MEMORY VIAL 12: BICKERING AND FLIRTING (YEAR 4)
Harry felt a pinch around his left ankle at the Quidditch World Cup at the precise moment Draco arrived in the Top Box with both of his parents. He also felt the ghost sensation of a tug on the same ankle when the game ended too soon. When the riot of the Death Eaters broke out at the campsite where the Quidditch World Cup was being held, he felt it again; and then again when he, Ron, and Hermione spotted Draco standing casually among the trees, watching with great amusement as Muggles were being magically strung into the air and viciously mocked throughout the camp.
Harry felt ashamed then for being attracted to him at all. Malfoy was so casually cruel when it came to Muggles and Muggle-borns, that Harry would have loved to treat him with the same ruthlessness so he could see what it was like for himself. But when Draco warned him and Ron "to get the Mudblood to safety," Harry knew he'd have to postpone whatever retaliation he would have enacted on him for a later time.
Before the new school year began, Harry decided that if Malfoy was going to continue his routine acts of terrorism, then he would gladly volley insult for insult, and hex for hex—not only to vent his own anger while defending his friends, but also to requite Draco's virulent expressions of love, now that he knew that at least some of Draco's bullying was nothing more than a cry for his attention.
Harry did just that during the first several weeks of school, although Draco's snide remarks were rather tame to begin with. Harry also continued to put up with the unpredictable tugging at his ankle, but Draco never let on if he was feeling the same remnants of last year's hex, unless his typical scowls and narrow-eyed glares were anything to go by.
After Dumbledore's announcement of the Triwizard Tournament, Malfoy lapsed into his old habit of pecking at Ron and Hermione every chance he got, casting vicious slurs at them up and down the corridors between classes, but Harry saw the way Malfoy's eyes kept drifting over towards him, and so he jumped into the fray whenever he could.
"Stop being a prick, Malfoy," Harry said in response to Draco teasing Ron for the outmoded shabbiness of his clothes while they were waiting outside of Snape's classroom. "But you're right about one thing: his parents don't have any dirty money to spare for shiny new clothes like yours do."
"Not helping, mate," Ron whispered aside to Harry. "Try something like this instead:
"Hey, Malfoy! Why don't you take your wand, polish it up real nice with Lick-Slickety's Anal Rub, and fuck yourself with it in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom where no one will think the stranger of the noises coming from it?"
The lurid insult had its desired effect. Malfoy turned a solid shade of red, while his posse of Slytherins stood slack-jawed in amazement.
"Also," Ron continued, while Seamus and a handful of other students snickered loudly, "why don't you take Crabbe and Goyle with you too, since I'm sure they'll be jealous of your wand and want a go at you as well. Oh, but don't worry! I heard you're cozying up with the teachers a bit more this year, so we'll let Professor Snape know exactly where you are so he can join you."
"Ron!" Hermione smacked him in the elbow with a book, just as the heavy oak doors were being thrown open. Ron froze, looking horrified that he might have been heard from the other side.
"Weasley…" Snape's dark, glittering eyes fixed curiously on him. "Detention. Eight o'clock tonight. And apologize to Mr. Malfoy who endured such a disgusting offense so breezily, or else I will make it two detentions."
Meanwhile, Draco wasn't listening to a word Snape was saying, and neither did he notice when Ron grumbled an apology. He was too busy staring at Harry, and only seemed to notice when the other students began to file forward into the classroom.
"You're lucky class is starting, Potter," he said caustically, while ignoring Ron who was mumbling something at him incoherently. "Otherwise, you wouldn't get off so easily."
Unaware of how Snape was monitoring them, Harry stumbled backward through the crowd next to Malfoy as the rest of the students pressed forward. He said in a low voice, "Didn't think you wanted to get me off—you of all people?"
Draco's nose wrinkled hideously as he shoved past him with Crabbe and Goyle at his heels. Pansy stuck her tongue out at Harry while she passed, and Harry started to go in as well, but Snape threw out an arm to bar his path. "Mind your language, Potter," Snape said silkily, "or I might just look the other way when Mr. Malfoy retaliates…"
"You might?" Harry said in mock amazement before sliding right past him.
