Ficlet: It Was Fun (H/D, PG)
so um, sometimes i can't stop myself. and it's a good thing, because otherwise all i'd write would be stupid essays on Why Certain People Are Meant To Be, which is what's -really- always on my mind. well, ok, not really. so i wrote more sillyfic. credit for several lines goes to stephen, who is the obligatory straight boy i plague with h/d questions. so um. i don't know if this is worth reading, but it's probably funny. though pointless. if anyone sees a point, feel free to tell me. i enjoy it, though. it's fun to write. fluff, long live fluff.
um. so.
~~It Was Fun.
Harry had no idea what Malfoy was doing, really. He seemed to be humming a strange little song under his breath. Harry was incensed. He wasn't getting any sleep, and Malfoy hadn't let up for hours now. Not only was he stuck in the hospital wing with the most infuriating git in all of Hogwarts, but he was apparently mad as a hatter, as well. Harry sighed. Such was his lot in life. He tried rolling to his side-- away from Malfoy, naturally. He didn't have to wait long.
"It was fun, wasn't it Potter?" Malfoy said suddenly.
Harry would've closed his eyes in annoyance, but they were already closed, so he settled for sighing exasperatedly, once again.
"What's with you, Malfoy? Shouldn't you be pouting right about now? I beat you again, or have you forgotten already?" Harry said, irritation extremely obvious in his tone.
"Tsk, tsk. So suspicious, Potter. I am bored, that is all. Aren't you bored? Well, I am, and believe me, I'm willing to do anything to entertain myself, even tolerate you."
Another heartfelt sigh. "Alright, I'll bite. -What- in the world are you talking about, again?"
"Why, us, of course," Malfoy said, his eyes twinkling strangely, in what one would hope was amusement. "You and me. Our relationship. Our future. Our past. The works."
Harry thought he couldn't be boggled any more than he already was, but he was wrong. He looked for tiny wires sticking out of Malfoy's head, indicating he was a robotic impostor (he had gone through a robot obsession, watching Dudley's cartoons while hiding behind the sofa when they were both seven or eight). Sadly, there were no wires to be found. Malfoy appeared to be still human, if completely barking mad.
"Us?" Harry repeated, blankly.
"You wound me, Potter. Am I not your worst and most despised tormentor in all of Hogwarts? Should we not celebrate that fact? Swap notes? Improve performance, perhaps? You've been in a slump lately, I must say," Draco said, thoughtfully. "The glares haven't been up to par, and you barely even jump when I insult you anymore. It's quite dull, actually."
"Screw you, Malfoy. Unlike -some- people," and at this he looked quite pointedly in Malfoy's direction, "I have an actual life outside of petty pranks and insults. I have things I have to do, and none of them include you," Harry added. Then, hearing himself (a second too late as usual), he fought a florid blush, and of course lost horribly.
"Oh-ho," Malfoy said, apparently delighted. "So is -that- how it is. The Boy Who Lived is secretly in torrid lust with his avowed (and might I mention, gloriously male) enemy, I -see-!" he crowed. He was obviously trying to restrain a ridiculously pleased grin, and failing. Harry consoled himself by thinking that would be girly to just slap his sorry pale little face, wouldn't it. He envied Hermione at that moment.
"Oh shut -up-! Merlin, I always suspected you were twisted, but you're really -sick-, Malfoy!" Harry said, his voice rising quickly, the color in his cheeks still very much in evidence.
Malfoy gave him a strange look at that, but said nothing, which in itself was something of an anomaly. And Harry was really quite tired of unexpected anomalies in his life. He was even less inclined to enjoy them when they involved Malfoy in any way, shape or form.
