The Subtle Knife

This chapter is dedicated to Wintersjuly, because I promised.

Chapter 11: End of the Affair?

Malfoy,

Meet me out by Greenhouse 3 at 11.30 tonight.

Draco reread the anonymous note sent to him by a school owl. It was small and wrinkled and unsigned. But he knew who had sent it, simply from the hurried, messy, smallish scrawl.

Draco smirked contentedly to himself. Harry's writing matched his hair.

Since their encounter in the Prefects' bathroom- God! Draco was still in a haze from the sheer bliss of it- he and Harry had not seen each other. Not deliberately, of course. There was the one afternoon that they had met by chance in the library. Draco had been sitting alone at his table. Harry had been with the Weasel and Granger, the three of them at a table across the room. Harry had given Draco puppy eyes and pouted meaningfully and Draco had winked back twice, but there was nothing either could have really done.

Harry seemed to be kept constantly busy by his worried friends. They knew something was up. Granger was always pursing her lips and frowning when Harry would stare off in space. Weasley was always shooting Harry looks of sympathy. The Girl Weasley, also staying for the holidays, flitted around the group like a drunken butterfly.

They had passed each other in the halls a couple of times after meals, too, and Draco made sure to walk close by as he did. Harry took it a step further by brushing his thigh against Draco's, or their shoulders together, or run his hand imperceptibly along Draco's arm. And every time Draco shivered with the forbidden, delicious contact. His body would flush with arousal and his cheeks would pinken.

Normally, he would have been ashamed that his body responded so involuntarily to the mercy of Harry Potter's brief and teasing touches. But Harry seemed to enjoy causing these reactions in Draco. A mischievous green glitter would add to his eyes and the corners of Harry's mouth would twitch in a smile.

It was simply the matter that Draco liked that Harry liked his responses. So he didn't try to stop his body of feel foolish afterward. He wanted Harry to be happy.

Which was odd considering that Draco had spent well over five years of his life hating, or at the very least being jealous- if that were possible- of Harry Potter.

God, he had such wonderful eyes!

And skin.

And lips.

And-

Draco sighed. There were only two days left of the Christmas holidays and he had been with Harry a whole of two times. Admittedly, he didn't really count the first. It shouldn't count. As much as he wanted to be with the Gryffindor, to hold him again, kiss him again, touch him again-

It just couldn't work.

That morning at breakfast, Draco had received a letter from his father. He had been staring at Harry- whilst trying to maintain his aloofness- when the owl indignantly dropped the rolled, sealed letter into his porridge. And the porridge had, of course, happened to be soupy that day.

Draco pulled the half-soggy letter out and wiped it with a nearby second year's cloth napkin. The student wouldn't notice anyway.

Because the paper was cold from the frigid winter air, the family seal snapped easily. Draco's eyes roamed unhappily across his father's curt phrases. He could almost hear his father's voice in his head, disappointed as always.

Draco-

I have yet to hear of a certain individual's response from the 'gift' you were to have given them. I trust you have done so already. If not, I will not be the only person displeased with you. Do not be insolent in matters such as these because I will not hesitate to punish you myself.

Your mother has purchased your new robes for the spring, among them several new ornamental ones that you may find appropriate for 'friendly' festivities. She sends her love to you.

Father

Draco put the letter away for later. He didn't want to be provoked any further while other students were around. When at last he had a chance to return to his room, he took it and reread the letter there. He glanced over to the dagger lying on his dresser, untouched. If it wasn't for the house elves' cleaning, there would be a little layer of dusty film all over it. He picked the weapon up. It was cool to the touch, much cooler than the drafts of his room. In the low afternoon winter light the gems embedded within it were not shimmering. They were dull. The deep colour of the sapphires was so fathomless it was black. It reminded Draco a bit of his hair.

And his eyes were so...

Draco sighed. He needed to speak with Harry. Yes, he had been the one to...initiate their relationship, but he also needed to be the one to end it. For both their sakes, it just couldn't go on any further. He wouldn't allow himself to fall so deep that he had stepped so far in blood that he could never wash clean.

