CHECKMATE
PART II – THE GAME
Chapter 7
I have to hand it to you
For you’ve managed to make me forget why
I ever agreed to this farce
I don’t know why I can’t think of
anything
I would rather do
Then be wasting my time . . . with you
Lyrics
from “Mountain Duet” from Chess by Benny Anderson, Tim Rice and
Björn Ulvaeus
* * *
There was a frozen moment in time, when Harry’s softly
spoken words, “Come here,” hung in the
air between them, echoing over and over in silence. Then Draco stepped around the table, and came
to him, one hand trailing along the edge of the table, as if he needed
something solid to cling to for a moment.
He came to stand face to face with Harry, very close, his left hand
still resting on the edge of the table, firelight turning his flaxen hair to a
molten red-gold.
Harry suddenly felt no more compelling need than to just
gaze at Draco, up close, to let his eyes rest on the perfect curve of that
inviting upper lip, or on the pale cheeks that were flushed just now with
firelight and maybe something else, or on the fair delicately arched eyebrows
or the thick dusky-blond lashes that framed those exquisite eyes. Harry saw that Draco was studying his face
too, and he gave one brief distracted thought to whether Draco could possibly
find him as attractive as he was finding Draco, because he was coming just now
to the startling realization that Draco Malfoy was very beautiful to look at. Not in a feminine sense, but in the sense
that Harry felt he could stare at the perfect features and soft-hued colors of
Draco’s face all night long.
Then Harry’s eyes traveled up to the pale, fire-burnished
blond fringe falling over Draco’s forehead, and his longing-to-look turned into
wanting-to-touch. And so he did. With the fingertips of one hand and a
feather-light touch, Harry reached up and brushed those soft strands back, then
let his fingers trail down the side of Draco’s face, behind his ear and into
the silky waves of hair that fell down the back of his neck.
At this first touch, Draco eyes closed and he drew in a
short sharp shivery breath.
Harry stroked Draco’s hair down the back of his neck,
then he raised his hand again and let his fingers trail down the side of
Draco’s face from temple to jaw line.
Draco turned his face slightly into Harry’s hand so that
his cheek brushed Harry’s palm.
The tenderness of this small gesture almost undid
Harry. Touching Draco only with that one
light caress of fingers to cheek, Harry leaned forward to kiss him. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, so
close that he could feel Draco’s breath on his face, and then their lips met,
and he was kissing Draco, oh, so softly, and everything melted. Time, the room, and all thought swirled away
in a dizzy flood of trembling sensation.
Draco never moved his hands, letting this be Harry’s
kiss, making no demands of his own, surrendering control of whatever happened
entirely to Harry for this moment, giving him everything.
Harry moved his hand back behind Draco’s head, fingers
sliding into that wonderfully silky hair, and he slipped his other arm around
Draco’s waist, slowly drawing their bodies together, as he deepened the
kiss. Draco’s warm mouth opened for him,
and Harry felt a tremor run through Draco as their bodies came together. An answering shiver went through Harry, and
he felt in that timeless second, as if some missing part of him had just slid
quietly and perfectly into place. He
dropped his hand from the back of Draco’s head, wrapped that arm around Draco’s
back and pulled him tighter against himself.
Draco moved then, and Harry felt firm arms encircle his neck, gentle
hands and fingers caress the back of his neck, tangle in his hair.
Oh. . . .
Draco was responding to him with a trusting abandon and
willingness that was quite new to Harry’s experience, and that told Harry far
more about how much this meant to him than anything Draco had said. He
really wants this – wants me. Oh God,
this is serious for him – no, he thought, this is serious for us, and
Harry acknowledged the commitment he was making with this kiss.
For he knew with certainty in that moment that he never wanted to hurt
Draco again, not ever again.
Harry pulled back a little, gently breaking the kiss,
softening the parting with a second small kiss.
“Draco,” he whispered.
Draco opened his eyes and met Harry’s intense gaze with
complete openness. His eyes were misty,
dreamy gray velvet, and Harry got lost in them.
