The Ivory Tower

4

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4

Harry awoke to a bright light. Part of him felt reassured at the sight. No more was he a trapped victim, cuffed, confused, and in pain. He was free. The darkness and its spawn couldn't hurt him anymore.

Slowly, Harry sat up, and blinking furiously, realized he was in the hospital room. What had happened? He slowly went back in time in his mind, reliving it all. Oh, yes. Now he remembered.

Draco had leaned in for a second kiss, or something worse, and then Harry had suddenly felt a hand upon his belt. Panicking, knowing this was not what he wanted and shouldn't be happening to him, denial of the present washing through him, he had begun to thrash and yell wildly, and the next he knew, there was a flash of bright light, and glowing red when he closed his eyes. He had opened them to see both Slytherins thrown to the floor, and then, then...

Harry could barely find words to describe it, even to himself. It was as if he had suddenly had more blood in his body than he could hold, because deep inside him, something hot and strong had pulsed. Then that pulsing had spread throughout his entire body, hurting and simultaneously surging him with power from within. With a roar of sound that increased in pitch, a large crackling filled the room. Harry had, in that moment, been unsure what was crackling; he had suspected, in a flash of pain, that it was his bones. Then the sound had ended, and Harry had found himself free of his cuffs. Not taking anytime to glance at them, for fear that the cuffs were somehow not cracked or that they would jump back onto his wrists, Harry had left immediately.

Then in the hallway, exhaustion had swept over him like nothing before, and Harry had realized that the power, the pulsing that had surged up within him and out of him to crackle loudly, was still within him. But it was relaxed, a soft pulsing. And yet it still burned. The next he knew, Hermione was there, comforting in her familiarity. Then, the exhaustion had filled Harry up so much he could barely breathe, and upon closing his eyes, he had welcomed the blackness, so different from the pulsing red that he had seen when his strange power surged outwards.

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DRACO'S POV

Draco looked down solemnly at the Gryffindor on the bed before him. It had been a week since he and Blaise had attempted to punish Harry for his wrong of spying, and although the first few days of lying in the hospital, feeling as if the breath had been sucked out of him, had been horrible, Draco had recovered from the strange blast of power that had mysteriously come from the Boy Who Lived.

He had heard of the things the boy could do, of the incident of the linked wands back in Fourth Year, of the way Harry Potter emerged victorious against all odds again and again, facing off trolls, basilisks, werewolves, and even the Dark Lord himself numerous times. The hardships the adolescent had gone through and survived were unbelievable. Now, having been target of what he suspected was only a fragment of Harry's power, Draco had gained some respect for the boy.

But beneath the surface of the surprisingly solemn, thoughtful gaze Draco directed at the Gryffindor, a fury unlike any he had ever felt before burned continuously. He had been defeated, the glory of all that power--power he did not possess--going to the Boy Who Lived, who, from what Draco had gathered from eavesdropping upon a conversation between Harry and Dumbledore, didn't even know how or why that blast of power had come. The Headmaster suspected, as he had voiced, that it all had to do with Harry, with the anger and vulnerable state of mind he had been in. Harry had not told the Headmaster the entire story, of course, hadn't even lied, but simply told the Headmaster that he would rather not discuss the details of it all.

Draco wanted to, though. He wanted to discuss it with Potter face to face, to search the Gryffindor so that every aspect of his defeat was displayed to Draco, so that he could make sure not to make the same mistake again. Perhaps, on the side, he would be able to figure out Potter's weakness as well.

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HARRY'S POV

A few days later, and Harry felt he was getting a little better. To his discomfort, he had heard that his most usual visitor was Draco Malfoy. Instead of thinking of this, he tried to drive all thoughts of Draco or any Slytherin out of his mind and concentrate on catching up on schoolwork and sleeping in on mornings--a luxury--instead.

One morning, however, Harry woke up to find that familiar piercing, hateful grey gaze on him, looking straight at him as if he had known Harry would wake up at that second. Turning his head away from the Slytherin, Harry asked warily, "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Ignoring the question, Draco began to list on his fingers, "Potter's habits: he wakes up automatically before 9:00 every morning, whether it be 8:59, 8:30, 8:00, 7:00, sometimes even 6:30. It's always before 9:00. He likes treacle tarts for dessert every evening. At around 4:00 Mudblood and Weasel come around and chat for a while, and then Potters gets his homework. He does his homework for a half hour--if it's Potions, Herbology, or History of Magic. If it's Divination, he does it for fifteen minutes, or less, if he gets a headache.

