Chapter Four

As soon as Hermione exited the Burrow's fireplace, she rushed forward to find comfort in the first pair of arms available and burst into tears.

Less than a minute later, the hearth flared green once more and Ron stepped out, doing a bit of a double-take at Percy's awkward arm flailing against the death grip Hermione had around his waist.

Deciding to ignore it for now, Ron began shedding his scarf and cloak. "Mum! We're home!" he announced, stepping past his older brother and giving him a sympathetic pat on the back as he left the kitchen.

"Uh…Hermione. I…uh…didn't realize you…missed me…so much." Percy could be heard saying as Ron listened for his mother's hurried footsteps.

"Ronald Weasley!" Ron looked up at his mother who was standing at the top of the staircase. "Ginny said she had no idea why your trunks were on the train when you obviously weren't and there was no note from Hogwarts! We've been worried sick!"

Ron scratched at his cheek as Molly came down the stairs. "Yeah, we had a pretty last minute meeting with Dumbledore. Nothing serious!" he added at the sharp look he was given. "Well…nothing deadly serious anyway, or so we've been told…" Ron cleared his throat and began to rock his arms back and forth at his side. "But as you can hear, Hermione's here, and we're obviously both packed and ready to go have fun in Romania." His fist hovered before his chest in a show of lackluster enthusiasm before lowering to cover his stomach when it growled loudly. "You saved some dinner for us, right?"

Frowning, Molly ignored the question and looked from her son over to the kitchen, then to the living room. "Where's Harry?" She even peered around Ron to make sure his bulk wasn't hiding the smaller boy.

"Yeah…he's staying at Hogwarts. To train with Dumbledore."

A crack sounded from the kitchen, followed by Percy's pained cry. "Merlin, my ribs!"

Ron winced at the renewed sobs. "Hermione obviously isn't happy with the decision."

"Training with…?" Molly hurried into the kitchen to save her tallest child. "Come now, dear. There, there, it'll be all right," she reassured as she gently began prying Hermione off of Percy. "What do you mean training with Dumbledore? He was the one who agreed it would be a good idea to get Harry out of the country for a while!"

Percy nearly collapsed onto the table once he was released and was quick to scoot out of the way of any future hugging attempts, as Molly gently helped Hermione into a chair.

"Uhm, something about unforeseen and…ex…tenuating?" Ron drew out the word as if he wasn't even sure it was the right one, "circumstances. But I promise there's nothing to worry about and Harry isn't in any life-threatening danger and I'm sure there's already an owl at Charlie's place waiting to tell us all about it!"

"Then why is Hermione crying?" Molly demanded as she rubbed soothing circles on the girl's back. "What's wrong, dear?"

As Hermione visibly tried to collect herself enough to speak, Ron hoped the soul-crushing guilt she felt towards Harry's predicament wasn't enough to make her tell the truth to his mother of all people.

"H-he broke m-my heart," Hermione sobbed out as she placed an elbow on the table and hid her face in her hand.

"Who? Harry?" Molly looked positively scandalized. "Does Ginny know?" she mouthed at Ron.

"No! J-just…just some b-boy!"

"Oh, sweetheart!" Molly cooed. "Whoever he is, he obviously isn't good enough for you. But don't worry! I'm sure there's someone out there meant for you. And who knows? He might even be closer than you think." She turned and hissed at Ron, "Get over here!"

Blushing at his mom's poorly concealed matchmaking, Ron hurried forward to take her place, allowing her to go about warming up some comfort food.

Hermione had been crying off and on pretty much since they left Harry, and Ron was completely out of consoling things to say. Dumbledore had reassured them that everything would be okay despite not being able to do anything about the situation. If (and hopefully when) the Room of Requirement released Harry, they would be the first to know. But until then, it was considered a matter of utmost secrecy that no one find out that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were trapped in a room together – let alone in an effort to become friends.

And it was simply because the effects for them from both sides of the war could be devastating.


Draco screwed his eyes shut. There was no way it was morning yet. After spending a good portion of the previous day unconscious, he had only just managed to fall asleep several hours ago.

There was a dull throbbing in his head thanks to the bandage being wrapped too tightly around his skull. Draco didn't dare remove it, though. The chances of him having a concussion were high, especially since the castle didn't see it fit to release him to the hospital wing after sustaining potentially life-threatening injuries at the hand of someone with a questionable psyche.

Draco didn't know much about healing charms and potions – that's what Healers were for. But when left with no Healers and Potter as his only company…If he weren't already rolling in money, Draco would seriously consider taking up a career in the healing arts. Not that he ever planned on getting stuck in this type of situation ever again. But as it was, he figured he could settle on asking the Room nicely for some books to read up on. Draco knew absolutely nothing about concussions other than they were what happened when you hit your head.

