fic: the cabinet
Title: The Cabinet
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 6390, more or less.
The request: I'm really not too picky, but I do love when they first get together. Maybe something where one of them was challenged to do something with the other and they have to overcome that challenge. I'm really not too picky right now. Perferably at Hogwarts, Can include other pairings. I don't want something not realistic, ie they see each other and all of a sudden forget they hated each other; deathfic (beyond canon)
Author's notes: Written WAY before HD came out. Well. It's at Hogwarts, it's kind of a challenge (it's love-hate at first), and it's when they first get together. Some parts of the dialogue from the bathroom scene are taken directly from HBP, so they're not mine. Basically, I based this around 'What if Sectumsempra never happened?' I hope you like it!
Draco impatiently flicks through the book in front of him, selectively scanning for of the words 'passageway', 'linked', 'portal' and a number of others. The book is only one of many on the desk. The volumes, varying greatly in size and usefulness, practically hide the Slytherin from the rest of the library. He knows exactly what he has to accomplish this year; he just doesn't know how. Hence the books. They aren't really helping, but at least it's a starting point. They also ground him, stop him from hysterically wondering how he's going to accomplish.
There's not enough time. Draco knows that his time is running out. The boy peers at the small script on the page he's attempting to read (the particular sentence he's trying to decipher looks like it's saying maltreat the cheese for they shalt devour your pillar) and scowls as Madam Pince walks around and tries to throw everyone out of the library. Curfew already?! If it's one thing Draco is completely focused on, it's that there is no time. What with all his lessons, homework and Quidditch practices, he's only left with snippets of time in order to save his own life, and his parents.
Stowing away as many of the books as he can fit in his bag, Draco returns the rest to the shelves swiftly, before heading out of the library. Once out, he glances back at Pince, pauses another moment... and decides to head upstairs towards the Room of Requirement instead. He hopes that no one catches him, because the last thing he needs is a detention cutting into his all too precious time.
By half two in the morning, Draco's far too tired to do any more repairing; he's almost shot his own hand off twice now. He decides not to try for 'third time lucky', and merely flops down onto the bed in the corner. Nowadays, he sleeps here at least once a week. He severely wishes that he could just have all his lesson time in here, a real chunk of undisturbed time. Transfiguration is first thing in the morning, and, tired as he is, he wonders whether it would be so bad for him to just... skip it. It's not like his grades matter all too much anymore. Not with death hanging over his parents.
Draco skips Transfiguration the next morning. He sips Firewhiskey, which he has discovered, drowns feelings very well. He doesn't even leave the room until lunchtime, by which point he figures that his friends are probably on the verge of reporting his absence. Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle must have noticed that his bed remained untouched last night. Again.
Leaving the Room is always quite tricky. He has to make sure that no one is around, and yet he can't just stand Crabbe and Goyle there; they'd look a bit suspicious. This is the last time he has to do it by himself though; he's come up with a way for them to stand guard for him, in disguise. If they're at lunch, which they'll undoubtedly be, he'll break it to them. They probably won't like it... but they'll do it. They knows how much this means to Draco.
As he slips into a seat subtly, Pansy eyes him over the table. Draco just wants to avoid McGonagall, who will probably be hot on his heels. Perhaps he should have chosen a milder professor's lesson to skive. "Are you alright, Draco?" she scoots over, pushing Goyle out of the way, and manages to worm her arm through his. Draco tries to manipulate his knife onto his steak through the girl's death grip. "I haven't seen you all day, are you all right?"
Draco chomps down on a large bit of beef, to save himself from having to answer, because what he really wants is solitude, not Pansy crawling over him. She starts petting his hair, and it makes some fall into his eyes. He sweeps it away with an impatient gesture. Finally finishing chewing, Draco answers calmly, "I'm fine, Pansy. Wouldn't you like to stop holding onto me? I can't eat very well, I'm hungry." She makes some sort of cooing over how sorry she is that he's hungry (he hopes she stops soon, because she physically picks up a fork and tries to feed him herself), which he ignores. Can't she tell that there's more to this than... well, them. Not that there's really been a 'them'. He's still single, as far as he's concerned, although he's heard a few rumours that Pansy didn't think so.
Yes, as far as Draco's concerned, nothing matters at the moment, except that he gets that damn thing fixed. Having the Dark Lord threaten him to kill his mother, talking as though his mother's not in the room, is enough an incentive to do anything. His parents are everything to him.
* * *
Draco glances at himself in the mirror. He's looking a little pale... but he's always pale anyway. No one will notice. He doesn't notice the look Blaise him; the one which indicates clearly that Draco is becoming a cross between a walking skeleton and a ghost. He's lost weight recently too, and the blond keeps trying to tell himself that that's a good thing, that he was too heavy to be healthy before anyway, even though he knows that it's not true.
When his teachers look at him, some of them glance at him in disgust. Those are the ones whose lessons he's skipping. A couple of them look at him pityingly, and those are the ones he ignores, because he doesn't need their pity, even if he is looking half-dead. Going up the stairs, Draco almost stumbles, testament of how tired he is. He grips the banister and closes his eyes for just a second. It's frightening how he doesn't want to open them again, just wants to fall asleep right there. No. He wrenches his eyes back open, because if he lets himself just fall asleep, he won't wake up for hours, and that will be time not spent on fixing the cabinet. He struggles up, determined to progress today.
Waiting outside a spare classroom for Crabbe and Goyle, Draco nods as they emerge, a pair of sweet, innocent little girls. He doesn't ask whose hair they pulled out, or where they got the clothes from. He's not quite sure he wants to know. He heads to the Room first; they'll follow later, since it's highly unusual for Draco Malfoy to be seen with anyone apart from Crabbe and Goyle, let alone two young girls. He hopes that they'll have enough sense to drink some more of that foul potion if he's in there for more than an hour.
Feeling completely drained by the time he decides to call it a night, the Slytherin drags himself out of the room. Not because he has anywhere to go; he could just sleep in the bed he provides for himself in there, but... sometimes, he just wants to get away from the damn room, away from it all. If the Room could because what he really wanted, just a sanctuary where he could stay until everything blew over, or maybe if it could provide an instant means for Draco to accomplish this sodding mission, he would be really happy. Unfortunately, it can't.
Draco's stomach growls, from lack of food, but he's too tired to go and actually find some. As soon as he's safely in his Slytherin dorm, he flops onto his bed still fully dressed, only pausing to kick his shoes off, and crawls under the covers. He know he shouldn't deprive his body like this, but it's just that whenever he's at the dinner table, he doesn't have much appetite from worrying over his mission, and the rest of the time, he's not even at the table. He's too tired for the hunger pangs to keep him up though.
When he wakes, the Slytherin doesn't feel rested at all, and on top of that, he feels filthy, having not showered yesterday. Climbing disgustedly into the shower, the boy actually manages to relax for ten minutes or so. When he emerges, rubbing his hair dry, Draco finds his Head of House waiting for him. He presumes that Snape isn't teaching first thing, because otherwise he's going to be late, and Snape's never late.
"Draco. It has been brought to my attention that you've been... missing in some of your lessons." Snape's tone is neutral, completely devoid of anything.
Great. This is... just really not what Draco needs right now. "Yeah, well, my lessons are hardly the important thing right now, are they?" the blond snaps back, after checking that the common room is empty. "I've got better things to be doing, and unfortunately, they take up a bit of time."
Snape starts walking, and Draco falls in step. "You've got to maintain a façade, boy," the older man instructed. "Otherwise people will start thinking that something's wrong." Draco laughs bitterly. Something is wrong. People would be fools if they hadn't noticed by now. "And if you let me help you-" Draco cuts him off.
