Bond

Chapter 4

October 15 - October 21

Day 17, Thursday

Draco turned over his portkeys, idly examining them as Potter and his friends caught up. Dumbledore had given them both special portkeys keyed to their shared bedroom as well as their respective dorm rooms. That way they could easily move from one to the other without needing to walk all over the castle every time they left something behind at one of the three places they were going to be staying.

Draco glanced around the Gryffindor common room with curiosity. He'd been here before, the day that Potter had moved out, but hadn't stayed long enough to get a feel for the place. Now, though, he noticed the squashy chairs, the inevitable gold and red colour scheme, the excessive use of portraits as wall coverings. It wasn't bad. Even though it tended more towards comfort than elegance, it wasn't that bad. He could get used to it. Apparently, he would have to.

He pulled out his books. Not feeling terribly energetic, he opted to read Potions, which could always be counted on to keep him focussed. Thinking of studying Transfiguration right now made his head hurt. Abysmally difficult subject, taught by an abysmally humourless teacher. He'd be out like a light in minutes, and he didn't fancy falling asleep surrounded by Gryffindors.

Once more he was grateful to Snape for having played the return to their dorms in exactly the right way for his housemates. In his current state, he would not have wanted to be near Slytherins, with their unerring instinct for detecting weakness. Instead he'd been able to agree to returning to Gryffindor first with no damage to his image.

"Well don't spend all your time over there, Draco," Pansy had told him. "We'd like to see you too, whether Potter misses his little friends or not. Frankly we're all rather peeved that it's all about Poor Little Potty's emotional needs. So bloody typical of this place."

"I'll come by eventually," Draco had said. "I'll probably spend all of my time there studying, I'm so bloody far behind."

"Really? You're not going to do a little reconnaissance work for us over there - uncover dastardly Gryffindor plots for world domination and all that?"

"Please. They're Gryffindors. Their idea of a dastardly plot is 'let's work really hard and endanger our lives for no good reason'."

He glanced briefly at Potter, chatting animatedly with some third-years. About what, Draco had no idea, since he'd performed a silence spell as soon as basic courtesy could allow. It did feel a little odd to be sitting in the midst of a rather large welcoming party and not hear a thing, but it certainly beat making small talk with Potter's friends.

He buried himself into Potions. They were so bloody far behind that it was disheartening to think of even starting to catch up. Instead, he flipped over to the section on energy potions, even though they didn't need to know it right now. He and Potter were going to be taking some of the potions to help keep them awake in class tomorrow, even though they would only be attending about half the day. He may as well understand what it was he was going to be ingesting.

This lethargy was incredibly annoying. Who would've believed that resisting the damned curse would be so damaging? They'd been told, of course, and had read the material they'd been given about the spell, but it was rather different reading that "the patient might experience severe loss of energy for several days" and living it. He looked up and ended the silence spell as Potter touched his knee.

"What?"

"Seamus got liquorice melts, do you want one?" He held one out. Draco smiled - liquorice melts, only his favourite Honeydukes product.

"Thanks," he said to Finnigan, as the melt dissolved and suffused his mouth with a taste of liquorice which would stay for about an hour. He turned back to his Potions reading, setting the silence spell again. Potter tapped his knee again.

"Yes?"

"There's also fizzbees and-"

"Potter, please leave me alone. Some of us care more about our marks than we do about socializing and eating sweets."

Potter shrugged. "Fair enough, I just didn't want you to feel left out."

"That's very noble of you, but I'm a Slytherin in the Gryffindor common room. Left out is exactly where I'd most like to be, thanks."

"Point taken." Potter grinned and turned away, leaving Draco to study without further interference.

It really was rather remarkable, Draco thought as he tried to figure his way through a particularly tricky question, how easy it was to get used to some things. Like, for example, existing in a bubble of serene silence in the midst of a party. Other than the occasional touch of Potter's arm or leg against his and the occasional intrusion of his own thoughts, there really wasn't anything else to distract him from the subject he was studying.

And when the subject was as intricate and demanding as Potions, it was easy to drop into it and think of nothing but the interaction of various properties and the patterns they made. For example, valerian, used for its sedative properties, somehow became a disinhibitor when combined with tadpoles. Tadpoles also turned crystal mermaid tears into stimulants and powdered dragon scales into mood brighteners, and if you could figure out how they did what they did to those three substances, you could start figuring out how to use them for brand new potions. The real challenge of Potions was in understanding the properties and patterns of substances well enough to make your own potions, not just following what - he looked up as Potter tapped his shoulder.

"Yes?"

"I need to get to bed," Potter said, yawning. "Are you just about done?"

"I wanted to finish this last section-"

"Malfoy, you've been reading for almost two hours."

Draco glanced around the common room, a little surprised. The room bore all the signs that a great celebration had occurred - plates and cups scattered over almost every available flat surface, wrappers from Honeydukes products underfoot, remnants of Exploding Snap games. The few people left were mostly older, and mostly somewhat subdued, speaking in low tones.

"Right." He stood up, marked his place in the book and stretched, then started to follow Potter.

"Good night, Harry," Finnigan said, "...and Malfoy," he added after a small hesitation.

Draco turned back, a little startled. "Good night," he said automatically, his forehead furrowing slightly as he turned to follow Potter up the stairs to the seventh-year boys' dorm.

