InsaneJournal

13.

Harry Apparated into the hotel’s once-magnificent conservatory, Lupin and Tonks barely a split second behind him.

Tonks looked nervous and twitchy, and Harry tried to imagine himself in her place. Every single reason Lupin had given for her to return had been valid and good - they needed every fighter they could, and her Auror skills were invaluable - but he understood her fear. Of course she’d been released for a reason - and that reason was probably not going to be good news for the Order.

“See,” he heard Lupin murmur, “you’re not going mad and you’re not slaughtering people.”

Tonks managed a laugh. “Give me time.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Harry heard Draco before he saw him - his shout cut across the hum of activity, and Harry wasn’t the only one to stare.

“It was necessary!” Hermione snapped back. It took Harry a moment to connect the familiar voice with the witch advancing across the conservatory towards him. Fortunately he saw past the stern hairstyle and heavy robes before he noticed the knife in her hand.

“You stole from Adrastos fucking Akunin!”

“Yes, Malfoy, I did. I’m surprised you noticed. Weren’t you too busy conjuring obscene pictures into the stained glass windows?”

“That wasn’t me!”

“It looked like you!” Hermione met Harry’s gaze - and promptly flushed and looked away.

What the hell is going on?

Draco caught up with her. In his expensive-looking robes, his hair tied and slicked back, he should have looked as unrecognisable as Hermione, but he didn’t. This was Draco, just as Harry remembered him - no trace left of the brittle boy in the borrowed jeans. Which was probably the point, Harry realised. The clothes were as much a part of Draco’s new, improved protective shell as the arrogant tilt of his chin and the hardness in his eyes.

“Well, are you going to tell Potter all about our little jaunt?”

Hermione just glared at him, and held out the knife for Harry’s inspection. He noted the blunted edges of the blade - then saw the crest emblazoned on the pommel. “Is this -”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. “But it belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, and it was stolen then returned by ‘a powerful young wizard from a good old family’. What do you think?”

*

Draco watched Potter as he stared at the athame. His mind was racing.

Was this connected to the cup Potter was looking for? A ‘badger crest’ could connect the cup to Helga Hufflepuff, so… Hufflepuff’s cup, Ravenclaw’s athame…are they looking for things connected to Slytherin and Gryffindor too? And if they were, how were random items once owned by the Founders going to bring down the Dark Lord?

And who was this ‘powerful young wizard’? A sudden suspicion entered Draco’s mind, but he rejected it instantly.

“Do you know how to check?” Potter asked Granger, and she nodded. Draco silently cursed them both - they weren’t giving him much to work with.

He realised he was being stared at. It took him a moment or two to recognise the young Auror from Potter’s house - she looked quite different without her outrageous hair colour. He gave her a curt nod; she looked at him with apparent curiosity.

“Tonks,” Lupin said softly.

That gave Draco a start - he knew that name. The aunt that was never to be spoken of, her unmentionable marriage…he looked back at this ‘Tonks’ with an equal amount of curiosity. So this was ‘the half-blood whelp’ - you really couldn’t tell just by looking at her.

“Nice to meet you, cousin,” she said, and stretched out her hand. Draco only hesitated for a moment before he took it. He was playing nice, he needed all the allies he could get - and the thought of what his father’s reaction to this would be gave him a certain amount of perverse amusement.

He didn’t miss the approving looks he was getting from both Lupin and Potter.

Oh, piss off, you smug bastards. It’s just a fucking handshake. It means nothing.

“Wow! You look, um, different…”

Weasley had turned up - the ginger-haired git’s like a bad penny - and was staring at Granger with awe.

“But good, though - really good.” And was Granger - thief, blackmailer and researcher of the Dark Arts - actually blushing?

“You’re such a silver-tongued bastard, Weasley.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy.”

“And king of the witty comebacks.”

Granger caught hold of Weasley’s arm - and he’d better enjoy it, because that’s all the physical contact he’s going to get with lines like that. Potter stepped between them - a bit too close to Draco for comfort, but then Potter didn’t respect personal space, did he?

Much too close for comfort, actually. Draco looked at Potter’s mouth. His lips were set in a straight hard line, but Draco remembered how they tasted, how they felt against his skin, and he was suddenly glad of his robe’s thickness and weight. It took every inch of resolve he had to step closer to Potter. It probably wouldn’t be such an effective gambit with Draco fully clothed, and Potter having had what he wanted, but -

The heat remained in Potter’s eyes, but now it wasn’t generated by anger - not at all. Their noses touched as Draco moved even closer, whispering. “What’s wrong, Potter? Do you want another go -”

Potter moved too fast; Draco didn’t have a chance to react as he caught hold of his robe and shoved him back. The backs of his thighs hit something hard and sharp - the edge of a table, he realised as he fought to keep his balance. Hands still wrapped in the silk of his robe, Potter took a step closer, and then that silk - and the rougher fabric of Potter’s clothes - was the only thing separating their bodies. Just two pathetic layers of fabric…

“Harry!” Draco barely heard Granger’s exclamation over the sound of his own pulse throbbing in his ears. He didn’t know what this would look like to their audience - like Potter was about to kill him, perhaps?

