That last opening note was completely unintelligible (I can type- really!) I'll say it one more time. Boy x Boy is my game. With that out of the way… *snaps back into clueless author mode*
Draco paced back and forth on the Slytherin-green rug, weighing his options. His bare feet ground savagely into the twining black vines and silver unicorns (a highly ironic thing to put on a Slytherin House rug, he was sure) beneath him. The way he saw it, things were not going well for anyone. Which, as his personal feelings made up only one third of the sum total (the other two being his sworn enemy and the well detested author) was a perfectly acceptable state of affairs.
The clock struck nine, indicating to the readers ('Hah!' Draco scoffed emphatically) that somehow night had run away into a lovely morning that otherwise had a snowball's chance in hell of making its presence felt in the dungeons. As if to offer up affirmation, his stomach rumbled.
Draco had to admit that he very often let his stomach do a bit of the thinking for him. For example, go steal food from the kitchens and torture the house elves because it's empty, tease the Weasel until he's just about to punch you in it, that sort of thing. And it was currently creating a bit of a dilemma. On the one hand, he was certain that leaving the already compromised safety of the dorms would be a total mistake, but his body was reminding him that he'd been too busy to eat much of anything last night. Ordinarily, he'd just send one of the boys to go get him something, but Vince and Greg hadn't come back yet.
He felt very much like a convict being starved out of hiding.
On the other hand, what was the worst that could happen? After all, Draco thought he'd pretty much proven that he could deal with whatever the author and Potter tried to throw at him.
Hadn't he?
As soon as he started across the room, Draco began to have a tickling suspicion that this was a terrible idea. It could've been some sort of wizard's intuition, a deep genetic Malfoy talent, but it was more than likely that he'd really been tipped off by the theme music.
*You can try to resist
Try to hide from my kiss
But you know (but you know) that you
Can't fight the moonlight no…*
"Oh this works really well," Draco sneered. "Idiot. It's daylight, and even if it weren't…. And didn't anyone ever explain that you don't need to repeat lyrics like that? Songfics!"
*You can't fight it…*
Dear god. A few more minutes with a song like this and he'd willingly throw himself at Harry just for distraction's sake. Which was probably the idea, unless the author really did have terrible taste in music. Preoccupied, Draco kicked the door open, making the suit of armor clatter sideways to avoid being smashed into a hundred pieces.
Harry Potter was sitting in the corridor outside. Slumped, actually. Asleep.
*It's gonna get to your-*
"Shut up!" Draco hissed. "You'll wake him up!"
The music discreetly cut out.
The Boy who Lived sat with his back pressed against the wall, his arms wrapped protectively around his knees, head tipped back so that his glasses had gradually ridden up his nose. His long eyelashes had gathered into points that gently drew attention to the dark shadows over his cheekbones, product of a night of what must have been fitful sleep at best. His lips had fallen slightly open to reveal a gleam of teeth.
He was not beautiful. Teenage boys simply cannot be beautiful.
Draco knelt in front of his not-beautiful nemesis, reaching out with the intent to wake him up and send him as far away from all things Malfoy as possible. Leaning forward, however, he was stuck by something odd. This close, he could catch the other boy's scent as easily as if it had been a tangible object, a golden snitch. Harry smelled of wind and something quiddichy (linseed oil, his mind supplied) and a distinct underlying smell that was his alone.
It didn't make sense. Normal people didn't smell like that. Normal people smelled of wool cloaks and dinner and, if you were lucky, soap and toothpaste. Even knowing very well who was in charge of olfactory descriptions, Draco was momentarily thrown. He smelled… good.
Normal people didn't have flawless skin, either. No blemishes, no cuts or scars except for the trademark lightning bolt half hidden under a rough fringe of hair. Skin so smooth it seemed poreless, none of the defects one would expect in a teenager. Draco dropped his guard against the author completely in favor of a closer inspection. He found himself reaching out to *feel* for some miniscule imperfection, something to make the boy before him human again.
