Twined
He'd flirted with him.
Actually, Draco had done far, far more than that. He'd kissed him and then flirted with him.
Hours later Harry was still trying to make sense of the jumble of events that had positively bombarded his mind and, the last bit about the kiss anyway, body, leaving him incoherent, dazed, and confused. He tried to think about it objectively, thinking about where it'd happened, in front of the entire school in the mud in the rain, and why it happened, which could be any number of reasons that buzzed about his mind like a swarm of bees, each of these theories with both honey and the sting.
But there was no sense to be made from the madness of that kiss. It was wet, rather like his first kiss with Cho Chang, but it was so much more than that. It was impossibly hot, pressing, desperate, and grateful with the thin flavour of something like sugar and something else that Harry wanted to drink by the liter.
If he got near Draco anytime soon, he may just be tempted to do that.
He groaned aloud, which was thankfully a sound not out of place that night, everyone who cared about Quidditch, which was the majority of Gryffindor, was quietly griping about the defeat, trying to take the loss gracefully and failing miserably. They avoided Harry's eye at all costs and a few had patted him on the back again, complaining loudly about Malfoy until it became a heated debate in the common room that he had fled from.
He was being pulled in several directions, all of which ended with Draco, whether that end was angry at him or lusting after him, he was bound tight to him by the curse and what had happened that day.
He knew he should really be thinking about the lady of the House of Malfoy, whom ranks higher than the heir, whom left the curse smoldering at the edges with a fervent promise that, if broken, would likely kill him.
If Draco were killed, that is.
Which he would never allow to happen. Draco was…important to him. He'd invaded his every thought, gained a rank in Harry's mind that was above simply 'the prat he was forced to call Master', he'd nestled himself deep and securely into Harry's heart, twining himself with a power that far surpassed that of even the curse, a power that came from minor kindnesses and pleas rather than false praise and orders.
He'd become very important indeed.
So what Narcissa Malfoy had said was almost unnecessary. How could he allow anything to happen to Draco? Admittedly he'd been asking a lot of 'how could he' questions these days, how could he throw a match for Draco's benefit? He could however, and just for that. For Draco.
He found he could do many things for him.
Such as endure cold detentions and bouts of boredom in the library, Apparate on accident and wank in smelly broom cupboards, bow and indeed, almost easily throw Quidditch games. Some of these things were on command, more on Harry's own will, which made him wonder how far he was willing to go, not under the word of his Master, just to see that smile, a stifled sort of thing but a smile no less.
"Hey mate," Ron said quietly, pulling him from his thoughts and to the unfortunate reality of the disappointed aura of the Gryffindor dormitory and Harry's fevered body, something he did not want Ron to notice.
"Yeah Ron?" he asked, pulling the duvet more snuggly about him and pretending the kiss with Draco never happened.
"I'm sorry about the game, you know, with Malfoy and everything."
Harry was sorry too, less about the game, more about Malfoy, and infinitely about the everything. Not to say he was sorry about the kiss, no he was more sorry it hadn't lasted as long as he could have made it, or maybe where it had been, for example if they'd been in the soft heat of the library, pressed close behind a bookshelf, away from prying eyes and Hermione and…
"Everything, yeah." Harry murmured vaguely in agreement.
Ron shifted uncomfortably, pulling at the hem of his pajamas which hung several inches above his freckled ankles, there was a deep frown on his face and his eyes darted to where Dean was despondently doodling on his bed and Neville lay already snoring in his bed. Seamus, presumably, was down in the commons getting smashed on whatever alcohol was left in Fred and George's stash of nicked goods.
"What's wrong, mate?"
Ron looked more uncomfortable under Harry's gaze, turning about on his bed and trying in vain to make his pajama bottoms reach his feet, but Harry waited patiently, knowing that Ron was taking a fair amount of patience himself to not punch Draco whenever he saw him.
