~Daisy Chains~
~Of Maps and Showers~
"Where does he keep it?" asked Hermione, referring to the infamous Marauder's Map, darting after Ron into the boy's dormitory. Ron grinned and said, "In his trunk, where else?"
Hermione watched as Ron fiddled with the lock to said trunk, before she took it upon herself to intervene. "Alohamora!" The lid popped up and Hermione smiled in a self-satisfied way. "Simple," she said.
They found the Marauder's Map near the bottom of the trunk, underneath Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Following a small scuffle over who should hold the map, they spread it out on Ron's bed--it looked like nothing more remarkable than a piece of parchment. Ron frowned in thought. "He told me how to use this thing...let's see...oh, yeah, 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,'" and he tapped the parchment with his wand.
Almost instantly, the winding hallways and spacious rooms of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry appeared. Little labled dots here and there marked where students and teachers were. An example: the dot named "Professor Snape" was to be found in the Restricted Section of the library, and another dot, affectionately named "Fred and George Weasley", was wandering around in the kitchens.
Hermione and Ron ignored these, however, and searched every room and passageway for "Harry Potter". They finally did find the miniscule dot--in the Slytherin Dungeons. Ron gaped fish-like and uttered this intelligent remark: "Bloody hell."
Minutes later, they were racing down a dark corridor, the Invisibility Cloak thrown over their heads--it was, after all, night time, and good little students should have been tucked away in their warm beds.
"How're--we--going to--get in?" Hermione panted, stumbling over a disappearing stairstep that led deeper into Hogwarts. "We don't even--know the password."
"If that bastard Malfoy's done anything to Harry, I swear--" Ron growled low in his throat, eyes on the Marauder's Map, though he knew it only showed the truth--Harry really was in the Slytherin Common Room. Ron and Harry had been in the Slytherin Common Room in their Second Year--he had no pleasant memories of the place. But then, he was a bit biased.
"Um..." Hermione waited (albeit, impatiently) as Ron stood outside the Slytherin entrance--it looked like a plain stone wall to Hermione, who, due to an unfortunate incident involving a Polyjuice Potion and cat hair, had never entered the Slytherin Dungeons. "Ron, remember that thing I said? About not knowing the password?"
"Well..." Ron scratched his nose and pulled off the Invisibility Cloak so he'd have more room to move. He seriously doubted anyone would be coming anywhere near their location at this time of night. "It was 'pure-blood' last time--" The wall made no sign that it had heard him. "--But I guess they'd've changed it by now. It's bound to be something predictable and undoubtably nasty. Mudblood."
Nothing.
"Er. Muggles suck?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. Other than that, nothing happened.
"You're not going to figure it out using only guesswork," she said. Deciding to depart more of her amazing reasoning, she added, "I think we should just wait until morning--"
"Are you kidding?!" Ron gave her an incredulous look. "Harry, (who has, I might mention, come to our aid countless times) could be dead or, worse, BRAINWASHED by that evil son of a bitch, Malfoy--and I KNOW he has something to do with this--damnit, I should've KNOWN something like this would happen--"
"Calm down, Ron," Hermione said quite level-headedly. "You're beginning to sound more neurotic than me."
They eventually did decide to wait until morning--which made their whole trip down to the Slytherin Dungeons rather pointless, as it hadn't accomplished anything. By the time they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Hermione had everything figured out: come morning, Malfoy would have to make an appearance in the Great Hall, and that was when they would make their move--i.e., rat him out to a teacher in Hermione's version, and kill the bastard, in Ron's.
Hermione and Ron retired to their seperate dormitories.
Fast forward to a few hours later. Draco awoke feeling more comfortable than he had in a long time. It was almost as if someone was in bed with him. He turned over sleepily--and frowned. Someone was buried beneath his covers. Hmm. He consulted his memory and asked, 'Did I perchance do anything last night you're not telling me about?'
