We Were Strangers

Chapter Three: The Naked Truth

"There is nothing to fear except the persistent refusal to find out the truth, the persistent refusal to analyze the causes of happenings."

The flames crackled happily, whispering to Harry as he sat curled leisurely in an arm-chair by the fire. Angry rain fell against the windows, and he smiled to himself, glad to be inside the protective walls of the school. The Prince's book lay closed in his lap, and he stroked the cover lightly, his mind drifting back and forth from the present moment to the previous afternoon, when everything he had always known had come crashing down around him.

Hermione sat across the room, feverishly writing and throwing glances towards Harry, who pretended not to notice. They were both mutually ignoring the conversation that had taken place that morning, and Harry was grateful that she didn't try to press the subject.

"You could do something, you know," she remarked suddenly, raising her eyes from her work. "I mean instead of just doing absolutely nothing." Harry grinned.

"I am doing something. I'm thinking," he argued, shifting lazily in his chair. "And actually, now that you've come up for some air from studying, I've been meaning to ask you something." Hermione held up her hand, indicating that he should wait a minute, and Harry watched as she quickly put a few finishing touches onto the paper in front of her.

"Go ahead," she sighed patiently, turning to face him. "But...just keep in mind the fact that you have two papers to do tonight, and as far as I know, you haven't even started." With no response from Harry's end of the room, she decided that it was a subject not worth arguing over and shrugged her shoulders in defeat. "That's all I'll say. What do you want to know?"

Harry stared into the fire, unsure of how to phrase the question. The last thing he wanted to do was arouse some sort of suspicion in Hermione, but she was the only one he knew who might have the information he needed stored in her memory banks. Finally, deciding on something close to the truth, he asked, "You know a fair amount of Latin, don't you?" She opened her mouth in reply, but Harry continued, avoiding her eyes and pretending to be intensely focused on the book in his lap. "I...well...I came across this term, actually it was while I was reading...and I don't know at all what it means." He casually shrugged, as though he had only brought it up for conversational purposes. "It looked at if it might have Latin roots. Sentio Sensum. Ever heard of it?"

The last few words had come out of his mouth nervously and quickly, and he waited breathlessly as Hermione tapped her foot and thought about the question. She had an irritating habit of never directly responding when Harry desperately needed her to. A few seconds drifted by tediously, and Harry shifted impatiently.

"Well? Anything?" he asked, a little more forcibly than he had intended, and Hermione glanced at him in annoyance.

"Harry! Give it a minute!" she chided. "I'm fairly certain that I've read the term before...but there's a possibility that I could be mistaking it with something else. Just let me look it up quickly, and...oh honestly Harry, it won't take that long!" she said on seeing Harry's anxious expression. "And you don't seem like you're in a hurry about anything else tonight." Harry rolled his eyes skyward.

"Alright," he agreed, pulling himself stiffly from the chair and walking over to her table.

He waited, pacing restlessly as she flipped through the dusty pages of an ancient Latin book that she had extracted from her bag, and finally, on page 304, she smiled in satisfaction.

"Just what I thought," she said smugly, indicating a worn description at the top of the page, and Harry nearly tripped over her out-stretched leg to bend over and read the tiny type.

"Sentio," the book stated, "Of or having to do with truth and understanding." Harry squinted his eyes in puzzlement, scanning for the completion of the phrase, and found it a few lines down. "Sentio Sensum. The truth of or having to do with another individual. Revealed truth. Of the senses." Harry exhaled through his teeth, staring at the page in bemusement.

"The truth about another individual..." he thought, the words tossing and turning in his mind. "The truth..."

In one swift moment, he made the connection. This was the reason for the incantation's location in the Prince's book. This was the reason for...this was the reason for...he suddenly felt incredibly dizzy. Surely not...It couldn't be...and yet...the words were right in front of him.

He remembered that Hermione was sitting next to him, and he smiled weakly, patting the page vaguely with his hand as though it were some sort of a lovable pet.

"Well...t-there we have it," he said in a falsely cheery tone. "I knew it was something like that. Truth. Yes, er, it did...sound like that. Like...like it would have that definition. Truth. Funny word really...What is truth anyway? Funny word...really..." He was rambling, and he mentally forced his mouth shut, praying that he could pull himself together. Hermione had the same look in her eyes that had been there that morning.

