7. Catharsis and
the Cat
The next morning,
Harry didn’t want breakfast. He didn’t
think he could eat, and he certainly didn’t want to see Malfoy sitting on the
other side of the hall, gloating, while Ron speculated over how Malfoy obviously
knew all about it. But Neville had
pestered him and insisted that he at least try to eat something. Harry’s unwillingness to go had ended up
making him and Neville late. Ron had
gone on ahead with Hermione, not being willing to wait for Harry any
longer. As they entered the hall and
made their way to the Gryffindor table, a hush descended upon the other
students, and several faces turned to stare at Harry. Ginny motioned for them to sit next to
her. She was clutching a copy of the
Daily Prophet in her hands.
“Harry, in the
paper…” she began.
Harry cut her
off. “I know.”
He didn’t know,
but he could guess, and he had no intentions of reading it. Neville accepted the paper from Ginny with
thanks as they sat down. He began to
read, and Harry glanced over towards the Slytherin table. There was Malfoy, looking his way. Harry glanced downwards immediately, and he
focused on trying to swallow a bite of toast; he didn’t want a confrontation in
the hall, didn’t want Malfoy to pull any cheap shots in front of all these
people. He’d finally managed to work the
morsel down his throat when someone approached from behind him. He didn’t bother to look up, not wanting to interact
with anyone.
“I know how you
feel, Harry.” It was Ernie’s voice. “It’s
pretty awful having it in print for the rest of the world to see. At least when my father died I was able to
return home for a few days. I guess I
just wanted to say that if you want to talk about it, let me know.”
“Thanks,” he
mumbled half-heartedly in reply, looking round at Ernie. He knew he should be grateful. Ernie was making a very nice gesture, but
Harry wasn’t in the mood for nice gestures, not at that moment. I can’t do this, he conceded. He couldn’t sit there, having to converse,
with people staring at him—Malfoy staring at him.
He made eye
contact with the concerned faces that surrounded him at the table and announced
he was going back to the common room to be alone for a while. Neville began to protest, but it soon died on
his lips when he saw how resolute Harry was.
Harry pushed himself up from the table, walking out of the Great Hall
and up the stairs, away from all those inquisitive eyes, but he didn’t make it
as far as the common room.
“Potter,
wait!”
It was Malfoy.
Harry braced
himself and turned, finding the strength inside to have it out in the
corridors, if necessary. “What do you
want, Malfoy? Come to gloat?”
Malfoy appeared
to be surprised at Harry’s reaction. He
frowned and grabbed Harry’s arm, dragging him to a nearby classroom. Harry, not expecting this from Malfoy, let
himself be dragged into the empty room like a doll.
“You think I’m responsible
for your aunt’s death?” Malfoy asked incredulously, still clutching Harry’s arm
a little too tightly. He looked
surprised and a little bit shaken.
Harry shrugged off the
unwanted hand and glared back—as Hermione had pointed out yesterday, Malfoy
could be a good actor when he wanted to be.
“It’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“I was going to spend the
summer there with you!” Malfoy protested, and Harry was slightly unnerved by
the pleading tone in Malfoy’s voice. “Do
you really think I’d stuff that up? You
know I hadn’t anywhere else to go to.”
“Won’t you be returning to
your father now that you’ve got back into his good books?” Harry spat
back.
“I didn’t do this,
Potter!” Malfoy spoke in desperation as he stared at Harry. When there was no change in Harry’s rigid
demeanour, Malfoy turned and slammed his fist onto one of the desks in frustration. “Listen to me! I didn’t even realise what had happened until
I saw the paper this morning,” he pleaded, his eyes begging Harry to accept
what he was saying. “I don’t know how… I
don’t know who… But it wasn’t me. Please
believe me.”
Harry slumped to the floor,
resting his back against the wall. “I
don’t know what to believe, Malfoy.”
Yesterday, when he had first
heard the news, Harry was desperate to think Malfoy hadn’t been
responsible. Then, after talking to Ron,
Hermione, and Neville, it had all seemed to become so clear: Malfoy had betrayed
him. Now, Malfoy was here, begging Harry
to trust that it wasn’t him; he’d even used the word ‘please’—Harry had never
heard that one uttered from Malfoy’s lips before! I expected Malfoy to be bragging about
what had happened or, at the very least, come up with a reasonable alibi, Harry
thought. He hasn’t done either; he
seems as surprised about my aunt’s death as I am.
“Why should I believe you?”
