Hello to all my beautiful, wonderful, AMAZING reviewers! First, I would like to say I am so very very very sorry that I haven't updated in a long time :( I had a death in my family, and the funeral was far away from home, with no internet, and no laptop. I've only just gotten back, and didn't particularly want to write a story about a dying character when I was still grieving. However, it's not fair for you wonderful people out there! So, I grit my teeth and wrote all day today, so I hope you like it. It's a bit sadder than usual, but I've tried to make up for it towards the end :)
Thank you for all my reviewers! I love you all! And Number-fucking-One Fan...you made my day! :)
Oh, and I am sorry for all my horrible mistakes in other languages :P I don't speak anything other than English and Japanese, and in a chapter coming up, there are a hell of a LOT of languages - I'm apologizing beforehand because I know I will get it wrong. I don't know how to change chapter content after it's uploaded, so when the story is finished I'll probably get around to fixing all my mistakes :)
And you guys are making this so incredibly hard for an ending! Half of you want him to survive, the other don't! Well, either way, fifty percent of my readers will be disappointed. I've already decided on the ending - no spoilers! :D
Enjoy!
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. owns Harry Potter, not me.
Chapter nineteen - I don't want to die!
Harry woke to pounding; agonizing pounding. He groaned groggily, staggering to sit up and not throw up as his head spun savagely. Yup, defiantly not a good idea to drink with the Slytherins all night. Fuck, what was in that firewhiskey? Other than excessively large quantities of truth serum?
His mouth tasted furry and disgusting, his shirt had a yellowing stain where he apparently spilt his drink sometime last night, and he was…lying on the stone flooring of an alcove? He hadn't even made it back to his room last night; no wonder his back felt like it was on fire.
It was an effort to summon the energy to move, dragging himself to his feet and staggering to the girls bathroom across the hall, fumbling through his pockets for his anti-hangover solution. Bloody hell, where was it? He couldn't have left it in the Slytherin room…great. Perfect, actually.
Harry stumbled to the sink, resting his head against the mirror.
He had kissed Malfoy.
…
Nope, it didn't sound right. Didn't sound real. It couldn't have happened, if it sounded ludicrous in his head. Even his failing body knew a lie when he thought it.
He had kissed Malfoy. He had kissed Malfoy. He had kissed Malfoy.
…
No, it didn't feel right. The words were twisted, and didn't flow. It didn't happen. It must have been some hallucination, with all that alcohol obliterating his senses. It was a dream, or a nightmare. It didn't happen.
Harry splashed his face with a sigh rubbing the grit and the dirt from his face. He needed a nice long sleep, and a pensieve. Merlin, what was wrong with him? How had he thought that playing a game with the Slytherins would be fun? They were going to poke fun at him until he di…until he left.
Harry ran a tired hand through his hair, glaring at the rings around his eyes. Did he look thinner, or was it just the lighting in here? Maybe if he tucked his shirt in…no, that looked worse. Untuck it.
There was no use trying to tidy his hair, so instead he ran some water into it, somehow hoping it would stop the throbbing. There was nothing to do about his disastrous appearance, so he might as well head down to breakfast and try some hangover food; his stomach grumbled loudly at the thought. Merlin, he hadn't been hungry in weeks. It was a reason as good as any to smile.
Harry sighed again, staring into his own eyes without interest. What was the point in having pretty eyes, if they weren't going to remain open? He would willingly give his eyes for his life.
"I kissed Malfoy." He whispered.
Damn. It sounded right.
.
.
.
Harry winced as the bright lighting sent trumpets exploding in his head, unmerciful as they laughed at his expense. The light was too bright. The hall was too loud. It was too early for this. He almost spun back around and shuffled back out, but the insistent grumbling of his stomach prevailed. Anyway, he couldn't think of a worse fate than to have to stagger up all those stairs again; rolling down them had been much easier than the very real possibility of crawling up them.
He shuffled to the nearest table, sighing in relief that it happened to be Gryffindor, and piled up a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. Morning after food, Malfoy had said once. Hopefully the morning after an intoxicated, stupid night ruining his best chances of happiness for the next few months, was what he had meant. It was doubtful.
God, he had missed good food.
Harry hungrily bit into his breakfast, his stomach growling angrily. He was starving; how hadn't he been eating lately? It was as if he was grounded, back in his cupboard. But on purpose. Who the hell would purposefully fast until starvation? Of course, he knew he was exaggerating the starving part; he was only slightly famished. Slightly meaning he was refilling his plate already, in two seconds flat.
