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.
Hello my wonderful reviewers! Here's the update! :) Sorry for the cliff-hanger last chapter, I couldn't resist. :)
My exams are done! Time to write! :D
Chapter twenty three - The Talk
Heat.
Hands.
Skin.
Fucking vanilla.
The warmth was intense, almost overwhelming. Malfoy was everywhere; he had a hand on Harry's throat, his fucking talented fingers stroking, tantalizingly soft. Each touch sent a tingle down Harry's spine, a shiver of anticipation. His other arm was curled around Harry's waist, caressing his back with fingers light as air. Their legs were touching at their knees. Their chests flushed tight against one another.
Harry could feel every rushed breath Malfoy took, against both his chest and his face. He could have counting the heartbeats, if he had been so inclined. He was otherwise engaged.
Malfoy demanded his attention. He nipped at his lips, brushed in a tongue before sliding it away; he was fucking teasing, and Harry wanted more. Trying to seem confident, when inside he was turning into unstable, unthinking mush, Harry hesitantly brushed his own tongue into Malfoy's mouth, satisfied when the other boy jerked with surprise. Their tongues met, and entirely new shivers wracked Harry's body. He wasn't going to last long, not like this.
Harry's hands had crept under Malfoy's shirt, running along his smooth back, trying to feel as much as possible. Merlin, he was so warm, so real. This was really happening. His air-deprived lungs could have told him as much, but Harry had opted for the 'hands on' approach. His hands travelled down Malfoy's spine, revering in just how smooth it was; it had to be magic. It just had to be.
His hands hesitated, however, at the dip in his back. He had never touched anyone like this before, let alone a boy. What if he was doing something wrong? What if he was being too presumptuous, or rude?
Fucking Merlin, Harry…he had Malfoy's tongue down his throat. He could safely bet their presumptions were in the same ball-park.
That left the question what was he supposed to do there? He wasn't that oblivious to know what some people liked, or wanted…but with their clothes still firmly on, he was a little lost.
And terrified.
Malfoy smirked against his lips, shifting slightly to press against Harry's hands. The bastard. He was mocking him, whilst they were kissing!
Well! Gathering up the little reserves of confidence he had left, Harry began inching his hand down along Malfoy's spine…
"Ah-hem!"
Harry jerked from where he was standing, effectively bashing his forehead against Malfoy's and sending them both staggering to the floor. "Fuck, Potty…" Malfoy groaned, a hand rubbing his face. Harry glanced towards him; both their lips twitched as they caught each other's eyes.
Caught by the school nurse.
Then concussed.
Harry burst out laughing.
.
.
.
Harry jerked awake, heart pounding. He fumbled for the side of the bed, retching up what little he had had for dinner. Bile burned the back of his throat, his eyes blurred with the effort not to shut. The disgusting splatter of vomit reaching tile echoed throughout the hospital wing.
God, that had been a particularly awful nightmare. His magic had burst ripping through his body joint by joint. It had started with his toes, his limbs tearing off one by one. To make it worse, he had been strapped in for the diagnostic, with Dudley watching with wide eyes, unable to do a thing. Pomfrey had a touring group of students with her, pointing to the bloody mess that was Harry. "And to your left, a dead boy walking. He should be dead within a month; that's the average."
Harry shook on the bed, wiping his mouth with disgust. It seemed ridiculous now that he was awake. In the dream…he could feel his limbs tearing off, see the blood weep from his body, the rusty stench…
Merlin, Pomfrey had unstrapped him when he had no feet, and only a stump to his knee on his right leg, hoisting him up and demanding he walk out of the room. He had felt the pain radiating from his legs, the anguish of having to walk on opened, bloody wounds…he had screamed…
Harry shuddered, reaching for the glass of water to rinse his mouth out. He wanted these nightmares to stop; needed them to. By day, his body betrayed him. By night, his mind.
He couldn't take much more of this.
.
.
.
Bleary eyed, Harry stared at the word with confusion. Zdravo. How the hell was he supposed to pronounce a 'Z' and a 'D' together? Zeh-Deh? Zee-D? Why was this so confusing?
He hadn't returned to sleep last night…this morning…whenever. He had, instead, collected parchment and various books from his belongings and scurried to the library before Pomfrey could demand he return his things to Gryffindor Tower. That had been at three.
He was making leeway with the languages, but was still failing dramatically with any information on Simon Harvey. Fucking Simon Harvey. Why would the prick disappear off the face of the earth? Hadn't someone done any research into this fucking illness? It was brilliantly ridiculous; a terrifying disease that horrified all wizarding folk, and yet none deemed it worthy enough to cure? To research? To bloody document? It was the Voldemort situation all over again; don't speak his name, he doesn't exist. Well fuck that!
