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Every You, Every Me	By : lordoberon Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6705 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or claim any part of it. It is solely the property of J K Rowling. I make no money in the writing of this story.

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I decided to keep the extra spacing this time, because some paragraphs are larger and I want it to be easy to read. Please tell me what you think!

EVERY YOU, EVERY ME

An HP fanfic

by lordoberon

Chapter 2

========

DRACO

It was not easy to avoid Harry James Potter when was angry with you. Draco knew this from past experiences, but never had Potter made the point quite as forcefully as he was making it this time.

From dawn until dusk, it seemed, Draco was avoiding Potter. Potter showed up when Draco was in Potions, of course, because they shared the class, but it was easy to ignore him there. Slughorn kept complimenting Potter’s potion work so much that it was hard for Potter to keep glaring at Malfoy. Weasley was in the Hospital Wing, apparently, and Draco wondered what in hell Zabini had hit him with.

He hadn’t hit Weasley with that spell, so why was Potter going after him? Perhaps it was the kiss. Maybe Potter wanted to murder him for that. Whatever reason it was, it forced Draco to move all over the place – excusing himself from lunch when Potter got up from Gryffindor table, dodging Granger and Potter in the library, and such.

Then, for a time, he was free, going to Herbology with Ravenclaw, He skipped Transfiguration, even though he couldn’t really afford to, because he was sick of this.

Surprise, surprise, that Zabini was sitting in the Common Room when Draco showed up. He sat down on the couch with an internal groan. He was furious that he’d been put in this ridiculous deal, but since Zabini didn’t have his wand stabbing Draco’s throat, maybe he could just ignore it altogether. He could cheat Zabini and not fulfill his end of the deal.

But…he wanted, and needed, Potter. Draco knew that he couldn’t get Potter himself. One rejection was enough for him, thanks.

That was where it had all started. All he’d wanted was a friend to talk to, and he hadn’t realized that the dark-haired boy at Madam Malkin’s was Harry Potter himself. Then on the train, remembering how important it was to his father he make good connections, he’d sought to be friends with Potter. That feeling of duty had driven him to ask for friendship. That and his raging curiosity about the famous Boy Who Lived.

Potter had rejected him, coldly and thoroughly. Draco didn’t think he had ever been rejected before that, and never the same way since. There was something eerie about those green eyes and their cold glare. That, and he hated, hated the Weasleys, because of their blood traitor status and everything his father had told him. And Potter was immediately friends with them all! He directed his hatred towards Potter then, too.

And the rest was history. He had wanted to stop, but Draco was never good at stopping. Once he started, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t just turn around and start being nice. He had his family and House reputation to think of. He noticed as a boy the way Snape, whom he looked up to, hated Potter, and figured Snape had good reason. He noticed how his father’s regard for Potter soured into hatred after Draco’s second year. All of this combined served as boosters for his continued antagonizing of Potter and his little friends.

Besides, it was just too much damn fun. He loved the way Potter replied with these witty, nasty little comments. It was delicious. Everyone thought the Gryffindor hero was so good and perfect and noble and brave…but he knew how to talk shit about people. And he had passion in him. It made Draco wonder if Potter was dirty in bed and if he liked it rough. He bet Potter could handle it. Potter could handle a lot.

Unlike Weasley. That was another thing. Weasley flared up so easy, it was hilarious. The Mudblood was Draco’s least favorite. Her remarks were a little too close for comfort, and she always seemed to up Draco in classes. This made his father seethe, and Draco suffered for it. Damn Mudblood and her brains. Plus, he still stung about that time she’d gotten him at wand point in third year…

“What are you thinking about?”

Draco startled out of his thoughts. Zabini was lying back against the couch, one arm flung over it, looking at Draco. His eyes glittered with curiosity. He made no move to get too close, like he had yesterday, holding up Draco’s head while Draco was puking. The puking had only been partly from the drink; most of it, Draco admitted privately to himself, had been nerves because he’d just kissed Potter. And Weasley threw a damn good punch. Zabini had managed to heal his face back to its smooth perfection though.

“What do you think I’m thinking about?” Draco smirked, rolling his neck. His muscles hurt from crunching his body down in quick jolts to hide from Potter, who evidently was skilled at stalking. It must be from that Invisibility Cloak Potter had. He had come so close to finding Draco several times today.

Zabini scowled. “Potter. No wonder you look so pleased. Like a cat who caught the canary. Can you explain to me why it is you like him, at least?”

