Ambivalent Lucidity

Transfiguration class was, in Harry’s opinion, becoming rather dull in the later years. Sure, they were performing magic he never had thought he could do, but there seemed to be little sport in it anymore, especially since there were things bigger than Transfiguration about. He couldn’t be very interested in McGonagall’s class when he was supposed to be fusing someone’s mind back together. Draco had been paying attention up until a moment ago, when Harry saw him seize up, and Harry had a feeling that it was no longer Draco who was sitting beside him. It was definitely the doodles on the parchment that confirmed this.

Harry found himself completely deaf to the lesson as he watched Draco sketch furiously on the parchment, eyes wide and intense as he worked on what, to Harry, looked like a mass of black scribbles. The scribbles began to deviate from the main mass, and Harry saw the outline of a strong jaw, sloping into a tautly-stretched neck. The eyes were next, and as they were framed by black glasses, Harry realised that he was looking at himself sleeping. Draco angled his body so he was lying on his side, half-covered by his comforter, and slowly it became apparent that Harry was not alone in this bed. Just as Draco began drawing himself tucked against Harry’s chest, there was a sharp slap of a ruler on their table that caused both boys to start and stare up at McGonagall. “If you are just going to draw, Mister Malfoy, I suggest that you and Mister Potter leave. Regardless of your condition, I require full attention in my classes, thank you!”

Harry flushed deeply before gathering his and Draco’s things, and he took Draco’s arm and helped him to stand up. Draco stared at McGonagall, looking as though he might cry, and Minerva sighed before gesturing at Harry to take him away. Harry glared nastily at her as Draco began to tremble, and he pulled Draco along until they were out in the hall, door slamming behind them. The bang caused Draco’s tears to spill over, and Harry threw an arm round his shoulders and led him back to Gryffindor Tower. “It’s all right.. .She’s a right old bat, she is, and you shouldn’t get upset over her. It’s pointless.”

Draco sniffled and nodded as they climbed in through the portrait. “Hawwy, I wanna take shower,” he whispered in a shaky voice. Harry froze—the other Dracos had always been able to shower by themselves, but by the looks of it (Draco was standing with his arms over his head, and he waited for Harry to undress him), Harry would be forced to help. With a deep sigh, he moved to pull Draco’s shirt over his head, revealing a lithe torso with just a smattering of blond curls on his chest and a line of the stuff trailing down from his bellybutton to disappear into the waistband of his trousers. “Whatchu lookin’ at?”

“Uh.” Harry averted his gaze to meet Draco’s eyes immediately, and he swallowed before shaking his head. “Nothing. Thought I saw a scar, but I’m just imagining it. Can you, er...take off your own trousers?” When Draco shook his head, Harry took a deep breath and reached out to unbutton and unzip them, sliding them down over Draco’s hips while carefully keeping his gaze to Draco’s eyes. He noticed that they looked a little funny, and they blinked several times in rapid succession before becoming very suddenly clear and fierce.

“What the fuck, Potter?!” Harry’s hands flew away as though burned, and Draco took a few steps backward before his legs got tangled in his trousers and he began to fall backward. Harry reacted immediately, and leapt forward to catch him and jerk him upright again, holding him against his chest for a moment before, breath heaving, he let him go. “Damn it, what are you doing?”

Harry blushed, though he was much more angry than embarrassed. “What am I doing? Your new personality wanted to take a shower and refused to undress himself! God, you and your jumping to conclusions!” He threw Draco’s shirt at him and turned around so Draco could dress himself. “Ugh... How are you feeling, anyway?” He turned back around as he heard Draco flop onto the bed.

“Tired,” Draco confessed, lying back to rest his head on the pillow. Harry nodded in agreement and sat down by his feet. Several moments passed awkwardly before Harry gathered himself together and moved up to lie right beside Draco, watching him closely. Grey eyes shifted to stare at him in return before, “What are the other personalities like?” Draco rolled onto his side and rested his head in the crook of his elbow.

Harry rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, musing over how to word was he was about to say. “Well... The first one I ever encountered shows up a lot... He is really quiet and clingy unless something upsets him, then he sobs like I killed his puppy or something. Then there’s... well, he’s like a little kid, but he draws a lot. He’s very good,” he claimed, and he glanced over to his charge to see him staring forlornly at the pillow. “If I may ask, what happened to you?” He reached over as he asked, to touch Draco’s elbow, trying to convey that he was there for him, that it would be okay to tell him.