"You're confused," Potter observed as they climbed the stairs.

"What? No I'm not."

"Startled, then."

"No. Maybe. Never mind. Don't do the mind-reading thing, it's annoying."

"Sorry." Potter let the way to the washrooms and they started getting ready for bed. Draco wrinkled his nose at the communal sinks and the counter space fouled by somebody else's shaving potion. This was one thing he had definitely appreciated about his own quarters; not having to share washroom space with anybody but Potter. While not the tidiest person elsewhere, he had at least kept their washroom pristine.

"Is everybody else still at the party?" Draco asked as they reached the empty dorm.

"It's only eleven on a Thursday night, Malfoy. Don't tell me Slytherin seventh years are already in bed by now."

"Eleven?" Draco realized he was utterly disoriented as to time. Must be the product of spending so much of the last few days sleeping.

"Besides, I think... um, I think they wanted to give us some privacy," Potter added as they got into bed.

Draco chuckled, "Not much need of that, thank god. Not for while, hopefully."

Potter shrugged uncomfortably. "Pomfrey and Esposito said they didn't know when-"

"Don't worry about it, Potter," Draco said dismissively.

"Easy for you to say."

"What?"

"Well it's not a problem for you, is it?"

"Not a problem to want to shag a bloody virgin whom I find personally distasteful and who's too scared to try anything anyway?" Draco said cuttingly. "No, in fact it's very pleasant. I highly recommend it to anyone who's looking for an ulcer."

"Oh, forget it," Potter said, turning his back to Draco.

"How could it not be a problem?"

"Never mind. Sorry I said anything."

Draco briefly considered asking Potter what he'd meant, then decided he really didn't care enough to know. "Fine. Good night."

"Good night."

ooooooo

Day 19, Saturday

"God, it's good to be home," Harry commented in the middle of Ron's account of the latest Chudley Cannons debacle, and Ron smiled.

"I still can't believe you're back," he said. They'd both woken up somewhat early for a Saturday, Ron had gone down to the Great Hall to get them a bit of breakfast, and now here they were, sipping cocoa, keeping their voices low so as not to disturb the four other boys still soundly asleep in the room.

"Yeah, neither can I," Harry said, smiling.

There had been a few moments of awkwardness, of course. Like yesterday morning, when a red-faced Ron had woken him up for class while obviously trying very, very hard to pretend he didn't see Malfoy still sleeping in Harry's arms. But mostly, he was home and it felt wonderful.

This is what I've missed the most, thought Harry. Nothing huge, just being with friends, being able to chat about nothing and everything.

"Was it horrible, living with him? Was he a right awful git?" Ron paused. "And are you sure he's asleep?"

"Yeah, pretty sure," Harry chuckled, glancing back at his bed, where only a splash of white-gold was visible over the blankets. "I can... sort of feel him when he's awake. Not really, but... it's weird, I can't really explain it. It's like if I stop and think for a minute, I can tell roughly how he's feeling. And right now he's feeling asleep."

"Good. Yeah, Bill said he could feel Fleur like that after their bonding. Mind you, he knew her before they did the spell. I don't know how much was the spell and how much was just them."

"Bit of both, probably. Although I knew Malfoy, I suppose, before the spell... of course that's not such a good thing," Harry said a little bitterly.

"No, too right."

There was an awkward silence.

"I'm glad you're back, though. Even if you do have to bring him along."

"Yeah, me too."

"It's going to be tough when you go stay in his dorm."

"Yeah, I know. It's bad enough sitting with his friends in class and mealtimes. I agreed that it was only fair, if we spend the night here we should spend the day with them, but they're such wankers. You all treat him just fine-"

"Which is more than he deserves-"

"And they really don't return the favour."

"No, I wouldn't think so. And he probably encourages them, doesn't he?"

"No, he doesn't," Harry said, realizing it for the first time. Malfoy still made fun of him in class, but not nearly as much as before, and he never egged on the Slytherin mockery of Harry any more. Harry frowned as he mentally ran over the previous day's classes. "In fact... I think it bothers him."

"Malfoy? Bothered that the Slytherins are acting like idiots around you?"

"Yeah."

"D'you think maybe he's ill?"

Harry laughed. "No, it's nothing to do with me, I don't think, it's that he feels what I feel through the bond."

"Yeah, that's what Hermione said when McGonagall said you were going to be coming back here; she went into this long speech about how we had to be polite to Malfoy, or at least not be rude to him, because you'd probably get the backlash from it."

"She was right."

"Yeah, I knew that, from people I've known before who were just married, but honestly, Harry, I really hadn't thought of that with Malfoy." He sipped his cocoa, thinking. "I wonder why he doesn't tell the Slytherins to leave you alone, if it bothers him."

"He'd never do that. Tell them that a good way to get to him is to bother me? They're Slytherins, they'll grab any chance to build themselves up by tearing somebody else down. I get the feeling he's working hard enough to not get torn down as it is; he doesn't need to give them a road map to how to get on his nerves."

"You have a hell of an insight into the Slytherin mindset."

"I've had a crash course recently," Harry said shortly.

"Erm. Sorry."

"Funny, the more I get to know them, the more I'm grateful I'm not one of them."

"Hear hear," Ron said fervently. He swirled his cocoa around for a minute, then hesitantly asked, "So how's it going with him, really?"

