Harry watched as Draco-the-hallucination kept on smirking – in fact, his smirk seemed to be getting bigger, if that was even possible. He rolled his eyes at himself. "Figures," he muttered aloud. "Even in my thoughts Draco can't just be a nice, non-smarmy guy."
Draco was all prepared with a sharp retort, but seeing as how that would blow his cover beyond all recognition, he bit down on his tongue – literally, leaving him to wince at the pain.
Luckily Harry's head was now buried face-down into his palms, and he didn't see that "imaginary" Draco was acting of his own volition.
Must be more careful, Draco chided himself. I wont always be so fortunate.
Just then, Harry lifted his head and stared at Draco. "You're not going to go, are you?" The blonde paused, not quite sure if he was supposed to answer. His question was answered as Harry kept on talking, not awaiting any response from his hallucination. "You're just going to stay here and plague me, the way you plague my thoughts."
Draco watched as Harry lifted the Butterbeer bottle to his lips, oddly overcome with the urge to rip the drink out of his hands – the boy was drunk enough, and somehow Draco didn't like seeing the usually well-adjusted Gryffindor so out of control. It was rather disconcerting, and more than a tiny bit frightening. But he did nothing, he couldn't have done much without giving himself away; he just waited, hoping that Harry would either run out of drink, or would gain the sense to stop.
He watched some more as Harry bit down into the last bit of the chocolate in his hand and closed his eyes in bliss at the taste. Draco couldn't help it; he felt the beginning of some…stirrings. As much as it was worrying, seeing Harry completely uninhibited, it was also very perversely gratifying – in more ways than one. He knew it was oh-so-twisted, it was a nasty, voyeuristic piece of business to be watching Harry so unrestrained in all his actions, and even worse, to enjoy seeing the Golden Boy licking off his chocolate-smeared fingers, and smack his full, rosy lips.
It was wrong, to watch and to enjoy.
But Draco did anyway.
He stood, his eyes focused on the raven-haired boy, who had his startlingly green eyes open again, and was turning his gaze onto Draco once more.
"Draco." Harry murmured quietly. "Draco, Draco…"
Draco stiffened, not at all sure of how he should feel about that, about Harry's soft, repeated sighing of his name in a moment of apparent lucidity.
"You confuse me terribly, you know that?" Harry shook his head slightly, running a hand through and tussling his already messy hair. "And I don't know why you confuse me, which is even more confusing. There ought to be nothing confusing. There's too much confusion." He seemed to be babbling rather incoherently now, but paused and let out a deep sigh. "I mean… You're my archenemy, or whatever, and you hate me…"
It took all of Draco's reserves of self-restraint not to correct this misguided belief.
"And I'm supposed to hate you too, except I don't think I could ever hate anyone besides Voldemort, and not you – you may be a right snotty bastard most of the time but I don't think you're really evil."
It was time to get comfortable, Draco finally decided, as Harry rambled on, voicing out all his tangled thoughts. He sat down across Harry, on his end of the room, just listening to him keep talking.
"And I don't know what you think about that goddamn dance we shared earlier. I don't know why I even care what you think. All I know is that for some stupid reason, I do. I care. And God help me, I can't stop thinking about it, about you."
Harry let out one of those hollow, hysterical laughs that sent a chill running through Draco's spine.
"I'm even imagining you now, and I've started talking to imaginary you."
There was a long pause, and Harry slumped over, as silence reigned in the room for a good few minutes, tension raising Draco's hackles – was Harry alright? Still conscious? Alive?
Just as he was about to give up his act, and cross the room to check, a small whimper issued from the dark-haired boy. "I'm pathetic." There was another mirthless chuckle, then, in the softest, saddest tone Draco had ever heard from Harry, "If you were really here, you'd probably be pissing your pants laughing, and kick me around…"
No, Draco wanted to protest. I wouldn't. Because I'm here now, and I'm not doing either of those things, am I?
"Why can't I get you off my mind?"
Harry's voice left a softly lingering echo in the room, before a quiet strum of an unseen guitar sounded, and Harry stood up, rather uncertainly. A smattering of half-slurred curses made their way from under his breath, whether it was in conjunction with standing up or having to sing, Draco wasn't sure. He just sat, unmoving, and stared up at Harry, oddly enraptured. Harry was shaky on his legs, but remained upright as the music blossomed, and he opened his mouth to sing.
"You're a pest, Draco…
I've never met anyone quite like you.
