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Wind Rider	By : SuishouTenshi Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 13758 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
Wind Rider
- SuishouTenshi
Chapter 13
Draco walked into the Great Hall the next morning with barely concealed dark circles under his eyes. He had overslept and perhaps Blaise thought he needed the rest and so did not wake him for the traditional Sunday breakfast that all Slytherin were supposed to have together. It was already lunch time when he sauntered in.
The sixth and seventh years of Slytherin were trying their best to conceal their curious glances as he entered but he could still feel the searching eyes. He knew on an instinctive level that Pansy’s stare was the most heated and so refrained from glancing over to the Gryffindor table.
He sat down between Goyle and Blaise and began to pile food onto his plate with his long perfected air of nonchalance and majesty. The smarter Slytherins read his body language correctly and quickly turned back to their respective conversations, knowing that they weren’t going to get any details about his nonexistent Death Eater related firetalk anytime soon, if at all. Those who weren’t as sharp were repelled by a well executed Malfoy sneer.
After the initial few seconds of utter silence around his person, a voice called out from across the table.
“Good morning, Draco. Did you sleep well?”
Forked paused halfway to his mouth, Draco looked up and almost physically cringed at Pansy’s overly sweet smile.
“Quite,” Draco replied automatically, not knowing what to make of Pansy’s sudden fearlessness. Ever since he “attacked” her a few weeks ago, their contact with each other had been minimal and mostly consisted of him ignoring her very blatant stares from afar. After he recalled what Blaise told him the previous night, Pansy’s welcoming grin suddenly looked very sinister.
Blaise bumped knees with Draco under the table. From the corners of his eyes, Draco could see Blaise casually bite into his toast while reading The Daily Prophet. His heartbeat calmed.
Thank Merlin for small miracles. Thank Salazar for Blaise.
Pansy leaned forward with a conspiring smirk. Curious, Draco met her halfway over the table so she could properly whisper in his ear, “I’m so proud of you, Draco. And don’t worry; I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
That done, Pansy sat back once more, blasted a luminous smile and turned to blabber something nonsensical to Crabbe.
Appetite gone, Draco turned to Blaise (who was pretending to be invisible) and growled lowly, “What the bloody hell did you say to her?”
Blaise’s eyes rolled guiltily, causing Draco’s lips to purse together in displeasure. “Library, the usual table. I’ll be waiting there for an explanation.”
Draco gulped down the rest of his pumpkin juice and left the Great Hall with most of Slytherin’s burning gaze piercing his back. This time he didn’t care much for appearance and hastily fired a gaze of pure want toward Harry.
Sure enough, those emerald eyes met his and began to glow.
Draco’s usual table within the Hogwarts library was conveniently placed between two long rows of bookshelves within the magical beasts section. He had deemed it his own little study corner since third year, when the entire school lost interest in Care of Magical Creatures as the half-giant gatekeeper took over the role as instructor. He would have picked the Divinations section, except two certain Gryffindor girls had claimed a monopoly in that particular area.
Draco had no complaints. No one went near his table uninvited, and he always loved to lose himself in contemplation as he studied each panel of the stained glass window that stretched from floor to ceiling. It depicted in half reverence and half mockery the still scene of a disgruntled young King Arthur as he waved his training wand above a golden cup, Merlin standing before him in wait for something to occur. In the popular legend, that golden cup was actually a poor imitation of the Holy Grail, and King Arthur, a born muggle, spent the rest of his life looking for the real one for only the true Grail was rumored to give muggles magical abilities.
Wizards certainly didn’t hold the same amount of respect for Arthur as muggles did. After all, he foolishly devoted all of his efforts to his ambitions and neglected his home affairs entirely. Some more vulgar folklore spoke of times when King Arthur was so obsessed with finding the Grail that he couldn’t even perform in the bedchamber.
Draco scoffed. The once and future king his arse. Leader or not, a truly respectable man would never be so involved with his own ambitions as to neglect his beloved to the point of refusing her touch in bed.
Shaking his head at the immobile Arthur, Draco reached blindly backwards and retrieved a random book. There were hardly any information on Zephyrs in the entire Hogwarts library; he had checked the first year he was there. He flipped through the tome he held with little interest when finally hesitant footsteps informed him that Blaise was at last brave enough to show up.
Draco threw the book down and cast a privacy bubble around their table, the same one he used on Harry the night before. Only this time, he added an extra precautionary layer of a boundary spell.
Blaise smiled meekly at him from across the table. “Um... must you glare at me like that?”
“Shut it, Blaise. I’m giving you five minutes to explain yourself. When your time’s up, I’m going to obliviate everything you’ve seen or heard since last night. And then I’m gong to track down Pansy and perform the same spell on her.”
“What? No!” Blaised groaned and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Draco, listen to me, everything is fine. I made Pansy think that you’re seducing Potter for the Dark Lord, and she got so excited that she said she’d even help you along, push Potter around a bit so you can play hero.”
Draco sneered. “Am I supposed to be grateful for your intervention? What if she runs to her father and learns that this so called mission is completely bogus?”
“She won’t! I made it sound as if it were a top priority mission. She’s completely giddy thinking that you’re finally trusting her with something so important; she’s in that ‘I-know-something-and-you-don’t’ stage, smirking at every girl around her like she’s the queen of the world. It’s a foolproof plan.”
Draco took out his wand and waved it around suggestively. “That plan, Blaise, is utterly crappers. Now hold still.”
Blaise jumped and knocked over his chair. “Hey, whoa, stop, careful with the swish and flick. Draco, your memory spells are as bad as Pansy’s summoning, and I really don’t want to live the rest of my life thinking I’m a donkey.”
The blond stood as well, wand hand not lowering. “It’s for your own good, Blaise. More precarious events are going to happen soon, and I can’t allow you to walk around with your current scope of knowledge.”