Fuck - if only they knew…

Potter was as hard as he was, and his every little movement felt like calculated foreplay. “Yes,” he said firmly, “I do want another go.”

Tension and heat coiled through Draco’s body. “Good for you,” he managed. “I might allow you a rematch.” What am I saying? What am I fucking saying? “Now, if you want.” It should have been impossible to get closer to Potter, but Draco managed it. Thick hair ticked his nose as he hissed in Potter’s ear. “Do you think Weasley might actually die from the shock?” Which might actually make it worth it -

Potter took a hasty step back, and Draco was abruptly released. He was almost sorry.

Leaning back against the table made him appear relaxed and unruffled. It also hid the sudden weakness in his knees. Draco gripped the edge of the table for support and gave Potter his most insolent smile. The correct time to remember you have an audience is before you start molesting someone.

Potter glared at him for a moment, then leaned forward.

“Are you naked under that robe?” he whispered.

Draco stared at him. It’s too hot for layers! He makes it sound so perverted… “Yes.” He smoothed out the crumpled silk, trying for some dignity. There were too many people around - even if they couldn’t hear, all the whispering had to be suspicious. “Enjoy the mental image, Potter,” he muttered. End of conversation. But Potter seemed determined not to let Draco win this one.

His cheeks were blazing red, but he flicked his gaze down and god, Draco had never expected to get such a filthy grin from Harry fucking Potter.

Fucksake, Potter - don’t you know how to back down? The thought was almost panicked.

He looked deliberately down. His own little problem was adequately hidden by the thick robe. Potter’s on the other hand… Draco tried not to stare. He forced his face into a sneer. “You probably ought not to turn around until you’ve dealt with that,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice this time. “People might talk.”

There was no possible comeback to that one, Draco realised with glee as Potter promptly sat down on one of the little metal chairs and scooted his legs under the table, his cheeks turning an even brighter red. Even the back of his neck was glowing.

“Right, if you’ve finished manhandling each other…” Granger was almost as flushed as Potter was - but then, she had seen the picture in the stained glass. Draco didn’t know how she could use ‘manhandling’ with a straight face after that. “We need to talk, Harry.”

If the expression on Potter’s face was anything to go by, any attempt to make him stand up would be met with violence. Draco leant against the table, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. “Try sticking it under your belt,” he whispered. “And think cold thoughts.”

Potter’s head shot up; Draco made the mistake of meeting his eyes. Big mistake. Oh, Potter was definitely angry, but there were other things in that oh-so-green glare besides anger - things that sucked the air from Draco’s lungs and made his body quiver in humiliating anticipation. ‘I’ll have you,’ that glare said, and it was as much a promise as a threat.

Potter hastily adjusted himself under the table and stood up, never breaking the eye contact. Draco hated every inch of him - his stupid eyes and his stupid mouth and his stupid hands… Go on then. I’m right here. “Try it,” he hissed.

Potter swallowed - then had the nerve to fucking smile at him. “Later.”

Later? I’ll give him fucking ‘later’!

But Potter had turned his back on him, and was already walking away.

Fuck him. Fuck his empty promises, and all his fucking secrets.

Draco wanted to break something - preferably over Potter’s thick head. He wanted to hex him silly - no, he actually wanted to hurt him. Badly.

He took a deep breath and settled for a surreptitious hex on the book in Granger’s arms. It slipped from her grasp as easily as if its cover was suddenly coated in oil, and slid across the floor to his feet.

Ultra Letalis. Without the context, he didn’t know if that meant ‘beyond fatal’ or ‘the far side of mortal’. What kind of book was that for Granger to want, anyway? She was supposed to be one of the ‘good guys’ - one of the smug soldiers of ‘light’.

Draco only had a couple of moments to look at it. As he picked it up, he let it fall open where its heavy velvet bookmark was inserted… at the beginning of a chapter entitled Horcruxes: The Darkest Vessels. He didn’t know if Granger had marked that page, or if it was coincidence, but he got the chance to scan about half a page of dense text before Weasley snatched the book off him and returned it to Granger. The expression on his face reminded Draco of a game-dog bringing a downed bird to its master.

This time he met Potter’s glare with a smirk.

Go ahead, keep your secrets - I’ll figure them out anyway.

And there isn’t going to be any later, you smug bastard.

*

Harry was careful to walk behind Ron and Hermione as they went back into the hotel. His anger was taking as much effort to get rid of as his hard-on. Draco had definitely reverted to type, and he hated him for it.

