Chapter 29: Know thy allies, know thy pets
Say what you will about the Slytherin House.
That if a Slytherin crossed a student's path and sent a smirk their direction, it was most likely a sign that they were behind a scheme bound to humiliate and destroy. That a good number of times Slytherins were accused of a crime, the allegations were actually accurate, but it hardly seemed to matter since the accused made sure there was little to no evidence connecting them to the crime. That, due to the house's infamous reputation of birthing dark wizards and witches including Voldemort himself, it was a common belief that every student sorted into Slytherin were bound to follow in their footsteps.
However, as ambitious as the Slytherins were, though cutthroat was their preferred method in competitions, there was also a key value in their house most people overlooked. One Harry remembered the sorting hat singing when he and his friends first walked into the Great Hall. Loyalty, which went hand-in-hand with cunningness.
Moments like this reminded Harry of that hidden value and reminded him why he was proud to be a member of that house, even if it was a shock to people that he was in the allegedly-dark, evil house.
Every Slytherin, whether they were a friend or not, someone he talked to on a regular basis or simply passed by in the common room, stood by his side while the rest of the school was against him. Granted, Hermione thankfully believed him. As did Luna and Ginny, Neville, Fred and George. However the rest of the students weren't as understanding.
Harry never had problems with Hufflepuff. On the contrary, he was fine with them; even had a few friends from there. But the entire house turned against him in support of Cedric, sending dirty looks whenever he passed by, vicious whispers going around their huddled groups. Harry understood their nastiness. They were simply looking out for one of their own. Also, Hufflepuff was often overlooked compared to the other houses, so when Cedric's name was called, it was a victory for the Hufflepuffs as a whole. A victory that turned to fool's gold when Harry's name was called out as well. However, the same excuse couldn't be used for the other two.
Luna sadly informed Harry that a majority of Ravenclaw believed that he entered his name just to show off, an offending act of snobbery which they did not approve of. As for Gryffindor, half-including Ron-believed he entered himself and the other half, well, their anger boiled down to the prejudice towards his house. The fact that a Slytherin was actually in the tournament, given the chance to bask in the supposed-glory most of them wanted for themselves, was the ultimate insult.
Thankfully Harry had his house's support to help him ignore the hatred. He had his friends. He had Crabbe and Goyle who decided, in honor of their newly-gained Champion, to whip up some of the pastries they'd learned at their pastry summer school, some which were surprisingly good, some which just turned the stomach. He had Theo who headed straight to the library and came back with over fifty heavy volumes on the tournament's history and past events, burying his face in the pages, trying to come up with a strategy. He had Pansy and even Daphne who tried to distract him with talks of the upcoming ball, reminding him it was never too early to get a date. He had Blaise who could be absolutely wicked most times but also wickedly humorous, wiping away Harry's voiced concerns with jokes. More importantly, he had Draco. His best friend who could be a royal prat and a pain but somehow made everything better with his snarkiness.
He also had a loyal Head of House and uncle.
The morning after the goblet picked the Champions, Harry woke up earlier than usual. For a moment, he had forgotten all about what happened Thursday night until the memories slammed against his head. He untangled himself from Draco's arms, jumped out of bed, and threw on fresh clothes, heading straight to Severus's chambers. He found the man hunched over his desk, mountains of essays piled around him, the quill in his hand furiously scribbling across the parchment spread out in front of him.
Without looking up from his work, Severus pointed to the empty chair across from his desk. No sooner was Harry seated did Tinky pop in, placing a freshly-brewed kettle of tea and cups on the table and disappearing in a flash.
Harry learned from experience that it was better to wait till Severus was done with his work than interrupt him. He poured himself a cup of tea, immediately soothed by the scent of chamomile, and drank. As he poured himself another cup, he snuck a peek at Severus's work. Given the constant eye-rolls and muttering coming from his uncle and the number of red-inked comments and slashes covering the page, he could only assume the student had failed.
His heart went out to the poor student who'd receive that essay back. He really hoped it wasn't Neville's.
When Severus came to the last page of the essay, he didn't even bother stamping it with comments. He simply dipped his quill into the red ink, tapped it by the side of the jar to shake the excess drops off the tip, and drew a big X on the page.