Eyes were drilling into his back from across the hall; grey eyes, if Harry could place his bet. He could just imagine the smug little smirk on Malfoy's face, the omnipotent 'I told you so' that he would grace Harry with as soon as they were close enough to talk.
He couldn't face the blonde.
Not after yesterday.
So, he kept his head down, and gorged himself with food, none of which, he might add, was helping his headache. He was going to the library later to do some reading, and he didn't need Malfoy there to witness it.
"Oh Weasley, Oh Weasley, I don't care that you're Measly,"
Oh god no.
Harry spun around, a grin on his face as Zabini stood upon the Slytherin table, arms outstretched as he sung. He wore a look of utter adoration, and was grinning winningly at Ron. He winked at the startled redhead, strutting across the hall, acutely aware that every eye swivelled to stare at him.
"Others may be queasy, and I'll still easily be, naively, in love with my….Weaselby."
Harry's hand slapped to his mouth to try to stifle the laughter. Mirth flowed up inside him; he couldn't stop the disbelieving laughter if he had wanted to. Ron's face was clear mortification, switching from red and pale every few seconds. And Zabini! He was practically skipping as he sung his way around the hall, eyes not once leaving Ron's face. He wore a predatory smirk as he inched closer, looking like he was about to jump him! He was enjoying himself, the complete tosser!
"Oh Weasley, Oh Weasley, your hair may be greasy, and ranga, and coarse, and-"
The attention was too much for Ron.
With a startled roar, he launched himself Zabini, who happened to be on his knees at this point, arms opened as he attempted the most unorthodox serenade ever produced.
The tanned boy grinned to himself, jumping to his feet and leaping out of the way.
"That's right, honey, come to me!" He smirked, backing away quickly. The hall roared with laughter and giggles, no one quite knowing how to proceed with this. "Come for me!" He added, sliding around the edge of the table, sprinting to try to get back to the safety of Slytherin.
Harry laughed, wiping the tears from his eyes.
McGonagall had stormed to her feet, gesturing for both boys to join her. God, Zabini had no shame. Even now, in front of the Headmistress, the decidedly ill looking Headmistress, he was winking at Ron and wore a cocky little smirk.
Harry glanced around the room, taking in everyone's giggles and smirks. Even Hermione had covered her mouth with a hand, trying her hardest not to laugh. Of course, the Slytherins howled with laughter. They clapped and cheered for Zabini as he sauntered back to their table. And surprisingly, a few from the other tables did too. As odd as that was.
Harry found himself clapping along with the others, shaking his head ruefully as Zabini stood on the table again, bowing towards Ron. A step too far, perhaps, but not for a melodramatic Slytherin. For fucks sale, he had just proclaimed love for Ron in front of the entire school; there wasn't a thing a 'too far' at this point.
A flash of grey.
Harry quickly went back to eating.
.
.
.
Harry sighed as he entered the potions room, the tightness in his stomach returning. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to sneak upstairs and climb into his bed, but that wouldn't help his determination to pass this single class, would it? Neither did the fact that he hadn't remembered to bring down any of his books or equipment, but that was neither here or there. Harry was not going to climb those forsaken stairs.
He shuffled through the doors, trying to keep his head still. His headache hadn't stopped yet, neither had the dizziness. It helped if he tried not to move, however. He didn't glance at the Gryffindors, knowing they would take it as him being guilty over the redecorations. He had heard furious whispers in the hall waiting for the class to begin, and knew they were out for blood. Not literally, but revenge all the same. He didn't particularly want to give it to them, surprisingly.
He made his way to his cauldron, wincing as Goyle snarled at him as he approached, kicking the stool besides him to the floor. "I'm not sitting next to a fucking faggot." He growled, piggy eyes glinting dangerously.
Harry blinked at that, surprised at how the tightness returned to his chest. He had been called that plenty over the weeks, when everyone thought he was engaged to Malfoy. They still did, but it had lessened. And yet, it had never hurt like it did now.
Slowly, the soft conversations in the room dimmed, each ear turned their way. Harry could feel his face heating up, the embarrassment and, worse, confusion flushing his face. There was nowhere else to sit. And too make it worse, he was standing there awkwardly with nowhere to go, making the situation even worse than it was every moment he just stood there like an imbecile…and why was he still standing there?
"Oh, yes, because your relationship with Vincent was so platonic." Parkinson sneered, surprisingly. Harry blinked at her in confusion, taking a step back as Goyle launched to his feet.