Blaise pressed his back tightly against the bookshelf, clearly afraid to make any sudden movements. He eyed the pulsating boundary spell around them wearily, knowing it was impossible to escape. “Wait! I’m... I’m unarmed. You can’t hurt an unarmed man.”
Draco scoffed incredulously. “Blaise,” he spoke rather patronizingly, “we’re Slytherins. If we had a House handbook the number one rule would be ‘the best place to strike is behind an enemy’s back’. Now, stop moving, or I really will turn your mind into that of a donkey.”
“Draco! This is how you repay me after my encouragements and acceptance of your little escapade? I could’ve went to the Dark Lord, I hope you realize, and gotten myself a nice little reward.”
Disgusted — mainly because Blaise’s words actually struck a core — Draco’s wand hand graciously decided to point to another direction for the time being.
“Look, Blaise, I’m going to tell you this now because you’ll forget it in a few minutes anyway, but there is a big plan coming up, a training regime of sorts and it will be conducted by my aunt. You know how crazy she is, and you can be sure she will rummage through all of our minds on the first day of training. I can’t allow her to see what you’ve seen. Now, stop cowering and let me erase your mind... memories... just a bit of them. I promise to put my best efforts into it.”
“No, Draco, you put your wand away now!” Blaise ducked behind the fallen chair and covered his head with his arms, as it that would protect him from the hex. “Let’s discuss this. There must be other ways than to turn your one true best friend in the whole wizarding world into a mindless drone. If I haven’t told you already, I don’t exactly envy Lockhart. And you don’t know for sure I’ll be included in this training.”
“Precautions, my dear Blaise, precautions.” Draco was belatedly aware that he didn’t sound quite convincing, not even to himself.
He could see ideas fluttering through the ever spontaneous Blaise’s eyes. That boy was nothing if not quick-witted. When those dark eyes finally settled determinedly, Draco knew he was about to be persuaded.
“Well, that’s just not fair. If you’re so eager to erase my memory because I saw you and Potter sucking face, then shouldn’t you erase your own memories as well? I’m fairly sure Lestrange will find a lot more interesting things in that head of yours when it comes to Potter than in mine.”
Draco huffed. “I know Occlumency. Bellatrix won’t see anything I don’t want her to see.”
Blaise leapt up, all signs of discomfort and fear gone. “Teach me then! Teach me Occlumency. I already understand the basics, so all you need to do is help me perfect it.”
That stance of absolute relief in Blaise’s posture made Draco groan. Even Blaise could sense that Draco was about to give in.
“And what of Pansy?” he tried one last time. “I can’t teach her Occlumency under that same pretense. Every one of the Dark Lord’s orders is told to Bellatrix; everyone knows that.”
“But Draco, the chance of Pansy joining us in the same training is next to nil. Lestrange is the only official female Death Eater; you know how sexist the Dark Lord is.”
“I’m not going to...”
“Take any chances,” Blaise sighed. “I know, Draco. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Get your father to find out exactly who will be going to this training. And if Pansy’s name is really on the list, we’ll ask someone else to do the spell. Maybe Granger, if she’s in on this situation. Anyone but you, really.”
Draco scowled appropriately, but he did put away his wand with no further threats. “Fine. Do you remember that room on the seventh floor where Harry hosted the DA last year?”
“You mean his little club? Yes, why?”
“Meet me there tonight after dinner. We’ll begin your Occlumency lessons.”
“What? So soon? When is this training camp anyway?”
“Yule. So we have less than two months to turn you into a master Occlumens. Disappoint me, Blaise, and you’ll be Lockhart’s roommate for the rest of eternity.” Draco added an extra malevolent scowl to get his point across, but Blaise merely nodded back indulgently and even had the gall to smirk.
“Yes, yes, now can you take down the boundary charm? I feel like a caged animal.”
Draco flicked the charm away and was just putting the book he took back to its original position when Blaise’s less than serious voice chirped, “Now that I know my mind will remain intact, let’s spend our Sunday talking about more pleasurable topics, shall we? So... how’s Potter in bed?”
“Oblivi...”
Blaise ran out, cackling.
Damn Blaise for pointing out the one thing he was anxious about even more than the Death Eater business.
Draco sauntered out slowly, not ready to go back to his dorm and write that five-foot essay for Transfiguration. It was then that he noticed the Golden Trio sitting by the entrance of the library. Harry was eyeing him rather blatantly, Zephyr glow in full effect, making Draco feel warm and constricted. The two other lovebirds had their heads buried in books that looked to be upside down. Weasley turned his head to glare at Draco, and Granger would kick him roughly, causing the whole table to shake.
Gryffindors... Draco sighed. They were never going to learn to value the virtue of subtlety. At least luck was always in their favor — few people liked to visit the library on a Sunday afternoon.
He let his legs carry him toward the Gryffindors’ table as inconspicuously as possible and when close enough, he drew his right hand from his robe pocket and ran his index finger down Harry’s left cheek fleetingly as he walked by.
Harry visibly shivered, and Draco felt an overwhelming compulsion to smile. But he kept the urge down because something light had just been dumped into the pocket that he vacated. He reached inside and felt the rough crinkles of a small piece of parchment.
Once safely outside and alone, Draco took out the parchment. “Gryff vs. Raven game Thursday,” it read thus in an unusually messy handwriting. “Meet me in Rm of Rqrmnt tonite at 10 — want teach you flyin. Bring my cloak. Yours, Harry.”
Shuddering, Draco put the note into his dress shirt’s breast pocket. Idiotic Gryffindor with terrible grammar probably had no idea what his last words were doing to Draco’s self-control.
Meanwhile, Harry’s head had collapsed onto his folded arms. He was trembling all over and really didn’t want to let Ron and Hermione see how one touch from Draco was enough to turn him into such a... girl.