Harry really, really hoped it wasn't Neville's paper.
Severus picked up the paper with his index fingers as if it was contagious and placed it on top of the nearest pile. He then leaned against the chair, folded his arms against his chest, and stared at Harry. Speak, his hard eyes said.
Harry wasted no time. "I know it looks bad," he said. "Not just bad, really bad but it's not true. You have to believe me, Uncle. I didn't put my name in the cup."
Severus's hard glare didn't falter for a second. He stared at Harry for the longest time until Harry could feel the seconds slowly moving by like long hours. He was ready to proclaim his innocence again, but then Severus finally spoke. "The sky is blue."
Harry blinked his widened eyes once, twice, three times as if the movement could restore his hearing that temporarily went off for a second. "What-"
The next set of words that came out of Severus's mouth was just as mind-bobbling. "Dumbledore's beard is white."
Harry's brows flew up to his hairline. He resisted the urge to peer over his shoulder and see if he was being set up for some sort of prank. "I beg your par-"
"I have zero tolerance for dunderheads."
Deciding to cut straight to the point, Harry said, "I'm afraid I'm not following, sir."
"I am merely stating obvious facts. The sky is blue. Dumbledore's beard is white. I have zero tolerance for dunderheads. And while I'm well aware, Potter, you are capable of being greatly impulsive and reckless," The flash in Severus's eyes made it clear he hadn't forgotten about the bed incidence even though Harry spent most of the summer weekends making up for it with chores. "I know you're not suicidal. Nor are you are incredibly dim-witted as to place yourself in that sort of danger."
His uncle had a way with words that made it seem like each syllable was a spat-out insult, a salt-laced whip that struck the skin. Because of this talent, it took awhile for Harry to dig through the sharp sneer to uncover the subtle meaning laid underneath. Once he did, he stared back at the man dumbfounded.
Even though Harry was sure that gratitude was written clearly on his face, along with understanding and shock, Severus still felt the need to break down his short speech into simple pieces. "I believe you, Harry."
Just as it was when Draco said those exact same words, Harry felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He had no idea how much he needed to hear those words again until he noticed how easier his breathing became. "Thank you, uncle."
Severus inclined his head in a slight nod. To the common eye, the man appeared as unmoved as before, but Harry saw the faint curve of a smile slightly hanging from the corner of his mouth, similar to the faint smile that flashed in his eyes. As quickly as it appeared, it vanished as Severus leaned forward in his chair. His hands rested on his desk, fingertips stretched out to meet each other.
"That being said, I hope you realize the dangerous position you are now in, Harry. The tournament is no laughing matter."
Harry nodded, frowning. "I know, and I think there might be a connection."
Severus's frown broadened. Harry told his uncle of the nightmare he had of Voldemort, the Dark Mark flashing in the sky after the World Cup, and now this: his name somehow added into the cup and picked out from the hundreds of the entries. Unlike Draco whose eyes grew wider and wider as Harry listed out the points, Severus's face remained still, almost neutral. The only flaw shattering that illusion was the questions brewing in his eyes that narrowed thoughtfully, the slopes of his brows.
When Harry was finally done, Severus looked at him almost as if Harry was a specimen that was being studied. At last he said, "Some would merely dismiss such notions as coincidences."
Harry gave a weak nod.
Severus's frown deepened. "You know what I think about coincidences."
"There's hardly such a thing." Harry answered.
Severus nodded, the frown remaining. "Have you shared this theory with anyone else?"
"With Draco," It then dawned to him how common the occurrence was. Most times whenever things were off, Draco was typically the first to know. "I also wrote to Sirius and Remus." It was the last thing he did before he went to bed.
Severus's eyes tightened at the names, but thankfully the dark look came with no comment. "Unfortunately, even though you are underage, the Ministry still insists in your participation for the tournament."
Even though Dumbledore told him as much Thursday night, it was still a blow to Harry. A terrifying one as Uncle Lucius's words of past tournaments and mentally-crippled victors flooded his mind.
"So," Severus continued. "I highly suggest you use the time and resources you need to prepare yourself. I don't need to remind you that you have less than a month till the first task."
