The Untold Want

The Untold Want

Chapter 9: This is how it goes

Harry was having trouble breathing. He had stopped talking some time ago but neither of his two companions had said a word after that. Minutes crawled by in a suffocating pace, as the afternoon hung heavily around the thick velvet curtains of the Gryffindor dorm. The echo of the familiar rumbling noise at the common room leaked from underneath the door, but inside the boys' dorm the air was buzzing with silence and unease.

'Wow,' was the first sound coming from Ron's direction, indicating that he was still alive and that the shock hadn't rendered him completely speechless. During Harry's narration his eyes had turned wider and wider and he had leaned forward more and more, until he slipped off the edge of his bed and landed on the floor with a dull thud.

Hermione, who was better prepared for the revelation managed to keep her posture. She stood in the middle of the room, her back straight, hands crossed defensively over her chest, her expression unreadable. But Harry noticed that with every word he spoke she moved an inch away from the two of them.

'This is a joke, right?' Ron pleaded, his eyes glued on Harry's face. Harry shook his head and tried to swallow, but his throat wouldn't work and made a small gasping sound instead. He had tried to prepare himself, imagining all sorts of reactions, but now that the inevitable moment was at hand he didn't want to go through with it.

'Then Malfoy must have hexed you.' Ron continued, his voice beginning to quiver dangerously. 'What did he do? Cast some evil Slytherin spell on you? Blackmailed you about the accident on the stairs again? Got Crabbe and Goyle to tie you up?'

'No, nothing like that.' Harry said, feeling oddly disappointed. Everything would have been much easier if Draco had forced him into that whole mess.

'Then...' Ron coiled himself on the floor, wrapping his arms around his legs, as if trying to shield himself from both Harry and the answer. 'So... why the hell did you kiss him? Have you gone nuts?'

'I don't know.' Harry admitted in complete earnestness.

'Are you in love with him or something?' Ron sounded horrified now.

Brilliant. Just brilliant. Unable to look at their expectant faces Harry stared down at his hands, at the fingers' slight curves, at the pattern of faint lines and veins. There it was, the love line. Short and faint. And the lifeline, very short, as Trelawney had always happily pointed out. Harry watched in fascination as his fingers began tapping on his knee, almost against his will, in an intricate, obsessive pattern.

He shrugged his shoulders. 'I don't know.'

'Is he in love with you?'

'I don't know.' Harry repeated for the third time, feeling a bit foolish. The nervous tapping on his knee had degenerated into a steady drumming of all ten fingers together, and increased in intensity and speed to become a hammering of nails into flesh.

'Who is supposed to know then? Me?'

'Ron!' Hermione's voice hissed in warning as she graced him with one of her famous Don't-you-even-think-about-it glares.

'Hermione,' Ron turned to face her, having lost all hope on Harry. 'Please tell me it's all a joke.'

'Fine, have it your way,' she retorted. 'It's a joke. April Fool's day came early this year.

'Really?'

'Of course not!'

'But I've heard of that incident in 1984 when Pancake Day had to move to November because-'

'Oh, Ron, in Merlin's name!' Hermione cried out, waving her arms in frustration and began pacing up and down the room.

'I don't get you Herm, I really don't. Harry has just told us that he...' Ron seemed to have some difficulty in choking out the words '...that he kissed that slimy git and you're acting as if it's the most natural thing in the world.' Ron paused. He opened and shut his mouth a few times like a fish out of water, realization dawning in his eyes.

'You knew about this, didn't you?' His gaze flew from Harry's to Hermione's guilty faces.

'And neither of you bothered to tell me a word. Why should I know anyway? It's not like I'm your best friend!'

'No, it wasn't like that, I-'

Ron shot up from the floor, hands trembling with anger, face flushed. 'Leave me alone then. Both of you!' He took one hesitant step, then broke into a run and fled from the room, the door slamming hard on his heels.

Hermione hurried after Ron, shouting at him to wait. Harry wanted to call out to Ron too, but couldn't find the words to do so. He was having trouble breathing again. He got up on his feet and swayed dizzily, blinking a couple of times. His knee throbbed in dull pain and suddenly the room seemed very small, the floor very close and the bright square of the doorway very distant. He staggered in a swirl of vertigo, refusing to hold onto the furniture as he walked. Halfway to the door Harry gave up and flung himself on the nearest bed, which was Neville's.

He closed his eyes and stretched out flat, watching red spangles twist behind his lids while he tried to fight down the nausea. A large, empty sadness was swelling inside him, rising like the surge of the sea.

