A/N: Thank you very much for your kind words regarding this fic.
Thanks to Azzie, Dark`ArchAngel, Sailor Galxie, Kirst, Myst, Lady Malfoy, lilazanjel85, Rubicon, Lady Voldemort, Gwen, Pepperjack Candy, Munki Butt, Allie Potter, Eggbert, Tessie, Kissaki, BabBlGrl, *vada*, Slytherinette, Katia, and of course thanks to Wvy, Bel, and Alan to whom this fic is dedicated!
***
The effect on the rest of the school was devastating. On the one hand you had Draco, who exuded bad boy sex appeal the way roses exude perfume on a summer afternoon. On the other you had Seamus, whose eyes twinkled with the promise of great fun and Seamus never made a promise he didn't intend to keep. The sight of the two of them together was enough to get anybody hot and bothered. Well, almost anybody...
There were some things you can't do and remain the same. Watching the murder of an innocent bystander is one of them. Harry could attest to it; he had first-hand experience. As soon as he arrived at Privet Drive that summer, it was as if all his years at Hogwarts had been wiped out and he was sent crashing back to the days when he was a lowly little twerp locked in a broom cupboard, his very existence an unforgivable insult. Sure, to everyone else he was the Boy Who Lived and Lived and, oh, gee, still Lived. Yes, he was a fine example- a monument to Gryffindor bravery and chivalry. But what good was a monument built upon sand? The sands were beginning to shift and he was trying so hard not to topple. He knew what awaited him if he did: uncertainty, doubt, fear in its purest from, a dull blackness that absorbed all light, seeping through his skin, hollowing him from the inside out and he could not, would not succumb to that. Or so he kept telling himself. The truth was that everyday it became harder and harder to wake up, sometimes the fake smile refused to come, and life just kind of dragged along.
He stood in the showers of the Gryffindor locker room, watching the droplets of hot water roll down his skin and merge to become one large drop. //Why can't people do that?// he wondered. Why couldn't he just melt into somebody, if only for an instant? Nobody understood. They kept telling him that Cedric's death wasn't his fault. In his mind he knew that. Now if only his heart knew that. Then the dull ache would go away. Of all the aches, dull ones were the worst. Sharp ones occupy your mind entirely for a split-second and disappear. Dull aches throbbed in the background and invited brooding and brooding invited darkness. He turned of the water and sighed, steam filling his lungs. Yes, give him the sharp aches any day.
He admired Seamus. He gleamed in a world where the colors had blurred and faded. However, this admiration flared up briefly and died, leaving him firmly wedged in the land of apathy. Or maybe it wasn't apathy. Maybe it was inertia. He cared, but not sufficiently to remove him from a sort of shock he had been in for some time. You see, in the events accompanying Cedric's death, Harry had learned a great truth: We are not immortal.
Sure, it seems obvious. We live. We die. Those are the facts of life, but they never really sink in. For people like Seamus and Draco, young and beautiful who had ever seen death, tomorrow would never come. They would never grow old and die. Gods, that's what they were, and Harry was supposed to be one of them. He knew better.
When he reached the common room the sound of another Draco/Seamus argument reached his ears. "Are the darlings fighting?" he asked Ginny. She rolled her eyes.
"Aren't they always?" she replied. He allowed himself a small smile. It was true. Those two disagreed on nearly everything and Seamus possessed an uncanny ability to get under Draco's skin. The results were explosive arguments that could last anywhere from a few minutes to over an hour. Harry made his way to the sixth year dorms and threw himself on his bed. After practice, he was exhausted. The door burst open and Seamus and Draco entered, kissing fervently. Harry sighed. He had forgotten the inevitable outcome of a Draco/Seamus conflict: intense physical contact directly proportional to the size of the conflict.
It quickly became apparent to Harry that they did not realize that he was there. Draco unhooked Seamus's robe, discarding it immediately along with is. Seamus arched up against him and Draco's hands feverishly undid the buttons to Seamus's shirt. Soon, that too was discarded. Draco's shirt followed suit. Seamus lay back on his bed. Draco held himself above his lover, one knee between his thighs, surveying him with a keen desire. He bent down and captured his lips. Seamus lifted his hips, rubbing up against Draco in small circles. His hand slid down and undid Draco's belt.
That small action brought Harry crashing back to reality with a jolt and he quickly rose from his bed and left the dorm. He leaned against the door, forcing himself to calm down, link and breathe.
Okay, so maybe those two were enough to make anybody hot and bothered.
***
How was that? What do you think happens next?
