- Secrets of the Forbidden Broomcloset -
Authoress Ramble: Busy busy busy! The next chapter will probably be up, mmm ... around the middle of next week? Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, and continues to review the new chapters. =D I can't thank everyone individually, but you really do inspire me to continue and have creative, twisted fun doing it.
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 still Sunday morning in the story.
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I have never had high expectations for your morality, Mr. Malfoy, McGonagall spoke tartly as they traveled through the stone corridor. I cannot deny that. But to think that you, such an intelligent young man, would order an attack on such a peaceful bird! Stealing mail I can comprehend, but treating defenseless owls like playthings ...
Draco sighed, leaning back and scowling darkly. He had followed McGonagall into the entrance hall, at which point he had stopped suddenly and declared that he would go nowhere near the Headmaster's office, as he had done nothing wrong. He had turned sharply on his heel and was heading back for the Slytherin dungeons when she drew her wand.
Suspendeous Malfoy!
He was now following her at a leisurely rate, bobbing up and down as he did so. His feet were floating a good two feet above the ground, legs dangling uselessly. He muttered curses under his breath as McGonagall continued to rant her outrage, occasionally throwing obscene hand gestures toward the back of her head.
... never seen such despicable treatment by any student toward a fellow classmate's owl! I personally think you should be reprimanded by the law as an adult, in addition, of course, to academic punishment! We'll see what the Headmaster has to say about all of this ... ahh, yes. Here we are.
Draco looked up to see an eagle statue set in a large, circular recession in the corridor wall. He sneered at it miserably, his hopes dampening.
So the senile twit likes birds, he thought dully. Just my ruddy luck.
Peppermint Imp, McGonagall spoke gravely. Her blonde charge watched, eyebrows slightly raised, as a spiral stone staircase rose from the floor, twisting around the eagle as it went. He yelped when she stepped forward, jerking her wand to command his levitating body to follow.
They traveled up the rising stairs, pausing at last in front of a wide door. McGonagall rapped on it sharply, her lips a thin line.
Mr. Malfoy has arrived to speak with you, Headmaster, she announced, glancing at him briefly from behind her square spectacles. Draco sneered back at her, silver eyes defiant and furious.
Ahh, yes, a calm, if not weary voice answered. Do come in.
The lock on the door released with a click, and McGonagall stepped inside, ushering her charge in after her using delicate sweeps of her wand. He bobbed in slowly, his narrowed eyes peering around at the surroundings distastefully. It was then that he saw him.
Harry, seated in a plush burgundy armchair tilted toward the Headmaster's desk. He turned back when they entered the office, his eyes burning a murderous dark green. He scowled at Draco, who only frowned back, some of his anger strangely slipping away at the sight of his mortal rival.
He broke his eyes from the mutual gaze at last, adverting them in avoidance of an emotion he could not identify. He looked around at the rest of the room instead; the raven-haired boy had apparently chosen to drag along his owl as well, as she was seated, completely unharmed, on a golden perch. She was sharing it with a large, graceful-looking scarlet bird, a bird whose small eyes were watching him intently.
Snape was in the room as well, having been summoned as the Head of Draco's own House. He stared at the blonde darkly as he floated in, fury evident in his black eyes.
Please, have a seat, Dumbledore spoke politely, conjuring two armchairs identical to the ones Harry and Snape were currently waiting in. McGonagall seated herself immediately in the one farthest to the left, making the only free seat available one that was both next to Harry and nestled between two infuriated professors.
I'm fine here, thanks, Draco growled, hovering a few feet behind the open armchair. He felt Harry's eyes still scourging him, and he forced himself to look down at the other boy, heart pounding with nervous tension.
he snapped, a shiver running down his spine as he made contact with blazing emerald eyes. Something amusing, Potter?
You're levitating, the raven-haired boy commented bluntly, his voice carefully controlled, the fury within his chest barely contained. And you look ridiculous. Tried to escape, did you?