"Well," Ron sighed, casting one last unsure glance to Dean before leaning toward Harry, "You know your thing…with Malfoy."
The secretive squint to Ron's eyes told him he should know, but he didn't.
"Do you mean the curse?" Harry whispered questioningly, but Ron shook his head.
"No, the thing." He insisted with a maddeningly obvious look on his suddenly blushing face.
"Ron, I've no idea what you're talking about."
"The thing! With Malfoy!"
"Kindly explain what thing with Malfoy." the word 'Malfoy' felt odd on his tongue, something that had been once bitter, now coated with a sort of aristocratic sugar, an expensive thing that had been paid in tentative truces and mutual boredom, something that tasted rather like Malfoy's mouth.
"Bloody hell, Harry you're starting to talk like him too!" Ron accused weakly, looking unaccountably pale, his freckles standing out in stark contrast.
Harry made a noncommittal sound and honestly wondered what the harm in it was. Draco was eloquent if not snarky and didn't sound as if he was vomiting a dictionary like Snape did.
"Well anyway," Ron said slowly, again glancing to Dean who had taken absolutely no visible interest in their conversation, his quill working over his sketch book. "You're thing with Malfoy is…well, you're both, you know, gay."
It was Harry's turn to fidget uncomfortably because this was a conversation he was terribly uncomfortable with to have with Ron, just as it had been two years ago when he was dealing with a mild crush on Viktor Krum, much to his best friend's horror and, surprisingly, understanding.
"Yes," Harry answered tightly, now just as paranoid about Dean sitting across the room, even if he trusted him.
"And, um, I just thought that you two might be…you know, um, dating er whatever."
Dean's quill, which had been still in his hand, suddenly burst to pieces, bits of feather and ink exploding across his bed with an impossibly loud crack! He swore and jumped up, waving his hand as if it was on fire and scattering the lose pieces of paper from his sketch book across the floor while Harry and Ron goggled at him and Neville sat up sleepily.
This, thankfully, gave Harry enough time to sort through his furiously working thoughts and calm his undoubtedly red face while he and Ron gathered Dean's drawings from the floor and reassured Neville that they were not under attack.
Did he and Draco really seem as if they were together? Naturally there were the vicious rumors the Daily Prophet and gossiping girls spread about Poor Innocent Potter and Manipulative Kinky Malfoy, none of which were true, but Harry trusted Ron not to believe that blatant speculation and complete fantasy those who didn't even know him whispered into ears and smirked about behind closed doors—save for the exceedingly loud Seamus Finnegan.
Yes, he was hanging about Draco Malfoy more than he'd even expect to and yes, he was indeed enjoying far more than he'd ever expect to. Enjoying it enough to question the denial he was about to give Ron.
Before he'd wanted at times to throttle the life from him, but now he simply wanted to snog the life from him, and that seemed like admittance enough that he did indeed fancy Draco Malfoy, even if it was a silent one.
And then there was the kiss, the thing that for a moment had stolen, not to mention scared the life from him. It was still unbelievable to Harry that no one had seen, surely one lingering glance had caught sight of them lying flat out in the center of the pitch, quite obviously kissing. Even through the rain and mud, anyone with proper sight could have seen it. But no one had evidently as there were no rumors saying someone had flying about the school, no, just the usual rubbish about bondage and cat ears, whatever that meant.
Maybe it was Ron that was that one person that must have seen—because it was absolutely impossible for not at least a single person not to have. Maybe that's why Ron assumed they were together; maybe he'd seen their exchange in the shadow of the locker rooms and that almost-kiss. There were loads of things he maybe could have seen, unfortunately including Harry's detour to the grimy broom cupboard in the dungeons that he desperately wished he could forget.
Neville was quietly snoring again and Dean had his drawings in order, leaving the two in a silence that seemed to echo with Ron's last stuttered words.
"So, um," Ron mumbled, but Harry saved him from stumbling over some new mortifying sentence.
