h/d fic, fic, fic!

[nursedarry]

Title: Revelations
Rating: R, Romance
Spoilers: None- 6th year (AUish)
Word Count: 5.2K
A/N: Told from both boys' POVs. Hope it's not too hard to understand with all the shifting perspectives- this started out as a series of drabbles.
Disclaimer: Dammit, but they're not mine. They belong to JKR and WB and are also old enough to be doing what they're doing.
Thanks: to delphipsmith for the betas and to bryoneybrynn and abusing_sarcasm for their fabulous and inspirational stories which were the push I needed toward the keyboard.



Coffee-Harry:
~*~

Coffee. That's what he smells like whenever we're in this class.

I've always liked the smell of coffee. We never had it in the house. Maybe that's why I like it. Too modern for my aunt and uncle, although they keep an old jar of it in the back of a cupboard for any guests that don't want tea.

Sophistication? Feeling grown up? Was that it? Whatever the reason, I love the smell. I remember telling that to Hermione in Hogsmeade one Saturday afternoon.

He must drink it at breakfast.

That's an odd thing, though, since coffee's mainly a Muggle drink. Maybe he thinks no one will recognise it 'cause after all, when does he ever go near anyone who's that familiar with Muggle customs?

Maybe he just doesn't care.

I inhale a little more deeply and lean closer, feigning interest in the bubbling potion.

Doesn't he know that I'd recognise it?

Maybe he doesn't care about that, either.



Tingly-Harry:
~*~

"Harry! Come quick!" I'm pulled out of the Hall and down the corridor by a Hufflepuff boy I do not recognise.

"What is it?" I ask. I am fairly being dragged along. I spare a thought for my book bag, abandoned in the Hall. Hopefully Ron will notice it.

We reach the boys' toilets where I'm thrust at the door. There's a small crowd around it. "Er…what-?"

"Justin's in there. With a snake."

"A sna-?" I try to ask.

"It's under a sink," says the Hufflepuff boy, as if that were explanation enough.

"Why doesn't he just transfi-" I begin.

"It won't change!" someone cries.

"No spell is working," says a third voice.

"What do you want me-?" I've yet to finish a sentence.

"Talk to it!"

"Tell it to leave! You know how much Justin hates snakes!" The crowd has grown; any crisis on a school day is a sure-fire distraction, even from lunch.

I feel for my wand. I'm not happy about this, but no one else seems to want to help. A teacher has yet to appear.

I push the door open. Behind me, faces peer in as far as they can. Several people follow a few steps but go no further. I don't think they're there to cover my back.

A large black snake coils loosely around a sink by the near wall. Its head is bobbing, its eyes alert.

Justin, pale, wand clutched in his hand, stands in the stall opposite. He would have to walk past the sink to reach the door and it seems his legs just won't carry him that far.

I point my wand. "Petrificus totalis!"

The spell has more effect on Justin. The snake continues to bob its head. Murmurs from behind me. A scoff. A harsh "Shhhhh!"

I lower my wand and look at Finch-Fletchley. "You okay?"

His expression doesn't change but his eyes flicker to mine. "Get rid of it," he says.

I look towards the snake. "What do you want?" The snake turns to look at me with its yellow eyes but just shakes its head silently.

I hear Justin gasp. I look back at him. "What?"

"What did you say to it?" He looks greyer now than he did when I first came in.

I forget that I don't hear what others do when I speak Parseltongue. "Justin, calm down; I know you're frightened but I don't want to take the time to translate everything. Just let me do this."

He gives me a jerky nod.

I turn back to the snake and try again. "Go away. You're scaring him." The snake continues to regard me. Then it slowly begins to uncoil itself. Justin takes a step back. I hear the collective shifting of bodies behind me.

"Please," I try. "You're scaring them all." I glance briefly back at the faces outside the toilet door. There are many more now, but I see only Professor Sprout, who has pushed her way to the front.

Very slowly at first, the snake slips along the floor toward me, by me, over my left trainer and then faster, out of the door. I don't see where it goes.

Professor Sprout pushes by me to collect Justin and escort him out of the toilet. "Thanks, Harry," he murmurs as he passes.

I follow them out. Ron is outside, not too close, waiting for me. "What was THAT all about?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I asked what it wanted, but it didn't answer."