The worst thing was that the game had actually been fun - trying to hold his own, pushing the stakes higher, watching for every little sign that he was winning, actually getting through - then, wham, he had found himself at the point where he could have pinned Draco back against that table right there and then, torn open that robe…and Draco had just laughed at him and told him to think cold thoughts…

Bastard! When Draco had hissed “try it”, he should have done just that. Harry hadn’t wanted to make a show of himself in front of his friends, but - god, I want him so much…

I want to kill him, too, though.

Back in Hermione’s room, he tried to focus on the knife as she put it triumphantly down on the desk. The blunted edges were curious, but it didn’t look very impressive. However, the diary had looked just like any other diary until it had started showing him visions of the past and Tom Riddle had been released from its pages.

“Well?” Hermione said.

Harry and Dumbledore had gone through what seemed like hell and back to get to the locket. Ron said what Harry was thinking. “If is a Horcrux, why wasn’t it more heavily guarded?”

“The diary was just kept at Malfoy Manor until Lucius decided he could use it to cause chaos at Hogwarts. Apparently Hufflepuff’s cup was there too. And the ring was just buried at the old Gaunt house. So far, the locket is the only Horcrux we know of with significant defences - and look how well they worked. Look - if this is a Horcrux, the hiding place was brilliant - hidden in plain sight, in a place only Voldemort’s supporters are likely to visit!”

Ron frowned and looked thoughtfully at the knife. “I don’t know, Hermione - it doesn’t even look real. If it really belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw then shouldn’t it look, well, older?”

“Oh - and you know better than a centuries old vampire who’s dedicated his life to collecting magical books and artefacts?” Hermione sighed, and looked like she wanted to slap both of them for their negativity. “I’ll test it.” She touched the book. “I know how to now.”

Harry knew he should be examining the possible Horcrux, but he found his eyes drawn to something else on the desk. The black box was open and empty, and beside it was the reason why. The ‘bones’ were spread out on a piece of paper, but it looked like they weren’t bones at all, but the pieces of a broken tiara made of unpolished ivory. Hermione had half-reconstructed it.

She saw him looking, and quickly put the tiara, and the paper covered in bits, back into the box. “Before you say anything, it’s curiosity, not anything more sinister. I’m not under any evil influence - I just wanted to know what was in it.” She glared at Harry as if daring him to contradict her.

Harry thought of the sensations of dread both he and Draco had had from the box, the scent of the sea, the sounds, the vision, Lucius Malfoy’s strange behaviour, and didn’t quite believe her. But, at the same time, she didn’t seem to be under a curse.

Neither did Ginny. I’m going to get it away from her as soon as possible.

*

Draco moved an unidentifiable piece of meat around his plate with his fork. He’d picked the vegetables out of his stew, but he was damned if he was trying the meat. It could be anything - and it was cooked to death, grey and tough-looking. Whoever served this crap up should be flogged. He thought longingly of blue steak, blood running out of it as he cut into it - then flinched.

He liked his steak medium-rare, tender but very much blood-free.

He pushed the plate away, appetite suddenly gone.

So, the book Granger had stolen was about methods of achieving ‘immortality’, and the Dark Lord was rumoured to be un-killable. Draco thought about splintered souls and ‘dark vessels’ and wondered, letting deductions and assumptions bounce around together in his head.

Snape knew about this, he had to. Snape wouldn’t have thrown away an extremely promising - if Draco said so himself - pupil, just to cover up his more effective spies. If he put together the idea of Snape knowing about this ‘hunt’ and the idea of Draco as someone Potter would keep close, certain things became so much clearer.

He found himself reaching for a plate as the dessert was passed out. There was a choice of tarts, and the treacle tart actually looked quite appetising. He decided to give it a go - whoever was cooking, they couldn’t mess up a simple treacle tart, could they?

If Snape was thinking that Potter would keep Draco close, then he’d been sadly mistaken. For all his cocky promise of ‘later’ Potter didn’t seem interested in coming near him, much less spilling all his secrets. He was sitting with his friends, one black head in what seemed like a sea of red. Girl-Weasley stuck a candle in his slice of treacle tart and lit it, and there was much laughing and cries of ‘happy birthday’.

Draco snorted and raised his spoon in a mock toast. “Welcome to Adulthood, Potter,” he whispered. “May you live long enough to enjoy it.”

He settled down to enjoy dessert - and the treacle tart was decent. More than decent. He found himself licking the last gooey traces of it from his spoon. And looked up to see Potter staring at him. Not by accident either - Potter was twisted around in his seat, staring at Draco with a slightly odd look on his face.

Draco met his gaze and finished licking the spoon. Fuck him. I know it’s undignified, but it’s probably the last nice food I’ll get for a while, if the state of the stew was anything to go by.

Potter frowned and looked away, at his own plate. Then, as if he’d asked it a question and got an answer, he stood up, expression as hard as if he was going into battle. Which might actually be the case, Draco realised as Potter made his way through the tables towards him.

Is this ‘later’? Because, god, if it is, he really likes to have an audience -

Draco pulled out his wand.

The hotel shook. Bits of glass rained down onto the tables from the old chandeliers.

