Seven Days
By Ellipsis Black
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine. *sigh*
Warning: none, really.
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Summary: A lot can happen in seven days, as Draco and Harry discover.
~~~~~
On Monday, they just looked at each other across the Potions dungeon, green eyes meeting grey, sparking with hatred and challenge.
On Tuesday, Harry, running down the hall, ran into Draco and fell sprawled on the ground. Draco looked down at him and sneered, then he bent down, took Harry's Transfiguration text and strode off.
Harry couldn't get the feel of Draco's thin, hard chest out of his fingers. He got a detention from McGonagal for not paying attention, then another one for not having his text.
On Wednesday, McGonagal gave Harry his text back and reminded him about his detention on Friday night.
As he walked back to the common room, he met Draco, who accused him of dobbing. Harry had no idea what he meant.
"The textbook, dolt," Draco sneered.
"What about it?" said Harry, then realised
He hadn't told McGonagal why he didn't have his textbook.
"She came up to me in class and demanded to see my textbook, so I showed her. Then she demanded to see the other one."
Harry sniggered. He liked McGonagal more and more.
Draco took this the wrong way and shoved Harry against the wall, using surprise to overpower the stronger boy. Momentum carried them together and Harry found himself sandwiched between a cold, unyielding wall and a warm, unyielding body. Draco's face was only centimetres from his own and his eyes were narrowed almost to slits.
"Fuck you, Potter," he said slowly and deliberately.
Harry found himself fascinated by Draco's lips, moving outwards to frame the shame of the profanity. Such nasty words shouldn't come from such lovely lips, he thought distractedly.
Draco was staring at him. Suddenly he shoved himself away from the wall and strode off.
Harry walked on to the Gryffindor common room and hastily forgot that he had ever thought that Draco's lips were lovely.
On Thursday, it was Harry who grabbed Draco. Draco had attempted to trip him in the hall outside Potions after everyone else went in. Harry, who, in his defense, had had a pretty lousy day—Snape had already taken points off him for 'looking disreputable' and the portrait of a maiden being menaced by a dragon on the second floor had stopped in her screams to point and laugh at him. Moments later, Sir Cadogan had galloped up, fallen off his horse and asked Harry if he was aware that his robes were on backwards—and was in a bad mood, grabbed Draco, who was a few inches shorter than him, by the collar.
"Not today, Malfoy," he spat, but again, he was distracted by the Slytherin's nearness—a highly disconcerting matter.
Draco was glaring up at him, lips slightly parted, wide eyes even now narrowing into a glare.
Harry wanted to touch those lips. He wanted to kiss them.
Unexpectedly, Draco grabbed his shirt and pulled him down, until there was barely a millimetre between their mouths. His breath was warm on Harry's lips.
Harry, shocked, pulled away, and Draco, smirking, slipped under his arm and into the dungeon.
Harry spent the entire potions lesson staring at Draco's back.
On Friday, they had detention. Harry waited in the Great Hall for Filch at precisely 8pm. Filch arrived at 8:02pm, but didn't motion for Harry to follow him. Instead he stood there, staring out the arched entrance.
Finally harry asked him why they were still there.
"Waiting for Mr. Malfoy, Potter."
"What?"
Though, now that he thought about it, he wasn't surprised. After all, they had both gotten detention on the same day.
They waited around until 8:30pm, which was when Draco finally turned up.
"Are you always late, Malfoy?" Harry snapped. "Because some of us have better things to do than sit around waiting for you to come."
"Potter, if you want to make me come, take a more active role," Draco deadpanned.
Filch motioned for them to follow him, so they did.
Harry made a point of walking behind and as far away as possible from Draco, but Draco looked back and gave him a mocking glance, and Harry sped up a bit.
Eventually, they reached a room, deep in the bowels of the Castle. Filch gestured them inside, then said with a grin which put all his charming yellow teeth on display, "The fourth-years need this room next week for lessons on banishment charms. You have to clean it and make it generally presentable."
He pushed them both inside, handed them several buckets full of soapy water, a couple of mops, sponges and a towel. "I'll be back in two hours," he said abruptly, then shut the door in their faces.
"Well Potter," drawled Draco. "This seems awfully contrived, doesn't it?"
Harry used a Lumos spell to light up the dark room as they turned to face it. Apparently triggered by the spell, the whole room was suddenly illuminated as bright as day. It seemed to be wallpapered in mattresses. The floor and walls and even the roof was covered in a soft-looking pink fabric. Experimentally, Harry stepped a bit, and the floor was springy.
It was filthy though. The walls were a sort of half-hearted, dingy pink and there were spider webs and insect carcasses in the corners.
Draco curled his lip.
His bloody, aristocratic, sculpted lip.
