Aha! Chapter nine! It's about time, isn't it? This is my favorite chapter so far : grin : I have already started on chapter ten, not to worry. Also, I've started a little extra project- a side dish, you might say. I wanted to add different POVs, but it would've been weird to have Hermione suddenly stuck in chapter nine or something, right? So as soon as my beta finished going over them, I'll start uploading that, too. So make sure to read them!
This chapter is dedicated to all those who actually bother reading this fic, when there are things so much better out there. I love you all: kisses and hugs:
Ninth chapter, in which there is Seamus, Draco is a jealous little ferret (what's new?), and what exactly is wrong with Harry? Enjoy!
88888888
Draco pushed his eggs around his plate, then glanced across the hall. Potter was sitting between Granger and the little Weasley girl looking tired as usual, but considerably happier. Draco sipped from his goblet before he dared to look again. He watched as Potter spread honey on a scone, his head bent low as he listened to something Weasley was saying. Weasley's red hair was bright against Potter's dark, and long strands slipped from her ponytail and brushed Potter's face.
Potter laughed, and the movement caused his hands to wobble; his knife missed the scone and instead smeared his hand with honey. The girl burst out in giggles and fished around for a napkin, but Potter just gave her a lopsided grin, shook his head and brought his hand to his mouth.
Draco froze in horror, unable to look away as Potter licked the syrupy drops clean, his face thoughtful. He could feel himself flush slowly and steadily, as heat uncurled in his stomach. Potter gave his palm a last nip and reached for another scone. Then Weasley said something, smiled, and dabbed Potter's mouth with the napkin she was holding. It was a gesture so simple, yet it contained such a sense of familiarity in it, such a feeling of friendship. It made Draco absolutely sick. Abruptly, he rose to his feet, shouldering his bag, and strode out of the hall, ignoring the bewildered looks his housemates gave him.
"Draco – " Pansy started, but her voice was lost behind the closing doors.
Outside, Draco leaned against a wall, head bent low, breathing heavy. What was that?
Draco tried to pass that event at breakfast as a one time thingsome confusion caused by lack of sleep and food poisoning. Yes, that was it. That strange, over warm feeling was just because the House-Elves had over-cooked the eggs. Or put something in his pumpkin juice. Draco was very good at lying. Even to himself. Especially to himself. It worked too, for about half an hour, until it was Transfiguration and Draco found himself staring at the back of Potter's head. All thoughts of food poisoning wavered pathetically, said, "Sorry, we tried," then disappeared completely.
McGonagall was lecturing about the theoretical Animagus transformation, which was a very important subject that would probably be on their end of term exams. Draco desperately tried to convince himself of the fact, but then Potter chose that exact moment to stretch. Draco's eyes were instantly glued to the Gryffindor's long arms; the thin, pale wrists that were revealed as his black sleeves slid down; and to the subtle play of his shoulder blades moving under the thin fabric of his robes.
Gah, he thought, and frantically tried to organize his thoughts, The first rule of Animagus transformation are is caution—
Potter sighed, and the sound was ridiculously loud to Draco's ears. The first rule of Animagus transformation is—
Potter scratched the back of his neck with his quill, leaving a small line of black ink on the pale skin. Draco's gaze fixed itself on the stain. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head to clear it. The first rule of the Animagus transformation— The first rule—
Potter leaned forward, and Draco could see the top part of the other boy's spine as well as the white collar of his undershirt. The first rule of the Animagus transformation is—
Draco could feel the heat again, stronger than before and now unmistakable. It was the utterly humiliating heat that was, unfortunately, a part of every teenage boy's life. No, no, no! He rubbed his eyes violently. The first rule— The first— Animagus transformation— The first— Gah!
"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall's cold voice caused Draco to jump, "are you quite all right?"
He fixed slightly unfocused eyes on Professor McGonagall, who was glaring at him from behind her sever spectacles. "What?" he said, and then, sensing a golden opportunity he added hurriedly, "No actually, I'm feeling quite unwell. May I be excused to the Hospital Wing?"
Her lips thinned even more, almost disappearing from her face. "You do look a bit pink," she admitted reluctantly. "Very well, you may leave."