A month Harry already knew would come in a blink of an eye. "Theo and I are already combing through past tournaments to see if there's a pattern in the tasks. I'm also looking up spells and charms that could help."
"Good."
Harry made his way to the door, but Severus stopped him with a call of his name.
"These next few weeks, months even, are not going to be easy for you. Not only because of the tasks, but from the backlash you'll be receiving from your peers." Severus's eyes pierced him like a knife. "You are to pay no mind to it, do you understand me? None." The jagged tone of his voice left no room for argument. "People's critiques are no more than wasted hot air. If I took to heart every complaint and comment said against me, I would have retired long ago. Sometimes I'm tempted just to do so."
The right side of Harry's mouth lifted just a bit.
"Regardless, though, I refuse to give simpletons the satisfaction and I expect you to do the same. Hold your head high and let the wasted air go through you."
Harry's entire mouth lifted into a smile. "Yes, uncle."
Severus nodded once and plucked another essay from the paper mountain and dipped his quill in the ink jar. Harry recognized it as a dismissal, but it was an order he wasn't quite ready to make just yet.
He walked over to Severus, and as soon as his uncle lifted his head, Harry threw his arms around Severus's neck and hugged him tight.
Nine years and Severus's ways of hugging remained the same. At first he slowly laid his hand on Harry's back, almost hesitant as if he was unsure that he was the one receiving the hug. The next pat was a bit more solid, as if his disbelief was slowly waning. The final pat was firm and steady, marking his belief.
"Thanks, uncle." Harry said when he pulled back.
Severus's left brow arched. "For what?"
Harry shrugged with one shoulder. "Just for everything. Mostly for being you."
Severus tried to push away the gratitude with an eye-roll, but Harry spotted a faint, ghost of a smile hanging by his lip. He pointed to the door and said, "Away with you, brat, so I can finish my work in peace."
With a grin lighting his face, Harry left.
Monday rolled by and unfortunately the animosity from the other houses didn't dim. If anything it grew stronger, no thanks to the ridiculous article Rita Skeeter wrote about him, painting him as some helpless, whiny brat who threw himself into danger to receive attention as some sort of way to fill in the hole left from his parents' death. It was a bit alarming to walk out of the common room, into the halls, and be hurled with hundreds of nasty glares and venom-laced comments. But Harry stuck to Severus's advice and held his head high, letting the anger and hatred pass through him, refusing to let them think they or the stupid article gotten to him. He focused on his friends who stuck by him, huddled around him like a barrier as they walked down the halls, responding to the heated glares with their own sharp looks and smirks. More importantly he focused on the first task that was only a few weeks away.
Theo brought half a dozen books that focused on the last tournament to breakfast and handed them each a book to go through while they ate.
"Is there a chance that they might reuse past tasks?" Harry asked.
Theo shook his head, his eyes skimming through the page. "Statistically-speaking, slim to none. Less than ten percent. Logically and realistically, less than that amount. Spontaneity is part of the appeal of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Coming up with new, original ideas to get the blood rushing and adrenaline going."
While safely watching from the stands as the Champions go through those new, original ideas. Harry frowned and turned to the next page of the book. His reading was temporarily put on hold when a bright beam of light flashed in his eyes. Cursing from the brightness, he tried shielding his poor eyes as he turned over to Draco. "Could you dim the light of that thing down a few notches?"
A confused frown marred Draco's face that quickly changed to a smirk as he glanced down at the source of that blinding brightness. The big button plastered onto his chest that featured a picture of Harry zooming through the air on his broom like a bullet, clad in his Quidditch uniform, eyes narrowed, face set in absolute concentration. Above him, glowing in bright green, were the words, HARRY POTTER: HOGWARTS TRUE CHAMPION. Draco spent most of the weekend making the buttons and presented them this morning as they met up for breakfast, passing them out to every Slytherin who had the button pinned to their chest.
"Fret not, Potter. I have a special one I made just for you."
Draco reached into his bag and handed him a button. It was the same as all the others with the picture of Harry flying on his broom. Except when the button was placed in Harry's hands, a dark green mist came over the button, deteriorating the picture into an ugly, almost-deformed image of Harry that practically melted before his eyes. The words above changed, flashing POTTER STINKS in neon red.
