Harry Potter and the Death Eater's Son

7. Catharsis and the Cat

The next morning, Harry didn't want breakfast. He didn't think he could eat, and he certainly didn't want to see Malfoy sitting on the other side of the hall, gloating, while Ron speculated over how Malfoy obviously knew all about it. But Neville had pestered him and insisted that he at least try to eat something. Harry's reluctance to go had ended up making him and Neville late; Ron had gone on ahead with Hermione, not being willing to wait for Harry any longer. As they entered the hall and made their way to the Gryffindor table, a hush descended upon the other students, and several faces turned to stare at Harry. Ginny motioned for them to sit next to her. She was clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet in her hands.

"Harry, in the paper..." she began.

Harry cut her off. "I know."

He didn't know, but he could guess, and he had no intentions of reading it. Neville accepted the paper from Ginny with thanks as they sat down. He began to read, and Harry glanced over towards the Slytherin table. There was Malfoy, looking his way. Harry glanced downwards immediately, and he focused on trying to swallow a bite of toast; he didn't want a confrontation in the hall, didn't want Malfoy to pull any cheap shots in front of all these people. He'd finally managed to work the morsel down his throat when someone approached from behind him. He didn't bother to look up, not wanting to interact with anyone.

"I know how you feel, Harry." It was Ernie's voice. "It's pretty awful having it in print for the rest of the world to see. At least when my father died I was able to return home for a few days. I guess I just wanted to say that if you want to talk about it, let me know."

"Thanks," he mumbled half-heartedly in reply, looking round at Ernie. He knew he should be grateful. Ernie was making a very nice gesture, but Harry wasn't in the mood for nice gestures, not at that moment. I can't do this, he acknowledged. He couldn't sit there, having to converse, with people staring at him--Malfoy staring at him.

He made eye contact with the concerned faces that surrounded him at the table and announced he was going back to the common room to be alone for a while. Neville began to protest, but it soon died on his lips when he saw how resolute Harry was. Harry pushed himself up from the table, walking out of the Great Hall and up the stairs, away from all those inquisitive eyes, but he didn't make it as far as the common room.

"Potter, wait!"

It was Malfoy.

Harry braced himself and turned, finding the strength inside to have it out in the corridors, if necessary. "What do you want, Malfoy? Come to gloat?"

Malfoy appeared to be surprised at Harry's reaction. He frowned and grabbed Harry's arm, dragging him to a nearby classroom. Harry, not expecting this from Malfoy, let himself be dragged into the empty room like a doll.

"You think I'm responsible for your aunt's death?" Malfoy asked incredulously, still clutching Harry's arm too tightly. He looked surprised and a little bit shaken.

Harry shrugged off the unwanted hand and glared back--as Hermione had pointed out yesterday, Malfoy could be a good actor when he wanted to be. "It's a bit of a coincidence, don't you think?"

"I was going to spend the summer there with you!" Malfoy protested, and Harry was slightly unnerved by the pleading tone in Malfoy's voice. "Do you really think I'd stuff that up? You know I hadn't anywhere else to go."

"Won't you be returning to your father now that you've got back into his good books?" Harry spat back.

"I didn't do this, Potter!" Malfoy spoke in desperation as he stared at Harry. When there was no change in Harry's rigid demeanour, Malfoy turned and slammed his fist onto one of the desks in frustration. "Listen to me! I didn't even realise what had happened until I saw the paper this morning," he pleaded, his eyes begging Harry to accept what he was saying. "I don't know how... I don't know who... But it wasn't me. Please believe me."

Harry slumped to the floor, resting his back against the wall. "I don't know what to believe, Malfoy."

Yesterday, when he had first heard the news, Harry was desperate to think Malfoy hadn't been responsible. Then, after talking to Ron, Hermione, and Neville, it had all seemed to become so clear: Malfoy had betrayed him. Now, Malfoy was here, begging Harry to trust that it wasn't him; he'd even used the word 'please'--Harry had never heard that one uttered from Malfoy's lips before! I expected Malfoy to be bragging about what had happened or, at the very least, come up with a reasonable alibi, Harry thought. He hasn't done either; he seems as surprised about my aunt's death as I am.

