- Secrets of the Forbidden Broomcloset -
Authoress Ramble: This is a bit of a filler chapter until the next chapter (which is better) but it has two pretty important things addressed within it. The first is something absent from my story forever and the second is a plot twist I'd sort of forgotten (along with the other two or three or whatever plot twists I still have to cover, which I will eventually). Enjoy!
Warnings: This story has been rated for repeated use of language and current sexual content (SOME NOW). Well, kinda. Also, it is slash, though I don't feel that should influence the rating ... read as your morals and inhibitions perm-
Draco: WHAT THE HELL?! Something's wrong with the warning thing! HARRY!
Harry: Huh, that's interesting. I wonder how much ground covers.
Draco: I did NOT authorize this! Rose, change this back - NOW! Immediately!
Ms. Rose: Sorry, Drake. I had to cave into the pressure. Everyone was saying, where is the slash, where is the smut? So I gave them a little snack until the plot actually gets there.
Harry: I rather like this new fan service thing, in that case ...
Draco: Shut up and help me fix this. Where the fuck is the deleting button?!
Ms. Rose: So anyway, readers, if you don't like a little bit of naughtiness I would choose to avoid the first chuck of this chapter. Skip to the stars, you know, if you're still suckling your virginity. Trust me, it will NOT screw the plot up much for you. The rest is peachy. Actually, the part to avoid isn't bad at all, only PG-13, but I thought I'd warn you all anyway.
Draco: SO SKIP TO THE STARS, YOU SICK PERVERTS! SKIP EVERYTHING!
Harry: Or print it out and go to your bedrooms ..
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 Monday morning in the story.
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His breathing was shallow as he slept, his face serene beneath the cloak of darkness that surrounded him. He was buried in black silk bedsheets, and even the dim light from the dying embers of his fireplace was blocked out by his drawn bedcurtains. From the calm, black void, a hand ventured forward.
It shook his shoulder gently, first once, then a second time, a bit harder.
its voice called, a whisper in the dead quiet of his private chamber. It was strangely warm, laced with a fondness the sleeping blonde had never before heard directed his way. Draco, wake up. Open your eyes, won't you?
The blonde mumbled incoherently in his sleep, turning over onto his other side and grunting with irritation. Still, the voice called out, distant and so, so familiar to him.
Come on, Draco, wake up. A third shake of his shoulder.
Get .. lost, he mumbled in response, curling deeper into his warm cocoon of silk. Fuck .. off .. too dark, not .. mmmorning ..
But Draco, it's me. Harry.
The hand reached out again, this time wrapping gently around his shoulder, pulling it down so that he rolled over, landing with a gentle groan on his back. He blinked, opening his silver eyes to the darkness above him.
The first thing he noticed was the light shining from his left. It stung his eyes, and he whimpered, closing them tightly again and cursing.
Oh, sorry. A whisper, and then Draco sensed that the light had gone. He reopened his eyes hesitantly; the light was much dimmer now, a ball of energy sourced from the tip of a wand, hovering in thin air several feet above his bed.
Draco glared at it suspiciously, though he, for some reason, felt no sense of fear whatsoever. The fear he had always associated with Potter's wand had faded, oddly absent.
Take off your cloak, coward, he muttered, his mind still murky with sleep. He heard a chuckle, light but distinct, and a moment later Potter's face and upper body appeared, the darkness peeling off him easily. He was grinning, his face flushed as though he had headed at an eager run to be there, standing contentedly on the top of his little set of stairs.
he spoke, running a hand back through his unruly black hair casually, as if he were meeting a friend in the middle of the corridor before the start of a class, anywhere else with anyone but the blonde.
Draco winced, taken aback. Had the raven-haired boy not been grinning so genuinely, he might have screamed, lunged for his wand, and demand he explain himself immediately - but as it was, he could not summon in himself the need to feel threatened. It quite simply would not come.
You don't look very happy to see me, Harry said teasingly, and Draco recoiled at the sight of the other boy pouting slightly, his eyes bright. He inwardly gasped; he would never do something so ridiculous as pouting in front of him!
There was no way any true Harry could be this goddamn cute.
Who are you? Draco sneered, raising his blankets protectively over his bare chest; he slept every night in his black silk boxers. What do you want? What are you doing here? I'll kill you if you come any closer to me, my wand is right-
It's me, Harry reassured, smiling and, to Draco's complete horror, leaning forward over the bed. You're such a moron when you're half asleep, you know that?
