Title: Snapped Fingers
Rating: T
Pairing(s): HarryxDraco
Summary: Harry discovered a new way to defeat Lord Voldemort… while snapping his fingers as a hobby and getting involved in an unhealthy relationship.
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Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot.
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-Chapter 1: Unexpected Meeting-
Thrusting both hands into the pockets of his pants, the Boy Who Lived walked at ease in the crowded Diagon Alley and toward Gringotts. It was so easy to sneak out of Privet Drive even though the Order kept him in tight leash - he didn't even need the Invisibility Cloak to mask his escape. Instead, a few throwing stones until the poor wizard or witch felt annoyed and switched position – in the same time, a black shadow dashed through the fence without a sound. And when the guardian went back to work, he or she would only hear Vernon's ranting about him and would undoubtedly suspect that he was still in the house doing chores like a good boy. But then, Harry was not a good boy, not in many aspects. In the moment, his hair was spiked dark green, baggy jeans and long shirt embraced his lean frame, onyx contact lens on his eyes. He was a delinquent under Muggles' eyes and a Dark Wizard in training in Wizarding Community's point of view. He liked his appearance, nonetheless. Despised looks were thrown at him and withered under his flashing feral smile.
Gringotts, like usual, stuffed with rich snob customers and indifferent goblins, was deemed the safest place in Britain, at least after the unsuccessful break out of the Philosopher's Stone in his first year. Goblins were ones in the few magical creatures that Harry could tolerate, mainly because they never treated him differently than a client. Upon seeing his famous lightning-shaped scar, most of them ignored it and few others scrutinized it with narrow eyes before shrugging and turning back to their work. He respected the elvish creatures for their ignorance, and they respected him, for not being rich stuck-up snobs. Like the Malfoys, whose maintenance held high above their delicate noses.
He walked out of Gringotts, hands still thrust into his pocket. Keeping the leaping pace, he made his way towards a pub named Spider's Intestines. It had taken him a whole summer last year, sneaking under the Order's nose and trying to figure out the pathway to the darker side of Diagon Alley. Stepping inside the bar, he let a smirk spread across his face: he wasn't affected by the loud Muggle music erected from two enormous magically-enhanced amply, unlike most of purebloods who scrunched up their faces at the offensive music. Knowing very well only his Slytherin glamour kept him alive, he approached the bar and ordered a drink.
'Firewhiskey and Tequila' he nodded. Again, magic and non-magic formed the most beautiful things.
While waiting for the drink, Harry turned to his left and immediately spotted a hooded figure knocking down his cherry Brandy. Curiosity clicked on, he observed the stranger blatantly. Apart from the black hood, the stranger had silkily soft platinum hair and pale skin glowing in the muffed darkness of the hood. He wasn't very tall, probably about Harry's height of 5'9, but has slim, lean frame. His aristocrat pureblood look didn't make him powerful, whereas he looked innocent and fragile. If not for the hood, the raven/green-haired wizard would have broken him with his sharp gaze.
'Firewhiskey and Tequila. Eleven Sickles' the bartender said coldly, slamming the drink down the wooden surface.
Sipping his drink, Harry resumed his observation. The stranger fidgeted under his shameless stare. He quickly finished his Brandy, much to the other wizard's attention, and was about the leave when said wizard stopped him.
'Beautiful' was all Harry said.
The platinum-haired turned so fast that his hood slipped, revealing his face: Draco Malfoy. Harry bit back his surprise, but the crowd did not. This pub might be safe for Malfoy Sr. but young Draco, by wandering around here, risked being kidnapped for ransom since his family was known for its power and wealth. As a result, some with odd look in their eyes stood up from their tables and approached the bar, promising not-so-light threat to the young aristocrat, who fumbled in sudden frustration, grabbed his cloak and try to walked in normal pace to the entrance to Knockturn Alley, which happened to be at the end of the bar and filled with unfriendly magical creatures.
Well, Harry decided, there was only one way to solve this problem without raising so much trouble. He stood up, too, and before Draco could get away, he snatched his collar and pulled him into a kiss.
The moment their lips came into contact, everything seemed to freeze. The green-haired's arm grasped tightly around the other's slim waist, daring him to run, his tongue softly caressed the panting lips; he bit them slightly, extracted a muffed yelp from his partner. While Draco shut his eyes, Harry's unearthly emerald irises slit into sharp glare, challenging anyone to come near and forcefully claiming him as his.