"I don't need your help." His answer is deadpan and grim. "I can, and I will do this by myself." He starts walking in the opposite direction to Snape.
A sigh is emitted from Snape's direction. "You're not going in that direction. Dumbledore wants to see you." Draco closes his eyes. Great. Great, great, great. He shrugs as if it doesn't matter, and follows the man towards Dumbledore's office. He also thinks that 'peppermint creams' is a ridiculous password. He doesn't notice a certain Gryffindor, who's been watching him for some time now, narrow his eyes as he ascends the staircase.
When Snape retreats back outside the door, Draco seats himself carelessly in one of the chairs there. The man in front of him, rarely around school anymore at all, steeples his fingers, and just looks at him for a while. Draco is almost scrutinising himself as Dumbledore does it. He notices the way his robes hang off his frame like they're too big for him, because he wasn't so thin when they were fitted. He notices the way his skin is practically translucent, revealing the delicate lines of blood beneath, giving his skin an almost eerie, blue tinge. He notices the way his hair isn't gelled anymore, because it takes too much time to get perfect. He notices the way his elbows practically have bone jutting out from them. He notices the shadows under his eyes, and the shadows in his eyes too. He notices the way he slouches, because he's too tired to attempt sitting up straight.
"Draco," the old man begins carefully, "is there anything would like to tell me? Anything at all?"
The blond scowls. "No, sir." It's just a little rushed, but completely natural otherwise.
The Headmaster simply nods, slowly, then studies him for just a moment longer. Dumbledore sighs. "All right then, Mr Malfoy. Please go to your next lesson." Draco wonders if Dumbledore saw more than he knew. He shivers. That man was far too mysterious for his own good.
* * *
When this much emotion becomes bottled up, there needs to be an outlet. Draco finds himself crying on his way out from Transfiguration one day and, desperate that no one should see him in such a vulnerable state, tumbles through the door with the 'Out of order' sign. It seems as though his body was just waiting for him to get to somewhere private though, because now he's unseen, his cries become louder. They wrack his whole body, and it hurts, because there's so little of his body left. He can taste salt on his lips, and he can barely move, stuck in a broken girl's toilet, clutching at a sink.
It's after a long while that it just seems that he's run out of tears to run, and he slowly, slowly starts drying up. He twiddles the tap, hoping that it'll work; water splashes out, and he flings it over his face, the fresh water waking him up, making him feel just that little bit better. That little bit seems a lot to a boy with practically no hope left though. He even slicks his hair back before leaving.
This became a semi-regular addition to Draco's packed routine. One a week, maybe less, Draco retreats to the abandoned toilets, and just vents his frustration, anger, worry, sorrow, fear. He doesn't always cry. Sometimes he just sighs, sometimes just stares at himself in the mirror. Somewhere through this, Moaning Myrtle discovers him, and actually talks to him. Since nothing she can do will affect this whole situation anyway, Draco finds himself talking to her, reluctantly at first. She's just an animate being who can intelligently respond to his feelings without trying to interfere. Somewhere along the way, he cries at her, and it feels strangely cathartic. Crying got emotion out well, but talking got it out better.
Not that this actually makes anything better. But he feels better. Sometimes.
Draco knows this sink so well, has bent his head over it, clutched at it so often that he sometimes feels that it's his sink now. He struggles; his head feels too heavy to hold up. Myrtle is trying to comfort him, but she can't; he's had a letter from his mother, coded of course. The Dark Lord has delivered his ultimatum. "No one can help me." His knuckles are white from gripping the sink, to keep himself from falling over, "I can't do it... I can't... it won't work... and unless I do it soon... he says he'll kill me..." He's pulling himself physically up with an effort, when he catches a glimpse of dark robes in the cracked mirror in front of him. His face drains, but he's already so pale that it doesn't make much difference. He's staring full into the face of Harry Potter.
Draco whirls around, drawing his wand at the same time. The movement makes his hex miss by inches, and he darts for the door. Potter. Bloody potter. Of all the people to discover him here. Could life possibly get any worse? He can see the non-verbal spell that Potter's about to use; that boy gives away too much in his facial expression. He throws up a shield, and flies at the door, using a barrage of spells to keep Potter out of his way. Flinging the door shut behind him, Draco ignores the people gaping at the Slytherin who just darted out of the girl's toilet, and pounds the Hogwarts corridors beneath his feet as he breathlessly tumbles towards his common room.
* * *
Draco stops going to Myrtle's bathroom. He stops doing most other things too. He bribes the reserve Seeker into playing for him most of the time now. He sneaks out to the Room just before curfew, to avoid getting caught, and just stays there until the early hours. He doesn't take Crabbe and Goyle around with him anymore; there's no point if he's just going to stay in the room for the night. He walks across the patch of wall three times, and strides forward to open the door when an unseen figure pounces on him and drags him through the door.
When Draco's awake again (he's obviously been stunned), the boy finds himself in the Room, on the bed. He bolts upright, and sees... "Potter!" He so shocked that he even forgets to be angry. Momentarily. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" The Gryffindor is walking around the cabinet, examining it. A cold hand of fear seems to curl around Draco's insides and squeeze threateningly. He reaches for his wand, but... it's not there. Of course.
Potter holds it up. "Looking for this? You'll get it back after I'm done." Draco slides off the bed, livid. Potter points his own wand at him; he freezes. Potter continues examining. "This is that vanishing cabinet Fred and George shoved Montague in, isn't it?" He's not really talking to Draco, and Draco's certainly not volunteering any information. "And it's something to do with Borgin and Burkes..." Draco topples, ending up sitting back on the bed, startled. How does Potter know all this?! He's going to figure it out soon; the Gryffindor's not dumb. "So. Is it a passageway from Borgin and Burkes?" Draco fights not to let anything show on his face, but Harry's hit it right on the head, and he's realised it. That fear spreads.
"He's going to kill you if you don't get his Death Eaters in through here," Potter states. Malfoy hugs himself, too dazed to make up an answer. That Potter has just... ruined a year's worth of work is heart-shattering. He's really going to die this time, and his parents too. The Dark Lord is going to torture his parents in front of him before killing them off, torture them and laugh. He wonders how he could have been so proud at the beginning of the year, be so arrogant and sure that he would accomplish this great task. He feels so broken.
"Merlin, I feel sorry for you, Malfoy," Potter's standing above him, and Draco never noticed him move. Draco stands up, a clench in his jaw. He doesn't want Potter's pity. Pity is only for wallowing in. "You look shattered." He is. How blunt of Potter to point it out. The Gryffindor grabs his chin to look full into his face; Draco's still too numb to fight him off with more than a few half-hearted swats.
Suddenly, so very suddenly, Draco is enveloped in warmth, and it reminds him of his mother when he was younger, and there's an arm circling his waist, and a pair of soft, wet lips meeting his, strength in that jaw that contrasted with the lack of strength in his, and okay, it's really not his mother anymore... It's only a moment, and then Potter slips his wand into Draco's hand, slings his bag over his shoulder, and starts to walk out. "You should eat more, Malfoy," he says softly, before disappearing out of the door.
What the hell just happened?! Malfoy picks up a book he stole from the library and flings it at the door. The book is probably completely ruined, but he feels better, at least. Draco didn't need Harry bloody Potter's pity! Sure, it... felt good, and was comforting, and... vaguely nice, but he didn't need it! Draco can feel anger boiling up inside of him, and he smartly grips his wand, clenches his jaw, and sets to work on the cabinet. He'd have it finished soon. He has to. He'll have it finished before Potter can come along and ruin it all. He doesn't want to die.
