In Evidence Of Magical Theory

Chapter 3 ~ Exploration

Asking Malfoy to be courteous to him, Harry thought the next day, was possibly the stupidest thing he had ever done.

Because he was. Malfoy was just so goddamn courteous.

They woke up much as they had the previous morning, Malfoy's body snuggled tight against Harry's side, one long, muscular thigh thrown over Harry's legs. He wondered momentarily if Malfoy had owned a giant teddy bear growing up, or if he was just a heat-seeker in his sleep. Not that their room was cold. In fact, the longer Harry stayed in Malfoy's relaxed embrace, the warmer he began to feel. And his problem was back, apparently loving the pressure of Malfoy's leg on top of it. It took all of Harry's control to not flex his hips upwards.

Disgusted with himself, he muttered to his erection, "Can't you give me a break for a single morning?"

"Wha--?" Malfoy mumbled. His leg shifted and Harry bit back a groan.

He was sorely tempted to go with it. It would be so easy -- he could tighten his arms just a little, could nuzzle his nose into the soft, white-blond hair fanning over his face. Could roll his hips up against Malfoy, checking for a response. He could simply blurt out the truth of his ill-advised attraction and maybe try for a kiss, if he felt just a mote less worried that Malfoy would automatically shove him five feet away, possibly killing them both on the spot.

Until the previous night, it hadn't occurred to Harry that Malfoy might be inclined toward, well. Harry had been vaguely aware of his own interest in blokes but it hadn't really mattered to him. Not until after the thing with Ginny had really ended and he had been left at loose ends with all of the roads in his life suddenly open and unmarked and filled with wonderful, terrifying possibility.

He Accio'd his glasses and shoved them on, looking down at Malfoy's face. Keeping his eyes trained on the curve of Malfoy's jaw, the delicate shell of his ear, Harry searched again for their link, wondering if he could sense anything more than surface feelings.

All was calm inside of them again. Malfoy's face faded out of focus as Harry stared. Images of loose, floating white feathers filled his vision, Harry slipping into a languid sort of trance. The feathers swirled in a neat pattern of curlicues, gusting up and down against a blue bowl of sky. Harry pressed deeper, vaguely ashamed of snooping but too curious to stop. He could sense water again, like a deeply shadowed pool, and Harry pictured it, saw himself diving in and slicing through it as he swam to the bottom.

It was filled with so many things, sour regrets and fear and hopeless longing and even love -- Malfoy's emotions flowing around him. He couldn't separate them but realized with sudden, anguished frustration that he would be able to, if he was allowed. He would be able to wade through the dark and light of Malfoy's magic, to the core of who he was, if only he had enough desire to, -- and if Malfoy had enough courage to let him.

Malfoy made a little sound. His body pulled away from Harry's and Harry was wrenched out of Malfoy's mind, away from the deep secrets that he was suddenly desperate to know.

"If you'd let go of me, Potter?" Malfoy asked, voice cool and too-polite. Harry realized that his arms had tightened around Malfoy, whose body had gone stiff. Malfoy pressed his hand against Harry's ribs in silent entreaty to be released.

With some effort, Harry loosened his arms. "I'm sorry. I..."

"I know," Malfoy interrupted, frowning. "I'm not sure what you were doing but I'd very much appreciate it if you didn't investigate our link without my knowledge or permission. It woke me up and, beyond that, is rude.