Thank you for all the reviews and alerts. I think 2-3 more parts for this one. Remeber when I said it was going to be about 20,000 words long? Clearly I lied.
Part Five
Harry stirred groggily from sleep, and was immediately aware of an intense bolt of nausea in his gut, followed by the realisation he was about a nanosecond away from throwing up. His eyes flew wide open and he leant over the side of his bed just in time, emptying his stomach of its contents onto the floor, before wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve and collapsing back onto the pillows, panting slightly, and feeling a dull ache in his cramping abdominal muscles, caused by the exertion of vomiting. Only then did he realise where he was. St Mungo's. Because, his memory supplied, he'd been hit with a Severing Charm (and a bloody strong one at that, if his recall served him well), and had bled all over Alexandra Fairweather. It all came rushing back to him now, in a sea of crimson and pain. Bollocks.
"Feeling better now, Auror Potter?" a voice asked him. Harry, unaware that he hadn't been alone, jumped at the voice and looked around, somewhat blindly without his glasses; locating the shape of another person, he concentrated hard and squinted at the figure: female, certainly, and possibly quite a large build, given the outline he could make out, but without his glasses he couldn't tell any more.
"Yeah, thanks. I'm really sorry about that," he said, indicating the vomit and feeling his cheeks heat up. Throwing up in front of medical staff hadn't been in his agenda for the day, somehow, and now that he had, he felt as he always did when something forced him to show a weakness in front of others: pathetic and inept.
"Not to worry, Auror, I assure you it's nothing I haven't seen many times before," the voice said, and a pair of hands suddenly reached forwards towards Harry. He saw that they were holding his glasses. He took them gratefully and slipped them back onto his nose, relishing in the reward of crisp, clear vision he received once he'd done so. He was in a private room, away from the main ward, and for that he was extremely grateful. Last time he'd been injured in the line of duty and ended up in St Mungo's, three years ago, he'd received a bed on the main Spell Damage ward, and had been inundated by well-meaning but totally unwelcome visitors, supposedly there to see friends and family but far more interested in the Chosen One. The lack of strangers huddling around his bed was brilliant.
The Healer, Healer Shelby (according to her name badge anyway) smiled at him and handed him a glass of water, from which he drank deeply, thankful to rid his mouth of the sour taste of stomach bile, then she Vanished the pile of sick from the floor, and followed up with what Harry knew to be a strong antiseptic charm. It was the same charm he had used many times in the last few weeks around his home, given there was now a cat in it. A cat. Who was actually Draco Malfoy. On his own. In Harry's house. Fuck.
"Draco!" he said aloud, unthinking. It was at that moment that Hermione and Ron chose to walk into the room, each carrying a polystyrene cup filled with brown sludge water that passed as coffee in St Mungo's, evidently having only recently left his bedside. Both shot him a relieved look to see he had woken up, but Hermione's questioning glance at Harry's outburst was a little too disconcerting for Harry. She was far too perceptive. Harry hoped he could pass yelling out Draco Malfoy's name off on the fact he was still confused.
"Harry! Oh, it's lovely to see that you're awake," Hermione said, handing her cup of sludge to Ron and instantly fussing with Harry's hair, stoking his back from his face in that way women always did when presented with someone infirm, while Ron stood uselessly by the bedside and beamed at his best friend. "Your colour is better. You've looked pretty awful for the past couple of days."
"Thanks," Harry said wryly. "Although I doubt you would have thought I looked better five minutes ago, when I'd thrown up everywhere." Hermione's words then registered fully. "Um, did you say I've been asleep a couple of days? Has anyone been feeding Dra- I mean, Godric?"
"Course, mate, I've been in and put food down for him," Ron said. "Fussy little bugger though, isn't he? Wouldn't touch any of that fancy overpriced cat food Hermione buys for Crookshanks. I ended up giving him a tuna steak that was in your fridge. Hope that's alright."
"Yeah, it was for him anyway," Harry said. "A couple of days though? How bad exactly was this bloody hex?"
