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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
- 8
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- 10
Wow, I thought I finished this fic on here....it's on ff.net, too, so I got confused! SO sorry!

Find me on ff.net - The Ultimate Otaku (stupid name, I know. I made it a long time ago!)

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EVERY YOU EVERY ME

An HP fic

by lordoberon

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HARRY

It was Halloween day, and Harry received a letter from a mysterious owl. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d really started to befriend Blaise Zabini.

The owl was a beautiful tawny thing, delicate, and she looked up at Harry with big eyes that begged for a treat. He gave her one, and whispered several spells over the letter. He’d opened enough dangerous ones down in the Great Hall to know to be careful now. But this was the first one he’d received straight in Gryffindor Tower.

“Did you spell it?”

Ron looked over Harry’s shoulder. He’d been awfully annoying lately, burning with jealousy over all the attention Harry was getting. It wasn’t as bad as it had been in Fourth Year, but it was still bad. Harry had dreams at night of all the people he wished could see him now, free from Voldemort, free to pursue anything or anyone he wished. He missed Sirius more lately, with a great twinge-ing pain in his chest, which made it hard to breathe sometimes.

It was made worse by the fact that Dumbledore was dying. The potion he’d taken by Voldemort’s cave lake was killing him slowly, in a withering fashion. He was losing the ability to move, and in the past couple days, he couldn’t even speak. He simply looked at Harry over the rims of his moon spectacles, and smiled. The smile made Harry angry – how could he smile, when he was dying? – but it made Harry want to cry, too.

“I spelled it,” Harry said, snapping back to the real world. He opened the scroll carefully, and read the cryptic message there:

I’ve arranged for a surprise for us tonight, and Dumbledore promised me he would help. Meet me in our usual spot at midnight. If Weasley is reading this, tell him the Bloody Baron sends him greetings.

The letter was not signed. Harry wanted to swear and laugh at once. Blaise! Damn him! It was just like him to instigate trouble. He had a sense of mischief, even if he could be the quiet type. He had known Harry would be around people if he sent it to Gryffindor Tower, but he had also ensured that Harry himself read it, rather than have the Ron-and-Hermione team read it in the Great Hall and throw it away. They’d been helping him sort through his loads of mail.

What was Blaise trying to do by forcing Harry to have to explain to his friends? It wasn’t like he and Harry were together. They were just friends. And as far as Ron was concerned, that would be bad enough.

“What’s this all about? Got yourself a secret lover?”

Ron grinned. Harry grinned back. He wouldn’t give it away with nervousness. “I wish,” he laughed, and tossed the letter aside. “This is just another prank. A Slytherin, obviously.”

When Ron wasn’t looking, Harry scribbled a quick reply –

See you there.

For the rest of the day he was a little antsy, but because people were still accosting him in the halls occasionally, and because it was Halloween, his friends didn’t ask why. Harry was relieved. He was tired of being bombarded with so much attention – Merlin, would they ever stop? Or was this going to be his life from now on? What would happen when he graduated Hogwarts? He couldn’t wait until he saw Blaise tonight.

Blaise. Already he’d started calling him Blaise instead of Zabini. The Slytherin didn’t mind, smiling. Harry sat in his last class of the day, thinking back to when Blaise had first called him Harry. They’d been launching over a boulder within the old Chamber of Secrets, and Blaise had said, “Harry, when was the last time you were here?”

Then he’d flushed a brilliant red and snapped at Harry and called him “Potter” several times after, until Harry had hugged him before they parted later in the night, and Blaise had ruffled his hair and said, “Harry, you’re a sentimental drip. Add that to my list of points against you.”

Harry had only laughed.

Sometimes they argued. Just a few nights ago, they had argued over the importance of Defense Against the Dark Arts theory. Blaise argued about its importance, whereas Harry cited all the times he’d escaped Voldemort out of sheer luck with simple spells like Expelliarmus or without knowing the proper theory behind a spell. But then he’d remembered how Lupin had had to explain Patronus to him, and the year before, when Bellatrix had laughed at him for trying to cast the Cruciatus on her and said you really had to mean it. He would have no idea of the spells without the theories behind them.

Blaise had won that argument. They hadn’t really broached deeper subjects yet – testy questions, such as the history of Blaise’s mother, Harry’s Muggle upbringing, or what on earth they were going to do when Malfoy returned and they were…like this, without him.

