Fighting Silence

Chapter 3

By lierdumoa


*Bloody hell,* thought Harry. This was very, very not good. Ron's face was turning colors, none of which were particularly attractive, finally settling on a vivid shade of vermilion. Harry was panicking. Draco wanted to panic, needed to panic, but somehow managed to keep the spontaneous human combustion at bay. "Stop ogling us for a mo', would you Weasel."

Ron snapped around, the curtain falling behind him. Draco collected his clothes before him and began sliding them on gracefully. Harry was, for a few seconds, transfixed by the lithe form before him. Draco turned to look at him, snapped, "Potter!" and returned his task. Harry blushed attractively and began gathering his own discarded clothing.

Ron was of course waiting impatiently beyond the drapery. Harry stepped out first. "We'll talk at breakfast, okay. I still need to change into some fresh clothing." Ron, unable to come up with a civil response, simply turned and stalked away. Draco emerged afterwards. Harry wordlessly went to the chest which held his invisibility cloak, retrieved the garment, and tossed it at Draco. "Anything happens to it and you'll be wearing your balls as garters." Draco merely nodded, pulling the cloak over his rumpled form and quietly and invisibly exiting the Gryffindor wing.


Draco rushed back to his dorm berating himself severely. He paused this mental abuse for a moment to be relieved when he found his dorm room empty and was able to slip off the invisibility cloak in peace, but soon started up with it again. *Oh, shit - this is bad. No one was supposed to find out, especially not the Weasel. Damn it, this was never even supposed to happen in the first place. Bloody hell, what made me think a clandestine affair with him would be a good idea anyway.* The image came, unbidden, of Harry beneath him, gasping and shuddering. *Oh, yeah. That.* Draco dropped his face in his hands in frustration. *Please, Harry, don't let the Weasel tell anyone."

It wasn't until he was halfway to the mess hall that Draco realized he had been thinking of him as Harry.

The source of Draco's anxiety was at this time just joining his friends at the Gryffindor table. Ron was looking royally pissed off. Hermione was staring at Harry like she'd never seen him before. "I suppose you want me to explain."


"I don't know what to say, really. I was fighting with him that night that McGonagall gave us detention and then we sort of...weren't fighting. Last night he showed up in the common room and propositioned me. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Tell me, Harry," said Ron, "just how sleeping with Malfoy *in our room* struck you as a good idea!?!"


"Well...he's a really good lay." Ron's face twisted in disgust. Hermione now looked contemplative. She addressed Harry - "I'm not going to question your motivations here, Harry. I doubt I could get a clear answer out of you anyway. Malfoy hasn't been that rude to me lately anyway - but Harry, are you sure you want to do this?"


"Carry on with whatever it is your doing with Draco Malfoy."

"Um...well...yeah." The last word was almost inaudible.

"Alright. Don't get hurt."

Harry was surprised. Hermione was reacting to this news remarkably well. He'd been bracing himself for the possibility of her jumping on top of the table, pointing down at him, and screaming 'Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!' over and over again. Ron was not reacting nearly as well. He shoved himself up from the table and stormed away, muttering curse words under his breath. Harry dropped his face in his hands. *This isn't happening. It really isn't. It's a horrible nightmare. Well, nightmare slash wet dream. Oh, bugger it - why me?*


Draco sat down heavily next to Crabbe and Goyle and served himself a plate of food, only to stare dolefully at it and finally push it away. *What am I doing,* he wondered. *My father's a death eater, and I'm off interlocking parts with Harry Potter. I am the biggest idiot.* Pansy interrupted Draco's train of thought to tell him to eat. *She's so mothering. Has this elaborate fantasy about marrying me too. Ha - not likely. Sorry luv, but you just don't do it for me anymore.*

The day went by in a sort of gray haze, for Draco. He mostly ignored his classmates. After school was Quidditch practice, and he managed to hardly speak to his teammates. He finally collapsed face first onto his bed when he'd showered and practice was over, prepared to fall into a dreamless sleep.

Draco heard a tapping. The blond groaned and rolled over to peer out at the window. An owl was rapping its beak against the window with a letter dangling from its leg. He let the bird in and snatched away the epistle, rather roughly. The bird let out a loud squawk at this rude treatment. Draco only gave it a dirty look and tore open the seal, unfolding the message:


Those were the only words, but he recognized the handwriting. Harry Potter. Who else? He snatched up some blank parchment and a quill, scrawling out a hurried:

~Quidditch pitch. Right now.~

He tied the letter to the bird's leg and sent it back to its owner. Running his fingers through his hair and shaking any major rumples out of his robes, he practically skipped out the door. He was about to get resolution. Or a fuck. Either was good.


Not a quarter of an hour later, Harry found himself slammed against the wall of the deserted locker room showers, his legs wrapped around one Draco Malfoy, a cock shoved up his arse and his head thrown back, howling like he'd been mortally wounded.

Draco had met him at the Quidditch pitch, and unable to think of anything worth saying, the blond had instead lifted the glasses off Harry's face and slammed their mouths together. They'd walked towards the showers, empty at that time of any students, and found a corner and shed all clothing.

A few orgasms later the pair was sprawled naked beneath ceiling and shower heads, still breathing hard. Draco made a hard gulp and spoke for the first time that evening. "What's happening?"

Harry sent him a heavy lidded look. "I don't know."

"We should stop."


"Will we?"


Draco reached over and captured Harry's lower lip between his teeth, nibbling on it experimentally, before thrusting his tongue into the wet heat of the Gryffindor's mouth. A minute or two later and Harry broke away, gasping, "Gods, you're addictive."

Draco shook his head and dropped his face to Harry's throat to mouth his Adam's apple. "I'm a Malfoy. It's our nature to be addictive. What's your excuse?"

"Dunno. Never thought I'd need one. No one's ever thought me addictive before."

"Don't get used to it," Draco whispered, lying back before Harry and throwing his knees over the Gryffindor's shoulders. Harry moved his fingers toward Draco's arse hole, but after a violent whine, went ahead and drove forward without preparation, and with little lubrication but recently spent ejaculate still smeared over Harry's member. Draco writhed under him and came screaming Harry's name. It echoed around the room.

It was night when the pair finally reclaimed their clothing - not quite late enough that they'd be punished for being out, but late enough that sun had disappeared beneath the horizon. "Later then?" Harry ventured to ask.

"Sure, later."

*I won't miss you,* Harry thought. *I won't be counting minutes or seconds. Just fucking, right?*

Harry stumbled into his bedroom and slumped on his bed. *Just fucking, right?* he thought again - and still, no answer was forthcoming.

He dreamed of making love to Draco. He dreamed of making love to Draco and weeping. When he awoke the next morning he found to his relief that his face was dry and clean of tear tracks. Still, he felt strange and cold.



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