Chapter Thirteen.
Just in case any of you ever doubt my devotion to you, I'd just like to say that last night I added 145 new email addresses to the SM_update mailing list. Individually. My eyes crossed, my fingers cramped, and my soul wept.
******
Over the course of the next two lessons, Harry became increasingly impressed by the ingenuity of the Room of Requirement. Far beyond conjuring mere walls, the Room could also reproduce places, sounds and even scents with amazing accuracy.
He'd been surprised at first, when the Room began to shift and melt around him; colors and textures fighting to manifest whatever vague fantasies danced around in his or Malfoy's head.
On Friday he could have sworn he heard Mrs. Weasley's voice calling him down to breakfast as he inhaled the scent of bacon and pressed a bright orange pillow over his face to muffle his moans. When it was Draco's turn, Harry wrinkled his nose at the sudden odor of potions ingredients and rotten wood. He thought it was quite odd that Draco got off while surrounded by newt's eyes and other assorted pickled body parts, but whatever worked.
They hadn't spoken about it. They merely began each lesson, eagerly awaiting whatever secret desire would be fulfilled that day.
It was now Monday, and Harry lay on his side next to Draco, fisting his cock roughly and licking figure eights around the shell of his ear. He nearly yelped when Goyle's voice filtered through a suddenly green-canopied bed.
"Malfoy, supper. You coming?"
"Soon!" Draco choked in reply, and Harry snickered into his shoulder.
This turned out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, and Harry was swiftly rewarded with steely fingers clamping around his wrist and fingernails digging pincer-like into the soft skin above his pulse. When it was over, Harry pulled his hand away and wiped it on the sheets, examining the crescents left in his flesh with lazy interest.
Draco chuckled huskily and waved his wand vaguely in the direction of the mess. Once clean, he turned onto his side and propped his head up. Harry glanced his way and ran his eyes slowly down the other boy. Draco might not have known it, but he'd struck an alluring pose with one leg tucked up and bent at the knee, modestly covering himself but making his arse curve in a very enticing fashion...
Draco studied Harry with an unreadable look for several moments before speaking.
"So, what'll it be today, Potter?" he asked, as though asking what Harry would like for dessert.
Malfoy was breaking their unwritten rule, and talking about the fantasies they shared in. He considered playing dumb but quickly dismissed the idea, realizing that it wouldn't last long, anyway, and he was better off just playing along so he could get Malfoy's hand on his cock sooner.
"Er, I'm not sure," he said, looking away and shrugging.
He didn't need to be looking at Malfoy to know that a grin was spreading on his smug face, nor to feel the hand sliding slowly along his waist. Fingers dipped below his beltline and Harry gasped and closed his eyes. The bed shifted, and Harry heard the sigh of sheets as Draco moved closer. His jeans were unbuttoned and pushed down his hips along with his pants. Cool air rushed over his twitching and steadily growing length, and Harry swallowed as he waited for Draco's next move.
"The curtains are still green," he heard Malfoy say, as he felt a hand sliding along his semi-erect length.
Harry cracked his eyes open and looked around before nodding and mumbling an affirmation. Draco's palm squeezed him tighter, pulling him slowly and seemingly purposefully. Harry got the vague impression that Draco had a plan, but he didn't care as long as that plan involved keeping his hand moving.
"So, Potter, you fantasize about doing it in my bed?"
Harry had half a second to contemplate that before the idea went straight to his groin. He pictured Malfoy writhing beneath him, biting his lip in a struggle to keep silent as his housemates moved around just outside the curtains...
Harry moaned, his eyes falling shut again as he arched into Draco's touch. He hadn't known until then that a smirk could be delivered telepathically, but he was learning much in this class.
Draco began to move his hand faster, and Harry heard other sounds. The familiar sounds of boys readying themselves for bed, but the voices were different. He heard Crabbe and Goyle bickering over a magazine, and Blaise Zabini's irritated voice announcing that he was trying to study for a Transfiguration exam the next day.
Harry was grunting softly with every other pull now, his heart beating erratically with the thought that they could be discovered at any moment. Crabbe and Goyle's fight was getting heated, and Crabbe brushed heavily against the bed curtains from Goyle's hard shove. Harry made a sharp sound and pushed his hips up, thrusting into Draco's hand.
