Twenty-Four Hours (H/D, PG-13)

[sesheta66]

Title: Twenty-Four Hours
Author: sesheta_66
Beta: alaana_fair - much ♥ for you for putting up with my whining on this one, hon. ♥
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Summary: This was it. Draco was finally going to win a Quidditch match for Slytherin. Against Potter. Fairly. Just a little further. Of course, Potter had to go and fuck things up. Again. Only this time, the idiot had some unexpected help.
Word Count: ~ 3,550
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author’s note: Written for marguerite_26's One Plot, Many Pairings Experiment: "Character A and character B are trapped in a small space and unable to get out. They are tired and uncomfortable and a little too close for comfort. All they have each other and that makes things both better and worse."


Twenty-Four Hours
by Sesheta

Nearly there.

Almost.

Draco reached for the Snitch, Potter's hand mere inches away. He veered left, pushing Potter out of the way. Yes! He lunged forward, reaching again. This was it. He was finally going to beat Potter!

His fingers stretched, the elusive gold ball less than an inch beyond his grasp. He lifted his body up just enough to close the distance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Potter launch himself off his broom and towards Draco. What the--?

Before he had time to process the idiocy that was Potter, Draco felt the flutter of a wing beneath his fingertips.

And Potter's hand crushing his own.

And the familiar tug of a Portkey.

Draco was hurled forward, swirled into the unknown, Potter's hand clenching painfully around his own, their bodies colliding.

Oof! He landed hard, dumped unceremoniously in a heap on the ground, Potter falling none too gently on top of him.

"You idiot!" Draco screeched. "Get off me!"

Potter grumbled and rolled away, but didn't let go of Draco's fist clutching the Snitch.

"Unhand me!"

Potter ignored his request. "What did you do, you tosser?"

"Me?" Draco fumed. "This is your fault!"

"Oh, really?" Potter said, stubbornly holding on. "How do you work that one out?"

Draco flailed his arm, trying to shake Potter loose. "Let go of me!"

"Why?" Potter tightened his already-painful grip. "So you can --"

"So I can what?" Draco asked, the contact with Potter driving him mad. He was equal parts infuriating and, well, infuriating. First because he was stupid and stubborn and always managed to get caught up in idiotic things. And second because he was strong and powerful and ... well, Draco didn't want to go there right now. He'd had far too many of those errant thoughts ever since the unfortunate Fiendfyre episode. "The war is over, Potter. What do you imagine I plan to do if you let go?"

"I --" Potter looked at their joined hands and scowled.

"I can practically hear your brain trying to work out what nefarious deeds I will carry out the second you release me," he said. "Do try not to hurt yourself."

Potter snorted and said, "I didn't know you cared."

Stupid tosser completely missed Draco's point. Git. Draco looked at their hands and raised a brow. "You're the one holding my hand, Potter." Potter's face turned the same red as his Quidditch robes. Draco smiled. He leaned in and whispered in Potter's ear. "I think I should be the one worried here," he said. "Next thing, you'll be trying to kiss me."

Potter released his hand. Draco chuckled. And absolutely did not feel the loss of Potter's touch. Not at all.

The Snitch's wings fluttered and Draco belatedly pumped his fist in the air. "Yes! Finally!"

Potter huffed. "Cheater!"

Draco wheeled round. "I did not cheat!" It was the truth. In fact, it was the first time he hadn't felt the need to resort to cheating against Potter. It felt good. Who knew?

"What did you do?" Potter asked, flailing his arms and stomping around the tiny room. "Where are we?"

Honestly! Couldn't Potter just let him have his moment, for fuck's sake? Draco sighed. He supposed there would be time to gloat later. "It appears --" He took in their surroundings. "-- if the chairs stacked by the window and the large desk in the corner are any indication, that we are in a disused classroom."

"Funny." Potter stopped to run a finger through the dust on the desk, then resumed his pacing. "I'd worked that much out for myself."

"And yet, still you asked."

"You know what I meant. Where are we?"

The lack of windows suggested the dungeons, but it was much smaller than their standard classrooms and didn't look like any room Draco had seen before. In fact, he couldn't be sure if they were still at Hogwarts. "How should I know?" The lack of a door suggested nothing. Except that someone was fucking with them.

Potter stopped pacing. "You mean you don't?"

"That's what I said." Draco rolled his eyes. "You really are an idiot."

"I want to know where we are."

"I. Don't. Know." Draco's teeth hurt from clenching them so tightly. "Aren't you the resident expert on getting Portkeyed to places unknown?" He knew it was petty, but true nonetheless.

Potter's jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. The dark brooding look suited him. "That's not funny."

Draco shook off his wayward thoughts. "Do you hear me laughing?"

