Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Masks of Real Heroes	By : Aelys_Althea Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 17755 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Many thanks to the wonderful J. K. Rowling who offered such a beautiful world for amateurs such as myself to frolick in. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction and all characters and original storylines of Harry Potter belong to her!

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
A/N: I am SO sorry for the delay. My internet was down (oh, the horror!) so I couldn't post a new chapter until now. But it's pretty long and full of fluffiness, so I hope that makes up for it.

If you enjoy, please spare a moment to R & R; as always, love hearing from you all! Enjoy.

Chapter 17: It's the Little Things
"Harry!"
Draco's gaze rose from studying his fingernails at Hermione's delighted greeting, grimacing as the Gryffindor flew down the stone steps towards the Entrance Hall. He couldn't help but take a cautious step in front of Harry.
Seemingly unaware of Draco's attempt to block her way, Hermione nearly skidded to a stop before him. Her smile was slightly subdued, and for a moment Draco wondered if she would show the same hesitancy, the same tension, that the Gryffindors – and admittedly his own fellow housemates – had shown upon their first meeting. The awkwardness of it had been exacerbated by Harry's unexpected and obvious distress at the time, but that didn't mean Hermione would be any more approachable. Draco wondered if Harry had even been aware of how blatant of his distress was, or of the impact it had on those around him.
Whether he did or not, however, Harry apparently decided to take the lead this time around, seeking to brush aside the potential for confrontation before it arose. Stepping around Draco, he smiled shyly, offering that little awkward wave to the Gryffindor girl that he had attempted with Neville and Ron. "Hi, Hermione. Welcome back."
Just as with Pansy, Draco witnessed the flicker of surprise cross Hermione's face as she caught sight of the shorter boy. She blinked rapidly, scanning him with impressive efficiency, and cocked her head. Thankfully, Draco didn't think Harry realised it, or at least didn't comprehend the meaning behind her confusion. For how perceptive the dark-haired boy was, he was remarkably oblivious in instances revolving around himself.
Though to be fair it had taken Draco a brief moment of pondering to comprehend the cause for confusion himself. He hadn't realised how different Harry acted now compared to last term until Pansy unwittingly brought it to his attention. With his own sideways glance, he studied Harry. Not only the way he acted; he even looked a little different, though Draco couldn't exactly put his finger on what had changed.
Hermione smothered her surprise quickly, however, and smiled brightly at the subdued welcome. She made a motion towards Harry, arms widening as if to embrace him, but caught herself just in time. With a jerking of fingers she settled for patting her hand on his arm fondly. Draco was still surprised that Harry didn't seem to mind such contact so much anymore. He wondered if it had anything to do with his mother's attempts at overcome the quirk over the holidays.
"It's so good to see you! How was your break? Did you get all of your homework done?" Hermione leant forwards slightly, squinting. "Oh, you've got new glasses! They really suit you!"
Harry flushed and dropped his chin to his chest, once more missing the surprise flash cross the Hermione's face. Draco bit back a sigh; he wondered how long it would take for his peers to come to terms with Harry's new expressiveness. How long had it taken him? A faint stirring of something – it felt almost like vexation – twinged in his chest. Oddly, it felt like it was more than frustration at their ignorance…
"Thanks, Hermione. I like your haircut."
It was Hermione's turn to blush, only faintly, but she was evidently pleased. "Aren't you sweet. You're the only one to have noticed." Draco wasn't surprised. It didn't look any different to him. Probably Harry's weird memory thing.
Despite her initial pause, unlike her housemates Hermione extended her welcome readily to Draco. "Hello, Draco. Did you have a pleasant break?"
"Exceptionally."
"Ah. That's good. I was wondering, did you manage to find any additional sources for the potions essay? I read everything by Hardwick, but he didn't go into the fermenting process very thoroughly, so I was curious –"
"Already bringing up homework, Hermione?" Ron broke into her gushing tirade, wandering down the stairs with Neville on his heels. It was a fond smile that he gave to the Gryffindor girl, however, rather than irate.
"Classes start the day after tomorrow, Ron, and –"
"Exactly. So that means we have two days of relaxation before we have to start working again."
"One day, Ron. Only one day. Honestly, I weep for your mathematical abilities." She sighed, but thankfully withheld any further homework questions. Draco was grateful for that, at least.
Casting a glance around the Entrance Hall, eyes grazing over the few students that wandered through the tall double doors towards the enticing scent of dinner, Hermione frowned. "Where's Pansy?"
Shrugging, Draco returned his attention back to his fingernails, frowning at his cuticles. "She said she'd meet us at six."
"Yes, but it's five past six."
"Hermione, give the girl a break. Merlin forbid that she's five minutes late!" Neville grinned at his friend's scowl, rolling his eyes.
"I was just wondering…"
"And so the dregs trickle in!"
As one, Draco, Harry and the Gryffindors turned towards Blaise's voice. The Italian boy slouched against the wall at the bottom of the staircase, seemingly sprung from thin air. He was dressed casually in dark trousers and an outer robe, but with a refinement that bespoke of careful decision-making on his part.
Draco made sure his friend caught his hard-eyed scrutiny. "Someone's dressed up."
The other boy shrugge. "It's a party. What do you expect?"
"Where's Pansy?"
"Upstairs. She's just finishing with the set up. She sent me down to gather the peasants." Blaise grinned widely, white teeth flashing.
Draco rolled his eyes at the term, but held his tongue. Blaise's taunting wouldn't draw him into verbal combat. He pondered for a moment when exactly he had developed resistance to such baiting. Not for long, however, as a niggling thought called itself to attention.
"Were you with her?"
Blaise gave another shrug. "Of course."
"I thought she had insisted on solitude."
"Of course. But I asked so politely. And really, what woman can resist my charms?" Blaise wriggled his eyebrows ridiculously, eliciting sniggers from Neville and Ron and a snort from Hermione. Even Harry cracked a smile.
''She actually let you?"
"Draco, mi amico, there is so little you know of the wooing of a woman. A little praise here, a soft word there…"
"Your despicable," Hermione intoned flatly, staring at him down her nose. Ron had to stifle his snigger as she turned the penetrating glare upon him.
"Aren't we all, my dear Gryffindor?" With a flashing grin over his shoulder, Blaise led the way back up the stairs. "Come along, you lot. I'm hungry, and I'm not going to wait for stragglers."
"We're not having dinner in the Great Hall?" Ron asked as he jogged up alongside him, Neville trailing behind.
"Of course not. What kind of party would it be if it weren't catered?"
Rolling his eyes at Blaise's superior tone, Draco nodded his head towards Harry and led the way after them. He wondered if there had been development on part of his two Slytherin friends' relationship over the break; Blaise certainly seemed a lot more open about his intentions than he ever had before. At least, Draco thought so. Surely he hadn't been so oblivious before as to have completely overlooked the not-so-subtle insinuations. Had he?
The light-hearted thoughts were a welcome relief from those that had plagued him like a rather demanding Hook-Nosed Fly all afternoon. Granted, breakfast had been a distraction from the events in the headmaster's office, but then Pansy and Blaise had disappeared and Neville and Ron had retreated to the Gryffindor common room to wait for Hermione. They had, thankfully, parted on amicable terms; the first purely positive sequence of events that he had been party to since leaving France.
Draco had, however, naturally descended into brooding. He considered the Vow, considered his new allegiance, and fretted over just how long the uneasy balancing act would last. He hadn't seen his parents since he left the headmaster's office, and in hindsight regretted not at least wishing them farewell before they left for Hogsmeade that evening. Draco didn't know for how long they would remain in proximity to the castle, but he couldn't imagine it would be long.
His thoughts naturally led to speculation as to what followed his own discussion with the headmaster. Draco suspected that they had continued conversing after he had nearly run from the room with Harry, but didn't know exactly what about. It was only when he had entered the Great Hall that the thought even occurred to him. Had they spoken of the Dark Lord? Had his parents also sought protection? Did they similarly make a Vow?
Blessedly, Harry had been at his side all afternoon. His tiredness from the magical procedure he'd conducted on Dumbledore – something Draco still didn't understand, nor comprehend how his friend had done – seemed to have receded somewhat. They wandered their way idly through the castle, dropping by the library briefly but not pausing to pull a single book from the shelves.
Eventually, and much to Draco's surprise, Harry had asked if he would like to come back and visit his rooms before dinner and Pansy's not so surprising 'surprise party'. It was the first time Draco had seen the room; Harry hadn't necessarily been reluctant in the past to welcome those from his peer group into the isolated quarters but simply the topic had just never arisen. Harry always emitted a rather private aura, for reasons that Draco had only recently become aware of. It felt almost incriminating to intrude of that privacy.
