I am happy you are all enjoying this fic! Thank you so much for the reviews! I am on quite a roll with this fic right now, I think there will be an update soon after this.

Again, sorry for too much internal dialogue. I hope it doesn't get confusing.

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PROMPTS:

Lake

Charm

2 a.m.

Needle

Turpentine kisses and mistaken blows

Wire

Every you, every me

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I AM RETITLING THIS FIC'S OVER-USED, CLICHE TITLE. ANY IDEAS?

EVERY YOU, EVERY ME

by The Ultimate Otaku

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Chapter 3

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HARRY

Harry was angry. He was angry at Malfoy for kissing him, he was angry at Zabini for hurting Ron, and he was angry at himself for not yet being able to get Slughorn's memory.

It only made him angrier when Malfoy kept avoiding him. Why couldn't the bloke have avoided him for the last five years, instead of being a nuisance? Harry wasn't sure quite what he wanted to do when he found Malfoy – throttle him for adding another mess of confusion on his plate, or kiss him with fervor to show Malfoy how much he hated him and…and…

Merlin.

Harry decided to take a leaf from Malfoy's book and avoid the problem. It had been a few days since that kiss. He snapped at Ron and Hermione at dinner, which made Ron leave early. Then Hermione said she was worried about Harry, which forced a shoddy, quick apology out of him for being an arse.

He excused himself to the library to practice that damn Transfiguration homework. It was something he should know already, having done animal transfiguration on his O.W.L. last year, but this was more difficult. He had to transform an item not once, but four times, in quick succession.

Most of the homework was practicing the transfiguration so he could show McGonagall tomorrow. He was supposed to transfigure a piece of wire into a snake, and the snake into a bird, and then back down from bird, to snake, to wire. He also had to mull over Slughorn and finish a paper for Astronomy.

By the time it was midnight, Harry thought his head might explode. He'd gotten nowhere on Slughorn, and he had stuffed his head with so many star charts he thought he could recite the entirety of Ally Algert's Astronomy Analyses. Constellations and planets whirled through his brain, and he finally sat back with a sigh. He stared at the piece of wire in front of him.

It was funny that they had to transfigure the wire into a snake, because Harry was quite well-acquainted with snakes by now. From the time he was a boy speaking to the garden snakes, to the basilisk and the duel with Malfoy in Second Year, to now, where Voldemort's snake Nagini had already haunted his consciousness, Harry had had quite enough of snakes by now, thank-you-very-much.

So why was it so bloody difficult to turn a bit of wire into one? He tried a few times, and only got the thing to wiggle and rattle. He tried aiming for a rattlesnake then, and he bent down to concentrate, pointing his wand at the bit of wire.

It started to tremble the more he stared at it and a little puff of smoke leaked out of one end. Red sparks shot from his wand, but that was it.

"McGonagall's Transfiguration homework? I've already finished that. Don't let Pince see that smoke, or she'll shriek at us both."

A long-fingered, dark hand clamped over the smoky end of Harry's bit of wire, and a wand tapped the wire to extinguish it. Harry's bit of wire stopped trembling.

Harry blinked and looked up reluctantly. He already knew who it was, and he wasn't ready to deal with the maelstrom of things that came up in him when he looked. Zabini. He stared up at those dark eyes, and his first feeling was anger, because Zabini had put Ron in the hospital for a half a day. At the same time, he felt his stomach get queasy, because Zabini was so close.

The dark-haired Slytherin had abandoned his robes for a tight, black sweater that molded over his torso nicely. His hair was unkempt and frizzing about his head in a manner that made Harry think he might have just woken up…or had sex…or…well, nothing else, because those two were bothersome enough. One made Harry wonder if sleep erased the requisite Slytherin coldness from Zabini's face, and the other made Harry think of what Zabini would look like naked…

He swallowed, as the Slytherin began to smirk at Harry's staring. Harry pushed Zabini's hand away from the wire and said bitingly, "If you've already done it, then leave me alone to finish."

Zabini, still smirking, sat back on the chair across from Harry, instead. Harry tried to ignore him, and leaned forward again to concentrate on his task.

Snake, snake, snake, he thought, and imagined the wire wriggling, coiling, and then lifting its head. He imagined a diamond pattern on its back, and a licking, forked tongue…he imagined Zabini leaning over the table and kissing him, plunging his tongue into Harry's mouth, touching Harry with his long-fingered hands…

Harry bit back a curse and sat back in his chair. He felt too nervous, with Zabini just staring at him, to be as angry.

