Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Draco Malfoy Harry Potter
Genres:
Slash
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire
Stats:
Published: 12/05/2002
Updated: 05/30/2003
Words: 114,031
Chapters: 15
Hits: 378,784

Beneath You

Cinnamon

Story Summary:
Draco had no idea that the repercussions of stealing Potter's journal and shoving it down the back of his trousers would be so extreme. Featuring nefarious plots, the mating rituals of Slytherins, double-crossing spells, Ron/Pansy, and Draco/Harry.

Chapter 08

Chapter Summary:
Draco had no idea that the repercussions of stealing Potter's journal and shoving it down the back of his trousers would be so extreme. Featuring nefarious plots, the mating rituals of Slytherins, double-crossing spells, Ron/Pansy, and Draco/Harry.
Posted:
01/14/2003
Hits:
22,196
Author's Note:
Thanks to Lady_Morsmordre, for being so lovely, Ani for all your help, Cindy for your suggestions, and Donna for your support. And no, Geralynn, I don't believe I shall be rewriting any of these scenes to be NC-17-- but do keep asking, perhaps I shall change my mind. You never know...

Chapter Eight

I don't want you to give it all up
and leave your own life collecting dust
and I don't want you to feel sorry for me
you never gave us a chance to be.
And I don't need you to be by my side
and tell me that everything’s all right
I just wanted you to tell me the truth
You know I'd do that for you
So why are you running away?
Why are you running away?

--Running Away, Hoobastank

Somehow, they’d ended up back in the tower, though Harry would never remember quite how it happened. Everything seemed to have melted into a delicious blur and all that mattered was that he was lying on the dusty floor of the abandoned tower and Draco was tangled around him, on top of him. His head was resting on Harry’s chest, his eyes were closed, and he was breathing softly through his nose. Still half asleep and afraid it had all been a strange and vivid dream, Harry reached out and brushed his fingers through Draco’s hair.

At the first shifting of muscles beneath him, Draco woke. It wasn’t slow or gentle, his eyes just flew open suddenly and then flinched shut at the light. Harry held his breath, terrified that Draco would regret it, would sneer at it or laugh or somehow degrade what Harry himself wasn’t quite sure what to make of.

Early morning sunlight was filtering through the window, painting golden lights all over Draco’s body even as he turned his face against Harry’s chest, the light stinging his eyes. “What are you doing?” Draco asked huskily, voice thick from sleep.

Harry was still playing with his hair, and he let his hand drop. “Nothing.”

Stretching like a cat, Draco finally opened his eyes, propping himself up on his elbows and smiling sleepily. “Oh.” He tilted his head to the side and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Alright. I’m hungry.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Hungry? Hungry? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

A faintly amused smile twisted his lips and Draco studied Harry’s face for a few seconds, aware that Harry was pinned beneath him and if he hadn’t been, he probably would have slipped away before Draco had woken up, judging by how nervous he looked.

Rather than waste time with words that wouldn’t have done a thing to reassure him, Draco slammed his lips against Harry’s, so hard that Harry was knocked backwards, head smashing against the hard floor. He moaned at the pain but didn’t push Draco away, only pulled him closer, his nails digging into naked shoulders. It was a rough, dominating kiss, almost as if Draco were branding him, claiming him, and when he pulled away, Harry was shaking.

Now can I get up?” Draco asked, sounding a little petulant, and Harry laughed so suddenly that he nearly choked on it.

“Not a morning person, are you?” he teased when he’d finally caught his breath. If he’d had any doubts, Draco had just destroyed them.

Draco tossed him a dirty look, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. It was drafty in the tower room and Harry shivered as Draco moved away, leaving a chill. Tossing the blanket he’d conjured up the night before over Harry, Draco got dressed and made his way lazily over to the corner where he and Harry had begun stashing food during their homework sessions. There were three chocolate frogs left, and a single bottle of pumpkin juice, and he brought those back, tossing a frog to Harry.

Harry stared down at the frog in disgust. He was still very sleepy, his muscles aching rather pleasantly, and the very thought of eating chocolate made him nauseous.

“I’m tired,” he said, pulling the blanket up to his chin. Draco watched him in silence, and Harry suddenly realized that he was naked beneath the blanket. He laughed sleepily. “Where the hell are my clothes?”

“Harry,” Draco said abruptly, setting his chocolate aside. “We’ve got to talk. About last night. It shouldn’t have —”

He broke off suddenly, aware that Harry had fallen asleep. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled to himself, though he was smiling a little as he pulled Harry’s glasses off, folded them, and set them nearby.

***

Harry woke up alone, sprawled on the floor of the tower with Draco’s blanket tossed over him and tucked up to his chin, and it took him a long while to remember where he was and what had happened. Then he sat up quickly, sucking in a startled breath.

Draco wasn’t there. He looked around the room frantically, but he was very much alone.

He vaguely remembered waking up earlier, and Draco had been there then, hadn’t he? Harry refused to admit to himself how worried he was about Draco’s absence. Rather than wonder if Draco had left because he regretted it, or it had all been some stupid game and even now the entire Slytherin house was laughing at him, he instead checked his watch.

He was twenty minutes late for potions.

Scowling to himself, Harry briefly considered not going, but going on as though nothing had happened, which apparently Draco had decided to do, seemed to be the best option. Five minutes later, his clothes a little wrinkled and dusty, he took off running down the stairs, summoning his Potions books as he went.

He burst into the Potions dungeon, sweating, panting, and filthy from the tower, his hair standing wildly on end, and the entire class turned to stare, including Draco, who was sitting in his usual seat beside Pansy.

The look of shock on everyone’s face, including Professor Snape, would have been comic, had Harry not been so furious at Draco, who, after an amused smirk, rolled his eyes and shook his head, only confirming Harry’s fears.

