Looking Forward

Author's notes: Many, many thanks to my beta, Mischief Manage Me, for all her help and for further inflating my ego.

This is dedicated to Lisa, because without her fanatical Dracolove, this story would probably never have been written.

Looking back, Harry had to admit that searching for a Death Eater nest alone, unarmed, and slightly intoxicated was, perhaps, a poor idea. He tried to recall or fabricate some rationale for his actions, but the best he could come up with was "it seemed like a good idea at the time." Well, making excuses didn't get him out of the trouble he was in.

Problem number one: he had no idea where he was. It was dark, without even the dim outline of a door or a window to use for reference. Someone had gone to a lot of bother to make the room completely dark.

Problem number two: he was tied to a bed. Harry supposed that this point could be either a good thing or a bad thing. At least he was comfortable. The last time he was kidnapped and held captive, he had been chained to a cold stone floor. His captor was at least somewhat humane. However, he still couldn't get away. Yes, this was a bad thing.

He beat his head on the headboard. That didn't help him think. He stopped.

"Potter, you are the world's biggest prat." Now he was talking to himself. Insulting himself. Fabulous.

Since the death of Lord Voldemort, the Daily Prophet had been printing articles about Harry's behavior practically non-stop. The fame has finally gone to his head, they said. He's turned into the cocky, swaggering, attention-seeking bastard we always thought he was. Harry didn't blame them. He did swagger. A bit. He posed for photographs with anyone who asked and many who didn't. He signed anything that would stay still long enough. And why shouldn't he? He defeated the most evil wizard ever, and he won. Hail the victorious hero, and all that crap. Why shouldn't he swagger a little?

Secretly, Harry believed that he was losing his mind. He had tracked, studied, and battled Voldemort for five years after leaving Hogwarts. Now it was over. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Ginny nagged him into taking an extended holiday in the south of France. What a bore. No one attacked them. No one went missing. He didn't see the Dark Mark once. When you've spent the last five years of your life hiding in sewers and swamps, fighting for your life, killing anyone who threatened you or those you love, living off of adrenaline because you don't have time to eat...how can you just lie on a beach and relax? After a week, he made his excuses and left. He wasn't the kind of person who could take vacations.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? What kind of person was he? He was the kind of person who defeated villains. There were no more villains to defeat. He was the kind of person who won wars. The war was over. He had put himself out of a job. So he threw himself into fighting anyone he could. There were renegade Death Eaters all over the country who needed to be captured. They posed little threat without their leader, but Harry hunted them with all the gusto he usually reserved for only Voldemort. He walked into battle carelessly, half convinced that he was invincible, half hoping he would die.

It was a hard truth to accept. Harry was useless without Voldemort. Without an enemy, Harry was no one. He couldn't do anything. Voldemort was what made him special. Now it was over and Harry had a wizard's lifetime of boredom and obscurity to look forward to.

So that's how he ended up where he was. He'd had a pint too many at the pub and wandered off in search of Death Eaters that were supposedly in the area, alone because his companions were tired of him showing off. He had left his wand on the table. Next thing he knew, he was waking up in this room filled with impenetrable darkness.

And now the door was opening. Harry couldn't see it, but the senses honed by five years of watching and waiting tingled at the soft sounds of the hinges, the tiny shift in the air pressure and the scent of a new person entering the room. The open door didn't spill any light into the room. Whatever was beyond the door must be as dark as this room.

"Lumos minimus," a voice whispered, and a faint light appeared at the tip of a wand aimed at Harry's chest, rupturing the imposing gloom. Dim as it was, the light nearly blinded him and it was then that he realized he wasn't wearing his glasses. Surely, he hadn't left them at the pub? No, there they were on the nightstand. Someone had folded them up carefully, and even repaired the crack that Harry had been ignoring for two weeks.

Was it the man who stood before him? Harry couldn't see his face; the light was too bright and startling. He couldn't even judge the man's height from his prone position.

Harry didn't have to wonder about the man's identity for long.

"Good morning, Potter," a voice drawled from behind the light. Malfoy.

"Piss off," Harry replied. It would've been better if his voice hadn't cracked. He would have to work on his threatening tone.

"Manners, Potter. Is that any way to treat your host?" Harry could hear the smirk on Malfoy's face.

"Death Eater filth," he croaked. His throat was really quite dry.

Malfoy snorted. He conjured a chair and sat down, adjusting the light on his wand. "I'm a free agent, not a Death Eater. I help whatever side can benefit me most, but I have no real leanings either way."

"Not a Death Eater?" Harry didn't know what to say. "Then why...?" He gestured as well as he could with his wrists chained, indicating his surroundings.

"Why are you here? Why did I kidnap you? Merlin, you're dense. I said I wasn't a Death Eater. I didn't say I was a nice person. It just so happens that You-Know-Who's side can do more for me than your side can."

