I like it and that's all that matters.
I curse FAP for not working at a time like this. At a time where HPB Fic posting is crucial.
Ahh, well.
Title: Vanishing Cabinet
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry heads over to the Room of Requirement to retrieve his copy of Advanced Potions, and gets much more than he bargained for. H/D, sort of.
His breath hovered above him, touching the closed door. His chest was heaving, and there was no sounds but the movement of footsteps from afar. It was broken - he was stuck. Unless someone came. It hadn't been his intention to climb in in the first place and he cursed himself silently for being so stupid. He had heard Montague's story with interest, and knew it was broken from the start. The state of his body was nearing limbo, but hope was lifting in his chest. There had to be a way. He had his wand - but what if something happened while he tried to Alohomora the door apart? What if..?
There were footsteps, and they were not faraway. The hope tightened, and the panic took over. Don't let it be a Professor, Draco thought silently. I only wanted to see it, I only wanted to try it, that's all. I only wanted to see if it had been mended, that's all, that's all. He was praying silently as the footsteps drew closer, each like a tiny skull tapping on the floor, shortening the distance in their strides.
They stopped.
He raised his fist, closed his eyes, and punched at the closed lid above.
Once, twice..he prayed, and suddenly the darkness went away.
The light caved in from the room the size of a large cathedral, and for a moment he couldn't see what had opened the lid.
And then he opened his eyes, blinked, and looked up to see the looming face of Harry Potter.
~
When Harry returned to the Room of Requirement in which he had stored his book, he certainly did not expect to see the sight that had greeted him. For months and months he had tried desperately, hopelessly, to find Malfoy's secret hideaway, and for those months it had proved to be waste of time. Ron had said it, Hermione had said it, and yet he had not dared to believe. The only time the Room had obeyed his orders had been when he had desired the room himself, had needed a place to stash his former Advanced Potions book - beyond Hermione's protests that the scrawled messages would only lead to more danger, Harry had gone by to seek it once more, determined to figure out who the owner had been. He had given up the hopes that it had been his father, disgusted to even have considered or entertained the thought - but that didn't mean he couldn't figure out who the owner had really been. Professor Slughorn must've taught the very student who was talented, and Harry had thought for a horrified moment that it might've been his Mother herself, but of course, the person had written on it fifty years ago...and he doubted very much that she would've wanted anyone to get hurt.
Harry began to doubt a lot of things. Especially his intentions. They didn't seem to want to agree with him these days. Especially this day. An evening that would've usually been spent with Ginny was spent instead of circling the seventh floor corridor until he could see the outline of the door before him, ready for him to open. He had stepped in and shut the door behind him, his destination straightforward. His feet were taking him beyond the alleyways and roads to the place where his book hid - he turned to make a left from the Vanishing Cabinet Montague had gotten trapped in last year, and then heard a knock.
He stopped dead in his tracks. He thought to say wildly, "Who's there?" but figured that was not the wisest thing to do at the moment. Stuffing his hand in his pocket, he turned toward the noise - the Vanishing Cabinet stood before him and he could hear taps from the other side of it's door.
This was insane..and yet, he stepped toward it. His wand was taken out hesitantly, as he pulled the lid.
For moments, it didn't budge. Then, with another tug, it obeyed at the ease of his grasp, and was opened with a creak to expose the source of sound from beneath it.
Draco Malfoy.
He was spread out unevenly, almost as if he had crouched inside it before the door had forced him down, waving his hands in front of his face as the blinding patches of light hit him right in the face. In his other hand was gripped-loosely - his wand. Harry could only stare down at the boy he had made blood sprout out of weeks before, as the hand slowly fell from his face to look up at him.
"Malfoy."
He seemed to be saying a lot of that these days.
Draco, surprisingly, did not point his wand at him. Instead, his mouth curled into a sneer as his eyes traced over the wand that was clutched in Harry's hand and sat up from the cabinet. For a moment they stared at each other with their hardened expressions, and then suddenly Malfoy climbed over, his feet hitting the floor with a plop.
He rose up to his full height and the hand that held the wand did not tremble or move a bit. It stood at his side, almost defiantly. His eyes were asking Harry to dare them, but Harry could only part his mouth, wondering if he should say sorry while the other part of his brain screamed, it's Malfoy!
