Fic: Manorexic, Harry/Draco, NC-17
Title: Manorexic
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,867
Summary: The Malfoys have always been very clear as to what they hold in high regard, such as wealth and blood purity, but as Pansy and Blaise found out in July of last year, there are some things that Lucius and Narcissa drilled into Draco's head from the time he was a little boy that left deeper impressions than even a Dark Mark.
Warnings: Eating Disorder
Author's Note: my head hurts and i have a mosquito bite on the bottom of my foot. i mean, really, how does that even happen?
ADDITIONAL NOTE: The title of this fiction is an ambiguous word. No offense is meant by its use.
Thanks to themaohour for beta-ing. :)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Manorexic
Chapter Eleven
Harry felt good. He felt really good. And this was because he'd figured everything out.He loved Anthony. Anthony was his boyfriend. He loved his personality and his cute little quirks. He loved being around him and telling him how much he adored him.
Harry was physically attracted to Malfoy. That was it. He was (extremely) attracted to Malfoy and, now that his attitude had simmered down a little and he was easier to be around, Harry liked to spend time with him.
And kiss him. He definitely liked kissing him.
But that was it, and that was why Harry felt so good.
He was a teenager, and teenagers have hormones. That didn't mean he didn't care about Anthony, because he did. And really, why should it matter if he was just fooling around with Malfoy a bit while he was trying to help him feel better about himself? The point was that he loved Anthony and he was only physically attracted to Malfoy.
A tiny little niggling thing in his head insisted that he technically was cheating on Anthony, but he was able to push that aside by reminding himself that he was entirely devoted to his boyfriend, and not Malfoy.
Of course, he still wouldn't tell anyone. He wasn't stupid. He knew how that would sound.
But still, he felt comfortable in his reasoning, which was why he was able to pull Anthony into a hug and kiss him soundly on the lips when he saw him Friday night walking out of the Great Hall. He hadn't seen him much - only in Potions. Harry had skipped a free period to see Malfoy again.
"Hi," Anthony chuckled, kissing Harry back before pulling away and smiling at him. Harry's stomach clenched and he ignored it. "Good mood?"
Harry grinned down at him. "I'm sorry about last night." He pulled Anthony by the waist up against him and disregarded the stares they received. "I was just a little on edge. Are we okay?"
"We're fine," said Anthony, awarding Harry with a brilliant smile. "Hey, I don't feel like studying tonight. Wanna go . . . cuddle in bed or something?" He smirked at Harry and Harry felt an involuntary smile pull at his lips.
"Sounds perfect."
* * *
Both boys lay in only their boxers, Anthony in Harry's arms, his cheek pressed against Harry's chest. There had been some kind of unspoken understanding that this was all they'd do tonight; they would only lie together and talk.
They'd been talking for quite some time about trivial things such as Quidditch, schoolwork, what they planned to do after they left school, etc. At first it had been an avoidance of the topic that was the elephant in the room - that of Malfoy - but it had gradually turned into mere talking, Malfoy at the back of their minds (or at least Anthony's) for the moment.
They'd been silent for a few minutes when Anthony said, "Do you believe in Fate?"
Harry was momentarily startled. He'd not been expecting a question as large as that from Anthony, especially out of the clear blue.
His brow creased in thought. Fate? Immediately the prophecy came to mind, but he was fairly certain that wasn't what Anthony was talking about. Maybe similar, but not that exactly.
"You mean in the sense that things happen for a reason?"
He felt Anthony shrug. "Yeah. Kinda. I guess. Or that things are supposed to happen. Like . . ." He sat up on his elbow and looked around the room, clearly in thought, as though something might pop out and offer him an example of what he was trying to explain. Finally, he said, "Like it was meant to be that we were both looking for the same book that day when we first started talking this year. You know? Like this - us - isn't just a coincidence, but, I don't know . . . not pre-determined, necessarily, but . . . well, yeah, actually. Pre-arranged. Like things are pre-arranged to happen and we follow that path unconsciously."
Harry pursed his lips in thought, feeling like maybe this did relate to prophecies more than he'd thought. Or perhaps hoped.
"I don't think anything is pre-determined," he said, knowing that this was definitely true. Hadn't Dumbledore explained to him - spent the whole of sixth year explaining to him - that nothing was set in stone? That it wasn't because of a prophecy that Harry had to kill Voldemort, but because of his own ambition and need to do so? But then, the whole blood thing had kind of twisted their Fates more than that. But that was different, wasn’t it? It made his head hurt to think about. "I'm not sure, to be honest. I'd like to think we have a choice in the matter, but a lot of my life has felt very . . . laid out for me, I guess."
Anthony nodded.
"What about you?"
Anthony scrunched his face up in thought for a moment before answering. "Obviously every action produces a reaction, which means everything that happens affects everything else that comes after it. That's what I think, anyway." He paused. "I think I like what you said before - about everything happening for a reason. That makes sense, doesn't it? We were looking for the same book because we were meant to start talking and eventually date. It makes everything a little less unorganized and overwhelming. Like maybe there's some ultimate purpose and we're not just . . . I don't know . . . floating around in space for no reason."