Draco thanked her stiffly, collected his things, and made his way out, not daring to look back. Once he was safely on the other side of the door, though, he abandoned all pretenses for dignity and fled to the nearest bathroom. Oh, this is bad, he thought as he washed his face in ice-cold water. His reflection looked back at him, a young man with too pointed a face and grey eyes that were slightly wild now, strands of his silvery-blond hair matted to his forehead with water.
He really, really hoped this was just his confused hormones acting up.
888888888888
Harry pushed himself to his feet and made a face at the mud that was now all over his backside. The rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team hurried over, some offering a hand.
"You all right, Harry?" Ron asked worriedly, as Harry refused the offered hands, swaying for a minute before righting himself. "That was a nasty landing."
Harry laughed uneasily, "Yeah, I wasn't concentrating." It was a weak excuse, but it seemed to appease the others. They smiled, shook their heads, and rose back into the air. The practice continued.
Ron, though, gave Harry a questioning look before resuming his keeper position. Harry's smile disappeared. He didn't know what was wrong with him. One minute he was fine, and the next minute his grip faltered, his hands slipped on the wet wood of his broomstick, and he barely succeeded in lowering his broom before he fell. It was something that he found happening more and more over the last weeks. At first, it was almost unnoticeable— a half second of dizziness sometimes, when he turned too fast, a moment in which his eyes lost focus and then resumed, small headaches here and there. Not something a person would actually notice, much less remember.
It had been more annoying than anything, but in the last few days, these episodes had grown to be much worse. Harry would stand up after breakfast was finished, or class was over, and immediately sat back down because his head spun. He had dropped a bottle of ink when his fingers suddenly lost all their strength, only to flush in embarrassment and mutter "sorry", along with a cleaning charm. He found himself drifting asleep in class when a sudden bout of tiredness attacked, only to blink awake later and realize he had moments missing. And now… just now, in the middle of practice, when he was thirty, maybe even forty feet above the ground, he had lost control on his Firebolt. Worst of all, and as much as he was reluctant to admit it, he thought he had lost his consciousness for a moment, too. It was starting to make him uneasy. Still, no teenage boy would want to think something was wrong with him, even Harry, who should have been used to it by now. I'm probably just sick, he told himself. Just not sleeping enough.
"You okay there, Harry?" Ron shouted from above him, and Harry was startled to see that he was still on the ground.
"Yes," he answered, and kicked off the muddy grass back to the air.
When they arrived back at the common room, tired, dripping water (and in Harry's case, a little mud, too) and shivering, Harry wondered whether to consult with Hermione about his strangely weak state or not. Better not, he decided. She'll just be worried over nothing.
Seamus hurried upstairs, yelling, "I'm first in the shower!"
Ron rushed after him muttering, "Damn, he always uses all the hot water. Seamus!"
Harry smiled and started in the direction of the boys staircase himself when Seamus came thundering down, shirtless and holding one of his shoes in his hand, the other still on his foot.
"Seamus!" Hermione said, colouring slightly. "There are impressionable first years down here!"
"They're welcome to be impressed," the sandy-haired boy answered easily. "Where's Dean?"
Hermione still looked disapproving, "He was feeling bad so he went to the Hospital Wing. Said he was feeling dizzy and tired. Spilled all his red paint on the carpet when he dropped it," she pointed at a wet spot on the carpet. "Probably the flu."
Seamus pursed his lips, "Yeah, all right. Thanks." He winked at the staring first years and ran back upstairs.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but there was an amused twist to her mouth she didn't quite succeed in hiding. "Boys," she said, before returning to her book.
Harry relaxed. Dean's description sounded exactly like his condition. He followed the Irish boy to their dorm. He'd go to Madam Pomfrey tomorrow if he didn't feel any better.
88888888888
Draco stirred his porridge with his spoon. Breakfast wasn't as important as mental debate he was currently in the middle of: should he avoid Potter by faking sick for a week, and give his bloody libido time to calm down, or should he save himself from the humiliation that was sure to come by jumping from the Astronomy tower? Both were quite valid ideas, but he was leaning towards the Astronomy tower. Death couldn't be as bad as being attracted to Scarhead.