Harry lay there on his back, motionless, until he heard quiet footsteps approaching, then the rustle of robes and the squeak of the bed as someone sat down beside him. Long hair brushed against his cheek, making his skin itchy. He opened his eyes and peered at Hermione's grim face, which was looming over his in concern.

'Are you feeling sick?'

Harry nodded, once. 'How's Ron?'

'He didn't take it very well,' Hermione replied carefully, keeping her words dry and clinical, like a deadly dull lecture. 'But I think he is more shocked than angry' she said. 'It might be best if you don't try to talk to him for a day or two, let it blow off. He isn't exactly happy for you.'

'What about you then?' Harry asked, a small dart of fear hitting his stomach. Hermione smiled a sad, lonely, cardboard smile. 'I can't say I'm happy about you being together with someone who refers to me as 'The Mudblood' and takes pleasure in insulting me.'

'We're not together!' Harry exclaimed, rising from the bed as if someone had yanked him by the hair. He wanted to tell her the whole story, but he was so tired of everything today, fed up, unable to offer any more excuses and explanations. Why did it always have to be his fault? He hadn't pushed Draco down the stairs, he wasn't the Heir of Slytherin, he didn't know that damn Goblet was a portkey. It wasn't his fault his hair grew back overnight after Aunt Petunia cut it.

'But it's none of my business anyway,' Hermione broke in hurriedly, forestalling any apologies. She glanced at her watch. 'It's time for food, my stomach is growling. You feel better now? Think you can crawl down to the Hall for dinner?'

Harry considered munching vegetables while having to face Ron at the other side of the table, and the thought made him sink back into the mattress and mumble something between a 'no' and a moan.

'Stay here. I'll sneak into the kitchens to steal some fruit and get Dobby to make you a sandwich or two.'

'Mmm...'

'Mmm as in yes or mmm as in no?'

'Mmm as in thanks, mum.'

Hermione bashed him on the head with a pillow. 'Why do I get the feeling that you aren't that sick any more?'

* More than a week had passed, but Ron still refused to talk to Harry. He would say things like 'Pass the salt, please' or 'Have you seen my Transfiguration essay anywhere?' or 'Look, Bulstrode has a piece of lettuce stuck between her teeth' but not much else. So when he finally asked Harry if he would join the team for Quidditch practice one afternoon, Harry hoped it was the first step to patch things up between them.

He was rushing along a quiet corridor, broomstick in his hands when a strange, muffled sound drifted to his ears. It seemed like a human voice, the echo distorted through the stone walls. Harry stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around himself a couple of times, trying to locate the source of the noise. To his left a mahogany grandfather clock was ticking its way to five thirty. To his right there was only the portrait of an elderly lady, who sat on a park bench, pretending to feed her poodle. The dog had a ridiculous pink ribbon around the neck and barked in indignation watching her devour his sausages. No other sound. Silence.

Harry dismissed the thought, guessing it was probably Mrs Norris torturing some poor rat. He was about to walk away when a door was swung open before him, a hand shot out, grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him into an empty classroom.

He was shoved roughly against a wall, the broomstick escaped his grip and fell rattling on the floor, while a cold hand clamped over his mouth, trapping his cry of panic before it escaped his lips. Harry struggled to get his wand out, eyes dilated, trying to get used to the dimness of the room and recognize who or what he was fighting against.

There were only a few faint rays of sunlight slanting through the drapes of the classroom. They spilled over his attacker, who was now grasping Harry's shoulders hard enough to bruise, turning him into a creature of darkness and light, face striped dark and pale. His shadow edged across the room and then crept up the wall like a giant spider. The hand moved away from Harry's mouth.

He sagged against Draco Malfoy in limp relief, heart still pounding, throat still raw with fear. Harry almost laughed into the kiss, amused with his own fears of Voldemort lurking in the Arithmancy classroom, leaping on everyone who walked by, but Draco seemed serious, intense, his eyes screwed shut in concentration. One hand was buried in Harry's hair, holding the back of his head firmly in place, the palm of the other lay flat against the small of Harry's back. His lips were cold and again, as Harry remembered, faintly salty. Malfoy always tasted of tears. His tongue flickered out to lick Harry's bottom lip and then tried to nudge his mouth open, each time more persistently.

Draco pushed Harry's thighs apart with his knee and slid between them, trapping Harry between his body and the wall, until he couldn't move an inch. His hands tugged at Harry's robes until he found that inch of bare skin between the washed out T-shirt and the jeans and traced it lightly with his fingertips. Their hipbones met and talked to each other in their own secret language. And suddenly Harry wanted to cry, without knowing the reason. His mouth fell open and their tongues twined together.

