Disclaimer:
Anything belonging to the HP universe belongs to J.K. Rowling and others who have bought the rights to meddle with her toys. Anything that's not is mine, unless stated otherwise. I'm just playing around here, not making money, so please don't sue.
Author's note's:
This fic was written for twistedm. in the Hds Beltane fic exchange on livejournal. It's beta'd, but not finished. I signed up for this exchange and started enthusiastically researching Beltane and then I moved and started my own company. It swamped me completely and to make matters worse, this fic grew into a multichaptered monster.
This was Twistedm.'s request: lots and lots of UST between Harry and Draco (but they can have sex in the end), hot NC-17 slash (can be between any two or three people in the fic) that makes me really wet, snark, humor, fic on the longer side.
No warnings, nothing exciting in the prologue, but the story is meant to reach NC-17 ... eventually. Thanks heaps to Naadi who did a hell of a betaing job on this.
Summary:
Seventh year and Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny have decided to return to Hogwarts after all. Both old friends and old enemies have returned. But nothing is the same. Harry wants to start the hunt for the Horcruxes and finds he gets help from unexpected people. And what is up with Malfoy?
Chapter Summary:
In which Harry and Draco serve a memorable detention together, professor Kalama puts her class to work and Hermione earns points for Gryffindor.
Chapter 2 Touch
Despite everything, we settle into our normal school routine. We attend classes and do our homework like there's not a war going on out there. Like there hasn't been a major shift in our way of life. Like the exposure of our world isn't causing a huge rift in wizarding society. It's hypocritical and ridiculous in most ways, but – to me at least – it's also vaguely comforting to know that in the midst of this chaos that used to be my life, some things have stayed the same.
Another one of those things is Snape. He has gone back to teaching Potions and the only thing I learned from McGonagall during our talk is that if I don't treat him with the respect a teacher deserves, I might as well walk out the door right now. Of course Ron and I had a real uproar about it and after that at Hermione for holding firm in her beliefs that McGonagall probably has good reasons. But that was weeks ago and we're all more or less past that. Most of us who were loyal to Dumbledore either don't know who killed him or have been forced to endure Snape.
For Malfoy though, it's a different story. Those of us who were loyal to Dumbledore hated him anyway, but it seems like the Slytherins don't look up to him the way they used to either. If I expected him to be bothered by that, I was dead wrong, however. He's worse than ever, stalking me in the hallways between classes, hunting me down on the grounds and always, always trying to get a rise out of me. I'm sorry to say that he succeeds most of the time.
I'm sorry about that, because besides Quidditch, schoolwork and the research for the Horcruxes, I don't really have time for detention. Especially not these ones with Malfoy. I sigh, as I turn up the umpteenth desk to scrape various magical candies from its bottom.
"Oh, stop sighing like a bloody martyr, I'm the one who's stuck here with you of all people without having done anything wrong," Malfoy snaps from under a desk. I actually bristle. It's not like Malfoy has never gotten on my nerves or under my skin before, but this year it seems I'm especially vulnerable to his remarks and comments. I clench my teeth together and hiss at him.
"Of course not, because you never do anything wrong, do you? Except, wait ... there was something ... oh right, I remember. You killed Dumbledore!" Malfoy straightens and looks me in the eye. The calm and poisedness of his movements belie the anger that burns behind those blueish grey walls of ice. He draws himself up to his full height, which is rather impressive even though I outgrew him by several centimetres.
"I did not kill Dumbledore," he states. His voice comes from the back of his throat and is swollen with restrained anger. I can't for the life of me figure out why this accusation gets him so upset. He pointed his wand at Dumbledore's chest when Dumbledore offered him sanctuary, just before Snape finished the job. He might as well have killed Dumbledore and all the others that died that night, because he was the one who let all the Death Eaters into the castle.
