The Ivory Tower

7

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7

Sprawled on the floor, his cloak having fluttered up to cover his head, his dress robes hiked up to his knees revealing his jeans underneath, Harry felt almost like sighing in exasperation. He hoped this would not end like other situations involving these two boys. He was sick of having people want control over him, or wanting to understand his life, or his powers, or just wanting anything from him at all. Why did he always have to give things to people, to fulfill quests, duties, requirements the hero had to fulfill on his multiple missions? Couldn't he just enjoy himself and not have others haranguing or wanting something of him for once? And what was with Slytherins and wanting control?

Harry was just considering asking these questions aloud, when suddenly he felt a weight heavy on his lower back, and with an oof, collapsed to lie stomach-down on the carpet, cloak still blown over to cover his head. It was kind of nice, really, comforting to smell the cloak, to feel protected a little by its softness surrounding his head.

But this was still not a good situation. He was trapped in a room with Zabini and Malfoy again, the nasty buggers, and they had plans for him, and he had no plans-- for escaping, that is-- and one of them had just sat on him. Bugger and bollocks to them both!

Harry desperately wished they could solve their problems. He had not ever meant to get involved in any of it in the first place, but one situation had led to the next. When he had come upon their horrible argument in the prefect's bathroom, and seen the pain they induced in each other at the prospect of their relationship they had had being destroyed, the guilt had been so strong he had been unable to ignore it, and so Harry took it upon his shoulders to help them out.

However, it seemed to Harry that his presence only caused more disunity amongst the two boys. He had been the start of the problems in their relationship in the first place when, after seeing their passionate reuniting kiss, he had chanced upon them in an intimate situation. Since then, the Slytherins seemed to want only to manipulate and aggravate Harry, not seeming to understand or want his help in the matter of their warped relationship. Finally, realizing that they still viewed him only as a toy to play with, and had no respect for him or his good intentions, Harry had given up on helping either of them, figuring they would resolve the situation and get back together by themselves.

Now, apparently, they had, but here he was stuck in another situation, in which they still wanted to dominate and manipulate his mind and body, and all he wanted was...was...Harry paused. What did he want? He knew that it was impossible to ignore, however much he wanted to (and indeed he had tried), that they had managed to induce great lust in him, at times, but this lust was not constant. Still, it was a problem that he couldn't wave away, unless Blaise and Draco disappeared off the face of the earth, and Harry knew that wouldn't happen anytime soon. He also knew that he wanted them to resolve their relationship, because after having made a rift in it with his involvement, causing conflicts in Blaise and Draco over desires and faithfulness, he felt guilty. He wanted to see them together again so his guilt would go away. Part of them getting back together, he had hoped, would involve them ignoring, forgetting, or at least not aggravating him. As was obvious by the current situation, they had gotten back together, it seemed, but they had not stopped harassing him. Also, though, Harry wanted a piece of that togetherness, that understanding, and that intense mixture of love and lust, for himself; for he had never experienced anything so special, nor imagined it could exist amongst Slytherins.

The question was, which one did Harry want more? A fulfillment of his lust? The two Slytherins having a good relationship, and forever leaving him out of their lives? Or fulfillment for himself, both physical and mental, in a relationship with both Blaise and Draco that involved intimacy, affection, physical pleasure, and understanding? So far, all but the first one seemed impossible. Harry desperately wished that, if he could not get any of those wishes, he could at least get out of this situation unscathed.

Harry was about to stand up and deal with the situation somehow, when suddenly a hand slipped past his shoulder to touch lightly at his throat, and his cloak was unhooked and tossed away. Harry opened his eyes. Blaise, still dressed up, was standing, and looking at Draco, who sat atop Harry.

Looking around the room, Harry saw it to be a simple one, circular, small, with an oval shaped door that did not appear locked but definitely was, a circle of couches around a green marble fireplace, the fire currently blazing. There was a bed across the room from the fireplace that looked totally out of place, because although with appropriate Slytherin green silk sheets and pillows, it seemed almost too big for the room, as if it was normally not meant to be there.