Harry looked over at Healer Shelby then, and saw she was flashing Hermione an annoyed look, just as Hermione was about to speak. Hermione flushed pink and closed her mouth again. Clearly, Harry thought, the Healer believed she should be the one talking to Harry about his injury. Harry kind of agreed with her there.
"The spell cut pretty deep," Healer Shelby said. "You lost rather a lot of blood, I'm afraid, as the spell managed to slice into your abdominal aorta. It was extremely serious, and about half an inch to the left would have severed it completely and you would have lost too much blood, too quickly to survive."
Harry blinked, and Hermione released a small noise, crossed between a squeak and a sob, while Ron squeezed one of the polystyrene cups too hard and crushed it, spilling hot not-coffee all over his hand, causing him to jump and curse loudly. Harry had known it must have been serious, given the amount of time he'd been unconscious for, but not that bad. Clearly his friends hadn't known the full extent either, given their startled reactions. He'd nearly died. Again. One of these days his luck was surely going to run out. All this from a simple, supposedly benign Severing Charm, taught to all Hogwarts students by tiny, squeaky Professor Flitwick well before OWL level, yet had caused as much damage as any Dark magic could. Harry truly had never appreciated now dangerous the spell could be before. He'd been slashed at least as badly as Draco had been at Harry's own hands thanks to Snape's Sectumsempra spell.
"We obviously gave you a lot of super-strength Blood-Replenishing Potion, which has caused your nausea, and the slashes on your chest have fully healed without scarring thanks to a combination of some extremely quick spell work from my colleagues and Dittany," the Healer said. "Physically, you're completely recovered. We were just waiting for you to wake up. I'll come back in a couple of hours, and as long as you manage to eat something and keep it down, and your vital signs all look good, we can discharge you." She smiled formally at him and left the room. Harry sank back onto his pillows.
"Bloody hell," he said aloud, to no one in particular. "I'm getting too old for this."
"You're twenty-four, Harry," Hermione replied.
"Yeah, well, maybe it's time I got a sensible desk job instead of all this Auror malarkey. I'm twenty-five in July and, you know, that's a dangerous, um, body age," Harry finished lamely. Hermione and Ron both cocked their eyebrows at him in identical cynical gestures (Ron had clearly been learning from his fiancée); they knew Harry adored his job and wouldn't give it up for the world. Hermione opened her mouth, clearly about to argue this point, and Harry found he really couldn't be bothered with it.
"So, Ron," he said, cutting Hermione off before she managed to get a word out, "how's that oral sex on demand thing working out for you then? Jaw cramping yet?"
Both Ron and Hermione shut up instantly and flushed red. Harry grinned. Score one for Potter.
Harry was kept in St Mungo's overnight, due to another bout of nasty sickness after he had attempted some lunch, but after he managed to keep his breakfast down and had his blood pressure and heart rate checked (both perfectly normal, thankfully), the Healer-in-Charge signed his discharge forms and Ron came to help him Floo to Grimmauld Place.
As soon as they stepped out of the living room fireplace, Harry's nose wrinkled as the disgusting smell of a litter tray that hadn't been cleaned out for three days hit his nostrils, and he felt his still- delicate stomach react unpleasantly. Ron had clearly noticed too, and with a hurried, "I'm on it, Harry," he dashed into the kitchen. Harry heard Ron's cry of, "Evanesco!" followed by a freshening charm and was relieved when the smell disappeared. Ron reappeared a minute or two later, looking sheepish.
"Sorry, Harry, I owe you a litter tray. I accidentally Vanished the whole fucking thing, instead of just the litter inside," he said. Harry grinned, then began to laugh. He was still laughing when Ron helped him into an armchair (even though Harry insisted he was perfectly capable of doing it himself), then disappeared back into the kitchen to make tea. Harry, still smiling, looked around his living room with fondness. It was good to be home.
