Hello everyone! I'm back! But I have an announcement to make. Once upon a time, an author named Snape's lingerie purposely stumbled into her little review page. There she saw a particular review that made her blink and read it again. It was from Emma, telling her that she should stick up for what she wanted to happen in the story… Emma enlightened me about a few things that made more sense to me. So, I am doing one ending only. I'm sorry if you will be disappointed if you don't like it. Also, please note that now this has 2 more chapters to go… This part is the 8/9 part of the story. Disclaimers apply. Lots and lots of angst on this one, but don't worry, happy ending in the last chapter. Just make sure it's the pairing you hope it's gonna be. ^.^ Oh, and its incredibly long and took long to write. (I uncencored some words so dont be shocked.)
Night was at its fullest. The only sounds made were the hoots of the owls outside, the whispering breeze and the soft symphony of gentle snores. The room was motionless. It seemed frozen, everything so deathly still. Except for one, particular bed. One particular person.
Harry Potter.
Harry stirred some more, restless in wake. He sucked in a deep breath, and closed his eyes for the millionth time, trying his best to jump into a dream escapade. But it was in vain, It would always fail, his vivid green eyes would dart open as two men materialized into his imagination.
One was the boy he knew so well. This boy was obedient, always willing, with a smile on his face. His stark bright red hair had lessened some hue over the years, a coppery luster in exchange. His expressive blue eyes hadn't changed at all though, but his freckles had faded, hardly seen.
The other boy was quite different. This boy always had a sinister smirk, or a nasty sneer. His blonde locks stood him out, always well groomed and tamed even after Quidditch games. It looked distinctly first-class; because of the way his hair would fall…it reminded Harry of how perfect everything was about him. His eyes were piercing light grey, and his pale face seemed too flawless. And that voice…that voice…
Harry jerked up, and lithely got his glasses and wand from the bedside table. He instantly put his glasses on, the cool metal pressing unto him delicately. He cautiously trampled down the bed, and reached out from under it. In a moment his fingers brushed against something slick and almost weightless, and he pulled it out. The invisibility cloak.
Folding it half-heartedly on one of his arms, he reached for his sneakers. It was lucky he always wore socks when he slept, it made it easier to start one of his midnight voyages. He put in on roughly.
Harry couldn't stand doing nothing for long, so he did the only thing he could do at night.
Wander around Hogwarts with no real purpose and make it a game to avoid the many things that could possibly give him detention.
Harry looked over his shoulder and took one last glance at the dorm, to check if everyone was sleeping. His eyes fell onto Ron's face, dimly illuminated by the moonlight casted by the window across the door. Ron was peaceful in his sleep, Harry watched his friend breathe in and out deeply… steadily… quietly…
He tore his head away from the redhead, grasping the bronze knob in his hand. The door creaked as it was opened, Harry turned around again to see if he had awoken anyone. No one moved. And with that, he left the dorm, trotting down the cold, stone staircase down to the common room.
The common room was chilly. He proved that a fact when he stepped onto the last step of the stairway. In the wintry room, Harry could see his own breath through the darkness, forming clouds of thin smoke, and he clenched his teeth tightly to stop it from chattering. The back of his neck was prickling, as he walked past some red couches and the stonewall beside the fireplace. He nearly tripped on the red and gold carpet on the floor.
"Oh—…"
He shook his head, then leaned down. Smoothing back the carpet on the floor, Harry thought of where to go. He had been to almost everywhere of Hogwarts, in reason of the mischieful things he had inherited. He shrugged, maybe he could find a *new* secret place somewhere. Anything would do to take his mind off Draco and Ron and tomorrow.
He stood up, lean form slightly shivering, putting the cloak over his shoulders and face, and passed on to the portrait.
"Who's there!?" asked the startled and dozy fat lady. Harry knew best not to reply. As he tiptoed his way away from the Gryffindor tower, he heard the portrait exclaim, "Peeves! He poked my bottom again!"
After reaching a distance brink from the portrait, Harry burst into a run. He fled. From nothing, he just did. Down corridors, past suits of armor, weaving through rooms, footsteps echoing hollowly. His adrenaline rush supported him as he sprinted.
Maybe he ran because of fear…. Fear of choosing, fear of the next day. It was stress; he just needed something to leak it all out. To express himself. He felt like it would explode if he didn't do anything about it. Running gave the illusion of distancing one's self with his or hers problems, and it almost worked.
After some time, calmness enveloped his jumbled mind and he stopped, the Invisibility cloak swishing past him, allowing no one a glimpse of Harry's disembodied feet before it disappeared again. It had been nearly ten minutes since he first came to a halt. Running sure was a great exploiter of exasperated feelings. He was tired, yes, but released a lot of tension in his body.
He looked around the room attentively, his breath ragged and heavy.
"Oh, shit." he mumbled, his eyes growing wider by the second. He stared frantically at his surroundings. He didn't recognize where he was at all. He reached out to his pocket, and cursed some more. He had forgotten the Marauder's map in the bedroom. And *when* he needed it the most, too! This was getting frustrating!
He tried scanning the room again, only getting more perplexed and puzzled. It was as if the objects kept changing positions over and over. Where was he? Why did he have to run? He hated himself. –He just got his own fat ass lost.
He took in a deep breath and calmed down. Luckily Hermione had taught him how to keep a cool head at these kinds of situations. She always was handy. For if it weren't for her, they would've never found the philosopher's stone in the first year, or about the basilisk, or about—… Shelving that little note aside, Harry walked around the place, observing the blandness of the room and noticing for the first time that the door he had came in from had vanished as well, leaving nothing but grey walls. He shivered in the cold, and swung off the invisibility cloak with one swipe.
