Trapped

Harry sat morosely at his table, carefully stirring his Pepper-Up potion widdershins, under the watchful eye of the Potions Master.

"Careful now, Potter. Do try to get it into your abnormally thick head that the Echinacea petals go in after the addition of the ground Billywig stings. This is imperative, Potter - otherwise, the results are...disastrous. And you certainly don't want any more detentions, do you?"

Harry nodded tightly.

"Yes, sir," he forced out.

Detention with Snape was not the way he had planned to spend his Monday night on the 21st of December, when the rest of Gryffindor House were joyfully bedecking the common room with all kinds of weird and wonderful decorations.

He quickly focused his thoughts as Snape, sitting forebodingly at his desk, cleared his throat meaningfully.

Right, thought Harry, now to add, er, a pinch of powdered Graphorn horn, then the Billywig stings, then Echinacea petals, not the other way round. OK.

Suddenly, the door to Snape's dungeon classroom swung open, and Draco Malfoy swept in.

He walked swiftly over to Snape's desk, sparing a contemptuous glance in Harry's direction, and conversed rapidly with his Head of House in low tones.

Harry caught the words 'emergency', 'Nott' and 'utter chaos' before Snape stood up suddenly.

"Potter," he said severely, "I need to sort something out. I will not be long. Please try not to blow up the dungeons in my absence, dunderhead that you are, hmm?"

Harry tightened his jaw and watched Snape walk out of the door, followed by Malfoy who turned to give Harry a smug 'haha, you have detention,' look.

Harry scowled at him as he picked up the Echinacea petals and dropped them distractedly into his cauldron.

There was a split second as Harry looked down and saw the petals splash gently into the potion.

"...the Echinacea petals go in after the addition of the ground Billywig stings...otherwise, the results are disastrous..."

Oh, shit.

The world exploded.

Harry felt himself be flung back against the desk behind him, and slid painfully to the floor as the noise of what sounded like the dungeons literally exploding thundered above him, until something hard hit him in the side of the head and everything went black.

He came to in a very uncomfortable position, back bent awkwardly against the legs of the desk behind him, his head feeling like it was about to split open, pain focused not on his scar as he was accustomed to but radiating from a large, tender lump on his right temple.

He eased his eyes open, which were gritty with dust that he could also taste in his mouth, and peered into pitch darkness, as all lamps had been effectively extinguished by the explosion, trying to assess the extent of the damage.

He groped in his pocket for his wand and to his great surprise and delight found it intact. Thank God.

He lit up the area with a quick 'Lumos', and groaned as the light made his pupils contract painfully.

He surveyed the damage.

Rocks littered the room, and everything was covered in a fine layer of rock dust. Whoa. Who knew a Pepper-Up potion could be so volatile?

Harry gingerly got to his feet and shook the grey dust from his robes.

He went around the walls and lit the remaining intact lamps to try and illuminate the room a little better.

The ceiling appeared to have fallen down in places, leaving piles of rubble around the room - the largest of which seemed to completely obscure the doorway. Bloody hell.

Harry frowned then winced as fresh sparks of pain shot through his skull. He looked at his wand, suddenly remembering the emergency pain-killing spell they'd learnt in Defence Against the Dark Arts - in preparation for the war, of course, though no one said it out loud - and quickly cast it on himself. He sighed in relief as his head cleared.

He looked at the blocked doorway and pondered his predicament.

His first instinct was to shout or help, but he nixed that immediately - he didn't need saving. He was the one who saved!

Anyway, this was his own fault - he'd get himself out of it.

He bent down at the corner of the pile of rubble blocking the doorway and got the shock of his life as his hand came into contact with something soft and warm and rather human feeling.

He let out a girly shriek, which he quickly disguised with a gruff cough.

He passed his lit wand tip over the dark corner that he was groping about in, and revealed a crumpled figure.

Even covered in rock dust, the finely tailored robes, prominent prefect's badge, fine silver-blond hair and pale skin was unmistakeable.

Harry's heart sank.

He would never ever hear the end of this when Malfoy regained consciousness.

His displeasure, however, was gradually turning into panic as he looked more closely at Malfoy - he didn't look very...lively. His normally arrogant face was bisected by a line of blood running down from a nasty looking gash on his forehead, a few strands of hair at the front turned an unpleasant pink.

If he was dead...oh shit.

Harry was really going to get it.

You don't just go around killing other students, even if it is accidentally, even if it is Malfoy. He tentatively shook Malfoy's shoulder.

"Malfoy? Malfoy? Don't be dead. Seriously. Oh. Fuck you! Wake up!"

He cast a quick healing spell on the cut on Malfoy's forehead, and whispered the pain-killing spell and shook him again.

Nothing.

Yet - of course he wasn't dead. He was still warm, wasn't he? And - Harry checked quickly - a pulse! The bastard wasn't dead!

He felt almost light-headed with relief, and took a quick moment to ponder the insanity of caring so much about his enemy's well being.