He didn’t want to swoon; he really had no plans to do such an embarrassing thing. But that one touch embodied so much. For Draco to caress him so tenderly — and in public! — without shoving him into a domineering kiss, without any expectation or motive but to show that he was aware of Harry’s presence meant the dissolution of the last remnants of Harry’s doubt. It hit him rather suddenly that everything Draco said last night bore some truth; the blond was really in the process of falling in love with him.
Harry felt incredibly self-conscious all of a sudden. He hoped his note wasn’t too commanding. He hadn’t realized Draco was in the library and only saw Zabini run out a while ago with the oddest look on his face. When Draco appeared from behind the same section as Zabini did, Harry had tore away a corner of his parchment without thinking and scrawled a rushed message.
Would Draco laugh at his shorthand sentences? The Slytherin was awfully meticulous about some things. Would he scoff at Harry’s handwriting? It wasn’t his fault he shook so much while scribbling it.
Oh Merlin, he had even signed it “Yours”. He hoped Draco wouldn’t misunderstand. It was purely from a subconscious level. He really just meant to sign his name... really.
As he panicked, he could vaguely register Hermione’s hushed crooning about Draco’s swift gesture and Ron’s poorly disguised gagging.
“Get out.”
Blaise blinked at him.
“We’re done for tonight,” Draco drawled. “Now leave me alone.”
“But Draco, I think I’m really getting the hang of this,” said Blaise as he tried to keep his balance on the three-legged chair Draco had made him sit on for the entire session. The blond conducted the Occlumency lesson lounged upon a comfortable settee and explained to Blaise that the poor condition of his chair was to test Blaise’s concentration. In truth, Draco was just feeling sadistic. Except for that one little touch earlier, he hadn’t had contact with Harry all day and while he wasn’t bothered physically, the anticipation of seeing Harry in just twenty minutes was distracting him in the worst possible ways.
“I don’t care. There’s no way you can master Occlumency in one night anyway. So go back to the dorms before I give you detention.”
Blaise’s eyes narrowed. “You’re meeting Potter here for a rendezvous, aren’t you?”
“What... what makes you think...no!” Draco sputtered. Rather unattractively too.
The transparently weak denial made Blaise guffaw. “Amazing! A few weeks of trading saliva with Potter and Draco Malfoy looses his ability to tell a simple lie.”
Draco scowled. “Fine, Harry’s coming, so would you please go? I don’t want him to see you here.”
“Why?” Blaise smirked. “I wouldn’t mind an invitation, you know, turn this duo into a ménage à trois,” he added with some crude hip movement that Draco preferred not to remember, ever.
Said blond tried not to thrash him for even suggesting the idea of sharing Harry. “Shut up. Get out. Your accent sucks so you are to never speak French in my presence. And you have better not speak to Harry about any of this. He doesn’t know about Yule and he doesn’t know that our secret’s been found out. So treat him as you would normally, which would be to ignore, ignore, and ignore. Is that understood?”
This only caused Blaise’s smirk to widen. “Ah, I see. So the big bad Slytherin, the notoriously evil heir to the infamous pureblood houses of Malfoy and Black, is going to risk everything just so he can single-handedly play the part of the shining Knight to our resident Lady.”
“Out, out, out!” Draco pushed the door against Blaise’s resistance.
“Draco,” Blaise’s sudden drop in timbre made Draco pause. When he looked up, Blaise’s smirk had been replaced by a worried dip in the center of his brows. “It’s all very noble of you,” he whispered, “but you have to keep in mind that whatever the two of you share will definitely be a hindrance. You know I’ll be there if you need help, but if it’s all the same to you, I still want you to consider this — you have to admit — precarious fling. If possible, maybe you should wait it out. See if Potter has any chance of winning this war, and then maybe afterwards when the both of you are alive and free...”
Draco didn’t want to stand there to finish hearing Blaise’s “sagacious” advice. The door was slammed on the other teen’s face, drowning out words of despicable cowardice.
Tired, Draco leaned against the door and took a deep breath. He kept his head clear and heard Blaise’s reluctant retreating footsteps.
Blaise didn’t understand. A fling... Draco almost laughed out loud. He was stuck in the role of a bumbling knight for Harry, and he no longer even minded.
His watch told him Harry was scheduled to show up in less than ten minutes. Draco shook himself more awake and instantly, the room faded from its previous Spartan atmosphere to one of rich adornment. Now there were two roaring fireplaces complete with grates, fire pokers, and decorated mantles. Several plush armchairs, one loveseat, and a couch were strategically placed around a four poster that was currently fading in and out of existence.
Draco finally sighed and willed the bed away. As much as he would have loved to lay Harry on those Slytherin themed comforters and make him stay there all night, it was simply too risky. As unappealing as Blaise’s words were, he was right in pointing out the dangers of their relationship. Putting aside all else, Draco’s constant obsession with Harry alone could cause sporadic, and definitely unwanted, failures in his normally more than dependable Occlumency shield.
Draco sat down in front of the fire and began to meditate. Hopefully his Occlumency trainings would be enough to keep his less than pure thoughts about Harry at bay until after Yule. With carefully administered calming draughts, he would be able to douse his yearnings for the next very unpleasant two months.
Pushing thoughts of Harry away was indefinitely more difficult than he would have imagined, if not plainly impossible. When he tried to clear his head, an image of a smiling and red-cheeked Harry would flash behind his eyes lids, unhindered by anything because Draco had succeeded in forcing all other images away. When he tried to fill his mind with thought, thinking perhaps Harry would be pushed aside by more important things if he occupied himself enough, a flurry of overlapping pictures of Harry would run continuously across his lids.
It wasn’t working.
Thankfully, he didn’t need to force himself into doing this useless meditation any longer because the door had just been opened from the outside.
