I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.
Thank you so much for all your reviews! I love all my reviewers, you always make my day :) Well, here is quite a long chapter, because I needed it to be perfect. :) And, I was promised a chocolate covered smirking Draco feeding me chocolate éclairs if I updated soon, so here you go! :P
By the way, I apologise if anyone doesn't like Drarry, because this chapter instigates that. It's rated M for a reason folks lol. Hope this piques some interest, and I hope I don't lose too many reviewers :) Enjoy!
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Chapter Eighteen – Half-blood?
Harry blinked as he stared at the grey dragon that curled around his forearm, studying the rawness around the new tattoo. His skin was pink and sore, but according to Malfoy, that would be gone in a few days. The dragon, however, was permanent.
He stretched slightly in his bed, lifting his arm to the sunlight and watching in awe as some of the scales glittered and shone; apparently wizarding tattoos were different from the muggle ones. It came as a shock, despite the fact it should have been obvious. His dragon gleamed in sunlight, shifting slightly as if basking in the light. Malfoy had insisted on a quite complicated charm that would make it move, disregarding the overly expensive price. True to his word, it had been worth it. The dragon shifted, blinked, and Harry swore he saw inked smoke drift from its snout at one point. It was a shame that he had to keep it hidden, lest McGonagall decide to murder him. Such a beautiful creature shouldn't be hidden.
Harry groaned to himself, chuckling as the dragon blinked at him again, deep silver eyes calculating.
Fuck, Draco Malfoy had successfully marked him, with a portrait of himself.
And Harry liked it.
Damn it.
Harry rolled over, pushing himself from his bed. He sighed as he fumbled for the various potions, a new anti-infection one thrown into the mix. No wonder he didn't feel like breakfast, if he had to swallow four potions every morning; he was already full by the time he reached the hall.
He dressed slowly, eyes drifting around the empty room. This was his last Christmas.
He ignored the clenching in his chest. Instead, his eyes landed on a small pile of…presents? He blinked. He wasn't expecting any presents this year, considering. He didn't know if the fact that someone still cared enough to send him something gave him a happy feeling or a sad one; he would be hurting them, when he left.
Harry wiped away a tear, throat tight.
He had been sent a Weasley jumper.
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Harry wondered down to the hall for breakfast, smiling at the warmth of his new maroon sweater. If Malfoy said a single word about it, Harry wouldn't hesitate to pull out his wand and curse him into oblivion. He couldn't ruin today…wouldn't…hopefully.
Harry caught sight of him at Gryffindor table and headed over, like usual. Which was odd in itself.
Other than a raise of the eyebrows and a slight sneer on his face, he didn't say a word. His eyes did, however, drift immediately to Harry's forearm, a smile flashing across his face. Though he hadn't said anything about it, it was clear that he liked the fact Harry chose to put the tattoo where Malfoy's Dark Mark was; knowing the blonde, he probably thought it a proclamation that he was god, or something close to it.
Harry didn't have the heart to tell him it was just easy to hide there.
Harry sat down, piling food up automatically. He knew Malfoy would pester him if he didn't eat; it was easier to just humour him.
"How are you sitting?" Malfoy remarked dryly, eyes glinting with amusement.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know, what with the new arsehole McGonagall ripped out of you yesterday."
Harry spluttered, rolling his eyes. "Do you have to be so crude?"
"Don't be a prude." The blonde snapped back immediately, grinning.
"I'll start a feud." Harry warned, laughing. They were such idiots sometimes; it was hard to believe they were eighth years. Graduating eighth years. God help the world. "She's watching us."
"And grinding her teeth down to a stub." Malfoy concurred, smirking again. "I don't understand why. I did ask."
Harry had listened to this yesterday; he didn't really feel like a repeat. According to McGonagall, Malfoy didn't understand the meaning of the phrase, 'Over My Dead Body'. Malfoy's muttered reply was that she was so old, that how was he supposed to know she had survived another night?
They had left the office with heavy warnings, a loss of fifty house points each, and a week's worth of detentions. Harry thought it could have gone a lot worse, but Malfoy had complained bitterly. At least they were still allowed to see one another. She had threatened to separate them for the rest of the year, and that would have broken Harry. He needed Malfoy now, as regrettable as that was.
Fuck, he wanted to be with Malfoy more than he should. And that was terrifying.
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"Please take a seat, Mister Potter."
Harry sighed as he slumped into the chair before McGonagall's desk, taking in the portraits around the room. Dumbledore was there, sleeping in his frame and snoring slightly. He looked as though he was pretending though, what with the way he deliberately squeezed one eye open and glanced around the room every few minutes, making Harry grin. He was trying to cheer Harry up, even in death…Dumbledore really was the best Headmaster Hogwarts had ever had.
"Have a biscuit." Harry took a handful of offered scotch fingers, knowing by now that he didn't really have a choice when McGonagall offered. He also knew this would be a tense conversation; the biscuits always came out for difficult situations.
"How are you, Harry?"
"Fine." He muttered, struggling to meet her eyes. It was hard to look at someone who saw you as a walking corpse. Someone who had yelled herself hoarse talking to him merely hours ago.
"I have two matters to clear up with you." Harry braced himself, groaning inwardly. He hadn't told her where they went yesterday, and he bloody hell wasn't going to today!
He knew what Slytherin did with their snitches.
"First, a slight difficulty has been found in the diagnostic Tuesday night." She frowned at the words, as Harry's heart clenched. No. Not already. Four months wasn't enough. He hadn't done enough! "The first signs of your magic becoming more aggressive have been found. It will progressively become difficult to manage, from here on out." From here on out? Hadn't it been aggressive enough? "However, Madam Pomfrey agrees that with the magic stabilizing potions, and with your abstinence of magic, it should be perfectly manageable."
"Okay…so how do we stop it getting worse?" Harry found himself asking the first question about his illness since he had contracted it. He hadn't wanted to know before now…now…
McGonagall just gave him a pitying look, forcing herself to look away. "You should know that there isn't any research on this disease, Harry. There have only been a few wizards in history that have had it, and therefore there is limited-"
"Yeah, but I have it now, don't I?" Harry interrupted, ignoring the clenching in his stomach. He felt sick. "Why aren't I being jabbed with needles and experimented on and stuff? Couldn't they do the research with me?"
"…We don't know how long it will…" She couldn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. They didn't know how long it would remain 'placid'.
"Yeah, I get all that, but why aren't they researching now? Aren't there any experimental treatments? There should be, I mean, if not many people get it, you would think that they would be having a field day trying to cure me…well, the doctors at least. No one knows, yet, thank god…" He stopped as she wiped her eye, blatantly avoiding eye contact. Why was she crying? HE should be the one crying, not her! It wasn't her sitting there without treatment!