"Why should I believe you?" Harry asked.

"Because you're a Gryffindor--that's what you do. You give people second chances, and you don't give up on them."

Harry looked up and studied Malfoy. He seemed genuine enough: he was frowning intensely, and he looked panicked that Harry might walk out on him.

"Trust me, Potter." Malfoy sat down opposite him. "You know me. If it was my doing, then I'd definitely be bragging about it by now!"

Harry couldn't help looking up and giving Malfoy a weak grin for this comment. Either Harry really did know Malfoy that well, or Malfoy knew how to play Harry perfectly. Harry joked to himself that he couldn't credit the ferret with that much intelligence. Acknowledging just how important their friendship had become to him, he reminded himself that there was no definite proof that Malfoy had been involved.

Malfoy studied Harry intently, watching as he seemed to wage an internal struggle over Malfoy's pleading.

"Surely this attack can't have upset you this much," Malfoy said. "I know you get all guilt-ridden when someone gets hurt at your expense, but this is your aunt. You didn't exactly like her."

"No I didn't," Harry replied, surprised by Malfoy's perceptiveness. "Hated her would be more like it. I guess I'm just really pissed off that you could've set me up. You still could be, for all I know, but I don't think that even you would be that sick." They exchanged a warm grin, which sent a fuzzy tingle down into Harry's stomach. "I'm also feeling a bit off because everybody else thinks that I should feel something vaguely remorseful, but I don't. Nobody else would understand if I told them, and I don't think I really understand, either. Why do I always have to be different, Malfoy? Why can't I just be normal? I wish I could just have normal reactions to a normal life, with a normal family and a normal girlfriend."

"Like Loony Lovegood, you mean?" Malfoy snickered, and Harry gave a mock glare. "You certainly were a hot couple at the ball."

"We only went together because we both wanted people to stop speculating who we were going with. I'm not interested in her like that." Harry was reminded of Ron's disappointment of Harry's choice of date, and he smirked to himself at the thought of Ron finding out just who Harry had really been interested in.

"So, who was your last real girlfriend?" Malfoy rubbed his hands together at the prospect of finding out some more juicy gossip about Potter.

"Cho Chang, I suppose," Harry said. Malfoy's face fell, clearly disappointed with Harry's lack of a private life. "We only ever went on one real date."

"I heard all about that disaster," Malfoy said, and he smiled at the recollection before turning to study Harry intently. "But that was over a year ago. My god, Potter! Are you a Monk?" Malfoy laughed at Harry's disgruntled expression. "Hasn't there been anyone you liked, or did your Gryffindor bravery do a runner when it came to approaching them?"

"The only person I've had an interest in wasn't exactly accessible," Harry said dismissively. He looked downwards, away from Malfoy's prying eyes, hoping that Malfoy would accept the vague statement and wouldn't push for more details. But he knew it wasn't likely.

"Who was it?" Malfoy immediately asked, his eyes sparkling with the knowledge that he was onto something.

"Never you mind!"

Harry didn't know if he could do this, have this conversation. What if he was wrong in assuming Malfoy wasn't responsible for his aunt's death? What if he was just setting himself up even further? But Harry felt reasonably sure that Malfoy had been sincere in his protestations, and after spending so much time thinking about what Lupin had said to him, Harry really wanted to talk about it. He didn't feel his conversation with Luna counted, as the information hadn't been volunteered; she had just guessed about his crush on Oliver Wood and confronted him about it. He wanted to give this part of himself to Malfoy; he wanted Malfoy to know. What if Malfoy was disgusted by it? But this was all academic. Harry knew that Malfoy would get it out of him one way or another. There seemed to be a fairly predictable balance of power that had developed between them that term. Whoever wanted the information was usually the one to get his way: stubbornness was heightened with curiosity. And so Malfoy persisted.

"Don't you start keeping secrets from me now, Potter. Not after all we've talked about."

