Phantasmagoria
By: ShinigamiForever
Warnings: Slash. Hopefully not cliché. *crosses fingers*
Disclaimer: Look up. It says FANFICTION. FAN.
Pairings: As of yet, only some mild Draco/Harry and Ron/Hermione. Will progress to Seamus/Dean and Fred/George.
Summary: Wherein Fate thinks it's amusing to constantly place Harry and Draco in rather compromising situations. Wherein Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Dean and some others decide to play match maker for the two. Wherein the seventh year ends up to be rather catastrophic. A Harry/Draco production.
Chapter summary: Dumbledore and McGonagall have a little talk. Harry and Draco discover that food fights are not only messy, but have consequences. The trophies need polishing. Guess who are the lucky two.
A/N: The little part in the beginning is back, with the scientists and all that. Some parts of this fic inspired by Dark and my fic, Innuendo. Just have fun, eh?
Chapter 5: A Forecast of Food Fights
"You gay?"
"Why do you say that?"
"The way you look at him, kinda tender and gentle. A look. You know."
"Mm." He turned nervously away from his co-worker, his eyes coincidentally landing on the young man, bordering on boy, who lay on the chair, reclining, wires and tubes everywhere. Something about the curve of his face, the bobbing eyes beneath the lids.
Dreaming. Was the young man dreaming?
"So are you?"
"Am I what?" he asked distractedly.
"Gay." His co-worker was black, skin chocolate. Like African sunlight in the dim room of the lab.
"No."
"Liar," the co-worker said, laughing, and placed a hand on his arm, a gentle touch, warm and coffee against his skin. "Liar," the co-worker repeated, quieter now.
He jerked his hand away. "I'm not."
***
Professor Trelawney looked like a spider, leaning over his teacup in a protective way, her arms thin. Her glasses reflected nothing, not the steam that rose up in Harry's. The foggy whiteness everywhere. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out in an exasperated sigh.
"Professor?"
"Shh," she hissed through her teeth, inhaling the moist scent of the tea. "I must have full concentration to comprehend your future." Harry decided it would be useless to point out that for the last 4 years, she had always predicted his future in at least 5 seconds. Fingers tapping against the table, he looked around. Most of the students were bent over their teacups, nervously laughing. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had smug expressions on their faces, writing down their futures with gusto. Ron was at his side, giggling in a way Harry had thought only girls did.
"You poor, poor boy. Oh, my poor, poor boy." Harry held back his instinct to lash out, to say that he was not her boy. Instead, he rolled his eyes towards Ron, who continued giggling. "I see awful things in your future. Awful, terrible things."
"My death?" he asked wryly.
"Ah, if that were only so. If that were only so." The class suddenly became deathly silent, all heads turned in Harry's direction. He sank a little into his chair. Trelawney's eyes had hardened and they became two glittering orbs attached to her face. She was dead serious.
To use a pun, of course.
"What, then? If not my immediate death…"
"Betrayal. Love. Broken dreams. You will face the threat of death, and you will over come it, but-" And she started gasping, falling back into her seat, hand on her chest. Harry leaned forward, his eyes peering into the crystal ball, but he saw nothing. Just white mist. And then a speck of color, grayish blue, suddenly appeared, then magnified, slowly, slowly-
Lavender had rushed up to Trelawney and was now cooing to ask whether or not the professor was all right. Ron had turned ashen, but was now giggling nervously again. "She's joking, right?" He turned anxiously to Harry, who was entranced by the speck in the crystal ball.
"Harry?"
He jolted, his eyelids falling over his pupils. The speck disappeared. Ron hovered over his shoulder, his face screwed in unease. "Harry, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said brusquely, turning away from the crystal ball.
For a moment, he swore he saw Draco Malfoy's face reflected in the white depths.
***
"For the last time, I am NOT in love with Harry Potter!" Draco hissed indignantly, causing Professor Sprout to snap, "Quiet, Malfoy!" over the racket of students. They had been all scrambling to catch Sonondous plants, things that looked akin to moving grass. Running grass, actually. Draco had been too preoccupied with fending off the onslaught of questions than listening to Sprout explain the uses of the plant, but he had caught words like "hearing" and "heal." So it wasn't a useless plant anyway.