They sat in silence for a while, neither knowing exactly what to say. Harry just wanted something to be done…he was tired of the diagnostics every week. What was the point of knowing when something was going wrong, if they couldn't stop it from going wrong?
"Harry…there is no way to contain magic." She eventually said quietly, meeting his eyes determinedly. "That we know."
Oh. His illness was imbedded in his magic.
Harry gritted his teeth angrily, clenching his fists into balls. This was why he didn't want to know anything about it; you got excited, and you would be kicked until you weren't a dog anymore, but a bit of bloody mush on the ground. He was content in not knowing…why had he asked? Why couldn't he stick to his ignorance?
His tattoo burned on his arm, heavy.
That was why.
"What…what was the second piece of news?"
"Harry, you don't have to get worried yet. The first signs are appearing, it doesn't mean your magic will become aggressive yet. You could have weeks, or months, left until-"
"Please." Harry muttered, not looking at her. His biscuit had crumbled in his hand. "What's the second piece of news?"
She eyed him heavily for a moment, eyes judging if he was strong enough. For whatever was worse than that, he didn't know. God, did he want to know? Eventually she gave in; in all probability, because she didn't like sitting in a room with a dead boy.
She passed him a letter.
It was addressed to her.
Wordlessly, he read it.
Dear Headmaster Dumblebore,
Hello. Pleased to make your acquaintance again. Hopefully, under nicer circumstances. Or maybe not, depending how this letter is about my cousin. Harry told me he was sick, and I am not sure what to do about it. We never got along, because he was a prat, and I was a git, but I want to try to be better. I want to visit him when he is in chemotherapy. I know he is a wizard, and I am not, but you seem like a good guy that doesn't care about things like that. Please reply. Sincerely, Dudley Dursely.
What. The. Fuck?
Harry burst into laughter, holding his hand to his mouth. His cousin was a complete and utter moron. He had referred to 'Dumblebore' as a 'good guy'. He had actually written 'prat' and 'git' into a letter to one of the most powerful dead wizards alive. He thought Harry had cancer, and therefore had chemotherapy. And he very obviously didn't know how to write a decent letter.
Harry couldn't stop laughing.
He couldn't stop crying either.
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Harry hurried to the library, eyes red rimmed and sore. Fucking Dudley and his change of heart. He was supposed to stay neutral; unsure whether to be friendly or loathe Harry's guts. When the hell had he developed a conscience?
He jumped as Malfoy appeared at his side from nowhere, eyes glinting as he took everything in. He glanced at Harry, and drifted beside him silently. Not a word was uttered, and Harry doubted one would. Malfoy was neutral, allowing Harry to say or do anything he wanted. If he had wanted to punch the blonde at that moment, he probably would let him. Which meant he was anything but neutral!
Harry's heart thumped when their shoulders brushed, twanging painfully.
Why couldn't they have left Harry to die alone?
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Harry picked at his food, gritting his teeth until they stung. He didn't want to eat; it made him throw up after, most days. Why had a selfish blonde even tried to convince him to try to complete that point on the list? It was stupid; he got no satisfaction from it, except that time he had vomited over Malfoy's new shoes. That had been very amusing.
Harry growled to himself, throwing glares at the Slytherin table. As soon as the green roommates had returned, Malfoy had disregarded Harry like a scrap of old clothing, running to find the more expensive dress robe. Prick.
It wasn't as if he was jealous though. Hell no. Why would he be jealous of a blonde prick and his cronies, jeering and laughing loudly across the hall? It didn't look like they were having fun. It didn't look as if they were happy students, loyal, or even amusing. They were all gits in his eyes. All of them.
Tch, and Malfoy thought Parkinson monopolized Harry's attention? She was basically sitting in his lap! He had never noticed her before, not really, but now she had his attention; he made sure to save his angriest glares at her, despite the fact she had caught him at it twice. He wasn't embarrassed, not in the slightest. Hell, he didn't have the time to be embarrassed. He didn't regret it for a moment.
And the fact Malfoy refused to look over even once was just plain rude! Yes, Harry had to admit he hadn't been the happiest the past few days. He had been slightly dull, in reading, studying, and avoiding the blonde's pointed stares. But that didn't mean he had to ignore Harry! The git. Utter git.
Harry snatched up a piece of paper and scribble on it quickly, waiting for the morning post to arrive. He couldn't ignore him forever.
In better news, his arm had stopped stinging. In fact, his tattoo looked marvellous now that it was healed. He had woken up this morning to find ink fire splashed across his arm, the dragon firebreathing. It was stunning, the way it flickered. Defiantly a good choice, going with the Draco.
Uh, with the dragon.
Harry didn't have time to face-palm, as post had decided to fly in that moment. He was busy trying to snag an owl to borrow.
Tch, he wasn't jealous at all.
Harry watched nervously as the owl landed in front of Draco…Malfoy… snipping his wrist as he didn't untie the letter immediately. Harry had chosen a good owl; he had promised it a treat if it bit the blonde, and it didn't seem to care that it had been trained to not attack wizards. Good.
Malfoy blinked at the owl in surprise, a frown on his face.
His eyes barely flicked over it before he was staring at Harry, that brilliant smile across his face, eyes glinting challengingly. He could have started singing, and it would have surprised everyone less than to see him smile.
The Slytherins glanced between them both, Parkinson rolling her eyes as she snatched the letter away from Malfoy, reading it aloud. Cow.
At that, they all turned to stare at Harry. Who promptly went back to his meal. Malfoy was one thing, Parkinson another. Having the majority of Slytherin house watching you was unnerving as hell.
He nibbled on some omelette, humming to himself at the sweet taste. He would miss Hogwarts food, that was for sure.
He smirked, however, as someone wrapped their arms around his shoulders. Someone smelling strongly of vanilla. It was an effort not to turn around, and keep eating as nonchalant as he could.
"Really, Malfoy, no subtlety at all." He remarked, choking as a deep voice answered him.
"Sure it's Draco?" Now he jumped, jerking his head around at whichever freak had their arms around his…fuck them all.
Zabini was chuckling from a few feet away, shaking his head in amusement. Draco was the one leaning on Harry…the bastard. He should have suspected some sort of joke, coming from Slytherins.
"So easily fooled; and you want to play with the big boys?" Draco drawled, letting go and sitting at the Gryffindor table like he had all holiday. Zabini joined him. As if it was the simplest thing.