Not that there had been anything particularly private about the suite. Rather, Draco felt almost disappointed at the lack of personalization. He'd left more of an impression on his bedroom in the French manor after visiting once years ago.
What used to be Professor Featherwood's rooms were a three-room chain of bedroom, bathroom and sitting room. Not large by any stretch, but respectable, and with the service of the house elves for provision of any additional essentials, it held everything that anyone could need. It appeared, however, that Featherwood had stripped the rooms bare of possessions, from books to pictures, leaving only the skeleton of furniture in the wake of his departure.
"You've been in these rooms all year?" Draco asked as he turned slowly in the center of the sitting room.
Glancing at Draco, Harry shrugged. It was a small and typically Harry gesture, yet something about the slight tension of his shoulders bespoke shyness. Perhaps even embarrassment. "Since a little before school started. Why?"
Casting his gaze around him, Draco settled his eyes upon the one personal item in the entire room. Before the modest beige couch, almost directly central on the timber coffee table, was a book: 'A Be-hoofed Plunge: of Hippocampus, Capricorn and Aquatic Pachyderm.' He felt a smile spread across his face. It was something so small, but so Harry.
"No reason. Just wondering." From the dubious expression on Harry's face he obviously wasn't buying it, but he didn't comment further.
Draco had prevailed upon him his skills in packing wardrobes for the rest of the afternoon, deliberately keeping the topic of conversation light and cringing from anything that even smelt of the shadow of the Dark Lord. It was almost a surprise when his wand rung at five o'clock with the Tempus-alarm. He had left Harry briefly to dress himself appropriately. After all, even with such a small group of people, it was still a party.
Apparently the Gryffindors didn't deem dressing up for such muted affairs to be a priority. Hermione at least looked presentable, but Neville wore a pair of ripped jeans while Ron a pair of positively ancient and decrepit boots and a rather appalling knitted maroon jumper depicting an 'R' in white cotton. At least the mystery of where Harry had gotten his own lettered jumper was solved. The contrast between Blaise's attire and the red-head's threadbare garments was almost laughable.
"Is this where… you used to come?"
Harry's quiet voice drew Draco's scowl from the scuffing of Ron's saggy boots. "What?"
"This corridor. Wasn't it where…?"
Blinking to clear thoughts of Gryffindor fashion sense from his mind, Draco glanced around himself. Oh. This corridor. "Yes," he replied slowly, eyes flickering towards the approaching tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy and his attempts at ballet instruction.
"And that room that you spent so much time in, but won't tell me anything about?"
Draco nearly stumbled at the hushed words. "What? What room? How do you –?"
"That one that you were working in. With the Vanishing Cabinet that Professor Dumbledore spoke of. It's around here, isn't it?"
Feet slowing to a near stop, Draco heaved a sigh. Of course Harry would know about the Room and Draco's extra-curricular activities, despite the fact that Draco hadn't explicitly told him anything. He seemed to pick up unspoken facts so easily. Draco hadn't deliberately lied to him about it, but it was hardly something he was proud of. And Harry hadn't really asked what he'd been doing in so many words, so… "Seventh floor corridor? Yes, it's right here. Somewhere." He peered nervously at Harry. "Are you angry with me?" For some reason it seemed integral that Draco know.
Harry blinked up at him, frowning slightly. "What? Angry? Why would I be angry?"
"Well, because I didn't tell you… anything, really. Not even after you'd…" Draco trailed off, running his fingers through his hair as his thoughts flickered briefly to the removal of his Dark Mark. Guilt nibbled in his chest; he had learnt so many of Harry's carefully guarded over the three weeks of the Christmas holidays, circumstantial discovery though it may have been that he felt ashamed that he hadn't shared even something so relatively small with him in return.
"I don't mind. It's not like I asked you or anything," Harry murmured, taking a half step towards Draco. He managed a feeble attempt at a grateful smile in return.
Their attention was diverted a moment later, however, as Blaise stopped before an ornate wooden door in the wall up ahead. "This, my dear peasants, is Pansy's Interpretation of the Come and Go Room." Like a master performer, he gestured grandly towards the little door, as though they were supposed to be impressed.
Draco sighed, quashing the last of his brooding mood. "Would you refrain from your derogatory terms of address?"
Blaise only widened his ever-present grin, grasped the golden door handle, and strode into the room beyond. Ron and Neville followed eagerly behind, Hermione with a shake of her head and Harry with a beckoning tilt of his head towards Draco over his shoulder.
The room was purely Pansy. The first thing that Draco noticed was that it looked absolutely nothing like the room in which he had spent more hours than he could recall. For one, there was a complete absence of clutter. Elegant and refined, yet with a taste of grandeur and superiority that would make those easily cowed hunch their shoulders and shift awkwardly.
Glancing around the room, Draco nodded appreciatively at the high roof and rich, pale walls, the darker emerald carpet so soft it could be felt through the bottom of his soles. It was fairly large, bigger than the Slytherin common room. An impressive fireplace look up the majority of one wall, blaring out heat yet not as much as one would expect from a fire of such a size.
Soft music rippled through the air from an old brass record player, with formless, translucent wraths coiling artfully in time to the melody near the ceiling. A snooker table, already set up and waiting, stood at one end of the room and a table with cards spread for Black-Knuckle wizard poker at a sturdy table sat at its side. There was even a chess set – ridiculously large, to a degree that Draco doubted the stately pieces already growling aggressively at one another were moveable without magic – that took up nearly a quarter of the room. Above it all, a faint, ambient light faded from green to blue to gold, painting the upholstery anew with each shift of colour.
In the center of the room was a scattering of matching couches of smooth, pale white leather. They were so low-lying that they looked almost more like floor mattresses than actual couches. Large tasseled cushions were cast artfully upon each seat, a couple scattered with deliberate casualness across the floor and slumped against the feet of a low, wooden table that was polished to a degree that it reflected the colourful combination of lights almost blindingly. Pansy, dressed in simple but immaculate blue dress robes, straightened herself from where she was fiddling with an array of glistening platters at the table and smiled at their entrance.
Ron and Neville, gaping wide-mouthed around the room, were the first to break the appreciative silence. "Bloody hell. Good job, Pansy. I'm impressed."
Neville nodded in agreement to Ron's sentiment. "We never managed to make it anything as refined as this when we were holding DA meetings in here."
Pansy glowed under the praise, smiling modestly. "It's a gift."
Dropping his eyes from the wraths that spun overhead, Draco raised an eyebrow. "A little elaborate, don't you think."
"Always ready with a criticism, aren't we, Draco?"
"It's for your own benefit. I would hate for you to grow a big head and be unable to fit into those ridiculous hats you so favor." He kept his tone light, and Pansy was self-satisfied enough that she didn't even scowl at the jibe.
"Oh, then my thanks, Draco dear." Blaise snickered, sharing a grin with Pansy.
"How did you manage to conjure food in here? The Room of Requirement doesn't produce food," Hermione wondered aloud. Ever the knowledge-gatherer, she gestured curiously to the spread with a sweep of her arm.
"Quite simply, Hermione. I brought it myself." She grinned at the Gryffindor girl, reservedly at first but it spread at friendly smile Hermione gave back to her. "Happy New Year, by the way."
"And to you."
That simple welcoming seemed to break the thin ice of hushed awe and appreciation, ridding them all of the stilted awkwardness. As one, with unanimous, unspoken agreement, they fell upon the couches, slumping with sighs and murmurs of appreciation for Pansy's taste in cushioning. Draco fell onto one of the lower seats beside Harry, rolling his eyes at the string of compliments offered to his friend and eliciting an indulgent smile from the boy beside him. Pansy seemed to glow more brightly under the praise and preened herself like a bird of paradise.
And just like that, Draco realised they had fallen back into the easy companionability that had gradually settled upon them the previous term. Without question, they settled themselves to filling their bellies.
"Ah, bruschetta! I love bruschetta!"
"What's that green stuff? I don't usually eat anything green unless my life depends on it."
Hermione swatted at the back of Ron's head. "For goodness sake, Ron, just try it."
Draco swiped a miniature baguette off a circulating tray, loaded it with cheese and similarly indulged. He hadn't realised he was hungry until now.
"Pass us the olives, would you?"
"Neville, you can't eat olives with popcorn. That is a complete clash of cultures," Blaise announced, looking positively horrified.
