- Secrets of the Forbidden Broomcloset -
Authoress Ramble: My guinea pigs so cute! I loveth them. I also loveth my boyfriend, with whom I have our 14th month anniversary today! I'm so pleased about that ... today is a pretty good day, I suppose. Even detention was fun. YES, I SAID FUN, high school dictators! So damn fun. I love to read quietly for 45 minutes. I actually never get the chance otherwise.
Warnings: This story has been rated 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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A lone blonde calmly strolled the halls of the dungeons, a small box under one arm. The torches blazed around him in the quiet darkness, setting afire an orange glow in his loose hair and sharp silver eyes.
He stopped abruptly in front of a heavy-looking door, its wood dark mahogany carved with protective runes. He knocked loudly, then waited.
Who is it? an irritated voice called, one filled with frustration at having been disturbed at such a late hour.
Only me, Draco called back, smirking a bit. He heard disgruntled muttering from inside the door, and within a few moments, it swung wide open.
He walked into the cramped room, looking around at the walls by habit, walls converted into huge shelves storing a large array of ingredients and jarred creature remains. He then turned to the man sitting at a wide desk directly facing the door.
Evening, Severus, Draco said lazily, running a hand through his hair. Lovely roses you have there. Are they from a secret lover?
He gestured to the large black vase on his head of house's desk, which was filled with blood red roses, all thick and in full bloom. Snape's head shot up at this comment, and he scowled at the boy.
What are you doing wandering the halls at this hour, Mr. Malfoy? Snape snapped, looking back down and continuing to scribble on his parchment. It's nearly ten. Go back to your dormitory.
I was just heading that way, Draco agreed, walking toward the roses. He cupped one in his palm, grinning at them darkly. I only wanted to bid you a good night.
Well, you have, Snape grumbled. Good night, Malfoy.
What, praytell, are you working on so late in the evening? Draco asked calmly, staring at the parchments that littered Snape's desk. The professor sighed, lifting his head to look once again at the shrewd blonde.
My lesson plans for the coming Monday, he drawled, his black eyes narrowing at his student's curiosity. Why do you ask?
Draco shrugged, backing away from the roses in favor of returning to the front of the desk. He caught Snape's black stare for a moment, returning it in full force, and then smiled gamely.
Might I have a peek, Sev? Draco purred, leaning in closer to the Potions master. He narrowed his eyes further, raising a sharply curved eyebrow.
Is that all you want, to see the lesson plan in advance? Snape growled, rolling his eyes. You don't need an unfair advantage, Malfoy. You're all ready the best in your year.
Oh, I know, I just, Draco began, breaking off his words to hum for a moment as he thought. I just want to research in advance. I want to become a Potions master myself one day, you know.
Snape eyed him darkly at this, and Draco grinned, knowing full well that Snape thought he was full of shit.
Snape grumbled, sliding the parchment toward his favorite student. We'll be brewing an adrenaline draught. Sharper eyesight, greater depth of hearing, heightened sense of smell, and so on.
Draco replied distantly, sliding back the plans. Thanks much, Sev.
Go to bed, Malfoy, Snape snarled, waving the student away. Draco waved back cheerfully, mocking his instructor as he spun around.
Night, Severus, he called behind his shoulder, leaving the office and closing the door with a loud thud.
Snape, muttering to himself, cast a quick locking charm on his office entryway.
Goddamn overachievers, he mumbled under his breath, continuing to scribble final touches on his lesson plans.
Draco reentered the dungeon hall, strolling down it lazily, as before. He smirked to himself, quite proud, satisfied; it was too easy to get what you wanted when you were so favored.
He stopped in front of the door that was three down from Snape's office, pausing to pull his wand elegantly from beneath his sweeping robes. He held it out, tapping the rough wood quickly three times.
Biddeus Ouvriri, Draco whispered under his breath. He waited a moment, then pulled open the door and quickly swept himself inside.
The room within wasn't large, but it still felt spacious. Dark green, silk wallcovering clung to the walls, accented by a spider-like gold pattern that glowed silver in the firelight. Two torches blazed on the walls, revealing a large bookcase and a coordinating pair of black leather seating pieces, one a loveseat and the other a spacious armchair. They were arranged to face a stone fireplace, which Draco set ablaze with a flick of his wand.
Two other doors graced the walls. One, Draco knew, led to a moderate, yet lavishly designed bathroom, and the other to a bedroom with a large, single bed. He had never had need of the bed, though it had often come to mind at the beginning of a one-night stand. Still, it had somehow seemed wrong to use it even in such a convenient situation, and the bed remained a virgin, lavish and waiting in the darkness of the closed-off room.
A desk was pushed against the wall of the main room, and it was to this point that Draco walked. He set down his black box and began to unpack it, pulling bottle after bottle of potion ingredients from its depths, finally lifting out a small silver cauldron and a large stirring spoon.
Having arranged the set on the desk, Draco walked over to the couch, whose leather was now warm from the fire. He settled down into it, stretching out his arms to his sides and sighing. He now had only to wait.
