6. Lavender and Dragon's Breath
Wednesdays were completely something else than Tuesdays for Harry Potter. The day started with Charms, with Slytherin. It continued with Herbology, with Slytherin. And, it ended with a nice double lesson of Potions, with nobody else than the Slytherins and Snape.
"Get up, Harry, or you're gonna be late for breakfast," Ron jostled Harry, who was deeply snoring in his bed, all clothes still on.
"I'm… not… going…" Harry's voice was muffled.
"Oh, yes you are! You must eat something! We must endure the whole day with Slytherins, you know!"
"Not… going…" Harry drew a pillow over his head.
"Yes you are!" Ron cried, tearing the pillow off. "Or did you mean you won't come down all day?"
"Yes… I stay here whole day…"
"Why?"
Harry yawned, pulling the blanket to cover his face. "I hate Snape… And I hate Malfoy… I don't want to see Malfoy…"
"That's not anything new," stated Ron. "You had your detention last night, I heard you coming back in the middle of the night. Now, I know Snape put you trough a hell lot, but you must stop acting like an idiot. You must come down. Don't show those Slytherin bastards your weak moments!"
Little did Ron know about Harry's weak moments. And that Harry really was an idiot, in his own opinion. Namely, last night just before shutting the door behind him, Draco had blazed his iciest scowl at Harry, and now Harry was afraid to face the boy again.
"You go, Ron…"
Ron made an extremely annoyed face and pushed Harry over the edge of the bed. Harry smashed on the floor.
"You. Come. Now. Otherwise people start asking me questions, and I don't want to lie. I would have to say you didn't come because of Snape and Malfoy."
Massaging his aching head, Harry heaved himself up and grimaced. "Mmh, uh, okay, I'm coming… I'm coming alright…"
Draco was not at breakfast, which made it easier for the embarrassed Harry. Harry sat between Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, chatting sporadically with Ron and Hermione across the full-loaded table. He was quiet, but made a huge effort in trying to act as normally as possible. He drank several glasses of pumpkin juice, hoping it would have been butterbeer.
"What do you think, Harry?"
It was Dean Thomas. Harry had not paid attention around just that moment, and was without any clue as to what Dean had been asking.
"Sorry, Dean, what was it you said?" he forced a weak smile.
"I asked if you think my new shirt is cool. I bought it from Hogsmeade a couple of weeks ago, thinking that maybe some chicks could like it." Dean winked at Hermione. Ron looked murderous.
Harry looked at Dean's new shirt. It was tight and camouflaged, revealing a fine row of abdominal muscles trough its thin canvas. Oh, shit…
"I, um, think it's very, eh… hot," Harry blushed, innocently wrapping the hems of his cloak more firmly around him.
However, Dean didn't seem to notice anything weird in Harry's countenance, and continued to rabbit on with Ron. Ron did not look very pleased with the matter and forcibly refused to start praising the hot chemise.
Harry felt miserable. Why did that happen? Again! He forced down a cheese toast, hoping his scarlet cheeks would soon return to their normal, bronze shade.
Charms. What a charming lesson. Charming was also Draco Malfoy that morning, wearing a tight sky-blue pullover and cobalt trousers under his Slytherin cloak. Many girls held their breaths, even Parvati from Gryffindor, as the refined teen found his seat on the far left end of Flitwick's classroom. Harry was sulking on the other end, turning his eyes quickly away from the object of so much admiration. He was happy to have Lavender sitting next to him.
"Good morning, Gryffindor and Slytherin," Professor Flitwick started. "I think we have practised the Disillusionment Charm enough, don't you agree, youngsters? Today we're going to start with a new subject. What would you say about some Talon-clipping? As some of you may already know, it is used for dragon care."
This. Can. Not. Be. Happening. Harry hit his forehead on the table, in an aching frustration, and got Lavender's worried eyes on him. Why does everything have to have something to do with dragons, these days? I think I can take no more of this… Yesterday Dragon-flies and now Talon-clipping. Obviously the teachers have arranged a conspiracy against me! As if I had no other meaning for my life than to think about Draco Malfoy twenty four seven!
"Harry, sweetie, are you alright?" Lavender asked, being proud of the privilege of calling Harry a 'sweetie' now.
"What? Um, yeah... Just felt a sudden... twist in my stomach. But it's all gone now." Harry tried to grin, but probably failed, because Lavender looked at him suspiciously trough her lashes for a long moment.
As Professor Flitwick began to teach, Harry sank in his own thoughts. He didn't much care to listen, since he'd already learned something about the Talon-clipping when preparing for the first mission of the Triwizard Tournament two years ago. Instead, his thoughts worked with the happenings of the previous night.
I am not gay, you know. I cannot be. I just felt like caressing Malfoy's fucking ankle, because I was so damn tired, and hoped that he'd leave immediately with his fucking loafers when I… Shit, he's breath-taking in those clothes.
