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Honour Bound	By : Draeconin Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 42041 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Chapter 1
- 2-Ch. 2
- 3-Ch. 3
- 4-Ch. 4
- 5-Ch. 5
- 6-Ch. 6
- 7-Ch. 7
- 8-Ch. 8
- 9-Ch. 9
- 10-Ch. 10
- 11-Ch. 11
- 12-Ch. 12
- 13-Ch. 13
- 14-Ch. 14
- 15-Ch. 15
- 16-Ch. 16
- 17-Ch. 17
- 18-Ch. 18
- 19-Ch. 19
- 20-Ch. 20
- 2
- 3
- 4
Honour Bound

by Draeconin

See Chapter One for disclaimer and details.

Chapter Three

And that brought Harry to the present. Draco's upset at being taken to Gryffindor Tower had intensified after he'd knelt by his master's chair (his own idea, in order to make himself less of a target), and the residents had started in with their indignant questions, comments, and orders to "get the slimy Slytherin out of here!" That's when Harry had started running his hand through Draco's hair. Oddly, the contact seemed to comfort both of them. The incessant yelling and yammering of questions and comments finally tried Harry's patience too far. "SHUT IT!" he roared. The boy under his hand started. Although Draco had felt his mas- had felt Harry's growing frustration and anger, there was no danger for him to react to, and the outburst caught him by surprise, as well.
The sudden, surprised silence was a blessing. "Draco is here because his father owed me a life debt!" Harry said, loudly and strongly. "He gave me him for a bond slave to discharge it," he said, a bit more tentatively, not sure how his House-mates would take that.
For the most part, there was silence. Those from well-established wizarding families just nodded. For them, the matter was settled. The practice may not have been in use for ages, but their parents made sure they were taught all the customs and traditions, so they were familiar with the concept, and accepted the reality. Having a real bond slave present, especially Draco Malfoy, was still a curiosity that demanded answers, but otherwise the blond's presence was no longer an issue.
Most of the Muggle-borns were clueless. But Hermione, who actually knew what a bond slave was, and Ron, were another matter, if for entirely different reasons.
"Way to go, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "How does it feel, Ferret?" he sneered at Draco. "Not so high and mighty any more, are you?" When Draco remained silent, ignoring the taunting, Ron aimed a swipe at the fair head, saying "Answer when you're spoken to, sla-!" - and was a bit shocked and surprised, when Harry caught his arm, preventing the blow from landing.
"Did I give you permission to touch him?" Harry asked, coldly. His friends were the ones he'd most worried about; what their reactions would be, and how he'd have to handle them. This, unfortunately, was almost exactly what he'd thought Ron might be like, considering the identity of his - acquisition. "I had hoped you were a bit better than that, Ron," he mourned, voice softening.
"Draco answers only to me!" Harry said, raising his voice as he informed the room.
"And, Draco," Harry added, addressing the blond, "you have my permission to defend yourself from any abuse, from anyone. But if you provoke it, you'll answer to me. Do you understand?"
"I understand," Draco replied, "and I may have your permission, Potter, but I cannot defend myself from you, as you should well know," he said, but without bitterness. The tone was flat; almost - defeated.
"What's got into you, Harry?" Ron inquired, in a bit of a snit, interrupting his friend from replying to the blond, and redirecting his attention.
Hermione was shocked by both boys' behaviour, but especially by Ron's. She looked at him, then Harry, and decided to let them work things out between themselves. Then she'd have her say. President of S.P.E.W, and Harry thought she'd be okay with enslaving another human? The boy had another think coming to him! And it was Draco Malfoy? She shuddered, a bit. After that, she would have a few choice words to share with her boyfriend about his behaviour.
"What's got into me? Since when have you taken to attacking those who can't defend themselves, Ron? I never took you for a bully!" Harry retorted, unwittingly earning respect points from his new slave; not for his 'goody-goody' attitude, but because it was him that Harry was defending - and from his own best friend!
Draco was wondering if he'd totally misjudged Harry all these years. He'd felt his raven-haired master's unfocused frustration and anger crystallising when Weasley had started taunting him, and blaze when the redhead had made to hit him. Oh, but he'd wanted to hex the gloating smirk from the Weasel's face! But surrounded by Gryffindors, he'd only thought to duck the blow. When he hadn't had to, he'd been shocked. And now with permission from his...master... But he was no longer under attack, so the permission didn't apply, at the moment. He sighed quietly to himself, then comforted himself with the thought that the Weasel would try again, and then...
