Friday morning found Harry full of apprehension. He and Ron hadn’t spoken at all since yesterday’s little…incident….and while Harry knew that there was no turning back now, he still found a day filled with redheaded scorn an unpleasant way to start his weekend.
On the other hand, Draco had cuddled himself warmly against Harry’s side in the night, so he awoke to the familiar scent of his own shampoo in Draco’s hair and the full benefit of having over six feet of blond wrapped around him at various points.
Draco had swung a leg over Harry’s, and he had one arm over Harry’s chest so that his hand rested directly over Harry’s heart. It was an unconscious placing, but for some reason Harry found it deeply charming.
Harry lifted his shoulder, which was now acting as Draco’s pillow, and nudged the sleeping Slytherin awake.
“Hey.” He murmured quietly, “Hey, I think we should…get going.”
Draco’s eyes opened, blinking against the sunlight and the morning in general, and he muttered and unintelligible response into Harry’s shoulder.
“Huh?” Harry said, bending his neck down to get a better look at Draco’s sleepy expression.
Draco lifted his head marginally off his resting place, “I said ‘no’. It was in English; don’t know why you have such a bloody hard time….” He drifted off, clearly with an objective of falling back asleep.
“Hey,” Harry said again, louder and with more authority, “we need to go pretty soon. It’s light out, and we might be late…” And then Ron would be really pissed.
“Oh all right, Potter.” Draco said, rolling smoothly away from Harry and off the bed. “No need for the verbal heaving; just tell me you want me out of your bed when you want me gone. I had no idea you were so callous towards your sexual partners.”
Harry looked up with some surprise, only to find Draco winking playfully at him from the doorway to the bathroom. He was going to need to work on his gullibility if he was ever going to survive this relationship.
Relationship?
“Potter, I am using your toothbrush,” dictated a haughty voice from the bathroom, “and also your toothpaste, floss, soap and hairbrush…if you even have one, which would totally floor me, because you clearly never use it.”
Relationship.
He and Draco walked into the gym holding hands. Which Harry thought was adorable at first, even though it put him in a state of perpetual blush, but he realized was unbelievably foolish later when he saw the look of barely contained frenzy it inspired from Ron.
Ron’s face was bright red, jaw set, shoulders bunched, and hands looking as if they would like nothing better than to get a firm grip on Malfoy’s throat. Harry released Draco’s hand quickly, shooting a look at the blond that would hopefully communicate that now was not the time to get sensitive over public displays of affection.
“Ron, look, I…”
“I don’t want to hear it, Harry. I just want to have a little chat with Malfoy, and by chat I mean pummeling and by Malfoy I mean ferret-faced asshole.”
Feeling Malfoy tense beside him, Harry placed himself between them, still trying to pry Ron’s gaze from Malfoy’s defensive glare.
“There’s no need for that, Ron. You know that I—”
“No, Harry, actually, I don’t.” And now Ron was looking at him properly, even though the harsh combination of anger and betrayal on his face made Harry wish, just a little bit, that Malfoy was still the primary target. “I don’t know a bloody thing because my best friend decided that he’s rather chase a bit of Death Eating tail rather than take a moment to explain the situation. Which is just great, you know, considering all of the life threatening scenarios I’ve thrown in with just help you out. Really, stellar way to repay it. Can I just remind you of one thing?” He paused, breathing hard, and Harry didn’t think he wanted to be reminded.
But he nodded anyway. Because this was Ron.
“We spent our entire adolescence together, Harry. And Malfoy was there, too. Sure. But it was us versus him. Remember? The endless mockery and the constant humiliation, and, oh yeah, that’s right, that one time he almost killed me? Or do a few late night fucks in the locker room just erase all of that?” Harry winced; this meant that Ron, and God knew who else, had heard something. Or seen something. But Ron was still talking.
“Since when do people like him” he nodded curtly in Malfoy’s direction, “come before people like me?”
And Harry was silent, because he had already been terrible with words, and now there was just nothing to say.
Ron spared him one more momentary glare and then stalked away. The teacher was gathering them now, telling them about the lesson plan, and Harry didn’t even hear..
Malfoy was at his side though, gripping his wrist tightly, and his voice was a soft and reassuring murmur in his ear.
“You’re not just going to let him walk away, right? Tell me you’ve learned, through your short and catastrophic experience with romance, that some girls like to be chased, Potter?” And it was sort of cruel, and such a Malfoy thing to say, but it made him smile.