Harry asked.
“Because you’re a
Gryffindor—that’s what you do. You give
people second chances, and you don’t give up on them!”
Harry looked up and studied
Malfoy. He seemed genuine enough: he was
frowning intensely, and he looked panicked that Harry might walk out on him.
“Trust me, Potter.” Malfoy sat down opposite him. “You know me.
If it was my doing, then I’d definitely be bragging about it by
now!”
Harry couldn’t help looking
up and giving Malfoy a weak grin for this comment. Either Harry really did know Malfoy that well,
or Malfoy knew how to play Harry perfectly.
Harry joked to himself that he couldn’t credit the ferret with that much
intelligence. Acknowledging just how
important their friendship had become to him, he reminded himself that there
was no definite proof that Malfoy had been involved.
Malfoy studied Harry intently, watching as
he seemed to wage an internal struggle over Malfoy’s pleading.
“Surely this attack can’t
have upset you this much,” Malfoy pointed out. “I know you get all guilt-ridden when someone
gets hurt at your expense, but… this is your aunt. You didn’t exactly like her.”
“No I didn’t,” Harry
replied, surprised by Malfoy’s perceptiveness.
“Hated her would be more like it.
I guess I’m just really pissed off that you could’ve set me up. You still could be, for all I know, but I
don’t think that even you would be that sick!” They exchanged a warm grin, which sent a
fuzzy tingle down into Harry’s stomach.
“I’m also feeling a bit off because everybody else thinks that I should
feel something vaguely remorseful, but I don’t.
Nobody else would understand if I told them, and… I don’t think I really
do, either. Why do I always have to be
different, Malfoy? Why can’t I just be normal? I wish I could just have normal reactions to
a normal life, with a normal family and a normal girlfriend.”
“Like Loony Lovegood, you
mean?” Malfoy snickered, and Harry gave a mock glare. “You certainly were a hot couple at
the ball!”
“We only went together
because we both wanted people to stop speculating who we were going with. I’m not interested in her like that.” Harry was reminded of Ron’s disappointment of
Harry’s choice of date, and he smirked to himself at the thought of Ron finding
out just who Harry had really been interested in.
“So, who was your last real
girlfriend?” Malfoy rubbed his hands
together at the prospect of finding out some more juicy gossip about Potter.
“Cho Chang, I suppose,”
Harry said, dully. Malfoy’s face fell,
clearly disappointed with Harry’s lack of a private life. “We only ever went on one real date.”
“I heard all about that
disaster!” Malfoy smiled at the
recollection, and then he turned to study Harry intently. “But that was over a year ago. My god, Potter! Are you a Monk?” Malfoy
laughed at Harry’s disgruntled expression.
“Hasn’t there been anyone you liked, or did your ‘Gryffindor bravery’ do
a runner when it came to approaching them?”
“The only person I’ve had an
interest in wasn’t exactly accessible,” Harry said, dismissively. He looked downwards, away from Malfoy’s
prying eyes, hoping that Malfoy would accept the vague statement and wouldn’t
push for more details. But he knew it
wasn’t likely.
“Who was it?”
Malfoy immediately asked, his eyes sparkling with the knowledge that he was
onto something.
“Never you mind!” Harry
stubbornly retorted.
He didn’t know if he could do this, have this
conversation. What if he was wrong in
assuming Malfoy wasn’t responsible for his aunt’s death? What if he was just
setting himself up even further? But Harry
felt reasonably sure that Malfoy had been sincere in his protestations, and
after spending so much time thinking about what Lupin had said to him, Harry
really wanted to talk about it. He
didn’t feel his conversation with Luna counted, as the information hadn’t been
volunteered: she had just guessed about his crush on Oliver Wood and confronted
him about it. He wanted to give this
part of himself to Malfoy; he wanted Malfoy to know. What if Malfoy was disgusted by it? But this was all academic. Harry knew that Malfoy would get it out of
him one way or another. There seemed to
be a fairly predictable balance of power that had developed between them that
term. Whoever wanted the information was
usually the one to get his way: stubbornness was heightened with
curiosity. And so Malfoy persisted.
“Don’t you start
keeping secrets from me now, Potter! Not after all we’ve talked about.”
