Wand Light
By Stacy Galore
Disclaimer: Based on the works of J.K. Rowling and Stephenie Meyer. I do not benefit financially from the electronic distribution and archival of this story; nor do I own the rights to the characters depicted therein – I just play with them.
Warnings: This story contains material suitable for mature readers only, including strong language, explicit sex, and graphic violence. As the introduction alludes, this story is heavily laden with delicious slash (male homosexual relationships).
Chapter 4: Vanilla
Malfoy's eyes were silver and shining brightly despite the scarcity of light behind the curtains of Harry's four-poster bed as if illuminated by a fire within – a flame that burned for Harry. Malfoy's pale skin shone too, like the white moon, but no warmth radiated from it as it should have. When Malfoy tenderly placed his long, slender fingers around Harry's neck, they were ice cold. Harry shivered, not from Draco's frigid touch, but from the delicious electric surge that it sent up his spine. The deadly combination of Malfoy's stare and his caress could have completely undone Harry on their own, but with the addition of Draco's fluidly sensual voice, it was his ultimate destruction. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, Potter."
Harry awoke in the middle of the night drenched in his own sweat and semen. Fucking hell. The last time he had a wet dream like that, he was thirteen, and it most certainly wasn't about a boy.
Harry prayed that Malfoy wouldn't show up to class on Monday, but if he was well enough for quidditch trials, he was well enough to return to class. Sure enough, the boy was present in their first-hour class, but thankfully paid no mind to Harry. When Malfoy wasn't in the Great Hall for lunch, Harry hoped that his illness had relapsed. This thought was slightly comforting as he began to dread Herbology. Between the sexual fantasies, the nocturnal emissions, and the incident above the quidditch pitch, he had a lot to be secretly embarrassed about. Harry didn't particularly want to face his personal savior and the object of his strange new desires. He purposely arrived at the greenhouse a bit late, hoping his partner was absent. The first thing he spotted as he entered through the rear door of the glass building was the back of Malfoy's white-blonde head. Shit.
He slowly took off his robe, clandestinely sniffed his under-arm, and decided his scent was not offensive. He hung his robe on the back of his stool and sat down quietly – as if being inconspicuous was actually going to prevent Malfoy from talking to his Herbology partner. Malfoy turned to Harry, completely at ease, and spoke casually without the usual malice. "Our flitterbloom sprouts are looking well." As friendly as his words were, it disturbed Harry greatly. Things were far from normal if Malfoy wasn't sneering and hurling a spiteful insult at him.
"Our flitterbloom sprouts?" asked Harry, bitterly. Malfoy had some nerve to leave in the middle of class, disappear for a whole week and then claim the fruits of Harry's hard labor for himself. The little pots sitting on the workbench in front of Malfoy had tiny green tendrils peeking out of the soil, wriggling like verdant worms. "My flitterbloom sprouts look great. Yours didn't germinate."
"Didn't you water them?" asked Malfoy with a boyish tinge of disappointment in his voice.
"No," he answered a little more defensively than was necessary. Harry made the mistake of looking at the other boy in the face and saw Malfoy's faint eyebrows furrow with hurt. He couldn't help but feel guilty and was about to apologize, then remembered it was Malfoy – that Slytherin wasn't going to get credit for slacking off. "You weren't here," said Harry with a scowl.
"I thought we were partners," Malfoy said with an irresistibly pathetic pout.
Harry shook his head in disbelief. Had he entered an alternate universe in which Malfoy actually acknowledged a partnership between two sworn enemies without a fight? Hadn't Malfoy been so sickened by the thought of it a week ago that he lost house points whilst making his displeasure known to the entire class? Who the hell was this amiable (and attractive) blond boy sitting next to Harry? It certainly could not have been Draco Malfoy. Because in the real world, Malfoy would have rather seen his flitterbloom seeds die then let 'Saint Potter' put his 'filthy' Gryffindor hands on them.
Professor Sprout walked around the greenhouse assessing the seedlings of each pair. When she reached Harry and Malfoy, she shook her head. "Mr. Potter, this is just as much an exercise in working with others as it is a lesson on flitterbloom rearing. Mr. Malfoy's absence should not have had any bearing on your commitment to the project. I'm afraid I'll have to detract five points from Gryffindor."