Their eyes locked, emerald and gray, and the walls crumbled, the fences
fell, all the boundaries came down, until there was nothing left between them
but wide unexplored spaces, endless vistas of sparkling green fields meeting
velvety gray skies, melting together somewhere on some distant horizon as
smoothly and seamlessly as two streams of water flowing into one.
Harry was profoundly moved. He closed his eyes and kissed the corner of
Draco’s mouth, kissed his cheek, and the sweet place just under his ear. Then he buried his face in Draco’s soft hair
and tried to keep standing. He was
breathing fast and his heart was pounding.
He could feel Draco’s heartbeat pounding in counterpoint to his own,
could hear Draco’s quickened breath that so mirrored his own, in his ear.
The arms that were around his neck tightened, and a
whisper in his ear said, “Knight to B5,” and then slow and impossibly tender
kisses were trailing down his neck, into his collar and onto his throat, then
up over his jaw, until those lips closed over his again, and Harry found out
how it felt to be kissed by someone who wanted him deeply, and without
reservation. It was revelation,
explanation, and deliriously intoxicating.
Harry felt his knees go weak.
But then abruptly, Draco broke off the kiss and pulled
back.
Harry’s eyes flew open and he met Draco’s eyes with
surprise and concern, feeling bereft, and then astonished at how much he didn’t
want that kiss to end, wondering why Draco had pulled away so suddenly.
Draco looked back at Harry with deep affection in his
eyes and a mischievous half-smile on his lips.
“I’m just checking – ” he said, in a low, teasing, out-of-breath
voice. “You don’t still want to be . . .
just friends . . . do you, Harry?”
Harry exhaled the breath he’d been unconsciously holding
with a laugh. “Oh God, you,” he said,
shaking his head, still a bit breathless too, in the after effects of that
kiss. He tightened his arms around
Draco, and grinned. “No,” he said
softly, his face coloring slightly. “I
don’t.” Draco’s answering smile caused
Harry’s heart to turn over. He leaned
his head in and quickly kissed the adorably curved corner of that smile. Then he turned his head and looked at the
chessboard, and laughed again. “You
didn’t even move your piece on the board.”
Draco tilted his head and smirked at Harry cutely. “I was busy,” he teased. He reluctantly let go of Harry with one arm,
and turned to look at the chessboard.
“Hmm,” he said smugly, turning back to Harry with one eyebrow raised,
“seems I took your Pawn.”
“I took yours first,” countered Harry with a grin.
Draco laughed and moved his dragon. He took Harry’s Pawn off the board.
Then Harry moved.
“Pawn to E6.” He pulled away from
Draco, took hold of his wrist, stepped back, sat down in his chair and pulled
Draco down into his lap. He looked up
into those lovely gray eyes. “Kiss me
like that again,” he said, putting his arms around Draco. “And this time,” he added softly, as Draco
curled up against him, and met his eyes with a steady tender gaze, “don’t
stop.”
Draco put one arm around Harry’s shoulders, then lowered
his eyes, and began unbuttoning the collar of Harry’s shirt with his other
hand. He gently pulled Harry’s collar open,
buried his face in the warm hollow of Harry’s neck and kissed him there. Then he raised his head slowly, trailing
lingering feathery kisses up Harry’s neck to his ear. “Like this?” he whispered in Harry’s ear.
Harry moaned very softly; his eyes fluttered closed. He felt Draco’s tongue flicker over his ear
lobe and he shivered. God.
“Yes,” he breathed. He wrapped
his arms tighter around Draco and pulled him closer.
But then Draco lifted his head to look at Harry, this
time quite soberly. “Harry?” He waited until Harry opened his eyes and
looked back at him. He held Harry’s eyes
in an intent, searching gaze for a moment, before he spoke again. “You know, this isn’t a game to me at all.”
“I know,” said Harry quietly, seriously, returning Draco’s
searching look with complete sincerity.
“And the only game I’m playing with you is chess.” He laid his hand against Draco’s face and ran
his thumb lightly over Draco’s cheekbone.
