The Aristocratic features lowered its normal state of self-confidence when the words were uttered from the lips seen through eyes of cold-steel mercury, and the dainty fingers that held multiple schoolbooks stopped its fiddling with the spine of the upper book, ceased its running through the golden lettering of a school subject-wise title. Shock contoured every graceful line of a youthful face, from perfectly-arched eyebrows, the startlingly-bright irises, down a finely-shaped nose and a soft pink mouth, which had parted considerably from said-spoken words. This happened for a moment or two, until finally his tongue slipped forcefully out one word, the only word his thoughts could process into speech.
"What?"
The word sounded like any other word one would speak to another, and yet, this word seemed different from all the other same words that were uttered through others' lips. This simple word held the most of shocks, and the deepest of surprises, in which, were obviously not pleasant to the fair boy. Those shapely eyebrows furrowed and features regained its confidence automatically after two seconds of his first spoken word. "I don't know what you're talking about, Potter." He finally spoke again, making sure to make his point known before morphing his parted, surprised lips into something every member of the Malfoy family was known for perfecting, and something the individual in front of him has seen all too well. That sneer didn't bother the nightly-haired boy recently: He was not one to rely on his emotions, having his soul shattered once too many times by previous childish mistakes.
However, he was no longer a child, and his temper was no longer irked by simple actions, such as his rival's childish sneer, one that could now challenge Lucius's. But, as he repeatedly thought to himself whenever the expression curled along the blond's lips, no one can look as two-faced and snot-nosed as the boy's father, no matter how much his son seemed to be following on his footsteps. Like father, like son, but this never meant the son would become exactly as his father.
The dark-haired boy let a small smirk play along his own lips, feeling nearly pitiful for the other. How could Malfoy think he was hiding his secret so well? The boy nearly broke at the two spoken words of 'I know'. How could this possibly mean he was hiding his secret well? If one would call it a secret now. It was more than obvious, and he found it foolish that Malfoy tried to hide this. "I think you do know what I'm referring to, Malfoy." The deep voice lulled softly, causing the blond-haired boy to stiffen slightly, but never visibly. However, the owner of the deep voice, the stunning dark-haired, moss-eyed boy merely let a small chuckle slip from his lips. "And don't dare to tell me that you're not hiding anything." Came as an afterthought.
Malfoy looked at him with a look of stubborn defiance. Potter was an excessively-inquisitive twit. "Potter, you must be overwhelmed with drugs. There is possibly nothing that I have to offer, that everyone else did not already know. You are out of your mind, if you ever had one." Clever insult, if he could say so himself. However, not clever enough for the boy in front of him.
"Don't hide it, Malfoy. You're pathetic."
And with those words, he turned around fully with only a different step. A dancer's turn. As his footsteps began to echo the empty hallway, the fair boy watched the retreating figure with the same sort of stubborn defiance. Potter didn't know a thing. He was simply bluffing, and horribly misinformed. There was nothing to hide. Nothing... the dainty, delicate fingers began to trace the golden lettering of the spine of the upper schoolbook. The only secret Draco Malfoy has ever hidden from individuals outside of his family, was a secret no other would ever be able to find out.
And that's where he made his first mistake.
--
All the late night bargains have been struck
Between the satin beaus and their belles,
And prehistoric garbage trucks
Have the city to themselves.
Echoes, roars, dinosaurs,
They're all doing the monster mash,
And most of the taxis and most of the whores
Are only taking calls for cash...
--
"I've had the suspicion that you were a Death Eater since I spied on you in the beginning of last year, you know. And I'm almost sure that I am right." The second time Potter accused him of something, he decided to be a little more specific on his accusations. This caused the fair-haired boy to cock an eyebrow in disbelief. What is he talking about? He thought they had gone through this already when that battle fizzled at Hogwarts, that battle that ended with the Headmaster's death, even if the perpetrator was not him.
"Potter, you are impossible." Draco muttered softly, brushing imaginary dust from the sleeve of the silky black shirt. "I thought we went through this already. I have shown you my arm. I am not a Death Eater." He spoke grudgingly, even if he felt no grudge toward Voldemort's actions. He was lucky to still be living among other human beings.
This inveigled that small chuckle. The same sort of chuckle that the then-boy, now man, made when he had defiantly refused the accusation. Draco frowned as the chuckle was heard through his ears. It mocked him greatly, and if there was something that left Malfoys nearly seething with anger, it was when someone mocked. "What the bloody hell are you laughing about, Potter? You're a mad man." The blond whispered, his eyebrows furrowed in anger, his eyes turned to angry slits. Harry, which had been indeed chuckling over this situation, simply let out a small sigh, and another one of those smirks curled along pink lips. Now since when did Potter make himself known by smirking?
