Title: Knowing What It's Like
Author: Silairn )
Rating: PG.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Sometimes, there are strange winters at Hogwarts.
Sometimes, the enchanted ceiling seems to rain, even on the coldest days.
Sometimes, Draco Malfoy takes large risks and rests his eyes on Harry Potter.
---
The weather is obstinately cold and crude even as the students eat plum treacle and chocolate-covered strawberries for dessert. Their jaws tense whenever a harsh rumble sounds overhead, or lightning strikes, brightening their pale hands and the paler green veins embedded in their flesh. Doors creak simultaneously somewhere in the castle, and the younger children grip the silverware and chew faster.
A half-frozen wind whips and slams furniture around even indoors, save the Common Rooms that the portraits protect with motherly certainty. Rain pounds away at the castle walls with a bizarre eccentricity, and there is a cold mist that lurks and gnaws at susceptible wool coats.
Above the din of the storm, Harry feels a hot gaze pierce through the winter time improbability, and he recognizes with some precision the sleek familiarity of the stare as it moulds itself to his features.
Malfoy, Harry thinks, and darts his eyes up cautiously as Hermione has a dialogue about Muggle affairs with the fog.
He�s spooning plum treacle into his mouth and trailing his tongue up and down the enchanted metal cutlery, cleaning off the purple-pink stickiness like a pleased cat. His tongue is similarly pink and darting up and around, and Harry is hardly sure he wants to witness Malfoy eating the rest of dessert.
He does though, despite his better judgement.
Occasionally through the meal, Harry raises his eyes to meet slate grey ones, and feels the intent look grow colder with colour, mixing and bleeding in with the warmth he feels inside. With the changing temperatures, Harry feels different messages, and this one tells him,
I�ll see you later.
�Harry?� Hermione says in a concerned way, and Harry sees rather than feels her hand at his sleeve. She�s half-whispering and nervous, and the hesitation in her eyes is vague.
As usual, Ron isn�t speaking to him, and is poking viciously at his dessert, swirling crumbled dinner leftovers around his plate. When he hears Hermione�s voice and sees the look in Harry�s eyes, he drops his fork with a clatter and watches it tremble on the glazed porcelain dish, before looking up quickly.
�Sorry,� Ron says lowly and his face flushes suddenly, making him look like a flustered tomato.
Harry feels a twinge in his heart. He knows how Ron hates the way he�s obsessed with Malfoy, even the vain, Mudblood-hating, Weasley-despising ways that seemed rooted in his flesh. He also knows how Ron is confused about Hermione and wondering why she seems so pretty all of a sudden. Then Harry decides, after a moment or two, that Ron is too screwed up to really make a decision, and that he�s sick of the two of them dancing around each other while he�s off shagging Malfoy in between classes.
And he thinks, Malfoy, once more, with a slight grin, and Ron drops his fork again.
---
Harry meets Malfoy in a corridor at half-past three, just when it threatens to be dark and chilly again. He can barely see the elegant tug of Malfoy�s leg as he gets up from his leaning position against the wall, but his heart flutters when a petulant frown is hastily sneaked in his direction and Malfoy tells him that he�s been waiting far too long, Potter, hurry up next time.
Harry thinks that he smiles as he pauses, but then again Harry can never be sure, because the next thing he knows, Malfoy�s left thigh slams between his legs and his mouth is on his, and they�re playing warriors with their tongues.
Harry can�t remember things very clearly when they�re alone. He only notices the tiny details in between, like how Malfoy�s hands tremble as they undo his trousers, and how his lips part in a rare whimper whenever Harry creates little zigzag patterns on milk white skin with his teeth. Most of the time, he can only remember being cramped up against the wall for as long as they can afford, before they tear themselves away from each other and shrug their robes back on, dashing off in time for Potions or Transfiguration or compulsory minutes to catch their breath.
This time, Harry listens on to catch Malfoy saying, �Tomorrow,� in a small, fierce breath before watching him leave in a flurry of robes and pink cheeks.
Malfoy always leaves first, but it�s all right with him, he thinks.
