A/N: Err, this is my very first Harry Potter fic. I actually began this...
almost a year ago, after i saw the first movie and had just begun reading
HP fanfiction. I really love Draco to bits, and i'm also a big slash fan,
and this is the pairing that seems most popular, sooo i figgered this'd be
a good place to start. Whoo, i haven't written fanfiction in AGES! Ahem.
These things don't belong to me, et cetera. On with the show, and i hope
you enjoy and/or don't vomit with disgust from my odd writing style! Whee!
x-x-x-x-x
Harry Potter tiptoed out of the library and down the hall, huddled inside his invisibility cloak. It was nearly midnight, and, thanks to him and his "adventures", Griffendore couldn't afford any more points being taken off. He turned a corner and heard a voice down the hall. He held deathly still, for although he couldn't be seen, invisibility doesn't cover the sound of one's breathing or footsteps. After a few seconds, Harry recognized the sound.
"I know you're here, Potter," the voice slurred. "I can see you breathing."
It was Draco. And he sounded... drunk? Harry nearly ran over to his rival, slapping his hand over Draco's mouth and pulling off his hood so at least his head could be seen.
"Shhh!" he hissed. "Are you *trying* to get us in trouble?!"
"Mmm ufhmm mhnn," Draco replied. Harry sighed and removed his hand. "No, only you," Draco repeated.
"Well, that's very kind of you," Harry said sarcastically, "but we'd best be getting to bed." He grabbed Draco's arm only to have it twisted away from him.
"Ohhhh no you don't, Potter," he sneered. "I didn't go to all that work to get drunk just to go to bed."
"I don't care," Harry said, losing his patience, "you're going to bed." Draco grumbled, but complied, and Harry slung the blond-haired boy's arm over his shoulder to help him to his room.
"Hold on a minute," came the bleary objection, "don't you wanna know how I haven't been caughted yet?"
"Not really," Harry grunted, trying to drag the Slytherin boy down the hall.
"I thought so," Draco beamed, oblivious to what Harry had just said. "Y'see," he hissed loudly, leaning in towards Harry's ear, "I put on a charm. None can ear or eye me 'less I wanna!" Somehow or another, Harry got the point of the sentance.
"I'm sure you did," Harry said flatly, not believing him. "Now let's get you to bed so you can wake up tomorrow morning and feel like you're about to die."
This was, of course, much easier said than done.
"I'm not gonna tell you our password, you stupid git!" Draco roared, his temper being much shorter than usual on this particular night. Harry shushed him quickly, but Draco simply shushed him back. ~He's like a cartoon stereotype of a drunk,~ Harry thought.
"Then *you* tell the password, Malfoy!"
"Y're gon' hear!"
"No I'm not!"
"Yes y'are!"
"Why would I even *want* the stupid password, anyway?"
"'Cause you wanna spyyyy on me, just like ehhh-v'ryone else." It seemed to Harry that every word he said was either obnoxiously elongated, or else had missing syllables. Both, in some cases.
"And what makes you think I wanna spy on you?"
"'Cause y're infatchi-ated with me." ~Well, he's got a point there.~ Despite his many tries to convince himself otherwise, Harry had developed something of a... crush on Draco in the six years they'd been attending Hogwarts.
"It's quite understandable," Hermione had reassured him the day he'd decided to confide in her this extremely personal bit of information. "He's quite good looking-- not that *I* would go for his type, of course-- and he has a sort of mysterious appeal. And everyone has a crush on a bad boy at some point or another. And it has NOTHING to do with your sexuality, believe me. I know that when I first met Lavendar I-- err, nevermind." Somehow, Harry didn't feel any better about it.
"Just say the password, Malfoy," Harry groaned impatiently. Draco only gave a stubborn, if slightly uncoordinated, shake of his head. "If you don't open this stupid portrait," Harry warned, "you won't be able to get into your room and I'll have to take you to the headmaster's office."
"A'right, a'right," Draco mumbled, "no need t'make threa's, now." He stumbled his way over to the large painting and whispered the password loudly, opening the passageway to the Slytherin common room.
