Cabin Fever (dm.hp)

T H R E E

☽ ☽ ☽

Harry nervously went to the second floor of the cabin. He leaned against the railing for a moment, focusing on slowing his breathing which would hopefully in turn slow his pounding heart. With a sigh of relief, he saw light coming from underneath the bathroom door. Thank Merlin, Harry thought. No uncomfortable conversations for the rest of the day. He slowly closed his bedroom door and sank down to the floor. Harry had never had so much as an intimate thought about another bloke, let alone a full on wet dream. The more Harry thought about it, the more he realized that there were some physical attributes he admired in Malfoy. His hair always looked perfectly soft, he had lovely dainty hands, his skin was so creamy and free of imperfections... Harry shook his head, jerking himself out of his daydream. He got up, got undressed down to his boxers and crawled into bed. He had half a mind to pick up his thoughts where he had left off, give into the fantasy, when there was a soft knock on the door.

"What?!" Harry exclaimed.

"May I come in?" Malfoy asked softly, so quiet Harry could hardly hear him.

"Err, I suppose." Harry replied.

Malfoy opened the door halfway, letting light from the hallway spill into Harry's room. His hair was dripping wet, cheeks full of colour from the hot water of the shower he had clearly just stepped out of. He had a towel loosely wrapped around his hips, holding it closed with one hand. Harry was frozen in bed, staring at him. His glasses had slipped down to the tip of his nose, but he was too stunned to push them back up.

"I just thought I'd say goodnight," Malfoy said in that same soft voice. "So... goodnight, Potter."

"Night." Harry choked out. Malfoy gently closed Harry's door. Moments later, he heard Malfoy's bedroom door shut as well.

Harry was in shock. How strange of Malfoy to simply want to say goodnight to him. How strange of Malfoy to be not only polite but... timid? As if he was as nervous around Harry as Harry now was around him. That couldn't be right, Harry thought, Malfoy hates my guts. He may be putting on a show, but thats all it was. A show. He was saving face so that when Dumbledore showed up for their lessons, Harry would have nothing negative to report.

Still... the way the water droplets had dripped from Malfoy's hair onto his cheeks, running down his neck... For a moment there it took everything Harry had to stop himself from lunging towards him and... Enough, Harry scolded himself. Even if he was coming to the realization that boys were just as appealing as girls, if not more so, Malfoy was not and could never be an option. Ever. But even as he fell asleep, he could not stop the dreams from coming. A steamy shower, a pale hand under his own pressed against the glass, his other hand tangled in white blonde hair.

The next few days were rather uneventful. The unlikely pair had settled into a routine. Malfoy, who was more of a morning person, would always have a hot cup of coffee waiting on the table for Harry. They spent their days doing separate, mindless activities. Sitting in the living room, where Harry would normally stare into the fire while Malfoy read a book on the other side of the room. Malfoy would often slip out the back door and stand in the snow gazing into the trees, sometimes for hours. Harry kept up with the housework and did most of the cooking, and while it was slightly irritating, it was nothing new. He did most of the chores while at the Dursley's. Besides, he knew Malfoy had likely never picked up a dishrag before in his life. And of course, they bickered. They would snap at each other over many things, from taking too long in the bathroom to staring too long in the other's direction. Thankfully however, they managed to avoid any serious fights.

One overcast afternoon, while the boys were perched in their usual spots in the living room, a gentle whoosh sound alerted them that someone had apparated into the cabin. They both swivelled around, hands on their wands until they remembered that someone was meant to give them lessons that day. Professor McGonagall stepped into the room, a great stack of school books floating behind her.

"Gentlemen," she greeted them, looking stern as ever, "I see you've managed to refrain from ripping each other limb from limb."

"Professor," Harry said, "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but why isn't Professor Dumbledore here? I know he mentioned that you might come but I just..." He trailed off, not quite sure what he should say.

"Professor Dumbledore is a bit under the weather today, I'm afraid. Sorry to disappoint you, Potter, however I'm sure I am more than capable of teaching you a thing or two." McGonagall's voice was steely but her eyes were soft when she looked at Harry.

"What will we be going over today, Professor?" Malfoy asked, setting down his book.

"I'm afraid your lessons will be strictly theoretical, as you are both underage and still have traces on you. We can't risk alerting anyone of your whereabouts." McGonagall said, pursing her lips. "I will be giving you a brief lecture in Transfiguration and Charms, with demonstrations. You will then complete essays to be handed in when Professor Dumbledore or myself sees you next."

Harry groaned in disappointment. Great, he thought, no magic but plenty of essays. It felt like Umbridge all over again, minus the imminent threat of having his hands sliced up for speaking the truth.

"Enough moaning, Mr Potter. To the table, both of you." McGonagall snapped. And with that, they settled in for four hours of lecturing.

"Well that was a waste of time." Malfoy said with an eye roll as soon as Mcgonagall disapparated. He plucked a shiny green apple from the fruit bowl and sat on the counter. Harry watched intently as he took a bite and wiped the juice from his lips with the back of his hand. "Don't you think?" He asked.

"What? Oh, I mean, yeah. I don't retain information like that very well. I'm more of a hands on learner." Harry stated.

"Is that so?" Malfoy drawled, his mouth twitching up at the corners. "Good to know."
He bit into the apple once more and sent a wink Harry's way before leaving the kitchen, leaving Harry to realize the not so subtle meaning behind Malfoy's words.

Harry, with a sudden burst of bravery, sprinted up the stairs after him. He threw open Malfoy's bedroom door to see him sprawled across his bed facing the door, as if he was expecting Harry to barge in.

"Are you... flirting with me?" Harry asked breathlessly. His face immediately felt hot, his clothes suddenly felt scratchy and too tight. His stomach flip flopped with an angry horde of butterflies.

"Have you lost your mind, Potter?" Malfoy laughed, clearly enjoying Harry's distress. "Why would I, a Malfoy, ever be interested in the likes of you?"

"Well you- you've been, nice, for you I guess, and you say and do things that, well, I don't know. Send a certain message?" Harry felt his face grow even redder.

"Get out, Potter. I don't have time for this." Malfoy rolled onto his back, waving Harry away lazily. Harry huffed out a breath, annoyed because they did, as a matter of fact, have all the time in the world for that conversation.

He closed Malfoy's door, making sure it would be loud enough to startle the boy on the other side. Walking a few short steps to his bedroom, Harry muttered curse words under his breath. How stupid could I be, he wondered, not only thinking Malfoy was making advances but confronting him as well? He sat on the edge of his bed in the dark for what felt like ages. Eventually, he heard the door next to his creak open, gentle footsteps, and saw shadows in the light under the door. Harry waited a beat and started to stand up. As quickly as they came, the shadows vanished, and Malfoy's door shut yet again.

Harry wished desperately to talk to his best friends. He knew that in reality they would never accept these strange feelings he was having for Malfoy, but they were a source of comfort. They were among the few people in this world that Harry knew truly cared for him. His heart ached. He made a mental note to ask about having Hedwig brought to the cabin the next time he saw one of the Professors. Surely Ron and Hermione were worried about him? Surely they were asking questions, demanding to know where he was. Unless... unless it was just like the previous summer, and Harry was the only one without all of the information. Tears rolled down Harry's cheeks, and he grabbed a pillow, holding it tightly to his chest as he tried to fight off the waves of panic that threatened to drown him.