He was warm. Maybe that was enough. He wasn't a statue to be put on a pedestal, but he still might break, and Draco forced his hand to be light as he traced the length of Harry's face from chin to temple.
Too late, common sense decided to make an appearance. /Hello,/ it said /Remember me? I'm just here to ask what the hell you think you're doing. You're not even questioning the author's choices, you're thinking in bad descriptive imagery, you're *touching* him, for crissake!/
Draco thought this last comment deserved an answer, and fast, before he lost all his justification. *Yeah… well. It doesn't count if he's asleep.*
/Please…/ common sense rolled its eyes and dove back into the depths of his mind.
Harry sighed and turned his face towards Draco's fingers, so that the tip of his little finger grazed the other boy's lip. It was smooth and slightly damp, and sent an accidental shiver up Draco's arm. He could feel Potter momentarily tense, then suddenly relax as his breathing returned to a carefully controlled slow rate.
Draco quickly changed his mantra. *Okay… It doesn't count if he's pretending he's asleep, it doesn't count if he's…* His fingers examined the smoothness of an eyebrow.
Harry leaned forward and kissed the other boy's palm. It felt like electricity, like the touch of angel wings, like- /Metaphore!/ common sense shouted, finally managing to deliver a swift kick to Draco's brain -*there's no way I can rationalize this*- and sending him rolling backwards towards the door. He ended up missing it by a good yard and slamming his shoulder blades into the opposite wall instead.
A pair of knees came into his still star-spangled line of vision. "Are you alright?"
Draco attempted to roll his eyes and winced. *Just act like nothing happened. Malfoy pride, boy, Malfoy pride.* "Were you here all night, Potter? That's really rather pathetic."
"Oh, yes. I'm not the one who's just proved that he's hopelessly in-"
"Don't you dare say it!"
"Denial."
"Oh." Draco could feel himself blushing. "Please go away now."
"Why don't you just admit it now and save us both a lot of trouble?"
"There's nothing to admit," Draco snarled, sitting up with extreme dignity and not a little anger. At least, that was his plan until his forehead cracked against Harry's with a painful smack, causing them both to fall backwards in opposite directions. "Oh great," he muttered, standing up woozily with the wall as support. "On top of everything else, I'll probably have a concussion." Sideways, pressed against the wall of the corridor, he'd almost inched his way to the door when-
"You're the biggest cliché in this story, you know."
Enraged, Draco glared down at the boy watching him from the floor. "How *dare* you?!"
Harry pushed his glasses back into place and gave him what could almost have been a Malfoy-quality smirk. "It's true. You think you're so detached from this whole situation, but you're the worst stereotype of all." His voice rose an octave or two to a delicate falsetto. "Poor little Malfoy- never felt this way before so he doesn't know what to do."
"Shut up!"
"Tell me, what are those five steps to acceptance?"
Draco took a great deal of pleasure in slamming the door in Potter's general direction.
If he had been so contrived, he would have fallen onto his bed and sobbed. If he were out of character, he would've welcomed the tiny glass dragon that leapt onto his shoulder as he entered.
The crystal shattered as it met the wall.
Draco was confused. Surely, *surely* this was supposed to have been a holiday fluff piece.
Christmas break was finally at an end. The student body had been shipped back to Hogwarts and had settled comfortably back into their parts as extras. Classes were once more in session, and everything should have been back to normal. The one thing that had kept him going during the holidays was that everything was going to be back to normal. And it wasn't.
He bet that that stubborn author was out there somewhere, snickering at him. Anyone else would have given up by now, but no, Draco had to be saddled with someone not only stupid, but persistently so.
The only high point of the day was when he'd heard about the breakup of Granger and the Weasel. Apparently Mrs. Weasley had invited the Mudblood home for the holidays (but conveniently not Harry, who she liked at least as well. stupid author.) According to one of the twins, who was relating the story in an intentionally loud voice for an appreciative audience in the great hall, everything had come to a head a few days after Christmas.