Kevin Entwhistle, a seventh year Ravenclaw, grinned maliciously at Draco and goaded, "Oh no, you don't love him, you just lust over his bo~dy!"
Draco hated Kevin. He had a way of drawling out words that made them sound worse than they ever could. Like the word body. For God's sake, Kevin might have well said 'Oh no, you just want to get laid' or something equally crude for all the difference it made.
Stupid Kevin. Draco cursed under his breath. Then calmed down, then smiled. "I certainly don't, but Entwhistle, do you?" Ha! So take that!
The Ravenclaw gaped, much like a fish, before stuttering, "Of course not! I- I'm not gay!"
Leering, Draco leaned in closer and said, "Oh? But I heard that you and that Hufflepuff Anthony…" and left it at that, leaving poor stupid Kevin to fend for himself.
Today was a bad day, Draco thought to himself as he shoved a Sonondous plant into his bucket. Today couldn't get much worse than this.
But he realized, as he began halfheartedly chasing another plant, it was Hogwarts. And it was Potter. Of course the day could get worse. Much much worse.
And wouldn't you know? It did.
***
Lunch at the Gryffindor table was its usual bright happy self. The students bustled themselves in and sat down, shoving as much food into their mouths as humanly possible. Lunch at the Gryffindor table was lively and full of merry cheer.
Except today, Harry didn't feel like cheer. He was tired and irritated, having gotten almost no sleep, and having to spend the majority of his morning maintaining that no, he was not gay, and if he was, he wouldn't have picked Draco bloody Malfoy, of all people.
Speaking of which, he thought, what was Malfoy up to? He glanced over at Malfoy, who was currently also eating lunch, but looking more as if he was being boiled in a pot of hot oil. His face, normally smooth and composed, was bright pink, and he was so desperately trying to ignore his housemates that it was almost funny.
Almost, but not quite.
It would have been funny if Harry had not been doing the same thing.
Sighing, he turned back to his lunch and absently picked at the potatoes and steak, feeling dismal. Hermione was reading, and Ron was imitating a pig, shoving the food in so quickly, well, personally Harry thought he was going to choke.
"Whass da matter, 'arry?" Ron said, around a mouthful of food. He chugged down some pumpkin juice for good measure, then gulped. "You okay?"
"Fine. Just dandy."
Ron opened his mouth just as Hermione interrupted. "Harry. Why aren't you eating?" Hermione put down her book and peered anxiously at him. For the same reason that git over there isn't eating, thought Harry, but he said nothing, just continued moving one piece of potato from one end of the plate to another.
"I know," said Ron bluntly. "He's mooning over Ferret-Boy."
"I AM NOT!" Harry yelled, slamming his silverware down on the table. Ron looked up, shocked and slightly embarrassed.
"Jeez, Harry, I'm just kidding."
"Well, STOP kidding."
"Hey! Harry!" a fifth year Gryffindor called out from down the table. "Is it true?"
"Yeah! Harry! Is it true?" Choruses of questions rained down from the four tables like hail. "Was Malfoy any good?" "How long you've been a poof, Potter?" "Lust after your roommates any?" "Malfoy, of all people?" "Hey, Creevy wants a date!"
But mostly, "Harry, is it true?"
"Yes, Potter," came a voice behind Harry, low and angry. "Is it true?"
Draco Malfoy. For a moment, Harry sat there, trembling from uncontrollable rage. His jaws were clenched together, and he could swear that there was a tic going off in his temple. Then suddenly, quite suddenly, he picked up his plate of food and slammed in straight into Malfoy's face, causing the entire room to go silent.
"You BASTARD! You started these rumors, didn't you?"
"POTTER! For what damn reason would I start rumors that would incriminate me?"
"Admit it! You just wanted some piece of the glory, don't you? Couldn't stand being one step behind me, could you?"
