MEMORY VIAL 6: A SPARK OF LUST (YEAR 3)

Even though Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys had been escorted to King's Cross Station in two cars provided by the Ministry of Magic, they still ended up running late thanks to Mr. Weasley hanging back with Harry in the Leaky Cauldron to warn him about Sirius Black, the convict who had escaped from Azkaban.

When they finally made it through Platform Nine and Three-Quarters behind the other Weasleys who had managed to rush ahead of them onto the train, Harry, Hermione, and Ron leaped onto a random cart just as the Hogwarts Express was taking off. They had nearly missed it and did not have the luxury of time to locate an empty compartment on the train before jumping on with all their luggage.

Thankfully, gruff as the train attendant was at their tardiness, she still helped them climb safely onto the already full cart.

"Last minute, are you?" The attendant said, eyeing the trio reproachfully as they jostled to make room for themselves and all their luggage. "Better late than never, I suppose. You'll find some empty compartments that-a-way toward the back. Although there are a few seats here in the middle if you don't mind breaking up."

"Thank you," Hermione said, before the attendant nodded and strode off. Crookshanks' cage began to list sideways, but she caught it before it crashed on the ground next to Ron's feet.

"Bloody murdering cat," Ron mumbled to himself as Hermione stroked Crookshanks' ginger fur through the metal bars in an attempt to soothe him.

Harry shunted aside as a tall flaxen-haired Slytherin girl cast him a sly look as she walked past. He twisted bodily around to watch her continue toward the front of the train. He recognized her: Daphne Greengrass. He would not have minded if she had been the one who'd sent him the mysterious valentine last year.

Over the last few months Harry had found himself becoming acquainted with a whole new world of strange and outlandish desires. It was as if girls existed in a way they hadn't before—at least in a way that was new and noticeable to him. He would think about them often, wondering about the outline of their breasts, and the curvature of their pretty legs and belted waistlines.

He had barely thought about Draco Malfoy that whole summer before he wound up at the Leaky Cauldron after accidentally blowing up his aunt Marge. Everything about the female form was beginning to fascinate him, and he was close to the point of deciding he had a type of girl that he liked best, but then realized he was constantly discovering new attributes about girls that he enjoyed.

Even Hermione looked pretty to him in a way she never had before, but he still only thought of her as a friend. Her eyes now had an extra sparkle that made his head feel a bit cloudy, and her superior smile made him stare a bit longer than he normally would have.

But then Draco Malfoy came into Harry's view as Daphne Greengrass pardoned herself and then squeezed past him. Harry felt his heart give an agitated leap before dropping into the lower parts of his stomach.

All his worries about Sirius Black lay dead in the water, forgotten to the present moment. Harry stood rooted to the spot as he studied the new angles on Malfoy's face. His cheeks were sharp and lean—more handsome than he remembered, and he had also gained a certain strength to the way his nose and mouth were set.

They were growing older though, he supposed, and he was finally appreciating certain traits about Malfoy that he hadn't consciously noticed before, such as the shine of his platinum hair and the way he carried himself and grinned at an offbeat angle. Even his eyes seemed to glitter like sunlit glaciers from that far off, and he had gained a couple of inches over the summer and was much taller than before. Malfoy's sneering arrogance still permeated from him like a bad perfume, and his robes—he was already dressed in his new school uniform—fit around him more nicely, making Harry wonder what his figure must look like now.

The corner of Harry's lips twitched slightly up as he watched Malfoy shove Goyle into the compartment they were standing in front of. He looked more harmless, somehow—more approachable—more beautiful, even…

Hermione noticed the way Harry's mind had wandered toward the front of the train, and how his chest was beginning to swell with what she assumed to be anxiety.

"Harry," she said, tugging on his sleeve. "Our seat is this way."

Harry tensed his muscles, but barely moved.

Was Draco just as mean as he remembered, or had he learned to regulate his temper? Would they be able to talk this year at all, and was he still with Pansy?

"What's the hold up?" asked Ron, jostling back up the walkway. He had already taken off without either of them noticing. "The train attendant said we would find something this way."