He was attracted to girls, for Salazar's sake! To soft curves that were decidedly unmanly and to long hair, and to endless shapely legs and— and apparently Potter, too. The Gryffindor boy had just come into the Great Hall. His black hair was falling into his eyes, his glasses were crooked on his nose, and his robes were rumpled. Draco frowned as Potter sat besides his two goons, Granger the all-knowing, and Weasley the freckled fool.
Potter yawned, raised his graceful hand to cover his mouth, and in the process, knocked his glasses off. He blushed darkly as Granger shook her head and retrieved them from her own bowl of porridge.
It was kind of adorable.
Right then. Astronomy tower it is.
He didn't throw himself off the tower that day, if only because of the fact that as a Slytherin, his self-preservation impulses were extremely strong. He had also ruled out going to Madam Pomfrey for two reasons: first, she would recognize his bluff, and second, he couldn't afford to get behind on his schoolwork. He was fully intending to beat Granger this year, once and for all.
Malfoys never cower in the face of problems, his father told him once. Still, Draco was sure his father had never faced the problem of being attracted to his most hated rival, who, to top it all, was a boy.
Pretty sure.
He really didn't want to go there.
And I thought that after fifth year, my life couldn't become more of a mess.
"Draco," Pansy's impatient voice brought him out of his disturbing thoughts and he look up, startled, to find that she was about to leave for class, "we need to leave for Defence, or we'll be late." She tugged at his sleeve to emphasis her point, and Draco scowled at her. He stood up to follow her before a thought occurred to him. He had Defence. With Potter.
Draco's scowl faded. Instead, his expression turned almost miserable.
I hate my life.
88888888888
Harry fell into his regular seat and sighed. Despite being completely exhausted from yesterday, he had been up all night with nightmares. He was paying the price for it now, and could barely keep his eyes open, never mind keeping his concentration in class. He was just lucky that he sat at the back of the Defence classroom; Shacklebolt would be sure to notice how tired he was if closer. Ron and Hermione looked a little worried, but didn't ask anything; Ron didn't wake up during the night, nor any of the other boys. After the first few nightmares, Harry had learned to sleep with silencing charms on his curtains. They didn't know he was still waking up screaming sometimes, and he wasn't about to tell them.
"Good morning," Shacklebolt said from the front of the class, and Harry raised his head from the table to look at him. Shacklebolt's eyes lingered on him a few seconds before moving on, and Harry gave a tiny nod; I'm fine.
After about half-an-hour of lecturing, Kingsley closed his book. "Now," the Auror boomed, "we will practice duelling. I understand some of you already have experience for last year, in a group called Dumbledore's Army," he coughed a little, and Harry flushed as he remembered that mess and the part Kingsley himself played at it. "This year, however, it will be done under the supervision of a teacher," Harry turned an even darker red, "and we will use all of the hexes and curses not only learned from this year, but from pervious years as well. Of course, if anyone of you knows any other useful spells— as long as they're legal it's perfectly alright to use them, too." He looked over them thoughtfully, "Who here has experience in dulling?" About half the class raised their hands. Most had been members of the DA, except for one person. Draco Malfoy. The Slytherin was looking at the Professor defiantly, sharp chin sticking out arrogantly, as if daring him to say something. "I'll divide you to pairs," Shacklebolt continued. He started assigning partners, and the entire class was soon divided into groups of twos.
Harry was paired with Seamus, who grinned at him mischievously and waved his wand in Harry's face. "Oh, no," he said, not sounding worried at all, "how ever can I face the great and fearsome Harry Potter? All that'll be left of me will be a tiny little pile of ashes." He brought his face close to Harry's and whispered in a frightened, small voice "I don't want to die young." Then his serious face crumbled, and he started to laugh.
"You're a loon, Finnigan," Harry said, but he grinned as well.
Ron was assigned to Blaise Zabini, but it was nothing compared to Hermione and Malfoy, who were partnered. Both scowled at each other in loathing, and both fingered their wands.
"Get Ready," Shacklebolt shouted. "Bow to each other." They all bowed, except Seamus, who curtsied. Harry couldn't help but snicker a little. "And on threeone, two, three!"