Harry's legs unconsciously dragged both of them to the gate leading to Knockturn Alley. He released his grasp a little; his numbing hand pushed the stony door with sheer force as they tumbled through. Their kiss broke as Draco hastily pulled up his hood and Apparated away without a word, leaving Harry in a dazed state. Now he regretted not playing more with the young Malfoy – he could have had at least a bit on the delicate pale neck. He couldn't predict whether he wanted a relationship with him, he just wanted to have Draco in his arms again. And when September started, Draco wouldn't be able to run away… from him…
Harry pushed the door of Borgin and Burkes with unnecessary force; the door made a loud creak as it scratched the hard stony floor. The shop smelt of dust and darkness; the latter was strongly erected from countless dark artifacts. Somehow, Harry felt relaxed, as if his magic has found its true origin. He inhaled the burnt smell of old wood and almost jumped when Mr. Borgin showed up from nowhere and breathed into his neck: 'Are you looking for something unhealthy, young man?'
'I need a custom wand' said Harry, recovered from his surprise. Gray eyes scrutinized him thoroughly, lingering on his famous scar that he just let it appear on purpose. The younger wizard calmly put his ignorant mask into play and waited. After what seemed like an eternity, Borgin spoke: 'I see'. He motioned for Harry to follow him, to the back of the shop.
Upon walking through the creaking wooden door that separated a normal dark shop from a storage full of dark and dangerous artifacts, the young wizard inhaled sharply, eyes gleaming with odd interest. The cabinet reeked of dark magic and powerful ancient forces. If not for the mask of ignorance that he so excelled in faking, he would have jumped up and down like a hyperventilated child or even fretted with unconcealed surprise, especially when Borgin appeared all of a sudden and breathed down his neck again just like one certain Potions Master: 'Lay your hand over them, young man. You shall be able to find the most appropriate materials for your wand'
Harry shut his eyes in concentration. He could hear a distant voice calling him in his mind, embracing him with surreal corporal hands. He felt reliving the sensation of pain – how he missed it, he might become a masochist. The pain always embraced him, offering him a sense of safety, which he was sure nobody would believe even if he told one. He numbly walked to them, feeling the urgent charming tug disappear when his bare skin touched the materials. He opened his eyes again to see Borgin frowning in thoughts.
'Onyx and thestral's breath, young man? It's an uncommon combination, but undoubtedly very powerful. Nevertheless, I'm afraid I can't make this wand'
Harry was disappointed, but such emotion was not to show on his face. He asked with icy voice: 'May I know the reason, Mr. Borgin?'
'Wands made of onyx always required two cores, Mr. Potter. As you already know, onyx is not a kind of wood. Here we can only find one of the cores, which is thestral's breath' said Borgin, sounding sorry at the lost opportunity of a challenge.
An image of a diary brutally stabbed with a basilisk fang tickled his mind. Turning back to the old wizard, Harry said: 'I will send you the other core during terms. It's in Hogwarts. You will charge me from my trusted vault and deliver the wand to me safely'
'Am I to believe, that our conversation will be kept private?' said Harry, smirking upon seeing Borgin's nod.
His next stop was a bookstore that located deep down inside the heart of Knockturn Alley, where Harry was sure that Purebloods, despite their stuck-up attitude, wouldn't hesitate to visit for dark documentations. Like Flourish and Blotts, it had manual books for schooling purpose, but also had every other kind of books that exceeded in darkness and rarity. However, Harry came here not to buy school books that he could easily through by Owl Order. He was looking for books and documents that concentrated on Parsel-magic, which has been believed to be lost along with its famous users, the Slytherin blood line, seeing as Voldemort was now the only survivor.
Harry's sharp green eyes darted through thick, ancient tomes of leather and worn-out looking papers, being well aware of darkness erecting from every word written. He stopped occasionally to check out books worth his attention, solely about the art of Occlumency and Leligimency. He then stumbled upon a small notebook that had weird, scrawling scribbles and looked oddly like a certain notebook back in his second year. He picked it up with interest. Surprisingly, under his eyes, the unreadable scribbles slowly turned into Latin alphabets, and Harry could read the words written in deep dark green ink: 'Diary of Salazar Slytherin'.
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A/N: I intended to let Draco know of his kisser's true identity, but then decided to save it for later chapter. This chapter isn't so much of a twisted Harry as I planned, and was shorter than I expected, too. So, what do you think?