His memory answered that it had no recollection of falling asleep with anyone in his near vicinity. He peeked beneath the coverlet and confirmed his worst suspicions--it was Harry Potter. He was clearly lost in dream land, as his eyelids were closed firmly over the familiar acid-green eyes, and his thumb was shoved in his mouth. Draco allowed the tiniest of smiles; like this, Potter was actually sort of cute. In an annoying-as- hell-simply-by-being-Harry-Potter way.
He banished all incriminating thoughts and forced himself out of the cozy bed. He desperately wanted to crawl back in beside Potter and drift off again, but that was out of the question. He needed a shower, and (he made a face) his mouth tasted like something had gone rotten in it.
Harry chose that moment to join Draco in the waking world. He yawned and rolled over, reaching out for a body that was no longer present, and when he realized that he wasn't able to fall back asleep all by his lonesome (the morning sun was shining in on his face, as well, and could be blamed just as much as Draco), sat up, rubbing his eyes. His tummy growled, and he felt really groggy. He wanted some pumpkin juice, and he said so out loud.
Draco, watching all of this, said, "You'll have to wait until breakfast like everyone else, won't you." He tossed a fresh change of robes over his shoulders. "I'm going. I'll be back whenever, and tell Vincent that, all right, or he'll come looking for me, and I won't have anyone bothering me in the shower."
"Shower?"
"Yes. I need a bath."
"I come?"
"Not on your life, Potter," Draco said flatly. "You've already invaded my bed, I should think that's enough for you."
"I need bath too, you know." Harry made a show of sniffing himself and wincing, as if he couldn't bear his own smell. "Stinky."
"Ha. Nice try. Don't move from that spot."
"Glasses?"
"Table. Use your bloody eyes."
Draco put one hand on the doorknob--and Harry broke out in loud, high- pitched sobs that Draco was sure the whole castle could hear. The Slytherin bristled and said in a frantic whisper, "Shut the hell up, Potter, or you'll have the headmaster himself in here--"
Harry continued wailing, rubbing his eyes in earnest. "N-n-need b-bath!"
"No! I'm taking my shower ALONE, and then I'm going to dump you with a professor and go ON with my life--is any of this computing?"
Apparently not. Draco growled in exasperation and scooped Harry up. Harry was immediately quiet, and he even gave Draco a watery smile. "Get bath now?"
"No, I'm gonna wring your annoying little neck," Draco retorted violently, though he was secretly glad that Harry was smiling like that; it meant he wasn't likely to have a tantrum. He handed Harry his glasses from the bedside table and said, "You're a real pain in the arse. You'd better keep your eyes closed."
Promptly, Harry squeezed his eyes shut.
"Ack. Idiot."
And with that friendly comment, Harry and an ever-reluctant Draco set off for the nearest bathroom[1].
Harry swung his short legs back and forth. He was sitting on a toilet lid, back turned. He could hear water running from the waterfall thingamajig that Draco called a water faucet. Harry wasn't allowed to turn around or move or talk or breath too loud. That was what Draco had said. He was finding all of this very difficult to remember, let alone accomplish. He rubbed his nose. He needed a tissue.
"Why I got to stay so...so still?" Harry yawned. "Boooooring."
"My altruism only goes so far," Draco replied, his voice muffled by water and scrubbing sounds.
Harry had no idea what altruism was, so he ignored this comment. The cement floor was damp, and he stretched forward until the very tips of his toes could skim over the water. It felt funny, and he laughed.
"Weeeeet!"
Draco muttered something that might have been sarcastic and cruel and, in fact, was. But he was experiencing the painful stabs of affection (painful for any self-respecting Slytherin, anyway), so he could be forgiven for this.
Harry heard the water being turned off, and (without turning around) asked, "My turn?"
"Give me a freakin' second."
"...My turn now?"
"..." Rustling of fabric. Harry wrinkled his nose to straighten his overlarge glasses.
"NOW?"
"Potter, you're a nightmare. All right. Your turn."
"Yaaaaah! My turn, my turn!"