"Oh that's just like you isn't it? Only claiming responsibility for your actions when they are profitable to you. You're disgusting and a murderer," I dismiss him, the most painful blow I can deal him, and return to scraping the black Bubbling Gum from underneath a desk. Merlin only knows what taste it is. I'm still boiling with anger and the scraper chips a little wood out of the board every time I pull it over the gum.
"At least I didn't send my godfather into a death-trap," Malfoy sneers at me. I lunge at him without thinking about it. I'm mostly thinking about sinking my fist into that sick face of his, but as soon as I connect with Malfoy all thought is dissolved into a blinding white flash of searing pain. I hear someone scream, but I'm not sure which one of us it is. I come to my senses because I land on the floor of the classroom, hard. I grab my head to steady the spinning room and try to sit up. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Malfoy cowering in a corner, holding his head and whispering. I can't make out what he's saying.
"Malfoy?" I ask carefully, but apparently even that bit of sound is too much for him. His whispers rise to a loud chant. His voice is unnaturally high and squeaky with fear. He's saying "no, no, no, no, no" over and over again.
"Malfoy," I try again, moving closer to him and reaching out a hand to touch him. He screams as soon as he sees my hand and I'm startled by the classroom door banging open and Snape and McGonagall hurrying inside. Snape hurries over to Malfoy and puts a soothing hand on his head, right over his scar.
"Did you touch him?" McGonagall asks me, none too friendly. I look at her, dumbfounded, and with no clue what she's going on about.
"Did you?" she asks again, impatience written all over her face. I shake my head, still bewildered by what is going on.
"N-no, of course not. Why would I?" I stammer and push myself backwards on my hands and feet involuntarily when Snape rounds on me.
"Why would you? Why did you all those other times?" he almost spits the words out at me, as if I'm too vile a creature to waste words on.
"I never touched him!" I protest vehemently. All this and now I'm being accused of molesting Malfoy? And more than once to make matters worse! I throw Malfoy an angry look. I don't know what the hell he's been telling, but I sure as hell-
"Of course you did," McGonagall interrupts my thoughts and a feeling of betrayal settles deep down in my gut. I can't believe she would believe Malfoy over me. But she continues to speak, before I can voice any defence. "You two fight almost on a daily basis. Unless you have found a way to punch and kick each other with a wand, you're touching each other," McGonagall states matter-of-factly. I feel a heated blush creep up my face as I realize how stupid I was.
"Oh, well, in that case I guess I did touch him, yes," I mumble.
"Don't do it again," she tells me, before she marches after Snape, who carries Malfoy out of the classroom. I'm left sitting on the cold stone floor, wondering if this means my detention is over or not. After several minutes I decide it is and head back to the Gryffindor common room to talk to Ron and Hermione.
We are still talking about the incident with Malfoy, coming up with and dismissing explanations for what happened when we enter professor Kalama's classroom the next morning and slide into adjoining seats in the front row. Hermione insists on sitting in the front row.
"Are you certain it was your touch that caused his reaction?" she wants to know. I flinch at the way her question sounds, at the idea it may give people.
"McGonagall seemed to be positive," I tell her. A deep frown settles between Hermione's eyes and I'm not at all sure that bodes well. It either means she has no idea what is going on and is searching for any leads or she does have a pretty good idea of what is happening and it's really bad. I decide a frowning Hermione is definitely not a good thing.
"So, he was really cowering in the corner of that classroom?" Ron asks again. I heave an irritated sigh and Ron should consider himself fortunate Hermione is too deep in thought to hear him or he would've been smacked upside the head.
"Can we please get over that, Ron? It's not helping much," I ask, turning hard eyes on my best friend. Really, none of us particularly likes Malfoy, but Ron's fixation about Malfoy being in pain is just unhealthy. He looks at me shocked, like I just chose Malfoy's side and mumbles something inaudible before crossing his arms over his chest and obstinately looking the other way. I sigh and turn my attention back to Hermione.
