And that was that

by equalsMCsquare

Sometimes it just happens, and the world really does mind it's own business. Warning: bit of wanking, but not much and not graphic.

I don't know if there are words for it.

Because words are rarely sufficient.

But there they were. There was a look passed between them. More like…it was a look passed over the rest of the inhabitant in the room and through their eyes, straight to their hearts.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul.

But you likely will not believe this unless you have ever experienced that spine tingling feelings of something you have seen go right through you.

Maybe something horrifying, or nerve wracking, or exciting, or embarrassing.

Maybe your worst fear spelled right out in front of you.

Alls I'm saying is, a look of this sort passed between two arch nemesises (is that a word? Nemesi, maybe.)

Whatever.

A pair of star-crossed lovers, if you prefer Shakespearean.

But really, did Romeo and Juliet ever really know what it meant to be star-crossed?

Maybe ole Billy Shakespeare did, and he had a right laugh writing that damn play on which we all seem to base our love lives on.

Metaphorically at least.

Because,

What sort of love story,

Has one too many Romeos,

And not a damn Juliet?

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What is 'chemistry' between two people?

Why do we think it's so important… and simultaneously seek random hookups as if this so-called 'chemistry' is actually nonexistent?

We're all hypocrites! That's what.

So about this look.

It's the strangest thing.

Harry had spent all week with a thought on the tip of his tongue.

Or his mind.

Whatever.

Anyways, there it was on the horizon.

Every time it tried to surface, his subconscious would beat it down mercilessly.

The human mind is shockingly good at protecting us from what we don't feel like facing.

So that was what Harry's had been preoccupied with.

Strangely, he didn't feel as though he was preoccupied with something.

Though he was getting more tired lately, and less of Snape's instruction than usual was sticking in his mind.

Hermione's irritation might've been a red flag as well.

Actually, this niggling thought, whatever it was, had been trying to surface for many weeks now.

Maybe months; maybe years.

It's growth must've been exponential, because now it was starting to feel like Harry was forgetting something, when he really wasn't, just because this thought was hiding away from him so cleverly.

Anyways,

What was it?

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It was completely different for Draco.

He knew exactly what he was thinking.

But what he thought and desired had always taken the backseat to what he actually did.

That was just the Malfoy way of things.

So he allowed himself to look, but not touch. To think, to dream…but never to speak or act. No, never.

Because, you see, the mind is a sacred place. Things go on in there that no one else was to know about. It was his secret theater, staging acts and generally fancifully daydreaming, with one eye constantly on the 'real world,' as he recognized it.

It just would not do to try to communicate interest, or, heavens forbid, pursue any sort of real engagement.

That would be just wrong.

Why would God have given man two hands and the ability to self-pleasure if not to prevent certain…awkward encounters with another person?

Rather silly, if you asked Draco.

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"I'm bored," screamed Draco's psyche on one perfectly normal Tuesday morning.

"Shutup," he sagely advised it, before commencing his regular routine.

"Imma do something unpredictable today, if you don't watch out," it warned him.

But still Draco ignored it.

"I'd like to see you try."

And his Psyche, sounding strangely like a muggle whom Draco had a very secret crush on, said this:

"Challenge accepted."

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Harry Potter was not having a very normal morning. From the start, it had all gone wrong.

At his age, you'd think the whole nocturnal emissions business would've been taken care of. But tonight…

And what was it that had him in such a state? Emma Stone? Fleur Delacour? Cedric Diggory (yes, try not to dwell. Move along, please)?

"Nope," a little voice in his brain sniggered.

Attempting to shake it off, and keep the sticky mess a secret while tiptoeing past his dormmates to the bathroom, Harry, being not the most coordinated male in all of Hogwarts, tripped over an alarm clock.

And promptly set it off.

Then he dashed off into the bathroom for that quick rinse properly.

Having never been the first into the showers ever before, how was he to know that you had to run the water to heat it up before jumping in?

There might've been some Hufflepuff's somewhere who didn't hear Harry Potter yelp that morning.

Them and Draco Malfoy, who was too preoccupied with the Potter of his imagination to hear the real one's plight, on the floor just above him.

Draco was already in the shower, of course. Always up with the magic, his mother used to say. He was enjoying the warm soothing spray and his morning wank.

Now he didn't normally indulge in a morning wank, but some day were unbearable to sit through without one. And this particular morning, the thoughts of Potter just weren't staying put.

Indeed, after he hopped out of the shower, he found his body…not quite satisfied yet.

Draco frowned. He was not a one-pump chump of course, but neither was he a second rounder. How odd. Maybe it had to do with age, or something in that treacle tart Goyle had given him with dinner the night before.

That wanker, he thought, but oddly, not with much venom.

