Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Endurance	By : WinterRaven Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 29171 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any of Harry Potter universe. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-One
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 5-Five
- 6-Six
- 7-Seven
- 8-Eight
- 9-Nine
- 10-Ten
- 11-Eleven
- 12-Twelve
- 13-Thirteen
- 14-Fourteen
- 15-Fifteen
- 16-Sixteen
- 17-Seventeen
- 18-Eighteen
- 19-Nineteen
- 20-Twenty
- 21-Twenty-One
- 22-Twenty-Two
- 23-Twenty-Three
- 24-Twenty-Four
- 25-Twenty-Five
- 26-Twenty-Six
- 27-Twenty-Seven
- 28-Twenty-Eight
- 29-Twenty-Nine
- 30-Thirty
- 31-Thirty-One
- 32-Thirty-Two
- 33-Thirty-Three
- 34-Thirty-Four
- 35-Thirty-Five
- 36-Thirty-Six
- 37-Thirty-Seven
- 38-Thirty-Eight
- 15
- 16
- 17
Sixteen

Elisha left Harry to contemplate much that evening. She went to her bedroom without another word and Harry parted into his, slowly, his brain teeming with so many thoughts. Fate. Draco. The fact that Draco was struggling to stay and wait for him. Harry knew Elisha wouldn’t lie to him about that, so what did this all mean?

Harry plopped into his bed. Hedwig gave a dull hoot from the windowsill before taking flight into the breezy, balmy night.

Draco.

What would happen between them in real life, in the world of the conscious? Harry felt suddenly nervous, his stomach flipping uncomfortably. In his dreams he was safe, he was cushioned by the fact that it wasn’t reality, that it was private, his own to enjoy…but now that school was back in session, he would see Draco everywhere, no doubt. He would share classes with the blonde. He could no longer control when it was Draco came into his consciousness. And what would Draco do when they finally did see each other? Would he sneer as usual and reject Harry outright? What would happen now that they were inextricably tied together by Elisha? Harry wondered what her intentions were; she seemed keen on the two becoming friends…What if she wanted them to be more? Harry’s heart skipped. No, he was projecting. Elisha didn’t want that. He did.

Harry turned on his side, curled up into a ball. The moonlight lit the room, cascading on his bed. He sighed, glad he had his own space. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to lay down quietly and mull through his thoughts if he were in Gryffindor tower surrounded by others.

He wondered what Draco was doing now. Did he actually rejoin the feast? Perhaps he lied and went to his bed before others occupied the dorm they shared. Perhaps he was mulling over disconnected and confused thoughts as well. With a rush of hot blood to his face, Harry remembered Draco’s voice as he spoke to Elisha—his soft, kind tone, his genuine happiness. What a beautiful, deep, reverberating sound. Harry wished Draco would address him that way; he wished they could put aside their differences and just…talk.

I can’t believe I like him, Harry thought, paralyzed with the realization. He was gay and infatuated with none other than his archenemy. What irony, Harry thought, now annoyed with himself. He rolled over again and stared out the window.

Sleep did not come to him that night either.

*

The next morning dawned crisp and cold into Harry’s room. The boy shivered awake with the dew, halfway between sleep and consciousness. He showered, changed into his school robes and went down to the Great Hall, hoping to find either Ron or Hermione awake and breakfasting.

He was lucky that Hermione was there. She was among the handful in the hall since it was only seven. She was putting some scrambled eggs and toast on her plate, a copy of The Daily Prophet opened and leaning over a giant goblet of juice. Harry sat right next to her.

“Harry!” she exclaimed happily, pushing aside the paper at once. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” the boy responded, dragging forth a jug of steaming coffee. He poured himself a cup and downed it in one gulp.

“What was keeping you awake?”

Hermione’s question was posed in innocence, Harry knew, but he choked briefly on his second cup of coffee anyway. Hermione eyed him, surprised and curious. She brushed her bushy hair out of her face so her eyes had clear focus of Harry. The boy suddenly became self-conscious and looked down.

“Dunno,” Harry mumbled.

“Does it have something to do with Elisha?” Hermione pressed. “I know she wasn’t well last night. Is she still upset?”