Harry had been through at least twenty medical journals already, mentioning neither Harvey or the disease. He had been through books listing notable wizards through history. Not a mention. Through a particularly heavy book titled 'Wizards That Should Never Be Mentioned In Society'…zip. In a rage, Harry had scribbled the author's name on the first page…and circled it. With pointing arrows. And a bold 'number one' surrounding the name.
Okay, so he was having a bad day. So what? At the moment, he really couldn't give a flying fuck.
"Zeh-Druh-voe…Bravo…Zeh-Dravo…good enough." He sighed, scribbling down the pronunciation and dragging the next book towards him. Hungarian. Because it promised to be that much easier.
He sighed, flipping the book open. He had already covered three languages today; if only he had ever been this inclined to study for exams; he would be smashing Hermione. It was too bad he was still failing dismally at potions; no matter how hard he studied, he never seemed to retain anything related to a potion, or a solution. He could see Number Eighteen beginning to flutter away.
He glanced up as the library doors swung open, a small Ravenclaw girl poking her head through before hurrying to the shelves. It seemed the rest of the castle was stirring; great.
Harry sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, as if it would help any, and began gathering up the medical books that littered the table. He could hardly research Harvey now, could he? If that first year caught a glimpse of the titles, the rumours would be circulating the halls by midday. And he really couldn't deal with that right now.
What was he supposed to do about accommodation? Harry frowned, tossing the books back onto a random shelf and stumbling back to his table. He wasn't about to return to Gryffindor with his head tucked under his metaphorical tail. He wasn't going to beg, or lie his way back in. That section of the castle wasn't his home anymore; it seemed to make his reasons for returning to Hogwarts a mute point, but he quickly ignored that particular thought. Ignorance was bliss.
Pomfrey and McGonagall had been speaking behind his back, apparently. They had both strongly advised him to return his belongings to his nonexistent dormitory; not going to happen. The only reason he had been able to sleep, for a few hours, in the Hospital Wing last night was because he had pretended to fall asleep after taking his midnight Magic Stabilizing potion. And he doubted that would work a second time. So where was he to go? Hagrid's? Hardly; he was supposed to be enjoying his friends company from afar; you could hardly do that whilst depending on their hospitality. Luna might let him crash with her, but he doubted the other Ravenclaws would be pleased. Malfoy would probably…no. Definitely not.
Yes, they were on speaking terms. Yes, he had enjoyed a rather vicious game in their dormitory. Yes, they would obliterate him for asking.
Besides, that would put him in close proximity to Malfoy.
Said blonde he was currently avoiding.
How were they supposed to talk, now, after declaring they would be a loosely defined 'friends with benefits'? He could barely look at the blonde without, how mortifying, blushing. It was completely ridiculous; the butterflies hadn't gone away. Hell no; they seemed to take their snogging session as a drug; they were bloody thriving. Twisting hopefully every time Harry had landed his eyes on the Slytherin. The complete git. How dare he do this to Harry's body?
Harry still held onto the slim, unlikely hope that Drac-Malfoy didn't really want him.
It was fast dissipating.
Harry yawned, flipping idle through the pages of his book. At least it wasn't Tuesday.
.
.
.
Harry frowned against the noise in the library, tapping his book irritated. Wasn't a library supposed to be quiet? Where the hell was Prince when you needed her?
Or, a better question, why were the majority of students at Hogwarts that bored that they had to find solace in the library? Wasn't it usually for people who had nowhere else to be, or Ravenclaws? Half the population of the school was crammed in here; giggling behind shelves, running around tables, being loud.
Where. Was. Madam. Prince?
"You've been thinking bad thoughts all week; Stop it."
Harry jerked in his seat, arms flailing as he tried to stop himself tumbling to the floor. Oh yes, Harry. Very attractive. Malfoy just raised an eyebrow, however, and reached over to rub the frowning lines away, surprising Harry. He…hadn't been touched that affectionately in a while. It came as a shock, coming from Malfoy.
"Stop frowning, Potter; you'll get wrinkles." Malfoy tutted at him, plonking into the closest seat. "See this face?" He didn't really ask as stated. "Wrinkle free."
"That's because you hide behind a mask."
"Wrinkle. Free." Malfoy repeated, smirking softly before turning to study the books that littered the table, impeding anyone that wanted to share desks. "Didn't know you could read Korean."
Smartarse.
Harry continued flicking through the pages, hopelessly lost as he stared at the word after Korean word. He couldn't even read this, let alone pronounce it. This was impossible!
"How many have you got done?"
Twenty Eight. He didn't want to ruin the surprise when he was done, so he just shrugged.
Wrong answer.
Malfoy sighed, slapping the book closed and looking as if he didn't give a flying fuck that it had shut on Harry's hand, quite roughly. He could feel a bruise building already; these weren't light books!
