Ambrosia Salad

Mixtures

A purely satisfied smile slowly crept across Lucius Malfoy's features, his straight, white teeth making a rare appearance behind smooth, pale lips. On any other person, his expression might have been considered warm- but Lucius' eyes were far too cold for that. Any thoughts of warmth were promptly discarded after one glance into their hard, steel depths, only to be replaced with thoughts such as "darkness", "cold", and "run away while there's still time".

Lucius sank back into the extravagant chair that sat in front of his dark mahogany desk. He held a piece of parchment in front of him, its otherwise creamy, smooth surface stained with the blood-red ink from his expensive eagle feather quill, the ink still fresh and gleaming in the dim study candlelight. Lucius' shadowy eyes slowly scanned the parchment, his pleasure at having finally written such a letter clearly eminent.

Satisfied with what he read, Lucius once more sat up in his seat, and, with the grace and proficiency borne of one being immensely contented, he folded the letter and placed the Malfoy seal upon it in hot maroon wax. From its perch on the desk, an inconspicuous black owl stuck out a well-manicured talon and allowed Lucius to attach the letter to it. Once the parchment was securely fastened, the owl took off into the night with a soft flutter of midnight wings beating against the chilly air. Lucius once again leant back in his chair, staring after the retreating owl and relishing the moment.

All of his plans, his painstakingly configured plans, were about to become a reality, and there was no one that could stop him.

Voldemort would be pleased.

* * *

"I knew there was a reason I hated you," muttered a very disoriented Harry Potter as a thinner, blonder form of Satan tugged and yanked his arm through the mob on Ambrosia's large dance floor.

"I believe you're confusing 'hate' with 'love'," Draco haughtily threw over his shoulder. "Don't worry, though. It happens all the time."

"I bet."

Harry and Draco slowly made their way across the floor, diving in between wildly flailing limbs and torsos, the spinning lights and pounding music aiding their journey. All too soon in Harry's opinion, they reached the center of the dance floor, and, surrounded by a hundred or so grinding bodies, Draco came to a stop, spinning around and pulling the other boy to an abrupt halt directly in front of him. Draco's death grip on Harry's arm didn't falter.

Harry allowed himself to stumble to a stop and looked around timidly. He quickly noted that they were surrounded by people on all sides, cutting off any and all potential escape routes. After realizing that running away was impossible unless he wanted to crawl between the dancers' legs and hope no one was wearing stilettos (fat chance), Harry turned his gaze to Draco's grinning, excited face. Harry opened his mouth to protest his current situation, but cut himself off when one of the nearby dancers brushed up against his back (while doing the robot, no less), causing Harry to squeak and jump to the side with a terrified look on his face. Draco, still holding Harry's arm, laughed and pulled him back to his original spot.

"Jumpy, aren't we?" Draco asked over the thundering music.

"No!" Harry quickly defended himself. "I, just... I've never been out here before."

"I know, and I still feel like puking every time I hear that," Draco responded, laughing a little as Harry made a face. "It's a bloody night club! You can't just come to a dance club and not dance!"

"It's been working fine for me."

"Well, not anymore." Draco emphasized this statement by tightening his hold on Harry's arm and pulling the other boy harshly forward, so that he staggered a few steps closer. Harry's eyes softened slightly behind his glasses after seeing Draco's set, determined face. An ounce of his defiance melted away as he realized just how stubborn Draco could be, and he let out a sigh, which was lost in the music.

"But... but what do I do?" Harry asked as embarrassment and a nagging ignorance replaced his previous defiance.

"You dance!" Draco spoke, his smile returning now that Harry was being cooperative.

"Well, of course, but... how? And with whom?"

"With everybody!" Draco gestured to the people around them. Harry followed Draco's indication and he scanned the dancers apprehensively, until his eyes landed on one in particular and his face contorted into an expression of outright disgust.

"Does 'everybody' include him?" Harry pointed to a spot on Draco's left, where a large, greasy man in not-so-large, but still greasy, clothes was dancing. Horribly.

