I did not have any plans to continue this, but it seems as if a sequel was wanted, and Rupert had an idea for a sequel, so there! A sequel. It's a messy, squicky, humor, slishy-sloshy-slashy thing.
And thanks so very much to everyone who reviewed last time, you had me grinning like an idiot! g I appreciate it so very much. ^__^ And that's about as mushy and gushy as I'll get.
Once again, slash lies ahead. SLASH. All righty, then?
Note: Draco POV, takes place amidst the third book--after the Slytherins' first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Lupin.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and is being used without permission, but not for profit. The author does not take responsibility for any side effects produced by this fic.
Boggart Fantasies: Back to the Closet
By J.J. the hinkypunk
Goyle, you're just jealous because you've never screwed a boggart in a closet before, I smirked. I grabbed my first serving of waffles, smothered them in syrup, and topped it off with frog legs. Crabbe and Goyle looked at me.
Well, it isn't everyday that we get the opportunity, you know. My boggart isn't drop dead sexy, you know, and I don't want to screw a werewolf, thank you very much, Goyle remarked. Crabbe laughed.
Why not? It's the best you'll do! he said teasingly. Probably true, I noted.
Shut up, crab-head. You won't do any better. Also true. I'd like to say I'm the most handsome of the Sytherins (much more so than Crabbe or Goyle), and I would, if I weren't such a sweet modest guy. Wait a minute, that didn't sound right. Yes, there's no question about it; I'm the most handsome Slytherin.
Goyle stopped shoving food in his mouth. It looked as though he came upon some type of epiphany. What is your boggart, Malfoy? I mean, you didn't get to fight it yesterday in class...
I've never fought one before. I narrowed my eyes, trying not to blink. I had lying down to a science.
Goyle looked surprised. He went on eating.
Breakfast ended and we trotted merrily off. Grabbe and Goyle followed me to the dorms, nearly begging me to let them use my (not so) trusty Nimbus 2001. I'd let them touch it, at best. Then I started thinking about Quidditch. A smile crossed my face, I knew I'd beat Potty this year. I was going to be Slytherin's seeker again, and it'll be back to the way it was before--Slytherin will win the Quidditch Cup. That'll show Potty he doesn't own the place. I was twice the flier he was. I'd worked at it over the summer.
Potty's face floated into my mind again. I could see his scrawny limbs around me, pinning me to the wall of the closet, telling me he wanted me. I shuddered momentarily. Last night had been disturbing. I'd rather not have thought about it, but I couldn't help it. There was something fishy going on. I checked my wristwatch. It informed me Potions began in twenty minutes.
I told Crabbe and Goyle I'd be right back, that I had left my hat in the Great Hall and had to go get it. I stepped outside the Slytherin house, and stumbled upon Professor Flitwick, who had been humming in an extraordinarily high voice. Oh, excuse me, Mr. Malfoy. Say, you wouldn't happen to be going to the east wing, would you? he asked hastily. It seemed as if he were in a hurry. I thought for a moment. I was not really planning on going anywhere. I shrugged. Well, I'll award five points to Slytherin if you run an errand for me. I seem to have left a round, silver box in a small closet over there--in the east wing. You wouldn't mind bringing it back, would you? He didn't give me any time to answer before he said, Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, I'll keep that in mind for the future. He walked off and called over his shoulder, It shouldn't be too hard to find!
I shuffled my feet on my way and realized Flitwick's box sounded familiar. Oh, damn. That must have been the box the boggart was in last night. Shrugging, I paced on over to the east wing and shifted my eyes around looking for the door of the closet. I wasn't really sure which one it was; I couldn't remember from last night since it had been pitch black in the corridor. I decided to pull out the wand, and muttered under my breath. I held my arm perpendicular to my body and let the wand guide me to the closet with the box and the boggart.
I reached a small wooden door with a tarnished brass handle. I opened it and peeked in, trying to see if the boggart was still there--half of me hoped it wasn't, while the other half of me was curious, I couldn't understand why. The closet was dark and shadowed, but when I opened the door completely, the boggart had already shifted shape. I could hear Harry's soft breathing, and I could see his stickly body silhouetted beside a few musty broomsticks.
I whispered, lighting the closet with my wand. My eyes traipsed over Harry. He looked the same as always, skinny underneath his massive robes, his black hair sprouting in all directions, those awful round glasses, that repulsive bile-like scar... he was poisonous like some rattlesnake, creeping at my feet. His thin lips twisted into an acute smile, and his crystal-green eyes lit with passion. I remembered to breathe finally, and inhaled his smell, it was the smell of Gryffindor, it was the smell of abhorrence, the smell I dreaded.
