Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Dragon Noir	By : agelessdrake Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1949 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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
- 6
- 7
- 8
"You took your coat off and stood in the rain
You were always crazy like that
And I watched from my window
Always felt I was outside looking in on you."
~Foolish Games, Jewel

Chapter Six~
It was a familiar scene, to both boys that sat in the tower room, though it was different in so many ways. Neither spoke, settling then for the silence that had taken them earlier in the year, as they rode the train, and quick glances at the other.
Malfoy still had tears drying on his cheeks. His was pretty when he cried, in a dark, eerie sort of way; his eyes didn't go red and puffy like most people. The tears just rolled, making his cheeks sleeked with silver tracks as the light hit it.
They'd been in the tower for a long time; missed the last two meals and the rest of their classes, and the sun was setting at such an angle that Malfoy, who sat on the window seat, looking studiously away from Potter, was embalmed in golden light.
"You want to tell me why I'm here?" The blond looked down at his hands, and wrapped his robes closer around him - they were the only part of his school ensemble that had not been decidedly damaged during the heated moment hours before.
"Since you came all the way up here, I figured you knew," he muttered, though the conviction of a taunt was lost in his still slightly grated tone. He curled his knees up to his chest, crossing his arms over the top of them so his hands dangled, crossed at the wrists before him; he looked like a silhouette, like a holy idol, with the rays of the sun turning him to shadow and casting around him.
"I know why I'M up here, Malfoy. Do you?" Potter was being decidedly difficult about this.
"Don't you have to be nice to me?" Malfoy snarled, looking over at the dark haired boy, who sighed and messed with his glasses a moment, flashing reflected light at the blond, who turned away, staring out at the grounds.
"Only if you're agreeable about it," Potter retorted.
"You never said that. There was never ANYTHING that said I had to be agreeable about this arrangement. Which, I might add, was arranged whilst I was unconscious." Potter smirked dangerously; Malfoy shuddered and looked away from him again.
"So I don't have to be nice to you. Now, wanna tell me why we're both up here?" Malfoy's hand clenched into tight fists, one over the other, as he stared out of the window, the last vestiges of the day melting away; his face had gone from the golden glory of the earlier pre-sunset to the crimson and violet tints over his own pale skin that made him look like some bruised and abused wraith of a small child.
They sat in silence. Finally, Potter stood, startling Malfoy as he approached the window seat; he climbed up onto it, staring out of the window as well, though he was aware of the blond staring at him.
"Why DID you come up here?" the blond murmured softly. Potter snorted and shook his head.
"Headache," he replied truthfully, then laughed humorlessly. "The happy voices decided to be loud and decidedly unhappy."
"You hear voices?" A slim silver brow had risen with the question. Potter almost grinned with triumph; he'd broken the ice, gotten Malfoy to talk, despite the fact that neither of them really wanted to be there.
"Only when people think too hard." He stared pointedly at the blond, and snorted again. "And blonds think too hard all the time. Just thinking is hard."
"Hey!" Malfoy snapped, though there was a hint of humor, hidden deep in his silvery-blue eyes. "Are you implying that I'm dense?"
"In a word, no. I'm implying you're a dumb blond." Malfoy sneered a little and rolled his eyes, directing his attention out the window, though it was clear he wasn't looking beyond his own reflection. Potter sighed a little, and stood again, catching the blond's attention.
"Are you leaving?" he demanded curtly, trying to bring back the ice that normally filled his voice in the other boy's presence. But since fourth year, that ice had turned more to a muttering sludge, though it seemed to harden right back up when Potter's red haired arse of a friend was around.
"No," Potter stated dully, and drew it wand out of his robes. He went about, lighting the stubs of candles that the blond and his other companion had brought up on their first visit. Unlike normal candles, they gave off an eerie green and silver light, and didn't dribble wax, seeming to simply dissolve into air as the fire ate away at them.
Malfoy was watching him move about, watching him bent and stoop to light them all; he quickly looked away when Potter started back to the window seat. His hands had retracted to the niche between his body and his thighs, and he was staring at them intently.
"I wish you would go away," he whispered towards those thin hands, and clenched them tightly into fists, refusing to look up at Potter. There were tears in his eyes, and though the dark haired youth had come in to find him crying, unable to cast Mending spells on his ripped clothing, he didn't have an urge to repeat the sight of pity gleaming in those green eyes.
