MEMORY VIAL 14: YULETIDE FAIRY TALE (YEAR 4)
Harry's confusion about Draco and Pansy was resolved on the day of the ball. Draco had paired off with Pansy after all, and Goyle had landed with Millicent Bulstrode—probably the only girl who was tall enough for him. Crabbe arrived at the Great Hall with Astoria, who was dressed in shiny black heels, elegant black lace, and amber silk, although Draco ended up dancing with Astoria whenever Crabbe needed a break or Pansy took a traipse to the girls' bathroom, which was quite often. Draco seemed to love twirling and catching both girls into the air as if they were weightless swans for him to play with, and he seemed happiest with Astoria, since he flirted with her mercilessly whenever Pansy wasn't there.
It was agony sitting next to Parvati Patil, watching Draco and Cho having the time of their lives on the dance floor with their respective partners. For once, Draco wasn't acting like a sour-faced prat, and Harry didn't think he had ever seen him so cheerful, especially when he managed to snag a dance with one of the Beauxbaton witches.
The live band, the Strange Sisters, somehow got away with including a few cover songs from Muggle bands, thanks to Professor Charity Burbage's suggestion, the Muggles Studies teacher. It was a hit, even with the likes of Crabbe and Goyle, and Harry was shocked that not a single Slytherin pulled out of the dance floor when the band swapped into their selection of "vulgarian music" for a spell.
After Harry and Ron explored the rose garden and overheard Hagrid's argument with Madame Maxime, they huddled together at a table, intent on weathering the duration of the ball in an ill temper, until Harry realized there was only half an hour left before his unconfirmed date with Malfoy.
Unable to sit still any longer, he left the table for the boys' lavatory where he figured he could work off some of the excess energy. Harry never went back to where Ron was sitting. Instead, he spent the next twenty minutes checking himself in the mirror, feeling like a haphazardly put-together little squirt with a stubborn tangle of hair that he couldn't tame even now that he wanted to. He adjusted his glasses, checked his teeth, his breath, inspected his dress robes for stains and tears, then fumbled over the sink in a furious effort to get his hair to stay flat. The water he tried to slick it down with dried instantly and sprang back up in rebellion like a middle finger.
And then, with a sense of finality, Harry reapplied the scented oil Hermione had given him, courtesy of Dobby. It was redolent of what he would describe as a woody, cinnamony incense combined with something sweet and clean, but so far no one, not even Ron or Parvati, had commented on the way it smelled.
At length, Harry checked his watch and decided it was time…
Time to quit hiding and go wait where he had invited Draco to meet him—although he was suddenly feeling completely and utterly nauseous.
He left the lavatory and meandered through the crowd in the Great Hall toward the Viaduct Courtyard, which was heavily decorated with charmed plant life, the same rosebushes and mazing hedges that he and Ron had navigated earlier. The night sky had transitioned to a dark gray sheet of cloud, and tiny feathers of snow floated serenely onto the stone path in front of him. There wasn't so much as a breeze, and the silence was practically deafening after emerging from the chaos of the ball. It seemed like everyone who had been frolicking in the courtyard only an hour ago had retreated into the warmth and glow of the castle—and the vultures in his stomach began gnawing at his insides as he realized he would either be alone with himself very soon, or alone with Draco Malfoy.
It was five minutes until eleven o'clock, and he wondered if Malfoy was navigating his way through the snowdust and manicured hedges to the center of the courtyard where he was currently standing. Favoring a cluster of rosebushes, Harry hid among them and recurrently checked his watch in five-second intervals.
Finally, it was eleven o'clock.
And then three minutes past the hour.
Five minutes.
Ten…
Harry swallowed back his disappointment, then started to move out from the thorny shadows of his hiding place. He caught a glimpse of platinum-blond hair around the bend in his path, and Malfoy turned around the moment he heard footsteps.
