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Water from a Stone	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 14851 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not making any money from this story.

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Chapter Ten—A Little Defense and A Little Defensive

            When Harry walked into the Room of Requirement, the first thing he noticed was the silence. He paused and stared around, wondering if someone had just cast a spell that impressed all the others so much they’d stopped talking.

            Instead, he found their eyes focused on him. Harry grunted and clapped his hands. “Yes, yes, I’m here,” he said, “the one who gave you this bright idea in the first place. Now, how about paying attention to what you should be doing, which isn’t giving me any more attention than I’ve already had today? You never know, it might go to my head and swell it up so much that I’ll simply drift away.”

            That resulted in a few muffled snickers and one or two cautious glances that Harry didn’t understand, and the duels began again. Harry walked past the pairs and the groups in front of the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teachers, offering advice when he could.

            “Yes, that isn’t the way to perform a Patronus Charm, unless you want it to charge through the wall and alert everyone in the school that we’re here.”

            “If you decided not to abuse them in the corridor, then you don’t need to abuse them by yelling at them here, either.”

            “No, of course you don’t say the incantation Prego. It’s Protego. Hear the extra syllable?”

            By the time he reached the end of the walk, Harry had started to relax, for two reasons: no one had giggled or joked with him about potentially sleeping with Malfoy, and Malfoy himself was nowhere in the room.

            Of course, when Harry considered that more seriously, he had to wonder. Malfoy had started out before him to reach the Room of Requirement. Had someone ambushed him along the way? Perhaps someone like Romilda Vane who considered that Harry was theirs to sleep with and Malfoy should have taken a number in line?

            Harry tried to catch Zabini’s eye and ask him the question, but Zabini was paying attention—ferocious attention, even—to Parkinson and seemed to utterly ignore him. Harry had to stride up right next to him and practically shout in the boy’s ear before Zabini would even condescend to turn around.

            “Do you know where Malfoy is?” Harry asked. “I last saw him about ten minutes ago, but he’s not here. Did he mention going back to the common room or taking an alternate route from the library that might have led him past enemies?”

            Zabini cackled—there was no other word for it—and then turned to Parkinson, holding out his hand. “I told you,” he said. “I bloody told you. You and your hour! Pay up.”

            “It was a fool’s bet, anyway,” Parkinson said, digging a Galleon out of her robe pocket and putting it into Zabini’s hand. “Besides, watching the expression on his face when he asked about Draco was worth it.” She smirked at Harry past Zabini’s shoulder and then raised her wand as if she would continue practicing the Shield Charm.

            “You bet on—what?” Harry asked, trying his best to feel lost instead of angry. Other people were pausing to watch him, after all, and he didn’t think he should argue with two Slytherins in front of everyone else after spending so much time trying to act as if relations between him and Slytherin House were utterly normal. “How long it would take Malfoy to show up?”

            “No, how long it would take you to ask after His Grace the Whinging,” said Zabini. “I told Parkinson it would be before half-past, and she thought it would take you a full hour.” He smiled at Harry, and it was such a soft and understanding smile that no one would have predicted what he said next. At least, Harry wouldn’t. “What’s the matter, Potter, are you missing being filled up with love?”

            Harry wanted to level his wand. But that wasn’t something you did to an ally, even one who had just said something as stupid as this. He wanted to punch Zabini in the face, but that wasn’t something you did to someone you were trying to protect, either.

            What he did instead was square his shoulders, look Zabini in the eye, and say, “If he goes around by himself and without anyone else to protect him, then I reckon I’ll see him when the oath summons me,” and turned away.

            Zabini muttered something soft behind him, to which Parkinson added her nasty, braying laugh. Harry thought it was very heroic and restrained of him not to turn around and fire a Stinging Hex, which he could do nonverbally so that no one would ever know it was him.

            Trying to put Malfoy out of his mind, he agreed to duel with Ron, so that the students could watch a full-on battle between two people who knew what they were doing, instead of between one more experienced person and one less experienced, or between two who were still fumbling their way along. Harry watched as they cleared some floor space, and then waved his hand when people started to cluster into a ring about ten feet away.

            “Further than that,” he ordered.

            Zabini leaned forwards, hands planted on knees, and wagged a finger at Harry. “Now, Potter, you know that His Mighty Paleness would be upset to see you placing yourself in danger. If you fall over and no one’s close enough for a quick dash, who’s going to catch you?”

            Ron snickered, the traitor. Harry turned his back majestically. This, of course, was just another reason for him not to like Slytherins. They were all determined to drag him down even though he’d done nothing over the past few days but help them. Or they were determined to tie him to an altar as a virgin sacrifice to Malfoy. Harry hadn’t yet decided if those were opposing goals or not.