Harry knew it wasn't always wise to cast 'Enervate' on unconscious people who were possibly injured, but he didn't want to be discovered here with an unconscious Malfoy. Snape would probably try to have him expelled.

"Enervate."

Malfoy's eyes flickered and stared up into Harry's face, oddly unguarded in the moment before his thoughts coalesced.

He realised he had never seen Malfoy's eyes free from malice before.

He quickly banished that frankly unnerving thought in time to see Malfoy's eyes spark indignantly at him.

"Get the hell off me, Potter!" he said, struggling to sit up. "I...what the fuck have you done?"

A note of almost awe had entered his voice as he stared around the room. Harry, who had moved swiftly away in the face of Malfoy's impending rage, made a noncommittal noise.

Malfoy turned to him, getting to his feet so Harry wasn't looking down at him.

"Don't tell me you added the Echinacea petals before the Billywig stings, Potter. You did, didn't you? I could see it was a Pepper-Up potion. Even a first year knows not to do that! You really are monumentally bad at Potions, aren't you? Merlin knows how you got into this class. Dumbledore's machinations, I should expect."

Harry flushed in outrage.

"Shut up, Malfoy! I wouldn't have got it wrong if you hadn't come rushing in, distracting me..."

"Oh, don't try to blame your utter foolishness on me. Oh my, are you ever going to get done for this. You've practically destroyed the room. You might even get expelled. Whatever is Dumbledore going to say?" The evil delight in Malfoy's expression was creepily exacerbated by the line of blood down the middle of his face.

Harry shivered slightly. It was cold down there.

"Just shut the hell up, Malfoy, and let's try to get the hell out of here."

He turned to the formidable looking heap of rocks that blocked the entrance.

"Is that the doorway behind that lot? It is, isn't it? Merlin help you if we're stuck in here, I swear..."

"Oh shut up whining, Malfoy. These are too heavy to lift, most of these anyway. Reducto curse, to blast them away? Or would that not be strong enough to get rid of them? Wingardium Leviosa will probably work, if we, work together, " Harry ground out, "on the bigger ones."

Malfoy gave a hollow laugh without a scrap of humour in it. "Dear me, Potter. You really are stupider than you look. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but there you go."

"What are you on about now, Malfoy? Are you going to help me or not? I assume you want to get out of here too? I don't know if you've noticed, but his is hardly the most fun way to spend an evening."

"Oh, shut up, Potter, and listen. You can't use spells on the Hogwarts stones. I can't believe you've lived 6 years with Granger and you don't even know that! They're spell proof, for protection of the school - otherwise, any...ill wishers could fire a pretty damn powerful blast spell at the castle and blow it to smithereens. Which wouldn't do at all. At least, not while I'm inside it."

"So that means..."

Malfoy walked right up to the pile. "We can't move these. There's no way we can manually lift them - bloody hell, Potter! If I'm seriously trapped in here with you - you are so dead. My F---"

Malfoy fell silent and stared murderously at the stones, as if wanting them to spontaneously combust under his glare.

Harry didn't know why he didn't use this opportunity to taunt Malfoy mercilessly about his father, still locked up in Azkaban, to try and make Malfoy feel humiliated and small, but he didn't.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" tried Harry, just in case. Nothing.

After a moment, Malfoy forced out, "There's got to be some way out of here. There has to be. Potter - you start from the left of this" - he indicated the rock pile in front of them - "and I'll start from the right, and we'll work along the walls to find a way out. There's got to be something - a crack, or hidden doorway, or something..."

Draco quickly conjured up a few bright globes of light, an NEWT-level extension of the Lumos charm that they'd learnt the previous week, and distributed them around his side of the room until it was brightly illuminated.

Harry quickly did the same, not wanting to be outshone by Malfoy. No pun intended, he thought, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"There's nothing funny whatsoever about this abominable situation, Potter. Hurry up so we can get out of here."

In silence, they got to work, checking the walls of the dungeon classroom - but Harry was having no luck, and it didn't seem like Draco was faring any better.

The rubble littering the classroom seemed to come mainly from the damage to the ceiling - the walls still seemed thick and intact. There didn't even seem to be a crack to squeeze through.

Harry and Draco's paths converged at a point roughly opposite to the door.

"Any luck?" asked Harry tentatively.

"What the fuck do you think, Potter? We're bloody well stuck in here! Oh, I could just..." he made a violent gesture with his hand.

Harry backed away, alarmed. He had a sudden idea.

"Malfoy! We could check the ceiling - that's where most of the damage seems to be. There might be a hole or something we can levitate ourselves through."

Malfoy looked at him, murderous intent lessened somewhat. "Worth a shot. I'll go - I don't trust you to check properly. You can cast Wingardium Leviosa on me and I'll cast a reflexive self-levitation spell on myself as backup."

"You really don't trust me with anything, do you Malfoy?"

Draco looked pointedly around the room. "Can you really blame me, Potter?"

Harry supposed there was a point in there somewhere.

There were two main holes in the ceiling; one directly above Harry's desk and one closer to the door, where Harry supposed the potion that had been flung into the air had had some secondary reaction or something.