Hermione peered over Harry's shoulder at who he was staring at. Supposing he was feeling worried, she expelled a breath, then said, "Fantastic. Not only did we barely make it onto the train, but we happened to land in the same cart as him. It would be nice if he didn't always show up at the worst times, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Harry said, not hearing a word that she was saying.

Ron squinted over both their heads, curious about who they were talking about. "Who—you mean Malfoy? Merlin's beard, I didn't think we'd run into him so soon…"

Ron returned to fumbling with his luggage and Scabbers' cage in the opposite direction.

But Harry did not move. He kept on staring at the mean-faced Slytherin, secretly enjoying the way his stomach knotted in on itself, making him feel woozy.

A girl in green-trimmed robes leaned out of the compartment Goyle was in and tapped Malfoy on the shoulder. It was Pansy Parkinson, and she seemed to be pointing towards Harry while whispering something in his ear.

When Malfoy's gaze drifted down the narrow corridor, he met Harry's brilliant green eyes and stiffened instantly.

Harry felt something just below his stomach, a sort of itch or twinge that was creeping lower…

For one unearthly moment, there wasn't a shred of the usual hostility in Malfoy's expression. Instead, his face went blank. Then it morphed into its customary scowl.

Nervous, Harry licked his lips. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and his breath began to come in little shakes. All the oxygen may as well have been sucked out of the train, and he began to suspect that he might faint.

"Harry!" Hermione shook him out of his stupor. "What's the matter with you?"

"Just—uh…" Harry tore his gaze away from Malfoy, who had narrowed his gray eyes at him suspiciously. "Nothing—I'm fine. I just thought—I forgot to ask the attendant something, but everything's fine."

Harry followed Hermione towards the back of the train, squeezed past her, and reached out to help Ron untangle his sweater, which had gotten caught on the zipper of his luggage.

"Potter! Get your arses out of this carriage before I tie you and that Mudblood to the front of the sodding train!"

Harry's ears felt warm when he recognized who was shouting at him. Malfoy's voice had dropped somewhat over the summer—and Harry's heart began to pound inside his head.

It seemed as if all the Slytherins were laughing at him, peering out of their compartments, calling him "the lover Mudbloods," and "friend to the ugly and downtrodden."

Harry cursed furiously, then yanked Ron free without a forethought by ruining the sweater's knit-work. Ron complained at the disaster of his homemade clothes, but Harry shoved the redhead onward to keep them moving down the cramped walkway. He couldn't bear to look back at the smug look on Malfoy's face as they fumbled their things past several full compartments.

"Hey—nice seeing you, Potter!"

Malfoy's sarcastic voice boomed over all the chatter, and Harry wished that, just for once, those words could be sincere…

Some time later, when Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle forced their way into the compartment at the very end of the train where Professor R. J. Lupin was sleeping, Harry wished there was a sufficient way to communicate in plain English just how much he liked and hated Malfoy all at once.

Malfoy had matured in ways Harry wished he had not. And yet, his behavior was just as immature as he remembered. His face looked nicer, sure, and Malfoy oozed a brand of confidence Harry could only wish for. But his personality was still just as contemptible as a goblin, if not far worse.

Confronting Malfoy during their Care of Magical Beasts class ended up mitigating Harry's apprehensions about him somewhat. While the ill-tempered Slytherin complained about Hagrid being the instructor, and how his father would be hearing about the oaf's undeserved professorship, Harry stepped forward on an impulse, surprising even himself for his apparent nerve.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said in a quiet voice.

Malfoy put on a nasty smile and cocked his head sideways at Harry. If his eyes had been teeth, they would have devoured Harry on the spot and not left a trace.

"Or—you'll—what—Potter?"

Harry nearly melted into his socks.

Giving the Gryffindor a defiant once-over, Malfoy handed his bookbag to Goyle, then stepped through the grass toward the tensed up boy. The entire class fell silent; Hagrid had gone to fetch their first beast to be lectured on, and everyone expected a fight to break out between the two boys.

Harry raised his chin at Malfoy, but not too much, since forcing too much confidence in a fight didn't seem advisable. But he had noticed there was something different in the Slytherin boy's gait. It suggested something close to overt flirting, but Harry and the other students already decided that couldn't be the case.

