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Chapter Fifteen

The decision

Harry walked out of the stables, breathing in a great gulp of the fresh air, finally rid of all unpleasant scents. Grinning to himself, he flopped the gloves off of his hands and into the box of tools without touching them, and set the box full of stable cleaning tools and hippogriff food onto the shelf. Then, he closed the gate to the stalls, almost feeling like skipping. He grabbed a hold of a pole supporting the stable roof, and quickly shimmied up it. The sight that met his eyes when he peeked his head over the roof was energizing.

Lying, relaxed and shirtless, on the roof, was Draco. Using his shirt and Hogwarts tie as a pillow, the silver haired boy was gazing up at the sky, taking an occasional sip from a levitating goblet of wine. The boy was bathed in the setting sun, shades of magenta, violet, crimson, and auburn coloring his silver hair and pale skin multicolored hues.

Harry was surged with love, the moment and image were so priceless. He felt all negativity wash away, and a gentle sweetness clouded about his mind. Scrambling the rest of his self on top of the roof, he began to tiptoe his way towards Draco.

Draco turned his head, giving Harry a questioning look, saying, "That's your attempt at sneaking up on somebody? Pathetic. You think like a muggle, Potter." Harry stopped. This, although seeming like it, was not Draco's usual insult. It didn't have the heavy drawl of mocking, hatred-filled anger, but rather a mild, light reprimanding remark carelessly thrown at Harry for the sake of...conversation? Harry didn't know.

Using the same careless, reprimanding tone of Draco's to the best of his abilities, Harry said, "Well, I'd say drinking wine is also quite a muggle habit, wouldn't you?"

Surprisingly enough, Draco smiled, and raised his goblet to Harry as if in cheers, drawling, "Why, Potter, you are quite wrong on that. The pleasure of drinking wine is a fine, elegant activity only appreciated by the truly busy people who happen to know how to squinch a bit of time from their agenda to enjoy the pleasurable taste of purple liquid."

Harry almost laughed. Absolutely everything Draco said, even insults, were in such precise, complicated ways, as if each word was a delicate thing that, if broken or misused, could go off like a bomb at any second. Instead, Harry walked up to Draco and sat down by the other boy, asking, "You like getting drunk, in other words?"

Draco shook his head, as if to say Harry was a fool, and said, "Potter, Potter. If only you knew. Malfoys' are not normal wizards, you know; I mean, you should know. The thing is...ah fuck it, my point is, no, I've drank enough wine in my life to be utterly immune to any effect it might have on me other than relaxation."

Harry stared, and then asked abruptly, "Malfoy, you really seem okay telling me all these things. What changed to make you not hate me? And is the potion still in you?"

He searched the blue-grey gaze, as no answer was given him. He was so glad that a change had come over Draco, and that although not exactly being what was considered friendly, he was not hating Harry anymore. Less insults were exchanged between them, and they had developed a not all too unpleasant relationship. Harry believed they'd gotten over the precarious part enough to be able to talk to each other about it.

Apparently, though, Draco did not like talking about his feelings towards anyone, and Harry wasn't an exception, for he immediately clammed up. Gulping down the rest of his wine, he replied to Harry neutrally, "I wonder how many guesses it would take you to answer those questions yourself."

Harry repressed the frown at the return of Draco's usual uncaring, neutral reaction, and pressed on, saying, "Also, what did Dumbledore talk to you about after Transfiguration today? I overheard McGonagall telling you. Was it about being a Summoner? Does he know about...the locker room incident?"

Draco turned to look straight at Harry, his eyes seeming to pierce Harry's skull and see his thoughts. It was all Harry could do not to blink, but he didn't. "Potter, mind your own business, for your own sake. And no, the muggle lover fool isn't so observational and nosy that he spies on a student's every foolish accident."

"So it was about being a Summoner, then."

"I said mind your own business, Potter." Draco's voice was controlled, yet rising gradually.

Harry was silent, looking instead at the sunset view past Draco. Also turning to look at the sky, Draco followed Harry's gaze, his goblet gripped tightly in anger no more. Harry stared at the sunset for a few more moments, and then his eyes slid, slowly, down the length of Draco's body. He felt himself beginning to sink back into the wanting, yet not lusty mode, but the mode of wanting to help Draco, to be close to Draco, and needing Draco to love him. He felt that, just as he needed Draco, deep down inside, Draco had the ability to need Harry that much, too. Harry didn't know what he would do without Draco, if he went on like this with the boy, the suspense of not knowing what went through the other boy's mind keeping him ever on the edge of a dangerous precipice of his own. Just being around Draco was pleasant, and having Draco acknowledge him in a less hostile way. But it wasn't enough for Harry. He wanted so much more!

Unbalanced and unfocused, caught in his frenzy of swirling thoughts, Harry stumbled forward slightly, but then caught himself, and instead focused on the goblet in Draco's hand. It was made of glass, colored gray, with emerald studs decorating it. It looked sort of fragile, breakable if dropped but not if squeezed tightly. Flicking his gaze back up to Draco's face, Harry was caught off guard when Draco turned to stare back at him.

"Potter, tell me...what compels you to continue attempting....that there exist an...an 'us'?"

Harry stared, wondering what thing awoken in Draco had dared him to ask the question of why Harry wanted requited love from Draco. Harry shook the hair from his face, continuing to look at Draco, who he knew was expecting an answer. One thing Harry had noticed about Draco was that the boy always expected immediate answers, and got very frustrated if he didn't. However, the boy was excellent at hiding his emotions, as well as being able to be very violent. Harry suspected that was a habit inherited by Lucius Malfoy.

Harry remained silent, not wanting to answer the question, not knowing how to put it into words. And besides, it wasn't the right time. Their relationship, if it could even be called that, had barely started. Instead, Harry tapped his finger against the glass of the goblet, and then slid his finger up Draco's arm, noticing that when he gave a little pinch to Draco's neck the boy cringed. Hmm, he'd take note of that for future reference: sensitive neck.

Harry's decision was made. He would continue trying to attain a relationship with the Malfoy boy, no matter how long it took. He smiled at Draco, loving the puzzled look hidden deep in Draco's eyes, one of the many emotions that Harry could read from Draco yet no one else ever was able to. This seemingly impossible ability of Harry's had developed from private scrutiny and observation--and stalking--of the Malfoy boy's every word, action, and movement.

The force of Harry's need for Draco was too great for him to hold in anymore. It was always inside, burning as either lust, or just this agonizing need to be with Draco, to know the boy's heart inside and out, to be able to share something with the Slytherin Harry knew he would be unable to share with anyone else.

Scooting forward, Harry whispered, "I'll answer that question in the future, Draco, but for now, I think a physical answer might be more interesting..." And leaning down, he met Draco's lips in a soft, gentle kiss.