The Ivory Tower

5

∫∫∫

5

Darling, stop confusing me,

With your wishful thinking.

Hopeful embraces,

Don't you understand?

I have to go through this,

I belong to here where no-one cares,

And no one loves.

No light no air to live in,

A place called hate,

The city of fear.

I play dead,

It stops the hurting.

I play dead,

And the hurting stops.

Draco felt like he was upside-down. Everything was wrong in the world. Here he sat, on his rightful throne as the King of Slytherin, lounging in the common room, and even as he controlled his subjects, he knew that he was losing that control. Not only was he losing control of them, but he was losing control of himself as well.

Nothing was going well anymore. Draco had run after Blaise, when Blaise had seen the scene at the hospital wing with him and Harry. Draco had, even as he ran after Blaise, wondered how he would soothe Blaise, what he could say. Their relationship had slowly, steadily been growing again, but that had all been destroyed when Harry came along.

Harry Potter. The name sent shivers down Draco's spine, and yet he wasn't sure if the shivers were of anger, lust, or something else. The idea that someone, someone he had had so close, so vulnerable, someone he had known for years and never seen as very important, had so much power...it was nauseating for Draco, sickening. It made him angry just to think of it. To think that Potter, of all the people who did not deserve power and knew not how to use it, had so much of it! He was so much of a fool he couldn't even control this power, hadn't even known he had it in the first place! Draco found this quite infuriating.

Yet, Draco had to admit, he was fascinated, too. Years ago he had been fascinated by Potter in a different way, tried to get close to him only to receive power and fame, and because his father had said so. Now, he was not sure why he wanted to be near the power source that was the Boy Who Lived. He did not feel that need, that greed for power, and yet he had nothing else but enmity to share in relationship with the boy, but that, too, was fading away now.

There was something about Potter that Draco knew he could not have with Blaise. With Blaise, it was a sharing of power, two kindred spirits joining and knowing each other in all ways possible. It was wonderful and made Draco, deep down, crow in delight.

That is, it had.

HAD.

Now, Draco knew not what to do about Blaise. Rather than giving time to shooting his ex-boyfriend glares, Blaise instead simply ignored Draco, acting as if the Malfoy did not exist. This infuriated Draco to no end, because not only did he like attention, and feel the heat of want swirl around him when he saw the other, but he knew Blaise did it on purpose. Blaise knew how to irritate the hell out of him. He was a professional at the only profession that most people did not know existed: making a Malfoy lose his composure.

As a Malfoy, Draco was not supposed to love, nor was he supposed to care. He was not sure if he had ever felt anything like love, but he had certainly felt attachment; he dared not explore his mind and feelings any further than attachment he knew he felt. Towards Blaise. And now, even, perhaps, towards Potter.

There was something about Harry Potter, something that made Draco unable to let go of the urge to get a hold on the boy, to leave an imprint on him of some sort. That raw anger and power that so easily bristled at Draco, those amusing reactions coming so quickly, that insistency to not be defeated no matter what, it delighted Draco. He liked the feeling of dominance and control he had been able to have over Harry before the Room of Requirement incident. Afterwards, he had set about finishing what he and Blaise had not finished, trying to sort out what he felt and trying to have an effect on Harry, a victory after the way Harry had won on the last round. That, however, had led to disaster and the state of distress, confusion, and all-out frustration Draco was now in.

Draco felt, for once, inadequate at solving his own problems. He had taken it into his head that he could solve others' problems, too, after all, they were all below him. But if he could not solve his own problems, the most important ones, how could he solve others'? How could he live a life that was complete and satisfactory, if he was isolated because of his inability to solve problems?

It was a question that had plagued Draco day and night, and caused him to turn heel every moment Blaise was present. He knew in a way that this was showing a weakness, but faced with Blaise ignoring him on purpose, he figured there was no use in staying. Blaise was not so proud that he focused on winning, but simply held an immense grudge, because, as both boys knew, Blaise had trusted Draco, and Draco had accidentally, unthinkingly thrown that trust to the ground in his pursuing of Potter. Potter simply had to be defeated. Draco did not exactly want the Gryffindor's power, but he wanted to know where the boy got it from, and he wanted to sort out his feelings about Potter, and perhaps, in some way, make the boy inferior to him, powerless, surrendered, for at least one moment. Draco always wanted to come out the winner.