He did not have to wait long.
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Harry was wandering the dungeon corridors slowly, frowning at every dark corner. The dungeons were eerie even during the day, but at night, and devoid of any noise at all- they were damn creepy.
He was wearing his father's invisibility cloak, despite the fact that the map clenched in his hand told him that no one was in the halls near him. He watched himself, a labeled dot, move past a door behind which a dot named Severus Snape was hovering. A few more feet, a few more doors ... there.
Behind this door, the dot labeled Draco Malfoy sat unmoving, as if waiting for him.
Harry looked up at the door, frowning. It was made from rough wood, a door that would never arise suspicion in anyone looking for it. He reached out, twisting the handle and opening the door - just to see if it was true.
It was. The room before him was nothing but a tiny, crammed, dusty broomcloset lined with a layer of grey and massive spider webs. Harry sneezed as a small wave of dust swept up toward him, blinking as he stared at the clutter of brooms and mops inside. A massive bag of kitty litter sat half-opened in the corner.
Filch must have used this at some point,' Harry mused to himself, coughing as quietly as he could, with Snape only a feet away. Well .. it's now or never ..'
He dug into his robes, pulling out his wand as he, after looking both ways down the corridor, let his cloak slide from his shoulders. He reached out, tapping the door three times.
Biddeus Ouvriri, he muttered. He waited a moment, gathering the cloak into his arms, and then, taking a large breath, turned the copper knob.
It opened to a room glowing with orange-yellow firelight, moderately-sized but elegant all the same. He stepped inside, looking around as he did so, and shut the door with a quiet click'.
It was at this noise that a head shot up near the black sofa. Draco Malfoy, his chin-length hair pooling on the top of the back of the couch, turned his head slowly, his lips curled into a smile.
You're late, Potter, he remarked, staring at the boy standing awkwardly in the doorway.
Harry scowled at the blonde, setting the bundle in his arms down carefully on the floor. He turned back to stare at the waiting boy darkly, narrowing his eyes.
Go fuck yourself, Malfoy, he snapped, his green eyes flickering with anger.
Malfoy raised a pale eyebrow, looking mildly offended.
So soon? he offered, his smile fading into a brilliant smirk.
I just came from comforting Hermione for two hours solid, Harry growled, standing far from the fire, hovering in shadows. She spent her entire evening crying in the common room, whether behind a book or otherwise.
Malfoy snapped, annoyed. No one else saw that letter.
She's certain that the next stunt you pull will be more public, Harry explained, frowning. And, after thinking on it for awhile, I've realized that I think it will be, too.
Next stunt? Malfoy repeated, sneering. Please. Granger has already received too much of my precious attention. Another stunt will spoil her into thinking she's special to me.
Just shut the fuck up, Harry muttered darkly. Malfoy sighed, turning away from the other boy so that he was facing the crackling fire.
I already informed you that I was going to end it, he said quietly. Provided that your ... advice proves satisfactory. You did come here with an idea, didn't you? Or did you come to call it all off?
Harry stood in silence for a moment, thinking. He wasn't really sure himself why he had still chosen to come. Could he really civilly associate with someone who had so hurt his friend? He wasn't sure.
But it seemed worth a try, at least for one evening, one chance.
I came with an idea, Harry said at last, reaching into his pocket and walking toward the sofa. Malfoy turned, watching him as he took a seat in the black armchair.
Do tell, Malfoy drawled, smirking.
Harry held out a small plastic bottle filled with lavender liquid, his face strangely calm.
What the fuck is that? Malfoy sneered, pointing to the bottle. That looks muggle.
It is muggle, Harry nodded, pulling a few cotton balls from his pocket as well. I borrowed it from Ginny. Apparently, Hermione let her borrow it when she couldn't remember the spell that did the same thing.
The female Weasel? Malfoy asked disdainfully, leaning back into the sofa. Harry continued to nod, unscrewing the plastic top of the bottle. He took a cotton ball, placing it on the bottle's opening before quickly turning it upside down and right again.
All right, Harry said at last, setting down the bottle on a side table and holding the cotton ball carefully between his fingers. Give me your hand.
Malfoy snapped, his jaw dropping at the other boy.
Harry merely nodded, reaching out his own hand as if to take that of the shocked blonde.
You wanted my help, Harry reminded him, frowning at his hesitance.
What the fuck is that purple stuff? Malfoy hissed, staring warily at the cotton ball.
Nail polish remover, Harry answered tartly. He grinned a bit at the look of revulsion on Malfoy's face.
I do not wear nail polish! he snarled, holding out his pale hand, fingernails toward Harry, for proof. The raven-haired boy only scoffed, his grin deepening as amusement began to dance in his green eyes.
They're shinier than Snape's greasy hair, Harry chuckled. You use clear polish. I know that you do.
Don't insult Severus and how the fuck would you know?! Draco hissed, his voice steadily raising in volume. Have you been studying my fucking hands, Potter?
