Golden Thread Of Trust

Golden Thread Of Trust

Chapter 8: Resistance Is Futile

Contained in everything I do
There's a love I feel for you
Proclaimed in everything I write
You're the light
Burning, brightly
Onward through the night
Onward through the night
Onward through the night of my life

Yes - "Onward"

And time passed, as time has a tendency to do. An evening in early November, Harry lay in his four-poster bed with the hangings closed so that no one could see the troubled look on his face. His feelings, or rather his own involuntary reactions, had begun to disturb him lately. He remembered an evening a couple of weeks ago. It was very cold outside, and even the Gryffindor common room was chilly. Draco had escaped the even colder dungeons and joined Harry and his friends in front of the fireplace. They had been talking and laughing all evening, and Harry and Draco had played a game of wizard chess. Draco won, he always did. He seemed to have the ability to calculate complex strategies depending on Harry's every move, and Harry couldn't really grasp how he could win every single time. Harry supposed that he was too impatient to play wizard chess, since everyone could beat him at it. He thought that it would be interesting to watch Ron and Draco play.
'I wonder who's the better player?'
There was no animosity between the Gryffindors and Draco anymore, but Draco was always so reserved, almost shy, around them. He seemed to prefer Harry's company. It got late, and Draco told Harry that he'd better go back to his own dormitory. Harry found himself entranced as the tall youth stood up and stretched with cat-like grace. He watched him walk away, noticing for the first time how lithe he was, and how gracefully he moved. He'd never experienced that before; not being able to take his eyes off someone. He'd firmly told himself that it didn't mean anything, and perhaps it didn't. But that wasn't the only time it happened. More and more often he caught himself watching Draco, admiring...
'No, no, not admiring, certainly not admiring!'
...his smooth, pale skin, his silver-blond hair that always fell into his face in an adorable way...
'Adorable? Get out of it!'
Well, it didn't mean anything.
'I'm not... No. No! Nooo. Nope. No...'
Harry's new mantra proved as efficient as counting sheep, and he soon fell asleep.

In another part of the castle, Draco Malfoy was still awake. He sat on the windowsill with a notebook and a quill in his lap, looking down on what he had written. This was yet another of his secrets, and he hadn't told anyone about it, not even Harry. It was a book full of songs. His songs. He had always loved to sing, and his father actually got a singing teacher for him once. It was no use though, Draco never did his exercises regularly. Singing was for pleasure, nothing to be studied and mastered. Still, he had a very pleasant tenor voice, although he only sang when he was alone.
Writing songs had proven to be strangely therapeutic. It always seemed so much easier to deal with his problems when they were there, on the paper. He got a healthy distance to the emotions when he tried to find the right metaphors, the right rhymes, and the right form. It was like doing a jigsaw puzzle, really. Sometimes all the pieces ended up in the right places, and turned out to form a perfect whole.
He opened the notebook at the first page. What kind of songs did he write when he was younger, before his life changed so dramatically? They were bitter; they spoke of high expectations, longing, frustration and the doubts that had already begun to form in his young mind. There was one song for Pansy. It spoke about how you think you despise someone, and then, when it's too late, you discover that you'd have done anything to save her. It was his own way of mourning. But words weren't enough to express some things. That terrible period between when he recovered from the shock of his parents' deaths and when Harry saved him, the period that he inwardly had named 'the Darkness', was a time when he had had to write in images. The words he wrote didn't actually mean much, but they conveyed pictures and feelings, and that was all he could do, because no other words would come to him. There was the jubilant song he wrote when Harry offered him his friendship. He turned the page, and the song he wrote tonight confronted him. He had found exactly the right words for the strangely haunting melody, but this time it didn't sort itself out. He was as confused as ever, and the puzzle was nowhere near solving itself. He frowned as he read the last lines written on the page.

I'm trying to convince myself I don't want you
No, I don't want you
But when you make me laugh
And when you melt my unapproachable heart
You're making my conflict to an art