"…And she said 'I'm sorry Ron, but I'm just sick of our being only straight couple in all these slashfics.' The redhead continued with a flourish and a leer, "And besides, you're little sister's really *hot*…"
That interesting bit of information managed to keep Draco's mind off his own problems until about lunchtime, when he learned that Freckle-Face had been shyly flirting with Dean Thomas all morning, and they were now very nearly, almost officially going out.
Besides, next was Double Potions, a class that seemed to be part of his new schedule an inordinate amount of the time.
"Today," Professor Snape glowered in what seemed to Draco to be a halfhearted attempt at his old menacing coldness, "We will be brewing a plotwistican potion. Now, this is a very delicate procedure. I don't expect that many of you will succeed. Now, the nature of this potion is such that you must all keep in constant contact with your partners. You will continue to work with the people I put you with directly prior to break-"
Draco's heart sank. In a desperate last stand, he raised his hand.
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Ehm, Sir? What exactly is a plotwistican potion?"
Snape looked blank. "Well- I-"
"And *why* do we have to stay in contact at all times?"
"I really don't-"
"And do I have to work with Potter?"
"Enough!" Snape shouted. "Ten points from Slytherin!"
Greg lifted a trembling arm into the air. "Ummm… excuse me Sir? You just took points from Slytherin."
Snape graced his pupil with a curt nod. "Very good, Goyle. So I did. And you may all thank your housemate Mr. Malfoy for protesting too much."
Draco looked around at the glares of his classmates. "Doesn't *anyone* else see the problem with this assignment?" he pleaded.
No one answered. Harry gave him what might have been an ill-concealed smile and waved him over to their table.
"Alright, Potter." Draco muttered, "We do this my way. You work, I watch. And if you think the fact that the author is forcing us to hold hands-"
"No."
"No? No what?"
This time, there was no mistaking the grin. The trademarked 'I'm the Hero so everything will eventually go my way' grin. "No, we're not going to be holding hands. If you'd taken the time to look on the board, you'd see that cutting plotcus plant takes two hands- one to hold the knife and the other to keep it from running away from you. Also no, there is no way I'm doing all the work."
Draco stared at the knife Harry had just thrust into his hands. "Then how-"
"Here." Harry shoved him over to the table and handed him the plant he was supposed to cut into even centimeters. "You just start. I'll deal with the rest."
And then he put his arms around his waist.
Draco squawked and dropped the knife. Harry detached himself, retrieved it, and resumed his place.
"There is no way I am going through an entire class period with you wrapped around me like this," Draco whispered angrily.
"Two periods."
"This has got to be the most contrived plot twist in the history of fanfiction." Draco complained. He could feel Harry smiling against his ear.
In point of fact, he could feel Harry almost everywhere. Warm arms around his waist, chest against his back and right side, chin threatening to poke his eye out. He deliberately held himself as stiffly as possible to prevent any chance of relaxing in that (yes, it was so) embrace. Told himself to ignore the warm breath on his face. Definitely forgot about the feeling of butterflies dancing in his stomach.
But, somehow, when he finished chopping the weed and moved on to counting out python scales, he forgot to tell Harry to change positions.
There was a song playing quietly in the background.
The quoted song is 'Can't fight the Moonlight' by LeeAnne Rhimes, chose for its inappropriateness to the moment. Who know what the song at the end is… Props to anyone who caught both the Monty Python and the Shakespearian references in this chapter ^_^ In fact, props for just reading this! And thanks to everyone who's reviewed- I think I like reading the reviews for this story more than those for all my other fics combined. The praise you've given me is all too much (and don't worry… he's cracking ^_^) To those of you who said they weren't slashers but liked this… welcome to the dark side. And to VanityFair… Wow! I'm so honored! And see, reviewing is a worthwhile pursuit: people mention you in their notes!
