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Chapter 17: Passing Notes
xxx
"Valour," Harry mumbled tiredly to the Fat Lady, who started from her sleep at the sound of his voice. She cast him an irritable look before swinging forward, admitting him into the Gryffindor common room.
Rubbing his eyes, he stumbled through the small entrance. It was barely nine o' clock in the morning, he'd discovered, upon casting a Tempus charm on his way back towards the castle. Too early to be awake on a weekend, that was for sure.
Grumbling quietly, he wandered through the common room, which was deserted other than a few early-risers, mostly seventh years. They cast Harry curious glances, probably prompted by his less than pristine appearance, although Harry had yet to notice the mud stains, leaves and twigs that covered him, in the same way they covered Draco. He ignored his fellow Gryffindors, uninterested by the thought of explanations.
Bed seemed like the only logical destination. He was so tired, and every muscle he owned still ached, stiff and sore, not at all loosened by his walk across the grounds and through the castle. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep – this time, preferably, not with Malfoy hanging off his waist.
That particular wake-up call was possibly the most disturbing thing Harry had ever experienced. Quite pointedly, he was trying to avoid thinking about it.
The dormitory was still filled with the sounds of light breathing and the occasional snore when he entered. Maybe, if he was lucky, they'd wake up and simply assume he'd returned slightly late last night, never noticing he'd disappeared for such an extended period of time.
Thinking this, ever hopeful, he fell gracelessly into bed – completely ruining his plan with the fact that he was still fully dressed, covered in mud and lying on top of the covers.
xxx
Hermione had been unspeakably relieved when Ron came to tell her that Harry was back in the dorms. The pair had sat at the breakfast table, discussing their friend's night time absence.
The witch was part angry, exasperated and sympathetic. She was sick of these unexplained disappearances. She understood that Harry thought he needed to be alone, but it was becoming ridiculous now. Especially when he let her and Ron sit up half the night with worry.
And what in Merlin's name had he been doing, to come back looking like he did? Ron hadn't woken him, but he'd given her a description of the state their friend was in. Anyone would think he'd been wandering about the forest or something!
They let him sleep through breakfast, and well into the afternoon, even though Hermione fumed throughout, longing to lecture. Ron had tried to wake him if only to ask if he was up to the Hogsmeade visit, but after receiving an unintelligible but clearly hostile mumble in return, he'd given up, and they'd gone without him. It was only when dinner was being served back in the castle, sometime between six and seven that evening, that they finally laid eyes on him.
Harry stumbled blurry-eyed through the doors of the Great Hall. He'd obviously showered and changed, though the hair was as messy as ever and the muggle style clothes he wore seemed mismatched and too baggy. But that wasn't really a surprise.
The black haired boy dropped onto the bench between his friends, who were staring at him wordlessly, waiting for some kind of explanation. He didn't seem to notice, however. Dazedly, he simply looked around at the plates of food and asked, absently, "Isn't there any chicken left?"
"Harry!" Hermione snapped in annoyance, unable to restrain herself for any length of time. "Aren't you going to even try to… to…" She trailed off, stuttering with indignity.
Casting the girl a sympathetic look, Ron took over. "Mate, where were you last night?"
Green eyes stared at him blankly for a few moments, blinking. "Uhm…"
What was he supposed to say, really? He could hear it now: Last night? Oh I was just out with Malfoy. Y'know, that guy we all hate. Anyway, he's a werewolf now, didn't you know? What, me? I'm an Animagus. Sorry I didn't tell you or anything…
Hah. Hardly.
"I'll tell you about it later," he answered finally, glancing pointedly at the other Gryffindors around the table, hoping they'd catch the hint. Maybe he'd be able to think up a story to do with the Order, or a detention gone wrong. Something, for Merlin's sake. He couldn't exactly tell them the truth.
Both looked troubled, but they relented. Easily changing subjects, Ron began to chatter away about the latest Chudley Cannons match, which soon started a friendly debate between him and Seamus. Hermione might have questioned further, but was distracted by Lavender Brown, who sat on her other side and was asking her opinion on something girl-related that Harry instantly tuned out. Satisfied that he was off the hook – if only for the moment – he set about concerning himself with nothing more important than food. God, he was starving…
Reaching for the nearest serving of boiled potatoes, preparing to heap them onto his plate with a generous helping of gravy and some kind of meat, he was momentarily distracted as something tapped his arm lightly.