“What? No, no. She was fine, eventually…” Harry trailed off and sighed. “I’m not sure if now is the right time to talk about what’s actually bothering me.”

Hermione put her fork down.

“Is it Occulmency troubles again?”

Harry laughed harshly.

“God, I wish that were the problem,” he said.

He was taking another gulp of his coffee, thinking over whether or not to be honest with Hermione, when he made the error of glancing at the front of the hall, where the entrance door was. Harry gave a real choke this time as the liquid spilled down the wrong passage and into his lungs instead of his esophagus. Draco Malfoy had just stepped into the hall, quite alone and looking as though he too hadn’t slept.

Harry felt Hermione’s strong hand come down on his back as she tried to help him regain his breath.

“Fuck,” he whispered, coughing wildly.

With a thrill of dread he saw Draco glance over his way, since he was being quite loud in the nearly empty hall. The boys locked eyes. Harry ceased coughing immediately and stared at the blonde with a mixture of horror and attraction.

Draco, it seemed, had grown over the summer as well. He was much taller than Harry remembered, and thinner too, much thinner than he had been in Harry’s dreams. Like Elisha, he bore the signs of slight stress and weeks of sleep deprivation. His normally luminous pale skin lost its luster over the summer, but somehow this suited him more, granted him a new air of mysteriousness. Perhaps it was because he was wearing a magnificent black suit but he looked almost like a porcelain figure, though not too delicate; even from afar, Harry could make out neatly trimmed stubble on his cheeks. His white blonde hair was slicked back on his head, throwing his eyes into sharper prominence. They glared at Harry with expected coldness and dislike.

Harry glanced away promptly. He did not realize he was flushed, so red it was obvious from feet away that he was embarrassed and caught off guard. But he had misread Draco’s look entirely; the grey eyes were not cold and hard, but glinting and curious with a keen aftershock. The blonde watched him for a few more moments as Harry tried to distract himself by piling his plate with food he knew he wouldn’t eat. Hermione was staring at Harry with her mouth slightly open.

“What the hell was that?” she hissed under her breath, glancing back and forth between Harry’s tomato red face and Draco. The blonde perched himself at the farthest end of the hall so his front faced Harry’s trembling back.

“I…I dunno what you’re talking about,” Harry said weakly. He was cursing himself. How was he supposed to survive this year if barely any interaction with Draco drove him to nausea?

“Bullshit,” Hermione said back. Harry’s head shot up in awe. She never swore.

“Did something happen between you two?”

“No,” Harry sighed. Hermione could tell he was being truthful. “No, this is all in my head.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look,” Harry said, leaning in to her so they were so close it almost seemed as though they would kiss. Draco had noticed this and dropped his knife with a loud clang, but neither Harry nor Hermione turned to look at the source of the sound. “I…okay, Hermione, please don’t…don’t judge me—”

“Harry you know I won’t!” she said, her eyes wide and waiting. “Spill the beans.”

“I think I’m gay,” Harry said his eyes staring at the ceiling now.

Hermione sat back from him and smirked.

“Well that’s always been obvious,” she remarked.

“I—what?”

“Harry, you’ve always been terrible with girls…you never really seemed attracted to any.”

“How…how could you tell? Is it that obvious?”

“Only if you’re looking for the signs,” Hermione admitted. “But I’ve always gotten a feeling you weren’t straight. When did you figure it out on your own? Did you snog Elisha or something?”

Harry shook his head wildly.

“I would never!” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “Jesus, Hermione I view her and you like my sisters. Nothing more.”

“I believe you,” she whispered.

“No it was…well, I might as well just tell you the whole truth,” Harry muttered, the color rising in his face again. “It was Malfoy that made me realize, actually.”

Hermione blinked, stunned.

“But…but you just said nothing happened between you two.”

“Nothing ever did,” Harry continued, evening his breathing now. “I…I’ve been having these dreams…”

“Dreams?” Hermione asked in a hollow voice.

“Don’t judge me—!”

“I’m not!”

“Okay, okay,” Harry said hastily. “He and Elisha are old friends, apparently, and she mentioned him once over the summer and…ever since then…”

“Wow,” Hermione breathed. She crossed her arms and examined Harry deeply. “Of all the people!”