Draco paced back and forth on the Slytherin-green rug, weighing his options. His bare feet ground savagely into the twining black vines and silver unicorns (a highly ironic thing to put on a Slytherin House rug, he was sure) beneath him. The way he saw it, things were not going well for anyone. Which, as his personal feelings made up only one third of the sum total (the other two being his sworn enemy and the well detested author) was a perfectly acceptable state of affairs.
The clock struck nine, indicating to the readers ('Hah!' Draco scoffed emphatically) that somehow night had run away into a lovely morning that otherwise had a snowball's chance in hell of making its presence felt in the dungeons. As if to offer up affirmation, his stomach rumbled.
Draco had to admit that he very often let his stomach do a bit of the thinking for him. For example, go steal food from the kitchens and torture the house elves because it's empty, tease the Weasel until he's just about to punch you in it, that sort of thing. And it was currently creating a bit of a dilemma. On the one hand, he was certain that leaving the already compromised safety of the dorms would be a total mistake, but his body was reminding him that he'd been too busy to eat much of anything last night. Ordinarily, he'd just send one of the boys to go get him something, but Vince and Greg hadn't come back yet.
He felt very much like a convict being starved out of hiding.
On the other hand, what was the worst that could happen? After all, Draco thought he'd pretty much proven that he could deal with whatever the author and Potter tried to throw at him.
Hadn't he?
As soon as he started across the room, Draco began to have a tickling suspicion that this was a terrible idea. It could've been some sort of wizard's intuition, a deep genetic Malfoy talent, but it was more than likely that he'd really been tipped off by the theme music.
*You can try to resist
Try to hide from my kiss
But you know (but you know) that you
Can't fight the moonlight no…*
"Oh this works really well," Draco sneered. "Idiot. It's daylight, and even if it weren't…. And didn't anyone ever explain that you don't need to repeat lyrics like that? Songfics!"
*You can't fight it…*
Dear god. A few more minutes with a song like this and he'd willingly throw himself at Harry just for distraction's sake. Which was probably the idea, unless the author really did have terrible taste in music. Preoccupied, Draco kicked the door open, making the suit of armor clatter sideways to avoid being smashed into a hundred pieces.
Harry Potter was sitting in the corridor outside. Slumped, actually. Asleep.
*It's gonna get to your-*
"Shut up!" Draco hissed. "You'll wake him up!"
The music discreetly cut out.
The Boy who Lived sat with his back pressed against the wall, his arms wrapped protectively around his knees, head tipped back so that his glasses had gradually ridden up his nose. His long eyelashes had gathered into points that gently drew attention to the dark shadows over his cheekbones, product of a night of what must have been fitful sleep at best. His lips had fallen slightly open to reveal a gleam of teeth.
He was not beautiful. Teenage boys simply cannot be beautiful.
Draco knelt in front of his not-beautiful nemesis, reaching out with the intent to wake him up and send him as far away from all things Malfoy as possible. Leaning forward, however, he was stuck by something odd. This close, he could catch the other boy's scent as easily as if it had been a tangible object, a golden snitch. Harry smelled of wind and something quiddichy (linseed oil, his mind supplied) and a distinct underlying smell that was his alone.
It didn't make sense. Normal people didn't smell like that. Normal people smelled of wool cloaks and dinner and, if you were lucky, soap and toothpaste. Even knowing very well who was in charge of olfactory descriptions, Draco was momentarily thrown. He smelled… good.
Normal people didn't have flawless skin, either. No blemishes, no cuts or scars except for the trademark lightning bolt half hidden under a rough fringe of hair. Skin so smooth it seemed poreless, none of the defects one would expect in a teenager. Draco dropped his guard against the author completely in favor of a closer inspection. He found himself reaching out to *feel* for some miniscule imperfection, something to make the boy before him human again.
