Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 5
By Goddess JacquesPierre
Disclaimer: I am mutilating JK's characters (while keeping them in character I hope) to fit my twisted purposes in fanfiction. The key part in that phrase: JK's characters. As in, they're not mine. *sigh*. The other part: FANfiction. Not THE ACTUAL CREATOR fiction, FANfiction. I write FANfiction. I am a FAN. I cool the regular creator by waving up and down or having blades that whirl around in a circle when you turn me on (wait...). The point being, I'm NOT JK, however much I might wish thereof.
Rating: R
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism.
"Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley of #4 Privet Drive were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank-you vey much."
-Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
Harry rolled over and woke up. His eyes opened to a dirty sock, which he pulled off his face. Sitting up to try to get his bearings, he hit his head on the ceiling painfully. After nursing the ensuing lump, he looked around carefully and recognised the room in which he was currently.
He wondered what sort of sick, twisted dream he was having. Then he noticed how much his head hurt. No, it was definitely not a dream. Then... where the fuck...
***
Draco slammed into the stone gargoyle, panting. Yes, he had been here before-- who did you think Dumbledore had spoken to about the Heir of Slytherin back in second year? Draco couldn't tell the Headmaster what little he knew at the time, but perhaps, because no harm was done then, he could tell Dumbledore something useful now. To hell with his carefully cultivated image, he was not going to lose anything before he had fully had it, and Harry was no exception. He cursed under his breath; he didn't know the password.
And, thanks to his crash landing, he now fully knew that stone gargoyles do indeed hurt when one so happens to collide with them. As if he didn't know. Ha. Ha.
He resolved to wait, knowing that he could slip up the stairs with little effort as soon as someone came out. Clutching the stitch in his side, he hoped to God or whoever looked after the idiot mortals who inhabit the earth-- there has to be someone who fully comprehends the concept of being out there, doesn't there?-- that the someone would HURRY UP before Harry-- Draco stopped the train of thought right there. Nothing would happen. Dumbledore would step in and save the day. He wasn't called the greatest headmaster the best school of wizarding had ever seen for nothing, despite everything his father had tried to tell him.
There was nothing left to do but wait.
Waiting, however, was not easy for the blonde. He now had the weight of confusion on his shoulders and no Harry to alleviate it with. If worst came to worst, Draco had thought earlier, then he would simply distract Harry by pouncing him onto the Hogwart's snow-blanketed lawn.
He'd never thought to think of a situation where Harry was abducted before he could even get at him. He began tugging at chunks of his hair in frustration. He hadn't noticed the strength of his attraction to Harry when the thought had first crossed his head back in second year when he was brainstorming a list of things that would really piss his father off. He hadn't noticed it growing stronger over the years since. He had noticed the reoccurring dreams about Harry, but he had chalked that one up to a surfeit of teenage hormones. Now that he'd sat down and thought about how long the sliver of emotion towards the Boy who Lived had been hidden within him, it wasn't surprising that the sliver was no longer a sliver, and, if he were talking wood, what he had blithely ignored until he'd ended up in bed with the object of his desire could have fueled a bonfire. He growled in frustration and started to beat his head against the harsh stone wall.
***
Hermione turned to Ron, who was playing chess with one of the twins, and poked him in the side.
"What is it?" Ron snapped, his redhead temper getting the better of him.
"Mmmm... hasn't Harry been acting rather oddly lately?"
"Ummm... wait... why do you ask?"
"He's been acting concerned about Malfoy, and I haven't seen him all day."
"I don't know, Herm, maybe you're just tired. It is eleven PM."
Hermione gave Ron a Look.
"Fine." Ron strove to think of a good reason that Harry was, in fact, acting normally for the sole purpose of proving Hermione wrong. As he thought, though... "Wait, Hermione-- he slept 'till three o'clock! Or... at least, that's what he said he was doing. I saw Hedwig flying around, in and out of his bed. Plus, he had the locking spell you taught him up."
Hermione stared. "Ron, has he ever done anything like this before?"
Ron thought again. Crickets chirped, then stopped because it was their bedtime. A thin sheen of perspiration glossed Ron's forehead. It was a bit before he spoke. "Damn."
Hermione could have smirked if she were the type and that was the time, but neither applied. "I was right?"
Ron wrinkled his nose at her, and nodded.
"We'd better find Dumbledore." Hermione said.
Ron blinked. "That far gone?"
Hermione looked at him. "I found something." Ron stared as Hermione grabbed his wrist. "I'll show you." In a flash, they were out of the common room and scrambling down the corridors of the school.
Three staircases later, Hermione stopped suddenly, and Ron, loosed from her death grip, hurtled into the nearest wall. He heard her mutter something, and, when he turned around, he saw a gorgeous bathroom exposed.
"Prefect's bathroom," Hermione told him in response to his baffled stare. She led him in and showed him a pile of two robes-- one soft and black, and one starched white. The white robe was covered in blood.
"Oh, shit." Ron gaped.
Hermione gave him a McGonagall stare. "Recognise 'em?"
Ron stepped over and gasped. "Harry's?"
Hermione looked at him. "That's not all." She flicked her wand and shimmer appeared in the air. "I came down here and was naturally worried about the blood, so I tried a spell that constructs an image of a person from any DNA that might have been left behind." She ignored Ron's blank look and pointed at the shimmer. It had turned into a wisp of a figure, misty but easily recognisable.
"Malfoy."
Ron nodded. "Right. Dumbledore. Pronto."
The two ran out of the bathroom and through the castle.
***
Harry was not a happy camper. He knew where he was, all right. He had spent a good portion of his early childhood here. And it looked like he was about to get answers as to why. However, they didn't look like they would be happy answers. The door had just swung open to reveal a heavyset form with a thick neck and a purplish complexion. Harry didn't know where his glasses were, but it seemed vaguely familiar from somewhere. Another figure came into view, thin, bony, and dressed in an outrageously gaudy outfit consisting mostly of a rather sickening shade of magenta. Harry couldn't place it... not yet.
***
Draco heard footsteps down the hall and abruptly stopped pounding his head against the wall. A thin trickle of blood ran down his temple. He regarded Harry's two best friends with considerable suspicion as they approached him at a trot. He pressed himself hard into the wall and hoped to high heaven that they wouldn't see him; he had no urgent wish to explain his prescence to the nosy buggers.
He was vaguely aware that the two were squabbling. It struck him as vaguely amusing. He found himself detatched and dizzy, not concentrating well at all.
Hermione stopped before the gargoyle and whispered to it, and she and Ron disappeared onto the winding staircase. He siezed the opportunity and rushed up the steps, clutching Harry's broken glasses as a token of legitimacy.
***
Harry placed it. Uncle Vernon and Rita Skeeter. No-- wait-- Aunt Petunia and Voldemort. How-- oh god-- Harry's head swum. Was this why his uncle had hated him so much? Because the Boy Who Lived was right in Voldemort's clutches-- Voldemort himself-- but was stopped by spells. Voldemort was hiding and feeding his nemesis, because he just so happened to be his uncle. That made sense, why they tried so hard to stamp out his magick. Once Dumbledore's spells lifted-- oh hell-- he would be completely vulnerable and there was shit Dumbledore could do about it.