He should've known. He should've known better than to have paid any attention to Malfoy, even on the Quidditch field. He couldn't seem to help it. Malfoy was seeming to burn holes in his skull, staring at him. Maybe he was just waiting for him to move towards the Snitch, when inevitably he sighted it, but it was still horribly unnerving. He had to keep casting surreptious glances at Malfoy, after all, the bloody git was staring at -him- now wasn't he. It was all his fault, really. Harry would report Malfoy for outright harassment and for causing his injury, of only that didn't involve explaining how in the world he happened to be looking back, having just caught the bloody Snitch, blissfully oblivious to the bludger streaking his way at the exact same moment. And then there was the worrisome matter of Malfoy rushing him, having full view of the impending monstrous headache hurtling towards him at full speed. Harry didn't have a chance to register it, completely, but next thing he knew Malfoy was streaking towards him, faster than he'd ever seen him fly, and grabbing his broom, and shoving them both into a steep downwards dive. Which didn't end well. For either of them, as it happened. Harry supposed he should be feeling somewhat more charitable towards the Slytherin, but unfortunately that was pretty much impossible if the said Slytherin was anywhere within speaking distance away from him, as Harry had come to realize time and again this night.
Harry threw a fed-up arm across his eyes, groaning. May as well make the best of it, he supposed. "So why -did- you save me back there, Malfoy. Come on, I know it wasn't out of the goodness of your non-existent heart."
Malfoy huffed, his back to Harry now. "Well, I'm not telling you, not if you're going to be so unentertaining and fucking angsty besides. Figure it out, or is that too much for your meager brain?"
"I hate it when you do that. All I meant was that -you- could tell me, and perhaps we could have a civil exchange for once. But no, obviously that's utterly out of the question. Suit yourself, Malfoy."
"Oh, swallow it," Draco said, his tone no longer amused and climbing quickly back to hostile and arrogant. This was good. Harry was used to this. Perhaps Draco wasn't insane after all, but really, that wasn't entirely comfortable to fully contemplate at the moment, since Draco was staring at him (again) with that -look- (again), and Harry was getting the shivers (again). Quite disturbing. "I'm such a bitter pill, I'm sure."
"What did you think I was going to say?" Harry demanded in a fit of pique. "So much for saving the world," he said in a sing-songy, whiny voice. "Helloooo, Draco."
Draco bristled, and if he has whiskers, they would definitely be twitching indignantly. "You're such a plebe, Potter," Draco said.
"And you're such a pathetic git not worth my time, Malfoy" Harry spat resentfully.
"Oh really Potter, can't you do better than that?" Draco drawled.
"Of course I can, Malfoy," Harry said sweetly. "But you're not worth it, remember?" Harry felt satisfied enough at this retort, and hoped Malfoy would just drop it. Perhaps even miraculously decide to ease Harry's pain by voluntarily leaving the premises and going off to recuperate the rest of the way in his own comfy bed in the Slytherin dungeons. Of course, wishful thinking never got Harry anywhere, so he sadly had to discontinue that train of thought. Draco Malfoy and wishful thinking just didn't go together, anyway. Not that Harry had any clue why he thought that. He thought a lot of things, just because. It was a good, solid reason, he'd found. Especially useful in emergencies, or when you can't be bothered. And with Malfoy, he definitely could never be bothered. If only "never" lasted a bit longer, Harry thought, irritably. Stupid git.
"I take it back, Potter. You're no fun," Draco said, petulant as usual. "Of course, don't expect me to ever save you again, either. That was entirely a fluke. I must've been coming down with cold. Or possibly a thankfully brief onslaught of insanity. Anything is possible."
"How about, `I don't need your stupid help, Malfoy. Look where it got me, you idiot'. Would that also not be fun?" Harry inquired, ever so politely.
"I suppose it would be. So much new room for snide commentary and bad jokes, don't you agree?"
"At least you know your own jokes are bad," Harry said, after a while. He was being so nice. It was really astounding even himself.