“This is the most real thing I’ve ever felt.” Harry saw something kindle deep in Draco’s
eyes for a second, just before they closed, and Draco’s mouth came down on his
with a trembling intensity that sent waves of shivery tremors through Harry,
and blotted out all thought.
Nothing was said for a long time after that except what
was said with warm kisses and sighs, soft moans and tender heart-stopping
touches. But at last Draco laid his head
on Harry’s shoulder, with his face against Harry’s neck, and they just held
each other, Harry with one arm around Draco, stroking Draco’s hair with his
other hand, and that alone was so much.
Harry sat with his eyes closed, holding Draco, soaking in
the warmth and comfort he felt. The fire
had burned low, but crackled pleasantly; he could feel Draco’s breath on his
neck, and the gentle idle caresses of Draco’s hands. He felt he could have stayed like this and
never moved again, but awareness of the time finally surfaced in his thoughts,
and he stirred and sighed. “I’ll have to
go soon,” he whispered.
“I know,” said Draco.
Neither of them moved.
Then after a bit, Harry bent his head and kissed the top
of Draco’s nose. “I should probably go
now,” he said.
Draco slowly uncurled and sat up. He looked dreamy, half-asleep, his hair was
adorably disarrayed. “What are you going
to tell your roommates?” he asked, suddenly looking uneasy.
“As little as possible,” said Harry. “At least for now. What do you want me to say?”
Draco looked down, thinking. “I don’t expect you to keep secrets from your
friends, Harry,” he said, after a moment.
“But I think the fewer people who know about this, the better.”
“I agree,” said Harry.
“And . . . well, this is really new for me . . . and we both know it’s
going to cause a huge stir. I don’t want
to deal with a lot of outside pressure yet.
So, I won’t even tell my friends until we both agree it’s okay.”
Then Harry looked suddenly alarmed. “But what about Pansy? Is she going to remember anything? And what did you do to her, anyway?”
“Memory charm,” said Draco. “Erased the last five minutes of her memory –
so no, she shouldn’t remember anything about seeing you here.” Then Draco started laughing. “It was a good thing I was still mad at you
when I hauled you back in here, otherwise I might have had a seizure from
laughing so hard. The look on your face.
. . .”
“Hey,” said Harry.
“It wasn’t funny. I thought she
was going to eat me alive.”
“Oh, she would have,” said Draco. “That girl’s no pansy – she’s a bloody Venus
Man-Trap. At least she didn’t ambush you
and drag you into one of the broom closets.”
Harry choked. “She
did that to you? Oh my God.”
“Yes, she did. End
of fifth year – it was horrible – actually that may have been a defining moment
in my life – the reason I jumped the fence, so to speak.” Then Draco laughed again at Harry’s appalled
expression. “She never really laid a
hand on me, though,” he said. “When I
realized what she intended, I punched her in the nose and ran like hell.”
“You didn’t,” said Harry.
Then he started to laugh. “Yes, I
guess you would.”
“She’s mostly left me alone since then, except for that
bloody nickname.” Draco grinned and
shrugged, then stood up, stretching. “I
figured it was either her nose, which was no great beauty to start with, or I’d
have to jump out of one of the towers later, and that would have been such a waste, and so much messier.” He held
out a hand to Harry.
Harry laughed and took Draco’s hand, and let Draco pull
him up from the chair.
“You know I don’t want you to go,” said Draco softly,
keeping hold of Harry’s hand. His eyes
were the deep soft gray of summer rain clouds, full of hope and longing.
Harry felt the heat rush to his face. “I . . . really do have to get back. . .
. It’s late . . . and my roommates. . .
. ” he stammered, suddenly at a loss for words.
“I know,” said Draco with a wistful smile. He released Harry’s hand with a gentle
squeeze.
Harry retrieved his glasses from the table, then went to
find his shoes. Draco stood by the door
while he put them on. Then Harry put his
arms around Draco and kissed him again, one long lingering kiss, followed by a
small tender one. “Will you let me come
back tomorrow night?” he asked shyly, gazing into those captivating gray eyes.
