Chapter Fifteen: Problems with Magical Currents
Draco woke to find himself in a rather strange position on his bed, strange because he wasn't sure why he was still on his bed to begin with, seeing how most of him was in fact draped over the right side of it. Yet for some reason he remained in this position instead of toppling to the floor as gravity dictated he should. It was while he was pondering this that he became aware of the fact that his arm was rather numb... his left arm had almost no feeling in it... was that healthy? Draco attempted to defy gravity a bit more by craning his neck over the top of the bed in order to see why his arm was in that condition. His eyes widened slightly as the reason trickled into his brain, but then the other person in the bed shifted, loosening their grip on his arm... and gravity did the rest.
Harry Potter woke to a dull thud and then a sullen "Ow". Frowning, he blinked twice and registered where he was. In Draco's bed... again. But there was no sign of Draco himself. He'd ended up not being able to hate Draco enough before bed every night this week, so this was not a rare occurrence. Harry blamed those confusing feelings he got whenever he thought about the blond in any abstract or fleeting form. They were really starting to bother him.
Another thing was bothering Harry... well two things were bothering Harry. One was the strange taste he had in his mouth and the other being the blanket of black silk that seemed to be covering everything.
"Oh damn," Draco muttered from the floor as he too registered the black silk feathers covering the floor. "Molting night again."
"Molting?" Harry leaned over the bed. "Why are you on the floor anyway?"
"I fell." Draco got up rather stiffly and brushed a few black feathers off him. "I didn't know I had that many feathers to begin with." He seemed mildly impressed.
Harry dropped out of Draco's bed on the other side and brushed off the black feathers covering him as well. But what was that taste in the back of his mouth? With one finger he traced the back of his tongue and managed to dislodge... a feather.
"Should I even ask how a feather got in my mouth?" Harry muttered.
Draco looked mildly disgusted. "That would be a no."
Harry didn't respond to Draco's answer, in fact he hadn't even looked at Draco after that first time this morning. Seeing Draco was still too confusing... or brought up confusing thoughts. And it was too early in the morning to deal with confusing issues.
Harry made his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast to find that, for once, he had arrived before Ron and Hermione. He was halfway through his second piece of toast when the two arrived.
"Oh, Harry, you should have told us you were going to be here early." Hermione told him as they sat down.
"Mate, are you feeling okay? It's a Sunday; one sleeps in late on Sundays." Ron reminded him, oblivious to the look of exasperation Hermione sent his way.
Other students began to filter in to breakfast, but Harry noted that there was no sign of Draco. That was rather odd. Draco was normally at breakfast around this time every day of the week. But pushing the thought out of his mind, he returned to the conversation that was happening around him.
The House-Elves, Draco thought, could be really annoying. The little buggers had been in his bedroom when he'd emerged from his shower, picking up feathers. They refused to leave, even to allow him privacy to get some clothing on, until they were finished. Draco almost informed them of how much time they were wasting. It was much easier for the Veriae himself to pick up his own feathers. They were still keyed to him after all. So if anyone else tried to do so, as the House-Elves were doing... well, it took a long time. So Draco started working on breaking the record for longest time wearing nothing but a towel.
When they were finally done and out of his room, Draco set about getting on some proper clothing and then pondered what to do about the rest of his day. Schoolwork eventually won over, because tomorrow was Monday, and he could always count on his godfather to assign some long essay (which he had finished and in truth had enjoyed doing) so he might as well finish the homework he needed to hand in on Tuesday. Arithmancy. Draco's eyes scanned the topic of the essay, and he immediately resolved to just look up the answer in a book instead of doing the extra work to figure it out. That was the problem with Arithmancy. During his first years taking it, he'd actually done the work of figuring out the answer to the essays himself, then he'd realized they were all in the book, just not in the chapter the class was currently studying.
Now where was that book? Let's see. The last time he'd used it, he was doing those analogy things (stupid teacher was in love with analogies, he was certain). He'd been pretty ticked by the time he'd finished the last one (out of one hundred), so he probably put the book someplace out of the way with the help of the magical currents that drifted through Hogwarts. This, of course, meant that he had no clue where it was now. For all he knew, he had banished it to the fourth floor corridor and Merlin knew who might have found it. But as he cast his eyes around the room he saw that this was not the case. It was just balanced on the top of his bookshelves... which were about twice as tall as Draco himself was.
