Harry Potter: Distorting Enemy Lines (ch. 2)
Title: Distorting Enemy Lines
Author: Reyn
Rating: M
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: post-5th year, with disregard for books 6&7, later angst, slash, sexual situations
Disclaimer: I merely play and twist JK’s creations to my own liking. I don’t actually own anything other than the plot.
Summary: Locked away together by the very people they called friends, Harry and Draco must learn to overcome all petty differences when foreign feelings begin to fall into play.
Chapter Two
Harry’s palms were sweaty.
This wasn’t really anything new. His palms had been sweaty loads of times before, like when he got into trouble with professors, or when he was about to take a test he hadn’t studied for, or when it was hot. But none of those times compared to this.
Ron had asked to meet him tonight - the night before school let out for the Christmas holiday - in the Room of Requirement. Alone.
This wasn’t exactly anything new either. They were always meeting at random locations and had been doing so for years. But this time, things were different. Harry was sure of it.
Because this time, he had a secret.
Well, it wasn’t really a secret. It was just something he hadn’t gotten around to telling anyone. He wasn’t even sure if anyone needed telling anyway. Hell, he wasn’t even 100% positive about the secret, so technically there might not be any secret in the first place.
Regardless, Harry found himself mentally running through various conversations, trying to find ways to break the news to Ron without things going pear shaped.
“Hey, have you checked out Padma lately? Yeah, I know what you mean. But, you know, I noticed something when I was looking at her. Well, I had a suspicion before but…what I’m trying to say is…I don’t think girls really cut it for me.”
That was a good one! Good job, brain!
But what if Ron already had his suspicions? What should he say then?
“Look, it’s not that I’ve been sneaking glances at you guys in the shower because I want to snog any of you. It’s just simple curiosity! I can’t help it! I mean, what if you, me, and Hermione had to shower naked together for whatever reason? Obviously we’d both look at her, but it’s not like we’d want to shag her!”
Upon immediate reflection, Harry decided that would be a bad example. Hermione had not only been getting the attention of a lot of men lately, but she seemed to be using it to her advantage as well. At any given time, she could be seen with some poor, nameless chap who was buried under a pile of books or scrolls he had offered to help carry to the next class.
While Ron was smart enough to usually avoid becoming the hapless victim of such manual labor, he still had a tendency to gripe about why Hermione couldn’t just shrink her books down and carry them herself.
Jumping the gap to the landing as the moving staircase started to pull away, Harry rounded the corner to the third floor’s corridor and decided to treat the issue the same way he would when taking off a bandage.
Quick, easy, and painless.
“I might be gay, but don’t worry - I think it’s just a phase. Nothing a few Romanian witches can’t cure when we’re down visiting Charlie. He promised to introduce us to some, right? Brilliant! Let’s go sneak a butterbeer from the kitchens!”
The door to the Room of Requirement was already there. Pausing before entering, Harry briefly entertained the idea of not saying anything at all - a quicker, easier, and even more painless way to go about things. But then if he did that and managed to avoid the subject now, Ron might try to bring it up over the holidays in front of his family.
Harry burst through the large wooden door, the fear of hearing Mrs. Weasley’s voice if she were to ever find anything out (“Well…oh. Gay? Are you sure?”) driving him to get it off his chest immediately.
“Look, Ron, I have a feeling I know why you called me out here, and even if I’m wrong, I still have something to say! Iiiieeeeyyyou’re not Ron.”
Despite most of the figure’s features being blocked out by the shadows cast by the fire behind him, it was impossible not to recognize the shine of Draco Malfoy’s platinum blond hair.
“Obviously not, but don’t let that stop you from making declarations I can later take advantage of,” the Head Boy responded, sitting back down on the arm of the high back chair he had previously been relaxing on before he was startled to his feet.
A quick glance around the mostly bare room told Harry they were alone.
“Where’s Ron?” he asked, eyeing the fireplace suspiciously as if expecting to find a burning body in its depths.
Malfoy seemed surprised by the question. “Why are you asking me?”
Harry merely glowered at him in response.
With a tired sigh, Draco slid back into the seat of his chair, his sprawled position very much giving off the ‘I could care less’ attitude. “Unless he’s escorting Granger to her meeting with me, I have no bloody idea where he might be,” he answered. “Now go away. This area is currently Prefects only and you’re tainting my air.”
Harry stubbornly remained where he was. “Ron told me to meet him here.”
A pale hand waved flippantly about. “Then go wait outside. I’m sure he’s perfectly capable of finding you out there.”
Harry opened his mouth, fully ready to demand Malfoy wait outside, when he realized the other man had yet to actually insult him. Figuring it was far too close to the holidays to be the one to start yet another fight, Harry turned on his heel to walk out of the room, only to find himself facing a blank wall instead. A quick inspection to the left and right told him the stones extended all the way to the corners.
“Er…” Harry turned around several times, examining the room. “Where’s the door?”
It took Malfoy a second to react and sit up. “What?” He, too, spun around as best he could from his seated position. “What did you do to the door, Potter?”
“What do you mean what did I do? I was trying to leave!” Harry began to pace along the four walls, fully expecting a door to appear before him. He stopped to point an accusing finger at the Slytherin as none appeared. “You locked me in before I could leave!”
“Why would I do anything to keep you in the room with me?" Malfoy argued as he stood. “Now bring it back!”
“Don’t you think I’m trying?” Harry snapped as he reversed his course, running a hand along the wall in the hope the door had merely gone invisible.
“I order you to bring the door back!”
Harry’s mouth fell open in outrage and his head whipped around before he realized that Malfoy was talking to the room and not to him. He watched as the other boy marched over to the approximate spot where the door used to be and glared down the stones.
“Didn’t you hear me? I demand an exit!”
