Lad(Y) in the Lake

Bloody first years. That was the thought circling around Draco Malfoy, Head Boy, Pureblood, seventh year and generally gorgeous sex god's head as he sat resting on a piece of soggy wood on a rickety boat drifting out on the middle of the Lake. If they hadn't had the audacity to be born and need escorting across the Lake then he could (and would) be in the Great Hall, making all the Slytherin boys marvel at his perfect figure and face while he told them his plans. Plans for Potter. Bloody Potter. Who seemed to always be intruding (yes that was it, intruding) on his thoughts recently. It was the eyes, really. Big, green Slytherin eyes. Hmm… Bloody Potter.

Bloody first years. That was the thought sitting in Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, seventh year and reluctant pin up's head as he stood on an especially squelchy patch of snot-coloured mud waiting by the Lake for the flotilla of boats to- eventually- drift in. If they didn't have to come across in the boats, he could be in the Great Hall, eating drinking and generally ing-ing! But no. He had been… shanghaied into helping Hermione, who as Head Girl was required to lend a hand. Into helping Draco Malfoy. Bloody Malfoy. The silver-haired and sharp-tongued boy had been slipping (uninvited) into Harry's dreams. Harry did not wake up screaming only because he had… amazing self control... Bloody Malfoy.

Draco had just decided that his smile was, indeed, as that little smitten thing in sixth year had told him (was it Kilday? Kilda?) perfectly perfect. That was proper grooming, he thought smugly. Then the squid tipped the boat upside down.

One blade of grass, two blades of grass, three blades of grass…. Harry's mind was now occupied with counting grass- the only activity he could think of that wouldn't involve moving any part of his body from the arrangement of various scarves, gloves and hats he had jammed on himself. Suddenly he heard a girl scream and looked up. The boat leading the flotsam that made up the boats was upside down. And it contained.. Bloody Malfoy.

Draco floundered around in the murky water, mouth open, arms and legs flailing, cursing all things under the sun. Ruddy squid… bloody boat… effing Potter… Potter!? Yep. Potter. The Brat Who Lived was swimming gallantly across the Lake, having appeared from no where. His black hair was slicked back (resembling his own, thought Malfoy-though no where near as sigh-producing) and Potter's pale torso gleamed as it cut through the water, looking like one of those underwater submaroons Muggles had. So Potter was coming to save him? Potter always had to show off. Bloody Potter.

As Harry reached Malfoy he could see the irritation in the curl of the boy's lips but he kept swimming and reached out. Malfoy's usually pale face was turning.. splotchy was the best description and Harry knew that could be nothing but bad. Mind you, he reflected, it could be Malfoy's annoyance at being rescued by a Gryffindor. Grabbing out for Malfoy he caught… water. Malfoy was attempting to move away form Harry through the water (it couldn't be described as swimming, more walking in water). Bloody well running away! Harry scowled. Malfoy was going to be rescued whether he like it or not.

Standing on the shore Hermione trained her binoculars on the two boys. They were chasing each other. God. The UST!

Could they not just kiss and move on?