“Mr. Potter. I suppose you think that being the hero of the wizarding world now makes you exempt from having to pay attention in any class, since you know everything already. Well not my class, Mr. Potter. Detention for you. Ten o’clock. Cleaning the corridors in the dungeons. I want to see them shining.”

Harry jolted up and glared at Snape, swallowing down any comment he might say to cause Snape to stretch his detention longer. How could he clean the corridors in two hours in time to meet Blaise at midnight?

Ten p.m. came and went. It was eleven thirty, and Harry was only halfway down the last corridor, and he knew he wouldn’t finish in time. It took hours to clean these corridors, especially without spells. Harry hoped Snape didn’t expect him to clean the ceilings, too. The floors were bad enough. Dust and blood and newt eyes and random gobs of paper and who-knows-what littered every cranny and crack. Harry’s fingers were raw from hours of scrubbing, and his knees hurt from being on them for hours.

He swore as half an hour later, he still wasn’t done. Blaise would be waiting now.

What was the worst that could happen? Snape could give him detention for the entirety of Seventh Year, Harry didn’t care. Blaise had a surprise for him. Yes, he’d only really known Blaise for two weeks, but it was the most fun he’d had with anyone in a long time, and the only possibly romantic relationship he’d had since the doomed Cho experience and some mild Ginny flirtation. He was sixteen, he was free of Dark Lords, so by Merlin, he would get another detention and he didn’t care.

Harry whipped out the Invisibility Cloak and sped down the halls. When he arrived, panting, he almost bowled right into Blaise.

“Where were you? I thought maybe Weasley and Granger had stopped you from coming.”

Harry gulped in breath, and let the Cloak slide off of his head onto his shoulders. Swallowing, he followed Blaise down the corridor, saying, “In a word, no. In another word, Snape.”

“Oh?” Blaise raised a brow, looking at Harry. “What did you do now?”

Harry licked his lips and smiled. “I was just thinking about you and daydreaming in class.”

Blaise rolled his eyes, but a flush burned his cheeks. “Merlin! You are such a sappy sod.”

Harry punched him in the arm. “You like it though, don’t you?”

Blaise rubbed his arm and grabbed the Cloak from Harry. “Well, I have my limit. Daydreaming is alright, but crying is another thing. If I hated it, I wouldn’t be here, would I? It’s different than how I’ve seen you act in the past.”

“You watched me?”

Blaise shook his head. “Not like Draco. Just…because everyone else was. I was curious. I’m curious, like you are.”

Harry stood before the gargoyle up to Dumbledore’s office with Blaise beside him. What did Dumbledore have to do with this surprise? He hated seeing Dumbledore these days. He couldn’t help wondering each time, if this would be the last. But he loved seeing him, too. It was wonderful to sit with Dumbledore and talk about nothing, sometimes, instead of about everything.

“Speaking of curiosity, why are we here?”

Blaise smirked. “You’ll see.”

He whispered the password and they travelled up the staircase to the office. Dumbledore sat behind his desk. The old man looked older than he ever had before. His mouth sagged in a permanent almost-frown, his back hunched more, and though his eyes still twinkled, they were tired.

He managed to smile when they came in though, and summoned two chairs.

“I see that Harry is clueless still as to what this is all about. You haven’t told him, Mr. Zabini?”

Blaise shook his head. “No. I wanted it to be a surprise, sir.”

Dumbledore smiled. “I enjoy surprises, at times. I hope Harry enjoys this one. Harry, are you up to staying up late this Halloween?”

Harry nodded. He tried to avoid noticing the way Dumbledore’s breath wheezed in his chest, and how his words came a little slower. The wizard finally seemed his age, however old that was.

“I am, sir. But what will we be doing?”

Dumbledore smiled. “It is not we, Harry, just you and Mr. Zabini. Now let me see…”

He turned, slowly, with difficulty, and rummaged behind him, and then came up with a small hair pin and placed it on his desk. “There.”

Harry wondered where Dumbledore had gotten that, and why on earth he had it. He thought, there were far too many things he wondered about Dumbledore, which he had never asked…he pushed his mind away from darker thoughts, and said, “A Portkey? Where to?”

Blaise took Harry’s hand. “Surprise, Harry. Come on.”

He reached forward, and Harry copied him. In a whoosh, there was the familiar tug, and they were gone.