Harry scoffed.

“Tell me about it. I wonder why it has to be him.”

Hermione smiled slightly.

“But he’s so cruel to you. To me. To Ron,” she said.

“I know… I… Malfoy and I aren’t friends or anything. It…it doesn’t matter. Did you see the way he looked at me right now? He hates me,” Harry finished with sadness in his voice. “I don’t even know why it is I like him. He’s not that good looking anyway.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh.

“Harry, he’s probably the most good looking guy in this school,” she admitted. “Aside from Ron, of course.” She smiled again.

“You think he’s attractive too?”

“I think the entire student body does,” Hermione said matter-of-factly.

“Hell,” Harry snarled, knocking over his cup in agitation. He ignored the coffee as it seeped throughout the table. No one else was around so it didn’t matter to him. “When did this happen?”

“Since he stepped on the campus,” Hermione said, biting back the tone of amusement in her voice.

Harry swore again.

“He wasn’t looking at you with hatred either,” Hermione informed Harry. Harry had his head in his hands now. “I don’t know what that look was but it certainly wasn’t hate.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said weakly.

From the other side of the room, Draco was not eating. He was pretending to read a thick volume on defensive spells but his eyes were not moving on the pages; he was glancing furiously back and forth between the useless text and Harry’s rigid back.

“Does Ron know this?” Hermione asked Harry.

Harry shook his head.

“Imagine what he’d do!” Harry moaned, feeling cold and clammy at the thought. “He’d probably flip.”

Hermione’s face darkened.

“No, Harry, he’d flip if you didn’t tell him. He’d want to know,” she whispered. “Does Elisha know?”

“Yes,” Harry said quietly.

“What does she have to say about this, considering Malfoy’s her friend?”

“She says he and I are fools for hating each other.”

“Maybe she’s right,” Hermione said.

Harry looked up at her.

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not Harry,” Hermione continued, now sitting with one leg on either side of the bench so she was facing her friend directly. “You two have treated each other like crap since you met but that was so many years ago. We were eleven for goodness sake! People change. You certainly have. What if he’s changed too?”

“I…I can’t believe you of all people are advocating this!”

Hermione shrugged.

“If it’ll make you happy, I don’t see why I shouldn’t—”

“I won’t be with someone who hates you!” Harry said, his voice much louder than he intended. Draco could hear every word and sat with his back stiff. His face had about it an uncharacteristic flush. Harry was scowling as he said, “Someone who calls you filthy things and hates you because of your blood status is despicable.”

Hermione leaned forward and hugged him.

“Thank you, Harry,” she whispered. “But like I said, maybe he’s changed.”

“I doubt it,” Harry snarled harshly. “People don’t change that drastically. He’s his father’s puppet, remember?”

Harry did not know Draco heard those words filled with so much contempt. He did not know it pierced the blonde like a knife in his chest.

And Harry suddenly remembered why he disliked, perhaps loathed, Draco, why he had never bothered to notice the blonde’s beauty before, why he never allowed himself to fantasize about the boy; all of the glowing sentiments he placed on Draco over the summer seemed to have vanished in an instant. He knew he could not permit himself to fall for someone who abused one of his dearest friends so deeply, someone who was so prejudiced and judgmental.

But Hermione’s last words did not seem to want to leave him: Maybe he’s changed.

Elisha had been advocating a similar sentiment. Could it be true? Could Draco have actually disavowed his old ways? Could he have grown more open-minded, more kindhearted, mature? Harry doubted it deeply but Hermione’s voice still nagged him.

“When will you tell Ron?” she asked with a sigh.

Harry returned to reality at once, unaware that Draco had swept promptly from the hall.

“When?” Harry asked quietly.

“Yes, Harry. You have to tell him! He’s your best friend.”

Harry hung his head; he hated admitting to himself that he wanted to delay telling Ron as much as possible, but he knew Hermione was right.

“I don’t know,” Harry finally said. “I guess I…” Harry paused and took a deep breath. “Tonight. I’ll do it tonight.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Harry’s rashness.

“So soon? I though you would say in a few days,” she responded.

“No, the sooner the better.”

“If you think it’s best.”

