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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Wow, sorry I took *forever* to update! here 'tis.

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EVERY YOU, EVERY ME

A Harry Potter fanfic

by lordoberon

Chapter 7

==========

HARRY

It was utterly bizarre, but Harry was relieved that he’d been able to give Zabini one kiss before he went to his death.

Dumbledore’s plan had been made hastily, he’d admitted, because he had feared that if he waited too long, then whatever Voldemort was planning to use Malfoy for would take place. What is was, it ended up, was to kidnap Harry, and Dumbledore had decided to use this plan of Voldemort’s for his own plan.

And it was almost too late…for now, as Harry went to his death, Dumbledore was possibly close to his, having drank the poison in Voldemort’s cave. It had been months since he had done that, and he was secretly slowly deteriorating month by month. Only Snape’s potions work, the Potions Master had told Harry in an aside, was keeping the Headmaster alive.

It was this that made Harry accept Dumbledore’s wild, sketchy plan once and for all. He knew that if Dumbledore had had time to wait to tell Harry about the Horcruxes, and to hunt them, he would have. And he knew that if there was anyone he was willing to risk death for, it was Dumbledore. But he was risking more than that. If Voldemort killed Harry, or got the Elder Wand from Malfoy (who had gotten its ownership by disarming Dumbledore in one of their private meetings), then the world would lose the Boy Who Lived who was, of course, supposed to save them, right?

At least, that was what Dumbledore believed. Harry privately thought that if he were out of the way, Dumbledore could easily finish Voldemort off. Especially since they had gotten all the Horcruxes, except the one in Harry, and the snake, Nagini.

He wanted to succeed, for all of them. For Dumbledore. For Ron and Hermione. For Malfoy. And for Blaise.

As he took off into the sky, Harry decided that when the moment came and he was in Voldemort’s presence, he would think of that kiss with Blaise. He hadn’t mastered Occlumency, not like Malfoy, not like Snape, and if Voldemort looked into his mind, he might see their plan. He might know that Malfoy, not Harry, had ownership of the Elder Wand, and kill him instead.

Harry felt like he might just go insane. If he let his mind wander from Blaise’s kiss (somehow he’d started calling him Blaise in his mind), it would go to Voldemort, and Dumbledore, and Ron, and Hermione…they didn’t even know what was going on…Harry hated saying goodbyes. And they would have never let this happen. He hoped that if he did not come back to life, that they would be able to forgive Dumbledore for sending Harry to his death.

Only Malfoy kept him stable. Malfoy flying above him, watching him, watching for the Snitch, made him able to keep going. Malfoy was steady and serious. His eyes were like cold lightning bolts. Harry knew that this was important to Malfoy. It was his chance to redeem himself, while also saving his family. It was a huge, huge risk, because if Harry didn’t come back to life like Dumbledore said he would and could, then Malfoy and his entire family would be forever under the service of Lord Voldemort. Or dead.

If Harry survived…and came back…then it would still be hard for Malfoy. Then he’d have to deal with the fact that he had brought Harry to Voldemort, but obviously Harry’s survival wasn’t part of the plan. Even if Harry managed to kill Voldemort with all the information he had, wouldn’t the Death Eaters slaughter Malfoy in anger?

The crowd roared for each exciting point of the game, but Harry didn’t care. His head was too crowded with Voldemort, Malfoy, Blaise, and his friends.

Harry took a deep breath. Reality came back to him suddenly as he saw Malfoy zooming towards him. He looked around, and saw the Snitch fluttering a ways to his right.

Now was it. The crowd held its breath. Malfoy zipped by him – Harry sped to the right – his hand grasped hold of the Snitch, which was fluttering within Malfoy’s hand – he had caught it! How funny that he would catch it first, now when it didn’t matter anymore…

And then the pull of the Port key hooked behind Harry’s navel. Snape had done it, just as Dumbledore had instructed. He would be there to witness the thing. And Dumbledore was working to find a safe place for the Malfoys, so that when it was over, the Death Eaters wouldn’t kill them.

They landed with a thump, gasping, on a smooth green lawn. Harry grumbled and cursed as he stood up. Then he fell over again, gasping, as the pain of Voldemort’s proximity was too much.