Harry was so angry with himself that he scraped his cheeks with his fingers so forcibly they left several red strikes on his already-burning skin. Then he picked up his quill and a piece of parchment, and began to draw. Professor Flitwick's words were all blur in his ears as he captured certain noble features of a certain noble bloke sitting far away from him.
Harry looked at his handiwork proudly. Evilly pointed features, carefully combed hair, metallic eyes and the maliciously frowning mouth. Almost perfect. Harry picked up his quill once more, however this time not drawing with it. Instead, he started to pierce the picture with furious stabs, lancing the eyes, the cheeks, and the forehead… He continued until the quill eventually snapped in two halves.
"Fuck!"
Suddenly, Harry became aware that the whole class was dead silent, Flitwick and every single student staring oddly at him. Every student except Malfoy.
"Mr. Potter, may I ask what you are doing?" asked Flitwick, some severe annoyance in his accent.
Harry covered the torn parchment with his palms and bit his lower lip. "Nothing special. I'm sorry, Professor."
Next lessons were Herbology with Madame Sprout. Harry expected nothing good from them, since his day had already begun so wretchedly, but he arranged his stuff beside Ron all the same.
"What a wonderful sunny day it is, children!" Sprout puffed, when entering the steamy hot greenhouse.
"Really wonderful," mumbled Harry ironically under his breath.
"We have a difficult mission today," continued Sprout, not hearing Harry's words. "Professor Snape has asked me to cultivate a new batch of Gillyweed, but since I'm so busy with the Bubotubors, I would like you sixth years to help me out."
Harry remembered well how awful Gillyweed was, and couldn't help smirking. He thought about Malfoy's expression as the snobbish boy would have to handle those slimy, grayish-green rat-tails. The thought made Harry somewhat happier, and he actually started paying attention to the teaching.
Potter had been right. Draco was nauseated. Even though the weeds were just small embryos, they still felt mucous beyond description and smelled like rotten fish.
I cannot believe Potter actually ate this shit, Draco mused, holding a thermometer in a water bowl, where the weeds would soon be planted. He's got guts, I must admit.
Draco's eyes turned remote as the reflections of Potter polishing his shoes emerged once again in his mind. Damn it, Potter was really weird yesterday! And today, he's been acting even more abnormally. That lad is becoming barking mad. Seems that he's got some unresolved issues with himself. Not that it would be anything strange, though, being what he is…
Draco glanced at Potter, who was currently telling Weasley how Gillyweed tasted. He really is kind of attractive. Although his hair is a nightmare, his glasses horrible and his clothes too shabby. Wonder why he doesn't dress properly? He's got money like trash, just like I do.
Malfoy smiled at the thought that they were both so very rich. He returned to his thermometer and decided that the water was warm enough for planting. Then something very weird dawned on him. Of all the people between earth and heaven, did I just say Harry Potter is attractive?
Malfoy was not shocked of the fact that he was considering a male student gorgeous and sexy. Oh no, he had heard and experienced so much freakier things in the Slytherin house that being homosexual was not anything spectacular for him. He had been kissing and shagging with several girls enough to know he enjoyed it. He had also been kissing with some boys, without thinking it revolting. He had never had sex with boys, though, but that was perhaps because he'd never been on the mood. And he had seen people do so much more. Seen Crabbe and Goyle both tamper with Millicent at the same time, seen Bole and Warrington having it wild together in the Quidditch changing rooms. Even Pansy and Tracey had had their own adventures a couple of weeks ago. Therefore, it really needed a lot more than just a one-time erection from Potter's side to make Draco traumatized.
Draco was not a decided gay, but he was not objecting to be such, either. He was not surprised to find out everybody wanted him when he had started the sixth year at Hogwarts, since he knew he was dazzling. No. The issue here and today was that he had started feeling some inexplicable lust towards Harry Potter, of all the people. The pride and joy of the mighty Gryffindor. And that if anything was wicked.
Draco threw the Gillyweed sprouts dispassionately in the bowl and received a horrified look from Madame Sprout.
"Be careful with those, Mr. Malfoy! They are very demanding plants!"
Demanding. That was a good word. It described well Draco's nature. I need to get this darn Potter issue solved. Think I should test him a little…
The dinnertime arrived soon after Madame Sprout had forced each of the students to empty their pockets of Gillyweed. Evidently, the herb was not to be played with.
Harry was extremely hungry and left the greenhouse with haste. However, he was unfortunate enough to bump on Goyle when entering the entrance hall, and received a harsh push in his stomach in return. Then he heard a familiar, drawling voice coming from behind the gigantic back of the nearby-standing Crabbe.
"It was so hilarious," said the voice. "His hands were all covered in black polish, and he was literally murderous when I arrived. But, he behaved quite nicely after all, and look at my shoes now!"