            But the ring of spectators did back off to fifteen feet, and Harry and Ron bowed to each other, never taking their eyes from each other’s faces. Harry hoped that everyone noticed that, since he didn’t have much time to talk and explain it right now.

            “I’m going to wipe the floor with your arse, mate,” Ron whispered. “Nothing personal, but Hermione’s watching.”

            Harry nodded understandingly. “Lucky for you that I have no one to look good in front of.”

            Ron blinked, then nodded. “Oh, right, because Malfoy isn’t here. But you and Zabini looked pretty close. Maybe you can substitute?”

            Just for that, Harry thought, I start with this. And as Ron stepped forwards and turned his head briefly to make sure that Hermione was watching, Harry called out, “Leviter!”

            Ron yelped as the waving, feathery-soft belt of yellow light caught him around the middle and bounced him up into the air. Of course, he wasn’t hurt; he came back down with no bruises and waving his arms. But the minute he touched the ground, he bounced up again and floated towards the other side of the room. Harry smiled. The spell had decreased his body weight and made him unable to land or effectively aim.

            Of course, there were ways in which it could be made more fun. Harry waited until Ron was roughly facing him again and then called out, “Vestio amethystinis!”

            Ron yelped again as the spell created rings of smoke all down his body, rings that blew apart one by one as the magic dissipated. His school robes were gone, and so were the shirt and trousers under them, replaced by layered purple dresses of sheer silk. Harry had made sure to leave his friend some dignity. When they were laid on top of each other like that, you couldn’t really see through the silk.

            Not really. Ron flushed and grabbed at his crotch, and if he wanted to do that, then he was welcome. Harry snickered.

            Ron finally decided that attacking Harry was more important than preserving his nonexistent honor, and managed to get off a hex that would sit Harry on his arse if it hit. Harry blocked that with a Shield Charm and gave Ron something else to think about with the next spell. “Perverto!”

            Ron flipped upside-down and hung there with his skirts falling over his head for a moment before he began to slowly revolve, skirts falling back into place and then settling comfortably over his neck once more. The other students were laughing and applauding by now, and Harry turned and winked at them. “You see,” he said casually, “you don’t need to use spells that hurt someone else in a duel, not if your goal is to get back at them or humiliate them rather than to just survive. It’s all a matter of being able to know a lot of spells and combine them, so that you have as many choices as possible.”

            “I’m not sure that I like to hear you using a spell with the incantation Perverto, Harry. I any of your perverted tendencies should be reserved for me alone.”

            The words went through Harry like the death of Voldemort had. He turned around and saw Malfoy standing next to the door, his arms folded, his gaze nailed on Harry as if he were the only one in the room. Given his words, Harry had expected one of those infuriating smirks, but no, he looked serious to match the supposedly serious tone.

            “Give over, Malfoy,” Harry said, and then stopped, because damn it, they were supposed to be playing lovers, and he couldn’t say half the withering and insulting things he had in mind. He concluded rather weakly with, “You know the incantation isn’t like that.”

            “I don’t know,” Malfoy said slowly, sauntering forth to the middle of the floor. No one was looking at the spinning Ron now, Harry realized, not even Hermione. Malfoy was the center of attention. And reveling in it, the poncey bastard. ‘It seems to me that you say a lot of things that aren’t ‘like that,’ but that explanation can get overused, don’t you think?”

            Harry felt his mouth fall open. Now Malfoy was implying that Harry cheated on him, of all things!

            Which was ridiculous. If Harry was going to have a lover, he wouldn’t cheat on them, and if he did, he would be smart enough not to get caught. Malfoy had just insulted his intelligence as well as his ability to keep his cock where it belonged.

            “Shut up, Malfoy,” he said fiercely. Even if they were dating, he wouldn’t have let Malfoy get away with saying something like that, and so he could do most of what he wanted without damaging their little rumor. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

            “Yes, I do.” Malfoy had a peculiar expression on his face, at least as far as the smile went. He was smiling as though he thought he could kick Harry’s arse instead of the other way around. He stepped nearer. “Why don’t we duel to prove it?”

            Harry sneered at him. “So you think winning would prove that you were right? Not that it matters, since you won’t win.”

            Malfoy spun his wand between his fingers, and his smile just got wider and stranger, to the point that Harry thought someone else in the room should have suggested calling Madam Pomfrey. Not that Harry cared if Malfoy died of smile-poisoning, so he wasn’t about to suggest it. “You can say that all you like, Harry, but it’s impossible for us to be sure of anything until we duel.” He paused. “Unless you’re afraid.”