In absolutely any other situation, it would have been hilarious. When trapped with the son of someone who wants you dead in a magical room that’s supposed to grant your wishes, it was downright terrifying.
Years of experience told Harry it was time to pull out his wand. Problem was his pockets were empty.
“What are you doing?”
Harry froze in the panicked patting down of his body and immediately took on a more natural stance.
“Nothing,” he replied as casually as he could. “What are you doing?”
The staring continued for a moment longer before Malfoy finally turned back around, sticking both hands into his own pockets.
Harry wasn’t positive, but he thought he heard “fucking ponce” being muttered seconds before Malfoy stiffened and started patting himself down.
“My wand…” Malfoy whirled around, looking back to where he had been sitting. Unable to see anything, he hurried over and began to throw cushions about. “What did you do with my wand, Potter?” he demanded as he moved his search from the chairs and settee to the coffee table, sifting through a tray full of assorted cookies as if they were hiding his wand.
Harry hesitantly moved forward until he was just standing within the main circle of light the fireplace gave off. “So…you don’t have your wand either?”
Frustrated, Malfoy threw a cookie in Harry’s direction before dropping to his knees to look under the table. “Does it look like I-” There was a sudden pause and Malfoy’s head popped up. “You’re missing your wand?”
Harry nodded.
“And it’s not because you’re an idiot who just left it in your common room or packed it in your trunk?”
“So says the genius who almost had his wand eaten by some alcoholic creeper vines,” Harry snorted.
Draco glared at the reminder. He had very nearly lost an eye when the ivy spit his wand back out upon realizing it wasn’t Firewhiskey.
“That doesn’t answer my question, Potter,” he growled.
Lifting one of the upset cushions from the couch to see if his wand had somehow magically hidden itself there, Harry shook his head. “No. Are you sure you didn’t pack your wand away?”
“No pureblood is that stupid,” Malfoy sneered. “Not even Longbottom.”
Harry frowned, feeling affronted on behalf of his friend, despite the fact the jab was not quite an insult.
“But if you don’t have your wand…and I don’t have my wand…” The Gryffindor trailed off as the two of them came to realize just how trapped they really were in a malfunctioning magic room with no wands to aid them.
In a flash, they were at the wall separating them from the corridor, pounding against it as they yelled for help. Malfoy tried pushing the stones and Harry figured that was probably the smarter thing to do after his attempt at ramming them resulted in only a very sore shoulder.
The shouts and wall attacks continued on for several more minutes until a cry of, “I don’t want to be stuck here with Scarhead!” was interrupted by a heavy cloth falling over the boys.
Scrambling back, they realized the cloth was actually a tapestry. A tapestry that held a woven message addressed to the two of them.
“To Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy,
Your constant fights are putting a severe strain on the inter-house relationships of the whole school and need to be stopped. On behalf of all the Prefects, I ask that you both work this out amongst yourselves and come to a truce. The Room of Requirement has been set up as a friendly environment that will prevent you from doing any lasting damage to one another. Once you come to an agreement to Hogwart’s satisfaction, the door will reappear. Until then your wands are safe with me.
Sincerely,
Hermione Granger
Head Girl”
Malfoy ran his hands through his hair, fixing it back to its former glory as he finished reading the tapestry out loud, the rage in his voice barely contained.
“But Ron’s the one who asked me to come here!” Harry insisted, as if trying to prove this was nothing more than a sham.
PS - Harry, Ron says he’s sorry.
Harry’s mouth fell open.
“I’m going to kill her,” Malfoy growled, grabbing the tapestry and fighting to rip it down from the wall. “As soon as my wand is back in my hand, I’m sending her to the Dark Lord and-”
Harry’s fist barely grazed Malfoy’s shoulder as the Head Boy jumped back just in time to avoid a solid punch to the neck.
“Don’t you ever even joke like that,” Harry seethed, taking a menacing step forward.
Lifting his handfuls of fabric as if it would protect him, Malfoy took an equal step back and goaded, “Or you’ll what? Hex me? Storm off? Put me in the Infirmary?” As the Gryffindor’s fists tightened, Malfoy snorted and gave the tapestry a final tug, successfully ripping it off from its hangings. “I’ve got news for you, Potter,” he said as he trudged over to the fireplace. “Thanks to your so-called intelligent friend, you can’t do a damn thing.”
With a pointed raise of the tapestry, Malfoy bundled the offending material up as best as he could and threw it in the fire.
From their respective positions, both students watched the cloth burn for a moment before Harry sighed in defeat as he moved to the back of the couch and straightened out the cushions.
“Just so you know, this really is what I think of Granger right…” Malfoy trailed off, his hand still poised in its motioning to the fire as he stared past Harry’s head. “Damn it!”
At his exclamation, Harry spun around, wondering what else could possibly be going wrong now.
The wall was once again sporting Hermione’s tapestry.
“Great,” Harry said lightly, slapping a pillow as he walked around the couch to sit down. “She’s mocking us.”
The dark scowl on Malfoy’s face showed he was anything but amused.
For some reason, this put the Gryffindor in a slightly better mood as he leaned back in his seat.
For the next fifteen or so minutes, the only sound to fill the room was the soft roar of the fire as devoured the fabric. Having finished examining what few surroundings there were to the room in the first three minutes, Harry soon found himself bored and restless. Perhaps it wouldn’t kill him to try and start a conversation? But then what on earth would you talk about with someone you hated in an effort to call a truce?
“So…what’s your favorite color?” he asked.
Malfoy’s lip curled. “What?”
“What’s your favorite color?” Harry repeated. When no answer was forthcoming, he rolled his eyes and explained. “Look, Hermione said the Room isn’t going to let us out until we-” he twisted around to read the exact words. “-‘come to an agreement to Hogwart’s satisfaction.’ So let’s just get this over with so I can get out of here and go to bed.”
