Bond

Chapter 17

February 8 - February 11

Day 133, Monday

"What? No, he's not," Pansy was laughing as Draco sat down next to her. "Draco, tell them. You haven't offered to tutor Slytherin OWLs students in Potions, have you?"

Draco laughed, pouring himself some pumpkin juice. "No but I should - and for their first tutorial I'll have them brew a sleeping draught that'll keep them awake for the rest of the year and teach them not to trust upper-year students."

"Very funny. You could help some of them, you know," Queenie said sourly amid laughter from the others.

"Why would I want to?"

"It's the decent thing to do?"

"... and?"

"My sister wouldn't mind paying for help," Queenie said.

"That's a splendid idea, Queenie. I can use every Knut I can get, you know how stingy my father is - oh sorry, that's your family I'm thinking of."

"Weren't you going off for tutoring yesterday though?" Crabbe asked.

"That was tutoring for me, not from me, and it was Charms, not Potions."

"Having a spot of trouble with schoolwork, are we?" Queenie said snidely.

"We are, yes. In my case, it's possibly due to having switched Charms sections in the middle of the school year. I'm sure you have an equally valid reason," he said kindly, and Queenie scowled and looked away.

"Stephen Cornfoot's tutoring you, right?" Blaise asked. "He helped me with Runes last year. Useful lad."

"Bit slow for a Ravenclaw, though," Pansy tittered. "How long did it take him to figure out you only bat your eyes at boys, but never follow through?"

Blaise smirked. "Long enough for three stellar essays and a new set of EagleLight quills from Mother."

Draco hid a smile. Very useful lad, Cornfoot, though the Charms tutoring story was just a cover in Draco's case. Cornfoot had, a few days ago, propositioned Draco out of the blue. Draco had, after a startled moment, taken him up on it. He had never batted his eyes at Cornfoot, but he was not averse to a quick shag, or a couple of quick shags. After all, a willing, attractive body was a willing, attractive body. Cornfoot was certainly useful at keeping single life from consisting of bleak sexual deprivation.

Queenie sniffed in disdain, looking up as the post came in, and taking the Prophet from her family's owl. Draco neatly plucked his regular package of sweets from his mother's owl and handed the bird a treat. He took a sip of pumpkin juice as he undid the lacing on the package, looking up as Queenie exclaimed at something in her paper.

"Oh my g-" Her eyes snapped to Draco, her mouth a wordless O. Draco gave an impatient snort at Queenie's tiresome theatrics, took another sip of juice as he leaned over to look at the front page-

-and choked as he read the headline, Queenie utterly forgotten.

Boy Who Lived, Abusive Spouse?

He hastily swallowed the juice and dropped his sweets, pulling the paper closer, his breath catching at the ugly words that swam before his eyes.

...brief marriage ... appears to have actually been abusive ... spouse was twice treated for serious physical injuries suffered at the hands of Mr. Potter ... school nurse was so concerned with his safety that she contacted a Healer from St. Mungo's...

Not one word on the fact that said Healer had dismissed Pomfrey's concern out of hand. He was going to kill the reporter. And Pomfrey. And possibly Father as well.

...condition of anonymity, "Potter punched him in the face, right in the Great Hall. And nobody did anything about it, just sent them off to be alone for four days."

Lucius Malfoy expressed shock at rumours of his son's ordeal ... had strongly advocated sending them both to St. Mungo's ...

Yes, definitely Father as well. Draco's jaw clenched.

...I was assured that my son wanted to stay at school, but with an abusive spouse and a cadre of adults who only seemed to want to keep everything quiet, I now very much wonder how free he was to speak his mind."

"What the fuck-" Draco found himself almost speechless, fury spiking through him in hot bursts. He threw the paper down. "Fucking rubbish!" He looked up at the Gryffindor table, only vaguely registering the buzz of alarm in the room as Harry looked up from his own paper and met Draco's gaze, his eyes dark in his pale face.

Draco shook his head helplessly, about a hundred things on the tip of his tongue - don't let this touch you, you didn't do anything wrong, this didn't come from me, it's my fucking father, Mordred rot him - and people were probably gaping at both of them. Again. On display - even after a divorce, they-

Without letting himself stop to think of what he should do or what his father would want, he stood and jerked his head towards the door in a clear signal to Harry to join him for a little talk outside the bloody fishbowl of the Great Hall. He waited impatiently as Harry hesitated, then murmured something to Granger before standing and heading towards him.

"Draco - is that really-" he heard Crabbe start to say and he snarled back without bothering to look away from Harry.

"No, you imbecile - me, abused by Harry fucking Potter? Use your brain for half a second!" He stepped away from his table and joined Harry, touching his arm and propelling them both out the door, not trusting himself to say another word until they were alone.

The door shut behind them, and he faced Harry, suddenly unable to think of what to say. "I... I - fuck, Harry, that-" he began, and Harry interrupted him, a tremor beneath his tight voice.

"How did anybody find out about-"

"I don't-"

"Who did you tell?"

Draco blinked. "What?"