"Voldemort is dead, Malfoy. He can't do anything for you now."

"Dead? Really? I hadn't heard!" Malfoy, his face now illuminated by the growing light, took on an expression of angelic incomprehension. Harry was taken aback.

"How could you not know? It's been months, it was all over the news, it..."

"Of course I know he's dead!" Malfoy said with exasperation, rolling his eyes. "That was sarcasm, you twat. I demonstrated it enough at school; you ought to recognize it by now." Malfoy clicked his tongue at Harry, obviously disappointed in the lack of effect his schooling had on Harry.

"Well, I can hardly be expected to be at my best in this situation. I am tied to a bed, you know, at the mercy of the foulest person I've ever met. And besides, it's been a rough couple of months..." Why was he explaining himself to Malfoy?

"Oh yes, I can see how signing autographs and posing for pictures could be terribly exhausting. Not to mention showing off that silly moose of a Patronus at the first sign of a black cloak and a cold breeze. It must be horrible being you." Malfoy looked unimpressed. Harry was enraged.

"You have no idea what it's like! The pressures, the expectations, the stress!" His voice cracked once more and he realized he sounded petulant. How Malfoy always manage to make him feel like he was 15 again? Before Malfoy could interject another snide comment, Harry went on. "Anyway, that's not the point. As I said, Voldemort is dead. You have nothing to gain from keeping me here. The war is over."

Malfoy laughed. "It's far from over, Potter. You must think that the Death Eaters are powerless without the Dark Lord. But they have a new leader." Malfoy looked oddly troubled by this revelation.

"Who?" Harry asked eagerly. Perhaps this could give him something to do, some excitement, once he got out of this current mess...if he ever did.

"I should think that would be obvious," Malfoy spat. No doubt about it, he was definitely pouting now. Odd. "When a leader is removed, he is replaced with his second-in-command. This is no exception."

"Lucius," Harry breathed. Malfoy nodded.

Lucius Malfoy had escaped from Azkaban in one of the mass breakouts that happened frequently once the dementors abandoned the fortress. It was rumored that prison had driven him mad and Voldemort was keeping him on a very short leash. That didn't stop Lucius from being dangerous. When Voldemort died, Lucius was among the Death Eaters that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement never found. An entire team of Aurors was assigned to his case, but there was still no sign of him.

"Yes, my dear old father has taken up where the Dark Lord left off. The only thing in his way is you." Malfoy laughed again. "I think he overestimates the threat you pose. When I found you, you were staggering through the woods alone, without even a wand to light the way. It was disgustingly easy." Harry's face burned with shame. He had defeated Voldemort only to step aside and allow the next Dark Lord to rise.

"So you're doing this to help dear old dad?" Harry taunted with more spirit than he felt. "I thought you would've grown out of your daddy's-boy phase by now."

Malfoy cursed and then quickly hid his anger with a wintry smile. "Oh no. I care very little about whether Father succeeds or fails. I have no interest in impressing him. He has something I want, and so I have acquired something he wants. You're a bargaining chip, nothing more."

"And what exactly do you want from him?"

"That should be obvious as well. The family fortune. When the Dark Lord was in power, I supported myself quite well by trading in secrets, information valuable to both sides of this war. But since you so kindly removed the greatest source of my income, I am forced to..."

Malfoy's voice stopped abruptly and he sat up straight, listening hard.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside. A light turned on and the door was outlined in sharp contrast to the uniform walls.

Suddenly the light from Malfoy's wand blinked out and Harry heard a frantic whisper. The edge of the bed sank down with new weight, and before Harry could decide whether to be frightened or confused, a mouth closed over his and a slender body came to rest on Harry's.

It was like no kiss Harry had ever experienced. It was raw and unemotional, all power and cold calculation. Harry didn't have time to react, so his body took over. His hands strained in their bonds, aching to respond to Malfoy, and then Harry was kissing him back, just as brutally. Their teeth ground together and there was no room left in Harry's mind to question what the hell he was doing kissing Draco Malfoy. He almost didn't notice when the door swung open and light flooded the room once again.

"Draco?" A hesitant voice from the doorway broke Harry's trance and he looked up to see someone (Was it Crabbe or Goyle? How did they manage to look so much alike?) looking down on the incredible scene in front of him. Malfoy pulled away from Harry lazily and regarded the intruder with cold eyes. Harry felt rather cold himself, without the heat of Malfoy's body on top of his.

"As you can see, Gregory, I happen to be busy at the moment. Can this wait until later?" Malfoy spoke as if nothing was wrong with this, while Harry's mind screamed in disbelief.

