Somewhat Like Flying

Draco closed his eyes and wished for death. "Bloody fucking christ," he mumbled, glaring daggers at Potter as if it would somehow make him disappear. A few moments passed, and Potter was still standing by the doorway, staring at him with a shell-shocked look plastered idiotically on his face. He didn't even bother to cover himself up. What would be the point, since Potter had already seen? It would only add to Draco's already enormous embarrassment to have Potter see him scrambling for his clothes, and then Potter would think he had the upper hand. "Do you mind, Potter?" he asked icily.

Potter flushed red and turned his head, directing his glare at the crystal shelves on the wall, on which the multi-colored bath soaps were lined. Draco made a point to stand up and step very calmly out of the bathtub. He picked up his robes where they lay on one of the counters and slipped them on. Then he faced Potter, and waited.

After a satisfying--albeit boring--five or so minutes, Potter crossed his arms. "Are you done yet?"

"I've been done for quite a while," Draco said in a dry voice. Potter looked back at him, flushed again, then frowned in annoyance at himself for having done so. Draco had to admit that, despite the disadvantageous situation, he was quite pleased with himself for making Potter so uncomfortable.

"What in Merlin's name have you be--" Potter began, then stopped himself. He must have realized how redundant that particular question was.

"I think it was quite obvious, don't you?" Draco drawled before he could formulate another question. "Should I tell you anyway? Perhaps go into greater detail?"

"You're disgusting!" Potter spat, glaring at Draco, his embarrassment drowned by the anger. "I don't need to know about what you've been doing."

"Oh, and you just happened to come to the prefect's bathroom, see the 'occupied' light on the door, and decide you wanted to join whoever was in here? Should I be notifying the teachers of your voyeuristic tendencies?"

"I came in because you're not supposed to be out of the dorms past curfew, and it's my responsibility as prefect to discipline any students who break the rules." As if Draco hadn't been a prefect for a year! He knew full well what prefects were supposed to do, and it did not include intruding on other students' bath times.

"You couldn't wait until I came out, or knocked? You could have even come in straightaway, to save me the effort." He rolled his eyes. "Of course not. You were trying to catch me doing something dark and horrible, weren't you? Knocking would have given me the time to cover up, would have defeated the purpose."

"Right," Potter agreed. He looked away, glare at the soaps again. "If I knew you were going to be...doing that, then I would have stayed the fuck outside for sure." He looked like he was going to be sick. It made Draco want to punch him in the face.

"Glad to know," Draco said, scowling.

"I don't know why you couldn't just do it in your own bedroom," Potter mumbled.

"Because, in case you have forgotten, after that fiasco with Nott and the dark spells they took away all the drapes on the Slytherin beds. You may be comfortable with your voyeuristic tendencies but I do not want to become an exhibitionist any time soon, thank you."

"I'm not a voyeur!" Potter told him.

Draco sneered. "Defensive, aren't we?"

"Ten points from Slytherin for being out of bed after curfew," Potter growled, "and five more points for breaking into the prefect's bathroom."

"I didn't break in," Draco corrected. "Terry Boot lent me the key."

Potter frowned, as if the idea of Draco associating with Terry Boot was incomprehensible. Admittedly, this was probably because Potter had mush for brains.

"Why would Terry Boot lend you his key?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Because I complained about not having any privacy, and short of offering his room for my disposal, that was the best he could manage. Terry and I are friends. Not that this is any of your business, Potter." He gave Potter what he hoped was a very, very dark look.

"Why wo--" Again, Potter stopped himself. Apparently Potter was starting to think before he spoke now, which surprised Draco; he hadn't pegged Potter as having the brain capacity for it. Of course, he did it in such a way that caused one to believe he had developed a speaking disorder, but Draco guessed he could excuse that.

"If you're done taking points, can I have a minute to wash up now, or would you like to watch?"

Potter sent him another glare before grabbing the door and slamming it shut behind him.
---

Harry avoided looking at Malfoy the next morning, and willed himself not to think about what he had seen the night before. He wasn't having much luck. The image of Malfoy sitting naked in the empty bathtub with his hand on his cock, flushed pink all over, was a sight not easily forgotten, to Harry's enormous dismay. Can I have a minute to wash up now, or would you like to watch? Malfoy's voice echoed in his mind, taking on a dark, sultry tone that Harry knew for a fact it hadn't possessed in reality.

He cut into his bacon with more force than necessary, causing his utensils to scrape jarringly against the plate. He was not going to let Malfoy get to him.

"You okay, Harry?" Seamus asked beside him.

He snapped out of it, willed his face not to flush through sheer force of will. "Yeah, fine," he said, managing a smile.

"Because you're cutting into that bacon like you want to murder it," Dean pointed out. Across from him, Hermione nodded, her face registering concern.

"Is something wrong, Harry?"

I'm having thoughts of Draco Malfoy touching himself in the bath. "No, I'm fine, really."

Hermione didn't look like she believed him, but they both dropped the matter and went back to eating breakfast.

--

"He's doing it again," Pansy murmured softly. She picked up a spoon and began to crack the boiled egg on her plate with it.

Draco sighed, rolling his eyes and refusing to check. "You might as well just tell me when he stops," he replied. He turned to Blaise and asked him to pass the pepper.

"He wasn't this interested in you when the school year started," she continued. She tilted her head. "What changed?"

"Who knows?" Draco drawled, hoping he sounded nonchalant enough. "Maybe he's finally realized what a model of grace and sophistication I am compared to those blubbering Gryffindors and wants to take a closer look before we graduate and I never let him near me again."