"We never-"
"By your definition," She continued, tying her hair into a messy bun with a slight frown, barely even addressing her housemate. "We're all faggots anyway. There's Draco and Potty, so sickening smitten with one another," He was not smitten! It was a slight crush, at most! "Blaise is involved with a completely unrequited, sordid, love affair with Weasel," Her lips twitched here, but didn't give anything else away. "And Theo is in love with himself. Which faggot do you want to sit with?" She sneered, eyebrows raised.
Ouch. She had some bite in her after all.
"You aren't-" Goyle began, grunting uncomfortably as he realised the entire room was watching their conversation, greedy little eyes hungry for gossip. But, Parkinson's shrill fake laughter cut him off.
"Don't even think about it." She sneered, lips twitching in a smirk again. "We're not friends."
Harry winced as she turned her predatory gaze on him instead, eyes glinting curiously. "Potter. You can-"
"Take my spot, Potty." Zabini sighed dramatically, slinging his bag next to Goyle. He shoved himself from his chair, "Or Pansy will-"
Harry didn't really want to know what Parkinson had in mind for him, and was actually quite thankful that Slughorn chose that moment to reappear from the storeroom.
"Come on, come on, take your seats!" He boomed, waddling to the front of the class. "Aparantly I need to talk to you all about some nasty business. Very nasty. Nothing to do with potions, but each class is being questioned regardless." He tutted at that, rolling his eyes as he regarded his students.
Harry quickly plonked himself in the seat next to Malfoy, shifting uncomfortably as those eyes drifted to him. Merlin, his stomach was on fire, a bundle of uncontrollable nerves. He could feel his face turning red as that steady gaze didn't waver, staring him down. What did he want him to say? 'I'm sorry I sucked your face off' didn't sound good even in his head.
Harry almost jumped as something touched his hand, jerking his arm away quickly, then returning it as he realised his mistake. Malfoy was passing him something, his eyes finally flitting away to Slughorn in case he was watching. Whatever it was had better be important enough to risk…
It was the anti-hangover solution.
Harry sighed in relief, pretending to scratch his nose but downing the potion. It looked tacky, but Slughorn didn't notice, so who cared?
"A few rebellious students went around last night, mocking the school and its very foundations, by-"
Harry couldn't help the grin that stretched over his face.
Slughorn went on and on about how this rebellious act was immature, and downright dangerous. Harry didn't see how it could possibly be dangerous; a few students running around after dark wasn't perilous in the slightest; the only possible threat that could come of their game last night would be the retaliation from the Gryffindors, and the teachers had shed a surprisingly blind eye to that all year long. It wasn't as if they would suddenly interfere now, even if they did catch on that the hexes were becoming slightly more obvious.
"So, if anyone would like to apologize for their actions last night, the faculty here ensures that no punishment will befall the student." Slughorn continued dryly, as if he was slightly bored. "We simply wish to know why they did as they did, where the alcohol came from, and to how they managed to sneak into the Gryffindor tower."
He paused here, eyes drifting around the room. "There. Done. Anyone here wish to confess?"
Harry kept his gaze steady on the desk surface, not daring to look up. If his face was easy to read, all the professor had to do was glance at him and he would know. He didn't particularly want the Gryffindors after him again; they had been vicious enough this year, for something he had no control over. If they knew he did it purposely, they would be relentless.
He had to roll his eyes, however. The Slytherins were basking in smugness; could they make it any more apparent?
"No?" Slughorn continued, bouncing on his toes. "Shame, shame. That was a good bit of magic there; did anyone see the statues in the Great Hall? The pigeon…" He chortled, making a big deal out of wiping his eye and turning to the blackboard.
"Sir, I don't think you should be advocating this sort of behaviour." Hermione spoke up, earning nods of approval from her house. "Gryffindor house was attacked."
"Now, now, it's alright." Slughorn waved a hand amicably, failing in placating Hermione. "It's all just fun and games; no one was hurt, were they? And I think even you would admit that it was quite a good prank."