"Which way?" Harry whispered. Draco said something Harry couldn't understand and gestured towards a stairway to the right. After much grunting and cursing, Harry somehow managed to drag him up the stairs. Harry was thankful that he needn't worry about waking Draco's roomates-- the Slytherin boy had recently recieved his own private bedroom, after a well-thought-out argument made to Lucius, followed quickly by one from Lucius to Dumbledore. Harry shrugged Draco off him and pulled down the covers on his bed.
"Alright, in you go." Draco shook his head and backed away, and Harry's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Why not?"
"I can't go t'sleep with m'clothes on!" Harry blushed. Just what did Malfoy expect him to do? Harry indulged himself for a moment in his own over-active imagination before he pushed the very un-Heterosexual-Virgin- Golden-Boy-Who-Lived-like thoughts from his head.
"Well, you'll just have to deal with it, because I'm not leaving 'till you get into that bed." Draco crossed his arms over his chest and stood his wobbly ground. Harry considered his options for a moment.
~Well, I could just leave,~ he thought. ~I wonder what he'd do? Go to sleep eventually, I suppose. Or maybe not. Maybe he's so stubborn about this that he'll just stand there until he passes out from fatigue, and maybe he'll hit his head so hard he goes into a coma or bleeds to death or... or... But what other choice do I have, really? Well...~
Harry rolled his eyes and groaned, acting as though he didn't want to do what he was about to do. He opened Draco's trunk, pulled out a long nightshirt, and brought it over to him.
"Here," he said, thrusting it towards the other boy. Draco looked at it, then back at Harry with unfocused gray eyes.
"Wha's tha' for?"
"It's a nightshirt, Malfoy. You refuse to sleep in your clothes, here's a nightshirt. Change into it."
"But I'm tiiiiired, Harry." Harry. Not Potter, not You Stupid Git-- just Harry. ~He's drunk,~ Harry reminded himself, closing his eyes to concentrate. ~He's drunk he's drunk he's--~
Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Draco leaning on him for support. Draco. Leaning on Harry. Mysterious bad-boy Draco with the nice-smelling hair and the smouldering eyes and the alcohol coursing through his system. Harry with the fairly weighty crush on Draco.
It was a very interesting situation.
"Okay, time for bed," Harry said hurriedly, not wanting to do something he'd regret. Like taking advantage of Draco's intoxication, for example. And Harry didn't know what he meant by "taking advantage", because if anything, Draco would take advantage of him. But Harry was the sober one. But Draco was the SEXY one. He was in the middle of wondering which one would make more sense to take advantage of the other when his thoughts were interrupted yet again.
"Not 'till I'm in my jammies," Draco mumbled against Harry's shoulder. Harry took a deep breath to steady himself, pushed Draco into a standing position, and pulled his robe up over his head with sweaty hands.
He was pale. And thin. Thin enough for his ribs to protrude from his chest. But he certainly wasn't weak-looking-- he was several inches taller than Harry, and though his body wasn't exactly muscular, it was toned. And Harry thought that the way he looked fit him perfectly. Pushing back the sudden desire to run his hands down the other wizard's chest, Harry grabbed the nightshirt and tugged Draco's arms and head through the correct holes ((A/N: haha, accidental sexual innuendo is fun! XD)).
"Alright, into bed, now."
"I wanna story." Harry blinked. He didn't know any stories.
"Get into bed, Malfoy."
"I caaaaaan't." Harry sighed. He slung Draco's right arm over his shoulders and helped him into bed.
"Goodnight, Draco."
"Where's my goddamn story, Potter?!"
"Okay, okay! Calm down. Once upon a time there was a little boy who went and did something stupid one night. Then he came home and drove another little boy insane and woke up the next morning with a horrible hangover. The end."
"Tha's not a story!"
"Yes it is! It had a villian, a victim, and a solution."
"But where's the dramaaaaaa, Harry?" Harry groaned and sat on the edge of the bed, hiding his face in his hands.
"What do you want it to be about?" he asked after a few quiet moments, his voice sounding somewhat defeated.
"Dragons," Draco drawled. "Blue ones."
"Once upon a time, there was a blue dragon named... Draco."
"Tha's my name!" Draco cried gleefully. Harry half-expected him to start giggling and clapping like a two-year-old watching the sort Muppet show that Dudley was practically raised on.
"Yeah, that's your name. So Draco the Dragon--"
"The BLUE Dragon."
"Yes, Draco the Blue Dragon was out flying one day, when he... uh... saw something."
