ALIVE
The next few days came and went. I served my detention alone, since Harry only earned one day with the Potions mishap. I don’t share any classes with the Gryffindors on Thursday or Friday, so there were no chances to test the waters. I’m still unsure about our relationship. No matter how much I tell myself to be realistic, I can’t help but hope that he wants to be friends. It’s odd- for the first time I can remember I’m optimistic, and not just in passing. The leaden dumbbell heart hasn’t come in to take its place yet, although I’m having a hard time trusting that this light, fluttery thing is truly mine.
Saturday is Halloween, and since it’s a weekend, that means day-long festivities. Despite my dislike of holidays in general, Halloween marks the beginning of the Quidditch season, so I’m glad for its arrival.
I am not glad for the Halloween party. Most of the day is free time, which I try to spend in the Slytherin common room, but the other Slytherins are being noisy, so I switch to my secluded window spot. I spend the day reading, switching between The History of Alchemy, Dracula, and American Gods, using breaks to practice my transfiguration. Not a single person bothered me, not even a ghost, for the entire day. This particular nook holds only one portrait, and its occupant spends its time elsewhere. I am having a perfectly charmed day until I check my watch and see that it’s almost 6 o’clock, which means I’ll have to attend the feast. I might as well, since I am getting pretty hungry, but I’m not looking forward to the crowd.
I arrive at 5:59, which means I am almost the last one to show up before Dumbledore’s speech. Blaise has saved a seat for me. Good lad. I sit down right as Dumbledore begins, and as I have no interest in listening to him ramble, I pull out my copy of The History of Alchemy and continue reading. It’s a good thing I didn’t listen, because Dumbledore’s speech lasted for nearly 20 minutes, the old fool. Finally, the food arrives, and he lets us go, which also means the Great Hall erupts in conversation, loud enough that I can barely hear Crabbe and Goyle over the din.
A few minutes into the meal, I look up and spot Harry a table down, looking right at me. His face flushes and he turns away, but when I check again a few minutes later, he’s still staring. That’s odd, I think, but give the subject no more thought. Any speculation would be wishful thinking.
I eat rather quickly, eager to get this over with and get back to my books. Technically, we’re not supposed to leave during feasts, but I have no intention of watching Crabbe stuff chocolate cake into his fat gob, so I have to get out of here before dessert happens.
I stand up and stride towards the exit, hoping not to gain too much attention.
“Hey, Malfoy,” a prefect says from behind me. No dice.
I turn to face him. “Yes?”
“Where are you going? You’re gonna miss the ghost’s show”
“Bathroom.” I state dryly.
“With your bag?”
Shit, I think, scrambling for an excuse. “I don’t trust anyone around my things unattended, especially fellow Slytherins”
He nods. “Understandable, just be back soon, alright?”
“Mmhm,” I say, knowing full well that I will not be back.
The walk to my nook was uneventful, but right as I rounded the last corner, I heard a voice behind me.
“Where are you going?” I almost jumped out of my socks. Instead, I whirl around and see Harry standing ten paces behind me, even though I’d checked behind me multiple times and hadn’t seen a soul.
“Jesus Christ, Potter, what the hell are you doing?”
“I wanted to see where you were going,” he states simply, as if that were a valid reason to follow someone.
“You could have asked!”
“Come on, Malfoy, there is no way you would have told me the truth”
I sigh. He’s right. Ah, what the hell.
“I was going to my window spot,” I say, as I turned and walked the rest of the way to my windowsill. “This place is supposed to be a secret.”
Harry nods.
I sit down on the ledge, and he looks at the seat next to me expectantly.
“You’re really gonna make me ask?”
“Yes,” I say, humor coloring my voice.
He sighs dramatically. “Can I sit?”
I wait a minute, as if considering how I would answer. “Sure, Chosen One,” I say with a smile. He rolls his eyes.
The windowsill is big enough for the two of us, but barely. His pinky finger almost touches mine, and his scuffed converse tap against the ground. He looks over at me from under his long, dark lashes, his green eyes playful. His shoulder bumps mine, as if to loosen me up. It almost succeeds. One more touch, and I’d crumble. He looks up at me again, a smile touching his lips, baby pink staining his cheeks. My cheeks rush with heat, no doubt turning a cherry red, and I turn my head away in embarrassment. He’s going to find out, says that voice in my head, but right now the dread is overrun by that bursting sensation in my chest. I glance back, and he’s still looking. I’m crackling with electricity, and if I move I’m afraid I’d start to shake. I break eye contact again, afraid he’ll hear my thoughts. His shoulder bumps mine again, softly this time, and I turn back to see his face inches from mine. Oh, god. His eyes lock onto mine, staring into me intensely, as if searching for something. Whatever he was searching for, I think he found it, because he moves even closer, his eyes flutter shut, and his lips brush against mine, soft as a whisper. I’m a statue, my head gone blank with surprise. For a moment, his lips press lightly against mine, but too soon he pulls away. A beat passes. He looks up at me, gauging my reaction. I am frozen still. His eyes widen.