"It could potentially jeopardise every student here; we don't know how they got in. What if-"
"It could have been anyone, Miss Granger." Slughorn nodded, sitting behind his desk with an eyebrow raised. "That doesn't rule out Gryffindors either. It seems like a good tactic, if you ask me. Pretending it was another house so that whoever it was wouldn't be suspicious." Oh god. "Maybe there's a smug Gryffindor somewhere, thinking that this will cause strife between the houses. I'm not pointing fingers, and I doubt that it was a Gryffindor, but the possibilities are still there." Just stop. "Now, let's put this behind us, and move on. It was good magic, let's leave it at that, and let's not do it again. Right. Today we're going to…"
Harry swallowed, glancing around Malfoy to the other side of the room, holding back his cringe. He could see the clogs turning in each mind, see exactly when they came at the inevitable conclusion. Only a Gryffindor could get into the tower; they would have to know the password, would have to have a Slytherin type of mind, and would have to be ostracised from the house of red, and in all probability want revenge.
One by one the Gryffindor eyes narrowed, and their heads turned to stare at him.
"You bloody traitor!" Ron bellowed, jerking to his feet as he pointed at Harry. "How could you let them in our house!"
"How could you, Harry?"
"Scum are we, Potter? Huh?"
Harry flinched at the sudden uproar on the Gryffindor half of the room, swallowing tightly and shaking his head as the yelled abuse at him. "It wasn't me!" He tried to say it determinedly, but everyone knew he couldn't lie to save his own life.
"Whoa, whoa, calm down!" Slughorn was out of his depth, waddling between both sides of the classroom with his hand out wide. "Calm down! What is this all about? I said calm down!"
Slowly the Gryffindors stopped yelling, but they remained standing, glaring at Harry for all he was worth. Except Neville, of course, who was sitting there biting his lip, glancing around the room as though he didn't know who to back. And Hermione, oddly enough, who had one hand resting on Ron's elbow, looking as if she was either comforting him or trying to get him to sit back down.
"Harry's the one that did it!" Seamus snapped, glaring at him furiously. "He destroyed the room. He's the one that thinks we're scum."
"That, or he led the Slytherins into the room! They're his mates now." Ron added, muttering to himself and refusing to look Harry in the eye.
Harry himself sat dumbfounded; eyes wide. For once, guilt gnawed at his stomach. Well, they were right. Harry had led the Slytherins into the common room last night, and they had redecorated the room. It was his fault. But, he didn't want to prove the Gryffindors right.
He was angry with them, and so tired of being alone. If he didn't back the Slytherins, he would lose Malfoy, and though he couldn't even look at the blonde at the moment, that was something he would do anything to prevent. He needed the git.
"It wasn't me." Harry denied, swallowing as Hermione and Neville's eyes narrowed too; they knew he was lying through his teeth. "You're wrong."
"That's bullshit!" Ron thundered, eyes wide. He looked as if he had never seen Harry before, and that hurt more than it should. "You're lying! You weren't in your bed last night!" He added, ears turning red. "Where were you, then?"
Harry blinked, hands shaking. Ron was checking he slept in Gryffindor Tower? He still cared.
"He was in Slytherin." Zabini drawled, shrugging indifferently. "We were playing games in the boy's dormitory."
"Why would you allow a Gryffindor into Slytherin?" Seamus snapped again, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're lying through your teeth."
"Ask anyone." Harry sighed, avoiding Ron's stare of betrayal. "That's what we were doing."
"Any Slytherin, any year." Parkinson added, scowling as though he didn't think she should be trying to explain. Well, she probably didn't. "They'll tell you the same thing."
"Yeah, and you'll run off and tell them what to say as soon as we do." Lavender piped up, rolling her eyes dramatically. It was a failed attempt.
"We won't even leave the room." Zabini challenged, arms spread wide. Merlin, how could they find this taunting fun? It was making Harry feel sick to his stomach.
"Okay, I think that's quite enough." Everyone jerked as though they had forgotten Slughorn was in the room; Ron looked mildly embarrassed as the fact he had swore in front of him. However, the professor just looked grim. "It wasn't Harry. Now, let's go back to our lesson."
"Professor, you can't honestly just expect them to tell the truth-!" Seamus interrupted angrily, but was cut off with a snap from Slughorn.
"It. Was. Not. Harry." He almost growled, glaring at each of the Gryffindor's in turn. Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his seat; of course Slughorn was certain; Harry couldn't do magic without killing himself. If only the Gryffindors were reassured.
By their livid glares, they weren't.
Even Neville turned his head away, shaking it angrily.
Harry sat there, ignoring the Slytherin smugness as the guilt settled into his stomach.
He hated himself.
.
.
.
Harry shuffled through the shelving, his newly acquired book hidden under one arm, underneath several other books for a cover. If he was found, he could be doing either his potions homework or studying the other languages again. He did it often enough now that he could remember ten without forgetting; it wasn't much, but at least it was some progress.
