So Close

So close

There. It was done. Against his better judgement, he'd delivered a warning of the prospective danger to Harry. It was out of his hands now, and despite himself, Draco felt an immense relief, like a wet, woollen cloak had been lifted from his shoulders and suddenly he was able to think clearly for the first time since his Father had revealed to him what Voldemort had planned for Hogwarts within this very hour.

He casually leaned back against the cold stone wall, folding his arms carelessly across his chest, and raised an eyebrow as he faced Harry. His face was a mask, betraying nothing of what he felt inside; not the fear, not the terror, not the relief or hope or anxiety. Just the same casual contempt that he showed any other day of the year.

He could have told Dumbledore. Should have told Dumbledore. But his gut instinct upon learning of Voldemort's plan was to tell Harry. Harry would know what to do. Harry always knew what to do. Besides, it only seemed fair that Harry should be the first to know, since the planned attack upon Hogwarts was to be a mere diversion; the brunt of the attack would be aimed at capturing the Boy Who Lived.

If Father ever finds out that I warned Harry . . . He suppressed the chill that suddenly swept his body and raised an eyebrow at Harry, who was looking at him suspiciously. Looking at Harry now, he knew he'd made the right decision. Harry might not trust him, but he wouldn't take the news of a planned attack on Hogwarts lightly, regardless of the informant.

Harry's face was composed and not a little curious when he finally spoke. "Why should I trust you? I don't recall you ever having warned me of danger before."

"Haven't I? How very remiss of me," Draco drawled.

Harry's forehead creased in a concerned frown, and without realising it, he bit down on his bottom lip. Was Malfoy reliable? Dumbledore himself had said that Malfoy was simply a normal boy, not yet swore to the Death-Eaters, and whilst Harry realised Malfoy wasn't necessarily a Death-Eater, he still had his doubts when it came to trusting him. What if it were a trap?

With a sharp pang, Draco noted the play of emotions sweeping across Harry's face. He couldn't suppress the feelings he harboured for Harry, and it hurt him to see the suspicion on Harry's face. Harry was so easily read; how had someone as open as Harry managed to survive these last few years of betrayal and treachery? Draco had been schooled to hide his emotions from childhood, else they be used against him.

"Why would you warn me of something like this?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco pushed himself away from the wall without really realising what he was doing, and focussed on Harry's wary expression. Taking a step towards Harry, he tilted his head a little to one side, suddenly solemn. "I suppose there's only one thing the answer could be."

Harry felt alarm bells ringing in his head. He hadn't been alone with Draco since the night McGonagall had set them detention together, when they'd . . . he blocked the memory, the feelings that it aroused in him. He knew it had all been a game for Malfoy. Malfoy had no feelings, he used people the way Harry used a broom during a game of quidditch. He'd be a fool to think for even a moment that Draco really felt something for him.

Warily, Harry watched as Malfoy took another step towards him, trying to concentrate on what Malfoy was saying, rather than remembering how Draco had tasted that night. "And that is?", he asked, and winced at the sound of the tremble in his voice.

Draco laid a hand along the side of Harry's face, then kissed him full on the mouth. His hand felt oddly cool, more like silk than flesh, but the kiss was warm enough. It wasn't like that night when they were supposed to be serving detention, when it had seemed like more of a game, as if Draco had been using him. There was something behind the kiss, a desperation of sorts that thrilled yet scared him. Harry could neither move nor think till Draco released him.

When Draco pulled away, Harry looked at him, wide eyed. Draco looked as surprised as Harry, then opened his mouth to speak.

"Harry, I-"

Draco was cut off by an unearthly wail from somewhere outside the walls of the school, followed by the sound of terrified screaming and a monstrous crash like something large and solid splintering. He swung his head towards the window, then looked back at Harry, his face pale and desperate.

"He's here," he hissed.

"Who?" Harry asked dumbly.

"Voldemort."

(the end)