Harry searched for some inner courage--and some saliva to wet his suddenly parched mouth. After everything they had been through, did he seriously think that telling Malfoy about Oliver Wood would be enough for Malfoy to suddenly dismiss what they had? Was Malfoy like that? Harry couldn't be entirely sure; he could imagine Ron being a bit homophobic after the incident with Ginny, but not Malfoy. In the end, Harry decided it was silly to keep quiet just in case it offended Malfoy. If Malfoy could get that offended, then was their friendship really that important?

"Oliver Wood," Harry mumbled as he felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Malfoy did a double take before looking at him appraisingly, his eyebrows raised in amusement, "Wood? Can't say I was expecting that from you. So you're now The Bi Who Lived, eh? I bet the Weasel doesn't know about it, not after what happened with Thomas."

"No, he doesn't. Anyway, who did you last date?" Harry asked, keen to change the focus of the conversation.

"Pansy Parkinson," Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Dense, irritating cow. I ended that after the ball. And I'll let you in on a little secret, Potter: the girl's a nymphomaniac. Not that I'd ever put my dick anywhere near her; I guess that's what irritated me the most." Malfoy changed his voice to a higher pitch that was deliberately squeaky. "When are we going to go all the way, Draco, darling?" he imitated, triggering a fit of laughter from Harry. "I'd sooner put it in Loony Lovegood! Why is it there are no girls worth even considering in Slytherin?--I guess there's no point asking your opinion about things like that!"

Harry tried to give Malfoy a condescending look, but he couldn't prevent an insistent chuckle from escaping. Malfoy grinned back, amused by Harry's lack of self-restraint, but then his expression became more serious.

"Why did you so adamantly believe that it was me?" he asked.

Harry was startled by the sudden change of conversation, and it took him a couple of moments to collect his thoughts together--unhappy thoughts that had been briefly, but successfully, forgotten until that moment.

"I didn't, not at first. But we overheard someone mentioning they'd noticed you looked really pleased with yourself over the past couple of days, and Ron just jumped on it. He was, and still is, convinced that you know exactly what happened to my aunt, and both Hermione and Neville were agreeing with him. So, after listening to them go on about it and knowing what we'd talked about, you started to seem a little guilty... You would have thought the same thing about me if our situations had been reversed."

"I guess so," Malfoy acknowledged. "So, you're going to go back to your friends now and listen to them trying to implicate me even further. It's not going to turn your mind against me again, is it?"

"No, it won't," Harry assured him. "Although it might drive me up the wall at times. But don't worry too much, it's not as if I spend that much time with them anymore."

"So you've started to cramp their style; Granger and Weasel only have eyes for each other now? At least you don't have the desire to confess all to them. I was worried for a bit that you'd insist on initiating me into your little gang at some point, along with Bulstrode."

"You would've let me tell them?"

"No! I said I was worried that you'd insist; I didn't say I'd ever agree to it. I still don't want anyone to know about this--I can't risk my father knowing." Malfoy gave an awkward chuckle. "I can imagine the look on his face if he found out that I was friends with you."

"Er, Luna knows."

"You told Loony?"

"Don't call her that," Harry said. "I didn't tell her. I bumped into her earlier in the week. She seems to be more observant than any of the others--she worked it out for herself. But she thinks that no one else has noticed, and she won't say anything." At Malfoy's look of disbelief, Harry added, "She never told anyone about Oliver Wood."

"So, I'm not your only confidant then, Potter. Are you trying to make me jealous, or am I Loo... Luna's replacement!" As they grinned at one another, Harry felt heat travel up his neck and spread over his cheeks in a blush. He was very grateful the room they were in had no windows and that they were in shadows, only having one lamp in the far corner. "Oliver Wood... I still can't get over that one."

The door clicked open, and both boys immediately jumped to their feet in alarm. To Harry's relief, it was only Professor Dumbledore.

"I think you two might want to move along now. Classes are due to start shortly, and I believe the second years will be coming in here for their Transfigurations lesson."

Harry smiled gratefully at the headmaster, while Malfoy stood there still frozen in shock. They'd both forgotten all about lessons and the fact that breakfast would've been over by now. Dumbledore gave them a warm smile before turning away and walking down the corridor. Malfoy looked at Harry, letting out a big sigh.