They levitated Malfoy first through the one nearest the door, Malfoy feeling gingerly upwards with his fingertips. He kept up an irritable sounding commentary - through the various insults and exasperated sighs, Harry could work out that the hole only went up a little way - only part of the hugely thick ceiling appeared to have collapsed, and there didn't seem to be a gap through to the floor above.

Grumbling loudly, Malfoy agreed to check the other hole just in case, but as he floated upwards into the gloom, his hip knocked against a rather unstable looking rock.

Dust drifted down ominously.

Malfoy froze, watching as, almost as if in slow motion, another part of the ceiling started to crumble.

Malfoy swore loudly in shock, his own levitation spell forgotten, so when a lump of rock hit Harry's wrist and dislodged his Wingardium Leviosa spell, Malfoy plummeted like a stone a scarily long distance to the dungeon floor and landed with a sickening crack in a crumpled heap.

Oh, not again, thought Harry as he hurried over and peered down.

Malfoy was even paler than usual, but alive. He was clutching his leg.

"Oh, my fucking ankle," he groaned.

"Oh, shut up whining, Malfoy, you're fine," said Harry dismissively, casting a healing spell on the damaged ankle.

Draco got as gracefully as he could to his feet and glared at Harry. "I don't think we'll be trying that again," he said, as if it was all Harry's fault.

Harry sighed. This was turning out to be a long evening.

"OK," he said, "we're trapped in here, and I don't think there's any way we can get out. The staff must know what has happened - Snape was right here." A thought struck Harry. "He wouldn't have got trapped under rubble or anything, would he?"

Draco shook his head. "No, he was quite a way out into the corridor in front of me and I was still in the classroom when I got knocked out by a bloody great lump of rock. Yes, much as it pains me to agree with you, Potter, we're stuck here, for the time being at least. Professor Snape will have informed the staff, and we'll just have to sit tight until they find a way to get us out of your mess."

Draco groaned and flopped down on the floor again, facing pointedly away from Harry. "Trapped in a dungeon with Harry fucking Potter, alleged hero of the Wizarding World. Exactly how I'd planned on spending my Saturday night. Dumbledore better get his act together and get me out of here."

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy. This is hardly a picnic for me either. And clean that blood off your face, it makes you look psychotic."

"What?" said Malfoy, sounding faintly horrified as he pulled a small mirror from his robe pocket and peering into it.

Harry rolled his eyes. Ponce.

Malfoy was grumbling something about "...could've told me sooner...look like an escaped convict...and there's dust all in my hair..." as Harry stood up and started tidying up a bit - moving the desks and loose bits of rubble as best he could to the edges of the room, and trying to sweep the dust off the floor, although he mainly succeeded in moving it around in clouds.

Malfoy coughed. He was standing casually against the wall. "Fun as it is to watch you toil, Potter, what are you doing?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm just trying to tidy up a bit. I figure that if we're going to be stuck here a while, I might as well make it a little more...hospitable."

"We're not going to be here that long, Potter! We'll be out of here before the evening's up, or at least we'd better be."

Harry looked at his watch for the first time that evening, and grimaced. "I hate to tell you this, Malfoy - believe me - but I highly doubt that, seeing as it's half past one in the morning."

"What? It was half seven when I came into your detention!"

"Yeah, but we were both knocked unconscious, which must've been for quite a few hours. Anyway, I don't see why you're expecting such a speedy rescue - I don't see how it'll be any easier for them to spell spell-proof rocks than it was for us. There's a likely a very complex spell on them in the first place just to make them spell-proof, which'll probably be very hard to get rid of."

"Oh, shut the hell up, Potter, you're depressing me." Malfoy's stomach rumbled loudly. "And I'm fucking hungry."

"Me too," realised Harry. "What food conjuring spells do you know? I know how to get emergency rations of bread and pumpkin juice, like we learned in Defence, but nothing more interesting."

"That's all I know, too. Most people learn from their mothers, but of course mine doesn't need to use any - all our food is organised by the house elves."

Of course - that figured. Harry could just picture him lounging on a bed in a huge mansion bedroom, house elves bringing him food on silver platters from which he languorously selected ripe strawberries, and sank his teeth into them, the rich red juice splashing down over his pink lips to dribble over his chin and down to his bare chest...huh?

Harry shook his head vigorously, not entirely sure where that unnerving image had come from. He looked up to find Malfoy looking at him curiously, and he desperately tried not to appear flustered, willing his ridiculous blush down.

He tried to refocus his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

"Well," he said slowly, thinking aloud, "the most important thing about a spell is the intent behind it."

He had learned that from Bellatrix.

"So I suppose that if you concentrate enough, the correct incantation might not matter, especially with something as harmless as a food spell," he continued. Harry closed his eyes and held his wand out, and imagined conjuring a standard loaf of bread. He held onto what the spell felt like, and focused it on the image of a roast dinner.

He concentrated intently, and opened his eyes to find a full roast chicken dinner on the floor in front of him.