Green eyes... That's what had started it all, ultimately. the the school year, he'd come to realize one reason why his father had locked him away: He hadn't done what he was supposed to, he hadn't killed Potter. And then all this had happened. And he kissed Blaise because of the green in his eyes, and...
He halted towards the end of those thoughts, trying to figure out why Blaise having green eyes was such a big thing. When he thought about it, they weren't, and it wasn't. But something about that.
He looked over at Potter. Those intense emerald eyes were boring into him, as though trying to bore into his skull. The dark haired boy coughed and looked away, and Malfoy caught a blush on his cheeks.
"Now I know why Professor Luc is a nut-case," he muttered. Malfoy raised a brow; Potter coughed again. "You were... ah, projecting your thoughts a bit there. I don't know what brought it on, but... Yes, you might want to work on that."
Malfoy blanched.
"You heard my thoughts?"
"Not all of them," Potter assured, holding his hands up as though to defend himself - he was still holding his wand in the left one. When he dropped his hands, he rubbed the back of his head, his blush vibrant on his fair cheeks. "Just... just the one with... Zabini."
"Oh god..." Malfoy groaned, and leaned back against the wall of the alcove of the window. "Don't do that. Don't go swimming in my thoughtson'ton't go snitch diving in my brain, it's a nasty thought."
"I'm not 'swimming' or 'snitch diving'," Potter corrected, and coughed. "You're shooting those images out there." They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Potter sighed extravagantly. "This is getting us nowhere."
"Are you going to leave?"
"No. We're just not going to talk about Zabini or... what you were projecting earlier, though I would like to know what brought that on -." Malfoy snorted, interrupting him; he waved a hand at Potter's confused, slightly miffed expression.
"Trust me, you DON'T want to know why I was thinking of that."
Once again, there was silence, as they stared out the window, occasionally casting glances at the other. Somehow, Malfoy felt this was wrong. Like he was wandering off from the dorms to be with a lover. And the thought made his stomach flutter, slightly unpleasantly.
"What do you think of your Quiddich team this year?" Potter tried softly; he'd heard that Malfoy had been named captain near the end of the last year. The blond shrugged a little.
"We're alright. Could be a lot better. I tried to convince Bla-... Zabini, that is. I tried to convince him to try out for our new Keeper, but he refuses to play for some reason." Potter looked over at Malfoy for a long moment, re sre sighing, running a hand through his hair.
"You can call him by his first name, Malfoy. It's not like I care; he's your friend -."
"No... No, he's not." A flush that looked quite out of place on an otherwise blanched face rose blotchy on Malfoy's cheeks. Tears grew to glisten in his eyes; he angrily wiped them away, sniffling and blinking them back.
"You can cry, you know," Potter murmured, his voice gentle, almost seductive. Malfoy growled and glared sharply at him.
"Malfoy's don't cry," he bit.
"So don't be 'Malfoy'," the dark haired boy advised, and offered a tenderly sardonic little smile. "Be Draco. He was crying earlier..."
The sound of his name on the other boy's lips was unsettling at first, until he realized that the shiver that had raced down his spine had not been one of revolution. He ducked his head, trying to hold back those tears; it wasn't that he didn't cry, or that he couldn't before this boy. It was that he didn't want to.
"Subject change?" Potter offered softly. Malfoy nodded. "Look, erm... before we get into this whole 'I'll-talk-to-you-when-nobody's-watching' bit... Is it ok if I just call you Draco? It makes me feel like we're fighting when I call you Malfoy." The blond looked at him a moment, before nodding slowly.
"Does that mean I have to call you... call you Harry?" Potter shrugged one shoulder gently, his eyes slipping closed with the gesture, as though that weren't a dangerous thing to do; he didn't know Malfoy - Draco, that was right, he was Draco in the tower - wouldn't attack him.
"You don't have to. It might make it easier to talk to me." Draco nodded, very slowly, before biting his lip.
"Alright, then Po-... Harry. Harry, right. Now, don't expect me to start being all, you know, buddy-buddy with you." He wagged a finger at the dark haired boy, who smiled radiantly, rolling his eyes.
"I think I might have to tie you down and find out what you'd done with the real Draco Malfoy if you DID start being all buddy-buddy." Draco chuckled a little at that, looking out the window.
"So... The Ravenclaw Quiddich team is supposed to be a decent challenge this year..."