Goyle flushed and murmured something about the Daily Prophet and Harry Potter. It was Harry's turn to blush. Though he knew it was impossible, his mind's eye pictured this moment, captured on the front page of the most widely read newspaper in Britain. What would Ron and Hermione say if they saw it, if they knew what Harry had just been doing?

"So it can wait. I'll see you upstairs in a few minutes. That means you leave now, Goyle." With no further preamble, Malfoy leaned back against Harry and the door shut behind Goyle as he quickly retreated.

Harry braced himself for the next touch of Malfoy's lips and the awful torrent of conflicting emotions it would cause, but it didn't come.

"Lumos." The light from Malfoy's wand reappeared and revealed Malfoy seated again in the chair by Harry's bed.

"As I was saying," he continued coolly, as if nothing had interrupted him. "I am now forced to rely on my meager savings while my father lives in luxury. So I intend to secure my future by selling you to the Death Eaters, in exchange for...Potter, your eyes are in danger of completely exiting your skull. What's vexing you?"

To put it simply, Harry was in shock. "What...what just...Goyle and that...with you..." He realized he was babbling insanely, but he couldn't stop himself. Malfoy sighed.

"Haven't you been listening? You are the leverage I need to extort money from my father. You will do me no good if the whole world knows where you are! If Goyle walked in and saw the most recognized wizard in the world tied to this bed, he would tell his father, who would then tell my father. Then, when I went to my father with my proposal, he would say 'Yes, I know you kidnapped Potter. Oh by the way, I kidnapped him from you this morning and he's already dead.' And then I would get nothing!" Malfoy took a deep breath to steady himself and went on.

"And so, I presented Goyle with a scene that would not be worth mentioning when he next writes to his dad."

Harry thought for a moment. "So...you can normally be found with some strange bloke in your bed?" Why did that thought make his insides turn cold?

Malfoy laughed in a way that made Harry even more uncomfortable. "Not exactly. Now, I must go and see what's got Goyle so upset. I'll bring you some dinner later." He waved his wand and the room brightened and remained well lit even after he closed the door behind him.

Harry exhaled slowly to steady his raging heart and calm the thoughts that spun through his head like a Fanged Frisbee. His hair fell across his face in tangled waves.

Waves? His hair wasn't wavy. Nor was it shoulder-length, in normal circumstances.

Gasping, he shook the unfamiliar hair from his face and bit back a shriek as he saw his legs...hairless, devoid of any manly bulk, bare all the way up to his thighs where he was scantily covered by a tiny denim skirt.

Those aren't my legs, he thought, beginning to panic in earnest. Bare midriff, red blouse...good heavens, those certainly aren't mine!

"MALFOY! Change me back!"

Draco was still outside the door when Potter began to bellow. Smirking, he put a soundproofing charm on the door and went upstairs to read the newspaper article about his triumph over Harry Potter.

When he returned an hour later, Potter was still struggling and screaming. All he had managed to do was hike up his skirt even further. His eyes burned with rage inside his transfigured, feminine face. He was practically foaming at the mouth.

Through gritted teeth, he hissed, "You changed me into a girl. Change me back, Malfoy, or I'll..."

"Or you'll what? Spit at me? I don't see how you can possibly do anything else. Besides, you have very nice legs now. Why would you want to change back to boring old Harry Potter?"

"You think I'm boring?" He actually looked hurt. "Girls don't seem to think so...Cho, Romilda Vane, and of course Ginny..."

"Potter, if you insist on acting like a silly girl, I'm going to leave you like this. And perhaps pimp you out," he added thoughtfully. "I hear a lot of fellows have a thing for green eyes."

Harry turned pale and shut his mouth tight. Malfoy smiled.

"Very well. Finite incantatum."

Harry felt nothing, but when he looked down, he was back to normal. He let out the breath he was holding in and glanced back at Malfoy. His face was curiously expressionless.

"I brought you a sandwich and some chips. I'm going to untie you, but if you make any funny moves, I'll put you back in the skirt. Got it?"

Harry felt his bonds loosen and he pulled his hands free, massaging his wrists before diving at the tray Malfoy set on the bed. He felt as if he hadn't eaten in days. He probably hadn't.

Malfoy sat calmly, wand at the ready, watching Harry eat. Harry finished too quickly and his hands were bound again.

"Goodnight Potter," Malfoy drawled. "I'll see you tomorrow, before I go to my father. Pleasant dreams." There was something oily about his tone and Harry's skin crawled.

Alone in the dim room with nothing to distract him, Harry finally began to puzzle over his own strange reaction earlier. He understood Malfoy's reasoning, even if it was unconventional. Turning him into a girl and putting on an act was sensible, if a bit odd. That didn't mean Harry had to like it. He didn't have to respond. But he had, and that was more disturbing than his captivity or his pending sale to the new Dark Lord.

Harry told himself, rather fiercely, that his reaction was merely a side-effect of his brief experience with womanhood. With that small comfort, he willed himself to sleep.

