8. In the Absence of a Full Moon
Harry woke early the
following morning. Instead of feeling
frustrated that he should still be sleeping at that time on a Saturday, he lay
in bed in a sleepy haze, remembering the events of the previous evening. He kept playing the scenes over in his head
as his fingers drifted lazily across his belly and further downwards. Those soft lips melding into his own; the
feel of soft fine hair as he ran his fingers through it; the sensation of
broomstick-roughened hands playing at the back of his neck; arms wrapped around
him, holding him tight as he felt Malfoy under his own hands; the heat from
their combined bodies; and when Malfoy had started to kiss his neck…
“For crying out
loud, Harry!” Ron shouted at him in a drowsy slur. “Go and do that in the shower—we don’t want
to hear you moaning and groaning first thing in the morning!”
Harry blanched, jerking his
hand away from his painfully hard erection, mortified that he had been so
verbal with his fantasy. He muttered a
feeble apology before padding out to the showers to finish what he had started,
in peace.
He wasn’t able to meet up
with Malfoy on Saturday, as they had originally planned, because Snape had
given Harry a detention Saturday night.
Snape had caught Harry in one of the classrooms whilst he was helping
Hermione look for Crookshanks, lecturing him on not entering the rooms outside
of lesson times. Harry bitterly noted
that Snape hadn’t given anyone else a detention—even though it was obvious that
several students were participating in the search. So Harry ended up stuck in the potions lab,
with Snape glaring at him, having to scrub cauldrons without the use of magic
until the early hours of the morning.
When he arrived at the Room of Requirement on
Sunday evening, he found that the room had changed slightly. The two chairs that were usually present were
missing. Instead, Malfoy was sprawled
out on a large, plump sofa that had an extra-wide seat—almost the size of a
single bed—but with arms and a low back to it.
“We’ve been upgraded—and we
can lock the door now! I was
hoping for a bed, but I guess this’ll have to do…” Malfoy jested. “I bet this room’s been rigged by Dumbledore
so that it doesn’t do beds!” Malfoy sat
up and made a space next to him that Harry eagerly filled.
“If that was the case, I
don’t think we would have got the lock, either,” Harry commented.
They chatted about neutral
topics for a while, such as Quidditch and homework, testing the waters to see
how things would develop between them.
Harry’s breath frequently hitched at Malfoy’s expressive mannerisms and
the occasional sideways glance that Malfoy made through his fringe as it fell
across his face. Harry soon found it
difficult to concentrate on the conversation.
Catching the look of distraction on Harry’s face, Malfoy trailed off to
flash Harry a beaming smile and raise his eyebrows in a way that Harry found
positively scandalous: Harry’s stomach flipped.
Catching his breath, Harry
cautiously leant forward to kiss Malfoy, still a bit worried that he might have
had a change of heart since Friday. To
his relief Malfoy confidently kissed him back.
Harry reached out a hand and ran it along Malfoy’s shoulders, pulling
their bodies closer together and letting the softness of Malfoy’s robe run
under his fingers. He let his hands wander, exploring the entirety of Malfoy’s back, feeling the
outline of muscles through the layers of clothing. In response, Malfoy wrapped both his arms
around Harry and began kissing him fervently.
Harry’s head started to swim. It
was hard to work out where he ended and Malfoy began. He heard a noise of contentment escape from his
mouth, and he felt heat filling his groin.
This was too intense; he needed to calm down.
“I could do with a bed,” Harry said
breathlessly as he pulled back slightly.
He then blushed, as he knew exactly how Malfoy would take it.
“Because you do have
nasty plans for me…”
“Because I’m tired,”
Harry clarified hastily. “What with detention
last night, Quidditch this morning, and the rest of the day chasing round
looking for Hermione’s cat, ‘absolutely shattered’ is probably a better
description.”
“At least you didn’t get
another detention tonight. Snape’s
really got it in for you, hasn’t he!” Malfoy
laughed. “You know, I’ve been thinking
back over what Snape’s been like since it was decided that I should get the
Dark Mark. It’s pretty obvious, in
hindsight. All those times he’s been
telling me I could trust him and to talk to him about it, he was just trying to
get me to admit I didn’t want it. I
guess it’s really put his nose out of joint that you’re the one who persuaded
me not to have it; the one who I ended up trusting!”
“If he’d given me another
detention tonight I think I would have ended up in the hospital wing!” Harry
joked, half-serious. “Still, it might
have gotten me out of that Potions project...”
Harry was referring to
coursework Snape had given them the previous week that needed to be finished by
the end of the summer term. It was for a
coagulation potion for treatment of internal bleeding. Snape had listed the ingredients that they
would need; the project involved working out the amounts of the ingredients
required and how they would need to be prepared.
“You’re worried about the
project? It’s not that hard, Potter. It just involves reading a few books. Surely reading’s not that big a deal—even for
a Gryffindor!”
“Reading books isn’t a
problem; it’s just that I had enough trouble with potions when I knew what I
had to do with the ingredients.”
“Well, if you get stuck, I
suppose I could help. But not until
you’ve had a decent go of it; you might surprise yourself.”
“Do you realise that you’re
starting to sound like Hermione?”
