"Walk!" Sprout barked as Draco managed to disentangle himself from Potter. However, since they were still bound tightly together, Draco was forced to hug Potter and grab his hip for support and he couldn't move his right leg forward unless Potter moved his left at the same time. After struggling for a minute, they managed to make one tiny little step.

"You should go to the hospital wing, Mr Malfoy," Sprout said, eyeing Draco's face.

Right on cue, Draco's jaw started throbbing. Reminded of Potter's vicious blow, Draco stepped sharply forward with his right foot. Potter cried out in pain as his left arm was pulled and he stumbled, choking, as he was forced to bend down. Unfortunately, that made Draco lean forward, as well, and as Potter suddenly straightened, Draco received a nose full of black hair and a punch in his sore jaw. He would have retaliated, but he was temporary distracted by the scent of apples that filled his nostrils. It made him feel . . . hungry.

Potter glared at him, so Draco glared in return as they panted heavily, nursing their injuries.

"Oh, never mind," Sprout said and sighed. Draco barely heard her over the noise the other students made by laughing and shrieking excessively. "Here . . ." Sprout strolled toward the nearest classroom and checked to see if it was empty. It must have been, because she waved her wand toward it, beckoning them inside.

It wasn't very far, but it took them forever to get there. Not to mention it was a painful trip. Draco's right leg throbbed and Potter looked like he would die of asphyxiation at any moment. Their first step into the classroom was greeted by cheers and a thunderous applause.

"Settle down," Sprout chided, but she, too, sounded amused. "Go on, take a seat," she instructed, indicating the nearest set of chairs.

Draco heard Potter groan and he couldn't help sympathising. It would have been so much easier to walk if Potter's hand wasn't stuck between Draco's thighs. Embarrassment aside, it was just plain uncomfortable. Draco wasn't used to being touched there. Sure, a girl or two had fumbled around his bits, but what bothered Draco now was the continuous male grip that wasn't fumbly or tentative but rough and threatening. It was Potter, after all, who had already threatened to castrate him. Draco couldn't escape the looming sense of menace that Potter's tight grip presented. He felt exposed and oddly vulnerable every time Potter's knuckles brushed against his crotch. And that happened a lot. Every tiny touch of Potter's hand disturbed Draco greatly, mostly because the almost caresses were oddly stimulating. Merlin, what if he got hard? Potter would feel it instantly and the git would draw the wrong conclusion. Because even if Draco did get hard, it would only happen as a result of a natural reaction to an intimate touch, not as a result of an unnatural reaction to Potter's touch.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment and tried to concentrate on reaching the damn chairs. 

It was another long struggle. Potter reached them first and sat down, rudely pulling Draco with him. Their heads collided and Draco felt the softness of Potter's cheek beneath his lips for the briefest moment before they both pulled away and scowled at each other. They tried to sit as far away as they could but that was impossible. In the end, they had to pull the chairs even closer together because otherwise the rope around Potter's neck prevented the git from breathing. Which would have been fine with Draco, but Potter retaliated in his normal way — by pressing firmly against Draco's bits — so Draco had no choice but to snuggle up to Potter and let his right arm hug the ball-squeezing idiot.

"Stop groping me, Potter," Draco whispered furiously.

"Stop choking me," Potter whispered back.

"Stop leaning so heavily! You're squishing my arm!"

"Stop crushing my hip!"

Draco blinked and quickly released Potter's hip. There was no need to continue holding it. Draco should have remembered that. What was wrong with him? Potter's blow must have damaged his brain.

"No, no, everyone back away. You too, Miss Granger," Sprout ordered, but after Granger whispered something, she allowed her to step inside.

Granger rushed toward them and then leaned over Draco to hand Potter his glasses.

"Thanks," Potter grumbled and shoved his ugly glasses back onto his nose.

Granger looked guilty, undoubtedly because she had laughed earlier with everyone else. She bit her lip and reached forward to touch Potter's free hand.

"I'm sure Professor Flitwick will know how to detach this vermin from you," she said soothingly.

"Hey!" Draco cried and then growled as Granger's hair tickled his face. "You people have to stop shoving hair in my mouth," he fumed, noting distractedly that Potter's hair smelled nicer than Granger's.

Granger straightened immediately and twirled her wand in her hands. "Want me to shove something else in your face, Malfoy?"

Draco scowled at her but said nothing. After all, he was unarmed and not an idiot.

"Miss Granger," Sprout called and Granger jumped. After one last sympathetic look in Potter's direction, she hurried outside.

"Now," Professor Sprout said, eyeing them reproachfully, "you boys sit tight . . ." She paused, chuckled, and then continued, "I will lock this door and fetch the Headmistress." Draco felt Potter wince next to him. He understood Potter's apprehension. Since she had become headmistress, McGonagall was sterner than ever. Sprout pointed her wand at them. "Don't you even think about fighting. If I notice one new bruise or cut —"

"— or a love bite!" someone shouted and then burst into giggles.