"Alright, put it on the table. I'm doing this once, and only once. Say what you need to, and then shut the fuck up for the rest of your miserable life."
"Why me?" Harry glanced up immediately, loathing his traitorous mouth. "You could have anyone in this stupid castle, and you pick me. This isn't going to end well, with rainbows and sunshine and a big fucking happy ending." That, and the fact the stupid 'friends with benefits' thing never worked out well. They would be happily cursing each other again within a couple of months. Or, on the off chance that they hadn't had the inevitable fight, Malfoy would be cursing Harry's grave in a couple of months. Either way, cursing would occur.
"I'm not half as daft as you." Malfoy replied coolly, eyes glinting dangerously. "I know that. However, here we are."
"But-"
"Was I too subtle when I propositioned you into my bed? How about when I climbed into yours?" Malfoy continued, seeming oblivious to the fact that particular statement brought about twenty glances of surprise. He wasn't being quiet at all; he wanted people to hear this. Prick. And those people would definitely pick up of Harry's embarrassed, red face.
Harry flushed with humiliation. He couldn't believe he had overlooked that; it was quite apparent, now that he looked at it with different eyes. Malfoy was looking smug as he smirked, eyes still glinting.
"But…I'm not gay." Harry ended that with a hiss, glaring at the obvious eavesdroppers, who were all looking with high expectations at the table. Why didn't they just make the neon lights pointing in their direction? Gossip here! Fangirls welcome!
He was more than relieved when Malfoy dropped his tone to reply quietly to that one. "Neither am I."
…
What?
Harry looked at him with disbelief, almost laughing. Malfoy caught his sceptical look, and glowered. Malfoy's weren't made fun of, apparently. "What? I don't like being labelled, alright?" Harry did not point out that he was first to call people out on their blood, but it was a near thing. That would have him disregarded in a heartbeat; it was a worry that he didn't speak.
Malfoy sighed, seeming quite irritable at having the explain himself. He shifted quickly, leaning forwards to speak in hushed tones. Harry pretended the butterflies weren't noticing their close proximity. "I am who I am, and you are who you are; somebody with atrocious hair, poor etiquette, and of interest to me. I'm not explaining myself further, not for you, not for anyone."
Harry could understand that; his actions were questioned constantly. He was amazed the thoughts in his head weren't dissected. He could allow Malfoy some privacy.
But there was still one thing bugging him, one thing that he just couldn't ignore. How mortifying.
"I am not 'bottom'!" He hissed, watching with slightly amusement as Malfoy jerked in shock, a bemused grin sliding up his face. He shook his head in wonder, snickering to himself.
"Neither am I." He laughed, smiling. Merlin, and there was the smile that could captivate gods. "You were actually worried about that, weren't you?"
"As if." Harry forced the book open again, stretching his crushed hand. But if neither of them were…
"Worries settled?" Malfoy asked a little too dryly, his grin dropping, with difficultly, to a smirk. "Our first big bad relationship talk, and we both came out intact."
"Not a relationship," Harry corrected, stifling the disagreement in his head. "Enjoying the moment."
"Of course, dear."
"Fine."
"Fine?"
"Fine."
"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming." If only he knew how hard it was to keep his eyes on the book, and his hand steady as he tried, pitifully, to write. He still couldn't keep the blush off of his face; great, he was turning into a crushing girl.
"I…" Merlin, did he really want to put this out there? Harry hesitated, glancing at Malfoy. He was calmly watching, small smirk in place. He really wanted this; hell, Malfoy had braved the 'relationship' talk. The butterflies weren't all that wanted it…wait, now his brain was mutinying against him? His entire body was traitorous. "…don't know how to talk to you now." He admitted, nervously when Malfoy's eyes narrowed that little bit extra.
"Though it is a conundrum," He drawled out, "we seem to be doing alright at the moment." He was right. "See, Potty? It isn't that hard." Harry's lips twitched at that; Malfoy was right. He was putting up barricades, trying to keep them both safe. They weren't going to be safe, though. Harry was going to die, and Malfoy would be hurt by it. There was no safe. It was time to be a little selfish.
.
.
.
Harry followed Draco into the hall for dinner, smiling to himself as the blonde immediately gestured for him to follow to the Slytherin table. At least he would still have somewhere to eat.
He sat next to Draco, and Parkinson, with Nott and Zabini across from them. Goyle was near Nott, but grumbling at the table, and with no apparent interest to the going-ons of the table. Harry was fine with that.
"We have a guest." Zabini smirked, inclining his head a little. "Welcome."
"Shut up, Blaise." Parkinson snapped immediately, though her grin ruined the effect. "Hi, Harry."
"Harry?" Draco…Malfoy bit out instantaneously, frowning. Well, he was going to get wrinkles now. "What the hell do you think you're doing, you crazy bint?"
