Author's note: There will be actual plot progression in the next chapter, I promise.
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The pounding in his head dragged Harry from the depths of a deep sleep. Squeezing his eyes shut against the glaring morning light, he pulled the blanket over his face and groaned.
He could hear movement in the room that signaled the mass morning exodus of the other Gryffindor boys for the Great Hall. Holding his breath he waited for everyone to leave, hoping that no one would bother to collect him for breakfast.
But wait. That couldn't be right. He'd been moved out of the dormitory yesterday. He wondered if his dank new room looked at all hospitable in the daylight, but he was just going to have to keep wondering until this headache passed. His stomach churned and he decided he was getting sick.
He licked his parched lips. What was that he was tasting? The sweetness made him feel infinitely worse.
The shuffling sound stopped and he heard a door close. He was alone in his room, finally.
But wait. Who'd been in his room?
He peeked one eye over the covers and squinted at the blurry furniture around him. This was not his room. He didn't know this room. Did he know this room?
He slapped at the table next to him until he found his glasses and slid them on gently. Licking his lips again, he wondered at the sickening sweetness as a vision of a dark glass of wine flashed through his mind.
That explained the hang over.
He climbed gingerly from the bed and began the slow search for his clothes. It occurred to him that his nakedness was probably strange, but he didn't have the energy to worry about that.
An image of Malfoy dangling in the air by his ankle flickered behind his eyes as he located his trousers, making him smile. Bending to put them on, the rest of the night flooded back in an overwhelming deluge of disjointed memories. Fists pounding into his stomach and a hand ripping at his hair. An awkward kiss and cold fingers creeping up under his shirt. The smoothness of deeps scars under his tongue. A hot mouth on his neck, on his stomach, on his thigh…
He stood with a start. He knew his shirt wouldn't be found in here.
He crept to the door and pressed an ear to it, listening for sounds of life on the other side. Hearing nothing, he opened it slowly and was immediately hit in the face with his own shirt and robes.
"Potter, I am hungry," he heard Malfoy say close by. "The trolls guarding our door won't let me leave for breakfast without you, so make yourself presentable."
On the fabric Harry could smell sweat and mint and oak, and when he pulled it away he found that he was alone again. He breathed through a pang of nausea and threw on his wrinkled clothing.
He stared at the door. He had no interest in facing food or the noise of the Great Hall, not to mention the person waiting for him on the other side, but he knew he had no choice but to go. The door seemed very far away.
"Potter, hurry up!" Malfoy shouted from outside.
Taking a few more deep breaths, he crossed the room to meet the others in the corridor. Malfoy stood between the two massive guards wearing his usual sneer. His hair was combed immaculately and his robes hung to the floor in long, perfectly pressed lines. "Took you long enough," he muttered as he spun and began walking away.
A guard nudged Harry forward, and he kept pace with his dorm mate in silence. His head rang to the sounds of footsteps and voices around him and he tasted bile at the back of his mouth. A knot seemed to have taken up residence where his voice box should have been, and the entire world seemed to smell of someone else's skin.
Malfoy wasn't looking at him, and he was surprised at how irritating this was. He must have been feeling as uncomfortable as Harry did, although not likely as ill, but he was walking with his usual swagger. He nodded at fellow Slytherins as they passed and occasionally checked his watch.
"I can't believe how late you've made me," he grumbled as they walked through the doors to the Great Hall.
Harry didn't respond. He'd spotted Hermione sitting alone with a book open next to her plate and he was privately reveling in the great sense of relief this gave him. Splitting away from the group, he felt cool fingers brush against the back of his neck. Chills washed down his spine and he smiled in spite of himself, but he did not break his gait. If Malfoy was going to act as if nothing had happened, he would do the same.
"Harry, you look awful!" Hermione told him as he sat down across from her. Reaching out to straighten his hair, she shook her head disapprovingly at the guards skulking by the entrance. "Is it that bad where they're keeping you? Are you still not sleeping?"
Harry shrugged and picked up a glass of water. "Where is everyone?"
"Quidditch practise, of course."
