Oh my gosh, you guys, have you ever had chocolate ice cream with
cinnamon? Right, well anyways, this story has time-hopping.
Like, jumping from present to past and back again. Try to keep
up? Dog knows I do...
Disclaimer: Well, I didn't make the characters up. I should hope you would know, by now, that they are the property of J.K.Rowling and all that good business.
Title: Holy Heart Hoppings, Batman!
The sound of shoes grinding dried leaves into the moist, dark soil was all that could be heard. A forest was never this quiet, he thought pensively, cautiously. The sky was a dark purple and the moon was hanging low and mellow yellow. The Forbidden Forest was never, ever this quiet, he thought.
He felt, deep down, that he shouldn't be here. The moon crept out of visibility as he walked deeper into the forest, the yellow torn through with black silhouettes of twisted and gnarled branches.
He stepped on a twig, and the snapping made small hairs on the nape of his neck stand up. He turned to glance behind, his eyes wide but shielded by the same glasses he'd carried for years.
A breeze lifted leaves in front of him and behind him and still he walked, paying no attention to the paper-thin, brown things as his feet kept moving. The leaves danced and twirled around him and grazed softly and unnoticeably around his trouser legs and covered arms.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of the black coat he was wearing, a habit of insecurity; his left hand curled tightly around the thin, warm wood of his wand, and his right hand brushed against a dry piece of parchment.
The night before there'd been a spectacle of a gathering. It had started with Hermione of course, because only Hermione, with her brilliant mind, could think of a way to instigate a gathering of so many of Europe's witches and wizards in such a small place.
Or at least that's what Ron would say. Really, it was a considerable group of individuals, all placed under the same spell by the growing moon. "Hallowe'en is upon us," a petite, dark-haired girl had said in a hushed, singsong voice. She sat down on a stone bench and stared at the darkening sky.
A tall, thin man sat next to her and placed his face in the crook where her shoulder met her neck. "What are we going to do this year, darling?"
"Oh," an older woman cooed as she stared at the moon. "How I do love this season. There's something in the air. I remember," she started, turning shiny eyes on Hermione, "when I was your age, dear, there was a wonderful masquerade ball. So beautiful," she sighed. "And so romantic." She didn't miss the shine in the younger girl's eyes. "I've never been to one since."
Hermione looked up at Ron as she leaned into him, a relaxed smile on her face. "That would be romantic," she agreed.
Ron grinned back. "Yes, it would be," he replied dazedly.
And so they'd somehow figured out a way to do it.
Harry was panting now, the cold night air harsh in his warm throat. Sweat from hasty exertion made his forehead shiny and his eyes blaze. His feet stopped and he quickly surveyed his surroundings while his hand pulled the parchment from his pocket.
As if he hadn't already memorized the note's contents, he squinted to make out the neat, hauntingly familiar handwriting in the dark. Surrounding trees seemed to press in on him thickly one moment, then leave him in airy seclusion the next.
And he stood and waited.
White lights from small, dancing orbs in the air were bouncing on the faces and shoulders of masked men and women and everybody in between. Feathers, paper and beads surrounded alluring eyes, and make-up and glamorizing charms layered mouths in mysteriousness.
Growls and squeals permeated the thick, almost pearly air, while shouts and laughter punctuated the hard beats of a Weird Sisters hit.
A stage lit up with golden light, and from the shadows walked a tall, thin, chocolate-skinned woman with a dress and mask covered in silver feathers. As she walked forward, to the very edge of the stage, flurries of silver glitter followed in her wake. "Alright, now, you hep cats! The night is just warming up!" She pointed up to the magically enchanted ceiling, through which could be seen the large, yellow moon. Everybody followed her finger, and a large, collective sigh of awe and excitement could be heard through the crowd.
"Now pick up your feet, your partner, and get to dancing!" She turned dramatically on her dangerously high-heeled shoes and sauntered off the stage, stopping to privilege doting admirers with saucy winks.
As she was descending the stage, the dark, masked woman paused in front of one man in particular. "Fancy the great Harry Potter in our very presence, and nobody will know," she mused softly, so that only the man in front of her could hear.
He looked around quickly, his pupil visible through holes in his black and red mask. "How could you tell it was me?" Harry almost reached up to adjust his glasses, a nervous habit, only to remember that they were indeed tucked away in his pocket. It just hadn't been possible to wear his glasses and the mask, so he'd given in and temporarily adjusted his vision at Hermione's suggestion.
"Well really," the woman laughed. "You're the only one near me without a hard-on." She pushed into Harry with her hip, and delighted in a slight blush she could see on the tips of his mostly covered ears.
"Mizz LaTour," a slurred voice whispered in awe. The woman rolled her eyes.
"I suppose I'll be seeing you later, then, my poncy friend," she said to the man while turning to the worshipper lying prostrate on the floor behind her. "Hello, who are you?"
Harry laughed and turned to stare hesitantly at the crowd in front of him, the mass of swaying bodies just waiting to anonymously swallow him whole.
He hadn't paced in over two years. He hadn't any need to. Harry gave a large sigh and turned to follow an already well-tread path towards another tree. There he turned, and repeated the process.
He hadn't felt like he was in such peril in over two years. His exasperated sigh cut through the still air. He wasn't in peril, he felt the need to remind himself. A snap from behind made his head swing around, followed afterwards by his body. A two-year-old memory of blood-red eyes on a deathly pale face flitted through Harry's mind, followed by an incomprehensible surge of adrenaline. It'd been two years. But instead of seeing Voldemort, a dark silhouette greeted the panting man.