Malfoy's grin was so self-satisfied and smug that Harry could have hexed his face off right then and there, losing five hundred points for Gryffindor. Was this Malfoy's underhanded plot all along? What the boy said next really threw Harry for a loop. "That's OK, Professor. I can make up the work after class. I'm sure I can get a few more seeds to germinate this week," said Malfoy, sweetly, with a saccharine smile to match.
Harry could have sworn he saw a faint blush spread across the Herbology teacher's cheeks as she giggled coyly. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy. How very good of you. I'll retract the point deduction from Gryffindor and award twenty points to Slytherin."
"You'll help me, won't you Harry?" said Malfoy with the same convincingly gorgeous smile and persuasive, honey-toned voice.
What the fuck is going on here! Harry surely must have been dreaming. Did Malfoy just offer to do more work? Did Malfoy just help Gryffindor earn back points? Did Malfoy just openly ask him for assistance and address him as Harry? His heart stopped from the shock and he gaped unabashedly at the boy.
"Harry?" The word rolled off Malfoy's tongue so easily and lightly, it was as if they'd been best mates for ages. "You'll stay and help, right?"
He was so caught off-guard, all Harry could do was say stiffly, "Erm, yeah."
Malfoy beamed. That sly bastard was up to something. Harry was sure of it. He spent the next few minutes brooding over what the other boy could possibly be plotting, barely paying attention to Professor Sprout's lecture.
"As I mentioned last week, flitterbloom is almost identical in appearance to a certain more notorious plant, but not nearly as dangerous. Who can remember which plant I mean?" said Sprout from the front of the greenhouse, pointing at two large bell jars on her workbench.
Harry faintly noticed a hand shoot up eagerly from the front of the classroom. "Devil's snare."
"Right you are, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor. And for another ten points, can somebody else tell me the key difference between flitterbloom and devil's snare?" Professor Sprout scanned the room. From all the way in the back of the greenhouse, Harry could tell it pained Hermione to keep from raising her hand. "Very well. Miss Granger, can you tell us?"
"Of course, professor. Flitterbloom tendrils will wrap themselves around inanimate objects only, much like a creeping vine. Whereas devil's snare will seek out, constrict, and extract the essence of other living things, like an epiphytic plant."
"Correct again, Granger. As you all can see from these two specimens I have before me, one cannot differentiate the two just by looking at them out of their natural habitat.
When encountering them in the wild, it is important to note the substrate upon which the specimen lives. Is it creeping up a rock, or around the trunk of a dying tree?
Of course, as saplings, it is almost impossible to tell the two apart without a little careful experimentation. Even as young shoots, your specimens exhibit the characteristic coiling ability."
The professor lifted the bell jars off the plants. She took a quill and teased at one of the small plants and declared, "Devil's snare," after the plant wiggled but did nothing else. She baited the quill around the other plant and it reached out its leafy tendrils to coil around the quill. "Flitterbloom." She unwrapped the plant, loosening her quill.
"You see, it wants nothing to do with me. Now you try it. Find your strongest and most promising sprouts by doing a bit of experimenting yourselves. The weaklings will show very little inclination to coil – you can pull those out."
The room was buzzing with students excited to tease their baby plants with any inanimate object they could find. Harry turned his back on Malfoy and distractedly baited some of the saplings with his quill while Malfoy did the same.
"Erm, Harry, I think we've got devil's snare instead of flitterbloom," said Malfoy.
Harry turned around. One of the flitterbloom tendrils was coiling around Malfoy's lithe finger. "You're full of shit," said Harry. He pointed his quill at another tendril from the same plant and it coiled around the tip.
Malfoy used the tip of his wand to unwrap the tendril from his finger. Then, with his index finger, he stroked the shoot of another sapling in an entirely separate pot and the plant coiled around him too. Maybe Malfoy wasn't full of shit after all. "Weird, eh?"
"Yeah. . . Weird," concurred Harry as he watched another offshoot from the same plant wrap around his wand. "Hey, Hermione, come here for a sec," he called across the room. She walked over and exchanged scathing looks with Malfoy. "Did you say flitterbloom is attracted to both inanimate objects and living things?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, Harry. I clearly said-"
"I heard exactly what the mud-blood said. Devil's snare is attracted to living things. Flitterbloom is attracted to non-living things. I'm not stupid. I don't need to be told twice," Malfoy said in a huff, more directed towards Hermione than Harry. "We must have some kind of mutant hybrid."