"Right, right." Harry should have known that, but he was glad not to have to face Ginny. He hadn't decided what to say to her yet, if anything. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, and he couldn't imagine admitting to anyone what he'd done. He pushed the troubling thoughts from his mind and sipped delicately at his water as he scanned the room.
The top of Malfoy's head was barely visible just over Hermione's shoulder. It was bobbing as if he was talking to someone, maybe laughing. Harry leaned slightly to the right, trying to get a better view of whoever was being so funny.
"Harry, I've been doing some reading this morning," Hermione said.
"Oh yeah?" He watched as Malfoy handed a piece of toast to Astoria Greengrass. She said something and his head bobbed ridiculously with laughter again. Harry had never known Greengrass to be funny at all, and it looked like she had plenty of food on her plate already. What was he playing at over there?
"Harry, I'm talking to you!" Hermione snapped. She leaned over to make eye contact and completely blocked his view across the room.
"Sorry," he apologized.
"Listen, I don't think they can hold you against your will like this. I'm fairly certain that, if we petition the Ministry, they'll have to let you come back to the Gryffindor dormitories. Plus, you've always been safest at Hogwarts. I'll send an owl this morning, what do you think?"
"Hermione, don't worry about it. It's just temporary." He hoped that was convincing. While the idea of running away and pretending that nothing had happened seemed ideal, he needed one more night in the office space to sort everything out. He ran his tongue along a raw spot on the inside of his lip, indulging in the memory of teeth raking painfully, perfectly, against it.
"Aren't you hungry?" Hermione asked in maternal tones. "You should eat."
Harry shook his head distractedly as he watched Malfoy stand and begin walking back to the waiting guards with Greengrass at his side.
"We should get going," he decided.
Because Harry and Draco didn't share identical schedules, they were forced to attend each other's classes during what would have otherwise been their respective free periods. In these extra lessons, the odd one out was instructed to sit at the back of the room doing busywork for the duration. Harry finished what he would consider to be a satisfactory Charms essay during an Ancient Runes class that he was forced to endure, and Malfoy flipped lazily through a textbook and sniggered loudly at Ron's failed attempts to turn a statue of a bird into a live one during a Transfiguration period that he was not enrolled in. Neither of them spoke to one another, and if Malfoy was merely feigning disinterest in Harry that day he was doing a marvelous job of it. To the casual observer it would appear, for the first time in nearly a decade, that the two of them were treating one another with amicable indifference, and Harry could not stop obsessing over this fact. As difficult as he found it, he made a sincere effort to appear as calmly detached as his dorm mate, regardless of how badly he wanted to shake him by the shoulders and – what? Ask him how he felt about what they'd done? Punch him in stomach for being so cavalier about the whole thing? He had no idea what he wanted to do, but he couldn't banish the thought from his mind.
There were no real breaks for either of them all day long, and by dinner Harry was exhausted. He found himself sitting nervously between Ginny and Ron trying to remember what it was like to feel healthy, comfortable and innocent all at once, but he was coming up with nothing. Ginny affectionately gripped his hand beneath the table as she usually did and chatted with Hermione.
"Mate, I really need to talk to you about something," Ron whispered to him, leaning in closely.
"What is it?" Harry replied, trying his best to sound interested and supportive. He was distracted by the latest concern of the day – the tremendous urge to return to his dorm and confirm that Malfoy hadn't been talking to anyone. Following that, he needed to ensure it was understood that what they'd done would never happen again, that it had all been an enormous mistake, and that it was absolutely not acceptable that Draco had gone about his day behaving as if nothing had happened at all. He also needed to focus on suppressing the twinges of nervous excitement and bitter resentment that kept creeping up on him every time he let his mind wander.
Ron glanced around Harry at his sister. "I can't really say now, can I come by tonight? Just for a few minutes?"
He shrugged. He'd been doing a lot of shrugging today. "I'm not sure, but you can try."