Malfoy raised his eyebrows, less than
pleased with Harry’s observation. “No
comment, on the grounds that it could do irreparable damage between us… Just don’t even consider saying
anything that libellous again!”
Faced with Harry in the midst of a titanic
yawn, Malfoy pulled a cushion from behind his back and laid it on his lap. “Come on, lie down, you pathetic
creature.”
Harry chuckled and spread himself across
the sofa, wrapping his arms around Malfoy’s waist and snuggling his face into
Malfoy’s belly. He lay there as Malfoy
toyed with his hair and traced the outlines of his facial features, listening
to Malfoy talking about his latest Quidditch practise. After a while,
Harry was no longer able to pay attention to the details, only to the melodious
rise and fall of Malfoy’s lilting voice.
He felt very relaxed and drowsy, and it wasn’t long before he fell
asleep.
He awoke to the sound of a
slow rhythmic heavy breathing, half-smothered by a warm body. Malfoy had also fallen asleep and had managed
to lay half-on, half-off the sofa with his legs dangling free, and he was
leaning across Harry’s frame, his face resting on Harry’s hip. The room was in shadow, the coals on the fire
being nearly burnt out.
“Malfoy,” Harry
whispered, shaking him gently. “Malfoy, you’re
drooling on my trousers!”
Malfoy’s eyes
pinged open, and he looked around for a moment, disorientated.
“Shit, what time
is it Potter?”
“I’ve no idea,”
Harry said, giving Malfoy a shove so they could both sit up. “I guess we should be getting back.”
When he arrived
back at the dorm, Harry was shocked that it was already
The next day, Harry was
quite content to work his way through lessons in a sleepy haze. He had arranged to meet up with Malfoy again
that evening, and he hoped they would have the chance to enjoy each other’s
company more, instead of just Harry falling asleep. Unfortunately, he had potions, and Snape was
feeling particularly venomous—due to a jar of bezoars having been stolen from
Snape’s office the night before. He had
found the jar and all of the bezoars, minus one, in the Slytherin common room
that morning, but he was not ruling out Gryffindor intervention. He pointedly looked Harry’s way several times
as he ranted about the theft. Harry knew
that another detention was inevitable, and Snape did not fail to meet Harry’s
expectations.
Ron equated finding the
bezoars in the Slytherin common room with Malfoy, and Millicent was very eager
to encourage this, letting everyone know she’d seen him walking towards the
potions classroom the previous evening.
In silent rebellion, Harry half-heartedly blamed the theft on Millicent.
Seeing as he was using Malfoy as a
pillow at the time of the theft, he knew it couldn’t have been Malfoy. It was very frustrating that he couldn’t say
anything—he couldn’t exactly point out Malfoy hadn’t been walking towards the
potions classroom but towards the Room of Requirement.
Harry hoped that he might be able to meet up with
Malfoy at lunch, in an empty classroom, but he didn’t get the chance. Crookshanks was still missing, and Hermione
had decided to spend some time carrying out research in the library, believing
that his disappearance might be linked to that of Pig and Trevor. Harry couldn’t come up with a reason not to
join them, and he found that his company was welcome now that he could help
Hermione and Ron with finding out more information on potions.
“Hermione, what exactly are you hoping to find?”
Harry asked, not understanding anymore what they were going to achieve by
spending all this time wading through books.
They had begun to look through the Restricted
Section, and because of this, the number of potions they had come across was still
close to forty—all requiring elf owl feathers, parts of toad, and parts of
cat, specifically ginger cat. Hermione
had been close to tears when reading about the different cat parts used in some
of the potions.
Hermione dragged her eyes away from the heavy tome
she was currently absorbed in.
“The reason why our animals were taken,” she
replied. “You know that.”
“Yes, but what are you going to do once you find
out? It’s not as if we could do anything
with that information. And so far, we
still haven’t been able to narrow it down any further, anyway. Even if we did, I don’t understand how it
would benefit us to know exactly which one it is. It’s probably either a potion-alternative to
a transfiguration spell, or one used as an alternative to a full moon…”
“Sorry,” Ron interrupted in confusion. “I still don’t get the full moon ones…”
Ignoring Harry’s query, Hermione turned to Ron to
give him an explanation. “They’re used to
brew certain plants so they don’t have to be picked under the full moon when
this is specified for other potions,” she began, but Ron was still looking a
bit bewildered. “For example, if we had
known about them in the second year we could’ve completed the Polyjuice Potion
a lot quicker. The fluxweed had to be
picked at full moon, but if we’d prepared… say this potion,” Hermione pointed
to a potion on the page she had been reading.
“Then we could’ve picked the fluxweed at any time and just brewed it for…”
she studied the book. “Forty-five
minutes in this potion before adding it to the Polyjuice.”
“Oh, I see,” Ron said, having caught on. “So, why does any plant have to be picked
under the full moon then, when you can use these potions?”
“I’m not sure that they work on all plants,”
Hermione speculated. “And the full-moon
potions all seem to be relatively new.
They’ve only been developed in the past fifteen years or so; a lot of
the spell books we use were written before these alternatives were available.”
