Muchas gracias go out to: DCoD, fifespice, weirdlyyours, Poetic License, Weasleylover35753, and DivineDarkness. I love you all madly!
And now, the much-loved morning-after scene. Much slashy subtext insues.
Chapter Twelve: Definite Possibilities
Harry stirred on the bed, groaning. It was his bed; he could tell from the wrinkled sheets. Finding Draco Malfoy sprawled out beside him did not seem to fit the previous fact. He was quite alarmed for a few seconds before he remembered the Cheering Charms of the previous night. He tried to rouse Malfoy, only to find that all the laughter from yesterday had completely and utterly wrecked his vocal cords. But he needn't have bothered.
"Potter," came Malfoy's hoarse voice. "What am I doing in your bed?"
"W-well, really, Malfoy," Harry managed to slip out for the sake of wit. "You should ask questions like that before you get on the ride." Harry rolled onto his back.
"Malfoy…what did we DO last night?"
"Oh, so I can't ask stupid questions, but it's alright for you to rephrase them and ask them then?"
"To put it in a nutshell, yes, that's right."
"Errr…well, we were feeling very happy, I remember," Malfoy mused. Harry turned his head to see the other boy's forehead wrinkle in thought. "I think you wrote in my diary about bloomers…Potter, what in Merlin's name is the matter with you?"
For Harry had just paled and sat up quickly. "We wrote in the diary?"
"Yeah…"
Harry could remember that he was forgetting something rather vital. Oh, how useful, he thought disdainfully.
Malfoy got up with a sigh. "I'm going to put on some fresh robes, Potter. Don't miss me too much."
Alone within the green curtains of his fourposter, Harry stretched and was about to start changing himself when Malfoy's face poked back into his sanctum. Startled, Harry fell off the bed and lay in a heap.
"Potter, did we somehow wake up in the middle of the night and raid the kitchens?"
Harry stared up at him from the floor, dumbfounded. "Why would you ask me that?" As an answer, Malfoy drew back the curtain and Harry set his eyes on an impressive hoard of pastries and fruits.
"Well, it's a definite possibility, now that you mention it."
Malfoy laughed and left him alone again.
Propping himself up, Harry's hand brushed against something rough lying beside him. His heart beat faster as it always did whenever the blasted diary was involved, and he picked it up. I'm overreacting, he thought. It's a damn diary some bloke chucked because diaries are no bloody good to anyone. Well, he smirked, maybe they have some use. What exactly had he written down here about frilly bloomers last night?
A minute later, he called out: "Draco?"
After a few moments, Malfoy called back to him suspiciously, "Potter, I think there's something seriously wrong here."
"Draco—did we really write in this? Did we really?"
"Yes, about utter nonsense." Harry's hangings ripped open and Malfoy stood there, dressed and perplexed. "You called me Draco, Potter. Now, I'm all for breaking a rule here and there, but really, this just crosses the line."
"You're absolutely sure we wrote in this?"
Malfoy's face took on an irritated expression and he threw his hands up in defeat. "Yes, we bloody wrote in the bloody diary. Get dressed, Potter." He turned to leave but Harry called him back.
"Who's the smartest in our year?"
"What, you like your friends brainy now?"
"Don't be a prat; I hang around you, don't I?"
"Alright, Potter, no need for stinging words. It's that nasty Ravenclaw girl," Malfoy drawled. "Granger, her name was. Mudblood."
"Don't call them that," Harry chided automatically, but his mind was instantly thrown elsewhere, for he had just remembered that the diary had not only eaten his words…
It had written back.
That night after dinner, he pocketed a few dungbombs and pulled out his father's map, then plonked down in the empty common room and scoured it for one particular name.
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Huzzah! Plot, ho! Um, avast, mateys.
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Leeva.
Leeva who?
Leeva review!
Oh, the lameness to which I stoop…