The Subtle Knife

Chapter 6: Revival

On Monday morning, Draco was relieved to discover that evidently Potter hadn't let the Mudblood or the Weasel know how he and Draco had spent their Friday night. Not that Draco had expected the Gryffindor to spill his secrets, but one could never be too sure. After catching his name in passing said (derogatively, no less) by the Weasel, he had naturally sauntered over to the Gryffindor trio after Potions class that morning.

"...Malfoy, that son of a bitch! But Harry, we didn't see you at all on Friday night after Hermione came back from the library. Where were you?"

Potter averted his famous green eyes and he shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I was studying late...in the library...I-"

Draco sucked in a sharp breath. Don't you dare say anything more, Harry Potter...

But Granger just laughed and patted him affectionately on the back.

Draco narrowed his eyes. Thank God no one touched him like that.

"Good for you, Harry!" She grinned with her big beaver teeth (Draco still thought they were abnormally large). "It's always good to get ahead in class. Maybe we should go over Avis charms this weekend after Hogsmeade. Remember we're meeting Ginny and Neville at the Three Broomsticks..."

"Erm..." Potter looked down at his feet. They were clad in dingy white trainers that had seen better days, on someone with much larger feet. "Actually I...erm...have plans..." he added, pink flush accentuating his cheekbones nicely.

"What's so important that you're going to miss Hogsmeade, Harry?" Weasley pressed.

Draco felt something flutter down from his stomach to his crotch. He was thankful the robes they wore covered so much. This was the perfect opportunity to step into the conversation, especially before things began to uglify. "Hey Potter!" he said loudly. "Got a girlfriend or something? Is that why you're going to miss Hogsmeade? To go snog her silly? Dazzle her with your flashy scar maybe?"

Draco really hoped that Harry would get the idea and play along, only he was too dense to catch any further insinuation.

Potter straightened and his eyes narrowed, though they weren't hard or annoyed as they often used to be. His face might have even got a little more colour to it, but that could have been the poor lighting in the dungeons. "Maybe. What's it to you, Malfoy? I noticed you haven't signed up either."

Granger and Weasley's eyes narrowed too. And Weasley stepped close up behind Potter in battle-stance, wand drawn.

Draco sneered, although the irony of his upcoming meeting with Potter was not lost on him. "I have other things to do," he said pompously. Then he went on to aggravate Potter further, "I'll just have to work extra hard some other time to make her life miserable on school grounds."

"Since when do you work hard at anything Malfoy, except kissing your Death Eater Daddy's arse?" Weasley's fists balled up and he puffed his chest out.

Weasley was much taller than Draco. He dwarfed the Slytherin by at least four inches. Draco straightened his back, too. He wouldn't be intimidated by the height difference. "I always work hard. I was given prefecture, you weren't. Let the academic facts speak for themselves." Draco inched closer, knowing that Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't be far behind to back him up. He didn't refute the claim Weasley made about where his allegiances lay, but it was not entirely true either.

Had to keep up the act and play the part.

Harry's eyes met his own ashen ones with a look of subdued hurt and anger. Draco almost regretted that. "Get away from us, Malfoy," he said lowly, "We don't have time to waste on you."

"No, certainly not, with You Know Who after you and all. Who knows how much time you have left, Potter."

Potter recoiled and Weasley stepped forward. Granger just stood there with her mouth open, only useful to anyone for catching flies, if her teeth weren't in the way. Potter dragged away Weasley by the collar and stalked off to whatever class they had next (Draco thought it was Divination). Granger went off too, but Draco wasn't looking forward to spending the next hour near her in Arithmancy.

Fuck! He blew it. Why did he have to say that? Had to say everything so stupidly!

On Wednesday, Draco had Care of Magical freaks first thing in the morning with the Gryffindors. With Potter. On the one hand, Draco seemed to be relishing any time that he could spend near or staring at the other boy (this included all three meals in the Great hall and any shared classes), but on the other hand, it wasn't just Potter alone. His two faithful sidekicks would also be present.

It was starting out to be a rather dreary day- overcast with dark, brooding rain clouds that hovered over the horizon ominously. There wasn't much of a breeze that day, but it was still very chilly for early November. Draco cursed himself for having lost his favorite leather gloves somewhere. His hands would likely be blue by the end of the hour. Thankfully, it wasn't a double period that day.

As they approached the oaf's hut, Draco made sure to huddle close to Crabbe and Goyle- they simply radiated body heat. He could make out a number of strangely-shaped nests being tended to by the great hulk of a gamekeeper. Said nests were also filled with the not the most hideous things the class had studied yet, but they certainly weren't Veelas- small dark birds that were very vulture-like in their appearance. They reminded Draco of Madam Pince.