Not that Harry was killing him inside. Not with the longing, the desire to be with him. No.

"I don't want to hurt him," Draco mumbled as he fingered the hilt of the dagger, "but I can't give him this either."

He set it down again where it had been. It sat there, still and quiet and lifeless, save for the slight hum in the air. It wasn't so much a buzzing as the ring of loneliness in his ears.

Draco picked his quill and a spare sheet of parchment from his desk, then he scribbled a quick note before heading off to the Owlery.

Lakeside. By the dock. Midnight.

-D

He required no reply.

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

He stood there, waiting at the lakeside and shivering under his cloak. He cursed himself for not choosing a warmer one because in this wool one he was fucking freezing. There was a slight wind across the water and it had blown away the warmer fog that usually set in at morning. Despite its thickness, his cloak did little to help and he could feel the wind permeating his whole body. He couldn't feel his ears or his legs or his nose, but his hands were shoved into his pockets and they were fine.

He had arrived early, but then he had to. He had to regain his composure and prepare. "Harry," he'd say, "I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, but this once I must. We're...enemies. We should hate each other. This can't work. We have to hate each other again." Then lastly, Draco planned to kiss Harry once and for all with a simple "Forgive me."

God, it seemed so contrived in his head!

If that plan didn't work, though, Draco hardened himself- and not his cock- to the knowledge that he might very well have to use an Obliviate.

Don't make me do that, Harry, he begged silently. Please. Please just understand. It already will hurt so much...

The minutes passed like hours and, even pocketwatchless, Draco knew Harry had to be late. His stomach dropped every time the wind would rush by his ears. It marked the time and seemed to whisper to him 'Why?'. He felt horrible for it. How could he go through with it? But then he'd already done so many horrible things that one more might just make everything the smallest iota better.

In the long run.

Harry was really, really late. And this was strange. He usually wasn't late at all, let alone very late.

If he hadn't been born and bred a Malfoy, Draco would have begun to worry over Harry's absence. Instead, he forced his thoughts to stray. He stopped his pacing along the cold path that ran adjacent to the lake; he sat down on the cold, frozen ground. His feet were tired and sore from standing. If it wasn't so cold outside, he might have considered peeling his boots off and massaging them.

He had to end it now. He couldn't wait any longer. He needed to start focusing on other parts of his life, like how his father was going to 'punish' him for not giving Harry that ruddy dagger.

He remembered a brief and (at the time) fleeting conversation he and his mother had shared the previous summer. Their family had been in France on holiday, but his father, and his mother to some degree, had been canvassing several prominent wizarding families for potential brides. No English girl was good enough for them, they wanted fine-boned French blood. A cultured, sophisticated daughter-in-law.

All Draco really thought about was that at least the English girls bothered to shave.

Draco had snuck off one night to go swimming in a tributary of the Loire with the sons of the local departmental French Ministry of Magic. His mother had caught him furtively trying to sneak out of the chateau where they had been staying. He'd used a spell that conjured a rope ladder, but it must have set off the wards because she came charging into his guestroom in her negligee.

He was lucky it had been his mother that caught him.

She was livid. Her lips pursed into tiny slits that matched her eyes and her nostrils flared. Even though she was skimpily dressed in creamy silk, Draco found her foreboding. He climbed back up the ladder silently.

He had never seen her that furious.

"Where the hell have you been, Draco?" she hissed, not wanting to wake the chateau. "Sneaking off in the middle of the night like that, young man?" Her hands were on her hips, but Draco could see they were shaking. She waited for an answer.

Draco looked at the floor. "I went swimming. In the river. With the Poulain boys." he replied as nonchalantly as he could, trying to inch his way towards the hallway, away from his mother.

"Be glad your father hasn't heard of this! Swimming in a river! It could be infested with something. Don't be so stupid," she snarled, "like some Muggle child in the village here. Disgusting!"