Draco's face twitched under the mashed potatoes, and Harry had the horrible impulse to laugh. If it weren't for Draco's hand, clenched in a fist and shaking dangerously. "And you think I would sleep with you for that glory, Potter? Do you?"
Harry swallowed, the steam running out of him, the distinct thought, 'Oh hell' resounding in his mind in place of the fury. "Look, Malfoy, I was just-"
"Just what, Harry? Come on, spit it out." Draco's voice was deathly quiet.
"I didn't mean- I wasn't- I'm sorry, okay?"
"Well, I don't need your damn sorry."
"You don't have to be an ass about it! I was trying to apologize! You stupid arrogant-"
The plate of food in the face was unexpected. But then again, Harry thought as he stood there, stunned, gravy dripping off his nose, he deserved it. He really did. He himself was the stupid one here, venting out on Draco when Draco didn't really deserve it.
Embarrassed now, Harry wiped off some of the potato from his eyes and tried to apologize again. But Draco was already starting to walk away, his back like an angry wall in Harry's face.
It was just then, just as Harry was about to call out sorry one more time, just as he wanted to make things better, Snape showed up.
***
"Albus, I am really worried about those two!"
Dumbledore sat in his chair, looking quite old and quite tired. For a fleeting second, Professor Minerva McGonagall was afraid for the Headmaster. He had no right being old, she thought irrationally. Albus Dumbledore was not allowed to get old.
"I'm sure they will be find, Minerva. I suggest we just let this thing take its course." Something seemed off about Albus. To McGonagall, he seemed to be…
Joking?
"But this is the second time in two days! First that little incident with the armor which was really quite amusing in a juvenile kind of way, and now a food fight in the middle of lunch. Honestly!"
"Boys will be boys," Dumbledore answered, his mouth curving into a hidden smile.
"They are almost grown men!"
"Minerva," he leaned in, speaking softly and gently, "you know just as well as I do that when the final battle comes, they will have no more time left for food fights and, as you call them, 'juvenile' incidents. Especially Harry."
"I know that," she replied fretfully. "I know that. And that's why I'm worried. I want Harry to be concentrated. I want him to take this seriously. I want him to-"
"Minerva," Dumbledore cut in sharply. "He's still young. You can't expect so much from him. He's already doing the best he can. I think the best course of action is just to sit back and watch." As if to drive in the point, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingers together, lips forming a taut line.
"I suppose you are right," McGonagall replied hesitantly.
"Of course I am," he said, smiling. "Now go help those two before Snape beheads them."
She gave a sharp laugh and got up. As she neared the door, she turned back around. He was looking away, into empty space, and he looked so very, very old.
Minerva McGonagall suddenly felt more worried than she had ever felt before.
***
The silence in the room broke abruptly as McGonagall swept in, looking as prim and austere as ever before. Draco had already started to regret approaching Harry during lunch, but it was full blown now. He completely and utterly regretted ever thinking about talking with Harry during lunch.
McGonagall stood awkwardly next to Snape's desk, waiting for Snape to talk. And he did, clearing his throat presumptuously first. "Well, well, well. It seems that the school year has not quite started yet, but the antics have, no?"
"Professor," Harry cut in, hesitant. Draco found his eyes drawn back to Harry, to the curve of his jaw again. He had vowed not to give in to himself; a whole summer wasted thinking about Potter was bad enough, he didn't need to do it for the whole year. But there it was, and he couldn't do anything about it. "I can explain."
"Oh?" McGonagall asked sarcastically. "Surely, Mr. Potter, there is nothing to explain. You and Malfoy deliberately started a fight by throwing plates of food at each other's faces."
"It was only one each!" Draco cut in, annoyed.
"It was still a food fight," Snape hissed dramatically. Draco gritted his teeth, keeping his hands from lashing out at the oily-haired figure in front of him.
Harry seemed subdued in the dark light. Draco was worried, irrationally worried, that if it was any more darker, that Harry would just disappear, be whisked off by the light. Of course, it wasn't true, but it didn't keep Draco from wanting to reach out and grab the Gryffindor's wrist to keep him from fading away.
