain while the fiery demons burned him, other times he swooped down to pull Draco to safety only to become a flaming creature himself, consuming Draco entirely.
It was the second type of dream that really scared Draco, though he would admit that to no one, least of all Potter. He just couldn't help but feel that the dreams meant something more. That it wasn't the fiendfyre burning him, but Potter himself and the fire he started in Draco with little more than a stroke of his hand or a brush of his lips.
In the long hours between nightmares when Draco had lain awake, the memory of Potter's lips had returned time and time again.
Draco was pulled from his thoughts by the feel of Potter's gaze, burning him with its intensity. Unwillingly he looked up and met Potter's stare.
The Gryffindor's eyes were a whirl of emotions, too chaotic for Draco to read. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He got to his feet as if in a dream and for one crazy minute he almost found himself heading right across the hall and throwing himself into Potter's arms. Suddenly the thought of Potter's fire consuming him didn't seem like such a bad way to go.
Draco had pushed away from the table before reason returned, crashing over him like a wave. With a stifled groan, Draco tore his eyes from Potter's and headed for the door as fast as he dared without drawing attention to himself.
As soon as he was away from the prying eyes of the occupants of the hall, he started to run. He didn't let himself think about what he was doing, refusing on the most basic level to admit that he was running from Harry Potter. But he couldn't stand it. The dreams from the previous night were still fresh in his mind and the way Potter was looking at him… he had to get away.
He didn't stop running until he was through the school gates. Pulling his wand, he twisted on the spot, apparating away. The last thing he saw as the school disappeared from in front of him was Harry, running down the steps towards him.