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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.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
long chapter here in attempt to make up for my sad updates lately.

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EVERY YOU, EVERY ME

An HP fanfic

by lordoberon

Chapter 5

Blaise

The Gryffindor was panting, and flushed in embarrassment, before stuttering, “Wh-Where’s Malfoy?”

Potter was easy to read, like a book. Blaise had even seen him giving Blaise these tell-tale little looks when they were in the library. Perhaps Blaise had the power to turn straight-as-iron Gryffindors into gays. Perhaps not. Potter wasn’t so good at showing his attraction, if that was the case. Blaise had decided not to mention anything to Malfoy.

“What do you want with Malfoy?”

He didn’t like that Potter was looking for Malfoy. Why would he do that? Was he still angry over the kiss? Blaise didn’t think so. Potter would have done something about that, by now. He wasn’t some plotting, conniving little Slytherin. He was Gryffindor, and “wore his heart on his sleeve”, as the Muggles said. If he’d wanted revenge, he would’ve gotten it by now.

“He was supposed to show up for a private lesson with me and Snape,” Potter breathed, and he seemed to man himself up for Blaise’s response, looking Blaise straight in the eye.

“Remedial Potions? Why would Malfoy be part of that? He’s expert with potions.”

Harry sighed. “He’s helping me out. And making sure Snape doesn’t lose his patience. We had to go without him today, and…he should’ve showed.” The last part was a growl. “He was there earlier this week.“

Earlier this week? Blaise frowned. He’d thought Malfoy was keeping their deal and avoiding Potter. Apparently not! But maybe Snape had forced it. He would’ve thought Potter would be glad that Malfoy skipped, but maybe Snape had punished Potter for Malfoy’s skipping.

Blaise noticed then how Potter was distinctly having trouble. He had his forehead clutched in his hand, as if he feared he had a fever, or as if his scar hurt him. Blaise had heard of the occasional fainting spells Potter had when his scar hurt him very badly. Nobody really knew why Potter was fainting left and right though. Rumor went that when the Dark Lord was pissed, he sent a little pain in Potter’s direction through some unknown dark magic spell.

“Is Snape giving you both detentions for him not showing up? What’s it to you?”

Potter cringed against some internal pain, and clutched his forehead harder, letting out a deep breath. “Ow. Um. He might. Together. To punish us. And. It’s harder. For me. Without Malfoy there.”

Blaise immediately felt jealousy flare up in him, coiling and whirling like a snake. It was fierce enough to choke him, for a moment. He ground out, “Why is it harder?”

Potter flashed him a puzzled look, and leaned against a corridor wall, cursing under his breath. Merlin, what the hell was wrong with him? He spoke haltingly again. “Snape doesn’t…isn’t…Malfoy is more. Straightforward. in his explanations. Snape. doesn’t really. Explain. what to do very well…”

“Potter, I knew you were an idiot, but how hard is it to read a Potions textbook and a list of ingredients and what to do with them? Snape writes down instructions on the board. He’s not like Binns, or flighty Flitwick, or self-absorbed Slughorn. Why aren’t you doing Remedial Potions with Slughorn?”

Potter sank against the floor suddenly, gasping. On instinct, before he was thinking about it, Blaise had caught him before he hit the floor entirely, and the Gryffindor sagged in his arms. Those green eyes were wide open but seeing nothing, and Potter’s breaths came sharp and fast. Blaise shoved off the hand that Potter still pressed up against his forehead, and when his fingertips accidentally brushed the lightning scar, it burned like fire!

Blaise yanked his hand away, swearing. What in Salazar’s name? He made his grip stronger as shudders wracked through Potter’s body again and again. They weren’t hard like a seizure, but spasmodic, and his hands were twitching. The lightning scar on his forehead stood out starkly against his face, which had gone ashen. He yelled out in pain at one point, a quick, high-pitched scream of fear.

It was horrifying. Blaise hadn’t heard Potter scream before. He hadn’t seen Potter this scared since the Dementors in third year, and he hadn’t seen Potter possessed, or whatever this was, ever. He felt ill seeing it, and he hoped Potter wasn’t going to croak in his arms right there. Dumbledore would be angry, and Malfoy, well…he didn’t want to think what Malfoy would feel.