"Wha'd 'e see?"
"Um... a bird."
"A BLUUUUE bird?"
"What is it with you and blue, anyway?"
"It's th'color of your eyes." Harry raised his left eyebrow, not quite sure what the color of his eyes had to do with anything.
"Um, my eyes are green, Draco."
"Oh. Well, was it a green bird?"
"Sure. So, Draco the Blue Dragon met Harry... et. Harriet the Green Bird." Draco laughed.
"Harriet! HAREiet, HarriET, HarrEEEet!" Draco played with the pronunciation of the name Harriet a bit longer before he either lost interest or forgot what was so funny about it and looked at Harry, silently asking for him to continue the story.
"So Draco the Blue Dragon and Harriet the Green Bird were friends, and they flew around together every day. And then one day, Harriet realized that she... uh, that she loved Draco the Blue Dragon."
"Did Draco the Blue Dragon love her back?"
"Yes, but you see, they could never be together." Draco's brow furrowed in concern.
"But why not?"
"Because other people didn't think Green Birds should be with Blue Dragons." Draco pouted his lower lip.
"Well, that's dumb."
"Yes, it is. But then Draco the Blue Dragon and Harriet the Green Bird said 'Ah, fuck it!' and ran-- er, flew away together, and they lived happily ever after." After hearing no response, Harry looked to his left to see Draco lying peacefully with closed eyes and steady breathing. Harry smiled affectionately despite himself, and got up to leave. His movement was stopped by a hand grabbing his arm.
"Wher're y'goin'?" Harry raised his left eyebrow again.
"To bed."
"But I wanna storyyy--"
"I just TOLD you a story!"
"But the shadows on the walls're wierd..." Harry regarded the smoky-eyed boy with some sympathy, recalling nights many years ago when he'd been afraid of monsters under his bed, the fear only worsened by the knowledge that no one would help him. He re-seated himself on the bed, just as Draco was sitting up.
"Which shadows?" Draco cocked his head.
"Your hair is really black." Harry groaned. "But it is!" Harry froze. Draco seemed to be... petting his hair. Like a cat.
"Um, Draco...?"
"Shhhhh..." Draco continued to stroke the messy black mass, eventually sitting upright on top of his knees in order to get a better angle. Harry's breathing quickened, and he found himself unable to think about anything but Draco's hand, and how nice it would feel for him to be stroking elswhere. His attention was then drawn to the fact that there was an odd lump in the sheets somewhere in the vicinity of Draco's groin. Harry was mildy curious for a moment, until he realized what it was, and that it was growing....
"Oh God!" Harry scooted away from his fellow wizard, only to feel a sharp pain in his scalp as his hair was yanked in a very specific direction, pulling his head into Draco's lean chest. Thin, elegant hands held him there and continued to pet him. Harry panted-- he was so confused. He didn't know exactly what he was feeling. Indignance? Pain? Fear? Lust? All his emotions seemed to be one and the same at the moment, an emotion that could only be described by the name of his would-be lover: Draco.
Hands cupped his jaw and pulled him upwards, and he was so dazed that he didn't notice at first when his quote-unquote enemy's lips brushed against his. It was impossible to really concentrate or form any coherant thoughts... not that he even tried.
Harry was only vaguely aware of his tongue sliding into Draco's mouth, of hands sliding up inside his robes and pulling them over his head, of hips grinding and moving against his own in a way that sent his head spinning. Draco tasted of alcohol and something he couldn't identify, smelled of sweat and spices.
His hands... were so...
cold.
x-x-x-x-x
Harry sat naked in bed, a lightly snoring Draco beside him. He chewed on his lower lip, trying to decide what he'd tell the sleeping boy next to him when he awakened. Gee, Draco, I didn't think you'd mind if I had sex with you, after all, you seemed so willing when you were drunk and didn't know any better, and I just couldn't resist your slurred charms, seeing as I've had this big crush on you for so long...
"Hmmmm..." Harry jumped slightly and out of the corner of his eye saw movement. Draco stretched languidly, inhaling deeply and grinning as though there was nothing wrong with this picture.
"'Morning, love."
Harry blinked. Where was the shock? The horror? The hangover? There was something seriously strange going on here, and Harry planned to find out just what it was.