Harry nodded and gulped down some air.

“Why don’t you and he meet me in my room tonight? How does eight sound?”

“That works,” Hermione said. “I’ll let him know.”

“Thanks,” Harry whispered. He rose from the bench.

“Where are you off to?” Hermione asked. “You need your schedule.”

“Oh…right,” Harry said, glancing over at the teacher’s table. He knew he needed to find McGonagall and there she was, one of the few awake at this hour, reading the newspaper over her breakfast. “I’ll get it from McGonagall and I’ll see you in class, okay?”

Hermione bid him a thoughtful farewell.

Harry strode to the teacher’s table, purposefully keeping his eyes forward. He did not want to look anywhere near Draco’s direction and so intent was he on looking away that he still had not noticed the blonde’s absence. The only professors present were McGonagall and Flitwick. He approached McGonagall cautiously.

“Good morning, Professor,” he said to her.

She glanced down at him with her beady eyes.

“Hello, Potter. You’re up early,” she remarked in her cool tones.

Harry grinned sheepishly.

“I know, Professor… Er, I was wondering if I could have my schedule please?”

“Certainly, Potter,” she said, reaching down into a large bag and pulling forth a huge folder onto the table. She sifted through its contents before handing Harry two schedules. “The second is for Miss Granger.”

“Thanks, Professor.”

She nodded as Harry went back to Hermione, handed her the schedule and departed with his own. He was walking toward the doors to the Great Hall when he was overcome with the urge to look in Draco’s direction, but with heaviness in his chest, he finally realized the blonde was gone. When did he leave?

Harry sighed as he stepped into the quiet corridor, looking down at his schedule. He had a free block every morning, but that day comprised of Potions, Transfiguration and Charms. He wouldn’t have any classes until ten and it wasn’t yet eight. Harry, not knowing where else to go as he mulled over the conversation he and Hermione just had, returned to Snape’s quarters.

He was opening the entrance door when he heard muffled sounds coming from Elisha’s room, sounds of shuffling and organizing. He blinked, staring at the closed door. Perhaps she was awake? Harry knocked softly.

“Yes?” came back to him through the mahogany.

“It’s Harry,” the boy said.

“Come in!”

Harry pushed the door open and walked into Elisha’s room, scanning it properly for the first time. The dark curtains were opened, so the sun was visible in small slits over the multicolored rug; black clothes were strewn on the floor, as were piles upon piles of books of all shapes and sizes. A few opened texts lay on the ground by her bed. Her wand was strewn next to one of them. Perhaps she had been practicing spells? Elisha was leaning over a particularly large pile of books, almost her height. She looked haughty in her black pajamas.

“Good morning,” she said to Harry as she took a book from the top of the pile she was next to and threw it on her disheveled bed.

“Hey,” Harry said quietly. “I know it’s early…but can I talk to you?”

“You can talk to me anytime,” she said kindly. She pointed to a clear space at the edge of her bed. Harry sat quickly on the squishy mattress and glanced over at her, feeling clammy. She joined him.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“I just told Hermione I’m gay.”

Elisha’s face broke into a smile; it lit up her features so she was almost glowing.

“That’s wonderful!” Elisha exclaimed. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Harry whispered. “I’m telling Ron later.”

“Even better,” she said, crossing her legs and looking at Harry intently.

“I suppose,” the boy said listlessly. “I…I also saw Draco.”

“Did you?” Elisha asked, her voice suddenly sharp.

“Down in the dining hall, yeah.”

“What happened?”

“We looked at each other…but… I can’t like him,” Harry said with strong finality in his voice. Elisha’s smile fell completely.

“You can’t like him,” she repeated, monotone.

“Right.”

“Care to explain?”

“He…he hates Hermione. He hates her because she’s not a Pureblood. I can’t allow myself to like anyone who’s so prejudiced.”

Elisha’s eyes were hard. Harry could not tell if she was angry or not. He chose not to look at her.

“I think that is a fair thing to say,” she finally responded. “Your loyalty to your friends is admirable.”

But Harry looked despondent.

“How are you friends with him if he’s so prejudiced?” Harry whispered.