Draco smiled at the creaking sound, but the smile instantly faded when he picked up more than just one set of footsteps. Actually, it was more like three... He didn’t!
He did. Draco turned and saw with barely concealed horror Weasley’s freckled face and Granger’s tightly wound expression peeking over Harry’s diminished shoulders.
As for his Intended, Harry’s glow managed to outshine both of the fireplaces, combined.
The lone Slytherin in the room picked himself up from the carpeted floor and padded toward a nervously fidgeting Potter. Not even bothering to greet the other two, Draco pulled Harry into his arms, stuck his starved tongue into the brunet’s gaping mouth and tasted him until he felt Harry change back to his normal size.
Draco smirked to himself and enlarged Harry’s clothes so they fit on him once again. “There, you’re back to normal. If you had wanted me so much, you should’ve come to me earlier. I hope no one touched you inappropriately just because they couldn’t fight off your pheromones.”
Looking up, Draco smirked deviously at a red Weasley and a strangely contemplative Granger. It was a miracle they were still in the room after that little indecent display.
“Just the usual,” Harry responded weakly. “Have you been waiting long?”
“Only a few minutes.” Draco shook his head and stepped back to lead the Gryffindor trio toward the many chairs he conjured. His foresight surprised even himself, particularly since he initially wanted those couches for other, more pleasing purposes.
“Come in, come in, to what do I owe this pleasure of having the Golden Trio in the same room without missing several limbs?” he quipped sarcastically and quite uncomfortably too. Unlike his usual impeccable appearance, Draco was currently sauntering around in socks, tie untangled and draped across his shoulders, sleeves rolled up to his biceps, and half of his shirt pulled out with the first three buttons loosened. A large part of his chest was showing, for goodness’ sakes!
As the three Gryffindors took seats, Draco went to the pack he brought with him and retrieved Harry’s cloak. He suddenly felt the need to wrap himself within it again. It was extremely uncomfortable showing so much skin in the presence of Gryffindors other than Harry.
“Tea?” he asked mockingly as he dumped the cloak onto Harry’s lap, slightly pleased that Harry had left his two tagalongs on the couch and sat in the loveseat by himself.
Granger was the first to react as usual. Eyes rolling, she retorted a “We’ve got it” and three cups of steaming tea suddenly appeared on the mantle.
Draco scoffed and quickly asked the room for a cup for himself as well. Conversation didn’t officially begin until he sat down beside Harry and threw a nonchalant arm over the other boy’s stiff shoulders.
“Harry darling, if you knew this meeting would be so awkward why did you bring those two at the first place?” he murmured into his porcelain cup, and smirked when he realized that the room had given him a Worcester. Leave it to a room rather than three actual magic castors to have good taste.
“The same reason why you insisted on that dinner with your parents,” Harry rejoined without missing a beat.
Draco flinched mid-sip, realizing belatedly that he was channeling Lucius.
He squeezed Harry’s shoulder lightly and said nothing, hoping that the bespectacled boy would understand that he wasn’t about to apologize in front of their two “guests”.
He saw from the corners of his eyes that Weasley had just whispered something into Granger’s ear that made them both giggle. He hoped for Weasley’s sake that it wasn’t a comment about his momentary surrender.
“We apologize for the intrusion, Malfoy...” said Granger.
“You’re forgiven; this clear breach in manners is of course not your fault.” A stern sideway glare from Harry warned Draco that perhaps it was time to stop the jabs. He drank more tea before a comment about parentage could slip out.
Granger didn’t even seem slightly insulted. “... but we haven’t really had a chance to talk since everything started, and it’s been quite a while. We’re concerned for Harry’s well-being, you see, and as much as we would like to trust you,” Weasley snorted here, earning him an elbow in the ribs, “we’re still...”
“Concerned?” Draco finished for her and watched as his Worcester refilled itself with mock interest. He was most definitely still channeling Lucius.
“I’m sure you can understand why,” it was Weasley this time. Draco lifted an eyebrow, half impressed that the redhead managed to say a complete sentence to him without insults.
Harry sagged in his arms, clearly realizing that the night was not going well in the least bit.
“Would you have been so cautious were it anyone else sitting in this seat?”
Granger and Weasley exchanged a glance. “If it were another bloke, yeah,” the redhead again.
“Actually,” Granger interrupted with a faint blush and a reluctance to meet Harry’s eyes, “I was going to have a talk with Cho Chang too before we all realized that wasn’t going to work out.”
There was the tiniest groan coming from the body next to Draco.
“Yes, Chang,” another sip, “definitely not a man, but an undeniable man-eater.”
The groan got a little louder, and to Draco’s dismay, Weasley and Granger were both grinning at him with something akin to agreement.
“But I’m sure Harry has already informed you of the details of our current situation. There is no way I could hurt him, as you are well aware.” Draco sighed and felt slightly absurd that he had to justify himself.
“Could and would are completely different concepts, Malfoy,” Weasley spoke again, making Draco wonder when the lanky redhead had become so assertive, especially when he was often overshadowed by a savior and a know-it-all.
A coffee table appeared — coasters and all — to allow Draco to set down his cup. Withdrawing his arm from atop the silent Harry’s shoulders, Draco leaned forward with his elbows on pointed knees. Even in his disheveled state, he believed the mild glare he was exerting would produce the desired effect.
“Couldn’t, can’t, wouldn’t, and most definitely won’t,” he bit out each word slowly, stressed every syllable, and was annoyed to see that Weasley wasn’t the least disorientated.
Their staring contest lasted for a few more minutes, rendering the entire room silent. Then Weasley’s and Granger’s cups disappeared and the former stood up to his full height.
