Chapter 15
In Which We Revisit the Physics of Rumours,
Specifically in Relation to Dungeon Acoustics

Professor Binns barely noticed when Harry slid into his seat, dishevelled, breathless and wearing Draco's clothing. He'd completely forgotten to retrieve any of his own school clothes, and had not only slept completely through breakfast, but ended up twenty minutes late for History of Magic. He did not miss, however, the stares and whispers that his appearance garnered, but he supposed it wasn't every day that a Gryffindor showed up to class wearing Slytherin colours.

He sprinted to the Tower between classes to change, feeling oddly bereft as he left Draco's things out for the house elves to clean and return to him. He was quite well aware, however, that not all the professors were as dim as Binns, and he'd get more than he was ready for if he paraded about in Draco's clothes all day. This, of course, made him late to Charms, but the minor lecture from Flitwick was nothing compared to what he'd say if he'd seen Harry show up in someone else's uniform.

Harry tried to concentrate on the complicated animating charms they were learning, but he kept being reminded of chocolate fairies and spiced kisses, and drifting off into his own rather embarrassing little world. At the end of class, he was even held back for an extra bit of lecturing. "I realize, Mr. Potter, that there is a lot going on, but just think what you could do with this spell on the battlefield! Animate someone's robes to hold them in place, or..."

Harry's mind had immediately snapped onto an image of himself, trapped by his own robes, struggling under Draco as he was ravished, and evidently Flitwick wasn't fooled the least bit by his rapt expression. "If you're not even going to pay attention for a whole lecture, you might as well go. But mark my words, you need to know your charms if you're going to be the hero we need!"

That got Harry's attention, but not in anything like a good way. "Yes, Professor," he said glumly, realizing that he had only four weeks left of school, 27 days total in which to spend as much time with Draco as possible while still finding a way to keep him safe. The weight of his briefly forgotten responsibilities crashed heavily onto his shoulders, bowing them as he trudged off to lunch.

Something was trying to get his attention, a feeling at the edge of his awareness. Something like shock and anger, only vague and fuzzy, and he began to run towards the pull of it as he realized what it was. Draco was upset somehow, and getting more and more agitated even as Harry ran to his hopeful rescue. He pelted down the stairs, flinging apologies back to those students who'd had to leap out of his way, heading down, ever down, towards the dungeons.

"I don't know what your bloody problem is! You're not my father and I don't need your approval! He loves me, even you can't deny that now." Draco's voice carried through the damp hallways as Harry careened around corners, heading for the sound. It seemed impossibly loud by the time he got to the source of the feelings, and something cracked open inside him just as he opened the door to Draco's bedroom.

"If you need magic to prove to yourself that he loves you, then what good is he to you?" were the words that slithered along his skin as he stepped into the room.

"I'm here for him when he bloody well needs me," said Harry vehemently, and Snape whirled.

"Potter. I should have known you'd hear his histrionics and come running." Snape's face was twisted in a mask of pain and hatred.

"I didn't hear him. I felt you breaking his heart." Harry pushed past him to get to Draco, whose eyes were wide and startled, cheeks blotchy and red with anger and pain. "He cares about your opinion of him, for some idiot reason, and he wants your blessing. How dare you make him choose!"

Two things happened then -- the tight feeling in his chest eased as Draco's arm snaked around his waist, and Snape's face crumbled as he doubled over in pain. "Snape!" Harry was shocked to find they'd both cried out, and were now both kneeling beside their fallen professor.

"He's calling..." said Snape, gasping. He seemed to realize that one of the arms around his alarmingly thin shoulders was Harry's. He straightened up, shrugging off their assistance and standing with some effort. "Never fear, it shall pass."

"Do you have to go to him?" said Draco quietly, and Harry could feel the pain tugging at his chest. He was surprised to find its faint echo already there, the quiet sympathy that had grown for the bitter, angry man that Snape had been turned into, all in the service of the light.

"No. He knows I am unable to Apparate from Hogwarts whenever he calls his minions, and thus I am exempt. But he likes to make sure I feel the call, just the same." Snape's back was straight, spine so tense Harry thought it might snap under the strain.

