Ch 12 Not Over Yet

There was something amazing happening. Draco leaned into Harry, unwilling to break contact. The kiss lasted forever, but it still ended too soon. Harry leaned back reluctantly and sat on his heels. The color was high in his cheeks, and his glasses were askew. Self-consciously he set them right again. He was suddenly shy and unsure. Draco had kissed him back, but the blond boy was so unpredictable, even in this place. He looked up into Draco's face, trying to see what to expect next.

Draco was also nervous. He had just had one of his most secret desires handed to him, and it was every bit as wonderful as he thought it would be. Unfortunately, he couldn't stop to enjoy it. It felt like half his being was trying to tear itself to pieces, the other half struggling to hold on to sanity and life. The moment they had broken contact, his self deception had crumbled, and the dreadful compulsion was once again trying to take control of his body and mind.

He dropped back into the cross-legged position, his chin dropped to his chest; his balled up fists pressed down on his knees.. He wasn't going to lose himself again, not now. Not when the impossible was finally looking possible. He drew as deep a breath as he could, fighting for every bit of air. The effort seemed to be paying off; at least he wasn't flailing around, or pounding his head on the floor.

Harry watched Draco, saw the tension that made the cords stand out on his neck, the muscles flexing in his jaw. "Can I…can I help at all?" He asked, unable to stand it any longer.

Draco gave a short laugh through clenched teeth. "If you can figure out what the hell is wrong with me, it would be a start." He couldn't look up at Harry.

"How long has this been happening?" Again, the desire to reach out and touch Draco was difficult to resist. His hand came up, hovered above Draco's clenched fist. The thought that it might make things worse was all that stopped him.

"I think…since my father showed me the portrait." Another labored breath. "He must have done this to me, the bastard."

"I'll bet," growled Harry, his hatred for Lucius Malfoy tripling. He shifted restlessly. "There must be a way around it," he said, aware that he was babbling. "You were able to shut it off for a few minutes there."

Draco smiled tightly. The memory of the kiss, even though it was only moments ago, felt distant. He wanted to say something, something like best couple of minutes of my life, but his voice refused to obey. Even thinking about it seemed to give the hurtful force in his mind ammunition to use against him.

Seeing the little smile set Harry off. It was so unfair! Why couldn't they even try to be together? The block wouldn't let Draco do anything, wouldn't let him find out who he was. Everyone should have that chance. He was suddenly angry, filled with a rage he hadn't felt since coming back from the Ministry of Magic. "If we could just get out of here, maybe someone could help you! This isn't fair, it isn't right!" He stood up, staring wildly around the Room of Requirement. "Open the door, right now! Can't you see he's in trouble?" He bellowed at the empty air. He stalked over to the table, his trembling hand snatching up his wand from where it lay, practically forgotten. Trembling with fury, he started hurling spells at the stubbornly blank wall.

"Alohamora! Reducto! Descendium! Impedimenta! Finite! Reducto! REDUCTO!"

"Harry."

"Finite! Alohamora!"

"Harry!"

"Reducto reducto Reducto!"

"DANIEL!"

Harry froze in shock. He turned around slowly to see Draco looking at him.

Draco's eyes were tired, with dark circles that emphasized the fatigue. He seemed to be more in control of himself; whichever self that happened to be.

"Can't we sleep? I don't want to be awake anymore, not right now." The plea was in his voice, if not his face, which was still as impassive as he could manage.

Harry felt terrible. "Of course we can, D - Andrew. It seems like it's been the longest day." He was still angry and enormously frustrated, but his own exhaustion crashed over him and his knees wobbled a bit as went to gather some pillows. He retrieved the blankets and handed one to Draco.

Of course, now he had to decide where to sleep.

"Shall I go over there?" He asked, gesturing to the other end of the room.

"I wish you wouldn't," Draco said. "Surely things can't get worse while we sleep," he muttered, more to himself than to Harry.