Draco frowned, deciding for the moment to dismiss that last comment. He cocked his head, raising one eyebrow suspiciously and trying his best to look intense.
Even if you are Potter, he began, and really, that fact had become impossible to dispute; in addition to having the same tanned skin, the same messy black hair, he also had the same spark of life in his emerald eyes. That still doesn't explain what you're doing in my bedchamber.
Idiot, what else would I be doing here? Harry answered serenely, not phased for a moment by Draco's jumpy suspicion. The blonde watched with wide eyes as he, still smiling, stepped off the little set of stairs, kneeling onto the bed near its inhabitant's thigh.
Get off my bed, Draco said shakily, but it was useless; his voice came out as nothing more than a soft whisper, a final, desperate attempt to cling to the rules of his outside persona. Harry only cocked his head dismissively, crawling forward. In one swift movement, he lunged for Draco's shoulders, pushing them back down onto the bed, holding them there with his weight.
His silver eyes widened, for suddenly he was looking up into a twin set of brilliant, emerald green, alive with a sense of playfulness, with eagerness, eyes devoid at last of any anger or bitterness, of any hate at all. Harry was smiling, amused.
he asked, leaning down; only inches remained between their eyes. You're looking at me so strangely. Did you miss me?
I always miss you, Draco answered softly, his voice numb. He could say anything at all, as this could not possibly be real.
Are you sure you miss me, Harry asked teasingly, leaning down an inch more; a lock of his thick black hair touched his pale forehead. Or maybe .. this?
Harry bent down, pressing his warm lips firmly into those of the boy beneath him, moving them slowly as if to draw him in, to capture his deepest attention. Draco froze at first, his heart pounding, but then began to gingerly respond, tasting the moist softness of his lips, sheerly enjoying the pleasure of something so simple and yet so entirely, entirely complete.
And as he kissed back, after he had at last gained the confidence to match the pace of the boy above him, Harry parted his lips, licking those of Draco lightly, begging entrance. He was swift to comply, and then, suddenly, he was tasting him completely, drowning in the wet heat of his mouth, his tongue mingling with his rival's own.
It was Harry that pulled away first, still grinning the same grin, eager and unfading. Draco lay panting lightly beneath him, his eyes wide with disbelief, his pale face flushed pink. The boy above him laughed down at him, as if surprised.
You did miss me, he spoke warmly, and then he leaned down to kiss Draco again and the other boy was lost, lost in the pleasure of moving his lips in unison to his, lost in the way he lifted his chin unknowingly to press his mouth up harder, signifying his need for more, for more and more and more than he had ever before dared to want.
Harry pulled away again, and Draco whimpered in protest, though it ended up being rather unnecessary. Instead of commenting, the raven-haired boy immediately leaned back down, burying his face into the blonde's shoulder and fervently kissing his neck. He alternated between pressing his lips into his throat and biting at the tender flesh, his teeth leaving swollen red marks on the otherwise flawless white skin. Draco shut his eyes, forcing his head back down into the pillow, restraining whimpers until finally, at last, he let forth a desperate moan.
Taking this as encouragement, Harry abandoned his neck with one final lovebite, moving his lips down to the blonde's collarbone. He kissed it lightly, and with each new kiss moved further down his body. He bit Draco's nipple hard when he reached it, earning a sharp cry of surprise, and raised his hand then to stroke the opposite side of his chest, his hand sliding from his ribcage to the inward curve of his slender waist.
His kisses led him to Draco's navel, which he licked playfully, finally slowing his progress. Below lay the sparse line of silver hair that disappeared under the waistband of the blonde's straining black silk boxers. He lifted his head, repositioning himself above this area before smiling at his lover, his green eyes flashing sinfully.
Satisfied yet, love? he spoke gracefully, sliding his fingers teasingly under the waistband. Draco winced, looking up at him with narrowed silver eyes, eyes lost now in the darkness of lust, coherent thought long gone from them. His erection throbbed just beneath that thin layer of black silk, completely obvious to the raven-haired boy above him.
It's okay, Harry whispered, his fingers sliding under the silky fabric. Draco hissed, his hips almost thrusting upward at the sensation of fingertips sliding across him softly, teasing him. I'll make you forget your loneliness, Draco ..
Draco ..
Draaaco ...
Draaaco! Wake the hell up, breakfast is almost over!
