in his voice. He lay backwards across one of the many benches in the library, pretending
to be staring up at the ceiling, which currently held a projection of all of the rooms rules.
It was supposed to shift, the rumor was, varying between different works of poetry,
interesting spells, a reference sheet, whatever was reflected from the emotions of the
people in the room... but their current librarian was so strict it always seemed to be a
frozen reminder of when they were doing something wrong. In all actuality he was
looking fully with his peripheral vision at the time, watching with something very near
admiration as Draco paced around the library, casually stepping around benches and
shelves as he went.
Harry knew the risk had been insane, completely over the top, of bringing Draco here.
Revealing his invisibility cloak to him, using the stolen password to get in the Slytherin
common, and dodging Filch and his cat all the way here. But he’d had to do something,
he was going to explode if he didn’t. At school, whenever Ron and Hermione weren’t
with him- an utterly rare occurrence in itself- Crabbe and Goyle were flanking the silver
blonde boy like his personal butlers. And the summer... that was a joke. Uncle Vernon
would probably pop every blood vessel in his brain if Harry ever asked to have somebody
from Hogwarts stay at his school over night, and Harry doubted he would live more than
five minutes in Malfoy Manor.
“Why not?” Draco asked calmly, the laugh in his voice betraying the fact that he knew
exactly why not. George and Fred had tipped Harry onto the fact that almost all of the
items in the library, benches excluded, had been charmed so that they sent an alarm
immediately to the librarian if they were ever touched, and Harry had passed that
message along quite frequently to Draco on the way their. He almost cringed clean out of
his robes as Draco took a gentle leap overtop a stool, balanced on his heels, and spun
easily between two shelves that couldn’t have been more than two feet apart from each
other. He stopped upon asking the question, and looked back with a smile.
Harry sighed. This was a mistake. Having some time alone with Draco was not worth
being expelled, especially considering they had never actually spoken a word to each
other about, well, the two of them. Quick hand holds and some amazingly suggestive
glances were all they’d managed to pull off ever since Draco had pulled him aside in the
hall ten minutes before a Quidditch game. Harry had won that game, but barely, as he
kept having to pull up the collar of his robe in a vain attempt to hide the darkening mark
he knew had been lain right across his jugular. And under his one ear.
For a moment he closed his eyes, wondering what the hell he had been thinking. When he
opened them, Draco was no where to be found. He paused, leaning sideways on the
bench to try to look around the two shelves Draco had just passed. “Draco?” he asked as
loudly as he felt comfortable doing, which wasn’t very loud at all. No answer.
Tentavilely he rose to his feet, walking forward, attempting to glance in every direction at
once. “Come on,” he said, growing angry, “I don’t think this is funny.”
In a flash he felt a quick breath in his ear, a light and cool burst of air, obviously
deliberate. He spun around quickly, expecting to see Draco there, arms crossed and
smiling in self satisfaction. Instead there was only open air, and Harry actually resigned
himself to looking straight up, as if Draco had gained the ability to fly somehow.
Then it happened again, in his other ear this time, and he spun again. Still nothing.
Suddenly his eyes darted to the arm of one of the benches, looking for the familiar
shimmery material to be hanging there. It was gone. Draco had his invisibility cloak.
Suddenly a pair of strong arms wrapped around his from behind, looping over his
shoulders and pulling tight, completely binding him in to himself. He stretched, trying to
slip out of the grip, and realized how strong Quidditch practice must have made Draco.
He couldn’t move an inch. Or maybe he didn’t want to. A pair of poker hot lips pressed
down against the nape of his neck, and his struggling outward suddenly shifted into a
slow rising up, pressing his neck to meet the downward rhythm of Draco’s lips. He tilted
his head backwards and felt his cheek press against one that he couldn’t see, and he knew
he was supposed to be feeling some kind of feather light material, his invisibility cloak,
but he couldn’t at all. Just warm, pale flesh, pressed against his flushed face.
He felt long, slender finger tips play upon his waist and travel up, sliding easily into his
robes and rubbing across his otherwise bare chest. It felt like four knife blades were
tracing his skin, just lightly enough not to slice him open and spill his lifeblood on the
floor at his feet. He felt a moan come, unasked for, from deep in his chest, but it was
muffled as he was spun around and the lips that had been pampering shoulder now
graced his own with their presence.
Up on the ceiling, the projection shimmered. A Muggle volume of text appeared, fletched
in the background with a kind of pulsing red. Harry barely had time to read the title
before Draco braced the back of his head with his hand and pulled his eyes downward...
Romeo and Juliet.