"I guess Dumbledore's all right, really," Malfoy said with a grin. "I'll see you tomorrow night, Potter. Room of Requirement, as usual?"

"Yeah, see you later, Malfoy," Harry mumbled, his head swimming from Malfoy's grin.

Harry rushed back to the dormitory to grab his books. As he went he tried to put the image of Malfoy's face out of his mind and think about Dumbledore instead. How did Dumbledore know they were there? Had Dumbledore just been keeping an eye on him since the news about Aunt Petunia, or had he been watching them ever since Harry and Malfoy had begun talking? Did he know what had been said to Malfoy about the Dursleys? If he does, then he would've said something by now, Harry reassured himself. Or, he would have if he thought it was relevant; perhaps he knows, and he doesn't believe Malfoy had anything to do with it, either.

***

The rest of the day passed painfully slowly for Harry. He was still being fussed over by the other Gryffindors, and he was finding lessons with the Slytherins particularly frustrating, wanting to work with Malfoy instead of finding himself stuck with Seamus all the time. Instead of sitting with Malfoy publicly, Harry would have to impatiently wait for the following evening, when they could spend more time together, uninterrupted. At lunchtime, Harry was surprised when Ron made a point of sitting next to him and being quite chatty. But Ron soon let it slip what he was really after: the Marauder's Map. He was planning some to get some privacy with Hermione the following evening.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I lost it a couple of weeks ago. I haven't been able to find it." Harry felt awful about lying, but he knew he couldn't risk lending it to Ron. Not when he was regularly meeting up with Malfoy.

"Lost the map? Oh, Harry, you idiot!" Ron remained silent for a few moments, thinking, before he asked, "Do you think we'd be all right in the Room of Requirement?"

Harry nodded mutely, whereas inside he was highly frustrated. Damn not being able to tell Ron or Hermione. I'll have to send a note to Malfoy to meet me somewhere else.

Things between Ron and Hermione, and himself had only deteriorated the following evening; he had managed to get into an argument with Hermione over dinner. It had started innocuously enough, with Neville asking what Harry was going to do over the holidays. Ron looked a bit abashed that he hadn't thought to ask Harry that question yet.

"I suppose you could always stay with us," Ron offered--almost begrudgingly, Harry felt. "Why don't you ask Dumbledore?"

"He's already said that I should stay here," Harry replied rather awkwardly. It felt odd that any other year he would've jumped at the chance to spend all summer at The Burrow. Now, it was enough to know that he still had Malfoy for company. "I guess I'll just have to wait and see what comes up by the time the holidays start."

"I bet Malfoy won't be able to resist a dig if he finds out you've got to stay at Hogwarts."

Harry was sorely tempted to say, "He already knows," but he bit his tongue, saying nothing.

"Millicent still thinks he's up to something," Neville added.

Harry tensed, not wanting want to listen to this. He wasn't interested in any more anti-Malfoy propaganda.

"Why do you trust Millicent so much?" he asked. Those who sat by him stopped eating, and they looked at him in disbelief. "How do you know that she isn't just planning something herself?"

"Harry!" Hermione chided. "How can you say that, especially in front of Neville? Everyone knows Millicent's changed. Half of Slytherin aren't talking to her anymore because of it."

"She says she's changed, but it doesn't mean anything. You wouldn't trust someone like Malfoy if he claimed the same thing, so why do you believe her? Why does she feel it necessary to continually imply Malfoy's up to something when he hasn't done anything since Christmas?"

"Oh, come on, Harry. Get real." Hermione's voice now had a definite edge of anger to it. "As if Malfoy would ever change. The only reason you haven't noticed how different Millicent has become is because you don't bother talking to her. You could try making an effort with her, Harry. I think it's a bit much, accusing her like that, when you haven't even taken the opportunity to get to know her."

Hermione, having finished her dinner at this point, stood up to leave. "I never realised you could be like this, Harry. Come on, Ron."