Harry searched
for some inner courage—and some saliva to wet his suddenly parched mouth. After everything they had been through, did
he seriously think that telling Malfoy about Oliver Wood would be enough for
Malfoy to suddenly dismiss what they had? Was Malfoy like that? Harry couldn’t
be entirely sure; he could imagine Ron being a bit homophobic after the incident
with Ginny, but not Malfoy. In the end,
Harry decided it was silly to keep quiet ‘just in case’ it offended
Malfoy. If Malfoy could get that
offended, then was their friendship really that important?
“Oliver Wood,”
Harry mumbled as he felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment.
Malfoy did a
double take before looking at him appraisingly, his eyebrows raised
in amusement, “Wood? Can’t say I was
expecting that from you. So you’re now
The Bi Who Lived, eh? I bet the Weasel
doesn’t know about it, not after what happened with Thomas.”
“No, he
doesn’t. Anyway, who did you last date?”
Harry asked, keen to change the focus of the
conversation.
“Pansy Parkinson,” Malfoy
said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Dense, irritating cow.
I ended that after the ball. And
I’ll let you in on a little secret, Potter: the girl’s a
nymphomaniac! Not that I’d ever put my
dick anywhere near her; I guess that’s what irritated me the most…” Malfoy
changed his voice to a higher pitch that was deliberately squeaky. “When are we going to go all the way, Draco,
darling?” he imitated, triggering a fit of laughter from Harry. “I’d sooner put it in Loony Lovegood! Why is it there are no girls worth even
considering in Slytherin? —I guess there’s no point asking your opinion about
things like that!”
Harry tried to give Malfoy a
condescending look, but he couldn’t prevent an insistent chuckle from
escaping. Malfoy grinned back, amused by Harry’s lack of self-restraint, but then his
expression became more serious.
“Why did you so adamantly believe that it
was me?” he asked.
Harry was startled by the
sudden change of conversation, and it took him a couple of moments to collect
his thoughts together—unhappy thoughts that had been briefly, but successfully,
forgotten until that moment.
“I didn’t, not at first. But we overheard someone mentioning they’d
noticed you looked really pleased with yourself over the past couple of days,
and Ron just jumped on it. He was, and
still is, convinced that you know exactly what happened to my aunt, and both
Hermione and Neville were agreeing with him.
So, after listening to them go on about it, and knowing what we’d talked
about, you started to seem a little guilty… You would have thought the same thing
about me if our situations had been reversed.”
“I guess so,” Malfoy
acknowledged. “So, you’re going to go
back to your friends now and listen to them trying to implicate me even
further. It’s not going to turn your
mind against me again, is it?”
“No, it won’t,” Harry
assured him. “Although
it might drive me up the wall at times.
But don’t worry too much, it’s not as if I spend that much time with
them anymore…”
“So you’ve started to cramp
their style; Granger and Weasel only have eyes for each other now? At least you don’t have the desire to confess
all to them. I was worried for a bit
that you’d insist on initiating me into your little gang at some point, along
with Bulstrode.”
“You would’ve let me tell
them?”
“No! I said I was worried that you’d insist;
I didn’t say I’d ever agree to it! I
still don’t want anyone to know about this—I can’t risk my father knowing…”
Malfoy gave an awkward chuckle. “I can
imagine the look on his face if he found out that I was friends with you!”
“Er… Luna knows.”
“You told Loony?”
“Don’t call her that!” Harry
admonished. “I didn’t tell her. I bumped into her earlier in the week. She seems to be more observant than any of
the others—she worked it out for herself.
But she thinks that no one else has noticed, and she won’t say
anything.” At Malfoy’s look of
disbelief, Harry added, “She never told anyone about Oliver Wood.”
“So, I’m not your only
confidant then, Potter. Are you trying
to make me jealous, or am I Loo… Luna’s replacement!” As they grinned at one another, Harry felt
heat travel up his neck and spread over his cheeks in a blush. He was very grateful the room they were in
had no windows and that they were in shadows, only having one lamp in the far
corner. “Oliver Wood… I still can’t get
over that one!”
The door clicked open, and both boys
immediately jumped to their feet in alarm.
To Harry’s relief, it was only Professor Dumbledore.
“I think you two might want to move along
now. Classes are due to start shortly,
and I believe the second years will be coming in here for their
Transfigurations lesson.”
Harry smiled gratefully at the headmaster,
while Malfoy stood there still in shock.
They’d both forgotten all about lessons and the fact that breakfast
would’ve been over by now. Dumbledore
gave them a warm smile before turning away and walking down the corridor. Malfoy looked at Harry, letting out a big
sigh.
