- Secrets of the Forbidden Broomcloset -

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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Getting Potter proved to be more difficult than originally planned.

Harry raised a curious eyebrow as he, by chance, caught sight of Malfoy walking in through the doors to the Great Hall. He was wearing full black, as usual, his Slytherin robes sweeping elegantly behind him, his hair gleaming with perfection. Still, a nagging voice in Harry's mind thought something seemed different about him. He studied him more closely: maybe it was the way he was smirking, as if eternally amused.

Yes, that had to be it. Malfoy typically walked into breakfast with a scowl at having to be awake at all.

Satisfied with his deduction, Harry shrugged the smirk off, lifting his goblet of pumpkin juice to his lips. After all, what did he care about the morning mood swings of his worst enemy? It wasn't worth his attention at all, he thought vaguely, letting his eyes trail lazily after Malfoy as he made his way toward his House table.

But then, suddenly, he stopped mid-stride, his robes settling about him. Harry paused, letting his pumpkin juice sink below his tongue. He watched, slightly wary, as he ran a careful hand through his pale hair, surveying the Great Hall as if thinking on what to do.

He blinked, and then, suddenly, turned his gaze to meet Harry's eyes, which immediately widened at the unexpected connection. Malfoy's smirk blazed on, unaltered, eager.

'What the hell?' Harry thought. 'What's he doing, just standing there? Go sit down at your table, you haughty, presumptuous prick!'

Just as he thought this, as if on mental command, Malfoy turned sharply on his heel and began walking toward his House table.

His House table.

"Is Malfoy heading this way?" asked Ron weakly, blood draining from his face as he watched said enemy approach, an amused, yet deadly glint in his silver eyes. "Ehrm ..."

"What's that, Ron?" Hermione questioned, looking up from her plate of eggs and Charms textbook. She turned toward the approaching boy as well, and then immediately began to blush.

"That git!" Ron muttered sourly. "What does he think he's doing? How dare he show his face after what he did yesterday!"

"The question is more like, how could he stay away, not gloating for so long after what he did yesterday," Harry said darkly, his eyes locked on the Slytherin, who had now nearly reached the table. His voice was detached, as though he were speaking more to himself than to his companions.

"Lovely morning, isn't it, Granger? Weasley?" Malfoy greeted mockingly, slipping casually down next to Hermione, who immediately bristled. Ron, seated on her opposite side, scowled in fury, dropping his fork with a loud clatter.

"What are you doing over here?" Ron spat menacingly. "Get back to your own table!"

"My my, Weasley, are you always this foul in the morning?" Malfoy replied easily, reaching out and grabbing a thick slice of golden toast, which he immediately began to butter. "Didn't sleep well last night?"

"You didn't answer my question," Ron commanded lowly, eying Malfoy beyond Hermione's head with obvious distaste. Hermione, caught between the two and sporting cheeks the color of tomatoes, gritted her teeth silently.

"If you must know, Weasel," Malfoy replied, taking a dainty bite, "I came over here to greet Granger, whom I thought must be missing me immensely by now."

Hermione frowned in disgust at this, picking up her goblet of pumpkin juice with a loud 'hmph'.

"If you think you can just stroll over here and harass me further," she said warningly, "You are terribly mistaken!"

"Oh really, am I?" Malfoy replied, rather playfully. "Because you look rather harassed right now. I think I can after all."

He smirked royally, taking a second bite of his toast. Hermione's lips twisted downward, her eyes piercing a glare deep into his infuriating, insufferable, impenetrable soul.

"Go back to your rightful table!" she snapped desperately, "Now!"

And without any further argument, she overturned her full goblet of pumpkin juice completely, letting the contents dump into Malfoy's lap.

As she looked on, her arm frozen in mid-air, Malfoy looked down at himself, frowning slightly.

He looked up a moment later, looking, to Hermione's utter shock and horror, rather pleased.

"It's a good thing that these pants have an anti-staining charm," he explained smugly. "Just look."