“I’ve never seen that side of him,” she admitted, speaking slowly as though weighing every word. “I find it…difficult to imagine him believing in any of that Pureblood mania, really.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“He has never given me any reason to believe he’s a purist. He doesn’t speak ill of others around me—”

“Unless it’s about me, apparently,” Harry interjected.

“You’re right,” Elisha said curtly. “He has contempt when he speaks about you but I’ve shared my views on why I think he does that.”

“I know,” Harry mumbled, running his thin hand through his messy hair. “Hermione says…she says maybe he’s changed.”

Elisha’s eyes flashed with curiosity. It seemed as though she were trying to contain a smile.

“Do you think he’s changed?” Harry whispered.

“He is very different now than he was a few months ago. I don’t think coming out did him any favors to be honest. The loss of his other friends has humbled him.”

“He lost his friends?”

Harry felt panicked now; would he lose Ron too?

“Yes,” Elisha said with a sigh. “But friendships come and go. I daresay he needed the experience, really. He needed the independence, the introspection… He needed to deflate his ego a little bit.”

Harry looked away, mulling over what Elisha just said and then muttered, “Is…there any point in me liking him?”

“Is there any point in doing anything?” Elisha shot back.

For the first time, Harry scowled at her and was surprised to see her reaction was to smile.

“My advice?” she continued, leaning forward as though charged by Harry’s annoyed look, “is to wait and see what happens between you two. Take things one day at a time.”

“What if nothing happens?”

The dreaded words left Harry before he could stop them.

“Then nothing happens,” Elisha said simply, examining Harry’s face with her roaming eyes. “But I get the feeling that isn’t what fate’s got planned for you two.”

Harry stared at her and felt his heart race wildly.

Though he was trying to deny it, he got the same feeling too.

*

He left Elisha some time after so he could head down to his first class of the day, Potions. Dreading encountering an angry Snape, Harry made sure to arrive early. He ran into his fellow Gryffindors lined up in the hallway and pushed through until he snuggled himself between Ron and Hermione.

“Oy,” Ron said to him, hoisting his backpack up his shoulder. “What’s up, mate?”

Harry shrugged, frowning slightly. Draco was glaring at him from a corner, hidden in shadows, alone. The blonde went unnoticed by everyone in the hall, Harry included. Hermione smiled at Harry as the dungeon doors opened and from its insides emerged Snape’s voice, so cold and cruel that it sent a shiver down Harry’s back.

“Enter.”

The students hushed immediately. Harry, Ron and Hermione threw each other meaningful looks as they descended into the familiar, icy, dark room set up with three cauldrons at each long table. Students mulled into their seats; the trio grabbed a table together in the farthest corner.

Snape snapped the dungeon door shut behind him. He swept back to the front of the class, his eyes glinting malevolently as his black robes billowed behind him. Harry could not be help but be impressed with the man; the fact that he could switch his personality so drastically, that he could so convincingly play the part of evil, anger, viciousness. Though Harry now knew it was just an act, he still felt deeply uncomfortable and worried at Snape’s demeanor; he had within him the same fear of when he was eleven years old and in Snape’s class for the first time. He eyed the Potions Master wearily.

“Well,” Snape sneered to the silent class in a soft, silky voice, “It seems as if we are reunited for another year. Let me assure you, it is no pleasure for me at all.”

Some of the students to the left side of the chamber scoffed; Harry glanced over at them quickly and with a skip of his heart, realized they were Slytherins, which must mean—

Harry let out a tiny gasp that went unnoticed by Ron or Hermione.

Their eyes caught again, his and Draco’s.

The grey pair was glittering, that was apparent even in the sheer darkness of the dungeon. He was frowning at Harry and the raven-haired boy looked away so quickly it made him dizzy. Snape’s last words were drowned out to him as Harry tried to regain his composure, his breathing, his heart rate. He felt the heat rising in his face. Draco had not looked away.

But when Harry glanced down at his desk, it was to find an exam paper directly before him. Harry blinked, confused and stared at Ron. The redhead was frowning from the exam back to Snape before he raised his eyebrows at Harry.

Fuck, Harry thought as Snape’s voice rang in his eardrums, “You will have two hours to complete this exam. It is a review of the lessons we’ve had over the past five years. There will be no talking and no looking around.” Snape glided behind his own desk and snarled, “You may begin.”