"We're not dating." He said flatly, which was entirely true.
If not changeable.
"Right," Ron said with an explosive sigh and a lop-sided grin, "Right, I thought so, right then."
Harry laughed softly, watching as Ron's rigid demeanor relaxed into his usual lax and lank self, feeling both curious and disappointed. Why had Ron suspected it? Would he be upset if he were to date Draco Malfoy?
Both were probably stupid questions, he knew, but they were questions a best friend would ask.
"Ron…?" he asked hesitantly into the quiet, "What if I, you know, were?"
Harry noticed absently there were a lot of italics in their conversations as of late, along with silences that were filled with his anxious heart pounding.
"Dunno," Ron said finally, a thoughtful sort of sigh to his voice, and Harry turned to find that he was indeed looking thoughtful, "He hasn't been much of a wanker lately, has he? I mean, not since that swearing thing with the, you know,Hermione's house elf thing, anyhow."
"Right," Harry nodded. He fully realized what a hell Draco could make of his life with the curse, or Hermione's house elf thing as Ron insisted calling it or as she declared it an 'enchantment gone wrong'. At first Harry had seen it as a curse, then a disease, and now it was starting to look like a second chance of sorts.
"Maybe he's decent." Ron decided, albeit reluctantly and with a look of sincere distaste on his face as if the words were sour in his mouth, "Dunno, Harry."
"Yeah, neither do I." Harry agreed fervently.
~o0o~
Draco never thought of himself as brave.
He thought himself skilled enough with a wand to hex Gryffindors from across a crowded classroom without getting caught.
He thought himself clever enough an actor to get out of the most delicate of situations.
He thought himself smart enough not to cry when he was lying broken on the drawing room floor, because that wasn't courage, that was pure and lucid fear.
But what he'd done had nothing to do with talent or wit and certainly not fear, what he'd done was stupid and reckless and was moreover the most daring thing he'd ever done.
He'd kissed Harry Potter.
That had taken nothing but bravery and maybe a drunk little burst of ecstasy.
He had to have been mildly drunk to do it, and he was indeed intoxicated on triumph just as the rest of his House was, their cheers having sounded from the common room all that night along with the beat of music. He'd been to the victory party—dragged against his will by Pansy and Blaise, naturally, and partook in a few toasts on his behalf and joined in on some Gryffindor bashing before he'd gotten his fill of his favorite chocolate and wine nicked from Millicent Bulstrode's grandmother's famous stores.
He'd been undeniably drunk then, wanking shamelessly well into the night to the memory of that bloody kiss before passing out and awakening with a dreadful headache, but now he was very sober and that kiss haunted him.
The kiss was almost an accident, but he couldn't exactly pass it off as one after he'd said what he did. Maybe if he was lucky, Potter would be his usual guileless Gryffindor self and not find the innuendo in his words.
Draco was rarely lucky, and he knew it.
Draco had meant his words however, whether Potter was his house elf or not that balance he'd lost track of was definitely in favor of the poor, cursed Chosen One. And then there was the fact that he wanted to do much more to Potter than snog him, preferably not in the rain and among hundreds of witnesses.
He'd quietly cursed his teammates for pulling him off Potter as Draco could have let a lot happier if he'd had a few more seconds, maybe just a minute for Potter to, dare he, kiss back. He wanted to know if Potter, the bravest Gryffindor of them all, would indeed dare.
But he was grateful that none of those damned teammates had seen what had actually happened, simply congratulating him of the perfect end to a game by 'shoving Potter to the mud where he belonged'.
In actuality, he did what to shove Potter, just in a decidedly different way than the other Slytherins suspected.
~o0o~
"You and Harry then?"
Draco raised a brow at her and said nothing; he'd long since learned to disregard anything Granger said during the lengthy spells spent in the library as rubbish.
It was rubbish she pursued doggedly however. Gryffindors.