Harry sighed heavily.

"That good?"

"No, it's, it's all right, he's not nearly as big a git when you get to know him. Yeah, I know," he laughed at Ron's disbelieving expression. "It's just, it's..." He shrugged helplessly. "You know," he finally mumbled, concentrating very hard on the homey black and white pattern on the edge of the mug of cocoa.

"Yeah." Ron seemed to suddenly find his own mug fascinating as well. He swallowed a couple of times, started to speak and stopped, then took a deep breath and plunged in. "Harry... what happened when you fainted... was that because you wouldn't... you know. Um, go along with, with the spell?"

Harry scowled at his mug, his face darkening to mirror Ron's rather rosy tint. He cleared his throat. No, this was not a conversation he wanted to have with Ron, this was too personal, this was too embarrassing, this was-

This was Ron. They'd been friends for six years, been through hell and back, talked about everything under the sun including their mutual discovery of the female gender and their own feelings about them - how could he not be able to talk to Ron about anything?

"Erm. Partly." He cleared his throat again. "Yeah, that was a lot of it. We just got on each other's nerves, because... well, because."

There was a long pause, then Ron ventured, "Why wouldn't you?"

Harry gaped at him. "He's Malfoy, Ron. Would you want to sleep with him?"

Ron's face answered for him. "But, but isn't the bond supposed to, you know, make the other person seem attractive?"

"Yeah, it is. It does."

"Yeah? Weird. I couldn't even imagine that."

"I wish I couldn't," Harry said fervently.

"Must be so weird. Did you ever fancy any blokes before?"

"No! Of course not!" Harry sputtered, a little shocked at how casually Ron said that.

"So is it because of the Muggle thing about two boys or two girls together?"

Harry stared at him. "Is it really not that important in the wizarding world?"

"Depends who you talk to, I suppose. Some people do make fun, but a lot are Muggle-borns or half-bloods." Harry smiled briefly, reflecting that while most Slytherins only seemed to be able to say those words as insults, on the lips of a Weasley they were nothing but descriptive, with as much moral judgment as 'blond' or 'tall'. "A lot of purebloods really couldn't care less," Ron continued. "Fred wrote a paper about it once, for Muggle Studies."

"About what?"

"The difference. I don't really remember much of it, but I think there was something in there about how in the wizarding world, so many of us were persecuted for being wizards that we were sympathetic to other people who were persecuted. Oh, and... um, I think there was something in there about a lot of old wizarding practices involving sex, and some of that was with people of the same sex." Ron smiled. "I don't know how good his research was, though - I think he only picked the topic so he'd be able to put naughty words into a paper and say they were quotes."

Harry laughed. Ron grinned, then turned serious again. "It's not that big a deal, Harry."

"It is to me."

"Is that why-"

"I think it's more that he's Malfoy than that he's a boy, though."

"Yeah? He's not that bad-looking, for a bloke, you know." Harry choked on his cocoa and Ron, laughing, reached out to clap him on the back, stopping just in time. "He's not."

"Believe me, I know that now," Harry wheezed, half laughing.

"I thought the attraction thing wasn't working right now."

"It's not an on-off switch, I mean I don't want to, you know, do anything - agh." Harry shook his head and gave up trying to explain. "I know what he looks like. That's not the problem."

"So it's just him personally?"

"Yeah."

Ron nodded sympathetically. "You're going to have to, eventually, though."

"I know." Harry watched the patterns of cocoa moving in his mug. "I think... I think part of it is that... I don't, um... I don't want to get attached to him."

"Harry, you're bonded."

"I know, but... we're getting along better, and sometimes I think I can live with him, I think it's going to be OK, but then I remember - I mean, we both know where he's going. What his family's all about. I don't want to get attached."

"Ever talk about it with him?"

"God, no."

"Yeah, I guess that wouldn't be an easy conversation to start. The thing is though, Harry, where he's going and what's going to happen when - I mean, if You-Know-Who... that's all in the future. It might not even happen at all. What's going on with you two is happening right now. What's the use of worrying so much about the future that you let this stupid curse kill you right now?"

Great, thought Harry. Comforting though Ron was trying to be, Harry heard the unspoken assumption. That Harry was supposed to fight Voldemort for everybody, and defeat him again. And of course, he couldn't fight if he was dead.

Damn it, everybody, even Ron, kept putting this pressure on him. It showed up even in the strangest places, like in a conversation about whether he would or wouldn't consummate this damned bond with Malfoy.

"Could you sleep with him, if you had to?"

"Yeah, I think so," Ron answered after a moment's reflection.

"Really. Him? This is Malfoy we're talking about. Calls Hermione a Mudblood, wanted her dead by Basilisk when he was barely twelve years old. Makes fun of your family and you, all the time. Wrote an entire song about you just to make you look like a fool. And we won't even mention his family or his political views."

Ron's face was a little disgusted.

"My point exactly," Harry said.

"Yeah, but I'm not married to him." Harry looked away. "Look, maybe you need to talk to somebody-"

"No," Harry said, suddenly fed up with the whole thing. "I'm talking to Lupin, I'm talking to Pomfrey, I'm even talking to you - next thing Hermione's going to want to-"

"Harry, come on. Come on. I'm trying to be a friend."

"Then be a friend and drop it," Harry shot back.

