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Tempus	By : ravennatan Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3888 -:- 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
- 1-Tempus
- 1
Title: Tempus

Author: Ravenna C. Tan

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 85,000 (novel-length fic)

Written For: The "Old Cliches, New Tricks" Fest at livejournal: hp_cliche

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Many types of homosexual sexual activities, plus some angst, corporal punishment, abusive situations from which our heroes must escape, and the like.

Pairing:H/D

Beta Reader Thanks To: Miraba

Disclaimer: Harry, Draco, Hogwarts, and the rest all belong to JK Rowling. I'm just having fun, doing it for the love, not any money.

Summary: Students at Hogwarts have always been warned about corridors that appear and disappear. Did you ever wonder where they go? Or when? Harry thinks he is late to his seventh year potions class, but he turns out to be more than seventy years early.

TEMPUS

by Ravenna C. Tan

[This story begins after the events in HBP. McGonagall moves Order HQ to Hogwarts and ensures Harry's return to school by convincing him that the resources he will need to find the remaining horcruxes are best found there. Harry and the rest return to begin their seventh year at Hogwarts. As our story begins, Harry finds himself late for Professor Slughorn's Potions class...]
CHAPTER ONE

Harry ran. His footsteps echoed against the stone walls of the dungeon. It wouldn't do to be late for Potions again, not when he had been late twice already this week. Why did the class have to be first thing in the morning? Harry had taken to skipping breakfast, snatching an extra forty winks when he could, sometimes lingering in bed a little too long. At least Snape isn't around to harangue me about it, he thought as he made the last turn toward the classroom. He slowed in relief--the group of students waiting to enter the room was still queued up in the hallway. Harry slipped quietly into line at the end, chest heaving a bit from the dash down the stairs.

His eyes focused on the dark alcove next to where he stood and he was surprised to notice a painting there. Whomever the portrait was of must have been off visiting another painting because all that showed within the frame was a dark and stormy-looking background, and a heap of stones. The mouth of a cave? Well, a dark painting for a dark dungeon. No wonder the frame's occupant was elsewhere.

The students ahead of him began to move--Professor Slughorn had opened the door and they were shuffling in. One eye still on the painting, Harry took a step forward, only to feel like he had run into a brick wall.

"Potter," was all Vincent Crabbe said by way of explanation as he stopped Harry with his hands on his shoulders, then shoved him backward into the alcove.

Harry supposed no other explanation was needed. He was Harry Potter, and the Slytherin goons hated him. Now that Malfoy wasn't around to direct their energies anymore, both Crabbe and Goyle had been taking it out on Harry ever since the term started. Crabbe wasn't even in the Potions class, too advanced for him, but he must have been passing by from the Slytherin dungeons. Harry fell hard against the stone, his head cracking against the wall, even as he berated himself for letting his guard down.

Stupid, he thought to himself. The only reason they don't kill you is because Voldemort wants you for himself. He wished, not for the first time, that he didn't have to live life with a death sentence hanging over him, and then climbed resolutely out of the alcove. The last of the students were just filing into the classroom. Harry hurried to catch up, then slid into the one empty seat still left at a brewing bench, hastily pulling his potions book and a quill from his bag.

At the front of the classroom he was surprised to see a woman standing there. She had her hair drawn back in a bun, small oval glasses, and was wearing practical-looking black robes. A substitute teacher? What happened to Slughorn? Perhaps that explained the delay...?

"We will pick up where we left off Wednesday," the woman began, without preamble. "With our discussion of Love Potions."

Harry blinked. He didn't recall anything about Love Potions from the previous class, and he became aware of a susurrus of discussion going around the room. He looked around.

Unfamiliar faces were looking back at him. He knew by the color of their ties that this was a mix of Slytherins and Gryffindors--and surely even if he had somehow walked into the wrong year's class, he should recognize the members of his own house? He noticed then that the professor was looking at him as well, as if waiting for him to say something.

He raised his hand out of habit. "Yes, young man," she replied briskly. "I believe you are in the wrong place, am I right?"

"I, I suppose I am, professor," he said, wondering what her name was. "I'm in seventh year now and I guess I got my schedule confused."

She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. "What is your name, young man?"

"Harry Potter, ma'am," he answered, and was surprised to see not even a glimmer of recognition in her eyes.

"Well, Mister Potter, this is the seventh year NEWT Potions section, and I don't believe I have your name on my roll call." She tapped her wand impatiently against her arm. "And I have a class to teach." She then turned to a student sitting at the front. "McManus, have you seen him before?"

The student, a brown-haired boy with a shiny prefect badge pinned to his robes and neatly knotted red and gold tie, shrugged. "I'd take him up to the headmaster's office, Professor, but he teaches this period."

"Very well. Take him up there and straighten this out after class is over. Mr. Potter, I would suggest you follow along as if you are going to be in my classroom, I expect your full participation."

"Yes, Professor."

"Now, turn to page 326, and let us review the ingredient preparation for Heart's Delight." She turned and with a wave of her wand at the blackboard presented the full list in flowing script.

Harry opened his book, only to find that his page numbers did not match--page 326 in his copy of Advanced Potions, Volume Two had an essay about the relationship between the antidotes for hiccups and hysteria. He flipped the pages.

"Quit fussing." His benchmate elbowed him and slid his book over. "Share mine."

"Er, thanks." But Harry found that now that he had looked who he sat next to, he had trouble tearing his eyes away from the fellow. His hair was white-blond, much longer than Harry expected, and his eyes were blue, not hazel-grey, but he was the spitting image of Draco Malfoy. Harry tensed, but whoever this was, he seemed to have no malicious intent. If this was all a trick of Voldemort's, it seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go to...

At last, the lecture wound down and it was time to brew. "Have you got a cauldron, then?" his benchmate asked, his voice laced with skepticism.

"Right here," Harry said, tugging on his school bag under the workbench.

"Excellent." The blond let a smile onto his face. "Set it up while I get the ingredients, why don't you?" And with that the Malfoy look-alike walked away.

When he came back, Harry had readied the cauldron. The other student spread out the ingredients on the workbench and then offered his hand. "I'm Malfoy, by the way." He took Harry's hand in his, while Harry struggled to keep his face impassive. "Draco Malfoy." He pulled his hair back and tied it with a ribbon.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said in a small voice. This had to be some kind of vision. Any second now Malfoy's head would split open, snakes would come out, and the professor would turn into Voldemort. Right?

But no such thing happened. Harry and this other Draco Malfoy worked together on the potion and Harry found him surprisingly companionable.

"Don't let Gullwing get under your skin," Malfoy said at one point, after the professor had loomed behind them as they worked, then moved on when it appeared there was little to criticize in their work.

"Oh, she's far from the hardest potions teacher I've had," Harry answered with an inward smile. "Do you want to crush the Ashwinder eggs or should I?"

"Um, that's actually the mother of pearl that's supposed to be crushed. The eggs go in whole."

"Oh." Harry expected Malfoy's voice to be more full of scorn, but instead he mostly sounded amused.

"Here, use my pestle. It's charmed to make the grounds very fine."

"Thanks."

Concentrating on brewing the potion and the fact that Malfoy seemed genuinely helpful, allowed Harry to relax a bit, and in the absence of more information there was little more he could do to solve the riddle of his situation. The schoolwork occupied his brain for the next hour. Before he knew it they were done, and Professor Gullwing had--grudgingly, it seemed to Harry--given them high marks when they approached her desk with a sample.

"I'll take Potter up to the headmaster," Malfoy said, as she jotted down their grades.

"Mr. Malfoy, do you think that's wise?" she had replied, looking at him over the tops of her glasses.

But Malfoy did not answer that, but merely indicated Harry should follow him with a jerk of his head. He pulled the ribbon from his hair and let it flow over his shoulders again as he walked back to the bench to retrieve his things.

They made their way out of the classroom, up through familiar corridors, passing students as they went. Harry did not recognize any of them. "Thanks for helping me, Malfoy," he said, his mouth feeling odd as he did so, as if those words didn't belong together in a sentence. "I'm not sure what's going on, but I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," Malfoy said. "I do love a good mystery." He turned his blue eyes on Harry then, as if searching him for clues.

Harry felt himself blush a little under that stare. "I don't recognize anyone," he said.

"But you say you're a seventh year at Hogwarts."

"In Gryffindor, yeah," Harry said. "And this is certainly Hogwarts."

"Where did you get those shoes?" Malfoy asked, as they went up the stairs toward the entrance hall.

"These old trainers?"

"I've never seen the like."

"Oh, uh, they're Muggle shoes," Harry said, thinking it was odd that he would be the only one in this alternate-Hogwarts who wore them. He had a thought then. Could this be an alternate universe, where there were no Muggleborns? Without Muggleborns to hate, would the Malfoys be as nice as this? "Um, they're very comfortable and the traction is good."

Malfoy shrugged. "Here we are."

They were at the foot of the spiral staircase that led to what Harry still thought of as Dumbledore's office, though of course even in his own Hogwarts it was Professor McGonagall's office now. The gargoyle at the bottom of the stairs stood impassive, as usual.

"Draco Malfoy here to see the headmaster," the blond said to the gargoyle.

"Wait here," the gargoyle said. Then after a moment, "He says to ask who that is with you."

"He's why I'm here. Harry Potter."

After a moment the gargoyle spoke again. "Says he's never heard of Harry Potter." Harry blinked.

Draco huffed. "I know, none of us have, but he's here now and needs dealing with. What's he doing up there, anyway, playing solitaire with his Tarot cards? Let us in."

The gargoyle sighed heavily and then leapt aside.

Malfoy went first into the office, and then Harry. He recognized the man behind the desk immediately.

"Mr. Malfoy, I'll kindly remind you that I do not welcome informal visits from my students. Now, what seems to be the problem?" said Phineas Nigellus Black.

"I know you!" Harry stammered. "From a portrait in... well, in the headmast...er..." he trailed off realizing how ridiculous what he said sounded, and also that Headmaster Black was fixing him with a steely glare.

Malfoy stepped smoothly in. "Headmaster, this young man appeared in the potions classroom today, and appears to be something of an enigma."

"What do you mean, appeared?" Black's eye twitched a bit as he held his impatience barely in check.

"It was actually in the hallway," Harry corrected. "I fell into an alcove and when I came out, everything had changed." If this was really Phineas Black, then... "May I ask you a question, sir?"

"You may," Black growled.

"What year is it?"

Black looked at the two students as if they were either barking mad or having him on. "You should know perfectly well it is 1926, Mr. Potter."

"But when I woke up this morning it was 1997!" Harry exclaimed.

"Merlin's beard, that would explain the shoes," Malfoy said. "As well as your book."

Harry looked down at his white trainers, and then bent down and rummaged in his school bag. "Here, take a look at this, sir." He pulled out his copy of Advanced Potions, Volume 2, and opened to the copyright page. He placed the book on the desk in front of the headmaster who looked at it with a snort.

"Tenth Revised Edition, nineteen hundred and ninety five," he read aloud. Then he looked up at them. "Impertinent boys! Did you really think I would fall for such a hoax?"

"But sir," Harry began.

"This is some little friend of yours from the countryside, isn't it, Mr. Malfoy? Are you getting lonely now that Regulus has been removed from your influence?"

Malfoy's ears burned scarlet at that but he said nothing.

"Sir, you can ask Professor Gullwing," Harry said. "She was going to send me up here with McManus, but Malfoy offered to bring me."

The old headmaster glared at Malfoy, barely sparing a glance at Harry. "Are you a wizard then?"

"Yes, sir. I'm a student at Hogwarts. Only, in the future..."

"Let me see your wand." Harry slid the wand from his robes and handed it to the headmaster, who looked it over with a critical eye. He drew his own wand, placed it tip to tip with Harry's and muttered "Priori incantato."

The last time someone had used that spell on Harry's wand, a ghostly image of The Dark Mark had appeared, as that had been the last spell cast from it. This time, Harry saw to his horror, the ghostly image remained of him hurriedly casting a cleaning charm on his private parts this morning in bed. Now Harry's ears were redder than Malfoy's--and so were the headmaster's as he nearly dropped Harry's wand.

Malfoy suppressed a snigger and raised an eyebrow at Harry. Harry gave an infinitesimal shrug in return while the headmaster began to sputter.

"Impertinent! I should have you both flogged for this!"

Harry blanched. Were they still flogging back in 1926? "Sir, please," he said, pressing his hands together. "All I want is to get back to my rightful place and time. I'll take Veritaserum, anything, but you must believe me."

Phineas Nigellus Black made a harrumphing noise and stood, leaving Harry's wand on the desk. Harry snatched it back as the old wizard went to his fireplace, tossed in some floo powder, and stuck his head in. "Galatea, I have a student here in my office who says you can verify his story. Would you be so kind as to step up here for a moment?"

He pulled his head back, and a few moments later Professor Gullwing stepped out of the fireplace, brushing ashes from her shoulders. "Greetings, headmaster. Yes, this is the boy I sent up here with Mr. Malfoy. Potter, was it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied, and it struck him funny that people were acting like they didn't know who he was. It was strange, but refreshing, in a way.

"Do you have a brother named Charlus, by any chance?"

"Er, no ma'am. I'm an only child."

The two professors exchanged looks. "You can see why I believe I'm being played for a fool, Galatea," Black said, with a significant glance at Malfoy. "But in case Mr. Potter here really did come from the year 1996..."

"1997," corrected Harry.

"...I cannot risk legilimizing him and learning of future events. I've got 79 years of memories and I am loath to let the Ministry erase them in a misguided attempt to keep the time line pure."

"You're exactly right, headmaster. I believe there are other ways we can check, however, if the boy or the items he has brought with him are from the future. Mr. Potter, have you something you can surrender to me for the afternoon?" She held out her hand. "Come, come, I haven't got all day."

"Er, well," Harry thought about it. He didn't want to give up any of his books, since if he did return to his own time, he'd need them. He couldn't well go around barefoot. "How about this?" He unknotted his red and gold tie and put it into her hand.

"That will do nicely. I will have answers by dinner time. Good day. Good day, Headmaster." With that, she stepped back into the floo, announced her office, and disappeared in a flash of green flame.

At that Black rounded on the boys. "That tie had better have come from the future or I'll have you both flayed." He opened a drawer in his desk, took out something silver and shining, and then stepped up to Harry. He pinned a silver insignia to Harry's robes, and then tapped it with his wand.

"Sir?" Harry asked.

"Visitor's pass," the headmaster said as he sat down behind his desk again. "Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you keep the visitor with you, for now," he said in a voice that said he clearly expected he would see them both strung up in the dungeons tonight. "Good day."

They were halfway down the hallway from the gargoyle before Malfoy burst out laughing. "Oh, oh my, I half wish we were having him on. That was priceless."

Harry blushed as he remembered what they had all seen ghost out of his wand. "Er..."

"I thought the old prig was going to burst a blood vessel!" Then his voice dropped in volume. "A little morning cleanup was that?"

"Uh, yeah." Harry kept expecting Malfoy's voice to drop into a sneer, to rip him to shreds. But that wasn't this Malfoy. He smiled. "I tell you, from now on I'm always going to follow it with ... I dunno... lumos or something...!"

Malfoy chuckled. "Well, you're to stick by me and I think we've probably missed most of lunch. There'd be a ruckus if I brought you into the Great Hall now anyway. Let's go get something to eat for ourselves."

"Okay."

Harry followed Malfoy downstairs, and he thought for a while that they were headed for the kitchens. Would that same painting of fruit be there? Harry wondered. But then he recognized the route they were taking. To the Slytherin dungeons. Malfoy brought him through the Common Room, which looked remarkably similar to how it had appeared the one time Harry had been there before, up a small set of stairs, down a narrow corridor, to a heavy wooden door.

Malfoy put his hand to the iron handle, said the words "Dragon's blood," and the door opened onto what Harry thought of as either a large room or a small apartment. A four poster bed with green and silver curtains stood in one corner, a writing desk with bookshelves full of books sat near the fireplace. In the back, there was a table on which sat a rich green woven cloth, with four chairs. Malfoy strode directly to the table and sat down, indicating Harry should also.

A few quick flicks of Malfoy's wand and a roast chicken smelling of rosemary and several other dished appeared on the table. A round cake of some kind flew over from the cupboard, as did two brown familiar-looking bottles.

"Butterbeer," Harry breathed. "I'm parched."

"From my private stock," Malfoy said, his eyebrow notching. "Try it." As he said it, both bottles tops popped off, and the two young wizards clinked their bottles together before drinking deeply. "So, what do you think?" Malfoy said, putting his bottle down and serving the chicken onto two plates.

"Best I've ever had," Harry admitted. "And, uh, your room is very nice, too," he added, remembering that guests were supposed to praise a host's home. At least, that's what the Dursley's had always said, though they'd never taken him anywhere to give him the chance to use the manners they wanted him to learn. "Is it just you, here?"

"That's right, you're a bloody Gryffindor, I forgot," Malfoy said. "Crammed in those tower rooms together. Well, welcome to Slytherin, seventh year, Harry Potter." Malfoy pointed at the chicken with his fork. "It's not charmed to stay warm, you know."

They ate in silence for a few minutes after that, but curiosity spurred them both to talk. Malfoy spoke first. "So you just... fell?... into our time?"

"Seems like it," Harry replied. "They give that warning every year, about corridors that appear and disappear in the castle, but the corridor was the same--right there by the potions room. I suppose it's possible someone hexed me back in time, but I don't know." Crabbe's shove hadn't been accompanied by any incantation as far as he could tell, and he doubted Crabbe was a master of nonverbal spells--not to mention it would have to be a truly powerful spell to send a wizard through time. Could a time-turner even take someone back that far? "It's so weird because Hogwarts... it isn't any different. I recognize everything."

"Well, it's bloody been here a thousand years, so what's a few decades going to do?" Malfoy said, wiping his mouth on a green cloth napkin.

"I suppose." Harry hadn't even noticed the napkin by his own plate until then. He put it in his lap. "The headmaster seemed pretty upset with you."

Malfoy huffed, half a laugh, and made a dismissive gesture. "He's just upset because I got his grandson into ... some trouble." But his eyes dropped, his blond lashes fluttering, and Harry wondered what he was hiding. "What about you? Are you a troublemaker in Hogwarts' future?"

"I suppose I am," Harry said, grinning, and enjoying the feeling of freedom that came with talking to someone who didn't think they already knew all about him. He suddenly wondered if the Marauder's Map would work now. "His grandson?" he said aloud, as he tried to remember the names on the Black family tree.

"Regulus," Malfoy said. "You look shocked. Is there a Regulus Black in the future?"

"Er... I think there was..."

"It's pretty common for wizarding families to use the same names over and over," he said.

"Um, so I gathered," Harry replied. "I know a Draco Malfoy, too."

Malfoy sat back, his back suddenly a bit stiffer than it had been.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Malfoy said quickly. "It's just, you know... You can't tell me anything about the future that might affect things, because it might wipe out the time you're trying to get back to."

