Atuanya- AtuanyaUnexpected@yahoo.com
Pairing- Harry/Draco
Rating- PG 13 for language and ahem, sexual references.
Notes- I'd say that this chapter was written solely for my amusement, but it does offer some insight to Harry and Draco's relationship. And stuff. Features Wannabe!Goth!Draco and Angsty!Harry. It's a lot longer than chapter 1.
Disclaimer- J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and all of these characters and settings. I'm just playing with them and I'm not making any money for it. Also, The Rolling Stones wrote "Paint it Black," which I refer to in the title of this chapter.
Feedback- Email me!
Chapter 2- Draco sees a Red Door and He Wants to Paint it Black
"Malfoy," Harry said, frustrated, "You. Have. No. Muggle. Clothes." Harry was standing by Draco's bed, trying to pack his trunk for his summer trip to the Dursleys.
"Yes I do," said Draco indignantly, looking up from where he sat cross-legged on the bed. "I have eight school uniforms."
"You can't wear these in Surrey, they say 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry' on the crest," said Harry. "What do you wear at home?"
"My uniform," said Draco, and, noticing Harry's odd stare, "we like to keep up a certain standard of appearance at The Manor. Not that you'd know anything about that, Potter. What do you wear at home? Rags?"
Harry flushed a little, angered by the comment. Though the boys had been together for most of their sixth year at Hogwarts, their relationship had changed surprisingly little in the transition from friends to lovers. They teased and annoyed each other constantly, and in moments of irritation called the other by his last name. Harry knew, however, that, having had a dresscode at home, Draco was obviously never a normal child, and he ignored his agitation and turned back to Draco's trunk.
"I've never seen these before," grinned Harry, holding up a pair of silky black boxers. "Why?"
"Honestly, Potter. They're kind of tacky, don't you think?" Draco scoffed at the boxers, but his ears were tinged pink. "Shake them out a bit," he said. Harry did, and as soon as the material moved a green and silver dragon print appeared. "See?" said Draco. "I'm sure that even you can tell how distasteful they are."
"Actually, I think they're sexy," said Harry. "Where'd you get them?" Draco grew pinker.
"Some first year sent them on Valentine's day last year, a secret admirer type of thing."
"A secret admirer?" said Harry.
"Yes, and naturally, with this body, I have many," said Draco.
"I'm sure," said Harry, climbing onto the bed to kiss him. Draco reclined, pulling Harry on top of him.
"You know, Draco," said Harry between kisses,"We're going to need to get you some new clothes."
"We'll get you some new ones too," he replied, reaching for the zipper on Harry's oversized jeans.
---
Draco woke early the next Saturday morning to the sound of Harry up and moving around. Sunlight hit his face. "Bloody Gryffindor tower sun," he mumbled. Draco wished that Harry would sleep down in the Slytherin dungeons once in a while, but Harry was right when he said that the Gryffindor would be a little more accepting of their relationship. A little more.
"Will you two shut the fuck up?" Ron hissed grumpily from behind his bed curtain. "I really don't want to know what you two are. . . doing."
"We're just getting ready to go to Diagon Alley, Ron, don't be ridiculous," said Harry, peeking into Ron's bed.
"We are?" asked Draco. Harry ignored him and continued to talk to Ron.
"Draco needs some clothes for this summer, so we'll go in to muggle London, too. You want to come? you might find something interesting for your dad," he said.
"No Thanks. It's bloody early, and I don't feel the need to go clothes shopping with. . . you two," came Ron's reply.
"What did he mean by that?!" said Draco angrily, pulling on a pair of Harry's jeans, which were long enough for him despite the fact that he was several inches taller.
"Nothing, Draco," said Harry, pulling Draco by the arm as soon as he was dressed. "See you Ron."
Draco followed Harry down to the common room, mumbling something about stupid weasel and stupid stereotypes. Hermione was curled up in an armchair, staring at her transfiguration textbook with bleary eyes.
"What are you doing up so early?" she asked.
"Going out. What are _you_ doing up so early?" said Harry.
"You mean so late. I haven't been to bed yet," she said. "You haven't forgotten that Professor McGonogall has scheduled an exam for Monday, have you? You should study instead of sneaking out. Your marks haven't been the best lately." Harry drew in a breath, annoyed.
"Will you just. . . bugger off, Hermione? Goddamn it! Not everyone wants to study their arses off all the time," Harry snapped suddenly. Hermione looked hurt and Harry's expression softened.
"I'm sorry Hermione. Do you want to come with us? I'm sure you could use a break from studying. . ."
"No," she cut him off, "I'm just going to go up to bed."
"Alright," said Harry, sounding sad. "Good idea. Sleep well." Hermione, however, was already going up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, and didn't answer him.
