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For the Want of a Nail	By : thewickednix Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4934 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. This is made for fun, not profit.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
Chapter 17. A Higher Wall

I wake up to the tickling of breath against my nose. Then I realise I shouldn't be waking up. I open my eyes to find emerald eyes staring back at me.
"Good morning." Potter smiles at me, a slight blush creeping over his nose. My eyes widen in remembrance.

"I love you."

Last night when I heard the words I was too far gone to even react. Now I don't know what to do with them. I can't reciprocate to his words. But how am I to inform him that Malfoys do not, can not love? And yet, his words create a warm and disturbingly fuzzy feeling that I cannot distinguish. I force myself not to show all those feelings on my face. "How long have you been awake?"
"A while." he answers. "I liked watching you sleep," he admits with extraordinary honesty, his blush deepening slightly. I ignore the ridiculous fluttering in my stomach and sit up slowly. "I can't believe I fell asleep..." I mumble, mostly to myself, running a hand through my hair. I look back at Potter, who is looking down at the bed, a frown around his mouth. I follow his gaze to the indigo sheets. Our bodies aren't touching, and I realise the distance has created a void between the two of us. Between today and what happened last night. Of course, it is for the best. At least that is what I am telling myself.
Potter looks up at me with pleading eyes. I can hear his pulse beating in anxiety. He is asking me to deny what we both know is true. And I can't do that.
As silently as I can I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, as if any noise would make this situation too real to bear. I find my still damp trousers and stand up to pull them on, all the while feeling Potter's eyes on me. Making sure to keep my back to him at all times, I walk over to my wardrobe to find myself a shirt. As the oak doors creek open, I hear the rustling of sheets and Potter's light steps on the floor. I hear him picking up his jeans and fastening his belt, and I sigh in relief for the fact that he is not trying to make this any harder than it has to be.
Then I feel arms wrap around me from behind and a muscular chest pressed against my back. "I won't let you do this." Potter's warm breath puffs against my shoulder. His heart beats fast against my back, his pulse echoing in my ear.
"Let go of me. Please." I murmur, my voice not quite as steady as I would like for it to be. When he doesn't obey, I grab his wrists and remove his hands from my body. But when I turn around to repell him from me once and for all, I suddenly find myself with an armful of Potter. "I won't let you." he repeats, his voice breaking slightly.
"Potter, please..." I grab his shoulders to push him away from me. He keeps his hands around my neck, but pulls away enough to look at me. He looks at me with a desperation I've never seen in those eyes, and I forget what I was about to say. When I finally remember, he rudely cuts me off.
"I know what you're trying to do. You're trying to convince yourself that last night meant nothing to you. And maybe you have succeeded in fooling yourself," A sad smile appears on Potter's face. "But you can't fool me."
All my objections are cut off as he then throws himself around my neck, pressing his lips to mine. I slam the breaks but the wheels roll on. In spite of the objections my mind is repeating, my body seems determined to ignore them. My arms sneak around his waist, and I hug him closer to me. Too close to me. Not close enough.
When I finally gather the presence of mind to pull away, Potter lets me go with a huge grin plastered on his face. "I knew it."
As any denial would surely be unsuccessful, I try to convince him using the simple laws of reason. "Potter, don't you see?" I ask, turning around and reaching for a clean collar shirt from the closet. "We can't do this. I am sorry to have indulged this, but it must end now. We can't-"
"Oh, shut up." Potter snorts, tugging the shirt over my shoulders and beginning to button it. I marvel at the fact that somehow Potter dressing me is almost more arousing than him taking my clothes off. A small smirk ghosts on his lips and his voice is low and husky. "I know you have all these principles and morals. But quite frankly," he smiles, straightening my collar, so close that his breath ghosts over my lips. "I don't give a tiny rat's arse."
My words stuck in my throat at this appalling rudeness and... other sensations. I lick my lips and take in a desperate breath of air. "This is not just about my principles, Potter. The whole wizarding world-"
"It's Harry," Potter insist, pouting childishly. "And I don't care about what the wizarding world thinks." he exclaims. "I care about what you think."
I am taken aback by the unbashful honesty this boy manages. How is one to respond to such insolence?
"If you say that you don't want this, then I'll accept that." Potter continues, still clinging onto my shirt. "But if you say that this is wrong because of what other people might think..." he trails off, leaving the unspoken accusation in the air. I shake my head softly. To him it might sound silly to care so much about other people's opinions. But I doubt he would deny that he cares about what his friends think.
"On the contrary, Potter, other people's opinion does matter. Or do you deny that you would not be too eager to inform your little friends about last night?" I hiss, with more venom than necessary. But it helps. I see the self-consciousness on Potter's features. He too knows I'm right.
"It's still Harry," he continues insisting, and a soft smile spreads on his face. "But you're right, I doubt the information would agree with Ron and Hermione. But since we already crossed the line once..." He throws his arms around my neck again, and I just can't find the energy or the willpower to throw him off. "-why would we have to tell anyone about another time?"
I stand paralyzed for a moment, considering Potter's words. The whole situation is ridiculous, I should just walk straight out of here and never think about this again-
And then Potter presses his lips to mine, "I love you, Draco." whispered between us. And I give in. Pushing him back towards the bedpost and proceeding to kiss my name from his lips fervently. In this moment I am gloriously happy and utterly disgusted with myself at the same time. I curse myself for becoming so weak. For as the Malfoy I am I know that what goes up will surely fall in disgrace. And now I can only count down the time.

