- Secrets of the Forbidden Broomcloset -
Authoress Ramble: Ohh, well hasn't it just been … forever … since I updated this! I'm sorry. There was moving to Madison, and starting college, and being depressed … a very crazy time for me … and I'm trying to dedicate myself now to being a better authoress slave to you all. By the way, I can't seem to make lines between scenes – they and other symbols seem to disappear upon post – and I don't know how to fix that, so I'm sorry! Don't get confused!
Warnings: This story has been rated "R" for repeated use of language and eventual sexual content (just a kiss 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 Thursday evening in the story.
"Only two days left, my delicious little darling," swooned a girl with lovely, though sharp, features, clasping her hands together and twirling happily in a circle. "Ooh, ooh ooh, I absolutely can't wait!"
"I can," her companion muttered miserably. He sat figgeting on a single bed draped in green velvet, his face reflecting a similar, though sicker, shade. The torches of the dormitory room flickered eerily on the windowless stone walls of the dungeon, where Pansy's tall black shadow danced in unmitigated joy.
"Oh love," she said, stopping suddenly so that her skirts swung wildly around her legs. "You can't possibly not be just the tiniest bit excited. By this time in two days, Harry Potter will be naked in our very special friend's bed, who will be the happiest bloke in the whole world!"
"Or we'll muff it up, and be killed."
"Oh hush," she scolded, in the same sing-song voice. "Don't you want to see his face positively glowing with true love?"
"Frankly, I'd rather live," spat Blaise.
"Oh precious, he'll be too overjoyed to kill us!" she exclaimed, sighing happily.
"Say we're wrong about him wanting Potter," the flushed boy began sulkily, only to be interrupted again by the same lovely chant.
"Nonsense, nonsense," she said carelessly, waving him off.
"Say we humiliate him on the Quidditch field …"
"Oh bloody Quidditch, who gives a rat's arse about that, our precious Drake – blessed with eternal love, eternally grateful to his friends, so clever, so brave, helping fate along …!"
"… finds us out and murders us in cold blood …"
"… his guardian angels, bringing him his life partner as good as wrapped in a bright red bow, a happy life with his soulmate, little blonde green-eyed babies calling me Auntie Pansy, no – no! – Godmother Pansy …"
"Pansy, would you shut it and listen to me for a moment!" shrieked Blaise, jumping up from the bed. She did, turning to give him a sour, impatient stare. "Look, Panse, there are a thousand ways this could go wrong. Your plan, it's, it's, well … it's certifiably bloody insane, and you know it!"
"Oh nonsense, you cowardly little git," said Pansy, her nose high in the air. "It's perfectly simple. Do we need to go over it again?"
"No," said Blaise vivaciously, but she had already begun.
"So! Before the game, we steal into his room, immobilize him, and then I take the polyjuice potion" – here she took a flask out of her skirt, flashing it in front of his face with a devious little smile – "and transform into Drake, and then you take some and transform into me-"
"Why do I need to transform into you?" Blaise asked, looking sick again.
"Because, precious, everyone would notice if I was missing, but no one's going to be having a fit over you, not on a game day."
Blaise pursed his lips angrily at this, which Pansy took as invitation to go on.
"Then you – as me, of course – secure Draco, proceed to the match, and guard him in the stands until it ends. And then I-"
"Panse," he interrupted suddenly. "The polyjuice potion only lasts for an hour, what if the game goes on too long?"
"I'll end it early," she announced simply.
"By catching the Snitch?" Blaise gaped, his jaw dropping open.
"Is there another way to end it?"
"Pansy, it's not easy to catch that bloody thing, it takes a great deal of skill and practice, few people can consider themselves-"
"You know I'm very good with my hands, love."
"Pansy-"
"Oh, shut it. So we end the game, and I wait until all the other members of the Gryffindor team wander away, and then I strike, and corner Potter alone, where he has no choice but to listen to me-"
"What if you can't get him alo-"
"And then confess my – I mean, of course, Drake's – undying love and sexual desire, and then mysteriously slip away, return to my true form, free Draco and restore him to his body, and then the next time Potter sees our darling-"
"But what if-"
"He'll smother him with kisses and carry him off to bed, and we'll have our own private victory celebration as they consummate their love!"
Blaise had been listening to this with barely restrained horror, and now, as Pansy ended her speech with a long, happy sigh, he seized the opportunity, standing and raising his voice to a level so uncomfortable he nearly shrieked as he spoke.