“Mister Potter,” Snape said finally. “We were under the impression that you were too ill to attend class today. Malfoy claimed he saw you on your way to the hospital wing.”

Harry’s eyes flew back to Draco, who was carefully not looking at him. “I’m better now, sir,” he lied. Snape smirked, deducted points from Gryffindor, and let him get off relatively unscathed. Harry slid into his seat beside Ron gratefully.

“Where were you?” Ron hissed. “You weren’t in bed this morning!”

Harry turned, opened his mouth to reply, and saw Ron’s eyes skim down to the base of his throat and widen. He went an odd shade of puce and turned away without a word, looking rather traumatized. Before Harry could ask why, Snape continued on with the lesson, and Harry was forced to pretend to pay attention.

Intending to speak with Draco after class, Harry was the first one out of his seat, already heading towards the front where Draco was packing up his things. He never made it, however, because Hermione grabbed him by the back of the robes and hauled him out into the hallway, and into a shadowy alcove.

“Just what is wrong with you, Harry?” she whispered. “Are you ill? When Malfoy told Snape that you were in the hospital wing, I got so scared that the sickness was back!”

“I’m fine,” Harry told her, pulling away. “I just fell asleep in the library and slept late.”

She still looked concerned. “You’re not lying to me, are you, Harry? Because why would Malfoy lie for you?”

“I…I’ve gotta get to class, Hermione,” Harry said quickly, forcing a reassuring smile at her. He hurried away, looking for Draco, but the hall was already empty.

Divination was strange. Ron seemed incapable of making anything other than incoherent squeaking noises, the lesson was boring, and everyone was casting him interested, narrow-eyed looks and then whispering behind their hands. It wasn’t until lunchtime that Harry found out what they were saying.

He and Ron were late for lunch, and when they walked in, the entire Great Hall turned to stare, giggling behind their hands. Harry slipped into a seat beside Hermione and Ron sat on his other side. Ginny wasn’t at the table.

“Where’s Ginny?” Harry asked.

Ron made a choking sound and didn’t reply.

“What?” Harry scowled. “What’s this about, Ron?”

“Harry,” Hermione said worriedly. “You and Ginny didn’t…. Did you?”

“Didn’t what?”

Before she could reply, Draco spoke from behind him. At his voice, Harry’s skin seemed to tighten, his eyes widen, and his breathing grow heavier. “So, Potter, is it true?” he asked, and Harry turned. Draco was smirking, faintly amused, and his eyes were sparkling. When Harry turned to face him, Draco’s eyes ran over his face, lingering on his lips, and his smile twitched a little. Only Harry saw it, and it eased his worry somewhat.

“Is what true?” he asked, aware that Ron was shaking with fury. Harry was too distracted to care.

“C’mon, Potter, surely you’ve heard the rumours.”

“Rumours.” Harry shook his head. “What rumours?”

“Malfoy,” Hermione growled warningly, getting to her feet. Harry was suddenly aware that the entire Hall was watching him again. “Get lost.”

“Make me, Mudblood,” Draco spat.

Hermione lifted her hand to hit him and Harry moved without thinking, grabbing her wrist. Everything seemed to freeze. After all, it was unheard of for Harry to defend Malfoy in any way.

“Unnecessary,” Draco said easily. “Let her hit me.”

Hermione jerked away from Harry, glared at him, and hissed, “Fine then, Harry, answer his bloody question. I’m sure Ron is dying to know the answer. Oh, and Ginny’s up in her room, she claimed she was too sick to go to class. Why would that be, Harry?”

Harry started shaking his head slowly, completely bewildered, and Ron finally spoke. “What did you do to her, Harry? You and she didn’t… didn’t… Mum would kill you!”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You think that Ginny and I… that we….What in the world would give you that idea?”

“Could be,” Draco suggested lazily, “the mark some inconsiderate person left on your neck.”

Harry’s face flamed and he clapped one hand over the bruise at the base of his throat. So that’s what Ron had been gawking at in Potions. “We didn’t….” he said, turning to Ron. “I wasn’t with Ginny last night.”

“Then who were you with?” Ron cried. “At least you could have been a bit more considerate! The whole school’s talking about it, Harry, and you know how Ginny feels about you. She told me about Halloween, Harry, she told me! Were you just playing with her? Is that what all of this is? She’ll probably never stop crying!”

“Ron, just listen to me!” Harry snapped. “It’s not what you think. Maybe we should talk about this later.”

“I want to talk about it now,” Ron said stubbornly. Hermione was just watching in silence, and Draco seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

“Ron,” Hermione said finally. “We’ll talk about it later. It’s not helping, making a big scene like this. And maybe if we stop discussing it now, Malfoy will get bored and leave.” She shot him an angry glare.

“Whatever,” Ron said sullenly, turning back to his lunch.

Hermione sat down next to him, and Harry glanced down at them as they sat together. Somehow, the spot he’d been sitting on had been phased out, and Ron and Hermione were closer, effectively preventing him from joining them. Whether it was intentional or not, Harry still scowled and turned to go, when he realized Draco was still standing behind him.

Suddenly nothing else mattered. His irritation at Hermione, Ron, and Ginny faded and all that mattered was Draco, who leaned forward, his cheek brushing Harry’s. “Wait for me in your classroom after History of Magic. We’ve got to talk.”

Harry shivered at the feel of Draco’s breath on his ear and glanced around quickly, but the Hall had lost interest and gone back to their lunches. He nodded at Draco, swallowing heavily, because the longer Draco stayed near, the tighter Harry’s skin felt, and it felt rather like there were a thousand bees underneath it. A giddy, pleasant reaction that he rather liked.

Draco smiled quickly and walked away, and Harry, determined to ignore Ron and Hermione as effectively as they were him, moved further down the table and sat with Neville.