They arrived in a chilly room, with candles all around. It was a small living room, with two shabby, threadbare couches and one solitary, stuttering lamp. The cracked brick fireplace was ablaze. The walls were a dark, plain wood, and the floor was cold tile with only one solitary rug. The rug was blue, but for the red phoenix bursting from its middle in red and orange streaks. It was the fanciest thing in the room.

But what stood out the most was the person that sat in a chair across from the fireplace. He turned his head, and then stood up to gesture lazily around.

“Welcome.”

Harry wanted to wince at that familiar drawl, but instead he laughed. Draco Malfoy looked healthy and well, his cheeks pink from the fire, his hair neatly combed and startling in the dimness of the room. He looked Harry up and down, and then looked over at Blaise.

“Thank you for the enlightening letter.”

Blaise smiled and plopped himself down on a chair to Harry’s left. “You’re welcome. How’s life as a fugitive?”

Malfoy scowled. “It’s boring, and the place is shoddy as can be. The good food is the only decent thing about it; zero entertainment, can’t go outside, and I’m starting to itch from all the wards. How are things at Hogwarts?”

There was acid in his tone, especially when he asked about Hogwarts. Harry looked over at Blaise. What had Blaise said in this letter? He felt nervous that this was going to be his Halloween. Yes, he wanted to be friends, but Malfoy hadn’t been around lately, and whereas Harry felt on good footing with Blaise, he wasn’t sure on Malfoy. Maybe he would grow up a bit from staying in this place that couldn’t compare to Malfoy Manor. Harry hoped so, even though Malfoy wanted him…and then there were the tears he’d cried when he thought Harry was going to his death…and that loving kiss…

Blaise kicked out at Malfoy’s leg and smiled in a very catlike fashion. “Jealous? I’m sorry. I couldn’t leave him alone to deal with all those crowds. You should see them. They even kiss him, or they did, before the professors got stricter.”

Malfoy’s face turned pink, and his gaze flicked to Harry. He said shortly, “That must be annoying.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Blaise cut him off, “It was, until I gave him a couple better ones. That was what I didn’t tell you in the letter. But -“ he held up a finger against Malfoy’s silent rage, “I brought him here, because I thought of you. So be grateful, and don’t whine.”

Harry felt his neck heat up. This was so weird. It was like they were fighting over him. And it was all about lust. Or at least that was what he could gather. Malfoy was outraged about the kissing, not about Blaise spending time with him.

“Look,” he said loudly, “Will you two stop it? You’re like Ron and Hermione. Shut it.”

Malfoy bristled, but then he sighed and closed his mouth. He sat down on the couch, and Harry joined him.

“So.” Malfoy folded his hands over his knees. Maybe it was a calming gesture. He looked straight at Harry, and his eyes were full of longing and anger and maybe a bit of hurt. “I’ve missed some fun at Hogwarts - explorations with the Invisibility Cloak, something about a mysterious map, and jokes and other fun. Can we make up for it a little? Give me something to look forward to if you two ever show up here again? I don’t know how long I’ll be here.”

He said it all in a whoosh, and when he was done, his gaze on Harry became even more intense. Harry squirmed, and then stopped. This was Malfoy, for god’s sake; he wouldn’t let him rattle him.

Blaise cut in with a sigh. “He wants you to kiss him, Harry, for Merlin’s sake. Don’t be as dense as your cousin.”

Harry blinked. Of course Malfoy would be the jealous type. He was far too used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it. Harry smiled at Malfoy. “You’re really the jealous type, aren’t you?”

Malfoy licked his lips. “So what if I am. Are you going to do it, or not?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Impatient, too.”

He felt a little strange and uncomfortable, being again the intense focus of someone. But there was more behind Malfoy’s gaze than that thirstiness for some piece of the Boy Who Lived. He really, really did seem to want Harry’s attention – in a desperate sort of fashion – and he had helped Harry in the final showdown with Voldemort, hadn’t he? And then there was the kiss that had given it all away…his feelings, his real self, bared to Harry in those moments.

“I’m doing it on the condition that we don’t spend all night sniping at each other,” Harry said solemnly. The other two nodded.

Blaise was watching. But Harry leaned in anyway…

He wasn’t sure who touched the other first, him or Malfoy. The blonde’s mouth was soft and pliant at first, allowing Harry to taste him with his mouth and explore with his tongue. He held onto Harry’s shoulders with a firm grip, but it didn’t hurt. Then Harry slipped his tongue in, shyly, slowly. He leaned in further.