Ron's face reddened. "I'm not a bully! Just getting a little of my own back!" he retorted.
"Do you know how childish that sounds, Ron? You're almost seventeen - act it!" Harry ordered.
"Who are you, to tell me how to act?" Ron said, furiously.
As angry as he was, Harry smiled. Well, his mouth formed the shape, but the expression was almost vicious. He hadn't been going to say anything to anyone, not being one to glorify himself, but this situation called for it. "For one thing, I'm the Marquis of Greenford," he said, quietly.
There were a variety of reactions to that pronouncement throughout the room, from incomprehension, to confusion, disbelief, and shock, but Harry's attention was on the redhead.
"Bloody hell, Harry; if you're going to lie, you could do better than that!" the redhead scoffed. Harry? The most powerful aristocrat in the wizarding world, with the largest sphere of influence short of the deceased royal family? Not bloody likely!
Harry kept smiling. "If I were lying, I could have, yes," he agreed, calmly.
Draco looked at the young man, whose mark he bore, with wide eyes. 'So that was why my father said that,' he thought. He had been in shock from the effects of the spell at the time, but he remembered what had been said, even though little else had registered. He remembered his father saying 'Marquis'. But without a reference, he'd simply let the word go by without trying to understand. He ignored that he had been in emotional shock, as well. But the Marquis of Greenford? The holder of that title controlled more of Wizarding Britain than any but the royal family! And since they were dead...
"Damn it, Harry, that's not funny!" Ron shouted.
"He's not joking," Draco said, finally joining the conversation. "My father-"
"Quiet, slave," Ron hissed.
The Slytherin bit back the retort he'd been about to make, remembering he was in 'enemy' territory. Then, unable to remain completely silent, angrily muttered "Make up your mind."
Harry stood. "That's the second time you've presumed to order what is not yours," he said to his friend in a very quiet, but steely, voice. "Do you make it a habit to meddle where you don't belong?"
"Harry," Ron started, impatiently.
"You will call me 'milord'," Harry interrupted a bit more loudly, correcting him with just a slight hint of hauteur in his voice. He hated to treat his friend like this, but he had to put a stop to Ron's presumption regarding Draco now, or things could get very sticky, later.
"Okay, Harry," Ron said warningly, amazed by his friend's gall, "you're really carrying this jest much too far."
"I suggest you contact your father," Harry instructed him, cooly. "He helped me verify it."
"And don't think I won't!" Ron snapped, and headed for the portrait door. When he reached it, and Harry still hadn't called him back to say it was a joke, he started having doubts, but kept going. A quick fire call to his father, and then he could call Harry's bluff with impunity.
With Ron gone, the questions again started to fly, but now they weren't just about Draco being a bond slave; he was also being asked about his claiming a title. Harry answered a dozen or so as best he could while still trying to kill the left-over anger from his argument with his best friend, but found that everyone was asking the same questions, only the wording being changed a bit; each person wanting to be told personally.
Harry was tired, he could feel that Draco was again becoming stressed, and his own nerves were already frayed to the breaking point, so he loudly called out "Hold up!" When he had everyone's attention, he said "I understand that you're all quite curious, but a lot of your questions concerning..." He hesitated. He disliked having to keep pushing the fact in Draco's face, but he couldn't find another way to phrase it, and had to continue. "...concerning life debts and bond slaves, can be found in the library. Suffice it to say, Draco submitted of his own free will, in order to allow his father to discharge his life debt to me. It was an honourable act." Draco had accepted the bond of his own free will, but it had been grudgingly, in the face of a fate he considered to be worse. The rest, although not completely true, wasn't a complete lie, either.
"As for the title," the green-eyed Gryffindor continued: " Yes, it is legitimate; passed down for hundreds of years, and only went into disuse a few generations ago due to a dangerous political climate. I have reclaimed it for my own reasons, but of course it makes no difference here at Hogwarts, any more than Draco's does. All of this is on file at the Ministry of Magic. If you are entitled, you can look it up there. If you are not, then you shouldn't be asking. Now, both Draco and I have had a most trying morning, and would like to have some peace and quiet." So saying, he nodded to Draco to follow him, and made his way to their dorm room.
Hermione followed, although girls weren't allowed in the boys dorms. At the door to the room he shared with the other boys of his year, she spoke up. "Harry Potter, if you think you're escaping me that easily, you'd best think again!"