"Did you go to the paper?" Harry asked levelly.

"What??"

"It wouldn't be the first time you've-"

"How-" Draco literally saw red. "How dare you - that was years ago!"

"How dare I - I'm the one who's on the cover of the fucking Prophet as an abusive-"

"And I'm there as your fucking punching bag, like I haven't got a spine and - PISS OFF!!" Draco yelled at a wide-eyed young Ravenclaw who'd unwisely opened the door of the Great Hall behind Harry. Harry whirled around, quickly putting his hand on Draco's chest and pushing him back as Draco whipped out his wand and pointed it at the frightened girl.

"Get back inside," Harry told her urgently, grabbing Draco's wand hand. "Pull yourself together!" he snapped at Draco.

Draco's fury exploded. "Pull myself together!!" He pushed Harry back so hard Harry smacked against the door. "You just fucking accused me of going to the paper and telling them you beat me! You-"

"I'm SORRY!!" Harry shouted, breaking Draco's rant. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that, bloody hell, get a hold of yourself before you hurt somebody!" Draco glared at him, momentarily mollified by the apology. "Look, you're pissed off, I get it, all right? I was out of line. Hexing a thirteen-year old girl isn't going to help anything."

Draco frowned, his fury slowly subsiding but his pulse still racing. Harry lifted his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, unconsciously putting a calming hand on Draco's arm as he frowned, deep in thought.

"Do you know how this happened?" Harry finally asked, settling his glasses again. "D'you think maybe Pansy-"

"Not Pansy. My father," Draco spat bitterly.

"You think your father went to the Prophet?"

"I know he did."

"How did he find out-"

"He got at our medical records." Harry blanched. "I don't know how, or how much he saw, but he definitely got the record of what happened during the suspension."

Harry suddenly frowned. "Is this what you tried to warn me about-"

"Yes, fuck," Draco said, and was not at all pleased at Harry's angry, hurt look.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"I did!"

"You said - what was that, a cryptogram? Why the hell didn't you-"

"I warned you that my father could make things ugly for you!! Damn it, I didn't have to do that!! What did you want? 'Here, I know we're about to get a divorce and we've never been on the same side politically and my father expects me to show a bare minimum of family loyalty but let me just spill all his plans to you just for shits and giggles'??"

The door opened again, and McGonagall stood in the doorway.

"What?" Harry said rudely. McGonagall fixed him with a stern look and Draco suddenly mentally replayed the events of the last few minutes from the point of view of people in the Great Hall. Prophet comes out with shocking headline accusing Harry Potter of abusing his spouse, said spouse blows a fit, both leave the Great Hall, supposed abuse victim nearly hexes a child trying to get out of the Great Hall-

"We can't stay here. Let's go," Draco said curtly, and McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him too. He cleared his throat, made himself speak respectfully. "Professor, we need to go talk about this, we'll be back in a bit."

"Very well, Mr. Malfoy," she said calmly. "But I would suggest that you stay where the staff can keep an eye on you." Harry's mouth dropped open in disbelieving dismay. McGonagall raised her hand placatingly. "That is, if anything, for your protection, Potter. So that nobody will be able to accuse you of behaving improperly towards Mr. Malfoy again. It also would not look good for the staff of the school to allow the two of you to be together in private after accusations of this nature have been levelled at you."

Harry's face darkened but he nodded tightly.

"I would suggest the Great Hall, as most of the students are about to go to morning classes," McGonagall said, and opened the door a little wider, signalling to the students who had finished their breakfasts that it was safe to leave. The three moved aside slightly as a large group of students went past them, some of them carefully not looking at Draco and Harry, some openly gaping at them. Draco pressed his lips together and focussed on the floor.

They finally re-entered the half-empty Great Hall and chose a seat at the Hufflepuff table, away from the remaining students, Accioing their schoolbags and lapsing into uncomfortable silence.

"Look, I'm - I'm sorry," Harry began awkwardly. "That really was out of line, accusing you like that."

"Fine, apology accepted," Draco said shortly.

"Is there... a purpose, to the article, do you know?" Harry asked cautiously. "Other than to make me look bad?"

"What, you don't think that's enough?"

"No, it's quite enough, thanks, I'm just wondering."

"No. That's the only reason, as far as I know." He rubbed his forehead. "I'm... I'm sorry, I'll talk to the reporter, say that - bloody hell..." Draco trailed off.

"What?"

"It won't do any good. He's poisoned the well. If I say anything to defend you, it'll look like I'm only doing it because I'm afraid of you. And if there's an investigation and it comes up with nothing, it'll just look like a cover-up. Shit."

"It's all right."

"It's not all right. For one thing, this makes me look like a fucking victim, like I couldn't stand up to you - Mordred, one of the two times you landed me in the hospital, I broke your nose, and the whole school saw it!"

"I don't think it matters."

"No, all that matters to my father is that you look bad. My own role doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

Draco nodded wearily.

"And it matters to me, that you would offer to straighten it out with the Prophet. Whether it's for the sake of my reputation or yours." Harry gave him a small smile. "I appreciate the offer."

