Warnings: SLASH. You don't know what it is? Then I seriously doubt that you want to be here.

A/N: Forever to Margolia.

Couplings: H/D, D/Blaise, potentially R/Hr. No, sorry people, this is not a fic where the entire wizarding population is queer.

Spoilers: Potentially everything. Just cause I don't have the supplement books yet means nothing.

Disclaimer: Nothing here is mine except for the story. Nothing. The story- is fully conceived and waiting to be written. The characters- I borrow.

Chapter Seven: Following the White Rabbit

Or, Temperance

Draco had never been good at exercising patience. His father claimed that it was Draco's worst character trait and had done his best to correct the flaw. For the most part, the elder Malfoy had done an outstanding job; Draco was now able to maintain an impassive front for months, even years, as he laid siege to castles in the sky. Draco was well aware that revenge was best served, not coldly, but in its proper time. If timed and calibrated correctly, even the toss of a head could destroy an opponent. Even so, he had never been able to eradicate his impatience- only subdue it.

***

The past couple of weeks had been very strange, to say the least. Not for the first time since that Saturday (had it really only been two weeks?), Harry wondered if he hadn't somehow fallen out of reality; he now had a good idea of how Alice had felt when she'd followed the White Rabbit down that hole to Wonderland. Harry also wondered where his own White Rabbit was leading him.

Thick and dull from boredom, Harry slid a look over to the opposite side of the pitch; Malfoy was hovering listlessly near the goals. The other boy wove in and out of the hoops, his movements sluggish and uninspired. Harry thought he understood: flying alone was one thing, but flying by yourself when you weren't alone was an entirely different matter. Harry knew that both he and Malfoy were not flying like they could; Harry certainly wasn't flying like he wanted to. He just couldn't with Malfoy there. His only consolation was knowing that Malfoy felt the same way. Not that it was much of a consolation.

Harry was floating in circles and examining his Firebolt's finish when Malfoy's voice blared into his ears, almost startling him off of his broom.

"Potter."

"Yes Malfoy?"

"This isn't working."

"Really?"

"Don't be an idiot, Potter. I know that you're not that stupid. At least, I hope not."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Cute, Potter."

"I try." Harry beamed.

A sigh.

"Potter, try for one moment to concentrate. Hopefully that won't be too strenuous an activity for even you. Do you think you can handle it?"

Dryly, "I think I can manage."

"It is patently obvious that we are both almost unconscious with boredom, so unless you do me the favor of not showing up here anymore, we are probably both moments away from death by monotony."

"I was coming here last year, Malfoy. If anyone should leave, it's you."

"And how am I to know that you're not lying?"

"I'm not lying!"

"Do you honestly expect me to believe you? Have faith that you, a Gryffindor, would never lie? Well Potter, how about this: Bring me one witness who can honestly support your claims and I'll leave. I'm prepared to take the risk that you can't."

". . ."

"No more complaints?"

Harry gnawed at the inside of his lip, cautiously observing the other boy. Malfoy hung in the air like a Muggle airborne satellite, graceless and without joy. Sleep tugged insistently at the corners of his eyes, desperate to hide the venom and. . . hope? The hope lurking there.

"What do you have in mind?"

***

When Harry agreed to spice things up, he had not anticipated that breaking and entering would be what Malfoy had in mind. Of course Malfoy was Malfoy- and Malfoy was a Slytherin- so Harry immediately recognized his mistake.

"Malfoy!" Harry hissed into the broom shed, "Where did you get that key?"

A series of thumps and thuds issued from the shed. Something crashed. Harry twitched. Malfoy swore.

"Mordred! Someone should dispose of these old Comets; only brooms with rot or termites should shatter that easily."

"Malfoy!" Harry was going to strangle him. The git couldn't have seriously. . . never mind. He most certainly could have.

"What?" Malfoy's irritated voice echoed back at Harry, "Oh, the key. I stole it from Blaise."

"You stole it from Zabini." Harry repeated blankly. It was not exactly the way Harry had imagined Malfoy treating his girlfriend. Scratch that. It was precisely how Harry pictured Malfoy treating his girlfriend.

"Yes, yes. Do you need it spelled out for you?"

Thump. Crack. Smash.

"Malfoy! Where did Zabini get the key?"

"Oh, she," thump, "stole it," crash, "from Hooch."

"She stole it from Hooch." Harry wondered if his voice sounded as weak and disbelieving to Malfoy as it did to him.

Malfoy emerged from the shed, covered in dust and clutching something in his right hand. He brushed his robes and shook his head, grimacing slightly as dust clouds were sent scattering.

"Well, yes. You didn't think that we could just ask for the thing, did you?" Malfoy snorted.

"What did you and Zabini need it for?" Now Harry was curious.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, coughing slightly as the resulting brown grime settled on his face. He looked down his nose at Harry (something which Harry was quite impressed by, considering he was taller than Malfoy) and pronounced, "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Harry would believe that the day Fluffy became a vegetarian.

"Did I stutter?"

Malfoy's sneer lacked its usual bite, probably because he was a bit preoccupied with removing cobwebs from his person. There was even a spider scampering about in a panic on Malfoy's head. Harry imagined he heard it scream when Malfoy squeezed the life out of it.

"Did it