He traipsed back to the shower, beneath the loud footsteps of whatever Gryffindor was jumping about in the bathroom above him.

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"Well, don't you look absolutely poncey, love," Blaise commented, with all the tact of an overeager hyena. As usual.

"Paws off, Blaise," Draco sighed, always the drama queen.

Pansy watched the exchange between them hungrily. She was an odd one indeed. No one could tell if she wanted in Draco's pants, Blaise's pants, or one of their pocketbooks.

But Pansy had a dirty little secret.

One that many of the readers of this story can guiltily relate to.

What Pansy wanted most of all…

Was Draco in Blaise's pants.

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Harry stumbled into the great hall, in a greater disarray than usual.

Early by his own standards, and alone at the Gryffindor table, but not the first in the hall.

He just wanted breakfast to be a peaceful affair, thankyouverymuch.

Slytherins didn't like to turn their back to the rest of the hall, so the early risers always faced towards the room.

And today was no exception to that atleast.

Harry ladled the sugars and starches onto his breakfast.

I am a growing boy¸ he justified.

Draco measured almonds and granola and fruit onto his plate, which he had first wiped clean, naturally.

I am a beautiful boy, he justified.

Draco went for his fork.

Harry went for his spoon.

Both picked them up.

…And Harry dropped his onto the ground.

The sound was deafening in the hall.

With the handful of inhabitants quirking an eyebrow at them.

Harry felt a lump of embarrassment in his throat but was too unfortunately accustomed to bearing all eyes that he hardly blushed at all.

Draco, who pointedly ignored the Chosen One's cries for attention,

Suddenly found himself sitting straight up from his daydreams,

And staring at the object of his daydreams face-on.

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And now we return to whence we came in this story.

They locked eyes, blah blah.

That awkward eye contact when you have to smile or acknowledge someone's existence for a split second before going back to ignoring it.

Unless you were raised in a barn, or are mortal enemies of course.

So naturally none of this transpired between the pair.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

(All of these blinks were Harry, who was resembling a deer in the headlights at this moment. Draco was very still.)

It felt like they'd been like that for much too long; everyone in the hall must have noticed them by now. How horribly embarrassing.

And with that thought, Harry gathered up his belongings and prepared for his next…erm, what? No, don't look over there again. Class. That's what he had. A class. Go.

Draco's smile spread over both both sides of his face evenly. Not a smirk then, an actual honest-to-god smile.

And he gracefully picked up his things,

And exited as well.

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Thank da lawd for double potions, Harry thought he'd never say.

Mainly because he didn't speak like a middle-aged black woman, but also because it was potions.

(He'd still never said it, technically. But he thought it.)

There's no time, with all those noxious fumes and Snape-the-dragon's breath on his neck.

Which wasn't enjoyable.

No, he wasn't enjoying Snape breathing down his neck.

Not at all.

…

Shutup.

Anyways, the hours quickly passed and suddenly they were cleaning up,

Harry almost protested. There were some thoughts in his head he was very studiously ignoring, how could Time be so inconsiderate as to flow at regular speed while this was happening?

Ron and Hermione, sweet as can be, but devastatingly involved in their own sordid lives, hardly noticed Harry's half-trance.

He put his stuff away, and cleaned up his work station. Snape scowled at the lack of points lost by Gryffindor this period, as their star student had been so strangely subdued.

He had half a mind to deduct point from Potter for existing. But he feared that would not go down so well, so never you mind.

The luncheon break began, and Harry deferred from ritual yet again on this odd day.

He walked in the opposite direction of the great hall.

As luck (bad luck) would have it, he bumped our Slytherin Ice Prince on his way out of the classroom. He was walking in the wrong direction, you know.

"Watch-," Draco's half snarl died on his lips.

No one noticed, but if they did, they would've seen something rather peculiar.

Draco cleared his throat, and changed his direction as well.

People really do see what they want to see. And with the war being over and all, no one seemed to see what Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy did in their spare time.

No, they just kept their heads down like good little self-absorbed teens and walked their separate ways.

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Draco cleared his throat another zillion times before they arrived at the Lake.

Harry, a testament to his patience, only rolled his eyes once.

Okay, maybe twice. Still deserved a medal though.

They set down their bags and sat on the shore. Draco, not without scrunching his nose and drying a patch of grass with his wand for the designer man-purse/satchel and himself. Harry with his trademark lack of giving a damn.

How is this situation real?, they both seemed scared to ask themselves.

It just was.

In those minutes, the years seemed to melt away.

The hardships, the wronging, the families, the oh-this-is-so-wrong alarm that should've been going off…

All the things that would give them many concerns later, and had no right to desert them now, vanished.

And it was just them.

Just Draco and Harry.

And that was that.