"You didn't do anything wrong," Draco repeated for the tenth time. "If anything, it was my fault that day."

"You never even told me why."

"Because I couldn't-" He stopped, shook his head.

"What?"

Draco rubbed his forehead tiredly. "It doesn't matter." No, it didn't matter - and besides, he hadn't even wanted to tell Harry about it when it actually had mattered; he wasn't about to tell him now.

"Are... are you all right?" Harry said tentatively.

"Yeah, fine." He cleared his throat. "You?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll get over it. I've had worse said about me," he said with a wry smile.

Draco nodded glumly, stared at the table.

"So, we're back in the news again, isn't that nice and cosy?" Harry said, his smile now much more forced.

"Quite." Draco shook his head. "I really thought I was done with this after the unbonding." Harry smiled but didn't say anything, and Draco was struck with how much he didn't want to get up and leave. Not so soon; they'd both just had a nasty shock, and he didn't particularly feel like getting up and going on with his day just yet, especially as - inevitably - that entailed going to Potions class.

"How... how are you, otherwise?"

"Good," Harry said, a little startled.

"I saw your last Quidditch practice."

"Still so sure you're going to fly us into the ground?" Harry asked with a small smile.

Draco smirked. "Were you ill? You couldn't catch the Snitch to save your life."

"A little busy trying to keep the Beaters in line, thanks," Harry said. "And yeah, I was feeling a bit off, but I'm fine now, and I'll still fly you into the ground in the last game. I could fly you into the ground on your best day even if I had raging dragon pox."

Draco snickered. "You wish. Though I'll admit Weasley's improved immensely - oh that's damning with faint praise, sorry."

"He's a good Keeper when he's got his confidence up," Harry said firmly.

"The offer still stands, you know - I can hex the announcer to babble over him like Lavender Brown at her most lovesick for your match with Hufflepuff."

They laughed together and then Draco happened to glance at a second-year Hufflepuff boy, whose wide eyes reminded him that no matter how normal this felt, it wasn't. Not any more.

"We... we'd better get to class," he said reluctantly.

"Yeah." Harry glanced around. "Don't need to give the gossip pages any more fodder." Draco opened his mouth and Harry cut in, "And if you're going to apologize for that article again, don't. You're not your father."

"Thanks." They got up, shouldered their schoolbags, headed out.

"Actually," Harry said, "I felt like I should apologize to you for the other day, with the picture of us talking outside the Quidditch hut."

"Oh that, yeah." Draco shrugged, feeling again that life-in-a-fish-bowl crawling sensation between his shoulder blades. The picture had been grainy and small, but the papers had been delighted, and the Quibbler headline had trilled "Just Friends Again - Or More?"

"Was your father angry?"

"Didn't say anything to me. Though you could've blown me over with a feather over that quote from him in the Prophet, 'I respect my son's privacy.'" He paused. "'Respect my privacy,' my arse. Since when, I wanted to ask."

Harry laughed and Draco bit his lip. That... had not been respectful. Father certainly expected better from him. Though right now, after being exposed as a supposed spousal abuse victim on the front page of the Prophet for the sake of Lucius Malfoy's political machinations, Draco felt that perhaps he could be excused for poking fun at him for just a few seconds.

"So how are you doing in Potions, by the way?" he said by way of changing the subject.

"Me? Fine. Hermione's taken over helping me where you left off. I'm even doing all right in Arithmancy. It's just Transfiguration that's not so good."

"I thought that was one of your best subjects."

"Normally, yeah. Not this section. Besides, I'm working with Lisa Turpin and Stephen Cornfoot now, and..." He shook his head.

"Do they not help?"

"They try, I just don't get it."

"That's odd. Cornfoot's my Charms partner now, I find him quite helpful," Draco said, and almost laughed as he caught his own unintentional double-entendre. "You know. Ravenclaw. Very efficient."

"I just don't understand half of what he says," Harry confessed. "I'm getting really lost in that class, and McGonagall's not teaching the same things to the Gryffindor class, so Hermione can't even help me out."

"That's me in Herbology. The Slytherin class isn't taking what we're taking, and I can't seem to care enough about it to figure it out on my own."

"You never seemed to have much problem with it before."

"Between you and Longbottom it was difficult not picking up something. But I'm sitting with Hannah Abbott now. Pretty girl, but a bit dim."

"She's not that bad," Harry said with a small smile.

"She doesn't speak more than two words at a time."

"She's just shy."

They reached the Potions classroom, and Draco suppressed a sigh but resolutely reached out for the door handle, looking back curiously as Harry made a small noise in his throat.

"Yes?"

"I... I could help you, with Herbology. If you want. I'm pretty good at it."

"What?"

Harry looked away, chose his words carefully. "It would... be nice to not always avoid each other."

Draco took a deep breath. "Yeah, it would." He paused. "We're supposed to, though. The Healer said it would be weird, at first, but eventually..."

