Hey guys, I would like to apologise in advance - this chapter is way too short, I wanted at least three key things in here that I didn't have time to write, and it hasn't been proof read at all yet - I am very sick at the moment, and leaving to go on holiday in exactly one hour. So, I ran out of time. However, I didn't want to leave you with nothing, because that is really slack. I will finish this chapter when I get back, or write a very very long one for the next chapter :) Sorry guys, enjoy, I will see you all before Christmas :)

ps, thanks for all my reviewers, you don't make my day, you make my life :) Sayonara!

Pss. I don't own Harry Potter in the slightest, I am not making this for profit, simply for enjoyment, to cure boredom, and hopefully, some others too.

Chapter twenty four - Morning

Harry woke nightmare free for the first time in weeks.

He sighed at the prospect of getting up, wanting nothing more than to sneak back into the warmth Malfoy willingly provided. The blonde had slept with an arm around his waist the entire night, dragging him closer when he tried to roll away. He should have expected as much, from someone with the predisposition to be possessive. Or simply put, one that didn't like the share.

What he didn't expect was how difficult it would be to pull away in the morning.

Friends with benefits, indeed.

Harry slowly untangled himself from Malfoy's limbs, running a tired hand through his hair. He hadn't slept that well in ages; not even the inkling of a nightmare. Maybe it was the comfortable bed; he was sure the beds in Gryffindor tower weren't as soft as these, or as large. Two people definitely couldn't fit comfortably in his bed in the tower. Of course the Slytherins got the best of everything.

Malfoy's sigh enticed him to glance back at the boy; in reality, there was little enticing. Malfoy wasn't glaring at the moment, wasn't sneering or scowling. He couldn't smirk in his sleep, or snap out harsh words, indifferent words. He just…was.

No creases marred his forehead.

His hair was slightly messy; normal. It was an effort not to reach forwards and brush his soft hair, or simply brush against his skin. It was the sheer thought that Malfoy waking up to Harry ruffling his hair, or stroking his arm might either scar him for life, or worse, imply affection. He couldn't have that, not either of them. His hands were tucked away under his knees, to avoid the temptation.

There was no hiding behind masks here.

So Harry sat up in bed, resting on his knees, and stared. He couldn't drag his eyes away, even when the blonde was asleep.

Merlin, he was doomed.

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Draco stretched on the bed, frowning when he didn't feel the warmth he was supposed to. If that pretend Gryffindork had scurried away in the dead of night, he was going to lose a limb. Preferably the legs, so he couldn't scurry again. The thought made him smile. This was going to be a good day.

Groaning, it was an effort to shove his eyes open. One of the fantastic things about living under the lake was the lack of sunlight through the windows; the light turned from dark green, to a slightly lighter shade, determined by the weather. Today, the lake was still tinged gloomy jade; it was overcast, and in all probability, wet. Bed weather.

Draco dropped the curtain again, sighing as he rolled over. The beauty of the lake was nothing compared to these emeralds.

So he hadn't escaped.

"How long have you been up?" Draco yawned, rubbing the grit from his eyes. Merlin, he hadn't slept that well in weeks; he hadn't resorted to taking his Dreamless Sleep either. It was going to be a good day. "And why are you watching me sleep? Only somewhat disturbing."

Potter blinked, but didn't move. "Just woke up then." He replied evenly, not commenting on the stalkerish staring that had commenced.

Liar.

The spot next to Draco was cold; no one had touched it in minutes, if not hours. He hadn't the slightest touch of sleep in his eyes, or sound tired. He was fully awake, and alert. Did he think Draco oblivious?

"And you have every intention of moving, of course." Draco ensured it was a statement, not a question. He tried to blink the sleep from his eyes; it was difficult, trying to be alert immediately after waking. He wasn't a morning person, to put it lightly. Both Theo and Blaise had both been sent to the hospital wing on separate occasions for trying to wake him. They hadn't tried again.

Harry wasn't supposed to be a morning person either…and yet, he was sitting up in bed, head resting on his palm, just…watching.

Draco hadn't felt insecure in a long time; Malfoy's weren't supposed to be anything less of perfect, after all. However, with those eyes just staring...it was an effort not to squirm. Why was he being so persistent? What was so interesting?