The voice rang shrilly through the damp air of his chamber, connecting with the blonde's ear in a dream-killing collision and jarring the boy rudely from his rather pleasurable rest. He grunted, sneering as he awoke, still curled safely in his black silk sheets.
I'm up already, fucking hell, he mumbled to himself, burying his head crossly back into his pillow. It was then he noticed the obvious; his erection, aching for attention between his legs. He groaned, cringing as details of the dream suddenly flooded his consciousness, overtaking him and lulling him back into the better world of fantasy.
DRACO! Hurry up, we have Potions this morning and if Snape kills you, it isn't any fault of mine!
Fuck off Blaise, I'm awake! Draco shouted back angrily, growling into his pillow. Then, suddenly, he felt immensely terrible; he had just had a dream about Potter. A twisted, impossible, hot incredible torturous dream about his worst rival .. about his worst rival doing the most amazing .. and now he had woken up with a hard-on.
It had been so good, but now, in the glaring light of morning, it left him with little more than a sick feeling in his stomach. It was something that could, naturally, never be his.
And besides, he knew, rolling his eyes, that Potter would never smile that way for anyone. He was too caught up in himself for that, too unnervingly innocent to pick up on the clichéd art of getting someone else off.
Well, you've only got fifteen minutes to get-
BACK OFF! he screamed, throwing his bedcovers off himself and jumping gracefully onto the floor, his bare feet making a loud smack as though to prove his point. He cursed under his breath, making his way sorely toward the shower.
Just trying to help you out. See you there, huh?
Yeah, yeah sure, Draco mumbled, sending a dark glare toward his door, behind which he knew stood Blaise, dressed mussily in his school robes, his books under arm, breakfast digesting in his stomach.
He made his way into his bathroom then, not bothering to shut the door behind him. He peeled off his black silk boxers, throwing them carelessly onto the floor before walking into the glass-incased room, setting the water to the temperature he liked best: steaming, nearly burning hot.
He stepped into the stream, sighing before wrapping his fingers around himself, closing his eyes and cocking his head back. He tried his best, then, to remember everything.
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Harry tapped his quill mindlessly into his parchment, leaving an odd blob made up of tiny black dots on the mostly blank piece of writing material. He'd scribbled down a few of the facts he thought he would need to know, of course (though Snape rarely tested them on any facts that were obviously important) but had given up, deciding that the grim Professor's blasé voice was too difficult to follow.
He glanced to his right. Ron sat there next to him, his head propped up weakly on his hand, his eyes glazed over with either lack of interest or utter confusion, he could not tell which. Beyond him sat Hermione, writing down every other word Snape spat from his mouth diligently, her handwriting straight and neat, her eyes alert.
He glanced to his left, over toward the Slytherin section of the dungeon. He found Pansy, her long hair spilling down her back, her gaudy quill twitching as she took notes. Blaise was next to her, sketching something onto his parchment. Snape droned on and on, unfazed, and everyone responded in their own typical way. Everyone, absolutely everyone, was acting completely normal. No one noticed the fact that was screaming at him, even from tens of feet away.
Next to Pansy, a seat was conspicuously empty, ominous and cold even without its owner present. Harry could not remember a single time, throughout all five years and then some, that Malfoy had actually missed a Potions lecture.
He had, at first, rather happily entertained thoughts of some misfortune plaguing the blonde. He imagined him waking up in the morning only to be covered by some kind of terrible rash acquired from a Herbology class gone wrong, fancied that Mme Pomprey would find it unfortunately incurable. He thought that perhaps he'd fallen off his ridiculous floating black bed and lay there on the cold floor, a huge lump on his forehead, mumbling about wanting to cuddle a hippogriff. He smirked at the thought of him being abducted by Crabbe and Goyle, both disgruntled that he'd ditched them that year for his two new choices.
These thoughts brought him joy for no more than four and a half minutes.
As the class wore on, he began to wonder instead of fantasize. Where was the bastard, and why weren't his two friends even the least bit concerned? He knew that if he ever chose to miss a class, Hermione, with Ron tagging along at her side, would personally hunt him down and drag him there. But there they were, quiet and behaving as expected.
From there, the wonder slowly turned into vague worry. He liked the idea of the blonde being held up by something ridiculous, but the thought of him actually being in harm's way, injured or gravely ill, made his stomach twist and turn, its contents turning cold and sour. The worry eventually led back to the wonder: where the hell was he?