"Or," he yelped, "Or, you won't be able to catch the Snitch and you'll transform back into yourself in the air and Slytherin will have to forfeit the whole match, in which case everyone will want to kill us, or Draco, upon transforming back into himself, will murder us both for impersonating him on the field, clearly not flattering him, and worse, for misleading Potter, which could get 'round the whole school, and then everyone would know he fancied Potter in which case he'd surely torture us prior to our murder, or-"
"My god, precious, take a breath," said Pansy, curling her nose in distaste. "You worry too much! Everything will be fine."
"Fine!" shrieked Blaise. "Fine! Oh, right, it'll be jolly good until Draco's wand is down my throat!"
Here Pansy sighed, as if explaining something obvious to a nagging child.
"If it doesn't work out," she said slowly, "Which of course it won't, you know … there are always memory charms."
"Memory charms," Blaise repeated slowly, after a long pause.
"Memory charms," she said, and smiled.
Blaise licked his lips slowly, staring at his knees for a time, and then shyly glanced upwards.
"What sort of ... private victory celebration?"
Pansy flashed him her most cunning, vivacious smile, bearing her sharp white teeth in an almost primal way before leaning forward and patting him firmly on the thigh.
"We can talk about that later," she replied silkily. "We have more important things to discuss: like the one factor that threatens to ruin the entire plan."
"Factor? What factor?" Blaise asked, momentarily forgetting the many reasons he had previously sworn would lead to his demise.
"Hermione Granger," said Pansy tartly, tossing her hair in annoyance.
"Granger?" Blaise questioned. "Granger, the bookworm Granger? What's she got to do with anything?"
"The woman is a hawk," Pansy explained scornfully, "And Potter is her fat little mouse. The moment we start sniffing around Potter, she'll know, and god knows she might get suspicious, or worse, interfere outright."
"You think so?" Blaise asked doubtfully.
"Absolutely," said Pansy. "And we can't afford a setback like that. Time is of the essence here – we can't risk it. That's why I'm going to take care of her tonight."
"Take .. take care of her?"
"Oh, yes, darling," said Pansy slowly, narrowing her dark eyes.
"H-How?"
"Let us just say, love," she explained in a sultry voice, "That if Potter is her fat little mouse, we'll only just dangle a lame bunny rabbit in front of her for awhile. By the time her meal's gone cold, we'll dropping our mousie into love stew."
"My god," said Blaise, partly horrified and partly curious. "I don't know what the bloody hell that means, but it sounds evil, and evil usually works."
"Only my kind of evil, precious," said Pansy, her voice mysteriously light. "You'll excuse me, love. I'm off to the library."
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"Oh, Granger!"
Pansy slid into a seat at the same heavy wood table, letting out a content little sigh and flipping her hair back carelessly, smiling a lovely little smile. "Fancy finding you here!"
Hermione, who had been contentedly reading an anonymous heavy, leather-bound spellbook, raised her eyes suspiciously above the pages, keeping her true expression hidden.
"Oh, Pansy," she said softly. "I didn't know you read things."
"Well, you know, from time to time … oh to hell with it, you've caught me!" Pansy said in one long breath, following it all with a sparkling laugh. "Oh Granger, Granger, you're as sharp as McGonagall! What I've really come here for is to ask you a favor."
"A favor?" Hermione asked, whispering in lieu of proper library conduct. "Oh, really. And what sort of favor would that be? Don't tell me you need help passing something."
"Passing? Oh, gods no," replied Pansy, who laughed lightly again.
Hermione narrowed her wide brown eyes.
"I won't make some illegal love potion for you," she hissed nastily.
"Oh, darling, do you really think I need a love potion?"
"Then what?" she asked irritably, still obscured by her large book.
"Well," said Pansy excitedly, who pressed her hands palm-down on the table and leaned across it, keeping her eyes level with those of her companion, "Well, it's a little silly, really. But you just happen to be close with a bloke who I, well, hm'mmm …"
Here she pretended to blush, adverting her eyes shyly. Hermione narrowed her eyes to snakelike slits.
"Whom you fancy," she finished dryly.
"Oh yes, god Granger, you're so right," Pansy spilled out, her voice heavy with longing. "You don't know how long I've wanted him, Granger. Every night, as I slip into bed, I press my hand to my chest – I mean, my heart – and I pray to Salazaar that he'll notice me –"
"Notice you?" said Hermione viciously. "Have you tried leaving a room with your back turned?"