"You're not as big as you think you are." Was all he answered. It was enough, apparently, as Zabini chuckled again, eyes glinting with amusement.
"You're okay, Potty." Then he yelped as Draco threw his wand towards him haphazardly. They exchanged exasperated stares before turning back to Harry. As if that wasn't weird at all.
Harry stared at the both of them, eyebrows raised as he waited for an answer to the obvious hexing. None of forthcoming, however, as Draco turned to Harry, eyes mock innocent. Sure, like a first year would believe those eyes.
"I'm all for you playing, truly I am-"
"But?"
"But…are you allowed?" Harry frowned, shaking his head softly. What the hell was he talking about? Of course they wouldn't be allowed to play this game; it involved drinking in a school. It wasn't as if he was about to ask permission from the Headmistress.
"I'm overage, I own a house, I have control of my own vaults…I think I may be able to have one drink."
"I meant, are you allowed?" Oh. Harry rolled his eyes, glancing at a confused looking Zabini and withholding a groan. Could he seem any more secretive?
"Drop it." He said quietly, meeting Draco's eyes, almost pleadingly. God, he was so weak. "Nothing will happen." It was one drink. They had drunk that on their first date, and then apparated. Drinking in the safety of the school couldn't hurt.
"You can't know-"
"Draco, nothing will happen."
And surprisingly, he sighed, conceding the point and smirking softly. "I'm not giving you CPR if you're wrong."
"Yes, you will." Harry smirked, chuckling as Draco went pink and rolled his eyes, a smile edging onto his face.
"He's got you there, Draco." Zabini crooned, laughing as the blonde reached over to swat at him. Shit. When did he stop calling Malfoy by his surname? Bloody hell, this is what happened when you were too comfortable with someone. Zabini turned to Harry, smirking and holding out a hand. "I don't believe we've ever met; I mean, I've heard every single insistent complaint against you, and all the plots, and the whinging, but…"
"I do not whinge!"
"You never bothered to learn my name?" Harry asked smirking, thinking of the stupidity of his question. Please. Every child in the wizarding world, and quite a few in the muggle, knew his name. They might not know why he was famous, but they knew him. Somehow.
"Blaise Zabini."
"…Harry?" This was one of the weirdest conversations he had ever had, considering he was introducing himself to a boy he had schooled with for eight years.
"Enough Blaise, stop stealing him." Malfoy cut in, standing up and practically jerking Zabini off of the chair, sending him a glare that sent him heading back to the Slytherin table with his hands in surrender. Odd. "We'll play tonight, then. Slytherin Common room."
"It's a date." Harry grinned, turning back to his breakfast, despite the fact he could feel Malfoy staring at him for a few more minutes. Hell, he could still smell vanilla.
Take that, Parkinson.
No, he was defiantly not jealous.
.
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Harry had been practically jumping all day. Another check to be crossed off of his list tonight. He was on a role; a good thing, considering his magic had decided to play the douche and be 'aggressive'…whatever the hell that meant.
He didn't know why, but he felt guilty at not telling Malfoy about that. But, he didn't have to tell him everything, did he? If he did, he would turn and run, despite the blatant flirting that had somehow sprung up between the two.
At ten on the dot, he was knocking on the Slytherin entrance, licking his lip nervously. He had snagged a bottle of vodka from Ron's trunk when he hadn't been looking, currently tucked under one hand. It was nerve-wracking, going into the snake den; he had already had a sip to try to calm his stress. It hadn't helped.
The wall pulled backwards, a portly second year peering out. He blinked as he saw Harry, his blue eyes judging him curiously before stepping backwards, jerking with his neck to hurry inside. He hadn't expected a warm welcome, but no anger seemed odd.
The common room was exactly as he remembered it, dark with one wall looking into the depths of the great lake. He didn't know how they didn't find it terrifying, with the various creatures drifting in and out of the window. If they could see the giant squid, it most definitely could see them.
The various students lifted their heads to glance at him, but that was it. They went back to their own business, hardly anyone turning for a second look. Gryffindor would be up in arms at the moment, and Slytherin just shrugged.
"They're down there." A first year pointed, a grimace crossing his face in what Harry assumed was a sneer. It was a cute failure, either way. Grinning to himself, Harry crossed to room, ruffling the hair of the kid and chuckling at his indignant squeak when he did. When you were in the snake lair, you had to pretend to be a snake, or be bitten.
Knowing how vicious Malfoy could be, an entire flock of Slytherins would be beyond fatal.
He climbed down the stairs, deeper into the darkness. It got progressively darker the further he went, his shadow became lost in the darkness; which was bloody eerie.
Finally, he found a door that led to the dormitory, and pushed the heavy wood open, blinking at the sudden light. It replica of Gryffindor room, except in silvers, blacks and greens. And, instead of windows, they had a giant wall that faced into the lake. It was beyond creepy.
"Potty." Malfoy drawled, smiling as though he hadn't expected him to come after all. Of course he would have; he wasn't allowed to regret anything anymore. He didn't have the time.
"Hello." Harry said awkwardly, making his way into the room and towards Malfoy; he felt safer over there. Parkinson was leaning against one of the bedposts, her eyes drilling into Harry; she did not look pleased. Zabini smirked, but he was laying upside down, his head hanging off of the bed as he tried to drink without spilling a drink. Nott was there too, head cocked to one side as he judged Harry, like the kid earlier had. He would have thought they were related, the way they both held themselves. And last, there was Goyle. The look on his face made Parkinson look like a cheering fangirl.
He hurried to sit near Malfoy, perching awkwardly on the edge of his bed. A heavy tension filled the air; it felt like a truce. One bad word, or a joke that was taken the wrong way, and it would be shattered. Everyone felt the tension, and no one was ready to break it.
Except Malfoy.
"So, are you a wizard, or a mudblood?" He drawled, folding his legs so he was resting on one hand on his bed, eyeing Harry like a bird would its prey. He sipped his alcohol comfortably, as if he hadn't uttered a curse, as if he didn't care. He probably didn't.
"…Uh…halfblood." Harry felt his face heat up as they all snickered. Zabini rolled over to face the right way, shaking his head slowly. He didn't think Harry could do it? He would show them that he had guts…or cunning, or whatever strength you needed to win this game.
Malfoy didn't laugh, just smirked. He didn't break eye contact with Harry. "You can either explain why you were talking about fucking me, to the Weasel," He said clearly, eyes glinting with amusement. The other Slytherins snickered again, snorting into their drinks. "Or, you can sneak into the kitchens and get a few more bottles of firewhiskey for us."
"So that's how we play?" Harry grinned, excitement growing. It would be difficult, to convince the House-Elves to give up a banned drink.