He was warm. Maybe that was enough. He wasn't a statue to be put on a pedestal, but he still might break, and Draco forced his hand to be light as he traced the length of Harry's face from chin to temple.
Too late, common sense decided to make an appearance. /Hello,/ it said /Remember me? I'm just here to ask what the hell you think you're doing. You're not even questioning the author's choices, you're thinking in bad descriptive imagery, you're *touching* him, for crissake!/
Draco thought this last comment deserved an answer, and fast, before he lost all his justification. *Yeah… well. It doesn't count if he's asleep.*
/Please…/ common sense rolled its eyes and dove back into the depths of his mind.
Harry sighed and turned his face towards Draco's fingers, so that the tip of his little finger grazed the other boy's lip. It was smooth and slightly damp, and sent an accidental shiver up Draco's arm. He could feel Potter momentarily tense, then suddenly relax as his breathing returned to a carefully controlled slow rate.
Draco quickly changed his mantra. *Okay… It doesn't count if he's pretending he's asleep, it doesn't count if he's…* His fingers examined the smoothness of an eyebrow.
Harry leaned forward and kissed the other boy's palm. It felt like electricity, like the touch of angel wings, like- /Metaphore!/ common sense shouted, finally managing to deliver a swift kick to Draco's brain -*there's no way I can rationalize this*- and sending him rolling backwards towards the door. He ended up missing it by a good yard and slamming his shoulder blades into the opposite wall instead.
A pair of knees came into his still star-spangled line of vision. "Are you alright?"
Draco attempted to roll his eyes and winced. *Just act like nothing happened. Malfoy pride, boy, Malfoy pride.* "Were you here all night, Potter? That's really rather pathetic."
"Oh, yes. I'm not the one who's just proved that he's hopelessly in-"
"Don't you dare say it!"
"Denial."
"Oh." Draco could feel himself blushing. "Please go away now."
"Why don't you just admit it now and save us both a lot of trouble?"
"There's nothing to admit," Draco snarled, sitting up with extreme dignity and not a little anger. At least, that was his plan until his forehead cracked against Harry's with a painful smack, causing them both to fall backwards in opposite directions. "Oh great," he muttered, standing up woozily with the wall as support. "On top of everything else, I'll probably have a concussion." Sideways, pressed against the wall of the corridor, he'd almost inched his way to the door when-
"You're the biggest cliché in this story, you know."
Enraged, Draco glared down at the boy watching him from the floor. "How *dare* you?!"
Harry pushed his glasses back into place and gave him what could almost have been a Malfoy-quality smirk. "It's true. You think you're so detached from this whole situation, but you're the worst stereotype of all." His voice rose an octave or two to a delicate falsetto. "Poor little Malfoy- never felt this way before so he doesn't know what to do."
"Shut up!"
"Tell me, what are those five steps to acceptance?"
Draco took a great deal of pleasure in slamming the door in Potter's general direction.
If he had been so contrived, he would have fallen onto his bed and sobbed. If he were out of character, he would've welcomed the tiny glass dragon that leapt onto his shoulder as he entered.
The crystal shattered as it met the wall.
Draco was confused. Surely, *surely* this was supposed to have been a holiday fluff piece.
Christmas break was finally at an end. The student body had been shipped back to Hogwarts and had settled comfortably back into their parts as extras. Classes were once more in session, and everything should have been back to normal. The one thing that had kept him going during the holidays was that everything was going to be back to normal. And it wasn't.
He bet that that stubborn author was out there somewhere, snickering at him. Anyone else would have given up by now, but no, Draco had to be saddled with someone not only stupid, but persistently so.
The only high point of the day was when he'd heard about the breakup of Granger and the Weasel. Apparently Mrs. Weasley had invited the Mudblood home for the holidays (but conveniently not Harry, who she liked at least as well. stupid author.) According to one of the twins, who was relating the story in an intentionally loud voice for an appreciative audience in the great hall, everything had come to a head a few days after Christmas.