"How did you get in here?" Draco said breathlessly, and Harry swallowed as he saw a pink tinge rise in his cheeks. He was flushed and sweaty, strands of silver-blonde sticking to his forehead in the gleaming perspiration. His robes were in disarray, the fabric obviously had twisted and turned in the isolation of the cabinet. Harry cleared his throat.
"It's the Room of Requirement," Harry said coolly. "I required it."
Draco's already rushing breath took itself in with the speed like the cut of a dagger, and his lips scowled menacingly at him. A feeling etched his face like no other feeling, and Harry was distraught to see that it was hatred beyond any other hatred he had ever imagined. His usual, cold, dead eyes were not flat and lifeless, but brought to life by pure spite. "Go to hell, Potter." His voice seethed with repressed rage with almost a slice of - hurt? No, it couldn't be hurt. But even though, he found it more difficult than ever to get out the image of tears rolling down of Draco's cheeks, right before he had made blood replace them in the boy's bathroom where the mirror had reflected for all to be seen.
"Original," Harry replied flatly. "Very original."
It happened within an instant, and Harry wasn't even sure he understood what had happened when it did. It was as if he was standing there seconds before, inches away from his nemesis before Draco pounced - they were caught in the mess of their robes as Harry was tackled to the floor, wand rolling away from the tangle of their bodies. Harry gave a furious yell, but Draco had caught him, his hands holding his arms down with a surprising amount of strength. The grayness of his pale face had faded so quickly Harry could only stare back, trying to wriggle beneath the body that was pressing onto him almost forcefully..
"I - fucking - hate - you," Draco said, each word brought out with an even larger force of weight as his fingernails dug into the skin of his arms. Even through his robes he could feel the pain, pain Harry was no stranger to but could still feel the depth of, striking through his skin, wanting to make him bleed just as he had made Draco bleed. "You may have got out of the clutches of punishment for your reckless rulebreaking, Potter, but not today. Not - today." His breath fanned Harry's face, and he tried hard not to blink with the pain of it, as well as the sensations in his stomach that were suddenly tickling his insides with warmth at the feeling of his breath. It was cool and smooth, almost like the wind, and Harry felt his eyes close..
"Don't," Draco's voice sounded like an echo above him and Harry's eyes flew open with alarm to see that Draco's face was inches away from his own. "You look at me when I kill you, Potter." His eyes shone with vengeance and a deep, dark wrath. "You look at me when I hurt you. Are you listening? Are you - hearing me?!" The fingernails were doing their job..Harry could feel something liquid trickling down the side of his arm and there was a strange bittersweet taste in his mouth. The smell of copper had awakened his senses, and had deadened his every defense. Let Malfoy take him...it might even be enjoyable. He was so, so tired.
Then, suddenly, as if his mind had fully taken in what he had said, his whole body was alert. His eyes sprang open again, and with all the strength he could muster he pushed the body off of him with a force he congratulated himself for. Before Malfoy could reach the wand that had fallen off his fingers, he pushed Malfoy down, and made sure the length of his arm was across Malfoy's chest, so that the pain of breathing pressed down at him from all sides.
"I am hearing you, all right," Harry said, still breathing deeply as the blood continued to slide down. "I am hearing every - fucking - word - you're saying."
Draco's eyes stared back at him, and he couldn't read the expression within him. It was as if all expression had been drained, and the anger was lost. The rage fled from his eyes and the sadness sagged down the corners of his mouth. The gray tinge was back, and Harry was in position again, on the top, with Draco in the bottom. He nearly smiled - yes, this was the way it was supposed to be.
"Look," he finally said, almost spitting into Draco's face. "I didn't make you curse me in there. Hell, I didn't even know what spell I was casting in my mind and if I knew I certainly wouldn't have done it. I don't care, I don't give a damn if you hate me, Malfoy. Because, guess what? I hate you too. I've wasted too much of my energy on hating you. You've made me and Ron's lives a living hell. Hermione may not say anything, but that's only because she doesn't have to resort to your stinking, slimy, scummy level."
Draco winced, but other than that the emotionless face stared back at him. Harry's arm sunk harder into his chest, keeping him in place. Harry didn't know what else to say. They were both sweating now, and his limbs were sore from the change of positions. His skin was still aching in protest of being sliced open at various areas on his arms, like little pricks sunk deep into the skin to make holes. Draco began breathing again, through his mouth. His eyes were closing as Harry's had done, as if saying also, take me. Just do it and go away. Draco voiced it. "Break my nose, then," he said bitterly. "Or are you even more original than that? Here's your chance, Potter. Get me back."