"What?" Clear, steely eyes rolled upwards to look at Harry's confused face.
"I said 'good morning', you dolt."
"Well, yeah, but... what's going on? Shouldn't you be suprised or... something?" Draco cocked his head, a somewhat amused look playing across his sharp features.
"By what?" Harry's mouth dropped open slightly.
"By the fact that yesterday we were arch enemies, and now we're lying together in a bed, completely naked!" Draco didn't even try to hide the smirk on his face.
"Oh, I wouldn't go so far as 'arch enemies', dear," he said, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and snuggling up to him. Harry would have pushed him away if the warmth radiating from the other boy's body didn't feel so nice...
"But... you were drunk!" Draco continued smirking, looking both amused by Harry and extremely pleased with himself.
"Oh, really? Funny, I don't remember drinking..." Harry just stared at him.
~"He's like a cartoon stereotype of a drunk..."~
Harry's eyes narrowed furiously, and he shoved Draco away from him, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pulling on his pants.
"Harry? What're you doing?"
"Leaving, what the bloody hell's it look like?!" He searched desperately for the rest of his clothes, which were currently lying in a tangled heap on the floor with Draco's.
"But... why?" He sounded so confused, almost sad, when he said it.
"Because you used me, that's why! You tricked me into having sex with you, and now I can't tell anyone about it because technically, I was the one who took advantage of YOU! I got it right, didn't I? Wasn't that your plan? Wasn't it?!"
Draco lay in his bed, stunned, for a few moments before Harry got fed up and stood up to leave.
"Harry, wait!" There they were again. The long, cold hands, wrapped around his forearm in an attempt at making him stay. Harry froze. The hands. . .
"Let go of me, Draco," Harry said slowly through clenched teeth. They both held almost completely still for a few moments then, one trying to figure out how to make things better, and one trying not to cry.
"Harry... please..." His voice was small and soft, like a child admitting to breaking his mother's good china. Harry looked at him, finally, after six years of trying not to.
"What, Draco?" He sounded tired, fed up. And he was. Of Draco's games and tricks. Of thinking things were going perfectly just before they took a turn for the worst. Of never being able to see past Draco's icy attitude and smoke-shielded eyes. Of the neverending want, desire, ever since they'd met, to melt the ice and clear out the smoke and see what was really there. To find the scared little boy Harry just KNEW was hiding, trapped, frozen inside him, protected from harm and happiness and emotion. And most of all, to pull him out, comfort him, and kiss away the hot tears that ran like ink on paper because he'd finally learned to love again.
Draco didn't know what to say. Harry stood there, half-naked and rumpled, looking so drained and frustrated. The hope, the joy, the everlasting determination that had burned so long inside was gone. Not gone completely, just gone for Draco. A sudden fear gripped him, a fear that he'd never see it again, never see a real Harry again. Because the persistance and warmth and happiness that always remained on Harry's face was what had made Draco so jealous of him, so drawn to him all these years.
They stared at eachother for several moments longer. Finally, Harry sighed and shook his head.
"You win," he muttered. "No more fighting, nothing. I don't even care anymore, alright? You wanna get me in trouble? Go ahead. You wanna beat me up? No one's stopping you." A look of flat anger and sarcasm crossed Harry's otherwise apathetic face. "You wanna snog me? Seduce me? Grope me? Shag me? Well, I'm right fucking here." Draco's eyes had averted to their still-clasped hands.
"Harry, that's not what I--"
Harry laughed sourly. "Harry? When did you start calling me Harry, Malfoy?" Again, Draco went speechless. Moments of silence hung in the room, heavier and more noticeable than the medieval tapestries on the walls. Draco opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked up at Harry. Looked at his knees hidden under the covers. Opened, closed his mouth again.
"If you've got something to say, Draco, I suggest you do so now, because I don't plan on speaking or listening to you after I leave this room."
Draco looked up, directly into his eyes, and Harry saw the trembling lip, heard the shuddering breaths, and the tears... Draco was crying. Mysterious bad-boy Draco with the smouldering eyes and the nice smelling hair.
