disclaimer: Oh, you know I don't own Harry or any of them. If I did, I'd make them do worse things than what they're doing here.
AN: Ah, don't hate me 'cuz I'm crazy, hate me 'cuz I'm eeevil. No, really. This is just my idea of what things would be like if the characters were actors and not really the people from the books. So it's sort of AU, but not quite...and also a little confusing, I guess, but that's not surprising given that this is one of *my* stories...
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In a small fanfiction studio at Fanfiction.net, a short, blue-haired elven director was tapping her foot impatiently. She was running behind schedule on her current 'fic, and the main character was late.
Harry Potter strode into the studio without fanfare, but his sudden presence was enough to make most people dive under tables, gulp down aspirin, or plug their ears.
"You're late, Potter," the blue haired elf in the director's chair hissed. "I don't have time to deal with your crap. Get into costume and get on that set, now."
Harry sneered at her and shrugged into his student's robe. "Sorry, Elfie. I had an autograph signing breakfast. I tried to get away, but the fans just wouldn't let me." He snatched a cup of coffee from the hands of a passing crew worker. Ignoring the outraged and slightly fearful look he got, he took a sip and strolled over to the script table. "So, what scene are we doing today?"
"The one with you and Draco in the trophy room. Get your ass on that set!" the elf roared.
Harry handed the coffee back to its original owner and sauntered over to the set. Draco Malfoy was already there, and the make-up crew was putting the finishing touches on his face. As usual, Draco looked miserable and nervous. He tried to bite his nails, and was slapped on the wrist by a make-up artist. He sighed and settled for worrying at the hem of his robe. When he saw Harry, he seemed to shrink three sizes and grow even more nervous, if possible. His gray contacts fell out, revealing two perfectly ordinary brown eyes.
"Oh damn! Contacts! Please! I lost them again!" Draco looked on the verge of tears. The costume manager handed him one of the six sets of spares they had for him.
"That time of the month again, Draco?" Harry was pleasantly spiteful as he put on his glasses. His hair was done up in the same messy style every morning by his agent, so there was no need to prepare him any further for the scene.
"Lucky bastard, you don't have to wear contacts. You don't have to look like a friggin' ghost for every fic, you just have to put on those damn glasses and act decent. I suppose it's a stretch for you, though." Draco sniffed and began biting his nails. "Can we get this over with? It's bad enough that you were late, but now the elf won't let us leave until we get this perfect."
Harry put on his patented 'I'm too cute to possibly be guilty of anything' look. "Well, you can stay then, seeing as you've got that silly thing called a work ethic. I've got lunch to do with Voldemort and my mother."
"She's not really your mother," Draco pointed out. "She isn't even related to you."
"So? It helps to keep the image if I call her that. Can't let anyone suspect that I'm acting out of character." Harry took a small mirror out of his pocket and made sure that his hair was still artfully disarrayed. "Besides, she's been hitting on me lately, despite the fact that she's married to Voldie, and I'm not in the least bit attracted to her at all, so it helps to keep her off my ass if I call her 'mother'."
"You're sick, you know that?" Draco fidgeted.
Harry smiled sweetly in reply.
"Places! Places everybody! Scene three- action!" The elfgirl began whacking people with her megaphone to get them to hurry up. The studio went silent as the scene began.
Harry strode across the set to slam Draco into the wall. "Look, Malfoy, I don't know what game you're playing, but frankly I'm sick of it! Tell me what the hell is going on!"
Draco trembled in Harry's grasp, his pale eyes widening slightly in shock. He quickly recovered, and his usual obnoxious persona reappeared. "Game, Potter? You think this is all a game?" He pulled Harry's hands off of his robes and walked away. "If you can't figure out what's going on yet, then you're slower than I thought," he drawled.
"Really? If I'm so slow, then how did I manage to steal your wand?" Harry held up the slender piece of wood and unicorn hair triumphantly. "Tell me what you're trying to pull and I won't break it."
Hermione and Neville entered the studio silently and went to stand behind the director as the scene played on. "He acts like a right prat so very well," Neville whispered to her.