Malfoy was trying not to remember Harry's eyes on him, on the Quidditch pitch. He was trying not to remember the overwhelming, mute horror he'd felt when he saw the bludger coming at Harry, in the midst of his extreme annoyance that once again, Harry had seemed to know where the Snitch would be before the Snitch knew (or Malfoy, for that matter). He'd just known it-- known just what to do. He'd known exactly what he'd done, and he couldn't imagine doing anything else. Which deeply bothered him, of course. Draco's feelings were a mystery to him, really, unless they involved anger, pride, fear, or respect. None of these seemed to be the reason he watched Potter. Draco wasn't curious. He was frightened-- of himself this time. He had to sort himself out, he had to, before the Christmas break came and he had to face Lucius again. His father would know. His father always knew. He'd smelled the weakness on him as if he'd worn it like cologne.
"Tired... so tired," Malfoy muttered to himself, completely throwing Harry out of his own reverie, mostly involving Cho Chang and a can of whipped wizard-cream. Oh yes that had had possibilities. Harry glared at Malfoy with newly renewed vigor, and suddenly, unexpectedly, he threw the pillow over his head. His voice was now extremely muffled, but Draco could understand it okay anyway. "Um...." said Draco, his eloquence threatening to desert him, and it was -not- a good time, either.
"Just-- shut up, Malfoy. We can do no harm if we simply keep to ourselves, and in this, I think I agree with Mrs. Pomfrey."
Draco sighed. Why did nothing ever go according to plan? Why, why, why? The silence between them was becoming tense, but both of them just ignored it. Draco started counting the spider-webs on the ceiling. He was up to 428, when there was a slight noise outside the door. Draco grinned, making sure Harry wasn't looking. Ah, yes. The little entertainment the evening had called for.
The music started off softly, almost inconspicuously, like it was there all the time. It picked up speed-- and volume-- quickly, of course, soon flooding the moonlit hospital room with horribly contagious Spanish guitar. Harry squawked and jumped up on his bed, his eyes big as saucers. Malfoy decided he was really going to enjoy this quite as much as he'd thought he would, right then and there. Harry was running to the window, his pajama-top flying open (apparently he'd never bothered to button it all the way), his glasses sliding off his nose, which resulted in him continuously shoving them up again as he sprinted to the source of the god-awful noise. He looked down, and there they were. Strange-looking men with guitars, standing on the frosted-over ground next to the castle wall, casual as you please, belting out ballad after ballad in what seemed to be Spanish.
"This is -your- doing, isn't it, Malfoy," Harry accused, swinging around to face the other boy.
"Mine?" Malfoy scoffed. "Why would I ever do something--" The rest of his protests got drowned out as the serenading trio shifted gears and launched into a strangely infectious song-- in English. Malfoy was having to severely fight singing along. He scowled, thinking that he really shouldn't have included a randomizer on that mischief-and-mayhem spell he'd created. He'd been so proud of himself, too. He stuck his fingers in his ears just as the (so-called) band was getting to what must've been the chorus:
"When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie
That's amore
When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine
That's amore...."
Harry was making choking noises, and scrambling for his wand (which was a good thing, since Malfoy thought he was probably in no state for such clear thinking, as he was quite sure that song will be in his head for the next fortnight, if not more). Pointing his somewhat trembling wand straight at the offending window, Harry cried out, "Silencio!" Thankfully, the noise stopped, though Malfoy was still pretty sure the musicians hadn't. He wasn't going to check.
By unspoken mutual agreement, they decided to go to sleep, thus avoiding any further insanity, or pursuant conversation, for that matter.
~~
The paper airplane fluttered frantically outside the thick wood separating it from the two boys, and then, finally, frustrated, it gave up and knocked on the door. They woke up instantly, looking at each other in consternation, partly because they were sickened to have the other greet them first thing upon awakening, partly because they had no clue why either had woken up in the first place, except that something was wrong. Oh yes, that strange tapping on the door. Draco raised one eyebrow at Harry (who was having a similarly dubious expression), as if to say, "What could it be -now-?"
"What could -that- be," Harry said, not one to avoid stating the obvious by any means.
