Whooaaaa! I'm updating on time! WHOOO.
Disclaimer: Fuck I would love to own Harry Potter. But I don't. That's Queen Rowling's job.
Warning: Again, gay sex and what not. Not in this chapter, but eventually. Get out now while you still can.
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It was beyond awkward.
Harry twisted the wrist that was slowly losing feeling due to lack of blood. Noticing this, Draco begrudgingly slackened his grip so that Harry could feel his veins start to work again, the numbness tingling a little.
They sat like that for a minute, neither of them moving or saying anything, simply waiting for their headmistress to make an appearance. 'This would not do,' Harry thought to himself. He wasn't really one to sit in silence- especially not one as awkward as this. And he'll be damned if he'll have to sit in others like this until the spell was lifted.
Picking up the courage he needed, Harry opened his mouth to speak.
"Absolutely not, Potter." Draco cut him off. Harry's face fell.
"You don't even know what I was about to say!"
"I knew that you were going to say something incredibly Gryffindor and make us try to cooperate and get along for just as long as we are stuck under this spell. Well let me tell you something, Potter," Malfoy turned to him, his silver eyes illuminating with a spark. "I don't like you. And I am not, under any circumstances, going to stop tormenting you or act any different than how I acted toward you before. Even if it means catching whomever did this to us. Nothing has changed between us. Got it?"
Harry blinked at the sudden rant. "G-got it."
Draco sighed, leaning forward to rest his chin in his left hand. They went quiet once more for a moment. "This sucks," the blonde commented lamely.
"No shit."
"Bite me."
"I'd rather not, thanks."
Draco snorted, "Yeah, never mind on my part either. I'd rather not catch any of your diseases."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You're such a wanker."
"No more than you are, Scarhead." Harry bit his tongue. For some reason, he had gotten the feeling that arguing this could only result in another spilt lip. So he didn't.
But with this rose another problem; awkward silence again. Harry was already getting bored of their 'awkward-silence-than-punching-each-other' routine. A routine that was only in its second round.
A good ten minutes went by without a stir.
There was a loose thread on the bedding, Harry noticed. He had been staring at it for five minutes now, mentally judging it's durability. Fuck it. He reached out and began pulling on it, soon discovering it was a very tough thread to rip, and that it was very easy to pull and ruin the make of the blanket. After a minute, Draco spoke up. "Stop that." He scolded. And here go the punches again.
"Stop what?"
"Th-" Draco began as he lifted the hand around Harry's wrist to smack at the thread. Their hands caught though, Draco bringing Harry's hand with it consequentially. Draco scowled, beginning to try and flick their hands apart. Well this is interesting.
Harry quirked an eyebrow as he watched the blonde slowly become more and more frustrated, letting his hand go limp in amusement. "That's not going to work." He informed him eventually.
"I know!" Draco exclaimed, his hand giving one last violent shake in anger before dropping it to the bed. Harry's hand stayed with him the whole way. "That's fucking annoying." He grumbled.
"I thought it was quite entertaining."
Draco glared at him. "I'd punch you so hard right now if I could."
Harry chuckled, only making Draco's glare harden. "I don't think that'd get us anywhere. Save for on the bad side of Madame Pomfrey."
"It'd sure cheer me up to give you a black eye to match that lip." Draco pointed out bitterly. Harry brought his free hand to feel the little slit. It was a little bit sore, but it didn't really hurt much. He reached over to the nightstand where he spotted his wand.
As he brought the tip up to fix it, he caught Draco watching his lip very intently. It was that indescribable expression that made Harry freeze, feeling very self-conscious. "Wh-what?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
Draco snapped out of his trance, blinking to catch Harry's gaze. His face tinted a little bit, mumbling, "...Nothing," very meekly.
Harry's eyebrows furrowed even deeper for a moment before he decided to drop it and cure his lip. Fuck if he was ever going to truly understand the blonde. The faint tingling as the skin on his lip mended itself tickled, and he had to bite it to soothe the feeling.
Draco began looking over to the nightstand. "Where's my wand?" Taking a wise guess, Harry pointed to the nightstand next to where Draco was sleeping. Draco summoned it to him before casting a spell to heal the bruise on his cheekbone.
The weirdest sensation flooded over Harry as it happened. Or rather, the loss of sensation. More like a drain than a flood. It seemed that as Draco's bruise faded, a very peculiar feeling in him faded as well. He felt a little bit lighter than he had, yet he didn't know he had felt weighted down in the first place.
It was extremely peculiar.
Draco seemed very lost in his own thoughts; so even if Harry had considered asking about it, which he definitely didn't, he wouldn't have been able to.