"Did you ask how it got in there?"

"No." Ron has a point. That might have been useful to know. I look around at the dissipating crowd. One person is conspicuous in his absence; it's not like him not to be at the centre of things. And just like him to orchestrate something like this. "Where's Malfoy?"

"He was here," says Ron. "He was right here, just by the door." Ron and I look back down the corridor where the rest of the students are returning to their lunch or heading to their next class. Neither one of us sees him.

Why would he leave so quickly? He would want to revel in Justin's panic. He would want to tease me about being a "freak".

Ron and I make our way towards Transfiguration class.

As we sit down, Luna leans over from the next desk and whispers. "That was something, Harry. It made me all tingly."

What an odd thing to say.

But this is Luna, after all.



Flight Club-Draco:
~*~

"I am a fucking idiot." I'm talking to myself and flying randomly around the pitch late at night when no one will see me or care- the benefits of being a Prefect. "What possessed me to pull that stunt with the snake in the boy's toilet?" I ask myself.

You enjoyed it. Another part of me answers.

"No, I didn't," I tell it back. "I couldn't even see into the room properly to see Justin's face. All I could see was Potter's back."

You weren't there to see Justin's face.

"Huh? So what was I there for?"

You're right. You are an idiot.

"Look," I tell myself. "If I wanted abuse, I could talk to my parents."

You enjoyed every part of it: the process, the organising- all for those moments, those precious seconds for which you spent weeks of planning.

"Ha!" I snorted. "All that planning and yet I still couldn't get far enough into the room for the pay-off."

You got what you wanted.

"Oh? And what would that be?"

We're back to idiot territory now.

What can I say to that?

What's next?

"What do you mean, 'what's next'?"

Coffee? Snakes? What else is on the Potter agenda?

With that thought I nearly crash into the stands; I'm not paying enough attention to my flying. "Potter?! You think this is all about Potter?!"

What I'm thinking now begins with an "i" and ends with a "t".

"Shut up. I happen to like coffee."

You keep telling yourself that.

"And snakes? I just wanted to play a prank, wind someone up."

And it worked. You were pretty wound up after listening to Potter speak Parseltongue.

"I didn't know that was going to happen."

Liar! You counted on it! You were hoping for that from the beginning! Because you get off-

"You can shut the fuck up right now!" I stop midair and hover, shaking my head furiously in denial, willing that inner voice to die on the wind around me.

You DID get off on it, remember?

I lapse into absurdity. "I'm not taking responsibility for anything I might have done following the snake incident."

'Might have done?' You've never come so hard in your life.

"Oh hell." And just like that, poised in the dark sky, I almost stop lying to myself. For weeks now, my brain has been shut down and my motivation for anything has been directed by a completely different part of my body.

Finally! You've sussed it.

"Well, I'm sixteen. I'm supposed to be led around by my cock. And if that means I wake up tomorrow and invent a devious plan to sneak into the girls' changing rooms, I won't be too surprised."

We're back to idiot again.



Green-Harry:
~*~

I dread Potions. Even if the Gryffindors had the class with Hufflepuffs and Sirius were teaching it, I think I'd still dread it. I'm just no good at it. I'm not the worst student in the class, but I'm still rubbish. Hermione says I don't have a flair for potions. On top of that, my friends and I get bullied for the entire lesson. That's because we don't have the class with Hufflepuffs and Sirius isn't teaching it.

I think Neville and I are responsible for losing Gryffindor more points in this class than any other students in the House. Then again, I also redeem myself by scoring points for the House whenever I play Quidditch.

I wish I were playing Quidditch right now. Instead I'm chopping up ginger root for this blasted potion which has no hope of working. Like in most every activity in my life it seems, I have an audience. Snape is never far from view and that git Malfoy keeps glancing up at me from the table just beyond mine. Why does he keep looking over? Has he jinxed my cauldron? Has he hexed the ingredients? He needn't have bothered- the whole thing is going to go wrong anyway. Soon I'll be hearing how many points I've managed to lose Gryffindor this time.

