Bond

Chapter 7

October 23

Day 25, Friday

Draco was dreaming, and under no circumstances whatsoever did he want to wake up.

There had been so many of these dreams, he thought dazedly. So many dreams where he was finally able to do everything he wanted with Potter, where they didn't have to stop because of his silly moral objections or fear of intimacy or whatever they were calling it at the moment. Dreams where there was only impulse, no control. Where they touched and held and stroked and melted into each other and gasped together and - Oh, no, he thought desperately, please don't let me wake up-

But it was too late, yet not a bad thing, he realized a few bewildering moments later, as he found himself waking up from a very good dream into an even better reality. Because Potter was all over him and murmuring into his ear, his voice husky and raw.

"Uhn-" Draco managed.

"I said, if this is payback for that other morning, you win," Potter said, exasperated, half-propped up on one elbow, his hands a little rough on Draco's shoulders, "You're driving me mental, wake up-"

"M'awake," Draco mumbled, pulling Potter closer. He gasped, feeling the hard heat of Potter's erection against his own, nothing but thin cotton between them. "God, yes, I'm awake," he drew in his breath shakily as Potter hesitated a split second, then pulled them closer so that they were fully pressed together, slipping one leg between Draco's, sliding an arm down to Draco's waist to hold him firmly in place.

They groaned together as the pressure built up, Potter's fingers digging painfully into Draco's back and Draco blindly mouthing Potter's neck as they thrust against one other, and Potter swore and Draco felt the tide rising and carrying him along, and Potter was so incredibly hot and his neck felt like silk under Draco's lips, and Potter's hand was stealing in under Draco's t-shirt, his fingers leaving trails of heat, and they were both so damn close so damn fast - and then Potter suddenly went very still and he felt Potter's orgasm spike through him before ever feeling Potter pulsing against him, and then he was climaxing so hard it felt like he was being torn apart, but in the very, very nicest way.

They were still gripping each other close. Draco could dimly feel Potter's heart racing, past the rush of his own heart loud in his ears. Then a wave of exhaustion swept through him and Potter's arms lost their iron grip and Potter sighed against Draco's neck, and Draco reflected that this might be the function of the post-sex lethargy: to not leave them energy enough to feel self-conscious. Because Potter hadn't wanted this kind of thing to happen yet, so very close to actual sex, and now it had. And Draco really couldn't deal with another one of Potter's existential crises right now, but that was fine, because it felt like Potter was going to go back to sleep instead.

Draco let his mind drift, vaguely noting that they were both rather damp from exertion, and that it was just fine with him. And that he was too bloody tired to even use the sheet-cleaning spell on them both, and that didn't matter either.

ooooooo

"Do you think there's still breakfast at the kitchens?" Potter asked, a long time later.

"If there isn't, you can always butter up Dobby."

Potter smiled, slowly sitting up. "So. Repeat of yesterday?"

"You mean, flying, picnic, and the list?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, but we'd better do more reading. I'm falling too far behind as it is."

"That's one of the list items anyway," Potter reminded him. "Study together. Although it didn't work out too well yesterday."

Draco snickered and sat up, getting out of bed and gathering his books while Potter brushed his teeth and hair. A rather useless gesture, that last one, Draco thought as he entered the washroom.

"Potter, can't you tie that back?" Draco gestured as he picked up his own comb. "It looks disgraceful."

"Mrs. Weasley would probably say I need to cut it, but that doesn't make it any better," Potter said ruefully, giving up on it and starting to rub shaving potion on his face.

"No, it doesn't," Draco said, frowning in annoyance at a tangle in his own hair.

"Your hair could stand a cut too, you know," their mirror told him, and Draco nodded absently, then gave the mirror an odd look.

"What?" Potter asked.

"Nothing," he shrugged. Potter looked at him curiously, scrubbing the shaving potion off his face. "Nothing, just - married wizards traditionally wear it long."

"Really? Ron's dad doesn't," Potter commented, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"What a shock, Arthur Weasley not following wizarding tradition."

"Is that really what's expected?" Potter asked curiously, and Draco shrugged.

"Not really. It's not that unusual to cut it any more." Abruptly he decided he didn't much care about wizarding tradition in this particular instance; he would bloody well cut his hair at the first opportunity.

"Oh, don't forget Pomfrey wanted to see us first thing," Potter said, drying his face. "Actually, let's go now, while everybody's still in first period."

"Are we going to avoid everybody until Monday, then?" Draco asked, leaving the washroom.

"Yeah, I thought so."

"Really?" Draco was a little surprised. "Why?"

"Easier that way."

"We can't hide forever."

"We won't, we'll be back on Monday. Even back in the dorms, if you want." Potter hesitated. "Even - even Slytherin, if you want, I mean it'd be only fair-"

"Don't be daft," Draco said absently, pulling out non-classroom clothing. "I'm not going back to Slytherin until things have settled down."

"What? Why?"

"My housemates would rip you to pieces, Potter. You know that," Draco pulled on a shirt. "Your housemates are fluffy and cuddly and give me liquorice melts."