"Beats me," said Draco. "Why don't you look?"
Scowling at Draco's imperious tone, Harry nevertheless went to open the door. His eyes widened considerably, seeing the paper airplane float regally by him, heading for Draco's lap.
"Oh," said Draco, dryly. "Obviously, it likes me, not you. It has good taste, I must say."
Harry snorted. "You're such a sod, Malfoy," he said, almost good-humoredly.
Draco, of course, looked offended, but finally decided to ignore this, and started fiddling with the folded paper airplane. His eyebrows shot up somewhere beyond Harry's vision, as his fringe now completely obscured their location. Malfoy was laughing softly. Laughing, of all things. Harry was now extremely intrigued. He went over to Malfoy's side, leaning slightly to see what he was looking at. Harry gasped. In neat, spidery long-hand, it said, "The End."
"So, I guess this is it, then," Malfoy drawled. "It's over. Time to lay the cards on the table, so to speak." His usual smirk was having a field-day on his lips.
Harry had the completely mad urge to thoroughly snog him, for some reason. He mentally shook himself, then decided he was going to have to ask Hermione to slap him. Yes, most definitely, because now he was staring at Malfoy's upmost pajama-top button, and licking his lips. He must really still need sleep, as well.
"So, does this mean we're in love?" Malfoy asked, his face the utter picture of angelic innocence. Very deceptive of course, and didn't Harry know it. Obviously, Malfoy was even more mad than Harry had initially thought. Harry did a double-take.
"That's quite a jump there, Malfoy," he said, finally.
"Oh, you know it's true," Malfoy said, seemingly off-handedly, giving his hand a casual little wave. "Everyone knows it but you, Potter."
Harry sputtered. What do you say to that? What, indeed.
"They do -not-!" he said, heatedly, flushing brightly.
Malfoy's smile quickly became a grin. "Ah, well, if you say so, Potter."
Harry realized what he's just said. "You're fucking impossible, Malfoy. You know I didn't mean-- that--"
Malfoy laughed. Harry glared, folding his arms across his chest.
And they lived happily ever after. Unless you don't think they did, in which case they lived snarkily and messily ever after, and they never did catch that paper airplane, as it fluttered away at the first opportunity, going off to plague someone else with its horribly irritating finality.
~~
um. so.
~~It Was Fun.
Harry had no idea what Malfoy was doing, really. He seemed to be humming a strange little song under his breath. Harry was incensed. He wasn't getting any sleep, and Malfoy hadn't let up for hours now. Not only was he stuck in the hospital wing with the most infuriating git in all of Hogwarts, but he was apparently mad as a hatter, as well. Harry sighed. Such was his lot in life. He tried rolling to his side-- away from Malfoy, naturally. He didn't have to wait long.
"It was fun, wasn't it Potter?" Malfoy said suddenly.
Harry would've closed his eyes in annoyance, but they were already closed, so he settled for sighing exasperatedly, once again.
"What's with you, Malfoy? Shouldn't you be pouting right about now? I beat you again, or have you forgotten already?" Harry said, irritation extremely obvious in his tone.
"Tsk, tsk. So suspicious, Potter. I am bored, that is all. Aren't you bored? Well, I am, and believe me, I'm willing to do anything to entertain myself, even tolerate you."
Another heartfelt sigh. "Alright, I'll bite. -What- in the world are you talking about, again?"
"Why, us, of course," Malfoy said, his eyes twinkling strangely, in what one would hope was amusement. "You and me. Our relationship. Our future. Our past. The works."
Harry thought he couldn't be boggled any more than he already was, but he was wrong. He looked for tiny wires sticking out of Malfoy's head, indicating he was a robotic impostor (he had gone through a robot obsession, watching Dudley's cartoons while hiding behind the sofa when they were both seven or eight). Sadly, there were no wires to be found. Malfoy appeared to be still human, if completely barking mad.
"Us?" Harry repeated, blankly.