After Professor Moody humiliated Draco by transfiguring him into a ferret, Draco relented on the severity of his bullying for a while. But when Harry was selected as the fourth champion of the Triwizard Tournament, Draco's efforts redoubled, since he was energized by the knowledge that Harry was the center of attention for the fourth year running. Up until that point, he had exercised a certain amount of restraint because Professor Moody was often watching over Harry. But now, he felt like he had more of an excuse to run amuck with all his usual verbal abuse and underhanded hijinks.
Draco made a game of routing Harry with open taunts and impromptu duels, one of which ended with Hermione and Goyle rushing to the hospital wing when the opposing spells rebounded onto them.
From Harry's perspective, all of this was to be expected, and he welcomed it with greater panache than Sir Cadogan ever showed against his imaginary opponents. He rose to the challenge of Draco's needling every time, even though he was beginning to doubt that Draco had ever had feelings for him at all—but he reassured himself that this was all a part of the mating dance, according to Draco, and it wouldn't last forever if he could endure it for a short while longer. It was just difficult to put up with; now that Ron was no longer talking to him, he felt isolated, marked out by the school's overbearing disapproval, especially Draco's.
And it was also disconcerting how, as the year progressed, Draco became more absorbed with Pansy than ever before. If he wasn't studying in the library or hanging around a raucous crowd of his friends, then he was attending to her with a zeal he had never shown before, which made Harry decide Draco must be in love with her after all. He was always snogging her, or reciting poetry in a humorously dramatic way to make her laugh, and it made Harry's stomach turn whenever he saw the doting way that Pansy treated him in turn.
"She isn't even pretty," Harry hissed to Hermione absentmindedly on one occasion.
"Who?" Hermione glanced in the direction he was scowling. "Pansy? Ugly personality maybe, but I wouldn't say she isn't pretty."
Harry's hands formed into fists as he watched Draco pull her off a stone rise by her waist and into his arms. "She's hideous. Can't imagine why he doesn't date anyone else."
Hermione smirked sideways at him, a knowing glint in her eye. "Like who?"
Failing to pick up on the way she was looking at him, Harry stammered. "Anyone, I guess…"
Over the next few months, Harry tried to work out a way to catch Malfoy alone, since it seemed like the next logical step toward prompting a confession out of him. He was too afraid of directly asking for a private word while Draco was surrounded by his friends—although he knew this sure as hell wasn't the bravery Professor Lupin had called for. He even had difficulty mustering the initiative to strike up a conversation with Cho, and he supposed that he deserved the loneliness and stinging heartache that he got as a result. Love felt like an impossible battleground for him, and Cho and Draco were the two most unattainable prizes—Triwizard Tournament be damned—one of them light, one of them dark, both intimidating and so irresistible that he felt like his whole body was undergoing a famine every time he looked at them.
Nothing had gone right for Harry ever since he'd been selected as the fourth champion, but he regained some of his old confidence after Ron started talking to him again, after the first task of the competition was successfully behind him. With their friendship restored, he felt better about standing up to Malfoy whenever another blistering argument broke out.
"Bet you enjoyed winning the first part of the tournament, didn't you, Potter?" Malfoy jeered when Harry was walking through the Middle Courtyard by himself. "I suppose you think you're a champion now, as opposed to a cheat? Do you like pretending to be something you're not?"
"You're the one pretending," Harry said under his breath, feeling a surge of anger welling up inside him. "Afraid of being found out. But I know what you are."
Draco narrowed his gaze, seemingly unsure of what that meant. "Get bent, Potter."
"You mean by you?" For once, Harry was the one to step up and get in Malfoy's face, and he enjoyed the vague look of unease that seemed to cloud over him. "Is there something everyone should know about you, Malfoy? Something you've been hiding?"
"You're only trying to draw attention away from the fact that your faggoty little boyfriend, Creevey, still worships you like a god…"
Harry grinded his teeth, then lowered his voice to a private whisper. "Shit doesn't have to be like this, you know. Like I already said, we could be friends."
