Ron was not, as Harry had half expected, waiting up when he finally made it back to Gryffindor Tower. Instead, he was waiting when Harry awoke, sitting patiently on his bed watching Harry sleep in a rather disconcerting way. "You're going to miss breakfast if you don't hurry," he said, an odd sort of smile on his face.
Harry got up, limbs heavy with exhaustion. He wasn't quite sure how late he'd got in, but he was definitely the last one to bed. He pulled on his clothes wearily, then got his books together and was vaguely ready to face the world. He was just about out the door when a thought occurred to him. "Ron," he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer, "Why are you being so sodding reasonable about all of this?"
Ron laughed. "I dunno, Harry. I guess... I realized that about all I've done is argue with you about every single choice you've made in the last two years." He shrugged. "Malfoy makes you smile."
Harry felt his cheeks pink, and his mouth turn up despite himself. "Yeah, he really does."
"I can't do that anymore," said Ron, turning to go down the stairs. Harry took this as a sign the conversation was over. Perhaps he'd see what Hermione thought.
He caught up with Ron at the bottom of the stairs, touched his shoulder so he turned. "Ron, I-" he started, but that seemed all wrong. Instead he just grinned like he'd been given his best friend back, and said, "Thanks."
Ron smiled back, then went on to breakfast without another word.
Harry and Ron barely got to breakfast in time to grab toast and leave for class, and something in him felt bereft that he'd missed Draco completely. They didn't have class together until the very end of the day, and Harry trudged to History of Magic with even less enthusiasm than usual. The day seemed to drag, worsened by the wind outside, which spent the morning gathering all of yesterday's fluffy clouds into one big iron-grey sky.
Lunch time found him standing in front of one of the tall windows in the foyer, watching his breath fog up the rain-streaked glass. The storm had broken just as Charms was letting out, lightning strobing the upper corridors, thunder rattling the paintings on the walls. Harry had spent most of both classes trying to find a way out of the corner he was slowly painting himself into.
Ron's easy acceptance of this new development wasn't helping, really, because the one question he'd been too scared to even think was just what, exactly, Ron thought was going on between him and Draco. Whatever Ron thought, Harry couldn't have honestly denied or confirmed it, because he had no real idea, either. Everything seemed like it was on fast forward, like he had to cram all the living he had left to him into the next four weeks, because then it would be too late.
He knew he was avoiding going into the Great Hall, seeing if Draco was there or not, feeling disappointed that they hadn't arranged another meeting. Not that he'd had the time to arrange one, mind you, or really been alone at all that Draco's owl could have slipped him a note, but logic was really not figuring largely in his current mood. No, unrequited lust didn't follow logic, especially when a part of him was beginning to hope that it might, some day, be requited.
Which, of course, begged the real question: Did he even want to become even further hopelessly, helplessly entangled with Draco sodding Malfoy? Even without considering the war and the fact that Draco might be ripped from his side and given to his father to be... Harry shuddered to think what he would be, if that were to happen. Even so, he wasn't sure that seven years of passionate hatred were really the best foundation for, well, passion.
Of course, looking at it that way, maybe there had been something there for a lot longer than either of them would admit. In his more optimistic moments, Harry saw the casual touches and indecipherable looks as a sign that Draco harbored a secret lust for Harry. Of course, then the pessimist in him would point out that Draco himself had said he enjoyed the feeling of power, of knowing that Harry wanted him and all the balls were in Draco's court.
He was just starting to get properly pink, thinking about balls and Draco in the same breath, when a voice behind him made him stiffen in much less pleasant ways. "Pining for me, Potter?"
Harry didn't even turn around, just brought his attention back enough that he could see Draco dimly reflected in the dark glass. "Just missing yesterday's sky," said Harry softly, unable to quell this painful honesty that rose in him whenever Draco was around.
Draco leaned into the window, putting himself as much into Harry's line of sight as possible without actually touching him. "I like the rain. I love the music of it."
Harry blinked. At moments like this, Draco seemed almost like two different people. "It's soothing when you're happy, but just makes sadness worse, like the sky is crying with you," said Harry, turning so his eyes met Draco's challenging gaze.