“He’s here,” he gasped, “Just like you thought he might be…oh, god…ouch…”

Malfoy crawled over to crouch over Harry, looking at him worriedly. Then he glanced quickly around, and pulled Harry so that his head lay in his lap. What on earth? Harry winced as Malfoy stroked the hair back from his forehead, which pounded mercilessly, and then his soft thumb traced the shape of Harry’s lips.

“I hope he’s right,” Malfoy whispered fiercely, “You’d better not die.”

Then, too fast for Harry to do anything about it, he kissed Harry. It was an upside-down kiss, but it felt just as good, if not better, than his other kisses. (The only one Harry could compare it to that was as good was Blaise’s kiss earlier). This time he didn’t push Harry around or get rough. Instead, his mouth was tender over Harry, and his tongue stroked Harry’s lips gently, asking for entrance.

Harry opened his mouth. His mind was quite done trying to figure out the whys and whats of Draco Malfoy, so if Malfoy wanted to kiss him before their worlds collapsed, then so be it. After all, Malfoy might die too, and he had some feelings for Harry…which was evidenced now, by the salt of his tears, which Harry tasted on his lips.

Somehow that struck a chord through Harry more than anything else had. He felt a stab of pain that Malfoy was so miserable, and he wanted, suddenly, to make Malfoy happy.

Malfoy’s tongue was hot and good in his mouth. Harry moaned and trembled to feel it. There was something here in this kiss that Malfoy hadn’t communicated before. This one was too soft, too gentle. It wasn’t lust. It was something more like love.

Harry kissed back, and it wasn’t because he felt sorry for Malfoy, it was because he wanted to. He wanted Blaise’s body, but a kiss like this? He’d never gotten one like it. There had never been a spark of feeling in Cho’s kisses…this, with the warmth and tenderness that was sliding in and through him, along with Malfoy’s expert mouth, was amazing.

He thought, for a second, that if he was going to live, this was what he would want. Someone to love him and hold him and kiss him, just like this.

He had a moment to revel in it, to breathe it in, before Malfoy pulled away.

It all happened so fast after Malfoy kissed him and handed Harry the Elder Wand. Death Eaters dragged Harry inside, and Malfoy made a quick show of a smile in victory. Voldemort congratulated him, and Malfoy went to stand by his mother.

Narcissa Malfoy’s was hard as steel, for she didn’t give any outward sign of affection or anything for Draco. Harry cringed inside to see it, but he hoped it was just a show for Voldemort. The woman’s face was startling – scars from the Cruciatus she had received covered her face in dark brown gashes that perhaps couldn’t be healed. Harry could see part of her nose missing, and half an ear. He shuddered.

And then he was on. He steeled himself, thinking of Blaise, Blaise, Blaise, to make sure Voldemort didn’t read the trick they were about to pull.

Harry raised the Elder Wand. He heard Voldemort cry out; he saw the shot of green light –

And then he died.

==========

DRACO

It took every ounce of Malfoy composure Draco had ever learned, to keep calm when Potter fell dead. His mother didn’t look an inch towards him, as he slid his hand into hers. That gesture was enough to tell her a lot. Draco hadn’t ever revealed his feelings for Potter – Harry, Harry – to his parents, but his mother knew him well. She might have known that all of his bluster was only to hide what he really felt, and from a wounded pride at being rejected.

Draco looked down at the floor, rather than stare into a glassy pair of green eyes. He heard the victory crow that Bellatrix let out.

Voldemort had fallen back, and he pushed Bellatrix away as she tried to help him. “Quiet,” he hissed. “Is he dead?

He looked towards his left, at Draco. Draco felt his knees almost knocking together, but he gathered himself up, and forced himself to step forward. He hadn’t known he would be asked to do this. He knew Snape was watching from amongst the crowd, and felt a breath of relief come to him at the thought. He couldn’t be angry at his godfather anymore, not now, not when Snape might be the only person in the entire assembly, besides Draco and his mother, whose hearts were not sworn to Voldemort…

Draco’s heart was sworn to the dead boy lying on the floor in front of him. He took in a tight, choked breath, and knelt down.

