The Slytherin Renaissance

By My Cat Frank

Ok, so I haven't written in a while...L My schedule has been rather full...but now I realize that I need to hurry up and write this fic before the fifth book comes out! Guess I work better with a deadline...^_~

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters and universe belong to J. K. Rowling and her people; I am making zippo off of this fic and so there is no reason to come after me with guns, knives, pitchforks and/or other implements of destruction. That is, unless that just happens to be your one joy in life. If it is, how sad for you, I'm sorry. The title of this chapter is a reference to the poem Casey at the Bat by Ernest L. Thayer. Other references: How To Win Friends and Influence People: Dale Carnegie; The Prince: Machiavelli; The Red Wheelbarrow: William Carlos Williams; The Communist Manifesto: Karl Marx and Frederick Engels. "Brown Charlie": see Chapter 2. And a prize will be granted to anyone who spots the Odd Couple reference in this chapter!

Warnings: Rated PG-13 for some steamier bits of slash, intellectual humor, and monkey abuse. Language? Maybe.

Big bear hugs go to: Sheron, reila robyn, Vee-sempai, celestinne, Adia, JadeDragon, Kaylin, FatalDreams, Catspook, Rosetta, Iris, bluemeanies and surreal1. Thanks for reviewing this fic so far! ^___^

Chapter 3: The Joy in Mudville

Summary: New resolutions, a slashy dream, muggle intellectualism, and trouble at the quidditch game all mean that Draco has a bad day.

This chapter's Malicious Play is titled "Narcissa Malfoy's Crafty Corner." ...Or should that be "Krafty Korner?"

Crabbe and Goyle decided it was high time they do something to change their images. Padma Patil, as crazy as it may have sounded, might have had a point when she said they did not make interesting conversationalists. That is, Crabbe and Goyle were willing to admit that they had not always been considered the brightest of the bright in Hogwarts intellectual history. Ravenclaws, on the other hand, were well noted for their intellectualism. And if they--as represented by Padma Patil when Crabbe and Goyle had shared a bush with her in Herbology--believed that Malfoy's sidekick duo lacked intellectual strength, well, something needed to be done. Crabbe and Goyle abhorred the idea of anyone thinking that they were weak, physically or mentally.

So, images needed adjustment. That is how they came to find themselves examining the bookshelves of the Slytherin common room. Since both of them had come to grips with the fact that they just weren't as good at the magical arts as most other students at the school, they had agreed that the quickest and easiest way to show off their intelligence was to start reading non-magical books. At least, from their perspective, they would be reading, and they merely needed to appear like they were studying something important in order to give off the impression that they were smart, intelligent people. Besides, as Crabbe put it, "How hard can muggle books be, anyway? They were written by muggles!"

Unfortunately, as they were rifling through the common room bookshelves, they found out that the Slytherin dorms only boasted two non-magical book titles:

"How to Win Friends and Influence People," Crabbe read, squinting at the book cover. He held up the other book. "And The Prince, by some guy named Machiavelli."

Goyle frowned. "Oh, is that all? I've already read both of those."

"What? No, you haven't!"

Goyle shrugged. "I got bored once, so I kinda thumbed through them," he admitted.

Crabbe flipped through a few pages of The Prince. "Anything worth reading?"

"Ehhh," Goyle shrugged disinterestedly. "Just do what you got to do to get ahead and tell other people what to do. Nothing we haven't already heard," he said.

Crabbe shut the book, sticking out his tongue in distaste. He looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one else in the Common room was paying attention to them, and leaned closer to Goyle so that only he could hear. "If we're going to look intelligent, we're going to have to read something no one else knows about. Goyle," he looked his friend in the eye, firming his resolve. "I think we're going to have to go to the library."

Half an hour later found Crabbe and Goyle in the non-magical section of the Hogwarts library, looking for easy-to-read books that would allow them to flaunt their intelligence around the school. Crabbe finally settled on a book filled with short, seemingly-manageable poems. He showed it to Goyle.

"An Anthology of Modern Poetry," he told him. "I'm going to read this one. They're just little poems, so it should be a quick read."

Goyle grinned and held up a small, thin paperback book. "Oh yeah? How's this for a quick read, eh?"

Crabbe frowned. "That's not the point, remember? Why read something so short and small that no one notices that you're reading it?" He read the cover title. "The Communist Manifesto?"

Goyle shrugged again. "So if I finish it early, I'll just move on to something else. No big deal," he decided.

The two of them checked out the books and headed back to the Slytherin common room, where they spent the evening sitting in public view of their housemates and reading their chosen literature.

Meanwhile, up in the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter was sitting upside down in a large overstuffed armchair by the fireplace and staring off into space. He swished his feet back and forth over the top of the chair, feeling the blood rush to his head.

"You okay there, mate?" Ron asked from the large table where he was still working on his Divinations homework.

"Have you ever noticed how funny the world looks upside down?" Harry replied as he watched a second-year walk across the ceiling and climb up the descending stairs with the grace of a character in an M. C. Escher sketch. "I mean," he continued, "It's a whole different perspective on things."

"Er, yeah, sure, Harry," Ron answered, and made a face at Hermione who was sitting across the table from him. The gist of his expression basically said, "Look, Harry's our mate, but sometimes I think he's just a tad wacko!" Hermione just shrugged and went back to her Arithmancy assignment.

Harry really didn't care what anyone thought about him for sitting upside down in a chair. Actually, his thoughts were focused instead on what Malfoy had said to him a few days before when they were in Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class:

"I promised myself that I would be a part of your life, even if I have to make it a living hell. No one turns me down and gets away with it. I will always be the thorn in your side, Potter. No matter where you go, or how happy you think you are, I will be there, ready to tear it all down before your eyes."