Draco frowned, propping himself up on an elbow. He ran a hand through his hair, but it felt normal. He didn't feel incredibly disfigured, he didn't think he had tossed and turned throughout the night…it was always possible, though.

"Did…?" He began, but stopped quickly. He couldn't say it; not on a normal day, and definitely not whilst being scrutinised like this. "Number Thirty Three." He ended up muttering out, blinking in surprise when Potter just shook his head slightly, a minuscule movement.

Draco couldn't put his finger on it, then. What the hell could be so interesting, that Potter had been awake for possibly hours, and not say anything?

And even worse, Draco had let one of his own little secrets slip. Fantastic.

He sighed, plonking himself back into the warmth of the bed. It was way too early for this. "I'm going back to sleep." He declared, shifting into a more comfortable position. Potter didn't move, despite Draco trying to pull the blankets up again.

"I can't go out there." He murmured quietly, snapping out of his stare to gesture beyond the curtains. "They'll have a field day."

"I don't care."

"I know." It was said so quietly that Draco knew he wasn't supposed have heard. He knew? That just…irritated more than it should. He acted like Draco was just taking advantage over him, as if anyone actually could over the great Harry Potter. Come off it, he knew Draco had affections with him, didn't he? Hadn't he blurted it out in the hospital wing the other day?

Be friends with benefits?

We'll...enjoy the moment.

Oh. And coupled with last night's…uh, moment of weakness, shall he call it? Of course Potter was going to take the utterly brain-dead road and claim that. He had no reason not to, didn't he? And if he denied it, well, then Potter would shove him aside brutally, all for Draco's health and happiness, apparently.

Potter was throwing a bloody double-edged sword into the playing field.

The cheater.

Draco forced his eyes opened again, half-heartedly glaring at Potter. He didn't look amused; his face was attempting to be blank, and whilst he was still an amateur, he was a fucking talented amateur.

"Theo aggravated-"

"You used me." Potter narrowed his eyes slightly, clenching his jaw. His fists curled shut, tightening their hold on his pyjama bottoms. If it was anyone else having the conversation, Draco doubted they would notice. As it was, he hardly noticed before a second of deliberation.

"In retrospect, that wasn't the correct-"

"Yeah, in retrospect you should have told Nott to fuck off!" Thank Merlin, here was the Potter he knew how to handle. This was the Potter that he lo…felt fond off. Shit, he was not going there yet.

But that Potter didn't want an appearance; Draco watched mildly surprised as the brunette tried to close off his face again, and calm himself down. Where the hell did he learn to do that?

"I don't want to be a puppet, or a toy." He eventually continued quietly. "I don't want to be humiliated like that again, or laughed at. I just want….I think our, uh, agreement should be-"

Draco leaned up to put a finger across his lips to stop that sentence from finishing. He wouldn't allow it.

He should have rolled over and told Potter to, as he eloquently put it, 'fuck off'. He should have rolled his eyes, and turned into his blankets as if it was an insignificant fight. He should have warned him not to be an annoyance in the mornings, or stated that he knew Draco's personality for years, and if that hadn't made itself clear yet, that Potter was a dipshit that belonged in Hufflepuff. He should have been a Malfoy in the retort, and drawn out the impending fight.

However, the small voice in the back of his head that wasn't Malfoy, but purely Draco, demanded better. If he couldn't be himself in bed, isolated and protected in his own fucking bed, when could he be?

"Harry," He interrupted softly, rolling over so he could stare at the curtain instead of his brunette. "It was not my intention to hurt you. It will never happen again." He couldn't even look at him. Salazar, this was humiliating. Worse than when he had lost it in the hospital wing; he wasn't angry here, wasn't vomiting out things better left unsaid. He had to deliberate here; that was just as dangerous, if not more so.

It was as much as an apology as he could give, without the world imploding on itself.

And be that as it may, he found himself waiting for the demise to begin.

Instead, the bed dipped as Potter finally lay back down. Their shoulders brushed, sending tingles down his spine.

Fuck, tingles? What the hell was this world coming to? Next, he would find himself with butterflies; tch, right. He would cut out his stomach before that particular horrifying aspect happened.