"Don't flatter me, Granger," said Pansy, sniffling as if on the verge of tears. "You don't understand what it's like to long for someone, to ache night after night, craving their very-"
"That's enough, Parkinson!" hissed Hermione, looking around the room quickly before giving her a nasty glare. "I get the point. Do you mind keeping it down a little? We're in the library, if she hears something so obviously sexual-"
"So you'll help me?"
"Help you?" she gasped, finally lowering her book to reveal a face flushed red with anger and embarrassment. "You've been around half the school, Parkinson. I won't let Harry be your next conquest!"
"Harry?" Pansy asked feebly. "Harry … you mean … Harry Potter?"
"Of course!" Hermione whispered harshly. "Do you think I'm stupid?"
"But," Pansy began, trailing off into a shy giggle. "Harry Potter … he wouldn't look at anything in a skirt twice. Surely you've ..?"
Hermione's face flushed a deep shade of crimson, and she pulled the book to her chest as if to protect herself.
"Don't say things like that about him," she said softly, her features fierce.
"I'm sorry," said Pansy in a drole voice, "It's beyond the point, anyway. You have to realize that I mean … Ronald, don't you?"
"Ronald?" Hermione gasped. She opened her mouth, then shut it again, licking her lips nervously even as they shook. "You can't be … you can't be serious!"
"I know, I know," said Pansy in a voice that was convincingly tragic. "He's a Gryffindor, I'm a Slytherin, our families would feud over our love! … it's like Rome and Julianne, or whatever that Muggle rubbish was called!"
"Romeo and Juliet," Hermione corrected automatically.
"Yes," said Pansy, wiping away a tear. "That. But even though so much tears us apart, I know that if he just … if he knew how I felt, how deeply, how passionately I .. I need him in my life … oh Granger, I know he'd come to me."
She seemed to be a loss for words. Still holding onto her book for dear life, the color seemed to have drained from her face; and after a long, awkward moment, she swallowed, and parted her lips.
"Why .. why Ron?" she asked in a distant voice.
"Well," began Pansy, but stopped, again adverting her eyes as if horribly shy, but finally going on in a soft whisper. "Surely you've noticed …"
"Noticed what?" Hermione said, though she was almost afraid to ask.
"Well," she began again, shyly, sweetly, "How very much he's … mmm … grown up."
"Actually, I haven't really .."
"Oh, but Granger," Pansy cried passionately, suddenly standing and leaning across the table down toward her dazed companion. "Surely you've noticed that scrawny, freckled body making way to the body of a tall, slender but … oh, strong! … man?"
"I don't look at Ron that …"
"Those chiseled cheekbones, and those endless sky-blue eyes …"
"N-No, I …"
"And that hair, god, that hair, so vibrantly red, so rich, like melted fire … I've always had a thing for redheads, you know."
Hermione swallowed, looking down at her lap uncomfortably.
"It contrasts perfectly with all that milky, pale skin. And have you noticed his arms?"
"His arms?" she asked weakly, pulling the book tighter against her chest.
"Oh, yes, his arms. Some boys, their arms are as flabby as those worm things, and some are so buffed up it would be like being embraced by a pile of rocks, but his … they're the perfect balance. Do you know what I mean?"
"Ronald's arms have really been of minimal interest to me, I don't look at him like …"
"Do you know what his arms remind me of?"
"Please don't tell me."
"Peaches. I mean, a bunch of good, fresh, ripe peaches. They're firm, but still soft to the touch. Peaches warmed by the summer sun … he's been ripe for a long time now, and I think it's time our Ronald was finally plucked!"
Hermione, who all this time had been sitting as though waiting to be struck, seemed to have finally reached her breaking point. She pressed her eyes tightly together, opened her lips to take in a long, desperate breath, and yelped:
"If I tell him you think his arms are like peaches, will you please go away and just leave me to my reading?"
Pansy stopped, standing up fully. If Hermione had opened her eyes a moment earlier, she might have seen the devilish smile that flooded her features only for the briefest of moments.
"That won't be necessary," she said coolly. "I only want you to give him this."
Here she removed from her pocket a note of parchment folded down into a neat little box. She set it carefully on the table, resting her fingertips on it as she spoke.
"I'd really rather you didn't read it," she said softly. "It's quite personal."
Hermione reached out and blindly snatched the note, shoving it in her pocket as if it were on fire.
"Don't worry," she said, still trying to catch her breath. Finally, her features hardened, though they still seemed on the verge of shattering. She looked up briefly, her eyes wet and fierce. "I've heard enough."
