Matter of Personal Opinion
Eye of the Beholder
Harry James Potter, the golden boy of Hogwarts, He Who Lived to Have Capitalized Nicknames, Gryffindor, and all around nice guy, was brooding. Angsty brooding. Even, dare we say it, /out of character/ brooding.
This was frustrating him to an extent, as it was the middle of a disgustingly sunny morning, which he could have sworn was done just to piss him off, as any normal English morning would be rainy and dreary and better suited to his mood.
Harry was currently sitting on his rumpled bed, gazing out the window with shadowed green eyes. Around him lay tattered remains of Witch Weekly articles, thoughtfully mailed to him by one of his schoolmates. Titles such as "Boy Who Lived Bites Bigtime?" and "Salacious, Saucy Stories: What *Really* Happens in Gryffindor Tower!" and "Lead Astray, Harry's Confession" were strewn about him haphazardly. The ones that referred to him in degrading terms had been kindly highlighted and charmed with an anti-tearing spell. Pictures of Harry had been mustached and bearded, devil horns penned onto his photo-face.
The worst had been spelled to gleefully read themselves aloud, generally in high pitched, self-satisfied tones that somehow reminded Harry of ferrets. Harry had stuffed them under his pillow. It hadn't helped much.
The crux of the matter wasn't the articles themselves, of course. Harry had been shocked to discover that whole anthologies had been devoted to him, his practices, his words, everything that had happened in his life outside of the Dursley's home. Not all of them had been particularly pleasant, and several had been filled with antedates he'd forced himself to forget about years ago, embarrassing moments from childhood that he really could have lived without remembering. Or worse, knowing that people around the world were reading.
/After all,/ he thought plaintatively, /they really didn't need to know about the time when I was seven and Dudley convinced me to go skinny-dipping with his friends, right?/
He shuddered. The sad memory of having to run across town in his aunt's best polyester pink paisley evening gown wasn't one that he particularly wanted bandied around, but he suspected that it was too late for it.
A sudden loud knocking on his window made him jolt up, and he looked over to see a rather odd sight. Draco Malfoy's twin sister was sitting on a broom, scowling at him. Her long hair was being tossed by the wind in silvery ringlets that swept over her face and eyes. Despite being twenty feet in the air, her arms were crossed over her (he checked) disappointingly small chest, but otherwise she looked remarkably beautiful.
This, of course, came as a bit of a surprise as he'd never noticed that Malfoy had a twin sister, and given that they'd attended school together for the past five years, one would think to have picked up on this fact.
"Er," Harry said, and then he blinked.
The girl's scowl deepened and she pointed furiously to the window, gesturing for him to open it. Harry complied.
"Er," He said again, as she had missed it the first go round, and then blushed as one of the magazines snuck out and shrieked a particularly embarrassing sentence involving Harry, a rutabaga, and an abandoned closet.
He hastily grabbed the article and thrust it back under his pillow. Then, for good measure, he sat on it.
The girl gave him a look that clearly stated that she thought him to be the stupidest creature on Earth, and yes that included Vincent Crabbe's pet rock Smucky.
"Potter," Her words were spoken in a low alto. Harry found himself rather enchanted. Her face twisted, as though she couldn't believe she was saying this. "I need your help."
"I didn't know Malfoy had a sister," Harry said at last, glancing again at her chest. She *was* wearing a rather volumous robe, after all, it might just be particularly well concealing.
The girl bristled. "I don't, you jackass!"
"I never said you did," Harry said consolingly, "I just said that Malfoy didn't. You'd have a brother."
Malfoy's sister looked furious. "I don't have either! I *am* Malfoy!"
Harry blinked again. "Er," he said at last, "If you're Malfoy, then you're a very girly looking Malfoy."
"Fuck you, Potter."
Silence descended.
"So," Harry said at last. "Um, what brings you here?" He still wasn't certain that the person he was speaking to was Draco, but the grey eyes and silver hair suggested Malfoy blood at the very least. He decided to stay away from pronouns for the moment.
"I need your help."
"Oh? Why's that then?"
"...My father tried to rape me."
Harry choked. The would-be Draco glowered at him and crossed his or her arms again.
"Listen Potter, not a single word about it, or I'll hex you into next Tuesday and then we'll never get out of this."
Harry, meanwhile, wasn't really listening. Somewhere in the depths of his shock-crazed mind little voices was singing the line "Incest! It's the game the whole family can play!" repeatedly. He choked on the thought, halfway hyperventilating, and Malfoy had to smack him several times about the head and shoulders before his breath returned to normal. That settled things; only Draco Malfoy would look that gleeful about an opportunity to hit him.
"So, did you, erm, have a problem with a Jyosekyo potion or something?" Harry gasped, when he had caught his breath. Draco looked vaguely upset, but whether this was because of the potion reference or because he didn't get to hit Harry any longer was anyone's guess. "Because, I'm telling you," Harry went on, "You really, really do look like a girl."
