Stop All the Clocks (This Is the Last Time I'm Leaving Without You)

Chapter 6

Harry was a creature of habit, which he thought might explain why he went after Malfoy again on Monday morning, because that was just what he did after they went home together. He still didn't know exactly what he hoped to get from Malfoy, forcing these confrontations as he did. All he knew was it pissed him the fuck off to have Malfoy in his bed each weekend and then to have Malfoy hold him at arm's length during the week. He took what hope he could from the fact that he always found Malfoy alone in the lecture hall. Malfoy hadn't altered his routine to avoid Harry.

"Potter, we've been over this," Malfoy said, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut when Harry walked in, all before Harry had the chance to say a word. "It didn't mean anything-"

"But it keeps happening," Harry jumped in. "If it doesn't mean anything, then why does it keep happening?" Once he could ignore, maybe even twice, but this was the fifth time. That had to mean something. And Harry wanted it to keep happening while he figured it out.

Malfoy sighed heavily. "Because apparently we both make exceedingly poor choices when we're drunk."

"Or maybe that's the only time we can admit we want it," Harry countered.

Malfoy blinked up at him, startled, and Harry swallowed hard but wouldn't let himself look away. This was the first time he'd said aloud that he wanted it to continue. The moment stretched between them, on and on, growing tenser with each second that ticked by.

Then Malfoy cleared his throat. "Please," he said. "Don't start up with that nonsense."

"It's not nonsense," Harry insisted. "Obviously there's something to it."

Malfoy gave an exasperated sigh. "Potter," he said slowly as if talking to a particularly dim child. "We were both drinking heavily. That's all it was, and I don't know why you insist on tracking me down afterward to convince me it wasn't."

"Fine," Harry snapped, then said again. "Fine. I'll just go, then."

"Glad to hear it. As always, it's been a pleasure, Scarhead. If there's anything else you need assistance with, please don't hesitate to ask someone else." He looked down and shuffled through some papers, summarily dismissing Harry, and Harry left before he did something he shouldn't. Like hex the stupid tosser.

It wasn't until he'd stomped out into the hall and slammed the door behind him that the implications of Malfoy's words caught up with Harry. He called me Scarhead, he thought. He didn't call me Potter, he called me Scarhead.

This was the first time that Malfoy hadn't held his icy professionalism between them like a shield. This was the first crack he'd shown, and Harry fully intended to keep hammering on it until the whole thing fell away. He was getting through to Malfoy, finally getting through.

Smiling to himself, he tucked his hands into his pockets and started back down the hall to find himself a cup of tea before lecture began, the loose beginnings of a plan slowly unfurling in his mind. If words wouldn't convince him? Well, maybe actions would instead.