The Determinedness of Romilda Vane, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: For Merlin's sake, people; this is fanfiction.

WARNING YO: This is H/D, boy/boy, male/male, hombre/hombre! I could go so far as to say garcon/garcon, but I'm still not very fluent in French, so I'll leave it to you. (pulls out fire extinguisher)

A/N: They are in sixth year, but forget the plot of HBP. This will be one of those fanfics long the lines of Harry and Draco dreaming and such, about each other of course. I've only read a couple of them but they either were never updated or simply sucked out loud. It's actually inspired from a mix of several different fics so will therefore hopefully be different. Please excuse me for making this slightly...cliché-ish. (With a very enjoyable twist!) lol.

Who was he to ignore her obviously-not-filled-with-Love-Potion chocolates? Who was he to bypass her in the halls and the Common Room without so much as a glance? Who was he to—oh, whatever, he was Harry Potter. And if he would not give her, Romilda Vane, any attention, then he would pay the price dearly. She was through with the "subtle" attempts at flirting, through with the Love Potion endeavors. It was time for payback in the realm of love for one Mr. Harry James Potter and she would be the person to administer this satisfying revenge of heartache.

After an hour of concentrated library time hiding behind a book specifically on the art of conducting dreams, Romilda slammed the book shut and lowered it, revealing the girl behind it to be wearing a startlingly maniacal grin. She had a plan. One that would drive him crazy.

Harry was tired. No, beyond tired; Harry was thoroughly and completely ninety-nine percent exhausted. The only reason it was not one-hundred percent was due to the fact that he was not yet within the squishy confines of his bed where he could banish the remaining one percent until the pleasantly distant morning. He didn't even notice when Romilda Vane eyed him more creepily than usual on his way up the staircase to his dormitory.

He had been drowsy all day, for no particular reason. So, it was no surprise to any of his roommates when Harry moseyed sleepily over to his bed, sat down, and collapsed altogether in a heap of pillow-muffled snores. He even still had his glasses on.

This was really really really not normal. This was so . . . so real. It felt so un-dreamlike that Harry wondered if he was even sleeping anymore, but he had to be dreaming. If he wasn't, then he was in one seriously screwed-up alternate dimension. A dimension where there were flying hippos that twirled their hula skirts and speared star-shaped sponges on shish kabobs while humming a tune from Mary Poppins.

Harry knew he had a . . . creative mind. But this was far from what he thought that his imagination was capable of creating. Nevertheless, he sat down on a floating swinging net and watched the strange activities take place around him.

He was so distracted that he jumped approximately three feet in the nonexistent air when a finger tapped him on the shoulder. Turning around, he found a vaguely human-shaped form sitting next to him on the net.

"What the—"

"Hello, Harry," it interrupted him, in a rather dreamlike voice. The voice was nothing like Luna's, though, and he couldn't tell if it was male or female. The whole . . . thing was blurry and more like a ghost without a face or any identifying features. It continued in the strange voice, "Since you won't settle on someone who is doomed to admire you from afar, I am here to help you choose."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked.

"I can be whoever you want," It stated quite simply.

Harry blinked, if that was possible in this insane excuse of a world.

It continued, "I can take the form of whatever person you wish me to. Go on, choose someone."

Harry paused for a minute. What the hell? But might as well just do what it asked, before it ate him and he came out a purple cactus or something. "Er—how about Seamus Finnigan?"

He watched as the vague form melted into the familiar person that was Seamus Finnigan. He didn't seem friendly though, more vacant and determined to grope Harry in a more-than-friendly way. Harry scooted as far as possible from the sandy-haired boy staring lovingly at him, then said quickly, "Cho Chang!"

The figure dissolved and reappeared a half-second later as the exact copy of Cho. Her dark eyes looked straight into his and she moved closer without blinking.

Now very scared, Harry asked, "Why are you trying to—to feel me up or whatever it is you're doing? Am I supposed to be asking for people in a romantic type of way?"