Harry could think of no escape plans. He was locked inside the room, and there were no evident windows or other doors than the locked one. He decided, instead, to watch the enemy. It was good to know the enemy. The only problem was that they knew much more about him than he of them, and they seemed to want to know him...Harry gulped...on more intimate, physical levels than he was up to the challenge of, he thought.

Draco and Blaise began discussing the issue in front of, or in the case of Draco, underneath, them--that issue was he, Harry. Blaise said, "Alright, so...how are we going to do this, really? The plan sort of fell apart here, remember, because we got so busy with imagining--"

"Shut it, he's listening!"

Gaze locking on Harry (he could feel that intense blue-grey stare like ice on his skin), Draco said to Blaise, "How about we ditch plans? Why have plans? What goes on from here doesn't need to be planned. It's just us, and him...a threesome of sorts. We don't have to get dibs on parts of him, for bloody god's sake. Let's just...do it!"

Nervousness increasing, Harry fought to keep a neutral expression as Blaise nodded, his gaze now also alit thoughtfully upon Harry. Then, slowly, his eyes locked with Harry's, Blaise loosened the tie around his own neck. Harry gulped, eyes lowering to watch those slim fingers, so decisive, so strong, slide the silver and green tie from Blaise's neck. For some reason, the sight of those fingers, the sound of the silky material swishing as it slid from the other boy's neck, was oddly...arousing.

The digging of Draco's steel-heeled boot into Harry's thigh distracted him, however. He momentarily thought, and almost said loud, I am not a horse, kicking will not make me go faster, stop trying to ride me. But then he realized the shamelessly sexual implications of that remark, and quickly shut his mouth before the words could mistakenly get out. But it was impossible to stop the hot, tomato-red that flushed his cheeks and neck, and Harry found himself averting his gaze from the lustily glinting hazel eyes of a smirking Blaise. A low laugh came from the blonde atop him, the sound rich and scornful enough to cause Harry's flush to darken even redder, if possible.

Shifting around in unsuccessful attempts to dislodge his passenger, Harry asked simply, "Can you get off of me?"

"Why would I do that?"

Harry gritted his teeth. Why did Malfoy always have to be so frustrating?

"Because I asked you to."

Both Blaise and Draco laughed at that, the sound making goosebumps prickle up Harry's arms. Digging his heel into Harry even harder, his hands tightly gripping the cloth of the back of Harry's jumper, Draco asked, chortling, "What, may I ask, makes you think that a Malfoy would do what you ask?"

Harry rolled his eyes. This was absolutely sickening, all of it! Stupid Slytherins. Stupid Malfoy arrogance. Gits, all of them!

"I think if a particular Malfoy wasn't such a fucking arse hole, he might have the decency to do what I asked."

Blaise, now sitting down, hands against the plush black carpet, snickered, trading a secret, unreadable glance with Draco as he said, "Ooh, a little feisty there, hmm, Potter?" The two Slytherins laughed again.

Harry tried and failed to push Draco off of him. Those steel heels just dug harder into his legs. He still felt a little dizzy from drunkenness, and his muscles were so tired and sore from too much use; he had to make an effort just to keep his eyes open, he was so exhausted.

Brows furrowed, Blaise apparently noticed Harry's condition--was that concern? --for he said, "Draco, get off him. He's fucking knackered, look at him! Tad tipsy too, I say."

Moving so that he could look at Harry's face, those searching eyes too close for Harry's comfort, Draco stared at Harry, assessing him. Then, slowly getting off the other boy, he turned to Blaise, saying, "Well, maybe we could use all that to our advantage?"

Frowning, Blaise, still eyeing Harry, shook his head, saying, "No. He's more interesting when he's feisty, or at least into it. I bet he's going to slump on the floor any minute now. Get him on the bed and let the Joey catnap for a bit, then after that we can have our fun."