~~~
Iphigenia collapsed in a heap in one of the vacant chairs in the teachers' lounge. T wer were only a few teachers left in there, most finishing up grading papers before they wandered off to bed themselves.
Severus slid into the seat across from her, sipping what could have been coffee, but probably wasn't.
"So... Did you see either of our young charges at all today?" she muttered, running hand through her long hair. Sev sno snorted into his mug, shaking his head.
"I wouldn't be surprised if your 'womanly intuition' has gotten them both killed, wherever Malfoy was." Iphigenia smothered a hysterical little laugh at that; Severus was probably right, on that account. And even if they hadn't killed each other, neither would be stupid enough to wander out of... wherever they were to go back to their dorms.
"Have you -. Ah, Christ almighty, I sound like a crazy woman again if I ask this, but I KNOW you have one of the orbs, and I was wondering -."
"I can hear with it, sometimes," Severus assured. Iphigenia cursed gather hotly in Greek, looking down at her hands; Severus lowered his mug, halting in it's upward course to take a new sip from it. "That's not what you wanted to hear."
"I was a fool. Potter's stronger than I thought; he's got a touch, the powers behind it. That headache - he got a headache in my class, mumbling under his breath. I... I think he might have picked up on Malfoy, that's why I sent hff tff to find him." She shook her head. "Gami¹, what a fool! They probably have killed each other."
Severus raised his cup in salute.
"Congratulations on being the first Dark Arts teacher to actually try and kill Potter off since his first year." Iphigenia scowled at the dark man, the tick above her eyebrow returning for a moment; he nearly chuckled at the sight. "Calm down, there. I'm not saying you succeeded."
"You're implying it."
"I'm also implying that Malfoy is dead too," Severus muttered into his cup. Iphigenia sighed, and flopped back against the chair, groaning. "You shouldn't do that, people will get the wrong idea." Another sip.
"Shut up."
~~~
"Ron?"
"Yeah Hermi'?"
"First off, are you actually DOING your school work?" Ron looked up at Hermione and shrugged a little; she shook her head. "Anyways. Have you seen Harry? He left DADA this afternoon and never came back. I went to the Hospital Wing, but he wasn't there -."
"Maybe he went for a walk," Ron hazarded, and returned to his parchment. He only had two more inches to fill up with things on Middle Eastern dark wizards, and then he was done with his homework.
"Ron, you're supposed to be his best friend -!" Hermione began, almost aghast. The redhead sighed and looked up at her, rubbing his forehead.
"Hermi', I know you worry. And you're RIGHT, he IS my best friend. And that's why, if he wants to wander around at night, trying to figure stuff out, I'm not going to stop him. For that matter, neither are you," Ron continued, cutting Hermione off as she began to open her mouth. She huffed; he sighed. "He's a big boy, Hermi', and he can take care of himself."
"Ron, we're in a war. Nobody knows who's on which side! What if... something happened."
"Than he would fight it off," Ron replied. He chuckled a little ironically, and rubbed the back of his head. "I'm of the conviction that he's impervious to Aveda, anyways." Hermione rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh.
"Well, I'm off to bed. If Harry comes in late, tell him I'd like to talk to him tomorrow?" Ron nodded, looking down at his parchment. Hermione sighed once more, pecked a kiss on the redhead's cheek - just catching his blush - and strode off to the girl's dorm.
The picture hole opened just as she opened the sixth year girl's dorm. She halted, and turned around, watching from behind a pillar.
Ron had looked up and over at Harry, who had strode in, looking tired and a little miffed. He settled down beside the redhead, who slung an arm over his shoulders, and began to mutter in soft tones, ones meant only for his best friend.
Hermione felt a little betrayed by that. Surely, if Harry had only wanted to talk to Ron, he could have come in an asked.
But that was silly. Neither knew she was here; they were just keeping their voices down for the benefit of the dorm. She strained to listen.
Soft words past between them, a few wafting up to her. Something about an Orb, and something else about Professor Luc - that made her seethe and a little green around the edges; she didn't trust that woman. And something else entirely which caught her attention.
Their conversation had risen in volume just enough that it was easier to hear, though she'd missed the first bit of it. Now, Harry's voice was clear, with the smallest biting edge behind it.
"I never said I WANTED him to trust me, Ron. and it's not like I'm offering him friendship or anything. But now we... sort of share a common ground."
