Reading The Prophet
Title: Reading The Prophet - Snippets from the "Foundations" universe, written for saras_girl
A/N: This makes absolutely no sense if you haven't read "Reparations " and "Foundations" by
saras_girl. Takes place during chapter 12 of "Foundations"
Word Count: ~ 2000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. And of course, the "Foundations" universe belongs to saras_girl, who allowed me to play with it
Warnings: swearwords, slash (m/m)
Rating: PG-13
Reading The Prophet
Snippets from the “Foundations” universe, written for saras_girl
She looks at the photograph and can't suppress a smile. It's so obvious.
The way they look at each other makes her think of the very beginning. She suspected before anybody else did, at least that's what she likes to think, and it definitely makes her smug. She feels superior. It's not one of her better qualities, she knows.
When he came from Chem Dep with that look in his eyes whenever Malfoy's name came up, she simply knew. Of course, she didn't particularly like it back then. But it was inevitable, really, if you thought about it. It had to be Malfoy.
Now that Malfoy has become Draco to her she can honestly say she likes him a lot. And looking at the photo at the front page of the Prophet, seeing they didn't manage to keep their feelings hidden, though she bets they've tried, makes her... simply proud of them, in a funny kind of way.
When he comes to the kitchen she's already sitting there with her tea, smiling, and shoves the Prophet to him without a word. Slightly hungover, he needs some moments to register what all the fuss is about, and then he simply takes the mug she offers him and reads the article. Snorts. Laughs out loud. Murmurs „Eeegh“ and „Eww“ and „Passionate and full of contradictions? What the fuck?“ while she just smirks. He finishes and shakes his head. “Mum will love it“ he comments dryly. “Skeeter's really priceless.“
He smiles deviously while thinking of how he'll tease Harry mercilessly. They have to drop by in a while, no way he's wasting this opportunity. He bets Malfoy's in a fit. The git is so vain, though, he might like it, Ron thinks, but without any malice. He looks at the Prophet again, blinks. So many words just to describe they're boyfriends.
Fyz remembers. He remembers the first day Harry was at Chem Dep and how he suddenly knew what the tantrum Draco threw last Friday had been about, when Fyz, eavesdropping at Draco's office door, heard something like “What the fuck is that about?“ and “Harry fucking Potter, I don't believe it, Tremellen's a fucking ashole.“ He hadn't known Draco could be so lacking control.
He remembers the way Harry curiously looked at the photo he, Fyzal, took, and his frown, as if he saw something unexpected. And he remembers the tension, the arguments, and how they became a lot less hostile after the cupboard incident. The one he and Marguerite initiated.
He had a hard time in rehab, everybody has, but he's taken some memorable moments with him, and locking Draco in that cupboard certainly is one of them.
Then Seb's out of the shower and he shows him the Prophet, and Seb stares at the photo and laughs.
She is sitting at the table in the kitchen. Arthur's still asleep, but she had to get up when the Prophet arrived. She has been waiting for the interview. Now she takes her time reading the article three times, sniffing and murmuring to herself like Auntie Muriel. Having finished, she cleans her nose one last time and shakes her head. It's so beautifully written, honestly, and she realises she's been wrong all along and feels remorse when she thinks about the howler and the hard time she's given Harry. It was out of concern, and because she cares, Arthur keeps telling her she cares too much, sometimes, and she knows she does, but she can't stop it. It's as if she has to worry to be happy, in a very bizarre manner of speaking. The war has taken so many lives, she has to make sure everybody's all right. And Harry... he's so vulnerable, so trusting, and she's so proud of him, and she hated the thought that the Malfoy boy took advantage of him. But that's not the case, obviously, and Arthur told her, Ginny told her and even Ron, and now she can finally admit it. She looks at the picture and blushes, again, because it is so intense and makes her think about... about that, and she really doesn't want to know. They are both men and that makes it... awkward, somehow, she doesn't know if it's really right, but as long as they care for each other, she guesses that it doesn't matter.