And it made him follow Ron out the door.
He found Ron directly out in the hallway, sitting on a small bench with his head in his hands. Maybe that was just some sort of standard Gryffindor position for emotional cataclysm.
“Knew you couldn’t have gone far,” Harry said, trying to keep his tone light, “Hermione’d kill you for missing a day of class in the first week.”
Ron looked up from between his hands, and Harry knew it wasn’t going to be that easy.
“Do you laugh at me?” He asked, his tone so serious, especially for Ron.
“What?”
“Do you,” Ron said, louder this time, angrier, “laugh. At me. You and Malfoy.”
“No….I….God, no…why would you even think that?”
“Dunno. Sounds funny to me. Silly Ron. Thinks he knows the deal, but he doesn’t. Thinks he knows his best friend. Thinks he can identify the good guys and the bad guys. He’s so dense, he thinks that all of this moping and glowing and grinning and sighing his friend has been doing has been over some girl.” Ron let out a bark of humorless laughter. “Shows him what he knows.”
“No….Ron, it isn’t anything like that.” Harry sat down next to him, thankful that Ron was allowing even that small amount of closeness.
“Then what,” Ron asked, flaring up again, “could it possibly be like? I mean, you’ll have to enlighten me, last time I checked, we were both agreed on the fact that Malfoy was a swaggering little bully. Suddenly he’s the fucking love of your life?”
“I never said…”
“Harry.” Ron interjected, turning to face him, his voice low and stern, “I know you.”
There was a momentary pause. Ron was looking at him, and voice in Harry’s head wanted to scream defiance and how wrong he was and tell Ron it had all been one big mistake.
But the pause was enough to harden the certainty in Ron’s eyes. He put his head slowly back in his hands, making a sound that was somewhere between a groan of pain and concession.
“I cannot believe this is happening.” Ron said into his palms.
“You and me both.” And that at least made Ron turn and give him a small grin. A very small grin. But at least there was something other than livid resentment there. So Harry kept going. “D’you hate me?”
“Harry.” Ron gave him that look that said he was being a prat about something, and maybe he was. “Of course I don’t hate you. I hate him.” And that something was Malfoy, which made it all so much worse.
But it made him feel better. They sat in silence for a moment before Harry decided it was time to branch into the most frightening territory of all.
“I don’t know how I’m going to tell Hermione.”
“Well, lucky for you, you won’t have to. I already did.”
Harry turned quickly, and when he spoke, his voice seemed much higher than normal, “You what?!”
“Well, last night I was in something of a state, Harry!” Ron said defensively, “You were kissing Malfoy, in the middle of a crowded gym, no less, and then you don’t even talk to me because you and Malfoy are off in your….I don’t know…cozy suite of forbidden love or whatever, I had to talk to someone!”
“Yeah, but….”
“But nothing, Harry.” Ron said in his No Argument Voice, and in these moments Ron reminded Harry so forcibly of Mrs. Weasley, “She’s as confused as I am, but of course, you know, she has the comfort of spending all night making spreadsheets and timelines and researching…homosexual psychoanalysis or whatever. I had to spend the whole night with the image of you and Malfoy snogging replaying itself in my head, which, by the way, is the worst movie ever.”
Harry let out a huff of hesitant laughter. “So what did she say?”
“She wanted me to notify you that you and she are scheduling a conference for this weekend. She wants to discuss all the elements of this, you know. She also said Malfoy should come.”
“She….she what?!” Harry stared at Ron incredulously, wondering if this could be some sort of weird prank. Maybe he’d gotten the twins in on it. Maybe they said conference when they really meant ambush.
“She is of the mind that it is important to gauge Malfoy’s seriousness about this whole thing. Could be it’s a trap, could be it’s a ploy, could be that all that battling evil gave you a complex and now you need to seek professional help.”
“Oh har, har.”
Ron shrugged, as if he still thought that insanity was really the only explanation for behavior like this, “Either way, she wants to see you and him together. She wants to….talk about this. Which is a conversation I have no desire to witness, but I might come just to watch her put Malfoy in his place.”
“Ron, I..”
“I know,” Ron sighed in a resigned fashion, “you care about him. You’re crazy, and you have terrible taste in men, and I swear to God if he ever pulls anything I will make sure he is hung, drawn and quartered.”