Harry sensed some punishment evasion was in the offing, so he forestalled it by shoving a bucket of water at Draco.
"You work from, that corner and I'll work from this one. We can meet in the middle."
"What an entrancing prospect," Draco said as he took his mop and bucket and stalked to his corner.
They worked for about half an hour. Cleaning up the spider webs and dead insects was disgusting but easy. Getting the stains out of the walls was harder, and getting them off the ceiling was impossible. Harry resorted to jumping and swiping the sponge at the stains.
After doing this a few times, he looked over to see how Draco was going.
Draco wasn't going. Draco was leaning on his mop and looking at Harry.
"What?" Harry said defensively.
"Potter, you dunce, did it ever occur to you to use the mop?"
Draco demonstrated, pointing the mop at the ceiling, and was rewarded by a cascade of dirty mop water.
Harry nearly died with amusement.
Draco, looking damp and sulky, went back to cleaning the walls.
Half an hour after that, Harry had a Brilliant Idea.
He turned around, raised his wand and said, "Scourgify."
Moments later, the room was sparkly and clean.
As was Draco. In fact, Draco's face had a rather pink, well-exfoliated look, and his hair was standing up on end.
"Smashing, Potter," he said sourly, trying unsuccessfully to smooth his hair down. "What the hell are we going to do for another hour until Filch returns?"
Harry shrugged.
Draco flopped—but gracefully!—onto the ground. Eventually, Harry followed suit.
"So, Potter," Draco began conversationally, "Why are you such a prat?"
Harry scowled. "I could ask the same of you."
Draco ignored him. "Hm, is it your sensational Quidditch skills? Or your cretinous friends? Or perhaps your absent family?"
"Malfoy," said Harry frostily, "I hardly think you have high ground from which to throw any of those stones, since I always beat you at Quidditch, your friends are Crabbe and Goyle and your father is a cold, sadistic bastard."
Draco was on his feet in an instant. "Take that back, Potter."
Harry jumped up. "What, the part about beating you at Quidditch?" he said sarcastically. "Because that's a fact."
"You little sod, you know what I mean. Take that back about my father. He is not a bastard."
"But he is," Harry said, crouching when Draco started towards him.
Unfortunately, the mattress-like floor was prohibitive of Draco's menacing stride and after a few steps he was forced to give up stalking and just kind of bounce at Harry instead.
"My. Father. Is. Not. A. Bastard. My grandparents are married and if there was ever any relationships on the side, they certainly weren't acknowledged or made heir. Take it back, Potter."
Harry stared at him. "Is that honestly all you're worried about?" he was amazed. "Fine, I take it back. Lucius Malfoy is the legitimate son of Mr. And Mrs. Grandparents-of-Malfoy.
"But that's pathetic, Malfoy."
He couldn't say any more because Draco had launched himself at Harry and tackled him to the ground.
It was a reasonably good fight, all in all. Both boys had their tempers up, and if the comfortable soft floor wasn't conducive to a martial mood, well they made up for it with good, violent intentions. And if, maybe, Harry's hand got a little too friendly with Draco's inner thigh, it was an act of anger and Harry didn't notice at all. The same does for that time their lips kind of almost brushed. Neither of them noticed it, of course.
They were angry.
Certainly, by the end of it, Draco was sporting a very impressive split lip and Harry's eye was beginning to swell.
All in all, as they glared at each other across the bouncy floor, both were satisfied that they had proven once and for all that they hated each other.
Therefore, having established that, the next logical step seemed to Harry to close the gab between them again, push Draco to the ground and prove once and for all that he wanted to shag Draco senseless.
Draco, it seemed, had the same idea. Once again they met in the middle of the room. Draco's hands wound into Harry's hair, tightening just enough to hurt.
At that moment, they both heard the door rattle.
They leaped away from each other. Harry fell over, bounced a few times, then pretended to be inspecting the floor closely for any stains. Draco became intensely interested in his fingernails.
Filch eventually opened the door. He looked around, made a kind of snortgrunt noise and said they could go. Both left as quickly as possible.
On Saturday, they had another fight over use of the Quidditch pitch. It seemed that both teams had booked the pitch. At the end of it, Draco's lip had started bleeding again. Harry caught up with him later and did a spell to patch it up. Draco gave him the oddest look.
On Sunday, Draco flicked a piece of potato clean across the Great hall and into Harry's hair. Harry leapt up, stalked over to the Slytherin table and hit him.
Draco looked up at him, eyes wide and ingenuous. Then, he grabbed Harry's collar and yanked, forcing Harry's mouth down to his own.
The whole Great Hall went up in a cheer.
Over at the Gryffindor table, Ron leaned over and whispered to Hermione, "Well, it's about fucking time."
Hermione nodded wryly.