A/N: In the last chapter, I accidentally referred to the Ball as a Yule Ball, when I meant Valentine's Ball. All apologies!
Previously on Superlatives: Meeting the pair of ludicrously green eyes that awaited his answer, Draco bobbed his head briefly and murmured,
"Why yes, Harry, I will."
Utter silence reigned in the Great Hall. Despite the rampant rumors, every single witch and wizard there was stunned by the latest turn of events. The Boy Who Lived had invited the son of Voldemort's right-hand man to the Ball, and he'd said yes!
Draco smirked. It wasn't often that one had the means to stun an entire school into silence. Potter was still kneeling in front of him, looking rather wide-eyed himself over Draco's acceptance. The Slytherin Prince leaned forward a bit in his seat.
"This would probably be a good time to make a dramatic exit," he pointed out calmly.
Harry blinked. "Right." Glancing around at their slack-jawed audience, he snickered. "I like them much better this way."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's lovely Potter, but we might want to leave before the shock wears off."
"Right," Harry repeated. Meeting Draco's eyes, he murmured, "Synchronized Snape Swoosh on three?"
Draco nodded curtly and began to count off on his fingers. On the third beat, they rose as one and turned to stalk gracefully toward the door, robes flaring fabulously around them. The Great Hall finally exploded to life in their wake, and they fled prudently out the front doors of the castle.
"So," Harry murmured rather uncertainly, as they stood catching their breath in the chilly evening air.
"Don't think this means we're friends, Potter," Draco drawled, leaning casually against the side of the building.
Harry smirked; discomfort vanished. "Left field, meet short stop."
"Pardon?"
"Baseball," Harry explained. "Yanks are mad for it."
Draco sneered. "A Muggle sport."
The Boy Who Lived grinned. "Last time I checked, Layne Staley, Jerry Cantrell and Chris Cornell were Muggles." He glanced sideways at his nemesis, causing Draco to sneer.
"I think they're wizard spies," the Slytherin decided after a thoughtful pause.
Harry burst out laughing. "Thanks, Malfoy. That's the first good laugh I've had in a long time."
Draco arched a brow. "They're spreading goodwill and brilliant music to the unwashed Muggle masses."
On the verge of lashing out at his rival's callous words, Harry met his gaze. Draco's eyes had that 'storm clouds passing over the sun' look again. He tilted his head, assessing. "I get it," he murmured.
"Get what, Potter?" Draco demanded defensively.
"You." He met Draco's challenging glare, but didn't elaborate. "So, tell me something, Malfoy. What do you gain by going to the Ball with me?"
"It was a perfect opportunity to get Parkinson and Weasel in one blow," he responded, as though it should be obvious.
Harry trapped gray eyes with green. "That can't be it," he denied. At Draco's incredulous look, he smirked. "You already got Ron by laughing at him, and the best way to get Pansy would be to take a girl to the Ball and publicly snog her."
Draco scowled. "You're not meant to be this bloody observant."
"So?" Harry prodded with a grin. "What's the real reason, Oh Master Slytherin?"
Draco watched him thoughtfully. Potter didn't seem to object to being around Draco to further his own ends. His plan, which had been hatched in the wake of the infamous photo, would work better if Potter cooperated.
"I've come to realize that it would benefit me for the Wizarding world to believe I prefer men," he said carefully.
Harry frowned. "Why?"
Draco smirked. "Let's just say that it's the only way to avoid fully adhering to Malfoy tradition without being fully disinherited or killed."
As he came to understand the implications, Harry's eyes widened. Leaving aside Draco's apparent political one-eighty, he asked, "So, am I correct in assuming that Pansy is part of that tradition?"
The Slytherin grimaced. "Yes. We're set to be wed immediately following graduation."
Harry processed this. "EW!" he squicked with a disgusted shiver.
"Too bloody right," Draco replied vehemently.
Recovering himself, Harry questioned, "why me?"
"Firstly, because this situation fell into my lap. Secondly, because you're already at the top of the Dark Lord's bloody hit list. Being associated with me couldn't possibly put you in more danger," Draco explained. At Harry's incredulous look, he snapped, "Despite evidence to the contrary, Potter, I'm not actually interested in getting anyone maimed or killed on my behalf."
The raven-haired wizard smirked. "Unless you do the maiming yourself?"
"Naturally."
Harry considered. "What exactly do you want from me?"
"Well, the Wizarding world is doing a remarkable job at taking care of most of it," Draco replied. "You asking me to the Ball in the middle of dinner was bloody genius, really."
Chuckling, Harry eyed the Slytherin with amusement. "Draco Malfoy pronouncing a half-arsed, Gryffindor plot genius?" He backed away slightly, looking nervous. "Is your head going to explode?"
"Fuck off, Potter," Draco snapped.
Harry raised a lecherous brow. "Really? But I thought we were just here to talk."
"EW!" Draco screeched (ahem, raged manfully), leaping away from his nemesis. "If you even touch that zipper, I'll hex your bits France!"
Harry took one look at Draco's beet-red face and thoroughly ruffled appearance and burst out laughing. Possibly not the wisest choice considering that said ruffled wizard pulled out his wand and aimed it shakily at him. The Gryffindor laughed harder.
"France, Malfoy?" he gasped. "The worst place you could think of to send my bits is to France?" He leaned against the side of the castle for support. "I think they'd like it there. All those, hot, French blokes…" he trailed off dreamily.
