III – The Lion's Revenge
The headmaster's office was smaller, yet still warmly familiar. Even the portraits hanging on the walls were still quite as sleepy-looking as Harry remembered. In fact, Harry recognized many things: the Sorting Hat, sitting solemnly on the three legged stool; the closet, which hid Dumbledore's pensieve; Fawkes' perch rod, with the phoenix nowhere to be found; and the enthralling silver gadgets tick-tock-ing the moments away.
Harry entered with a glum air and sat down on one snug-looking chair. Snape was beside him, and Dumbledore in front. He smiled tentatively at his Headmaster from across the desk. The old man glanced at him curiously.
"You're looking quite peaky, Harry,"
"Rough day," said Harry, referring mainly to Snape in his head. Snape turned away.
"Ah," Replied Dumbledore, looking rueful, "I'm sorry if I've called you in so late, but we mustn't let many know we have such private meetings. Not to worry, I shall try not to babble on all night… Sugar sock?"
The headmaster pointed to the table that was set in front of them. A few thick socks were piled on a large, porcelain platter. Three small silver forks poked out of the plate, facing each of them.
"Err… okay," said Harry.
Harry stared. He knew it was a magical treat, but he could not help wondering why anyone would even consider making something look like a moldy sock. Nevertheless, he nibbled a little, almost not noticing a little icing dribbling down his neck. Snape glared at him for his apparent lack of table manners, but Harry shrugged it off and continued. The sugar sock was quite delightful; a texture of sweetness and bliss. Dumbledore turned to his other guest.
"And you Snape?"
"I've brushed my teeth," Snape replied wryly.
"Oh," Dumbledore looked pleasantly astonished, "In a good mood, are you?" He chuckled, "Well, that is simply delightful." At the stricken look on Snape's face, Dumbledore turned to Harry, "Now, now, on to business. Harry, would you mind taking a look at this?"
Dumbledore reached down to the coffee table and handed Harry a sheet of pink paper. Harry put his fork down, wiped his fingers on his trousers (Snape was sneering) and took the parchment.
It took only a moment for Harry to browse it over.
"These are Auror prerequisites." Harry noted, staring at the long list of offensive and defensive arts.
"Indeed they are," replied Dumbledore, pleased that Harry was being quite keen. "I assume then that you're going to like your training."
"Training?"
"Yes, training, extra training," the old wizard nodded his head, "to hone your magic, as well as your healing mantras and physical dexterity."
Harry's eyes grew wide like saucers. A wave of youthful excitement washed through him. His eyes almost sparkled. "You mean, like a real Auror camp?"
"Yes, well, except it will be in the wards of Hogwarts, of course. Aside from that, you will be continuing your various complicated studies, like your Occlumency and Legilimency."
"With you?" piped Harry, hopefully.
"Uhm, well no. I will only be training you in your defensive and healing charms. Professor Snape will continue as your tutor for Occlumency and Legilimency."
Harry's face fell a little, and he glanced at the Potions Professor. Snape remained stoic, although it looked like his facial muscles were a little rigid. The Slytherin glared back, as if daring him to ask a question in his direction. Harry faced Dumbledore, a little annoyed.
"And for my Auror training?" Harry asked, trying to keep a neutral tone. Please not Snape. Please not Snape. Please not Snape.
"That will be Professor Morris' job."
Harry's mouth opened wide, all testiness vanished. "Professor Morris!"
"Yes indeed, Harry." Dumbledore reached down and whipped out an old picture from the bowels of his desk. He handed it to Harry and the Gryffindor leaned in to look. There were a dozen imposing old wizards standing in a line, smiling. Dumbledore, with only a small beard, was waving enthusiastically at Harry, and Reno Morris was at his side, looking like a haughty teenager, a wizard definitely younger than the rest. He was grinning a sly grin.
"He had been one of the best wizards of his time, I assure," Dumbledore continued, "This picture was for the celebration of Magical geniuses, although I just happened to be intruding." He gave a little laugh, "Your schedule is on the other side, so you can keep the shot to add to your album. The one on your right is your grandfather... James' father."
Harry gazed at the adorable portly old man, the shortest; who was smiling brightly at him with large blue eyes. He winked and toddled off to the side and out of the picture, coming back a moment later holding a sugar quill. He pointed at it happily, and tried to offer Harry one.