            A chorus of whistles and howls went up from the Gryffindors in the room, to be drowned by the laughter of a much greater number of Slytherins. Harry gritted his teeth. He couldn’t let Malfoy insult him in front of other people and get away with it.

            On the other hand, he still couldn’t act exactly the way he wanted to, because their Houses were supposed to be friends now, and they were supposed to be more than friends. His options were limited.

            Unless I just start completely lying, like Malfoy.

            Harry nodded as if he’d had a revelation, and said, “You’re not usually like this, Draco.” Malfoy fluttered his eyelashes when Harry said his first name, but Harry wasn’t fooled. There was no way that he would be as affected by Harry’s speaking his first name as Harry was by Malfoy speaking his. “I think something else is going on. I wonder what it could be?” He looked around the room with unseeing eyes, and then paused when he got to Zabini, staring pointedly at him until everyone was looking in the same direction.

            “Yes, of course that’s it,” Harry said in a musing tone. “I should have seen that before.”

            “What?” Malfoy looked baffled and defensive now, which was just the way that Harry liked him.

            “It seems to me,” Harry said, derisively, bringing his gaze back to Malfoy’s face with a sudden swing of his head, “that Blaise knows just a little too much about you to be comfortable. You’ve been spending a lot of time together, haven’t you?” Then he waited for the ridiculous suspicion to take root in Malfoy’s mind, and the minds of the others watching, which was a lot more important, since Malfoy, after all, knew that this was just a ruse.

            Malfoy’s mouth fell open. “You—what—I never!”

            “Because I’m so unattractive, is that it?” Zabini piped up, playing right into Harry’s hands. Harry thought he might have known he was doing that, and chosen to do it anyway, for the thrill of being part of something so melodramatic. Or maybe he wants to get back at Malfoy for all the whinging, Harry thought, unobtrusively stepping away so that everyone could focus on the two Slytherins. “Someone like you could never want to associate with someone as lowly as me?” He clapped the back of his hand to his forehead.

            “No!” Malfoy snapped. “Of course not! But I’ve wanted Potter for years!” And then he turned around and stared at Harry as if he was the one who should be embarrassed by that little announcement.

            Harry sighed and shook his head. “Your recent behavior is a pretty funny way of showing it.”

            Malfoy moved nearer and flicked his wand. A bubble of silence sprang into place around them. Harry lifted his eyebrows in reluctant admiration. The spell was a pretty thick one, since it stood up to the immediate attempts of about ten people outside the bubble to dismantle it. Harry nodded. “What do you really want?” he asked.

            “I want you to stop endangering this act that we’re working to build up here!” Malfoy whispered harshly. He seemed to forget about the silence bubble, Harry thought, or maybe he was paranoid enough not to trust that someone wouldn’t break through. “If we start rowing, then your House, at least, might feel free to go back to abusing us.”

            “You were the one who endangered it first, with that stupid accusation,” Harry said. “Look, just stop overacting, all right? It’s one thing to kiss me when someone is trying to convince me to date her; that’ll spread nice rumors about how you’re a jealous jerk who defends his rights. But what’s the point of coming up and acting as though I make lots of excuses to you to spend time with other people?”

            Malfoy’s cheeks were bright pink, and his breathing hurried. Harry found himself looking at Malfoy’s mouth, and attempts to look elsewhere didn’t seem to work. Perhaps Malfoy had cast an Attracting Charm of sorts on his mouth, Harry thought suspiciously.

            “You do make those excuses,” Malfoy said at last, and his voice was low and vicious and dangerous. “Maybe not in the same way I pretended, but otherwise, yes, it’s true. You prefer to spend time with your friends to spending it with me.”

            Harry just glared at him and waited for the ridiculousness of that suggestion to strike him dead. But Malfoy persisted in staying alive and staring, as if he wanted answers.

            “God,” Harry said, finding his voice at last. “I have no idea why I would prefer spending time with my friends to spending it with someone who, oh, dressed up like a Dementor to scare me and joined the Inquisitors’ Squad and let Death Eaters into the school and tried to kill Dumbledore and bullied and attacked me from the first year! Are you mental, Malfoy? This is a deception, remember?”

            “It’s more than that for me.”

            Harry relaxed so suddenly that it was hard to keep his feet. “Of course,” he said. “Someone’s been introducing a potion into your food. Or they ambushed you just now, when you were missing from the Defense club and other people who could have protected you, and they cast a spell on you. Quick. Do you remember who you were with? Do you have any symptoms of a Memory Charm?”