He spotted Draco then, perched stiffly in the centre of an armchair, his tail swishing and his grey eyes narrowed as he shot Harry a cold look. Harry's good mood disappeared in an instant. He looked round quickly to make sure Ron wasn't coming back.
"Hey, Draco," he said. Draco glared at him, and Harry was half-amused, half- exasperated that the look was exactly the same on this face as it was on his human counterpart. "Don't glare at me, OK?"
Draco continued to sit as stiff as a board, never taking his eyes off Harry. He was clearly completely vexed. Harry stood up, walked over to Draco, and perched on the arm of the chair.
"Look, I-" he started, but Draco hissed and swiped a paw at Harry's hand, just as he stretched it out to scratch Draco's head in the way Harry knew he enjoyed. "Ouch! What the-"
Feelings hurt far more than the now bleeding index finger on his right hand, Harry pulled his arm away quickly, unwilling to admit to himself just how much Draco's rejection had upset him. With a look of pure contempt, Draco jumped off the chair, stretched out and scratched his claws on Harry's expensive sofa (ignoring, as he always did, the scratching post that Harry had struggled to Apparate home with once), then slinked out of the room, just as Ron came in, carrying two mugs of tea (and a plate of sandwiches for Harry) on a small tray which had a picture of a snowman and a robin on it. He set the tray down on the coffee table.
"Drink up," Ron said. "You've not had a decent cuppa for a while. That stuff they serve in hospital is barely fit for human consumption." He caught Harry's shocked expression as he handed him a mug. "What's the matter?"
"Godric," Harry replied, taking a sip of his tea. "He, um, well, I- look!" He showed Ron his bleeding finger. To his surprise, Ron chuckled.
"Cats," he said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Crookshanks does this too, if Hermione and I are away for more than twenty-four hours. Remember when I took her to Venice for a long weekend to propose? He wouldn't come near us for three days when we got home."
"I've hardly been on holiday though," Harry seethed. "I've been in hospital. Unconscious. Almost bleeding to sodding death. You'd have thought he would understand that."
At those words, Harry heard a faint "Meow!" from the hallway, then Draco sped back into the living room, launched himself into Harry's lap, and began to lick his face all over with his sandpaper tongue, then pushing his head against Harry's cheek in an affectionate way, before resuming his licking. It was clearly a sign of both affection and apology, and Harry was more than happy to accept both. Until that moment, Harry had been unsure just how much Draco understood in his animal form, but his reaction to Harry's words was all the proof he needed that his feline companion understood him just fine. He chuckled and began to stroke the cat back, as an inexplicable relief flooded through him.
"There's something weird about that cat," Ron said, eyeing Draco suspiciously. "There's not any Kneazle blood in him, is there?"
"Don't think so," Harry said, then, desperate to change the subject and get it off the 'just who, exactly, is your cat' line he could see the conversation heading in, asked, "But you did tell, er, Godric that I was in hospital, right? So he knew I didn't just abandon him?"
"Yeah, course I did," Ron replied. His voice was laced with sarcasm. "I took him out for a beer, sat him down with a packet of pork scratchings and explained the whole scenario to him."
"So that would be a no then," Harry said. "No wonder Godric thinks I just left him alone! He didn't know where I was!"
"He's a cat, Harry. How, exactly, was I supposed to enlighten him?"
Harry had no reply to that. Somehow he didn't think, "Actually, it's not a cat, it's Draco Malfoy, surprise!" would go down too well, so he conceded defeat.
Ron drank deeply from his mug, sighed contentedly, then looked at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece.
"I've got to get back to work. I was only allowed an hour or so to see you home safely. I'll pop in on my way home though, and if you need anything, just send me a Patronus," he said. "How long is Robards giving you off?"
"A week," Harry replied. Ron snorted.
"Lucky bastard," he said.
"Yeah. A week without having to go to work. Almost worth suffering near- exsanguination, isn't it?"
Ron chuckled lightly then set his now empty mug back onto the tray.