Potter lowered his wand and stomped the four steps to the other side of the room. Petulant wasn't nearly as hot as brooding.

Draco needed a distraction. He waved his wand and spun in place. "Shit." He tried again. Nothing. "Fuck." Potter looked at him blankly for a moment, then attempted to Apparate as well. Draco sneered when Potter's attempt proved no more successful than Draco's had been.

"Anti-Apparation Enchantment."

"Really?" Draco mocked. "At Hogwarts? Colour me surprised."

"I thought you didn't know where we were," Potter retorted.

"Until something proves otherwise, I'll presume that the inability to Apparate and the fact that we're in a classroom are strong indications that we are still at school."

"Tosser."

Draco waved his wand, casting every spell he knew to reveal hidden pathways, doors, windows, and tunnels. Nothing. Potter mumbled on his side of the room and waved his wand in his own failed attempts.

"Do you think the room prevents us doing magic?" Potter asked.

Draco waved his wand and conjured glass followed by water. "Apparently not." He lifted the glass and drank the cool liquid. Despite his current predicament, he took a moment to enjoy the feel of it drizzling down his throat, a welcome bit of refreshment after the game.

Potter conjured his own glass of water. "Good idea."

Draco stood transfixed as Potter closed his eyes, leaned back, and swallowed. He was thirsty all over again. He needed Potter to ... stop. He coughed. "Did you just compliment me?" Draco asked.

"No. Not really." Potter looked confused, then disconcerted. "Okay, maybe." Hell had clearly frozen over. "But I didn't mean to." Obviously. "And definitely don't get used to it."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He determinedly veered his brain away from what he did dream about when it came to Potter.

A shimmer of magic flickered on the wall behind Potter. Draco raised his wand and Potter aimed his at Draco without missing a beat. "Careful with that." Draco waved his free hand at Potter, then motioned towards the disturbance. Potter grudgingly turned but did not lower his wand. "Seriously, Potter, get over yourself. I'm not out to kill you." His mind furnished him with some much more enjoyable things to do with the world's saviour.

The shimmering ceased and two pieces of parchment appeared. Draco waved his wand at them. "No curses," he said.

Potter nodded and removed them from the wall. Draco allowed himself a moment of wonder that Potter had taken his word for it about the curses. "There's one for each of us," Potter said as he passed Draco his.

Draco,

We had to do something. Sure, we like competition, and who doesn't like kicking Gryffindor's collective arse? But this thing between you and Potter is affecting our games, and we had no choice.

By now, you've figured out that you can't get out. Clever of me to charm the Snitch to be caught only if you were both close enough to touch it, wasn't it?

The Portkey will reactivate in twenty-four hours. You can do magic in the room, but any hint of Dark Magic can be traced. Bloody do-gooder Gryffindors insisted. Wankers. Can you believe they wanted us to take your wands? Not that you couldn't hold your own, of course, but seriously?

So get comfortable, try not to kill each other (not that it would be a great loss if Potter died, but we figure you'd end up in Azkaban for your troubles), and work out your problems. You have one day. If you return and nothing's changed, we're going to McGonagall to appoint new captains. Both teams. Don't say we didn't give you a chance.

Draco looked at Potter, parchment dangling from his hand and face in utter shock, and snatched the note from his grasp. Potter in turn took his. Draco scanned the letter - nearly identical, right down to not caring about Draco's fate. He looked at Potter again, and imagined his own face reflected the same dismay.

"This is all your fault, Potter!"

Potter's anguish morphed to anger. "Why is everything always my fault?" He waved Draco's note around. "Seems to me it's our teams that are at fault here."

"Bastards."

"Agreed."

Wait, what? Potter was agreeing with him? "I bet this is a ruse to give you an excuse to kill me."

Potter pulled a chair out from the wall, sat down and sighed. "You caught me," he deadpanned, rolling his eyes for emphasis. "I've had this planned for years, Malfoy. I just had to wait for the right time, a time when no one would suspect a thing." He slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. "What was I thinking? I could have just ... oh, I dunno ... let you die during the war. Now I've gone and involved two Quidditch teams." He rubbed his chin, his eyes dancing around the room. "What to do with the witnesses?"

"Very funny, Potter. Joke all you want, but I bet no one would give a toss if you offed me." He crossed to the other side of the room, transfigured a chair into a comfortable chaise, and sat down. He rested his elbows on his knees and let his head fall into his hands.

"I'm not going to kill you," Potter said. Draco shrugged. He knew Potter wouldn't kill him, but he hadn't been lying. No one, right up to the Minister himself, would care if Draco just ceased to exist. "It would make saving your life rather pointless, wouldn't it?"

Draco lifted his head, tired of the constant reminder of his life debt and poised to fight, only to see a pained expression on Potter's face. "Are you looking for thanks or something?" Draco asked.