Keeping the slippery clothe in his firm grasp, he started feeling the wall. There must be something that—
A click. He came stumbling forward instantly.
A tiny thud from the floor as Harry fell. He peered around the area, hauling himself into a sitting position. A little gasp, as he stared, disbelieving, the wind blowing a steady, cool breeze through his unruly tresses of black. Stone, paved floor. Black railing. The night sky dotted with twinkling stars and an endless view. He was in a balcony. Not only that, but he was in a balcony that was occupied. And not only THAT, but the person who occupied it was none other than Draco Malfoy.
Draco looked momentarily stunned, before his usual cocky self butted in. "Potter. Got lost looking for the playground? Sorry, dear boy, but it's closed at this time of hour…"
"I wasn't looking for the playground, Malfoy."
"Oh?" Said Draco, in a mock expression of surprise, "Of course! A diaper change!"
Harry stood up, as another, bitter rush of wind came blowing at him. Squeezing his eyes tightly, then later opening them again, Harry retorted, "How come you have this delusion of me being in preschool?"
A snort from Draco. "Since I found out you wore blue's clues Pjs, Potter." A peep at Harry's clothes.
Harry avoided his eyes, blushing furiously. Then gathering his courage a few seconds later, he looked up at Draco to try and criticize his clothes too, but found himself speechless. Draco was sitting on the balcony railing in a very elaborate position, hair tousled and head tilted down, only the eyes looking straight up at him. In a smirk, as always. Harry's eyes traveled down. Draco was bare-chested, and had nice pair of black, velvet sleeping pants clad on his bottom half. Ebony sleeping boots ended the fashion.
Harry wrenched his thoughts and eyes away from the sight before him, instead focusing on the clouds that rolled lazily above them. Draco let out another, sensual drawl, "Liked too much what you saw, Potter? You get blinded by light too easily."
Forcing himself not to look at Draco again, he spoke, in quite a tame voice, "How could I get blinded by you when you are the darkness?"
"By the dark's light."
Harry blinked, and unable to resist the urge, looked up at him. "What? You're not making sense."
A larger grin from Draco. "The dark has its light and beauty as well."
"Oh…"
Harry didn't say anything more. Neither did Draco. Both had nothing to say… and seemed unsatisfied with the conversation they just finished, but neither wanted to venture forth and ask another question. It was an awkward space.
Harry's eyes shifted, and he watched the moon, large and splendor behind Draco. It seemed very near them, actually. Muggles never saw it this close. It was a full moon tonight, and Harry was uncomfortably reminded of Remus Lupin, their former Defense against the Dark Arts teacher. It had been a long time since he had heard of him.
Finally, Draco's mildly curious voice slithered out, "What's that in your hand?"
By reflex of the other nosy classmates he had gone through, Harry answered, "Just an extra winter cloak."
"Ah, the invisibility cloak."
Harry's eyes widened slightly. "How…?"
Draco sighed, finally dropping down onto the ground with a quiet thump. He replied casually, "One, its not winter time. Two, you look too suspicious. Three, its too thin to be a winter cloak and four, I got one from father too."
He jerked his head at a direction, and Harry turned to find a puddle of what it looked like silver cloth. Facing Draco again, who was sensually leaning his elbows on the railing, Harry stayed solemn. He simply couldn't find words. The blonde pushed off and swaggered forward, his eyes ravishing Harry completely.
"You look indisputably sexy in crumpled pjs, you know."
"Sod off, Malfoy." He retorted weakly, unable to move back as Malfoy sauntered over.
Long, slender fingers drew up and stroked Harry's cheek softly, as another cool breeze caressed them both, the wind sending Harry's shirt fluttering back and complimenting his form. Then, as if Malfoy just dipped his fingers into boiling water, he jerked his hand away and walked past Harry, brushing against the startled boy briefly.
Harry turned, his emerald eyes filled with questions. Yet he said nothing.
Harry could hear the frosty wind whisper, muttering illogical nothings into their ears. They stood alone; thinking to themselves and not noticing that time flew. The atmosphere was tense between them.
"Who do you choose?" Draco defied the silence.
Harry's reply was soft and somber, confusion leaking out of those words. "I don't know."
"I want you."
"I know."
Draco turned to face him sternly, a scornful emotion in his voice, "Stop telling me what you know or don't know and tell me who the hell you choose."
"I said I don't know!"
"Repeating yourself numerous times is a step towards insanity, Potter." Said Draco wryly, and without another word, unable to control himself yet again, he dashed forward and caught Harry's lips in a fiery kiss.
Harry, unable to think straight, moaned against the kiss. His hands drove up and landed on Draco's bare shoulders, embracing the Slytherin's neck softly. Fingers came to trace a path on the back of Draco's neck skillfully, and Draco couldn't suppress a small sigh. Distantly, Harry could tell he was moving back, due to the intensity and dominative urge Draco radiated, and faintly knew that the wall was already pressing up against him. –Harry's mind was somewhere far, far from that. His surroundings merely a blur, his world was one – Draco. His heart seemed to flap immensely, something sweet prickling his neck. He loved this.
But then, his eyes fluttered open, body going rigid. What was he doing? Surely he couldn't like –MALFOY— of all people?! No, It must have been a mistake. It must have been Ron. Of course it was Ron. How couldn't it be? How stupid can he be?
He noticed Draco's kisses were not intended only on his lips, but were now trailing down his neck. Tender, butterfly kisses. Blood rushed to a part below his abdomen and hands tightened on Draco's shoulder. He tried to shove back, although unsuccessful, shaking his head and hardly able to speak.
