I know it has been some time since I have updated anything. My time's been consumed by a book I've started. Please forgive me. I'm working on a few things at once (including Dreaming of You -gasp!-), so there may be more updates in the near future.
As for this story, I've taken the reins myself. I am no longer cowriting this; it's in my hands. The forst part of this chapter was written by my cousin, but the rest, and what will follow in other chapters, is, or will be, by me.
Note: There will be Draco/Harry SLASH. If you don't enjoy male/male pairings, be gone with you.
Disclaimer: We don't own Harry Potter, and no money is being made here. Let's leave it at that.
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Merlin's Malt
Chapter 2
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Slytherin Head Boy Draco Malfoy glared at Potter, both hatred and an odd sensation reeling through his veins. His usually perfect blonde hair now lay mussed over his pale face, not quite hiding the piercing blue-grey eyes, which were filled with disgust.
"Watch it, Potter, there's no Dumbledore's Losers Brigade to save you now," Malfoy sneered, getting up and brushing himself off quickly.
"I hardly meant to wrinkle your lovely outfit, Malfoy," Harry retorted, gracefully moving out of the throbbing crowd. "Make sure you have your Mummy iron it for you. We don't want tears shed."
In an instant Malfoy closed in on Harry, so close that Harry could smell the mint on his breath, before whispering slyly into his ear, "You picked the wrong side to fight on, Mudblood lover." And with that, Draco left with a sneer, once again disappearing onto the crowded dance floor.
Harry stood alone, momentarily speechless. Mudblood lover? Could Draco possibly be referring to his relationship with -- "No," Harry told himself. "Impossible. Not even Ron knows about that." Trying to silence his screaming thoughts, Harry headed over to the bar, where he spotted Seamus flirting with a shy looking boy with bright green hair. Not wanting to interrupt their conversation (if you could call that a conversation; it looked to Harry as though Seamus had a little bit more than talking on his mind), Harry took himself and his thoughts further down the bar, at last finding a seat and slumping onto it. No matter how hard he tried to let the music grip him and take his mind and worries away, there was no escaping what Malfoy had said. And it wasn't only that; why had Harry's face been burning red when Malfoy had come close to him and whispered into his ear?
Finally, with a frustrated sigh and a small shrug to no one in particular, Harry passed off his emotions as a mixture of anger and contempt. What else would he possibly feel toward the other boy? After all those years of--NO. He would not go there. He could already feel his blood beginning to boil again.
To vent his emotions, Harry got to his feet and began circumventing the dance floor. He soon realized that watching the other people swaying to the beat was rather relaxing. It seemed as if there was some underlying magic to the notes of the song pulsing through the room in a steady wave. He realized that if he cleared his mind, he was easily able to let it take control of him once again.
As he snaked through the ever-growing throng of people, the raven-haired boy kept a lookout for Dean. After what Draco implied, he didn't want to be seen with the boy; risking himself further embarrassment was not what he wanted to do at the moment, and he did not want Dean to suffer with him.
Since when do I care what the stupid git thinks? a voice hissed in the back of his mind.
"I don't," Harry whispered to himself vehemently. He balled his hands into fists, determinedly trying to squash the voice.
"Talking to yourself now, aren't you Potter? My, my. I must say that this adds a whole new level to your abnormality."
Harry's head snapped up, his eyes meeting those of Draco for the second time that night. The Gryffindor mentally kicked himself, wishing he was paying more attention so he could have avoided this unwanted confrontation.
"Are you stalking me, Malfoy?" Harry spat out. "If you wanted an autograph you could've just asked." The dark sarcasm was plainly evident in his voice.
"Don't flatter yourself, Scarhead," Draco hissed. His hands were clenching into fists.
"Scarhead?" Harry let out a bark of laughter. "Please, Malfoy. We're not in second year anymore. Why don't you call me something, I don't know, more geared toward our age group? Something like dickhead or bumblefuck?"
"No, they're not as insulting," Draco mused. He placed a finger to his temple, feigning intense concentration. "I know what would get to you, though. I could make some nice comment about, oh I don't know, maybe your sexuality?" A menacing grin broke out on his pale face. Harry's own face went white with a mixture of fear and rage.
"Don't you dare," he hissed. His fingernails dug into his palms as his hands curled in on themselves. The music and surrounding chatter became background noise as he focused on the devil in front of him. Surly this human being was sent from his own personal hell to ensure that his life would forever be miserable.
"What's wrong, arse bandit?" He paused here as Harry convulsed at the term. "Surly your friends already know about you and Thomas, your little Mudblood pet?" Harry's green eyes widened a fraction and scanned the surrounding area for eavesdroppers. "Surly they would support the two of you." Draco cackled, knowing full well how much Ron was against same-sex relationships.
"Will you please keep quiet?" Harry whispered, almost pleadingly. Never before had he looked so defeated in front of Draco. The blonde relished the sight; the malicious glee he felt from making the other boy to feel this way drove him on.
"Aww, is little Potter afraid of being even more of a pariah than he already is?" Draco taunted, pushing his bottom lip out into a pout. "First his parents are murdered, his godfather is murdered… is he afraid of being next in line for being a--"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Harry snarled, connecting his fist with Draco's jaw and sending the boy flying back into a surprised group of dancers before launching himself after him.
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To be continued