She sighs and gets up to fetch a quill and some parchment. She'll write her letter after making breakfast for Arthur. She puts the Prophet on the tray, too. He has to read this wonderful article. The whole thing is so romantic.
Cecile spills her coffee all over the table. She stares and has no words do describe the impression the photograph gives her. It's there, in every little movement and every turn of their heads. They look good, and in love, and as if they'd be going at it the very minute the reporters are out of the room. It makes her think of sex and the lack thereof in her own life. She curses loudly.
She likes Harry, she really does, but she's envious. It's bad enough when he comes to work looking innocently while his whole appearance screams “just been shagged by Malfoy“. She can tell by now, every time.
This is worse. They look hot together, and everybody can see how they feel. There's passion, and desire, and it's written all over their faces. She doesn't have to read the article to know. But of course she does, just like anybody else in wizarding Britain.
He reads the Prophet in his study, as he always does. He feels his temper rise while staring unbelievingly at the article on the front page. The two young men with their distinctive appearance, looking like nothing matters except the two of them. The men he despises, the Boy-who-lived, the eager little trainee healer who dares to question his authority, and the arrogant Death-Eater offspring, who pretends to be competent enough to open his own rehab centre in his pretentious Death-Eater home. They've earned each other, he thinks, but they haven't earned to be happy with each other.
He's annoyed and offended. It's outrageous. But that doesn't prevent him from reading the whole article, again and again, and silently fuming about every sentimental phrase. It makes him want to vomit. Who wants to know anything about their love life? And why didn't Skeeter tell him beforehand she would publish this rubbish?
Ginny gets up late on Saturday morning, as she usually does, as long as she's not at the early shift. When she comes to the kitchen there are eggs and toast and tea already waiting for her at the counter, but Neville's nowhere to be seen. She supposes he's in the garden. The Prophet is lying at the window-sill where the owl's dropped it, and she takes on single look and holds her breath. Harry will absolutely loathe this, is what comes to her mind.
But maybe she's wrong. Draco looks pretty good at the picture, as always. And she knows Harry well enough to assume he might in fact even like it while pretending otherwise. Maybe he keeps the article somewhere private and doesn't tell anybody, that sentimental sap.
She's glad. She's happy for them. She'd never have guessed they would be that good together, but they are. Even when Draco told her - or, which is more to the point, admitted it by not denying - about his purely academical interest in her ex-boyfriend, she'd never have thought this was possible.
She puts a careful finger on Harry's face. “Good for you”, she whispers.
She hears the door open and shut and Neville approaches from behind. He slides his arms around her. Looks at the prophet and frowns, she can tell even if she can't see it.
“Look at them, aren't they beautiful?” she asks, unable to avert her eyes.
“Should I be jealous?” he says with a mocking smile.
If she didn't know him that well, she might have overheard the slight uncertainty. She leans back in his embrace, smiles and sighs contentedly. “No.”
It's true. She's learned her lesson a long time ago. Harry and her don't work, they never will, and now he's gay and with Draco and that's exactly how it should be.
As if he really needed that. He's been pretty busy during his night shift, someone's nightmares led to a extended counselling session past midnight, and now he's tired and exhausted and wants some scones and a shower and then his warm and soft bed. And he doesn't want to think of the things that come to his mind when he sees those pictures, thank you very much.
It doesn't help that he knows the true person behind the facade, even if he thinks it should, not when the pictures shows him like that, all dark and handsome and with piercing green eyes that clearly say “Don't you dare offend me.” He's seen that expression before, once or twice, when Wonder Boy looked at him, and it's exhilarating and even a little frightening. But he certainly didn't get the smile Draco gets at the photo, and he refuses to admit it makes his heart miss a beat just once to see it.
Mrs Mafloy reads the newspaper. He sees her scowl and wonders what it is about, but decides to keep quiet for the moment. She's told him it's not polite to disturb someone while reading the paper. He only hopes she doesn't take long. He pets Zoos who lies beneath his chair and simply waits for her to finish. When the newspaper drops down to the table beside her plate, he sees the picture. “Oh, look,“ he says. “There's Harry and Drake.“
“Yes, Darling, I've seen it“, she answers. She sounds slightly distracted and he wonders why.