"That's how we play." Malfoy agreed, smirking.
"Time limit?"
"Ten minutes should do; you're a beginner."
Harry rolled his eyes, smirking. "See you in ten minutes."
The Slytherins were chuckling at the dare, obviously thinking it was impossible. They were defiantly talking about him right now; maybe Malfoy was still convincing them to let him play? Either way, ten minutes was not a lot of time.
Harry sprinted from the room, grinning. He hadn't run this fast in months; he couldn't turn around corners so he had to let himself hit them slightly before turning; he must look like an idiot! However, he was in a game with Slytherins; he had to prove his worth, which meant returning within that ten minutes. Every second counted.
He panted slightly, tickling the pear and falling into the kitchen. His heart was pumping so much that he could barely breathe, let alone hear. The pumping was deafening. "Hello? Anyone here?" He called out, having to repeat it twice because he only managed to gasp the first time.
A few seconds of panicking and taking a step towards the kitchens led Harry to almost fall over the elf that popped up beside him. It blinked up at him, bat ears swinging as it jumped up and down in excitement.
"Oh, Mister Harry Potter Sir, it is you Mister Harry Potter! It is late, Sir. What can Snuffy do for you, Sir?" Harry sank into a chair, panting still. He could barely hear her, over his chest thumping.
"Well, you see…" Harry pulled at his sleeves, glancing around for inspiration. He was uneasy about lying to an elf…maybe he could tell her the truth? Would it hurt? "I…I was wondering if you could help me with something."
"Anything for Harry Potter, Sir!"
"Great. I was…wondering if you could perhaps get me a few bottles of firewhiskey?"
The change was instantaneous; the elf blinked, drooping her ears and frowning. She looked like she was pouting, if an elf could pout. "But Sir, you is young, and I am not allowed to be giving alcohol to students, Sir. It is bad! Very bad!"
"I know that, Snuffy, but…uh…"God, Harry was the worst sort of person for doing this. Hating himself, he steadied his thoughts; half the time was gone already. He had to hurry. "You see…I'm sick. It's…uh…seccor…succorbentis? Oh, no, it's fine, really!"
The elf hiccupped, then burst into sobs. Loud sobs.
"I know, it's bad. Not good at all. It's just…this is-"
"But…but you is Dobby's favourite person, Mister Harry Potter Sir! Dobby tell us all of your goodness. Dobby tell all of us to look after you…and we failed!" She sobbed harder, oblivious to the wide eyed stare Harry was giving her. He slowly reached forwards and patted her back gingerly, conscious of the time and her feelings.
"I…you didn't fail. I'm fine, I'm happy. I would be happier, though, with some firewhiskey." He managed to say it without sounding like the douche he now considered himself. "It's my last chance to have some fun with my mates." If Slytherins were considered 'mates'. "Firewhiskey is the only thing I haven't really had time to try, and…"
The elf just nodded, sniffing and scurrying to a cupboard. She unlocked it with a click, bringing back two bottles that were almost as big as she. It was a shock she could carry it. She handed it over, a wobbly smile across her face. Then, she held up a vile. "Anti-hangover, Sir. For you and your friends." She said, blinking again. "…If you need more, Snuffy will get it."
"Nah, this is enough. It's perfect, actually. Thank you, Snuffy." He said sincerely, glancing at the clock on the wall. Only three minutes to get back. "And…thanks for being a good friend to Dobby."
Her lip was quivering again, so Harry made a hasty retreat, hurrying from the room. He started his mad sprint back to the room, urging himself fast with each turn. This was impossible! His side had a stitch already, and he was heaving, but never seemed to get enough air into his lungs.
He banged on the door again, gasping and laughing as a bewildered Slytherin first year let him in. He was making it…maybe. Either way, the running was fun. He was going to beat the Slytherins at their own game! He was determined to be dubbed 'pureblood' by their standards…even if just for a night.
He stumbled into the room, panting, and almost falling. It was not the least bit graceful, defiantly not something of pureblood standards. He placed both bottles next to Malfoy, grinning as he blinked in surprise. "Anything…else?" He asked, gasping for breath.
"How the fuck did you get into the kitchen, and why the fuck would they give you firewhiskey?" Nott demanded, sitting up and frowning as though he had cheated. Come off it, they had to know it took at least a half hour to climb to Gryffindor tower, didn't they?
Harry just shrugged, not knowing what to say to that Slytherin. They hadn't had much communicating in the past; he really didn't know how he would react.
"I'm not going easy on you now." Malfoy smirked, having to take a shot of the firewhiskey. As if he was planning on going easy in the first place! His plan was to maim and humiliate…and Harry wasn't about to let him.
Malfoy pulled out a vile then, smirking as he tipped it into each bottle they had available. Fuck…that was, unless Harry was mistaken…veritaserum. This may be more trouble than he suspected.
Nott went next, grinning at Draco. "Drink." Malfoy smirked, gulping down his firewhiskey. "You can either explain why you've decided Potter is Slytherin enough to play, or you can give me your Potions homework."
Malfoy rolled his eyes as Nott shrugged, unperturbed. "On my bedside table."
"How come I had to steal firewhiskey, but you only have to give him homework?" Harry asked, blinking as Malfoy answered honestly.
"Because I was going easy on you." Then he glared, eyes turning to daggers. "A bit risky of you, asking me a question when I'm under veritaserum. Didn't know you had it in you." Translation; I'm going to get you back.
Harry glanced at Nott as he spoke; he couldn't help return the grin. "Play it smart, Potter." He suggested, cracking his knuckles rather smugly. From everyone there, Nott was the one Harry had least expected to be…well, nice.
"Potty, dear Potty," Parkinson smirked, dodging a hex from Malfoy, "Drink up."
Feeling as though he was walking into a trap, Harry filled an offered cup with the firewhiskey, wincing as the truth serum took hold. This could be potentially dangerous…It was fantastic.
"You can either explain why you refuse to do magic in class," Shit. Had he been that obvious? Fuck, fuckity fuck fuck…! "Or you have to sneak us into Gryffindor tower for some redecorating." She ignored Malfoy's glare, her sharp eyes honing into Harry's. There was no guilt in her stare now, only viciousness…and a desire for gossip.
He really had no choice, did he?
"Follow me." He forced a smile onto his face. This wasn't going to end well. What if they were still awake?
"Why are we scurrying through the castle?" Nott groaned, taking a large gulp of his bottle before continuing. They had no qualms about holding back, apparently. "This much physical excises cannot be healthy."