God, the potion already smells bad and I've only put in three things. Ron, standing next to me, doesn't seem any happier. This is supposed to be a remedy for the common cold, but I'm sceptical. I've always been told there is no such thing. Its ingredients are innocuous enough that Snape trusts us with them, but I have my doubts. I don't think anything is that innocuous as far as Neville is concerned. He's blown up almost as many cauldrons as I've lost points for Gryffindor.

As if on cue, there is shout and a loud "pop" nearby. I look over to see Neville holding up the metal spoon with which he had been stirring his potion. Or it would have been a spoon had the bowl of it still been attached. Snape angrily glides over to Neville and the patronising stream of abuse begins.

I try to ignore it. Poor Neville doesn't need everyone in the class staring at him and no doubt it'll be me next. I hesitantly add my chopped ginger and start stirring anti-clockwise as instructed, looking down at the thin roiling liquid.

Suddenly a small cloud of steam rises from the cauldron and into my face. I choke on the gingery fumes and wave my hand around in order to clear them. Soon I'm breathing more easily and I wonder with that impending sense of dread what's happened this time.

Something on my face is starting to hurt. I tentatively reach up. There's a burning sensation coming from my eyes. No, it isn't my eyes; it's on my cheeks and along my eyebrows. It's my glasses. They're hot. And getting hotter. I yank them off and they clatter to the table next to my bubbling cauldron. I rub the skin of my cheeks. It feels okay now, no longer hot. My eyes are dry and I blink several times, gazing around short-sightedly.

Everyone's still looking over at Neville as Snape continues to cast aspersions upon his parentage, House, and his complete lack of ability to finish a single assignment.

That is, everyone's still looking apart from Malfoy. Although his features are blurry, I can see the blond head is facing this way.

He's staring at me.

I reach down for my glasses. They are cool now and I cautiously replace them on my face. I look back at the Slytherin, but he has turned away and is watching Snape stalk over to Dean.

I look down at my cauldron wondering what terrible thing will happen next. But nothing does. I finish the potion. Snape inspects it in silence, then ignores me completely. I consider this to be a good result. I leave the class happier than I ever have before.



Taking the Blame-Draco:
~*~

More flying in the dark, recklessly and sullenly. I feel…what is it? Like I'm thirsty but drowning at the same time. It's a desperate feeling and I'm sick, sick, sick of it. I don't understand this obsession. I thought I did. I thought I had the perfect personality and pedigree to wage my own little war against the Boy Who Lived. I've been at this battle now for five fucking years and it's getting tiring.

When did it turn for me? When did everything I could think of to hurt him become a plan that made Potter less of an enemy and more like the object of an unrequited teenage fancy?

Not that I'd know what that felt like. I certainly wasn't this obsessed with anyone I had ever considered wank-worthy material - Parkinson, Brown, Zabini, Snape and - god, once - even that Mudblood Granger the night after the Yule Ball. (Although it might have been her date that took me over the edge that time.)

My train of thought is derailed at this point.

"Malfoy!" Potter shouts at me from below.

God, he's here! Why? Can I ignore him? Do I want to?

"Get down here!"

I continue to fly lazy circles above him just to see what he'll do. And what I will.

"Malfoy! Come here! Now!"

Merlin, he's mad. What could I have done to make him this cross? Okay, I'm sure he suspects something because I know he saw me looking at him in Potions- damn, I didn't think he could see that well without his glasses. And gods, didn't he look goo-

No, I'm not going there.

"MALFOY! YOU'VE GOT MY BROOM!"

What? I've got his what?

*

Harry pounces the instant I land. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" He's in my face, hands clenched, wand evidently forgotten (an unsatisfactory substitute for a fist, anyway).

I stand there dumbly looking at him, my chest rising and falling quickly. I honestly can't answer. What the fuck was I doing? How did I manage to walk into the wrong part of the equipment shed and then out with Potter's broom and not notice?

I can only stand there staring at him and wondering at my own actions. He takes action himself; he punches me in the jaw.

I hear a loud crack and see stars. It hurts like hell, but it also looks like he's hurt his hand. This shakes me out of the stupor I'd been in since coming out to the pitch. I jump forward and punch him in the stomach.

He makes an "oooph" sound and doubles over. I lunge at him, he grabs me and we scuffle about trying to kick the shit out of each other, though neither of us gets our feet close enough to the other to do any real damage.