The next morning Harry always receives a hand-written note in a fancy, girlish script, telling him the time and place to meet again. It�s always non-descript and hazy, �fourth floor corridor� or �classroom by the stairs�, but Harry always knows where it is, somehow.
It�s never the Astronomy Tower, though. Malfoy hates the Astronomy Tower, and would rather get frostbite humping Harry on a dungeon floor than in a place where everyone goes.
Malfoy the Maverick, Harry thinks, and snickers in an affectionate Gryffindor way, even though he knows that Malfoy isn�t picky about being commonplace (dungeon floors were common all around, after all) � he just doesn�t want people to know.
After the letter, they play that little game where they stare at each other while not staring, which always ends with Ron�s dropping fork. Most of the time, Harry grabs at his self-control and stops himself from wishing aloud, �If only you weren�t so clumsy, Ron!� because he knows what would happen if he did.
Thinking of it, he shivers a little, wraps his scarf a little tighter round his neck and waits for his circulation to cut off slightly. When he�s dizzy, he thinks better.
---
Harry is not sure how long this will last. He counts up to three weeks before leaving it as that. Hermione often says in wonder �It�s been two months, Harry� with an exclamation point at the end, but he refuses to believe it, even when Hermione tries to prove it all to him with the markings on her calendar. She marks their initials on the corner amidst reminders for Arithmancy extra-lessons, perfectly sided by a tiny moving symbol that marks out the weather. Harry also notices that it has been two months since the rainy winter has started, and quickly shoves that observation down the heel of his mind. Then he moodily tells Hermione that she doesn�t understand, even as he worries a little inside.
With Malfoy, it seems timeless.
They steal moments from air and try to make it perfect.
They twist minutes into little package boxes and store them away for later.
They wrap themselves in each other, and squeeze eternity into a fraction of a second.
Harry knows all that, and still he fears, because to watch Malfoy and himself is like peering at a contorting mirror at a Muggle funfair, and he knows that what seems so oddly perfect can turn into something as normal and boring as toenail clippings on the bathroom floor.
---
When he next meets Malfoy, Harry is nervous for the First or Second Time, and when Malfoy slams him against a wall, he plants a hand on Malfoy�s chest and says firmly �Wait.�
There is a flickering in Malfoy�s eyes, which can be read as amusement, dread or anything in between. He raises his eyebrow as a signal for Harry to continue, but his right hand remains clenched in a vice-like grip around Harry�s wrist.
Harry decides that the emotion in his eyes is dread, after all, and feels a little more confident.
�I need to know,� he begins, and wishes he was writing a letter instead, so he can tear it up and start over, �how long this is going to last. Because, it�s not going to last forever.�
�Nothing lasts forever, Potter,� Malfoy drawls slightly, and tilts his head to one side. �It�s not like we�re bloody in love.�
Harry feels something jerk in Malfoy�s eyes as he says so, and doesn�t even need to ask if Malfoy is lying. He plunges on, �But you know. I just thought we could talk sometime, about how things are.�
Malfoy stares at him in a way that whispers �You�re just so thick sometimes, Potter.� There�s that hot gaze again that drills into him and Harry can feel himself shivering as his blood pumps through his veins and the hold around his wrist tightens.
When Malfoy jerks him forward and delves his tongue into his mouth, Harry doesn�t feel surprised, only kisses back and tries to memorize the feel of Malfoy�s tongue against his, and how his senses react when Malfoy grazes his teeth against his lips. He thinks he may need it to store on his shelf of memories, to take out when he�s older and regret for asking such silly questions at such silly times.
That night, it storms and rains harder than it has ever rained before, and Draco Malfoy pulls Harry into his lap and kisses him gently on the lips.
�Draco,� Harry murmurs, and watches him.
Malfoy is still the first to leave.
---
The next day, it�s bright and sunny. Dumbledore calls it �spring�, and the house elves serve up some strange dessert with a happy face painted on with raisins for eyes and magic pink icing. Harry stabs at it with a fork and gets up, and Hermione whispers quietly that it�s because he doesn�t receive any letters in fancy and girlish script.
Harry sweeps out in a flurry of robes and pink cheeks, pretending to have a secret that nobody knows about, and doesn�t hear as Ron�s fork clatters to the floor.
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