Draco scowled. "No, I did not take a Jyosenkyo potion, Potter. And I don't look like a girl." The wind took this moment to pick his long hair up and flutter it, bringing adjectives such as "angelic", "lovely", and "definitely girly, no two bones about it" to mind, even if the last wasn't technically an adjective.
Harry wisely didn't mention this. Instead he leaned back against the wall, scooting his legs closer to his chest as Draco slipped through the window, leaving his broom floating forlornly outside. The blond boy looked down at the articles and smirked.
"Potter's Ponderous Peter?" He read, looking delighted. "I never knew you'd let them write about something so...personal, Potter. Did they take measurements or did you just tell them?"
Harry blushed furiously and grabbed the clipping back.
"I hate you." He told the other boy dourly.
"I'm sure that you do," Draco said, still grinning.
"No, I mean I really, really hate you."
"Likewise, I'll tell you."
Harry glowered. Draco ignored this and glanced about the room, taking in Muggle clothes and the desk covered in owl feathers, the torn Chudley Cannon's poster half falling off the wall. He snorted.
"Look," Harry said, "What are you doing here? I mean, I'm sorry about your dad and all, but there's not a lot I can do about it, is there? Shouldn't you talk to Snape or Dumbledore or someone about it?"
Draco looked mutinous. "I tried."
"What d'you mean, 'tried'? You either did or you didn't. And how'd you know where I live, anyway?"
"I couldn't go anywhere else, I tried, believe me. As soon as I got on the broom, though, it went straight here."
"What do you mean, straight here? From where?" Harry asked, looking quite furious at this point. "And you didn't answer my other question!"
"Don't you get it yet, Potter? Haven't you looked in the mirror?" Draco sneered at him. "Someone's messing with reality again. They've caused a warp in space and time, why else do you think I'd look like this?" He gestured to his face. "Someone out there wants us to shag, and they're pulling strings to make it happen."
Harry felt revolted. "Ergh." He said, his face twisting.
Draco nodded. "Ergh," He agreed, and sat back down on the bed.
"I mean, honestly," Draco continued, "Why on Earth would I want to shag you? You're smelly and your hair is awful, and let's not wander into the discussion regarding the sad state of your clothing."
Harry glared at him and elected not to mention his thoughts before he'd known that this Malfoy was Draco. "As if I'd want to shag you, you great, nattering ponce!"
"Oh, brilliant insult, Potter, I think I'll want to go have a cry now."
"Fuck you, Malfoy."
Draco suddenly looked bemused. "I don't think so, really."
"Ergh!"
Draco started kicking his feet against the sides of the bed. "The only thing I can see is that we've got to find who is doing this and kill them." He nodded for emphasis.
Harry blinked. "Kill them?"
"Kill them dead."
"Ah." That did seem to be the point of killing someone. "Er, Malfoy?"
Draco gave him a sidelong glance but didn't say anything.
"How do you know that? I mean," Harry continued quickly as Draco started and opened his mouth to speak, "Why would anyone want us to have sex? That doesn't make any sense, after all. Why would you think that?" He got a suspicious look in his eyes. "Unless you /want/ to have sex, and this is all just a clever plot to get into my trousers or something."
The response to this was two-fold. An extremely withering glance came first, followed shortly there after by words spoken in an exceedingly bored tone. "I know that it someone wants us to shack up because my dad told me so. He was acting all weird, and he said something about needing to beat the crap out of me so that you could find me and we would fall in love and have vast quantities of sex. Oodles of it. Mountains of sex, pure oceans of-"
Harry looked pale. "I think I get the idea, thanks."
"You sure? I read the Bronte sisters recently, I'm sure I can come up with some other good descriptions."
"No, no...quite alright, thanks..." Harry paused a moment before adding, "The Bronte sisters?"
Draco shuddered. "I don't want to talk about it. Suffice to say, if I ever, ever, meet anyone named Heathcliff, there's a whole list of hexes I've got set aside solely for him"
Harry nodded, sympathetically, and attempted to change the subject to something lighter than the Bronte's and their literary horrors. "So, what happened to Lucius, then?"
"Hit him with a lamp."
"Oh." Then, "Good on you, Malfoy."
Draco brightened for a moment, but he was soon frowning again.
"It still doesn't tell us who set the whole thing up," He said, feet still bouncing. He looked rather adorable, Harry decided, and then shuddered violently.
"I mean, obviously they're slashers, or we wouldn't be in this situation. I'd be off having my way with Granger, or Weasley's little buck toothed sister, or Sinistra or something."
"Sinistra?"
"Yeah." Draco smiled slightly, eyes closed.
"You had it on with Sinistra?" Harry asked, eyes wide.
"Maaaybe," Draco said, and smiled again.
"Ergh," Harry repeated and then got back to the topic at hand. "So, we know it's a slasher, and one with a dirty mouth to, given how many times the word "fuck" has been uttered so far. I know I don't swear this much usually, even if I can't say the same for you."
Draco nodded. "And apparently whoever it is likes me to be short and pretty, and you to have sparkling white teeth. Fucking-A, Potter, they're straighter then the Weasel in a bad H/D."