He came undone when Zabini called out a goodnight to Draco, and Malfoy responded, "Night, Blaise!"
Harry dug his heels into Slytherin sheets and came onto his stomach, letting out a harsh sigh of release. Draco's hand slid down to his balls, rubbing them lightly, and Harry made a small noise of protest and pulled away, the touch too much for his sensitive nerve endings.
"I should have guessed that you'd have a public kink, Potter. After all, there hasn't been a day since you were eleven that the Wizarding World hasn't watched you-"
"Stuff it, Malfoy." Harry hated himself, because it sounded too much like a contented sigh.
"What? I'm just saying that it comes as no great surprise, is all." Malfoy couldn't seem to stop grinning.
Harry turned to look at him with the sweetest smile he could conjure on his face and mimicked him with sugary tones. "Soon!"
Draco's eyes went wide and then narrow, and just as he opened his mouth to hurl something back at Harry they were both startled by the sounds of an uproar just outside. Throwing on clothes and robes in a hurry, they stumbled out of the flap of their booth to see Rosemary Mason in a temper.
"Mr. Longbottom, would you care to explain why a ball of pink energy just flew from your tent and straight through the side of Mr. Goyle and Ms. Parkinson's?" she raged.
"Uhm, no?" Neville ventured.
Lavender huddled behind Neville and blushed to the roots of her hair, attempting to make herself appear very small. Pansy glared venomously at her, and Harry could have sworn that she looked jealous. Goyle appeared to be staring at Neville as though seeing him in a brand new light.
Draco sniggered into his hand and in the process attracted the rather unpleasant attention of a wrathful Professor Mason.
"I wouldn't laugh, Mr. Malfoy," she began. "The lightning storms dancing above your and Mr. Potter's booth for the last two weeks have come alarmingly close to setting the woodwork on fire."
The entire room went silent and Harry swallowed hard in the face of all of the awed expressions before him. He glanced at Draco out of the corner of his eye and saw him flush angrily. He would have laughed, had it not been for the fact that Mason's comment reflected upon him as much as it did Draco.
When he turned to give her his best disapproving glare, however, she'd moved on, and Neville was looking at him strangely.
***
Out of sheer restlessness, and to escape Neville's curiosity, Harry decided to pay the Headmaster's office a visit that night. After whispering the password and beginning to climb the narrow, winding steps, he thought he heard voices coming from the top of the stair. He took the next few steps as quietly as he could and pressed his back against the wall near the door hinges.
Peering through the crack he saw McGonagall and Professor Mason sitting in front of the fire, seemingly deep in conversation. Another, deeper voice came from the direction of the fireplace, and Harry leaned to the left in order to see Dumbledore's flaming green head sitting in the hearth.
"I feel horrible about it," McGonagall was saying.
"I don't know, Minerva," replied Mason. "At first I felt the same as you, but in the last few weeks I've seen something between them that makes me believe that... Oh, I don't know. It was wrong to force Potter, you're right in that, at least. But it may turn out well in the end."
"Regardless of how it turns out, Rosemary, we still forced a young man into a sexual situation against his will," McGonagall snapped. "Albus, Merlin knows I trust you, but I very nearly couldn't do it. I felt ill!"
"Minerva, I understand your feelings," the disembodied head of Dumbledore soothed. "But Mister Malfoy is a pivotal player in this war. We must have him on our side!"
"Why?" Mason asked, looking genuinely confused. "The boy isn't dim or untalented, but I have yet to see anything truly spectacular from him."
"I agree, Albus. Young Malfoy is an average student, with no exceptional magical qualities. I don't see what he could possibly bring to our side that is worth all of this."
Dumbledore's head shook, but with no neck it looked a bit strange. "It is not his tactical qualities that are of use to us, ladies, but his influence. You've seen the way the other Slytherins in his year defer to him. Where he goes, they will follow. If we can convince him to stay, the others will be no mean task. We cannot afford an entire generation of Death Eaters to swell Voldemort's ranks!"
"You mean if Potter can convince him," McGonagall's lips pursed disapprovingly.
"Whatever it takes, Minerva." Dumbledore sighed. "Whatever it takes."
***
Harry breathed harshly through his nose all the way back to Gryffindor Tower. Dark and bright spots danced in front of his vision, and he realized that he was hyperventilating without much care.