Perhaps that was why he was so tired, so exhausted, surges of anger and other, uncalled for, utterly not-Malfoy emotions surging through him at the most inconvenient times.

Draco was losing at his own game.

∫∫∫

That's not how things were supposed to be

You take my hand just to give it back

No other lover has ever done that

Blaise laughed, picking up the cup and quickly downing the alcohol in one gulp, being soothed by the way it tingled and flashed down his throat. His arm around Pansy Parkinson, an old friend that he used to be jealous of the time she spent with Draco, he nodded his head slowly to a lazy tune she sung.

This had been the way things had been going for Blaise for the last few weeks. Bury himself in something, whether it be drinking to forget, reading to be more knowledgeable, ignoring Draco, or the worst part of all: drifting into the shadow when he felt himself depending on someone again, when he felt himself breaking as he had when he saw Draco seducing Harry Potter.

Life was a sham for Blaise, anyway. It had no real pleasures; all of those were gone. He had nothing left to enjoy anymore, but he had all the time in the world to enjoy. So he took fun in other people's pleasure, or others pain, depending what mood he was in. All he'd ever wanted was Draco, and he had got that, but, typical of the Malfoys, something always came up to distract them, something that they didn't have already divided their attention.

Blaise had liked being with Draco. Draco had made him feel intelligent, needed, and wanted. They had been able to share so much, because they thought so much alike. Their wants and needs were similar, their ambitions, their complaints, and their fancies. Their need for power and for recognition were similar, although they went about obtaining it in different ways, Draco liking attention, whereas Blaise just wanted to be accepted and enjoy himself. With Draco, Blaise had found his equal, his fellow intellectual. He had been able to know Draco unlike anyone else, and that had made him feel special. Even better than that, however, was every time that he had looked at Draco, and known that, if anyone had the power to control a Malfoy, to make a Malfoy feel love, it was he. He had the ability to do the seemingly impossible.

With Draco, he had felt like he was depended on, was felt deeply about, and in return for the support he gave Draco, Draco had supported him. Their connections had run so deep and so many, it had seemed impossible that they could ever break apart, ever be a single person instead of one joined, complete whole. Without Draco, Blaise was an incomplete half of a circle, a circle that had until recently been complete, and round, and perfect. That circle was now cut in half.

Blaise grimaced. Pansy had just spilt drink on his trousers, and now his train of thought was running back into the tunnel rather than towards the bright, icky, but distracting light of the outside. The real world beyond the shadows he played in. The shadows that caressed him, licked his tears away, tugged his hair, kissed his brow, and then laughed and shoved him away so that he could pretend to be living again.

Letting out a growl of frustration, Blaise sat still for a few moments, playing with the shadows, flashes of memory of the words Magna Cum Laude being magically carved into the stone he wore around his neck...shackles wrapped around thin wrists...a wicked smirk he had welcomed until recently...punches and beatings he had taken and given back a bit...a kiss stolen in a hospital wing, and a little more than that.... NO! He would not think of that! That was danger, and anger, ah sweet anger that he took shelter of. It was solace, but he would not depend on it. He would not depend on anything. He was much too stubborn to do what anyone wanted, even the shadows.

Unable to hold down a bubble of the broiling cauldron of anger inside him, Blaise yawned, and then threw his goblet at the wall, laughing with delight as it shattered, even as Pansy, wide eyed, stopped her singing. Standing up, even as the other Slytherins finally laughed, a little late, Blaise made a First Year fetch him a clean pair of trousers, and then walked with the pair out of the common room. Usually he would just go to the nearest bathroom, or the Slytherin one, but now he felt he needed some time alone. Changing into a new pair of trousers was only his excuse.

Slowly, his steps echoing in the empty Hogwarts corridors, as most students were now in their common rooms and dormitories after a day's work, Blaise eventually reached the door to the prefect's bathroom. Draco had...Fuck! Get out of my head, Draco! Taking a deep breath, Blaise closed his eyes, letting the anger seep out of him. Now calm, he let all thoughts clear from his head, and then quietly said the password, "Leviosa."