Harry swallowed and nodded, looking like he was just going to forget it, and Draco mentally kicked himself, wishing he could take the words back. And something of that must have communicated itself to Harry because Harry looked up, searching his eyes for something, and seemed to find it.

The bond had taught him what Harry looked like when he felt something. And right now, though he couldn't feel it at all, he knew Harry was feeling uncertain, shy, wanting to talk to him. And tense. Very tense.

As was Draco. He was actually having a bit of trouble breathing. Over Herbology.

"I..." Harry cleared his throat. "I miss you."

The trouble breathing was not getting better.

"I... I do too," Draco finally said.

And they both let out their breath.

Harry swallowed hard, slowly brought his hand up to cover Draco's on the door handle. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Draco took a deep breath. "But... the Healer said..."

Harry sighed and dropped his hand. Yeah. Back to reality. It did feel good to know that at least Draco wasn't the only one feeling this, but really, it didn't change anything.

"I know," Harry said. "I know, we shouldn't." He cleared his throat. "But... but what's the harm? I mean..."

Draco shook his head, sternly telling himself that it would be the height of stupidity to do anything other than avoid Harry like the Pogrebin Plague. Prepared to say so, and found himself almost slapping himself in frustration when what came out of his mouth instead was, "Well..."

"I'm, I'm not saying anything, you know, improper, just - it seems stupid to not even... not even study together, or anything."

"Yeah, all right," Draco said before he could think better of it and bite it back. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind that."

"Really?" Harry's eyes widened slightly.

"Why not?"

ooooooo

Why not indeed, he was still wondering at himself as he got ready for bed that night.

That had been really, really stupid. Monumentally stupid. He was supposed to be getting on with his life, not taking a flying leap into abject irredeemable idiocy. A giant leap like agreeing to meet tomorrow to exchange notes for Herbology and Transfiguration.

He was getting on with his life. Enjoying the freedom of being on his own, not having to deal with Harry's friends, not having to deal with being in the news-

Except that was part of why he and Harry had had that lovely moment, wasn't it? Draco was doing just fine staying away from him, but then his father had to go do something that shoved them right back together. And Father probably wouldn't ever be able to understand that there was anything wrong with what he'd done; all he saw was that he had a chance to score points for the Dark Lord, and the hell with what it did to his own son.

Although... maybe that article was what Father had meant by "compensation". It didn't seem big enough to Draco, but then the Dark Lord could be a little odd sometimes, especially when it came to Harry. If that was the case, Father could probably be forgiven for dragging Draco's name through the mud at the same time as Harry's.

Damn, but it would've been good to have known beforehand that Father was intending on running the story today. That would be too much to ask, of course. Father never saw a need to give him sufficient information about anything; he either thought that Draco would figure things out on his own, or that he wasn't worthy of being informed. Or maybe he just didn't think about it.

Which was merely annoying under normal circumstances, but infuriating when his family's actions had such a direct impact on Draco himself. He had no more information right now than he'd had during second year when the Heir of Slytherin business was going on, or fifth year when his father led that raid on the Ministry of Magic - only this was worse because the shit happening without his knowledge had to do with his own bloody bond. Just last week, he'd read an article saying that Parnassus McKay had offed himself in prison - and he'd had no idea how, or why, or whether or not his family was involved. And now this...

He just hoped that his little hissy fit this morning wouldn't get back to Father. Although if it did, he could point out what he'd told Harry: it didn't matter what he said, Harry's name had been tarnished and Father had made sure nothing Draco could say or deny would make much of a difference to that. He'd just have to hope that he could convince Father that he'd thought of all that before pitching a fit, instead of afterwards.

And he'd have to hope that if it got back to Father that he and Harry had gotten together outside of class, he could convince him it was purely about academics. Which it was. Really.

Right.

Draco sighed deeply. The only thing dumber than agreeing to see Harry tomorrow was pretending to himself that there was really nothing more to it than simple schoolwork. There was such a thing as too much denial.

And he'd had enough denial lately.

Denial was sleeping with Pansy and Stephen Cornfoot and telling himself that it was enough for him. Trying to tell himself that he was over Harry. If that were really true, he wouldn't have been stupid enough to ignore the screaming warnings in his head today, the clear signs in Harry's voice and eyes that said he was not interested in schoolwork, the unacceptably eager response within himself, and jump at the chance to see Harry alone.

His father was going to kill him if he found out. And here he was, still stubbornly determined to do it, because he bloody well wanted to. Because freedom and independence and Pansy and Cornfoot were not enough to compensate for what he'd lost.

Not nearly enough. Pansy was a good friend, and he'd enjoyed her very much, and touching her was obviously a marked improvement on touching himself, but she didn't exactly set his blood coursing. Never had. And the feeling was mutual - she enjoyed herself thoroughly, he knew that much, but she didn't have to bite her lip to keep from crying out before he even kissed her, the way Harry did.