"Don't scare me like that again, mate," he said seriously, clasping Harry tightly on the shoulder. "See you in a few hours." Then he turned on the spot and Disapparated. Harry sighed, picked up one of the sandwiches (cheese and pickle, not bad), then sunk back into his chair. His house was too big, and too quiet, and he was too alone. It sucked.
Harry spent the remainder of the day snoozing on the sofa with Draco on his lap, watching daytime TV (an American chat show whose presenter's sole purpose seemed to be interviewing poorly educated people incapable of talking to one another without screeching and swearing to determine who, from a selection of possible men, was, indeed, a child's biological father), and reading the Prophet's account of the arrest and his injury. For once it seemed to have got it pretty accurate, although Harry did wince at the term "Brave Heroism". He preferred the term "Monumental Cockup." On Alexandra Fairweather's part, at least.
Harry had already made his mind up that he wasn't going to work with the woman again. It was counter-productive. When he was working with Draco, Harry knew one hundred percent that Draco had his back, and that was how it had to be, in his job. Alexandra had not only second-guessed every idea he'd had, but she had Disarmed him, leaving him defenceless against a highly dangerous suspect who was wanted by the Aurors for practising Unforgivables, and for attempted murder. Albeit by accident, but it didn't take away from the fact that, had it been he and Draco out in the field three days ago, their suspect would have been swiftly and efficiently dealt with and taken into Auror custody, and Harry wouldn't have received a single scratch. Harry would have bet his entire Gringotts vault on that.
Draco, clearly delighted to have Harry home, followed Harry wherever Harry went- including, to Harry's annoyance, to the bathroom.
"You're not going to watch me on the loo," he told Draco firmly. "Some things a man needs to do in private, OK?"
That didn't stop Draco offering a pathetic 'meow' outside the door the entire time Harry was in there, and when Harry emerged, Draco purred loudly and weaved precariously through Harry's legs, as if Harry had been gone a week, not five minutes. Harry guessed Draco really was worried about him. It was a nice feeling.
Ron arrived, with Hermione, just after six. Ron had bought a replacement litter tray with him, and went into the kitchen to set it up, whilst Hermione gave Harry a hug, fussed over whether he was warm enough, and offered to make him some chicken soup. His first instinct was to say no, that he could manage perfectly well on his own, but this was Hermione, for Merlin's sake, so he nodded, and Hermione disappeared into the kitchen. Soon, Harry's living room was filled with the warming, aromatic scent of chicken and herbs, then Hermione came in, Levitating a large pot of soup, a crusty loaf, and a slab of real butter.
"That looks fantastic, Hermione," Harry said genuinely, as Ron groaned in appreciation. Even Draco awoke from the spot he'd curled into and gave an interested sniff. Hermione beamed at them both, and set the food down on the coffee table. She ladled out three portions of hot, deliciously thick soup into bowls, and Harry cut the loaf, dunking a chunk of bread into his soup and biting into it. The soup was perfect, and seemed to warm every single inch of him.
"I left a chicken breast out for Godric," Hermione said, as she sat back on the sofa with her own bowl, her feet tucked to one side. "I know he doesn't eat cat food. It's in his bowl."
Harry was suddenly overcome with a rush of warm affection for Hermione. Honestly, he didn't know what he'd do without her sometimes. Just then, Harry heard a small crack of Apparition coming from his study, and a voice call, "Harry?"
It was Ginny. Harry called to her to come downstairs, and Ginny entered the living room, her cheeks pink from the obvious cold outside. She smiled at him as soon as she saw him, and gave him a kiss on the cheek, asked him how he was feeling, and began the same fussing that Hermione had, when Harry was still in St Mungo's. Draco, who had been dozing languidly in his warm spot by the fire, was suddenly on full alert; he sat upright, adopting the same, stiff pose he had for Harry's return that morning, and fixed his cool grey eyes on Ginny. Then he jumped onto Harry's lap in what, if Harry hadn't have known better, was a jealous outburst of, 'Mine', and continued to stare with slightly narrowed eyes. Ginny looked surprised for all of a second, however, before she was pulling the scarf from her neck and taking off her snow-covered bobble hat.