Malfoy accepted the gentleness of the kiss, his tongue caressing Harry’s in return. A small moan came from him, and involuntarily Harry felt curiosity and lust rise in him. What other sounds could he bring from Malfoy?

He pushed harder, too hard, so that he fell across Malfoy’s body. Now the blonde was groaning, and his arms wrapped around Harry, one hand plunging into his hair. His kiss became suddenly fierce, stealing Harry’s breath and any resolve he’d had to make this quick and simple. His tongue became playful in Harry’s mouth, teasing touches in one moment, thrusts in another. And his hands moved now, down Harry’s sides, and he yanked up Harry’s robes (Harry was grateful he had Muggle clothes on underneath), and then Harry’s shirt, until he could touch Harry’s skin.

Oh! His touch was a hungry frenzy, but his fingers were perfectly soft. He teased fingertips up Harry’s torso and down again. He grabbed Harry’s hips and wrenched him closer. He panted against Harry before diving in for another kiss, and his hands traced over Harry’s body, even over his thighs and arse and up his back. He clasped the back of Harry’s neck and then fell away from the kiss, gasping.

He grinned up at Harry, and his blue eyes sparkled. “Now that was what I call fun.”

Harry laughed. Malfoy looked good with his hair messy – when had Harry run his hands through it? – and his face flushed. He actually had a genuine smile on his face for once, too. Harry traced it with a finger. “I liked it,” he answered huskily.

Malfoy looked pleased. Harry tried to get off of him, but he grabbed Harry forcefully and pulled him back down. Harry looked over at Blaise.

The other Slytherin had changed his posture so that now he had one elbow on one knee, and his chin in his hand. His other hand gripped the arm of his chair a little too tightly. He looked back at Harry and pronounced, “That was interesting.”

He sauntered over to them then, and twisted his way between the two of them, against Malfoy’s protests. Now he sat between them. He leaned back against the couch, an arm each across their shoulders, and grinned.

“I like seeing you two together. But, we promised we’d talk,” he said, looking pointedly at Malfoy.

The other Slytherin frowned, and swore. He crossed his arms and sat like the petulant brat he was, and Harry felt a twinge of the usual annoyance at his attitude. He also felt bothered that Blaise had gone between them, but, really Blaise was right. They had agreed to be friends, and friends didn’t snog all over each other (although he hoped Ron and Hermione would, some day). They shared. And, it had been his request that they try and be civil to each other, to make some semblance of friendship. Talking would help these two stunted Slytherins more than kissing would.

Although kissing was certainly good…

Malfoy broke the awkward silence. “How’s the old man?”

Blaise laughed shortly. “My old man’s been dead a long time.”

Malfoy hissed, “I didn’t mean that, you idiot. I meant THE old man.”

Harry understood immediately. “You mean Dumbledore?”

Malfoy nodded, and summoning a chair, he sat down on it so he could face Harry and Blaise. He put his feet between them, and his arms were still crossed as if to communicate that he still held a grudge against Blaise for separating he and Harry.

Harry looked down at the floor. He didn’t want to think about Dumbledore. He had told Ron and Hermione the Headmaster’s condition, and Hermione had cried all over his shoulder, and Ron had stared into the fire, and Harry had felt like crying and raging at the same time. He didn’t feel comfortable letting that all out in front of these two, so he stayed quiet.

Blaise answered quietly. “He’s not doing well. He looks like he might keel over at any second…” A dashed glance at Harry before Harry went back to staring at the blue carpet, “Not sure how long he has left.”

“Oh.”

“Oh” was all Malfoy had to say on one of the greatest wizards alive dying. Anger rose up inside Harry, and he tried to hold it back for the sake of their truce, but he couldn’t quite contain it. His hands balled into fists and his teeth gnawed at his lips. He continued staring down at the floor, but the magic in him wouldn’t let him hide his upset. A vase on the table to his left shook, and then crashed to the floor.

The two Slytherins looked at him, and Harry glared back at them. He snarled, “That’s all you have to say? ‘Oh’?”

Malfoy opened his mouth and then closed it. His face reddened with what seemed like anger, until he said in a quiet whisper that had some bit of shame, “I’m sorry. I respect him, but I don’t know him. How can you expect me to feel the same as you do?”

