- Secrets of the Forbidden Broomcloset -

Authoress Ramble: I also wrote this chapter while lazy and enduring a headache, so the same warning as previous applies. I think this chapter is a bit more ... interesting ... mmm, I hope so anyway.

Warnings: This story has been rated 'R' for repeated use of language and eventual sexual content (none now). Also, it is slash, though I don't feel that should influence the rating ... read as your morals and inhibitions permit.

Disclaimer: Obviously Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger et cetera, et cetera, all belong to J.K. Rowling, the rich genius authoress of the entire Harry Potter series, and also her publishers, et cetera, et cetera, though all original plot lines independent of her novels and her characters belong to me as they were derived from my own twisted mind, et cetera, et cetera, so please do not sue me as I am but a poor, lonely, slash-loving girl authoress, et cetera, et cetera.

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"Ahem."

The chattering noise in the Potions dungeon was nearly to the point of deafening with everyone in both the Slytherin and Gryffindor Houses talking animatedly about the scandal that was this morning's sixth page of the Daily Prophet. They were all so busy gossiping, sniggering and discussing, in fact, that only a few noticed Professor Snape tapping his throat lightly with his wand.

"SHUT THE HELL UP, ALL OF YOU!"

The students jumped at the magically magnified voice, all of them immediately sinking into their seats as they pulled them out with a loud screech. Professor Snape nodded grimly as quiet finally settled over the room.

"Ten points from Gryffindor and Slytherin for so rudely delaying the start of this class," he hissed in a near whisper. A few of the students gasped; he was in a foul mood indeed if he was willing to scrape points from his own House.

"Before we begin, I'd like to make it clear that the first Daily Prophet I see floating around this classroom is worth seventy-five points from its owner's House. Is that understood?"

A few of the students nodded blankly, and Professor Snape went on, ignoring the dark scowl that had twisted Draco Malfoy's lips at the mention of said newspaper.

"Today we will be brewing a painfully simple draught meant to scourge the blood of its taker from mild disease. Specific targeted strains are listed in your textbook .."

Snape droned on, explaining the Healing value of the potion as Harry stared blankly in the general direction of the front of the classroom. He knew that he appeared to be zoning out, but he didn't care; he had more important things on his mind.

One of them, strangely enough, was Draco Malfoy.

Harry cast him curious looks from time to time, studying the back of his head with slight nervousness. The other boy appeared calm, listening attentively to his most preferred Professor, but Harry saw the whiteness of his knuckles as he gripped the edge of his table, saw the vein throbbing pink along his white throat.

That and he could sense the magic crackling around him in an invisible cloud, sparking black and green. He was angry enough to kill.

Hermione was wise to make sure Ron got nowhere near him now.

Harry frowned, scribbling notes, though he really had no idea what Snape was attempting to teach him. He hated the blond bastard, surely, hated him for the years of torment he'd lent them in their first few years together. Now that they were older, of course, that torment was channeled much differently; he no longer cared to insult them bluntly to their faces, rather finding much shrewder, less direct ways to anger him and his two friends.

But even that he did less and less, only harassing them when he felt bored. Harry knew that.

And despite the fact that he knew Malfoy was an arse, and in part deserved what had happened to him, he couldn't help but feel a shred of sympathy for the insufferable prat. After all, he was currently living what Harry considered one of his worst nightmares.

The Potions class went rather well, partly due to Snape's threats and partly due to general fear of the extremely pissed Slytherin. He worked quietly with Pansy, chopping herbs with unnecessary passion, ignoring his partner when she attempted to gently persuade him to surrender the knife.

Snape was apparently too concerned with analyzing Malfoy to devote much attention to keeping Harry awake, and as such he moved lazily from task to task, not putting particular effort into any part of the lesson. Ron and Hermione partnered together, and though he heard his best friend snigger from time to time, he was relieved to hear his snorts of amusement always followed by a soft smack and a quick reprimand.

It went so well, in fact, that Harry should have been expecting the tension to explode sooner rather than later.

The class ended, and immediately upon Snape's begrudging sneer of farewell, all of the students rushed for the doors. Malfoy was one of the first to reach them, shoving through the crowd roughly with Pansy tailing him.

He was walking down the dungeon corridor, fists clenched at his sides, when Ron, having escaped from Hermione's hawk-like surveillance in the rustling crowd, found him.

"They have a point about the tight sweaters, you know."

At first, Malfoy froze, as if deciding whether or not he thought it worth it to turn around. After a moment, unfortunately, he slowly did.

"You know, Weasel," he drawled, his lips pressed into a thin, pale line, "There are circles in Hell reserved for your kind. You have no class. Not a single shred of it."

Ron frowned, not sure what to make of this. He'd been expecting a far simpler insult.

"And neither do you, Malfoy," he shot back, ignoring the way his opponent rolled his pale eyes in exasperation. "I should have pinned you for a queer earlier!"

"I am not gay, you worthless excuse for a wizard," he sneered quickly. "Do you believe everything you read in the fucking Daily Prophet? They published some charming shit about Potter, if I can remember correctly."

"That was different. They had some convincing evidence to back up their story this time," Ron smirked. "Tell me, exactly what kind of perfume do you use? Chanel?"

"I don't have time for this, Weasel," Malfoy growled. "I'll say it one last fucking time: I am not fucking gay!"

He had clenched his fists at his sides, his knuckles losing blood from the pressure, his fingernails digging deeply into his palms. Streams of blood began to trickle down them, a few drops hitting the stone floor soundlessly. Ron began to back away slowly.

"Oh yeah?" he challenged, though his voice was trembling. "Well, then .. prove it!"

"What?" Malfoy hissed, stepping forward, his eyes narrow slits.