Draco noticed that there was a face missing from Potter’s table. Granger.

So the Muggles haven’t come early to knock the place down…

*

Harry ran into the hall. When the floor had started to shake beneath him, his first thought had been Hermione - and the Horcrux.

We left her alone with it.

He took the stairs three steps at a time.

We didn’t believe her…

The staircase was cut off at the third floor by a wall of - well, it had to be energy, but it dripped and bubbled and hissed.

“Confringo!”

The wall of energy seemed to collapse in on itself. Cracks opened, flames flickering behind them…then it righted itself, rushing back into place…

“Impedimenta!” The spell slammed into Harry, knocking him off his feet a split second before his own spell rebounded from the barrier, blasting the banisters behind him into a thousand flying splinters.

“Idiot!” a familiar voice spat. Harry got up, wood crunching under his feet. Draco picked a splinter out of his cheek and glared at him; for once Harry agreed with the other boy’s opinion.

“Hermione!” Ron managed to be both more cautious than Harry, and more stupid - he touched the wall, and yanked his hand back, swearing, his fingertips covered in blisters.

Harry was tempted to try another spell. Surely it was better than just standing there and staring, which was what every other person who joined them seemed to be doing.

“We’ve got to do something. Hermione’s in there! We could try to Apparate past the barrier -”

“You will not!” Moody stamped up onto the landing, and glared at Ron, apparently more outraged by his recklessness than by the damage done to his carefully-chosen safe-house. Draco sniggered.

The wall of energy was suddenly torn into flickering, dying shreds. The flames in the corridor beyond soared into even more powerful life, and Harry felt a strong wind on his face, smelt the sea…

Moody was first into the corridor, casting extinguishing spells before him.

Ron was muttering under his breath as they followed Moody, but Harry picked up enough words to guess at what he was saying. “Please let her be all right, please let her be all right…” He repeated the words in his head.

Please let her be all right…

Hermione’s room was just as burnt out as the corridor, but there was a circle of undamaged carpet. Hermione lay crumpled in the middle of it.

Livia shoved past him, and was at the other girl’s side before either Harry or Ron could get there. Harry caught Ron’s shoulder. “Let her do her job,” he said quietly.

“Alive,” Livia said, and Harry felt dread he hadn’t even known he was feeling drain out of him. “Unharmed.” She looked up with a smile on her face. “Sleeping.”

“What?” Ron dropped to his knees beside Hermione. He clutched at her hand. “How?”

“If you want to know why you sleep I can direct you to the appropriate textbook,” Livia said. “If you want to know how she survived this -” she waved her hand at the blistered wallpaper and scorched furniture. “Magic. Lots of it.”

Harry looked at the sharp edges of the undamaged circle, and thought of the amount of time between the hotel shaking and the flames being put out. “That was a hell of a shield spell,” he said. If it even was a standard shield spell - Protego was directional and designed for short bursts of protection.

He wasn’t really surprised to see the black box clutched in Hermione’s arms. What he didn’t know was whether it had protected her…or been the source of the flames…

*

Ten minutes later, Livia had put Hermione to bed in the room she was using as an ad-hoc hospital and had forcibly removed ‘everyone but the boyfriend’ from the room. Harry hadn’t bothered to correct her about Ron - he had every right to stay by Hermione’s side if he could.

At least she’s all right. Harry knew that Livia wouldn’t hesitate to give him the truth, happy or harsh. If she thought Hermione would be okay, then he trusted her. The quest for the Horcruxes, however - that’s not okay.

The knife had been on the table, it’s crest peeled back to reveal a hollow in its handle. And Hermione had had a scrap of parchment clutched in her hand.

Harry looked at it again as he opened the door to his room. The handwriting on it was devastatingly familiar.

To the Dark Lord - and Adrastos Akunin.

I know that my curse is unlikely to kill either of you, but I can hope that it will, at the very least, inconvenience you. I have the Horcrux and I will destroy it. ‘Lord’ Akunin - if it is you who finds this - know that your ‘persuasion’ will not work on a man who knows his death is already close. May you both rot in hell.

R.A.B.

A pale hand reached over his shoulder and deftly plucked the piece of parchment from his fingers. “What’s this?”

Harry spun around, hand reaching for his wand before he realised that yes, it was just Draco.

Just Draco…waiting for him in his bedroom? “What are you doing here?”

“I want to know what’s going on,” Draco said calmly. Even in the dim light, his hair and skin seemed to glow. There were so many things Harry should be thinking about - the note, the Horcruxes, Hermione - but his mind went blank of everything except fevered memories - hot skin under his fingertips, that too-clever mouth gasping and desperate, that slim, strong body shaking against him, cock jerking and spurting in his hand… Then he’d been very firmly shoved away, and put back in his place with just two callous comments - he couldn’t forget that. He mustn’t forget that.

“This is my bedroom.”

“Yes, I know,” Draco said slowly, as if talking to a particularly obtuse child. “I asked around until I got the number.”