Draco had never gone swimming in a river again.

He'd never actually been punished by his father before, not really. He didn't know what he might do- flog him, use the belt, like Crabbe's father, or maybe that spanking spell like Goyle's parents. What if his father heard about what Draco was currently doing? Lusting after Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived! The Boy Who Defeated the Dark Lord!

Draco shuddered at the thought. His father was a force to be reckoned with when he had unpleasant moods but he'd never seen his father furious. This, though? This would be an utter and total abomination of everything his father stood for. It was a sure bet to make him angry. Disinheritance would be a trivial detail compared to what his father could and would probably do to him.

Whatever that would be. He was sketchy on that.

By the time Harry finally arrived at the lakeshore, Draco had already made his decision long before.

He didn't actually see Harry come up beside his lonely vigil, but he did hear the telltale shuffling of feet through snow and the swish of heavy clothing.

He turned his head a little further from Harry and bit his lip. It had been shaking.

Harry didn't notice this. "Hi," he said as he dropped his Invisibility Cloak. He stepped close to Draco and leaned in as though to rest his chin on Draco's shoulder.

Draco recoiled a little. Harry flinched, looking confused. "Hullo," he said curtly, business-like. He didn't want to deal with any more feelings than he was bound to be. He opened his mouth, speech prepared, but Harry was there first.

"Sorry I was so late and all, but Ron and Hermione saw me sneaking out." He grinned lop-sidedly, looking as edible as ever, and sat down on the frozen earth. He spread the cloak out under his bum and his eyebrows rose, inviting Draco to sit next to him.

Draco took the cue and sat down stiffly, keeping a safe distance and trying to ignore it when Harry kept shifting ever closer. "I thought you had you cloak with you." He motioned to it. "I thought that was the whole point of being invisible."

Harry frowned, his mouth crinkling like the waves out on the slate lake. "Yeah, well, they saw the portrait hole open mysteriously and they cornered me."

Draco snorted and didn't say anything. He didn't like the Mudblood and Weasel before all this and he sure wouldn't like them after.

"I said I was going to meet Snuffles."

"Snuffles?" Draco scoffed- what the hell was Potter going at? "That's not a code name for me, is it? How much of a bloody poof do you take me for?"

"It's a code name for my godfather," Harry said through his teeth in a low voice, "Keep it down!" He looked at Draco, who quickly averted his eyes. "I could tell that they were hurt. They know I'm hiding something."

Draco snorted again.

"Need a tissue?" Harry reached into his pocket.

"No! I'm fine."

"Draco?" Harry asked, taking off his mitten and running a cold hand along Draco's jaw. He shivered at the touch, "Do you think we might..." he looked away for a moment, over the lake in a mirror of Draco's pose, "I dunno...tell people one day- about us, that is?"

"No."

He had to say it before they were in too far. He had to.

Harry blinked. "Sorry?" He laughed a little, as if to ease some sort of internal tension.

"I said, 'No', Potter," Draco repeated with a sneer. "No you can't tell people and no there is no us."

Harry's smile crumbled like the snow they sat on. He swallowed and his eyes darkened, going from bright and alive to glassy in one fell swoop. Draco almost felt a stab of pity. A pang of guilt.

Almost.

He pushed that feeling aside, trying to remember his father. What would his father do? That was what mattered.

"What?" Harry managed in a strangled voice. "I thought-"

Draco sighed. It was the only thing that kept his breathing stable because it, too, was starting to panic. "Look, Potter," he said in a tone that was reserved for first years and Crabbe and Goyle, "this isn't working. It can't work and it won't work. I'm just ending what never was. You said yourself earlier that there was no 'us'."

Harry's jaw dropped a notch. Typical Gryffindor, never expects what inevitably comes. "You were the one who kissed me first."

"It was a mistake then."

"You said you wanted me. That you liked me!" Harry's voice was growing louder.