"Very funny." Harry practically yelled over the laughter of his friends, elbowing a snickering Draco away.
"Glad you think so." Draco winked.
"Prat!"
"Mail call!" Blaise announced as a swarm of owls flooded into the room, landing either packages or themselves onto the tables.
Draco's owl, Lorelle, came in with Aunt Cissa's care basket for them overflowing with a variety of muffins, cupcakes, and treats. Hedwig came back with a letter. Harry was a bit disappointed to see that it wasn't from Sirius, but his spirits did lift when he saw the familiar Malfoy seal on the envelope.
Draco swallowed down a mouthful of pumpkin muffin and gestured towards the letter. "Open it."
Offering Hedwig a piece of bacon, Harry broke the seal and unfolded the letter.
Boys,
First off all, it seems you once again found yourselves in quite a bind. While it didn't beat last year's timing, I must say this latest mishap is a record of its own, given the significance of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and the dangers that come with it.
For the record, Harry, Narcissa and I don't believe you entered your name into the cup anymore than Severus announcing that he's retiring from teaching to become a Hawaiian hulu dancer.
Neither boy could hold down his snickers.
And, Draco, I can already feel your eyes skimming through the letter for more important matters regarding Harry's involvement in the tournament. I came across interesting information that will prove to be helpful to you two. However, it is information that is better exchanged face to face than on paper. Therefore Severus arranged for you to return to the Manor this Friday evening for dinner so we can carry on with this conversation. I expect you both there at seven on the dot.
Until then, I urge you boys, particularly you, Harry, to be on constant guard.
All the best
-Lucius
Draco frowned. He was likely expecting Lucius to say he had found a loophole in the contract and managed to pull Harry out. Harry wasn't as discouraged. While Lucius didn't mention any holes in the contract they could work through, he did say he came across information that could be useful.
Harry lightly placed his hand over Draco's. "It's fine. Like you said, if there's anyone who can find a way, its uncle."
The left side of Draco's mouth lifted up, but the smile grew as he laced their fingers together. Nodding towards the letter, he said, "You know what to do."
Harry nodded and laid the letter over the lit candle on their table, watching a flame lick the tip of the paper and spread like a virus, eating up the paper. When he was younger, he was taken back by the Malfoys burning their letters at the table as if it was part of their routine for meals. Now years later, after living with them and getting roped into the letter-burning scheme, the foreign act became a habit, one that was as natural as lying a napkin across his lap before he ate. Or breathing.
As the letter burnt into ashes, Harry became aware of a set of eyes fixed on him. Expecting it to be one of the Gryffindors or Ron, he rolled his eyes before he looked up.
Seated at the Ravenclaw table, in the center of the Beauxbatons girls, was Fleur Delacour, another Champion he'd be competing against. She watched him, her blue eyes bright with curiosity and fascination. A smile shaped her petal-pink lips as Harry met her gaze.
Unsure how to respond, Harry waved at her. It seemed like the right move to make since amusement sparked in her eyes, but a low growl hissing beside him hinted that it might not have been the brightest move.
Draco's face was fixed into a nasty sneer, his eyes flashing dangerously.
"I'm gonna go out on a limb and say you she wasn't your favorite person at the retreat." Harry guessed. When Madame Maxine came in with her students and Fleur twirled her way into the Great Hall, it wasn't hard to connect the dots and figure out she was the same Fleur Delacour who mentored Draco at his summer retreat. The flabbergasted expression that knocked onto Draco's face, tightening into annoyance, as she made in her way was a big enough clue.
"Let me put it to you this way. If I conducted a list of everything I hated about that God-forsaken place, Delacour would be featured in the top ten."
Almost as if she could hear them, Fleur's eyes gleamed in laughter. Her smile grew brighter as she glanced between them, taking in their joint hands. Draco's scowl grew tighter as did his grip on Harry. Harry grew more confused as he looked back and forth between the two, sensing there was something deeper lurking underneath.
As it turned out, Harry wasn't the only one busy. Hermione was just as occupied. Half of the long hours she spent at the library were to help Harry and Theo find more information about the tournament, the other half towards research for a campaign she was launching.
