Author: tigersilver
Rating: R
Pairing: H/D
Word Count: 1,900
Warnings/Summary: Not beta'd, as I only wrote it this morning, but this is but a little stocking stuffer for the absolutely amazing annafugazzi, in response to her prompt found here, and is given with great joy and best wishes for a rather brilliant star in this fandom! The Weasley twins happen to have a whole lot of spare materials for the making of mischief laying about unused and Hogwarts is surely dreary in the beginning of January, Harry's 6th Year. Such is clearly the perfect staging area for a sudden 'Attack of the Sillies'!
HD 'An Attack of the Sillies'
Harry Potter staggered into the Great Hall on bleak January morning in 6th Year with his usual gaggle of Gryffindors alongside him. All were strangely quiet and had been all through the usual ablutions and frantic donning of the days' laundered school robes. Harry would've remarked on the strangeness of that, but he found he couldn't be arsed.
Perhaps because he was bleary-eyed from the lack of sleep: the nightmares had been odder than ever the previous evening and Harry was well aware he was well off his usual form this particular, even for him. He was a bit headachy, and the world seemed to be spinning a tad faster than was regular.
Which explained why the giggling array of Hufflepuffs sitting interspersed at Slytherin Table went pretty well unnoticed, and why Harry's gaze only merely slid over the startling view of a group of Ravenclaws waltzing happily up the main aisle, scattering flower petals. Though he did catch a glimpse—and proceed to then promptly ignore, in a fuzzy-minded way—of the incredible sight of Professor McGonagall balanced gaily upon Professor Snape's knee, both merrily engaged in what looked to be a spontaneous spot of 'swish-and-flicking' activity. And that last puzzled him, somewhat. But not really.
His attention was finally caught by the groaning spread laid out on Gryffindor Table. Jelly babies, sautéed mustard greens with garlic, towering heaps of Chocolate Frogs contained in a netted sieve, still twitching, and a positive mountain of toasted, buttered fruitcake took the place of the usual eggs-and-rashers, crumpets and bangers, porridge and sliced fruit. Instead of jam, there was pickle relish in little pots, and in place of coffee there was butterbeer in cold frosty pitchers, and—worst of all—the tea was served iced, and minted, instead of nicely piping hot, as Harry preferred it. Buggerall!
He groaned, staring blankly at the utter insane disaster that was intended to be brekkers. Botheration.
"Erm. What the?"
All about him, his mates shrugged philosophically and dug in, even Ron.
"Ahh…guys?" Harry raised his stunned head and managed to refasten his sagging jaw to his skull, manning up to overcome the rather overwhelming sense of growing astonishment. "Um….hey?"
"Good morning—"
"Harry. Lovely morning—"
"Isn't it?"
The twins plopped themselves uninvited down on either side of Harry, grinning madly.
"Pardon?" Harry squeaked, appalled comprehension rapidly dawning. "Oi, you two haven't gone and—"
"Started a little fun, Harry?" Fred asked innocently. "Why, yes—"
"We have!" George continued delightedly. "Seemed a bit drear here at Hogwarts after last hols, Harry, so we've been—"
"Experimenting, at home, don't you know?" Fred carried on, insouciantly, tapping a musing finger to his ginger stubbly chin. "Had some Silly Powder laying about, going to waste, you see, so—"
"Thought we might see how it substituted in the Hogwart's laundry soap flakes, right? Went right in, not a speck of difficulty there. Little buggers never even saw us at it. And then there was the Kissing—"
"Potion, stirred into the beef consommé, but that was only a little—"
"Bit of an afterthought, really. Harry. And how are you, this fine morning?"
Both twins leant in and about Harry's shrinking form, bent upon examining him forensically.
"As you're 'impervious-to-Imperius', you might say," Fred explained brightly. "We quite thought you'd be our very best—"
"Test subject, Harry," George chuckled lightly. "Or rather, the control group, yeah? You know how old Snape's always going on about employing the proper methods, experimenting. Ah…you don't mind it, right?"
