- Secrets of the Forbidden Broomcloset -
Authoress Ramble: Yet another short chapter, but oh well! I decided to write tonight because I just started a new fanfiction about Howl's Moving Castle (which is incredible, by the way, if you haven't seen it) and as I posted it I thought, damn. All these people are going to get these alerts and be pissed off that isn't Harry and Draco, and then they'll take me off their lists in their anger and I'll be unpopular. So I wrote Friday. I hope you like it.
Warnings: This story has been rated "R" for repeated use of language and eventual sexual content (just some minor references 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 Friday in the story.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Pansy knocked impatiently on the heavy wooden door, sighing and rolling her eyes at the silence she was given in return. It was now twenty minutes into her first class, and although she knew that assisting her dearest of friends was her highest priority, he was making it rather difficult for her.
"Really, darling," she said loudly, her full lips nearly touching the paneling. "I know you're in there. A pure-blood never sleeps through his misery. Come now, precious!"
Silence. Pansy sighed deeply, twisting her silky hair restlessly around her fingers. Draco had rarely been this firm before in refusing her. Obviously, his little interlude with Potter last night had cut deep … an offense Pansy would forgive him once he took his rightful place on Draco's arm and started satisfying instead of isolating him.
"Well, my love," she began icily, giving up reason for malicious threat, "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Now, the easy way is to open the door and let me fix this, and the hard way is to ignore me until I become blinded by my anger and decide instead to take it out on Potter."
There was a long pause, and then, suddenly, what sounded like the loud shattering of glass against the other side of the door.
A response! Success!
Pansy licked her lips, pleased with herself. Meddling with Potter had clearly become Draco's weak point – how had she not thought of this before? She would have to remember this when she needed attention from Draco after the plan had succeeded. Oh, but didn't love always create weakness in a person? Even her precious blonde couldn't escape that reality.
"I'm getting angry …" she continued, paying mind to keep her voice edgy, focused, but clearly on the point of running to Potter with the announcement that Draco was crying in bed all because of him.
"I'm warning you, Pansy," came the ice-cold voice from beyond the door. "If you do this to me now, I may never forgive you."
"Love, though you may not see it now, I intend to make your every wish come true," she replied seriously, smiling slightly in spite of herself.
"Unless you are carrying a box filled with Harry Potter's dismembered corpse," the voice announced bitterly, "You are not entering this room."
"Well," Pansy said with a slight smirk, "Not that wish."
"Then fuck off."
"Oh, but precious," she continued, treading carefully, letting his every word sink into her mind for fear of what clues it may contain, "How can I help you improve your life when you insist on shutting yourself up alone?"
"You want to improve my life?" the voice answered coldly. "Then swear from this moment never, never again to speak the name of Harry fucking Potter, because if you do, your limbs will end up mixed with his."
Pansy licked her lips, thinking. It was clear now that Draco was just on the other side of the door, and his whisper, despite her resolve, was still rather frightening. A part of her mind – a very neglected part, mind you – whispered that perhaps this may be a good time to leave him be.
Unfortunately, there wasn't time for that.
"Make a choice, Drake," she whispered. "Let me into the room, or let me run and tell Potter all of your secrets."
"Potter already knows my secret."
"Your family's connection to Lord Voldemort?"
"Don't fuck with me, Pansy."
"Oh, that secret. Wait – the secret applying to all boys, or only to him?"
"There are no other boys."
"Of course not."
"Go and talk to him. See if I fucking care, Pansy, because there isn't a thing you could say that he hasn't already experienced or guessed. If you enjoy humiliating me so fucking much, then go – go and enjoy yourself."
Pansy frowned, her seaglass eyes dulling considerably. It was one thing to know that Draco had locked himself up alone to sulk – it was one thing to know that he was in turmoil over this. But it was unbearably sad to think that Potter had already managed to scar his heart.
"You told him?" Pansy whispered, her voice softer now, even sympathetic.
"I didn't have to tell him anything," the voice answered bitterly.
"You …" she replied, her voice drifting off at the image of it. This was wrong. This was all horribly wrong! Draco was supposed to wait to do something this stupid until she'd done it for him! Potter was supposed to be cornered into loving him, trapped to the point that he had no other option but to give in – not have Draco dangled in front of him this way, with so much opportunity to be stubborn and practical!
"Yes," the voice spat.
She waited a moment, and then, the better of part of her character unable to stop herself, asked:
"Was it good?"
"You're heartless," the voice whispered after a long pause, and for the first time, Pansy realized just how exhausted Draco seemed beneath all that fury and hatred. Her heart clenched again, and she wished she knew how to show her love in a way that was less selfish, or at least less dramatic.
"I know," she whispered, leaning her forehead against the door and smiling softly. "But it's a perfectly relevant question. Did you both enjoy it?"
"It was .. very .. good. I was almost sure it wouldn't stop until the bastard announced I was a slut and walked away."
Pansy let this sink in, and then, in spite of her best intentions to be nice, she let out a stifled chuckle. It came out like a combination of a sneeze and a moan, but Draco knew her too well to be deceived. She could imagine his face hardening, his eyes darkening as he said, after a furious pause:
"And just what is so bloody fucking funny about that, Pansy?"
"It's just … you … a slut? You barely give your poor love-sick admirers the time of day. Less, if they don't happen to be Slytherin."