"What, that you like boys?" Hermione blushed at that; she'd guess that Malfoy was a little... poffish, but hadn't known Harry liked boys - which miffed her a little, as that was something one generally told their FEMALE friends before their MALE friends. But Ron and Harry were still talking.
"- and now he's got one too, though I don't think he knows how to use it."
"Neither do you. Now, go back to the voices bit." Harry glared offhandedly at Ron, who blanched a bit and demanded curtly, "What!?"
"You just want more fodder on Malfoy, don't you?"
"Well... Kind of. I mean, he's always been around pokin' fun at me and my family. Turns out his is more dysfunctional, I'm gonna use that." Harry was shaking his head though.
"I can't. I don't even know what it was. But it was fresh, and brought on by Blaise... doing whatever he was doing.&quo

"You didn't ask?" Ron demanded, though it was tender. Harry gave him another pointed look, this one over the rim of his glasses.
"And what would I say? 'Hey Malfoy, just got a memory of yours - or maybe just something you made up? - of your da raping you. Why'd that happen? Oh, and by the way, were you and Zabini trying to molest each other'?" He snorted indignantly. "Thank you, I'd rather keep my body completely intact past my seventeenth birthday."
"So what were you doing up there with him?" There was no mistaking the innuendo and insinuation in Ron's tone. Hermione blushed again, but couldn't pull herself away. Harry smacked the redhead's arm.
"Quiddich. We talked about Quiddich."
"And how to properly grasp a 'broom'?" Harry smacked Ron again, though he was smiling a little, flushed and sniggering under his breath. Ron looked contemplative for a moment. "I always thought the Ferret would be gay; explains a lot."
"A lot of what?"
"Why he's always stalking you. I mean, the girls do it 'cause they all fancy you - 'cept Hermi', who doesn't fancy you, 'cause I think she fancies me - and a few of the guys stalk you, 'cause you're really cool, and they all want the girls attention. But Malfoy's got no fodder 'cept that hiss bos boss killed your da."
"Thanks for that round about way of getting to the point." Harry's eye-roll was audible in his words. "So... you think he might like me?"
"He seems to like a lot of guys with black hair," Ron pointed out. "Snape, Zabini, Dean -."
"DEAN!?" Ron gave Harry a pointed look that time.
"Oh, come off it. You know he's attractive. Fuck, I'm straight, and I think he's attractive."
"Yeah, but you've got weird taste, mate. I mean, that time you got drunk, and kissed Seamus -."
"Lets not talk about that, eh?" Ron growled. Hermione would have to make a point of asking Seamus what had happened there - no doubt it was something she didn't actually want to know, but it wouldn't suffer any.
"All I'm saying is... why me? .He could have anybody here; I'm nothing special. Since day one, he's hated me."
"As I remember, he didn't hate you until you refused to touch him." Harry glared there; Ron chuckled to himself.
"Fred and George are wearing off on you."
"Actually, it's more Bill," Ron mused, kicking his feet onto the table. "Speakif whf which, I was thinking of getting my ear pierced -."
Hermione turned away from the conversation. They'd switched off from the reason Harry had been gone too early, and now she was too confused to follow, and see if it went back; no doubt it would, the instance she laid down to sleep, but she didn't care. She'd talk to Harry tomorrow, find out what was happening.
And then she'd talk to Seamus about him kissing Ron.
~~~
"We're both pathetic."
Once again, the position of two bodies struck a chord in Draco. Harry leaned against his back, bracing against the wall across from him, as Draco mimicked behind him, a book open in his lap. He looked up and turned to look at the dark haired boy; he met profiled emerald eyes.
"How are we pathetic?"
"We're sitting here doing nothing, that's how." Draco shrugged, and gestured towards the door.
"It's over there. Leave if you're uncomfortable. I didn't ask you to come up here and talk with me."
"We aren't talking," Harry pointed out. Draco sighed and shut his book, setting it down with a thump beside the window seat; he turned to look at Harry again.
"We've kind of exhausted our similarities, P- Harry. Quiddich. End of story." Harry looked down at his hands, fiddling with his wand. A conversation he'd had with Ron a few years back flashed through his mind and he started to laugh spontaneously.
Draco jumped, and whirled, making Harry tumble back, still laughing, when he sat up, he was still playing with his wand a little, thinking of all the bad jokes he and his friends had made over them. Finally, he looked up at the blond.