He grinned. Even Malfoy looked impressed.

"Well, let's have another one, then. There are two of us."

Harry felt a stab of annoyance, and wondered briefly why he was surprised.

When they had finished eating, Harry gave a jaw-cracking yawn. He Vanished the plates and leftovers and conjured up a thick pile of blankets - another spell learnt in Defence for sleeping in inhospitable conditions. He found it vaguely ironic that the first chance he got to use these spells practically wasn't out fighting the good fight against Voldemort, but trapped by his own idiocy in a dungeon in Hogwarts with Draco bloody Malfoy.

"It doesn't look like they're coming tonight, so I'm going to get some sleep. Turn off the rest of the globes when you're done," he said, by way of goodnight, Vanishing the globes of light on what he had decided to claim as his side if the classroom and snuggling into the pile of blankets.

After about five minutes the lights on Malfoy's side went out.

Harry lay in the dark, head spinning from the eventful day. He sighed slightly - not only was he unlucky enough to get trapped in a room with no apparent way out, he was unlucky enough for it to be the dark, dank dungeons - and for him to be trapped with, of all people, Malfoy.

He could hear he other boy's breathing, slow and rhythmic across the dark.

The idea of Malfoy sleeping was oddly unsettling - it didn't seem right that Harry should be in a position where he would hear Malfoy sleeping. It brought all kind of odd connotations to mind.

Unbidden, the image of Malfoy reclining half-naked on a large silken bed rose again to Harry's mind, and he fretfully tried to banish it. He shouldn't be thinking of Malfoy in that way at all - it felt weird. He had an unsettled fluttery feeling in his stomach.

Eventually, he fell into a troubled sleep, hoping fervently that the next day would bring freedom.

He'd go stir-crazy if he was trapped in here with Malfoy for much longer.

When he woke, he couldn't tell if it was morning or not - no daylight, of course, filtered down to the dungeons classroom. He checked his watch - it was 8am, so he decided to get up.

He climbed out of his blankets and lit a few dim globes of light.

He looked over at Malfoy, still asleep, huddled in a pile of similar blankets. His face was relaxed in sleep, thrown into odd relief by the glow of the globes - dark shadows against gleaming pale skin.

Harry looked at him speculatively - it was starting to occur to him, in the way that he'd of course known it but never really realised it, that Malfoy was a real person, with feelings and friends and worries. He'd always just seemed like someone who existed purely to be the annoying bane of Harry's life, like some kind of malicious puppet on a string.

Yet...just as Malfoy was only a small part of Harry's life, so there must be more to Malfoy than his hatred of Harry. What was he really like as a person? Was he that mean and vindictive all the time, or could he be genuinely funny, kind, thoughtful?

Those words didn't seem to gel with what Harry knew of Malfoy, but who knew what kind of person he was away from Harry?

Malfoy stirred within his blankets, and Harry quickly turned away, busying himself with conjuring some breakfast.

Merlin, first the strawberry image, and now all this introspection about Malfoy - Harry was almost relieved when Malfoy's complaining voice sounded.

"Oh, hell. We're still here. It wasn't all a bad dream. You do realise we have to get out of here today, or I'm going to kill you, right?"

Harry said nothing, simply pushing a plate of bacon his way. Malfoy stumbled over and took it without a word of thanks.

After breakfast, Malfoy walked moodily over to the pile of rocks and stared at it.

"Hello? Can you hear me? We're trapped in here! OK, you probably guessed that, but get us out!" he shouted at it.

"Please," he added as an afterthought.

"That's true," said Harry said suddenly. "They might not be able to get to us but surely they can shout through to us? The rocks are hardly that thick."

"Exactly," said Malfoy, frowning. He opened his mouth to yell again, then suddenly stopped short and groaned, putting his head in his hands.

"What?" said Harry.

"I fucking hate Professor Snape sometimes," came the muffled reply.

"What?" said Harry again, completely confused.

Malfoy lifted his head and looked darkly at Harry. "Professor Snape absolutely hates being disturbed by noise from the corridor when he's in his classroom, so he puts a silencing charm on the room. Anyone inside can't hear what's going on outside and anyone outside can't hear anything from the inside. So there's no way we can communicate with anyone from the outside. And they can't just take it off; it'll be an internal charm, so you can only take it off from inside."

"And I suppose a simple Finite Incantatem won't do it?" asked Harry hopefully. Malfoy just looked at him.

It was Harry's turn to groan. "Great. Complete and utter isolation until they find a way to get us out of here, which could take - I have no idea how long. What the hell are we going to do until then?"

"Don't ask me, Potter. Don't forget even for one second that this is all your fault."

Malfoy fixed him with a look of loathing.

"I don't know if I've made it clear enough that I really, really hate you for this, Potter."

"Yeah, I gathered that," said Harry shortly.

Harry spent the morning continuing to tidy up the classroom, sweeping the floor clean and pushing everything to the sides of the room. Malfoy sat around looking bored for a while before getting up and joining in - albeit at the opposite end of the classroom to Harry - in the absence of anything better to do.