“Sorry,” he says, stuttering a bit, “I didn’t mean to-”
I cut him off with a kiss, more forceful this time, my hand reaching up to grasp his hair. He returns the kiss, and his hands wind around my waist, grasping me tightly. My knee comes up between us to rest on the windowpane, leaving him room to move in closer, and thank my lucky stars he does. He seems almost as hungry as I am, tongue delving into my mouth as if searching for something, as if trying to consume me. His lips break from mine and make their way down to my neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. Despite myself, I let out a soft moan, wanting him to bite harder, and in answer, he does. He shifts his body, and then I can feel his dick pressed against my thigh, hard as a rock. I’m so hard it hurts. My back arches of its own accord, wanting to be closer to him, and his arms around my waist squeeze me tighter in response.
“Harry,” I moan, wishing we were somewhere else so we could keep going. “Harry, wait”
He pulls back, his gaze snapping to mine. Gently, I untangle myself, although I’d much rather stay touching him. I shift so I’m parallel to the window, my knees pulled to my chest, and he mirrors my pose.
He looks at me sheepishly. “Sorry”
“I’m the one who should be sorry”
His eyebrows knit together. “For what?”
“For, you know, um… that”
“Why would you need to be sorry for that,” he asks, humor dancing in his eyes.
“You’re not… mad?” I ask incredulously.
“Uh, no? Should I be?”
“Yes”
“Why?”
“It’s… It’s wrong to kiss another guy like that. It’s unnatural”
He shrugs. “I don’t think so”
“Well,” I say sharply, “even if it isn’t, it’s not very conducive to continuing the family line”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because I’m the only heir to the Malfoy line! If I don’t marry a pureblood and have children, the whole lineage will die with me!” Guilt threatens to choke me.
“Dude, chill, I don’t think one kiss is going to seal your fate”
“Yes, it is,” I reply, feeling tears threaten to spill, “because after that, I’ll never be able to suck it up and move on. I thought that maybe if I ignore it, maybe if I don’t let it ever happen, it’ll die and I’ll be able to make myself feel like that about girls, but now that I’ve let it out, it’s never going to go away. Because I’ve never felt anything close to that with Patsy or any other girl. And now that I’ve done it, I’ll never be able to forget how-”
“Hey, Malfoy,” Harry says, cutting me off.
“Yeah?” I ask, voice quivering. Weakling, weakling, weakling, I chant at myself.
“It’s alright. If you’re gay, you’re gay”
I glare at him, cursing him for not understanding.
“So you’re gay?” I ask.
“Oh, uh,” he says, looking down at his knees, “I don’t know”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” I ask, acid soaking my words.
“I mean I don’t know. I thought I was straight, but, you know,” he says, gesturing to me.
“So you just did all that, thinking you were straight?” I say, standing up.
“Well, obviously not anymore”
“You completely ruined my life, but it’s fine because you’re still straight”
“Ruined your life?” he repeats incredulously.
“You’ve been toying with me since the day we met, Potter,” I say, practically spitting out his name, “and now you pull this so I’ll never be able to move on!”
“What do you mean? I just kissed you!”
“Just kissed me? You didn’t just kiss me, Potter, you found my only weakness, you, and exploited it! You pushed yourself onto me so that I’d never, ever, be able to live a normal life without this! Now, even when you die to the Dark Lord, I’ll never be able to move on! Don’t you see that?”
Harry’s face is closed off, looking at me like he used to, like I’m vermin.
“No, Malfoy, I don’t,” he says coldly. He pushes past me harshly, and I grab his wrist, desperate for him to stay.
“Wait”
“You know, Malfoy, I thought maybe you’d be able to change, to be a better person. I guess you’ll always be a bitter asshole, just like your father,” he spits, then breaks from my grip, which had grown weak with grief. I almost fall to my knees, pulled down by the dumbbell heart’s swift return, only now it’s grown heavier than it’s ever been. I watch him go, hoping maybe he’ll come back and forgive me. Then I watch the hallway where he used to be, waiting for him to return.
He never does.