Thirteen minutes had passed, then seventeen, then twenty-one and twenty-two and thirty six, and what if he'd gone and fainted in the hallway from a fever? He was always pale, and living in the dank, dreary dungeons couldn't do much for one's health. He wished someone would find him, pick him up and stop at the Potions classroom to announce his being found before carrying him on up to the hospital wing.
Damn Malfoy. Even when absent, he still irritated him to the core.
Thirty-eight minutes? He tapped his quill faster now - where - tap tap taptaptap - was that moron? He was doing this just to piss him off. He knew that Harry wanted to murder him, so he skipped Potions just to aggravate him more, to delay his appearance until tonight so that the raven-haired boy would have to wait, fuming and annoyed, without anything to glare at, thus unable to release any of that anger.
He had been late for forty-two minutes when he finally walked in.
He opened the door calmly, slowly, unlike the bursting-in of someone that would have been in a hurry. The class turned their heads toward him as the door creaked open, and he glared at them dully, stepping inside without a word.
Snape, who had been outlining the importance of an adrenaline potion when used in training dangerous magical creatures, turning around sharply, his black eyes narrowed. He said nothing for a moment, his lips pursed as he stared at Malfoy, who stood unmoving at the top of the classroom, his expression blank.
How nice of you to join us, Mr. Malfoy, he spoke, his voice laced with distaste. It was obvious that he had no desire to hand his favorite pupil that familiar line, and was doing so only because it was unavoidable. Dare I ask what you were doing that delayed you so unfortunately?
I was busy, he hissed boldly, his expression finally shifting to reveal a single emotion: fury. He jerked his head then, locking his flaming silver eyes with those of Harry, who recoiled slightly, sneering a bit back at him. Malfoy continued to glare him daggers, unrelenting, eying him with anger for which the other boy could, for once, not find a root. Staring at him with hate was reserved for once the blonde was settled comfortably in his seat, and even then, it had never been so strangely intense.
Harry stiffened, his own anger answering back in his expression. All thoughts of worry vanished, replaced almost immediately by his more common ponderings of revenge.
Have a seat, Snape drawled at last, ignoring the silent exchange. And speak with me after class. Five points from Slytherin. Your attention back to the board! Adrenaline potions take advantage of apparently already inherent ..
Malfoy took his seat crossly, sneering at Pansy as he sat down, who was smiling at him with knowing eyes. She appeared to laugh as she turned back to her notes, and Malfoy, already incredibly infuriated, yanked a scroll of parchment out from his bag, sprawling it on his desk and then grabbing a quill, wetting it and scribbling something quickly onto the paper. Harry would have turned away then, relatively satisfied, had the other boy not suddenly ripped the parchment apart, isolating the rectangle of it containing his short message.
He folded it angrily, reducing the rectangle into one three times less its original size. He grasped it in his hand, waiting until Snape turned his face to the board, at which point he spun around and threw the folded note nastily up to Harry.
It bounced on his desk neatly. Harry looked to his left, his right, confirming that no one had noticed before quickly opening it, bending his head over the smeared ink with a ready sneer. The message within, unfortunately, made no sense to him.
Thanks a lot, Potter.
He could imagine him speaking it, hear in his mind the venom his voice would contain. The question here was - what the hell? He had done nothing to the blonde recently.
He turned the paper over, grabbing his own quill. His lips twisted down into a horrible scowl, and he scribbled an answer.
What the fuck, Malfoy? I've barely so much as looked at you this morning! Enjoy your forty minutes off? What'd you do, find a nice closet and jack off?
He crumpled the note into a ball, too furious to be so neat as to fold. He threw it back at the blonde, cursing when it bounced off the back of Pansy's head instead.
In her desk, Pansy grinned, snatching the ball of parchment from the floor near her ankle. She began to open it, her face lit up like a naughty child on Christmas receiving the present she knew she didn't deserve, though Draco quickly snatched it from her.
the blonde hissed, bearing his white teeth. Pansy pouted for a second, then frowned, her face disappointed but not surprised.
He opened the note, reading it first once, then a second time, his face paling. It took him at least three minutes to answer, finally ripping off a new square of parchment. He wrote his answer, folding it and tossing it back toward the Gryffindor. He caught it easily, expecting it this time.
I can think of better things I would have liked to do with the time.