"What culture is popcorn even from?"
The clatter of cutlery on glassware and the clink of cups as jugs spilled water from funneled mouths met the babble of chatter. Chuckles and random exclamations linked the separate conversations like the many instruments of an orchestra. Ease seemed to embrace the room as biscuits were devoured and crumbs scattered.
"It's funny, I wouldn't have picked you as one to cook, Pansy. It's really good, though."
The Slytherin girl nearly dropped her cup at Hermione's genuine complement, coughing with a failed attempt at delicacy. "Who, me? Hermione, I've never cooked a day in my life."
"What? But then…"
"I used –"
"Don't say it!" Ron and Neville yelled loud enough that Blaise to nearly fall from his chair.
"House elves, of course."
Hermione actually did drop her cheese-laden cracker. "What, you ordered the house elves prepare everything for you?"
"Yes, of course. I could hardly do it myself. Why do you ask?"
"Pansy," Ron groaned, head falling into his hand. "Don't ask. Not the spew."
"What's the spew?"
"No, Harry, not you too!"
"It's not spew, Ronald, it's an acronym: The Society for the Protection of Elvish Welfare." Hermione lifted her chin pompously in motion Draco recognised as one he enacted himself and couldn't suppress a chuckle. "It's my own society established with the intention of furthering the rights of house elves."
"Oh. What's it all about?"
"Ha-rry! Don't subject yourself to the torture!"
Groans from the Gryffindor boys were met with scolding from Hermione before she dismissed them for long enough to prevail upon Harry – and an hesitantly curious Pansy – the dire needs of the 'poor, victimized elves'. Harry kept up an enraptured expression and a steady stream of questions that left Neville and Ron gaping in horror and Blaise shaking with laughter as Hermione became more and more animated and Harry's questions less and less relevant. Draco wondered how long Harry could keep up the charade before Hermione realised he was leading her on; he had a surprisingly good poker face for this sort of thing considering how appalling he was at hiding any of his other expressions. It probably had something to do with the fact that no one would ever suspect him of deception. At least, Draco thought he wore a poker face. Surely no one could be so engrossed in house elf welfare.
He wasn't sure how long the chattered of superficial topics that seemed to direct the conversations themselves. It was only when Blaise finally stood, calling for a hush that he realised he had been blissfully enjoying himself; he hadn't thought of the Vow since he had entered the room. And I won't, he decided resolutely.
"Alright, my dear peasants," there was a general groan at the term; Blaise had persisted in it's use much to the exasperation of all occupants of the room, "not to say that my dear Pansy has not presented an admirable display, but I feel there is something missing."
"Blaise, you are playing with fire," Pansy smiled sweetly, raising her glass of water before her eyes in tandem with her rising eyebrow.
"It's not a criticism; I'm merely… improving upon perfection."
"That's rather paradoxical of you, I should think."
'Isn't life a paradox?'
Ron lobbed a cushion at the back of Blaise's head. "Hey, no philosophical statements this late at night."
"There'll be much more where that came from tonight, I can assure you," Blaise announced. He launched the cushion back at Ron, who only narrowly avoiding the spinning tassels, and drew his wand. "Now, if you please."
With a sweep of his wand, Blaise cast a Summoning Charm over his shoulder to a hitherto unseen cabinet. Rather, Draco suspected it hadn't really been there in the first place. The Room seemed to do that sort of thing – hiding it to the extent that it was actually not really there. Somehow.
Door swinging itself open of its own accord, a conga-line of clinking bottles danced towards the couches. It almost looked like they skipped in their eagerness to hurry to Blaise's side.
"Oh, Blaise, you are a godsend," Neville groaned, clapping Blaise on the shoulder.
"When did you stash them in my room? I knew I should have kept a closer eye on you when I was setting up," Pansy remarked with false reprimand.
"Blaise, we're not supposed to have alcohol on school grounds."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Hermione, do you actually know anyone who abides by that rule? When was the last quidditch victory party that didn't at least have either McFerson's ale, Firewhiskey or nashi cider?" Hermione frowned, but eventually sighed, nodding in resignation.
Swiping up a bottle in each hand, Blaise shook the golden liquid enticingly. "Anyone?" He snapped open the lid and poured into Ron's waiting glass with a suspiciously deft hand, before proceeding around the room. As it turned out, 'anyone' also happened to include Hermione.
Draco would never claim to be a fan of McFerson's. He had a cultured taste for alcohol, a by-product of partaking from the finest wines – if only watered in his younger years – since he was eight. Still, the warmth that spread through his belly as the night wore on alleviated the distress inflicted on his taste buds.
His experience in drinking lent itself to a somewhat more level-headed approach to the following hours than that of those around him. He was particularly thankful of such when he noticed the distinct lack of reduction in the level of liquid that swished in the bottles each time Blaise filled up a glass. Refilling, no doubt. And the bastard wasn't likely to tell the hapless, gullible Gryffindors.
Ron was on his third glass of Firewhiskey when he finally challenged Blaise to a chess match. It was to be expected, really, and likely the reason Pansy had set it up in the first place.
"Rematch! Rematch from the last time; you cheated and you know it."
Blaise adopted an expression of horror. "I would never! That you could suspect me of such wounds me deeply, Ron." Blaise was a rather loud drunk, befitting of his normal character. He seemed to balance Ron's own loudness quite well.
"How do you even cheat in a chess match?" Pansy tapped her chin, narrowed eyes drifting hazily to the ceiling. Draco rolled his own eyes. He had expected his friend to keep a better hold of her drinking habits than she was demonstrating.
"I don't know," Ron continued, sweeping his arm wildly and barely avoiding splashing the contents of his glass across the couch. "I just know there's no other explanation for how you stole my queen."
"Alright then, Weasley, let's see what you've got then. I'll definitely win this time."
"Hold on, hold on, hold on! I think we need to be setting some parameters here," Hermione, seated beside Neville, interjected as she wavered to her feet. Her cheeks were faintly flushed and there was a brightness to her eyes that made Draco wonder if she was aware of how much she'd drunk. "This could be a very… very determin… very deterimin…" She paused, scowling at Neville who sleepily lazily behind her. Drawing a deep breath and tried again. "It would be detrimental to your friendship if we didn't set ground rules."
Ron nodded enthusiastically, sharing a grin with Blaise. "Right. Winner takes all."
"That is not what I meant! The ground rules, Ron, you need rules or everything turns to shit!"
Blinking rapidly in surprise at the cuss, Draco watched the Gryffindor girl hurry after Blaise and Ron as they crossed the room. He turned slowly to Pansy.
The Slytherin girl seemed to be fighting to suppress a snort of laughter, an attempt that caved as she met Draco's gaze. "Oh, Hermione! How unexpected; I would never have thought you one to speak so basely, even when tipsy." She descended into giggles that nearly tumbled her from the couch as Hermione cast her a distracted frown. The bushy-haired girl barely spared her a moment, however, before she was back to directing the two chess players into civil play. Predictably, Ron and Blaise completely ignored her.
Sipping at his drink once more, Draco leant back in the seat. Pansy, giggling into her glass, slumped against him. It was a comfortable slouch that would have been completely unacceptable in the Slytherin common room. Draco found he didn't mind it all that much now, though.
"I'm wonderful. You should be blessing the ground I walk on for setting up this party."
Draco snorted, but nodded anyway. His eyes drifted towards where Harry had perched himself on the couch beside Neville, knees tucked beneath him in a curl that was so familiar that it drew a smile to Draco's lips. His hands were wrapped tightly around the glass of honey-coloured liquid and he sipped distractedly as he listened to Neville's muttered words and yawning comments. Draco was keeping an eye on his small friend; though he was more comfortable with people in general now than he had been months before, there was still that protective urge within him that encouraged keeping an extra eye out for him. Just in case, of course.
"Dray-co. What do you think?"
Draco glanced down at Pansy's face, pouting at his shoulder. "What?"
"I said, are you up for a game of Black-Knuckles?"
"You're terrible at Black-Knuckles."
Another pout. "I practiced over the holidays."
"You practice every holidays," Draco sighed, but heaved himself to his feet and followed Pansy's insistent tugs towards the poker table. He spared one more glance over his shoulder at Harry – just as a precaution for… whatever – before settling himself in his seat. Harry barely raised his head at Draco's departure.
"Right, you're handicapped."
Draco scoffed. "You're the one who asked me to play. You can't just handicap your guest, Pansy."