Draco was about to tell Harry to quiet down, instead he just raised an eyebrow. "I never said exactly that, now did I?" He sighed. Harry was so thick; he'd never accept that he was being dump- no, cast off at this rate. This was only making things harder. "Potter, you're a nice enough bloke, but not for me-"

"This is about your father isn't it?" Harry hissed, his face contorting as quickly as his voice.

"He has nothing to do with this!" Draco hissed back, his lips curling up. Strangely, as much as he wanted to get away from Harry Potter, their bodies were moving closer.

"You lie as badly as I do!"

Draco was at the end of his tether. His heart was...for lack of better words, rather fragile and Potter had to bring up his father? "Fuck you, Potter! Just fuck you! Go be with that stupid slag Chang! That's what you want. She's good for you. Or that Weaselette! They both are in love with you!"

"Since when are you the judge of what's good for me? You're not my parents!"

Draco nodded once, glaring. "That's right," he said with a malicious little grin, "they're gone and dead."

Maybe that would make Harry angry enough to leave.

"And yours is a fucking Death Eater! I don't care about him!"

"Well I do." Draco stared at Harry, forcing his gaze to hold. Those green eyes were his downfall.

Harry stared back, emerald flashing like a cut stone. "I won't be with someone else just because of him. No!" He folded his arms.

This was exasperating! Gryffindors were so pigheaded! Draco had tried to make it as easy as he could for the both of them to part, but...it was because Harry was a Gryffindor. That was the only explanation. "Why not?"

Harry turned to the lake. On any other night the stars would be twinkling on its inky surface, but not this one. Draco almost wished they had been. It would have been more nostalgic, more perfect.

"Because they're not you," he finally said after a long pause.

Draco shook his head. He laughed nervously. "God, you know. You can do better than me. Don't be so foolish, Harry- Potter!" His voice softened and he turned his head, muffling his voice into the hood of his cloak, "I raped you."

They both winced at it. Draco could feel it.

"I forgive you, you know. Even if you can't forgive yourself."

"This can't work. I'm ending it," Draco said finally, standing up. He started to walk back to the castle, head up high and looking straight ahead. If he turned around....

He didn't. He smoothed his robes with his mitten-clad hands and continued trudging through the snow. There wasn't very much, but it was enough to make walking a chore.

Harry must have noticed his hands because he raced up behind Draco and tugged at one. "Then at least give me one more night," he said.

Draco couldn't bear to look him in the eyes. It was all so surreal. "Alright," he murmured and led the way back to the castle.

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

Draco had never seen a Gryffindor dorm before.

Harry had snuck them both up under his Invisibility Cloak. Draco memorized the direction along the way, just in case he ever needed to check it out. It was a little different than what he had thought previously- he took a left turn at the Dutch oil painting of Hildegard Van Der Schlossen but it was really a right. It could become a valuable piece of information and it was better to be prepared than not, right?

He waited motionlessly near Harry's bedroom door as Harry closed it. Then Harry ripped off the cloak and threw it carelessly to the other side of the room. It was dark and Draco couldn't see much.

Harry looked up at Draco expectantly with eyes shining in the midnight glow of the night from a frosted glass window. He sat down on what must have been his bed. When he used a faint Lumos spell Draco saw his glasses slip down his nose; his face was flushed. Draco couldn't tell whether it was from the walk back to the castle or something else though.

Draco glanced around the room warily. It was decorated, obviously, in red and gold with thick tapestries of majestic unicorns and regal lions that were unraveling at the bottom. They littered the stone walls and gave the room a warmth to it that the Slytherin dorms could never attain. Even in the dim light.

If he could be jealous, Draco might have been, but he did appreciate the cool solitude and lonely serenity of the dungeons. It was good for studying. And thinking. And doing other things. But the Gryffindor common room, when they had passed through it, seemed to have much more of a homey, happy feeling, even when it was deserted at the late hour.

He nodded when he saw the single bed, large and canopied with a smiling Harry Potter on top. "You have your own room? I'd have thought you'd want to share with your other mates."

Small talk was good.