Cho's face softened and she smiled. In her voice, the figure continued, "Yes, Harry. You really should settle on someone so you don't leave poor, heartbroken girls to seek you out and still have hope that maybe you will choose them. It is not fair to them."

Harry was slightly confused, but voiced the person he'd been having conflicted emotions on since the beginning of the year. "Um . . . Ginny Weasley?"

Cho gave him one last smile before dissolving and taking the shape of Ginny. She gazed back at him with undisguised lust in her eyes and grasped his wrist, all the while moving closer as Harry backed further away. Far from satisfying the thing in his chest that lurched whenever he was around the real Ginny, the sight of her infatuated with him was not at all what he had dreamed of. It was rather scary and in a strange way repulsed him. He would've thought that this would be exactly what he wanted, but the closer she came and the more he stared into her brown eyes, the more he realized he did not want anything to do with Ginny like this. Desperate to escape, Harry said, "Luna!"

The form of Luna took the place of Ginny, but her large pale eyes had the same intent gleaming from within them. Harry was starting to get scared that girls were not what he yearned for; but that would not do. This strange Luna Lovegood was not helping him. So . . . Why not? "Hermione Granger!"

In a second Hermione sat beside him. Her bushy curls bounced slightly as she scooted ever-closer while he continued to edge away. Harry knew she and Ron had an unspoken bond, but he had always sort of wondered if anything could ever be between himself and her. Seeing her like this only did to make him understand that it was not meant to be; she and Ron were supposed to be together, even if Ron was dating—that was it. "Lavender Brown!"

Lavender's blue eyes and generally-attractive figure sat before him, still determined. "Parvati!"

After Harry had been through nearly every girl he could think of, even once daring the impossible (Pansy Parkinson), Harry was outright horrified. Thinking that this was simply a dream, and nothing more, Harry gave into the impulse and spoke the dreaded name of a male. "Ron Weasley."

The now-male and Ron-ified thing continued its quest to molest Harry. Harry's eyes widened and he desperately said, "Could you at least stay still, please?"

Instantly the thing that looked exactly like Ron stopped, but continued gazing at Harry as if its sole ambition was to have its wicked way with him. It was too weird with Ron. "Dean Thomas?"

Dean's normally-warm eyes were glazed as they stared eagerly back at Harry, and Harry was scared at the strange satisfaction his mind seemed to have with the male physique. His horror only intensified when he had gone through several other guys from Oliver Wood to Terry Boot and the feeling stayed. Knowing that this was potentially his only chance at escaping whatever his mind was thinking about his sexuality, his voice croaked out, "Draco Malfoy."

Instantly the whirl of scrambled thoughts and confusion stopped. The activities of strange hippos disappeared, and the only thing present was himself, the floating net, and the pale, pointy form of Draco Malfoy sitting beside him. Harry, very scared at what had just happened and what thoughts he might have about a lust-driven Malfoy, looked up slowly. The view of pale wrists went up to a slender neck and extended to bright silvery eyes gleaming at Harry. The feeling in Harry's gut multiplied ten-fold and his eyes widened. He had never been this close to Malfoy before, and surprisingly it was not—unpleasant. His complexion was impossibly clear and fair, and Harry found that sometime while he had not been looking, the pointy features of Malfoy's face had become quite handsome. The white-blond hair hung low over the still-gleaming irises in an attractive fashion; his shoulders and arms were muscular but somehow still skinny and very appealing under the white silk shirt. Harry rolled this over in his brain and thought : Why not, it's only a dream, right?

Harry leaned forward ever-so slightly and the figure disguised as Draco smirked in a predatory way.

"I knew you'd come through," the thing said in Malfoy's low, slow drawl, that now sounded silken and unbelievably sexy to Harry.

The thing slowly re-began its previous attempts and reached for Harry's wrist to drag him forward, and their faces were barely three inches apart when the whole scene dissolved and Harry was greeted with the sight of Ron shaking him.