Potter remained like that, ashen and blank, for a few more moments. Then his hands stopped twitching. Shit shit shit. Was he dead?

Suddenly, like a fish returning to the ocean, Potter gasped loudly. He sat up, and his head slammed into Blaise’s. “OUCH! You idiot!”

Potter pulled away, blinking furiously, and looked very dazedly at Blaise. He didn’t even seem to have heard Blaise’s yelling. “What…what…Zabini?”

“What the hell just happened?” Blaise blurted. He felt shaky from having witnessed it. He’d known the Dark Lord was real, and he’d seen how that knowledge frightened Malfoy, and then there’d been that article last year with Potter’s account of the Dark Lord’s rebirth…but none of that was quite like seeing Potter with the scar from the Dark Lord, falling on the floor and losing his mind for a couple seconds.

Blaise had seen a lot of things. He had seen multiple men killed by his own mother, via the Cruciatus Curse. He had briefly encountered other dark magic in shifty liaisons with various wizards. He had tried out some of the Dark Arts himself, none with the eagerness or joy that many of his peers felt. But having no Death Eater as a parent, he had never been privy to anything involving the Dark Lord directly.

Potter, innocent, stupid Potter, who Blaise had thought was only frightfully lucky, was clearly something more, just as Malfoy had said. This didn’t make Blaise want to snog him madly, but…Merlin, it did change things. It was alarming. It was even scary. He swallowed the urge to be angry with Potter, which would only reveal his fear, or to hug him, which he felt an odd urge to do after seeing Potter’s eyes so blank…

“What the hell just happened?” He repeated, a little more calmly.

Potter had some sense returned to him, it seemed. A flush spilled down from his cheeks to his neck when he realized he was on Blaise’s lap, and both boys immediately pulled apart.

The Boy Who Lived shut his eyes tight, and whispered, “It was…him. Voldemort. He…I…Malfoy. He was angry with Malfoy for not being fast enough. He was telling Narcissa Malfoy a warning, that Malfoy had better be quicker, or else he would…kill her…with pleasure…for her family having failed him so thoroughly. He made Bellatrix do the Cruciatus…” Potter groaned, in pain or emotion, and continued, “Bellatrix crucioed her sister. And…and she was laughing…and Voldemort was laughing…”

His voice was shaking. Blaise was stunned. Potter had seen all this in a vision? And he was scared of it; Blaise had known all that stuff about Potter being invincible was hogwash. He had known Potter was human all along. What stunned him was that any of this was happening, and the fact that Potter sounded like he just might cry. Why? Did the idea of someone else losing their mother upset him that much?

Blaise thought of his own mother, and thought he understood Potter a little better, now.

Then Potter asked the strangest question. “Did I laugh? When I was…on the floor, or, whatever.”

Blaise stared at Potter. Why would Potter laugh? When Voldemort was laughing…why would Potter laugh? The scar was somehow a connection to Voldemort, apparently. But unless Potter were in Voldemort’s head, he wouldn’t laugh at seeing that…even he didn’t hate the Malfoy family that much, to laugh at their pain…he must have been in Voldemort’s head. That was why he had said “I”…wasn’t it? Blaise repressed a shudder.

“No,” he murmured quietly. His voice seemed shot. “No, you didn’t laugh.” He didn’t mention the scream of terror.

He paused, his mind racing. Malfoy was in trouble, the whole family was, and his mother was possibly dead from being crucioed. Lucius was in Azkaban, how could he do anything for Voldemort? It made no sense. Unless…unless Voldemort meant a different Malfoy. Unless he meant Draco. Perhaps Draco had been given a task, or even become a Death Eater…

Blaise swallowed back the panic that was choking him and pounding at his temples. He helped Potter stand, and the shy Gryffindor suddenly leaned on him like he couldn’t stand properly. Blaise didn’t know what to do. He wanted to go tell Malfoy everything he’d just heard, but he also didn’t want to witness Malfoy flip out. That’s what he would do if his mother was in danger, frankly, because even though he hated her sometimes, she was all he had left. And Narcissa Malfoy was all that Draco had left, too, now.