Malfoy was in a fine mood in the morning. He hummed merrily as he brought Harry breakfast. He was practically skipping when he left. Impending fortune agreed with him.

He was not in such a good temper when he returned. Harry had spent his time alone mentally constructing a map of the entire United Kingdom with the cracks on the ceiling. As a result, he was sleeping lightly when the door was blasted open and a red-faced Malfoy entered.

"That fucking bastard!" Malfoy's language became steadily more colorful as he paced the room and ranted.

"Things didn't go well with Lucius, I take it," Harry offered quietly, feeling the first spark of hope since waking up the day before.

"You're damn right!" Malfoy was positively purple with rage. "Apparently, the commodity I obtained is not nearly as valuable as I'd thought."

"What? Not valuable!" Harry was wounded. He was the most famous wizard in the world. He ought to go for an exorbitant price. "How much did he offer you?"

"Nothing!" Malfoy snapped. "He doesn't want you. You're no good to him."

"No good? I thought you said I was the only thing standing in his way!" Ridiculous, really, to be insulted in this situation.

"It seems," Malfoy said through tightened lips, "that my father has actually outsmarted me. You see, Potter, you're not in his way. As a matter of fact, you're in my basement, decidedly out of the way. And he knows that I can't let you go without risk to myself so he is content to allow you to remain here, out of his way and he'll give me nothing!" Malfoy was panting and sweaty. It suited him. Harry struggled to switch his mind off.

"So...you're stuck with me."

That was the wrong thing to say. Malfoy drew his wand and pointed it at Harry's heart.

"Unless I kill you," he said thoughtfully.

Instead of fear, Harry felt strangely reassured.

"You won't kill me."

"Bet on it." Malfoy's wand came closer.

"You couldn't kill Dumbledore and you can't kill me." Harry met Malfoy's eyes and held them.

"I could've killed that old fool if Snape had given me another minute or two."

"Sure. Any moment and you would've stopped shaking like a little girl and..."

"This really isn't convincing me to spare your life."

"Good point. Have I mentioned that you look very dashing today?"

"Flattery won't help you either," Malfoy replied coolly, but his eyes were amused and his wand was returned to his pocket.

Harry swallowed his sigh of relief. "So what are you going to do with me?"

"I haven't decided yet. I could still try to pimp you out. I need to make some money from this endeavor, to justify the expense of feeding you." Malfoy's smile was somewhat disturbing. Harry wasn't sure whether to believe him or not, so he carefully arranged his face into what he hoped was a neutral expression.

"You needn't look at me that way, Potter. I have no intention of allowing you to walk the streets alone. You may have to limit your clientele to Crabbe and Goyle."

The shudder was involuntary and it made Malfoy laugh.

"Now really, do you think I'm actually that evil? The average mountain troll would spurn advances from these two."

"What about Millicent? I thought she..."

"Had a threesome with my two good friends? Potter, where on earth would they find a bed big enough?"

Harry snorted indelicately and shrugged in agreement.

"Besides, I started that rumor. People were starting to think that Vincent and Gregory were a couple, and I was beginning to look like the crème filling in a goon sandwich. Something had to be done."

That was a mental image Harry could've done without.

"So," Malfoy went on as if he hadn't just said something horrifying. "Our problem remains. What is to become of the Chosen One?"

"You could ask for a ransom," Harry suggested.

Malfoy gave him a long searching look. "In all seriousness, would anyone be willing to pay for your safe return?"

Harry had to admit it was a short list. How depressing. "Ron and Hermione..." he began hopefully.

"Please. The Weasel couldn't afford it if he sold everything he owns. And Granger would probably try to come up with some clever plan to rescue you, which would get one of us killed."

"I could come up with the money myself. I could just write you a check."

"Don't you know anything? Every check that passes through Gringotts goes through intensive extortion detection spells before it can be cashed. If I took a check to Gringotts, the Ministry would be on me within minutes. No, ransom won't work. There must be some other way...are you sure you don't fancy another go at being a girl?"

"No!" Harry gasped.

"Why not? If I had a set like that, I'd be perfectly happy. In fact, I think I'd never leave the house again."

"Really? They seemed kind of inconvenient, like they'd get in the way. And that skirt...I felt naked wearing it."

"Just think; no one would ever stare at your scar again. You could go into a pub and the handsomest blokes would buy you drinks..."

"Who says I don't want people staring at my scar? It used to bother me, but I'm proud of it now. It means something now, and besides, it's even more distinguished." During the last duel with Voldemort, a misfired spell had deepened the old scar and now it was even more obvious - a deep, glittering black line on Harry's forehead. Another thought occurred to him. "Hey! Who says I want blokes buying me drinks?" It was an outrage, the insults he had to endure. Harry Potter! Savior of the wizarding world! Of all the ridiculous, derogatory...