“Harry,” said Draco, his voice warm and teasing, “if you don’t come back tomorrow night, I’ll
tell Pansy you like her.”
Harry shuddered, and then grinned. “If you do, you’ll just have to explain the
nasty mess under the astronomy tower the next day.”
Draco laughed, and reluctantly pulled out of Harry’s
arms. He opened the door. “Be careful going back.”
“I will,” said Harry.
“Don’t worry. I’ve been
outrunning Filch for six years.” He
paused, then reached up and gently trailed his fingertips down the side of
Draco’s face. Their eyes met, green and
gray. “Thanks . . .” said Harry, very
softly, “. . . for coming to talk to me last night.” Then he went out the door, and as he started
down the stairs, he heard a whispered “Good night,” and the click of the door
closing quietly behind him.
* *
*
Draco closed the door behind Harry, then leaned back
against it with his eyes closed, exactly the way he had earlier, after he had
thrown Harry’s shoes out and slammed the door.
But the feeling then had been quite different. Then, with the slamming of the door, Draco’s
surge of anger was overlaid almost instantly with regret – with the feeling
that he had just made a huge mistake.
Had he really just thrown Harry out – after wanting him to be here so much
– how could he have done something so stupid?
Harry was probably all the way down the tower by
now. Was it too late to go after
him? Would Harry even consider coming
back? Draco had put his hands over his
face and moaned. Even if he was angry,
he wanted Harry back. Then, incredibly,
Harry had called his name through the door.
He hadn’t gone at all. Draco had
been too stunned to respond at first.
After a moment, he had pushed away from the door and turned to face it,
completely transfixed by surprise, as he listened to Harry asking to be let
back in. Then Harry had said, “I need to tell you something. That you’re wrong – what you said about me
not being interested – it isn’t true,” and Draco had reached for the door
handle. But before he could open the
door, he had heard Pansy’s voice, and had frozen for a half-second in
alarm. Then he had run to find his wand.
And he had gotten
Harry back. But then, oh damn his
temper, he’d almost screwed everything up again. He’d been mortified that he’d yelled at
Harry. But Harry had been wonderful, had
teased him, and let him explain. And had
stayed. Had been everything Draco had
longed for.
Now, leaning back against his door, Draco suddenly
noticed that the deep ache of longing that had been with him for months was
gone, lingering only faintly now as a sweet reminder of Harry’s absence, and
how much Draco wanted to be with him again.
In its place was a feeling that he’d never, ever felt before. It was the most wonderful, swirly kind of
mixture of cozy warmth inside his heart, and a light-headed dizzy feeling – it
was probably happiness, or contentment, or something equally clichéd – so he
really didn’t want to put a name to it – he just wanted to enjoy feeling it.
He pushed away from the door and walked past his bed to
his wardrobe. He opened the drawer at
the bottom and pulled out a brown packing box, which he carried back to the
fireplace. He knelt in front of the
fire, set the box down, and then stared for a moment into the flickering flames
while a flood of memories and sensations rushed over him. Draco could still feel Harry’s light touches,
hear his voice, his words, could still taste the velvety soft inside of his
mouth. More than anything, Draco wanted
to lose himself in this rush of feeling, wanted to relive the memory of the
perfect way he and Harry had felt together.
But, he was tired, had not slept much at all the night
before, and it was late. And there was
something important he had to do tonight before he could go to bed. He forced himself to concentrate – he would
have to save thinking about Harry for later.
Draco opened the packing box and pulled out another box that was labeled
Portable Potions Kit. He had gotten it by owl order a few weeks
ago, mostly for curiosity’s sake, but it was perfect for what he wanted to do
now.
He opened the kit and unpacked a small pewter cauldron,
size 0.67, a length of chain with a hook at both ends, a pair of tongs, some
cutting and stirring implements, a sieve, and a funnel, all appropriately
small, plus several sizes of bottles and jars with lids, and another box which
was labeled 50 Standard Potion
Ingredients. This last box contained
tiny individual packets and vials of everything from aardvark bile to powdered
zombie toes. Draco smiled to himself,
quite pleased by the set, and found he was no longer sleepy. Between this kit, his own class supplies, and
what he had stolen from Snape’s desk that morning, he should have everything he
needed.