***

History of Magic was Harry's last class of the day, and he lingered while everyone put their books away, pretending to be doing the same. Hermione and Ron ran out without a backwards glance, and soon everyone, including the professor, followed.

It was very quiet and for a few minutes, Harry was worried that Draco wasn’t going to come. He stacked his books up into a pyramid and paced the room a few times, about to give up when the door opened, Draco slipped in, and slammed it shut. Harry was standing right near the door, and Draco’s sudden entrance startled him. He was even more startled when, with a lopsided grin, Draco grabbed him by the front of his robes, slamming him against the wall, and kissing him wildly. Lips and teeth and tongue, Draco hurriedly kissed him while his hands dug at Harry’s robes.

Breathlessly, Harry said, “I was worried you weren’t going to come.”

“You need to have more faith in me,” Draco said distractedly. “Besides, I wouldn’t miss this. I thought about it all day.”

“I thought we were here to talk,” Harry replied, breath catching on a moan when Draco gave up on his robes and moved lower, to the front of his trousers.

Draco grinned and kissed him again, biting his lower lip gently. “Talk later,” he whispered, and Harry nodded in agreement, tearing at Draco’s clothing.

It was faster and wilder than the night before but somehow seemed to take forever. In their haste, buttons and zippers seemed impossible to work, and far too slow. Finally, after endless seconds of fumbling and swearing, all of their clothes were scattered on the ground. It was rough and fast, and rather than easing the tension they’d both felt all day, it only served to increase it to a dizzying level that made every touch seem to burn in the most exciting fashion, until Harry was sure all Draco had to do was brush the palm of his hand against Harry’s body, anywhere and everywhere, and he’d lose control even more than he ever had. It was achingly painful in the best way imaginable, and Draco seemed to sense it, taking his time now when Harry only wanted him to go faster still.

Draco took him against the wall, both of them silent and panting, restraining moans and screams in case anyone was passing through the halls outside, everything made all the more erotic because it was secret and they could be discovered any second.

Afterwards, holding each other up and struggling to breathe, Harry said shakily, “What did you want to talk about?”

Draco laughed breathlessly. “How we couldn’t do this anymore, actually.”

Harry’s eyes widened the tiniest bit. “You… you regret it?”

“As I just proved by shagging you against the bloody wall,” Draco replied sarcastically. “I just thought it would be too complicated. I mean, Harry, none of this was supposed to happen, none of it. It’s too wild even to understand, really. I’ve hated you for years and then all of this happened and now I don’t even know what’s real.”

Someone walked by outside, laughing loudly, and Harry tensed. After their voice faded, he began getting dressed, frowning thoughtfully as he considered what Draco had said. “I don’t think I ever hated you,” he said finally. “Oh, you certainly drove me mad. You made me want to scream. But I couldn’t ever hate you. Like you said, we’re more alike than I’d like to think, and you were so like me, even if every similarity is only a similarity because it is the exact opposite, which really makes no sense. I"m feeling rather incoherent, sorry. But I could no more hate you than I could myself. Because without you, I never would have been me. Savior of the wizarding world, wonder boy of the school, all that load of rubbish. But you’re the same, aren’t you? Savior of the wizarding world? It’s just a different version of the same. One where wizards rule supreme and all that. It’s like, from the time we were little boys, people have been trying to sculpt us into the very image of what their Cause is supposed to be about. I’m supposed to be kind and brave and protect the innocent and the Muggles, and you’re supposed to be ruthless and cruel and protect the heritage of the old families.”

“I was never a little boy,” Draco said with a sharp smile.

“C’mon, Draco, of course you were. We both were.”

“Well, maybe. Technically. But certainly not emotionally. Malfoys are never little boys, Harry, and if we are, it’s not for nearly as long as it is for everyone else.”

“You were a little boy,” Harry said softly, yet firmly. “I remember. A little boy with huge silver eyes and a pointed face and robes that spilled over his hands in the robe shop. Quivering in excitement about starting at Hogwarts the way all the other little boys were. You may have been a Malfoy, Draco, but you were human first, just like me.”

“Just like you?” Draco replied caustically. “Come on, Potter, when did those Muggles of yours let you be a little boy? In that cupboard under the stairs? Admit it, we’re more alike than you ever thought. Neither one of us was ever a child, and both of us were born into reputations too large for us to carry. Me, the heir of Malfoy, you, the savior of the wizarding world. It would seem we were destined to be opposites, extremes of both ends of some good-vs-evil spectrum, wouldn’t it?”

Harry shrugged. “So what if that’s the way it is? All I know is that you’re the only one in the entire world who actually listens when I talk, and who doesn’t like me because of some scar on my forehead. In fact, you hated me for it. So it’s all in how you look at it, the complications that would arise from… whatever this is. You could look at it as something immensely confusing, full of tangled loyalties and all that. The dark side and the light side, family loyalty vs. personal desires. Or you can look at it as simply something that was Meant To Be. A natural progression. There could have been no other result from the intensity and the tension we’ve been building between us all of these years.”

“Fate’s a lovely thing to believe in, when it suits your purposes, isn’t it, Potter?”

Harry smiled very sweetly. “It’s not fate, it’s nature. Just as natural as the rain that follows a gathering of dark clouds. I happen to like the rain.”

“There are things I’ve got to confess, stupid things that I’ve done,” Draco said quietly. Harry was sitting on the floor, fully dressed, and Draco sat across from him, still doing up his robes.

“Everyone does stupid things, Draco.”

Draco scoffed. “Name one stupid thing you’ve done, Potter.”

Harry thought for a moment and then smiled slowly, deviously. “Well, I replied to your first message in that dratted journal rather than just taking it and running as fast as I could.”

“Cute,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “But that journal, Harry… There’s something you don’t know.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Draco took a deep breath. “There’s a second property to Gobbler’s Ink, Harry.”

Harry paused, his eyes narrowing, and then he asked, “What is it?”