Harry felt a pang of longing as the plump wizard kept beaming, now doing a jolly dance around the rest of the wizards with Dumbledore.
It was a sad feeling, to be hungering for more information. But if Harry's mind was filled with sad things, it was filled with even more unanswered questions. When was this, and what sort of convention was it? What was his grandfather's contribution? Were there more pictures? Were his parents together yet?
He didn't want to sound like a whiny little brat, and even in his head the questions sounded stupid and immature. Harry ignored his emotions and turned the shot to its back, reading the scribbles that were placed on a table.
A raised eyebrow. "Wow. Busy months ahead."
Dumbledore chuckled, "You sound more resolved than frustrated. Or is that your exhaustion talking?"
"I'm fine."
"Well then, there is this one more thing…" Dumbledore nodded at the Potion Master's direction, addressing them both, "Professor Snape here has told me of the little incident concerning your aphrodisiac."
Harry put the picture down and turned red. He swore he felt his heart skip a beat. Did Snape really tell the Headmaster what happened in his chambers? Harry resisted the urge to glance at his professor. Instead he stared down at the little ridges of the desk.
"I, I didn't mean to."
"I know, Harry." Dumbledore gently replied, "You simply lost control of your magic, thus exploding the bottle. It is a mistake many wizards make, and especially youngsters… But, it seems your body has a curious response to aphrodisiacs. We believe there is a possibility for these potions to make you stronger, permanently, like how that recent one resolved your eyesight."
"Oh…" A breath Harry hadn't known he was holding came out. So he was talking about the incident in the Potions lab, not in Snape's rooms. The Gryffindor shrugged. "I didn't think of it much that way."
"But don't you see, Harry? This may be an advantage for the war effort. I have given Severus permission to brew you another set of aphrodisiacs, the first few to test our theories. If our theories are correct, then we will make you more aphrodisiacs to improve you to the best of your talents."
What? They're giving me aphrodisiacs? Harry fidgeted in his seat and looked disbelieving. The thought of being overly-horny with the headmaster and the Potions professor knowing about it wasn't really a prospect to behold.
"Err… You're sure there are going to be no… other side effects?" Harry was blushing.
Dumbledore chuckled again. His blue eyes seemed to be brighter tonight. "Well, we'll try to reduce the lustful elements, but those can be… easily remedied." He paused and a small tension began to form in the room. Dumbledore seemed oblivious, pondering for a moment, before adding, "And you may have other physical attributes."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, trying to dissuade the feeling of apprehension beginning to form in his stomach. He could imagine himself growing a tail.
"Oh they are relatively harmless changes," Said Dumbledore airily, "even quite fetching. Some people who take aphrodisiacs simply aim to look good, so you may be experiencing some of those bonuses. I'm sure you wouldn't mind."
Harry did mind. What if students noticed this and realized he took aphrodisiacs regularly? It would make Harry seem as vain as Malfoy, or someone who hankered on more attention. And he wouldn't be able to explain, since this was a secret arsenal against Voldemort…
And yet, if it helped him become stronger, if, in the end, it helped him save lives… than he shouldn't be thinking of selfish reasons like his reputation… Harry reddened even more, but decided he'd pick the war effort over his stupid teenage insecurity.
"Oh… Its okay, I guess— as long as… you know… it will help me become stronger…"
An uneasy silence fell once more. Harry decided he didn't like it, so asked, "When do I begin training?"
"As soon as your Quidditch match is over, Harry. The schedule can differ, because you're having very confusing weeks ahead of you. I'll be sending you the changes often through your evening post, if that is alright with you, of course." Dumbledore looked at him, waiting for an answer. Harry shrugged.
"At least I'll finally be able to read letters by candlelight."
---
It was in the dead of night when they were released from Dumbledore's office.
The moon was watching them from her stationary post out the window. Harry observed tufts of black clouds swirl past the pale blue face, creating shadows within the eerie corridors as they walked by. Harry was brisk, hoping against hope that he would not have any searing encounter with his companion, Snape.
Apparently, the other man thought otherwise.
"Come here, Potter."
Harry kept on walking.
"Potter, do you really wish to leave your wand with me?"