"Hold on… only friends?" Draco said loud enough for everyone to hear. "When you wanted to have your tongue down my throat so badly last year—are you serious?"
Harry took a step back while Draco gave him an arch look.
"I bet you would've loved that, eh, Potter…? Me snogging you in the familiar comfort of a closet, making you moan like the disgusting little queer you are…"
Admittedly, it wasn't bad imagery at all, the thought of Draco kissing him until his knees buckled. But Harry stood his ground, feeling hyperaware of how awkwardly his body was positioned and how his fingernails were digging into the leather of his bookbag. He shouldered it more comfortably, unable to stop his eyes from straying momentarily to Draco's lips.
He shut his eyes on impulse, banishing the temptation from his mind. And then he remembered Professor Lupin advising him to give Draco a subtle opening—although, what he was about to say definitely didn't qualify as subtle.
Harry adopted a cool tone, then tilted his chin up. "So what, Malfoy? Maybe I would've liked it. Who the hell cares, except you?"
A pregnant pause filled the space between them, while Draco chewed over the meaning of that snappy retort. Eventually, he said, "Only in your wildest, wettest dreams, Potter…"
My wet dreams are a lot more eventful than that, Harry wanted to say, but restrained himself. Instead, he turned his back on Malfoy and started to make his way toward the Great Hall where he hoped to find his friends.
Unsatisfied with how the argument was being dropped, however, Malfoy walked after him with his gang of Slytherins in tow. Pansy and the other girls followed curiously behind. "Is it lonely, Potter?" Malfoy shouted savagely at Harry's back. "Being the only guy in school as sick and bent as Dumbledore? Or is that why he favors you so much? Spending any extra time with him lately, are you?"
Harry said nothing, but continued walking.
"I bet you've got plenty of perverted material to wank off to when everyone else is asleep in your dorm. Or do you wank off to thoughts about your mates while they're asleep? I bet you'd love to cover Weasley's sleeping face in your spunk. I wonder how many sticky surprises he's woken up to."
Harry dropped his books and rounded back toward Malfoy while the Slytherins sniggered nastily. "Not my best friend," Harry said warningly, "you lowdown prick. Don't you dare go after him in front of me." Harry still had last year's love letter in his pocket; he could show it to everyone and make a pretty good case that Malfoy was bent.
Draco licked his lips as if to savor the reaction he had provoked, then smiled scornfully. "So… Weasley's your boyfriend, and not that Creevey kid… is that right?" The Slytherins cackled and jeered, while other students tuned in to the spiteful exchange. "Dear, dear, boys," he said calmly to Crabbe and Goyle, "I pissed the fruit fly off, and now it looks like he's going to attack." Draco grimaced nervously as Harry approached, then braced himself for whatever was coming.
Harry's blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the otherwise loud chatter that was surrounding them. He closed his eyes, doing his level best to get a grip on himself.
If I'm confused about my feelings, Harry reminded himself, he's got to be even worse off, but that doesn't bloody excuse him…
"Well?" Sensing the threat had passed, Malfoy opened his arms in a demonstration of false bravery. "What'll it be, Potter? You fudge-packing little homo."
Harry was seeing red by the time he opened his eyes. He could have easily jumped on him, torn at his robes, practiced a few hexes on him, and humiliated him in front of the whole school. Instead, he merely whispered, "I'll kill you one of these days, Malfoy…"
"Oh, really? Is that because it's the only way you'll ever get to kiss another boy?" Vindictive glee lit up his eyes when Harry glared sullenly at him. "Stone cold lips are all you have to look forward to, Potter. Your love life will be about as warm and fulfilling as Filch's beastly relations with Mrs. Norris."
Harry didn't know what happened. He was surprised he hadn't reached for his wand instead, but the next thing he knew, he was sitting on top of Malfoy on the ground, doing exactly what he had decided not to do. He stared into Draco's fear-ridden eyes, and all the power behind Draco's taunts were reduced to nothing now that he had him pinned against the ground—and not for the first time. He couldn't get a punch in, however, because Malfoy was grabbing at his wrists, bending their tangled arms up over his head while the students around them gathered and rallied for a fight.