Draco sneered at this, blood rushing to his cheeks.
I rather like it, he smirked back. All the better for looking down on you, Potter. It's just as satiating in a literal sense.
Listen, you snotty little pretty boy git, I--
Gentlemen, please, Dumbledore interrupted quietly. He nodded toward Professor McGonagall, who, wand in hand, directed Draco's floating body over to the armchair. He yelped, outraged, as he was dumped into it unceremoniously.
Just minutes ago, Malfoy directed his own owl to attack that of Potter, all for the purpose, it seems, of intercepting his personal mail, McGonagall explained quickly, eager to start the discussion. Malfoy's owl managed to steal this as a result.
She held up the letter, rumpled and torn, in her hand. Draco paled, staring at it with dread; she had snatched it from him in the entrance hall, moments after levitating his body at her command. To all others in the office, it appeared a simple, nothing beyond the ordinary piece of folded parchment. To Draco, it was a written and sealed contract of his downfall.
I am sure, Snape spoke up dryly, That Mr. Malfoy has some sort of explanation. He leaned forward, glaring at the blonde from beyond Harry's head. The raven-haired boy, too, was glaring at Draco, waiting for his words.
he blurted unsurely, his palms beginning to sweat. I don't know what happened. The ruddy thing just went bloody insane, attacking Potter's owl like that. As I told McGonagall, we never had him fixed. It's Potter's own fault for sauntering around with an owl as slutty as himself.
Harry sneered silently at this, bearing his teeth as his eyes narrowed further. The others in the room grimaced, frowning and staring gravely at the blonde.
Please control your tongue, Mr. Malfoy, the Headmaster spoke at last, frowning. Minerva, what is your opinion on this?
It's absolute rubbish! the thin woman exclaimed immediately. Nonsense! Hundreds of students heard him cheer on his bird as it attacked that of Potter, saw him reward it when it returned with the letter. It was obviously planned out beforehand, if rather poorly.
Draco's head snapped in her direction, and he glared darkly at her, lips tight and thin.
And yours, Severus? Dumbledore asked calmly, placing his fingertips into a steeple.
The Slytherin Head of House took his time in answering, all the while staring at his prized student with murderous intent, warning him to speak up with a better story. When he did not, Snape scowled, turning at last to Dumbledore.
It seems that with so many witnesses in favor of foul play, he spoke slowly, Mr. Malfoy's story becomes void of plausibility.
Dumbledore nodded at this, turning his wise eyes on a now sulking, furious Draco.
Have you anything to add? he asked the blonde, who shook his head slowly, his silver eyes only briefly eying the calm older man. Very well then. I am sure, Mr. Malfoy, that you are aware your actions have violated wizarding law. Showing cruelty, even without the use of your own hand, to a domesticated magical creature, including owls, is considered a crime.
Draco mumbled, wondering if he could draw his wand and kill himself quickly enough so that no one in the room would be able to stop him.
However, Hedwig seems to be without injury, Dumbledore continued, turning to look at the snowy owl on his perch, who hooted at mention of her name. I will leave it up to Harry whether or not he wishes to press charges.
Draco turned to the other boy then, cringing at the fury he saw locked within his eyes. He was staring at him, his emerald gaze scrutinizing him painfully for several long moments. The penetrating stare both froze his pounding heart and warmed it with bleak hope; there was hesitation in his irate eyes. It was as if he were searching the blonde's face for proof of malice and hate, and continuing to stare only because he could not find it.
I think, Harry began slowly, his lips forming the words carefully, That I need to understand why he felt he needed to do this first. I want to read the letter.
Draco swallowed hard, his spine stiffening as his mind went into a panic. He would take whatever punishment he was handed, anything to avoid that happening.
he shouted, his voice weak with doubt; he knew that he would never be obeyed now. I don't want the letter read! Burn the bloody thing, I don't give a damn, but he can't have it!