There was nothing Harry could say to that. He certainly couldn’t voice the thoughts in his head. The night before, he’d driven himself to solitary, lonely climax with thoughts of Draco in his head. Now the boy himself stood by Harry’s bed, brought there by inquisitiveness rather than lust. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Draco read through the note - and then actually had the nerve to laugh. “So, all that and it wasn’t even a Horcrux?” His eyes glinted as he looked back at Harry, who refused to react to the casual comment. “Oops!”

“‘Oops,’” Harry repeated. “Hermione’s -”

“Alive,” Draco said flatly. “And likely to remain so. The girl’s like a cockroach.”

“What?”

*

Potter didn’t thump him, but from his expression, it was a definite possibility for the future.

To think that I actually considered trying to wheedle my way into his confidences - I must have been mad.

Draco met Potter’s glare with his most guileless expression. “I meant that she could survive anything,” he said calmly.

“That still doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“That’s because it’s not,” Draco snapped. “Granger landed me right in the shit this afternoon.” He let his voice become thoughtful, and watched Potter’s reaction as he said, “I suppose if she did die, Akunin would be less likely to come after me - I mean, she was the main culprit.”

Still no explosion, but Potter stared at him in disbelief - and what looked like growing disgust.

Draco shrugged. “I don’t want her to die. There are only two people in the world I actually want to die - and Granger’s not one of them. Satisfied?”

“No.”

“Just because your heart bleeds for the entire world, doesn’t mean mine has to. There are people I like, and people I hate. The rest are -”

“Pawns,” Potter completed, his eyes hard. Draco thought about the usual fate of pawns in Wizarding Chess - the comparison was a bit harsh, but fair. He nodded.

“What am I?” Potter asked. The question was loaded, and Draco suddenly felt like they should be circling each other, wands drawn.

“An irritating git,” he said automatically, then grinned, because such a straightforward answer killed the game. “I haven’t decided yet.” He looked at Potter, and thought about six years of playing the game but not acknowledging it. “You’re not so different from me. You pretend to care about everyone, but how many names did you know outside your year? Outside your house, even?”

“I knew yours,” Potter said quietly.

“Everyone knew mine,” Draco replied. “Seriously - how many of those nameless people would you have jumped to save, if it was a choice between them and your friends?”

Potter blinked. “It would’ve depended on the situation.”

“Riight…” Draco knew he was being unfair, that Potter’s need to save everybody was so deeply engrained it was almost pathological - Draco’s own situation should have been the perfect example of that. But would Potter have done the same for Crabbe, or Pansy, or Zabini? Draco doubted it. Potter had ‘saved’ Draco because he wanted him - that well and truly tarnished the shining armour…and made him worthy of interest in a way Dumbledore’s little puppet never had been before. “Shame the situation never came up - the philosophical agonising would have been delightful to watch.”

“I saved you.”

There was a splinter still trapped in his hair. Draco pulled it out, then as his eyes met Potter’s, ran his fingers through his hair to break the grooming spell. He even pulled free the ribbon that held it back, and felt soft locks fall against his neck and into his face. It was irritating as hell, but worth it for the effect on Potter. His eyes were filled with a hard, hungry yearning, and Draco looked at him through the gleaming strands, wondering how a bit of messy hair could have so much power over someone like Potter. How he could have so much power… He lowered his voice until the words came out of his mouth like airborne honey. “Yes, but you had ulterior motives.”

Potter put his hands in his pockets and muttered something that sounded like “not at the time.”

Draco told himself not to tease Potter - here in his bedroom, with no one else around. There was no telling where it would end. He ignored the little voice in his head that said he knew exactly where it would end - with him getting off again, and what exactly was the problem with that?

He let himself drop into the nearest chair, stretched and had another look at the note. “So, why not tell me exactly what you and your merry little band are up to? You might as well - I’ve figured out quite a bit already.”

“Really?” Potter sat on the bed. “If you’re so smart, you can figure out the rest.”

“An exchange of information, then?” Draco tried to casually remove one boot with his other foot; after a moment or two of fruitless struggle, he reached down and pulled them off with his hands. “I might know who this R.A.B. is. I’m surprised you don’t.”

“Don’t play with me.”

Draco shrugged and stretched again, arching his neck until he could feel every muscle pulled to its limit. “I told you once that I wanted to fight. Well, I still do.” He met Potter’s gaze again, but this time teasing was the last thing on his mind. This was much too important. “Listen to me, Potter - read my lips if you have to. You told me that the Dark Lord would be defeated. Well, I want to be part of that. Let me be part of it. Trust me.”

“I do,” Potter said. The sheer earnestness in his face was nauseating - until his eyes glinted and his mouth twitched into a smile. “I just don’t always like you very much.”

“Do you think I care? I don’t like you much either.” But Draco did like that expression on Potter, the look he got in his eyes when he was teasing - like his mouth was ready with the comebacks but his eyes just wanted you to know how much he was enjoying the game. “But you are vaguely amusing to be around.”