"That's 'cause he is one," she replied. "Now hush, I want to watch."
Draco recovered from his shock and outrage fairly well. Two bright spots of color had appeared on his pale cheeks. "You…how dare you," he hissed. "Give it back, Potter."
"No." Harry was enjoying this thoroughly, though he was trying hard to hide it.
"Fine. Meet me in-"
"The trophy room, I know. Or was it the empty classroom this time? Maybe it was the astronomy tower, but then you'd have said "on" and not "in" so I guess that's out. Wait- I've got it! You want me to meet me in the Forbidden Forest! That's always a good one, but it isn't used quite as often…" Harry looked thoughtful as the entire studio fell into shocked silence. He shrugged. "I give up. Where?"
"CUT!!!!" Elfgirl screamed loud enough to send Hermione and Neville to the floor, stunned. "What do you think you're doing, Potter?! FOLLOW THE FRICKEN' SCRIPT, DAMMIT!!!"
Harry shrugged. "Well, it just seems to me that we could skip all this foreplay and crap and get this over with quickly." He turned to Draco. "Look, why don't I just rip your clothes off now and ravish you here in this hallway, since that's what'll end up happening anyway. Then we can get 'Mione over here to slap you in the face for seducing me, and we finish off holding each other and crying about how we've loved each other all along. Whadya say?"
There was a loud *thump* as Draco fainted and hit the floor.
"Absolutely out of the question, Potter. This is a romance fic, not porn! The rating is PG-13, not NC-17, and I don't write lemons! I don't care how much you want Draco's ass; you're not getting it on my set! Will somebody please revive the ghost?" The director was extremely cross, to put it lightly.
Hermione sighed. "At this rate, Draco won't be done 'til six. He's got an angst-fic at three that he can't be late for, it'll be the fourth time this month."
Neville shrugged. "Draco should have known better than to book another fic on the same day he had a romance with Harry. The two of them just don't work together very well."
"They'd work together fine if Harry would stop being such a prick," Hermione sniffed. "Look, they've got Draco conscious again."
After being repeatedly hit over the head with the director's megaphone, the pale-haired boy finally came to. The elf bounced back to her folding chair and began shouting orders. "Alright, we're skipping the hall scene and going right on to the trophy room. Plot development is over done anyway. Potter, any more embellishments on the script and I'll write you in a lemon with McGonnagal. PLACES!!"
"You wouldn't have the stomach for it," Harry sneered, but he was obviously shaken by the threat. "Besides, she's my aunt, and-"
"Not in cannon, she isn't!" the elf roared. "Scene four- ready, action!" The lights went up, and once again, the studio fell silent. On stage, Draco and Harry took their places and began.
Draco stood at the window, looking out across the grounds. Moonlight framed his already ghost-like features, making him seem even more pale and ethereal. For a moment Harry wondered if it was really Draco standing there, and not some strange, beautiful and unearthly spirit made of moonbeams that had been trapped on this plane. The look on his face was certainly tortured enough.
"So you decided to show up." Draco didn't look away from the window, his voice barely above a whisper. It sent chills of some unknown feeling down Harry's spine. It certainly wasn't fear; Harry Potter was experienced enough with fear to know what it felt like. Whatever it was it certainly wasn't unpleasant. Quite the contrary, in fact...
"Five bucks says he ruins it by the end of the next paragraph," Neville whispered to Hermione.
"You're on," she hissed back, earning both of them a glare from the director.
"What did you think I'd do, stand you up? Oh, wait, that's what you'd have done, isn't it? I'm quite sorry to say I'm nothing at all like you, Malfoy." Harry's voice was laden with sarcasm. Draco flinched slightly at the harsh words, making Harry feel like a heel. Harry the heel...It had a nice ring to it. And hey, look, a rhyme-
"CUT! Potter! What do you think you're doing, running away with the narration like that?" The shorter-than-average-elf stomped onto the set and grabbed Harry by the front of his robes. "I don't have time for this kind of nonsense. Do it right this time, before I really get angry."