Draco snorted. "I can guess which you are now, Potter. Hasn't anyone ever told you that moping around like this is painfully self-indulgent?"
Harry flushed angrily for a moment, then something in Draco's eyes drained the anger away and left a smile behind. "That's much better. Now, are you coming in to lunch, or does your poetic tragedy require you to fast?"
Harry laughed, shaking his head. "You're insufferable, Draco." He paused for a moment, remembering what he'd just been moping about. "Er, I... after class..."
"My room?" said Draco lightly, and Harry was too relieved to wonder that Draco had agreed so easily.
"Meet you there," said Harry, turning to go into the common room. The foyer, when he looked, was full of people pointedly not looking at them. He and Draco shared an amused look, then Draco slung an arm around his shoulder and propelled him forcefully into the Great Hall.
"Remember, if they're talking about us, they're not panicking about You-Know-Who," he whispered as Harry started to pull away. He settled back into the crook of Draco's arm, feeling slightly guilty at just how glad he was for the excuse.
They had every eye in the place on them when they went in, and Harry whispered, "Should we sit together?"
Draco looked surprised, then said, "Naah, gotta save something for tomorrow."
They pulled apart almost reluctantly and went their separate ways. Harry didn't even need to hear the whispers to know that he, at least, was grinning more than a little evilly as he stalked over to where Ron and Hermione were consulting some ancient tome, and sending him odd little guilty glances. "Hey," said Harry casually, plopping down next to Ron. "You tell him about the potion?"
Their guilt deepened, and Harry's grin widened. "It's ok, Hermione. He needed to know, I guess." He filled his plate while they went back to the book, getting a few bites of food down before asking, "Did you find anything new?"
Hermione launched into some long-winded explanation about the properties of the ingredients and the nature of the spell. He wasn't really paying attention until she got to the part about the life of the dove hearts and how they'd keep the potion in his blood for three full days. "Wait, three days?"
Hermione nodded. "The potion works on you for 72 hours, and then it runs out, leaving your perception of the person in question forever changed."
Harry sat back in his chair, stunned. "So, if I'm still hot for him after class today, that's it, it's real?"
Ron's eyes grew wide. "You're hot for him?" he whispered loudly. Heads turned.
"Gee, Ron, I don't think the Hufflepuff table quite heard you," said Harry. "Yes, and I'm not so sure that it had anything to do with the potion. Apparently, I'm hot for Oliver Wood, too."
Ron looked like he might have apoplexy. "I thought it was a brotherly thing!" he said, hissing through his teeth to keep from shouting. "You never said you were a poof!"
Harry turned a bit pink. He hadn't really thought about it in those terms yet, having been rather distracted by the whole falling-in-love-with-Draco-Malfoy thing. "Er, I guess that would be one way of putting it," he said, blushing.
"Shirt lifter. Pillow biter. Bleeding ponce." His eyes grew a bit wilder with each epithet, and Harry started to get angry.
"Look, I didn't just up and decide one day, all right! I just... I realized that I haven't really fancied any girls since Cho, and when I let myself think about it, there were an awful lot of blokes I did fancy." Harry was whispering, too, and it seemed like everyone around them was straining to overhear them.
"But what about me?" said Ron suddenly, eyes narrowing.
"What about you? You've got the hots for Parvati, last I knew," said Harry, confused by the sudden change of subject.
Ron shook his head, still whispering. "No, no. I mean, d'you, y'know, fancy me at all?"
Harry blinked, suddenly feeling a bit more sympathy for Draco's reaction when stunned by such odd news. "Er..." He thought about it for a minute. Ron naked in the showers. Ron lying on his bed. Ron... "Er, no. No, I really think it'd be like you trying to fancy Ginny," he murmured finally, unable to suppress a deep shudder.
Ron looked for a moment like he might take offence, but then he laughed. "So I get the philia, then, and Malfoy gets the eros, eh?"
Harry blushed, glancing around at the students no longer even trying to pretend to eat. "Er, looks like it, yeah." He squirmed in his seat a bit, then gave in to his urge to be totally up front with this new, more understanding Ron. "Although, to be honest, he might prefer to switch with you. We, er, haven't quite worked that bit out yet."