“And what? Knowing my favorite color is the solution to us becoming the best of friends?” the Slytherin asked, his tone dripping with skepticism. “My likes and dislikes are none of your business. Don’t touch my cookies.”
Harry paused, one hand hovering over the cookie tray as he looked up at the blond man before him. He then scoffed and took a cookie anyway.
“Look, all I’m saying is if I know your likes and dislikes, I’ll know what to avoid when around you in the future,” Harry stated thickly around a mouthful of cookie.
“You could avoid talking with your mouth full of food for one.”
At Harry’s large grin, complete with cookie bits stuck between his teeth, Malfoy disgustedly looked away.
Swallowing, Harry reached for another cookie. “Go on, what else?”
Gaze stubbornly fixed on the fireplace, Malfoy crossed his arms. “I’m done talking to you. Anything I tell you will just be used against me later on.”
“No it won’t!” Harry insisted, making sure to swallow his mouthful before speaking this time around. “This is all part of the truce process so I can get the hell away from you that much faster!” he insisted.
Malfoy remained unmoved. “Then you go first.”
Resting his elbows on his knees, Harry frowned thoughtfully. “Alright, fine. I don’t like you, ‘cause you’re a right prat. I like quidditch, ‘cause flying is fun…and I like girls,” he added as a very belated afterthought.
This last statement seemed to catch the Head Boy’s attention as he finally turned and eyed the Gryffindor almost suspiciously for a long moment.
“What?” Harry asked obliviously. “Your turn.”
“My likes and dislikes are none of your business,” Malfoy repeated almost regally as he went back to watching the burning tapestry.
“You self-righteous git! That’s-”
“Idiot, what you told me could describe anyone,” Malfoy cut in before the other could explode in irritation. “Don’t tell me you seriously expected me to open up after such a pathetic confession.”
“…I also don’t like Snape,” Harry added, feeling a bit clueless as to what other personal information would be relevant to a Slytherin.
The derisive snort was less than encouraging.
“Well what else am I supposed to-”
“You don’t dislike Professor Snape, you loathe him,” Malfoy corrected, sitting up in his chair and turning to fix Harry with a piercing stare. “I’d say to the point where you believe he has some personal vendetta against you - which he does. You wear green a lot, probably because people tell you it brings out your eyes, but recently you’ve started to question if it’s really your favorite color or not. You’re pretty daft to have let it taken you this long, but your favorite color is really pink. You actually enjoy eating vegetables, probably under the asinine belief that they will make you hit another growth spurt so you can be taller than your Weasley lackey. And finally, nothing gets you off my back better than the entire school gawking at you for whatever reason. It makes you sulk,” Malfoy explained at the slight furrow of dark brows.
Harry blinked, not entirely sure how he should feel about the amount of random information the biggest thorn in his side seemed to know about him. He finally settled for crossing his arms defensively and slouching back into the cushions behind him.
“I do not like pink,” he grumbled, choosing to ignore the fact that he probably looked like a petulant child; even at the Slytherin’s triumphant smirk.
“Shall I continue?” Malfoy offered, his expression more than hinting that he was enjoying this.
“No.” Harry glared. “This isn’t just about me.”
The look of open humor quickly fizzled out to the sneer Harry was more accustomed to seeing as Malfoy sat back, almost as if he were trying to re-distance himself.
“Of course it is,” Malfoy said as he mirrored Harry’s crossed arms. “It’s always about you.”
“You’re just jealous it isn’t about you instead.” At the forced scoff, Harry sat forward, the revelation at the truth in his words dawning on him for the first time. “You’re a victim of your upbringing,” he continued. “Spoiled rotten by parents who sheltered you from what life was really like, it wasn’t until you became Head Boy that you began to take positions of power seriously and responsibly.”
A second scoff sounded. “And I suppose all that came from Granger?”
Harry opened his mouth only to close it with the realization that it did all come from Hermione. In fact, most of what he heard about Malfoy these days came from her, and nearly all of it was about how mature the aristocrat had become and how admirable it was that he was able to break free from the way he was raised to become a semi-decent human being.
All of her swooning (as Ron called it) was usually done when Harry was in the vicinity in an effort to stop the fights, but it was obvious from last night’s detention over a few “accidental” hexes cast after-hours that Harry both never listened and didn’t believe a word of what Hermione told him.
“Alright, fine. I think you’re an ass. You were an ass the very first time I met you, and you’re an ass now,” Harry stated honestly. “The only time I see you smile is at someone else’s expense and even then, it’s only when there’s an audience. You brag too much and have no heart. A little bit of sympathy won’t kill you, you know.”
Malfoy had gone back to staring at the fire. “Careful Potter, or else others will start to believe you only see the negative side of people,” he sneered, his bored tone indicating he had detached himself from the conversation.
“There’s a positive side to you?”
Malfoy’s glare had an unusually oppressive effect, and suddenly Harry was suddenly struck with the impression that the cold atmosphere was that of Hogwarts frowning at him.
“Okay, okay,” Harry relented. “Er…you have perfect hair.”
The glare turned disbelieving.
“And…nice eyes. I guess,” he added, grasping for straws at this point. “But only when you don’t have that disgusted look on your face.”
“Did you just physically compliment me?” Malfoy asked.
“Yeah, so?” Harry wondered if he should be worried by the tone of Malfoy’s question.
Rather than answer, however, the Slytherin stood with a shake of his head. “I’m going to bed.”
Following suit, Harry stretched and scooted out from between the couch and coffee table, stopping short when he realized the door still had yet to appear.
“But how-?” His question cut off as he turned back around and saw Malfoy taking over the couch. “Hey! I was there first!”