“The second property of Gobbler’s Ink is that, when made with the blood of a lover, it acts as sort of a binding spell.” He brushed Harry’s lips with his fingertips. “My blood, Harry. And yours.”

“What— What do you mean?”

Draco sighed, letting his hand drop and turning away. “You said it yourself, Harry. We were lovers before we ever knew it.”

“What does it do?” Harry asked, shaken.

“I… didn’t really know, when I made the ink. After all, never in a thousand years did I think it would work this way. But after you became ill, I researched the second property. It’s a binding spell that… makes it so that… you’re the first thing I think about each morning, and the last thing before I sleep. You’re in my blood and in my head and in my dreams, and I’m sure it’s the same for you. It makes it so that the only thing we can write, in the ink, is the truth. We can’t lie to each other, Harry. If I even tried to lie to you, you’d know in a second that it was a lie. It’s sort of… a love spell.”

Harry’s eyes were wide. “A love spell.”

Draco hurried to reassure him. “It wouldn’t have come into effect if there wasn’t something there in our blood that would cause the second property, rather than the first, to come into effect! So there was something other than hatred in our blood, it only recognized it before we did.”

“But you… don’t know how much of this is real, and how much is a direct result of the ink.”

Draco paused, and then slowly shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “I don’t know. That’s why we can’t do this anymore.”

“But it means that… everything we’ve written and said was true? All of it?”

“Yes, bloody all of it!” Draco snapped. “Everything you wrote was true because you were under my spell, and everything I wrote was true. Because I was under yours.”

Harry smiled, very slowly and grudgingly. “Under my spell?” he scoffed. He was trying desperately to think of someway to deny that this could all be a spell. It surely couldn’t be true… this had to be real. It was the most real thing he’d ever felt. “Can the spell be reversed?”

Draco’s eyes flashed with a second of hurt, hurt that Harry was so eager to break the spell and end it, and then it was gone. “I think so.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Would… would it mean we’d lose…this?”

“I don’t know. It depends how much of it is real.”

“A lot of it, I’d say,” Harry said, letting out his breath in a rush. “Because you’ve been under my skin and in my blood for years. I don’t want to lose this, but the very idea that it’s just a spell makes me sick.”

“Alright.” His eyes were dark and as flat as stones.

Harry smiled, swallowing a sudden nervousness in his throat and touching Draco’s cheek with his fingertips. “I do think of you,” he whispered. “The last thing before I sleep and the first thing when I wake up.”

“It’s just the spell. We’ll break it and it’ll go away.”

“We’ll see,” Harry said, not sounding convinced. “How do we break it?”

“The book,” Draco said. “We need to destroy the book.”

Harry glanced out the window. “It’s outside, buried in snow.”

“We’ll have to find it.”

They split up, going to their respective dormitories to get their cloaks and then meeting up in the hollow.

“It should be around here, by the tree,” Harry said. “Unless something took it for a nest or something.”

Draco didn’t reply, only fell to his knees and started digging in the snow with his bare hands, scarcely feeling the cold. Harry joined him, and it was a silent, solemn few minutes before Harry’s numb hands closed on the brittle, frozen book. The ink well was right beside it.

“Don’t touch it,” Draco told him. “It’ll probably still have ink in it and I don’t know how susceptible you are to the poison now.” He brought his foot down hard on the glass well and it shattered. “Let’s go.”

They walked back, side by side and silent again. Harry was more nervous than he wanted to let on, his mind filled with horrible worries of breaking the spell only to dislike Draco all over again and regret everything.

He didn’t want to hate Draco.

What if they forgot everything? He didn’t want to forget. It was something secret, something that made him feel alive for the very first time.

“I’ve got to get a few things from my room,” Draco said quietly. “Potion ingredients. It’s not as simple as tearing the book apart. Wait for me in the tower.”

Harry nodded and turned towards the staircase that would bring him to the tower.

On the upper floor, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were walking down the hall together and he tried to shrink back around the corner, but Hermione saw him.

“Harry! We were looking for you!” she cried.

“Just to accuse me of sleeping with her?” he asked sourly, scowling. “Or sleeping with someone else just because I want to hurt her?”

Ginny’s face flamed and Ron couldn’t look at him. He still looked furious. “She told us that you didn’t,” Hermione told him. “She just wasn’t feeling well this morning.”

Harry glanced at Ron, who still looked furious. Ginny said nervously, “I’m sorry, Harry, I never even thought Ron would assume that.”

“Yeah, well, he did.”

“Who was it, then?” Ron said in a quiet, enraged tone.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry snapped.

“Ron, Harry, please,” Hermione pleaded.

“I don’t understand,” Ginny said, looking worried. “Who was what?”

“Never mind,” Ron snapped, glaring at Harry. “C’mon, Gin.” He grabbed her arm and started tugging her down the hall, and with an apologetic glance, Hermione followed.

“Wait!” Ginny cried, jerking her arm out of her brother’s grasp. “I want to talk to Harry. Alone. I’ll catch up.”

Ron’s scowl grew more furious as Ginny ran back to Harry, but he didn’t stop her. Harry waited, arms crossed over his chest, fighting the urge to sneer at her. He really wasn't in the mood for this.

“Are you alright?” she asked, studying his face. He wondered if she would find anything there to tell her exactly what the problem was.

“Yes.”

“You seem…bothered. It wasn’t me, was it?”

She looked so worried, and Harry sighed. It wasn’t her fault, after all, that she bored him senseless. “It wasn’t you, Gin.”

She smiled and he was suddenly worried that she was going to kiss him or something. She didn’t; maybe she had seen the change on his face. “Alright. I better go.” She dashed off down the hall and Harry shook his head as he felt a headache coming on.