Zabini was smirking even more now, and Harry wanted that smirk to disappear. He didn't like feeling foolish in front of Zabini. It was just as bad as those times he had stuttered at Cedric, except worse, because Zabini was a Slytherin and Malfoy's friend. And hot as fuck. He put his boots on the table now, and Harry resisted the urge to drink in the completed sight of Zabini's long body stretched in front of him.

His gaze caught onto the Slytherin badge Zabini wore pinned to the jacket he had slung over one shoulder. He stared at the snake depicted there, and it took only a moment for him to see it moving, shaking out of its S shape, trying to crawl from the confines of the badge…

"Wonder what it's like being stuck to him all the time. You would be better off in my dorms, with me to talk to," Harry hissed at the snake S in Parseltongue.

It was worth it for the way that Zabini jumped in his chair. His smirk was gone now. Harry laughed and found himself still smiling as Zabini looked at him. But Zabini wasn't glaring, he seemed rather to be studying Harry; his expression reminded Harry of the look on Hermione's face when she was trying to get him to tell the truth about how much homework he'd completed.

"How long have you been able to do that?" Zabini asked.

Harry shrugged, still laughing a little. "Since I was small."

He thought to himself that, in a way, it was actually a relief to talk to a Slytherin and not have every word of the conversation be scathing. If this were Malfoy, ten snarky remarks would have been traded already. He liked that Zabini seemed to live beyond putting other Houses' students down. So far. This was the first conversation he'd really had with Zabini at all.

"Hmm." Zabini settled back in his chair. "And what did you say?"

Harry tilted his head, deciding whether to tell Zabini. "I told the snake on your badge that he'd be less lonely in the Gryffindor dorms." Then he flushed, because it sounded so stupid. The snake on Zabini's badge wasn't real! Why did he have to say 'he', too?

Zabini gave an amused smile. It wasn't the same as the condescending smirk. He was even more handsome when he was smiling genuinely. Harry wondered suddenly if Malfoy ever smiled like that. Damnit. He stopped staring and looked down at the table determinedly.

Zabini sensed his embarrassment, but instead of teasing, he said, "Potter, you think you're better company than me? If I could talk to snakes, I would have one for a pet. But owls are much more useful. Why didn't you get a snake?"

Harry didn't know why he was giving more honest answers to a Slytherin, but it came out of him. "My friend Hagrid got my owl for me, as a birthday present."

"That half giant? Well, you didn't know he was half-giant then, I suppose. Although anyone would suspect."

"Does it really matter?" Harry said coldly.

Zabini wasn't put off by Harry's tone. Instead, he leaned forward, and for a moment he was just giving Harry that thoughtful look again. It made Harry's insides squirm. He looked back at the table, and then tried to concentrate on transfiguring the wire again.

Zabini interrupted again. "Here's what I don't get, Potter. If you don't care that the Hogwarts gameskeeper, Hagrid, had a giant for a parent, why care that Malfoy has a Death Eater for a father? A child isn't a carbon copy of their parents. Even if they're brought up a certain way, they can certainly rebel against the grain."

Harry's answer came fast and hot. "Lucius Malfoy is a murderer, and personally grovels at Voldemort's feet. Voldemort, as you may know, has killed and tortured countless people, including my parents, so anyone that's good in his book is bad in mine. Plus, Malfoy's just like his father – a cowardly, groveling little Dark Arts worshipper. I bet he's just dying to be a Death Eater."

"Hmph." Zabini sat back in his chair and looked at Harry through half-closed eyes. "You judge awfully fast, don't you, Potter? Can't someone be not all that they seem?"

Harry licked his lips. He knew that Zabini was trying to say he was wrong, that Malfoy could be good, but to say that of Lucius Malfoy or Voldemort…well, he had seen in his private lessons with Dumbledore already, that Voldemort had had dark ideas from the very start. He would eat his badge if Lucius Malfoy had been a darling little angel as a child, and having known Malfoy since age eleven, and never seen anything to prove Zabini's little theory…well.

Still, Zabini had a point, of course. Harry remembered when he and Ron had thought Hermione was a prissy snob, when actually she'd turned out to be a smart, soft-hearted person and a very good friend indeed. His own father actually supported Zabini's point, because of James having tortured Snape during their school years together. It bothered Harry that his father proved Zabini's point, in a bad way. But it was true, and he'd rather have the truth than anything else. So…Zabini wasn't wrong, but…Malfoy, nice?