When Draco turned back around, his expression was identical to Harry's. "Sadly, yes." Draco's face broke into a small smile. "But, what Tubby over there lacks in style, grace, and overall sexual appeal, I more than make up for. So, no worries." Draco flashed a brilliant smile and Harry couldn't help laughing.

"Don't forget to mention modesty; you have loads of that, too."

Draco simply raised his eyebrows in innocent acceptance of Harry's suggestion, but inside, Draco's forked tail was in full swing. If Harry's sarcasm was any indication, he seemed to be loosening up quite nicely now. Draco's grin widened uncontrollably and Harry smiled back warily. It was time to initiate Phase Two: Torment Harry Until he Dances. Or, put simply, T.H.U.D.

To make matters even better (for Draco, at least), 'Dancing Queen', the song that had been playing, chose that moment to end, and in it's place, Love & Rockets' "So Alive" began. The lights became less frantic in their journey across the club's walls, ceiling, and floor as the mood shifted from drunken giddiness to a more intimate sensuality.

With his eyes determinedly locked onto Harry's, Draco loosened his hold on Harry's arm before sliding his hand completely off. Harry didn't move.

Without breaking their eye contact, Draco began slowly swaying to the new beat, steadily increasing the movements of his hips, legs, and torso until Harry could deny it no longer- Draco Malfoy was dancing. And he was dancing well.

Before, when Draco had removed his hand from Harry's arm, Harry had simply chosen not to move- but now... now he couldn't. Harry could tell Draco was no stranger to dancing from the brief glimpse last night, but to have Draco here, in front of him, was something else. Draco moved so smoothly, confidently, languidly- and an assortment of many other adverbs that Harry's brain was too dazed to remember- that Harry was completely entranced. The way Draco was effortlessly blending with the beat, rolling his body and rocking his hips in a way that Harry was automatically captivated by. But it wasn't just his body- the look in Draco's eyes showed that he was genuinely enjoying himself, letting go and not caring about what others thought, just for a moment. Harry found it difficult to look away.

After a few moments, wherein Harry simply stood and stared, Draco looked up at him and took a step forward, so the pair was almost touching- but not quite.

"You can't hold back forever, Potter. It's bad for your health," he teased. Harry thickly swallowed in reply, but unless standing still and not moving at all was considered a dance move, he showed no signs of relenting to Draco's wishes. Draco saw this and sighed, placing his hand on the side of Harry's unmoving waist, never stopping his own rhythmic movements.

"Come on, Potter," Draco said, softer now that they were closer, "don't think about it. Don't think about anything. Just do it."

'I never did like Nike,' was the only semi-coherent thought Harry's mind could supply him with, besides a large inward gulp. Whether it was borne of nervousness, excitement, or anticipation, Harry couldn't tell. All he knew was that Draco could be extremely persuasive, and very, very soon, he was going to make a huge decision- whether it was a good one was still to be decided.

Harry didn't know what made him do it- later, he blamed it on a mixture of things: the alcohol running through his veins (he hadn't had that much), the loud, encouraging music (he hated this song), the atmosphere created by the dancers that surrounded him (they'd never been a problem before), and Draco, his face and body so close to his own in silent plea (more persuasive than it should have been). But, at the moment, Harry didn't care about reasons anymore. With the slight pressure of Draco's hand burning on his side, Harry began to move.

I don't know what color your eyes are, baby
But your hair is long and brown
Your legs are strong, and you're so, so long

And you don't come from this town

He started with his legs, slowly tapping each one in time with the music, getting used to the driving beat. Draco's hand on his waist tightened and a fire of triumph lit up in his eyes, Draco's expression shifting from open-mouthed amazement to accomplished glee to anxious excitement, all littered with an underlying tone of pure enjoyment. Harry moved his long legs more gracefully now, feeling and seeing Draco's blatant approval.