Harry frowned, trying to decide whether or not it was worth replying. He'd been hoping for something more like a clear verbal attack, not this neutral, annoyingly vague reply. He realized then how much he loathed vague answers, and quickly raised his quill. He wrote a reply, crumpling the note and throwing it back. This time it landed nicely near Draco's hand.
The blonde opened it, almost laughing at the lack of wit the answer contained.
Yeah well, fuck you Malfoy. You always think you're above the rules, don't you? Twelve minutes earlier and you might've gotten off with every single one of your House points intact. Egocentric, pigheaded ferret. Go fuck yourself!
The blonde sighed as he wrote his final reply, tossing it back halfheartedly.
Harry picked up the note eagerly, opening it as quickly as his fingers would allow. Somehow, he loved this new game. Writing off the prat was nearly as satisfying as telling him off, and the delay between shots heightened the anticipation, his anger boiling to its highest point before he was finally able to revel in a response.
Thank you for the request, but I'm fine, thank you. It saddens me that a relatively intelligent person such as yourself can't find the thought to write anything more complex than your own unrestrained thoughts, direct from your stubborn mind. Pathetic virgin.
He frowned at the answer, crumpling the note a final time and shoving it unhappily into his pocket, feeling cheated somehow. He shot Malfoy a dark glare only to find that the blonde had already given up, copying notes now, his expression erased blank once again.
Distraction gone, Harry's thoughts heaved back to the final reply, thinking it over furiously in his mind. Damn the blonde and his fucking eloquence! He hadn't even insulted him in the note, and yet it had managed to piss him entirely. Relatively intelligent wasn't a label that could make his blood boil; it was the condescending way it was worded that got to him. He was so distant, so calm, so completely bloody annoying!
And those final words, that last conspicuous insult - he had called him pathetic, yes, that made sense to him. But a pathetic ... virgin?
Harry's mind seethed. What right did he have to mock his sex life (or more accurately, his lack of one?). Malfoy himself was probably a whore, doing any girl that threw herself on his black silk doorstep. Maybe Pansy, even. The ungodly Millicent.
Yes. At least he wasn't a slut like Malfoy. Having a wasted first kiss that had led to absolutely nothing was entirely more fulfilling than the blonde's situation: giving away a crapload of kisses that led to .. well, everything.
He frowned. He was thinking it without hesitation, but a small part of his mind, a calmer part, doubted the claim. Was Malfoy indeed a whore? Could a sexual glutton be so infuriatingly clever with retorts? Some part of him thought whores weren't smart enough for that.
Malfoy hadn't even swore. He always swore at him.
That was a strange fact. But back to the mental battle - yes, Harry decided. It was respectable to be a virgin, it was almost noble, like a sacrifice made despite never having the option to not make it. It was moral, and certainly, one of the greatest things he could hold over the blonde were his morals. He doubted that Malfoy had very many, and knew that if he did, they were probably twisted.
Yes. Being a virgin was a decent thing. Malfoy was pathetic himself for mocking it. At least he knew now for certain that the blonde was not a virgin himself. Granted, he had never before wondered, but still, it was a new fact to retain. He had never wondered about it before. He had never cared to wonder.
And he still didn't care, of course. The icy feeling gripping his stomach was little more than disgust at having to imagine Malfoy doing things with other people, the anger flaring in his heart nothing more than old anger, old hate.
Other people?
... forty minutes to brew. Assemble your cauldrons; all needed ingredients are in the cabinet. You may now begin.
Harry's head snapped up, and he blinked, his thoughts vanishing. Ron tapped him on the shoulder, turning to him with a frown on his face (he hated this part, this actual application of knowledge) and speaking.
Should we use your cauldron, mate? Mine is, ehrm, a bit more worn out, and ..
Oh, sure Ron, he answered automatically. He stood shakily, feeling a bit lightheaded. I'll go get the ingredients, then.
the redhead answered vaguely, staring down at the open book in front of him. Harry turned away from him in time to see Hermione walk good-naturedly up to Neville, who smiled shyly, and as he turned toward the direction of the cabinet toward which everyone was heading, he caught sight of another.
Malfoy was stalking away from Pansy, people sidestepping to make way for him; the foul look on his face was intimidating to say the least, his dark eyes and almost predatory warning glare evidence of his terrible mood. He met Harry's eyes for a moment, frowned, and then promptly looked away.
