A/N: Warning: This chapter is just filler. I felt bad that I haven't updated in forever, but I've been crazy-busy, and this is just crap to tide over my poor readers until I can really sit down and crank out another ten or fifteen pages. So I'm apologizing ahead of time. Also, I have recieved several bits of advice from friends saying that I'm not supposed to responding to reviews on my chapters. Does anyone know if this is true? And finally, does no one read my damned Author's Notes? HARRY IS DOMINANT! I will never again answer this question.
Harry sat on the floor of the shower for several minutes, recuperating. After awhile, he stood up, finished showering, and got dressed. On the way to work, lost in his own thoughts, he ran through several busy intersections, nearly getting himself killed in the process and barely noticing.
He went through the motions at work, chatting with the customers in a façade of cheerful friendliness and joking around with Remus. He knew his act, though nearly flawless, did not slide by his mentor's notice, but ignored the concerned look in Remus' eyes and shelved books, whistling an old Sum 41 song and trying not to think too much.
At a quarter till, he closed up the store and left Remus to the books, calling out a hasty goodbye when he attempted to ask the younger man what was wrong.
Fuck you, Harry wanted to snarl, mimicking Malfoy's earlier anger. Fuck you. I'm fine--I'm perfectly fine, okay? I just snogged the hell out of an incredibly beautiful boy that I've been lusting over ever since the day I moved to this shitty American town, and it was fantastic. It was unlike anything I've ever experienced before. It was better than Cedric, it was better than my whole life has ever been. And then he left, but that's fine, too, because I know he'll come back to me. How could he not? Why wouldn't he?
He refrained from saying this, though. He just grabbed his skateboard and ran out the door, keeping an eye out for Hermione's Wrangler. And sitting on the curb, away from the streetlights, he knew he should be happy. He knew he should be ecstatic, because Draco Malfoy would come back to him. Not immediately, of course. No, it would take time for Malfoy to realize the true extent of what had happened, to accept it. And when he did, Harry would be there, waiting with open arms and no judgment whatsoever.
Yes, he had freaked out. Yes, he had basically run screaming from the room. But Harry knew that Malfoy had to come to terms with what he was, or live a life of misery. And since Draco Malfoy struck him as a person to whom personal well-being was the most important thing in life, Harry doubted he would remain in denial much longer. So shouldn't he be pleased? Shouldn't he be anticipating the day that Malfoy came to him with need in his eyes and an unsure smile?
Harry had a terrible feeling that it wouldn't be that easy. Something…something was going to happen before that day ever came. If it ever came.
Brooding, he lit a cigarette from a crushed and slightly stale pack of Newports. Whenever he needed comfort, he always returned to his trusty Newports, much as he enjoyed the other brands Remus had been giving him. The crisp burn of menthol seared his throat, and he sighed, relaxing. His gaze drifted up to the early winter stars, and he found himself smiling at their bright presence. "Ah, what's wrong with you?" he whispered to the crowded sky, to the deserted street, to himself. "Everything's good. Everything's working out. You'll manage, just like you always do, Wonder Boy. Calm down, smoke your fag, and appreciate your leisure time." The sound of his voice drifting through the chill evening air made him shiver.
A few minutes later, Hermione parked carefully next to the curb, and Harry saw her squinting in his general direction. He got up and crushed the cigarette under his heel, looking forward to a night at the Java Hut, surrounded by friends and laughter and general chaos. He needed it.
"Hallo, Mione," he greeted as he slid into the car, already digging for a pack of Salems. "Off to the Hut, eh?"
"Yep," she said, pulling away from the curb with all the enthusiasm of a half-blind, eighty year old woman. Harry had been nagging her about her overly careful driving methods since she'd met him, but she still hadn't picked up the pace any.
"How was your day? Besides the totally awesome soccer game, I mean."
Harry barely hesitated. "It was great, of course. Aced my chem exam, aced the match, and it helped that I'm in my usual fantastic mood." Hermione smiled, and the rest of the short ride was spent talking about the situation between Ron and herself.
"Open your bloody eyes, Hermione!" Harry was saying loudly after they had parked and were walking towards the Java Hut. "He fancies you! No, it's more than that--he adores you, he worships you, he loves to be around you, he wants to get into your pants--what more do you need? It's so fucking obvious that it's sickening! Ask anyone!"
"Harry, hush! People will hear you!"
"I don't care! Why should you?" Harry stopped in the middle of the street outside of the coffee shop and raised his face to the sky. He cupped his hands around his mouth and began to scream, "Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley hold a painfully obvious and mutual affection for one another and they should just bloody fu--" before Hermione tackled him with her full weight. He hit the ground under her with a startled yelp. She began to flail wildly, smacking him and scolding him sternly at the same time.
Laughing, he grabbed her fists and flipped her under, so that he was the one on top. "Mione!" he cried as she bucked and nearly threw him off. He glanced at the small crowd of people that had congregated at the windows to watch them and laughed harder, previous brooding forgotten. "Mione, people are staring!"
Hermione stilled immediately, and even in the early winter dark, he could see the customary blush that spread across her cheeks. "Get off, you jackass!" she hissed, trying to hold in what she considered to be inappropriate laughter. Harry had no such constraints and clambered off, still chuckling. The hand he held out to help was smacked away and Hermione scrambled inelegantly to her feet, frowning down sadly at her trousers.
"Look, they're all dirty," she whined, gesturing to the gray smudges that were now smeared across the creamy silk. Harry glanced down at his own faded blue jeans and red Bauhaus shirt, sighing when he saw the dirt that marred the cotton.
"Well, you should have thought of that before you tackled me," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Don't worry, Ron will still love you, even if you do look like you just crawled out of a dumpster. Now let's go inside so you can make kissy faces at him and I can snigger quietly and make suggestive comments."
She did as she was told, muttering about foolish loudmouths and what was none of their concern. Starting to follow, Harry caught a flash of blonde so light it was nearly silver from the corner of his eye. When he turned his head, hope flaring through him almost painfully, there was no one there.
"Harry? Come on!" Trying to ignore the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, Harry entered the café behind Hermione, forcing himself to smile jovially.
> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >
Draco shrank into the shadows as Potter's eyes passed over him and sighed in relief as the other boy entered the Java Hut. Confused but in complete control by now, Draco knew action had to be taken. Something must be done to keep Potter as far away from him as possible, and a plan was beginning to form in Draco's mind.
It would be cruel, heartless, and vicious.
It would work.
It had to.