A moment later, the door opened revealing McGonagall in her emerald robes and a very testy mood.
"Profess-" Harry began, about to inquire about what was troubling the headmistress.
"Never you mind, Potter." Harry bit his lip to keep from asking again. "Now boys, I don't have much time, but there are a few things we need to discuss. First would be your housing arrangements-"
"Which house will we be staying in? Slytherin or Gryffindor?" Draco asked impatiently. McGonagall pursed her lips.
"Neither." Draco pouted, a little put-out. "It would be unfair to one of you if we picked the other's house. No, you will be staying in a guest suite on the sixth floor. And as for class, we have arranged a new schedule for you both, so that you will have all of your classes together."
Draco furrowed his eyebrows, a little smirk playing at his lips, "I take Advanced Ancient Runes, Professor. Are you saying Potter will take up the class as well?"
Harry glared at him, knowing full well that Draco was laughing at the image of 'The Boy Who Lived' struggling through the demanding class. McGonagall shook her head, "No; Potter will attend the class, but he will not be enrolled in it." Harry couldn't help but feel kind of glad for that. He wouldn't admit it to Malfoy in a million years, but he really wouldn't be able to take that class. Even with all of the help Hermione would be bound to offer. "Now, if you'd follow me, I will show you to your room." McGonagall swiftly ushered them with her hand and turned to leave out of the door without them.
At her word the boys stood up obediently; Harry stood back to let Draco take the lead. Harry questioned the strange feeling as the Slytherin pulled on his hand for only a moment. Draco stiffened, noticing the same thing, side-turned his body back toward Harry urgently, as though trying to disprove his suspicion as fast as possible.
Somehow, without either of them knowing, they had interlocked their fingers.
Their eyes widened as they looked fervently between the joined hands and each other, before Draco had the sense to swiftly released his grip to slide his hand neatly around Harry's wrist. Harry swallowed thickly, trying not to blush more than he already was, and let Draco lead him out of the room.
Harry found it better to just forget that that just happened than to dwell on it any further. For his mental health's sake.
The walk up to the room was much longer than it should have been, even if they did have to climb six flights of stairs. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that it looked like he and Malfoy were holding hands as they made their way through the castle. And they were following the very tetchy headmistress. Plus he was in pajamas.
All in all, it was a rather sketchy sight for that third year who was on his way to the bathrooms to see. Harry was certain rumors would be flying within ten minutes- if they hadn't already, that is. Which undoubtedly, they probably had. Harry wasn't certain as to how much of the story students knew. Hopefully, they only got the bare minimum- that he and Malfoy ended up in the hospital room together.
McGonagall practically paced down to the end corridor, into where the candles seemed to always die out and everything was shadowy and hard to see. Harry had only ever walked past this, never finding it in his curiosity to fully check it out. There was a very faint light coming from the left wall, which Harry noted was coming from a pure white spot on the sole painting that hung there. Was it moving?
Harry almost mentally slapped himself for that one; the paintings at Hogwarts always moved.
McGonagall lit her wand tip to illuminate the picture, so that Harry could finally distinct between what was what. It was of a pure white wolf in what looked to be deep jungle, painted with very dark, heavy strokes. It wasn't until a black figure stepped in front of the wolf Harry realized there was another one in the painting; pitch black with piercing green eyes. The black wolf stood proudly, guarding the white one from whatever corruption it saw in the humans.
"The password's 'cooperation'," McGonagall informed them, ignoring Malfoy's snort. The wolves lifted their ears for a moment, before letting the frame swing open like a door.
The room inside lit up to a luxurious black and white decor. It was hard to remember he was still in Hogwarts, with how modernized and un-Hogwarts-like this sitting area looked. There was even a kitchen to the left of them. Why would they need a kitchen with the Great Hall was just downstairs?
McGonagall told them, "You're excused from class today, but don't expect to skip tomorrow- you're both fine. Everything will go as was, though with your new schedules-"
"What about Quidditch?" Harry brought up, suddenly realizing there's no way both him and Draco could fly while stuck together.
McGonagall paused, "Well, the Gryffindor/Slytherin match has already taken place, so there's no need to worry about that. But as for your upcoming matches with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff..." She thought this over, "I'd suggest getting fill-ins for the time being, unless you're comfortable with letting the other on your broom whist in the game." Both boys gave each other equal scowls of what could only be described as 'ain't-gunna-happen'. McGonagall frowned. "Hopefully by the next match we'll get this cleared up. In the meantime, please focus most of your energy on finding whomever did this to you. I have been doing all that I can, but it's still all a great mystery. Why someone would want to do this...