Unbidden, involuntary, his gaze shot to the green eyes behind those cracked glasses. They were empty and bereft of light. Draco’s entire body wanted to tense up; he wanted to scream, and cry, to do something.

But he drew his gaze away from that emptiness, instead, and checked the pulse in Harry’s wrist.

Nothing.

“Dead,” he heard himself croak. Then he returned to stand next to his mother. It was all a whirl then. Voldemort was laughing, harping his victory, and as he gloated over Harry’s body, there was the revelation, just as Dumbledore had hoped – he knew the Elder Wand, he took it from where it had fallen, and assumed in his mind that Harry had had its ownership, and that now he did. Bellatrix was grinning, Death Eaters congratulated their master…

And then wizards and witches that were against Voldemort appeared, summoned by Dumbledore’s order, getting through because of his powerful magic. Battle broke out, and Draco immediately hurled himself to guard his mother, and shut them up in a closet that was behind a table in the drawing room.

He got one moment with her, in which he gripped her shoulders hard, and said, “Mother, I swear, if you leave this closet for one second, for anything…”

Then he wasn’t sure what. What could he threaten to do that would be bad enough? He would dishonor the Malfoy name? He had already done that by being a coward and by loving Harry Potter. He had already done it a thousand times in his mind over the years.

His mother understood. A little smile turned up her lips, and she said, “Go.”

Draco had a moment of joy and relief. His mother, whom he had always loved more than his father, approved of his switching sides. Then he whirled out into the chaos of the battle, and out of the room. He ducked under curses, rolled over bodies, breathed in their stench, the screams, and heard the groans of pain. He bounded up the stairs all the way to the roof.

He had no Gryffindor courage. He was panting in fear the moment he saw the giant snake coiled in a spell. He took a deep breath, and murmured the spell that Dumbledore had taught him, which would break the shield Voldemort had given the snake, Nagini. It worked, and he breathed in relief.

Draco wasn’t Harry. He couldn’t summon the Sword of Gryffindor. But he knew where plenty of old heirlooms were in the Manor, and he summoned one of those. The snake slithered towards Draco, and his hands trembled so hard he almost dropped the sword. Nagini rose to strike, and Draco lunged forward.

The sword eased through the snake like a knife through butter, as smoothly as an arrow thunking into a target. The head dropped to the ground in front of Draco, and he felt bile rise in his throat. He flung the sword away, and tried to wipe away the blood that had gushed to cover his hands. It was thick and wet on his chest, and, he suspected, may have spurted into his hair.

Then it was all he could do to not faint. But he had to get back. If Harry was alive, he had to see him, and return to him the holly and phoenix feather wand (which Draco remembered from the article on the triwizard champions in Fourth Year). If Harry was dead, he had to save his mother from the wrath of Voldemort, because, as Harry had explained briefly, Voldemort felt it whenever a Horcrux was destroyed. He was already angry with Draco’s family.

Feet stomped up the stairs. Draco spun around and shot a nasty spell back towards the intruder. It was deflected with a hiss, and bounced against the stairway rail. Then the intruder stepped onto the roof and revealed himself fully.

Blaise. He was the most disheveled and furious that Draco had ever seen him. His face was almost red with anger. Draco suspected it wasn’t because he’d almost just been hit by Draco’s spell. There was something else. He marched with his wand held out, and Draco thought he was going to be cursed away.

But instead, when Blaise got close enough, Draco saw the sadness that burned somewhere in there along with the anger. He felt sick still, and he didn’t understand anything, so he asked, “What?”

Blaise stared at him, and stared. Draco couldn’t stand it, but he couldn’t look away, either. Finally Blaise spoke.

“You really love him, don’t you? I can…I can tell, now. You’re a coward and everyone knows it…Merlin, you’re exasperating as hell…” Blaise ran a hand through his hair. “But you did this. For him.”