"Oh shush. You always play handicapped. Don't complain." Pansy flapped a hand at him before tapping the top of the deck. The cards began to deal themselves with silent efficiency.
Sighing, Draco raised his hand, spreading the cards. "Alright. What are you going to give me when I win this time?"
"How can you be so sure you'll win?"
"Pansy, don't feign ignorance. It's unbecoming."
As it turned out, it was a crushing defeat. Draco won every hand with ease, chuckling at Pansy's grumbling that he 'hadn't had as much to drink as she had, which was definitely a tactical maneuver on his part'. Their game was punctuated by calls from across the room as Blaise and Ron enacted what appeared to be a rather aggressive but good-natured battle with the meter-tall chess pieces. Hermione had settled herself on a cushion to watch, slouching back on her elbows but eyes staring with the piercing intensity of a hawk. Her seriousness was comical in the face of Blaise's taunts and Ron's catcalls.
Glancing down at his hand, Draco glimpsed the five of clubs – the Knuckles – before flattening his hand once more. Well, there's another hand to me. "Why do you even ask me to play when you so obviously have no talent for this game, Pansy?"
The girl frowned at her own cards, but Draco was under the impression it was directed at him. "Shut up, Draco. I nearly won that last round."
"Nearly won it? How, exactly, do you figure that?"
Pansy shrugged, glancing up to bat her eyelids at him coyly. Her gaze swept the room a moment later, however, and a grin settled on her face.
"What?" Draco frowned, suspicious of anything that could draw that smile onto his friend's face. He sipped at his ale; it really didn't taste that bad anymore.
"Oh, nothing. Just glad everyone's enjoying themselves."
"You look far too complacent for that to be the only thing you're thinking of."
Pansy's widening grin confirmed his suspicions. When she replied, however, it was on a completely different topic, so unexpected that Draco froze in the act of placing his glass on the table. "So you and Harry spent Christmas together? That's unexpected."
"That's absolutely none of your business."
Pansy snickered. "So defensive, Draco. One would think you have something to hide."
Snorting, Draco took another unnecessary glance at his cards. "What could I possibly have to hide?"
Pansy shrugged before reaching towards the deck and flipping the top card. A king. "To be sure, I don't precisely know. You seem to have become rather close, though, the two of you."
"We were fairly close before Christmas. I don't see how you perceive that much has changed." Draco couldn't look his friend in the eye, however; he didn't even rightly know why, but knew he would flush if he did. "What makes you say that?"
The grin that spread across Pansy's face was rather terrifying. "Draco, don't play the oblivious card with me. I can read between the lines."
"No, you can't, because there are no lines to read between."
"So you don't think you've gotten closer?"
Draco shrugged, sighing loudly. "We've become good friends, yes." And I maybe just… love him a little bit.
"What, and nothing more?"
"No, nothing more?"
"Not even –"
"No, nothing."
Pansy leant back in her seat, grinning even more widely than before if possible. She ran a tongue across her front teeth and Draco was reminded of a cat licking its lips. "So you're not dating, then? Really?"
Draco was definitely not flushing. He had just become rather hyperaware of the fireplace and the intensity of its heat. "Where the bloody hell did you get such a notion from?"
"Oh come on, Draco, it's so obvious. If it was anyone but Harry, I think even they would have known. It was painfully obvious in fourth year when you carried a flame for me."
Scowling, Draco slapped his cards on the table. "I did not 'carry a flame' for you. It was a feeble and inconsequential interest. One I remedied with all due haste."
Pansy didn't look put out in the slightest by the criticism. Rather, her expression bespoke delight. Draco had to wonder at the inner workings of a woman's mind that she could take such enjoyment from something that had infuriated her not two years before. "Remedied on both our parts, I can assure you." Her eyes flickered around the room once more; really her hostess instincts just seemed to arise naturally.
"I don't really understand what a brief fling when we were fourteen has to do with anything, anyway."
Shrugging, Pansy fixed him with a stare. "Only, you always seem a bit hesitant to be the one to initiate anything. I doubt we would have even dated at all if I hadn't said something to you."
"What does that have to do with Harry and me?"
Giving him a condescending tilt of the head, Pansy sighed heavily. "Poor Draco. Such denial is unhealthy. It will surely give you an ulcer."
"It's not denial if there's nothing to deny."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
"Alright. So this overt protectiveness you seem to have for one another is nothing."
"That's a little bit of an excessive way of describing it. Some things happened, it's entirely normal –"
"And your wouldn't be fazed in the slightest if someone else showed interest in Harry."
Draco paused, frowning. He didn't like the erratic manner of Pansy's questioning, nor the direction she appeared to be heading. "What do you mean?"
"Even if it was platonic, you wouldn't have a problem with, say… Neville getting closer to him."
Frowning more deeply, Draco blinked in confusion. What was she prodding him for? A confession? "What are you talking about, Pansy?"
Pansy didn't seem to be listening to him anymore, though. Her eyes were locked on something over Draco's shoulder, something that Draco realised she had probably been watching for the past few minutes. Following her gaze, he glanced towards the ring of couches where Harry and Neville still conversed…
It took all his willpower to keep from standing abruptly. It was nothing, nothing really, it wasn't anything to comment on… At least, it shouldn't have been. Harry wasn't sitting that close to Neville, not really. Well, it was pretty close, but it didn't look like they were touching. Or maybe they were, he didn't know. But there was nothing particularly wrong with that, it was just because Pansy had set his mind chugging along that train of thought. It's not intimate, really, not anything like how Harry and I…
It wasn't a problem. Not even when Neville patted a hand fondly on Harry's shoulder, or edged slightly closer to him and offered him a warm smile. It was the smile of a friend, just a friend. Draco quite liked Neville – or at least, he didn't dislike him as he had in the past – and he was Harry's friend. It shouldn't bother him.
And it wouldn't have. Except that a moment later, Harry settled his glass down on the couch, leant ridiculously close to Neville and raised his slender fingers to Neville's face. There was an expression on his own face that spoke of complete focus, an odd intensity that Draco realised probably had more than a bit to do with the drinks he had been consuming.
How much has he had? He'd be a flyweight; it's probably all gone to his head. The thought was only a distant echo in Draco's head. There seemed to be a thick, fuzzy cloud smothering the coherency of his thoughts. His attention was focused entirely upon Harry and Neville, nearly twitching as Harry shuffled forward slightly until he was nearly in the other boys lap and ran a finger down Neville's forehead. Neville smiled lazily at him and murmured something Draco couldn't hear. Harry nodded rapidly, almost enthusiastically, and stroked Neville's face again.
He doesn't like to touch people. Why is he touching Neville if he doesn't like to touch people? His chest tightened almost painfully. Before Draco knew it, he was on his feet and striding across the room. He was only faintly aware of Pansy breaking out into raucous cackles behind him, or of the continued cries from the chess match. He strode right up to the couches, looped an arm around Harry's waist and slid him a good foot down the couch from Neville.
Harry twisted awkwardly and blinked blearily at Draco, fingers still raised before him from where he had been stopped mid stroke. Neville sat up in his seat with difficulty, yawning and running a hand through messy hair. Draco barely noticed. He fixed his stare on Harry's enquiring gaze.
"Draco?"
"What are you doing?" Draco strove to keep his tone mellow.
"Hmm?"
"More importantly, how much have you had to drink?"
Opening his mouth to reply, Harry paused, eyes drifting slightly and a frown creeping onto his face. His fingers dropped slowly to idly reach for his glass on the table. "Um… I'm not sure. A couple? Blaise filled me up a few times…"
Taking the glass from Harry's hands, Draco fought to contain the upwelling of tangled emotion within him. Annoyance was there, definitely, though he thought that was mostly directed towards Pansy. Confusion, exasperation… resignation? Or realization? It had been a convenient succession of happenstance events, Pansy's words accompanied with what he had seen Harry doing, which got him thinking but…
"What were you doing? I saw you across the room."
"What?"
"With Neville's face. I was surprised that you actually touched him."
It was a combination of the annoyance – yes, there was more than a little of that directed towards Neville, too – and his own confusion that led to him speaking of Harry's touch-phobia, a taboo that had been unanimously acknowledged by their entire group of friends. It probably had a bit to do with the drinks as well; upon consideration, Draco wasn't entirely sure he knew how many he himself had downed.
Fortunately, Harry didn't seem to even notice the blatant disregard for his usual shyness. He turned back towards Neville and raised his hand once more to Neville's forehead. Draco only retrained himself from tugging his friend's arm back down when he realised Harry's fingers rested over Neville's scar.