But Harry didn't want to do anything. For a moment he stared into Malfoy's half-closed lids and felt pity soar into his chest. He felt pity for the boy that had stood in front of the bathroom mirror as he cried, and he wanted to ask him all the questions he hadn't had the answers to before. What couldn't he do? What was making him so frightened? Why had he cried? Why had he talked to Moaning Myrtle about it, out of all people and out of all ghosts? His breath seemed to lose it's rhythm as it went on, and it felt painful to even breathe. His arm lost the grip on Malfoy's chest, and he found himself rising, reaching over to nurse the bleeding spots of his shoulderblade to his elbow. Malfoy's eyes opened, almost amazed. Harry thought he saw a flicker of something else in them pass by in them, but in a second the moment was gone. His eyes were dead and cold, and challenging.
Harry kicked Malfoy's wand out of the way and reached to bring his own. He forgot why he was here, and he forgot what he was doing. All because of Malfoy.
His intentions lost and his destination more than he bargained for, Harry pointed his wand at his arm until soothing relief filled his skin - that is, until he got to see Madam Pomfrey to shape it up a bit more. Malfoy was now sitting, looking at the wand in his hands. His eyes were hooded, concealed as he looked down at it with his head bowed. Harry found it odd that this bow didn't remind him of shame, but surrender. He wondered if he'd ever see it again.
Swallowing a second time, Harry pushed his wand into his pocket. He thought of saying "Look" again, maybe even an apology - but didn't. Draco's head was still bowed, his breath once ragged now slowed down to exhale through his nose, and his frown nothing but helplessness.
For a fleeting second, Harry wanted to help Draco Malfoy. And then he remembered who he was.
Forcing himself not to glance back, Harry walked away from him, tension gone. For some reason, he couldn't fathom Draco would rise and curse him behind his back. For some reason, at that very moment, it wasn't possible.
He slipped out the Room of Requirement and watched the outline of the door vanish out of sight.
~
Ahh, well.
Title: Vanishing Cabinet
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry heads over to the Room of Requirement to retrieve his copy of Advanced Potions, and gets much more than he bargained for. H/D, sort of.
His breath hovered above him, touching the closed door. His chest was heaving, and there was no sounds but the movement of footsteps from afar. It was broken - he was stuck. Unless someone came. It hadn't been his intention to climb in in the first place and he cursed himself silently for being so stupid. He had heard Montague's story with interest, and knew it was broken from the start. The state of his body was nearing limbo, but hope was lifting in his chest. There had to be a way. He had his wand - but what if something happened while he tried to Alohomora the door apart? What if..?
There were footsteps, and they were not faraway. The hope tightened, and the panic took over. Don't let it be a Professor, Draco thought silently. I only wanted to see it, I only wanted to try it, that's all. I only wanted to see if it had been mended, that's all, that's all. He was praying silently as the footsteps drew closer, each like a tiny skull tapping on the floor, shortening the distance in their strides.
They stopped.
He raised his fist, closed his eyes, and punched at the closed lid above.
Once, twice..he prayed, and suddenly the darkness went away.
The light caved in from the room the size of a large cathedral, and for a moment he couldn't see what had opened the lid.
And then he opened his eyes, blinked, and looked up to see the looming face of Harry Potter.
~
When Harry returned to the Room of Requirement in which he had stored his book, he certainly did not expect to see the sight that had greeted him. For months and months he had tried desperately, hopelessly, to find Malfoy's secret hideaway, and for those months it had proved to be waste of time. Ron had said it, Hermione had said it, and yet he had not dared to believe. The only time the Room had obeyed his orders had been when he had desired the room himself, had needed a place to stash his former Advanced Potions book - beyond Hermione's protests that the scrawled messages would only lead to more danger, Harry had gone by to seek it once more, determined to figure out who the owner had been. He had given up the hopes that it had been his father, disgusted to even have considered or entertained the thought - but that didn't mean he couldn't figure out who the owner had really been. Professor Slughorn must've taught the very student who was talented, and Harry had thought for a horrified moment that it might've been his Mother herself, but of course, the person had written on it fifty years ago...and he doubted very much that she would've wanted anyone to get hurt.