Malfoy closed the remaining distance with a bite of his lip. This drew Harry's attention to his mouth, and he couldn't help but stare at it, feeling unaccountably numb in the legs as if all the circulation below his knees had been cut off.

Draco loved the dimly bemused look on Harry's face. It made him want to provoke him even further, but there was only so much that he could do with everyone watching.

He had half a mind to tug Harry in by his scarlet tie—to assert his dominance, of course. But that would be Undesirable Behavior, according to his father, unless he managed to pull off a perfectly timed threat to go along with it.

Forgetting himself as he imagined playing out that scenario, Malfoy's rage ebbed into a brief respite. Without realizing it, he said rather gently to the messy-haired boy, "Nice tie…"

His words came out more subdued than Harry had expected, lulling him into a false sense of security. He was frankly dumbstruck by the civil remark. But just as Harry was beginning to drown in the silver lakes of the bully's eyes, Malfoy glanced over Harry's head and screwed his face up with terror.

He pointed at the sky and sputtered: "A DEMENTOR! BEHIND YOU, POTTER—A DEMENTOR!"

Broken out of whatever spell Malfoy had put him under, Harry whirled around, but nothing was there, save for the trees and the golden sunlight dropping through the overhang to the forest floor. When Harry turned back around to look at Malfoy again, he and his friends had tossed the hoods of their school robes over their heads and were making ghostly noises at him with their fingers wriggling through the air.

They were pretending to be the dementors that had invaded the train on their way to Hogwarts. Draco had heard about Harry's frightening encounter with one of them and had been adamant ever since about humiliating him for fainting like a damsel in distress.

Presently, Harry was thankful for Malfoy's mocking behavior, and considered it a favor. He hadn't realized how he had lapsed into a stupefied trance when Malfoy had swaggered up to him. Looking like a schoolgirl drooling after her bully in front of the whole class was not the look Harry was going for.

But he was also glad Malfoy had snatched at his bait more eagerly than he could have hoped. He wondered if that accounted for something—that he could get under Malfoy's skin in the same way the blond did to him.

"He's mental," Ron whispered to Harry by way of support.

"Don't listen to him, Harry," put in Hermione. "He would bully a five-year-old if he didn't have you to stand in his way."

Harry hoped that wasn't true. He hoped there was a limit to the lows Malfoy would take, but he didn't feel confident where that was concerned, especially after meeting Dobby during his second year.

Harry shook the quarrel off when Hagrid arrived to introduce their first beast. He wanted to pay attention and enjoy Hagrid's well-deserved first day as a professor—even though his mind kept wandering back to someone else.

Five minutes later, thanks to his daydreaming, Harry was selected by default to be the first in the class to approach Buckbeak—a gorgeous hippogriff Harry would later humorously declare to be Malfoy's spirit animal because the two were so unreasonably proud and easily offended.

After Harry had finished demonstrating how to interact with Buckbeak for the class at Hagrid's instruction, Malfoy—in an attempt to impress everyone, especially Harry—charged toward the hippogriff while insulting it, which resulted in him being flattened by its talons with a broken arm.

While Malfoy whimpered and whined about having "just died," Harry couldn't help but chuckle at how thick Malfoy was laying on the drama. But then he noticed blood pooling on the grass, and it was no longer a joke when Malfoy threatened to tell his father and set him loose on the school governors.

Harry clenched his teeth. He wished Malfoy was capable of anything other than throwing spoiled tantrums wherever he went.

Hagrid rushed to carry Malfoy back up to the castle and was about to dismiss the class when Harry stepped forward.

"Don't, Professor," Harry said, making Hagrid stammer and stall just as he was stooping to pick Malfoy up. "Don't dismiss the class on our account."

"What do yeh mean 'on our account'?" Hagrid said, mystified.

"I made riding Buckbeak look easy, because—" he had to lie, to calm Malfoy down, and get Hagrid to do what he wanted, "—well, because I was showing off to him. I knew Malfoy would want to one-up me after that, because we—" Harry looked down at where Malfoy was sniveling dramatically. He shifted his weight, then finished saying, "It doesn't matter. What I mean to say is, let me take him. Then you can teach the class, and lecture on Buckbeak a bit more."