The morning passed painfully slowly.

They had lunch around midday - Malfoy this time concentrating hard on conjuring his own food, the pleasure of taking advantage of Harry's work obviously by now outweighed by the implication that Malfoy's own spellwork wasn't good enough - in a decidedly uncompanionable silence.

Harry, to his delight, found a pack of cards in his robe pocket after lunch and started a game of Exploding Patience while Malfoy stared listlessly at the wall.

After a while, Malfoy stood up with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Stop that racket, Potter," he said peevishly as the King of Diamonds blew up in Harry's face.

Malfoy held his wand out and muttered something.

Harry watched, fascinated despite himself. "What are you doing?" he asked, half-whispering.

"Ancient Malfoy family spell to summon one's owl. If there's a small enough hole, Zel will find it, and we could send a letter out with her to the staff, so they know we're alright at least, and try to chivvy them on."

Good idea, thought Harry, although he didn't say anything, as Malfoy looked deep in concentration, and anyway, complimenting Malfoy was too weird.

There was a long tense pause, which stretched on for what seemed like ages, although it was only a couple of minutes, until it was broken by Malfoy sighing irritably and lowering his arm.

"She would've come by now. It's not going to work - there must not be a small enough hole."

He frowned. "I hope she's alright - not too distressed that she can't find me. And I hope Crabbe or Goyle feed her her food, I don't trust the swill they give to the owls here. Although, having said that, I doubt anyone will be able to get near her - she can get a bit psychotic, and I'm really the only one who can handle her."

Trust Malfoy to have a psychotic owl, though Harry.

But there was a definite look of fondness on his face, which looked oddly out of place.

See, he hasn't got a complete heart of stone, said a little voice in Harry's head. Harry told it to shut up.

Nevertheless.

Harry thought for a moment, then nonchalantly asked, "How about a game of Exploding Snap?"

Malfoy looked at him, a sneer half formed on his mouth, and Harry hurriedly cut in before Malfoy could shoot him down.

"Look, you might as well. We've hardly got anything better to do, and it'll pass the time. You don't have to like someone to play Exploding Snap with them."

Malfoy looked vaguely sceptical, but sat down.

They ended up playing a long and protracted tournament through the afternoon, which was - of course - fiercely competitive but actually quite fun, or at least Harry thought so. The atmosphere, if not exactly friendly, was verging on comfortable.

After the game - declared a close win by Malfoy - they even managed to have a halfway civil conversation about their respective NEWTs, despite a few jibes from Draco about Harry's Potions performance - and even then he wasn't out and out spiteful.

By the time dinnertime rolled around, Harry was almost enjoying himself, as far as the situation would allow.

Harry felt he should've known it wouldn't last.

After dinner, they were discussing McGonagall's painfully harsh marking system.

"Well, I think she marks extra hard on purpose, so we all expect to do really badly, so we're pleasantly surprised when results come," said Harry.

Malfoy looked unconvinced. Harry nodded

"You'll see, I bet we all do really well. We'll have to tell each other what we get..."

He trailed off as Malfoy went suddenly still and his face shuttered.

"I hardly think so, Potter. That's rather a...pally thing to do. I don't know what conclusions you've drawn, but I certainly haven't forgotten we're not friends, Potter, and never will be."

Malfoy stood up and walked away from Harry, who was frowning in annoyance.

"Look," said Harry, getting to his feet, "I hardly meant we were friends or anything now, Malfoy, I just-"

But Malfoy appeared to have got into his stride. He whirled around to face Harry.

"Just because we managed to be adult enough to make the best of a frankly awful situation and put out burning hatred aside for an afternoon doesn't mean anything's changed between us! I still think you're an arrogant ignorant fool who's ridiculously coddled and protected and revered for no fucking reason, who disregards everyone else for his own fun and rule breaking. I'd still rather eat Flobberworms than be in here with you, but thanks to you I am, so I'm dealing with it. But Merlin help you if I'm not out of here soon."

Harry felt vaguely dazed at the abrupt change in the direction of the conversation, but anger soon took over.

"Fuck you," he exploded. "You don't know anything about me, so shut up. Why do you need to be so abrasive and mean? There was no fucking point in that, but you've managed to turn this into an argument. You're so vindictive and petty - you think it makes you look like a big man? You're not - you're pathetic. Selfish and power hungry, always out for yourself. You wouldn't know loyalty if it smacked you in the face - you and your whole rotten family just ally yourselves with whoever's most powerful. Didn't get your father very far, did it? I hear it's rather cold in Azkaban this time of year. Do tell him to be careful not to catch a chill," finished Harry smugly.

Malfoy's eyes glittered dangerously. "Don't bring my father into this, Potter. That's out of line. And you say I think I'm a big man? Look at you - parading about, The Boy Who Lived, everyone's hero, yet what have you actually done? You just...didn't die. And that's not much help now, is it? The Second War's begun, and you're just a scared little boy - you don't stand a chance. What would your revered parents---"

Harry had had enough. It was hard enough to listen to Malfoy spelling out all his fears and insecurities, like everything he'd worried about was true - he just couldn't deal with the bastard starting in on his parents.