* * *
Draco hasn't eaten more than a few bites of food in a couple of days; he forces himself to go down to the Great Hall and just eat, even though the normally delicious pie tastes like wood pulp, and the gravy sticks to his throat. The heaviness of it weighs him down, but the boy shakes it off, and leaves the Hall, even though everyone else is still eating. Somehow, he manages to catch Harry Potter just coming into the entrance hall, with neither Granger nor the Weasel. His eyes immediately narrow. Potter's eyes narrow too. "Finished yet?" he asks, archly.
A bitter smile twists across Draco's mouth. "Concerned for me, Potter?"
There's a slightly maniacal look in Potter's eyes, as he snorts. "You wish, Malfoy. What happened the other day? Forget it; I was just feeling sorry for you. But you know what would be really funny? If I told a Professor, and then you died because of it." The Gryffindor stalks into the Great Hall, and Draco fumes, because he didn't have the last word. Bloody Potter. He hates the other boy so much, right now. For feeling sorry for him. For threatening him. For kissing him. He bets that Potter will tell a teacher. He's a suck-up like that. He hates that Potter doesn't know what he's messing with. Potter probably wouldn't care, if he knew that the Dark Lord would kill his parents if this doesn't work, but it matters to him. He's so incredibly angry, because killing Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy wouldn't matter at all to Potter, and yet, it means everything to him. He has to stop Potter, because his parents mean the world to him; there is no way he will let Potter screw this up, thinking only that Draco will die.
It's funny; Draco's never been an overly selfless person. But at the moment, it matters so much more to him that his parents will die if this doesn't work, than that he will.
The next time they meet, it's just after Draco emerges from the Room. He hasn't heard any noise from Goyle recently, who's the one standing duty at the moment, and he freezes when he opens the door, because in front of the door, is Harry Potter, holding a large pair of bronze scales, and absolutely not sign of Goyle at all. Damn Potter. DAMN HIM! He even managed to work this one out too?! Draco silently curses; he had thought that the Polyjuice potion had been a foolproof plan. "So, you told old McGonagall yet? Gone running to Dumbledore and spilled everything you know about my dasdardly plot yet?" he sneers, because there's nothing else left for him to do. There's a sinking, lost feeling in his chest.
"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Potter shakes his head bemusedly. "I haven't told anyone yet." Maybe, Draco hopes, he can just Obliviate Potter, and then no one will know anything about his plan. But Potter's already got his wand out and pointed at him, and he hasn't. He closes the door carefully behind him, in case anyone else comes along. "So tell me," the Gryffindor tries for casual and hopelessly fails; conversations between Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter don't get casual. "Are you planning on letting any Death Eaters in to kill people?" It seems an odd question to ask. After all, they are Death Eaters.
Draco considers it a while. "Not to kill anyone," he says slowly. That's technically true. They're going to be here to set off the Dark Mark and make sure that Draco's mission pulls off smoothly. Anyone who's going to be killing anyone is already inside the castle; him. So he hasn't lied.
A shrug. "Then I'm not going to tell anyone," Potter says casually. It's a much better 'casual' this time. "It's not like I particularly like you or anything, but if this fails, you're going to die, right? So I won't tell." It's only the Saviour of the Universe who could manage to say something this flippant. Only Potter could decide something this big by himself and just not tell anyone. Bloody Gryffindors. The boy suddenly lunges forward, and captures Draco's lips with his. Malfoy squeaks indignantly for a moment, and then realises that the thing feeling rather nice in his mouth is Potter's tongue. He wraps his arms around Potter's neck, not that he's in love or anything, but because Potter's actually quite good at kissing, and pushes back. He rather hopes no one comes down the corridor right now.
The two boys part rather loudly and wetly, and Potter snorts, "So don't get yourself killed between now and then, or all of my chivalry will have gone to waste." He roughly pushes Draco away and flings the scales at him, who completely fails to catch them, and saunters off. The scales fall with a resounding crash.
Argh! Again! Draco never gets the last word! He snatches up the offending scales and marches away indignantly. He feels somewhat embarrassed that he could have ever thought that Potter kissed well, even if it was just a moment ago, because he obviously doesn't! Draco is quite happy in self-denial. Again, he's back to hating Potter so much, because Potter seems to have this control over him. He races after the other boy, grabs his shoulder and heaves the other boy into the wall.
"I don't need your mercy, Potter!" The blond hisses. "You can bloody well go and tell a teacher, see how much I care!" These are empty words though, and they're only said to bolster his failing pride. He heaves a hex off at close range to Potter, and Potter's shield immediately flashed up, whizzing it just past Draco's hair, making it flutter.
Potter rolls out from the wall, giving him more space to move. "Bloody grief, Malfoy! I'm not being... merciful or anything," he snaps past the barrage of spells they're exchanging, "I just don't want to be responsible for your death, because, unlike you, I am apparently a decent person!" There's going to be a teacher, or Filch, up soon, and they know it; the boys move quickly, trying to thrash it all out before someone comes along and meddles.
"Oh, so it's all about you now, Potter?" Malfoy snarls, hair completely dishevelled, running around the corridor like a madman. "You don't really give a damn about whether I die or not, do you?!" He accused.
With a swift movement, Potter blocks Draco's latest spell, and is suddenly face-to-face with the Slytherin. "Make up your mind, Malfoy. Either you want me to be concerned about you, or you don't. You can't want both at the same time. Do you want to die?" Again, he presses a hot, short kiss to Draco, and runs down the corridor. Draco growls and wipes his mouth with the back of a sleeve as though the kiss disgusts him, even though it's a useless gesture. He doesn't know; does he want both? He knows he doesn't want to die. With that in mind, that should probably mean that he should appease Potter, and make sure that Potter doesn't tell. However... he doesn't want Potter to be concerned about him, and take mercy on him because he's high and mighty and can afford to give mercy to those below him, or pity him because that's just plain shameful. He doesn't run after Potter this time; he sees the emergence of a cat's tail, and flees before Filch gets here too.
* * *
It's a circular argument that Draco can't get out of. Potter's wrong; he can 'want both' at the same time. The coincidental meetings with Potter continue. They don't try and meet, but if they happen to pass each other, and there's no one else around, either Draco will take the opportunity to reassure himself that Potter's not taking pity on him, or Potter will reaffirm that Draco's not planning to bring in anyone who's going to kill anyone else. There's a slight lie on both of their sides, but they know it, and they ignore it, because they need the reassurance that each of them are doing the right thing.
And then there are the feelings. Draco doesn't try to deny those. He knows what they are. It's a mixture of relief; trust in Potter that he won't tell; freedom that he has someone to tell his troubles to, even if they are in argument form; these things just happen to present themselves in the form of hormones. Each time they meet, no matter how heated it gets, there's a kiss in there somewhere. Maybe it's the venting of feelings, passion for something they believe in, or want to believe in. He knows that it's not just him; Potter clings to his waist as tightly as Draco clutches his shoulders. It feels so incredibly good to just able to do that, and not have to face any circumstances for his actions, because Potter feels the same, and will never call him up on them.
Every time they meet, the chances are that they'll have a fight, too. Sometimes, it's a miniature duel. Thus far, Draco has managed to give Potter a mouse tail, and Potter has managed to reverse the way his wrist turns. That had been interesting. Sometimes, it gets physical, a punch to the shoulder, a couple of elbows to the gut and lots of foot-stamping, because neither boy has all too much experience of real bare-knuckle fighting.