"I am really disappointed in both of you boys," McGonagall continued in her snippy voice. "Two detentions in two days- not even two days, one and a half! I expect much more demure behavior from both of you in the future. Mr. Potter," she said, rounding suddenly on Harry, black eyes flashing with unholy fervor. "You know better. This is not the time nor the place to be starting such irresponsible behavior. You have a duty, Mr. Potter."
Harry chewed at his lower lip, hands clenched helplessly in his lap. He nodded and muttered, "Yes, Professor." Draco wondered vaguely, only vaguely, what that duty was. He was more interested in Harry's teeth, his lip being worn under them, pink and wet. Draco shook his head, causing Snape to turn his head.
"Is there something you would like to add, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape had a way of talking, Draco realized, that drew out words and made them seem sinister. Malfoy. As if Malfoy was a bad word. Of course, Snape did that to everyone. Draco always enjoyed the way Snape spat out 'Potter.' The insolent roll of the letter 'R'. It was all Harry.
"No, Professor."
"Good. On top of loosing 30 points each-"
"30?!" Draco found himself almost lunging forward. Harry's soft voice interrupted.
"Professor-"
"Consider that generous," Snape said, baring his teeth. "On top of loosing 30 points each, you two will be polishing the trophies in the trophy room. Show up at my office at 7:30 sharp. Dismissed."
Draco watched Harry's expression shift under the skin, from the hesitant worried boy into a determined weather young man. He sighed, raising his eyes until they bruised Snape's with their own sharpness.
7:30 it is, then, he thought, getting out of his seat and resisting the urge to glance back at Harry.
A/N: Yay! FFN is finally back up! Yay!
Summary for next chapter: Harry and Draco try to reach an understanding in a way that ends up involving a lot of trophy dropping, growling, and general discomfort. Seamus and Dean try to work out their differences in a way that ends up involving much awkward positions, accident discoveries, and stoic glares. Fred and George try to sort out hormone-induced thoughts in a way that ends up involving much rude interruption, pouncing, and snogging. Much unresolved sexual tension for all.
By: ShinigamiForever
Warnings: Slash. Hopefully not cliché. *crosses fingers*
Disclaimer: Look up. It says FANFICTION. FAN.
Pairings: As of yet, only some mild Draco/Harry and Ron/Hermione. Will progress to Seamus/Dean and Fred/George.
Summary: Wherein Fate thinks it's amusing to constantly place Harry and Draco in rather compromising situations. Wherein Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Dean and some others decide to play match maker for the two. Wherein the seventh year ends up to be rather catastrophic. A Harry/Draco production.
Chapter summary: Dumbledore and McGonagall have a little talk. Harry and Draco discover that food fights are not only messy, but have consequences. The trophies need polishing. Guess who are the lucky two.
A/N: The little part in the beginning is back, with the scientists and all that. Some parts of this fic inspired by Dark and my fic, Innuendo. Just have fun, eh?
Chapter 5: A Forecast of Food Fights
"You gay?"
"Why do you say that?"
"The way you look at him, kinda tender and gentle. A look. You know."
"Mm." He turned nervously away from his co-worker, his eyes coincidentally landing on the young man, bordering on boy, who lay on the chair, reclining, wires and tubes everywhere. Something about the curve of his face, the bobbing eyes beneath the lids.
Dreaming. Was the young man dreaming?
"So are you?"
"Am I what?" he asked distractedly.
"Gay." His co-worker was black, skin chocolate. Like African sunlight in the dim room of the lab.
"No."
"Liar," the co-worker said, laughing, and placed a hand on his arm, a gentle touch, warm and coffee against his skin. "Liar," the co-worker repeated, quieter now.
He jerked his hand away. "I'm not."
***
Professor Trelawney looked like a spider, leaning over his teacup in a protective way, her arms thin. Her glasses reflected nothing, not the steam that rose up in Harry's. The foggy whiteness everywhere. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out in an exasperated sigh.
"Professor?"
