Ah, teenage boys with too much testosterone and too little introspection: a recipe for delight. So, if you like it (or hate it), review it pretty please?
Chapter 10: Maggots and Mayhem
Somehow Potter managed to avoid Draco outside the rest of the week. But after lunch on Friday they trooped down to the greenhouses for double Herbology, with the Gryffindorks.
Class got off to an uneventful start: they were re-potting Biting Bulboblossoms, a smelly but generally non-hazardous process so long as you wear gloves and avoid the little mouths full of sharp teeth.
"I'll just be over at Hagrid's to pick up the maggots for my third years," said Professor Sprout. "You've got another five minutes, so be sure to clean up when the bell rings," she called as she left.
As soon as she was out the door Draco turned to Pansy and in a loud voice exclaimed,
"The stench of these things! Though I suppose the Weasel's probably used to everything smelling like garbage. Tell me, does it make you homesick?"
"Shut up, Malfoy," Potter answered, holding back a seething, red-faced Weasel, while the Mudblood muttered something doubtlessly self-righteous into his ear.
"Probably reminds you of home, too, Potter. I bet it smells just like your dead Mudblood mother."
Suddenly there was a commotion of scraping chairs and dropped spades as every one of the Gryffindors stood, but Potter was faster and in three swift steps he was standing right in front of Draco, eyes narrowed, face flushed in fury.
"Say that one more time," Potter growled through gritted teeth.
Draco smiled sweetly and took a step closer. "Your. Dead. Mudblood. Mother," he spat.
Potter swung, but Draco ducked and then swung back, connecting cleanly with Potter's jaw and splitting his lip. Blood and spit went splattering in the direction of his blow, and Potter reached for his mouth, then looked at the blood mingled with potting-soil on his hand. His eyes narrowed dangerously at Draco, who simply sneered. Then Potter struck back. This time, he didn't miss, and a sickening crunch told Draco his nose was definitely broken. He closed his eyes for an instant but he straightened up again quickly and then pushed Potter, hard, ducking Potter's swings, until the boy was backed up against the glass wall of the greenhouse, and Draco pinned his hands to his sides. Then he knocked Potter in the face with his forehead, breaking his nose and glasses.
The Weasel ran up to try to pry Draco's hands away but he elbowed him back, letting go of one of Potter's arms for just a second, and suddenly Potter had grabbed one of Draco's wrists, and for a tense moment their eyes were locked as they battled for dominance, when-
"MR. MALFOY! MR. POTTER!" came the surprisingly authoritative voice of Professor Sprout. "Separate this instant! Twenty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin both."
Draco and Potter pulled apart, glaring, as Sprout approached them, a giant bucket of writhing maggots under one arm. "Detention. Both of you." She said, looking disappointed and put out. Then she pushed passed them as the bell rang inside the castle signaling the end of classes for the day.
Draco sneered, and Potter scowled.
Draco arrived at the dinner table after Herbology to find appreciative nods from several of the seventh years, and a many anxiously admiring glances from the younger students. He regaled them with the fight at Herbology, which they had apparently already heard retold more than once from several of the other students. Draco wished that Potter wasn't there to watch, but he figured that the coward did not want to show up to dinner bloodied again so soon.
Still, Draco was disappointed that Potter didn't come. Every time a late arrival snuck in through the doors at the back of the Great Hall, Draco looked up, almost with anticipation. And when he saw that it wasn't Potter, he was actually disappointed. And he couldn't be sure that he was really disappointed at missing the chance to humiliate him again… or just the chance to interact with him, regardless. Which was entirely too bizarre to even think about, really.
The thought kept him up that night, though. He lay in bed and stared at his clock. Five minutes to curfew. Without even thinking about it, Draco leapt out of bed.
He walked down the dark corridor past the potions classroom, past Snape's warded doors to his office and his quarters, past abandoned classrooms and locked dungeons, on until he reached the back staircase.
It wound around a narrow column at the back of the castle and few students other than the Slytherins even knew about it, much less used it. Certainly no one ever patrolled it.
He started climbing aimlessly, his legs carrying him upward as he tried to clear his head and walk off the irritation that had been building all day, but it seemed like the more he climbed the worse he felt.
When he reached the fifth floor, he paused. He couldn't remember if he'd ever been in the long, largely unused corridor on the fifth floor that led to the back stairs… he turned the corner and stepped out onto the landing and peered down the hallway - a nondescript hallway just like many others in the building.