“I guess Dumbledore’s all
right, really,” Malfoy said with a grin.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night, Potter.
Room of Requirement, as usual?”
“Yeah, see you later,
Malfoy,” Harry mumbled, his head swimming from Malfoy’s grin.
Harry rushed back to the
dormitory to grab his books. As he went
he tried to put the image of Malfoy’s face out of his mind and think about
Dumbledore instead. How did Dumbledore
know they were there? Had Dumbledore
just been keeping an eye on him since the news about Aunt Petunia, or had he
been watching them ever since Harry and Malfoy had begun talking? Did he know what had been said to Malfoy
about the Dursleys? If he does, then
he would’ve said something by now, Harry reassured himself. Or, he would have if he thought it was
relevant; perhaps he knows, and he doesn’t believe Malfoy had anything
to do with it, either.
The rest of the day passed
painfully slowly for Harry. He was still
being fussed over by the other Gryffindors, and he was finding lessons with the
Slytherins particularly frustrating, wanting to work with Malfoy instead of
finding himself stuck with Seamus all the time.
Instead of sitting with Malfoy publicly, Harry would have to impatiently
wait for the following evening, when they could spend more time together,
uninterrupted. At lunchtime, Harry was
surprised when Ron made a point of sitting next to him and being quite
chatty. But Ron soon let it slip that he
was after the Marauder’s Map. He was
planning some ‘real privacy’ with Hermione the following evening.
“I’m sorry, Ron. I lost it a couple of weeks ago. I haven’t been able to find it.” Harry felt awful about lying, but he knew he couldn’t
risk lending it to Ron. Not when he was
regularly meeting up with Malfoy.
“Lost the map? Oh, Harry, you idiot!” Ron remained silent for a few moments,
thinking, before he asked, “Do you think we’d be all right in the Room of
Requirement?”
Harry nodded mutely, whereas
inside he was highly frustrated. Damn
not being able to tell Ron or Hermione.
I’ll have to send a note to Malfoy to meet me somewhere else.
Things between Ron and
Hermione, and himself had only deteriorated the following evening; he had
managed to get into an argument with Hermione over dinner. It had started innocuously enough, with
Neville asking what Harry was going to do over the holidays. Ron looked a bit abashed that he hadn’t
thought to ask Harry that question yet.
“I suppose you could always
stay with us,” Ron offered—almost begrudgingly, Harry felt. “Why don’t you ask Dumbledore?”
“He’s already said that I
should stay here,” Harry replied rather awkwardly. It felt odd that any other year he would’ve
jumped at the chance to spend all summer at The Burrow. Now, it was enough to know that he still had
Malfoy for company. “I guess I’ll just
have to wait and see what comes up by the time the holidays start.”
“I bet Malfoy won’t be able
to resist a dig if he finds out you’ve got to stay at Hogwarts.”
Harry was sorely tempted to
say, ‘he already knows,’ but he bit his tongue, saying nothing.
“Millicent still thinks he’s
up to something,” Neville added.
Harry tensed, not wanting
want to listen to this. He wasn’t
interested in any more anti-Malfoy propaganda.
“Why do you trust Millicent
so much?” he asked. Those who sat by him
stopped eating, and they looked at him in disbelief. “How do you know that she isn’t just planning
something herself?”
“Harry!” Hermione chided.
“How can you say that, especially in front of Neville? Everyone knows Millicent’s changed! Half of Slytherin aren’t talking to her
anymore because of it.”
“She says she’s
changed, but it doesn’t mean anything.
You wouldn’t trust someone like Malfoy, if he claimed the same thing, so
why do you believe her? Why does she
feel it necessary to continually imply Malfoy’s up to something, when he hasn’t
done anything since Christmas?”
“Oh, come on, Harry. Get real!” Hermione’s voice now had a definite
edge of anger to it. “As
if Malfoy would ever change! The
only reason you haven’t noticed how different Millicent has become is because
you don’t bother talking to her. You
could try making an effort with her, Harry.
I think it’s a bit much, accusing her like that, when you haven’t even
taken the opportunity to get to know her.”
Hermione, having finished
her dinner at this point, stood up to leave.
“I never realised you could be like this, Harry. Come on, Ron.”
Later on that evening, he drifted
down the corridors towards his meeting point with Malfoy, cloak and map in
hand, still stewing over the silly argument.