The door to the prefect's bathroom opened. Smiling, Blaise walked in, grabbing a towel, Green, hmm, bloody fantastic towel, and walked in, shutting the door behind him. Quickly Blaise dropped the clean pair of trousers, took off his shirt, flinging it to the floor, and then, still feeling hot from his previous bothers, he leant down to splash his face with water. It felt so merciful, so soothing, and so cold...

Smiling, Blaise lifted up his head, looking into the mirror. Eyes widening, he realized there was another person's reflection in the mirror. His smile dropped immediately. Not daring to look behind him, his eyes narrowed, he glared at the other's reflection in the mirror.

Draco.

At first, anger filled Blaise, and he wanted to jump back and cast the most vicious spell he could think of, besides the killing curse (he enjoyed torturing the victim first), on Draco. Then, gazing into those steel grey eyes, he swallowed, hard. Those eyes brought back so many memories...

Blinking a few times to banish the sting in his eyes, Blaise smiled. Turning to face his ex, he purred (a technique he had learned from Draco but never mastered), words silky and yet icy cold. "Why hello, Draco."

Green towel around his waist, the other boy looked, Blaise had to admit, terribly sexy. His face was flushed from the heat in the room, and his hair, soaking wet, was mussed in a frighteningly Potter-istic yet still attractive way. It made the Malfoy look vulnerable, and his features less sharp, more childish and rounded. One of his fingernails was painted black, the start of a hand of black, manicured fingernails. Painting his fingernails black was an old habit Blaise had never been able to get Draco to drop, and had eventually accepted, noticing how well it looked in the photo album in which Draco always wore black.

Fingering the ring with Magna Cum Laude on it, the Malfoy smirked, replying, "Charmed to see you also, Blaise." There was a pregnant pause. Neither boy had anything else to say. It was as if, with words, they would break the entrancement they held over each other.

Then, the dam broke, and in a fury neither boy was able to keep held in any longer, they both lunged in the same moment. But they never met, instead simply glaring at the other through narrowed eyes, their noses inches apart.

"You bastard," breathed Blaise hotly, "you traitor. Not even letting me understand what bothered you, plagued you during the night, and then rushing to get your jollies out of that Potter."

"I was not getting my jollies, I was getting revenge. Business. Besides, you didn't even give me the chance! You didn't even let me explain!"

Furious, now yelling, Blaise said, "Explain! EXPLAIN? You're much too proud for that, Draco! You'd rather lose me and not have to get your ego stomped on by coming to apologize, by even trying to fix things up with me! It all meant nothing to you! Why go back to Blaise, why sacrifice a little pride and fix the situation when you had Potter to go, Potter to go and fulfill your desires, Potter to use and pretend you loved or at least felt some attachment to! Then maybe you planned to abandon him, too! You forgot who and what you are, and now you are defeated. But I know what you are, Draco!

"You're a piece of scum too weak to rebel against your father, who controls you like a puppeteer. You're too cowardly to admit to having any weaknesses, too afraid and too cherishing of what pride and popularity you've earned at Hogwarts to even try and fix anything. You don't even try to help yourself by standing up to Lucius and other problems at home! You're a Malfoy who doesn't want to be what you're supposed to because you doubt yourself, but you're everything Lucius wants you to be because you never refuse to follow his command! He treats you like a servant and you do whatever he wants, you accept his punishments. You try to be the man who doesn't love, care, need, or want anything he can't give himself. But actually, you're just a little boy trying to understand yourself and be accepted, when you can't be accepted! You know why? Because, you don't let others understand you, and you don't even understand yourself, because you're the only one in this entire school who ISN'T LOVED!"

Face red after his outburst, tears streaming unabashedly down his cheeks, Blaise stood rock still after this for a moment, anger still evident in his tense muscles and clenched fists. Then, whispering a low, sob-choked, "Oh, shit..." he slumped to the floor, knees curling up against his bare chest, hands burying themselves in his hair, eyes closing in agony and defeat.

The next few minutes passed with no reply made, low sobs bursting from Blaise's throat, which felt suddenly dry and hurt from all the yelling. He wanted to tear himself apart. He wanted to touch Draco's soft, pale skin. He wanted to rip out those beautiful grey eyes. He wanted to die. Blaise shook his head; how could he choose what to do? There was no point in doing anything anymore.