Looking up, Harry saw Draco's slow, reluctant nod of assent, and quickly moved to stumble onto the bed. He lay there for a few moments, eyes open, staring at the Slytherins, who in turn stared back at him. Then, gritting his teeth in determination to not be affected by their stares, he quickly removed his dress robes, mask, scarf, overcoat, and shirt. After tossing these on the floor messily, he walked over, now in only a white tank top and jeans, to stand in front of both Slytherins.

They stood there, arms crossed, faces expressionless. For a moment, Harry felt like smiling, for side-by-side, platinum blonde beside black-brown, the two Slytherins looked brilliant together. Both were slender, one slightly short, having a regal air and an unbeatable strength and pride, the other tall almost to the point of lankiness, less fashionable, fringe almost in his eyes, but possessing a certain vulnerability and wild exoticism that the other did not. Smirking, Harry took off his glasses, and placed them in Blaise's hand, gently moving the other boy's fingers so that they wrapped around the frames with slight pressure. Harry patted the hand as a way of communicating his trust, half unable to believe himself, before going back to the bed and sliding under the blankets.

Soon his eyes were closed, and his breathing was even. He was jolted slightly out of sleep for a moment when the blankets were lifted slightly, and another body slid in beside him. He recognized the person to be Blaise, as a jingle of jewelry met his ears, and there was a momentary sensation of silk shirt against his skin. An arm wrapped itself around his waist, and a pair of soft lips brushed his forehead, before Blaise, too, was content to lie down and sleep. Harry smiled, in wonderment at the irony of it all, and of also how sweet it felt, before placing a hand on the other boy's shoulder hesitantly. Lack of any suspicious movement or sound from Blaise reassured him, and Harry moved in to snuggle his body against the other's relaxing warmth.

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HARRY'S POV

Harry awoke to a loud crackling noise. Groggily, he sat up, rubbing his eyes as his mouth opened wide in a yawn. Shaking his head to get the sleepy feeling away, he slumped, half sitting, half lying down, elbows supporting himself, and opened his eyes. Blaise sat on a chair in front of the fire--the source of the loud crackling noise--and Draco stood by Harry's bedside, eyes looking at him calculatingly, a silver goblet of something in his hands.

Draco nodded to Harry, before moving to walk to the table beside Harry. A plain brown mug appeared on the table from nowhere, and pointing his wand into it, Draco said, "There aren't any goblets to spare, so you get the shit cup. Hope you like coffee Potter, because you're having some." Harry watched, face passive, as the coffee spilled from Draco's wand into the cup.

Harry glanced around, noticing a mirror across the room attached to the wall. Going up to it, he stared in the mirror for a few moments. Startlingly green eyes, lightning bolt scar, a face plain and ordinary except for a sense of having to carry a heavy burden. Grimacing, Harry turned away, brushing his hands through his hair in an attempt to calm it...or was it a gesture born of stress? He didn't care to delve into the matter.

Then Harry went to join Blaise by the fire, sitting on the plump, cushiony chair across from Blaise. Blaise sat, legs crossed, bare feet on the footrest, a deck of cards on the coffee table between their two chairs. He stared at Harry over the rim of a silver goblet identical to Draco's. Turning away from that eerie, haunting gaze, Harry accepted the cup of coffee that Draco handed him.

For a moment, Harry just looked blinkingly at the coffee in the cup, swirling it around to watch the dark stuff slosh. He gave one dubious look at Draco, hoping and figuring the other boy had had enough sense to add sugar, before tipping the cup and taking a big slurp.

Harry's immediate thought was that he was glad he was a wizard; if he wasn't, there would be nought to drink but coffee, as it seemed the thing that muggles drank these days. Harry immediately spit the coffee out as soon as the bitter tang flooded his taste buds.

He was shocked, amused, and more than a bit apprehensive upon looking up to see that he'd spit the coffee at Draco; the Slytherin's face was now dripping coffee, and he seemed to be resisting the urge to splutter stupidly in shock, a very non-Malfoy, undignified act. The room was totally silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Harry noticed out of the corner of his eyes that Blaise had a scarf held to his face, muffling his laughter. Fuming, Draco took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his face with, before tossing it down on the floor with a flick of his wrist. Then, turning to face Harry, his face flushed in anger, eyes narrowed, the boy said vehemently, "I'll get you back for that, Potter!"