Potter laughed. "I would've thought you'd-"

"You thought what? That I'd insist on returning to Slytherin? So my housemates can say something perfectly innocent and you can lose that impressive temper of yours and then we can both be committed to St. Mungo's Mental Maladies wing? No thanks. I'd like to come out of this in one piece, if that's all right with you."

"Right, then," Potter said curtly, packing textbooks into his bag. "Pomfrey, then breakfast." He rooted around his desk, trying to find his notes for Potions.

Oh for god's sake, now Potter was insulted about something. "Whatever I said, sorry," Draco muttered, irritably wishing he'd walked through that doorway with somebody else, anybody else. Or better yet, that Potter had walked through it with somebody else. "I didn't mean to-" he cut off 'hurt your ickle feelings' just in time. Potter turned to him.

"You're getting rather good at apologizing, have you noticed?"

"Wonderful," Draco said sourly, and Potter grinned at him. "And now you either say That's all right or Up yours, remember?"

Potter stopped him, one hand on his arm and an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes briefly searched Draco's for something, Draco had no idea what. Whether he found it or not, Draco couldn't tell, but he felt a start of surprise as Potter's eyes lowered to Draco's mouth and then he stepped closer and kissed him. Draco hesitated a brief moment before responding, and almost immediately wished he hadn't.

"Potter," he murmured as their kisses started to heat up with dizzying speed, and Potter dropped his schoolbag, "weren't we going to go see Pomfrey - um - during first period?"

"Right," Potter drew away, laughing slightly. "Sorry." He ran a hand through his hair and picked up his schoolbag again, and motioned Draco out the door.

ooooooo

"What did you think about Pomfrey?" Potter asked a few hours later as they broke for lunch.

"This morning?" Draco asked. Potter nodded. "I'm sure it's as she said. Probably nothing to worry about."

"She looked worried, though."

"Yeah," Draco shrugged, concentrating on his sandwich. Malfoys had a strong belief in paying others to worry for them; that's what solicitors and health professionals and people like that were there for, after all. But it was a little hard not to be a little concerned when the school nurse, unflappable when dealing with everything from broken bones to Quidditch-induced comas, looked like she was lying through her teeth when she told them the lethargy both still reported post-sexual activity was 'probably perfectly normal.' "Nothing we can do about it, though. She didn't tell us to stop."

"Good thing," Potter said dryly.

Draco chuckled, and changed the subject. "Where do you get this fondness for picnics, Potter? Did your Muggle family do this often?"

"Picnics? God no. Aunt Petunia would've died at the thought of eating outside. So unsanitary. What about your family?"

Draco laughed out loud. "Tell me you can picture my mother - or my father, for that matter - eating on the grass." Potter shook his head, sharing the laugh, and Draco was struck by how completely relaxed they both were. And by the fact that he hadn't felt like killing Potter in several hours. Things were definitely looking up.

It was... a little unsettling, actually.

"So why are you willing to eat out here?" Potter asked.

"I'm not my parents," Draco pointed out. "Besides, the alternatives are the Great Hall, our quarters, or Hogsmeade."

"Thought you liked Hogsmeade last night."

"Yeah, it was fine."

"D'you want to go back tonight?" Potter asked, and Draco nodded. Hogsmeade had actually been rather brilliant, and they'd stayed out a lot longer than he'd planned. Decent food, change of scenery, and that wonderful Hogsmeade indifference towards students. The entire village most probably knew exactly who they were and why there were in Hogsmeade in the middle of the week, but not one person had so much as raised an eyebrow at them. It had felt a damn sight more comfortable than the Great Hall, come to think of it.

And the fact that they weren't socially isolated, but none of their classmates were around, was wonderful. It almost made Draco wish that they didn't have to go back to class on Monday, that they could just stay on this-

This what? Honeymoon?

Draco abruptly felt utterly disoriented.

"What's wrong?" Potter asked.

Draco glanced at him, shaking his head and firmly trying to force his mind away from where his thoughts were going. Because these four days were supposed to have one purpose only: for him and Potter to get to the point where they could co-exist without killing each other, until the intensity of their bond got to a manageable level and they could gratefully take their leave of one another and never see each other again.

He was not supposed to start to find Potter interesting and pleasant to be around. He was not supposed to feel content in Potter's presence, or wonder what he would have to say about something, or find himself agreeing with Potter, or appreciating his sense of humour. Or looking forward to going to Hogsmeade with him again.

Potter was frowning. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Er, nothing. Here, let's - we should go flying, or-"

"You haven't finished your lunch."

"I-I'm not hungry."

"What's wrong?" and oh shit, now Potter was looking concerned and putting down his sandwich. "Malfoy?" Potter touched his hand, peering at him in consternation.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

Draco drew his hand away quickly, shaking his head and looking away from Potter's increasingly worried face.

"Malfoy, what the-"

"Back off," Draco said shortly, and Potter sat back, his concern now tinged with annoyance.