Harry gleefully stripped himself of all his clothes--the robes that Dennis Creevey had given him, a t-shirt, and a pair of shorts that served as long pants for him--and hopped into Draco's now-empty stall. He stared up at the showerhead in fascination and said, "Water come down?"
Draco, fighting a blush that he fervently denied was staining his cheeks, said, "You have to turn it on...wait, you don't know how, do you? I'm surprised Weasley hasn't at least taught you proper hygeine."
"'On is not mahturnal. That what is 'Onee say."
"Maternal. Maternal? Ha ha ha!" Draco towel-dried his hair, giving Harry a critical eye. "Somehow I'm not surprised. How he put up with you is beyond me."
"'On like me," Harry said proudly, drawing himself up to his full height of almost three feet.
"Well, I certainly do not."
"Why not?" Harry reached up for the showerhead, and Draco sighed and told him to back away while he tested the temperature of the water. When it was warm (he briefly considered letting it get too hot for Harry, but decided against it--for no reason, really), he told Harry to step beneath the spray.
"No."
"B-but--" Draco sputtered. "But you wanted a bloody bath so badly! What sort of--"
"You don't like me!"
"I--I." Draco shook his head in disbelief. "Potter, we've been enemies since Year One. I'm not SUPPOSED to like you."
Harry's face scrunched up, and he sniffled. "Y-y-you're mean!" He kicked Draco as hard as he could--which wasn't very hard. It hardly fazed the blonde--he glared down at a red-faced Harry, who had crossed his plump arms over his naked chest.
"If you're going to be like that, you can just..." Harry had begun to sob again. "Just..." Big green eyes blinked tearfully at him. "...Damnit, you cry too much." He sighed and said, "Look, I'm not exactly crazy about you but...I guess you're okay. Now will you please--?" He motioned toward the shower.
Harry pulled off his steamy glasses and said happily, "'Kay."
Aproximately thirty minutes later, they returned to the Slytherin Common Room. It was late enough that a few of Draco's housemates were up. Pansy Parkinson attached herself to him, giving Harry a nasty look before breaking the Slytherin-motto-so-convenient-to-the-non-existant-plot--er, in simple terms, the "don't ask, don't tell" thing.
"Draco, tell me, won't you be in...an uncomfortable situation when you go down to breakfast with the brat--er, um, Potter?"
"Oh, ye Gods..." Blaise Zabini, eavesdropping from a green armchair, gave Draco a pitying look. "You're in for it this time, Malfoy. By the way...Crabbe was looking for you."
"As if my life isn't complicated enough. Where is he?"
"Good question. I'll get back to you when I know the answer."
"Draco? Why don't you just let ME take care of Potter--"
"No." Draco held Harry out of Pansy's reach. "I'm not going down for breakfast."
"Wise," said Blaise. "Starving yourself, eh?"
"No. Pansy. You're going to bring my breakfast up to me."
"I am?"
"Yes. And--" He smiled charmingly, and could see her knees turning to jello. "Bring enough for two, will you?"
"O-of course."
"How about me?" Blaise tried to imitate Draco's smile, but ended up looking like a wolf in heat.
Pansy grimaced. "...How about no?"
Vincent Crabbe was nowhere to be found, so Draco decided whatever he had had to say couldn't be very important.
And so, Draco and Harry enjoyed a rather tasty breakfast in the Slytherin Common Room, Pansy doting over Draco, and Harry shoving food as fast as he could down his throat.
Ron and Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, exchanging incredulous looks. Morning had come, and no Malfoy, and no Harry, and...Ron beat his head against the table.
"I'm going to DIE..."
[1]=I've only heard mention of two bathrooms in the books. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, the boy's bathroom (I THINK that's mentioned...), and the Prefect's bathroom. Now...with a school that big, does anyone honestly think it's plausible those are the only available bathrooms? *sweatdrop* I've just invented another bathroom, anyway. One with shower stalls. Think summer camp...^_~
~Of Maps and Showers~
"Where does he keep it?" asked Hermione, referring to the infamous Marauder's Map, darting after Ron into the boy's dormitory. Ron grinned and said, "In his trunk, where else?"