"Headaches mean pinching of the bridge of the nose, or just lying down in a ridiculously ungraceful, slob fashion. If the homework is Care of Magical Creatures, or The Dark Arts--typical that the Boy Who Lived would love that class--then Potter works on it for an hour. He also has this horrid habit of chewing his pencil, because he doesn't want to use a quill and inkbottle when he's ill, in case he falls asleep or some such and the ink spills. He probably only chews the pencil end to make up for Granger, who would probably bite the entire eraser off if she tried it. Then Potter sleeps for a bit--a pathetic child naptime type of thing--then Pomfrey comes around to check up on the widdle boy. Then he sits around looking like a total prat and just thinks--if, of course, that is possible, because with all those headaches he gets, and all the thinking he gives to the class that oaf Hagrid teaches, I'm not quite sure Scarhead has a brain."

For a few moments, Harry sat still, staring, nonplussed. What was Malfoy doing here? Why had he been obviously spying on Harry? For a few moments, Harry considered yelling these questions at the Slytherin Seeker. But then, noting that the Slytherin did not have a smug smirk on his face, but rather an impatient one, Harry decided to simply sit and not reply at all, just to annoy Draco.

A few minutes passed, and then grabbing Harry's collar, the Slytherin totally lost control, and shaking Harry furiously, he snarled, "What is your secret? What was that--that--that power surge that let you escape? Why...how..." Then the boy simply lost his articulacy, unable to voice the flow of emotions that had been bubbling up inside of him towards Harry for weeks, and lay down on the bed, his figure draped, relaxed but for the grip his hands had on the bed sheets, across Harry's legs.

For a few moments Harry seriously considered calling Madam Pomfrey, in view of the idea that Malfoy had gone insane. Then, becoming more rational, he thought of something Hermione had told him once, when Ron had become unreasonably angry at him for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Try to put yourself in his shoes, Harry.

So, he sat there for a few minutes, stewing over what could possibly have been going through the Malfoy's mind the past two weeks during Harry's stay at the hospital. He had overheard the conversation between Blaise and Draco, and seen the intimacy between the two. Blaise was obviously someone important to Draco. Harry had hurt him, perhaps, with that blast of power. Harry, a Gryffindor, the arch-nemesis, the one who had more friends and affection than Draco, had spied on what Blaise and Draco shared.

Draco had talked about the main idea being that one not be defeated. That was when it hit Harry: He had defeated Draco. He had shown power unexplainable and unexpected by Draco, even when he had the disadvantage in the situation. Draco had been prepared to make Harry suffer, and instead, Harry had made Draco suffer, had wounded Draco's pride.

Now, Harry thought, I'm 'in his shoes', but...what do I do? What does he want from me now? He's obviously frustrated--he probably has still been working on trying to get Slytherin House united again. Meanwhile perhaps Committee meetings have been tense, with no one but Hermione to stop Ron from attacking Malfoy. Do I just ask Malfoy what he wants? I know what he wants, though. He wants to know how I defeated him, how it was possible, because the pompous git thinks he's invincible. What does he plan to do in revenge for it, though? He has a shrewd mind, has lived a merciless, unforgiving life as a merciless, unforgiving person. He must be planning something to get me back for what I did; maybe that was why he was spying on me, observing me. But what is he planning?

Thinking it not best to grimace or show dislike in the dangerous situation he was in, Harry didn't make a sound or a word, just simply scooted over when Draco sat up and moved to lie beside him on the hospital bed. Chin propped up on his hand, Draco simply stared at Harry, his gaze thoughtful. Harry gazed back calmly, for once not staring into the steely frigidity of a hateful glare.

Regardless of the danger and the mystery of it all, Harry was excited. This was a new kind of adventure for him. As well as trying to keep his life together and having the threat of Voldemort looming over him, he had this. However, instead of being overwhelmed and exhausted, Harry was elated. This was entertaining. It was interesting learning more about the Slytherins, about personal relationships, about the secret inner thoughts and activities of his archenemy. A warmth flooded Harry's insides just at the thought, and before he could stop himself, a small smile crept upon his lips.

Then, with a jolt back to reality and away from the dreamy world of thoughts and mysteries, Harry realized that the heat pumping inside of him and shuddering up his limbs was real, that he was actually physically feeling it. His eyes opened wide as he realized that a hand was slowly creeping up his thigh, while another unbuttoned the top three buttons of his white hospital robe, fingers rubbing his skin.

The clarity of the situation came to Harry in the next moment, as, with Draco's lips descending on him, he could comprehend that Draco's revenge was just this--doing what he had set out to do before, and torturing Harry with desire and passion. Because Draco now knew that those tactics worked. He was taking a risk of another mysterious surge of power from Harry by doing so, but he had thought it all out more this time, and such an assault was not what Harry had expected at all.

Then, the next moment, Draco had his mouth pressed to Harry's, using teeth and lips in a kiss of brutal fury, licking up Harry's blood even as it was spilt. The sensation of it was, for Harry, intoxicating. He had never been wanted so much, never felt such a jumble of emotions at just a sensation. He wasn't confused, he understood that this was Draco's revenge, and yet he was a bit disappointed. Wouldn't a Slytherin have thought of something more devious? More painful? More clever, and sly?