"Harry, yeh don'—" But then Hagrid's eyebrows climbed high when Malfoy struggled to sit up.

"I'll take myself." The Slytherin boy scowled.

Pansy started to wend her way out of the crowd, but then Harry said, "I'll help you."

"I don't need your help, Potter." Malfoy climbed to his feet and was cradling his blood-soaked arm. His whole body was quaking from being split open like that, and Harry frowned at his evident stubbornness.

"You're in shock. I'll take you." Harry stepped toward him. "I promise I won't do anythi—"

"You better not—"

"Would you just shut up for once?" Harry said furiously. "I won't let you ruin the whole class for the other students, now put your good arm around my shoulder." He had lowered his voice so that even Ron and Hermione couldn't pick up on what they were saying.

Malfoy took a reluctant step toward him, but the sudden down-spike of adrenaline had made him weak.

Harry took hold of Malfoy's good arm rather gingerly, guided it up and around his shoulders, then helped bolster Malfoy's weight.

They were standing very close.

"See?" Harry said, grappling with the sudden whirl of heady excitement in his brain. "Hagrid could run you up there if you want, but you'll be alright. I would know. I've been hurt far worse before."

Malfoy wanted to shove him off—to get taken up more quickly by Hagrid—but the pain was already numbing itself with Harry being this close and smiling sideways at him like that…

Draco buried the panic thundering in his chest. Warmth spread throughout his body—and it turned out he didn't want to be taken up to the castle by Hagrid after all.

"Alright." He refrained from chiding Harry any further, but he looked at him—at his earnest face—at the scar he hadn't been able to properly see up close like this before without getting interrupted—

Indeed, Harry had been hurt far worse many times throughout his life.

Malfoy leaned into him as they began to walk, but he couldn't help feeling hopelessly humiliated about being carried off by the boy he pretended to hate.

"Saint Potter," he spat. "Think you're so good and perfect…"

"Not at all. I'm only helping. And not just you, but I'm helping Hagrid by taking you instead. If they ask the other students how the class went, they'll be more likely to think whatever went wrong was entirely your fault."

He sneered. "My father will hear—"

"Lean on me a bit more," Harry interrupted. If he heard Malfoy say anything about his father one more time, he didn't know what he might do. "Look—like this."

Harry shifted how they were standing, and Malfoy's breath caught in his throat.

"God…"

"There you go… See? You'll be alright."

Malfoy's cheeks were burning. He wanted to cry for being so furious at his own inability to feel nothing while Harry held and brought him close.

The awkward chatter of the class died away, and they were soon encapsulated by the surrounding trees, hearing nothing but the occasional grunt coming from each other as they went.

Harry allowed himself to smile the whole way, since he knew Malfoy couldn't bring himself to look at him.

"Don't tell your father," Harry breathed as they reached the end of the tree line.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because I want Hagrid to succeed."

"Well, too bad for you, Potter, that I don't care what you want."

Harry looked sideways at him. "You let me carry you up this way instead of him, didn't you?"

"Because I prefer you to him…"

"Thanks, Malfoy. That's a very nice compliment, you know."

"Oh, yeah? Well, I didn't mean it that way."

"Of course, you didn't…" Harry bit his lip and kept all the elation to himself. Maybe they'd be able to talk more normally after this. Maybe this sort of olive branch was all they needed to get past their hatred of each other…

"I hate that good-for-nothing servant. My arm's broken for good now; I know it is. If I don't show up dead tomorrow morning, I will most certainly no longer have an arm to wave a wand with."

"And you act like I was the damsel in distress," Harry said, unable to stop himself from teasing.

"I didn't faint, Potter."

"But you wish you had been there when I did, don't you?"

Harry was approaching Draco's sore spot. Any moment now and he would start shouting about how he wasn't bent.

"Why, so I could laugh? Sure…"

"No. I mean, you're so obsessed with me fainting that I can't help but wonder if you wanted to be there so that you could catch me."