"You, um, knew that it was...'something like that?'" she questioned, her tone full of doubt. "Because I actually got the impression that the Bloody Baron jumped up from the page and bit you."

Harry shrugged again, not trusting himself to open his mouth and spew out another string of nonsense words. Hermione started to question him again, but he could barely listen, let alone comprehend, what she was saying. If the Prince had known his Latin...and Harry was sure that he must have...than Malfoy hadn't been cursed at all. Harry had merely...revealed something that was already there, uncovered something that had been lying dormant in Draco for who knows how long.

"Or perhaps dormant isn't the right word," thought Harry, nodding at Hermione to give an illusion of attentiveness. In a rare moment of panic, Malfoy had let slip the fact that Harry had, in fact, been on his mind lately, so maybe "suppressed" was a more accurate description. "In any case," he thought nervously, "something is happening that...well...that shouldn't be happening between Malfoy and me."

As Hermione continued to express her concerns, Harry gazed blankly at her, speculating about the possible depth and extent of Malfoy's feelings and wondering also...about the depth and extent of his own.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Potions room was filled with the usual intoxicating scents of herbs and old spices, and Harry entered with Ron, heading towards his usual seat in the back. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see if Malfoy was seated yet, and he located the boy in the far, right corner, determinedly staring straight ahead and avoiding Harry's eyes. He exuded arrogance, and there was still a malicious air about him, although Harry could detect that hint of something else, something that Malfoy was obviously trying to cover up.

Professor Slughorn strolled jovially through the door, and stood smiling at his students for a moment before lowering himself heavily into the large arm-chair in front of the black board.

"Small class today, aren't we?" he huffed cheerfully, adjusting the neck of his robes slightly in the early-summer heat.

"Apparation practice, Sir," Ron offered in explanation. "We've all got Quidditch practice this afternoon, and the rest of them won't be home for hours." Slughorn nodded.

"Well, then, no sense in being spread out all the way across the room, hm? Draco m'boy, don't sulk in the shadows over there. Here, come take the empty seat next to Harry."

Harry felt his heart skip a beat, and almost instinctively his palms began to sweat. He awkwardly brushed an invisible bit of dirt from his desk, and raised his eyes to see Malfoy staring at him. There was a short minute of silence in which Slughorn blinked at the two of them expectantly.

"I'm fine over here...Sir," Malfoy said quietly, making no movement to pick up his things.

"Don't be silly, m'boy!" Slughorn exclaimed heartily. "Come one now. We don't have all day." Harry suddenly had the strange sensation that everything around him was shrinking, and it seemed that he and Malfoy were the only two existed, staring at each other, watching each other.

Ron shoved Harry beneath the desk. "Snap out of it," he mumbled under his breath. "What's the matter with you?" Harry pulled his eyes from Malfoy and cleared his throat loudly, adjusting his glasses is embarrassment. Why did it seem that, lately, whenever his thoughts turned to Draco, all of his common sense seemed inevitably to slip away?

Malfoy glanced once more at Slughorn, but when the teacher nodded his head towards the other end of the room, he scowled and yanked his bag up from the floor.

Harry tried to take a deep breath as Malfoy slammed himself angrily into his new seat, but he kept remembering the definition that he had read the night before, and that caused his heart to start racing again. Slughorn had risen to write a complex procedure on the board, and Harry pretended to glance at the wall-clock, so that he could steal a look at Malfoy. The boy wore an irritated frown on his face and was leaning away from Harry as far as was humanly possible given the close proximity of the desks. Harry felt his stomach clench, and he wondered how it made sense to feel anger, tenderness, and disgust all at the same time.

Taking a piece of parchment from his bag, he scribbled the words, "Draco, I think we should talk. I found out some new information that you have the right to know." He pushed it obviously towards the side of his desk, hoping that Malfoy would pick up on the hint, but the other boy's eyes were glazed over, and Harry doubted that he saw anything at all. He didn't know how to attract Malfoy's attention without the people on either side of them noticing as well, so he slipped his hand discreetly under the desk and very lightly touched the boy's leg.