Draco leaned back in the couch. Why should he tell Zabini? He hadn’t told anyone else, not Snape, not Theodore Nott, no one. He didn’t want to give them that much of an advantage over him. It was bad enough that Zabini had seen him kiss Potter. But he’d been staring at Potter and just…mmm…the way he’d been practically draped on that chair, with Butter beer haze in his green eyes, and Draco had thought, he deserved something good on this otherwise awful day…

Of course, in typical fashion, it had turned more awful after he’d kissed Potter. And though it was fun dodging Potter, today wasn’t much fun, either.

He decided to tease Zabini. “What’s not to like? Have you seen him lately? He’s almost as tall as Weaselfreak, now, and have you ever seen him up close? He has eyes like none other – except his mother, I’ve heard. They’re a very startling shade of green. You can’t look away once he’s grabbed you with them. He’s very…intense. And he never backs down…and if you really think about it…” Draco shuddered, “It can’t be just luck that’s saved him from the Dark Lord all those times. Dumbledore isn’t there to always save him, like last year. And he was just a baby once…I wonder, what power lies in him. You know how when you’re young, you can feel magic burning in you, acting up, and you know what it is, and it feels so fresh and good…and channeling it feels even better…he’s good at channeling it. Resisting the Imperius in Fourth Year. I don’t think he got special lessons from Dumbledore or anything. He just…has it. That something.”

Draco realized he was rambling and saying way too much. He hadn’t meant to at all. It was one of those moments where he wished desperately that he could stop his mouth when it ran off without him. But Merlin, he was engrossed in Potter just now…what that sort of power would be like in bed, and what would normal conversation with Potter be like? What did he think about his having his mother’s eyes? Did he dream about having parents? Draco knew what it was like to care for his parents, but he hadn’t ever had anyone close to him die…yet.

Zabini groaned, a sound of aggravation, next to him. Draco looked over.

“I knew it,” Zabini said. “It’s because he’s mysterious as fuck. If you actually knew him in person, I bet he’d be really boring. I’ve seen him and Weasley in their spare time. They play Exploding Snap and Wizarding Chess just like the rest of us. Potter is bad at finishing his homework. He’s late to class. He stutters when his Head of House slams him one. He feels sorry for Longbottom, for Merlin’s sake. He’s normal, he just got lucky. He’s certainly duller than his Mudblood friend, and the fact that he’s smarter than Weasley doesn’t prove his worth. You’re enamored over a fantasy, Malfoy.”

Draco crossed his arms, even though he knew it made him look like a stubborn child. “So what if I am. You don’t know him either. You’re speculating just as much. Besides…I’ve seen my aunt talk about him. I’ve seen her with…him. They wouldn’t…” He was wheezing now, and could barely continue, “They wouldn’t talk like that if he weren’t…dangerous. So, so he might skip class and stalk people in his Cloak, but…he’s got another side, that’s, something else. I want to know all sides of him.”

Zabini said nothing at first. When he did speak, his voice was low and quiet. “…You’ve seen him? The Dark Lord?”

Draco nodded, and swallowed. “Yes. He…visited, once or twice.”

Zabini laughed, loudly, and Draco dropped his arms and glared at his House Mate. Zabini had his head thrown back and was laughing and laughing.

“What?!” Draco bellowed. “I’m not joking!”

Zabini tried to stop laughing, but couldn’t, and then tried again, “I, I know, but…the Dark Lord, making a house call…ringing a door bell…with his snake sitting beside him like an obedient dog…” He gasped, and tried to get a hold of himself.

Draco stared stonily at Zabini. Ugh. Zabini just did not understand. The Dark Lord was real, as real as any of them, and he was powerful. He had visited, and of course it was not a house call, it was an important meeting. He had been accompanied by the snake. Draco had always thought snakes were beautiful, but this one, huge and shining and wetting his father’s living room carpet, was…creepy as fuck, simply put. It looked at Draco with eyes that were very alive and aware, and Draco hadn’t dared to pet it.

Then the Dark Lord had known his thoughts and given him permission to pet her and call her by her name, Nagini…and because it was the first time he had ever heard the Dark Lord speak in person, fear had squirmed all around inside Draco, and made him feel sick, as he petted the glistening skin of the gigantic snake…and he thought later, when the Dark Lord and his bedamned Legilimency were gone, that he never wanted to pet or see another snake in his life.

Because he would think of that hissing, horrible voice every time he did.