"Soup?" Hermione asked her. Ginny looked like she would kiss her, too.
"I would actually kill for some," she replied. "You're lucky, avoiding the snow here. It's about two inches thick in Holyhead, and bitter bloody cold. Sadistic captain still sent us up to practise, though. Had us flying over the Brecon Beacons for three freezing hours this afternoon."
Hermione Summoned a bowl for her from the kitchen, and filled it with soup. Ginny sank into the chair, grabbed a spoon, and attacked the soup with enthusiasm. "Merlin, Hermione, this is wonderful," she said, around a mouthful of soup.
"Hey! How come you think she made it? Why not me?" Ron said, affronted.
"Because, dear brother, your cooking tastes like shit," Ginny replied bluntly, and Harry and Hermione laughed. "Can I have some of that bread?"
The next few hours passed extremely happily for Harry, as he enjoyed his impromptu dinner party with his three closest friends. He endured some good-natured ribbing from all three (but mainly Ginny) about hiding his sexual orientation for so long, which, with the benefit of hindsight, he figured he probably deserved. By half past ten, he thought he should probably go to bed, what with almost bleeding to death just eighty or so hours previously, but he'd spent the majority of them asleep, plus a large portion of the afternoon, and he didn't feel tired. However when Hermione fell asleep on Ron's shoulder and began to snore, Ron decided to take her home.
"Sorry about leaving the mess, Harry," he said.
"It's alright. It's only a few bowls," Harry said, wishing selfishly that he still had Kreacher. But Kreacher was happy at Hogwarts, and Harry didn't want to call him back just to wash up a few pots.
"It's OK, Ron, I'll stay and do them," Ginny offered, and Harry flashed her a smile. Ron said his thanks, woke an extremely groggy Hermione up (who flushed scarlet when she realised she'd dribbled all over Ron's shoulder), and together they entered Harry's fireplace, threw in some Floo powder, and disappeared home.
As it happened, Harry ended up washing, while Ginny dried and put the items away. Draco, meanwhile, moodily ate the chicken breast in his bowl, never once taking his eyes off Ginny. Every time Ginny laughed at a joke Harry told, or touched his arm, he hissed in warning.
"And I'm never working with her again," Harry said, as he washed the final spoon, finishing his story about Alexandra. "She's OK, almost getting me killed aside, but she has nothing on Draco."
"Oh, since when have you called Malfoy 'Draco'?" Ginny said, giggling. Harry froze, realising his slip-up. Bugger.
"Since I realised that, actually, he's a bloody brilliant Auror partner," Harry said honestly, picking up a drinking glass and dipping it into the soap suds. "I've actually really missed him since he went on sick leave, to be honest."
"Of course you have, Harry. You fancy the pants off him."
Harry dropped the glass he was holding back into the water, causing foamy piles of Fairy washing up liquid to splatter onto his glasses and nose.
"Um, what?!"
"Harry, you don't even know how much you talk about him," Ginny said. "It's always, 'Malfoy did this, Malfoy did that, Malfoy is such a pain in the arse'. And it's been that way for at least a year now."
"How is me complaining about him, me fancying him? I mean, yeah, he's not exactly hard on the eye, but that's about it," Harry said, incredulous. Of all the stupid things for Ginny to think…
"Really, Harry. I know you're shite at this relationship stuff; I mean, you didn't even work out you were gay until you were twenty-one, had been going out with me again for months, and had to have it all but spelt out to you by a pair of boobs wobbling in your face. But surely even you must know how you feel about Malfoy. It's obvious. No one has ever been able to get under your skin like he does."
"Because I don't like the prick!" Harry yelled. But that's not entirely true, is it? his brain argued. He'd come to that conclusion a long time ago.