The words had left him feeling cold, but he hadn't been able to stop thinking about them. Did it really mean that much to Malfoy? Could he really want to be a part of Harry's life that badly? Well, if that was the case, then there was nothing Harry could do about it...right?

Suddenly he was hit with a revelation. If Malfoy was so bound and determined to be close to Harry, maybe they didn't have to be enemies. If Harry had accepted his hand on the train when they were in first year, then Malfoy would have been a part of his life and they would have been friends, wouldn't they? So...maybe if he offered to bury the hatchet and make friends with Malfoy, then Malfoy would be satisfied and stop taunting Harry and his friends. And if Harry and Malfoy were friends, then wouldn't that be even better in the fight against Voldemort and the Death Eaters? If he played his cards right, that could work...couldn't it?

He slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand with newfound determination and rolled out of the chair. "That's it!" he said aloud once he was standing rightside up again, "I've got to make friends with Malfoy!" With that, he rushed up to the fifth-year boys' dorm to work out what he was going to say to Malfoy in the morning.

Ron blinked and looked at Hermione again. He whispered, "See, this is what happens when you do your thinking upside down."

Draco faced Potter on the quidditch pitch. Their gazes locked onto each other, hard and piercing, neither willing to be the first to look away. Draco stepped closer until he was within arm's reach of the Gryffindor seeker.

Without dropping eye contact, he raised his hands to his opponent's shoulders and began to run them over the muscles there. His fingers traced over Potter's collar bone, up his neck, then back down the shoulders and arms, brushing the fingertips before returning to his torso. Soon Potter's fingers were gliding over Draco's back.

The two of them were touching each other. There were no words, no emotions, just the physical sensation of hands touching bodies. Draco's hands wandered up and down and across Potter's chest and stomach, along his sides and on his hips, feeling the muscle and bone hidden under clothing.

Then at some point the clothing disappeared and they were touching each other flesh to flesh. The hands continued to roam, finding new places and new sensations. Somehow they stopped standing and Draco was lying on top of Potter, his hands searching down, down...

He lifted Potter's legs to either side of his head and nuzzled against his ankles. Why was he lingering there? The ankles ceased to be interesting and Draco inched himself up along the insides of Potter's legs, licking and nibbling a trail up to the knees, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of Potter's inner thighs before continuing up, up...

Potter bit his lower lip and squirmed, an involuntary moan escaping his lips. He was writhing beneath Draco, bucking his hips closer to Draco's mouth, and Draco was still working his way up Potter's legs, nibbling, sucking, licking, reaching ever closer to that hot center of warmth waiting for him, up, up, and Potter was gasping in shallow breaths, and Draco could feel his own breath hitch as he looked down at what was waiting for him, and then...and then...

And then Draco woke up, gasping for breath, a thin line of sweat rolling down his forehead as he sat up in bed. He'd had a sex dream about—well, he couldn't even bring himself to think the name inside his head. Where had that come from?!

The truth was that ever since that Herbology class when he had talked with those Ravenclaw girls, his mind had started to betray him with these wild, crazy notions. Apparently, he wasn't even free from his thoughts when he was asleep now. He was also too painfully aware of another traitorous part of his body that still wanted to keep going where the dream left off.

NO, he told himself firmly, he was not going to do that. He practically leaped out of bed and bolted for the showers, sighing in relief as the shock of cold water took his mind off of...things. That particular day was going to be a big day, and it wouldn't do to have his subconscious go around mucking it up, no sir.

It was the day of Slytherin's Quidditch game against the Gryffindors. There was just something that Draco couldn't explain about why he loved playing against the Gryffindors more than the other Hogwarts Quidditch teams. Maybe it was because the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff teams were just too easy to beat. Maybe it was the ongoing heated drama between Gryffindor and Slytherin houses that drove him to work harder as the team seeker and captain. Maybe it was the sight of Potter on his broomstick, looking like some kind of wonderful fey creature...

No, no, no, it definitely was not that. He frowned as he got dressed, remembering what those obnoxious Ravenclaws—what were their names again? Lisa Turpin and Mandy Brocklehurst? Weird girls, Draco thought. Anyway, what they had had to say the other day about his attitude towards Potter was flat-out untrue. As far as Draco was concerned, there was nothing wrong with having a hated enemy. And that's all it was: hatred, pure and simple. Potter was nothing more than a stuck-up, prissy asshole that everyone loved because he could defeat the Dark Lord, his cute oversized glasses and shaggy hair be damned.

Not that Draco thought that anything about Potter was cute, of course. No, it was intriguing in one of those sick, undeniable fascinations, but certainly not cute. And he was definitely not like some kind of wonderful fey creature. Those sick Ravenclaw girls and their twisted imaginations would come to a sticky end, Draco decided.

And so he hyped himself up for the big game, planning out battle strategies and ways of making Potter squirm on the Quidditch pitch. After a while, Draco had completely forgotten about those weird thoughts concerning Potter and focused instead on his own coolness. He may have started the day on the wrong foot with that odd dream, but he was graceful and determined to have a good, successful day in spite of it. Yes, Draco Malfoy was very cool, very collected, and very stylin'. He was also very hungry. It was time to head down to breakfast, but he would need to do it in style. He noticed that Crabbe and Goyle were not in bed—or in the dorm, for that matter—and headed down, assuming that they were in the common room waiting for him.

With a confident grin on his face, he entered the common room, feeling like a million galleons and ready to show off. He sauntered across the room with cool grace and snapped his fingers as he passed the chairs where Crabbe and Goyle were sitting with books in their laps. He expected them to jump to his side to the beat of the snappy tune that was going through his mind at the time, and all three of them would then stride across the castle to the Great Hall, leaving an air of power and confidence in their wake. That would show those nasty Gryffindors what Slytherins were made of.