Harry halted, considering for a moment. There was a lone waft of air that journeyed into the hallway, which stood empty and challenging; Harry could feel a mad, silent tension rubbing furiously with the space between them. He turned to stare at the Potions Master, eyes expressive, but stance guarded.
He held out his hand.
"My wand, then, professor."
Snape's eyes held the same, scheming look as before. Harry was a little afraid, for he could not understand what was going on inside the Slytherin's head. For a second, Harry considered that the Death Eater could kill him.
Snape began walking forward, but Harry jumped back, looking wary and agitated. "My wand, please," He asked again. His voice did not quiver.
"Oh come now," Hissed Snape, "Don't be mad at me for something you wanted me to do."
"I didn't want you to do anything," snarled Harry, "Please, my wand!"
"No, Potter," the Potions Master whispered, venturing a step closer. "I haven't gotten enough of you yet…"
Snape's eyes were clouded, mixed emotions falling and rising in his aura. His stare sent shivers down Harry's spine, voice low and husky; it was almost a growl.
But Harry would have none of that. His anger fueled his courage. A memory of their last encounter was like a fresh bruise, ripe for vengeance. He would not be made into a plaything!
The Gryffindor took a quick step forward and reached out meaningfully to his wand. "Accio wand!"
A surge of power down the corridor. Tension was thick in the air.
Harry was quick, but Snape had Death Eater reflexes. Not another moment passed before the older man bellowed, "Obscura! Propelus!"
Harry's spell was instantly disrupted and it took only another moment before the next hex blasted the Gryffindor backward. Harry toppled, sliding against the ground. He immediately tried to scramble to his feet, but before he could stand, there was already a wand arresting him on his chin.
"You've still got a lot to learn, Potter," Snape sneered down at him coldly, "Keep in mind that the most important of all is that Slytherins always get what they want."
A thin finger traced Harry's soft, puckered lip. They stared at each other, and a choking, burning emotion wrapped around Harry's heart as he looked away. Hurt pride, that's what it was, Harry thought shamefully. When you think you are such a man when you're just a fool.
Snape tossed the Gryffindor's wand to his lap. Harry snatched it up and glared at the towering figure. The professor was so patronizing, especially with that smirk, that Harry wanted to chop his head off. It was a Death Eater stance, Harry noted. A stance to tell you how inferior you are.
Mocking. Look how I can dominate you, said the stance. Look how I can make you tremble.
For the moment, Harry could feel himself trembling. But it was not in fear, it was more in pure, red rage. He was a wounded lion; a lion bursting with potential but championed too soon.
Harry couldn't take it. He fled.
---
"Jesus, Harry, you're looking gorgeous."
Harry ignored Lavender's comment as he made his way to the Potions Lab the next morning, thirty minutes late. Hermione and Ron, from the other table, gaped at him. One quick glance at the room told him the whole class was staring.
"Wow." Breathed Dean, from behind, "Had a good night's sleep, did we?"
Seamus gave a low wolf whistle.
Harry smiled nervously, trying his best not to divulge the fact that he hadn't slept until the wee hours in the morning. He'd been too preoccupied mulling over the events that were quickly taking over the wheel in his life. Malfoy, Snape, Voldemort, aphrodisiacs, camping, training, parties, Quidditch… who could blame him for tossing and turning, and in the end, waking up late?
Harry plopped down next to his partner the Irish.
Seamus was just ogling him, apparently trying to figure out what made Harry look so different. Indeed, Harry couldn't understand it himself. He'd woken up to a dreadfully late morning, where he hadn't any time to shower, have breakfast or even brush his teeth properly. He felt horrible. And yet after glancing at his reflection, he did a double-take. He looked terrific!
It seemed as if the potion's effects were still circulating in his system.
His eyes were different; they seemed more exotically green, and his skin was creamy and blatantly flawless. His hair, he had noticed, had seemed softer, and even stylish in its tousled manner, like he had just gotten out of a love-bed. He quite liked the change, actually.
Though he'd never been so narcissistic in all his life. Goddamn aphrodisiac.
"If our moment is over with the scrutiny of Mr. Potter," Interjected Snape sharply, so everyone's attention shifted to him, "we shall now begin the second phase. If your all ready— Longbottom, do try not to snivel like a buffoon, though that may be too much to ask of you. If you please Miss Patil, assist the idiot with the potion— alright, everyone should be preparing the beetles and shrivelfigs."
