Amor Ordinem Nescit

Pairing: HP/DM - yip it's slash people. Leave if you must.

Important Note: chapter 1 has been edited (15/06/2003 or 06/15/2003 for all you Americans) to make this a multi-chaptered fic for all those who requested it. I had no intentions of continuing it, but then re-reading it, it doesn't make all that much sense as a one-shot does it?

Feedback: um, sure, why not? And in return you can have a cookie!

Harry was confused. Baffled. Understandably incoherent, and after what must have been several hours sitting on a cold stone floor he was cold, tired and had a nasty headache from when he had tried, rather unsuccessfully, banging his head against the wall in an attempt to make some sort of sense from his last meeting with Malfoy. And all he had come up with in that time was that he hadn't come up with anything.

Not exactly worth the cramped position and sore ass that he was currently sporting.

He heard footsteps and muffled voices then, louder, "Harry! There you are, we've been worried sick. Look Ron, he's over here!" and then the footsteps were closer and a rather clammy hand was placed on his forehead. "Harry? Are you okay?"

He tried swatting her away. "Harry!" Well, that didn't work.

"Herm, I'm fine."

Eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Really? People who are fine do not miss dinner to sit by themselves in damp, dark corridors and attempt to catch a fever!"

She's got me there. Well, except for the fever part. "No, really. I'm fine. I'm just.... I'm just, thinking that's all." Thinking about Malfoy while trying not to think about Malfoy. And not being successful at it by any account.

"Hmm. Well, come on, we should get back to the common room before Filch or Mrs. Norris catches us."

"Okay."

A concerned look from Hermione. "Really, Harry, are you okay? Not worrying about tomorrows quiz in Potions are you?"

A snort from Ron, "why worry? Snape will just fail him anyway." Too true.

"No, no, nothing like that. I'm just thinking about..." oh well, what could it hurt? "...Malfoy".

Two voices, one intrigued, the other shocked, "Malfoy?"

"What about Malfoy?"

"Oh, nothing really, just something he said to me." Did to me.

A noise of disgust from Ron, "well, in that case, it's definitely not worth thinking about. Just forget it."

Just forget it. Just. Forget. It. His new mantra.

Hermione was still looking at him with concern, what Ron called her 'Mother Hen phase'. "Right. You're right. It's nothing." A yawn. When did he get so tired? Oh right, it was in between thinking about Malfoy, the Plan, and not thinking about Malfoy. "Come on, I could use some sleep."

Hermione made a few tut tut noises but otherwise led them out of the corridor and up to the tower without any further comment on her part. However, now that Harry had opened up a conversation about Malfoy, Ron was keen to carry it on and only Harry climbing into his bed in the Gryffindor dormitories seemed to slow him down any.

"I mean, Harry, he's a real git. He hasn't changed in six years. It's all 'My Father this and My Father that' and if he calls Hermione a Mudblood one more time, I swear I'll..."

Harry finished the sentence for him, "get into a fight, get caught by Snape, and lose Gryffindor about 100 house points." Another yawn. "You said it yourself, just forget about it." Forget about him. Forget about grey eyes, enigmatic smiles and warm breath on flushed, fevered skin.

Just stick to the plan. With a few slight revisions of course. The world was the same. Nothing had changed. Harry was still Harry and Malfoy was still Malfoy, who it turned out was someone who could, without any real apparent effort on his part it seemed, get under Harry's skin. On Harry's skin.

Dammit! He was not thinking about it.

"Ron?" But, apparently talking about it was okay.

A chuckle. "Harry? I thought you wanted to sleep?"

"Um, yeah, but...., have you ever thought that you knew everything about someone, had them completely figured out, but one conversation changed that, changed everything? And now you don't know what to think? It's not that you were wrong about that person, it's just that you weren't completely right. Ron....?"

He almost didn't hear the response, Ron had muttered it into his pillow and was apparently trying to sleep even if Harry had changed his mind and now sleep was the last thing he wanted.

"Yeah. With Hermione. All the time."

With Hermione. And Harry really didn't want to think about the implications that little statement had. Because he hated Malfoy. Hated Malfoy. Well, maybe hate was a bit much. Strongly disliked might be a bit more appropriate. And Malfoy felt the same didn't he? Didn't he?

What was it he had said in the corridor? Argh. Something about more ordinates? Amor something? Ordinates something? Purposively cryptic that's what it was.

"Harry. Stop thinking. Go to sleep." Ron, the voice of wisdom.

And so he slept, softly repeating his mantra. Just. Forget. It.

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Harry used to think he dreamed in grey. Voldemort was grey. Death was grey. Grey represented a cold, stark reality. A relict of his past, a promise of his future.

But this dream was different. Vivid. Colourful. Warm. He was lying on his back in a field idly fingering a chain of daisy's someone had carefully wrapped around his wrist. That same someone who was curled up against him, their head tucked under Harry's chin, lightly humming a tune which sounded vaguely reminiscent of 'Mad About the Boy'. They didn't speak, just continued to lie there, basking in the warmth from the sun and from each other.

And he woke, panting, remembering only the feeling of silver hair and soft, warm breaths against his neck.