Chapter V

The incident in the dungeons had left Harry shaken for nearly a week. He had faked a cold, telling Hermione and Ron that he was just not feeling well, though it was getting harder to make excuses to avoid Madam Pomfrey. Hermione especially had noticed when Harry barely ate. He knew that if he didn't start 'recovering' soon that he'd find himself marched up to the hospital wing, willing or no.

Harry still did not understand what had happened in detention. He had never thought that he would have willingly—or almost willingly—submitted to Draco. Let alone allowed the Slytherin to, well, Harry didn't think he even had words to describe it. The whole ordeal had been impossibly degrading, a humiliation that should have been enough to leave Harry furious and desperate for revenge. On the contrary though, Harry found himself desperate for it to happen again.

A part of him—the sane part, he thought—was horrified beyond comprehension at what had occurred. The rest of him however… Harry had no idea that a person could want something so badly that it physically hurt. Every time he spotted a slash of green and silver out of the corner of his eye, or a glimpse of blonde hair, he would find himself holding his breath, longing for it to be Draco, and at the same time filled with revulsion that it might be.

"So what do you think, Harry?"

Blinking, Harry turned back to Ron, drawing a complete blank. He had no idea what Ron had just asked.

"Er… I don't know." He evaded, trying to look thoughtful, as though he was considering the question seriously. "I'd…uh…ask Hermione," he finished, nodding convincingly. "She'll know."

Ron looked askance at Harry. "Ask Hermione?!" The crack in his voice suggested that Harry had not supplied the right answer.

Cursing silently, Harry tried to backtrack. "I mean, no, don't ask Hermione." He ran a hand through his hair. "Obviously you can't ask her."

"Right, right." Ron sank back into his chair, looking relieved. "Do you reckon Fred would give me a straight answer?"

"Um, yeah," Harry sincerely hoped so. "Fred'll be able to give you a hand. No problem."

Grinning broadly, Ron patted Harry on the arm. "I knew you'd know what to do."

"Er, yeah. Anytime." Harry muttered. "Look, I'm pretty tired so I'm going to head to bed."

"Yeah," Ron gave Harry a look of concern. "You need to get more sleep. If one more girl asks me if she's the reason you've got bags under your eyes, I won't be responsible for my actions."

Harry gave a wane smile in reply before heading up the stairs. He thought that he'd read some of his History of Magic textbook before trying to sleep. Hopefully he'd nod off during some of the lengthy and quite unnecessary descriptions.

Draco lay sprawled carelessly on a long couch in front of the fire. His blonde hair looked almost white against the deep green of the couch, and he was so pale that were it not for the nearly unnoticeable rise and fall of his chest as he breathed he could have been mistaken for dead. Though his eyes were closed, and his breathing even, the Slytherin was not asleep. Lately he had found sleep to be an elusive companion, and it was with growing frustration that he found himself awake and restless at all hours of the night.

With a furious burst of movement Draco sprang off the couch and towards the portrait hole. The iron clad control that had earned him a reputation as someone hard and cold had finally snapped, and before he had even registered what his body had decided for him, he was out the door and half way down the hall.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Harry strode down the corridor. He wore nothing but a pair of green silk pajama bottoms, and they had been hastily pulled on. He had simply acted without thinking, and had not even thought to bring his wand with him. There was only one thing he could focus on, one thing he could recall with absolute clarity, and that was the look of heady desire that had caused Draco's cold grey eyes to smolder with heat.

Rounding the corner, Harry yelped as he collided with another person. The impact jarred his glasses from his face, and he could only blink owlishly at the taller boy, unable to make out anything except the size and colouring of the stranger.

Draco growled low in his throat, and with bruising hands knocked Harry back against the wall.

The impact drove the wind out of Harry, and as he opened his mouth to suck in air, Draco exploited the weakness, his mouth hard and demanding against Harry's.