And Cornfoot... again, pleasant, and definitely better than nothing. But nothing special, either. Not only had he been somewhat clumsy and caused Draco some discomfort their first time together, not only had he been a little quick to the finish line, but he'd also been nervous and clueless, because although he wasn't a virgin, he'd never actually had sex with another boy before. And his nervousness, unlike Harry's, hadn't been endearing or arousing. Cornfoot had asked question after question after question, until Draco had snapped at him to bring a QuickQuill next time.

Thankfully, he hadn't, and the next time had been more enjoyable, and Draco had told himself he'd improve, there was potential there, Harry hadn't been an expert at first either...

Except he couldn't help remembering how Harry had dropped his head back and choked out small swear words in the heat of passion. Harry had bitten his hand to keep from keening the first time Draco had gone down on him. Harry's excitement had always ignited a fire in Draco - even the memory did, he realized ruefully, as he reached under the covers and touched himself, closing his eyes and remembering the sparks that had flown between them. Stopped to make sure he had a silencing spell on the curtains. Which took him right into a slightly embarrassing, yet highly stimulating memory of a time right after winter term began, when they'd forgotten to set a privacy spell, and had been startled to hear Blaise's irate drawl from the other side of the curtains, answering Draco's breathless query to Harry.

"Oh, definitely let him suck you, Potter, if it shuts him up. I've a History of Magic presentation tomorrow and all this is playing merry hell with my comprehension of the International Warlock Convention."

Draco closed his eyes, hand moving faster, smirking as he remembered Harry's mortified blush and immediate hiss of a silencing charm. He'd expected Harry to draw away and insist they conclude in their own room, but Harry had instead pushed Draco onto his back and covered his mouth and brought them both off quickly and scorchingly, muttering something about "for Zabini's sake, you know" as they'd come together. That Harry's inhibitions had been roundly beaten into submission by his libido had been - and still was - quite a turn-on.

He panted his release, warmed by the memory.

Cleaned himself off and told himself firmly that it wouldn't be the same with Harry if - all right, let's not be naïve, when they slept together again. Pomfrey had said the bond spell was what made it so intense. It wasn't there any more. Maybe after they finally slept together, post-bond, Draco would be able to accept that what he was missing was simply gone for good. And then he'd get on with his life. And look forward to feeling that kind of intensity again with his future wife, a nice pureblood girl from a good family.

And then, he told himself, he wouldn't need denial any more.

ooooooo

Day 134, Tuesday

"Pathetic. Utterly pathetic."

"It's not that easy!"

"Try again," Draco said, lounging comfortably on his green and silver chair.

Harry narrowed his eyes at his own scarf, cheerfully defying him in a red-gold crumple on the floor of the empty classroom. "Pannoseta," he said firmly.

The scarf quivered teasingly but remained limp.

"Why didn't you get a chance to practice this in class?"

"Lisa and Stephen were too busy arguing over whose chair was the most solid, and whether solid was better than light."

"Ravenclaws." Draco snickered.

"Lisa was also taking a strip out of Stephen for skipping out on their Transfiguration review on Sunday. Accused him of studying with a Hufflepuff, since they did their test last week."

"Cheating on your study partner." Draco rolled his eyes. "The ultimate Ravenclaw sin." Harry laughed, then looked back at his limp scarf. Damn it, this was normally his best subject. "Just think of the chair you want," Draco reminded him. "The words aren't important, you know that, it's all about keeping what you want in your mind. The words only help you to focus your thoughts."

"Right, yeah," he said, trying not to sound impatient as Draco reminded him of things any third year knew. He frowned at the scarf. "Maybe it would help if I could understand why this is supposed to be even remotely useful."

"Please tell me you're not serious," Draco said in a pained voice. "You're in a swamp, you get tired, don't want to sit down in the mud, you take off your scarf and turn it into a chair. How is this not useful?"

"S'ppose so," Harry said unenthusiastically.

"I know, I know, Gryffindors love sitting in the mud," Draco muttered. Harry reflected that once that would have been a natural segue for a few gratuitous insults featuring the word "mud."

Right. The chair. He focussed on his scarf, trying to think of what he wanted it to look like when he was done. And not on Draco, looking perfectly comfortable in his chair and completely throwing off his concentration.

Bloody hell.

Damn, he couldn't, he couldn't concentrate. It wasn't like the last months of their bond, where being with Draco felt completely normal and, if anything, made him feel more centred than he'd ever felt before, the firmness of their bond feeling like a steady base in their lives. Draco's presence was not relaxing at all right now. It was comforting but distracting, like Harry was hyper-alert and concentrated now that he could see him and be near him - but what he could concentrate on the most was the mere fact that Draco was here. It didn't help that he kept thinking of Draco's face yesterday when they'd talked about getting together, almost sure, even without a bond, that Draco wasn't just interested in practicing Transfigurations or doing impressions of McGonagall and Neville or even picking up Herbology notes.

Just like with Cho, this whole conflict between desperately wanting to be with somebody and then being thrown off by proximity to them. Draco would've hexed him on the spot if he'd suspected Harry was comparing the two of them, but there it was.

He took a deep breath. Draco was not Cho Chang, and Harry was not fifteen years old any more. He lowered his wand.