Blaise sighed. “You came over here, you betrayed everything your father taught you, you faced the Dark Lord again, death…and you left your mother down there, to do this, and help him. If…If I was just into you for your body, I wouldn’t care. But I guess I’m more stupid than I thought, because I do like you, enough that, if you say the word, I’ll give you Potter, even if I…I like him, a little, too. You can have him. But good luck, because he’s into me, and I think he still thinks you’re devil incarnate or some such.”

Draco sat down, hard. He rubbed a thumb over his wand furiously fast, and then blurted, “He’s alive?”

Blaise nodded. “I think so. He’s just faking dead, lying there, and waiting for the right moment.”

Life whooshed back into Draco.

“I…I want to see him,” Draco breathed, “Please.”

He let Blaise help him, and guard him, all the way to Harry, where he tucked Harry’s wand beneath the still-prone body. He resisted the urge to stand there and look for signs of breathing, and returned to the closet where his mother reluctantly remained. It was there, staring out at everything through a gap between the door and the wall, that Draco tried to give time to what Blaise had said.

Blaise was giving Harry to Draco. And apparently he had, in a way, “had” Harry, because Harry was attracted to Blaise…

His gaze moved away from the gap, and roamed over the dark Slytherin that had become a strange companion recently. Blaise Zabini was a selfish, self-serving bastard who wouldn’t give anything to anyone, and he never gave up when he wanted something. He wanted Draco. But he was giving up Draco, because he knew Draco wanted Harry…and he liked Harry, too? Was he attracted to Draco and Harry now?

Draco licked his lips, and unbidden, a ridiculous, alluring image came to his mind of all three of them together. If only Harry…

He turned back to the gap.

He stared down at Harry, willing him, Please be alive. Please. Please. I’ll do anything if you do it. I’ll be nice to your stupid friends. I’ll stop forcing kisses on you. Hell, I’ll stay away, if that’s what you really want…but you have to live.

He felt the warmth of a larger hand slide into his, and gripped it hard. Blaise.

He watched familiar jolting green eyes open wide.

Harry Potter stood up.

The battles did not stop, as he fought the Dark Lord whom he had been haunted by, knowingly and unknowingly, all of his life. But Draco and Blaise saw it all, and so did a few others.

They saw as Voldemort battled Harry with the Elder Wand that he thought was his. They heard as he was torn apart by Harry’s well-placed words. They breathed in deeply when another flash of green signaled Avada Kedavra.

And they stared, and stared, as the spell rebounded. Voldemort fell lifeless to the floor, and lay there like an ordinary man.

Blaise stood up. Draco felt a pang of regret to have his warm hand leave. He was stunned, and couldn’t say anything, but in the light of lumos he saw Blaise glance down at him. He heard as Blaise said, “There. Deal finished. You can do as you wish.”

Draco stood up and blurted, “Why? Why would you give me up? And – and him?”

“Because, I’m tired of wanting people who don’t want me back. I’m tired of not being satisfied. I’m tired of struggling with you, and your damn lovelorn ways, and him, with all his mystery and intrigue and stupidity.

“Did you know he kissed me today? I suppose it was his idiotic way of saying goodbye. Well it was annoying. It made me…want him, but I don’t want to want him, because of you. Because I was supposed to have you. But I don’t, and I’m not going to get with him and torment you. I’m not that sick. So I’m just going to step out. Literally; I’m going to go join this battle. Don’t worry, I’m not being suicidal. I just can’t stand sitting here with you in a stuffy closet, with your mother of all people hearing all this tripe. I’ve got to go.”

That said, the tall Slytherin slipped out of the closet and into the fray.

Draco found himself watching both Harry and Blaise, when they appeared and reappeared in the room. He watched them fight (Harry) and slay (Blaise) Death Eaters, those who remained and hadn’t fled when Voldemort fell. He watched Snape save Harry narrowly from Fenrir Greyback, who had leapt out with terrifying speed, and he watched as Blaise blasted a Death Eater with a gruesome spell that made the man turn literally inside out.

But it was he, he himself, who stood up when Bellatrix Lestrange opened the door. He had never dueled beyond that mockery in Second Year, but suddenly he found himself calling up hidden vestiges of strength and knowledge, because he would NOT let his aunt kill his mother

Snape joined the effort, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, Narcissa too, and then, terrifyingly, Blaise. Draco really did not want Blaise to die, he realized. He was even a little fond of Blaise, having seen a new side of him just now. They fought Bellatrix together, all of them, but it was Narcissa who said the final spell that made Bellatrix fall and not get up again. She smiled in grim satisfaction down at her sister’s body.

