In Evidence Of Magical Theory

Chapter 2 ~ The Elements

Unlike the previous evening in the medical wing, consciousness returned to Harry with a snap the next morning. He had been having a delicious dream about staring out at the beach, bare feet in sand when, suddenly, he was back in his bed, with an armful of Malfoy.

Although armful wasn’t quite right, Harry thought, his jumbled thoughts clearing as he woke. Malfoy was more draped across Harry, boneless in sleep. His chest covered Harry’s and his face pressed into the crook of Harry’s neck, his hair falling in Harry’s face. Oh. That was the beachy, coconut smell. Harry could feel Malfoy’s warm breath puff against his skin with every exhale.

Not quite sure what to do, Harry stayed still. One of his arms had actually come up to wrap around Malfoy’s shoulders in the night and he removed it carefully. Fortunately, his hips were free because wouldn’t that be awkward. Like any of the rest of this is bloody normal, he thought, irritated with himself. But it wasn’t really his fault, he reasoned -- he was a normal, eighteen-year-old boy and waking up with Malfoy on top of him had nothing, nothing, to do with his... usual morning problem, which was tenting his flannel bottoms quite insistently.

On the rare occasion it went away completely by itself, but usually Harry had a good morning wank in the shower to take care of it. He sighed, nibbling on his lip. Obviously that wasn’t going to happen today. He used his free hand to adjust it to a less obvious position and grabbed a handful of covers that had fallen off him in the night to flop them over his groin.

Malfoy was still out cold. Harry took a moment to see if he could still feel Malfoy's magic. He closed his eyes and focused on the sensation in his midsection.

Yes, there. The link was still strong — stronger than the previous day — but for the moment, Malfoy’s magic seemed calm. Peaceful and... rather lovely. Like a placid lake with a surface that had been warmed by the sun or the gentle lap of waves on a beach. Harry felt settled by it, by the way it almost seemed to glow inside of him. He finally understood what Hermione said when she had told him that they had been bathed in light.

His problem wasn’t going away. If anything, focusing on Malfoy’s magic and the link between them had made it more pressing. Harry shifted his hips uneasily, trying to scoot away, and got a sleepily murmured protest for his efforts.

He cleared his throat. “Malfoy,” he said, voice low.

Slumberous, smoky eyes fluttered, blinking up at him. There was a crease on one of Malfoy’s cheeks, from the sheets or pillow, although Harry couldn’t quite figure out because apparently, he’d been Malfoy’s pillow. Malfoy looked up at him, sleep-warmed and relaxed, completely unguarded for once. Harry had time for a single thought, oh, shit, before he saw the click of understanding on Malfoy’s face. His eyes widened and pupils dilated and he sprang away from Harry, tangled in the sheets, to stared across the length of the bed, panting. They both froze at the same time. The distance between them felt like a rope made of razors, pulling at Harry’s insides. Their link gave a sharp, wrenching twist and Malfoy voiced a guttural little mew before moving back closer until the pain eased off.

“What the fuck were you doing, Potter?” Malfoy finally got out, voice scandalized.

Harry couldn’t resist a grin. He still hadn’t moved an inch from where he had been. “Acting as your mattress, I guess,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

Malfoy glared at him and sniffed. “As if I would ever expose myself to secondhand furniture. Merlin, what are you even wearing?”