"Fine," Ron bristled. There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and then Ron closed his eyes for a moment, obviously reaching for patience. He cleared his throat again. "Erm."

Harry looked up.

"So, how about those Chudley Cannons?"

Harry's answering grin broke the tension and they suddenly found themselves laughing together loudly, forgetting their roommates.

"Shut up, you wankers!!" Dean's irate groan was followed by a pillow hurled towards them with more strength than accuracy.

"Potter, would you like me to hex you?" Malfoy asked sleepily. "Because I will if you wake me up again."

"Hex Ron too while you're at it," mumbled Neville, turning over and putting a pillow over his head.

"Sorry," they apologized to the room at large as a soft snore came floating from Seamus' bed.

ooooooo

Day 21, Monday

Oh, oh no, please, thought Harry, abruptly realizing that he'd been staring at Malfoy for a while, admiring his swift, efficient movements as he went about perfecting his witchfire potion, utterly oblivious to the process and thinking instead that by the azure light of the witchflame, Malfoy's hair was an absolutely stunning shade of ice-blue.

No, he thought desperately, not again, not yet, I'm not ready yet - and his heart skipped a beat as Malfoy's eyes met his. Malfoy blinked, startled, and spilled the teaspoon of etchwater he was holding. He swore and quickly cleaned it up before it could eat through the counter, his hands just a touch unsteady. Then he paused, heaved a deep sigh of resignation, looked back up at Harry and leaned in closer.

"Potter," he touched Harry's hand. "Don't panic. It's not worth getting upset over this."

Harry swallowed hard, deeply upset that Malfoy could so accurately read his emotional state. "That's easy for you to say."

"No, it's not," Malfoy said evenly. "This isn't fun for me either. But you're panicking before anything's happened."

"I-I don't want to talk about this here-" Harry stammered, miserable already.

"No, of course not," Malfoy said, his voice steady and sympathetic. "We'll have lunch in the courtyard. We'll talk about it then. Potter, relax. It's not the end of the world."

Harry's instinctive retort died on his lips as he felt himself oddly calmed by Malfoy's voice and by the hand still resting on top of Harry's, thumb now rubbing the top of Harry's hand very lightly.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously, panic subsiding.

"Same thing you did at the hospital the other day, with my father." Harry's eyebrows went up. "I asked Pomfrey and read up on it. I don't need you skittish around me all the time, or afraid I'm going to ravish you in your sleep. I've got enough to deal with on my own."

Harry nodded. Of course, that made sense. He supposed he should feel a little resentful that Malfoy was manipulating his emotions for his own purposes, but then again... no, Malfoy was right. If projecting steadiness helped Harry, it was a good thing, regardless of whether Malfoy was doing it for selfish or altruistic purposes. He nodded and went back to his work.

ooooooo

They had seated themselves in the courtyard and Harry had almost finished his first sandwich before he finally blurted out, "All right, now what?"

"I don't want to go through what happened last time," Malfoy began.

"No, of course not."

"I talked to Madam Pomfrey about it, and she suggested some things we could try to make things go more smoothly this time."

"I'm not going to-"

"I'm not talking about spells or aphrodisiacs for you, or anything like that."

"I doubt we'll need that last," Harry said ruefully.

"No, not if last time is anything to judge by." Malfoy finished his first sandwich and bit into his apple. "Although I don't think it'll be much like before," he mused.

"Why not?"

"Things have changed."

"How?"

Malfoy studied his apple for a minute. He frowned, seeming to come to a realization, and a not entirely welcome one at that.

"Malfoy?"

Malfoy gave a small start, as if he'd almost forgotten Harry was there, then, to Harry's puzzlement, coloured slightly and dipped his head down, avoiding Harry's gaze.

"Malf-"

"We don't feel the same way about each other," he blurted out quickly, then bit into his apple.

"What?"

"You don't throw out disgust at me every five minutes or so. And I know how I feel."

"Really?" Harry said. "All right, how do you feel?" he challenged.

"I don't hate you. I don't even dislike you all that much." Malfoy tossed his half-eaten apple into the air and flicked his wand at it, making it disappear. He cleared his throat and kept his gaze firmly on his wand, rolling it between his fingers. "Potter, we're never going to like each other. But that doesn't mean we can't make this work. Just don't be afraid of me. Nothing is going to happen that you don't want to happen; it can't."

Harry frowned at him sceptically and Malfoy put a hand on his arm, a serious expression on his face. "Pomfrey said it'd be a good idea to set some ground rules before anything gets too intense. Like for example, maybe you should lead here. You let me know what you want and when you want it. I won't suggest anything."

"This... doesn't sound anything like you," Harry said after a long stunned moment. "Have you been taken over by somebody else?"

"No, just a patience potion."

"A what?"

"You don't want any kind of potion or spell or anything like that, for your own bizarre Muggle-raised reasons. I've no objection to them, myself, especially if it's a choice between that and ending up in the hospital again."

"What if they interfere with the bond spell?"

"I'll take the risk. I'm serious, I'm not going through what we just went through, not again."

Harry mulled that over, holding Malfoy's gaze, trying to see deception or impatience or anything other than an honest desire to get through this as easily as possible.

"All right," he finally said slowly. "I'll... I'll lead, for whatever that's worth. Just don't expect much."

"I don't."

"I still don't feel right about this."

