- Secrets of the Forbidden Broomcloset -
Authoress Ramble: I rather like this chapter, I suppose. It's a nice interlude. Anyway, I hope that you're all doing well ... I'm doing better myself, other than a run in with the cops last night for underage drinking ... so yes! Enjoy my sober little fanfiction.
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.
Semi-Important Note If You're Confused: Today is Saturday afternoon in the story.
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Draco glared at the noon sun shining in brightly through the dingy windows of the library, the brilliant rays reflected within the glass causing glare that was irately distracting to him, white light that was beginning to give him a headache.
Sadly, there were no curtains over the windows. He scowled at them for a moment, then turned to face Pansy, who was holding her fingers out widely in front of herself. She grinned, satisfied with the way the light reflected off the fresh, forest green paint on her fingernails.
Incredible. You've finally managed to accomplish something while in the library, Draco muttered, eying her with distaste. Add painting your nails to the time you went down on Wood in the Restricted Section our third year, and that's two projects completed.
Oh, shut it lovely, she replied easily, still idly praising her handiwork. You've had a broom up your arse the entire morning. And what are you writing, anyway?
A letter to my mother, Draco answered, turning his eyes downward once again to the parchment that lay spread on the table in front of him.
How sweet, Pansy cooed, drumming her nails against the wooden table and smiling. I didn't know you had that kind of sincerity in you, Drake.
I'm asking her about my piece of shit ancestral blood-locked door, the blonde sneered, not very much in the mood for his friend's sugared sarcasm. You remember how it fucked up and let him in.
Maybe it thought he belonged in your bedroom, Pansy smirked, leaning slightly forward. Just like we both know he does.
You read far too deeply into everything, you know, Draco snapped, dipping his quill quickly and returning to his writing. I'm not as easy as you.
You do appreciate a challenge, I'll concede to that, she laughed, winking quickly at the boy, who was too absorbed now in his letter to catch it.
Dear Narissa,
I have a question to ask of you. The private door supposedly guarding my private chamber here at Hogwarts has, to be blunt - failed its sole purpose. It opened to someone whom I know to hold not a single drop of our blood within his veins. Would you know the meaning of this? Is it possible the door has simply grown too old to function properly? Tests with the blood of Zambini and Parkinson proved successful; the door did not open to them. Please tell me if you know of any alternative way to open the door, aside from using Malfoy blood. I will be grateful for your reply, and will, until sorting through the matter, protect my private bedroom with common locking charms and the most complicated passwording spell I can locate.
Your Son, Draco
I hope she can tell you something, Pansy offered when the blonde finally set down his quill, lifting his storming silver eyes. Her voice was strangely kind, proof that the statement was meant more to improve her friend's mood with her than anything else.
Obviously, I do as well, Draco snapped, though his eyes softened a bit at her sympathetic smile. He withdrew a seal and a stick of blood red wax from his bag, melting its end with his wand and enclosing the letter within a simple envelope. He sealed it with a wax circle containing his family crest.
When he looked up again, Pansy's head was surprisingly bent, her own quill (seldom seen outside of class or the rare times late at night or early in the morning when she quickly finished her homework) scribbling. Draco frowned as he watched her write, dumbfounded.
Don't tell me you're working on our Potions essay already, he said incredulously, a pale eyebrow rising. It's not Monday morning yet, and the gods know you always wait until then.
No, it's not that, Pansy smirked, giggling quietly. This sharpened the blonde's attention, and he leaned forward, attempting to read what she was writing.
An invitation for that lucky bastard you fancy? he questioned, his brow furrowing.
Oh, don't be silly, she dismissed, her smirk deepening. It's a love note to Harry Potter. Signed by you, of course.
Draco shouted hoarsely, standing quickly. His chair tumbled over, sending a loud echo of the crash throughout the entire library.
Mr. Malfoy! the shrill voice of Mme Pince nearly screamed from her desk. Control the level of your voice immediately! Others are attempting to study!
Pansy, if you don't give me that fucking letter right now, I'm going to burn your hair instead, Draco seethed, slamming his fists on the table and glaring down at her.
She looked up, raising her eyebrows in a silent challenge as a twisted smile bloomed across her lovely, pale face.