"His scar; it looks different to mine, but they're sort of the same, yes?'
"I still don't really get what you mean by that…" Neville blinked slowly, and Draco was given the distinct impression he was struggling to keep his eyes open. "You don't have any scars on your face. 'Sides, this is a scar from a Killing Curse. Not really all that common…"
Harry leant back into Draco's side and though his fingers still traced the scar on Neville's forehead, Draco felt himself ease at the contact. Even so, he couldn't quite bring himself to release his hold on the smaller boy's shoulders.
"Non, not my face. Sur mon dos. C'est un peu différent, quoique. Not, um, the Killing one.'
Neville rolled his head towards Harry, squinting as though staring at a very confusing puzzle. "Mate, I told you I can't understand you when you speak like that."
"Oh, sorry. Mon erreur."
Draco couldn't help smiling at that. The tightness in his chest and the fuzziness in his head had dissipated slightly, even more so when Harry dropped his arm and settled fully back against him in a snuggle reminiscent of Lyssy. Enough so that he could find the amusement in the situation.
"Do you always have problems with your bilingual capacities when you're drunk?" Draco grinned as Harry tilted his head backwards, meeting his gaze upside down. Yes, he felt much better now.
"Not bilingual."
"Oh, so all that French is just a made-up language, is it?"
"Knew it," Neville muttered under his breath, frowning into the dregs of his glass.
Harry shook his head and fidgeted in his seat. "No, just not bilingual. French, and English, and, um, Spanish, and a little bit of Italian, and I started German –"
"Whoa, slow down, what the hell?" Neville raised both eyebrows incredulously. "Since when?"
Shrugging, Harry turned distractedly towards the chess match across the other side of the room. He seemed to be having difficulty concentrating since his fingers had halted in their stroking of Neville's head. "Since college – um… middle school. I pick up languages pretty well for some reason."
Draco stared down at his friend, impressed. "It probably has something to do with that memory thing of yours. You didn't tell me."
"You never asked."
"Oh, so I'm supposed to ask everyone I meet of their linguistic capabilities?" Neville snorted at the comment, shaking his head with more amusement that was probably warranted. Draco didn't mind; he found that he didn't actually dislike Neville's presence on the couch so much anymore. He'd like it a more if he scooted just a little further down, but…
Pansy wandered over a moment later, face still split in a grin. Draco deliberately ignored the pointedly raised eyebrow she gave his arm still resting about Harry's waist. She seemed to take pity on his plight, however, for without comment she flung herself into the seat between Neville and Harry, uncharacteristically slouching and nearly crushing Neville before he could extricate himself.
"Hey, watch your bony elbows!"
"Oh shush, stop your complaining." She grinned at Draco, who nodded his head in gratitude towards her. She took the silent thanks with the grace of a queen and with it proceeded to pointedly ignore the hold Draco had on Harry. Mostly, anyway.
Blaise and Ron finished their chess match in a roar of triumph from the Gryffindor and pleas to spare his cowering king from the Slytherin. Ron was merciless, conducting a rather stumbling victory dance around the checkerboard floor cover and stringing together what sounded like pathetic attempts at taunting Blaise's battle instincts. Blaise, reduced to only three pieces and his king one of them, valiantly launched himself in the path of Ron's knight and bodily protected the crowned figure, which shrieked shrilly and huddled behind him.
"Even your king is a coward!" Ron laughed uproariously, nearly falling over as the chess piece attempted to wrap himself around Blaise. The Slytherin wriggled in a dance to shake the magical chess piece askew, cursing fluently but also unable to suppress his own laughter.
"Bloody ponce, this is not how I trained you!"
"Do or die, Zabini. Will you sacrifice your king to save yourself?!"
Hermione lurched to her feet. "That wasn't the rules we specified, Ron. You have to keep to the rules."
Draco shook his head as the Gryffindor girl planted herself with admirable steadiness before them both, hands on hips and a flush high in her cheeks. Alcohol seemed to bring out the bossiness in the girl even worse than usual. Not that Ron seemed to care; he seemed to be deliberately ignoring her berating and called encouragement to his knight over her shoulder.
"At least the pieces are a little smaller, this time.'"
Glancing towards Neville – the boy looked like he was nearly asleep in his chair – Draco regarded him questioningly at the mumbled words. "What do you mean?"
Peeling open an eye – he really was on the verge of drifting off – Neville squinted at him. "Hmm? Oh, in first year, when we were chasing Quirrell. We had to play a chess match with giant pieces to get through to the next room. Bloody annoying, if you ask me. And I'm rubbish at chess."
Well, I never knew that. Not of Neville's chess-playing abilities – everybody knew that – but of the events of first year. It was common knowledge that the Gryffindor Golden Trio had been up to something; Dumbledore had awarded them the bloody house cup for their victory over some unspecified foe. He just hadn't been aware of exactly what they had done. Pondering, Draco considered Neville curiously. He wondered how much the other boy had been through that he wasn't fully aware of; he knew there were secrets hoarded like a dragon hoards gold, but he didn't quite know what. It would be interesting to question the Gryffindor.
Blaise finally extricated himself from the king, moments before Ron's knight had beheaded the figure with a flourish of his sword. Blaise moaned in mourning of his loss, staring sadly at the headless body that fumbled on his knees for his lost head as Ron pronounced his own glory.
"And that makes thirty-two to thirty. In the lead but two steps! You're slipping, Blaise; slipping!" The pair of them stumbled over to the couches with Hermione trailing behind them, still talking though mostly to herself by that stage. Draco rolled his eyes as Blaise sent another Summoning Charm to the cabinet and another bottle darted from the hidden depths. It contained something that looked suspiciously like absinthe, and Draco made sure Harry didn't get his hands on that one.
Neville had fallen asleep and reawakened twice by the time Blaise felt the need to pursue further entertainment. Ron and he had become something of a force to be reckoned with as the hours ticked by, and much to Pansy's horror had taken it upon themselves to add their own elements to the furnishings and tones of the room. The walls were a mottled hodge-podge of stripes, spots and skewed geometrical patterns, half a dozen chandeliers hung at different heights from the ceiling, and the carpet seemed to have taken on a life of its own and grew like grass at an alarming and varying rate. Across the room were now more chairs, tables, bureaus and statues then could ever be perceived as necessary, and a jumble of magical instruments, broken and half-mended toys and books lay scattered across the floor. It looked like, and effectively was, the site of an explosion.
"Noooooo, my room! Why do you need a fish tank? I can't stand grindylows."
Ron waved his hand at her. "Don't worry, Pansy, I'm pretty sure it's just a dead one."
"That's just as bad!"
"Hey Ron," Blaise called over his shoulder, from where he stood in the middle of what appeared to be a small marching band of macabre wooden dolls. "Do you think if I gave these guys the order, they'd infiltrate the Hufflepuff common room and we could finally learn if they sleep in a barn?"
"Blaise, I think that's an excellent idea."
"No, you will not send your soldiers into Hufflepuff," Hermione droned from where she lay on the floor, flicking through a book that Draco was fairly certain was in Gaelic and held upside down. "Holidays or not, you're still a prefect, Ron."
"Aw, you're such a killjoy, Hermione." Ron pouted so ridiculously that Draco laughed, jostling Harry from where he sprawled across his lap. The pair had moved to an even wider and softer couch that Blaise had taken upon himself to think up, and chattered inanely as the room altered around them. Harry seemed to have regained some sense of sobriety when Draco actively withheld further drink from him.
"Not to worry, Ron. You may be a prefect, but I'm not." Blaise grinned devilishly, crouching over his wooden dolls as though preparing to relay orders.
"Blaise, even I must protest at that. Those dolls are kind of creepy; I feel like I'd be responsible for any first year's nightmares that result from the intrusion." Draco propped himself up on an elbow, staring pointedly at his friend who sighed and nodded resignedly. His regret didn't last long, however; he was conjuring marionettes a moment later with such focus that Draco had to wonder at his fixation with dolls in general. Perhaps a hidden fetish?
When Harry finally decided to nudge Neville from sleep for the third time – at the insistence of Ron who claimed he was 'missing all the fun' – Pansy's immaculate room had been transfigured into something that far more closely resembled the Room of Requirement that Draco was familiar with. He didn't particularly like the reminder. Not that it mattered, really, for Blaise had jumped to another idea to seek entertainment. Ignoring Hermione's muted reference to the time, the Slytherin gathered all of them together and shunted them into the corridor.