Wild giggles from some Ravenclaw and Slytherin girls.
"Did you know he's dating Lavender Brown?" chirped Millicent, with sharp deride in her tone. "That posh, wannabe-veela air-head."
Harry felt something very nasty begin to grow inside him.
"Now, does he really?" the drawling male voice continued, pure glee flickering in the words. "And all this time I thought he was secretly in love with that Weasel boy."
More untamed titters, and some harmonizing smirks from the boys. Harry did not want to stay and listen any longer, and hastened at the dinner table with Hermione and Ron. He didn't notice a couple of superbly animated and cheerful grey eyes following his steps.
Harry was raging inside. How could anybody consider Lavender Brown an air-head? His own girlfriend? Why hadn't he said anything vicious back at Millicent? Nevertheless, after a couple of minutes' fuming, Harry shrugged and decided it was not important anyway, since Lavender normally was an air-head.
Another subject shot Harry as an alternative. Were the Slytherins truly thinking that he was in love with Ron? No, that had to be one of Malfoy's depraved jokes, again.
Harry looked at Ron who was sitting opposite to him. He's my best friend, for crying out loud! Besides, there's nothing sexy about him. I mean, not for me. Harry let his eyes wander from Ron's auburn hair to his freckled nose and widely smiling mouth. First buttons of Ron's short-sleeved shirt were open, and Harry could distinguish the not-so-fit body of his friend under the cotton fabric. Not my type. No.
"Look, Harry, I bought this for Halloween!" Ron said. He reached for his pocket and pulled out a sweatband, where the word 'Stallion' was clearly visible in shining red letters. "Isn't it great?"
Harry was relieved. I am not gay, and now I proved it! Ron definitely doesn't turn me on!
"Heard you were having detention yesterday night, Harry," put in Ginny, flushing slightly. "Tell me, is it true that Snape put you crawl on the floor in front of him and Malfoy? You didn't do that, did you?"
"Yeah," said Neville, glancing up from his pudding. "And there's this other rumour that you as much as invited Malfoy there."
Harry looked outraged. "I did not invite him!"
"Hey, Harry!" said a dusky, flirting voice in his ear. It belonged to Cho Chang, Harry's long-time crush. "I heard Malfoy just telling his friends you gave him a good foot massage last night as your detention. Now, I just wondered, is that true?"
Harry couldn't help it anymore. He just couldn't help it. Malfoy had just said his last words.
He rose up, and turned to look towards the Slytherin table. Dozens of curious glances followed as he stepped over the long chair and onto the middle aisle. Then he walked straight towards the Ravenclaw table that was standing in between Gryffindor and Slytherin tables. He took rapid steps and ran on the table top, spilling many plates of food down on the floor with his boots. Standing there, where everybody could clearly see him, was not anyhow disturbing this time. Neither were the shocked gasps of the Ravenclaw fourth year students at his feet. He was storming.
Harry marched over the table and landed next to the Slytherin table. Then he ascended to stand on the Slytherin table as well, and walked right in front of the mildly surprised Draco Malfoy, kicking an ewer of pumpkin juice all over Etre and Bole. Harry took the blonde boy from the shoulders, lifting him up from his chair, and facing him in an inch distance.
"I hate you, Malfoy," Harry snarled at Draco, who looked now very annoyed.
"But of course you do, Potter," Malfoy answered, hissing.
"Meet me eight o'clock at the Q. pitch. Don't be late."
"I won't. Bring along your coffin."
"You bring yours."
All students around them were either taunted with astonishment or glowering the boys with indignation. Draco could feel Potter's hard angry breathes on his cheeks. Harry could smell a light scent of vanilla cigarette from Draco's lips. The moment seemed to be lost in time. Nobody moved, nobody said a thing.
"Alright, Mr. Potter. That is enough." Minerva McGonagall, the head of Harry's house finally alleged, interrupting the silence. Harry didn't even glance at her direction, but kept on staring frantically at Malfoy.
Draco lifted his other eyebrow elegantly. "Mommy is asking you to behave nicely, little Harry," he teased. He could feel Harry's fingers tighten their grip around his biceps.
"At eight," whispered Harry, and let roughly go of Draco. He marched along the Slytherin table towards the doors of the Great Hall, spoiling at least thirty students' meal en passant. And he disappeared out of sight. This time, even Dumbledore's eyes were not twinkling at him.
Potion classes. What would the day have become without the Potion classes? Absolutely spoilt. Namely, Draco was having the time of his life. Snape had forced Potter to brew Magical Mess Remover Potion for Leather Loafers, just to fuck the Gryffindor pride over. Every now and then Draco jeered at Potter's direction and winked his eye at the dark-haired boy, almost dying with hilarity.