He felt used. Used and uninformed, just as he had back in fifth year. He was a tool. A bargaining chip that Albus Dumbledore would use again and again.
'Not anymore,' Harry vowed, throwing open the portrait of the Fat Lady.
He was two steps in before he heard Ron's voice.
"Lightning? Really?"
Shuffling back into the entrance, Harry let the portrait fall most of the way closed and crouched behind it, listening.
"That's what Professor Mason said," Neville's voice replied. "I don't know much about how this branch of magic works, but I'd wager a guess to say that lightning requires quite a bit of... well, anyway. It seems odd, doesn't it? On the first day of class, I could've sworn that Harry was as nervous as I was. And then when he got paired with Malfoy, he nearly shot through the roof! Now they're making lightning bolts together?"
Ron made a disgusted noise and Harry heard the muted thud of a book falling heavily shut.
"It makes sense, actually," he heard Hermione saying. "Whenever Harry's confused or afraid of something, he throws himself into it. He tries to understand it by confronting it head first. Why should this be any different?"
"Because it involves shagging Malfoy!" Ron retorted, as though the answer should be obvious. "I don't know, Hermione. Lightning? That sounds like he's going a great deal more than understanding to me."
Harry didn't stick around to hear more, and let the portrait fall shut behind him with a bang.
***
He shouldn't have been surprised that he wound up at the Room of Requirement. After all, his options were limited as to where he could go. But the sight of familiar purple tented booths only seemed to fuel his anger. He paced up and down between the rows of desks, swearing under his breath and cursing meddling minds and wagging tongues. He'd just managed to work himself up into a frothing rage when a sound behind him and to his right drew his attention. Whirling around, he found himself facing-
"Malfoy."
The word was growled and barely audible, and Harry hoped the other boy felt all of the pent up wrath behind it in his bones. Malfoy, however, seemed happily oblivious to Harry's mood, and regarded him almost shyly as he took a few steps forward. The flap to their booth was swaying slightly, and Harry realized with a hot stab of anger that Malfoy had just come from inside.
"Oh, hi," he said quietly. "What're you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same," Harry returned.
"Rounds," Malfoy answered quickly.
Harry didn't need to see the flush in his cheeks to know that he was lying. He'd come here and waited, hoping that Harry would show up. Hoping for a repeat of last week.
"Liar," Harry breathed. "You were here hoping I'd show up, weren't you?"
"No!" Malfoy retorted. "Well, okay, maybe. Look, we agreed not to... I said I wouldn't fight anymore, right? And what we do is fun. I thought-"
"You thought I'd come here, and we'd have a hot little wanking session?" Harry asked viciously.
Malfoy's expression flashed from uncertain to angry, and his voice was quietly furious when he spoke. "You seemed to be enjoying it up until now."
"Shut up!" Harry roared. "Just shut it, will you? I'm sick of being used! I'm tired of playing the predictable, reliable buffoon! He can shape me and mold me into whatever weapon he pleases, and I'll think it was me the whole time! I'll think it's real when it's not!"
"Who-"
Harry's wand hadn't been in his hand, and then it was. He wasn't even aware of reaching for it. Draco's mouth snapped closed as he backed away, and Harry saw his hand inching for his own wand. Harry advanced on him, feeling vengeful and hateful toward the other boy. Draco was his weakness, one that Dumbledore had exploited, and Harry wanted gone. Right now.
Draco's eyes went wide, and Harry looked down to see the tables he passed vibrating. He willed them to clatter more forcefully, and the blond jumped and pushed himself flat against the wall of their booth.
"You didn't- It wasn't- It was him! But you made me want it!" Harry was screaming at him incoherantly now. He knew somewhere that it wasn't Malfoy's fault. He was just a pawn, like him. But at the moment, he was too angry to think of that.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Draco shouted at him desperately.
Harry let out a wail of rage and the tables bounced even more heavily against the flagstones, the sound almost deafening.
"Stop it!" Draco cried. "Christ, Potter, what do you want from me?"
"I want you to GO AWAY!" Harry screamed.
In the next instant the tables exploded into tiny splinters that sent Harry ducking to the floor and covering his face with his hands. When the rain of wood chips slowed, a few bouncing off of his hunched back, he stood slowly and tried to peer through the dust.
"Malfoy?" he called, waving a hand in front of his face and coughing.