Harry was a little astonished— he'd been waiting for Snape to openly gut him out with humiliation and throw him another dose of detentions for waltzing in late, or distracting the class. But from the looks of things, Snape was even avoiding his glance. How peculiar.
As Harry set out to work, he mulled over Snape's back-and-forth interaction. First Snape was claiming him as if he was a long-coveted toy, the next instant he hated Harry's guts, and then he would uncharacteristically give up the chance of humiliating him. Harry sighed. It was clear that Snape was conflicted: lusting over a student and the Boy-Who-Lived would no doubt fill him with guilt and shame. From the hints last night, Snape was only acting now because he'd seen Malfoy take advantage of him. Harry wondered how that felt: to want something but decide adamantly against it, then be forced to acquire it anyway.
It looked as if Snape still had a few inner battles to fight, and Harry felt infuriated that he was in the middle of his professor's phase of self-discovery. He gave another sigh and turned to his partner.
Seamus was still gaping. Still couldn't believe how such a fascinatingly gorgeous creature could possibly sit next to him, cutting up some shrivelfigs as he crushed up some beetles.
Despite his emotional muddle lately, Harry couldn't help but feel a bubble of happy hysteria in his gut, and struggled to keep it intact, if only for the sake of his own dignity. Still, he couldn't help but feel his mood improve with the way Seamus' lips opened and closed stupidly.
"Keep your drool in your mouth, please," Harry teased. He didn't know what was up with him, but he did feel elated with how Seamus were responding. Seamus shook his head; still looking amazed, and then set about work with the beetles.
Harry decided he liked how Seamus was acting, but a peculiar prickle at the back of his neck made him turn around.
Apparently, it made him flash a godly image of his profile to the unsuspecting Malfoy, who, if beforehand was glaring imaginary holes into Potter's back, was now growing red-faced as the two enemies stared. Harry acted first. He smiled.
It was a haughty sort of smile, meant solely to annoy and bewilder. Harry decided it was effective, up until the blonde's expression changed. Malfoy's grey eyes unfocused, and a mysterious sneer made its way onto thin lips. Harry was puzzled, and quickly decided to take a peak into the Slytherin's mind.
Hot white lust surged onto his groin as steamy images flashed. Malfoy was above him, pounding furiously into him; and he was screaming in delight; in passion; in ecstasy. He arched off the silken bed, and Malfoy swooped down to trail bites and kisses on his neck. Harry felt the thick shaft within him slide further, pounded in; invaded again. Bright colors burst into his sight; tendrils of orgasms stretched deep into his body. Oh gods the sweet flavor! The colors! The nakedness and tears.
Harry gasped; and presently looked away, afraid of what he had seen. Then he got doubly irritated. Malfoy was a real pervert, from the looks of it, yet Harry couldn't shake off the lusty feelings stirring within him. Had he enjoyed the scene so much?
"Mr. Potter, fascinating as those shrivelfigs may seem, they undoubtedly need to be sliced."
Snape's mocking voice was a hook pulling him back to the activity at hand. He stared at the Potions Master; the older man was wearing his very usual scowl, but the professor wasn't looking at him, and was merely passing the front of their table.
But Harry hadn't had time to feel awkward about him, no; it was time for revenge. Last night that man was the victor, but it was time to turn the tables.
He flashed the professor a winning grin, "But I am already done, sir."
Startled by that optimistic retort, Snape glanced in his direction, and Harry reiterated his point by he scooping up the sliced shrivelfigs, leaning over Seamus a little too casually, and sprinkling the load into their potion. Harry made sure he was breathing warm breath into Seamus' ear, and was delighted to find Seamus blushing heavily. He glanced up at his professor as he did this, and winked.
Snape suddenly looked murderous; so murderous Harry thought he would burst up in flames. But Snape was a cool, controlled man; a man bent on handling himself with an iron fist. He simply looked away and began docking points off Lavender for looking at him.
Harry sat back down next to Seamus, making sure that their arms brushed. He wasn't finished yet; there was a power in good looks, no matter what they said, and he knew this. By instinct, Harry was wielding this power it like a pro.
"Do you need some help?" Harry whispered, smirking a little at Seamus. Seamus faltered in his beetle-crushing, then a small spark of mischievousness played in his eyes.