Everything ended soon after that. Bellatrix had been the one to rally the Death Eaters together. Draco sat back down. His mother, bizarre as always, pulled up a regal chair from the room and sat on it, prim and quiet. He sat ungainly, slumped against the open closet door, just trying to breathe. He was exhausted and confused, and even breathing was difficult.

And then, too soon for Draco’s disquiet to handle, Harry’s voice was right by him. Softly, gently, the green-eyed Gryffindor asked, “Are you okay? Have you been hurt?”

Draco wanted to say something. He wanted to make an excuse for why he had barely fought. He wanted to say, ‘thank you for fighting Bellatrix with me.’ He wanted to say something scathing and mean. He wanted to tell Harry not to pity him.

But instead, he just opened his eyes, and looked straight up into that luminous green gaze.

“If you’re going to be kind to me,” he found himself saying, “be kinder, and let me kiss you one more time, before you leave. I know you like Blaise; he told me so. But he likes me, and won’t take you, because I want you. It’s total bollocks, this whole mix-up…I don’t want to be in some sham of a relationship. Or even a good fuck with bad feelings afterward. It’s not worth it. Go back to your stupid friends.”

Harry shut his eyes, and his brows furrowed. A sigh came out of him, and Draco tried to prepare himself for the second rejection in his life from Harry James Potter.

Instead, the boy opened his eyes, and gave Draco a beautiful grin. “You know Hermione isn’t stupid,” Harry said, “And Ron can be, but not always. So I’d like you not to lie about that. Thank you for telling me what…Blaise…said. Um…I…”

He spoke really fast suddenly. “I don’t know what to do either, because,” he gasped, “I do want Blaise, but, since we started working together, um, you’re different, and it’s not all that bad, and if I squint and pretend I never met you before you’re good in other ways, too.”

Draco remembered to breathe after a moment. “In what ways?”

The green gaze slid up and down Draco’s slumped, tired figure, and told everything. A blazing desire flared up in Draco, but then, as if he could feel it on his neck, he looked away from Harry, and towards another intense gaze on him.

Blaise. He was across the room healing a wounded fighter, and his gaze needled on Draco and Harry with intense, crackling jealousy.

Draco looked back at Harry, and said, “Look, I know you’re shy. But…I have an idea. I’ll tell it to you right here, if you’re curious.”

“I’m always curious.”

So Draco made him lean forward so he could whisper, and his mother obediently looked away. He told him his stupid, inane, ridiculous idea about the three of them together, and was shocked when, instead of laughing his arse off he smiled, and said, “Can we start with being friends first?”

Draco nodded dully in shock. This was more than he could have ever wished for. He followed Harry in a slow shamble when the Gryffindor insisted, later, that they go talk to Blaise together.

Today was the oddest day ever.

========

BLAISE

Blaise was sipping at a bowl of soup in a lonely corner, boiling inside while keeping a cold front without. The soup was too hot and burned his throat, but he kept drinking it, because it matched the anger he was feeling.

Partly he was angry at himself. Why in hell had he given up? He never gave up. He never should have allowed Draco to get Potter, or to get anything. He should’ve kept on trying to get Draco. And he should’ve never told Draco about that stupid, good, confusing kiss Potter had given him.

It had all changed when he saw them disappear suddenly from the Quidditch match. Chaos had broken out, but Blaise, remembering what Potter had said before he kissed him, had rushed to Dumbledore. He’d sortof broken down in front of the Headmaster, which was embarrassing, but at least he hadn’t cried. But he had certainly broken his cool, yelling at the Headmaster, and demanding answers. He might have thrown in something desperate and true about not wanting Draco to die.