Harry, unknowing of how to reply, and not anymore apprehensive, put his cup on the table without a word. He was used to the Malfoy's threats, and usually they were empty. Regardless of the aggravation the Slytherin had put him through lately, he felt somehow as if whatever happened would not be anything particularly horrible. There wasn't much Draco could do. The last time Draco had tried to get revenge on Harry, it had backfired, and he had lost his boyfriend. Surely, that had taught him a lesson? Harry had no idea why Draco and Blaise had brought him here in the first place, or what they planned to do, but he had ceased to see them as anything more than just severe aggravations. He wished again, with a little sigh, that they would resolve their issues amongst themselves and ignore him, or at least stop taking the aggressive and hostile, Harry-Potter-is-the-toy approach and treat him with some respect.

Draco turned slightly to look at Blaise, whose mouth twitched with barely held back laughter. Blaise said laughingly, almost mockingly, "What are you going to do, Draco, flog him?"

Giving the other a sinister smirk, anger forgotten, Draco replied, a haughty tone to his voice, "Why not? I'm not so kind as to be beneath flogging someone for punishment. I've flogged you before."

The glint of lust in Blaise's eyes when Draco said this, rather than a reaction of anger or perhaps the slightest bit of fear, told Harry exactly in what type of situation Draco had flogged Blaise before. He shuddered. What was with Slytherins using dominance, teasing, handcuffs--and other attitudes and instruments usually used for torture--for situations that were supposed to be enjoyable? The only word Harry could find to summarize their tastes was kinky.

There was a pause, in which Blaise and Draco simply stared at each other, Harry sitting still, wondering what would happen next. Then, grinning, Blaise stood up, and walked towards Harry. On the way, he passed by Draco, and, smirking, the Malfoy gave him a sharp slap on the arse, the sound it created sudden and short. Ouch.

Harry gulped nervously. Suddenly his palms felt sweaty, he couldn't help but bite his lip in tension, and he had to stop himself from staring at either Blaise or Draco too long; just seeing the lust glinting in their eyes made his breath hitch a little.

Suddenly, without a word, Blaise sat in Harry's lap, Harry unable and not daring enough to push away the soft, warm body from him. A flush burned Harry's cheeks as he sat with hands poised in the air, unknowing where to place them. The other boy's arse was soft atop him, those lean thighs a boiling heat above his, a whisper of silk shirt sly and soft against any skin uncovered by the white, small, old tanktop Harry wore. Harry wished suddenly he had all of his clothes on as well as layers and layers of others; he felt suddenly vulnerable with skin uncovered, the heat of Blaise too close for comfort.

Leaning backward into Harry, a lazy smirk on his face, Blaise threw one arm around Harry's shoulder in a friendly manner, a chain attached to his belt digging uncomfortably into Harry's leg. Harry looked up to see that the look in Draco's eyes was that of simmering jealousy; he was unsure if the jealousy was directed towards him or Blaise, since he had his doubts if Draco wanted him in that way at all. Harry did remember that Blaise, on the contrary, did actually feel at least lust for him, because the nature of kiss he had had with the Slytherin had denied the possibility of unwillingness or interior motives behind it.

A pair of pristine white teeth suddenly nipped at Harry's jaw, making him gasp and squirm in uneasiness and surprise. He found himself automatically arching back his neck so that Blaise's delightful mouth could access more skin. Trembling, he lay limp, his eyes closed, breath coming in gasps, as those teeth nipped red marks on his neck, his jaw, and then taunted him with a whisper that promised more.

Jolting as suddenly Draco's voice was on his other side, Harry heard Draco say to Blaise, "Good beginning," before the Seeker pulled a lever on the chair, causing its back to fall down and make the chair into a bed, almost causing Harry to fall downwards with it. Harry sighed as Draco's cool hands slid up his shirt, showering a caress of light touches to his spine, before moving back down and going to encircle his waist.