Harry had been about to agree when a thought occurred to him: what about bad situations? Did this theory apply to them as well? Had his parents died for a reason? Had Voldemort picked him for some cosmic reason? Had Fred and Lupin and Tonks and Cedric and Dumbledore and all the others died for a reason? And if so, what reason could that possibly be?
"What about things like death? Like all the people who died in the war?" he said, gazing intently at Anthony. His stomach was churning uncomfortably and he had the strange sense that Anthony's answer to this might make him angry.
Anthony cocked his head in thought. "Hm. Well, I guess it still applies, doesn't it? I mean, Fate - or whatever it is - doesn't just choose which situations are meaningful and which aren't, right? Well, I guess it could, but that seems kind of odd. Maybe everyone in the war died so that the rest of us, and all the subsequent generations, could live peacefully and with the knowledge of the war as a defense against it ever happening again."
Something inside of Harry told him he didn't like that answer; not one bit.
He didn't say anything, though. Instead, he asked, "What about God? Do you believe in a higher power?"
"I'm not sure. I think I do. I'd like to believe there's someone watching over us." Anthony stopped, looking deeply pensive. "Yeah, I believe in God," he said, nodding. "I think there's someone out there that manages all that Fate stuff, don't you?"
"I s'pose." He wanted to bring up Anthony's sister and her eating disorder, to ask him what the ultimate purpose for that was, but he stopped himself. It wasn't his place, first of all, and besides, it would bring the conversation back around to Malfoy, and that was the last thing Harry wanted.
Mostly because he knew he was upset that he'd be spending the night with Anthony instead of with Malfoy in the loo.
* * *
"Draco!" Pansy shouted, positively fuming now. "You said you would tell me! I've given it three days and I won't wait a moment longer. You tell me who you're crushing on, Draco Malfoy, or I will . . . spell your hair red!"
Draco turned to Pansy, appalled, mouth hanging open, but she merely raised a brow.
"That's right. Now tell me."
Draco looked cautiously around the nearly-empty library (it was Friday night) as though checking to make sure no one was listening. When he looked back at Pansy he was frowning.
"Will you keep your voice down? Someone will hear you and start spreading rumors!"
She huffed and folded her arms. "No one cares about your life anymore, Draco," she said. He scowled but she didn't seem impressed. "Well, it's true. All anyone cares about is Potter and his gang of heroes. So will you stop acting like Creevey's ghost is hiding around every corner and just tell me?"
"There's nothing to tell!" he hissed. Pansy's eyebrows rose disbelievingly.
"Is that why you looked like the man of your dreams had just walked by the other day?"
"I did not look like that."
"Oh, hush. You know, if you're not going to tell me, I'll just figure it out on my own."
Draco made it a point not to laugh. It took almost no effort to appear unconcerned.
"Like I said, there's nothing to know, but be my guest. I know how much you love to play spy."
Pansy stood up suddenly and gathered her books in her arms. Draco looked up at her.
"I'll be watching," she said. Draco winked at her, but instead of becoming flustered and stomping away, she smirked and exited the library with much more confidence than Draco liked. His only comfort was that this was Pansy, and she most likely wouldn't know her arse from a hole in the ground.
* * *
Harry had been mindlessly watching Ron scribble a letter to his mother when Hermione sat down next to him in the one of the chairs by the fire Saturday afternoon.
"Hey, 'Mione," he said vacantly. His mind was elsewhere; namely, a few hours ahead of time with Malfoy in the loo.
"I wanted to ask you a question."
"Yeah, sure."
Hermione settled more into her chair and Harry raised a brow.
"I'm doing an extra credit paper for Defense on the Imperius Curse and I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about how you threw off Moody's - er, Barty Jr.'s - curse fourth year. It won't take long. I just need a few notes."
"Oh, yeah, of course. What kind of stuff did you need to know?"
"Well, I'll ask you some questions. Not now - I don't have them prepared or anything, and I have to finish up my Arithmancy essay anyway. Does later tonight sound okay?"
Ron suddenly looked up from his letter and frowned at her.
"No, tonight isn't all right. He - and you, for that matter - have to help me bring up the cases of Firewhiskey from the kitchens where Seamus said he put them. There's a lot. I told you that, Hermione."
"Oh, yes . . ." she said lightly, but Harry got the feeling she hadn't forgotten at all. He, on the other hand, hadn't known, and had thus made plans again with Malfoy tonight. Because it was a weekend they had again agreed to meet earlier. Harry flushed and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Actually, I already have . . . plans."
Both Ron and Hermione looked at him.
"With . . . ?" Ron asked, though Harry thought his redheaded friend had an inkling as to whom Harry's plans were with.