I won't let you ignore him, she said simply, conjuring an envelope and shoving her folded letter inside. A wax seal appeared immediately, a generic, jet black color. I don't know what happened to make you suddenly think of yourself as gay, but whatever it was, I know that you're avoiding it like the plague. And I just can't let you miss this kind of opportunity.
Draco repeated, sarcasm dripping from his cold voice. Opportunity for what, Panse? A life of shame as some kind of freak? Public ridicule? Excommunication from my family, being denied my rightful inheritance, not to mention being killed by the others? Is that what you're begging me not to throw away?
Pansy blinked, staring back at him with wide eyes. Finally, she sighed, sliding her fingers slowly across her envelope as she spoke, her tone melancholy and distant.
If you really aren't straight, Drake, she began slowly. Then you're going to have to accept the reaction of the world eventually. It may as well be now, in the beginning, while you still have a chance to build a different life. I can't let you lie to yourself, pretend to be something that your core isn't; I care for you and I--
And if you weren't such an idealistic, sheltered little girl, you would understand that to do that would be my downfall, Draco sneered. My absolute ruin. Even the cause of my death. Give me the letter.
Pansy raised the letter in her hand, narrowing her eyes darkly at him.
This isn't your future, Drake, she spoke harshly. But it's the spark that will start it, and I'll be damned if I won't live to see you give it at least a fucking shot.
What I do isn't your choice! he snarled. No matter how sanguine your intentions, you can't just write a letter and expect me to play along with your impossible little fantasy!
I can so long as it's your fantasy as well, she smirked, tucking the letter safety into her blouse, its top three buttons undone for effect. Draco's eyes widened in disgust, watching as the letter settled, warm and slightly crushed, between her two round breasts.
Mail it and I'll cut them both off while you sleep and serve them as strawberry-juice-covered melons, you neurotic, impulsive, stubborn psychotic overly indulgent little --
You want the letter? Pansy sneered playfully. Then come and get it, darling!
She smiled sweetly, then immediately turned on her heel and ran, long, silky hair streaming behind her, for the library doors. Draco growled in fury, grabbing his bag quickly and setting off at a run after her, ignoring the uptight yelps he was being hurled from Mme Pince as he crashed through the doors and into the hallway.
He caught sight of Pansy's pleated maroon skirt disappearing down the corridor to his left. He sprinted after the flash of fabric, his scowl deepening; she was heading toward the Eastern corner of the castle, within which the Owlery was kept. He'd be fucked if he didn't catch her on time.
He chased her down corridor after corridor, losing track of his location after about five minutes, his mind locked only on the occasional flash of long hair or flailed skirt or disappearing leg, only the sound of her black heels clicking in loud rhythm against the stone floors.
Just as Pansy was running past the Great Hall doors, she looked up to see, to her complete horror, the infamous Gryffindor Trio strolling across the entrance hall, inconveniently marring her path. She could hear Draco gaining on her, however, and as such she never bothered to stop, running at full pace.
Her shoulder slammed into Hermione's as she rushed past the three of them, and she grinned at her apologetically over her shoulder as she ran on. The bushy-haired girl gasped, the four books she had been cradling to her chest scattering across the floor. She frowned murderously at the disappearing body of Pansy, then knelt down to the floor, reaching for her Charms textbook.
Hey, watch where you're going! Ron shouted after her, scowling. He had been talking with Hermione about the ethics of using strength and vision improvement potions in Quidditch, which was the reason why the other girl had been too distracted to notice Pansy running straight at her.
Don't mind her, Ronald, Hermione huffed, stacking her Potions text on top of her retrieved Charms textbook. She isn't worth it. Probably hurrying off to some completely random snog in the Owlery, if what I've heard is true.
Hurrying isn't the word for it, Ron muttered, still glaring at the stairs up which she had sprinted. She was running a bloody marathon! Damn stupid, it was, I mean ... don't you think so, Harry?
Ron's eyes had wandered over to his best friend, who was staring intently at the stairs Pansy had run down just a minute before. He was watching, wide-eyed, as Draco Malfoy, his normally pale face flushed with the effort of having run nearly halfway across the castle, ran down them at full speed, his bookbag slamming heavily into his side as he went.
Have the Slytherins all gone mad? Ron asked himself in awe as Draco continued to run straight for them. His silver eyes kept flashing distractedly to meet those of Harry, flickering erratically between the raven-haired boy and the stairs ahead him.