"Well, I did but they wouldn't let me. Dean said I'd put the place to waste if I didn't use it." Harry smiled sheepishly and motioned for Draco to sit down next to him.

Draco didn't, instead he sauntered slowly around the room, inspecting it. It was devoid of much personal detail- oh sure there was a tie thrown over the back of a lumpy chair, a shirt crumpled against the floor, a few books lay open on a non-descript wooden desk, but clearly Harry wasn't much into decorating. The walls were stark, no posters, no photos, no tacked up pictures of Snape with darts through his eyes.

There was, however, a small gold frame that caught his eye. A picture of the Golden Trio, taken several years previously, smiled back at him before realizing who it was. The Granger figure glared at Draco and pursed her lips. Her teeth were as huge as ever and her lips did a poor job of concealing them. Weasley was giving him the finger and his lips were moving as though he was swearing. Surprisingly, the Harry figure was glaring and scowling too.

Harry must have noticed his lingering gaze on the photograph because he got up and turned it over, covering the faces on the desk. "Sorry about that," he shrugged with a boyish grin.

Draco ignored him and asked in his best aloof voice, "Speaking of which, where are Weasley and Granger? I would have imagined they would be waiting here for your return." He smirked to himself, knowing the alternative.

Harry's brick-red blush was worth it. Draco felt something quiver down below. "Erm...they...well, they-" He fiddled incessantly with the hem of his latest too-large travesty of a shirt. "I'd rather not think about that."

Draco laughed and grabbed Harry's hand roughly, pulling him over to the bed where they ended up in a tangled heap of limbs and squeals. He grinned as Harry brushed a strand of hair from his eyes. "I know where they are. Or at least what they are probably doing."

Harry laughed, too. It made Draco's heart just that much more lighter to see his features play with something more than cold indifference or annoyance. He was so...

Draco stopped himself before the word 'wonderful' made it out of his mouth.

"What we're going to be doing," Harry said, looking into Draco's eyes with those large, luminous green orbs that always seemed to match his silly necklace. His face grew stony and serious and he stopped smiling. "For the last time, that is."

Draco didn't nod back, he just looked at Harry solemnly. Then he gently took off Harry's glasses and folded them up on a side table. Harry cringed at this, blinking wildly. Draco suspected he didn't like being without his glasses for very long. Though, come to think of it, he wouldn't like being without his Oculus Potion if he was past due to take it.

"Then we should make it worth it." He stroked his forefinger softly along Harry's cheekbone. It was a lovely spot of skin there, smooth and baby-fine, but his bone really jutted out too far. Harry's dark eyelashes, so framing, like eye makeup almost, fluttered closed.

Harry nodded once, taking Draco's hand in his own and squeezing it. "Yes," he said and opened his unfocused eyes on Draco.

Draco cupped Harry's face in his hands and sighed. Harry looked so lovely there, not beautiful to anyone really, but he radiated something. He was so warm, underneath Draco's body, his face flushed pink and warm with desire, mouth parted slightly and a small, sad little smile on them.

"Oh, Potter," he murmured and brought his mouth down to the other boy's, seeking and searching and finding as painlessly as he could. Draco could feel Harry's smile grow through their kiss and he frowned.

Parting was supposed to be such sweet sorrow, all miserable and mopey, not happy and smiling.

Harry's tongue was poking at Draco's mouth, more insistent than the last kiss, more carnal than it was chaste and innocent. But the feel of that tongue stroking along his lips! Sliding and moving and wet and slippery and silky and hot. Draco could feel himself shiver with the delightful, intoxicating tingle that it was causing his body to experience, so he opened his mouth wider, allowing Harry in fully.

As Harry's tongue invaded and pushed and plundered his mouth, Harry's hands were tugging at the waistband of Draco's trousers, still cold from outside. Draco groaned and his fingers curled at the sides of Harry's face as those familiar calloused hands fumbled with the fastening, undoing them and hastily pulling away trousers, then pushing underwear down past his thighs with swift, fluid movements. He was moaning into Harry's mouth, the vibrations causing Harry's tongue to go wild, his hands clawed at Harry's own shirt in an effort to undress him. Harry's fingers continued to wriggle their way between their hips, brushing each other and only separated by Harry's thin clothing.