Opening his eyes and frowning into the darkness, Draco rolled onto his back and stared up into more darkness. He wished he had his wand so he could cast constellation charms on the ceiling to stave off boredom. He wasn't feeling tired enough to fall back to sleep anytime soon and he refused to crawl out of bed and risk waking Potter. He was still mad at him for summoning a House Elf and letting it leave without making proper demands like bring me pain potions.

A soft rustling from the other side of the pillow barrier instantly caught Draco's undivided attention. He didn't need to strain his ears; the noise was fairly loud in the otherwise silent room.

As the sound continued and failed to develop any telltale signs of Potter actually waking up, Draco grew annoyed. Was the idiot dreaming? As if in response to the unspoken question, Potter moaned, causing grey eyes to widen almost comically. Was Potter having an erotic dream?

Draco's first instinct was to smack Potter with a pillow and put an immediate end to it, as he would with any of his dorm mates. But for some reason, he remained frozen, listening to the noises coming from the other side of the bed. They weren't exactly rhythmic and didn't hold any tale-tell signs of a wet dream. Would Potter murmur the name of whoever he was dreaming about?

Curiosity getting the best of him, Draco decided to risk taking a peek. After all, it would be best if he had real evidence when he told the world about this encounter. One of the questions sure to be on everyone's mind was Potter's size.

Moving slowly so as to not wake his bedmate, Draco turned onto his belly and pushed the upper half of his body up high enough to see over the pillows. Dim lighting illuminated the immediate area as a small oil lamp on a bedside table appeared next to the Gryffindor's side of the bed. Draco examined Potter's face long enough to notice his brows were drawn in and his mouth was slightly open before his gaze drifted south.

The thick blanket did an excellent job of obscuring any potential view of Potter's groin.

Refusing to let such an obstacle deter his raging curiosity, Draco carefully lifted the cover and pulled it down, his mind already racing with excuses incase Potter began to stir.

"You weren't waking up, so I figured I would pitch a tent." What?

"About time you woke up. If you can't refrain from having wet dreams around me, you automatically forfeit your half of the blanket." Better.

"Don't think into it, Potter. I was only three seconds away from drenching you in ice water." Note to self: make sure ice water was in the vicinity before blurting this one out.

There was no boner.

Feeling disappointed, Draco dropped the blanket and realized this meant one of two things. Either Potter's pants were charmed to hide erections or he was having a nightmare. The first was unlikely and the second was actually quite frightening as far as the rumors were concerned. Granted, Draco had helped to spread said rumors, but his father had hinted that there was probably some truth to them. It certainly put things into perspective when he was faced with the very real possibility of Potter waking up and looking at him with the Dark Lord's eyes.

This was why Harry found himself rudely awakened by a slightly sore head and a very intimidating Malfoy staring down at him with a dented tin cookie tray raised in his hands.

"Prove to me you're not a minion of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" Malfoy demanded.

"Crumpets?" Harry's addled mind supplied.

This was obviously the wrong answer and the tray came down again, doing very little damage aside from conforming to Harry's face.

Harry still reacted, though, clutching his nose as if it were broken and rolling off to the side, crying out in pain. And then he realized it didn't actually hurt at all.

"Bloody fucking—what was that for?"

"Prove to me you're really Harry Potter and not a minion of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" Malfoy repeated, refusing to be swayed.

Brain somewhat caught up on just what was going on, Harry sat up, ignoring the way Malfoy flinched back and raised the tray again.

Running a hand through his forever-disheveled hair, he snorted sleepily. "Please. Between the two of us, you're the one most likely to be Voldemort's lackey."

"Prove it." The tray was now being clutched like a shield. "Tell me something only Potter would know."

"You mean beside the fact that you're an annoying prick?" Harry challenged, his hand already balling into a fist, ready to throw the first punch if needed.

Rather than reply with some witty comeback, Malfoy merely stared at Harry for a long, calculating moment. His eyes flickered from Harry's frown down to the fist that was hovering just over the mattress. Finally, he nodded and tossed the warped tray aside, backing away to his side of the bed as the tin crashed in the distance. Lifting the covers, Malfoy disappeared behind the pillow barrier as he lay down.

"Night, Potter," he spat sullenly, the room flooding into darkness at his words.

For a long moment, Harry remained where he was, trying to sort out what had just happened. He had never been attacked with a cookie platter before, and that included all the times Aunt Petunia had come after him with cooking and dining related objects.

He had been peacefully slithering along, hunting rats, when he came across a rather nervous looking Death Eater and…oh.