"Meow," said a sad, mournful pussy cat, and Harry suddenly realised what he'd just said, and who, exactly, had just heard. He had no idea what to say, to either Ginny or cat, and suddenly wished he'd just done the fucking dishes himself and sent Ginny home.
"Godric, come here," Harry said, and scooped the uncooperative cat into his arms. "Give us a sec, Gin, I need a word with him," he said, then disappeared into the downstairs loo, closing the door behind him. He perched on the closed toilet lid, with Draco in his lap.
"I'm sorry, Draco. I didn't mean that," he said. "I do like you, and I certainly don't think you're a prick, OK? I don't know why I said that. Forgive me?" He scratched Draco's head affectionately. Draco licked his hand and purred. Harry took that for a yes. "Thanks. And I promise not to say anything like that again, alright?"
He stood and opened the door abruptly, and a red-headed figure nearly fell through from the other side. Ginny steadied herself quickly, and stood up, her face shocked.
"That's Draco Malfoy?!" she squeaked, pointing at the cat. Harry ignored the question.
"What gives you the right to eavesdrop on my private conversations?" he yelled, realising as he said it just how crazy that just sounded. Ginny snorted.
"Harry, you got out of hospital twelve hours ago, after suffering a very serious injury. Then you drag a cat off to a toilet for a private chat. I was worried you might be unwell, or something, as it's not exactly normal behaviour, is it? Tell me you wouldn't have done exactly the same thing, go on!"
Harry couldn't. Of course he couldn't, because Ginny was right. Of course he would have done the same.
"Yes, it's Draco," Harry sighed. "He's kind of trapped like this. For another eleven days."
Harry ended up explaining the whole story to her, about how Draco was a secret, unregistered Animagus- something known only to Harry and very few others, about the spell which trapped him as a feline, and how Harry has been looking after him for a few weeks.
"He seems to be understanding more of what's going on as we get closer to the fifteenth, like his human mind is gradually coming back or something. He was all cat for the first week. I've not told Ron and Hermione, and I need you to promise me you'll keep this to yourself," Harry said. "Draco's Animagus status has helped us solve a lot of cases, and it's vital it doesn't get out."
"What do you take me for?" Ginny replied, but her voice had softened. "Well, this explains the insane jealousy he's shown all evening, anyway. I just thought you had a maniac cat."
"Jealous? Why would Draco be jealous of you?" Harry replied, genuinely confused. Ginny just laughed, but didn't reply. Instead, she bent down and tickled Draco under the chin, who glared at her, but didn't pull away. She whispered something into Draco's ear that Harry didn't catch, but Draco relaxed and began to purr, so Harry let it go.
"See you later, Harry," Ginny said. "It's late and I've got Quidditch training at seven in the bloody morning. I'll see you later, OK?" She grabbed her coat, scarf and hat, kissed Harry on the cheek, said, "Bye, Godric," and stepped into the fireplace, grabbing some Floo powder as she did so. "Harry, think about what I said, OK? I love you, and I want you to be happy, but the whole time you're a clueless idiot about your own feelings, you're not going to be. Not fully, anyway," Ginny said. She tossed the powder into the flames, turning them emerald, mumbled something about how she couldn't believe Harry was living with Draco Malfoy, and called out her home address, before disappearing.
Harry sighed and closed the Floo connection for the night. He suddenly felt exhausted, having felt wide-awake just an hour before. This whole time he was so worried about Hermione finding out about Godric's true identity, that he'd totally forgotten his ex-girlfriend could be as cunning as any Slytherin as well. He trusted Ginny not to say anything, but he still felt like a prat.
"Come on, Draco, time for bed," Harry sighed wearily. Ginny had given him rather a lot to think about. Could she be right? It wasn't as if Harry didn't know that he was completely obtuse when it came to romance. It just wasn't something he thought about too often. But the idea that Ginny could be right, that he could have feelings for Draco Malfoy, given their acrimonious (to put it mildly) past, well, surely that was just laughable… right?