There was a general sound of rummaging as students reached for a writing utensil. Harry grabbed his inkwell and quill from his bag and rose the instrument to the paper, his hand shaking. There was no way he could complete this test, considering he was already so distracted by a certain blonde. He did not want to look up and had to force his eyes to remain glued to the paper before him. He wrote his name at the top of the parchment but it smudged so severely it was hardly legible.

Harry glanced down at the first question: 1A. Describe the anatomy of an Acromantula. 1 B. Describe in which ways its venom is extracted. 1C. Describe which three draughts its venom is used for. 1D. Describe, in detail, how each draught is brewed and their effects.

Harry groaned. He immediately thought of Aragog, but no articulate sentence came into his head. He wondered if Snape would let him get away with failing this one test. To his right, Ron was staring at his paper with a mixture of fear and loathing. To his left, Hermione’s hand was flying so quickly across the paper it looked as though she was a blur. Other Gryffindors were as equally puzzled and frustrated as he. Already distracted, Harry could not help but glance back over in Draco’s direction.

The blonde was sitting with his back stiff and straight, both his arms were extended in front of his exam. Draco was glancing down at the paper, his expression unreadable. With a jolt, Harry realized he was the only Slytherin sitting alone. A few of his fellow classmates cast him odd looks every now and then, including his two former cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, who were behind Draco at a table with Pansy Parkinson. Harry felt sudden pity for Draco, the fact that Elisha was right—he did lose his friends. Harry prayed that would not happen to him.

Harry looked away from Draco just in time because the blonde had cast his eyes up at Harry’s figure. The raven-haired boy did not glance back at his blonde classmate for the rest of the class and instead diverted all of his attention to doing decently on this test. Draco, however, stared at Harry for nearly the full two hours. This did not go unnoticed by Snape.

The bell rang, loud and clear at noon, indicating the class was over. With a lazy flick of his wand, Snape directed all of the rolls of parchment to his desk; they landed, gracefully before him.

“Homework,” Snape boomed to the exhausted class, “Read the first three chapters of your new textbook and produce twenty inches of parchment describing in detail a potion of your choice. You may leave.”

The class did so gratefully. The queue to rush from Snape’s dungeons was long and Harry stood, mashed between Ron and Hermione. As he was turning to go, he could have sworn Snape gave him the tiniest of winks. This improved Harry’s mood somewhat as he went to lunch with Ron and Hermione and spent the hour trying to focus on his food. But Harry had no appetite. Ron kept questioning his dour mood but Harry brushed it off to being tired. He finally broke away from the two (and the whole slew of Gryffindors who seemed intent on questioning where he was sleeping now) with the excuse that he forgot his Transfiguration books up in his dorm.

Harry walked into Snape’s quarters, thinking he might steal a nap before his next class. He sighed as he dropped his backpack in the front hallway, right before the kitchen and then he walked straight into Elisha and Draco having a private lunch.

The two were seated at the dining room table, some bowls of untouched food laid between them. Elisha’s back was facing the doorway and Draco’s eyes immediately ran to Harry’s; the blonde could not contain his shock. It was one of the few times Harry had seem him un-composed, his lips slightly parted, his cheeks tinged pink.

“Potter?” he whispered. His voice trembled; Draco could not control it. Harry felt his heart slamming against his ribs again.

“Er…” Harry said; he felt the color rising in his face, red boiling into his cheeks. He cringed, thinking he probably resembled a beet.

Elisha spun around and smiled kindly. Harry focused instead on her, looking directly into her dark eyes, her beautiful, ivory face.

“Hi Harry,” she said, “Are you hungry? There’s some food.”

But Harry didn’t get a chance to answer.

“What are you doing here?” whispered Draco’s cold voice. He seemed to have gotten himself together and was sitting back in his chair, glaring at Harry with his calculated gaze.

“I live here,” Harry shot back, shoving his hands in the pockets of his robes so Draco would not notice them shaking.

“You live here,” Draco repeated coldly. “Why would you live with Snape?”

“Because—” Harry started feebly but Elisha interjected.