"I - er - well, I said I'd meet with Malfoy again tonight and-"
"God, Harry, are you serious?" Ron was bright red and he looked angry. A part of Harry felt extremely guilty, but another part, the notoriously stubborn part, was also gaining heat. "You're gonna go fuck around with Malfoy instead of helping me get stuff for my party?"
Harry frowned. “I already told him I would, Ron."
"Well, too bad for him, then, eh? Best mate takes priority, isn't that right?"
"The person I made plans with first takes priority, actually," said Harry defensively. Ron stared at him with his mouth open in a wide O. He looked to Hermione, perhaps for support, but she was merely looking down at her hands, apparently conflicted and unwilling to take part in this argument. Ron looked back to Harry and his eyes were narrowed.
"I cannot believe I'm hearing this," said Ron. "You've been disappearing all week and most of last week as well, and now you're fucking off to go play with Malfoy, of all people, when your best mate needs help preparing for his birthday party? Are you bloody kidding me, Harry?"
Harry was gripping the arms of his chair so hard that he was sure his knuckles must have been white. He hated when Ron played the part of the ripped-off best friend. As though Harry had intentionally done this to hurt him.
"Don't be a dick, Ron," Harry said in a low voice. Ron must have heard the warning tone in it because his eyes went wide in disbelief.
"You're not kidding," he said softly. "You're really going to go see Malfoy instead of helping me, aren't you?"
"That's right."
Ron stood up and grabbed his letter fiercely off the table he'd been writing on. He glared at Harry.
"Bloody loyal Gryffindor you are." Ron stalked away and left through the portrait hole without a backward glance. Harry looked at Hermione to see that she was already staring at him with concern.
What hurt more than Ron's words was the fact that he'd known they would hurt Harry. That he'd said them for that reason. Both he and Hermione had been there in second year when Harry had first found out he could speak Parseltongue and worried that he hadn't been placed in the right House. They'd both known how scared he'd been when Voldemort had been inside his mind; how terrified he'd been that he was like the man. Doubting his place as a Gryffindor was a low blow. Hermione seemed to sense this because she said, "He didn't mean it, Harry-"
"Yes he did." Harry knew Ron hadn't meant it, that he was just upset, but that didn't stop him from being angry. He stood up from his own chair and started heading toward the portrait. Just before going through he stopped and looked back. "Sorry, Hermione. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
* * *
Harry was amusing Malfoy by making different beards and hairstyles with the bubbles in the tub. Malfoy was actually laughing, and Harry thought it had to be one of the cutest things he'd ever seen. He would never have guessed it, but Malfoy had a nice laugh. It wasn't too loud or obnoxious, but it wasn't funny or contagious like Anthony's either. Whenever Anthony laughed Harry found himself laughing as well, and it would continue until they both had tears streaming down their faces. With Malfoy, it was a little more refined and controlled, but Harry found that he rather liked it - liked watching it. It made him feel good.
After having a particularly large cluster of bubbles drip down into his eye, Harry had dipped underwater in order to rinse it out. His eye burned like it was on fire. He could hear Malfoy laughing harder than usual by the side of the tub.
Harry managed to open his eyes and saw Malfoy's pale legs dangling underwater. He smiled deviously to himself and swam over, and as Malfoy couldn't see Harry through all the bubbles, Harry had the advantage of a surprise attack. He grabbed one skinny leg and tugged. He hadn't meant to actually pull him in, but he kept forgetting just how light Malfoy really was. The boy slipped into the water, flailing as he went. Harry broke the surface and waited for him to come up as well, biting his lip in an attempt to hide his smile because he knew Malfoy would not be happy.
Indeed, he came up spluttering and wiping frantically at his eyes. Harry couldn't help it; he chuckled. Malfoy dipped his hands in the water, trying to get them clear of bubbles, but it was difficult when he his eyes were closed. Harry took pity on him and found a clean patch, rinsed his own hands, and reached forward to clear Malfoy's eyes. Malfoy stilled the moment he felt Harry's hands and Harry's stomach constricted a bit, his mind conjuring images of the last time they'd been in the tub together.
When his face was clean, Malfoy opened his eyes and looked directly at Harry.
"Was that necessary?" he inquired softly. Instead of answering, Harry picked up a handful of bubbles and set them on top of Malfoy's head. He laughed and nodded. Malfoy rolled his eyes and then picked up some bubbles of his own and smeared them onto the side of Harry's face. "There," he said. "You look good with mutton chops."
"Do I look sophisticated?"
"Potter, you don't even look sophisticated with glasses."
"I guess I'm hopeless then." He smiled; Malfoy blushed and looked down at the water. Harry had a fleeting urge to grab him and kiss him.
"Guess what," Malfoy said suddenly.
"What?"
He looked up and met Harry's eyes and Harry was taken aback by both the excitement and pride in Malfoy's gray ones.
"What?" he pressed, laughing. Malfoy smirked.
"I ate a bowl of oatmeal today at breakfast."