"I'm sorry, but from what I've seen of Malfoy, he's a git, through and through."

Even if he does kiss well. The thought popped into Harry before he could stop it, and a flush poured into his face.

Perhaps Zabini secretly knew Legilimency, because he watched Harry's blush and said, "A git who can kiss like sin himself, I'm guessing, by the look on your face. Changed your mind about him, Potter?"

The smile on his face was near laughter, but there was something else burning in Zabini's eyes that Harry didn't understand. Slytherins. Argh. Slytherins being attractive. Even more argh. And no one to talk to about it!

Harry growled and gripped his wand tighter in his hand. "Now look, you, don't go making assumptions. I've been meaning to get back at Malfoy for that trick. Besides, he was drunk on fire whiskey," Harry added.

Zabini rolled his eyes, saying, "Potter, you have the observational skills of a troll. Yes he was drunk on fire whiskey, but I don't think even that would make him want to kiss you," Zabini blanched. "Why are you going after him?" He leaned forward. "I'm right here. I'm the one who hurt Weasley."

It made sense, but Harry went with his instinct. "Malfoy started it."

Zabini wouldn't take that answer, it seemed. "And I ended it."

Harry sighed. "Look, what do you want?"

The Slytherin only smirked in that infuriating way again. "I want to see you transfigure that wire. Go."

Harry grumbled at that evasive answer, telling his stupid, pounding heart to shut up, that Zabini was only here to harass him on Malfoy's behalf, and plus, Zabini had sounded like he wouldn't pick Harry if Harry were the last man on earth, and Zabini wasn't necessarily into blokes…

Harry shoved it all from his mind, and remembered the snake that had leapt out of Malfoy's wand in second year. It had been a long, black snake, and he remembered the way it had coiled to strike Justin Finch-Fletchley before he had told it to leave Justin alone…its smooth body glittered in the light, and its fangs were sharp and curved…

And like that, there was a snake before him on the table. It directed its head towards Harry, and Harry said, "Sorry," before he transfigured it into a bird.

Immediately the raven squawked, and was about to leap off the table into the air. Harry lunged forward to grab it, swearing as his body smacked into the table painfully. Zabini was laughing at him, and beyond the pecking, dangerous beak of the bird, Harry saw a slender white-haired figure disappear into the Restricted Section. He didn't have to see the Slytherin badge to know who it was. He could recognize Malfoy easily after years.

What was Malfoy doing in the Restricted Section? It wasn't banned to Sixth Year students, but nevertheless, Harry wondered.

Harry hugged the raven close to his chest, and tried petting it, but only got stabbed in the palm for his effort to calm it. "Ouch! Bloody bird!"

He waved his wand at it, trying to think snake again, but it took one look at his wand and squawked loudly in protest.

"Potter-" Zabini sounded exasperated. He smacked away Harry's wounded hand when Harry started to try and pet the birdagain, and slipped his hands over Harry's, and under. Taking the bird from Harry, he planted it on the table with one hand, and said, "Petrificus Totalus."

The bird went rigid and fell over with a smack. Harry could hear Hermione protesting about animal cruelty in his head. Half-laughing and half perturbed, he sighed with a great whoosh. Shoving hair out of his face, he pointed his wand at the raven and transfigured it back into a snake. It was so much easier when it was still and quiet.

The spell for the wire was more difficult, and Zabini having helped seemed to make Harry's insides flutter, but because Harry was flustered and tired at this point, he spat the spell, and the snake became a wire.

"Again."

Harry groaned at Zabini's encouraging gesture. "Again? Sod off, you're not my professor."

"McGonagall's your head of House. If you disappoint her, Gryffindor could lose points."

Harry glared at Zabini. "You just want to harass me. Malfoy number two."

He wondered again why Malfoy was in the Restricted Section. He also thought of how soft Zabini's hands had been, and warm, over his. And he wondered, too, if Zabini's thing about children not following in their parents' footsteps was a hint. Was Zabini trying to say he wasn't a cold, murdering charmer like his mother? The charm part was impossible to cover up…because Zabini charmed by looks alone. He didn't even have to open his mouth. Although his voice was good, low, smooth, and Harry wouldn't mind knowing what that mouth could do…

He swallowed hard, and ran his hands through his hair in attempt to calm it. He did not look at Zabini, who was probably staring at him again. Why? And Malfoy's kiss – why? Slytherins didn't seem to know how to be straightforward and clear. Why would Malfoy kiss Harry unless he was drunk? He would never kiss Harry if he were sober…

Just sitting by Zabini, Harry was in danger of getting hard. It seemed his mind couldn't control itself around the beautiful dark boy. And he couldn't stop thinking of Malfoy kissing him. He had to leave. Perhaps fighting Malfoy would help his mind stop thinking about that kiss. So Harry began packing his stuff in his bag, quick, haphazard, and stuffed the wire into a pocket of his trousers, beneath his robes.