"What? Let me see that," she said skeptically as she reached for one of the pots. She ran her finger up the writhing stalk of the plant, but it only withered away, as if tickled. "Are you trying to put one on us, Malfoy? Because it isn't funny in the slightest. You're just wasting precious class time."
"Would you quit blathering on, Granger, and look at this?" Malfoy spat. He did the same exact thing Hermione did to the same exact plant and its tendrils wrapped themselves lovingly around his finger. "I told you."
Despite the hard evidence in front of her, Hermione scoffed, "Well, that's impossible. Unless you're dead, but quite unfortunately, you are not."
"Anything's possible. It's what we wizards like to call magic," Malfoy replied condescendingly.
Hermione huffed with her arms crossed over her chest and glared at the blond boy whilst talking to Harry. "If you need help thinning out your flitterblooms, Harry, I'm sure my partner can manage on her own for a few minutes."
Harry sighed, "No, I'll be ok." Hermione walked away, looking wearily over her shoulder at Harry's partner.
Malfoy smirked and drawled, "I'm so damn irresistible, even the bloody flitterblooms can't keep themselves off me. Wouldn't you agree, Harry?" He put special emphasis on speaking Harry's name, sensually drawing out the 'h' and suggestively raising an eyebrow.
In all his life, Harry had never heard anyone speak his name with such lust. He blushed and crouched over his flitterbloom, distractedly picking out little stalks at random, while fighting the resurgence of a particular image in his mind. Though he somehow managed to not picture Malfoy with his trousers down, the voice inside his head rang as clearly as he'd heard it in his dream, I'm going to fuck you so hard, Potter, drawing out the words so hungrily, making his subconscious sigh a wanton yes.
Malfoy chuckled softly to himself. "Hmm. I thought so."
"What did you say?" asked Harry defensively, having been snapped out of his Malfoy daydream by the real Malfoy.
"I said, I'm so damn irresistible, even-"
Harry cut him off, "No, not that. The other thing."
Malfoy quickly rattled-off a recap of the conversation, gesturing with his hands back and forth. "I said, wouldn't you agree, and you said, yes, and I said, I thought so."
"But I didn't." Harry was positive that he didn't utter the word 'yes' out loud. He thought it. But he definitely didn't say it out loud.
"Oh, but you did," said Malfoy smugly, "I heard you say yes. And you said it seriously too. Like you really, really meant it." The boy was gloating and giving Harry that god damned sexy smirk again.
"No I didn't," insisted Harry, with very little conviction.
"Whatever, Potter," he sighed haughtily, rolling his silver eyes. "I'm not a fucking mind-reader. I heard you. You agreed."
Oh, so now he was Potter again? "You've lost it, Malfoy. Ever since the start of term, you've been acting like you've gone mental. Just stop whatever shit you're trying to pull because I'm not in the fucking mood for it," Harry hissed through gritted teeth.
"Temper, temper," Malfoy wagged his finger at Harry disapprovingly. Then his eyes turned a shade darker. "You'd better watch it, Saint Potter, or you'll give yourself an aneurism and die before you get the chance to save the wizarding world."
Mr. Arsehole Malfoy was back with a vengeance. Thank Merlin for that! Now Harry knew he was in the correct universe. He was actually happy to spar with the boy, for a day without Malfoy being a whiny bitch wasn't much of a day at all.
"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry said dismissively.
"By the way, do you bathe in a vat of vanilla ice cream or something?" Malfoy asked, highly offended, "You fucking reek of it, Potter. Every god damn day. It makes me so god damned hungry every fucking time I'm near you." He spoke as if Harry were purposely making his life a living hell just by smelling like something so benign as vanilla.
"Excuse me?" Harry asked, completely affronted. He noticed Malfoy's eyes had gone from silver to dark grey. "It isn't vanilla. It's lavender."
Malfoy asked rhetorically with a condescending sneer, "Didn't anybody ever tell you how gay it is for boys to wear perfume?"
"I'm not wearing perfume," Harry spat indignantly, "It's soap. The same soap everybody uses in the Gryffindor baths."
"Merlin's balls, it makes me want to . . . to, erm. . ." Malfoy screwed up his face, bit his bottom lip, and then threw his hands up with frustration. "Fucking hell, I don't even want to think about what it makes me want to do. Just stop using whatever it is that you slather yourself with. I can't work with you like this."