"Shh," she hissed through her teeth, inhaling the moist scent of the tea. "I must have full concentration to comprehend your future." Harry decided it would be useless to point out that for the last 4 years, she had always predicted his future in at least 5 seconds. Fingers tapping against the table, he looked around. Most of the students were bent over their teacups, nervously laughing. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had smug expressions on their faces, writing down their futures with gusto. Ron was at his side, giggling in a way Harry had thought only girls did.
"You poor, poor boy. Oh, my poor, poor boy." Harry held back his instinct to lash out, to say that he was not her boy. Instead, he rolled his eyes towards Ron, who continued giggling. "I see awful things in your future. Awful, terrible things."
"My death?" he asked wryly.
"Ah, if that were only so. If that were only so." The class suddenly became deathly silent, all heads turned in Harry's direction. He sank a little into his chair. Trelawney's eyes had hardened and they became two glittering orbs attached to her face. She was dead serious.
To use a pun, of course.
"What, then? If not my immediate death…"
"Betrayal. Love. Broken dreams. You will face the threat of death, and you will over come it, but-" And she started gasping, falling back into her seat, hand on her chest. Harry leaned forward, his eyes peering into the crystal ball, but he saw nothing. Just white mist. And then a speck of color, grayish blue, suddenly appeared, then magnified, slowly, slowly-
Lavender had rushed up to Trelawney and was now cooing to ask whether or not the professor was all right. Ron had turned ashen, but was now giggling nervously again. "She's joking, right?" He turned anxiously to Harry, who was entranced by the speck in the crystal ball.
"Harry?"
He jolted, his eyelids falling over his pupils. The speck disappeared. Ron hovered over his shoulder, his face screwed in unease. "Harry, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said brusquely, turning away from the crystal ball.
For a moment, he swore he saw Draco Malfoy's face reflected in the white depths.
***
"For the last time, I am NOT in love with Harry Potter!" Draco hissed indignantly, causing Professor Sprout to snap, "Quiet, Malfoy!" over the racket of students. They had been all scrambling to catch Sonondous plants, things that looked akin to moving grass. Running grass, actually. Draco had been too preoccupied with fending off the onslaught of questions than listening to Sprout explain the uses of the plant, but he had caught words like "hearing" and "heal." So it wasn't a useless plant anyway.
Kevin Entwhistle, a seventh year Ravenclaw, grinned maliciously at Draco and goaded, "Oh no, you don't love him, you just lust over his bo~dy!"
Draco hated Kevin. He had a way of drawling out words that made them sound worse than they ever could. Like the word body. For God's sake, Kevin might have well said 'Oh no, you just want to get laid' or something equally crude for all the difference it made.
Stupid Kevin. Draco cursed under his breath. Then calmed down, then smiled. "I certainly don't, but Entwhistle, do you?" Ha! So take that!
The Ravenclaw gaped, much like a fish, before stuttering, "Of course not! I- I'm not gay!"
Leering, Draco leaned in closer and said, "Oh? But I heard that you and that Hufflepuff Anthony…" and left it at that, leaving poor stupid Kevin to fend for himself.
Today was a bad day, Draco thought to himself as he shoved a Sonondous plant into his bucket. Today couldn't get much worse than this.
But he realized, as he began halfheartedly chasing another plant, it was Hogwarts. And it was Potter. Of course the day could get worse. Much much worse.
And wouldn't you know? It did.
***
Lunch at the Gryffindor table was its usual bright happy self. The students bustled themselves in and sat down, shoving as much food into their mouths as humanly possible. Lunch at the Gryffindor table was lively and full of merry cheer.
Except today, Harry didn't feel like cheer. He was tired and irritated, having gotten almost no sleep, and having to spend the majority of his morning maintaining that no, he was not gay, and if he was, he wouldn't have picked Draco bloody Malfoy, of all people.
Speaking of which, he thought, what was Malfoy up to? He glanced over at Malfoy, who was currently also eating lunch, but looking more as if he was being boiled in a pot of hot oil. His face, normally smooth and composed, was bright pink, and he was so desperately trying to ignore his housemates that it was almost funny.
Almost, but not quite.