"Well, you'll know tonight if it's lasting, whatever it is," said Hermione crossly, glaring indiscriminately at the people leaning in to catch their words. She raised her voice a bit and added, "Don't you people have lives?"
Harry and Ron sniggered with glee, watching everyone within earshot jump and begin their own, guilty conversations. "Hermione, you are just too cruel," scolded Ron, shaking a finger at her. Harry just tried to get his lunch down between bouts of laughter.
Harry still had Transfigurations with the Slytherins, so although Draco had already left by the time he, Ron and Hermione finally finished eating, Harry wasn't particularly worried. After all, they'd sat two desks away from one another for seven years. When they rounded the corner, though, Harry stopped, stunned, as Ron and Hermione continued into class, chattering obliviously.
Draco was leaning against the wall, smiling disarmingly down at a fifth-year Ravenclaw girl, who was blushing and clutching her notebook. He touched her gently on the shoulder and murmured something, and she nodded shyly. They stood there like that for a few long moments, talking too quietly for Harry to hear before she nodded again, this time more enthusiastically, and took off down the hall, presumably for her next class.
Draco turned to Harry and said, "You'll catch flies like that but not much else, Harry."
Harry closed his mouth with a snap, then advanced on Draco angrily. "What are you up to, Malfoy? I thought you didn't go for her sort."
Surprise washed over Draco's features, leaving behind an odd little smile. "Well, evidently orientation isn't the only reason you've stayed pure, Potter, as you obviously know nothing at all about women."
"What are you on about? You're either a liar, or you're just leading her on." He was confused, jealous, angry and ever so slightly aroused by how close they were standing, and it wasn't improving his mood at all.
"Sometimes, Harry, they aren't interested in actually getting the prize so much as in feeling like they're worthy of the prize." More students filed past them into the classroom, and Draco's smile faltered a little, as though unused to being let out in such public circumstances.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he retorted grumpily.
Draco sighed, then leaned against the wall, head back, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. "It's just... she doesn't really want to date me or marry me or even snog me. She just wanted to feel like she was attractive, so I obliged her."
"Oh," said Harry. "I s'pose you do that a lot, then."
"Only with girls," said Draco, little smile firmly in place once again as he shoved off the wall and took a few steps towards the Transfiguration classroom. "Coming?"
Harry followed, still bewildered but oddly reassured. Just the fact that Draco had taken the time to try and sort things out was worth a lot more than a casual touch and a smile, really, even if the girl had designs on Draco's body. Which, Harry was coming to realize, he now thought of as his exclusive territory. He shook his head, laughing at himself as he sat next to Ron. He was being awfully presumptuous, really, all things considered.
An accident in Herbology left Harry covered in dirt and fine, sticky pollen. He trudged through the rain back towards the castle, dismayed to find that the addition of water was turning the whole mess into a film of something horrid all over his skin and clothes. He'd have to scrub for an hour to get it off, and he just knew he'd end up with some stuck to that patch between his shoulder blades that he never could seem to reach.
He was so intent on his own misery that it took a moment to register that there was someone speaking to him. "Having a bit of difficulty, are we, Harry?" drawled a familiar voice, and Harry turned to see Draco lounging against the same window as earlier.
He remembered their meeting, and trailed over gloomily, careful not to get any of the sticky mess on Draco's immaculate clothing. He grunted in reply, unwilling to explain the series of inattention-related events that had resulted in his current state.
Draco grinned at him, then said, "Well, come on, then. The prefect's bathroom is much better equipped to de-sliming you. I'll even bring you a change of clothing while you bathe."
Harry eyed Draco with something like suspicion. "Er, thanks. But... why?"
Draco's eyes twinkled with mirth as he explained, "Well, I can't have you in my room looking like that, now can I?"
He'd said it just loudly enough that heads all around them turned, and a forest of whispers sprang up around them. "I wouldn't want to mess up your perfect bed, now would I?" Harry replied, feeling slightly vindictive.
Draco lowered his voice to a purr and said, "I'm sure you would."
Harry blushed.