"Hello, Harry."
In the midst of so many masked figures, Harry still couldn't really bring himself to truly be caught in the excitement and carefree attitude of everybody else. He glanced up at the yellow moon for a few moments and ignored the impersonal grazes of contact as people brushed by. He looked down and saw a shadowed figure; the light of the moon was burned into Harry's eyes, and left the black-clad individual in an impossible spotlight.
Harry was rather sure it was a man- a tall, thin man- a tall, thin man smiling alluringly and walking toward him-- The simple, black mask the man was wearing made the white of his eyes vibrant and bright, the gray seem silver, and the bottom half of his face luminescent. He was smirking. He put a fingertip to his cheek and gave Harry a mock pout.
Harry blinked.
"Well that's not usually the reaction I elicit," the man said with a clear voice. The man walked forward and placed his smirking mouth near Harry's ear. "However, you never did follow the rules, did you, Harry?" And with that, the figure took his measured paces away from the shocked man.
Harry tried to follow the man, but he knew it would be a fruitless attempt. The man was trying to not be found, and the crowd, albeit unknowingly, helped greatly. He stood in the middle of the crowd and tried to pick out the other man, to no avail. The crowd tried to keep Harry near with its merciless gropes while he made his journey to the closest, well-concealed exit.
In an open courtyard, Harry took a deep breath. Somebody had recognized him. The idea made his stomach go into knots. He wasn't in any particular danger, he told himself. After all, Voldemort hadn't reared his ugly face for more than two years. But still—the man's smirking mouth came into view in his mind's eye, and Harry felt his stomach go into knots for a different reason.
"Already mooning away the night for me?" The voice drifted into Harry's ear from behind, sounding as if it could have floated to him from across the courtyard, or as if it could have been right behind him. Harry imagined the masked man leaning in, his body almost pressed against Harry's back.
Taking a deep breath, Harry turned around. The man was nearly within arm's length, was almost close enough to touch. "Who are you," Harry whispered. "How did you know it was me?"
"Well you're quite obvious in how you walk," the man said, his pink mouth moving as easily as he disregarded the first question. "You walk as if you were trying to hide." The masked man took fluid steps toward Harry. "But why hide, tonight of all nights? You could have just trusted in the mask and let go." He was so close to Harry, Harry was sure he could feel a magnetic pull between them.
Harry subtly leaned his head in, and was surprised and relieved when the anonymous man did the same. He let his mask be untied by gentle hands, but looking into those gray eyes, Harry felt as if he should remember something, should recognize a line being crossed. No matter, when both pairs of eyes were closed as surely as both mouths were open for each other, there was no time for second thoughts.
Harry brought his hands up to cup the man's head, his thumbs grazing the edges of the black mask.
The man's hands were twisted into the front of Harry's shirt, but they let go abruptly when the man felt a pressure on the back of his head. He glared at Harry and quickly grasped the mask and pressed it against his face before it could fall. "You have beautiful eyes, you know," the man said, his glare gone as quickly as it had come. He turned and walked away, not looking back.
After Harry was sure the man wasn't going to turn around, he looked away. Putting his hands in his trouser pockets, he heard a crinkling and felt a folded piece of parchment.
A gust pushed at Harry from the side with the arrival of the man. He was still masked. "So you came." It wasn't said with any surprise.
"Yes, it appears I did," Harry replied. "Although, why I did is a mystery to me."
"Is the great Harry Potter still living on his toes, after three years?"
"It hasn't been three years."
"Oh, yes, two years and ten months. My mistake. Either way, that's a long time to expect a feeble man to come out of hiding, or back from the dead, or from wherever it is he's gone off to these days."
Harry sighed. He'd heard as much before. "Who are you," he asked again. The man merely smirked and walked closer. Something about that smirk left Harry with an odd feeling of forgetting something. He took the letter out of his pocket. "I read your note, but I have no idea as to what I could do without first knowing your na"- Words were stillborn as his mouth met that of the man.
The man pulled back a fraction an inch. His eyes still closed, he exhaled slowly. "How did life suddenly become so strange, Potter?" He opened his eyes and his gaze was met by a surprised expression in Harry's green ones.
"Malfoy." Harry had finally recognized that disconcerting feeling in his stomach.
"Not anymore," he whispered in reply.
Harry fell into silence, still so unspeakably close to his old rival. The old rival he'd just kissed again. The tall, thin, man-- "Draco." Harry failed to notice the letter, no longer needed, as it fluttered to the ground along with the stirring leaves.
Draco smiled and leaned in again, his eyes half-lidded. He didn't know how he'd gone through school without hearing his name spoken from the lips of the green-eyed man in front of him.
Harry-
Life has gone to the dogs, if you understand my meaning. I've had a questionable past, but when I finally found the courage to make my own decisions, my choices weren't exactly greeted with smiles and cheers. The Great Lord Voldemort is no more, of this I'm sure, but that means that I am in more danger than I was when he led the Death Eaters who now plan to wrongly place blame on me for his final failure.
It's come to a bad point, Harry. I need your help. Meet me in an area of the Forbidden Forest tomorrow night. I'll locate it on a map and enclose it with this note. No matter what you may think, please rest assured that this is not a trap. I've nothing to hold against you. If it would leave you at ease, bring whatever protection you deem necessary. I will be expecting you.
Um, the End!