"Potter, how long have you known you were gay?" Malfoy's words were as smooth and shocking as an ice cube run down the spine.

Harry sputtered indignantly. "Gay? What a stupid question! What the hell do you know about me?"

"Uh-huh. That's why you had barely one kiss from the opposite sex before the age of 16. That's why you didn't even dance with your gorgeous date at the Yule Ball. That's why you went to Slughorn's party with Loony Lovegood. That's why..."

"I kissed Cho at least twice in fifth year!" Harry shouted, pouncing on the one claim he could possibly refute without contradiction. He was wrong.

"That's not what she told her friends." Malfoy grinned smugly. Harry's face fell.

"And how would you know?"

"Granger isn't the only one who can brew Polyjuice, you know."

Harry's eyes nearly crossed in confusion. "You spent an entire month brewing Polyjuice just to ask Cho how many times we kissed?"

"Of course not!" He answered quickly. "It...was an assignment for the Inquisitorial Squad to find out everything about you and your little band of pathetic soldiers."

"Bollocks. Umbridge didn't know anything about the DA before that Marietta bitch squealed. And they weren't pathetic."

"Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood? Not pathetic?"

"Both of them helped fight your father and half a dozen others at the Ministry. Besides, even Neville got a better grade on his Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. than you did." With an uncharacteristic and unbelievably childish impulse, Harry stuck his tongue out at Malfoy. Malfoy looked stunned.

"How did I go to school with you for six years and not notice the fact that you are absolutely barking mad?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you were too in love with me to notice my faults." It was Malfoy's turn to sputter.

"In love with you? I beg your pardon?"

"You seem to have a very detailed memory of everyone I dated and what exactly I did with them. One can only surmise that you were jealous."

Malfoy was an impressive shade of burgundy by now and he seemed to have lost all powers of speech. Harry was immensely proud of himself, especially for his success in diverting the topic away from his sexuality. Had he been untied, he might have buffed his fingernails on his lapels and strutted a little. He settled for smirking in a self-satisfied manner.

Malfoy took a moment to compose himself before speaking. "You really think a lot of yourself, don't you? We were enemies, you and I. You may have walked around in that confident Gryffindor haze, but Slytherins aren't blind. We study our enemies more than we study our books. Knowledge is a weapon. I only regret that I didn't put two and two together before we left school. Imagine the faces of all your little fans when they heard that the great Harry Potter was secretly dreaming of other men!"

"In case you've forgotten, I've been dating someone for the past five years and she is decidedly female."

"Right. The Weasley girl. The image of all her brothers wrapped up into one tidy package. The perfect cover. And if you hide all that hair, you can almost pretend it's Ron underneath you."

"That's enough! I have no feelings for Ron or any of his brothers and I never have! And I had no idea that I was gay until -" If he had a free hand, it would've clapped firmly over his mouth. An available foot would've done nicely too.

Malfoy looked unbelievably smug. "So it's a recent discovery, then? What changed your mind about your sexuality? Did you and Longbottom have a few drinks together and end up renting a room? There must be some story behind his surname. Or maybe it was that creepy Creevey kid. He'd do anything for you..."

Harry's subconscious had already caused him enough trouble in the past few minutes. It was daring him to tell the truth, to say, 'It wasn't them, it was you.' But he kept his mouth firmly closed. Malfoy continued his mocking until it became apparent that Harry was not rising to the bait again.

"You know, you Gryffindors really need to loosen up. Slytherins have no problem admitting their sexuality. And we're never ashamed of who we are. You need to let go of that shining ideal, that perfect normalcy. It's a lie. So let it go and live a little."

Malfoy seemed to think this was an appropriate parting line. He left without further ado. Harry's head was still spinning long after Malfoy had gone.

"Get up, Potter!"

Malfoy's voice broke into Harry's troubled dreams. He sat up and stretched before it occurred to him that he wasn't tied up.

"Wha' time's it?" he asked sleepily.

"Daytime. More specifically, morning. Most importantly, time to get up."

"Get up? You mean get out of the bed?" Harry wasn't sure he could manage it, after hardly moving for at least two days.

"Yes, I thought you might have breakfast with me in the kitchen today. I was beginning to feel like a pervert, keeping you tied to a bed all the time. Besides, Crabbe and Goyle are out for the day and the house is very secure. No one will see you and you can't escape."

Harry was almost surprised to hear the word 'escape'. It had been the furthest thing from his mind. It should've been his first concern. Maybe he really was losing it.

Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet and stood still, wobbling slightly until the head-rush passed and his vision cleared. As naturally as if they were old friends, Malfoy put a steadying hand between Harry's shoulder blades and guided him out of the room.