He looked at Potter from the corner of his eye. Potter had no family left. Both of his parents were dead. No wonder he was always so damn overprotective of his friends, and his friends’ families. They were all he had left. And they weren’t even “left”, he had met them at Hogwarts. Blaise wondered who Potter had lived with before coming to Hogwarts. No media had ever given that information out.

“You look totally blown out. Do you want help back to Gryffindor tower?”

Potter looked puzzled at this sudden turn in conversation, and then he murmured, “No. No, I need to go to Dumbledore, and tell him what I saw…and you can go tell Malfoy…you’re close with him, right?”

Something in his voice told Blaise that Potter had seen something. But what? Had he seen him suck off Malfoy – Draco, he supposed he should call him now – in the corridor? In his damned Invisibility Cloak? Or had Malfoy – Draco – said something?

“I’d rather not mention it,” Blaise said simply. Potter looked confused, but Blaise wasn’t going to elaborate. He didn’t want Potter to know what a wreck Draco was. Any more pressure and he would explode.

But Blaise had to tell him, didn’t he? That, or Narcissa Malfoy would die. He had to know that the Dark Lord demanded he be quicker with whatever it was.

“Shit. Alright, I’ll tell him. But first. Where is Dumbledore’s office?”

Potter lead the way, and whispered the password. Blaise had never been in Dumbledore’s office. He helped Potter up the stairs, and immediately the Headmaster with his piercing blue gaze was beside them, helping Potter and summoning chairs. Those blue eyes had always unnerved Blaise. He felt like they could read his mind, and he hated that.

“The both of you look like you just saw ghosts…well, if they were worse ghosts than the ones we encounter here at Hogwarts. Harry? Tell me what has happened.”

Potter gave Blaise one sidelong glance, and Blaise just nodded. He supposed he was telling Potter he could trust him, which he couldn’t, really…but maybe he could. Because now that Blaise had seen Potter collapse, he couldn’t really just hand him over to Draco for whatever ill purpose, could he? Because it was all real, and Potter wasn’t some amazing hero who could do anything. He looked shaken and wan, and it was clear that he was afraid for Draco’s family. Blaise knew Draco wouldn’t want to hurt someone who cared for his family’s protection…right?

He knew Draco’s family was important to the blonde. Potter relayed the vision back to Dumbledore, and Blaise thought. What would cause Draco to work for the Dark Lord? Only family. And what would get him anxious as he had been? A threat to his family, of course. Blaise had studied Draco Malfoy long enough to surmise all of this. Draco didn’t reveal his deep feelings much, but it was evident, if one had seen him defend his parents to others, and caught onto that weird reverse-psychology that he used, (the very same that made his crush on Potter cause him to harass him), well…you could tell that he cared for his parents mightily.

Shit, shit, and shit. How was Blaise going to help Draco? And what could he do for Potter? Because…if he was at all honest with himself right now…he felt a strange urge in himself to protect Potter. Of course, it battled with his jealousy, and he told it to shut up, that Dumbledore would take care of Potter, and that Potter had dealt with visions of Voldemort for years, and fainting. Why should Blaise care now?

But the memory of those green eyes gone all glassy, and Potter’s scream, and the way he now looked from Blaise to Dumbledore, as if they had any idea of how to help Draco Malfoy…and Blaise knew that this wasn’t some change in Potter due to Draco having kissed him. He had seen Potter seem to gloat about Lucius being in Azkaban, but this was also the Potter who had stupidly, sentimentally saved all champions’ “dear ones” in the water task of the Triwizard Tournament. He had more sentimentality than was right, but that instance showed that Potter could care for his enemies…especially the petty ones like Draco.

Except Draco wasn’t a petty threat anymore, if he was going to deliver Potter to the Dark Lord or something. That was very serious. Blaise buried his face in his hands, sighing.

“Professor Dumbledore? What should we do?” Potter asked.

The Headmaster sighed, and looked at both of them from across his desk. He rested his chin on steepled fingers. Blaise admired the handsome phoenix in the cage nearby, and then looked at the old man across the desk.