A ball of panic choked Harry as he came face to face with his mean-faced bully. Although he was handsomely attired, Draco was no longer as perfectly primped as he had been when walking out of the dungeons with Pansy on his arm. Malfoy's sleek, combed hair was sticking out almost as untidily as his own, and his alabaster skin was glistening with sweat from his vigorous dancing.
Draco's mouth drew downward as Harry padded closer like a wary cat. "Potter…?"
Harry went red in the face at the muted sound of his voice. Draco looked so handsome in the snow among the charmed honeysuckle, dim fairy lights, and roses that he couldn't speak at first.
"What are you doing here? I'm waiting for—"
"Off it, Malfoy," Harry said shakily. "I know you know I'm the one who wrote that note." He steeled himself, ready for an outburst about how the other boy never would have come here if he had known.
Draco's expression remained fixed, but after a tense silence, he relaxed. Without acknowledging Harry's statement, he peered around them somewhat guardedly, then said, "What do you want?"
Harry opened his mouth, but only a strained sound came out.
"Well? Out with it already. It isn't exactly warm out here, and I was having fun."
Harry shifted on his feet, unable to look at him directly. He didn't know what to say, and so he went with the first thing that came to mind. "I was just wondering if the rumor about you getting into trouble with the Beauxbaton girl was true." And then he added belatedly, "Assuming you're free to talk for a minute, I mean. I… I don't want to waste your time."
Draco's forehead creased as he puzzled over Harry's motivation for asking that kind of question. Deciding not to make too much of it, he shrugged. "One of the boys obviously couldn't keep his mouth shut if you ended up hearing about it, but what you heard is true. Her name's Eleanor Astrid. Stunning girl," he boasted with a sneer. But he couldn't help noticing how the muscles in Harry's face contracted, almost as if he didn't like what he was hearing. "I danced with her tonight, but only for a couple of songs."
Yeah… who didn't you dance with? Harry thought bitterly.
"Eleanor asked me to come with her to the ball, but I already had Pansy, even though she wasn't my first choice."
Harry lifted his chin, wondering if he had heard Draco correctly.
The silence that followed lasted for well over a minute. Harry nodded, searching desperately for something else to say.
"Get on with it, Potter," Draco said, feigning boredom so effectively that it nearly scared Harry into inaction. "I know you didn't want to ask me about her, and there aren't any stars out tonight, so what do you want? If it's nothing, I'd rather get back. Astoria would like another dance, assuming she's done with Kru—"
"I came with Parvati Patil," Harry blurted awkwardly, since he couldn't bear to hear about the girls he had been dancing with.
Draco smirked, expecting him to say more.
"Beautiful girl," Harry went on feverishly, "but not my first choice either. I would've preferred Cho—but even she wasn't my first choice, even though she's drop-dead gorgeous, and I can't manage when I get anywhere near her, and—did I really just say that…?"
Harry's bungling words dropped off a cliff at the same moment Draco turned to leave. Harry mentally kicked himself for having said too much—and about girls no less—but he hadn't known what else to do. Stammering, he followed Draco, wondering why he was moving away from where the ball was taking place instead of towards it.
"Malfoy—where're you going?"
The blond turned back around when he gained the shadows of an iron-wrought bower in one of the furthest corners of the courtyard. It was steeped in shadow, overgrown with fragrant violet roses and frosted Hollytwine.
"Giving us some privacy," Draco answered, after checking that no one would be able to spy on them without being seen first.
"Privacy? For what?"
Harry recoiled instinctively when Draco reached out to grab his arm.
Draco clicked his tongue, and his voice was calm, sounding only miffed at Harry's hesitance. "I'm not going hurt you… unless you make me. Someone can easily see you from where you're standing. I'm trying to get you behind the rosebushes with me."
Draco waited with forced patience while Harry crept into the darkness of the bower next to him. Draco's silvery gaze pierced the winter gloom, and Harry lowered his eyes to their shoes while taking a moment to tamp down his panic.