***

Later on that evening, he drifted down the corridors towards his meeting point with Malfoy, cloak and map in hand, still stewing over the silly argument. Why didn't he stop himself from questioning Millicent's motives? It was obvious that there was no point bothering in the first place. But then again, why did Millicent insist on going on about Malfoy, as if convinced he was up to something? What was she up to? His train of thought ground to a halt as he bumped into Luna, who was walking towards her own common room. He pulled the cape off and mumbled an apology.

"I don't need three guesses to know who you're going to meet," she joked.

Harry smiled warmly at her. She was a welcome face after the earlier conversation. "Yes, I'm going to see Malfoy," he admitted.

"So have you and Draco come to your senses and started dating yet? You'd make a very dashing couple."

Apart from the automatic blush, Harry didn't get the chance to respond to this. Snape had appeared from around the corner and was now looming over them.

"Isn't it time the pair of you got back to your own common rooms, instead of childishly gossiping in the corridors?" He glared at both of them before fixing a steely gaze on Harry. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd stick to corrupting students from your own house. As if Draco Malfoy would be interested in you in that way." Snape spat this last point out at Harry, making him want to die on the spot out of embarrassment. Snape waited for a moment before rounding on them once more. "Well, why are the two of you still here?" he snapped.

They both jumped and scurried off--Harry pretending to go back to the Gryffindor Tower, but slipping his cloak back on as soon as he was out of Snape's sight. He then made his way to his original destination. Tonight they had decided to try out the Muggle Studies classroom; this was a good distance away from any of the staff rooms, and hopefully, no one would bother them.

As he walked, Harry's thoughts about Snape were racing. He didn't seem that surprised about me and Malfoy--although he clearly doesn't like it. I bet he hasn't said anything in lessons because of Malfoy's situation with Lucius. I wonder how he knows. Harry was aware that Snape knew of Malfoy's refusal to have the Dark Mark, and that Snape had been watching over Malfoy at the beginning of the term, but he found it hard to believe that Snape had willingly chosen not to interfere in their friendship. Unless Professor Dumbledore has said something.... I suppose this probably falls under Order of the Phoenix business now.

When Harry arrived, Malfoy was already there and busily going through an open cupboard that was full of Muggle artefacts.

"You're early," Harry said as he wandered over to sit on an adjacent desk.

"Yeah, got bored in the common room. How's life with the Gryffindorks?"

"A bit stormy. Apparently, Millicent has been spreading more gossip about you."

"Silly cow." Malfoy turned round to face Harry, waving an egg whisk about as he spoke, using it to punctuate what he was saying. "I don't see how anyone can trust Bulstrode. She's never been friendly with Gryffindorks before; it all seems a bit fishy, if you ask me. And I reckon she does know about me turning down the Dark Mark--she's trying to stir up trouble to make my life as awkward as possible."

"I think you manage to do that fine by yourself."

"Oh, you're so witty, Potter. My life would be so dull without you. Anyway, why does Bulstrode's continual hatred of me make it stormy?"

"I made the mistake of asking why they trusted Millicent so much."

"I bet they didn't like that--oops." The whisk had snapped, and Malfoy hastily shoved it back into the cupboard. "Neville won't be speaking to you when he finds out."

"He was there--it was when we were having dinner."

"Nice one, Potter," Malfoy laughed, and he pulled himself up to sit on the desk next to Harry. The whole side of Harry's body began to warm up where it was in contact with Malfoy; he felt his stomach flip over. "Pity I couldn't have sat at your table for a change. It's a shame I had to miss that. This keeping things a secret lark does have its disadvantages."

"Perhaps we could mention it to a couple of people--"

"Two words, Potter: my father. Anyway, I don't like all and sundry knowing my business. I prefer to keep it so nobody knows."

"I bet you would. Don't forget Luna, though. I bumped into her on the way up here tonight, and er, Snape overheard us talking..."

Malfoy started at the mention of Snape. He jumped back down from the table and wheeled round to look at Harry in alarm. "Tell me you're joking, Potter." Harry shook his head. "He heard you? Shit. What exactly were you saying?"

"He mostly overheard Luna," Harry stated, feeling his face begin to redden as he remembered what she had said. "And before I say this, I'd like to point out that it's just something she's come up with by herself; it's nothing that I've suggested. After my thing for Oliver, well she--"

"Bloody hell, Potter, stop waffling and just spit it out."