"Fine. Sorry," he said curtly. "I just thought - I thought I could calm you down, that's all. You look like you need it. Feel like it, too," he rubbed the back of his neck absently.

"So you're going to do your soothing magic?" Draco sneered. "Spare me."

"What's your problem all of a sudden?"

He stood up, suddenly furious - furious at Potter for his concern and at himself for his feelings. "Piss off," he spat, a lot more angrily than he meant to. Potter's eyes widened slightly and he scrambled to his feet.

"What's the matter with you??"

"You!" Draco felt a thrill of satisfaction as Potter drew back, almost physically repelled by the force and suddenness of Draco's anger. Potter made a small motion towards his wand, which he'd carelessly left on the ground, then caught Draco's glance at the wand and almost involuntarily moved his hand towards his neck instead, to the portkey hanging from a chain under his shirt.

"Going to use your portkey to St. Mungo's, are you?" Draco smirked. "Go ahead. Be my guest."

"You'd have to come too," Potter reminded him, and Draco shrugged, not really giving a damn as long as he wasn't feeling the way he'd felt a few moments ago. "We'd be giving up and putting ourselves into other people's hands," Potter said, his voice unnaturally calm.

"Splendid idea, let's go," he said carelessly, reaching for his own portkey. Potter grabbed his hand.

"Why?"

"The fact that you're thinking of escaping is a pretty big clue that this isn't working, don't you think?" he asked snidely, pulling away from Potter again.

"It was working. Until less than a minute ago. We weren't fighting, we were getting along and-" Potter broke off and Draco felt a small bubble of fear just under the surface - Oh, no, please don't let Potter think about how either of them were feeling right before this moment... "And now you're - you're scared. Why?"

"Piss. Off," Draco said, hearing his voice trembling slightly and clamping down on the escalating panic.

"What the hell is going on??"

"Back OFF!!"

"NO! I'm not giving up just because you've got some kind of panic attack or something - or, or because you're angry at me, because I can tell that's only because you're scared-"

"I'm not-"

"You know I can help. I've done it before - you get tense and I can calm you down-"

"There's only one kind of 'tension' I need your help with," Draco sneered and Potter, after a moment of confusion, blushed. Draco felt steadier all of a sudden - this at least was familiar territory: making Potter uncomfortable as hell, then going in for the kill. "Oh, is that too scary for you too?"

Potter stared at him, at a total loss in the face of Draco's rapidly changing emotions. He really was rather attractive, Draco's mind pointed out helpfully, especially when his face was a little flushed and he was breathing unevenly like he was right now.

"What do you say, Potter?" Draco raked his eyes over Potter's body and was rewarded by a spark of almost unwilling reciprocal interest from Potter.

"N-no-"

"Why not?"

"You're - you're angry-"

"Haven't had angry sex before, have you? It's quite charming in its own way."

"I haven't had any kind of sex before, remember?" Potter said, evidently attempting an even tone, which didn't quite make it because it carried a little too much fear. "And I'm not about to start now, not with you like this."

"Where's your famous Gryffindor courage?"

"That wouldn't be courage, it would be stupidity," Potter said, growing steadily more flustered as Draco smirked at him and stepped into his personal space. "Besides, I don't want to."

Draco laughed. "Lying to your spouse under a new bond is almost impossible, Potter," he said, and Potter flushed even darker. "At least one part of you definitely wants to," he said, glancing down, then meeting Potter's eyes with a smirk. Draco stepped closer and Potter backed away.

"I, I thought you said you couldn't if-"

"If you were really as reluctant as you'd like to be, believe me, I wouldn't be anywhere near you."

Potter looked almost frozen with conflicting impulses.

"I'm not touching you," Draco held up his hands and stepped back, mocking Potter with the gesture of non-aggression. "Next move is entirely up to you."

Potter swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to Draco's mouth before being drawn up to his eyes again.

He hesitantly touched Draco's arm and Draco drew in his breath. And then something seemed to snap within Potter and he was suddenly closer and pushing Draco against the nearest tree, and Draco started to shove him right back, preparing to wrest control from him - then he hesitated.

With Potter as shaky as he was right now, who knew what would happen if Draco resisted him in any way. This might turn into a fight. They might do each other serious damage.

Feeling like he was stepping off a cliff on a whim, Draco let Potter back him up against the tree and surrendered all control to him. And then Potter was pressing against him, his hands coming up to Draco's hair and holding him in place as he lunged in and took Draco's mouth in a hard kiss. Draco immediately tilted his head back and parted his lips, letting Potter do what he would, his hands resting against Potter's hips for balance but not trying to control him in any way.

Oh, yes, he thought gratefully as Potter almost bit his lip, this had nothing to do with affection or romance or anything soft and sweet and dangerous. This was nothing but sex and anger and catharsis, and it didn't matter which of them was feeling or acting out which parts, it still felt sharp and cleansing.

Draco gasped as Potter gave him a not-so-gentle bite on the side of the neck. "Y-you can do that harder-" and he cried out as Potter did just that and a bolt of pleasure/pain seared through him.