Something he’d said had gotten through, and Dumbledore had revealed the inane thing he was doing, using Draco’s task for the Dark Lord to get Potter to confront the Dark Lord, and then there was a load of information about horcrux somethings…

Blaise hadn’t cared about Dumbledore’s stupid plan. He’d simply wanted to get to Draco before the idiot got himself killed. And Potter was an idiot that Blaise didn’t want to get killed either…but Potter was Potter, and he had to face the Dark Lord, and there was nothing Blaise could do about that.

He’d had time to think, because Dumbledore had forced him to wait, and as he sat slumped in the beautiful office, he’d come to the conclusion that had led him to the utter misery he was in now. He would give up Draco, because he didn’t want to be with a Draco who didn’t care for him. And honestly? He thought if Draco could get Potter to like him, they would make an interesting couple. They had parts of each other that flared and rubbed the wrong way, but they were also similar in some ways. There was potential for chemistry.

And Blaise did not, not, not, want to be tormented by any more silly ideas about himself being with Potter. The idea was ludicrous. He couldn’t believe it had crossed his mind at all. Better Draco have to deal with Potter’s shyness and burning kisses and everything in-between, then Blaise.

He drank in the last gulp of his soup, and almost choked on it. A familiar pale head of hair, accompanied by a mess of black, was drifting through the crowd straight towards him.

He considered Apparating, but they reached his spot too quickly.

Blaise stared coolly at the pair as they sat down in a window seat across from him. They did not sit like a couple, nor like people entirely comfortable with each other. Well that was normal. They were both stubborn idiots, and he hadn’t expected them to be all over each other at once. That would come later…

He gritted his teeth and the word, “What?” slid out between them somehow.

“I had an idea,” Potter said, “Um, actually, it was his.” He stopped, giving Draco an utterly flabbergasted look.

Ugh. Blaise was tired of Potter’s cluelessness with everything. This was the person who had just KILLED the Dark Lord? Merlin…life was strange.

He gave Draco a piercing, waiting look, and tapped one foot on the floor from his chair.

“We all want almost the same thing,” Draco said. Blaise could see him struggle to put a sort of diplomatic or studentface on, as if he were talking to Snape or his father. But he couldn’t hide his nervousness entirely. He scratched at his robes with one hand.

“I want…Harry, and you admitted that you liked both of us. And Harry…isn’t quite sure, either. So my idea was that the three of us…well it was a sort of odd fantasy with all of us together…”

Blaise was grateful he had no more soup left, because he knew he would have spewed it over both of them this very second. As it was he almost started yelling. Instead, he laughed, loud and long, and when he was done, he stood up.

“That’s a fantastic fantasy you have, Malfoy,” he smiled, “I hope you two have fun with it.”

He left his empty bowl on the window sill, and started to walk away.

A clutter, a stomp, and then a warm hand grabbed his arm and twisted him back. No. No. Blaise had to admit it; he’d twisted back to look.

Stormy green eyes stared at him. “Wait,” Potter gasped, “Just wait a second. His idea is odd, I know, but aside from that…what if we could just…try being decent to each other?”

Blaise stared Potter down with something of a frown. He didn’t like where this was going. It was some strange area that Potter liked to play around in, where everyone was happy and things would work out, except this was real, and life never made things “work out”. This idea was impossible. So many things could go awry. And could they even be “decent to each other”?

“No,” he snapped, “We can’t. Malfoy thinks I’m a whore, and I’ve done nothing to prove otherwise. You just want to see me naked again. And kiss me. And you’re excited that I said I liked you. And you’re an idiot, even if an awfully lucky, odd idiot who just did something brilliant, and…frankly, it’s just hair-raising, in a bad way, to think deeply on your idea.”

“Malfoy’s idea,” Potter corrected. He gripped Blaise’s arm tighter when Blaise made to pull away. “And tell me why I’m such an idiot, please.”

He sounded a little put-out, and he hadn’t denied anything Blaise had said, so it must all be true. That made Blaise smirk. He was tired of Potter being so happy and getting his way, just like Draco always did.

He decided to start with that. “You’re overly optimistic and immature. You’re irresponsible and unreliable. You’re overly confident in one moment, and a pining, clueless puddle the next.”

Potter was shifting a little uncomfortably now, and that only made Blaise plow onward.