He needed to find a hidden desk, somewhere no one would find him. That, or he would run to the room of requirement. Actually, that wasn't such a bad idea. Why was he wasting his time hiding in the library when no one, map or otherwise, could find him there? Oh, well, too late now.
He felt sick. He didn't want to do this, not in the least. It was going to ruin his mood, it wouldn't help at all…it was stupid.
And yet, he continued through the shelves, creeping around other students and sighing with relief as he found a rickety desk in the corner. It was covered in dust. Perfect. No one would edge down here, would they?
He plonked himself down, swallowing tightly as he glanced at the book. It was old, but hardly had any dog-ears on the pages; it hadn't been read often. Hopefully, no one would notice what it was.
Steadying himself, Harry flipped the book open, running a finger down the index. Q…R…There.
Succorbentis.
…
It didn't look too bad. Not a threatening word at all, for one that didn't know what it was. It could have been Wingardium Leviosa, and it would have left the same impact.
Harry released an unsteady breath, shaking his head at his own stupidity. He had thought it would leap across the page and start murdering him, the way he carried on. What could it do? It couldn't sneer, couldn't taunt. A word was a word.
Okay. This was easy.
He could do this.
Harry flipped to the required page, staring at the heading for a moment. Just a word. A harmless, insignificant name. Just a label, really. It was fine. He was fine.
His eyes flicked to the first line.
This incurable-
Harry slammed his hand across the page, scrunching his eyes shut. Fuck, it hurt. It shouldn't hurt like this. His chest was ramming against his ribcage, his head screaming, trying to find a way out. He couldn't do this, he couldn't read about it! It wasn't just words and labels and names; it was his life these words were tearing apart.
Harry pulled at his hair, gritting his teeth angrily. Why was it always him?
He slammed a hand back down onto the desk, ignoring the stinging in his hand. Again.
Again.
It wasn't making his chest hurt any less, not ebbing the pain away. He kicked the desk, barely noting when it cracked and sent books scattering. His breath came out in startled gasps. Words. It was just fucking words.
His eyes jerked open as he heard footsteps, too close for comfort. Instinctively, he leapt to his feet, stumbling away from whoever had happened upon him. "Lumos."
His snarl faltered slightly as he came face to face with a startled Malfoy, eyes wide in the glittering light. Eyes which quickly narrowed with anger of their own.
Why was he here again? Harry had fucking hidden to try to get away-
He gasped as his cheek flared with pain, staggering into the shelf roughly. Malfoy had just punched him. He touched his cheek tenderly, wincing as it flared with pain. Pain, which dimmed as fury replaced it.
Before he knew it, he had launched at the blonde teen, tackling him to the ground. He heard Malfoy's head hit shelving with a loud thump, but didn't care. He needed to hurt, and he needed to hurt now! As much as Harry was hurting!
Harry pulled back an arm and flung it forwards roughly, punching Malfoy across the opposite cheek. Before his head could even turn to face Harry, the fist was swinging forwards again.
Harry growled to himself, pulling back another fist.
Why was it always him?
Pure fury radiated from him, exploding with each punch to Malfoy's face. He had had enough! Enough of the Dursley's treating him like shit, literally. Enough of being judged by every fucking pair of eyes! Of being rejected and ignored for a disease he didn't deserve! Of trying to put everyone else first!
He had had enough of being alone!
He couldn't keep living like this!
Those fucking words!
Harry brought back his fist again, about to bring it down when he realised something. Malfoy wasn't fighting back. He was just laying there, blood dribbling from his mouth and nose, and his cool eyes never leaving Harry's face.
But, he just lay there. He didn't even try to free himself!
"Fight back!" Harry growled, clenching his fist tighter. "Fight!"
"…No." The word took some effort to say, and he had to spit out blood to even speak, but still, he didn't move to hit Harry back. He didn't even move to defend himself. Harry snarled at him, lifting his hand back further. If he wasn't going to fight, it was no fault of his. He had given him a chance.
However, something had changed. As soon as Harry had realised that Malfoy wasn't fighting back, that it was a completely one-sided battle, the anger had fled like the coward it was. It hid back into the recesses of Harry's troubled mind, leaving him shell of faked anger and just…emptiness.
Something else rose up inside his core, feeding and festering until his eyes watered and the hollow space felt too, too big. It became an effort to keep his arm raised, an effort to stay sitting up. It was a fierce, almost desperate fight to keep the sudden wetness in his eyes from spilling over. One that he lost.