Startled, he looked to see a small paper shape fluttering down to rest on the bench next to him. It was folded to have wings and a triangular head. Curious, he picked the thing up, turning it in his hand to realise in amazement that it was a tiny paper dragon.
Ron peered over his shoulder. "What's that?" he asked through a mouthful of food.
Harry opened his mouth to respond that he had no idea, when the little dragon suddenly flicked its wings once, twice, and abruptly unfolded, returning to its original form of a simple piece of parchment. Across it flowed six words in elegant, slanted handwriting.
'I want to do that again.'
Harry stared at the message in surprise, stunned by the boldness. Instantly, of course, he knew who it was from, but couldn't bring himself to look up or even anywhere in a certain blonde's direction.
"Blimey, who's that from?"
Returned to reality by the redhead's astonished exclamation, Harry quickly whipped away the note, shoving it into his pocket. He looked up at his friend guiltily, wondering how he could possibly explain Malfoy's blunt statement.
Ron was gaping at him incredulously, having read the message over his shoulder. On his other side, Hermione's eyebrows were climbing.
"Uhm," he said again, intelligently.
"Is that where you were last night?" the witch suddenly hissed, leaning in closer.
Harry stared at her, uncomprehending.
She coloured, gesturing vaguely. "I mean… were you with someone…?"
Ron snorted with laughter, turning away.
Then he understood, and felt his face heat up. Oh Merlin. They thought… they thought he was sleeping with someone? They thought Malfoy's note was from a girl! God, he shuddered to think what those two assumptions implied…
"I – no!" he choked out immediately, the blush he wore belying the hasty denial.
Ron looked both sceptical and impressed at the same time. He was staring at his friend with new consideration, his expression one of surprise. "Harry, you could have told us if you were seeing someone, y'know…"
Dismayed, he shook his head frantically. "I'm not!"
Hermione's hand clasped his wrist, drawing his attention. She turned concerned brown eyes on him, her cheeks still faintly pink. "Oh look, this is none of our business, I know, but… I mean, you are being careful, aren't you…?"
"Hermione!"
"And who is she?" Ron chipped in, elbowing him in the ribs. "Why don't we know about her? Is she in Gryffindor?"
"Ron, don't pry," the witch insisted, shaking her head and tutting. She added, in the same breath, "Although I am a little confused as to why you didn't trust us enough –"
"I'm not seeing anyone!" he hissed angrily, lowering his voice as others nearby began to catch wind of the hushed disagreement. "Don't you think you'd know if I was?"
The redhead shrugged. "Then who's the note from? And what, exactly, would they like to do again?" He was giving his friend a look that said, quite plainly, There, get out of that one.
And Harry couldn't. There was nothing he could say that wouldn't dig the hole deeper, and no particularly convincing lies were springing to mind any time soon. So he floundered, shaking his head in wordless, helpless denial – determining, all the while, that he was going to kill Malfoy.
Ron rested his elbow on the table, smirking and looking quite satisfied. "I knew it!" he said triumphantly. "So that's where you've been sneaking off to all those nights."
"But I'm not…" He trailed off as it became obvious that neither of his companions were listening any longer, instead occupying themselves peering around at each House table, trying to determine which one his new 'girlfriend' sat at. Harry sighed irritably, looking away in exasperation.
In doing so, he found his gaze drifting toward the Slytherin table. Taking advantage of his friends' distraction, he cast a pointedly annoyed look at Malfoy. The blond simply raised an eyebrow, looking completely unflustered by anything that had occurred in the last few hours, whether that be waking up unclothed and unwashed on Lupin's floor, or having his private – but thankfully unsigned – note read by both Weasley and Granger.
Draco Malfoy, truth be known, was even slightly amused. He'd watched from the corner of his eye as the Golden Trio gossiped animatedly after the arrival of his little message. He'd seen the red flush spread across Potter's face and even heard his scandalised squawks from halfway across the Hall. He could only imagine the conclusions being jumped to at this moment in time…
Happy with his small form of revenge – in retaliation to the undignified situation he'd woken in, which was somehow to be blamed on Potter, of course – Draco resumed his meal with a satisfied smirk fixed firmly in place.
xxx
Harry waited near Remus's hut for the arrival of the others. Once again he'd assumed his new form, revelling in the fact that he could do it again at will. He'd already decided that he was definitely going to tell Ron and Hermione about it soon enough, although he was holding off for the moment. If he was really going to be repeating this odd little gathering, he felt he should probably maintain some kind of privacy. But as soon as the full moon was over, he'd tell them – and also hopefully sort out the ridiculous theory that he was sneaking out to be with some girl.