Draco had made it as far as the common room door, however, when he noticed that Crabbe and Goyle had not yet jumped to his side. He turned around. In fact, those two were still sitting in the same chairs, immersed in whatever it was they were reading. Draco cleared his throat, thinking that would get their attention.

When that too failed, Draco sighed and went back to where they were sitting. Crabbe was staring into a book with a frustrated look on his face. In actuality, he was about ready to start tearing his hair out, already tugging on the hair at his temples. Goyle looked equally floored, his gaze locked into a book like a deer in headlights.

Draco kneeled beside Crabbe's chair. "Umm, Crabbe?"

"'So much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens'," Crabbe finally spoke cryptically.

Whatever Draco had been expecting, this was not it. "Come again?"

" 'So much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens'." Crabbe looked up at Draco, his eyes desperate. "But what? WHAT depends on it?!"

Draco shook his head, not understanding anything that Crabbe was talking about.

"It's this poem," Crabbe finally explained, slowly emerging from his trance. "I can't figure out what it's supposed to mean." He showed the book to Draco, who read the page, then the previous page, then the page after it.

"Where's the rest of it?" he asked, frowning.

"That's it," Crabbe said. " 'So much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens'." He started to laugh, like someone finally cracking under a lot of pressure. Draco edged away from him apprehensively, in case Crabbe might start foaming at the mouth or try to hex the entire room.

"So you want to know what depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside some stupid-arse chickens?"

Suddenly a light went on inside Crabbe's head. " 'So much'," he said, answering his own question. He laughed again, and this time it sounded less psychotic and more punch-drunk. "So much! That's it: 'So much'!!" He giggled madly. "I love it!"

Draco stared, his jaw dropping in surprise. Not knowing what to say, he turned his attention to Goyle. Goyle looked like his world was coming to an end. He stared back at Draco with confused, heavy-lidded eyes and shook his head miserably.

Then Draco remembered the undisturbed appearance of their beds upstairs and realized what had happened. He rounded on his sidekicks.

"Do you mean to tell me that you both stayed up all night with those stupid books?!" he seethed. Crabbe stopped laughing and looked sheepish instead. "Don't you remember we've got a game today? Against Gryffindor!" He growled, raising his voice. "I can't believe you two! Our most important game of the playoffs, and my beaters are up all night reading—" he spat, as if the words would make him ill, "—muggle literature." Crabbe and Goyle looked at their feet, unsure what to say. "Well, you had better be awake by the time the game starts, that's all I have to say. I'm going to breakfast," he huffed, and stormed out of the common room.

A minute passed in silence before Crabbe turned to Goyle. "Well, it could have gone a lot worse than that, I suppose," he stated.

Goyle shrugged, unable to respond. He seemed to do an awful lot of shrugging lately.

So Draco wasn't in the best of moods as he stomped up to the Great Hall for breakfast. Here he was, the great Draco Malfoy, and on this important day of days to show off Slytherin superiority, his sidekicks had apparently jumped off the deep end. What's worse, they had both done it together—leaving him out of the loop and forcing him to walk alone in the hallways like a common student. Still, he tried to look like his usual composed self and act like he was still on top of the world, playing that same snappy tune inside his head again. He was just about to put his hand on the door handle to the Great Hall and go inside when he heard a voice from behind calling him.

"Malfoy! Hey, Malfoy!"

Harry Potter ran into the entrance hall when he caught sight of Malfoy. This was just the opportunity he wanted--a chance to talk to Malfoy without his goons flanking him! He hadn't expected to catch him alone like this quite this soon into his plan, but, well, Harry wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. As far as he was concerned, the sooner he became friends with Malfoy, the sooner peace would come between them and their friends.

Draco stopped and turned around. He saw Potter run right up to him and then stop to catch his breath. Harry missed the grimace that immediately formed on Draco's face. Of all the people Draco didn't want to talk to before breakfast...

"Oh, it's you. What do you want, Potter? Are you ready to forfeit today's match? You know you'll never be able to beat us," he sneered. He was quite accomplished at sneering and flaunted this skill in front of Potter to the best of his sneering ability.

Harry looked confused for a moment. "Oh, the match!" he slapped his forehead as he remembered the quidditch game that would take place that afternoon. "No, this has nothing to do with that," he told him.

"Well, then?" Draco prompted, still sneering. He folded his arms over his chest.

Harry then did something Draco never would have expected: he smiled—a warm, genuine smile—and held out his hand.

"I want to end this hostility between us," he announced with the air of a diplomat attempting to bring peace to the Middle East. "Malfoy, will you be my friend?"

Draco stared at him as if he had just grown two extra heads. "What?!"

"Look, I know we haven't exactly gotten along in the past, but I've been thinking about what you said a few weeks ago, and I don't think it's healthy for either of us. So I think it's time that you and I bury the hatchet." To reaffirm his point, he waved his hand, which was still hanging in the air between them, waiting for Draco to shake it.

For some reason Draco suddenly felt like the floor had given way beneath him. This couldn't really be happening, could it? Did Potter really mean to instigate change?

"What? You think you can just end this?" he hissed.

Harry looked surprised. "Er—why not?" Other students were filing past them into the Great Hall for breakfast, but a few were beginning to form a circle around them in the entrance hall, sensing the onslaught of a fight.

"Because this would end everything that exists between us!"

"Well, yeah..." Harry agreed, thinking Malfoy had just stated the obvious.

"That is so like you, Potter," Draco spat, "you think you can just wave your hand and make everything change?" He knew that maybe Potter had good intentions, but this was not the time for Draco to think about his relationship with the famous Golden Boy. "What would happen if I said yes? What do you get out of it? What do I get out of it?"