Malfoy started violently and shoved Harry's hand away, giving him a murderous glare, and Ron looked curiously at them. Harry threw his friend a look that said, "Don't worry about it. I'll explain later."

"Just read the damn note," he whispered fiercely to Malfoy, shoving the slip of parchment onto his desk. "I don't like the seating arrangements either, so grow up about it!" Malfoy lowered his eyes to the paper and read the words for what seemed to Harry like an incredibly long time before picking up his quill to write back. He waited until Slughorn had turned to the board again before pushing the note back towards Harry. Harry leaned over so that he could read the parchment privately, away from Ron's wandering eyes, and was surprised to find that Malfoy had only written three words.

"Midnight. Trophy Room." He glanced up, and the two boys locked eyes again, but this time it was only for a moment. Harry nodded curtly, and Malfoy turned away again to stare sharply in the opposite direction. "So we've arranged a meeting," thought Harry, absent mindedly copying down what was on the board, and contemplating how unpleasant it would be to have to tell Malfoy what he had discovered. There would simply be no easy way to go about it.

Ron leaned over to whisper in Harry's ear. "What's going on?" he asked. Harry opened his mouth and then shut it again, deciding to just roll his eyes, which he knew was a gesture that Ron would interpret as, "Malfoy's being an ass again, of course." Ron grinned appreciably and rolled his eyes back, perfectly satisfied with Harry's response. After all, why shouldn't he be fighting with Malfoy? "We hate each other," Harry thought. "We...hate each other."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry got to the Trophy Room at twenty minutes to midnight so that he could give himself some time to think and gather his composure. He had blatantly lied to Ron and Hermione and told them that he needed to be alone to get some air for a while, and they had believed him whole-heartedly, but he felt a guilty pang in his stomach for being so dishonest with his two best friends.

"I need to do this," Harry thought, reassuring himself. "They wouldn't understand." The Trophy Room was completely dark except for a few ghostly rays of moon light drifting in through the windows, and Harry hoped that Malfoy would show up and not leave him here, waiting. It didn't strike Harry currently as the friendliest of environments.

He heard footsteps in the hall outside and quickly moved into the shadows, worrying that a teacher might be doing inspections, but when the heavy doors creaked open, Harry detected a boy's silhouette, and the next moment the figure stepped forward in front of a window, and his features were bathed in moon light.

"Draco, over here," Harry whispered loudly, and the boy looked up and saw Harry gesturing from the other side of the room. Harry listened as Malfoy's footsteps grew closer, until the two of them were standing face to face.

"I didn't think you'd be here," Malfoy admitted, glancing around the room.

"Are you kidding?" Harry asked in surprise. "Which one of us is the reliable one here? I thought you wouldn't show." They were both silent for a minute, looking at each other and at the trophies, not sure where to start or what to do.

Finally, Harry motioned that they should sit down, and they each took opposite sides of a giant window sill. Harry listened to the quiet sounds of the night, wanting to delay their conversation for as long as possible, and Malfoy shifted tensely.

"Look..." Harry began after a few seconds. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just-" His words were cut short by the sound of another pair of footsteps nearing the room, and the boys scrambled to their feet, looking desperately for somewhere to hide.

"The equipment closet!" Malfoy whispered, and the sprinted across the room.

Harry pulled on the door and said a silent prayer of thanks that it was un-locked. He had broken too many rules this term to get caught out of bed at such a late hour, and he was pretty sure that Draco's record wasn't perfect either. The two of them squeezed into the closet and shut the door just as they heard Filch come wheezing into the room. They breathed as silently as they could and listened to the old man scuffle around looking for students or anything else out of the ordinary.

The little space was cramped, and Harry became aware of the fact that his leg was pressed up against Malfoy's. Strangely enough, Malfoy seemed to become aware of this fact in the exact same moment, because they both tried to move simultaneously and ended up falling awkwardly into a position that was much worse than the previous one.

Filch must have heard the noise, because the footsteps stopped, and the two of them froze, Malfoy lying on top of Harry, and Harry with his hand on Malfoy's shoulder, as he had been trying to steady himself. After a few terrifying and eternally long seconds, Filch must have decided to disregard the noise, because the footsteps started up again and grew more and more distant.