Harry's face dropped and his eyes went very wide indeed.
"Are you serious?"
"It was a small bowl," he said quickly, "but-"
Harry didn't give him a chance to finish his sentence; the urge from before came back full force and this time Harry followed through with it. He grabbed Malfoy's face and fairly mashed their lips together, smiling and feeling Malfoy smile back.
When he felt Malfoy open his mouth, he simply couldn't resist pushing his tongue inside. When he felt Malfoy leisurely wrap his own tongue around Harry's and suck it further into his mouth, Harry both felt and heard himself whimper. He could very subtly taste the oatmeal Malfoy claimed to have eaten earlier and somehow it only heightened the experience. He found himself reaching for Malfoy's waist and pushing him bodily against the tiled sidewall.
It occurred to him vaguely that this was nothing like kissing Anthony. It was so much better, so much hotter, and it had nothing to do with the warm water coming up to their waists. Malfoy had his hands on Harry's shoulders, almost as though he were too nervous to do anything else with them, and if for no other reason than to show Malfoy there was no need to be nervous Harry pressed his whole body against Malfoy's, allowing his burgeoning erection to press against Malfoy's jutting hip. Malfoy gasped and pulled away, his eyes wide, but his nails were suddenly digging into Harry's shoulders.
"You like oatmeal?" Malfoy asked breathlessly. Harry smirked.
"Not really. But it tastes pretty good on your tongue."
Malfoy blushed fiercely. Harry laughed and kissed his cheek.
"And you didn't . . . throw it up or anything?"
Malfoy shook his head. "No. It's . . . hard, but I haven't. I can't stop thinking about it, though."
"It'll get easier," Harry promised, and kissed him lightly again. Malfoy's eyes remained closed even after Harry pulled away and Harry took that moment to admire his face. While it was just as pale as it had always been and his cheeks were a bit sunken and there were bags under his eyes, Malfoy had an unusually beautiful face. It reminded Harry of a female model. The high cheek bones, the sharp angles; everything that photographers wanted because even though it didn't necessarily look stereotypically “hot” in real life, it photographed well. That didn't mean he didn't look beautiful in real life, because he did. But it was that unique beauty; not like a typical girl one might find in a pornographic magazine. It was stunning and sexy. And Harry found that he liked this very, very much. In fact, if Malfoy hadn't chosen that moment to open his eyes, Harry thought he could have gone on staring for quite a while.
Malfoy must have noticed Harry looked distant and realized he'd been staring because he flushed.
"What?"
Harry smiled gently and shook his head.
"You're beautiful," he said. Malfoy looked down.
"You said that the other day."
"I know. It just keeps taking me by surprise." Malfoy frowned and Harry quickly realized how that sounded. "No, I didn't mean it like that, I . . . I just mean you're stunning." Harry felt his cheeks begin to heat up but he didn't take it back. It was true, after all.
"Do you really think that?" Malfoy asked quietly.
"I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true."
Malfoy's face turned redder than ever and once again he looked down. Harry smiled to himself.
"I wish you didn't have to pull me into the water every time you kissed me," he said finally, and Harry laughed. Malfoy smirked and looked up at him.
"Maybe I like you wet," he teased. Malfoy rolled his eyes and huffed.
"I don't suppose you're any good at Drying Charms?"
"No such luck," Harry said with a shrug. "But I can take you to your dorm with the Cloak, if you want, and no one will see you."
"They'll see the door."
"Better than nothing." Harry winked at him and Malfoy visibly had to hold back a smile.
"Fine."
The two boys climbed out of the tub. After Harry had donned his dry clothing and gathered the Cloak, they both hid beneath it before leaving the room. Harry held Malfoy's hand as he led him through the castle corridors, even though he knew Malfoy knew the way, and even though he didn't really have to because the Cloak was definitely big enough; but he wanted to, and in his mind, that was enough. If the embarrassed way Malfoy stayed focused on the ground was anything to go by, he didn't mind either.
Harry took this as further proof that Malfoy may have feelings for him, but quickly pushed the celebratory feeling this elicited inside of him aside and reminded himself that he loved Anthony! This was just a . . . a little fling. He was attracted to him and that was all!
But he conveniently seemed to forget this resolution once more when they entered the Slytherin common room and managed to sneak into the dorm room, where everyone was conveniently sleeping soundly. It was late.
Malfoy turned to Harry, presumably to say goodnight, but Harry caught his lips in a kiss that lasted a few seconds longer than he had originally intended. When Malfoy pulled away he was breathing heavily and his breath floated across Harry's face.
"'Night," he said softly.
"Sleep well."
He saw Malfoy nod in the dark before he ducked out from under the Cloak and went over to his trunk. He pulled out a pair of clean boxers and had been about to take off his shirt when he turned in the direction Harry was still standing.
He smirked and made a shooing motion with one hand. Harry chuckled silently, fondly, and finally made for the door.