            Malfoy took a step closer. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes and face had that wild look again. “I’m serious. This isn’t an act for me. I want you.”

            “This is worse than I thought,” Harry said, and tried to recall all the symptoms he could think of that would mark rare potions. Malfoy wasn’t acting like someone under the Imperius Curse, but then again, someone who risked using Unforgivables in Hogwarts in the first place would probably be clever enough to tell him not to act like that.

            Malfoy grabbed his arms. Harry reached up to squeeze his shoulders quickly. “I know it’s hard. But we’re going to cure you.”

            “Merlin help that thick skull of yours,” Malfoy said, in a voice that sounded like a growl, and tugged Harry into another kiss.

            This time, it only lasted a few seconds, because Harry prudently stepped on Malfoy’s foot before he got lost in the git’s mouth. As Malfoy bent down, swearing, Harry Stunned him and then cast a powerful Finite that succeeded in getting rid of the bubble of silence.

            “He must have been attacked on the way here,” Harry said, turning to Zabini and Parkinson. “He was babbling things that made no sense, and his eyes were focused on me in a really weird way. We should get him to Madam Pomfrey.”

            For some reason—perhaps he thought they had to continue the deception from earlier—Zabini put his hand over his eyes. In this case, Parkinson was the sensible one, nodding and saying, “Of course. Blaise, help me.”

            Together, they conjured a stretcher for Malfoy and levitated him onto it. Harry was still studying his hands and arms for bruises of any kind, but the attacker appeared to have left no mark. Harry shook his head. Maybe the attack was entirely mental. What more effective way could they come up with for humiliating Malfoy?

            “Harry,” Hermione said in such an urgent voice that Harry paused and turned to her before they left the Room of Requirement.

            “Can you get Ron down, please?”

*

            They had made it halfway to the hospital wing, and Harry was watching the shadows for potential people who thought it was a good idea to ambush a tired and angry Harry Potter, when the ambush came from behind him.

            He’d heard Zabini and Parkinson whispering together, discussing something that was probably another stupid bet, but he hadn’t paid attention. Why should he? He knew they had to be more concerned about Malfoy than he was, since Malfoy was their friend and their Housemate, and it didn’t make sense that they would stop him from getting to the hospital wing after all he’d done for them.

            So when he found himself hanging in the air, wrapped in ropes, his wand firmly in Parkinson’s hand, he just stared at them.

            “Yes, yes, very funny,” he said, when he noticed the smirk twitching at the edges of Zabini’s lips. “But don’t you think that this could wait until after we’ve made sure that Malfoy won’t be hurt by whatever spell or potion is in him?”

            “This is really getting stupid, Potter,” Zabini said loudly, as if they had an audience who would judge his performance based on his volume. “You had no right to Stun Draco when he was—I think he was, anyway—trying to make the point that he does want you for you, and it has nothing to do with an act.”

            Harry blinked and wondered if Zabini was good at reading lips, or perhaps had been given the key to get through the silence bubble spell by Malfoy. “He can say that all he wants, but I know he’s just kidding. I don’t think the act in general was inspired by a spell, just his weird impulse to come in and confront me in front of everyone. You can’t tell me that you aren’t a bit concerned by that.”

            Zabini stepped back, and Parkinson stepped forwards, as if they had agreed they should alternate in confronting him. Harry wasn’t upset about it, though. Parkinson was the one who had his wand, and the closer she was, the higher the chance that he might be able to summon it with wandless magic. He started to focus, but Parkinson’s words destroyed his concentration.

            “Draco did that because he was desperate and you’ve ignored every one of his advances, Potter. You think he’d agree to brew potions or fight beside just anyone? You think he’d take just anyone to his bed?”

            “There’s no reason for him to go from being an enemy to wanting me,” Harry said patiently. “Especially when I didn’t do much for him last year, or this year before I saw Matthieson bullying him. Yes, I think he has high standards, though I don’t see why you need to defend them. No, I don’t think he really wants me.”

            “He does,” Parkinson said. “You were his enemy, yes, but also his touchstone. He dreamed of you coming for him last year and saving him, when there was no one else he could turn to, and in the end you actually did. That sort of thing makes a powerful impression. I think he would have been content to court you slowly, but he saw that wouldn’t work thanks to the density of your skull. So he stepped it up.”

            Harry stared at her. He knew his mouth was hanging open, and he didn’t care. How was it possible that he knew Malfoy better than his best friends did?