"Well then, let's get you to your office and get some tea into you. I'm sure Draco's got some chocolate stashed around here that we haven't eaten yet." Harry began rummaging through the nightstand, steadfastly ignoring the small blue bottle on top. It was half empty and had one very incriminating white fingerprint on the side from when they'd changed positions after the second time, Harry's hands on the headboard as Draco knelt behind him. Draco's fingers had been slick with Harry's seed, and they'd laughed at the smear he'd left on the bottle.

He found a couple of rather battered chocolate frog packages, and turned back around to find them both staring at him. Draco's face was soft, wondering, and the warmth of his affection slid through Harry's chest like he'd just taken a gulp of hot, sweet tea. Snape looked pensive, still angry but almost reasonable now. Almost human again. "I found a few chocolate frogs. Here," said Harry, thrusting the packages towards Snape.

He took them, hands mechanically unwrapping one and thrusting the squirming bit of candy between thin, dry lips. They were all silent, glancing uncomfortably at one another as Snape slowly consumed both frogs. "Tea. Office. Now," said Harry abruptly. "Unless you'd prefer to go to lunch in the Great Hall?"

"I believe I shall retire to my rooms for now, thank you for the chocolate. I suggest you two hurry up to lunch, as I am sure your fellow students are speculating as to the reason for your tardiness." Snape's sneer was back, but it seemed thin, worn. Like the real person behind it didn't want to stay hidden anymore. He spun on his heel and left without another word, stalking away in a swirl of black robes and disgust.

Harry turned slowly back to Draco as the door to his room swung shut. Draco's heart still felt broken, shards of glass prodding at Harry's chest, begging him to fix it. "I can't make him understand, but I can be here for you until he does," said Harry, stepping into Draco, encircling him with arms and love. Draco curled into and over him, buried his face in Harry's hair and inhaled deeply while those sharp little points receded just enough that they could both breathe.

"Let's eat. I'm sure everyone's been saving up their jokes," said Draco, smiling down. His face seemed odd, and Harry blinked as he finally understood why. It was soft, relaxed, no masks or sneering, just gentle affection and the sparkle of good humour, with a dark core of pain lurking in his eyes where before there had only been icy disdain.

"I love you, you know," said Harry, turning to open the door.

"Yeah, I do," said Draco, and somehow, that was exactly what he'd needed to hear.

---

They sat at the Hufflepuff table today, just the two of them off to one side, taking up space at no one's invitation. Instead of the catcalls they'd expected, the entire Great Hall had quieted down when they walked in, followed by a lone, slow clapping. It spread, as these things are wont to do, until students were standing, cheering, whistling, and even Dumbledore had joined in with twinkling eyes and a surprisingly sincere-seeming golf clap.

"Nutters," said Draco, for the third time. "Barking mad."

"Yes, Draco, it's awful for them to see someone who's led the most put-upon house in the school from being a bunch of petty schemers to a real cohesive group, just terrible for that boy to be hooking up with their very own Boy Who Nearly Got Killed an Awful Lot." Harry's voice was low, and would have seemed irritated to anyone who didn't have the feeling of rightness burning the embarrassment away in their chest.

"Git," said Draco irritably. Harry could only be amused at the repeated waves of irritation that battered at his own unshakeable happiness, as they all seemed to centre on Draco not being allowed to actually be annoyed about the whole thing.

"You love me anyway, what does that say about you?" said Harry, grinning. "Now stop being such a prat and eat your lunch, or I'll only let you shag me twice tonight."

Draco smiled despite himself. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Yep."

---

Harry had Quidditch practice that day after classes, and Draco declined to come and watch. "They'll still think I'm spying. I think I'll just sit in bed and touch myself, see if I can't disrupt your flying when I come."

"Save some of that for me," said Harry, giving Draco a quick surreptitious nuzzle. They were in the corridor just off the foyer, leading down towards Draco's room, and temptation. "I'll have to sneak back out tonight, I think, or else eventually someone's going to notice."

