Ritual Disclaimer: This belongs to Joanne Katherine Rowling, otherwise known as Supreme Author of All, who is my personal close friend (I'm not lying, really I'm not!).
Ritual Warning: As I said in the summary, this is SLASH. Two boys who are 'special friends' in a non- platonic way. All homophobics, whether they realize it or not shall run away. But if you must flame, please do it w/o cursing me, questioning my sexuality, or writing 'U' and 'R' instead of 'you' and 'are'. Thanks
Quickly Becoming More Ritualistic Congratulations: To my dear friend Sarit, who I've known for ten years, who has just come to her senses and read the first Harry Potter book, and is looking forward to the other three. Two down, three to go.
By the time Christmas Break was upon them, Harry and Trelawny's weeks of careful planning had come to an end. Now all that remained was for Harry to set the whole thing in motion and deliver the hopefully unforgettable words into Draco's delicate, shell-like ear. Easier said than done. No matter what Sybill said, no matter how many times she assured him of Draco's unfailing love (or at least lust), all Harry could see was the tow-headed boy reading aloud from Rita Skeeter's various articles about his tear-filled eyes.
Finally it was Christmas Eve. Like every year, Draco had returned home for the holidays, and to Harry, each day without him nearby seemed like a week—which, when all was said and done, added up to an inconceivably large amount of time. He ate his Christmas feast with Ron and Hermione, pulled poppers with Ginny and Colin (who now seemed to pay him a lot less attention then they used too.), and generally tried to give an air of festive- Christmas-party-type-happiness. It failed miserably. All evening it seemed like the entire Gryffindor House, (or at least what remained of it) was asking him if he was all right. Eventually, he became so frustrated that he seriously contemplated using Avada Kedavra on the lot of them. It was about this time that he realized just how tired and unhappy he really was, and decided to go to bed. The only thing even mildly good about the day was the rather large pile of shiny parcels at the foot of his bed, each bearing a small tag that warned him not to open until 'X-mas'. He made sure to follow this rule, considering what had happened to that poor second-year when he'd opened his. It's all right, he thought, I'm sure John's eyebrows'll grow back eventually.
With this comforting thought, he slipped on his pajamas, curled onto his bed, and pulled the curtains tightly around him.
Draco was also spending his Christmas eve at a party, as the ever-popular Malfoys were wont to do, however he seemed to be enjoying it even less than Harry was enjoying his, impossible as this may sound. Like Harry, he fervently wished he were anywhere else (preferably the aforementioned boy, but he'd take what he could get). The only way he could possibly percieve to get out of this was to drink as much eggnog as possible and get good and drunk. Unfortunately after getting a napkin and pen and figuring out exactly how many cups it would take, all he had to look forward to was a long and eggnoggy night. He sighed, wishing for something, anything, to relieve the tedium. Just then his eyes met Pansy's across the room, and she blushed trying desperately to hide the steaming cup in one hand and the mistletoein the other. Draco winced, anticipating yet another one of Pansy's 'delightful' antics. And he was not dissapointed, for the pug-faced girl poured the whatever-it-was into a party cup, slipped the mistletoe into her pocket and came toward him, a charming (or at least that's what she meant it to be) smile on her face.
"Here Drakey honey, I got you a drink!"
He stared as a rather large bubble formed and popped. Steam wafted out of the cup forming little hearts around his head, smelling suspiciously like Calvin Klein's Obsession. Draco recognized a love potion when he saw one.
"Er . . . uh . . . no thanks Pansy, I'm, um, not very thirsty. Thanks," he pushed the cup back into her hand, and orchestrated a hasty retreat.
He spent the rest of the evening avoiding Pansy and the other debutantes who seemed to think he was some kind of demi-god, and striving harder and harder to reach his ultimate goal of unconscious drunkenness. As he was ducking into a bedroom to avoid a short blond with a suspiciously equine nose, he realized that (a) not one year ago he would have adored this, (b) the cause of his loss of adoration was none other than the previously mentioned Potter boy, and (c) he missed said Potter boy so much that it hurt. He sat down on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands.
* * *
Ron watched suspiciously from his clever hiding space (under the bed) as Harry put on a dash of the cologne Hermione had bought for him. Harry hummed a lilting tune, checked the mirror to see if his hair was at least pretending to behave, and walked out of the room, skipping all the way. Ron waited a few more minutes, then, satisfied that Harry was not going to return, breathed a sigh of relief and went to take his first shower of the month. His plan to cure Harry of his ridiculous obsession seemed to be working as he hadn't made any unwelcome advances yet, however it was also putting a damper on his blossoming relationship with Hermione, a fact which irked him every night.