Draco smoothed the lapels on his dress robes, dropping whatever illusions of mercy he might have given Harry up until that point. "You have something to say," he reminded him shortly. "You have thirty seconds. If you don't tell me something worthy of all this caginess, I'll bloody my knuckles on your face before going back inside."
Harry's temper flared at that. "Why do you hate me so much?"
Draco scowled in disgust. "God, not this again…"
"I'm tired of us squabbling like cats—and I get the impression you are too. So can we agree to get along, or at least agree to disagree? Or would you at least tell me what it is you hate about me so much?"
Draco readjusted his stance. He stepped forward and set both feet firmly on the ground in front of Harry. "You want to know why I hate you?" he breathed viperously. "I hate you, Potter, because you can do no wrong according to Professor Dumbledore. I hate how that stupid scar of yours commands the crowds wherever you go—and I hate how you're always the center of attention—and that you ever had the nerve to say no to me. I hate how bright and green your beautiful eyes are, and I hate the blank look on your face whenever you look at me like that…"
Stunned by the confusion of words he had just heard, Harry worked his mouth on a soundless question. When he recovered his voice, he managed to say, "Malfoy… what do my beautiful eyes have to do with anything?"
There was a tense moment of silence during which neither of them spoke. And then, when Draco noticed the half vulnerable, half defiant way Harry was looking at him, he pushed through the sludge of his own ambivalence and moved closer.
"You already know the answer to that, don't you…"
Harry gave him no reply, but he maintained their eye contact as if his very life depended on it. He tilted his chin slightly up, ready for what he knew was coming—and the vultures began tearing holes into his stomach, his heart feeling like it was being doused in pure, white fire.
He had half expected Draco to be clumsy and heavy-handed, or to attack his mouth like a slobbering dog. Instead, Draco guided Harry closer by the arms, paused for a moment, and then leaned the rest of the way down.
Harry closed his eyes. Their lips touched, and there was barely any pressure, but Harry's brain short-circuited. His fingers climbed over the back of other boy's robes, and his mouth brushed awkwardly against Draco's because he didn't know what he was doing.
Draco smiled at his efforts, and Harry felt the warmth of a sigh against his chin, followed by a thin trembling of words: "God, I'm gonna kill you." But Draco's words were not a threat. They were punctuated by another kiss, and Harry felt his world dissolving into bits as the other boy fitted their mouths together more skillfully, and for all of Draco's harsh words over the years, his mouth was surprisingly soft and supple, and tasted of something sweet Harry couldn't quite place.
When Draco broke the kiss again, Harry's throat tightened and emitted a reflexive groan of disappointment.
"You smell really good." Draco's nose pressed against the collar of Harry's robes. "What are you wearing?"
Harry swallowed roughly, realizing he had almost forgotten how to breathe. "Camphor," he whispered in a shivering voice, "and… and sandalwood, I think." The fog in his brain was so heavy that he bent his head sideways in search of another kiss. Their noses touched, and he clung to the taller boy's shoulders as Draco recaptured his mouth with a bit more force.
It was a long while before either of them was willing to separate their mouths again. Harry took his time mirroring Draco's technique, trying to figure out how to kiss without making a fool of himself, but Draco never indicated if he was doing something wrong.
When Harry broke their contact to get some air, he mumbled in a sluggish voice, "D'you wan' dance…?"
"What?"
"It's too cloudy for you to show me the stars… and… I hate dancing…"
Draco snorted. "Then why did you ask?"
Harry waited a minute for his head to clear, so that he could talk without sounding like an imbecile. "I thought I might like dancing with you. You were having so much fun in there… I was jealous. But we don't have any music. Just the snow… and these pretty flowers… and each other—and you were my first choice, Malfoy, so I guess I'd like to see what I missed out on. Or… or if you'd like to do more of this, I'd fancy that too."
Draco's eyes went soft at that last part. "You're so cute, Potter…"
And Harry stole the kisses he wanted after hearing that. He pulled Draco firmly and decidedly against his mouth, and he never wanted it to end, but after a few minutes, Draco leaned out of the kiss, then said, "Why didn't you just ask me to the ball, you prat? 'Show me where your name's hidden in the stars'—seriously?"