"Oh." Harry felt foolish, then, even as he had the feeling that wasn't why Malfoy had stiffened.

But Malfoy was smooth as silk now, unruffled. "In fact, you probably ought to hide your books down here. It wouldn't do for someone to open up your history book and really muck things up."

"Too right," Harry agreed, and went to his school bag. 1926, before Voldemort. It was even before Grindelwald, he realized, and before Hitler, if he remembered his Muggle history correctly. He knelt down with the bag by the bookshelf. "Do you think I should leave Advanced Theories of Transfiguration, too?"

"Leave them all, just to be on the safe side. You can share books with me." Malfoy came and knelt down next to him on the fine-woven rug. "Your notebooks are probably fine, though. Better take those along."

They went to Charms next, and then to History of Magic, where Harry was pleasantly surprised to see Professor Binns teaching. Well, perhaps pleasant wasn't the right word, Binns was still as boring as ever, and he began to drift off soon into the lecture. He jerked awake suddenly, though, when Malfoy squeezed him on the thigh under the table. "Old Black wasn't kidding about the flogging thing," Malfoy whispered. "I'll keep you awake if you keep me awake."

"Sure," Harry said. "But in seven years I haven't stayed awake in one of Binns' classes yet."

"Is that a challenge, then?" Malfoy elbowed him and slid his wand out of the pocket in his robes.

A few minutes later, Harry started to drift, then felt a sharp buzz of sensation against his leg. Malfoy had touched him with his wand, and it felt like a mild electric shock. Harry pulled his own wand out and aimed it at Malfoy's knee, but Malfoy did not seem to be nodding off. Instead, it was Harry who again began to fade.

Malfoy jolted him again, this time on the inside of Harry's thigh. Harry knocked his knee against the underside of the desk when he jumped, though Binns, as usual, seemed not to notice. Malfoy's grin was wicked, and he slid the wand further up Harry thigh, to rest just below his zipper.

"You wouldn't," Harry muttered.

"I would," Malfoy replied, his eyes narrowing, and for a moment Harry could see a sliver of the Draco he knew.

He suddenly did not feel the slightest bit sleepy, and was determined that it would be Malfoy who got jolted next. Or at least jabbed by the tip of Harry's wand, since Harry didn't know the spell Malfoy was using.

They stayed that way through the end of the class, and Harry was amazed. He might have even learned something out of Binns' droning on. At the end of class, a ghost Harry did not recognize came floating through the wall, and said something to Binns that the class could not hear.

"Mr. Malfoy? You and your friend are to go to the headmaster's office," Binns then said. "That is all, class dismissed."

Up in the headmaster's office, they were greeted by not only the headmaster and Galatea Gullwing, but also by two other wizards Harry did not know. One of them inclined his head toward Malfoy as they took seats in front of the headmaster's desk.

"So, boy, it appears you told the truth," Black said without preamble to Harry. "Professor Gullwing here has proved beyond any doubt that you did in fact come from the future. As of now, we have no way of returning you to your own time, though we have experts at the Ministry pondering that very thing right now. Assuming that it may be some time before you can be returned, if indeed you can be returned at all, then we have some niggling details that must be taken care of."

The headmaster gestured to the tall blond wizard who had sat directly at Harry's right. "This is Mr. Justus Gallant, from the Ministry of Magic. If you would, Mr. Gallant."

"Certainly, headmaster," The man took out his wand, waved it once, and then tapped Harry on the top of the head.

"Ow!" Harry rubbed his head--that tap had been a little harder than necessary. "What was that for?"

"You have been placed under a geas not to speak of the future to anyone. We simply cannot risk it." Black harrumphed. "Now as to the other details..."

"Come now, Phineas, the boy belongs in my house, surely you recognize that," Professor Gullwing said.

"Galatea, he'll only be here for a year, and where are you going to put him?" said the wizard Harry had not heard speak yet. He had curling brown hair down over his collar and cheerful cheeks, though his eyes were somber. "The tower is full to bursting and you know what happened the last time we tried to modify the architecture..."

"You know full well, Gaius, that there is a difference between making room for an extra bed and trying to install a swimming pool in the dungeons." Professor Gullwing's voice dropped in anger. "He's a Gryffindor, and you don't really expect him to bed down in that nest of vipers you call a house, do you?"

"Excuse me!" roared Black, "But Galatea, you might do well to remember that before Gaius, I was the head of Slytherin House?"

Professor Gullwing flushed, then said in a smaller voice, "Of course, Headmaster. I meant no offense."

Black turned his gaze back to the other wizard. "Very well. Gaius, have you room for the boy?"

"Without a doubt, headmaster."

"Fine. You take him. I leave the details of his schedule and so on, to you. Potter," he barked, "you'll be expected to pass your NEWTs if you're still here when exam time comes. For all we know, you might be stuck here. I suppose your presence will have to be explained, by ..." He huffed. "Let's say you are a transfer from a school on the continent. Hrm, yes, your father works for the Ministry but had his family with him in, let's see, Liechtenstein. Clear? Excellent, now get out of my office." With that he stood, and they were all dismissed.

The Slytherin head of house held out his hand toward Professor Gullwing, who reluctantly handed him Harry's tie. He shook it once, and it transformed into a snake, then he smirked and it was a tie once again, but this time a green tie threaded with silver. "Here you are," he said, handing it to Harry. "So you'll look presentable at table."

Harry took it without saying a word. It was dinner time, and he would be sitting with the Slytherins.
CHAPTER TWO

The Great Hall looked exactly as Harry knew it, the ceiling ensorcelled to reflect the night sky, which was clear and crisp, and the four great house tables running the length of the room. Malfoy pulled him into a space on the long bench at the end of the table; the seventh years sat closest to the door and farthest from the watchful eyes of the Head Table as a matter of course.

Harry tugged on his tie a bit as they sat down. He couldn't help but feel like it was going to turn back into a snake and strangle him.

"Did old LeStrange get the size wrong?" Malfoy asked then, as he watched Harry pull on it. "He's such a show off isn't he? He just does it to irk Gullwing, though. I swear, they must have had an affair at some point, the way they bicker."

"Who, what?" Harry said, confusedly. The name LeStrange had sent a shock of ice water through his veins.

"Here." Malfoy undid the tie, and re-tied it, sliding the knot gently up over Harry's Adam's Apple. Harry swallowed. "Gaius LeStrange is our head of house. He teaches Arithmancy, which hardly anyone takes. And I was serious about him and Gullwing." Malfoy laughed softly. "Everyone knows, Slytherins make the best lovers."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, but he was saved from making a reply when another student clapped Malfoy on the shoulder. "So who's your friend?"

"Potter, meet Hector Crabbe."

This Crabbe had lighter hair, not as much of a curl as the Vincent Harry knew. But he was still big. Harry shook his hand thinking to himself, could Goyle be far behind? "Hi. Uh, yeah. I'm a transfer student."

"From Liechtenstein," Malfoy said with a ridiculous accent, and he began to snigger.

The snigger was infectious. "Yes, from Leek-teen-steyen," Harry repeated, laughing, too.

Crabbe gave Malfoy a friendly push on the shoulder. "What are you going on about, then?"

"Nothing," Malfoy said. "Private joke. Tell you later, Crabbe. Anyway, he's with us for a while. Here." And Malfoy began a round of introductions to other students, both male and female, taking their seats nearby at the table. Harry heard many familiar names and realized of course he would. If they were Slytherins, they were probably all pure-bloods, right? And those same families would be around in his day. Harry lost track of the names after a while and just concentrated on eating.

The food was, unsurprisingly, also the same. He remembered Dumbledore once telling him that Kreacher had served the Black family for 700 years. The same house elves who prepared the meal tonight were probably still there in his day, too.

"Be right back," Malfoy said into his ear, and strode off toward the head table, leaving Harry in conversation with a girl whose name he had forgotten.

"I heard about your appearance in Potions," she said. "A bit confused were you?"

"Oh, er, yeah. They kind of dropped me in all of a sudden, and you know, the teachers hadn't been told or anything. The Headmaster cleared it all up, though."

"Gullwing can be really particular. Merlin knows what she would have done if Malfoy hadn't needed a partner."

"What happened to his partner?" Harry asked, thinking of some kind of cauldron accident.

"Oh. He used to sit with Regulus Black. But Reg, you know, his grandfather got all bent out of shape about them and sent Reg away last week."

"He what?"

"We all thought Draco would be the one expelled, but his family's got connections, you know?"

"I know."

"So in the end, it's Reg who had to go. They say it's only temporary, though. For his health. He should be back by Christmas." She then fixed Harry with a cool stare. "You've forgotten my name, haven't you?"

"Um, well, yes, actually," Harry admitted with a sheepish smile. "Wait, let me guess..." He screwed up his face as if thinking very hard. "Nope, sorry, no idea."

"It's Heather," she said, then. She had reddish brown hair that curled aristocratically below her ears and deep brown eyes. "So if I may ask, how did you get that scar?"

"Oh, er," Think fast, Harry told himself. "Quidditch accident." Where was Malfoy? It'd be helpful to have someone else deflect the questions, Harry thought.

Heather pushed his hair aside a little. "Really? I wouldn't think a bludger would leave a gash like that."

"Oh, it was, er..." He knew if the lie didn't have a little truth in it, it would come off sounding completely false. But he couldn't tell her the truth about the scar, could he? Not with the geas on him. "I was seeker for my house team, and we had one terrible match, terrible rainstorm, thunder, lightning, and the rival seeker..." An image of the Draco Malfoy he knew, bearing down on him on a broom came to mind. "...ran me right into the reviewing stand. I went right through a wooden beam."

"No!" She grabbed lightly onto his arm. "Were you hurt badly?"

"No, not really."

"But you kept the scar."

"Um, yeah..."

"Well it is, rather... dashing!" Heather said. At that she giggled, and it suddenly occurred to Harry that she had been flirting. A blush crept up his cheeks.

"Oh, well, I uh..."

Malfoy to the rescue. He threw himself down on the bench between Harry and Heather, with his legs in the aisle. "It's all settled, Potter."

"What's all settled?"

"Come on, let's get down to the Common Room." With that he was off toward the doors, and Harry followed, waving goodbye to Heather as he went.

"I fixed it with LeStrange that you're to room with me," Malfoy said as his quick strides took him across the entrance hall to the stairs down to the dungeon. "That is, uh, assuming you want to."

Harry was a bit taken aback by the fact that Malfoy would just assume responsibility for him that way. But really, what else could he do? Sleep in the hospital wing? "You don't mind? That would be great."

"I don't mind at all. I've got more room than anyone, anyway, and I'd rather pick my own roommate if I have to have one." He paused on the stairs to flick a glance back at Harry. "All right?"

"Yeah, of course, Malfoy," Harry said, wondering why Malfoy was being so tentative all of a sudden. Because he wants to make sure you like him. Harry almost heard Hermione's voice saying it. He wanted to reassure him that he wasn't a false friend. Maybe that's what happens when all your friends are Slytherins, Harry thought.

Malfoy walked him through the labyrinth of corridors that lead to the Common Room door, which was spelled to look like any other section of blank dungeon wall. "We have the best guarded doorway in the castle," Malfoy explained and then spoke the password.

When they reached Malfoy's own door, he placed Harry's hand on the handle and then took out his wand. "Here we go." He tapped Harry on the back of the hand with his wand and a flare of blue light passed through him and into the handle. "Just say 'dragon's blood' and the door will open."

"Dragon's blood," Harry intoned, and the latch clicked under his palm. The door swung inward.

A house elf was just fluffing the pillows on another four-poster by the bookshelves which the castle elves must have put there, Harry surmised. It gasped when the door opened, and disappeared the way house elves do. On the bed Harry was amused to find additional uniform clothes folded neatly, extra shirts, socks, pants, even bright green silk boxer shorts. "All the comforts of home?" he said bemusedly while holding up a pair to see if they looked like they might fit.

"Where did they get those?" Malfoy wondered. "They'll make you look like a leprechaun. Though they do match your eyes." He sauntered over and tapped the pile with his wand. The green deepened to more of a forest green. "That's better. Now where are you going to keep them?" He looked around the room, then pulled a small trunk out from under his own bed. He opened it, tossed a few papers from it into the fireplace, and then brought it over to Harry. "Here you go, spare trunk. It's a bit small, but you haven't got much stuff yet."

"Thanks," Harry said, and placed the folded clothes into it. The wood smelled sweet, like some forest herb. He latched it and put it under his own bed. It suddenly seemed real that he might be here for a while. He pulled off his Slytherin tie and said "Wow, what a day."

"No rest for the wicked," Malfoy replied. "Now, come on. I want a good seat in the Common Room."

Harry had thought, momentarily, that Malfoy had wanted a seat that would be good for studying in. But the Slytherin Common Room was a bit less studious and a bit more focused on other things than Harry was used to. And Malfoy, it was clear, was the monarch of the group. His "good seat" was a throne-like chair by the fireplace, and they needn't have hurried since no one else would dare to sit in it. Harry sat on Malfoy's right, while the room filled up.

There was a definite pecking order among the Slytherins, Harry realized while watching them interact. The first and second years, it seemed, hadn't even yet earned the right to sit in the Common Room. They mostly seemed to just greet the older students and then hurry off to their rooms. The third years hung around the edges a bit more. The fourth years, some of them, joined in the discussion taking place in the sunken pit lined with padded benches and chairs at the center of the room. The rest were fifth and sixth years, ringed by the seventh years like Malfoy.

Malfoy clapped his hands and the room fell silent. "It's time for a game of Truth or Dare. Who's playing?"

Some were eager to play, others, Harry saw, mostly the younger ones, were cajoled into it by the seventh years. Those playing vied for seats in the pit, while those watching settled on the steps and in chairs up higher.

"And how about you, Potter?" Heather was there, in one of the upper chairs. "You're new here, shouldn't you play?"

"Oh, I uh, don't know the rules."

"Come on, I'll play if you play," she said, throwing a glance at Malfoy. "All right?"

"It's all right, Potter," Malfoy said, though he was looking at Heather as he said it. "We don't usually have to send anyone to the hospital wing..." A chorus of knowing chuckles came at that. "And Whittington here won't bite." He indicated Heather with a small salute.

"Unless you ask her nicely!" someone shouted from the back, causing another cascade of laughter. Harry and Heather made their way to lower seats.

Malfoy sat forward, one arm resting on one knee. "Now, the rules, since we have a game virgin here..." There were whistles. Malfoy drew what looked like a compass out of his robes. "It's quite simple. You must either tell the truth, or agree to a dare. If you lie, the detector will know it, and then you must submit to a dare anyway. Tell the truth, or complete your dare successfully, and you get to ask the next question. I, of course, go first."

He then spun the detector in his fingers and let it go. It landed on the low table in the center of the pit, glowing and humming softly. "I'll start with... Whittington."

Heather looked up, one eyebrow raised.

"Truth or dare, did that Ravenclaw Seeker put his hand down your robes behind the broomshed after the last match?" Malfoy's eyes were half-lidded as he said it.

She hesitated, thinking about what he had said. Harry could almost see her trying to come up with a way that it might not be true, though it was only a few moments before she said "True, and then I decked him with his own broom!"

The detector glowed green with approval. "My turn, then. Right back at you Malfoy."

He spread his hands as if he expected no less.

"What were you and Reg Black doing the night you got caught on the Astronomy Tower?"

The room went silent and Harry glanced around nervously. But Malfoy smiled. "We went up there with some charmed banners. It was our match against Hufflepuff the next day, remember? These banners were going to unfurl as soon as they scored a goal, with a giant picture of their keeper doing... unspeakable things with his broom. Well, as you know, they never scored in the match the next day as the snitch was caught within the first five minutes, so no one got to see the banners."

The detector glowed green again and Heather sat back with a slight glower on her face. Malfoy then asked a question of a fourth year boy, and on the game went. No one else asked Malfoy a question, Harry noticed, and Heather would not meet his eyes. The game did come back around to Heather, though, when Crabbe asked her to name the man she was most attracted to in the room.

"Ha, please," she said. "Boring question and no one has taken a dare yet. I'll take a dare."

"All right, fine," Crabbe said, pausing to think. He clearly had thought she was going to answer and hadn't decided ahead of time on what to ask her to do. He glanced at Malfoy, who was looking at him passively, his eyes half-lidded. "Kiss Potter."

"What?" Harry said, startled. He looked at Malfoy, who merely shrugged. Apparently it was within the rules of the game to participate in other's dares.

Heather turned to him, half a smile on her face. She took him by the chin, drew his face close to hers, and then brushed her lips along his. He had one brief, sharp intake of breath, and then she crushed her lips to his, one hand twined around the back of his neck. It was neither sloppy nor fumbling, and Harry felt that Heather knew what she was doing. When she broke away, he blinked, feeling suddenly bereft. There were cheers and catcalls, and he knew his face was bright red. His lips felt swollen and he realized he was panting slightly.

"My turn," Heather said. "So, Malfoy..."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, as if it were bad form for her to go after him twice in a row.

"What else did you do with Reg Black when you were up on the tower that night?"

Malfoy looked her straight in the eye. "You're beautiful when you're jealous."

"Just answer the question."

He rubbed his chin as if thinking it over. "You know, I think I'll lead you on a little longer on that one, Whittington. I'll take a dare, instead."

Now there were low cries of "ooo" and "whoa." Heather smiled and said without hesitation: "Fine. Kiss Potter." The "ooos" increased in volume.

"What do you take me for, a coward? Potter, come here."

Harry, though, seemed frozen in his seat. He was going to kiss Malfoy now? "Uh..."

Malfoy huffed in irritation, and slipped easily down to the padded bench where Harry sat next to Heather, putting himself between them. He slid one hand around the back of Harry's neck as Heather had, then ran the other down Harry's sternum. He leaned forward and whispered into Harry's ear, so only Harry could hear--"It's just a game"--and then, as with Heather, he brushed his lips along Harry's.

Harry's breath caught again, but the expected kiss did not come, yet. Another brush, another pass, and the feel of Malfoy's breath playing over his skin--he was dizzy. Why was Malfoy holding back? Their lips were barely touching, Malfoy's moving infinitesimally, as if he were mouthing a silent incantation. The bare contact of his warm tongue. And then, his hand strayed from Harry's breastbone to brush through Harry's shirt over one nipple. Harry moaned as just then Malfoy pulled back, amid whistles and cheers.

He knew his cheeks were aflame, but he supposed this was the Slytherin way, humiliating one another. It was just a game, wasn't that what Malfoy said? He tried to smile; he knew he had to show it was all right, that he could take it. But his lips were tingling with the phantom kiss Malfoy had not quite given him.

"My turn," Malfoy said, returning to his seat. "Crabbe. Who do you think about when you wank?"

Crabbe leered at Heather. "Whittington, of course." The detector glowed green and Heather gave him a disgusted look. "So, Whittington," he then said.