Potter finds some purchase with his legs and grabs at me again, this time getting a better hold. "Answer me, you stupid git!" he shouts. By now I've forgotten the question.

He moves forward, hands on my shoulders and backs me up against the shed. Once pinned there, all I can think about is stupidly reaching up, pulling off his glasses and…and…and doing what?

He gives me a sharp shove against the wall and I grab his hips to hold him still. "I- I don't know!"

His eyes narrow suspiciously and he moves even further into my personal space. "Wrong answer, Malfoy. I know you're up to something. What are you after?"

I stare at him. I can't do this anymore. I'm bruised, I'm tired and I'm horny. And then it all just tumbles out. "You, all right?! It's always been you! You're all I ever think about - your eyes, how good you sound when you speak Parseltongue, wondering what you look like under that ro-" I can hear myself saying it, but I can't believe I am. I snap my mouth shut, stopping myself before revealing any more pathetic and embarrassing secrets. "Fuck. This is all your fucking fault, Potter," I finish.

This time it's me who bangs my head back against the shed and I close my eyes, mortified at my admission but too weary to keep running away. I brace myself for a hex, a punch, a growl of disgust. None are forthcoming and what I get startles me.

I feel his weight shift as Potter leans even closer and whispers in my ear "How is any of that my fault, Malfoy?" And then he lowers his head onto my shoulder, seemingly as exhausted as I am. He's the one who, if school gossip is to be believed, regularly faces danger to life and limb. I suddenly get the feeling I've just been an annoyance to him rather than a real threat. After everything he's had to deal with in the past five years, I suppose I can't blame him for feeling tired of it all.

But, I just have blamed him. Stupid of you, Malfoy, I think to myself - for once this isn't all about you.

As awkward as I feel, I am determined to finish my declaration, even if I can't say it with words. I lower my head to rest against his and sigh into his hair. I'm not sure how he will interpret this gesture, but with my previous, if somewhat disjointed admission of lustful thoughts, I can't imagine how he could mistake my intent. Just to ensure he doesn't, my hands leave his hips and trail gently up and down his back. I hope he can't tell how much they're shaking.

His body stiffens, his hands tighten on my shoulders and his breathing quickens against my neck.

What the bloody fucking hell am I doing? I've inadvertently taken a joy ride on Potter's broom, I've admitted to being obsessed with his eyes, his tongue, and his arse, and now I'm molesting him. Even if he never opens his mouth to Weasley - or, god forbid, the Mudblood- I'll be too embarrassed to face him for months.

I'm so busy imagining gruesome classroom scenarios that I haven't noticed something wet pressing against my neck. Now it's my turn to stiffen. Either Potter's sweaty fringe is dripping on my collar or...he's kissing me.

"P-Potter?" I start, trying not to sound as desperate as I feel.

"Mlfffy?" he mouths against my skin and I get goosebumps.

Without thinking, I turn my head to look at him - I need to see him for this to be real. It's a mistake. As soon as I move he lifts his head to look up at me, taking his mouth with him.

"Shit," I whisper and press my lips against his. It's an awkward kiss. I've kissed a few girls and I know he has had at least a little experience (again, the school gossip), but I've never kissed a bloke. And until now, I've never kissed anyone I couldn't just walk away from.

After only a few seconds, we break apart, both looking away and speaking at the same time.

"I'm sorry-"

"I don't know why-"

Then, even more embarrassed, we stop talking and just stare at each other.

Finally, Potter finds his voice. "That was shit." Something in my chest lurches painfully off to one side. I can think of no suitable response. "Should we - uh - try it again?" he asks. The thing in my chest lurches back the other way.

Almost shyly, and much more gently, we do try it again. This time I attempt to put some thought into technique. But I get sidetracked wondering at how soft his lips are and how good he tastes and how much I just want to climb into his mouth.

Standing with our bodies pressed together like this, he must feel what effect kissing him has had on me. (Who am I kidding - I've been hard since we started fighting.) I slide my thigh between his legs.

Potter's eyes squeeze shut and he groans into my mouth. I dive in, tongue-first as his mouth fastens on mine. His kisses lack refinement, but they are earnest and genuine and oh, so wonderful. My arms tighten around his waist, pulling those most sensitive of parts of us closer together.