He jumped up and went to his desk to get his notes from
that morning’s class, his Potions class supplies, and to retrieve the stolen
ingredients from the drawer where he had hidden them. He carried them all back to the fireplace,
and dropped down with artless grace to sit cross-legged on the floor. He unrolled his parchment and reread it. He had taken very careful notes this morning
from Snape’s lecture on the advanced variation of the Hex Repellant
Potion. It might be a little tricky,
because it had to be done in two steps, but he thought he could use one of the
bottles from his new kit to make the infusion of forget-me-nots.
He sorted through all the ingredient packets, pulling out
what he needed and packing the rest away.
He used the chain to hang the little cauldron by its handle from the
flue in his fireplace, so that it dropped down over the fire, and then began
mixing the ingredients. He had to go
fill one of the small bottles with water from the bathroom tap, then he set
that at the edge of the fire to boil.
When it did, he put in the forget-me-nots, waited the proper length of
time for it to steep, then promptly stirred in the pinch of shredded boomslang
skin. He stirred it again, and added
this mixture to the ingredients simmering in the cauldron. There was a poof of white smoke and the
liquid in the cauldron turned a clear blue.
Draco stared at it closely, hoping it was supposed to do that. Snape hadn’t mentioned any color changes.
He found the tongs, clamped them under the curved lip of
the cauldron, and lifted it off the hook.
Then he strained the contents into one of the jars and screwed on the
lid. He held the jar up and inspected
the blue liquid with a critical eye.
This absolutely had to be right – there could be no mistakes.
He set the jar down, sighed, and wiped the sweat off his
forehead with the back of one hand.
Then, he yawned. He was very
tired now, the lack of sleep from the night before was catching up to him, and
being so close to the fire had made him hot and sticky. He got up and started clearing everything
away. He washed out his little cauldron
in the bathroom sink, then packed the kit back into its box and put it away in
his wardrobe drawer, leaving no trace whatsoever of what he had done. He hid the jar of blue liquid in his medicine
cabinet. Now, if his father would send
the ring soon. . . .
He took a very quick shower, and finally, dropped
gratefully into bed. Only then did he
let himself think of Harry again.
This night would be etched in his memory forever. Especially that moment when Harry had taken
off his glasses and stepped around the table.
Harry had smiled at him in a way that made him feel suddenly breathless
with surprise and hope, and Draco had known then that Harry was going to kiss
him. Harry had said, “Come here,” in that soft way, and the
room, or maybe the whole world, had shifted crazily under his feet, so that he
felt he had to hold on to the edge of the table to keep from falling.
Draco had gone to him, and found he had to hold on
tighter to the edge of the table. He had
never seen Harry with his glasses off.
Harry in glasses was cute, attractive, often adorably so. Even the glasses themselves had attained cute
status in Draco’s mind, as had Harry’s invariably messy hair, simply because
they were part of Harry. But without
glasses, Harry was – well, flat-out stunning.
His eyes were an unbelievably pure green, sparkling like bright colored
glass, or gemstones, not hard, but warm and brilliant, reflecting light into
everything they touched. And those long
black lashes. Draco’s heart had skipped
several beats. Harry had touched him so
gently, and kissed him so sweetly, and all Draco had wanted in that trembling
moment was to give Harry everything.
Then Harry had said his name in that awed whisper, and he
had opened his eyes to look into Harry’s eyes, and been lost in the expression
in those emerald eyes – it was the achingly moving reality of what he had
always dreamed of seeing in those eyes.
He had been lost, willingly and gladly, in some timeless place where it
was impossible to tell where one of them stopped and the other started, lost in
the depths of those brilliantly warm green eyes, his heart given over without
question.
But the moment that had caused the total meltdown in
Draco’s heart was when Harry had pulled him down into his lap, and had held him
so close, and had said, “This is the most
real thing I’ve ever felt.” Draco
hadn’t believed that anything could ever touch him as deeply or as eloquently
as that one sentence had. And it had
been Harry who had asked if they could see each other again. That meant so much. It meant that Harry wanted him.