"Prove that you aren't really gay!" Ron affirmed, the smirk on his face slowly fading. A few students had stopped to watch them, pale-faced; they were keeping a safe distance from the furious Slytherin.

"How?" Malfoy asked tersely, a smirk crossing his face. Unknowingly, Ron recognized that smirk: it meant he was about to be hexed into pitiful oblivion.

"Ahh, err ... kiss a girl!" Ron blurted out nervously. Malfoy stopped in his tracks.

"Weasley," he said slowly, stretching his bloody fingers stiffly, "If it would prove your sorry arse wrong, I will kiss the first fucking female I lay eyes on."

"Deal, then," Ron breathed, glad for the moment that he was not about to be murdered by wand in the middle of the corridor. He paused nervously, his pale hands shaking.

And then, his worst nightmare came to life.

"Ronald Weasley, what do you think you are doing?" Hermione hissed, storming up behind him, her cheeks flushed with anger. She lowered her voice, casting her eyes briefly on Malfoy. "You could have been seriously hurt!"

Malfoy's slate-grey eyes had begun to glimmer silver with amusement as he eyed Hermione, noting both her anger and the terrified expression on Ron's pale, freckled face.

"Hello, Granger," he said loudly, a twisted grin spreading across his face.

Hermione eyed him uneasily, not answering, before turning back to Ron.

"Come with me," she ordered in frustration. "Let's just go."

"Yeah, let's go," Ron readily agreed, the sinking feeling of dread disappearing briefly from his stomach. He turned to go, more than eager to run off.

"Oh no, not just yet," Malfoy drawled, stepping forward quickly and reaching out. He snatched Hermione's wrist, twirling her back around.

She gasped, the expression on her face shifting from surprise to disgust to pure, unadulterated horror.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, pulling at her wrist. "Let me go!"

"Let go of her wrist now, Malfoy!" Ron shouted, struggling to find his wand in his oversized robe.

"I can't," Malfoy said, raising an eyebrow apologetically. "You see, Weasley and I made a little .. deal, just now. Didn't we, Weasel?"

"You wouldn't dare," Ron hissed, though dread was alive in his voice.

Malfoy merely smirked good-naturedly, his eyes locked on the wide ones of Hermione. He shrugged, clearly amused.

"Anything to prove you wrong, Weasel," he said simply, and then tugged Hermione harshly forward. She took a step and gasped, raising her hand to slap his face.

Malfoy saw this, darting his head forward just in time to avoid the blow of her palm. He jerked his head quickly to the side and then, as Ron gaped in horror, pressed his lips hard to those of Hermione.

Her eyes widened in shock, and she struggled, but Malfoy quickly wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close to him. A shiver of disgust ran down his spine, settling in the depths of his stomach. He broke away quickly, feeling as though he would throw up - were it not, however, for the miserable, terrified expression marring Ron's face as he glanced at him.

Yes, that definitely brought the smile back to his face.

"Ma-Malfoy!" Hermione gasped, stepping back as soon as he released her. She had paled visibly, shocked; he tilted his head innocently to the side, waiting.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she stuttered, the blood now completely drained from her face.

"In order to prove my heterosexuality, the Weasel here ordered me to kiss the first female I laid eyes on," Malfoy explained calmly, momentarily delighted at first that he had surely given Granger permanent mental damage. "That's all."

Hermione froze, glaring at him icily; she then turned, giving Ron the exact same horrified, furious glare.

"You did what?" she hissed, staring daggers into his freckled forehead.

"I didn't expect it to be you, 'Mione," he shuttered weakly. "Honestly!"

"We are leaving," she commanded, her voice trembling slightly as she shot Malfoy a final disgusted glance. "Now."

Ron nodded miserably, following her as she stormed away down the corridor. With her, the gawking crowd of students left as well, most of them too shocked to comment on the event with Malfoy still standing there, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

He brushed off his black sweater, feeling slightly proud of himself. Leave it to the Weasel to invent an idea so creative that even he hadn't thought of it himself. Granger and Weasley would both be scarred for life, now. He snickered.

"That was interesting," a voice commented. Malfoy spun around to his left; there, leaning against the wall, an angry frown on his face, was Harry Potter. Apparently, he had been previously hidden by the crowd that had just dispersed.

"Potter," Malfoy spat, surprised. "I didn't notice you there. Enjoyed the show, did you?"

Harry stood up fully, stepping forward, away from the dungeon wall. His green eyes were blazing with perfectly controlled fury.

"You can wipe that smirk off your face, Malfoy," he said slowly. "Not even that can make the article disappear, nor change what anyone thinks about your sexuality."

"Really now, Potter?" Malfoy sneered. "I thought it was a very convincing little demonstration."

"Oh trust me, it was," Harry said, smirking now himself. "You looked absolutely disgusted at having to kiss her. Kiss a girl like her, I should say."

Malfoy scowled, reaching into his robes and pulling out his wand, blood rushing immediately into his pale cheeks. Harry stared at him, appraising him slightly. He let his eyes trail up and down Malfoy's body, whose limbs were frozen in fury.

He met his grey eyes and raised a single eyebrow. The smirk on his face never faltered.

"Fuck you, Potter," Malfoy spat, waiting for him to pull out his wand, annoyed by the fact that he was just standing there, just staring at him like the haughty arsehole he was.

Harry shrugged, his eyebrow still raised. With that, he turned and began walking down the hall, strolling calmly off to his next class.

Malfoy lowered his wand, his jaw loosening slightly.

He had plenty of reasons to hate Potter, but this .. this was a new reason. A much more infuriating reason.

The fucking bastard.

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You're probably thinking, the hell, this said it was slash! Well, yes it is, but I thought this would be ... well ... I have hidden authoress-type motives up my sleeves. So, ahh ... review if you liked it, or even if you hated it, because those are fun too! And I will respond with wit and joy. I loveth you all!