“But Hermione,” Harry said, stubbornly persisting
with his previous question. “What help
is it going to be if we manage to narrow it down to any of the potions we’ve
listed so far?”
“Maybe, if we can find out the potion, we could work
out who might be responsible,” she insisted feebly.
Harry did feel for Hermione; he knew she felt partly
responsible for letting Crookshanks get taken—even though there wasn’t anything
that she could have done to stop it from happening. It was obvious she was just waiting for a
clue to jump out at her, but for once, research didn’t seem to be telling her
the answers that Hermione was hoping for.
But what else can she do?
Harry guessed that it just made her feel better about losing
Crookshanks if she thought she could be doing something to help. So Harry continued to play along to appease
Hermione’s sense of frustration.
As he carried on looking through books, he
discovered an interesting transfiguration potion that also required the use of
a bezoar; the potion was designed to change an animagus to animal form
involuntarily. The bezoar removed the
poisons inherent in the potion that would otherwise kill the animagus. He pointed it out to the others, and then
immediately wished he hadn’t. Mentioning
the bezoar only reminded Ron of his chief suspect. Harry sat there, not daring to respond, as he
listened to Ron listing all the things he was going to do to Malfoy once he had
proof that Malfoy had taken Crookshanks and Pig.
Over the next couple of
weeks, Snape made it abundantly clear he didn’t appreciate Malfoy’s choice of
company in Harry. He continued to make
it as difficult as possible for Harry to spend time with Malfoy, giving Harry
detentions at every opportunity and dragging out the Occlumency lessons as late
as he could. During Occlumency, Harry
got the impression that Snape was making a concerted effort to break through
Harry’s barriers to find out about their relationship. In response, Harry worked even harder during
his lessons, hoping that Snape would never find out just how well he and Malfoy
were getting along now.
He still managed to get together with
Malfoy—especially over the Easter holidays when Harry was able to avoid Snape
completely. And although Ron and
Hermione did use the Room of Requirement on a couple of occasions, Harry and
Malfoy were often able to use the room, enabling them to make the most of the
little time they had with a sense of undisturbed privacy. Harry found it very refreshing to have
someone with whom he could relax so completely; it left him feeling very
contented to have a warm body that he could snuggle up to in the evenings. He’d never experienced anything like this
before, and he was a bit baffled that he had become so close to someone who
threatened to kill him only last year.
When they were alone, they frequently lost all sense of time, often
arriving back at their dorms between three and four in the morning. After nights like these, Harry found it
difficult to keep awake during lessons, and he had to sneak off for catnaps
during break times. Meeting up with
Malfoy the evening after such a late night meant they usually ended up sleeping
on the sofa curled up together—which Harry found to be a very pleasurable
experience, and so much better than sleeping on his own in the dorm. But Hermione had commented on a couple of
occasions on Harry’s tiredness; because of this they had taken to setting an
alarm to avoid getting back quite so late.
Frequently, they became a little ‘hot under the
collar’, but it took them a few weeks before they were brave enough to let
things go too far. Up until that point,
Harry had been surreptitiously attending to his own desires back in the dorm
afterwards—the evenings having been punctuated with breathless conversation
whenever either one of them felt that the situation had become too
intense.
Malfoy was first to push
things further.
As usual, they were sitting
together in the centre of the sofa, devouring each other’s faces, hands running
across freely across bodies—but never venturing beneath the lowest layer of
clothing, or below the waist. Harry felt
the urge to apply some friction to his groin, and he instinctively began to
pull back, to break the moment so he could cool down a little. Malfoy didn’t let him. Instead, Harry found himself being pushed
backwards with Malfoy accompanying him on his descent. Once horizontal, Malfoy lay flush against
him, placing a leg between Harry’s and continuing the frantic connection with
Harry’s mouth. Malfoy began to rub
himself on Harry’s hip, creating the wonderful friction that Harry so
desperately desired. Without thinking,
Harry automatically ground his own hips upwards, against Malfoy. They soon broke off their kiss to concentrate
on keeping an angle and a rhythm that suited them both. Only the briefest of moments passed before
Harry groaned, feeling the pressure build up and then suddenly release. He was only dimly aware of an echoing moan
coming from above him, just afterwards, as Malfoy also spent himself.
“I don’t think we’re going
to break any world records for staying power,” Malfoy said breathlessly and
with a sly grin before pressing a kiss to Harry’s lips.
Harry kissed back lazily,
frowning as he felt clothing sticking to his hip.
“Ugh! Sit up, Malfoy.”
“I never realised that someone so
inherently scruffy could be that easily upset by a bit of goo!”
Malfoy moved out of the way so that Harry
could right himself, and Harry immediately began undoing his trousers.
“What are you up to, Potter?”
“Getting rid of the ‘goo’,”
Harry replied, tilting his hips upwards off the sofa and holding his trousers
open at the front whilst pointing his wand at the mess. Malfoy cringed.
“Abluere!”
“Now that’s brave, even for a
Gryffindor!” Malfoy announced, clearly impressed. “What exactly was that spell?”
“It’s one of the gentler cleaning
charms. I ended up learning several when
I was bitten by a Malaclaw last year, but then you’d know all about that,
wouldn’t you…” Harry gave Malfoy a pointed look, and Malfoy responded by
looking suitably remorseful. “Do you
want me to clean you up?”