Sprout snorted and then quickly rearranged her features and gave them a stern look. "You're already looking at detention and loss of house points, boys. Don't make it worse." With that, she slammed the door and locked them inside.

The moment they were left alone, Draco turned toward Potter and accused, "This is all your fault, Potter."

Potter spluttered indignantly, his mouth parting to form an O of surprise. "My fault? How is this my fault?"

"Obviously, you can't counter a binding spell with the Disarming Charm. Honestly, Potter, is that the only spell you know?"

"That's the most important defensive spell, you git. And speaking of defence, I wouldn't have to defend myself if you didn't shoot a spell — at my back. You coward," Potter spat, his eyes blazing.

"You hit me!"

"You deserved it!"

"Oh, please," Draco scoffed. "Because I said I'd try something with the Weasley girl? As if I'd ever touch her."

"As if she'd ever let you."

"As if she wouldn't let everyone."

Potter's hand squeezed Draco's thigh. "You don't know anything about her. Or me."

"I know she thinks you're gay. And I know you don't want to admit it," Draco said victoriously, ignoring the pain that spread from Potter's clutching hand.

Potter looked stunned for a moment and then he leaned in, his face frighteningly close to Draco's.

"That's none of your business." Potter was breathing heavily; his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were ablaze with that fire Draco had been missing for months.

"It's interesting," Draco said and leaned in even closer; close enough for their breaths to mix. "You still haven't denied the accusation."

Potter cocked his head, his expression softening. "Why do you care, Malfoy?" he asked with genuine curiosity in his eyes. His big, intense, unnaturally green eyes.

Draco swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words. They were so damn close; it was affecting Draco's senses. He seemed to have retained his sense of touch, however, because he couldn't stop thinking about the warmth of Potter's back beneath his arm, the pressure of Potter's hand on his thigh and the gentle caress of Potter's breath on his lips.

"Malfoy?" Potter prompted, confusion filling his eyes.

However, Draco couldn't respond; his throat was too dry and he had bigger problems to worry about. What troubled him the most at the moment, besides Potter’s unfailing nearness, was the horrifying realisation that he was getting hard.
I could kiss that woman, Draco thought as McGonagall strode into the classroom, closely followed by Flitwick. She glared at them with her lips pressed into a tight line and Draco couldn't help gulping in fright; he felt Potter squirm uneasily next to him and felt a little better about his own fear. But fear was good. Fear chased away unwanted reactions; reactions that, Draco was certain, were merely a figment of his imagination in the first place. Honestly, what was there to be aroused about? Potter, fighting, ropes? Draco frowned and quickly concentrated on McGonagall's frightening glare.

Flitwick stared at them with a peculiar expression on his tiny face. He looked as though he was ready to burst out laughing. Draco couldn't blame him; they must have been quite a sight. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, sitting closely together, with Potter all but tucked snugly into Draco's embrace.

"Your hand, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall barked sharply and Draco's free arm flew toward her instantly. Draco suspected she had Summoned it. Illogically, he thought that McGonagall might slap him with a ruler and he gulped audibly when she reached into her robe pocket. However, she merely pulled out a handkerchief and a small vial that Draco recognised as a healing salve. She poured a small amount of oily liquid onto Draco's fingers and placed the handkerchief in front of him. Without a word, she walked toward the teacher's desk, set the vial aside, and sat down, glaring much too viciously.

Since no further instructions were forthcoming, Draco smeared the liquid over his jaw. It tingled, not unpleasantly, and the slight pain ebbed away. He wiped his face with the handkerchief, stalling as much as he could, but in the end he set it aside and sighed, guessing that was the end of niceties.

"Filius?" McGonagall prompted politely.

Flitwick shook his head. "I don't think there's anything I can do," he said sadly. "But let me try . . ."

Flitwick raised his wand and Draco waited with bated breath, hoping that the old professor would know what to do.

"Relashio!" Flitwick cried and Draco rolled his eyes.

Noting happened, of course, and Draco heard Potter grumble, "We kind of figured that doesn't work."

McGonagall rubbed her temples. "Why not, Filius?"

"It's because Potter used the Disarming Charm to counter it, isn't it?" Draco asked promptly, earning himself glares from both Potter and McGonagall.

"Er, no, Mr Malfoy," Professor Flitwick squeaked, looking a bit taken aback. "Your spell merely malfunctioned."

Draco stared at him in shock and then stuck out his bottom lip. "I demand a second opinion. We should ask the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. This is his area of expertise." 

Flitwick grimaced, undoubtedly insulted, and McGonagall snapped, "You're in no position to demand anything, Mr Malfoy." She turned to Flitwick. "Do you think the effects will subside?"

"Oh, certainly," Flitwick confirmed. "Just give it a few hours. It was a very poorly cast —"

"Yes, thank you, Professor, you may go now," Draco said quickly.

"Mr Malfoy!" McGonagall exclaimed and Potter had the audacity to snicker.

"Thank you, Filius," she said with a tight smile. "You may . . ." she glared at Draco, "leave now."

Flitwick nodded and with a last glance and a chuckle in Potter and Draco's direction, he left.