Harry blushed, but smiled at the harmless way Draco was laughing. He didn't know how to respond at first, but it came to him as the dizziness slowly lifted from his mind. "I was hoping you'd ask me… 'cause if I asked you… especially in front of your friends… I knew you'd probably make a show of it, or something…"
"I might've played it cool." Draco shrugged with his habitual scowl. "Blown you off if you hadn't taken me aside or written it down. But I would've said yes to you in a heartbeat. I mean, don't get me wrong, I would've still come with Pansy, but I would've put in an effort to spend some time with you alone like this. Anything to be standing here with you looking like that… You look incredible. The color of your robes make your eyes stand out, and that hair…" Draco's lips crept slightly up as he took in the snow-flecked mess of hair.
"I kept trying to fix it, but nothing would work."
"Good. I would've been sad if you managed to change it."
"Really?"
"Of course. I love how it's all unkempt, it's one of my favorite things about you. That and your adorable glasses, it's what makes you look like you…"
Flattered, Harry realized this was the first time he'd ever been told something nice about his hair. He'd become so used to his aunt and uncle hating the way he looked that he almost didn't think he could accept the compliment. "No one's ever told me that before. The Dursleys have always hated it, and they used to try to chop it off."
"The Dursleys—you mean, the Muggles you live with?" There was a note of concern in the way he said that.
Harry nodded.
"You mentioned something about them last year, I think. They don't sound too nice."
"They're really not. But, honestly, Malfoy, I'd rather not talk about them, so can we just—you know…" He pawed at the front of the other boy's robes, looking scared that their shared moment might be coming to an end.
"If that's what you want. I'll let it go."
Harry gathered a handful of Draco's robes in his fists as they settled into an embrace, and he inhaled the luxurious perfume he was giving off—something earthy and sweet, like nutmeg, bergamot, and warm amber—and he didn't ever want to let the other boy go and forget what he smelled, and felt, and tasted like…
"Just so you know," Draco said softly, "if you'd been with me—if you'd chosen me… I would've never let those filthy Muggles disrespect you. I would've come over myself and shown them their place."
"It wouldn't have helped the situation; they figured out underage wizards can't do magic."
"Fuck if I gave a damn about that stupid regulation. And you're forgetting who you're talking to. I'm nothing if not resourceful. For you, I would've figured something out."
Relaxing against his chest, Harry entertained the idea of Draco making Dudley cry, one bully to another, and he smiled so hard that it hurt his face.
"How long have you wanted this?" he asked. He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from Draco directly.
"I thought I already told you. Since we first met, but I don't think I really understood what I wanted back then. The way you looked at me on the train when we got properly introduced, right before everything went to shit, you were so adorable, I almost couldn't hide it."
"I wish you wouldn't've…"
"But then you acted out. You made me look like a fool."
"Only because of how you treated Ron," Harry said, regaining a fraction of his old defiance. "Not to mention you gave me an ultimatum. I wasn't about to let you control me like that."
"I get it—and I don't want to rehash all that," Draco said, fearing that the conversation was about to verge clean off the rails. "Point is: I never stopped wanting you. You were the only thing in the world I couldn't have. You were the only one who ever said no to me, and it pissed me off. You were all I could think about—and you needed me. I wanted to help. I wanted to give you everything."
"Well then, if you still want to give me something, then I wouldn't mind a dance. That's all I'd like right now, I think, and we can keep talking while we do that. I want to get to know you, Malfoy," and Harry felt the arms around him tighten.
"Whatever you want. But are you sure you know how?"
Harry's face went hot as he recalled the opening dance. "You saw me with Parvati. That's about all I know, and I wasn't very good at it."
"No problem." Draco took hold of Harry's hands and then guided him on where to place them: one on his right shoulder, while the other was firmly held in Draco's left hand. "She led you, so I'll lead. All you need to do is follow, and you might be surprised what you can do."