"Yes, please," Seamus said, a little loudly. Harry vaguely realized the whole class was listening in. He played along, "Alright then."
As Seamus was seated on his left, Harry placed his left hand to Seamus thigh and kept it there. He leaned forward, right hand crushing the beetles with a spare pestle. The position made them breathe the same air.
Whispers were definitely circulating around the class. Harry did his best not to look anywhere else but the mortar on the table. Seamus, thoroughly intrigued at what Harry was up to, leaned even closer and whispered so quietly that no one would have heard.
"Getting even at an ex?"
Harry smirked, "Something like that."
Seamus grinned, "Well, me too."
Glass shattered from a table behind them. Snape swooped down, as if he were seeing red. Harry turned to watch.
It was Malfoy's vials.
Malfoy was gritting his teeth, and was shaking slightly; the shattered glass littered the desk. He was staring at his hand, which held what was left of the bottle, but he didn't seem to care. He glared up at Harry with expressive silver eyes, so expressive that Harry was taking aback by the intensity.
"Stupid boy!" Snape snarled at the blonde, "Pick those up with your hands! How dare you disturb the class? I knew that most people here would never appreciate the subtle silence of potion-making, but I never even imagined that of all people, it would be you, mister Malfoy, who would desecrate it! Thirty points from Slytherin!"
Things were definitely getting interesting. Malfoy was left seething in the Potion Master's wake. Snape seemed beyond reasonable, even after his rant; it was as if he wanted to throttle… as if he wanted to kill… Snape ran his hand through his dark hair, and stormed out of the classroom. The class erupted in more talk. Harry laughed and continued with his potion.
"You seem to be enjoying yourself, Potter," Sniped Malfoy, scathingly, crushing the rest of the glass pieces with his fist. "Careful or you might just start sucking Finnigan off. Wanna do me too, while you're at it?"
A few Slytherins snickered, although most of them looked as if they would like that from Harry, given the chance. Harry shrugged and blew him a kiss, replying, "Just like last night, you mean?"
The room exploded in laughter. Malfoy, totally unprepared for that, gaped like a fish, a pink tinge appearing in his cheeks. The ruckus dissipated instantly a few minutes later when Snape returned, looking a little better, but still akin to an ill-tempered vulture, eyeing everyone dangerously and shouting at anyone who dared do anything except work.
The class was crazy with gossip by the time they were through with Potions. A lot of wacky theories began to emerge. Some, to Harry's great amusement, even believed that Snape and Malfoy were secretly 'getting it on' like Seamus and himself. Although the assumptions varied, many hitting too close for comfort, Harry hoped most believed his favorite theory.
"What was that all about?" cried Ron as soon as he caught up with Harry and Hermione. Harry shrugged, trying his best to restrain his embarrassment. "Bad day for Slytherins, I guess."
"Not that, you twit!" Harry's eyes widened for a moment, and turned to face the other boy. Ron was really pissed, "How come you never told me you were gay?"
Harry stared at his bestfriend blankly. The truth was a little too shocking to be said so crassly. "Uhh… I'm not…?"
"Bullshit! I saw you with Seamus, and if that's not gay, I don't know what is!"
Harry noticed they were drawing a crowd. He hated it when Ron was being daft. He rolled his eyes, and bit out sarcastically, "Me? I'm not gay. I'm bi."
"What?!"
"What is your problem?" asked Hermione bitingly to Ron.
Ron swiveled to her. "How else should I react after I just found out my best friend's 'bi' and openly flirting with any male or female that happens to pass by!?"
"Well, I don't know, maybe if I really were bi, I think you should be rather supportive!" yelled Harry. He seriously considered swatting Ron's head with his Potions book. Ron laughed, but it was not a jolly one.
"Well, maybe you should have told be a little about your preference before you acted like a slut!"
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, aghast. Ron, seeming a little surprised at what came out of his mouth, turned away from them both and stomped towards the stairs. There were more whispers in the corridor.
"What's wrong with him?" Hermione sniffed.
Harry made a face, feeling rather hurt and embarrassed. "Him? He's just a great big jerk."
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, because Hermione stiffened, and looked like she was trying not to tear. Harry stared at her a little while, surprised and unknowing what to do. He felt quite silly and guilty over the whole ordeal, before Parvati and Lavender crowded beside her and shot him accusing glances. Harry felt even more annoyed when they looked a little interested in him as they walked Hermione off for some "girl time."