No one else could ever be quite so…"
His voice was trembling as he began, but relaxed and strengthened as he continued, and Draco noted, with no small amount of awe and mild irritation, that the Golden Gryffindor had yet another talent, a voice as untarnished as his image. It was smooth, slightly deep, and very sweet, in a boyish sort of manner. Of course, his little analysis of Harry's singing voice wasn't a focal point for his attention – the words that were issuing forth from him were. He wanted to know how Harry would describe him.
"Aggravating and infuriating
Annoying and irritating -"
Draco couldn't help but scowl a little, although he did find it amusing at the same time, so it was tamed into a smirk, which transformed into a small smile as he heard Harry's next words.
"But still so damn charming
- When you want to be.
You, and it was going quite well
But I stupidly looked into your eyes
And now…now…"
Harry trailed off a little, looking rather pensive and contemplative and all sorts of thoughtful, making Draco rather want to throttle him for leaving him hanging like that. Now what? His mind desperately wanted to know. Not that he really cared what Harry thought of him, of course. It wouldn't matter at all, they were still rivals and all that. But now what? He was on the verge of hexing the Gryffindor, for it looked like he had stopped singing, even the mellow rock-type music was lulling. But then Harry inhaled deeply, and resumed his song, after a particularly impressive guitar riff was heard.
"Now I'm stuck here thinking of you -
I can't get you out of my mind
And I'm beginning to think that maybe it's alright…
That maybe its okay
If I want to get to know you
If I want to…"
Harry sighed softly, and the chords changed slightly before he continued. Now the song seemed to have changed its mood as well, it was a decidedly more edgy, harder track, and Harry's voice, damn the blessed boy, had adapted flawlessly to suit it.
"But that's stupid, of course
Because you're smart
And you hate me just the way you're supposed to
Because you're smart
And you don't start thinking that I'm cute
Because you're smart
And I'm so dumb to feel the way I do
Because you're smart
And nothing will ever happen with me and you."
With the last verse, Harry seemed to attempt something vaguely resembling air guitar, or a strut, or some other sort of rock-star kind of action. Whatever his intention was, Draco was fairly sure it had turned out nothing like Harry had intended it to. He was horribly tipsy, and his moves were clumsy – in fact, Draco thought even if all the goblins at Gringotts tried to tap dance in sync it wouldn't be as uncoordinated as what he was observing now.
And yet, with a surge of annoyance, he still found it the most adorable thing he'd ever witnessed.
Plus, Harry's voice really was one of the best he'd ever heard – apparently, alcohol only affected his coordination and not his vocal chords.
Damn that bloody blessed Gryffindor.
The music ended rather abruptly – as it always seemed to do, and Harry lurched forward, rather breathlessly. Straight into Draco's arms.
Draco's entirely corporeal, non-imaginary, non-hallucinatory arms.
AN: Yes, cliffhanger! I'm evil, I know. Its a talent. One talent I dont have, however...(cringes) er...I do not even pretend to be a songwriter (or hell, even poet) of any sort, so do forgive me for that horrible bit of verse, it was just to get the point across, and in any case, Harry's tipsy as all hell so of course he's not coherent, and I'm rambling, so there! That's my final word on it. For more words, visit my LJ…please? It's lonely, and like me, it gets whiny when lonely.
Eternal thanks go, as usual, to the following people, who deserve long lives, massive riches, and explosive orgasms:
moseys-dragon, zina, Prophetess of Hearts, Lilsi, vampedpixie, musicgirl141, X-mas Gurl, bajs, Nyoka Li, Taelor, lissa james, Kara Fain and jess. (Thank you all so much!! (glomps))
wwwendy (dont worry, they'll be moving at a nice shuffle, or waltz),
I like black stuff ("Doctor Wayco"? You sure you haven't had a bit of Butterbeer yourself?(grin)),
Somnia Lustre (RoR definitely a very useful plot device, hehe),
Tigris T Draconis (You'll have to wait a little bit more, I'm afraid...), &
Electra (I'm just making it alcoholic anyway (grin), and thank you thank you for all the other reviews!)
I'm thrilled beyond thrilled that you guys seemed to like the pastry-Draco remarks, and tipsy Harry being "piqued". Also that the non-singing-ness went over well. Happy, happy. Those of you who I have lured into this fic of mine, I'm glad you decided to venture. :)
Now, be nice to me and leave a review, as so far you have all been doing a marvelous, astronomical job…and also because I'm going to very subtly bribe you all with the next chapter of not only this, but my other stories (and yes, that includes Dessert) as well, if you do. Ignore the fact that I didn't say "soon", and just focus on "next chapter". :)