Harry who was now holding Draco. Like he'd never let go.
x-x-x-x-x
A/N: Wow, the mood really changed from beginning to end, yes? Could you tell that i wrote the first half almost a year ago? Or that i've never actually read a Harry Potter book? Ah, prolly shouldn'a said that, but i had to get it offa my chest. I saw both movies, read a lotta fics, and am halfway thru listening to the third book on tape, but other than that.... Ah, enough with my pokey ramblings! ON WITH THE REVIEWING!!!
x-x-x-x-x
Harry Potter tiptoed out of the library and down the hall, huddled inside his invisibility cloak. It was nearly midnight, and, thanks to him and his "adventures", Griffendore couldn't afford any more points being taken off. He turned a corner and heard a voice down the hall. He held deathly still, for although he couldn't be seen, invisibility doesn't cover the sound of one's breathing or footsteps. After a few seconds, Harry recognized the sound.
"I know you're here, Potter," the voice slurred. "I can see you breathing."
It was Draco. And he sounded... drunk? Harry nearly ran over to his rival, slapping his hand over Draco's mouth and pulling off his hood so at least his head could be seen.
"Shhh!" he hissed. "Are you *trying* to get us in trouble?!"
"Mmm ufhmm mhnn," Draco replied. Harry sighed and removed his hand. "No, only you," Draco repeated.
"Well, that's very kind of you," Harry said sarcastically, "but we'd best be getting to bed." He grabbed Draco's arm only to have it twisted away from him.
"Ohhhh no you don't, Potter," he sneered. "I didn't go to all that work to get drunk just to go to bed."
"I don't care," Harry said, losing his patience, "you're going to bed." Draco grumbled, but complied, and Harry slung the blond-haired boy's arm over his shoulder to help him to his room.
"Hold on a minute," came the bleary objection, "don't you wanna know how I haven't been caughted yet?"
"Not really," Harry grunted, trying to drag the Slytherin boy down the hall.
"I thought so," Draco beamed, oblivious to what Harry had just said. "Y'see," he hissed loudly, leaning in towards Harry's ear, "I put on a charm. None can ear or eye me 'less I wanna!" Somehow or another, Harry got the point of the sentance.
"I'm sure you did," Harry said flatly, not believing him. "Now let's get you to bed so you can wake up tomorrow morning and feel like you're about to die."
This was, of course, much easier said than done.
"I'm not gonna tell you our password, you stupid git!" Draco roared, his temper being much shorter than usual on this particular night. Harry shushed him quickly, but Draco simply shushed him back. ~He's like a cartoon stereotype of a drunk,~ Harry thought.
"Then *you* tell the password, Malfoy!"
"Y're gon' hear!"
"No I'm not!"
"Yes y'are!"
"Why would I even *want* the stupid password, anyway?"
"'Cause you wanna spyyyy on me, just like ehhh-v'ryone else." It seemed to Harry that every word he said was either obnoxiously elongated, or else had missing syllables. Both, in some cases.
"And what makes you think I wanna spy on you?"
"'Cause y're infatchi-ated with me." ~Well, he's got a point there.~ Despite his many tries to convince himself otherwise, Harry had developed something of a... crush on Draco in the six years they'd been attending Hogwarts.
"It's quite understandable," Hermione had reassured him the day he'd decided to confide in her this extremely personal bit of information. "He's quite good looking-- not that *I* would go for his type, of course-- and he has a sort of mysterious appeal. And everyone has a crush on a bad boy at some point or another. And it has NOTHING to do with your sexuality, believe me. I know that when I first met Lavendar I-- err, nevermind." Somehow, Harry didn't feel any better about it.
"Just say the password, Malfoy," Harry groaned impatiently. Draco only gave a stubborn, if slightly uncoordinated, shake of his head. "If you don't open this stupid portrait," Harry warned, "you won't be able to get into your room and I'll have to take you to the headmaster's office."
"A'right, a'right," Draco mumbled, "no need t'make threa's, now." He stumbled his way over to the large painting and whispered the password loudly, opening the passageway to the Slytherin common room.
"Which way?" Harry whispered. Draco said something Harry couldn't understand and gestured towards a stairway to the right. After much grunting and cursing, Harry somehow managed to drag him up the stairs. Harry was thankful that he needn't worry about waking Draco's roomates-- the Slytherin boy had recently recieved his own private bedroom, after a well-thought-out argument made to Lucius, followed quickly by one from Lucius to Dumbledore. Harry shrugged Draco off him and pulled down the covers on his bed.
