Summary: A view from within a room.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Word Count: 2300
Author's Notes: Lilian, I hope this is more hit than miss. There was as much to include, as there was to avoid, and ultimately I hope you won't think I have piked too much.
Night was boring.
Harry had always known this; it was no surprise to him to be lying on his back in pitch black thinking that night was boring. The night occasionally redeemed itself by virtue of an event not instigated by night itself (how it would be possible for a period of the day to do anything that would make itself less boring, Harry did not know), but he still remembered all of the other nights where nothing happened. Nothing happened and he just lay there until he fell asleep. It felt like hours.
He never thought of night time being boring at any other time but night time and exactly when it was being boring. It was no coincidence.
Harry's eyes flitted around the space contained within the curtains of his four-poster bed; there wasn't a lot to see – thanks to night, there wasn't really anything to see. A sliver of light that entered through the curtains at the foot of the bed on the left side was all that recommended any sort of view to Harry, but the moonlight through the window wasn't terribly illuminating that evening, and all he really saw was the faint sliver itself, making everything that lay in its path look slightly less dark.
Boring. Boring. Bor-
Harry froze and then made a small noise of his own as something large and cloaked landed on him; he would have cried out if not for a hand quickly finding its way to his mouth. He tried to reach for his wand, his glasses, anything to raise an alarm or defend himself, but another hand stopped him.
The figure pinning him to his bed wasn't larger than himself – it had to be another student. Whoever it was was determined – they kept him still despite Harry's considerable resistance.
It was ludicrous; Harry's fear became obscured by ego. Don't you know who I am?
His question was answered in a curious fashion: they removed their hand from his mouth and kissed him.
The fact he was being assaulted escaped his mind. Night time had never given him a moment like this one before.
Ordinarily he would have demanded this person identify themselves, the information given would have confirmed whether or not Harry wanted this strange occurrence to continue. He wasn't against being kissed, and he ...
Harry lost sight of whatever it was he had been thinking about. The lips that kissed him were soft and searching, and they convinced his mouth to open with little more than the brief sucking of his bottom lip. Harry's heart beat faster at this touch, and his was relaxed briefly by a surreal sense of joy.
That one sliver of light that invaded the darkness was obscured when his partner's tie fell from within their robe; the light Harry's half-open eyes had once been searching through was gone. He tried to use his hands to identify this ... phantom.
Every time Harry's hands found their way to the other's body, they were quickly pushed away or put somewhere to distract him from what he was trying to do.
Harry paused when the lips that had kissed him stopped to press against his hand, breath warming him in an unusually comforting way.
There was a noise- something, someone ... Harry realised it was Seamus talking in his sleep a moment later, but by then his partner had already fled, taking the warmth of the moment with themselves.
Now that it was over he lay there in shock, the unusually cold air filled with his breath, and the space that he lay in more blue than before.
After another moment, he simply burst into laughter.
The following evening Harry was in bed by midnight . He had earlier stayed in the common room for a greater length than usual. Though he tired quickly, he had told Ron he wanted to watch the fire for a little while longer – Ron had said he was mad and went to bed.
Not long after Harry found himself there as well, once again on his back, looking up at the ceiling, and as wide awake as he had been the night before.
He frowned in the darkness, and his eyes trailed to the sliver of light that entered through the curtains at the foot of the bed on the left side. The moon was waxing – the light was brighter and Harry's eyes adjusted more quickly. He squinted (does that really help me see better?) and didn't see a lot, but when he raised his leg, he could make out the faint outline.
Or maybe since I know I'm doing it I think I can see my leg? He would have spent another minute or so thinking about it, but that train of thought was interrupted by something large and heavy jumping on him.
He had learnt a lesson from yesterday, and even though being jumped on in that fashion wasn't exactly the most pleasant experience on Earth, he settled in silence for what would presumably become one of the more pleasant experiences.
Harry wasn't disappointed, so much so that the shock and surprise from last night had given way to a grin as the same intoxicating lips met his. He was actually surprised he recognised them so quickly – he couldn't recall being that familiar with Cho's or Ginny's, and he certainly knew the latter's quite well. For not the first time in the past twenty-four hours, he thought briefly of his girlfriend and frowned.
His partner must have sensed this, as their lips diverted from Harry's to Harry's neck. For their worth, those lips received a gratifying shudder from Harry's entire body.
The same desperate needing ... desire (Desire, Harry considered it. Wasn't that a word for adults?) from before was there, but, strangely enough, this time it seemed more organised. The phantom had immediately seen to Harry's searching hands – they were held down beside his waist, his fingers occasionally tensing when those incredible lips made him forget there was anything else to life but where they would go.
He hadn't noticed it before, and perhaps it was selfish that he hadn't, but Harry realised, as their lips touched again, that the phantom was smiling.
Both of their expressions faltered when a noise interrupted the hard-kept silence between them; but, more importantly, Harry found his lips cold when nothing was against them. The noise was Seamus again, once more speaking into the night. This time his partner did not flee.
The kisses began again- those hopeful, expectant, desperate kisses. Harry's heart sped up, and the phantom's smile returned; the latter of those emotions gave way to pleasure.
For some time that was all there was: a constant and comforting pleasure that Harry could forget there would be an end to. His head became full of nothing else, and he imagined being in a lesson, the phantom leaning over his desk as they touched – it didn't seem as ridiculous as it was, and even the stunned expressions of the other Gryffindors and the professor failed to convince him that what he was doing was not what he should be.