The stone floors and walls were largely bare, devoid of alcoves or paintings. The only décor in the room seemed to be a massive suit of armor standing, hands clasped over the hilt of a sword, in the middle of one side of the wall.
There were two or three wooden doors, probably leading to abandoned classrooms, or storerooms. And no torches or candles. A remarkably plain, ordinary hallway. Hmm.
Draco was about to turn around and head back to the stairs when he head footsteps coming from the other end of the hall. He wavered for a second – should he risk getting caught out? or risk revealing the back staircase to someone who shouldn't know about it?
Too late. Whoever it was, was around the corner. Draco turned and kept walking down the hall at a brisk pace, away from the tapestry that hid the staircase.
Then he looked up and froze.
"Potter," he sneered.
Potter didn't answer. Draco glared at him and kept walking, his eyes floating up and away. Apparently infuriated by Draco's dismissiveness, Potter stepped into his way, knocking Draco in the shoulder.
The force of the shove caused Draco to turn around, so he grabbed Potter's arm and yanked him back, hard. Potter swung, his fist connecting with the side of Draco's head, and Draco was knocked sideways, bent over. He charged at Potter's waist, pushing Potter back against the wall and almost upsetting the suit of armor, who leapt out of the way at the last minute.
Potter's head knocked into the wall and he seemed momentarily disoriented, but then he kicked his knees up and got Draco right in the gut. Draco let go, backing up and clutching his stomach. Potter followed him, shoving him hard, and he fell to the floor on his side. Immediately Potter was on top of him, legs straddling him, pressing him face down onto the ground. One of Draco's arms was trapped beneath his body, and the other swung desperately but to no avail, and then Potter grabbed it and twisted it roughly behind Draco's back.
Draco stilled, and turned to throw an angry sneer over his shoulder at Potter, hoping he was hiding the trepidation he felt at being pinned like that.
"So, Malfoy. Let's chat." Potter sneered back. "I know you're up to something. I know you're working for Voldemort." Draco winced at the name and Potter frowned at him. "I'm going to find out what it is, and I'm going to stop you."
He knows about the mission, Draco thought for an irrational moment, then reminded himself that that was absurd, and Potter's suspicions were based entirely on the vague suggestions he himself had made on the train.
Draco's hoped his face betrayed nothing of the still-genuine fear he felt at the accusation. He wriggled in Potter's grasp, then bucked his hips backward against the other boy to try to unseat him.
And then he Potter gasped.
Draco froze for a second, but decided to ignore the effect that the slightly surprised, slightly questioning gasp had on him.
He bucked again, twisting and writhing until he was on his back but Potter was still straddling his hips, looking down at him, a puzzled frown on his face…
So Draco bucked again, and this time Potter's surprised gasp was unmistakable. Potter had lost hold of his arms in the struggle but he grabbed them again now and pinned them down above his head.
Draco suddenly felt hot and flushed, his stomach vaguely uneasy. He could hear his heart beating in his chest, and he couldn't understand when, exactly, something had changed here. He turned his head away and hoped he would not blush. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Potter's eyes narrowing menacingly.
Then Potter leaned forward until his mouth was just inches from Draco's upturned ear, and Draco couldn't stop the whimper that escaped him at a trickle of hot breath grazed his ear and neck. His jaw clenched, and he held his breath.
Potter bent in a fraction closer, nails digging painfully into the flesh on Draco's arms, and whispered, "faggot."
That word felt like a kick in the stomach, and flashes of cold panic and burning rage welled up in Draco. He could already feel his cheeks burning at the accusation, and he glared venomously up at Potter, but Potter was already getting up, releasing Draco in a single, fluid movement.
Draco moved to get up, but Potter kicked him again in the ribs, and he doubled over unable to think about anything but the pain in his side. He barely even heard Potter stalking down the corridor and around the corner.
Draco pealed his cheek off of the cold stone floor where a pool of spit had gathered. He reached down and pressed the heal of his hand into his erection and groaned. He took a deep breath and schooled his face into its usual, dispassionate mask, then turned on his heel and took the back to the stairs toward the dungeon.
He returned to his dorm shaken and furious. Goddamn Fucking Potter. He threw himself face-down onto his bed, kicked off his shoes, and lay there, wide awake and frustrated. He gave it a moment's thought, then hastily rolled onto his back, pushed down his pajama bottoms and tossed off quickly and violently, cursing Potter as he came, before drifting into an uneasy sleep.