She threw up her hands. "What?"

"Tell us... tell us whether you're, well..."

"Come on, Crabbe, spit it out," she prompted.

He thought for a moment more. "Have you ever, that is, haven't you... uh..."

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Crabbe," she finally said. "Let's just save some time and I'll just take a dare, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Give Potter a hickey. A big one."

"Are you sure about that, Crabbe? Sure you don't want one yourself?" Whittington licked her lips lasciviously.

"Oh, uh, I like to watch," he said, blushing and causing a spate of laughter to ring through the room.

"Suit yourself," she said, and locked eyes with Harry. "Let me unbutton your shirt a little so I can put it somewhere people won't see it tomorrow."

"Uh, okay," Harry said, even as his brain was seizing up under the strain. That seemed like a good idea, didn't it.

Heather undid the three buttons, then pushed him onto his back, her lips running along his collarbone toward his shoulder. She settled on a spot on top of his shoulder, almost at the base of his neck but a little further out where it would be hidden once his shirt was pulled back into place. She licked it, her tongue warm and muscular. Then she clamped her lips over the spot and began to suck.

Harry couldn't help it, he gripped her back with his hands, the sensation coursing through him intense. It was pleasure and pain both, not quite like anything he had ever done before. He and Ginny had snogged a bit, of course, but they'd had little privacy in the short time they'd been together, and she had never done this. The feeling intensified the longer it went on, and Harry struggled not to moan aloud again. He threw his head back, mouth open but silent, eyes closed tight, amazed that the sensation seemed to travel through his whole body.

Then she broke away, to general cheers, and Harry rubbed at the spot where she had been sucking. A raised welt was there now, it felt bruised and raw and sensitive all at once. Just running his fingers over the spot made Harry's hair stand on end.

"My turn," said Heather, smoothing her hair back so her curls trailed from her ears again. "Potter."

"Yes?" He sat up then, feeling a bit dazed.

"So who in this room would you sleep with? If you had your choice of anyone?"

"Er, uh," he looked around the room, and yet found he couldn't distinguish faces as his eyes swept back and forth. "I don't really know any of you well enough to say yet."

The detector glowed red at that, and seemed to shake angrily as it spun on is axis.

"The detector doesn't accept that answer," she said, pointing to it. "Which means I get to dare you."

Harry sat silently, waiting to see what she would make him do. Was he going to have to give her a hickey next?

"Strip to your waist," she said, settling back into her seat. "I want to see the fruits of my labor."

Harry's hands shook a little. He was used to being the center of attention for various reasons, good and bad, but Gryffindors didn't play games like this, at least not in his time. He slid his robe from his shoulders, untucked his shirt and unbuttoned it the rest of the way, then let that fall behind him, too. He could feel the currents of cool air mixing with the warmth of the fireplace on his bare skin and suppressed a shiver.

"Go on, Harry, it's your turn now," Malfoy prompted, after Harry had sat there for a moment.

"Oh, right." Harry looked around. Now, what would a Slytherin do here? He didn't know any of them enough to know what to ask and what not to ask. He didn't want to make any enemies on his first day if he could help it, but he didn't want to come off as too na�ve or vulnerable. He wracked his brains. Come on, there must be something sneaky you can think of. What he really wanted to know, of course, was what the story was between Malfoy and Whittington, and where Regulus Black fit in, but there didn't seem to be a way to ask a direct question about that. He also felt it would be frowned on to pick on anyone whose name he didn't know.

He turned to Malfoy, unable to keep a grin off his face as he asked, "So, when you learned to wank, which did you learn first, the cleaning charm, or the silencing charm?"

Malfoy chuckled. "The silencing charm. I'm loud." He smiled back and there were laughs around the room. "All right, Parkinson. You haven't answered one yet."

The mousy fifth year girl truthfully answered Malfoy's question about whom she had kissed, and then she turned to Harry. "How far did you get with your girlfriend in Lichtenstein?"

Harry wrapped his mind around that one. Since he hadn't been to Lichteinstein, did that negate the question? Should he answer it as if Ginny were the girl? He opened his mouth to try to answer it, thinking of Ginny, but no sound came out--it was as if there were no air around his head. He could not breathe. He had a moment of panic and then realized: the geas. It had to be the geas trying to keep him from saying anything about the future. He stopped trying to answer and said "I better take a dare, then."

She opened her eyes wide, and glanced at Malfoy, who seemed to be staring resolutely at the detector. "Um, um, can I kiss you, too?"

"It's your dare..." he started to say, but she launched herself at him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. She felt remarkably similar to Ginny, Harry realized, slender and soft, but with a very firm mouth. She broke away after a few seconds.

"All right, children," Malfoy said. "I think that's enough for one night." Moans of disapproval. "Don't you have studying to do? I want that house cup again so get cracking." The students began to disperse; their monarch had spoken.

Draco then walked up to Harry and picked up the white shirt from where it had been knocked to the floor. "You should thank me," he said quietly as he handed it to Harry. "The whole pack of wolves was going to be after you, couldn't you tell?"

"Uh, yeah," Harry agreed, slinging one arm through the sleeve. Though it was you who threw me to them in the first place, he thought. Still, compared to what he was used to enduring from his contemporary Slytherins, Malfoy's actions didn't feel malicious. These Slytherins on the whole seemed a bit more occupied with sex than Harry would have expected, but well... he wondered, not for the first time, what his life might have been like if his prime concern hadn't always been saving the world from Voldemort.

"Come on, Potter, butterbeer awaits." Malfoy signaled to Crabbe to come along, too. Heather had already moved to strike up a conversation with some other girls. Harry gathered up his robe and followed Malfoy while still getting his shirt back on.

Once inside Malfoy's room, the blond popped open three bottles and invited them to sit at the table. "Well done, Potter," he said. "But you know I wasn't kidding there at the end. Those predators, once they smell fresh meat, well... who knows what compromising situations you might have gotten yourself into."

Crabbe took a swig. "That was fun, Draco. Been a while since we did that."

"I know." Malfoy seemed more relaxed, here with just the two of them. The arrogance softened and his voice lost the forced cheerfulness it had with the larger group. And what would have come out snide from the Draco Harry knew came out almost concerned: "Was it too much for you, Potter?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, taking a drink. "I'm just not used to being the center of attention, is all." He smirked inwardly at the lie, feeling rather Slytherin about it. But in this world, the world of 1926, he wasn't the Boy Who Lived, he wasn't destined to face Voldemort, he wasn't followed by the tabloid press, or hounded for autographs by first years. Here, he was just a 17-year-old in his final year of school.

They sat companionably drinking butterbeer and making remarks about teachers and Quidditch, until Crabbe said, "You know, I miss Reg."

"I do, too," Malfoy answered, standing up abruptly. "Well, I think it's time to call it a night, eh, fellows?"

"Oh, right. Good night," Crabbe said, and walked out.

Malfoy closed the door behind him. "Hector's a good man," he said. "Loyal, like a dog. I've known him since we were little. But he can be a bit thick, sometimes."

"You don't say," Harry replied. "Thanks again for the drink, Malfoy."

"You know," Malfoy said, crossing back to sit on his bed and kick his shoes off. "You ought to call me Draco. We're roomies now, after all. And besides, every time you say 'Malfoy' you sound like you're spitting out something bitter."

"I do?"

"You do." Draco pulled his wand out of his robe and flicked it. A door that Harry had assumed led to a closet opened. "I forgot to tell you. Best thing about this room by far. Private washroom. You want to go ahead? There's soap, everything's in there. Go on."

"Er, all right." Harry went ahead into the little room, which had ornate fixtures and a deep claw-footed tub. He closed the door, splashed water on his face and looked in the mirror. What an intensely weird day. He touched his lips lightly with his fingers, and found himself re-living the not-quite-kiss with Malfoy. He blinked. Definitely an intensely weird day.

He emerged a short while later and Malfoy went into the bathroom. Harry poked through the trunk of clothes the house elves had brought. No dressing gown. Ah well. Harry got into his own bed in nothing but his briefs--he didn't want to sleep in his dress shirt. The dungeon room was warm enough, warmer than the tower, actually, which was prone to drafts. He started to pull his curtains closed, when he heard Malfoy's voice from the doorway.

"By the way, another thing, I've spelled the curtains already with a silencing charm." When Harry did not reply immediately, he went on. "In case you like every morning to be like this morning."

"Um, thanks," Harry said. "Good night."

"Good night."

At that he finished closing the curtains. His lips were tingling and he rubbed his fingers over the welt Heather had made. But the sound of running water--Draco was running a bath--soothed him, and he dropped into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER THREE

By Monday of the next week, Harry had settled into his routine--classes, meals, homework, exactly as he might have done in 1997 without the threat of Voldemort. Every now and then he would catch himself wondering what Hermione and Ron were doing. Did they miss him? What was happening with the Order and the Death Eaters now? Then he would remember that he had traveled back in time and if he could be returned close to when he left, no one would even know he had been gone. But then there was the fact that if they didn't find a way to return him, then he would be gone, and therefore be missed, but then surely someone like Hermione would start working on the problem and find a way to bring him back... except if he came back then... his head hurt just thinking about it. It was easier, he decided, to think of this as a sort of very realistic dream.

A dream in which he went to classes and was a Slytherin. He wasn't surprised to find he was a hit in Defensive Magic (which hadn't yet been re-named Defense Against the Dark Arts) and that the curriculum in Transfiguration was largely the same as what he knew. He continued to be bored in History of Magic, and they carried on with the analysis and comparison of various aphrodisiac potions in Professor Gullwing's class. It was a different approach to potions than what he was used to, and Harry found it actually stuck in his brain a bit better than he thought it would.

And then there were nights in the Common Room with the Slytherins. Malfoy had not suggested Truth or Dare again, but they had a seemingly unending appetite for activities with which to titillate or humiliate one another, or take one another's money. After that first night, Harry did not seem to be as much of a target, but he mostly just watched from the edges. He was confused at first, about why they would play such games, but eventually he realized that they did have a point. The group was quite tight knit, they knew each other well, and the mild abuse fostered a sense of belonging.

The only one who didn't seem to be as close to others was Malfoy himself. The prince, Harry realized. The one above. And Harry himself, by association. He wondered what would happen if he interacted with the others more. Would that somehow be leaving Draco alone?

That wasn't actually what he was thinking about when Crabbe convinced him to try his hand at a game that night. "C'mon, Potter," he said. "You're good at charms, you should be good at this."

A round table stood in the center of the sunken area of the Common Room. On it sat a golden goblet ringed by a dozen or so Galleons. "Go on," Crabbe urged. "You have to put a Galleon down to play. We need thirteen, you know."

Harry didn't know why thirteen would be a significant number, but he did have some Galleons in his pocket--though it occurred to him that with his Gringott's vault seven decades in the future, he didn't have much money here in 1926. But he had already agreed to play, so he put one on the table. Malfoy took his usual seat, his eyes blazing with interest.

The game, Harry quickly realized, was played by two people at a time. The goal was to charm as many Galleons into the goblet as possible in twenty seconds or so--the goblet itself was charmed to keep the time, flaring bright red when the time was up. The first two to go were two fifth year girls, each flicking her wand repeatedly and running around the table--because of course the Galleons themselves were charmed to roll in circles around and around. They were both giggling, and tripping over themselves, as they circled the table, flipping the coins too high, over the cup, hitting the rim, and sometimes getting one in with a golden "ping!"

"Time's up!" Crabbe called, when the goblet flared. "Anisette, you lose." The girl stamped her foot, but bent over, her arms cradling her head on the edge of the table. The other girl stepped up and spanked her, five times on each cheek. Harry had to fight not to let his mouth gape open at that. Anisette flounced away, giggling, when it was done.

The next challenger, a lanky sixth year named Timothy Frost, stepped up, and Harry realized that the Galleons on the table, one for each of them, were somehow determining who went next. He wondered what Professor Flitwick would have thought of all the complex charms it took to make this game work. Wingardium Leviosa was one of the first charms Harry had ever learned, but could he cast it on a rolling Galleon and get it on target?

He would find out soon enough. When it was his turn, he faced Crabbe himself, who had just beaten four others in a row. Harry didn't relish the thought of being spanked by Crabbe, and his competitive spirit didn't relish losing in any case. The cup flared green, the signal to go, and Harry pointed his wand at the Galleon passing nearest him. Up it went, spinning in the air but traveling in a neat arc, right into the cup. Ping! But Crabbe had one fall in right after. They did not race around the table like the girls, but took careful, stalking steps, timing their wand flicks as the Galleons did the racing, ping! ping! ping! one coin after the other flipping into the goblet. Students watching were shouting encouragement and unbelievably Harry saw they were running out of Galleons.

The last one was rolling erratically, zigzagging as it went, and they each stabbed at it unsuccessfully as it made its way around the table. Harry wasn't sure but he thought it might be speeding up as time went on. Surely there could only be a few seconds left in the round... Harry twisted his wrist and--flip!--the coin went straight up into the air. He cast a silent levitation charm then, and caught it magically as it came down, lowering it gently into the goblet.

"Blast it!" Crabbe said, but he was smiling as he braced himself against the table. "Almost had it, too!"

Harry stepped over to Crabbe, realizing that now he had to administer the licking. He was right handed, so he supposed he ought to use his right, but he felt like he ought to do something with the other hand. He slipped his wand into his back pocket, placed his left on the small of Crabbe's back, and then wound up for the first smack.

It landed squarely on Crabbe's right butt cheek, surprising Harry twice. Once, for how loud it was despite the cloth of Crabbe's pants, and twice for how much Harry's own hand smarted. "Ow!' he said in spite of himself.

"Iron arse!" someone shouted at Crabbe, who grinned.

Harry gave him a smack on the other side and winced. After two more, though, he began to think like a Slytherin. He delivered the final four blows not with his hand, but with his wand. Crabbe howled in surprise and rubbed the sore spot as he straightened up.

"Ooh, Potter! That smarts!"

Harry shrugged innocently.

The next three challengers did not need to be wanded--though they all lost, none of them had quite as tough a hide as Crabbe. And in the end, no one had beaten Harry.

"Well done, mate," Crabbe said, handing him the thirteen Galleons. "Anyone else want to have a go at our new flipping champion? How about you, Frost, another round?"

Timothy waved a hand. "I've had enough."

"I'll have a go." All eyes in the room turned toward the fireplace, where Malfoy was lounging across the arms of his chair. He stood languidly, pulling his wand from inside his robe and then shrugging the robe off. His hair reflected the firelight as he drew it back and tied it with a ribbon, then stepped down to the table. He put down a Galleon.

Harry reached into his pocket for one, but Crabbe stopped him. "Just the one." He started it rolling with a flick of his wand, then added a second flick--the coin now zoomed around the table, making loops and skipping occasionally. "Go!"

Harry snared it quickly, depositing it into the cup with a resounding ring.

Malfoy threw up his hands in mock theatrics. "Best two out of three!" he cried, tossing another coin onto the table.

Crabbe shook a finger at him. "Potter can take your challenge, of course, but you still have to take your licks for that round."

Malfoy sighed and bent over, his hands gripping the table's edge and his hair hanging over one shoulder. "Make it good, Potter," he said with a laugh.

"How's this?" Harry pulled his hand back as far as it would go, and then swung with his whole hip and shoulder. Malfoy merely grunted. Harry gave him as good as he could, but Malfoy yawned with feigned boredom, until it was over.

"Rematch," Malfoy said, then, spinning his wand in his fingers. Crabbe started the galleon on its orbit, and the two young wizards tracked it, waiting for the signal. The light flashed, and their wands went to work, but it seemed as if the coin knew when to zig and when to zag.

Suddenly it moved directly toward Harry, who moved his wand in a scooping motion, and up the coin rose. Up and up, to Harry's eye level, and then he turned toward the goblet. But the coin did not move with his wand. Malfoy had his wand trained on it as well, and a magical tug of war began to take place. Harry put two hands on his wand, but Malfoy's charm was too strong. Harry lost his magical grip on it, and it went spinning in front of Malfoy's face. The look of wicked delight in his eyes reminded Harry of someone--oh, of course it did. Malfoy dropped the coin into the cup with spiral flourish of his wand and then looked up.

Harry felt as if that look went right through him. In his triumph, Malfoy looked predatory, hungry. Harry moved toward the table to put his hands down, but Malfoy gripped him around one wrist, and pulled him down onto a bench. Harry fell across his lap, and before he could set himself, the first blow fell. It wasn't overly hard, Harry realized with a jolt, but the spank pressed his crotch into Draco's thigh. And then with each spank that followed, Harry felt himself harden. It was over with much too quickly, and Harry realized he was lying there panting while Malfoy waited for him to get up.

He got to his feet somewhat shakily. "What about the tie-breaker?" he said. "Who antes up for that one?"

Malfoy's answer was to pull another coin from his pocket and to flip it in the air with his hand. It spun end over end and he caught it, then set it on the table where it began to roll.

Harry half expected that this would be a trick Galleon, one only Malfoy could catch--but maybe that would have been the other Draco. This time, to Harry's surprise, he snared it on the second time around the table, and lifted it up. Malfoy caught, too, though, and again the each tried to will the coin for themselves. Harry saw sweat break out on Malfoy's brow as the struggle went on. Then suddenly the coin came flying toward Harry, who caught it in his hand and flicked it manually into the goblet.

"I am bested," Malfoy said, and dropped to one knee to hold up his wand, like a sea captain offering up his sword. His eyes were daring Harry to take the wand.

"Bend over," Harry said, picking up the wand in his right hand. The wand was as pale as Draco's skin, probably ash or willow, and it swished as it sliced the air. Draco positioned himself against the table and Harry let fly. He heard an intake of breath, but still no yelp or cry. Indeed, the breaths became sharper and faster, but no matter how hard he swung his arm, the other boy did not cry out.

When Malfoy straightened, his face was flushed and his eyes bright. "All hail, Harry Potter, flipping champion," Draco said in a quiet but commanding voice. He took Harry's hand in his and pumped it once. "Well done, Harry."

"Thanks."

"Now, what do you say we get started on that essay for Transfiguration?" Malfoy yawned, showing his teeth.

"It's not due until Thursday, but, well, probably a good idea, yeah," Harry said. Another group was forming up around the table for another round, and they moved out of the way. "Say, where's Heather tonight?" Harry asked, just realizing that she wasn't there.

"Detention," Malfoy answered. "With LeStrange! I tell you, she only took Arithmancy because she wanted to suck up to him, head of house and all that. And now look where it's got her."

They went into their room and shut the door. Harry dragged out a few pieces of parchment and his quill and sat down at the table. He was surprised when Malfoy sat down across from him, though, empty handed and slouching in the chair. He was about to say "I thought you wanted to work on the essay?" when the sneaky little voice in his head he was coming to think of as his inner Slytherin said: isn't it obvious that's not the case anymore?