That made Harry nervous, however, so he quickly clamped his own hands over Draco's, gasping a quick, "Stop, ohh," before he sunk back into a fog once more at Blaise's slow sucking trail down his neck. Harry had never felt any sensations like these before. It was with surprise at himself, and shock at his inability to really not want it, that he succumbed to the sway of this dance, a mockery of reality in which he was swept into incomprehensibility of everything around him but the two bodies in front and beside him. Blaise's tongue was a heated, sly wetness that snuck into every crevice and corner of Harry and managed to lick every spot, it seemed, and Draco's fingers were soft and soothing, keeping him feeling a little bit in control of himself, yet able also to make him oblivious of doubts.

Then Blaise's hands were in his hair, grasping, yanking, dipping Harry's head back. Draco had fallen away and stood watching, even as Blaise leaned down. There was a moment where time seemed to freeze, and Harry looked up, and all he could see was a whirlpool of stormy emotions deep within that hazel gaze. That mouth was but a breath away from his, Blaise had moved so that his knees were on either side of Harry's waist, his body oh so close, but not close enough.

Suddenly, every detail of Blaise seemed evident, obvious, visible, and desirable to touch, to know, and to feel. The heat emanating from Blaise was a luscious, contenting warmth, the slight pain of his hands' tugging of Harry's hair strangely desirable. Every slight movement was arousing. The sensation of silk was soft and sleek against Harry's revealed skin. The scrape of the cloth of those dark chocolate trousers that fit tight against a pair of lean legs and curved arse was an unwelcome barrier between Harry's legs and those surely supple thighs, the cloth rough as it pressed to his burning crotch. Every glimpse of olive skin made Harry's breath hitch a little, every bead of sweat visible even more, the very turning of that neck and curl of coffee-black-brown hair against smooth forehead a thing to wonder at. Silver earrings flashed and dangled from delicate lobes and the curve of that jaw--almost feminine but for the light stubble upon it--combined with those glittering, smoldering hazel eyes was too much to stand.

Harry couldn't resist anymore. The lust that he had kept inside for so long, that he had denied and tried to argue against or banish or distract himself from surged up, and he couldn't hold it in. His hands flew to grab hold of Blaise's collar, and yanking the other boy forward with a jolt, the fierce movement causing the chair to creak, he pressed his mouth hard against Blaise's.

It was the ultimate relief, sweet and perfect, accurately timed, and yet still having Harry desiring more. He pressed against that mouth without abandon, the heat and softness of those lips against his swirling around him in a fog of contentedness. A moan held back long in his throat came out, even as he memorized every curve and line and dent of that lovely, irresistible mouth. Dark lashes fluttered against his, and with no amount of gentleness, Harry decided to dive for more, and so his tongue eagerly slid in, playing for a moment by rubbing against that full lower lip. Then the other boy's tongue slid in and Harry was swarmed with lust and heat, every touch of tongue to tongue, of the other boy's skin to his, of fabrics scraping to create excruciating friction against him, all incensed him with a passionate hunger, his awareness of the sensations given to him by Blaise--any part of Blaise, all of Blaise--heightened.

Then, finally, with a low groan, Blaise slowly broke the kiss. Gasping, a look of wonderment in his wide eyes, he pulled away from Harry and stood up. Chest heaving, he carefully patted down and fixed up his clothes, saying hoarsely to Draco, "Bloody hell, that boy is rough. Damn, but when he wants something, he goes for it and," Blaise sat back down in his own chair, "and there's absolutely nothing and no one that can stop him."

Flashing Harry a devilish grin, Draco handed his goblet over to Blaise, saying, "I like rough. And I can stop him. He'll want me to go for him even more than he'll want to go for me."