"I'm not going out there on my own." Harry said, shifting so he was speaking into Draco's back. Merlin, his breath disrupted the hairs on his neck; it was almost as though he was doing it on purpose, aggravating Draco like this. "You can suffer with me."

Draco sighed at that, allowing a smile to fall across his face. Yes, they would suffer together, because Draco had no intentions of going anywhere, or of letting Potter go. He would allow the wounds to his chest, if to keep Potter happy for a little longer.

…

Merlin, he was doomed, wasn't he?

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"I'm not going out there."

"One of us has to."

"Great idea; it's your bed, your room, your dorm mates; you go!"

"The longer you procrastinate in here, the greater the conspiracy."

Harry groaned, tapping his hands against his knees. They had both fallen into the realm between sleep and waking, content to wait out the day in the relative warmth of Malfoy's bed. He had been astoundingly…calm all morning. The Slytherin had even apologised, after a fashion.

How the hell was Harry supposed to let him go, if he decided to up and play human? He was making this very difficult, the swindler.

However, after they woke the second time, neither wanted to be the first to leave the confines of the bed. Harry didn't understand his problem; he had to face the Slytherins every single day! He should be used to waking after a fight, and either avoiding his housemates or coming to some sort of accord. Harry was the invader here! He was the parasite that had forced his way in and taken over! Why should he have to open the curtains, to be, in all probabilities, cursed?

It wasn't going to happen. Not when he couldn't even defend himself.

"Come on, I'm hungry." Harry tried, indignant at the scoff that came from the blonde.

"You're never hungry."

"I have a quiver in my stomach that might just be interpreted as hunger." He threw over, grinning as Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Maybe."

They had both decided to just ignore the previous conversation; it was, as of this moment, nonexistent. Malfoy could only be pushed so far each day, after all. And Harry was an expert at disregarding anything that was either confusing or harmful; this one ached at his chest, but he still shoved it aside.

Merlin, Malfoy had apologised to him. How was he supposed to disregard that?

"It's not hunger. It's gas."

"It's definitely hunger."

"Grow some balls, Potter." He smirked instead, grey eyes flashing dangerously. "Aren't you supposed to be a Gryffindor?"

"Not really, actually." He shrugged, "Didn't you hear?"

"You were bullshitting."

"I wasn't."

"The hat doesn't give preferences."

"It gave them to me." Harry grinned awkwardly, "It said I would do fantastic in Slytherin."

"Maybe it was implying you would do fantastic in the future, such as, in eighth year. Maybe it was implying that you would be able to open the curtain and hop out of bed without your balls being blown off?"

"Why don't you do it, then?"

"Why don't you?"Merlin, they had relapsed into a bunch of first years.

Harry glanced at the blonde, and met his smug stare. The git didn't think he would do it; there was amusement in his eyes. He thought Harry would cower behind the curtain for the day; he actually believed it.

Harry wasn't that good at avoiding challenges.

He sighed, restraining the need to roll his eyes. It wouldn't do to seem nervous. So, with as much pretend courage as he could summon, despite how his stomach was squirming with unease, Harry reached over and shuffled off of the bed, swinging the curtain open.

He stretched for a moment, cracking the joints in his fingers with ease before turning back to the stunned blonde. "You getting up sometime today? It feels like noon already."

"You. Utter. Git." Harry struggled for a grin, forcing it in place. He didn't want to smile, but he had to. Otherwise, Malfoy would know something was wrong, with his impeccable inference skills. As it was, his eyes narrowed slightly at the grin; he couldn't possibly know it wasn't genuine already, could he? Omnipotent Malfoy skills.

"You can borrow my clothing; no point scurrying up to the hospital wing to come back down for breakfast."

It was Harry's turn to raise his eyebrows. "That would be seen as…I dunno, marking me. A bit possessive, are you?"

Malfoy grinned back, eyes travelling to his forearm. "You're already marked." He shouldn't feel so pleased at that; Malfoy shouldn't look so smug. "Then again, you're in a courageous mood this morning." He hummed, finally rolling out of bed and crossing to his dresser.

Harry sighed and leant against the bedpost. A happy Malfoy usually meant some plot or remark that wouldn't benefit anyone else; and sure enough, Malfoy tossed a plain t-shirt across to him. It seemed almost too casual for Malfoy to have in his wardrobe, and it would defiantly suit Harry. It would also show off the rather large grey dragon that stalked around his forearm.