“Earth to Malfoy. What is wrong?”

Draco shivered again, and opened his eyes. “You don’t get it,” he snarled, and got up from the couch. A hot hand wrapped around his wrist and dragged him back, back to lie against Zabini’s body on the couch.

“I don’t. Tell me.”

Draco shivered, and tried to pull away again. “No.” Zabini was firm and good beneath him, another body, but Draco didn’t want him; he wanted Potter.

Then a hand was pushing his hair back, up and away from his ear, and a slick, hot tongue slid out and grazed the sensitive shell of his ear. Draco jolted in Zabini’s lap, because that reminded him of the snake, too, but then Zabini’s tongue was licking up and down his ear, slowly, softly, and then his mouth suckled over his earlobe, and his teeth bit deliciously…Draco tried to hold back his moan, but he couldn’t.

Zabini hummed in a sort of satisfied, laughing sound. He kept licking over Draco’s ear, harder, faster. His arms were tight against Draco, holding him close. One of his hands began to drift up and down Draco’s thigh, up and down, slowly, while his tongue was moving quickly. Now it was on Draco’s neck, biting, tasting, while his fingertips played a pattern over Draco’s thigh.

Draco tried to slide away, but it was only half-heartedly. He wondered what Zabini would do next. His House Mate was rubbing circles over Draco’s chest with one hand, and his mouth was creating a delightful hickey on Draco’s shoulder. The other hand was still on his thigh, and Draco wanted and simultaneously did not want it to move inward and upward…

The Slytherin entrance door opened then, and Nott and another student came in. Immediately Draco wriggled out of Zabini’s arms and lifted himself up to stand, but not before Nott, an old friend, gave him a suggestive wink. He’d seen what they were doing. Draco scowled back, and grabbing his school bag, marched up to his dormitory.

Damn Zabini and his questions, and his skillful tongue, and damn Potter and how he made Draco talk too much, even when he wasn’t present!

===================

HARRY

Harry was angry. He was angry at Malfoy for kissing him, he was angry at Zabini for hurting Ron, and he was angry at himself for not yet being able to get Slughorn’s memory.

It only made him angrier when Malfoy kept avoiding him. Why couldn’t the bloke have avoided him for the last five years, instead of being a nuisance? Harry wasn’t sure quite what he wanted to do when he found Malfoy – throttle him for adding another mess of confusion on his plate, or kiss him with fervor to show Malfoy how much he hated him and…and…

Merlin.

Harry decided to take a leaf from Malfoy’s book and avoid the problem. It had been a few days since that kiss. He snapped at Ron and Hermione at dinner, which made Ron leave early. Then Hermione said she was worried about Harry, which forced a shoddy, quick apology out of him for being an arse.

He excused himself to the library to practice that damn Transfiguration homework. It was something he should know already, having done animal transfiguration on his O.W.L. last year, but this was more difficult. He had to transform an item not once, but four times, in quick succession.

Most of the homework was practicing the transfiguration so he could show McGonagall tomorrow. He was supposed to transfigure a piece of wire into a snake, and the snake into a bird, and then back down from bird, to snake, to wire. He also had to mull over Slughorn and finish a paper for Astronomy.

By the time it was midnight, Harry thought his head might explode. He’d gotten nowhere on Slughorn, and he had stuffed his head with so many star charts he thought he could recite the entirety of Ally Algert’s Astronomy Analyses. Constellations and planets whirled through his brain, and he finally sat back with a sigh. He stared at the piece of wire in front of him.

It was funny that they had to transfigure the wire into a snake, because Harry was quite well-acquainted with snakes by now. From the time he was a boy speaking to the garden snakes, to the basilisk and the duel with Malfoy in Second Year, to now, where Voldemort’s snake Nagini had already haunted his consciousness, Harry had had quite enough of snakes by now, thank-you-very-much.

So why was it so bloody difficult to turn a bit of wire into one? He tried a few times, and only got the thing to wiggle and rattle. He tried aiming for a rattlesnake then, and he bent down to concentrate, pointing his wand at the bit of wire.

It started to tremble the more he stared at it and a little puff of smoke leaked out of one end. Red sparks shot from his wand, but that was it.

“McGonagall’s Transfiguration homework? I’ve already finished that. Don’t let Pince see that smoke, or she’ll shriek at us both.”

A long-fingered, dark hand clamped over the smoky end of Harry’s bit of wire, and a wand tapped the wire to extinguish it. Harry’s bit of wire stopped trembling.