Potter was tugging hastily at Draco's shirt, untucking it from his trousers, running his hands up Draco's back, and Draco obligingly helped and reached for Potter's shirt as well, both clumsily unbuttoning each other in between hard, bruising kisses, pushing shirts off shoulders, the feel of bare skin incredibly intense after so many weeks of chaste layers of cloth between them. Then Potter was traveling towards the side of Draco's neck again - he was going to have serious bruises at this rate, but it was thrilling and it was everything Draco needed right about now.

This was just the bond spell. This was just sex. This was safe.

Who would've guessed hostility could bring out this side of Potter, Draco wondered hazily in between heady jolts of pleasure and pain. His back was going to be bruised and scratched too, the rough bark of the tree digging into his bare skin as Potter pushed him against it, but Draco wouldn't have wanted to stop him for all the Galleons in Gringott's.

Potter drew back for a moment, chest heaving and lips swollen, his green eyes incredibly dark and intense, and Draco waited on edge for Potter to find whatever it was he needed in Draco's eyes in order to continue and not stop, please please not stop.

Potter's hand slid down and Draco's heart skipped a couple of beats as fingers slipped into his waistband. Potter was staring at him intently as he slowly unbuttoned Draco's trousers, evidently waiting for a sign as to whether he should stop or not. Draco's eyes closed involuntarily as the uncomfortable tightness in his groin eased with the loosening of his trousers, and then Potter's hand was sliding, with unbearable slowness, towards his erection and Draco couldn't move, couldn't do anything - the most coherent thought he had was that he needed to tell Potter to, for the love of God, go faster - but he couldn't even figure out how to do that and was reduced to waiting, literally breathlessly, his fingers scrabbling helplessly against Potter's shoulders, for the touch of Potter's hand.

"Oh fuck!" he gasped, his eyes popping open as Potter finally touched him and he almost came. Potter was watching him intently, and Draco didn't know how to tell him to move, move, please move, so he settled for running his hand down to Potter's trousers and hesitating only a split second before Potter gave a small nod and Draco tried, with shaking fingers, to get inside Potter's trousers too, to show him what he needed, more and harder and faster and-

Potter's eyes squeezed shut and he groaned as Draco touched him, and then they were both giving each other all they had, swift rough strokes that seemed to last somewhere between milliseconds and eons before Potter swore in a voice that sounded like a sob and Draco almost bit through his lip at the intensity of it and they spilled into each other's hands.

Merlin that was a better idea than going to St. Mungo's, Draco thought as they both slid bonelessly down and ended up resting against each other at the base of the tree, their eyes closing almost of their own accord.

Oh, that was much better.

ooooooo

"Are you planning on telling me what happened this morning that got you so wound up all of a sudden?" Potter asked casually that night over dinner at Hogsmeade, and Draco choked slightly on his pumpkin stew.

"What?"

"What happened this morning?"

Draco scowled. "None of your business. And why bring it up now anyway?"

"I was hoping you'd bring it up yourself before now. And it's very much my business. I'd like to know what I did so I won't do it again. It was a little unnerving."

"You didn't do anything," Draco said dismissively. "It was nothing."

"I reached for my portkey, Malfoy," Potter said evenly. "I thought you were going to attack me."

"So instead you attacked me," Draco pointed out, smirking. "And it all seemed to work out pretty well after that. At least I didn't hear you complaining." He touched his neck gingerly. "Though it'll be a little embarrassing getting Pomfrey to heal these bruises tomorrow and I wish I'd known beforehand that you're just as useless at First Aid charms as I am."

Potter, rather predictably, blushed, but didn't drop his level gaze. "Malfoy."

Draco put down his fork. He took a deep breath.

Let it out. No, he still had no idea how to explain what had happened to him this morning, and definitely absolutely no desire to talk to Potter about it.

Potter absently tapped his spoon against his plate. A rather annoying sound, Draco thought. "You don't know, or you don't want to talk about it?"

"The second."

"At all, or just with me?"

"At all."

"Not an option, Malfoy. Can you talk to Pomfrey tomorrow?"

Draco sighed in annoyance. "Yeah, sure." That should be loads of fun. 'Madam Pomfrey, I think I'm getting a little too fond of my involuntary spouse, what should I do?' What could she possibly say?

Pomfrey would probably be delighted, and call it 'progress'. And it probably would be, if his involuntary spouse was anybody but Potter.

But who else was there to talk to? Father and Mother were right out - even without the embarrassment factor, he'd rather be Crucioed than admit what he was feeling to either of them. Mother would be horrified and annoyingly worried. Father would be... oh, 'disappointed' wouldn't even begin to cover how Father would feel.

Maybe Snape?

Maybe nobody. Maybe he would just mention it to Pomfrey, listen to her cluck approvingly, and hope to Merlin she also told him it was all part of the natural effect of the bond and not his fault at all. Then he could just shove down his fears and discomfort and just live day to day until the spell wore off. And hope it all worked out in the end.