Pansy snorted. "Maybe he has a crush on you."

Draco groaned. "Please, love, not while I'm eating. I think you've just curdled my food."

---

Malfoy looked up and shot Harry the dirtiest look he'd seen in a long while. Has he noticed me looking at him?Harry asked himself with a growing sense of panic. Surely not. He'd been careful.

Hadn't he?

----

It was just Draco's luck that Flitwick decided they should have partners for the final projects. Not only that, he had taken it upon himself to assign the partners. And who other than Harry Potter was to be Draco's partner?

Sometimes, Draco was sure that somewhere up there, the gods were laughing at his expense. Or at the very least, Flitwick was.

"Can we just get this over with as quickly as possible?" Potter said in a morbid tone when they rearranged their seats so they were sitting next to one another.

Oh, Potter did not know how much he would have liked to do that. "We can if you fancy failing this class," Draco told him. That earned him a scowl. "I don't much enjoy the idea of working with you either, Potter. But unlike you I haven't saved the world and therefore don't have any past achievements to carry me through life. I actually have to work in my classes." Back when things were normal and Potter had only saved the Wizarding World from the Dark Lord's rule once, it had irritated him when Draco mentioned how privileged and special he was. Draco was glad to see that the same jibes still worked; he felt a glow of satisfaction when Potter scowled at him. Perhaps working together wouldn't be so bad after all.

---

"Absolutely not," Malfoy said adamantly, crossing his arms across his chest. "No way."

Harry glowered at him. "Why not?" he asked blankly.

"Because I don't want to," Malfoy replied. "It doesn't seem fair that I go up to the Gryffindor Tower when you won't go down to the dungeons, is it? Besides," he said archly, "it is entirely your fault that we got kicked out of the library."

Harry glared. "I wouldn't have had to raise my voice if you'd quit ignoring me," he said in the calmest voice he could, which was, admittedly, not very calm at all. Only Malfoy would demand that they meet at the library just when Harry had Quidditch practices (thank Merlin Ron was able to supervise) and then ignore him for two and a half hours with his nose buried in a Quidditch book. The bloody git was insufferable. Harry couldn't believe he'd spent the last few weeks watching Malfoy--he couldn't hardly stand to look at him now.

"I do apologize, Potter," drawled Malfoy, who was leaning against the wall and tucking a silky strand of hair behind his ear. Harry looked away, because he had just decided that he didn't want to look at Malfoy. "I was under the impression that one goes to the library for the express purpose of research, which in turn implies reading of books, taking of notes, that sort of thing. Obviously I was wrong."

Harry blinked, and shook his head. Why had he even tried to be sensible with Malfoy? "You are so annoying," he mumbled.

Malfoy pushed himself off the wall. "So are you. I'm glad the feeling's mutual. Now," and with this he turned to face Harry again, "can we just agree to meet 8 o'clock tomorrow night outside the Room of Requirement? It is getting late and I have things to do before dinner."

The Room of Requirement. Harry was surprised that Malfoy had picked it, considering what had transpired there only months before. But perhaps it was fitting. "Fine," he answered, "I'll be there."

"See that you are," Malfoy said, then turned and walked quickly away without saying goodbye.

----

Draco noted that since the library incident the day before, Potter had stopped looking at him across the Hall during meals. In fact, Potter seemed to be making a conscious effort not to look at him at all. When he realized this, he smirked to himself, pleased that he'd well and truly gotten to Potter. Now that Potter was no longer staring, Draco didn't have to keep himself from thinking about what had caused the peculiar behavior in the first place. He was sure he could guess what it was, but the thought left an unsavory taste in his mouth that was best avoided.

Shaking his head to clear himself of Potter's image standing frozen with shock in the doorway, Draco walked briskly to the Room of Requirement and stepped inside. Potter was not waiting for him. Of course he would be late--why wouldn't all the world wait with utmost patience for the Golden Boy to grace them with his presence? He probably figured that being there eventually was enough. Draco rolled his eyes at no one in particularly and started selecting books from one of the bookcases.

After a while, Potter practically burst through the door, clearly annoyed at something. When he saw Draco, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What're you doing here?" he asked.

Draco stared. "We were supposed to meet here at 8 o'clock," he told Potter, speaking very slowly, in case the sentence was somehow too complex for Potter, who must have been hit with a bludger during practice or something.

The look of annoyance seemed to intensify, Draco noticed with a vague sense of gleefulness. "I know. I was out there for half an hour waiting for you. You said outside the Room of Requirement!"

"Are you stupid?" Draco asked him, then regretted the question. Curse Potter for making him ask redundant questions. "You weren't there. I wasn't going to wait out in the hallway for you, hovering around like some idiot." He smirked. "You could have just come in."

Potter pinned him with a glare of extreme dislike for a minute or two, then stalked toward the desk and sat, scraping the chair noisily as he did so. The baby.

"Fine. So. What are we doing?" He glared at the books Draco had brought to the desk too. "I don't want to do anything related to dark magic."

That is because you are stupid, Draco wanted to say, but refrained himself.

He narrowed his eyes, surprise softening his frown a bit, and reached out to grab one of the books. "These are...books about Quidditch?"

"You can read. Color me surprised," Draco remarked. "And yes, they are. I thought we could start with a topic we'd both like and can use in everyday life. Quidditch seemed just the thing."

"Good idea." Potter said it grudgingly. "We could read these and brainstorm functions we'd find useful for a broom, or maybe the field."

"Yes, that was why I have these pieces of parchment ready," Draco said drily, and shoved a book into Potter's hand, reopening the one he'd been reading. "We'll compare ideas in an hour."