It was so unexpected.
No, tonight had not been what Draco had expected at
all. It had been more than he had ever
let himself dare hope for, but most certainly not what he had expected. He had expected accusations about past
wrongs, questions about his father and Death Eaters, and how much Dark Magic he
knew, things he had steeled himself to answer as honestly as possible. But Harry had acted like none of that
mattered. Instead, Harry had turned him
inside out with his soft tentative touches, sweet words and kisses, and filled
him up with the most incredible new feelings.
Draco turned over on his side, and exhaled a ragged
heart-torn breath. No, this was not what
he had expected at all. A Harry who
reciprocated his feelings had not been part of his plan – it had been too
inconceivable – it was the one thing he had not considered. And now. . . .
He rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his
pillow. He felt a depth of regret that
he had never known before. Because even
with these incredibly wonderful new feelings he was experiencing, still, at the
very center of it all, lived the terrifying knowledge of what he had planned
for his father. And that meant he had
very little time left to be with Harry, to love him. More than anything, Draco wanted Harry to
know that he loved him, before the inevitable ending came. His mind shied away from this – from the
knowledge of what he knew his father would do.
He had known from the first the terrible price that would have to be
paid. No, he couldn’t think about
that. It was not possible to stop what
was going to happen. It was the only choice I had, he
thought.
But before I give him up, I want to hold him, touch him . . . love
him. I just want him to know how much I
love him. I just want him to love me
back. Draco’s thoughts turned over
and over in his mind, and it was a long time before he finally fell
asleep. I just need him to love me back. . . .
* * *
Harry literally ran all the way back to the Gryffindor
common room. He felt excited and wound
up with emotions, and running felt good.
By the time he got to the portrait hole, he was completely out of
breath, and had to lean against the wall panting, before he could say the
password. The Fat Lady had her hair up
in curlers and was eyeing him with sleepy annoyance. He realized this was the second night in a
row he had had to wake her up to get in the tower. He put on his best apologetic smile, and
whispered, “Tapioca pudding.”
As he stepped through the portrait hole, he smiled and
shook his head. They had decided to let
Neville think of the passwords this year, because he always had so much trouble
remembering them. This one was actually
the most complicated one they’d had so far, because Neville’s passwords had
turned out to be a list of his favorite desserts, and the early ones had simply
been things like “Cake” and “Pie” and “Cookie.”
“Ice cream” had been his first venture into a two-word password. Harry grinned as he bolted up the stairs to
his dorm room two at a time. They had
all teased Neville, but nobody really minded.
He opened the door to his room as quietly as possible,
and peeked in. It was dark, everyone was
in bed, hopefully asleep. Harry took a
moment to slow his breathing, then slipped through the door. He tiptoed toward his bed. He heard all four of his roommates sit up in
bed simultaneously. Then Dean lit his
lamp, and the sudden light caught Harry in the center of the room, only
half-way to his bed. Harry looked around
at his four friends and sighed. “Sorry,
guys,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wake
everybody up.” He walked the rest of the
way across the room and sat down on his bed.
“You didn’t wake us up, Harry,” said Dean.
“No,” added Seamus, “we were waiting up for you.”
“Harry, are you all right?” asked Ron. “You’ve been acting so strange today, and
then no one could find you all evening.”
“Yeah,” said Neville.
“We were really getting worried, Harry.
We thought maybe You-Know-Who had kidnapped you.”
“We did not
think that,” said Dean.
“Well, I did,” said Neville, in a small voice.
“Ha!” Seamus broke
in with a low snicker. “He’s been off
kissing somebody, that’s where he’s been.”
There was a second of startled silence. “Oh, go on, Seamus,” said Ron, rising to
Harry’s defense. “Why would you say
something like that?”
“Well, just look at him,” said Seamus, grinning. “I know that look – he’s all rumpled, and
pink around the mouth, and his shirt’s untucked. In fact, I think his shirt’s unbuttoned all
the way down, and there – look, there’s the proof – ” Seamus chuckled. “Harry, you look like a bloody rose . . .
with a sunburn!”