“Fair enough,” Harry said, because he knew forms of cruel and unusual punishment were par for the course when discussing Ron’s idea of ways to treat a Malfoy. “Now, how about we get back to class? I don’t want Hermione hearing about two tardy marks on my record in the first week and getting any more ticked off than I’ve already got her.”
When they walked back into the class, Harry was struck with just how difficult this was going to be. He didn’t even know where to sit. The trainees were all spread out at various points on the gym floor, listening to the instructor. There were several long ropes hanging down from the ceiling behind the teacher, who was demonstrating a powerful levitation spell. Harry had a very bad feeling about this.
Malfoy was off towards the left side of the room. He and Ron had entered from the right. Harry would have to literally walk the length of the gym to sit anywhere remotely close to Malfoy. So he plopped down next to Ron, who had taken about three steps into the room, decided it was quite enough proximity to Malfoy for his taste, and thrown himself down with unnecessary force.
The instructor was talking about the importance of agility and strength, neither of which Harry thought had been dealt to him in spades, so when the instructor requested volunteers, he stayed firmly silent.
Malfoy didn’t.
Harry could hear Ron growling something about being a bloody showoff, but he was more concerned with whatever it was Malfoy was about to demonstrate. The blond had sauntered to the front of the room, giving off every air of supreme overconfidence; he even stopped to give a sideways grin to Hannah, who giggled loudly. Harry felt a dull burn of indignation start in his stomach, but then reminded himself that Malfoy had woken up with him and used his toothbrush and had his teeth marks covering his hips….
He broke off from this reverie when he realized that Ron was getting up. Ron had volunteered. For whatever this lesson was, Harry still didn’t know, because clearly Harry had an attention deficit problem and maybe he did need professional help.
He watched helplessly as Ron walked up to the front of the class to stand next to Malfoy. The instructor seemed pleased by this development, and was chattering on about flexibility and muscle control and what the hell were they about to demonstrate, anyway….but Harry was focused on Malfoy’s face, which had shown a moment of panic before smoothing back into serene poise. Ron, meanwhile, had a look most reminiscent of the twins- sinister and calculating. It was a rare look to see on Ron, and had it been any other person up there with him, Harry would have been excited about the outcome….but this filled him with cold anxiety.
But then Malfoy was turning, gripping a rope tightly in his fist, and then he was climbing quickly. One hand over the other, graceful motions, a smooth incline, not even using his legs for support, and Harry was amazed....when had Malfoy gotten so strong?
But then Ron was gripping a rope too, climbing fast, and when had everyone gotten such bloody good upper-body strength and the gym ceiling was very high and Harry wished he had some idea of what was about to happen but he didn’t because he had been so focused on thinking about Malfoy’s skin and wondering if Malfoy would stay with him again that night…
Now Ron and Malfoy were at the top of the gym, suspended high above the other students, and something was happening up there, Ron was taking hold of one end of Malfoy’s rope and detaching it from the ceiling…
“And you see,” boomed the instructor from the front of the room, his voice sounding very loud and very close because Harry had been straining to hear whatever words were being exchanged between Malfoy and Ron, but they were too high up and he couldn’t even make out their faces, just thatches of red and blond hair, “how with the use of this spell it is possible to hold human weight with minimal effort; Mr. Weasley can hold Mr. Malfoy’s rope in one hand, bearing his entire weight as he climbs down, and yet he can keep himself suspended using his other arm without even breaking a sweat.”
In short, Ron was now the only thing between Malfoy and a plummeting death. Harry was starting to get the feeling that something out there really didn’t want him to be an Auror.
Malfoy seemed to be moving down as quickly as possible, his limbs moving without the grace he had used so fluidly climbing the rope; now every muscle in his body was taught with urgency.
When Ron dropped him.
There was a shrill cry from Hannah or one of the girls, Harry didn’t know, but Harry was on his feet, with his wand out and moving as quickly as possible but Malfoy was falling so fast…
The instructor had his wand out as well, and he was shouting and all Harry could think of was how badly Draco was going to be hurt…. if he even survived, can people survive falls like that would a fall like that kill you….
Malfoy had frozen in the air, suspended about two feet above the ground.
Harry looked him over, searching for damage, and upon deciding that there wasn’t any, turned to glare up at Ron, who shrugged from high atop the gym like dropping people out of the sky was something he did every day.
The instructor was helping Malfoy to his feet, and Hannah was swooning all over Malfoy’s freshly near-death-experienced person, and Harry suddenly felt very tired.
