Chapter 1: The Ball, the Valentine & the Tree
Disclaimer: I'm not affiliated with J.K. Rowling or Warner Brothers in any way. This story is for entertainment purposes alone, and I am not profiting from its distribution. These characters are not mine, I'm just borrowing them.
Author's Note: Hi! A warning to the children, although this installation (and the following one, which I've already written) are both PG-13, future chapters are not. Be forewarned! To all readers that have already started this story, this part has been rewritten, so you may want to read it. It's an improvement, if I do say so myself. Happy reading!
Warning: SLASH
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Laughter echoed throughout the Great Hall, ringing in the ears of the many students gathered there that night. It was Valentine's Day, and in honour of the event, a large number of Hogwarts' students had pleaded for an opportunity to celebrate. Dumbledore had given in, and the Great Hall had been transformed into a surreal fairyland. Pink, red, and white hearts floated above the students' heads while sickeningly sweet couples danced to sickeningly sweet music. That wasn't the worst of it however – if one investigated too closely in a few dark corners, one would find students taking part in unspeakable activities. Snape shuddered. He had investigated too closely about three hours ago, and had been so stunned that he'd been unable to even deduct house points. He was avoiding dark corners on all of St. Valentine's holidays from now on.
But back to the present: The house elves had gone all out, preparing a feast fit for the Queen of Hearts herself. The post that morning had been filled with Valentine's greetings, bringing hundreds of festive cards, chocolates, and flowers, and Snape had been quite disturbed to receive several love letters himself from "secret admirers." The day had gone downhill from there. He had developed an excruciating stomach ache that morning upon entering his Potions classroom, which had been decorated by some "thoughtful" house elves. Albus had twisted his arm into teaching special lessons that day concerning, of all things, love potions, and his students had been unusually cheerful all day long.
Snape surveyed the room in disgust from his spot beside the punch bowl, having retreated there earlier in the evening, when Madam Trelawney had asked for a dance. He had refused to move from the spot ever since, despite earnest cajoling from both Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. He searched in vain for misbehaving students, but was distraught to find none. Depressed, he turned back to the punch bowl. Snape jumped in surprise when he instead found Albus, who had crept up on him.
"I'm sure you're aware that you've offended Sybil," Dumbledore said candidly. "She's over there with Madam Pince right now, predicting your most unfortunate death."
Snape scoffed. "I'm sure she'll recover."
"I'm sure she will," Dumbledore agreed. "However, being devoured by giant pickled toads isn't as easy to bounce back from."
Slytherin's head of house raised one eyebrow expertly; in such a manner that one would believe he spent a good portion of his time practicing that specific manoeuvre. Actually, since no one knew what he did in his spare time, it was entirely possible.
'Giant pickled toads?" Snape repeated back, sounding entirely uninterested.
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "I don't know about you, but I don't think it seems fitting for such a fine Potions master to meet his end through being ingested by an amphibian. It doesn't sound like a very appealing death scene, now does it? Perhaps you should apologise?"
Snape sighed bitterly, and poured himself another cup of punch. It was only a suggestion, but Snape heard it as an order. He took a long swig from his pink plastic cup and handed it to Dumbledore. He then favoured the old man with a particularly nasty glare before making his way over to Trelawney begrudgingly, cursing under his breath all the while. Dumbledore smiled.
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Draco groaned inwardly as Pansy dragged him onto the dance floor once again. He should not have let his mother manipulate him into taking those dancing lessons. He was too good at it now, and Pansy appreciated it far too much. Although he secretly enjoyed dancing, he didn't enjoy dancing with Pansy. Plus his feet were in dire need of a break. Pansy ignored his protests however (not an unusual occurrence), and wrapped her arms around his neck, looking up into his eyes and batting her eyelashes in what he assumed she thought was an enticing manner. She really was the most superficial, simpering dolt he'd ever met.
"What are you thinking about?" Pansy whispered in his ear.
"You" he said simply. After all, it wasn't a lie.
She grinned. "I should have guessed."
Draco smiled in what he hoped resembled a loving way, and absently continued to guide them across the floor. He was searching for Potter before he even realized what he was doing. Well, a confrontation might make this night more enjoyable. At the very least, it would keep him from dying of boredom, and give him a chance to get away from Pansy for a little while. He looked back to her again, observing the face painted heavily with make-up, and the dress which clung to her skin in a way that left very little to the imagination. She caught him staring at her and mistook his look for that of a lustful gaze.
"You want to get out of here?" Pansy asked coyly.