Mental – completely and utterly mental, Harry thought. Malfoy was out of his bloody mind. He'd crossed that threshold of intriguing Harry and gone into the realm of scaring him. Harry moved his stool further away from the other boy and said cautiously, "All right then. I guess we don't really have to make up the work after class," hoping that Malfoy would agree.
But he didn't, surprisingly. Malfoy moved his stool closer to Harry's and said, "No. No, we should. We really should work on our project." All this we business was really frightening Harry – Malfoy was definitely not right in the head if he was grouping himself with Harry in the same pronoun. "My last class ends at three. If you're free, we should come back to the greenhouse. Then we could germinate a whole new crop of flitterblooms – ours is obviously genetically impure." He said the last words as if this fact disgusted him as much as 'mud-bloods' did.
Harry was reluctant to meet Malfoy alone – it wasn't just the fear of a subversive plot, but a reluctance to be around him in the absence of others to buffer the tension between them. It would be awkward, to say the least. But if Harry was good at anything, it was his uncanny ability to get himself into brutally awkward situations despite himself. He said reluctantly, "Yeah, OK. But make it four o'clock. And you'd better eat something beforehand. I don't want you freaking out on me again."
After Harry's last hour of classes, he rushed back to the Gryffindor dormitories and took a long bath, foregoing soap all together, letting the near-boiling water practically sterilize his skin. Then he went to the greenhouse and prayed for the best. Malfoy was already there, preparing little pots of soil, and said, "Good. You're early," as Harry opened the door. He took off his robe and sweater so that he wouldn't perspire in the hot greenhouse and potentially set off another olfactory freak-out.
Malfoy sniffed. "Are you positive you don't use anything vanilla-scented on yourself?"
"Positive. Are you certain it's vanilla that you smell?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Fortescue's French vanilla ice cream is my most favorite food in the entire world. And you smell exactly like that. Exactly."
"Are you sure it's me you smell?"
"It's definitely you. I smelled you coming." Malfoy smirked.
Harry was so disturbed by what Malfoy had just said that he clumsily knocked over a row of pots, sending them crashing to the floor in a mess of broken ceramic and soil. He crouched down to pick up the shards.
"What are you doing? Use your wand, stupid," said Malfoy.
"I don't know any cleaning spells," admitted Harry.
Malfoy chuckled, "Actually, neither do I. Here, let me help." He bent down to pick up the broken pieces of the pot.
The jagged edge of one of the pottery shards cut Harry's palm as he was sweeping his hand over the floor. "Ouch. Shit," he cursed. He looked down at his hand and saw a small but deep gash oozing a slight rivulet of blood. Harry thought he heard a low, quiet growl, and the next thing he knew, Malfoy was tackling him.
Harry was flat on his back. Malfoy had pinned him down by the wrists and was straddling him, glaring at him ravenously with steely eyes. His blonde fringe fell over his pale face and he looked pained with some unknown desire.
"What the fuck are you doing, Malfoy?" Harry asked, staring up at the boy with alarm.
"What the fuck are you doing, Potter?" Malfoy asked with an angry, accusatory tone. "You're driving me fucking insane. You saunter in here, reeking like vanilla, and you make me want to . . . to . . ."
"What? Spit it out. Do you want to vomit? Get some ice cream? What?" Harry asked exasperatedly.
Malfoy's eyes rolled back and his eyelids fluttered closed. He sighed wantonly with that liquid gold voice, "I just want to fucking eat you," then pressed his lips against Harry's in a hungry kiss.
Harry couldn't help but fall into the kiss, welcoming the other boy with his eager moans. Nobody had ever kissed him like that – like Malfoy was indeed devouring him. The kiss was angry and spiteful, and at the same time lustful - full of teeth and lashing tongues. There was something very wrong and strange about the kiss, besides the fact that Harry was kissing another boy. Everything about Malfoy was cold – his lips, the inside of his mouth, his breath. Malfoy was still grasping both of Harry's wrists tightly and his hands felt like cold metal shackles. Though kissing Malfoy was bizarre and utterly wrong, it felt so fucking good. Harry could feel Malfoy's erection through his trousers growing against his and he wanted to touch the other boy so badly it was shameful. This was Draco Bloody Malfoy, the bane of Harry's life at school, and it was wrong wrong wrong wrong WRONG! He could be kissing a Death Eater, somebody who was helping Voldemort, somebody who ultimately wanted Harry dead.