And the racket the birds were making was unparalleled! Sort of a low, throbbing cry that only increased in pitch and vigour as Draco and his fellow Slytherins approached, followed by Potter and his Gryffindors.

Draco glanced quickly over his shoulder at Potter. The boy's hair was especially messy that morning and his eyes were drooping- purplish bags underneath. He looked dead tired and simply delicious.

But Potter didn't seem to notice Draco's prolonged stare. Granger did and she scowled darkly.

"Today," the oaf announced, "we'll be startin' on augureies, also known as Irish Phoenixes. There bein' real loud today 'cause it looks like a rain's comin'." The oaf pulled out a bird for show, and it squawked louder. It was much smaller and thinner than Draco would have imagined for something making the amount of noise it did.

"You'll be workin' in pairs as usual, to look after one of them for the class. They haven't been fed yet, so that's yer jobs; they like insects and fairies, but all I could get yers was some Ceylon Singing Cockroaches from the storerooms."

The class was quickly pairing itself up and Draco sided with Crabbe immediately, as he was the lesser stupid of his two goons. Goyle would have to work with the left-over Slytherin girl (usually Blaise), which was fine as he was normally made to anyways.

As Draco was heading over to pick up one of the augureies (Crabbe being distracted by Queenie Greengrass' bum), the oaf stepped in front of him, blocking his path entirely. There was a simpering Pansy Parkinson standing next to him. She looked away hastily. "Malfoy," the oaf boomed, "you'll work with Pansy today." Pansy reluctantly drew closer, but still didn't look over at Draco.

"I've already got a partner," Draco nodded over to Crabbe, who was probably drooling by that point.

"I said you'll work with Pansy here today."

Draco scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. "No." As though the oaf could tell him what to do!

"You'll do as yer told, Malfoy."

Draco cowered at the half-giant's demand. Fuck! That beast could eat me with that look he just gave. Stupid bastard! "My father will hear of this-" Draco began voluntarily, until he remembered his father and that newspaper article.

The half-giant ignored Draco's protest and lumbered off to go assist Longbottom with his augurey.

"Shouldn't you know better than to threaten a professor, Malfoy?" the Weasel jeered as he walked up to the Slytherin, grinning. "Just go work with your girlfriend- er, ex- girlfriend!"

Some of the other Gryffindors snickered, including the Irish twit Finnigan and the nancy artist Thomas. The tips of Draco's ears burned.

"Shut up, Weasel! At least I can get some."

The Weasel's eyes narrowed, "I'll have you know that I can get some whenever I feel like," he insisted in a low voice. With that, Granger drew near and Potter followed, coming closer to the confrontation.

Draco swallowed with Potter's close presence. He needed to watch what he said. "If we're talking about money, then you are certainly mistaken, Weasel." He smirked and hoped Crabbe and Goyle were right behind him. He hadn't said anything too nasty, so Potter should be pleased.

"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Weasley snatched out his wand. "Viverrat-"

Potter grabbed hold of the Weasel's arms from behind and Granger wrapped her paws around the wand. The Weasel, red-faced, was struggling and protesting, "Let me at the shitface! Let me at him!"

Potter's face was set grimly and his eyes squinted narrowly. "I think you'd better go now, Malfoy." His stance betrayed no emotion, none of the openness that had been in the library on the weekend.

Draco was worried about this, but he tried not to show it. He didn't want to jeopardize anything with Potter at this point. He attempted to sneer, but it came out wrong and it looked more like Draco had merely swallowed a glass of bubotubor pus. "Don't think you've won, Potty," he shot back, and then winced at his words. He didn't wait for any retort Potter might have (not that he usually did, save that for the Weasel) and marched off to the other side of the field, Pansy carting the nest close behind him.

The rest of the class Draco spent fuming over his words and the Weasel's, and he was glad when one of the cockroaches Pansy had been trying to shove down the augurey's beak bit the bitch.

Feeling rather foolish (and almost ashamed of what he had said to Potter), Draco couldn't be bothered to bother Potter and pals the remainder of the week. He made sure to sit far away from them in Potions and Care of Magical Freaks, and turn his back to the Gryffindor table at dinners. He focused his attentions instead on Longbottom, who had the unfortunate luck to be tripped a total of three times in the Great Hall at dinner, have his cauldron sabotaged in Double Potions- he melted his ninth that class (Draco had paid Goyle to toss crushed chickens' feet into it). Draco also `accidentally' had to use the leg-locker curse on him in Care of Magical Freaks Friday morning because he thought the Gryffindor was a nogtail out to eat his arm off (but really it was just a noisy shrubbery).