Bleeding fuck, the blonde's mind cursed, his heart pounding within his chest. I didn't want him to .. see me again, not after I .. we .. shit, why does he always end up where I don't want him? I'm killing you for this, Panse, letter or no bloody letter!
Sadly, the twisted combination of both a totally distracted mind and similarly distracted eyes could lead only to a single, inevitable end. Draco never saw the Transfiguration textbook, having yet to be retrieved by Hermione, lying perilously on the stone floor in front of him.
He was continuing to run straight at the three, now avoiding Harry's eyes as much as physically possible, when his foot met it as he ran. He froze as his leg slipped out from underneath him, the book spiraling aside as he fell forward, grasping for anything in his sudden panic.
His fingers clenched Harry's dark sweater, and he brought the raven-haired boy down with him.
A moment later the back of his head crashed against the stone floor, his legs twisted with a second pair. He winced at the throbbing pain in his head, barely hearing the cry of pain that slipped from Harry's lips as his knees slammed hard into the stone floor, his body falling heavily on top of the other boy's.
It took a moment for both to recover, eyes blinking open to reveal silver and green clouded with pain and utter confusion. Draco groaned loudly, willing both the ache in his mind and the heavy weight on his ribs to disappear. He was glad when it shifted, Harry propping himself up sorely on his elbows ...
... Harry.
Gods, watch where the hell you're going, Harry grumbled above him, his knees throbbing with fresh, intense stabs of pain. What can be so important to get to on a Saturday?
Draco swallowed hard, idly realizing that his spit tasted like fresh blood; he must have bitten his tongue during the fall. He blinked, staring up at the other boy, his lips only inches from his own, his green eyes staring intensely down into his, his legs straddling his waist. He stared up, waiting for recognition to flood the raven-haired boy's eyes, waiting for an emotion to swell in them, any emotion - longing, rejection, fear. Particularly, he was waiting for the rejection.
There was nothing. Only dull anger; simple irritation that he'd ran into him.
Harry snapped at last, annoyed with the other's eerie silence. I didn't expect you to apologize, but you could at least say something. You weren't knocked unconscious, you know.
Draco only blinked, realization flooding his own mind. Coming that close to him after the night before should have invoked some kind of reaction in the other boy; extreme anger toward him, harsh words of disgust and rejection, spatterings of hate; anything. Instead, he was acting as if nothing had ever happened; as if the two were still just simple enemies, enemies who met secretly, yes, but enemies all the same.
That could mean only one thing.
You don't remember, Draco whispered, his voice dull, his mind filled with disappointment, with doubt; even he himself could not be sure what he felt in that moment. It was a hollow feeling, one that swelled his heart with emptiness, with blank, helpless emotion.
Don't remember what? Harry frowned down on him, an eyebrow raising. He wanted to bring up mention of his missing clothing and treasured cloak, pay the blonde back for the one hundred and twenty-five points he'd lost that morning, even. Something the other boy's wide eyes, however .. something haunting and unreadable .. silenced his tongue.
He would bring it up later. They always met again.
I can't believe that you don't, Draco whispered under his breath, finally making an attempt to sit up. Harry moved immediately, standing slowly, wincing as weight was shifted onto his freshly sore knees.
The other boy stood up at well, staring out distantly into space, his actions automatic. Harry frowned at him, his brow furrowing. He was still waiting for an icy comeback, a familiar, Watch where the hell you're going, Potter!.
Instead, the blonde appeared to be muttering to himself, lost in his own thoughts.
Harry began hesitantly, watching out of the corner of his eye as Hermione retrieved the final textbook and proceeded to stand impatiently near Ron, her eyes glaring daggers at the blonde. I guess I'll see you later.
Draco frowned, looking back at him steadily, silver flames flickering within somber eyes.
You can bet on it, Potter, he spat quietly, taking a short step backward.
And with that, they both went their separate ways.
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Oh Drake, it's honestly not a big deal, Pansy drawled from outside the blonde's private chambers, her back leaning comfortably against the enchanted mahogany door. It was just a silly little letter, that's all.
Burn in Hell, Parkinson, a voice snarled from within, muffled by the distance between them. Draco buried his head further down into his pillow, letting silky strands of white fall over his face and shield his eyes from the outside world.