"Do you think he has been cursed or something? I ask her, but she doesn't answer, just keeps staring straight ahead.
"Yeah, that might be it. Something to make him hurt whenever he comes near Harry," Ron puts in, the excitement making him forget he's supposed to be angry with me. But Hermione still doesn't answer, just throws an annoyed look our way.
"'Mione?" Ron asks, worry seeping into his voice. He jumps in his chair when professor Kalama's voice pierces the silence that has settled over the classroom.
"If your conversation is so interesting it can't wait until after my class, perhaps you would care to tell us what you are talking about, Mister Weasley?" she asks from behind her desk. Ron's ears turn slightly darker than usual as he realizes class has already started.
"Sorry, ma'am," he mutters and I think he really is sorry about it, which surprises me a little, because Ron never cared much about classes. Hermione seems to think so too, because she throws him a suspicious look.
"No?" professor Kalama asks. "What about you, Mister Potter?" My eyes acutely snap from Ron's reddening face to professor Kalama's dark brown eyes. There's a sharpness to them that makes me feel distinctly uneasy.
"No, professor. Sorry about that," my voice hardly rises above a whisper but she seems satisfied. Her curls bob up and down as she nods at us once before turning around and taking something out of the large cabinet that stands behind her desk. She's wearing a mantle suit today, with skirt and stripes and all.
"Does anyone know what this is?" she asks as she turns back around and places a miniature maypole on her desk. It's quite handsome. The pole itself seems carved out of a very thin piece of wood and is painted white, there's a twirling line etched into the wood that runs down the pole. Several colourful and very tiny ribbons are tied at the top, but I can't really see what makes them stand out instead of hanging down. The entire thing is mounted on a piece of plaster that is made to look like grass. Several hands shoot into the air at the professor's question.
"Does anyone without Muggle relatives know what it is?" she rephrases the question. Hermione looks distinctly disappointed at not being allowed to answer this question. But she isn't the only one to drop her hand; none stay in the air. Professor Kalama sighs.
"Well, at least it proves I can really teach you something," she says rather sarcastically and I'm unpleasantly reminded of Snape.
"Or it proves that every one of us has a Muggle relative," Hermione pipes up. It's rather shocking to hear her talk without permission, but professor Kamala doesn't seem to mind. Instead, she praises Hermione.
"Very keen observation Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor for critical listening," she says. Hermione breaks out in a broad smile and I know that she has decided there and then that professor Kalama isn't so bad at all.
"This is a Maypole, a miniature mind you, but still a Maypole. Now, I can sit here and tell you what its use is and how many Muggle holidays are connected with ours. In fact, I could go on about that for hours, but I don't think you will be awake by then – well, except for Miss Granger perhaps – and I'm certain I will be suffering from a dry throat at the least. So instead of me explaining everything, you are going to research these holidays and celebrations for yourself." A collective groan sounds through the classroom at this. We all know what it means, hours worth of searching through dusty tomes in the library. Professor Kalama laughs.
"Yes, I thought you might not have discovered the joy of research yet, Miss Granger excluded again of course, so I thought up something to motivate you. You will be split into groups of three and draw a holiday or celebration from my hat. You will then research the Muggle celebration and its connections to ours, if any. You will present your findings as a neatly bound paper. We are not first years anymore; parchment is passé. Each group will then present his holiday before the rest of the class on the appointed date. The holiday of the group that does best gets to be celebrated at Hogwarts, by the entire school," professor Kalama explains. Instead of groans, the class is now producing excited whispers.
"Oh, wow! I hope we get the celebration of the Chudley Cannons championship," Ron whispers excitedly. Hermione turns towards him with one eyebrow raised and it suddenly strikes me that Malfoy does the very same thing when annoyed.
"I don't think that's the sort of celebration the professor was talking about Ronald," she informs him.
"Besides," I put in, "There's no way the Cannons are getting the cup this year." I don't think anything I say is going to make up for that one.