And-- Rita Skeeter? And Aunt Petunia. There *was* a reason that blasted reporter harboured her grudge, because of her sister. Harry's mother was obviously not the only witch in the family.
It wasn't social status, it was a power struggle. And now-- here he was-- no glasses, no wand-- powerless against Vernon/Voldemort and Petunia/Skeeter. Damn.
***
The three students subconciously fell into a panting line before Fawkes, who squawked loudly and flew over to perch on Draco's shoulder (to his intense pleasure).
Hermione's eyes flew reflexively over, and she screamed. "Malfoy?"
He looked at her disinterestedly. It was Granger. He felt rather faint, and hated to associate with her-- he wouldn't blame her if she harboured a grudge-- but he handed her Harry's glasses. "He's gone," Draco remarked concisely and weakly. The thin stream of blood on his face had flowed far enough down that he tasted metal on the corner of his mouth, and he resisted a sudden urge to lick his lips.
Hermione stared in rapt horror, unable to look away. "His glasses..."
Draco looked at her. "He's been taken away. He's in danger." He felt his mind drift slowly away. "Save him if I can't make it."
Both Ron and Hermione were suitably astonished, and more so when the blonde keeled over in a dead faint.
***
Harry screamed.
***
Dumbledore stepped out of his office, told Ron to take the youngest Malfoy down to Madame Pomfrey, and asked Hermione what had happened.
Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 6
By Goddess JacquesPierre
Disclaimer: Um... does anyone want to pay me for this? No...? Somehow I thought so. Even if you did, though, I would tell you to hang on a bit, and see if I could get a release, etc. from JK (who would probably send me the way of Voldy in the series if I tried). I'm not making profit, I'm not claiming they're mine, all I'm doing is playing! Honest! I borrow everyone's toys!
Rating: R
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.
"Fuck it."
-Eminem (and probably a whole lot of other people, too).
Draco came to moments after he was laid in a pristine bed in the hospital wing, feeling extremely lightheaded. Madame Pomfrey gave him a severe look. "When was the last time you ate, young man?"
Draco's head spun. "Uh... three, four days?"
Ron stared. Not eating?
Draco's head whirled, tucked, and landed, giving new meaning to the term 'mental gymnastics'. He groaned.
Madame Pomfrey waved her wand briskly, materialising an IV next to Draco's bed.
Draco screamed (much as Harry was doing at that moment, but I don't want to get redundant).
***
[flashback]
"Common muggle," Lucius sneered at a seven-year old Draco, whose silver eyes were glazed open, frightened. A slight pink tint had appeared over the boy's cheeks, feverish. "Unable to heal himself magickally."
A strangled whimper wormed its way through Draco's swollen vocal cords. Sore throats and fevers did not grant one sympathy in the Malfoy household. Draco knew he was the toy in this, Lucius's latest game.
He was right. The needle, one of his mother's, glinted silver off his eyes before it jabbed into him like so many mosquitoes. Draco, already ill, was in no way able to withstand his father's little games. He wasn't quite sure what the point of this one was-- he never was, never quite figured out exactly what made this fun for his father-- but it hurt, not as much as other times, but still hurt and hurt and his head pounded and hurt and his face burned hot and hurt and hurt....
***
Madame Pomfrey frowned. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Draco whimpered softly and curled up, giving up.
She decided not to pry. Maybe the IV wasn't such a good idea-- she asked Ron to run down to the kitchens for some chicken soup. She sat down on the bed next to Draco and began the slow process of getting him out of this emotional tangle.
***
Hermione burst into tears as Dumbledore watched silently. Through her tears, she dropped Harry's glasses onto the table before them.
Dumbledore waited a moment before speaking. "What do you know?"
Words Hermione had never before spoken were on her lips, when she realised she did know something. She took a deep breath, sniffled, and began to talk. "I was in the Prefect's bathroom earlier today, when I found two sets of empty robes."
Dumbledore offered her a tissue, and she blew her nose before continuing to summarise how she figured out they were Harry's and Draco's. Tears kept leaking out of the corners of her eyes. "I just can't figure it out. Harry suddenly started acting weird over vacation, is all, and then, next thing I know, he's gone!"
Dumbledore nodded. "I just found out something, Hermione, and it's not at all good."
Hermione looked back at him. "Tell me."
The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes was nearly gone. "Harry's uncle Vernon is Voldemort."
"What?"
"Harry's mother, in giving her life, repelled Avada Kedavra from Harry. It rebounded onto Voldemort, stripping him of his powers. They created another person. Vernon was an empty shell of a person, walking around, making drills. He had no real life in him. The essence of Voldemort was floating around Harry and took root on his uncle, slowly changing him nearer and nearer to Voldemort. After the Triwizard tournament last year, Voldemort proper and Vernon fused themselves together to counteract each of the half-lives they had lived for the past fifteen years. They have been learning themselves ever since, and only now have finally been able to break the protection I laid on their house. Vernon as a seperate entity no longer exists. He had been absorbed into Voldemort, and Voldemort has been absorbed into him, but the resulting creation is still, in all relevant ways, Voldemort.
"The only thing that worries me is a nasty little thing about emotion and energy. I'm certain you know about this, Hermione?"
She nodded numbly, still processing.
"There is some thirty years worth of cumulative hatred burning within Voldemort. The energy from that hatred is going to be behind every spell they work against Harry. That is what worries me."
Hermione waited for it all to sink in, then spoke. "But where does Malfoy fit in in all this?"
***
Ron, panting and red, burst in the door with a plastic container of broth.
Draco caught the scent of it from across the room. "I'm a strict vegetarian," he remarked before he lost conciousness for the second time.
***
At that precise moment, at number 4 Privet Drive, Harry fainted.
***
Notes: I was talking to a friend and they said that Krum is dead next, and I wanted to know what you all thought about that. I don't want Krum to die, nor did I want Diggory to die. Heck, I don't want Voldy to die (no more books...waah... not that they're coming out anyways). So, opinions, anyone?
I'm sorry this chapter is so short, I wanted to get it out before I get caught up in weekday bustle.
Thank-you ever so much for the wonderful, lovely reviews!
Transcending the Bullshit, chapter 7
By Goddess JacquesPierre
Disclaimer: Does this *really* need to be said? This is part seven, you guys! Well... if you really need it... Draco and Harry are on my Christmas wishlist, and they're one-of-a-kind. They're a collector's dream, and I'm trying for it, but they're not mine yet, so I'm deferring to JK to avoid legal difficulty. Don't sue, please, I'm not Eminem ("For every million I make, another relative sues") and I can't afford it. Really, unless you want my collection of ripped, reused wrapping paper.
Rating: R
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.
"You have been told: an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. But I say to you: love your enemies as your friends... for do not tax collectors love thier kin?"
-Jesus
The next morning, Harry was in a great deal of pain, and trying desparately not to think about it. A husky baritone cast the latest curse across the protected living room: "Imperio!"
This was the only chance Harry had, and he knew it. He threw the curse, thanking faux-Moody for this unforeseen advantage, then pretended he was under it, stifling his reflex to gag.
***
Hermione dreamed she was in Transfiguration, trying desparately not to doze off as Ron already had. She had mastered the material the previous year: turning the same cushions that they had Summoned and Banished into full sets of kitchen utensils.