Draco wasn’t there yet when he arrived, and Harry flopped down on the floor, sighing and closing his eyes. Things had gone crazy, stark raving mad. From the night before, when Draco had woken him and forced him out onto the roof of the tower, to that blasted snow fight and, of course…whatever that had been, in the snow. And then Ron’s reaction, and Draco’s revelation about the spell…

The spell was the thing that hurt the most. The very idea that all of this was some by-product of magic made him furious.

By the time Draco got there, Harry had worked himself into a fury. “You know,” he hissed as soon as he saw Draco. “As soon as you get this blasted spell off me, I’ll never think of you again. I’ll forget you exist. I’m sure all the things we’ve done will make me sick.”

Draco studied him in silence and then smiled a little, almost wistfully, putting down the things he’d gotten from his room. “Harry, you forgot,” he chided quietly. “Until we break the spell, you can’t lie to me without me knowing it.”

Harry's eyes narrowed and he took a deep breath, the tiny smile on Draco's lips making his anger soften into something that felt like butterflies against his skin, light and fluffy and sweet. He hated it; it wasn't real. He wanted it to be real.

Draco went about preparing a fine, flammable powder, grinding roots and herbs in silence, while Harry watched.

“Can I help?” he asked.

For the first time in nearly an hour, Draco smiled. “With your skill in Potions? No. But start a fire burning in the centre of the room. Ward it first so the floor doesn’t catch on fire.”

Harry did as commanded, and soon, blazing heat was coming off the fire he’d started.

“I need some of your blood,” Draco said finally, setting the pale green powder aside and picking up a dagger.

“Blood? Why?”

“The spell is made with blood, yours and mine, and it can’t be undone without it. I won’t cut too deeply, it’ll hardly bleed at all.”

Still nervous, Harry held out his arm. Holding his hand gently, Draco drew a light line down the inside of Harry’s wrist, which, no more than a scratch, only drew tiny beads of blood.

“Merlin’s sake, Draco,” Harry snapped, bringing his other hand up and pressing down on Draco’s hand, forcing the dagger in deeper. He hissed at the sting and his blood rushed up, swelling around the dagger and then running down, over his hand.

His hands were trembling when Draco quickly moved a vial to catch some of the blood. “Too deep,” he mumbled. “I didn’t need this much.”

“It’s fine,” Harry growled, jerking his arm away. Draco had brought bandages and Harry picked them up, balling them up and holding them against the wound.

“I’ll magic them better after this spell, any other magic in the room will mess with it,” Draco said, having gotten control of himself. He cut his own wrist, caught the blood in another vial, and then spent another hour mixing precise amounts of other liquids Harry could not identify. The scents of them singed his nostrils and made him feel slightly ill. Adding the blood to the liquid mixture last, Draco then turned to the fire. He was holding a paintbrush in one hand and the crock of blood-coloured liquid in the other. “Gobbler’s Ink originated in a small tribe in Africa,” he said absently. “Though it had a different name then, of course.” He started painting bold strokes on the floor that seemed to soak into it, quickly becoming the dusty colour of dried blood. He continued the design all around the fire until there was just a tiny space left, right in front of Harry, all that kept the blood ring from being finished. “You’ve got to be inside the ring,” Draco told him, and Harry stepped inside.

The heat seared his skin, the fire burning unnaturally hot as the temperature flared briefly while Draco finished the ring. Then, fire flickering over his features, he picked up the powder and the journal, glancing at Harry rather nervously.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly, barely heard over the roaring of the fire. The heat was making Harry feel dizzy, feverish, and images danced through his mind of the day he’d finally fully succumbed to the fever, the first time he had kissed Draco.

Tell me this is real,” he had begged, lost in fever. This was no different, really.

Swallowing hard, he said, “Until I was eleven years old, everything everyone had ever told me was a lie. I need to know if this is real.”

Draco’s face seemed carved from marble, and he didn’t nod or speak as he tossed the powder, crock and all, into the flames. They flared, turning green and cold. Harry shivered, watching them in fascination, and then Draco threw the journal in.

Consuming the little book with a hiss, the flames writhed over the leather cover, curling the pages and charring them. Harry watched until, with a small flash, the book was gone and the fire flickered and died. Though imprints of the flames still danced in his eyes, the room was suddenly flat and still, blood ring a mere smudge on the floor.

“You alright?” Draco asked in the sudden silence.

Harry swallowed. “Is it done?”

“Yes.”

“The spell is gone?”

Draco searched his eyes and then said quietly, “I hate Herbology. Lucius is my middle name. I think I could love you. Which one was the lie?”

Harry felt like he’d be punched in the stomach, and he flinched. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

“Then we know it worked, don’t we?” Draco said with sardonic and cynical humor.

***

It was still crimson and gold, not fading the least at the edges, not dying.

Harry lay on his back in his bed, the hangings drawn, twirling the leaf Draco had left in the journal between his fingers. It was still rather early for bed, and most of his house was still down in the common room. He was hoping no one would disturb him, especially Ron, who was still furious by all accounts.

He didn’t have the patience for it. He didn’t seem to have the patience for a lot of things, really, not any more. Just Draco. Which, of course, took a lot of patience.

Harry carefully tucked the leaf back onto his trunk, the stem of it slipping under the hatch and holding it there.

He couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t think of anything except the harsh scent of magical flames destroying paper and ink, the look on Draco’s face as green flames danced in his eyes. Harry wouldn’t let himself think of anything else, like the taste of Draco’s mouth or the feel of his tongue in Harry’s own. Or his hands or his teeth or his body, all over Harry’s… the way he stopped breathing when he was inside him, the way his hands would shake… no, Harry wouldn’t think of any of that.

Except he couldn’t seem to help it, and with a frustrated groan, Harry rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. Even just a few quick thoughts about not being able to think about it had succeeded in making his blood seem to burn all over again, his skin tighten in that strangely painful and pleasurable way.