Potter laughed. “Thanks! I think…”

And he liked the way Potter looked at him when he ran his fingers through his hair, as if that single movement was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. “‘I don’t like you very much’ is not an insult, Potter. Now, if you’d told me I was boring -” He fingered the clasps at his neck. Potter’s eyes dropped down - and, fuck, he liked that look too, every terrifying, stomach-twisting bit of it.

Fingers digging into his skin, desperate, hungry kisses…

“You’re certainly not boring,” Potter said. That kind of comment deserved a laugh or a smile to go with it, but Potter’s voice shook, and he shifted uncomfortably where he sat.

Adjustment time again, Potter? Draco got slowly to his feet. “I know,” he said. He looked into Potter’s eyes and thought, with a sense of wonder, I actually want that…

He undid the clasps at his neck, then the ones running down his chest. Potter’s gaze was like a physical thing. If I’d known my body was going to be such valuable currency, I would have gone to Zabini for some lessons in seduction…just how does this work, exactly? The robe was a heavy garment - only a couple more clasps to undo and -

The robes slipped off his shoulders, dropped off his body completely, pooling on the floor around his feet like dark rich liquid. And what little bravado he’d been able to muster went with them.

What the hell am I doing?

Potter was just staring at him, open mouthed. That hadn’t been the response Draco was expecting. He’s supposed to find me irresistible, and here I am, on a fucking plate… And since when had being naked left him feeling quite so awkward and vulnerable? And Potter still wasn’t doing anything…

“Fuck this.” Draco grabbed for his robes, dragging them back up around his body, trying for some dignity, trying for some venom in his parting shot, “I might not be boring, but you are.”

He made it to the door, and was just pulling it open when hands slammed into the wood at either side of his head. The slam of the door was echoed by the thud of his body against it. Trapped between the smooth wood and the strength and heat of Potter’s body - Potter’s very turned on body - Draco hung onto the anger, and the robes, trying not to panic. Then Potter buried his face in Draco’s neck, pressing hard kisses against the soft skin, and snap, just like that, he wasn’t panicking anymore. He wasn’t even thinking, just arching back against Potter, throwing his head back to give him better access.

*

The robe slipped down. At first Harry just had access to bare shoulders, pale skin stretched taut over prominent bones, then he was looking at the long line of Draco’s back, the dark silk catching on the curves of his arse. His heart took a leap, some little voice in his head asked him just what the fuck he thought he was doing, but he was too busy tracing the bumps of Draco’s spine with his tongue. Draco made a noise that was half honeyed moan, half mumbled curse, and released his death grip on the robe.

He was naked again, and this time there was no doubt in Harry’s mind about what was happening. He could make up for the precious moments he’d wasted gaping, the shock that Draco had taken as rejection.

Draco twisted around, his fingers clutching at Harry’s hair, dragging him up for a kiss. And despite the intensity of that kiss, and the heart-stopping reality of that body under his hands, a nasty little suspicion crossed his mind. His fingers wound into Draco’s hair, dragging the other boy’s head back. It must have been painful, but the noise Draco made sounded like gratitude. “If this is another game, I’ll kill you.”

The threat sounded pathetic even to Harry. It certainly didn’t intimidate Draco; Harry felt his laugh through the fingers pressed against Draco’s scalp, the hand resting on his belly. The rich thrum of it made his heart beat even faster, sent blood rushing to his groin - and made him feel incredibly stupid.

He let go of Draco’s hair. Draco promptly put his hands on Harry’s shoulders and pushed - down. He was stronger than he had any right to be, and Harry’s knees hit the carpet with uncomfortable force. “Just stop talking and get me off, slave,” Draco said. The imperious tone would have worked better if his voice hadn’t been shaking, Harry decided, suddenly amused. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one out of his depth.

“Slave?” The word was addressed to Draco’s cock, but an arm around his knees and a hefty tug brought him tumbling down to Harry’s level. He was strong, and Harry had to use all his weight to pin him down, but it was all made worth it by that rush of feeling - too heady and intense, too selfish…too much about Harry finally getting what he wanted. He did feel a tiny flicker of guilt, but it was overpowered by the arousal, the almost-pain in his cock as he ground against Draco, cut off Draco’s curses with his mouth, revelled in the struggle as Draco fought and writhed and whimpered beneath him. It couldn’t last long; he couldn’t last long, but it was…perfect…