"Have you ever noticed how phallic wands are?" he muttered through his laughter. Draco flushed brightly, looking down at Harry as though he were mad; the dark haired boy scoffed. "Stop being a prude."
"I'm not being a prude! YOU'RE making assumptions about me," Draco bit, pouting a bit. Harry snorted a little, trying to control his laughter. "What NOW!?"
"You look like a rent-boy when you do that," Harry explained. "And that made me think of Dean when he pouts, because he looks like even more of one, 'cause he only does it when somebody's poking fun... Which tends to correspond with times that he's shirtless."
Draco's eyes widened and he cursed, looking away from Harry. The other boy was creaking up again; the blond snarled.
"Oh shut up! Great pouf, you are. Calling me a rent-boy and going on about how wands look like cocks." Harry shivered when the last word rolled over Draco's tongue and lips. He was on his back, looking up at the blond with a slightly giddy grin on his face.
"If you don't mind me asking... If I'm a 'great pouf', what does that make you?"
"What's that supposed to mean!?" Draco demanded. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, rolling onto his stomach and resting his chin on his palms. "Stop looking at me like that."
"And you call me a 'great pouf'... after I come in here finding you half naked..." Again, he rolled his eyes. But Draco's face wasn't comically confused, nor amused anymore. He was looking away, out the window, his eyes distant.
"I didn't ask him to do that."
"I didn't say you asked him to do... whatever he did. But the point is, you were kissin' a bloke, and from the look of... things... you enjoyed it." Draco looked down at Harry with a cold glare.
"You saw the thought that went with all that. There's a reason it was... THAT one." Harry blinked a momethanthan sighed. "Subject change," the blond requested softly. Harry sat up a bit more, arching his back, trying to pop it. "What IS your problem?"
"Back hurts. I didn't sleep too well last night; don't know what I did -." Draco suddenly stood.
"Lay down," he ordered. Harry raised a brow, slowly, and the blond huffed, climbing over him and sitting on his back; Harry fell with a expulsion of air. "Lay down. Stay. Good doggie."
"Gerroff me," Harry growled, trying to get his breath back. Draco chuckled slightly, and moved from his spot in the middle of Harry's back to his thighs, wiggling a moment until he was comfier.
"God, I didn't think you'd be that bony," he muttered, poking Harry's backside. The dark haired Seeker yelped, and moved to stand.
Draco's hands were on his shoulders, rubbing and squeezing, and working out some of tenseness that had been collecting for a while - probably since around the time he saw Voldemort kill Cedric Diggery in his fourth year. Long fingers kneaded the muscles smoothly, tugging and digging in with just the right among of pressure.
Harry moaned, loudly, into the floor, and moved his prone arms up to cradle his head. Draco chuckled, shifting on his legs again.
"It's bad to be this tense, Harry. You really should get laid more; it would help with the anger management too. ean,ean, look at me! Do you see me going off in people's face's all the time? No. You know why?"
"Because you save it all for Ron and me?" Harry grumbled. Draco smacked his backside, hard enough to make him yelp.
"Don't get smart, or I'll stop."
"I loathe you, did you know that?" Draco chuckled again, a hint of a smile on his lips. It was his normal, patented smirk, or even the shit eating grin he got when he was taunting Harry during Quiddich, but a more genuine one.
"Loathe is a strong word, Harry."
"Strongly despise then?"
"Do you WANT me to stop?" Draco demanded. Harry moaned as the blond's fingers deft found a particularly hard knot, working it away slowly but surely.
"Gimme a minute, I have to think about that." They were silent for a long while, the only sounds the slight shifting of cloth and Harry occasional moan as a kink was worried away.
"This would be easier if you were shirtless," Draco stated nonchalantly, but made no move to get up so Harry could remove the offending garment. So Harry stayed still, allowing the massage to happen, allowing his cares and pains to whisper away.
"Did... ... ever really know your mum's family?"
"Oh, the Blacks?" Draco murmured back to Harry's plaintive, half-asleep whisper. The dark haired boy nodded slightly. The blond sighed. "She didn't speak of them much, but occasionally we would visit."
"Did you ever... - oh, yes, right there... - ah, did you ever go over to any of the mansions?" Draco hummed over that as he worked, sliding easily down Harry's thighs to straddle his knees as he worked the other teen's lower back.
