Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all plots and characters portrayed therein are not mine. Good thing too. The honor goes to JK Rowling.
Feedback: Public, any and all, please.
Notes: Many thanks go Tayla for this part! Hail the all mighty slayer of typos!

"Harry?"

"Hmmmph?" Harry mumbled into Draco's shoulder.

"I need you to get off my arm." He shifted his trapped appendage to illustrate.

"Why?" Harry was feeling comfortable at the moment, and as such, was adverse to the idea of movement. He briefly cracked one eye and noted how much darker the room at gotten. It was well after sunset, apparently.

"Because this is really gross."

Offended beyond words, Harry jolted upright. Draco took the chance to free his arm and sit up himself. Harry's mouth worked silently while his fuzzed mind fought to come up with the proper response.

"Don't look at me like that! I meant this," the pale blur of Draco's hand motioned to the mess on his stomach, "*This* is really gross. Good Lord, pay attention."

Oh. Oops.

With an apologetic wince, Harry scooted back against the headboard, noticing the unpleasant stickiness on his own body. Draco slid around him, an erotic tumble of sweaty flesh and the scent of pine and musk. Harry brushed his hand over Draco's side, lingering at the curve of his waist. It was a remarkable action simply because he was allowed to do it. He had the right.

Draco stumbled getting out of the bed, briefly grabbing Harry's thigh for balance. He pushed himself straight and headed for the bathroom. Harry patted at his robe and the bed around him, looking for his glasses. He had the sudden urge to watch Draco wander around naked. He remembered Draco taking them off at some point, but where they got put after that was lost on him.

He squinted at Draco's moving, ghostly pale form and realized that he really didn't want to get up even to find his glasses, though he would have to the further Draco went from him. "Draco, do you know where---"

A startled yelped and the quick, sharp stab of pain in his own foot sent Harry scrambling off the bed. His heavy, languid muscles made moving fast difficult and he staggered slightly as he went to Draco's side. The blond was bent over, rubbing at his foot.

"What happened?" Harry worriedly touched the bent back. Draco stooped over further and snagged something from the floor. When he held it up, distant light reflected off the glass.

"Lose something?"

"I still can't believe it, *canceled*," Seamus mourned, bracing his elbows on the table and covering his eyes at the tragedy. "Second game of the year, Gryffindors against the Ravenclaws, *canceled*!" Dean shook his head at his friends suffering, looking more amused than sympathetic.

"And what else where they supposed to do, hm?" Dean asked him, picking up a goblet and swinging it slightly, "With Harry out for the count and no replacements ready until the next game, there wasn't any other choice."

"I'm sure they could have thought of *something*!" The Irish boy insisted, throwing himself back in his chair and making wild arm motions, nearly smacking Neville upside the head. "It's not like Harry is injured or anything, he just has," disgusted grimace, "extra baggage."

"Well, that's easy to fix. Truly, I could see Malfoy zipping along after Harry while he goes after the Snitch," here Dean grinned teasingly, "Or maybe they'll just share the same broom."

"You're not funny," Seamus informed him flatly, refusing to show any good humor at this travesty.

"Well, its not like Slytherin can play either," Neville offered diplomatically, "So they're not any better off."

"Exactly!" Dean reached behind Seamus to give Neville an encouraging punch on the shoulder, "That's the way to look at it. Our team may be down without its Seeker, but at least the Slytherin team is down with us."

"Of course, it gives Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw the chance to get better," Neville said, then winced when Seamus glared at him.

"Don't say that like it's a good thing," the taller teen warned darkly. Dean snickered into his drink as Neville gave Seamus a strange look and tried to explain how that wasn't the way he meant it. Ignoring the conversation for the time being, Dean let his gaze wander about the dining hall.

The magicked ceiling above showed promise of a clear day, the few wisps of clouds dispersing in the light of the newly risen sun. Dean hoped it would be warm, wanting to enjoy the last few nice days before the chill and rain really set in. The mingled chatter that filled the air bore a cheerful note. He made a complete visual circuit of the room before settling at the entrance, watching for latecomers.

"And speaking of. . ." Dean muttered to himself, as Draco and Harry walked through the doorway.

The blond was in the lead, and limping a bit Dean noticed. Harry was close at his heels, dark head turning automatically to check over the Gryffindor table. Draco took an abrupt detour and started for the Slytherin side of things. Harry stopped walking and watched the other boy, who got no more than a dozen feet before stopping himself. Draco looked back over his shoulder and Harry crossed his arms, waiting. Finally, Draco seemed to sigh and aimed back toward the Gryffindors, Harry catching up with him in a heartbeat.

"Seems they can move farther apart now," Natalie McDonald noted from her seat next to Dean, surprising the older teen. Dean glanced at her and shrugged.

"Really?" Seamus chirped, catching the statement like a hawk diving for a pigeon. "Hey, maybe you'll be able to play after all, huh, Harry?" he called down the length of the table.

Pulling out the chair at his usual spot, Harry looked up curiously. "Pardon?"