He shook his head. "I've got to go do something. I'll only be a second."
Pansy pouted, and Draco sighed. He was going to have to use the pet name.
"Come on Pooh Bear, I'd feel selfish if I hogged you all night long. Why don't you see if Terry wants to take you for a spin around the dance floor? He's been staring at you all night, you know."
Pansy smiled. "Of course he has. But don't worry. You're still my only Stud Muffin."
Draco had to exert all of his willpower not to regurgitate his dinner then and there. He managed though, and got away without any further difficulty. 'Now to find Potter,' he thought. He searched the room, but was unable to spot the familiar messy black hair and askew glasses. Where was Potter?
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Meanwhile, a couple of 6th year Gryffindors were enjoying themselves thoroughly on the opposite side of the hall. 'Perhaps too thoroughly,'Hermione thought to herself, as Ron doubled over laughing at something Seamus had just said, punch shooting out of his nose. She shook her head, but couldn't help the smile that played on her lips. She had to admit, she was having a magnificent time herself, despite Ron's earlier, somewhat clumsy attempt at dancing. He'd stepped on her foot half a dozen times at least, but she'd barely minded. She looked over at Ron now. Her Ron. Her cheeks grew warm with just the thought, before she shook her head to rid herself of such nonsense.
He caught her looking at him and, smiling, drew her into him, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Want to go for another spin on the dance floor?" he asked, resting his forehead against hers.
"I'm having fun here for now," she replied, declining politely. Okay, she may not have minded the first time, but she'd like to be able to walk tomorrow morning.
Ron smiled again, obviously relieved. "Phew. I've got to admit, dancing's not really my thing."
"Really? I never would have guessed," she teased sarcastically. Ron rolled his eyes and kissed her softly.
"Oh, come on you two - none of that!" Dean admonished, shielding his eyes.
Hermione and Ron broke apart, blushing.
"Oh, really, Dean. I think it's sweet. Go on, continue!" Lavender instructed adamantly.
"Inappropriate public displays of affection are what Valentine's Day is all about!" Parvati chimed in from where she stood between Dean and Seamus. She was decked out in a ridiculously frilly set of pink robes.
"And here was me, thinkin' that Valentine's Day was all about love, and showin' people how much you care about them." Seamus shook his head. "I suppose I've had the wrong idea all along!"
Parvati elbowed him in mock annoyance. Lavender looked over at Ron, concern evident on her flushed face. "Should we maybe go spend some time with your sister, Ron? She seems a bit out of it."
Ron turned to where his sister stood, alone and looking pretty miserable. "Her friends dragged her here. I think its better if we leave her be. She's not feeling up to celebrating the joys of love, right now."
"Harry?" Parvati asked sympathetically.
"Who else?"
"Speaking of a certain Boy-Who-Lived," Hermione interjected, frowning as she scanned the room. "Where is Harry?"
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The boy in question had slipped out unnoticed about a half an hour ago. While the rest of his classmates had stayed inside enjoying their ball, Harry had walked down the long path to the lake, and scrambled up the tree in which he now sat. He was in an unusually melancholy mood that night, due, in part, to the article that had been featured in Witch's Weekly recently, entitled 'Harry's Heartbreak: A Not-So-Happy Valentine's Day.' Not to mention the article that had come out last week, in the Daily Prophet no less, detailing Harry's magnificent triumph over Death Eaters who had 'taken over the Ministry of Magic'. The information had remained classified throughout the summer while the Death Eaters were on trial, but all of the gory details were now public. Quite a mess they'd made of the actual facts, though. Sirius wasn't even mentioned.
Harry felt like he was drowning sometimes, smothered under a blanket of carefully constructed falsehoods and delicate lies. Thrust on him by what; a prophecy? A prophecy made by Trelawney, no less; an old bat whom most would agree was a nutcase - a fraud! Oh sure, they laugh with him when she predicts that he'll die next week. A giant ball of earwax falling from the sky to bury him alive? Ridiculous! Yet somehow when she says he'll save the world, everyone chooses to take her seriously. Suddenly, people are offering to do his homework for him, asking if he'd like to borrow their favourite jumper, passing him the sausage at breakfast even though he hadn't asked for any, building him temples…
The temple. Colin had started on it last month, and if Harry squinted he could just make it out from his tree. He wished he could blink at it and make it disappear. With sudden conviction, he squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. No such luck. He was reminded suddenly of the time he'd borrowed 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' from the school library back when he lived with the Dursleys. He'd been about eight at the time, and old enough to have stopped believing in fairytales. But he'd grown so sure that his little cupboard under the stairs was the entranceway to the magical land of Narnia; a place where Dudleys and Dursleys would never be allowed – where he could escape them all, and live happily ever after with Aslan, Peter, Susan, and the others. He'd been disappointed then, too.