Harry blinked and looked up reluctantly. He already knew who it was, and he wasn’t ready to deal with the maelstrom of things that came up in him when he looked. Zabini. He stared up at those dark eyes, and his first feeling was anger, because Zabini had put Ron in the hospital for a half a day. At the same time, he felt his stomach get queasy, because Zabini was so close.

The dark-haired Slytherin had abandoned his robes for a tight, black sweater that molded over his torso nicely. His hair was unkempt and frizzing about his head in a manner that made Harry think he might have just woken up…or had sex…or…well, nothing else, because those two were bothersome enough. One made Harry wonder if sleep erased the requisite Slytherin coldness from Zabini’s face, and the other made Harry think of what Zabini would look like naked…

He swallowed, as the Slytherin began to smirk at Harry’s staring. Harry pushed Zabini’s hand away from the wire and said bitingly, “If you’ve already done it, then leave me alone to finish.”

Zabini, still smirking, sat back on the chair across from Harry, instead. Harry tried to ignore him, and leaned forward again to concentrate on his task.

Snake, snake, snake, he thought, and imagined the wire wriggling, coiling, and then lifting its head. He imagined a diamond pattern on its back, and a licking, forked tongue…he imagined Zabini leaning over the table and kissing him, plunging his tongue into Harry’s mouth, touching Harry with his long-fingered hands…

Harry bit back a curse and sat back in his chair. He felt too nervous, with Zabini just staring at him, to be as angry.

Zabini was smirking even more now, and Harry wanted that smirk to disappear. He didn’t like feeling foolish in front of Zabini. It was just as bad as those times he had stuttered at Cedric, except worse, because Zabini was a Slytherin and Malfoy’s friend. And hot as fuck. He put his boots on the table now, and Harry resisted the urge to drink in the completed sight of Zabini’s long body stretched in front of him.

His gaze caught onto the Slytherin badge Zabini wore pinned to the jacket he had slung over one shoulder. He stared at the snake depicted there, and it took only a moment for him to see it moving, shaking out of its S shape, trying to crawl from the confines of the badge…

“Wonder what it’s like being stuck to him all the time. You would be better off in my dorms, with me to talk to,” Harry hissed at the snake S in Parseltongue.

It was worth it for the way that Zabini jumped in his chair. His smirk was gone now. Harry laughed and found himself still smiling as Zabini looked at him. But Zabini wasn’t glaring, he seemed rather to be studying Harry; his expression reminded Harry of the look on Hermione’s face when she was trying to get him to tell the truth about how much homework he’d completed.

“How long have you been able to do that?” Zabini asked.

Harry shrugged, still laughing a little. “Since I was small.”

He thought to himself that, in a way, it was actually a relief to talk to a Slytherin and not have every word of the conversation be scathing. If this were Malfoy, ten snarky remarks would have been traded already. He liked that Zabini seemed to live beyond putting other Houses’ students down. So far. This was the first conversation he’d really had with Zabini at all.

“Hmm.” Zabini settled back in his chair. “And what did you say?”

Harry tilted his head, deciding whether to tell Zabini. “I told the snake on your badge that he’d be less lonely in the Gryffindor dorms.” Then he flushed, because it sounded so stupid. The snake on Zabini’s badge wasn’t real! Why did he have to say ‘he’, too?

Zabini gave an amused smile. It wasn’t the same as the condescending smirk. He was even more handsome when he was smiling genuinely. Harry wondered suddenly if Malfoy ever smiled like that. Damnit. He stopped staring and looked down at the table determinedly.

Zabini sensed his embarrassment, but instead of teasing, he said, “Potter, you think you’re better company than me? If I could talk to snakes, I would have one for a pet. But owls are much more useful. Why didn’t you get a snake?”

Harry didn’t know why he was giving more honest answers to a Slytherin, but it came out of him. “My friend Hagrid got my owl for me, as a birthday present.”

“That half giant? Well, you didn’t know he was half-giant then, I suppose. Although anyone would suspect.”

“Does it really matter?” Harry said coldly.

Zabini wasn’t put off by Harry’s tone. Instead, he leaned forward, and for a moment he was just giving Harry that thoughtful look again. It made Harry’s insides squirm. He looked back at the table, and then tried to concentrate on transfiguring the wire again.