"First she asked if I was meeting you, tonight. Then she wanted to know whether we've 'come to our senses' yet and started dating. Snape appeared at that point and gave us hell for loitering. Then he told me I should 'stick to corrupting students from my own house'."

"And Snape overheard all of that?" Malfoy asked, in disbelief, the colour slowly draining from his face in direct contrast to Harry's beetroot complexion.

"I think so," Harry nodded. "You look like you're going to be sick."

"I think I am."

"Surely it's not that much of a problem?" Of course, Harry realised. He doesn't know about Snape. But I can't tell him, can I? Dumbledore would probably flip if he found out.

"You can be so stupid sometimes, Potter." Malfoy was beginning to pace the room now, occasionally kicking a table leg in frustration. "He's going to tell my father that I'm friends with you."

"I don't think he will."

"How can you remain so bloody blinkered for five and a half years?"

Harry just looked at him blankly. I can't let Malfoy think that his father is going to find out, but it would definitely be going too far to tell him outright about Snape. What do I do?

"Potter, Snape's a Death Eater," Malfoy snapped. He stopped wandering now and came over to sit on the desk opposite Harry. Malfoy's shoulders had sagged, his face weary, and his tone now dissonant and imbued with worry. "He'll really enjoy telling my father. And you know my father will go ballistic over this--he hates you. You get in the way of You-Know-Who's plans. You freed our house-elf. You helped to get him into Azkaban. He blames you for what happened to him when he got out--and believe me, that was one shit experience.... I've already let him down and disappointed him as it is when I chose not to have the Dark Mark. Befriending the despised Harry Potter will only make things worse between us."

He trailed off and dropped his head. Harry desperately wanted to comfort Malfoy, but he felt too nervous to reach out and touch the dejected Slytherin.

"I miss my father, and I still haven't heard from him. I don't even know if he'll ever look at me in the same way again, anyway. And when he finds out about us being friends..." Malfoy's voice sounded thick with emotion. He sniffed, and Harry caught sight of a drop of liquid as it fell from Malfoy's chin. Malfoy was crying.

He didn't think twice about comforting Malfoy now; in an instant he was standing in front of Malfoy and holding him.

Harry had never imagined that Malfoy could be capable of crying, and he wondered if perhaps this was the first time that Malfoy had ever been moved to tears. Malfoy didn't resist, allowing Harry to pet him and moving his own arms around Harry's waist. Malfoy held on tightly, and Harry felt wetness soak into the shoulder of his robes; Malfoy wasn't completely letting go--Harry supposed that Malfoy could never do that. Harry resisted the instinct to tense up at the feeling of Malfoy grasping on so firmly, although he couldn't stop the sensation of dizziness. He held on and gently stroked a hand over the back of Malfoy's head, willing his unwelcome hardness to disappear and trying to concentrate on what Malfoy might be going through. Having turned his back on his own family, not having anyone other than Harry to turn to at school, and now risking upsetting his own father even more, Harry could understand how Malfoy could be scared of not having anything left. No, Harry firmly told himself. He'll still have me. I'm not going to leave him.

"Malfoy, I'm sure Snape won't bring it up with your father. He's..." Harry faltered. He knew he shouldn't be saying this, but he also knew where his loyalties now lay--and they certainly didn't lie with Snape. "Look, I can't believe I'm considering telling you this.... I'm not supposed to mention it, but I really don't think he'll tell your father. And he might not be able to show it, but I believe that he's actually pleased you chose to stay at Hogwarts--even though he doesn't think much of our friendship, and that's only because he doesn't think much of me. Can you just trust me on this? I want to tell you the details, but..."

Malfoy lifted his head up, and Harry let his hand slide down to Malfoy's shoulder. Malfoy looked at Harry and gave a weak smile, his face glistening wet in patches.

"That two-faced sneak is working for Dumbledore, isn't he?" Malfoy chuckled weakly, and Harry smiled back, relieved that he could feel Malfoy beginning to relax. He then frowned when Malfoy's composure stiffened once more.