"He says with affection." Parkinson pretended to simper, winking at Harry. "I believe I greeted him. Is that not allowed, too?"
"His name is Potter." The blonde ground out. If Harry didn't know better, he would have thought he was jealous. But he knew better.
Didn't he?
Harry pretended the fighting around him didn't matter as he piled food onto his plate. Still only a little of each, though. He had to taste as much as he wanted, not eat everything. He would take the vegetables, and a bit of the custard for dessert, but for the main…
"What the hell is that?"
It was…disgusting. Grey, and mouldy looking, and…even the water looked off. Was it a type of soup? What the hell were the House-Elves thinking? Surely they would get every student and their invisible friends invading the kitchen tonight.
"That, my Potty," Harry glanced at blonde, bemused at the emphasis on 'my', "is jellied eels." He took the ladle, scooping up a large portion and pouring it generously into a bowl. Surely he wasn't going to eat that vile looking-! "Eat up." The bowl was shoved towards him.
He choked up a panicked laugh, pushing the bowl away. "No thanks. I think I'd rather starve. Hell, it would be healthier."
"You've lived a sheltered little life, haven't you?" Parkinson smirked, shoving the bowl back towards him. Great, now they were ganging up on him. Unexpected.
"You have no idea." He bit back, grimacing as his eyes landed on the bowl. Merlin, he was going to be sick just looking at it; god help his stomach if he actually took a bite.
"It's a delicacy." Malfoy grinned, delighting in how Harry squirmed. Well, if he liked it so much-!
"Fine, then; you eat it." Harry shoved it back to Malfoy, jerking his hand away as some of the liquid sloshed over the edge. Yuck.
"I don't have to eat it." Malfoy was enjoying this way too much. "You, however, will. Who knows when it will appear on the menu again?" Oh, that bastard. He wouldn't…
"Number Seven?"
"Bastard." Harry, very, very reluctantly pulled the bowl back towards him, grimacing.
"What's number seven?" Nott asked, frowning.
"Potter, seriously, I wouldn't. It's a…acquired taste." Zabini warned, grinning all the while. They were all enjoying this.
Harry tried to seem as nonchalant as he possibly could as he picked up the spoon and scooped up a bit of, supposedly, eel. His hand was shaking. It just looked so…he would have preferred to wear a blindfold. And a peg on his nose. He wouldn't see, wouldn't smell, wouldn't taste…he would just swallow and be done with it.
Where was his Gryffindor courage?
Harry grimaced, taking a bite and started to chew.
Argh…
He slammed a hand to his mouth, trying not to retch it out. It was slimy, and felt like a softer version of cartilage, or calamari…it sure as hell didn't taste like calamari. It was cold, ice cold. It was freezing his gums already. He could barely hear the laughter around him as the Slytherins jeered and sniggered at him; dinner and a show. Great.
Eventually, miraculously, he managed to swallow it. And shove the bowl away.
"Fuck!" He growled, grabbing the pitcher of water and gulping it down. No, the taste was still there. His stomach twisted painfully with the memory, wanting to remove the horrid 'food' from its contents. Not on his watch.
Around him, Slytherins laughed.
"Not to your taste, I assume?" Malfoy sniggered, piling vegetables on his plate. Harry glanced around the table, huffing as each and every student avoided the soup…thing and instead piled the vegetables on their plates. He had been the guinea-pig.
"Bastards." He growled, lips twitching as they fell about laughing.
.
.
.
"Where are you going?" Harry blinked in surprise as Malfoy asked him with a frown. The other Slytherins were going to their dormitory. Since Harry wasn't a Slytherin, and currently had no dormitory, he was going to go back to the library for a while. Maybe camp out in the Room of Requirement. Would his belongings stay in the room, or would they all disappear if someone else needed the room? It was too risky to move his things in there…he needed a hiding spot.
"Around. I had some studying to do." Harry shrugged, praying Malfoy wouldn't question it.
There was no God.
"You've been studying all day. What could you possibly need to study at this time of night? It's the weekend, Potty; do it tomorrow."
Harry sighed, his wracking his brain. New excuse, new excuse…!
"Fine. Goodnight, Malfoy. See you tomorrow."
"Didn't answer my original question." The blonde sneered, eyebrows raising. "Where. Are. You. Going?"
What did it possibly matter to him? Harry frowned, following him into the hallway. "To bed." He answered, half-heartedly waving his hand in farewell. If the fucking blonde would take a hint!
"And where is that?"
"For fuck's sake, Malfoy, I don't know!" Harry snapped, both angry at the blonde for being so bloody persistent, and angry at himself for caving. "Wherever my feet take me."