Zabini interrupted again. “Here’s what I don’t get, Potter. If you don’t care that the Hogwarts gameskeeper, Hagrid, had a giant for a parent, why care that Malfoy has a Death Eater for a father? A child isn’t a carbon copy of their parents. Even if they’re brought up a certain way, they can certainly rebel against the grain.”

Harry’s answer came fast and hot. “Lucius Malfoy is a murderer, and personally grovels at Voldemort’s feet. Voldemort, as you may know, has killed and tortured countless people, including my parents, so anyone that’s good in his book is bad in mine. Plus, Malfoy’s just like his father – a cowardly, groveling little Dark Arts worshipper. I bet he’s just dying to be a Death Eater.”

“Hmph.” Zabini sat back in his chair and looked at Harry through half-closed eyes. “You judge awfully fast, don’t you, Potter? Can’t someone be not all that they seem?”

Harry licked his lips. He knew that Zabini was trying to say he was wrong, that Malfoy could be good, but to say that of Lucius Malfoy or Voldemort…well, he had seen in his private lessons with Dumbledore already, that Voldemort had had dark ideas from the very start. He would eat his badge if Lucius Malfoy had been a darling little angel as a child, and having known Malfoy since age eleven, and never seen anything to prove Zabini’s little theory…well.

Still, Zabini had a point, of course. Harry remembered when he and Ron had thought Hermione was a prissy snob, when actually she’d turned out to be a smart, soft-hearted person and a very good friend indeed. His own father actually supported Zabini’s point, because of James having tortured Snape during their school years together. It bothered Harry that his father proved Zabini’s point, in a bad way. But it was true, and he’d rather have the truth than anything else. So…Zabini wasn’t wrong, but…Malfoy, nice?

“I’m sorry, but from what I’ve seen of Malfoy, he’s a git, through and through.”

Even if he does kiss well. The thought popped into Harry before he could stop it, and a flush poured into his face.

Perhaps Zabini secretly knew Legilimency, because he watched Harry’s blush and said, “A git who can kiss like sin himself, I’m guessing, by the look on your face. Changed your mind about him, Potter?”

The smile on his face was near laughter, but there was something else burning in Zabini’s eyes that Harry didn’t understand. Slytherins. Argh. Slytherins being attractive. Even more argh. And no one to talk to about it!

Harry growled and gripped his wand tighter in his hand. “Now look, you, don’t go making assumptions. I’ve been meaning to get back at Malfoy for that trick. Besides, he was drunk on fire whiskey,” Harry added.

Zabini rolled his eyes, saying, “Potter, you have the observational skills of a troll. Yes he was drunk on fire whiskey, but I don’t think even that would make him want to kiss you,” Zabini blanched. “Why are you going after him?” Zabini leaned forward. “I’m right here. I’m the one who hurt Weasley.”

It made sense, but Harry went with his instinct. “Malfoy started it.”

Zabini wouldn’t take that answer, it seemed. “And I ended it.”

Harry sighed. “Look, what do you want?”

The Slytherin only smirked in that infuriating way again. “I want to see you transfigure that wire. Go.”

Harry grumbled at that evasive answer, telling his stupid, pounding heart to shut up, that Zabini was only here to harass him on Malfoy’s behalf, and plus, Zabini had sounded like he wouldn’t pick Harry if Harry were the last man on earth, and Zabini wasn’t necessarily into blokes…

Harry shoved it all from his mind, and remembered the snake that had leapt out of Malfoy’s wand in second year. It had been a long, black snake, and he remembered the way it had coiled to strike Justin Finch-Fletchley before he had told it to leave Justin alone…its smooth body glittered in the light, and its fangs were sharp and curved…

And like that, there was a snake before him on the table. It directed its head towards Harry, and Harry said, “Sorry,” before he transfigured it into a bird.

Immediately the raven squawked, and was about to leap off the table into the air. Harry lunged forward to grab it, swearing as his body smacked into the table painfully. Zabini was laughing at him, and beyond the pecking, dangerous beak of the bird, Harry saw a slender white-haired figure disappear into the Restricted Section. He didn’t have to see the Slytherin badge to know who it was. He could recognize Malfoy easily after years.

What was Malfoy doing in the Restricted Section? It wasn’t banned to Sixth Year students, but nevertheless, Harry wondered.

Harry hugged the raven close to his chest, and tried petting it, but only got stabbed in the palm for his effort to calm it. “Ouch! Bloody bird!”

He waved his wand at it, trying to think snake again, but it took one look at his wand and squawked loudly in protest.

