Title: Boot Camp Ficlets

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the cardboard box I call home.

Rating: T or PG-13

Pairings: Draco/Harry, Blaise/Theo, Daphne/Millicent, Ron/Hermione, (past) Vince/Greg, (past) Parvati/Lavender, (one-sided) Draco/Pansy, Astoria/Draco, Astoria/Greg, Parvati/Luna, (one-sided) Justin/Millicent, Lucius/Narcissa, Vernon/Petunia, Remus/Tonks, Seamus/Dean, James/Lily, (one-sided) Ginny/Harry, Filch/Mrs. Norris, (one-sided) Bellatrix/Lord Voldemort.

Warnings: Implied sex between two males, two females, and het couples; language, language, language!

Summary: A series of interconnected one shots telling multiple stories that coalesce into a whole. All written as prompts for Boot Camps in the HPFC forum.

A/N: I have a whole series planned out of 250 ficlets for five different boot camps. I plan to write one a day until they are done - if I can manage it.

***I RESERVE THE RIGHT TO BUMP THIS TO AN M RATING IF I BELIEVE IT NECESSARY IN THE FUTURE*** You have been warned.

Boot Camp: Favourite Character Boot Camp

Prompt: Apple

Continuation of this HC: w w w DOT fanfiction DOT net SLASH s/9498493/11/Head-Canons

I love apples.

When the Dark Lord - I can't say his name, no matter what Potter says, or how hard he tries to get me to do it; I just can't, I fucking can't - when he was living in the Manor, it became a place for dead and dying things. For broken, misshapen, ugly, and deformed things.

Apples are like the antithesis of those things, to me. Fresh and juicy; bursting with sweetness. Green, growing things. Perfect and lovely in their small, insignificant way.

They make me feel a little less tainted, somehow. Like with every apple I eat, I come closer to erasing the mark of the Dark Lord on my mind, just as I'll never erase his Mark from my arm. It's fading since Potter killed him; more of a scar than a tattoo now, really, but it's still there. It always will be; the Mark of my foolishness, my pride, and my fucking shame.

Just like his taint, his dirt; the poisonous sludge that is his filth lingers like a slimy film over my memories.

But for some reason, with every bite of crisp, raw freshness, apples make me feel a little less defiled.

So I love apples.

According to Granger - I don't even trip up calling her mudblood any more, you'll notice, and I'm pretty damn proud of myself; Potter is too - according to her it's probably some sort of obsessive-compulsive disorganized thing. Whatever that means. Something muggle.

A year ago I would have dismissed it out of hand, because it's a muggle thing; but I've changed over the past year.

I'm not the same boy I was who broke Potter's nose on the Hogwarts Express.

Mother says I've become a man.

Maybe I have.

I think I just see clearly for the first time in my life.

It's strange, realising everything you've believed in your whole life is probably wrong. Realising that the man you've always respected and admired most was a simpering, cowering, accommodating toady to a madman who nearly destroyed us all.

To say it changes your perspective on things is an understatement.

So my worldview underwent some pretty drastic changes. I had to rethink who I was, who I'd been and who I was becoming; and most of all who I wanted to be.

It was while I was undergoing all of these massive changes in my psyche that Potter came to return my wand. I don't get why I did it. He'd always been my mortal enemy.

But then he testified on my behalf, my mother's, and even my father's - a man who'd been trying to kill him since he was a kid. Before that, he saved my life. Twice.

There I was, emotionally and mentally distraught and vulnerable.

And there he was, looking glorious, with his windswept black hair and his piercing green eyes and his brilliant, I'm-Here-I'll-Save-You smile.

I poured my heart and soul out to the Gryffindor prat. I was passionate; I was desperate. I wanted to prove myself and to make up for the past. He listened to everything with that incredible smile in his face and made me feel so fucking safe and fucking accepted and then he left and never fucking owled. Not a word. Not one fucking How-Are-You-Holding-In-There-Malfoy word. (Potter says I've got a real dirty mouth on me; I say it's just to piss my father off. I never used to talk like that but now it's a real pleasure watching the old man squirm and his face tic and he can't even say anything; because I'm of age and because he cocked it all up so badly.)

Anyway, after that whenever I saw Potter I automatically reverted back to our old methods of interaction. I had to. It was fucking first year all over again and he fucking rejected me again and it fucking hurt all over again; hurt so bad I could barely stand it, could barely breathe through it. I had let him in, and he dropped me and my deepest emotions and hopes and fucking dreams like none of it fucking mattered. Like I didn't fucking matter. I would see him again and he would smile like he fucking cared, but he didn't and it was Merlin-damned Cruciatus in my veins.