He had, of course, wondered why Malfoy had been the one to ask for a repeat performance. Harry knew well enough that he'd enjoyed it – barring the part when he woke up – but he'd assumed it was all the same to the blond. And considering that Malfoy seemed determined to wallow in denial – at least, according to Remus, who had admitted to Harry that he was trying to talk some sense into the Slytherin – running in a pack wasn't the best way to convince oneself that one was normal.
Merlin, he'd just referred to himself and the blond as part of a pack.
Giving a short huff of annoyance, he gave up trying to figure it all out and instead stretched and yawned. His body clock was screwed up. He felt like it should be the middle of the day.
Waiting didn't take much longer after that. Within minutes he was joined by the two werewolves and Fang. It struck him as odd, for a moment, that he hadn't seen Remus as a human for several days now, but here he was with him.
This time they slinked around the edges of the forest until they reached the far side of the lake, generally hidden from view of the castle and its occupants. Malfoy, as prissy as ever, in Harry's opinion, refused to come near the still, black water. In fact, he sat back and watched disdainfully as Fang splashed about in the shallows, soon to be followed by Harry, who was getting quite caught up in the idea of canine behaviour. Remus sat a little apart from his younger companions, watching them tolerantly, and occasionally casting glances out over the rest of the grounds, checking they remained alone.
Glancing up, Harry caught sight of the white wolf a little distance away, his head cocked to one side. The Gryffindor could practically see the sneer of derision he'd be wearing; almost hear the drawling question as to what Harry thought he was doing, acting like he really was an animal.
He wanted to explain, but couldn't. Wanted to try and put into words how… liberating this all was. It was new and strange and made him feel uninhibited, such a difference to how bored he'd been of late. And generally, he didn't care if he looked like an idiot.
And so they went on like this, Draco as haughty as ever and Harry happily embracing 'pack life'. Again they raced and fought, this time around the banks of the lake. The high point of the night, in Harry's mind, was as they were pelting along side by side, and he'd thrown himself sideways into the wolf. Malfoy had, of course, lost his footing, and toppled into the slightly muddy water, to emerge seconds later growling and sneezing, his silver fur sopping wet and slightly discoloured.
He'd paid for the stunt during several small fights, when the blond did his best to scratch, kick and shove as painfully as he could. But Harry had received the punishments laughingly, still amused.
xxx
This time, at least, they'd had the forethought to leave out blankets and pillows scattered across the floor, so that Draco would be spared waking up in the same state of undress. The werewolf had curled himself up under them, much like Remus, while Harry returned himself to normal and simply grabbed a pillow.
Like before, it was light streaming through the window that woke him. He blinked himself awake a few times, reaching up to rub his eyes. He didn't feel as exhausted as he had the previous morning, and wondered if they'd slept in longer this time.
Still, he thought, a few more minutes sleep wouldn't kill him. Yawning, he moved to turn on his side, away from the invasive morning sun.
But for the second time in so many mornings, Harry froze. Oh, this was not happening again! For Merlin's sake!
But sure enough, he found himself trapped by a weight atop him he was unaccustomed to. He lifted his head to look down at himself without moving any other muscle. Blonde hair obscured his vision.
Malfoy wasn't particularly heavy, he was just… inelegant, in sleep. And that made him harder to shift. Once again, limbs were arranged without care, the blanket hopelessly tangled around him. He'd abandoned whatever pillow he might have been using, instead replacing it with Harry's midriff. A pale arm was thrown across the Gryffindor's hips, fingers grazing the top of his jeans.
This was ridiculous! What the hell was Malfoy playing at? This was not normal! Admittedly, very little of the interaction they shared was remotely normal – but this…
This couldn't keep happening. Was the Slytherin really that desperate for human contact that he'd throw himself across anyone who lay still long enough? Once… once was understandable… almost. Once was just a rather embarrassing incident that could be blamed on sleep. Twice? Twice was the beginning of a pattern that made Harry too uncomfortable for words.
