Tempus Fugit DRARRY

Chapter 12: The Loveliest Passion

'What is thy name?' He said, 'My name is Love.'
Then straight the first did turn himself to me
And cried, 'He lieth, for his name is Shame,
But I am Love, and I was wont to be
Alone in this fair garden, till he came
Unasked by night; I am true Love, I fill
The hearts of boy and girl with mutual flame.'
Then sighing, said the other, 'Have thy will,
I am the love that dare not speak its name.'

Two Loves - Lord Alfred Douglas

A grogginess so thick and complete that it seemed to strangle him was weighing heavily over his eyes, clouding his mind. Harry fought it blearily as something dragged his body from an unnatural sleep and out of the warm suffocation that held him fast. His mind spun as he opened his eyes and promptly closed them again, harsh lights piercing them. Blinking owlishly, he stretched his aching muscles and allowed some measure of clarity of mind to descend. Looking around at what appeared to be walls built from dark stone, Harry sat up at once as a million questions shot into his mind and the beginnings of a mild panic set in. He had no idea where he was but immediately took stock of the situation and realized with a jolt that he must be in the dungeons. The room was large but dark, with the dazzling lights being nothing more than torches burning merrily in their brackets. It was lined with wooden cabinets and shelves containing all sorts of glass jars and bottles, with coloured liquids and gelatinous substances brightening in hue as they caught the flickering light. He himself was lying in a nondescript bed with a chair beside it and a dark woollen blanket covering him. Basic though it was, it reminded Harry a little of an old fashioned sick-room and just as he was gazing around confusedly, he noticed the other bed and its prone occupant.

Harry gave a start as he recognized a halo of bright blond hair fanned out across the pillow and the familiar contours of a body stirring beneath an identical woollen blanket before the person in question rolled over and blinked silently in what seemed to be mild surprise.

"Draco?" Harry found himself saying, although his voice was hoarse with disuse and his vocal chords tight in his throat. The other boy looked up at once and a light of recognition illuminated his face before it began to look rather confused.

"Harry?" he said and Harry felt his heart skip a beat. "Where are we?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know," he said. It struck him as strange that he should be talking to Draco Malfoy in so familiar and friendly a manner and that when he looked at Draco he was bombarded with feelings that had nothing to do with animosity. Draco sat up and the blankets fell away revealing a white t-shirt that rode up when he yawned and stretched. Harry swallowed and felt a bit flushed. Draco regarded him intently for a moment.

"I have this feeling that I should hate you," he said, narrowing his grey eyes, "and I'm not entirely sure why I don't."

Harry felt a warm tug of relief in his chest that he was not the only one of the two rivals to be feeling positively sociable. "Me neither," he said and managed a small smile. They lapsed into a contented silence as they both gazed around the room and tried to take in their surroundings. There was something companionable about the situation and something that felt incredibly right in that they were alone together and perfectly comfortable.

"Where are we?" Draco asked after a few moments, rubbing his eyes.

"Not sure," said Harry, and he clambered awkwardly out of bed and grimaced as his bare feet hit the cold stone floor. He could almost feel the weight of Draco's eyes on him and as he turned around he caught the Slytherin looking at him with an expression that was new and hungry and flirtatious all at once. Harry's mouth went very dry. "I think," he said, tearing his eyes away from Draco with difficulty, "that we're in one of the old Advanced Teaching rooms. I visited them once or twice last year."