Draco doesn't hate Potter any less. And he can tell that Potter doesn't like him any more either. He still finds Potter irrational, reckless, clueless about real life. However... there are periods where he sometimes sympathises with the other boy, over his responsibility to save everyone. It has a certain irony and parallel to his own 'responsibility', to completely destroy the magical world as people know it. He can't deny to himself that he finds Potter attractive, in an unkempt, untamed sort of way. He also can't deny that to have someone know fully about his plot, and yet... not seem to judge him is not wonderfully freeing, in a way. He can't deny that when he kisses Potter, or vice versa, and has his grabby hands all over him, it feels good, refreshes him, makes him want it to last forever. He can't deny that when Potter taunts him, it angers him more than anyone else could, and he just lashes out. He can't deny that he taunts Potter for exactly the same reason. He still hates Potter just as strongly as he used to. Just not all the time. It's the same with Potter. He'll act sappy and caring and gentle in one moment, and in the next, be threatening to tell Dumbledore. It's a love-hate thing.
It's probably a miracle that Draco can still fit everything in and not collapse from sheer exhaustion. He works late into night, still gets up at normal times, and dashes to the Room even if he only has ten spare minutes. He's skipping lessons more and more frequently now, and Snape's spoken with him again, not that he's listened to Snape. Snape wants him to slow down, act normal, but he can't, because that would waste time he could be spending on the Cabinet, to prevent his parents' murders, to prevent his own death. He doesn't want to die yet.
* * *
The Cabinet is finally finished.
When Potter stalks towards him, Draco steels himself for another confrontation. They stand just feet apart, until Draco jerks his head sideways. They edge into an empty classroom, holding up their wands, ready. "Draco, you're too thin, and tired," Potter moves forward with concern, and Draco reacts with anger, backing away because he doesn't need Potter to touch him. Most of the time, their moods for affection and hate change at the same time, but it seems as though Potter's in an affectionate mood, and Draco is so very not. So he fires off the first jinx.
Potter deflects it, and it shoots out of the window. He advances, and Draco darts to the right, only finding, to his surprise, that he's suddenly on the floor, his legs having given way. He blinks dazedly, and can't seem to protest when Potter scoops him into his arms, and lifts him to perch on the edge of one of the rows of desks. "I told you that you were too tired," he says gently, sitting beside him and just holding him. Draco is tired, incredibly so, but he's never admitted it to anyone, even it's blatantly obvious to any and everyone. He leans his head on Potter.
The body next to him is incredibly warm, and solid, and there's a comforting hand stroking down his side. Draco finds himself smiling a small smile. He turns his head slightly to see Potter looking at his body with worry, as his hand traces across his rib cage, where the bones are visible, and his hip, which is even more prominent than it used to be. Somehow, without him even managing to notice it, their banter and fighting as become a game, a poor attempt of the façade they were supposed to keep up. Not that it was any less real than this.
Draco tilts his face up, and Potter knows what he wants. Warm lips cover his sweetly, and tenderly caress his lips, the inside of his mouth, his tongue. It's massaging and soothing, and Draco sighs into Potter's mouth and leans into it. As soon as they slowly part, Potter leans in a bit more and gives him a last lick, a last pressure on his lips. They sit together for a while, just sitting.
Into the comfortable silence, Draco finally tips his head forward so that his forehead rests on Potter's shoulder. "Next Monday," he whispers hoarsely. Potter knows what he's talking about. His grip on Draco tightens just a little, before he pulls Draco sideways into the V of his legs. Both of Draco's legs dangle over Potter's right thigh, and his backside rests against the Gryffindor's left. He leans his side onto Potter's chest, and Potter envelopes him in those firm arms. The blond is vaguely aware that he's shaking slightly, and clinging very tightly to the front of the Gryffindor robes, and Harry feels so much like... comfort. Like home. "I don't want to go," he whispers. Potter says nothing, just holds him, touches him, reassures him.
Potter has a plan. How very not-surprising. However, when they meet they day after, and Potter reveals his plan, it actually consists of more than an impulsive, Gryffindor, 'I want to save you'. It actually sounds well-thought out and even somewhat plausible... to a point. Draco swallows, as he stares at the boy who came up with a plan overnight. Potter looks like he didn't sleep last night; he probably didn't. Potters stares back at him, waiting for a response. Any response. "Can we do it?" Draco asks hoarsely.
Potter sweeps a hand through his messy hair, and breathes out. "Destination, determination, and deliberation. There's all there is to it, right? Destination... I'll get a note which will let you see it, and... I don't see how we couldn't have enough determination and deliberation." His eyes steel at that, and Draco's swept along, just for a moment. He can see how people would rally to this boy if Potter really tried for it.
There's a small gasp as Draco is pulled tightly into an embrace and given a strong kiss. "I'll get that note," Harry promises, before setting off at a run. The blond slumps against a wall, passes his hand over his face and wonders if this really will work. He hopes it will. He has to tell Snape, too. He dreads this part.
The expression on Snape's face when Draco tells him that he wants out is priceless. It's actually laughable. The expression on Snape's face when he realises that Draco is being completely truthful (with the help of Veritaserum) is slightly amused. Draco braces himself for what Snape's about to tell him, because he knows that look. He just hopes it's not because Snape's going to run off and tell the Dark Lord, because that would render their plan obsolete, since Draco will be dead by then. The look on Draco's face when Snape tells him that he's an Order spy is equally priceless.
Draco watches the Death Eaters come in, with trepidation. Without him and Snape backing their little revolt, nothing serious is going to happen. He hopes. His aunt Bellatrix seizes him by the arm and drags him down the corridors in excitement; he hopes that she lets go soon, because otherwise he won't be able to get away.
When the Dark Mark floats above the school, Draco's entire body gives a little shudder, and he pounds his feet through the corridors he's known for almost six years. Snape's running straight after him, and there are Aurors everywhere, and Draco, for once, actually wishes that Potter had just up and told everyone about his change of heart, because then they wouldn't be trying so hard to blast his head off.
When he reaches the Cabinet, there's a small fleeting thought that Harry won't have made it here, even though Dumbledore will have helped him to do so. He flings himself through the passageway without hesitation, and feels a sensation which is almost like a Portkey, just not as stomach-jerking, and then he's falling out the other side, practically ejected out into the dingy interior of Borgin and Burkes. He's scrambling out of the way, to get away before Snape lands on him, and suddenly finds someone else's body weight on him instead. It's warm, and the smell is familiar by now, and Draco melts with relief.
"Here," Harry mutters, shoving a piece of parchment with elaborate writing on it. "Read it, quickly," And as soon as Draco has absorbed the information, Potter burns it, dragging him outside so that they can Apparate; Snape can fend for himself. Draco clings to Harry's arm, and concentration etches itself across the Gryffindor's face in the form of creases. A loud 'pop!' later, Draco is in front of an unfamiliar street, and he's thinking desperately, 'Twelve Grimmauld Place, twelve Grimmauld Place,' until the house appears in front of him.
Potter's more or less dragging him into the house; Draco's exhausted. Suddenly, Draco finds himself being swept into Potter's arms, and he's about to complain, tell the other boy to put him down, that he's perfectly capable of walking, and that he's really heavy, but it just feels so good to be able to relax for a moment that he just lies his head on Potter's shoulder and lets the boy carry him in.
Safe. Warm. With Potter. The Slytherin can feel the other boy carefully undressing him, lying out his limbs. He smiles, a rush of gratitude, as he's slid onto fresh sheets, and Potter's body is next to him, all naked too. Screw showers; they just both too tired. Surrounded by cleanness and warmth, Draco really doesn't care. He holds his arms out, and curls up into the other boy, entwining their legs, and pressing his smile against Potter's neck.