Summoned... like Harry and his Firebolt at the Triwizard tournament... Harry... if only she could Summon him.
If only she could Summon him.
Her head jerked upright. Sleep solved so much, allowing the subconcious mind to sift through the day's events and put it in some order. She knew who else would want to save Harry, and also had the power to do so. She elbowed Ron, who was sleeping on a desk in the common room next to her, in the ribs, hard. "Dobby!" she hissed into his ear.
"Huh?"
"Dobby! We could Summon Harry back!"
Ron blinked. "But Herm, that charm isn't s'posed to be used on humans!"
"Would you rather have Harry dead?"
Ron sighed. He was experiencing extreme deja-vu. Hadn't Hermione pulled an antirule tirade somewhere during second year? His mind was rather groggy from his nap.
Without waiting for any further answer, Hermione whisked Ron out of the common room and around the corridors. Ron sighed again; this was getting to be a habit.
***
Draco woke in the hospital wing, noticed the IV needle, and ripped it out hastily with a scream. Madame Pomfrey bustled over and began to chide him harshly, something to do with 'well, I needed to get some food in you and you weren't concious'.
***
"Yous want to Summon Harry Potter?" Dobby asked, his bulbous eyes greenly bulging.
Hermione's brow was knit in worry. "I can't think of a better plan."
"Dobby will do anything to help Harry Potter!"
"Great. Come with me." Hermione, Pied Piper of Hogwart's, led her horde of boy and house-elf outside, whereupon she promptly began to shiver. Ron handed her his cloak, which she put on greatfully.
"On the count of three," she told them.
"One...
"Two...
"Three...
"ACCIO!"
***
Harry ran outside, pursued by Voldemort and Skeeter. He felt that his legs were about to give out on him, and he was almost ready to give himself up for dead, when he disappeared with a *crack*.
***
Harry flopped onto the snow in front of Hermione, Ron, and Dobby.
Ron winced when he saw Harry, or, more specifically, the blood sreaking Harry's cheeks, the torn robes, the bruises, and the mats of blood he chose prudently not to speculate on. Hermione levitated him to keep the weight off, and they ran towards the hospital wing.
***
Madame Pomfrey had just come to terms with Draco and was about to walk off to look for some antiseptic ointment to apply to Draco's forearm when Hermione burst in the door, bearing Harry.
Madame Pomfrey took one look and hustled the Boy who Lived into a bed. For once, Harry found he had no urge to resist. He tilted his head to the side idly while Pomfrey searched through drawers.
"Malfoy...?" Harry's voice was parched, cracked, soft, and tortured.
Draco looked over and saw Harry. His eyes grew big, and he had almost jumped off the cot when Madame Pomfrey fixed him with a glare that his instincts told him to obey. "Yes?" he whispered, relieved that Harry was back but concerned for the boy's obvious injuries.
"I'm... sorry..."
"Harry..." Draco choked on the name. "Don't be."
Harry smiled slightly. "Mmmm," he remarked, lacking energy to come up with a more enthusiastic response. It didn't even occur to him that he and Draco were supposed to be bitter enemies. His eyes fluttered shut and his head pressed more deeply into the pillow.
Draco watched his ex-nemesis for a bit, then gave up and retreated into his own head, a horror novel in its own right. He knew some of what Harry must have gone through, and, at that point, commenced to worry.
***
Hermione and Ron had been sent back to thier common room to do some worrying of thier own. What would happen to Harry? Would he be okay?
***
Dumbledore walked down to the hospital wing at the request of Madame Pomfrey. Apparently, two students and a house-elf had Summoned the boy back to Hogwart's. The only problem he had with that was that it could not be done, magickally, physically, or otherwise. It was merely impossible. He lost himself in thought and managed to walk right past the ornate collection of chamber pots that he would have ordinarily stopped to admire, as they had been the source of some confusion over the past years as to why he could never seem to find the room when he had a moment. The only way that it could happened is if the casters didn't know it couldn't work, and, in addition, had sufficient faith to allow it to happen. He swerved to narrowly avoid a large coat of armour that stood by the wall. He was glad of that, though: that enough people cared so strongly about Harry that the boundaries of Impossibility could be so readily crossed. There was only a single catch: He could not tell them, lest the faith be corrupt, and if they were to lose hope, there would be no power. Dumbledore, greatest Headmaster Hogwart's had ever seen, was frankly frightened.
***
Three days later, both Harry and Draco were released from the hospital wing. Harry was still rather fragile, and Draco was less than perfect himself, but neither could stand being cooped up and unable to talk for so long. It was gnawing at both thier minds, and while Harry would have preferred to brood over it alone, he found himself agreeing to wander off and spend some time with Draco. They finally settled into a small nook near the Great Hall together, resting.
"What was it?" Harry asked.
"The other night? You... rescued me..." Draco said.
"Why?"
"Because you're a hopeless Gryffindor and do that sort of thing."
"That's not quite what I meant."
"Hmmm?"
Harry grimaced. "I didn't recognise you, for one thing. For another thing, you have a wonderful life! Everyone worships you, you're hot as hell, and..." He trailed off momentarily, shocked. That last statement had come out of his mouth with out the interference of his brain. He shrugged and carried on. "So many people would want to be you. What... made you... want to do that?"
Draco sighed. "I was muggle-born and adopted as a torture toy," he said simply and concisely.
Harry intuitively understood. "Don't do it again."
Draco nodded slowly. "I'll try."
"I don't want to lose my reputation as a loyal Gryffindor."
Draco's face chilled suddenly and Harry shivered as the mask of apathy descended on the blonde. Draco whispered, "You don't..."
"There's so much to live for." Harry interrupted him, not really wanting to address the topic they'd come out to discuss. He didn't know what he felt and he wasn't ready to share his ignorance with the admittedly very attractive boy that was sitting about three inches from his nose.
Draco snorted, in contrast to his turbulent feelings. "What, a world tyranised by You-Know-Who?"
Harry gave him a McGonagall-esque Look. "Life is too precious. Suicide is the coward's option."
Draco realised he'd been heeding his father's instructions. He mentally muttered something along the lines of 'to hell with it' and decided to trust the Gryffindore with his emotions. "I need a lot of love. I'm emotionally high-maintenance, and I wasn't getting enough of it."
On impulse, Harry reached out a hand and clasped Draco's. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Draco repressed the fluttery feeling that accompanied the Quidditch-roughened hand.
At that point, Harry gritted his teeth, lifted the derailed conversation firmly and set it back on track. "What was that sex about?"
"You're not the only morsel of eye candy around, Potter."
"What?"
Draco smiled slightly. "Trust you'd not know your own beauty."
"What?"
"Simply put, I've been hot for you for quite some time."
It clicked. "Ohhhhhhh..." went Harry.
"You're a wet dream--"
Harry held up his hand. "Enough."
"It was amazing."
"I don't want a relationship based on sex."
"What else is there?"
"Emotion, love-- I'm not sure, I haven't tried it. Caring, watching each other's back specially. I guess best friendship with benefits and a bit more of... *something*".
Draco nodded slowly. "I think I get it."
"Good. Because I don't."