___________________________________________________________________

For the second time this morning, I throw the blanket off me. Potter remains in bed, curled up in a fetal position and sleeping soundly. I pull on a clean pair of trousers and a collar shirt before I sit down on the edge of the bed again.
I have lost. One time is no time, but two times... That is no longer something I can deny. And honestly, I don't know if I want to.
I lean towards the sleeping boy on the bed. His eyelids flutter in his sleep, the side of his mouth twitching into a smile. He looks oddly different without his glasses. As if someone took away the shield guarding him. I smile down at Potter's sleeping form. As long as no one finds out, everything will be all right.

"Harry." I state, shaking his shoulder softly. "You have to get up."
"Mm... come back to bed..." a very sleepy Potter mumbles, tugging at my sleeve. "Just five more minutes..."
"Potter!" I growl, though with only mild irritation and more humour. "If you don't get up now, people will notice you're not in your room and come looking for you. They can't find you here." I shake him harder. Potter finally opens his eyes and looks up at me.
"You called me Harry before."
I sigh, but can't stop the small smile spreading on my face. "Harry." I emphasize. "Please get up." Potter's face lights up and he sits up immediately. He gives me a quick peck on the cheek, rumbling off the bed in a hurry, a blush spreading on his face. I snort at his antics and curse the ridiculous fluttering in my stomach, scooting off the bed and walking to the door. "I think I'll spend the day in the library." I state clearly, exiting the room swiftly, leaving the silent invitation hanging in the air.
I hear Potter's clear laugh cling behind me all the way downstairs.

___________________________________________________________________

I chuckle as I watch Draco leave the room, casting tempus to see how much time I've got. Turns out it's almost twelve, someone is bound to come looking for me soon. Still, I take my time looking around Draco's room as I get dressed. I'm still having a hard time believing the events of the last twelve hours. It's not that it shocks me, though maybe it should. Never mind the fact that Draco's a boy, but he's Malfoy. My arch nemesis for six years. And it's not as if my opinion about him didn't change months ago, but... I just didn't expect for it to change this drastically.
But what truly frightens me is not the things I will have to hide from Ron and Hermione. What scares me is Draco. It seems that the whole 'gay'-thing is a much bigger issue for him than it is for me. If this mornings reaction is anything to go by, the next days are not going to be easy.
I exit the West Wing and enter the kitchen, Draco still on my mind. Hermione and Ron are sitting at the kitchen table, eating sausages and fried eggs. Ron looks up as I enter.
"Harry! You're up! We knocked on your door but you didn't answer." he rambles, mouth stuffed with sausages.
Hermione looks concerned. "You weren't up too late worrying about Malfoy and his mom, were you?"
Ron snorts loudly, gulping down a couple of fork-fulls of eggs. "Who in their right mind would lose sleep worrying about the Ferret?"
I ignore Ron's comment and walk to the counter to pour myself a cup of coffee. "No, I just didn't sleep too well, that's all." The answer seems to suffice, and Ron continues eating while Hermione changes the subject.
"So, speaking of Malfoy, have you any idea how the meeting went?" she asks as I take a seat at the table. "I ran into him a few minutes ago, he didn't seem too bad off."
"I don't think they discovered anything of big importance. At least not anything about Voldemort's whereabouts." I mumble absentmindedly, looking into my coffee cup. Of course I cannot be absolutely sure about the truth in my answer, as Draco and me had... other things on out mind after the meeting. "But I do believe Narcissa was sent to Azkaban."
Hermione shivers while Ron only sniggers slightly. "Typical Malfoy. Doesn't even mourn the fact that he sent his own mother to prison."
Hermione turns furiously to Ron. "How can you be so ungrateful? Just be glad that he did send her to Azkaban, instead of helping Narcissa aid Lucius." Ron looks both surprised and annoyed at our friend's sudden outburst. He turns to look at me for support. Unfortunately for Ron, I can't give him any.
"Hermione's right, Ron." I mutter seriously. "Besides, it's not like Malfoy was raised to show his emotions in public. And he doesn't exactly like any of us, why would he tell us how he feels?" Not the complete truth, but close enough. I feel unbelievably privileged, having been allowed to see some of those emotions Draco hides so carefully from everyone else.
Hermione looks at me, wondering. I wonder if she suspects something. But then again, how could she?
"I still think it's disgusting," Ron mutters to his plate where he stabs the remaining sausages with his fork. Hermione grins at him, picking up a book on Advanced Charms.
"So do we know anything more about the war?" she asks, eyes flicking over the pages.
"No, nothing new." I mutter, feeling both disappointment and relief fill the room. Of course it would be good to gain new information, but every information we have gotten so far has been bad. All pieces of news are about more people killed by Death Eaters, mysterious explosions both in the wizard and Muggle world, or the number of Aurors killed in raids. One can but wonder how long this hell on earth will last.
"Did Dumbledore say when someone is coming to visit us next time?" Ron asks, breaking the tense silence. I try to remember something, anything about yesterday that doesn't involve Draco, but all I can think of is his face, his body, his voice, his-
"I think he mentioned Lupin and your parents coming over in two days." Hermione's voice cuts off my remembrance, and I can but blush at the thoughts just running through my head.
"Good," Ron grunts, rising up from his chair and stretching his back. "I hope Mum brings some food, the shit that comes out of the dumbwaiter is disgusting."
"Don't be ungrateful, Ron." Hermione scolds, but the words come out more of habit than actual annoyance. She looks up from her book at the both of us. "What are you two going to do today?"
"Absolutely nothing." Ron grins, falling back into his chair lazily. Hermione raises her eyebrow in dislike. "How surprising."
"Actually..." I begin, drawing the attention of the old married couple. "I was planning on spending the day studying in the library." A stunned silence follows.