For the first time in a long while, Draco actually drops off to sleep without any trouble.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 6390, more or less.
The request: I'm really not too picky, but I do love when they first get together. Maybe something where one of them was challenged to do something with the other and they have to overcome that challenge. I'm really not too picky right now. Perferably at Hogwarts, Can include other pairings. I don't want something not realistic, ie they see each other and all of a sudden forget they hated each other; deathfic (beyond canon)
Author's notes: Written WAY before HD came out. Well. It's at Hogwarts, it's kind of a challenge (it's love-hate at first), and it's when they first get together. Some parts of the dialogue from the bathroom scene are taken directly from HBP, so they're not mine. Basically, I based this around 'What if Sectumsempra never happened?' I hope you like it!
Draco impatiently flicks through the book in front of him, selectively scanning for of the words 'passageway', 'linked', 'portal' and a number of others. The book is only one of many on the desk. The volumes, varying greatly in size and usefulness, practically hide the Slytherin from the rest of the library. He knows exactly what he has to accomplish this year; he just doesn't know how. Hence the books. They aren't really helping, but at least it's a starting point. They also ground him, stop him from hysterically wondering how he's going to accomplish.
There's not enough time. Draco knows that his time is running out. The boy peers at the small script on the page he's attempting to read (the particular sentence he's trying to decipher looks like it's saying maltreat the cheese for they shalt devour your pillar) and scowls as Madam Pince walks around and tries to throw everyone out of the library. Curfew already?! If it's one thing Draco is completely focused on, it's that there is no time. What with all his lessons, homework and Quidditch practices, he's only left with snippets of time in order to save his own life, and his parents.
Stowing away as many of the books as he can fit in his bag, Draco returns the rest to the shelves swiftly, before heading out of the library. Once out, he glances back at Pince, pauses another moment... and decides to head upstairs towards the Room of Requirement instead. He hopes that no one catches him, because the last thing he needs is a detention cutting into his all too precious time.
By half two in the morning, Draco's far too tired to do any more repairing; he's almost shot his own hand off twice now. He decides not to try for 'third time lucky', and merely flops down onto the bed in the corner. Nowadays, he sleeps here at least once a week. He severely wishes that he could just have all his lesson time in here, a real chunk of undisturbed time. Transfiguration is first thing in the morning, and, tired as he is, he wonders whether it would be so bad for him to just... skip it. It's not like his grades matter all too much anymore. Not with death hanging over his parents.
Draco skips Transfiguration the next morning. He sips Firewhiskey, which he has discovered, drowns feelings very well. He doesn't even leave the room until lunchtime, by which point he figures that his friends are probably on the verge of reporting his absence. Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle must have noticed that his bed remained untouched last night. Again.
Leaving the Room is always quite tricky. He has to make sure that no one is around, and yet he can't just stand Crabbe and Goyle there; they'd look a bit suspicious. This is the last time he has to do it by himself though; he's come up with a way for them to stand guard for him, in disguise. If they're at lunch, which they'll undoubtedly be, he'll break it to them. They probably won't like it... but they'll do it. They knows how much this means to Draco.
As he slips into a seat subtly, Pansy eyes him over the table. Draco just wants to avoid McGonagall, who will probably be hot on his heels. Perhaps he should have chosen a milder professor's lesson to skive. "Are you alright, Draco?" she scoots over, pushing Goyle out of the way, and manages to worm her arm through his. Draco tries to manipulate his knife onto his steak through the girl's death grip. "I haven't seen you all day, are you all right?"
Draco chomps down on a large bit of beef, to save himself from having to answer, because what he really wants is solitude, not Pansy crawling over him. She starts petting his hair, and it makes some fall into his eyes. He sweeps it away with an impatient gesture. Finally finishing chewing, Draco answers calmly, "I'm fine, Pansy. Wouldn't you like to stop holding onto me? I can't eat very well, I'm hungry." She makes some sort of cooing over how sorry she is that he's hungry (he hopes she stops soon, because she physically picks up a fork and tries to feed him herself), which he ignores. Can't she tell that there's more to this than... well, them. Not that there's really been a 'them'. He's still single, as far as he's concerned, although he's heard a few rumours that Pansy didn't think so.
Yes, as far as Draco's concerned, nothing matters at the moment, except that he gets that damn thing fixed. Having the Dark Lord threaten him to kill his mother, talking as though his mother's not in the room, is enough an incentive to do anything. His parents are everything to him.
* * *
Draco glances at himself in the mirror. He's looking a little pale... but he's always pale anyway. No one will notice. He doesn't notice the look Blaise him; the one which indicates clearly that Draco is becoming a cross between a walking skeleton and a ghost. He's lost weight recently too, and the blond keeps trying to tell himself that that's a good thing, that he was too heavy to be healthy before anyway, even though he knows that it's not true.
When his teachers look at him, some of them glance at him in disgust. Those are the ones whose lessons he's skipping. A couple of them look at him pityingly, and those are the ones he ignores, because he doesn't need their pity, even if he is looking half-dead. Going up the stairs, Draco almost stumbles, testament of how tired he is. He grips the banister and closes his eyes for just a second. It's frightening how he doesn't want to open them again, just wants to fall asleep right there. No. He wrenches his eyes back open, because if he lets himself just fall asleep, he won't wake up for hours, and that will be time not spent on fixing the cabinet. He struggles up, determined to progress today.
Waiting outside a spare classroom for Crabbe and Goyle, Draco nods as they emerge, a pair of sweet, innocent little girls. He doesn't ask whose hair they pulled out, or where they got the clothes from. He's not quite sure he wants to know. He heads to the Room first; they'll follow later, since it's highly unusual for Draco Malfoy to be seen with anyone apart from Crabbe and Goyle, let alone two young girls. He hopes that they'll have enough sense to drink some more of that foul potion if he's in there for more than an hour.
Feeling completely drained by the time he decides to call it a night, the Slytherin drags himself out of the room. Not because he has anywhere to go; he could just sleep in the bed he provides for himself in there, but... sometimes, he just wants to get away from the damn room, away from it all. If the Room could because what he really wanted, just a sanctuary where he could stay until everything blew over, or maybe if it could provide an instant means for Draco to accomplish this sodding mission, he would be really happy. Unfortunately, it can't.
Draco's stomach growls, from lack of food, but he's too tired to go and actually find some. As soon as he's safely in his Slytherin dorm, he flops onto his bed still fully dressed, only pausing to kick his shoes off, and crawls under the covers. He know he shouldn't deprive his body like this, but it's just that whenever he's at the dinner table, he doesn't have much appetite from worrying over his mission, and the rest of the time, he's not even at the table. He's too tired for the hunger pangs to keep him up though.
When he wakes, the Slytherin doesn't feel rested at all, and on top of that, he feels filthy, having not showered yesterday. Climbing disgustedly into the shower, the boy actually manages to relax for ten minutes or so. When he emerges, rubbing his hair dry, Draco finds his Head of House waiting for him. He presumes that Snape isn't teaching first thing, because otherwise he's going to be late, and Snape's never late.
"Draco. It has been brought to my attention that you've been... missing in some of your lessons." Snape's tone is neutral, completely devoid of anything.
Great. This is... just really not what Draco needs right now. "Yeah, well, my lessons are hardly the important thing right now, are they?" the blond snaps back, after checking that the common room is empty. "I've got better things to be doing, and unfortunately, they take up a bit of time."
Snape starts walking, and Draco falls in step. "You've got to maintain a façade, boy," the older man instructed. "Otherwise people will start thinking that something's wrong." Draco laughs bitterly. Something is wrong. People would be fools if they hadn't noticed by now. "And if you let me help you-" Draco cuts him off.
