It Felt Right

Harry was now at the Gryffindor's Common Room. It was nearly empty at this hour in the evening. That was normal since everyone was busy with their revision and going through their books. It was quiet and that was what Harry needed. He took a long sigh and eventually dragged his feet, heading for the armchair next to the fire. He slumped his fagged body and started drumming his fingers. Harry glared into the fire and imagined Malfoy in an enormous amount of pain. The boy was a spoiled Mudblood-hating snob and ought to be tamed. That would be an arousing interest and a complicated subject to attain. Nevertheless, the danger beyond it kept Harry entertained. Sickening. Harry should not torment himself, and if his loyal friends knew his thoughts, loads of shame will be nagging him for years to come. However, It was useless. An evening shared with Draco had changed his perspective.

Draco smelled good. Not only at that brief, unexpected moment, but truthfully, all through the time. Although there was no explanation on how Harry could possess such an ability to seize and remember the wonderful smell of lust, he was somehow thankful for the gift. The benefit he received was worth it. It was...not necessary though. Harry could actually feel it just by having an instant and quick, head-biting interaction with Draco or snapshots of his emotionless pale face. Both have equally the same mechanism, so don't let the necessary occurred.

Even so, Harry had no choice. He realized that he was now adapting to the same problem - a clash in personalities. Ron and Hermione hated Draco, which means that he had to, but in fact, he didn't. It had been years that Harry was conquered and wrapped by his wet delusions at night and he would not call it nightmares. Yes, they were...persuasive and...misshapen, but so true. It was like fighting the rules of possibilities.

-"Damn! I should've paid more attention to him when I had the chance!"

Harry tried his best to calm himself. His body slid down a bit and left him sprawled, legs opened wide and both arms outside the width of the armchair, hanging. He was in a dilemma.

He felt like he had lost his soul. But, somehow, in his crumbled mind, Harry was convinced that every corner, every city, there was a place where life was a little easy. Yes, there were little that could be seen and Harry just laid back and played cool every hour because this was all good. Good for the immaturity that was inside him and was yearning to be outside, leaving all the stress from the world. Every wrong done will be alright. All that was lingered will be nothing but peace, love and street passion...and a place where death would not reside.

Harry put his right arm on the armchair and his palm cupped his jaw line, forehead showing visible corrugation.

-"This is driving me mad."

"Harry! Where have you been all day? You made me worry sick!" Hermione asked, stepping down the stairs. "We missed you at breakfast, and that was not easy as I had to waste the entire day convincing Ron that you are in the pink of health." She flipped her fringe away, and continued, "and if you don't get that butt off that lame chair, you'll obviously miss evening tea."

No effect. Harry was in deep concentration and didn't notice the slightest remark made by Hermione. In returned she took a long sigh and tried to see the things that seem to be attracting Harry's attention, making her presence transparent. She definitely deserved better than that.

"I saw him. He looks good. He approaches me all the time. He asks me about you and he will be grateful if the two of you could meet at the lover's tower, as you called it."

"He what?!" Harry gasped as fast as lighting. He straightened his posture; both hands gripping the sides of the chair, Harry looked for any genuine fact that might be shown on Hermione's face. Just maybe.

"Ah-huh..." Hermione replied quietly, right eyebrow raised and lips crooked. "I knew that would bring you back to earth, for a start."

Harry stared at Hermione and made a disbelieving squeak, "Hermione! That was not funny!" Cautiously viewing his whereabouts, Harry continued with a hush voice, "I mean walls have ears."

"Oh, honestly Harry, of course they do and so does humans," Hermione said in her most knowledgeable way.

"They do? Walls have ea---"

"Yes-yes-yes," Hermione responded, right hand waving on the air and the other placed on her tiny waist. "It is not written in the book of spells Harry, but it is a frequently asked question among the new first years."

"Hey! That's an insult."

"Oh. Which one? The unawareness of the existence of human ears or the insufficient information of the wall thing?"

"Mione..."

"You need a tea." Grabbing Harry's hand, she pulled Harry out of the chair, exited the common room and walked together to the Great Hall.