"What are we doing?" Draco asked warily, raising an eyebrow at his friend and eyes drifting pointedly to the hand that pushed at his shoulder to urge him from the door. Blaise didn't answer, but instead held his hands up before them all as though orating to the public.
"I have an idea."
"I'm not so fond of your ideas at the moment, Blaise. You ruined my room." Pansy pursed her lips sourly, scowling at the Italian boy.
"Your displeasure is justified but disregarded," Blaise proclaimed, ignoring the snort of reply. "Anyway, following in our wonderful hostess's footsteps, I thought maybe we could have a bit of fun. Yeah?"
"What kind of fun?" Suspicion seeped from Hermione's tone. Ron jostled her with an elbow to keep her quiet.
"This is a room that can produce anything, right?" Blaise shrugged. "I thought maybe we probably weren't making the most of it."
"What were you thinking? I've got a few ideas that I've had in mind since I first saw this place but haven't really had the chance to try them out." Neville, though he still rubbed the grogginess from his eyes, looked remarkably livelier than he had an hour beforehand. Apparently the power naps had worked wonders.
Blaise held out his hand invitingly, as though presenting Neville with the ornate door. "How about you give it a go? What would you like to see?"
A grin spread across Neville's face. "Well, if you insist."
It turns out Blaise did insist. And when Neville produced a room so cluttered with greenery and dew-laden plants that they could hardly get through the door, he also insisted on everyone else having a go.
It was remarkably enjoyable, Draco had to admit. His experience with the Room of Requirement hadn't exactly been positive before that night, so he had been hesitant to tempt fate with worsening further tarnishing their relationship. But as the room shifted with each suggestion, he found himself growing more and more relaxed. Ron ended up producing a room of padded walls and floors, impossibly high ceilings and what appeared to be an indoor quidditch pitch that had left Blaise commending his taste, Hermione exasperated and Harry questioning the exact size capacities of the room. Hermione naturally unearthed a library of row after row of multi-tiered shelving even taller than the library that smelt strongly of dust and held that ominous ambience that seemed to naturally mute any conversation.
Blaise's room seemed to contain just about every luxury item that could possibly be found in the Wizarding world, all arranged and seemingly awaiting utilisation that even Draco couldn't resist. The chair that seemed to contain some sort of masseur's capabilities was one of the best things he had ever experiences and he made a mental note to request one next time he saw his parents.
The ballroom Pansy produced was as grand and extravagant as the party room had been elegant and refined. Mirrors lined the walls and a grand piano chimed melodies without a musician in the middle of a wide, open space. Draco had felt rather uncomfortable in the open area, and resisted Pansy's urges to join her on the dance floor. Instead, he and Harry, who appeared similarly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his own reflection, waited outside the corridor while Blaise took up Pansy's offer to dance and proceeded to spin her across the marble floors. They actually looked quite good together.
The room that Harry requested seemed to interest them all, even Hermione, though from her enthusiastic exclamation upon stepping into the room Draco assumed she was familiar with the spread before them. What appeared to be row after row of empty, cushioned seats drew down from the door in a tiered arrangement towards a large, flat white wall. Curtains were pushed back on either side of it like those around a window.
Time had dampened the effects of alcohol enough for Draco to regain most of his levelheadedness. The same seemed to be so for the rest of his friends, peering around the room curiously. He glanced questioningly at Harry, who had simply shrugged with a small smile and made his way down the side of the rows of chairs towards those at the front of the room.
"What is this place?" Ron seemed slightly uneasy, and Draco couldn't blame him. There was something disconcerting about seeing so many seats all facing the same direction yet looking at nothing save a blank wall. There wasn't even a picture there.
"It's a movie theatre. They don't have the equivalent in the Wizarding world, but it's quite a common place for Muggles to visit." Hermione couldn't quite keep the smugness from her tone as she followed Harry down towards the front of the theatre. The pair settled themselves in the center of the row, three back from the screen as though entirely comfortable with the arrangement. Which they probably were, Draco realised.
"A movie theatre? What's that?" Following as Draco led the rest of them to the seats beside them, Neville's own confusion interlaced his words. At least he didn't sound worried; Draco wondered if Neville actually got worried about anything. He seemed to have remarkably resilient character.
Neither Hermione nor Harry got the chance to speak, however, because at that moment the lights died overhead and there was a blaring noise that caused all those standing to jump half a foot in fright and spin towards the white wall at the front of the room. Draco assumed that was where the sound came from. The colours that spread across the screen were the only thing that had changed in the dark room
"What is that?!" He had to almost yell to be heard over the thrumming noise, a yell that abruptly echoed in the silence that followed the initial burst of noise.
"Oh, the movie's starting! Come on, sit down, sit down." Hermione waved towards them demandingly, directing them to their seats as Harry watched her with a smile growing on his face. He seemed thoroughly amused by the hesitancy of the rest of them and it was this more than anything that urged Draco into the seat beside him. He settled with a sigh and cast a glance at Harry.
"Why did you choose this place?"
Harry shrugged again, turning his eyes towards the images that began to flicker across the screen. Draco felt his own gaze drawn towards them and he became so engrossed with the larger than life pictures – reminiscent but different to Wizarding photographs – and accompanying sounds that he almost forgot the question he had asked until Harry spoke again.
"I used to come to the theatres sometimes, when I was by myself a lot in France." Harry's voice was even quieter than usual, as though he didn't want to disrupt the words emitted from the figures on the screen. Not that Draco would have worried; they spoke awfully loudly. "It was only when my uncle was away on business, or out late with work. It's sort of nice, just to be somewhere where no one is looking at you and you can be distracted for a little while."
Draco half-turned to his friend slowly, regarding him from his periphery. Harry's smile had faded somewhat, leaving only a ghostly shadow in its wake. He looked slightly wistful and a little sad as he stared at the screen. Draco didn't particularly like it, and slowly slipped his hand into Harry's. The motion worked as well as it usually did. Sharing a glance, Draco was relieved when Harry's small smile grew on his face once more.
He was prevented from replying, however, when Hermione hissed in Harry's ear. It wasn't really a whisper, as Draco could hear it perfectly, even with the movie people's voices. "Is this 'Braveheart'? It's 'Braveheart', isn't it? I wanted to see that, but never got a chance to."
"Braveheart?" Draco asked, leaning forward to better convey his words.
Hermione shifted her gaze to him. "An insight into history, Draco, if a little romanticized. You should pay attention." He didn't like the smug expression on her face, but Harry was watching it so he settled into his seat and followed his example. It was actually quite interesting, when one got over the disconcerting realization that the movie was in fact entirely separate from the audience and the figures in the picture didn't interact whatsoever. It was almost like a photograph with the sequence set on a very long and very elaborate loop.
When the lights came back on, Hermione urged them all from their seats with unnecessary haste. She said something about having to leave with punctuality when the movie was finished that Draco couldn't quite understand; why would they need to hurry to leave? There was no one to even tell them to leave, let alone fill their seats which was what Draco got the impression Hermione was suggesting. She diverged before he could ask her about it, though.
"What I don't understand is the principle of Technological Conflict. How did the Room produce a movie theatre when it can't accept something as simple as a kitchen appliance? A microwave, for instance, is more likely to explode than cook food." Draco didn't know what a microwave was, but it sounded dangerous. Hermione didn't seem to care much for his opinion, however. Her attention was focused solely upon the only other member of their party from the Muggle world.
"I'm not sure. I thought about that when I first saw the room but…" Harry trailed off, tapping a finger to his chin in thought. "Maybe it's not an actual theatre?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, maybe it's just a Wizarding version of it. As close to a copy of the Muggle movie theatre as you could get. Or something."
"Wizards don't have anything like that," Pansy commented. She actually seemed disappointed at the prospect.
"I know," Harry continued. "But you have moving photographs and talking portraits. I'm sure there would be some way to replicate it."
"There's nothing all that unusual about moving photos, though." Ron scratched his head, in honest bafflement.
"Maybe not to you. To a Muggle I'm sure it would seem pretty strange." Harry's comment left them all pondering, except for Hermione who nodded her fervent agreement.
When Pansy, the last one out of the Room, closed the door behind her, all turned expectantly towards Draco. He paused for a moment, confused, until comprehension dawned.
"Lucky last, my friend." Blaise patted him fondly on the shoulder. "Show us what you've got."
"We probably shouldn't take too long. It's very late." Hermione cast a Tempus charm to punctuate the claim and Draco just caught a glimpse of a one, a three and a six before it disappeared.
Shrugging, Draco cast a glance down the hallway. "It is late. Perhaps we should just head off."