Turning back around to face Blaise again, since he had turned away once Blaise slumped to the floor to sit, Draco was frozen still, staring straight down at Blaise.

That hair that Blaise knew for a fact was now smooth and soft and silky, mussed up and down and everywhere in soft, wispy curls, framed Draco's face as if it were an angel's. That mouth, the bottom lip touching the joints of a clenched fist, was pursed in an upset pout, those lips, soft and full and trembling, begging to be kissed. It was the gaze that pierced Blaise most, however. Shining, liquid pooling at the edge, sitting on long, dark lashes, the look those eyes gave Blaise etched itself on his soul. He felt as if an eternity of miracles would never allow that gaze to forgive him. Those pupils were wide, the irises around them no more a strong grey, but instead the weak color of a boy who felt that he was fading. Draco looked at Blaise now, his gaze telling Blaise that Draco knew he was fading, and that now, having nothing to hold on to, he, Draco, would fade and become nothing. That gaze voiced feelings Draco could not find the ability to say, and words so strong that he could not find the voice to speak them aloud: I thought YOU loved me.

Blaise knew it was his fault. He knew how Draco felt. The feeling of having been betrayed gripped at the soul as if desperate, stabbing great holes with which there was nothing to fill. The hopelessness swarmed over one like a great wall of fog, and the feeling of desperation that came with the knowing that one had lost his support in life, his anchor to the want to live, gnawed unstoppingly. The natural activity of breathing became harder, for with such realizations came fear, and with fear came denial of the fear. But then came the realization that denial would do nothing, and that the fear was part of living; it was better to close one's eyes and never open them ever again than to feel or do anything that related to living, because there was nothing worth living for anymore.

Suddenly, Blaise felt a swarm of regret well up in him. What had he done? How could he have said such cruel things? This revenge was not sweet. In return for being broken, in both mind and body, he had broken the part of Draco that he had helped the other boy realize he had: his heart.

∫∫∫

HARRY'S POV

Harry, having come to dinner late because of a long session of Quidditch practice, had been too tired to eat quickly in order to finish dinner and go with Hermione and Ron back to the common room. He had told them to go on without him, knowing they would enjoy each other's company, and instead had a pleasant quiet time in which to think and eat as slowly as he wanted, cherishing every bite.

He had been about to pick up a treacle tart, but remembering Draco's words, how the boy seemed to know his daily habits, he decided to change his habits, and refrained from eating his favorite dessert. Now, however, his stomach was grumbling slightly. Ignoring it, he plodded up the stairs, turning his head to see where the sudden shouting came from.

Glancing to the left, and then to the right where the yelling came from, he decided he could spare a few more minutes time to see what the noise was. He was not a prefect, so it was not his duty to stop fights, but he was curious anyway. The voice coming from the prefect's bathroom sounded familiar. Usually prefects would not argue over the use of the tub, would they? Perhaps a girl had come upon a boy bathing? For the voice yelling was definitely male, although having a feminine lightness to it.

Stopping, Harry leaned against the wall by the prefect's bathroom. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but he wanted to know what was happening. If it could be easily explained, as most things could, it was nothing to bother about. Otherwise, Harry would get curious. As it was, he recognized the voice as Blaise Zabini's.

Therefore, he was hooked. Besides, the words, "...rushing to get your jollies out of Potter," met his ears, and then, he had to listen. He had promised himself he would forget the incident at the hospital, and Blaise's fury and kiss at the loo room, or any sort of thing involving either Blaise Zabini or Draco Malfoy. However, the current topic seemed to involve him as a focus to vent emotion on. Since both boys seemed to haunt him at every turn, he figured he might as well not try to escape and instead listen in and see if by doing so he could help resolve the situation. If it was resolved, and he was taken out of the picture, perhaps he could forget about the two boys and the feelings they had incensed in him.

Quiet as he could be, Harry leaned to the left, and turned to peek through the tiny crack of the door, which someone had left the tiniest bit open. It seemed that it had been closed, but not tightly enough, so thus a little was visible through the crack between door and wall.