"Let me explain," said Draco helpfully. "I am a hot gay guy. You are a hot gay guy. I happen to like you a bit, which is more than I can say for most people. You like me because I'm Draco Malfoy and everyone likes me. We had spontaneous yet amazing sex after you saved my life. Therefore, if the fanfiction authors get their way, we are going to end up deeply in love and screwing like rabbits on aphrodisiacs. So, instead of fighting it, we can save ourselves a lot of angst and just start dating without all the hullabaloo. Sound good?"
It did, and Harry was reluctant to admit it. Draco closed the distance between them, hooking his arms gently around Harry's waist. "Sound good?" he asked again, persistently.
"Mmmm," said Harry languidly. Draco was warm and it felt good. If it were fated, then there was no point fighting it. Draco took that as assent.
They sat a moment in silence, curled up in each other's warmth.
Draco lifted their paralysis by leaning over and gently brushing his lips over one of Harry's newer cuts. "You're going to end up with another scar," he remarked softly.
Harry shrugged. "I guess. It doesn't matter."
***
Ron was walking down the hall when he heard Harry's voice. He rushed over, and saw his best friend cuddled up with Draco Malfoy.
Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 8
By Goddess JacquesPierre
Disclaimer: Sorry, they're not mine. I do not make billions of dollars each year. I do not make much of anything each year. They aren't mine. Doesn't this suck? We are glad that JK will graciously share her playthings with me (at least, I hope she will, after all I've done. If I'm really lucky, she won't want them back and she'll give them to me... well, I can hope, can't I?) No suing, please?
Rating: R
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.
"I didn't realise how hard it was to find a quote for every chapter when I started."
-Robert Asprin, paraphrased.
Note to all crazed fans with an addiction to HP fanfiction (hey, a rhyme! Perhaps that was intentional...): Here is your latest fix.
*time lapse, because I'm evil, lazy, and think you all should be able to figure it out.*
***
"Professor Dumbledore?" Ron asked.
"Yes, Mr. Weasley?"
"It's Harry."
Dumbledore looked up from the book he was reading. "Yes?"
"I saw him talking to Malfoy! They've been enemies forever! What's wrong with him?"
The Headmaster shut his book with a snap and sighed. "He's growing up."
Ron blinked. "What do you mean, growing up? He doesn't need to grow up!"
Dumbledore chuckled. "It wasn't an insult. I merely mean that he's changing. All children turn into adults at some point. They still retain their personalities, but become more refined, and in a sense wiser. It's a process that continues all through the life, but most pronouncedly during adolescence."
"Why hasn't Hermione "grown up", then?"
"You missed it."
"I missed it?"
"Back in third year, you barely spoke to her on account of her cat, and she was perpetually exhausted. That's when she grew up."
"Oh..." It was definitely something for him to think about. "Well, thanks, Professor."
"Certainly." He opened his book and resumed reading with a small smile. The youngest Weasley brother was taking this better than he had expected.
***
Harry woke up on a couch in the deserted Slytherin dorm, disoriented and confused. He yawned before asking, "Why has everything gone green?"
Draco smiled from his seat on the couch across the room. "Not a morning person, are you?"
"No... wait... what am I doing here?"
"We wanted to talk last night without being bothered by Granger or Weasley, remember?"
Harry sat up, suspicious but still groggy. "Mmm... talk or 'talk'?"
"Have some faith, Potter! Conversation, clean, pure, ordinary, chaste conversation. I spent the night across the room, if it makes you feel better."
"Oh."
Draco decided it was time to wake Harry up, and subsequently launched himself across the room and was about to kiss Harry before he was stopped.
He made a face fom Harry's lap.
"Quidditch reflexes," Harry explained. "But I'm not ready for that yet. Not to mention, I haven't brushed my teeth yet this morning."
Uncharactaristically, Draco giggled. "Eeew, morning breath!"
Harry blinked. "Riiiiight. Mind getting off me?"
"I've dreamed about getting you off lots!"
Harry hit Draco upside the head. "Either you or the author is on drugs right now, so sober up, get off my lap, and then we'll talk."
Draco sat on the other end of the sofa, pouting. "Awww... Harry..."
Harry finally laughed, then stopped. "Seriously, Drac."
"Fine."
"I want to get to know you better before anything else."
"But--"
"Regardless of the various hormones attributed to both rabbits and teenage boys."
"C'mon, Harry!"
"You're too much of a morning person."
"It wears off after I take a shower."
"Well, then, scoot! I could use one myself."
Draco's eyes lit up. "Really?"
"NO, get that thought out of your head right now."
***
Ron walked into the girl's dorm and bounced on Hermione's bed.
"Mmmmfff."
"Herm, wake up!" (bounce, bounce).
"Mmmf."
"Herm!"
"Mmm-- what?" Her eyes opened. "Oh, it's you."
"Yeah."
At that point, she woke up the rest of the way, and bolted out of bed, screeching. "RONALD WEASLEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING IN HERE? THIS IS A GIRL'S DORM!"
He blushed. "Er, maybe I'll go away until you're ready..."
Hermione looked down, realised she wasn't wearing anything, and grabbled her bathrobe hastily. "You're going to pay for that! Now, what do you want?"
"well..." Ron said in a small voice, "I just wanted to ask you about growing up..."
"Something you haven't done yet!" she snapped. "Now, go away, and I'll talk to you later." She marched him out of the door and slammed it behind him. "Boys..." she muttered under her breath as she lifted the hairbrush off a table.
***
Harry and Draco were curled up on the bench at the Ravenclaw table, fully dressed and a great deal more awake.
"I wouldn't have imagined you as a cuddling type," Harry remarked.
"You wouldn't have imagined me as anything."
"True."
"Being the son of a Death Eater doesn't give you a lot of experience with this sort of thing, and I always wanted more love than I got."
"What love you got?"
"My point."
"I know."
"I think that's why I like you now."
"What do you mean?"
"Everyone knows about those Muggles you grew up with."
"They were horrible." Harry drew a deep breath. "But it turns out they weren't Muggles."
"What?"
"Do you remember Rita Skeeter?"
"Her? That bitch I cooperated with because I wanted you to notice me?"
"That's why you did it?"
"Yes." Draco brushed it off. "What about her?"
"She's really my Aunt Petunia. Or-- my Aunt Petunia is really her?"
"Wait-- how?"
"I don't know how I didn't see it earlier. They were both forever sticking thier nose into what's none of their business, and masking things with untrue, horrible variations of the truth! It's only a small hop from one to the other."
"I didn't know your aunt."
"She hated me."
"I know that. I just haven't met her."
"Do you know of my uncle, then?"
"Vernon?"
"He's assimilated with Voldemort."
"Wha--?"
"They wanted to stamp the wizardry out of me. Any guesses why?"
It dawned. "Oh. They were trying to wipe you out?"
"They still are."
"They-- where were you?"
"I was-- the place I happened to grow up."
"What happened?"
Harry winced.
"Never mind, I know what happened. But-- oh god-- Harry..."
"Dumbledore saved my life so many times."
"Harry..."
"We're not safe now."
Draco leaned closer to Harry. "I know."
***
Author's Note: I will, at this point, apologise for the length of this chapter or lack thereof. I'm hoping that if I leave them at rotten, stinky cliffhangers or some semblance thereof, you will keep reading or at least yell at me for it. Reviews do wonders for an author's writing speed. You don't want to leave us on our own, trust me, so review the pieces you want to see updated.