Zabini got up and stretched. Harry caught a flash of the dark skin between Zabini's shirt and his trousers. He could see the dark trail of hair that went down from Zabini's navel into his trousers…Harry licked his lips and hurriedly looked away. Damn his stupid eyes for looking every time. He would have to stop wearing glasses around Zabini, at this rate.

They parted ways silently, Zabini one way, Harry another. So he was a little surprised when he found Zabini with Malfoy moments later.

The two Slytherins were at the very end of a shelf of Restricted books. Zabini was leaned up against the shelf with confidence and sexuality just oozing off of him. It seemed to ooze into Harry, mushing his brain, for from his spot behind a shelf he just stared for a moment. His eyes took in everything. He couldn't help it, he told himself. The Slytherin wore expensive dragon hide boots, and thank god for trousers, because Harry could drink in long legs, the v of his crotch (if only the pants were tighter), and there was the tight shirt, and Zabini was curling strands of hair around one long, ringed finger…

Malfoy was sitting on the floor, and his hair was messy as if he had been running his hands through it. He looked a little frenzied, and a pile of books lay on either side of him. Carefully, he took another off the shelf, and opened it. When it didn't do anything, he sighed in relief. He glared at Zabini when Zabini laughed over his anxiety.

Harry watched the two, and wondered: Why was Zabini sticking up for Malfoy all of a sudden? Chumming up to him? And why was Malfoy okay with it? He had seemed pretty picky about his company before now. Zabini had never been part of his group.

He moved closer, and then decided, if he was going to sneak, why not sneak properly?

He dug the Invisibility Cloak out of his bag, glad he'd thought he'd need it for staying extra late in the library today, and whipped it over himself. He walked closer. Now he was standing near to Malfoy, and could stare right into Zabini's face.

They were talking about him in low voices.

"It was the first time I'd heard him speak Parseltongue before. Honestly, I thought it was…kindof hot."

Zabini was looking at Malfoy, who was glaring back. "Hot? Zabini, you really are a whore. Help me carry these books."

Zabini didn't move. "Carry your own books. Or spell them. I'm not your Crabbe and Goyle. Haven't you heard him speak Parseltongue before?"

Malfoy stood up, and floated the books. Harry followed as they walked away, to a table, and Malfoy sat down.

"No," he snapped, "Not since Second Year. And it was…not pleasant, back then. It still isn't. The only person I've heard speak it recently is…" he waved his hand.

Zabini pulled a chair next to Malfoy, and slid into it. "Hmm. Yeah, that's not hot, no matter how you look at it."

He laughed, but Malfoy didn't.

Harry was churning. The only other person he knew who could speak Parseltongue was Voldemort. If Malfoy had heard Voldemort speak Parseltongue, then maybe Voldemort was at Malfoy Manor. He should tell Dumbledore. The fact that Malfoy wasn't gloating over having met Voldemort surprised Harry, as did the idea that Parseltongue could stimulate Zabini sexually.

He had a sudden image of himself on his four-poster bed with a shirtless Zabini, playing with Zabini's hair while speaking Parseltongue, and seeing Zabini get aroused, and then he'd give Harry a very tell-tale, hungry kiss…

He stifled a moan by shoving his knuckles against his teeth. It was his left hand, which was bleeding and stinging from the raven having pecked it earlier. But if he healed it now, they would hear him. He was standing right in front of them, across the table.

Malfoy was making notes from a book, and Zabini, in that creepy way he had that also made Harry's brain a little mushy, was just watching Malfoy.