Chapter Ten | Page of Contents | Chapter Twelve
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,867
Summary: The Malfoys have always been very clear as to what they hold in high regard, such as wealth and blood purity, but as Pansy and Blaise found out in July of last year, there are some things that Lucius and Narcissa drilled into Draco's head from the time he was a little boy that left deeper impressions than even a Dark Mark.
Warnings: Eating Disorder
Author's Note: my head hurts and i have a mosquito bite on the bottom of my foot. i mean, really, how does that even happen?
ADDITIONAL NOTE: The title of this fiction is an ambiguous word. No offense is meant by its use.
Thanks to themaohour for beta-ing. :)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Manorexic
Chapter Eleven
Harry felt good. He felt really good. And this was because he'd figured everything out.He loved Anthony. Anthony was his boyfriend. He loved his personality and his cute little quirks. He loved being around him and telling him how much he adored him.
Harry was physically attracted to Malfoy. That was it. He was (extremely) attracted to Malfoy and, now that his attitude had simmered down a little and he was easier to be around, Harry liked to spend time with him.
And kiss him. He definitely liked kissing him.
But that was it, and that was why Harry felt so good.
He was a teenager, and teenagers have hormones. That didn't mean he didn't care about Anthony, because he did. And really, why should it matter if he was just fooling around with Malfoy a bit while he was trying to help him feel better about himself? The point was that he loved Anthony and he was only physically attracted to Malfoy.
A tiny little niggling thing in his head insisted that he technically was cheating on Anthony, but he was able to push that aside by reminding himself that he was entirely devoted to his boyfriend, and not Malfoy.
Of course, he still wouldn't tell anyone. He wasn't stupid. He knew how that would sound.
But still, he felt comfortable in his reasoning, which was why he was able to pull Anthony into a hug and kiss him soundly on the lips when he saw him Friday night walking out of the Great Hall. He hadn't seen him much - only in Potions. Harry had skipped a free period to see Malfoy again.
"Hi," Anthony chuckled, kissing Harry back before pulling away and smiling at him. Harry's stomach clenched and he ignored it. "Good mood?"
Harry grinned down at him. "I'm sorry about last night." He pulled Anthony by the waist up against him and disregarded the stares they received. "I was just a little on edge. Are we okay?"
"We're fine," said Anthony, awarding Harry with a brilliant smile. "Hey, I don't feel like studying tonight. Wanna go . . . cuddle in bed or something?" He smirked at Harry and Harry felt an involuntary smile pull at his lips.
"Sounds perfect."
* * *
Both boys lay in only their boxers, Anthony in Harry's arms, his cheek pressed against Harry's chest. There had been some kind of unspoken understanding that this was all they'd do tonight; they would only lie together and talk.
They'd been talking for quite some time about trivial things such as Quidditch, schoolwork, what they planned to do after they left school, etc. At first it had been an avoidance of the topic that was the elephant in the room - that of Malfoy - but it had gradually turned into mere talking, Malfoy at the back of their minds (or at least Anthony's) for the moment.
They'd been silent for a few minutes when Anthony said, "Do you believe in Fate?"
Harry was momentarily startled. He'd not been expecting a question as large as that from Anthony, especially out of the clear blue.
His brow creased in thought. Fate? Immediately the prophecy came to mind, but he was fairly certain that wasn't what Anthony was talking about. Maybe similar, but not that exactly.
"You mean in the sense that things happen for a reason?"
He felt Anthony shrug. "Yeah. Kinda. I guess. Or that things are supposed to happen. Like . . ." He sat up on his elbow and looked around the room, clearly in thought, as though something might pop out and offer him an example of what he was trying to explain. Finally, he said, "Like it was meant to be that we were both looking for the same book that day when we first started talking this year. You know? Like this - us - isn't just a coincidence, but, I don't know . . . not pre-determined, necessarily, but . . . well, yeah, actually. Pre-arranged. Like things are pre-arranged to happen and we follow that path unconsciously."
Harry pursed his lips in thought, feeling like maybe this did relate to prophecies more than he'd thought. Or perhaps hoped.
"I don't think anything is pre-determined," he said, knowing that this was definitely true. Hadn't Dumbledore explained to him - spent the whole of sixth year explaining to him - that nothing was set in stone? That it wasn't because of a prophecy that Harry had to kill Voldemort, but because of his own ambition and need to do so? But then, the whole blood thing had kind of twisted their Fates more than that. But that was different, wasn’t it? It made his head hurt to think about. "I'm not sure, to be honest. I'd like to think we have a choice in the matter, but a lot of my life has felt very . . . laid out for me, I guess."
Anthony nodded.
"What about you?"
Anthony scrunched his face up in thought for a moment before answering. "Obviously every action produces a reaction, which means everything that happens affects everything else that comes after it. That's what I think, anyway." He paused. "I think I like what you said before - about everything happening for a reason. That makes sense, doesn't it? We were looking for the same book because we were meant to start talking and eventually date. It makes everything a little less unorganized and overwhelming. Like maybe there's some ultimate purpose and we're not just . . . I don't know . . . floating around in space for no reason."