"Because, Darling," Parkinson simpered, her eyes shining with excitement. It was odd, seeing happiness on her face without the sneering. "I want to be in the group of first Slytherins to ever enter Gryffindor tower; I want to make the histories. And royally piss off some Gryffindorks whilst I can. That okay with you?" The others shrugged, ladling up their arms with alcohol and heading to the door. It seemed no one was willing to go against Parkinson; not with her reputation of castration.
Harry decided to walk with Draco, feeling safer there. And from his smirk, he knew, the git.
"I hope you know this expedition is pointless." Malfoy remarked as they stalked through the Slytherin common room, surprising most of the occupants that they were drinking happily with Harry Potter.
"Do explain." Parkinson scoffed, locking her arms with Zabini and Nott. She seemed…dare Harry say it? Happy? Normal? It was an odd change.
"Why, because I've already been inside Gryffindor common room."
Harry winced as she spun around, eyes murderous. She looked ready to throw hexes, the way her hand was inching towards her wand. Her eyes flickered towards Harry, narrowed, and slowly returned to Malfoy. Christ, she knew. "What?"
"Twice." Malfoy continued walking as though nothing was happening, a smirk on his face as Parkinson rounded on him. It was quite comical, actually. If you could get over the swearing.
"You fucker! Fucking sadistic little cock-sucking fucker!" Harry blinked at that; sure, he muttered an occasional swear. But he had limits. "You know I've been planning this! Months! Years! And what do you do? Act like a shitty little squitty fuck-!"
"Draco," Blaise overrode the insults with a smirk; the other Slytherins chuckled to themselves, amused at her tirade. Was Harry the only one slightly terrified by the way she kicked at a glass table, which shattered? "Why were you in Gryffindor Tower?"
Draco didn't even blink. "Because I slept with Potter." That bastard! He knew how that would sound! He didn't even look perturbed!
Harry's mouth had dropped open, eyes wide and mortified. And to make it worse, Parkinson had stopped yelling, and now the entire Slytherin common room was staring with smirks and straining to hear their conversation. And just when the rumours were dying down!
Blaise spun to Harry instead, sadistic grin across his face. "Have you slept with Draco?"
Fucking hell if he was going to answ- "Yes." The word was ripped from Harry's lips before he could stop it, realising with horror that the veritaserum was in his system. He was at their mercy…tch, Slytherins with mercy? Only in nightmares.
The entire room hollered, laughing or cheering. Bloody hell, they had it all wrong! And Malfoy didn't look as if he was about to correct them anytime soon.
"Are we destroying Gryffindor or not?" Harry demanded, face burning with embarrassment as he scurried to the entrance. Bloody Slytherins; no sense of humour at all! Malfoy followed him quickly, eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, just thanks for-"
"I feel as if I'm giving you an advantage, but you're playing with Slytherins, so you need all the help you can get." He drawled, smirking as Harry elbowed him. "There is a way to dodge the truth, even with the serum." He said, rolling his eyes as Nott catcalled as the rest of them followed the pair into the hallway.
Dodge a truth serum? How?
"Back to the game!" Zabini declared, a grin on his face still. He turned to Harry, still chuckling. "Drink." Said brunette rolled his eyes, taking a large gulp. It wasn't as if he needed to replenish the serum any time soon; it didn't disintegrate into his blood! It would remain for hours, the large quantities they were consuming. "Okay. Potty, sweet Potty," His grin was not comforting in the slightest. "You can explain why you're fighting with Weasley, or you can tell us the top things you love about Draco."
What?
Harry almost tripped in the hall, spinning around to see if the tanned boy was serious or not. Oh, he was serious. What the hell? He didn't want to answer either of that! He didn't even know the answer to that!
Wait, why were they counting down?
"Three, two one." Nott chuckled, grinning like a maniac. Harry shifted away from the both of them; they were after his blood!
"What are the top three things you adore about Draco?" Zabini asked, eyes cruel and ready. Harry cringed to himself, the words pouring from his mouth before he had time to analyse them.
"His eyes, his smell, his smile." Harry groaned, hiding his face in his hands as they burst into laughter again. He couldn't look at Malfoy; how the fuck was he supposed to meet his eyes now? This was just an excuse to get dirt on Harry!
"His smell?" Parkinson repeated, giggling with undeserved mirth. She couldn't stop for the next few minutes, that Zabini had to practically carry her up the stairs to the tower. The cow.
This was humiliating! How was Harry supposed to know what attracted him towards the Blonde? And adoration? Hardly.
…
Define 'adore'?
Goyle spoke for the first time that night. He turned to Nott, obviously considered the weakest link in the Slytherin pack. "You can tell me who pulled the prank on me yesterday," He grunted, eyes cold and hard. He didn't look like he was enjoying the game in the slightest. "Or you can let me crucio you."
The laughter died, an awkwardness hanging over the small group. Harry couldn't believe it that he was serious, but he didn't seem like the joking type. Even Nott wasn't smiling anymore, as he regarded his dorm mate grimly.
Harry glanced at the blonde next to him, but his cool gaze was directed at Goyle. They were all judging, weighing their options. Surely they wouldn't go through with this?
"…It was Draco and Pansy…it was Pansy's idea." He muttered, ignoring the slap to his head as Pansy passed him.
They travelled the past few corridors in silence, the heaviness overpowering. No one was willing to take their eyes off of the bulky, usually quiet one.
Harry led them to the portrait of the fat lady, pulling out his map and quickly scanning it. It seemed everyone was in bed, or at least up in their dorms. No one was in the common room, thank Merlin.
"What is that?" Malfoy muttered, trying to get a peek. Harry held it to his chest, folding it quickly.
"Nothing."
"It's not nothing…I was on it."
Harry opted to ignore him, wandering up to the portrait. "Quidditch." He muttered, ignoring how the Fat Lady pursed her lips and sneered at him. She did not approve apparently. But then, she couldn't restrict him access despite the fact he had several jeering Slytherins besides him.
The six of them snuck in.
"Argh! The colours!"
Harry winced as Parkinson shrieked, smirking as she received glares from most of the others. They were as good as cursed if they were discovered. Harry was as good as dead.
He snatched out the map again, shuffling away from Malfoy as he tried to get a glimpse. No one was moving that he could see. He nodded for them to continue, sighing in relief. It wouldn't do to get caught now.
"It's just…red…" Parkinson whispered, and for some bizarre reason, she giggled. Pansy Parkinson was giggling like a normal girl…it was eerie. And Harry couldn't help but smile. They were just normal kids, it seemed, like him. There was no reason they couldn't get along. No reason, really, for the divide between the houses.