So instead he said "Draco? Are you all right?"

"You know, I miss Reg." He ran his hand through his flaxen hair, shaking it out and letting the ribbon fall to the floor.

"He was your best mate," Harry said. "Of course you miss him."

"Who do you miss?"

"From my time?" He found himself unable to say Ron or Hermione's names, the geas closing his throat. "Whoa," he said as soon as he stopped trying.

"Was that the geas?" Draco moved into the chair next to Harry. "What does it do?"

"It kind of chokes me," Harry said. "Like the air all disappears and my throat won't open to let in more."

Draco frowned. "Sounds nasty. They must be really serious to put something like that on you. I wonder what you can say? Like, can you just answer yes or no? Let's try it. Are you missing your friends?"

Harry found he could nod yes with no ill effects.

"How about your girlfriend?"

No.

"You don't miss her?"

A more emphatic shake.

"You don't even have one?"

Yes.

"Harry, I find that hard to believe. The girls here are already swooning over you, what with your 'emerald eyes' and Defense prowess. Accio butterbeer." He handed a bottle to Harry and then opened one for himself. "I can't believe you don't have them lined up out the door."

"I've been busy with other priorities," Harry said. Apparently the geas was satisfied with generalities like that, as Harry got the whole sentence out without choking. No way he could say anything about Voldemort directly. He felt a pang of worry--what was happening there? Had the war begun in earnest? No wait, time might not have even moved forward yet... he pushed the thoughts aside. "Not much of a love life, really."

"Well, tell me who you want to be fixed up with here." He took a long swig of butterbeer, his eyes on Harry all at time. "Heather come on too strong for you? What about Anisette? She's quite fetching."

Harry couldn't help but blush, talking about girls like they were models of brooms or something. "I don't think... I mean, I don't know. I don't think either one is my type."

"And what is your type?"

"I guess I don't know really. I figure I'll know it when I see it, though." Harry shrugged and decided since he had just said something about himself, perhaps now was the time to ask Draco something he had been meaning to. "So, what is it between you and Heather, anyway?"

"Oh, it's not like that, if that's what you mean."

"She just seems sort of jealous. I thought maybe you had broken up with her or something and she was taking it badly."

"As I said, it's not like that." Draco stood up and began to pace, running the edge of the bottle of butterbeer along his bottom lip. "She was interested in Reg, actually."

"And she blames you for getting him kicked out of school?"

Draco neither confirmed nor denied that. "I don't know why she acts the way she does." He took a swig and then pulled the bottle away from his mouth with a pop. "I'm sure she likes you, though."

"Um..."

"And heck, you've kissed her already."

"Yeah." But the kiss that Harry found himself replaying in his mind wasn't Heather Whittingon's, but Draco Malfoy's. He suppressed a shiver, remembering the spanking of earlier, too. It was weird, and yet he knew the rules here were different than what he was used to. "I never realized Slytherins were such... um, sensualists," he said then, to have something to say.

"I told you, Slytherins make the best lovers." The words hung in the air for a moment, but then Draco finished the bottle and vanished it. "Oh, so, you made some money tonight, I see."

Harry wondered at the sudden change of direction in the conversation, took a sip out of his own bottle and then set it on the table. "A good thing, too, I suppose, since I haven't really got much."

Malfoy stepped over and leaned both hands on the table. "Don't you dare offer to pay me for anything."

"Well, I just thought..."

"No. I won't take it." He drew himself up to his full height. "In fact, I'll be insulted if you try to give me any of it. But you know what you might want to do? Save up to buy a broom."

"A broom?"

"Didn't Heather tell you at lunch today? Quidditch tryouts are Saturday. When you told her you were a Seeker, were you just having her on? Or were you serious?" The moment of brooding he'd had over missing Regulus Black had passed, Harry noticed, and his face was bright and animated.

"Serious," was all Harry could get out before the geas began to strangle him. "I'll just have to show you."

"Well, you're well on your way to a fine flying broom with tonight's haul."

"Are you kidding me?" Harry tried to remember the prices he had last seen on brooms. "I've only got maybe a tenth what I need for a halfway decent one."

Malfoy was laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"My father had me work at Gringotts last summer, to learn about money. Have you ever heard of inflation?" He came around to Harry's side of the table.

"Oh." Harry smiled. "You mean thirteen galleons is worth a lot more today than in my day."

Malfoy nodded. "Slytherins play for high stakes," he said, standing directly behind Harry. "May I ask you something?"

"Sure, go ahead," Harry replied, twisting in his seat so he could see Malfoy's face.

But at that moment there was a knock at the door. Malfoy stalked over to it and yanked it open.

Heather stood there, her schoolbooks still in her arms. "LeStrange wants to see you."

"Now? At this hour?"

She nodded. "Sent me to tell you right away. He's in his office." With that, she turned on her heel and left.

Malfoy looked back at Harry. "Duty calls. I guess... I'll have to start that essay tomorrow. See you later." He shut the door behind him, leaving Harry alone in the room.

Hours later, Harry had made a start on the essay, and done all his reading as well, but Malfoy had not returned. Close to midnight, Harry climbed into bed, wondering what Malfoy might be doing. He fell asleep not knowing.
CHAPTER FOUR

Harry woke up the next morning to the light of the charmed "windows," which usually showed a sunny morning regardless of the actual weather, and sleepily began his morning wank. He came quickly, silently, biting his pillow out of habit. Then he remembered, Malfoy's silencing curtains, 1926.

He pushed the curtains aside to find Draco had returned. He was asleep, his bedcurtains open; he was still in his clothes and only halfway under the coverlet.

"Malfoy, time to get up," Harry said, as he climbed out of his own bed. "Draco?"

He padded in his bare feet over to the bed, and shook Malfoy on the shoulder. On the second shake, Malfoy lashed out but Harry stepped back quickly. Malfoy sat up suddenly then, staring at Harry for a moment as if he didn't recognize him.

"Draco, are you okay?"

The other boy winced then and rubbed his forehead. "Is it time to get up?"

Harry cast a quick time charm. "Yes. What happened to you last night?"

"What do you mean?"

"You went off to have a meeting with LeStrange and you didn't come back until very late."

Draco thought about it. "I don't remember anything about it."

"Do you remember Heather coming to the door? She had detention, remember?"

"That sounds familiar, but..." He rubbed his eyes. "The way my head feels, I must have gotten to drinking firewhisky or something. Sorry to make you worry, Harry."

"You're sure you're all right?"

"I will be," Draco said, and then looked down at himself. "That must have been quite a binge I was on. I've still got my clothes on."

They went down to breakfast together and the conversation turned to Quidditch.

"You're trying out for Seeker then, are you Harry?" Crabbe asked. "Ever since Maddox left, we've been looking for a good flyer."

"Do you play?" Harry asked Crabbe.

"Beater," Crabbe said with a thumb to his chest. Somehow Harry wasn't surprised.

"What about you, Malfoy?"

"I was a Chaser for a while, but my father insisted I quit after I broke my arm fifth year." He looked glum about it. "Of course, the fact that I was failing Divination might have had something to do with it, too."

"I hate Divination," Harry said then. "Total crap subject."

"The teacher was always predicting my death in some horrible manner," Malfoy said. "It's no wonder I could never concentrate in class. What's so funny?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh, of course, his own experience with the subject being so similar. "So young, so tragic!" he cried in his best Trelawney voice, throwing a hand on Malfoy's shoulder. "My dear boy, can't you see you are doomed? Doomed, I tell you!"

Malfoy laughed, so did Crabbe. They were practically falling over one another. But Harry's laugh was suddenly cut short by a sharp cuff on the back of his head.

"Headmaster?" Crabbe stuttered.

"Gentlemen," Phineas Black hissed. "I suggest you comport yourselves in a manner more befitting the noble house of Slytherin."

"Y-yes sir." Harry waited until Black had turned away before he rubbed the spot on his head where the clout had landed. "What's his problem?"

But Malfoy did not answer. With a dark look in his eye, he slung his book bag onto his shoulder and walked out of the hall.

Harry hurried to gather up his own bag, mumbled a goodbye to Crabbe, and rushed after him. But when he reached the entrance hall, there was no sign of Malfoy. Had he gone ahead to Potions? Today was their double section. Harry headed for the dungeon stairs, padding down them quickly. At the bottom, the long corridor was empty.

Harry walked at usual speed to the potions classroom, and was a bit surprised to see Draco was not there, either. The door was open, Professor Gullwing seated at her desk looking over a pile of parchments with a quill poised in her hand. She glanced up, saw it was Harry, and turned back to her marking.

Harry slid into his now-customary seat and took out his notebook and a quill. If Draco did not appear in time for class, Harry would be without a book, and considering what happened the last time he borrowed a potions book from the room, he didn't want to again. Why did I chase after him, anyway? he thought to himself. What was I going to say?

But Malfoy slipped into his seat just moments before Gullwing closed the door. He seemed unperturbed, laying out his materials with deliberate movements, and pulling his hair back into a pony tail without looking up. Harry recognized the forced blank calm, though. He'd used it enough times himself to mask his anger.

That anger came to the surface when Heather, her prefect's badge seeming aggressively silver in the dim dungeon, appeared at the door. She had a scroll in her hand, which she presented to Professor Gullwing, and then stood waiting.

"Mr. Potter," Professor Gullwing said. "It would appear you are being transferred out of this class into Theory of Magic."

"Theory of Magic?" Harry repeated, even as he felt Malfoy clutch at the edge of his robe under the worktable.

"Yes, per order of the headmaster. Miss Whittington will accompany you to the classroom."

"Now?" Harry said.

"Yes, the class is taking place now, and you are to go there at once. Is there a problem?"

"No, ma'am," Harry said, not sure why he was now blushing, other than he felt stupid and she was speaking to him as if he were. "I'll just... be going, then." He spared a glance at Malfoy who was now staring miserably at the worktable, his face red, as well.

When he was in the corridor with Heather, he plied her with questions. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," she said. "All I know is Headmaster Black wants you in his class."

"His class?"

"Yes. It's the one subject he still teaches." She walked with her eyes ahead, not looking at Harry. "Apparently he's decided you need that more than potions."

"Are you in the class, too?"

"Of course not," she said, almost a hiss.

"So why does the headmaster seem to have it in for Dr.,. Malfoy?"

"Ask me some other time," she said, beginning to climb the stairs to the upper classrooms. She glanced at the portraits on the walls they were passing.

"Oh." Harry was silent for the rest of the walk to the Theory of Magic classroom, which was not far from the headmaster's office.

Heather knocked on the door when they arrived, and it opened seemingly of its own accord. She held out a hand encouraging him to go in, nodded to the headmaster, and then left. Harry scanned the room looking for a place to sit, as every eye in the room remained fixed on him. The door closed behind him and he jumped. It was a low-vaulted room with tall, narrow windows running its length.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter," said Phineas Nigellus Black, in one of the least welcoming voices Harry had ever heard. He pointed to an empty place in the second row of desks. "I've looked over your curriculum from your, ahem, former school and it is clear to me that your education is sorely lacking in the theoretical department." Harry took his seat with a blank expression on his face. He was quite sure his transfer had nothing to do with his education. "You will not need the final year of potions to proceed in a useful career, but you will need what I have to teach."

The silence after the headmaster finished speaking stretched on and Harry realized he was waiting for a reply. "Yes, sir," he said quickly.

The headmaster nodded curtly and turned to the blackboard behind him. He waved his wand to erase what had been written there, and then clasped his hands, wand still clutched in his right, behind his back. "Mr. Hennigan. Will you please enumerate for us the five component bases of successful spell generation? On the board, please."

A sandy-haired Hufflepuff got to his feet and approached the blackboard with obvious trepidation. The tip of his wand trembled as he raised it, and began lettering on the board. "Uh, number one, intention. Number two, precedent. Number three, linguistics. Number four..." He faltered under the beady-eyed stare of Black, who was standing a few feet from him, his hands still clasped behind his back, but his foot beginning to tap ominously. "F-f-four..." The boy's hand began to shake harder and he stared at the blackboard as if the answer might appear if he wished hard enough.

"Wand down, please," said the headmaster.

The boy put his wand down on the lip of the blackboard, and then placed his hand flat against the surface of the blackboard, his face turned away and his eyes closed. Harry could not fathom what he was doing. The boy held that pose for a few seconds, then just as he opened one eye to see what the headmaster was doing, Black rapped him hard, three times, on the knuckles.

"Mr. Hennigan. Fourteen inches of parchment on my desk by Wednesday on the five components."

"Yes, sir," the boy said, and nearly ran back to his desk, leaving his wand where it was.

Harry realized his mouth was hanging open and he closed it slowly.

Class went downhill from there.

***

Malfoy was not at lunch in the Great Hall, but he reappeared in Charms class. He said nothing to Harry about the headmaster, and Harry said nothing in return. It wasn't until that evening, in their room, as Harry worked on an essay for history of magic, that either of them mentioned it.

"So, how was 'theory of magic,'" Malfoy asked, his voice so thick with sarcasm that Harry had to remind himself this was the friendly Draco.

"Well, I never did learn the five components of spell generation, or whatever it was he was going on about," Harry said. "But at least I didn't get my knuckles rapped with a wand. Yet."

"I'm sorry Black's taking it out on you. That class is just his excuse to torture most of the hard cases in the school," Malfoy said, and Harry looked up to find the other boy sucking the end of his quill and staring at him. "He's just trying to make my life as miserable as possible."

"What do you mean? Why?"

Malfoy put the quill down on the table. Harry thought it funny that Malfoy sat with him here at the table rather than use the writing desk. "I told you. I got his grandson into a lot of trouble."

"I thought Slytherins were always in trouble," Harry said, though Malfoy didn't react to the joke. "Someone told me once... that my disregard for the rules would have made me a good Slytherin, you know."

Malfoy merely nodded, his eyes shadowed.

"Come on, Draco. I can tell you want to tell me about it." Harry put down his quill as well. "And you owe me since it's your fault I'm suffering through Black's class now. Just when I was starting to like Potions for the first time, too."

Malfoy stood up suddenly, and walked over to the cabinet where the butterbeer was kept. He pulled out a different bottle, and busied himself pouring two measures into glasses. Then he returned to the table and put one of the glasses in front of Harry. "Here. I hope you'll like this."

"What is it?" Harry asked, sniffing at it.

"Cassis liqueur. Made from the berries on my own family's land." He took a sip himself. "The Malfoy family is a very old wizarding family."

Harry was about to say "I know," but he realized it might be better not to interrupt. Instead he took a small sip himself. It was sweet, but it burned on the way down his throat in a stimulating and pleasant way.

"The house elves make it," he went on. "I'm not even sure how. We don't even open a cask of it until it's at least 25 years old." He swirled it in his glass. "So it's not as if I don't know the value in waiting for the right time. That patience can pay off."

Harry watched as Draco swept his hair back. The blond wizard took another sip, his tongue running for a moment along the rim of the glass. The movement was fascinating, and Harry remembered the feeling of that tongue, brushing his lips lightly.

His mouth itched with hunger for it. He blinked, aware that this was not a feeling he'd had before traveling to 1926, but then again, he'd had experiences here that he had not had before. He licked his own lip lightly and tasted cassis there.

"But it's hard to wait, Harry," Draco was saying. "When sometimes you don't know what is going to happen."

"You mean waiting for Regulus to come back?" Harry said, trying to follow the thread of Draco's statements.

He sat in the chair across from Harry again, his shoulders slumped and the glass held in his hands below the table where Harry could not see it. "I... I suppose," he said. He seemed both nervous and sad and Harry felt his usual compulsion to help any way he could. The same compulsion that drove him to chase after Draco this morning. Even if there wasn't anything he could do.

"What can I do to help?" Harry asked.

Draco's eyes angled up at that, though the rest of him didn't move, and then he dropped his gaze once more. "I don't want to get you into the same trouble I got Reg into."

"I told you, I'm good at trouble."

"You tempt me, Potter. You sorely tempt me." Draco stood up then and walked to the other side of the room. Harry wondered at Malfoy's sudden need to put more distance between them. Malfoy knocked back what remained in his glass and stood fidgeting. Harry watched him, unable to resist making comparisons between this Draco and the other he knew. This one's hair was considerably longer, and he wore it loose, which softened his features to an almost feminine degree. As if to match, his voice and manner toward Harry were also considerably less harsh. And yet. Would the Draco Harry knew have been like this without Lucius for a father or without Voldemort in his life?

Draco came closer then, walked up to the table and said "You've hardly touched your cassis." He picked up Harry's glass and swigged it back himself.

"I would've finished it, you know," Harry said, surprised and puzzled.

Draco's face broke into a wicked grin. "Just having you on. If you want some more, you're welcome to it."

"What's gotten into you, tonight?" Draco seemed to be changing direction more often than the Golden Snitch.

"I told you. I just want to make trouble." Draco went to the door. "You coming? I'm sure we can stir up some fun."

"Another game of Truth or Dare?" Harry asked, his mouth tingling again in memory.

"I think something with higher stakes," Malfoy said. "Say, how much do you need for the broom you want?"

"Er," Harry was taken aback by the sudden change of topic. "Goyle was telling me about the latest thing, running about twenty galleons, the Cleansweep..." He felt ridiculous saying it. He'd almost called it the "Cleansweep One," though of course in 1926 they hadn't yet begun to number their broom models. The Cleansweep Two wouldn't be out for several more years, if Harry remembered the facts in Quidditch Through the Ages right.

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. "Of course. My father helped front some of the money to Barnaby Ollerton to start that company. I daresay we might be able to get you one at a discount." He gestured vaguely at Harry. "Staying in to work on that essay, are you then?"

Harry had the distinct feeling now that Malfoy didn't want him to come along. "Um, yes. I suppose. Though perhaps I'll poke my head out a bit later."

Malfoy merely nodded and let himself out through the door.

Harry found himself shortly staring at his unfinished essay. The day had been so full of emotional ups and downs, he hardly knew where to start. Headmaster Black was antagonizing them both and Harry felt strangely protective of Malfoy about that. Malfoy was clearly upset, about Regulus and his grandfather both. Was that why he seemed to run so hot and cold? And Harry was still haunted by the feeling of Draco's lips on his, Draco's hands seizing him and throwing him over his lap.

There was no way around that fact. He kept thinking about it, while running his uninked quill over a blank piece of parchment in invisible curlicues.

Well, Harry thought, it's not as if I'm the first bloke to find a bloke attractive, am I? His heart hammered a bit at that thought, but he calmed it. Gay wizards couldn't be any less common than gay muggles, could they? Hmm. Harry thought then about Cho and Ginny. Was being gay really an all or nothing proposition? Maybe for muggles it was, but for wizards...?

He hadn't really ever had feelings for men or boys. But he was attracted to Draco, of that he was sure. When he thought about it that way, it didn't seem that confusing. Draco was the one person here--rather, now--that he was close to, the one person he cared about. And he had kissed him. Sort of. He ran his fingers over his lips again, thinking about it with his eyes closed.