Draco hissed as the hands curled around his cock, his hips bucking forward of their own accord, so used to and sure of the movements Draco didn't care if it seemed wanton and desperate. "Oh God!" he choked, and tried to tug Harry's shirt from his chest, wanting to feel hot flesh of that other body for himself, but he was much too distracted by the hands and fingers dancing along his himself and he gave up caring as strong legs wrapped around his own for support.

His hips were thrusting maniacally into Harry's own, somehow knowing they might never have a chance like this again. Harry hindered it all, cloth-covered and rough. Harry kept teasing him with it, purposely rubbing them together, only to pull away so achingly slowly and so hard that the rough fabric would be sure to leave marks. His teasing slowed and lengthened as Draco's mewls sped up. He didn't care anymore when those fingers dragged so hard it along him that it almost sliced. The teasing, the torture was delicious in the painful finality. Draco didn't care what noises were coming from his mouth, so long as Harry never stopped and never let him come. He was at the other boy's complete mercy and he could do nothing but focus on how good it felt.

His erection brushed once more against the grating fabric of the trousers underneath himself. "Fuck, Potter, please-"

Harry's hands only continued their relentless, delicious torture. His tongue still stroked Draco's, which had gone limp and loose only to lash back with every flick of those fingers, every squeeze of those thighs, every twist of those hips.

Draco couldn't pull away, couldn't stop himself now. He knew he was about to come right then and there, nothing could stop him, not even if Harry's hands stopped. His muscles were tightening, his thighs quivering and twitching, his toes curling, his hands yanking at that messy black hair that never seemed to mind when he combed his hands through it. He was so close to the edge, the precipice that just one. more. time. would-

One. More. Time.

Everything exploded all round him. Near him. Within himself. He thought he might have been screaming Harry's name, but he wasn't sure if it was even coherent and he couldn't be bothered to feel ashamed because it just felt too good to deny himself such a thing.

Harry pulled away from their kisses at long last, a little trail of saliva clinging to his red mouth. He smiled at Draco. Draco brought a shaking hand up to Harry's lips, as if to assure himself this was still real, that Harry was still there for a little while longer.

Harry just brought a sticky digit up to his mouth and licked it clean with his tongue.

Draco had never seen anything more sexy in his life. His breathing was panting at the thought of those lips not just licking his fingers clean, but Draco's own cock. He grinned back at Harry. Was he making a mistake, ending this? Especially when it was this good? He had never screamed before, especially not with Pansy and he was never going to go back to that anyway.

But it was a necessity he do so.

Okay, so maybe not Pansy, but he couldn't be with Harry and that was that.

He opened his mouth to tell Harry, to remind him that they didn't have much time left, but the other boy just stopped him with another kiss. Draco could taste himself on Harry's tongue. It was...different, strange.

And he could have gotten used to it.

Fuck, he was going to miss this.

Harry seemed to sense it empathetically. "Just for the last time, Draco. I want this to be...right, if it'll be the last time."

Draco tried to smirk. "I always make it right." His heart just wasn't there, though. He coughed and cleared his throat. "Alright."

Harry's hand was rubbing Draco's lower spine slowly, dipping down the ridges and hollows still covered by his shirt. Draco held onto Harry's biceps, his head resting on the Gryffindor's half-buttoned chest.

"No sex either, Draco," Draco looked up at this, disappointed, but Harry continued, "Touching. Grabbing. Kissing, but no sex," he said firmly.

He nodded. Fine. He had ended it with Harry so it was only natural that they played it by Harry's rules.

"Wanking?" he offered, hopeful.

Harry's green eyes narrowed and he smirked, a feral imitation of Draco's, but his teeth flashed and his grin was far more...intense. Draco could feel his heart speed up and his eyes widen.