"…And she said 'I'm sorry Ron, but I'm just sick of our being only straight couple in all these slashfics.' The redhead continued with a flourish and a leer, "And besides, you're little sister's really *hot*…"
That interesting bit of information managed to keep Draco's mind off his own problems until about lunchtime, when he learned that Freckle-Face had been shyly flirting with Dean Thomas all morning, and they were now very nearly, almost officially going out.
Besides, next was Double Potions, a class that seemed to be part of his new schedule an inordinate amount of the time.
"Today," Professor Snape glowered in what seemed to Draco to be a halfhearted attempt at his old menacing coldness, "We will be brewing a plotwistican potion. Now, this is a very delicate procedure. I don't expect that many of you will succeed. Now, the nature of this potion is such that you must all keep in constant contact with your partners. You will continue to work with the people I put you with directly prior to break-"
Draco's heart sank. In a desperate last stand, he raised his hand.
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Ehm, Sir? What exactly is a plotwistican potion?"
Snape looked blank. "Well- I-"
"And *why* do we have to stay in contact at all times?"
"I really don't-"
"And do I have to work with Potter?"
"Enough!" Snape shouted. "Ten points from Slytherin!"
Greg lifted a trembling arm into the air. "Ummm… excuse me Sir? You just took points from Slytherin."
Snape graced his pupil with a curt nod. "Very good, Goyle. So I did. And you may all thank your housemate Mr. Malfoy for protesting too much."
Draco looked around at the glares of his classmates. "Doesn't *anyone* else see the problem with this assignment?" he pleaded.
No one answered. Harry gave him what might have been an ill-concealed smile and waved him over to their table.
"Alright, Potter." Draco muttered, "We do this my way. You work, I watch. And if you think the fact that the author is forcing us to hold hands-"
"No."
"No? No what?"
This time, there was no mistaking the grin. The trademarked 'I'm the Hero so everything will eventually go my way' grin. "No, we're not going to be holding hands. If you'd taken the time to look on the board, you'd see that cutting plotcus plant takes two hands- one to hold the knife and the other to keep it from running away from you. Also no, there is no way I'm doing all the work."
Draco stared at the knife Harry had just thrust into his hands. "Then how-"
"Here." Harry shoved him over to the table and handed him the plant he was supposed to cut into even centimeters. "You just start. I'll deal with the rest."
And then he put his arms around his waist.
Draco squawked and dropped the knife. Harry detached himself, retrieved it, and resumed his place.
"There is no way I am going through an entire class period with you wrapped around me like this," Draco whispered angrily.
"Two periods."
"This has got to be the most contrived plot twist in the history of fanfiction." Draco complained. He could feel Harry smiling against his ear.
In point of fact, he could feel Harry almost everywhere. Warm arms around his waist, chest against his back and right side, chin threatening to poke his eye out. He deliberately held himself as stiffly as possible to prevent any chance of relaxing in that (yes, it was so) embrace. Told himself to ignore the warm breath on his face. Definitely forgot about the feeling of butterflies dancing in his stomach.
But, somehow, when he finished chopping the weed and moved on to counting out python scales, he forgot to tell Harry to change positions.
There was a song playing quietly in the background.
The quoted song is 'Can't fight the Moonlight' by LeeAnne Rhimes, chose for its inappropriateness to the moment. Who know what the song at the end is… Props to anyone who caught both the Monty Python and the Shakespearian references in this chapter ^_^ In fact, props for just reading this! And thanks to everyone who's reviewed- I think I like reading the reviews for this story more than those for all my other fics combined. The praise you've given me is all too much (and don't worry… he's cracking ^_^) To those of you who said they weren't slashers but liked this… welcome to the dark side. And to VanityFair… Wow! I'm so honored! And see, reviewing is a worthwhile pursuit: people mention you in their notes!