Harry fidgeted in his chair, unable to keep still with the tension that swirled, a suffocating, invisible heaviness, in the room. He had no idea what Draco planned to do to him, and he wasn't sure if he wanted whatever it was to take place. He watched as Draco leant in towards Blaise, whispering in his ear, and was handed something that had been hanging from Blaise's belt. Harry found himself flushing but unable and not exactly wanting to stop staring at Draco's firm arse, every rippling of muscles evident beneath those skin-tight leather trousers.

However, the lust radiating from Draco, an intense fire that seemed to burn deep within those smoldering, glinting silver eyes, was even harder for Harry to bear. For a moment he had to close his eyes in order to get a breath in--the sight of both Slytherins was too much. Harry gritted his teeth, muscles tensing as Draco straddled him. He would not show weakness - though there was certainly no hiding his arousal. He would not let his enemy, now so close, but in much a different mood and situation than Harry had ever imagined, be allowed to link himself to Harry in any sort of form.

Unbeknownst to even Harry himself, every barrier that Harry had ever formed against things that he thought would hurt him came up at that moment. Draco was the epitome of Harry's every fear--that is, he had been. He had represented evil, the servant of evil, and every reason Harry would ever want to be isolated again--a reason, a power, so fierce that Harry would rather be isolated, isolated and lost like he had been in his childhood beneath the cupboard, than united or in agreement with the darkness. The strange enticement that Draco possessed was a metaphor for Harry's occasional leaning towards darkness--a longing to be alone, to be powerful, a wish that he could control his life, and that, for once, things would go exactly the way he wanted them to. Most of all, Draco represented Harry's ability to lose control of himself, to not know right from wrong, to be unsure where his morals lay, and to be unable to decide.

But Draco was also a positive force in Harry's life. Harry wasn't aware of the realization at all times, but it was still there: for Harry, Draco was a challenge. Draco Malfoy was a force that strangely, comfortingly, paid no heed to Harry's scar or hero status, but paid attention to Harry, just Harry, and saw imperfection and fear there, where others saw courage, determination, and an ability to do the right thing at the right time. Harry felt that he was not an epitome of such qualities, was not a brave and kind person that others should look up to, admire, and try to be like. For in his heart, deep down, he felt pangs of hate, he felt anger, bitterness, and knew the feeling at times that if he did not scream, could not vent out anger, he would burst. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, might be a hero, might be in the eye of the public an undefeatable, brave, strong, kind hero, who knew what to do and when to do it. But Harry, just Harry, was an ordinary boy with flaws, who felt anger, questioned himself, and was more familiar with the gnaw of panic and fear than many others. Draco Malfoy knew this, somehow, and knew it to be true more than many others--perhaps because he had experienced the position of enemy against Harry.

So even as Harry threw up all barriers, and stolidly glared at his enemy and that unblinking stare, deep down he could not push Draco entirely away or wish him nonexistent, because Draco meant more to Harry than Harry was willing to give up. Even knowing this, however, Harry paid more heed to the negatives of Draco Malfoy than the positives, because connecting the phrase 'positive' and 'Malfoy' was not a common activity of his, and it still made him squeamish that he could even think Draco Malfoy had positive aspects. That is, it had. Lately, Harry had been more prone to think positive thoughts of Draco Malfoy, having dropped the bias of "all Slytherins are evil" and adopted a more, until recently, neutral attitude. Now, however, he was veering more towards the "Draco Malfoy does undeniably have a rather unnerving ability to make me squirm" thoughts.

This did not make the situation he was in any more at ease for Harry. Rather, it made him uncomfortable knowing that while Draco did not have intentions of hurting or killing him, perhaps he did have intentions of disrespecting, toying with, possibly torturing, and most certainly aggravating Harry. Joined by the fact that Harry found himself quite turned on by simply Draco's presence, and that Harry had just had a pleasantly heated rendezvous in this same chair with Blaise, the entire situation was almost too much for Harry to handle. Trying to hide the effect it all had on him, Harry gripped the arms of the chair firmly, knuckles white, glaring up at Draco unblinkingly, body tense and rigid (certain parts rigid for more reasons than one).