My head is full of magic, baby
And I can share this with you
The feel I'm on a cross again, lately
But it's nothing to do with you

Next was his torso- Harry subtly began rocking his hips and chest, each swing coming in closer range to Draco's own swaying body. He could feel the heat of Draco's skin each time they almost met- almost- and Harry had to close his eyes, letting the pounding music wash over him, marking this with the more defined movements of his upper body and the now strong slicing of his hips.

I'm alive
Oh Oh, so alive
I'm alive
Oh Oh, so alive

Last, he moved his arms and hands. Harry's right arm was left to swing rhythmically at his side while his left hand came up to run slender fingers through his tousled, jet-black hair. His whole body was in motion now, surprisingly graceful, amazingly sinuous, and impossibly close to Draco.

This drug makes me crazy
Makes me see you more clearly.
Oh, baby, now I can see you.
Wish I could stop,
Switch off the clock,
Make it all happen for you.

In front of Harry, Draco was spellbound. The suddenness and startling fluidity of Harry's movements was intoxicating, and Draco gripped Harry's side even more firmly, causing Harry's closed eyes to slide slowly open. The bright green irises pierced straight into Draco's own, holding steady as the two moved together under the multi-colored, strobe-lit sky.

I'm alive
Oh Oh, so alive
I'm alive
Oh Oh, so alive

Harry slowly, tentatively, untangled his hand from his unruly hair and brought it down to slide across Draco's bare skin, starting at his forearm and slowly sliding up, ending on and gripping Draco's bicep. At the first touch of Harry's naked skin on his own, Draco felt the effects- heat rushed through his body, his breathing, already accelerated, turned to a heavy pant, his mouth became suddenly dry, and a trail of sparks traveled up his arm with every touch of Harry's hand. Draco's fingers unconsciously flitted where they met Harry's hip, conveniently lifting Harry's deep green shirt just enough for Draco to run his hand across the taught skin underneath. Harry softly gasped at the contact, his tongue quickly darting out to run across his bottom lip as he leaned into Draco's touch.

Don't know what color your eyes are, baby
But your hair is long and brown
Your legs are strong, and you're so, so long
And you don't come from this town

Harry and Draco were moving in synch now, each completely entranced by the other, hopelessly oblivious to the fact that they weren't simply dancing anymore, but they were dancing with each other. The pounding beat filled their bodies, leading each step, swing, and hip thrust deeper into a world where only they existed- and that was just fine.

Harry's fingers tightened on Draco's arm as the two moved seamlessly closer together, their hips narrowly missing each other with each rhythmic sway, the heat of their bodies and quickness of their breaths mixing in between them. Draco dazedly began sliding the hand on Harry's waist around to the small of his back, Harry's shirt resultedly lifting in the process, and by the time Draco's hand reached the base of Harry's spine, all but his thumb rested on Harry's smooth skin. Draco saw how Harry's face reacted to his ministrations- the color rising in his cheeks, his eyes closing for half a second- felt his own body's response- the pounding of his heart and blood roaring through his veins, sparks shooting everywhere- and felt the way Harry's body moved under his hand- muscles contracting and flinching with each movement, skin slick with a light sheen of sweat and trembling whenever Draco moved his fingers.

Draco finally couldn't take it anymore- he pushed his hand flat against Harry's back and raised the pressure until he was pulling Harry even closer. Harry didn't resist, his own hand sliding around to grip the back of Draco's shoulder, taking a submissive step forward to fall fluidly against Draco's rocking body-

Until Draco, at the last moment before his body met Harry's, heard a soft, high-pitched whisper in his ear and felt the light touch of an unmistakably feminine hand on his arm.

"Nice to see you again, Draco."

Draco turned, Harry stepped back, and the spell was broken.

Reality suddenly came crashing back down on the two boys, and everything they were doing no longer seemed so perfect. Draco still felt the cool skin of Harry's back under his fingers, and it still felt exquisite to touch, and Harry was still reeling from the intimacy and other-worldliness of dancing with Draco, but now they were forced to put thoughts with those feelings. Harry and Draco slowly turned to face each other, their minds whirling.

'How did this happen?'

'Why did this happen?'

'I shouldn't be touching him.'