"Let . . . go . . . of me," Harry panted as he gasped for air between kisses.
"No. If I let you go, you'll make me stop." Malfoy's voice was quivering and reflected the same shameful desire that Harry felt. He lay atop Harry, motionless, with such pain in his dark grey eyes.
Harry gazed up at him, entranced by Malfoy's exquisite face. It was like looking up at a marble statue of a beautiful tragic hero from a Grecian epic. And then Harry realized his heart ached from the thought of ending this right now, the thought that he may never kiss those lovely, soft lips ever again. "I don't want you to stop," whispered Harry, "I just want to touch you."
Malfoy eased his grip off of Harry's wrists and slowly sat up. Harry was breathless and panting, but Malfoy breathed easily – it was embarrassing. Harry wished his eagerness wasn't so obvious. But it was impossible not to be completely enthralled by Malfoy's electric presence, impossible not to crave skin-to-skin contact. Harry cautiously reached up and took Malfoy's cheek in his quivering hand. His face felt perfectly smooth, like cold, polished stone. Malfoy tenderly took Harry's hand, weaved his own fingers between Harry's and turned his face to kiss the underside of Harry's wrist. Harry had forgotten about the cut on his palm and saw that he'd left a smudge of blood on Malfoy's cheek that contrasted starkly against the boy's pallor.
Malfoy closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath through his slightly parted lips, still holding Harry's wrist to his mouth. He whispered, "Harry, you have no idea what you do to me." He traced a line on Harry's wrist with the tip of his tongue and the sensation of his cool, wet flesh against Harry's skin was incredible. Malfoy licked Harry's palm, right over the cut, and the boy's eyes flashed open, startling Harry with their terrifying glow. He unceremoniously dropped Harry's hand and grabbed fists full of his sweater. Malfoy's eyes shone with a thirst that was animalistic and carnal as he groaned, "I need to have you right now."
Harry heard Malfoy speak these words before, but to Katie Bell. It cheapened the moment. Harry felt that Malfoy was using a standard pickup line on him. Of course Harry wasn't special. He was just another conquest. What better trophy than snagging The Chosen One? Harry tried to prise Malfoy's hands off him. "No. I won't be another notch in your belt."
"Harry, please," Malfoy moaned, "I've never wanted anyone so badly in my life."
"So you expect me to gladly bend over for you after one kiss? Oh, and I'm straight, by the way. And I'm Harry Potter. And you're Draco Malfoy. And we hate each other, remember?"
"I can't help how I feel," Malfoy said, now breathing a little more quickly. He subtly shifted himself and the substantial bulge in his trousers brushed against Harry's lap. He lowered himself onto Harry and started kissing his neck. The sensations the other boy was eliciting were overwhelming, threatening to tear away Harry's apprehensions. "I need you, Harry. It's like my life depends on it, like I'll die if I can't have you."
These words coming from Draco Malfoy's lips, as delicious as they sounded, could not possibly be true. Harry rolled the boy off of him and said, his voice still quivering with unresolved desire, "No. I'm not an idiot. This is the most blatantly obvious trap that's ever been laid before me." He stood up and dusted himself off.
Malfoy got up and leaned over the workbench with a pathetic look of ennui on his face, hunched over like his stomach hurt. "I know how it appears. But I swear to Merlin, it's how I really feel. Believe me Harry; it's as unfathomable to me as it is to you. And I fought these feelings from the very beginning. If I had a choice, do you think I'd want to fall in love with my enemy?" Malfoy scrunched his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if struggling with an internal conflict.
Things were quickly becoming a soap-operatic farce, along the lines of Mid-summer Night's Dream. Harry scoffed, "Love? Are you kidding me? Don't you think that's a bit much? And rather sudden?"
Malfoy stood up, grasped Harry's arms and stared him down with his piercing eyes. Harry turned uncomfortably to look away, unwilling to let the power of the other boy's glare affect him again. Malfoy said with desperation in his voice. "You're right, Potter. I don't know what kind of spell or what kind of love potion you slipped me, but you're killing me. That's what you wanted, isn't it? It wasn't good enough for you to be better than me at everything. You just had to get your payback for whatever I'd done to make you hate me so much. And you fucking won. Again. Because Harry Potter always wins. I concede. So, for the love of Merlin, stop now. Before I kill myself. Or is that what you had intended?"