The raven-haired boy did not dare to glare at him for the rest of the class; no, not even that; he could not summon the strength to do so. Instead he worked mercilessly on his adrenaline draught, confusing Ron terribly as he rushed through preparing the ingredients, slicing through roots and fresh herbs like a slightly insane tepanyaki chef, his eyes clouded over with anger and glued on his work.
He was first to finish, a full two and a half minutes before Malfoy.
Ten minutes later and five minutes to the end of class, Snape began his traditional round, inspecting everyone's potion for defects and handing out the appropriate (and sometimes disproportionate) marks.
Harry scowled when Malfoy's mark was announced, an expected Excellent consistency, Mr. Malfoy, and its perfect score. Hermione and Neville received a sneer and a nod (passing), as did the majority of the other students, especially those who happened to be Slytherin. Par usual, Snape made his way to Harry's table last, his grin expression alive with a twitch of anticipation.
He peered down gravely into the cauldron, his eyebrows raising slightly in a jerk of shock. It was a deep, nearly black navy blue, thick and bubbling vigorously. He stared down into it for a long moment, sneering before looking up.
A miraculous improvement, Potter, he spoke, disgruntled. One point for Gryffindor.
Harry grinned as the Professor stalked back to his desk, adverting his eyes to those of Malfoy, whom he was sure would be staring in utter disbelief. Instead, he seemed busy, packing his books before everyone else, a frown still locked on his face.
His smile faltering, Harry looked away, somehow ashamed.
Two minutes later a crowd of students was rushing for the doors of the dungeon classroom, bookbags and black-cloaked bodies bumping into each other rudely on the way out.
That was incredible, Harry, Hermione commented warmly as they filtered out into the damp hallway, a smile on her face. You studied all the potions in the chapter we were going over, didn't you? It must have been perfect for Snape to have to resort to passing you.
I did some work, Harry answered lowly in response. Hermione nodded, taking that as agreement, and then turned to Ron.
Did you and Harry study together, Ronald? she asked, her smile still set in place.
the redhead stuttered, frowning. In truth, seeing Harry pass a potion had been as shocking for him as it had been for Snape. Ehrm, that is. Yeah, Harry and I sometimes study together. Don't we, mate?
Sure, Ron, Harry answered amiably. He smiled down at Hermione, who was still grinning as though she herself had pulled off an academic miracle. He was still looking at her when that same grin suddenly dropped from her face, shifting quickly into a dark frown.
He looked up. Standing there in the corridor and blocking their way was Malfoy, his hands buried in his black pockets and his silver eyes adverted. He glanced toward him as the trio stopped, eying Harry intently. Pansy, next to him, smiled brightly.
What do you want, ferret? Harry spat out, his elation at having passed something in Potions fading as his old anger swelled, overtaking him. For their parts, Hermione stiffened, her brown eyes narrowing impolitely, and Ron clenched his fists, a foaming dog on a chain ready to sick.
Malfoy glared at him for a second, his lips pursed tightly, and did not speak. A few long seconds later, Pansy elbowed him suddenly just behind his forearm, and he sneered, at last opening his mouth.
I just wanted to congratulate you on your little triumph, Potter, he blurted out, his hands still hidden. I mean .. damn it. I mean, fuck, nice job, Potter. Nice fucking job. I guess you could be salvaged after all.
Harry stared at him, his scowl dropping into an odd sort of confused frown. He would have been very quick to take it as nothing more than a sardonic insult had the blonde not sounded so strangely .. nervous. His voice had been hesitant and rushed, as though spitting it out had been exceeding difficult for him. It left him slightly stunned, and as such, he took a longer time to reply.
Don't mock me, he hissed at last, his emerald eyes flashing. Malfoy stared back at him unblinkingly, his expression blank. His eyes were not surprised, not sparked into fury as Harry was so accustomed. He just stood there, staring.
he spat at last, turning. Pansy smirked at his rival, her eyes glimmering as she looked him up and down curiously before turning to stalk away with her friend.
What a bloody asshole, Harry muttered as the pair walked off, his scowl deepening at the thought of the fight. Nice fucking job, he'd said. His passing grade had probably, he thought, just completely ravaged the blonde's morning. That, of course, and the five points.
Hermione spoke up hesitantly a moment later. He grunted to signify his attention. I hate Malfoy as much as you do, but there was something very wrong with that. I don't think he was insulting you.
He was just being witty, Herm, the raven-haired boy hissed. He said it purposely so that it could be taken either way. It's just what he does. Goddamn annoying is what it is ..