Harry had been about to agree when a thought occurred to him: what about bad situations? Did this theory apply to them as well? Had his parents died for a reason? Had Voldemort picked him for some cosmic reason? Had Fred and Lupin and Tonks and Cedric and Dumbledore and all the others died for a reason? And if so, what reason could that possibly be?
"What about things like death? Like all the people who died in the war?" he said, gazing intently at Anthony. His stomach was churning uncomfortably and he had the strange sense that Anthony's answer to this might make him angry.
Anthony cocked his head in thought. "Hm. Well, I guess it still applies, doesn't it? I mean, Fate - or whatever it is - doesn't just choose which situations are meaningful and which aren't, right? Well, I guess it could, but that seems kind of odd. Maybe everyone in the war died so that the rest of us, and all the subsequent generations, could live peacefully and with the knowledge of the war as a defense against it ever happening again."
Something inside of Harry told him he didn't like that answer; not one bit.
He didn't say anything, though. Instead, he asked, "What about God? Do you believe in a higher power?"
"I'm not sure. I think I do. I'd like to believe there's someone watching over us." Anthony stopped, looking deeply pensive. "Yeah, I believe in God," he said, nodding. "I think there's someone out there that manages all that Fate stuff, don't you?"
"I s'pose." He wanted to bring up Anthony's sister and her eating disorder, to ask him what the ultimate purpose for that was, but he stopped himself. It wasn't his place, first of all, and besides, it would bring the conversation back around to Malfoy, and that was the last thing Harry wanted.
Mostly because he knew he was upset that he'd be spending the night with Anthony instead of with Malfoy in the loo.
* * *
"Draco!" Pansy shouted, positively fuming now. "You said you would tell me! I've given it three days and I won't wait a moment longer. You tell me who you're crushing on, Draco Malfoy, or I will . . . spell your hair red!"
Draco turned to Pansy, appalled, mouth hanging open, but she merely raised a brow.
"That's right. Now tell me."
Draco looked cautiously around the nearly-empty library (it was Friday night) as though checking to make sure no one was listening. When he looked back at Pansy he was frowning.
"Will you keep your voice down? Someone will hear you and start spreading rumors!"
She huffed and folded her arms. "No one cares about your life anymore, Draco," she said. He scowled but she didn't seem impressed. "Well, it's true. All anyone cares about is Potter and his gang of heroes. So will you stop acting like Creevey's ghost is hiding around every corner and just tell me?"
"There's nothing to tell!" he hissed. Pansy's eyebrows rose disbelievingly.
"Is that why you looked like the man of your dreams had just walked by the other day?"
"I did not look like that."
"Oh, hush. You know, if you're not going to tell me, I'll just figure it out on my own."
Draco made it a point not to laugh. It took almost no effort to appear unconcerned.
"Like I said, there's nothing to know, but be my guest. I know how much you love to play spy."
Pansy stood up suddenly and gathered her books in her arms. Draco looked up at her.
"I'll be watching," she said. Draco winked at her, but instead of becoming flustered and stomping away, she smirked and exited the library with much more confidence than Draco liked. His only comfort was that this was Pansy, and she most likely wouldn't know her arse from a hole in the ground.
* * *
Harry had been mindlessly watching Ron scribble a letter to his mother when Hermione sat down next to him in the one of the chairs by the fire Saturday afternoon.
"Hey, 'Mione," he said vacantly. His mind was elsewhere; namely, a few hours ahead of time with Malfoy in the loo.
"I wanted to ask you a question."
"Yeah, sure."
Hermione settled more into her chair and Harry raised a brow.
"I'm doing an extra credit paper for Defense on the Imperius Curse and I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about how you threw off Moody's - er, Barty Jr.'s - curse fourth year. It won't take long. I just need a few notes."
"Oh, yeah, of course. What kind of stuff did you need to know?"
"Well, I'll ask you some questions. Not now - I don't have them prepared or anything, and I have to finish up my Arithmancy essay anyway. Does later tonight sound okay?"
Ron suddenly looked up from his letter and frowned at her.
"No, tonight isn't all right. He - and you, for that matter - have to help me bring up the cases of Firewhiskey from the kitchens where Seamus said he put them. There's a lot. I told you that, Hermione."
"Oh, yes . . ." she said lightly, but Harry got the feeling she hadn't forgotten at all. He, on the other hand, hadn't known, and had thus made plans again with Malfoy tonight. Because it was a weekend they had again agreed to meet earlier. Harry flushed and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Actually, I already have . . . plans."
Both Ron and Hermione looked at him.
"With . . . ?" Ron asked, though Harry thought his redheaded friend had an inkling as to whom Harry's plans were with.