'I shouldn't be letting him touch me.'

'His skin shouldn't feel this good.'

'His touch shouldn't be this addictive.'

'...What would father say?'

'What would Ron say?'

At these suddenly obvious realizations, Harry and Draco sprung apart from each other, disentangling themselves and stepping back until a reasonable distance stood between them. Both were still breathing in sharp, shallow breaths as they stared at each other, piercing, questioning grey and intense, amazed green. Moments passed, and eventually, Harry's brain calmed down enough to remember the tall young woman still lingering at their sides. He tore his eyes away from Draco and peered at her for a moment, not sure if he was agitated or grateful for her presence.

Slowly, Harry looked back at Draco and stammered out, "I... I have to go." And he started to creep away, his gaze lingering on Draco for just a moment before turning toward the exit.

A high-pitched voice halted his proceedings. "Surely you don't have to leave now. It's still early, and you still haven't danced with me." At this instant, Harry was positive- her presence was definitely agitating.

Harry looked back briefly to say a short, "Sorry, but I do," before turning his back on the pair of them and pushing his way through the crowd of dancers. Draco looked for a moment after Harry before abruptly following, leaving no excuse or explanation for the scandalized blonde behind him.

A cool wind breezed through Harry's over-heated body as the door swung shut with a bang behind him. The music fell to a muffled beat, leaving him to stalk quickly away from the club in calm, peaceful silence.

"Potter!"

Or so he thought.

Harry stopped and turned to see Draco jogging towards him.

"What?" Harry said with forced assertiveness. In truth, his heart was still fluttering madly in his chest and his mind was still glazed over with thoughts of music, dancing, and Draco.

"Settle down," Draco said as he came to a stop in front of Harry under the lamplight, "I just thought we could go back together. It is pretty late, after all." Draco's attempt to hide his anxiety worked about as well as Harry's. That is, not very well.

However, at Draco's words, Harry seemed to relax, his features loosening as he replied with a simple, "Yeah, that sounds good." Draco was visibly relieved; regaining his composure as he gave Harry a pleased smile in return for the reassuring one Harry granted him. The two boys walked side by side to the alley next to Ambrosia in companionable silence, broken only by the two loud cracks! that signaled their departure from the Muggle world.

* * *

After parting ways with Draco in the entrance hall, Harry entered his dorm silently and without any difficulties. A quick glance at his bedside clock revealed it to be 12:01- well past dorm room curfew. He slowly eased the heavy wooden door shut, and tip toed to the side of his bed, careful not to disturb the heavy, sleep-ridden breathing that filled the dark room. Upon reaching his large four-poster, Harry quickly and quietly stripped of his dirty Muggle clothes, leaving him clad solely in a pair of dark blue boxers. His brain far too muddled to do much else, Harry carefully pulled back his sheets and settled comfortably into their maroon depths, pausing only to remove his glasses before dropping into a deep, contented sleep.

In the bed next to Harry's, a pair of light blue eyes stared into the star-lit room, unmoving as the owner listened intently to his best friend entering the room, changing, and finally drifting to sleep. A sigh of mixed annoyance and derision escaped from tired lips, briefly rustling the locks of bright red hair that fell across a lightly freckled forehead. Eventually, the eyes blinked once, twice, and finally closed as sleep overtook the mind and body of an exhausted, confused, and hurt Ronald Weasley.

* * *

The next morning, Harry woke up and went through his daily routine as per usual. He groggily gathered his robes, took a long, hot shower, and brushed his hair (futile), all in happy, tired ignorance of the previous night's events. It wasn't until he was in the bathroom, haphazardly brushing his teeth, when Ron stumbled in and he remembered- 'What would Ron think?'

Harry paused, toothbrush held limply in his mouth and a line of toothpaste slowly edging its way down his chin, as a stream of thoughts rushed his head ('Draco dancing Draco drinking Draco touching Draco grinding') and he was frozen in place. With a trail of white paste now dripping from his chin and onto the sink below, Harry stood, unmoving and staring at his own statuesque reflection, lost in the fantasy that was last night.