Spells flew across the room a second later. They bounced off walls, and collided into each other with a mass of exploding colours.
Harry sent a body bind at Seamus, who ducked, and countered with a hex meant to momentarily blind him, to which Harry quickly erected a shield. The curse bounced off, and hit Ron who was standing near by. "Oh, damn. Sorry Ron!" Harry called out to his friend, cringing.
Seamus just pouted. "No fair, Potter! We didn't learn that in class. You're using your superior Dark Lord fighting abilities against me!"
"Professor Kingsley said we could," Harry pointed out, and moved out of the way from a curse Seamus half-heartedly aimed at him.
"Teacher's pet," Seamus teased, and Harry coloured.
"Shut it, you," he mumbled, and then grinned as an idea entered his mind. "Silencio!"
Seamus' mouth moved, his expression turning to shock, and then he waved a fist at Harry, who was chuckling, mouthed "You're going down!" and tackled Harry.
They both went down.
"Ah, Seamus!" Harry said, as Seamus, who had the element of surprise, quickly gained the upper hand and sat on him. The Irish-boy pointed at his mouth. Harry shook his head, smirked and said, "but I like you quiet," he said, which made Seamus roll his eyes and start to tickle Harry.
"All right, all – right," Harry panted through his giggles, "I'll – remove the spell, just – stop tickling me!" By now, all of the class was watching, except Hermione, who was looking at Malfoy, her face unreadable. The Slytherin looked murderous, for some reason. Harry coloured when he felt everyone's eyes on him, and he quickly pushed Seamus off.
Seamus rolled his eyes and helped him up, before his mouth thinned. "You're bleeding," he said.
"What?" Harry blinked. Seamus pointed at his cheek. Harry touched it, and a few drops of blood appeared on his fingertips.
"It's just a scratch," he said. "I probably cut it on something on that was on the floor."
"Right."
"Class dismissed!" Shacklebolt announced. Harry was just about out the door with his friends when the Auror added, "Mr. Potter, please stay behind." Harry motioned to Ron and Hermione to leave without him, and after Seamus hesitated, he waved him away, too.
After the last student left, Shacklebolt closed the door and returned to his desk.
"Come here, Harry," he said.
"Are you all right?" he asked, when Harry sat before him. "You look unwell. Are you sleeping enough?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I'm okay," he said. "I probably just caught the flu or something. There's a bout of it going around."
"Hmm," the Auror said. "You have a scratch on your face."
Harry touched it, and frowned when his fingers still came away specked with blood. That's strange, he thought. It should've stopped by now.
"Here, let me heal it," Kingsley said, tilting Harry's face and pressing his wand to the scratch. It tingled for a second, and Harry could feel his skin stitching itself back up. He opened his mouth to thank the professor, but the door opened, and startled him.
"So sorry to interrupt," said the cool voice of Draco Malfoy from the doorway, and Harry jerked his head back, away from Kingsley's hand. Malfoy offered them a sharp smile, although his eyes were glittering in a strange way that wasn't pleasant at all. "I forgot my book."
"It's fine," Kingsley answered, and straightened, looking perfectly collected, as opposed to Harry, who was by now tomato-red. "Mr. Potter was just about to leave as well. You two should hurry, or you'll be late for your next class."
"Of course," Malfoy said smoothly and ever so politely, but his eyes never left Kinsley's face. "Are you coming, Potter?"
Harry nodded and followed him out of the classroom.
Outside, as soon as the door closed, Malfoy turned to face him, as fast as a snake rising to strike. "What the hell was that, Potter?" he hissed.
Harry was taken aback, "What?"
"You and that bloody Auror, cuddling like there was no tomorrow, that's what!" Malfoy spat out. His face was white except for two bright spots of anger on his cheeks.
88888888888
Draco didn't miss Shacklebolt's worried look at Potter at the beginning of the class. Getting fatherly instincts, are we? He thought, more in curiosity than in anything else.
He spent most of the lecture jotting down notes, although the black head drooping a few tables away broke his concentration time and time again.