“Potter-” Zabini sounded exasperated. He smacked away Harry’s wounded hand when Harry started to try and pet the birdagain, and slipped his hands over Harry’s, and under. Taking the bird from Harry, he planted it on the table with one hand, and said, “Petrificus Totalus.”

The bird went rigid and fell over with a smack. Harry could hear Hermione protesting about animal cruelty in his head. Half-laughing and half perturbed, he sighed with a great whoosh. Shoving hair out of his face, he pointed his wand at the raven and transfigured it back into a snake. It was so much easier when it was still and quiet.

The spell for the wire was more difficult, and Zabini having helped seemed to make Harry’s insides flutter, but because Harry was flustered and tired at this point, he spat the spell, and the snake became a wire.

“Again.”

Harry groaned at Zabini’s encouraging gesture. “Again? Sod off, you’re not my professor.”

“McGonagall’s your head of House. If you disappoint her, Gryffindor could lose points.”

Harry glared at Zabini. “You just want to harass me. Malfoy number two.”

He wondered again why Malfoy was in the Restricted Section. He also thought of how soft Zabini’s hands had been, and warm, over his. And he wondered, too, if Zabini’s thing about children not following in their parents’ footsteps was a hint. Was Zabini trying to say he wasn’t a cold, murdering charmer like his mother? The charm part was impossible to cover up…because Zabini charmed by looks alone. He didn’t even have to open his mouth. Although his voice was good, low, smooth, and Harry wouldn’t mind knowing what that mouth could do…

He swallowed hard, and ran his hands through his hair in attempt to calm it. He did not look at Zabini, who was probably staring at him again. Why? And Malfoy’s kiss – why? Slytherins didn’t seem to know how to be straightforward and clear. Why would Malfoy kiss Harry unless he was drunk? He would never kiss Harry if he were sober…

Just sitting by Zabini, Harry was in danger of getting hard. It seemed his mind couldn’t control itself around the beautiful dark boy. And he couldn’t stop thinking of Malfoy kissing him. He had to leave. Perhaps fighting Malfoy would help his mind stop thinking about that kiss. So Harry began packing his stuff in his bag, quick, haphazard, and stuffed the wire into a pocket of his trousers, beneath his robes.

Zabini got up and stretched. Harry caught a flash of the dark skin between Zabini’s shirt and his trousers. He could see the dark trail of hair that went down from Zabini’s navel into his trousers…Harry licked his lips and hurriedly looked away. Damn his stupid eyes for looking every time. He would have to stop wearing glasses around Zabini, at this rate.

They parted ways silently, Zabini one way, Harry another. So he was a little surprised when he found Zabini with Malfoy moments later.

The two Slytherins were at the very end of a shelf of Restricted books. Zabini was leaned up against the shelf with confidence and sexuality just oozing off of him. It seemed to ooze into Harry, mushing his brain, for from his spot behind a shelf he just stared for a moment. His eyes took in everything. He couldn’t help it, he told himself. The Slytherin wore expensive dragon hide boots, and thank god for trousers, because Harry could drink in long legs, the v of his crotch (if only the pants were tighter), and there was the tight shirt, and Zabini was curling strands of hair around one long, ringed finger…

Malfoy was sitting on the floor, and his hair was messy as if he had been running his hands through it. He looked a little frenzied, and a pile of books lay on either side of him. Carefully, he took another off the shelf, and opened it. When it didn’t do anything, he sighed in relief. He glared at Zabini when Zabini laughed over his anxiety.

Harry watched the two, and wondered: Why was Zabini sticking up for Malfoy all of a sudden? Chumming up to him? And why was Malfoy okay with it? He had seemed pretty picky about his company before now. Zabini had never been part of his group.

He moved closer, and then decided, if he was going to sneak, why not sneak properly?

He dug the Invisibility Cloak out of his bag, and whipped it over himself, and walked closer. Now he was standing near to Malfoy, and could stare right into Zabini’s face.

They were talking about him in low voices.

“It was the first time I’d heard him speak Parseltongue before. Honestly, I thought it was…kindof hot.”

Zabini was looking at Malfoy, who was glaring back. “Hot? Zabini, you really are a whore. Help me carry these books.”

Zabini didn’t move. “Carry your own books. Or spell them. I’m not your Crabbe and Goyle. Haven’t you heard him speak Parseltongue before?”