"Well, apparently this entire load of rubbish we've been building up has all been, on my part, a shallow ploy for sex."
"He's making excuses, darling."
"Really, do you think so?" the cold voice answered, sarcastic now as well as vicious. "Do you think he's letting me down slowly? I suppose telling me how much the kiss disgusted him may have been just a bit too harsh."
"But the kiss was good."
"Think of all the boys you've treated, Pansy. Think very, very hard. Now – did you give a flying fuck about any of them?"
"No," she replied simply. "But then again, I never made any excuses."
"And what does that mean?"
"It means that Potter is just scared. He's running away and dreaming up scenarios to make it noble, because his life would come crashing down if he ever admitted he were attracted to boys, especially one so dangerous as you."
There was another long pause from the other side of the door, and Pansy, though she may have been wrong, thought she detected the smallest of sighs.
"I'm bloody sick of being hopeful," he whispered bitterly. "You're the one with all the excuses, Pansy. Maybe the two of us are just finally being fucking honest, for once."
Pansy sighed a little herself. She knew her plan was just around the corner, and with it, their joyful reunion and lifetime of passionate love and even more passionate love-making – but as she could reveal none of this to her precious Drake, there was little she could say or do to comfort him.
It was rather depressing, really.
"I know this is a shitty thing to say," she whispered through the door. "But maybe it'll all work out right in the end."
There was cold laughter from the other side of the door, and then heavy footsteps. Her lips falling into a surprised frown, Pansy knew that Draco had gone.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
This particular Friday was a nightmare for Harry. Draco's absence from each and every one of the classes they shared tormented him in a way that his actual presence most likely could not have. It was abnormal, reminding him constantly that what had happened between them was not a dream, was not a game, and was not, by either of them, forgotten.
On top of this, he had to deal with the ever-present affection of Ron and Hermione. He was, of course, happy for the both of them – they were his best friends, after all, and he had been waiting for this to happen – but catching glimpses of their affectionate smiles, their slyly touching hands, their whispered exchanges – the whole thing reeked of love too much for someone who had just recently had such a miserable encounter with it.
Still, though, he had somehow made it through the day, and here he was, sitting in the Gryffindor common room, trying desperately to ignore the way in which Hermione's ankle seemed to find its way behind Ron's leg. He was reading, or at least trying to read, but it was exhausting.
Harry had never realized until now just how attentive Ron and Hermione were to his moods. By this time, one of them would have surely asked what was wrong, and it would have been a relief to make up a lie about why, if only to speak of it secretly.
But now, the two were obviously too obsessed with each other to mind Harry's thoughts. He had always felt isolated from them, in some ways – it was impossible not to, what with his impending destiny. But this was a new sensation, one which created an isolation on almost every level. They hardly had time to look at him, let alone save him from these stifling thoughts of Draco.
Draco. Where was he? Had he honestly stayed in bed all day? Or had he and Pansy and Blaise joined forces to plot against him? Maybe they were all huddled together in the Slytherin common room right now, discussing the various methods in which they might ensure his downfall, or at least, his humiliation.
He frowned. No – Draco would keep this quiet.
He pursed his lips. He could not escape his final glimpse of Draco, his hair wild and unkempt, startling white against the black of the sky and the shifting emerald of the grasses, his eyes wide with more than shock – with a kind of sincerity Harry had never seen in them before. He was not only angry – he was wounded.
Harry closed his book, excusing himself quietly and wandering up to bed.
His theory, of course, was that Draco had been anything but sincere. The entire thing had been a charade, a trap of sorts, to get Harry to sleep with him, because it was impossible to imagine that Draco might want anything more than that. He had even considered that Draco was trying to get close to him in the name of the dark Lord.
But sliding into the covers, he could not erase from his mind that last glimpse of his grey eyes, luminous in the moonlight, so fragile they might shatter, watching him walk away.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Draco: Lame.
Ms. Rose: How dare you! I love that last line. It's sweet.
Harry: I'm so introspective!
Draco: "So fragile they might shatter." You dare to call me fragile? If you weren't a Muggle whose death would as easy as snuffing out a candle, I might demonstrate to you the extent of my power.
Harry: I believe she's referring to your emotional vulnerability.
Draco: This story is ridiculous. We spend most of our time sulking alone about each other. What are we, a pair of pathetic, whiny little girls? Why don't we take out our emotions the healthy way, and duel one another to the death?
Ms. Rose: Because you're avoiding one another. At least, for now.
Harry: At least until Saturday, when Pansy's plan commences. Are you going to put in a long, exciting Quidditch scene?
Draco: I have an idea for the ending! Have Harry fly into the stands and die of a head injury before this nasty little "plan" even has a chance to hatch into existence.
Ms. Rose: I don't think that's very romantic.
Harry: We'd have to put WARNING CHARACTER DEATH in the summary, and then who would read it?
Draco: Oh, we're obligated to warn readers of content, now? Why not add WARNING COMPLETELY UNREALISTIC LOAD OF RUBBISH, or, for those American readers, WARNING COMPLETE BULLSHIT?
Ms. Rose: I think WARNING HOT SEX would be acceptable.
Harry: WARNING! BITCHY BLONDE COMMENTARY.
Draco: Oh, go stick a wand up your arse.