Oh, wouldn't this be fun. Draco looked at the book as he sensed around for any currents that might be nearby. That was the thing when one was down near the dungeon inside a building like Hogwarts, one couldn't rely on the nature currents, where as outside they were everywhere and anywhere. No, inside, one had to rely on the currents that came from those who were using magic at the moment in time or from older spells that were entombed in the rock walls of the castle. And, as the Hogwarts stairs proved, these were rather temperamental. So, of course, there were no magical currents for Draco to find and call to his aid when he wanted them.
So Draco did what any self-respecting teenager would do. He glared at the bookshelves and the Arithmancy book as if it was all their fault.
"So Harry," Ron asked as they finished breakfast. "Have you finished your essay yet?"
"Haven't even started," Harry answered easily.
"Same here."
"What? It was assigned last Monday!" Hermione yelped as she tried to comprehend what must have been going through their minds all week to not at least start on the essay.
"So?" Ron asked. "Just because it was assigned doesn't mean we would do it on Monday."
Harry nodded. "We have today to do it, Hermione. It's not the end of the world."
Hermione just shook her head at the lack of responsibility those two had when it came to school. Quidditch was a whole other story, but when it came to school work... just forget about planning for anything. "Well, then you two should go get started on it," she told them.
"Will you help us?" Ron asked.
"Absolutely not. You had an entire week to do it."
Ron frowned. "Okay then. Shall we just get this over with, Harry?"
"Sure. I have to go get my book though."
"Then I will meet you two in the library," Hermione said and took another stairway towards the library's corridor.
"You can come with if you want," Harry said. "I'm sure Malfoy has cleared out by now."
Ron nodded and the two set off down another stairway.
Harry decided that Medusa was never happy to see him. Even when he told her the password she wouldn't open the door until she'd given him a proper lecture on how he should take care to be nicer to her, more polite... like little Master Malfoy who was always inquiring after her health and asking if she was having a good day. It didn't help that Ron muttered why one would ask after the health of a painting because it couldn't get sick, so it was a full five minutes before she begrudgingly let them into the rooms.
Well, Draco thought, the bookshelves looked rather stable. And he would only have to climb up a little bit... Damn, why couldn't he have thought to put a chair in his bedroom when he was fixing up his rooms?
But Draco, nevertheless, began to climb the bookshelf.(vi) It was a good thing that all the books were pushed against the back of the shelf, or he didn't think he be able to hold on. It really wasn't that much to climb. Draco had been right in his assessment; and he had just reached the top and his Arithmancy book when the door to his bedroom opened. He didn't notice, as he'd made sure that all the hinges on the doors in his rooms were silent (he hated squeaky doors). Draco reached for the book, leaning slightly to the left. He'd just grabbed the binding of the book and was pulling it away from the edge of the shelf when he slipped.
He braced for the impact of flesh on stone... but it never came. Instead he collided on to something hard yet soft at the same time. Someone else had to worry about bracing for the flesh on stone impact.
"What in Merlin's name were you doing?" a voice raged in his ear.
"Getting a book," Draco answered easily, and then he realized what position he was in... and who he was on.
Harry also realized what a weird position the two of them were in. If Draco shifted slightly to the right he would be flat out on top of Harry, stomach to stomach, face to face, mouth to...
Draco moved slightly to the right in order to start getting off Harry but froze when he realized what position he'd put them in. Just inches away from Harry, he could feel Harry's breath on his face, and could look directly into the emerald orbs of his eyes.
Neither would ever remember who moved first, but someone did, closing the inches between them, lips coming together as if drawn together by polar attraction. Satin caressing silk, someone moaned. Mouths open, tongues twisting together in a sensual dance. Time seemed to stand still. Aristocratic hands found their way around his slim waist as other hands buried themselves in silken hair. Draco purred. Harry hissed in pleasure.
Ron, walking through the door, was speaking, not that anyone really heard him. "Oi, Harry, how much time does it take to- OH MERLIN! MY EYES!"
Two pairs of eyes drifted upwards towards a very scandalized redhead. The green ones were apologetic, the silver-grey annoyed.
"Sorry Ron?" Harry's statement was more of a question.
"Weasley, what the bloody hell are you doing in my bedroom!" Draco growled.
"Well I came in here to see how long it was going to take Harry to get his book, but I see instead he was otherwise occupied," Ron shot back.
"Then you can walk back out, can't you?" Draco sneered. "I don't want you in my personal space."
"The only one in your 'personal space' right now is Harry, Malfoy, and you don't look too upset about that."
And while Draco and Ron bantered back and forth, with Draco still on top of Harry, the Boy-Who-Lived was trying to find a way to keep the blush off his face while simultaneously trying not to be turned on too much by the velvet quality of Draco's voice which became prominent when he was angry.