This was all done in an effort to appease Harry Potter- leave Potter alone and torment someone else. Potter, however, seemed none too impressed. When Draco finally caught the other's boy's eye when they passed in the hall Thursday evening, Draco had winked at him. Potter only returned what Draco thought was a nice gesture with emerald eyes blazing with fury or very intense dislike. Draco hoped that it was the former, because he really wanted Potter to be there on Saturday. It was nice company, a change from Crabbe and Goyle, and he was...helpful, among other things.

And if his dream was any indication, Potter was a pretty good kisser. Draco half-wondered what it would be like to...

No! That would be...

...really, really nice...

...horrid, disgusting...

Draco didn't intend to find out first-hand.

It was with dreaded apprehension and worry that Draco went into the school library on Saturday morning after the remainder of the school had left for Hogsmeade that morning. Crabbe and Goyle had poked and prodded him that morning into waking, despite the fact that he had told them he was not going to Hogsmeade that day. He had insisted that he had studying to do and that he felt ill that day and he had crawled back under the protective warm of his comforter. Crabbe had hulked off, obviously pleased with himself that he had been correct and told Goyle that he was, therefore, the dumber of the two.

please come Potter please come Potter

His heart was heavier than it ought to have been and his stomach was empty- Draco didn't think that he could keep any food down that morning- which added to the placebo belief that he was ill. In the library, he wandered over listlessly to his usual table and pulled the book on Yorkshire silversmiths off the shelf nearby. He sat down with an unusual slouch in his perfect posture.

His head was bent over and his hair in disarray as he couldn't be bothered to look decent if Potter probably wasn't going to show up. He was pleading internally and hoping that Harry Potter had some sort of telepathic scar powers- please come please come please come. The thought of apologizing had even crossed Draco's mind.

"Are you a Death Eater?"

Draco's head snapped up instantly. Harry...Harry was staring at him carefully, his lips pursed and ready for an answer. He looked determined and dangerous. If he looked like this when he had faced Voldemort numerous times before, then it was obvious why he had always won.

Draco was taken aback at such an overtly blunt question. Hadn't he already basically admitted to Harry that he had no part in the train massacre? Wasn't that enough?

Apparently not. Harry stood stiffly, hands braced on the back of a chair for balance. He was facing Draco directly, waiting.

Giving the library a quick glance, Draco made sure that no one had heard the Gryffindor. Madam Pince was busy shelving a cart of introductory Arithmancy books on the other side of the room and was ignoring them both, lost in the leisure of the Muggle's Guide to Numerology.

Draco swallowed nervously. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly, but still couldn't look Harry in the eye. "I...no," he mumbled.

Harry gave a sigh of relief and sat down. "I hoped not," he said, blushing a little and keeping green eyes fixed on Draco's face the whole while.

Draco smiled at this, feeling genuine happiness that Harry had given him the benefit of the doubt and at Harry's familiar pinkish hue. He felt a catharsis of sorts- that everything he had felt that past week was gone with that single gesture.

"I...I found this-" Harry pulled out a book from his bag, changing the subject quickly before awkwardness set in "-when I was here with Hermione and Ron Thursday."

Draco opened the worn velvet cover to reveal the first page. A Compleate Biograficale Account of Sir Henry Hampstead Meelayna of Brighthamsdale, Wizard, Schollar and Master Silversmythe.

His jaw dropped. This was the goldmine! "Harry...how-"

Harry grinned, oblivious to the fact that Draco had addressed him by his given name. "Speechless, Malfoy?

Draco raised two silver eyebrows. "Hardly." But his tone said differently.

"I marked the pages I thought had useful information."

"You've read this whole book?" Draco asked incredulously. The book was several inches thick, a good four hundred pages at least.

"Why do you think I was so tired Friday? I stayed up Thursday night reading it."

Draco smirked- Harry was not known for his study habits, although he must have got at least decent marks in some of his classes to become a prefect. "Maybe you were out with your girlfriend?" he offered. "Speaking of Ms. Chang, I haven't seen her around lately. Is she dead?"

Harry frowned. "She's not my girlfriend- not exactly."

Draco had a hard time believing that. "But I saw you two snogging in September."

Harry's eyes widened and he began to fidget with his wand, twirling it around in his hand like a baton. "Well..." He turned bright red and his hair started to stick up even more. "I thought maybe she was, too...but she hasn't been around much lately and..." He looked up at Draco and the Slytherin felt his cheeks warm up when he remembered seeing Potter and Chang getting off with each other. What would it be like if it were Potter and him instead? "She's in Hogsmeade today, I think. With her friends. Buying study guides for her NEWTS, I reckon. She should team up with Hermione and study."