Draco however, remained unbeknown to that, being too distracted by tracing the soft, luscious curves of Harry's neck with his lips, enjoying the soft and warm skin… The wonderful scent of sweet raspberry… The electric waves of pleasure jolting throughout his body… Harry so close to him… It was that that made him mad. His presence, his touch, his smell, his taste… everything.
"No… no!" Harry shoved hard, gasping out loudly, "I love RON!"
Draco suddenly stiffened, then withdrew. He took a few steps backwards, losing contact with the other boy. His face was indescribable. His mask of indifference and of superiority suddenly shattered, showing the viewer a full glimpse of his heart. Draco took a last step back, grey eyes widening.
"What?" Draco asked, calmly shocked.
"I said," a deep breath, "I love Ron, and I…" he tensed, "I. Hate. You…"
A few seconds silence. Draco thought he saw a streak of emotions passing through Harry's face, but contributed it to his imagination. Harry continued, " No, I *loathe* you. You are a sick-… Damn-… Bastard…"
Draco's first emotion was confusion. What caused this unexpected change of heart? Why was Harry abruptly being so cruel to him? Draco's heart tugged so violently he almost recoiled. His throat seemed to have tightened immensely. Pangs of pain spreading from the core, beating riotously like his heart. His eyes ached and burned and threaten to water, he gulped to hold it in. It was a spasm of emotions whirling through him… The realization of what Harry said. Of that Harry loved Ron, not him… It ached. It was a wonder that one stem, one simple sentence, could send him hurting that severely. Was it exaggeration? or something raw and truthful?
"Malfoy." Harry said coldly, Draco was startled at the sudden lack of emotions displayed. He took up the boldness and looked Harry in the eye. He was more surprised than ever.
Harry looked at Draco as if he was something unpleasant at the sole of his shoe. "Its you who should back off," Harry's voice almost broke, "I, Id choose Ron over someone as… as… as… as *horrible* as you!"
Draco went breathless. Each word stung him like anything, stabbed him brutally. Oh, what words could do to you! This was insane, Draco never knew Harry was like this. Draco's hurt was evident, but in a quick flicker it all left, instead lifeless ice portrayed as his mask. An ice mask which could melt almost anyone. No, he would not let Harry throw him rudely like trash. He was not trash, in fact he was a Malfoy. He would not tolerate this sudden coldness! He would not collapse, would not cry and plead and grobble at Harry's mercy! Never!
"Get lost." Said Draco, in a very strained and controlled voice. Harry stood, abashed and shaken at his very own words. He didn't move, eyes staring off at the scenery of sunrise, past Draco, unable to cope up to what he just said to the blonde. Why did it feel like he just lost total control of his mouth? Did he really have to vent out hate towards the other boy?
With a growl, Draco muttered dangerously, "Fine, be that way." He shoved Harry quite violently, then walked away from him, picking up his invisibility cloak and trudging off into the darkness of the room inside.
Harry dropped to his knees. If this was the right thing he was doing, it wasn't making any success or sense. Instead his heart suffered much more pain.
In the sky, the sun bathed the balcony in a golden color of fiery orange-red, as morning slowly drove the night away…
---Harry found his way back to the dormitory in thanks to his perseverance. It took quite a long time, actually. But it was better than people finding him in the wee hours of the morning, in his pajamas and an invisibility cloak.
The fat lady was pretty annoyed at Harry, who didn't use the invisibility cloak to get inside the Gryffindor common room. It was around three in the morning, so she did have a good motive to get irritated. But, it was pretty creepy if there was this nobody whispering the password to you, anyway.
The portrait let him in, not caring about the way Harry behaved or what that silver cloth was, hanging from his shoulder. She was more interested in getting back to her dream— if paintings really had dreams, Harry mused wryly. Well, at least it could get some sleep again. Harry himself plopped right into bed… Trying his best to shelve aside what he just regretted, to not shed tears. But still, he cried himself to sleep…
*
Harry wasn't focused. Of course he wasn't focused, barely four hours of sleep didn't do much good for him. He awoke to the sound of Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan talking about the Quidditch game that was about to take place later that day.
—Hufflepuff Vs. Slytherin, wasn't it?
Harry couldn't get back to sleep after that. Almost everyone in the boys room was awake now, he could hear Neville asking people if they had seen his toad again. Other chatter echoed throughout the confined area, light blasting from every window into the room. With a sigh, he got up, walking limply to the nearest bathroom, and trying not to snap at any of his fellow Gryffindor classmates.
"Harry, what's wrong? You're not thinking about Pansy or that poison again, are you?" Hermione asked, after greeting him a good morning. Harry just entered the common room. He slumped down on a red couch beside Hermione, to wait for Ron.
Harry shrugged, "Just sleepy, I guess."
It wasn't even a lie.
It was not long before Ron showed up, lively and fresh. Carrying some of his books, he opened his arms to them, "Hey guys, good morning!"
"Hi Ron," Harry said, with a mimic of a warm smile. Ron suddenly had a worried expression, noticing Harry's downcast mood.
"Harry? What's wrong?"
Harry shook his head, standing up indolently. "Ron, Id rather not talk first…"
"But Harry, you-"
Hermione stood up too. "Alright, we understand, Harry. You don't need to tell us yet. Come to us when you're ready, though." A quick glance of sternness to Ron's direction.
Harry was glad for Hermione's understanding. He truly didn't want anyone to pry in to what had happened last night, especially Ron. The pain was still avid, even now he tried not to think about what he had said to Draco. It might hurt too much and show in his face. His agony, regret, his hurt… His tears.