"You wound me, Potter. Am I not your worst and most despised tormentor in all of Hogwarts? Should we not celebrate that fact? Swap notes? Improve performance, perhaps? You've been in a slump lately, I must say," Draco said, thoughtfully. "The glares haven't been up to par, and you barely even jump when I insult you anymore. It's quite dull, actually."
"Screw you, Malfoy. Unlike -some- people," and at this he looked quite pointedly in Malfoy's direction, "I have an actual life outside of petty pranks and insults. I have things I have to do, and none of them include you," Harry added. Then, hearing himself (a second too late as usual), he fought a florid blush, and of course lost horribly.
"Oh-ho," Malfoy said, apparently delighted. "So is -that- how it is. The Boy Who Lived is secretly in torrid lust with his avowed (and might I mention, gloriously male) enemy, I -see-!" he crowed. He was obviously trying to restrain a ridiculously pleased grin, and failing. Harry consoled himself by thinking that would be girly to just slap his sorry pale little face, wouldn't it. He envied Hermione at that moment.
"Oh shut -up-! Merlin, I always suspected you were twisted, but you're really -sick-, Malfoy!" Harry said, his voice rising quickly, the color in his cheeks still very much in evidence.
Malfoy gave him a strange look at that, but said nothing, which in itself was something of an anomaly. And Harry was really quite tired of unexpected anomalies in his life. He was even less inclined to enjoy them when they involved Malfoy in any way, shape or form.
He should've known. He should've known better than to have paid any attention to Malfoy, even on the Quidditch field. He couldn't seem to help it. Malfoy was seeming to burn holes in his skull, staring at him. Maybe he was just waiting for him to move towards the Snitch, when inevitably he sighted it, but it was still horribly unnerving. He had to keep casting surreptious glances at Malfoy, after all, the bloody git was staring at -him- now wasn't he. It was all his fault, really. Harry would report Malfoy for outright harassment and for causing his injury, of only that didn't involve explaining how in the world he happened to be looking back, having just caught the bloody Snitch, blissfully oblivious to the bludger streaking his way at the exact same moment. And then there was the worrisome matter of Malfoy rushing him, having full view of the impending monstrous headache hurtling towards him at full speed. Harry didn't have a chance to register it, completely, but next thing he knew Malfoy was streaking towards him, faster than he'd ever seen him fly, and grabbing his broom, and shoving them both into a steep downwards dive. Which didn't end well. For either of them, as it happened. Harry supposed he should be feeling somewhat more charitable towards the Slytherin, but unfortunately that was pretty much impossible if the said Slytherin was anywhere within speaking distance away from him, as Harry had come to realize time and again this night.
Harry threw a fed-up arm across his eyes, groaning. May as well make the best of it, he supposed. "So why -did- you save me back there, Malfoy. Come on, I know it wasn't out of the goodness of your non-existent heart."
Malfoy huffed, his back to Harry now. "Well, I'm not telling you, not if you're going to be so unentertaining and fucking angsty besides. Figure it out, or is that too much for your meager brain?"
"I hate it when you do that. All I meant was that -you- could tell me, and perhaps we could have a civil exchange for once. But no, obviously that's utterly out of the question. Suit yourself, Malfoy."
"Oh, swallow it," Draco said, his tone no longer amused and climbing quickly back to hostile and arrogant. This was good. Harry was used to this. Perhaps Draco wasn't insane after all, but really, that wasn't entirely comfortable to fully contemplate at the moment, since Draco was staring at him (again) with that -look- (again), and Harry was getting the shivers (again). Quite disturbing. "I'm such a bitter pill, I'm sure."
"What did you think I was going to say?" Harry demanded in a fit of pique. "So much for saving the world," he said in a sing-songy, whiny voice. "Helloooo, Draco."
Draco bristled, and if he has whiskers, they would definitely be twitching indignantly. "You're such a plebe, Potter," Draco said.
"And you're such a pathetic git not worth my time, Malfoy" Harry spat resentfully.