"Potter, all the time we're friends there's a risk that it's going to get out. I don't want to screw things up with my father, but--shit, Potter, I can't believe you've got me saying this--I think that, right now, I... need you. I've never needed any of my friends before."

Harry's jaw dropped involuntarily. The desire to just lean across those few inches separating them and kiss Malfoy was almost too strong to resist. Just say something, Harry told himself in a panic. Say something, and then you won't risk doing something you could regret.

"Well," Harry started off tentatively. What can I say? Something that will reassure him, I guess. "If it ever does get out about us--being friends--just remember you're not alone, Malfoy: I'll still be here. I know I'm not your father, but I--"

Harry was cut off short as Draco suddenly leant forward, brushing his lips against Harry's stunned mouth. He's kissing me, Harry thought. I'm being kissed by Malfoy. He realised that he should be participating as well, but then Malfoy pulled back, glancing nervously at Harry's bewildered expression. Harry could feel the hands gradually retreating from his back. He thinks I'm not interested, Harry realised. I'd better put him right about that.

"Sorry, Potter, I jus--" Malfoy began to back-peddle, but Harry interrupted him.

"Please don't be sorry," he said gently before leaning in to lightly press his mouth to Malfoy's.

His lips tentatively moved against Malfoy's, his body shuddering involuntarily as he felt Malfoy's lips push back in response. Malfoy took the lead, kissing more firmly and tugging on Harry's lips--to which Harry eagerly responded, parting them slightly and letting his tongue enter the foray, sweeping it against Malfoy's. It was wet, Harry acknowledged. Like the kiss with Cho, he could feel Malfoy's damp face against his; but this made him feel more connected to Malfoy, whereas Cho crying over Cedric had just made that moment feel awkward. And this time, Harry was an active participant. It wasn't just a kiss that was happening to him; it was a kiss that he was a part of. He could taste Malfoy--slightly sweet with an underlying metallic tang; he could feel Malfoy--exploring and tasting Harry's own mouth inquisitively. Drawing back slightly, their breathing heavier than before, they both looked at each other with eyes sparkling and cautious smiles making their appearance. Harry couldn't stop his from turning into a frantic beam, which Malfoy returned.

"God, Potter," Malfoy laughed. "What are we doing?"

"Digging our own graves?" Harry shrugged, not caring what it meant for the moment; only knowing that he was feeling ecstatically happy.

They both sniggered at his comment before leaning in once more. This time the kiss soon became more heated, and Harry held on tightly, purposefully moving a hand back up to Malfoy's head to ruffle that impeccable hair. Malfoy's arms moved slowly and firmly around him, pushing their bodies together. Then, without warning, Harry felt Malfoy sink within his grip. The table was tipping over, and it came down with an almighty CRASH!

"Shit!" Malfoy exclaimed as Harry pulled him upright. They looked at each other gravely, both knowing that somebody probably would have heard the noise.

Harry pulled the Marauder's Map out of his pocket and scanned it to see who was nearby.

"Filch is on his way over. He'll be here in a minute." Harry picked his cloak up from the desk behind him and pulled it over both of them.

Under the cloak, Harry grabbed Malfoy's hand, steering him out the door and along the corridor in the opposite direction of Filch. They kept going until they came upon the stairs that led down to the dungeons.

"I guess we should be going back to our common rooms," Harry said, a little disappointed that the evening had come to an early end.

"Yeah, it probably won't be safe with Filch on the alert," Malfoy acknowledged before giving Harry a mischievous look. "I can't believe I've let myself be pulled by Harry Potter."

"It seemed to me that you were the one doing the pulling."

Malfoy's expression turned into a Mona Lisa smile as he caught a look of expectation in Harry's eye. They both stared at each other, wanting. Only moments passed before Harry decided he couldn't wait any longer; he placed his hands on Malfoy's waist and pulled Malfoy close, pressing their lips together. Harry could feel a hand snaking its way across his back, another playing with the short tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. He gasped around Malfoy's mouth before deepening the kiss. When they finally broke off, they still held on to each other, refusing to move their bodies any further apart.

"Are you sure you're not doing this as part of an insidious scheme of yours--just to try and set me up?" Harry jested at the dishevelled Slytherin hidden under his cloak.