He wiped the pumpkin juice away easily, casting it away in a shower of liquid beads onto the floor.

Hermione looked as though her head were about to implode. Ron, next to her, recognized that look and visibly cringed.

"Draco Malfoy, if you don't leave this table right now, I swear to Merlin that I—"

"Potter, you've been rather quiet," Malfoy said suddenly, deciding to ignore Hermione completely. She stuttered for a moment, her mouth open slightly, and then slammed her goblet down loudly on the table.

"I don't have anything to say to you," Harry said quietly in response. He was sitting next to Ron, thus two seats away from Malfoy; he needed to lean far over in order to speak with him at all. In front of him lay a half-eaten blueberry muffin, and with that, his unfinished Potions essay from the night before.

He glared at Malfoy uneasily, his green eyes glowing. He had been listening carefully the entire time, studying his enemy, trying to rationalize why he was focusing more energy into pissing off Hermione and Ron than himself, why he had been essentially ignoring him up until now.

"Not even a cheery 'Good morning,' for me?" Malfoy asked with mock innocence. Harry scowled, dropping his quill.

"Hermione's right," he hissed. "You should go back to your own table. Pansy and Blaise are probably out of their minds with worry."

At this, Malfoy turned to face his House table, eying the empty patch of space he typically occupied. He lifted a hand in greeting, grinning when Pansy looked up from her pancakes and waved wildly, smirking, back at him.

"It's funny, but somehow I don't think they mind," Malfoy commented dryly. "I see you're doing the Potions essay we were assigned yesterday. You do realize that it's not worth the effort of actual writing ... it'll undoubtedly end up a fail, anyway .. why not just turn it in blank instead? Then you could savor the rest of that muffin."

Harry twitched, watching the silver eyes of the Slytherin laugh with mirth. He had other things he wanted to savor, like twisting his hands into the other boy's smooth, pale throat.

"Either that or I could finish it for you," Malfoy continued, when Harry did not comment further.

"Sure," Harry said lowly, his eyes following his enemy's hand as it reached out, snatching the half-eaten blueberry muffin. "Why are you here, honestly? You could have tormented us in the halls if you had wanted to. Either you're incredibly impatient or you have some kind of alternative motive."

"Alternative motive?" Malfoy gasped, taking a bite of Harry's muffin. "Other than enjoying an early meal with the most amusing arses in the school? I'm shocked you would insinuate such a thing."

"Just tell us why you're here," Ron snapped, wishing he could set the muffin ablaze just as Malfoy sunk it into his mouth.

"Well," Malfoy said slowly, considering, "Not that it's really any of your business, but, I happen to be needing a new perspective on my Slytherin comrades. I thought that coming over here would, mmm, kill two birds with one stone."

"A new perspective?" Ron spat back. "What the hell are you talking about?"

But Malfoy was again ignoring him, his eyes staring directly at the Slytherin table and snaking down it slowly.

"Pansy and Blaise .." he said to himself, watching them laugh together, both eating their breakfasts distractedly. "No, they've been with me the entire time, shown nothing but confusion and neutrality.. I doubt it was them .."

"Stop talking to yourself!" Hermione snapped irately. "What are you going on about?"

"Crabbe and Goyle, old minions .." Malfoy continued quietly. Said pair were both wolfing down huge plates of food, laughing only between massive mouthfuls. Malfoy tilted his head to the side thoughtfully.

He pointed his wand, chuckling to himself when a large platter of sausages in front of them suddenly transfigured into a hoard of bats. They yelped and looked around wildly for the caster, their huge faces pale and frightened.

"Too bloody stupid," Malfoy commented dryly to himself. 'Mmm, who could it be, then .."

"Are you trying to pick out the people that sold your secret to the Prophet?" Harry asked mildly, raising an eyebrow as the bats flew in unison toward the Head Table.