Harry's eyes widened, darkening with fresh anger. McGonagall pursed her lips, outraged, and Snape shot the blonde an infuriated you are only making this worse for yourself and further embarrassing me' glare. Dumbledore raised a snow-white eyebrow.
Potter has the right to read his own mail, McGonagall spoke loudly, scolding Draco more than stating a fact. It is clearly addressed to him, and as such has become a possession of his.
She waved the letter in the air, letting the words on its front (To Mr. Harry Potter, Esquire, Urgent Delivery Insisted!) be available for all to see and read. Draco groaned in his seat, his head dropping.
I see that it has no return recipient, Dumbledore noted serenely. Let me ask you this, Mr. Malfoy. Did you write and send this letter?
Draco looked up briefly at this address, his cheeks burning. He shook with head vehemently, scowling.
he snapped, sighing a bit as the words left him.
Then I see no reason why Harry cannot read the letter, the old Headmaster continued leisurely. Unless, of course, you have something else to add?
Nothing at all, Draco sulked, adverting his eyes miserably.
Very well, then, Dumbledore said, a tone of finality to his voice. Professor McGonagall, please return the letter to Harry.
Of course, she huffed, outstretching her hand directly in front of Draco's face as she handed it to Harry. He took it swiftly, eying the parchment as soon as it touched his fingertips. It was high-grain, a rich, sturdy golden colour; expensive parchment that Sirius would never bother purchasing. It was not from him after all.
He looked up for a moment, meeting Draco's silver eyes. They were wide, filled with a mix of nearly unreadable emotions; fury and indignation, obvious embarrassment, and flickering beyond those ... it seemed impossible, but he thought he could see a wave of fear.
I'll read this, then, he said quietly, the Professors nodding around him as he waited for the blonde's reaction. He stiffened, his bottom lip trembling for a half-second before his features fell back into their familiar cold perfection.
Confused, but knowing he would find no further clue, he looked back to the mangled letter in his hands. He ripped it open carefully, surprised for a moment at the plain black wax seal. He knew that Draco, being the rich snob he was, would never settle for less than an elegant family crest pressed into a seal of his.
He pulled the letter out, avoiding the temptation to look back up at the blonde and continue his attempt to read his emotions. He unfolded it carefully, frowning at the unfamiliar, elegant looping script.
Dear Harry Darling,
I was thinking on you moments before, here in the library, and the thought dawned on me -- how long it's been since we last met one another! I'm absolutely dying to spend some ... quality time with you, and so I thought, ahah! I should invite you to meet me in the broomcloset tomorrow night. Be there, sexy! I even promise to return your clothes, as I have no use for them. Not that, of course, you will either.
Yours Truly, Drake
Harry stuttered, his jaw dropping at the letter's words. He heard someone sigh deeply near him, registering the voice as Draco's as he continued to gape down at the parchment, shocked. He could not have written ... this!
There was simply no way he could have. The handwriting was feminine and beautiful ... well, all right, possibility there. But he had never heard Draco refer to himself as nor did the blonde refer to him by his first name. All that and, of course ... he wasn't attracted to him. The letter sounded almost ... sexual.
Harry looked up, unbeknownst to the blood that was flooding his cheeks. He met Draco's eyes curiously, searching them for some kind of recognition, some kind of proof that this wasn't a complete work of foolery; within them, however, he found only blank grey, tired and worn, worried perhaps. Fearful. The other boy only frowned at him, his anger strangely absent.
He couldn't have written it. He had said moments before that he hadn't written the letter. Of course, it might have been a lie ... after all, McGonagall, Snape and Dumbledore were all present, and if they had read the letter themselves ... it was a possibility that he had lied. But on the other hand, it was completely unlike him ... the tone was flippant, totally unlike anything he had ever heard leave Draco's mouth.
Gods, he didn't know what to think.
I've decided not to press charges, Harry began nervously, realizing that all eyes were locked on him. I ... will let it go this time, as Hedwig wasn't hurt. I won't stand for it again, however. If this happens a second time, I'll let the Ministry deal with ... ahh, him.