"I'm not wearing that." Harry caught the shirt, eyes not leaving the blonde's. He feigned innocence; it was about as genuine as a werewolf on a leash.

"It shows off your fantastic Slytherin patriotism. And suits your eyes, or some shit like that."

"Shame I'm not really a Slytherin."

"It appears that you should be." Malfoy grinned at him, easily enjoying the morning. Harry didn't think he had seen the blonde smile so much before; he seemed entirely content;that it itself was a marvel. "You're wearing this, or you can turn up in your pyjama's. Entirely up to you." And as if to prove his point, his wand flicked towards his dresser. He didn't doubt he had just locked it. Prat.

Malfoy smirked again, wandering to the bathroom without a second glance. He would know the inner turmoil in Harry's head; to wear the shirt, and show off his dragon, or mortifyingly wear his pyjama's to lunch, on a Saturday, with the entire school cohort watching. And judging.

It really wasn't a hard decision.

Harry smirked, folding the shirt and placing it neatly back on the dresser. Malfoy may think that he had Harry all figured out, but he was forgetting a very important aspect; he was a stubborn Gryffindor, no matter how else others wished or thought differently. He wasn't going to let a Slytherin dictate his life.

Well, not entirely.

And anyways, he didn't really want everyone to see his tattoo; it was...well, private. Only he and Malfoy knew of it. It was their secret, one of many.

The Dragon was his.

Wow, they were both insanely possessive.

Harry snorted at that, running a hand through his hair. He should probably brush it, so he didn't look lazy at lunch; god forbid anyone think him lazy, just for not getting dressed.

He was going to turn up presentable, damn it!

The thought made him chuckle quietly to himself. But then, Goyle entered the room.

It was as if the tension was malleable, and had stretched across the room in a visible, tangible haze. Goyle's small eyes had narrowed as he took Harry in, glancing around the room. They hesitated on the rumpled bed, on the messed up hair, and the lack of a Draco in the room. The 'danger' glare in his eyes turned to murderous, as if someone had flicked a switch.

He knew the happy moment was too good to last; he wasn't allowed to be happy, remember?

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" He growled, letting the door snap shut behind him. He stepped slowly into the room, glancing around to the empty beds.

So did Harry.

Shit, he really was alone with the sole Slytherin, it seemed, that loathed his guts. Apart from Nott, of course; he didn't seem too impressed. Goyle, however, was fully capable of curses. He had heard him threaten to crucio one of his friends; what the hell would he do to someone he considered an enemy?

He seemed to be waiting for an answer; either way, it didn't seem to be a rhetorical question.

"I'm waiting for Draco." He replied evenly, watching the stocky boy as his glare intensified, a snarl crossing the room.

"Don't fuck with me, faggot." Ouch. "You don't deserve to be in here. This is our room, you little piece of shit. They need to be fucking reminded of that!" Okay, abort mission conversation as a distracter. He was pissed, not considerably understandably, but pissed nonetheless. It was the most Harry had heard Goyle say at once, without a grunt in between sentences; he seemed much more lucid than he usually did, and that was terrifying. An angry person made mistakes when casting a spell, whilst a calm person was meticulous; he was screwed. "Did you have the fucking gall to sleep here? In Slytherin? Near me?" He growled, edging closer. "If you slept in Crabbes bed, you murderer, I'll kill you right now."

He pulled out his wand, raising it without hesitation. Okay, it was time to leave. Harry didn't even have his fake wand with him; he couldn't even bluff his way out! Panic was slowly succeeding in crawling to his mind; how long did a bloody shower take?

"I think there's been a misunderstanding-"

"The only misunderstanding is you." He growled, jabbing his wand towards Harry. Said brunette couldn't help but compare how elegant Malfoy was with his wand movements, and how choppy this prick was; no wonder he had failed anything to do with a wand, until Dark Arts class last year. The sentence didn't really make sense, either way. "You don't come near us again, you got that? You don't talk to us, don't even fucking think of us; just fuck off!"

What the hell had he done to this arsehole? He hadn't even spoken to him this year!