Harry sighed and slumped his shoulders and Draco took his hand and squeezed. He knew that things had been strained between Harry and his best friends lately-- since the final battle with Voldemort, if one could even call it that. And just when everyone had begun to accept Harry's attitude and generally angsty behavior, he'd announced that he was shagging Draco Malfoy and he didn't care what any of them thought anymore. Draco smirked, remembering their reactions. Harry's friends didn't like him at all.
"They'll come around eventually, Harry," said Draco soothingly. Then under his breath he muttered, "or I'll make them."
"What was that?" said Harry, taking a handful of Floo Powder.
"Oh. I, um, I said, 'Let's take ten'?" stuttered Draco. Harry raised an eyebrow.
"We can't Draco, the others will be up soon and they'll want to know where we're going and all that. If you really need to stop and rest, can't it wait until we're in Diagon Alley, at least?"
"Yes, sure. Let's just go," said Draco quickly. Harry threw the Floo Powder on the fire and the boys crowded in.
"Diagon Alley," they said simultaneously, and landed in The Leaky Cauldron. After coughing and brushing off their robes, they looked around.
"Harry Potter!" shouted Tom, the bartender. "How nice to see you! . . . and, erm, Hello, Mister Malfoy." The patrons of the bar greeted Harry with a similar enthusiasm and ignored Draco.
"Tell us how you killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" someone called.
"Did he struggle, Harry?" shouted another overly-enthusiastic bar patron.
"Got a girlfriend, yet, boy?" a tall wizard asked.
"He's gay," someone whispered, and some giggles and whoops rose from the crowd.
"That's alright, he killed the Dark Lord!" shouted a witch, and several people cheered.
"Hullo, Tom," said Harry, shrinking back from all the attention. Draco, in contrast, straightened his shoulders to his full height and sneered.
"We need to change some of our currency to muggle," he said, placing a stack of galleons on the counter in front of Tom. Harry followed and did the same. "Why don't you all let Harry have some peace and leave him alone? He's a human being, not your perfect bloody little tragic hero." Some people coughed, and they began to whisper. They were clearly offended.
"Alright gentlemen," said Tom, sounding significantly less friendly. "Here you are."
As Harry and Draco walked towards the back of the bar to enter muggle London, an elderly man could be heard saying, "Snotty little ponces, aren't they? Hero of the wizarding world my arse. We don't even _know_ if he killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
They both managed to hold their tempers until they got outside.
"Those fucking idiots," said Draco. "They don't know you or me. They couldn't just leave you alone for ten fucking minutes." Draco looked over at Harry, who was shaking with rage.
"He said I didn't kill Voldemort," he said, sounding very menacing. "Doesn't he know what I WENT THROUGH?! If it weren't for me he and his drinking buddies might be DEAD right about now. They only want the fucking story from me so they can sensationalize it and make me tell it over and over again, their little hero! Do they think I want to relive that? When I killed Voldemort and Bellatrix and Nott I didn't feel like such a fucking hero, Draco. I felt more like a murderer."
By this time Draco had taken the shorter boy into his arms and was trying to calm him down.
"Get a room!" someone shouted across the street.
"You get one!" Draco called back. Harry snorted and began to laugh despite his anger.
"Malfoy, you just told that guy to get a room," he laughed. "That was smart." Draco blushed a bit and let go of Harry, but then he began to laugh too.
He suddenly stopped and stared at a teenage boy walking down the street towards them.
"Harry," he said, "I want to look like that guy!"
Harry looked up at the young man approaching them and gaped. His hair was a shaggy combination of bright red and black, he sported black nail varnish and eyeliner, and a black outfit including spikes and straps and chains.
Before Harry could say, "My aunt and uncle wouldn't let you under their roof," Draco had already asked the pierced boy where he'd bought his clothes and was dragging Harry towards the shop. When they arrived, Draco's eyes lit up with demonic glee. He grabbed nearly half of the clothes from one of the front display racks and bounded into a fitting room. While Draco was trying things on, Harry looked around in wonderment. He'd only seen people who dressed like this on television, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia only had bad things to say about them.
When Draco finally came out of the dressing room, Harry's jaw dropped.
"You look. . . my Aunt and Uncle, we'll have a hard enough time convincing them to let you stay. . . but you look. . . dear lord, Malfoy, you look sexy."
"Of course I do," Draco drawled, smirking, "I don't have to wear it in front of your aunt and uncle, do I?"
Harry blushed.
A few minutes later, the boys left the store, Draco lugging a large bag by his side. They went to a mens' clothing store nearby, where Draco's choices tended to be stylish form-fitting short-sleeved shirts and dressy pants, and Harry's choices were. . . baggy.
"No sense of style Potter," said Draco, as they walked back to The Leaky Cauldron. "It's a good thing I bought you some things at that first store."