“You’re as easy to read as a book, but you have all these secrets which you’ve managed to keep hidden. Points for that. But you keep stupid, annoying friends, and you’re extremely biased, in general, and especially against Slytherins. You’re quick to blow up, and slow to catch on. You’re stubborn, so much so that you won’t change your mind on something even if it’s pointed out how unreasonable your side of things is. You waffle around, and I hate being waffled with, and I don’t like being involved in your stupid indecisiveness. Just decide already.”

The last part came off snappish, which Blaise didn’t like. It showed too much that he cared, instead of being cool and composed.

Potter rebounded quickly from being stomped on so much. “I’ve already decided. I want to try and get along. With both of you. I think there’s potential for…something, I’d regret having to walk away from this chance, honestly.”

Blaise wanted to tell him to get used to regret, then. He wanted to pull his arm away and stomp off. But he didn’t want to be miserable and lonely in a corner again, no matter how he’d convinced himself a second ago that he wanted that. And Draco was looking at him over Potter’s shoulder, in a very pleading sort of manner. Meaning he wanted it, too, or he wouldn’t lower his pride to give Blaise that face. It made Blaise want to fuck him hard against a wall and hear him whimper.

He moved his glance from Draco to Potter, whom he stared at long enough to make the Gryffindor blush. He remembered the kiss Potter had given him, and couldn’t deny he wouldn’t mind another taste of it. But he could live without it. Couldn’t he?

He imagined the three of them together, in bed. It wasn’t a half bad idea. And he imagined the three of them talking like friends…well, he tried to. It was difficult. He had to imagine something between the bumbling, simple fun of Potter’s two best friends, and the sarcastic, mean jokes of his fellow Slytherins. It was an unusual scenario, but he could dimly picture it. It felt…like it might be good.

Blaise sighed. He shook his head at both of them, for being convincing together even in their faults. He assented, “Alright. We’ll give it a try. But if it explodes in flames, don’t blame me. And if any tears are shed, I am officially gone.”

Potter smiled, and Draco nodded. Blaise turned towards them more, and Potter’s hand remained a little longer than necessary on his arm. He went to stand between them, and then said, “Give me your hands.”

They consented. One scarred, tanned, bony hand, with one pale slender one came into view. Blaise said, “Okay. I’m starting this. Potter, you have to tell us about your mysterious Muggle family life that sucks shit. Draco, show me your left arm, now, because we have to know, and nothing will get started unless we do.”

Immediately both looked reluctant. Potter was frowning, and Draco was angry. “Fine!” he shouted. “Here.”

He shoved his left arm forward, and let Blaise peel the sleeve of his robe back. Blaise noticed the way Potter’s attention needled there immediately.

Draco’s arm was blank. There was no Dark Mark. Blaise looked at it, and then at Draco’s face. The other Slytherin had a pleased expression, but there was still the anger of the accused flashing in his eyes.

“Glamored?” Blaise asked.

He watched as a becoming flush worked its way into Draco’s cheeks. “No. I never got it.”

Blaise checked with a spell to reveal hidden things, and declared, "It's true."

Potter’s voice was hollow with something like relief. “Close call.”

“Your turn,” Blaise said, turning his face to Potter. He summoned bowls of soup for them from the conjured table, and they sat down together in a window sill.

Potter sounded like he was being strangled, and his face turned red in anger. “I, I don’t want to talk about this. It’s…I haven’t even talked to Ron and Hermione about it much…simply said, I live with Muggles, and they’re horrid, not because they’re Muggles, but just because of who they are.”

Hmmm. Interesting. Blaise looked at Draco, who wore the same intrigued look on his face that Blaise probably had. Blaise didn’t really know what to say in response, so he simply patted Potter’s arm once, saying, “Alright. We’ll stop with the questions.”

For a while, they just sat awkwardly in silence, drinking their soup. Potter slurped it loudly, which made Blaise smirk, and Draco rolled his eyes.

Then Potter blurted out, “Um, what else should we do?”

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Please if you any ideas for how this should go, share. I am writing the next chapter, but I'm also feeling a bit lost like Harry, at the moment. I used up all my prompts, too...=(
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Every You, Every Me