Exhaustion swept over Harry, festering into his mind and controlling his body until he slumped over, leaning his head on the battered boy's chest. His hands curled around the Slytherin's robes, despite the now sharp stinging on his right one, and clung on for dear life. Even if the blond wanted to remove Harry, he wouldn't have much choice.
Harry's entire body cramped up, unable to move more than the slight tremors that shook his frame. The tears wouldn't stop now, a flow that refused to recede now that it had finally clawed its way to the surface.
Why was it always him?
Fuck, it hurt. So much.
Harry shook slightly, trying to stop the chocked sobs that were beginning to wrench its way free. He couldn't take much more of this! He was falling apart at the seams, and there wasn't anyone left to put him back together.
Slowly, hesitantly, a hand pressed into his back. Harry had forgotten that he was straddling Malfoy, and if he had thought the reminder would have him still, he was horribly wrong. A strangled cry wrenched its way from his throat, hardly sounding like his own.
He couldn't deal with this.
So Harry sobbed, and Malfoy let him.
.
.
.
Harry lay there mortified, head still resting on Malfoy's chest, eyes wide with horror. He was straddling the blonde, after sobbing hysterically on him for the past few minutes, after beating the shit out of his face. Ignoring the fact that he had snogged him less than twenty four hours ago. How the fuck was he supposed to face him now?
If he lifted his head, he had no doubt Malfoy would be waiting for freeze him with his gaze. So, he refused to move. And thus, sealed his fate. He could sit like this for days; so what if his feet and hands were numb? If you couldn't feel it, it couldn't hurt.
Harry swallowed tightly, holding in a sigh that could break the silence. Malfoy's steady breathing rustled against his head, effectively calming him. The hand hadn't moved from the small of his back, the thumb stroking against him gently. The hand was warm against his shirt; Harry was certain he could trace every finger, as if branded into his skin.
He didn't want to break the silence. The comfort he had unknowingly fallen into.
And yet, a subconscious part of his mind reminded him that Malfoy may very well have a broken nose. It hinted that his hand was turning purple, and he couldn't move it. It hissed at him to move, before he embarrassed himself more so.
Harry promptly ignored it.
"You're going to have to move eventually." Came the drawl from above him, stilling him further. He didn't think it was possible, but apparently his body wanted to resemble a statute. A statute straddling Draco Malfoy. Fuck, he needed firewhiskey.
Harry didn't want to move. He wanted to remain right where he was, without the embarrassing mess that was becoming his life. He had lost his glasses a little while ago, and could only see the blurred outlines of everything around him. Even so, he couldn't move to face Malfoy. Even a blurred Malfoy was daunting.
"I know you're awake." Malfoy continued, but he didn't move either. He could have easily just shoved Harry away; instead, he waited for Harry to make the first move. And here Harry had thought he knew the simple concept 'mercy'. "I know you're listening to me. And I know if you don't move soon, we're going to be discovered in this compromising position, and your tear-stricken mug will be all over the prophet by sundown. Is that what you want?"
He had a good point, despite the nausea his words brought back to Harry.
"Potty, get off."
Harry clenched his teeth, drawing up the last reserves of Gryffindor courage. There wasn't much left, but it was enough to start moving. His stomach lurched violently, warning him to remain still; he ignored it.
He forced his limbs to move, to listen to him. His leg jolted a bit, slowly shifting until he wasn't lying over the blonde. It was slightly unnerving, that that was as much as he could summon. He felt weak; he couldn't even pretend he could move; he couldn't.
Harry snapped his eyes open as hands covered his own; incredibly gentle as they prized his clenched fists open.
His hands were trembling though, barely able to move. Malfoy's thumb stroked Harry's palm, sending tingles down his arm and warming his stomach. Shit.
Harry jerked away, falling heavily to the side, barely catching himself before he slammed against the floor. He couldn't see Malfoy's expression, and thanked Gods unknown for that. He crawled backwards slowly, shifting away from him. He couldn't deal with this, not now.
For a while, neither said anything. Malfoy eventually uttered a few healing spells, transforming himself to his former impeccable glory.
Harry sat shamefaced on the floor, not even facing the blonde; his mantra of 'out of sight out of mind' was running through his head pitifully. God, he has pathetic.
"You've done an amazing job at avoiding us for the entirety of the day." Malfoy eventually spoke, ignoring the fact he had just had the shit beaten out of him. And the fact that they had kissed. And the fact that Harry had just-"Skipping Herbology and hiding in the forgotten depths of the library is a tad drastic, isn't it?"