"I've just noticed that, not that I've been watching, it's only that the two of you have been here right before me. That is to say, even when I ask you to be here you seem to—"
"Although I'm usually quite content to ignore you, for once I'm trying and failing to figure out what you're saying. You're babbling." He drawled, smirking when her mouth snapped shut audibly and looked the book in her lap as if waiting to read a script from it.
"Well," she said slowly, "I've just noticed that you and Harry spend a lot of time together."
Draco blinked, frowning.
"Yes, well that's because of your demands, rather than my own isn't it?" he said quickly, face feeling unaccountably hot and lips quirking into a smug smile, but whatever did he have to be smug about? Ordering about the Boy Who Lived, of course, but for some reason it felt more conceited toward the fact that he was indeed spending so much time with him.
"But in the evenings as well, don't you two see each other?" she insisted.
"Again, time served in detention."
"But you enjoy it, yes?" she jumped on his words as she would a vague theory.
He didn't reply, but the answer was apparently evident from the look on his face because Granger grinned in her proud, I-knew-it way. Silence passed between them in which she continued to smile at him and Draco was tempted to hex said smile off.
"Granger," he inquired, fingering his wand thoughtfully as he lounged back in the arm chair he'd transfigured, "Where is the Boy Who Lived to Snog Horklumps this dreary Sunday anyway?"
"Oh! I'm not sure, why don't you go find him?"
She said this with the sort of sweetly innocent voice that Pansy often put on when describing a 'reasonable' amount of Galleons to borrow. It did not become Granger at all and Draco didn't trust it for a moment.
And yet not a half hour later he was sauntering into a classroom and shoving the door into the Gryffindor he so wanted to shove into.
"Fuck!" Potter exclaimed, clutching his head where it smashed into the stone floor from being pushed forward by the door.
"Thought you'd gotten out of that habit," Draco chuckled unapologetically, although he felt the absurd need to kiss better the bruise that would undoubtedly appear on Potter's forehead.
There was the kiss, cropping up in his mind again, begging to be repeated, like the forbidden fruit that needed to be tasted. Merlin, Potter's lips had been like worn and tattered silk, chapped and bitten yet soft and had a hint of a flavour that seemed to have a price to it.
A price in the form of a wall let down, a boundary crossed, a rule broke, and maybe a curse or two, respectively.
"It wasn't a habit, it was a command." Potter growled, and Draco was thankful for the Gryffindor trait of obliviousness, although he was sure, really he was hoping, that Potter wasn't oblivious enough to simply dismiss his words as a meaningless Slytherin taunt.
"Don't you owe me, Master?"
Now that was no meaningless taunt, although Potter was obviously trying to put it off as one with a smirk that didn't quite belong on his flushing face, perhaps Draco needed to remind the Gryffindors not to try and fail to be Slytherin.
"Really? Such audacity from a house elf." he chided, "Go to the corner Potter and think about what you did."
He was frowned at and cursed at, but Potter obediently backed himself into the corner of the room, leaning there with a petulant look that could be mistaken for pouting.
Now that looked rather fetching on Potter's face, his full bottom lip stuck out and eyes glowering with a thinly veiled amusement. Draco perched on a desk nearby and drank in the view, plans and orders passing through his head without pause for any further thought. Potter was far too distracting for him to scheme properly.
What he said in the shadow of the Quidditch locker rooms, he stood by. He'd forgotten Potter really needed those appalling spectacles, he probably owed him much more than 'house elf for a day' and he was thankful he'd been allowed to win.
His mother, likely taking the chance to escape the prison of her own home, had watched him that day, her stare as heavy as any amount of raindrops soaking his hair. He made her proud, by the small twitch of a smile to her somber and cadaverously pale face, her beautiful fair skin marred to a sickly grey from the horrors staining the manor's carpets' crimson.