"Why yes, I am," Malfoy said, turning to Harry slowly. "And for your knowledge, Potter, said future corpses did not sell my secret to that fucking shithole of a news organization. I am not gay, therefore it was never a secret at all."

"Right then," Harry replied easily, smirking when Malfoy jerked angrily at his sarcasm.

"Class is starting soon," a disgruntled Hermione suddenly announced, shoving away her food, slamming closed her textbook and standing. "Ron, Harry .. let's go."

She sent a long, lingering death glare to Malfoy, who laughed under his breath and took another bite of his stolen muffin.

"Write me a hot, lusty love note, Granger," he mocked, his platinum hair gleaming in the light.

"I'll write out a restraining order is what I'll write!" she snapped, staring down at him furiously. "If you ever come to harass us at breakfast again, I will speak to Professor McGonagall!"

"Oh no, not Miss Kitty," Malfoy snapped back as Hermione bristled in horror. "Aren't you a big fan of Hogwarts: A History, mudblood? You may remember that over the centuries, headmasters have avoided creating rules that formally prevent amiable interaction between Houses. I can eat breakfast with you every fucking day if I want to."

"This is hardly amiable interaction, Malfoy," Hermione barked hoarsely. "You came over here today to torment me and Ron and Harry, not have a casual conversation!"

"Oh, but did I hex you?" Malfoy replied easily. "Did I bitch-slap you? Did I pour a bottle of ink over the top of your over-inflated, brainy head? Because it seems to me that, from the view of the Head Table, I was a fucking angel who only wanted a muffin and a morning word."

"Would you stop swearing!" Hermione shrieked, frowning miserably. "I mean it, Malfoy! You can't do this everyday!"

"Oh, but it's so much fun," Malfoy replied silkily, taking his books from the table and standing. "Didn't we have fun, Potter?"

"A conversation with you, fun?" Harry pondered loudly, turning his dark, irate eyes up to glare at his enemy. He had been listening to the argument the entire time, his pulse steadily growing faster. "I guess you could call it that, if having bleeding ears is fun."

"You'll have more than bleeding ears when I'm through having fun with you, Potter," Malfoy snarled. "Perhaps we should continue our conversation later, and elsewhere."

Harry smirked, pleased. This was what he had been waiting for. The invite, the challenge, the familiar, safe, predictable duel between enemies.

"Meet me in front of the Whomping Willow during lunch," he responded eagerly, feeling his blood already begin to burn, exhilarating him. "Don't be late."

"You can count on me to be punctual for this, Potter," Malfoy said, a smirk of self-satisfaction curving his smooth, moist lips. "I'll see you later."

Harry nodded, returning Draco's ice cold, liquid silver gaze for a moment before the other boy scoffed, amused, and turned on his black leather heel, walking away toward his first class.

Hermione and Ron remained standing there, staring at Harry in slight shock.

"Are you sure that was a good move, mate?" Ron asked tentatively. "You sure you want to risk a fight? It would suck to get in trouble this early in the year."

"That's true, Harry," Hermione agreed warily. "Look, I know that you want to protect me, but you don't have to .."

"I know," Harry responded quietly. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for me and trust me, it'll be worth it."

Hermione's jaw slackened, though she said nothing, only staring with Ron at her side as Harry stood, putting away his Potions essay, a very familiar smirk on his face, a smirk that matched the glint of anticipation in his eyes.

Right, Harry thought readily. I'll get Malfoy if it's the last fucking thing I do!

Fight! Fight! Fight!

I am so clever, aren't I? I didn't quite know how to end it, I just wanted emphasize that their thoughts are parallel. So! Did you like it? I really enjoyed writing this chapter; dialogue is really my best area, I think. Action, meh, but lemon and dialogue, whee! They will be 'confronting' each other in the next chapter, and a deal shall be forged.

If you liked it, please review! Anyone can now, since I changed my settings -incoherent mumbling- .. damn you, , for making the refusal of non-signed reviews default! Anyway. Much love to all, and review if you liked this chapter/want more soon/hate it and must flame.