Harry closed his eyes, groping for his last shreds of patience. "Not now, 'Mione. You're going to spout human rights at me, and you don't know all the facts. If you can find it within yourself to trust me, trust that it was necessary."
"Malfoy?" she said, questioning the blond.
The blond looked to Harry for permission to answer, and receiving a short nod in reply, said "Firstly, my name is Draco - not Malfoy. Secondly, my father needed to discharge his life debt to Potter. I was willing," he said.
Hermione ignored the name correction as irrelevant, right now - and the blond hadn't said anything more than Harry had stated earlier. "Why?" she asked. "Why would you want to be a slave?"
"That, Granger, is none of your business," Draco replied, with some of his old spirit. Harry hid a smirk behind his hand. "And now, if you don't mind, my master needs to rest."
Harry frowned. He knew the blond had only said it to irritate Hermione, but he wasn't comfortable with the trappings of a 'master/slave' relationship. It might be a magical and legal reality, but he didn't like having it pushed in his face, any more than he was sure Draco did. They were going to have to talk, later.
"I don't care what you say. Slavery is wrong, and I'm going to find a way to break this!" Hermione said, ranting a bit.
Harry opened his mouth, but Draco spoke first. "Good luck, Granger," he said, "but bond slavery has existed for longer than anyone can remember. If a way were found, I'm sure the spells were re-written or replaced, to prevent it."
Hermione's jaw set in a way that Harry knew too well. "I will find a way!" she swore, before turning on her heel, and heading back down the stairs. There was no way she was going to be around Malfoy any longer than necessary, and she wasn't going to let his presence cut her off from Harry, either.
'Probably off to the library,' Harry thought. "She truly would have a fit, if she knew I also owned house-elves, now," he mused aloud, to himself.
"We still have about an hour before dinner," Harry said, turning to Draco. "Let's lie down for awhile." He'd only gone a few steps before he realized that Draco wasn't following him. Turning, he found the blond looking at him uncertainly. "Draco? What's wrong?"
Draco had smirked at Harry's admission to owning house elves, and his all-too-accurate guess about Granger's reaction. But now... "Lie down?" Draco repeated questioningly. "With you?"
Puzzled, the Gryffindor stared at the blond. He could feel there was no repulsion there, but rather...apprehension? Then understanding came. "You have your own bed. Well - cot, for now," he said reassuringly. He looked Draco up and down, to tease. "Although, if things work out that way..." he said, smirking. At Draco's stricken look, Harry quickly tried to reassure him, saying "I'm not serious, Draco! It's true that I find you attractive, but I'm not a rapist!" He had decided that he should be totally honest with the young man - lies or half-truths could lead to trust issues, and they needed to trust each other. A lifetime of mistrust would be miserable for them both.
"You - find me attractive?" Draco asked, doubtfully.
"It's only your attitude I don't care for," Harry said, nodding. Actually, Draco's almost feminine countenance and slight frame aroused a great many emotions in Harry's breast; tenderness, protectiveness, lust... Until the blond opened his mouth, at which point he only wanted to shut him up. Unfortunately, his instincts were starting to demand he do that mouth-to-mouth.
"Oh," was the only reply.
Harry showed Draco to his cot, then lay down on his bed.
For some reason he couldn't quite fathom, Draco was feeling rather guilty. It wasn't as though he hadn't known exactly what he was doing with his insults and actions. He hated the blasted 'Boy Who Lived' - right? 'Right,' he reminded himself. Except it wasn't the exact truth, he reluctantly admitted to himself. He was angry, yes. Obviously. But he kept refusing to acknowledge the hurt that nurtured that anger. Even now, under the slave bond, he was desperately trying to deny the hurt he felt. It had started with Harry's refusal to shake his hand at the train station at the beginning of their first year. Of course he hadn't nursed the hurt; nor was he jealous of the mudblood and the Weasel, who were where he should be. And he hadn't allowed the frustration and resentment from the raven-haired Gryffindor's constant bettering of him when he tried to impress the boy to build up. Of course not. Not at all. The impertinent, beautiful boy had to be punished for it, though, right? 'Right,' he answered himself. Then why did he feel like he'd just spotted the tag line of a cruel joke - and it was him?
These thoughts, plus everything else that had happened to him, overwhelmed him. But when he felt tears start from his eyes, he blamed it all on the loss of his freedom. Even so, he couldn't let anyone see, so he turned to lay on his stomach, hiding his face from the boy who was now his master.