"Muggle." Harry spun around at the insult, but paused; Malfoy was looking…bemused. Nothing he had said was slightly amusing…he had insulted him. Why was he smirking like that? "You're coming to Slytherin."
Oh, dear god no…
"Uh, it's fine. Really." Harry tried to escape, but Malfoy linked their arms, seemingly nonchalant as he started pulling Harry towards the dungeons. Merlin, this was not going to be fun. "Malfoy, seriously, let go. I can't sleep there."
"'Can't' is a very strong word."
"It's Slytherin."
"If you could sleep in the atrociousness that you called a dormitory at Gryffindor," He paused for a shudder here, the git. "Then I think you can spend a night at Slytherin unperturbed."
"Your housemates won't like it."
"They'll make do."
"There's no room."
"There's a spare bed."Harry blanched at that, staring at Malfoy until he nodded, disregarding the thought. He wasn't going to sleep in a dead man's bed…especially not one he had seen killed. Crabbe hadn't been the smartest kid, but Harry was sure he would have something to say about Harry sleeping in his bed. "There's my bed." Malfoy amended. He smirked at Harry's next comment.
"Skip through the dating and get me right into bed? We're moving pretty fast, don't you think?"
"We've already slept together, multiple times. There isn't much difference with the change of location. And besides…I've taken you on dates."
"And ripped my arm off doing so."
"Admit it, you loved it." Prat. He noticed Harry's lack of denial, and deepened his smirk. "Any other problems I can disregard?"
"I haven't got a change of clothes."
The smirked deepened. "I asked for problems, Potty."
Harry actually snorted at that, until he realised they were quickly approaching the common room. Shit, this was not what he had planned. He couldn't do this, couldn't waltz right in and force himself on them. He wasn't a Slytherin; they would never accept him there!
"I…" Say it! Come on, say it! "Number Thirty Three. I haven't…dealt with it yet. I know you know what it is; it's mortifying. And it'll be around the school by midday tomorrow-"
"Everybody gets them, now and again. Especially after the war. Me excepted, of course." Harry rolled his eyes, glaring as the wall opened up. "I'll put up a silencing charm, however. Quelled?"
"Hardly, this isn't a good idea."
"If you were so against it, you wouldn't be here." Damn it all. "Come on."
He finally slipped his arm free, but instead of sprinting as fast as he could in one direction, he followed Malfoy into the depths of the dungeon. Slytherin Common Room. Christ.
Harry glanced around as soon as he entered; Parkinson and Zabini were playing a game of chess in a corner, with Nott occasionally charming the pieces. As he watched, one of Zabini's knights committed suicide, leaping from the board with the iconic 'Goodbye, Cruel World!' phrase. Zabini looked perplexed, and was pleading with his pieces to remain where they were. Harry's lips twitched without permission.
"See you in the morning." Malfoy yawned, nodding for Harry to follow him further into the room. Other Slytherins only glanced up at the pair, quickly returning to their homework or games. None of them seemed perturbed that Harry was there, again. Harry glanced backwards to catch Parkinson's surprised gaze, quickly hurrying after Malfoy. He didn't want the undeniable yelling match to happen in the Common Room.
They made it to the dormitory without incident.
Harry awkwardly waited for Malfoy to find him something to wear, glancing at the eerie window into the lake. He didn't know how the Slytherins slept with that there; he felt like he was being watched; despite the fact Draco had turned his back to Harry to get dressed. It was creepy as fuck. Harry awkwardly climbed into the soft clothes Draco gave him, trying to keep as much of his skin covered as he could. Though he had turned away, Draco Fucking Malfoy blatantly hadn't. He had even sighed with disappointment when Harry glared at him!
"Take a photo." Harry snapped, shrugging the shirt on. The blonde didn't look perturbed. He had snapped back a retort effortlessly.
"Turn around and I will." Oh yes, their relationship was unquestionably platonic.
Then the door opened, and several confused Slytherins walked in. Harry sighed, throwing a glare towards Malfoy. He knew this was going to happen; they would take away his eating privileges, if they got angry enough. It wasn't a good idea. Malfoy ignored his glare, smirking instead. Git.
The three of them took in Harry, various expressions forming. Predominantly, though? Anger.
Parkinson was the oddity; she was winking at Harry, happily. She clearly had no house politics on her dirty mind.
They waited in silence. Malfoy leant against his bedpost, eyebrows raised. He looked bored with the proceedings, as if it was an irritation he wanted to disregard. Zabini wore a frown; Nott had yet to look away from Harry, his eyes burning holes through the borrowed pyjama's. Unquestionably happy.
"What the hell is this?" Zabini was the first to crack, throwing a disapproving glare towards Harry before switching back to Malfoy. Harry crossed his arms awkwardly, shifting so he was closer to the blonde than the others; he was less likely to curse the hell out of him.