Ron looked like he was about to say something but changed his mind, nodding once to Harry and went side by side to the great hall for breakfast. Outside, the wind coaxed the trees to dance and whistled the song for them.
They could hear the wails and wails of the monstrous wind, and the younger students looked up from the Great Hall to watch the swirls of great, dark clouds hovering above them. It looked like it would be a very windy day indeed.
Harry made his way to the Gryffindor table quietly. Almost in a defeated, withdrawn way to be exact. He felt drained. In ways he was, and he couldn't help feeling the way he felt. Something gnawed his heart repeatedly, a gentle pain shelved and hidden beneath himself. The memories of last night stained his focus.
He sighed, sitting down on his usual seat. Hermione and Ron quickly followed, both seemed occupied by something else that Harry wasn't aware of, and right about that time he didn't really give a damn. All he could think about was him.
Him. Draco Malfoy. Always him. In his few moments or rest he had a while ago, it was about him. Him and cruel words. Him and the cold. Him and the hate.
Harry almost laughed at the irony. Wasn't it he who let go of Draco in the first place? Shouldn't he feel triumphant, shouldn't he feel happy now that he got his way? Not exasperated, not troubled, not hurt?
He glanced up at the Slytherins table. Draco didn't notice him, intent only in his homework. Draco seemed tired, his graceful hand carrying his soft, raven quill and nudging it back and forth to write scribbles on his parchment. He probably didn't have time to do that last night, wasting his time on the balcony.
What was he doing there anyway?
Harry fisted his hand. And what would he care for something Draco did? Draco was his sworn enemy, he could go trouble with his homework at breakfast whenever he wanted to! He didn't give a damn. He didn't give about Draco.
Yeah right.
Suddenly Draco looked up. Their eyes met. Harry felt that pang of distress pull his heart some more. Draco's eyes were… Empty, lifeless, careless, as he stared at Harry. Harry had no doubts now, Draco was tired. Tired of school, tired of Quidditch, tired of life… tired of him?
Draco suddenly sneered at Harry with the most scornful expression he had ever done, and looked away. Harry bit his lip.
Yes, tired and angry. He doesn't feel the same way anymore. Harry should be glad, should feel victorious. So why does it hurt?
It was all his fault. He shouldn't have been that harsh on Draco. He should never have been that spiteful, maybe it would have hurt less for both of them. Harry felt remorse, felt regret in hundred folds. How it hurt to know it was his own fault. Even if Draco was the one who started at Harry, it was his own fault that he was in so much pain now. Why didn't Harry just say he wasn't sure about what he felt?
What did he feel about Draco? Hate? A dislike? A thirst for friendship? An attraction, a crush? A desire, an ache of desperation? A romance?
Harry knew he had an attraction to Draco, but he thought it was simply fine to let go. Now each second was tormenting him of Draco's desperate images, of his hurt and his pain, and it pained Harry to see it. It was all his fault. What was he feeling? Pity? –no, Harry only pitied those who deserve pity, Draco didn't deserve that. He had a higher standard. So was it love? Well… No! Of course not! This was MALFOY, for goodness sakes, He loved Ron! … But he wasn't sure.
It was probably…–guilt.
But Harry couldn't do anything anymore. What had passed had passed, and Harry could do nothing but live on to make the future present then past itself.
*
Draco was troubled. More than troubled or perplexed, he was totally ripped. Ripped and scarred and burning and hurting and…
It was all his fault. All his blasted fault for falling in love with Harry! All his fault, he should have never done that!
Draco's POV
But could I have helped it?
/Of course not, you fat ass. It was Harry's fault because — he didn't want you, so he threw you off. Period. End of statement./
End of my life.
/Hey, you nitwit! I don't favor screaming in agony and burning to a crisp down in hell yet!/
I never knew Harry could be that mean.
/You're going insane. First you're talking about killing yourself and all that shit, then when I try to reason out for our life, who comes into your head? The very person who's driving you down./
Can you help it when you're in love?
/Can you help it if he doesn't want you? Drakie, if you truly do want him, you'd let him go and let love and nature and shit follow its course./
You forget that Malfoys are selfish little hogs and get what they want.
/True, yes. But if you really want him, you'd want the best for him, wouldn't you?/
I hate consciences.
/Thank you./
I hate him.
/Whoa./
I hate him with a passion, its all his fault. He doesn't know that that blasted Weasley will not be good enough. The ardent fool.
he doesn't know I hurt. He doesn't know I pain. All he cares about is himself. Always himself. All that celebrity style, and that heroism patronage, it ruined his senses. He's such a loser, such a f***ing ass. There he is, strutting his way towards the Gryffindor table, to his seat. Yes, I loathe him. It's all his fault.
My heart hurts. It's hard to turn love into hate. Truly, it is.
And when he glanced up to me, my heart jerked in pain. How beautiful he was, with those engrossing green eyes, and that nicely carved face. The perfect picture, the perfect face, God must had given more time on him.
But he looks lost, and tired, and hurt. –I'm not hoping, I know it wasn't because of me. In fact I am sure he's happy to let me go, he just happened to glance up just when I was glancing up, that's why our eyes met. He probably hurts because that redhead's conversing with that fag Dean.
So near and yet so far away. I can never touch him, I will never caress him ever again. I will never show emotion in front of him, ever. I will never kiss him, hold him… He will never let me. And neither will I.
I don't care about him. He's much more brutal than I am, when it comes to love. I snarl at him and force my attention away. There are other things to look at.
But God only knows my thoughts are always of him.
---
Harry and Draco constantly avoided each other throughout the mroning. It was particularly easy, since they had very few lessons with each other anyway. But their thoughts remained focused on each other. Always. And then…
At last, a class which tightened the whole situation. Potions.