“Harry, I will speak to Professor Snape. Meanwhile, I want you to continue your lessons in Occlumency, because no matter how significant it is that you have discovered this, and you want to help, this could be another pretend vision that Voldemort has thrust into your mind. Perhaps he purposely wants this news to reach Draco. You continue your lessons.

“At the moment, it is still early, but I myself might pop on in to bed. If you are feeling too awake still, or far too awake, as Mr. Zabini appears, I would suggest a good, hot bath to relax. Would the Prefect’s bathroom do well?”

Had Dumbledore read his mind? He’d been contemplating that bath.

Dumbledore smiled at them. “The password for the Prefect’s bathroom is currently ‘giant squid.’ You have my permission to use it. I shall deliver a message to the mermaid in the portrait.”

Blaise watched Potter’s blanch as Occlumency was mentioned, and then as Dumbledore permitted them both in, there was that obvious flush again. Did Potter really have the hots for him? He’d suspected it, but the flush seemed to prove his suspicion more. Merlin, he would love a hot bath right now…and he had never seen the Prefect’s bathroom…but why did Potter get first dibs?

Also, Blaise did not know what to do. Did Dumbledore want him to tell Draco about the vision of Draco’s mum and the Dark Lord, or not? Again, he felt like those freakish blue eyes read his mind, because Dumbledore looked at him now, and said, “Mr. Zabini, I think it best if you leave the relaying of news to me. I will call up Mr. Malfoy into my office tomorrow, after he has had some time to rest.”

Rest. Draco was never getting enough rest, waking up at odd hours of the night. Although perhaps he would tonight, since Blaise had given him the blow job of his life today.

Dumbledore smiled and stood up, and that seemed to be the cue for them to leave. Potter stood up suddenly, and shakily. Immediately Blaise grabbed onto his arm to steady him. Then he pulled back, wondering at himself. Dumbledore seemed to smile at him approvingly, which forced him to put his hand back over Potter’s thin wrist, and they walked like that out of the Headmaster’s office.

Once they were out, Blaise dropped Potter’s arm. “Look, I could really use the Prefect’s tub, but you’re the one who just…well…”

Potter marched forward, saying, “Let me show you where it is, at least.”

He followed Potter, eager for relaxation, and for the jittered nerves feeling to leave him.

======

HARRY

Harry felt absolutely exhausted. His scar had stopped prickling in Dumbledore’s office, but his every limb felt ready to drop off. He had a pounding headache, and he couldn’t believe he was currently leading Blaise Zabini to the Prefect’s bathroom. Dumbledore had given them permission, but it still felt weird. What trouble would Zabini get into with the Prefects? What if someone was in there, and he was seen with Zabini? And he wanted desperately to go first, but Zabini wanted to go in too, for some reason.

He did mot want to continue lessons with Snape, especially since Snape had involved Malfoy. He knew that Malfoy had a task for Voldemort, not only because of his vision, but because of having eavesdropped on Snape and Malfoy’s argument in Snape’s office before Malfoy hit him with the door. He did not want Malfoy helping him! That was worse than Snape. Especially since Malfoy was clearly a Death Eater now…Merlin, he should’ve known all along. He resented the discomfort that came with the thought that Malfoy was a Death Eater. It wasn’t just anger he felt, but a twinge of…regret?

Clearly, he was going bonkers. Why else would he care that the stupid prat had gone and surrendered to Voldemort? It wasn’t the kiss, and it wasn’t that Malfoy had been strangely nice to him in front of Snape. Well, it wasn’t all that, at least. He knew that Malfoy was a coward, and would never willingly submit to Voldemort. He was too proud. But if he were desperate enough, well…he would. And he had. He was an absolute idiot! There were better ways to get his father out of prison…well, not really, Harry supposed…but couldn’t Malfoy see that serving Voldemort got one nowhere? His father had been sent to Azkaban because of his service to Voldemort.

Plus, even if Voldemort had promised Draco that Lucius would be set free of Azkaban in return for whatever favor Draco was doing him, that Draco had actually believed Voldemort made him more of an idiot.