Why didn’t he stop himself from questioning Millicent’s motives? It was obvious that there was no point
bothering in the first place. But then again, why did Millicent insist on going
on about Malfoy, convinced he was up to something? What was she up to? His train of thought ground to a halt as he
bumped into Luna, who was walking towards her own common room. He pulled the cape off and mumbled an
apology.
“I don’t need three guesses
to know who you’re going to meet!” she joked.
Harry smiled warmly at
her. She was a welcome face after the
earlier conversation. “Yes, I’m going to
see Malfoy,” he admitted.
“So have you and Draco come
to your senses and started dating yet?
You’d make a very dashing couple.”
Apart from the automatic
blush, Harry didn’t get the chance to respond to this. Snape had appeared from around the corner and
was now looming over them.
“Isn’t it time the pair of
you got back to your own common rooms, instead of childishly gossiping in the
corridors?” He glared at both of them
before fixing a steely gaze on Harry.
“And I’d appreciate it if you’d stick to corrupting students from your
own house. As if Draco
Malfoy would be interested in you in that way!” Snape spat this last point out at Harry,
making him want to die on the spot out of embarrassment. Snape waited for a moment before rounding on
them once more. “Well, why are the two
of you still here?” he snapped.
They both jumped and
scurried off—Harry pretending to go back to the
As he walked, Harry’s
thoughts about Snape were racing. He
didn’t seem that surprised about me and Malfoy—although he clearly
doesn’t like it! I bet he hasn’t said
anything in lessons because of Malfoy’s situation with Lucius. I wonder how he knows... Harry was aware
that Snape knew of Malfoy’s refusal to have the Dark Mark, and that Snape had
been watching over Malfoy at the beginning of the term, but he found it hard to
believe that Snape had willingly chosen not to interfere in their
friendship. Unless
Professor Dumbledore has said something… I suppose this probably
falls under Order of the
When Harry arrived, Malfoy
was already there and busily going through an open cupboard that was full of
Muggle artefacts.
“You’re early,” Harry stated
as he wandered over to sit on an adjacent desk.
“Yeah, got bored in the
common room. How’s life with the
Gryffindorks?”
“A bit stormy. Apparently, Millicent has been spreading more
gossip about you.”
“Silly cow.” Malfoy turned round to face Harry, waving an
egg whisk about as he spoke, and using it to punctuate what he was saying. “I don’t see how anyone can trust
Bulstrode. She’s never been friendly
with Gryffindorks before; it all seems a bit fishy, if you ask me. And I reckon she does know about me turning
down the Dark Mark—she’s trying to stir up trouble to make my life as awkward
as possible.”
“I think you manage to do
that fine by yourself!”
“Oh, you’re so witty,
Potter. My life would be so dull
without you… Anyway, why does Bulstrode’s continual hatred of me make it
stormy?”
“I made the mistake of
asking why they trusted Millicent so much…”
“I bet they didn’t like
that… oops.” The whisk had snapped, and Malfoy hastily shoved it back into the
cupboard. “Neville won’t be speaking to
you when he finds out.”
“He was there—it was when we
were having dinner.”
“Nice one, Potter!” Malfoy
laughed, and he pulled himself up to sit on the desk next to Harry. The whole side of Harry’s body began to warm
up where it was in contact with Malfoy; he felt his stomach flip over. “Pity I couldn’t have sat at your table for a
change. It’s a shame I had to miss
that! This ‘keeping things a secret’
lark does have its disadvantages.”
“Perhaps we could mention it
to a couple of people…”
“Two words, Potter: my
father. Anyway, I don’t like all and
sundry knowing my business. I prefer to
keep it so nobody knows.”
“I bet you would. Don’t forget Luna, though! I bumped into her on the way up here tonight…
and, er… Snape overheard us talking…”
Malfoy started at the
mention of Snape. He jumped back down
from the table and wheeled round to look at Harry in alarm. “Tell me you’re joking, Potter.” Harry shook his head. “He heard you—shit… What exactly were
you saying?”
“He mostly overheard Luna,”
Harry stated, feeling his face begin to redden as he remembered what it was
that she had said. “And before I say
this, I’d like to point out that it’s just something she’s come up with by
herself…. It’s nothing that I’ve suggested…
After my thing for Oliver, well she…”
“Bloody hell, Potter, stop
waffling and just spit it out!”
“First she asked if I was
meeting you, tonight. Then she wanted to
know whether we’ve ‘come to our senses’ yet and started dating… Snape appeared
at that point and gave us hell for loitering.