"Once, when I was very little, for a family reunion. My father didn't want us to go, but my mother ended up convincing him. Said I needed to be around as many Purebloods as I could be." He shook his head slightly. "Shame so many of them were such bad examples of Purebloods; like the Weasleys, that Andromeda woman. It's sad to know my family is so readily related to people like that Sirius Black."
Harry held his breath a moment, trying to control the anger that welled in his chest. Slowly, he sighed, shaking his head and staring at the stone beneath his nose.
"Sirius was a good man."
"Oh? How would YOU know. You're no Pureblood, never knew any of the families - unless you count mine -."
"He was my godfather."
Draco shut up instantly in his little rant. His hands still a moment on Harry's back, but the dark haired boy was too intent on the floor to notice the slight lapse in relaxing movement over his spine.
"Stand up, take your shirt off," Draco suddenly uttered, a little embarrassed to find out he'd been badmouthing Harry's - sort of - family. He knew he shouldn't have felt bad, as he moved to let the taller boy sit up and work of his tie and shirt, but he did, which made him feel worse.
Half way through unbuttoning his top, he turned to look at Draco.
"You don't have to feel bad," he stated softly. "I didn't know he was Pureblood until last year, let alone that you were related to him. Hell, I didn't even know he existed until I was fourteen!"
"You talk like he's -."
"Dead. He is. At least, as far as we can tell." Draco swallowed a little, and diverted his eyes as Harry slipped his shirt off, tossing over to where they'd placed their robes. Slowly, silvery eyes tracked back to him.
He was glorious, all sinew and lean muscles on a lanky torso. A perfect Seeker's build, much more defined than Draco's own was. The blond had the sudden urge to forgo the massage, and simply slam Harry against the floor, touch him everywhere that lightly tanned skin was shown, kiss him until neither of them could breath any more, and then some.
He realized, belatedly, that Harry most definitely would have heard at least a little bit of the thoughts running through his head, a little bit of the visionary he'd come up with. Blushing, he motioned for Harry to resume for former position.
The other teen didn't move, blushing as well.
"Actually, I'm fine now..." he stated, looking towards where he'd thrown his shirt. He'd have to stand up to retrieve it.
"I'm not going to jump you, Harry," Draco ground out, trying desperately to defuse the sudden situation. But Harry flushed deeper, looking down at his knees.
"That's not what I'm afraid of." The words that Sirius had said in his dream - that it would hurt Draco if he didn't knew how Harry felt about him - echoed through his mind. How DID he feel about the small sixteen year old before him? All the earlier banter of him loathing the blond, he knew that wasn't entirely true; it couldn't be, or Harry was truly more foolish then he thought.
"You're afraid of a lot of things, aren't you?" Draco murmured, still refusing to look at Harry; for that the dark haired teen was grateful. He stood, grabbed his shirt, and began to put it back on as he spoke.
"Everybody's afraid of something." Draco nodded very shallowly, and Harry saw him swallow - a very minute movement in his Adam's Apple as it bobbed up and then down - and then focus back on his buttons. "What are you afraid of, Draco?"
"Certain things," the blond uttered, drawing a pattern on the floor with the tip of his finger, pressing the pad of that finger down ever so softly, every so often, as though if he pressed at just the right angle the pattern would actually appear in the stone; Harry wondered briefly what he was drawing with that digit.
"Like what?"
"Why should I tell you?" Harry sighed. Draco was being purposefully stubborn about the conversation now, even though - in all technicality - he had been the one to start it. "It's stupid anyway..."
"Probably, but most fears are." Slate toned eyes locked onto emerald, and Harry offered a lopsided smile as he sat down; the top four buttons of his shirt were still undone, and his tie was slung over his shoulders, barely tucked under the collar. Draco realized how rumpled he looked, and clamped down on the thoughts before they got bigger and more dangerous. "What are you afraid of?" Harry repeated.
"I'm afraid... No, it's dumb." He looked up at Harry for a long moment, worried his lip, and looked away. "What are you afraid of?" Harry licked his lips slightly, trying to decide something that he really did fear, one that wouldn't get a disdainful reaction from the blond.
"I'm afraid of what will happen if I don't kill Voldemort." Draco nodded, very slowly, still tracing on the floor.
"Are you OF him?" he asked softly. Harry shook his head slowly.
"Are you?"