Harry ran his hand through his hair and sulked off another way, leaving the sixth year crowd with just one more topic to discuss.
---
Harry was late for Care of Magical Creatures, but Reno Morris waved his apology aside. "Just get to work, alright? I've already distributed the griffins."
Any other day, Harry would be at least a little excited to see his griffin. But after the fight with Ron, his mood had soured. To top it off, he met professor McGonagall on the way to class and she told him that his detention schedule was final. She seemed resigned to the fact that the Quidditch team may not have their captain during practices, and that even if she talked to Dumbledore, Harry'd better not get his hopes up.
Harry sighed and ventured off to the field.
Ron wasn't present, and surprisingly, neither was Hermione. Harry was particularly interested in this mystery: no matter how hard the ordeal, Hermione never missed a class, as long as she was physically nearby. This was absolutely strange, but Harry simply made a mental note to talk to her about it later. He stalked off towards his Slytherin partner. He peeked at the other students but couldn't get a glimpse of any griffin. They were all crowding around and fussing over it. Finally, Harry found his way to his blonde partner.
Each pair had a little fence all to themselves. Theirs looked very sleek and elegant compared to the others. He suspected Malfoy conjured it before he arrived.
Malfoy was inside the paddock, sitting down on the lustrous green grass, unmoving. Harry gazed at the Slytherin's lap, where a tiny little fur ball sat, curled into him. Malfoy was holding a bottle, and looked uncertain and a little frightened at the prospect of nursing.
Harry came into the paddock and sat stoically beside the blonde. Malfoy blinked at him, but instead of saying something nasty, he smiled. A genuine smile, although it looked a little strained. Harry felt like the world had come to an end.
"What?" Harry snapped. Malfoy hesitated, and seemed as if he was picking his words carefully.
"Rough day?" Malfoy was being gentle with his tone. Harry looked at him suspiciously. What was he up to?
"It isn't any of your business."
Malfoy was about to retort rudely, Harry could tell, but he looked away instead. Then, he grinned. "Well, I just think you're wasting your energy sulking right now."
Silence. Harry blinked.
"Why?"
His silver eyes seemed so sincere. "Because the day hasn't ended yet."
After he'd said it, Malfoy looked mortified, and began staring at their griffin. He was still holding the pup and the bottle awkwardly. Harry tried his best not to be impressed. Who knew this Slytherin could actually act decent? Who knew Harry could possibly receive an encouragement from Draco Malfoy?
Harry laughed.
"You don't know how to do anything, do you?" He said lightly, snatching the bottle and taking the pup from the other boy's lap. Malfoy eyed him strangely for a moment, then, as if he was a little pleased and irritated at the same time, he challenged, "Well, let's see you try, then."
It was strange; their first civil conversation would be about nursing. Nevertheless, Harry showed Malfoy how to hold the griffin and grip the bottle, letting the plastic nipple near its mouth (in this case, beak.) Malfoy leaned closer, watching attentively. Harry glanced at him.
Odd, Harry thought. Where was the sniping, where was the jeer? Malfoy seemed a little self-conscious, and it was a little cute...
Harry tried not to narrow his eyes, but he was very suspicious. Malfoy must be thinking of a sneaky plan.
Although, some of Harry's bad mood was relieved by the blonde. That must be a good thing, right? As Harry thought of it, he realized t was actually quite flattering to see Malfoy trying to restrain his insulting attitude.
"How come you know how to do this?" Malfoy asked, looking up at the Gryffindor. Their noses were almost touching, and, as if he too realized this, Malfoy moved back to a respectable distance.
"Well," Said Harry, pausing to think of how to explain, "Muggles sometimes pay other muggles to take care of pets or even their own kids for a while. I've done it once or twice with kittens."
Malfoy immediately made a face, "I hate cats."
"That's just because they're smarter than you." Harry retorted, turning back to the griffin.
Harry knew Malfoy was blinking stupidly, and he tried to keep a straight face as he stared at their pup. He figured he quite liked their griffin, which was having trouble getting at the plastic nipple because of its dark beak. Harry noticed that the chestnut feathers and fur were all tiny and scruffy, but also unbelievably soft. Harry looked up at his partner.
"What?" asked the Gryffindor.