"Now," said Shacklebolt after a while, "we will practice duelling. I understand some of you already have experience for last year, in a group called Dumbledore's Army," he coughed a little, and Draco could see Potter turn red a few feet away. "This year, however, it will be done under the supervision of a teacher, and we will use all of the hexes and curses not only learned from this year, but from pervious years as well. Of course, if anyone of you knows any other useful spells— as long as they're legal –" he glanced at Draco quickly "it's perfectly alright to use them, too."
Draco felt his temper rising, and when the Auror asked who had previous experience in duelling, he raised his hand, his gaze challenging. So what if my father taught me, he thought angrily. Isn't you teaching Potter exactly the same? Don't you dare look down on me.
Potter was assigned to Finnigan, which Draco was glad of. He couldn't face Potter in a duel right now. Then Finnigan brought his face close to Potter's – too close, in Draco's opinion – said something, and Potter smiled fondly. And Draco found himself thinking, Merlin, he has a beautiful smile. How come I never noticed before?
"Granger and Malfoy," Kingsley said, and Draco turned his head quickly, appalled. Not Granger! Potter was momentarily forgotten about. Draco scowled at her, and she looked at him with just as much hatred. When they started duelling, her quick reflexes surprised him, but he was not a seeker for nothing. They fought for some time, neither gaining an advantage. Draco just jumped out of the way of a curse and opened his mouth to hex her back, when he saw Finnigan tackle Potter, then sit on his stomach. Forgetting his duel with Granger, Draco stopped mid hex to watch the spectacle. Potter and Finnigan were drawing a crowd now, and most of their classmates had now stopped to watch the pair with an amused air. Draco felt his lips tighten as Potter laughed, pointed his wand at Finnigan's mouth and muttered a spell.
"A silencing charm," Granger said from next to him, and he suddenly remembered they were in a middle of a duel. "Clever." Draco was forced to agree.
Both the boys got up, and Shacklebolt dismissed the class. As Draco started to put his books back in his bag, he overheard the Auror asking Potter to stay behind after class. What could they have to talk about? he wondered, his curiosity piqued. He left his book on the desk before he left the classroom, and saw Kingsley close the door behind him.
After a minute or two, he said to Pansy and Blaise, "Damn, I forgot my book! I have to go get it. Don't wait for me!" Pansy's expression darkened, as though she could sense he was lying, but at that moment, he couldn't care less. He hurried back to the now closed classroom, and after a brief hesitation, opened the door.
He froze as Potter jerked his face away from Kingsley's hand. "So sorry to interrupt," he forced out through clenched teeth as he watched Potter flush a dark red. "I forgot my book". Don't act like nothing happened just now, he wanted to shout at the Auror, who was looking at him, unruffled. I saw you!
"It's fine, Mr. Potter was just about to leave as well. You two should hurry, or you'll be late for your next class."
Hypocrite! Like hell he was about to leave! Draco was fuming inside. Outside, he only answered, "Of course." May you die a slow and painful death, he added silently, hoping his eyes conveyed message he didn't dare to say out loud. "Are you coming, Potter?"
There was no way he was leaving without him. Potter nodded, still a little red. When the door closed behind them, Draco rounded on him, his eyes narrowed to slits, "What the hell was that, Potter?"
Potter looked confused at Draco's sudden anger, "What?"
Draco was shaking by now, "You and that bloody Auror, cuddling like there was no tomorrow, that's what!"
Potter stumbled, his eyes very wide and so very green behind his stupid glasses. "What? What are you on about, Malfoy?"
"I saw you," Draco hissed. "He was about to kiss you! I saw it!"
"Oh, Merlin, What's wrong with you?" Potter exclaimed, paling, "Why would he- why would I- that's the most absurd, not to mention disgusting—"
"Then why did you blush when I opened the door?" Draco demanded "If not because I caught you?"
"Look, Malfoy, for the last time, it's not what you think!" Potter was starting to panic now, he could hear it in his voice. "He was just healing my scratch!"
"Your… scratch?" Draco repeated, thrown off-course.
"Yes!" Potter said, pointing at his cheek. Without thinking, Draco closed the space between them, almost pressing Potter against a wall, and inspected his cheek. Potter swallowed. Sure enough, there was a needle-thin, almost-unnoticeable pink line a little bellow his left eye. Draco pressed a finger against it. The skin felt oddly tender and soft, as though really newly healed.