Draco promptly looked at his lap, having no desire to face McGonagall. Of course, looking at his lap meant staring at Potter's hand splayed over his trousers. A rope was wrapped around Potter's wrist and Draco's thigh in several loops, so tightly Draco's leg was going numb. He could see Potter's pale skin reddening beneath the rope. Potter should have asked for some healing salve, the dumb martyr.

"I cannot even begin to express how disappointed I am," McGonagall said, her quiet voice more effective than yelling. "You are both eighteen years old. Under normal circumstances you wouldn't be in school. Young men of your age are considered adults. And here you are making a spectacle of yourself. Harry," Potter winced again, "you, at least, should have more sense." 

Draco bristled inwardly, but made no comment.

"I considered you a responsible young adult. I can see now I was wrong." Potter positively shrank in his chair. Draco grinned. "And Mr Malfoy" — the grin left Draco's face in a hurry, and Draco bent his head lower, knowing exactly what McGonagall would say next — "your mother gave me very convincing arguments when she asked me to allow you to come back to Hogwarts and take your NEWTs. She promised me you have matured and that all you desire is knowledge. And she wasn't the only one to speak in your favour." 

Draco blinked, confused, dying to ask who else had spoken in his favour, but not daring to speak. McGonagall's next question distracted him completely.

"Should I owl her and tell her you have broken that promise?" 

Draco stared at Potter's knuckles. Bloody McGonagall. That was a low blow. Threatening to call his mother.

"Should I, Mr Malfoy?"

"No," Draco said quietly.

"I thought not. And, Mr Potter," Draco breathed a little easier as McGonagall turned her attention to Potter, "I believe there's a position at the Ministry waiting for you. You're not required to be here."

Draco scowled. Bloody, spoiled Chosen One. Of course, Potter didn't have to do anything to get into the Ministry. Well, except, supposedly kill a Dark Lord. But Draco had been the Master of the Elder Wand — whatever that meant — so he could have done it, too. In theory. Potter just got lucky.

"As I recall," McGonagall continued as Potter's hand on Draco's thigh twitched, "you insisted on receiving a proper education and taking your NEWTs just like everyone else, so no one could accuse you of receiving special treatment."

Draco rolled his eyes. Merlin, Gryffindors were such idiots.

"Has that ceased to matter to you?"

"No," Potter mumbled.

"Good." McGonagall's tone turned sharper. "Since we have determined that you both want to stay at Hogwarts, I would encourage you to start acting like it. This behaviour could have been forgiven when you were younger, but I will not have adults behaving like children in this school. If you are caught fighting one more time, you will both be expelled." She paused to let her words sink in. "I don't care which one of you started it, I don't care which one of you was hurt, I don't care why it happened. One more incident and you can pack your trunks. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Professor," Draco and Potter said unanimously.

"Very well." McGonagall stood up and waved her wand. Immediately, two parchments, two inkbottles and two quills appeared on the desk in front of them. "It's now nearing seven o'clock. You will be detained here until nine, or longer, if the charm doesn't lose effect. You will write, I will never behave like a dunderheaded twelve year old again, until you fill out your parchment. Do not stretch your handwriting, Potter."

Draco coughed a little. "Er, Professor?"

McGonagall shot him a glare.

"I'm right-handed," he pointed out.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes at him as though he had been born right-handed just to be difficult.

"Very well, then," she said finally and Vanished Draco's inkbottle, quill and parchment. "You don't have to write lines."

Draco grinned as Potter spluttered in indignation.

However, McGonagall paid no attention to them; instead, she tapped the bottom ends of Potter's parchment with her wand, fixing them to the desk. Then she tapped it again and the parchment curled into a scroll.

Draco watched her in confusion as she unrolled the scroll, holding the top end of it with her wand.

"Hold it, Mr Malfoy," she instructed.

"Pardon?"

"Use your left hand and elbow to hold the parchment so it doesn't curl. Potter will write, you will hold. You won't be able to complete the assignment unless you work together."

Mortified, but not daring to object, Draco leaned in and placed his forearm on the top of the parchment. The result of that movement was terrifying. Potter was completely trapped in Draco's embrace and their heads pressed together, their cheeks touching for a moment before Potter jerked his head away. The warm touch of Potter's flaming cheek lingered on Draco's skin. Draco looked down at the parchment and continued to stare at it intently.

"Goodbye, gentlemen," McGonagall said and Draco resentfully thought he could detect a note of amusement in her tone. She walked away and addressed them once more from the doorway. "I will return, and when I do, I expect to see many lines written on that parchment. And remember, you can give up at any moment." Draco looked up, hopeful, but McGonagall continued smugly, "But then remember to buy a ticket for the Hogwarts Express tomorrow morning." With that, she closed and locked the door.

Potter groaned pathetically and Draco felt like nodding in sympathy. Sweet Merlin, how did this happen? How could McGonagall be so cruel? Draco was doomed to spend the next two hours, possibly longer, intimately hugging Harry Potter.