Draco couldn't hide his emotions, though, and Harry felt them. They made him uncomfortable; not half because he was responsible for them (he thought it was all about Draco's new status - or lack thereof), but also because he didn't know what to do to try to make the blond feel better. He rolled to the edge of his bed and trailed his hand over the edge, stroking the blond boy's hair.
Draco inched away, unwilling to accept comforting right then, and especially not from the person he was upset over.
Harry sighed, accepting the rejection for now, and moved into a more comfortable position.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When they went to dinner, Draco asked Harry for permission to sit at the Slytherin table.
Harry was a bit startled, as the green-eyed young man had assumed that's where Draco would be sitting. Thinking back to the books he'd read on wizarding bond slavery, though, he knew he'd been foolish for doing so. Harry could control almost every aspect of the Slytherin's life as a bond slave, from how he dressed, to whether or not he continued his education, up to and including permission to wed. "Yes, of course," he replied. "If you need me, you know where to find me."
"You gave me permission to defend myself, Potter; I believe I can do that," was the Slytherin's cold reply. As he said it, he could feel those fiery trails in his mind, again, and his resistance to the Gryffindor faltered, then decreased.
"Don't get snarky with me, Draco," Harry warned. "When they see the slave mark, things may get difficult."
Looking over at the Slytherin table, the blond could see that he was already getting strange looks from his House-mates, just for talking to... He clenched his teeth, then finished the thought. ...his master. "I apologise," he said, tightly. "May I go, now?" The fiery tickle had subsided, but with Draco's resentment and anger towards Harry and his situation, it now returned, burning out those feelings.
Harry nodded, and the blond stalked off. Even in his mood, he strode gracefully. Harry decided he'd keep an eye on the Slytherin table, just in case.
Turning back to his own table, Harry wasn't surprised to see almost everyone there staring, as well. Curious, he looked around, to find everything from unabashed staring, to surreptitious glances aimed either at him, or at Draco. With resentment at his life once again becoming the subject of school gossip turning to a slow-burning anger, he once again faced the Gryffindor table. It seemed the gossip network had been a bit more effective than usual. He understood that it was bound to happen, but that didn't make him like it any the more.
He sat in his usual spot. Fortunately, Hermione wasn't there to nag at him. 'She must be still in the library,' he thought. Ron was looking at him, wide-eyed.
"Bloody hell, Harry," the redhead exclaimed quietly, awe and resentment in his voice, "why'd you wait until we were arguing to tell me?"
"I wouldn't have said anything then, if you weren't being such a prat," Harry replied.
"When would you have told us?" Ron asked, frowning.
Harry shrugged. "After graduating, most likely," he replied, nonchalantly.
"But that's almost two years off! Why?"
"Look how you're acting, Ron," was the reply. "You know I don't like to be put on a pedestal, and here you are, in awe just because I've found I have a title! If I live through this little thing with Voldemort," Harry rolled his eyes when most of those in hearing range flinched at hearing the name, "then I'll need it for its political pull, but I doubt they're going to listen to a school-bound teenager who has yet to reach his majority, even with a title. So what use is it now? But you had to get your back up, didn't you?"
Ron turned a deep red, in colour. "Yes, well; about that..." he stammered. "Dad almost came through the Floo after me, when I told him what happened. Mum was worse after Da told her. So I...I'm sorry, all right?"
Harry paled. He hadn't once thought of what his unofficially adoptive parents would think of what he'd done. As usual, he'd been too independent, and not thought of the consequences. "Did they...say anything about - that?"
Ron considered, for a moment, lieing to his friend, to see him squirm, but decided he was already on shaky ground. "Well, I can't say they looked happy, but they didn't say anything," he admitted.
"D'you think they're angry?"
"I don't think so..." Ron said, thoughtfully, but then decided not to say anything more.
"I need to write an owl," Harry muttered.
"Harry?" Ron said, making a bid for Harry's attention. When the youth looked up, he asked "Why do you care about Malfoy, anyway?"
Harry's wry smile was without mirth. "He's not a thing, Ron. Yes, according to every custom, tradition, and law he belongs to me, but he's still a person."
"Then why did you enslave him?" Hermione asked, flatly.
He hadn't seen her coming, his concentration on the redhead. Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to think of what to say. There was nothing for it; he'd have to tell her the whole story. "Not here, 'Mione. Seventh floor, after dinner," he decided.