By Goddess JacquesPierre
Disclaimer: I am mutilating JK's characters (while keeping them in character I hope) to fit my twisted purposes in fanfiction. The key part in that phrase: JK's characters. As in, they're not mine. *sigh*. The other part: FANfiction. Not THE ACTUAL CREATOR fiction, FANfiction. I write FANfiction. I am a FAN. I cool the regular creator by waving up and down or having blades that whirl around in a circle when you turn me on (wait...). The point being, I'm NOT JK, however much I might wish thereof.
Rating: R
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism.
"Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley of #4 Privet Drive were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank-you vey much."
-Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
Harry rolled over and woke up. His eyes opened to a dirty sock, which he pulled off his face. Sitting up to try to get his bearings, he hit his head on the ceiling painfully. After nursing the ensuing lump, he looked around carefully and recognised the room in which he was currently.
He wondered what sort of sick, twisted dream he was having. Then he noticed how much his head hurt. No, it was definitely not a dream. Then... where the fuck...
***
Draco slammed into the stone gargoyle, panting. Yes, he had been here before-- who did you think Dumbledore had spoken to about the Heir of Slytherin back in second year? Draco couldn't tell the Headmaster what little he knew at the time, but perhaps, because no harm was done then, he could tell Dumbledore something useful now. To hell with his carefully cultivated image, he was not going to lose anything before he had fully had it, and Harry was no exception. He cursed under his breath; he didn't know the password.
And, thanks to his crash landing, he now fully knew that stone gargoyles do indeed hurt when one so happens to collide with them. As if he didn't know. Ha. Ha.
He resolved to wait, knowing that he could slip up the stairs with little effort as soon as someone came out. Clutching the stitch in his side, he hoped to God or whoever looked after the idiot mortals who inhabit the earth-- there has to be someone who fully comprehends the concept of being out there, doesn't there?-- that the someone would HURRY UP before Harry-- Draco stopped the train of thought right there. Nothing would happen. Dumbledore would step in and save the day. He wasn't called the greatest headmaster the best school of wizarding had ever seen for nothing, despite everything his father had tried to tell him.
There was nothing left to do but wait.
Waiting, however, was not easy for the blonde. He now had the weight of confusion on his shoulders and no Harry to alleviate it with. If worst came to worst, Draco had thought earlier, then he would simply distract Harry by pouncing him onto the Hogwart's snow-blanketed lawn.
He'd never thought to think of a situation where Harry was abducted before he could even get at him. He began tugging at chunks of his hair in frustration. He hadn't noticed the strength of his attraction to Harry when the thought had first crossed his head back in second year when he was brainstorming a list of things that would really piss his father off. He hadn't noticed it growing stronger over the years since. He had noticed the reoccurring dreams about Harry, but he had chalked that one up to a surfeit of teenage hormones. Now that he'd sat down and thought about how long the sliver of emotion towards the Boy who Lived had been hidden within him, it wasn't surprising that the sliver was no longer a sliver, and, if he were talking wood, what he had blithely ignored until he'd ended up in bed with the object of his desire could have fueled a bonfire. He growled in frustration and started to beat his head against the harsh stone wall.
***
Hermione turned to Ron, who was playing chess with one of the twins, and poked him in the side.
"What is it?" Ron snapped, his redhead temper getting the better of him.
"Mmmm... hasn't Harry been acting rather oddly lately?"
"Ummm... wait... why do you ask?"
"He's been acting concerned about Malfoy, and I haven't seen him all day."
"I don't know, Herm, maybe you're just tired. It is eleven PM."
Hermione gave Ron a Look.
"Fine." Ron strove to think of a good reason that Harry was, in fact, acting normally for the sole purpose of proving Hermione wrong. As he thought, though... "Wait, Hermione-- he slept 'till three o'clock! Or... at least, that's what he said he was doing. I saw Hedwig flying around, in and out of his bed. Plus, he had the locking spell you taught him up."
Hermione stared. "Ron, has he ever done anything like this before?"
Ron thought again. Crickets chirped, then stopped because it was their bedtime. A thin sheen of perspiration glossed Ron's forehead. It was a bit before he spoke. "Damn."
Hermione could have smirked if she were the type and that was the time, but neither applied. "I was right?"
Ron wrinkled his nose at her, and nodded.
"We'd better find Dumbledore." Hermione said.
Ron blinked. "That far gone?"
Hermione looked at him. "I found something." Ron stared as Hermione grabbed his wrist. "I'll show you." In a flash, they were out of the common room and scrambling down the corridors of the school.
Three staircases later, Hermione stopped suddenly, and Ron, loosed from her death grip, hurtled into the nearest wall. He heard her mutter something, and, when he turned around, he saw a gorgeous bathroom exposed.
"Prefect's bathroom," Hermione told him in response to his baffled stare. She led him in and showed him a pile of two robes-- one soft and black, and one starched white. The white robe was covered in blood.
"Oh, shit." Ron gaped.
Hermione gave him a McGonagall stare. "Recognise 'em?"
Ron stepped over and gasped. "Harry's?"
Hermione looked at him. "That's not all." She flicked her wand and shimmer appeared in the air. "I came down here and was naturally worried about the blood, so I tried a spell that constructs an image of a person from any DNA that might have been left behind." She ignored Ron's blank look and pointed at the shimmer. It had turned into a wisp of a figure, misty but easily recognisable.
"Malfoy."
Ron nodded. "Right. Dumbledore. Pronto."
The two ran out of the bathroom and through the castle.
***
Harry was not a happy camper. He knew where he was, all right. He had spent a good portion of his early childhood here. And it looked like he was about to get answers as to why. However, they didn't look like they would be happy answers. The door had just swung open to reveal a heavyset form with a thick neck and a purplish complexion. Harry didn't know where his glasses were, but it seemed vaguely familiar from somewhere. Another figure came into view, thin, bony, and dressed in an outrageously gaudy outfit consisting mostly of a rather sickening shade of magenta. Harry couldn't place it... not yet.
***
Draco heard footsteps down the hall and abruptly stopped pounding his head against the wall. A thin trickle of blood ran down his temple. He regarded Harry's two best friends with considerable suspicion as they approached him at a trot. He pressed himself hard into the wall and hoped to high heaven that they wouldn't see him; he had no urgent wish to explain his prescence to the nosy buggers.
He was vaguely aware that the two were squabbling. It struck him as vaguely amusing. He found himself detatched and dizzy, not concentrating well at all.
Hermione stopped before the gargoyle and whispered to it, and she and Ron disappeared onto the winding staircase. He siezed the opportunity and rushed up the steps, clutching Harry's broken glasses as a token of legitimacy.
***
Harry placed it. Uncle Vernon and Rita Skeeter. No-- wait-- Aunt Petunia and Voldemort. How-- oh god-- Harry's head swum. Was this why his uncle had hated him so much? Because the Boy Who Lived was right in Voldemort's clutches-- Voldemort himself-- but was stopped by spells. Voldemort was hiding and feeding his nemesis, because he just so happened to be his uncle. That made sense, why they tried so hard to stamp out his magick. Once Dumbledore's spells lifted-- oh hell-- he would be completely vulnerable and there was shit Dumbledore could do about it.