Draco sat in the library, eagerly awaiting his friend's arrival. He looked up and smiled when he saw him enter. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and more recently the centre of his universe. If someone had told him a year ago that his life would look like this today, he would have laughed. Still, here he was, and he wouldn't want to change a thing. Well, maybe one or two things. Harry smiled at him, and he felt his heart skip a beat. That, for example. It had never happened to him before, but he thought he was beginning to understand what was happening, and it was not a good idea.
"Sorry if I'm late," said Harry. "I had to take a shower after practice."
"No, it's all right," said Draco.
'I'm still surprised that he wants to be with me,' he thought. 'What did I do to deserve his friendship?'
"What are you doing?" Harry asked, and eyed the books and scrolls that were spread all over the table.
"Divination charts," Draco answered.
Harry groaned.
"Oh no. Those take hours to do!"
"Only if they are very complicated," said Draco, a bit confused.
Harry laughed.
"Do you want to know how Ron and I used to do them? We used to fill in the charts, and when the interpretations made no sense we just made it all up."
Draco laughed.
"What? And she swallowed that?"
"Hook, line and sinker," said Harry, grinning, "if there were misfortunes enough. She's been predicting my death since third year. I must disappoint her."
"You still go by that method?"
"Well, I guess that we're a bit more sophisticated now. I really try to do them in the correct way, but sometimes I just can't figure it out."
"You only have to use your imagination," Draco explained.
Harry grinned.
"We did!"
"Well, within the context anyway. Just use your intuition."
"I don't think I have any intuition."
Draco snorted.
"Crap. Everyone's got intuition. You just go by feeling."
"It doesn't seem very reliable to me," said Harry.
"It isn't," said Draco and smiled. "I just do it to get good marks in Divination."
"Well, that's a reason as good as any."
Harry was very comfortable in Draco's company, but he felt a growing tension in the air. It was almost tangible now. It wasn't negative; it didn't make their conversation strained or anything. It was rather as if the air between them was charged with electricity.
He could see how Draco tensed, and Harry turned around in his chair to see what he was looking at. He quickly turned around again. Blaise Zabini and some other Slytherin seventh-years entered the library and sat down at a nearby table. Zabini had done unexpectedly little to torment them in the weeks that had passed since the attack, and Harry and Draco had agreed to avoid him for as long as possible. If things started to look dangerous they would strike fast and have the advantage of the element of surprise. Harry knew that the teachers observed Zabini and his crowd more closely than usual, and that might be why Zabini was so careful. Harry was not a fool, he knew Zabini wouldn't let them get away with defeating him in such a humiliating way, running like scared sheep... But Draco had been really frightening, like a demon. He wondered if the spirits could make a person look like an angel. Not that Draco needed it.
'Hey, where did that come from? Arrgh!'
He saw that Draco eyed their neighbours warily, and Harry raised his eyebrows questioningly.
'Do you want to leave?' he tried to ask without words.
Draco understood and nodded. They gathered their things and left. When the library doors closed behind them, Harry sighed with relief.
"Gods, it really makes me nervous, not knowing what they're up to."
"I know," said Draco. "But don't worry, I'll protect you."
Harry pulled a face.
They separated reluctantly in the Entrance Hall, each heading to his own dormitory.

Harry found Hermione alone in the common room, and sat down next to her.
"Hi, Hermione."
"Hi, Harry," said Hermione and looked up from her book.
"There's something I wanted to ask you about."
"Okay. Ask ahead."
"There's something I don't understand. When I'm with this person I feel something strange. It's like a tension in the air, but it's positive. Do you know what it means?"
"A tension? You mean like attraction?"
"No! Not like that!" Harry exclaimed and shot up from his seat.
Hermione watched him leave, surprised by his strong reaction.
'Now why would he react like that if it wasn't true? I wonder who it could be?' she thought. Then it dawned on her.
'Oh.'

Draco sighed. He had resigned to his fate. He knew he was falling in love with Harry, and all attempts to stop it had been futile. His love was bound to be unrequited, of course. Harry was most likely straight, and even if he would fall in love with a guy, it wouldn't be someone like Draco. It would be a nice Gryffindor, someone easy-going and warm-hearted and good. So he would hide his feelings. He was a good actor, after all. The only thing he wanted was to be near Harry, he could never bear to lose his friendship now. That was why he would never tell Harry. He was pretty sure Harry wouldn't want to be near him if he knew. It would be very awkward. Anyway, it was just an infatuation, it would pass sooner or later.
'Probably later,' he thought, and continued to replay their latest meeting in his head, over and over. He absently stroked the green velvet of his hangings, and wondered if Harry's skin was that soft.

Harry couldn't sleep, his inner turmoil kept him awake.
'What if he starts to hate me again?' he thought. He couldn't deny the fact that he was attracted to Draco anymore. He was practically all Harry was thinking of. What if Draco found out what Harry was feeling? Draco wasn't actually eager to be Harry's friend to begin with. Just imagine his reaction to this... Would he ridicule Harry, or just despise him? Draco was bound to found out, he noticed everything.
'How can I do this to him? One is not supposed to be attracted to one's friends! This could ruin everything.'
He willed the thoughts of Draco to go away, but they wouldn't. Still thinking of Draco's scent that night in Astronomy Tower, he fell asleep.

That Saturday they were walking by the lake, enjoying the chilly November morning. The grass was covered with frost, but surprisingly there was no snow yet. The picture was beautiful. The iron-grey surface of the lake was still, and the branches of the trees were glistening with frost. Two young men, clad in black woollen cloaks, followed the narrow path, their breaths visible as white clouds in the cold air. They were discussing Quidditch animatedly, and Harry was just telling Draco how Hermione never understood why they were so impressed by that "Wonky Faint" thing. Draco laughed, and time seemed to slow down for Harry. He wished that he just could hold Draco and tell him how beautiful he was. Then it struck him, and he stopped dead in his tracks.
'Oh gods!' he thought. 'Bloody hell, I'm in love with him!'
"Harry? What's the matter?" Draco inquired.
Harry did what every sensible person would do. He panicked.
"Err... I got to go back to the castle. I... err... forgot to do something," he squeaked and darted off.
"Harry! Wait!" Draco called after him, but Harry was already gone.
"What the hell was that all about?" Draco wondered.