Snape briskly swept into the classroom, like he always did, face paler than Alaska's snow. A sinister smirk crept up to his face, as he folded his hands in front of him and scanned the classroom. He did not need any greetings, and without any explanation, he gave pairs.
"Zabini and Brown," Lavenender winced, "Bulstrode and…" a pause, then a wider simper, "Granger."
Hermione happened to push a book over the edge and it came tumbling down. Snape didn't take notice, assigning Crabbe and Goyle together ("those lucky gits" muttered Ron as he was paired up with a greasy-looking Slytherin boy with his teeth jutting out of his mouth like it had been bent that way.)
It was the first time Draco wanted to shove the cauldron stirring spoon up his teacher's big, fat, shit-infested —…*nose.* —Snape had just given him the perfect pair, Harry Potter. Of course he had a feeling Snape was trying to please Malfoy, that he thought Draco would make a nice, big move on Harry… The blonde couldn't blame him, for Snape didn't know that Draco was trying his very best to avoid the green-eyed lad.
After Snape regrettably paired up Seamus and Dean together (since there were no more evil choices), there was a scraping noise of wooden stools being dragged and a scrambling of students.
Harry sat down cautiously on the seat beside Draco. He tried his best to look stoic, to act stoic, and well… to just *be* stoic. His heart started to throb, the mere thought of Draco right beside him made him want to nauseate in disgust and smile stupidly. His love and hate mixing together made him undeniably dizzy that it sometimes gave him hallucinations. For example, he thought he saw Draco glance at him with a worried expression on his superbly brilliant –masterpiece— of a face… But of course that was simply imagination, for the only times he had knew Draco looked his way, it was with pure loathing and insensitivity.
Draco, on the other hand, wanted to laugh at the empty irony of it all. When he readily wanted Harry as a partner, he had been given Pansy or Crabbe. And when he wanted, no –prayed isolation from the boy-who-lived, look who he got! Being so close to him, he started yearning…He yearned to touch that special, famous boy, even once, just a slight brush… just an innocent brush against the back of his hand…
He held that thought with an iron grip, and shunned it away. Pushed it into the dark corner of his mind. No, he would not stoop so low, he was a Malfoy for goodness' sake! If he swore not to love Harry, he should burn that little thought and never think it again!
/Yes, but you also swore to get Harry./
Whose side are you on?!?!?!
/Just a thought! just a thought! Yeesh./
Harry stared at him, and Draco glared back, "What?!"
"I asked you a question." Harry said calmly, with a tinge of coldness.
"I'm sorry," he spat, "You were just too boring to hear. Care to retell?"
Harry looked away, saying, "Do I crush the fucking scorpion tails or do you?"
"What are we making?"
Harry didn't answer that, instead shoved a yellowish piece of paper quite roughly at Draco's direction. Draco grabbed it from him, reading the title. Ah, an old Egyptian Poison used for unloyal slaves and traitors.
They worked throughout the whole potions class in silence. Draco noticed that Ron Weasley constantly glanced up at him and Harry's direction, a glint of jealousy in his eyes. The redhead also smiled whenever Harry peeped up at Ron's direction, and it made Draco involuntarily clench his fists, wrenching his gaze away.
At last the class was over. They passed their little flasks up to the front, and started fixing up for the next subject. Draco's next subject was arithmathy, which was happily Harry-free.
Oh the joy.
Oh the pain.
Someone nudged at his shoulder. He turned around, and was pinned by two, expressive emerald eyes. They were bright in hue, staring up at him from a respectable distance. Draco couldn't find the words to say so instead tried to shove him away. A bit of a success.
Harry took a step back. He told Hermione and Ron to go out to their classes ahead, told them that he needed to discuss something with Snape. Stubborn for a while but loyal, he had persuaded them to go. He needed to talk to Draco. This deep emotion weighing his shoulders and heart was taking its toll.
"Draco?" no answer. " Draco, I-"
"Its Malfoy, isn't it?"
Harry fidgeted at the cold straightforwardness.
"Malfoy, look… I'm—"
Draco quickly grabbed his potions and arithmethy books from his desk and turned, his back facing Harry, storming out of the room in a calm but dangerous way. Harry stared at Draco's distancing back, and when it had moved out of view, slumped on a table, taken aback in emotion. A while later Harry took composure again and headed off to his Divination Class.
Snape looked very amused, confused and superior as he watched from a shadowy distance.
---
Later that day, as they were released early from Herbology class, Harry, Hermione and Ron made their way to the Quidditch Field. There was a Quidditch match that was going to take place there, and the competitors were the Slytherins and the Hufflepuffs. Harry tried his best to act nonchalant as they passed by the Slytherin's side, moving along quickly to the Gryffindor area, where the other fellow housemates were waiting excitedly.
"Who do you think's gonna win?" asked Fred as Harry was just about relaxed at his seat. Harry didn't hear. He poked the back of Harry's head playfully as George teased, "Oo, Harry's daydreaming again. Ron, you better be careful, it might not be you!"
Harry knew George was just kidding, but he clenched his fists and twisted his feet unconsciously. Not gathering attention, just little gestures. He *had* been thinking of someone else. He turned to see Ron's reaction, even if it looked like he was turning to look at the twins, too.
Ron didn't seem the least suspicious, or angry, or nervous or such, simply laughing along with his brothers. Harry tried to laugh along, too. Hermione overheard them and from Harry's right side, she prodded with her elbow. Harry leaned down casually and Hermione whispered, "I've seen you and Malfoy. I bet you had some fight some time. … Probably last night since I didn't see you ever speak to him during day and besides, you look like you need a good rest. "
Harry answered with a smile. She sighed, a little grin on her face, "Harry, whatever it is, I hope it doesn't affect you too much. It looks like it is though," a slight titter, "but really… Don't let it affect the way you think and the way you are. You're a good person, Harry. Don't let anything change… For me and Ron and your other friends, okay?"