Malfoy's touch was cold, making the hair on the back of his neck rise but the body pressed against his own was hot, alive. Draco moaned in his mouth and started rubbing Harry's hip with the heel of his palm. Harry, who had only dared to wrap his arms around Draco's slim waist was beginning to feel alarmed over the whole situation but at that moment Malfoy loosened his grip and tore his mouth away.

'It's me,' he said.

'I've figured that out by now.' Harry replied, a bit breathless. 'You almost gave me a heart attack.'

'I'm very good with surprises,' Malfoy smirked with barely concealed satisfaction. 'And you are quite predictable Harry. I can walk right in your head like taking a stroll in the park.'

'Is that so?' Harry asked, slightly annoyed.

'Of course. You thought I was having dinner like everyone else.' Draco leaned against him, brushing wisps of messy hair away from Harry's face.

'Perhaps you should have. You're almost skeletal. Need to eat more.' Harry ran his fingers over Draco's ribs, deciding not to argue about the matter of predictability at that moment.

The adolescent flesh had melted off Draco's bones, through the loose material of the robes his shoulder blades were distinct and articulate like the joints of bird's wings. Harry smoothed his hand over Malfoy's back, feeling the ridges of his spine under the thin cloth. He expected some sort of sarcastic retort but Draco was strangely passive, his back arched against Harry's palm, his breathing quickened, eyes half-shut and unfocused.

'I should go. I can't be late for Quidditch practice. I've upset Ron enough these days.'

'Why? What happened?' Draco asked, but the disinterest in his voice was obvious.

'Well, I told him and you and I...' Harry poured out his account of the past week, deeply embarrassed and flushed all over.

'You told him?' Draco raised his pale eyebrows in question marks, once more alert and aware. Then he started laughing, chuckles that came in waves, making his entire body shake.

'I guess you must be on trial for treason now.'

'Ron is my best friend.'

'I'm sure he is. I'm also sure that the Weasel is pushing pins through a voodoo doll with my name on it right now. Or possibly stealing some skele- gro to lace my morning coffee.' Tears of mirth were rolling down Malfoy's cheeks. 'This is too precious. First Gryffindor losing to Slytherin in Quidditch this year and now this. Must be too much for the Weasel to bear.'

'What are you talking about, Malfoy?' Harry said, tight-lipped with anger about the mocking nickname. 'When did Gryffindor lose? The Quidditch games haven't even began.'

'Well, Slytherin is going to win anyway. Or do you think I'm not good enough for you?' Draco stared at him through slitted eyes.

Harry, who was on the brink of losing his patience, decided it was his turn to smirk. 'Let's see if you manage to sneak into the finals first. You'll be lucky if you get out of tomorrow's match unscathed.'

'What? Against Hufflepuff? With Fitch-Fletchley as Captain?' Draco pronounced Justin's name in disgust, underlining his words with a graceful, dismissive gesture. 'The Snitch will be in my hands in ten seconds.'

'I really should be going now,' Harry muttered, knowing he sounded completely fed up. His words had an unexpected effect. Malfoy paled, the lines on his face locking like a statue. Harry was reaching out to grab his broomstick from the floor when a firm hand on his shoulder whirled him around. Harry opened his mouth to speak but no words came out as Draco tipped Harry's head back with his fingertips and buried his face in the curve of Harry's neck. He kissed his throat, nails boring deep in the base of Harry's spine.

'Wh-what?' Harry stammered as he tried to decipher the word that Draco was tracing on his skin, something that sounded halfway between an endearment and a threat. Harry shut his eyes as Draco continued repeating feverishly the same, meaningless word, lips and tongue brushing against Harry's temple.

'Please,' Draco was saying, but Harry didn't know what he was asking for and so he didn't answer.

At last he moved away, arms dropping from Harry's shoulders and falling limp at his sides.

'I'll see you later then,' Harry said.

Draco took a step back, enveloped in the darkness of the classroom.

'You know that we belong together, don't you?'

Harry's head snapped up. It wasn't a question or a plea. The tone of Malfoy's voice was cold and distant, as if it was something he had decided long ago, and whatever Harry said would make no difference.

There was silence.

'I have to go now.'

'Will you come to the game tomorrow?'

'Yes.'

'Who will you cheer for?'

There was another long minute of silence. Then the door closed behind Harry with a soft 'click'. Outside at the corridor the old lady was snoring on the bench, poodle on her lap. The clock struck six. Harry sighed. He was already late for practice.