"This is Potty." Malfoy replied dryly, indifferent. "Potty, smile and say 'Hi'."Oh yes, antagonising them was the way to go. Harry threw his own glare towards Malfoy, about to tell him to shut up when that grey gaze flicked to him. Ice. Harry slowly closed his mouth; he didn't fight with him when he was promising death. No one did. Were the others too far away to see the impending demise to all who pissed him off at the moment? Harry had half a mind to warn them.
"Don't patronize."
"You won't listen to reason, so I deem patronizing the only solution."
"Try me."
"Fine. I want Potty to stay the night. Reason."
Harry inwardly groaned, shaking his head softly. He was evidently ignored. "Malfoy-"
Grey eyes flashed dangerously. Harry winced, staying silent. He glanced at the others, catching Parkinson's amused gaze. She glimpsed at the others, smirked, and made a very obscene gesture with her mouth and her thumb. Harry gaped before realising the others were watching him, and quickly shut his mouth again. Parkinson was giggling, unsuccessfully hiding it. She mouthed 'is that why?'…
Harry felt shivers down his back, that had nothing to do with the fact Malfoy was standing a few feet away. That was just…horrifying. It only showed how inexperienced he was; how pathetic. Was Malfoy wanting to do that…Merlin, don't blush. Don't blush!
"He's not a Slytherin." Nott snapped, glowering angrily. "He shouldn't be in here. I mean, playing games and spending time together is one thing. Staying in the dormitory is quite another. No one except a Slytherin, since the founding years, has even been in here. Letting a Gryffindork takeover-!"
"He's not taking over, he's spending the night!" Malfoy snapped back, anger slipping over the mask. Harry was in shock; no one had entered the Slytherin Common Room in centuries? Well, it made him feel like a douche, didn't it? Ruining tradition in one full swoop. "I've spent the night in Gryffindor. I don't see the significance."
"He's a fucking Gryffindor!"
"He's the least Gryffindor I've seen in the past few months!"
Harry winced as they started yelling, speaking up before Malfoy would pull out his wand. "I was actually supposed to come to Slytherin, if that helps any." He hurried out, faltering slightly as angry eyes turned on him. "Hat didn't want me for Gryffindor, first year…don't think it does help, now that I think about it. You all are Slytherins, and I'm just kind of leftovers…"
"I hope you guys are proud of yourselves; he had to resort to the kicked puppy look." Parkinson laughed; she was still grinning. She was still enjoying this.
"I didn't mean it like that. I mean, kind of, but I don't think 'puppy dog' is the right-"
"Potter, shut up." Harry blinked as the four of them spoke instantaneously, each face accompanied by a smirk. Zabini sighed, running a hand through his hair, looking both frustrated and bemused.
"Damn it, you got us smiling." He cursed, crossing to his bed and plonking himself down. "You lousy son of a bitch."
"And I win." Draco smirked, turning back to his bed and moving the several books laying on the cover to the bedside table, sitting down regally, somehow, on the mattress.
"You're a dick, Draco. You're ruining us." Zabini growled, eyes shut as he insulted his friend.
"No, Potter's ruining us." Harry jumped as Parkinson sidled up to him, grinning like a cat with prey in sight. "Were you really supposed to come to Slytherin first year, or was that just some bullshit you pulled out of your arse?"
"Uh, not bullshit, for once." Harry tried to casually take a few steps away from her and closer to Malfoy's bed; from all of their grins, they knew his actions weren't casual either. "Hat was quite persistent."
"And yet you ended up in Gryffindork."
"Exactly," Nott threw in, stalking to his own bed and ripping the curtains back huffily. He obviously had qualms about Harry being in here, and rightfully so. It would be the same as Goyle staking claim on Harry's bed in the tower. Harry could see exactly where they were coming from. "He didn't end up here. For a reason. He's not one of us."
That hurt more than it should.
"Fuck off, Theo," Draco snarled, eyes glinting dangerously. "I've had enough of this bullshit. He's my fiancé, and if I want him to spend the night, he will." Harry caught the way the blonde fingered his wand, itching to use it. So did Zabini, who hurriedly broke into the conversation.
"Don't get us wrong, Potter, you're an alright guy-"
"Come off it, Draco!" Nott snapped, "You had the rest of the dimwits fooled, but who do you take us for? You two are not engaged; I'm surprised you didn't fuck Pansy after the dare to get rid of his taste!"
Ouch. Harry blinked at that, glancing quickly at Parkinson, who had narrowed her eyes to slits. He wasn't prepared for the sheer amount of…anger that slammed through him. They were only fucking friends, right? They wouldn't…holy shit, was he jealous?
Before Harry had time to consider that, Malfoy stood up again. Everyone in the room took a hurried step backwards; Malfoy's expression could kill. Quite literally. His stare was ice, knives, death.