Harry fell asleep, and Draco was, of course, the last thing he thought of before he did.

***

“You smell of astinine,” Snape said suddenly, directly behind Draco, causing him to jump.

“What? Oh. Professor, I didn’t see you there.” Draco swallowed, hoping he wasn’t about to get in trouble for being out of bed after hours.

“Apparently not. And the smell?”

“I was making a potion earlier,” Draco told him, shifting and trying not to feel nervous. He’d never felt nervous in Snape’s presence before.

“Astinine is one of the key ingredients in the making and breaking of all aspects of Gobbler’s Ink. I do hope you haven’t been playing around with that, I daresay Potter wouldn’t survive another run in with it.”

Draco’s nostrils flared and a vague sort of fury burned in him at even that casual mention of Harry’s death. “No harm came of it, I assure you.”

Snape seemed to want to ask any number of questions, most likely regarding Draco’s reasons for the Gobbler’s Ink, and the eventual results. He, after all, knew of all the properties. Instead, he merely said, “And what are you doing out of bed at this late hour?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Draco replied, and it was the perfect truth, except that he hadn’t mentioned the fact that he hadn’t bothered to try.

Snape nodded. “I could get you a sleep potion. Dreamless Sleep.”

Draco jumped, shivering. After all, dreams of Harry were the one thing that would prove without a doubt that it had been real. Without the spell to induce them, there had to be another explanation, and he could only think of one possibility. “No, sir,” he said quickly. “I’m actually feeling a bit tired now.”

Snape studied his face again and than nodded abruptly. “A word of caution, however, Malfoy. It is not wise to get too dependent on something that can’t possibly last. Take it from someone who knows. Those with a death wish are inevitably granted their wish.”

“Are you saying I’ve got a death wish?” Draco asked, confused.

“Do you regularly engage in foolish heroics in which your life is again and again threatened?”

“No.”

“Then no, Malfoy, I’m not.” With an enigmatic smile, Snape turned and walked away.

It was moments later, after he was alone again, that Draco realized Snape had been talking, of course, of Harry. “He hasn’t got a death wish,” Draco grumbled to himself.

He made his way up to his room, crawling into bed and, surprisingly, nearly instantly falling asleep, mumbling one more time, “Death wish,” in a scoffing sort of tone.

He dreamed of Harry.

***

It was over. There was no explanation for it other than that. It had all been the spell. Draco wondered why he wasn’t bawling his eyes out at the news.

It could be, of course, that Malfoys didn’t cry. Probably.

He glanced over at Harry once more, but the other boy seemed immune to his stare. He seemed intent upon staring a hole in Snape’s forehead. He wasn't just avoiding Draco, however, but Weasley and Granger as well.

It had all been the spell, then. Because surely if he still felt anything, anything at all, Harry would have looked at him, spoken to him, sat near him. Because Draco knew that when Harry had come into the room, Draco had been instantly aware of it, had instinctively longed to be closer.

Apparently it wasn’t a returned sentiment, and the whole tragic, unrequited-ness of it was so very cliché that Draco was scoffing at himself, let alone what anyone else would say should they ever hear of the madness. The idea of Draco pining over anyone, especially Harry Potter, was ridiculous.

It was also true.

But of course, Draco didn’t have to admit it to anyone, even himself. Denial, after all, was another one of those things Malfoys were so good at. Something Draco himself had spent six years perfecting.

Potions ended, and Draco left the dungeons, still scowling. Crabbe and Goyle, intimidated by his black temper, had found other companions to walk with, and Pansy was giggling with Weasley, so he was alone as he stalked up the stairs and down the hall, heading towards his next class.

***

“Pansy,” Harry said, feeling rather nervous. She looked up at him, startled. Ron, too, looked shocked, and then furious. He didn’t speak, but then, Harry hadn’t expected him to. It wasn’t why he’d approached the two of them, snogging in a doorway to an abandoned classroom. His stomach seemed filled with acid and he didn’t think he could stand an entire night of lying awake in his bed wondering and wishing and remembering. It would drive him mad.

“What?” she asked.

“Does Malfoy like Herbology?”

She looked confused and said slowly, “I don’t think so. He finds plants terribly boring.”

Harry nodded, flashed her a weak smile, and said, “Thought so.” He walked away with Ron glaring daggers into his back, but Harry couldn’t care. Classes had just ended, and he was feeling even worse than he had all day. He’d been so worried that he’d see repulsion and rejection on Draco’s face that he had avoided looking at him all day. Which was extremely difficult, given how much he generally liked to look at Draco. Even when they’d hated each other, he had enjoyed watching emotions playing on the other boy’s face, in his eyes.

And now, there was only a fifty-fifty chance that Draco had been lying when he had said what he had said the day before. ‘I think I could love you.’ Harry shivered.

Finding out for sure, however, was something even Harry Potter, Hero and Gryffindor to the Core, lacked the courage to do. After all, if Draco had lied about loving him…it could destroy him. Drive him mad.

There was a mirror over the sink in the boy’s bathroom, and, long after his bath and while his hair dried into dark wisps around his face, Harry studied his reflection. His green eyes, his dark hair, the scar on his forehead. He traced it thoughtfully. If it hadn’t been for that dratted scar, Draco never would have hated him in the first place.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true, Harry remembered. Draco had wanted to be Harry’s friend, originally, and it had been Harry who had rejected him. So really, if Draco rejected him now, it would only be fair, wouldn’t it?

He was desperately wishing there was someone to go to for advice. He certainly couldn’t go to Ron. Not only was Ron still furious, Harry couldn’t imagine what he would think if Harry confessed that not forty eight hours before, Harry had been snogging Draco, and more. That Draco had been inside him. Harry still got shivers at the memory, the delicious sort of shivers. The removal of the spell hadn’t affected that. In fact, it hadn’t changed anything, except that Harry could no longer tell when Draco was lying, not that he had ever really been able to before. Which meant, of course, that Draco hadn’t lied, since this strange relationship had begun, or else Harry would have noticed.