"Yeah, I'll talk to Pomfrey," he said more firmly, and sternly told himself not to worry about it. At all. Really.

"Good." Potter seemed satisfied, and bit into his pasta.

"This stew's surprisingly good for Three Broomsticks," Draco said, hoping they were done with the previous subject.

"I didn't even know they had regular food here," Potter commented.

"Ugh, don't tell me this is Muggle food too," Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"No, I didn't mean Muggle food, I meant food that's not frosted tea-cakes and biscuits."

"You don't think the people who live here ever want to go out for dinner?"

"I never thought about it," Harry said.

"I've heard they have a good selection of wines, too."

"I thought only the Hog's Head served alcohol."

Draco grimaced in disgust. "That place is revolting. Can you picture the people who own Honeydukes going to the Hog's Head when they want a bit of wine with dinner?"

"Wonder if they'd serve us."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "What??"

"We are of age."

"Potter, are you suggesting we try to order alcohol?"

"I wasn't suggesting anything, I just said I wondered."

"Oh, of course," Draco rolled his eyes. "So sorry, far be it from me to suggest the Gryffindor Golden Boy do anything against the rules just for fun, and not in order to save the world."

"I'm not the Prefect here," Potter shot back, stung.

"Former Prefect, courtesy of our bond and thanks ever so for reminding me. Besides, you wouldn't know how to brazen your way through breaking the rules. Don't you usually do it under cover of invisibility or something?"

"Oh and you think you could? Just get them to bring you a drink, no spells or other tricks? Just on the force of your Slytherin charm?"

"How many Galleons says I can't?"

ooooooo

Ron Weasley trudged along a seventh floor corridor, yawning and checking the time. 11:30 p.m. He still had time, after he finished his prefect rounds, to finish the Defence Against the Dark Arts essay that was due tomorrow, and do a reasonably good job on it. Not as good as if Harry had been there to help him and read through it before he handed it in, but still respectable.

Ron sighed, wishing again that Harry was back at the dorm. Whatever this bond was doing to Harry, it was certainly affecting the seventh-year Gryffindor boys. Without Harry there, they were all feeling a little lost; Ron had nobody to work on Defence Against the Dark Arts with, Neville had nobody to listen to his rhapsodies about Herbology, Dean had nobody to talk to about football...

Well, Harry would hopefully be back on Monday. Assuming things went well between him and that miserable ferret he was tied to. Which wasn't a good assumption to make; whatever Ron had said to Harry when they'd talked in their dorm room last weekend, he didn't honestly know how Harry could manage to make living with Malfoy liveable. He couldn't see Malfoy and Harry doing anything but fighting until they hexed each other into the hospital. McGonagall had assured the Gryffindors that they would be supervised from a distance, and that they each carried a portkey for safety, but the mere fact that they needed portkeys was proof that they shouldn't be allowed to be alone together. Not reassuring at all.

Ron stifled another yawn as he heard a noise coming from an open classroom door. He groaned and peered in, then smiled and waved at Sir Nicholas and the Grey Lady. Good. No students out of bounds. Just two ghosts who had been showing signs of romance blooming recently. No need to stay out here any longer disciplining students, arguing over how many points to take off for whatever they were doing. No need to get embarrassed by interrupting students out for a private tryst.

What would romance between two ghosts be like, Ron wondered idly as he continued his rounds, speeding up now that he was so close to being done. He turned a corner and heard another sound, from the staircase he'd just climbed.

Stifling a groan of annoyance, he walked back quietly, hoping that it wasn't Lavender and Blaise Zabini again. She was annoyed enough at him for the last time.

"Shh," someone hissed, answered by what sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

"Shh y'rself," the giggler slurred. "Nobody here anyway. 'Sides, we're not out that far past curfew."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. Harry??

"C'mon, Potter, we're almos' there," Malfoy responded, sounding out of breath and vastly amused, and also very, very drunk. "Almos' there."

"Y'know where else we're almos' at?" Harry said, "Th' Room of Requirenen'. Re-quire-ment." There was a small thud and scuffle, muffled drunken snickers.

"God, Potter, y'can't hold your liquor atall," Malfoy said. "C'mon."

One of them seemed to stumble, and Ron abruptly realized he did not want to run into Harry and Malfoy right now. He glanced at the corridor and stepped behind a suit of armour just as they rounded the corner.

"An' you can?" Harry laughed. "Who almos' threw up on the stairs jus' now?"

"Didn'," Malfoy said with alcoholized dignity.

Ron peered around the suit of armour and had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Harry and Malfoy were trying to navigate the perfectly clear and wide corridor with only moderate success. Harry's arm was over Malfoy's shoulder, and Malfoy's arm around Harry's waist, but it was hard to tell who was propping up whom. As Ron watched, they fell against the wall, both laughing breathlessly.

"How 'bout that," Harry slurred cheerfully. "I've got you up agains' a wall," and he leaned closer to Malfoy and kissed him. Malfoy made a small startled sound and then responded eagerly, and Ron ducked back behind the suit of armour.