"We need to wait a few minutes," Harry whispered, taking his hand from Draco's shoulder and dropping it uncomfortably to his side. His glasses had been knocked slightly and were now digging painfully into his face, but in his position he couldn't reach up to adjust them.

"Can you fix my glasses?" he whispered to Malfoy, wondering if he would receive a sneering insult in response. "I can't...reach...please?" Malfoy stared at him briefly, and then, to Harry's surprise, reached down and slowly slipped Harry's glasses off of his eyes. Harry didn't know if he should be angry, if this was some form of a trick, but Malfoy's face actually looked sincere, which was extremely rare, and Harry just stared at him, equally confused and curious.

Malfoy leaned forward again, as if to set the glasses down, but when his face was over Harry's he stopped, a questioning expression on his face. Harry wondered fleetingly if Draco was questioning him, or questioning himself, but in the next moment all thoughts were gone from his mind as he felt their lips connect. It was the lightest possible connection, made with utmost tenderness, and it was so different from anything that Harry would have expected from the Malfoy he thought he knew. Where was the violent, arrogant boy who had hated him for the past six years?

Harry sighed slightly, and this seemed to be the only encouragement that Draco needed. He pressed himself more firmly onto Harry's mouth, and Harry parted his lips to give him access.

For a moment, Harry tried to think about what was happening, but it made absolutely no sense to him, and he surrendered to the feelings, deciding that he would think it through thoroughly later. He cautiously raised his hands to Malfoy's shoulders again, and moved gently down his back, feeling the smooth texture of his shirt. When he reached the hem, he hesitated for a second and then slipped underneath the fabric, feeling Malfoy's bare skin beneath his fingers.

The other boy shivered and brought his hands to Harry's neck, which he held and softly caressed. They were kissing deeply now, and Harry could feel his body temperature rising rapidly and his heart beating furiously against his chest.

Something sharp was pressing against his spine, and he moved to relieve the pressure. Malfoy slowly lifted his head and stared at Harry, his breathing heavy.

"No...I didn't...you don't have to stop..." Harry said breathlessly. "I was just...my back..." Malfoy slowly raised himself to a sitting position, still holding Harry's gaze.

"We need to stop anyways. It's getting late," he said shortly, straightening his shirt and reaching for the closet door. Harry exhaled loudly and made no effort to rise. "Come on. Get up," Malfoy said, pulling himself out into the room again. "We still need to talk." Harry groaned inwardly. He had temporarily and blissfully forgotten about the reason they had agreed to meet in the first place.

A few minutes later they were both outside, seated on the same window sill that they had left from so abruptly before, although this time they were much closer.

However, the atmosphere was beginning to change perceptibly, and they both looked awkwardly at each other, the rush of spontaneity that they had experienced in the equipment closet fading away. Harry wished that it could be different, but he felt the familiar tension rising between them. Malfoy turned his head away and gazed out the window. "I'm not gay," he said almost forcefully. "I don't know what happened in there, ok? I've never done that before. I've never kissed...I've never done that before." Harry nodded, pressing his hand against his scar again.

"I'm not gay either," he mumbled. "I don't know what...I don't know..." They both stared in opposite directions for what seemed like a long time. Finally, Harry spoke, and his voice had lost some of its tenderness and gained some of the qualities that had always been present in past conversations with Malfoy.

"Look, I might as well get this over with. There's...well there's no point in trying to beat around the bush. The point is...the point is that I looked up the incantation, and Draco, it means-" Malfoy had held up his hand indicating that Harry should stop talking.

"Just...stop," he said, slowly bringing his eyes around to Harry again. "I...I know what it means, ok?" Seeing Harry's confused expression, he continued. "I researched it about an hour after our first...confrontation...and frankly, I'm surprised that you waited so long." Harry stared at him in shock. He had known all along? They both sat perfectly still, just two shadows in a dark room, and Harry wondered how accurate their sources had been.

"What did you...I mean what did you, read, exactly?" he asked nervously, feeling as though he already knew the answer. Malfoy leaned in so that once again their faces were merely inches apart, and whispered so softly that Harry could barely understand, "It's just the naked truth, isn't it?"