Hermione watched as Ron fiddled with the lock to said trunk, before she took it upon herself to intervene. "Alohamora!" The lid popped up and Hermione smiled in a self-satisfied way. "Simple," she said.
They found the Marauder's Map near the bottom of the trunk, underneath Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Following a small scuffle over who should hold the map, they spread it out on Ron's bed--it looked like nothing more remarkable than a piece of parchment. Ron frowned in thought. "He told me how to use this thing...let's see...oh, yeah, 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,'" and he tapped the parchment with his wand.
Almost instantly, the winding hallways and spacious rooms of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry appeared. Little labled dots here and there marked where students and teachers were. An example: the dot named "Professor Snape" was to be found in the Restricted Section of the library, and another dot, affectionately named "Fred and George Weasley", was wandering around in the kitchens.
Hermione and Ron ignored these, however, and searched every room and passageway for "Harry Potter". They finally did find the miniscule dot--in the Slytherin Dungeons. Ron gaped fish-like and uttered this intelligent remark: "Bloody hell."
Minutes later, they were racing down a dark corridor, the Invisibility Cloak thrown over their heads--it was, after all, night time, and good little students should have been tucked away in their warm beds.
"How're--we--going to--get in?" Hermione panted, stumbling over a disappearing stairstep that led deeper into Hogwarts. "We don't even--know the password."
"If that bastard Malfoy's done anything to Harry, I swear--" Ron growled low in his throat, eyes on the Marauder's Map, though he knew it only showed the truth--Harry really was in the Slytherin Common Room. Ron and Harry had been in the Slytherin Common Room in their Second Year--he had no pleasant memories of the place. But then, he was a bit biased.
"Um..." Hermione waited (albeit, impatiently) as Ron stood outside the Slytherin entrance--it looked like a plain stone wall to Hermione, who, due to an unfortunate incident involving a Polyjuice Potion and cat hair, had never entered the Slytherin Dungeons. "Ron, remember that thing I said? About not knowing the password?"
"Well..." Ron scratched his nose and pulled off the Invisibility Cloak so he'd have more room to move. He seriously doubted anyone would be coming anywhere near their location at this time of night. "It was 'pure-blood' last time--" The wall made no sign that it had heard him. "--But I guess they'd've changed it by now. It's bound to be something predictable and undoubtably nasty. Mudblood."
Nothing.
"Er. Muggles suck?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. Other than that, nothing happened.
"You're not going to figure it out using only guesswork," she said. Deciding to depart more of her amazing reasoning, she added, "I think we should just wait until morning--"
"Are you kidding?!" Ron gave her an incredulous look. "Harry, (who has, I might mention, come to our aid countless times) could be dead or, worse, BRAINWASHED by that evil son of a bitch, Malfoy--and I KNOW he has something to do with this--damnit, I should've KNOWN something like this would happen--"
"Calm down, Ron," Hermione said quite level-headedly. "You're beginning to sound more neurotic than me."
They eventually did decide to wait until morning--which made their whole trip down to the Slytherin Dungeons rather pointless, as it hadn't accomplished anything. By the time they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Hermione had everything figured out: come morning, Malfoy would have to make an appearance in the Great Hall, and that was when they would make their move--i.e., rat him out to a teacher in Hermione's version, and kill the bastard, in Ron's.
Hermione and Ron retired to their seperate dormitories.
Fast forward to a few hours later. Draco awoke feeling more comfortable than he had in a long time. It was almost as if someone was in bed with him. He turned over sleepily--and frowned. Someone was buried beneath his covers. Hmm. He consulted his memory and asked, 'Did I perchance do anything last night you're not telling me about?'