Now this was far less amusing than it was embarrassing. If the muffled whispers and rustles were anything to go by, Harry and Malfoy were enjoying themselves just a tad more than anybody should outside their own quarters.

Well. It really was totally different, knowing your best mate was attracted to and possibly shagging your worst enemy, and seeing it. Or hearing it.

"C'mon, Potter, we're almos' at th'room-" Malfoy protested weakly, muffled by what Ron could only assume was Harry kissing him to shut him up. Eurgh. Ron squirmed and tried to will them to keep stumbling to their own quarters before anybody else ran into them.

"I don' want our room, we're always in our room," Harry whispered, and Ron heard a small thud. He looked around the suit again and immediately ducked back, deciding he really didn't need the image of Harry and Malfoy locked in a passionate kiss, Malfoy trying to pull Harry's jumper from his trousers with one hand, the other tangled in Harry's hair, and Harry gamely trying to unbutton Malfoy's shirt.

"What's going on here?" Ernie Macmillan's voice echoed down the corridor, and Ron, Harry and Malfoy all drew in their breaths in surprise.

"Harry?" Ernie asked incredulously, and Ron looked out again. Harry and Malfoy were still standing in place, mouths open in surprise, one of Harry's legs in between Malfoy's thighs and Malfoy's shirt unbuttoned halfway down. "What are you doing??"

Wrong thing to say, apparently, because Harry and Malfoy looked at each other, promptly lost their startled and guilty expressions, and collapsed into giggles, leaning against each other.

"Wha's it look like, Ern?" Harry laughed.

"Harry! You're intoxicated!"

"Clever, isn' he?" Malfoy said brightly.

"Malfoy! You're both disgracefully drunk," Ernie huffed, and Harry and Malfoy only laughed harder, holding on to each other to prevent themselves from landing in an undignified sprawl on the floor.

"This is completely against school rules!" Ernie said sternly, and Ron had enough.

"Thanks, Ern, I've got them," he said, stepping out from behind the suit of armour. Harry and Malfoy turned, surprised, and overbalanced, and Malfoy barely stopped Harry from falling down completely. Unfortunately that pulled Malfoy's shirt open a little farther, revealing a line of what looked suspiciously like love bites marching down the side of his neck.

Far, far Too Much Information, thought Ron in dismay.

"Ron!" Harry said happily. "Where'd you come from?"

"Ron? Why were you behind the-"

Ron grabbed Ernie's sleeve firmly. "Leave them to me, Ern, please. I'll owe you one."

"You're not going to just let them get away with this, are you? Being intoxicated is strictly against school rules, and-"

"Pansy!" Malfoy called out, delighted, as Pansy Parkinson rounded the corner. "Look, Potter, 'sa Prefect Convention!" Harry looked, then buried his face in Malfoy's shoulder, muffling his giggles.

"Draco??" Parkinson said incredulously. "What's going on here?"

"Weasley and I are discussing what to do with these two," Ernie said, with repressive dignity.

"I'd say for starters they'll need to be led to their quarters before they pass out in the corridor," Parkinson pointed out, starting to smirk. "Draco, darling, it's a damn good thing Lucius isn't here right now."

"Isn' it though? Marvellous!" Malfoy nodded emphatically.

"Ernie, we can handle this from here," Ron said.

"I think having a prefect from another house is preferable here. You two will be biased in their favour-"

"Macmillan, we know our duties," Parkinson interrupted loudly, her tone dangerous. "We will not let them off lightly. Now kindly piss off." Ernie narrowed his eyes at her and Ron, but nodded and moved off. They both waited for Ernie to be truly gone before rounding on Harry and Malfoy.

"All right. How did he get you drunk?" Ron asked Harry.

"How did I - how d'you know it wasn'im getting me drunk?" Malfoy said indignantly.

"Was it?"

"Well..." Harry began sheepishly.

"Was sort of... both of us..."

"But you started-" Harry pointed out.

"Didn'!" Malfoy said emphatically. "I jus' said they 'ad wine, you're the one who-"

"You bet me you-"

"All right, all right," Ron broke in. "Come on. Back to your room. We'll escort you."

"Are you going t' take points?" Harry asked. "'Cause tha's not really fair, we're not in a House righ' now, are we?"

"We're volunrary - vo-lun-ta-ri-ly suspen'ed," Malfoy said carefully.

"That doesn't make this better, Draco," said Parkinson. "Suspended for fighting-"

"VolunTArily suspended-" repeated Harry.

"-and getting drunk during that suspension. Not impressive."

"Oh, shit. Y'r - Pansy, shit, don' report that part, please," Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks, looking rather worried for the first time.

"Draco-"

"I'll do detention, tha's fine. Just don'-"

"Oh, shit, yeah," Harry said urgently. "Ron, say it was jus' me."