Draco tore an arm free and punched him. Right in the face, and not gently, either - Harry felt fire blossom in his cheekbone, tasted blood in his mouth as he accidentally bit his lip. But it wasn’t a rejection; Draco used his newfound freedom to drag Harry’s t-shirt over his head. Harry caught a “stupid fucking -” and didn’t know if he was referring to Harry himself or the clothes.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t even matter when Draco yanked Harry’s jeans down over his arse, the fabric well and truly trapping his legs together. Because their skin touched in a hundred new and shocking places, and god, he couldn’t even be angry with Draco about the punch, because he could feel everything - sharp hipbones digging into his skin, the rub of tiny hard nipples against his chest, every smooth, hard contour of the muscles moving beneath sweat-slick skin…the heat and thickness of the cock being crushed up against his own with every frantic movement of Draco’s hips. His heartbeat spiked painfully, and his head spun, but that didn’t matter either, because he was desperately, greedily trying to touch everything, taste everything…

*

Potter’s fingers dug into Draco’s skin, his tongue made a hot wet trail down his belly, and Draco jerked his hips up hopefully. Just suck it. Or pull it - or do something. Please…

Potter had kissed and sucked and licked his neck, his wrist, his belly, his balls, explored the lines of his collarbone and ribs with shaking fingers, paid as much attention to his bellybutton and his inner thighs as he had his cock. It was starting to feel like deliberate teasing.

But…if Potter was teasing, his hands wouldn’t be so clumsy, or his mouth so greedy. He seemed to really find every inch of Draco equally sexy, and god, under his not-so-gentle ministrations, every inch was. Draco was discovering nerve endings he had never even suspected existed. How could he complain about Potter not paying enough attention to his cock when every inch of skin seemed to have a hotline directly to it? When his entire body had become this needy, hypersensitive thing, and a grip hard enough to bruise wound tension and need through his limbs, and the (hopefully) inadvertent scrape of teeth against the sensitive skin of his balls made his cock jerk…

So he touched Potter back, kissed whatever bits of him he could reach, swallowed his scent and let his body react to the sound of his moans and his racing heartbeat. He didn’t know at what point it became a struggle again - perhaps it had been inevitable that it would - but that hardly mattered when Potter was splattering come over him, shaking and gasping as if he couldn’t stop coming. It was too much - it wasn’t enough.

“Touch m-” The words were cut off as Potter did just that, his hands moving over Draco’s body, slipping in the come and the sweat. He thankfully didn’t have to beg, though at that moment he would have gladly done so; Potter forced Draco’s hands back against the carpet. The friction made his knuckles burn, and prompted a muffled “fuck”, but then Potter’s mouth was finally down there on his cock, and -

“Oh, fuck -” The rush of feeling was almost painful. Not just the familiar pleasure shooting through his cock - his entire body seemed to be trying to get in on the act. “Fuck…” Potter gagged and pulled away, coughing and spitting, and Draco found himself laughing as he came and came and came…

*

Glad he finds me so amusing… Harry wiped his mouth and finally remembered how to breathe. Git did that on purpose… But it had been the shock that had made him gag - the taste of Draco flooding his mouth had been surprisingly…okay. More than okay…

He collapsed, loose-limbed and drained, and watched Draco’s body stop jerking, his laughing getting weaker. Any minute now…

Draco looked at him, tears in his eyes, and croaked out three words. “Regulus Arcturus Black.”

It took a moment for Harry to catch up, for his brain to move away from god, that was amazing…now when’s the rejection going to come? But when it did -

The realisation was like a boot to the head. Harry couldn’t remember if he’d ever been told Regulus’ middle name, but - I should have fucking guessed that one. R.B., the Death Eater who turned away from Voldemort and died for it…

Draco stretched luxuriously. “You can tell me I’m brilliant,” he said, his voice still hoarse, “I won’t let it go to my head.”

Harry met his eyes. Tired as he was, his heart beat faster. Still no rejection - and Draco had just given away his only bargaining chip - given Harry the information freely, with no expectation of Harry returning his openness or involving him in the quest…

“Thank you.” He risked a kiss; Draco returned it eagerly, and Harry suddenly wasn’t tired - not at all. “You’re brilliant.”

“Come on, Potter - you can do better than that!” One long finger traced letters into the cooling come on Harry’s belly. G. I. T. “How about insanely clever, wonderfully intuitive, supernaturally brainy and sexy -” Harry cut off the words with his lips.

Irritatingly clever, infuriatingly sexy…sarcastic, vicious, unpredictable, dangerous, wonderful…

…and mine…

****

The awakening was sudden, caused by his body hitting the floor. Harry rolled over and blinked up into the darkness. He had been in the bed when he’d gone to sleep, he was sure. As his eyes adjusted to the dark room, he found himself staring at a slightly paler shape hanging off the bed beside him, and he didn’t need to reach for his glasses or conjure up better night vision to know exactly what it was.

Draco’s arm. Obviously he’d decided - hopefully in his sleep - that the bed was too small for both of them. And pushed Harry out of it. Which should have been irritating, not prompted the indulgent smile Harry could feel creeping across his face.