Ron seemed satisfied and tucked into the meal with his usual fury. Harry searched the room quickly for another glimpse of Draco. He was sitting next to Greengrass again, smiling and picking at the food in front of him but otherwise looking worn out as well. Harry relaxed a bit and watched as he nodded along to whatever was being said, but he didn't seem to be speaking. When their eyes met Malfoy held his gaze, his face expressionless and infuriatingly unreadable. After a moment he nodded his head almost imperceptibly toward the babbling girl next to him and raised an eyebrow conspiratorially. Harry struggled not to smile.
"Anyway, I should get to the library," Ginny was saying. "I'm so sorry."
"Oh, right, that's okay," Harry replied as if he'd been listening. He wondered if she'd been talking to him for long and when she'd released his hand. He realized that he'd forgotten she was there.
"I'll see you tomorrow, ok?" With a kiss that lasted longer than Harry felt it needed to, she sped out of the room.
When Harry glanced back to the Slytherin table Malfoy was staring down at his plate again, nodding along to the conversation as absently as before.
Their lumbering shadows didn't seem to notice or care when Ron followed them into the office later that evening. Harry directed him to the dank hole that was his room and sat down on the unpleasantly squishy mattress. A plume of dust rose up around him, signaling to anyone paying attention that this bed had not been slept in for years.
Ron didn't seem to notice. He was pacing with long, anxious strides, lost in thought. "Sorry we weren't there to see you off last night," he began, stopping at the far end of the room to stare out of a drafty and filthy window.
"It's alright."
"It was just, with the win and all… And I was feeling like celebrating. Really confident, I guess, you know?"
"Sure," Harry felt like he knew where this was going.
"So, Hermione and I…" he fell silent, still staring out the window.
"Slept together," Harry finished for him.
Ron turned around, his face flushed scarlet and stretched out into a broad smile. "Yeah," he confirmed quietly. "Did she tell you already?"
"Just a lucky guess."
Ron began pacing anxiously again. "I just started wondering today. You know, about you and Ginny…"
"No. Never," Harry said quickly. "We haven't. It's not that I don't want to, but - "
Ron threw up his hands. "That's all I need to know."
Harry laughed uncomfortably. There was nothing he'd rather talk about less than this, but luckily Ron didn't stay long. As he walked his friend out, Harry pretended not to notice the person stretched out on the sofa reading a weathered Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. He ignored the nervous stirring in his stomach and the distinct feeling of being watched. He pretended that everything was normal and said pleasant goodbyes.
Once the heavy door had creaked closed, the room became oppressively quiet. Aside from the crackle of the fireplace and the whisper of turning pages, Harry could almost imagine that he was completely alone. Focusing his gaze to his own feet, he made a sincere effort to return to his room without appearing to be retreating.
They could talk later.
He just needed to gather his thoughts first.
He shouldn't jump into a conversation like this without a plan of some kind.
He'd nearly reached the door before Malfoy spoke.
"Potter," he said coolly.
Harry froze, still facing in the opposite direction. He considered acting as if he hadn't heard anything, but he'd paused for too long now.
"What?" he choked out. The knot from that morning had apparently returned.
"I thought we were going to keep at it?"
Harry heard the heavy book hit the floor with a thud and the soft groan of the sofa as weight was lifted off of it.
"What?"
"What?" Malfoy mocked. "Practicing. Look, I learned something new."
Instantly Harry felt the floor disappear beneath his feet and he was thrown up into the air. The ceiling was rushing toward him and his arms were stiff and useless at his sides. He tried to call out, to say anything at all, but he was perfectly frozen. He stopped suddenly, floating centimeters from a painful impact for a split second before plummeting back down. He landed on the floor hard, knocking all of the air out of his chest in a painful rush. His limbs tingled viciously as sensation returned and he struggled to draw oxygen back into his lungs.
"Whoops."
Harry was dragged back up to his feet by the arm and deposited roughly in front of the person he was suddenly desperate to avoid.
"You're supposed to be learning to block curses, not throw them," he wheezed angrily.
"Yeah, well, it's all related, isn't it?" Malfoy replied, backing a few feet away. "Ok, try to hit me with something."
"Look, I'm not in the mood for this tonight, I - "
"Do it!"
Harry sighed and drew his wand, firing a weak spell that was parried easily.