“Something tells me you’re still bitter
over that incident…”
“It did end up with me breaking the broom
my godfather bought me—my Firebolt.”
“Ah… In that case, I think I’ll have to
decline your offer,” Malfoy shifted to the edge of the sofa. “I’m sorry, Potter. I was a bit of an arse, wasn’t I? I tell you
what, you teach me that spell, and then you can have a laugh at my expense
while I turn myself into a eunuch!”
They started by pouring a small amount of
butterbeer on the table. After only a
couple of attempts Malfoy was able to perform the spell quite adequately.
“I still don’t feel that
confidant about pointing a wand at my dick…”
“You just need a little more
practise,” Harry said, a little mischievously.
He picked up the flagon of butterbeer once more, and before Malfoy could
work out what was about to happen, Harry quickly poured some down the front of
Malfoy’s shirt.
“Aaah! You bastard! That’s bloody
cold!” Malfoy complained, giving Harry a disgruntled look.
Harry grinned, unconsciously
licking his lips at the sight of the wet clothing clinging to Malfoy’s
chest. “You’d better hurry up and clean
it off then.”
“If you’re going to look at
me like that, I’m not sure I want to clean it off...”
“Don’t worry, there’s plenty
more butterbeer where that came from,” Harry pointed out suggestively.
Malfoy smirked, and he
obediently cast the spell.
“Hmm, now where shall I pour
this next?” Harry teased.
Malfoy said nothing. He just looked up at Harry through his
eyelashes in a sultry fashion, leaning back and deliberately parting his legs,
pushing his hips slightly forward. He
looked positively edible, sitting so provocatively, waiting for Harry to pour
cold butterbeer over the front of his trousers.
Harry was sorely tempted to, but he felt far too nervous about any
potential consequences. He wasn’t sure
that he was ready to follow things through just yet, especially since he only
had a vague idea about what ‘following things through’ would entail. After a moment of internal deliberation,
Harry couldn’t resist the temptation to take advantage in a different way than
Malfoy had hoped. He held the flagon
over Malfoy’s lap and began to tilt it ever so slowly, savouring the tense
sexual anticipation that Malfoy was exuding.
Just before the liquid seeped over the lip, he lifted it sharply,
letting the contents spill over Malfoy’s head.
Malfoy was not impressed. He was
saturated.
“Oi, you exasperating
Gryffindork!”
Harry doubled up laughing. Expecting Malfoy to tackle him, he looked up
to see Malfoy just sitting there staring at him with a bemused expression,
butterbeer dripping from his sodden hair.
“You really know how to spoil the
moment,” Malfoy said dryly, but he couldn’t hold back the tiniest of smirks
from making an appearance. “Is this
something you’ve been working on, or are you just gifted?”
Harry tried to look remorseful, but
couldn’t manage it around the grin that was plastered across his face. Even so, he did feel a bit guilty that,
because of his lack of confidence, Malfoy would have to wait before being able
to pursue things further between them. A
trickle of butterbeer caught his attention as it dripped onto Malfoy’s neck and
ran downwards to disappear under the collar of his shirt. Harry realised that he was staring a little
too intently, and he caught Malfoy’s eye once more—he could tell that Malfoy
knew what he had been looking at. But he
was okay with that: he could follow through with this impulse; he could do
necks.
“Shall I help to clean you off?” Harry
asked seductively, manoeuvring himself so that he was straddling Malfoy.
“Surprisingly enough, I’m not entirely sure
that I trust you at the moment,” Malfoy stated, matter-of-factly, trying to
appear unruffled about Harry’s new position.
“It’s not as if there’s any butterbeer
left,” Harry pointed out before leaning in to take a swipe at Malfoy’s neck
with his tongue.
“Carry on like that and I might bring myself
to forgive you…” Malfoy trailed off in a gasp as Harry avidly complied, tracing
the contours of Malfoy’s throat and lapping at the sweet butterbeer.
Harry savoured the feel of Malfoy’s soft
skin under his lips, taking his time as he worked his way downwards, ever so
slowly following the same path that the trickle of butterbeer had taken
before. A pleasant, dizzy sensation spun
through his head when he felt Malfoy take a firm hold of his hips, and he
resisted the urge to speed up in his reawakening desire. As he neared Malfoy’s collar, he placed a
hand onto the sticky mop of hair and gently pulled Malfoy’s head further to the
side. With his other hand, Harry
loosened Malfoy’s neckline slightly and held the collar down before kissing all
the way down to the place where neck met shoulder. Harry wanted more. He wanted to remove Malfoy’s shirt completely
and explore more of the pale skin, but he was scared by the intensity of the
moment. Therefore, when the alarm
suddenly rang out through their charged fumblings, it came as a relief to
Harry, an excuse to run away from the situation he felt he had inadvertently
created.
Malfoy pouted as Harry
resolutely climbed off from his lap.
Harry listened to him complain and then beg to have a late night for a
change, but at this point, Harry was not prepared to offer anything other than
a consolatory kiss.
“I don’t want you to think I’m too easy,”
Harry said, trying to sound more confident that he felt.