Malfoy lifted his chin, looking down at the small griffin, "Nothing. I was just thinking how I would never demean myself to the stature of a house-elf."
"Really?" said Harry, lifting a brow. Malfoy made a curt nod.
Harry turned and saw Morris approaching. Smiling slyly, he dumped their griffin onto Malfoy's arms and said loudly, "You try, Malfoy. So you'll learn. Right Professor?"
"Quite right," Said Morris, smiling as he walked away, "Great idea. I expect you to empty the bottle on him, Mr. Malfoy. "
Harry was laughing hard as Malfoy glared daggers at him. "I hate you," Malfoy muttered as he held the pup and the bottle uncomfortably. He began blushing as he said this.
---
Harry was smiling as he recalled that particular scene while walking up the stairs towards the commonroom. It was dinnertime, but he didn't feel like eating, so he decided to nap a little on his favorite sofa.
When he passed by a certain window, he stopped and peered outside. Early Ravenclaw Quidditch players were already on the field with their broomsticks, talking to each other. Harry felt a pang in his heart as he remembered that he wouldn't be practicing anytime soon, and he sighed, his smile fading.
His mood was instantly ruined. So what if Malfoy didn't know how to nurse? So what if Malfoy was being cute and decent? Harry might lose a Quidditch match to him because he hadn't been practicing. It wasn't fair!
Stupid Snape, he thought. The bugger must be laughing at my arse right now. Memories of Snape's crueler altercations came thundering in his head. Harry didn't feel like going to the Slytherin party anymore; what he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and curse Snape all night long. Or maybe he'd go out flying tonight.
He made his way to the common room, mulling over this. But as he was moodily staring at the fireplace, two young girls entered and shattered his dark line of thought.
"Harry!" said Ginny, "Time to get dressed!"
"I'm not going," Sniped back Harry, glaring into the fire. There was a moment for the two girls to appreciate how handsome Harry looked against the firelight, but Ginny spoke up again.
"What do you mean you're not going? You have to go! Or do you want your butt to grow big blasted boils all month long?"
Harry faced away from them. What he cared about was Quidditch, not butts or parties. Malfoy's invitation could go to hell for all he cared.
Luna seemed to have caught on to what he was thinking. In no way were Harry's detentions secret. "Well, butt boils are harder to take when you're on a broom. It will be just like another enemy."
Ginny glanced at Luna, confused, but Harry understood. He drummed his fingers on the armrest and looked sternly at both of them, considering his options. If you examined it at the right light, it was quite an obvious choice. He sighed.
"Well, why didn't you say so earlier?"
And that was how the two girls shoved Harry into the bathrooms. Harry took a long bath, hoping against hope that the girls would go away if it seemed as if he'd drowned himself. But instead of worrying the girls, his time in the bathroom actually helped them. When he'd finished bathing, they'd already laid out his clothes.
"I borrowed these from Fred," Ginny said happily when Harry came out, a snitch-inspired bath towel wrapped around his middle. Harry goggled at the attire laid out before him. Somehow it looked as if he'd be wearing more cloth if he went to the party in his towel.
"I'm not wearing that! –Wait, scratch that, I wouldn't be wearing anything anyway."
"Oh stop being such a prude!" Ginny said, hauling Harry towards them.
---
A respectable twenty-five minutes later, the sixth year Gryffindor boys entered their room to find, firstly: two girls stowing girly things away. Secondly, was Harry Potter, who was another thing entirely. He was a god.
After a long argument with the girls, where the choice had been between tiny vinyl shorts or black leather pants, Harry was able to sport the latter, in the hopes of preserving some form of decency. What he found out later was that it did no such thing except lure eyes to the shape of his thighs and the curve of his tight buttocks.
The one thing he liked was the simple short-sleeved black shirt that hung a little high, but nevertheless looked simple and wonderful on him. His hair was bedroom-y, and the green of his eyes looked even brighter under the graceful mascara that Luna had drawn. Harry was fidgeting nervously at his collar, and on the chains adorning him, and was staring at his boots.
"Help me," Dean exclaimed breathily, "I think I'm going to have a heart attack. Whooh, it's hot in here."
He sat on his bed, waving at himself and eyeing Harry up and down. Seamus walked around the black-clad Gryffindor, examining him, "Jesus, Harry, do you want to go out with me?"