Rage rose in Harry and he launched himself at Malfoy in desperate anger, cutting him off, fist connecting solidly with Malfoy's stomach as he crashed into him. Harry's momentum carried them both to the ground - Harry landed hard on top of Malfoy.

Harry had one hand fisted in Malfoy's annoyingly silky hair, the other trying to punch every inch of Malfoy's sneering face - Harry just wanted to shut him up, to hurt him, to finish the job he'd started on the Quidditch pitch last year. Malfoy was defending himself with surprising strength, knee pressed painfully into Harry's stomach and fists catching glancing blows off Harry's back.

With a grunt, Malfoy pushed Harry up and over, so Harry was flat on his back, Malfoy above him with fist raised ready to sock him in the eye - but Harry wasn't having that. He brought his leg up high and kneed Malfoy hard in the chest so Malfoy collapsed, winded, next to him.

Harry raised himself up, turned around and pounced on Malfoy, intending to smash his nose in - and found himself straddling Malfoy's hips with his knees, hands either side of Malfoy's face, staring into Malfoy's eyes.

There was a split second in which Harry looked own at Malfoy's flushed face, white-blond hair spread out on the dungeon floor behind him, eyes dark, chest heaving.

A split second in which Harry suddenly noticed Malfoy's warm body pressed against his own.

A split second in which the atmosphere changed irrevocably.

There was a ringing in Harry's ears and he felt hypersensitive all over, and there were no clear thoughts in his hot, tangled mind except that, looking at Malfoy's snarling pink mouth, he had to kiss it or die, so he did.

If he'd been coherent enough to expect anything from Malfoy, it would've been to throw him off in horror and disgust - instead, Malfoy lifted his chin and pressed his lips eagerly against Harry's as if he'd been waiting for it, groaning responsively into Harry's mouth and wrapping an arm around Harry's waist to pull their bodies flush together.

Harry gasped as Draco's warm tongue slid against his own, and bucked his body against Draco, who hooked a leg around Harry's waist to press his hips up against Harry's - Harry ground down mercilessly, head spinning from a combination of the delicious pressure and Draco's breathless moans.

Harry needed more of Draco, that second - he raised himself slightly to fumble with Draco's constricting robes, finally ripping them open across Draco's chest.

Harry licked a path down Draco's neck to his chest, sucking and lightly biting, causing Draco to writhe in pleasure beneath him. He travelled back up to Draco's mouth and kissed him again, their tongues battling furiously - Harry helped Draco sit up, trying not to break the kiss, so he could push Draco's robes fully off his shoulders.

Draco reciprocated, baring Harry's chest then laying Harry down so it was Harry's turn on his back, and kissed his way down Harry's body. He took off Harry's trousers, pants, socks and shoes and kissed a path up Harry's thigh until, oh god, Harry could barely breathe for the mind-blowing pleasure, what was Draco doing to him? oh god!

Yet somewhere in the back of his lust crazed mind, Harry had a vague notion that he didn't want to embarrass himself in front of Draco - at least, not yet - so he tugged Draco up for another bruising kiss.

Draco was wearing entirely too many clothes, decided Harry, so he quickly unbuckled Draco's trousers - ah yes, oh, that was better.

White lines of hot pleasure sizzled across Harry's closed eyelids as he rocked against Draco's body, skin against sweat-slicked skin, the heady tang of sex and sweat in his nose and mouth. Draco's harsh panting echoing his own echoing the rushing of his pulse in his ears, Harry dissolved in a world of ecstasy.

******************************************************************

Harry woke up feeling uncomfortable. Stones were digging into his back.

Why was he asleep on the dungeon floor? And his arm was dead, squashed under something.

Harry opened his eyes, frowning, to be faced with what was undoubtedly the pale skin of someone's back.

What the...?

The memories of the last night crashed into his mind suddenly with the force of a freight train, and he closed his eyes and murmured, "ah, fuck," against Malfoy's back.

He wasn't sure how he felt about it all; it had been good, certainly - Harry tried not to think abut how good it had been, lest he find himself in an embarrassing position - yet...it was Malfoy. There were going to be consequences, issues, problems.

Harry wasn't sure he was in the right frame of mind to deal with all the fall-out, he just wanted to go back to sleep, despite the less than inviting cold stone floor.

Nevertheless.

Harry gently eased his arm out from under Malfoy, who stirred and turned around to face Harry, eyes opening sleepily.

Harry waited for the inevitable realisation to smack into Malfoy's expression.

Malfoy started, then rolled right away from Harry and put his hands over his face. "Oh, bloody fuck."

Harry felt slightly miffed. He hadn't really expected Malfoy to be all sunshine and daisies about it, but still. "You weren't complaining last night, Malfoy," he said crossly.