How could Harry feel hatred for someone who was clearly clueless? Instead, he felt sympathy for Draco Malfoy, which battled with roiling anger and dismay. It was he who had put Lucius Malfoy into Azkaban, but the man had deserved it. But did Draco deserve it? Did Narcissa Malfoy deserve it? He wouldn’t call them innocent, not by a long shot…but he couldn’t entirely condemn them, either.

Zabini seemed even more worried than Harry about it all. Of course, Zabini was Malfoy’s…lover, or something.

He remembered what Zabini had looked like when he’d first bumped into him, right before the pain in his scar became severe. Zabini’s hair was wild, and he was walking with a very loose, natural gait. The dark Slytherin had looked like he’d just been shagged or something. In addition to the messy hair, his face had been flushed, his lips looking bitten and well, overly used, and there was just that air of satisfaction around him. He looked really good, and Harry didn’t have to guess twice whom he might have shagged. Malfoy. Ugh! That whole kiss had probably been a dare or some stupid trick Zabini had made Malfoy do…a game between lovers, or something.

Except for the jealousy he’d seen in Zabini, twice now. Why would Zabini be jealous, unless he felt truly threatened by Harry? And why would he feel threatened, unless Malfoy’s kiss with Harry had been, well, real?

It was all too much for Harry to handle in the moment, in addition to the images of Narcissa Malfoy twisting and writhing on a marble floor in pain…and Voldemort, himself as Voldemort, laughing that high-pitched laugh, just as he had when he’d killed Harry’s mother…

Something in Harry protested in panic to the idea of Malfoy, too, losing both his parents, and by Voldemort. It made rage and anxiety swarm up within Harry, so much so that he had to stop to lean against a wall and breathe now.

“Are you getting another one? A vision?”

Harry shook his head in some direction that was perhaps towards Zabini. “No. I just…I can’t quite breathe properly…”

He raked his hands through his hair, trying to take in deep breaths. Zabini grabbed his arm when he was going to rake his hands up again, and said, “Stop it. We need to get you to the Prefect’s bathroom, or Madam Pomfrey. I don’t know why Dumbledore didn’t recommend it. You could use some Draught of Peace or Sleeping Draught.”

Harry shook his head. “Not, not the Hospital Wing, please…I couldn’t sleep right now…”

Zabini seemed to see something in his eyes that moved him to sympathy, just a tad. Maybe he could tell that Harry dreaded sleeping just now, fearing more visions. He seemed awfully good at reading people. He linked his arm through Harry’s and pulled him along, a little quicker than Harry would’ve liked.

Harry directed him to the right floor, and when they stood in front of the bathroom door, he couldn’t remember the password at all.

“Um…”

“Giant squid.”

The door slid open, and the familiar elegant, large space of the Prefect’s bathroom was revealed.

Zabini sat Harry down on the rim of the tub, and sat himself down on a counter, looking around. He whistled. “Look at this place. It’s enough to make you want to treat everyone nice and work your ass off, just to be a prefect. But I bet you’ve been in here plenty before, seeing as your friend Weasley’s a prefect now, right?”

Harry nodded dully. He hadn’t talked to Ron about this bathroom, but he was sure Ron knew about it. He himself hadn’t been in since trying to figure out the golden egg in his Fourth Year, though. That was when Cedric was still alive…

He sighed, shutting his eyes against the pain of his headache.

Zabini made some noise of concern, and then his body was right next to Harry’s, as he leaned over and turned on several of the golden taps of the sunk-in, swimming-pool-sized tub. Harry clenched his jaw at the closeness of Zabini’s body – he smelled like rich wizard cologne, and it made Harry’s head start to spin, but it was nice to have Zabini’s warmth so close.

Water gushed out of the spouts, as well as golden bubbles, pink froth, rainbow bubbles that danced around the tub’s edge, and the jets that ricocheted inside the tub, which Harry remembered he’d liked best. Other bubbles went in, too, and perfumed smell filled the room.

Satisfied, Zabini sat back on the counter and looked at the filling pool and at Harry. “Well. That’s quite something. I haven’t seen anything like this even in other wizarding families’ manors. I bet Draco doesn’t even have such nice arrangements.”