Malfoy grinned, bending his knees slightly as if readying himself to catch a ball. "Ok, for real this time."
"Steleus," Harry intoned lazily, watching with some irritation as his hex was deflected. "Densaugeo," he tried next, effortlessly foiled again.
"Not the face!" Malfoy warned, still wearing a pompous grin. "I don't want both of us to have to suffer."
Harry felt his own face burn with embarrassment and he too squared his stance. He glared across the room at Malfoy's arrogant countenance and cleared his throat. "Antenoculatia! Mutatio Skullus!" he shouted, firing the hexes one after another at his unarmed and smug opponent. "Tentaclifors!
Each one hit stronger than the last, but still Malfoy was able to block them. The look of self-satisfaction began to slip, replaced by one of increasing panic. "Enough!" he demanded, backing away after each deflection. "Stop!"
Harry ignored the instruction and advanced on his target. His unease and discomfort twisted and mutated into a vindictive rage that seemed utterly natural. After a day of pathetic squirming, Harry suddenly felt more like himself again. Streaks of light poured from his wand, one following quickly after the other as he slowly inched across the room, stalking after his prey.
"Duro!" he screamed, watching as this hex was batted infuriatingly away to transform a nearby wall sconce into solid stone.
"I mean it!" Malfoy shouted, his back slamming into a book-lined wall. "What are you doing?"
"Incarcerous!" Harry called, watching with a great deal of pleasure as he finally landed a spell. He paused and watched Draco's shoulders rising and falling rapidly with alarm as he struggled against the ropes now bound tightly around his torso. His grey eyes were narrowed to slits and his cheeks had flushed to that soft pink shade Harry was growing so fond of. Moving closer, he let his wand fall to the floor with a clatter.
Malfoy wriggled against his bindings, keeping his livid gaze fixed on Harry. "What are you doing?" he asked again, though much more quietly now.
Closing the gap between them, Harry reached out to brush soft, white hair from a damp and defenseless face. "What have you done?" he whispered, just as much to himself as to his miserable captive.
Twin desires flared up within him, one to harm and the other to caress. Wrapping his arms around the twisting figure before him, he clamped his hands around the knots securing the rope and his mouth just below an earlobe. He could feel the pulse thundering beneath his lips as he held them there, waiting.
"Untie me." Malfoy's voice was a ragged murmur, barely audible. He'd stopped writhing and his jaw tilted back hesitantly.
"You ignored me all day," Harry complained, his lips raising goosebumps as they brushed against the soft flesh with each word. His hands worked slowly to loosen a knot and he bit down lightly. "You're such a prick."
"Did you expect me to hold your hand?" came the reply.
Harry laughed bitterly and drew back as far as he could while still working on the ropes. He realized that, after all these years, Malfoy was still slightly taller than him. Pale stubble peppered his sharp jaw, surrounding a thin scar that ran along the length of it on one side. Harry wondered if he'd done that to him in Sixth Year as well.
"Were you expecting breakfast in bed?" Malfoy asked, his voice still a low rumble. "I've seen the way you've been watching me."
Harry pulled the end of a rope free and let it drop. The coils slumped, no longer supported, and slid slowly to the floor. Neither of them moved. "How's that?"
Malfoy was sneering again. "I see you every day. Watching me, staring at me. You've wanted me for a long time."
"I think you'll find it's been the other way around," Harry corrected. "I've been on your mind every day – every single day – since the moment you met me."
Malfoy's mouth twitched into a half smile as he cupped an icy hand around the back of Harry's neck. "Fair enough," he conceded, pulling them together into a hard kiss.
Harry dissolved into the moment with abandon, the awkwardness of the past twenty-four hours a distant memory supplanted by a mutual and unrelenting need. He wrapped his arms tightly around the slender body pressed against his, each motion growing increasingly aggressive, hopelessly insistent, as they moved together. The frenzy of lost buttons and a torn collar, four bruised wrists, a scratched back, stinging scalp and his own wrenched neck mingled with a familiar urge to get closer until dawn found him naked, waking groggily in an unfamiliar bed for the second time.