Harry began to doubt a lot of things. Especially his intentions. They didn't seem to want to agree with him these days. Especially this day. An evening that would've usually been spent with Ginny was spent instead of circling the seventh floor corridor until he could see the outline of the door before him, ready for him to open. He had stepped in and shut the door behind him, his destination straightforward. His feet were taking him beyond the alleyways and roads to the place where his book hid - he turned to make a left from the Vanishing Cabinet Montague had gotten trapped in last year, and then heard a knock.
He stopped dead in his tracks. He thought to say wildly, "Who's there?" but figured that was not the wisest thing to do at the moment. Stuffing his hand in his pocket, he turned toward the noise - the Vanishing Cabinet stood before him and he could hear taps from the other side of it's door.
This was insane..and yet, he stepped toward it. His wand was taken out hesitantly, as he pulled the lid.
For moments, it didn't budge. Then, with another tug, it obeyed at the ease of his grasp, and was opened with a creak to expose the source of sound from beneath it.
Draco Malfoy.
He was spread out unevenly, almost as if he had crouched inside it before the door had forced him down, waving his hands in front of his face as the blinding patches of light hit him right in the face. In his other hand was gripped-loosely - his wand. Harry could only stare down at the boy he had made blood sprout out of weeks before, as the hand slowly fell from his face to look up at him.
"Malfoy."
He seemed to be saying a lot of that these days.
Draco, surprisingly, did not point his wand at him. Instead, his mouth curled into a sneer as his eyes traced over the wand that was clutched in Harry's hand and sat up from the cabinet. For a moment they stared at each other with their hardened expressions, and then suddenly Malfoy climbed over, his feet hitting the floor with a plop.
He rose up to his full height and the hand that held the wand did not tremble or move a bit. It stood at his side, almost defiantly. His eyes were asking Harry to dare them, but Harry could only part his mouth, wondering if he should say sorry while the other part of his brain screamed, it's Malfoy!
"How did you get in here?" Draco said breathlessly, and Harry swallowed as he saw a pink tinge rise in his cheeks. He was flushed and sweaty, strands of silver-blonde sticking to his forehead in the gleaming perspiration. His robes were in disarray, the fabric obviously had twisted and turned in the isolation of the cabinet. Harry cleared his throat.
"It's the Room of Requirement," Harry said coolly. "I required it."
Draco's already rushing breath took itself in with the speed like the cut of a dagger, and his lips scowled menacingly at him. A feeling etched his face like no other feeling, and Harry was distraught to see that it was hatred beyond any other hatred he had ever imagined. His usual, cold, dead eyes were not flat and lifeless, but brought to life by pure spite. "Go to hell, Potter." His voice seethed with repressed rage with almost a slice of - hurt? No, it couldn't be hurt. But even though, he found it more difficult than ever to get out the image of tears rolling down of Draco's cheeks, right before he had made blood replace them in the boy's bathroom where the mirror had reflected for all to be seen.
"Original," Harry replied flatly. "Very original."
It happened within an instant, and Harry wasn't even sure he understood what had happened when it did. It was as if he was standing there seconds before, inches away from his nemesis before Draco pounced - they were caught in the mess of their robes as Harry was tackled to the floor, wand rolling away from the tangle of their bodies. Harry gave a furious yell, but Draco had caught him, his hands holding his arms down with a surprising amount of strength. The grayness of his pale face had faded so quickly Harry could only stare back, trying to wriggle beneath the body that was pressing onto him almost forcefully..
"I - fucking - hate - you," Draco said, each word brought out with an even larger force of weight as his fingernails dug into the skin of his arms. Even through his robes he could feel the pain, pain Harry was no stranger to but could still feel the depth of, striking through his skin, wanting to make him bleed just as he had made Draco bleed. "You may have got out of the clutches of punishment for your reckless rulebreaking, Potter, but not today. Not - today." His breath fanned Harry's face, and he tried hard not to blink with the pain of it, as well as the sensations in his stomach that were suddenly tickling his insides with warmth at the feeling of his breath. It was cool and smooth, almost like the wind, and Harry felt his eyes close..