As usual the dining tables were full, joined in by the loud laughter and mischievous bearings. The foods served were pleasant to the taste of mind, but Harry's appetite was not swallowing every bits of detail. Harry stopped at the entrance hall, slowly exonerating Hermione's hand in which she felt and made her ceased. All the talking and pushing Harry to at least make a step forward was exhausting. The outcome was still the same. Harry did not change his mind of not wanting to show up at the Great Hall.

"What's the matter Harry?" Hermione asked, sharply. She gazed around, figuring out if there was anything happening beyond that was usual.

Nothing.

Hermione returned with a much-surprised feature, "Harry? Is something wrong?"

----

Not satisfied with Harry's numbness, she took another checked. She sensed something was really taking place among the huge crowds and her eyes were playing tricks on her.

Nothing. Nope, everything was oka---

Spoke too soon.

"Why is Malfoy smiling... at...us?" Hermione jerked her stare from the boy, backed at Harry.

That was the problem. Harry had his eyes fixed on Draco. Both of them, at the same time.

Toughie.

"Herm, do I have... emm...something on my hair?" Harry asked, softly.

That forthwith question being disputed to Hermione made her cast a quizzical look towards Harry. She took a peek, and replied amusedly, "Your hair is fine Harry. If, however, your hair is in its worst condition, I don't suppose it has something to do with Malfoy." Rolling her eyes, she turned her back on Harry, "Look at him. The proud Malfoy and the future-to-be Death Eater of You-Know-Who is spying on our every moves Harry. He even dares to smile all across the Slytherin table at us. I think this is all a joke to him. He can't live a day without the recognition of the entire school. Pathetic."

"It's not what he wants," Harry responded, unable to trust himself saying those overprotective words.

Hermione was alarmed. In livid anger, Hermione protested, "It was his fault, Harry, he started all of this." She studied him, and then continued briskly, "if this is not what he wanted, he could have avoided any attempt of making our lives a living hell."

That was true. Malfoy was a slut from the beginning. A damn-seductive slut he would say. But, came to think of it, Draco had to be that way because he was supposed to. It was the Slytherin way to present an image of affection. Not friendly, conspicuously, but all together applied to one's mind.

"He is bound to be that way Herm because, well, maybe there are standards and codes ingrained in his family. You know, family heritage," Harry said, implicitly. He knew he was defending Draco and if it were to reveal in front of his enemy, Harry was just delaying his death, out of embarrassment.

Hermione locked gazes with Harry. Like being stabbed to the heart, she was disappointed. Hermione would never think that she will live to the day of Harry, a declared arch-enemy of the Dark Lord, letting down his defense. He was vulnerable...and proved to be a feeble mortal.

The talk was just unthinkable. It will lead to nowhere. No winning and losing.

Hermione took another long depressed breath, "Harry, I think we should sit down. It will raise curiosity." As she was about to depart, Hermione added, "Everything has a rule Harry. Some are confidential and some need not to be explained. It's called being nice." A paused. "Come on...Ron is waving at us. We'll talk about it another day." With that she took Harry by the arm and forced him to eliminate present thoughts about the talk and about Malfoy.

There was nothing Harry could do. All the way, he felt a heavy gaze descended on him, on behalf of his mental attitude, and sure enough it was proven. Harry sat beside Ron who was eagerly waving, occasionally making hopping movement of overjoyed Christmas boy and hollering his name. "Harry! Harry! Over here!" Ron exclaimed, lightheaded. "Where have you been Harry? Hermione said you were okay. Are you?" Placing his hand on Harry's forehead, "Warm. I guess you were out to the sun all the while, eh Harry?"

Harry was tired. All thoughts collided. Enquiries from Ron were thickening the arduous matter. However, considering the trouble Ron had gone through, he managed to acknowledge him, "Evening Ron. I'm okay, and thanks for the concern," Harry replied, running his hand through his hair. Catching a glimpse of Malfoy, then at Ron, "I was out...taking a long walk."