Harry had to cross his eyes and look down his nose at the elf to see her, she was so close. Their faces were close enough for him to see the veins popping out on her forehead in rage. He gulped and nodded. "Righto."
She released him and stalked back to her chair. Hermione dug a five-dollar bill out of her purse and handed it to Neville with a look of disgust. Harry straightened his robes and returned to his place on the set.
...making Harry feel like a heel. Normally he had no problem insulting the other boy; it had become a habit, actually. Get up, brush teeth, eat breakfast, insult Draco, go to class...And usually, he didn't even think about it. But here, in the trophy room, with the moonlight making him seem so much more vulnerable, it struck a chord in Harry that set him slightly on edge.
"What did you want, Draco?" This whole situation was making him uncomfortable. There was something different about Draco tonight, and that something was reflected in Harry's use of his first name.
Draco finally turned around to face him. "You wanted an answer, Potter. I'm prepared to give you one, whether you like it or not."
Harry's mouth went dry at the emphasis placed on his name. Had he been wrong in judging the situation? Maybe there wasn't anything different, maybe he'd been mistaken. Maybe this was just another one of Draco's tricks to get him in trouble.
"Wh-what do you mean?" His heart was pounding for some strange reason.
Draco stepped away from the window, gliding across the floor with cat-like ease. Harry was mesmerized by the way the other boy moved-
"He's behaving too well- something's up," Neville muttered.
"Give him the benefit of the doubt for once, why don't you? He could be turning over a new leaf."
"Not bloody likely."
The director silenced them with a death-and-dismemberment glare and went back to watching the set.
He didn't even realize Draco was standing right in front of him until the ghostly pale boy reached out to touch his face. And then suddenly Draco was kissing him, on the lips, pinning his arms to his sides in a vise like grip.
And Harry enjoyed it.
Perhaps Harry enjoyed it a little too much, because when Draco broke away he screeched and slapped Harry. "You bastard! That hurt!"
"CUT! What just happened?" The director was off her chair and shouting again.
"He bit me!" Draco exclaimed, wiping blood from his mouth. Harry was laughing too hard to say anything.
"Told you he was up to something." Neville crossed his arms and looked smug as Hermione shook her head despairingly.
"That's it. We're starting over, from the top. You'd better do this right, because I have a deadline to meet. You, you, and you, bring me the stock script for simplified slash stories, number 32a. We're finishing this today. Come on, people, move it, move it!" Crew workers began to rearrange the set while a flock of make-up artists descended upon Draco to make him look less colorful again. When they were done, the hallway set was back up, Draco was back to his usual pale, and Harry had gotten control of himself. The new scripts were handed out and quickly memorized.
"Are we all quite ready now?" There was enough acid in the elf's voice to eat through six inches of solid steel. "Action!"
Draco was walking quite innocently down the hallway when he bumped into Harry Potter very unexpectedly. "Potter! Watch where you're going next time!" he cried from his new position on the floor.
Harry was very contrite and even stooped to help Draco pick up his scattered school supplies. "Gee, I'm awfully sorry, Malfoy, it's just that I was thinking and-"
"Oh, I do hope you didn't strain yourself," Draco said sympathetically. "I quite understand. Thinking is such a task at times."
Harry nodded morosely. "Yes, it really is. And well, you see, I think I'm in love with you."
Draco brightened. "Really? Wow, that's great. I'm in love with you too!"
Then they both held hands and skipped off down the halls of Hogwarts, happy as a pair of kittens with a ball of yarn.
The End.
The director slumped in her chair, massaging her temples. "There. It's over. Now all of you get out of here. Now!"
Harry sauntered out the way he came in, laughing to himself. Draco hastily wiped off all of his makeup, ditched his contacts, and fled with Hermione and Neville. Within moments, the entire studio was empty save for the elf. She stood and grabbed her original script. On the way out, she dropped it into a trashcan.
"This is why I hate writing fan fiction," she hissed to the readers
as she trudged out the door.