It made perfect sense when he thought about it that way. What didn't make sense was how Draco kept coming close to saying something, or doing something, and then veering away at the last moment. Harry still didn't know what he was hiding. Maybe more than one thing.

A short time later, he did venture out to the Common Room but Draco was nowhere in sight. He talked brooms and Quidditch with Frost and some of the Slytherins hanging about by the fire for a bit, and then went to bed, wondering where Draco was for the second night in a row.
CHAPTER FIVE

Harry spent his study period the next day in the library reading up on time travel. The definitive work on the subject seemed to have been written by one Melisandra Fogg, one of the co-inventors of the time turner. He liked the thought that maybe Hermione was there in 1997, reading the same book, maybe even sitting at the same table, and he felt close to her all of a sudden. He would return--he had to. It was prophesized, wasn't it?

A crazy idea came to him. What if Hermione was reading this same book in the future? Could he send her a message through it? He dug a piece of parchment out of his bag. Would the geas prevent him from writing something that might taint the time line? And really, what would he tell Hermione that would be helpful?

He tried to imagine her in his place. What would make sense to her? In frustration, he banged his fist on the table, earning him some black looks from two Hufflepuffs across from him. He had just realized, Hermione wouldn't have any way to know that he had gone back in time. All they would know is that he had disappeared. They probably assumed that Voldemort had gotten him. They didn't have Snape to spy for them anymore; they wouldn't have any way of knowing what was happening in Voldemort's camp. And the last person to see him had been Vincent Crabbe.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, then set his quill to the paper anyway. The Ministry would find a way to return him to the future, and in the meantime, he decided to write his note anyway.

Dear Hermione,

It's 1926 when I am writing this.

I'm not sure how I got here,

but I expect it is some weirdness

about Hogwarts Castle.

Crabbe shoved me into an alcove

near the door to the potions

classroom, and I ended up going

back in time. Phineas Black is

the headmaster and the Ministry

of Magic is working on sending me

back. I mean, forward. I've been

here two weeks already though,

and no word.

Things are fine with me, otherwise.

I've made some friends.

Classes are going well--I might even

do well on my NEWTS.

I miss you and Ron and I hope you

find this, and that I get

back soon.

Love,

Harry

It did make him feel better to write the note. I will get back, he thought to himself. I couldn't be lucky enough to dodge Trelawney's damn prophecy completely. He folded the note, placed it into the book, and put the book back onto the shelf. There truly wasn't much more he could do.

Writing the note seemed to free Harry's mind from thinking about the future. He barely thought about Voldemort once the rest of the week. And by now he was used to Draco. He no longer expected every comment to be followed with an insult. In fact, it seemed like he could hardly remember what the other Draco sounded like, looked like. He remembered a petulant child, then a stubborn teen, one who seemed weak and almost pitiful at the end. This Draco, on the other hand, seemed a competent wizard, proud but wounded in some way Harry hadn't quite figured out.

The morning of Quidditch tryouts Harry was awakened by his curtains being thrown back and Draco speaking the simple words "It's here."

"What's here?" Harry struggled to grab his glasses and sit up at the same time. He finally got them on his face and looked down to see Draco sitting cross-legged on the rug, a long package wrapped in paper across his knees.

Harry clambered down and sat in front of him. "Draco..."

"Open it." Draco thrust the package, which was obviously a broom, into Harry's hands. Harry tore the paper off and then stared. The broom was beautiful, the handle a highly polished oak, stained almost black and varnished to a high gloss, the twigs charmed into a classic shape, the footrests brass and twisted into pleasing curlicues.

"But I didn't have enough yet..." Harry tried to say.

"Harry," Draco said. "I bought it for you. It's a gift."

"Draco, I can't..." But Harry's protests died in his mouth as he saw the hurt look in Draco's eyes. Harry changed tack. "Wow. This is amazing." He ran his hand down the handle. "Thank you."

"I want that House Cup," Draco said with a mock glare. "Are you nervous?"

"Not really," Harry said. Quidditch wasn't one of the things he ever had worries about.

"Oh." Draco looked around the room. "Still, do you fancy going down to the Great Hall or should we just eat here?"

"I, um..." Harry found it hard to speak when his brain was in the middle of trying to figure out Draco Malfoy. Harry wasn't nervous, but Draco was...? "Whatever you want."

Draco smiled and snapped his fingers. Two house elves with trays laden with food appeared at the table, set them down, and disappeared. "Come on, let's eat."

They went to the table and Harry began buttering a roll. "So, who else is trying out?"

"I'm not sure," Draco said, paying intense attention to the tangerine he was peeling.

"What do you mean? A Slytherin doesn't sneeze without you knowing about it. Who else? That bruiser from fifth year, Hickock? Hickman?"

"Um, I don't know. He might."

"You're a terrible liar." Harry speared a sausage on a fork and bit into it. "You know that, don't you?"

"If you say so." Malfoy did not meet his eyes.

"What about you? That's why you're being so nice, isn't it? Because you're going to try out, too?"

Malfoy just laughed. "I told you. No more Quidditch for me. I had to choose between that and dueling, and I chose dueling."

Harry pushed aside his memories of dueling to press the issue. "Seriously, Draco. What are you hiding from me? I really don't like it when people hide things from me."

That came out sharper than Harry intended, but before he could soften the statement Draco said "I know." He put down the peeled tangerine without eating any of it. For a moment Harry thought he was going to get up and walk away, but then he smiled, an impish grin. "You'll find out soon enough though, won't you? Now eat. But not too much or you'll be too heavy to fly."

"I... all right." There was no figuring Malfoy out. Harry gave up for the moment and enjoyed the food.

After a few moments, Draco spoke again. "How much do you want it?"

"Pardon?" Harry said, his cheek bulging with croissant.

"To get the Seeker position. How badly do you want it?" He was looking at Harry sidelong, as if staring at him straight out would hurt his eyes.

"Well, I know there's always a chance the Ministry are going to pop in at any second and send me back, but I can't really count on that, can I?" Harry took a gulp of pumpkin juice. "And I don't do things halfway."

"You want it."

"Yeah."

"Well, good luck." Draco got up then, and pulled on his robes to go outside. "I'll see you down at the pitch."

Harry finished eating and changed into some suitable flying clothes. He wondered what the weather was like outside--one of the drawbacks to the dungeon rooms.

As it turned out, it was a bright, crisp day outside. Early October wind blew his robes back but the sun was warm on his face. He carried the Cleansweep in his left hand as he made his way down to the grass. A couple of players were already flying some lazy laps on their brooms and a few students lounged in the stands to watch. Harry recognized Whittington as she swooped past him, the quaffle under her arm, and Frost in the stands.

The Slytherin team captain was a seventh year named Barnabas Carrow, a solid-looking fellow who played beater instead of keeper, he said, because his arms weren't long enough to make those spectacular saves they needed. He blew his whistle and the players flying about touched down in front of them. Harry stood in with them.

"All right then, first I'd just like to see everybody fly. Yes, you too Crabbe, old and new players alike. Follow Phillips here, and try to stay as close to him as you can."

Phillips was a lithe fifth year who had tied his long brown hair back to keep it from flying in his face while on his broom. He kicked off toward the goal posts and the group followed him. Harry started near the back of the group, getting the feel of the Cleansweep, but it was remarkably well charmed, very responsive to him. When Phillips began a zig zag pattern around the stands and through the goal posts, Harry discovered the broom's ability to make tight turns might have been even better than his Firebolt.

Phillips soon had them diving across the pitch, and Harry simply relished the feeling of wind in his hair as they accelerated.

Then came another whistle and they flew back to where Carrow waited. "Right then," he said, when the group had all touched down. "Chasers over here with Whittington," he pointed to his right, "Keepers, here," and he pointed to his left. "Beaters, with me."

Harry was surprised to find himself standing alone in the middle.

"Right then, Potter? You're our only Seeker candidate?"

"It looks that way."

Carrow crossed his arms as if annoyed by this turn of events. "Well, I still need to see if you can cut it. There's a snitch out there already, so why don't you just get on with trying to bring it back while I get the beaters started on some drills, eh?"

Harry kicked off without a word, feeling a bit put out. It wasn't that Carrow had insulted him, exactly, but was it Harry's fault that no one else had shown up? He didn't like being talked to that way, but then again, he reminded himself, this was the Slytherin Quidditch team. It was best to put the thoughts out of his head and concentrate on finding the snitch.

On a brilliant sunny day like this, the snitch should be shiny and bright, but on the other hand, the glint off other things could be distracting. More than once Harry veered toward a flash of something only to realize it was just glare off the newly painted goalposts or a metal bracket in the stands. The beaters had been selected and the players who did not make the cut were on their way back to the castle when Harry finally saw it. The chasers were now working on a drill, passing the quaffle back and forth, and Harry could see the snitch hovering just under Phillips' feet.

He dove toward them, trying to swing around so he would not disrupt the pattern of the drill, but the snitch suddenly took off toward the grass. Harry increased the angle of his dive and went after it. The chasers cheered him as he sped past and he couldn't help but smile. The snitch skittered along, skimming the grass itself then, toward the goalposts, and Harry leveled off and tried to get more speed out of his broom. But he was at his limit, and the Snitch and he moved at about the same pace.

He chased it back and forth across the pitch, keeping about five meters behind but never able to close the distance. He soon realized that the others had stopped their drills and were watching him, shouting encouragement. The snitch began an erratic flight, trying to shake him off, but he stuck right with it, spiraling up, then down, zigzagging over the grass and then shooting straight up in the air.

Harry climbed after it, followed it in a rainbow arc back toward the goalposts and then went into a dive straight down. Yes. He could put on a little more speed when going downward, and as they hurtled toward the ground the broom handle overtook the winged ball, and in another instant his hand snatched it out of the air. He pulled up on the broomhandle then, stressing the braking charms to their limit as the grass rushed up at him. He hit he ground with both feet and tumbled a rolled before coming to a full stop, the broom handle buried six inches into the turf.

He sat up and blinked, as the rest of the team came flying and running toward him.

Whittington reached him first, her hair windblown and half in her mouth as she spoke. "Are you all right, Potter?"

"I'm fine." Harry stood, as if to prove it, the wings of the snitch fluttering as it tried to escape his grip. "Bit of a hard landing, that's all. New broom."

"Well, what do you think Barnie?" Philips said to Carrow.

Carrow held out his hand for the snitch and Harry gave it to him. "Well, Potter, I've just got one thing to say." He deactivated the wings and put the snitch into his pocket. "No, two things. One, that was bloody brilliant. Two, welcome to the team."

Harry stuck around for the rest of the tryouts and when they were finished, the team headed up to the Great Hall together for lunch. Harry kept expecting to see Malfoy--after all, hadn't he said he would be down at the pitch?--but there was no sign of him.

He finally found him, down in the dungeon in their room, apparently studying. "Draco, it's gorgeous outside. We've got a couple of hours of daylight left. Let's go down to the lake."

Draco looked up fro his books, a sly look on his face. "I hear you won the Seeker's position."

"Well, there wasn't much competition..." Harry suddenly remembered Draco's nervousness from the morning. "You arranged it that way, didn't you."

"No, not really," Draco said, in an unconvincing tone.

"You didn't have to do that," Harry said, trying to find the edge of his anger, but it would not come into focus. "Not for me."

Draco looked down, then back at Harry with a smile on his face. "So, how's the new broom?"

Harry paused a moment before speaking. He could either let Draco change the subject, or he could press on with his beef, but as he wasn't really sure if he was angry or not, it seemed better to let it go. He decided to return to his original tack. "It's terrific. Come on, let's go outside and you can try it, too."

Draco sighed, "All right." An amused look stole across his face, as if he were pleased but slightly puzzled that Harry had taken charge for once.

They went out by the lake, and took turns flying. Draco turned some neat loops and Harry found himself trying them on his next go, and on it went until the wind got too chill in their ears. Harry had always felt his best while flying, as if his cares were left behind on the ground, as if who he was could not keep up with his flight. He took one last loop-de-loop in the setting sun and then headed back toward Draco. He swooped down, intending to come to a stop right in front of him, but again he overestimated the braking charm and stumbled a few feet, Draco catching him as they collided.

For a moment it seemed they would keep their balance, but then Draco gave way under Harry's weight and they fell into a tangle of robes. Harry's face was flushed from the wind and he panted, breathless from the acceleration of that last dive. He pressed his forehead against Malfoy's, without thinking, putting both hands behind that blond head, as he lowered his mouth and kissed him.

It wasn't a seductive, teasing Slytherin kiss like the one Draco had nearly given him on his first night. It was a bold, impulsive Gryffindor kiss, and Draco whimpered quietly under him, his tongue surging up to meet Harry's. Harry felt quite sure he had never wanted something more than his lips on Draco's just then.

But eventually he needed to breathe, really breathe, and he pulled back. Draco didn't seem to be able to speak, so Harry said "Thanks for the broom."

"My pleasure," Draco breathed in return.

He seemed about to say something else, but Harry did not want to give him the chance to change his mind or change the subject. "I've wanted to do this since Truth or Dare," Harry said, letting his fingers clutch Draco by the hair gently but firmly. He lowered his head again, this time tasting Draco's ragged breath as he brushed his mouth over his--once, twice, three times--until Draco was struggling to rise up and meet him. Harry let him, and was surprised to find himself rolled onto his own back, as Draco took charge. He devoured Harry's mouth, one hand holding Harry by the chin, the fingers of the other snaking into Harry's windblown hair.

Harry had never been kissed this way before, so aware of his partner's hunger and his own. Sometimes when he had kissed Ginny he had gotten lost in the kisses. Now he felt enraptured but aware every moment of what Draco was doing to him, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth, drawing Harry's out, his lips sliding against Harry's... Harry wasn't sure what made him open his eyes, but he opened them to find Draco doing the same.

Draco whispered. "You don't know what you've started, Potter."

"Why don't you show me then?"

Draco pressed his forehead to Harry's. "Not here." He scrambled up then, and looked around. They were the only ones on this shore of the lake, and he nodded to himself. "Let's go in." He held out a hand to help Harry up, then released him and picked up the Cleansweep. They climbed up to the castle together, neither one speaking.
CHAPTER SIX

As they went through the entrance hall, the sound of students gathering for dinner in the Great Hall echoed from the stone and the smell of something delicious wafted on the air. But the two young wizards took the stairs down to the dungeon without a word, without even meeting each other's eyes.

The instant they were on the other side of Draco's spell-locked door, Harry pushed him up against it with a kiss. Now that they were upright and not lying on the chilly bank of the lake, he could feel Draco's body move against his as they kissed. Harry ran his hands down Draco's sides, locking them in the small of Draco's back and pulling their hips together.

But Draco broke away. "Mister Potter. If you think I'm going to let you toss me on the rug like some fifth year, you're sorely mistaken."

"I just..."

"Plus, you're filthy." Draco raised his wand as well as his eyebrow, then flicked his wrist. The bathroom door swung open, and something flew from Draco's trunk into the room. "Go."

"Come with me." Harry reached for Draco's hand.

Draco shook his head slowly. "Patience, Potter. Patience."

"Fine." Harry took a step toward Draco though, closing the distance between them. "I'll wash. But it's Harry, okay?" And with that he stole another kiss from Draco's lips, then scurried into the bathroom.

The taps were already running with warm water, and Harry saw that what had flown into the room was a robe, a forest green robe, made out of some fine material--silk? satin?--Harry didn't know. There were bubbles in the water, scented with lavender. Harry placed his glasses on the washstand, slid out of his clothes and into the tub, the back of his mind marveling that Malfoy had managed it all with a single flick of the wand. He supposed one didn't become the prince of the Slytherins on good looks alone.

The bath was lovely, but Harry was impatient and didn't stay in long. There was a part of him that expected Draco would be gone when he emerged from the bathroom. Now that he thought over the past few weeks, he was sure that Draco had been on the verge of making a move more than once only to veer off at the last moment each time. Would he do so again? Harry belted the robe and ran his fingers through his hair. Drying charms always made it stick up worse than before, so he left it wet, took a deep breath, and went back into the main room.

Candles flickered everywhere, the spell windows showed the moon rising over the lake, and the usual table and chairs were replaced by two tuffets and some pillows with what Harry would have called a coffee table in the middle. But instead of coffee on the table, an array of delicious-smelling dishes stood. Draco was on his knees, pouring tea out of a silver pot into flower-shaped glasses. He looked up as Harry approached, indicating with his eyes Harry should sit on the tuffet opposite. The scent of mint and exotic spices made Harry's stomach growl. Perhaps there was good sense in having some food. Harry sank onto the cushion suddenly weak-kneed. The impulsive energy that had driven him to kiss Draco earlier had dissipated and if he was not going to--as Draco put it--toss him on the rug like some fifth year, then Harry felt unsure what to do.

For the moment, it seemed Draco was leading. "Soup first," he said, handing a small bowl to Harry with both hands. He picked up one identical and sipped from it.

"No spoons?"

"No spoons," Draco said with a prim glance over the top of his bowl. "In Morocco they don't use silverware."

"Oh." Harry's feeling of being out of his depth increased. But the soup was delicious, lentils perhaps? Salty and delicately spiced. He put his empty bowl down on the low table and Draco vanished it. "What's next?"

"You'll see." Draco unveiled the next dish from under a silver cover. To Harry it looked like a flat round pastry, dusted with sugar and cinnamon. Draco stabbed it deftly with two fingers; it crackled as he punctured it and steam began to pour out of it.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Here." Draco broke off a bit, held it gingerly in the palm of his hand for a moment as it cooled, then holding it in three fingers, lifted his hand toward Harry's mouth. Harry's tongue and lips took the morsel--that was sugar and cinnamon!--and he chewed it eagerly. It was like a pastry with a crispy crust, with meat and nuts inside, sweet and savory at once. Harry had never imagined such a thing, but off Draco's fingers it was the most delectable thing he'd ever tasted.

Draco watched him swallow, then broke off another piece and brought it to Harry's mouth. This time Harry caught him by the wrist, and after swallowing another bite of the pastry, he sucked the sugar from Draco's fingers. A tiny noise escaped Draco's throat and Harry looked up to see Draco's eyes had closed. He let go his wrist then and watched Draco take a shaky breath.

"Your turn," Harry breathed, reaching to break off a piece of the pastry. He came around the low table to Draco's side and held it just above Draco's mouth. Draco tipped his head back, coming up onto his knees from his cushion to reach the tidbit, taking it gently into his mouth. As he chewed Harry reached for more, not wanting to take his eyes off Draco, who had closed his eyes in sensual delight once again. He picked an almond out of the center of the pastry, sugar and cinnamon dusting his fingers, and then crawled up and over Draco who obligingly fell back onto the cushions. Harry lay his body along the length of Draco's, playing his sugary fingers along Draco's lips until Draco nipped the almond away from him. Then Harry kissed away the sugar, licking Draco's mouth and sliding on top of him, the smooth robes slipping over one another as if oiled.