"Oh really Potter, can't you do better than that?" Draco drawled.
"Of course I can, Malfoy," Harry said sweetly. "But you're not worth it, remember?" Harry felt satisfied enough at this retort, and hoped Malfoy would just drop it. Perhaps even miraculously decide to ease Harry's pain by voluntarily leaving the premises and going off to recuperate the rest of the way in his own comfy bed in the Slytherin dungeons. Of course, wishful thinking never got Harry anywhere, so he sadly had to discontinue that train of thought. Draco Malfoy and wishful thinking just didn't go together, anyway. Not that Harry had any clue why he thought that. He thought a lot of things, just because. It was a good, solid reason, he'd found. Especially useful in emergencies, or when you can't be bothered. And with Malfoy, he definitely could never be bothered. If only "never" lasted a bit longer, Harry thought, irritably. Stupid git.
"I take it back, Potter. You're no fun," Draco said, petulant as usual. "Of course, don't expect me to ever save you again, either. That was entirely a fluke. I must've been coming down with cold. Or possibly a thankfully brief onslaught of insanity. Anything is possible."
"How about, `I don't need your stupid help, Malfoy. Look where it got me, you idiot'. Would that also not be fun?" Harry inquired, ever so politely.
"I suppose it would be. So much new room for snide commentary and bad jokes, don't you agree?"
"At least you know your own jokes are bad," Harry said, after a while. He was being so nice. It was really astounding even himself.
Malfoy was trying not to remember Harry's eyes on him, on the Quidditch pitch. He was trying not to remember the overwhelming, mute horror he'd felt when he saw the bludger coming at Harry, in the midst of his extreme annoyance that once again, Harry had seemed to know where the Snitch would be before the Snitch knew (or Malfoy, for that matter). He'd just known it-- known just what to do. He'd known exactly what he'd done, and he couldn't imagine doing anything else. Which deeply bothered him, of course. Draco's feelings were a mystery to him, really, unless they involved anger, pride, fear, or respect. None of these seemed to be the reason he watched Potter. Draco wasn't curious. He was frightened-- of himself this time. He had to sort himself out, he had to, before the Christmas break came and he had to face Lucius again. His father would know. His father always knew. He'd smelled the weakness on him as if he'd worn it like cologne.
"Tired... so tired," Malfoy muttered to himself, completely throwing Harry out of his own reverie, mostly involving Cho Chang and a can of whipped wizard-cream. Oh yes that had had possibilities. Harry glared at Malfoy with newly renewed vigor, and suddenly, unexpectedly, he threw the pillow over his head. His voice was now extremely muffled, but Draco could understand it okay anyway. "Um...." said Draco, his eloquence threatening to desert him, and it was -not- a good time, either.
"Just-- shut up, Malfoy. We can do no harm if we simply keep to ourselves, and in this, I think I agree with Mrs. Pomfrey."
Draco sighed. Why did nothing ever go according to plan? Why, why, why? The silence between them was becoming tense, but both of them just ignored it. Draco started counting the spider-webs on the ceiling. He was up to 428, when there was a slight noise outside the door. Draco grinned, making sure Harry wasn't looking. Ah, yes. The little entertainment the evening had called for.
The music started off softly, almost inconspicuously, like it was there all the time. It picked up speed-- and volume-- quickly, of course, soon flooding the moonlit hospital room with horribly contagious Spanish guitar. Harry squawked and jumped up on his bed, his eyes big as saucers. Malfoy decided he was really going to enjoy this quite as much as he'd thought he would, right then and there. Harry was running to the window, his pajama-top flying open (apparently he'd never bothered to button it all the way), his glasses sliding off his nose, which resulted in him continuously shoving them up again as he sprinted to the source of the god-awful noise. He looked down, and there they were. Strange-looking men with guitars, standing on the frosted-over ground next to the castle wall, casual as you please, belting out ballad after ballad in what seemed to be Spanish.