"You're not the only one."

"I suppose not."

"One other thing: where do you want to sleep?"

"Not Slytherin," Harry began, and Malfoy grinned.

"No, I didn't think so. I wouldn't put it past my house mates to spare no effort to get past any locking or privacy spells on my bed. If only to figure out who collects on the pool money." Harry chuckled despite himself. "Zabini's especially eager to win; I think we cost him about ten Galleons already, he'd bet we'd be shagging the day we fainted in the Great Hall. He's placed a new bet but won't tell me for what day."

"Why not?"

"He thinks I've placed a bet myself."

Harry laughed out loud, unexpectedly. "And have you?"

"Well I wouldn't tell you, would I? That would blow my 'patience' ploy to hell."

Harry laughed again, noticing that his tension had subsided dramatically and marvelling that a mere potion could make Malfoy act like a decent human being. Maybe he should suggest that Malfoy continue to take the potion for as long as they were together.

"All right, not Slytherin, then," Malfoy said. "Do you want Gryffindor, or our quarters?"

"I... I don't know."

"It's up to you, I don't particularly care."

"All right..." Harry thought for a moment. "I don't know - I'm, I'm glad to be back in the dorm... but then, I don't want, I mean, if we're, you know, looking at each - um, I mean, it's, I-"

"Potter, you're babbling." Harry reddened and Malfoy snickered. "Look, you don't have to make any decisions right now. I just wanted to... I don't know, make sure you didn't get your knickers in a twist before anything's happened."

"All right," said Harry shakily. He bit into his second sandwich, and they ate in semi-companionable silence for a little while.

"So." Malfoy checked his watch. "Ten minutes till Charms class. Are you up for it?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

ooooooo

Day 23, Wednesday

I may never stop taking this patience potion, thought Draco dazedly as he valiantly tried to ignore the sight and sounds of Potter dreaming about something... interesting.

Thank god the curtains are drawn, he thought. And thank god we're in Gryffindor and nobody's going to try to unspell them.

And I need more potion. Or something.

He turned his back to Potter, who, truth be told, wasn't acting in any way that somebody who wasn't bonded to him would be able to read as aroused. Unfortunately it was just Draco's luck that he happened to be able to interpret the flushed face, irregular breathing, right hand drifting along the covers grasping at nothing, and other slight... movements here and there as signs of Potter having an incredibly intense sexual dream.

Potter gasped softly and Draco felt his body answering despite the Arithmancy tables he was dutifully repeating in his head. If they'd been in their own quarters, Draco would've been off to the washroom and dealing with this tension long ago. Unfortunately they were in the dorm, and it was close to wake-up time and Seamus Finnigan had a bad habit of waking up abysmally early and Draco didn't particularly want to face anyone right now in the state he was in.

Potter sighed and turned onto his side, coming into contact with Draco's shoulder and pulling himself closer to Draco. Draco reflected that while this might happen to both of them often enough while they were both asleep, it felt quite different to have Potter draw close and put his arms around him while Draco was awake and Potter was... well, Potter was doing this.

No potion could help with this, thought Draco in a daze. He wanted, he needed, to turn around and draw close to Potter and move with him and let Potter's dream take them where it would. And the hell of it was, if he'd still been asleep, that's probably what would have happened. They would have both woken up somewhat sticky but with little or no memory of how they'd arrived there and possibly one more barrier down between them.

Actually... why couldn't he just do that? And pretend he'd been asleep?

Because Potter would sense his guilt.

Guilt?? Over what? Releasing sexual tension built up by a bond he didn't want and a spouse with bizarre Muggle hang-ups having a dirty dream right next to him in bed? How could taking care of that possibly make him feel guilty?

Because, knowing Potter, Potter would see that as taking advantage of him. Using Potter's body for sexual pleasure without his consent.

Bloody hell.

No, thought Draco as Potter's breath hitched and he groaned softly. There's got to be a limit. I said I wouldn't pressure him, not that I would just let him do whatever the hell he wanted no matter what it did to me.

He's seventeen, Draco's patience-potion-enhanced noble side said in a final attempt at forbearance. This won't last long. Just wait it out, don't make him feel self-conscious-

The hell with that - no, actually, fuck that - the rest of him told his noble side, I'm seventeen too. And I'm not putting up with this. He turned over and shook Potter awake.

"Wha?" Potter's eyes snapped open and he stared at Draco, utterly disoriented, still half asleep and all aroused.

"Potter, wake up," Draco said roughly. "You're having a wet dream and it's playing hell with my nerves."

Potter's eyes widened as he became aware of his surroundings. "Oh. Um... oh," he sighed, clearly still feeling the effects of his dream. He moved restlessly in the bed.

"Stop that!" Draco said sharply.

"You must be joking," Potter said weakly, turning onto his stomach and closing his eyes. "I can't just slam on the brakes," he whispered, "You've no idea how close-"

"I've a very good idea, I've been awake this whole time and if you don't want me to grab you you'll stop what you're-mph" Potter clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Shut up," Potter whispered fiercely, "I don't care what you do, take care of yourself for all I care, I can't - oh," he bit his lip, his other hand disappearing under the covers.

That was enough for Draco and he followed suit, and there were a few moments of muffled moans and rustling sheets before they were both gasping and then stillness settled over their bed.