"What? No, you're the last one. Everyone needs a turn."
"I'm fine, Blaise, really."
"Draco, don't be a wet blanket. What, are you nervous something embarrassing will show up? Come on, give it a go."
How could he explain why he didn't want to trigger the spells on the Room of Requirement? How could he tell them that the very thought, the memory of doing so numerous times in the past left him with a queasy churning in his gut? He knew what Room would show up, and he had vowed that he wouldn't inflict it upon himself again. What if he saw the Cabinet, with everything it stood for, and…?
"I'm actually feeling sort of tired. Maybe we could just leave it?"
Harry. Of course it was Harry who spoke up. Harry was the only one who had any inkling of Draco's discomfort and likely the only one who actually saw his unease in that moment. Raising his eyes towards his friend, he was met with quiet affection and sympathy, understanding and acceptance. He offered a small smile, then sighed heavily as though tired. Yes, Harry was rather good at deceptions when he wanted to be, even though his face was now as easy to read as a book. Quite remarkable.
"Oh," Blaise looked faintly disappointed, but the duel comments of Harry and Hermione seemed to sway him. "Well, if you really don't want to."
Except in that moment, abruptly changed his mind. Draco actually did want to. Harry was there to support him if he needed it. The slight squeeze of his hand told Draco as much. And besides, it was just a room. Just a room. There was nothing in there that could possibly threaten him. Not any longer.
"Maybe just quickly?" Draco posed the statement as a question, and Blaise brightened, nodding enthusiastically. Draco wondered if anyone actually realised he had asked the question solely of Harry. His friend only smiled again briefly and dipped his head in acknowledgement.
In barely a minute, Draco stood in front of a plain wooden door. He was unsurprised that the door was familiar, down to the faint scratch beside the handle that he had sliced into it in a fit of rage at one point. He wondered that the door had retained that feature. Stepping forwards, twisting the knob, he eased his way into the Room.
It was exactly as he remembered, down to the old accordion discarded to the left hand side of the door. Sprawled out before him was a jungle of broken and ancient magical artifacts, stained furniture and limply hanging drapery. Dust lathered the floor like carpet.
"What possessed you to think up of this room?" Blaise muttered behind him, confusion thick in his tone. Draco didn't answer, stepping through the doorway and allowing his friends to follow him through. Harry slipped to his side without a word, fingers sliding between his own. The soft coolness of his palm eased some of Draco's growing tension.
"This is like a goldmine in here." Awe was a thick in Ron's tone as Blaise's confusion. "I mean, most of it looks like junk, but I reckon you could find a fair bit that's actually valuable."
"Is that an Apathosphere?" Pansy's voice echoed as she started into the room, weaving between towers of precariously balanced ornaments. "I've never seen a real one before."
"There's more brooms here than would be needed for an entire quidditch squad." Neville wandered off in the other direction, Ron trailing behind him. "Hey look, Ron, an antique! I don't think they even make Torchwoods anymore."
"Neat. Do you think we could take them?"
"Ron, you shouldn't just take things from the Room without asking. It could belong to someone," Hermione chided, following in the wake of her two friends. Draco peered after them as they ducked beneath an overhanging curtain, leaving he, Harry and Blaise just inside the door.
Blaise stared in continued confusion at Draco, brow wrinkling. He seemed to be struggling with the concept that Draco hadn't requested a room jam-packed with every desire he could think of. "What brought this on?"
Draco shrugged, dropping his gaze from his friend's. Blaise stared for a moment longer, before shrugging in turn. "Whatever. I'm going to go and find Pansy. She's like a Niffler sniffing out gold in a haystack when it comes to hidden treasures. Maybe she can find something interesting." His boots kicked up dust as he disappeared in the direction Pansy had wandered.
Without realizing, Draco found his gaze drawn to the little passage that led towards the Vanishing Cabinet. He couldn't miss it; the glass statue of a rather ugly fairy seemed to direct him with a demanding frown.
"Did you want to go and see it?"
Nearly starting at Harry's hushed words, Draco glanced towards him. There was no forcefulness in his expression; he wasn't pushing Draco to confront the bad memory. His words were exactly as they sounded; Harry simply asked. And somehow that made it seem doable. Like Draco had a choice and that choice could be denied if he so desired.
How does he always know the right thing to say?
Nodding slowly, Draco reaffirmed his grasp on Harry's fingers and led the way through the labyrinthine columns of miscellaneous trash. Past the ugly fairy, turning left at the splintered remains of an old piano, stepping over the soft matt of discarded cushions so faded and covered in dirt that their original colour was no longer discernable. It wasn't far, really, and Draco found himself before the ornate Cabinet within minutes.
It still looked imposing, even when he knew it was no longer a foe he had to confront and fail against time and time again. There was something about the aged wood, the intricate paneling and the solidity of the object that caused him to struggle against shrinking from it. Swallowing, he pointed rather redundantly at the structure.
"This is it."
He could feel Harry nod beside him. "It's not exactly the most beautiful piece of furniture, is it?"
It was such an unexpected statement that Draco barked a laugh in surprise. Then he couldn't stop himself. Distantly, he was aware that his laughter was bordering on hysterical, but he couldn't stop himself. It just seemed to irrationally funny.
When he finally got the breath to speak once more, he realised that the weight that had settled upon his when he stepped into the Room had lifted. With more confidence than he would have thought possible two weeks ago, he looped an arm around Harry's shoulders in a on-armed hug. He didn't say anything, though. He didn't really know what to say, not about the Cabinet, nor his gratitude for Harry's support.
Not that it mattered. Harry just looped an arm around his waist and gave him a half-hug in return. It was the best feeling Draco could have experienced, and suddenly made the visit to the Room, to this version of the Room in particular, worth it.
They probably stood there for longer than Draco realised. Not moving, and not talking, simply staring at the Cabinet. It seemed to grow less and less imposing the longer they stood there. It was Pansy's voice that finally called them back to reality.
"Dray-co! Where are you? Have you gotten lost, dear?"
Rolling his eyes, Draco shared a glance with Harry. "The voice from the depths." He was rewarded with a small sigh of Harry's subdued laughter. Turning them around, Draco exchanged his one-armed embrace for a simple handhold once more. Harry allowed himself to be tugged along behind him as he led the way back to the entrance. Pansy and Blaise talked quietly, eyes scanning over the columns as though keeping an eye out for their returning friends. In Pansy's arms were…
"Pansy, is that a dress?"
Turning towards them, Pansy beamed. "Why yes, yes it is. Your powers of perception have grown markedly, Draco."
"Why do you have a dress?"
The girl shrugged, not in the least bit embarrassed by his pointed stare. "Because, Draco, it's beautiful and it fits, despite being so vintage."
"You tried it on?"
"Yes, she most certainly did," Blaise smirked suggestively before ducking from a swat from the girl. Draco didn't miss the flush that coloured her cheeks, however, or the slightly pleased smile that curled her lips before she turned away.
"Where are Hermione, Neville and Ron?" Harry glanced curiously around them, eyebrow rising.
"Over here!" Ron's voice bellowed loudly across the room, thinned slightly by distance and towering hurdles of junk. Following the tug of Harry's hand as he wandered towards the voice, Draco sighed melodramatically.
"Tell me they haven't gotten lost."
"Not lost," Hermione piped a moment later, rounding a punctured partition and smiling brightly. "Just having a look around." She affixed Draco with an appreciative stare. "Good pick, Draco. This place is a goldmine. I wouldn't be surprised if every possible item the Room of Requirement could produce was in here."
"Well, it's certainly big enough," Draco murmured, and ignored the curious glance she gave him.
"How do you know that? Have you been here before?"
Draco was spared from answering as Harry turned nearly on the spot, frowning. "Where's Neville?"
"Oh, he's right…" Ron turned to empty space behind him. "Hey, Neville. Mate, where've you gotten yourself to?"
"Has the Gryffindor Golden Boy gotten himself lost?" Blaise didn't sound worried in the slightest. Amused, if anything.
"Neville!" Hermione called, starting back in the direction she'd come. Harry, fingers still locked in Draco's hand, dragged him along too as he followed behind her.
It turned out Neville wasn't too far away. Crouched in a squat, he appeared to be staring intently at something in his hands. So intently that he visibly started when Hermione tapped him on the shoulder.
"What are you looking at?" She asked, peering curiously over his shoulder.
Neville shrugged, rising to his feet. "Dunno. Some sort of crown or something." He hefted something that looked a bit like an old, discoloured tiara.