"Now, I'm assuming neither of you have any idea as to how this could have happened? Or who could have done it?" She asked, her eyes doubtful, yet hopeful at the same time. They both shook their heads. Harry informed her of what he and Malfoy had last remembered the night they were attacked, as well as everything he and Hermione had gathered. She gave Malfoy a very impressed look when she discovered he can uncover certain blocked memories.
"I figured as much." She sighed, looking so old in that moment; a look which Harry was used to seeing on Dumbledore in his later years. "We've been searching the castle, but nothing suspicious has turned up. It must have been a student; you can see why it's difficult to pin someone with the information we've been given."
Harry smiled weakly at her, patting her arm, "We'll think of something, Professor."
She smiled back at him nostalgically, "I was counting on that." Harry simply smiled more truly and returned his hand to himself.
After holding her distinguished look at him for a moment, she turned to Draco. "Your mother has requested a meeting for Friday."
Draco's eyes widened, "But she-"
"Everything's been settled already; she'll have an Auror escort her." Harry tried to pretend he wasn't there listening to this, knowing both Draco and his mother have been on probation since the end of the war thanks to none other than Harry himself pleading their case to keep them out of Azkaban. He could hardly save Lucius, though; he'd done far too much in his past to be let off.
McGonagall huffed to herself, "Well, I must be going." She turned around, heading toward the painting. As she got there, she turned around to warn wisely, "And please, boys, I understand your history and everything, but do not pick fights with each other. You're already in way over your heads with this situation; there's no need to make things harder on yourself."
As she left, Draco was scoffing, his eyes narrowing in her vanished direction. "What's with these women? Asking us not to fight? That's like asking Peeves to stop throwing chalk at people."
Harry rolled his eyes at him, though let the subject drop again. If he voiced that he agreed with the headmistress that fighting will really get neither of them anywhere, they would only end up fighting about it; which would be both ironic and counterproductive. He began looking around the suite instead.
"Why is it so luxurious?" He scrutinized.
Draco narrowed his eyes, "You call this luxurious? Did you actually grow up in a cupboard?"
Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing at this statement, because it really wasn't all that funny, considering he'd been miserable at the time because of it. "Yes, actually. I did." Draco furrowed his blonde eyebrows, a little perplexed.
"I didn't expect Muggles were that poor." He said eventually, obviously unsure about whether Harry was being serious or not.
"They weren't poor; just horrible people."
Draco pursed his lips now, a hand resting on his hip in a very aristocratic manor, "You know, I could have sworn that was a rumor. And I could have sworn I'd started it, too." Harry shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, gazing around again at his surroundings. "But you know," Draco continued, unsatisfied with how little Harry had reacted to his last few jabs, "if I were them I would have locked you in a cupboard too. You were probably a right prat; going around saving all of the bugs the other kids liked to torture."
The Gryffindor dropped his expression dully, his eyes flashing toward the blonde once in annoyance. "I did not do any bug saving." He clarified.
"You still would have been a prat."
"Yeah, but I grew out of being a prat, unlike you."
"I'm a professional prat. I take pride in it."
Harry was about to retort, something about how that must come with being a Slytherin, when a new thought dawned on him. And it practically knocked him over in the process. "Are we making conversation?" He asked out loud, the sentence itself nothing less than... terrifying, really.
Draco froze as well as he realized that yeah, they were making conversation. Rude, harmful conversation, but conversation nonetheless. They were both really quiet after that, looking around at everything but each other. Awkward, again. But only verbal punches, so far.
Harry was in deep thought about well... he wasn't sure what- possibly how repetitive this all felt- when Draco suddenly started walking away, yanking him out of his stupor.
"Fuck- Malfoy!" He protested as said blonde made his way to the bedroom door, placed neatly on the left wall behind the kitchen. "At least warn me, will you?"
"I didn't feel like it." Malfoy spat simply, as though it was an obvious course of action to do. He continued dragging the Gryffindor unceremoniously behind him.
A twitch in Harry's jaw set off. "Fine." He yanked Malfoy in the other direction just before he had reached the door. Malfoy cursed as his whole body lurched backwards, almost making him fall to the floor. Harry smirked at the blonde looking up at him with tight lips.
Suddenly they both started to pull away from each other, springing on a very violent battle of tug-o-war. Their grip quickly slid so that they were only connected by their fingertips again, the skin there quickly beginning to pinch from the small amount of connected skin being pulled away so harshly. It was a very even match; which surprised Harry as he noted Malfoy's very thin figure, compared to Harry's own slightly muscular one. Draco had soon grabbed a hold on the doorframe, whereas Harry only had the less-than-sturdy couch as support. They pulled relentlessly away from each other, both of them determined to not let the other win.