"Isn't that what this is?"
"Shit. You're right."
Harry thought for a moment. "Actually, I'm not sure that Ron is straight." He had to reach forward to catch the other boy's arm as he nearly fell off the bed.
"He and Granger were all over each other last term!"
"What are you on about? Hermione's so pure she doesn't dare look down in case she sees her own breasts." Harry stopped a moment, looking shocked.
"Good Lord," he said, "Did I really just say that?"
Draco nodded. "Apparently we can add 'Granger-hater' to the list of qualities our person has."
Harry still looked rather stunned. "But who would hate Hermione? I mean, she's smart, and nice, and-"
"And she likes to slap people about, that's what."
"That's a matter of personal opinion, Malfoy."
Draco crossed his arms. "Let it go, Potter."
Harry glared at him for a moment more, but did as asked. Well, more like commanded, but the thought still counted. He pretended that it did, at any rate. A thought occurred to him.
"Sinistra?"
"I thought we'd handled that one, Potter. Do try and keep up with the rest of the class."
"There isn't any class, you twit."
"Details," Draco yawned, waving a hand.
Harry bit his lower lip thoughtfully for a moment. "If that's true, then is that rumor going about last year about you is al-"
The temperature of the room dropped several degrees.
"Absolutely not." Harry could almost hear icicles dripping off of each clipped syllable.
"Ah." He murmured tactfully. "I didn't think so. I mean, it would be a bit awkward, wouldn't it? I mean, Flitwick, just think about it, and-"
"I don't think I really want to, Potter." Draco looked somewhat pale, in a sort of extremely pissed off sort of way. "Can we talk about something else? Like how to avoid the two of us being combined with passionate acts that have names we dare not speak?"
Harry looked doubtful. He'd actually been rather curious about the whole Flitwick thing. He wasn't entirely certain that was how the quote went, either.
"I suppose so," He conceded. Draco looked rather relieved.
"So," Draco said, but frowned, apparently unable to think of anything to add.
"So," Harry agreed, unable to think of anything either.
A long moment passed, punctured only by the tinny voice of one of the articles, which had managed to sneak out again and was trying to make it into the hall. Harry threw a shoe at it. It squeaked and shuffled under the bed.
"Um," Harry said at last, studying his fingernails. They were rather ragged. "Shall we go see Dumbledore now?"
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Why? What's he going to do?"
"I dunno. It just seems like the right thing to do." Harry shrugged, and watched as the other boy nodded slowly.
"Yeah," Draco blinked. "You don't think this has to do with whoever it is, do you?"
Harry shook his head. "No, we always go to Hogwarts sooner or later."
"Couldn't we just write an note and sent it with your owl?"
Harry thought about this for a minute. "We _could_ do that," he admitted, "But I like my way better." He reached out the window and pulled Draco's Firebolt in. "See? We'll use this and fly back." He beamed at his own brilliance.
Draco snorted. "And risk getting seen by every Muggle from here to Bristol."
Harry looked somewhat crestfallen but began to put the broom back.
"I guess you're right. It would piss your father off a lot too, wouldn't it?"
Three minutes later they were off to Hogwarts, both seated precariously on the broom, Harry making mental notes to remember to use this unusual reaction to What Lucius Would Want as blackmail in the future. Draco was mostly muttering.
In a complete reversal of temporal and special law, they flew north into the sunset.
***
So we end chapter two. I didn't even expect there to be a chapter two, when bam! Plot strikes, and what can you do?
Alas, not much.
Next chapter, we arrive at Hogwarts, there is a sorting, and the Heir of Hufflepuff is announced. Amazingly, we see nothing of Ginny Weasley. Also, the dreaded Sex Bed should make a reappearance, and we learn why the boys dislike Charlotte Bronte so very, very much.
In between chapters, there should be cookies and bits from future scenes at my live journal. There's one up there from "A Matter of Honest Opinion", and another from "A Whiter Shade of Pale," which I hope you will enjoy. That addy, for the uninformed, is http://www.livejournal.com/~ginzai/.
Ah, and kudos to Lys ap Adin, who was the only person who reviewed who got the Jyosenkyo potion reference! Good for you!
SailorWade, thank you for your encouraging words. ^_^ (I'm very glad that the last chapter didn't make you want to vomit. Here's hoping that this one does the same!)
Azalais, I'm glad that you enjoyed. I definitely look forward to reading your het-Malfoy fic, though I'm hoping that the het in this case isn't Narcissa/Draco, which would just be squicky.
Elf Princess Bloom, the thought of Lucius "swinging free" makes me snigger more than anything else. I hope the image didn't disgust you too much. ^^
BlackCypress, your reaction seems just the sort I was hoping for. I'm glad that you liked it!
Aftertaste of a Razorblade, I don't think that this chapter was as satirical as the last, but there's more fun to be poked in future chapters. (How exactly does one poke fun? I mean, really? Wouldn't people be afraid that if they poked fun at things once too oten, fun would poke them right back?) I hope you liked it anyway!
Ginzai
September 27, 2002