Malfoy stood up, and floated the books. Harry followed as they walked away, to a table, and Malfoy sat down.

“No,” he snapped, “Not since Second Year. And it was…not pleasant, back then. It still isn’t. The only person I’ve heard speak it recently is…” he waved his hand.

Zabini pulled a chair next to Malfoy, and slid into it. “Hmm. Yeah, that’s not hot, no matter how you look at it.”

He laughed, but Malfoy didn’t.

Harry was churning. The only other person he knew who could speak Parseltongue was Voldemort. If Malfoy had heard Voldemort speak Parseltongue, then maybe Voldemort was at Malfoy Manor. He should tell Dumbledore. The fact that Malfoy wasn’t gloating over having met Voldemort surprised Harry, as did the idea that Parseltongue could stimulate Zabini sexually.

He had a sudden image of himself on his four-poster bed with a shirtless Zabini, playing with Zabini’s hair while speaking Parseltongue, and seeing Zabini get aroused, and then he’d give Harry a very tell-tale, hungry kiss…

He stifled a moan by shoving his knuckles against his teeth. It was his left hand, which was bleeding and stinging from the raven having pecked it earlier. But if he healed it now, they would hear him. He was standing right in front of them, across the table.

Malfoy was making notes from a book, and Zabini, in that creepy way he had that also made Harry’s brain a little mushy, was just watching Malfoy.

Suddenly the larger Slytherin laid his hand over Malfoy’s, and in the same movement he put an arm around Malfoy’s waist and dragged Malfoy onto his lap. Harry goggled, while Malfoy whined something about being manhandled. Then Zabini had turned Malfoy in his lap and was kissing him, in the very way that Harry had just imagined him kissing Harry…

His kiss seemed like he wanted to devour Malfoy. It involved his tongue in Malfoy’s mouth, and it was noisy, in a way which made Harry want to laugh, but there was the way he groaned while doing it that made Harry’s trousers instantly tight. Malfoy had resisted, but then he was kissing Zabini back equally hard, and he had buried his hands in Zabini’s mass of hair, and moved to straddle Zabini’s lap. They looked like they might upset the chair at any moment. Zabini had his hands around Malfoy’s waist, and he seemed to wish for more skin to touch, because his hands swept up Malfoy’s back to press at his neck.

Jealousy sidled its way into Harry, so that he had to gnaw his fist with his teeth to stop from leaning over the table and yanking Malfoy off of Zabini. He knew he had no chance with Zabini, but none of this made sense, anyway, him having a thing for Zabini. Why couldn’t the world tilt on its head according to his ideas?

He felt somewhat better when the two boys stopped kissing. Plus, Malfoy promptly slid off of Zabini and pushed him, hard enough that the chair fell and Zabini fell with it, swearing. What? Zabini caught on to whatever that meant awfully fast, for in a moment he was sitting once more, and purred, “You know you like it. I can tell.”

Malfoy was flushed, and his hair was the messiest Harry had seen it. He scratched his quill ferociously on the parchment he was practically nose-to-nose with, and bit out, “Sod off, Zabini. I’m only stealing your techniques.” He smirked to himself.

Zabini scowled, and growled something which might have had Harry’s surname in it. Harry felt the blood rush from his face. This was about that kiss Malfoy had given him, wasn’t it? Zabini had been the only one to see it, after all, besides Hermione and Ron, and he evidently had an attraction for Malfoy. Was that the look Harry had seen in his eyes when the kiss had been brought up? Jealousy?

Harry slipped out of the library, feeling like his head was on backwards. Why did this sort of thing always happen to him? Couldn’t he just have some humdrum life where he killed Voldemort easily, fell in love with Ginny Weasley, and got married? No, instead, he had this sick crush on a strange and handsome Slytherin, who was all over his school nemesis. Said school nemesis might have a thing for Harry…but he had sure seemed to enjoy Zabini’s kissig him…

Harry had trouble sleeping that night, and the only thing good about it was that his dreams were not of Voldemort. They involved people much more confusing and handsome. Harry wasn’t sure, when he woke up sweaty and hard in the middle of the night, if this was good or bad. At least Voldemort he could feel solid hate for, instead of this confusing mish-mash of things that he felt for the two Slytherins…and it wasn’t just physical curiosity either, after his talk with Zabini.

And there was no one to talk to about it, either. Harry lay back, and started to list off famous Quidditch players in his head, trying not to think about one blonde Seeker…

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Every You, Every Me