"I don't... No. Not exactly. I'm afraid of him being in control of me; I guess... that's what I'm afraid of." The blond chuckled a little nervously, rubbing the back of his head slightly. "Afraid of losing control? Or free will. Whatever it is. It's not... a definite feeling, just -."
"A gut thing," Harry stated as Draco began to trail off. "Anything else you're afraid of?"
"Attachment." When Harry raised a brow, Draco sighed, and bit his lip, trying to put it all into words. "Love, and commitment and all that. You're giving so much of yourself up, and the other person doesn't really have to give it all back. There are too many strings attached, too much lying and... It's just easier if you don't like the person, or you just... don't CARE about them."
"Rent boy," Harry muttered. Draco kicked him as he sat down a little ways off.
&;Any;Anything else YOU're afraid of, O Great Harry Potter?" Draco demanded, raising one fine pale golden brow. Harry sighed, and flopped back on the stone floor, cradling his head with his hands; he felt the stone bite into the flesh of his knuckles, but ignored it for the moment. "Oh, c'mon. I told you -."
"I'm afraid to fall in love... or... No, that's not right. I'm afraid of losing people I fall in love with," he stated decisively, nodding his head a little. Draco shifted beside him, leaning over him a little. "What?"
"You're pathetic, Potter," Draco muttered, and stood. "You're afraid to love? Did we not just go over that one? Love is pointless anyway; it's pointless and frivolous. Little girls and fantasy writers made it up, because they know they'll never have it."
"Speaking for personal experience, MALFOY?" The blondngednged where he stood before the windoat, at, staring out at the grounds.
"Leave me alone," he half whined. "You don't know me -."
"That's most of the point of this!" Harry shot back, rolling to his feet and slowly approaching the blond. "Look, I don't want to do this any more than you do, but at least I'M not acting childish about it -."
"Oh, so now I'm a child!?" Draco snarled indignantly, whirlingund und and glaring at Harry. The taller teen puffed up a little, feeling his fists clench. "I'm a child, because for all you know I could be a Death Eater, or I could be working for Voldemort, and you don't know, but you're willing to tell me all this stuff anyways!"
"I tell you this stuff because I'm TRYING to be decent. Because in the first year, you wanted my friendship, and now, guess what: here it is."
"Oh, some friendship," the blond sneered darkly. "Coming in here after I'm attacked, high and mighty, because you THOUGHT you'd picked up on my thoughts. You THOUGHT you'd seen a memory of mine. You don't know it wasn't!"
"You're not doing a whole hell of a lot to dissaude the idea either, Malfoy," Harry bit. "Every time I try to get you to talk about it, you shut up and change the subject. And every time I do something that could be even REMOTELY considered sexual, you start thinking all this... STUFF -."
"Shut up, just... SHUT UP!" Draco snarled, and before Harry could react, the blond had grabbed his shirt front and slammed him against one of the walls. His breath was harried, his eyes a little wild and half lidded; Harry's glasses slid down his nose just the tiniest bit and he gasped as the wind was knocked out of him. "Damnit..."
"Draco -."
"Don't call me that," the blond hissed, ducking his head; he couldn't hold Harry's gaze any longer, but looking down proved an ackward situation more adverse. In the brief tussle, Draco's thigh had wormed between Harry's, and was pressing against his crouch slightly. Harry's breath was nearly as harried as Draco's, and not simply from trying to regain it. "I -."
Before Draco could finish the thought, Harry's hand had buried in his hair, drawing him closer until their foreheads were touching. The blond shivshivering, refusing to acknowledge what was happening; he didn't want this to happen, not at all, because that meant he'd have to give up that little bit he had over the boy before him.
"Draco..." Harry murmured. He was pressing very slightly against the blond's thigh. "I... ah -."
"I need to go," Draco stated, and pulled away, wrenching away from Harry hurriedly. He grabbed his robe off the ground and shrugged into them slowly. His eyes, a little clouded and darkened, darted back to Harry, who leaned against the wall, watching him. Swallowing, he ducked his head and rushed out.
For a moment, Harry stayed where he was, leaning against the wall. Then, with a groan, he slid down the wall, rubbing his face.
"I'm afraid of rejection..."

TBC~

¹
The closest thing I could find to 'Fuck' in Greek. I'm not a native speaker... in fact, the extent of my Greek is being able to say Iphi's name, and a few curse words I picked up, but can't actually say right.
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Dragon Noir