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“What if he hears?”
“You said yourself that he’s in the shower. You tell me how long those last.”
Harry blanched when he realized that he did know how long one of Draco’s typical showers lasted, and that he also knew how that time varied with Draco’s moods. Maybe he should talk to Hermione. She was a girl, and girls were good with these kinds of things, right?
“I keep telling myself that I’m not falling for him, and at times he makes me so annoyed that I’m sure I’m right. But then he—”
“Goes and does something that makes you like him.”
Harry nodded.
“And then that makes you forget about the thing that annoyed you.”
Harry nodded again.
Hermione smiled. “So how well does he kiss?”
Again Harry blanched. “Hermione!”
“Answer the question.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Really well.”
“Better than Cho?”
“Yes…”
“Would you do it again?”
“…Yes…”
In an almost childish nature, Hermione poked Harry’s shoulder and said in a sing-song voice. “I know who Harry li-ikes.”
“And I, for one, am going to forget I just heard this conversation,” an aristocratic drawl spoke from behind them.
Harry paled, realizing that Draco had been standing there for who knew how long.
Chapter 18: Leaving Egypt
Draco wasn’t surprised when Harry didn’t follow him into their rooms. Oh Merlin, their rooms. Since when had it become “their” rooms instead of “his” rooms? Draco sighed, running his fingers through still damp hair. “Probably on the same day I fell on top of him,” he muttered into the still room and then paused. “Salazar, that sounded so wrong.”
Draco forced himself to go through the routine of getting ready for sleep, a process that took hours since he was so particular (the real reason why he made sure to get all the homework he would do for a day done before supper), before realizing that Medusa would have closed the portrait by now, which meant Harry still couldn’t get in. And there would be no way he could get in until Draco told Medusa to open it.
“Oh well. His fault.” Draco shrugged noncommittally even as he contradicted himself by getting out of bed and sitting down on the couch with the comforter, which he had unceremoniously pulled off of his bed, to wait for Harry to bang on the portrait again. Within ten minutes however, he was sound asleep.
Harry brooded, sitting up on the end of Ron’s bed, as his was currently a few floors down in the dungeons.
“Harry, I’ve got to say that brooding about it won’t make the situation go away, mate,” Ron finally said with the air of one resigned for a long argument.
Harry looked pointedly at him. “Ron, if Draco Malfoy had just found out that you liked him, what would you do?”
“I would keel over laughing because I’m not gay,” was the stoic reply.
Harry rolled his eyes. “I should hurt you for that sentence.”
“But then people would wonder why there were strange sounds coming from the dormitory and they would have an excuse to break the locking charm you put on the door. Which, by the way, I think you should remove so the other boys can get some sleep even if you are determined to brood away the night hours.”
“I’m not brooding.”
And here they might as well have come full circle.
“Look, it’s not that bad, Harry,” Ron finally said in the silence.
“Explain what’s so ‘not that bad’ about it, then.”
Ron raised his eyes skyward with a thought akin to: What is this world coming too? I’m about to help my friend who is emotionally involved with a Malfoy…
“Well, Malfoy’s a Veriae. It’s not like he can really up and leave whenever he wants…”
“So I’m stuck with him acting smugly superior and/or disliking me for the rest of my life. Okay.”
Ron groaned. “Look, I can’t believe that I’m going to say this but I’m just going to say what I saw. And I don’t care if it was the only kiss you two will ever share for the rest of your lives, you were both participating. Equally, I might add. No matter who says what, that is a fact.”
“That was one kiss. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“That was your second kiss though, wasn’t it?” Harry winced internally but he didn’t bother telling Ron it was actually their third. Ron suddenly looked very serious. “If one kiss was enough to start this whole Veriae-bond-thing, then I think that it’s a small thing for a second kiss to show that both parties are attracted to each other.”
Harry thought for a moment. “When did you get so smart?”
“I can’t believe I just said that,” Ron muttered and began moving to the bathroom.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to wash my mouth out with soap for saying such nice things about Malfoy; it’s got to be against some rule somewhere.”
Harry laughed lightly before getting up, bidding Ron good-night, and allowing several annoyed Gryffindor boys back into their dormitory. Oh well, it was a long walk down to the dungeons, plenty of time to get enough courage to face Draco again, right? Then again, maybe Draco would be asleep by now…then again…Harry remembered that he still didn’t know the password. Oh…damn it all.
Harry watched Medusa watch him disapprovingly. After a few minutes of this staring contest, he spoke:
“So are you going to let me in?”
“Why should I?” Medusa spat. “You don’t know the password.”
“Because by now you should know that I live here,” Harry pointed out patiently. “We have this conversation even when I do know the password so I don’t understand why you can’t just open up and let me in.”
“No password, no admittance.”
“Stupid bitch.” Harry snarled, unaware that it came out in Parseltongue.