Harry pulled his hand back from where he was holding it out as an offering. Instead he moved his hands to his hips and frowned back at Malfoy. "You want conditions? Fine. If you agree to be friends with me, then I'll be nice to you and your friends. And in exchange you would agree to be nice to me and my friends. And, erm, we could still spend time together, only we'd be doing it as friends and not fighting all the time."

The students forming a circle around them began to whisper to each other, but neither Harry nor Draco took notice.

Draco laughed. It was a bitter, harsh sound. "'Nice'? You think we could be nice to each other, Potter? Do you really believe that you can change the way I feel about you?"

"Look Malfoy, can't we just be friends?" Harry was beginning to think that he had been wrong to attempt to make peace with the Slytherin, but he still had another card to play. He pulled a small, thin box out from a pocket inside his robes. "As a token of friendship, I made you a gift."

Draco raised his eyebrow, sneered, and snatched the package from Potter's extended hand. He roughly tore off the lid and looked inside.

"I transfigured a CD with a mix of my favorite Queen songs," Harry explained, "I thought we could listen to it together." He felt an odd mixture of pride and—surprisingly enough—bashfulness as he said this to Malfoy. Why he felt this way, he wouldn't have been able to say. A major part of him still felt very strange for making such a gift to his greatest rival—and a muggle-themed gift, at that! But after hearing Malfoy recite Queen lyrics in their Care of Magical Creatures class, Harry had found another wizard who had at least paid attention and showed an interest in Harry's favorite band. And something about that left a semi-warm-and-fuzzy feeling inside him.

Draco only frowned more. Something was beginning to boil inside of him now, and he wasn't sure why. Potter was really patronizing him, he decided. "So you really do think that the whole world revolves around you, don't you?" he asked quietly. "You think that you can just march up here, destroy everything between us, and offer me this consolation prize?" he went on, his voice raising higher, "Do you think I'll do whatever you say because you're the Great Harry Potter?" He remembered something the Ravenclaw girls had called him a few weeks ago. "Do you think I'm just some kind of...some kind of Brown Charlie?!".

Harry had no idea what this meant. But since there were an awful lot of cultural references in the wizarding world that he was totally clueless about, he chalked this up to being one of them. Still, he would have been damned if he let Draco know that.

He pushed his glasses up on his nose and put his hands on his hips. "You're such a snob, Malfoy." He frowned at him. "Do you realize how hard it is to transfigure a CD? Especially when you do it track-by-track as opposed to simply copying a whole CD? I was up half the night!"

"You don't say?" Draco took the CD out of its jewel case and flung it at the stone wall like a discus. It bounced off and rolled back to his feet, where he caught it under his shoe and cracked it in half. "Well, now it's garbage."

Harry's face turned several different colors as he glared angrily at Malfoy. Just then he felt like launching himself at the Slytherin and tearing his face off with his bare hands. When he finally brought his temper back under control, he spoke coldly. "I should have known this would have happened, Malfoy. Is this the thanks I get for deciding to open up to you? Well then, forget I ever thought about it." He brushed past Malfoy to the doors to the Great Hall, then turned around. "You know something? I thought I could reach below that cold exterior of yours and touch your heart, but I was wrong. You have no heart, Malfoy." With that, he stiffly swung open the door and huffed away to the Gryffindor table, leaving Draco standing in the entrance hall surrounded by the other students who had been whispering around them during the fight.

"Did they just break up?"

"I had no idea that they were dating!"

"So this means that Harry's gay?"

"I saw this coming months ago." This was the last comment that Draco heard before he fled back to the Slytherin dungeons, forgetting breakfast in his haste to avoid hearing any more comments about him and Potter. In his flight he failed to see Pansy Parkinson standing in the hall with her mouth hanging open.

"Are you going to eat any of that?" Millicent Bulstrode asked scathingly, looking at the mound of food Pansy had piled in a napkin on her plate.

"I'm taking some taking some breakfast for Draco," Pansy simpered. During the course of her education at Hogwarts, Pansy Parkinson had perfected the art of simpering. It had become a well-established tradition for students in Slytherin House to refine some form of personal expression—like Draco had perfected the art of sneering, Blaise had his own unique eye-rolling technique, Crabbe could expertly crack his knuckles one-handed, and so on. Pansy's expression of choice was her simper. It was a delicate and well-practiced combination of light-hearted silliness, superficiality, and singsong coquettishness.

Millicent let out one of her famous "uh!" noises—it was sort of a sharp exhalation of air that signified her disagreement with something. "Can't you just let him get his own bloody breakfast? Besides, you need to eat something. You do eat from time to time, don't you?" she asked, her eyes glancing over Pansy's thin frame.

"Of course I eat," she replied, still maintaining her melodic simper as she buttered a piece of toast. "I just don't need as much food as some people." From across the table, Blaise Zabini rolled his eyes. "Anyway, Draco needs me," she continued, "you saw what happened out in the entrance hall a few minutes ago. He's troubled."

Millicent chose not to say anything to this, but instead focused her attention on her doughnut. Just then, Crabbe and Goyle wandered bleary-eyed over to the Slytherin table and sat down across from them. Crabbe nodded to them in acknowledgment before pulling a small flask of Pepper-up Potion out of his robe pocket and pouring it into his goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Don't bogart that potion," Goyle warned him wearily. Crabbe passed the flask to him, and they both chugged the potion before looking up at the rest of their housemates, a bit more open-eyed than before.

"So, what's up?" Crabbe asked, then shared a quick glance with Goyle. They had planned to show off the results of their all-night reading session.

Pansy looked pointedly at them. "You don't think Draco's gay, do you?" A few chairs down, Blaise spat pumpkin juice across the table and started hacking violently as he tried to prevent himself from choking. Morag MacDougal tried to help by pounding on his back. "That's what people are saying, anyway. Personally, since I'm his girlfriend I know the truth better than anyone, but..." she paused, carefully ignoring another eye-rolling from Blaise, "you're his best friends, so what do you think?"