He doesn't understand the article, but that doesn't matter, because the picture is so much better than the rest. He asks if he may keep it - he remembers to say may before speaking, and it earns him an approving smile. “Yes, of course“, she says.
“They are happy“, he says. She nods and smiles.
It's late afternoon. They have silently agreed not to talk about Skeeter's article anymore, and they haven't, but both of them certainly thought about it. At least he knows he did, and he supposes Draco did, too.
Ron and Hermione went home some hours before, and all crosswords are done by now. There's always housework to do, but he's not in the mood, and he ends up at the sofa re-reading some parts of Dog Rose. Draco's at the manor, just dropping by to talk with Annette, and he has promised to be back at seven. When the book can't hold his attention anymore, he gets up to finally do the laundry.
The Prophet's lying on the bedroom floor, and he lifts it up. He reads the article once more. It's horrible, absolutely and incredibly horrible, full of clichés and bittersweet romance. It doesn't show their real selves, not at all, he decides. They are, after all, just two young men like so many others, working hard in jobs which fit them but certainly don't make them heroic or special. They have normal lifes, with some wonderful friends, with some issues, sure, with some bad memories, too, but a lot of good ones to compensate.
He hides the Prophet deep down in his bedside drawer. He'd never tell Draco, but he's okay with what they did, even if it's Skeeter at her worst, and he likes the pictures. There are not many photos with just the two of them, except for those the newspapers already printed.
He's in the kitchen, sharing his dinner plans with the cupboard, when Draco returns. He smiles, leans at the door, they talk, and when Harry finally approaches him and pins him against the door, there's heat and that delicious smell and closeness that flood his senses. He tastes Draco's neck with his lips and tongue, feels him shivering slightly, sighs when Draco pulls him closer still, and he simply knows he wants this to last forever.
~ fin ~
A/N: This makes absolutely no sense if you haven't read "Reparations " and "Foundations" by
saras_girl. Takes place during chapter 12 of "Foundations"
Word Count: ~ 2000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. And of course, the "Foundations" universe belongs to saras_girl, who allowed me to play with it
Warnings: swearwords, slash (m/m)
Rating: PG-13
Reading The Prophet
Snippets from the “Foundations” universe, written for saras_girl
She looks at the photograph and can't suppress a smile. It's so obvious.
The way they look at each other makes her think of the very beginning. She suspected before anybody else did, at least that's what she likes to think, and it definitely makes her smug. She feels superior. It's not one of her better qualities, she knows.
When he came from Chem Dep with that look in his eyes whenever Malfoy's name came up, she simply knew. Of course, she didn't particularly like it back then. But it was inevitable, really, if you thought about it. It had to be Malfoy.
Now that Malfoy has become Draco to her she can honestly say she likes him a lot. And looking at the photo at the front page of the Prophet, seeing they didn't manage to keep their feelings hidden, though she bets they've tried, makes her... simply proud of them, in a funny kind of way.
When he comes to the kitchen she's already sitting there with her tea, smiling, and shoves the Prophet to him without a word. Slightly hungover, he needs some moments to register what all the fuss is about, and then he simply takes the mug she offers him and reads the article. Snorts. Laughs out loud. Murmurs „Eeegh“ and „Eww“ and „Passionate and full of contradictions? What the fuck?“ while she just smirks. He finishes and shakes his head. “Mum will love it“ he comments dryly. “Skeeter's really priceless.“
He smiles deviously while thinking of how he'll tease Harry mercilessly. They have to drop by in a while, no way he's wasting this opportunity. He bets Malfoy's in a fit. The git is so vain, though, he might like it, Ron thinks, but without any malice. He looks at the Prophet again, blinks. So many words just to describe they're boyfriends.