Pairing- Harry/Draco
Rating- PG 13 for language and ahem, sexual references.
Notes- I'd say that this chapter was written solely for my amusement, but it does offer some insight to Harry and Draco's relationship. And stuff. Features Wannabe!Goth!Draco and Angsty!Harry. It's a lot longer than chapter 1.
Disclaimer- J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and all of these characters and settings. I'm just playing with them and I'm not making any money for it. Also, The Rolling Stones wrote "Paint it Black," which I refer to in the title of this chapter.
Feedback- Email me!
Chapter 2- Draco sees a Red Door and He Wants to Paint it Black
"Malfoy," Harry said, frustrated, "You. Have. No. Muggle. Clothes." Harry was standing by Draco's bed, trying to pack his trunk for his summer trip to the Dursleys.
"Yes I do," said Draco indignantly, looking up from where he sat cross-legged on the bed. "I have eight school uniforms."
"You can't wear these in Surrey, they say 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry' on the crest," said Harry. "What do you wear at home?"
"My uniform," said Draco, and, noticing Harry's odd stare, "we like to keep up a certain standard of appearance at The Manor. Not that you'd know anything about that, Potter. What do you wear at home? Rags?"
Harry flushed a little, angered by the comment. Though the boys had been together for most of their sixth year at Hogwarts, their relationship had changed surprisingly little in the transition from friends to lovers. They teased and annoyed each other constantly, and in moments of irritation called the other by his last name. Harry knew, however, that, having had a dresscode at home, Draco was obviously never a normal child, and he ignored his agitation and turned back to Draco's trunk.
"I've never seen these before," grinned Harry, holding up a pair of silky black boxers. "Why?"
"Honestly, Potter. They're kind of tacky, don't you think?" Draco scoffed at the boxers, but his ears were tinged pink. "Shake them out a bit," he said. Harry did, and as soon as the material moved a green and silver dragon print appeared. "See?" said Draco. "I'm sure that even you can tell how distasteful they are."
"Actually, I think they're sexy," said Harry. "Where'd you get them?" Draco grew pinker.
"Some first year sent them on Valentine's day last year, a secret admirer type of thing."
"A secret admirer?" said Harry.
"Yes, and naturally, with this body, I have many," said Draco.
"I'm sure," said Harry, climbing onto the bed to kiss him. Draco reclined, pulling Harry on top of him.
"You know, Draco," said Harry between kisses,"We're going to need to get you some new clothes."
"We'll get you some new ones too," he replied, reaching for the zipper on Harry's oversized jeans.
---
Draco woke early the next Saturday morning to the sound of Harry up and moving around. Sunlight hit his face. "Bloody Gryffindor tower sun," he mumbled. Draco wished that Harry would sleep down in the Slytherin dungeons once in a while, but Harry was right when he said that the Gryffindor would be a little more accepting of their relationship. A little more.
"Will you two shut the fuck up?" Ron hissed grumpily from behind his bed curtain. "I really don't want to know what you two are. . . doing."
"We're just getting ready to go to Diagon Alley, Ron, don't be ridiculous," said Harry, peeking into Ron's bed.
"We are?" asked Draco. Harry ignored him and continued to talk to Ron.
"Draco needs some clothes for this summer, so we'll go in to muggle London, too. You want to come? you might find something interesting for your dad," he said.
"No Thanks. It's bloody early, and I don't feel the need to go clothes shopping with. . . you two," came Ron's reply.
"What did he mean by that?!" said Draco angrily, pulling on a pair of Harry's jeans, which were long enough for him despite the fact that he was several inches taller.
"Nothing, Draco," said Harry, pulling Draco by the arm as soon as he was dressed. "See you Ron."
Draco followed Harry down to the common room, mumbling something about stupid weasel and stupid stereotypes. Hermione was curled up in an armchair, staring at her transfiguration textbook with bleary eyes.
"What are you doing up so early?" she asked.
"Going out. What are _you_ doing up so early?" said Harry.
"You mean so late. I haven't been to bed yet," she said. "You haven't forgotten that Professor McGonogall has scheduled an exam for Monday, have you? You should study instead of sneaking out. Your marks haven't been the best lately." Harry drew in a breath, annoyed.
"Will you just. . . bugger off, Hermione? Goddamn it! Not everyone wants to study their arses off all the time," Harry snapped suddenly. Hermione looked hurt and Harry's expression softened.
"I'm sorry Hermione. Do you want to come with us? I'm sure you could use a break from studying. . ."
"No," she cut him off, "I'm just going to go up to bed."
"Alright," said Harry, sounding sad. "Good idea. Sleep well." Hermione, however, was already going up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, and didn't answer him.