"Er, do you, Harry?" Fred patted Harry's arm in a peace-making gesture.
"What?!" Harry exclaimed, instantly outraged. "How dare—!"
"Potter. Potter, I say. Potter! Pay attention to me, you great galaumphing tit."
Harry ceased to speak altogether, and also to listen to the chattering twins although they quite possibly kept on nattering away in his buzzing ears. He'd didn't mind them; he stared upwards instead, to meet the gaze of a grim-faced Draco Malfoy, hovering over him like a harbinger of ice blond-tressed, Prefect-perfect Doom. "Potter!" Malfoy demanded peremptorily of him, almost exactly as nastily as always. "Stand up! I've something to say to you! And I've been waiting a damned long while to say it. Now—up with you; face me!"
"Wha-what?" Harry stuttered, rising from his seat on the bench automatically, as he had never once backed down from this particular Slytherin in his life, cheers. He shouldered his way right into Malfoy's personal bubble and stuck an accusing finger out, jabbing at the git's snaky House badge. "What do you want now, Malfo—fwoop!"
What Draco Malfoy wanted, it seemed, was to snog Harry Potter silly, in plain view of all of Hogwarts staff and student population. To wit:
He gathered a gawping Harry up in a pair of quite long, quite strongly muscled arms, bent him back over the crook of one elbow and proceeded to kiss his old enemy into a gasping, moaning puddle of steamy teenage male hormones, all a'bubble. With tongue, positive lashings of it, and little teasing nips to Harry's lips from a set of minty, shiny, brilliant white teeth, and a great deal of insistent arse groping as an added-on extra.
"Gah!" Harry gasped, when at last allowed speech. "Draco?! What ever are you evendoing? To me? With—with me? What's come over you?"
"Well, Potter," Malfoy replied, quite seriously, never loosing his grip on Harry's bum and bent back. "Harry, rather. It's—ah. It's like this."
"…Um?"
Draco cleared his throat meaningfully, staring down at his armful of orphaned hero with curiously brilliant grey eyes, eyes which sparkled with an entirely abnormal lot of warmth and affection. And then he grinned at Harry, a wide genuine sort of grin, which had Harry's staunch Gryffindor heart practically tumbling about his chest acrobatically; anaerobicaly, even, effectively stealing his breath away completely. All memories of the twins and their half-explained mischief faded out of Harry's spinning head completely. He gawped up, and never thought once to struggle, either. Quite the opposite: he clung more closely to Malfoy, as he seemed to have the effect upon Harry of forcing his spinning head to spin widdershins instead, which completely eradicated that nasty muzzy sensation. Somehow, the entire world seemed to have sharpened, and become brighter.
"Ai-ee?" Harry replied, rather nonsensically, licking his rosy lips and blinking rapidly. Great Slimy Salazer, but he'd never before noted his old weedy nemesis Malfoy had transformed into a bloody fit bloke! "Dr-Dra-Draco?"
"Harry, it has come to my attention just this morning that my approach has been sadly misguided, all these years. In fact, I woke up with the clearest sense of knowledge I've been terribly in the wrong, all this time. I am merely seeking to correct my error. And to further our new friendship, Harry, as well, as much as possible, expediently. I'm not your enemy, Harry—I never wanted to be, either. Fact is, I'd ever so much rather prefer to be your lover. Now, shut it, please, as I'd very much like to kiss you again, and I really don't want to waste any more time on pointless explanations. As I'm fairly certain I can make it all very clear to you without using words at all. All right? Shall we?"
To his credit, Malfoy did not waste any more time explaining. And, to their credit, the twins departed quietly enough, not even stopping to unleash the last of their cache of tricks upon the hapless two, who were busy enough back at the heatedly strenuous mutual liplock. No, that they saved that for a passing Professor Trelawney, who, upon emerging from the little cloud of released Powdered Elixir of KnockKnelly Root, promptly snagged up a scowling Filch and dragged him aside to recite filthy limericks at him in a secluded alcove.