It took a loud bang from a bathroom stall door to awaken Harry from his conscious dream, and he quickly wiped the toothpaste from his face and rinsed out his mouth, just in time for Ron to reach the sink beside him, still blearily rubbing his eyes.

"'Morning, Harry," he yawned, looking up at his friend. "Hey, you're all red... are you feeling okay? You're breathing kind of fast, too..." Ron's eyes lost some of their tiredness as he acutely studied Harry's body, searching for any abnormalities. Harry panicked.

"No, no, I'm fine, really..." he paused, "I just have to pee really badly right now. It's getting me worked up." Smack! Inside his head, Harry mentally slapped himself.

Ron looked wary. "Um, okay. Then maybe you should go... do... that..." He motioned toward the stalls behind him with a look of perplexity on his face.

"Yeah, good idea. I'll be right back." Harry took off past Ron, rushed into a stall and slammed the door shut, leaning his back against it and running his hands roughly through his hair in frustration. When he heard the rush of water from Ron's sink, Harry dropped his hands and let out a long, annoyed sigh.

'It's going to be a long day,' he forebodingly thought as the sounds of Ron pleasantly humming around his toothbrush bounced around the large, tiled bathroom.

* * *

"Seamus Finnigan?"

"Present."

"Hermione Granger?"

"Present."

"Geoffrey Hooper?"

"Present."

"Draco Malfoy?"

"Here."

One side of the classroom rolled their eyes in silent exasperation of Draco's pronouncement while the other half snickered at its obviously intentional arrogance. In all truth, however, Draco's response was entirely accidental, an instinctive reaction of his unfocused, wandering mind. Draco was lounged comfortably in his chair, back reclined and legs outstretched, his arms resting in front of him and one hand coming up to tap its fingers lightly on his ample bottom lip. The topics on Draco's mind were greatly varied, though the most prominent ones being a detailed analysis of the previous night (detailed analysis, sensual fantasy- what's the difference?), and a heavy consideration regarding the letter he had received at breakfast not two hours ago.

"As you all know, in 1448, Burdock Muldoon was elected as Chief of the Wizard's Council, signifying a great change for the wizarding world as a whole..." Professor Binns' dry, wheezy voice was slowly tuned out by each student, and the only other noise that could be heard was the scurried scratching of Hermione's quill as every other person fell into a coma-like state. Even Harry, who sat in front of and to the left of Draco, began to slowly nod off, his head dipping at ever greater angles before finally landing with a soft thump on his desk. Draco's mouth twitched. 'Lightweight,' he jokingly thought as he continued staring at the slow rise and fall of Harry's back as he slept. Seeing Harry immediately brought Draco's mind back to Ambrosia- but he forcefully stopped that train of thought before it went too far. He had more pressing issues to deal with at the moment, all concerning the thin piece of parchment that resided in his pocket.

The letter from his father had been both frustrating and intriguing. It certainly wasn't unexpected - in fact, Draco thought it was almost late. Nonetheless, the letter had arrived, and Draco finally had to acknowledge his hopes and fears about joining the Dark Lord, becoming a Death Eater, and being branded with The Mark.

No doubt Lucius was ecstatic; Draco could tell from the first line that his father was in high spirits: "A most wonderful event has recently been brought to my attention, and I couldn't be more proud of you, son."

Son. Draco thought back to the few times Lucius had used that term with him- once when he was five and he first learned how to set small bugs on fire, again when he was sorted into Slytherin house, and once more when he came home for the summer with tales of the horrible Harry Potter and his stuck-up friends- not exactly his proudest moments, but that one endearment had made them memorable all the same.

Now, however, it sounded like a mockery, a bribery used to cloud his mind and force him to follow orders. Because, in all honesty, Draco wasn't sure if he wanted to become a Death Eater as his father so adamantly wished. Not that Lucius was aware of his son's disloyal thoughts. If he had been... well, it wouldn't be pretty.