Although in some ways, the wizarding world had been his Narnia. At first. If he looked at everything that had happened in the past few years in that way, then maybe none of it was really all that bad. The Pevensie children had to deal with the White Witch – he had Voldemort. Good would triumph over evil eventually. Right?
"What; couldn't find yourself a date for the ball?"
The voice came from behind, and at the sound of it Harry whirled around about, only to lose his balance and land with a resounding thud at the intruder's feet.
"Graceful, Potter," Malfoy drawled.
Harry got up quickly, preparing himself for whatever Malfoy was planning to throw at him.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked gruffly, when it became clear that no hexes were being directed his way.
"What - no hello? No 'how are you doing, Draco? Enjoying the ball?' Really, Potter; your manners leave something to be desired. It must be the muggle upbringing."
"Funny, because; using that logic, as a 'Pureblood,' that makes you, what; polite? Sorry, Malfoy, you're going to have to work on your little theory, there. I'm not quite buying it."
Draco smiled. "Nice tree, Potter. I'll bet you feel right at home up there, huh - with all your squirrel friends? Almost as nutty as you are."
"Ha. Ha. Ha." Harry said, dryly.
"Not that you're 'off your rocker' so to speak, but-"
"If you don't mind," Harry interrupted, "Could you get to the point? I'm not exactly in the mood."
Malfoy smirked. "What are you hiding from?" He asked smoothly.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"No? All right, let me rephrase that question. Who are you hiding from?"
Harry heaved a sigh in exasperation. "Want to give me a clue, Malfoy? Because I'm drawing a blank over here."
Draco chuckled. "Fine, I'll play." He began circling Harry casually, who followed him warily with his eyes, but stayed rooted to where he stood. "Weasley and Granger?" he ventured. "Cute couple but, well Potter, I'll be honest-"
"That's a first." Harry muttered insolently. Malfoy ignored him, and continued.
"-they make me want to puke. Sickening, the way they can't keep their hands to themselves."
Harry picked a leaf out of his unruly hair and examined it for a moment before letting it fall to the ground. He wasn't going to let Malfoy get to him. Not tonight.
Malfoy took his lack of response as an invitation to continue.
"The Weaselette then? Break-ups can be tough; huh, Potter?"
Harry snorted at Malfoy's weak imitation of sympathy, but his heart twinged at the comment. She looked beautiful, tonight; maybe just because he knew now that he couldn't have her. Harry hated it when Malfoy was right. Harry had left the ball mainly because of her – because he couldn't stand that look on her face. He didn't understand why she felt she had the right to stare at him like that when she had been the one to break up with him. Any misery she was feeling right now was her own fault. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.
Malfoy studied Harry's face carefully as his previous words sunk in. That was it. He'd gotten it. Malfoy smirked in satisfaction. This was going to be fun…
"It must have been a shame to lose a lay like that, though. I-"
Unfortunately, Draco didn't get a chance to finish his analysis of Harry's "tough break-up," having suddenly found himself up against the tree.
"You do not speak about Ginny that way," Harry hissed.
Draco merely laughed. "Really? I thought I just had."
Harry glared at him narrowly through dangerous green eyes. His hands were shaking, and he couldn't remember having ever been this furious. "You're dead, Malfoy." he snarled.
Draco started in mock surprise. "Am I? My goodness, it's odd that I didn't notice. I must be preoccupied."
"Ginny doesn't concern you," Harry got out through clenched teeth.
"That was the problem, wasn't it Potter?" Malfoy asked redundantly, comprehension colouring his face. "That's why you're so worked up about this, isn't it?" Malfoy looked positively smug as he leaned in and whispered in Harry's ear, "Couldn't get it up?"
Harry punched him hard, and this time it was Draco who fell to the ground. Harry bent down and punched him again, and again, until his mind caught up with him and he realized what he was doing. He got up and, shooting one last malicious glance Malfoy's way, he backed off. The blonde haired boy lay sprawled out, half choking on his own blood, half laughing. Draco was always happiest when he was getting the best of Harry. The laughter rang in Harry's ears as he left the Slytherin lying in the dirt and began the long walk back to the castle.
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