Harry's smile widened a bit, and he nodded. Hermione gave him some words to think about indeed.
Just then a slight whoosh sounded in the field, and all attention turned to the quick, darting figures on broomsticks. Harry heard Lee Jordan with his magnetized voice, as he described the situation and constantly reminded the audience of the rules. Harry could hear the broomsticks roar and the audience cheer (Especially the Weasley twin's catcalls), but all Harry could see were swift dashes of green and silver. As quick as the game began, it ended just as quickly.
Within around ten minutes of play, someone had caught the snitch. There had been a little mess up, but as soon as it had cleared Lee Jordan announced something that made Harry's heart jump… Just because of a name.
"Draco Malfoy had just made an AMAZING catch! –uh, I mean, amazing for a Slytherin…not bad, not bad, considering he's a Slytherin alright." Some Slytherins from the viewer's bench hissed.
Lee Jordan continued,
"So Slytherin wins again, but how suspicious it is, that—"
"Jordan, you've got detention at lunch time."
"WHAT!?!?!?"
Harry chuckled when he heard Mc Gonagall's voice through the microphone, as she was seated beside Lee, "Yes Lee, detention. No more argues or I'll transfigure you into something useful, say a pair of rain boots."
Harry didn't pay attention after a while, his mind drifting off as he caught sight of a blonde boy walking in the middle of the field with his broomstick. Harry excused himself and said he would be there for History of Magic as soon as possible.
*
Harry saw Draco avert his eyes right away as soon as he came out of the Slytherin changing room and found the Gryffindor boy waiting there. Indeed, what was Harry doing, standing outside the changing rooms? To talk with his mortal enemy? Why?
Another fitter of guilt stung him when he saw Draco quickly move and walk away. He made a grab for his sleeve, and caught it.
Draco whirled around fiercely and pushed him away blaring, "WHAT IN HOLY HELL'S NAME DO YOU WANT!?!"
Harry was stunned back, eyes wide from the sudden outburst. Anger was in depth in Draco's face, but in a moment it changed into this expressionless façade, then he sneered.
"What Potter? Came to congratulate me? I knew you liked sucking up to people who are better than you."
Ouch.
"M-Malfoy!" Harry's voice broke a bit, "Just, just –please…"
"Just what, you dimp?" he shoved at Harry, " Just leave? Good, I was planning just to do just that!"
Harry shook his head violently as Draco turned and advanced a step away, he managed to grab the blonde's collar from the back.
"Just. Listen."
"Oh great, now you think I'm a deaf."
"Shut up!"
"Resorting to rudeness, now? You're strange, Potter."
Harry tried again, he hated it when the words seemed to hang on to his mouth, "I'm…I'm…"
"M hmm… you pronounce the 'a' in the strange like day. Say it now, S-T-R-A-N-G-E."
"Malfoy, I'm, —I'M SORRY!!!" Harry exclaimed, and Draco tensed. Harry couldn't see Draco's direct reaction, since he was only staring from Draco's back, but he hoped all would be okay. He wished with all his might, the only thing he wanted right now, —for this love—
no… wait, that's wrong…
—for this guilt to go away.
Harry thought that if Draco would accept the apology he could go on with living life, without the guilt and shame. It was hard to do it, though, bow down and surrender at your mortal enemy's hands.
Draco suddenly laughed. A cold, heartless mirth that stung through Harry's soul. Then Draco spun around and grabbed Harry's collar tightly, lifting the other boy a bit, "sorry, Potter? SORRY?!?! Hah, you are such a wimp, so pathetic. I'm glad I'm already over you,"
Harry felt a pang inside as Draco continued, "Yes, I've gotten over you. In fact, I think that you're loathing for me is not even a pint of my loathing for *you*."
Dear God, what was happening? It felt like everything in Harry's world crumbled. How could it affect this much?
"The way you talk, the way you laugh, the way you are, the way you hold yourself— it sickens me. You are such a braggart in trying to be humble. You feel like you're smart, like you're so good at Quidditch. You think all speaks well of you, well you know what?"
Draco waited for an answer. Harry could only mumble a 'what' inaudibly but the blonde understood, and he continued, "They don't. Everyone in school thinks you over-act. You are such a feeling, a wannabe. Trying to fit in and act cool. You're a geek, Potter. They don't like you, they just pretend to, just so you can live and they can say that they are the friends of the-boy-who-lived."
As Draco ranted, he brought Harry down. Physically and emotionally. As he talked, he himself felt hurt in what he said. Who was the last person who got a taste of Draco's rants and speeches?
Draco suffered, he suffered when he said those words. It hurt like hell, like he wanted to cry, to take it back. Just seeing Harry's scandalized face was too much, it was a struggle to keep the expression of disdain and the spite in the words.
But he had to persevere. He needed the revenge.
This time, it was Harry who left first.
---
It was lunchtime when Draco saw Harry again. Harry looked distressed, worried… he couldn't keep a smile on him for long. He looked awfully frail and tired, and most of all…
Deteriorated. Like someone sucked out all the minerals out of him. actually, it was quite true, Draco had his feeding of offended emotions. And was Draco happy about that?
He should be. But he wasn't. Draco hurt a lot more now, but he was able to handle the pain. It was a numbness, an emptiness now. He tried not to think of it that often, and spare him the embarrassing tears. Draco watched Harry get to his seat quietly… The boy didn't even look at the Slytherin's table once.