“And then you got up, relinquishing any claim you had over the settee,” Malfoy stated logically, stretching his feet out to the other end of the couch to punctuate his point. Not that it was very effective since his knees were still bent at an almost ninety degree angle due to the seat barely being wide enough to fit two and a half people at most.
“I’m tired, too!” Harry complained, giving Malfoy’s knees a half-hearted shove as he sat down on the edge of the table.
“Give it up. I’ve been wishing for a bed for the last five…”
As the sentence trailed off, Harry turned, following the direction of the incredulous gaze. His own eyes widened at the appearance of a king sized, four poster bed a mere fifteen feet away. The pristine white plush bedspread and ten pillow set beckoned him as green eyes locked on gray, both boys waiting to see what the other would do.
The sound of a log popping in the fireplace startled both students into action, Harry jumping up only to trip over Malfoy’s legs as they swung out before him. The only good thing about being jammed between the coffee table and a pair of legs was that his weight kept Malfoy pinned so that he couldn’t make it to the bed first. It took a lot of pushing and cursing on both their parts to break free, and the remaining cookies were sacrificed as the table rocked violently from the force of Harry’s and Draco’s actions.
Both scrambled and leapt onto the bed, only to immediately turn on their sides and begin kicking and shoving at the other in an effort to force him off the bed.
“Get off! I saw it first!”
“You claimed the couch!”
“It’s a settee and I was settling for it!”
“You called it; you got it!”
“You said it yourself, you had it first! You can keep it!”
A foot to the stomach left Harry momentarily winded.
“I don’t want it,” he coughed out. “It’s too small.”
“Then sleep on the floor for all I care!” Malfoy worked on forcing Harry off the bed with his feet. “This bed is mine! I asked for it, I got it.”
Gripping the bedspread as he was shoved closer and closer to the edge, both boys cried out in surprise as the entire blanket began to slide down with Harry’s weight, taking even Malfoy with it.
Quickly crawling up and off the falling bedspread, Malfoy did his best to spread himself out over as much of the bed as possible when Harry’s thud was immediately followed by the shuffling sound of him trying to free himself from the blanket.
“You can’t have it! It’s mine!” he proclaimed as Harry stood, glasses skewed.
Wordlessly, Harry stomped over to the other end of the bed, only to stop short as Malfoy hurriedly scooted over to block him.
“Malfoy, you barely take up half the bed! Just share the damn thing!” Harry yelled.
“Bite me,” was the snarky reply.
Lip curling at the comeback, Harry went over and grabbed as much of the blanket as he could from the floor. “Fine. You get the bed, I’ll take the bedspread.”
“Fi-”
Harry smirked triumphantly as Draco stared down at the fitted sheet he was crouched on.
Would the luxury of a plush mattress be worth it without a blanket in this damp castle?
As if on cue, the fireplace grew a little dimmer.
To his credit, Harry waited patiently for all of ten seconds before shrugging his shoulders and dragging the blanket back to the couch.
“Alright! Alright!” Malfoy cried.
Harry turned expectantly, an eyebrow raised.
“We can share the bloody bed. But you get that side,” Malfoy said, pointing to the half furthest away from the warm fire.
“Fine,” Harry agreed, not really caring which side he was on. He had slept in worse conditions, and with a blanket this big, he probably would have been fine on the floor…not that he was about to let Malfoy know that.
As he dragged the comforter back and moved to the foot of the bed, he took notice of Malfoy’s methodic back and forth movement. “What are you doing?”
Shooting Harry a scathing glare for questioning his motives, Malfoy explained, “Setting up a barrier, what does it look like?”
Eyeing the six-pillow line-up that divided the bed in half, Harry couldn’t help but be impressed that both halves were actually even.
“I don’t have cooties, you know,” he said as he tossed the top corner of the blanket onto the bed.
Grabbing a side, Malfoy pulled the bedspread up the rest of the way. “Ask me if I even care.” At Harry’s pointed silence, Draco continued. “This is so I don’t feel your body heat, don’t see you toss and turn, and don’t smell your breath in the morning.”
Toeing off his shoes and slipping out of his sweater, Harry snorted, the first several thoughts entering his head all relating Malfoy’s probable lack of a sex life. Not that he really had much of a sex life either…
Realizing the territory his thoughts were in, Harry made a mental note to scrub his brain later and settled on the simple comment of, “You’re so lame, you know that?”
“Sod off,” Malfoy shot back, his frame rigid as he pulled off his own socks and shoes. Climbing to his knees, he slipped off his robe and removed his belt, tossing both on the floor. He then proceeded to untuck his shirt and undo his cuffs, all while doing a fine job of pretending Harry wasn’t there.
Not that Harry cared, but he couldn’t help but notice that with the exception of the top two buttons, Malfoy’s shirt stayed closed and on. The cold air settling on Harry’s arms told him not to read into it as he straightened his t-shirt and removed his glasses, carefully placing them on his crumpled sweater before climbing into bed.
Grabbing a generous portion of the blanket and bundling up inside of it, Harry’s mouth opened to say goodnight before remembering the person with him was not a friend.
But we’re stuck here until we get along.
Did getting along really need to include formalities? Harry felt stupid for even having thought of the question.
Hesitating to the point where saying anything now would just sound ridiculous, Harry mentally kicked himself and forced it out.
“Night, Malfoy.” He winced at how warbled and weak that sounded.
A second note to self: Clear your throat before breaking the silence with something poncy.
As the seconds ticked by in silence, Harry figured he either wasn’t heard or was being ignored. He briefly considered trying again and being annoying about it until he was acknowledged, but figured that would be more counterproductive than anything.
Shrugging it off, he rolled over and let his eyes drift closed.
“Night, Scarhead.”