“Come, Hermione, we’re done here.” Weasley was still assessing Draco. Granger looked between the three boys, confusion apparent. Draco could bet all the galleons in his personal vault that before tonight, Granger had never been this inactive in a serious conversation whereas the Weasley was.
Weasley had one more surprise for them. Just before he shut the door behind himself and Granger, he took something out from his pocket and chucked it at Draco. The Slytherin caught it by reflex.
When he was done staring at it in absolute astonishment, Weasley was already gone.
“What is it?” Harry said his first words in five minutes.
Draco’s mouth opened and closed several times before he managed to say, “A pocket watch.”
It was so much more — every fiber of Draco’s pureblood self told him so. Perfectly gold and complete with a thin but sturdy foot-long chain, the intricately made watch was the size of a bottle cap. The design, however, spoke of top quality handiwork. The cover had a capital W jutting out from the surface, the letter composed by twisting ivies and vines and decorated by the occasional pixie. The stem was that of a miniscule dragon head with its teeth bared, biting into the hoop that connected with the chain.
Draco flipped it to observe the backside, and to his wonder, found a detailed depiction of Morgana Le Fey with Excalibur in her hands. How everything fit onto such a small surface was enough to amaze Draco until he opened the cover.
The watch didn’t tell time. Where roman numerals should have been, there were instead scribbled words such as “Hogsmead”, “Hogwarts”, “Traveling”, “The Burrow”, “Diagon Alley”, “Mortal Danger”, and many spaces left blank. There were four hands inside the watch, written with the names of the four people who were just in this room together. And all were currently pointed toward “Hogwarts”.
A small piece of paper was magically taped onto the back of the cover with two spells on it: quisque adaugeo and locus adaugeo.
“Draco?” Harry’s hesitant call brought him back from his bewilderment.
“Sorry, I was...”
“Hey, that’s Ron’s watch!” Harry snatched it from Draco’s fingers. “His uncle Timothy gave it to him before he died. Why did he...”
Draco suddenly felt very dizzy. “By Salazar, you Gryffindors never cease to astound me.”
“Draco?”
“Tell me, did his uncle have any children? Daughters especially?” Draco asked meekly.
“No, two sons. Both died in the first war.”
Draco nodded. “It’s an inheritance watch, Harry. A relatively new tradition by pureblood standards, since pocket watches haven’t been around for more than a few centuries. But even then....” Seeing Harry’s confusion, he continued.
“It’s something passed down from the male patriarch to males outside of the family, usually to the first son-in-law as welcome and a plead to watch over the daughter that is about to be married away. Had Weasley’s uncle had a daughter, this would have meant to be given to her husband. This W, it’ll change to whatever the first letter of the owner’s last name is. So if Weasley really meant to give it to me, it’ll be an M before the night ends. The inside of the watch can be modified, and Weasley even wrote down the spells for me to do it myself, were I need to add another name or location.”
Harry gaped as he turned the watch over in his palms; thumb unconsciously rubbing over the fading W. Draco pulled him into his arms and was pleased when no protest was forthcoming.
“That makes two, Harry. Your Godfather and best friend now both deem me trustworthy enough to be your protector.”
Harry sighed heavily. “Yeah, but I also know Ron is going to sulk about this for days. Don’t get so cocky just yet; he’s doing this for me, not because he likes you.”
The pout in his voice only made Draco chuckle. “Am I supposed to be jealous?”
“Oh, I don’t see the need. You can be so charming when you want to be. I’m sure Ron will fall for you in no time.”
Groaning, Draco buried his face into Harry’s chest. “There’s a thought I don’t need.”
His head vibrated alongside of Harry’s chuckle. Then the laughter stopped abruptly, and Harry shoved him away, wearing a great frown on his face. “Hey! Does this mean Ron thinks of me as a daughter that he’s marrying off?”
Draco kept his expression still as he replied, “Of course. You’re definitely the girl in the relationship.”
Harry threw the watch at him, barely missing his nose. Draco caught it with the dexterity of a Seeker and tucked it into his trouser pocket. He loathed the moment when he’d have to see Weasley again, because no matter how much he disliked the redhead, this little gift warranted his complete gratitude all too well.
“I wish they’d stop treating me like I’m made of glass,” Harry murmured with his head thrown back, eyes glued to the ceiling. Draco wanted to lean forward and take a bite, but restrained himself at the sullen tone of Harry’s voice.
Instead, he ruffled Harry’s hair and offered in consolation, “You do have a habit of taunting death every year. And besides, if you want them to keep trusting you to keep them safe from the Dark Lord, you’ll have to admit to some of your own vulnerabilities. I personally think it makes a decent tradeoff. You protect them from the Dark Lord, and they’ll protect you from me.”
“Did you just compare yourself to Voldemort?”
“Well,” Draco puffed up his chest, “perhaps I’m not so dastardly, but you must admit I’m equally awe-inspiring and ferocious.”
His beloved stood up, body shaking with suppressed laughter. Draco caught the hem of Harry’s invisibility cloak just as he threw it on.
“Come on, oh-awe-inspiring-one,” Harry teased as he kept himself just out of Draco’s reach, “time to fly.”
Draco’s head was still in the clouds when Thursday’s game came around. For days, he could focus on nothing else but the night he spent flying broom-less with Harry over Hogwarts grounds. It was difficult enough to just call out his wings, but it was admittedly easier with Harry’s help. And he was still too astounded at the ease with which Harry controlled his body in the air, broomstick or no. It was too ironic that the pure wizard blood Draco’s family had so coveted would end up being an obstacle when it came to accessing the more bestial Zephyr powers. With Harry, it no longer felt like he was using any wizard magic. Instead, he was all Zephyr, all nature. And his grace was simply beautiful.