Yeah, Mione, when he said nice job he really meant, ahh, Ron began, pausing to think for a second. Really terrible, crappy job.
Hermione spoke, her voice almost a sigh. She said nothing more, watching as, many feet ahead of them, Malfoy and Pansy disappeared around a corner.
Up ahead, first said person was cursing under his breath, walking exceedingly fast to get away from the person he knew was following behind him.
Why the fuck did I say that? he swore, muttering to himself loudly.
Because you mumbled Nice job, Potter' under your breath after class and I overheard you, then kindly suggested you pass that on to him yourself, Pansy answered contentedly, unbuttoning the first two buttons of her white shirt.
Kindly suggested my arse, Draco answered furiously, turning his head to glare murderously upon her smiling face. You threatened to tell him what I'd said if I didn't do it myself. Not one to have you fucking around in my life, I was forced to agree.
I personally think it went very well, she answered cheerfully. Draco sighed, ready to strangle her but finding himself too angry with Potter at the moment to go through with it.
Stubborn, furious, assuming Potter. Well, fuck him. Fuck him and his ability to twist compliments into death threats. Draco was sick of being treated as though he were the same boy he'd been a week ago, the same boy he'd been for the past five years and more.
Fuck him for being sensible for once when it ended up only infuriating him.
It went pathetically unwell, the blonde sneered. He didn't listen to a fucking word I said, Panse. I said nice job and he heard, Nice job sucking as usual you pathetic failure of a Gryffindor,' I mean, bleeding hell! It's a worthless effort.
I think you confused him a little, Pansy offered consolingly.
I think I just complimented a fucking wall, Draco snapped back, unable to be comforted. I can't believe I would entertain even for a moment the thought of going along with you. I even crossed my fucking fingers, as you so kindly suggested.
He withdraw his hands from his pockets, revealing indeed just that.
Maybe you're jinxed around Potter, Pansy laughed, smiling.
Don't be a moron, Panse, Draco muttered darkly. It's not a curse. It's inertia.Harry, what are you doing? Hermione asked suddenly, frowning as she turned away from her plate to gaze at him, concern etched into her face. He stopped for a moment, his hand frozen in midair, then brought it down suddenly, slamming his knife with such force through his chicken breast that it screeched as it scraped the metal plate, leaving a thin scratch.
Pretending this chicken is Draco, he snarled. Ron, on the other side of him, piped up, his head cocking to the side with confusion.
You mean Malfoy, mate? he asked. The raven-haired boy nodded darkly, stabbing his food a second time; a piece of chicken flew near the bowl of biscuits.
You're acting like a child, Harry, the girl near him whispered, emphasizing his name as though it were a word key to returning him to his old self. We all loathe Malfoy for what he's done to us over the years. I hate him for what he nearly did to Ron, you know that, but all of today you've been so .. completely not yourself. You fume, Harry, you don't tear apart inadement objects at dinner.
It's true, Ron agreed immediately. He had been pale all through dinner, always up for verbally murdering Malfoy but very uncomfortable with the idea of wielding a knife in the name of their hate for him. He's ignoring us now. He's really been ignoring us all day, so you should .. try to calm down.
Harry stabbed the knife into the chicken, looking up across the Great Hall. He wanted their words to not be true; he wanted to look up and see Malfoy glaring back at him, a threat, a waiting attack.
Instead, the blonde was calmly eating what looked to be some kind of green vegetable, his eyes downcast, his lips parted slightly, his face devoid of emotion.
Harry dropped the knife quietly to the table, picking up a fork instead. Without answering his friends, he began to slowly eat his mashed potatoes, unaware that although Malfoy's eyes had not answered back, another's had.
Pansy smirked as she lifted a sprig of steaming broccoli to her lips.
Look at Potter, she said loudly, completely aware that Draco was in no way listening to her words, let alone obeying them. He's been like that all day. Edgy, violent. Stabbing cooked pieces of already dead things. It's funny, Drake.
Why is it funny, Panse? he answered in a monotone, chewing slowly afterwards.
she smiled. He's acting just like you usually do.
Draco stopped in chewing his food, swallowing the pulp of it suddenly as he jerked his head toward his friend, his eyes dark and narrowed.
I don't find that amusing at all, Panse, he frowned, an undertone of warning in his voice.