The way it was mumbled and said almost resentfully made Harry smile, but still, progress was progress.
Previous | Next
Author: Reyn
Rating: M
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: post-5th year, with disregard for books 6&7, later angst, slash, sexual situations
Disclaimer: I merely play and twist JK’s creations to my own liking. I don’t actually own anything other than the plot.
Summary: Locked away together by the very people they called friends, Harry and Draco must learn to overcome all petty differences when foreign feelings begin to fall into play.
Chapter Two
Harry’s palms were sweaty.
This wasn’t really anything new. His palms had been sweaty loads of times before, like when he got into trouble with professors, or when he was about to take a test he hadn’t studied for, or when it was hot. But none of those times compared to this.
Ron had asked to meet him tonight - the night before school let out for the Christmas holiday - in the Room of Requirement. Alone.
This wasn’t exactly anything new either. They were always meeting at random locations and had been doing so for years. But this time, things were different. Harry was sure of it.
Because this time, he had a secret.
Well, it wasn’t really a secret. It was just something he hadn’t gotten around to telling anyone. He wasn’t even sure if anyone needed telling anyway. Hell, he wasn’t even 100% positive about the secret, so technically there might not be any secret in the first place.
Regardless, Harry found himself mentally running through various conversations, trying to find ways to break the news to Ron without things going pear shaped.
“Hey, have you checked out Padma lately? Yeah, I know what you mean. But, you know, I noticed something when I was looking at her. Well, I had a suspicion before but…what I’m trying to say is…I don’t think girls really cut it for me.”
That was a good one! Good job, brain!
But what if Ron already had his suspicions? What should he say then?
“Look, it’s not that I’ve been sneaking glances at you guys in the shower because I want to snog any of you. It’s just simple curiosity! I can’t help it! I mean, what if you, me, and Hermione had to shower naked together for whatever reason? Obviously we’d both look at her, but it’s not like we’d want to shag her!”
Upon immediate reflection, Harry decided that would be a bad example. Hermione had not only been getting the attention of a lot of men lately, but she seemed to be using it to her advantage as well. At any given time, she could be seen with some poor, nameless chap who was buried under a pile of books or scrolls he had offered to help carry to the next class.
While Ron was smart enough to usually avoid becoming the hapless victim of such manual labor, he still had a tendency to gripe about why Hermione couldn’t just shrink her books down and carry them herself.
Jumping the gap to the landing as the moving staircase started to pull away, Harry rounded the corner to the third floor’s corridor and decided to treat the issue the same way he would when taking off a bandage.
Quick, easy, and painless.
“I might be gay, but don’t worry - I think it’s just a phase. Nothing a few Romanian witches can’t cure when we’re down visiting Charlie. He promised to introduce us to some, right? Brilliant! Let’s go sneak a butterbeer from the kitchens!”
The door to the Room of Requirement was already there. Pausing before entering, Harry briefly entertained the idea of not saying anything at all - a quicker, easier, and even more painless way to go about things. But then if he did that and managed to avoid the subject now, Ron might try to bring it up over the holidays in front of his family.
Harry burst through the large wooden door, the fear of hearing Mrs. Weasley’s voice if she were to ever find anything out (“Well…oh. Gay? Are you sure?”) driving him to get it off his chest immediately.
“Look, Ron, I have a feeling I know why you called me out here, and even if I’m wrong, I still have something to say! Iiiieeeeyyyou’re not Ron.”
Despite most of the figure’s features being blocked out by the shadows cast by the fire behind him, it was impossible not to recognize the shine of Draco Malfoy’s platinum blond hair.
“Obviously not, but don’t let that stop you from making declarations I can later take advantage of,” the Head Boy responded, sitting back down on the arm of the high back chair he had previously been relaxing on before he was startled to his feet.
A quick glance around the mostly bare room told Harry they were alone.
“Where’s Ron?” he asked, eyeing the fireplace suspiciously as if expecting to find a burning body in its depths.
Malfoy seemed surprised by the question. “Why are you asking me?”
Harry merely glowered at him in response.
With a tired sigh, Draco slid back into the seat of his chair, his sprawled position very much giving off the ‘I could care less’ attitude. “Unless he’s escorting Granger to her meeting with me, I have no bloody idea where he might be,” he answered. “Now go away. This area is currently Prefects only and you’re tainting my air.”
Harry stubbornly remained where he was. “Ron told me to meet him here.”
A pale hand waved flippantly about. “Then go wait outside. I’m sure he’s perfectly capable of finding you out there.”
Harry opened his mouth, fully ready to demand Malfoy wait outside, when he realized the other man had yet to actually insult him. Figuring it was far too close to the holidays to be the one to start yet another fight, Harry turned on his heel to walk out of the room, only to find himself facing a blank wall instead. A quick inspection to the left and right told him the stones extended all the way to the corners.
“Er…” Harry turned around several times, examining the room. “Where’s the door?”
It took Malfoy a second to react and sit up. “What?” He, too, spun around as best he could from his seated position. “What did you do to the door, Potter?”
“What do you mean what did I do? I was trying to leave!” Harry began to pace along the four walls, fully expecting a door to appear before him. He stopped to point an accusing finger at the Slytherin as none appeared. “You locked me in before I could leave!”
“Why would I do anything to keep you in the room with me?" Malfoy argued as he stood. “Now bring it back!”
“Don’t you think I’m trying?” Harry snapped as he reversed his course, running a hand along the wall in the hope the door had merely gone invisible.
“I order you to bring the door back!”
Harry’s mouth fell open in outrage and his head whipped around before he realized that Malfoy was talking to the room and not to him. He watched as the other boy marched over to the approximate spot where the door used to be and glared down the stones.
“Didn’t you hear me? I demand an exit!”