Thank god, Draco thought vaguely, his chest still heaving, eyes closed and lethargy creeping over him.

Hopefully Potter wouldn't get weirded out by this.

Oh, who cared if he did.

Really, who cared.

Silence, broken only by their gradually slowing breaths.

Finally Potter cleared his throat, murmured the clean-up spell and sat up. Draco waited a beat, then did the same, sitting up and glancing at Potter curiously. Potter's face was flushed, no surprise, and he was steadfastly not meeting Draco's eyes, no surprise there either, and he was highly embarrassed. Draco ground his teeth in frustration - this was nothing, this was just two people getting off in the same bed, not even touching each other for god's sake - but obviously it had crossed some unfathomable Muggle moral line, as Draco had suspected it might.

He suddenly wondered how in hell people like Potter managed to exist in dormitories at all. This surely couldn't be the first time he'd ever had a sexual dream near another boy, and he sincerely doubted his roommates were all eunuchs either. Did they do Obliviate spells on themselves? Or was it the fact that Draco was in the same bed that was weirding him out? Or was it the fact that he'd probably been dreaming about Draco in the first place?

Draco blew out his breath in frustration and kicked off the covers violently.

"What?" Potter said, his voice rough.

"Nothing," Draco muttered, about to open the curtains. Potter shot up and grabbed his arm.

"You're angry at me."

"Bloody right - does everything have to get you this tense? Can't you just for once - oh, never mind!!" Draco shoved him back.

"What?? Can't I just for once what??" Potter said more loudly.

"You just - what just happened was nothing, and you're - I knew this would happen if I - fuck!!" Draco realized he was completely incoherent in his frustration.

"It wasn't nothing," Potter snapped. "I, I was dreaming about, about - and then-" he collapsed back onto the bed, putting his face in his hands. "Never mind! You wouldn't understand!"

"Understand what?? That you get upset by the stupidest - I can't even count the number of times I've heard one of my roommates have a wet dream or a good wank, it happens all the time, and yet you're acting like-"

"What?" Potter frowned, genuinely puzzled. They stared at each other for a moment. "You think I'm upset because we both just got off at the same time?"

Draco sat down, nonplussed. "Aren't you?"

"God no," Potter said. "I'm a virgin, not a monk, Malfoy."

"Then what's the matter?"

Potter looked away. "I was dreaming about you."

"Oh the horror," Draco said snidely. "Did you pay any attention at all to what Pomfrey told us the very first day?"

"No, it was, it was different."

"Different how??"

Potter shook his head, setting his jaw and Draco could feel just how completely unready Potter was to share what he'd been dreaming about. He opened his mouth for a scathing piece of ridicule - and closed it.

This might be a very, very good time to practice that patience thing, he realized.

All right, then. Never let it be said that a Malfoy feared to head into the unknown.

Although, come to think of it, Malfoys weren't terribly fearless, when you came down to it. Astute and cunning and calculating, yes, but they usually preferred to leave fearlessness to lesser, more expendable people - like, say, Gryffindors.

Unfortunately, here the Gryffindor in question was not actually expendable because Draco's own life and well-being pretty much depended on him for the time being, and the astute, cunning, and calculating thing to do happened to be practicing patience, which, also unfortunately, was unknown territory to Draco.

He shook his head, trying to clear it of confusion, ambivalence, anger, and post-orgasm fog, and attempted to compose himself. Well, compose himself as much as was possible after the morning wake-up he'd just had and surrounded by Gryffindors just outside the curtains. "All right, all right. Sorry I asked," he said, and had the distinct pleasure of seeing Potter completely stunned. He smiled, a little tiredly, and began again. "So you're not upset about what happened after I woke you up."

"No."

"You mean I could've - I didn't have to get out of bed, all those times? You wouldn't have been upset?"

"All those times? How many times?"

"Five, six, who knows."

Harry chuckled. "No, actually, come to think of it, I probably would've been upset... um... before."

"But you don't mind now?"

"No."

All right.

Where else to take this patience thing? Potter seemed relaxed, and they appeared to have weathered the possible storms of both the morning's activities and whatever it was that Potter had been dreaming about that had rattled him. And Potter didn't mind if Draco stayed in bed with him when they were both aroused. That was a step in the right direction.

And that was probably enough for today - or at least, for now. Draco mentally congratulated himself and tried not to think too hard about the fact that it was only six in the morning and he was already feeling rather exhausted.

This stupid, fucking curse.

"I'm going to take a shower." He stood up. "All right to take the privacy spell off?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

ooooooo

The morning had started relatively well, Draco reminded himself as he tried to figure out what was going wrong with his potion. He should have picked somebody else to work with, he realized, because working with Goyle was worse than trying to do this by himself. Normally it wasn't a problem; Potions was ridiculously simple, and all Draco asked of Goyle was that he follow instructions, do the menial labour, and stay out of the way. Except that on a day like today, when Draco was so distracted by Potter's presence that he was having trouble remembering his own name, Goyle's inability to think for himself was getting them into serious trouble.

He was fairly sure part of the problem was that he hadn't been specific enough when he told Goyle to crush the dragon eggshell, and Goyle had ground it into powder instead of merely crunching it. Draco had been too distracted trying to figure out how much blood he needed to use to notice what Goyle was doing until it was too late.