"Insistent, aren't you?" Draco said upon freeing his mouth.

"Once I know what I want, yeah," Harry answered.

"There are four more courses," Draco pointed out. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Quite," Harry said, and kissed him more earnestly, his hands pressing Draco's shoulders down into the pile of cushions. "I think I'm ready for the next course." With that, he pushed Draco's robe from his shoulder, baring one nipple, and he bent his head to suckle.

Draco arched back, his cry caught in his throat the pleasure was so sharp. Harry trapped the nipple between his lips and worried it with his tongue, then repeated the treatment on the other. Draco seemed to like it very much, which encouraged Harry greatly.

He heard Draco's stomach rumble.

Harry remembered Draco eating little for breakfast. He disengaged his mouth and spoke. "Did you have lunch?"

Draco shook his head as if Harry's attentions had temporarily robbed him of speech.

Harry sat up and lay the platter with the pastry on it next to Draco's head. He then stretched out, his head propped on his elbow next to the plate, and broke off another piece for Draco to eat. He put another bite in his own mouth while Draco chewed.

"What is it called?" Harry asked, when they were nearly finished with it.

"B'stella," Draco replied, licking sugar from the corner of his mouth and looking much like a contented cat on his back.

"And what's the next course?" Harry asked, picking up Draco's wand to vanish the plate so he could lie closer to him.

"Tomato and cucumber sa..." Draco did not finish what he was saying as Harry slid his hand between Draco's legs and cupped his balls. He let his hand slide upward, Draco's erection fitting in the fleshy groove between Harry's thumb and forefinger. Harry wrapped his fingers gently around it and was gratified to hear Draco say simply "Harry..."

"Draco," he answered, aware of the shiver that saying that name gave him. No, he couldn't forget the Draco he used to know, some part of him still thought of the two Malfoys as an extension of the same person, but right now anything that added to the thrill of feeling Draco under his hand was just fine with Harry. He stroked Draco the way he usually stroked himself, with his forefinger crooked and his thumb aligned with the length of it. "What do you want next?"

In answer, Draco threw his arms around Harry's neck and shuddered against him. "Harry," he said again.

Harry kept his strokes languid and slow, enjoying the way Draco's trembling increased as his hand would near the head, and then subside as he would pull it back down to his balls. He stroked him until he lost track of time, until Draco's shudders were accompanied by soft moans. Harry began to wonder how hard it would be to bring Draco off this way. If he sped up or squeezed harder, would it be enough?

"Patience, Malfoy, patience," he said, mimicking Draco's earlier admonition.

"Harry," Draco whispered, seemingly unable to say anything else. "Harry, Harry..." He bucked in Harry's hands now, his spine undulating as his body sought its release. Draco's voice grew harsher and Harry understood that he was begging. He could almost hear a familiar voice saying "Malfoys do not beg!" but it was clear that they did. Even if he didn't say "please" or ask for what he wanted, there was no mistake. Harry felt a tingle run through his whole body at that thought, his hand tightening reflexively, and now he was stroking Malfoy in earnest, jerking his foreskin up and down. Harry was caught between two desires now, one to keep watching Draco's face as he came, the other to kiss him as he did.

He settled for watching, as Draco threw his head back, his face contorted and almost surprised-looking as he came in hot spurts over Harry's hand. Harry held on tightly as Draco rode out the spasms--he liked to keep his own hand on, after all--and kept his body snug against Draco's as the tension flowed away and the blond wizard seemed to melt into the pillows.

Neither of them spoke for long moments. Draco looked up into Harry's eyes and just stared.

"So, what's the next course?" Harry prompted.

Draco blinked and with a smirk seemed to come back to himself. "It was to be rabbit on cous cous, but I think it will have to be you."

Harry grinned.

"But first," Draco picked up his wand, solemnly performed a quick cleaning charm, and then reared up on his knees. He pointed the wand at Harry then, as he reached for a glass of mint tea, drained it, and set it back on the table.

Harry looked at the wand curiously. Wizards used magic for everything, so why would sex be any different? But Harry didn't know what Draco might do, with or without the wand for that matter. He himself had merely improvised and been pleased with the result. He stayed still, propped on one arm on the pillows and watching Draco expectantly.

Draco flicked the wand to the right, and the belt of Harry's robe untied, then to the left and the flap of the robe flew open. Draco now drew his wand slowly back to the right, and the other side of the robe slid back inch by inch to reveal all of Harry. Harry gasped at the feeling of the cloth sliding over his erection, then the open air.

"Ah," Draco said. "As I remembered it from that day in the headmaster's office."

The next thing Harry felt was a sensation like warm oil was being poured over him, starting at the top of his head and creeping down his skin. It was clearly some kind of spell, Draco whispering the incantation as he moved his wand in lazy circles. When the sensation reached Harry's nipples he arched and gasped, beginning to shudder in anticipation of what it would feel like when it reached a bit lower.

Harry would have thought he could not get harder, but as the spell wrapped itself around his balls and worked its way to the tip, his cock stood up straight as a broomhandle and he felt as though his heart were beating down there, not in his chest. His eyes and mouth were wide open. He suddenly wanted to grab Draco and rub every inch of his skin against Draco's skin, Draco's robe, anything. He moved to sit up, to reach for the other wizard, but found himself thrown back into the pillows by an invisible force.

Draco shook his head. "No no. My turn now," he said, in a voice Harry would have called malicious it was so full of hunger, had it not been for the obvious context. Draco spoke another word and the belt of Harry's robe snaked up his arms and wound his wrists together above his head. Harry couldn't see what the belt was attached to, if anything, but when he tugged, he could not move them. He fought down a sudden surge of involuntary panic, but Malfoy--no, Draco--was kneeling by him now, whispering "Shhh, shhh." And lowering his mouth to Harry's.

It was like that first kiss, that first not-kiss, when Draco, cradling his head in his hands, played his breath over Harry's lips, but did not completely close the distance between them. Then Draco withdrew, and Harry whimpered, a sudden flash of the exquisite torture that lay ahead for him coming to his mind. His masturbating of Draco hardly seemed like teasing in comparison. The spell made Harry's skin feel electrified, and he rubbed his back against the cushions and moaned.

Then he felt a brush under his chin, at his throat, something soft. He opened his eyes to find Draco holding a feather in his hand. Not one of their plain workaday quills, but one of the fancy ones with long, soft tendrils of feather. Draco dusted it over Harry's nipples and Harry cried out. It felt so good, and yet, not good enough, the touch so light his nerves screamed for something more.

It was like making love with a ghost, as Draco plied the feather up and down Harry's torso, down his taut stomach, along his ribs and up under his bound arms. Harry's moans became more frantic as time went on and Draco ran the feather down his legs, along the inside of his thighs.

Then he put he feather down, and picked up a napkin from the table. This he started between Harry's legs and he drew it upward, toward Harry's head, so that the cloth dragged over Harry's erection.

"Draco," Harry heard himself say. He recognized that tone--it was the same one with which Draco had spoken his name earlier. The cloth made another round. "Draco!"

Draco's smile blossomed slowly on his face, as he bent his head toward Harry's crotch. He puckered his lips, took a deep breath, and then blew.

"Draco!" Harry nearly shouted in desperation as the air rushed over his skin, setting off a chain of teasing sensations all over his body.

"Do you want something harder?" Harry jumped at the sound of Draco's voice at his ear.

Harry nodded.

"I said, do you want something harder?" Draco repeated.

"Yes, please," Harry breathed. Then he moaned as he felt Draco's hands on him, turning him over onto his stomach and pushing the robe aside. Draco ran his hands down Harry's back, and Harry imagined he must feel the way a cat feels when being petted. Draco lengthened his strokes, down Harry's back and over his buttocks, until he settled on just rubbing the buttocks in slow circles. Harry bit his lip, the memory of being spanked over Draco's lap coming to him. He didn't know how a spanking would feel with Draco's skin-sensitivity spell but he felt sure it would be good. His face flushed as he realized that was exactly what Draco meant when he had said "something harder."

The first blow fell then and Harry jerked against the pillows, an absolute explosion of pleasure spreading over him. Malfoy did it again and Harry breathed deeply, the sensation resonating like a gong through him. The blows came faster now, rhythmic, and Harry thrust into the pillows under him in time with the beats. The entire world focused down to just his skin, where Draco touched him, and where his cock touched the fabric.

"Draco," he said, surprised at the gulping quality of his voice, "Draco, I'm going to come..."

Draco's voice was in his ear. "Do you want to?"

"Yes!" Harry hissed. It felt like a storm was raging inside him and he long to let it loose.

"Are you sure? You wouldn't rather wait?"

"Draco, please..."

"Happy to oblige," Draco said, and switched to whipping Harry across the buttocks with his wand. One, two, three--that was all it took and Harry cried out as he came into the mass of pillows under him, then went limp.

The skin sensitivity spell seemed to dissipate with Harry's orgasm, and Draco freed Harry's hands with a flick of his wand, then gathered Harry into his arms.

As he rolled over, Harry was surprised to find his face wet with tears. "Whoa," he said, wiping at them.

"Intense?" Draco said, retrieving a glass of the mint tea for Harry and holding it for him to sip.

"Yeah." Harry gulped down the sweet tea and looked up into Draco's face. "You have to teach me that spell."

"Gladly..." Draco began, but whatever more he had been about to say was drown out by someone banging on the door. He stiffened.

"Perhaps they'll go away," Harry teased, but the smile was gone from Draco's face and he was staring intently at the door.

"Potter." Draco's whisper was urgent. "You know this has to be kept secret, right?"

"Um..." Harry blinked. He hadn't even thought about it.

"Get in the bathroom. Run the water." Draco hurried to get up now, the pounding on the door becoming more insistent. He took a deep breath as he stood and with three sweeping flicks of his wand the entire Moroccan dinner set up vanished, the usual table and chairs returned, and a full set of robes wrapped themselves around him.

Harry closed the bathroom door behind him and ran the taps in the sink. His wrists were red where he had tugged against his bonds without realizing it and he was in need of another bath or cleaning charm. The thought that for an hour? two? he had not even thought about where his wand was jolted him a bit. It was here, in the bathroom, in the robes he had let crumple to the floor earlier. He drew it out now and pressed his ear to the door, the tip of his wand touching the wood, also.

The eavesdropping spell worked well enough that he could make out Whittington's voice. "I don't know what he wants. Go find out for yourself."

"On a Saturday?" came Draco's outraged reply.

"Perhaps if you'd been at dinner he would have talked to you then." Was it Harry's imagination or did she sound suspicious?

The next thing Harry heard was a door slamming. He opened the bathroom door cautiously, but Draco and Heather were gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN

Harry washed up and then went out to the Common Room. It was just too weird that all trace of what Malfoy and he had done was gone, and it saddened him to look at the space where the pillows and pastry and silver trays had been. Draco's voice, fearful, urgent, telling him to keep it a secret rang in his ears. Hadn't Draco kissed him in front of the entire House the first night he arrived? Then again, what had he said, something about it being just a game? Harry wondered suddenly if anyone had seen them, there by the lake. Probably not--Draco would have said something otherwise. Harry didn't understand it, but he knew about treading carefully and keeping secrets.

He ended up in a long game of Exploding Snap with Barnie and Frost. The 1926 rules were slightly different from what Harry was used to but he held his own. And for once they chose a game they didn't play for money or for public humiliation. Frost seemed a bit put out whenever Harry won a round, but Barnie shrugged him off.

When they finished, Harry noticed that most of the other students had already gone off to bed. Barnie and Frost took off as well, and Harry moved over to the fire and stared into it for a while. His head turned as the entrance door opened almost before he realized he was looking, but it was Anisette. She smiled at him, red-faced, and put her hand over her mouth as she giggled and scurried off to her room. Harry guessed she'd met up with a student from another house. He barely acknowledged her, though. It was close to midnight, and he was beginning to wonder, just what did LeStrange want with Draco, anyway?

He had started to doze off in the chair when the door creaked open again. "Draco!"

Draco staggered in, his hair loose and falling in his eyes.

Harry rushed over to him. He didn't smell of firewhisky, but he could hardly stay upright. Harry put an arm around him and Draco leaned against him. "Harry..." he said, his voice a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"In the Common Room?"

"Oh, I..." He looked around and frowned.

"Let's go to the room," Harry suggested. He had to practically drag Draco down the hall, and once in the room, had to use a levitation charm to lift him into his bed. He put his hand on Draco's forehead, though he wasn't sure why other than that was what Madam Pomfrey always did whenever someone showed up in the hospital wing. As far as he could tell, Draco's forehead felt normal.

"Do you want some water?" Harry asked.

"Just tired," Draco replied, rolling onto his side toward Harry. "Why am I so tired?"

"Draco, where have you been? What have you been doing?"

Draco blinked, his long blond lashes fluttering. "I don't know."

Harry summoned a chair and sat by the bed. "Whittington came in, remember? She said LeStrange wanted to see you. You seemed put out that he was asking for you on a Saturday."

Draco lifted his head for a moment, frowning. "That doesn't make sense."

"That's what happened, Dray. I'm not making it up."

Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry's creation of a nickname. "Where's my wand?"

"You didn't bring it with you?"

"I... I don't remember." He held out his hand and said "Accio." The wand came flying from the table where it had been sitting the entire time and Draco caught it neatly. He was panting with effort. "Am I going crazy?"

"This isn't the first time this has happened," Harry said.

Draco nodded, as if he had suspicions, too. "Harry," Draco said wearily. "Are you a Legilimens?"

"Um," Harry blushed as he thought about the subject, but said "I don't think I'm very good at it, but I know how to do it."

"Then do it. If I've been Obliviated, you'll find out."

"Are you sure?" Harry drew his wand out of his robe.

Draco looked Harry in the eye. "I trust you."

"Okay." Harry drew a breath, and then pointed his wand at Draco's head. "Legilimens!"

A stream of Draco's memories flowed into Harry's mind. Harry searched for Whittington first--yes, here she was, knocking on the door. Harry was startled by the realization that what Draco was feeling most at that moment was not the annoyance heard in his voice, but guilt.

Guilt? Harry couldn't help it. He didn't understand why Draco would feel guilty and he wanted to know. The spell drilled down into Draco's memories and presented Harry with a scene. The place was Draco's room, and Draco was arguing with a tall thin wizard with shoulder length black hair.

"I don't have any choice," the wizard was saying.

"I know that," Draco was sitting on the bed, looking miserable. "I just wish I could do something, Reg."

Regulus Black came and took Draco's hands in his. "You can. I'll be back. Wait for me."

"I will."

They kissed and Harry suddenly did not want to see any more of this memory. He felt a stab of something--jealousy?--but Draco's guilt was suddenly his own, and he didn't want to face that. No, this is wrong...

And that was that. He suddenly found himself standing by Draco's bed, staring at him.

Draco looked away.

"I... I didn't mean..." Harry began. "That wasn't the memory I ... I've never tried legilimency like this before and that wasn't..."

Draco rolled away from him.

"Draco." Harry's brain was beginning to spin. "If I had known, I never would have... that is, I didn't know you..."

"Please don't say any more," Draco said, but covered his ears as he curled into a ball.

But seeing Draco's back turned to him made Harry angry. He pulled on Draco's shoulder, expecting resistance. But Draco's head turned toward him, and he was startled by the fire burning in those eyes. "Look," Harry pressed on, but suddenly wasn't sure what it was he wanted to say. "I think you owe me an explanation."

Draco stared, the strange light in his eyes flaring, but he said nothing.

Harry stared back. "At least tell me whether I should feel guilty or not."

"What?" Draco blinked and his face snapped back to normal. "What?"

"About Regulus Black." Harry saw pain flicker across Draco's face as he said his name. "If I had known you were... I mean, if ..."

"Harry..." Draco's voice cracked and his face crumpled. "Please just hold me."

Harry felt his anger evaporate as Draco began to tremble.

"Harry, please," Draco said through clenched teeth, clearly willing himself not to cry.

Harry nodded, put his glasses on the nightstand, and climbed onto the bed next to him. Draco rolled over and Harry spooned him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tightly. Draco shook like he was cold, and Harry didn't know if that was more aftereffects of whatever had happened earlier in the night, or if he was fighting sobs. He buried his face in the long gold silk of Draco's hair and let a fierce sense of protectiveness wash over him.

They lay like that a long time, until Draco's tremors subsided and he fell into a deep sleep. Harry held on. A part of him said he should get in his own bed, but he didn't. He lay there just breathing in Draco's scent. He wanted to untangle the mystery, to think over all he had done and learned in the last day, but the quiet pace of Draco's breathing lulled him, and soon Harry was asleep, too.

When he woke, it was the middle of the night. He was lying on his back, one arm flung over his head, Draco's head tucked onto his shoulder with one arm thrown over Harry's chest. They were both still in their clothes. Harry opened his eyes and blinked, the room softly illuminated by the moonlight in the spelled windows. He felt Draco stir, and the weight of his head lifted.

"Harry?" Draco asked.

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

"For what?" Harry felt his heart beat harder as Draco lay his head on his chest.

"For not running away. For trying to help."

"I want to help you, Dray." Harry reached up with one hand and stroked Draco's hair. "Something's not right here and I want to fix it."

Draco was silent a moment. Then he said "Some things cannot be fixed."

"What do you mean?"

But Draco did not answer, only burrowed closer to Harry. "You're one of the most powerful wizards I've ever met," Draco said then.

"I am?"

"Yes. No one's ever beaten me at tug of war, you know. No one. And I don't know if you noticed, but you cracked a flagstone."

"I what?"

"When you came earlier. The stone under us cracked right down the middle." Draco nuzzled Harry.

"You're sure it wasn't like that already?"

"I'm sure." Draco propped himself up on one elbow. "I take it that sort of thing has never happened to you before."

Harry felt himself blushing in the dark. "Well, I never, um... you're the first person to make me come other than me."

Again, the sound of Draco breathing while Harry wondered what he was thinking. Then words--"I wondered..."--which left Harry wondering even more. "You don't believe it, do you?"

"I..." People had been telling Harry all his life that he was powerful. But he realized that he had never quite believed them.

"Come on." Draco illuminated the room with a spell and Harry shielded his eyes for a moment before slipping his glasses back on. "Look at this." Draco slid from the bed and knelt on a piece of the floor just to the side of the table. He ran his fingers along a jagged crack in the stone.

Harry knelt beside him. "Wow." Then he looked up. "Um, Dray...?"

Draco followed his eyes upward and saw what had drawn Harry's attention. In the ceiling stone directly overhead there was a star-shaped web of cracks. Harry picked his wand up from the table, pointed it at the stone and said "Reparo." The cracks disappeared. He looked down at the one on the floor. "Want me to do that one, too?"