In absolutely any other situation, it would have been hilarious. When trapped with the son of someone who wants you dead in a magical room that’s supposed to grant your wishes, it was downright terrifying.
Years of experience told Harry it was time to pull out his wand. Problem was his pockets were empty.
“What are you doing?”
Harry froze in the panicked patting down of his body and immediately took on a more natural stance.
“Nothing,” he replied as casually as he could. “What are you doing?”
The staring continued for a moment longer before Malfoy finally turned back around, sticking both hands into his own pockets.
Harry wasn’t positive, but he thought he heard “fucking ponce” being muttered seconds before Malfoy stiffened and started patting himself down.
“My wand…” Malfoy whirled around, looking back to where he had been sitting. Unable to see anything, he hurried over and began to throw cushions about. “What did you do with my wand, Potter?” he demanded as he moved his search from the chairs and settee to the coffee table, sifting through a tray full of assorted cookies as if they were hiding his wand.
Harry hesitantly moved forward until he was just standing within the main circle of light the fireplace gave off. “So…you don’t have your wand either?”
Frustrated, Malfoy threw a cookie in Harry’s direction before dropping to his knees to look under the table. “Does it look like I-” There was a sudden pause and Malfoy’s head popped up. “You’re missing your wand?”
Harry nodded.
“And it’s not because you’re an idiot who just left it in your common room or packed it in your trunk?”
“So says the genius who almost had his wand eaten by some alcoholic creeper vines,” Harry snorted.
Draco glared at the reminder. He had very nearly lost an eye when the ivy spit his wand back out upon realizing it wasn’t Firewhiskey.
“That doesn’t answer my question, Potter,” he growled.
Lifting one of the upset cushions from the couch to see if his wand had somehow magically hidden itself there, Harry shook his head. “No. Are you sure you didn’t pack your wand away?”
“No pureblood is that stupid,” Malfoy sneered. “Not even Longbottom.”
Harry frowned, feeling affronted on behalf of his friend, despite the fact the jab was not quite an insult.
“But if you don’t have your wand…and I don’t have my wand…” The Gryffindor trailed off as the two of them came to realize just how trapped they really were in a malfunctioning magic room with no wands to aid them.
In a flash, they were at the wall separating them from the corridor, pounding against it as they yelled for help. Malfoy tried pushing the stones and Harry figured that was probably the smarter thing to do after his attempt at ramming them resulted in only a very sore shoulder.
The shouts and wall attacks continued on for several more minutes until a cry of, “I don’t want to be stuck here with Scarhead!” was interrupted by a heavy cloth falling over the boys.
Scrambling back, they realized the cloth was actually a tapestry. A tapestry that held a woven message addressed to the two of them.
“To Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy,
Your constant fights are putting a severe strain on the inter-house relationships of the whole school and need to be stopped. On behalf of all the Prefects, I ask that you both work this out amongst yourselves and come to a truce. The Room of Requirement has been set up as a friendly environment that will prevent you from doing any lasting damage to one another. Once you come to an agreement to Hogwart’s satisfaction, the door will reappear. Until then your wands are safe with me.
Sincerely,
Hermione Granger
Head Girl”
Malfoy ran his hands through his hair, fixing it back to its former glory as he finished reading the tapestry out loud, the rage in his voice barely contained.
“But Ron’s the one who asked me to come here!” Harry insisted, as if trying to prove this was nothing more than a sham.
PS - Harry, Ron says he’s sorry.
Harry’s mouth fell open.
“I’m going to kill her,” Malfoy growled, grabbing the tapestry and fighting to rip it down from the wall. “As soon as my wand is back in my hand, I’m sending her to the Dark Lord and-”
Harry’s fist barely grazed Malfoy’s shoulder as the Head Boy jumped back just in time to avoid a solid punch to the neck.
“Don’t you ever even joke like that,” Harry seethed, taking a menacing step forward.
Lifting his handfuls of fabric as if it would protect him, Malfoy took an equal step back and goaded, “Or you’ll what? Hex me? Storm off? Put me in the Infirmary?” As the Gryffindor’s fists tightened, Malfoy snorted and gave the tapestry a final tug, successfully ripping it off from its hangings. “I’ve got news for you, Potter,” he said as he trudged over to the fireplace. “Thanks to your so-called intelligent friend, you can’t do a damn thing.”
With a pointed raise of the tapestry, Malfoy bundled the offending material up as best as he could and threw it in the fire.
From their respective positions, both students watched the cloth burn for a moment before Harry sighed in defeat as he moved to the back of the couch and straightened out the cushions.
“Just so you know, this really is what I think of Granger right…” Malfoy trailed off, his hand still poised in its motioning to the fire as he stared past Harry’s head. “Damn it!”
At his exclamation, Harry spun around, wondering what else could possibly be going wrong now.
The wall was once again sporting Hermione’s tapestry.
“Great,” Harry said lightly, slapping a pillow as he walked around the couch to sit down. “She’s mocking us.”
The dark scowl on Malfoy’s face showed he was anything but amused.
For some reason, this put the Gryffindor in a slightly better mood as he leaned back in his seat.
For the next fifteen or so minutes, the only sound to fill the room was the soft roar of the fire as devoured the fabric. Having finished examining what few surroundings there were to the room in the first three minutes, Harry soon found himself bored and restless. Perhaps it wouldn’t kill him to try and start a conversation? But then what on earth would you talk about with someone you hated in an effort to call a truce?
“So…what’s your favorite color?” he asked.
Malfoy’s lip curled. “What?”
“What’s your favorite color?” Harry repeated. When no answer was forthcoming, he rolled his eyes and explained. “Look, Hermione said the Room isn’t going to let us out until we-” he twisted around to read the exact words. “-‘come to an agreement to Hogwart’s satisfaction.’ So let’s just get this over with so I can get out of here and go to bed.”