It would have been funny if Harry had not been doing the same thing.
Sighing, he turned back to his lunch and absently picked at the potatoes and steak, feeling dismal. Hermione was reading, and Ron was imitating a pig, shoving the food in so quickly, well, personally Harry thought he was going to choke.
"Whass da matter, 'arry?" Ron said, around a mouthful of food. He chugged down some pumpkin juice for good measure, then gulped. "You okay?"
"Fine. Just dandy."
Ron opened his mouth just as Hermione interrupted. "Harry. Why aren't you eating?" Hermione put down her book and peered anxiously at him. For the same reason that git over there isn't eating, thought Harry, but he said nothing, just continued moving one piece of potato from one end of the plate to another.
"I know," said Ron bluntly. "He's mooning over Ferret-Boy."
"I AM NOT!" Harry yelled, slamming his silverware down on the table. Ron looked up, shocked and slightly embarrassed.
"Jeez, Harry, I'm just kidding."
"Well, STOP kidding."
"Hey! Harry!" a fifth year Gryffindor called out from down the table. "Is it true?"
"Yeah! Harry! Is it true?" Choruses of questions rained down from the four tables like hail. "Was Malfoy any good?" "How long you've been a poof, Potter?" "Lust after your roommates any?" "Malfoy, of all people?" "Hey, Creevy wants a date!"
But mostly, "Harry, is it true?"
"Yes, Potter," came a voice behind Harry, low and angry. "Is it true?"
Draco Malfoy. For a moment, Harry sat there, trembling from uncontrollable rage. His jaws were clenched together, and he could swear that there was a tic going off in his temple. Then suddenly, quite suddenly, he picked up his plate of food and slammed in straight into Malfoy's face, causing the entire room to go silent.
"You BASTARD! You started these rumors, didn't you?"
"POTTER! For what damn reason would I start rumors that would incriminate me?"
"Admit it! You just wanted some piece of the glory, don't you? Couldn't stand being one step behind me, could you?"
Draco's face twitched under the mashed potatoes, and Harry had the horrible impulse to laugh. If it weren't for Draco's hand, clenched in a fist and shaking dangerously. "And you think I would sleep with you for that glory, Potter? Do you?"
Harry swallowed, the steam running out of him, the distinct thought, 'Oh hell' resounding in his mind in place of the fury. "Look, Malfoy, I was just-"
"Just what, Harry? Come on, spit it out." Draco's voice was deathly quiet.
"I didn't mean- I wasn't- I'm sorry, okay?"
"Well, I don't need your damn sorry."
"You don't have to be an ass about it! I was trying to apologize! You stupid arrogant-"
The plate of food in the face was unexpected. But then again, Harry thought as he stood there, stunned, gravy dripping off his nose, he deserved it. He really did. He himself was the stupid one here, venting out on Draco when Draco didn't really deserve it.
Embarrassed now, Harry wiped off some of the potato from his eyes and tried to apologize again. But Draco was already starting to walk away, his back like an angry wall in Harry's face.
It was just then, just as Harry was about to call out sorry one more time, just as he wanted to make things better, Snape showed up.
***
"Albus, I am really worried about those two!"
Dumbledore sat in his chair, looking quite old and quite tired. For a fleeting second, Professor Minerva McGonagall was afraid for the Headmaster. He had no right being old, she thought irrationally. Albus Dumbledore was not allowed to get old.
"I'm sure they will be find, Minerva. I suggest we just let this thing take its course." Something seemed off about Albus. To McGonagall, he seemed to be…
Joking?
"But this is the second time in two days! First that little incident with the armor which was really quite amusing in a juvenile kind of way, and now a food fight in the middle of lunch. Honestly!"
"Boys will be boys," Dumbledore answered, his mouth curving into a hidden smile.
"They are almost grown men!"
"Minerva," he leaned in, speaking softly and gently, "you know just as well as I do that when the final battle comes, they will have no more time left for food fights and, as you call them, 'juvenile' incidents. Especially Harry."