"What exactly is spew?" Harry asked as they met up at the library the next afternoon.
"Not spew. S.P.E.W," she corrected. "Stands for Society for Promotion of Elfish Welfare."
"Um-"
Hermione cut off his question before he could even ask it. "You remember how Mr. Crouch treated his house-elf? The poor thing was terrified out of her mind during the attack and the man was screaming at her because she left her post."
Oh boy. Harry remembered that. He also remembered that when Mr. Weasley had brought them back to the Burrow, Hermione was no longer shaking in fear from the mark. She was shaking in anger. She spent the rest of the night ranting about the injustice that poor elf suffered. Ginny told Harry that Hermione was so disgusted by the idea of house-elves, she refused to eat a bit of the Welcoming feast after finding out they were responsible for the food, among other things.
"Do you know that I looked up almost every historical book in the library and not a single one talked about house-elves! Despite the fact they're the setting foundation of the wizarding world."
"Hermione-"
"I mean honestly?! They do so much and are given no credit. Worse, they're treated-treated with no respect at all. Why, it's no different than slavery in the muggleworld."
Harry wondered how the hell they went from talking about possible strategies for the tournament to house-elves and their rights. Feeling a migraine coming on, he rubbed his temples with his fingers. "Hermione, the difference between the two was the fact Africans were forced into it against their will. They were capable of much more, wanted more, but were held down for centuries due to prejudice and hatred. House-elves aren't forced into servitude. They don't even see it as servitude. They see it as a joy. They like serving."
Hermione shook her head, her bushy hair whipping around her face. "They'll like it even more when they recognize their rights. Be paid for their hard work."
Harry recalled the time he was six and Dobby managed to fix up his stuffed lion, Leo, whose front leg was falling apart. He paid the house-elf with the shiny, bright coin his dad had given him for his kindness and Dobby shrieked in horror as if he was handed a bomb, begging over and over not to be fired. Harry was tempted to tell Hermione about that, but knew from the mad gleam in her eye that it'd only be a waste of breath. Once Hermione's mind was set on an idea, it was hard to change it.
So instead Harry asked, "How many people are part of this movement of yours?"
"Well…at the moment two-" She then brightened as she looked over at him, reaching into her bag and pulling out a S.P.E.W she pinned on his sweater. "Now three."
"Um-"
"Ron can be the treasurer and you the sectary. I already have tons of ideas on how we get the word out. Maybe you can convince some of your house-mates to join the cause."
Harry thought of his friends, each of them who had house-elves waiting on them hand and foot joining the movement. One ran by Hermione who didn't have the greatest fan club among the Slytherins.
"Speaking of Ron, I ran into him on the way here."
"Hmm," Harry mumbled, focusing on his book.
"He's really upset. Has been since Thursday."
Upset wasn't the word Harry would use to describe the dirty looks Ron shot him in the Great Hall and during the few classes they had together. It definitely wasn't the word he used to describe the cold-shoulder treatment he was giving him.
The frown set on Harry's face mirrored the one shaping Hermione's mouth. "Harry, you know as well as I do that Ron can have his moments, but he means well. He always does. He's just hurt and really needs his friends." She stared pointedly at him.
"What he needs is a foot up his arse."
Hermione tugged at Harry's collar, forcing him to turn back to her. Her nose crinkled as if she swallowed a sour lemon, her eyes frowning in disapproval. "Can you honestly tell me that you don't want to make amends? That you don't miss him?"
Times like this made Harry wonder what life would be like if he stuck to family tradition and went to Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. Would he be even more hurt by Ron's silence, his anger, his accusations? Would he decide to make the first move? Try to reach out to him? The thing was he did miss Ron. He could be a jerk, but he was also a fun friend. The problem was Harry had other things to worry about, more important things like the tournament and the first task that quickly approaching, the strange dream he had about Voldemort, and who might have slipped his name into the goblet. Ron and his wounded ego would have to wait.