"Harry!" Hermione then squeals in delight. "I'm so proud of you!" She turns towards Ron. "You could learn from Harry, Ron. See how he's learned responsibility during the last months." Hermione glows with pride over my sudden literary interests. Ron only looks mildly disgusted over the whole matter.
"But Harry..." he whines, looking positively horrified.
"Sorry, Ron." I grin, emptying my cup of coffee in a haste as I rise from my chair. "I'd better get started, as I've slept away most of the morning."
Ron groans loudly, the sound sounding something like "What the hell is the world coming to?" while Hermione only smiles. "That's good, Harry. I'd join you, but I have yet to finish all the books Dumbledore let me bring with me from Hogwarts. Maybe next week."
I smile at her as I exit the room, wishing that her own pile of books never ceases. I almost can't restrain myself from running through the halls to reach the library. But as I cross the corridors, I debate with myself if I even should be going there. Outside the library I stop. What if Draco doesn't want me there? What if I just end up annoying him, and he gets sick of me and-
I take a deep breath before I dare to reach out and open the double doors. The doors open with a creak, and I step inside on shaking legs. The room looks empty, but knowing Draco he is not far away. To my surprise the fire place is lit. Something Draco has never done before. Something I scarcely dared to do when in his presence.
I walk over to one of the brown armchairs, the one where Draco always sits. I take a seat just as a deep voice echoes through the room.
"I didn't expect you so soon." Draco says, standing in the far away corner. Holding a book and smirking, looking exactly like he expected me. I grin at him, rising from the chair. "Don't think I'm stupid," I smile, all too widely. "You can sense every approaching human on a mile's distance."
Draco sneers back at me and puts the book back into the shelf. He walks past me, grinning softly, and takes a seat in his usual chair. He doesn't say a word. And I feel I can't either. I look at Draco, sitting there in the armchair, grinning at me wickedly. He enjoys watching me fidget uncomfortably, he always has. Then he picks up a book and begins reading.
I stand still for another minute before I sit down on the floor in front of the fire place. "Have you found anything use against Voldemort yet?" I ask, watching Draco shudder at the mention of the ominous name.
"Not yet," he murmurs, waiving the book he is holding. "I'm searching through this copy of Avancé Épelle right now."
Pardon me? "Avans ebel?" I stare at the blonde boy who suddenly decided to speak martian to me. Draco snorts superiorly at me from his chair, and for a second I am reminded of the few times I've met his father.
"Avancé Épelle," he repeats. "Advanced Charms in French."
"You can speak French?" I feel like an idiot. Of course he can speak French. What can't he do?
"Yes." Draco turns lazily back to his book. "We Malfoy's descend from France. Father insisted I learn the language from an early age. It is important to keep up traditions." he mumbles absentmindedly. Repeating the words as if out of habit, without really paying attention to what he is saying. I am suddenly reminded of what Ron said.

"He won't change, believe me. A Malfoy doesn't dye its hair."

I wonder if Ron could be right. With habits and lessons so deeply impregnated into his entire being, how could Draco cut himself away from it just like that? How can I expect that from him?
I hear a rustle beside me and look up to see Draco taking a seat beside me on the floor. He sits down cross-legged and leans back against the other armchair behind us. When he meets my questioning look, he just shrugs. "I was never allowed to sit on the floor as a child. Best to make the most of it now." With those words he turns back to his book.
Staring at him for another minute, I feel a giddy grin spread on my face. I pick up a different, non-French book on spells from the floor and lean back against the chair. Our shoulders are touching, such simple human contact I know Draco resents. But he doesn't pull away. I open my book and sigh happily, feeling the distance between us grow smaller with each passing second.
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- 18
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For the Want of a Nail