Blaise spoke up. “He’s undeniably a very great wizard. He defeated Grindelwald, for one. You can tell just by looking in his eyes that he’s great. But, Draco’s right, sorry, Harry…he just doesn’t mean the same to us.”

Harry nodded, and took a deep breath. “I know. Sorry. I just…sorry.”

He clenched his jaw so that the emotions sweeping through him wouldn’t come spilling out. What would he do without Dumbledore? Snape’s potions were easing the Headmaster’s pain, but that was all he could do. Harry wished he had killed Voldemort before they’d gone in that stupid cave, but they’d had to get all the Horcruxes first.

A warm arm descended across his shoulders, and Blaise pulled him in close. Harry was surprised. Hadn’t Blaise said something earlier about Harry being a sentimental sod? And he didn’t like crying, not that Harry was there yet. Blaise had specifically said that if anyone cried, he was ‘out’ of the truce.

Malfoy’s niggling foot rubbed for a moment over Harry’s knee, and then his hand replaced it. Harry shut his eyes and let himself be comforted by them, and tried to blank out all of his thoughts.

He liked the sensation of Blaise hugging him. It showed a tender side And he was surprised that Malfoy cared at all. Well, good. Malfoy was continuing to show better colors, hopefully true colors, more than he had at any other time Harry had known him.

He slid out of the hug and pushed Malfoy’s hand off. Then he looked squarely at the blonde and said, “So. How are you? How’s your mum?” He knew it was an obvious change of topic, but he couldn’t stand the coddled, comforted feeling for very long.

Malfoy instead answered the unspoken question that came after that. “My father is still in Azkaban, as far as I know, unless he’s thrown himself to the Dementors when he heard that the Dark Lord died.” His lip curled in disgust. Harry was surprised he didn’t reveal more emotion than that at the idea of his father having his soul sucked out. Surely he was hiding a more emotional reaction. “My mum’s alright. She misses home. I miss my bed…it’s loads better.”

Harry cracked a smile. “Your Hogwarts bed, or the one at home?”

Malfoy smiled. “Both are good.”

“Ha! You have the best bed in the entirety of the Slytherin Sixth Year room. He has a lake view,” Blaise told Harry.

“I’ve seen your Common Room,” Harry said, “and found it gloomy.”

Immediately Malfoy’s eyes brightened and Blaise smirked, “Really? When?”

Harry told them about the time in Second Year that he and Ron had polyjuiced themselves as Crabbe and Goyle and snuck into the Slytherin Common Room to find out whether Malfoy was the Heir of Slytherin. The two laughed heartily at his description of panic when Ron’s hair started turning red again, and the way Malfoy could tell that something was a little off, but didn’t realize who he was talking to.

Malfoy grinned. “If I was the same as I was then, I’d be furious. But now I think it’s funny. Clearly, the Dark Lord was the heir…”

He paled then, and Blaise leaned forward. “What is it?”

Malfoy’s lips moved, but he said nothing. Then, “Just…the damned snake. I hated it. And I hated killing it…” his hands clenched in his lap, and then he looked up fiercely at them, as if they had caused his moment of edginess. “It’s done now.”

Harry could tell Malfoy didn’t want to look like a coward in front of him. Funny, that, when he’d been cowardly in front of Harry so many times before. The pride in him forced him to hide it now, even in face of their truce of friendship.

“You hated the Parseltongue, right?” He remembered hearing that from when he’d spied on them in the library.

Malfoy nodded a single nod, and frowned down at his hands. He looked like he was possibly biting his tongue to stop from snarking at Harry.

Blaise’s eyes lit up in that curious, hungry way they did. Harry liked that look on him. “Can you still speak it, Harry?”

Malfoy’s gaze flicked between them to hear Blaise call him Harry again, but he said nothing. Harry felt angry at Malfoy for being so close-mouthed, but he also felt bad for him because he probably still had nightmares, as Harry did, about any and all times he’d seen Voldemort. And Malfoy still couldn’t say Voldemort, either.

In answer, Harry stood up. He leaned down beside Malfoy’s chair, and reached one hand, automatically, unthinkingly, to brush over the nape of Malfoy’s neck. The blonde shivered and shut his eyes.

“I can try to change what you associate it with,” Harry said. He winked at Blaise, and then leaned in more.

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More soon!
- 8
- 9
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Every You, Every Me