"Malfoy-" Harry was overridden.
"I hunt you down because I have to help you with your homework, lest I lose at my own game." He continued, his voice still indifferent. "To have you revert back into a savage Gryffindor. Such lost progress."
What the hell was he saying? Why wasn't he throttling Harry? Jeering?
Harry half expected him to continue, but the silence reigned again. Thank God he had lost his glasses.
"I'm sorry." Harry whispered, staring at the carpet. Fuck, Malfoy deserved a better apology than that, but it was all he could offer at the moment. He was surprised his voice had actually let him speak; he had half expected it, too, to abandon him.
Like Malfoy should, now.
"Don't apologize, it belittles you." Malfoy replied equally as softly, sitting somewhere to Harry's left. He didn't know how to take that; not to apologise because it wouldn't be accepted, or because it wasn't needed? It was defiantly needed, but that meant-
"Stop thinking, you'll kill off what little brain cells you have left." The blonde continued. He shifted, the noise seeming too loud in the darkness. "If this is about the dare…?"
Oh, god. He was not having this conversation.
"No, it's not." Harry quickly replied, still not facing him. He remained staring at the blurry carpet; his eyes must be getting worse, he could barely make out his hand next to it. Great.
"Forget Gregory; he's an idiot."
"I know." Harry dived through his thoughts, trying to find a way out of this potentially mortifying conversation. "They're…figuring it out." Great cover Harry. Really, round of applause for pure utter fucking idiocy over here!
"Is that such a bad thing?"
What? Of course it was; no one was supposed to know. Bloody Malfoy wasn't supposed to know!
"Yes!"
"…I'll tell them to drop it." It did little to comfort Harry. If the Slytherins were figuring it out, how much had the Ravenclaws? Fuck, the Gryffindors? They had to be noticing his lack of magic.
"For fucks sake, Potter, don't ignore me!" Shit, had he spoken? Harry hadn't even heard.
He opened his mouth to respond, but didn't know what to say. Hell, did didn't know what was an appropriate reply for something he hadn't heard. What if it was a trap to corner him? What if he was something to do with the dare?
Malfoy growled, anger dripping into his voice. "Don't you dare start shutting me out too, Potter. Just tell me what the fucking problem is! It's the dare, isn't it? It's the-"
"It's not the dare!" Harry blurted out, just trying to shut him up. Why was everything against him? "That was…never mind." There was no way in hell he was telling him what he really thought about the kiss. That it had made him feel more alive than he had in weeks. Merlin, kill him of embarrassment now.
"You are so full of bullshit! If that's not the problem, then-"
"I don't want to die!" Harry blinked, his mouth snapping shut. Shit. He had said it. Shit. Fuck. He hadn't meant to say that. He would rather tell Malfoy to hurry up and reclaim his lips than tell him that! But he had started now, and no matter how his mind was screaming at him to shut up, he couldn't stop. "Last night was fun, really fun. And I realised that I miss having fun, that I miss living. I'm not fucking living anymore; I'm just sitting and counting down the days until either explode, or can't take it anymore. Because I'm telling you now, I can't take this anymore! I can't just sit back and be fine with the fact I'm not going to grow old, that I'm never going to get married, that I'm never going to be able to love anyone; building a fucking snowman was a bloody accomplishment, and that's fucking pathetic; I want more of last night, but I can't have it. Fuck, I don't want to die. I don't want it! I'm dying, and can't do a fucking thing about it, and all I want-"
Harry let out a small 'oomph' as he was knocked backwards, panic settling in as he realised he was on his back with a rather strong body suddenly leaning over him. What the fuck was Malfoy thinking…!
Oh.
His tirade stopped as suddenly as it began as Malfoy's soft lips descended on his; tch, soft. There was nothing soft about this.
Malfoy demanded his attention; lips pressed against his, moving roughly against his mouth. A flick of a tongue here, a touch of a nibble there. Harry's body betrayed him, responding eagerly as Malfoy's teeth scaped against his bottom lip, a low moan escaping before Harry could pull it back.
Fuck, Harry kissed back willingly, a hand hesitantly moving to Malfoy's back to keep him there, in case he had second thoughts. He wasn't escaping this time; there was no attention seeking housemates' perving on the scene, which he knew of, and no need to stop.
His heart thumped loudly as Malfoy forced his way into his mouth, so loud that he was sure the Slytherin was smirking against his lips again. He could barely breathe; his chest was about to explode. He needed air, but wasn't going to move away anytime soon.