Harry glanced behind him to see if Ron was following him again, or if he was still 'hiding' under the bed. As he climbed the steps to the Divinations classroom, he shook his head at Ron's foolishness. It had become quite obvious to him that Ron had developed something of a crush directed towards young Harry, which was strange, as Harry had thought that Ron was straight as a ruler. Not that Harry minded, exactly. He had found over the years that it was always nice to have someone who liked him, even if that someone was his best friend, and the thought of dating him was almost as bad as dating his cousin Dudley (almost being the operative word there). Nor was it that he didn't find Ron attractive, as the red-headed boy was certainly handsome, with his strong jaw, flaming hair, and myriad freckles; however Harry had long since decided that Draco's delicate good looks far surpassed anything Ron had to offer. This was a problem, and Harry knew he had to find a way to nip Ron's silly infatuation in the bud, or else the poor boy would be crushed when Harry finally got up the courage to talk to Draco.
That night, eating dinner in the Great Hall, Harry found his eyes drawn to the Slytherin table where Draco was eating, having finally returned from his vacation. It had taken all the will-power Harry posessed to not go meet the blond when the train came in, and now, to not rush up to the boy and kiss him. His stomach was filled with a going-over-the-first-drop-on-a-rollercoaster feeling, and his face was rather sore, as he kept on missing his mouth and stabbing himself in the cheek with his fork.
Finally Draco left the room, and Harry was able to eat without fear of accidentally putting his eye out. He began wolfing down his dinner, then ran into the hall, took out his wand and performed the Searching Spell. The wand spun on his hand and pointed in the direction Draco had gone. Harry pulled up his robes to climb the stairs in a manner reminiscent of Scarlett O'Hara, and followed the point of his wand hastily. Finally Harry reached a dead end. Lost as to what to do, he stared at his wand, which was pointing straight up. Suddenly he realized where he was, and just as he was wondering at the significance, the ladder to the Divinations classroom came down. Harry carefully climbed up the ladder, and tried hard to see through the haze of incense and smoke that choked the room. Finally, through watering eyes he was able to see Professor Trewlany, and her dark shadow next to her.
"Sybil," he coughed, "What's going on? I was looking for Draco and –"
The shadow moved, stepping forward, revealing delicate fingers, a pale wrist criss-crossed with blue veins, and finally Draco's grey eyes, and white-blond hair. Harry choked. Professor Trewlany, a huge grin splitting her face, looked from Harry to Draco and back again, drinking in the dazed looks on their faces.
"I think," she said, dropping the ladder and climbing down, "that that is my cue to exit."
Harry barely registered the click of the door locking, his eyes still locked on Draco's similarly stunned face.
"Dra—Mal—Dra—uh . . ."
Against all odds Draco seemed to have been won over by this stunning display of articulacy, because he seemed to be waiting for Harry to finish.
"Uh . . . I . . . uh . . . well . . . um . . . are you . . . see I . . . Draco, I kind of, sort of, maybe have this little insignificant thing for you," he looked up at the taller boy through his eyelashes. Draco just looked shocked. Then Harry spoke again, words spilling out as his heart plummeted through the floor and landed in Hermione's plate, metaphorically speaking of course (that could have been the source of some interesting dinner conversations), "I'm sorry," he whispered through the growing lump in his throat, "I'll – go. Sorry. Forget it."
The sight of Harry's retreating figure seemed to return a modicum of intelligence to Draco, and he called out, "Stop!"
Harry turned around, hope in his eyes, and Draco spoke again.
"Harry – I – I like you too. Er . . . that way I mean," he blushed.
Harry grinned, joy lighting up his green eyes in such a way that Draco had trouble breathing.
"Well . . . then . . ." he said, trying to speak, "I guess that's that then."
"Yeah . . ." said Harry, "um . . ."
Then a huge grin spread across Draco's face, and he leaned forward and kissed Harry, forgetting about his Father, Pansy, his Father's various 'special friends', and all of the other numerous things that complicated his daily life. Life, it seemed, had taken a turn for the better.
A/N Well this certainly took a while. I'm really sorry too. First I had all these tests, then I had finals to worry about, and then finally, when I was looking forward to a nice big helping of summer, where I would have ages of free time to write this thing, I ran into the biggest lump of writer's block I've ever experienced. It was crippling. I was not a happy camper for a rather long time. But then (miracle of miracles) I healed! And I finished writing! And it turned out . . . well . . . I guess I'll let you decide.