Harry laughed, "Funny. Your straight, Seamus Finnigan."
"Not anymore," Seamus retorted.
"Where are you off to?" Neville asked, distracted by the chains near Harry's belt.
Ginny was finished packing. She strutted across the room, towards the door. "We're going out for a little Hogsmeade thing. Don't tell anyone, would you? It'll be really hard covering up for tonight."
"Can I come?" Seamus was distracted by some part of Harry's anatomy where a decent boy wouldn't have stared. Harry blushed.
Luna piped up, carrying the gothic cosmetics, "Ginny says it was invitational, so maybe not. I better get going." She walked up to Ginny and gave her a light kiss. "I'll be in the common rooms, ok?"
Ginny smiled. "Alright. Goodnight,"
As Luna made her way out, Harry glanced at Ron. He looked very annoyed.
"What's up your ass?" asked Harry, a little harshly.
Ron didn't reply. He just jumped onto his bed and turned away from him. Harry rolled his eyes, said goodnight to the others, and walked with Ginny to the common rooms. It was now time for Ginny's transformation.
Ginny took a little longer than Harry, but it did her very well. Harry asked where Ginny got the slinky red party dress that glittered magically near her naked thighs and wrapped gingerly low on her breasts, and Ginny shrugged. "A friend lent it to me." She was putting on red gloves and high heeled red sandals.
Harry inspected her once more, noting idly that Ron would totally kill them both if he found out what his sister was wearing to a Slytherin bash. Nevertheless, Harry was enthralled and reminded of those sexy assassin women who dressed up to inflame a target. She was definitely out to set fire.
Harry and Ginny used the invisibility cloak together, and though it was quite awkward with Ginny's skimpy red dress, they made it without incident. Midway through, Ginny told Harry to go on ahead, because she still had to meet her date somewhere else. So Harry, nervous and rattled, hid the Invisibility cloak inside a stone vase and ventured off alone to the entrance of the Slytherin common room: the portrait of Dorian Gray.
Zacharias Smith and a few other seventh year Slytherin boys stood guard over the portrait entrance. Once Harry Potter came to view everything stilled; it was as if the room itself had stopped breathing. Harry turned away, but it only made the sight of him more to behold. The long straight nose, the handsome lips, the utterly delectable body… The Slytherins were feasting on him with their eyes.
"Not bad, Potter," Said Nott, eyeing him as if he were a piece of candy put out on display. The other Slytherins snickered. Harry regarded them as composedly as he could, although every fiber of his pious conscience told him to run away.
"Do I need my date to come in," Asked Harry, "or will you let me pass?"
"Suck me off first," Cooed Smith, sneering.
"Maybe I would, if you had one." Harry laughed, trying his best to sound natural.
"What's going on here?"
It was that familiar drawl that made Harry's heart skip a beat. He turned to where Draco Malfoy had come in from the hallway. Draco halted in his tracks. Harry thought he'd seen a different emotion deep within the silver eyes as the blonde caught sight of him, but he could not distinguish it. A pregnant silence pervaded.
It was like an eternity as they gazed upon each other.
---
A/N: Buahahaha Haven't done justice to the other cliffhangers, so this'll make up for it… So sorry!
Secondly, I wasn't able to fit this little information in the story. Harry and Draco, and perhaps all Gryffindors and Slytherins, will not go camping with their pup yet, the griffins are still too young.
Another thing, please don't judge dear Ronald from what you see here; it is all part of my plan. gulp Yup, my plan... Of course I have a plan! -blush-
I've dedicated this chapter to myself, (selfish me:3) Anyways, I'd like to thank each and every one of you for reviewing, or for at least accompanying me through this story. I've learned that I owe even those who never review, because at least they read my works. And I really hope it's due to laziness and not because they leave the story coz it sucks… Well… It's not too great, I think, but I do strive hard for it, and I thank you all sooo much for appreciating it! I would actually love to answer your reviews, but it'll cost more money if I stay in the internet café too long. Sorry:(
Uber thankies to my beta, Scorpion Moon Goddess, who is the most efficient and unlazy person in the world! (Since, of course, I am lazy as hell. :p) You guys better be thanking her or else this would have (could you believe it) been a longer wait! Ngegege!
Oh no! Here comes the party!