She understood the reference to the Room of Requirement, and nodded once, sharply.
"Anyway, Ron," the dark-haired youth continued, relieved that Hermione had decided to be patient, "if you must think of him in terms of property, think of him as my property; and like my Firebolt, you don't have anything to do with him unless I give my permission. Okay?" His eyes begged his friend to understand.
Ron had been staring at the raven-haired teen, trying to figure out what was going on, but eventually nodded his head. The only way he was going to be able to handle this, was if Malfoy weren't a person. Property it was. "Right. Your property. Don't touch," he repeated. Then a little of the old mischief came back into his blue eyes. "Anything else, Papa?" he teased.
Harry laughed, relieved. "Yes," he said in mock-seriousness. "Baby touch, baby get spanked!"
Ron gave an exaggerated pout, then laughed.
The distaff portion of the Golden Trio watched this with a growing sense of outrage and betrayal. This was a human being they were talking about! Yes, okay, he was an obnoxious, insulting waste of space, but... She felt her resolve slipping. No! Malfoy or not, it wasn't right to make him a slave. Although he might actually do something useful, for once... She set her jaw against her own traitorous thoughts, and set herself to eating her meal.
Harry had been keeping an eye on Draco at the Slytherin table, and although there was some arguing going on, it wasn't anything more than he'd seen before, and the blond seemed to be holding his own. Then a surreptitious movement to his left made him shift his attention in that direction. A normal action wouldn't have drawn his attention, but his life had made him sensitive to movement that was meant to be sneaky or hidden.
It was a seventh-year Slytherin named Wolmsley - or something like that. He had just finished pulling his wand. Harry pulled his, his friends watching him curiously, and with concern, and watched as the young man started to aim it. When he was sure that Wolmsley meant to cast something at his blond, he quickly aimed his own wand, and shouted "Expeliarmus!" Not only did the young man's wand go flying, so did the young man.
"Expeliarmus!" Harry heard, and his own wand went flying. Without thinking, he quickly summoned it back to him. Fortunately, only two people - professors - saw that; everyone else' attention being on the Slytherin table and the seventh-year who was dazedly trying to sit up, or the approaching authorities.
"Potter!" called a very angry Professor Snape, as he strode towards the Gryffindor table - Professor McGonagall close behind. "Thirty points from Gryffindor, and two weeks detention for attacking another student without provocation!"
"Wrong on both counts, Professor," Harry replied calmly. "I was-"
"I don't want to hear your phony excuses, Potter," Snape growled.
"No, I'm sure you would much rather further the Slytherin reputation for fairness," the green-eyed young man replied, equably. After the events of the previous year, and everything he'd had to learn over the summer, Harry had matured considerably. He'd had to deal with all sorts of people, and learn methods of dealing with them. This might not be the smartest way to handle the potions master, but Harry was tired of being pushed around by him.
The potions master's eyes narrowed. "None of your cheek, boy!" he snapped.
Harry affected a confused expression. "I'm sorry? I give you a compliment, and you accuse me of cheek?"
Minerva McGonagall chose to intervene at this point, although it seemed she was fighting a small smirk. "That will be enough, Mr. Potter," she said, amusement clear in her voice. "Would you care to explain yourself?"
Harry saw the Wolmsley boy getting to his feet, and looking for his wand. "Of course, Professor," he said politely, "but if you could see to it that Wolmsley doesn't cast anything at Draco, first?"
A quick look from both professors showed the brunet's murderous glare in Harry's direction shift to his fellow Slytherin, then back. Snape's visage suffused with rage at the possibility of being proven in the wrong.
"I believe you may have a point there, Mr. Potter," McGonagall murmured. "Mr. Wolmsley!" she called out sharply to the Slytherin, "Please report to my office, immediately!"
The young man just stood there, glowering defiantly.
"He is from my house, Mrs. McGonagall; I shall deal with him," Snape snarled.
"For his attempted action, or for getting caught?" Harry asked.
"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall snapped. "Five points from Gryffindor!"
Harry met his Head of House' eyes, then lowered his head briefly in acknowledgement of his Head's reprimand, smiled apologetically, and nodded.
"Sorry, Professor Snape," he said, looking at the greasy-haired man. "That was uncalled for, and I apologise."