Harry refused to show Draco an inch of the doubt, fear, and indecisiveness that gnawed at him from within. He would not be humiliated any further, nor would he show weakness. It was time to put away the "Mr. Nice Guy" card and slide in the poker face, or at least the crystal clear, card--there would be no doubt as to how Harry would handle the prospect of Draco doing more than just straddling him.

Fully realizing this, Draco's lips began to twist to an arrogant smirk. Moving his hands from behind his back, he flashed Harry a predatory grin, even as he dangled from two fingers a pair of polished, emerald-encrusted handcuffs. Allowing himself to blink, and hoping the Slytherin would not take it to mean anything, Harry fidgeted slightly. What to do now? Should he try and wrestle the handcuffs away? Bite Draco's arm? Simply shove the other boy off of him? Certainly not accept the kinky treatment that would ensue if he allowed those cuffs to clamp around his wrists!

Frowning as Draco fiddled with the cuffs, eyeing the polished metal that Draco rubbed his thumb against, Harry said softly, "Wouldn't it be more of a challenge to wrestle me down yourself, rather than using some petty, muggle-invented tool?"

Draco replied, "Why, no, of course not, Potter. Don't you get it? It's much more satisfying seeing you writhe and squirm and try to get out of the cuffs, than to trade a few blows with you. We're about equal in size and strength, so it wouldn't be much fun wrestling. Besides, we'll be doing something similar soon enough..." The widening of the blonde's smirk, as well as his fingertips brushing softly down from Harry's collarbone to stomach (inducing a shiver), left no doubt as to what hot and sweaty act Draco implied.

Harry, unable to think of an answer, simply frowned, glaring all the more at Draco. However, his frown dropped as Blaise got up from his chair, and putting the goblets down, he slid in to sit behind Draco, straddling Harry's legs, his arms around the Malfoy's waist. Harry watched in nervous, wide-eyed awe, as simply the presence of Blaise's warmth so close caused Draco to lean back and close his eyes, a contented sigh falling from parted lips.

All the discomforts that had been so obvious a moment ago suddenly seemed insignificant to Harry, and he let his muscles loosen, trying not to shift position and upset the two boys atop him--he ignored the weight. Blaise, who was a few inches taller than Draco, easily managed to shift his position in such a way that his mouth could latch itself onto Draco's neck, carving delicate swirls and circles onto the pale skin with a deft tongue. Harry got the chance to once again marvel at Blaise's ability to multitask, as, even as he induced soft moans from Draco with his tongue, Blaise began to unbutton the Malfoy's shirt from bottom to top with one hand, and slowly inched a mesmerizing trail down Draco's right thigh with the other.

Harry found that his palms were suddenly very sweaty, and that he had no idea where to place said palms. Fidgeting slightly, he winced when a slight movement of his hips resulted in Draco having to shift position slightly. But, bloody hell--Harry gulped--was that a, a tiny moan he had induced from Draco? Harry breathed in a much-needed gulp of air, and then watched in fascination as Blaise's unbuttoning of the last button of Draco's shirt revealed an expanse of pale, smooth-looking skin. Harry found his eyes riveted to both boys, he noticing every movement, every detail of them--from the white of Blaise's teeth and the slight tapping of those slim fingers, to Draco's now visible chest, those stiff nipples colored a tempting pink.

Harry jumped as he suddenly felt a light touch against his side. He looked up, slowly, reluctantly, feeling as if all his weaknesses would become obvious by doing so; Blaise's fingers brushed his side. Looking deep into those hazel eyes, he opened his mouth to speak, unsure of what sound would come out, but Blaise was quicker. Rubbing those fingers softly, agonizingly against Harry's side--the brush of the cotton against Harry's skin made it somehow worse--Blaise said, "Would you like to join?"