Harry wondered what had given away the fact that he was channeling Voldemort's pet versus the off chance he was just having a normal nightmare. Despite Malfoy's reaction, Harry wouldn't have put it past the prat to violently wake him up just because he could. But all things considered, Harry figured he should be grateful. He didn't get sucked into Voldemort's mind that often anymore, but when he did, he was usually unable to pull himself out without outside help. Not that he was about to let Malfoy in on that little tidbit of knowledge, let alone thank him.

Staring over at the bulge of Malfoy's still form, Harry knew that if Voldemort got wind of their current predicament, the nightmares would grow worse and more frequent and the end results wouldn't bode well for either of them.

Frowning at his lap, Harry shut his eyes and tried to follow the steps he had been taught in his Occlumency lessons. After several minutes of clearing his mind and raising his mental defenses, Harry found himself trying not to give into the idea that this was stupid. Looking over at Malfoy once more, he lost the battle and flopped back against his pillow, drifting off to sleep almost instantly.


Malfoy was in one hell of a bad mood. At least, that's what Harry's tingling Slytherin senses were telling him.

He had done his best to remain as quiet as possible when he woke up, figuring it was a common courtesy since the bed was lacking drapes to nullify any noise. But apparently, Harry wasn't quiet enough because as he was exiting the corner bathroom, he stopped short at the sight of Malfoy's bloodshot eyes fixed firmly upon him. For a long moment, the two merely stared at one another before Harry slowly turned and headed towards the breakfast table. Did Malfoy not sleep at all last night?

His tingling Slytherin senses were leaning towards 'probably not.'

Harry did his best to ignore the piercing gaze that seemed to study him as he ate. It rubbed him wrong for some reason, the way Malfoy was watching him. As if he didn't trust him.

Okay, so maybe Malfoy had every reason not to trust him given their history, but it wasn't like Harry was going to secretly instigate anything. He certainly wasn't the one to throw the first punch yesterday.

He sullenly stabbed at his eggs with a bit more force than necessary, scowling as his seemingly metal fork bent like rubber under the impact. Did the Room seriously just protect his food from his temper?

A sudden movement caught Harry's attention and he looked up to see Malfoy removing the bandages around his head before finally climbing out of bed. Running his hands wearily through his hair once was enough to put each strand impeccably in place and Harry couldn't help but be a little jealous. His own hair always seemed to make a game out of not obeying his commands.

Glowering down at his food, Harry was a bit surprised when Malfoy actually joined him at the table after getting dressed. Were they finally going to start making real progress today?


"Shove it."

Harry blinked at the unexpected response, doing a bit of a double-take as Malfoy unceremoniously dumped the entire basket of rolls on this plate.

"Hey, don't eat all the rolls. I want one."

Malfoy ignored him in favor of ripping one in half with his teeth.

Harry's expression deadpanned. "And it'll make you fat."

Malfoy actually gave pause at this before picking up a new roll, licking it, and smashing it saliva-side down onto the Gryffindor's plate.

Slamming his fork down, Harry jumped to his feet. "You—" He stopped himself short of leaping over the table and strangling Malfoy.

Fighting wasn't going to get them anywhere. Running his hands through his hair, Harry did his best to reason with himself. Yes, it would feel amazing to beat the bloody shit out of Malfoy, but he would feel pretty bad if he caused any serious damage.

In theory.

"You are an ass," Harry spat out instead, marching over to the couch where he threw himself down and snagged one of the quidditch magazines that had appeared on the coffee table.

"An ass? Again? Is that really the best you can come up with?" Malfoy's sigh was almost inaudible as he rubbed the sleep from one of his eyes. "Your insults are usually so much more creative. But if lame is the goal for the day, then fine."

Harry glanced up to see Malfoy buttering his rolls with care.

"Your hair is atrocious, your glasses are ugly, your personal wardrobe makes it look like someone slipped a few drops of Shrinking potion in your pumpkin juice, and you have a scar." Malfoy pointed at his own forehead. "Right there."

Harry remained stubbornly silent as he turned the page of his magazine with a bit more force than necessary.

"No?" Malfoy questioned. "How about I start insulting your friends? They're in a pretty lame category all on their own."

"So are yours," Harry shot back before he remembered he was trying to ignore the git and brought the magazine closer to his face.

Malfoy's smirk was only a tad malicious as he went on to insult Ron's hair. Then Hermione's hair. Then Ron's freckles, Neville's ears, Neville's toad, Ginny's obvious crush, Hagrid's size, Hagrid's hut, Hagrid's hair, Hagrid's beard, Dumbledore's beard, Dumbledore's incompetence as Headmaster, Hermione's parents, the entire Hufflepuff house, and then the Weasley family's general lack of money. The insults actually managed to continue all the way through lunch when Harry finally grew sick of simply hearing Malfoy's voice.