"Wipe that sneer off your face, Malfoy," Ron threatened the Slytherin prince after half an hour of sniggering. "Or I will hammer your face to resemble a pancake!"
With this threat, Malfoy left Crabbe to work alone with their Polyjuice Potion, and walked at Ron's side. "Will you really?"
Ron looked a little puzzled. "Well, yeah."
"Just try it, Weasel," Draco said, deviously. His eyes met shortly Harry's infinite green irises.
Poor Ron did not know where the whole thing was leading, and therefore began to roll up his sleeves. "This is your last chance to retreat, Malfoy," he said. "Leave Harry alone."
"Jealous?"
"What?" Ron was now totally clueless.
"Are you jealous of me?"
"You really are cracked, Malfoy. If I didn't know better –which I actually don't- I would say you walk around the school hoping people would smack you down to hospital condition."
"There you are wrong," Malfoy nonchalantly leered, almost yawned. "Because, you couldn't get me in a hospital condition, even if you tried your best, Weasel."
Ron's face twisted in a vile grimace and he plunged his fist towards Malfoy. However, it never reached its aim.
"Harry? What the…?" Ron gasped. He had never been so perplexed in his life.
Harry had taken a steely grip of Ron's wrist in the mid-strike, now holding it firmly.
"Don't hit him, Ron," Harry faintly said.
Malfoy leered.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Harry?" Ron's eyes were as wide as saucers. "Don't you fucking see it's Draco Malfoy?"
Harry looked around. The whole dungeon was following the little dispute with uttermost curiosity. What an eventful week this had been!
"I mean… Don't hit him in the face. I want to see his expressions," Harry made a frantic smile.
"Oh, okay…" Ron uttered, still completely lost.
"Besides, I want him to be able to stand on his own, tonight. Remember, we have our little duel then," Harry whispered at Ron, before retreating back to his cauldron.
Draco looked half angrily and half disappointedly at Potter. But nevertheless, his calculations had been right. Potter had a crush on him. If it had been just the three of them, Ron would not have survived with so little confusion.
Draco blocked Ron's blow artfully and returned to Crabbe. Neither him or Harry noticed the suspicious glare Professor Snape cast at them both.
Potter and Malfoy turned face en face and bowed, very slightly, without breaking the eye contact. Then they raised their wands in front of them, in the combative position.
It was eight o'clock in the evening, and the sky was threateningly dark. The stars had just begun to twinkle and the air was blustery.
On the count of three, thought Harry, but was wise enough to start when it was two and a half, thus reacting to Malfoy's overhasty attack.
"Confundus!" the both boys shouted.
They had inadvertently chosen the same charm, which caused the effect that their spells cast backwards. They fell down on the moist grass, stupefied by their own incantations.
"Eh… Malfoy?" Harry straightened his eyeglasses. "What exactly are we doing here?"
"Uh… I don't know, Potter, but I just got mud under my fingernails, and I want to get inside, it's going to be a chilly night," replied Malfoy, smoothing his messy-gone hair.
"Strange. I feel like hula-dancing next breakfast in the Great Hall –on the teachers' table," Harry stuck his lower lip out, in indignation. "What the hell would I do that for?"
"And I have this funny feeling I should go asking Professor Snape out for a date," Draco looked puzzled. "Although I think he'd be more than revolted."
The both boys were completely flabbergasted. However, from some distant part of his memory, Harry remembered directing Draco with a confundus, thinking about him hula-dancing at the same time. And as to Draco, he looked like as if he had remembered thinking about Snape just before waving his wand for the spell.
"We were duelling," decided Harry. "But what for?"
"Does it need a reason to duel with you, Potter?" Draco asked, standing up with a grace only Malfoy could produce after such a blow of magic.
"My charm hit back. So did yours."
"Obviously," stated Draco, vexed.
Silvery eyes met the sea green ones, very swiftly.
"I can't remember why we are here," Draco said, very snappily. "And that bothers me."
"It bothers me, as well," replied Harry, looking even more cross than Malfoy.
"So… should we continue our fight, even though we don't remember what we were fighting for?" Draco asked, giving a neat, inviting wave of a hand.
"Certainly," Harry frowned, a predatory expression on his face, and cast a handful of mud at Draco's face.
Draco plunged at Potter, and they both rolled on the wet grass mattress, hitting and kicking each other, wrestling, twisting arms and pulling each other's hair, until they were both damaged enough to pull apart.
They were out of breath, and every inch of their bodies was hurting, except that they had not even made one severe injury to each other, let alone touched each other's faces. Potter was more than happy that Draco had saved his eyeglasses, and Malfoy was relieved he would still look beautiful at the Halloween party, not having a black eye.
"Guess we should visit Pomfrey," Harry sighed, from between his rapid breaths, holding his chest.
"Yeah," agreed Draco. He was tired with the whole duelling thing, and his robes were drenched. "Think we should."
…TBC…