"What is it?" asked Draco.

"I don't think I can do this," he said slowly.

"Why not?"

"I... this whole 'let's just be friends,' it's too - I can't."

Silence.

He cleared his throat. "It's too distracting."

There was a pause, then Draco swallowed hard and stood up, quietly murmuring Finite Incantatum and pocketing his scarf. "Two choices, then. Politely part company, or don't try to be 'just friends.'"

Harry looked up. He'd had plenty of experience with what Draco looked like when he wanted something. He didn't need the bond. He could tell.

Harry stepped a little closer, looked into Draco's eyes. Saw hesitation, shyness... and the same desire he felt, himself. He slowly came closer, expecting Draco to back up any second. Hell, expecting himself to back up, any second.

Neither one of them did.

He touched Draco's arm softly. "Are you sure..."

Draco hesitated, looked down. "My father'll kill me if..."

"I know. This is probably not a good idea..." Harry trailed off.

Draco looked up, and... oh, damn. Yeah, they both knew what the smart thing was. But neither of them had ever been terribly smart when it came to the other. Why would anything have changed just because they weren't being smart about friendship - or whatever this was - instead of hatred?

He came closer, helpless to stop. And this time, Draco was the one frozen with indecision, and Harry was the one who wanted this the most, the one with the least to lose, like Draco had been back then in Dumbledore's office the first time...

And then their lips met and it was like coming home.

The familiarity. The warmth. The desire, the need to touch more, the same scent, taste - even the sound Draco made, the sigh of relief or whatever it was, it was all the same...

Pomfrey had said it was the bond that made it so powerful, but if this was what was left after the bond, it felt almost no different, other than the fact that he couldn't feel Draco's emotions directly. The incredible passion was there, though, and the overwhelming need to not have him go away, the instant turn-on of everything, the desperate desire to touch him everywhere, and Harry forced himself to keep his hands busy in Draco's hair, his cheek and neck, instead of wandering too far too fast.

"Oh, fuck," said Draco softly, pulling away slightly and trying to catch his breath.

"What?" Harry asked nervously.

"Nothing, I just, I thought that... never mind." Draco looked down, absently running a hand through Harry's hair, clearly upset.

Harry forced himself to stop. Pull back. Look into Draco's eyes, try to read them, figure out whether their cloudy grey haziness was confusion or arousal or second thoughts.

Not second thoughts, he guessed, as Draco made a low sound in his throat and pulled him close and they kissed fiercely and Harry concentrated everything he had on not demanding more and not letting his body's shocking reaction completely take over him.

Oh, god, he was home.

ooooooo

"Did you get your Astronomy paper done?" Ron asked as Harry tossed his schoolbag to the floor and collapsed onto his bed.

"Er, yeah. All done."

Ron laughed. "Right, mate, who is it?" he said kindly.

"What? Who?" Harry said, his heart sinking.

Ron's amused smile made Harry's carefully prepared evasions seem utterly pointless. Less than fifteen minutes after returning to Gryffindor, too. Granted, he'd been gone rather longer than he'd said he would, and he'd probably acted a bit evasive about where he was going, and he knew he'd been unable to keep his inner turmoil from showing on his face, but he'd honestly thought Ron wouldn't clue in that there was anything odd going on. He didn't use to be terribly observant.

"You said you were going to finish your Astronomy paper, but you left the book behind. And that's not an 'I've just had a really productive study session' look on your face."

"Ron..."

"Why are you hiding it? Shy about it getting into the papers?"

Harry blew out his breath, giving in. "Yeah," he said, staring at the ceiling.

"Harry. Best mate here. You know I wouldn't tell anybod - or is she the one who's shy about getting into the papers?"

"It's both of us."

"Come on, who is it?"

"Ron, I can't," he said, shaking his head, but Ron just grinned.

"We're all going to find out eventually, you know that. You should point out to her that if you tell me and Hermione we can help you keep it quiet for a little longer. Just tell her that..." Ron trailed off, cocking his head to the side. He peered at Harry closely and Harry tried to project blank innocence back.

"It's not a bloke, is it?"

Harry's heart jumped and he shook his head quickly, but the damage was done. He hadn't been able to cover his reaction and Ron was looking at him in slight shock, which fairly quickly melted into amusement. "Harry."

"Don't... don't tell Hermione," Harry said quickly, sitting up.

"Why not?"

"I just... I don't think she'd understand."

"Why? Because she's Muggle-born? Hermione doesn't think like that, you know that."

"No, it's not that-"

"Then what?" Harry shook his head stubbornly, and Ron frowned. "It's about who this is, isn't it?"

"I-"

Ron sat up suddenly. "It's not Malfoy, is it?"

Harry's eyes opened wide and he stared at Ron in shock. Never in a million years would he have thought that Ron would guess - he checked to make sure it was really Ron on the other bed and not Hermione.

"It is," Ron said flatly, and Harry drew his knees up to his chest, resting his head on them and taking a deep breath, unable to face him.