"Get up, Harry! Breakfast! 'M hungry!"

Harry groaned and rolled over, then grasped his glasses and pushed them on his face, sitting up. Today was going to be so weird.

Romilda sat in her four-poster, curtains drawn and spelled shut. Well that was certainly a surprise. A gay Harry Potter . . . matched with Draco Malfoy? It was weird, but somehow it fit. They were rivals, everybody knew that. But they were both damned sexy, complete opposite in coloring, and would be at least doubled in hotness if put together. Whoa.

She sat there thinking. Harry would never have her, obviously. So why not try to help him with his—troubles? Yes, this would be perfect. As she opened her curtains and pulled out a clean set of robes from her trunk, she let out a slightly crazed giggle that caused her roommates to stare.

On the way down to breakfast, Harry had hoped desperately that perhaps the dream-Malfoy had somehow been made more attractive by whatever twisted part of his mind created that scenario. His hopes were soon shattered when he saw the real Malfoy, just as sexy (if not more), at the Slytherin table. He let out a groan of suffering. Oh crap, he hadn't meant to do that. Ron stared at him blankly and Harry straightened himself and attempted to walk calmly over to the Gryffindor table. Which he did.

After sitting down, Harry's stomach contracted rebelliously whenever he so much as looked at food. He quickly gave up and left early with Hermione to go to History of Magic.

At the far end of the Gryffindor table, barely paying attention to the eggs falling off her fork, Romilda Vane sat inconspicuously observing the rivals. Harry was obviously not taking this well, but better than most. The Slytherin of course had no clue what was going on, but that would all change tonight. She smiled evilly then shoveled down the contents of her plate. Snatching her things and throwing a last evil glance at Draco Malfoy, who was half-asleep (all the better), she swept out of the Great Hall for class.

Holy Merlin, he was exhausted. Draco was never this tired, but last night he had crammed for the potion they were supposed to be making today. Thanks to this, he made the potion perfectly; and thanks to his drowsiness, he didn't notice Potter sneaking glances at him more often than usual. Even if he would have, he would've been too tired to care.

Another thing he didn't notice was the maniacal grin in his direction coming from a Gryffindor during dinner, or the way her eyes followed him with a crazed gleam as he left groggily for his comfy four-poster.

Romilda quickly abandoned the plate of rolls once her target had exited the Great Hall, and noted with glee that Harry seemed to have already left for his dorm as well. She rushed up the marble staircase and to her bed in Gryffindor Tower; once securely behind the spelled-shut and locked curtains, she placed several silencing charms. Then she laid back and set to work.

Well this was . . . odd. Draco looked around at the field of dancing gorillas surrounding him. Accepting that this was obviously not going to change anytime soon, he sat down in the soft grass with a huff.

After a couple minutes of confused sitting, another person came to sit beside Draco. He looked up from staring at the grass straight into bright green eyes less than two feet away. His own eyes widened at the sight of a relaxed "Golden Boy" seated uncomfortably close to him. On second thought, it really wasn't uncomfortable. Every time he'd been anywhere within a five-foot radius of Potter, there had been so much anger in the air that one didn't have any attention left to notice such things. So, this left a comfortable and even more confused Draco Malfoy sitting Indian-Style in the middle of a field of dancing gorillas with a relaxed Harry Potter.

"Can't even leave me alone in my dreams, eh, Potter?" Draco said with less venom than usual.

Harry turned from watching the gorillas with detached interest to look back at him. "Your dreams? You mean you're not some crazed phantom thing that changes shape?"

Draco blinked. "What?"

"Never mind. I suppose its better than hippos in hula skirts like last night," Harry said with a sigh.

"What?"

Harry looked at him again. "You know you ask a lot of questions in dreams."

"How would you know?" Draco grinned, then realized he had asked another question. Ah, screw it. "Dream about me often, Potter?"