Malfoy reluctantly accepted Harry’s help to
remove all traces of butterbeer using magic; he still wasn’t prepared to trust
Harry with taking care of the mess inside his trousers, and so Malfoy cleaned
that himself, grimacing as he did so.
Once they were both hidden underneath Harry’s cloak, Harry walked Malfoy
down to the dungeons—which he did most evenings; Malfoy often making fun of him
for this, calling him a “proper gentlemen” for “walking me home”.
On the way back—and after he
had finished sulking—Malfoy began to talk about having completed his Potions
project the day before.
“Would you could help me with mine?” Harry
asked, still failing miserably at his own project.
“Yeah, all right. How far have you got?”
“Er… I haven’t,” Harry admitted. “I have tried, but I can’t get the hang of
chopping the horsetail without bruising it too much, and I haven’t been able to
work out how long the bistort needs boiling for.”
“Simmer! You’re supposed to simmer, not
boil!” Malfoy looked at him in mock horror.
“You really are hopeless, aren’t you? How did you manage to pass your
O.W.L.s? Anyway, what do I get in return
for helping you?”
“A sense of fulfilment at
doing a good deed?”
They stopped at the top of
the steps where they usually parted, and Malfoy pulled Harry close.
“You know I’m far too
shallow for that to be enough motivation.
No, in return… I think that next time, I’d like to… you know… with my
hand,” he said, sounding a little unsure.
He trailed a hand downwards over Harry’s chest and abdomen, resting it
lightly on the front of Harry’s trousers to illustrate what he was saying.
Harry inhaled sharply,
feeling the blood begin to drain from the top half of his body.
“Wou… would you like me to…
as well?” Harry stammered.
“Only if you want to,
Potter. You don’t have to say yes. Just think about it.”
They kissed firmly before
parting, Harry feeling as if he’d been knocked for six.
Harry could do nothing else but
think about Malfoy’s proposition.
The thought of finally touching Malfoy and being touched by Malfoy there
was tantalising. He imagined the
blissful sensation of Malfoy’s warm fingers curling round him, and then what it
would be like to make Malfoy gasp in the same way. He hadn’t been brave enough to take the
initiative for himself—so much for being a Gryffindor! But now Malfoy had taken
control, and Harry was more than happy to go along with him. There was no way he was going to turn it
down—especially as he was going to get help with his potions homework as well! He even had dreams about it that night,
awaking the next morning complete with erection and vivid mental images. His mouth was overtly dry during breakfast,
making it hard to swallow anything, and it was hard to write properly in Charms
due to his hands being so clammy.
Throughout the first half of the morning, he was lost in a pleasant
daydream, wishing for the next two days to pass quickly. In this dreamy state, Defence Against the
Dark Arts came as a bit of a shock to the system.
This year they shared these lessons with
the Ravenclaws. As usual, Harry was
sitting behind Seamus, two rows behind Ron and Hermione. Seamus was chatting with Neville on his other
side and relaying the latest news from his mum.
Harry couldn’t bring himself to be interested, and he gazed off into
space instead, barely paying attention to anything Professor Lupin was
saying. He half acknowledged Lupin
asking Padma for an example—of what, he couldn’t say—and Harry was extremely
grateful he hadn’t been asked himself.
She was halfway through her answer when Harry’s attention was brought
back to the present moment with a snap.
Professor Lupin had suddenly doubled over in pain, letting out a moan—or
was that a howl? —of agony.
“Professor, what’s wrong?”
Padma asked.
“Get… out… go!” Lupin
commanded. “Lock the door… Tell the headmaster…”
A low growling began to
resonate throughout the classroom, and Harry jumped up with a start. Lupin was changing into his werewolf state,
during the day, without a full moon. Turning
round to follow the rest of the students out of the class, his stomach sank to
his feet as saw that some of them had already made it to the door, but they
were unable to leave. The door wouldn’t
open. Looking back at the Professor, he could
see the skin of Lupin’s hands rapidly being covered with the growth of thick,
wiry hair. Lupin’s body was
spasmodically shaking, and the growling was occasionally punctuated by a
high-pitched whining. Frantic cries of “alohomora!” could be heard from the
back of the classroom; a couple of desperate students tried to break through
the door by pounding against it with chairs.
Harry’s heart began to thud loudly within his chest, and it felt as if
he had to force air into his lungs. It
was too late: the change was nearly complete.
He stumbled backwards, groping in his robes for his wand, as the
slavering beast rose up on it’s powerful limbs, snarling and sniffing at the
air. It gave a deafening growl, and the
class lapsed into silence, staring, dumbfounded, at their fate.
“But it’s not full moon,”
Neville whined.
“That’s really not very
helpful!” Ron snapped back.
The creature padded down the
classroom to where the students were packed together like sheep, sniffing the
air as if finding out what was on the menu for dinner. Harry stumbled slightly in his retreat when
he saw the werewolf’s gaze come to rest on him—as if it had made up its mind
that Harry was going to be the first course.
“We can’t just stun him,”
Harry croaked feebly. “Werewolves are
too strong to be taken down by a stupefy given by any one of us.”
“Perhaps if we hit him all
at once?” Hermione suggested.