Damn. Damn, that had been so much faster then he'd ever expected, and the urge to apologize was so bloody strong. My father'll kill me, Draco had said, and Harry had to agree and thank his stars that he didn't have that problem, but he had to acknowledge that taking up with Draco voluntarily probably wouldn't thrill his friends either. It was one thing to be involved with a probable future Death Eater and obnoxious hater of Muggle-borns because you had no choice. To seek him out voluntarily...

He kept his head down, not wanting to see accusation or disappointment in Ron's eyes, and cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "How - how did you know?"

There was a pause, then Ron sat back against his headboard, rubbed his face wearily and gave a small laugh. "Hermione, actually," he said. Harry stared at him, lost. "You know that article asking if you two might get back together, a few days ago?"

"Yeah?"

"I said something like 'when Flobberworms fly', but she got really serious. Said she wouldn't be surprised if you wanted to. She thought you were missing him more than you let on."

"Oh."

"Harry... why?"

Harry closed his eyes, profoundly grateful that there seemed to be no disappointment in Ron's voice, only bewildered concern. "I just... I miss him," Harry muttered. "That's all. I just... really miss him."

There was a brief silence, as Ron waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't Ron sighed. "That's what Hermione said. I told her you'd just been down because you were under the weather, but she said it was more than that. She even said that - d'you know Muggles believe you can actually make yourself physically ill if you're upset about things?"

"Yeah," Harry smiled slightly.

"Barmy. Said they've got things like Cheering Potions, and they take them if it gets really bad."

"I don't need a Cheering Potion, Ron."

"You sure? It'd be a lot easier and less dangerous than taking up with him again." Harry looked away. "D'you... feel any better, now?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"Well, that's good, I s'ppose." Ron took a deep breath. "You're mental, you know that, right? This is Malfoy we're talking about. I mean I know you got to know him better and got to like him and all that, but you said it yourself, you didn't want to get close to him, knowing where he's going."

"I know what I said, it's just... it's different now."

Ron nodded, his expression resigned. "Listen mate, you'd better tell Hermione, whether you want to or not. She'll have kittens if she figures it out on her own."

"I know." Harry winced.

"We'll help you keep this under wraps, if you want. I just hope you bloody well know what you're doing."

Harry closed his eyes. "I don't."

ooooooo

Day 136, Thursday

It wasn't supposed to be like this, Draco thought desperately. Not like this, Harry braced on his elbows over a desk in an unused classroom, their passionate kisses and fumbling and gasping having turned into this, the back of Harry's neck hot against Draco's lips and tongue, his thighs shaking, both of them breathless as Draco thrust hard into him, one hand keeping Harry's hips steady and the other wrapped firmly around his erection. No bond to let Draco know what Harry was feeling and no bond needed, not with Harry's voice catching under him and Harry's knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the desk, and there was nothing casual about it. Nothing. Even the fact that the edge of the desk was probably digging into Harry's thighs and he was going to have bruises tomorrow sparking excitement in Draco, that Harry could just do this and not care, that they were moving together again, that their shirts were hanging open and their trousers were going to be ruined and Harry's red and gold tie had crumpled onto the desk and Harry was thrusting into Draco's hand like there was nothing else for him in the world.

Fuck, it was not supposed to be like this. He moved his left hand from Harry's hip to the edge of the desk, lacing their fingers together, groaning as Harry's fingers tightened around his and Harry bowed his head and cursed and shuddered and started to lose control and Draco felt like he could die happy right then, and it was not supposed to be this good.

ooooooo

Draco dropped into the common room seat next to Pansy and congratulated himself on having brought himself firmly under control after his latest encounter with Harry. No suspicious love marks; they'd checked each other carefully. They'd both showered, and he was definitely wearing all of his own clothes and none of Harry's and every article of clothing was as neat and tidy as they could make it.

And his expression, he was pleased to note in the mirror as he re-entered the nearly empty common room, was one of casual concern over tomorrow's Ancient Runes test. Absolutely no clue on his face that he was inwardly demanding an explanation of himself as to what the fuck was wrong with him.

Pansy nodded absently, not looking up from her Runes text as she reached out and ran a hand through his still-damp hair. "How's your, er, close friend, Cornfoot?" she said softly.

Draco froze in the act of taking his own text out of his schoolbag. "What?"

Pansy tittered, closing her book. "My goodness, Draco, you should see your face."

He searched her face carefully for any hint of jealousy or anger. She seemed mostly amused.

"It's all right, darling," she smirked. "I caught Cornfoot ogling you during Charms last week. I thought you might be curious to try other boys after Potter. Though I do warn you, your father may not be so understanding."

Draco released his breath, settling against the back of the seat. "My father won't mind," he said. "As long as I can still marry a suitable girl when the time comes."

"Mm, yes, I'd say you're still quite capable in that department," Pansy purred archly. He grinned at her and she patted her lap, indicating he should settle down for a little discussion. He obligingly lay down on the couch, settling his head onto her lap. "So... d'you prefer boys now?"

"No. I mean, maybe - I don't know..."