His memory answered that it had no recollection of falling asleep with anyone in his near vicinity. He peeked beneath the coverlet and confirmed his worst suspicions--it was Harry Potter. He was clearly lost in dream land, as his eyelids were closed firmly over the familiar acid-green eyes, and his thumb was shoved in his mouth. Draco allowed the tiniest of smiles; like this, Potter was actually sort of cute. In an annoying-as- hell-simply-by-being-Harry-Potter way.
He banished all incriminating thoughts and forced himself out of the cozy bed. He desperately wanted to crawl back in beside Potter and drift off again, but that was out of the question. He needed a shower, and (he made a face) his mouth tasted like something had gone rotten in it.
Harry chose that moment to join Draco in the waking world. He yawned and rolled over, reaching out for a body that was no longer present, and when he realized that he wasn't able to fall back asleep all by his lonesome (the morning sun was shining in on his face, as well, and could be blamed just as much as Draco), sat up, rubbing his eyes. His tummy growled, and he felt really groggy. He wanted some pumpkin juice, and he said so out loud.
Draco, watching all of this, said, "You'll have to wait until breakfast like everyone else, won't you." He tossed a fresh change of robes over his shoulders. "I'm going. I'll be back whenever, and tell Vincent that, all right, or he'll come looking for me, and I won't have anyone bothering me in the shower."
"Shower?"
"Yes. I need a bath."
"I come?"
"Not on your life, Potter," Draco said flatly. "You've already invaded my bed, I should think that's enough for you."
"I need bath too, you know." Harry made a show of sniffing himself and wincing, as if he couldn't bear his own smell. "Stinky."
"Ha. Nice try. Don't move from that spot."
"Glasses?"
"Table. Use your bloody eyes."
Draco put one hand on the doorknob--and Harry broke out in loud, high- pitched sobs that Draco was sure the whole castle could hear. The Slytherin bristled and said in a frantic whisper, "Shut the hell up, Potter, or you'll have the headmaster himself in here--"
Harry continued wailing, rubbing his eyes in earnest. "N-n-need b-bath!"
"No! I'm taking my shower ALONE, and then I'm going to dump you with a professor and go ON with my life--is any of this computing?"
Apparently not. Draco growled in exasperation and scooped Harry up. Harry was immediately quiet, and he even gave Draco a watery smile. "Get bath now?"
"No, I'm gonna wring your annoying little neck," Draco retorted violently, though he was secretly glad that Harry was smiling like that; it meant he wasn't likely to have a tantrum. He handed Harry his glasses from the bedside table and said, "You're a real pain in the arse. You'd better keep your eyes closed."
Promptly, Harry squeezed his eyes shut.
"Ack. Idiot."
And with that friendly comment, Harry and an ever-reluctant Draco set off for the nearest bathroom[1].
Harry swung his short legs back and forth. He was sitting on a toilet lid, back turned. He could hear water running from the waterfall thingamajig that Draco called a water faucet. Harry wasn't allowed to turn around or move or talk or breath too loud. That was what Draco had said. He was finding all of this very difficult to remember, let alone accomplish. He rubbed his nose. He needed a tissue.
"Why I got to stay so...so still?" Harry yawned. "Boooooring."
"My altruism only goes so far," Draco replied, his voice muffled by water and scrubbing sounds.
Harry had no idea what altruism was, so he ignored this comment. The cement floor was damp, and he stretched forward until the very tips of his toes could skim over the water. It felt funny, and he laughed.
"Weeeeet!"
Draco muttered something that might have been sarcastic and cruel and, in fact, was. But he was experiencing the painful stabs of affection (painful for any self-respecting Slytherin, anyway), so he could be forgiven for this.
Harry heard the water being turned off, and (without turning around) asked, "My turn?"
"Give me a freakin' second."
"...My turn now?"
"..." Rustling of fabric. Harry wrinkled his nose to straighten his overlarge glasses.
"NOW?"
"Potter, you're a nightmare. All right. Your turn."
"Yaaaaah! My turn, my turn!"