When the last of the sawdust settled, Harry found himself alone in the silence. It was then that he remembered where he was, and why it was a bad idea to wish people would disappear.
Next chapter.
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******
Over the course of the next two lessons, Harry became increasingly impressed by the ingenuity of the Room of Requirement. Far beyond conjuring mere walls, the Room could also reproduce places, sounds and even scents with amazing accuracy.
He'd been surprised at first, when the Room began to shift and melt around him; colors and textures fighting to manifest whatever vague fantasies danced around in his or Malfoy's head.
On Friday he could have sworn he heard Mrs. Weasley's voice calling him down to breakfast as he inhaled the scent of bacon and pressed a bright orange pillow over his face to muffle his moans. When it was Draco's turn, Harry wrinkled his nose at the sudden odor of potions ingredients and rotten wood. He thought it was quite odd that Draco got off while surrounded by newt's eyes and other assorted pickled body parts, but whatever worked.
They hadn't spoken about it. They merely began each lesson, eagerly awaiting whatever secret desire would be fulfilled that day.
It was now Monday, and Harry lay on his side next to Draco, fisting his cock roughly and licking figure eights around the shell of his ear. He nearly yelped when Goyle's voice filtered through a suddenly green-canopied bed.
"Malfoy, supper. You coming?"
"Soon!" Draco choked in reply, and Harry snickered into his shoulder.
This turned out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, and Harry was swiftly rewarded with steely fingers clamping around his wrist and fingernails digging pincer-like into the soft skin above his pulse. When it was over, Harry pulled his hand away and wiped it on the sheets, examining the crescents left in his flesh with lazy interest.
Draco chuckled huskily and waved his wand vaguely in the direction of the mess. Once clean, he turned onto his side and propped his head up. Harry glanced his way and ran his eyes slowly down the other boy. Draco might not have known it, but he'd struck an alluring pose with one leg tucked up and bent at the knee, modestly covering himself but making his arse curve in a very enticing fashion...
Draco studied Harry with an unreadable look for several moments before speaking.
"So, what'll it be today, Potter?" he asked, as though asking what Harry would like for dessert.
Malfoy was breaking their unwritten rule, and talking about the fantasies they shared in. He considered playing dumb but quickly dismissed the idea, realizing that it wouldn't last long, anyway, and he was better off just playing along so he could get Malfoy's hand on his cock sooner.
"Er, I'm not sure," he said, looking away and shrugging.
He didn't need to be looking at Malfoy to know that a grin was spreading on his smug face, nor to feel the hand sliding slowly along his waist. Fingers dipped below his beltline and Harry gasped and closed his eyes. The bed shifted, and Harry heard the sigh of sheets as Draco moved closer. His jeans were unbuttoned and pushed down his hips along with his pants. Cool air rushed over his twitching and steadily growing length, and Harry swallowed as he waited for Draco's next move.
"The curtains are still green," he heard Malfoy say, as he felt a hand sliding along his semi-erect length.
Harry cracked his eyes open and looked around before nodding and mumbling an affirmation. Draco's palm squeezed him tighter, pulling him slowly and seemingly purposefully. Harry got the vague impression that Draco had a plan, but he didn't care as long as that plan involved keeping his hand moving.
"So, Potter, you fantasize about doing it in my bed?"
Harry had half a second to contemplate that before the idea went straight to his groin. He pictured Malfoy writhing beneath him, biting his lip in a struggle to keep silent as his housemates moved around just outside the curtains...
Harry moaned, his eyes falling shut again as he arched into Draco's touch. He hadn't known until then that a smirk could be delivered telepathically, but he was learning much in this class.
Draco began to move his hand faster, and Harry heard other sounds. The familiar sounds of boys readying themselves for bed, but the voices were different. He heard Crabbe and Goyle bickering over a magazine, and Blaise Zabini's irritated voice announcing that he was trying to study for a Transfiguration exam the next day.
Harry was grunting softly with every other pull now, his heart beating erratically with the thought that they could be discovered at any moment. Crabbe and Goyle's fight was getting heated, and Crabbe brushed heavily against the bed curtains from Goyle's hard shove. Harry made a sharp sound and pushed his hips up, thrusting into Draco's hand.
He came undone when Zabini called out a goodnight to Draco, and Malfoy responded, "Night, Blaise!"