No, but I was looking at your wand pretty closely when you had it nearly down my throat yesterday, Harry answered calmly. And I noticed that your fingernails, well ... reflected the sunlight in an unnatural way ...
Draco hissed, paling. Fine, you arse, I fucking wear nail polish. But there is nothing wrong with having clean, well-cared for hands! I don't need to look like I just had a three-hour Herbology session to be fucking straight!
Harry ordered him composedly, resisting the urge to laugh at the indignant boy. You can still keep them clean. Just not so shiny. Now .. give me your hand.
Fuck you, Potter, Draco snarled under his breath, staring silver daggers into the other boy's laughing green eyes. He mumbled to himself angrily, but finally, consented.
He reached out his hand, setting it tentatively on Harry's tanned palm, turning away his eyes as soon as warm skin met skin. He could still feel curious green eyes wandering on his face, and he scowled.
Just get it over with, Potter, he snapped, finally looking up, ready to meet his eyes.
But Harry wasn't looking at him.
His eyes were locked instead on the two hands, both frozen and barely touching despite the heat that radiated from the touch, watching the slick nervous sweat gleaming in the firelight. Their skin contrasted so perfectly ... pale white with copper tan ...
Malfoy interrupted, feeling wary. Harry blinked, and then looked up at him, his lips parted cluelessly.
Oh, right, he mumbled, pressing the wet cotton ball against his enemy's still thumb. His breathing was heavier, and he wished suddenly that he would have thought to take off his student's robe. The heat from the fire was deafening; he was too close.
Malfoy sat frozen on the couch, afraid to move an inch. He had been, but never felt so suffocatingly close to Potter before. The raven-haired boy was leaning over his hand, concentrating, his hair falling messily over his downcast eyes, his lips parted as he scrubbed in careful circles, removing the polish.
He felt much too close.
Much too close to him ... and yet, he couldn't move. He couldn't even twitch in the slightest.
Harry licked his lips absently as he continued, moving from nail to nail. Malfoy felt his body stiffen, and he breathed out slowly, trying to relax. He couldn't seem to free himself from the tension that flowed through his veins.
He was beginning to sweat. Damn the fire; he should have never lit the fire. It was too fucking hot in the small, dark room.
Other hand, Harry said quietly, not bothering to look up. Malfoy did as he was told, switching hands, the new one already sweating.
He was breathing on his knuckles, warm breath that increased the heat of the fire.
Your fingers are so rigid, Harry said absently, staring down at his work. You can relax a little bit. It won't hurt anything if you move a little.
I am relaxed, Malfoy lied. Are you almost done?
Two fingers, Harry answered, circling away with the cotton ball. Malfoy panted, longing to withdraw his hand but feeling strangely trapped. He couldn't move his hand. It was .. captured there. Frozen there, between his hand and his parted lips.
Malfoy asked quickly. Harry shook his head quickly.
One more, Harry replied, moving his cotton ball immediately to Malfoy's pinkie finger. He waited patiently, trying desperately to control his breath, until finally, his hand was dropped.
Malfoy pulled it back to his body immediately, staring at Harry wide-eyed.
Not so bad, hmm? Harry said, wanting to break the tension. He put the slightly damp cotton ball in his pocket, rescrewing the cap on the bottle.
Malfoy found himself nodding mindlessly, his eyes still on the other boy. Nothing had happened, happened, and yet he had the unmistakable feeling that something had happened without him realizing that it had happened, or knowing what had taken place.
Best to forget about it,' Malfoy told himself strictly. It was nothing.'
Now no one can say you're overly fond of manicures, Harry tried again, after the other boy had failed to speak. Malfoy then, suddenly, snapped back into reality, and scowled.
Yes, I suppose so, he muttered. He stroked a fingernail with his thumb, frowning at how bare it felt.
Harry said, standing. It's your turn now.
Malfoy frowned, standing as well, by habit. What do you mean?
Tutor me in Potions, then, Harry answered, frowning slightly. Or did you want to go?
No, we made a deal, Malfoy snapped, turning toward the desk. Besides, I already set it up ... go over by the desk, and we'll start.
Harry said warily, walking over to the desk, feeling Malfoy following him. There had been something odd about the other boy for a second, something ... uncharacteristic of the insensitive blonde.
But, he couldn't seem to put his finger on it. He seemed fine now.
It must have been nothing. He was probably just imagining it.
That's weird, Harry thought to himself, adverting his eyes slightly. I could have swore that he .. looked .. stunned? But why would he be stunned that I took off his nail polish?
It makes no sense. He shook his head slightly, clearing his mind. That thought just didn't fit with his image of Malfoy. He would forget it.
The fire blazed on as the two boys gathered around the desk, their faces shadowed in the flickering orange light.
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Congratulations, my darlings, you hath made me happy and punctual! I love everyone that reviewed, and I sincerely hope that you enjoyed this chapter. I have a nice balance of humor, love and sex planned for the future (though how much sexuality there will be, I'm not exactly sure as of now). Thanks for reading, and have a lovely day!