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but froze.

Silencing charm.

Which meant a lot of pain, or a lot of screaming.

Or both.

Harry opened his mouth to scream as he was knocked backwards by the sheer force of the spell; he slammed into the wall, and dropped to the ground, but he didn't notice. White hot knives were pressing into his skin, flooding through his veins like molten lava; it burned, seemed to feed off of his pain, it thrived in his pain. It dug deeper through his veins, twisting into each nerve and smouldering there…

He gasped in a breath, heaving in air. He had never wanted to experience the cruciatus again. Hell, the diagnostic on Tuesdays were almost as bad. But that…Shit, Neville hadn't been kidding when he said it was the first time they had excelled in anything. That had fucking hurt.

He tried to swallow, wincing at the soreness in his throat. If his voice had been allowed to scream, he was certain the dungeon would have heard him. Goyle was smarter than he looked, to think about that. Or just malicious.

He winced as he pushed himself up; yes, it hurt, but he would be damned if he had to bow or kneel to this prick; he could survive a few more minutes, just until Draco came back. So, gritting his teeth, he forced himself to look into the prick's eyes.

Oh, thank god.

Goyle was glaring daggers at the lanky Slytherin that was crossing the dormitory, muttering under his breath. He must have assumed he was simply going to the bathroom himself, for his face turned into quite an unattractive scowl as Nott placed himself between Harry and himself.

"Leave, Goyle." He said quietly, slashing his own wand through the air to block a hex directed at him instead of Harry. "Get out."

Harry gaped in shock; yes, he had heard Goyle threaten his dorm-mates before…but to actually try to curse them, without provocation? The kid was mad. He was fucking insane.

"You would protect him?"

"Leave."

"He's a fucking Gryffindork-"

"He's one of us, Goyle, whether you want him to be or not! Now get out, before I curse you out!" And to prove his words, he muttered a quick Confundo, barely managing to hit the stocky Slytherin. As it was, he merely blinked a few times, shook his head, and glanced around the room. To see Harry. To growl under his breath.

"What's it doing in here?" He growled, reaching for his wand and seeming confused when he already had it in his hand. The idiot.

"I'm dealing with him. Get out, you're distracting." Harry winced at the casual tone, nothing like the one Nott was using moments ago. Such a change in emotion within seconds; did they give the Slytherins classes?

Harry watched quietly, as if he had a choice, for Goyle to frown and consider his options. Eventually, he shrugged, and grunted, and turned to leave. Merlin, after last night, Harry was lucky Nott had actually decided he was going to help after all; he didn't seem too impressed Harry at the moment. A moment passed when neither spoke, and neither looked at the other.

Harry would have, if he hadn't been under the compulsion of the spell, and if he hadn't been preoccupied with his hands.

They were trembling.

Just a slight tremble, but shaking nonetheless; what the hell? He wasn't afraid of Goyle, he wasn't afraid of pain…why was he suddenly shaking? It wasn't even that cold down here; the tiles had warmed slightly, where he laid. Why was he-?

"Side effects of the cruciatus." Harry jumped, glancing up at the emotionless Nott. "It can happen sometimes; nerves get jumbled, upset." He shrugged, as if it wasn't anything knew. "Just don't let Draco see."

"Alright."

Nott frowned, slashing his wand through the air yet again. He used different movements too; odd. And Harry could talk again.

"Thanks." He tried a smile, but it was a dismay attempt. No one could really just brush off a cruciatus; his limbs still ached, his heart was still pounding. He kept wanting to wince, or cringe, expecting another attack; it was so much worse, being unable to defend himself.

Apparently Nott thought so too. "You're much better at defensive spells, Potter, than me." He muttered, shrugging. "Why don't you use magic anymore?" Even though he asked, he turned to leave moments later. The threat was clear; he was curious.

Shit.

That was almost worse than Goyle reappearing.

Well, not really. But it was a near call.

"What are you doing on the ground?" Harry forced a grin into place, tugging himself to his feet and turning to face the blonde. A few seconds earlier, and he would have been put between two very indifferent, stubborn rocks. "And why aren't you dressed yet?"

"I am dressed." He opted to ignore the first question. "You left it up to me, after all."

Please don't notice anything happened.

Please.

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