"Oh, bloody fuck," Malfoy said with more feeling. "Can't we just forget this ever happened?" he asked, still covering his face.

Harry stood up, stiff and aching, and began scouting the dungeon for his clothes.

"I don't think so, Malfoy. This isn't something we can just sweep under the carpet," he said, pulling his trousers on.

He picked up Malfoy's trousers and robes. "Here, put some clothes on. Look, enemies don't go around just fucking each other - we need to, like, discuss this, and stuff. In any case, we can hardly go back to how we were."

"Yes, we can!" said Malfoy, sounding desperate, hurriedly getting dressed. "We can just...put it down to hormonal urges or something. Normal teenage boy behaviour. Well, possibly a little more gay than would be considered normal, but the point is, I still hate you. We both still hate each other. Nothing's changed between us!"

"Of course it's fucking changed! And it looks like it wasn't as simple between us in the first place as it appeared-" the strawberry image rose again in Harry's mind, and he inwardly smiled wryly, "-I mean, I thought I hated you, but I hate...Snape, for example, and I don't find myself wanting to jump him. Well, he is less aesthetically appealing," admitted Harry, "but that's beside the point, which is, things are - and, evidently, were - complicated between us."

"They weren't, and they aren't, Potter - I still think you're a dim-witted arsehole, and you still think I'm - what was it? - vindictive, petty and mean, so this whole regrettable incident can be forgotten."

Harry felt a surge of annoyance. "Bullshit. You're just...scared to let another person close to you."

Malfoy's face seemed to flicker for a moment, but it was gone in a flash.

"Don't throw psychological crap at me, Potter! Get me out of here!" he all but shrieked, turning to the blocked doorway.

The silence echoed loudly thought the room as Harry turned away from Draco and finished getting dressed.

Fuck him, he thought angrily, if he just wants to leave it, then fine, fuck him.

But the air was thick and tense between them, so much hanging unspoken that Harry just couldn't let it be. He hated unfinished things, and after a couple of minutes he had to burst out, "We can't just forget about it! It's just...I can't leave it."

"Well, you're just going to have to, Potter," said Malfoy more calmly, still turned away from Harry. "Besides anything else, you're still my enemy. The enemy. And I'm yours."

"But...you don't have to be. It doesn't need to be about that - I don't want to bring politics into this! Sides, enemies, whatever. Can't we just be two normal boys in this situation? We're not even adults yet, we shouldn't even be worried about sides and war and, I dunno, tactics."

"Yes, but we are," said Malfoy, finally turning to face Harry, "and we should be - we're in the middle of a war, and we are who we are. We can't not think about sides, and it's not like either of us have a choice of which we're on - you're The Boy Who Lived, and I'm a Malfoy."

"You don't have to not have a choice," said Harry in a low, urgent voice. "You make your own choices, no matter what people tell you."

Malfoy gave a hollow laugh, and walked away, rubbing his temple. "I am not having this conversation with you. I am not having a discussion about life changing decisions with Harry fucking Potter."

He sat down, looking defeated.

Harry looked at him thoughtfully. "Well, you might as well talk to me, about anything you want, really. I'm hardly looking for juicy secrets to incriminate you with - hell, you've slept with me. I've got enough ammunition to bring you down if I so wanted, and you me, sleeping with the enemy and all that."

His tone turned more serious.

"Look, Malfoy - I don't know what you think your destiny is, what you have to do, what you really think, whether you truly believe I'm on the losing side or not - but you are your own person, and you can make your own decisions. For yourself, not based on what you're told or expected to do, on your family, on Voldemort."

Malfoy visibly tried to stop himself flinching at the name, and failed miserably. He looked angry with himself.

"So, what, Potter? Since when did this discussion about the incident turn into one about choices, and sides? Trying to recruit me for the good side, now? Another fighter to swell Dumbledore's ranks?"

He lay down and stared listlessly at the ceiling.

"Whatever. Stay out of my life."

Harry walked tentatively over to Malfoy, and sat down near him.

"No, I'm...not, actually trying to...recruit you, or anything. I'm interested in you, arsehole though you may be. I've never thought about it before, but you may be even more fucked up than me, and that's saying something. I may not like you - at least, the you that you show me - but I want to understand you."

There was silence, stretching out for a split second and an age, until it was broken by Malfoy's quiet voice.

"I was raised mainly by servants - my mother was pretty uninterested in me, caring more for her life as a social butterfly, hosting parties and the like. My father took a passing interest, but he always seemed vaguely displeased with me. I grew up always desperate to please him, not even sure why. I always seemed to be trying to make him proud."

A pause.

"When I met you, I didn't know whether I was meant to like you or hate you - I knew you were the one who defeated the Dark Lord, but I also knew, or, at least, assumed you would be - powerful and important."

Harry couldn't help grinning at the concealed insult.

"I knew, at least, that I wanted to impress you. I was shocked and upset and downright pissed off when you rejected me. I'd never experienced that before - I'm a Malfoy! People always respect us. I hated you so much for that. It's probably a bit silly, to still hate you for that, especially when we've both got bigger things to worry about, but there you go. It's become a habit."