He didn't expect it, anyway.
*
Harry couldn't think right. All he could think about is what he had heard. From Draco.
Was it true? Did everyone think he was a 'feeling'? Was everyone just pretending to like him, so that they could tell other people that he had made interactions with the boy-who-lived? He felt scared to do anything now, afraid someone might think he's overacting or something.
The food sprung out like always, but Harry didn't care. He got his share with a frown and proceeded to eat. His mind seemed to have gone out on a vacation.
Draco probably thought that way about him. No surprise, of course. But it was the thoughts that counted. Harry felt irritated at himself, and he suddenly remembered all the awkward moments he had been through, all the embarrassing predicaments, the stupid things he said and did…
Ron was called up to do detention with Lee Jordan, since it was he who supported the 'Slytherins, the Stupid Cheating Scumbags' banner that was raised in the Quidditch game. And so Ron had to skip his study sessions with Hermione, Harry and Neville to join Lee for an early lunch.
So Harry had no one beside him. The chair was empty, like he felt. He wanted to talk to Ron now. But then, what would he say? Sure Ron was a great listener, but he was the type who would go enraged at any point and become unreasonable with these things! Harry did not want more trouble to arise.
Harry unconsciously glanced up to the Slytherins table, and found grey eyes examining him. Draco's glance was of pure detestation, and they both looked away quickly. Harry sighed, and drank a full swing of his orange juice. He had been getting those looks from Draco so many times. Through corridors, in classes, in assemblies… It hurt as much each time. He knew Draco hated him, but the malice of rivalry a long ago was different…*this* seemed so different… So unusually serious.
Harry suddenly coughed. Once, twice. A horrendous third. He started gaining attention from fellow hogwarts students, and his eyes watered. And he coughed some more, blood rushing up to his face. He leaned down lower, to his lap, so his head was below the table. His loud coughs were echoed the great hall as other noise started to subside. Some students from other houses stood up to have a peep. One of them was Draco.
Hermione quickly patted his back, and Harry was ushered by a few friends out the door. He couldn't tell who they were, though, since he was too preoccupied by keeping his eyes closed and coughing some more. Once they were out of the great hall, Hermione whipped out her wand and whispered something unintelligible. Harry suddenly coughed out a lot of his lunch.
"Are you alright, Mr. Potter?" asked Mc Gonagall, who came out of the great hall. She was instructed by Dumbledore to see to the problem. And looking down with a frown on her face, McGonagall swung her wand quickly and erase the mess on the floor in a second. Harry was breathing hard, but nodded. Then, he sputtered, "T-thanks, Hermione, Professor."
"No problem," Hermione said, beaming, "It was all a simple spell, really. It just summons up—"
"five points to Gryffindor," interrupted the female teacher, a small smile playing on her lips.
Once they sat back down on the table, and eyes were not cast on them anymore, Hermione leaned in, whispering, "Did you see Malfoy's face?"
"Was it shooting out daggers? " replied Harry.
Hermione slapped him playfully, "Funny, Harry. He was soo worried, you should have seen it. He was about to rush over to you, but I came first."
Harry rolled his eyes, "Yeah, riiiight…"
"I'm serious! He cares for you!"
A snort, "That'll be the day I see Dumbledore in polka-dotted briefs."
Hermione laughed at the sudden absurdity of the joke, "I'd die when I'd see that. But really Harry, I know he loves you."
"He has a funny way of showing it."
But Harry knew, deep in his heart, that he started it.
—Rather, Harry knew that he picked Ron over Draco, and Draco was simply shunning him away to make it easier for both of them.
So why did it seem so wrong?
The Hogwarts ghosts came swarming in from different directions, nobody made such a fuzz. These silvery ghosts weren't very harmful, in fact each student regularly saw at least two ghosts in a day. Harry smiled up at them, some waved back. Then, he looked around. There were two spirits missing.
The Bloody Baron and Peeves the Poltergeist. Suddenly, he felt an icy hand swat him from behind. Peeves somersaulted above him, and floated right on top of the table. He wasn't looking very happy at Harry. Harry remembered why.
"Naughty naughty!" Peeves singsonged. There was genuine malevolence in his glittering eyes.
"Look Peeves," Harry said, looking irritated, after all he had such a lousy day, "I really couldn—"
"POTTER THE ROTTER!" Peeves made sure the sound echoed throughout the room, "THE POOPHEAD IN SUMMER! HARRY YOU HAG, I SHOULD BE MAD! YOU'RE STUPID, YOU'RE WEAK! YOU LIAR, YOU CHEAT! YOU GREAT OLD WRINKLED PRUNE, GREAT FAT COW ON THE MOON! YOU'RE EVIL, YOU'RE BAD! YOU FICKLE MINDED LOSER! YOU—"
"Peeves!!!" that made the ghost turn from his taunt. He looked at the young, blonde boy standing near the Gryffindor table, whose expression was annoyed and livid. The Slytherin boy continued, "You're giving everyone a fucking headache."
Peeves mooned Draco with his behind, mocking, "So what, blondie? "
"I'll tell Baron."
"He wouldn't believe you!" Peeves jeered.
"He'll believe a Slytherin."
Peeves stopped, and thought about it for a moment. Seeing the great possibility of truth in Draco's words, he held out his chest, shouting, "Malfoy's a little tattletale!" then, he soared through a wall.
Draco sighed, then he heard Fred Weasley say, "Malfoy, thanks. We appreciate the suttle silence better than that lunatic's antics."
Draco cocked up his head, "What are you talking about? I just happened to come from the boy's bathroom, and his stupid wailing wouldn't stop." then he strode off.
