An Issue of Consequence

Chapter 6

Draco followed him without objections and with more curiosity he had any right to feel as a person who was only waiting for the right moment to give Potter the antidote.

Potter led him in front of the Transfiguration classroom. "Professor Hardy is sick again," he said as he cast spell after spell at the door. "So unless he decides to read essays in his feverish state, I think we're safe." The door swung open.

"You're quite a cat burglar," Draco said, impressed.

"Again..." Potter grinned and pulled Draco inside. "Practice."

The light in the right corner of the room attracted Draco's attention. There was an actual bed there. Small and pathetic, obviously Conjured and not very well, but it was definitely a bed with a mattress and pillows and sheets. High above it a dozen lit candles floated in mid-air.

Draco didn't really need another confirmation, but he got it anyway — this was not Potter's elaborate, kinky plan. This was definitely a love spell. One that infected the victim with cheesy attempts at romance.

"I know, I know," Potter burst out, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I know what it looks like. But... we need light. It's not my fault there's no electricity in Hogwarts, and I had to use candles. And we could use a bed. What's the harm in that? And it's not my fault I'm better at Conjuring silk than cotton."

Draco squinted at the sheets. He didn't even realise they were silk. "And, er, what's with the little stool?" There was a three-legged stool next to the foot of the bed as well as a bedside table at the head of it.

"It's for our clothes." Potter sounded petulant.

"There are about thirty chairs in here, you do realise that?"

"I was in a Conjuring mood."

"And in no mood for four legs?"

"Oh, shut up. And get naked." Potter headed for the bed, pulling off his cloak as he went. He sat down to take off his shoes and socks. He clearly wasn't joking about getting naked. Or having sex with Draco. Right now, in a Conjured bed with silken sheets and candles flickering above them.

Potter had taken off his glasses and put them on the bedside table. He looked up while unbuttoning his shirt and paused. "What?"

Draco stood rooted to the spot and stared. He should have moved, obviously. He rectified that immediately because only an idiot would stay away from something so inviting. He paused in front of Potter, fascinated.

"What?" Potter repeated, and Draco knew he was acting strangely, but he couldn't help himself, and he couldn't worry about it. He felt rather calm and happy, if a little unsteady on his feet. He cupped Potter's jaw to trail his thumb against Potter's skin, his jaw, his lips. Potter's eyes were no longer obscured by his glasses; the contrast of his dark lashes and bright green irises was startling. Everything was startling. Potter's black hair, the warmth of his skin, the fullness of his lips. Why had Draco not realised how beautiful Potter was? So beautiful it was making Draco dizzy.