"But I haven't got the steps memorized, and I don't know when to—"
"Good. It'll make you pay attention to me and not to what you're thinking about. Ready? Here we go."
Harry didn't have time enough to panic. When Draco started to move, Harry staggered and had to force himself to keep step. He clutched Draco's shoulder as he lost track of their momentum and then stared down at their feet. "Shit. Sorry. This isn't the waltz, is it?" He stumbled, but Draco didn't stop for him to recover, although the dance was slow enough.
"Don't look down. Just look at me. It's alright," he said shakily when Harry looked up at him with an anxious face. "This dance is called Flight-with-the-Phoenix. You don't need to know the steps, just feel my weight and follow my movement—for God's sake, don't look down… There you go… you're bloody awful, but that's better. Listen to my body, alright? It's the only way you'll ever dance properly."
"But Malfoy, I don't know what—"
"Stop overthinking. Just feel… Look at me. Relax your arms, they're too rigid, and stop worrying about what I think, because I promise it's nothing bad."
After a stretch of perilous dancing, during which Harry floundered at every turn, Draco pulled him closer and draped both of Harry's arms up over his shoulders. "We'll go slower. Rest against me and feel how I move—and I mean really feel it… Follow my center with your own, and don't worry about making mistakes or looking stupid."
Harry held onto him very tightly, his face burning scarlet with embarrassment, but he tried to do as he was told.
"There you go… still terrible, but you're doing alright. Pay attention to how it feels… and when I move unexpectedly—like this—you can follow it—see?"
Harry didn't see anything at all, but he supposed he would need to practice quite a bit before he got the feel of what Draco was trying to show him.
Eventually, they slowed to an unpracticed stepping motion, and Harry kept reminding himself to breathe and not to trample all over the other boy any more than he already had. Mortified at all the mistakes he had made, he buried his face against Draco's shoulder. "I've ruined your shoes…"
"I don't care."
"You covered my Firebolt over the summer, so I'll pay for your shoes if they need replacing."
"Relax, Potter. These shoes would cost some wizards a month of their salary. My father can handle it without feeling the sting, so don't worry." He guided them into an even slower circuit, this time eliminating the stepping motion altogether. "Why don't you tell me about where you live? You don't have to talk about the Muggles, but I'm curious what it's like where you're at."
"I'd rather not." The subject matter was still unpleasant.
"Then tell me something that hasn't already been all over the papers."
Harry's fingers curled into fists behind Draco's shoulders. He didn't know where to start, and so he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think of something.
"How about something easier, then? Like, what're you thinking about right now?"
Harry shrugged. "About how I'd like to tell you everything. And I'm thinking about how I didn't expect you to feel this good… I'm also scared there's a part of you that still hates me."
They halted in the middle of their snow prints. Draco took a moment before speaking. "I never hated you, Potter. I've always liked you. You know that."
"Then can we be friends? With no ultimatums this time."
"I'd rather be more than friends." Draco's eyes strayed to inspect the rime that had crisped onto a honeysuckle bush. "You know, boyfriends? Don't think I'd be okay with anything less, but I don't know…" And then he frowned. "We can't do that, though."
Harry's heart rate increased painfully when Draco pushed him at arm's length. "Why not?"
"Because it's not normal," Draco enunciated slowly. "And it's… sick. It's out of my control. I can't be like that. It would ruin both our lives. Not to mention, my father hates you."
Harry almost couldn't believe the vague excuses he was hearing, but the downbeat tone in Draco's voice indicated he had given it a lot of thought. He needed to appeal to something greater, then, but he didn't know what.
"Who the hell cares what your father thinks?"
"I do," Draco said sharply. "You probably wouldn't understand, but I love my parents. My father's done everything in his power to set me up for life."
"What do you mean by I wouldn't understand?"
"Your parents are dead," Draco said, failing to moderate his tone.
Harry's mouth fell open. "That doesn't mean that I don't love them, Malfoy…"
Draco wrinkled his nose, then turned aside.