Parkinson lifted her wand, moving it in glee.
Harry watched with a detached amusement as his home was redecorated. The colours were changed from red and gold to green and silver, until not a speck of Gryffindorness remained. Even the furniture was transfigured from plush armchairs to wooden stools and such. Someone had even added the encouraging words 'Gryffindor Sucks' into the wall above the fireplace.
As if they wouldn't immediately know it was the Slytherins.
He knew he would get the blame, and possibly Malfoy.
He should have felt upset. He didn't.
It was actually funny to imagine how pissed the Gryffindors would be in the morning.
Harry glanced at the map again, heart stilling. Hermione was awake…and climbing down to the common room. Shit.
"They've woken up!" He half shouted half whispered, blinking as Parkinson grinned at him, followed by a smirking Zabini. He didn't expect that. Not at all. Weren't they supposed to hate his guts forever?
He led the way out, scurrying back into the hallway. Malfoy didn't scurry; he hardly looked perturbed. He hadn't joined in with the decorating, only rolled his eyes from the sideline. As if he was more mature than them!
They didn't stop there, sprinting around the corner. Harry kept an eye on the map, slamming to a stop and grabbing Parkinson's arm before she rounded a corner, tripping instead and halting everyone lest they join him on the floor. His hands stung, scraped along the floor, but he didn't have time to listen to their complaints.
"Filch is there!" He whispered, and, right on cue, his shuffling footsteps and Mrs Norris' meowing could be heard echoing long the corridor. Eyes widening, the Slytherins spun around instead, running back past the open Gryffindor portrait. Malfoy paused, hesitating enough to pull Harry back to his feet; he couldn't help but grin, and they bolted through the corridors, laughing and making enough racket to wake the castle.
They let Harry keep an eye on his map, leading them around professors and students alike. Gryffindor common room was already filled with students, no doubt fighting over the new layout. They couldn't help but run and laugh.
Eventually, they ran into the great hall, panting and chuckling. The only one that remained stoic was Goyle, but no one paid any attention to him. They hadn't, since he had threatened Nott with the unforgivable.
"You can tell us what that parchment is, or you can march straight up to Gryffindork Tower and confess the decorations were you." Zabini smirked, offering Harry another drink.
Harry took it, gulping down the burning liquid gratefully. He shrugged, not really as secretive as he usually would have. What was the difference if a few Slytherins knew? Everyone in the DA already knew about the map, if they hadn't told all their friends already. It was safe, as long as no one knew how to manage it.
"It's a map of Hogwarts; my father and his friends created it." He panted, following the others down the hall so they could sit near the professor's table. Literally on the table, not just near it. As if they weren't breaking enough school rules as it was. "It shows me where everyone is, and what they're doing, at anytime, of any day." He smirked as their eyes lit up curiously.
"Can I see it?"
"No way in hell." Harry folded it up, pushing it back into his pocket. With a whisper, he closed the map too. You could never be too careful, not with Slytherins around. Especially nice Slytherins.
"Your turn, Potter." Harry glanced at Malfoy, surprised he had spoken. He had been silent for the past half an hour, listening with rapt attention, but never uttering a word. Since Harry's…admission. Merlin, how was he going to live that down?
"Fine. Drink, Malfoy." He had everyone's attention, as they waited to see how he would play. They played dirty, obviously. Would the Golden Boy?
Most defiantly.
Malfoy downed his drink with a smirk, eyes glinting with amusement. "I'm waiting." He drawled, the perfect poise of indifference. Tch.
"You can either call me 'Harry' for the week," Harry glanced at Zabini as he chuckled, flicking his eyes back to the blonde. "Or you can tutor me with my potions homework." He wasn't going to fail potions, not when it was the only class he was able to participate in. And everyone knew Malfoy was the Prince of Potions…either way, Harry won in this regard.
"Fine. Meet me at the library tomorrow, Potter." Then why did it feel as if he had lost?
It was Malfoy's turn, and he wasn't going easy, as promised. He waltzed up to Harry, breathing against his ear. God, it was an effort to look nonchalant, and not move. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to move, to do something. Vanilla swarmed over him, it was all he could do not to inhale deeply. Fuck, he was turning into a hormonal, turned-on leech.
"You can tell everyone why you go to the hospital wing every night," He whispered, oblivious to the glare Harry threw him. He raised his voice after that. "Or, you can sneak into Slughorn's room and grab a contact exemplifying potion."
Harry didn't know whether to look furious, and rightly so, or horrified, or amused.
So, instead he spun around and tried for indifferent, walking through the doors with his head held high. He could play this game.
.
.
.
Harry held his breath as he lay curled against an armchair, trying desperately not to move. God, he was going to kill Malfoy! He had successfully snuck into the potions storage room, and searched in vain for the needed potion. However, it didn't exist. There was potion after potion in that room, each with its own label and position, and Harry had had to search every single fucking one of them manually before realising that the potion was not in its spot; It had been moved, and Harry could only speculate by whom.
So, feeling utterly disgusted by his next course of action, he had snuck into Slughorn's private rooms, hoping to find the potion in here instead.
It would have worked, if Slughorn had been asleep.
But no. Instead, Harry had had to witness him parading around in his nightclothes, his bulging stomach poking out of his shirt, humming and dancing around the room. Worse, it looked as if he was recording it. Urgh; stuff of nightmares.
For ten minutes Harry had been stuck behind the overly puffed up chair, wincing as the footsteps steadily came closer. He wouldn't have the time to get the potion, if this kept up. Worse, how the hell would he explain this if he was caught? He was clearly visible form the door; what if a teacher walked in, and saw the scarcely clad potions master and a cowering Harry in the same room? He had to get out of here, and quickly.
Deciding it was worth the risk, or maybe it was the alcohol talking, Harry pulled out his wand, muttering a summoning charm. He hoped it was in here, otherwise it would be very odd if it had to smash down the door to reach him…
Harry grinned as the vile flew across the room, landing in his outstretched hand. He didn't know what Slughorn was planning on using it for, and frankly, he didn't want to know. Ugh, the images! Not nice! His eyes needed to be burned!
Harry flicked his wand towards the other side of the room, smashing something that made Slughorn jump, shaking his head and muttering to himself. Harry took the chance to hurry to the door, slamming it shut and bolting from the corridor quickly. Merlin, Malfoy owed him for this! His innocence had been destroyed!
It wasn't until he reached the hall again, that he realised he had used magic twice, and nothing had happened. Maybe his luck was changing after all.