No, take control, Malfoy. He's got muggle blood. Harry's no match for a pure-blood, he can't even compete with you. I tightened my grip on my wand and outstretched my hand, ready to stage a coup d'etat, repeating over and over in my head. Finish him now, I thought to myself.
You came back for me, Malfoy. I told you you wanted me. Harry spoke, words erupting from his mouth as I watched intently.
But... I... don't want you, okay? I braced myself, expecting him to attack me like last time, and shove me into the wall of the closet, engulfing me with a famished mouth. But he stayed back this time, taking a different, less direct approach.
All right, suit yourself, Malfoy. What, you're too good for me? Is that it? I'd like to settle this in a Quidditch game, if you don't mind, he paused. Yes, you are too good for me, aren't you? You, the arrogant Slytherin, with your hopes of becoming some dark wizard and ruling the world, and your hubris. You'll get yourself into a mess if you keep acting this way. You're too good for everyone, aren't you.
I could feel his sharp eyes beating into mine now, burning through my befuddled face like a laser. He had me. Potty knew how to get inside someone, he really did. I remained nonchalant, or at least, I tried. I was not too good for everyone. But I thought myself superior to Harry Potter, the boy who lived. He was already a brilliant wizard when he was a child, he was so revered by the magical community. There was something so different about him, he was a creature I did not know or comprehend. And there he was, right before me, full of desire.
Honestly, I wanted him just as much.
I would have had him, too. That stupid Mudblood had to ruin it, with her constant prying into other people's business. I didn't know it at the time, but she was walking around in the east wing's hallways after speaking the to the Muggle Studies professor about next year's course.
I allowed Harry to emerge and sink into me. His warm hands wrapped around my waist, and his face inched towards mine. I shut my eyes and illustrated the oncoming kiss in my head in anticipation. We locked our lips together, our wild tongues mingled until I couldn't breath. But still the kiss lasted, suffocating both of us. I didn't care if I fainted, I didn't care if I died. Somewhere I lost control of my actions and all that was left of me was a body constructed of lean muscle that was being consumed by Harry. He slid his hands up my robes and peeled them open, gliding them down my chest, and swirling the tips of his fingers around one nipple. I knew you wanted me, Malfoy. He smiled, and I think I smiled back, I'm not sure. I was a goner.
Footsteps. Someone opened the closet door. I jumped in horror. Suddenly, I saw Hermione Granger's face stick itself into the closet. Harry? Is that you? I thought I heard your voice. She proceeded further into the closet, when Harry was standing over me, ready to rip away my robes. I was so close.
Damn her, damn her, damn her.
In an instant, Harry wasn't kissing me anymore, he was gone. What I found was a very confused Professor McGonagall, who had her arms wrapped around me and her head turned in Hermione's direction. Oh, god, get off me! What the hell are you doing?! I tried to say, but, once again, I was speechless. I'd forgotten it was a boggart, and it had taken the shape of Hermione's greatest fear instead of mine. She shouted, Hermione, you've failed your finals! whilst her body was frozen, adjacent to me.
Hermione blinked in absolute turmoil. She was wondering what McGonagall was doing on top of me, no doubt. Oh dear... she muttered, turning her head.
A boggart, Mudblood, it's a boggart! I snarled. She whimpered before realizing that it was her turn to dispose of the boggart, and with a loud, , McGonagall started rolling on the floor in a fit of giggles.
I left the closet in a haste, completely forgetting about Flitwick's box. Hermione followed at a distance, flashing odd looks at me every now and then.
I checked my wristwatch once more; two minutes until Potions began. I slid into the dungeon and took my seat in between Crabbe and Goyle. Crabbe looked at me with curiosity and asked, Where have you been, Malfoy?
You know, the usual.
Screwing a boggart in the closet? Goyle inferred. I shook my head.
Nah, I've moved on from them. I was screwing Professor McGonagall, I retorted.
With raised eyebrows, Crabbe and Goyle's eyes were glued to me.
I repeat myself; you make some pretty sick jokes, Malfoy, Goyle sputtered with a laugh.
Yes, I know. I grinned, but all through Potions Hermione Granger gaped at me in horror. However, I must admit, I was too busy shooting glances at the real Harry to care in the slightest.
end fic
Erm...
J.J.
hiding under a desk