The sliver of light really was much brighter that evening, and this time Harry was able to make out more of the shape that was above him. He paused when it was absolutely confirmed in his mind that the phantom was another wizard. Times like these, he felt certain, were times where a deep breath and a thorough review of one's life were in order.
A boy, one who wanted him, and one whose kisses worked better than any memory charm did.
Harry forgot himself, and when the phantom found the place that made his toes curl and his fingers stretch, he did the one thing that stopped everything.
Harry didn't get to say anything else. The warmth that covered him was gone as the curtains rustled and the phantom fled.
At that point Harry made a decision. Confusion and curiosity aside, he decided he never wanted to not be kissed by this person ... whoever they were.
Harry turned his head to the side and grinned at the dark. His hand moved to his waist.
The next evening Harry didn't bother hanging around in the common room. He went straight to bed when it got to the time he usually retired and waited in silence.
Again there was a sliver of light in the left-hand corner of the foot of the bed, revealing more than it had the previous two nights.
Harry could make out two of the four posts of his bed now; he became used to looking at them as the time passed. It seemed to go on and on, and he found himself fretting (and even thinking of the word – it sounded oddly inappropriate to him, and the thought made him smile) that the phantom wouldn't appear that night. Was speaking a transgression that Harry's draw couldn't overcome?
Eventually he sighed and closed his eyes. With the late-night visits seemingly ended, he considered how he would relate the story to Ron-
There was no mistaking the familiar thump as he was once again covered by the familiar visitor. Harry was relieved.
And excited, he discovered, when the phantom pinned his hands above his head and lowered himself on top of Harry. This was far more friction than before, and though their bodies reacted as well they ought, it was still those lips that excited Harry the most. They were a source of strange comfort to him, even as they made his heart race and his own lips demand for more – the thought in the back of his mind that he might actually sleep with this boy didn't panic him as much as it might have if the warm assurance of his kiss was gone.
It wasn't that he hadn't fucked someone before, but he certainly hadn't been fucked, and that was part of that whole ... thing, wasn't it? Despite himself, Harry grinned, and though he was able to focus on the fantasy of someone else's cock, his thoughts eventually returned to the lips that recommended it to him in the first place.
Harry was carried away once more; it failed to catch his attention that his hands had been free for five minutes already. He only noticed when they were able to reach inside the robes that contained the phantom – there was a delightfully real boy within them.
He had to ask again.
'Who are you?'
This time his question was answered with a lingering kiss and a gentle hand placed over Harry's heart. The other hand, much to Harry's great and giddy joy, held one of Harry's own. The phantom didn't flee, but when the kiss was over, he did leave.
Harry was contemplative after this break. When he fell asleep he wasn't worried that his partner wouldn't return the next night – he was sure he would.
When it was night again the next day, Harry was in bed early. He heard the others come in and fall asleep, and enough hours passed that he heard Seamus talking at the usual time. Harry was still alone at this point, and though he spent the usual amount of time dedicated to his fantasies, he also spent time thinking about the identity of the subject of his new fantasies. He tried to put a face to the lips, to the touch, to the idea that whoever did those things to him wanted him so much – it had to be obvious, didn't it?
All day he had kept an eye on everyone he passed – his fellow Gryffindors, the boys from the other houses ... He was looking for a sign, but no one smiled at him in a way he would call telling, and Harry was certain he would know the lips of the person who kissed him, even if he had never properly seen them. An amused expression crossed Harry's face as he considered a Cinderella-style search of the school – how many boys would he have to kiss to find the one?
Harry frowned when he realised he hadn't had much chance to investigate the Ravenclaws of his year – Draco Malfoy had distracted him by being his usual charming self.
The moon pushed aside all thought of Draco. It was full, and the sliver was as bright as it could possibly be; Harry could make out the pattern on the curtains.
Harry pushed his covers down, and didn't have to wait long for someone to join him. Unlike the previous occasions where he had been leapt upon, the cloaked figure slid into bed beside Harry this time.
Already Harry's heart was pounding, and he felt more nervous for those kisses than he had been before. He couldn't wait all night to be kissed, so Harry kissed the phantom himself.
It was a liberating feeling, to have made the first move, even as the other boy sat up to take his place on top, Harry felt there was more even ground between them than there had been before.
Harry's hands weren't met with resistance when they helped his partner remove the article of clothing that kept his identity secret. In the flurry of cloaks and covers, Harry didn't see a thing, and when he was once again engulfed by a deep and lingering kiss, he closed his eyes and did nothing more than enjoy it.
It wasn't long before both of them had excited the response that signalled things were about to move in another direction, and as Harry was filled with nerves and anticipation and the by now familiar longing to touch another boy and be touched by said boy in return, he opened his eyes to face who it was that made him feel like that.
The moon was brilliant that evening, perhaps more brilliant than the phantom realised, because he didn't seem aware that Harry recognised him.
It was Draco Malfoy.
All expression drained from Harry's face and a feeling of shock and revulsion reeled through him, but he pretended it didn't. Draco seemed surprised and rose, too, when Harry sat up and moved to the end of the bed; he didn't think it meant anything when Harry pulled the curtain across so the sliver of light disappeared.
In the darkness, Harry returned to Draco and lay him down.