"Alright, in you go." Draco shook his head and backed away, and Harry's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Why not?"
"I can't go t'sleep with m'clothes on!" Harry blushed. Just what did Malfoy expect him to do? Harry indulged himself for a moment in his own over-active imagination before he pushed the very un-Heterosexual-Virgin- Golden-Boy-Who-Lived-like thoughts from his head.
"Well, you'll just have to deal with it, because I'm not leaving 'till you get into that bed." Draco crossed his arms over his chest and stood his wobbly ground. Harry considered his options for a moment.
~Well, I could just leave,~ he thought. ~I wonder what he'd do? Go to sleep eventually, I suppose. Or maybe not. Maybe he's so stubborn about this that he'll just stand there until he passes out from fatigue, and maybe he'll hit his head so hard he goes into a coma or bleeds to death or... or... But what other choice do I have, really? Well...~
Harry rolled his eyes and groaned, acting as though he didn't want to do what he was about to do. He opened Draco's trunk, pulled out a long nightshirt, and brought it over to him.
"Here," he said, thrusting it towards the other boy. Draco looked at it, then back at Harry with unfocused gray eyes.
"Wha's tha' for?"
"It's a nightshirt, Malfoy. You refuse to sleep in your clothes, here's a nightshirt. Change into it."
"But I'm tiiiiired, Harry." Harry. Not Potter, not You Stupid Git-- just Harry. ~He's drunk,~ Harry reminded himself, closing his eyes to concentrate. ~He's drunk he's drunk he's--~
Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Draco leaning on him for support. Draco. Leaning on Harry. Mysterious bad-boy Draco with the nice-smelling hair and the smouldering eyes and the alcohol coursing through his system. Harry with the fairly weighty crush on Draco.
It was a very interesting situation.
"Okay, time for bed," Harry said hurriedly, not wanting to do something he'd regret. Like taking advantage of Draco's intoxication, for example. And Harry didn't know what he meant by "taking advantage", because if anything, Draco would take advantage of him. But Harry was the sober one. But Draco was the SEXY one. He was in the middle of wondering which one would make more sense to take advantage of the other when his thoughts were interrupted yet again.
"Not 'till I'm in my jammies," Draco mumbled against Harry's shoulder. Harry took a deep breath to steady himself, pushed Draco into a standing position, and pulled his robe up over his head with sweaty hands.
He was pale. And thin. Thin enough for his ribs to protrude from his chest. But he certainly wasn't weak-looking-- he was several inches taller than Harry, and though his body wasn't exactly muscular, it was toned. And Harry thought that the way he looked fit him perfectly. Pushing back the sudden desire to run his hands down the other wizard's chest, Harry grabbed the nightshirt and tugged Draco's arms and head through the correct holes ((A/N: haha, accidental sexual innuendo is fun! XD)).
"Alright, into bed, now."
"I wanna story." Harry blinked. He didn't know any stories.
"Get into bed, Malfoy."
"I caaaaaan't." Harry sighed. He slung Draco's right arm over his shoulders and helped him into bed.
"Goodnight, Draco."
"Where's my goddamn story, Potter?!"
"Okay, okay! Calm down. Once upon a time there was a little boy who went and did something stupid one night. Then he came home and drove another little boy insane and woke up the next morning with a horrible hangover. The end."
"Tha's not a story!"
"Yes it is! It had a villian, a victim, and a solution."
"But where's the dramaaaaaa, Harry?" Harry groaned and sat on the edge of the bed, hiding his face in his hands.
"What do you want it to be about?" he asked after a few quiet moments, his voice sounding somewhat defeated.
"Dragons," Draco drawled. "Blue ones."
"Once upon a time, there was a blue dragon named... Draco."
"Tha's my name!" Draco cried gleefully. Harry half-expected him to start giggling and clapping like a two-year-old watching the sort Muppet show that Dudley was practically raised on.
"Yeah, that's your name. So Draco the Dragon--"
"The BLUE Dragon."
"Yes, Draco the Blue Dragon was out flying one day, when he... uh... saw something."
"Wha'd 'e see?"
"Um... a bird."
"A BLUUUUE bird?"
"What is it with you and blue, anyway?"
"It's th'color of your eyes." Harry raised his left eyebrow, not quite sure what the color of his eyes had to do with anything.