Harry gaped and blushed, averting his eyes. "No!"

Draco clicked his tongue. "It doesn't do to lie. Besides, this is all a dream anyway. It's just sad that this is what I have to entertain myself while I'm sleeping."

Harry's eyes narrowed, then he opened his mouth as if to say something. It quickly closed.

"If you're going to say something, just say it," Draco said tiredly.

Harry huffed, then said, "If this is just a dream, then why are you saying that you're sleeping right now? Because if you're sleeping, which obviously you are since you were half-dead today, then are we like in each other's dreams or something? The last thing I remember is leaving dinner and collapsing on my bed."

Draco was about to say how stupid that was, but then what Potter had said actually sunk in. "This does seem awfully real. Besides the gorillas and all."

"But if this is real, then how is this happening? It's almost like Dream Occlumency, or . . . shit."

Potter fixed him with a stare. "Are you or are you not Voldemort trying to mess with my mind?"

Draco blinked, again. "The last time I checked, I don't remember being a snake-faced, insane Dark Lord. You have some serious problems, Potter."

Harry sighed with relief, then turned an accusatory glance at him. "Then why, exactly, are you in here—", he tapped his skull, "—while I'm trying to sleep?"

Draco thought it over in his mind. It was apparent that either Draco was just having a really messed up dream, or someone had screwed around with both his and Potter's dreams to put them together. Either way, this would prove to his benefit. And besides wondering when Potter had become so sexy (holy hell did he just think Potter was sexy?), he was dying to know (if this really was Potter and not just some psycho dream-version of him) what he would do to Draco if he thought that he was just a dream and not the real Draco. Potter had certainly seemed very comfortable around him before he started talking.

"Think about it. Why would I, be in your dreams?"

Potter's emerald orbs widened slightly, then glared. "Are you sure you're not just that psycho ghost thing that kept trying to molest me?"

Draco wondered what the hell Potter was talking about, but oh well. That would have to wait. Let's see what Harry Potter does with Draco Malfoy in his dreams, he thought. This should be fun.

Draco just smirked.

Potter continued to glare. "You know, you gave me one hell of a time last night, and that was not funny. A very roundabout way of telling me that apparently I'm—gay. You couldn't've just came up as a stupid guy instead of telling me Oh, Harry, I can take the form of anyone, choose somebody, but I'll make you suffer and try to molest you until you figure it out for yourself that you're not all attracted to girls, even when you name every single girl that you know exists at Hogwarts, here just sit there and be tortured by exact copies of guys when you finally decide to name them and then when you try to say Draco Malfoy just because you figure he won't be sexy, not at all, you'll turn out to actually be unbelievably attracted to the bastard and he wouldn't even care, blah blah blah . . ."

Draco was very tempted to take on a shocked expression, but that just would not do if he was supposed to be this ghost-type shape-shifter thingy. And much better, this was very obviously not just a dream-version of Harry. Someone was messing with their dreams, but Draco would take care of that later. For now, he just wanted to do something with Potter. He was supposed to be trying to molest him, so that's exactly what Draco did.

Turns out all it took to shut Potter up was to scoot closer to him. His eyes widened at Draco but he didn't back away; in fact, after a second of Draco smirking at him and edging closer and closer, Potter took the initiative and stroked Draco's jaw line with a finger. "You are one sick bastard," was all the warning Draco got before Potter's hot mouth was on his and he was pinned to the ground.

Romilda was shocked, quite frankly. She hadn't expected Malfoy to take advantage of the situation, but it was obvious that they were both irresistibly attracted to each other. Damn, that was hot, was all she could think. She quickly cancelled the spell to control their dreams and lay back on her pillow, reflecting.

On two opposite sides of the Castle, two people awoke in a panic. Those two people lay awake for a few minutes, realized that their lives would be hell tomorrow, then promptly fell back asleep.

A/N: Let me know if you think I should continue. Thanks!