Draco met his eyes, his fingers still gripping the edge of the crack. "I'd rather like to keep this one."

Something about the tone of Draco's voice made Harry's stomach drop and his throat tighten.

Draco stood and slid an arm around Harry's waist. "All right, Harry?"

Harry swallowed.

Draco turned so that their foreheads touched. "Harry?" he breathed as their lips came together. And all the questions Harry had about Regulus Black, and Gauis LeStrange, and Draco Malfoy, were suddenly distant and out of reach as he felt plunged into Draco's kiss, submerged blissfully by it. Harry let himself float for long minutes, their lips moving and touching, his tongue darting out and drawing a gasp from Draco, drawing Harry's hunger to the surface.

Harry gripped Draco by the upper arms then, shaking him slightly to make him look up. "I want you."

"I'm glad," Draco answered, and moved to kiss him again.

Harry held him fast, trying to remember what it was he had been trying to say. "I want you," he repeated. "But I need to know if it's okay. I don't want to..."

"Hurt me?"

"Break any promises."

Draco's trembling of earlier returned. "I need you, Harry. Merlin and Morgana help me, but I need you. Don't deprive me, now." And Draco's hands were sliding down Harry's back, over his hips, and tugging at his trousers. "Please, Harry," he said, desperation making his voice crack.

No one had ever spoken to Harry that way before and he found it difficult--no, impossible--to resist. There was some honor-bound part of him still trying to say something about Regulus Black, but his heart was pointing out that it was Draco here, not Regulus, at this moment, who needed his help. Who needed him.

He crushed Draco's mouth with his own, then, feeling Draco's back muscles go liquid under his hands, his back bending like a sapling in a spring wind. Harry set his glasses aside, then summoned the duvet from his bed and lay Draco down upon it. Draco was wearing a white linen shirt, a bit wrinkled now that he had slept in it, closed with a dozen tiny pearl buttons. Harry lay down along Draco's body and picked at the top button until it opened.

"I could teach you a charm for that..." Draco began, but Harry silenced him with a finger on his lips.

"Let me do it my way," Harry said, undoing another button and exposing the tip of Draco's collarbone. He lowered his head and worked his tongue in the tender hollow under Draco's Adam's Apple. Then another button, and Harry let his tongue and mouth explore lower. Draco's skin was smooth, the fine blond hairs that covered him barely noticeable compared with the silken texture of his skin. Harry soon had enough buttons undone to nuzzle the shirt aside from Draco's right nipple. He sucked at it experimentally, remembering how Draco had arched when he had squeezed it between his lips and flicked it with his tongue earlier. He sucked a bit harder this time and was rewarded with spasmodic clutching from Draco, one hand deep in Harry's hair, the other clutching the small of Harry's back.

Harry let his teeth graze the nipple then and heard Draco moan in obvious pleasure. He let a hand stray over the linen, finding Draco's other nipple and flicking it with his fingernail as he tugged gingerly with his teeth on the one in his mouth. Draco's spine reversed direction, and he arched back, thrusting the nub of flesh into Harry's mouth.

Harry repeated the treatment on the other nipple while easing Draco's shirt out of his trousers. Draco hissed as Harry's hand strayed lower, his palm finding Draco's erection easily and rubbing it in slow circles.

"Harder," Draco whispered, and at first Harry though he was referring to the pressure of Harry's hand on his cock. But no. "Bite harder. Please?"

Harry obliged, tightening his jaw for a brief moment and feeling Draco's cock leap under his fingers in answer. "Wow," he said, his lips still against Draco's skin. He pushed Draco's shirt from his shoulders, then went back to work, one nipple in his mouth, the other between his fingers, while Draco's cock lay forgotten for the moment. Harry experimented with his bites, using his canine tooth once, tugging upward while biting, sucking while biting, pinching the other nipple at the same time as biting, and so on, until Draco's panting and writhing seemed to be leveling off.

"Merlin's beard, Harry," Draco whispered. "If you keep that up I might..."

"Not yet," Harry said, his hands working on Malfoy's trousers now. Soon Draco was naked on the coverlet, and Harry ran his hands over Draco's silken skin, down his ribs, along his back and thighs, touching him everywhere but his straining cock. He was drawn to an oval mark on Draco's shoulder. "Did I bite you before?"

"Not that I remember, why?" Draco asked.

Harry traced the mark with his fingers and Draco shivered under the touch. "Nothing." He began laying a line of kisses down Draco's spine while pinching Draco's nipples. When he reached his tailbone, he let his tongue explore the bone there. He was just considering whether he should spank Draco next or what when Draco's voice reached him.

"Harry."

"Yes, Dray."

"I want you inside me." Malfoys do not beg.

Harry lay down on top of him, still fully clothed, and nibbled his ear. "Are you sure?" Draco stiffened with what felt like a touch of anger and Harry added "I mean, I've never done that before."

The stiffness disappeared and Draco said "I'm sure."

"I don't want to hurt you."

Draco's fingers clawed the duvet. "I like to be hurt," he whispered.

"What?"

"If you're nervous, I know a spell that might help." Draco glanced over his shoulder at Harry. "Unless you don't want to use magic."

Harry sat back on his heels. "What's the spell?"

"Use legilimency while you're doing it. That way you won't be afraid you're hurting me and don't know it." Draco rolled onto his back and reached for him. "Please, Harry."

Malfoys don't beg? Harry picked up his wand, then put it down again and shucked off his clothes. His own cock had been quivering for attention for some time now, and the thought that he could sheathe himself in Draco made him tingle to his roots.

"Go on," Draco said, as Harry hesitated. "Please, Harry, please!"

Harry picked up his wand, cast the spell, and looked into Draco's eyes. His own desire leapt to a higher level when it touched Draco's, and he gasped. He reached down with his free hand and tweaked Draco's nipple, and felt the desire flare ever higher. Keeping his wand curled in his other three fingers, he used his thumb and forefinger to roll Draco's left nipple while doing the same with his other hand to the right. Draco closed his eyes, but the spell continued, unbroken, and Harry knew now what Draco had meant about almost being able to come from the stimulation. In fact, he was now sure Draco had spoken the truth. As he pressed a fingernail into each nipple, he knew it was possible to make Draco come this way, without ever laying a hand on his prick.

Draco's mouth engulfed Harry's own cock then, and then he licked his hand with saliva from deep in his throat and ran that up and down Harry's cock, too. His eyes met Harry's and Harry could read his intentions plain and clear.

Harry pushed Draco back on the duvet and then insinuated his index finder into Draco's mouth. Draco whimpered, but laved the finger well, giving Harry a clear picture of it and clenching his buttocks in anticipation. Harry slid the wet finger down to Draco's anus, teasing it gently and then slipping in to the first knuckle. Yes. He could feel the ripple of pleasure run through Draco's body, read the approval and lust in Draco's mind.

And impatience. Harry imitated what Draco had done, slicking his cock again with thick saliva, and then pressing the head against Draco's opening. Draco's eyes were open again, and they stared into each other, Harry guided more by the sensations he was reading from Draco than from his own body. Impatience, he wanted it so much--he felt Draco's heels wrap around his back insistently.

Harry pressed forward, startled by what he was reading, feeling--the sensation on Draco's part was pain, wasn't it? But Draco didn't think of it that way, not judging by the craving Harry could taste, nor the intense relief and pleasure that washed through Draco as he buried himself as deep as he could go.

"Harder," Draco said, or thought, Harry wasn't sure, and Harry replied: "I think I've heard that before." His palms settled against the bones of Draco's hips, he began to thrust. Any qualms he might have had about how hard Draco really wanted it were dispelled by the intensity of the overwhelmingly positive reaction he received. The feedback loop of Draco's sensations added to his own made Harry fuck all the harder, and on it went, he didn't know how long. Long enough for his arms to start to tire.

Harry touched his forehead to Draco's then, letting his hands rove over Draco's skin and settling his fingers on his nipples once again. He couldn't get as much thrust in this position, but he wanted to see what it would feel like... he gave Draco's nipples a cruel pinch with his fingernails and Draco writhed underneath him, Draco's cock trapped between their two bellies twitching with new urgency. Harry rocked his hips, his own breath squeezed, it felt, by the tightening in every part of Draco. Yes, so close. His fingertips worried Draco's nipples and he gripped them again, flicking, rolling, squeezing, pinching hard...

Draco bucked as he came, his cock thrusting against Harry's stomach as he clenched hard, sending Harry into orgasmic spasms as well. Harry felt certain that if he were reading Draco's mind when he came, he could have come without being touched. As it was he was still balls deep in Draco, which was even better, and he wrapped both arms around Draco's now sweaty torso as they rode out the aftershocks.

It felt like a long time before their bodies finally settled, and Harry withdrew from Draco physically and mentally, though they remained in an embrace on the coverlet. Harry was surprised to find his wand was no longer in his hand. He hadn't remember dropping it. How had he maintained the legilimency, then? He felt around for it--there it was, half under Draco's back--summoned some pillows to prop their heads up with, and then lay back, wondering.

"We could just get back in bed," Draco pointed out with a yawn.

"Dray, what do you know about wandless magic?" Harry held up his wand and looked at it, even as Draco settled into the crook of his shoulder.

"Ah, see, you do need old Black's class after all," he teased.

"I just... I mean, once I dropped my wand, shouldn't the spell have been broken?"

"You're assuming you needed your wand to do it in the first place. If I had been resisting, that would probably be true. But I wasn't resisting."

"Oh." Harry realized he had been meaning to ask about this already. "And you summoned your wand..."

"A very handy talent, since if one needs a wand to summon things, but the thing one wants to summon is one's wand..." Draco lifted his free hand, the one that wasn't sandwiched between their bodies, and said "Accio!" His wand flew directly into his hand from the bedside table. "They taught us that one last year in Defensive Magic. Or tried to."

"Tried to?"

"Well, I was the only one who could do it consistently. I suppose if everyone could, then expelliarmus wouldn't be that useful." Draco looked up at the spell windows. "It'll be dawn soon."

Harry stifled a groan. "Will we be missed at breakfast?"

Draco was silent. "I... It's not uncommon for me to miss breakfast anyway."

"So it won't look suspicious if we don't emerge until later?" Harry tightened his hold on Draco. "I remember what you said, about keeping your secret."

"My secret?" Draco arched an eyebrow. "Harry, it's your secret, too."

"I..." Harry hadn't thought of it that way and he said so. "I guess there's part of me that still thinks I won't be here that long." And he felt a pang when he said that.

Draco did too, and hugged him harder. "Hardly seems fair, does it."

"Dray..."

"I survived them taking Reg away, I can survive you, too," Draco tried to joke, but he sounded miserable. "It would have to end anyway," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Even if you don't go back. We can't keep it a secret forever. We'll both leave Hogwarts at the end of the year. I'll probably be married to some pretty witch from the continent by the time I am twenty."

Harry lay stunned. "I can't believe you can just joke about it like that."

Draco sighed. "Before they put the geas on you, you told me you knew a Draco Malfoy in your time, too."

Harry nodded.

Draco pulled the loose half of the duvet over them. "That probably means I'm fathering an heir to carry on the Malfoy line. And it's not like I haven't been told my whole life that it's expected of me." He shivered and Harry suspected it had little to do with the chill on the dungeon floor. "There really aren't any options for me."

Harry wanted to tell Draco that in the future there would be openly gay wizards and Muggles alike, though they weren't universally accepted, but the geas choked him. "Damn geas," he finally said. "There are things I'd tell you, you know."

"I know." Draco shifted his weight next to Harry. "But one thing at a time. The coverlet is nice, Harry, but the bed is better."

"I'll be sure to put a pea under your mattress," Harry said, as he got to his feet.

"Pardon?"

"Muggle joke," Harry said. "Er..." He glanced from one bed to the other.

"If you don't get in with me, I'll hex you," Draco said, twirling his wand. He cast a quick cleaning charm on both of them and then slid naked between the sheets, holding the bedclothes up for Harry to slip in beside him.

Harry obliged, putting his wand next to Draco's on the side table. That reminded him of something else. He blinked at the blurry parts of the room-- everything that wasn't within arms reach. "Accio glasses," he said, and held out his hand. His glasses flew into his palm. "Wow, that is bloody brilliant." He set them next to the wands and burrowed under the covers with Draco.

"I told you you're the most powerful wizard I've ever met," Draco said, as he drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT

As if Draco's warning to him had not been enough, fate handed Harry one more reminder the very next day. A Ravenclaw prefect named Gorman was found badly injured in the fifth floor bathroom and the rumor had it that it was because "he was one of those." Harry could almost hear it in Uncle Vernon's vitriolic tones. Gorman spent the night in the infirmary, and the next day left Hogwarts completely.

Harry was scandalized. "The didn'tt even trying to find out who did it," he complained to Draco that night in their room.

Draco sighed, trying to point out what harry should have known. "Don't you think Gorman knew who did it? He almost certainly did."

Harry looked shocked, slamming his textbook shut. "Do you know who did it?"

"What makes you think I'd know that," Draco said, his voice as cool as Harry's was hot.

"I just figured you know everything about what goes on in your...fief."

"And what makes you think it was a Slytherin?" Draco pressed his fingers to his forehead, then gently mocked, "Oh, I forgot. You were raised Gryffindor." Draco might as well have said "raised by wolves in the wild."

He went on. "Let me see. It couldn't have been a Hufflepuff, they're too nice. It couldn't have been a Gryffindor, they're too noble-hearted. And it couldn't have been a Ravenclaw, they're too smart to do something like that. So that leaves us, does it?"

Harry didn't like hearing it that way, but truth be told there was a part of him that believed it. "Sorry," he said, his anger cooling a bit. "I didn't mean..."

"It's all right, Harry. But I think it probably was someone from his own house. Terrible as that might sound." Draco flipped open his own textbook as away of saying the matter was closed, but then he spoke again. "You see I wasn't kidding when I said we have to be careful."

"We don't even know what really happened..." Harry tried to argue.

"That doesn't matter, Harry. Just the fact that everyone believes the reason he got attacked was because he's a pouf ought to tell you enough."

Harry nodded. "I still don't like it. I don't like hiding and I... don't like injustice."

Draco nodded back. "I know. But prudence trumps ... heroism, all right?"

"All right."

Without discussing it again, Harry and Draco settled into a sort of routine. They no longer always sat together at meals in the Great Hall, Harry often sitting with Whittington, Carrow, and Phillips to talk Quidditch strategy as the match against Gryffindor was coming up. In the evenings, Harry was often at Quidditch practice, and once a week Draco went to a meeting of the Dueling Club. But every time Draco's spell-locked door closed behind them, the first thing Harry did was push Draco up against the door and kiss him fiercely. Sometimes what followed was studying, sometimes not. Harry felt he could concentrate better after getting off, anyway.

And he was certainly sleeping better than he had in his entire life. His scar never throbbed, he had no nightmares, and most nights Draco climbed into bed with him and slept curled against his side. The blond wizard looked younger then; the arch arrogance that so often shaped his features drained away and Harry enjoyed just looking at him.

It was times like those that Harry made plans. He hadn't forgotten about Draco's missing memories nor the unresolved issues about Regulus Black, even though Draco acted as though he had. What did Draco's missing memories have to do with Professor LeStrange? Harry's current plan was to follow Draco while wearing his invisibility cloak the next time Lestrange asked for him. He hadn't told Draco about the idea yet, though. And as for Regulus, Harry waited for Draco to say something first.

Everything was quite good in Harry's life then, except for the headmaster's class. Draco had been right, "Theory of Magic" seemed populated only by students Phineas Black considered malcontents or discipline problems of some kind. And no student was able to completely escape torment in the class, no matter how studious he or she might try to be, though the worst punishments were reserved for the more uppity spirits. For talking out of turn, Timothy Frost spent almost an entire double period with his mouth magically sealed shut. That might not have been so bad except for the live newt. Harry wasn't sure if Frost's tongue had been transfigured into the newt or if it came from somewhere else. Either way, Frost was still retching a half hour after class ended and the hex lifted.

It was only a matter of time before Harry himself came under the headmaster's eye. The most annoying thing was that Harry would have otherwise found the subject fascinating. Having been raised by Muggles, there were so many things about magic that other wizards took for granted that Harry had never even thought about. How to create new spells, wand vibration and aura, cooperative magic, cultural variations in spellcasting, and on and on. The textbook, which he had to purchase, was written in an obscure fashion, but he found it worth struggling through. The class, though, was another story.

"Mr. Potter," said Phineas Nigellus Black. "Give me an example of wandless magic."

Harry looked up from the textbook, which he had been drawn into reading while Shane Hennigan had been put through his paces at the blackboard once again. "Yes, sir," Harry answered automatically as he tried to think of an example. "Apparition?"

"Is that a question, or a statement, Mr. Potter?"

"A statement, sir. Apparition is one form of magic that can be performed without a wand."

"Give me another." Black walked with his wand behind his back, his eyebrows drawn together, and his lips pursed. He stood in front of Harry's desk.

"Yes, sir." With Black's beady eyes staring down at him, it was difficult to think and speak clearly. "Well, when young wizards don't yet have wands, they often make things happen."

"Don't speak like an imbecile, Potter. And you're in seventh year? What's the term for that phenomenon?"

Harry blinked. He didn't know of a special term for that happening. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know the term."

"With your nose in your book, I'd think you'd be an expert on the subject by now." Black's tone turned silky and Harry's hackles rose. "I'll give you a choice, Mr. Potter. Ten points from Slytherin, or ten lashes."

Harry knew his face must be red with anger, but he swallowed hard. He could see Frost's face, just the other side of the headmaster, his eyes ablaze. Why should his housemates suffer? "Ten lashes, if you please, sir," Harry said, unable to keep a bitter edge out of his voice.

"Very well," Black said as if granting Harry a favor. "Approach my desk." He turned on his heel and stalked to the large wooden desk at the front of the room. "Palm down, please."

Harry followed him and placed his right hand, fingers spread, against the varnished surface. Harry could see stripes in the finish where previous blows had gone astray, ghosts of scars like the ones on the back of his hand that he could still make out, where Dolores Umbridge had made him inscribe the words "I will not tell lies."

Surely this couldn't be as bad as that, Harry told himself, as Professor Black transfigured his wand into a fifteen-inch switch.

"Shut your eyes or cry out, Potter, and it will be another ten," Black said, his eyes glittering cruelly. "Now count." With that, he brought the switch down on the back of Harry's knuckles.

Harry bit down hard on his own teeth, but kept his eyes open. As an angry red line appeared on his hand, he unclenched his jaw enough to say "One, sir."

Black nodded. "I will not tolerate impertinence in my class, Mr. Potter."

What impertinence? Harry wondered, but before he had the chance to get himself into further trouble by voicing the thought, the second blow fell. This time Harry clenched his fist. "Two, sir."

"Did I say you could close your hand?" Black growled.

"No, sir. You didn't say that was part of the rules, sir."