Then he told me I should ‘stick to corrupting students from my own
house’.”
“And Snape overheard all of
that?” Malfoy asked, in disbelief, the colour slowly draining from his face in
direct contrast to Harry’s beetroot complexion.
“I think so,” Harry
nodded. “You look like you’re going to
be sick.”
“I think I am.”
“Surely it’s not that much
of a problem?” Of course, Harry
realised. He doesn’t know about
Snape…But I can’t tell him, can I? Dumbledore would probably flip if he found
out…
“You can be so stupid
sometimes, Potter.” Malfoy was beginning
to pace the room now, occasionally kicking a table leg in frustration. “He’s going to tell my father that I’m friends
with you.”
“I don’t think he will…”
“How can you remain so
bloody blinkered for five and a half years?”
Harry just looked at him
blankly. I can’t let Malfoy think
that his father is going to find out… But it would definitely be going too far
to tell him outright about Snape… What do I do?
“Potter, Snape’s a Death
Eater,” Malfoy snapped. He stopped
wandering now and came over to sit on the desk opposite Harry; Malfoy’s
shoulders had sagged, his face weary, and his tone now dissonant and imbued
with worry. “He’ll really enjoy
telling my father. And you know my
father will go ballistic over this—he hates you. You get in the way of You-Know-Who’s
plans. You freed our house-elf. You helped to get him into Azkaban. He blames you for what happened to him when
he got out—and believe me, that was one shit experience… I’ve already
let him down and disappointed him as it is—when I chose not to have the Dark
Mark. Befriending the despised Harry
Potter will only make things worse between us…”
He trailed off and dropped
his head. Harry desperately wanted to
comfort Malfoy, to hold him, but he felt too nervous to reach out and touch the
dejected Slytherin.
“I miss my father, and I still haven’t heard
from him. I don’t even know if he’ll
ever look at me in the same way again, anyway.
And when he finds out about us being friends…” Malfoy’s voice
sounded thick with emotion. He sniffed,
and Harry caught sight of a drop of liquid as it fell from Malfoy’s chin. Malfoy was crying.
He didn’t think twice about
comforting Malfoy now; in an instant he was standing in front of Malfoy and
holding him. Harry had never imagined
that Malfoy could be capable of crying, and he wondered if perhaps this was the
first time that Malfoy had ever been moved to tears. Malfoy didn’t resist, allowing Harry to pet
him and moving his own arms around Harry’s waist. Malfoy held on tightly, and Harry felt
wetness soak into the shoulder of his robes.
Malfoy wasn’t completely letting go—Harry supposed that Malfoy could
never do that—but he let his emotions just seep out at the edges. It was like watching the water gradually
trickle through the overflow of a bath, and Harry just wanted to pull the plug
to let all of Malfoy’s concerns drain away.
Harry resisted the instinct to tense up at the feeling of Malfoy
grasping on so firmly, although he couldn’t stop the sensation of dizziness. He held on and gently stroked a hand over the
back of Malfoy’s head, willing his unwelcome hardness to disappear and trying
to concentrate on what Malfoy might be going through. Having turned his back on his own family, not
having anyone other than Harry to turn to at school, and now risking upsetting
his own father even more, Harry could understand how Malfoy could be scared of
not having anything left. No, Harry
firmly told himself. He’ll still have
me. I’m not going to leave him.
“Malfoy, I’m sure Snape
won’t bring it up with your father…He’s…” Harry faltered. He knew he shouldn’t be saying this, but he
also knew where his loyalties now lay—and they certainly didn’t lie with
Snape. “Look… I can’t believe I’m
considering telling you this… I’m not supposed to mention it… But I really
don’t think he’ll tell your father. And
he might not be able to show it, but I believe that he’s actually pleased you
chose to stay at Hogwarts—even though he doesn’t think much of our friendship,
and that’s only because he doesn’t think much of me! Can you just trust me on this? I want to tell you the details, but…”
Malfoy lifted his head up,
and Harry let his hand slide down to Malfoy’s shoulder. Malfoy looked at Harry and gave a weak smile,
his face glistening wet in patches.
“That two-faced sneak is
working for Dumbledore, isn’t he?” Malfoy chuckled weakly, and Harry smiled
back, relieved that he could feel Malfoy beginning to relax. He then frowned when Malfoy’s composure
stiffened once more.