Harry was lying on this sofa, with the TV on and blasting out some mindless film he wasn't really paying attention to. Draco was curled up on his chest, stretching and flexing his paws in that way he did when he was totally relaxed, staring at him with those captivating silver eyes.
"Not long before you're human again," Harry said.
"Meow," said Draco. Harry reached out and began to stroke Draco- first his head, then his ears, under the chin, and along his back. It felt nice; relaxing, homely and familiar.
Suddenly Draco the cat disappeared, and in its place, and squashing Harry slightly with the unexpected weight, was Draco the man: taut, and lean, his chest bare and pressed flush against Harry's body. He was still wearing the red and gold collar. And Harry was still stroking his back, which was opening up a whole new world of sensation for him.
"You're such a good owner," Draco purred. "Always so attentive to my needs. Allow me, Potter, to see to your needs now, however." He reached down and licked Harry's nipple (when had his shirt disappeared? It had been there seconds ago), and Harry gasped aloud, feeling his body respond to the completely new sensation. Draco obviously felt it too, for he chuckled: a deep, rumbling, masculine sound from his chest that somehow left a gentle vibration on Harry's hyperaware skin.
Draco began to lap at Harry's skin, and not in that cat way of washing that Harry had become accustomed to over the last few weeks, but in a sensual, incredibly erotic way that left Harry wanton and covered in goose pimples, and oh, so aching now with desire.
"Draco, please," he said, not sure what, exactly, he was asking for. Draco seemed to get the hint, however; in a movement that was so quick it could only be described as pouncing, Draco's mouth- hot, wet and very human- was pressed firmly against his, the tongue that had been lapping his skin was teasing against Harry's own, and it was brilliant, amazing, fantastic, and a whole other load of adjectives that fired inside Harry's brain at that moment. All that paled, however, when Draco's hand slipped inside Harry's boxers, gripping him fully and moving rhythmically.
"Gods, Draco, fuck," Harry panted. "Draco, Draco, Draco…"
"…Draco, Draco, Draco," Harry murmured in his sleep, before his eyes flew open, and he bolted upright in bed, sending a previously sleeping, and still thankfully very feline, Draco flying across the room. He shot Harry a very affronted look before climbing back onto the bed and curling back up to sleep, but Harry ignored him.
That dream was new. Well, not the content so much- he'd woken up aroused and having to have one off at the wrist before being able to get back to sleep a few times in the past. But the person who had left him in this state was definitely new, and Harry didn't know how he felt about that. There was certainly no denying his attraction to the blond, human Draco Malfoy in his dream, and Harry was quite sure he'd never dreamt about him in that way before.
He was not going to wank over Draco Malfoy. He just wasn't. Ignoring the fiery ache in his groin, he laid back down in bed, shut his eyes and hoped for sleep that he knew wouldn't come. He opened his eyes again and sighed.
It was all Ginny's fault, Harry surmised. This was just because of what she was talking about that evening. It had put the idea in his head, and this was simply his mind's way of working through it, combined with the fact he hadn't got laid in forever. But Harry couldn't deny he had enjoyed it, and now, as he lay in the dark, staring up at the pitch black ceiling, all he could see in front of his eyes was glazed, sensual eyes, taught muscular chest and blond hair from his dream. His mind shifted, replacing the fantasy from his dream with a real-life image of Draco Malfoy, on an Auror stake-out last summer, hair tousled and wet with sweat, T-shirt damp and clinging to defined muscles, and he felt the waning arousal return with gusto. Oh bollocks. Harry was so, so screwed.
Harry groaned and buried his face in the pillow. Why did this keep happening to him? Why did he keep having these epiphanies at the most ridiculous and inappropriate of moments? First he realises he's gay in the middle of sex with his long-term girlfriend, then he discovers he's apparently attracted to a man who is currently living in his house as a cat. Was there something wrong with him or something?
"Eleven days," he said aloud into the darkness. "Eleven days in which to work all this out in my head, before Draco turns human again."
Somehow, Harry didn't think it was going to be long enough.