I can only assume his feelings toward me have changed. But why? Could he have detected this shift in me even when I couldn't? Does he even think about me? Would Harry Potter, Harry Potter the Gryffindor, really let himself be drawn into this just because he's sixteen and would fuck anyone who gives him the chance? There are more appropriate people for Potter to be drawn to, to be loved by.

And that thought makes me furious. I have invested so much of myself in the pursuit of Potter, it would be unfair for another to blithely make the capture and enjoy the spoils. I've certainly not thought to lose myself to anyone I feel undeserving of my attention.

But how is Harry Potter more deserving than a loyal Slytherin? How is it that Potter has earned this obsession and my affection? And then I realise it has come to him as everything does - by doing nothing other than just being himself. Being Harry Potter. He never works toward anything he gets. He just is. And that's enough.

I no longer recognise myself. I thought I knew who I was. I thought I knew what I wanted: admiration, respect, power. Now I want this. Now all I want is this - this boy in my arms. I can't think beyond that. I can't even think beyond this kiss. What should follow it? Do we break apart and pretend this hasn't happened? Or do we…?

Suddenly my head clears and I let go of him.



Revelations-Harry:
~*~

"Malfoy - oh, god- Malfoy, I'm close!"

I can't hold on much longer. I want so badly to come, but I want to feel that warm mouth on me forever. I don't think he's heard me. I pull at his hair, probably hurting him, but my desire and ability to be gentle is forgotten as release begins uncoiling in me. My body shudders and then becomes rigid although Malfoy continues holding me down. The slippery motions of his tongue along my cock lose pace but don't stop as I pour myself into him.

Then, as my breathing slows, he releases me from his mouth to press soft kisses along the tops of my thighs. His hands relax their fierce grip and squeeze my hips and bum languidly.

Now I'm able to gently run my fingers through his silky hair. "God, that was…" I start.

I don't know what to say, how to express everything I'm feeling. I'm tired and sated. But beyond all the physical sensation is a feeling of confident contentment. It feels like doing something unknown for the first time with ease. I can't liken it to casting a Patronus, although this was just as intense. A Patronus takes strength of will that this experience didn't. This was more like flying a broom for the first time. This was new yet familiar and above all, pleasurable.

"Incredible?" Malfoy says then kisses my belly-button. "Unprecedented?" He crawls upwards and sprinkles kisses on my chest. "Fucking fantastic?" He kisses my chin, my nose, my mouth.

When he's finished and I'm left with the taste of myself on my lips, I answer. "Yes, to all of them."

He smiles then lies down next to me and we wrap our arms around each other. I can't believe just hours ago I had been in Potions with the vague sense that Malfoy had been up to something. But instead of ending badly, the class had gone better than I ever remember it having done before.

I feel his hard cock twitch against my softening one. He gasps as I reach down between us to stroke him.

"Harry, dear!" A familiar female voice suddenly calls out. I know the voice, but I can't quite place it.

Malfoy ignores it and whispers into my ear. "Potter, I want to fu-"

"Harry! Look what I have for you and Draco! Molly's made ginger cake!" The voice is closer now, calling through the door.

What? Who would know we're in here together? It sounds like Aunt Petunia, except she's never used such a cheery tone with me before. Why would I be in the Dursley's house with Draco Malfoy? And why would Mrs Weasley be over for tea? I look around, seemingly for the first time. It's my room in Privet Drive, and I swear I can see Malfoy in my arms.

Again, he whispers. "Harry…please?"

No. That can't be right. Malfoy would never say either of those words. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head.

When I open my eyes I see a familiar red canopy. It's dark in the dorm; soft sounds of sleeping fill the room. I shift slowly under the covers and discover I'm sweaty. Sweaty and sticky.

*

Now a week later, I think I may be dreaming again. Surely this can't be real. I'm pressing Malfoy up against the Quidditch shed and he's telling me these crazy things and blaming me for all of it and shit - he's holding me and stroking my back and it feels so fucking good. My gut hurts where he punched me, but I'm quickly forgetting it. All I want to do is press myself closer to him. I kiss him on the neck and he flinches. Wrong thing to do, I guess. Maybe he doesn't mean any of what he's just said. It wouldn't be the first time.

