The Ties That Bind Us (Drarry)

Chapter 3

"Walk!" Sprout barked as Draco managed to disentangle himself from Potter. However, since they were still bound tightly together, Draco was forced to hug Potter and grab his hip for support and he couldn't move his right leg forward unless Potter moved his left at the same time. After struggling for a minute, they managed to make one tiny little step.

"You should go to the hospital wing, Mr Malfoy," Sprout said, eyeing Draco's face.

Right on cue, Draco's jaw started throbbing. Reminded of Potter's vicious blow, Draco stepped sharply forward with his right foot. Potter cried out in pain as his left arm was pulled and he stumbled, choking, as he was forced to bend down. Unfortunately, that made Draco lean forward, as well, and as Potter suddenly straightened, Draco received a nose full of black hair and a punch in his sore jaw. He would have retaliated, but he was temporary distracted by the scent of apples that filled his nostrils. It made him feel . . . hungry.

Potter glared at him, so Draco glared in return as they panted heavily, nursing their injuries.

"Oh, never mind," Sprout said and sighed. Draco barely heard her over the noise the other students made by laughing and shrieking excessively. "Here . . ." Sprout strolled toward the nearest classroom and checked to see if it was empty. It must have been, because she waved her wand toward it, beckoning them inside.

It wasn't very far, but it took them forever to get there. Not to mention it was a painful trip. Draco's right leg throbbed and Potter looked like he would die of asphyxiation at any moment. Their first step into the classroom was greeted by cheers and a thunderous applause.

"Settle down," Sprout chided, but she, too, sounded amused. "Go on, take a seat," she instructed, indicating the nearest set of chairs.

Draco heard Potter groan and he couldn't help sympathising. It would have been so much easier to walk if Potter's hand wasn't stuck between Draco's thighs. Embarrassment aside, it was just plain uncomfortable. Draco wasn't used to being touched there. Sure, a girl or two had fumbled around his bits, but what bothered Draco now was the continuous male grip that wasn't fumbly or tentative but rough and threatening. It was Potter, after all, who had already threatened to castrate him. Draco couldn't escape the looming sense of menace that Potter's tight grip presented. He felt exposed and oddly vulnerable every time Potter's knuckles brushed against his crotch. And that happened a lot. Every tiny touch of Potter's hand disturbed Draco greatly, mostly because the almost caresses were oddly stimulating. Merlin, what if he got hard? Potter would feel it instantly and the git would draw the wrong conclusion. Because even if Draco did get hard, it would only happen as a result of a natural reaction to an intimate touch, not as a result of an unnatural reaction to Potter's touch.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment and tried to concentrate on reaching the damn chairs.

It was another long struggle. Potter reached them first and sat down, rudely pulling Draco with him. Their heads collided and Draco felt the softness of Potter's cheek beneath his lips for the briefest moment before they both pulled away and scowled at each other. They tried to sit as far away as they could but that was impossible. In the end, they had to pull the chairs even closer together because otherwise the rope around Potter's neck prevented the git from breathing. Which would have been fine with Draco, but Potter retaliated in his normal way — by pressing firmly against Draco's bits — so Draco had no choice but to snuggle up to Potter and let his right arm hug the ball-squeezing idiot.

"Stop groping me, Potter," Draco whispered furiously.

"Stop choking me," Potter whispered back.

"Stop leaning so heavily! You're squishing my arm!"

"Stop crushing my hip!"

Draco blinked and quickly released Potter's hip. There was no need to continue holding it. Draco should have remembered that. What was wrong with him? Potter's blow must have damaged his brain.

"No, no, everyone back away. You too, Miss Granger," Sprout ordered, but after Granger whispered something, she allowed her to step inside.

Granger rushed toward them and then leaned over Draco to hand Potter his glasses.

"Thanks," Potter grumbled and shoved his ugly glasses back onto his nose.

Granger looked guilty, undoubtedly because she had laughed earlier with everyone else. She bit her lip and reached forward to touch Potter's free hand.

"I'm sure Professor Flitwick will know how to detach this vermin from you," she said soothingly.

"Hey!" Draco cried and then growled as Granger's hair tickled his face. "You people have to stop shoving hair in my mouth," he fumed, noting distractedly that Potter's hair smelled nicer than Granger's.

Granger straightened immediately and twirled her wand in her hands. "Want me to shove something else in your face, Malfoy?"

Draco scowled at her but said nothing. After all, he was unarmed and not an idiot.

"Miss Granger," Sprout called and Granger jumped. After one last sympathetic look in Potter's direction, she hurried outside.

"Now," Professor Sprout said, eyeing them reproachfully, "you boys sit tight . . ." She paused, chuckled, and then continued, "I will lock this door and fetch the Headmistress." Draco felt Potter wince next to him. He understood Potter's apprehension. Since she had become headmistress, McGonagall was sterner than ever. Sprout pointed her wand at them. "Don't you even think about fighting. If I notice one new bruise or cut —"

"— or a love bite!" someone shouted and then burst into giggles.

Sprout snorted and then quickly rearranged her features and gave them a stern look. "You're already looking at detention and loss of house points, boys. Don't make it worse." With that, she slammed the door and locked them inside.

The moment they were left alone, Draco turned toward Potter and accused, "This is all your fault, Potter."

Potter spluttered indignantly, his mouth parting to form an O of surprise. "My fault? How is this my fault?"

"Obviously, you can't counter a binding spell with the Disarming Charm. Honestly, Potter, is that the only spell you know?"

"That's the most important defensive spell, you git. And speaking of defence, I wouldn't have to defend myself if you didn't shoot a spell — at my back. You coward," Potter spat, his eyes blazing.

"You hit me!"

"You deserved it!"

"Oh, please," Draco scoffed. "Because I said I'd try something with the Weasley girl? As if I'd ever touch her."

"As if she'd ever let you."

"As if she wouldn't let everyone."

Potter's hand squeezed Draco's thigh. "You don't know anything about her. Or me."

"I know she thinks you're gay. And I know you don't want to admit it," Draco said victoriously, ignoring the pain that spread from Potter's clutching hand.

Potter looked stunned for a moment and then he leaned in, his face frighteningly close to Draco's.

"That's none of your business." Potter was breathing heavily; his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were ablaze with that fire Draco had been missing for months.

"It's interesting," Draco said and leaned in even closer; close enough for their breaths to mix. "You still haven't denied the accusation."

Potter cocked his head, his expression softening. "Why do you care, Malfoy?" he asked with genuine curiosity in his eyes. His big, intense, unnaturally green eyes.

Draco swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words. They were so damn close; it was affecting Draco's senses. He seemed to have retained his sense of touch, however, because he couldn't stop thinking about the warmth of Potter's back beneath his arm, the pressure of Potter's hand on his thigh and the gentle caress of Potter's breath on his lips.

"Malfoy?" Potter prompted, confusion filling his eyes.

However, Draco couldn't respond; his throat was too dry and he had bigger problems to worry about. What troubled him the most at the moment, besides Potter's unfailing nearness, was the horrifying realisation that he was getting hard.