It wasn't the words that drew Harry in, but rather, it was the way Blaise said the words, and looked at Harry as he did. Harry felt that, for once, that gaze looked at him as an equal, giving him a choice rather than forcing it upon him. It seemed as if that gaze promised a worthwhile experience, and the tone of voice was not tinted with scorn, anger, hatred, or any sense of teasing or trickery. Harry felt as if the question was a genuine request, a polite asking. Rather than a taunting or a show of Harry's weaknesses, it seemed as if Blaise planned a time wherein Harry could be satisfied, would not have to be alert for danger, and could be treated as an equal and truly enjoy himself.

Looking away from Blaise quickly, his grip on the chair arms tight again, Harry sputtered, "I, well, I, I..."

He was surprised when he felt a light touch at his jaw, and obediently tilted his chin upward; Blaise's hand beneath his chin commanded it. Looking Harry dead in the eye, Blaise said sternly, "Look at me."

There was a pause, in which Harry looked straight back at those eyes, and felt relief swoop down on him. That gaze, although seeming steely to the point of seeming hostile, was reassuring, somehow.

"Now," Blaise said, "Tell me what you want to say. What you've wanted to say."

Harry took a deep breath, and started over. It seemed as if that gaze, so strong, so unbreakable, and yet somehow seeming to understand Harry's reluctance and anxiety, endowed him with confidence. His gaze level, calm, he looked at both Blaise, still looking at him, and Draco, now sitting up attentively, Harry said, "On one condition, I will. I...I'll...I'll join."

Moving around slightly, and adjusting his belt--Harry wondered when Blaise had loosened it--Draco asked calmly, his voice serious, "What is this condition of yours?"

Harry clenched his jaw a moment. This was it. The moment. He wouldn't elaborate, wouldn't tell them the meanings behind it he'd struggled to realize, and wouldn't let them know how long it took him to realize the answer. He would just say it. Just say it. Shifting to sit up a bit more in order to feel more confident, uncaring that the two other boys were now awkwardly positioned, Harry said slowly, confidently, "I want you two to treat me as an equal, to not be biased against me. No more teasing. No more baiting. No blackmail, no threats, no hiding. No handcuffs, either." Harry took hold of the cuffs, surprised that there was no resistance when he grabbed them, and dropped them to the floor. The soft thump they made upon landing was satisfying.

He cleared his throat, continuing. "Treat me as you do each other. I was almost sorted into Slytherin; the only reason I wasn't was because I had a biased opinion and asked the Hat not to sort me in. I'm just as good as any of the best, most respected Slytherins--you. I'm just as good as you. All I want is your respect."

After the cuffs had been gotten rid of, even before Harry finished his speech, both Draco and Blaise had gotten up off of Harry, and stood standing at attention, looking at him intently as they listened. Now, after the speech, Harry stood up. Then Draco reached out to Harry, offering a hand, waiting for a sign of agreement that Harry would accept all that the hand offered.

Harry stared at that hand. He stared and stared for he knew not how long, knowing, and realizing that this hand was more than the hand of friendship he had rejected so quickly many years ago. This hand offered more than friendship, more than respect, more than dedication, more than a steady relationship or an agreement to not be biased any more against he, his House, or his personal mission. That hand was offered forth so willingly, so confidently, with the surety in that gaze, the honest want that Harry accept the hand, denying any lies, hatred, or cruel intent were left inside the Malfoy's heart, deep in those eyes. To accept Draco Malfoy's hand in agreement, revealing mutual want to have something special between he and the Slytherin (and indeed Slytherin House), it did not mean surrender, and it did not represent weakness. To accept that hand was to accept a pact, a pact formed by many things, and creating many things, one of them even being, perhaps, love.

All of this was expressed in Draco's eyes, and confirmed to also be in Blaise's thoughts by his offering of a hand also. Harry could sense that now was a time for change. The world would transform; Time was waiting for an act that would settle the whole of the three boys', and perhaps even the entire Wizarding World's, precarious future. This act, for all three boys, was up to them to do, and it would be their act that changed everything, that began a process of progression and growth in the lives and points of views of others'. This act was theirs and theirs alone.

Harry smiled, and readily gripped Blaise and Draco's hands with his own.

THE END