Crabbe and Goyle blinked at her. Whatever they had expected her to say, this hadn't been it. "Well," Crabbe began, waving his hand in the air as he stretched to connect this idea to what he had spent the night reading. "Sometimes it's hard to say exactly how much depends on a red wheelbarrow," Pansy cocked her head to one side, "glazed with rain water," she cocked her head further and squinted in concentration, "beside the white chickens."

By now Blaise had recovered and went back to his eye-rolling technique. Millicent went, "Uh!", and Pansy now furrowed her eyebrows and considered this bit of wisdom carefully. "So, is Draco the wheelbarrow or the chickens?" she asked seriously.

This was the last straw for Blaise Zabini. He stood up, gave them a brief "See you in class," and left the table, wishing with all his might that he could give up Slytherin House and join the Hufflepuffs.

"Well, I think," Goyle began, rescuing Crabbe, "that it's a matter of social injustice between the classes." A few more heads turned to face him that hadn't been paying attention before. "See, Malfoy is like the feudal landlord, right? And Potter and Weasley are like the pro...pro..." he cheated and looked at what he had written on his hand—"proletariat. See, people start spreading rumors about Malfoy because he's in a different social class, so...if we remove class differentiation, then proletariats like Potter and the Weasel will stop telling people that Malfoy's gay."

Millicent laughed out loud. "That's the best load of bullocks I've heard in ages!" Crabbe and Goyle frowned at her. She stood up and headed toward the door. "If you can use that logic to help us beat Gryffindor this afternoon, then I'll really be impressed."

After she left, Crabbe turned to Goyle and said, "Well, I thought you sounded quite smart just now."

"Same to you," Goyle returned, "but maybe we need to keep reading. I'm not sure I fully understand this Marx thing."

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" Ron bellowed at Harry as they walked to class.

"Keep your voice down!" Harry hissed. "I just thought that if I made friends with Malfoy, he'd stop being such an annoying git all the time." He frowned and shook his head, failing to see the rude gesture Ron made with his hands at the mention of Malfoy's name. "I still can't believed he just destroyed the CD I made for him," he reflected bitterly.

Ron stared at him in shock. "You made him a CD?" he gasped in surprise. "What's a CD again?"

"Watch where you're going!" Justin Finch-Fletchley hollered as Ron carelessly bumped into him in the hallway.

"Sorry, mate!" Ron called back over his shoulder, then turned back and stopped to face Harry. "Er—what did you make him again?"

"A CD, Ron," Harry explained, "you know, it's that muggle disc that plays music."

"You gave him a muggle gift?!"

"I told you, keep your voice down!" Harry said, looking over their shoulders. He could see Pansy Parkinson standing nearby, undoubtedly trying to listen in on their conversation. He sighed, looking deflated. "He listened to my other Queen CD," he explained. "I thought that if he liked it well enough to quote it back to me, he'd appreciate a mixed compilation of some of their other songs."

Ron put both hands on Harry's shoulders and looked at Harry sternly. Over Harry's shoulder, he saw Pansy run up to Malfoy across the hallway. "Listen to me, Harry," he said seriously, "Malfoy's in Slytherin. His dad's a Death Eater. You know he'd stab you in the back if you gave him the chance. So don't bother trying to make friends with him. Someone like Malfoy is nobody's friend." For a brief flicker of a moment, Draco made eye contact with the Weasley over Harry's shoulder and shot him an enigmatic look before turning his attention back to Pansy.

Harry thought about this for a moment, then slowly sighed. "I guess you're right," he decided.

Ron grinned and patted him on the back. "Atta boy, Harry," he said, "Come on, we're going to be late to Divinations."

"But Draco," Pansy simpered, "people are going to get the wrong idea about you. I heard Potter say that he thought you listened to muggle music!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You know I don't listen to muggle music, Pansy," he shot her a withering look. "That was just so I could embarrass Potter in public."

"But that's just it!" Pansy shot back. "Why do you care so much? Just this morning people were saying that the two of you are—" she screwed up her face in disgust—"in love!"

Draco let out a hollow laugh. He looked across the hall and saw Weasley place his bony, unpolished fingers on Potter's shoulders. Even from this distance, he could see the little brown mole on the back of Potter's neck just below where his hair stopped.

"I don't know where you hear these things, Pansy," he scoffed, "but you shouldn't listen to gossip and take it seriously."

"Then kiss me," she pleaded, running her fingers up his arm, "right here, in front of everybody, and show them what you're about."

Draco cringed inwardly. His eyes darted around the hall. Potter and Weasley were already walking away. He looked back down at Pansy, who was wearing way too much shockingly-pink lip gloss and lavender eye shadow. Her long blonde hair looked too tall and fluffy to be natural.

She closed her eyes and parted her lips, her arms over his shoulders. Tensing up, he quickly bent down and pecked her lightly on the lips, then stepped away. "See you after the game," he muttered, and disappeared into his Arithmancy classroom.

Most students at Hogwarts were aware that Draco Malfoy did not think much of Hufflepuff house. Most assumed that he did not think much of them because of their personal attitudes and dispositions, which were very different from his own. Most assumed wrongly, of course.

Malfoys throughout the history of Hogwarts had disliked Hufflepuff house, and each Malfoy approached the Sorting Hat with the same amount of fear and dread lest they be sorted into Hufflepuff. They had nothing against the wizards and witches who had been sorted into Hufflepuff (given that they were pureblooded, of course). No, there was a much simpler reason why no Malfoy wanted to be a Hufflepuff:

Malfoys looked absolutely terrible in yellow.