Then he turned that icy stare on Harry.
Before Harry could blink, that bloody blonde had a fist in his shirt, and was forcing him towards the nearest wall. Harry didn't know whether to be grinning with excitement that this was happening again, or mortified that the rest of the Slytherins were watching with wide eyes.
But then, his mouth was occupied, and Harry couldn't really give a flying shit.
Malfoy kissed him hard, teeth nipping at his lips, tongue pressing its way into his mouth. Harry blinked with surprise; it was demanding, utterly dominating. Harry didn't even know how to begin to match this; he was as inexperienced here as he had ever been, the few kisses they had exchanged before left him extremely limited with familiarity. All he was left to flounder uselessly. Shit, Malfoy had full control over this kiss. And he was making it apparent, to both Harry and everyone in the room.
It…didn't feel right.
Harry tried to turn his head away but Malfoy's hand reached up to curl into his hair, almost painfully. When he tried to move again, the blonde yanked on his hair, enticing a yelp. Mortified, Harry retaliated. By biting him.
As suddenly as it began, Malfoy pulled away.
Harry gasped in air, face red. He felt…used. He had just been used by Malfoy to prove a fucking point, which, he might add, was fake anyway! Merlin, he felt like a puppet; pathetic.
He glanced up…to see Malfoy's stoic, completely controlled face. He hadn't been affected at all. Harry's felt as if he had been hit.
He knew the humiliation would be oh so clear in his eyes, so he glanced away, cringing as he gaze fell on the other perplexed Slytherins. Loathing himself, he dragged his eyes back to Malfoy's, hoping he wouldn't see how weak he really-
The blonde inched closer, and gently brushed his lips against Harry's.
It was as near an apology as a Malfoy was going to give.
His hand untangled from Harry's hair, and slipped to rest on the base of his neck. His thumb stroked his skin softly. Their foreheads rested together.
"You ever do that to me again," Harry whispered, eyes narrowing. "I'll bite off your tongue."
Malfoy blinked once, then nodded. Such a miniscule movement that the others wouldn't notice it, and Harry doubted he saw it.
Draco pushed himself away from the wall, and Harry followed him to his bed, keeping his eyes firmly off of anyone in the vicinity.
Stares were drilling into them, but they both ignored them steadily, Draco with more practise than Harry. So when the blonde climbed onto his bed without a word, Harry followed.
Draco flicked his wand once, slamming the curtains closed, then again for a silencing charm.
They both sat on the bed, quietly avoiding looking at each other.
"Told you so."
"Oh, shut up, Potty." Harry glanced at him, rolling his eyes at the insult. "I don't give a flying fuck what they think."
"If that was true, you wouldn't have had that…display."
Harry shifted into the blankets, turning so his back was to the blonde. Merlin, everything smelt like vanilla here; the sheets, the pillow, the warm body next to him. Harry tried to inhale without seeming too conspicuous; he failed.
Malfoy got comfortable too; one of his arms stretched, coming to rest on Harry's side. He rested his head at the base of his neck, forehead touching skin. How the hell was he supposed to sleep now, with that warmth pressed up against him?
"You're mine, Potty." He eventually replied, quietly. He sighed against Harry's neck, smirking as he saw goose bumps form across the brunette's skin. "I don't want anyone else's taste. The sheer thought made me want to rinse my mouth out, or delve into something far tastier. I complied with the latter." Harry rolled his eyes at that, sighing against the bed.
He was sleeping in a real bed. One that didn't smell like hospital, or was stiff and uncomfortable. One that didn't remind him he was alone; it had been a while since he had been in a bed that wasn't cold.
He sure felt like a lover rather than a friend with benefits, but he didn't care. It would hurt, he knew, but couldn't stop. He was enjoying the moment.
"You're mine."
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Neville smiled as Hermione came running up to him, excitement across her face. She had something, he knew it. Something to help Harry.
"All the Slytherins are involved." She declared as soon as she sat down, practically jumping with excitement. "Well, the ones in our year. They weren't before, but Malfoy must have let something slip; they hadn't spoken to Harry all year, suddenly they're all hanging off of him. Did you see how they were pressuring him over dinner? He seemed reluctant, though. Maybe he'll listen to reason when he just come out and tell him we can help whatever situation he's gotten himself into. Maybe they're guarding him, because they need more people to control…maybe he let something slip when they weren't careful?" She said all this in an excited gush, eyes shining brightly. The stimulation was good for her. It was good to see her excited again; on a project, if you will. "This is all speculation, of course. Unless we have facts, or proof, Harry's not going to want to listen to us."
"I overheard them in the library, today." Neville admitted, embarrassed at his tactic. He was a Gryffindor, he shouldn't have to skulk and hide…but he had tried asking up front, and he hadn't spoken to Harry since. So, Slytherin approach it was, no matter how it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He brought out the paper he had, the notes he had written on it.