He’d just been shoved out of his own bed but, as he sat up and marvelled at the pale limbs draped so inelegantly across his bed, he actually felt smug. Gifts always came with a price tag, he knew that, and ’exactly what you want’ often had a limited lifespan, but…he was allowed to touch all that, wake Draco up and pin him to the bed - and god, it only took one touch to shatter that cold shell…one kiss and he’d go up in flames in Harry’s arms… Harry really wasn’t seeing any downside to that - in fact, he was getting well and truly turned on by the sheer thought of it -

Something scuttled past his foot.

Just a spider. It was a hot night, the window was open - any amount of bugs could have gotten into the room…

But he was sure he could see movement in the darkness…and tiny points of light. Eyes? Harry groped for his glasses on the bedside table. It was probably just his imagination - it had to be his imagination - but as his fingers closed around the glasses, he heard little scuttling sounds from behind him, above him, and frantically tried to remember where his wand had ended up.

He found his jeans on the floor. Please - don’t let it have fallen out of the pocket…

With his glasses on, there was no dismissing the points of light as his imagination, or the seething movement in the shadows. He felt as if a thousand pairs of eyes were watching him as he tore his wand free of the jeans -

Something small but heavy dropped into his hair. Harry shook his head like a dog; he felt strands of hair torn from his scalp as whatever it was hung on tight, then heard a soft, fleshy thud as it flew free and hit the floor. But by then he had another of them on his shoulder, and he felt claws digging into his calf as another tried to climb his leg -

“Lumos!”

His sudden panic fed into the spell - the room was suddenly as bright as daylight - and Harry finally got to see what he was facing.

*

For once, Draco’s usually leisurely and confused waking up process took all of two seconds. Potter’s shout might have forced him out of the land of sleep, but the first thing he saw as he opened his eyes was the thing scurrying across his pillow, directly for his face. There were more of them crawling up his bare legs - black scuttling things like deformed spiders. Deformed spiders with teeth…

If waking up took only two seconds, his movement from laying down to landing on his feet was even quicker. Draco was actually in midair for a moment, batting the things away. His senses were abnormally sharp again - he could hear the sound of claws digging into the plasterwork above his head, the scritch-scratch of chitinous legs scraping against carapaces, the clicking together of tiny teeth…

Draco caught one of things in mid-air as it leapt from his face. Its body was hard but he crushed it like paper. Black gunk oozed between his fingers. And all its compatriots attacked en masse.

His wand was with his robes, which were still by the door. Only a few steps away - but that ‘few’ suddenly seemed like a thousand as the creatures swarmed up over the bed. He could squash them, but there were so many, and each one bit, with teeth much too big for their bodies. He felt every bite, every tiny chunk of flesh torn free, but that was almost superficial in comparison to the pain building deep inside his body.

His bones felt like they were…moving?

“Oh, fuck, please, no…”

The world seemed to have slowed right down just for him. Draco saw one of the creatures try to take a bite from the back of his hand. His skin stretched like elastic.

Searing pain shot up through his gums. His spine seemed to be trying to move up to a better joining-place with his skull, and he heard as well as felt the vicious little crunches as his bones dislocated. His first scream came as his legs gave way beneath him, and he dropped into a jerking, agonised heap on the bed.

This can’t be happening…

*

“No…no…no…”

Draco was curled into a ball, almost hidden beneath a seething mass of bugs. One deliberately-overpowered Accio and a quick duck later, and they were splattered all over the wall behind Harry. The few remaining creatures just disappeared - popping out of existence in a way that uncomfortably reminded Harry of Apparition.

But bugs - even weird as hell ones - don’t Apparate, and they certainly don’t make strategic retreats…

“No…no…” Even with the creatures gone, Draco was still sobbing. Harry got a clue why when he called the wand-light back up - and saw Draco’s back. The gashes and gouges left by the creatures were horrific, and there was blood splattered across the sheets, but the bones of his spine and ribcage moved beneath skin that rippled like water…

Is he changing..?

“NO!” The word was screamed, but that got the universe - and Draco’s own body - to take notice. Harry watched bones snap back into their proper places, the skin mould itself tightly back over Draco’s flesh, and felt sick.

The sudden silence was broken only by Draco’s gasping breaths.

“Jesus Christ…” A couple of quick steps and Harry was at the bed, but he hesitated before touching Draco. His skin looked normal, if rather torn up - but what if it wasn’t? What if I touch him and it’s -

The decision was taken out of his hands. Draco rolled over, tears making tracks through the blood and black gunk on his face, and snatched Harry’s wand. He aimed cleaning spells at himself until even the previously undamaged sections of skin were red and sore-looking. “Fucking Akunin,” he muttered. “Fucking Granger and her fucking stealing…”

Harry caught hold of the wand. “What are you talking about? What’s this got to do with Hermione?”

Draco ran a shaking hand over his face, as if checking it was in order. Harry looked at the bites on his arm and was torn. Draco was in a mess, but his mention of Hermione was disturbing.

“Akunin persuades thieves to return what they’ve stolen.” So was that. “I think this might be step one.”

Harry was already dragging on his jeans. If the creatures came for Draco…

Hermione. Ron.