And to Harry's own particular credit, although he was well aware he was pretty much impervious to most behavior-altering spells, potions, pills and powders, he didn't mention that fact once to Draco Malfoy, even after all the twin's mischief wore off the next day and life at Hogwarts went mostly back to normal.
Mostly normal, given it was that snarky Blaise fellow and little Ginny Weasley still asleep in the next closed-curtained four-poster over. And Harry distinctly recalled the startling sight of his best mate Ron being manhandled into the female side of the dungeon dorms by a very determined looking Pansy Parkinson. Fairly late that was, after all the butterbeer had been drunk up, and Headmaster had finished demonstrating the Scottish reel for the gathered Houses at supper.
Ron and Pansy, huh? Who knew, right?
However, which must've been all right with Harry's friend Hermione, as he had last seen her bodily entwined and panting over a huge musty Restricted Section reference text with Slytherin's answer to the 'brightest Witch of her age': one Theodore Nott, the swot. And they were certainly doing a great deal than merely comparing notes, the two of them!
'Mostly', being the operative term in this new term, evidently, at least for some members of the two rival Houses. As it happened he and Draco were bedded down in the depths of Slytherin dorms together, cozy enough and cuddling in Draco's own be-curtained bed, after a good long night's worth of doing what comes naturally after that sort of snogging.
"Hmm, Harry?"
Drowsily, Harry curled up more closely to his brand new lover. He'd not one nasty dream the night before, not one. Not that he'd had a lot of actual sleep, either, but that was all right. Quite!
"Hmm?"
"You are aware I've my own special set of bed linens, aren't you?" Draco asked idly, after they'd indulged in one last lingering kiss before the necessity of arising to make ready for breakfast. "Sent straight from my quarters at home, by Mummy, they are."
"Oh, yes?"
"Hmm," Draco nodded kindly, his gaze narrow and full of a lazily satiated good humour. "Yes, Harry." And the unmistakable glint of a sly awareness of Harry's 'impervious-to-Imperius' condition; Harry smiled. Draco was still sharp as a tack, then, if not as pointy. "That's correct. And the elves here never lay hands upon them. All my dirty laundry is Owled straight back to Malfoy. So no chance of being adversely affected by any altered laundry soap. Or infected with any sort of powdered mischief, from any source. Is that not…interesting, Harry? That little tidbit."
"…Ah," Harry replied. When he could. And a bit breathlessly. Draco was a remarkably excellent kisser for a pinch-face Pureblood ponce. "..No? Wasn't aware, really. But…."
"But?" Draco grinned at him, pinching a rosy peaked nipple in passing and pressing a tiny kiss to the tip of Harry's nose. "But what, Harry? Problem?"
"Not at all," Harry shot back instantly, returning the kiss and then adding a tiny nip for good measure. "Twat. Not a problem. Exactly the opposite, actually. More like a brilliant solution, Draco. In truth, I think I can manage to become nicely accustomed to this new, er—ah? Entente, shall we call it? Peace-making effort, maybe? Between us. So, er? Carry on, then? Let's make some more peace. We should be damned sure we mend all our fences, shouldn't we, Draco? Got a lot fences to mend, yeah?"
"Done! Making! Mending!"
Draco groaned in a distinctly satisfied manner, diving fiercely right back into the 'doing', and they both missed breakfast entirely that morning, as it happened. Not that they cared a whit for that. As they hadn't missed much.
Breakfast which, drearily enough, consisted solely of boring boiled and/or scrambled, platters of everyday bangers, plates of regular old rashers, heaps of unbuttered wheat toast in racks and plain white bowls of plain white vanilla yoghurt. With nary a Choc Frog in sight.
...Mostly, capiche?