Hours later, Ron would be snoring in his four-poster, having failed in his noble attempt to wait up for Harry. His best friend would climb in silently through the window, the back of his head shrouded in moonlight, his face eclipsed. He would place the Firebolt carefully back in its place, quietly change – and just as he slid back his curtains, the wood of his bed would moan a little, half-rousing his friend from his peaceful slumber.
"Harry," Ron mumbled. "You .. you all right then?"
"I'm fine, Ron," a voice whispered back in the dark.
"Did 'e .. did he fight .." – here a long, deep yawn – "fight you?"
Silence. There was some shuffling in the darkness, like someone getting under the covers, and then finally, a reply.
"Yes," the voice said.
"Di'you win, Harry?" he mumbled.
Now there was a longer silence, one that stretched out, it seemed, forever; and Ron was nearly back asleep when the voice spoke out.
"Go to sleep, Ron," it said. And he did.
Harry could not make peace with his mind as easily as could Ron. He lay awake for a long time, rigid under the warm sheets, shifting uncomfortably as the kiss inevitably came back to him. It would have been better if it was just a stupid, simple kiss – that, maybe, he could've convinced himself to be awkward, or wrong, or just too quick to recall. But their kiss had been a series of a thousand kisses melting into one another, each new one a little more desperate, each one different in some way, maybe by fingertips finding their way to his neck, maybe by feeling white silk falling through his fingers, maybe by warm breath on his cheek …
He groaned, trying to banish all of them, all the miserable, precious details, from his mind. He tried to convince himself that it had all been a ploy for sex, but deep down, in the darkness, in the silence, of his bed, he knew that couldn't logically be right. The kiss had been too desperate, and it went on not as though Draco were expecting more to follow, but as if he were drinking in every second like it was doomed to end.
But if it wasn't that – if it wasn't just for sex – what could it possibly mean? Draco couldn't fancy him anymore than he could fancy Draco; it was fundamentally incorrect, like the matching ends of magnets pressed together. When he thought of Draco loving, he thought of Draco's stiff parents, as filled with happiness and passion as a cracked, dark oil painting. He had never thought of anything so breathless, so wanting, as the kiss.
He closed his eyes, willing sleep on. What if … what if he actually wanted it again?
This led him to a horrible thought, one that he felt before he heard; it jolted his chest like a splash of icy water: he had already rejected Draco; he had already made his choice; and it was too late. Assuming Draco had really brought him to the field to invite him into this – he wasn't sure what to call it, this incredible new world where Draco was sexier than any woman he'd ever seen, any man, any anything – if he had, he would probably never forgive him for ruining everything. Draco was not someone, he knew, who could forgive easily, if at all. He'd disgraced the chance forever, and there was no going back.
With this horrible chant in his mind, he soon lost hold of anything but this miserable feeling of hopelessness. As sleep gradually settled into him, he grasped at the kiss, fast becoming a dream – of every warm, gentle touch, of his lips pressed into his, and the yearning that kept him going back for more and coaxing him in, all in the same movement.
He fell asleep with his lips still parted, waiting for it to start again.
Fin for now!
Ms. Rose: So what did you boys think of the movie?
Draco: Frankly, I am absolutely outraged. No one from that sodding company contacted me in order to ask permission for my portrayal!
Harry: Not rich enough, are you?
Draco: That filthy actor looked nothing like me.
Harry: Oh, I don't know about …
Draco: His hair was clearly charmed an unnatural color. And sitting in a tree. Have you ever seen me sitting in a goddamn tree, Potter?
Harry: The ferret, though. That was a fairly sharp rendition of your ferret-self.
Draco: Maybe if they hadn't shown me crawling down the front of Goyle's trousers! They show this movie to children? That would clearly be a highly inappropriate act of sexual abuse against a student, ferret or not –
Harry: And the scene with Moaning Myrtle … oh, god …
Draco: Please, tell me that never really happened.
Harry: Are you kidding me?
Draco: The entire film was clearly perverse. And what was with those ridiculous sound effects for our wands! Bang! Zoom! Flash! And in a cloud of magical sparkles I do something amazing!
Harry: That was laughable, I agree.
Draco: Yes, Muggles, it's exactly like that. They may as well have shown us making potions in little Muggle Easy Bake Ovens, for Merlin's sake.
Harry: And there were no Veela at the World Cup!
Draco: I suppose the bang! flash! sparkle! people couldn't use their amazing charms to make that one happen.
Harry: That was the most disappointing part, I think.
Draco: Yes. Pity, pity. A good Veela scene might have made the experience slightly worth it.
Ms. Rose: So what would you say? Two stars?
Draco: I give it a bang, a flash and a sodding sparkle.