Relieved but still worried, Harry pushed his stack of pillows to join the pile Draco had made. Finally, they both lay down to sleep. In a maddening show of helpfulness, the Room dimmed whatever it was using to keep the room lit, and a dusk-like dimness descended. Harry was careful to maintain a bit of distance, but sleep was not going to come easily, no matter how tired he was. He could hear Draco shifting, heard him roll onto his side to face away. Harry tried to convince himself that it didn't mean anything, it was just getting comfortable, but his mind was supplying all manner of nasty thoughts. Like, maybe Draco was really having trouble because he didn't really like Harry, or the worst thought, maybe it was an elaborate joke. Make Harry reveal his most secret self, the one no one else knew, then pretend, go along until the cursed Room let them go, then laugh at queer Harry, who had a thing for blond boys.

Shut up, shut up, he told that cruel part of his mind. What if he really does like me like…I like him? And what if this curse or whatever was unbreakable? What if it stopped them from being together, no matter what they did?

What if it killed Draco?

That's NOT going to happen! He screamed silently. His body fought to fight, fought to remain still at the same time. Harry pressed his face into the pillow and tried to breathe. The pillow smelled faintly of lavender, which seemed kind of strange, but it did have a calming effect. He tried another deep breath, but it caught about halfway through, like a half-sob, but he wasn't crying. He'd never practiced his occlumency very diligently, but right now, this instant, a blank mind was what he desperately wanted.

He was more than a little surprised that he got it, and so quickly. That surprise was the last thought he had before he dropped like a stone into a deep sleep.

Draco had rolled onto his left side, facing away from Harry. He too was almost too tired to sleep. The battle he was still fighting in his mind was draining him, stealing away even his resolve to keep fighting. If it keeps on like this, is it worth it? How can I even think of it? A wave of despair swept over him, again. The empty eyes of the empty man stared out of the portrait at Draco, like the portrait itself was burned onto his eyelids. It was an image he'd stared at a lot, even before he came to this room. There had been times, out there in the real world of school, he'd have idle thoughts, when he wasn't vigilant enough. He might imagine a situation almost like this, Harry sleeping next to him like they weren't bitter enemies. But that damned painting, it was so clear in his mind, like it was put there to take away any thoughts of what he really wanted and replace them with that horrible image.

Those were the times he hated being a Malfoy the most.

And often, it had lead to acts of cruelty to Harry and his friends. He realized that now. It was no excuse, really, he'd actually enjoyed a lot of the tricks and petty meanness he'd inflicted on, well, everyone. What else was he supposed to do? It was the one pleasure allowed him, and it was expected. To act otherwise would be suspicious, and suspicions lead to terrible things. Better to shift the heat elsewhere, so to speak.

What were the chances, really, that Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, Triwizard Champion and all that, having anything but contempt for him, Draco Malfoy, quintessential Slytherin and all-around bully?

But the miracle had happened, this stupid Room had forced them together, practically forced them to be friendly to each other, and Harry was kind to him, understanding, forgiving. And most astonishing of all, attracted to him. It was almost too much to be believed.

And it looked like it could never be. Except for that one exquisite kiss, the slightest contact or sometimes even just emotion set him off into fits. The only thing that helped at all were those ridiculous pseudonyms Harry had come up with, and who knew how long that would help.

If there was one thing that was constant about Draco, however, it was his stubborn streak. He could despair only so long, before his determination kicked in and he was able to fight back, until it ended one way or another.

But not tonight. He was tired, he was hurt, physically and otherwise, and things looked bleak indeed. Tonight he allowed himself the luxury of feeling just a little sorry for himself, and wishing as quietly as he could in his own mind that Harry weren't so far away.

X x X

I realize this is quite a bit shorter than my usual update, and much longer in coming, but my Muse is being kind of finicky lately, and I'm having a hard time mustering the attention span to sit and write. I'm way too easily distracted, and I always forget about the music trick until about 3 in the morning. So hope this is up to snuff, or at least interesting. Reviews are welcomed with happy dances, cookies and shiny Internets. Flames make me smile, so throw me one of those if you like.