“I’m all right,” Malfoy was saying, brushing his shoulders dramatically, “really. No, I love those moments of clarity you get right before you die. I try to get in about three every day. Good for the nerves.”
He spared Harry a glance of reassurance before looking up at Ron.
“And that,” Malfoy announced to the room at large, “is why you never trust a Weasley with anything more important than an egg timer. I was unaware that poverty made a person clumsy as well as careless, but I suppose you learn something new every day.”
Yep, Harry felt very tired indeed.
That night Malfoy followed him home again.
They’d had words, about Ron and about their past, with the only conclusion being that Malfoy would be civil so long as Harry promised that endangerment to his life was not a regular part of interaction with Ron.
Harry watched Malfoy from his spot on the bed, watched as Malfoy moved gracefully around his bedroom, watched him getting undressed, wondering what Malfoy would be doing normally on a Friday night, had all this never happened, and then he started thinking out loud.
“Why don’t we ever go to your place?” He asked, watching Malfoy’s smooth back muscles flex as he pulled off his shirt.
Malfoy paused, standing before Harry in just his jeans.
“I didn’t think you’d want to go to my place. It’s not quite as….ah…homey as this. Kind of gothic; more like a museum than anything else. Not a good place for curious Potters who like to touch and explore and break things like you do.” Malfoy started taking off his shoes and socks, and Harry loved to watch that perfect stomach flex…..
“Gothic?” Harry asked, strategically bypassing Malfoy’s commentary.
“Yes.” Malfoy said, and paused, looking at Harry searchingly. “You are aware that I still live at the Manor, aren’t you?”
“Oh.” This was a surprise. “No, I guess…I thought….you’d….like, move. Out. Or something.”
“Not quite yet.” There was something hidden there, Harry could hear it, even though Malfoy had turned to walk towards the bathroom.
He decided to leave it for now. There would be time.
Malfoy came back into the bedroom in nothing but a pair of boxers. A pair of Harry’s boxers.
“So much money and yet you still insist on stealing my clothes.” Harry said, watching Malfoy pad towards his bed and climb on to the end smoothly.
“Yes, well, your clothes have a certain indigent charm about them. Alas, mine do not.” And Malfoy was crawling onto his lap, straddling his hips, running both of his hands into Harry’s hair. One hand came around to pull off Harry’s glasses, and now Malfoy was a light blur, almost like a ghost, with shadows hunting his pallor.
“How sad,” Harry said, moving his hands up the pale breadth of Malfoy’s back, “forced to wear Harry Potter’s cast-offs.”
“I consider it something of an honor, thank you very much.” Malfoy licked a clean swipe at Harry’s neck, “Besides,” he said, and Harry could hear a smirk curling against his jaw, “you like it.”
Then Harry remembered something. “What…oh,” and he had to take a minute because Malfoy was sinking his teeth lightly into Harry’s throat, “what did Ron say to you, when you were up there today?”
Malfoy paused, pulling back and not quite meeting Harry’s eyes. His voice was quiet.
“He said I didn’t deserve you.” He heard Malfoy swallow carefully, and then Harry leaned forward to kiss him softly, in the most reassuring way possible, because he knew his words would fail him but maybe his lips and hands and heart wouldn’t.
“I thought,” Harry whispered against Malfoy’s lips, “I thought you were going to get hurt.”
Malfoy let out a small laugh, “Me too.”
Harry leaned back, running his fingers through Malfoy’s hair, and Malfoy leaned into his hand, kissing his wrist gently.
“I want you,” Harry said in a low voice, “like this. Close. So I can see you.”
And there was a slowness that night; a realization that what they had between them was tremulous, suspended delicately far above the ground, and there were so many obstacles and so many ways it could fall and shatter.
They were so close, Harry sheathed deep inside, and the press of Draco’s thighs on either side of Harry’s hips and he could feel Draco’s sweat run from his forehead and drip onto Harry’s chest as they pressed together again and again. Every hot breath that left Draco’s lips fell like mist on Harry’s neck, and he could touch his face to Draco’s hair and feel every upward motion in Draco’s whole body, and he could balance Draco’s waist and move in him slowly and with power and tell him what he could never say with words. You deserve everything, and I’ll never hurt you, and please, let’s stay up here, like this.
And Draco was talking, saying something, but Harry couldn’t hear because something was ringing in his ears, something like being inside Draco and feeling Draco around him, pulsing and hot and comforting and home…
When Harry and Draco came together, it felt like a different kind of falling.