Potter had helped him to put that smile there, be it however small and pained, it had made him forget for a moment that home was a place of nightmares now instead of a quiet solitude of luxuries he longed for, the silence pressing him with an affection only the residents of the ancient manor felt.
He owed Potter for that.
"Ron is trying to set me up with Terry Boot." Potter blurted, shrinking back into his corner and looking like he'd very much fancy to disappear into that little shadow.
"Terry Boot is a slut," Draco replied sagely, rather glad for the distraction from his dark thoughts. Gossip was an inane subject he was well-versed in thanks to the devilish Pansy Parkinson.
"Is he now?"
"He has a thing for Slytherins as well, so I doubt the Gryffindor Golden Boy would really be his type."
"It's because Slytherins are kinky, isn't it?" Potter grinned.
"Do you really insist on pursuing that?" Draco sighed, and then smirked, "Alright, you've caught me Potter. I have a severe and unhealthy interest in tea cozies and green socks."
"I knew it!" Potter cried victoriously, "So you do want me to make you wear nothing but a tea cozy?"
"What about you're little kink for Horklumps?" Draco countered, the blush on his face was far too obvious however and Potter was smiling like a shark.
"An order again, now wasn't it?" he practically purred, "You still owe me a house elf for the day, don't you Master."
Potter was flirting.
Gryffindors don't flirt, they proclaim and promise and certainly don't smile slyly while alluding to lewd and spectacularly appealing sex kinks. Draco was a Slytherin and he'd been the one to start this flirting business in the first place, so it was completely unfair for Potter to start using it against him. If not hot, anyway.
Draco wanted to unnerve him, take away that bravery Potter so relied on and make it his own. He wanted to dare to lick away every last tendril of courage Potter had to offer until he was a scared, wanting, needing, begging puddle of house elf in his arms, bowing and saying 'Master' over and over and over…
But Draco was a coward.
Potter shifted and blushed, that mocking swagger gone and his green eyes revealing the hesitation Draco was carefully hiding. The sky out the window near the corner was just as stormy and dark as it had been the day before. It was the same sky they'd kissed under when he'd gotten that stupid burst of bravery. Now he had to rely on Potter to be just as fearless and face something wonderful and yet somehow more frightening than a Cruciatus Curse.
"You owe me a bit more than that kiss, anyway."
There was something to be said for Gryffindor bravery.
Potter's voice was soft, hoarse; almost pleading and it sent a tingle of magic electric down his spine and stole all his snide remarks about Gryffindor courage. Really all that could be said now would be a moan or two most likely.
He shivered pleasantly, but forced his gaze to meet Potter's, praying that the boy across the room couldn't hear the erratic thunder of his chest. He mouth felt terribly dry and it took him longer than it should to articulate the words that had meant to be quietly clever and drawling, but now were just shamelessly wanton sounding and squeaky.
"You're wish is my command, Master."
The gentle warmth of Potter's eyes turned to a wildfire, dark and feral rather than the embarrassed and spooked boy that had stood there not a moment ago. This was the real courage Draco had been awed at; indeed this went past the audacity needed to face down the Dark Lord unflinchingly.
This was something Draco wanted to taste, something he wanted to feel.
And with an order, he did.
"Kiss me again Draco."
The space between them was quickly closed as Draco obeyed, and Draco at last had Potter's lips against his own again, but this time Potter dared. In fact, he dared to be the one to push a hand into his hair, the nerve of that Gryffindor! Mussing up his hair! But all was quickly forgiven when Potter's tongue darted out to swipe across Draco's bottom lip, gently asking permission of his master to have a more definite taste of the forbidden flavour they both sought in the other's arms.
Lips parted and sparks ran rampant in Draco's body. He faintly wondered if this was anything like what Potter felt from his praise, but thoughts were short-circuited by those same sparks as the hand that wasn't ruthlessly messing up Draco's hair began to tentatively wander down Draco's abdomen, a Seeker's precise fingers seeking to no doubt undo him.