Malfoys had always been blond with very pale complexions. They were also incredibly vain about their appearances, and meticulously avoided bright, summery colors that made them look more washed-out than they already did. And so the thought of being forced to wear bright sun-yellow for seven years had been a hideous nightmare for the youngest members of the Malfoy line as they prepared to enter Hogwarts as first-years.

This explains why Draco almost had a heart attack when Madame Hooch told him he would have to wear a Hufflepuff quidditch robe for the game against Gryffindor.

"You must be joking!" he insisted. Madame Hooch shook her head.

Draco had been horrified enough when he went to the locker room and discovered that someone's potion experiment had gone off in the locker next to his and vaporized everything within a five-foot radius—including his quidditch robes. The only ray of sunshine in this incident was the fact that he had stored his broomstick in his dorm room, so at least that had been safe. Unfortunately, though, it meant that he would have to wear one of the robes from the loaner closet in Madame Hooch's office. What was even more unfortunate was that there were no other Slytherin robes in his size; the only robes available to him were in Hufflepuff and Gryffindor colors. And, of course, since they were playing against Gryffindor, Draco was stuck with the Hufflepuff robe.

"Don't worry, we'll all know it's you," Madame Hooch assured him as she shoved the robe into his reluctant arms. "You'll be the only yellow spot surrounded by red and green."

The rest of the Slytherin team had already gathered on their side of the field by the time their captain flew up to meet them. Actually, they watched as he approached and they squinted their eyes in confusion, wondering why someone from the Hufflepuff team would be heading towards them just before the game. When they finally recognized him, they were only more confused.

"Malfoy?!"

"But...why are you—"

"My robes were destroyed and this was the only loaner robe I could get," he interrupted, and gave them a look that suggested that he was in no mood to give any more explanation. Blaise shot him an extremely envious look in return, but Draco interpreted it as a look of disdain. Draco felt ashamed enough as it was.

Millicent Bulstrode laughed. "Well, at least no one will confuse it for Gryffindor colors. It'll be the only yellow blotch up there," she said, echoing Madam Hooch's sentiments. "Just be sure to tell everyone not to stare directly into Malfoy's robe!"

There were a few chuckles at this until Draco silenced them with a deadly look. "As far as I'm concerned, nothing could be worse than Hufflepuff colors," he sulked.

"For your information, Hufflepuff is a very respectable house and there is nothing wrong with their colors!" Blaise barked unexpectedly.

"Oh, why don't you just go off and join Hufflepuff House then?" Draco shot back irritably. Blaise's cheeks turned red and he shut his mouth.

"Look, there's not much time left," Draco said, "For most of you this is your first game as members of the Slytherin team. We've been doing well in practice this year, but that won't get us anywhere if Gryffindor wins this match. Does everyone remember the strategy we discussed last practice?" All heads nodded. "Good. Now Zabini, what's your weather report?"

Blaise cleared his throat. "Weather is favorable today. We're supposed to have a clear sky into nightfall, so we'll have good sunlight; the wind is low and the barometric pressure is just about right, with no change expected over the next several hours."

"Good. Everyone play so that Gryffindor has to face the sun whenever possible." Millicent opened her mouth to make a comment, but a look from Draco stopped her. "Gryffindor's chasers play better in good weather, so hit 'em fast and hit 'em hard before they know what's happening." He nodded to Crabbe and Goyle, who were polishing their beating clubs on the hems of their robes. "The only other variable is their seeker. Bulstrode, let's test that device you've been prattling on about."

Millicent grinned and pulled a palm-sized black orb out of her robe pocket. "This was my final project in Divinations last term," she explained. "The problem with the Gryffindor seeker is that in almost every game that he plays, some calamity befalls him. But if we can predict what will happen to him on the day of the match, then we can play around it and use it to our advantage. I call this the Potter Ball of Peril," she explained proudly as she held up the orb. Draco sneered.

"All you have to do is ask the question," she continued. "Oh, Potter Ball of Peril, just what disaster will befall the Gryffindor seeker today?" She turned the ball upside down and watched as a small pyramid rose up through the blue fluid inside and pressed up against a window. As the rest of the team looked on, she read the inscription on the pyramid.

"Ooh! 'Flying Monkeys'!" she cried out.

Draco tried to imagine playing a game of quidditch around a swarm of angry, screaming flying monkeys. He shook his head and grabbed the ball from Millicent.

"Let me see that," he shook the ball and held it upside down. "Now it's saying 'Ask Again Later'. Did Trelawney really give you a passing grade for this thing?" She scowled. She was just about to bite back with a witty retort when Madam Hooch blew the whistle, signaling that it was time for them to approach the pitch for the start of the game. She settled for snatching the orb out of Draco's grasp and returning it to the safety of her pocket.

In all honesty, Draco wasn't ready to face the Gryffindor team on the pitch. The odd dream he'd had about Potter was still fresh in his mind, and as he saw the other boy approach closer and land on the pitch with the grace of an eagle, something in Draco's stomach lurched unexpectedly.

He pushed this thought aside and assembled his master-crafted sneering facade. With one hand on his broom, he placed his other hand on his hip in a look he hoped was tough and intimidating, and sneered at the team as a whole. Potter was pointedly ignoring him as he stood beside Angelina Johnson, their new captain.

"Well, well, another year, another chance for Gryffindor to suffer pain and embarrassment in quidditch."

One of the Weasley twins snarled. "You'll be the only ones embarrassed today, Malfoy!" The Slytherins collectively looked defiant. It was a good look for them. Goyle privately reflected that in the rare moments when Slytherins could work together as a group, it was during the times when Slytherins faced off defiantly against the rest of the world. And indeed, they made a good team at that moment.

Draco focused his attention on Potter, irked that the Gryffindor seeker had the audacity to ignore him. "And what about you, Potter? Feel like you might faint today?"