And-- Rita Skeeter? And Aunt Petunia. There *was* a reason that blasted reporter harboured her grudge, because of her sister. Harry's mother was obviously not the only witch in the family.
It wasn't social status, it was a power struggle. And now-- here he was-- no glasses, no wand-- powerless against Vernon/Voldemort and Petunia/Skeeter. Damn.
***
The three students subconciously fell into a panting line before Fawkes, who squawked loudly and flew over to perch on Draco's shoulder (to his intense pleasure).
Hermione's eyes flew reflexively over, and she screamed. "Malfoy?"
He looked at her disinterestedly. It was Granger. He felt rather faint, and hated to associate with her-- he wouldn't blame her if she harboured a grudge-- but he handed her Harry's glasses. "He's gone," Draco remarked concisely and weakly. The thin stream of blood on his face had flowed far enough down that he tasted metal on the corner of his mouth, and he resisted a sudden urge to lick his lips.
Hermione stared in rapt horror, unable to look away. "His glasses..."
Draco looked at her. "He's been taken away. He's in danger." He felt his mind drift slowly away. "Save him if I can't make it."
Both Ron and Hermione were suitably astonished, and more so when the blonde keeled over in a dead faint.
***
Harry screamed.
***
Dumbledore stepped out of his office, told Ron to take the youngest Malfoy down to Madame Pomfrey, and asked Hermione what had happened.
Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 6
By Goddess JacquesPierre
Disclaimer: Um... does anyone want to pay me for this? No...? Somehow I thought so. Even if you did, though, I would tell you to hang on a bit, and see if I could get a release, etc. from JK (who would probably send me the way of Voldy in the series if I tried). I'm not making profit, I'm not claiming they're mine, all I'm doing is playing! Honest! I borrow everyone's toys!
Rating: R
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.
"Fuck it."
-Eminem (and probably a whole lot of other people, too).
Draco came to moments after he was laid in a pristine bed in the hospital wing, feeling extremely lightheaded. Madame Pomfrey gave him a severe look. "When was the last time you ate, young man?"
Draco's head spun. "Uh... three, four days?"
Ron stared. Not eating?
Draco's head whirled, tucked, and landed, giving new meaning to the term 'mental gymnastics'. He groaned.
Madame Pomfrey waved her wand briskly, materialising an IV next to Draco's bed.
Draco screamed (much as Harry was doing at that moment, but I don't want to get redundant).
***
[flashback]
"Common muggle," Lucius sneered at a seven-year old Draco, whose silver eyes were glazed open, frightened. A slight pink tint had appeared over the boy's cheeks, feverish. "Unable to heal himself magickally."
A strangled whimper wormed its way through Draco's swollen vocal cords. Sore throats and fevers did not grant one sympathy in the Malfoy household. Draco knew he was the toy in this, Lucius's latest game.
He was right. The needle, one of his mother's, glinted silver off his eyes before it jabbed into him like so many mosquitoes. Draco, already ill, was in no way able to withstand his father's little games. He wasn't quite sure what the point of this one was-- he never was, never quite figured out exactly what made this fun for his father-- but it hurt, not as much as other times, but still hurt and hurt and his head pounded and hurt and his face burned hot and hurt and hurt....
***
Madame Pomfrey frowned. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Draco whimpered softly and curled up, giving up.
She decided not to pry. Maybe the IV wasn't such a good idea-- she asked Ron to run down to the kitchens for some chicken soup. She sat down on the bed next to Draco and began the slow process of getting him out of this emotional tangle.
***
Hermione burst into tears as Dumbledore watched silently. Through her tears, she dropped Harry's glasses onto the table before them.
Dumbledore waited a moment before speaking. "What do you know?"
Words Hermione had never before spoken were on her lips, when she realised she did know something. She took a deep breath, sniffled, and began to talk. "I was in the Prefect's bathroom earlier today, when I found two sets of empty robes."
Dumbledore offered her a tissue, and she blew her nose before continuing to summarise how she figured out they were Harry's and Draco's. Tears kept leaking out of the corners of her eyes. "I just can't figure it out. Harry suddenly started acting weird over vacation, is all, and then, next thing I know, he's gone!"
Dumbledore nodded. "I just found out something, Hermione, and it's not at all good."
Hermione looked back at him. "Tell me."
The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes was nearly gone. "Harry's uncle Vernon is Voldemort."
"What?"
"Harry's mother, in giving her life, repelled Avada Kedavra from Harry. It rebounded onto Voldemort, stripping him of his powers. They created another person. Vernon was an empty shell of a person, walking around, making drills. He had no real life in him. The essence of Voldemort was floating around Harry and took root on his uncle, slowly changing him nearer and nearer to Voldemort. After the Triwizard tournament last year, Voldemort proper and Vernon fused themselves together to counteract each of the half-lives they had lived for the past fifteen years. They have been learning themselves ever since, and only now have finally been able to break the protection I laid on their house. Vernon as a seperate entity no longer exists. He had been absorbed into Voldemort, and Voldemort has been absorbed into him, but the resulting creation is still, in all relevant ways, Voldemort.
"The only thing that worries me is a nasty little thing about emotion and energy. I'm certain you know about this, Hermione?"
She nodded numbly, still processing.
"There is some thirty years worth of cumulative hatred burning within Voldemort. The energy from that hatred is going to be behind every spell they work against Harry. That is what worries me."
Hermione waited for it all to sink in, then spoke. "But where does Malfoy fit in in all this?"
***
Ron, panting and red, burst in the door with a plastic container of broth.
Draco caught the scent of it from across the room. "I'm a strict vegetarian," he remarked before he lost conciousness for the second time.
***
At that precise moment, at number 4 Privet Drive, Harry fainted.
***
Notes: I was talking to a friend and they said that Krum is dead next, and I wanted to know what you all thought about that. I don't want Krum to die, nor did I want Diggory to die. Heck, I don't want Voldy to die (no more books...waah... not that they're coming out anyways). So, opinions, anyone?
I'm sorry this chapter is so short, I wanted to get it out before I get caught up in weekday bustle.
Thank-you ever so much for the wonderful, lovely reviews!
Transcending the Bullshit, chapter 7
By Goddess JacquesPierre
Disclaimer: Does this *really* need to be said? This is part seven, you guys! Well... if you really need it... Draco and Harry are on my Christmas wishlist, and they're one-of-a-kind. They're a collector's dream, and I'm trying for it, but they're not mine yet, so I'm deferring to JK to avoid legal difficulty. Don't sue, please, I'm not Eminem ("For every million I make, another relative sues") and I can't afford it. Really, unless you want my collection of ripped, reused wrapping paper.
Rating: R
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.
"You have been told: an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. But I say to you: love your enemies as your friends... for do not tax collectors love thier kin?"
-Jesus
The next morning, Harry was in a great deal of pain, and trying desparately not to think about it. A husky baritone cast the latest curse across the protected living room: "Imperio!"
This was the only chance Harry had, and he knew it. He threw the curse, thanking faux-Moody for this unforeseen advantage, then pretended he was under it, stifling his reflex to gag.
***
Hermione dreamed she was in Transfiguration, trying desparately not to doze off as Ron already had. She had mastered the material the previous year: turning the same cushions that they had Summoned and Banished into full sets of kitchen utensils.