They spent hours in the air, flying in and out of each other’s reach, sending wafts of air to propel and expel one another, laughing, diving. But boys would always be boys, and the majority of their time was also spent in the form of competition. Who could knock the other one onto the ground first, who flew faster in a never-ending race around the Quidditch field, etc. Harry won most, if not all of them. Draco wasn’t ashamed to admit that he didn’t care.
He sat in the Slytherin viewing stand now with Blaise on one side and Pansy on the other. November wind blasted at them with no compunctions. But the wind only reminded Draco once again the feeling of defying gravity, and he was warm all over.
Slytherin had beaten Ravenclaw earlier that month. Draco held the victory over Cho Chang with a particular viciousness which was almost petty. Draco was only allowed to fly after acknowledging to Professor McGonagall that using Zephyr powers equated a permanent ban from Quidditch. No doubt Harry had to make the same promise in order to participate in this game. Damn Gryffindors, always so noble. Draco was sure that if Snape was in charge of overseeing Quidditch, he would at least let Draco, a member of his own house, get away with cheating. Not that Harry needed to cheat, of course.
The game began for Draco not with the throw of the Quaffle, but when Harry took to the air. Draco brought out his omnioculars just so he could have a closer look, but they were promptly monopolized by Pansy, whom, to Draco’s dread, was very blatantly pointing the viewing lenses at Harry. He sat back as calmly as he could, but kept an eye on Pansy just in case she wanted to try anything underhanded.
On his broom, Harry spared no eyes for Draco or anyone on the stands. His focus was centralized on the Snitch the moment it was released into the air. Meanwhile, Weasley, still relatively new at being a Keeper, projected his own doubts through his body language all too clearly. He flew in little increments around the hoops, nervous and twitchy. Draco almost felt bad for him.
Slytherins were going to cheer for Ravenclaw, there was never any debate in the matter. Even Blaise, who knew all too well of Draco’s position, screamed and shouted encouragements at the Ravenclaw beaters. Draco just sat back and watched his Harry. There was no way Harry would lose the game. All he had to do was not to catch the Snitch too early. Harry had a bit of a showman in him, and Draco could understand that desire to drag out a beautiful ending to its very climax.
Half an hour in, Gryffindor was leading 20 to 0. Ravenclaw’s spirit was already down from losing to Slytherin two weeks ago. Draco didn’t expect them to recover anytime soon, not with the way Gryffindor was hounding at them. Oddly enough, amid the cheers of his schoolmates, Draco felt incredibly calm. For the first time in months, he felt no urgent need to fix something, to run away. He was merely content to sit in the cold and watch Harry fly.
Draco was happy, and he wanted to bathe in that joy for a while longer. But life was not so kind. When Ravenclaw scored their first point and the Gryffindor beater Coote simultaneously committed a foul out of irritation, the crowd flew into frenzy. As everyone was loudly waving and cheering in distraction, Draco felt a tug on his sleeve.
Pansy’s mouth found his ear just as he was about to turn in inquiry. “Draco, I found a long-distant itching spell,” she said to him loud enough over the din of the crowd, but low enough to escape attention. “Want me to cast it on Potter? Poor thing, you must be so frustrated having to pretend to be nice to him all these weeks. Let’s have ourselves a little laugh.”
She raised her casting arm, wand tip just peeking out of her sleeve.
Draco grabbed it without thinking. From the way Pansy stared at him, he wasn’t sure whether he was fast enough to put on a more nonchalant expression over his angry one.
“Don’t be so immature, Pansy,” he drawled in his normal tone of voice though his fingers itched to break Pansy’s wand. “We’re sixth years, for Salazar’s sake. Control yourself.”
She rolled her eyes, displeased but still obedient. Meanwhile, on the field, Gryffindor promptly scored another ten points in retaliation. When Draco was sure that Pansy’s attention was once more completely focused on the match, he sought out Harry’s figure again. This time, comfortable complacency was nudged away by a gnawing worry for Harry’s well-being.
The match lasted for another twenty minutes, during which Gryffindor scored three times and Ravenclaw twice. It was clear that Gryffindor’s new batch of Chasers had none of the experience of the girls from the last few years. Either that, or they had all too much faith in their Seeker and were too relaxed. Draco had just as much trust in Harry’s abilities. He was already fantasizing about the eventual Gryffindor-Slytherin game, always the Quidditch highlight of the year, even more so this year for more personal reasons.
Draco spotted the Snitch a bare second after Harry began to move. The playful little tease (the Snitch, not Harry) was bouncing around Ravenclaw’s highest goal post, making a halo-shaped circle behind Ravenclaw’s Keeper. Harry shot toward it, catching the attention of the entire school and Chang. She darted toward the same direction, all the while seeking out the Snitch with her own eyes just to make sure Harry wasn’t attempting a feint.
The Snitch stayed in sight long enough for Harry and Chang to cross three-quarters of the stadium. Then it raced for the sky, tugging the two Seekers into higher altitude. Both Harry and Chang flew on fearlessly. The school was on its feet.
Once above center field, as if it too possessed a sense for the theatrics, the Snitch fell into a sudden descent right down the very middle. Harry and Chang changed directions on sharp turns and chased after their prize, chilly November wind battering mercilessly at their faces.
Draco could not stand. He was rooted to his quaking seat. To his surprise, he was chanting an unflattering mantra in his head, begging Harry to be safe, even at the risk of losing the game. Wronski Feints, especially when they were for real, were nothing to joke about.
Chang was unforgiving even as Harry began to gain a clear lead. Even from afar, Draco could see a warrior-like determination in her eyes. Ravenclaw beaters relentlessly send Bludgers after Harry, all thankfully dodged with expertise. Forty feet above the ground, Harry stretched out his palm just as Chang’s fingers became close enough to touch the bristles of Harry’s Firebolt.