These questions were wiped from Harry's mind as he realized how thoroughly Draco was defeating him. Draco was causing Harry to question his own Gryffindor status being against Slytherin, and his morality, what he thought right and wrong. He was making Harry enjoy this, when Harry knew very well he wasn't supposed to. But who wouldn't? Harry couldn't help but think. The pain and pleasure went hand in hand.

Those lips pressed to Harry's fervently, that tongue sliding in with one swipe, diving in to viciously attack Harry's mouth predatorily. Each touch of tongue to tongue was harsh, a battle of speed, a battle in which Harry had no time to make decisions but knew he had to make them. Then, slowly, the kiss became gentler. A hand sidled down Harry's chest, making him breathless, popping buttons from his hospital robe, splitting it down the front as it went.

Harry wasn't sure if it was real or a dream anymore. Could this actually happen? Was it possible? Never had he encountered anything so unfamiliar, any area in which he was so inexperienced and cautious but excited as well. Apprehension choked Harry even as expectancy swept him into a dreamy fog.

The robe, split down the front, Harry's only protection, was gone. The hand continued to sidle down, and then reached Harry's belt (he had insisted upon being able to wear his regular clothes underneath the hospital robe). Each movement of Draco's preceded a moment in which Harry could make it stop or let it continue but instead didn't do anything; the belt was undone and whisked off.

Breath coming in pants, Harry closed his eyes as Draco, sliding a hand past the trousers, got a hard grip on his erection. Moaning, Harry squirmed in protest, desiring that the hand do something or halt in the invasion of his trousers. Slowly, those fingers slid up and down, touch feather light, torturous, but working so effectively. Then Draco leaned in for the kill, pressing a soft, slow, sensuous kiss to Harry's neck.

Just as this happened, the curtain around Harry's bed flew back, and the victim and his jailer turned to see that the trespasser was none other than Blaise Zabini. Looking back and forth from Slytherin to Slytherin, Harry could see how dire the situation was. Tension and anger rippled from Blaise in a storm, his eyes blazing. Draco, frozen in his position, closed his eyes, a low growl of "Shit..." coming from him at his plan's wreck.

Without a word, Blaise turned away, very quickly out of sight. Getting up, Draco, who seemed now oblivious to Harry's very existence, ran his hands through his hair, cursing once more in aggravation before rushing off to chase his boyfriend.

Sighing, Harry buckled his belt back up, wrapped his destroyed hospital robe around him, and pulled the blankets over his head, wondering why Draco had decided to seduce him as revenge when Blaise might have wanted revenge as well. It seemed Draco hadn't known Blaise would be upset. Had Draco purposely cheated on Blaise?

Shaking his head, Harry wished he hadn't gotten so involved in matters of two Slytherins dating each other. The sight of Draco beating up Blaise in anger after class that day, and their intense discussions and heated, hurting passion that he had witnessed, should have been warning enough.

And yet, a smile played on Harry's lips still.

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HARRY'S POV

Two days later, and Harry was out of the hospital. School was going well, he had caught up, and, forgetting stresses, had had some fun reunited with his friends, glad to be back to his normal lifestyle. There had been a time where Ron had staunchly avoided both Harry and Hermione, but once Harry had realized why--Ron had thought Harry was angry with him and avoiding him--he had gone to talk to Ron about it. Of course, Harry had done most of the talking, and had managed to avoid telling Ron that he knew how the redhead felt about Hermione (Ron had also somehow assumed something more than friendship was between Harry and Hermione). Once he'd understood, Ron had quickly forgiven Harry and Hermione.

The situation of two Slytherins lurked in the very back of Harry's mind still. But he ignored it for as long as he could.

One day, though, there was no way to avoid either Blaise or Draco, as he had been doing for the past two days. Walking out of the loo after classes, Harry took one step forward when suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, seeming to materialize from thin air. Cursing himself for his inattention, Harry backed up with each step Blaise took forward towards him.

Stuck in the loo, with no escape and no aid, Harry tried to remain calm.

"Ah...Zabini? Nice to see you..."

"What have you done to Draco? What did you DO to him?"

Now backing up even faster, glancing back to see he was getting closer and closer to a wall, Harry, panicked, shouted, "I didn't do anything! He went after me that day at the hospital! I-I didn't do anything!"

Those hazel eyes, before so calm, so mysterious, naturally of an intimidating nature, now looked at Harry with a gaze so fierce it was frightening. Finally stopping at a standstill, Blaise murmured, "You destroyed everything. It was fine, and then I made a mistake, but then we got back together. Then you came along, and it was destroyed again! Stop messing with my boyfriend's head. You've gone too far this time, Potter!"