He gazed dejectedly at the thick blue mess congealing in his cauldron, a marked contrast to Potter and Granger's cauldron, which, of course, held a delicately bubbling liquid that glowed with the exact shade of aquamarine that Snape had described.

"You'll need to start over," Granger commented, looking into his cauldron.

"Piss off, Granger," he snapped.

"Malfoy, she just wants to help," said Potter.

"I don't need her help."

"I think you do," Potter peered down into his cauldron. Draco pushed him away impatiently.

"Malfoy."

The quiet tone startled Draco and he met Potter's eyes, then looked away. Bloody hell. He couldn't concentrate, he was supposed to be thinking of how to salvage this stupid potion and instead he couldn't even remember what it was supposed to be used for, and all he really wanted to do was go back to this morning except this time, actually touch Potter, pull him closer, run his hands over him-

"Fuck!" he blurted as Potter touched his arm, and he automatically covered Potter's hand with his, a mild shock running through him as he sensed Potter's trembling. He looked up at Potter, who was frowning slightly, his bright green eyes a little unfocussed, lips parted, and couldn't seem to make himself look away.

"Ahem." They both started as Granger politely cleared her throat. "I take it you're both distracted for a reason, then?"

Draco turned away from her angrily, shrugging off Potter's hand at the same time. Bad enough he had to go through this with Potter; the fact that Potter came attached to the Mudblood added insult to injury. It took considerable restraint for Draco to be civil to her in the best of times, and this was not the best of times.

"Harry?" he heard her say, and Potter made a small acknowledging sound. "Do you think it might be a good idea to stay out of class until you've... dealt with this?"

"Finish school next year, you mean?" Draco snapped. "No thanks."

"Many newly bonded couples stop working or at least cut down on their responsibilities until-"

"Yes, thank you for extensively researching what you would know without needing to ask if you'd been brought up in a wizarding family, Granger. Did you read that in 'The Muggle-born's Guide to Wizarding Customs' or 'How To Hide Your Mudbloodedness'?"

"Malfoy!" Potter snapped.

"If she doesn't want to hear that kind of thing she doesn't need to stick her nose into my personal life!!"

"She's trying to help, you-"

"I don't need her help!"

"Yeah, because you're doing so well on your own," Potter sneered at his congealing potion.

"Go to hell," Draco hissed.

"Already there, thanks."

"Shut up."

Potter growled in annoyance and Draco pointedly turned his back on him, motioning to Goyle to scrape the mess out of the cauldron while he tried to write out, coherently, what he thought had gone wrong and why. And tried with all his strength to ignore the blush heating his face and his churning anger and the fact that his entire body kept urging him to move closer to Potter.

He took a few calming breaths, shaking his head and trying to get into class mode. Read over what he had and was pleasantly surprised to see that, while not up to his normal standard, it was at least moderately coherent. He let the ink dry and rolled up the parchment.

Now, to start over. He looked over the ingredients again and groaned inwardly. So many of them were things that he really couldn't trust Goyle to get, because Goyle wouldn't know the difference between, say, epauleted bat talons and crested bat talons - he could barely tell the difference between bats and snakes. Unfortunately Draco himself wasn't too sure he could tell the difference either, at this point.

Motioning Goyle to follow him into the storage room, he resolutely ignored everything but the list of ingredients before him.

ooooooo

Draco reached the Slytherin table at the Great Hall and sank into his seat, bleakly wondering what else could wrong with his day. After Potions and Transfigurations, all he really wanted to do was go back to bed and forget this whole miserable day.

On the plus side, in Transfigurations there were no belligerent Gryffindors staring daggers at him, the big bad Slytherin who caused their sainted little Harry distress. On the minus side, Transfigurations was filled with Slytherins. It seemed half of them didn't bother to think for half a second that if they pissed off Potter, Draco would get the backwash from it. The other half thought about it, and thought it was a splendid idea. Nott, Mordred rot him, had even managed to 'accidentally' bump into both of them during the class, with the resultant scorched-flesh effect that Draco could've sworn got worse every time. Not to mention the fact that the jolts of pain made them both shy away from everybody else and get closer than ever, which, considering what else they were both dealing with right now, was not a good thing at all.

And after lunch, he could look forward to Charms with the Gryffindors. Lovely.

"A little preoccupied today in Potions this morning, were we, Draco?" Millicent Bulstrode said casually as she seated herself across from him and Potter at the Great Hall.

Oh, wonderful.

They'd managed to be somewhat discreet about their growing attraction to one another this time, although there had been a few speculative looks on their Gryffindor roommates' faces after they had started drawing the curtains. But the lack of fighting and the patience potion and the fact that they were somewhat more comfortable with each other had all worked together so that although they'd been struggling with this for two days, they hadn't done anything obvious to start the rumour mill going - yet.

All good things must come to an end, though, thought Draco, noting his tablemates' whispers and glances, and steeled himself. Potter, thank god, had put a silence spell around himself as usual at the Slytherin table and was reading his Astronomy text while he ate, which was good because it meant that Draco wouldn't have to feel and deal with Potter's emotions too at some of the talk surrounding them.

"I heard about it in Astronomy. How did your second attempt at the potion go?" Millicent asked innocently, smirking as Draco flushed.

"Fine," he muttered into his pumpkin juice.

"Had a spot of trouble with the first one, I hear?"