Snape raised one eyebrow - quite high. Manners? From Potter? "We shall see, Mr. Potter," he said, then turned to his charge. "Mr. Wolmsley!" he snapped. "My office! Now!"
The brunet's face paled, but he turned and headed for the doors of the Great Hall.
"If you would excuse me for a moment?" Harry requested quietly, rising without waiting for a reply, to the great astonishment of both professors, and walked over to the Slytherin table, ignoring the glares, threats, and insults that came his way. Upon reaching his destination, he quietly said "Draco, if you're not through with your dinner, you may bring it with you," then turned and walked back, retaking his seat.
The blond raised his head haughtily, but recognised the implicit command, and started gathering his place setting, ignoring the remonstrations against his obeying, outraged comments against 'bloody Potter', etc.
"What do you think you're doing, Potter?" Snape hissed, as Harry rejoined them, and again took his seat.
Harry looked coolly at the Potions instructor. "Draco was about to be the target of a spell. For all I know, a Dark curse. Therefore, I'm going to have him close, where I can more easily protect him," he explained calmly.
Harry's House-mates had been looking on in amazement since the start of the incident, and Ron had been half-trying to get Harry to shut up. Hermione was nonplussed, but merely watched. So far, the Gryffindor Seeker hadn't done anything for her to be overly concerned with, other than this slave thing; and that, in her book, was huge. Even if it was Malfoy.
With Harry's explanation, Snape's face had become darker. He had been informed just a short while ago of Draco's change of status, but it hadn't had a chance to sink in yet, and his feelings of helpless outrage were searching for expression. However, it wouldn't do to hex the impertinent youth into the hospital ward as he felt like doing, so he turned and cursed a suit of armor, which slowly melted into a puddle of metal on the floor. It would have been more satisfying to explode it, but he wouldn't risk injuring innocent bystanders.
Draco had arrived; plate, tumbler, and utensils in hand. "Where shall I sit, master?" he asked, too calmly.
"Here beside me is fine," Harry replied equably, a small frown creasing his brow. "But don't call me 'master'. 'Harry' will do, for now. There are other situations, where... Well, we'll talk about that later, all right?"
"Yes - Harry," the blond replied.
Looking back up, he saw the two professors still standing there; both with strange, but slightly different, expressions on their faces. Deciding to tackle the potions master, Harry said "Will I be allowed to explain myself, and get those House points restored, sir?"
Snape nodded, shortly. "One hour. My office," he replied.
"Thank you, sir."
Both teachers turned and made their way back to the head table, Minerva with a slightly quizzical expression. This was certainly a different Harry than the one she'd been lecturing the past five years; far more self-possessed and confident.
"You heard, Hermione," Harry said, turning to his friend. "How about three-ish?"
Pursing her lips irritably, the bushy-haired girl nodded. "But don't think you can keep putting it off, Harry," she warned. "And I can't believe you baited Professor Snape that way!"
Harry just shrugged, turning back to his almost-empty plate, eating what was left of his now-cold meal.
"Loathe as I am to say it, that was quite well handled," Draco commented.
"Which? Wolmsley, or 'Mione?"
The blond frowned. "I wou-ldn't have thought Bartholomew would act like that," he commented candidly, "but I meant afterward."
"How much did you hear?" the Gryffindor wanted to know.
"Most of it."
"So I'm not quite as thick as you thought, eh?" Harry said, with a small grin.
"As long as we're not talking Potions..." Draco grudgingly admitted, with a small smirk.
"If Snape weren't so eager to grind me into the ground..." Harry growled.
"I must admit, that although I've rather enjoyed watching him twit you, his automatic dislike of you took me by surprise - at first. But you must admit that you do occasionally cock up...Harry," the blond said, earnestly.
Yes, occasionally he made a mistake, or got distracted, but then Snape would completely overreact. But that was a fruitless conversation, so he dropped it in favour of exploring the reason for Draco's hesitations. "Is it so hard to say?" the Gryffindor asked. "My given name?" he clarified.
The blond gave a small shrug. "It's an intimacy I'm not sure I'm ready for," he admitted.
Harry could no longer ignore the yammer of recriminations, congratulations, and comments on his sanity from his House and table-mates, which had started as soon as the professors had walked away. "Have you had enough?" he asked the Slytherin, nodding at his empty plate.
Looking slowly around him, then back to Harry, Draco said "More than."
Despite himself, Harry smirked. "Then we need to talk," he said, rising from the table.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o
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Honour Bound