"Don't," Draco's voice sounded like an echo above him and Harry's eyes flew open with alarm to see that Draco's face was inches away from his own. "You look at me when I kill you, Potter." His eyes shone with vengeance and a deep, dark wrath. "You look at me when I hurt you. Are you listening? Are you - hearing me?!" The fingernails were doing their job..Harry could feel something liquid trickling down the side of his arm and there was a strange bittersweet taste in his mouth. The smell of copper had awakened his senses, and had deadened his every defense. Let Malfoy take him...it might even be enjoyable. He was so, so tired.
Then, suddenly, as if his mind had fully taken in what he had said, his whole body was alert. His eyes sprang open again, and with all the strength he could muster he pushed the body off of him with a force he congratulated himself for. Before Malfoy could reach the wand that had fallen off his fingers, he pushed Malfoy down, and made sure the length of his arm was across Malfoy's chest, so that the pain of breathing pressed down at him from all sides.
"I am hearing you, all right," Harry said, still breathing deeply as the blood continued to slide down. "I am hearing every - fucking - word - you're saying."
Draco's eyes stared back at him, and he couldn't read the expression within him. It was as if all expression had been drained, and the anger was lost. The rage fled from his eyes and the sadness sagged down the corners of his mouth. The gray tinge was back, and Harry was in position again, on the top, with Draco in the bottom. He nearly smiled - yes, this was the way it was supposed to be.
"Look," he finally said, almost spitting into Draco's face. "I didn't make you curse me in there. Hell, I didn't even know what spell I was casting in my mind and if I knew I certainly wouldn't have done it. I don't care, I don't give a damn if you hate me, Malfoy. Because, guess what? I hate you too. I've wasted too much of my energy on hating you. You've made me and Ron's lives a living hell. Hermione may not say anything, but that's only because she doesn't have to resort to your stinking, slimy, scummy level."
Draco winced, but other than that the emotionless face stared back at him. Harry's arm sunk harder into his chest, keeping him in place. Harry didn't know what else to say. They were both sweating now, and his limbs were sore from the change of positions. His skin was still aching in protest of being sliced open at various areas on his arms, like little pricks sunk deep into the skin to make holes. Draco began breathing again, through his mouth. His eyes were closing as Harry's had done, as if saying also, take me. Just do it and go away. Draco voiced it. "Break my nose, then," he said bitterly. "Or are you even more original than that? Here's your chance, Potter. Get me back."
But Harry didn't want to do anything. For a moment he stared into Malfoy's half-closed lids and felt pity soar into his chest. He felt pity for the boy that had stood in front of the bathroom mirror as he cried, and he wanted to ask him all the questions he hadn't had the answers to before. What couldn't he do? What was making him so frightened? Why had he cried? Why had he talked to Moaning Myrtle about it, out of all people and out of all ghosts? His breath seemed to lose it's rhythm as it went on, and it felt painful to even breathe. His arm lost the grip on Malfoy's chest, and he found himself rising, reaching over to nurse the bleeding spots of his shoulderblade to his elbow. Malfoy's eyes opened, almost amazed. Harry thought he saw a flicker of something else in them pass by in them, but in a second the moment was gone. His eyes were dead and cold, and challenging.
Harry kicked Malfoy's wand out of the way and reached to bring his own. He forgot why he was here, and he forgot what he was doing. All because of Malfoy.
His intentions lost and his destination more than he bargained for, Harry pointed his wand at his arm until soothing relief filled his skin - that is, until he got to see Madam Pomfrey to shape it up a bit more. Malfoy was now sitting, looking at the wand in his hands. His eyes were hooded, concealed as he looked down at it with his head bowed. Harry found it odd that this bow didn't remind him of shame, but surrender. He wondered if he'd ever see it again.
Swallowing a second time, Harry pushed his wand into his pocket. He thought of saying "Look" again, maybe even an apology - but didn't. Draco's head was still bowed, his breath once ragged now slowed down to exhale through his nose, and his frown nothing but helplessness.
For a fleeting second, Harry wanted to help Draco Malfoy. And then he remembered who he was.
Forcing himself not to glance back, Harry walked away from him, tension gone. For some reason, he couldn't fathom Draco would rise and curse him behind his back. For some reason, at that very moment, it wasn't possible.
He slipped out the Room of Requirement and watched the outline of the door vanish out of sight.
~