"I don't need your help." His answer is deadpan and grim. "I can, and I will do this by myself." He starts walking in the opposite direction to Snape.
A sigh is emitted from Snape's direction. "You're not going in that direction. Dumbledore wants to see you." Draco closes his eyes. Great. Great, great, great. He shrugs as if it doesn't matter, and follows the man towards Dumbledore's office. He also thinks that 'peppermint creams' is a ridiculous password. He doesn't notice a certain Gryffindor, who's been watching him for some time now, narrow his eyes as he ascends the staircase.
When Snape retreats back outside the door, Draco seats himself carelessly in one of the chairs there. The man in front of him, rarely around school anymore at all, steeples his fingers, and just looks at him for a while. Draco is almost scrutinising himself as Dumbledore does it. He notices the way his robes hang off his frame like they're too big for him, because he wasn't so thin when they were fitted. He notices the way his skin is practically translucent, revealing the delicate lines of blood beneath, giving his skin an almost eerie, blue tinge. He notices the way his hair isn't gelled anymore, because it takes too much time to get perfect. He notices the way his elbows practically have bone jutting out from them. He notices the shadows under his eyes, and the shadows in his eyes too. He notices the way he slouches, because he's too tired to attempt sitting up straight.
"Draco," the old man begins carefully, "is there anything would like to tell me? Anything at all?"
The blond scowls. "No, sir." It's just a little rushed, but completely natural otherwise.
The Headmaster simply nods, slowly, then studies him for just a moment longer. Dumbledore sighs. "All right then, Mr Malfoy. Please go to your next lesson." Draco wonders if Dumbledore saw more than he knew. He shivers. That man was far too mysterious for his own good.
* * *
When this much emotion becomes bottled up, there needs to be an outlet. Draco finds himself crying on his way out from Transfiguration one day and, desperate that no one should see him in such a vulnerable state, tumbles through the door with the 'Out of order' sign. It seems as though his body was just waiting for him to get to somewhere private though, because now he's unseen, his cries become louder. They wrack his whole body, and it hurts, because there's so little of his body left. He can taste salt on his lips, and he can barely move, stuck in a broken girl's toilet, clutching at a sink.
It's after a long while that it just seems that he's run out of tears to run, and he slowly, slowly starts drying up. He twiddles the tap, hoping that it'll work; water splashes out, and he flings it over his face, the fresh water waking him up, making him feel just that little bit better. That little bit seems a lot to a boy with practically no hope left though. He even slicks his hair back before leaving.
This became a semi-regular addition to Draco's packed routine. One a week, maybe less, Draco retreats to the abandoned toilets, and just vents his frustration, anger, worry, sorrow, fear. He doesn't always cry. Sometimes he just sighs, sometimes just stares at himself in the mirror. Somewhere through this, Moaning Myrtle discovers him, and actually talks to him. Since nothing she can do will affect this whole situation anyway, Draco finds himself talking to her, reluctantly at first. She's just an animate being who can intelligently respond to his feelings without trying to interfere. Somewhere along the way, he cries at her, and it feels strangely cathartic. Crying got emotion out well, but talking got it out better.
Not that this actually makes anything better. But he feels better. Sometimes.
Draco knows this sink so well, has bent his head over it, clutched at it so often that he sometimes feels that it's his sink now. He struggles; his head feels too heavy to hold up. Myrtle is trying to comfort him, but she can't; he's had a letter from his mother, coded of course. The Dark Lord has delivered his ultimatum. "No one can help me." His knuckles are white from gripping the sink, to keep himself from falling over, "I can't do it... I can't... it won't work... and unless I do it soon... he says he'll kill me..." He's pulling himself physically up with an effort, when he catches a glimpse of dark robes in the cracked mirror in front of him. His face drains, but he's already so pale that it doesn't make much difference. He's staring full into the face of Harry Potter.
Draco whirls around, drawing his wand at the same time. The movement makes his hex miss by inches, and he darts for the door. Potter. Bloody potter. Of all the people to discover him here. Could life possibly get any worse? He can see the non-verbal spell that Potter's about to use; that boy gives away too much in his facial expression. He throws up a shield, and flies at the door, using a barrage of spells to keep Potter out of his way. Flinging the door shut behind him, Draco ignores the people gaping at the Slytherin who just darted out of the girl's toilet, and pounds the Hogwarts corridors beneath his feet as he breathlessly tumbles towards his common room.
* * *
Draco stops going to Myrtle's bathroom. He stops doing most other things too. He bribes the reserve Seeker into playing for him most of the time now. He sneaks out to the Room just before curfew, to avoid getting caught, and just stays there until the early hours. He doesn't take Crabbe and Goyle around with him anymore; there's no point if he's just going to stay in the room for the night. He walks across the patch of wall three times, and strides forward to open the door when an unseen figure pounces on him and drags him through the door.
When Draco's awake again (he's obviously been stunned), the boy finds himself in the Room, on the bed. He bolts upright, and sees... "Potter!" He so shocked that he even forgets to be angry. Momentarily. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" The Gryffindor is walking around the cabinet, examining it. A cold hand of fear seems to curl around Draco's insides and squeeze threateningly. He reaches for his wand, but... it's not there. Of course.
Potter holds it up. "Looking for this? You'll get it back after I'm done." Draco slides off the bed, livid. Potter points his own wand at him; he freezes. Potter continues examining. "This is that vanishing cabinet Fred and George shoved Montague in, isn't it?" He's not really talking to Draco, and Draco's certainly not volunteering any information. "And it's something to do with Borgin and Burkes..." Draco topples, ending up sitting back on the bed, startled. How does Potter know all this?! He's going to figure it out soon; the Gryffindor's not dumb. "So. Is it a passageway from Borgin and Burkes?" Draco fights not to let anything show on his face, but Harry's hit it right on the head, and he's realised it. That fear spreads.
"He's going to kill you if you don't get his Death Eaters in through here," Potter states. Malfoy hugs himself, too dazed to make up an answer. That Potter has just... ruined a year's worth of work is heart-shattering. He's really going to die this time, and his parents too. The Dark Lord is going to torture his parents in front of him before killing them off, torture them and laugh. He wonders how he could have been so proud at the beginning of the year, be so arrogant and sure that he would accomplish this great task. He feels so broken.
"Merlin, I feel sorry for you, Malfoy," Potter's standing above him, and Draco never noticed him move. Draco stands up, a clench in his jaw. He doesn't want Potter's pity. Pity is only for wallowing in. "You look shattered." He is. How blunt of Potter to point it out. The Gryffindor grabs his chin to look full into his face; Draco's still too numb to fight him off with more than a few half-hearted swats.
Suddenly, so very suddenly, Draco is enveloped in warmth, and it reminds him of his mother when he was younger, and there's an arm circling his waist, and a pair of soft, wet lips meeting his, strength in that jaw that contrasted with the lack of strength in his, and okay, it's really not his mother anymore... It's only a moment, and then Potter slips his wand into Draco's hand, slings his bag over his shoulder, and starts to walk out. "You should eat more, Malfoy," he says softly, before disappearing out of the door.
What the hell just happened?! Malfoy picks up a book he stole from the library and flings it at the door. The book is probably completely ruined, but he feels better, at least. Draco didn't need Harry bloody Potter's pity! Sure, it... felt good, and was comforting, and... vaguely nice, but he didn't need it! Draco can feel anger boiling up inside of him, and he smartly grips his wand, clenches his jaw, and sets to work on the cabinet. He'd have it finished soon. He has to. He'll have it finished before Potter can come along and ruin it all. He doesn't want to die.