Ron was having suspicions. Doubts based on Harry's current behavior. He relocated his stare on Hermione, who was watching them, intently. She didn't talk much and that was profound evidence that something was totally out of the league. Ron didn't want to know what had happened. He, instead, imposed himself to the tea obtainable in front of him.

Harry was the first to break the barrier. "So, what have you been doing Ron?" Harry inquired, earnestly and free from deceit. Ron turned and smiled. "Glad you asked Harry. I was castigated by Mione for the whole day at the library," Ron said, playfully.

"Hey! I-Did-Not!" Hermione said indignantly, hitting Ron's hand that was clearly reachable for her. She smiled back, "If you were to avoid doing that annoying yawning every time I tried to open my mouth, I might spare you Ron."

Ron chuckled. They talked and giggled and the next few minutes were back to normal. One cup of ordinary tea was enough to last them for a full recovery and deleted all acidity, enragement and restored the jollification in their friendship.

Harry realized that he was consuming more than he could bargain for- Trust, sincerity and the loyalness of it. Except for one...the apple of his eye.

"Are you going to finish that, Draco?" Crabbe asked, eyes convergent on the fully filled cup of tea.

Draco was silent for a while, then jabbing a stern look at Crabbe, "It is officially mine isn't it Crabbe?" Still staring at Crabbe that seemingly shrinking, pushed the cup towards him, "(Sigh...) Here, take it. It doesn't even come to any equal in importance to my pleasure anyway."

"What?" Crabbe responded, half excited.

"I said it tastes bad," Draco explained, rolling his eyes.

Draco had been in the Great Hall for nearly an hour. He was bored. The Slytherin's common room was cold and the chills just weren't good for him, at least during this time. He needed something warm, fresh and...green. Draco smiled, alone. He had apparently asking himself repeatedly why he had slept like a baby. Maybe, just maybe, it helped to know that he would be there tomorrow.

"Something bothering you Draco?"

He got into a conversation with Blaise Zabini.

"You are certainly paying attention to me," muttered Draco as he slowly shifted his eyes to him. He had both his arms crossed on the chest. "You were saying?"

Blaise flushed and his cheeks were reddening. Crabbe and Goyle were not keeping track of what was going on and for that Blaise was relieved. He didn't want anyone to see him blushing.

"You were... smiling Draco. If you haven't notice, the last time you smiled was at Longbottom and he ended up creating a bombshell in potion class," replied Blaise, trying to make a deceptive statement.

"Now I wonder why you have such enthusiasm over there," continued Blaise, eyes focused on the Gryffindor table.

That startled Draco. But, he remained calm, easy. "You'll do well to mind your own business until I'm ready to tell you why," Draco said loudly, and there were few people stopped to look. Having knowledge that the table was getting quieter, Draco continued, "This is different and I promise you that it will be fun..." Blaise was facing the table shyly. That was odd until Draco finished his words, "that is fun for us Slytherins to torture Gryffindors."

"Aahh..." came the replied from the surroundings.

Blaise took a second to bring his face up and rested them on Draco's. There was nothing else to say, so he let the question unanswered. Some things are better left unsaid.

-"That was a close call. Damn that Zabini!"

He circulated his view back where he was. And this time, Harry was looking. Really looking. The commotion was heard. Harry's eyes were soft and full of emotions. It was hard to evaluate them.

-"My-my Potter. I didn't think that you'd be interested too."

-"Well, I did say that commotion was my middle name. I guessed I had proved it for you."

Draco decided to donate a smirk. A sexy smirk.

Harry was...shocked. He accidentally bumped his leg to the table, underneath, that made the table shook, cups shaking. Hermione and Ron were surprised. They were asking Harry stuffs, maybe, something about what happened. Predictable.

-"He is just so innocent."

Just then, Draco found out that someone was staring at him back. Weasel. The stare was perfect, free from error. It was hard to avert it. The Weasel was giving him a deep slashing stroke of hate. However, life would be pretty lame without any challenge. Draco engraved Ron's stare and shoved him with a poisonous one.