Feeling that touch gave Draco a shiver, and he shook his head a little. “I can’t talk about it,” he admitted, carefully avoiding Harry’s eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it. Ever.” He brought a hand up to his face to cover it, and Harry suspected that he was on the brink of tears. “Please don’t ask, okay? You can try to make me better or whatever, but I can’t tell you what happened.”

“If I knew what happened...”

“It could be quicker, I know. I just... I need to take a shower.” Draco’s voice was shaking, and he got out of bed, swiftly undressing and snatching a towel from his own trunk before disappearing into the bathroom. Harry stared after him, sighing and relaxing on his back as he heard the hot water flip on. Poor Draco, he thought, and he drew the drapes on the four-poster so he might have some time to himself.

Yes, it could help the fusing process if Draco told him what happened so he could keep him away from any similar situations and also because it would be out in the open, off Draco’s chest. That thought made Harry’s heart skip a beat—when he was undressing Draco earlier, the sight of that chest did something funny to his stomach—and he took a deep breath, feeling his heart hammering against his ribcage. He placed all the pillows under his head, relaxing as he recalled that sight, the light carpet of blond fuzz that existed between Draco’s nipples, and he swallowed as he felt his pants tighten strangely. This should not have been arousing at all to him, he thought, and he moved his palm to try to push his arousal away, but the contact, even through the trousers, was enough to send shivers up his spine. His hands quivered, and he touched himself through the denim again, tracing his fingertips lightly over the firm outline of his cock in his pants.

Making sure the shower was still running, Harry unzipped the trousers and reached inside, gently easing out his arousal and taking it into his palm. He pumped his hand up and down, eyes closing so he could stare at that pale chest on the back of his eyelids. This was sick, it was wrong that he was here masturbating to the thought of Draco, and he felt his breath hitch as another shudder went through him at the touch of his thumb to the head of his erection. His left hand slipped up his body, tweaking his nipples through his shirt, and he slid it down further to slide two fingers under his balls, pressing on his taint and massaging it luxuriously as his right hand bobbed in time. His pink tongue slid over his lips to keep him from moaning aloud. His heels dug into the mattress, and he arched his back, mouth open and panting.

He moved his left fingers up to swipe at the pre-ejaculate gathering on the end of his cock, and he used it as lubrication to push his index finger deep within himself, searching for his prostate that he had so accidentally discovered one afternoon. “Ah...” He found it and rubbed it fiercely, feeling his balls begin to tighten, and just as he sat up and bit his lip, shooting pearly streams of come across the bed, he heard the shower kick off. Scrambling, he grabbed his wand and eliminated the mess before zipping himself up and lying back down again, trying not to look so flustered.

Draco came back into the room dressed in a robe, taking the time to brush his hair and make it look decent before he looked over to Harry and sighed deeply. “Sorry about getting so emotional,” he whispered, and he sat down heavily at the foot of the bed. “Malfoys don’t cry, after all... But... I don’t know if I can even call myself a Malfoy anymore. I’m.. .a nobody.” He hung his head and interested himself with trying to find faces in the grain of the wooden floor.

“That’s not true. You’re... uh... You’re Draco, and that means something. Come on... Let’s go to lunch. Whaddaya say?” Harry got up to find some decent clothes for Draco to put on, and he handed them to him. “There... We’ll go eat, and if you still feel pretty bad after food, we’ll skip classes today.” He smiled as Draco nodded and accepted the clothes.


“McGonagall was out of line, kicking you out for that,” Hermione observed as they sat together at lunch, devouring soup and sandwiches. “She must be in a bad mood or something... It was very out of character for her to do that.” Hermione took a large bite of her sandwich.

“What exactly did we get kicked out for?” Draco inquired, enjoying his tomato soup. He took a loud, undignified slurp from his spoon and sighed happily at the warmth flooding through him. Harry reached into the pockets of his robes and withdrew the shred of parchment Draco had been drawing on and handed it to him, blushing terribly and refusing to look over to him. “I didn’t draw this,” Draco snorted, his cheeks notably red as well, and he pushed the sketch over to Harry, where it was promptly snatched up by Hermione.

“I’ll take that. I like them,” she claimed, ignoring the nasty glare Draco shot her. In ignoring this, she did not notice his eyes unfocus, so when Draco jerked back and fell onto the floor, scrambling to backward from Harry, it was a total surprise. “...Draco?”