Harry dug his heels into Slytherin sheets and came onto his stomach, letting out a harsh sigh of release. Draco's hand slid down to his balls, rubbing them lightly, and Harry made a small noise of protest and pulled away, the touch too much for his sensitive nerve endings.
"I should have guessed that you'd have a public kink, Potter. After all, there hasn't been a day since you were eleven that the Wizarding World hasn't watched you-"
"Stuff it, Malfoy." Harry hated himself, because it sounded too much like a contented sigh.
"What? I'm just saying that it comes as no great surprise, is all." Malfoy couldn't seem to stop grinning.
Harry turned to look at him with the sweetest smile he could conjure on his face and mimicked him with sugary tones. "Soon!"
Draco's eyes went wide and then narrow, and just as he opened his mouth to hurl something back at Harry they were both startled by the sounds of an uproar just outside. Throwing on clothes and robes in a hurry, they stumbled out of the flap of their booth to see Rosemary Mason in a temper.
"Mr. Longbottom, would you care to explain why a ball of pink energy just flew from your tent and straight through the side of Mr. Goyle and Ms. Parkinson's?" she raged.
"Uhm, no?" Neville ventured.
Lavender huddled behind Neville and blushed to the roots of her hair, attempting to make herself appear very small. Pansy glared venomously at her, and Harry could have sworn that she looked jealous. Goyle appeared to be staring at Neville as though seeing him in a brand new light.
Draco sniggered into his hand and in the process attracted the rather unpleasant attention of a wrathful Professor Mason.
"I wouldn't laugh, Mr. Malfoy," she began. "The lightning storms dancing above your and Mr. Potter's booth for the last two weeks have come alarmingly close to setting the woodwork on fire."
The entire room went silent and Harry swallowed hard in the face of all of the awed expressions before him. He glanced at Draco out of the corner of his eye and saw him flush angrily. He would have laughed, had it not been for the fact that Mason's comment reflected upon him as much as it did Draco.
When he turned to give her his best disapproving glare, however, she'd moved on, and Neville was looking at him strangely.
***
Out of sheer restlessness, and to escape Neville's curiosity, Harry decided to pay the Headmaster's office a visit that night. After whispering the password and beginning to climb the narrow, winding steps, he thought he heard voices coming from the top of the stair. He took the next few steps as quietly as he could and pressed his back against the wall near the door hinges.
Peering through the crack he saw McGonagall and Professor Mason sitting in front of the fire, seemingly deep in conversation. Another, deeper voice came from the direction of the fireplace, and Harry leaned to the left in order to see Dumbledore's flaming green head sitting in the hearth.
"I feel horrible about it," McGonagall was saying.
"I don't know, Minerva," replied Mason. "At first I felt the same as you, but in the last few weeks I've seen something between them that makes me believe that... Oh, I don't know. It was wrong to force Potter, you're right in that, at least. But it may turn out well in the end."
"Regardless of how it turns out, Rosemary, we still forced a young man into a sexual situation against his will," McGonagall snapped. "Albus, Merlin knows I trust you, but I very nearly couldn't do it. I felt ill!"
"Minerva, I understand your feelings," the disembodied head of Dumbledore soothed. "But Mister Malfoy is a pivotal player in this war. We must have him on our side!"
"Why?" Mason asked, looking genuinely confused. "The boy isn't dim or untalented, but I have yet to see anything truly spectacular from him."
"I agree, Albus. Young Malfoy is an average student, with no exceptional magical qualities. I don't see what he could possibly bring to our side that is worth all of this."
Dumbledore's head shook, but with no neck it looked a bit strange. "It is not his tactical qualities that are of use to us, ladies, but his influence. You've seen the way the other Slytherins in his year defer to him. Where he goes, they will follow. If we can convince him to stay, the others will be no mean task. We cannot afford an entire generation of Death Eaters to swell Voldemort's ranks!"
"You mean if Potter can convince him," McGonagall's lips pursed disapprovingly.
"Whatever it takes, Minerva." Dumbledore sighed. "Whatever it takes."
***
Harry breathed harshly through his nose all the way back to Gryffindor Tower. Dark and bright spots danced in front of his vision, and he realized that he was hyperventilating without much care.
He felt used. Used and uninformed, just as he had back in fifth year. He was a tool. A bargaining chip that Albus Dumbledore would use again and again.