“Potter… all the time we’re friends
there’s a risk that it’s going to get out… I don’t want to screw things up with
my father, but—shit, Potter, I can’t believe you’ve got me saying this—I
think that, right now, I… need you. I’ve
never needed any of my friends before…”
Harry’s jaw dropped
involuntarily. The desire to just lean
across those few inches separating them and kiss Malfoy was almost too strong
to resist. Just say something… Harry
told himself in a panic. Say
something, and then you won’t risk ‘doing’ something you could regret.
“Well…” Harry started off tentatively. What can I say? Something that will
reassure him, I guess… “If it ever does get out about us—being friends—just
remember you’re not alone, Malfoy: I’ll still be here. I know I’m not your father, but I…”
Harry was cut off short as
Draco suddenly leant forward, brushing his lips against Harry’s stunned
mouth. He’s kissing me, Harry
thought. I’m being kissed by Malfoy… He
realised that he should be participating as well, but then Malfoy pulled back,
glancing nervously at Harry’s bewildered expression. Harry could feel the hands gradually
retreating from his back. He thinks I’m not interested…Harry realised. I’d better put him right about that.
“Sorry, Potter, I jus…”
Malfoy began to back-peddle, but Harry interrupted him.
“Please don’t be sorry,” he
said gently before leaning in to lightly press his mouth to Malfoy’s.
His lips tentatively moved
against Malfoy’s, his body shuddering involuntarily as he felt Malfoy’s lips
push back in response. Malfoy took the
lead, kissing more firmly and tugging on Harry’s lips—to which Harry eagerly
responded, parting them slightly and letting his tongue enter the foray,
sweeping it against Malfoy’s. It was
wet, Harry acknowledged. Like the kiss
with Cho, he could feel Malfoy’s damp face against his; but this made him feel
more connected to Malfoy, whereas Cho crying over Cedric had just made that
moment feel awkward. And this time,
Harry was an active participant. It
wasn’t just a kiss that was happening to him; it was a kiss that he was a part
of. He could taste Malfoy—slightly sweet
with an underlying metallic tang; he could feel Malfoy—exploring and tasting
Harry’s own mouth inquisitively. Drawing
back slightly, their breathing heavier than before, they both looked at each
other with eyes sparkling and cautious smiles making their appearance. Harry couldn’t stop his from turning into a
frantic beam, which Malfoy returned.
“God, Potter…” Malfoy
laughed. “What are we doing?”
“Digging our own graves?”
Harry shrugged, not caring what it meant for the moment; only knowing that he
was feeling ecstatically happy.
They both sniggered at his
comment before leaning in once more.
This time the kiss soon became more heated, and Harry held on tightly,
purposefully moving a hand back up to Malfoy’s head to ruffle that impeccable
hair. Malfoy’s arms moved slowly and
firmly around him, pushing their bodies together. Then, without warning, Harry felt Malfoy sink
within his grip. The table was tipping
over, and it came down with an almighty CRASH!
“Shit!” Malfoy exclaimed as Harry pulled
him upright. They looked at each other
gravely, both knowing that somebody probably would have heard the noise.
Harry pulled the Marauder’s Map out of his
pocket and scanned it to see who was nearby.
“Filch is on his way over. He’ll be here in a minute.” Harry picked his cloak up from the desk
behind him and pulled it over both of them.
Under the cloak, Harry grabbed Malfoy’s
hand, steering him out the door and along the corridor in the opposite
direction of Filch. They kept going
until they came upon the stairs that led down to the dungeons.
“I guess we should be going
back to our common rooms…” Harry stated, a little disappointed that evening had
come to an early end.
“Yeah, it probably won’t be
safe with Filch on the alert,” Malfoy acknowledged before giving Harry a
mischievous look. “I can’t believe I’ve
let myself be pulled by Harry Potter!”
“It seemed to me that you
were the one doing the pulling.”
Malfoy’s expression turned
into a Mona Lisa smile as he caught a look of expectation in Harry’s eye. They both stared at each other, wanting. Only moments passed before Harry decided he
couldn’t wait any longer; he placed his hands on Malfoy’s waist and pulled
Malfoy close, pressing their lips together.
Harry could feel a hand snaking its way across his back, another playing
with the short tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. He gasped around Malfoy’s mouth before
deepening the kiss. When they finally
broke off, they still held on to each other, refusing to move their bodies any
further apart.
“Are you sure you’re not doing this as part of
an insidious scheme of yours—just to try and set me up?” Harry jested at the
dishevelled Slytherin still hidden under his cloak.