"The Mudblood is studying for her NEWTS already?"

"Don't call her that!" Potter shot back, his hand gripping his wand a little tighter than before.

"I'm just speaking the truth. Don't kill the messenger."

"Malfoy," Harry asked through slitted eyes, "tell me, why do you hate Muggles and Muggle-borns so much? Is it inbred into your family or something? " Harry leaned forward, his slim neck stretching out invitingly for Draco.

Draco blinked and tried not to focus on the piece of exposed flesh. He answered with another question, "Have you ever thought of what the name Malfoy means?"

The Gryffindor boy studied Draco for a moment, his brow twisting into a knot of confusion. "Well...'mal' is French for `bad', I think, and `foy'...hmm...that's kind of like `foi' or maybe `foie'...like the `gras' type?"

"'Foi' without an `e' and it means `faith'," Draco prompted.

"So, `mal foi' means `bad faith'?" Draco nodded. Harry scratched his head, messing up his perpetually tousled hair...

Bet you'd just love to run your hands through it...

"Bad faith?" Harry went on, impervious to Draco's thoughts. "Like, say...evil?"

"No, taken literally," Draco corrected with a small sneer. "My ancestors were French and Protestant- not Catholic."

"And evil, too?" Harry asked, a very Slytherinesque smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"No," Draco grinned half-heartedly, "they were wizards still, but Protestant, not evil. And that made them the wrong religion in France."

"They were Huguenots?"

So Harry must have paid attention to Professor Binns occasionally. They say you learn something new everyday.

Draco nodded. "Secretly-they weren't stupid- and Potter don't say anything to that! They were wealthy and controlled the wizarding trade routes around this one town- where most of them lived- a couple hundred years ago."

"And?" Harry dragged his chair in closer.

Draco sighed, remembering what his father and mother had told him countless times. "In about 1570-something, the Bartholomew Night's Massacre, they were slaughtered by a mob of Muggles under the pretense that they were Protestant."

"Not because they were wizards? Why don't you just hate French people?"

"Potter, their nationality is not the point! And, yes, being wizards certainly wouldn't have helped. Two different points for prejudice, I suppose. My father keeps all the records in his office at home. 312 slaughtered in a fortnight. Including all the children. The wells of the town ran red for two years afterwards." Draco paused, letting it sink into the other boy. "There was only one branch of the family that survived and they moved south into the Loire Valley, until they were executed, again, in 1793 for being `enemies of the state'- they were nobility. Only a fifteen year old boy escaped that time."

"A direct ancestor of yours? He went to England then?"

"He had distant relatives here. The Godfreys, but they're mostly dead now, or squibs. That was my-" Draco counted off on his fingers, "five times great grandfather."

"Wow." Harry seemed to be taking a moment to process some things. "So you hate Muggles because they decimated your family over two hundred years ago on the basis of religion?"

"I'll never forgive them for what they did. Burned some alive- after they cut out their tongues and shoved them down their throats- impaled a couple on fence-posts, hacked whole families to bits and fed them to the estate dogs, drowned a bunch. They only guillotined the last relatives. Most of them suffered horribly. The Cruciatus curses couldn't even begin to compare." Draco's eyes were blazing with dry hatred.

A pregnant silence descended over the library. Little animals were heard scurrying overhead in the rafters and there was an occasional flutter of bat wings.

Harry cleared his throat after some time. "Does the Malfoy family hold grudges forever? I thought that only I held a special place in the black pit of Draco Malfoy's heart." Harry laughed and tried to lighten the dark mood that had crept over the two teenagers.

Draco didn't smile back. Harry's neck that had prostrated itself out like a sacrifice as he leaned closer to Draco. Beautiful, golden. Slim lines that begged to be stroked with a finger or a tongue. Unconsciously, the Slytherin ran his index finger along the side of it. He felt the other boy shiver under his touch, but not turn away in disgust.

What the fuck are you doing, Draco...?

Giving into impulse.

"Oh, you do," Draco said huskily. "You always will..." He inched his face closer to Harry's.

Which met his.

Their noses were nearly touching. He could taste Harry's breath on his lips- spice and pumpkin juice and chocolate. Its warmth tickled. His eyes fell to Harry's mouth that was shaking ever so slightly and pooling with blood, like his cheeks.

"Oh, my god! They have the new Dorothy Blue mystery romance out- Dorothy Blue and the Secret of the Ancient Clairvoyant Wand!"

The two shot apart to opposite side of the table. Draco whipped his head around to see what the shrieking was about.