The werewolf chose that
moment to take a leap in Harry’s direction, and they all lifted their wands and
shouted in unison.
“Stupefy!”
They had managed to knock it
backwards several feet, and it yelped in pain as it hit the ground. Breaths were held in a moment of tense
silence. Then the werewolf lurched and
struggled back to its feet. Those who
were next to the door had begun banging on it frantically, shouting and screaming. Others were shouting out random suggestions
above the noise.
“We’ve got to try a stronger
spell.”
“Perhaps we could throw a
few chairs at it.”
“Does anyone know how to
transfigure things into silver? We could
use our wands to fire something at him.”
“But… but it’s Professor
Lupin!” Harry protested, not knowing who had come up with the idea.
“It’s a werewolf, Harry, and
it’s planning on having us for lunch. I
don’t hear you coming up with any better ideas,” Padma responded tetchily.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,
transfiguring things into silver involves dark magic,” Seamus pointed out. Harry acknowledged that Seamus was probably
right: he knew Seamus had previously tried to transfigure a few items into
silver back in the first year, following his failed attempts to transfigure
water into rum. “We’d need a Death Eater
to do that!”
Another growl, another
lurch, another joint casting of stupefy, and then the door was suddenly
pushed inwards. The students poured out
of the classroom, and the werewolf, noticing that its prey was now escaping,
leapt forward to try and catch the stragglers, of which Harry was one. Feeling the hot breath close behind him, he
desperately tried to make it to the doorway.
“Soporo!” It was Malfoy’s voice, and with it came a
shot of blue light that passed by Harry’s shoulder. He briefly glanced back to see the werewolf,
which was still conscious but distracted long enough for him to make his
escape. Harry pulled the door shut
behind him. A huge bang rang through the
woodwork as the wolf threw itself at the door from the other side.
“It’s not going to hold!”
Hermione anxiously pointed out.
Harry scanned the remaining
students, trying to find Malfoy. What
was he doing here? A few students had
moved on down the hallway, running to safety and to get help. From amongst the remainder, Harry saw Malfoy
step out, his face swollen on one side, dried blood at the base of his
nose. The Slytherin drew his wand,
aiming at the door.
“Foris argentatus!” he shouted, and a
covering of silver flowed across the door.
“Looks like we’ve found our
Death Eater,” Seamus insinuated.
Malfoy just ignored him, and
Harry threw Seamus a glare before turning towards Malfoy.
“Thanks,” he simply stated, knowing
that, even if they hadn’t been friends, he would have acknowledged Malfoy’s
help. But it felt very odd, talking to
him in public. Did it show? Could anyone tell what he and Malfoy had been
getting up to? Could anyone tell how
worried he was about Malfoy’s face?
“Why didn’t anyone open the
door?” Malfoy asked as he looked at the door and surveyed his handiwork. Harry knew the question was addressed to him,
even though Malfoy had done his best to cover up that fact by leaving it open
for anyone to answer. Malfoy kept his
voice restrained and cold, and his face expressionless.
“Don’t you think we tried?”
Harry answered sarcastically when no one else bothered to reply. He tried to imitate Malfoy’s distance, very
aware of this conversation being the centre of attention. All he wanted to do was to hug Malfoy. He could feel himself shaking from the
adrenaline that was still coursing through his veins, and this false interaction
with Malfoy wasn’t helping. “What
happened to you?”
“Had a bit of a disagreement
with… er… someone,” Malfoy responded cagily, his eyes briefly darting at
Hermione as he did so. “I was on my way
up to the hospital wing when I passed the room and heard shouting…”
Malfoy gave a nervous glance
at the others who were still standing in the hallway before finally turning
tail and leaving.
“Will somebody tell me what
on earth is going on?”
The sound of McGonagall’s
voice brought Harry back to his senses and made him realise he had been staring
at Malfoy’s retreating form. Harry was
relieved that it seemed most of the others had also been watching Malfoy’s
exit. After they answered McGonagall’s
questions, she sent them all to see Madam Pomfrey. Harry looked for Malfoy while he was in the
hospital wing, but didn’t see him. He
wanted to know that Malfoy was all right.
He wanted to thank Malfoy properly.
He wanted to hold Malfoy. The
rest of the class, who had run off as soon as they had escaped from the
classroom, were already there, being treated for shock. Much to everyone’s annoyance, Madam Pomfrey
insisted on thoroughly checking everyone over before she would let anyone
leave—just in case they had been bitten.
Harry tried to find out what was happening with Professor Lupin, but he
was only told that Dumbledore would be the one to inform them of anything that
they ought to know.
At lunch, the hall was
thrumming with the clamour of gossiping students.
“They’ve been questioning
the sixth years from Hufflepuff and Slytherin as well,” Hermione informed Ron,
Harry, and Seamus. “Apparently they had
Defence lessons before us this morning.”
“I wonder why he changed
like that?” Ron asked. “Perhaps someone
cast a spell on him.”
“A spell?” Hermione looked
at him with disdain. “Really, Ron! You should know by now that a spell can’t
trigger werewolf transformations. It was
a potion. I overheard Snape talking to
McGonagall, and he doesn’t believe any of the students would be capable of
creating a potion like that—not without help, anyway. But I can’t help wondering if it’s got
something to do with our stolen animals.”