Draco paused again. Harry kept very quiet, willing him on. Draco took a deep breath, and continued.

"I'd planned to become a Death Eater after Hogwarts, to stand by my father's side like an equal man - to make him proud. But now...he's locked up. He might escape soon, but then again, he might not, and what do I do in the meantime? Will the Dark Lord still want me? Do I even want to become a Death Eater if my father isn't there to see me? Do I have any other choices? And why the hell should my father's situation dictate my own? I'm fucking incapable of thinking for myself! But...now I'm starting to question everything that I've been led to believe - I don't even know what are my own thoughts or what I've just been brought up to think. Do I even care about Mudbloods that much, or is it just my father's teachings that are speaking? Everything feels like it's falling apart...I don't like it."

Harry was fascinated - he was getting a real insight into the mind of this sad, strange, unlikeable character. He could see startling parallels between himself and Draco - both had been born into a life where they had little control over who they were - both thrown into typecast roles with their destiny laid out before them and expected to just follow it.

Harry didn't have much choice in his destiny, but Malfoy could change his. He didn't have to be what was expected of him.

Harry tugged Draco gently upwards by the shoulder, and Draco sat up. They looked at each other for a moment - Draco's face was open at last, looking drained and slightly scared, the expression incongruous in his normally arrogant face - before Harry leant forward to kiss him, gently this time.

Draco resisted for a moment, then relaxed against Harry and brought his arms up around Harry's back. He broke the kiss to let his head fall forward onto Harry's shoulder.

"I'm so fucked," he muttered against Harry's collarbone.

"Well, yeah," said Harry, smirk evident in his voice.

Laughter rumbled slightly in Draco's chest, and he lifted his head for another kiss.

Harry let Draco lay him down, and he silently offered himself all to Draco, mutely placing in Draco the trust Draco had shown him when spilling everything he hadn't even wanted to admit he was thinking.

They took it slowly this time, revelling in the feelings and sensations, moving over to a pile of blankets before they got too preoccupied to think about moving to a more comfortable position.

Harry wondered at the difference between the Malfoy he knew yesterday and the one he could see today, until he got too distracted to think about anything other than the remarkable things Draco was doing to him.

The day passed in a whirl of sex and sleep - that evening, sitting, limbs entwined, with Draco, in front of a roaring fire they'd conjured (it got incredibly cold in the dungeons in December when one spent a lot of time naked), Harry realised he was actually happier than he'd been in a while.

The cold knot of loneliness in his chest, the feeling that no-one understood him, that he'd felt ever since Sirius died and he'd herd about the prophecy felt like it had eased somewhat. And because of Malfoy, of all people! It was hardly believable - and yet, here he was.

Draco tightened his fingers around Harry's wrist as if mind reading, and Harry sighed happily.

*****************************************

The days passed surprisingly quickly when filled with lazy sex, languorous kisses and decadent meals in bed rather than arguments and hostility - Harry woke up on the 4th morning after the explosion and realised, with a shock, that it was Christmas day.

He gently shook Draco awake.

"Hey," he whispered, "hey. Guess what day it is?"

Draco turned sleepily to face him. "Hmmm? What day is it?"

"It's the 25th."

"Really? Already? Merlin," said Draco, sounding more awake. "You know, if anyone had told me a week ago that I'd be spending Christmas day trapped in a dungeon with my archenemy Harry Potter, I'd've hexed them into oblivion. Especially if they'd told me I'd be enjoying it."

He looked sideways at Harry, who had to lean forward and kiss that slightly smiling mouth.

Suddenly, the air around the room rippled slightly, and Draco's fine hair stirred slightly in an unseen breeze.

Harry frowned, looking around.

"What was that?" he said, confused.

"It felt like magic, like someone cast a spell. But there's no-one in here..." Malfoy looked worried, and glanced down at their bodies, tangled together under a blanket.

"I fucking hope there's no one in here," said Harry fervently. "I--"

But he was cut off by the sound of a low voice.

Snape's voice.

Coming from the direction of the blocked doorway.

Oh shit!

"The silencing spell has finally been successfully removed."

Harry and Draco stared at each other, frozen in place.

Another voice rang out - Hermione. "Harry? Harry? Are you OK in there? We're so sorry, but we couldn't get you out! Dumbledore had to do all kinds of complicated spells - are you all right? Did Malfoy try to kill you?"

Harry couldn't respond - his body seemed paralysed.

"Shush now, Miss Granger."

Oh, bloody fuck. McGonagall!

"Potter, Malfoy, hold on. We're nearly there."

Harry and Draco looked at each other.

There was nothing they could do.

With a soft popping noise, the large pile of rubble disappeared - stood ranged on the other side were Snape, McGonagall, Ron and Hermione.

Varying degrees of horror dawning on their faces, they took in the scene before them - Harry and Draco lounging, rather nakedly, in bed together.

There was utter silence.

"Erm," said Harry, at a loss. "Merry Christmas?"