Harry watched the boy go. He heard Hermione whisper, "Isn't the boy's bathroom on the other side?"
Indeed it was.
---
The Great hall was emptied after lunch, and it stayed in a lonely state for quite some time. The stillness of the empty chairs and tables were quite eerie, and the lack of light made it look very daunting. Hogwarts students seemed to forget about that room, since they were busy with their other classes. But all seemed bright and merry again when it was dinner time.
"So, Harry. Still not up to saying anything about your problem?" Ron asked Harry, eating a piece of bread. Harry smiled apologetically, replying, " Sorry Ron."
Ron shrugged. He heard George Weasley from a few seats away, "Say Harry, what do you say we get a taste of your food? You know, to make sure there's no poison or something to choke on?"
Harry laughed, and answered, "No thanks, George."
George grinned, "Okay, your loss if something happens. Don't blame it on me!"
"You just want a taste on the turkey!"
"You bet I do!"
Harry seemed a bit better that evening, maybe because he hadn't seen Draco all that much. Though it did still hurt whenever he *did* see Draco, he looked a lot better. But a tinge of sadness came over his face for a while as he remembered Draco's dark glances.
Ron poked his shoulder, and Harry looked at him. The redhead simply smiled, his purpose was not to let Harry drown in that cynical mood again. Talking low so that not everyone could hear them, Harry asked, "Ron, What if you had this big problem that you don't know what to do, what you want to do, and what you're doing? What would you do?"
"Is that a trick question?"
Harry smiled, "No."
"Well then," said Ron, looking more serious now, "If you're asking what I'd be doing, I'd ask an explanation. From who? Anyone. I couldn't bare being confused for too long." a gracious smile.
Harry nodded, looking back at his food. He didn't talk until Ron reminded, "Harry, remember that your friends will always be here, okay?"
"That's what Hermione said."
Hermione, from his other side, protested, "Hey, I am here!" It looked like she had been listening all along. Harry laughed, "I'm just saying you both said the same thing. I'm not implying anything."
Hermione glared jokingly, warning, "you better not be."
Ron snickered. Harry realized that it would be pretty hard for him if Hermione or Ron had this certain, terrible problem that they wouldn't tell him, and so he concluded that that was what they felt for him. He was in heaps of gratitude from inside.
Harry sighed, saying, "sorry guys, I'm just so… confused about myself and what I'm doing and all that stuff…"
Hermione nodded, then turned her head as Dean Thomas asked her a question. Harry looked at Ron.
Ron smiled softly at Harry, as if knowing his agony. Harry felt relieved that his best friend, and his lover, understood him the way he wanted him to.
Then Ron put out a hand.
It was a sign. Harry knew what it meant. It perfectly stated that Ron would be with him, and would always be there for him, if needed be. And Harry needed him right now.
Harry tried convincing himself that Draco was nothing more than a fling, than a crush, and it was slowly and painfully fading away. Harry told himself that Draco acted cold to him because he didn't want Harry anymore, didn't want Harry ever again. And it was made to make it easier.
Oh woe to him, he didn't know how false that was.
And so he took Ron's hand, and clasped it firmly, and warmly, a true smile entering his face or the first time that day. Ron held his hand eagerly close.
Across the room, in the Slytherin's table, a boy's heart cried out in agony. As if scissors shredded it into nothing.
---
There was a light scraping of a quill on parchment in the well-lighted room. There was no gloom in the room at all, quite a difference to the rest of Hogwarts. And this room was very messy, loads of parchments stacking up on the table in the middle. An old man sat humming a tune as he wrote.
There was a knock on the door. Albus Dumbledore smiled warmly, and said, "Ah, Minerva. Please come in."
Minerva opened the door with an expression of strictness. Dumbledore set aside his quill and clasped his hands together at the table, looking at her cheerily.
Minerva twitched, took a few steps forward and tossed a very soiled rag at the table. Some parchments flew to the floor, and Dumbledore suspected her to be a teeny bit pissed.
"Uhm…" Dumbledore started, eyes fixed on the rag, "what is this?"
Minerva lifted her chin a bit, and looked very disapproving as she mumbled, "Your boxer shorts."
There was no noise in the room for a short while.
Then, Dumbledore grinned sheepishly, "Uh… oops?"
Minerva, the Gryffindor head, did not say anything. And the stillness of the atmosphere became deafening. Dumbledore swore he heard the crickets.
The headmaster tried again, "So… uhm, where did you find it?"
Her reply was instant, "Harry Potter almost had it for lunch. It was ingeniously placed in the pudding. "
Dumbledore did not reply. For a long time, really. How did it get there? Why was it there? Ah, the many mysteries of the world. Dumbledore took a deep breath,
"Oh."
************************************
EEEY! Pythia, just because someone was a Filipino and reviewed doesn't mean you have to tell everyone I'm Filipino too! You spoiled my surprise, I wanted to have my fun by surprising her! Oh well. Good luck on your bracelet story!
Kung sino ba ang kababayan namin, kamusta!
Ok, please review, and one, I'm sorry for this length, its unimaginably long with many short, choppy scenes. Two, I'm sorry if this part is rushed or not well 'grammarized', I was too lazy and too rushed up to fix it. But I'll revise some day when I have the chance to. Three, I'm sorry if the emotions are too exaggerated but, I don't really know how it should feel. Sucky writer, aren't I? Oh well. Oh, and yes, Dumbledore was suppose to know it was Minerva before she came into the room. I always suspect him for having these weird extra sense of knowing something... you know... ah, well humbug. Thank you for getting this far. Please review! I love you ppl!