"The rules." Black gestured with the switch and Harry spread his fingers out again. Black brought the switch down twice more, waiting for Harry's count each time, and then said, "Yes, you're an expert at the rules, aren't you Mr. Potter? At evading them?"

Harry's tongue was tied. Should he say yes or no to that? And hadn't he been good since arriving in 1926? The infractions he had against him in his own time--trespassing, stealing potions ingredients, being out after curfew, impersonating other students, fomenting rebellion--really what had he done here that could compare? "I'm sorry you're displeased, sir," he said.

Black smiled at that, a twisted grimace that made him look as if every one of his 79 years had been a hardship. "Yes, you and the Malfoy boy, no regard for propriety, for authority. I've changed my mind, Potter. Ten points from Slytherin. And sit down."

Harry walked back to his seat, his hand throbbing. He thrust it under his other arm and was surprised to see the headmaster had followed him back to his desk. "I am not finished with you, Mr. Potter. The lesson is about wandless magic. Can you give me a third example?"

Harry took a deep breath before answering, trying hard not to shout his answer. "Yes, sir. Some wizards can perform other spells without a wand."

"Such as?" One of Black's eyebrows crawled malevolently up his forehead.

"Such as summoning, sir," Harry said.

"And can you demonstrate this talent, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, sir, I can." The defiance was unavoidable.

Black's eyebrow swooped down like a bird of prey. "I doubt that very much, Mr. Potter. The penalty for lying will be much more severe..."

"I'm not lying. Sir."

The headmaster's glower deepened and he stalked back to his desk, where he lay his wand, now back in its normal wand shape, on the surface of the desk. "Very well, Mr. Potter. Please summon my wand to your hand."

Harry swallowed and reached his open hand toward the wand. "Accio wand!" But nothing happened. Harry told himself to concentrate. "Accio Professor Black's wand!" Still nothing. Harry drew a breath through his teeth. "Accio wand!"

One of the windows shattered, spraying shards of glass all over Shane Hennigan.

"I don't understand!" Harry said, shocked and frustrated. "It's so easy with my own wand. I can even summon my glasses..."

"Mr. Potter. Twenty points from Slytherin for lack of control. And detention in my office Thursday night for lying in class."

"I'm not lying," he said, before he could stop himself. "Accio book!" He pointed to a book on a shelf behind the headmaster's desk and it zoomed straight for him. He caught it in both hands and slammed it down on his desk. The class gasped.

"Then the detention shall be for impertinence, Mr. Potter. And one more word from you and I shall not hesitate to use lingua lacerta."

Harry bit down on his lips and was silent the rest of the class.

To add to his troubles, that night the skies opened with thunder, lightning and rain, and Barnie cancelled Quidditch practice. After dinner Draco went off to Dueling Club and Harry tromped down the stairs with the others feeling disgruntled. He had been hoping to work off some of the frustration of the day on the pitch. Instead, a ten inch essay on wandless magic awaited him--he still hadn't found out what the phenomenon of underage wizards performing unintentional magic was called.

He would ask Draco later, he decided, and settled into a chair in the Common Room between Crabbe and Whittington. "Too bad about the weather," he said as he let himself slump into the chair. He rubbed the back of his hand which still stung, the parallel welts still red.

Harry looked up to see Timothy Frost standing before him. "Want to have a go round of Bell, Book, and Candle?" He was smiling but Harry caught an edge of something in his voice.

"Of what?"

"That's an old one, eh?" Whittington sat forward a bit. "It's a game, Harry."

"Yeah, I gathered that..."

"Watch." She held out her fist toward Frost, who did the same. "Bell, book, and candle," they said together, each opening their fingers on the last syllable. Whittington had one finger outstretched, while Frost had his hand cupped in a loose fist. "Blast it." She pushed up the sleeve of her robe. Frost took her by the wrist, licked the tips of his index and middle fingers, and slapped her on the forearm with them. "Merlin and Morgana, Frost," Heather swore. "You didn't have to do it so hard."

She shook her arm and Harry could see the red mark in the shape of two fingers. "So the bell beats candle?"

"Candle beats book, and book beats bell." Frost said. He held up his hand for each word as he said it, the book an open palm.

It was exactly the same as a game Dudley's friends had forced Harry to play when he was younger, only they had called it rock, paper, scissors, and always managed to cheat somehow so that no matter what Harry did, he ended up with his ears boxed or stuffed in the bushes. After what he had suffered already that day, Harry wasn't much in the mood for corporal punishment, but, well...

"What do you say, Potter?" Frost's attention was back on Harry.

A quick glance at both Crabbe and Whittington showed them to be intrigued but not defensive. "Sure. Okay."

Frost pulled up a chair facing Harry and they began. Frost won the first throw, and Harry rolled up his sleeve. As he suspected, it didn't hurt anywhere near as much as the headmaster's wand had. It didn't take long before each of them had a ladder of red weals climbing his forearm, and Harry began to wonder how the game was supposed to end. If I ask, though, I'll look weak, he realized. He glanced at Whittington, but her gaze told him nothing.

As the game progressed and Harry's arm became more and more sore, he realized that it was possible the only way the game ever would end would be when one player begged off--presumably making him the loser. A small crowd had gathered around them, watching.

"So, did you start that wandless magic assignment for Black yet?" Frost said as he took Harry's arm to add another stripe.

"Nah, I'll do it later," Harry replied, wincing as Frost struck him. "He's an unbelievable bastard, though, isn't he?"

Whittington snorted. "Mr. Potter, surely you jest."

Harry chuckled and prepared to shoot. But Frost had given him an idea. Harry knew he could do legilimency without a wand as well. Could he find out from Frost himself how close he was to backing down? Harry looked into Frost's eyes, as Frost took him by the arm again. Harry had lost the throw and handed over his arm limply as he concentrated.

"Bell, book, and candle!" They said together for the next throw, and Harry realized, a moment before he opened his hand for "book" that Frost was about to throw "candle." Harry held his fist closed and won the toss.

Oh, this was far too easy. He won three in a row that way, and then made sure to lose one, then tie twice in a row before winning twice more. Now that he knew what Frost was thinking, he could see Frost had a tendency to hold his thumb off to the side when he was going to throw candle, on top when he was going to throw book, and against his index finger when he was going to throw bell. Harry broke eye contact and reeled off a string of ten throws in a row all wins or ties--and he did not hold back when dealing out his licks.

After ten more, Frost began to complain. "Not bloody fair this is," he said while cradling his sore arm. "You got some kind of good luck charm on you, Potter? Oh, I forgot, he's not here, is he."

"What?" Harry said, his grin fading.

"Let you off the leash for tonight, did he? It's not natural the way you follow him around like a pet."

Whittington gripped the arms of her chair but said nothing. The crowd had fallen silent.

"I'm nobody's pet," Harry said.

"That's Malfoy for you, though, taking in stray dogs. Stray mutt-bloods, like you."

"What did you call me?" Harry stood and Frost rose to his feet. Frost was taller by a head, but that didn't worry Harry overmuch.

Whittington spoke from her chair. "What are you on about, Frost? Potter's a wizarding family name."

"He must be a bastard cousin, then," Frost said, without taking his eyes off Harry. "My cousin Lucinda married a Potter and she's never heard of him." He folded his arms. "What would Malfoy say if he knew he kicked a pureblood off the team for the likes of you?"

"You leave Malfoy out of this," Harry said, his voice low.

"Oooh, the dog growls," Frost said and Harry heard titters in the background.

"Shut it, Frost," Crabbe said, getting to his feet as well. "You know Harry's the better flier, anyway."

Harry waved Crabbe back. "Look, Frost, I don't know what your problem is, but..."

He ducked as Frost took a swing at him. Harry had him on the ground with his wand digging into the taller boy's Adam's Apple before Crabbe or anyone else had a chance to react. Harry wished he had learned Ginny's bat-bogey hex. The only hex he could think of at the moment was the one he'd heard most recently, the newt-in-the-mouth punishment the headmaster liked so much.

He knew he couldn't bring himself to do that to Frost, even though he was angry at having been singled out. But Frost didn't know that. "So, what'll it be, Frost? Lingua lacerta? Or something else?"

Frost struggled under Harry, but Harry's grip on his robes was too tight.

"I'm sorry if I took your place as Seeker," Harry said. "I didn't know about any of that when I went to try out." He was highly aware of the stares of the Slytherins around him. "Stingy old Black took away a pile of points from us today," he said, mostly to them. "But I'll get them all back and more when I catch the Snitch this Saturday. If I don't, Frost, you're welcome to challenge me for the job."

Harry let go and stepped back. Frost got to his feet slowly, suppressing his rage.

"I mean it." Harry held out his hand and Frost shook it, nodded, and then left.

Harry sank back down into his chair, while Crabbe enthused. "Bloody amazing, Potter. How did you get him down so fast?"

Harry shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess."

Whittington shook her head while looking in the direction Frost had gone.

Harry sighed. "So, can I ask you something?"

"Sure." She put her feet up in the chair Frost had vacated. "Fire away."

"What's the term for it when an underage wizard does magic, you know, before they have a wand or anything?"

She looked at him curiously. "Did Frost make you think of that?"

"No, no, it's for an essay I have to write." Harry blinked. Why did it seem like everything a Slytherin said or heard was supposed to have some kind of double meaning?

"The term is 'fonticulus fortuitus,'" she said, and Crabbe sniggered.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked.

Crabbe continued to laugh so Whittington answered. "It means 'accidental fountain.' And the same term can be used for, well, I think you can figure that out."

Everything Slytherins say DOES have a double meaning, Harry reminded himself. "Well, I'm going to go and get started on it."

"Harry," she said, as he got to his feet.

"Yes?"

"Nothing. Do your work and I'll see you tomorrow." She stood as well, shouldering her book bag. "And you better catch the Snitch on Saturday," she added over her shoulder with a smile.

Harry retreated to the room he shared with Malfoy, his arm aching somewhat. He put a numbing spell on it and sat down with his books at the table. Malfoy had covered the crack in the floor with a small blue rug, but the blond wizard liked to sit at the table, kick his boots off, and sink his toes into the pile. The thought of Draco doing that made Harry smile, and he hoped he would hurry back. Harry found he couldn't concentrate much on the essay. His thoughts kept straying to Draco and what he wanted to do once he got home.

Frost's comments still rang in Harry's ears. It worried him a little. If Frost thought he was Malfoy's lap dog, what did the others think? Harry was used to ignoring what people thought of him--after all, he'd been rumored to be crazy, a murderer, Slytherin's heir, and how many other things in the previous six years at Hogwarts. But he didn't want to create more trouble for Draco.

I should tell him about my plan, Harry thought, and resolved to tell him tonight. Then his heart leaped as he heard the latch on the door open.

By the time Draco closed it firmly behind him, Harry was there. As was their custom, Harry pressed Draco's full body against the ancient wood with his own and kissed him deeply. When he pulled back, though, he said "Wow, what happened?"

Draco had the ghost of a black eye under his left eye. "You should have seen it before. That Ravenclaw oaf, Mardigan, jabbed me with his wand."

"During a duel?"

"He wasn't even my partner," Draco said, summoning himself a bottle of butterbeer. "He was trying to be fancy with his attack on someone else and got me on the back swing. What a git."

They went to the table, Harry resisting the urge to touch the bruise. "Does it hurt? I know a good numbing spell."

Draco waved his hand dismissively. "It'll be gone by morning. It's already been treated."

Harry chuckled. "Everyone has it in for us today. First Black, then Frost..."

"Frost? What did that git want?"

Harry felt his ears start to redden as he remembered. "He says he could have been Seeker if you hadn't ... er.... done whatever you did. For me."

Draco snorted. "Can't remember who he owes a favor to, that's what that means."

"He challenged me to a game of Bell, Book and Candle." Harry held out his arm, which was still a bit puffy.

"How juvenile," Malfoy said with a smirk. "Did you like it?"

"Not terribly much. But it was better than Black's class today."

"Yes, I heard you really riled him."

"I didn't mean to, but..." Harry put his head into his hands. "I kept telling myself to stay calm, that it would make things worse for you if I got into trouble. But I ended up with detention anyway."

Draco took one of Harry's hands in his. "I'm touched that you think of me while that old sadist takes it out of your hide."

"You know, sometimes I can't tell when you're being serious and when you're being sarcastic."

"There's a difference?" Draco said in mock surprise as Harry stood.

"Obviously, there's only one solution," Harry said as he put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "And that's take away your ability to talk." He had a flash of the newt-tongue hex and shook his head to dispel it. He bent down and kissed Draco on the throat instead. He was never going to get tired of feeling Draco start to melt under him, he decided.

"Bed," Draco said.

"See, you're losing your ability already," Harry said. By now he had learned a handful of very useful charms for stripping out of one's robes, lubrication, and the like, so it was mere seconds later that he lay on top of Draco, both of them naked, erect, and hungry. He held both of Draco's wrists in one hand, pressed into the pillow above Draco's head, as he searched for a sensitive spot near Draco's collarbone. Draco could have easily broken the hold if he had struggled in the slightest, but Harry knew he liked it, knew he sank into that feeling of Harry being in control. He only tended to legilimize Draco now once in a while, but he had done it enough to have a good read on Draco's preferences and his signals.

Harry clamped his mouth over the spot and proceeded to give Draco the darkest hickey he could. Draco moved under him, moaning and thrusting his hips upward.

"Teach me that sensation charm," Harry said into Draco's ear. "The one you used on me that first night?"

Draco opened his eyes, momentarily confused. "The first... oh, you mean our Moroccan Night of Passion."

"Uh, yes."

"How can that make you blush? After all we've done since?"

Harry didn't know why he was blushing, really. "It's just when you put it like that..."

Draco laughed and Harry smiled. It made him feel good to hear Draco laugh. When the laughter died down, Draco taught him the spell and Harry lay it on him using his own wand. Draco shivered visibly as the spell took hold, Harry still holding his wrists with one hand and running the other up and down his ribs.

Then he rolled Draco over, letting his teeth gaze over the back of Draco's neck. He licked his palm and slid it underneath, so that Draco's cock was thrusting into the meat of his palm. He put the other hand at the back of Draco's neck and Draco moaned. Then he looked for the spot above Draco's shoulder blade where he had once seen what looked like a bite mark. Right about... there...

Harry sank his teeth into Draco slowly, bit by bit, as Draco's thrusts became harder and more wild, until he punctuated the bite with one sharp twitch of his jaw. Draco began to come, crying out as Harry switched from biting to licking and sucking the sore spot, coming hot and heavy into Harry's hand. Harry was a bit surprised, really, it seemed quite sudden even for Draco, who was not hard to get off. But maybe he had made the spell a bit stronger than necessary.

Draco now lay limp in his arms, sweat plastering a few strands of his hair to his forehead. "Are you all right?" Harry asked, half-joking.

Draco nodded.

"I told you I'd rob you of your ability to speak."

"You..." Draco gave up and smiled over his shoulder. A few moments later he tried again. "What about you?"

"I still seem to be able to speak fine," Harry said, extricating himself and stroking Draco's hair.

Draco reached back blindly with one hand and pawed at Harry's erection.

"This? You want this?"

Draco nodded, crawling in a circle on the bed until he could put his head in Harry's lap. He wasted no time in affixing his mouth to the head of Harry's cock.

"Do you like it?"

Draco nodded enthusiastically in response.

Harry watched Draco work for a few moments before he said, "You know, Frost called me your lap dog today."

Draco rolled his eyes but did not pause in his task.

"And the headmaster said something about you, too. He..." Harry had to pause as Draco insinuated a slick finger into Harry's ass. "He was going on about the rules..." And then Draco changed his angle and Harry lost all ability at speech himself.

When they were finished, and lying in one another's arms under the covers, Harry remembered there had been something he was going to tell Draco, but now he couldn't remember what it was.
CHAPTER NINE

It was the next night during dinner that Harry remembered what it was he had been planning to tell Draco. They were sitting with Crabbe between them, while Draco impugned the Ravenclaws for their ineptitude at dueling, when Heather Whittington strode down from the head table with a message from Professor LeStrange.

"Wants to see you after dinner," she said to Draco, before going on her way to the dungeons.

Draco acknowledged her with a nod and went on with his story. Last year Dumbledore had told Harry to carry his invisibility cloak with him at all times, just in case. Harry still kept it in his book bag out of habit, folded into a side pocket. But his bag was downstairs--he'd left it there since charms class had ended early due to an unfortunate levitation accident. Harry's mind raced. Would Draco come back to the room before going to see LeStrange, or would he go straight to the professor's office? Would there be time to tell Draco his plan?

Possibly not. Harry excused himself and hurried after Heather toward the dungeons. Down the stairs, through the labyrinthine corridors, then through the hidden door, down to the end of the hall and the room. Harry dug the cloak out of his bag, and put it on. He retraced his steps back toward the Great Hall, but almost to the stairs he heard Draco's voice. They were already on their way to LeStrange's.

Harry hurried after them, trying to move fast yet keep his footsteps silent. They had just gone around a corner. Harry went as fast as he dared, but as he turned the corner, he saw the heavy wooden door to LeStrange's office swing shut. The loud clack of a bolt being thrown resounded in the stone corridor. Harry pressed his ear to the wood, then his wand, muttering the eavesdropping spell. He felt a tingle go through him as someone spell-locked the door, but it did not appear that they cast an Imperturbable spell. He could hear Draco's voice.

"Thank you again, professor," he was saying. "You don't know how much this means to me."

"Trust me, Draco," LeStrange answered in a tone that was entirely too familiar for Harry's taste. "I know all too well what you are going through. Now, if you'll wait here?"

"Of course."

There was then silence, the sound of another door opening and closing, and more silence. To Harry it seemed that the sound of his heart beating was getting louder and louder. Thank you AGAIN? he thought. What is it LeStrange is doing for him? And why doesn't he seem to remember anything later? Or does he? It didn't seem likely Draco lied, since he let him read his mind, but Harry had never actually found out if Draco had been obliviated or not.

The door opened again with a creak and Harry heard a different voice say "Draco."

And then he felt like ice water ran through his veins as Draco answered. "Reg!"

There were no voices for a while, though there was the rustling of robes. Harry could only imagine what they were doing now. He slumped against the door. The bite mark. Of course. That explained it. That explained everything, didn't it?

No, not everything. It didn't explain why Draco came in only half-conscious with his memory seemingly altered. But Harry couldn't bear to listen at the door any more. If Draco cried out, whether in pleasure or in pain, he didn't think he'd be able to stand it.

He also didn't want to go back to the Common Room and face Frost, or talk Quidditch. There was an astronomy section tonight so the tower was out. The library?

A short while later Harry sat in the library and composed another letter to Hermione.

Dear Hermione:

Well, it's been a few weeks,

no word from the Ministry,

and I just don't know what to do.

I wish you were here to

think through the situation with me.

Honestly, I haven't
- 1
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