"I - er - well, I said I'd meet with Malfoy again tonight and-"
"God, Harry, are you serious?" Ron was bright red and he looked angry. A part of Harry felt extremely guilty, but another part, the notoriously stubborn part, was also gaining heat. "You're gonna go fuck around with Malfoy instead of helping me get stuff for my party?"
Harry frowned. “I already told him I would, Ron."
"Well, too bad for him, then, eh? Best mate takes priority, isn't that right?"
"The person I made plans with first takes priority, actually," said Harry defensively. Ron stared at him with his mouth open in a wide O. He looked to Hermione, perhaps for support, but she was merely looking down at her hands, apparently conflicted and unwilling to take part in this argument. Ron looked back to Harry and his eyes were narrowed.
"I cannot believe I'm hearing this," said Ron. "You've been disappearing all week and most of last week as well, and now you're fucking off to go play with Malfoy, of all people, when your best mate needs help preparing for his birthday party? Are you bloody kidding me, Harry?"
Harry was gripping the arms of his chair so hard that he was sure his knuckles must have been white. He hated when Ron played the part of the ripped-off best friend. As though Harry had intentionally done this to hurt him.
"Don't be a dick, Ron," Harry said in a low voice. Ron must have heard the warning tone in it because his eyes went wide in disbelief.
"You're not kidding," he said softly. "You're really going to go see Malfoy instead of helping me, aren't you?"
"That's right."
Ron stood up and grabbed his letter fiercely off the table he'd been writing on. He glared at Harry.
"Bloody loyal Gryffindor you are." Ron stalked away and left through the portrait hole without a backward glance. Harry looked at Hermione to see that she was already staring at him with concern.
What hurt more than Ron's words was the fact that he'd known they would hurt Harry. That he'd said them for that reason. Both he and Hermione had been there in second year when Harry had first found out he could speak Parseltongue and worried that he hadn't been placed in the right House. They'd both known how scared he'd been when Voldemort had been inside his mind; how terrified he'd been that he was like the man. Doubting his place as a Gryffindor was a low blow. Hermione seemed to sense this because she said, "He didn't mean it, Harry-"
"Yes he did." Harry knew Ron hadn't meant it, that he was just upset, but that didn't stop him from being angry. He stood up from his own chair and started heading toward the portrait. Just before going through he stopped and looked back. "Sorry, Hermione. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
* * *
Harry was amusing Malfoy by making different beards and hairstyles with the bubbles in the tub. Malfoy was actually laughing, and Harry thought it had to be one of the cutest things he'd ever seen. He would never have guessed it, but Malfoy had a nice laugh. It wasn't too loud or obnoxious, but it wasn't funny or contagious like Anthony's either. Whenever Anthony laughed Harry found himself laughing as well, and it would continue until they both had tears streaming down their faces. With Malfoy, it was a little more refined and controlled, but Harry found that he rather liked it - liked watching it. It made him feel good.
After having a particularly large cluster of bubbles drip down into his eye, Harry had dipped underwater in order to rinse it out. His eye burned like it was on fire. He could hear Malfoy laughing harder than usual by the side of the tub.
Harry managed to open his eyes and saw Malfoy's pale legs dangling underwater. He smiled deviously to himself and swam over, and as Malfoy couldn't see Harry through all the bubbles, Harry had the advantage of a surprise attack. He grabbed one skinny leg and tugged. He hadn't meant to actually pull him in, but he kept forgetting just how light Malfoy really was. The boy slipped into the water, flailing as he went. Harry broke the surface and waited for him to come up as well, biting his lip in an attempt to hide his smile because he knew Malfoy would not be happy.
Indeed, he came up spluttering and wiping frantically at his eyes. Harry couldn't help it; he chuckled. Malfoy dipped his hands in the water, trying to get them clear of bubbles, but it was difficult when he his eyes were closed. Harry took pity on him and found a clean patch, rinsed his own hands, and reached forward to clear Malfoy's eyes. Malfoy stilled the moment he felt Harry's hands and Harry's stomach constricted a bit, his mind conjuring images of the last time they'd been in the tub together.
When his face was clean, Malfoy opened his eyes and looked directly at Harry.
"Was that necessary?" he inquired softly. Instead of answering, Harry picked up a handful of bubbles and set them on top of Malfoy's head. He laughed and nodded. Malfoy rolled his eyes and then picked up some bubbles of his own and smeared them onto the side of Harry's face. "There," he said. "You look good with mutton chops."
"Do I look sophisticated?"
"Potter, you don't even look sophisticated with glasses."
"I guess I'm hopeless then." He smiled; Malfoy blushed and looked down at the water. Harry had a fleeting urge to grab him and kiss him.
"Guess what," Malfoy said suddenly.
"What?"
He looked up and met Harry's eyes and Harry was taken aback by both the excitement and pride in Malfoy's gray ones.
"What?" he pressed, laughing. Malfoy smirked.
"I ate a bowl of oatmeal today at breakfast."
Harry's face dropped and his eyes went very wide indeed.