Parkinson and Ron looked at each other, Ron extremely puzzled and Parkinson worried. "All right," she said slowly. "I won't report that part. You'll still get some trouble, you know that, right?" she asked Malfoy.

"For letting'im get drunk, yeah, but tha's alright-"

"Wait, no, not a chance-" Ron began.

"'Ron, th'worst that'll happen t'me is detention, but Malfoy's fath - OW!" Harry yelped as Malfoy gripped his arm very tightly. He turned and glared at Malfoy, then something indefinable passed between them. Malfoy dropped his eyes and released Harry's arm, and Harry straightened up, gently touching Malfoy's shoulder before turning back to Ron. "Trust me, alright? I'll explain some other time."

Ron turned to Parkinson, who had watched the exchange with a thoughtful expression on her face, and scuffed his toe roughly against the floor. "Why do I get the feeling I'm the only one out of the loop here?"

"Because you are," Parkinson said bluntly. "Weasley. It's simple. We'll take ten points off each for being out past curfew, twenty from Potter for being intoxicated, and twenty from Draco for allowing Potter to get drunk and getting obnoxious with us when we tried to punish them for being out past curfew. Nobody needs to know Draco was drunk too."

"I don't-"

"Ron, please," Harry said quietly. Ron stared at him, finally noticing that Malfoy, rather than looking smugly satisfied at the thought of getting away with something, was looking distinctly miserable and embarrassed.

"Merlin. You'd better have a good explanation for this, Harry," Ron said, giving in. Harry didn't answer, just gave Malfoy's arm a sort of comforting pat. Malfoy looked away from him and cleared his throat, but didn't draw away.

Parkinson pursed her lips and stared at them for a moment before setting off down the hall. They followed her, leaning on one another for support, Ron trailing behind them.

"So what possessed you to drink tonight?" she asked.

"What, a person can't drink on 'is own friggin' honeymoon?" Malfoy muttered testily.

Harry chuckled. "Beats a cruise round the Mediternan - Mediter-ra-nean," he said carefully.

"Explain how," Malfoy said.

"I get seasick."

"Yuck."

"D'you get seasick?"

"Malfoys don' get seasick. We 'feel under th' weather'," he said with dignity, and they both cracked up again.

"All right, here you go, Hades," Parkinson said to Sir Xander, and stepped aside as Harry and Malfoy stumbled into their quarters, still laughing. They collapsed onto the couch.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Harry. You two need to go to bed."

"What, in front of you?" Harry said. "Ron, mate, tha's kind of gross."

Ron blew out his breath in annoyance, ignoring Malfoy and Parkinson's snickers and glad that the room was dark so that nobody could see him blush. "I mean you need to go to sleep."

"I don't want to go t'sleep," Harry said, immediately contradicting himself with a huge yawn. "'M having too much fun. Ron, didyou know Malfoy's a funny drunk? I would've thought 'e'd be all moody an' obnoxious."

"Thought you'd get all morose an' weepy," Malfoy smirked, and for some reason Harry seemed to find it hilariously funny.

Ron and Parkinson exchanged exasperated looks, though Parkinson also seemed to be trying to suppress a case of the giggles.

"Come on, you two, you've got to get to sleep," she said.

"Why? No classes tomorrow, it's... what day 'sit tomorrow?" Malfoy yawned too.

"Saturday. But I don't trust you to not get into more trouble if I leave you alone and still awake, and I don't intend to babysit you all night," Parkinson said firmly, hands on her hips. "Now. Go get ready for bed."

"Make me," Malfoy grinned up at her, but scrambled clumsily off the couch a moment later as she approached him with her hand held out. "I didn' mean that, god, Pansy y've got no sense of 'umour atall," Malfoy muttered, shying away from her. "C'mon, Potter, or she'll use th'Unbonded Touch of Fire. You're really heartless, Pants, y'know that?" He heaved Harry up and steadied him as Harry swayed and looked a little green.

"Ooh, I think 'mgonna-"

"Try an' throw up on me an' I'll hex your mouth shut," Malfoy said sharply. "An' it'll all come out your nose." Harry nodded and held his breath, obviously trying to keep down his dinner.

"Shh. You're alright. C'mon." Malfoy pulled Harry towards their washroom.

"It's a miracle," Parkinson commented quietly to Ron. "I would've thought they'd both land at St. Mungo's Permanent Ninny Ward after the first day."

"They seem to be doing all right," Ron said sceptically.

"Yeah." Parkinson sighed. "God, poor Draco."

"Poor Harry's more like it," Ron said

Parkinson rolled her eyes. "Fine, Weasley. I'm not going to argue with you over this at midnight on a Friday night." She went into the washroom, where Harry and Malfoy seemed to be having a bit of trouble finding their toothbrushes.

"Oh Merlin, you're hopeless," she huffed. "Here. Stand still." She waved her wand over them a few times. "Teeth clean, faces scrubbed, what else do you do at night?"

"Potion," Harry nodded at their cabinet. "For him." He started to weave tiredly towards their bed.

"Where?"

"Top'o th'- that's the one," Malfoy pointed.