And it was true.
Though he was still wearing his vest, which covered his shirt, when
Harry looked down, he saw that he was obviously unbuttoned from collar to
shirttail, and he blushed bright red.
When had that happened? God,
Draco had had those gentle, agile hands all over him, and Harry had been far
too lost in the sea of sensations Draco was rousing in him, to have sorted out
any details. He had never even noticed
his shirt being unbuttoned.
“Harry? Are you seeing someone?” asked Ron with
concern. “Is that what’s been going on
today?”
Harry ran one hand through his hair, which made part of
it stick up. “I’ve been playing chess
with someone in another house,” he said, trying to think of an explanation
without lying. “It just got late – ”
Seamus snorted.
“It must have been Spin-the-Bottle-Chess then, Harry. Those marks on your neck weren’t made by any
chessmen I’ve ever seen.”
Harry groaned. He
didn’t feel at all like being teased about this. This was serious. It might have happened in one day, but six
years of suppressed emotion and intense interaction had led up to this day, and
now all his hurt, his longing for someone, his loneliness, all of it had been
swept away by Draco’s gentle loving. He
just wanted to lie in bed, in the dark, and drown in the memories of what had
happened tonight. In peace.
“Who is it, Harry?” asked Neville.
“What house are they in?” asked Dean.
“Is it somebody we know?” asked Neville.
“Oh, Saints preserve us,” said Seamus, with a
conspiratorial grin to Dean and Neville.
“Now we’re going to have to put up with two of them going on about their girlfriends and getting all
serious on us.”
“Oh, shut up, Seamus,” snapped Ron. “I do not
‘go on’ about Hermione.”
“You do so,” retorted Seamus. “Just the other day, you – ”
“Stop it!” yelled Harry.
He looked around at his stunned roommates. “Yes, I am
seeing someone! And it is serious! Very serious,” he said more quietly. “I just don’t want to talk about it yet,
okay?”
A subdued chorus of “Sorry,” and “Sorry, Harry,” came
from several points around the room.
Then Seamus spoke up, meekly. “Was
there kissing, Harry?”
“Oh, geez, Seamus,” said Harry. Then he sighed. “Okay.
Yes. Quite a lot, if you must
know.” And then he had to bite his lip
to keep from grinning at the memories this conjured and he blushed again.
“I knew it,” crowed Seamus. “I can spot post-kissy-face a mile away. Won’t you give us a hint, Harry? Who’s the lucky girl?”
“Okay, that’s enough, Seamus,” said Ron. “Leave him alone. He’ll tell us who it is when he’s ready.”
Harry looked gratefully over at Ron.
Ron was looking back at him with a very puzzled
expression. “Right Harry?”
“Of course I will,” said Harry sincerely. “You guys are my best friends. I promise you’ll be the first to know –
” Just
as soon as I’m sure myself, he added silently. “But right now, it’s late and I’d like to get
some sleep.” He started getting
undressed for bed, and Dean put out his lamp.
A soft chorus of “Good night,” ran around the dark room, punctuated at
the end by a barely audible smooching noise coming from the direction of
Seamus’ bed, and a loud “Shhhh!” from Ron’s.
Harry climbed into bed, feeling a little guilty, and also
a little amused. They had all assumed
he’d been with a girl – and for now he had no intention of correcting that
assumption – it would throw them off for a little while, until he and Draco
were ready to tell them the truth. Oh,
Draco was such a delicious secret! And
being with him tonight had been so incredible.
He never would have imagined that they could talk and laugh together as
they had last night and tonight. Or that
Draco Malfoy could be so gentle, or so tender, and would draw such deep,
equally tender responses from him. A
great sense of comfort pooled up in Harry’s heart, and he had the most
wonderful shivery happy feeling inside him.
He lay awake for a little while, smiling in the dark, letting the
memories and the feelings wash over him, and when he fell asleep, he slept better
than he had in a long time. Because for
the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to tomorrow.
End Chapter 7