Draco shifted in his seat, his eyes traveling from Harry's back to the bare skin of his neck. What if he chose to be on Harry's side- or maybe be on no side at all; just simply be, neither fighting nor defending? It was a nice thought, but Draco knew that could never, would never happen. This was war, and he didn't have the option of being in the middle- he had to choose, right or left, evil or good, Voldemort or Harry. Because that's who this battle would come down to, no Lucius, no Dumbledore, no one else except for those two individuals, one on one and with the fate of the wizarding world in their wands.

It was a hard thing to imagine, really, that this boy, who was currently sleeping just feet away from him, would help decide the world's destiny. It was even harder to imagine that this boy, who had danced with him so captivatingly last night, may not survive the final battle of good and evil.

That one poignant thought caused a shiver to run quickly up and down Draco's spine, and he stirred slightly, his eyes briefly closing before opening again; this time landing on the defined curve of Harry's covered arm.

"...Which brings us to the first of the Goblin Rebellions, wherein the flinging of dragon manure was first instigated as a battle tactic..."

Draco blinked as he thought of that particular scenario- not one involving flying dragon feces, but one of a life, a world, without Harry Potter. It was distressing, to say the least, though he wasn't entirely sure why. Nevertheless, distress wasn't what he was expected to feel, and it certainly wasn't what his father felt when it came to the death of The Boy Who Lived. Draco was fully aware of Lucius' position on the matter, thanks to one definitive night almost two years ago, when Draco's mind had been simple and undivided, and his path had been straightforward: receive the Dark Mark, follow Voldemort, and obey his father. Forever.

But, in that one night, Draco learned that "forever" is fleeting.

* * *

The chill air brushed past Draco's young face as he made his way through the winding halls of Malfoy Manor. His steps were soft, almost undetectable in the echoing silence that reigned in the mansion's vast rooms and towers. It was some time around midnight and the moon's penetrating rays cast long, elegant shadows across the icy marble floors and walls, alternating between unforgiving darkness and a dim luminescence. To Draco, the halls and the shadows were all familiar; reassuring even. Nightly roams of the large estate weren't uncommon to the astute fifteen-year-old-- he often snuck out of his room to prowl the halls or to stop by the kitchen for a late-night snack and some brief house-elf torture, which is exactly where he was headed now. The entrance hall was only steps away from him, barely visible in the dim moonlight, but known to Draco through memory alone. The high ceiling stretched far into the deep sky, supported by smooth marble walls, and separated from the formal dining room by three thick pillars just off to Draco's right. Draco ran a pale hand across one large, unscathed cylinder, reveling in its surface, which felt much like solidified silk would, he decided. Draco was just then wondering if he could persuade mother to buy him a bed made of pure solidified silk, when the great mahogany entrance doors to his left were unceremoniously swung open and the hall was flooded with bright, white moonlight. Silhouetted against the rays stood a tall, sophisticated man with long blonde hair and hard steel eyes- Lucius.

Draco was instantly frozen in his tracks as his father stepped through the high double doors and lit the room with a wave of his dark oak wand. A bright glow immediately filled the hall and Lucius' eyes finally lighted upon Draco, who stood unmoving, his hand still resting on the smooth curve of a pillar.

"Draco!" Lucius began, and Draco jumped, his hand falling from the cold marble, fully expecting berating and anger from his father. "Good to see you up and about tonight. I have some interesting news that I think you, my boy, will find particularly pleasing." Lucius' voice was light and cheery, and he briskly walked over to Draco and placed a glove-covered hand on his son's small shoulder. This was the most exultant Draco had ever seen Lucius after a "business meeting"- or, put more bluntly, "a gathering of those who Eat Death"- and he was still getting over the shock of a somewhat pleasant, tactful, Lucius. His father lowered his voice slightly, although the ebullient tone didn't falter. Talk of the meetings was always secretive, though was never highly discussed with Draco, nor with such enthusiasm. Draco was taken aback, to say the least. "Tonight's meeting was highly confidential, and I'm only sharing this with you now because I believe you are finally old enough to hear it." At his father's statement, Draco straightened his back and tilted his head higher. "Tonight, the final plans have been drafted- this coming year, Our Lord will finally have the means to overtake that fool, Fudge. And, better yet, kill bloody Harry Potter in the process." Lucius was by now grinning like a maniac, and Draco managed a tight smile and curt nod at his father's conclusion. Lucius patted Draco's back proudly. "Some day, Draco, you too will be counted among Our Lord's finest. Some day soon." He then briefly squeezed Draco's shoulder, and, with a swish of his fine black cloak, he turned and headed up the stairs towards the master bedroom.