Ron looked at her, utterly clueless to the connection she had made. “Remember the main potions we came across:
transfiguration potions, potions to force someone to show their animagus form,
and full moon potions—perhaps someone’s combined them…”
“He had a jug and glass of
water in the room, do you think someone could’ve spiked it?” Ron asked, pleased
to have come up with an idea, even if it wasn’t as sophisticated as Hermione’s.
“But no one went near the desk
in our lesson,” Harry pointed out.
“Perhaps that’s why they’re
asking the class before us,” Seamus suggested.
“They think one of them did it.
My bets are on Malfoy.”
“But that doesn’t make
sense,” Harry protested. “He let us all
out; he stopped me from getting hurt…”
“Don’t be so naïve, Harry,”
Seamus replied. “He probably set it all
up just to make himself look good. As if
we’d believe he’d be capable of playing the hero.”
“Yeah,” Ron eagerly
agreed. “I think it was just bad timing
on his part. He spiked the drink and
then came back to ‘rescue’ us, waiting for the screaming to start before he
opened the door. Only he expected at
least a couple of us to have been bitten by then.”
“But he didn’t have to cast
the sleeping charm on Lupin once the door had been opened,” Harry interjected.
“He could’ve let me get bitten.”
“Wouldn’t have been much of
a rescue attempt if he had let ‘Harry Potter’ get injured at the last
moment. He was probably caught off
guard, surprised that you had survived so far.
Harry, you must’ve noticed that Lupin seemed to be more interested in
you than anyone else…”
Seamus trailed off as
Neville arrived, surprising them all with the huge grin on his face.
“You’ll never guess what
Millicent did! She’s the one who punched Malfoy! Malfoy’s been hit by a girl! My girlfriend…” he finished off dreamily as
he took his seat, the others gaping at him in surprise.
“They were in Ancient Runes, after their
Defence lesson,” Neville explained as he sat down. “And she was trying to get information out of
him about my toad, and your cat, Hermione.
He wasn’t going to admit anything, but she’s got a hunch that’s he’s
involved because he’d disappeared from the Slytherin common room when Crookshanks
went missing.”
“So, he could’ve been in his
dorm!” Harry wished he could’ve taken that back as he received an assortment of
strange looks from those around him. I
think I’ve used up my ‘defending Malfoy’ quota for this conversation.
“No, he wasn’t.” Neville continued, unperturbed. “She’s bullied Crabbe into letting her know
when he’s missing from the dorm.
Apparently he’s been gone a lot
recently. Anyway, he ended asking her
why would he want a mu… a mudblood’s cat.
So she hit him.”
“That bloody ferret!” Ron
shouted, outraged. “Where does he get
off?”
“Good for her,” Hermione
added, casting a steely gaze at Harry.
“I’ll have to go over and thank her later. Malfoy just can’t help showing his true
colours, can he? Perhaps it’s all linked… he’s probably been keeping his head
down this term while putting this potion together. You must agree that it looks highly
suspicious, Harry.”
“Yes, it does,” Harry
verbally agreed, while feeling very frustrated that he couldn’t tell them where
Malfoy had really been: that Malfoy had an alibi.
Afternoon lessons had been cancelled for
those who had been in the fated Defence lesson, and Harry spent the time in the
common room trying to get through his homework and avoiding any conversations
that implicated Malfoy—which seemed to be most of them. He couldn’t wait another two days before he
saw Malfoy, and so, passing through the crowds of students on the way back from
dinner, Harry surreptitiously slipped him a note. It simply stated 10pm tonight, usual
place.
In his eagerness to see
Malfoy, Harry began to make his way to the Room of Requirement ten minutes
early that evening. He saw Malfoy ahead
in the corridor and increased his own pace.
Catching up with Malfoy and still unseen in his cloak, Harry couldn’t
resist grabbing him by surprise. Malfoy
nearly had a fit.
“You bastard!” Malfoy let
out in a half-whisper, as Harry pulled the cloak over to cover the both of
them.
“Sorry, but that was far too
tempting,” Harry said coyly before running a hand over Malfoy’s face, where he
seen the injuries earlier on. Madame
Pomfrey had done her job well: the swelling had gone down, and there was no
evidence that he had been hit. Harry
held his face and kissed him. “Are you
okay? I heard that it was Millicent who
hit you...”
“So you’ve dragged me out
tonight to gloat?” Malfoy asked, and Harry couldn’t help but let out a small
snigger as they continued to walk along the corridor.
“No, but I can’t blame
her. I’d be tempted to do the same if I
ever hear you call Hermione a mudblood!”
“I wasn’t doing it to get at
Granger. I was just fed up with
Bulstrode going on and on; I wanted her to shut up and leave me alone. She wouldn’t stop badgering me about that
bloody cat. What I want to know is how
she knew I wasn’t in the dorm? It makes
me look guilty. I’d love to see the look
on her face if I told her what I was really up to!”
“Rumours are that she’s been
bullying your old sidekicks for information.”
“What, Crabbe and
Goyle? Those…”
Malfoy trailed off as they
arrived at the Room of Requirement. The
door was there ready for them tonight.