He could see a tiny sliver of the side of Draco's head, the mirror, and facing Draco, his face red in fury, eyes blazing with intensity, was Blaise. Mouth open, Harry stared, unable to stop looking. To think that, hidden behind that exterior of calm, sneering, composure, pride, and nastiness, this whirlwind of emotions could be found behind two Slytherins! To think that the ever enigmatic, quiet Blaise could become so angry and hit Draco's sore spots--it was evident that he had an effect on Draco, for those fists clenched at every mention of his father. It was an amazing spectacle to see, and it made Harry realize that yes, he was being horrible in spying, but there was a depth to these Slytherins he had never known. He had only ever looked at the surface, and now, what with the fuss in a relationship he had accidentally gotten involved in and broken apart, he could not tear himself away and just leave it to them.

Harry could not help but cringe at the mention of Lucius Malfoy's treatment of his son. Was it really like that? Or was Blaise simply exaggerating it for effect? How could a man be so cruel to his own flesh and blood? How could Draco Malfoy, pride and git of all Hogwarts, stand there and take Blaise yelling at him? Harry would have thought that it would seem more normal that Draco yell at Blaise, or reply with a typical biting remark.

But then he saw the look on Draco's face. Blaise finished his shouting, slumping to the floor, and Draco, head still turned away, looked broken. There was a hope and a glint in those eyes that had flickered and died as Blaise had shouted, a pain in Draco's tear-rimmed gaze that was too real for even Harry to deny its existence.

Something in that gaze told Harry that whatever Blaise and Draco had shared, it had been special. Their relationship had been more than lust and harsh words exchanged. It had been more than Draco could express in words, but special enough that losing it made the sorrow show in Draco's eyes. Harry felt the guilt pound at him like a thousand rocks. He was the reason this had been destroyed, this harmony between two kindred spirits, this sharing of love and trust. Sure, it had been wrecked beforehand, but had quickly mended with a kiss, and then Harry had intruded and destroyed it again. Was it wrecked now, once and for all?

The despair in Draco's eyes, and then the realization and hurt in Blaise's eyes as he was faced with that grey gaze, said that they had one more chance. There was one more chance that this relationship could be repaired. Both had been broken in many ways, and this argument had been the final blow.

Perhaps, though, Harry thought, I can save someone again. Save these two from the pit of despair and anger that I helped them dig themselves into.

∫∫∫

You're free to leave me

But just don't deceive me

And please

Believe me when I say

I love you

Draco finally averted his gaze from Blaise's. It hurt too much if he looked for too long a time deep into that hazel that once was strong but now was not. Ashamed, Draco slowly took a deep breath. Only Blaise, only a situation like this, where he lost something he loved more than any material possession, could make Draco lose his composure like this. The fact that he had lost his composure alone was humiliating enough as it was, plus the fact that he could not deny that Blaise's words, barbs of steel, had wounded him greatly.

Draco knew what their argument meant: It meant that he was to be alone, alone for a very long time, if not forever. Blaise understood him, his home life, his logic, his actions, and his words. Blaise understood Draco's every purpose, and knew that there was a purpose behind everything Draco did--usually, unless he was incensed with dark emotions that were difficult to control. In such situations, Blaise had always been there by Draco's side to calm him down, to get Draco rationalizing again, to make Draco understand that what he was doing was damaging to he achieving his goals. Forget Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, or any of the other Slytherins. The reality was that, without Blaise, Draco had no one.

Inhaling a deep, shuddering breath, Draco stood a little straighter, although his knees felt so weak he knew a few more moments standing and they would buckle. Exhaling harshly and quickly, Draco held his chin high again. It would not do to show more weakness. He would get his revenge on his ex once he had thought of a plan. His honor had been sullied, and there would be payback. But not now.

A rage filled Draco, swirling currents of heat and strength blasting through him in torrents, blinding him momentarily, as he saw red. He got the urge to hit Blaise, but held it back. He would not go about revenge physically, for that would not have a lasting effect. Just as quickly as his anger came, it left him, and slumping to sit on the floor, head down, Draco snarled quietly, "Get out."

Draco watched as, the movement almost imperceptible, Blaise's fingers, those strong, firm, decisive, soft-skinned fingers Draco had grown to know, crept upward to finger the chain and pendant at his neck. Draco almost laughed at the irony. Now, after everything he had said to hurt Draco, to break him, Blaise treasured the symbol of their relationship? Well fuck rationality, then. None of this made sense to either of them. Draco smirked. Once he had a revenge plan, everything would make sense, because Blaise would be out of his life and he would have control and rationality again. For now though, he simply wanted to be alone.