“Give him a break, will you?” she said to Draco. Her tone was exasperated. Draco raised his eyebrows at her and whispered, “Anything for you, darling.”

Harry stared at them. If he hadn’t known better he would assume they were lovers, especially from Draco’s tone. Harry tried to will his body to move. He needed to get away, somewhere, anywhere. He wanted to lock himself in his room and never come out.

“Well, Potter are you going to stand there all day or are you going to sit?” Draco hissed, his eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“Are you deaf now?”

“Join us, Harry,” Elisha encouraged, speaking loudly over Draco’s insult. She indicated an empty chair in between her and Draco. She seemed agitated, her jaw clenched. Perhaps she was taken aback by Draco’s request as well.

“I-I um…I don’t know if I’m hungry,” Harry said lamely.

“You must be,” Draco whispered. “You didn’t eat anything this morning.”

Elisha and Harry stared at Draco with a mixture of awe and surprise. But Harry did not dignify Draco’s statement with a response. He forced himself to sit down between the blonde and the black haired girl, keeping his eyes downcast, his mind teeming. So Draco was watching him at breakfast. Harry wondered what that meant, if it meant anything.

And now, he and Draco were so close, inches apart. He could almost smell the blonde’s cologne from his seat. Harry tried to master his breathing.

“I don’t remember you ever being this awkward Potter,” Draco drawled, leaning back with casual elegance. Harry shot him a filthy look. “Cat got your tongue?”

“I’m tired,” Harry snapped, looking away as soon as they made eye contact; it was as though the sight of Draco burned his irises.

“Coffee, then?” Draco murmured. He waved his wand and produced a small cup of espresso from thin air. He pushed it over to Harry.

Harry did not touch it.

“It’s not poisoned,” Draco snarled.

Harry removed his shaking hand from his pocket and clasped the little cup. He downed the espresso in one sip, expecting it to be bitter and tasteless, but was surprised when he felt the rich, velvetiness travel past his lips and his throat.

“Er, thanks,” Harry whispered, putting the empty cup back down on the saucer.

“You know what I’ve found always goes well with coffee,” Draco said in return, his voice so low it caused Harry squirm, “is dessert.” The blonde waved his wand again and three small plates of cake appeared before he, Harry and Elisha.

“Since when have you mastered Charms?” Elisha asked, a tone of amusement in her voice as she examined the chocolate cake, lifting the plate up to meet her eyes.

“Boring summers force you to think!” Draco said with little enthusiasm. He did not touch his cake as Elisha happily ate hers. Harry took a bite or two, resisting throwing the plate aside and grabbing Draco’s lips with his own.

Calm down, Harry thought to himself. He could feel his blood boiling with nervousness, with sudden lust so strong he thought he might pass out. He had never felt so overwhelmed with need before.

Relax. Remember, he’s your enemy.

That final thought did the trick. Harry felt his breathing return to normal and gathered the courage necessary to look up at Draco. With another jolt, he found Draco already staring at him; was that a look of concern in Draco’s eyes or was it consternation?

“You look sick, Potter.”

“So do you Malfoy.”

Neither boy said more. A heavy silence hung in the air.

“Potter? Malfoy?” Elisha asked quietly, leaning forward so both her elbows were on the table. She looked majestic with her long hair spilling down about her. “Why do you two address each other by your surnames?”

“Habit,” Draco answered dully.

“Perhaps it’s time to break it?” she suggested, as a crinkle of a smile broke through her features.

“What do you say, Potty?” Draco sneered, turning to Harry. Harry looked back at him defiantly.

“It doesn’t matter to me, Malfoy—”

“Ah! Manners, manners,” Draco whispered, leaning toward Harry now, aligning his eyes with Harry’s wide emerald ones. “No more Malfoy, remember?”

Harry felt his heart betraying him again as it raced. Up close, Draco’s eyes weren’t so much grey but dark, steely blue; they were piercing. They had within them a look that made Harry feel faint—was that hunger? Curiosity? Or was it something less?

“So now I call you…Harry,” Draco hissed, rolling the name off his tongue as though he were sampling a fine wine.

“Draco,” Harry muttered, staring down at his plate of half eaten cake. He felt nauseous.