But he still wished there were someone to advise him. Staring into a mirror would hardly help, he knew, even if it were a mirror that could talk, which it couldn’t. If it could talk, it would mostly just comment on the hickey on his neck, which everyone else in the bloody school seemed so obsessed with. Like it was a huge deal. It wasn’t, not really.

He could just imagine what a mirror at the Weasley house would have to say about it. ‘Now that’s what I like to see, evidence of a good shagging.’ Alright, he didn’t really need to imagine it, he’d heard a mirror say just that to Percy Weasley the summer before, when Percy had Apparated suddenly into the small entrance hall of their home, his hair wild, breathing heavily. Whether or not Percy really had just returned from a ‘good shagging’ was in doubt, though he did throw a fit befitting someone in extreme denial. The only evidence against the mirror’s claim was that Percy had just returned from Oliver Wood’s London Flat…

Harry’s eyes widened as he briefly considered that in a new light. Based on his own recent experiences, it was quite possible…

His musings were cut off abruptly when the door opened and Draco walked in.

They stared at each other, wide-eyed with shock and hardly daring to breathe, waiting for some sign. Finally, Draco spoke. “Bloody everlasting hell. Figures you’d be in here, Potter. It’s late, what are you doing here? I didn’t think anyone would be here.”

“I was busy,” Harry replied defensively. “I did Charms homework until late, and this was the only time I could get away for my bath.”

Draco’s eyes flickered to Harry’s damp hair. “Ah. Well then. Hurry along. I can’t go to class smelling like this tomorrow, and I certainly can’t bathe with you in here.” He made an arrogant shooing motion with his hand and Harry felt his chest tighten a little bit. That was it then. Over. Obviously Draco felt nothing any longer.

“I think... I think you smell fine,” Harry said, sounding uncertain. He made no move to go, standing there staring, his throat burning with something like tears.

Eyes narrowed, Draco studied him for a while. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”

“No. Why would I?” Harry asked, turning away.

“Exactly. Why would you.” But it was Draco’s turn to sound uncertain. “Unless…”

He trailed off, and Harry spun back around. “Unless what?”

“Nothing.” Scowling, Draco walked past him, turning on the tap for the bath, a stream of hot water hitting the ceramic bottom and breaking the silence. Steam rose up off the water, and soon the room was filled with swirling, sticky heat.

He hadn’t moved. Harry watched Draco, who seemed determined not to acknowledge him. Only after the bath was filled and Draco turned off the water, did Harry speak.

“Draco, we need to talk.” It had taken a lot of courage even for that.

His gray eyes were cold, and Harry would have lost his nerve if he hadn’t noticed Draco’s hands were shaking the tiniest bit. “About what? The spell’s broken.”

Harry took that for proof. Draco no longer felt the same. How much clearer could he be about it? “Fine. Yeah. Same here.” He turned to go.

“Good,” Draco said in a thick voice. “I never wanted any of this anyway, none of it.”

Harry froze and then turned around slowly. “Liar,” he hissed.

Eyes widening a bit, a sharp smile lit up Draco's face. “You want to fight, Potter?” he snarled.

Harry didn’t have his wand with him, but it didn’t matter. If he could not touch Draco gently, he’d touch him in anger, and with that in mind, he slammed his fist into Draco’s face. Draco laughed, even as he shoved Harry, sending him stumbling back, mist swirling. With a growl, Harry launched himself at Draco with enough force to knock him to the ground, sprawling on top of him.

It was a shock, being pressed against the length of Draco’s body that suddenly, and Harry froze, his eyes flying to Draco’s face, his hands twisted in the front of Draco’s shirt. Draco was breathing very, very heavily and his eyes were closed. Against his hip, Harry could feel evidence that fury wasn’t the only thing making Draco breathless.

His lips were close enough to Draco’s that they nearly touched when Harry whispered, “What’s your middle name?”

Draco’s eyes flew open and met Harry’s and the coldness inside of them was gone. Steam had dampened his hair, made it curl a little at the ends. “I haven’t got one,” he said, in a voice that nearly cracked.

Harry’s fists, tangled in Draco’s robes, flattened against his chest, and he breathed out silently as he lowered his head, so his cheek brushed Draco’s, and Harry rested his head on Draco's shoulder, turning his face and burying it in the side of Draco's neck. Draco hesitated for a moment, before lifting one hand and burying his fingers in Harry’s damp hair, his other hand slipping up to rest on the middle of Harry’s back. They lay like that for a long while, tangled together on the floor while Draco’s bath cooled and the mist settled. Both of them were breathing deeply and adjusting to this, being this close with nothing to blame it on, nothing to hide behind. No magical spells drawing them together, no lies and deceptions. It could have been hours later when Harry finally sucked in a trembling breath and said, “I did think of you. Last thing before I went to sleep and first thing in the morning. It’s always been that way and the spell-breaking couldn’t affect that anymore than it could affect this.”

Draco turned his face a little and closed his eyes. Harry felt his eyelashes brush his cheek as Draco did it. “I dreamed of you.”

Smiling a little, Harry lifted his head and staring down at Draco. “You did?”

Draco nodded silently, and Harry kissed him then, very lightly, his fingers tracing circles in the tiny beads of moisture the steam had left on Draco’s face. Then he pulled away, and Draco said quietly, “So what does this mean?”

Harry sat up, grabbing Draco’s hand and pulling him up as well. “I thought that when the spell broke, you didn’t want me anymore. I spent all day regretting that I didn’t just let you leave the spell alone, because the only reason I had you take it off was because I wanted to prove that it was real, but I thought I’d failed in that.”