Suddenly the larger Slytherin laid his hand over Malfoy's, and in the same movement he put an arm around Malfoy's waist and dragged Malfoy onto his lap. Harry goggled, while Malfoy whined something about being manhandled. Then Zabini had turned Malfoy in his lap and was kissing him, in the very way that Harry had just imagined him kissing Harry…

His kiss seemed like he wanted to devour Malfoy. It involved his tongue in Malfoy's mouth, and it was noisy, in a way which made Harry want to laugh, but there was the way he groaned while doing it that made Harry's trousers instantly tight. Malfoy had resisted, but then he was kissing Zabini back equally hard, and he had buried his hands in Zabini's mass of hair, and moved to straddle Zabini's lap. They looked like them might upset the chair at any moment. Zabini had his hands around Malfoy's waist, and he seemed to wish for more skin to touch, because his hands swept up Malfoy's back to press at his neck.

Jealousy sidled its way into Harry, so that he had to gnaw his fist with his teeth to stop from leaning over the table and yanking Malfoy off of Zabini. He knew he had no chance with Zabini, but none of this made sense, anyway, him having a thing for Zabini. Why couldn't the world tilt on its head according to his ideas?

He felt somewhat better when the two boys stopped kissing. Plus, Malfoy promptly slid off of Zabini and pushed him, hard enough that the chair fell and Zabini fell with it, swearing. What? Zabini caught on to whatever that meant awfully fast, for in a moment he was sitting once more, and purred, "You know you like it. I can tell."

Malfoy was flushed, and his hair was the messiest Harry had seen it. He scratched his quill ferociously on the parchment he was practically nose-to-nose with, and bit out, "Sod off, Zabini. I'm only stealing your techniques." He smirked to himself.

Zabini scowled, and growled something which might have had Harry's surname in it. Harry felt the blood rush from his face. This was about that kiss Malfoy had given him, wasn't it? Zabini had been the only one to see it, after all, besides Hermione and Ron, and he evidently had an attraction for Malfoy. Was that the look Harry had seen in his eyes when the kiss had been brought up? Jealousy?

Harry slipped out of the library, feeling like his head was on backwards. Why did this sort of thing always happen to him? Couldn't he just have some humdrum life where he killed Voldemort easily, fell in love with Ginny Weasley, and got married? No, instead, he had this sick crush on a strange and handsome Slytherin, who was all over his school nemesis. Said school nemesis might have a thing for Harry…but he had sure seemed to enjoy Zabini's kissig him…

Harry had trouble sleeping that night, and the only thing good about it was that his dreams were not of Voldemort. They involved people much more confusing and handsome. Harry wasn't sure, when he woke up sweaty and hard in the middle of the night, if this was good or bad. At least Voldemort he could feel solid hate for, instead of this confusing mish-mash of things that he felt for the two Slytherins…and it wasn't just physical curiosity either, after his talk with Zabini.

And there was no one to talk to about it, either. Harry lay back, and started to list off famous Quidditch players in his head, trying not to think about one blonde Seeker…

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DRACO

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It turned out that avoiding Severus Snape was easier than avoiding Potter. Draco didn't show up for two detentions in a row, knowing Snape's true motives, and Snape didn't mention it whatsoever.

He knew the Potions Master (he would never be the DADA Professor in Draco's mind) would catch onto him soon, though. After researching for hours in the Restricted Section two nights ago, he'd spent Thursday in a bit of a daze. Perhaps Snape could see that and mercifully left him alone. Perhaps that was why he was letting Blaise Zabini get to him, and why Zabini was so easily insinuating himself into Draco's group of friends.

What had started as a deal, and a few secretly enjoyable snogs with the handsome dark Slytherin, was turning complicated. It made Draco angry, and he had already lashed out at Zabini twice in one day, only to have the other Slytherin keep his cool exterior. It seemed that as long as Zabini wasn't being held at wandpoint, he was as cool as a cucumber.

That infuriated Draco even more.

At least Zabini was absent for the moment. Pansy, too. She had been whining at him earlier about him not spending enough time with her, and Draco had promptly marched up to his dormitory, figuring that completing late Transfiguration homework was better than listening to that.

He growled when a familiar spindly figure tipped itself into his bed, and smiled at him.

"Nott! Get out!"

His friend grinned at him, and purposely wrinkled the page of text that Draco was glaring at. "No. Talk to me. I'm bored."

Draco wanted to hex Nott severely, but he didn't want another detention with Snape – or anything to do with Snape at all, at the moment. So he resisted that urge and threw his textbook across the room, instead. "I don't care if you're bored! Sod off!"

Nott turned over onto his back, still smiling at Draco. "No. Talk to me. How's the old man? Still kicking it in Azkaban? And your mother?"