Then back at Hogwarts, he was staring at me all the time, watching me like he did back in sixth year. Watching me to see what I was up to. Just waiting for me to fucking mess up. When I would catch him looking he'd look away really quickly and his cheeks would go all pink and damn if it didn't look fucking good on him, and damn if I didn't know whether to be hurt and angry that he'd apparently decided I'm guilty of something again, or happy that at least he was paying attention to me.

Fucking pathetic, I know.

I hated it.

I hated him.

My fucking apples were my only solace.

Fucking apples.

Then one day I snuck out to be alone and sit by the edge of the lake eating some apples. I heard something; someone, but when I looked up there was nobody there.

And I just knew it was fucking Potter; hiding under that invisibility cloak I caught him with sixth year - and why I didn't just swipe it then is beyond me; bloody stupid, that - he was spying on me.

So I called him out on it.

And sure enough, he materialised out of thin air, looking sheepish. He sat down beside me and made conversation. And fuck if it didn't feel bloody good to have his attention in a friendly way and fuck if it didn't get my hopes up. Again.

So I said as casually as I could, "It's almost as if you're trying to be friends, Potter"; waiting for him to laugh it off, to brush it aside so I can remember why I hate him.

Only he didn't do that.

"Maybe I am... Draco," he said, and fuck if my name rolling off his tongue didn't make my toes want to curl.

So I called him "Harry" and we shook hands and it was all I could do not to start blubbering like some big baby right there and then. He laughed like he was happy; like I made him happy by agreeing to be his friend. And I guess my face was nearly split in two by my fucking sappy smile.

So that's how Potter and I became friends.

But there's more.

See, being friends didn't stop Potter staring at me. He still did that thing where he'd go all pink and look away quick - like he was guilty of something.

And then there were the apples. He'd watch me eating them like he was salivating, but he rarely took one when I offered. I just couldn't figure it out.

What did it though were Pansy and Blaise. The three of us have been friends since before we were weaned; and ours tends to be a very physical friendship, with a lot of casual touches. A lot of people have mistakenly thought that we were romantically involved, but that wasn't exactly the case. Pansy used to have a crush on me and I took her to the Yule Ball, but seriously; she's like my sister. Blaise is my brother. Not in blood, but in spirit. And he's as straight as they come.

Those two are family. I love them more than anyone else in the world, except my mother.

But Potter would look over and see Pansy resting her head on my shoulder, playing with my hair - and she's the only one who gets away with that, mind - or Blaise leaning over to whisper in my ear with his hand on my thigh, and he'd go all tense and his jaw would clench and his eyes would go glacial.

You wouldn't think that green eyes could be icy but Potter managed it.

It was Blaise that pointed it out to me.

"Potter fancies you."

"No, he doesn't," I said flatly.

It was ridiculous. After all, we're both boys. Men. Whatever.

And besides that, I'm a (former) Death Eater; the son of a Death Eater. The Dark Lord lived in my house for a year. I ate Christmas fucking dinner with him. I let Death Eaters into Hogwarts and disarmed Dumbledore so Snape could kill him. I had Madam Rosemerta under fucking Imperius - an Merlin-damned Unforgivable - for almost a year. I nearly killed Katie Bell and the Weasel - I mean Weasley. (I'm still working on that one.)

Potter's the Saviour of the Wizarding World. The Chosen One. The Golden Boy. Hero to every witch and wizard alive. He killed the Dark Lord, ended the war, and saved us all.

It was laughable.

And yet... Once Blaise pointed it out to me, I couldn't help noticing things.

Things like how Potter always went out of his way to make time for me. How he'd laugh at all my jokes, how he was always smiling at me, how when he'd look at me his eyes were big and round and shiny and sometimes he'd just look at me; like I was something precious, a treasure.

And I realised Blaise was right.

I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

Sure, I was flattered. Merlin; who wouldn't be? Not to mention that for my shredded reputation and tattered pride, it was a huge ego boost.

But for all that I'd never really cared for girls, it had never occurred to me I could fancy a guy.

Blaise wanted to know what I was going to do about it.

"Nothing," I said.

"Bullshit, Draco," he swore at me. "I know you fancy him; you have since you were eleven."

I sputtered and protested that I did not, nor had I ever. He ignored me, but eventually he dropped it.

He got me thinking, though.

About how I had always, always craved Potter's attention. About how much it fucking hurt every time he rejected me. About how I noticed how bloody gorgeous he was, all the fucking time. About how safe he made me feel.

I thought about it a lot.

And then one day Potter and I were talking and he was making these big puppy-dog eyes at me, and I just snapped and rolled my eyes at him.

"You're such a stupid speccy git," I told him, and then I kissed him.