Don't be such a drama queen, Pansy went on, ignoring his threats. I know you, darling. I also know what's best for you, and trust me, you won't regret the fact that I--
Forged the Malfoy name, dragged me further into a situation I'm attempting to escape, tricked Potter, took steps to ruin what semblance of a respectable life I still have left, yes, I know, Draco listed off venomously. I already regret it, you insufferable, meddling, infuriating woman.
Just because you're not attracted to us doesn't mean that you can hate us all, lovely, Pansy purred, snickering behind the door. Draco groaned, grabbing a plush black pillow and throwing it as hard as he could at the door.
I give up! he growled loudly. You have no conscious! Go fuck up your own reality and for once keep your belied good intentions to yourself!
He hasn't even read the letter yet, Drake, Pansy sighed, shaking her head slowly.
the blonde snapped. Now go the hell away.
That's no way to treat a caring friend, Pansy pouted, turning around only to glare at the multiple charm sealed doorway. You'll see, dear! You'll be kissing my high heels in gratitude this time Tuesday morning!
I'll be shoving them up certain places is what I'll be doing! the voice spat back.
Senseless, stupid boy! Pansy cried, snubbing the door with her thin nose. Honestly! Sometimes I forget why I love you so ruddy much!
For an excuse to sabotage me without all the guilt, Draco snapped. He threw his pillow over his head, blocking out the sound of his friend's alternating pleads and insults and throwing himself into a quiet darkness, a void in which he could think.
He began to relax, and in a moment ... tumultuous thoughts of a certain raven-haired boy flooded his mind.
On the one hand, the fact that Potter didn't remember a thing was a way out for him, a very convenient loophole. It was his chance to cut his losses and move on with his generally heterosexual life, to pretend, in essence, that the night and its events had never taken place. It was a chance that he, in fact, had every intention to take.
There was only one slight problem. He wanted more.
Had Potter been nothing by a forgettable first, an experiment in a world he simply just couldn't resist tasting, it would have been easier to walk away, to dismiss the night. If the raven-haired boy meant nothing to him, he would have been glad to leave the memory behind.
And yet, when Potter had looked down on him that morning, when Draco had searched his brilliant green eyes for an emotion that would betray his reaction to the kiss, and when he had found only emptiness ... it had wrenched his heart. If only to find rejection, he needed to know how Harry would have responded were his mind not blacked out by a befuddled potion.
He needed something to prove that the night was real.
In that, Pansy was oddly right. He couldn't ignore the night forever, not while simply seeing the other boy stilled his mind, clouded his head with distraction and confusion. If anything, he needed closure. Perhaps the letter could bring him at least that.
... the letter. He had never asked Pansy what she had actually written within it. A love note could mean anything - a confession of affection, an invitation to a night of reckless sex, a proposition for an innocent date. He had to ask her.
he shouted, his head emerging from the pillow as he turned to face the door. Pansy, I need to know what the fuck you wrote in that letter! Tell me right now!
There was no answer.
Shit, she left already, Draco thought miserably. He let his head drop back down to the pillow immediately, sighing. He would have to wait until tomorrow to find out what sort of spark would be the trigger to his alternative destiny.
Outside the door, her back reclining against the dark wood, Pansy gave a sweet, sinful smile to the quiet of her dearest friend's voice and mind.
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Harry: Hello, readers. I just want to say that I'm still sore from being tortured by Draco, you know, from the last chapter ... so, well, thanks a lot for reviewing.
Draco: Bwahahaha! You see, you morons? You tell them, Harry, let them rot in a bath of pure guilt! They'll never click that sinful button ever again!
Harry: Ahh ... right then. Thanks a lot for reviewing. It really ... sucked.
Draco: Hopefully you literate imbeciles will now know to take my threats seriously! It wasn't just a bluff, I honestly did torture the bastard! At your request! Yes, that's right, let the guilt eat you out from the inside! Let it decay your inner organs and twisted hearts!
Harry: And if you're not too busy ... please review ... several times ...
Draco: Yes, and then ... wait, what the hell?! Hush, you. The goal here is never. We want them to never review! Never!
Harry: Oh, of course. Please, everyone, don't ... never review.
Draco: Ahaha, yes, the begging of the Boy Who Lived ... music to my ears. Heed his plea, you guilt-ridden sickos! Review and he will be tortured again and again, to a horrifying apex! Never review again!