'Not anymore,' Harry vowed, throwing open the portrait of the Fat Lady.
He was two steps in before he heard Ron's voice.
"Lightning? Really?"
Shuffling back into the entrance, Harry let the portrait fall most of the way closed and crouched behind it, listening.
"That's what Professor Mason said," Neville's voice replied. "I don't know much about how this branch of magic works, but I'd wager a guess to say that lightning requires quite a bit of... well, anyway. It seems odd, doesn't it? On the first day of class, I could've sworn that Harry was as nervous as I was. And then when he got paired with Malfoy, he nearly shot through the roof! Now they're making lightning bolts together?"
Ron made a disgusted noise and Harry heard the muted thud of a book falling heavily shut.
"It makes sense, actually," he heard Hermione saying. "Whenever Harry's confused or afraid of something, he throws himself into it. He tries to understand it by confronting it head first. Why should this be any different?"
"Because it involves shagging Malfoy!" Ron retorted, as though the answer should be obvious. "I don't know, Hermione. Lightning? That sounds like he's going a great deal more than understanding to me."
Harry didn't stick around to hear more, and let the portrait fall shut behind him with a bang.
***
He shouldn't have been surprised that he wound up at the Room of Requirement. After all, his options were limited as to where he could go. But the sight of familiar purple tented booths only seemed to fuel his anger. He paced up and down between the rows of desks, swearing under his breath and cursing meddling minds and wagging tongues. He'd just managed to work himself up into a frothing rage when a sound behind him and to his right drew his attention. Whirling around, he found himself facing-
"Malfoy."
The word was growled and barely audible, and Harry hoped the other boy felt all of the pent up wrath behind it in his bones. Malfoy, however, seemed happily oblivious to Harry's mood, and regarded him almost shyly as he took a few steps forward. The flap to their booth was swaying slightly, and Harry realized with a hot stab of anger that Malfoy had just come from inside.
"Oh, hi," he said quietly. "What're you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same," Harry returned.
"Rounds," Malfoy answered quickly.
Harry didn't need to see the flush in his cheeks to know that he was lying. He'd come here and waited, hoping that Harry would show up. Hoping for a repeat of last week.
"Liar," Harry breathed. "You were here hoping I'd show up, weren't you?"
"No!" Malfoy retorted. "Well, okay, maybe. Look, we agreed not to... I said I wouldn't fight anymore, right? And what we do is fun. I thought-"
"You thought I'd come here, and we'd have a hot little wanking session?" Harry asked viciously.
Malfoy's expression flashed from uncertain to angry, and his voice was quietly furious when he spoke. "You seemed to be enjoying it up until now."
"Shut up!" Harry roared. "Just shut it, will you? I'm sick of being used! I'm tired of playing the predictable, reliable buffoon! He can shape me and mold me into whatever weapon he pleases, and I'll think it was me the whole time! I'll think it's real when it's not!"
"Who-"
Harry's wand hadn't been in his hand, and then it was. He wasn't even aware of reaching for it. Draco's mouth snapped closed as he backed away, and Harry saw his hand inching for his own wand. Harry advanced on him, feeling vengeful and hateful toward the other boy. Draco was his weakness, one that Dumbledore had exploited, and Harry wanted gone. Right now.
Draco's eyes went wide, and Harry looked down to see the tables he passed vibrating. He willed them to clatter more forcefully, and the blond jumped and pushed himself flat against the wall of their booth.
"You didn't- It wasn't- It was him! But you made me want it!" Harry was screaming at him incoherantly now. He knew somewhere that it wasn't Malfoy's fault. He was just a pawn, like him. But at the moment, he was too angry to think of that.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Draco shouted at him desperately.
Harry let out a wail of rage and the tables bounced even more heavily against the flagstones, the sound almost deafening.
"Stop it!" Draco cried. "Christ, Potter, what do you want from me?"
"I want you to GO AWAY!" Harry screamed.
In the next instant the tables exploded into tiny splinters that sent Harry ducking to the floor and covering his face with his hands. When the rain of wood chips slowed, a few bouncing off of his hunched back, he stood slowly and tried to peer through the dust.
"Malfoy?" he called, waving a hand in front of his face and coughing.
When the last of the sawdust settled, Harry found himself alone in the silence. It was then that he remembered where he was, and why it was a bad idea to wish people would disappear.
Next chapter.
******