A gaggle of second year Hufflepuffs had entered the library into the Romance section and were whispering amongst themselves. One of them noticed Harry Potter and then the whole group burst out into trills of girlish laughing. They checked their books out with Madam Pince then left promptly.

Draco turned back to look at Harry Potter himself. The boy was looking off out past the frosted glass windows that overlooked the steel-blue lake. He blinked a couple of times, his green eyes glowing a strange colour, like his god-forsaken necklace had the habit of doing.

Draco surrendered to the desire to touch the green stone that clung to Harry's neck like an ancient amulet. It was warm, like Harry's glorious skin, and prickled his fingers when he touched it when his fingers stroked the smooth gem. Oddly enough at the same time; it was cold, much too cold for something that should be warm after resting against a body all day. He felt a strange current run through his body in a jolt. Draco felt his limbs twitch slightly, and he enjoyed the strange sensation.

He was also enjoying the feeling of Harry's quickening of breath. The boy had his eyes still plastered to the window, but he had brought his hands up protectively close to his chest. It was almost...erotic to be there, alone in the library with Harry, to be doing this, to him...

And he wasn't pulling away!

At long last Harry turned. Their eyes met and Harry's flashed an ethereal green and pure white alternately, like lightning. So enticing and...

Draco sensed fingertips brush his cheek lightly and he leaned into the caress. It felt so...timeless and perfect.

Their breathing had met into the same rhythm now, nervous and wavering. Draco at last summoned something from the pit of his stomach and leaned forward across the books on the table, pressing his lips to Harry's.

God, they are so soft and warm and...

Draco wanted to think at that moment and believe that what he- what they were doing was wrong. That it was disgusting and erroneous. But he couldn't. Not when Harry pressed closer, more insistently into him and Draco could only respond by slowly tracing the other boy's lips with the tip of his tongue. He felt Harry shudder under it, before opening his mouth a tiny amount and snaking his arm around to Draco's shoulder blade.

He wants more of me!

Draco let his own hand slide down Harry's side to lightly rest between his hip and the chair he sat in, which was difficult, considering they were both leaning over a table cluttered with open books. Harry began to tentatively nip and tug at the Slytherin's lower lip with his teeth and Draco wanted to moan out at the sheer pleasure and intrinsic rightness he was feeling.

The Slytherin took over once more and plunged his tongue into Harry's mouth, maybe a little excitedly and sloppily. Draco could taste the dulcet undertones that he remembered so well from his dream two months before. The taste alone defined Harry Potter- sweet and spicy and exotic and familiar and so so good all at once. It was worth the fumbling when Harry began to squirm against him in futile attempts to get closer. Then the boy let out his own low, faint, throaty moan-

- whichsent Draco hurtling over the edge. He delved further into Harry's mouth, determined to get more of that taste that he was addicted to, like biting his fingernails. His senses were overloading with the proximity of Harry's taste and his smell and feel and his everything. Draco wanted to explore every cavern and cave of the Boy Who Lived's wonderful mouth that was gloriously sweet and salty at once. It moved so exquisitely with his own, like in the dream.

Draco pulled back momentarily. "Harry," he breathed I want you so badly. You taste so good- your mouth alone! And he kissed him once more, even harder and with more passion than the last, deeper and determined to feel more of what he was feeling now, to feel more of the intensity of the dream. He ignored the fact that they (supposedly) hated each other, that anyone could walk into the library and catch them, that Madam Pince could turn around and drag them up to Dumbledore's office for inappropriate behavior in a place of research and study.

Harry's grip intensified as he clung to Draco's neck with increased force and his other hand ran over Draco's shoulders, feeling the bone and taught muscle Draco knew existed beneath his own shirt, but didn't know just how sensitive it could feel under someone else's touch.

He let out his own moan of pleasure.

Draco wondered what Harry would look like without his shirt- yes, he had seen it, but he wanted to see Harry topless and knowing that Draco wanted him and wanting Draco back in return. He wanted to know what Harry would think of himself without a shirt on. The Slytherin's hands thought more quickly than his brain and had already begun their tugging at the hem of Harry's old, baggy checkered shirt.

This was either devilishly wicked (in a sexy way) or utterly stupid, depending on how Harry would react.

But the Famous Harry Potter only pressed closer to give Draco better access and opened his mouth even wider to Draco's tongue that ran along its mate. Just when the shirt was being pulled out of his belted waistband...

He tensed and jerked back from Draco.

Draco reeled from being wrenched from their embrace and had not time to react. He sat back, stunned, as Harry's open hand stung his face with a slap.

"What do you think you're doing, Malfoy? You sick perve!"