He blinked. “That’s why you wanted me to break it? Harry, I thought you wanted to prove that it wasn’t real!”

“Why would I want to deny this?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Because it’s wrong.”

Harry reacted as if he’d been stung, jerking away. He stared at Draco for a long moment, his eyes narrowing, righteous anger that Draco would dare call this wrong filling him. With a low growl, Harry slammed his lips against Draco’s grinding his teeth against his lips in some sort of punishment for trying to pretend that this was beneath him. The morally deficient son of Voldemort’s right-hand-man found this wrong?

Draco responded predictably. He moaned and returned the kiss, flipping Harry so that he was beneath him, back pressed against the stone floor, dominating him, tearing at his clothes.

Draco broke the kiss he’d taken control of, sat up, straddling Harry’s waist, and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Harry growled again, shoving Draco off of him and standing up, jerking his trousers off. He grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled him to his feet, and before Draco could even catch his balance, Harry had pinned him to the wall, kissing him almost violently.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked breathlessly, as Harry pulled away to focus on Draco’s trousers.

“D’you want me to stop?”

“Hell no.”

“Then shut up.”

Draco leaned his head back against the tiled wall, closing his eyes and swallowing heavily. “I think I’ve been a bad influence on you,” he said, his voice shaking a little. “I mean, this is very Slytherin of you.”

Harry didn’t bother to reply. Anger at Draco’s words had made it hard to think, but even that was nothing compared to what the fire in his blood was doing to his mind now.

Draco had to bit his lip to keep from making a sound as Harry fell to his knees before him, and Draco grabbed the counter for support.

“Harry… Harry, what are you doing? I…ohhh…” He sucked in a shaky breath, closing his eyes. “Oh god. Don’t stop…”

Harry did, standing up again and when he pressed his open mouth to Draco’s, Draco could taste himself on Harry’s tongue.

The floor was wet, puddles of water from Harry’s bath and settling steam from Draco’s making it slippery, and as they fought for control of the kiss, they slipped, falling together into the bath and splashing most of the water over the edges, onto the floor.

It didn’t matter though, that Harry’s hair was soaked again, and it had nearly dried, or that his glasses were now spotted with water. Draco’s skin was slick with water and it made him feel like silk, and later, as they lay together trying to catch their breath, Harry whispered, “Now try to tell me again that this is beneath you.”

“It’s not that it’s beneath me, Harry, that’s not why it’s wrong.” Draco’s voice was husky.

“Why, then?” Harry buried his head in the side of Draco’s neck. He was still shaking.

Draco was silent for a long moment, and then he said quietly, “Because. Because it’s an archetype. A cliché. Tempting the light into darkness. That’s why it’s wrong.”

“Tempt me, alright, but not into evil. Into you. All over you. Draco… This isn’t wrong. How can it be wrong?” Harry sounded like he was begging, and the knowledge made him wince.

Draco shook his head and replied in a lost tone, “It can’t be. It’s the most right thing I’ve ever known. It has to be wrong, Harry, it has to be.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Harry cried desperately.

This doesn’t make any sense! It’ll never last, you know. It’s doomed from the beginning. Ever since we’ve known each other, we’ve repelled each other like magnets. I pushed you closer to Dumbledore and you became his Wonder Boy and I grew so…so jealous that I responded by pushing myself as far away as I could, straight into Voldemort and if you get hurt by this, by becoming my weakness… Harry, it’s wrong.”

“I’ve never seen you fall apart like this.”

“That’s because I never have.”

It was silent for a long time, and then Harry sat up. Water ran down his back and chest, but he didn’t notice, untangling himself from around Draco and then helping him sit up as well. The remaining water in the bath lapped at their legs. “Draco,” Harry said, very gently. “This has nothing to do with Voldemort or Dumbledore. It’s just me and you. That’s all it’s ever been.”

Draco scowled. “I don’t think I know how to make you understand.”

“You’ve never cared if I understand you before, why start now?”

“Because now it has everything to do with you and if you don’t understand, you’ll be hurt.”

“I’m not afraid. Draco, you said this is the most right thing you’ve ever known. Isn’t that enough?”

“I said a lot of things,” Draco replied almost absently.

“Like that you thought you could love me.”

Draco’s eyes flew to Harry’s and then flicked away. “Yeah. Like that.”

Harry couldn’t think of a thing to reassure Draco. It was incomprehensible that Draco would deny himself something that gave him pleasure, just as incomprehensible that he would do it out of worry for someone else.

Instead of wasting words that would be awkward and unsure, Harry touched Draco’s face, turning back towards his own, and kissed him very, very gently, coaxingly. It was different than anything else, because for the first time, Draco let himself be led, touched without needing to dominate, controlled without needing to fight it. It wasn’t half as bad as he had always thought it would be.

Harry pulled away and said, “Trust me, Draco. It’s right.”

“Fine, Potter,” Draco replied finally, smirking a little and rolling his eyes. “You’ve convinced me. Or at least, I’ll let it go, because any more of this kind of convincing and we’ll still be in here come morning and, judging by our luck, some professor will walk in on us.”

Harry grinned. “You know you liked it.”

“Mmm. Yes. I’m going to have to run myself another bath now, you know.”

“Do it, and I’ll wash your hair,” Harry suggested impishly.

Draco looked appalled. “I’m quite capable of washing my own hair, Potter!” he snapped.

Harry laughed, climbing out of the bath. His clothes were wet and he pulled them on with a grimace. “Fine then, I’ll leave you to it.”

Harry made his way to the door, and was just about to slip out into the hall, when Draco called, “Potter?”

He turned. “What?”

Draco was smirking playfully. “One of these days I’m gonna have to teach you how to kiss like a man.”

Harry tried desperately to think of a reply to that, his face slowly turning red, but instead, he just slammed the door and hurried away.

Draco’s laughter followed him all the way down the hall.