If someone had told Harry five years ago that he would one day be found eating breakfast in Draco Malfoy's kitchen, feeling completely at ease, he would've called them crazy or possibly thrown a punch. But here he was, calmly eating eggs and sausages while Malfoy sat across the small table, doing the same. There was no reason that it should feel so incredibly normal.

"Have you decided what to do with me yet?" Harry asked casually when he had finished eating.

Malfoy paused with a piece of egg halfway to his mouth. "I thought I would slip you a few drops of Veritaserum and force you to reveal Ministry secrets."

Harry eyed his coffee cup suspiciously.

"Don't worry. I'm currently out of Veritaserum, so that plan will have to wait for a while. Until then, I might try torture as an alternative method."

Harry blanched. His mind flashed back to three years ago, when he had spent one horrible day with Bellatrix Lestrange, serving as a guinea pig for her experiments with pain. His ears burned with remembered shame of all the secrets he had revealed. It hadn't taken long to crack him.

Malfoy noticed his discomfiture. His pointy face took on the oddest expression: pity, embarrassment, and the all too familiar scorn mingled among his features. "Was it the Cruciatus curse?" His voice was not as gentle as Harry expected and that made it easier to respond.

"No. Your aunt Bellatrix did research on old forms of Muggle torture. Thumbscrews, the rack, that kind of thing." He looked down at the table, trying not to feel the scars on his back as they began to itch. He could still feel them from time to time.

"Did you talk?" Malfoy asked with hard-edged eagerness. Harry stiffened.

"No," he lied with a stony face. It was somehow important that he didn't look like a fool.

Malfoy sighed. "Let me tell you something. Slytherins are great liars. The best in the world. My father was the world heavyweight champion of Slytherin liars. From growing up with him, I learned the pantomime. There are seventeen different things a fellow can do when he lies to give himself away. A guy's got seventeen pantomimes. A woman's got twenty, but a man has seventeen. If you know them like you know your own face, they beat lie detector spells all to hell. Now, how long did it take you to talk?"

"Less than an hour," Harry replied sullenly, seeing no point in continuing his ruse.

"I thought Gryffindors were brave," Malfoy commented idly. Harry didn't reply.

"How did you escape?" Malfoy pressed him. Harry raised his green eyes to meet the gray ones staring at him intently.

"I killed her," he said defiantly. "I killed Bellatrix Lestrange with my bare hands."

Malfoy was silent for a long moment. "Good," he said finally. "I would've hated it, if it had been anyone else that got her." He got up and cleared away the empty dishes on the table. Neither of them spoke as Malfoy washed the dishes, slowly and without magic. He stacked the plates, and then stretched to hang the frying pan on the hooks above the table.

His shirt lifted a little and revealed creamy white skin underneath. Harry could see the top of Malfoy's jeans, sitting low on his hips, and the startling white line of his underwear, riding above the hemline of his pants. They outlined the smooth concavity of his hips and Harry wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers along that line, wondered if Malfoy's skin was really as velvety as it looked, wondered if he was dreaming or if he was mad.

Then Malfoy turned back to the sink and the feeling of slow motion was broken. Harry rose from his chair and put a hand on Malfoy's shoulder. Malfoy jumped.

"Are you angry with me?" Harry asked quietly.

"Whatever for?" The response was icy.

"For killing your aunt."

There was a long silence as Malfoy searched Harry's eyes. "No, Potter. Anger comes from disappointment. I can't be disappointed in you, because I would expect you to do nothing else. I can't be angry with you for killing her, any more than I can be angry with her for torturing you. You both did what was expected, and you both got what you deserved."

Somewhere in this little speech, Malfoy had taken a step closer to Harry.

Harry was acutely aware of the tiniest details of Malfoy's face. Every insignificant imperfection, every premature line, every dot of white-blond stubble...without thinking about it, he reached out and smoothed Malfoy's wrinkled brow.

The space between them disappeared like magic. Harry wasn't sure who moved first. All he knew was that his fingers were suddenly tangled in Malfoy's silvery hair and Malfoy's hands were bunched in Harry's t-shirt. Their mouths were melded into one writhing, gnashing entity - hot and damp with mingled breath and twining tongues.

Harry was conscious of every point of contact as their two bodies pressed closer. Lip on lip, cheek brushing cheek, chest to chest, his elbow digging into Malfoy's shoulder, their knees bumping together.

Discussing it later, neither one knew exactly how they made it from the kitchen to the basement bedroom without untangling from one another. It was simply a natural transition, going where they needed to be.

Their clothes came off with no break in contact. When Harry felt his nails dig into bare flesh, he pulled away for the first time and took a step back, just to look.

At 22, Harry wasn't a virgin. He had seen his share of naked bodies, but Malfoy's nudity was a source of wonder and awe. Where Ginny had been curvy, Malfoy was all angles. Jutting collarbones, pointy elbows, chiseled abs, well-shaped legs. Harry couldn't stand still a second longer.