This was Malfoy. Slytherin git extraordinaire. Vindictive bastard that had only defected to the Light side because he was forced to. Absolute prick who'd been a constant torment for over five years now. Oh, and werewolf, if that counted for anything.
Not someone Harry liked to find himself in this position with. Continuously!
He thought through all this motionlessly, wondering, as he lay there, if Malfoy would wake up if he simply rolled to the side and let the blond collapse on the floor. Probably, he concluded after a while. Damn.
The Slytherin in question, as if sensing the intent to escape, suddenly decided to tighten his hold. The hand on Harry hip grasped at his jeans, using the belt loop there for purchase, and he settled himself more firmly across the Gryffindor's stomach. Quiet sighs, not loud enough to be termed snores, came in steady rhythm.
Harry closed his eyes tightly. Too weird, too weird! In desperation to be free, he considered simply shoving Draco away and bolting. Maybe the blond would be too dazed to realise what had happened. Maybe–
Be sensible, he told himself sharply in annoyance. This was not the Great Escape, this was extracting himself from a sleeping boy. It wasn't that hard. After all, he'd done it before, he thought with exasperation.
Thinking this, he did as he'd done the first time, grasping the other's wrist and – after a brief struggle to gently undo the grip on his jeans – lifting it away. It was only a matter of slipping out from under the Slytherin after that, which he promptly did, even backing away from him for good measure.
No, this definitely couldn't keep happening, Harry told himself as he collected his wand and glasses, which had been left lying nearby the night before. Which was a pity, because he was enjoying the night time runs with the two werewolves and Fang.
But some things really weren't worth it.
This, for example, was just too weird. There were no two ways about it. This was Malfoy, and waking up with him like this – even if it was only three mornings out of a month – simply wasn't an option. If it was anyone else, he wouldn't have held it against them, but he firmly drew the line at intimate sleeping positions with his long-term enemy.
Thinking that last phrasing over incredulously, he shook his head, hoping to dislodge the thought from his mind forever.
The point was, he couldn't do this again. Even as he shut Remus's door behind him and began the walk back to the castle, he was still on edge and distinctly uncomfortable. A blush still coloured his face and his skin was still unnaturally warm where he'd made contact with the Slytherin.
No, definitely not worth it…
xxx
It was Draco's turn to receive a note, this time while he was with Pansy and Blaise some hours later, lounging outside beneath one of the trees near the lake. He was tired, and didn't have the energy for much else other than staring at the rippling surface, occasionally glimpsing the shadow of the Giant Squid and frowning as he remembered Potter pushing him into that water. It had taken a whole forty minutes in the shower this morning before he'd felt clean again…
These were the idle thoughts running through his head when he was interrupted by the arrival of what looked like a hastily made paper aeroplane. It landed in his lap, the pointed nose crinkling slightly.
Pansy automatically made a grab for it, but he snatched it up before she did, holding it away from her.
She smiled innocently. "What? I thought it might have been for me."
Rolling his eyes, Draco hauled himself to his feet, moving to stand a few feet away from his friends before opening the note and eyeing the brief line of scruffy handwriting.
'Can't make it tonight. I have a date.'
Blond eyebrows rose sharply for a few seconds before lowering in a frown. Dismissively, he crumpled the paper into a ball and thought about replying tersely, something along the lines of, I don't recall inviting you. Or maybe a sarcastic, So miracles do happen.
But no, that would only encourage this rather tasteless correspondence. Looking around, he saw no sign of Potter anywhere on the grounds, and told himself that was a good thing. Pansy and Blaise would be watching him, and they'd know instantly who the note was from if he stood glaring at the Gryffindor.
With a quick Incendio, he tossed the crumpled paper into the air and walked away as it disintegrated as ash on the wind.
Besides, he didn't particularly want to do it again, anyway. Potter's absence made no difference at all…
xxx
Harry watched the blond receive, read and destroy his little plane from his spot in the window of the Owlery. A date, he's said in the brief message. Hah! He'd be lucky to find the time and patience to date anyone, and wouldn't have thought of the excuse if it hadn't been for Malfoy's original note causing his friends to jump to conclusions.
Absently, he stroked Hedwig's snowy feathers, wondering dispassionately if Malfoy cared whether or not he'd be there, and if the Slytherin would be out somewhere on the grounds tonight, without Harry.
Not that he cared, he told himself resolutely – fully aware that he was lying to himself, but not really sure why.