After what felt like ages, Crabbe and Goyle managed to separate them. Harry tasted blood in his mouth, and he had a vague recollection of Draco elbowing him in the face while Harry had been driving one of his knees into his stomach.
"I'll get you," Harry wheezed as he rushed away from the brood of Slytherins to retrieve his bag. I'll get you alone, Harry said soothingly to himself, and then we'll see how you feel then…
Draco lost track of the time in Professor Moody's class while he was thinking about Harry and their row in the courtyard earlier that day. He had always thought Harry's deer-in-the-headlights expression was beyond adorable, but he loved to see him put on his angry face just as much.
Ever since he saw him at the World Cup, he couldn't believe how graphic his daydreams about him were becoming, and so seemingly out of nowhere. He kept all his chaotic fantasies locked away and buried in a Black Box in the most secret part of his mind, only letting them out on the odd occasion when it was safe to indulge them without interruption.
And yet, sometimes he couldn't help where his mind went. Even now, he was imagining that Harry's most recent glance at him from across the room meant that he wanted Draco to use the Imperius Curse on him, to force him into compromising positions.
Draco bit the inside of his cheek as he envisioned a series of stimulating interactions and sorted through them; he needed to decide on the most erotic ones and put them into his Black Box for later use.
He jumped slightly in his seat when Professor Moody shouted at another student for dozing off. Focus, you idiot, he told himself, but when he glanced across the room to where Professor Moody was standing among the students, he could just make out the vivid green of Harry's eyes, and they were trained directly on him.
"What's got your tongue, boy?" Professor Moody barked at Dean Thomas, while a fleeting smile passed over Harry's lips. A blush crept over Harry's neck, and he quickly looked away and lowered his head. Hermione peered over Harry's shoulder at Draco as well, then whispered something into Harry's ear, which made him smile even more.
"What the hell are you two talking about," Draco whispered, his face screwing up with intense suspicion.
"Correct, Ms. Greengrass," Professor Moody said calmly to Daphne, "you got the answer right, just like I knew you would." And then he lumbered back towards the front of the class on his wooden leg, where he proceeded to lecture on the effects of an Erkling's cackle.
Draco nodded to Goyle who was sitting beside him, when Goyle asked if he was keeping up with the lecture. He wasn't really, but he wanted to hurry and dive back into his thoughts and finish sorting them. The sooner he did that, the sooner he could give Moody his full attention, since he knew the ex-Auror would be bringing in a real Erkling next week.
But the guilt he felt for wanting Harry was starting to creep up again…
Unfortunately, his father hated Harry for defeating the Dark Lord, and that hatred extended to the point that Lucius wanted to see him expunged from the rosters at Hogwarts. So Draco knew he had to get this overpowering obsession under control at some point, which seemed like an impossible task.
If only Potter wasn't so damn cute, he thought to himself.
Draco couldn't help it when Harry looked at him again a few minutes later; he bit back a smile and rearranged it into a scowl, and his fingers curled over the parchment on his desk when he felt the familiar panging in his chest. Wanting Harry felt as natural to him as breathing, and it came tethered to so much latent pleasure that he wondered what would happen if he ever decided to give in to these overwhelming urges.
He wondered if it was possible to die by avoiding love, but he also wondered if it was possible to dismantle his emotions to the point that he didn't feel anything for anyone at all ever again. As things were, he felt stuck in the rut of his own sexual depravity, and he had no way of clawing his way out.
After years of self-denial, he was finally giving himself permission to imagine being Harry's secret boyfriend. Nothing else in the world felt more fulfilling compared to when he envisioned dropping the farce, confessing his love, and making up for all the times that he had hurt him.
But what if the wires in his brain were simply crossed and could be fixed?
Having already put his faith in that being the case, Draco had resolved to focus more of his attention onto Pansy this year, in the hopes that he might feel something close to what he felt for the boys he was attracted to. Pansy had a classic look about her, with a small, upturned nose, freckled skin, and enormous black eyes—although he would describe her as unconventionally beautiful, with a unique face that looked adorable every time she giggled at his jokes. She was slender and had a seductive energy that attracted the glances of some of the boys around her. Even Marcus Flint had ogled her last year when she took off her robes to sit more comfortably with her legs exposed on Draco's lap. That had earned her a sharp reproof from Professor McGonagall, and a warning of detention in the future for anyone who thought it was appropriate to remove their robes while they were at school.