Then, as if driven on by adrenaline, determination, and the pure athletic desire to win, Harry fingers twitched. Draco was sure Harry didn’t do it on purpose, because there was no way he’d risk the rest of his Hogwarts Quidditch career for this one game. The truth, however, was inescapable. With that one simple twitch, a small gust of wind gathered around the Snitch and trapped it for a barely discernible second. If Draco did not share the Zephyr blood, he was sure he wouldn’t have caught it either. But he did, and he saw all too clearly that same horrified expression across Harry’s countenance even as he fingers closed around the Snitch.
The crowd exploded. Harry Potter did it again. Draco couldn’t stand.
On the field, Harry dropped to the ground, Snitch in hand. Chang landed next to him and they shook hands. But Harry wasn’t smiling.
Through the cheers and boos, Draco could just make out an angrily muttered “Unbelievable!” from Pansy. Next thing he knew, she had performed Sonorus and was announcing to the entire school, “Cheat! Harry Potter is a cheat!”
The rebounding reaction was a mix of indignant cries from the Slytherin stands and disbelieving shouts from the rest of the school. Over in the teacher’s viewing stand, Snape was sitting back, failingly hiding a vicious smirk. Tonks looked worried. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall frantically made her way over. When the blockade of students became too dense, she summoned a nearby broom and flew to the Slytherin stands.
“Now, what is this?” Professor McGonagall huffed. She was equally peeved about this accusation on her star player, but from the little glances she shot at Draco, he knew the knowledge she held about Harry’s recent changes cast some doubts in her mind.
Pansy turned her nose up high at their Transfigurations instructor and presented to her Draco’s omniculars. “It’s not false accusation, Professor. I have proof. I saw Potter do something to the Snitch just before he caught it. Its wings didn’t beat. Just press replay. You’ll see.” Pansy’s voice was naturally high. With the whole stadium in a hushed silence, her voices carried out all too well.
McGonagall took the omniculars. She wrung it between her fingers, and Draco could already tell that she believed Pansy’s words completely.
Without thinking, Draco’s said, “Those are defective.”
McGonagall glared at him. The important thing at the moment was not to besmirch Harry’s name in front of his beloved public. So Draco held a palm and said in his best Lucius imitation, “Those are mine, actually, and they’ve been wonky for weeks. I’d like them back, if you don’t mind, Professor.”
“Draco!” Pansy sputtered next to him.
He rolled his eyes as dramatically as possible. “For Merlin’s sake, Pansy, it’s freezing. I’d rather not stay out here while you waste Professor McGonagall’s time. Everyone knows it’s impossible to breach the anti-tempering spells on a Snitch. I think you’re giving Potter too much credit.”
Frowning, Pansy looked away, actually doubting herself. Draco wasn’t lying in one sense, it took a much more advanced and mature wizard than Potter to alter the protective spells on a Snitch. But McGonagall was glaring at him, disappointed, and down on the field, Harry and Weasley were both looking contrite. They truly were the guilty party this time.
Even though she remained indecisive, McGonagall must’ve realized that it wouldn’t look too good for her to push for proof of Harry’s little peccadillo while Draco Malfoy of people defended him. She handed over his omniculars, face stormy.
As students dispersed, grumbling about uncertain accusations, Draco chanced a glance at his Intended. Harry dashed to his locker room ahead of everyone else. Draco could read shame in the bend of the boy’s back.
The school was in an odd little squall after the game. Some (mostly Slytherin) believed in Pansy, others remained loyal to Harry, but all shared the view that if Draco Malfoy said the omniculars were defective, he must’ve been telling the truth, because there was no need for him to stand up for Harry Potter.
Draco himself had to endure glares from Snape, as if he was personally responsible for taking away another chance to publicly humiliate Potter. Harry had disappeared into the safe confines of the Gryffindor common room, where Draco could not follow. So Draco dragged Blaise into the Room of Requirement and began another torturous Occlumency lesson. Amazingly, Blaise must’ve read his mood and decided to keep quiet.
They both missed dinner. Around eight, Blaise left after making some surprising headway and Draco, preoccupied with only one thought in mind, summoned up a bed and fell dead asleep into it.
When he woke up again, the first thing he saw was the back of Harry’s head. The boy slept a good distant away from him, curled up on the other side of the bed. Draco had to rub his eyes for an entire minute just to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming.
Slowly, he reached out. Inch by inch, he draped himself over Harry, elbow over elbow, knee above knee. He didn’t exhale until he had Harry’s legs trapped firmly between his and the Gryffindor’s torso tightly enclosed in his embrace. It was only then that he let himself sneak a peak at Harry’s face... only to find clear green eyes study him blankly.
“Oh,” Draco whispered, face flaming, “how long have you been awake?”
“I was never asleep. Just needed to get away from my House. You were sleeping when I got here.”
“Oh. I see. How long was I asleep?” he asked, more to himself really, still groggy despite the nice surprise he found upon waking up. It was even nicer that Harry wasn’t struggling at all.
Harry looked away. From such close distance, Draco could hear a little sigh that came with the answer, “I guess ever since Zabini left two hours ago.”
“How’d you...”
A finger guided his sight to a clump of Firebolt, Invisibility Cloak and Marauder’s Map by the foot of the bed the room supplied for Draco.
Before he could come up with an excuse, Harry spoke again tonelessly, “And he was here Sunday, too, when I was checking the map to see whether you had been waiting.”
No question was forthcoming, and Harry’s expression was still undisturbed. If it weren’t for the fact that Harry thought it worthy of a subject to bring up, Draco would’ve gladly let it go.
“Pansy wouldn’t shut up,” Draco supplied, knowing fully well that this wouldn’t account for the first time he and Blaise ended up here, “and we wanted some peace.”
Harry didn’t pursue the subject. Instead, he wiggled pleasantly between Draco’s legs.
“I’m shocked, Malfoy. You went a whole ten minutes without actively molesting me.”