Harry was dumbfounded and stood silent with his mouth open. "What?"
Malfoy was now quite angry and back to his usual spiteful self. "You did something to me when you hid in my train compartment."
Still quite flabbergasted, Harry stuttered, "N-n-no."
Malfoy redirected his grasp to the front of Harry's shirt, pulling at it like he was rearing to fight. "Come off it, Potter. Why is it that, out of the fucking blue, I think you're the most beautiful thing in the world? Why, in Merlin's name, would I suddenly want to fuck your brains out? And why the fuck would I fall in love with you, Potter?" he spat out Harry's surname like it was the foulest word in the English language.
"I, erm, I don't understand it myself," Harry said meekly. He was at a loss for words, stunned at everything Malfoy had confessed, and secretly quite flattered.
"I don't know whether to kick you in the face again, hex you, or kiss you," said Malfoy.
Harry felt the last option would cause the least pain and said cautiously, bracing himself for the worst, "Erm, kiss me?"
"OK," said Malfoy, in a comically abrupt change of mood. Then Malfoy's mouth was on Harry's again, sending the most delightful rush throughout his body.
Harry's raging teen-age hormones were getting the best of him and he didn't care anymore if Malfoy was under a curse, influenced by a potion, or simply delusional – it felt too damn good to stop. Apparently, Malfoy was operating under the same pretext. Malfoy took Harry's face in his hands as he kissed him roughly, quite literally taking his breath away. Harry wondered how Malfoy could kiss him for so long without needing to breathe. He was getting light-headed, though he didn't want to take his lips off of the other boy. So he made a trail of kisses from Malfoy's lips to his ear, marveling at how cool his skin felt while Harry was working up a sweat. Malfoy left wet, toothy, bruising kisses on Harry's neck as he smoothed his hands over the front of his sweater. Even through layers of fabric, Harry wilted from his touch, moaning softly into Malfoy's ear, licking the small, fleshy lobe. Malfoy placed his hands on Harry's hips and guided him backwards until he met the workbench behind them. As they snogged frantically, Malfoy's fingers moved quickly and adeptly to unbuckle Harry's belt and to unbutton his trousers before he caught on to what was happening.
Harry recoiled and gasped, "What are you doing?" as he put his hands on Malfoy's to stop them from completely undoing his trousers.
"It's OK, Harry," he groaned into Harry's neck. Malfoy's cold breath chilled him.
Harry stiffened with panic. "I don't think I like where this is going."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow as he smirked lasciviously and purred, "Oh, you'll like it Potter." He swiftly unzipped Harry's trousers.
Harry froze. The screaming voice of reason in the back of his mind was getting louder, overriding the blinding effects of arousal. Malfoy slowly dropped to his knees, slyly pulling Harry's trousers down with him. "I'm not ready for this," said Harry, his voice cracking, as he yanked his trousers back up.
"I beg to differ, Harry," said Malfoy, gazing up at him reverently, his fluidly sexual voice and his slate eyes working their magic on Harry. He slid his hand up the inside of Harry's leg until it reached his crotch. He grazed the bulge in Harry's trousers with his hand as he grasped his inner thigh. "You're undeniably hard for me."
Malfoy was right. But Harry didn't want things to escalate any further. The kiss alone was difficult to process. Being a Gryffindor, Harry wasn't one to think things through thoroughly before acting. But the consequences of what he'd already done were probably grave as it was, without adding on . . . well, whatever Malfoy was planning on doing to him. Furthermore, Harry wasn't very experienced – the furthest he'd ever gone was feeling up Cho in the Room of Requirement. Malfoy was the first boy he'd kissed – he'd never been attracted to other boys before. That in and of itself was too much for Harry to handle.
Harry slipped away between the workbench and Malfoy, and then swiftly moved to the safety of the other side of the table. "This isn't right."
Malfoy stood up and leaned over the workbench, resting casually on his elbows, smiling at Harry amusedly. "Why's that?"
"For starters, I think you're a prat," said Harry.
"Yeah, so what? I think you're a twat. But that doesn't mean I don't want to fuck you senseless," replied Malfoy with a provocative grin.
Harry tried not to let Malfoy's last sentence register in his head. But it had already taken immediate effect on his nether-regions, threatening to, once again, overtake his logical mind and make him give in to the boy with every inch of his sex-starved body. Calm down, Harry, and focus, he said to himself. "I don't trust you."