He slid it across the table, nervous when Hermione glowered at it. "He actually…said that?" She hissed, furious. "'Shut the…eff up for the rest your miserable life?'…Harry said this? He asked 'Why me?'" She folded the paper, frowning. "Is that all you have?"
"Yeah, they started whispering half through. Malfoy was sneering though, the entire time; smirking. Merlin, it just made me angry." She nodded in agreement, sighing. Neville understood how she felt; there was a friend in trouble, and they had absolutely no idea where to begin helping. Or if he even wanted help. They could only assume, at this point.
"Harry looked worried. Malfoy had asked about an amount…said something like 'how many have you got so far?'…He's being pressured into stuff, Hermione. I can just feel it. He's not happy."
Neville notice how Hermione bit her lip, forehead creasing as she thought. She had something else, something she hadn't said yet.
"What is it?"
"Hmm…oh, nothing. I was going to wait a while longer before saying anything…"
"Tell me; it's better than the nothing we have so far."
Hermione still hesitated, before inching closer. This must be good, if she didn't want to be overheard. "I…Harry doesn't use magic anymore." She whispered, worry leaping from her eyes. "I…I think..." She still hesitated, torn.
"…Yes?"
"I think they have his wand." She rushed out, almost desperate. "He doesn't use magic in class. I think…they somehow got his wand. They're using it as blackmail against him. How is he supposed to defend himself without a wand? He's not that good at wandless magic, he's…vulnerable."
Neville frowned, trying to remember the last time Harry had participated in class. He couldn't. "Nah…can't be. Harry would have told us."
"He's too proud; he's a Gryffindor. He wouldn't want to tell us if he was disarmed. Or beaten in a duel. He's just managed to defeat Voldemort…It has to be humiliating to lose to a few Slytherins."
They sat in stunned silence for a few moments, both trying to remember the last time they had seen Harry with his wand. Months ago, in Transfiguration, or Charms. He had definitely had it, swishing it about hap-hazardously. Merlin, those Slytherin bastards.
"They have his wand. That's what he's hiding."
"They have his wand." Hermione concurred, eyes flashing dangerously. "After he stood up for them, when we first got back. I feel like such a fool, trying to get everyone to see reason and stop the hexing. Yes, it's wrong, but as long as they torment Harry like this-"
"What about Harry?" Hermione froze suddenly, embarrassment flicking into her expression before she tried to smother it. Neville glanced at the paper on the desk between them, trying to decide that if he snatched it up, if it would be seen as suspicious.
"Nothing, Ron, we're just-"
"You mentioned his name." The redhead interrupted, glancing at the two of them doubtfully. "It's not like you have to tiptoe around it; I'm a big boy, I can handle his name being said."
"I never implied you didn't." Hermione replied coolly, glancing at Neville and the paper; the message was clear. Pick it up; quickly. Ron, however, also saw the glance.
The three of them dived for the one scrap of paper, hands slamming loudly on the desk. It quickly became a tug-a-war between Ron and Neville, but the redhead cleverly summoned it, sending it flying into his hand resolutely. Merlin, he could practically hear the gongs of warning go off.
Ron opened the paper, eyes crossing it. His smirk slid from his face rather quickly. He stared at the two of them, then re-read the paper. Then stared at the two of them again. His face began turning red; yup, here came the rage. Those Slytherins had better run.
"How dare you?" They would be lucky…what?
Neville frowned as the glare was set on him, Ron's expression appalled. Hermione seemed to shrink in her chair, blatantly looking elsewhere. She radiated guilt. So did he, he supposed. But this was for Harry, he didn't care if he and Ron were fighting; he was still their friend. And Neville would still help him if he needed it.
"Ron, I know we went behind your back-" Neville begun, but was quickly cut across again.
"Are you…are you spying on Harry?" Neville swallowed, but nodded. It was a Slytherin tactic, but necessary. "That's…not on! You stop it now, you hear? Both of you!" Neville's jaw dropped open.
"Ron, we had to-" Hermione began but the redhead cut across her; his glare alone could have rivalled Malfoy's.
"No! This is…we don't spy like this. This snooping around…it's what that flaming Seeker hag did in our fourth year! You want to turn out like her?" Hermione bristled at that, eyes narrowing dangerously. Well, that hit a nerve. "Just leave him alone! His business is his business!"
"You don't understand the full story; he's in trouble-"
"If Harry's in trouble, he would come to us." Ron even sounded persuaded by that, despite how he crossed his arms uncomfortably. He knew it to be a lie. "Seriously, stop the poking around in his business. I'm not kidding here; if you don't stop, the both of you, I'll tell him myself."
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