“Lovely!” Elisha exclaimed but Harry stood up from the table promptly. Both the blonde and Elisha looked taken aback.

“I need to leave,” Harry said his voice hollow, shoving his hands back in his pockets again. “I-I have class in a few minutes.” He was lying through his teeth but he didn’t care.

He did not wait for either of them to say a word as he rushed out of Snape’s quarters, grabbing his bookbag in haste and slamming the door behind him. Harry rushed down the third floor corridor and found a private nook, nestled behind a large staircase. He sat in it, whiling away the next hour before Transfiguration, his mind replaying the way Draco had said his name. He wished he could force the blonde out of his head, make his nausea and nervousness go away but no matter how hard he tried, Draco’s sharp eyes invaded his memory.

Harry hated himself for being so weak.

*

The rest of the day passed with Harry feeling agitated. Harry did not pay attention in either Transfiguration or Charms; Hermione noticed this and tried to get him to talk at dinner, but the boy said nothing. He murmured his request that she and Ron meet him in his room at eight; Ron nodded, watching Harry curiously, as the boy left the Great Hall.

Harry was dreading walking back into Snape’s quarters though. What if Draco was there again? Harry hadn’t felt this level of anxiety in quite some time; he could feel the emotion building underneath his ribs, over his heart. He paced back and forth in front of Snape’s entrance door but did not enter into the quarters. Instead, he waited, scowling, for Ron and Hermione to show up. They did at exactly eight and both expressed their surprise at finding Harry leaning on a wall, waiting for them.

“Let’s walk,” he said stiffly.

Both his friends turned and followed him without protest. Behind him, Ron gave Hermione a worried look. She sighed. The sun was setting quickly now as Harry walked through the front doors of the school and onto the Hogwarts grounds. He had no idea where he was going or when he would stop walking. Clusters of students were on the grounds too, basking in the warm evening. Harry stopped a few feet from a particularly large group that didn’t seem to be paying him any attention.

He turned to face his two friends.

“What’s going on?” Ron asked at once.

He was glancing down at Harry, his arms crossed. He looked stern.

“I…I don’t mean to act like something’s wrong,” Harry said, taking a few steps back so he could look up into Ron’s face clearly. “I just…I’m worried.”

“About?” Ron asked quietly.

“About how you’ll take what I’m going to tell you.”

Ron blinked; he looked taken aback. He brushed his firey-red hair from his face and glanced over at Hermione.

“Go on, Harry,” she said encouragingly.

“Did I do something wrong?” Ron asked, stricken. Harry felt a rush of guilt at the sound of his best friend’s voice cracking that way.

“No, no,” Harry whispered. “This is about me… I just…”

Harry began pacing again. A few of the students lying on the grass now began to watch him curiously but Harry paid them no heed. Harry rushed back over to Ron, his hands trembling. He looked up into Ron’s fierce, crystal eyes and then blurted his confession.

“I’m gay.”

Ron did not respond right away. Harry couldn’t read the expression that passed over Ron’s face; it seemed he was struggling to form words. Hermione was standing near them, leaning forward toward Ron, wringing her hands together nervously.

“And you were worried about how I’d react?” Ron whispered.

“Yes,” Harry said in a hollow voice.

Ron looked away, quietly examining the far off lake.

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know. I thought you’d be disgusted by it or something,” Harry said, suddenly feeling foolish at his reasoning. But he stood his ground.

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Ron remarked. “I’m not a homophobe!”

Harry opened his mouth to apologize, to say anything to soothe his quiet accusation but with a thrill, he saw Ron was now grinning.

“I mean, come on, I’ve known just about forever—”

“What?” Harry yelped.

Ron was laughing outright now; Hermione smiled wanly.

“I think I’ve known from the first day we met,” Ron confessed, giving Harry a soft smile.

Harry ran his hands through his hair and stared at his two friends in awe.

“How come everybody else had this figured out before I did?” Harry laughed. He felt such immense relief at Ron’s reaction, gleeful that something had gone according to plan that day.

TBC

Author's Note: Please review! I'm curious to see what everyone thinks now that Draco is finally in the picture. Thanks for reading!
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Endurance