Malfoy looked hurt. "Harry, I know I've been a right evil bastard to you in the past. But I saved your life the other day. I think you could cut me a little bit of slack."
"That makes me trust you even less." Harry bombarded him with questions, "Why did you lie about it to my team? Why won't you admit that you were watching me from the stands when I fell? Why are you being so shady about how you got to me fast enough to save me from hitting the ground?"
Malfoy answered with another question. "Why can't it be enough that I saved you?"
Harry shook his head. He knew Malfoy wasn't going to confess anything. "It's too weird – all of this." Harry got up from the table and started to put his sweater back on. "Look. Let's just forget this happened. Everything. And I do mean everything." He kept his head down, knowing that if he let his eyes fall on Malfoy, it would make him think twice. Harry took his robe and walked out, leaving Malfoy sulking on the workbench.
When Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room, he got the impression that he was walking into a tense situation. Students were sitting around in huddled groups with worried faces. Some girls were crying. He spotted Ron and Hermione, who immediately ran up to him. "Harry, where have you been? Dumbledore's wants you for questioning," said Hermione. "You'd better go to his office straight away."
"Questioning for what? What did I do?" asked Harry, confused and a little nervous that he'd done something wrong. . . well, he had done something wrong. But maybe he'd done something else.
Hermione answered in surprise, "Haven't you heard? Katie Bell's gone missing. She hasn't been seen since Friday evening."
Harry's stomach lurched as if he were punched in the stomach. He felt incredibly guilty, so much that he began to panic internally. "So, erm, why am I being questioned?"
Hermione replied, "Apparently, you're one of the last people she talked to. And Dumbledore wants to know if she told you she was going to quidditch trials or not."
"Erm, I don't remember. I was talking to a bunch of people from the team after classes on Friday. I know she didn't tell me she wasn't coming. But I don't remember her telling me she was. I just assumed everybody was," said Harry, trying to un-fog his memory of that conversation, which was overshadowed by a more stark memory of Katie Bell involving a certain blond Slytherin.
Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulder encouragingly, "Well, try to remember. Think about it on the way to Dumbledore's. Do you want us to walk with you?"
Distractedly, Harry said, "No, that's alright," as he walked away, deep in thought already. His immediate gut reaction was to not tell Dumbledore about Katie and Malfoy. Part of his reasoning was selfish – he really didn't want Dumbledore to know that he was spying on the pair having it off with each other while he was under the invisibility cloak. And part of him, a completely irrational and biased part of him, wanted to protect Malfoy. There had to be a good explanation. Maybe Malfoy left her in the Room of Requirement and she couldn't find her way back out. Maybe the shame of shagging the epitome of Slytherin asshole-ness drove her into hiding. Harry decided he wasn't going to tell Dumbledore until he knew for sure for himself that Malfoy was indeed responsible for her disappearance.
But how was he going to do that? If he asked Malfoy about it, he'd have to admit that he was spying on him, and that was even more humiliating than telling it to Dumbledore. Harry would just have to do a bit of sleuthing. After talking briefly with Dumbledore, he looked for Malfoy on the Marauder's Map before heading to dinner. The boy wasn't in the greenhouse anymore, nor was he in the Great Hall. He wasn't in the Slytherin Dungeon either. Harry searched every inch of the map. Malfoy was nowhere to be found.
Author's Note: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know there is a huge discrepancy between Wand Light and Twilight that probably has all the Twi-hards up in arms. I know Edward could not hear Bella's thoughts. But can Draco hear Harry's? Maybe. Anyway, as always, if you don't review, I won't write. A million thanks to my lovely betas, Kyari, Sara, and John - I'm an insolent little Slytherin who doesn't always listen to what you have to say, but I appreciate it enormously. And more thanks to everybody who reviewed previous chapters.
Another Important Note: I expect that things are going to get super hot and sexy in later chapters. Maybe a little too hot for FanFiction dot net. I have been posting this story on AdultFanFiction dot net as well. So if you want to read the smutty version of Wand Light and you are at least 18-years-old, go over to that archive. It is listed in the following subheadings of Harry Potter: AU/AR, Male/Male, Harry/Draco. If you switch over to the dark side, or I should say dirty side, be a doll and leave reviews for me there too, OK.