Summoned... like Harry and his Firebolt at the Triwizard tournament... Harry... if only she could Summon him.
If only she could Summon him.
Her head jerked upright. Sleep solved so much, allowing the subconcious mind to sift through the day's events and put it in some order. She knew who else would want to save Harry, and also had the power to do so. She elbowed Ron, who was sleeping on a desk in the common room next to her, in the ribs, hard. "Dobby!" she hissed into his ear.
"Huh?"
"Dobby! We could Summon Harry back!"
Ron blinked. "But Herm, that charm isn't s'posed to be used on humans!"
"Would you rather have Harry dead?"
Ron sighed. He was experiencing extreme deja-vu. Hadn't Hermione pulled an antirule tirade somewhere during second year? His mind was rather groggy from his nap.
Without waiting for any further answer, Hermione whisked Ron out of the common room and around the corridors. Ron sighed again; this was getting to be a habit.
***
Draco woke in the hospital wing, noticed the IV needle, and ripped it out hastily with a scream. Madame Pomfrey bustled over and began to chide him harshly, something to do with 'well, I needed to get some food in you and you weren't concious'.
***
"Yous want to Summon Harry Potter?" Dobby asked, his bulbous eyes greenly bulging.
Hermione's brow was knit in worry. "I can't think of a better plan."
"Dobby will do anything to help Harry Potter!"
"Great. Come with me." Hermione, Pied Piper of Hogwart's, led her horde of boy and house-elf outside, whereupon she promptly began to shiver. Ron handed her his cloak, which she put on greatfully.
"On the count of three," she told them.
"One...
"Two...
"Three...
"ACCIO!"
***
Harry ran outside, pursued by Voldemort and Skeeter. He felt that his legs were about to give out on him, and he was almost ready to give himself up for dead, when he disappeared with a *crack*.
***
Harry flopped onto the snow in front of Hermione, Ron, and Dobby.
Ron winced when he saw Harry, or, more specifically, the blood sreaking Harry's cheeks, the torn robes, the bruises, and the mats of blood he chose prudently not to speculate on. Hermione levitated him to keep the weight off, and they ran towards the hospital wing.
***
Madame Pomfrey had just come to terms with Draco and was about to walk off to look for some antiseptic ointment to apply to Draco's forearm when Hermione burst in the door, bearing Harry.
Madame Pomfrey took one look and hustled the Boy who Lived into a bed. For once, Harry found he had no urge to resist. He tilted his head to the side idly while Pomfrey searched through drawers.
"Malfoy...?" Harry's voice was parched, cracked, soft, and tortured.
Draco looked over and saw Harry. His eyes grew big, and he had almost jumped off the cot when Madame Pomfrey fixed him with a glare that his instincts told him to obey. "Yes?" he whispered, relieved that Harry was back but concerned for the boy's obvious injuries.
"I'm... sorry..."
"Harry..." Draco choked on the name. "Don't be."
Harry smiled slightly. "Mmmm," he remarked, lacking energy to come up with a more enthusiastic response. It didn't even occur to him that he and Draco were supposed to be bitter enemies. His eyes fluttered shut and his head pressed more deeply into the pillow.
Draco watched his ex-nemesis for a bit, then gave up and retreated into his own head, a horror novel in its own right. He knew some of what Harry must have gone through, and, at that point, commenced to worry.
***
Hermione and Ron had been sent back to thier common room to do some worrying of thier own. What would happen to Harry? Would he be okay?
***
Dumbledore walked down to the hospital wing at the request of Madame Pomfrey. Apparently, two students and a house-elf had Summoned the boy back to Hogwart's. The only problem he had with that was that it could not be done, magickally, physically, or otherwise. It was merely impossible. He lost himself in thought and managed to walk right past the ornate collection of chamber pots that he would have ordinarily stopped to admire, as they had been the source of some confusion over the past years as to why he could never seem to find the room when he had a moment. The only way that it could happened is if the casters didn't know it couldn't work, and, in addition, had sufficient faith to allow it to happen. He swerved to narrowly avoid a large coat of armour that stood by the wall. He was glad of that, though: that enough people cared so strongly about Harry that the boundaries of Impossibility could be so readily crossed. There was only a single catch: He could not tell them, lest the faith be corrupt, and if they were to lose hope, there would be no power. Dumbledore, greatest Headmaster Hogwart's had ever seen, was frankly frightened.
***
Three days later, both Harry and Draco were released from the hospital wing. Harry was still rather fragile, and Draco was less than perfect himself, but neither could stand being cooped up and unable to talk for so long. It was gnawing at both thier minds, and while Harry would have preferred to brood over it alone, he found himself agreeing to wander off and spend some time with Draco. They finally settled into a small nook near the Great Hall together, resting.
"What was it?" Harry asked.
"The other night? You... rescued me..." Draco said.
"Why?"
"Because you're a hopeless Gryffindor and do that sort of thing."
"That's not quite what I meant."
"Hmmm?"
Harry grimaced. "I didn't recognise you, for one thing. For another thing, you have a wonderful life! Everyone worships you, you're hot as hell, and..." He trailed off momentarily, shocked. That last statement had come out of his mouth with out the interference of his brain. He shrugged and carried on. "So many people would want to be you. What... made you... want to do that?"
Draco sighed. "I was muggle-born and adopted as a torture toy," he said simply and concisely.
Harry intuitively understood. "Don't do it again."
Draco nodded slowly. "I'll try."
"I don't want to lose my reputation as a loyal Gryffindor."
Draco's face chilled suddenly and Harry shivered as the mask of apathy descended on the blonde. Draco whispered, "You don't..."
"There's so much to live for." Harry interrupted him, not really wanting to address the topic they'd come out to discuss. He didn't know what he felt and he wasn't ready to share his ignorance with the admittedly very attractive boy that was sitting about three inches from his nose.
Draco snorted, in contrast to his turbulent feelings. "What, a world tyranised by You-Know-Who?"
Harry gave him a McGonagall-esque Look. "Life is too precious. Suicide is the coward's option."
Draco realised he'd been heeding his father's instructions. He mentally muttered something along the lines of 'to hell with it' and decided to trust the Gryffindore with his emotions. "I need a lot of love. I'm emotionally high-maintenance, and I wasn't getting enough of it."
On impulse, Harry reached out a hand and clasped Draco's. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Draco repressed the fluttery feeling that accompanied the Quidditch-roughened hand.
At that point, Harry gritted his teeth, lifted the derailed conversation firmly and set it back on track. "What was that sex about?"
"You're not the only morsel of eye candy around, Potter."
"What?"
Draco smiled slightly. "Trust you'd not know your own beauty."
"What?"
"Simply put, I've been hot for you for quite some time."
It clicked. "Ohhhhhhh..." went Harry.
"You're a wet dream--"
Harry held up his hand. "Enough."
"It was amazing."
"I don't want a relationship based on sex."
"What else is there?"
"Emotion, love-- I'm not sure, I haven't tried it. Caring, watching each other's back specially. I guess best friendship with benefits and a bit more of... *something*".
Draco nodded slowly. "I think I get it."
"Good. Because I don't."