It was broken off when he heard Harry whining about his leg.

The next thing, Draco saw Ron placed his left hand on Harry's shoulder and the other on Harry's thigh. Harry's thigh. Bubbles were developing in Draco's toned stomach and it was hurting him. He felt sick.

"Draco, are you alright?"

He turned towards the sound and saw Pansy Parkinson. She was sitting quite far and yet she was the one that considered being helpful. Among all people, why did it have to be her? It was not that he hated her, but it was just...she was...ugly. There said it. If ever, out of any circumstances that Draco's life would be, sadly, depending on her, he would rather choke himself to death.

"Right...I'm fine," Draco said, trying to sound normal. She was hurt. Forcing a smile, she then went back to her chitchatting activity. Whatever.

Draco trailed his way, where he had abandoned. Yes, at the Gryffindor table.

-"Fuck! Where the hell is he? He's...he's gone!"

Draco could not believe his eyes. He scanned the place. Completely cleaned. How could he have missed that moment when Harry and his undoubtedly Muggle-loving companions left the hall? He lost his head again. Was he spouting over Harry? No! Malfoys never let any feelings controlled them. They do what they are capable of, which is everything. Luck had nothing to do with it. Destiny was, in a way, something to exercise the mind, but not reliable enough. Therefore, anything they ventured in must happen. Anything they want, they would have it. They would have it.

However, wanting something that would not happen was just unbearable. It could be trained. The source was there and the one dominating it was available. But, desiring it to grow affectionately and intimately was killing him. Commitment. A strong string-binding feeling that should be there was sabotaging the idea. Draco was confused and did not understand, the road he was given. He just had too much life, running through his veins, going to waste. He needed a contact, a contact with the living. And he could not think of anyone else. He was the one.

Draco did not believe in love at first sight. It was just unexplainable. How could someone fall in love with a stranger? Not knowing the beliefs and the inner spirit of that person was like skinning yourself, alive. Blood that flowed down was yours. Yours. The pain you felt was not shared.

Draco shook his head lightly. Looking at the empty spot at the other table, he swallowed hard. Harry. He had known him since they were first years. The offer of friendship was declined, for the sole purpose of not wanting to hurt the red-haired boy. His mind was mixed up. Granger was...attractive but he was not at all attracted to her. Despite the way she was always trying her best to answer all questions in class, gaining points for the house, he must have felt something.

Not a bit.

That was patronizing. Draco's gesture was troubling. He had to rub it in. He was still waiting for the road to stop hating, find a good reason and hope to believe in. This could not last forever and time would not make things better. He had to do something.

Draco decided to go back to his dorm. The reason he stayed was no longer there. As he was about to stand up, a first year student bumped to him on the shoulder, spilling the tasteless tea on Draco's robe. It landed the boy to the other table and Draco was flown back to his place once again. Everyone was stunned and putting their hands on their mouth, as though not wanting to let a scream escaped their throats.

The boy balanced himself up and the look of terrified was sculpting his face. He knew who Draco was and tried desperately to ask for forgiveness, but too scared to put them into words. Draco looked at his shoulder and the mess he was in. He searched for the useless git and found him standing behind him, shivering. Draco stood slowly, turned to his back and looked at the boy.

"I...It was my fault Mr. Malfoy. I...I was not looking. I'll never do it again...here...see...I'll clean it up for you..." The boy reached for a clean tissue in his pocket robe and wiped the water dripping from Draco's shoulder. But, he stopped when Draco held out a hand and evaded the boy's hand, calmly.

"Never. Touch. My. Robe." Draco said, as his eyes moved from his shoulder to the boy. The boy was panting and wanting his mother so dearly.

Draco was serious. "Just give me the line, boy."

"I...I'm sorry...I'll never do it agai---"

The boy was cut off as he saw Draco's hand reaching for his wand on the table. He put it inside his robe, looked at the boy and the sudden quietness of the hall. Ignoring any effort of cleaning the mess, he made his way out. He was just not ready for an argument.