"Was I not enough for you, then?" she asked lightly, running her fingers through his hair again.

"Pants, come on." He looked up at her worriedly.

"I detest that nickname and you are not going to put me off that easily," she said sternly. "Come, now, my womanly pride is at stake."

"If you must know, I thought I'd go with Cornfoot because I didn't want to make things awkward between you and me. Look, I love a tumble as well as anybody but you have to admit-"

"No, that's sensible. Though I swear if you start coming back here with love bites all over you we'll have to have words. Or more than words. To be perfectly fair. Mustn't leave a friend high and dry like that, after all."

"All right." He grinned up at her.

"Is it the same as before?"

"What, sex with a boy?" Draco shrugged. "They're different people."

"I know that, Draco." Pansy's voice dropped lower. "And I'm not talking about Cornfoot."

"Beg pardon?"

Pansy was examining her nails with great interest. "D'you remember when that bitch McGonagall set me to polishing old NEWT plaques last year, after I transfigured the Abbott girl's pigtails into green slime? Your father had the highest Charms NEWT in twelve years. Not a stupid man, your father."

Draco stared at her.

"And if I can set a simple tracking charm on you to let me know when you're fucking Stephen Cornfoot and when you've moved on to someone else, it's relatively safe to assume that your father can too."

"Pansy-" Draco started to rise, and Pansy's hand came down to his shoulder, keeping him in place.

"I can only hope Potter has done something to addle your brains and that you'll be able to use that as an excuse to your father when he finds out, because he will find out, and there will be hell to pay."

"I-"

"This is by far the stupidest thing you have ever done," she said, her expression and voice totally at odds - the one perfectly playful and casual, the other perfectly flat. "I should turn you in. I said I'd stand by you but this is really, really testing my patience and faith in you. This kind of idiocy doesn't exactly bode well for you being any use to me whatsoever; you won't live long enough, if you're daft enough to risk everything for a few shags with Potter, of all people."

Draco's heart was racing, and he couldn't seem to look away from her. As many fights as they'd had over the years, he'd never seen her so furious, her regular screaming sarcasm replaced by icy calm.

"Do you have, oh, any explanation?"

"I-"

"No. I didn't think so."

He frowned and decided to go on the offensive. "Look, that's enough-" He started to get up and she whispered something and he felt his limbs freeze in place and kicked himself for being caught off guard, again, by Pansy's trick of keeping her wand strapped to the inside of her sleeve such that she could peek it out and cast hexes whenever she pleased, without giving away what she was about to do.

"Draco, your father won't bother to disown you if he finds out. He'll just murder you in the messiest way possible," she said conversationally, and he was powerless to get up or even look away from her.

"He won't," Draco said hollowly, thankful that she was allowing him to at least talk.

"Your father took away your voice for a week when you were eight."

"I'd talked back to him."

"When I talked back to my mother she had the house elf wash my mouth out with bitterroot. When I did badly in Potions I had my broom taken away for a month. Your father took away your magic for the entire summer after first year, when Granger bested your grades."

"Nobody else was supposed to use magic during the summer either," Draco pointed out evenly.

"Like that had ever meant anything to any of our families," scoffed Pansy. "We are not the bloody Weasleys or Longbottoms. And even if we were, as you noted that summer, there's a big difference between not being allowed to and not being able to use your magic." Pansy shook her head angrily. "And it doesn't matter that he bought your way onto the Quidditch team after your mother guilted him into it for turning you into a damned Squib for six weeks. Especially since he bloody well blinded you for two days, for losing to Potter at Quidditch. He, he made you drink undiluted Emetium potion and had you throwing up for a week when you let slip that you liked that Furies Seeker, just because he was Muggle-born. He locked you in a room with Fenrir Greyback during the full moon when you dared to say that perhaps the Dark Lord shouldn't ally himself with werewolves - and I know Fenrir couldn't have bit you but you didn't know that and what your father did was cruel and he comes unhinged when you defy him or disappoint him and you're letting yourself forget that now and-" She suddenly bent down and took him into her arms, her words muffled into his neck. "I HATE you! You're a sodding IDIOT!!"

Draco closed his eyes and tried very hard to not think about any of what Pansy had just said, and waited nervously until Pansy brought herself back under control before he cleared his throat. "I just need to... I don't know, let go properly or something, that's all," he said quietly, wishing she'd let him at least turn his face away from her piercing gaze. "It was - it was over too soon, I didn't have time to - look, this is Potter we're talking about, right?" He waited until she nodded. "He's not exactly the brightest candle in the chandelier. Not that fit, not that interesting either. His social skills are atrocious and his politics and friends-" He stopped. "I just need to get him out of my system, all right? It won't take long..."

"Draco, you idiot." Pansy put her arms around him and shook her head. "Queenie's mother's got the right of it after all. Men, you're bloody useless, the lot of you. Ruled by your trousers and nothing else." She shook her head and stroked Draco's hair, whispering Finite Incantatum to end the paralysing spell, and he slowly relaxed into her embrace.