"You know, at the rate you're going, we'll be stuck in here until we graduate," he pointed out.

Looking highly offended at being interrupted, Malfoy's words took a sarcastic turn. "Well, look who's finally ready to be my best friend. Here, Potter, let me pour you some tea in celebration." An entire tea set materialized on the coffee table and the Head Boy began to meticulously go about preparing a cup. "Here you are. Draco's finest! Oh, wait. As your new best friend, I should probably check it for poison. Just in case."

Harry's eyebrow rose in mild amusement as Malfoy hesitantly took a small sip of tea and paused in wait. The bags under his grey eyes made Malfoy look completely sleep deprived, which Harry suspected he was.

"Yes, I'd say that's safe enough. Here you go, Potter."

Harry returned his attention to the novel he was now reading. "I don't want your tea." His drawl would have made any Slytherin proud.

There was a distinctive clink as Malfoy set the teacup and saucer down before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms almost petulantly. "Whatever. Like I would ever want to replace Weasley as your best friend anyway."

Abruptly bored with his book, Harry dropped it to the floor and slouched further into the couch. "You wouldn't have the balls to stay by my side when I would need you."

Malfoy scoffed. "I have twice the balls of you and Weasley put together."

"Oh yeah? Prove it."

Malfoy blinked at the unexpected challenge. "What, you want me to whip it out so you can see?"

The silence in the room was deafening as both boys gave pause at the idea. When Harry failed to come up with a timely response, Malfoy's face went lax with shock.

"Holy hell," he whispered reverently, as if unable to believe the concept that had just entered his brain. "Potter, you bloody poofter. You want to see my dick."

Harry's eyes were wide and his head was moving in denial. "No, I don't," he said quickly, despite his slow movement as he straightened his body into a proper sitting position. "You shouldn't jump to such stupid conclusions. Because I'm not gay."

Malfoy eyed him almost suspiciously before standing and undoing his belt.

"Whoa! What are you doing?" Harry demanded as he pushed himself into the back of the couch.

If ever there were a time to escape, now would be when the Room should have provided one. But rather than frantically look around for a door, or a window, or even a blanket to hide behind, Harry's eyes were glued to Malfoy's crotch as he actually reached in and pulled out his flaccid penis.

Hands curled into claws and gripping the couch cushions for dear life, Harry froze, as if any movement would scare the appendage away. But like the body it belonged to, Malfoy's penis seemed to thrive under the attention and eventually twitched as Harry found himself unable to look away.

His mouth went dry.

"Are you just going to stare at it all day?" Malfoy finally asked. "Hurry up and show me yours! It's starting to feel drafty," he muttered in complaint.

"What?" Harry's gaze ripped itself away from the penis and up to Malfoy's face in absolute terror. "I never agreed to—"

"How else are you supposed to prove you've got bigger balls than me?" Malfoy interrupted with a scoff.

Harry's attention flickered back down. "I'm not looking at your balls, Malfoy."

With a roll of his eyes, Draco shifted his pants down a bit more so that his ball sack was exposed with relative ease. "Cock, balls, it's all part of the same plumbing. I've shown you mine, so don't even think of backing out now and not showing me yours."

Thoughts were racing through Harry's head. This was completely ridiculous. There had to have been something in that tea because there was no way Malfoy would ever volunteer to show Harry his penis. This had to be some kind of trick. But if it was a trick, and Harry refused to participate, wouldn't the joke be on Malfoy? But if Harry did participate, Malfoy wouldn't exactly be able to tell anyone without having it revealed that he was in the same boat. So then what was the point to all of this beside driven curiosity? Raging teenage hormones?

Hormones! Yes! That had to be it! Hormones and the way Malfoy's dick was now several shades of red darker.

Brain stuttering to a halt, Harry felt himself moving to stand as he fumbled with his belt. Pushing his underwear and trousers down to his thighs, he lifted the tail ends of his shirt and fully exposed himself.

As if hypnotized, Malfoy walked around the low table to Harry's side and stared down at the slightly darker penis.

"You know," he began, his voice coming out slightly breathless. "Being half-hard is cheating."

Despite his blush, Harry frowned. "You're half-hard, too."

"That's only because of the way you've been staring at me," Malfoy dismissed as his fingers slowly began to move up and down his shaft.

"How have I been…?" Harry trailed off as he watched, missing Malfoy's grin at his expense. "What are you doing?'

"Evening out the playing field. Best to compare when they're both completely hard, yeah?"