"Um, my eyes are green, Draco."
"Oh. Well, was it a green bird?"
"Sure. So, Draco the Blue Dragon met Harry... et. Harriet the Green Bird." Draco laughed.
"Harriet! HAREiet, HarriET, HarrEEEet!" Draco played with the pronunciation of the name Harriet a bit longer before he either lost interest or forgot what was so funny about it and looked at Harry, silently asking for him to continue the story.
"So Draco the Blue Dragon and Harriet the Green Bird were friends, and they flew around together every day. And then one day, Harriet realized that she... uh, that she loved Draco the Blue Dragon."
"Did Draco the Blue Dragon love her back?"
"Yes, but you see, they could never be together." Draco's brow furrowed in concern.
"But why not?"
"Because other people didn't think Green Birds should be with Blue Dragons." Draco pouted his lower lip.
"Well, that's dumb."
"Yes, it is. But then Draco the Blue Dragon and Harriet the Green Bird said 'Ah, fuck it!' and ran-- er, flew away together, and they lived happily ever after." After hearing no response, Harry looked to his left to see Draco lying peacefully with closed eyes and steady breathing. Harry smiled affectionately despite himself, and got up to leave. His movement was stopped by a hand grabbing his arm.
"Wher're y'goin'?" Harry raised his left eyebrow again.
"To bed."
"But I wanna storyyy--"
"I just TOLD you a story!"
"But the shadows on the walls're wierd..." Harry regarded the smoky-eyed boy with some sympathy, recalling nights many years ago when he'd been afraid of monsters under his bed, the fear only worsened by the knowledge that no one would help him. He re-seated himself on the bed, just as Draco was sitting up.
"Which shadows?" Draco cocked his head.
"Your hair is really black." Harry groaned. "But it is!" Harry froze. Draco seemed to be... petting his hair. Like a cat.
"Um, Draco...?"
"Shhhhh..." Draco continued to stroke the messy black mass, eventually sitting upright on top of his knees in order to get a better angle. Harry's breathing quickened, and he found himself unable to think about anything but Draco's hand, and how nice it would feel for him to be stroking elswhere. His attention was then drawn to the fact that there was an odd lump in the sheets somewhere in the vicinity of Draco's groin. Harry was mildy curious for a moment, until he realized what it was, and that it was growing....
"Oh God!" Harry scooted away from his fellow wizard, only to feel a sharp pain in his scalp as his hair was yanked in a very specific direction, pulling his head into Draco's lean chest. Thin, elegant hands held him there and continued to pet him. Harry panted-- he was so confused. He didn't know exactly what he was feeling. Indignance? Pain? Fear? Lust? All his emotions seemed to be one and the same at the moment, an emotion that could only be described by the name of his would-be lover: Draco.
Hands cupped his jaw and pulled him upwards, and he was so dazed that he didn't notice at first when his quote-unquote enemy's lips brushed against his. It was impossible to really concentrate or form any coherant thoughts... not that he even tried.
Harry was only vaguely aware of his tongue sliding into Draco's mouth, of hands sliding up inside his robes and pulling them over his head, of hips grinding and moving against his own in a way that sent his head spinning. Draco tasted of alcohol and something he couldn't identify, smelled of sweat and spices.
His hands... were so...
cold.
x-x-x-x-x
Harry sat naked in bed, a lightly snoring Draco beside him. He chewed on his lower lip, trying to decide what he'd tell the sleeping boy next to him when he awakened. Gee, Draco, I didn't think you'd mind if I had sex with you, after all, you seemed so willing when you were drunk and didn't know any better, and I just couldn't resist your slurred charms, seeing as I've had this big crush on you for so long...
"Hmmmm..." Harry jumped slightly and out of the corner of his eye saw movement. Draco stretched languidly, inhaling deeply and grinning as though there was nothing wrong with this picture.
"'Morning, love."
Harry blinked. Where was the shock? The horror? The hangover? There was something seriously strange going on here, and Harry planned to find out just what it was.
"What?" Clear, steely eyes rolled upwards to look at Harry's confused face.
"I said 'good morning', you dolt."
"Well, yeah, but... what's going on? Shouldn't you be suprised or... something?" Draco cocked his head, a somewhat amused look playing across his sharp features.