"All right," he said at last. "I believe you."
"That's nice," Potter said, sounding a bit breathless. "Can you, err, move back now, maybe?"
Draco frowned at him for a moment, before comprehension dawned. He felt his cheeks burn as he stumbled backwards, almost tripping over his own legs. Potter's face was a little red, too. "I didn't mean to…" he motioned between them, not really meeting Potter's eyes. Potter waved a hand in dismissal. He was still pressed against the wall, as though trying to get as far as he could from Draco. "We should get to class," Draco said, after an awkward silence. Potter nodded, and after an exchange of another glance and blush, they both started to walk in the direction of the Transfiguration classroom.
"What's it to you, anyway?" Potter asked, out of nowhere, when they were near the classroom.
"Hmm?" Draco turned his head to look at him.
"Even if you thought we were about to kissnot that we werewhat did it matter to you?"
Draco stopped, and his mouth opened in shock, before he quickly closed it. Blood pounded in his ears, and the truth hit him like a blow to the stomach. What was it to him? He couldn't answer the truth, that seeing Potter's delicate chin in Kingsley's large hand shocked him. That even the idea, however unreasonable at retrospect, that the Auror was about to kiss Potter, made Draco insanely, blindly jealous? That he wanted to do that himself? That he hated the idea of anyone, anyone other then himself, kissing Potter? No. He could absolutely not tell Potter any of this.
"I'm a Prefect," he said at last, choosing his words carefully. "It's my duty to ensure that the rules are kept, and to report any improper behaviour to Professor Dumbledore. A relationship between a teacher and a student is forbidden."
Potter seemed to mull this over. At last he nodded, accepting the explanation, and Draco gave a tiny, inward sigh of relief. Then Potter added, "Not to mention we're both male."
Draco felt something cold and heavy sink inside him. "Yes," he said, and resumed walking quickly, so the surprised Gryffindor had to run a few steps to keep up. "Not to mention that."
88888888888
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, you are nine minutes late! Explain yourselves!" Professor McGonagall demanded as soon as they opened the door. They both froze.
"Professor! Professor Shacklebolt asked Harry to stay after class!" Ron piped up from his place in the third row. When Harry nodded, she narrowed her eyes at him.
"Very well," she said. "You may sit down, Mr. Potter. What about you, Mr. Malfoy? Did Professor Shacklebolt ask you to stay behind as well?"
"No," Malfoy answered, looking back at her with a cool expression. "He did not. I forgot my book and returned to retrieve it."
"And…?" McGonagall prompted. "Surely, that wouldn't take so long?"
"No," Malfoy said again. His eyes darted to Harry, and for a second, Harry was sure that the Slytherin would start to explain what really happed, accusations and all, and if that happened, Harry would just die on the spot.
"I got detained."
Harry blinked. That was it? Why was Malfoy keeping his mouth shut for a change? The Professor pursed her lips. "I'm sorry, but I will not accept that explanation. You will serve detention—"
"It's my fault, Professor." Harry blushed when all eyes snapped to him, including Malfoy's. The other boy's eyes were normally pale grey and narrowed, but now they were wide with surprise and almost looked to be a light blue… For the first time, Harry noticed Malfoy and Sirius had the same eyes.
"What?" McGonagall said. It was not every day that Harry Potter defended Draco Malfoy.
"Malfoy intruded on a personal conversation," Harry explained. He refused to think of Malfoy's eyes, or of Sirius, or of the fact that it hit him, just now, that Malfoy was Sirius's close blood relative. "There was a slight misunderstanding, which I had to explain."
"I see." She didn't press further, and Harry was grateful. "Very well. Sit down, Mr. Malfoy, or would you rather still receive detention?"
Whispers broke around the class, until McGonagall hushed them sharply, and Harry was aware of Malfoy trying to catch his eyes. He ignored him, and refused to turn around the entire lesson.
8888888
Ten pages! Am I a goddes or what? Just kidding, of course. Well, I might as well give it a try, since everybody else is doing it: Read and Review, people, your written words are like music to my ears (or rather, like Johnny Depp to my eyes)!