"Merlins' Hairy Balls!" Draco growled, eyes gone dark in a telltale sign of his rage.
Harry, having often been the one to cause such a condition, noted it instantly. "You're giving me Merlin's balls to replace my own while they're in France?" he inquired innocently.
Draco pressed the tip of his wand into Harry's chest. "Shut the fuck up about balls, Potter," he ordered.
"You brought it up," Harry pointed out. "We were having a nice conversation about my level of genius, and you decided to talk about my balls, instead."
The Slytherin glowered. "I did not…" he started, but then trailed off ineffectually as he realized that he had, in fact, been the one to bring it up. Shaking with rage, he placed his left hand on Harry's chest and shoved him hard against the wall he was leaning against.
Harry held his hands up in supplication. "Look Malfoy, I'm just not ready for this yet," he pleaded, green eyes meeting gray with crystalline earnestness.
Pausing, Draco demanded, "Ready for what?"
The raven-haired wizard lowered his eyes demurely. "I know we're gay lovers now, but I'm not ready for the hot, sweaty man-sex," he murmured.
Draco shouted inarticulately, dropped his wand, and slammed Harry bodily into the stone wall. Harry gasped for breath and struggled to get away. The Slytherin's fist came screaming toward his face, so he ducked instinctively, causing said fist to collide with the wall behind him.
"BUGGERING FUCK!" Draco yelled, waving his fist around madly. "You bloody ducked you fucking coward!"
He kicked out wildly, getting in a lucky hit against Harry's left knee, causing the Gryffindor to pitch forward, howling with pain. His hands reached out to Draco's robes for support and both wizards tumbled gracelessly to the ground. They rolled across the grass together, arms flailing for purchase, until Draco managed to come out firmly on top.
He was crouched on Harry's chest, trapping the other wizard's arms firmly to the ground and smirking triumphantly into his face. Pinning both arms with one hand, Draco drew back his fist, ready to blacken Harry's eye. Harry chose that moment to kick out with his legs, ramming a bony knee into the Slytherin's back.
"FUCK!" Draco snarled, moving his body back instinctively to settle over Harry's hips to stop them from bucking. He pressed his full weight down to trap him.
That's when Harry stopped fighting.
Gray met green warily, looking for an explanation, but the Slytherin stopped short when he noticed the telltale golden flecks in his rival's eyes. All at once he took full stock of their position. Their well-matched bodies were flush from hips to chest and Draco's arms held Harry's trapped above his head. It was a complete reversal of their last fight, only this one was horizontal, and Draco could feel the weight of gravity pressing his body tantalizingly into Harry's.
The Gryffindor's dark hair was thoroughly tousled, and his cheeks were smudged with dirt. His eyes glowed with a mixture of defiance and confusion. He had bit cleanly through his bottom lip at some point during their fight, and the sight of bright red blood against swollen flesh struck Draco to the core. Nothing could have stopped him from lowering his face slowly toward Harry's, watching those emerald eyes widen fractionally.
Tilting his head slightly to one side, Draco licked the offending bottom lip from one corner to the other. Harry's soul-rending groan sent shivers down his spine, so he leaned in further and took the abused lip into his mouth and sucked gently.
The sound of several cameras flashing in unison brought them rudely back to the real world. Draco blinked several times and sat up, working madly to regain his composure. Harry still lay dazedly on his back beneath him, brain not processing on the higher levels. Annoyed that he'd get no help from that front, Draco was about to submit the whole lot of gawking onlookers to the full force of his Malfoy glare when he remembered that this situation actually worked in his favor. Instead, he pasted on a sheepish, 'aw shucks' look and smiled. Several Hufflepuffs fainted.
Harry, panicking, sat up quickly, causing Draco to gasp audibly. Turning a half-lidded gaze on the crowd, Harry succinctly muttered, "Er…" Then, he turned back to Draco, leaning forward so they could have a whispered conference. "So, is this the type of press you were hoping for?" he murmured dryly.
Draco chuckled, gray eyes lightening. "You're too much of a Slytherin for this not to benefit us both, Potter."
"Touché."
Draco leapt gracefully to his feet, holding out a hand to help Harry up. "Why Potter, I didn't know you spoke French."
Harry smirked, completely ignoring the gaping crowd. "Well, parts of me have a great appreciation for the French culture," he replied evenly.
The Slytherin met his eyes, lips quirking. "How lovely," he drawled. As they walked calmly to the doors of the main building, he added, "Did you know that Saturday next is a Hogsmeade weekend?"
Harry raised a brow, suspicious about where this was going. "Yes, I did know that, Malfoy."
"Wonderful. Then, we'll meet in the Great Hall at ten o'clock." Draco smiled benignly.
The raven-haired wizard shuddered inwardly at his nemesis invoking Dumbledore's mad twinkle. "What for?" he demanded.
Draco paused briefly in front of the hallway that would lead him to the Slytherin dungeons. "Why, to shop for our dress robes, of course!" He eyed Harry speculatively. "You didn't think I'd let you handle the fashion decisions for such a momentous event as our first public appearance on your own, did you?"
"What? Malfoy! No!" Harry protested.
Draco smirked. "Don't worry, Potter. I'm sure it won't take too many days to find something suitable." He turned smartly on his heel and walked away.
Harry groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "What have I gotten myself into?" he murmured.