They collapsed onto the bed, wrapped up in each other once more. Malfoy was panting loudly and Harry heard his own pounding heart with each breath. Their mouths parted and they thrashed wildly for a new position.

Breathing heavily into the back of Malfoy's neck, Harry whispered, "Are you sure you want this?"

"Shut up," Malfoy growled. Harry took that as a yes.

Later, they lay side by side, not looking at each other, but not feeling awkward or embarrassed either. As one, their breathing became deep and even as their bodies relaxed.

"Malfoy?" Harry said quietly. There was no response. "Draco?" he tried again.

"Hmmm?" came the slow response.

"Was this why you decided not to kill me?" Harry tensed, waiting for an answer.

"No," Draco said after a long pause. "But...Potter?"

"Yeah?"

"Was this a plan to lower my defenses so you could escape?"

Harry considered this for a moment. "No. I don't particularly want to escape." He rolled over and molded his pillow into a better shape. He was almost asleep when Draco spoke again.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you know you've still got your socks on?"

Harry laughed faintly and heard Draco's echo. Just before Harry drifted off, it occurred to him that he hadn't felt so comfortable in months. Nothing else had ever felt so...right.

When Harry awoke, he was alone. And he was tied up again. He was disappointed at first, until he realized that he was still naked (with the exception of his socks). Possibilities began to float through his mind and they kept him pleasantly occupied until the door opened and Malfoy entered with a tray.

"Ah, you're awake. I brought you a late lunch." He set the tray down and unbound one of Harry's hands. He turned to go, but was halted by Harry's alarmed squeak.

"What?" Draco faced Harry again, his eyes reflecting half amusement, half annoyance.

"Are you just going to leave me here?"

"Crabbe and Goyle are back early. As always, I'm obliged to play host. Left alone, those two can't even remember where the toilet is from day to day."

"Well, if you're going to leave me here alone all day, can I at least have my clothes back on?" Harry was sulking.

"Why would you want that? No good ever came from a person putting their clothes on. I'll be back later. Don't move." With a wink and a flick of his wand, Draco was gone.

Draco returned to Harry's room late that night.

The chains came in handy.

The next week was much the same. Draco kept Harry inside the room while his sycophants prowled the house. When Draco was out of the room, Harry did nothing. When Draco was there, Harry did Draco (and vice versa). Crabbe and Goyle were under the impression that Malfoy was keeping a girl locked up and available for his pleasure. They were okay with that. It had never occurred to them to make note of Draco's numerous friends of the attractive male species and they never questioned him.

Draco and Harry didn't talk much. Other forms of expression were more urgent. On one rare occasion when neither of them fell asleep afterwards, Harry finally found the courage to ask Draco a question that had been bothering him.

"Draco...do you remember what you said in the kitchen, about me and Bellatrix getting what we deserved?"

"Yes. Why?" Draco's eyes stood out in the dimness.

"Did you mean that I deserved to be tortured and she deserved to die?"

Draco stared into Harry's eyes with an unfathomable expression on his face. "No. I meant that she deserved to die and you deserved to live. You deserved to kill her and escape. You deserve to have a good life." He leaned to kiss Harry's neck, but Harry pulled back.

"Draco, what is this?"

"What is what?" Draco looked puzzled, obviously unused to being refused.

"This." Harry gestured wildly. "Is this a fling? Is it just sex? Or is this a relationship? What is it?"

"This is you acting womanish and trying to classify something that seems to work just fine without a label taped on it." Those pale gray eyes were clear and cold now.

"I'm serious, Draco. What's going on here?"

"Don't be a fool. Do you really think we're establishing something real and lasting here? In this dingy little room? In a few days you're going to be gone, back to your pitiful attempts to save a world that doesn't need saving, and I will be stuck here, waiting for the Ministry or the Death Eaters to knock down my door. A relationship? Are you mad? How can you think that's even possible?" He moved to get up, but Harry caught hold of his hand.

"I'll be gone? Are you letting me go?" Harry's guts were changing places and turning to ice. He couldn't leave. How could Draco think he could leave? That he would even want to?

"Yes, I'm letting you go. There's no danger now, no reason to keep you."

"Why now? Is it because we're lovers and you think I won't betray you?"

"Partially. I trust you not to get me in trouble, and the only other person who knew you were here is dead."

"But...your father is dead? How?"

"Something about an accident with kitchen appliances. I didn't ask for details."

Harry ran his thumb over the back of Draco's hand. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"No you're not. And neither am I. He was a bastard before he went to prison, and a lunatic after. There's not a person on Earth who's sorry he's gone. Not even Mother would mourn him. So save me your pity. I'm not changing my mind."