Very well, Harry, Dumbledore said immediately, eyes twinkling. McGonagall had opened her mouth to protest, but closed it upon receiving a look from the Headmaster. The corner of Snape's mouth twitched, and he failed to speak, though his eyes looked slightly relieved.
Draco stared at him, eyes blank, perhaps slightly confused. A long moment later, he parted his lips.
It won't happen again, he said quietly. I swear it.
I should hope not! McGonagall commanded shrilly. As for your school punishment, I propose that a deed so unique as this be fitted with an equally creative penalty. Let him clean the Owlery this coming Saturday; perhaps he will learn to better appreciate the tender care required in tending to magical creatures.
Draco yelped, his head jerking from Harry's face to that of his Professor. That's the work of a house elf! I'll never stand for this, being ordered to scrap owl shit off a thousand perches, it's an outrage! I refuse to--
I think it's quite fitting, Dumbledore spoke, calmly ignoring Draco's sudden outrage. It will help you to learn respect for our owls. Be glad that it is not a month of Saturday detentions.
Draco opened his mouth to protest, but shut it with a snap when he realized that no amount of debate would win him back his Saturday. He was glad, in a way -- a very subdued, distant way -- that it was not more severe. His father's riches could have easily handled the suit, but never the crude publicity. He could see it now:
GAY MALFOY HEIR ATTACKS BOY-WHO-LIVED'S CUTE ICKLE OWL! PUBLIC CRIES OUT FOR AZKABAN SENTENCE! BEASTALITY RUNS IN FAMILY LINE, INSIDERS SAY!
Draco groaned at the thought of it alone.
Snape spoke up suddenly, his voice dripping with venom at the entire situation having taken place at all, If we have nothing more to discuss, I would like to return to my morning.
By all means, by all means, Dumbledore said graciously, smiling serenely as both McGonagall and Harry stood, the latter whistling for his owl. She hooted and flew to his outstretched arm, turning back to stare wistfully at Fawkes.
Draco was the last to stand, doing so slowly and rather ruefully, trying to keep his remaining pride intact. Dumbledore nodded at them all, waving them off cheerfully.
Have an enjoyable Sunday, he wished, eyes twinkling as they fell on Draco. He scowled at the older man, rushing from the office with a dark expression.
He was halfway back to the Great Hall, cheeks pink, part of his mind lost in a slight panic over the letter while the majority of it was planning how he would chop off Pansy's long hair as she slept, dye it flaming orange and add freckles to her perfect, pale complexion (becoming a Weasley was the worst fate he could come up with at the moment) ... and then let her live a few days and then torture her slowly, and then kill her using kitchen utensils and everyday household appliances ...
... when he heard a familiar voice call behind him.
Harry yelled, jogging up to him uncomfortably. Wait a second, would you?! I want a word!
Draco froze immediately, his legs filling in instantly with cement at the jarring, and yet painfully satiating sound. He turned around slowly, watching as Harry quickly closed the distance between them, panting slightly.
What do you want, Potter? he spat with as much venom as he could muster, all the while trying his best to mask his panic. He's read the damned letter, he thought rapidly, wishing it was his to burn. And now he wants to talk about it. Great, fucking great, what should I say?! I don't even know what it says!
Harry said loudly, still breathing heavily. Draco shivered involuntarily at the sound, finding it difficult to focus on the raven-haired boy's words as his eyes trailed, tempted and uncontrollable, over his body. I want you to know that I'll ... I'll do it.
Draco cringed, frowning. What the hell did that mean? Do what?! Damn the letter, damn the freakin' piece of shit bloody letter ... Panse would rot for this.
Do his homework for him? Do his evil bidding? Let him do his toned, tan and completely forbidden body?
Draco felt, for the first time in the entirety of his life, that he would faint.
Come again? he managed to choke out weakly, swallowing hard.