Harry stoically refused to look at him, and instead turned to Madam Hooch. "Professor, no one told our team that the Slytherins were going to replace their captain and seeker with a giant loudmouthed ear of corn."

The Gryffindor team erupted into loud, derisive laughter. Draco's cheeks chose that moment to turn a dark and deliberate shade of pink, as suddenly not just the Gryffindor team but everyone in the stands from the house seats to the teachers' seats took in his appearance from his bright golden yellow-covered form to his shock of white-blond hair. "Ear of corn!" one of the Weasley twins gasped as he bent over, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Mr. Malfoy will be wearing loaner robes from the Hufflepuff team during the game," Madam Hooch explained calmly—though Draco was sure he could see a slight smirk grace her lips.

"What's wrong, Malfoy?" the other Weasley twin asked, looking concerned. "Couldn't afford to get robes of your own?"
"Hey, don't mess with the Corn Man when he's down on his luck!"

Draco's eye twitched and he ran his fingers through his cornsilk hair, feeling very irritated with the way things were going for him. His attempt at looking cool and tough had been completely dispelled when the entire population of Hogwarts suddenly saw how much he could look like a vegetable.

Madam Hooch cleared her throat. "Now, I want a nice, clean game—from all of you—" Was it Draco's imagination or did she look mostly at the Slytherins whenever she said that? "Captains, shake hands." He stepped forward and shook hands with Angelina Johnson, who was grinning stupidly at him.

The players mounted their brooms, and then the quaffle was released, signalling the start of the game.

At first the game was fairly ordinary. The Slytherins were leading by about ten points, and Draco had to admit that his team was working surprisingly well together. He shot furtive glances across the field at Potter, who was busy looking for the snitch. Draco still hadn't seen it anywhere.

"Think fast, Corn Nut!"

Of course, Draco thought to himself as he dodged yet another bludger, the Gryffindor beaters seemed to be targeting him more than any of the other Slytherin players. Apparently the Weasley twins were still amused by the corn comparison, because they kept coming up with new corn-related epithets to shout at him whenever they sent a bludger his way.

He turned towards the Ravenclaw side of the bleachers and caught sight of Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin holding up a banner that read, "WE LOVE YOU, DRACO!!" They were both cheering and waving at him.

He rolled his eyes, and in the process he saw something in his peripheral vision. He turned to face upwards to the far Northwest of the field. No, it wasn't the snitch--something was in the air far away on the horizon. He squinted and tried to make out what it was. Small, dark shapes were flying towards them. He looked around and saw Potter looking at the same thing. Nobody else had noticed, however; below them, the game was still in full swing.

"TEN POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR!" he heard Lee Jordan bellow into the crowd after Katie Bell scored another point against Millicent Bulstrode. He idly thought that Bulstrode would have to do a better job as Keeper if she wanted to remain on the team.

That thought was suddenly cut off when Draco heard a loud screeching sound just above his head. He craned his neck and saw a large, gray, surly-looking flying monkey hovering over him.

In another part of his brain he could hear the screams of the crowd in the bleachers around him, but his focus was on putting some distance between himself and the monkey.

That idea proved itself moot when the whole swarm of monkeys descended upon the quidditch game. Both Gryffindors and Slytherins suddenly found themselves trying to fight off flying monkeys, who were attacking anyone and everyone in the air. Crabbe, Goyle, and the Weasley twins were sending bludgers at the monkeys in vain, and soon gave this up in favor of beating them off with the clubs themselves. Unfortunately the monkeys seemed to be stronger, and the teams' defenses against them looking more fruitless.

He looked around for Madam Hooch, but she herself was trying to fend off a particularly fierce-looking monkey. He could see a few other teachers gathering on the pitch, shooting something from their wands to stop the monkeys. It seemed to be working, because most of them started to screech in pain and fly away.

That's when Draco saw it: a solitary monkey hovered in the middle of the field, looking at him and grinning a stupid grin. He was holding the snitch in his large, hairy fingers.

"What?" Draco yelled. His eyes found those of Potter, who looked equally surprised. "He can't catch the snitch! He's not even playing! What do we do now?"

Before he could do anything else, Harry's eyebrows furrowed in determination and he sped after the flying monkey with the snitch, a battle cry escaping his throat.

Draco didn't waste any more time, and flew after both of them. He caught up when Harry reached the monkey and grabbed him by the back of his ridiculous-looking red vest.

The monkey shrieked and batted his wings madly as he tried to free himself. Draco flew around and grabbed the arm holding the snitch, attempting to wrench it away. Harry reached his arm around the monkey's waist and received a mouthful of feathers as the creature's wings beat his face. "Hold him steady!" he yelled to the Slytherin.

The monkey chose that moment to scream in Draco's ear. Draco growled, and with one hand still grasping the arm holding the snitch he balled his other hand into a fist and punched the monkey right in the stomach. The monkey froze for a moment, dazed by the blow—just enough for Draco to pry his hand open and release the snitch into air.

Two hands grasped for it at the same time, and the snitch was trapped between their palms. Harry and Draco blinked at each other. Both looked like they had been dragged through the wringer—their hair was messed up and their faces were covered in monkey scratches. Potter's glasses were askew and hanging on by one ear. Then Draco felt his breath hitch as he looked into the mossy green eyes of Harry Potter. He could feel the warmth of Potter's hand holding his own. The sensation was alarming, and he could feel an unwanted heat rising in his cheeks. Was it his imagination, or was Potter looking equally confused by the situation? Was it his heart or the snitch that was fluttering madly against Potter's hand?

Then just as suddenly as it had started, and without warning, Draco was met with a faceful of monkey fist as the monkey had come to and returned to take revenge for hitting him earlier. Draco was thrown back and lost his grip on the snitch and Potter's hand.