* * *

Draco's hand dropped from his lower lip and fell to cross his other arm, lying atop his lap. To most others, the memory of his father's joyous report would seem perfectly normal. A little creepy maybe, but still, just a dad telling his son some good news and complimenting him in the process. But, Draco knew better. Lucius was not one to deliver happy tidings in the dead of night, even extremely happy tidings and even to his only son and heir. On any other occasion, Lucius would have been furious to find Draco wandering around the mansion for no reason save boredom and tradition. His father was rarely anything other than furious, and certainly never happy- and that's what made the memory so evident in Draco's mind: Lucius was never happy. Ever. If the whole of earth's population suddenly decided to bow down and serve the Great Lucius Malfoy, and call him "Master" or "Lord" or "Pimp Daddy from the South Side"- whatever- he would simply feel superior and smirk a bit, but he wouldn't be happy.

But, Voldemort made him happy. Taking over the world and killing Harry Potter made him happy. Death, destruction, unfounded terrorism, random acts of violence and torture- these all made Lucius happy. Draco didn't want that.

Draco wanted to be happy from normal things- spending time with friends, hearing a good joke, holding a lover- he didn't want to be so distorted that normalcy was a fictional place, never to be reached or even seen by his dead eyes. Lucius was a slave. A slavering, hopelessly devoted beast with no plans of his own and no personal identity; he was doomed to a life of darkness and blind following, never to be in the light again. Draco didn't want that.

Draco liked the light.

* * *

Harry was lost in a pool of flashing, swirling lights, the bright colors mixing and dancing around his weightless body. The pool was vast, stretching around him on all sides for miles, and the bottom seemed to be endless, though Harry wasn't worried. In the distance, no more than ten feet from his tan, outstretched hand, was a head. Upon the head sat a damp, elegant mess of platinum blonde hair, the fluorescent lights reflecting off the shimmering locks hypnotically. And attached to the head, was a body. A hard, pale torso sat, floating in the pool, naked skin smooth and damp from the colored water. Harry slowly began to swim toward the body, gliding through the pool seamlessly, the colors parting in his path as he came closer to the enticing sight in front of him. As he advanced, Harry's heart beat faster and faster, each stroke pumping more heated blood through his already pounding veins. Finally, with the glimmering back just inches from his own chest, Harry stopped. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking body, and raised his hand. He slowly stretched it out, and only centimeters away from the taut, perfect skin, Harry woke up.

* * *

Harry's eyes snapped open, but other than that he remained perfectly still. His brain took a second to catch up with his vision, and by the time he was at least half-way conscious, his dream was a forgotten memory. The first thing Harry's mind registered was Ron, who sat to his left. He was currently glaring at a spot just behind and above Harry's prone head, his lanky body stiff with clear agitation. After a few moments of this stillness, curiosity finally got the best of Harry, and he slowly lifted his head and chest off the desk to sit up straight in his chair. When Ron still didn't move, Harry raised a hand and waved it directly in his vision, causing Ron to blink and turn his still-glowering eyes onto Harry. Ron's expression softened as he noticed his obviously awake and curious best friend, and he immediately tried to brush off his previously apparent anger, but to no avail. What followed was a silent conversation, both parties being heavily practiced in the art of avoiding unwanted detentions and lectures:

A head nod. What were you looking at?

Shrug. Nothing.

A quirked eyebrow. Come on. What is it?