Harry gleefully stripped himself of all his clothes--the robes that Dennis Creevey had given him, a t-shirt, and a pair of shorts that served as long pants for him--and hopped into Draco's now-empty stall. He stared up at the showerhead in fascination and said, "Water come down?"
Draco, fighting a blush that he fervently denied was staining his cheeks, said, "You have to turn it on...wait, you don't know how, do you? I'm surprised Weasley hasn't at least taught you proper hygeine."
"'On is not mahturnal. That what is 'Onee say."
"Maternal. Maternal? Ha ha ha!" Draco towel-dried his hair, giving Harry a critical eye. "Somehow I'm not surprised. How he put up with you is beyond me."
"'On like me," Harry said proudly, drawing himself up to his full height of almost three feet.
"Well, I certainly do not."
"Why not?" Harry reached up for the showerhead, and Draco sighed and told him to back away while he tested the temperature of the water. When it was warm (he briefly considered letting it get too hot for Harry, but decided against it--for no reason, really), he told Harry to step beneath the spray.
"No."
"B-but--" Draco sputtered. "But you wanted a bloody bath so badly! What sort of--"
"You don't like me!"
"I--I." Draco shook his head in disbelief. "Potter, we've been enemies since Year One. I'm not SUPPOSED to like you."
Harry's face scrunched up, and he sniffled. "Y-y-you're mean!" He kicked Draco as hard as he could--which wasn't very hard. It hardly fazed the blonde--he glared down at a red-faced Harry, who had crossed his plump arms over his naked chest.
"If you're going to be like that, you can just..." Harry had begun to sob again. "Just..." Big green eyes blinked tearfully at him. "...Damnit, you cry too much." He sighed and said, "Look, I'm not exactly crazy about you but...I guess you're okay. Now will you please--?" He motioned toward the shower.
Harry pulled off his steamy glasses and said happily, "'Kay."
Aproximately thirty minutes later, they returned to the Slytherin Common Room. It was late enough that a few of Draco's housemates were up. Pansy Parkinson attached herself to him, giving Harry a nasty look before breaking the Slytherin-motto-so-convenient-to-the-non-existant-plot--er, in simple terms, the "don't ask, don't tell" thing.
"Draco, tell me, won't you be in...an uncomfortable situation when you go down to breakfast with the brat--er, um, Potter?"
"Oh, ye Gods..." Blaise Zabini, eavesdropping from a green armchair, gave Draco a pitying look. "You're in for it this time, Malfoy. By the way...Crabbe was looking for you."
"As if my life isn't complicated enough. Where is he?"
"Good question. I'll get back to you when I know the answer."
"Draco? Why don't you just let ME take care of Potter--"
"No." Draco held Harry out of Pansy's reach. "I'm not going down for breakfast."
"Wise," said Blaise. "Starving yourself, eh?"
"No. Pansy. You're going to bring my breakfast up to me."
"I am?"
"Yes. And--" He smiled charmingly, and could see her knees turning to jello. "Bring enough for two, will you?"
"O-of course."
"How about me?" Blaise tried to imitate Draco's smile, but ended up looking like a wolf in heat.
Pansy grimaced. "...How about no?"
Vincent Crabbe was nowhere to be found, so Draco decided whatever he had had to say couldn't be very important.
And so, Draco and Harry enjoyed a rather tasty breakfast in the Slytherin Common Room, Pansy doting over Draco, and Harry shoving food as fast as he could down his throat.
Ron and Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, exchanging incredulous looks. Morning had come, and no Malfoy, and no Harry, and...Ron beat his head against the table.
"I'm going to DIE..."
[1]=I've only heard mention of two bathrooms in the books. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, the boy's bathroom (I THINK that's mentioned...), and the Prefect's bathroom. Now...with a school that big, does anyone honestly think it's plausible those are the only available bathrooms? *sweatdrop* I've just invented another bathroom, anyway. One with shower stalls. Think summer camp...^_~