Harry could feel all of his pent up frustration coming out of him. All of the feelings about this situation, about Malfoy, about the dickhead who got the pair of them into this situation, flooded into the forefront of his mind. He took this moment to let his anger overpower him, something he had been desperately trying to control since the end of the war.
He realized something there in those few moments of utter rage. He realized he definitely still didn't forgive the blonde for everything he had done in the past. A wave of emotion settled down in Harry's lower abdomen. He began to use it to his advantage.
As Harry started to tug with his new exertion of force, he began to feel his muscles start to quiver and shake uncontrollably. It was not even a second later that they burst violently into an unbearable heat.
This burning was agonizing. It was as if all of the blood in his body had been replaced with acid. His muscles were aching so horrifically he feared they would seize for an entire week. Within moments the burning seeped its way into his mind, his though process going completely fuzzy in the blind pain. His eyes blurred and lost focus.
This was something much more than the works of physical exertion; this had to be the work of the spell aching his muscles in such a way.
He felt Draco's pull quivering, and he knew the Slytherin must be experiencing the same torture.
The pain was too much for the blonde; he lost the hold he had on the doorframe of the bedroom. With the help of Harry's pull, the blonde lost his footing and flew straight at the Gryffindor. They crashed into each other, falling to the ground painfully quickly. Harry took most of the blow, landing on his back with the pressure of Draco on top of him.
To make matters worse, their bodies had automatically wrapped themselves around each other in a way that would take at least a minute to straighten out. It was almost as if they had been welded together; legs tangled, arms looped and pressed into each other, faces buries into each other's neck and panting as if they had ran a dozen laps around the Quidditch Pitch.
Lights and buzzers instantaneously went off in Harry's head. Malfoy's panting was right in his ear, tickling the peach fuzz and sending shivers up his spine. What was he doing not protesting this? He should shove Malfoy aside immediately!
Taking initiative, he tried to un-pry himself from the blonde's hold.
But he couldn't.
He quickly found that he physically couldn't let go. He tried to un-wedged his hand up off of Draco's back, only to have it suction cup itself back onto it. He understood why.
It was as if every section of skin pressed into each other was the antidote to their still aching bodies, doing so much more than just soothing them. Pure bliss was flowing through those spots where skin touched skin; he could feel the beautiful feeling seeping through their clothes as well. This feeling was so seraphic, so celestial it clouded his mind, making him forget that this was Draco sodding Malfoy. No, he couldn't let go. He needed to get closer.
He pressed his face that much harder into Malfoy's neck, breathing in that sweet, musky smell that fuzzed his mind more than the pain had even come close to. Malfoy let out a small moan from the pleasure of their skin pressing so firmly into one another's, his throat vibrating against Harry's nose. Desperate for more, they mutually pressed into each other firmer.
Harry couldn't help the nuzzling. He couldn't help the way his body was arching into the touch. He couldn't help the way he was gripping his hands into Draco's sides. It just all felt too good.
Harry wasn't certain how long they stayed like that. How long the basked in the feeling that this spell offered them when they remained in contact. His brain was too clouded from pure bliss. But eventually the fog began to clear.
As he started to come down from his high, Harry became more and more aware of their position- especially that breathing in his ear. He was starting to turn a very brilliant shade of red because of it. That delicious sensation was still over riding the urge to move, despite how completely awkward this will soon become. But he would shove the blonde off of him any minute now, and they can continue forgetting this situation even happened. Yes, they would do that. Any minute now. Like now. Why not now? He could do it now.
Then, Draco nuzzled his nose into a spot right under his ear, inhaling Harry's scent deeply.
It was possibly one of the most amazing feelings Harry has ever felt in his entire life. He gasped loudly, his toes curling, his brain fogging only enough to not care that this entire situation was completely wrong.
The gasp, however, seemed to wake Draco from his trance. The blonde pulled back quickly, shuffling backwards so that he was as far away from Harry as the spell would allow; connected by only their feet. He had his hand covering his mouth and pinching his nose, as if holding back an incredible urge to puke.
"This get's out... to no one." Draco eventually threatened through his hand and harsh pants, his finger out and emphasizing his every syllable. Harry swallowed through his own breathing, the horror of how he had reacted when Draco nuzzled his freaking neck seeping into him. His face was burning. He nodded up and down very quickly.
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