Harry mindlessly nodded. He didn't have that much farther to go from watching Malfoy alone, but closed his fist around his cock regardless, hoping the other would miss how it took all of two and a half pumps to bring him right to where he needed to be.

Stepping closer to one another, they jutted their hips out and held their cocks parallel to the floor. For a moment, they merely stared. And then Harry's hand moved completely of its own accord.

Malfoy very nearly jumped out of his own skin. "What are you—?" His question ended in a breathless gasp as Harry's fingers trailed over his tip.

"Uh…" Harry wasn't quite sure himself. "Just checking to make sure it was fully hard?" he guessed, offering an innocent smile as Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

"Asshole. You don't have to rub it in." Malfoy frowned down at the slight difference in length. "Besides, it's not the size that counts, but—"

"—How you use it?" Harry would have laughed if he didn't feel so completely absorbed in the moment. "That's bull and you know it."

"Oh?" Malfoy challenged. "And how do you use it, Potter?" Batting Harry's wrist away, Malfoy stepped in closer as he grabbed Harry's erection and ran his thumb over the head. "First to come loses."

Harry's right knee quivered as he stared disbelievingly between them. Were they really – he barely stopped the moan from erupting in his throat. Yeah, they were really.

Reaching out, he took Malfoy and slowly began to pump his fist, his pace faltering as Malfoy moved in even closer. Harry already knew there was no way he was going to win this one. His breathing was heavily labored and he was practically throbbing under Malfoy's touch.

If he had any doubts about his questionable sexuality before, they were mostly gone now. He was fairly certain it wasn't normal to be this turned on by what was happening.

And then some of his precum managed to slide beneath Malfoy's grip and Harry knew it was over. Muscles tensing in preparation, he bit his lip and moved his own hand faster, held his grip tighter, as if conveying his wishes as to what he wanted Malfoy to do. Instead, a soft groan reached his ears and Harry was sent flying over the edge, cursing through his teeth as Malfoy's hand stopped, leaving him to thrust his hips into the pale fist to milk out his orgasm.

As soon as half a brain cell started working again, Harry continued with his previous ministrations that had stopped the second Malfoy had moaned. He could hear Malfoy panting and realized that the blond's forehead was resting against his shoulder. The light pressure on his arm let him know that his bicep was being gripped and when that light pressure turned into a harsh squeeze, he knew Malfoy was coming.

He kept his hand moving until Malfoy pulled his hips away, forcing Harry to relinquish the hold he didn't know he had on them.

For a long moment, the two merely stood facing each other, eyes on the floor and dirtied hands awkwardly held off to the side as they caught their breath.

Coming a bit more to his senses, Harry did his best to pull up his pants and shuffle out from between the couch and coffee table to go wash his hands. Back slightly hunched and head down, he could feel the mortification slowly seeping in. He couldn't believe he just did that. Did they really just do that?

He failed to notice the way heavily dilated eyes followed him for a moment before Draco turned his head to examine his hand. His palm felt sticky and the back was covered in Potter's slowly cooling cum.

The exhaustion that had momentarily disappeared for the act was creeping back in now that his blood pressure was returning to normal. Draco had no idea what had possessed him to take things as far as they did, but he found himself with practically no regrets.

Bringing his hand up to his face, Draco took a cautious sniff, his nose wrinkling at the heavy smell of sex. With a clean finger, he poked at the milky liquid before running the digit through it to get a better feel for its texture. It seemed no different from his own.

He briefly looked up as he heard the faucet from the bathroom shut off before returning his attention to his finger. On a whim, he brought it to his mouth and hesitated for a fraction of a second before licking it.

He had heard some of the older girls around school discuss that blowjobs took time getting used to because it was an acquired taste. But as Draco's eyes fluttered shut and he swallowed, he knew that wasn't necessarily true. Because Potter was damn delicious.

Ignoring the Gryffindor as he exited the bathroom, Draco took his turn at washing up. Once clean, he properly tucked himself back in and realized he was fighting back a smile. Upon reflection, he decided it was not only because he was currently the only person on the planet who knew what The Boy Who Lived tasted like, but that he was probably Potter's first and no one could ever take such a claim away from him.

Author's Note: Thank you SO much to all my readers who have been nothing short of patient with me. I know I'm a horrible person, but seriously, all of your reviews just brighten my day and help to keep this story on my mind. The random influx of reviews and messages I get from time to time help me to remember my roots with the fandom.

Also, I know there were a few of you who sent me PMs right before the site completely redid the messaging system. As a result, I lost your messages before I was able to respond. Please feel free to PM me again! I promise I'm not intentionally ignoring anyone!