Harry sensed he was being abandoned, and the panic that resulted made the backs of his eyes itch. "I don't get it. Why'd you meet me here if you felt this way…? Why'd you kiss me?"
"Because I asked for a kiss already last year, remember? That's what I thought you were giving me the last time we met, but you were so stuck on stupid Hagrid. But when you asked me to meet you here tonight, I was hoping that was what this was about." He locked eyes with Harry then and came very close so that he was sure he had his attention. "Read my lips, Potter. I hate having these feelings for you. I hate what I am, and I've been doing everything in my power to make it stop."
"Your lips were saying something else entirely just a few minutes ago. Your lips were more than happy to—"
"Shut up. You don't play fair."
Harry's eyes widened. "Since when did you care about what was fair? At least it's true, Malfoy!"
"Would you keep your voice down? And you know why I kissed you. I needed to figure out if I really liked you, if I liked boys, or if I was just chasing after the wrong type of girl, and now I know. I mean—just look at the Beauxbaton girl I went sneaking around with. I felt nothing. And all the guys in my House are crazy about Fleur Delacour, meanwhile I have to pretend to like her. And there's my girlfriend," a wash of guilt swept over his face, "I feel nothing but unease with her after all these years. And Astoria is a work of goddamn art—a wild rose all covered in pretty barbs, and I wish I could've melted into her kiss as easily as I did yours…"
Harry's heart went completely still. "You mean, you don't like any girls at all? As in… none?" It was an idea that hadn't even crossed his mind.
"Fleur Delacour is part veela, right? I feel nothing. The veelas at the World Cup didn't make me feel a thing. I like boys, and I like you." Draco rubbed his face anxiously as the snow began to gather more heavily on his shoulders.
"For what it's worth," Harry said with a faint and flattered smile, "I would've drunk Polyjuice potion and changed myself into one of the girl's tonight if you'd asked me to the ball. I wonder if you would've felt something then…" The only problem was that he wouldn't have had enough time to scrape up the ingredients and brew the potion in time, but Draco looked amused at the idea.
"Sly, Potter. Still don't think you're in the wrong House?"
"I'm happy in Gryffindor. But you do sort of sometimes make me regret being placed here."
"Yeah, well…" Draco raked his fingers through his hair, fixing the way it was sticking out above and behind his ears. "You wouldn't have felt insulted if I'd asked you to disguise yourself?"
Harry shrugged. "It would've been worth it. And I'm sure you would've figured out a way to make it up to me somehow."
Draco smirked, and then, as if in answer to that statement, he swaggered closer and then whispered, "Very smooth… You know just how to get what you want, don't you?"
Harry hadn't meant to be flirtatious, but he also wasn't about to correct Draco's misinterpretation. He stood up on his toes to meet him halfway, and his lips felt like they were on fire all over again.
As they kissed, they forgot the time. All Harry knew was the tantric sound of the other boy's breathing, the electric softness of his lips, and the fingers digging affectionately into his sides. At some point, someone shouted Draco's name at the entrance to the castle in a high, shrill voice, but it was hard to hear through the soft groans passing between their lips. A cluster of voices could be heard on the snowy path of the garden trail, and one of them said gruffly, "Go back inside, Ms. Greengrass," followed by another booming voice that was calling out for Mr. Malfoy.
Draco pulled out of the kiss. A reddish pallor colored his cheeks. "I've been here too long." Smoothing down his robes, he recomposed himself. He turned to leave, but Harry caught him by the arm.
"Please, Malfoy. They'll go away eventually, and I doubt they'll find us here. Just stay till the end of the night and we'll have done with it."
"But Astoria's been waiting, and I have to see if Pansy is alri—"
"I don't care about that ugly bint, and Astoria can dance with Crabbe. He is her date, isn't he? Just spend the night with me once. We don't even have to do anything if you don't want."