Oh, but I do, she continued, intrigued now that she had figured it all out. It's obvious why, you know. You've reversed the roles, Drake. You've finally managed to change the rules of the game in your own favor.
You're not making any sense, Draco hissed. It was obvious in his voice what he was not saying - fuck you, Panse, shut the hell up - but she went on, ignoring it expertly.
It had always been you torturing him, you making the first move. He had always been the one who wanted little more than to be left alone, but now, now he wants the attention, he wants the fight, and you're denying him it. You're eating your dinner quietly, playing the victim.
I'm not playing anything, Draco snapped, raising his voice. I'm just fucking sick of it, all right? I'm just fucking tired! Can't you for once leave it be?
Don't you get it, Drake? Pansy answered excitedly, turning toward him. Potter can't do it forever, it's not in his nature to be the predator. He's going to give it up eventually, and then there will no longer be set roles for your rivalry! No expectations! With that freedom, he might be a little less assuming. He might be more willing to -
I said leave it be! Draco shouted suddenly, interrupting her. Her mouth hung open slightly before she closed it, her eyes wide and knowing. She knew it would not be left unfinished.
Draco sneered down at her for a moment before returning to his food, stabbing his piece of vegetable rudely with his fork. He was tired of thinking about it, tired of hearing about it from her. Did she not realize that some things were beyond analysis?
You were so quiet today, Pansy whispered, turning back to her own food sullenly. You can't deny it any longer. It's out of your control now, isn't it? It's no wonder you want to abandon it. You hate not being able to dictate yourself.
Draco opened his mouth immediately, ready to retort, but stopped as he watched Pansy return submissively to her plate, not saying another word on the subject.
Ahh .. Draco? You guys done? a voice spoke quietly from one seat behind the girl. The blonde blinked, feeling hollow once again.
Yes Blaise, he growled. His friend leaned forward, putting himself in full view had Draco bothered to turn his head and glance at him. He pointed up hesitantly into the Great Hall, toward its wide windows.
I think an owl is heading your way, Blaise grinned shyly. The blonde's head jerked up at this, and he turned to stare in the direction of his finger. There, indeed, flying past the window now and toward him, was his mother's owl.
he spoke aloud, raising an eyebrow, confused.
He came this morning, but you'd missed breakfast, Blaise explained lightly, reaching for a fresh roll.
Draco grunted, his lips pursing into a thin line. Letters from his mother were generally unnerving things, cheerful and supportive with an underlying theme of threat intended to instill motivation. The gods knew what she had to say about the fucking Prophet; she had most likely been too ashamed to write a letter in response to that alone.
He hoped, vaguely, that she had replied with an entirely sensible explanation in response to his question. Feigning interest, he raised his forearm, waiting as she dove toward him.
===============================================================
Draco: Good evening, Ms. Rose. I've prepared this cup of hot, steaming, genuine coffee for you. Relax and consume every drop.
Harry: He ground it himself, you know. =cough=
Ms. Rose: Ahh .. thank you, pookie, but I don't drink coffee. I loathe the stuff.
Draco: FINE! Hold on a second. =dumps in some milk= Okay here, now it's a fucking latté, DRINK IT all ready!
Ms. Rose: Ahh .. well .. thank you ..
Harry: =snort=
Draco: =rubs hands together greedily=
Ms. Rose: Uhm .. err .. =peers down into cup= .. Drake, this isn't coffee. It's hot water with a ton of black and green ground-up floating crap in it.
Harry: Apple seeds, to be exact.
Draco: FUCKING HELL! TRAITOR! I THOUGHT WE WERE IN THIS TOGETHER! .... I mean what the hell, no, it's coffee. I think it's getting kinda cold maybe you should just DRINK IT really quickly now ..
Ms. Rose: Apple seeds contain cyanide, don't they?
Harry: Desperate men do desperate things.
Ms. Rose: You're just angry about the dream scene. =ruffles blond hair= Poor widdle Dwakey-Wakey-poo, did it make you blush?
Draco: Your demise is on the horizon, bitch. I do not give up so easily.
Ms. Rose: Really, now. What's next? Arsenic donuts for our dear readers?
Draco: Of course not. Potter, we don't need to take this shit, let's go.
Harry: Go where?
Draco: We have some grocery shopping to do.
Ms. Rose: Don't forget the Extra-Virgin Olive Oil ...
Harry: Thanks, but our bottle is only half-
Draco: COME ALONG, POTTER!