"And people say I'm too self-absorbed! I'd love to say that was true, but I bet the other Slytherins would kill for a piece of gossip like this." Malfoy leant in and placed a row of kisses along Harry's jaw-line before gently whispering by his ear, "Do you want to meet up tomorrow?"

"I think I could cope with that," Harry responded with a gasp. "But we need to go somewhere more private."

"Why, have you got nasty plans for me, Potter?" Malfoy asked wickedly, his eyes glinting.

Harry blushed, realising how it had sounded. "Malfoy! I mean... I don't... Stop grinning at me like that. You can be such a bastard at times."

"You love it."

"What I meant was if someone turned up when we were only chatting, at least we could've pretended to have been arguing. I don't think that'll wash if anyone catches us kissing."

"Is Weasel going to be shagging in the Room of Requirement again?"

"Malfoy, if you can't call him Ron, then call him Weasley--not Weasel. I'll find out about the room. If he is using it perhaps I could sneak you up to the dorm--"

"Absolutely no way am I putting myself at the mercy of the Gryffindorks. You'll just have to abstain and try your hardest to resist my charms, if that's the only option. Or we could just stay under here all evening," Malfoy motioned to the cloak, and he managed to imply all manner of dirty things just through a brief raising of the eyebrows. He then leant in to slowly drag his lips upwards along Harry's throat, causing a jolt of electricity to shoot up Harry's spine. Harry closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, leaning his head to one side to give Malfoy better access.

"Are you going to keep your eyes on the map then?" Harry muttered distractedly. "Imagine if Snape walked into us--that would take some explaining."

"You find out about Weasel-lee," Malfoy responded in between kisses that gently tugged at the skin. "And if he is planning to use the room, then I'll work on getting him a detention."

"Malfoy!" Harry chastised, giving Malfoy a shove. "Don't you dare! I'll think of something, okay?"

After being reacquainted with each other's mouths once more, they reluctantly parted, finally going their own separate ways. Harry wandered back in a daze--he had been kissing Malfoy! He felt warm inside and content. He also needed a bit of private relief. Had Malfoy noticed? If he had, he didn't seem to have minded. Harry tried to recollect whether Malfoy had reacted as strongly, but all he could remember were Malfoy's lips and arms--where the rest of their bodies had connected was just a melded blur of heat. As he let his mind meander over the evening's events, a memory came back to him from the previous term: when he had spoken to Professor Lupin about Oliver Wood, and Lupin had differentiated between attraction and affection. Is this what he meant by feeling affection for someone? Harry wondered, and he went over Lupin's words in his mind: "As for affection, well that comes from knowing another person, and when you feel it, don't ever let others stop you from having it." I certainly have no intention of letting anyone spoil this, Harry asserted.

Back in the common room, there were still students milling about, talking and studying. To Harry's surprise, both Hermione and Ron were present; Hermione was in tears, and Ron didn't look very happy, either. What had gone wrong?

"Harry, where have you been?" Ron demanded.

"I... I've been out for a walk," Harry stammered, wondering whether it showed what he had really been up to. Was his hair ruffled? Did he have "I've just been kissing Malfoy" written all over his face? "What's up?" he added, as nonchalantly as he could.

"Before we went out, Hermione noticed that Crookshanks was missing." Ron explained. He looked fed up, and Harry suspected it was because his plans--getting an evening alone with Hermione--had been disrupted, rather than any real feelings towards the cat. "We've been searching instead, all evening. All we've found so far was some of his fur in a corridor that leads down to the dungeons."

"Crookshanks never goes down there," Hermione sobbed. "He always stays around the corridors in Gryffindor tower."

Harry sat with them for a while. After the evening he'd spent with Malfoy, and now having to come back to this situation, he couldn't help feeling a little deflated. It was too late to continue searching Hogwarts, and there was nothing else anyone could do to help until the next day. So he sat there, making a show of being supportive while internally musing how easily Ron and Hermione could've stumbled upon him and Malfoy in their search for the cat. He especially didn't want them to find out now, not after this evening's surprising developments.

***