They walked in silence the rest of the way to the bathroom. Draco whispered, "Mandrake," and the painting swung open, revealing the familiar tiled room with its deep, many-fauceted tub.
Rather than leaving right away as Harry had expected, Draco stalked into the room after him, turning on half a dozen taps, bringing over towels and washcloths, and generally fussing about while Harry stood in the middle of the floor, dripping rather impatiently. "Aren't you going?" said Harry a bit crossly, as he was starting to suspect he'd have to peel the clothing off his skin if it was allowed to dry on.
"Shy, Harry? I've seen it all before remember," said Draco teasingly, and Harry blushed, remembering as well.
He finally just shrugged and began trying to unstick the individual clothing items from one another, at least enough to get them off his body. Draco looked amused for a moment, then stalked over and began to cast small cleaning charms on him. Between Harry's struggling and Draco's magic, they managed to get Harry naked before he'd even really had time to get embarrassed.
Of course, as soon as he was naked, his body reminded him with a jolt that he was, once again, naked in a room with a completely clothed Draco Malfoy. "You know," said Harry, sliding into the tub so at least his more obvious reactions were hidden under the foam, "I'm starting to think you enjoy having me prance around naked while you've still got clothes on."
Draco just smiled and shrugged enigmatically. "Well, now that you're settled, I'll go get the clothes." His eyes were twinkling enough that Harry was beginning to worry.
"Nothing too... y'know, trade," said Harry warningly. "We've still got to go down to dinner, after all."
"Would I do that to you?" said Draco innocently, slipping out of the portrait before Harry could reply.
Harry sighed deeply, then grabbed some soap and a wash rag and began scrubbing vigorously. Whatever Draco had put in the water seemed to be helping a great deal, and the stuff flaked off in big chunks to swirl away into the water. Harry managed to get pretty much everywhere except the one spot on his back, and the one bit he'd been somewhat afraid of touching with the way nudity and Draco combined had made him feel.
He glanced towards the door, then shrugged and wrapped a hand around himself. Very little of the goo had made it this far, but the slick soap felt so good against his sensitive skin. He leaned his head back against the rim of the tub and let his body sort of float, legs spread, hips raised and toes just touching the bottom. The water felt almost slippery around him, as though whatever made up the mounds of thick white, blue and green foam was dissolving into it.
He thought about how Draco had looked at him that first night, about how Draco might look in nothing but the shoulderless robes he'd put on Harry, rising hard and ready out of a nest of pale curls, framed by black velvet. Harry's hands moved of their own accord, stroking, cupping, touching. Exploring further back than he had before, visions of Draco's anatomy and just what he might want to do with it guiding Harry's fingers to his own entrance.
A part of his mind was telling him that now was not the time, that Draco might walk in any moment and see him moving under the bubbles, might hear him moaning Draco's name like a prayer. That part was not what guided his middle finger to slide inside, surprising himself with a new pleasure. He arched his back, raising up out of the water, trying to get more of his finger inside. He added another, then a third, moving them in time to the now-frantic stroking of his other hand.
A change in the air made him open his eyes, and he cried out the name that went with silvery grey eyes wide with surprise, dark with lust. "Draco!"
He fell back into the water with a splash, limbs twitching, helpless in the grip of release. When he turned back, Draco was gone, a small pile of clothing on one of the benches the only sign that he'd really been there at all. Harry had no idea how much Draco had really seen through the thick foam, but he was pretty sure that it was obvious just what Harry had been up to. He put his head in his hands and tried to think of a way out of this mess.
His head snapped back up immediately when he realized one very important fact. If Hermione was right, the potion had run out sometime during Herbology. What he'd just done was embarrassing, mortifying, yes, but it wasn't because of magic. It had been simple teenage lust, and nothing more. He leapt out of the water, dried off hastily and slid into the clothes Draco had brought, barely paying them any attention, other than to mutter the fitting charm.
Draco didn't know the potion was going to wear off tonight, Harry had never gotten a chance to tell him. He left his old clothes on the floor, only stopping to grab his wand from the pile and give it a quick wash. He hurried determinedly down to Draco's room, vowing that he'd wait outside all night if he had to, just so long as he'd be allowed to explain.