"Yeah."

"A little... distracted, were you?"

Draco put down his fork and knife and stared at her levelly until her smirk faded and a slightly discomfited expression fell over her. He felt a small glow of reassurance that either he - or his family - still had the power to make other Slytherins balk at pissing them off too much.

All right, she seemed sufficiently nervous now. He held her gaze a few moments longer, considered a number of retorts, discarded all of them, and opted for subtle and risk-free: he went back to his meal and ignored her entirely.

"Draco." Pansy Parkinson dropped onto the bench next to him and leaned in, speaking in a low voice. "Much as it pains me to agree with anything Hermione Granger says, she just may be on to something here. Have you considered dropping out, just for a little while?"

"No," he said curtly.

"Draco-"

"I said no. I don't want to have to catch up later. Or worse, come back for another year in this pit of a school."

"But-"

"Your opinion is not required here, Parkinson," he said coldly, and she rolled her eyes and stood up.

"You're going to land yourselves in the hospital again, I swear," she said scornfully. "Honestly. Men. You're utterly impossible, the lot of you." She flounced off and Potter frowned after her.

"What's with her?" he asked, ending his silence spell.

"Thinks we should drop out," Draco said shortly.

"Never thought I'd see Pansy Parkinson agree with Hermione about anything."

"Now you've seen it. Go back to your bubble."

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Potter said irately. "Off the patience potion?"

"Piss off."

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Off the potion."

"No. But putting up with both you and your pathetic little friends," and my own pathetic house mates, he added to himself, "is a bit much for any potion to handle. It's not a miracle cure for other people's idiocy."

"Perhaps you should ask Snape to make you a potion to cure your tendency to act like a complete prick."

"Piss off, I said."

"Right, then." Potter stood up, and Draco grabbed his arm to pull him back down.

"I'm not done eating," he said through gritted teeth, and felt Potter's temper abruptly crack.

"You are now." Potter swept his arm over Draco's plate and sent Draco's lunch clattering onto the floor, the dish smashing amid cries of alarm from their Slytherin table mates. He started to move away and Draco jerked his arm back, unbalancing him slightly. "Let go of me!"

"What the hell was that?? Sit down!!"

"I said let GO!!" Potter yanked his arm back and started out the door and Draco, furious, stood up to follow him.

"Get your miserable arse back to the table NOW!!" He grabbed at Potter again but succeeded only in ripping his schoolbag off his shoulder. He hurled it to the floor, books and quills tumbling out, an ink bottle smashing to bits and spilling its contents out onto the floor.

"YOU don't order me around, you piece of shit!!"

"SHUT UP!!" he moved to grab Potter again and Potter swung around and shoved him back, hard, causing him to stumble back a few steps, barely catching himself against the wall.

"GO TO HELL!!" Potter shouted at him, his hatred and resentment flaring up wildly, feeding the fury inside Draco, and there was a sudden hush as the air in the Great Hall became charged and somehow darker.

"What the hell are you doing???" Draco asked, his skin prickling from the charged atmosphere, a cold finger of fear running down his spine - damn it, he'd heard that Potter's temper tantrums had caused magical mayhem when he was a child, but how could this be happening now, in seventh year??

"I'm trying to get the fuck away from you!!" Potter shot back, and Draco could feel Potter's own fear over what was starting to happen to his powers, which wasn't reassuring at all.

"Believe me, I would like nothing better-" Draco sensed a wind picking up in the Great Hall and gulped as Potter paled. "Get yourself under control, damn you!! You're not a fucking child any more!!"

"SHUT UP!!!" Potter shoved Draco back again and Draco, whose fear of Potter's temper was now warring with his own rapidly rising anger, shoved him back a lot harder than he meant to, smacking Potter's head against the wall behind him.

Potter's fury flared completely out of control and he punched Draco in the face, and Draco reeled back, tasting blood in his mouth. Potter aimed another punch at him and Draco blocked him as the wind picked up and a window shattered above them, and screams broke out from the students scrambling to get out of the way of the plummeting shards. Draco dimly heard somebody running to get a teacher.

"POTTER!! STOP IT!!"

Potter made another grab at him and Draco shoved him back again, then punched him solidly in the gut, kneeing him as he went down so that his knee smacked Potter's nose. Deep satisfaction bloomed in Draco along with the blood that started to pour from Potter's nose even as Draco felt the blow himself.

Draco had no idea he'd decided to pull out his wand until it was in his hand, at the same moment as Potter pulled out his own wand - and a sudden shouted "PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!!" froze them both in place.

"EXPELLIARMUS!!" another voice thundered through the Great Hall and both wands flew out of their hands.

The silence over the Hall was deafening.

Draco felt a pit open up in his stomach, unable even to close his eyes and not see Potter's face, so very pale, blood running down into his shirt, feeling blood trickle from the side of his own mouth and drip onto his collar.

Now they'd really done it. This was - this was terrible. They might very well be expelled. They had attacked one another physically and magically, destroyed school property and put several other students in danger. What would happen to them?

The morning had started out relatively well, Draco thought bleakly. How did it turn into almost hexing each other before noon?

"Finite incantatum. Now, unless you wish to be expelled immediately, follow me quietly to my office," Dumbledore said, his gentle tone at odds with his stern words. Snape approached with their wands in hand, motioning them towards the door.