“And what? Knowing my favorite color is the solution to us becoming the best of friends?” the Slytherin asked, his tone dripping with skepticism. “My likes and dislikes are none of your business. Don’t touch my cookies.”
Harry paused, one hand hovering over the cookie tray as he looked up at the blond man before him. He then scoffed and took a cookie anyway.
“Look, all I’m saying is if I know your likes and dislikes, I’ll know what to avoid when around you in the future,” Harry stated thickly around a mouthful of cookie.
“You could avoid talking with your mouth full of food for one.”
At Harry’s large grin, complete with cookie bits stuck between his teeth, Malfoy disgustedly looked away.
Swallowing, Harry reached for another cookie. “Go on, what else?”
Gaze stubbornly fixed on the fireplace, Malfoy crossed his arms. “I’m done talking to you. Anything I tell you will just be used against me later on.”
“No it won’t!” Harry insisted, making sure to swallow his mouthful before speaking this time around. “This is all part of the truce process so I can get the hell away from you that much faster!” he insisted.
Malfoy remained unmoved. “Then you go first.”
Resting his elbows on his knees, Harry frowned thoughtfully. “Alright, fine. I don’t like you, ‘cause you’re a right prat. I like quidditch, ‘cause flying is fun…and I like girls,” he added as a very belated afterthought.
This last statement seemed to catch the Head Boy’s attention as he finally turned and eyed the Gryffindor almost suspiciously for a long moment.
“What?” Harry asked obliviously. “Your turn.”
“My likes and dislikes are none of your business,” Malfoy repeated almost regally as he went back to watching the burning tapestry.
“You self-righteous git! That’s-”
“Idiot, what you told me could describe anyone,” Malfoy cut in before the other could explode in irritation. “Don’t tell me you seriously expected me to open up after such a pathetic confession.”
“…I also don’t like Snape,” Harry added, feeling a bit clueless as to what other personal information would be relevant to a Slytherin.
The derisive snort was less than encouraging.
“Well what else am I supposed to-”
“You don’t dislike Professor Snape, you loathe him,” Malfoy corrected, sitting up in his chair and turning to fix Harry with a piercing stare. “I’d say to the point where you believe he has some personal vendetta against you - which he does. You wear green a lot, probably because people tell you it brings out your eyes, but recently you’ve started to question if it’s really your favorite color or not. You’re pretty daft to have let it taken you this long, but your favorite color is really pink. You actually enjoy eating vegetables, probably under the asinine belief that they will make you hit another growth spurt so you can be taller than your Weasley lackey. And finally, nothing gets you off my back better than the entire school gawking at you for whatever reason. It makes you sulk,” Malfoy explained at the slight furrow of dark brows.
Harry blinked, not entirely sure how he should feel about the amount of random information the biggest thorn in his side seemed to know about him. He finally settled for crossing his arms defensively and slouching back into the cushions behind him.
“I do not like pink,” he grumbled, choosing to ignore the fact that he probably looked like a petulant child; even at the Slytherin’s triumphant smirk.
“Shall I continue?” Malfoy offered, his expression more than hinting that he was enjoying this.
“No.” Harry glared. “This isn’t just about me.”
The look of open humor quickly fizzled out to the sneer Harry was more accustomed to seeing as Malfoy sat back, almost as if he were trying to re-distance himself.
“Of course it is,” Malfoy said as he mirrored Harry’s crossed arms. “It’s always about you.”
“You’re just jealous it isn’t about you instead.” At the forced scoff, Harry sat forward, the revelation at the truth in his words dawning on him for the first time. “You’re a victim of your upbringing,” he continued. “Spoiled rotten by parents who sheltered you from what life was really like, it wasn’t until you became Head Boy that you began to take positions of power seriously and responsibly.”
A second scoff sounded. “And I suppose all that came from Granger?”
Harry opened his mouth only to close it with the realization that it did all come from Hermione. In fact, most of what he heard about Malfoy these days came from her, and nearly all of it was about how mature the aristocrat had become and how admirable it was that he was able to break free from the way he was raised to become a semi-decent human being.
All of her swooning (as Ron called it) was usually done when Harry was in the vicinity in an effort to stop the fights, but it was obvious from last night’s detention over a few “accidental” hexes cast after-hours that Harry both never listened and didn’t believe a word of what Hermione told him.
“Alright, fine. I think you’re an ass. You were an ass the very first time I met you, and you’re an ass now,” Harry stated honestly. “The only time I see you smile is at someone else’s expense and even then, it’s only when there’s an audience. You brag too much and have no heart. A little bit of sympathy won’t kill you, you know.”
Malfoy had gone back to staring at the fire. “Careful Potter, or else others will start to believe you only see the negative side of people,” he sneered, his bored tone indicating he had detached himself from the conversation.
“There’s a positive side to you?”
Malfoy’s glare had an unusually oppressive effect, and suddenly Harry was suddenly struck with the impression that the cold atmosphere was that of Hogwarts frowning at him.
“Okay, okay,” Harry relented. “Er…you have perfect hair.”
The glare turned disbelieving.
“And…nice eyes. I guess,” he added, grasping for straws at this point. “But only when you don’t have that disgusted look on your face.”
“Did you just physically compliment me?” Malfoy asked.
“Yeah, so?” Harry wondered if he should be worried by the tone of Malfoy’s question.
Rather than answer, however, the Slytherin stood with a shake of his head. “I’m going to bed.”
Following suit, Harry stretched and scooted out from between the couch and coffee table, stopping short when he realized the door still had yet to appear.
“But how-?” His question cut off as he turned back around and saw Malfoy taking over the couch. “Hey! I was there first!”
