The Sleeping Beauty Curse

Chapter 16

The next week passed quickly, quietly, as May slid into June. Draco and Harry were very careful around each other. Mostly, Harry didn't know what to say to him, and it seemed like Draco felt much the same. At least, Draco kept starting sentences and then not ending them, and Harry wasn't sure if he was frustrated by this or relieved. Who knew what Draco might say, after all?

Harry went to work, and he tried much harder to only work his scheduled hours. He didn't always manage it, and he didn't always manage to stay at his desk when he was at work either. But he tried to owl Draco when he knew he'd be late. He didn't owl Draco to let him know when he was out in the field, though. Every time he did it, he felt guilty, but he couldn't help it! Ron hadn't handed his notice in yet, but he was starting to get twitchy every time Robards entered the room, hand creeping towards his pocket, and Harry suspected he was working up to it. It would be any time now, so they needed to clear as much work as possible, in preparation for that dread day.

Harry still wasn't entirely sure what Draco did all day, though when he asked him, Draco seemed willing enough to share. "Read," he said, waving his hand at the pile of Muggle books he'd bought. "Have people over. Astoria, for example," he said, a glint in his eye, his voice hardening. "Sulk," he added thoughtfully. "Prepare elaborate traps for you, just in case." OK, so maybe he wasn't that willing to share, Harry thought, dropping the subject. Astoria? He really wanted to be over the feeling that spiked at him whenever he heard her name, and found he really wasn't.

Most nights now, in bed in the dark, they brought each other off with their hands, their movements hurried. It was always fast, explosive. As if they didn't have any choice in the matter, their bodies leading the way. Harry ached for more, even as he ached for . . . well, less. He wanted to peel Draco's clothes off slowly, kissing every part of him. Kissing him. And being kissed back. He didn't want to just be a hand in the dark. Did Draco feel the same way? Harry wasn't sure, didn't dare ask in case he found out he did. Or he didn't. Both were terrifying.

Do you still not want to complete the bond? Draco asked in his mind, every time he closed his eyes. Even if was just for a moment.

Harry visited the Unspeakable department almost daily now, just for a few minutes, to glower at Kevin, and at Zabini when he could find him. There was still no progress. There was never any progress. Would there ever be any progress? Kingsley seemed to be avoiding Harry, whenever Harry came across him in the hallway, as if he knew he couldn't keep his promise about fixing the bond and so couldn't look Harry in the eye. Harry could feel his future looming at him, uncertain and awful, with choices to be made that weren't choices at all.

At the end of the week, just before Harry was about to step out of the front door and go to work, Draco stopped him, handing over a large Tupperware box with a scowl. "Cookies," he said, which was both an explanation and no explanation at all. And then: "It's my birthday tomorrow."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling a sudden terror about what he was meant to get Draco for a gift. He didn't have any bloody time to go shopping! Why had Draco left it so late to tell him?

Draco rolled his eyes, taking a step back. "If you panic-buy me a present I'll hex you," he said. "I didn't tell you because I want something." Then he hesitated. "Well, actually, I do want something," he said, and stared at the floor, and then the wall.

Harry wanted to be nice, in the face of this hesitation, but he didn't get it, and he was going to be late for work. He tucked the box of cookies under his arm and said, "Well? Spit it out. I'm sure I can do it, whatever it is that has your knickers in a twist."

Draco scowled at him. "I'm not wearing any knickers." And then raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you don't want to be late for work?"

Harry tried to remain calm, in the face of Draco Malfoy trying to distract him with his penis. His bare, uncovered penis, hanging beneath his robes. Allegedly. "Stop avoiding the subject," he said. "What did you want to say about your birthday?"