He pulls away from me. I knew I shouldn't ha-

A kiss! Not a great one, but still! He fucking kissed me!

I think we can do better. In fact, I'm sure of it.

God, that feels good. It's different from the dream, but it's still good. He pulls another part of me closer, pushing his leg between mine. I'm going to come straightaway if he moves against me again.

What? No!

"Malfoy," I say, my voice sounding husky. "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" He sounds almost hysterical. "What are you doing? How come you're still here? How come you haven't punched me in the jaw again? Or are you just using this opportunity to gain a little more experience for your next goody-goody girlfriend?" He crosses his arms across his chest, putting up a barrier.

But I'm not fooled.

He carries on, regardless. "This isn't me, Potter. This can't be me; I'm more than this. I refuse to let this be who I am!"

God, not the histrionics again. "Who are you trying to convince, Malfoy? You can lie to yourself and your friends but not me. What the hell was all of that just now?"

"I don't want you, Potter!"

"You have a funny way of showing it," I say, roughly wiping my sleeve across my mouth to prove my point and pushing up against him more firmly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, turning his head, refusing to look at me.

"Can you please just stop the charade?" I throw my hands in the air, narrowly missing his face. "Are you looking for clarity? Welcome to my world, Malfoy!"

He turns his head back toward me, uncrosses his arms, but says nothing.

I carry on, my rant partly fuelled by sexual frustration and partly by five year's worth of Malfoy-induced irritation. "From the first day I got here I've had you in my face for one reason or another. I know you better than anyone at this school, Malfoy. I've made it my business; I've had to. Do you think that I can't see what you're up to?"

He narrows his eyes but doesn't speak, daring me to expose his antics.

"You said you liked my eyes. You were looking at me when I took my glasses off in Potions. Everyone else was looking at Neville, but not you!"

"That's a lie!" Malfoy spits. "Why would I do that?"

I ignore him. "I know you put that snake in the boys' toilets. I wasn't sure why until tonight, though."

"That wasn't-" he tries to say.

"Malfoy, you just told me you thought I sounded good when I spoke Parseltongue." I grab his shoulders, pull him to me and press my mouth to his ear, willing myself to use the sibilant language. "Were you lying?"

His whole body stiffens.

I pull back and look at him, sighing. "Do you think it's just you?

He glares at me suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know when this happened to me, but it's been ages. It was gradual, the fixation - the obsession, the need to know you were still there, still the same old Malfoy - smart and cruel and beautiful."

I can feel my cheeks burning, but I plough on.

"What I'm trying to say is that I feel the same. I'm not me without you. I need you. I need you to keep reminding me why it is I get up every morning knowing that I'll be asked to play the hero again and again. It's what everyone expects of me and I hate it. But it's who I am. And you're part of it, part of me."

My hands move down his arms and I rest my head on his shoulder once more, and he lets me. God, he smells good. "I don't know about you, Malfoy, but all the stalking and fighting isn't enough anymore. I want…more of you. I want all of you."

I lift my head to see if my words have any effect on him. He just gapes at me through the white-blond hair that's fallen over his face. I know what I've said sounds crazy. But it's the way I feel even if I've expressed it in my usual haphazard fashion. "You decide, Malfoy. We can keep fighting or we can start….something else. Or both. I know which I'd rather do."

There's a long silence and I feel his stance softening. His hands find my back again. "You've felt this way and never said anything?" His voice breaks. He clears his throat roughly.

"I think we've established that, Malfoy," I reply into his neck.

"Do you know how much aggravation you could have saved me if I'd only known that?" He doesn't sound as amused as I think he should.

"It's not my fault I never said anything earlier," I argue back. "I figured you'd hex me into next week if I had. But I knew something was different, I just didn't know why."

I lift my head to look at him just as he moves a hand from my back toward my face. He accidentally whacks me on the nose.

"Ow!" I say, bringing a hand to my face.

He laughs self-consciously. "Sorry."

"What?" I can't believe what I've just heard. That was almost as astonishing as his earlier confession. "What was that, Malfoy? I don't think I heard you properly." I smile at him and pull him closer, as close as I can.

"Don't push your luck, Potter," he says almost angrily. "I was trying to do this." He reaches up and takes my glasses off my face.

I'm still waiting to wake up.

~The End~