Draco sighed, and flopped back onto the bed. He couldn't talk to Nott about his task for Voldemort, but he could talk to Nott about almost everything else. With his admirers gone, maybe he should take advantage of this time.

But, he was sick of people trying to figure him out at the moment, because everything inside him that he could see and no one else could, was jumbled.

"Will you stop looking at me, Nott? Go find something to do."

"No. Tell me about Zabini. Is he a good kisser? I never thought you were into him."

Draco scowled up at the green of his four-poster curtains. "I'm not. But…" Draco ran his hands through his hair, and laughed at his own stupid situation and confusion. "He is a good kisser. He…" Draco shut his eyes, remembering. "He's stubborn, and won't take no for an answer…and he's good with his tongue…and, I must say he has good taste, to choose me. But we're not together or anything. We're just…"

"Using each other. What does he want? And what are you getting out of it, besides some more attention? You haven't even wanted attention lately. You've been quiet. And what's with all those trips to the library, and the walks alone?"

Draco pushed his thumbs against his eyes, grumbling. He wasn't going to tell, because frankly, it was no one's business. And that included Snape. Snape was trying to find out what Draco's task for the Dark Lord was, suspected it, even, and Draco would bet it wasn't just because his mother had forced the Unbreakable Vow on Snape. Snape wanted to steal Draco's glory. And maybe he even knew what Draco's task was…and wanted to do it himself…or he knew of the dread that it brought swooping down into Draco if he thought about it too much…

He took a deep, shaky breath, and tried not to think of Potter's luminous eyes, or Voldemort's gleeful laugh when he gave Draco his assignment, and the way he'd dreamt of them as one person, once, speaking Parseltongue to him in a voice that simultaneously revolted and attracted him…

"Please just leave me alone," Draco ground out. "I can't stand it."

"Can't stand what?"

"Everything!" Draco sat up, and glared at Nott. "Everything, alright? So just leave!" He grabbed his wand, but now Nott was backing away.

"Alright, alright, Draco. I'll go. Merlin. Maybe snogging Zabini is just your way of letting off some steam, eh? Keep at it, if it helps. You need it."

He then slammed the door shut behind him before Draco could hex him.

Draco stood up, and he desperately wanted to start breaking and smashing things. But that would only bring Snape down on him. So he took a deep breath, and decided to go to dinner, instead. Eating would help. Then, he would go to the Room of Requirement, and see if he got any leeway in his plan.

It all went south, though. The moment Draco was done eating, a familiar greasy git appeared in front of him and ordered, "Come with me."

Sighing, Draco got up and followed his Head of House down into Snape's office. The man gestured that Draco sit, and when Draco remained standing, he curled his hand around his wand, and Draco was pushed back into the chair with a spell.

Shit. Snape was usually more courteous than that, with Draco. He must be angry, then.

"Draco. How are you today?"

Draco glared sullenly down at the stone of Snape's office, and refused to answer. He wasn't going to let Snape get any information from him, and he wasn't going to be soft just because the man was his godfather and now sworn to protect him. It had taken him weeks to forgive his mother for putting the Unbreakable Vow on Snape – he could take care of himself! – and he remained bitter about it.

"Draco, if you don't respond, how am I supposed to help you. I swore to your mother I w-"

"I don't care what you swore!" Draco bellowed. "I'm my own man, I've been trusted by him, and you have no option but to trust me, too. Even if my father is in disgrace, and you are honored, it doesn't give you the right to coddle me."

Snape leaned closer in his chair, and sent a baleful, dark glare that needled Draco and forced Draco not to look away. The man could be like that, without any spells, it was a power that Draco wished he had, and hated to see in others. Potter had that, too, but in a lighter sort of way – that magnetic thing in his eyes that kept drawing Draco back…

"You are only sixteen years old, Draco. A little bit of help is not unwarranted. I am not trying to get in the way; I am trying to ensure that you get the task done. I know that, however your public claims may seem, this task may be difficult to bear-"

"It isn't," Draco snapped. Apparently Snape knew what his task for Voldemort was. He tried to look away from the Potions Master, but Snape slammed his hands down on the table as he stood up, effectively capturing his attention. Snape was dangerous, Draco knew, for what other kind of man would Voldemort trust so thoroughly?

"MALFOY! I will not stand any more of this childish namby-pambying! You will tell me what your plan is to execute your task successfully, or I will forcibly discover it!"