"No." Potter shook his head. "I figure we're even."

Draco searched his face for a hint of insincerity, but found none. He looked at Potter as if he were daft. Which, of course, he was.

"You saved my life too," Potter said.

Oh, for fuck's sake. Draco sat back in an attempt to appear relaxed, crossed his ankle over his knee, and folded his hands in his lap. He'd been content enough at his trial to accept whatever story Potter had concocted. After all, he hadn't wanted to spend his life behind bars. Truth be told, his recollection of the trial was muddled at best, most of it having passed in a haze. But now? Here? Where there were only the two of them? Surely Potter didn't believe his own nonsense.

"So you said at my trial."

"So it happened."

Draco frowned. "You don't actually believe that, do you?"

"I wouldn't have said it otherwise."

Draco laughed. "You owed my mother, plain and simple. There was nothing more to it."

"You think I lied in court for your mother?"

Draco raised a brow in challenge. "I didn't do anything, Potter."

Potter smirked. "Exactly."

"Let me get this straight," Draco said. "You risk your life to rescue me from Fiendfyre, and somehow in that addled brain of yours, that's the same thing as me saying nothing?"

Potter leaned forward and fixed Draco with a serious look. A look Draco could imagine would come in handy interrogating criminals when the Golden Boy became an Auror. "Tell me you didn't know it was me that day at the Manor."

"Of course I knew it was you!" Draco hadn't admitted that to anyone, had barely acknowledged it to himself, and he was as shocked hearing the words fall from his mouth as Potter looked smug.

"Your father - Voldemort's right hand - was practically salivating at the thought of turning me over to his master. And your aunt was teetering on the edge of an orgasm at the prospect."

"Ew." Draco shuddered. "Kindly refrain from saying orgasm in relation to my nutter of an aunt, Potter."

Potter processed the words and shuddered too. "You don't think she and Voldemort --"

"Argh!" Draco's hand shot up into the air to stop the flow of Potter's words, though the damage was done. An unwanted visual flashed before Draco's eyes, and he felt ill.

Potter's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

"Back on point, Potty. Yes I knew it was you, and yes my deluded father and crazy aunt wanted me to give you up. I chose not to bother. Deciding not to assist a raving psychopath is not the same thing as risking my life to save you."

"You don't think so?" Potter said. "You didn't think your daddy or auntie, or even Voldemort might be a bit pissed at you? Didn't think they might use Legilimancy on you and discover the truth?"

Potter was right, of course. "Unlike you," Draco said, recalling his father's delight at Potter's inability to block out the Dark Lord's thoughts, "I am adept at Occlumancy."

"Still, it was a big risk."

"Think what you want," Draco said, but inside he was pleased. For some reason, what Potter thought mattered. It meant a lot that, no matter what anyone else thought of him, for some reason Potter managed to see some good beneath his surface. Despite everything they'd been through. The thought was sobering.

"Look, Malfoy, I don't want to fight." Draco snorted. Potter always wanted to fight with him. "Especially about this. Whether you're willing to admit it or not, you saved my life." Potter wrung his hands together nervously and looked up. "Thank you. I know your family suffered after we escaped, and I'm sorry about that."

"You're sorry?" Surely Potter didn't mean that.

"Well, I'm not sorry we escaped. Obviously. As for your aunt, she deserved it. And your dad is a right bastard, so I suppose I don't feel badly for him either." Draco nodded. No sense denying the truth now. "But you and your mum didn't deserve that. I never wanted that."

Draco gaped at Potter. Surely he wasn't serious. "You nearly killed me the previous year," Draco reminded him. "Don't tell me you cared what happened to me."

Potter stood up, face drained of all colour. He ran his hands through his frightful mop of hair like he often did when he was upset. He approached Draco, stopping directly in front of him, just short of touching. He looked broken.

Potter looked down at Draco, his hands swaying slightly, as though he meant to reach out, before changing his mind and pulling back again. "I never meant for that to happen," he said. His voice was so quiet Draco could barely make out the words. Potter sounded as defeated as he looked. Draco had never seen Potter that way before. Not as a captive at the Manor, not facing Voldemort, not ever. "I didn't know what the spell would do," he said. "I had no idea."

Listening to Potter, Draco knew what he said was true. He'd probably known it all along. Still, he couldn't stop the next words from flowing readily. "So you didn't mean to slice me up and leave me to bleed to death?"

Potter nearly crumbled before him, and Draco found his anger subside slightly.

"I never wanted you dead," Potter whispered. He reached out his hands and rested them on Draco's shoulders. "Please believe me."

Draco looked into Potter's eyes and saw regret. Deep regret. He nodded, not able to trust his own voice now.