"As long as I get my three shags, minimum." Draco stole a kiss, fingers finding Harry's hip beneath his Quidditch robes.

"Perv."

"Tart."

"Only for you." Another quick kiss, and he was on his way to the pitch, heart already soaring to the skies. They'd tried to make him Captain last year, but he'd shucked it off to Ron, stating that he was far too distracted, and anyway, Ron knew the sport back to front. This way, he still got to spend most of practice high in the air, doing what he did best. Flying.

Ron gave them a rousing speech, during which the growing threads of Draco's fulfilled threat had him fidgeting in his seat, eager to at least get somewhere where the bulge in his robes wouldn't be noticeable. Nothing like a long, hard, well-polished broomstick between your legs to draw the eye away from any other phallic objects nearby. It was a relief when Ron released the snitch, and he could launch himself after the fluttering gold and just float on the air and feel.

He let his attention slide, opening himself up to the sky the way he usually only managed when the game was on and adrenaline was running high. He was aware of the world, of the grass below him and the sun above, the solidity of the broomstick pressing against his own echo of Draco's hardness, the flutter of robes and the faint glimmer of the snitch off to his right. Lust washed over him as he leaned into the broom, grinding himself into it while he dove for that glittering prize.

It was almost more intense this way, out in the open full of wind and light and hunger, not closed up with Draco in a dark room full of nothing but the two of them and their desire like a third person in the room, growing with every look and touch. This way, he had the hot core of it inside of him, but around the edges, eating at his control in a way no one else could see, there was Draco's heat, too, calling to him, drawing his blood to the surface and making it boil.

He couldn't feel exactly what Draco was doing, or thinking, just the pulse of his lust running through Harry's veins. Instead, his brain provided him with dozens of possible images: Draco up against the door, licking his palm and shoving it down pants he barely had time to unfasten. Draco lying, completely nude in the centre of his unmade bed, staring up at the ceiling as though he could see through solid rock to watch Harry soar. Draco's hand, slick with last night's oil, working himself as he knelt on the cold stone floor.

Harry was almost shocked when his fingers closed around the snitch, despite the fact that he'd been actively diving for it. He heard his teammates cheer, and almost lost his grip on his broom when Jack Sloper flew over and slapped him on the back. "Ought to've let that Malfoy git bugger you years ago, if this is the result!" he said cheerily, flying off before Harry could even think of a reply.

Ron flew over after him and gave him a wry grin. "You know," he said, in a disturbingly conversational tone, "Those dungeons have really odd acoustics."

"Er, what?" Harry was having a bit of trouble concentrating at the moment; he was pretty sure Draco was getting very close to finishing.

"So pretty much all of Slytherin heard you last night. 'Oh, Draco, yes, like that, you're so hard, never thought it would be this good, oh god, oh Draco, oh yes, right there, deeper, yes.'" Ron's voice stayed flat even through the recitation of things Harry barely remembered saying.

"Oh," said Harry, the mortification of being heard not quite enough to overcome the sneaky little exhibitionistic pleasure in knowing they'd also heard him make Draco beg at least once. Harry's mouth, though unpracticed, was evidently quite effective for certain activities, and Draco had been lovely, stretched taut and pleading to be finished off. "Er, so... you've been hearing about this all day, I expect?"

"Nothing like having their champion buggering yours to give them a bit of an ego boost, eh?" Ron's cheeks had gone a bit pink, but otherwise he was still friendly, still there.

Harry grinned at him, a wash of affection cleansing some of the misplaced passion out of his system. "You're just disappointed it wasn't the other way 'round."

Ron blushed a bit deeper, then punched him in the arm, grinning. "Naah. Whatever frosts your cookies, mate."

Ron flew off, then circled back 'round, still grinning. "You caught the snitch, now get out of here! You've got a Malfoy to bugger!"

The rest of the team cheered as he hastily landed, running full out, hoping to get to Draco before Draco got himself off. After all, he did have at least three good shags to get in around their homework.