This year, her bust was filling out and her legs were becoming shapelier, but Draco simply didn't care. He tried to care—he told himself her curves ought to turn him on, and so he tried to force himself to be excited whenever she gave him permission to feel under her robes.
He did everything he could think of to force himself to want her, and adopted the old maxim, Fake it till you make it. He watched the older Slytherin boys, how they treated their girlfriends, and listened to their bragging about "shagging in the broom closet," so that he could apply their brand of energy to his relationship with Pansy. Naturally, she enjoyed it, but he was indifferent, except for the fact that he'd become fond of her as a friend. He had learned to like making her happy, but that was about as far as his romantic feelings went—his love was strictly Platonic, and nothing more. She was sweet and made him feel like he was smart and that he could come to her for anything, even though he knew he couldn't, and she never said no to him for anything.
She never said no…
And so he wondered if the next step in their relationship would be the answer to his problems.
He had never seen a girl naked before, and certainly had never seen Pansy. Maybe when he did, everything would be set right in his brain, and things would begin to function normally.
Sadly, the more he rehearsed the procedure of undressing her in a broom closet, the more he realized it repulsed him—and then there was that beautiful green-eyed boy, intruding on his attempts at heterosexual fantasizing…
"What're you doing with her, Malfoy? Don't you want to make me undress instead?" An inviting smile played over Harry's lips. "Go ahead… use the Unforgivable Curse on me… I'll do anything you want, and I won't fight it unless you want me to…"
Unable to refuse that kind of offer, Draco raised his wand and aimed it at the dark-haired boy. His heart was pounding, his palms were sweaty—and he wanted it so badly, but it was wrong, and he didn't care.
"Hurry up, Malfoy. I can't stand not being under your control…"
A shudder ran through him at the prospect of having everything he wanted at his fingertips. He croaked, "Imperio!" and then gave his first mental command, after imposing himself onto Harry's will. "Alright, love… Take your clothes off slowly, and… and… tease me while you do it…"
"Did you hear me, Mr. Malfoy?"
Goyle jabbed him in the ribs just as Professor Moody began to lumber across the classroom. Banishing the sultry image from his mind, Draco sat upright, and Moody's wand pointed with a flourish at his nose.
"You're daydreaming, laddie," Moody growled from between his teeth, "and I never liked you to begin with… Answer the question: what major events reduced the number of Erkling attacks over the last two hundred years? It's an easy one, if you've been paying attention—and don't lift your hand, Ms. Granger, I want the damn Jarvey to speak!"
A split-second glance to his right let Draco know that Harry was smiling at him, possibly holding back his laughter. Feeling even hotter than he did one minute ago, Draco lowered his gaze to the desk, then glared up at Moody's magical eye.
"Sorry, sir," he said insincerely, "but I don't know the answer. I suppose I was checked out."
"Five points from Slytherin." Moody withdrew his wand, then wheeled around. "Alright, Ms. Granger. I know you're just dying to spew the answer—now out with it!"
Draco retreated into his mind while Hermione rattled off more dates and information than were strictly necessary, and the thought occurred to him, that perhaps Pansy was the wrong girl for him after all. Maybe someone else could cure his misdirected yearning, and he supposed that he could cast a wider net, just to see if another girl managed to provoke his interest.
…But who?
Draco took a mental inventory of all the girls he thought might tempt him and found that the list was extremely short. There was Daphne, but she was taken… A girl in fifth year, but she never showed an ounce of interest in him, and neither had Daphne.
At one point, he had noticed one of the Beauxbaton girls eyeing him, but she'd been doing that to quite a few of the boys at Hogwarts. And then there was Astoria who was still mooning after him out in the open, although Pansy no longer felt threatened by her after everything Draco had said and done to reassure her.
It isn't cheating, he told himself, having decided what he would do, if I end up not feeling anything for any of them…