He tossed the vile towards Malfoy, smirking at him as best he could; after all, he had had a good teacher. "Remember, it's only good with experience, Malfoy." He smiled, leaping up and sitting next to the stunned blonde. He laughed again, taking another long drink. They hadn't expected him to pass that one either, had they? Was he proving himself an apt wizard, yet?
The game continued, each person getting meaner with their demands. Harry blinked in surprise as Nott told Parkinson to either tell the truth about the Carrows and her, or to change the banners in the great hall. Suffice to say, the Gryffindor banner now supported a badger, the Ravenclaw a purple snake, and Hufflepuff a pigeon. Not a raven, a pigeon. And the house points were all the same, blinding neon orange. Parkinson really was talented with her spells.
Parkinson was zeroing in on Harry, however, with the help of Zabini. She seemed obsessed with his lack of magic, though from the threat in Malfoy's eyes, he hadn't told her. He would have to be more careful, from here on out. If she was noticing, other people were too. "Tell us why you're playing, or prove you can still go magic."
"Because," Harry slurred, blinking heavily. It was getting harder to focus, with the swaying of the hall. "I like spending time with Malfoy. He mentioned this game, and I wanted to play since." He smiled, despite the serum dragging the truth from his lips. "And you seemed more fun to play with than the others…they wouldn't even say the name." Parkinson nodded gravely at that, her face serious.
"That's because they suck." She said, nodding, sipping on her drink. "It's a universal truth."
"Potter," God, why was everyone picking on him? Couldn't they give him some slack? "Tell us if it is true that you died in the battle, or you can take a few minutes worth of CEP."
"…CEP?" Harry asked, frowning as Malfoy tossed him the vile. Oh, fuck it all to hell.
"But…there's no bed." He chuckled at their blank looks, sharing a grin with Malfoy. He wasn't nearly as tipsy as the others, but he was smiling more than he usually did. It was weird in itself. Harry tipped back the vile, grinning at the cherry flavour, but it was snatched from his hand by the blonde.
"Christ, Potter, do you want it to end in a few minutes, or a few days?" He drawled, eyebrows lifting as Harry winced to himself. God, it was just like when he had damaged his nerves. Everything felt different; heavier, smother, rougher.
His clothing scratched at his skin where it connected, tight and uncomfortable. He got the urge to take off his shirt, but only Malfoy's lifted eyebrow stopped him. He couldn't embarrass himself even more in front of the blonde; he wouldn't be able to live out the next few months…weeks…having to avoid him. Like he would probably have to tomorrow morning, after admitting only Merlin knew what else that day.
He sat on the table, wincing as the polished wood felt splintery and rough; this was not what he wanted at all. Hopefully, it would end soon; he couldn't go through this again.
"Malfoy," Goyle spoke, to everyone's surprise again. Why didn't he call Malfoy by his given name? Weren't they friends? "You can tell everyone exactly what you did in the Room of Requirement when it was on fire," Harry glared at the beefy boy, clenching his fists angrily. How dare he? "Or, you can explain why the fuck Potter is here."
Malfoy cocked his head to one side, sipping on his firewhiskey. "I believe that's already been answered, however, I shall indulge you. I enjoy his company, and thought he would like to join the game; I thought you all would get along, and look here, we're not cursing each other." True, but a bit devious all the same. Wasn't Harry's friendship enough?
Harry pouted to himself, taking another swing of the bottle. The alcohol was fire, scorching down his throat and branding him. Fuck, no more drinking until after the potion wore off…sadly.
"Zabini," He demanded, turning to face him. He had thrown some rather nasty dares at Harry all night…time for some payback. "You can go up to Hermione in the morning, and sing your undying love for her, or you can tell us the single most embarrassing thing you have ever done."
If anything, he paled considerably, licking his lips. Malfoy looked smug, as though he didn't think Harry had had it in him to play dirty. There was a lot they didn't know about him.
"I have to hate you now, Potter." Zabini remarked, taking another swig of his bottle before cringing, rubbing his face. "Well, this is mortifying. I was at my aunt's fiftieth birthday a few years ago; I was around fourteen, and drunk out of my mind. So much, that I was dancing, and drinking, and in all probability smoking a shit load of pot. Well, I saw the single most beautiful girl I have ever met; we danced, we talked, we fucked." He sighed, taking in a few more gulps. He looked as if he was about to cry…Harry had said funny, didn't he? Embarrassing meant funny! "The next morning, I woke up in a bed that wasn't mine." He paused here, cringing. "Next to my first cousin."
Harry cringed at that himself; imagine losing your virginity to your cousin…it was just…
But Zabini wasn't finished. He hesitated, then shrugged. It was like peeling off a bandaid. "Boris."
Harry snorted, bursting into laughter. It was just…too funny! Zabini had lost his virginity to his male, in all probability transvestite, cousin…Boris? Oh, he was never allowed to live this down. Nott was rolling on the floor in stitches, pointing at Zabini and repeating the name over and over again.
If it wasn't for Malfoy holding him steady on the chair, Harry would have joined him. He was feeling hot and bothered now, this potion just felt weird. Even as he laughed, he could feel the weight of the air filling his lungs. How long would the CEP last?
Malfoy's hand on his shoulder was hot, seeping through his shirt. It sent tingled down his arms, nerves jittering. He really wanted to potion to end, now.
Harry was so preoccupied that he almost missed Parkinson agreeing to be 'relatively nice' to him for the rest of the week. It was as if Malfoy was annoyed at her constant badgering almost as much as Harry was getting; no one liked to be drunk, and have all their secrets out. Especially ones he had been hiding from those most dear to him for months.
Nott was still fuming quietly at the crucio threat, and after pushing himself up from the floor, sneered at Goyle. Did anyone get along with the glaring wonder?
"Tell a joke." He demanded, smirking. "Smile." Again, the awkwardness descended on the group. It was more likely that the apocalypse would begin.
"Knock knock." Goyle sneered, eyes glinting dangerously. Harry perked up, listening intently. This was either going to be hilarious, or awkward as fuck.
"Who's there?"
"Fuck. Off."
Looks like he was opting for awkward as fuck.
Harry shifted uncomfortably on the bench, head spinning slightly. He ran his thumb against his fingertips, feeling the impossibly ridged fingerprints that streamed along his hands. His breath against his hand felt like steam, the bottle in his hand silk. He managed to catch Zabini's gaze, and immediately felt sick. He was grinning again, no mercy in his gaze. Great, what torture did he plan next?