* * *
Draco hasn't eaten more than a few bites of food in a couple of days; he forces himself to go down to the Great Hall and just eat, even though the normally delicious pie tastes like wood pulp, and the gravy sticks to his throat. The heaviness of it weighs him down, but the boy shakes it off, and leaves the Hall, even though everyone else is still eating. Somehow, he manages to catch Harry Potter just coming into the entrance hall, with neither Granger nor the Weasel. His eyes immediately narrow. Potter's eyes narrow too. "Finished yet?" he asks, archly.
A bitter smile twists across Draco's mouth. "Concerned for me, Potter?"
There's a slightly maniacal look in Potter's eyes, as he snorts. "You wish, Malfoy. What happened the other day? Forget it; I was just feeling sorry for you. But you know what would be really funny? If I told a Professor, and then you died because of it." The Gryffindor stalks into the Great Hall, and Draco fumes, because he didn't have the last word. Bloody Potter. He hates the other boy so much, right now. For feeling sorry for him. For threatening him. For kissing him. He bets that Potter will tell a teacher. He's a suck-up like that. He hates that Potter doesn't know what he's messing with. Potter probably wouldn't care, if he knew that the Dark Lord would kill his parents if this doesn't work, but it matters to him. He's so incredibly angry, because killing Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy wouldn't matter at all to Potter, and yet, it means everything to him. He has to stop Potter, because his parents mean the world to him; there is no way he will let Potter screw this up, thinking only that Draco will die.
It's funny; Draco's never been an overly selfless person. But at the moment, it matters so much more to him that his parents will die if this doesn't work, than that he will.
The next time they meet, it's just after Draco emerges from the Room. He hasn't heard any noise from Goyle recently, who's the one standing duty at the moment, and he freezes when he opens the door, because in front of the door, is Harry Potter, holding a large pair of bronze scales, and absolutely not sign of Goyle at all. Damn Potter. DAMN HIM! He even managed to work this one out too?! Draco silently curses; he had thought that the Polyjuice potion had been a foolproof plan. "So, you told old McGonagall yet? Gone running to Dumbledore and spilled everything you know about my dasdardly plot yet?" he sneers, because there's nothing else left for him to do. There's a sinking, lost feeling in his chest.
"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Potter shakes his head bemusedly. "I haven't told anyone yet." Maybe, Draco hopes, he can just Obliviate Potter, and then no one will know anything about his plan. But Potter's already got his wand out and pointed at him, and he hasn't. He closes the door carefully behind him, in case anyone else comes along. "So tell me," the Gryffindor tries for casual and hopelessly fails; conversations between Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter don't get casual. "Are you planning on letting any Death Eaters in to kill people?" It seems an odd question to ask. After all, they are Death Eaters.
Draco considers it a while. "Not to kill anyone," he says slowly. That's technically true. They're going to be here to set off the Dark Mark and make sure that Draco's mission pulls off smoothly. Anyone who's going to be killing anyone is already inside the castle; him. So he hasn't lied.
A shrug. "Then I'm not going to tell anyone," Potter says casually. It's a much better 'casual' this time. "It's not like I particularly like you or anything, but if this fails, you're going to die, right? So I won't tell." It's only the Saviour of the Universe who could manage to say something this flippant. Only Potter could decide something this big by himself and just not tell anyone. Bloody Gryffindors. The boy suddenly lunges forward, and captures Draco's lips with his. Malfoy squeaks indignantly for a moment, and then realises that the thing feeling rather nice in his mouth is Potter's tongue. He wraps his arms around Potter's neck, not that he's in love or anything, but because Potter's actually quite good at kissing, and pushes back. He rather hopes no one comes down the corridor right now.
The two boys part rather loudly and wetly, and Potter snorts, "So don't get yourself killed between now and then, or all of my chivalry will have gone to waste." He roughly pushes Draco away and flings the scales at him, who completely fails to catch them, and saunters off. The scales fall with a resounding crash.
Argh! Again! Draco never gets the last word! He snatches up the offending scales and marches away indignantly. He feels somewhat embarrassed that he could have ever thought that Potter kissed well, even if it was just a moment ago, because he obviously doesn't! Draco is quite happy in self-denial. Again, he's back to hating Potter so much, because Potter seems to have this control over him. He races after the other boy, grabs his shoulder and heaves the other boy into the wall.
"I don't need your mercy, Potter!" The blond hisses. "You can bloody well go and tell a teacher, see how much I care!" These are empty words though, and they're only said to bolster his failing pride. He heaves a hex off at close range to Potter, and Potter's shield immediately flashed up, whizzing it just past Draco's hair, making it flutter.
Potter rolls out from the wall, giving him more space to move. "Bloody grief, Malfoy! I'm not being... merciful or anything," he snaps past the barrage of spells they're exchanging, "I just don't want to be responsible for your death, because, unlike you, I am apparently a decent person!" There's going to be a teacher, or Filch, up soon, and they know it; the boys move quickly, trying to thrash it all out before someone comes along and meddles.
"Oh, so it's all about you now, Potter?" Malfoy snarls, hair completely dishevelled, running around the corridor like a madman. "You don't really give a damn about whether I die or not, do you?!" He accused.
With a swift movement, Potter blocks Draco's latest spell, and is suddenly face-to-face with the Slytherin. "Make up your mind, Malfoy. Either you want me to be concerned about you, or you don't. You can't want both at the same time. Do you want to die?" Again, he presses a hot, short kiss to Draco, and runs down the corridor. Draco growls and wipes his mouth with the back of a sleeve as though the kiss disgusts him, even though it's a useless gesture. He doesn't know; does he want both? He knows he doesn't want to die. With that in mind, that should probably mean that he should appease Potter, and make sure that Potter doesn't tell. However... he doesn't want Potter to be concerned about him, and take mercy on him because he's high and mighty and can afford to give mercy to those below him, or pity him because that's just plain shameful. He doesn't run after Potter this time; he sees the emergence of a cat's tail, and flees before Filch gets here too.
* * *
It's a circular argument that Draco can't get out of. Potter's wrong; he can 'want both' at the same time. The coincidental meetings with Potter continue. They don't try and meet, but if they happen to pass each other, and there's no one else around, either Draco will take the opportunity to reassure himself that Potter's not taking pity on him, or Potter will reaffirm that Draco's not planning to bring in anyone who's going to kill anyone else. There's a slight lie on both of their sides, but they know it, and they ignore it, because they need the reassurance that each of them are doing the right thing.
And then there are the feelings. Draco doesn't try to deny those. He knows what they are. It's a mixture of relief; trust in Potter that he won't tell; freedom that he has someone to tell his troubles to, even if they are in argument form; these things just happen to present themselves in the form of hormones. Each time they meet, no matter how heated it gets, there's a kiss in there somewhere. Maybe it's the venting of feelings, passion for something they believe in, or want to believe in. He knows that it's not just him; Potter clings to his waist as tightly as Draco clutches his shoulders. It feels so incredibly good to just able to do that, and not have to face any circumstances for his actions, because Potter feels the same, and will never call him up on them.
Every time they meet, the chances are that they'll have a fight, too. Sometimes, it's a miniature duel. Thus far, Draco has managed to give Potter a mouse tail, and Potter has managed to reverse the way his wrist turns. That had been interesting. Sometimes, it gets physical, a punch to the shoulder, a couple of elbows to the gut and lots of foot-stamping, because neither boy has all too much experience of real bare-knuckle fighting.