"Are you serious?"
"It was a small bowl," he said quickly, "but-"
Harry didn't give him a chance to finish his sentence; the urge from before came back full force and this time Harry followed through with it. He grabbed Malfoy's face and fairly mashed their lips together, smiling and feeling Malfoy smile back.
When he felt Malfoy open his mouth, he simply couldn't resist pushing his tongue inside. When he felt Malfoy leisurely wrap his own tongue around Harry's and suck it further into his mouth, Harry both felt and heard himself whimper. He could very subtly taste the oatmeal Malfoy claimed to have eaten earlier and somehow it only heightened the experience. He found himself reaching for Malfoy's waist and pushing him bodily against the tiled sidewall.
It occurred to him vaguely that this was nothing like kissing Anthony. It was so much better, so much hotter, and it had nothing to do with the warm water coming up to their waists. Malfoy had his hands on Harry's shoulders, almost as though he were too nervous to do anything else with them, and if for no other reason than to show Malfoy there was no need to be nervous Harry pressed his whole body against Malfoy's, allowing his burgeoning erection to press against Malfoy's jutting hip. Malfoy gasped and pulled away, his eyes wide, but his nails were suddenly digging into Harry's shoulders.
"You like oatmeal?" Malfoy asked breathlessly. Harry smirked.
"Not really. But it tastes pretty good on your tongue."
Malfoy blushed fiercely. Harry laughed and kissed his cheek.
"And you didn't . . . throw it up or anything?"
Malfoy shook his head. "No. It's . . . hard, but I haven't. I can't stop thinking about it, though."
"It'll get easier," Harry promised, and kissed him lightly again. Malfoy's eyes remained closed even after Harry pulled away and Harry took that moment to admire his face. While it was just as pale as it had always been and his cheeks were a bit sunken and there were bags under his eyes, Malfoy had an unusually beautiful face. It reminded Harry of a female model. The high cheek bones, the sharp angles; everything that photographers wanted because even though it didn't necessarily look stereotypically “hot” in real life, it photographed well. That didn't mean he didn't look beautiful in real life, because he did. But it was that unique beauty; not like a typical girl one might find in a pornographic magazine. It was stunning and sexy. And Harry found that he liked this very, very much. In fact, if Malfoy hadn't chosen that moment to open his eyes, Harry thought he could have gone on staring for quite a while.
Malfoy must have noticed Harry looked distant and realized he'd been staring because he flushed.
"What?"
Harry smiled gently and shook his head.
"You're beautiful," he said. Malfoy looked down.
"You said that the other day."
"I know. It just keeps taking me by surprise." Malfoy frowned and Harry quickly realized how that sounded. "No, I didn't mean it like that, I . . . I just mean you're stunning." Harry felt his cheeks begin to heat up but he didn't take it back. It was true, after all.
"Do you really think that?" Malfoy asked quietly.
"I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true."
Malfoy's face turned redder than ever and once again he looked down. Harry smiled to himself.
"I wish you didn't have to pull me into the water every time you kissed me," he said finally, and Harry laughed. Malfoy smirked and looked up at him.
"Maybe I like you wet," he teased. Malfoy rolled his eyes and huffed.
"I don't suppose you're any good at Drying Charms?"
"No such luck," Harry said with a shrug. "But I can take you to your dorm with the Cloak, if you want, and no one will see you."
"They'll see the door."
"Better than nothing." Harry winked at him and Malfoy visibly had to hold back a smile.
"Fine."
The two boys climbed out of the tub. After Harry had donned his dry clothing and gathered the Cloak, they both hid beneath it before leaving the room. Harry held Malfoy's hand as he led him through the castle corridors, even though he knew Malfoy knew the way, and even though he didn't really have to because the Cloak was definitely big enough; but he wanted to, and in his mind, that was enough. If the embarrassed way Malfoy stayed focused on the ground was anything to go by, he didn't mind either.
Harry took this as further proof that Malfoy may have feelings for him, but quickly pushed the celebratory feeling this elicited inside of him aside and reminded himself that he loved Anthony! This was just a . . . a little fling. He was attracted to him and that was all!
But he conveniently seemed to forget this resolution once more when they entered the Slytherin common room and managed to sneak into the dorm room, where everyone was conveniently sleeping soundly. It was late.
Malfoy turned to Harry, presumably to say goodnight, but Harry caught his lips in a kiss that lasted a few seconds longer than he had originally intended. When Malfoy pulled away he was breathing heavily and his breath floated across Harry's face.
"'Night," he said softly.
"Sleep well."
He saw Malfoy nod in the dark before he ducked out from under the Cloak and went over to his trunk. He pulled out a pair of clean boxers and had been about to take off his shirt when he turned in the direction Harry was still standing.
He smirked and made a shooing motion with one hand. Harry chuckled silently, fondly, and finally made for the door.
Chapter Ten | Page of Contents | Chapter Twelve