Slightly raised hands and a heavier shoulder lift. Nothing, really. A slight smile. Would I lie to you?

A half-glare and slight upturning of lips. Yes. Now tell me.

Head jab towards the door. Later, I promise.

Crossing of arms. You better.

The tip of a pink tongue sticking out from furrowed lips. I will. Poncey git.

Shocked expression. Am not!

A single nod. Are too.

Am not.

Are too.

Am not.

Are too.

Am not!

Are t-

"What in Merlin's name are you two doing?" Hermione's fretful voice interrupted Harry and Ron's internal tirade with due force. The two boys incredulously turned to look at her, sitting directly in front of Harry. With her eyebrows raised and eyes full of question, she asked again, "Well?"

"Hermione!" Harry whispered furiously. "Keep it down; what if Binns hears you?"

Hermione simply rolled her eyes and let out a sigh of annoyance. "Binns isn't here. He said he had to leave for a moment and we were to read pages 345- 357 until he returned." Harry and Ron sat up straighter and scanned the room for any sign of their ghostly professor. He was nowhere to be seen. "And you ask why I pay attention in class. Really..." Hermione shook her head and turned back around in her seat, presumably to start the reading. Harry and Ron forsook their copies entirely and instead moved their seats closer together in an attempt at normal conversation. The rest of the class had obviously not heard Binns' announcement either, but were slowly and dazedly realizing their professor's absence, and a dull buzz of conversation began to fill the small room.

"So," Harry started.

Ron played dumb. "So, what?"

"So, what were you looking at? Or should I say, glaring at? You seemed pretty upset."

Ron's eyes briefly flickered to a spot just beyond Harry's left ear, and Harry turned in his seat to follow his friend's gaze. "I was."

Harry's eyes traveled across the small row to a seat behind and next to him- Draco. He was sitting low in his chair with a focused look on his face, and his dark grey eyes were fixed on a spot near Harry's right leg. His posture screamed, "back off; I bite," and Harry briefly wondered what he could be so deeply concentrated on, why he looked so troubled, and whether or not he could make it better. Then he remembered where he was and who he was talking to, and Harry blinked and turned back to Ron inquiringly.

"You're upset at Malfoy?" At Ron's reproaching look, Harry re-thought that statement and tried again. "You're upset at Malfoy. Still? Can't you just let this whole detention thing go already? You knew he was a bastard." Harry was grateful that last sentence worked in past tense- after these past few nights, he wasn't quite sure exactly what Draco was anymore.

"No, no, it's not that," Ron started, his cheeks slowly turning pink. "I just... I was watching him this whole period, and the entire time, he never stopped staring at you. It was creepy." Ron slightly shuddered.

"He... he was? Why?" Harry's voice sounded wistful and not nearly as concerned as Ron's.

"I don't know, but I don't like it." Ron turned a protective gaze on Harry. "You should watch out for him, Harry. I think he may be up to something."

Harry didn't answer and instead turned back around in his seat to look at Draco. 'Yes, I think he is, too... but, then again, so am I.'

* * *

Draco saw Harry's leg shift as he slowly rotated in his seat, now obviously facing Draco, looking at him- and Draco couldn't resist. Draco's eyes steadily raked up Harry's leg, past his thigh and over his robe-clad stomach and chest, along the gentle curve of his neck and across soft, pink lips, until ultimately coming to rest on Harry's wide, vivid eyes. Dark gray met tender green in a blaze of heat and racing pulses- and, finally, Draco knew. He didn't want to be a Death Eater- slaving away endless nights, torturing the innocent and dying, doing everything and gaining nothing- He didn't want to be like his father- cold, heartless, and apathetic towards the whole of his miserable life- And he wasn't going to follow Voldemort- ever.

Draco continued staring at Harry, and Harry continued staring at Draco. Neither boy blinked, and it took the rusty crackling of Binns' voice to snap their attentions back to the front of the room, where their ghostly professor was beginning to lecture again, starting as if he hadn't left at all.

"... And thus the two worlds separated, disconnecting entirely, never to be reunited again..."