"I know that," she replied fretfully. "I know that. And that's why I'm worried. I want Harry to be concentrated. I want him to take this seriously. I want him to-"
"Minerva," Dumbledore cut in sharply. "He's still young. You can't expect so much from him. He's already doing the best he can. I think the best course of action is just to sit back and watch." As if to drive in the point, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingers together, lips forming a taut line.
"I suppose you are right," McGonagall replied hesitantly.
"Of course I am," he said, smiling. "Now go help those two before Snape beheads them."
She gave a sharp laugh and got up. As she neared the door, she turned back around. He was looking away, into empty space, and he looked so very, very old.
Minerva McGonagall suddenly felt more worried than she had ever felt before.
***
The silence in the room broke abruptly as McGonagall swept in, looking as prim and austere as ever before. Draco had already started to regret approaching Harry during lunch, but it was full blown now. He completely and utterly regretted ever thinking about talking with Harry during lunch.
McGonagall stood awkwardly next to Snape's desk, waiting for Snape to talk. And he did, clearing his throat presumptuously first. "Well, well, well. It seems that the school year has not quite started yet, but the antics have, no?"
"Professor," Harry cut in, hesitant. Draco found his eyes drawn back to Harry, to the curve of his jaw again. He had vowed not to give in to himself; a whole summer wasted thinking about Potter was bad enough, he didn't need to do it for the whole year. But there it was, and he couldn't do anything about it. "I can explain."
"Oh?" McGonagall asked sarcastically. "Surely, Mr. Potter, there is nothing to explain. You and Malfoy deliberately started a fight by throwing plates of food at each other's faces."
"It was only one each!" Draco cut in, annoyed.
"It was still a food fight," Snape hissed dramatically. Draco gritted his teeth, keeping his hands from lashing out at the oily-haired figure in front of him.
Harry seemed subdued in the dark light. Draco was worried, irrationally worried, that if it was any more darker, that Harry would just disappear, be whisked off by the light. Of course, it wasn't true, but it didn't keep Draco from wanting to reach out and grab the Gryffindor's wrist to keep him from fading away.
"I am really disappointed in both of you boys," McGonagall continued in her snippy voice. "Two detentions in two days- not even two days, one and a half! I expect much more demure behavior from both of you in the future. Mr. Potter," she said, rounding suddenly on Harry, black eyes flashing with unholy fervor. "You know better. This is not the time nor the place to be starting such irresponsible behavior. You have a duty, Mr. Potter."
Harry chewed at his lower lip, hands clenched helplessly in his lap. He nodded and muttered, "Yes, Professor." Draco wondered vaguely, only vaguely, what that duty was. He was more interested in Harry's teeth, his lip being worn under them, pink and wet. Draco shook his head, causing Snape to turn his head.
"Is there something you would like to add, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape had a way of talking, Draco realized, that drew out words and made them seem sinister. Malfoy. As if Malfoy was a bad word. Of course, Snape did that to everyone. Draco always enjoyed the way Snape spat out 'Potter.' The insolent roll of the letter 'R'. It was all Harry.
"No, Professor."
"Good. On top of loosing 30 points each-"
"30?!" Draco found himself almost lunging forward. Harry's soft voice interrupted.
"Professor-"
"Consider that generous," Snape said, baring his teeth. "On top of loosing 30 points each, you two will be polishing the trophies in the trophy room. Show up at my office at 7:30 sharp. Dismissed."
Draco watched Harry's expression shift under the skin, from the hesitant worried boy into a determined weather young man. He sighed, raising his eyes until they bruised Snape's with their own sharpness.
7:30 it is, then, he thought, getting out of his seat and resisting the urge to glance back at Harry.
A/N: Yay! FFN is finally back up! Yay!
Summary for next chapter: Harry and Draco try to reach an understanding in a way that ends up involving a lot of trophy dropping, growling, and general discomfort. Seamus and Dean try to work out their differences in a way that ends up involving much awkward positions, accident discoveries, and stoic glares. Fred and George try to sort out hormone-induced thoughts in a way that ends up involving much rude interruption, pouncing, and snogging. Much unresolved sexual tension for all.