"Of course!"

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

Draco was dreaming again.

There was the same young girl and boy from his dream months before, so old and nearly forgotten.

They were both still flushed and radiant in each others' presence, still in love. They were still dressed in strange, old-fashioned clothing and it was still dark at night.

But they were in a stone building. Shadows pranced along rock walls, rusticated stone blurring them. It felt like a castle, old like Hogwarts, and yet not.

Draco was still an observer.

The boy, however, had an air of nervousness and of worry. He proffered a closed hand to the girl, something that had been inside his pocket. She unfurled his fingers slowly, suppressing a tight laugh. Then she gasped as it was revealed.

A silver necklace chain, with a claw clasp too big for the little green stone it held.

The girl giggled this time. "Where did you get this? Pray tell me!"

The boy smirked. Draco thought that it was a poor quality smirk because it wasn't very confident or meaningful. "And give away all my secrets?" he said in a haughty accent. They both laughed.

"Put it on me," she said breathlessly. Her bosom was heaving, like in those horrible robe-slasher romances his mother read all the time.

The boy complied, stepping around her. She lifted her hair, revealing a long, slim neck.

It seemed very familiar, but Draco couldn't place it.

The boy fiddled with the clasp for a moment. His hands weren't that clumsy nor were they paws, but they were shaking. "You like it then?"

The girl smiled. She was pretty when she did, her face lit up like a Lumos Spell in the dark. Her eyes didn't seem so pained nor did her mouth seem so hard. "Very much. It's the Slytherin colours."

The boy nodded. "Like you, yes. I'm glad you noticed."

So. This girl was a Slytherin. Were they both? Draco wasn't the one to have historical dreams, or prophetic dreams like his Great Aunt Araminta's youngest daughter did.

The girl just looked wistfully at the boy, sighing. "If only you and I were in the same house..."

Apparently not, then.

"He'd still be jealous of us."

There was a third party involved? Draco's dream self moved in closer. Was it him? Was he spying on them perhaps?

"I know. Sometimes I worry for him, Julian. I think he's lonely."

So, the boy's name was Julian. That was such a poncey name. It made Draco think of that play Pansy talked about all the time in fourth year, Roma and Julian or whatever.

"I don't. I worry for us. For you. The way he looks at you, darling. The way his eyes seem to devour you- it...it disgusts me!" The boy- Julian- was quite angered over this, his fists were clenched and his feet ready to spring into action.

The girl was angry too. She pushed Julian away roughly. "Stop that! He's only jealous because of what we have, not of who you have. He'll come around."

"I still cannot trust him. He is a sneaky rat. He gives me a bad disposition."

"If only he didn't know..." the girl sighed, hugging herself.

Julian pushed her arms away and pulled her into a tight embrace. "If only..." He kissed her, deeply. Draco could see their tongues touching and their mouths melding. This was no platonic gesture. "But we will always be together, I know that much. He smiled into her, his eyes on her neck. "Just like the spell, semper....semper..."

They both faded into the darkness and Draco woke up. He disentangled himself from Harry's sleeping form and began to search in the darkness for his clothes that had eventually all come off. The dream....it unnerved him. Why was he dreaming about these people? He didn't recognize them from any of the portraits at Malfoy Manor or at Hogwarts, so it couldn't be any dream invasive spell. It was like....like he was losing something, not controlling it.

He pulled his clothes on slowly as his eyes adjusted to the dark of Harry's bedroom. He wanted to relish the sight of the sleeping form on the bed, curled up into the spot Draco had been just moments earlier, half-obscured by the covers, but revealing too.

Lastly, Draco pulled on his cloak. He bent down, softly brushing a lock of dark hair that had fallen into Harry's eyes and that the sleeping boy's nose twitched at. He kissed the forehead with that famous scar sadly.

"I'm leaving, Harry, but I can't be sorry about it," he said in a whisper.

There was a tiny smile on Harry's face. Draco smiled back at it.

Then he left the room, not looking back at all.