In the face of Harry’s sudden dry sense of humor, Draco could do nothing but chuckle uncomfortably. “Yes, it’s quite a hardship. I don’t think I can, oh, yes, here’s we go.”
Lips connected and Harry didn’t tense. Draco seized the moment to worm his way behind Harry’s lips. But mere kissing wouldn’t be defined as molestation, so Draco let his hands wander, squeezing tendons and prodding pressure points beneath Harry’s pristinely ironed shirt.
Harry’s hips jerked closer when Draco’s fingers nudged a particular spot beneath his ribs. “Yes,” Draco groaned as he felt his beloved’s hardness. It was the unspoken permission he needed to start unbuttoning.
Harry’s chest was soon laid out before him, and he chose a shoulder to nibble on. There was no sense getting himself worked up too much, not when he was certain Harry wouldn’t let him go too far. So he took his time, mouth and hands teased and provoked. If he couldn’t go wild, he could at least drive Harry crazy.
It actually took a while to extract the first verbal proof of Harry’s arousal, a long-winded five minutes of sucking and biting at Harry’s neck. When Harry finally moaned, there was already a sizable bruise near his clavicle.
“Good?” Draco blew into his ear, then licked it for good measure.
Harry gasped, arms tightened around Draco’s shoulders for support. His red cheeks turned away, even as he ground his thigh against Draco’s half-hard arousal in retaliation.
“Not fair,” his words shuddered. A more natural chuckle was about to rise up from Draco’s throat when Harry whimpered again, pushing his thigh even further between Draco’s legs. “Why is it that you don’t have to be faithful anyway?”
The sudden change brought Draco’s exploration to a screeching halt. He stared confusedly at a panting Harry. “Wait, you think...”
Ever the daring Gryffindor, Harry actually reached down to grab Draco’s half limp erection. “What’s the matter,” he asked almost viciously, “used it all up on Zabini?”
“Wha... Blaise?!” The unfounded accusation was so far-fetched Draco couldn’t help but laugh. “Harry, please. We were just talking about our family’s Yule plans. I wouldn’t touch Blaise like that if he were gilded with gold.”
Harry didn’t speak. He just squeezed Draco’s private parts again, as if that’s all the evidence he needed.
Draco shook his head fondly. “And here I was, trying to hold back. Silly Gryffindor. Keep your hand there.”
It didn’t take much for Little Draco to stand up at full attention. The thought that Harry might be jealous over Blaise (of all people!) alone was enough to stir Draco’s blood. His kiss sought for Harry’s very soul, letting his desires loose.
His trousers became extremely constraining, but he stopped, knowing Harry’s hesitant nature concerning their relationship. He leaned back and quietly watched as Harry’s contracted pupils clouded over with lust.
Harry didn’t let go, not even when Draco’s full erection began to leak. His quivering fingers went for Draco’s zipper instead.
Shaking, Draco said regretfully, “If you’re trying to prove something...”
“I’m not.” Harry pushed him down and towered over him, cheekbones flushed with blood but his movements continued on assuredly. “I’m...” He paused and freed his own arousal. Draco was the first to look away this time, unable to stand the sight of his erection rubbing against Harry’s when the sheer sensation was enough to make him come.
To his consternation, Harry kept talking. Even the heavy hitches in his breath weren’t doing much to repair Draco’s ego, not when Draco could barely think about this point. “I’m thinking of quitting Quidditch.”
“Morgana’s skirt, Harry!” Draco sobbed.
“Professor McGonagall said we’re to have a rematch with Ravenclaw in two weeks,” Harry murmured against Draco’s open neck, of which he was currently softly kissing.
“No,” Draco struggled, “no McGonagall.” That was one image he didn’t need on hid mind at the moment.
“Okay,” Harry replied. His mouth finally stopped but his lips didn’t. As his fist formed a tight canal around their shared intimacies, Harry sucked and licked at Draco’s right ear, the tip of his tongue making little overtures inside and out of the curved shell. Draco’s hands clutched at Harry’s hips helplessly, so turned on by Harry’s sudden assertiveness he could only lay back and enjoy this rare treatment. He’d never admit to the embarrassingly wanton pleads Harry managed to get out of him, but even he could not deny the trembling “Harry!” he’d shouted to the ceiling when he finally came over Harry’s hand.
Harry finished more silently, his eyes lit up with fondness even as the downturn of his lips spoke proof of his sadness. They didn’t bother to clean up. A simple cleaning spell later would suffice. It felt necessary for Harry to just drop down on top of him and burrow himself into Draco’s chest.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” was all Draco could think of to say.
Harry snorted. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong, but I still cheated.”
“You would’ve won anyway.”
Soiled hands clutched at the sides of Draco’s shirt. “But I might do it again. Especially if I don’t get to the Snitch first. It’s not fair.”
Draco paused. “I want to play against you,” he admitted.
Harry sighed deeply. “Ginny will be more than a good match for you. You’ll see her against Cho in two weeks.”
Draco didn’t push the subject any further. He didn’t think Harry wanted to talk anymore either. He let his Intended sleep instead, his forever tousled head of hair pliant and soft under Draco’s fingers. The pace of Harry’s breath calmed quickly. Draco asked the room for a blanket. It covered Harry’s vulnerabilities from the chin down, covered the evidence of their combined orgasm, covered the sight of Draco’s wilted arousal resting beneath the steady pressure of Harry’s lower stomach.
However uncomfortable, he’d let Harry sleep until morning. There wasn’t much he could do for the boy, not when it was their Zephyr tie that presented this new dilemma to Harry. But maybe it was the hint of normalcy Harry truly needed, that with so much tragedy and darkness in his life, Harry could still share the aches and pains of any other school boy worried for something as trivial as Quidditch.
- TBC
- 12
- 13
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