"GRYFFINDOR WINS!" Madam Hooch cried from somewhere below. Potter was left holding the snitch. Potter won the victory, and—as usual—flew down to an enormous cheering crowd while Draco and the rest of the Slytherin team slumped down to the ground in defeat. Draco scowled at them, and was caught off guard when Potter suddenly turned around and shot him a confused look.

Harry had been surprised to find himself holding the snitch alone all of the sudden, and was warring with himself about whether to tell Madam Hooch that they had both caught it at the same time. But then he caught Malfoy scowling at him, and remembered their argument from earlier that day. Well, he decided, there was no use in doing Malfoy any favors, because Malfoy would only be nasty about it.

No, he told himself, no sense in that at all.

He turned back around to face the cheering crowd that was already ready to maul him down, and approached an ecstatic-looking Cho Chang. She beamed at him prettily, and—with a flush on his cheeks—he handed her the snitch.

Draco could hear her irritatingly-high, squeaky voice from several meters away. "Oh, for me, Harry? You're so sweeeeet!" Disgusted, he turned around, and headed to the locker rooms. He was ready to change out of his "corn" uniform, skip dinner, and go straight to bed before anything else could happen to humiliate him.

Somewhere in the world, there was music, and somewhere, people were laughing. But there was no joy in Slytherin House—for the mighty Slytherins had faced Gryffindors in battle and lost again.

...To be continued in Chapter 4: Rosencrabbe and Goylenstern

Harry Potter and the Malicious Play

Part 3

Narcissa Malfoy's Crafty Corner

"Hello, and welcome!" Narcissa chimes, stepping onto a studio set before a live audience. The crowd applauds and the opening theme music for "Narcissa Malfoy's Crafty Corner" begins. She takes her place behind a counter, wearing a cream-colored apron over gray robes. Her hair is pulled back into a graceful blonde upsweep and her ears, neck, and fingers are bedecked in massive gemstone jewelry. As the theme song ends, she addresses the audience.

"Thank you all for coming. On today's show, I'll be showing you how to touch up photographs with Essence of Dorian Gray," she explains, smiling toothily.

"You'll need an ordinary photograph or portrait," she points to a photograph lying on the counter in front of her, "a bowl, watercolor paintbrush, quill and ink, frame, glue, and—of course—Essence of Dorian Gray." She holds up a small bottle. "I always use Wilde's brand. There are those who might be tempted to use cheaper knock-off brands," she looks pointedly at a certain red-headed witch frowning in the audience, "but—and I think you'll agree with me—the difference in quality shows. For my family, only the best will do.

"First, squeeze a small amount of glue into your bowl. I generally find that a tablespoon works best. Then add about a teaspoon of Dorian Gray. Stir the mixture with your wand," she pulls out her wand and stirs her mixture, showing the audience the step-by-step procedure as she talks.

"Now, using your paintbrush, you're going to paint it directly on top of the picture. For this demonstration I'm using a photograph of my husband Lucius. Isn't he handsome?" She holds up the picture and smiles. Photograph-Lucius sneers formidably down upon the audience. The audience claps politely. She dips her paintbrush into the gluey mixture and spreads it over the photograph's glossy surface. Photograph-Lucius blinks and sputters as it covers his face, then resumes his stern expression.

"Now, be sure to let your picture dry," she continues, and swishes her wand over the photograph, effectively drying it completely. "And it's ready to be framed. For this particular picture, I've selected a deep mahogany frame with gold leaf inlay. However, it's not quite as crucial to use such an expensive frame, as no one should ever see it. Be sure to write the name of the person on the back of the picture in case you don't recognize him after a few years."

She held up the finished product: Lucius Malfoy, framed and coated with a thin, glossy layer of Essence of Dorian Gray. "The idea behind this project is that as time passes, the picture will age while the person him-or-herself will remain unchanged. Sometimes you may have to repeat as necessary. Once you have finished framing your picture, place it somewhere no one will ever see it. In my home, we keep a closet specifically designated for storing these." She turns to a door on the wall behind her. As she opens it, several large portraits tumble out, revealing very ugly, monstrous human-like creatures. Narcissa laughs lightly to the audience as she works on shoving the portraits back into the closet before wedging the new addition of Lucius on top of the overflowing pile. It takes her the better half of a minute of kicking and shoving before she can shut the door again completely. She breathes a sigh of relief and claps her hands together.

"And there you have it! On our next show, we'll meet a wizard who will show us all how to breathe new life into dead flowers. Until then, live well and remember: 'It's not Dark Magic," she holds out her arms, indicating the audience to join in with her, and they all continue in one large chorus: "It's SMART Magic."

MCF: Three cheers to Oscar Wilde! Hip, hip, hooray!!! ^_^

Ok, now I have a confession to make about my reviews. First of all, I appreciate everyone who has reviewed this fic so far. But because I was having problems uploading the first chapter when I was still learning how to post, ff.net erased the first 2 reviews I received (kudos to bluemeanies and surreal1). This shouldn't have bothered me too much, but then I got to thinking that if I had more reviews, then more people would read my work. Then my inner Slytherin convinced me to add 2 more anonymous reviews myself—it would just be to give me credit for real reviews I'd earned which didn't show up in my ff.net listing. The problem happened the second time that I did this, and I wasn't aware that I was logged in when I reviewed—and so ff.net put my user name on it. And signed reviews aren't removable! :P So now here I am, hanging my head in shame because anyone can see that I've reviewed my own work. What a dork! Anyway, the vast majority of you probably don't care either way, but I just want to let the record show that I'm really not that egotistical—I'm just a moron. An embarrassed one, at that.

Well, please review this fic if you've enjoyed it, if only just to prevent me from sabotaging my own review page again.

--My Cat Frank