“And then you got up, relinquishing any claim you had over the settee,” Malfoy stated logically, stretching his feet out to the other end of the couch to punctuate his point. Not that it was very effective since his knees were still bent at an almost ninety degree angle due to the seat barely being wide enough to fit two and a half people at most.
“I’m tired, too!” Harry complained, giving Malfoy’s knees a half-hearted shove as he sat down on the edge of the table.
“Give it up. I’ve been wishing for a bed for the last five…”
As the sentence trailed off, Harry turned, following the direction of the incredulous gaze. His own eyes widened at the appearance of a king sized, four poster bed a mere fifteen feet away. The pristine white plush bedspread and ten pillow set beckoned him as green eyes locked on gray, both boys waiting to see what the other would do.
The sound of a log popping in the fireplace startled both students into action, Harry jumping up only to trip over Malfoy’s legs as they swung out before him. The only good thing about being jammed between the coffee table and a pair of legs was that his weight kept Malfoy pinned so that he couldn’t make it to the bed first. It took a lot of pushing and cursing on both their parts to break free, and the remaining cookies were sacrificed as the table rocked violently from the force of Harry’s and Draco’s actions.
Both scrambled and leapt onto the bed, only to immediately turn on their sides and begin kicking and shoving at the other in an effort to force him off the bed.
“Get off! I saw it first!”
“You claimed the couch!”
“It’s a settee and I was settling for it!”
“You called it; you got it!”
“You said it yourself, you had it first! You can keep it!”
A foot to the stomach left Harry momentarily winded.
“I don’t want it,” he coughed out. “It’s too small.”
“Then sleep on the floor for all I care!” Malfoy worked on forcing Harry off the bed with his feet. “This bed is mine! I asked for it, I got it.”
Gripping the bedspread as he was shoved closer and closer to the edge, both boys cried out in surprise as the entire blanket began to slide down with Harry’s weight, taking even Malfoy with it.
Quickly crawling up and off the falling bedspread, Malfoy did his best to spread himself out over as much of the bed as possible when Harry’s thud was immediately followed by the shuffling sound of him trying to free himself from the blanket.
“You can’t have it! It’s mine!” he proclaimed as Harry stood, glasses skewed.
Wordlessly, Harry stomped over to the other end of the bed, only to stop short as Malfoy hurriedly scooted over to block him.
“Malfoy, you barely take up half the bed! Just share the damn thing!” Harry yelled.
“Bite me,” was the snarky reply.
Lip curling at the comeback, Harry went over and grabbed as much of the blanket as he could from the floor. “Fine. You get the bed, I’ll take the bedspread.”
“Fi-”
Harry smirked triumphantly as Draco stared down at the fitted sheet he was crouched on.
Would the luxury of a plush mattress be worth it without a blanket in this damp castle?
As if on cue, the fireplace grew a little dimmer.
To his credit, Harry waited patiently for all of ten seconds before shrugging his shoulders and dragging the blanket back to the couch.
“Alright! Alright!” Malfoy cried.
Harry turned expectantly, an eyebrow raised.
“We can share the bloody bed. But you get that side,” Malfoy said, pointing to the half furthest away from the warm fire.
“Fine,” Harry agreed, not really caring which side he was on. He had slept in worse conditions, and with a blanket this big, he probably would have been fine on the floor…not that he was about to let Malfoy know that.
As he dragged the comforter back and moved to the foot of the bed, he took notice of Malfoy’s methodic back and forth movement. “What are you doing?”
Shooting Harry a scathing glare for questioning his motives, Malfoy explained, “Setting up a barrier, what does it look like?”
Eyeing the six-pillow line-up that divided the bed in half, Harry couldn’t help but be impressed that both halves were actually even.
“I don’t have cooties, you know,” he said as he tossed the top corner of the blanket onto the bed.
Grabbing a side, Malfoy pulled the bedspread up the rest of the way. “Ask me if I even care.” At Harry’s pointed silence, Draco continued. “This is so I don’t feel your body heat, don’t see you toss and turn, and don’t smell your breath in the morning.”
Toeing off his shoes and slipping out of his sweater, Harry snorted, the first several thoughts entering his head all relating Malfoy’s probable lack of a sex life. Not that he really had much of a sex life either…
Realizing the territory his thoughts were in, Harry made a mental note to scrub his brain later and settled on the simple comment of, “You’re so lame, you know that?”
“Sod off,” Malfoy shot back, his frame rigid as he pulled off his own socks and shoes. Climbing to his knees, he slipped off his robe and removed his belt, tossing both on the floor. He then proceeded to untuck his shirt and undo his cuffs, all while doing a fine job of pretending Harry wasn’t there.
Not that Harry cared, but he couldn’t help but notice that with the exception of the top two buttons, Malfoy’s shirt stayed closed and on. The cold air settling on Harry’s arms told him not to read into it as he straightened his t-shirt and removed his glasses, carefully placing them on his crumpled sweater before climbing into bed.
Grabbing a generous portion of the blanket and bundling up inside of it, Harry’s mouth opened to say goodnight before remembering the person with him was not a friend.
But we’re stuck here until we get along.
Did getting along really need to include formalities? Harry felt stupid for even having thought of the question.
Hesitating to the point where saying anything now would just sound ridiculous, Harry mentally kicked himself and forced it out.
“Night, Malfoy.” He winced at how warbled and weak that sounded.
A second note to self: Clear your throat before breaking the silence with something poncy.
As the seconds ticked by in silence, Harry figured he either wasn’t heard or was being ignored. He briefly considered trying again and being annoying about it until he was acknowledged, but figured that would be more counterproductive than anything.
Shrugging it off, he rolled over and let his eyes drift closed.
“Night, Scarhead.”
The way it was mumbled and said almost resentfully made Harry smile, but still, progress was progress.
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