"Blaise," Parkinson interrupted, laughing loudly to herself. Every time she tried to complete the sentence, it set her off on another giggling spree that she couldn't control herself. Eventually, she managed to contain herself, a magnificent smile across her face. "You have to go up to Granger in the morning, singing your undying love for her…" She giggled again, clearing her throat quickly. Merlin, she thought it was that funny that she was crying with glee. "Or…you can go up to the Weasel and sing your undying love for him!"
Harry snorted at that, shaking his head. Either way, Zabini was going to be humiliated. His friends wouldn't care less, despite how they would be a tad unnerved. Zabini, however, was going to be mortified.
As he was now. His jaw dropped open, eyes blazing with anger. "Bitch!" He growled, in disbelief. "What the fuck did I do to you?"
"You exist, dear, you exist." She replied, grinning into her drink. Harry couldn't wait for breakfast that morning; he had thought he would miss it, given the hangover he would undoubtedly receive from tonight, but he may be tempted to drink the entire anti-hangover drought instead. Zabini doing a serenade for either Ron or Hermione? He wouldn't miss that on his deathbed…maybe.
Harry was smirking into his drink when he felt Zabini's gaze on him once more, not humorous in the least. He refused to lift those dark eyes from Harry's face, but he addressed Malfoy.
"Draco, I'm certain you know why Potter doesn't use magic anymore, and the dodging around the questions tonight only proves it. So, you can either share that with us, in detail," He smirked humorously, "Or, you can kiss Potter."
Harry leapt from the table as if electrocuted, jerking away from Malfoy as quick as he could. Bloody hell, he wouldn't go through with it, would he? He…he was a Slytherin! Of course he would!
Why did his dare have to include Harry? None of the others had had third parties involved!
Harry swallowed down the panic in his stomach, eyes swivelling to meet Malfoy. Shit.
He just stared at Zabini for a moment, face expressionless. Then he slowly stood up, cocking his head to one side and narrowed in on Harry. He looked like a predator, silvery eyes glinting dangerously. His trademark smirk was secured in place, as if he found this funny. Funny!
Harry stumbled backwards, shaking his head and holding his arms out in front of him as if they could somehow protect him. He was seriously considering telling them about the diagnostic, instead. How was he supposed to even look at Malfoy after tonight? Then again, it could have been worse; Zabini could have told Goyle to kiss him. He shuddered at the thought; no, this was worse. At least Goyle would pretend it never happened…Malfoy was going to hold onto this as blackmail material for life.
Malfoy followed his hasty retreat.
"Okay, enough with the joke. Come on, Malfoy, enough's enough." He tried to smile, cursing at himself as his stomach tightened gleefully. The butterflies were back, excitement trembling through him.
"Anyone would think you were scared, Potter." He drawled, his smirk growing as he edged closer. Scared? No, Harry was fucking mortified. He could see Nott dropping his jaw behind them, bewildered. Zabini just looked smug, whilst Parkinson was practically being restrained from rushing forwards excitedly. It wasn't a bloody show!
"Malfoy, don't-"
"It's just a dare."He said quietly, smirk gone as he pushed Harry lightly against the wall.
But it wasn't. And from his tone, he knew it too.
They stared at each other, almost nose to nose. Their chests were certainly touching; Harry could feel his heartbeat thumping against his skin, transferring into Harry's chest. He could feel his breath across his face, sending more of those gooses bumps down his spine. There was the overpowering scent of vanilla again, only slightly masked by the strong firewhiskey. It was pure Draco.
His eyes were glinting again, no traces of amusement left. His challenge made all previous ones look weak and pitiful; this one promised hurt if Harry didn't respond, didn't comply.
Slowly, painfully slowly, Draco inched forwards, barely touching his lips to Harry's in a gentle whisper of a kiss.
It made his lips tingle and ache; a soft tease.
Harry needed more.
In an action horrifyingly more confident then he felt, Harry reached up and grabbed the back of Malfoy's neck, pushing him forwards to connect their lips properly. There was nothing sweet this time.
It was completely different from kissing Ginny. Harry didn't want to think that, but the thought popped up before he had a chance to squash it. With a girl, you had to be gentle, soft. There was nothing gentle about this kiss.
Malfoy moved with ease, practised. The tantalising touch of a tongue before it disappeared, a hand pulling his hair, the pain of his lip being bitten playfully; even that sent tingles of pleasure down Harry's spine.
His heart was thumping loudly, so very loudly. There was nothing in the room, but the two boys. He couldn't hear anything but his pulse, and his heavy breathing. Merlin, he was going to need air soon.
He could feel Malfoy smirking against his lips.
A catcall breached the silence, jerking Harry back to reality. He was snogging Malfoy, in a room full of people. Shit.
Harry stilled, paralysed. Shit. Shit. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He almost laughed hysterically, emotions running high. He had initiated this kiss, this animalistic want; and Malfoy knew this. He was going to blackmail Harry to the end of time. All he wanted was…Malfoy. Fuck it all, he couldn't lie to himself. He wanted Malfoy! But Malfoy didn't, shouldn't, and most defiantly didn't want him.
Harry winced as his hands began trembling, still in Malfoy's hair. He had to move them now, unless he dragged the blonde back into another kiss. Somehow, he didn't think that would go down that well. He could feel himself panicking, almost as if he was watching it all happen.
Slowly, Malfoy's thumb stroked the back of his neck.
He continued for a few seconds before pulling away, untangling Harry's hands as he went.
Harry saw a flash of grey, but quickly averted his eyes. He couldn't look at him right now, couldn't be humiliated or embarrassed, or mocked. It would destroy him.
"Potter-"
"What the fuck was that?"
Harry swallowed tightly, folding his arms against his chest. Malfoy was still too close, and he didn't seem to be shifting anytime soon. Better to make a barrier before he did anything he would regret. Like kiss him again.
"It was a dare." Malfoy replied coolly, voice sharp. Harry didn't know whether to be pleased or worried about that.
"That wasn't a dare kiss."
"I was following the game, Greg."
"That's fucking bullshit, and you know it!" Goyle bellowed, turning to sneer at Harry. "Get him to fucking leave, or tell me what the fuck's wrong with him!"
Well, there had to be some Slytherin in him after all.
Guess that's the end of the game.
Harry sighed to himself, casting a quick glance towards Malfoy. He wore his mask again, face expressionless, but radiating fury. He could practically see the tension between both boys formulating.
After that…display…Harry thought it best if he just left. No one would miss him, after all. He had achieved what he had wanted.
Harry quietly crossed to the doors, ensuring he avoided eye contact. A few moments ago, he thought he was a straight kid with an illness he didn't care about. Now, not so much.
He should never have let Malfoy in.
Now, all he wanted, more than anything, was to live.
.
.
.
23. Play Wizard or Mudblood