An Accidental Alliance

chapter 6

Wednesdays were not Harry's favorite day. Muggle Studies, History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Defense really ought to have been interesting, but after all Harry had been through, he just found it boring and redundant. The good thing, though, about all these boring classes, was that he had ample time to practice the girl. He still took notes, at least vaguely, but he kept Don't Dabble With Dragons! positioned in his bag just so, and copied the girl over and over again. He'd only need to make a few adjustments from the illustration: holding the flower out instead of smelling it, and giggling instead of smiling serenely. He got the positioning down fairly quickly, but her expression took ages. Halfway through Defense Hermione grabbed his supposed notes and stared at the mangled faces. She gave him a horrified look.

"They're supposed to be giggling," Harry whispered.

Hermione shook her head and handed the parchment back. Harry redoubled his efforts. Still, by the end of class, they all looked like they were screaming. Perhaps appropriate for actual dragons, but not for tickling them. He found it disturbing how well he could depict horror, and that it was so close to laughter.

After class, Harry, Ron and Hermione went to the library to study. Harry did study, and he did write his essays, despite Hermione's insistence he must have been cheating, or doing a half-arsed job if he was already finished. She checked them over, all three, frowning the whole time, and handed them back without a word.

"I told you I did them," Harry grumbled. "Muggle Studies and Defense; do you really think those would take any effort? And I was paying attention in History of Magic, even if I was doodling. Plus, well, I still have your copy of Hogwarts, A History, and it's very well annotated."

"Give it back," Hermione said immediately. "I knew you were cheating somehow."

"It's not cheating, 'Mione, it's helping a friend," Harry said, though he did return the book. He'd need to check out another copy from the library so Malfoy could copy the lettering, but that wouldn't be hard. In fact, since he was done with his essays and didn't particularly feel like going back to drawing little girls screaming, he meandered over to Local History. He stared blankly. The allotted place for Hogwarts, A History was empty. Who the hell had checked it out? He realized he was unreasonably upset, but Malfoy was going to start on the lettering tonight, and for a reason not exactly known to him, Harry needed him to go through with that. Maybe he was worried Malfoy would back out if he was bored, and after all those scales, Harry was not letting this go.

He returned to their table in a huff. "Dinner?"

"Yes, brilliant," Ron said immediately, closing his book with a satisfying thud. "I'm starved."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Can't you two ever focus on work?" But she, too, packed her things, and they walked to the Great Hall together. Harry spared a glance at the Slytherin table as he walked in; Malfoy was sitting with Zabini, Goyle and Parkinson, like always, like he had been at lunch. Their eyes met for a split second before Harry looked away. There was no reason to keep tabs on Malfoy. They weren't meeting until ten, presumably so Malfoy could get his homework done. Harry realized he had none to bring with him, but that would just have to be okay. Maybe they could position the poster so they could both work on it.

In any case, it was six now, and Harry was settling down to dinner with his two best friends and now was the time to hang out and have fun and eat and not obsess over ridiculous things like posters and Malfoy and Hogwarts, A History and Malfoy's bed and that box. No, now was the time to eat, drink and be merry. So he did, and Hermione only brought up his drawings once, and Ron only teased him a little, and if Harry didn't tell him about the poster project with Malfoy, that was only because he wanted to surprise Hermione.

Ron and Hermione returned to the library to finish their homework and Harry drifted back to Gryffindor Tower. He had his eye on a nap. A nice, long, refreshing nap in his own bed. He didn't know what time he had fallen asleep last night, no doubt half past scale o'clock, but he was tired. And he wanted his bed. The muscle relaxant Malfoy had given him was lovely, but he still wanted his bed.

He had a revelation as he collapsed onto his bed. Maybe he was so fascinated by Malfoy's bed because it was his. Beds were personal, important and lived in. There was a connection a person had to their bed, something special. Maybe he had been looking for Malfoy's humanity, for what made him happy. It was an interesting question, really. It seemed calligraphy made him happy. Letters from his mum. And, er, gay bondage magazines.

Harry considered his own bed. What would Malfoy find if he went snooping? A hastily shoved mess of whatever hadn't fit in his drawers or desk. His warm cloak, the one he saved for late winter. That'd have to come out soon, but not quite yet. He had no boxes, nothing so organized, no letters from his family-the ones he had gotten over the years from Sirius and the letter he'd found at Grimmauld Place resided safely in his sock drawer. Certainly no gay bondage magazines. The gay part didn't surprise him, everyone knew Malfoy fancied men, that was nothing new. Bondage, though? Harry wouldn't put anything past him. It was surprising, maybe, for a few seconds, but he had long ago ceased to be surprised by Malfoy. As for himself, well, he may be interested in flipping through a gay magazine, to investigate, but only the most vanilla of porn.

Oh, fuck it. He was lying on his own bed in his own dorm, completely alone. Might as well admit he was gay. He hadn't told anyone, not because he was afraid of their reaction, he knew his friends wouldn't care, but because he wanted to be absolutely certain. Realistically, he was, but somehow he had gotten it into his head he couldn't really know until he kissed a boy. He had hoped for an opportunity this year, but it didn't seem terribly likely. As far as the gay population of his year, Dean and Seamus were together, Michael Corner in Ravenclaw was bisexual but was currently dating Luna Lovegood, which Harry thought rather sweet. And then there was Malfoy, which, quite literally, made him laugh. As if.

Though, maybe, that was why Malfoy had suddenly switched tactics last night from his usual insults to innuendo. Maybe, somehow, he had found out about Harry's sexual preferences, and was teasing him, trying to goad him into... into what, exactly? Admitting he was gay? Breaking down and crying about how embarrassed he was? Not going to happen. He was comfortable with his sexuality. He just wanted to be sure, that was all. How Malfoy found out was a sort of interesting question, since Harry hadn't told anyone, but Malfoy was clever at reading people, maybe he'd just figured it out. There was a chance that Harry calling him cute may have tipped him off. But, no, that had been this morning, not last night.

Whatever. It didn't matter. Harry was going to take a nap, and that was that. He kicked off his shoes, climbed under the blankets and set an alarm for quarter of ten. He closed his eyes. The last thing he saw before falling asleep was that twinkle in Draco's eyes when he told him to open the box on the left.