"The *game* Harry, you know the Quidditch match that was supposed to be held next week?" Seamus explained with no small amount of annoyance, though it wasn't directed at Harry. The black-haired boy flinched, his face drawing up into a grimace of remembered displeasure, and dropped into his chair. Next to him, Draco groaned.

"God, Quidditch," Draco folded his arms over his plate and hid his head in them. Seamus frowned at the interloper.

"Don't you go and complain," he warned, waving a fork menacingly, "as you're the reason Harry can't play." Draco peeked at him over the top of his arm, his gray eyes reflecting amused scorn.

"Leave it alone, Seamus," Harry sighed, filling his and Draco's goblets, "It's bad enough that I'm missing out, I really don't want to talk about it." Draco roused himself and snagged a few pastries, not seeming to notice when Harry took one.

"But, if you can separate…" Seamus began, motioning with his fork. He looked disgruntled when Dean snatched the eating utensil away.

"Not enough for a game," Harry called back, grapping another piece of toast to replace the one Draco nabbed.

"But…"

"Hey, where's Hermione?" Neville asked suddenly, killing whatever counter-statement Seamus had ready. Harry blinked and glanced around the table in surprise. Guilt flashed across his features.

"Yeah, and Ron," Harry leaned forward on the table to get a better view of his former dorm mates.

"Ron was still in bed when we headed down," Dean remarked, standing up to get some bacon from a plate set near the outer edge of the table.

"Here's hoping he stays there…" Draco muttered around the rim of his goblet. Harry scowled, leaning back against the other boy. He said something and whatever it was made Draco choke on his drink.

"Hermione too," Lavender spoke up helpfully, "And she must have gone to bed after I went to sleep, because she sure didn't come in before then!" She twittered at that with the other girls.

"I'm sure they have a reason," Harry said with some force. The conversation shifted after that into chatter about upcoming tests. The topic of Quidditch was avoided, but the general unpleasantness of Slytherin's came up frequently.

Dean had been watching the duo since they came in, his forehead creased in thought. Now, he nudged the sulky Seamus, nodding in Harry and Draco's direction when the blond looked up. Seamus titled his head forward and looked down to where the two sat. Draco was half leaning on Harry's shoulder and talking to him in the manner of someone ignoring everything else. Seamus looked back at Dean and rolled his shoulders. 'Yeah, so?' the gesture and expression said.

Dean rolled his eyes and nodded at them again, making a slight motion with his shoulders. 'Pay attention'.

Seamus focused on the pair once more; eyes narrowed in concentration, but again he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, confusion clear. 'I'm not seeing anything'.

Dean let out a dramatic sigh, making some vague shape with his hands and widening his eyes expressively, 'don't you get it?'

Seamus spread his hands apart, palms face up and hunched his shoulders, eyebrows arching in bafflement, 'get what?'

Letting his hands fall on the table, Dean answered aloud, "Never mind," and went back to his breakfast.

"Freak," Seamus replied and impaled his sausage on the fork he'd stolen from the first-year sitting next to him.

"What are you sulking about now?" Draco wanted to know, holding lightly onto Harry's upper arm as they left the dining hall. "You're no fun like this."

"I'm not sulking," said Harry, "I'm thinking about Hermione and Ron. They didn't show up for breakfast at all." [Doesn't help that I totally didn't notice they were missing and may not have until Neville brought it up. Of course, after last night,] his face heated slightly, [God I hope I don't start acting like a nervous idiot around them.]

"You know, they *can* get through a day without you," Draco told him sarcastically, "And have you thought about how long it's been since I talked to *my* friends?" Harry shot him a glare.

"You actually *want* to talk to people like Crabbe and Goyle?" He demanded, just as sarcastically and with a disgusted shudder for effect. They left the main crowd that was heading back to the dorms to freshen up before classes, aiming towards their own room. Shortly, they were alone in one statue- and door-lined hallway.

"To be honest," Draco started, then tightened his grip on Harry's arm, and hauled the dark-haired boy back against him, "I rather do this…" He nipped gently at the back of Harry's neck, a tender teasing of teeth and warm lips. Harry let out a squeak of surprise, body stirring instantly in reply despite his mortification.

"Not in the halls!" He yelped, twisting around in Draco's grip to face his lover. Draco smiled at him in innocent amusment. "No, don't even try that, I'm not buying it." Harry waved a warning finger at him.

Draco rolled his eyes. "What, don't want to shock the teachers? How prudish of you."

"No more prudish than you'd be if the teacher you shocked was Snape," said Harry, batting at the hands that were attempting to grope him. Draco paused to consider that possibility, face bearing a look you would expect on a child who'd just walked on his parents being 'affectionate'. Harry took a step back and folded his arms, earning a dirty look.

"Fine, not in the halls," Draco conceded, "But there aren't any teachers in our room…" He curled his mouth into what was probably meant to be a sexy smirk, but in effect looked like a cat staring at a particularly plumb canary. Either way, it pulled a flustered expression and blush from Harry. Draco twisted his fingers into the sleeve of Harry's robe and tugged him toward their private dorm.