He became troubled again, brow furrowing. Harry wondered how long Zabini had been calling Malfoy ‘Draco’. He hadn’t heard them address each other by their first names in the library, and that hadn’t been more than a week ago. What had changed in a week? Clearly they weren’t that close before now, or Zabini would have visited Malfoy Manor before and known what sort of ‘nice arrangements’ were there.

Zabini asked, “How are you feeling?”

Harry groaned. “Horrid.” He was beyond trying to look unfazed at this point; his stomach was queasy, his mind burned with the image of Narcissa Malfoy’s pained expression, and his head felt like a hippogriff was galloping inside of it.

“Do you want to go in like that?”

Harry looked down at his trousers, the Weasley sweater he wore, and the long, oversized shirt. “No.” The pool behind him wasn’t even full yet.

“Well?” Zabini sounded impatient. “Hurry it up, then.”

When Harry stared at him – he wasn’t going to undress in front of Zabini! – the Slytherin walked forward and, to Harry’s horror, grabbed the hem of his shirt.

“What, what are you doing?” Harry breathed. He felt like he might faint. His senses were overloaded. Zabini was so close, and he was smiling at Harry, or smirking, rather, and his hands were over Harry’s thighs now. Harry swallowed, and tried to force some sort of protest out of his throat, but it didn’t seem to want to cooperate. He hadn’t ever been this close to any of the boys he’d looked at, or liked. Perhaps he should be glad his throat wasn’t working, so he wouldn’t stutter.

He couldn’t help a sort of tremble that came to him, when Zabini lifted his shirt with the sweater up and dragged it off of him. Warm fingertips grazed Harry’s skin all the way up his torso. He wanted more of that.

Zabini flung the shirt and sweater away and gave Harry an appraising look, followed by, “Why do you wear such oversized clothes, Potter? They look awful. You’re not actually that bad, you know. I mean, Quidditch has done something good for you.”

Harry noticed the way Zabini looked suddenly tongue-tied, caught between the nice things he’d said and the urge he was probably currently feeling to take it all back. It was almost like he’d complimented Harry’s physique, in a weird way. Harry felt scrawny though, and hated his hair more than ever in that moment, knowing it was especially messy. Zabini was looking at him shirtless! Harry felt his face go possibly as red as a tomato.

“I, I only ever wear robes at school,” Harry said quietly, in answer to Zabini’s question.

“Only at school? Don’t you buy clothes in the Muggle world? I’m sure you have enough galleons to shop at Diagon Alley.”

Harry said nothing. His clothes were passed down from Dudley, always, and he’d never had anything of his own before he’d known he was a wizard. His glasses didn’t really count, did they? He wondered what the Dursleys would say he if wore robes over the summer, and almost wanted to laugh.

Zabini caught on far too quickly. “If you don’t wear robes during the summer, and these are the best clothes you’ve got, you must live with Muggles.” He stared at Harry, and Harry squirmed. “You do, don’t you? And you have no Muggle money, it seems.”

Harry didn’t meet Zabini’s gaze. He hated that Zabini had figured it out. He didn’t like talking to anybody about the Dursleys, not even Hermione and Ron. They would only gape at him like fish, or coo over him in sympathy. Fred and George had made jokes about Dudley, and the Ton-Tongue toffee incident was certainly funny, but…having Zabini know was something else. He would just make cruel jokes.

But Zabini wasn’t saying anything, just looking at Harry. Harry was embarrassed to be shirtless in front of Zabini but it also made him hungry to have him close again. Locker rooms as a boy and House dormitories at Hogwarts hadn’t prepared him for the desire that was slipping into him now. He wished Zabini would take off his shirt, too, because it was hot and steamy in the room. The mermaid in the portrait was looking at Harry, and he wondered if she, too, thought Quidditch had “done something good for him”.

Hermione had said something earlier in the year, when a gaggle of giggling girls had gone by, about Harry being taller…and that the rumors about him being “the Chosen One” made him very popular…but this was Zabini…

“Are you that out of it? Does this always happen when you see the Dark Lord in a vision? Get a grip, Potter.”