"The longer I stay, the more you'll tempt me, isn't that obvious? When I said I wanted a kiss, I didn't mean for all this making out to happen."
"But we have so much to talk about."
"Talk?" He laughed. "The last thing on our minds right now is talking."
"So what? We can find somewhere more private and—"
"God, Potter—shut up!"
"—find out what we've been missing out on all these years."
Draco cut him off. Before Harry knew what was happening, he was being backed into the shadows of the colonnade. His protests were swallowed up in an angry kiss, and he was grabbing at Draco's face, his stomach burning with a vicious hunger.
"Mr. Malfoy!"
The booming voice almost seemed to have transported itself to where they were wrestling with their faces pressed together. Harry set his back against a stone column for support and surrendered every shred of himself to the assault.
"Happy now?" Draco huffed against his lips. "Getting what you want?"
"Not nearly enough," Harry gasped, and Draco was on his mouth again, turning his insides into jelly.
"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Potter!"
Go away, Harry thought, as he clutched desperately onto Draco's robes. I want this. Just let me have him.
The growling voice was practically on top of them, and it sounded familiar. Harry had the vague impression they would regret not responding to it immediately, and the blond was pulling free of him, having realized just how close they were to being caught.
"There you are, boy… What are you doing? Are you attacking Potter again?"
The heavily scarred visage of Professor Moody loomed over Draco's shoulder, and only then did Harry's brain register the telltale thunk—thunk—thunk! of his wooden leg. Professor Snape emerged from around the rosebushes beside him, looking only marginally less shocked than Professor Moody, which was surprising to Harry, since Snape tended to maintain his stoicism well.
"Not attacking, Professor," Draco said with forced contempt as he stared into Harry's bleary, unfocused eyes. "He insulted my girlfriend… called her some names, so I did the honorable thing and warned him to not push me. I didn't hurt him—did I, Potter?"
On a reflex, Harry smiled stupidly, then shook his head.
"Are you sure, Potter?" Professor Moody said, looking unconvinced.
"Yes, sir. I called her a pug-faced prig and an ugly bint only because of what Pansy's been saying to Hermione. We came out here to… to settle things."
"Well, then. You boys need to stop white knighting for the lasses," Professor Moody grunted. "They're tough enough to stand up for themselves. Now get inside, laddie. There's a pretty girl throwing a tantrum about you, which is why I came looking for you."
Draco rounded back on Harry and slid his forefinger discreetly down the front of Harry's robes. "Just be careful, Potter," he said, looking flushed with triumph. "You're asking for trouble if you keep this up."
"Enough, lad—go on!" Moody struck Draco in the ankles with his walking stick as if it were a goad.
The corners of Draco's lips twitched at the yearning look Harry was giving him, and he left the garden reluctantly without another word.
"Might as well search the rest of the courtyard for any more stranglers, Severus," Professor Moody said. But Snape remained where he was and stared at Draco as he walked by.
"As for you." Professor Moody turned his attention to Harry, who gulped upon realizing he had likely seen everything with his magical eye. "You shouldn't let him drag you out here alone like that. He might be up to no good. Might be wanting to set you up! Be looking to hurt you… Never forget how he turned his wand on you while your back was turned, you hear? Have more sense. You can't trust a cowardly scoundrel like that."
"Yes, sir." Harry swallowed and cast his eyes down, knowing there was no way Moody was unaware of what he had walked in on.
"That little Greengrass girl enlisted me to find him, and Severus suspected something like this was up when he noticed you were gone. Weasley's been looking for you too."
The look of loathing Snape gave him then made the blood drain out of Harry's cheeks. "I'll just get back inside then, I guess," he said in a flat tone.
Harry shouldered past both professors, past the snow-dusted roses and honeysuckle with his eyes turned down, and because he left so quickly, he didn't notice when Snape assayed the circular scuff marks in the snow. He also didn't notice how the scattering of fairies had blushed from white to pink where he and Draco had been standing, and he had no idea that their change in color was damning evidence of their having witnessed a romantic exchange.