Before the words were completely out of Snape's mouth, Draco felt that familiar sensation. It was cold, but somehow felt similar to the burning in his dreams. Invasive. Unstoppable. It was not physical pain, though. Rather, it felt like some gigantic, terrible force was slipping around in his mind, sifting through his memories and thoughts like a hand through a bowl of seeds…

Potter flashed in his mind, surprised in the moment that Draco had kissed him, then there was Zabini, laughing at Draco's mention of Voldemort's visit, and then he saw Lucius, broken, pathetic Lucius, as he appeared in a photo the Daily Prophet had published next to an article about his arrest…

"NO! GET OUT! I WON'T LET YOU IN MY MIND!"

Draco shut his mind firmly in one quick move, and a shot of fire burst from his wand and almost hit the Potions Master, but Snape shielded himself from it and stopped the spell.

Snape's voice was low and clipped. "I see. Aunty Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency. How was that arranged? Was it because she owed you after crucio-ing you, or because you whined about the Dark Lord using Legilimency on you when he visited?"

"She's my aunt," Draco growled, "and she can do whatever she wants. The Dark Lord gives her some amount of freedom, as you yourself get to enjoy here at Hogwarts. I suppose it is too much to ask that my blood relation to her, as her nephew, be acknowledged, and given some respect."

An ugly grin appeared on Snape's face. "You won't get any respect until you earn it, Draco."

Draco wasn't going to listen to this tripe anymore. He tucked his wand back into his robes, and turned his back on Snape. He shoved the door open, and was surprised when a resounding "OW!" echoed in the corridor. Who had he hit?

He poked his head around the doorway, wand held out. Potter lay sprawled out on the floor, holding his hand to his head and cringing. Draco scowled. Potter was the last person he wanted to see right now. He was still trying to uphold his promise to Zabini about avoiding the Boy Who Lived, or to at least look like he was. It was in fact going to be impossible at a certain point, because of his task for the Dark Lord…but for now, Potter was better off enjoying himself…before everything went to hell…

And it already was hell, for Draco. After all, through time and circumstance, he had grown overly fond of the stupid, noble Gryffindor, and now he was all wound up in too much – the urge to protect his father from the Dark Lord, and all the lessons of his youth, battled with a secret affection and lust for Potter that he constantly bottled within.

Until that damned kiss. Potter hadn't even kissed back. But he still wondered dreamily during History of Magic what it would feel like if Potter did…

"Scar hurting, Potter?" Draco drawled.

Potter had gotten up off the floor and was staring at Draco with a mix of hatred and confusion. "No," he spat "you hit me with the door."

Snape appeared behind Draco and said, "Potter. You're late."

Draco stepped aside begrudgingly as Potter walked into the office, and was about to walk away when Snape grabbed his collar roughly and yanked him back into the office.

"A moment of your time, Draco. We are trying to find out if Potter's limited intelligence can be honed and used for his protection. Come here."

"Get off me!" Draco shook Snape's hand off of him and turned around. He was standing in front of Snape's desk again, and Potter was sitting on the chair to his left. When Potter saw him standing, he got up, too, as if to say he was just as strong, or just as defiant.

Draco wondered what Potter was thinking. Would he like to murder Draco for the kiss, still? Had he mentioned it to Blaise? (He couldn't believe he had just called that trickster Blaise, but there it was). Why had he looked confused when Draco saw him in the corridor?

Damn Gryffindor. Just damn him. He looked good when he was angry, his green glare bouncing from Snape to Draco, and burning extra hot for Snape today. Draco wondered why. Perhaps because Draco had been brought into it all. Wasn't Potter in here for Remedial Potions?

Instead of setting out any potions materials, Snape leaned forward and pressed his hands against his desk. "Draco. I know that you have learned the art of Occlumency well. Currently I am trying to teach this fine art to Potter. His mind is like a sieve, unable to hold anything in. Perhaps you could school him further."

Draco blanched; his heart pounded. What was Snape saying? He, teach Potter Occlumency? He didn't know how, first of all. And he hated the way his hands were getting sweaty at the thought of being in repeated close contact with Potter…watching that messy head of hair turn, that beautiful glare, the turn of the full mouth….for every day? Until Potter learned it? Merlin's balls, he wasn't sure if he wanted to shout in anger or in joy.

XOXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOOXO

More soon! Please keep reviewing...I love them. And it helps me to know if this fic is going well, or just madness from my mind...oh, and -

I am retitling this fic. Any ideas for a new title?