"GET OUT, I SAID! OUT! NOW!"

The hand fell aside, and slowly, as if his muscles creaked with the effort, Blaise stood up. For one long moment that seemed to stretch forever, he looked at Draco, his eyes burning with an indescribable mix of emotions. Draco did not want to look into those eyes and see himself reflected, to see all that he had lost and all those feelings he also felt but were related to Blaise and therefore had to be pushed away. No more feelings except anger. No more purpose except revenge, hatred, an awful yet fulfilling burning thrumming in his heart.

Blaise grabbed his shirt, donned it, and then quickly walked out. The click of the door closing was relief and simultaneously regret for Draco. Silent, still, Draco knew not to clench his eyes shut, for he had learned from experience that clenching the eyes shut did not stop one from crying, for when one opened the eyes, the tears flowed all the easier.

So, he remained with eyes open, blinking slightly, until gradually the sting of more possible tears in his eyes went away. Then, breathing a heavy sigh, he pulled on his clothes, making sure to put a green turtleneck over his shirt. The less skin he showed, the less vulnerable he was, and the less likely he was to forget that, from now on, it was all about business.

Draco stopped with his hand on the doorknob, unknowing of what to do. Usually he would stay in this room longer, take another bath, and relax. But he was hungry, and needed to get out of the bathroom to not have to remember what had transpired there. He heard voices outside, muffled slightly, speaking quietly. One of those voices was Blaise's; the other...Draco opened the door a crack.

Potter!

Draco was not sure whether he should hate Potter or not. If Potter had never come along, he and Blaise would still be together. If Potter had never come along, he would never have felt the need to take control over Potter's power, to explore the forbidden. If Potter had never come along, he would not be confused. But why was Blaise talking to Potter? Shouldn't he be angry with Potter, because Potter had managed to distract Draco from Blaise?

The voices outside quieted. Lifting up his head, Draco read Blaise's lips. The Slytherin was leaning in very close to the Gryffindor, Draco noted, and was whispering inaudibly. But Draco could read his words. The smirk was in those hazel eyes that stared at Harry rather than in the lips; Blaise was saying to Harry that he had better watch out, that 'it's time to stop saving everyone else, Potter. Run away. Save yourself.'

Then, trembling, the other boy took hold of Blaise's collar, and slammed him against the wall. Seething, Harry hissed, "You're the one who needs saving, Zabini. Saving from yourself, from your life, from the people that you associate with. First, you accuse me of stealing Malfoy away from you, when I didn't do anything deserving of his attempts to seduce me, which he decided to activate, not me. Then you force yourself on me and-and you...kiss me, and tell me to take you instead of Malfoy. You then wanted me. Now, Malfoy is lost to you, and you don't want anything to do with me! What--"

"Stop your whinging, Potter. I had a reason to be angry with you. You changed Draco. You made him someone else. I mean, bloody hell, the plans we had for a Slytherin revolt...he trashed them, canceled them! Even told Snape that I was the one who betrayed the Committee, and lied for me, saying I did it so we could come up with better plans to protect Hogwarts, which the Committee has. If it weren't for you, Draco wouldn't have done that. You're making him less loyal to his House! You're making him become someone ELSE! I don't like it!"

Blaise frowned, as Harry replied to his words. The look in the Gryffindor's eyes was one of great seriousness and conviction. Voice quiet, Harry said, "Of course you don't like it, Blaise. It's against everything you've been taught your whole life, against everything you've been led to believe. It's against the 'Slytherin superiority versus others inferiority' prejudice beliefs you've followed. Draco used to believe them. Now he doesn't. That's what you don't like--I've made him realize that I am equal to him and that if he wants me to be inferior to him, he'll have to force me. And so will you. Maybe he's even realized that he likes it this way--that it could be more," Harry spit the word out, "fun, with my being his equal."