Zabini hands took hold of Harry’s shoulders, shaking him, which made Harry almost fall back into the tub. There was no rim to hold, so he grabbed Zabini instead, and suddenly the other boy’s taller, heavy body was against Harry. His long hair was covering Harry’s face, his scent was filling Harry’s nose, and a firm chest was up against Harry’s, and something hard and long was poking into Harry’s thigh, which sent him into a panic until he realized it was just Zabini’s wand in his robes pocket.

“Merlin, you’re almost as much a wreck as Draco,” Zabini muttered, pushing himself off of Harry. His next words were almost too quiet to catch. “Maybe the two of you should be together.”

With a scowl, Zabini turned away, leaving Harry sitting there trying not to think of what Zabini’s words implied about Malfoy. His heart beat fast in him, and he swallowed again. He felt like panting, having had Zabini so close, and he wished he had…what, kept Zabini there against him? Kissed him? Yes, he wanted to kiss him, and he wanted to yank Zabini’s clothes off, and…

“What do you mean?” he blurted, trying to distract himself. He desperately did not want to get a hard-on with Zabini right there! He should hurry up and take a bath so Zabini could be next…but if he wanked off, which he would have to, then Zabini outside the room would surely hear…

The Slytherin’s gaze trailed all over Harry, and Harry got the feeling again that Zabini could read him. He felt goose bumps slither up his arms with Zabini looking at him. Could he tell Harry was somewhat aroused?

“It’s none of your business,” Zabini snapped. Then he was standing up, and Harry thought he meant to leave, but instead, Zabini had grabbed his arm and wrenched it up close so he could look at it.

“What’s this scar from?”

It was the one Harry had gotten two years ago when Wormtail got his blood to revive Voldemort. “One of Voldemort’s henchmen did it,” Harry said.

The dark Slytherin didn’t flinch when Harry said Voldemort’s name, but a vein twitched in his temple. He drew his thumb over the white line of the scar on Harry’s arm, and then he looked at the lightning bolt on Harry’s forehead. “That almost burned me when I touched it,” he said. He reached out his hand to brush Harry’s hair away from his forehead. “Was it doing that just because of your vision?”

Harry licked his lips. Zabini looked even better up close, and he was being so god damn nice for a Slytherin. Was he teasing Harry on purpose? Or was he oblivious to these sorts of things, like Ron was, and like Hermione said Harry was? But Harry didn’t think so. Someone oblivious to physical attractions and such wouldn’t be able to have snogged Malfoy so well…

“I, I think it was just the vision. You can…touch it, if you like, I suppose.”

Harry shut his eyes, steamrolled out of breath by a sudden idea of this conversation in a different context. If only Zabini was asking to touch his cock instead. He wondered what those smooth fingertips would feel like against him. He was sweating now, and he knew it wasn’t just the heat from the tub. Lust was grinding in him, and he wanted something inane and impossible to happen, like Zabini sitting on his lap and pushing his beautiful, lean body up against Harry…

Warm, soft fingertips drifted over Harry’s scar lightly, and then pressed a little harder. “Can he see me, when I do this?” Zabini asked in a whisper.

“Who?” Harry wanted to know if he would say it, even though he knew already who Zabini meant.

“Voldemort,” Zabini bit out, “Can he see me?”

Harry smiled a little; he couldn’t help it. He was glad that Zabini had been able to say Voldemort’s name. Here was one Slytherin who wasn’t afraid of ‘the Dark Lord’, as they all seemed to call Voldemort. Perhaps Zabini was right. Not every Slytherin was evil, and not every child of a Death Eater, or of someone involved with them, was bad…Zabini seemed to be proof enough of this. And even idiot Malfoy too, maybe.

“He can’t see you,” Harry said. “I can only see him when he’s feeling strong emotion. Can you…not touch it anymore? Please.”

“Fine. What other secrets do you have, Potter? What is it like living with Muggles?”

“Boring,” Harry said. He wanted Zabini closer and further away all at once. Zabini drew away, and Harry missed his touch and his heat.