"Draco, Draco, Draco..." He rolled the name on his tongue as if something sweet. It confused Draco greatly. "You are so very naïve. You may think to yourself that you're keeping your secret well, when you're actually leading others further into suspicion. It wasn't smart of you to disappear in the midst of January," This made the other's eyebrows to furrow once more. How did Potter know that he left in that specific section of the month? Harry merely chuckled again at the other's confusion. It was nearly... cute.
"And by the way, you made a mistake when you lifted your sleeve to 'prove' that you were not a Death Eater."
By now, Draco was positively seething with anger. "What?" He gritted out softly, as a single person from the crowd of Diagon Alley finally noticed that the two rivals were speaking toward one another, but never knowing the subject in which they were talking about.
And the other mistake was spoken through Harry's smirking lips.
"You lifted your right sleeve."
--
I don't know how it happened:
It all took place so quick.
But all I can do is hand it to you,
And your latest trick...
--
Draco began to think about the other often, and it bothered him greatly. This dark-haired, moss-eyed man was nearly haunting the blond's every dream, or day-thought, no matter how small and simple. He frowned over his plate, and his fork played slowly with the food, barely eaten, laid out upon it. "That prat. He thinks he knows everything, when he doesn't even realize that I am not a Death Eater." He muttered softly to himself, sticking a full fork into his mouth, chewing on his steak rather quietly.
As he continued to eat, he pondered on memories of the other. Days he had made him very angry. Especially the Quidditch game Potter had so-cleverly mislead him, flying off to one side of the pitch, making him think that the other had seen that small, golden ball flying somewhere, when it was indeed on the original side of the pitch, and Potter simply wanted him to believe that he was looking for one thing and not another, then going for the kill and leaving the other to eat his dust.
He didn't think he was ever so angry about a simple Quidditch game in his life. So much he hadn't even spoken to his friends right after, and so much that he avoided the other's stunning emerald eyes for a bit more than two weeks. In truth, Draco never knew why that game bothered him. It was just a simple game, and Potter's strategy was nothing but a simple strategy, and a clever one at that, as he had to grudgingly admit to himself.
With that decision, Draco Malfoy perfected his third mistake.
A small, distressed sigh escaped the soft mouth. Potter was a twit. An overly-confident, idiotic twit. He talked way too much for his own good, and when he did talk too much, he talked of things he thought he knew, when he actually didn't. What an arse. What those silly schoolgirls back at Hogwarts saw was simply godly looks and a winning smile, when Draco could see what Potter was made of underneath it all. Air. Simple, hot air.
And his thoughts began to flesh out his fourth mistake right there and then, whether he liked it or not.
--
My door was standing open,
Security was laid back and lax,
But it was only my heart that got broken;
You must have had a pass key made out of wax.
You played robbery with insolence,
And I played the blues in twelve bars down Lover's Lane,
And you never did have the intelligence to use
The twelve keys hanging off my chain...
--
The third encounter was quite different from the last two. It was nearly... pleasant. At least, when they began to talk. They spoke to one another about the weather, and though at first this may sound like an awkward conversation, but Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy could do the impossible and use the weather as an actual casual conversation. This went on for a few seconds, however, Harry soon became bored with the topic, and decided to change it as soon as silence filled the space between the two males.
"Have you thought about what I said?"
This question filled the silent air with tension, and Draco's eyes, which were unusually light, darkened once more. He knew now, that the casual conversation was over and they were back to what they had started before. And Draco hated this fact. He hated Potter for proving this fact, and most of all, he hated Potter.
"No, I didn't." This was a complete lie. "Because there is nothing to think about, Potter. I've told you before, you are seriously out of your mind, if you were ever given one in the first place. I did not lift my right sleeve. I lifted my left." This was a lie as well, and Draco knew it. This was another reason he hated Potter so much. He knew of Draco's lies, and threw them straight to his face. There were certain things Malfoys hated more than anything. One of them was having their lies thrown to their faces.
There goes Potter again, chuckling like a mad man. He was seriously going insane and if he cared about his reputation, he would stop laughing over moments that are not supposed to be laughed over. "Will you stop laughing, Potter? You're completely insane!" Draco muttered softly, lifting narrowed mist toward the most calm emeralds. The now-common smirk made its appearance on Harry's face. Was this a switch of roles? Back when they were in school, Potter was usually the one glaring at his smug face, while now it seemed to be the other way around. If this was indeed a switch of roles, then Draco hated it. He really did.
"I can't believe you still decide to lie to me, when you very well know that I'm speaking the truth." Harry spoke, an amused smile making its way along his lips like sweet honey, lighting his handsome features.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
--
I don't know how it happened:
It all took place so quick.
But all I can do is hand it to you,
And your latest trick...