"This is -your- doing, isn't it, Malfoy," Harry accused, swinging around to face the other boy.
"Mine?" Malfoy scoffed. "Why would I ever do something--" The rest of his protests got drowned out as the serenading trio shifted gears and launched into a strangely infectious song-- in English. Malfoy was having to severely fight singing along. He scowled, thinking that he really shouldn't have included a randomizer on that mischief-and-mayhem spell he'd created. He'd been so proud of himself, too. He stuck his fingers in his ears just as the (so-called) band was getting to what must've been the chorus:
"When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie
That's amore
When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine
That's amore...."
Harry was making choking noises, and scrambling for his wand (which was a good thing, since Malfoy thought he was probably in no state for such clear thinking, as he was quite sure that song will be in his head for the next fortnight, if not more). Pointing his somewhat trembling wand straight at the offending window, Harry cried out, "Silencio!" Thankfully, the noise stopped, though Malfoy was still pretty sure the musicians hadn't. He wasn't going to check.
By unspoken mutual agreement, they decided to go to sleep, thus avoiding any further insanity, or pursuant conversation, for that matter.
~~
The paper airplane fluttered frantically outside the thick wood separating it from the two boys, and then, finally, frustrated, it gave up and knocked on the door. They woke up instantly, looking at each other in consternation, partly because they were sickened to have the other greet them first thing upon awakening, partly because they had no clue why either had woken up in the first place, except that something was wrong. Oh yes, that strange tapping on the door. Draco raised one eyebrow at Harry (who was having a similarly dubious expression), as if to say, "What could it be -now-?"
"What could -that- be," Harry said, not one to avoid stating the obvious by any means.
"Beats me," said Draco. "Why don't you look?"
Scowling at Draco's imperious tone, Harry nevertheless went to open the door. His eyes widened considerably, seeing the paper airplane float regally by him, heading for Draco's lap.
"Oh," said Draco, dryly. "Obviously, it likes me, not you. It has good taste, I must say."
Harry snorted. "You're such a sod, Malfoy," he said, almost good-humoredly.
Draco, of course, looked offended, but finally decided to ignore this, and started fiddling with the folded paper airplane. His eyebrows shot up somewhere beyond Harry's vision, as his fringe now completely obscured their location. Malfoy was laughing softly. Laughing, of all things. Harry was now extremely intrigued. He went over to Malfoy's side, leaning slightly to see what he was looking at. Harry gasped. In neat, spidery long-hand, it said, "The End."
"So, I guess this is it, then," Malfoy drawled. "It's over. Time to lay the cards on the table, so to speak." His usual smirk was having a field-day on his lips.
Harry had the completely mad urge to thoroughly snog him, for some reason. He mentally shook himself, then decided he was going to have to ask Hermione to slap him. Yes, most definitely, because now he was staring at Malfoy's upmost pajama-top button, and licking his lips. He must really still need sleep, as well.
"So, does this mean we're in love?" Malfoy asked, his face the utter picture of angelic innocence. Very deceptive of course, and didn't Harry know it. Obviously, Malfoy was even more mad than Harry had initially thought. Harry did a double-take.
"That's quite a jump there, Malfoy," he said, finally.
"Oh, you know it's true," Malfoy said, seemingly off-handedly, giving his hand a casual little wave. "Everyone knows it but you, Potter."
Harry sputtered. What do you say to that? What, indeed.
"They do -not-!" he said, heatedly, flushing brightly.
Malfoy's smile quickly became a grin. "Ah, well, if you say so, Potter."
Harry realized what he's just said. "You're fucking impossible, Malfoy. You know I didn't mean-- that--"
Malfoy laughed. Harry glared, folding his arms across his chest.
And they lived happily ever after. Unless you don't think they did, in which case they lived snarkily and messily ever after, and they never did catch that paper airplane, as it fluttered away at the first opportunity, going off to plague someone else with its horribly irritating finality.
~~