“Are you getting in or not? Because I’m starving, frankly, but I want to refresh myself first. There’s nothing like a hot bath, and this bathroom has got to be enjoyed. I intend to, right now. So are you getting in or not?”

Harry realized that he was suddenly hungry, too. It was dinner. Ron and Hermione were probably anxious to know where he was. Maybe Dumbledore had informed them. Plus a bath sounded so good…and it almost seemed like Zabini was going to get in whether Harry left or not.

He wanted to get the rest of his clothes off desperately, he wanted to wank, he wanted to kiss Zabini, he wanted to feel that undoubtedly hot tongue glide over him…any part of him…

Then the world decided to give Harry a break, because alarmingly, Zabini was undressing. In front of Harry. Harry pinched his arm hard, and it hurt, so this must be real. He watched as the long, dark school robes were pulled off of Zabini in one quick movement. Then Zabini was taking off his shirt, and Harry felt his breath catch in his throat.

Even from behind, you could tell Zabini was beautiful. His skin was smooth and dark, and there was not a single blemish on him. His mussed hair hung a little past his shoulders. Harry watched his shoulder blades moving in two delicate sweeps before he realized Zabini was unbuttoning his trousers. Oh Merlin…it was already good enough to last Harry multiple wet dreams, just to see Zabini shirtless from behind, to have more of that beautiful body revealed, but then Zabini was dropping his trousers and underclothes, too, and Harry drank in the sight.

Zabini’s ass was good enough to bite. Harry wanted to touch him. He wanted to see his front, too, and run his tongue all along Zabini’s cock. He clenched his fingers into fists, biting his lip hard enough to bleed it. His cock was begging for him to have some taste of the beautiful boy in front of him, and his eyes were fixated on the firm, rounded ass in front of him, and the back of Zabini’s long legs, and the way Zabin’s head tilted back to get hair out of his eyes…

Harry shut his eyes when Zabini turned around, because he knew if he saw any more, he just might explode. His cock was so hard, and he wanted desperately to reach down and fondle himself. But Zabini was right there! Harry had to wait to wank, and he might blow it, literally, if he opened his eyes. He didn’t want Zabini to read it all in his face. Could Zabini see that he was hard?

He let out a small sigh when he heard the lapping of water against the tub, a sign that Zabini had gotten in the bath. Reluctantly, Harry opened his eyes. He cursed himself for not having looked, given that one chance, but he was also relieved that he hadn’t embarrassed himself royally.

“Mmm,” Zabini sighed in the water. He didn’t swim laps as Harry had the first time. He just stood there, and Harry watched the contented look on that face. Zabini’s eyes were closed, long lashes brushing his cheeks. A gentle smile turned his mouth. He had already dunked his head in the water, and his dark curls were flattened somewhat on his head. Wet tendrils stuck to his forehead and his neck, and Harry held in a groan. Zabini looked so good wet.

Dark eyes opened, and Harry found Zabini staring right at him. His gaze was so very direct! Harry couldn’t look away, though. He was riveted. He didn’t know if Zabini was reading the desire in him from his face alone – Harry was angled away so Zabini couldn’t see his front. He couldn’t look away for some reason.

“Joining me, Potter? There’s room enough.” Zabini laughed.

That voice seemed laced with a little challenge. Maybe Zabini could read Harry’s lust in his eyes. Or maybe he’d seen Harry’s trouser tent before he went into the water. Harry felt sweat trickle down his neck, and blinked, forcing himself to look away from Zabini.

“Give me a second,” he managed to say. Then, “Don’t look.” He made sure to sound surly, when really, he was excited – and nervous. He was really going to stand there, hard as hell, with Zabini in the Prefect’ bathroom’s luxurious tub?

Yes, yes he was. He had been a coward last year, and he had been in denial for so long. It was time to stop running away. He was Gryffindor, wasn’t he? He wouldn’t leave with his erection, and wank off in Myrtle’s bathroom or some storage closet. He wouldn’t do that and then go to a miserable, lonely dinner where Ron and Hermione snapped at each other. He would stay here, and stop fantasizing hard enough to make himself come, and try to enjoy a hot bath.

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more soon!
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Every You, Every Me