--
Harry's hand reached out toward Draco's left arm, and Draco narrowed his eyes at the other, looking nervous underneath a pool of bright, boiling anger. "What're you doing..." The blond spoke slowly, letting the last word linger on his mouth as the other's fingers lightly trace his arm, fingers finally curling behind the upper, and Draco felt the other male move considerably closer, until he no longer saw the moonlight, only Harry's form covering the light. Draco tried as best as he could to pull his arm away, but he knew he very well couldn't when that deep chuckle slipped from the night-haired male's lips.
Those lips covered the brim of the blond's earlobe, and he let out an inaudible gasp. "Potter, will you get away from--" This merely caused Harry to become all the more amused again, and a pointer finger covered the soft mouth from speaking the word 'me', which had already died in his lips. What the hell was Potter doing, this close to him? It wasn't right! It was strange, and so very wrong, until...
Those two words. Harry spoke those two words that began everything. Began the encounters, the hateful thoughts,the confusion... everything.
"I know."
And then something else, as he began to step away.
"There's no need to deny it."
"But--"
Confusion began to write the fifth mistake.
--
Now it's past last call for alcohol,
Past recall has been here and gone.
The landlord finally paid us all,
The satin jazzmen have put away their horns.
And we're standing outside of this wonderland,
Looking so bereaved and so bereft,
Like a Bowery bum when he finally understands,
The bottle's empty and there's nothing left...
--
The fourth encounter, taking place a month and a half later, was the most surprising one of all. At least... to Draco Malfoy. In some bold mood, he decided to take the battle up to Harry himself, and finally prove to him that he was crazy, and that he wasn't a Death Eater at all, that this was all a figment of his twisted imagination and a section of his world of fantasies.
But this didn't turn out exactly as he planned.
Lips were meshed together as the two males twisted themselves against one another, dainty fingers buried into the mop of midnight hair, as a large hand cupped underneath the blond's thigh, causing a small moan, who knows from whom, to slip into the heavy air of the empty apartment. Skin was flushed, buzzing with pleasure as tongues twirled into a heated battle for dominance. As expected, Harry won the battle, and for once, Draco was willing to accept this fact. The air became filled with moans as they continued to kiss fervently.
Harry's fingers slipped toward the left sleeve of all too-familiar silk, and pulled to expose nothing but clear, creamy flesh. Between kisses, Draco spoke. "I told you I wasn't a Death Eater." As if he was completely right.
And the sixth mistake was finalized.
Harry chuckled softly. "I knew it." He murmured against the blond's lips, then the kiss suddenly ended. Draco looked up at the male, quite puzzled. Harry took all this time, accusing him of being a Death Eater, when he knew it all along that he wasn't? But that was something with no point if he was looking for something else all along...
And that's when it hit him.
He was tricked.
Just like in that Quidditch game.
"You tricked me." He whispered throatily. How could he not see it before? Harry had tricked him, made him believe that he was accusing him of being a Death Eater, when all he really wanted was for something like this to happen. But Harry played it so well; How could you ever figure out that this was Harry's original intentions? As a player, Harry played this game of trickery a little too well.
And maybe that's why Draco allowed himself to get deeper into this game. Maybe because he saw this as a pleasurable quality.
"You finally caught up to my intentions, Draco. Maybe you're not as naïve as I believed you were." Harry spoke, as their lips meshed together once more. Draco's response was lost in a sea of breathy moans as fingers explored above clothing, rubbing against skin. The sleeve was gently laid down over the left forearm, because there was no need to keep it exposed any longer.
"At first," Harry finally spoke again, and Draco looked up at the other male, listening intently. "I didn't think you were going to take so long to figure it out, since I've already done this to you countless times. I didn't know why you didn't think of it even once, and before you came to my doorstep, I actually was planning to give up and finally leave you be."
"I thought we were adults, Potter. I didn't think you were going to play your childish trickery games on me again." Though, this comment came lighter than almost anything he had ever told Harry, and for this, Harry laughed softly.
"And I didn't think you were going to be a childish sour-puss, even if I did play my game." Harry commented, letting his mouth cover the crook of Draco's neck as he spoke, leaving the blond breathless after a sharp gasp of pleasure. The small right hand rested against the back of Harry's neck, pulling his mouth much closer to the soft, sensitive flesh. "Mmm," Draco murmured softly, letting the mercury eyes flutter closed. "You play your game well." And when this was said, the smirk once more took place on Harry's lips as he continued to playfully explore the pale, creamy flesh. "What can I say? I've practiced well enough."
"You're a sly devil, Harry..." Draco breathed out gently, moaning a little.
And Harry smiled as his nipped softly at the flesh, being rewarded another soft, strangled moan.
"Thanks, love."
--
I don't know how it happened:
It was faster than the eye could flick..
But all I can do is hand it to you,
And your latest trick...
Harry Potter is © Joanne Kathleen Rowling. Your Latest Trick is © Dire Straits and their respective authors, artists and labels.