I'll do it, Harry repeated, looking him over strangely. Meet you in the broomcloset tomorrow? As long as you do actually bring my clothes. I want them back. Especially my ... just bring everything, all right?
Ahh, right, Draco stuttered. Perhaps the letter wasn't so bad after all, if the only thing in it was a simple invitation to something they'd already done before. Harry didn't appear ready to strangle him; that had to be a good sign. What time did I say to meet again?
You, ehrm, didn't specify a time, Harry replied, giving Draco the same strange look once again. You're flushed, are you all right? Still pissed off over the detention, are you?
Oh, ahh, of course, I must have forgotten, Draco rambled, cursing himself. Meet me at the ten, then, and I'll bring your ruddy clothes. I haven't gotten much use for them, anyway.
He coughed, trying to cover up for the fact that he had no real idea what he was talking about. When he looked up again, he was startled to find the raven-haired boy staring at him with wide eyes, his tan cheeks tinted scarlet.
Gods, Harry thought weakly. He did write it! This doesn't make any sense, he couldn't have, he couldn't ... could he?
Is he blushing?Draco thought incredulously, his jaw mentally dropping. Why would he be blushing? The letter ... oh gods, this is so fucking awkward. I need some air. I need to know what the hell he's thinking! That letter, what was in it?
He opened his mouth, ready to ask outright, but thought better of it. He couldn't just ask what was in the letter. That would give away that he hadn't written it, which would raise far too many questions that he didn't feel like dealing with. He wanted to meet Harry again. He was almost -- almost -- glad that it had been so rudely prearranged.
Draco spoke up at last, growing warm under the raven-haired boy's intent stare. I guess I'll see you tomorrow night.
Harry breathed, swallowing hard. His head was swimming, his mind lost in confusion; he didn't know what to think of the boy before him. What was true, and what was a lie?
Draco replied uncomfortably. See you, then.
See you, he answered, licking his lips as he did so, still staring at the blonde. He stood there blankly for a moment, as if waiting for something further to happen, and then nodded suddenly and continued on his way to the Great Hall, his gait quicker than usual.
Draco watched him go blankly, his heart still pounding. He would need to torture the letter's contents out of Pansy before the day ended, before he met up with Harry; after all, how else would he know what to discount? He would torture it out of her, all right ... and then he would kill her.
And as far as returning Potter's clothes ... that had obviously been an idea of hers. What right did she think she had, promising him that he'd return them? He didn't want to return them yet, for some odd reason. Of course, like he'd said himself, it was true that he really had no use for them.
After all, what could he do with a pair of Potter's worn black socks, his mass-produced, cheap fabric made-in-a-Chinese-sweatshop-by-five-year-old-children black slacks, the grey shirt he could have easily found in a gutter? Or his rare, infamous Invisibility cloak? He, with his extensive, exclusive wardrobe, could use none of those ...
... his mind paused. He had Potter's Invisibility cloak. And indeed, he could think of a certain way he'd love to use it. A completely immoral, illegal way, yes, a deliciously sinful way ... but a way none the less. And this time around,he wouldn't let himself get caught doing it.
Perhaps this Sunday was not lost after all.
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Harry: I can't believe you're going to do something in my father's Invisibility cloak! Tell me, love, what's your evil plan this time? Deliciously sinful? Going to jack off during Snape's class, maybe?
Draco: That mere comment alone goes to show how superior my creativity skills are compared to yours, Potter. It has absolutely nothing to do with jacking off.
Harry: You sure about that?
Draco: Yes. I'm not a pervert like you.
Anthea: Actually, Draco ... ... [continues typing next chapter] ...
Harry: ... this is going to make my day.
Draco: This is some kind of fan-service, isn't it? Let's all make the bloody reviewers happy, shall we?! Well I say DAMN THE REVIEWERS! SCREW YOU ALL!
Harry: I think I'll be getting screwed before they do.
Draco: I have so many reasons to hate you.
Harry: And yet ... ?
Draco: Shut the hell up.