Even through the haze and something rather like fireworks, he had an idea, one that was unshakable and infectious, impulsively driving his actions to pull away from Potter's brilliant mouth. The whine that came from Potter would probably haunt him forever, although it was muffled when Potter began planting open mouthed kisses all along his jaw and neck. Draco kissed where Potter had banged his head onto the floor and felt absolutely foolish when he froze.
What had possessed him to do that? It was not something to be done in the heat of a moment that could so easily be lost, something flimsy and based on nothing more than a few silent dares and an acquiescence. And yet it felt right, so undeniably right that it nearly hurt when Potter questioned it.
"Kiss it better, Potter." He mumbled in a way he would never admit to being miserable against his forehead, his lips trailing to touch that famous scar.
Potter didn't move, but his grip never moved, and then it tightened to something neither of them would admit to be tender, all the heat becoming something more than just the animalistic need to consume and have. There was giving involved.
Potter's kisses trailed further down, pressing through his shirt with no less power that sent desire licking through his nerves, his mouth moved over each rib and then lingered at a spot Draco recalled with a jolt that it had been bruised and injured by a sharp Stunner.
Draco's hairline tingled and he wasn't sure why.
But Potter's kisses kept going...up to his left shoulder...and down his arm.
He jerked away as if burned just as the door to the classroom banged open and the face of Anthony Goldstein gaped inquiringly at them.
Anger replaced the lust coursing through him, face heated both embarrassed and ashamed. Potter had nearly seen what stained his left forearm. He'd nearly kissed it for Merlin's sake! Of course, Potter never had to know this, thanks to the Ravenclaw that was glaring at them.
He should be grateful.
But Draco was angry and didn't particularly like this Ravenclaw.
Truthfully, it was because the prat flaunted the Weaslette on his arm and made Draco's harsh words that had earned him a Stunner true.
And just as truthfully, a stupidly daring part of him wanted to know what Potter would make of the mark on his arm.
Draco knew he was better off being a coward.
"Potter, I want you to curse Goldstein."
~o0o~
The curse snapped like a tight wire under Draco's words and his hazed mind cleared ruthlessly, abruptly filling with hexes and curses and all sorts of nasty things to do to Anthony Goldstein.
Admittedly, he'd thought of all these things before, but that was in the dark, pessimistic hours spent in the corner of the common room, watching happy couples snog. It wasn't fair; they were all free to trial and error, a proper love life that eventually, hopefully, ended with someone wonderful who completed them. Their choices weren't dictated by the expectations of the entire Wizarding world.
But his were.
It'd been outright rebellion, coming out, but it'd been the best thing he'd ever done for himself.
That and daring to flirt with Draco Malfoy.
Yes, everything had been absolutely sterling until Goldstein stuck his overly large head into the door. But curse him? Was that necessary?
The curse was pulling him, just as it had lead his mouth down Draco's arm, for whatever reason, under whatever command, and his wand slipped into his hand, the tendrils of the curse constricting about his muscles and twitching, dragging, pulling.
He was under the hand of a vindictive puppeteer, one whose eyes were suddenly guarded and cold after they'd just been squeezed shut and glazed over in pleasure.
Goldstein went down and Harry didn't even know what he'd done.
There was no praise, no satisfaction, just a confusion and disquiet, as if he was missing something glaringly obvious.
The moment of bodies pressed together and mouths moving had passed, giving way to this awkward angle that seemed to separate the boy that had once been so close to him by miles, those December sky eyes churning in a storm that Harry could only image the power of, the depth to.
Gone now were the days of the coldly friendly thing in the stagnant air of the library, he knew, now replaced with something dangerously hot and the air was crackling with suspicion. It was as if a dare had been met and a promise broken.
He wondered how far he was willing to go for Draco Malfoy.
He wondered how far Draco Malfoy was willing to make him go.
~o0o~
A/N~ Thanks for reading, please review!