"But…we have class…"

"Very bad excuse. Oh, stop it, it's not like I'm going to do anything serious. And straighten your collar, the hickey is showing."

It was with some relief that Harry noticed Hermione and Ron sitting next to each other in Charms. He then felt like complete idiot immediately afterwards---of course they would be okay-- but the initial relief was nice. It occurred to him, again, how much it sucked being separated from his friends. Not that he thought about it much, because doing so reminded him what he was getting in return, which in turn made him guilty because Draco still failed to stand up to all his friends represented, which once again reminded him of how he hated being separated from them.

The human thought and emotion process was a nasty thing.

"There you two are," Harry greeted them, hand quickly tugging his collar up higher. Maybe he should have worn that scarf Draco suggested. "We missed you at breakfast."

"Well, we stayed up really late talking and I didn't feel like getting up early," Hermione said, overriding Draco's sarcastically muttered 'we?' Ron nodded in agreement, a smile flickering briefly over his face. Harry gave them a thoughtful look, choosing a pair of seats from the table in front of Hermione and Ron's.

"Talking about what?" Harry asked with a hint of wistfulness. Draco took the seat closet to the aisle, pulled out his quills and parchment and bent over whatever it was he was writing. Harry turned his own chair sideways and leaned one arm back against his friend's table. Hermione shrugged.

"Just random stuff," she said nonchalantly, making a few nonsense notations on her paper. She glanced up at him with a glimmer of amusment in her eyes; "We do talk about things when you're not around."

"I should hope so," Harry responded, equally teasing. He made a conscious effort to keep any bitterness out of his tone. "You're being very quiet," he remarked to Ron, regarding the other's distant expression with some suspicion.

Ron focused on him with a blink and flushed slightly, scratching his head in a decidedly nervous gesture. "Yeah, well…" He trailed off and fidgeted in his seat. Harry raised an eyebrow and Ron coughed lightly. "It's nothing, I'm just thinking."

Draco snorted, not looking up from his work. "That is nothing." Something hot flashed through Ron's eyes, his drifting attention narrowing in on the blond, whose smirk couldn't be seen but was certainly felt. Face twisted with scorn and irritation, the redhead's mouth opened in preparation for a scathing retort.

Hermione slapped her quill onto the table, "Ron, leave it alone. It's too early to start fighting."

Like a flicked switch, Ron's mouth closed. He shot Hermione a perplexed look, which she ignored, and slumped in his seat, obediently quiet.

At this, Harry's eyebrows jumped into his hairline, surprise reflected brightly in his green eyes. Draco also seemed to notice the uncharacteristic silence, glancing with interest over his shoulder. Before any statement, insults, or teasing remarks could be voiced, Professor Flitwick entered the classroom and commanded the attentions of the students as best as he was able.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, a moment of your time, please," Professor McGonagall projected her voice, stopping them as they gathered their notes and books together after Transfiguration class. Draco rounded up his conversation with a couple of his classmates while Harry finished arranging his notes in his bag. Most of the class had cleared out at that point and the pair made their way easily over to McGonagall's desk.

She needlessly shifted some papers around on her desk, finally stacking them neatly on the far side. Harry hiked his pack up on one shoulder and let his hand brush Draco's, face assuming an expression of polite interest. Draco had the bored look of a king engaging in activities beneath him. Taking a deep breath and releasing it as if trying to set free all things negative in that one act, the Professor speared them both with a look of absolute seriousness.

"Last night, I received a letter from your father, Draco, announcing his intent to visit you here tomorrow. I have conferred with the Headmaster and we have agreed to allow this meeting to take place. However," she continued strongly, seeing the delight transforming Draco's face, "It *will* be a chaperoned meeting. In addition, school is still in session, and therefore, in no way will either of you be allowed to leave school grounds. Which means, Mr. Malfoy, that regardless of how much you may want to, you cannot return home with your father."

"I wasn't planning on it," came the flippant reply. Draco was pleased---not in the slightly vindictive or even mocking way that Harry was accustomed too, but generally pleased, in the innocent way of children. Oddly enough, that made the sick slosh of nervous fear in Harry's stomach worse instead of better.

Lucius Malfoy…who came in second place on the list of people wanting him, if not dead, then at least seriously incapacitated. That was something he had to endure and someday face; there simply wasn't any choice in the matter. He'd come to terms with that and he did have support, both emotional and physical. If the situation were different, right after this meeting he'd be running straight to Ron and Hermione to speculate and discuss a plan of action. But he couldn't do that in front of Draco; wouldn't want to even. He knew how Draco felt about his father.

And that was what frightened him.

With any luck at all, part 12 will be the final part of this. I am planning a sequel, so if you dislike the ending, don't go weaving that lynching rope just yet. Thank as always for reading and you in the next (and hopefully last) part!