            “He wouldn’t like me rescuing him,” he said. “He would hate me worse than ever. He has too much pride for anything else.”

            “He doesn’t have that much,” Zabini said, his voice rising in what sounded like surprise. “Why else do you think that he gets his way by whinging? He couldn’t do that if pride was more important to him than having what he wants. And what he wants is you.”

            “Well, maybe I don’t want him,” Harry said, and tried not to think about the various acts of snogging he and Malfoy had engaged in.

            Zabini and Parkinson exchanged glances, arguing silently over some issue that Harry couldn’t fathom. Then Parkinson nodded, and Zabini stepped forwards grimly.

            “We wouldn’t do this if we had a choice,” he said. “We’d just leave Draco to fight it out himself and be amused when you eventually succumbed. But the longer you go on resisting, the more likely we are to be subjected to an attack of whinging. So.” He waved his wand, and Harry dropped to the floor, his bonds loosening.

            At the same time, Malfoy sat up on the stretcher and swung his legs to the floor, staring at Harry.

            The next moment, he had trapped Harry against the wall with his body and was breathing against his lips.

            Harry started, then stared past his shoulder at Zabini and Parkinson. They wanted to watch Malfoy snog the life out of him? Harry imagined that it would be disgusting for most people who weren’t Malfoy and him.

            Wait, he thought a minute later, catching the traitorous thought that was trying to sneak away from his notice. For me, too.

            But Malfoy didn’t snog him. Instead, he simply breathed against Harry’s lips, and then against his face and cheeks and ears, moving his head gently up and down, while never varying the posture of his hands and chest and arms and legs that kept Harry expertly pinned. He sighed into Harry’s hair. He brought his mouth so close to Harry’s chin Harry was sure he’d kiss it, but he didn’t. He spent a long time making sure that the curve of Harry’s earlobe was hot and moist, to the point Harry thought Malfoy must know it better than he did.

            Harry tried to resist. He really did. It wasn’t like he had potions in his system this time, although he did have his concern about Malfoy, and there was an audience, and there wasn’t the taste of Malfoy’s mouth to distract him.

            But his head fell back against the wall, and his eyes shut, and he moaned, weakly. It was as though Malfoy had converted the air he breathed into pure pleasure for Harry’s body. He didn’t press closely enough for Harry to feel it if he was erect, but he must have noticed it when Harry hardened.

            Then he stepped back.

            And Harry betrayed himself, reaching after him before he thought about the implications of the move.

            Malfoy smiled. It made some of the coldness in his eyes melt, and it softened the contours of his face, and Harry had to admit that maybe some other things about him besides his mouth and his hair were attractive.

            “There,” he said, in a tone of quiet authority. “I think I’ve done enough. You can’t ignore that, because you were the one who wanted me just then. I’m done chasing you. Come to me when you think you can handle it.”

            And he turned and walked away, Zabini and Parkinson hurrying after him, so that Harry was the one who was alone in the corridor.

            Harry closed his eyes and wiped his mouth, less to get rid of the warmth he could still feel than to get rid of his own drool. Questions and answers to the questions were exploding in his mind. Why did Malfoy want him? Because he was out of his mind and Harry was a hero. Was the wanting genuine? Yes. Did Harry want him back? Yes. Was it crazy? Yes.

            But the most prominent question had no answer.

            What the fuck am I going to do?



*

            puckish: Thanks for reviewing!

            KienaBeana: Aw, thanks! I understand the need to avoid repetition; sometimes it feels like I’m being very repetitive in my replies to reviews, for example. But I am glad to hear that the stories brighten your day.

            qwerty: Well, a bit of that has been cured? I guess?

            Lillybe: Harry mostly thinks it makes no sense for Draco to want him as either a hero or an enemy, and those are the only two roles he thought about relating to Draco in (until this chapter, at least).

            Petalsoft: Thank you!

            SP777: I enjoyed your rendering of Draco’s dialogue. ;)

            polka dot: No, not really.

            lpnightmare: Now Harry has admitted it. Still, he’s a bit confused about what course of action is the best.

            purple-er: Thanks!

            Soria: Thank you!

            Night the Storyteller: No problem. There are parts of books I tend to skim as well, especially if they trigger my embarrassment squick.

            As for the rumors, they’re going to be pretty good (from a ‘fooling people’ point of view), but perhaps not what Harry wants to deal with right now. And it was briefly mentioned that Ginny was interested in other people after the war.

            Eros: Thank you! There will be two more chapters after this one.

            Sulpher_Skin: Thank you for the compliments, and I’m glad you’re enjoying the story.
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Water from a Stone