Harry wove his tanned fingers through the pale ones he held captive. "I don't want to leave," he confessed. "I want to stay here with you." He willed his face to show all that he was feeling, to let Draco know how serious he was.

"Why the fuck would you want to stay here? This place is a dump. You'd be alone and tied up all day. All you'd have is a visit from me, few and far between most of the time..."

"At least I'd have that," Harry said in a flat voice. "Out there, there's nothing for me. All I was meant to be was the Chosen One. The one who would defeat Voldemort. That's all I've prepared to do with my life. And now, barely aged 22 years, I've done it. I've finished my life's work before my life had hardly begun. I have no skills, no idea how to survive in a world without a great evil. So I figure I can leave and waste away waiting for something to happen, or I can stay and wait for you. Given a say in the matter, I'd choose to stay."

Draco pulled his hand away with a vicious jerk. "Don't kid yourself. You say that now, but in a few months you'd be tired of this life. You'd want to get away. Maybe you'd even hate me for keeping you here. Any life is better than this. And you don't have a choice."

He left, slamming the door behind him.

Harry felt like crying for the first time since Dumbledore died.

Harry fell into a restless sleep. A tiny noise woke him a few hours later.

Draco was there, asleep with one arm wrapped tightly around Harry's waist. Harry lay as still as he could, trying not to disturb the man who shared his bed. He matched his breathing with Draco's, knowing that he had to savor the feeling, the moment, before it was gone.

He was still awake when Draco began to stir. He felt the tentative, fluttering kisses on his back and rolled to face Draco.

He ran a finger along the line of Draco's jaw. "Do you really want me to leave?" he whispered.

"Yes," Draco whispered back. "I'm sick of you. All you do is lie around. You never get any exercise. Pretty soon you'll get fat and I won't love you anymore."

Draco laughed, but Harry didn't join in. One word was ringing through his head.

"I love you too." He kissed Draco, softly, and for a long time, they didn't do any more talking.

The day came quickly, too quickly for Harry to prepare. When Draco woke him up that morning, he was sluggish and sleepy, as if his body and mind were rebelling against what they knew was coming.

Neither Harry nor Draco could find the right words. Harry changed out of the clothes Draco had lent him, with a captive audience sitting on the bed behind him.

"Wait," Draco said as Harry began to replace the borrowed jeans with his own. He pulled Harry close and murmured, "Leave them off. One more time."

"Are you sure?" Harry breathed into that silver hair. He didn't know if one last time would make the parting easier or harder.

"Shut up." Malfoy divested himself of his clothes and dragged Harry into bed.

It felt like saying goodbye. Harry fought tears even as his body was screaming with joy. When it was over, he thought Draco's eyes were clouded too.

Malfoy sat on the edge of the bed again, and buttoned Harry's shirt as if he were a little boy. He spoke quickly, with a small quaver in his voice.

"You can Disapparate as soon as you're off the property. Keep the sunglasses on and don't talk to anyone. Wait until no one is in sight before you..."

"Yes, Mum. I'll be careful and I won't talk to strangers." Harry ruffled Draco's hair.

"Don't be flippant. There's always a chance you'll be seen here and recognized and I'll be arrested. Do you remember the cover story?"

"Lucius Malfoy kidnapped me and kept me imprisoned with the Full Body Bind. When he died, the spell wore off and I escaped," he recited. "Good enough?"

"It would help if you would embellish a little."

"Don't worry so much. I won't give you away. Do you really think I would?"

"Not on purpose. But you are idiot enough to let something slip by accident." His eyes sparkled with good humor and Harry was able to smile for the first time that day.

And then it was time to go. They stood in the kitchen, holding hands and eyeing the door with distaste. One last kiss, then one more.

Goodbye, they said without a word. I'll miss you.

Harry left Draco's side, trying to think that it would be good to see his friends again, good to have his wand back, and to breathe fresh air again.

Harry turned from the door to face Draco. "Will I see you again?"

"I expect so." His voice was lighter than Harry's could manage. "Maybe in a few weeks."

"What happens in a few weeks?"

"I was thinking about kidnapping you again." Draco's face broke into a sly smile.

Harry's heart leapt eagerly. "When?"

"When you're least expecting it. Now go, before I change my mind about letting you."

He raised his hand in farewell and Harry could almost feel those elegant fingers on his face. He nodded and walked outside, knowing that at last he had something to look forward to.

Credits:

"Slytherins are great liars. The best in the world. My father was the world heavyweight champion of Slytherin liars. From growing up with him, I learned the pantomime. There are seventeen different things a fellow can do when he lies to give himself away. A guy's got seventeen pantomimes. A woman's got twenty, but a man has seventeen. If you know them like you know your own face, they beat lie detector spells all to hell." -Borrowed and adapted from True Romance