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? I mean that...he's not the same anymore. You've changed him. He's obsessed with...with...I don't know! You! He's obsessed with getting revenge on you, but he's not going about it the usual ways...I don't like it. I don't like this new, changed, confusing Draco at all. I used to know him," the Slytherin was standing with head hanging now.

"I used to know him. To know what to expect, how to react, what he liked, and what he didn't. Now, he's gone through this...transition. He's not insulting you repeatedly like he used to, and he's more thoughtful. He asks me strange question from nowhere. He's changed, and I don't know how to be around him anymore, but I want to be with him, to him, whatever is right. But I don't what's right for us anymore, for Draco and me, because I don't know Draco!"

For a few moments, Harry felt angry at being wrongly accused. He hadn't done anything! Why come to the conclusion that it was his fault? Just like some people, Ron, or Seamus, or Dean, saw fault in Slytherins, so Blaise did with Harry. Harry didn't like it. He was trying to grow out of the immaturity of blaming so easily, of coming to conclusions. It was time to look at the big picture.

Then, Harry felt sorry. He had intruded in Draco and Blaise's lives, and had purposely spied. But all the assaults had been done to him. "Listen, Zabini. I didn't make Draco kiss me, do all that at the hospital. He did that of his own will."

Those eyes, a second ago shadowed, sad, were now angry again. "No! No, you hear me? He changed, but...no! You're not meant for him. All of this, what happened, it wasn't supposed to happen. It's wrong. All wrong. It's your fault, only your fault. I won't let you take Draco!"

With a fury that was almost too real for the boy's enigmatic, inhuman personality, Blaise charged at Harry, shoving him against a sink. Harry had no doubt that he would get a large bruise on his back, the impact of him hitting the sink had been so hard; the sink had almost cracked. For a few moments, eyes glinting, Blaise stared straight into Harry's eyes, as if searching for an answer to some hidden question. Then, as a sickly feeling not unlike butterflies of excitement but closer to nausea swooped into Harry's stomach, Blaise pushed his lips against Harry's own. Just before the kiss, Harry could almost have sworn he heard Blaise whisper, "Take me instead..."

It was a hungry kiss, and yet somehow still gentle. The lips against Harry's were soft, pushing against his mouth in a soft pressure, at one moment seeming almost not there at all and then the next moment flagrantly pushing. Unlike Draco's harsh, hurting kiss, or the kiss of reuniting Blaise had given Draco in a moment of desperation, the kiss Blaise gave Harry was tender, sympathetic to the poor Gryffindor's inexperience. Just before Harry was quite used to the sensation of Blaise's lips a tongue, sly and hot, crept to join the lips in caressing unison of Harry's mouth.

Harry wondered if that tongue inside his mouth would be vicious, hurting, quick, or a mixture of adventure and mystery. Instead, the tongue that slid ever so deftly into his mouth--his lips forced apart with a gasp induced by harsh tug of fingers to hair--it was so soft, so fleeting, one moment leaving him blissfully breathless and the next arriving at another spot, soft but insistent. The sensation was almost too much for Harry.

A shiver running up and down his spine, Harry was in an unbalanced position, but not paying attention to it. His back was against the sink rim, every few seconds slipping a little more down, causing his lower body to slip ever further forward, making him slip and then catch himself once or twice. Blaise bent over Harry, his lean body curving seemingly automatically to such a position, one ankle twisted to curve behind Harry's foot, assuring that he wouldn't fall. Harry wondered how it was possible that the boy could do so many things at once, but he soon stopped wondering.

The cause for his stop in wondering, aside from his brain suddenly being rendered useless, was the pulsing he felt deep down. At first he feared that it was another surge of power, but then he realized, as a trembling shook him for a moment of the kiss, that the feeling was the heat of his body, reacting to and influenced by the lust emanating from Blaise.

Reluctantly, with a low groan of still-fueled desire, Harry pulled away from the kiss. For a few moments, the kiss' sensation still tingled within Harry, the Slytherin's lips still poised above his, not a breath away. Gazing straight into those serious hazel eyes, he realized that it wasn't lust for vengeance, lust for control, or lust for company that had caused Blaise's sudden explosion of violence, and sudden move on Harry--it was lust for him. Someone desired him, Harry. A Slytherin did. Blaise. Slumping to the floor in exhaustion from so much shock, rebellion, thought, and confusion, Harry heaved a large sigh.

Leaning down to glare at Harry, Blaise whispered, "Potter, you bastard. I swear if you mess with Draco again, I'll kill you. Fuck off! ... Or come to me when you need something."

That said, the boy turned on his heel and left, leaving Harry to sit with his head in his hands, wondering if it was possible for a piece in the entire situation to make sense. Something had to give.