Harry sighed and slumped his shoulders and Draco took his hand and squeezed. He knew that things had been strained between Harry and his best friends lately-- since the final battle with Voldemort, if one could even call it that. And just when everyone had begun to accept Harry's attitude and generally angsty behavior, he'd announced that he was shagging Draco Malfoy and he didn't care what any of them thought anymore. Draco smirked, remembering their reactions. Harry's friends didn't like him at all.
"They'll come around eventually, Harry," said Draco soothingly. Then under his breath he muttered, "or I'll make them."
"What was that?" said Harry, taking a handful of Floo Powder.
"Oh. I, um, I said, 'Let's take ten'?" stuttered Draco. Harry raised an eyebrow.
"We can't Draco, the others will be up soon and they'll want to know where we're going and all that. If you really need to stop and rest, can't it wait until we're in Diagon Alley, at least?"
"Yes, sure. Let's just go," said Draco quickly. Harry threw the Floo Powder on the fire and the boys crowded in.
"Diagon Alley," they said simultaneously, and landed in The Leaky Cauldron. After coughing and brushing off their robes, they looked around.
"Harry Potter!" shouted Tom, the bartender. "How nice to see you! . . . and, erm, Hello, Mister Malfoy." The patrons of the bar greeted Harry with a similar enthusiasm and ignored Draco.
"Tell us how you killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" someone called.
"Did he struggle, Harry?" shouted another overly-enthusiastic bar patron.
"Got a girlfriend, yet, boy?" a tall wizard asked.
"He's gay," someone whispered, and some giggles and whoops rose from the crowd.
"That's alright, he killed the Dark Lord!" shouted a witch, and several people cheered.
"Hullo, Tom," said Harry, shrinking back from all the attention. Draco, in contrast, straightened his shoulders to his full height and sneered.
"We need to change some of our currency to muggle," he said, placing a stack of galleons on the counter in front of Tom. Harry followed and did the same. "Why don't you all let Harry have some peace and leave him alone? He's a human being, not your perfect bloody little tragic hero." Some people coughed, and they began to whisper. They were clearly offended.
"Alright gentlemen," said Tom, sounding significantly less friendly. "Here you are."
As Harry and Draco walked towards the back of the bar to enter muggle London, an elderly man could be heard saying, "Snotty little ponces, aren't they? Hero of the wizarding world my arse. We don't even _know_ if he killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
They both managed to hold their tempers until they got outside.
"Those fucking idiots," said Draco. "They don't know you or me. They couldn't just leave you alone for ten fucking minutes." Draco looked over at Harry, who was shaking with rage.
"He said I didn't kill Voldemort," he said, sounding very menacing. "Doesn't he know what I WENT THROUGH?! If it weren't for me he and his drinking buddies might be DEAD right about now. They only want the fucking story from me so they can sensationalize it and make me tell it over and over again, their little hero! Do they think I want to relive that? When I killed Voldemort and Bellatrix and Nott I didn't feel like such a fucking hero, Draco. I felt more like a murderer."
By this time Draco had taken the shorter boy into his arms and was trying to calm him down.
"Get a room!" someone shouted across the street.
"You get one!" Draco called back. Harry snorted and began to laugh despite his anger.
"Malfoy, you just told that guy to get a room," he laughed. "That was smart." Draco blushed a bit and let go of Harry, but then he began to laugh too.
He suddenly stopped and stared at a teenage boy walking down the street towards them.
"Harry," he said, "I want to look like that guy!"
Harry looked up at the young man approaching them and gaped. His hair was a shaggy combination of bright red and black, he sported black nail varnish and eyeliner, and a black outfit including spikes and straps and chains.
Before Harry could say, "My aunt and uncle wouldn't let you under their roof," Draco had already asked the pierced boy where he'd bought his clothes and was dragging Harry towards the shop. When they arrived, Draco's eyes lit up with demonic glee. He grabbed nearly half of the clothes from one of the front display racks and bounded into a fitting room. While Draco was trying things on, Harry looked around in wonderment. He'd only seen people who dressed like this on television, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia only had bad things to say about them.
When Draco finally came out of the dressing room, Harry's jaw dropped.
"You look. . . my Aunt and Uncle, we'll have a hard enough time convincing them to let you stay. . . but you look. . . dear lord, Malfoy, you look sexy."
"Of course I do," Draco drawled, smirking, "I don't have to wear it in front of your aunt and uncle, do I?"
Harry blushed.
A few minutes later, the boys left the store, Draco lugging a large bag by his side. They went to a mens' clothing store nearby, where Draco's choices tended to be stylish form-fitting short-sleeved shirts and dressy pants, and Harry's choices were. . . baggy.
"No sense of style Potter," said Draco, as they walked back to The Leaky Cauldron. "It's a good thing I bought you some things at that first store."