Potter removed his hands from Draco's shoulders, then sat down on the chaise next to him. They sat that way, in silence, for some time. It felt oddly comfortable, despite Potter's rigid posture, to sit there with him like that, the weight of years lifted ever so slightly from his shoulders. Eventually Potter relaxed. He ran his hands through his hair once more and leaned his head back. Draco tried not to stare at the length of Potter's neck bared before him, begging to be licked.

"I'm sorry," Potter said, turning his head to face Draco. "Really sorry."

He turned away again, closing his eyes and leaning back, revealing that neck again. Draco watched, mesmerised, as his Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed. Draco's mouth felt suddenly dry.

"I'm so glad Snape arrived when he did," Potter continued.

Draco imagined, as he had so many times before, what might have happened if Snape hadn't. "Yeah. Me too."

Potter looked at him again, his eyes moving to Draco's chest. "Was he able to prevent scarring?" he asked.

"Not completely." Draco thought of the thin silver scar, barely visible except when examined closely, running the length of his torso. "But he did an admirable job."

Potter's eyes remained fixed on Draco's chest. "Can I?" Potter asked, drawing nearer and motioning towards Draco's chest. "Can I see?"

Draco stared at him. No one but Pansy had ever even asked to see the evidence of Potter's actions. Besides Snape and Pomfrey, of course. He lifted his hand and instinctively clutched the front of his uniform.

"Sorry." Potter pulled back. "If it makes you uncomfortable ..."

Uncomfortable? Baring his chest to his school nemesis, someone with whom he'd never had a reasonable conversation before now? Of course it made him uncomfortable. "No," he lied. "It's just ..." He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, all the while reflecting on how utterly surreal this was. He pulled his top free of his trousers and opened it for Potter to see.

But Potter did more than look. He leaned closer, then reached his hand out, tracing his fingers over the thin line. "I'm sorry," he repeated, voice barely above a whisper. He kept touching, feather-light caresses that wreaked havoc with Draco's nerves, not to mention another part of his body. "So sorry."

Draco closed his eyes, his emotions threatening to break free if he dared to look in Potter's direction. Draco fought to control his breathing but failed miserably as Potter continued to trace his fingertips over Draco's scar, whispering apologies all the while. By the time Potter drew his shirt closed again, Draco's heart was beating so fast it threatened to burst free.

Potter gently refastened each button, then rested his hand against Draco's heart. Draco, still unable to trust looking at Potter, felt the warmth of Potter's breath against his ear. "Will you ever be able to forgive me?" he asked.

Draco opened his eyes to see Potter's face right there, green eyes pleading for forgiveness Draco wasn't sure he could give. Potter's tongue nervously moistened his lips. Draco stopped thinking then and acted. Emotions on overload, senses heightened, vulnerable like he couldn't remember ever being, he gave in to the inevitable and closed the distance between them. He didn't know, nor did he pause to consider how Potter might react. He just did.

Potter's reaction turned out to be good. Brilliant, actually. When their lips met, he let out the most delicious moan, before he leaned in and deepened the kiss. His hands framed Draco's face in a unexpectedly intimate gesture. His thumbs caressed Draco's cheeks while he pressed their mouths together softly, again and again.

Draco tentatively licked at Potter's bottom lip, aching to taste, to explore, to have more. Potter's response was anything but tentative. His hands moved from Draco's face to run through his hair, one hand coming to rest on Draco's neck to draw him closer. Potter tilted his head, parted his lips, and let Draco in.

Their tongues wrapped around each other, and Draco's insides melted. Fuck, but Potter could kiss! Draco's senses threatened to overload - his heart raced, his skin tingled, his insides thrummed.

Potter's hands reached beneath Draco's shirt and returned to his chest. This time, as Potter's knuckle grazed a nipple, Draco shivered for an entirely different reason. Eager to return the favour and to feel Potter's skin beneath his hands, he pulled Potter's shirt free of his trousers. Potter's heart, Draco discovered, raced like his own. Because of him. Heady was the power he felt at that revelation.

They kissed until they needed to break free - for air, for distance, or just to look at each other. Potter kissed the tip of his nose. Trust him to be a sap. Draco smiled, despite himself.

"So, does that mean you forgive me?" Potter asked, goofy grin plastered on his face.

Draco shook his head. "I don't think so." Potter's face fell. Draco ran his hands through Potter's surprisingly silky mop and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips. "I think I may need more convincing."

Potter's smile reached his twinkling eyes, and if the tightening in Draco's chest was any indication, it reached Draco's heart too. "I think I could arrange that," Potter said. The next kiss was as good as the first. As was the next. And the next. And the next.

They had three quarters of a day left locked in this room. And Draco planned to make the most of it.

Comments

[groolover.livejournal.com]

*happy sigh*