"Speaking of ugly," Draco mused.
"I don't think it's ugly so much as… dated," Harry corrected, peering at the tiara before frowning questioningly at Neville. "Where did you find it?"
Neville shrugged again. He hadn't taken his eyes off the headpiece since they had found him and was staring at it as though it had somehow offended him. "I just picked it up off the floor."
"O-kay, that's wonderful," Blaise chimed in, coming up behind them. "But right now, I think my asthma is going to start kicking in. Do you mind if we get out of here?"
"Blaise, you don't have asthma."
"You never know, Pansy."
"Actually, I do."
Draco shook his head as he followed after the pair, side by side with Harry. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the Gryffindors followed and raised an eyebrow. He wondered if anyone else saw Neville slip the tiara into the back of his belt. It was a day for revelations: Blaise's puppet fetish, Pansy's grindylow phobia, and now Neville's fascination with antique headpieces. Who knew?
Perhaps it was the dust in the room, or simply the late hour, but as they all filed out of the Room for the last time, sleepiness seemed to settle upon them all. As each lit their wands with a Lumos – Harry excepted given he had, of course, left his wand in his rooms – Hermione checked the time once more and declared two o'clock in the morning far too late to be awake still. She adopted her scolding face and with a severe finger pointed the Slytherins towards the dungeon while urging Ron and Neville in the direction of the Gryffindor tower.
"At least she's not having a fit about being out after curfew," Ron called over his shoulder. "She used to be obsessive about being back in the common room by eight." He received a cuff behind the ear for his comment and the Slytherins hastened towards the dungeons snickering at the echoed scolding of Hermione Granger that followed them for far longer than should have been possible.
It was when they neared the stairwell leading down to the dungeons that Draco approached his dilemma. A dilemma that Pansy apparently found no difficulty with overcoming.
"Draco, you're going back to Harry's rooms, right?" It wasn't really a question. Draco suspected he would have received a tongue-lashing had he responded negatively.
"What? Why's he going back to Harry's rooms?"
Pansy rolled her eyes at Blaise. "Honestly, Blaise? You have to ask?" At his continued bafflement, she sighed. "He's walking him back. Harry doesn't know the corridors so well still. He could get lost."
"What, still?" Blaise sent Harry an incredulous glance, which Harry replied with one of bemusement. "Harry, you need to get yourself a better sense of direction."
Pansy looked as though she could smack her head at her friend's naivety. She somehow refrained, much to Draco's gratitude. He could feel a faint warmth rising into his cheeks once more. "Come on, fool. I'm tired and you need to walk me back to the common room."
"What, you have directional problems too?"
"Don't test me, Blaise. I'm a wearied woman. Here, hold my dress." And with a billow of silken skirts, she dumped the garment into Blaise's arms, linked her elbow through his, and drew him away. With a final wave and word of farewell over her shoulder the pair disappeared into the darkness.
Turning towards Harry, Draco fought once more to keep the redness from his cheeks. Dammit, Pansy, now you've got me thinking. He'd managed to entirely ignore the incident that had occurred in Pansy's party room, excluding it as a hiccup in an otherwise comprehensible and admittedly enjoyable night. Now the girl had gone and been so suggestive.
Not that Harry seemed to have realised it at all. He looked as though he were ready to fall to sleep on his feet as he covered a yawn with his hand. Blinking in the aftermath, he noticed Draco's scrutiny and smiled fondly.
Is it only fondness? Does he even see our friendship like I do? Somehow, the very thought of Harry seeing anyone like that seemed a little otherworldly. Harry was different like that, sort of innocent and a little pure.
Not to mention the fact that for someone who has been through what he has… to even be thinking of a relationship… Wait, who said anything about a relationship? He shouldn't be thinking that, shouldn't be even contemplating it. Draco's revelation at Christmas was one thing; he could accept that he loved Harry. But why did he have to extend it further? Fetter it, as the Bond of Eternity tapestry had said, by any particular name. Why do people have to label such feelings?
He didn't know, but for whatever reason, despite the logic that the tapestry had promoted, there was a need to classify it, to understand –
"What's wrong? Are you tired?"
Blinking to focus his eyes – not that they had drawn from Harry's face for a moment – he forced down the rush of a blush. "Tired? Yes, yes I think I am." He attempted a smile but felt he was only mildly successful.
Harry nodded, accepting the explanation and turned towards away from the dungeon. Quite contrary to Pansy's excuse, Harry knew his way around the castle quite well. Draco followed after him slowly.
It was only when they entered the rooms once more that Draco realised he probably should have said something about the sleeping arrangement. He hadn't even thought about sleeping in the Slytherin common room, but now it seemed as though it should have been something he had discussed with Harry beforehand.
Stepping just inside the door to Featherwood's rooms, Draco paused. "So, should I…?" He pointed a thumb over his shoulder as Harry turned to him questioningly.
"Did you want to leave? I was, I mean, I was hoping you might have wanted to stay here,' Harry murmured, fiddling awkwardly with his cuffs. And that was that. Draco could hardly object, especially if there were no further objections from professors. The unrealized sinking in his gut abruptly abated.
They made quick work of changing, slowly and with a gradually prevailing lethargy. Draco just a half-hearted Teeth-Cleaning Charm before falling onto the bed beside Harry. His friend was already huddled in his typical curl, Lyssy pressd against his back and sound asleep, their simultaneous breathing sounding in soft puffs. Not a word further had been spoken since changing, but it hardly mattered.
Lying down on the pillow beside Harry, Draco tucked a hand under his head. He stared intently at his friend's relaxed face; Harry rarely sunk into sleep before him and it was a rare treat to simply watch him. Quite appropriate, given the direction his thoughts had drifted that night.
With a smile, he realised Harry hadn't even bothered to remove his glasses. Reaching forwards, he gently tugged the frames from his nose, eliciting a faint, incomprehensible murmur. Draco always liked seeing Harry's face without glasses. Oh, his mother had chosen superbly, to be sure, but there was something about seeing pale cheeks un-shadowed, long dark lashes curling beneath his eyes, that captivated him. Almost without his permission, his fingers drifted forwards to tug at the fringe of dark hair that trailed across Harry's face.
I don't know how I ever missed he was beautiful.
He couldn't help himself. It just happened. His thoughts, Pansy's words, Harry sleeping so relaxed and trusting beside him. He leaned forward as if in a trance and before he could second-guess himself, pressed his lips to Harry's.
It was a brief kiss; chaste and juvenile. But it was also warm. Soft. Delicious and sweet, it tasted faintly of the nashi cider. The moment their lips touched seemed to last both forever and for a split second. Harry stirred slightly in his sleep, murmuring inaudibly into Draco's lips, but he didn't pull away. It was Draco who did that.
And was abruptly gripped by an overwhelming influx of self-reprimand.
I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have done that, not without asking, not without telling him how I feel. I shouldn't have done that.
The words kept replaying themselves in his mind like a broken record and he found himself mentally kicking himself. Harry wouldn't have wanted that. It had been a selfish motion, completely without consideration for his friend. Surely a kiss – a kiss – would be the last thing Harry would want.
Biting his lip, Draco felt the guilt well inside him. The broken record looped in replay. And yet as he lay awake until the next morning, he couldn't bring himself to entirely regret it. Harry's lips had been so soft. And if it was the once chance he got, he would treasure the memory like the sacred moment it had been. After all, it was the moment he had finally understood just how much he loved him.

In reply to some of the comments and questions in reviews:
Sera21: Sorry you feel that way. I know, maybe a little unrealistic, but bear in mind that they're not exactly spending the day immersing themselves in every aspect of the culture. Harry's more sort of trying to give him a crash-course show of everything, so it's sort of naturally going to be a bit overwhelming. I'm under no allusions that you could see everything in half a day. Truly, I'm not. Besides, in regard to the Eiffel Tower, they 'saw' it, but that was pretty much it. There was no actual climb involved. It was literally just that they went and saw it. Sort of like a lot of their crash-course tour. And no, they didn't see it twice; it was more just like an introduction in the present --> reflection --> back to the present. If that makes sense.

As it happens, I have been to Paris (though it was, granted, a very long time ago and my memories are probably pretty hazy). I agree that there are certainly elements that aren't 'beautiful'. Seriously, I'm not trying to overly romanticise everything. Sorry if it came off that way.

Thanks for comenting though :) You're entitled to your own opinion.
Jan: Glitch?? Sorry, I'm not sure what you mean...?
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The Masks of Real Heroes