Draco doesn't hate Potter any less. And he can tell that Potter doesn't like him any more either. He still finds Potter irrational, reckless, clueless about real life. However... there are periods where he sometimes sympathises with the other boy, over his responsibility to save everyone. It has a certain irony and parallel to his own 'responsibility', to completely destroy the magical world as people know it. He can't deny to himself that he finds Potter attractive, in an unkempt, untamed sort of way. He also can't deny that to have someone know fully about his plot, and yet... not seem to judge him is not wonderfully freeing, in a way. He can't deny that when he kisses Potter, or vice versa, and has his grabby hands all over him, it feels good, refreshes him, makes him want it to last forever. He can't deny that when Potter taunts him, it angers him more than anyone else could, and he just lashes out. He can't deny that he taunts Potter for exactly the same reason. He still hates Potter just as strongly as he used to. Just not all the time. It's the same with Potter. He'll act sappy and caring and gentle in one moment, and in the next, be threatening to tell Dumbledore. It's a love-hate thing.
It's probably a miracle that Draco can still fit everything in and not collapse from sheer exhaustion. He works late into night, still gets up at normal times, and dashes to the Room even if he only has ten spare minutes. He's skipping lessons more and more frequently now, and Snape's spoken with him again, not that he's listened to Snape. Snape wants him to slow down, act normal, but he can't, because that would waste time he could be spending on the Cabinet, to prevent his parents' murders, to prevent his own death. He doesn't want to die yet.
* * *
The Cabinet is finally finished.
When Potter stalks towards him, Draco steels himself for another confrontation. They stand just feet apart, until Draco jerks his head sideways. They edge into an empty classroom, holding up their wands, ready. "Draco, you're too thin, and tired," Potter moves forward with concern, and Draco reacts with anger, backing away because he doesn't need Potter to touch him. Most of the time, their moods for affection and hate change at the same time, but it seems as though Potter's in an affectionate mood, and Draco is so very not. So he fires off the first jinx.
Potter deflects it, and it shoots out of the window. He advances, and Draco darts to the right, only finding, to his surprise, that he's suddenly on the floor, his legs having given way. He blinks dazedly, and can't seem to protest when Potter scoops him into his arms, and lifts him to perch on the edge of one of the rows of desks. "I told you that you were too tired," he says gently, sitting beside him and just holding him. Draco is tired, incredibly so, but he's never admitted it to anyone, even it's blatantly obvious to any and everyone. He leans his head on Potter.
The body next to him is incredibly warm, and solid, and there's a comforting hand stroking down his side. Draco finds himself smiling a small smile. He turns his head slightly to see Potter looking at his body with worry, as his hand traces across his rib cage, where the bones are visible, and his hip, which is even more prominent than it used to be. Somehow, without him even managing to notice it, their banter and fighting as become a game, a poor attempt of the façade they were supposed to keep up. Not that it was any less real than this.
Draco tilts his face up, and Potter knows what he wants. Warm lips cover his sweetly, and tenderly caress his lips, the inside of his mouth, his tongue. It's massaging and soothing, and Draco sighs into Potter's mouth and leans into it. As soon as they slowly part, Potter leans in a bit more and gives him a last lick, a last pressure on his lips. They sit together for a while, just sitting.
Into the comfortable silence, Draco finally tips his head forward so that his forehead rests on Potter's shoulder. "Next Monday," he whispers hoarsely. Potter knows what he's talking about. His grip on Draco tightens just a little, before he pulls Draco sideways into the V of his legs. Both of Draco's legs dangle over Potter's right thigh, and his backside rests against the Gryffindor's left. He leans his side onto Potter's chest, and Potter envelopes him in those firm arms. The blond is vaguely aware that he's shaking slightly, and clinging very tightly to the front of the Gryffindor robes, and Harry feels so much like... comfort. Like home. "I don't want to go," he whispers. Potter says nothing, just holds him, touches him, reassures him.
Potter has a plan. How very not-surprising. However, when they meet they day after, and Potter reveals his plan, it actually consists of more than an impulsive, Gryffindor, 'I want to save you'. It actually sounds well-thought out and even somewhat plausible... to a point. Draco swallows, as he stares at the boy who came up with a plan overnight. Potter looks like he didn't sleep last night; he probably didn't. Potters stares back at him, waiting for a response. Any response. "Can we do it?" Draco asks hoarsely.
Potter sweeps a hand through his messy hair, and breathes out. "Destination, determination, and deliberation. There's all there is to it, right? Destination... I'll get a note which will let you see it, and... I don't see how we couldn't have enough determination and deliberation." His eyes steel at that, and Draco's swept along, just for a moment. He can see how people would rally to this boy if Potter really tried for it.
There's a small gasp as Draco is pulled tightly into an embrace and given a strong kiss. "I'll get that note," Harry promises, before setting off at a run. The blond slumps against a wall, passes his hand over his face and wonders if this really will work. He hopes it will. He has to tell Snape, too. He dreads this part.
The expression on Snape's face when Draco tells him that he wants out is priceless. It's actually laughable. The expression on Snape's face when he realises that Draco is being completely truthful (with the help of Veritaserum) is slightly amused. Draco braces himself for what Snape's about to tell him, because he knows that look. He just hopes it's not because Snape's going to run off and tell the Dark Lord, because that would render their plan obsolete, since Draco will be dead by then. The look on Draco's face when Snape tells him that he's an Order spy is equally priceless.
Draco watches the Death Eaters come in, with trepidation. Without him and Snape backing their little revolt, nothing serious is going to happen. He hopes. His aunt Bellatrix seizes him by the arm and drags him down the corridors in excitement; he hopes that she lets go soon, because otherwise he won't be able to get away.
When the Dark Mark floats above the school, Draco's entire body gives a little shudder, and he pounds his feet through the corridors he's known for almost six years. Snape's running straight after him, and there are Aurors everywhere, and Draco, for once, actually wishes that Potter had just up and told everyone about his change of heart, because then they wouldn't be trying so hard to blast his head off.
When he reaches the Cabinet, there's a small fleeting thought that Harry won't have made it here, even though Dumbledore will have helped him to do so. He flings himself through the passageway without hesitation, and feels a sensation which is almost like a Portkey, just not as stomach-jerking, and then he's falling out the other side, practically ejected out into the dingy interior of Borgin and Burkes. He's scrambling out of the way, to get away before Snape lands on him, and suddenly finds someone else's body weight on him instead. It's warm, and the smell is familiar by now, and Draco melts with relief.
"Here," Harry mutters, shoving a piece of parchment with elaborate writing on it. "Read it, quickly," And as soon as Draco has absorbed the information, Potter burns it, dragging him outside so that they can Apparate; Snape can fend for himself. Draco clings to Harry's arm, and concentration etches itself across the Gryffindor's face in the form of creases. A loud 'pop!' later, Draco is in front of an unfamiliar street, and he's thinking desperately, 'Twelve Grimmauld Place, twelve Grimmauld Place,' until the house appears in front of him.
Potter's more or less dragging him into the house; Draco's exhausted. Suddenly, Draco finds himself being swept into Potter's arms, and he's about to complain, tell the other boy to put him down, that he's perfectly capable of walking, and that he's really heavy, but it just feels so good to be able to relax for a moment that he just lies his head on Potter's shoulder and lets the boy carry him in.
Safe. Warm. With Potter. The Slytherin can feel the other boy carefully undressing him, lying out his limbs. He smiles, a rush of gratitude, as he's slid onto fresh sheets, and Potter's body is next to him, all naked too. Screw showers; they just both too tired. Surrounded by cleanness and warmth, Draco really doesn't care. He holds his arms out, and curls up into the other boy, entwining their legs, and pressing his smile against Potter's neck.
For the first time in a long while, Draco actually drops off to sleep without any trouble.