Inside, there was no blend of common rooms, no sofa, and no butterbeer,
just a cold, dark potions lab. The room
was expansive, and it was filled with several tables and chairs, two large trunks, and shelving that lined the walls with
assorted jars of ingredients. On one of
the tables stood a large cauldron, and on the table next to it were two smaller
cauldrons and a chopping board. The only
light came from a small fire at one side of the room.
“Wow, this is different,”
Malfoy stated in amazement.
“And chilly,” Harry said,
moving to perch on a slab right in front of the fire and curling his arms round
his legs.
“Bloody sissy Gryffindor!”
Malfoy laughed as he investigated one of the many jars. “So you really are desperate
to get on with your Potions project—or are you just keen to give me my
payment? By the way, when do I
get paid?”
Looking up, he found Malfoy
gazing at him with an utterly obscene expression. Harry just pursed his lips and tried not to laugh.
“When Snape tells me I
haven’t failed! I hadn’t planned
to start on my project tonight, but I guess I could do with something to take
my mind off of what happened today.”
The obscene expression
dropped from Malfoy’s face, and it was replaced with a look of concern. Putting the jar back on the shelf, he came
over to the fireplace, placing a steadying hand on Harry’s knee as he moved to
sit down opposite him.
“I don’t know what it
must’ve been like for you, being stuck in that room, but I know that when I
opened the door up and everyone pushed past me to get out …” Malfoy trailed
off, and he looked downwards for a moment, gently squeezing Harry’s knee where
his hand still rested, keeping the contact between them. Harry couldn’t tell whether this was meant to
comfort him, or whether Malfoy was doing it to reassure himself. It was obvious to Harry that Malfoy had been
unnerved over what had happened: his voice held a slight tremor, and he had a
worried expression on his face. “I saw
the werewolf, and then I saw you still in there. He was inches away from you, Potter…”
“If you hadn’t been there…”
Harry acknowledged soberly, and then he tried to lighten the tone. “I don’t know. Playing the hero, eh? You’re not turning into
a ‘Gryffindork’, are you? You realise it
could all go downhill from here!”
“Sod off, Potter!” Malfoy
jested.
Harry reached forward and brought Malfoy’s
face towards his own. Their lips touched
and tenderly played against one another, Harry suddenly feeling very aware of
how special this relationship was becoming.
There was no doubt in Harry’s mind now that this was what Lupin meant
last year; he felt affection for Malfoy.
Malfoy had affected him.
Their delicate kiss did not
last. The sound of glass smashing rang
through the air, and they both instantly pulled apart, jumping up with a
start. They stood there in silence,
searching the shadows of the room for movement and listening for any further
sound. All Harry could hear was Malfoy’s
noisy breathing and the pounding of his own heartbeat. Then a wet thud came from underneath a table
near the far end of the room, followed by the base of a glass jar rolling along
the floor, coming to a halt as it hit a table leg. Another squelchy thud, and Harry could see a
one-eyed toad appear from under the table.
“It’s… Trevor!” Harry stammered in
surprise, and he carefully picked up the toad.
“That’s disgusting,” Malfoy said, peering
closely at the open pus-filled wound where a second eye should’ve been. “What is it doing here?”
“I don’t
know.” Harry caught Malfoy’s gaze as he
considered a possibility that he didn’t like, at all. “Perhaps the lab isn’t here for us…” Malfoy
looked as unnerved by this observation as Harry felt. “I think we should go.”
They grabbed the
cloak and slipped back out into the corridor hidden within its folds.
“We should tell
Dumbledore about this,” Harry asserted, and Malfoy nodded in agreement, but
chewed on his lip in worry.
“What are you
going to say to Neville and the others? You
can’t exactly say that you were in the Room of Requirement… They’d want to know
what you were doing there…”
“I’ll say I found
him in the corridor outside the room when I was out walking. I think Dumbledore will understand that we
can’t tell anyone.”
Professor Dumbledore was very interested
when they showed him Trevor, and told him where they had found the toad. He cast a healing charm on Trevor’s wound,
which stemmed the oozing pus, and then he asked them to show him the room. But by the time they had returned, the
potions lab had gone. To Malfoy’s
relief, when Dumbledore handed the toad back to Harry, Dumbledore concurred
that it would be acceptable for Harry to say he had been alone in the corridor
when Trevor had been found.
Harry caught Neville on his
way up to bed, and though Neville was horrified at what had happened to Trevor,
he was very grateful to Harry for finding him.
Ron, as Harry expected, blamed it on Malfoy. Harry didn’t give a response to Ron’s
assertion, but went straight to bed instead, avoiding the conversation and
looking forward to the next night he would be able to spend with Malfoy without
distractions. All the time, his thoughts
kept coming back to the Room of Requirement.
They had assumed it had been a potions lab for his benefit; what if they
were wrong? There didn’t appear to be
anyone there, but what if someone had been hiding in the room? And if there was, what were they doing there?
What would they want a potions lab for? Harry tried to console himself with the
fact that if, by some chance, it was mentioned, at least they would know who
was responsible for taking Trevor. He
doubted anything would be said for that very reason.