“Get away from me,” Draco mumbled, his eyes wild and darting back and forth. The scene had already drawn the eyes of many students in the Hall, and Harry turned to stare at him. “Don’t look at me... Don’t touch me... FUCK!” He leapt to his feet and looked around desperately, hyperventilating before he started to run for the doors to the Entrance Hall. Harry leapt to his feet and tore after him, ignoring the expressions of shock from his peers and teachers.

He caught up to Draco in the corridor and grabbed him from behind, flipping him around and clutching him to his chest as Draco clung to him and trembled, “He’ll get you too, Harry, he’ll get you too!” he insisted in a panic, and as though he saw something behind Harry, he jerked away again and cried, “Get me away from him!” The force of his leap away sent him flying onto his arse, and he slid a metre on the floor before he threw his head back and screamed as though being murdered. When Harry grabbed him again, Draco’s fingernails sank into the flesh of his shoulders through his robes, and he shook his head, sobbing. “He’ll get you, too... Fuck, fuck, he’s going to kill me...”

“Calm down, Draco,” Harry whispered desperately, not noticing that they had drawn quite the crowd of spectators. “No one’s here... It’s just you and me...” And the at least two hundred other people, but they did not seem to be visible to Draco as he whimpered into Harry’s neck and shook his head. “Shh...”

“Is he all right, Potter?” McGonagall asked as she and Snape strode up to them. “Perhaps you should take him back to the dormitory, or even outside for some fresh air?” She could see tears of frustration welling up in Harry’s eyes, and she shooed the crowd away to give them some air. “Go on...”

Harry nodded and hefted Malfoy into his arms, ignoring the earsplitting screams that Draco was emitting. By the time they were back in the tower, Draco had either fallen silent or deafened Harry, though he suspected the former, and he lay Draco down on the bed before removing his own robes and shirt to inspect the bloody half-moons in his shoulders. “Goddamn...” He flopped down on the bed and sighed as Draco eased into his lap, face burying against his neck, and he felt hot tears. “Calm down,” he whispered for what he felt like was the billionth time that day. “You’re all right, Draco, don’t cry like this…” His voice was soft, as was the grip he had on Draco’s shoulders. “Hush now.”
The feeling of Draco relaxing against him made him breathe a sigh of relief, and as Draco shuddered, he stroked that silky hair and closed his eyes; however, the presence of a very different warmth against his neck made his eyes fly wide open, and his hands gripped tightly to those thin shoulders as he felt what was, unmistakeably, Draco’s tongue sliding along his flesh. His breath caught in his throat and, for a few moments, he dared not move for fear of what might happen. One of Draco’s hands moved up to cup his cheek, and he gave a strangled swallow before whispering, “D-Draco?” His eyes squeezed closed as the tongue withdrew, though it was soon replaced with Draco’s lips, and he found his breath becoming more and more difficult to draw as those lips suckled his skin. “What... What are you doing? Stop...” His resolve was not evident in his tone. To his horror, a little moan escaped his lips, but, to his shock, Draco did not snicker at him or anything of the sort at all. He instead moved to suckle at Harry’s collarbone. By this time, Harry was thoroughly confused, and he tried to shove Draco away. “Quit it!” he growled. This got the Slytherin’s attention, and the familiar grey gaze rose to meet his.

It was Draco—the real Draco. “What the hell, Malfoy?!” Harry squeaked, trying his best not to sputter and choke. His pants were unbelievably tight at the moment, and he pushed Draco back a little, finding it impossible to breathe.

Draco smirked, his cheeks slightly flushed as well, and he pushed his hair back, looking slightly self-conscious. “Just cleaning up...” This statement nearly made Harry’s head explode, and he shifted uncomfortably before standing to his feet and glaring at Draco.

“You’re sick,” Harry hissed, shoving the Slytherin away and rolling off the bed. “I don’t know who you think you are, but… but you just can’t do that!” His voice, which had been strong, was beginning to weaken at the end of his protest, and now he felt miserable. “Don’t I have enough to deal with? The least you could do…” He broke off and shook his head quite violently. “Forget it. You know what? I don’t care anymore. Find someone else to burden!”

With that, he stormed out of Gryffindor Tower, leaving a very confused Draco in his wake.