Fyz remembers. He remembers the first day Harry was at Chem Dep and how he suddenly knew what the tantrum Draco threw last Friday had been about, when Fyz, eavesdropping at Draco's office door, heard something like “What the fuck is that about?“ and “Harry fucking Potter, I don't believe it, Tremellen's a fucking ashole.“ He hadn't known Draco could be so lacking control.
He remembers the way Harry curiously looked at the photo he, Fyzal, took, and his frown, as if he saw something unexpected. And he remembers the tension, the arguments, and how they became a lot less hostile after the cupboard incident. The one he and Marguerite initiated.
He had a hard time in rehab, everybody has, but he's taken some memorable moments with him, and locking Draco in that cupboard certainly is one of them.
Then Seb's out of the shower and he shows him the Prophet, and Seb stares at the photo and laughs.
She is sitting at the table in the kitchen. Arthur's still asleep, but she had to get up when the Prophet arrived. She has been waiting for the interview. Now she takes her time reading the article three times, sniffing and murmuring to herself like Auntie Muriel. Having finished, she cleans her nose one last time and shakes her head. It's so beautifully written, honestly, and she realises she's been wrong all along and feels remorse when she thinks about the howler and the hard time she's given Harry. It was out of concern, and because she cares, Arthur keeps telling her she cares too much, sometimes, and she knows she does, but she can't stop it. It's as if she has to worry to be happy, in a very bizarre manner of speaking. The war has taken so many lives, she has to make sure everybody's all right. And Harry... he's so vulnerable, so trusting, and she's so proud of him, and she hated the thought that the Malfoy boy took advantage of him. But that's not the case, obviously, and Arthur told her, Ginny told her and even Ron, and now she can finally admit it. She looks at the picture and blushes, again, because it is so intense and makes her think about... about that, and she really doesn't want to know. They are both men and that makes it... awkward, somehow, she doesn't know if it's really right, but as long as they care for each other, she guesses that it doesn't matter.
She sighs and gets up to fetch a quill and some parchment. She'll write her letter after making breakfast for Arthur. She puts the Prophet on the tray, too. He has to read this wonderful article. The whole thing is so romantic.
Cecile spills her coffee all over the table. She stares and has no words do describe the impression the photograph gives her. It's there, in every little movement and every turn of their heads. They look good, and in love, and as if they'd be going at it the very minute the reporters are out of the room. It makes her think of sex and the lack thereof in her own life. She curses loudly.
She likes Harry, she really does, but she's envious. It's bad enough when he comes to work looking innocently while his whole appearance screams “just been shagged by Malfoy“. She can tell by now, every time.
This is worse. They look hot together, and everybody can see how they feel. There's passion, and desire, and it's written all over their faces. She doesn't have to read the article to know. But of course she does, just like anybody else in wizarding Britain.
He reads the Prophet in his study, as he always does. He feels his temper rise while staring unbelievingly at the article on the front page. The two young men with their distinctive appearance, looking like nothing matters except the two of them. The men he despises, the Boy-who-lived, the eager little trainee healer who dares to question his authority, and the arrogant Death-Eater offspring, who pretends to be competent enough to open his own rehab centre in his pretentious Death-Eater home. They've earned each other, he thinks, but they haven't earned to be happy with each other.
He's annoyed and offended. It's outrageous. But that doesn't prevent him from reading the whole article, again and again, and silently fuming about every sentimental phrase. It makes him want to vomit. Who wants to know anything about their love life? And why didn't Skeeter tell him beforehand she would publish this rubbish?
Ginny gets up late on Saturday morning, as she usually does, as long as she's not at the early shift. When she comes to the kitchen there are eggs and toast and tea already waiting for her at the counter, but Neville's nowhere to be seen. She supposes he's in the garden. The Prophet is lying at the window-sill where the owl's dropped it, and she takes on single look and holds her breath. Harry will absolutely loathe this, is what comes to her mind.