"Harry?" Hermione called, railing his train of thought off its course. "You need to understand. Ron has always been overshadowed. By his brothers, by Ginny, even by you. He's known as the other Weasley boy or good friend to the Boy Who Lived. He was hoping to find a way to enter the tournament so the spotlight could be on him for once. Now you have it and-"
"Have it?!" Harry repeated. "You make it seem that I wanted this to happen."
"I'm not saying that!" Hermione protested. "All I'm saying is you should put yourself in his shoes and try to understand how difficult-"
Difficult?! He was the one forced into the tournament and yet somehow Ron was the one who being shortchanged? Anger swept through Harry as he stood up from his chair and began packing his things. "Difficult, right," he spat. "Because I wouldn't know anything about having a difficult life."
"Harry, that's not what I meant-"
He cut her off. "Ron should've known better. He should have trusted me not to do something like that. Believed me when I said I didn't put my name in the stupid cup. Instead he let his jealousy get the better of him and said some really stupid things-hurtful things! But I'm the one that's suppose to apologize? No, forget it!"
"But Harry-"
"You know what?" Harry whirled over to Hermione. "Do me a favor and pass this message onto Ron. Tell him if and when he pulls his head out of his arse, grows a pair and a brain, he knows where to find me."
"Harry!"
He was already out the door, through listening to any more excuses. He let his feet lead the way, walking over the bridge, through the corridor, and into the courtyard. He could barely make out the snickers and whispers directed at him over the loud roaring of blood boiling in his head.
Maybe he was a bit hard on Hermione. After all she was only trying to make peace. But it was ridiculous for her to suggest he be the one to apologize. He had no absolutely nothing to apologize for. Ron was the one who accused him of cheating his way in. He was one who called Harry a gloried attention-seeker. He was one acting like a big baby. As for having a difficult life?
Harry dismissed the idea with a headshake and a scoff. No matter how tough things were for Ron at home, they weren't difficult. He wasn't the one who saw his parents die right in front of him and remember the gruesome screams of his mother as she was killed, a sound that crept into Harry's dreams from time to time, turning them into nightmares. He wasn't the one who had a madman hunting him down, haunting him. He wasn't the underage champion who had to compete against three other opponents who already had years of experience on their side. He wasn't-
"Why so tense, Potter?"
The call of his name cut through his thoughts like a knife. He turned over to the right. Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle were lounging by the oak tree, enjoying the nice autumn weather. His eyes traveled upward where Draco was perched on top of that tree, smirking down at Harry.
"There's a bet going around the castle, you see, on how long you'll last in the tournament. I say ten minutes, though I might be being a bit generous. " Draco hopped off the branches and landed perfectly on his feet. "Most of the students seem to disagree. The popular vote is five."
Harry was aware eyes were on them, but he was only focused on Draco and his smirking eyes. His earlier annoyance from the library melted away as he walked over to his best friend, his brows arching lifting up as well as the right corner of the mouth. "Is that so?"
"Can't say I blame them. Given your fainting spells last year," If it wasn't for the lightheartedness in Draco's eyes, Harry would have mistaken the tease as a taunt. "And your delicate little features, you project an image that's more meek than strong. Almost like a delicate, soft little kitten." Draco cocked his head to the side, his smirk sharpening. "Now I'm wondering if I was being overly-generous with that ten-minute bet."
Harry walked forward until they were standing face to face. "Well, that's nine more than you would've lasted, Malfoy."
"Oh really?"
"Really," Harry confirmed with a smirk of his own. "Anytime you care to test me on that, or see for yourself how delicate I can be, you know where to find me."
With that said, Harry spun on his heel and walked off, not even turning back as he heard footsteps behind him.
"Why wait then when we can settle this right-"
"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"
A bang went off like a bullet blasting from a gun. Harry looked over his shoulder to see Moody hobbling down the steps, the tip of his wand as well as his heated glare, pointed at the white ferret standing in the exact spot Draco was in a second ago-
Wait a minute! Harry's jaw dropped. Oh dear God.
"Never attack an opponent when his back is turned!" the retired Auror barked.
Draco the ferret followed the motion of Moody's wand. When Moody raised it, Draco hovered in the air, squealing frantically, swinging his arms and legs wildly. When he made crazy zig-zags, Draco jerked in every direction, shooting up and down, moving side to side. When Moody lowered his wand, Draco was dropped right into Crabbe's trousers, setting off a round of loud laughter in the courtyard.
"Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!" he screamed, squirming in place, his hands beating down at his legs.
Goyle tried to help digging Draco out, but a painful yelp later, his fingers were scarred, blood leaking from the broken skin. Harry would have offered aid except he was too stunned by the scene to move. Blaise was a more ideal choice since he was closer to them, but he was too busy laughing his guts out as he was sprawled on the floor.
A few more painful bites later, Goyle managed to extract Draco from Crabbe's trousers. Once he was out, Draco leaped from his hands and tried to make a run for it. Moody refused to let him go so easily.
"Oh no you don't!" He raised his wand high and twirled it around, causing Draco to whirl faster and faster like a spinning top, going so fast he became a blur of white. "I have half a mind to grind your bones into Yorkshire pudding!"
"Professor Moody!" McGonagall raced over to them. "Is that a student?"
"Technically it's a ferret." he dryly remarked.
"We do not use transfiguration as a form of punishment. Change him back at once!"
Moody muttered something underneath his breath but gave into McGonagall's order. He brought his wand down as if he were delivering the finishing bang to a drum.
Draco landed onto the ground with a hard bang, streaks of white covering his body. When the streaks faded, Harry's best friend was back into his normal form. Dirt clung onto his body like a second skin, streaking his askew hair. His face was flushed bright pink and eyes hard, cold slits as he rose from the ground and glared at Moody. "My father will hear about it!"
"Will he also hear about that perky little arse of yours, Malfoy?" a Hufflepuff teased, setting off a round of snickers.
Draco's eyes dropped at the exact moment Harry's did, both widening as they took in Draco's lack of clothes. He was nude as the day as he was born with patches of dirt covering the private parts.
Harry took off his robes, raced over to Draco, threw it over his body, and hurried him into the castle, ignoring the bewildered stares and snickers that increased to laughter. Including Blaise's.
"I am going to kill him!" Draco swore.
"Who? Moody or Blaise?"
"Both!"
The boys took the quickest route to their dorm. Once they were in, Harry made sure the doors were sealed shut. Draco let out a storm of curses as he dug through the drawers for clothes.
"When I'm through with that handicapped, Captain Hook wannabe lunatic, I'm going to do use his leg as a baseball bat to knock Zabini's snickering face clean off his body."
"Last I checked Captain Hook didn't have a bad eye-" Harry turned back and was frozen stiff.
Draco's back was to him, revealing his backside that was still bare as he tried hopping into a fresh pair of trousers, flashing glimpses of his rear that bounced with the movement, his hips that were as pale and smooth as the rest of him.
Oblivious to Harry staring, Draco said, "Maybe not, but that lunatic is just as mad."
Harry's mouth was opened but not a single sound came out. His eyes were glued to his back, taking great notice of the ass-crack peeking out from his trousers, those flashes of hips that grew less and less as they were being swallowed by the clothes that caused intense warmth to slither and twist in his stomach like a snake. Warmth that heightened to massive heat as Draco slightly bent forward to fix his pants, bringing attention to the curve of his arse. A strange sensation came over his fingers, a tingling that shook like an itch as Draco bent lower, making the curves of his body more prominent. Harry balled his hands into tight fists to keep them under control.
He was finally released from the trance as Draco straightened up and looked over at him, but the heat spread not only to his stomach but also to his face. To his shock, Draco wasn't surprised by the staring, at least not by much. If anything he looked amused.
"See something you like, Potter?" There was something lingering underneath that teasing tone, a drawl that made the heat swirling in Harry's stomach lick his insides.
"You wish." he replied. "You're better off taking a shower. Merlin knows how much dirt you collected from your joyride."
"Too much for my liking." Draco headed over to the bathroom but on his way there, as he passed by Harry, his fingers brushed against a sensitive spot on his lower back, making breathing difficult for him.
Harry was able to draw air again when the bathroom door closed. He was able to release it as he heard the muffled sounds of running water. But even then, he was still shaking, his face still burning, thoughts still burning as the warmth coiled in his stomach twisted even more from images of pale skin and curves.