Harry continued before Blaise could reply. "That's the main problem though, really, isn't it? You two refuse to treat me with respect! You refuse to put yourself in my shoes, when I've done that with you two, stopped my prejudice against all Slytherins, understood your ways, and decided I wouldn't like them unless you adjusted them! It never crossed your minds to consider my opinion, my rights, or fairness, at all! What about what I want? What about what I need? I don't want to be blamed for what I didn't do. It's your fault you lost Malfoy, the fault of your lust for me, and his incorrigible prat tendencies, and his pride. Were you using me? Were you trying to make Malfoy want you again by trying to 'steal me away' from him? THERE'S NO ONE TO STEAL! I don't belong to Malfoy, or you, and I don't want either of you to assume I want one thing, and use me to get your revenge on each other, or anything of the like!"

Eyes glittering with a dark lust--the same lust that Draco felt burning in his gut, abdomen, and throat upon seeing that delicious, dark, unstoppable fury--Blaise smiled. His words echoed the thoughts that went through Draco's mind.

"What do you want, Potter?"

Biting his lip, face suddenly drawn and absent of the fury that had been there moments before, Harry gulped. The sight of that Adam's apple moving up and down and the sweat now visible on Harry's forehead, made Draco want to suck that throat and kiss that forehead, licking up the sweat and feeling the tension in the Gryffindor deep enough inside him to rattle his bones.

Then, brushing the hair from his face, Harry seemed to regain his resolve, standing up tall once more. Backing away from Blaise, his face grim, Harry said, "It doesn't matter what I want. I can't trust you, you or Malfoy, can't trust that you won't try and use me again to get revenge on the other, or seduce me for your own pleasures, or both! I refuse to spill if you two are trying to balance me on your own, or using me in some game of revenge, or tug-a-war. When you and Malfoy are a combined force again, together, but not against me, then maybe I'll tell you what I want."

With that said, Harry turned, and walked away, not once looking back. For a few moments, all was silent, and neither Draco nor Blaise moved. Then, as if he knew Draco had been watching, Blaise turned to look straight at the other Slytherin, whispering, "Was what he said true? About you thinking him an equal and - and all of that?"

Slowly, calculatingly, Draco nodded. Perhaps it was true, he supposed. As for Blaise...He needed Blaise. He wanted Blaise. They had their problems, but he wasn't going to give up entirely on the other boy. He would try Blaise out again, would see if they could stay together. When he was with Blaise, he felt on top of the world. Being isolated, intellectually and otherwise, was not what he wanted. No more Draco the Ivory Tower. He would give a little, in order to get Blaise. Without Blaise, he stood alone, and without Blaise, he wouldn't get Potter. He could have them both, then even if problems broke out with one, he would have the other. He wouldn't be alone anymore.

Draco's eyes widened as Blaise moved forward to embrace him, tightly. Caught up in that embrace, for a moment, Draco felt his defenses crumble. Wrapping his arms around the other boy, eyes squeezed shut against the tears, Draco leaned to kiss the other boy's cheek.

Then, pulling away, he cleared his throat. Leaning against the wall, he stared at the other boy as Blaise asked him, "What do we do now?"

Frowning, Draco murmured, "I don't know. If we do a pretense of being together, he will know. So we have to make it real, but make it...make it work."

A look passed between the two. It meant more than Draco could quite describe. All he knew was that it was a sign--they would try, once more, to be together, to make it work.

Then, suddenly, as if he had no choice, Draco found himself saying, "I want to know what he wants."

Draco wondered for a moment why he had said that, why he had admitted to the weakness of wanting something, and wanting something so forbidden. He wondered if Blaise, too, wanted Potter (because Potter was forbidden), or if Blaise had simply pretended to want Potter to get revenge on Draco, or to try and decipher why Draco had become so interested in the Gryffindor.

Moving closer, his hazel eyes staring, as if daring Draco to push him away, Blaise replied, "I almost want to take him up on that challenge and try to get him alone. However," he frowned, "although it would be interesting to fight against you, and for Potter, if he gets angry again, and especially so close, I swear I'll pounce on him then and there."

Nodding, for he felt the same, Draco smirked, glancing down to see the noticeable bulge in his trousers Blaise had acquired from seeing the Boy Who Lived, flushing with anger, suffer. But how beautifully the boy suffered!

Reaching forward to clasp Blaise's hand in a firm hold, Draco shook the other boy's hand vigorously, squeezing. A gleam of confidence once more in his eye, he pursed his lips, the faraway look in his eyes dark and grim. "What we need," he said thoughtfully, turning to look straight at Blaise, "is a plan."