Draco scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous…"

"Then stop acting like you're going to die, or I will keep this up. And you know you weren't paying attention during class, so this is all your fault to begin with. It doesn't have anything to do with Hagrid."

"How about you shut up?"

"Have it your way, Malfoy."

"Fine."

"Fine!"

Harry said nothing more the rest of the way, although he had a few more choice words for Malfoy that he ended up swallowing back down.

"Catch you…," Draco muttered to himself, evidently bothered by what Harry had said. "More like laugh in your stupid face… Honestly, just the idea makes me want to vomit…"

When they finally gained the hospital wing, Harry let go of Malfoy's waist and then stood back. "I don't think you needed to lean on me the whole way," he said. "You seemed to get your energy pretty quick once the shock wore off. But it was probably smart to still lean in… You'll be alright, you know."

"Shut up."

"I'll come and check on you later, if you're still here acting hysterical."

"Bloody hell, Potter. If you dare—"

"You can beat me up with your eternally broken arm when I come and visit you, Malfoy, I don't care. I might not have stopped being your punching bag for the year—but hell if I'm not going to at least try being nice to you… As much as I hate you sometimes. As badly as you tempt me…"

Harry searched the other boy's face, leaving that final statement on the air unfinished. He swept out of the hospital room corridor and left Draco standing at the threshold of Madam Pomfrey's office.

Draco curled his lip, then frowned.

Only after he was seen by Madam Pomfrey, who declared the arm would be fixed "in a second," did he reflect on the vaguely hungry way Harry had been looking at him before he left.

Things were getting too complicated, he realized. Things had already been complicated enough, but his father could not afford to have a scandal circulating the corridors of Hogwarts about a gay son who could be conquered by the likes of Harry Potter with little more than a hungry look and gentle touch.

He would finally need to stop wanting to be Harry's friend if he was going to overcome these abominable feelings.

"Excuse me, Madam Pomfrey?" Malfoy drawled from upon his hospital bed. His arm, which was already healed, had been wrapped in bandages at his insistence. "If you don't mind, would you please keep Potter away from me if he comes to visit…? Seeing him brings back the trauma of what happened, and it makes my arm hurt a lot worse…" He put on a pitiable groan.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Madam Pomfrey muttered under her breath, but then nodded with a tight smile from over another student's bed. "He won't bother you, Mr. Malfoy, now I'm surprised you are still in pain! I'll be back in just a moment with another restorative draught that'll be sure to get you back on your feet in no time."

Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes and shook her head as she exited the hospital room and returned ten minutes later with a draught that tasted of moldy socks. After nearly hurling the rancid potion all over himself, Draco pretended to drink it by pouring it into the other student's water goblet.

Harry eventually tried to see him a few days later, and he sounded very angry from what Malfoy overheard.

Madam Pomfrey shooed Harry off with stern reproof, declaring that his bad mood was not welcome in a room devoted to rest and recovery.

And so, Draco relaxed into the act he had successfully put on so far, knowing that his father was already getting in touch with all the right people to arrange Hagrid's unceremonious dismissal from Hogwarts.

During his last night in the hospital wing, Draco had difficulty falling asleep. He was sweating more than usual and felt more restless and energized even though he was extremely tired.

When at last he fell asleep, it was only to come face to face with the black-haired boy who had been urgently trying to see him. Harry moved towards him with an eerie, hypnotic look set on his face. Draco was vaguely aware of both their robes coming undone in a crowded classroom, their bookbags collapsing at their feet. There was a sultry impression of skin on skin, lips seeking his, and the most beautifully explosive sensations working through his nerve endings and groin. And then Harry's voice resounded, warm like honey, panting against his cheek. "You like me more than her, don't you? Please say you do… tell me…" The dream blurred and was soon forgotten to the shock of sunlight blinding him through the eastern mullioned windows.

Draco took a moment to recoup himself. But then he realized what a mess he had made inside his nightclothes at some point during the night.

"Bloody—what the fucking hell…?"

Disturbed at the rogue behavior of his body, Draco threw the bed sheets aside and made a beeline for the showers.