"By what?" Harry's mouth dropped open slightly.
"By the fact that yesterday we were arch enemies, and now we're lying together in a bed, completely naked!" Draco didn't even try to hide the smirk on his face.
"Oh, I wouldn't go so far as 'arch enemies', dear," he said, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and snuggling up to him. Harry would have pushed him away if the warmth radiating from the other boy's body didn't feel so nice...
"But... you were drunk!" Draco continued smirking, looking both amused by Harry and extremely pleased with himself.
"Oh, really? Funny, I don't remember drinking..." Harry just stared at him.
~"He's like a cartoon stereotype of a drunk..."~
Harry's eyes narrowed furiously, and he shoved Draco away from him, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pulling on his pants.
"Harry? What're you doing?"
"Leaving, what the bloody hell's it look like?!" He searched desperately for the rest of his clothes, which were currently lying in a tangled heap on the floor with Draco's.
"But... why?" He sounded so confused, almost sad, when he said it.
"Because you used me, that's why! You tricked me into having sex with you, and now I can't tell anyone about it because technically, I was the one who took advantage of YOU! I got it right, didn't I? Wasn't that your plan? Wasn't it?!"
Draco lay in his bed, stunned, for a few moments before Harry got fed up and stood up to leave.
"Harry, wait!" There they were again. The long, cold hands, wrapped around his forearm in an attempt at making him stay. Harry froze. The hands. . .
"Let go of me, Draco," Harry said slowly through clenched teeth. They both held almost completely still for a few moments then, one trying to figure out how to make things better, and one trying not to cry.
"Harry... please..." His voice was small and soft, like a child admitting to breaking his mother's good china. Harry looked at him, finally, after six years of trying not to.
"What, Draco?" He sounded tired, fed up. And he was. Of Draco's games and tricks. Of thinking things were going perfectly just before they took a turn for the worst. Of never being able to see past Draco's icy attitude and smoke-shielded eyes. Of the neverending want, desire, ever since they'd met, to melt the ice and clear out the smoke and see what was really there. To find the scared little boy Harry just KNEW was hiding, trapped, frozen inside him, protected from harm and happiness and emotion. And most of all, to pull him out, comfort him, and kiss away the hot tears that ran like ink on paper because he'd finally learned to love again.
Draco didn't know what to say. Harry stood there, half-naked and rumpled, looking so drained and frustrated. The hope, the joy, the everlasting determination that had burned so long inside was gone. Not gone completely, just gone for Draco. A sudden fear gripped him, a fear that he'd never see it again, never see a real Harry again. Because the persistance and warmth and happiness that always remained on Harry's face was what had made Draco so jealous of him, so drawn to him all these years.
They stared at eachother for several moments longer. Finally, Harry sighed and shook his head.
"You win," he muttered. "No more fighting, nothing. I don't even care anymore, alright? You wanna get me in trouble? Go ahead. You wanna beat me up? No one's stopping you." A look of flat anger and sarcasm crossed Harry's otherwise apathetic face. "You wanna snog me? Seduce me? Grope me? Shag me? Well, I'm right fucking here." Draco's eyes had averted to their still-clasped hands.
"Harry, that's not what I--"
Harry laughed sourly. "Harry? When did you start calling me Harry, Malfoy?" Again, Draco went speechless. Moments of silence hung in the room, heavier and more noticeable than the medieval tapestries on the walls. Draco opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked up at Harry. Looked at his knees hidden under the covers. Opened, closed his mouth again.
"If you've got something to say, Draco, I suggest you do so now, because I don't plan on speaking or listening to you after I leave this room."
Draco looked up, directly into his eyes, and Harry saw the trembling lip, heard the shuddering breaths, and the tears... Draco was crying. Mysterious bad-boy Draco with the smouldering eyes and the nice smelling hair.
Harry who was now holding Draco. Like he'd never let go.
x-x-x-x-x
A/N: Wow, the mood really changed from beginning to end, yes? Could you tell that i wrote the first half almost a year ago? Or that i've never actually read a Harry Potter book? Ah, prolly shouldn'a said that, but i had to get it offa my chest. I saw both movies, read a lotta fics, and am halfway thru listening to the third book on tape, but other than that.... Ah, enough with my pokey ramblings! ON WITH THE REVIEWING!!!