He felt alive.
He couldn't see Malfoy, but Merlin, he could feel him.
The blondes tongue glided against his, pulling it, controlling it. Harry hadn't been kissed like this before; his stomach was warm, a bundle of nerves he couldn't control. Every touch was deliberate. A hand to his cheek, a stroke behind his ear. Fuck, he was burning up. Was the floor always this hot?
…
Harry had heard terms thrown around lately, about male relationships. Though he knew most were offensive, there was one that he had understood, sort of.
And he had decided, he was not 'bottom'.
So Harry shoved back with his tongue, trying to move the attention away from his mouth towards Malfoy's. He felt Malfoy still a little in surprise, then shove back. He managed to control his moan this time, instead turning it into a pathetic little mewl. Great. Fantastic.
Hmm. He was losing this battle.
He moved his hands a little, tightening his hold on the blonde. His slid one to Malfoy's neck, pushing him down slightly, controlling where he could put his head, and maybe the force of the kiss.
Malfoy slid his hands from Harry's face, instead grabbed a wrist each and slammed it to the carpet. He held them there, his thumbs stroking Harry's wrists.
Harry bit his lip in a bold move, a bit harder than he had intended.
Malfoy bit him back, meaning to generate the small yelp from Harry.
Neither had pulled away from the kiss; Harry was quite lightheaded by this time. His lungs were screaming for air, but he couldn't pull away. He couldn't lose.
Malfoy was definitely smirking now, but he didn't move away either. In fact, he deepened the kiss, as if trying to get Harry to moan again.
Fuck, he needed to breathe. He needed to…
Harry slipped his ankles around Malfoy's, twisted his hands around to grab onto Malfoy's wrists. In one jerky movement, he forced his stomach to bend, shoving himself up and off of the ground…
And rolled over Malfoy, forcing him to be lying down, his wrists held against the carpet near his head.
Malfoy moved his head away, finally breaking the kiss. He gulped in a breath, bursting out laughing.
Thank God.
Harry released his wrists, rolling over and panted, trying to get his own breath back. It was worse than when he had been in the lake, transformed back into a human after the gillyweed had worn off. His entire chest ached; he couldn't gulp down air quick enough.
His brain was muttering darkly at him for stopping the kiss, threatening him to simultaneously never do that again, and to do it now!
"Merlin, Potty," Malfoy laughed from next to him, his body shaking with mirth. "Not everything is a competition."
Tch, why didn't he give up then?
Harry merely shrugged, his brain a bit fuzzy on how that had exactly happened. One moment he was ranting, getting louder and louder, and Malfoy had…dived on him. How the hell did that happen? When Harry was fighting with Ginny, she would shout back or turn and cry. Never had she dived at him and attacked him with her tongue.
"…Uh…what…what was that about?" He panted, turning to stare at the blurred outline of Malfoy.
"Are you complaining?" He could hear the smirk in his voice.
"No."
"Then don't ask." Malfoy replied dryly. He seemed to be getting his breath back much quicker than Harry. Bastard.
"…but-"
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Potty," He sounded exasperated, instead of angry. "You're not in denial anymore. You don't want to die. I don't want you to die. I'm happy. Can you let it be? I can practically hear your brain cells committing suicide."
Harry blinked at that, not sure how to feel.
Malfoy…happy?
He snorted to himself, shaking his head as he rolled over, pushing himself up off of the floor. Yeah, when hell froze over.
He felt around on the floor, trying to find the scraps of metal that he was dependant on. If he couldn't see his hand on the floor, he highly doubted that he would be able to find them. What if they had crushed them during their...uh, kiss? He wasn't going to wrap them up with sticky-tape again; it wasn't the best look. He had his reputation to uphold, after all.
Harry snorted to himself again, smiling as he felt around on the floor.
"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked, sounding amused as he watched Harry struggle. As if he didn't know Harry was blind without his scraps of metal and glass. And pigs could fly. Well, in the muggle sense. Harry didn't know if pigs could actually fly in the wizarding world. He should find out; something to add to the limited plethora of wizarding knowledge in his head.
"Trying to find my glasses. I can't see a bloody thing." Harry replied, frowning as he struggled on the floor. He needed to find the book too, to hide if before Malfoy read the cover. That was one particular thing he wanted to struggle through himself.
He shuffled on for a few more moments before realising Malfoy hadn't moved.
"A little help would be…well, you know, helpful."
"Harry, you're wearing your glasses."
…
Oh.
.
.
.