Love,
J. Silver
Thanks to Azzie, Dark`ArchAngel, Sailor Galxie, Kirst, Myst, Lady Malfoy, lilazanjel85, Rubicon, Lady Voldemort, Gwen, Pepperjack Candy, Munki Butt, Allie Potter, Eggbert, Tessie, Kissaki, BabBlGrl, *vada*, Slytherinette, Katia, and of course thanks to Wvy, Bel, and Alan to whom this fic is dedicated!
***
The effect on the rest of the school was devastating. On the one hand you had Draco, who exuded bad boy sex appeal the way roses exude perfume on a summer afternoon. On the other you had Seamus, whose eyes twinkled with the promise of great fun and Seamus never made a promise he didn't intend to keep. The sight of the two of them together was enough to get anybody hot and bothered. Well, almost anybody...
There were some things you can't do and remain the same. Watching the murder of an innocent bystander is one of them. Harry could attest to it; he had first-hand experience. As soon as he arrived at Privet Drive that summer, it was as if all his years at Hogwarts had been wiped out and he was sent crashing back to the days when he was a lowly little twerp locked in a broom cupboard, his very existence an unforgivable insult. Sure, to everyone else he was the Boy Who Lived and Lived and, oh, gee, still Lived. Yes, he was a fine example- a monument to Gryffindor bravery and chivalry. But what good was a monument built upon sand? The sands were beginning to shift and he was trying so hard not to topple. He knew what awaited him if he did: uncertainty, doubt, fear in its purest from, a dull blackness that absorbed all light, seeping through his skin, hollowing him from the inside out and he could not, would not succumb to that. Or so he kept telling himself. The truth was that everyday it became harder and harder to wake up, sometimes the fake smile refused to come, and life just kind of dragged along.
He stood in the showers of the Gryffindor locker room, watching the droplets of hot water roll down his skin and merge to become one large drop. //Why can't people do that?// he wondered. Why couldn't he just melt into somebody, if only for an instant? Nobody understood. They kept telling him that Cedric's death wasn't his fault. In his mind he knew that. Now if only his heart knew that. Then the dull ache would go away. Of all the aches, dull ones were the worst. Sharp ones occupy your mind entirely for a split-second and disappear. Dull aches throbbed in the background and invited brooding and brooding invited darkness. He turned of the water and sighed, steam filling his lungs. Yes, give him the sharp aches any day.
He admired Seamus. He gleamed in a world where the colors had blurred and faded. However, this admiration flared up briefly and died, leaving him firmly wedged in the land of apathy. Or maybe it wasn't apathy. Maybe it was inertia. He cared, but not sufficiently to remove him from a sort of shock he had been in for some time. You see, in the events accompanying Cedric's death, Harry had learned a great truth: We are not immortal.
Sure, it seems obvious. We live. We die. Those are the facts of life, but they never really sink in. For people like Seamus and Draco, young and beautiful who had ever seen death, tomorrow would never come. They would never grow old and die. Gods, that's what they were, and Harry was supposed to be one of them. He knew better.
When he reached the common room the sound of another Draco/Seamus argument reached his ears. "Are the darlings fighting?" he asked Ginny. She rolled her eyes.
"Aren't they always?" she replied. He allowed himself a small smile. It was true. Those two disagreed on nearly everything and Seamus possessed an uncanny ability to get under Draco's skin. The results were explosive arguments that could last anywhere from a few minutes to over an hour. Harry made his way to the sixth year dorms and threw himself on his bed. After practice, he was exhausted. The door burst open and Seamus and Draco entered, kissing fervently. Harry sighed. He had forgotten the inevitable outcome of a Draco/Seamus conflict: intense physical contact directly proportional to the size of the conflict.
It quickly became apparent to Harry that they did not realize that he was there. Draco unhooked Seamus's robe, discarding it immediately along with is. Seamus arched up against him and Draco's hands feverishly undid the buttons to Seamus's shirt. Soon, that too was discarded. Draco's shirt followed suit. Seamus lay back on his bed. Draco held himself above his lover, one knee between his thighs, surveying him with a keen desire. He bent down and captured his lips. Seamus lifted his hips, rubbing up against Draco in small circles. His hand slid down and undid Draco's belt.
That small action brought Harry crashing back to reality with a jolt and he quickly rose from his bed and left the dorm. He leaned against the door, forcing himself to calm down, link and breathe.
Okay, so maybe those two were enough to make anybody hot and bothered.
***
How was that? What do you think happens next?
Love,
J. Silver