"Let me explain," said Draco helpfully. "I am a hot gay guy. You are a hot gay guy. I happen to like you a bit, which is more than I can say for most people. You like me because I'm Draco Malfoy and everyone likes me. We had spontaneous yet amazing sex after you saved my life. Therefore, if the fanfiction authors get their way, we are going to end up deeply in love and screwing like rabbits on aphrodisiacs. So, instead of fighting it, we can save ourselves a lot of angst and just start dating without all the hullabaloo. Sound good?"
It did, and Harry was reluctant to admit it. Draco closed the distance between them, hooking his arms gently around Harry's waist. "Sound good?" he asked again, persistently.
"Mmmm," said Harry languidly. Draco was warm and it felt good. If it were fated, then there was no point fighting it. Draco took that as assent.
They sat a moment in silence, curled up in each other's warmth.
Draco lifted their paralysis by leaning over and gently brushing his lips over one of Harry's newer cuts. "You're going to end up with another scar," he remarked softly.
Harry shrugged. "I guess. It doesn't matter."
***
Ron was walking down the hall when he heard Harry's voice. He rushed over, and saw his best friend cuddled up with Draco Malfoy.
Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 8
By Goddess JacquesPierre
Disclaimer: Sorry, they're not mine. I do not make billions of dollars each year. I do not make much of anything each year. They aren't mine. Doesn't this suck? We are glad that JK will graciously share her playthings with me (at least, I hope she will, after all I've done. If I'm really lucky, she won't want them back and she'll give them to me... well, I can hope, can't I?) No suing, please?
Rating: R
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.
"I didn't realise how hard it was to find a quote for every chapter when I started."
-Robert Asprin, paraphrased.
Note to all crazed fans with an addiction to HP fanfiction (hey, a rhyme! Perhaps that was intentional...): Here is your latest fix.
*time lapse, because I'm evil, lazy, and think you all should be able to figure it out.*
***
"Professor Dumbledore?" Ron asked.
"Yes, Mr. Weasley?"
"It's Harry."
Dumbledore looked up from the book he was reading. "Yes?"
"I saw him talking to Malfoy! They've been enemies forever! What's wrong with him?"
The Headmaster shut his book with a snap and sighed. "He's growing up."
Ron blinked. "What do you mean, growing up? He doesn't need to grow up!"
Dumbledore chuckled. "It wasn't an insult. I merely mean that he's changing. All children turn into adults at some point. They still retain their personalities, but become more refined, and in a sense wiser. It's a process that continues all through the life, but most pronouncedly during adolescence."
"Why hasn't Hermione "grown up", then?"
"You missed it."
"I missed it?"
"Back in third year, you barely spoke to her on account of her cat, and she was perpetually exhausted. That's when she grew up."
"Oh..." It was definitely something for him to think about. "Well, thanks, Professor."
"Certainly." He opened his book and resumed reading with a small smile. The youngest Weasley brother was taking this better than he had expected.
***
Harry woke up on a couch in the deserted Slytherin dorm, disoriented and confused. He yawned before asking, "Why has everything gone green?"
Draco smiled from his seat on the couch across the room. "Not a morning person, are you?"
"No... wait... what am I doing here?"
"We wanted to talk last night without being bothered by Granger or Weasley, remember?"
Harry sat up, suspicious but still groggy. "Mmm... talk or 'talk'?"
"Have some faith, Potter! Conversation, clean, pure, ordinary, chaste conversation. I spent the night across the room, if it makes you feel better."
"Oh."
Draco decided it was time to wake Harry up, and subsequently launched himself across the room and was about to kiss Harry before he was stopped.
He made a face fom Harry's lap.
"Quidditch reflexes," Harry explained. "But I'm not ready for that yet. Not to mention, I haven't brushed my teeth yet this morning."
Uncharactaristically, Draco giggled. "Eeew, morning breath!"
Harry blinked. "Riiiiight. Mind getting off me?"
"I've dreamed about getting you off lots!"
Harry hit Draco upside the head. "Either you or the author is on drugs right now, so sober up, get off my lap, and then we'll talk."
Draco sat on the other end of the sofa, pouting. "Awww... Harry..."
Harry finally laughed, then stopped. "Seriously, Drac."
"Fine."
"I want to get to know you better before anything else."
"But--"
"Regardless of the various hormones attributed to both rabbits and teenage boys."
"C'mon, Harry!"
"You're too much of a morning person."
"It wears off after I take a shower."
"Well, then, scoot! I could use one myself."
Draco's eyes lit up. "Really?"
"NO, get that thought out of your head right now."
***
Ron walked into the girl's dorm and bounced on Hermione's bed.
"Mmmmfff."
"Herm, wake up!" (bounce, bounce).
"Mmmf."
"Herm!"
"Mmm-- what?" Her eyes opened. "Oh, it's you."
"Yeah."
At that point, she woke up the rest of the way, and bolted out of bed, screeching. "RONALD WEASLEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING IN HERE? THIS IS A GIRL'S DORM!"
He blushed. "Er, maybe I'll go away until you're ready..."
Hermione looked down, realised she wasn't wearing anything, and grabbled her bathrobe hastily. "You're going to pay for that! Now, what do you want?"
"well..." Ron said in a small voice, "I just wanted to ask you about growing up..."
"Something you haven't done yet!" she snapped. "Now, go away, and I'll talk to you later." She marched him out of the door and slammed it behind him. "Boys..." she muttered under her breath as she lifted the hairbrush off a table.
***
Harry and Draco were curled up on the bench at the Ravenclaw table, fully dressed and a great deal more awake.
"I wouldn't have imagined you as a cuddling type," Harry remarked.
"You wouldn't have imagined me as anything."
"True."
"Being the son of a Death Eater doesn't give you a lot of experience with this sort of thing, and I always wanted more love than I got."
"What love you got?"
"My point."
"I know."
"I think that's why I like you now."
"What do you mean?"
"Everyone knows about those Muggles you grew up with."
"They were horrible." Harry drew a deep breath. "But it turns out they weren't Muggles."
"What?"
"Do you remember Rita Skeeter?"
"Her? That bitch I cooperated with because I wanted you to notice me?"
"That's why you did it?"
"Yes." Draco brushed it off. "What about her?"
"She's really my Aunt Petunia. Or-- my Aunt Petunia is really her?"
"Wait-- how?"
"I don't know how I didn't see it earlier. They were both forever sticking thier nose into what's none of their business, and masking things with untrue, horrible variations of the truth! It's only a small hop from one to the other."
"I didn't know your aunt."
"She hated me."
"I know that. I just haven't met her."
"Do you know of my uncle, then?"
"Vernon?"
"He's assimilated with Voldemort."
"Wha--?"
"They wanted to stamp the wizardry out of me. Any guesses why?"
It dawned. "Oh. They were trying to wipe you out?"
"They still are."
"They-- where were you?"
"I was-- the place I happened to grow up."
"What happened?"
Harry winced.
"Never mind, I know what happened. But-- oh god-- Harry..."
"Dumbledore saved my life so many times."
"Harry..."
"We're not safe now."
Draco leaned closer to Harry. "I know."
***
Author's Note: I will, at this point, apologise for the length of this chapter or lack thereof. I'm hoping that if I leave them at rotten, stinky cliffhangers or some semblance thereof, you will keep reading or at least yell at me for it. Reviews do wonders for an author's writing speed. You don't want to leave us on our own, trust me, so review the pieces you want to see updated.