But maybe she's wrong. Draco looks pretty good at the picture, as always. And she knows Harry well enough to assume he might in fact even like it while pretending otherwise. Maybe he keeps the article somewhere private and doesn't tell anybody, that sentimental sap.
She's glad. She's happy for them. She'd never have guessed they would be that good together, but they are. Even when Draco told her - or, which is more to the point, admitted it by not denying - about his purely academical interest in her ex-boyfriend, she'd never have thought this was possible.
She puts a careful finger on Harry's face. “Good for you”, she whispers.
She hears the door open and shut and Neville approaches from behind. He slides his arms around her. Looks at the prophet and frowns, she can tell even if she can't see it.
“Look at them, aren't they beautiful?” she asks, unable to avert her eyes.
“Should I be jealous?” he says with a mocking smile.
If she didn't know him that well, she might have overheard the slight uncertainty. She leans back in his embrace, smiles and sighs contentedly. “No.”
It's true. She's learned her lesson a long time ago. Harry and her don't work, they never will, and now he's gay and with Draco and that's exactly how it should be.
As if he really needed that. He's been pretty busy during his night shift, someone's nightmares led to a extended counselling session past midnight, and now he's tired and exhausted and wants some scones and a shower and then his warm and soft bed. And he doesn't want to think of the things that come to his mind when he sees those pictures, thank you very much.
It doesn't help that he knows the true person behind the facade, even if he thinks it should, not when the pictures shows him like that, all dark and handsome and with piercing green eyes that clearly say “Don't you dare offend me.” He's seen that expression before, once or twice, when Wonder Boy looked at him, and it's exhilarating and even a little frightening. But he certainly didn't get the smile Draco gets at the photo, and he refuses to admit it makes his heart miss a beat just once to see it.
Mrs Mafloy reads the newspaper. He sees her scowl and wonders what it is about, but decides to keep quiet for the moment. She's told him it's not polite to disturb someone while reading the paper. He only hopes she doesn't take long. He pets Zoos who lies beneath his chair and simply waits for her to finish. When the newspaper drops down to the table beside her plate, he sees the picture. “Oh, look,“ he says. “There's Harry and Drake.“
“Yes, Darling, I've seen it“, she answers. She sounds slightly distracted and he wonders why.
He doesn't understand the article, but that doesn't matter, because the picture is so much better than the rest. He asks if he may keep it - he remembers to say may before speaking, and it earns him an approving smile. “Yes, of course“, she says.
“They are happy“, he says. She nods and smiles.
It's late afternoon. They have silently agreed not to talk about Skeeter's article anymore, and they haven't, but both of them certainly thought about it. At least he knows he did, and he supposes Draco did, too.
Ron and Hermione went home some hours before, and all crosswords are done by now. There's always housework to do, but he's not in the mood, and he ends up at the sofa re-reading some parts of Dog Rose. Draco's at the manor, just dropping by to talk with Annette, and he has promised to be back at seven. When the book can't hold his attention anymore, he gets up to finally do the laundry.
The Prophet's lying on the bedroom floor, and he lifts it up. He reads the article once more. It's horrible, absolutely and incredibly horrible, full of clichés and bittersweet romance. It doesn't show their real selves, not at all, he decides. They are, after all, just two young men like so many others, working hard in jobs which fit them but certainly don't make them heroic or special. They have normal lifes, with some wonderful friends, with some issues, sure, with some bad memories, too, but a lot of good ones to compensate.
He hides the Prophet deep down in his bedside drawer. He'd never tell Draco, but he's okay with what they did, even if it's Skeeter at her worst, and he likes the pictures. There are not many photos with just the two of them, except for those the newspapers already printed.
He's in the kitchen, sharing his dinner plans with the cupboard, when Draco returns. He smiles, leans at the door, they talk, and when Harry finally approaches him and pins him against the door, there's heat and that delicious smell and closeness that flood his senses. He tastes Draco's neck with his lips and tongue, feels him shivering slightly, sighs when Draco pulls him closer still, and he simply knows he wants this to last forever.
~ fin ~