“And people say I’m
too self-absorbed! I’d love to say that
was true, but I bet the other Slytherins would kill for a piece of gossip like this.”
Malfoy leant in and placed a row of kisses along Harry’s jaw-line before gently
whispering by his ear: “Do you want to meet up tomorrow?”
“I think I could cope with that,” Harry
responded with a gasp. “But we need to
go somewhere more private.”
“Why, have you got nasty plans for
me, Potter?” Malfoy asked wickedly, his eyes glinting.
Harry blushed, realising how it had
sounded. “Malfoy! I mean… I don’t… Stop grinning at me like
that! You can be such a bastard at
times.”
“You love it!”
“What I meant was… if someone turned
up when we were only chatting, at least we could’ve pretended to have been
arguing. I don’t think that’ll wash if
anyone catches us kissing.”
“Is Weasel going to be shagging in the Room
of Requirement again?”
“Malfoy! If you can’t call
him Ron, then call him Weasley—not Weasel! I’ll find out about the room. If he is using it, perhaps I could sneak you
up to the dorm…”
“Absolutely no way am I
putting myself at the mercy of the Gryffindorks! You’ll just have to abstain and try your
hardest to resist my charms, if that’s the only option! Or we could just stay
under here all evening...” Malfoy motioned to the cloak, and he managed to
imply all manner of dirty things just through a brief raising of the
eyebrows. He then leant in to slowly
drag his lips upwards along Harry’s throat, causing a jolt of electricity to
shoot up Harry’s spine. Harry closed his
eyes and drew in a deep breath, leaning his head to one side to give Malfoy
better access.
“Are you going to keep your
eyes on the map then?” Harry muttered distractedly. “Imagine if Snape walked into us—that would take
some explaining!”
“You find out about Weasel-lee,” Malfoy
responded in between kisses that gently tugged at the skin. “And if he is planning to use the room, then
I’ll work on getting him a detention.”
“Malfoy!” Harry chastised, giving Malfoy a
shove. “Don’t you dare! I’ll think of
something, okay?”
After being reacquainted with each other’s
mouths once more, they reluctantly parted, finally going their own separate
ways. Harry wandered back in a daze—he
had been kissing Malfoy! He felt warm inside
and content. He also needed a bit of
private relief. Had Malfoy noticed? If he had, he didn’t seem to have minded. Harry tried to recollect whether Malfoy had
reacted as strongly, but all he could remember were Malfoy’s lips and
arms—where the rest of their bodies had connected was just a melded blur of
heat. As he let his mind meander over
the evening’s events, a memory came back to him from the previous term: when he
had spoken to Professor Lupin about Oliver Wood, and Lupin had differentiated
between attraction and affection. Is
this what he meant by feeling ‘affection’ for someone? Harry wondered, and
he went over Lupin’s words in his mind: ‘As for affection, well that comes from knowing another person,
and when you feel it, don’t ever let others stop you from having it.’ I
certainly have no intention of letting anyone spoil this, Harry asserted.
Back in the common room,
there were still students milling about, talking and studying. To Harry’s surprise, both Hermione and Ron
were present; Hermione was in tears, and Ron didn’t look very happy,
either. What had gone wrong?
“Harry, where have you
been?” Ron demanded.
“I… I’ve been out for a
walk,” Harry stammered, wondering whether it showed what he had really been up
to. Was his hair ruffled? Were his lips too rosy and full? Did he have ‘I’ve just been kissing Malfoy’
written all over his face? “What’s up?”
he added, as nonchalantly as he could.
“Before we went out,
Hermione noticed that Crookshanks was missing.”
Ron explained. He looked fed up,
and Harry suspected it was because his plans—getting an evening alone with
Hermione—had been disrupted, rather than any real feelings towards the
cat. “We’ve been searching instead, all
evening. All we’ve found so far was
some of his fur in a corridor that leads down to the dungeons.”
“Crookshanks never goes down
there,” Hermione sobbed. “He always
stays around the corridors in Gryffindor tower.”
Harry sat with them for a while. After the evening he’d spent with Malfoy, and
now having to come back to this situation, he couldn’t help feeling a little
deflated. It was too late to continue
searching Hogwarts, and there was nothing else anyone could do to help until
the next day. So he sat there, making a
show of being supportive while internally musing how easily Ron and Hermione
could’ve stumbled upon him and Malfoy in their search for the cat. He especially didn’t want them to find out
now, not after this evening’s surprising developments.