"Open up," Parkinson said, giving Malfoy a spoonful of the potion. "You take a patience potion, Draco?"

"Look who 'm livin' with," Malfoy mumbled around the spoon. "Could you survive withou' a potions patiens?"

"Hey!"

"Good point," Parkinson said. "All right, let's go," she shooed Malfoy over to the bed and Ron motioned for Harry to make room. Malfoy lay down, closing his eyes.

"Shoes off," Parkinson ordered.

"Go 'way."

Parkinson shrugged and headed towards the door.

"Wait - where are you going?" Ron asked.

"Bed. We've done our part. They can pass out fully dressed if they want to."

"But aren't you nervous that they'll - you know, hurt each other? They're drunk."

"They're almost asleep."

"I still don't trust him. He broke Harry's nose in the Great Hall-"

Parkinson pursed her lips. "It probably escaped your notice that while Draco was breaking Potter's nose, Potter was busy shattering windows right over top of a bunch of first years. It's a miracle nobody got slashed to bits. And I don't know if you noticed, but Draco's also the one with the... interesting patterning down his neck. I'd say he's got a lot more to be nervous about than Potter does." She smirked. "Not that he seems to be complaining."

Ron crossed his arms stubbornly and Parkinson shrugged. "Fine, then. You stay till they're asleep. I'll come by in the morning with hangover potion."

"Fine." Ron settled himself on the sofa as she left the suite. "Harry? You all right?" he called out.

"Jus' fine," Harry answered from the bedroom. "You don' have to stay."

"I'll just stay till you're asleep," he said evenly.

"Malfoy, what're-" Harry's voice cut off abruptly.

"Shh."

Giggle. Rustling.

Ron frowned. "What're you-"

"Shh, I said," Malfoy hissed, so softly Ron could hardly hear him.

"Harry? You all right?" Ron called out suspiciously.

"Y-yeah, Ron, jus'fine-" Harry's voice sounded a little breathless, shaky, as though trying to suppress either laughter or... or something else. Ron scowled. He wouldn't. That miserable ferret, he wouldn't actually be trying anything with Ron's best friend while Ron was in the next room, would he?

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" Ron asked evenly.

There was a small pause, then a lazy drawl came floating out of the bedroom. "Well, Weaselby, I could tell you, but I'd much rather show y-"

"Malfoy!" Harry's voice interrupted him. "Fucking stop that!" There was a small rustle. "Ron's right outside!"

"I didn' ask him to be here."

"He's bein' a friend."

"Being an interferin' prat."

There was a sound of somebody getting up.

"Where're you going?"

"To talk to Ron." Short silence, then a small noise like bedsprings creaking. "No, 'm not angry at you, jus' want to... talk to Ron. Go to sleep." Another short silence. "Well it's not like anything could happen anyway, Malfoy, don' know 'bout you, but this much drink puts me right out for anything-"

"Yeah, alright." Malfoy seemed to roll over in bed.

"You're not angry at me, are you?"

"No, jus' thinking it'd be nice to go to sleep at th' same time. 'Sfine, though. G'night, Weasel," he raised his voice slightly, and Ron forced out a civil goodnight as well.

Harry came out of the bedroom, smiling a little fuzzily.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked nervously, peering at him closely. He seemed OK. Intoxicated and looking extremely tired, but OK.

"Yeah, fine, why?"

"We've all been worried sick about you." Harry raised his eyebrows. "Harry, last we saw, you two nearly killed each other, then we hear you're supposed to be alone together all the time for four days? Wouldn't you be worried?"

"'M fine. We're fine. It's a lot easier, bein' alone with'im."

Ron frowned, utterly baffled. "So... what've you been doing?" Harry's mouth quirked into a sheepish grin and Ron put up his hands hastily. "Er, no, no, scratch that, I really didn't mean to ask that really please don't answer-"

Harry laughed. "No, not that. I mean, not just that. I mean - no, we haven't - but, sort of - erm." He cleared his throat. "And also, just, y'know, just getting to know each other." He yawned. "Ron. Go home. I'm fine."

"I'm a bit nervous leaving you with him when you're both drunk."

Harry chuckled, then shrugged. "Fine. Suit yourself. I'm going to bed."

"Thought you wanted to talk?"

"Too drunk'n'tired t'talk. Sorry, Ron," he turned back to the bedroom, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. "Huh."

"What?" Ron asked, following him.

"He's right. This'll be the firs' time..." Ron winced, hoping Harry wouldn't reveal anything revolting. "Firs' time we're going to sleep at th' same time since... yeah. Huh."

"Er... yeah," Ron said, totally lost.

"You're a really good friend, Ron," Harry smiled at Ron with boozy sincerity. "I'd give you a hug, but I don' feel like gettin' burned."

"Er... all right." Ron watched worriedly as Harry took off his shirt and shoes and lay down, and Malfoy, already half-asleep, rolled over and embraced him, settling his face into the crook of Harry's neck. Within seconds they were both deeply asleep.